#the trio ruin my outfit and it’s over (for them) :)
Note
If someone ruined my lolita dresses, I would absolutely go berserk. Like yeah, you're hot, but holy shit, you better get me a replacement in my size and beg on both knees to get me to forgive you. Also, my fave dress is Haenuli's The Little Mermaid (2018).
I would be so heartbroken. T-T but knowing the trio and their tendency to spoil their darling, you will definitely receive a replacement and so much more. Azul probably gets on his knees and begs because he’ll do anything for your forgiveness. Floyd does it as well, but he doesn’t stay there for long because the next moment he’s clinging to you and whining about how he’s sorry and didn’t mean to be so rough and he hates seeing Shrimpy so upset. He’ll get you a million lolita outfits if it pleases you. Jade is similar in that he’ll also get you an entire wardrobe’s worth to make up for it. Anything you want, you shall have. Money is no problem when you’re Jade and Floyd Leech.
That one is really beautiful!!! The colors and the graphics on the JSK… so stunning omg!!! I like so many that it’s difficult to choose a favorite. >_< but the ones that are inspired from Disney films will always be so cute and beautiful!!!
#twisted chit chat#the trio ruin my outfit and it’s over (for them) :)#sushi buffet is going to taste so delicious with tako and utsubo!!!! >:(
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thick thighs save lives (but ruin racing suits) | ln4, op81
hi! i got this idea from one tiktok i saw today. this one goes for my plus size girlies (including myself lmao) so please enjoy as much as papaya boys would enjoy some pair of thick thighs!
summary: lando and oscar never seen their friend with something tight on, so when it comes to try on new racing suits she have a big surprise for them
warnings: slightly disturbed perception of body image
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver x lando norris
Y/N sometimes forgot that she was a girl.
At the beginning of her career she tried to make an effort to look good, showing that a male-dominated sport wouldn't take away her feminine grace. Years ago she used to wake up early, style her hair, do makeup and spend a lot of money on fixing cosmetics but unfortunately everything was lost due to sweat, a balaclava and a tight helmet. So the girl decided that this fight made absolutely no sense - she decided to stuck only to lip balm and mascara.
Despite keeping her makeup to a minimum, even her mascara remained treacherous, smearing under her eyes after each race or training session, making her look like a panda. In terms of clothes, the girl didn't have much opportunity to show off either. Her clothes were largely either team tracksuits, a racing suit, or just a baggy orange T-shirt and jeans.
And just as Oscar and Lando looked great after the race despite sweat and messy hair, her post-race glow didn't really existed. On the contrary, she looked as if she had a hard, sleepless night.
It is known that when media days fell on the calendar, the girl tried to look her best. She had light make-up and nicely styled hair, but her body was still covered by loose layers of clothes. It would seem that apart from her physiotherapist and the team doctor, no one around her had any idea what kind of figure the girl really had.
However, everything changed when the break between seasons came. When places had numerous galas and events and you could throw away uncomfortable helmets and team clothes. However, as we know, everything comes to an end at some point and we have to return to the gray reality. This was the case, when the day came and it was time to try on new racing suits for the upcoming season.
Y/N hugged Lando and Oscar upon seeing them outside the entrance to McLaren's headquarters. The trio hadn't had the opportunity to see each other for several weeks, so there was a lot of joy. In a good mood, surrounded by conversation, they went inside and immediately went to the designated place. After a short presentation of costumes, everyone received theirs and went to change, only to come back after a while and report any reservations regarding comfort and range of movement. Y/N took her suit without thinking and went to change. She was surprised when the suit got stuck on her butt and refused to go up any higher.
"What the hell"
The girl muttered under her breath, gripping her fit tighter and jumping in it several times. When it finally slid over her ass, Y/N slipped her hands into the sleeves and zipped up the zipper, sealing the Velcro around her neck. Something was definitely wrong. The girl looked in the mirror at her reflection. The outfit was great and looked amazing, the only problem was that it was a bit tight. Which shouldn't be the case, because the outfits were based on last season's, so the dimensions shouldn't differ drastically. It was impossible to gain so much weight in three months, right?
The girl turned around, looking at the back of her body. The outfit was definitely tight. Just as it was still relatively tight on her chest, it was very tight on her thighs and butt.
Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, looking at her reflection. Have she really always had such big thighs? Did she actually gain weight during the past break?
She was brought out of her thoughts by a knock on the bathroom and the voices of Lando and Oscar outside the door.
"Are you ready?"
The girl felt her cheeks burning with shame.
"I think I have a problem"
Hearing this, the friends fell silent and looked at each other.
"Can we come in?"
Y/N agreed quietly, still staring at herself in the mirror. With each passing second, she became more and more confused about her reflection.
Oscar and Lando entered the bathroom, also wearing their suits. When they noticed their friend standing with her back to them, the first thing they noticed was her butt. Lando quickly looked up at the ceiling and Oscar walked over to the girl, trying his hardest to focus on the reflection of her face in the mirror.
"What happened?"
Y/N bit her lip in shame and silently turned towards them. Her friends involuntarily looked at her, pretending they didn't know what she meant. But as soon as they saw the material tight around her ass from the entrance to the bathroom, they knew exactly what the matter was about.
"My suit is too tight" The girl said quietly, looking at herself "It doesn't fit at all"
Lando wrapped his arms around himself and covered his mouth with his hand. He tried his hardest not to speak, because all he could think about were comments about her thighs and whether she could crush him with them. It didn't get much easier for Oscar. He put his hands on his hips and looked at his friend silently. He was afraid that he would be unable to comfort her in any way, because his mind was completely blank.
Piastri cleared his throat after a while, trying to return from the land of fantasy and behave as if the whole situation was really dramatic.
"Is it very tight?"
"Oh, just look!"
The girl spread her arms and spun around. Lando bit his lip and tilted his head back. Oscar held his breath, having no idea what to say. He was totally mesmerized by her curves.
"I- Uhm, I think it's just a mistake and they'll make you a different one without any problem."
"Different one?" Y/N asked, feeling tears in her eyes. “What if it's not a mistake and I've gained weight these past few months?”
"After all, the tests showed that everything was fine with your measurements."
Oscar said calmly.
Y/N turned to the mirror again and looked at her reflection.
"What a total shit"
"Hey, don't say that" Lando was immediately outraged "You look great"
"Great?" The girl snorted, "Come on, I look ridiculous."
"To be honest, I agree with Lando one hundred percent."
Oscar replied, looking once more at the back of the girl's body.
"My thighs are a disaster! What kind of racing driver has such big thighs?"
The girl burst out, turning again towards them.
"Max has nice thighs," Lando pointed out, thinking for a moment, "I'm sure his thighs are the national pride of the Netherlands."
Y/N wasn't in the mood to joke. Devastated, she looked down her body.
Oscar walked up to her and hugged her without saying a word.
"You look beautiful. And you have a really amazing figure"
Lando walked over to his friends and hugged them as well.
The girl felt a little better with the support of her friends. However, for a moment she forgot that men would be men and nothing would ever dissuade them from having dirty thoughts.
"I agree with Oscar, because you really look great," Lando started. Oscar looked at him, knowing full well what was coming and knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop it. "But with all the respect I have for you as a friend and as a woman in general, holy shit, I would pay extra for you to strangle me with your thighs. And man, that mad bunda, too."
Y/N didn't know what to say for a moment. She only felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Did she just receive the strangest compliment of her life?
She freed herself a little from her friends' embrace and looked at Lando's face.
"Seriously?"
He seeing that his comment was not received negatively, quickly nodded.
"You have such a body that-" "Lando meant that you shouldn't worry about what you look like because you look really great."
Oscar interjected, knowing full well that Lando's comments should be kept to himself.
The girl smiled weakly and sniffled. Her friends' words lifted her spirits a bit.
"My only concern now is how I will get this contraption off of me."
Lando and Oscar smirked, involuntarily exchanging glances.
"I think we can help you with that."
#f1 imagines#f1 one shot#f1#formula 1#f1 oneshots#op81#f1 imagine#lando norris#ln4#oscar piastri#lando norris x reader x oscar piastri#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri x reader
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Hiiii
Can you make another Alastor x Rarity reader like I love it sm and I need more 😭😭❤️
If you do thank youuuu
I definitely can! My dear @sillyalastor, here will be yours and @nenerobobot’s post for Rarity-reader and Al! I hope you both like our kinda short follow up to the Radio Demon and his Drama Queen!
Alastor- Diamond Trio
Alastor knows how much of a detail-orientated and fussy woman you are, and he knows fashion colours, stitching processes, habits, facts and more on the top of his head. He knows what is considered eggshell white and what is considered ivory white. That’s how much time he spends with you
Alastor has been teaching you some new recipes, ones that get a bit messy. Whilst, you’re very worried about getting food on you and is wearing about five layers of protection each time you cook with him. He finds it cute and cheers you on for you being so precise and careful with the measurements. You’ll stand there for five minutes making sure the water percentage is just perfect and he thrives off that
Alastor is not a fan of you being friends with any of the Overlords except Rosie, so when he finds out, you befriended a fellow fashionista Velvette. He is supportive of your wishes but he is glaring down Velvette and threatening her behind your back to not hurt you or he’ll hurt her. Needless to say… Al’s protective and he doesn’t tolerate any of your friends trying to ruin your spirits or your work
So that means, if anybody rejects your outfit choice and creation you made for them, even politely. Alastor will hunt them down. You’re generous and you should be praised for that generosity. Alastor takes everything you give him, if he doesn’t like it, he’ll merely ask for some additions. He won’t ever demand a new outfit or item
Now. How did you and Alastor meet, you ask? You met him at a grand gala. It mainly consisted of Overlords but some Sinners can be invited and you were one of those rare sinners brought over to this incredible party
Alastor had been quite intrigued by you, the moment he saw you. A gorgeous, classy, sophisticated sinner dressed in the most pretty, regal maroon pink dress he has ever seen. You had attended this ‘best night ever’ party in hopes to find your prince, the man of your dreams and when you ran into a prissy but handsome Overlord that screamed prince-like grace, you immediately latched onto him. Unaware that you’re actual prince is the one Overlord all the guests avoided like the plague
Alastor couldn’t bring himself to just ignore the only shining jewel within this boring, prim and proper high-class party. He was so uninterested that he only got entertainment, out of talking to his dear friend, Rosie. So after some quick consideration, he begun to secretly follow you and your… date around the large palace hosting this gala. He was curious on what you’d do and the disgust he felt over this Overlord acting so uncharming and so harsh to a sweet lady such as yourself. He doesn’t tolerate women of radiance being disrespected
Alastor is so glad that you finally put your foot down after all the treatment: that ‘Prince’ of a Overlord making you pay for treats, making you give up the cushion seat, taking your rose for himself, making you throw your gorgeous silky-fabric shawl over a puddle so neither of you would slip. No gentleman should treat his lady this way and his blood is boiling in pure disgust at his fellow Overlord. The final straw is when that Overlord used you as a shield to block off the pretty strawberry icing cheesecake that came flying at the pair of you
Alastor watched from the sidelines with much pride and respect, over you talking that Overlord down and proclaiming he is a royal pain but of course, that ‘prince’ only cared about his looks and was scared of you drenched in the cake. Shaking off some of the cake on your dress, hair and face to get it onto the Overlord, out of raw rage. You ended up stomping out of the main big dance ballroom, furious and on the verge of crying. Leaving that ‘date’ of yours behind
Alastor couldn’t stop himself from following you. He was curious how a pretty mid-atlantic accented lady would handle being humiliated and having lashed out against her ‘date’ in front of almost ALL of the guests in the Gala. Your pretty sparkly almost diamond-like eyes poured tears, smudging your nice mascara and light blue eyeshadow as you stomped into the pretty empty gardens and cried out your rage
Oh. Alastor didn’t like seeing somebody so innocent and done no wrong mistreated like this. Even if it was amusing, he doesn’t like it
So, he finally approaches you after a few seconds of watching you vent out your feelings through sobs. His strong sharp crimson red eyes going from your forehead golden crown to the glass plumps to the still damp shawl tied around your shoulders in a classy princess style. You’re the most beautiful guest at this sorry excuse of a Gala. Alastor folds one arm behind his back, his own gala-style black, white and red coloured suit making his red and black colouration pop as he presents you with a rose
“I believe this is yours, my dear” Your glassy eyes turned over to look at him, the almost folded, multi-layers of your dress hugging your curves and hiding your leg movements as it just felt like this night went from the worst to the best. Is this the actual gentleman you’ve always wanted?! Gently reaching out, you’re a bit intimidated by how strong his glare is, how visible his golden yellow fangs are through that wide open grin, with how menacing his long fingers are
Taking the still stemmed rose from Alastor, you didn’t even know his name but you wished you did… you are a bit scared he may be a fake like that awful Overlord you were chasing after just before but he seems friendly enough. Alastor lifts up your hands with his single one, precisely placing the rose into your prettily curled and tied up hair, just above your bangs before speaking once more. His entire presence leaking charm, grace and poise
“Shall we dance?”
You were a bit shy, still drenched in destroyed layered cake batter but Alastor didn’t even chuckle at how ruined your clean, neat look is now. He merely snaps his fingers and like that, all the sweet confectionery remains are gone and all the ruffled, ripped or knotted parts of your dress and hair is smoothed out to perfection, as well as your slightly wet shawl back to being completely dry and your makeup returned to more presentable. Just like how you looked when you entered this Gala and when Alastor first saw you. Taking a deep breath, your cheeks flustered and blushy
You take his hand and with a single tug, you and him are dancing together in the calm, breezy, beautiful gardens of the giant gala palace, no music, no other prissy annoying guests. Just the plants, the animals and you two
Your eyes are no long filled to the brim with tears, anger and heartbreak. You’re now developing a sense of admiration and awe at Alastor being so gentlemanly and sweet with you in seconds flat, he’s treating you the way you wanted that blueblood ass to treat you and it’s making your heart flutter. Twirling slowly in a nice slow steady waltz, the only music ringing is the sound of the nearby birds singing
That night was the best night ever
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel imagines#hazbin hotel love#hazbin hotel headcanons#hazbin hotel characters#vivziepop hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#romantic alastor#alastor headcanons#alastor x reader#alastor#radio demon x reader#radio demon#romantic alastor x reader#boyfriend imagines#polite boys#gentleman#boyfriend#romantic headcanons#romantic#the radio demon#headcanons#hazbin radio demon
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solace [masky / hoodie x reader] — chapter ii.
Despite having Tim and Brian still on your mind, you prepare to pack your things and leave. However, moving to your new apartment doesn’t exactly go as planned.
author's note: this fanfiction will contain explicit content, including rape/non-con, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, and similar themes.
please read at your own discretion.
<- previous chapter
It was still early in the day when you woke up. At least, it was early in your standards. It was already afternoon, and as you realized that, you let out a groan of frustration. Unfortunately, you had a hundred percent ruined your sleep schedule. But what else did you expect—you had spent the entire evening binging a show, continuing into the early morning hours. By the time you went to sleep, the sun had risen, marking the time of dawn. As it was summer break, it wouldn’t matter too much, but you’d need to fix it before the start of school.
Your hands swatted at the phone on your nightstand, snatching the device eventually to turn the alarm off. Perhaps it was a bad habit, but the first thing you did was open your social media applications, procrastinating your leave from bed. Your phone display showed that you had a few unanswered text messages, all from a group chat consisting of you and your friends. You could see that they were discussing a new game that had just come out, and they’d been waiting for you to join. You smiled; it was sweet that they didn’t start without you. However, you’d have to crush their hopes.
ark
Y/N WAKE UP WE NEED TO PLAY
Zohlem
Shes probably sleeping lol
You saw her typing at 3am about some show
lilypop
she always
does that
lol
but
she should be
up anytime
soon
Y/N
stop
typing
like
this
lilypop
fuck
Y/N
start without me, i need to prep for move srry
lilypop
you
ark
:kittysad:
You felt a pang of guilt for not spending time with them after they had waited for you, but it was true. You did plan to start packing your stuff, deciding what to bring and what not to. Still, it was bothering you. Even though they were online friends, they still meant quite a lot to you. After all, they were the closest that you had to real friends, considering how you were left alone after Tim and Brian’s disappearance. Before that, you never had any other friends. You never needed other friends. It was supposed to be the three of you, a close-knit trio of friends. It was supposed to be the three of you leaving for university together. It was supposed to be the three of you, forever and always.
But that wasn’t the way things went. And everyone in high school already had a friend group or some sort of clique formed in earlier years, making it awkward to befriend new people. Not that you particularly wanted to, either. At the time, you didn’t particularly want to do anything.
Sighing, you put your phone down and got out of bed. Undressing, you took off the clothes you slept in, grabbed a simple outfit for the day—not like you were going anywhere fancy—and headed downstairs.
“Good morning, Y/N.” your mom called out.
You glanced at her sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders and walking to the dining table. You pulled out one of the chairs there, sat down and prepared to explain yourself.
“It’s summer break. I’ll fix my sleep schedule when school starts again,” you mumbled the first thing that came to your mind in hopes that she wouldn’t continue the subject. Which she didn’t, something you were thankful for. Ever since you had turned eighteen, both your parents had become more relaxed with you, assuming you’d know how to be responsible. Bold assumption, you thought. But it was one that was in your favour.
“Have you decided what you’ll be bringing?” Your mother asked as she took the dishes, likely from today’s breakfast that you had unfortunately missed, sliding them into the dishwasher's racks.
“Kind of, yeah. I think I’m just gonna be bringing some of my clothes, uh, the PC setup, and... the box.” Stumbling over your words, you let your voice trail off at the mention of the box. It wasn’t often that you’d bring up anything Tim and Brian related to her. In fact, you didn’t think that you had done it for a very long time, likely not since your last therapy session. Your mom was one of the few people genuinely affected by their disappearance at the time. She had known the boys for just as long as you had and likely remembered more of them in their earlier years than you did, seeing how your childhood memories were relatively blurry. Your families had all known each other since virtually the beginning of time. They had all grown up in this small town, went to the same schools together, got married, and had kids here. Your parents hadn’t been close with the other’s parents, but since the three of you had become such close friends, your parents eventually befriended each other’s parents.
Likely, your mom thought of Tim and Brian almost as family to some extent, which is mildly weird if you factor in the fact that you very possibly could’ve been crushing on either one of them to some extent at some point in time.
“Right,” she said. “The box. I almost forgot about it.” She paused for a second before continuing. “What exactly is in that thing, anyway?”
You knew all the items in there by heart. It was only natural since you had taken each and every item individually, collected them over the years, handpicked them from their rooms, and held them in your arms while crying yourself to sleep for countless nights.
“There’s Tim’s hoodie. The black one that he was always wearing.”
Your mom laughed. “Right,” she said, “Tim was going through some sort of phase.”
“Mhm.” You nodded. “There’s also Brian’s notebook from school. All his notes are in there. It’s a shame it’s for previous classes. I can’t copy off of them anymore.” you joked, and your mom chuckled at that. “And… Tim’s sketchbook. You know, he was good at art. It’s filled with like, all kinds of drawings. I haven’t looked through all of them yet, but I think I did see a drawing of me.”
Your mom hummed as she finished the dishes, walking over to you and pulling out a chair for herself. Sitting down, she said, “I swear Tim had a crush on you.” which caused you to blush.
“No, really!” she insisted, disregarding the flush on your face. “He was always staring at you. Anyone could’ve noticed.”
You got up from your chair, face red as a tomato. “I’m going to sort out my stuff, see ya.”
She laughed again. You appreciated moments like these, the simple pleasures of life.
—
You had far too many clothes. You only realized that today after looking through your closet to figure out what to bring. Taking out one of the folded cardboard boxes from the stack in your room, you quickly pushed out the sides to make the box. You threw your favourite shirts in, the ones that would go with almost any outfit. T-shirts, check. Seeing as it wouldn’t be warm for too much longer, you figured it would also be wise to bring a few sweaters. Sweaters, check. When trying to fit in your jackets, you realized how much space they took up and concluded that you’d bring the rest of them next time. After a while of debating between which were your favourites and which would be most practical, you made your choice, finally sealing the box with some tape. You’d bring more clothes the next time you returned home. Check.
You thought of packing your toiletries, such as your hair wash, skincare and the other products you used on a day-to-day basis, but you decided against it. You’d want to use them up until the day of moving, so you’ll pack them right before the move.
Taking your phone out of your pocket, you checked the time. Shit, you cursed internally. It was already ten past five. How in the world did it take you so long to decide between a few pieces of clothing? Were you really that slow?
Whatever, you thought. At the very least, you had finished the task, which meant it was productive enough for your standards.
Finally receiving the break you’d wanted all day, you excitedly sat yourself down in your chair, turned on your PC and typed a quick message to your friends.
Y/N
srry guys i’m here now
ark
:kittypog:
yay
lilypop
come
play
fast
You found yourself grinning as you read their replies. You appreciated your online friends very much. After Tim and Brian had left, you ended up spending the majority of your time online. You played video games, browsed art, read, scrolled social media, and so on. Through those activities, you found yourself meeting new people, some of which you have continued talking to ever since. You didn’t want to go out, not that you had a reason to, anyway. The world outside had become empty and devoid of life without Tim and Brian. Your new friends gave you something to look forward to when you woke up, a reason to get out of bed, and ways to occupy yourself and your mind. Through them, you were able to feel something other than grief.
As much as you hated to admit it, you were very much dependent on Tim and Brian. It wasn’t necessarily the healthiest thing, but you had grown up with them. You had done everything with them. You went to school together, did assignments together, played games together, ate food together, and even celebrated Christmas together with each other’s family. When they vanished, so did a large portion of your life. Everything you did, everything you were planning to do, involved them. And there was no them anymore.
Lost in thought, your attention turned away from the game you were playing, your movements on autopilot. You only noticed it when you saw your screen flash. Startled, you directed your focus back to see what had happened.
lilypopxd killed you.
“What the fuck, Lily?! I was distracted,” you yelled, only to hear a high-pitched giggle in return.
“Mad?” she asked, continuing to laugh, but abruptly stopped when you saw on the top of your screen that Daniel ‘Zohlem’ had killed her.
“Daniel you fucking piece of shit I hate you!” she cried out, and it was your turn to laugh this time.
“Mad?” you asked.
—
Your dad was downstairs. And he’d likely been there for a while because your mom had come into your room and woken you up.
“Y/N, your dad’s downstairs, let’s go.”
Right, you thought. You were moving your stuff today. Getting out of bed, you walked towards the window, quickly glancing and checking the weather to pick an outfit accordingly. It tended to start getting cold near the end of August, but there were still many hot days between the cooler ones.
You turned towards your already packed cardboard boxes—you had packed your utilities and hygiene products last night—but they weren’t there. You looked around the room in confusion, wondering where in the world giant cardboard boxes could have disappeared, but they were nowhere to be seen.
