#and is so concerned for the political structure that he kind of just settles down there by accident

[jelfish-aether]

NEW DISGRUNTLED OLD MAN ALERT

[radiant-reid]

Unconventional

Summary: Spencer's first one night stand ends up having a lot of strings when he sees her again at work.

y/n and Spencer are friends and they have a one night stand and she gets pregnant but Spencer has like another woman and he's kind of a jerk...happy ending however pls

reader and spencer have a one night stand the night before she joins the team but she gets pregnant and they kinda dare maybe some angst during the pregnancy and maybe reid proposes once their kid is born + fluffy end??

A/n: thank you for these requests ! i tried to bring the angst as much as possible

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angsty Smut)

Content Warning: Swearing | Smut (R18) oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected penetrative sex | pregnancy | vomiting

Word Count: 6.7k

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Y/n had never felt more like a fucking cliche. Sitting in a dimly lit bar, with other equally sad people drowning her sorrows in throat-burning liquor after her more-than-toxic ex-boyfriend started dating another girl. It had all the makings of a shitty rom-com movie.

Even more, cliche was her shameless flirting with the unfairly attractive guy she had happened to sit next to. She hadn't had enough to drink that he was blurry, a fact she was thankful for when she saw his chocolate brown curls and perfect bone structure.

His eyes were pretty, too, but sad. There was a sorrow about Spencer- she thought that's what he said his name was- that she couldn't place and that she didn't really want to know about. Her emotional baggage was far too heavy to add someone else's worries.

The way he held his drink was attractive. The glass of scotch sat comfortably between his forefinger and thumb, giving her the incredible view that was the protruded veins running through his hands.

"Do you know sex burns around 360 calories an hour?" Spencer asked, capturing her attention. She wasn't sure if he was acting apathetic as a way to pick her up or if it was just how he felt about life. Either way, he knew a lot of random facts about everything.

Talking about sex, however, was getting her worked up. "6 a minute?" She replied back, earning a nod. "Spin class burns, like, 800 in an hour." They were close enough her bare knee was touching his clothed one, sending a shiver, not from the alcohol, down her spine.

The bar had nearly cleared out when the time neared midnight as the middle-aged men, who had jobs to go to in the morning, left. Y/n wasn't exactly thinking about the job she had to start in the morning, more like cursing her ex-boyfriend's name for leaving her heartbroken and debating whether or not she should fuck this complete stranger. Just so everything felt like a fresh start.

"Sex also reduces stress and improves sleep." He added, tipping back the last of his drink, past the point of needing to wince.

If the subject of conversation wasn't intentional, then his actions clearly showed he was ready to leave. "Are you trying to get me to sleep with you?" She asked, not bothering to remind him that exercise also did the same thing.

Spencer's eyes widened, and he cleared his throat, as if he was going to take it back in case she was offended. Then it settled when he read her eyes and pupils far more dilated than they should have under the dim light.

"Yes." He settled on, figuring he had literally nothing to lose. What harm could come from sleeping with a stranger to try and kickstart his getting over his girlfriend?

"Alright." Y/n agreed. He was hot, weird in a non-creepy way, smelt expensive, and just as lonely as she was. All the positives for a one-night stand without any resemblance of commitment. She took a big swig of her cocktails, finishing it off before getting out of her seat.

Apparently, he was polite as well, holding the door open for her to step out into the street first. He knew she didn't drive to the bar, and he had no problem with her request to go to her place. Like he was extra concerned about making her feel safe. If she wasn't solely looking for a hookup, Spencer could have been promising boyfriend material.

She shouldn't have been starting her profiling before the morning, but the FBI seminars she'd spent hours at compelled her to. Maybe, she guessed, he was some type of law enforcement.

Or an awful guy who had a wife at home. She tried to shake the thought off when they got inside, both taking their shoes off at the door.

It definitely wasn't a common occurrence for him. Y/n could tell just from the way he hesitated to touch her. Only when he was cupping her cheeks and reading the look in her eyes did he feel more confident. She saw the switch in him a second before he leaned down to kiss her. Energetically, he pressed his lips against hers, forcing her head against the back of the apartment door.

Not wanting to waste any time, Y/n deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue past his lips. That was something he fought her on, not willing to give up control of the kiss. His mouth, obviously, tasted slightly like scotch, making her throat tingle slightly.

His hands slipped from her cheeks, moving to her waist as he started to move his hips against hers. Despite being a little awkward in the bar, he was a good kisser, pressure firm enough that it made every nerve in her body sharpen.

When they pulled back for air, Y/n just needed to ask. "You're not married or something?"

He frowned slightly, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. It concerned her that he couldn't figure out an answer. "N-no, fuck, sorry, no, I'm not. Like, not at all." Slightly, he pulled back when he saw the apprehension on her face.

"Good, neither." She quickly replied, pulling on his tie so she could kiss him again.

Spencer obliged, hands traveling down to her ass and squeezing tight enough it made her moan. She got to work untying his tie, pushing him back slightly so they could make their way to the bedroom. Not knowing where he was going, he let her guide him through the dark apartment.

Thankfully, Y/n had only cleaned the room a few days ago. His lips broke away from hers when she started unbuttoning her own shirt, and he followed suit, taking his off.

After their shirts were thrown on the floor, she pulled him in by the loopholes on his pants. It was far too uncomfortable to just look at each other, so she kissed him again while she undid his belt. Feeling less awkward, Spencer's large hands roamed over her skin until he was unclipping her bra just as she was sliding off his belt.

Oddly, she didn't feel shy, especially not when he looked at her chest the way he did, eyes near to bulging out of his head. It was endearing, really, because she knew it wasn't the first set of boobs he'd seen in his life.

It seemed to add to his eagerness, fingers wrapping around her sides under her boobs, so his thumbs could swipe across the valley to her nipples. She half wished he didn't already have her moaning so retaliatory, she moved her hands from his lower stomach to his cock, already getting hard in his pants.

Tipping his head back slightly, Spencer let her continue palming his length, less focused on her as the pleasure surged through his body.

It made her smirk, and she wanted to continue to pleasure him when he looked that beautiful. "Can I?" She asked, trailing her fingers back up to the button and zip.

"Please." He deeply replied. Although, he didn't totally comprehend what she intended to do and was a little shocked when she got down on her knees. "Oh, fuck." He was already groaning, throwing his head back and displaying the light stubble along his jawline as she let his pants pool at his feet.

Never had she seen someone so responsive and surprisingly gentle. Spencer's hands threading through her hair were soft like he was still testing the water. So, if his attitude was just as attractive as his body, why was this guy still single? When she pulled his boxers down, she realized his thick, more than adequate girth and length cock was not the problem. Which left a time-consuming job as his drawback.

All Y/n's attention was focused on Spencer's cock when she ran her thumb over the underside of his cock, and he shivered. Precum spilled out when she wrapped her fist around him and pumped up and down.

Determined to keep drawing noise out of him, she wrapped her lips around the head, swirling her tongue around to taste him. "Fuck, that feels really good, angel." His eyes widened with the slip of the pet name, making Y/n sit back like she'd done something wrong. "Shit, s-sorry. My ex. That was what I-"

She cut him off before he could continue. "It's all good." He still looked like he didn't believe her. "Seriously, Spencer. Can I continue?" Using his first name felt a little odd, but it gave him enough reassurance to nod. When his face relaxed again, she closed her lips around the tip of his cock, quickly moving downward as far as she could. After she slightly gagged, Spencer's fingers traced along her scalp and collected her hair in a makeshift ponytail.

"So good." He moaned, tugging her slightly closer with a bit of the confidence she first assumed he would have. She kept her tongue flat along the underside of his dick, bobbing up and down. "Fuck." He swore again, something she hadn't heard him do before they arrived at her apartment with his head thrown back.

When he started to twitch in her mouth, Y/n pulled back as to not have him coming too quickly. Spencer offered her a hand up before pulling her into a much more forceful kiss. While pressing their bare chests together, he unzipped and unbuttoned her pants. His long fingers against her skin was a feeling like no other, cold enough to make her shiver but anticipatory.

He didn't fumble with it, having her pants at her feet in a second while she stood there feeling bare. "Can I?" He respectfully asked, dipping his thumb just between the waistband of her underwear.

Y/n helped him out, pulling her underwear down and stepping out of her clothes. "Going to fuck me now?" She asked, playfully grinning at him.

"Going to ask nicely?" His dominant tone came in, taking her by complete surprise. When her eyes darted away from him, Y/n's chin was between his index finger and his thumb as he forced her to look at him.

It was hot, especially coming from him, and a quiver ran down her spine. "Please, fuck me." She requested sweetly, her heart thumping at how close together they were. He was dragging it out on purpose, and it was making her wet.

"Good." Spencer praised, hand off her face and instantly on her pussy, drawing through her lips.

Every nerve on her body was on edge, and she could feel the texture of his finger against her. Her breathing was much more audible when he dipped a finger inside her, pressing around her walls. The dirty sounds were something she knew meant she was more than amply wet.

"Oh, fuck." She moaned when another finger sunk all the way inside her, reaching so far inside her it made her feel completely filled. They looked as perfect as they felt inside her, stretching her.

Spencer smirked at her reaction, much like him, head with her head thrown back as she moaned. "Good?" He asked, condescendingly but also making sure she was okay.

"So, so, good." She groaned, faltering slightly when he increased his speed. It made everything inside her tremble, knowing she was getting closer to the edge. He must have been great at reading people because his thumb was suddenly on her clit, tightening the coil in her stomach. "F-fuck, Spencer, gonna cum." She warned, eyes fluttering closed in her intense pleasure.

His lips were drawn to the expanse of Y/n's throat, sucking soft marks into the skin and making her tighten her grip on his forearm. It only took her a few seconds to cum after that, everything inside her getting hot.

When she came down from it, his fingers were still inside her and, her breathing was unregulated. "You're, like, really good at that." She absentmindedly commented, not having expected to have such an intense orgasm with someone that didn't know her body.

"Thanks." He replied, flashing her the cutest lopsided grin. Then he remembered what they were doing next. "Do I, uh, need a..?" Why he was so hesitant to say the word, he didn't know, but he was already gathering his pants.