You were dumbfounded; how does something like this happen? You weren’t usually one to panic, but unless someone broke in or Casper the fucking ghost decided to pull a prank on you, there was no way these boxes would’ve just gone missing. You were pacing around in your room, trying to figure out what happened, when your mom came back upstairs and knocked at your door.
“Y/N, what’s the wait? Come on, your dad and I already took your things while you were sleeping. Make sure you don’t forget anything else, and come downstairs.”
Thank God it was just that, you thought. Your PC had also already been carefully packed into the car, so you quickly ran downstairs, grabbing a granola bar from the pantry and hopping into the car. Your father was already in the driver’s seat, and your mom was riding shotgun. You’d have to go into the back.
“Morning, dad,” you said, and he smiled, shaking his head.
“Right, morning. What time did you go to bed?” he asked.
You thought about it for a second. You were up late last night playing the new video game with your friends, only having gone to sleep at sometime around four in the morning.
“Three?” you hesitatingly said.
“Do you think you can fix your schedule before school starts?”
“Yeah,” you responded. Your dad didn’t seem too convinced. “Okay, I can pull an all-nighter to fix it if I need to.”
Your dad sighed. You could feel a lecture incoming.
“Do you really think you’re going to be okay by yourself in university?” he seemed more concerned than usual. He wasn’t often at home since he was busy working, but he was always a welcome sight when you did see him. Your mom was usually the worrier, and your dad often would reassure her that everything was fine, so it was unusual to see your dad anxious. It made sense, however, seeing as you were leaving for university. You had always lived with your parents up until now, so it would be a stark change for everyone. They were sure to miss you after your departure, even though you tended to hide in your room more than interact with them. They were likely also hesitant about letting you attend school alone, in a different city, without anyone there to directly support you. Where you were going wasn’t a long distance from home, but given your track record of not attending school when unattended, it was sensible to worry.
You had been depressed for a long time, ever since the incident happened. Initially, you tried to pretend everything would be okay. Tim and Brian would return soon; they likely just got lost after wandering somewhere over some stupid idea they had come up with. It was typical of them to think up wild things to do. But then, why didn’t they take you with them?
The entire city was searching for them for a week. But after that, the trial grew cold, and your hopes paled. You stopped going to school; you found it hard to focus on your classes, anyway. You could hear your classmates, teachers, and everyone around you discussing your best friends, thinking you couldn’t hear them. No matter where you went, you were inevitably reminded of them. It was causing you to slowly lose your mind. It rendered you incapable of concentrating on anything besides them, and somewhere in between all of that, you had also found it difficult to wake up in time for classes. You had a hard time falling asleep. You stayed up all night, tossing, turning, and crying into your pillow as if it would bring them back. You began skipping classes and eventually just stopped attending altogether. Naturally, your grades began a steep plummet, one that you never fully recovered from. Your school staff would start calling your parents in for meetings to discuss your well-being, which prompted them to send you to a therapist.
None of it made a difference, though. Your life wouldn’t ever be the same again without your best friends, and no amount of trying or pretence could ever fix that.
You dwelled on the case each day and night. You often went to their parents’ homes, looking through their rooms, checking the same areas repeatedly in search of any possible clues. It was like beating a dead horse, and you could tell that’s what their parents thought as well, with the sorrow-filled, pitiful look they’d give you whenever you came by. Nevertheless, you didn’t give up. Not until a year had passed.
Eventually, you came to the conclusion that you had to give up on the search. You didn’t want to do so, but you had been forced to accept by then that it wasn’t getting anywhere. You showed up at Tim and Brian’s homes for the last time, asking if you could take some of their belongings with you as memorabilia. Both their parents agreed, allowing you inside and giving you a hug. The last one you’d ever got from them.
Tim’s mother was much thinner than before, and you knew it because she would often give you hugs throughout the year. Brian’s father cracked the weakest of smiles, and you felt a pang of heartache at sight; he was one of the liveliest adults you had known, always there to crack a joke and make everyone smile. But there was nothing you could do about it. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring them back. They couldn’t either. And neither could the police. Nobody could. So you took your collection of items and left.
During your year indoors, you had spent much of your time online. You found catharsis in talking to your friends online about the situation; they were very empathetic and understanding. They always did their best to console you and never tired of you when even you were exhausted by how much of a broken record you sounded like, unable to stop yourself from constantly talking about your former friends. Nonetheless, they were proud of you when you took the box, and when you were ready, they encouraged you to slowly put your life back together at your own pace. And a few months after you took the box, you decided it was time to do so and went back to school. It was difficult catching up with all the work you had missed during the year and a half that you weren’t at school, but you did your best and pulled through. Enough to make it to university.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it,” you said. “If something’s wrong, I can always come talk to you guys.”
Both of your parents seemed happy with that response. Putting in our earbuds, you plugged them into your phone to play music, settling for looking out the window for the rest of the car ride. The view was pleasant.
When you arrived at your new apartment, your parents found a parking spot just a block away. Exiting the car, your parents opened the trunk, taking out the boxes of your things to carry them to your soon-to-be home. You mirrored their actions, getting out of the car, closing the vehicle door and retrieving the last box—the box—from there.
Crossing the street, you and your family arrived at the front of the apartment. Setting your box down on the steps, you typed in the four-digit entry code of the building. The door opened with a soft buzz, and you opened it, holding it open for your parents to enter before picking up your box and following them. You entered the apartment lobby together, which surprisingly looked even nicer in person than in the already appealing pictures. Consisting of white marble with thin black streaks through it, it almost made you think of an igloo. When you walked further up and to the stairs, your mom pointed out a concern. “There’s no elevator here.”
“There’s only three floors though,” you replied, “and I’m on the first. It’s good exercise.”
Your mom nodded, understanding your point and likely glad that you’d do something besides sitting in front of your monitor all day. The three of you continued to carry on up the stairs. As you turned the corner to the second half of the stairs, you began to feel lightheaded. You took another step forward, not understanding fully that something was wrong. It was mere seconds before static had hazed over your vision and rang in your ears. Your sight was one of an old TV turned on a broken channel, causing you to stumble forwards. Your foot caught on something, you weren’t sure what, but it was likely a step, and you fell forwards, hands still gripping the box, unable to find a landing.
You felt pain shoot through the side of your head as it slammed into the corner of something hard.
Your parents were yelling something, but you were too disoriented to make out the words. You thought they wanted you to get up, but everything hurt too much. You didn’t want to move; you wanted to just continue to lie there on the floor until the pain vanished. Not that you could’ve done anything else, your eyes were shut with blinding static, and your head rang into the void. You allowed unconsciousness to take you, your mind fading away into oblivion.
next chapter ->
#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta#hoodie x reader#marble hornets#marble hornets x reader#brian thomas x reader#creepypasta x you#hoodie x you#brian thomas x you#hoodie mh#marble hornets x you#creepypasta smut#creepypasta nsft#yandere creepypasta#yandere marble hornets#masky x you#masky x reader#masky mh#masky x y/n#hoodie x y/n#creepypasta x y/n#tim wright x reader#tim wright#brian thomas#brian thomas x y/n#tim wright x y/n#tim wright x you#reader insert#creepypasta reader insert#x reader
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Battle Of The Knights Alt Ending 2: And The Winner Is Jake
Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Warnings: nothing really
Genre: fluff
Summary: "So let me get this straight, you all like me, so you each want to take me on a date and let me decide what to do after?" You can't believe the words you're hearing even as you repeat them back.
What happens when the relationships you've built with Marc and his two alters are turned on their heads by a proposition that is anything but simple? How can they expect you to risk blowing up the carefully crafted dynamic you've worked so hard to create? And why do you agree to such an insane suggestion?
***
You don't reach out to any of them for almost a week. Not for lack of decisiveness. You knew very quickly who you wanted to pick. It was pretty obvious to you the moment you started to really think about things. I mean you love Marc and Steven and always will but there's always been something about Jake. Sure he can be a bit frantic and oftentimes severe but he is also spontaneous and charming in ways you never saw coming. Your date with him left you dying to spend more time with him, ready to go anywhere he wanted to take you, scary as that thought may be. So no, it wasn't that you didn't know who you wanted, you were just apprehensive about having the conversation. Eventually, though, you no longer feel like hiding away from the encounter so you text them.
Hey, I've made a decision. We should meet up and talk. Let me know what works for you.
It takes a while for them to respond, well, not actually, it just feels like a while waiting for their response.
Wanna grab dinner tonight? - Marc
Tonight. Tonight is- sooner than you were expecting, but you can't put this off forever so you agree.
Sure. How's 7?
Their next response is quick.
Sounds great. We'll come to yours and go to that place around the corner that you like. -Marc
You check the clock on the wall and send them a reply.
Okay, see you then.
You have three hours to prepare for this conversation. You're not sure if you're necessarily nervous about speaking to them because you feel confident in your choice but you know this needs to be handled gently. You, of course, can't necessarily avoid hurting Marc and Steven but you want to be mindful of their feelings when you're addressing things with them this evening and that's the part you're not sure of. Not that you've ever really had a hard time being empathetic toward them you just worry that there's no kind way to rip off this bandage.
By the time 7 o'clock finally comes you've changed your outfit 3 times and spent an annoyingly long time trying to decide on what to do with your hair and makeup. You're barely ready when you hear the knock at your door. You quickly pick a lipgloss and put it on as you walk to the door, tossing it into your bag just before pulling open your apartment door to reveal, you'd guess Marc since he signed off the text messages, but a once over of the man in the hallway makes you think otherwise.
"Hola Tesoro."
"Tesoro? That's a new one." You smile trying to ignore the way your body stiffened when he spoke.
"It is, do you hate it?" He asks. You hum, considering the question as you step into the hall with him and lock your apartment door.
"No. I like all of the names you use." You tell him with a shrug.
"No favorites?" Jake's hand settles at the small of your back as soon as you start walking a curious look on his face at his question. You take a moment to consider all the names he's called you since you've met him.
"I think muñequita might be my favorite. You're the only person I've ever heard use it." You tell him.
"It means little doll-"
"I know what it means. I think it's cute but I like that you vary them the way you do." You say.
"Don't worry I have no intentions of changing that." He winks at you. You roll your eyes even though the smile on your face totally ruins your attempts at feigning annoyance. The two of you make it to the small shop around the corner from your apartment and pick a table after ordering.
"Alright. Before you ask, because you always ask, I'm here because Steven's a nervous wreck right now- and to be transparent so is Marc although he would never openly admit it." Jake says once you've sat down.
"And you're not nervous?" You ask.
"It's my job to handle things they can't or won't. I'm not allowed to hide away." Jake shrugs.
"That's not the question I asked. I asked if you were nervous."
"What difference does it make?" Jake's face pinches in confusion.
"None I guess. I'm just curious. Trying to pick your brain a bit." You muse leaning forward to rest your chin against your hand over the table.
"If you must know that badly, no. I'm not nervous." He relents.
"Can I ask why not or will you bite my head off for inquiring?" You tease with a smile. Jake lets out a sigh before he answers albeit reluctantly.
"Steven's the optimist and Marc can't help himself when it comes to you but I know better than to get my hopes up in life." He says.
"You know better than to get your hopes up? So you're not at all interested in, for lack of a better word here, winning?" You ask. It would certainly change the course of this conversation if he was no longer interested in being with you.
"I never said that princesa. I want what we all want but I know we can't all come out on top." Jake says.
"Well I could prolong this process by asking more tiptoe around the subject questions but now feels as good a time as any to tell you who did come out on top. If you're ready to hear that." You say. It's mostly for the benefit of Steven and Marc, even though you can't hear them right now, you're sure they're listening.
"That's why we're here." He nods.
"Well, I don't know what it says about you that you basically resigned yourself to losing but-"
"Uno momento I did not 'resign myself to losing' wow you are- something else." Jake cuts you off to defend himself.
"It really doesn't matter Jake the point I was trying to make before you interrupted, is that I'm picking you."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm picking you. You absolute cynic." You shake your head.
"There's nothing wrong with cynicism first of all." Jake says and you scoff because of course that's what he's focused on. "Secondly, you're really picking me?"
"Yes, it shouldn't surprise you. You are deceptively charming when you want to be." You muse.
"How could I not pull out all the stops? I had incredible motivation." He smirks.
"Yeah I guess you're right about that, I deserve only the best." You say with an intentionally dramatized pose that makes Jake laugh.
"Indeed you do mi amor." He says after a moment and you can see in his eyes, even though you were joking that he truly feels that way and it's that look he's giving you that makes you more sure than ever that you made the right choice.
***
Taglist: @queerponcho @avengersinitiative2012 @stressed-cherry
#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marc spector#marc spector x reader#steven grant#marc spector fanfiction#marc spector fluff#steven grant fanfiction#jake lockley fluff#moonknight#moonknight x reader#moonknight fanfiction#steven grant fluff#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader
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I know you are a fan of FutureRust and It’ s A Splendid Life. I think that AU is great. It makes me wonder how the timeline works if Thomas is never made? Or Edward, Henry, Gordon etc
What do you think?
Ooooooohhh. Hmmmmmm.
Okay, first of all, for those who haven't read Splendid Life (shame!) or just need a recap [SPOILERS]: in this fanfic James gets to observe what the NWR would have been like if he'd never been built, and the answer is [AGAIN! SPOILERS! THERE IS NO TURNING BACK AFTER THIS!] the railway failed to expand, faces inevitable bankruptcy, and everyone's miserable.
For what it's worth, I think the logic of A Splendid Life is excellent if FC1 couldn't have bought James or a mechanically similar engine at a knock-down price. However, I do think that realistically FC1 could have found "another James" throughout all the decommissioning the LMS was doing in the '20s and '30s. They would probably have been a little less robust than James but he could have certainly gotten a good mixed-traffic engine for scrap prices. I do think the NWR might have been poorer and not in a position to come out of WWII swinging, and yes I don't think FC1 would have picked up Percy in particular because he wouldn't have been looking at the exact time Percy was on the market, but then that's true of quite a few canon characters that FC1 does buy in Splendid Life anyway.
So, not to ruin the story, but as I think through this I'd argue James's absence has less impact than the absence of many of the others. He'd be, like, middle-of-the-pack in terms of essentialness. This is in no way a knock on Splendid Life; it's still one of my favorite ttte fics.
[END OF SPOILERS]
Let me take the rest of the engines in a different order. Kinda going from easiest to hardest to write about. For "etc." I will throw in Percy and Toby, the other two FC1 engines.
Gordon: I think it's very simple—without Gordon in the timeline, the NWR likely goes bankrupt before we even get to the Depression. That doesn't mean rail on Sodor disappears but I think the system would be absorbed by the LMS. Topham Hatt I might have been kept on as a director and manager but he wouldn't be able to run things in his own way. LMS engines would largely take over the network and the other tender engines would have been scrapped by WWII. Percy and Toby never come to Sodor. Thomas probably lasts the longest, on a Sodor railway that looks quite different. He might have still been promoted to branch line but that would have to be before the LMS takeover. It's also possible that without the revenue from Gordon's services the extension of the Ffarquhar line is not completed and so an engine isn't needed to run it.
Toby: If Toby didn't exist, Thomas might have been fitted with cowcatchers and sideplates and never heard the end of it from most of the other engines. Alternatively (despite what FC1 says offhand when he's on the spot and discouraged), FC1 might have simply acquired a different tank engine. One possibility is outfitting Percy with the kit and replacing him as Tidmouth station pilot earlier (possibly even with Duck! a long shot, but the NWR was nationalised by then...)
Percy: If Percy hadn't been made, I think FC1 simply buys another cheap secondhand industrial engine (but it's unlikely he happens to buy one with Percy's spunk and pluck so that changes the dynamic of the main cast in some ways). I think it's unlikely that FC1 simply would have never found another candidate but it would be very interesting if he couldn't. In that improbable scenario, I don't think FC1 manages to completely break the Strike Trio's action. I think he'd have to continue appeasing them in some sort of ways. At the same time, the issue is never completely resolved one way or another—it just festers. I think FC1 would rely heavily on Edward taking up residence at Tidmouth instead of Wellsworth but operations suffer accordingly and I still don't think Edward could be station pilot full time since he's also basically the rescue engine and banker at this time... This all would honestly set the railway on a fairly toxic path, with the big engines continuing to be unhappy with the ad-hoc situation at Tidmouth, continuing to have power struggles with FC1, and probably continuing with their mean-girls bullshit until there is full-out enmity between them and Edward + Thomas.
Realistically, I think there's plenty of middle ground between canon, where FC1 resolves the situation so quickly, and an AU where he never gets things in order. But I do think if "Trouble in the Sheds" had dragged on for any length of time that the dynamic among the fleet would have been very different and therefore the cast of the Railway Series books is different—if the Thin Clergyman is charmed enough to write it at all.
Edward: On the one hand, I doubt Edward's non-existence leaves a unique hole in the early workforce the way that the others' would—if there hadn't been an Edward I think the NWR would have simply begged, borrowed, or stolen some other Furness engine of similar vintage, maybe a little older, maybe a little less willing, but I think they'd have muddled along in a similar way... in the short term. In the long term, though, I believe Edward's absence would be very telling. In many ways he's really the heart of the (NWR) cast and his influence on the others is subtle but significant. Not in that the cast would be any more foolhardy, the railway would have its same chequered safety record—I really don't think Edward's frequent advice of "be careful!" really helped the others to learn sense any faster... but I do think it's more he influenced the whole joint to be a kinder, warmer, more forgiving sort of place than it would have otherwise been. Without Edward there is no counter to the early-years dynamic of Every Engine For Himself, Zero-Sum Competition. FC1 would have still sent away the worst influences and battered some morals or whatever into the others but, I think, at a slower rate, and the change is all imposed from the top... without Edward there I don't think the fleet becomes a family. It's also quite possible that it never crosses FC1's mind to consider Thomas to run the Ffarquhar branch so There's That.
Thomas: In contrast, Thomas's coming to the island is such a mysterious fluke that there's no "it would have just been another engine." I think this is another situation where the NWR would be missing something vital—certainly its greatest claim to fame, in the long run!—but they wouldn't know it, you know? They wouldn't know what they were missing. In a Jamesless world FC1 might sometimes wistfully say to himself that it would be nice if he had a some real pizzazz and panache on his fleet, and in an world without Edward I think FC1 would be wishing that he could've somehow socialized the engines a bit better, so they were all a little more chill. But Thomas, man. He was a gift from the gods. He was a strike of blessed lightning. Everything about Sodor's vibe would be a little worse without Thomas and they wouldn't even know it. How sad is that?
Okay, getting down to brass tacks. I don't think his impact on the workforce would be so obvious. I think even in their poorest and earliest days the NWR could have scrounged up another shunter somehow and until he was vacuum-fitted and rebuilt Thomas wasn't good for much else, and without Thomas they would have just fit up another of their tank engines for the Ffarquhar line—it might have even been cheaper. I think the community along the Ffarquhar line wouldn't have been so attached to the railway without Thomas's charisma but again, the NWR probably wouldn't notice that. I do wonder if Charles Hatt would have married into the Ffarquhar Quarry owner's family without Thomas's stellar relationship-building to highlight that area of the island or not.
The Thin Clergyman still becomes a friend of the NWR and writes a Railway Series that is a thing for a while, but it doesn't really take off the same way without Thomas and the series probably ends sooner. I do think in this timeline the RWS has enough of a cultural impact that there is still some merch, maybe even a TV series, but I don't think it becomes a franchise in the same way as now; it's more of a trend-setter. I think it would inspire other book/TV series and that one of them would probably eclipse the RWS and become the "Thomas the Tank Engine"-equivalent brand name in-universe.
All this said, it is fascinating how the events of the series really don't hang all that much on Thomas at all. He's so very on the sidelines for most of the "golden era" of the RWS. I don't think the railway would have failed or struggled without him, though I think the Ffarquhar line itself wouldn't be as busy or important.
One big change is that I think, without Thomas, Gordon remains at least 50% more insufferable throughout his whole life. There's something about that cheeky tank engine that humbled him some. I know he puts Thomas in his place in "Thomas and Gordon," but—nevertheless!—Gordon met his match when he was condemned to put up with Thomas the Tank Engine mouthing off to him every day for years on end.
Henry: If Henry is never built? Hmm... how much changes?
I think things do change but he's the hardest to quantify. As far as the fortunes of the railway, honestly in the pre-RWS days they are probably better off. FC1 can spend the money he spent buying Henry on another engine, one that may not be as theoretically powerful but one that is more reliable. No need for Welsh coal, no need for a Flying Kipper rebuild. But I think the railway suffers as far as never really being pushed to develop a higher code of loyalty or understanding. This would be most notable in Gordon and FC1 (and, as they are both huge influences on the railway has a whole, these would make for some big ripple effects).
Without Henry, I think Gordon's character development might not get off the ground until much later. I think it still would have eventually grown up just because he was born with the soul of an elder statesengine, but in this timeline the seeds for his change aren't planted so early so he just remains Insufferable Unapproachable Bigshot for a few decades longer.
As for FC1, I think Henry is probably the catalyst of his character development—I do think the others played into it too but I think Henry had the single biggest impact on us going from the good-for-little-but-plot-device-and-comic-relief person we meet of "The Sad Story of Henry" to The Fat Controller. Before Henry, FC1 was an arrogant and inflexible man. Clever, and enterprising, and his stubbornness was probably key to his career thus far... and I doubt he was devoid of some nicer sentiments... but he is not yet the man he becomes. Getting swindled by Henry's builder was a humbling moment for him. Henry also gave him a dramatic illustration of the limits of just trying to get people (well, engines, but I don't doubt this lesson spilled over to people) to do things by force and authority and shouting. He probably regretted escalating things at once but found himself in a bind and had to learn the hard way that you should not make threats if you don't really want to follow through with them! Henry's pervasive mechanical issues probably also taught FC1 greater patience and understanding, and Henry's triumphant turn-around would have ensured that FC1 committed himself going forward to rather high ideals.
I think FC1 tried so hard to eke a "win" from the Henry situation at least in part for his own ego/reputation—if he gave up on Henry, he had to admit utter defeat in the matter of buying him. But I think by the end of the whole thing FC1 had become a different person. In short, without a Henry I/Henry II saga, I don't think we have a man so committed to saving his engines even in the face of nationalisation (and Edward rattling about like crazy at 55—a perfectly reasonable age to withdraw an engine from service), or a successor who assisted in Henry's triumph of a rebuild and who goes on to defy BR's modernisation plan completely.
Therefore, without Henry, the NWR still survives.
But also? It isn't really our NWR.
(It's probably fully dieselised. And D7101, while not rude to their faces, always considered that steam engines were kinda clapped-out.)
ALL THAT SAID... while writing this I came up with another AU involving Henry. But in this one he proves to be a perfectly reasonable, decently reliable engine who can handle the Express on his own from the beginning. This means he kinda isn't really Henry any more, but. It's hilarious. Because Gordon arrives too. You thought the NWR was boisterous enough with one haughty egoistical Pacific racing along the main line and struggling to live up to their own boasting? Try two of themmmmmmm! And they loathe each other!!!!
(I'm actually dying... it takes Sodor the Unnecessarily Extra Island and makes it 94% MORE EXTRA)
#now i kinda can't think of anything but AUs#thank you nonny this was a fun ask#ttte#the railway series#ttte au#the fat controller#ttte thomas#ttte edward#ttte henry#ttte gordon#ttte james#ttte percy#ttte toby#ttte bear#ttte fic talk#ttte analysis
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So I've been thinking about that time loop au and nfksjdd
Ok so the obvious way this would go down is that the Winx, at the end of season 4, wake up back at the start of the show
Bloom is really confused as to why Mike and Vanessa bought her the same bike?? And then Stella falls in, in her intro outfit, and they're like "Wait. What day is it?" And they both realize they've gone back in time
Aisha, waking up in her old bed room to her nanny lecturing her about all the rules about sleeping and waking up shes not following: OH FUCK NO
Aisha, calling Stella after she jumped out of the window: Pick me up
Stella: I'll pass off Aisha as my friend, and I'll just tell Griselda that I found a fairy on earth. What the fuck is she going to do? Let the last earth fairy flounder
Bloom: oh my god are we just gonna have to let Faragona lie to us
Aisha, vibrating in her seat: I get to be included on the early stuff
Tecna, Flora and Musa are already in the dorm room like GUYS WHAT THE FUCK
and the princess trio is like WE KNOW
Tecna: does this mean we have the upper hand over the Trix???
Musa: oh god, pre-therepy Riven
Flora: we have to re take all our classes
Stella: We! Are! In! Hell!
I like to imagine they're still in their magic winx form just so they can bitch about it bdnsns and complain
The Trix are technically stronger than them because the Winx are in their weakest form, but the Winx have years of experience fighting them so it's weirdly even
Stormy: something fuck-y is going on with thes girls
Icy: Darcy, figure it out
Darcy: Fine
Later, when Darcy is trying to sneak into their dorm
Musa: BEEP BEEP BITCH, I CAN HEAR YOU
Flora: what about Roxy
Bloom: oh my god, what about Roxy
Anyways it's just the girls being unhinged during s1
The Trix probably still manage to steal Bloom's power and they're all very grumpy about it
And then they try to warn everyone during s2 and NO ONE LISTENS, Rip
The Winx:
Avalon:
The Winx: Don't you try to double back, I already despise you
Bloom: wait, how the fuck are we going to achieve Charmix
Musa: *screams into a pillow*
Dark Bloom wouldn't happen. S2 would be a fucking mess
Musa still gets her consert
Stella, Bloom and Aisha conspire to stop the downland plot
Bloom: we're still gonna fuck with Mitzi, right?
Musa: yeah obviously
Griffin would be so dumbstuck during twinning witches bc they act like a well oiled machine
There's not much they can do about Valtor, they just have to suffer though season 3
Stella, grabbing Chimera: Never talk to me or my little sister ever again
Aisha is grinding her teeth at the state of Andros but can't do much, but she does grab Nabu early on into the season
Nabu is all like ⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ bc the coolest fairy he's ever met is suddenly hitting on him and what deity's favor did he happen to garner
Stella doesn't get turned into a monster at her princess ball by Cassandra, anything that ruins my sister au will be changed no exceptions, bc Stella was expecting it
Enchantix is gained different but still gained bc these girls don't know what self preservation is
Fighting Valtor is easier because they know what he's gonna do next, but still hard bc Valtor
But since they already know about the water stars and aren't gonna believe Valtor's bullshit, after they all get Enchantix they nearly murder him and he gets away in his true form gravely injured in panic mode
S4 is so easy however bc they just grab Roxy, get the Believix powers, don't free the earth faries until after they've kicked the wizards back to where they belong and then deal with the earth faries
Nabu is closely guarded at this time, he is very confused, but appreciates that every one seems to care about him so much
And then what ever caused the loop doesn't happen again and everything is a-ok dksndjsjd
I'm also thinking about Riven getting to naturally go though a redemption arc with out Darcy setting him back and pushing him forward
Everyone keeps mixing up Sky and Brandon's names, and Brandon knows they know but doesn't know how
Bloom meets up with Diaspro instead of fighting her, and that plot point gets so much weirder
Bloom: btw I'm gonna free you from your abusive parents
Diaspro: um?????
They'd be so happy when they get Enchantix back, bc they'd feel so squished in magic Winx and Charmix
During the first movie when Riven starts acting weird, Aisha just puts him in a bubble bc Musa will not be getting stabbed again
They speed run that too jngkwkekem
This is all very amusing to me
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I JUST LOST THE ASK (accidentally deleted the draft oopsie) BUT HERE’S REIGEN AND MINORI FOR @sleepdepravity
Reigen
Why I like them- Ok so this is a Whole Thing with me. Reigen on his own isn’t my favorite character (still a great character though, I don’t have a single favorite for mp100 I love them ALLLLL) but looking at his bonds with others as a whole makes him SO much fun to analyze. It’s the effect he has on others that I find so interesting about him and why I make so much Reigen content, ESPECIALLY WITH MOB!! They’re so family. They’re SO family oh my god.
Why I don’t- using this as an excuse to talk about why I like to viciously ruin Reigen’s life in fics and stuff. Not because it’s fun to see His reaction but to how others around him respond, like what would Ritsu do if his brother’s Shishou suddenly keeled over? That’s my jam. Fascinating to me
Favorite episode (scene if movie)- sigh. S2 EP7.
Favorite season/movie- do NOT make me answer this theres too much good stuff of him in every season. Every frame where he looks fugly. That’s my favorite!!!!
Favorite line- “You’ve grown up so much, you know?”
Favorite outfit- if expressions are outfits then whatever the fuck this shit is. I WISH I WAS A CARTOON CHARACTER LIKE THAT
OTP- sometimes serirei
Brotp- guys guess what my favorite trio is. You’ll never guess (it’s Reigen Mob and Dimple they’re my favorite friends)
Head Canon- has an office candy jar because he quit smoking (insane about this)
Unpopular opinion- I’ll leave the “Reigen isn’t suicidal the finale was a self sacrificial thing and the train was an act of desperation” rant for another day and go with REIGEN QUIT SMOKING GUYS ITS CANON PLEASE
A wish- Reigen. Manga. Animated.
An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen- Reigen manga Never Animated
5 words to best describe them- “please call him a slur” (/j)
My nickname for them- ray gun
Minori
Why I like them- PEOPLE CAN CHANGE PEOPLE CAN CHANGE PEOPLE CAN CHANGE oh my god. I love her for learning and growing from mogamiland. I love mogami arc for the way it ends on a. Bittersweet note for lack of a better word? Hopeful I guess?
Why I don’t- she would have bullied the shit out of middle school me
Favorite episode (scene if movie)- End of mogami arc :(
OTP- none
Brotp- alright hear me out on this one, Matsuo and Minori hanging out. Bc matsuo had Mogami trapped for a while and Minori was stuck with Mogami for a good while. And. And EXPLODES
Head Canon- she developed a bad habit of watching snuff as a coping mechanism before she started to get better
Unpopular opinion- I’ve seen the interpretation that all of her actions were controlled by mogami even in mogamiland and. It’s just not true! That’s not true at all! not unpopular but all I could think of
A wish- MINORI OFFICIAL ART
An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen- mogami arc stage play. I love the stage plays but idk if mogami arc would fit that tone
5 words to best describe them- “middle-school autistic boy’s worst nightmare” (/j)
#tw suicide mention#(it’s very small but just in case)#cowardly asks#ask game#Cut out the ones I didn’t have answers for
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Last Line Tag
Thanks for the tag, @oceangirl24
I tag: @ibrithir-was-here, @princesspuresarahk, and anyone who wants to play
I got myself into a bit of a writing mood and this is what I have so far for the newest chapter of CinderAmity.
Lord Belos, Boscha, and Bria were finally ready. Belos wore a black button-up shirt, a golden yellow cravat, a dark gray jacket with golden buttons and accents, matching gray pants, a white leather belt with a gold buckle, and a pair of brand new dress shoes that seemed to be made from black snake skin. Boscha wore what appeared to be a red and black Asian styled outfit with long sleeves and poofy knee-length pants while Bria wore an outfit that resembled pirate garb with a brown vest, black gloves, and a bandana wrapped around her head. The trio made their way downstairs towards the front door.
“Oooh, it’s finally happening!” Boscha exclaimed as she grabbed her crab palisman.
“I know, I can’t wait!” Bria added, picking up her rhinoceros palisman.
“Girls, please.” Belos said as he draped a white and gold cape over his shoulders. He picked up three personalized masks from a nearby drawer and handed one to each girl; he kept the third. “This is meant to be a formal occasion. I understand your excitement, but you must remember to—”
“Hey, wait! Wait for me!” CinderAmity’s voice called out.
They all turned their heads to see CinderAmity running towards them with a big grin on her face. She was now wearing a medium-length magenta dress with long sleeves, lacey accents, a white vest, matching white gloves, pale pink leggings, and a pair of orchid colored shoes. She had used the clothes in the chest to create something new. Ghost was watching from behind the staircase. Boscha, Bria, and Belos stared unblinking at CinderAmity’s outfit before Boscha broke the silence with an appreciative whistle.
“Whoa.” Bria commented with wide eyes.
CinderAmity blushed and shyly smiled.
“Where did you…?” Belos started.
“It didn’t cost you anything, sire.” CinderAmity said, stepping forward. “This is just something I… put together last minute.”
He furrowed his brow and scoffed. “I can see that.” He walked closer to his stepdaughter, which made her quite nervous. “…I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my dear… but this is a rather questionable choice, even for you.” He stopped a few inches from her and looked her in the eye. “I mean, this thing is so old fashioned… it’s practically falling to pieces.”
“W-what do you mea—?” CinderAmity started before Belos suddenly ripped the left sleeve of her dress. She gasped in shock.
“Oh dear, the shoulder’s fraying.” He said before violently tearing the vest open, causing the buttons to fall. “What did I tell you? It’s falling to bits.”
“What?! No! No, Belos! Stop, don’t!” CinderAmity cried as Belos proceeded to rip more and more parts of her outfit.
Boscha and Bria eventually joined in, but all they did was spill things on her like a flower vase of old water and even some abomination goo and pretended it was an accident. When they were through, CinderAmity looked at her ruined outfit in shock. She glanced back up at Belos with tears welling up in her eyes.
“How could you?” She asked.
He sneered as his eyes flashed blue. “…How could I otherwise? I refuse to associate myself with a ragged little thing like you.”
#The Owl House#Fanfiction#Amity Blight#Emperor Belos#Boscha#Bria#Cinderella#Tag#Tag Game#Writing#Writing Tag Game
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Follow up: 10 wearing the skirt donna helped him buy to a date with his multitudes of digitalish dates?
Ooooooh, yes!
Going with they/them for this! :O
On with the fic!
--
"I found it!" Came the loud, delighted shout from somewhere within the massive wardrobe.
Arthur, who had been in the middle of trying to pick up a number of articles of clothing that had been flung about, paused, and looked over. House, projected from the TARDIS's system, lazily glanced over in the same direction.
"What did you find?" Arthur asked, setting aside the pile of clothing.
"What I was looking for! Oooh, I can't believe it's been ages since I wore it! Been so busy running about and keeping occupied that I never really bothered with changing out my suit too often." The Doctor said when they poked their head out from a rack of clothes, smiling at the two.
"But what is it?" House sighed, clearly bored. He didn't have to be here, but the Doctor knew House hated it when they were alone with Arthur and just had to be involved.
"Give me a second and I'll show you. I'm gonna wear it when we go visit Castor!" And with that, the Doctor pulled themself back into the clothing and moved to find the mirrors. They looked at the pinstripe clothing in their hands, a sad smile came to them.
Ah, Donna, they were so glad she was fine with them wanting to get this. Heck, she was really supportive of a lot of stuff involving the Doctor's choices, at least in subjects like this.
They bet she wouldn't approve of House, but then again, they were sure she'd be the only person in all of time and space to put him in his place. Though she might have liked Arthur and Castor! Especially Arthur, how could anyone, aside from House, hate him?
They set the article of clothing aside and worked to remove their pants, emptying some stuff from their pockets to put into their other set in a moment. After they were off, with some difficulty because, really, they should have remembered to take off their trainers, jeez, they slipped on the skirt and looked at themself in the mirror.
It has been a really long time since they wore this, hadn't since before, well, The Big Event, but still, it fit like a glove and they had missed it so much.
The Doctor grinned at their reflection and did a little spin, yep, still got it! And they remembered to wear matching socks! Well... socks that were blue with Bigfoot and stars on them totally counted as matching, right?
They slipped on their coat and hurried back towards the two who had been waiting patiently. "Alright! You guys ready for date night?"
Arthur looked over, surprised. He tilted his head for a moment and then nodded. "Do you realize that your skirt is a bit hijacked?"
"Oh?" The Doctor looked at the skirt, part of it was at an awkward angle. "Oops, must've happened when I was putting on my coat!" They adjusted it and House sighed.
"Aw, you ruined the view, I like seeing your legs." He smirked and the Doctor rolled their eyes.
"I know you do, and you can still see them like this! Come on, Castor's probably waiting for us!" The Doctor announced before rushing to the console room with a bit of pep in their step.
It didn't take them long to get to the lab where the computer that housed Castor and his home city was located, and the trio were able to arrive on time, with just minutes to spare.
Castor was waiting for them at the bar, a few other people were about in his club, but that was normal. He looked at them, smiling, and then noticed the Doctor. "Oooh, don't you look pretty, love. New outfit?"
"Old one, thought I'd dress up a bit for tonight." The Doctor said, shoving their hands in the pockets, rocking back and forth on their feet. Then they snapped a glare at House when they felt cool fingers brush against their leg. "Really? Gonna keep that up?"
"You're being a tease today, Doctor." House replied, putting his arm around the other's shoulders. "How can I resist?"
"Easily." Arthur replied and House glared at him, but Arthur easily ignored it, making his way over to Castor, getting a peck on the cheek from the program.
The Doctor sniffed. "Come on guys, it's date night, let's have a fun time, then you can bicker and try to kill each other later."
"Fine, we can kill House later." Castor sighed theatrically, but smiled, eyes looking at the Doctor once more. "But really, you do look so lovely, if I knew we'd be dressing up tonight, I'd get out my little white dress to match."
"Well, if you want to change, we can wait." Arthur said.
"Mmm, not tonight, don't want to upstage the Doctor. For now." Castor winked. "Let's get going, we have reservations!"
The Doctor nodded, following after Castor and the others, inwardly excited. They liked this, they were okay with all of this. The Doctor had been worried that their partners would ask questions, but then again... this sort of topic didn't seem like one that any of them cared to make a big deal out of, so the Doctor really didn't have anything to worry about in the long run.
They'll have to dress up like this more often then! They did still have that nice blue on, they'd just have to find a new suit jacket to go with it!
--
Supportive digital boyfriends? Supportive digital boyfriends. *nods*
Also, tiny, bonus Castor/Arthur because yes.
#castor x tenth doctor#house (doctor who) x 10th doctor#arthur x tenth doctor#castor x arthur#john's drabbles#good omens extended universe
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Zigg Zoldyck headcanons
Character(s): Zigg Zoldyck, Isaac Netero, Linnet Hors-d’œuvre
spoilers alert: Zigg Zoldyck’s official appearance was on chapter 344. For anyone who isn’t caught up to the hxh’s manga, do not read any further for fear of catching spoilers.
Side note: Keep in mind that these are MY headcanons. If you do not approve or have your own headcanons for him, then keep these to yourself.
Was a huge mischievous boy in his childhood.
Used to love scaring the shit out of the maids and butlers that were passing by.
Would steal at least three sugar bags a day from the chef’s kitchen.
Zigg is that one kid who used to only eat sugar packs and run around with them all over the mansion while his father sat quietly to the side watching his chaotic son ruin the hallways.
His dad just had to deal with his shit on a constant basis.
Zigg would usually lay on top of one of the Testing gate dragons while waiting for his father to come home after work.
Is the most unhinged but mysterious zoldyck heir above them all.
Has seen too much for his own good. Doesn’t complain about it. The guy is not even fazed by that.
A horrible driver. Don’t let this man touch any type of transportation.
This guy constantly looks hyper and is proud of it.
No matter what he feels, he’ll always have that mysterious smile plastered on his face.
His butlers secretly believe he might have just made a stupid grin too many times and it eventually permanently stayed on his face.
Although his wide smile is rather uncanny, this is due to coincidence and is only how his facial structure is shaped.
But what comes as an advantage to have his smiling face is that it would usually be very hard to know if he’d be lying or not.
Not only is he already a great liar with or without his constant smile like mouth, but his body language is also incomprehensible to read given his face.
Zigg has had many names over the years.
He was commonly known in the assassination industry as “The Smiling Devil”, “The Devil’s messenger” and even “The Devil’s horns”.
These names were given to him due to his unhinged expression.
Whether he was smiling intentionally or not, it didn’t change the fact that people couldn’t help but feel tense whenever he was around.
You can imagine how his targets must feel.
It would be laughable and even bold to claim that the cheshire silver-haired heir might have a personal weakness.
His sheer power and strength alone easily overpower any assassin and fighter combined.
His best friends, as well as traveling companions, would have to be Netero and Linnet.
Zigg doesn’t care what he labels them, he just likes tagging along with them to see what kind of stupid shit the three of them will do.
This trio has been through hell and back.
They even have been to places where no man has ever laid foot.
From the way that he talks, eats, decorates, wears clothes, or when talking about his likes and dislikes, Zigg would never respond or do these things the right way it was supposed to be.
He’d eat while adding too much sugar or salt to the dish, or he would gobble it all up without chewing it.
He also has this habit of only choosing dark minted chocolates as a sugary snack, loving the smell of sour milk, spreading cold butter on cold bread, and brushing his teeth right after drinking any kind of juice.
Whenever he talks, he always has to expressively show what he’s talking about by using his hands and arms to portray the scene.
This wouldn’t be abnormal to do if it wasn’t for the fact that he constantly does it for the smallest things.
When it comes to giving him the task to be creative, his decorating skills can be quite… unique.
Let’s just say he can turn any house or room into Alice in Wonderland if left unsupervised.
Has a weird thing for cute things.
His clothing style is at least less odd than anything else he does.
He’s always seen wearing his sleeveless shinobi shōzoku outfit which is usually the attire worn by the zoldyck heir.
Whenever he wasn’t seen wearing it, he would put on a sleeveless shirt with a pair of long shorts or pants.
As for any special events that involve ballrooms or fancy restaurants, he’s surprisingly all prepared and ready to be seen in suits.
His preferences are far from being considered ‘crazy’.
In fact, they are chaotic more than anything else.
His likes range from having an appreciation for asymmetrical circles with coffee rings, being strangely proud of having tangled wires, taking off drawers and cupboards to use them as wall forts, attempting to leave the house when it’s icy, always leaving the front door and windows open, reading with gloves on, messing up a bubble wrap, only using cold water when showering, and finally, eating the last pizza from the box while Netero and Linnet argue on who should take it (this one seems to happen a lot if it’s considered to be a part of his list).
His likes could also be considered his habits.
He also has a deep admiration and fascination for games with mysterious world-building and weird lore such as Majora’s Mask, Sally face, Fran Bow, Omori, Silent Hill 2, and Bloodborne.
His dislikes on the other hand are far more unexplainable than his likes.
He dislikes tea, swimming in a pool, or simply seeing a pool, pizza, riding a bike, sunbathing, glasses, daydreaming, clippers, soft mattresses, and cardboard boxes.
He frequently breaks imaginary fourth walls.
Is physically capable of doing a full 360 turn with his head.
No one, including Netero and Linnet, knows for sure what the fuck is wrong with him.
But what they both secretly found exceptionally beautiful about him was his constant blabbering and admiration for anything uncommon.
He never ignores anything that seems to be abnormal.
On the contrary, he welcomes the unusual.
Of all the zoldyck heirs to have existed, Zigg Zoldyck is known as “the one who saw too much”.
After accepting Netero’s invite to join him and Linnet on an expedition, which would later be revealed to be an unrecorded journey, it turned out that the three of them became anonymously known as the only survivors who came back alive from the Dark Continent.
Their physical conditions seem to be stable and in good condition enough, however, their mental sanity in comparison has long been gone.
This exceptional trio unfortunately received some aftereffects from their dark travel.
After having gone through this horrific experience, each of them had been subjected to different side effects.
Linnet Hors-d’oeuvre had the misfortune to become speechless.
Due to what she has seen and witnessed, the many horrors and unspeakable calamities left her in a voiceless state incapable of telling her misadventures about this cursed continent.
Zigg, on the other hand, became more deranged and twisted than ever before.
The only one who had at least some kind of morality left in them was Netero. But even putting it in that way would be considered too simple to conclude for him.
Unlike Linnet and Netero however, Zigg managed to limit his odd tendencies when he’s around people.
This would explain his sudden new strange manners.
These habits help him cope with what he’s dealing with.
Still, he doesn’t see any problem with the fact that he received some side effects from the unknown world.
Unbeknownst to him, however, he brought a calamity by the name of Ai with him.
At first, he thought that the voice in his head must've been made up by his imagination.
But when he eventually realized that this wasn’t the case at all, it finally dawned on him that the thing glued to him wasn’t natural.
No one believed him when he explained the situation he was dealing with: he was the only one who could hear it after all.
This did not only make him sound more absurd than usual, but it also made him look a bit off-putting to his butlers and relatives.
The constant remarks about his odd new behavior did not bother him. He enjoyed the fact that he possessed something horrendous even if it had the ability to kill him.
Despite the fact that he tried numerous times to communicate with the calamity residing in him, it was only able to pronounce certain words to him.
The poor communication between him and it, was considered progress to Zigg. He just knows that someday, Ai will gain some kind of consciousness as time will take its course.
He never once gave up on their small but poor attempts at conversations. He was too engulfed in studying it that he sometimes forgets his own duties as heir.
He’ll stay in his room for many hours of the day; almost full days just to talk to it.
On the other side of his chamber, however, his butlers and relatives could only hear him talking to himself.
He kept forgetting so much of his own work that he began having a butler specifically suited to organize his schedule for every day of the week.
Each day passing by was only another chance for him to attempt making progress with the thing that was taking every space in his mind.
Zigg’s fate as well as his existence has been turned into another secret hidden away by the zoldycks.
His belongings have been locked away in the deepest parts of Kukuroo Mountain.
If even one singular individual would've tried to know about who he once was, no one would’ve been able to take the truth.
#its funny how despite the fact that he only appeared for one panel I made up his whole ass character#hunterxhunter#hxh#zoldyck#hunter x hunter#hxh 1999#hxh 2011#hxh zigg#zigg hxh#hxh zigg zoldyck#hxh ziggzoldyck#ziggzoldyck#zigg zoldyck#hxh linnet#hxh netero#hxh headcanons#hxh headcanon#hxh manga#hxh zoldyck family#hxh zoldyck#zoldyck family#zigg zoldyck hxh#hxh hdcs#hxh hdc#hxh imagines#hxh imagine
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chapter: six ( 15.5k )
rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut)
genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort
tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly
summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is.