"I'm on birth control and clean if you want to not bother." She offered, with no favor to either option. All she knew was she wanted to fuck him as soon as possible.

Shrugging, he dropped his pants back on the floor. "Okay."

Y/n pulled him over to the bed, making up what she was doing on the spot. Spencer lay down first, and she swung on thigh over his hips. Stabilizing herself by grabbing his shoulder with one hand, she drew his dick through her slit. Spencer held her waist, rubbing oddly reassuring circles on her side. She adjusted herself so she could sink down onto him.

"Spencer, fuck." She moaned, filled impossibly more than she was with his fingers.

"Feels so good." He agreed, mewling at the wet warmth of being inside her.

Once she accommodated to his length, she lifted her hips up slightly to sink back onto him, and they both moaned. Her actions were spurred on each time by his facial expressions and how addicting the feeling of bouncing up and down on his cock was.

Each time she rose up, she moaned louder when she sunk down onto him. Spencer felt nothing short of blissed-out, knowing nothing- not even a phone call from Garcia- would pull his attention from the pretty girl riding on his cock.

Determined to not make her do all the work, Spencer pulled her closer to his body, driving his hips quicker into her at the new angle. One of his hands stayed on her waist while the other squeezed at her boobs.

"Oh my god, feels incredible." Y/n was moaning even louder at where his cock was hitting inside her.

"Fuck, Y/n." Spencer groaned back, almost matching her volume but much lower-pitched. "Nearly there?" He asked, moving his hand down to her hips so he could circle her clit again but with more pressure.

Instead of attempting a verbal answer in her state, Y/n nodded, grinding her hips against Spencer's and making them both cum at the pleasure. For a moment, she stilled on top of him, thighs tensing as her heart raced.

"Holy shit." She exclaimed, flopping down onto the bed next to him with an exhausted smile.

Spencer brushed her hair out of the way. "Can I, like, get you something?" He offered, confidence quickly dissipating, and she could see it on his face.

"I'm good." She replied, placing a quick kiss on his lips without thinking about it. "Thank you."

Chuckling, he got up off the bed. "Thank you." He responded, grinning at her.

He was so cute that she wished she'd just given him her number, not that it mattered because he was also good in bed, and a one-night stand with a hot stranger was probably better than a relationship for her.

Spencer was already getting dressed by the time she finished staring at the ceiling in a blissed-out state. Even how he redressed was attractive. While he collected himself, she went to the bathroom before lounging back down in bed.

"Uh, so, goodbye." He awkwardly farewelled her from the doorway, having collected all of his things.

"Oh, I'll walk you out." Y/n offered, not really paying attention when she was staring off into the distance, for once, able to not think about her fucked up life.

Spencer shook his head. "I can just lock the door if that's okay?" He suggested, earning a nod from her. "You just look comfortable."

"Goodnight, Spencer." She waved, getting cozier in bed, exhausted and not worried about taking her makeup off.

"Goodnight, Y/n." He waved back, tiptoeing out of the bedroom. Once she heard the door close, she immediately fell asleep, fuck out with a little bit of cum still in her.

~

Y/n knew she would have overslept her alarm if she wasn't so excited to start her new job. After some heavy concealer under her eyes, so she appeared less tired and a bunch of coffee to perk her up, she was on her way to Quantico and the 6th floor of the scary building.

The BAU's unit chief, Emily- as she insisted Y/n called her- met her in the lobby to take her up.

Spencer's morning started similarly, minus the makeup routine and with the addition of more coffee. When he walked into the elevator with a proud smirk, he knew Tara and Luke would be able to tell what had happened the previous night.

"What did you do last night, Reid?" Luke asked, wondering if he'd gotten back with Max again. As much as the whole time hoped he hadn't.

"Who did you do last night is a better question." Tara imputed, intriguing by his personal life.

Spencer smirked as hard as he tried not to. "I'm just getting used to casual hookups." He offered as an explanation, not trying to brag.

Both of them patted him on the shoulder. "Good for you," Luke said as they got out of the elevator.

Spencer turned back to look at him. "What was Emily doing down in the lobby?" He asked curiously when he recalled the sight.

"No one told you?" Tara questioned, waiting for Spencer to shake his head. "She's meeting the new team member."

Vaguely, Spencer remembered overhearing something about that. He wasn't too concerned when he sat down to get started on his work. The work had piled up from when he was away on his mandated 30 days leave a week prior.

There was some light chatter, mostly with everyone excited to meet the new recruit. Spencer was still replaying the events of last night in his head.

When Y/n got in the elevator, she was most nervous, near to meeting her new colleagues. Emily knew that look from years ago and assured her it would be okay.

Spencer wasn't paying attention when Emily and Y/n walked in. Not until he heard the laugh of the pretty girl he saw in the bar last night. That was when he knew he was well and truly fucked, face paling as the team got up to meet her.

"And Doctor Spencer Reid, our resident genius." Emily introduced them. "This is Y/n L/n."

Just like that, her heart dropped, making her want to be physically sick. If her brain wasn't running a million miles an hour, she would have been thinking about how good he looked in a suit.

The look on her face matched his. Both of them fought to keep their mouth closed while they took in each other for the second time in 24 hours. Y/n could only imagine that his heart was racing as fast as hers was, and his head was swirling with the question: how the fuck did I accidentally fuck my new colleague last night?

Then her head jumped somewhere darker, wondering if he knew who she was and he'd done it on purpose or if he'd told her entire group of new coworkers she was a slut.

But, her academy scores were good, and his shock looked genuine. "It's nice to meet you." She decided to lie, shaking his hand and touching the same fingers she had inside her last night.

"Yeah, uh, you too." Spencer stuttered out, trying to keep his cool in front of the team.

Settling into her first day felt terrible when she could feel Spencer's eyes on her when she worked. Unintentionally, she managed to catch him when he was coming out of the bathroom.

"Did you know?" It sounded far more demanding than she wanted it to, especially when he was her colleague, with a decade more experience. She was already feeling inferior, and it was not being improved by anything.

"No," Spencer replied, jumping on the offensive. "Did you?"

Y/n quickly shook her head, feeling overcome with shame and embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-do they know now?" She really wanted this job, and that meant not quitting today.

"No, and I don't want them to." Spencer adamantly stated, feeling bad when he finally looked her in the eye, and she looked like she wanted to cry. "That's better, don't you think?" He asked, trying to make sure she was okay.

"Mhm." She agreed genuinely. "I didn't know, you didn't know, so we don't talk about it, and it didn't happen."

Overcome with relief, Spencer was, not because he didn't want the team to know he fucked her, but, instead, because he didn't think the team should know she screwed him. He couldn't imagine how much of a bad look it would be if people thought Y/n liked the emotional wreak of the FBI.

"Are you okay?" He tentatively asked, knowing how terrifying his first day had been when he hadn't mistakenly screwed his colleague.

Y/n smiled slightly, grateful he cared and surprised he didn't run to tell his friends about his sexual conquest. There was something different about Spencer Reid, but she promised herself the previous night that she wouldn't pursue him.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks." She answered, smiling an appropriate amount.

"Okay, good." Spencer nodded before walking back to his desk, leaving her with a little bit of hope that everything could be forgotten and they could take the secret to the grave.

~

That was where they left it for a month, maintaining a professional relationship without any suspicion from the team. It wasn't an ideal first meeting, but things weren't going badly. They were almost becoming friendly.

Everything came to a dramatic, immediate stop during a case, inconveniently, in the middle of Oregan. A town that, Y/n guessed, wasn't even on the map.

It was rough, enough to make anyone feel sick, but Y/n was the only one throwing up every morning. On the third day, which was the third morning she'd rushed off to the precinct bathroom, and the third day she'd barely been able to keep any food down, JJ followed her.

"Hey, are you okay?" JJ asked, walking in while Y/n was brushing her teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste she'd learned to carry around.

She spat out her mouth full and drank a little water. "Just sick. I think it's this case." It couldn't be anything else.

JJ eyed her suspiciously, suggesting she thought something else. "Don't take this the wrong way." She prefaced, not wanting to offend her new colleague. If anything, JJ could see how Y/n was similar to a younger version of her, doing everything she could to prove herself. "But is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

Instead of giving her an answer, Y/n spun back around to throw up again, sickened by the thought. Everything inside her felt nauseous, but her brain was blank, like it was shielding itself from any damage.

Once she brushed her teeth again, the shock wore off, and her mind was left to race through the possible outcomes of the situation. Not one felt positive. It was not good, so beyond not good, she wasn't sure what to think.

"I'll take that as a yes." JJ tried to make her laugh, but it fell short of being funny, and she understood why. "Here." She looked through her bag to pull out a pregnancy test, placing it in her shaking hands.

"You just have these laying around?" Y/n joked, earning a comforting smile from her colleague.

JJ shook her head lightly. "I had a suspicion." Y/n didn't wait to hear why, instead she went into the bathroom to take the test while JJ locked the door. When she came back out, her face was completely drained of color, still feeling the waves of aftershock and unable to stop the endless spiral of thoughts. "Do you want me to go?" JJ asked.

This life-changing moment was not something Y/n wanted to do on her own. "Please stay." She whimpered out, not noticing she was crying until she felt the wet tears on her fingers.

"Hey, it's okay." JJ comforted her, nodding to the countertop so she could sit down. "I was so terrified when I got pregnant with Henry." She admitted, trying to draw Y/n's attention away from the ticking time bomb that was the pregnancy test. "Is there someone in the picture?" JJ prompted, not wanting to force a conversation that would leave her in more tears.

How was she meant to answer that? All she was thinking about was Spencer. He was all she'd thought about for weeks. It was silly, but she sort of liked him. Not that it would matter since he was a good few years older than her and uninterested in her. Was she meant to tell him? Would he want to know? How did it even happen?

The longer she thought about it, the longer she realized she hadn't answered JJ's question. "N-no." She sobbed out. "I mean, I don't have a boyfriend. It was kind of..." She trailed off, unsure of how to describe fucking someone she didn't realize was her colleague, and ended up pregnant.