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what is hybrid marking
8.2 million results.
While scent mixing (heretofore referred to as ‘scenting’) is temporary and lasts a maximum of twelve hours if left undisturbed, scent marking (‘marking’ in common parlance) is semi-permanent. A ‘mark’ is created when the pheromones present in a hybrid’s bodily fluids are applied directly to their markee’s skin. When said chemical compounds seep below the epidermis and bond to the sweat glands found within the dermal layer of the skin, the target has been officially ‘marked’. Between domesticated hybrids and their human caretakers, this is most commonly done by applying hybrid saliva to the skin of the neck, where a human’s scent tends to be strongest. While the behavior involved in marking resembles some aspects of human foreplay, it is a non-sexual expression of mutual trust and affection. It is important to note that most hybrids of age are able to mitigate the oral secretion of pheromones and cannot mark accidentally-
“How do I look?”
The sound of Jimin’s voice makes you jump. You fumble with your phone, trying to exit out of the website, shove it in your pocket and look at the leopard hybrid’s outfit at the same time.
“You look great!” You tell him once the device is safely tucked away.
He rolls his eyes at you. “You’ve said that about everything I’ve shown you.”
You had, but only because it was true. No matter what the trio of hybrids tried on, they all looked great. You weren’t sure what it was, but seeing them in something other than neutral sweat suits made them look even better than they already had. You were discovering they all had unique senses of fashion too. Taehyung preferred earth tones, soft fabrics and slouchy cardigans, Yoongi tended toward plaid overshirts and dark denim and Jimin had just come out of the dressing room in his sixth button down and second pair of chelsea boots.
When the four of you had arrived at the mall that afternoon, you’d told them to go wild and call you when they were ready to check out. There was an entire section of the shopping center that catered specifically to hybrids and you were certain they’d be able to find everything they needed and more. You’d been all set to sequester yourself in a booth in the food court and indulge your hybrid research habit, but Taehyung had fixed you with a forlorn look the moment you tried to part with them and Jimin had insisted that you personally review every piece of clothing he put on. You wouldn’t deny that you were having fun, but surreptitiously trying to google what every little thing they did meant without getting caught was getting harder and harder.
Jimin breezes past you to the semi-circle of mirrors on the far end of the fitting rooms, brushing his tail against your shins as he passes. That was another thing that had changed. Since the talk you’d had with the boys last night, it seemed like they were always finding some excuse to touch you or brush up against you . You didn’t know if it was a manifestation of their cat genes or them just wanting physical reassurance that you were there, but it seemed like every time you turned around there was a tail curling around your calf or a nose tip against your ear or a shoulder brushing your own. You were practically wreathed in them. Even Yoongi hadn’t seemed to mind when your fingertips had brushed against each other at breakfast when you’d passed him the juice. You didn’t know if you should count that as progress, but you want to.
You’re not entirely used to physical contact and nearly every time Taehyung rubs his cheek on the top of your head or Jimin reaches out to link your fingers together, you jump. It feels strange, to have people be so blatantly physically affectionate with you. It’s not like you dislike it, exactly, it’ll just take some getting used to. Whatever adjustments you need to make, you know you’ll need to make them quickly. You don’t think the hybrids will give up on friendly hugs just because you never initiate them first.
“Y/N-ah,”Jimin calls, catching your attention. He’s twisting this way and that on the platform, trying to catch his reflection in every possible angle. He hums in disappointment as he turns back to the front, tail waving behind him. “This collar,” he says, tugging on the offending band of bright green plastic around his neck, “-is ruining my outfit. We’ll need to get real ones today.”
You feel like a stone has settled in your stomach. Your shoulders sag, but if the leopard hybrid notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah, you’re right.” In truth, you’d hoped to put it off for a little while longer. Collaring and leashing a hybrid had always seemed odd to you. After all, weren’t they people too? The law was the law, you knew, but something about publicly and visibly marking someone as property...well, the morality of it was gray at best. The temporary collars had provided you with a stay from the inevitable, but there was no avoiding it any longer, you supposed. They’d have to get collars.
“I saw a store for them a couple shops down,” Taehyung supplies as he steps out of his dressing room in a white linen shirt and cream drawstring pants. “We could go there?”
“That works for me...Taehyung, one of your buttons is in the wrong hole.”
The tiger hybrid squints down at his shirt, feels blindly for the hole he missed, but can’t seem to find it.
“No,” you tell him. “Not that one, the other- do you just want me to fix it?”
He pauses and looks up at you for a solid three seconds before giving a single, slow nod.
You come to stand in front of him and start undoing the buttons from the top. There’s only four of them but each one you pop open reveals more and more of his honey brown skin and prominent collar bones. Your fingers brush his skin accidentally and he chuffs happily, one hand resting on your lower back as you start buttoning him up again. Heat starts crawling up your neck unbidden. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, you can feel the warmth of his palm, how long his fingers are. He presses you closer until your arms are nearly flat against your chest as you try to finish buttoning him up. It’s hard to move squished between the insistent pressure of his hand and the- surprisingly- hard line of his body, but you make do. “There!” You pat him gently on the chest as you finish the last button. “All done.”
He dips forward and rubs his cheek against your forehead, rumbling so deep in his chest that the vibrations pass into you. “Thank you.” He releases you and pulls away, but as he does, his lips brush against your hairline. You try not to read too deep into it.
The tiger hybrid sidles over to his friend in the mirror, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist and dipping his head into his neck. Jimin reaches back and scratches behind one of his ears and your heart swells in your chest. It was nice to see them be so openly affectionate with each other. They’re so close in a way you can’t even begin to understand. It’s beautiful.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you thumb the screen to life. An incoming call from Mr. Seo. “You guys keep trying stuff on,” you tell the pair, already standing to make your way out of the dressing room. “I’ve gotta take this.” They both call at you to hurry back and you give them a shout of assent as you rush away.
The second you’re outside the store, you answer. “Hello?”
“Ms. L/N,” Mr. Seo’s voice crackles on the other end of the line. “I trust you’ve settled in well.” It isn’t a question and the tone of his voice makes it clear that he doesn’t wish to spend what precious time he has exchanging pleasantries with you.
“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Everything had most certainly not been okay when you’d emergency dialed him two days ago about the tiger on your couch. The text he’d sent you back six hours later had told you to figure it out. You had and you knew you weren’t his responsibility, but him tossing you in the deep end was still a sore spot for you.
“There’s been a change of plans.”
You grimace. Straight to it, then. “What’s going on?”
“Black Mountain Canines- the company your uncle purchased two of the hybrids from- changed their pick-up date. They want you to come get them in person today.”
“Pick-up?” You frown. “No, they were supposed to drop them off.”
“They were,” Mr. Seo confirms, “But it’s apparently no longer profitable for them to drive all the way into Seoul to hand-deliver two of their charges. They also claim they’re incurring additional expenses by feeding and housing two hybrids who’ve already been purchased, but we’ll see about that when we arrive.”
Your anxiety spikes and your fingers wrap tighter around your phone. You’d promised the boys a whole day out. All you’d done so far was get them phones of their own and furniture for their room. There was still so much to do, so much to see. “What about Yoongi and Jimin and Taehyung?” You blurt out.
Mr. Seo sighs and his breath crackles over the receiver. “Those are the cats, I assume? I suggest you let them know sooner rather than later that they’ll have to share their space.” There’s a flurry of movement on his end of the line, the sound of someone calling his name and papers shuffling. “I have to go; they need me to look over some case files.” He tells you. “I’ll be at Haneul Tower to pick you up in three hours. Be downstairs waiting.”And the line clicks off.
You sigh and hang up. What were you going to tell the boys? Day one of your new friendship and you were already breaking promises.
“Trouble?” Yoongi’s voice right behind you makes you flinch and whirl on him. His ears press back against his head and he takes a step back at your sudden movements.
“Sorry!” You tell him, forcing your spine to relax. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there; I thought you were still shopping. ”
“I can tell,” he snarks, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes trace the line of your shoulders, still tense and flick to the phone in your hand. “I dropped my stuff at the register. What’s going on?”
You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, nerves making your stomach ache. “C’mon,” you tell him, walking back into the store. “Let’s pay and grab some lunch. I’ll tell you when we sit down.” He follows after you a few paces behind, trying not to let worry prick in him at the anxious shift in your scent. Something was about to change, he was sure, and not entirely for the better.
Twenty minutes later, the four of you are sitting in the food court, a mess of shopping bags at your feet and a bowl of tteokbokki between you. Yoongi and Jimin had picked out all the fish cakes first and were bickering good-naturedly over who the last one should go to, but Taehyung seemed content to just gnaw at his rice cakes. You’d hardly touched anything, your eyes flicking back to the time on your phone. 1:20 P.M. Two hours and forty minutes ‘til Mr. Seo would be at your apartment to pick you up and bring you to get two more of the hybrids your uncle had bought. You push a rice cake around on your paper plate with the end of your chopstick. Well, no point delaying the inevitable.
“Hey, guys?” You call softly. Three pairs of ears swivel toward you immediately. The words die in your throat and your tongue feels like lead as they look at you, all their eyes focused and expectant. You clear your throat and force yourself to continue. “So...you know how I…” You search for the right word, but there’s really no other way to say it. “...inherited you guys from my uncle?”
Taehyung’s eyes flick toward Jimin and the leopard hybrid brushes his tail against the tiger’s. Silent communication you couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Yeah,” Yoongi says, tossing his chopsticks down and leaning back in his chair. “I told them.”
That was right. What you’d blurted out at Yoongi yesterday on the street you had yet to disclose to his juniors. “Thanks, Yoongi,” You tell him, meaning every word of it. He’d spared you from yet another uncomfortable conversation.
“...For what it’s worth, we’re glad it’s you,” Taehyung tells you, his tail twining around your ankle under the table. He looks at his hyungs for confirmation and when neither of them deny it, he settles his amber gaze back on you. “We like being here with you, even if you didn’t pick us. It’s...It’s nice.”
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his words. He beams at you, his boxy smile soft despite the sharp incisors poking his bottom lip. “I like having you guys around, too,” you admit, taking the time to meet each of their eyes. Jimin purrs as you look at him, the corners of his mouth curling. When your gaze meets Yoongi’s, his ears twitch but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink either, just holds your stare with an intensity that makes heat crawl up your neck. You suddenly remember the warm stretch of his body over your’s, the sensation of his lips against your neck. You snatch your eyes away and cough to cover your lapse in speech. “It would’ve been scary, I think, if I had to deal with all this alone.”
You couldn’t even imagine it.That clinically clean apartment with its blank white walls and its imposing emptiness would have driven you down until you couldn’t stand it anymore. You’d always had a little pit of loneliness inside you. You didn’t know how long it’d been there. Maybe it always had been, a seed of something sad and dark at the core of your soul. You’d done well keeping it contained. You felt it in your goshiwon, but your room was small. It couldn’t grow beyond your keeping. In Oliver’s penthouse, it would’ve had endless room to sprawl and with no one to clip it back, you would’ve choked to death on vines of doubt.
“There are others,” you tell them, before you can down spiral into the mire of your own thoughts. “He bought other hybrids before he died. They weren’t supposed to be coming until next week but their company wants me to come get them today.”
The mood at the table shifts almost immediately. Taehyung’s ears and tail sag, Jimin’s smile goes sharp at the edges and Yoongi’s lip curls. “How many others?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You notice he does that when he’s nervous or uncomfortable. It’s a defense mechanism, no matter how at ease it makes him seem.
“Four,” you answer and the bobcat hybrid’s ears tilt back in irritation. “Two are coming home today and the other two toward the end of next week.” Jimin doesn’t say anything, but you see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. He’s annoyed. Taehyung drops a hand onto the smaller hybrid’s back and rubs circles in it, trying to soothe him.
“Maybe it’ll be okay?” The tiger hybrid offers. He’s trying his best to be diplomatic, but you hear the strain in the deep timbre of his voice. “Having other cats around again might be nice. We used to live with a lot back at the center…”
You wince. “...they’re canines.” Almost immediately, all of their ears go flat against their skulls and they hiss in unison. Yoongi stifles himself the quickest, setting a hand on Jimin’s knee and squeezing to get the leopard hybrid to get a hold of himself.
“Hybrids of different species don’t play well together,” he explains. “Especially not when our animals are solitary in the wild. The only reason Jimin, Tae and I are able to stand sharing the same territory is because we’ve known each other since we were kids and we’ve had to do it before.”
Before? A question forms in the back of your mind, but now isn’t the time to ask it.
“We don’t like sharing what’s ours,” Jimin continues for his hyung, interlocking his fingers with yours on the plastic table top. “It’s instinctual.”
“I know, I know.” You squeeze his hand lightly, trying to reassure him. “But the apartment is big; can’t you avoid each other starting out?”
All three of them give you a strange look and Jimin’s lips curl in a way that isn’t quite a smile. “...right,” he purrs, a little delayed. “The apartment.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, anxiety sinking its claws into you. “I’m really sorry to spring this on you guys, I know it’s not great, but…” Your shoulders sag. “I don’t want to have promised someone a home and rip the rug out from under them, you know?” You knew what that felt like. You wouldn’t wish that feeling on your worst enemy. “I’m just...I’m worried that they’re not being treated well.”
“They were up for sale,” Yoongi drawls. “They definitely aren’t.”
The taxi ride back to Haneul Tower is uncomfortably quiet. Jimin still holds your hand and Taehyung still leans on your shoulder, but nobody says a word. You help them carry their bags upstairs and drop them off in the master bedroom. You’d told them they could have separate rooms if they wanted, but they’d insisted on sharing, so you thought it was only fair that they get the largest room in the penthouse. Clothes went onto hangars and into closets and before you knew it, there were only ten minutes until Mr. Seo’s arrival.
“You don’t have to go,” Taehyung huffs. He’s got you wrapped in a bear- well, you suppose a tiger hug and his cheek is mashed against the top of your head. You don’t even think he’s actively scenting you at this point, just keeping you from leaving. “Send your assistant instead and stay here with us.”
You let out a puff of laughter and pat the hybrid on the back in a way you hope is soothing. “Mr. Seo isn’t my assistant, buddy, he’s my uncle’s attorney.” You give a little tug away from him and he lets you go, albeit with a sad little mrow that makes him sound just like a disappointed cat. “I couldn’t ask him to do that. The only reason he’s coming is because they broke the contract. And I can’t drive.”
The look Taehyung gives you is so downtrodden that you toy with the idea of calling the whole day off and staying with them- but no. You can’t bail out now, especially not with what you’d put Mr. Seo through when the first group of hybrids were delivered. “I’ll be back before you know it,” You tell him with a steadfast smile.
“You’d better,” Jimin says, nudging the taller hybrid out of the way. Taehyung gives a half-hearted growl, but settles as Yoongi squeezes his shoulder. “The longer you’re away, the longer you’ll have to sit in the stench of those mutts.”
You frown. “Jimin-”
“Only joking,” He soothes, bringing both of your hands up to his cheeks. You don’t believe him, but you don’t press it. The leopard hybrid nuzzles into your palms, purring happily at the feeling of your skin against his. Your palms nearly burn from how warm he is. You feel a warm puff of air against your fingers and tense as Jimin presses all ten of them against his lips.
“Jimin.” Yoongi’s voice is hard, but his junior’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile, one of his incisors pricking at the pad of your index finger.
“Hurry back,” he murmurs. You try not to shiver at the feeling of his plush lips moving against your oversensitive fingertips.
“I’ll do my best!” You say, a pained smile tugging your lips apart. He hums in response and drops your hands, his fingers trailing across yours as he lets you go.
“Hyung,” he calls over his shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Y/N-ah?”
“Don’t let them scent you.” Is all Yoongi says as he breezes toward the stairs. “You know better now.”
It’s as much as you were expecting. “I’ll see you guys later,” You tell them as you head out the door. “Finish setting your phones up and text me if you need anything!”
True to his word, Mr. Seo is parked out front at 4 o’clock on the dot. You haven’t seen him in a little over a week and you’d almost forgotten how imposing he was. He cuts a sharp figure against the backdrop of the bustling street, dressed in all black and leaning against a brand new Buick Enclave. The poor valet stationed at the front door looks like he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask to park his car for the past twenty minutes and sags in relief as you start heading over.
The lawyer dips his head in acknowledgement at you and checks his watch. “Miracle of miracles,” he says, popping open the passenger side door for you. “You’re on time.”
“I was late one time,” you huff, sliding past him and into your seat.
“And that was enough,” he snips back, closing your door before you can come up with a retort. You grumble to yourself, but don’t press him. You know he’s right. He’d gone out of his way to help you and you’d put him out.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him as he settles into his seat and reaches for his seatbelt. “It won’t happen again; I know you’ve got other things to do.”
He stills and looks at you over the gold frames of his glasses. For a long moment he holds your gaze, unblinking. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Had you done something wrong?
Finally Mr. Seo blinks and finishes buckling himself in. “I apologize for staring, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard you correctly.” He push starts his car and pulls away from the curb. “I never thought I’d see the day a L/N would apologize to me.” He edges the car into the steady stream of Seoul traffic and you’re off, zooming toward the freeway.
Silence fills the car again, but as Mr. Seo takes on-ramp, you work up the courage to ask your question. “Did Oliver never apologize to you?”
Mr. Seo snorts and it’s such an undignified sound that you almost can’t believe it comes from him. “You could tell your uncle the sky was blue and he’d argue that it was red until he was. And your grandfather-” He seems to catch himself, reigning back whatever meager bits of his personality had managed to slip through the cracks in his normally flawless veneer. You’re all ears.
Up until a week and a half ago, you hadn’t known you had any family, much less an uncle who owned buildings and bugattis. Now you were finding out that you had a grandfather too. “What about my grandfather?” The word feels strange in your mouth. It’d been years since you’d followed the word ‘my’ up with any type of familial relation.
Mr. Seo cuts his eyes at you, and flicks them back to the front. “Nothing,” he replies, clearly done talking about him. “I spoke out of turn.” He reaches forward and turns on the radio, the sound of national news filling the silence.
You pout and slouch in your seat, disappointment setting in as the promise of new information slipped out of your grasp.
The rest of the drive is easy. Mr. Seo takes the highway out of Seoul and up into the foothills but you’re asleep before he even finds the exit. You’d slept more in the past two days than you had in the previous three weeks, but it seemed like years of bad habits were catching up to you.
Last night, you’d passed out halfway through the second movie snuggled up between Jimin and Taehyung. They’d been so warm and soft and the quiet thrumming of their heartbeats had lulled you to sleep before you knew what was happening.You’d woken up with them still curled around you and -maybe most surprising of all- Yoongi plating breakfast in the kitchen.
Still, it seemed even twelve hours of the best sleep you’d gotten in years and a peaceful morning devoid of stress -for the most part- hadn’t been enough.
You wake up just as the asphalt transitions into gravel, the sound of it crunching under the tires and the car’s shaking waking you up. You’re bleary-eyed and confused, but a sign up ahead snaps you to wakefulness. Standing like a guardian over a chain link fence topped with barbed wire is a metal sign, imposing as it is tall: Black Mountain K-9s, written in stark font.
“We’re here,” Mr. Seo says, as if it’s not obvious. He kills the engine and without its purring to distract you, you feel nerves starting to boil in your belly. What kind of place was this? You half expect sinister organ music to kick on and lightning to start flashing from black clouds. Neither of those things happen, though. The sky remains startlingly clear and the only things you can pick up are the sounds of whistles being blown, dozens of people doing call and response, and one voice, louder than all the others screaming for people to ‘Run faster! Get those knees up!’
You pop the door and step out of the car before Mr. Seo can open it for you and head around to the nose of the car, taking in the compound.
“This facility produces some of the highest caliber bodyguards in the country,” He says, coming to stand beside you. The attorney rebuttons his suit jacket and flicks his sleeves up before settling his arms over his chest. “Politicians, celebrities, even a few former presidents all have hybrids from this training center.”
“It looks more like a prison,” You remark, nodding toward the barbed wire. “First big cat hybrids, now this...Why didn’t Oliver just get regular pets if he was lonely? Was he worried someone was after him?”
“Anything I can tell you would be pure speculation,” He replies, walking away from you and heading for the callbox. “Your uncle very rarely confided in me.”
“But you were his attorney.”
For just a second, the tight grip Mr. Seo has on his composure slips. His lips press together and his shoulders sag- but just as quickly as it’d lapsed, his mask is in place again. “Yes,” he says after a beat. “I was.” And he presses the button on the call box before you can pester him with any more questions about the dead men he’d known.
The call box crackles to life, speakers squealing with feedback. You flinch and slap your hands over your ears to protect them from the splitting sound. Mr. Seo doesn’t react at all and you’re stunned, wondering how he can stand it.
“Seo Seunghan and Y/N L/N for Lim Hangyeol.”
The person on the other end doesn’t respond. The speaker cuts and a second later, the metal gate before you starts rolling to the side, pushed by invisible hands. It’s like a curtain going up at the theater.
Before you lies a wide, dusty yard, devoid of any plant life. The thick-trunked trees and lush grasses of the surrounding mountainside had been stripped down to the roots here. All that remains are a few weeds poking out around the base of the long metal buildings that ring the fence, and even those seem like an intrusion. People are making use of the space in whatever way they can. A group of people with matching cropped black ears and docked tails run past you in four straight lines, all perfectly in step with each other. Over to your right, there’s a pack of teenagers working in pairs to scale a ten-foot tall sheer wooden wall and in the center of the field, twenty kids are running through taekwondo forms, supervised by a widely smiling instructor.
You’re in awe of it all. Every single person is like a cog in a well-oiled machine, all in the same black tactical pants and compression shirt. You’d never seen so many hybrids in one place before and certainly not all of the same breed.
Mr. Seo places a hand in the center of your back, steering you away from staring and toward a squat cement building.You let him lead you.
“When we get inside,” the lawyer begins, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “Let me speak first. If we can get him to admit to breaching the contract right away, it’ll be much easier to get him to agree to a settlement.”
You frown at that. “Why would we settle?” You ask him. “It’s not like I need the money.”
“It’s a matter of principle, Ms. L/N.” He sighs, pulling open the heavy metal door and ushering you into the building. “He did something wrong, and it’s most easy for him to bear the brunt of atonement financially. Without requiring damages be paid for breaches, contract law would collapse.”
“Can’t you just have him apologize?”
Mr. Seo’s mouth twists up like he’s just tasted something unpleasant. “As you attorney, it is my duty to advise you against accepting restitution in the form of an apology. You’ll get a reputation for being a pushover.”
You wanted to be anything but. “Alright, alright,” you concede, “Do whatever you think is best.”