"Oh, sweetie." JJ pulled her in for a hug while she cried, trying to be reassuring without knowing most of the situation. "You've got options." She reminded her. "How long do you think?"

How would she say that without indicating it was just before she started her new job? "5 weeks?" She estimated although it was 5 weeks and 4 days. "I didn't even- I was on birth control."

"Do you want to look?" JJ asked, facing the pregnancy test down as she picked it up.

Y/n shook her head adamantly. No part of her wanted to know, but she knew she had to. "Can you first?"

JJ flipped it over, keeping her face straight as she read the result. She knew Y/n wasn't going to want to know, so she blurted out the answer, ripping off the bandaid. "Positive."

God, she was a cliche. Sobbing her eyes out in the bathroom after getting pregnant from a one-night stand who was now her colleague. All the feelings inside made her vomit again, even though there was nothing left in her stomach.

"Fuck." She mumbled clean teeth for the fourth time that day. "This is bad. So, so bad."

"I promise it'll be okay," JJ assured her. "I have to tell Emily, but whatever you need, I'm here." It did make her feel better, nodding as she wiped up her tears and collected herself to go out the door. "You know, you can go home if you want?"

Y/n shook her head. "No, I really need my mind off this." She looked at the test in her hands, almost not believing it was real.

"Okay." JJ agreed, leaving to give her a minute to collect herself.

All day, she tried to forget about it, throwing herself into solving the case. When they were on the jet to DC, Y/n couldn't help but be idealistic. Idealistic, however unrealistic, looked like Spencer and her being together with or without a baby.

~

Y/n had to tell him. Sooner or later, at some point, but she dragged it out for as long as possible. She knew sooner would be better, so she had enough time to make her decision.

It was why she was standing in front of his door, ready to potentially ruin her career, on a random Saturday morning. After she stood there for a few minutes, raising her hand a few times, she knocked on the door.

Spencer opened the door, immediately confused, more by how terrified she looked than why she was there. "Are you okay?" He asked, concern across his features when she couldn't reply. "Come in."

Y/n nodding, lip trembling as she walked into Spencer's lounge, glancing around his apartment. It was what she expected, full of his hidden personality.

When she sat down, her leg started bouncing. "Are you okay?" Spencer asked, hesitantly taking her shaking hand.

"Yes-no, I'm sorry, no, I'm not." She spat out all at once, terrified about what he was going to say. Despite promising herself she wouldn't cry, the tears were already falling. Spencer couldn't help but think the worst. "I'm pregnant." She whispered so quietly he wouldn't have been able to hear it if he was more than a few feet away from her.

The air in the room dramatically changed, almost going stale as they both struggled to breathe.

Spencer's heart felt like it stopped as his face fell, hitting a brick wall. For a full minute, he was silent. Unsure about what to think or feel in the entirely new uncomfortable situation.

The silence made her uneasy, worried about what he was thinking. "I swear I was on birth control." Her first concern was that he wouldn't believe her and assume she was trying to trap him. "I don't know what happened, but I really was, Spencer. You don't have to be involved at all, but I think I want to keep it, and I wanted you to know before I told the team. But I'm not going to tell them you're the father or anything." She kept talking to fill the stillness.

"Stop," Spencer pleaded quietly, halting her ramble. "I can't have my-my child out in the world wondering who I am."

It made her breath slightly easier. "I'm just really sorry." She declared, tears still unstoppable.

Spencer tipped her chin up, wiping his thumb under her eyes. "Don't be. This is just... a big thing."

She knew that much was true, and she knew she was unprepared. Y/n stayed at his place for most of that day, taking through everything they could think of. Spencer made her lunch, but he also made her laugh so much that she forgot about how stressed she was. Without meaning to, she found herself falling a little bit in love with him.

Most of the team was shocked, with JJ and Spencer faking their reactions at the news of her pregnancy. No one knew he was the father. How in love they were, however, was obvious.

Nothing fell apart until another Saturday a few months later. Y/n had been shopping, close to his apartment, and found the cutest onesie she knew he would love. They weren't dating, strictly friends, but she didn't feel weird about going around just to see him. Desperately, she wanted to be more, but it was better being friends for now.

That time, she knocked on the door with a huge smile, her arms filled with shopping bags and a very prominent bump.

Spencer arrived at the door shirtless, much to her surprise. "Hi." He greeted her, not offering for her to come in.

"Hi, I wanted to show you some stuff." She was far too eager to be put off by his cagey behavior.

"Uh." Spencer turned to look behind his shoulder like he was hiding something.

A girl's hand on his shoulder made her heart and stomach twist, and she immediately realized what was happening. In a split second, everything came tumbling down, and she fought the urge to cry.

She- someone Y/n didn't recognize- was wearing an untucked shirt and shorts. Her hair was a mess, and she clearly hadn't been there to play chess with him. "Bye, Spencer." She said, flashing Y/n an awkward smile as she slipped out of the apartment door.

When she turned back to look at Spencer, he looked guilty, biting his lip as he thought of something to say to make the situation better. He'd grown to hate seeing her cry, but seeing her fight off the tears because she no longer trusted him was worse. "Fuck you, Spencer." She knew she didn't have the right to be mad, but she was furious.

There was nothing else to say, so she turned and left, feeling nothing but hurt. Back at her apartment, she broke down in tears, far too in love with him to do anything but sit on the floor and let out gutwrenching sobs. What a cliche. Tricking herself into loving someone who couldn't care less about her.

When Spencer didn't see her at work on Monday, he worried. He worried about her all the time, but more when he knew she was heartbroken. Calling Max to get the rest of her things might have been the stupidest thing he'd ever done, aside from initiating breakup sex. If he didn't care so much about Y/n, he would have been thankful it was over with Max.

JJ could sense the nerves coming off him and how he could barely focus on his work. "What's wrong?" She asked, staring at him. Spencer shook his head, trying to pretend like nothing was off. "Max?"

"I don't love her," Spencer admitted for the first time, not willing to look at her. "I don't know if I ever did."

"But you love someone else." JJ filled in from the look on his face, reading him like an open book. "Y/n."

Spencer's eyes gave him away, flicking up to look at her upon hearing Y/n's name. "No." He tried to lie, his voice getting higher pitched.

"Yes." JJ disagreed. "She didn't tell me who the father was, but I'm not an idiot, and I see how you look at her, so I just assumed."

"I don't." Spencer started to defend, getting a firm stare from JJ. "I-I do, but I ruined everything." Usually, he tried not to spill his personal life to his friends, but he was desperate for guidance.

JJ frowned at what he was trying to avoid telling her. "What did you do?" She gently asked.

Spencer knew she was going to judge him, but it couldn't be much worse than how much he was judging himself. "I slept with Max, and she came just as Max was leaving." He winced as he said it.

That was something JJ wasn't sure how to react to, biting her bottom lip as she tried not to reveal her immediate reaction. "Did you talk to her after?"

"No." Spencer shook his head. "She left, and she's not here today."

"Go." JJ urged, knowing he'd been overthinking for too long already. "Go, see her and apologize."

Spencer didn't wait around to hear anything else, getting up and packing some things in his satchel. "Bye." He waved, trusting JJ to tell Emily where he'd gone. Even if he got fired, nothing mattered more than Y/n.

When he got to her front door, he realized what he was about to do. Tell her the truth and consequently ruin their relationship, but he needed to.

Y/n opened the door still in her pajamas, with slightly puffy eyes and she was immediately worried. "What's wrong?" She asked, unable to turn off how much she cared about him

"I love you." Spencer blurted out, not able to keep it in for another moment.

Instantly, her eyes widened, mouth dropping open as she tried to figure out whether or not he was serious. Standing out of the way, she let him in.

As awkward as the start of their first night, he stood there with his hands in his pocket. "Who was she?" Y/n asked, still able to see the mystery girl's face in her mind.

"Max," Spencer answered. "My ex, who I was... getting over that night."

"So I was your rebound?" Y/n spat back, unsure about how he thought this was fixing things. Defensively, she crossed her arms over her chest and her bump.

Spencer couldn't shake his head fast enough. "No, I promise not." He assured her. "I shouldn't have- she came to get her things." He started to explain his actions. "I don't love her, and it was the biggest mistake I've ever made."

She looked down at where their unborn child was. "This was the biggest mistake either of us has ever made." She corrected.

"No." Spencer stepped forward, taking her hands in his. "I'll never believe that this was a mistake. It wasn't exactly planned or conventional, but I'll never regret this. I promise I'll spend every day making it up to you, but I only want to be with you."

She could see how honest he looked, vulnerable, too, like he was ready to have his heart broken. That was enough to win her affections back. "I love you. You screwed up, don't get me wrong, but I'm willing to forgive you."

His eyes widened that time, brain struggling to process the four words. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Spencer." She laughed slightly. "What you did was really not okay, but I only cared so much because I loved you."

Delicately, Spencer cupped her cheeks, leaning in to kiss her softly. It wasn't rushed like the first time they kissed, but it was full of love. Things felt okay for the first time since her first day at the BAU, both of them being clear about their feelings.

When she winced after they pulled back, Spencer was worried again. "Are you okay?" He asked, still holding her face while she placed a hand on her bump.

"Fuck, I think I'm getting those things, you know, Braxton Hicks." She answered, tensing for a few more seconds before the pressure was relaxed.

Spencer sat her down on the couch, hoping to relieve some of her pain. "How often?"

"Like every 7 minutes. It's super annoying." She complained, looking at her watch and hoping to make the most of the pain-free 6 minutes and 30 seconds.

"Y/n." He said softly, trying not to cause her any alarm as he crouched down in front of her. "The difference between Braxton Hicks and labor is that Braxton Hicks are irregular."

Her breath got caught in her throat. "You're kidding? I'm only 31 weeks pregnant."

"It's not improbable," Spencer mentioned, trying not to freak her out while freaking out himself. "We should go to the hospital, though." He remembered what was meant to happen, although he was in shock.

"Yeah, probably." Y/n agreed, smiling slightly at him.

After what felt like a hundred years, there was a tiny baby girl in the incubator next to Y/n's hospital bed, and they had already spent a few hours admiring her.

Spencer couldn't help but feel like everything was working out. Somehow, he had everything he'd ever wanted in less than 24 hours. "This is crazy." He couldn't help voicing it. His arm was resting on her shoulder while Y/n sat up with her arms around his waist,

"What are we going to call her?" She asked, looking up at him. It was something they'd discussed a little, but they assumed they had more time.

"Will you marry me?" Spencer asked, thoroughly out of the blue and shocking her.

Y/n wasn't sure if he was serious until she saw the ring in his fingers. "What?" She asked, her heart flipping in her chest but unable to stop smiling.

"We're not taking any of this slowly, and I love you, so why wait?" He was a little nervous she'd say no, turning the engagement ring in his fingers.

It was logic Y/n couldn't argue with. "Yeah." She agreed, holding out her hand so he could slip the ring onto her finger. When he leaned down to kiss her, the team walked in, knocking on the door with balloons, flowers, and gifts. She laughed at their shocked looks, unable to imagine what they were thinking. "Meet the baby daddy." She joked.

The initial shock wore off, and suddenly everyone's attention was split between hugging them, congratulations, and cooing at the baby. "Does she have a name?" Penelope asked, tears in her eyes as she looked down at the baby with Spencer's nose. Maybe believing people wouldn't know it was his was foolish.

Y/n looked up at him and nodded, giving him approval for the name he first wanted. "Lillian Diana."

That time, Spencer and Y/n's tears were pure joy, thankful for the little girl that brought them together.

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[buckysbabygorl]

Names

Summary: Y/N’s always the butt of Loki’s teasing and they can’t stand it, until the hidden meanings behind it are revealed

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Loki x GenderNeutral!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Cowritten by @babybluereads

When the Asgardians had arrived on earth, the tiny town of St. Abb’s had accepted them with open arms. The community immediately took to caring for the newcomers and providing them with whatever they needed. Y/N, being the assertive and bright person they were, immediately caught the eye of the fighting trio that had defended Asgard in its last moments.

Y/N was quick to help where they could; taking on leadership roles and directing the townspeople on what actions to take next for the Asgardian folk to fit in. They provided shelter, food, clothing, whatever was necessary.

Valkyrie and Y/N developed a fast friendship; she liked Y/N’s confidence and strength, and they managed their people side by side. Thor adored most, if not all migardians and their customs, and Y/N was no exception. Y/N made him laugh, provided him with comfort and advice, and he contributed to the town in any way he could when he visited.

And then there was Loki. Oh, Loki, Loki, Loki.

Y/N had very little patience when it came to him; as a matter of fact, Y/N had none.

Loki was, politely, a grade A pain in the ass.

He was one to disappear for hours or days at a time; returning with no explanation as to why. He forced trickery on the township; amusing the children and the occasional townsfolk, but not Y/N. He was rowdy at the local bar; he was constantly seen partying, making this once quiet town louder than ever.

People adored him in town. Y/N however did not; they wanted structure, organization. He was chaos walking.

Worst of all; he felt the need to be glued to Y/N’s side constantly. He loved to tease them, get a rise from them first thing in the morning, he stopped them from doing their work, and it always left them fighting.

What really bothered Y/N is when he’d insult them in another language; which he did often. Something he’d huff under his breath, and when Y/N demanded clarification he’d simply laugh and walk off. Which seemed to be the only time he ever left them alone.

It was infuriating. Which is what Y/N was complaining about to Valkyrie right at this moment.

“I don’t understand why he can’t just piss off; everyone in town loves him, why can’t he go bother them?”

Valkyrie smiled, “Perhaps that’s why he does it; he knows you hate him. It’s likely the most entertaining thing for him.”

Y/N huffed as they lifted another crate, stacking them against the wall. “Well that’s just sadistic,” they said, “You’d think he’d get his rocks off on something else.”

Valkyrie laughed, but not for the reason Y/N thought.

“I’m not sure why my rocks are of your concern, but please leave sadism out of it.” 

Y/N’s teeth clenched at the voice, and tried to ignore it.

Loki smiled, “No greeting? I don’t even get a “good morning your highness”?”

“No, you don’t.” Y/N lifted another crate, which was swiftly pulled out of their hands by Loki. Y/N sighed, reaching for another one.

“I don’t need your help, I can carry it myself.” Y/N stated.

Loki chuckled as he stacked the crate in its place, before plucking the other from Y/N’s hands as well.

“It’s my pleasure, I’m certain I can do a better job anyways.”

Valkyrie shook her head, staying silent as the conversation transpired. She knew better than to jump in: one, because Y/N could handle themselves; two, because the last time Valkyrie stepped in, knives were involved and nearly banned in the town square because of it. Out of respect for peace and civility in New Asgard, Valkyrie ceased her fighting. For now.

As composed of a person Y/N was, they were one to get easily flustered. Yes, their emotions were in check, but something about Loki’s teasing was especially provoking. 

“I doubt it,” Y/N said, “Besides, how can you do a better job when you’re hardly ever here.”

“There are other ways to say you miss me, Y/N,” Loki said, “And I’m always here. You’re the one that wishes I wasn’t.”

“That’s not true, I just wish when you were here, you were less annoying.”

“I think that’s asking too much of him,” Valkyrie said, examining the lures of their fishing stock, “It’s ingrained in him.”

“Oh Valkyrie, I didn’t realize you were here.” He teased, momentarily turning his attention away from Y/N.

The warrior rolled her eyes, taking a nearby piece of broken crate and chucking it at his head.

He deflected it but turned to retaliate, before Y/N stopped him. 

“Hey, settle down. We have a lot of work to do, and I need you two to focus.” Y/N reprimanded.

Y/N didn’t realize it, but they had their hand placed on his chest. Loki smirked at the contact, before Y/N swiftly pulled their hand away.

“Now,” Y/N said, “Are you going to actually be helpful? Or are you planning on wasting my time.”

Loki hummed before looking back to the open boathouse entrance that he had come from, “No, I don’t plan on staying long. I was only stopping by to see my melilla.”

Y/N scowled with a groan. “If you’re going to insult me, you could at least do it in a language I understand!”

But their complaint fell on deaf ears as he laughed, exiting just as quickly as he’d come.

Now it was Valkyrie’s turn to laugh, their minor conflicts always being of great entertainment. But she knew Y/N would complain about it for the rest of the afternoon; their work was already tainted by the presence of Loki.

~

Thor was happy to be back, he could only spend so much time with the Guardians before needing some space. He admired the team, but the arrogance of that Starlord fellow was sometimes too much to bear. Not that Thor made it any easier; he was quite the confident man himself. They’d butted heads far too often, and now he was in need of a much deserved break. 

He strode into town cheerily; greeting the townsfolk with an overjoyed disposition. Though happy he was to see the midgardians; he was looking for one in particular. He finally spotted Y/N in the small farmers market just off the docks. In fact, he heard Y/N before he saw them, as once again Y/N was fighting with his notorious brother.

“You can’t turn apples into snakes when children are around, someone could get hurt and we don’t have a town doctor until next month!” Y/N scolded.

“Oh amata, I love how easily the simplest of things can make you forget yourself.” He said.

With a slight snarl on their face, Y/N groaned. “Stop calling me that!”

Loki simply laughed in their face, enraging Y/N further. Before they went to scream at him again, Thor decided to intervene.

“My Y/N! You seem awfully invigorated this morning,” He commented.

At the voice of their friend, Y/N turned and their mood was immediately brightened. “Thor! I had no idea you were coming.”

Loki looked at his brother with quiet contempt, “Of course you weren’t notified, my brother is known for making an entrance. 

He turned back to Y/N, “Why don’t you ever address me with such kindness, carissima.” He said, dejectedly.

Y/N raised a finger to Loki’s face, once again going to scold him, before being interrupted by amused laughter from Thor.

“Well it’s nice to see that you’ve at least shifted to addressing one another with pleasantries.” Thor said.

Immediately Loki’s face filled with dread. Y/N looked at them both, surprised.

“You call that pleasantries?” Y/N asked, “He’s been insulting me in a dead language since we met.”

They spat the words in Loki’s face, but it was not met with his usual humourous demeanor.

Thor scoffed with delight, “I hardly think dearest is an insult, Y/N.”

Y/N was taken aback. No, that’s not what he’d been calling them, had he?

The expression on Loki’s face displayed nothing but truth at the fellow God’s statement, “Thor, please--” Loki said through gritted teeth.

Thor only smirked, intending to continue the teasing. “What else has he called you, Y/N? I speak fluent latin myself.”

Still shocked by the revelation, but not diffused in their anger, Y/N thought back to what he had called them before dearest.

“Well--he, he also called me amata.” Y/N said.

Laughing once again, Thor turned to his brother, “Oh, did he?” Thor asked.

Flustered, Loki tried to direct attention elsewhere, “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for Valkyrie? Or someone else to pester?” He asked.

Thor only smiled, “No I’m quite enjoying myself here, brother.”

“And as for the name amata,” Thor explained, “It means beloved. I think you’ve mistaken my brother’s flirtations for aggravations, Y/N.”

The three stood, not saying anything more as the passerby’s at the market weaved around them. Y/N snuck a glance at Loki, who was now desperately avoiding eye contact. Could it be that all this time, he was secretly calling Y/N terms of endearment?

He made no objections; only furthering the obvious truth that he had been.

Y/N didn’t know what to think, or what to say.

“Well,” Thor started, “I believe my work here is done. I shall leave you to each other.”

He looked up into the marketplace, “Joseph, so good to see you my friend!”

He parted, calling for the man at the nearby mead cart, while the other two still stood, not saying a word.

Loki quietly scorned his brother; of course he had to expose him. Now Y/N was aware of his secret fondness towards them, someone who already hated him more than he’d like.

“Melilla.” Y/N said.

Loki looked at Y/N, surprised by the word. “Pardon?” He asked.

Y/N hummed, “It’s another name, that you-um.. That you call me.”

“Oh,” Loki nodded, understanding what Y/N meant. 