The building you’ve ducked into seems to be an office. Along one wall are a set of metal folding chairs doing their best impression of a waiting room. Along the other is a metal door covered in peeling paint and one suspicious dent bearing a plaque that reads ‘DIRECTOR LIM’. Set between you and it is a desk covered in a mess of paperwork. An old desktop stands among it like an island in the ocean and middle aged hybrid woman in coke bottle glasses is hunched before it, tapping away at the keyboard at a mind-boggling speed. One of her ears twitches as the pair of you approach.
“Take a seat,” she orders in a reedy voice, not bothering to look up from her work. “The Director will be with you shortly.”
“Send them in, Eunjung!” Someone shouts from behind the metal door just as she’s finished. She doesn’t look up or stop typing or even acknowledge you two again. Mr. Seo takes it upon himself to breeze past her desk and open the door for you.
The office is militaristically organized, all right angles and bare metal surfaces. There’s a black leather couch that’d seen better days to your left as you enter, a half empty water cooler to your right. Bookshelves lined with trophies and textbooks dominate the western wall. You scan the titles as you pass: Predatory Instinct: The Teaching and Training Canines, The Utility of Force, On Raising Hybrids, The Art of War, all dangerous and daunting as the man they belonged to.
Lim Hangyeol is the most grizzled man you’ve ever seen and the only other human besides yourself and Mr. Seo in the compound, it seems. He looks like a drill sergeant from an old action movie, his salt and pepper hair buzzed short and his face craggy with frown lines. There’s a semicircle of pockmark scars marring the skin of his right cheek and as you get closer, you realize they’re teeth marks. You shoot a concerned look to Mr. Seo, but he’s more focused on giving the director a shallow bow than allaying any of your fears.
“Director,” He says, straightening back up. “Thank you for having us-”
“Spare me the bullshit,” The older man orders, kicking back his office chair and sinking back into it. “Take a seat. Let’s talk business.”
A cold smile settles on your attorney’s lips and you see a cord twitching in his jaw, but he merely nods and replies in a breezy voice, “Of course.”
The two of you do as you told, settling into two metal chairs in front of his desk. These ones are nicer than the folding ones in the waiting room, but no more comfortable. You try to slide yours forward only to find that it’s bolted to the floor.
“Stops the dogs from throwin’ em when they get bad news,” Director Lim tells you as you uselessly tug at the legs. “Got tired of replacing windows.”
You grimace. If the awards on the bookshelf, what Mr. Seo had told you and the dozens of hybrids running boot camp drills outside were any indication, the man before you must’ve had some idea what he was doing. You didn’t end up providing security for high profile public figures without a smidge of credibility, you knew, but the bite marks on his cheek, the little crack about people throwing chairs at him and the way he’d referred to them as ‘dogs’ didn’t inspire confidence in you.
This was your first time visiting a place that produced hybrids, you realized. You’d never even been into a shelter before and certainly not a breeding center. Were they all like this? Devoid of anything soft or comforting, rigid with rules and regulations? Had Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung come from a place like this? You don’t know and you’re not sure you’d like the answer if you did.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Mr. Seo starts, popping open the hinges on his briefcase and pulling out a few sheaves of paper. “After the sudden cancellation of your company’s contract with Ms. L/N, I was concerned for the state of our business relationship.” He slides one of the packets across the desk to the director.
“If I remember correctly,” Director Lim says, scanning the lines of ink and unintelligible legalese, “Me and your boss signed for delivery, not me and whoever this little girl is you brought.”
Your eyes narrow and your lips curl, but before you can give voice to the nasty thing crawling up your throat, Mr. Seo gives a subtle shake of his head and taps you twice on the knee, out of eyeshot of the director. You grumble, but cage it behind your teeth.
“See?” The man jabs one gnarled finger at the page, right over your late uncle’s flourishing signature. “It says it right there: L/N Oliver. Last I checked, he was dead. I’m not holding on to a dead man’s dogs. ”
That same muscle tenses in Mr. Seo’s jaw. “The contract states that Black Mountain Canines would deliver the hybrids my client purchased to his residence on December the eighteenth and that they would be received by a proxy if he was unavailable. You were made aware of the fact that he was unavailable, as well as the fact that he now has a proxy-
“I’ll pay the goddamn fine!” The Director barks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Christ above, I don’t know why he wanted those two fuck-ups in the first place, but I don’t want them on my property a second longer.”
You shoot Mr. Seo a look of confusion, but he just watches, blasé, as the Director rifles through his desk drawers. The man finds what he’s looking for and drops two manila folders on top of the contract. “The pair of them are useless. If it weren’t for my reputation, I’d’ve had them both sent to shelters years ago. Or put down, but you know how touchy the law is about that.”
“I don’t.” You say, your voice edging dangerously close to a snarl. It slips out before you can stop it. Mr. Seo shoots you a warning look and you ball your fists up in your sweater sleeves, fingernails biting crescent moons into your palms with the effort of keeping your mouth shut.
You can’t stand this man, you decide. He’s awful. You should’ve known that from the moment you saw elementary school aged hybrids stumbling through taekwondo drills with their ears taped and bandages on their tails. You’re going to take whatever hybrids Oliver bought, get them the fuck out of there and never look back.
If Director Lim had heard you growl at him, he gives no sign of it, just flips open the folders. “To be honest, I should be paying you to take them off my hands. They’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since they aged out of training. I told your uncle he could have his pick of the litter for what he was paying, but he wanted a wide-eyed buffoon and a mutt who’d rip your hand off soon as look at you.” Clipped to the insides are photos of two men, staring back at you in black and white.
One has the same black and tan cropped ears as every other hybrid you’ve seen thus far. Unlike them, he’s smiling. His eyes are little upturned crescent moons and he beams at you through the photo paper. There’s so much light in his face it’s nearly blinding.
The other is not nearly as inviting. The photo is taken at an odd angle and it’s blurry at the edges, like whoever took it was much shorter than the subject and had to zoom in to even get the shot. His ears, larger than any of the other hybrids and longer furred, are pinned back against his head. His jaw is clenched and he glowers down into the lens, one eye soot black and the other piercing blue.
There are stats listed on the pages behind their photos: height, weight, shot records and the like. Among them, you see their call signs, highlighted in yellow: Hope and Monster.
“I don’t know where I went wrong with him,” the director says, tapping Hope’s photo. “He went through all the training, passed all the tests, but when it comes down to it, he just doesn’t have the instinct.” He gives a single shake of his head, clicks the tip of his tongue against his teeth. “No one wants a guard dog that’d sooner talk an intruder’s ear off than actually guard what he’s supposed to. He’s not good for much but nannying the pups, but he’s too soft on them too.”
A light bulb clicks on and you realize the hybrid in question had been the one instructing the kids outside in the center of the yard, his tail wagging a mile a minute as they completed another form correctly.
“Now this bastard…” the director continues, jamming a finger onto the second photo with so much force, it rattled the cup of pens on his desk. “Is my biggest failure.” He crosses his arms and kicks back in his chair, his dislike of the hybrid in question obvious. “His mother was the cornerstone of this facility for nearly a decade. I sold her pups to assemblymen and actors alike. Centers around the country wanted pups with her genetics. If it weren’t for her, we’d never have grown to this size.” He sounds wistful as he spreads his hands out, gesturing around himself like a king taking in his holdings. “But all good things come to an end,” He sighs. “A pack of wild hybrids settled a little higher up on the mountain.” His face darkens and his lips twist. “Wolves,” he snarls with all the disdain he can muster.
“All that about them being noble and self-sacrificing? Complete and utter bullshit,” He scoffs. “They’re transient lowlifes who’d slit your throat as soon as look at you. At first I didn’t care. They stayed on their side of the mountain and I stayed on mine, but then they started sneaking down here at night to steal my food and fuck my dogs. By the time I managed to get the cops out here, they’d cleared out and my top breeder had gone with them.”
He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “I tell you, I thought I was ruined. But wouldn’t you know it, she came stumbling back here six months later, barefoot and howling to be let in and heavy with some wild thing’s pup.” Director Lim snaps both the folders shut and slides them to you across the desk. “The thing about breeding hybrids is, the money’s all in the bloodlines. No one wants a dog with mystery genetics. The only way to solve that problem is to cut it off at the root- but it was already too late by the time she got here.”
You feel sick to your stomach. You hope he isn’t implying what you think he is- that hybrid children he hadn’t planned out himself were mistakes in need of correction- but you know he is. Deep in your gut you know.
“And she spoiled him. She let him run roughshod over everyone and everybody in this compound. I tried telling her wild hybrids need a firmer hand- he certainly did if we were gonna break that wolf he’s got inside him, but she wouldn’t hear it. I tried to crop him with the other pups his age, he gave me these,” he said, gesturing to the teeth marks in his cheeks. “We keep him shut up away from the others, now, in the back when he can’t bother anyone. He gets his meals delivered but we don’t ever let him out.” The grizzled man shakes his head. “A drain on resources is what he is.”
“And his mother?” You ask, quietly.
“Eunjung?” he questions. “You met her on the way in.” The director stands and unclips a ring of keys from his belt buckle, making his way around the desk and gesturing for you and Mr. Seo to follow. “I’ve got her doing desk work now. Gotta keep her close so she doesn’t cause any more trouble.” He pushes open the door to his office, barks something at his secretary and steps outside, not looking back to see if you two are following.
You shoot Mr. Seo a look before you stand and he meets it, evenly. “We’ll discuss this in the car,” he says, stuffing papers back into his briefcase and flicking the clasps shut. Oh, you most certainly will discuss ‘it’ in the car.
You don’t really know what it is or where to even begin. The kids with bandaged ears? The fact that Director Lim seemingly decided who was allowed to see the sun and who wasn’t? You think back to the conversation you’d had with Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi last night. Right now, it seems years away, in some unreachable, idyllic past before you knew how breeding centers worked and how security hybrids were made. You feel foolish. Who were you to try to get them to let go of their pain and their hurt? If what they’d been through was even a little like what was going on here, they wouldn’t be able to for a long time. You’re angry. You’re disgusted. You are unquantifiably fucking sad.
You pass Eunjung on your way out. In your time in the director’s office, she’s pulled her ash brown hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Peeking out of the collar of her sweatshirt you can see a faded scar in the shape of a ring, little puncture marks pale and glossy. It looked similar to the one on the director’s cheek, but this one was a complete circle and not ragged at all, like she’d stayed completely still while it was given. Teeth marks.
You swallow. You want to do something, to give her some words of encouragement, but you have no idea what to say. You still don’t as you slow to a stop beside her desk, but you open your mouth to speak anyway. “I’m sorry,” You tell her, with all the sincerity in your heart.
She doesn’t answer, but one cropped ear flicks toward you and her fingers slow in their incessant race across her keyboard.
You turn to go. Mr. Seo was holding the door open for you and you can hear the director barking orders at a group of trainees to run an obstacle course faster. Just as you set foot over the threshold, she speaks. Her voice is so quiet, you have to strain to hear her over the steady clack-click-clack of her nails on the keys.
“He likes green things,” she says, not looking up from her work. “And old books.”
You look over your shoulder at her. Her face is a mask of neutrality, her eyes clear and her mouth set in a relaxed line. She looks fine, but there’s an ocean of meaning behind her words. You see her, just for a moment, as she’d been all those years ago, barefoot in the snow and begging for shelter, her stomach full with one of the moon’s own children. You commit the sight of her to memory. Then you turn and you go.
The director is waiting outside, shielding his eyes from the sun and regaling Mr. Seo with some long-winded explanation on the best way to treat hip dysplasia in Doberman hybrids. “Where to?” you ask, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.
The man gives you a disgruntled look but despite the anxiety you feel spiking in your belly, you meet it evenly. Once upon a time, anyone in a position of authority looking at you the way he was would’ve sent you into a tailspin of self-doubt and nerves, leaving you shivering as your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, warning you of non-existent danger. If you were honest, it still did- but you didn’t have the luxury of running away and hiding anymore, not when there were people who needed you.
“Hope’s bags are in the barracks. He just needs to grab them, and he can be on his merry way,” The direction grunts. “Monster’s still locked up, so I’ll-”
“I’ll go.” You can feel Mr. Seo stiffen beside you.
“Ms. Y/N-”
“If he’s really that aggressive,” you start, your eyes not leaving the director’s for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to meet him now instead of when we’re packed into a car on a two hour car ride?” Director Lim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t falter. You hold your hand out for the key. Your boldness surprises you. He drops the key ring into your open palm and you wrap your fingers around it, stuffing it in your pocket before he can snatch them back. You turn on your heels and march off in the direction he tilts his head in, nothing but a hiss of your name from Mr. Seo’s lips to accompany you.
You walk quickly, eyes straight and willing your legs to go faster with every stride. It’s a long way across the compound but the less time you spend walking, the less time you have to stew in anxiety. None of the hybrids training in little packs spread across the yard pay you any mind- except for Hope.
Your path takes you directly behind the group of kids he’s working with. You give them a wide berth, not wanting to disturb them, but you get a little distracted. Your steps slow for just a moment as you drink him in. He’s tall- the same height as Taehyung, if you’re judging it right, but there’s an ease about him the tiger hybrid hasn’t yet mastered. Everything about Taehyung is pulled in. He’s always coiled tight, like he’s preparing to spring forward at any moment, all his energy drawn into the center of his being. Even last night, when you’d been cuddled up with him on the couch, he’d pulled you tight against his side, shifting and rearranging himself til you both fit on one cushion. He’d held you tight through both films, his tail curled around the both of you and his spine tight, like if he let himself relax for a moment, you’d both turn to dust on the wind.
Hope has no such fear. Everything about him is spread wide open, from the heart-shaped smile on his lips to his arms as he demonstrates a series of punches to his little pack of students. They all watch him with rapt attention, ears perked up and bandaged tails wagging. One of them asks him a question and he laughs, ruffles their hair. He laughs in a way you’ve never seen before, shoulders shaking like he can’t contain the force of it alone. It makes your heart flip.
His ears twitch, picking up the change in the cadence of your footsteps. He looks up and your eyes meet for the first time. He looks surprised to see you, for a moment, face blank- but then it melts into a soft smile, brimming with affection you’ve done nothing to earn. You snatch your gaze away and fix it to the dirt in front of you, embarrassed at being caught. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him cock his head to the side in confusion, but he doesn’t go after you. All the better, you’re all but running away from him now.
You shuffle across the compound in a blur of scuffed sneakers and frayed nerves. You barely give yourself time to look up at the small cinder block building before you, shoving the key in the padlock before you can lose what unearned confidence you have left. You twist it, yank the rusted thing open, take a deep breath and enter.
You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but it’s certainly not what you find. The way Director Lim had spoken about him and this place, you’d been expecting cobwebs on the ceiling, blood spatters on the wall and rusty nails on the floor. What’s before you is almost entirely the opposite.
The room is a veritable Eden.
There are vines climbing every available wall, wrapping around structural posts and digging their way between concrete blocks. Every surface is crammed full of flowering plants in makeshift pots: lilies in old water jugs, violets in a worn out boot, black-eyed susans dripping orange petals from an upturned helmet. The floor is in a similar state, ferns and foxgloves turning what little space around his bed there is into a meadow. It’s beautiful.
“He likes green things,” you marvel, stepping into the room and pushing the door shut behind you. It seemed every living thing that’d been uprooted to expand the compound had found a second life here, sheltered from the Director’s violence. Maybe the hybrid who lived here had too.
A plant different from all the others catches your eye. It’s set up on the cardboard box serving as his bedside table and it’s the only one in a real pot from what you can tell. It looks just like a miniature tree, complete with knobs on it’s trunk and tiny leaves. You let out a little sound of wonder and crouch in front of it, your fingers reaching out on their own to trail across the delicate branches-
A massive hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you cold. “Don’t touch that.”
You hadn’t heard him approach, but now you knew he was there. You could feel his presence behind you, heavy and warm. He’s looming over you. You swallow and make your arm go limp in his grip. No need to give him a reason. “I won’t,” You tell him. “Will you please let go of my wrist?”
He drops your arm without protest and relief floods your body. You weren’t sure if there was a hybrid version of lockjaw and you certainly weren’t itching to find out. You sit back on your heels and struggle to your feet, still hyper aware of the person behind you, his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. By the time you turn around, he’s back where he came from, standing in the entrance for a bathroom you hadn’t seen, half hidden behind a curtain of vines.
He looks different than the others. You’d been expecting that, but the full-length fluffy tail held stiffly behind his back and the long-furred ears pointed away from you are still a surprise. His fur, instead of being in rigid black and tan points, is marked by whorls of black, brown and gray. Instead of the lean musculature all the other hybrids had -all trim waists and narrow ankles- he’s sturdier, his shoulders broad and the veins in his forearms popping as he clenches his fists. He’s looking at you with that mismatched glare, his chin tilted toward his chest and his eyes shining aquamarine and obsidian.
“If you’re new,” he starts, voice raspy. “They should’ve told you: you’re supposed to knock before you come in.”
“No, I’m not-”
“You can leave the food over there.” He nods toward a little plastic folding table jammed into one corner. It’s the one surface in his room that’s devoid of plants and there’s nothing on it besides a metal cafeteria tray, licked clean. “I won’t move when your back is turned.”
“I’m not here to deliver your food.”
He frowns, brows drawing together as his shoulders tense. “Then why are you…?”
You ball your hands up in your sweater sleeves and turn to face him full on. “I’m here to take you home with me.” You tell him. “They didn’t tell you?”
He laughs, but it’s a cold sound, devoid of joy. “Nobody tells me anything.”
Based on the short conversation you’d had with Director Lim, his sudden cancellation of contracts and the way he seemed ready to bulldoze over anything and everyone that didn’t fit his agenda, he didn’t seem the sharing type. Still it was hard to believe he hadn’t told him he’d be leaving the compound that’s been his home for over twenty years.
“You don’t have to come with me,” you add, softly. “If you don’t want to. I know I’m a stranger. But you can leave-”
“I can’t go anywhere.” He taps the collar around his neck. At first, you’d thought it was the same as the ones every other hybrid had been wearing. You can see now that it isn’t. Theirs had all been leather with thin silver buckles holding them in place. His was leather too, but the band was broader and double-layered. There’s a little box on the side with hinges and a small drawing of a lighting bolt. A shock collar.
Your stomach turns.
You take a slow step toward him, but the second you do, his ears go flat against his head and he pulls his lips back, revealing sharp teeth. You freeze, hands held up and the keys dangling from your thumb. “I have the keys,” you say, extending them toward him.
His eyes flick from your face, to the keys in your hand and back again, like he doesn’t believe what’s happening, like he can’t believe you’d actually want him free. The silence drags out into a little eternity before he speaks again. “If I try to unlock it, it’ll shock me.”
You blink up at him and risk another slow step forward, hoping you’ve caught his meaning correctly. This time, he doesn’t growl but his ears stay pinned back as he watches you through narrowed eyes. You close the distance between the two of you.
When you were six, your mom scraped together enough money to take you to Busan for your birthday. You’d spent the day down at the beach, building sand castles with sea shell windows and wading through tide pools. After the sun had set, someone had set off fireworks and you’d watched them cuddled up in your mom’s arms, eyes wide and filled with a riot of colors you had no name for. It’s strange, you know. The ocean is miles away, but that’s what he smells like: the sea and the sand, and the last curls of smoke from homemade bottle rockets. He smells like that day.
You lift your hands to the clasp on his neck and slide the key home. You twist it and the collar falls to the ground, a monster that can’t hurt him anymore. His skin is warm under your fingers, but puckered with scar tissue. There’s a ring of it around his neck, branching with whatever current had run through him in different directions. There’s no way this was legal, no way anyone with half a heart could treat another person like this. Your fingers trail one of the splits over his adam’s apple and he swallows beneath your touch, snatching your wrist again.
“Dont.” His voice is cold. You blink, shaking off whatever spell you’d been under and shuffle back quickly, eager to give him space. He cradles his throat with one long-fingered hand, massaging the skin. He rolls his neck and you look away. You shouldn’t stare; the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable. “I’ll go with you,” he rasps, answering the question before you can ask it again.
You gape for a second. You really hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “Really?” You can’t stop a note of relief from creeping into your voice.
“Anywhere’s better than here.” He answers back. So, you were a means to an end. It doesn’t bother you. You’ll be whatever you need to be to get him away from this place and that man who seemed to only want to drive him down.
“Do you need time to pack, or-?”
He gives a firm shake of his head. “There’s nothing from this place I want to keep.” And that’s the end of it. You push open the door and stride back out into the cold mountain air, trying your best to exude the confidence you know you lack. The hybrid slinks behind you, head hunched between his shoulders and every step stiff. He hesitates at the threshold and looks up at you, uncertainty written in the rigid line of his spine. He’s nervous. He has every right to be.
How long had he spent in that little cinderblock room, shut away from every living thing? How long had he spent being told that he was a monster? You didn’t believe it, not for one second. No one who was as violent as the director had painted him out to be could’ve raised that garden.
He leans out of the door frame, sniffs the air and lurches forward, out of the shadow of his room, His shoulders bunch up even higher around his head and he goes stiff like he’s waiting for a shock or a shot or a shout- but none comes. The sun is still shining and he’s barefoot in the sand, standing for the first time in years under the open sky. He exhales in a short puff and it looks like he’s going to walk beside you- but he turns on his heels on goes back inside.
You make a little noise of distress in the back of your throat. Had he changed his mind? Did he not want to come with you anymore? You go to call his name out of concern- but realize you don’t know it. All you have is the call sign he’d been given and you sure as fuck aren’t calling him ‘Monster’. You don’t have to flounder for long. He comes back out two seconds later, cradling the bonsai that’d caught your attention to his chest.
“I’ll take this,” he mutters, shuffling into place behind you. You can’t smother the smile that starts tugging at your lips. Yeah, no one hateful would hold a little tree with as much tenderness as an infant.
You give him a little nod. “There’s a terrace where I live,” you tell him, starting your trek across the yard once again. “It’s got a garden and a little greenhouse on it. It’s not very big, and it’s not as pretty as your’s, but you could grow new things there, if you wanted.”
His ears twitch in response, but he keeps his glower firmly focused on the plant in his arms as he shuffles along beside you. It’s then you notice he’s barefoot. “Do you wanna go back and get your shoes?” You ask, trying to make the question sound as innocuous as possible.
“Don’t have any,” he grumbles back. “Don’t need them; I never go outside.”
Alright, that was understandable. Your first stop when you got back into the city would be a shoe store to get him a pair to wear- or maybe not with the way he kept flinching every time a whistle blew and his ears were swivelling like satellites at each new sound that reached them. You chew the inside of your lip. You don’t want to ask, but you know you should. Better to rip the bandaid off now, than get surprised later. “How long were you shut in for?”
“Fourteen.” He bites out.
“...weeks?” You venture. There's a hopeful uptick at the end of your words. Even that would’ve been horrible, even that would be worthy of the litany of profanity you’re mentally lobbing at Director Lim- but it’s still better than the truth.
The hybrid cuts a flat look at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Years.”