“Well,” he started, hesitant, “It means… little honey.”

“And why do you call me that,” Y/N asked, “Because I’m sweet?”

“No,” Loki defended, “You aren’t sweet. You’re the opposite. Um--bitter, and-and full of disdain--”

He was stopped by the laughter that escaped Y/N, but as he looked at them, he realized he was not the subject of their laughter but that Y/N was laughing with him. Though Loki would never admit it aloud, he found that much more pleasurable than any of the emotions he’d evoked from their banter. 

“You aren’t… upset with me?” He asked earnestly.

Y/N looked to the ground, shifting in their stance with hands placed behind their back.

“Not entirely,” Y/N admitted, “I mean… it would’ve been nice to know you weren’t calling me an asshole this whole time.”

Loki chuckled bashfully, “Well, for that, I suppose I can apologize.” 

An awkward silence came between them; not knowing what to say. It was surprising, to say the least, the new perspective that had been given to their situation. Loki’s need to be in Y/N’s presence, the constant chatting that what was thought to be filled with insults were now revealed to have been filled with kindness, and arguably, affection. Even on Y/N’s end; the frustrations of his disappearances and the concern for safety during his reckless shenanigans, were those too filled with care?

Loki cleared his throat to break the quiet. “So,” he started, “do you have much to tend to this afternoon?”

Y/N rolled their eyes at the obvious attempt to change the conversation, “Well if you’re going to continue being an idiot, then yes.”

“And.. if I cease, the idiocy?” He asked.

Y/N smiled, “Well, it wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing, if you helped me with some... stuff down at the docks.”

He chuckled, amused. “You’re actually asking me to accompany you, for once?”

“Yes, I guess I am.” Y/N said. He went to speak before they stopped him, “But on one condition.”

“Oh?” He asked, “and what’s that?”

“That,” Y/N said, “If you’re going to compliment me, at least do it in a language I understand.”

He smiled, “Anything for you, dearest.”

~

First Loki fic ✅

Inspiration also goes to @damntonystarkandhissmile for the gender neutral ask 💕 I hope you like Loki babe 🤪

Permanent Tag List: @babyblue-07 @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497@lonewolf471 @babybluereads @marianas-studyblr @godspeedlover@sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine​ @shower-me-with-roses​

@yougottalovefandoms​

[venivivividi]

headcAnon ✨ here! How great were the Rosa and Michael moments?! And Jones is Michael’s dad! He and Alex should start a support group. I wanted to ask if you have any headcanons about Michael and Alex and fatherhood. If you think they ever thought about it and what. What kind of parents they would be. If you think they will have kids in the future. Adoption or using a surrogate or some other alien option. Maybe dog or cat children also or instead.

I know, right?? They definitely speak the same language even when they disagree with each other. Also, I have a feeling that Michael has taken to send Rosa every picture of a dolphin he finds online with the same commentary: "look. it's you ahaha" I love them.

Oooh, fatherhood, you say? What a wonderful topic to tackle after the latest episodes...

I have to say, I tend to separate what I think realistically would happen, informed by canon, vs what I'd like for them to be in my headcanons, and to this day we canonically know:

Michael has thought about fatherhood: this is something he wants in his future and has dreamed about in the past; we learn this in two separate occasions, in 2x10 when he offers to father Isobel's child and in 2x11 when he tells Flint he wanted to start a dad band.

We have zero insight on Alex's thoughts on matter: we know his childhood was not a happy one, his relationship with his father is extremely negative and his entire family's dynamic is skewed, unhealty. That could reasonably push him towards two completely opposite directions: either he wants nothing to do with kids and a "traditional" family, deemes himself unsuited for fatherhood or he wants to somehow "avenge" his lost childhood and create the happiest family in the world, proving to himself that he can and will be a good father. Either could be and anything in between, honestly. (I'm not gonna delve into that but let's also remember that Alex grew up in a reality where gay marriage was not legal until he was like 23 and adoption was a pipe dream even after that, so that has clearly influenced his mindset even without considering the military of it all)

But for the sake of the HCs, I choose to believe that Alex is at least open to the idea of having children:

I dont think this is something they would go for very early in their relationship. They've had such a turmoiled past, they overcame every possible obstacle so that once everything settles down, they just enjoy each other's company for a while. They still can't believe they just get to be together without jumping through hoops.

As far as pets are concerned, you heard it from Mimi first: a beagle is written in Alex's future. But first, he tries to convince Michael to get a reptile. You remember Willow, his pet lizard? She was so cuute, Micheal, it's basically zero maintenance (completely false, but hes' trying) and it's so cool to have a lizard, c'mon.

Michael, as we know, is incapable of looking Alex in the eyes and deny him something. But it takes one google search for him to veto Project Lizard. There is no way he's allowing a lizard in his house after learning what they need to be fed. Also, lizards escape their enclosure. No thank you, the same night he learned too much about it he had a nightmare about waking up to a lizard stuck to his curls. Always protect the curls. No lizard.

Alex pouts. A lot.

Once the beagle settles in the truck ready to go to his forever home, Alex stops pouting. (and Michael starts because Alex is now cuddling the beagle at night. woe is Michael.)

As this thing usually go, Michael is instead adopted by a kitten, one of those impossibly small black balls of fur. Their first encounter at the junkyard went disturbingly High Noon, but after they claimed each other, the kitten is now stealing Michael's body heat and Michael is stealing all the cuddles Alex is so rudely denying him in favor of *scoffs* The Beagle.

Speaking of Sanders' Auto, once Rosa(...linda) starts picking up stray kids and unexplicably bringing them to Michael, it comes to be a place where kids who need to escape orbit around: with Sander's blessing, Michael always finds some easy work for them to do and earn some money, and when a couple of them seem truly interested, a question here and a question there quickly turns into a Michael Guerin lesson on mechanics. Those of them who are not interested, are free to just hang around as long as they dont wreak havoc or make a mess out of the place.

The thing is, Michael is completely unaware of the irony in all of that. Sanders is not, and he just hangs around smirking to himself about how much of a grumpy old man Michael is shaping up to be and laughing at history repeating itself and things like that.

It takes Isobel talking about them as Michael's junkyard children for Alex to bring the topic up. I mean, Michael is basically already doing it, and if they start fostering teens they could give some of them the happy childhood Michael never got. After that, not every kid who passes through the junkyard stays with them but some of them do, and some of them keep hanging around even after aging out of the system.

There is a panicked moment after their first foster kid gives him the silent treatment, where Alex runs to Greg for guidance; Greg has to politely remind him that he's an elementary school teacher, and his 16 years old kid might not react with the same energy to glitter glue and a happy song, so he has to figure out a different way.

Eventually they start to foster smaller kids too, and of course sometimes it's sad when they have to go and the house feels empty, but they always try and remember: it's not for them, it's for the kids. And during those nights The Beagle™ needs to find cuddles in the now domesticated ball of fur, because Michael is in very big need of a snuggle that Alex is more than happy to provide. It's how he recharges too, after all.

As far as their parenting style, Michael's a lost cause: he is incapable of not spoiling the kids because, why deny them the little joys if there's no harm in it, right? They deserve them. But he also realize the kids need structure, and he is pretty no-nonsense about it, also because, on the other hand, Alex is very much afraid of being the strict parent. It's a new chapter with every new kid, as every instance of parenting is, but the baseline of a good home is always there: love and safety.

I also can't seem to decide whether Michael would be the kind of hip parent who knows all about the youngsters culture, uses the correct terms and shares the right memes or the most embarassing dad who watches instagram reels about tiktoks and is always six months behind the last big thing. But I feel there's no in between.

Alex, sadly, despite being a cyber intelligence specialist, still mourns last.fm and that tells you everything you need to know.

Somewhere down the line, once they've collectively bought enough land to build a communeplace for all of them to live together while still maintaining a semblance of privacy (Isobel's broad interpretation of boundaries has not changed, sadly), the possibility of a full Oasian becomes a reality. The thing is, this is not just Isobel's baby, this is the podsquad baby, the triad's baby. Isobel and Michael might be the biological donors, but this is their baby.

As you can easily imagine, this is the most spoiled baby ever, because each one of them expect the others to be stern, when in reality, the baby has them all wrapped around their little fingers, and this is without powers, yet.

The first time Alex holds the baby he is completely overwhelmed: they seem so tiny, so fragile, but when he gently strokes his thumb on their forehead, they open their big, staring eyes, and everything else disappears.

Michael, you ask? Ooh, Michael is gloating. He never thought he could have half a thing in his life and now he has everything. He also self-appoints himself as the defender of the baby's curls: that entails slapping the hand of everyone that tries to play with a lock of hair to make it bounce. Do you know how annoying that can be? Leave the baby alone.

Of course, Michael is also a little shit and as soon as the baby starts talking and figuring out a way of calling them all, he tries to make them refer to Max as grandpa, to the utter hilarity of Liz and the total indignation of Max. He has yet to succeed, but the baby's still young, so Only time will tell.

[hollyhomburg]

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt.5)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon.

Tags: hurt/comfort, panic attacks, past abuse, food-related anxiety, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, Jimin has self-esteem issues, internalized victim-blaming, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, but don't be fooled- this is equal parts angst and fluff

W/c: 13k

Song Rec: Talos - to each his own

SERIES MASTERLIST (5/10 parts complete) 

A brief interlude on hybrids pack behaviors, romantic attachment between hybrids, hybrid polyamory:  

Though pack forming behavior is the strongest in canine type hybrids- pack behavior (also known as grouping behavior) is seen in every species of hybrid. It doesn’t seem that species has much of an influence on which hybrids will choose to form a pack either- as interspecies groups are incredibly common accounting for around 50% of all hybrid packs.

Though polyamorous behavior might seem strange to human owners; to hybrids, it’s a natural extension of the pack dynamic. It’s what keeps pack bonds strong and reinforces existing dominance structures within the group. That doesn’t mean that love between hybrids within a pack is any different than the love that hybrids might have with their owners or love between humans.