A wall of your scent hits him like a freight train, vacillating between the thick, cloying odor of sadness and the burn of anger. His nose wrinkles at it, brows drawing together in confusion.
However little you might’ve known about hybrids, however limited your view of them was, you knew they weren’t supposed to be locked up. Domesticated hybrids like hamsters and cats might’ve been fine inside a house all day, assuming they still had regular interaction with people- but dogs weren’t. And he was half wolf. Wild, he’d have had dozens of square miles to roam over, and he’d been limited to a four-by-four yard room for fourteen years. Your goshiwon was a similar size, but it hadn’t been your whole world. All he’d had was one tiny window and what narrow view he’d managed to glimpse in the doorway when his meals were delivered.
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’re cut off by a scream of delight and a snarl keying up in the hybrid next to you’s chest. Your jaw snaps shut with a click.
A few yards ahead, there’s a group of kids wrestling in a massive pile. They’re all giggling and rolling over each other, tails wagging a mile a minute as they play bite and make grabs for the person at the center of their puppy pile. A head of black hair and a pair of cropped ears pop up and you see that it’s Hope, smiling bright as the sun as his students try to pin him.
“You can’t leave!” One particularly determined kid yips, adamantly pushing his shoulder back to the sand. “Who’s gonna teach us?”
Hope just laughs.”Lisa is gonna teach you with the older kids-“
A chorus of disappointed barks and howls breaks out. “Ms. Lisa’s classes are too hard!” A little girl complains.
“Yeah!” Someone else chimes in. “And she’s strict!”
The hybrid ruffles both kid’s hair affectionately, careful of their bandaged ears. “Just because she won’t let you get away with skipping night practice doesn’t mean she’s strict,” he laughs. He’s only met with more grumbles and complaints.
It warms your heart to see. Even if these kids were at the mercy of their director -for now, at least- it was good that they had him to rely on. Your eyes meet and the sheer force of light in his face makes your own heat up. You look away, but he’s spotted you. He disentangles himself from the mess of kids and draws himself up to his full height. He’s in the same uniform he was in before, albeit with a black tactical bag now strapped to his back. He takes a step toward you and the wolfdog hybrid's ears go flat against his skull. He’s not deterred. “Joonie?” It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to the hybrid next to you. “Kim Namjoon, is that you?” Hope takes one step forward and the hybrid - Namjoon - takes a step back to counter him. Hope looks like he’s going to advance again, but a small pair of hands wrapped around one of his own stops him.
A little girl is holding on to him. She can’t be more than six years old. Her tail is still long and her ears are still floppy and she looks so small in her child-sized boots and cargo pants. “Mr. Hobi,” she whines, her head craned back to look up at him. “Please don’t go.”
He falters. His eyes flick from the pair of you back down to her, then he crouches, holds both of her hands in his. “I have to, Sowon-ah,” he says softly.
She sniffles pitifully and juts out her lower lip.”But why?”
It’s a fair question. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to come with you if he doesn’t want to, but he beats you to the punch. “Because it’s my job, sweetheart,” he tells her, smiling softly.
“Y-your job is to teach us,” she hiccups back, face growing blotchy as tears well up in her eyes. Hope swipes one of them away with his thumbs.
“I teach you so you can grow up well and protect your person, right?” She nods, little hands balling the fabric of her cargo pants up in her fists. “Right. Well this,” he continues, turning and looking at you with a soft smile. “Is my person. And I’ve gotta go make sure she stays safe.”
You feel your heart jump into your throat. He’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky and you don’t deserve it. You’ve done nothing to warrant that much unearned loyalty. Sowon rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands and Hope pulls her into a tight hug.
“Ah, don’t cry, Sowon! You’ve gotta make sure you get stronger so someone takes you home, okay? You don’t wanna get old and still be here like me, right?” He squeezes her and goes to stand, but gets mobbed by his students again, all wanting their own hugs and making him swear to write them letters. It takes another five minutes of tearful goodbyes and Director Lim approaching for them to turn him loose.
“Get back to your training, all of you!” He barks, stomping out of the office and slamming the door, Mr. Seo on his heels. The kids scatter to the four winds almost instantly, not wanting to be underfoot for whatever scolding the director was about to deal out. Hope’s face remains the same but you catch his ears droop just a little as his students leave him. The wolfdog hybrid- Namjoon, you remind yourself- on the other hand has his ears flat against his skull. A growl bubbles up in his chest and rips past his lips. It’s a dark, full bodied thing that has you taking a step back and Hope shrinking with a whine.
“Joonie-” he pleads.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” All the fur on Namjoon’s body is standing on end, from the points of his ears to the tip of his tail. Even his hair has fluffed out. His mismatched eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals his incisors and all that fury, all that rage, is leveled on Director Lim.
To his credit, the grizzled man doesn’t shrink back an inch before the enraged hybrid. His lips twist and he yanks a little remote out of his pocket, mashing a red button in the center. Namjoon flinches, his hands fly to his neck- but nothing happens. The shock collar is gone and the director has no power over him anymore.
The man in question’s eyes widen, flicking between the remote to the column of Namjoon’s throat, now devoid of his one element of control. “Where’s his collar?” He demands. “How the hell did you get your collar off?” He advances on the tall hybrid, his hand in the air and though he doesn’t stop snarling, Namjoon ducks his head, anticipating the blow.
You don’t know what moves you. Maybe it’s Hope pleading for it all to ‘stop, just stop!’. Maybit’s how Namjoon knows exactly how to move when he’s about to get hit. Maybe it’s your own lack of self-preservation. Whatever it is, you blink and you’re in front of Namjoon, your hand up and clutching the director’s forearm, stopping him from striking the hybrid behind you. You’re not strong enough to stop him, not fully. Your elbow buckles in and you stumble back, your back pressing into the wolfdog hybrid’s chest.
The director yells something at you, red flooding his face. You can’t hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart. You force a dry swallow down your throat, put on your bravest face and glare up at him. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”
He reaches out with his free hand to tug you out of the way, but before he can touch you, Hope is there. He presses close to your side and holds the director’s wrist firm, his eyes on the sand and his shoulders hunched up by his ears.
Director Lim looks angry enough to spit. “Hell of a time for you to grow a backbone,” he snarls at Hope, making the doberman hybrid flinch. “I want all four of you off my property now.” He snatched his arms free and you don’t miss the nasty glare he casts at Namjoon. “And if this mutt ever shows his face around here again, I’ll-”
“Director Lim,” Mr. Seo cuts in, his voice cool. “You’ve made yourself clear; we’ll leave. You needn’t make threats.” There’s an underlying warning in the attorney’s voice. The director locks his jaw.
“Get out.” He breathes. Hope ducks around him, his head low and his docked tail pressed close to his back. If he could tuck it, you think he would. You follow after him, eyes fixed straight ahead and your back ramrod straight. He might’ve scared the shit out of you, but you weren’t going to let him see that. Mr. Seo fixes you with a hard look and the second you’re within arms reach, he presses a hand to your back and ushers you toward the gate. The only one who remains is Namjoon.
He looks like his anger has rooted him to the spot. His ears are still flat against his head, his lip still curled.
“Do it, boy,” the director taunts. “Give me a reason-”
“Namjoon.” At the sound of his name, his ears prick up and you turn around. It’d come not from Hope- which you’d expected, seeing as he seemed to be the only one who actually knew his fellow hybrid’s name- but from the open door of the office building where Eunjung stood. She looks at him, her expression unreadable and he stares back. All the tension in his body has shifted and for a moment, you think he’s going to spring toward her and fall into her arms- but she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and his face hardens. His arms tighten around his bonsai. You think you know, now, why it was the only plant in his room that had a pot.
“Go,” she says and all the tension leaves him. His shoulders curve in and he drags himself past the director, out from the fence and toward Mr. Seo’s car. There’s something final about the way the gate rolls shut after him. If you hadn’t known better, you’d’ve sworn you heard him whine as it locked.
The car ride down the mountain is...interesting to say the least. Hope insists that the seating arrangements inside the Buick be done to his specifications,( “You’ve gotta sit in the middle,” he tells you, pointing to the narrow center seat. “And Joonie and I will sit on either side of you to protect you in case we crash!” His tail is wagging a mile a minute behind him. You’re surprised it can move that much, given how short it is. Mr. Seo looks affronted at the unintentional jab at his driving and Namjoon just looks irritated. “I told you to stop calling me that.”) and he keeps throwing an arm across your middle everytime the car hits a bump. You’re going down the side of a mountain. There are a lot of bumps. He also keeps pressing his nose against the glass of his window, ears pricked up and trying to take in every tree that passes by. Namjoon, on the other hand, slouches back in his seat, his body curved around his plant and ever so slightly away from you. He still watches the world pass by, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of you or speak- which would be fine if anyone else would. Hope seems to be doing his best to appear stoic and alert every time you look at him and Mr. Seo seems comfortable with the quiet. So, you’re left to ride the two hours back to Seoul in silence.
You almost cry with relief when your phone buzzes with an incoming text. You fish the device out of your pocket, thumb it to life and scan your notifications.
Unknown Sender [7:13 PM]
where are you
You frown. Very few people had your number or any reason to text you. You’re about to chalk it up to a wrong number when the second text rolls in.
Unknown Sender [7:14 PM]
it’s yoongi
Now that’s a surprise. When you’d hurriedly told the boys to text you, you’d been expecting Jimin to urge you to hurry or for Taehyung to ask for updates, not for their hyung to check your progress. A little smile pricks at your lips as you rush to reply
You [7:14 PM]
We’re on the way back now!
Unknown Sender has been changed to Yoongi
Yoongi [7:14 PM]
can i call
You bite the inside of your lip, suddenly nervous. You know there’s no reason to be. After all, you tell yourself, what’s scary about a pair of roommates talking on the phone? You give him the go ahead and not three seconds after the delivered notification pops up, you get a call. You answer it on speaker.
“...Hello?”
“Did you just start driving?” Yoongi’s voice is thick with sleep, like he’s just woken up. It’s different than normal, his usual smooth drawl gone gravelly.
“Y-yeah,” you reply, trying to ignore the way Hope is watching you out of the corner of his eyes and Namjoon’s ears have swiveled back toward you. “It’s gonna be awhile, still. Are Taehyung and Jimin-”
“They’re fine; They ate dinner earlier and they’ll be asleep til you get back.” He yawns and you picture him slouched on the couch, his hair mashed up on one side and his face puffy. “Why do you sound nervous?”
“I’m not,” you counter. It’s a blatant lie and he knows it. He hums in doubt, but doesn’t press you.
“I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Do you want me to text you when we’re close?” It’s an innocuous question. There’s no reason you can see for him to pause as long as he does. For a second you think you’ve lost him- after all, mountains aren’t known for having great reception- but then you hear his breath fan over the receiver.
“...Yeah.”
You give a little nod you know he can’t see. “Okay.” He makes a little noise of assent and then his line clicks off. You hang up. Just as you do, another text comes through.
Yoongi [7:16 PM]
don’t let them scent you
“Who was that?” Hope asks in a small voice, pulling you away from your phone screen and Yoongi’s insistence that you remain scent-free. His tone is open, but you can tell by the way his knee is bouncing that he really, really wants to know. “Is that your husband?”
The bark of laughter that rips past your lips is out before you can think to stop it. Namjoon flinches and you wince at him in apology, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. Hope is frowning at you in confusion, his head cocked slightly to the side. You force yourself to calm and answer him. “No, Yoongi is not my husband.” You weren’t sure if you even really qualified as friends at this point. “He’s another hybrid that lives with me.”
Hope perks up in his seat. “You have another hybrid? Director Lim always told us that once we left the center, we’d be alone.” Your expression sours at the mention of the ill-tempered man and you shake your head.
“No, there’s a lot of hybrids in Seoul,” you tell him, eager to dispel some of his misconceptions. “The three that live with me are named Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi’s around your age, I think. Jimin and Taehyung are younger.” The doberman hybrid sits at rapt attention, soaking up every bit of information you give him and waiting eagerly for more. What else could you tell him about them? You remember the boys’ reaction that morning when you told them you’d be bringing dog hybrids home. “...They’re all felines,” you say, slowly, trying to gauge their reactions.
“So that’s why you smell like that.” It’s the first words Namjoon’s spoken since you all piled into the car. You turn to him, but he’s not looking at you.
“What do you-?”
“You smell like other hybrids,” Hope says, covering for him. “But I’ve never smelled any that weren’t other dogs before.” He leans closer, his seatbelt stretching. You tense and lean away from him, but he’s not deterred. The tip of his nose brushes your neck and you have to fight off a shiver as he breathes you in. “They smell the same…” he starts, his breath fanning over your throat. “...but different? And one of them isn’t as strong as the others-” He presses closer, trying to catch the scent that’s eluding him. You make a noise of mild distress and lean further back, pressing into the solid wall that is Namjoon.
“Hoseok, let it go .” Hoseok. That was his real name then. To your surprise, the dog hybrid pulls back as instructed, settling back into his seat without so much as a whine.
“I’ve never met a cat before,” he muses, turning his attention back to the window. “I hope they’re nice.”
You think about the chorus of hisses you’d been met with when you told the boys they’d have to share their space. You hope so too.
It’s 9:30 by the time Mr. Seo drops you off back in front of your building. He wishes you a good night and promises to call later in the week to discuss Black Mountain Canines. You’re not sure if there’s anyone to report him to or anything you can do, but you want to try. What you’d seen at the compound was wrong any way you looked at it. It made you sick to leave anyone there knowing how the director treated Namjoon and Hoseok. No one was useless. No one deserved to be locked away for years at a time for the sheer crime of existing. You’d make them see that.
The moment you step out of the car, Hoseok is all wide smiles and exclamations. “Woah, you live here?” he asks, tilting his head back to take in all fifty-one floors of Haneul Tower in their sparkling, glass-paned glory.
“Yeah,” you tell him, handing him his bag. In his excitement to get out of the car, he’d abandoned it and Mr. Seo had nearly driven away with it. “But I just moved in a couple days ago, so it’s still pretty empty.”
Hoseok nods, scanning the windows like he’ll be able to pick out which one’s your’s. Behind you, Namjoon is lingering on the sidewalk.
He’s still got his bonsai clutched close to his chest and he’s hunched down around it like he’s trying to stop unseen hands from picking at it. His shoulders are bunched up by his ears, and he flinches with every car horn, every siren that comes to you on the wind. He’d grown up in the mountains and spent the better part of his life indoors. It only made sense that he’d be sensitive to the sounds of the city.
“Is there a security system?” Hoseok asks, still enamored with the building. “How many entrances does your apartment have?”
“Just one second,” you tell him, forehead wrinkling as you take in Namjoon. You slide slowly toward the wolfdog, not wanting to startle him. “Namjoon?” He flinches when you call his name, head whipping toward you. “Do you wanna go inside? I know it’s new, but it’ll be quieter, I think.”
His mismatched eyes flick from you, to Hoseok, to the building and back to you before settling firmly on the concrete at his feet. He seems different than he had in the mountains. He’s smaller, quieter, less sure of himself. Was it because this is all new territory for him? Or had the snarling hybrid in the mountains just been a roll he was forced to play, the mythic monster to the director’s tyrant king.
“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” you tell him, in a voice you hope is reassuring. “We can wait, if you need to.”
“I’ll wait with you, Joonie,” Hope chimes in, giving the larger hybrid the same soft smile he’d given his students earlier.
He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It...it’s fine,” he mutters, “We can go in, I just…” He takes a few hesitant steps forward and huddles closer to you. There’s still an inch between you, but it’s closer than you’d thought he’d come.
You peer up at him. “Okay?” You ask. He gives a single nod and your little group moves through the double doors and into the lobby.
It’s quieter at this time of night. You don’t recognize the woman standing behind the reception desk. There’s no one really around except one man, pacing the width of the lobby looking thoroughly put out. You can’t really see his face, but there’s something familiar about the slant of his body. He whirls around as the glass doors click shut and you catch sight of a fringe of gray hair, pointed ears, narrowed yellow eyes and an all too familiar pout.
Yoongi.
“Fuck.” You’d completely forgotten to text him. Judging by the look on his face as he stalks toward you, he wasn’t happy about it. To his credit, Hoseok does his best to guard you, sliding in front of you and pushing you behind him. You can’t see Yoongi’s ears beneath the hat he’s wearing but if his curled lip and narrowed eyes are any indicator, they’re pinned straight back.
“Move.” He snarls at the doberman hybrid. Hoseok is taller than he is, but the closer Yoongi gets to him, the smaller he seems to shrink. There’s fire in the bobcat hybrid’s eyes. Hope whimpers and slinks out of his way, ears low.
You wince. “Heeeeey, Yoongi. I’m sorry I forg-“ before you can even finish the sentence, he tugs you toward him by the shoulders. His face roves your neck, sniffing in earnest as he tries to pick up the scent of the other hybrids on you. All is well until he reaches the right side of your throat and grazes over the exact spot Hoseok had nosed earlier. He pulls away slowly, his shoulders tight. His head turns slowly to the doberman hybrid, mechanical.
“You.” He hisses at the other hybrid with so much virulence it makes your blood run cold. He takes one step toward him, teeth bared in a snarl, but Namjoon slides in front of him bumping him back. A growl bubbles in the bobcat hybrid’s chest and the wolfdog matches it, both their ears pinned flat against their skulls.
“Hey-” If either of them hear you, they don’t react. They’re too focused on having a staring contest. “Hey!” You push between them, a hand on either of their chests. Namjoon snarls as you touch him and Yoongi looks ready to skin him alive for that alone. He pushes against your hand, trying to get closer to the taller hybrid. You ball your hand up in the fabric of his shirt. “Stop it!” The receptionist already has the lobby phone in her hand. She’s whispering earnestly into it and you’re sure security will be on the way any second. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut. “Everybody, elevator.”
Yoongi hurls an accusatory finger in Hoseok’s direction. “These fucking-”
“Yoongi, please,” you plead. That gets him to stop. His arm falls to his side and he glowers down at you for a few seconds before stalking over to the elevators and slamming the up button. “I’m sorry,” you murmur to Hoseok and Namjoon. The smaller of the two hybrids is still hunched in on himself and the taller has Yoongi fixed in his mismatched gaze, his lips curled in anger.
This was not the way you wanted this to go. You’d wanted them to have time to settle before you discussed next steps and gave them the same talk you’d given the felines, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. You don’t know what’s gotten into Yoongi. You’d thought the bobcat hybrid was calm, cool and collected, completely unflappable in the face of anything. Apparently not. He seemed upset that some of Hoseok’s scent had gotten on you, but there’d been no way to help that. You’d been packed in a car with him and Namjoon for two hours. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?
“It’s not okay,” you tell them, wanting them to know you didn’t condone the way Yoongi had acted. “I don’t...I don’t know why he’s acting like this; he doesn’t normally. Do you wanna go up separately?”
It’s Hoseok who answers. “No, we’ll go up together,” he assures you with a small nod. “If...maybe if we get used to each other, it’ll be okay?”
You’re not optimistic, but you give him a pained smile you hope is reassuring. “Yeah, maybe?” You cast a look back over your shoulders. Yoongi is waiting by the elevators, his arms crossed over his chest and his tail flicking in irritation. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Well, there was no avoiding it. “Come on,” you tell them. “Just...keep to the other side, for now. I’ll stand between you and him.”
The four of you pile into the elevator, all tucked into your own corners. It’s strange, you think. It’s never seemed small until now. Hoseok keeps casting worried looks over at you, Namjoon keeps subtly shifting closer and Yoongi is still glowering at the both of them, angry for a reason you can’t quantify.
“If it helps,” Hoseok starts softly, his voice an intrusion in the awkward silence. “I really didn’t mean to, honestly-”
“Don’t apologize.” Namjoon counters. “If it bothers him that much, he can speak up”
You don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s too late that you realize the canines aren’t addressing you. Suddenly, Yoongi’s fingers are hooked through one of your belt loops. He yanks you backwards and you stumble, falling against the length of his body. “My bad,” You shoot out, before the hybrid can hiss at you. “I just lost my bala-” The words die on your tongue as Yoongi fixes his mouth to the soft skin of your throat. The elevator goes quiet.
The canine hybrids avert their eyes almost instantaneously, instinct telling them they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be. Yoongi keeps them fixed firmly in his sights, a dark growl bubbling in his throat.
Your fingers flex uselessly at your sides, hands clenching unclenching as the hybrid works over the sensitive skin of your neck with his teeth and tongue. ‘Don’t make a noise,’ you plead with yourself. ‘This isn’t what it feels like. Don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise-’ Yoongi’s incisors graze over a vein and a little whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. The grip he has on your hips becomes bruising. You feel your legs turning to jelly beneath you. Any more of what he was doing, and they’d have to mop you up off the elevator floor. You force your throat to swallow. “Y-Yoongi, I think that’s enough-” You don’t know if he hears you over the noise he’s making, so you lace your fingers through his and untangle them from your hips. He releases you with a wet pop and you slap a hand over the skin he’d marked. Heat floods your face and a smirk spreads across Yoongi’s, his teeth flashing at the canines. He leans in again to rub his nose against the mark he’d made- but a hand on his chest stops him.
“Can you stop?” You ask in a small voice. Honestly, you’re embarrassed. Regardless of what the articles said about mark-making being platonic, it doesn’t feel friendly. It feels possessive and mean and you don’t like it. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you like you asked, but what is with you today?” Yoongi’s expression changes from smug satisfaction to confusion and then surprise, like he hadn’t expected you to protest. “I know what I said about you being ready but…” You rub a hand over the mark, wiping away saliva and your sweat. The bobcat hybrid visibly deflates. The elevator chimes for the fiftieth floor and the doors roll open slowly. You rush out before any of them can and start punching the code in your door with shaky fingers. You don’t know what to say. You’re tired and stressed and you don’t know what’s going on. Was this about the apartment? You knew the felines wouldn’t be happy about sharing their space, but why had Yoongi gone this far?
“Y/N…” He trails after you, his ears drooping. You shake your head, You can’t talk to him right now.
“In the morning,” you tell him as the door swings open. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” You can’t deal with everything that’s happened today, and Yoongi flipping out and getting the canines settled. You weren’t that good at juggling.
By the grace of all that’s merciful, Taehyung and Jimin are still asleep when you walk in. You’d need to have an extended meet and greet tomorrow, you decide. Maybe do some icebreakers or team building exercises. If they reacted anything like their hyung did, you were in for one hell of an adjustment period.
Hoseok and Namjoon trail you into the penthouse warily, sniffing the air. You want to give them time to explore and get their bearings, they deserve that, but with the way Yoongi still seems agitated when they venture anywhere but exactly in your steps, that’ll need to be saved until tomorrow morning too. You give them the most spartan tour you can muster up and show them each to a guest room, promising to order them furniture and get them the things they need tomorrow.