Packs that are decided in juvenile periods of development more mobile and eventually break apart as hybrids age, and then re-solidify in adulthood. In many cases, hybrids without packs tend to be better adoptees as removal of one or more hybrids from a pack can result in many of the same markers associated with removing an imprinted hybrid from it’s imprintee. for that reason, the modal age from 16-22 is the best age to adopt hybrids.

Though one might assume that because of imprinting- that humans would exempt from being apart of hybrid social structure; this is untrue. humans usually seem to be on the more alpha side of the dominance structure, however evidence of this is anecdotal at best and will further statistical significant results in order to be proven.

When packs are settling and a new member is being admitted, this can often result in a period of turmoil in the group dynamic where stereotypically alpha members may act more submissive, or vise versa, where the new pack member is being admitted into the social structure and dominance is questioned.

- Yoongi tilts his head at your words staring Jimin down, before he juts his chin out at him, glancing back at you. “Oh I forgot! you probably haven’t been introduced. Yoongi this is Jimin, Jimin this is Yoongi. If you haven’t guessed Yoongi is a snake hybrid- one of the very few of his kind.”

- Jimin tries to recoup some of his politeness and struggles to smile at the hybrid; Jimin holds his hand out for Yoongi to shake, “it’s nice to meet you.” Yoongi stares at Jimin’s hand for a moment and makes no move to take it. It hangs there for a palpably awkward moment before you grip Jimin’s hand and pull it down to hang in between the two of you. Giving it a reassuring squeeze, not letting go of it.

- Jimin feels flustered as Yoongi lifts the bag of gardening equipment that Jimin had missed by his side and gestures towards a field. You must have some sort of established language because you answer his question. “Yes, we will be doing the veggie garden today Yoon,” Yoongi makes a huffing noise in agreement, and heads down the path. You tug Jimin after him.  

- Jimin is perplexed at the lingering silence, even as they reach the far vegetable garden (and Jimin realizes you haven’t let go of his hand with a flush and makes to detangle it or risk feeling like a creep). You’re not trying to feed the whole of the farm with the produce, but that’s certainly an eventual goal of yours. 

- It’s large, probably 30 by 50 feet at the very least. You have rows of tomatoes, potatos, carrots, and a half plot of butternut squash and tiny watermelons nothing more that flowers. You start to instruct Jimin on how to tie up The tomato’s that have started to sag with the rain and their continuing growth away from their circular cages. Instructing Jimin how to do the same with the green twine.

- “Gardening is easy,” you tell Jimin, “You have to have some patience, nothing grows overnight.”

- The smell of the wet earth seems to lul the three of you into a hazy silence, He purses his lips, brain running full of information before you turn to him, “got any questions?” 

- he has a lot, so many, they spill out. “How many different types of plants do you try to grow? Which one is your favorite? Do you grow any flowers or do you only have your garden for those? What about like seasonings and stuff? those are plants right?” 

- Jimin asks a lot of questions, but you seem happy to answer them. Especially once you start harvesting the tomatoes. “You mean you’ve never had one fresh?” Jimin shakes his head “no, most of the food I ate was like, chips and other dried stuff- if he ever bothered to feed me at all”  Behind you Yoongi snips through some twine angrily, the older hybrid huffs, shaking his head at that, but still dosent say anything. 

- It’s the most communicative that he’s been the whole day, but his displeasure at that is clear. Yours too, Jimin hadn’t even realized he’d said something concerning until he hears your dismayed noise and looks up from what he’s doing to see your jaw tight, that familiar anger in your eyes.

- Before he starts to feel like he’s done something wrong, messed up another job just like he’d done with all the others, you smooth away his worry. “Here, you can try one if you want” you hand him a half dozen tomatoes that are so dark they’re almost purple, then add a few more for good measure until they’re almost spilling out of Jimin’s hands. They’re still warm from the sun Jimin can tell, you give him an encouraging nod “go on- they’re sweet I promise”  he slowly lifts one to his lips and bites down. 

- The tangy fruitfulness explodes on his tongue- He actually yips, his floppy ears lifting up in his sun hat and his tail wagging so quickly you think he might just take off. By the time he’s done with the first, he’s already reaching for the second, and then looking at the other unripened ones around them hungrily. 

- You and Yoongi laugh, though for Yoongi it’s only the twitch of his shoulders and a strange hissing sound as he opens his mouth, gums on display as well as his slightly elongated incisors (and they look sharp, Jimin feels ghoosebumps erupt on his arms). Jimin shyly hides his blush under the brim of his sunhat. “They’re so good! I didn’t think they’d be so tasty- it doesn’t taste anything like ketchup at all!” 

- You wince when you think that he’s never had anything other than ketchup to compare what a real tomato tastes like. You and Jimin lapse into a comfortable companionable silence and you don’t say anything when Jimin sneaks a cherry tomato here and there. Though you do hide your smile when he makes a sound of disgust when he decides to try a green one after he’s eaten all of the ripe ones in his area. You catch his cheeks puffed up more than once when you turn to ask him to do something, and your heart melts a little at his chubby cheeks. 

- When Yoongi leaves soon after to grab some fresh seedlings for the herb garden you’re quick to explain to Jimin about Yoongi. You want to make sure Jimin is comfortable, but part of the reason why you’d asked him to help in the gardens in the first place is because of how genuinely friendly Jimin is, and how closed off Yoongi is from the rest of the hybrids at the farm. 

- Yoongi is the only other hybrid besides Namjoon that stays in the main house with you. You explain to Jimin that he has issues regulating his internal body temperature and need a heater and several heated blankets even in the summer. “Some of the others see this as preferential treatment- when really it’s just what he needs, and it doesn’t help that he doesn’t talk to any of them.”  

- “Does he talk at all?” Jimin asks, just as his ears start to pick up on returning footsteps of Yoongi back over the field. “Not that I’ve heard” your whisper hushes when Yoongi comes close with the 12 packs of herbs, gestures to Jimin to follow him. 

- Jimin’s heard more than one of the teenage hybrids bemoaning the lumps in their mattresses and their envious rants of how comfortable the beds in the big house are. (Apparently, there’s a closed-off second apartment suite in the side part of the house where the hybrids are allowed to spend their heats when they have them, though you’re working on fixing up what once a stable house to make a more private place for that) 

- Jimin thinks that the other hybrid obviously hasn’t spent enough of his life sleeping on the floor because Jimin’s bottom bunk below Taehyung’s is more than comfortable enough. But he keeps that particular opinion to himself. 

- He’s also sensed how conversation comes to a halt whenever the snake hybrid comes near for the lunch line or to get a tool from the shed or get Namjoon for something (Namjoon always ends up supervising the more technical chores, having a knack for mechanics and putting things together, like the soaker hose system that will enable some of the vegetables to get more consistent watering as the summer tugs on). Jimin dosent know how he didn’t notice the hybrid before now, but he must have been there the first few days, Jimin was probably just too overwhelmed. 

- Even Taehyung seems to quiet down in the Yoongi’s presence, whenever he comes to visit Jimin on his break in the gardens or brings them watermelon from the big house for a snack (though when Yoongi hungrily scarfs down a few pieces Jimin does see a small smile play at the edge of Taehyung’s mouth)

- Jimin never catches any sort of aggressive behavior or meanness from Yoongi beyond a roll of his eyes at those who quiet when he walks by, turning to Jimin so that he can see. 

- Jimin decides after the second day that he dosent mind yoongi at all. his presence is comforting even next to Jimin in the dirt, help you dig holes for sprouts and seeds. Jimin holding the latter when Yoongi goes up to check on one of the peach trees (you have a full orchard tucked back into the side of the property- accessible only by walking through the woods and Jimin can’t wait for summer when the fruit is ready if fresh peaches taste anything like the canned kind that Jimin is used to- he thinks he’ll like them). 

- But Jimin does see Yoongi’s shoulders tense and his hands tighten a little at times, especially when he sees the other hybrids engaging in leisurely time. Jimin sees Yoongi’s yearning look at the dog hybrids throwing a Frisbee in the empty field between the barn and the main house when they call for Jimin to join, or the cat hybrids grooming each other in the shade all cuddled up or the pair of tiger hybrids stretched out nuzzling into the grasses and flowers.  

- Jimin figures the hybrid must be lonely, and he can’t blame him, being surrounded by a community like this and somehow set apart from it doesn’t sound nice at all. Sometimes Jimin wants to reach out and tug a stick out of the elders hair- but even you seem to be careful not to be physically affectionate with the snake hybrid, and Jimin has seen you scratch the ears or hug just about every hybrid that lives at the farm. 

- Jimin doesn’t realize Yoongi’s caginess might be for a deeper reason until Jimin accidentally touches him.

-  It’s a hot day and you’ve just gone inside to get all three of you some sweet tea from the pitcher, and He swears he was just asking for a shovel. Jimin had accidentally touched his arm. His fingers ghosting over the line of dark scales gently. And before jimin had realized his misstep- Yoongi had started shaking so violently. 

- His hands clenched and his shoulders quivering- shivering. Looking strange in the heat of midday and the too-bright slant of the noon sun. Jimin has seen Yoongi shiver in the slightest breeze before, but this, this is so much more than that. And it’s hot, but Yoongi doesn’t look like he’s sweating at all which almost seems more dangerous. 

- “Hyung? Are you okay? Hyung?” he gets nothing in response- not a small shake of his head or eye contact, just Yoongi’s unfocused gaze, little huffs of breath coming out from his clenched teeth.  

- Jimin didn’t think- just ran to get Namjoon, working in the field closest to them, almost falling after he heaves himself over the fence. Namjoon is already running to meet him when he’d heard the younger shouting his name. Looking panicked- Jimin can barely get the words out, “it’s Yoongi he’s- I think he’s having a panic attack or going into shock or-”

- “Take me to him Jimin,” Namjoon says dropping his shovel and easily keeping pace with Jimin as they dash back to the vegetable garden. Namjoon steadying Jimin with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt when his foot hits a divot in the ground and he almost trips.

-  They find Yoongi in the same spot, still quivering like a willow in a thunderstorm. At the sound of his name coming from Namjoon’s lips, Yoongi sharply looks up, his eyes focusing after a moment before they go hazy again and he starts to cry in Ernest. 