By the time you collapse into your own bed, it’s damn near 11. You groan and drag a pillow over your face as you ask the universe for the thousandth time why it had decided to continuously kick your ass. Having three hybrids had been hard enough. Having five of all different species was likely to prove impossible and having seven was going to be a sisyphean task you’d had no training for. You groan and kick your feet in the air, allowing yourself the brief respite of a temper tantrum before crawling under your covers and flicking the lamp off. Maybe in your dreams there’d be no stress and no snarling hybrids with behavior you couldn’t explain.
#thebtswritersclub#hybridbtsnetwork#bts fic#bts x reader#bts x y/n#hybrid!bts#ot7 x reader#seokjin x reader#namjoon x reader#jhope x reader#yoongi x reader#jungkook x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader
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Pairings: Bonten trio x f!reader
Warnings: mature themes 18+
Synopsis: after having her life ruined by the military she served for, reader is out on a vengeance mission to seek justice for herself. She’s full of dark impulses, grief and just overall a bit of a stubborn dumbass.
MDNI18+
Previous | Part Eight | Next
Three days later, and you found yourself wandering into the nightclub that was owned by the Haitani's. Manjiro was beside you, as he had been the one to convince you to come. As you walked, you found yourself tugging at the ends of your mini dress - the one that Manjiro had boughten for you as a 'gift' to commemorate your budding friendship.
To say it's been odd to have him by your side would be the understatement of the year. You were typically a quiet person, you always had been, and Manjiro used to be the more talkative of the two, but it seems he had changed more than just appearance wise as you both enjoyed each other's company in some small bouts of silence. The last day and a half it's been a little easier to speak to him since you've slowly started to come out of your shell, but only with him.
Everyone else you've given the cold shoulder to, especially the 'Bonten Trio,' as you had found out that was what the rest of Bonten called Sanzu and the Haitani's. The only one you seemed to not mind was Kakucho, but that was because he had never tried to force a conversation with you and instead opted to keep his distance.
"Oh my." Rindou said under his breath as he spotted you and Manjiro by the entrance of the club, making seven other heads turn to lock onto your figure.
Ran whistled lowly, and Sanzu nodded at Ran's response to seeing your curvy figure in such a revealing outfit. Sure you had worn leggings and a tank top around them, but you had never been so dolled up like this. The way your hips swayed as you walked had Rindou locked in a trance, and he didn't realize the death glare you were shooting him by the time you made it to the vip section.
"You're so fucking hot." Sanzu said from his spot behind the table, a couple of the men nodding in agreement. You were already nervous about feeling so exposed like this, and about being in a club with booming music that made your heart race as it triggered you slightly, and without thinking you stepped behind Manjiro.
"You're scaring her." Ran said, shifting in his spot and creating a space between him and his brother, patting the leather next to him as a sign that he had wanted you to sit down.
"Go sit down, okay?" Manjiro ordered, making you swallow thickly. You really didn't want be here, and you sure as hell didn't want to be beside the Haitani's, but you knew you couldn't disobey the head of Bonten so boldly.
So, you slowly walked over to Ran, who merely opened his legs and maneuvered them so you could get past him, but he ended up taking his time in moving his opposite leg once you were standing in between them, and you had your eyes trained on your heels as he moved, finally allowing you to sit down beside the two, purple haired men.
You made sure to keep quiet, your hands folded nervously in your lap as you tried to block out the thrumming bass that was wracking your entire body. You tried to focus on the conversation that everyone was immersed in, but you couldn't. Once Takeomi lit his lighter while bringing a cigarette to his lips, to found yourself jolting suddenly, your legs bumping both Ran and Rindou's and making them look down at you.
They could feel you trembling beside them as they had nearly sandwiched you in between the both of them. Rindou shared a knowing look with Ran, who simply nodded before reaching down and grabbing one of your hands in his own. You flinched from the heat of his touch, but you were so scared that you didn't bother to pull away.
"Come on, let's go dance." Rindou leant forward a bit so that he was now level with you ear, his hot breath fanned across your ear and neck as he spoke and he couldn't help but steal a glance at your cleavage from the new angle he had achieved from his close proximity, and you weren't able to scold him because you red face was turned as far away from him as it could be in order to hide your embarrassment.
You allowed Ran to pull you up from the leather of the booth, and pull you towards the stairs leading down to the dance floor. He wrapped one arm tentatively around your waist, and you were quick to shake it off with a shimmy of your hips, making Rindou stifle a snicker as he walked closely behind you two, his eyes never leaving the way the dress accentuated the curve of your ass.
"I can't dance." You said, leaning up on the tips of your toes to try and speak in Rans ear, and he merely chuckled.
"You don't have to, we can just go to the bar." He said, and you nodded quickly, grateful for him and Rindou taking you out of that situation, but you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the same time.
You knew that all of Bonten read your file, meaning that they knew you had been through a lot during your time in the military. Of course not every detail of your life was on there, but it was still enough to make you feel as if the two men were pitying you right now.
"Oh hey, I know you." The bartender said, making you look up from where you were looking at the way Ran's large hand entirely cover yours, to see the bartender you had flirted with the night you first set your sights on the Bonten men.
"H-hi." You said, still feeling anxious over a plethora of things.
"Martini, right? Extra dry?" He asked you, and you gave him a small smile.
"Yes please." You said, thankful that you didn't have to talk to him again.
"Oh? You guys must be pretty close if he knows your order like that." Rindou said, his voice dangerously close to you ear, making you jump slightly and look up at him with wide eyes.
"Huh? W-what? No. I've only been here a few times and—" you were cut off by the sound of a glass sliding across the wooden bar top towards you.
"Glad to see you've finally worked up enough courage to talk to them." He said with a wink. "I like a girl who's confident."
His comment made you flush a deep red colour, and your jaw dropped slightly in shock. You could feel Ran and Rindou boring holes into the sides of your head, and you quickly reached out to take your drink from the counter.
"Seems like you like a woman who's married as well." Ran said, irritation evident in his tone as he picked up the other hand that wasn't holding your drink, to show off the wedding band and engagement ring you always wore, making you almost spit out the drink you had taken a sip of.
"I-im sorry sir. It's just that she's been here a lot over the last month to watch you guys from a afar... I figured she was in an open relationship or something." The bartender said, despite the fact that you were shooting him a glare that clearly told him to shut the fuck up.
"No, she's just really into role play. You know, the type of hot, mysterious stranger you meet at a bar and take home for the fuck of their life. You should hear her, she screams my name so lo—"
"Enough!" You shouted, cutting off Rindou who was was smirking devilishly at your flushed face. You were about to open your mouth to tell everyone off, when the song blaring through the speakers had come to an end, and a new one began.
You weren't sure who decided to put an air raid siren in the beginning of an EDM song, but you were seriously considering finding him and ending his bloodline, when your mind began to take you on an awful trip down memory lane.
Instead of seeing the bartender and the Haitani's, all you could see was a barren desert full of soldiers, dropping like flies when an aircraft patrol flew overhead. Instead of hearing Ran and Rindou's boisterous laughter at your reaction from Rindou's lewd comment, you could only hear the screams of the soldiers filling your ears.
"Make it stop!" You screamed, reaching up to cover your ears with your hands as you ducked down into a fetal position, making several heads turn to look at you as some people had heard you over the song.
"Y/n?" Ran called out to you, sharing a concerned look with his brother before he bent down to put a hand on your shoulder and he knew that you were stuck inside your own mind when you made no effort to shake him off.
"What the hell happened?" Manjiro asked as he frantically ran up to you, the rest of Bonten following suit to find your body rocking back and forth while you cried into your knees.
"I don't know, I really don't know." Ran said, and immediately Rindou felt guilty.
"I made a... lewd comment and she seemed like her usual, angry self for like thirty seconds and then she just started freaking out." Rindou said, trying to keep his tone neutral even though the thought of him making you feel like this made his chest tighten slightly, and he was irritated that someone other than his brother was able to make him feel that way.
Just then, another air raid siren came up again in the song, and you screamed loudly into your knees which had only managed to muffle the sound, and almost immediately everybody knew what had triggered your sudden wave of ptsd
"She needs to get out of here." Kakucho said, stepping forward to hopefully see if you would let him help you to your feet, but someone had beat him to it.
"Sweetheart, it's Sanzu." The pink haired male said, stepping up to you before squatting down in front you. He was hoping that the nickname he used to irritate you would help him break through the thick walls of your mind.
All of the Bonten men were astonished at their comrades behaviour, as Sanzu was never interested in helping anybody but himself, or Mikey. He was selfish, manic, and just down right a horrible man who lived to hear the screams of others.
Yet yours didn't sit right with him.
"You're not back there, it's not real." He said, coming closer to you and reaching out to gently place a large warm palm on your knee cap, where he gently stroked your silky smooth skin with his thumb.
You could faintly hear him over the sounds of the gunfire and sirens echoing loudly in your mind, and as you walked through the battle field in search of the source of his voice, you could slowly see everything beginning to blur.
"S-Sanzu." You whimpered, though in your mind you were screaming his name in hopes he would come and save you from the chaos happening around you.
"M'right here." He said, moving his hand from your knee, to your shoulder and giving you a small squeeze of reassurance.
You had felt the squeeze and you whimpered slightly. You were trying your hardest to differentiate the past from the present, though the sounds in your mind seemingly weren't going to die down anytime soon. Without realizing it you leant forward, until your chin rested on Sanzu's shoulder.
He hasn't expected for you to do such a thing, and he tensed up immediately as he wasn't used to such intimate contact. He made sure every woman he slept with always faced the other way, and he never stuck around afterwards for the awkward cuddling and talking stage.
He snapped out of his little trance when another siren sounded in the song, making you choke out a sob into the crook of his neck as you were desperately trying to hide away from the noise. He knew you needed to get out of here, so he grabbed both your hands and wrapped them around his neck, before grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up into his arms.
You subconsciously wrapped your legs around his waist, and he had to fight off the lewd images he had in his mind when he felt your chest pressing against his. He made sure to keep his hands on your waist, knowing full well that if he had touched the bare skin on the back of your thighs, that he would have a hard time controlling himself.
"Someone get the car." Was all he said to his comrades before he walked you right out the front doors of the nightclub, and into the warm summer evening. He made sure to walk you a little further down the street so that you didn't have to hear the music anymore, and soon the only sounds were the few vehicles that passed by every so often.
"Listen, sweetheart. You hear that now? It's just the cars passing, no more music. You're safe." Sanzu said, completely astonished as to how comforting you came so easy to him.
He thought he hated you. To him, you were just as fucked up as the men he surrounded himself with, and he hated it. He hated that you knew Mikey, and that you two seemed so close despite the fact that nobody fully trusted you yet.
"She okay?" Rindou asked, concern filling his tone as he came and stepped up beside you two.
"No, she's still stuck in her own head. She won't stop shaking, I don't know how else to help her. I- I haven't had an episode in so long... this feels so new to me." The pink haired male admitted, trying his hardest not to think about the diamond shaped scars on his cheeks.
"Her dog laid on top of her the last time she freaked out, remember?" Rindou commented, remembering how you kept chanting the words 'not again,' after he and his brother had teased you.
"Like a blanket." Ran said, coming up and standing on the other side of you and Sanzu.
You could vaguely hear their conversation and you were trying so hard to focus on that rather than the booming sounds of explosions and gunfire somewhere off in the distance in your mind. It wasn't until you felt something being draped over you, that you began to feel the slightest bit better.
"Here, take mine too." Rindou offered, shrugging out of his jacket before he climbed in on the left side of the vehicle, and Ran got in on the right after taking off his suit jacket and putting it over you.
Sanzu was quick to pull both suit jackets over your head, engulfing you in darkness and the intoxicating scent of the spiced cologne all three men had been wearing tonight. Your head moved away from Sanzu's neck, to lay on his chest where the sound of his rapid beating heart had broken its way through your nightmare-like state, almost like it was a bright light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
A way out.
"M'sorry." You mumbled out after what felt like hours of being trapped in your own head, and Sanzu was quick to pull the jackets upwards off your head and peer down to see you looking up at him with teary eyes.
"S'fine. Things happen." He said, trying his best to be dismissive so that he didn't give away how enamoured he was by your soft expression.
"Welcome back, y/n." Mikey' said from somewhere in the vehicle, but you stayed silent.
You wanted to get off Sanzu's body, feeling incredibly embarrassed at the fact that you had ended up in such a compromising position. You could suddenly feel the weight of the wedding ring on your finger, and you were mortified at the fact that you were in another man's arms while you presumably had a husband somewhere in Okinawa.
But you weren't going to move away from his embrace anytime soon, because this felt all too real for you, and realness was exactly what you needed in times where you were in your most vulnerable state.
You eyelids grew heavier the longer you stayed in the car, the gentle swaying of the large vehicle was enough to make your eyelids grow heavy, and you let out a soft sigh as you started to doze off. The last thing you remember was a hand on the back of your head, pushing you down into Sanzu's chest.
@skebrii @summerdasy @mightyknighty17 @toobsessedsstuff @okoknotco @whydohumansss
#bonten#bonten smut#kakucho hitto#kanji mochizuki#kokonoi hajime#ran haitani#ran smut#ran x reader#rindou haitani#rindou smut#rindou x reader#haitani brothers#bonten trio x reader#bonten trio#bonten x reader#manjiro sano#takeomi akashi#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyorev x reader#tokyorev smut#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers#tokrev x reader#sanzu x reader#sanzu smut#sanzu haruchiyo
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The Worst Planet in the Universe
The “humans are weird/earth is space Australia” stories that are quite famous here usually have aliens reacting to how they think humanity or Earth is really strange and bizarre. So, I got an idea: what if people could react not to Earth, but to one of the singular worst planets in all of science fiction? Here, we have some of the characters of the Magnificent Scoundrels reacting to the planet of Krieg and its infamous Death Korps from Warhammer 40k.
Death Korps is pronounced “death core” not “death corpse.” Jeicher is pronounced the German way, as “yay-cur”, not “jai-cher.”
“In life, war. In death, peace. In life, suffering. In death, atonement.” -Final litany of the Litany of Sacrifice, recited by the Guardsmen of the Death Korps of Krieg when entering battle
The shuttle slipped through the dead and polluted atmosphere, shields raised to their fullest capacity to avoid the boiling streaks of orange lightning. The occupants of the shuttle stared warily out the window, still nervous even though their craft was in the hands of some of the best pilots in the universe.
“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” said Commissar Cain from a strapped-in seat in the shuttle’s rear.
“Well, we’re visiting planets from each other’s galaxies,” replied Admiral Vir from the cockpit as he and Solo desperately tried to avoid the lighting.
“Yeah, I know that,” snapped back Cain. “What I don’t understand is why we’re here. Out of all the planets in the galaxy, you pick this one.”
“You wanted to know more about populous Imperial Guard regiment homeworlds, and you said Krieg sounded like an interesting name,” muttered Solo as a particularly large blast lit up the cockpit window. “Starting to regret that now?”
“I most certainly am!” screamed Dr. Kril from inside the heavy clear plastic compartment designed to hold him when accompanying Vir off the Omen. “And I thought Earth was a death world!”
“Radiation levels are approaching 3,700 roentgan,” said Vir, crisply reading off the cockpit instruments.
“We’re all gonna die,” wailed Kril.
The shuttle’s communication system crackled to life, and a dry, toneless voice sounded over it.
“Shuttle B-77401, you are clear of the storm in twenty seconds. Please proceed to landing pad RT-556 at coordinates 66579. Radiation levels on ground are currently 1,500 roentgan.”
“I remember reading up on your horrible human disasters, and that’s the level of radiation the Chernobyl disaster had right next to the plant as the fires were still going!” screeched Kril. “I will not be stepping foot on this planet! If you have a death wish, that's fine with me, but I won’t be leaving the shuttle!” He crossed his arms and sat against the container wall. Vir and Solo didn’t have time to respond.
“Breaking storm now.” The lightning and horrible, swirling grey clouds cleared, only to reveal a scene of utter devastation. The land below was an endless expanse of grey and brown. Entire swaths of earth were covered with grey dust. Other areas were endless seas of irradiated mud, with ancient and rusted barbed wire, empty concrete bunkers, and long abandoned and corroded gun emplacements sticking out from the infinite brown. A few ossified trees, long dead, peeked up in places, the only signs of life, or what was once life, on the planet.
“What happened here?” murmured Vir.
“A tale of tragedy, and betrayal,” replied Cain softly. “Once upon a time, some 1,500 years ago, Krieg was a massive city world. The ruling oligarchy decided to turn their backs on the Emperor and rebel against the Imperium of Man. The commander of the loyalist Guard forces decided that if the Imperium couldn’t have the planet, no one would. But despite the unleashing of a stash of Dark Age nuclear weapons, the people of Krieg survived, and loyalist fought traitor in a five hundred year long war in the trenches of the wastes.” The shuttle was silent, imagining how horrible such a war would be. This singular civil war, on this singular planet, eclipsed even the most horrible of fights from most of their home galaxies. “Eventually, the loyalists won, and rejoined the Imperium. Ever since, the people of Krieg have fought in the deadliest of Imperial warzones to repent for their ancient betrayal.”
“Wait, wait, wait. There are people that live here? This isn’t just a military base?” asked an incredulous Solo.
“Yes,” replied Cain. “They live in massive underground cities, safely shielded from the worst of the radiation aboveground.”
“My god… there aren’t really words to describe that,” said Vir.
“Shuttle B-77401, you are cleared for landing,” came the voice of the controller. “Please wear radiation-proof suits. Commissar Jeicher will be present along with an honor guard to escort you.” The brown of mud gave way to a large, circular landing pad sunk into Krieg’s dead earth. The pad led to a set of stairs, travelling down into a set of heavy, sealed double doors, leading even further down into the ruined planet’s crust. On the pad were two figures, clad in greatcoats and gasmasks, flanked by a double line of soldiers. Vir and Solo set the shuttle down.
In the back, Cain had already pulled the hood of a radiation-proof bodysuit over his head, and attached an anachronistic looking gasmask. Over this, he donned an old and tattered Commissarial cap and greatcoat. Vir and Solo also donned much more modern-looking gas masks over their bodysuits, and went to the shuttle’s rear as Kril screeched about the dangers of radiation. With the quick press of a button, they activated the airlock and stepped onto the surface of the ruined planet.
Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as they stepped down the shuttle ramp and came face to face with what they presumed to be Commissar Jeicher. He was wearing the same outfit as Cain, a Commissar’s cap and greatcoat covering his bodysuit and gas mask. Behind him was a double rank of soldiers, wearing grey greatcoats and gas masks, clutching their las rifles in the ‘present arms’ position. Next to Jeicher stood another figure, hands clasped neatly behind their back. This one was dressed in much fancier boots, and wore a cuirassier’s breastplate. A brown greatcoat was draped over the figure's shoulders, and Vir assumed it to be an officer. Jeicher reached out to shake each of the trio’s hands in turn.
“Admiral Vir. Captain Solo. Commissar Cain. A pleasure to have you on Krieg. I am Commissar Jeicher, and this is Captain Kust,” he said, pointing to the officer behind him. Kust offered a single, curt nod. “You wished to have a tour of the planet, and to see it’s capacity for making war. I can assure you, gentlemen, that Krieg is one of the finest planets in the Imperium in that regard. I trust you will not be disappointed.” As he said this, Jeicher led them down the path leading away from the shuttle and towards the underground tunnels. As they walked, a series of flashes lit up the horizon, followed by the booming of thunder. Jeicher raised a gloved hand and gestured in the general direction of the noise.
“About twenty kilometers in that direction, we have the artillery and live-fire drills of the soon to be 712th Death Korps Regiment. It is the be the newest regiment coming into Imperial service, and the thirtieth Death Korps regiment raised this month. They will soon be shipping out to Warzone Viclius in the Segmentum Pacificus to break a massive ork siege of the Viclius sector.” They reached the end of the twin lines of troopers.
“Right shoulder, arms!” yelled Kust, her voice (Vir could tell it was a ‘her’ underneath the mask now) managing to carry through both her mask and Krieg’s stormy atmosphere. “Left face!” The Korpsmen spun to face the heavy blast doors in perfect synchronicity. Jeicher inputted some sort of code, and, with a great creaking and grinding of metal, the doors slid open. “Forward, march!”
The group, followed by the honour guard, stepped into a large white room. As the doors closed behind them, various nozzles sprayed radiation-retardant foam onto them. The airlock process completed, the heavy set of double doors in front of them opened. Despite the decontamination, no one took their masks off.
The halls were quite familiar to Vir, but unlike anything he’d seen as a civilization. They were long, emotionless white and grey concrete bunker systems, lit by cheap yellow bulbs that still allowed him to see perfectly well. Endless, emotionless bunker halls. It saddened him. What a terrible way to live and grow up.
Through the long walkways, they passed seemingly thousands of Korpsmen, all wearing grey greatcoats, and staring from behind emotionless gas masks. They all blurred into one, and Vir was grateful that at least Jeicher, Kust, and their honor guard he could pick out from the crowd.
They reached another large double blast door, and the two Korpsmen standing guard outside snapped to attention. The group walked through, only for the three offworlders to stop short. The entire left half of the hallway was a massive clear window. Far beneath them, a full division of Death Korps Guardsmen marched through an utterly massive, hangar-sized underground hallway. It was an endless tide of grey coats and gas masks, the thud of their boots echoing up even past the glass of the observation deck. Tanks rolled past, along with smaller, two legged armored walkers.
“That’s the 122nd Siege Army. Newly formed. They’re shipping out to the southern part of Segmentum Ultima today,” said Jeicher. He made another motion, and the group, still followed by Kust and her honor guard, left the observation room.
They walked through more hallways, still stark and emotionless, until they got to another double door. This area of tunnels and bunkers seemed to have more Korpsmen around. Officers, wearing their higher, more polished boots and cuirassiers’ breastplates. The double doors opened, revealing a much more polished and refined room, made mostly out of metal. Computers clung to the walls, and workstations were filled with Death Korps soldiers, red-robed cybernetic tech-priests, and unmasked commissars.
“This is the central command room of this section of Krieg’s underground cities,” said Jeicher, continuing the tour. “All the regiments and supplies that are raised and produced in section Alpha-Gamma-551 are tracked here. As you can see, we have more than enough to outfit the two regiments this sector is raising.” They went through the room, through another series of hallways, and down multiple sets of solid but plain corrugated steel stairs.
“Here we have the underground munitions factories of Krieg,” said Jeicher, gesturing through another glass panel on an observation deck. This time, the windows led onto an utterly massive factory floor. Conveyor belts led to unknown machines, and churned out endless numbers of what seemed to be artillery shells. “As you can see, everything is completely on schedule.” Vir noticed workers, all wearing heavy grey suits and gas masks below. Some of them seemed to be… off, and it took a moment for him to realize precisely why.
“Wait a minute… are those children?” he wheeled around and demanded at Jeicher. He was met with the empty lenses of a gas mask.
“Yes,” replied Jeicher. “I do realize that many off-worlders not of the Munitorum or Mechanicus find the practice… distasteful, but-”
“Distasteful doesn’t even begin to cover it. More like abhorrent,” snarled Vir.