- Namjoon had quietly led Yoongi back inside the house, you set the pitcher on the table hard enough that the dark tea spills over the side when you see Yoongi and namjoon in the doorway, the elder hybrid sagging when he sees you, his knees weak. You say his name, and Yoongi’s eyes focus again, You don’t touch Yoongi. You’re very clear and careful with your intent grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve before you tug him, speaking in a low voice and guiding him up to the second floor and back to his room- probably the direction of the shower to cool off.  

- Namjoon puts a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, smoothing it over the back of his neck. “Jimin- hey pup- it’s fine” Jimin looks up at Namjoon, panicked and imploring, tears in his own eyes and adrenaline in his system for the first time in weeks. Fuck- he’d forgotten how terrible it felt to be afraid “I didn’t mean to trigger him I swear-“ 

- “Jimin- it’s okay, Yoongi will be fine he just probably needs to sleep and to cool down a little, it probably wasn’t even your fault- we should have known this would happen on such a hot day.”

- Namjoon’s voice is honeyed and soft, expression torn as he looks down at Jimin from the upper step. “This just happens to him Jimin, it’s not your fault.” Namjoon reaches up to thumb away a tear on Jimin's cheek that he hadn’t realized he’d let out. 

- it shocks him almost more than the sudden affection does. Enough that he lets out a low whine. Not knowing what to do with his hands until they close around the hem of namjoon’s flannel, jerking the larger hybrid towards Jimin, making his pine scent settle over Jimin like a comforting blanket - strong  and alpha and everything Jimin wants to press himself into-

- A  cat hybrid bustles through the entryway carrying a crate full of something- headed for the basement refrigerators, and Namjoon straightens, his mask of careful control back in place- (like it always does, Jimin thinks a little sourly) as Jimin steps away and shakes off. Jimin wonders if he had dreamed up the brief heavy look in his face or if it had never been there at all. 

- Both of them hear the sound of you upstairs, lingering “Do you want me to stay?” a pause, and then you continue, “okay, I’ll come to check on you later- don’t turn the shower on too cold or else you’ll go into shock okay Yoon?” 

- If Jimin did know any better (and he certainly knows better) he would have mistaken Namjoon’s look for the same one he gives you when you reappear at the top of the stairs, Namjoon and Jimin spill onto the landing to make room for you. Namjoon’s hand hovers on your arm, tugging you in close for a moment, he can audibly hear the swallow you let out as Namjoon buries his face in your shoulder, tension locked in every muscle of his body until he exhales. 

-  “I’ll help you with the garden for the rest of the day just let me grab my hat Jimin.” You say, smiling at him, but Jimin can see the clenched worry in the set of your mouth. Namjoon gives your retreating form a withering look and he tells Jimin under his breath, “make sure she rests when she gets tired okay?” Namjoon asks, to which Jimin nods, his tail swishing between his legs. “I heard that!” you shout from what must be your and Namjoon’s room. 

- You and Jimin spend the rest of the day watering the cutting garden, and Jimin finds himself asking you what kind of plants these ones are. They’re large and pretty. A little ruffly and torn looking but beautiful none the less with a strong floral scent that sort of reminds him of how you smell. Jimin likes them, especially the light pink ones that are the same color as the blushing sky. 

- “We planted these for a local florist, they’re called peonies, and those are dahlias,” you say, pressing your face into one, the soft petals brushing against your cheeks as you rub your face into one, and Jimin feels his heart flutter like a butterfly. “hang on- you’ve got a little” he brushes away the Pollen on your cheek, “Thanks Minnie” 

- Minnie- the butterflies in his heart flutter harder- probably causeing a tornado  somewhere elce. He hides his blush by turning away to snip off some of the dying leaves with his scissors, trying to slow the thundering pace of his heart. 

- Later that evening when the skin is purple-tinted dark blue, you stand in the cutting garden with Namjoon. Armed with a pair of scissors you snip the most beautiful blooms. Though it will be a few more days till you drive another shipment into town to the florist and you know the few blooms you take won’t be missed. 

- “What are you doing?” Namjoon asks, taking the fist-sized blooms from you as you cut more. “Just making someone happy.” You say, And Namjoon just shakes his head. He knows what you’re talking about and who you're picking them for, And it might be for the puppy who always picks a wild cosmos and puts it on the strap of his sun hat, and looks at the two of you like he wants to be affectionate or dote on, but might not know-how. 

- “He hasn’t had an easy day has he,” Namjoon says, voice low, you shake your head, because no- Jimin hasn’t and you’re only trying to make him a little happier.  He seemed a little too shaken after the incident with Yoongi.  a small act of kindness goes a long way. 

-  He finds them the next day shortly after breakfast, about to change into a  pair of shorts so that he can swim in the stream with Taehyung and some of his other bunkmates before work starts. He finds the pink, white, and purple blooms stuffed into a jam jar on the small side table next to his bed. Blushing as his fingers skim over the edge. Unable to handle the sudden rush of hope and affection because he knows- he knows these must be from you- but he can’t imagine why you’d left them for him to find.  

- “Someones got a secret admierer~” Taehyung teases with a sing song voice from where he changes- almost tripping as he steps into his red swim trunks. Jimin blushes and tries not to let him see. 

- But when he really thinks about it- all he wonders is why. He’d hurt Yoongi yesterday- Someone who seemed special to you. He’d been half-expecting you to punish him at some point- not reward him with these flowers that he gets to look at when he falls asleep. Jimin hugs his pillow to his chest and lets the scent of you (because yes- you do smell like peonies) lul him into sleep. 

- Yoongi appears by the middle of the next day to help Jimin twine up the lines of peas. Yoongi looks no worse for wear, if not for the bags under his eyes that seem a little shadowed, the elder doesn’t look like he’s gotten a wink. 

- (Later- when you break for lunch- you and Jimin find Yoongi asleep underneath the shade of one of the oak trees that border the vegetable garden, His sun hat pulled low over his face to shield his eyes from the sun, and decide it’s better if you let him be for the rest of the day)

- Jimin is so puzzled by the flowers that he asks Yoongi about them. But the elder pauses, and shakes his head, making an X with his hands. And points to the other side of the garden where you stand, whistling a little and watering some of the carrots (the few that have managed to avoid the hungry bellies of the bunny hybrids)

-  Jimin blushes and swats his hands at Yoongi’s small smirk. Saying “oh shut up!” even as Yoongi rolls his eyes, I didn’t say anything he can almost hear the other say.

- Late that night Jimin wonders what Yoongi’s voice sounds like. Then when the days press on, he starts to doubt that he’ll ever find out. But that's fine, they don’t have to talk to be friends. Not when he comes back from a bathroom break with a glass of water and ice for Yoongi only to find that the elder has filled his discarded sunhat to the brim with sweet Tomatoes and green beans. 

- Namjoon makes a brief appearance one day to lug in a few bags of mulch in your private garden. Eyeing Jimin and Yoongi in the field, as Jimin points energetically to a small bright blue bird that seems very interested in some of the pees. neither of them makes to scare the bird off or pounce like a cat hybrid might, merely straightening up to watch, still as to not startle it, as it twitters and is joined by another bright blue bird and then two more.

- they fly away, and Jimin shouts excitedly and hops over to the fence, stoops to pick up a tiny bright blue feather. Jimin chats animatedly to Yoongi, who doesn’t respond but holds it up to the sky to compare the color. Both of them leaning around the light to see it, their straw hats bumping into each other. 

- Jimin must ask Yoongi because he’s dropping the feather into his hand and tilting his head down so that Yoongi can stick the blue feather into Jimin's hat, right in-between an orange snapdragon and a dried pink clover. 

- Namjoon sees the smile tugging at Yoongi’s lips and feels deep satisfaction. Later that night, curled up in your bed with your form propped up on many pillows, Namjoon tells you that you made the right decision to try and push Jimin and Yoongi to be friends. He’s gotten so much better; less twitchy and easy to startle. Both of them have really. They’re good for each other.   

- you fall asleep with a soft smile on your face, cheek pillowed against the soft cream bedspread. Namjoon nuzzles his face into your stomach, resting his cheek below your breasts as you sleep on. You’re so used to his movements next to you that you barely startle. “Things are complicated little one,” he murmurs to the bump. 

- Pressing a kiss to it through your large sleeping shirt (an old one of his) one of namjoon’s large work-roughened hands smoothing over it. “Only a few months now and you’ll be here. I can’t wait to meet you but I’m also scared.”  He shakes a little as he thinks about it- about being a dad, about being parents with you.

- And then he thinks of the others, “We’re both going to need so much help, but I think you’ll like them too.”

- after he showers and before dinner time Jimin helps you and the few other hybrids set up the long table in the largest barn that serves as the dining room for all of the hybrids. As you hand out napkins, More than one of them asks you to get off your feet. 

- He spends dinner on Namjoon’s left side and you on the other side and Yoongi next to you. The hybrid files in after everyone has already started at the line for the buffet of food. Keeping his head ducked and making himself as small as possible. Jimin tries to catch his eyes in hello but doesn’t manage too. 

- - As April fades into may, Jimin starts to feel disconcerting comfortableness slip under his bones, the day’s aren’t exactly the same, but they do become familiar. And it doesn’t comfort him- it just makes Jimin anxious. the planting comes to an end, and the three of you find yourselves coming in earlier especially once it starts to get hotter. Because of the absence of work, Jimin often finds himself wandering the property without a task. 

- The less work there is to do in the gardens, the more he looks to find something that will occupy him- any way to contribute more. He keeps helping during dinner time, to set out the tables and the dishes. And goes back and forth to the house to get anything he might need, unable to sit down until everything is done, even then, he barely gets a few bites in before he’s standing up to help bring the dirty dishes back to the house. 

- You notice, Namjoon does too but you both quickly get dragged off to deal with another call that you’ve gotten to pick up another hybrid. And though Jimin might be hungry when he goes to sleep, it’s worth it to stay up to watch your car lights pull back up the long road to the main house. The anxiety in his chest is abated enough to where he doesn’t feel the hunger.