“If you cannot fight, you must serve,” intoned Kust. “All infertile males serve in the Death Korps. Most fertile males and infertile females serve in the Death Korps. Most fertile females and some fertile males serve in the munitions factories. Children cannot go to waste,” she finished, rattling off the practices of Krieg in a completely toneless voice. Vir looked like he was about to explode. Cain put a hand on his shoulder, and nodded towards the honor guard and their las guns. Noticing the mood in the room, Jeicher went on.
“I think it’s best if we go on,” he said. The group followed him through another set of hallways, and when Kust was out of earshot, Jeicher spoke to the trio of newcomers.
“Please don’t antagonize the Kriegers,” he said. “That’s why they have commissars, actually. To ease the transition between them and any allied forces.”
“They deserve to die,” hissed Vir, still shaking with rage. Jeicher gave a mirthless laugh.
“Oh, they do. Their entire purpose, their entire existence, is to die in the Emperor’s wars. They want this.”
“Why?” asked Solo. “Why would anyone want this?”
“They are driven by one of the most powerful motivators in the world. Not anger, not love, not faith, but shame. Shame of their ancient rebellion. In the Emperor’s service, the Death Korps will pay any price.”
The group reached another viewing balcony. This one overlooked a much smaller room, where a group of children in grey overcoats drilled with small las carbines. Vir clenched his fist in rage, but said nothing.
“Present arms!” yelled an adult and fully uniformed drill sergeant from behind his gas mask. The children held out their weapons in front of them, many with as much or even more precision than Vir had seen of new GA marine recruits. Most of them looked to be no older than six or seven, making the workers in the factory even younger…
No. He did not want to think about that.
The drill instructor moved along the line of recruits (or children, if you were fortunate enough to not be raised in a post-apocalyptic militaristic hellhole, thought Vir.) The instructor spun and glared at one of the cadets.
“P-44271930,” he stated.
“Yes, sir!” replied the cadet, with the enthusiasm of a fresh recruit.
“What is your duty, P-44271930?” asked the instructor.
“To serve the Emperor’s will,” replied the cadet.
“And what is the Emperor’s will?” queried the instructor.
“That we fight and die!” Vir clenched down so hard he crushed the balcony bar in the viewing room.
“What is death?” asked the instructor.
“It is our duty!” replied the cadet. The instructor nodded.
“Very good, P-44271930.” He took a step back. “Right shoulder, arms!” Vir looked at Jeicher.
“They’re calling them by their serial numbers at that young of an age?” he asked, still fuming. Jeicher inwardly cringed. He suspected the esteemed Admiral would not like what came next.
“They don’t have names,” said Kust, with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“What?” asked Vir, in a ‘please, do try my patience’ tone.
“None of us have names,” replied Kust.
“You have a name,” pointed out Vir.
“You only get a name if you survive long enough to become an officer,” replied Kust.
“Really?” Vir wheeled around to face the leader of the honor guard. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“YH-5577933,” replied the man, in a completely emotionless voice. Vir threw his hands in the air, completely done.
“Fine.” He nodded at Jeicher. “Continue the tour,” he snapped. Jeicher nodded, and motioned them on. I have to get off this place as soon as possible, thought Vir. This is… beyond anything I thought possible.
I hope you enjoyed it. I find Krieg and the Death Korps are one of the most interesting groups in science fiction. Motivated by shame, they represent the worst humanity could ever become. However, they are utter badasses in battle. If you aren’t afraid to die, you can pull of some pretty heroic things. If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, concerns, requests, or want me to continue this story, please tell me! Have a great day!
It should be noted, of course, I do not own any of these characters. Vir and Kril belong to starr-fall-knight-rise, Cain belongs to Games Workshop, and Solo belongs to Disney.
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Kisses and Near Misses (Riff x Reader) Part 4
Summary: A date can never be as effortlessly romantic as the movies portray them.
AN: Idk this is an addition to my last author’s note - and follows on with what my pal @inkandpen22 has said. I reblogged the post earlier but tl;dr Tony was a racist Jet until he decided to change before killing an Egyptian King member and Maria looked past that to give him a chance. Riff and Bernardo don’t get that chance because the moment of realisation comes when Bernardo stabs Riff - and David Alvarez says that Bernardo didn’t even want to do it. Then Tony kills Bernardo.
In this fic, Riff, Bernardo, and Y/N will get that moment. More so for Riff and Y/N since Bernardo and the Sharks are only defending themselves against the Jets, with a sprinkling of xenophobia on top. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna gloss over what they do before they decide to change.
Chapter content warnings: Canon-typical attitudes towards gay folks (aka the lads and the lasses can’t be open with their love because its the 50s)
Previous Part // Masterlist // Next Part
Your name: submit What is this?
The Outing
The streets during the day were so much different to the air held at night time. Arrogant drivers forced all the city’s citizens into the cramped pavements, selling wares, playing chase, power walking. Sunlight glared down and bounced off the blocks into everyone’s eyes.
Bit less jaunty, a lot more sober, but still in high spirits, Riff held the door open for Y/N as they entered the all-American diner. Vermillion and yellow neon lighting was a bit obnoxious but it was routine now. Another booth, they sat opposite one another, this time a burger each with fries to share, plus Riff in a neater outfit than he was often seen in.
As thick as the mustard Y/N squirted over his patty, the young men’s yearning to hold hands across the table was mirrored in a couple opposite them. Tale as old as time, boy and girl, hands clasped together as they shared laughter and nose nuzzles. Y/N didn’t want the latter of those affectionate exchanges, and Riff didn’t want the girl aspect, but they wished to show some love without the risk of ruining their reputations – and that was without considering the homosexual facet.
That didn’t mean their date went without flirtatious exchange. Cheeky as he was, Riff initiated a game of footsie under the table’s shadow and sent Y/N into a flushed frenzy. This naturally egged him on more, but Y/N would never object to seeing Riff so pleased with himself. Besides, he could always get him back later.
Feet became planted firmly on the floor as A-Rab, Tiger, and Baby John entered the diner. The three Jets made straight for Riff and Y/N’s table, one behind the other like three ducklings looking for their mother duck. Once they stood before Riff, with only a swift glimpse in Y/N’s direction, they began relaying information about an incident that was only an hour old of Shark origin.
Instead of replying, Riff extended an open palm across the table, “You guys remember Y/N?” He waited for each Jet to reply (either with a “yeah” or a mumbled greeting at Y/N) before he continued, “Anyway, we’re busy right now. I’ll meet ya later to discuss that further.”
Rolling his eyes when his men refused to roll out, Riff sat himself up forward with his hands elaborately helping to explain why they were asked to go: “Give me some time to think of how we’re going to get ‘em back.”
A little more understanding, the trio of Jets shipped themselves off with their leader’s orders, the same leader who had his elbows on the table wrapped his lips around the straw. He stopped slurping to frown at a staring Y/N.
“What?” He asked, knocking the straw away with his question.
Y/N hid his mouth behind his hand while he spoke, “I like seeing you act all bossy.”
In response, Riff’s foot tapped his shin as his smirk returned, combined with a quirk of his right eyebrow.
Their leftovers were wrapped in greasy papers to continue such playful banter alone. Upon entering Y/N’s apartment, his shoes removed and bundle tossed on the table, Riff swiped up Y/N’s hand and unceremoniously spun him into him. A squeak escaped Y/N as he collided with Riff’s chest, causing them both to wobble.
“See? I can be romantic,” Riff squeezed the hand he held.
“Never said you couldn’t be.”
Reality would argue Riff could not be romantic and its first exhibit proving its argument came in the form of the apartment’s front door opening. The speed with which Riff snatched himself away from his boyfriend was as fast as their first kiss, only this time he managed to get two feet between them before Roisin even stepped into sight. Y/N’s arms remained around his body, hands hollow where their partner’s had been, and they dropped only when Roisin pecked him on the cheek.
“Hey baby,” She beamed at him.
“Hi,” He returned, sounding as far away as he felt, “Good day?”
“Shite, thanks for asking,” She left her shopping bag on the table, her voice dropping its cheeriness and picking up formality, “Hello Riff.”
“Roisin,” He dipped his head respectfully to Y/N’s roommate.
Just as the front door was about to close, it bounced open again. Graziella appeared, just as sunny as her blonde hair bundled up in a loose knot. Her greetings were akin to Roisin’s, and they both disappeared into Roisin’s room.
Every so often, a pair of giggles and reciprocated compliments would be heard - perhaps a kiss or two1. Riff stayed rooted to the spot. Therefore Y/N did too, besides his toying with the paper bag his leftovers occupied.
When the two women re-emerged, Roisin with a different bag that she’d prepped that morning, arm in arm, it was hard not to feel inspired by jealousy at their comfort.
“See you boys later!” Grazie called out, her voice’s timbre dropping behind the door and teetering out into nothing.
A mournful sigh came from Riff, “I wish I could just kiss you like how she kissed you.”
His head was still turned to where Roisin had vanished. Y/N couldn’t see the vulnerability in Riff’s face; his body still held him taut as the leader of the Jets. As subtle as he could, he slipped in front of the source of their wistfulness.
“Me too. But at least, here, we can.”
A downturned smile emerged on his lips before Y/N could see him sad and his hands found Y/N’s waist, “I was joking about being brought home on the first date.”
“And it was hilarious,” Y/N traced his thumb over the nape of Riff’s neck. It was tickled by the overgrown baby hairs before it slid away. He took off his Claddagh ring and flipped it around, so that now it sat on the same finger but with the heart pointing inwards.2
A rosy shine came across Riff’s cheeks, “You slick bastard.”
“I prefer ‘romantic bastard’.”
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1 Yes, Grazie and Roisin are in a relationship in this fic. Idk it makes sense to me to have Riff and Y/N be their frocks while in this relationship, and vice versa as their beards.
2 When a Claddagh ring is positioned on the right hand with the heart pointing to the fingertips, this means the wearer is single. When a Claddagh ring is positioned on the right hand with the heart pointing to the wrist, this means the wearer is in a relationship.
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Riff tag: @that1fanficwriter
#west side story fanfic#riff x reader#riff fanfic#wss 2021#riff wss#riff imagine#west side story imagine#my writing#wc: >1k#r: male#series
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an icarus and his sun: chapter 5
A/N: it's formal ball time :) where nothing will go wrong :) (also this morning i saw a tweet from scott smajor casually mentioning he looked at the empires smp tag on tumblr AND mentioning something about liking the "art and stories." so i've been dealing with the mortifying possibility of being known all morning, hope y'all are having a good day/night/whenever aksfdgkl)
Warnings: kissing, explosions, betrayal, violence, swordfights, mild disassociation
AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost
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The night of the House Blossom Ball had arrived. Jimmy had to admit, getting Lizzie’s help with an outfit was a good idea. He wore a black suit with intricate, swirling bronze details that shimmered when the light hit them. He had a dark green bowtie as a nod to his empire, and he had indeed ditched the cod head. Instead, he wore a bronze colored masquerade mask that looked like two cod fish curling around his eyes, their fins spreading out and covering his forehead. It felt weird to have his hair exposed, but Lizzie helped him make sure it was presentable. Speaking of Lizzie, she was wearing a dress with the typical navy blue color of the Ocean Empire, but it had an ombre shift into the magenta of Mezalea at the end of the skirt. Joel wore his typical Mezalean garb, but with a navy blue sash instead of a green one. They walked into the ballroom as quite the dazzling trio- and then Jimmy’s heart just about stopped at the sight of Scott.
He was chatting with Pixl and one of the new rulers, a man with colorful wings like a parrot’s. But Jimmy was too busy staring at Scott to really pay attention to Pix and the other ruler, because Scott was wearing a ballgown. The main body of it was long sleeved and form fitting, made of white lace with shimmers of gold worked in, and was backless to allow room for his wings. Then there was a light blue overskirt to go with it, making the dress look like a full ballgown. Gold jewelry adorned him as well- on his wrists, around his neck, and hanging from his ears.
“Close your mouth, Jimmy,” Joel murmured with a teasing lilt. Jimmy snapped his mouth shut, looking down at the ground and extremely relieved that his masquerade mask covered the blush on his cheeks.
“How about we go and mingle with the other guests, I think Jimmy needs a minute to compose himself,” Lizzie teased. Jimmy nodded, too flustered to even protest. The three of them walked over to Katherine, who was chatting with Gem, Pearl, and a gnome girl in a dress that reminded Jimmy of a mushroom, with its red poofy top and white floor length skirt. The girl jumped a bit at the sight of Jimmy and Lizzie, but quickly composed herself.
“Hello! I am Shrub of the Undergrove. You may call me Shelby if you like though,” she said, seeming a little skittish as she spoke. Lizzie smiled gently, giving a curtsy. Joel and Jimmy quickly followed her lead, bowing at Shelby.
“Ocean’s blessings. I am Queen Lizzie, of the Ocean Empire. This is my husband, King Joel of Mezalea. And this is my dear friend, the Codfather of the Cod Empire,” Lizzie said, gesturing to each of them in turn.
“You can call me Jimmy though, if you want,” he added with a smile. Shelby jumped a bit when he spoke, but nodded and gave a hasty curtsy. Joel looked at her with gentle concern.
“Is everything alright?” he asked. Shelby nodded, a bit too hastily.
“Yes! Just not uh. Not super used to this many people,” she said with a nervous laugh, eyeing Lizzie and Jimmy warily. Joel frowned a bit at the way she was looking at them, but didn’t say anything.
“Jimmy, you aren’t making an enemy of our new friend already, are you?” Fwhip’s voice asked from somewhere behind them. Jimmy whirled around to glare at Fwhip, and of course Sausage was at his side.
“I’m just saying hello, Fwhip. Surely that’s allowed,” Jimmy huffed.
“Sure, that’s how it always starts though- next thing you know he’s stealing your things,” Sausage chimed in. Shelby looked rather alarmed, and Jimmy let out a frustrated sigh.
“For the millionth time, you had said that I could-”
“Oh listen, the music’s starting! Let’s dance!” Katherine interrupted him, and the whole ballroom seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief as people found their dance partners. Jimmy fully intended to step to the side and watch as the others danced, but then he met the mischievous glint in Lizzie’s eyes.
“Joel, is it alright if I go dance with Scott? I simply must compliment his dress,” Lizzie said airily. Joel smiled, just as wickedly as the glint in his wife’s eyes.
“As long as you don’t mind if I dance with the Codfather for a bit,” Joel replied.
“Of course!” Lizzie chirped, before heading off towards Scott. Jimmy squinted at Joel suspiciously as he led him to the dance floor. It wasn’t the first time the two of them had danced together, Joel had insisted that Jimmy practice with him before his wedding day. But it had frankly been a while, and he didn’t like the look he and Lizzie had exchanged before she went to dance with Scott.
“What are you up to?” Jimmy asked as he rested his hand on the small of Joel’s back, and Joel rested his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Their other hands were clasped together, and the two of them began gently swaying.
“Oh, nothing,” Joel replied, and that was all Jimmy could get out of him as they danced. They slowly made their way across the ballroom floor, and soon they were close to where Lizzie and Scott were dancing. And gosh were they a sight, all swirling skirts and elegance. Jimmy could tell Joel was just as distracted by Lizzie as Jimmy was by Scott. Then Lizzie noticed them staring, and she and Scott twirled closer.
“Jimmy! Let’s trade partners, I’d like to dance with my husband now!” Lizzie chimed, and before Jimmy could process what exactly that meant, he was spun into Scott’s arms. They were almost as close as they had been the day they fought- and there were those butterflies again. He didn’t know what to do with his hands- there was the issue of Scott’s wings and the fact that his dress exposed a lot of the skin on his back. But there wouldn’t be a point to worrying about that, Scott would surely push him away- but then Scott chuckled and took Jimmy’s hands in his, guiding them to where they should be.
“Here,” he said softly, placing one of Jimmy’s hands on his shoulder while his fingers laced with the other, then moved his free hand to rest on Jimmy’s back and pull him impossibly closer. Jimmy swallowed nervously, glancing over at Lizzie and Joel (who nodded encouragingly) before looking back to Scott.
“You look gorgeous,” Jimmy blurted as the two of them began to sway. Jimmy internally cursed himself for saying the first thing that popped into his head- but then Scott’s face flushed and it suddenly all felt worth it.
“Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself,” he teased. Jimmy laughed.
“Lizzie helped,” he admitted. Scott laughed as well, the sound all sunshine and glittering gold.
“Should’ve known,” he replied, seeming distracted for a moment. Jimmy wanted to ask what was wrong, but Scott plastered on a smile and gently spun the two of them. Jimmy couldn’t help but smile along, heart soaring.
They continued dancing until the song ended, and then Scott was just… gone. He had twirled Jimmy and when he had finally managed to stop spinning and catch his balance, laughing and about to make a teasing remark about Scott making him dizzy- he realized he had vanished into the crowd. It felt like Scott had taken a bit of Jimmy’s heart with him. Jimmy looked around for him, and met Katherine’s concerned gaze instead. She gave a comforting smile as she walked over to Jimmy.
“I saw Scott go upstairs, I think he just needed some fresh air after dancing. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some company,” she said with a wink, nudging Jimmy towards the stairs. He chuckled, thanking Katherine before heading up the stairs. She was right, there was no need to be worried! Jimmy just kinda wished Scott would have said something.
Jimmy’s breath was once again taken away when he saw Scott standing on the balcony. If Jimmy thought he was beautiful in the sunlight, he was even more stunning in the moonlight. The white of his wings practically glowed, and while the gold didn’t shimmer quite as bright as it did in the sun, it still sent Jimmy’s heart fluttering all the same. The only thing that ruined the image was how… distressed Scott looked. His hands were fiddling with the gold bracelets he wore, and his mouth was fixed in a frown. Maybe he needed some space, clearly something about the dance upset him- he probably hadn’t really wanted to dance with Jimmy, and just played along cause everyone was watching. Jimmy should definitely apologize before giving him some space.
“Scott? I promise I’ll leave you alone after this, but I just wanted to apologize,” Jimmy said, trying not to let his heartbreak show. Scott jumped in surprise, turning to look at Jimmy.
“Apologize? For what?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused.
“The dance. Joel and Lizzie schemed against my will, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Jimmy explained, guilt welling up in his stomach. To his surprise, Scott gave a soft laugh.
“You don’t need to apologize for that. I… I liked dancing with you,” he confessed. Jimmy’s heart was sent fluttering once more, and he stepped closer to Scott with a grin.
“Oh! Good, I was just worried because you left and you looked upset when I came up here,” Jimmy said, deflating only a little bit when Scott only smiled and nodded in response before gazing out over the lands of the Overgrown. There was awkward silence for a moment or two, until Scott suddenly moved closer to Jimmy, almost as close as they had been when they were dancing. Butterflies sparked in Jimmy’s stomach at the little distance between them.
“I need to tell you something,” Scott blurted. He looked nervous, almost like he had been when Jimmy first had come up to the balcony.
“Of course, what is it?” Jimmy asked soothingly. Scott looked him in the eyes, mouth opening and closing uselessly- until he broke eye contact for a brief moment before locking eyes with him again, something desperate in his gaze. Then suddenly Scott’s hands were gently cradling his face and there were lips on his. Scott’s lips. Scott was kissing him. Jimmy gasped in surprise against his mouth before quickly sinking into the kiss and running his hands through Scott’s stupid perfect hair. Scott’s hands drifted down from his face to his waist, pulling him in closer as his wings wrapped around them both, shielding them from the outside world so it was only Scott and Jimmy. Then Scott tilted his head and the kiss went from pleasantly warm to blazing, sending sparks racing up Jimmy’s spine. It left him dizzyingly breathless, like Scott had spun him a thousand times on the dance floor, and Jimmy never wanted it to end-
And then a thundering BOOM rattled the castle, breaking them apart. Scott clung to Jimmy, arms tightening around his waist as his breath hitched in fear, and Jimmy held him back just as tightly. There was something unreadable in Scott’s expression alongside the fear, but Jimmy didn’t have time to decipher it before another BOOM shook the castle. Jimmy was about to ask what was going on, but the sound of someone landing on the roof behind him and the voice that went with it stopped him cold.
“Well what do we have here?” Fwhip crooned, and Scott practically snarled as he shifted his hold on Jimmy so that one arm was curled protectively around his waist, his wing shielding him as well, as he drew a sword from somewhere within his skirts and pointed it at Fwhip. Dimly, Jimmy remembered that there weren’t supposed to be weapons at the ball, Katherine had made a rule.
“Leave before I make you,” Scott growled, the sound of his voice sending liquid fire through Jimmy’s veins. Fwhip gave an incredulous scoff, shaking his head.
“Playing the part a little too well, are we?” he sneered, and just like that the fire in his veins went cold, and he realized what that strange look on Scott’s face had been before. Guilt. Scott’s grip on him suddenly felt suffocating, more like he was holding Jimmy hostage rather than protecting him.
“Let go of me,” Jimmy demanded, voice hollow. Scott’s grip only tightened on him, and Jimmy’s heart rate spiked in fear.
“Don’t listen to Fwhip, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Scott said shakily. Fwhip let out a cruel laugh.
“Oh come on Scott, you’re the one who helped make this possible,” he jeered, and the castle shook with another explosion. Jimmy’s stomach dropped. Scott was in league with Fwhip. Scott had plotted against him, and lulled Jimmy into a false sense of security with dazzling smiles and soft lips.
“Jimmy-” Scott started, but was cut off by the sound of people bounding up the stairs and shouting. Jimmy’s head whipped over to see Katherine, Lizzie, and Joel coming up to the balcony.
“Fwhip! How could you do this!” Katherine demanded, tears streaming down her face. Fwhip merely laughed.
“I told you the ball would be a blast, Katherine,” he sneered. Anger boiled in Jimmy’s stomach at Fwhip’s tone towards Katherine, and he squirmed against Scott’s hold.
“Jimmy,” Scott warned, voice low. Joel mistook the tone of Scott’s voice, and leveled his sword at him- somehow Jimmy missed that he was holding it, he must have grabbed it from the chests at the front of the castle.
“Release the Codfather. Now. I won’t let you destroy this castle and take an ally hostage,” Joel growled.
“Joel, stay out of this. You don’t understand what’s happening,” Scott said, voice calm and even. Joel let out a harsh laugh, tightening his grip on his sword.
“I understand plenty,” he snarled, leaping at Scott. Scott was forced to toss Jimmy to the side to block the incoming strike, and Jimmy watched them fight with some sort of dazed confusion as he fell to the ground. Everything felt cold and hollow, and Jimmy didn’t really feel connected to his body as Lizzie scrambled to his side, helping him up and murmuring words of comfort.
“C’mon Jimmy, we’ve gotta get out of here,” she said, voice soft but no less urgent as she gently squeezed Jimmy’s hand. He met Scott’s eyes briefly as he was holding off Joel, and that was decision enough for Jimmy. He squeezed Lizzie’s hand back, and ran with her.
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