- That might be a bit of a lie, but really, he was hungry for so many years that he doesn’t mind.

- the presence of a new hybrid makes it worse. It’s the first house call you’d made since Jimin- thought you tell him that it hadn’t really been a house call at all. The locals in a beach town had seen a stray here and there lingering in the lagoon and the ocean waters.

-  The otter hybrid named Hoseok looks like he’s been living on his own for a number of years. He’s Grubby, his hair overgrown but cut short by your hand in your kitchen the next day. And though he leans away from your hand when you try to touch his head, he eventually relaxes under your calm soothing voice, “That’s a good boy, there we go- now you look all clean and pretty!”

- “You think I’m pretty?” the otter hybrid has the Gaul to ask- shy- his eyes wide, and Jimin’s blood wants to boil. He sits with Yoongi at the prep table, helping the cat hybrids de-stem some of the peas and early spring greens that they’d harvested from the garden, and he almost nicks his hand on the knife he’s using. Next to him, Yoongi makes a noise and gestures at him to hand the knife over, he can see the scolding look on his face, “be more careful”

- He’s bubbly and happy after the first day, his little curved ears cooed at by the cat hybrids in the kitchen. Everyone likes Hoseok, Jimin should like Hoseok- but he can’t help but feel a little jealous at how he immediately fits in. He finds his place the first day when Jimin and Namjoon take him to see the sheep and other farm animals, immediately taking an interest in the thick skeen of bright red wool that Seokjin was hanging out to dry,

- The alpaca hybrid turns bright pink when he first sees Hoseok, all the way from his dye stained hands to the tips of his white ears. Jimin can hear the nervousness in the way he says “you can stay as long as you want- all day- it would be nice to have some company” which is funny because seokjin hates company- likes to be left alone with his radio and his pets. 

- “Of course!” the otter says, ears flicking rapidly in happiness in his shiny curly hair, “can you show me how you dye the wool?” Jimin hasn’t ever heard the alpaca hybrid say so many words at once. 

- Jimin wishes he didn’t feel jealous.  

- But he realizes- as one of the cat hybrids comes to asks him which of the herbs in the garden are which, and finds that he does know how to differentiate between the different kinds- At least he’s earned his place here, for a little while he can pretend that he belongs here. He feels a little dizzy like he used too, unsteady with the pounding in his chest- he gets startled over the littlest things, Yoongi standing up too quick next to him or Taehyung’s loud laugh when he walks into the bunkroom.

- The next stage of his anxiety makes him annoyed, his will power worn down by his own inability to relax. He snaps at one of the bunny hybrids after she drops his clothes after they were freshly laundered, ignoring her apology when she drops it.

- He helps the cat hybrids who work in the kitchen making dinner one night and growls when they keep thanking him for staying “Jesus it’s nothing please drop it” and then immediately feels guilty afterward.

- He can’t be this way, Needs to stop being so easily irritable and taciturn. he remembers what his other bunkmates had said on The first day: Namjoon will throw anyone out who makes problems. Jimin dosent want to leave, can’t help the thudding breathlessness that fills his chest when he thinks about the possibility. 

- He knows that Namjoon likes him, it’s the only fact that logically makes sense: that he acts differently around Jimin than the others. But he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn't really know for sure. And once the thought has fit its self into Jimin's head he can’t shake away the lingering feelings of dread- like he’s going to somehow lose his place here and have to leave. 

- Jimin starts to gather snacks here and there, shoving them into the drawer of his side table, just in case so he has some when he gets thrown out of the farm. 

- He even snaps at Yoongi at one point, when he splashes Jimin's feet accidentally with a hose, he grumbles and heads off towards the cutting garden mumbling about something that he needs to check, sequestering himself there for the rest of the day crumpling dried peony leaves in his fist. He misses the pregnant look that Yoongi shoots you- a worry you return.

- You can tell something’s wrong with Jimin- there isn’t any other reason why he’s suddenly started to withdraw from all of you. No longer lingering as much over the flowers and the fruits of your labor in the garden.

- You and Namjoon talk about it one morning after breakfast. Watching where Jimin’s sat on the grassy hill waiting for you and Yoongi to come out. Usually, he’d wait inside or sit on the steps but he hasn’t lately. You watch from the back of the house, looking out the window at him. Namjoons arms clasped around your middle. “Is it bad to assume that he’ll come to us if he wants to talk?” you ask Namjoon.“There's something wrong and I feel like I’ll just make him feel attacked if I ask”

- Namjoon looks conflicted, his fingers playing with yours, lacing and unlacing- your hands are so small His rough callouses feel good against your skin- rough in a nice way. “I’m worried too- but I think- maybe everything here has gotten to be too much for him, you know how overwhelmed he got in the first few days, maybe he just needs distance.” You nod against his shoulder, and though neither of you likes it. You think it’s what Jimin needs.

- It’s not really, so much of what's bound to happen could have been fixed by a little more care on your part- and you’ll never make the same mistake of leaving Jimin alone again.

- Over the next few days, Jimin can feel himself getting more and more annoyed- but he can’t for the life of him figure out why.  He sequesters himself on the other side of the cutting garden trying to find some comfort in the flowers. But the peony rings just won't stay upright, the Dalia stakes too, and the daisy poles, the green garden twine won't stay tight in Jimin’s shaking fingers.

- Nothing feels right, he feels listless,  skin feels itchy laying over the bit of pudge, he’s gotten since he came here and started eating 2 square meals and snacks every day. The tensegrity over his bones, never quite able to stretch, out the hot sun on his back. He feels sharp, his mind teetering on the edge of something he dosent understand. 

- And like an idiot, he tries to ignore it.

- Jimin gets to his breaking point a day later- when you finally turn in from outside. It’s hot, and Jimin feels overheated and sticky with sweat, but he doesn't feel like he can leave yet and take a shower like he so desperately wants.  One of the hybrids gave him a weird look when he was showering mid-day yesterday and he’d like to avoid that again if he can. 

- Most of the hybrids wait until after dinner to shower but Jimin didn’t want to deal with vying for hot water. It was just another thing that made him frustrated. And he’s unsure if he’s more frustrated at the hybrid or at himself for making another social miss-step.

- It hits him there in your kitchen the reason why he’s so frustrated. He’s been here for a little over a month now and still- still he dosent understand the rules, the socal rules are still escaping him just as much the physical ones. In his old home- he got a shower whenever time allowed it- here it was seen as lazy to take one before the day’s work was truly done. 

- There is sweat dripping down his back even as you get both him and Yoongi a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the table. “Do you want some watermelon?” Jimin shakes his head, unsure why he’s refusing when hunger aches in his belly.  But someone else might want the watermelon on the table, someone else might need it so Jimin can’t have it- can’t intrude any more than he already does. He might break another fucking rule- it’s better, isn’t it? to just not take up space and resources when he can avoid it. 

- “I could reheat some of the food from this morning if you’d rather have that? or we could make something else before dinner?” you proffer, washing your hands in the sink, running over them with the brush to get the dirt out from under your nails. 

- “No you don’t have to” he answers too quickly. You let the silence sit for a moment before you’re turning to Jimin, And he feels something that feels suspiciously like fear spark and itch underneath his skin. You look a little put-out, biting on your lower lip and for some reason it makes him feel even worse. Which doesn’t make any sense- 

- Why would you be upset that you can’t help a dumb puppy like Jimin? who can barely garden right let alone do anything like a normal fucking non-damaged hybrid could do. He’s not Namjoon, gorgeous tall and capable Namjoon, or even like Yoongi who doesn't even talk but finds himself more needed than even Jimin- the most replicable hybrid on the farm. 

- Why does he feel like he needs to placate you- why don’t you just fucking get it already. You dry your hand on a towel and lean back against the sink. Jimin takes a deep sip of the ice water but finds it makes him feel sick. “What’s wrong?” you proffer gentle and kind.

- “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, he sets the water down too hard and he tries to turn away but you don’t let him, grabbing his wrist. “Jimin,” you say, and he doesn’t know if it’s a plead or a command from you. Maybe if you did command him Jimin would understand better, would know what you wanted better than all of this- all of this assuming that drives him crazy. 

- He rolls his wrist out of your grip, suddenly whirling around, his voice a growl. “Would you just leave it- fuck- I’m fine,”  Jimin can hear dimly, the footsteps above which must be Yoongi. Pausing and then rushing when he hears Jimin’s elevated voice.

- You pause for a moment, picking your words carefully “Jimin, you don’t seem okay- I know something’s been bothering you. Come talk to me about it, tell me about it,” Jimin’s scoff feels acrid in his lungs. “No thanks, don’t want to feel like more of a burden than I already am.”

- You recoil- shocked “Jimin what? you really think that? you’re not at all! please don’t think that, don’t think that you’re a burden! We love you- we care about you- we’re just worried”

- Jimin shakes his head, angry, he’s not even sure why he’s fucking angry,  “You don’t love me” Maybe it’s the frustration, the frustration at all the heavy looks and all the kindness- none of which Jimin knows how to interpret or how to decipher. 

- He dosent know why he said it- even though deep down he’s sure it’s true. He knows you love him. And suddenly the words are spilling out of him along with all of the fear and anxiety and petty anger. Even though deep down Jimin knows that he really doesn’t have anything to be angry about

- “I hate when you walk on eggshells like I’m going to go fucking awol because I can’t fucking adjust to living like this- and then go on treating me with so much affection like I fucking deserve it.” 

- “Jimin- you’re not- we don’t walk on eggshells around you because we want to keep you far away, we do it because we want you to feel comfortable, we don’t want to force anything on you-” 

- “Force me to do what? Force me to help out even if not doing so would make me a freeloader, but if I help too much then- it sets me apart and I just don’t fit in- I’m not even like apart of everything here- when I’m fucking suffocating under what no one says- no one tells me. So what? What can you possibly say that will help? That won’t hurt?”

- For once, you fall silent. Your hands drop, and Jimin feels the guilt swell up, strengthening to a crescendo before he falls falls falls and has nothing but the anger to comfort him, even as tears cloud his vision. 

- “You treat me like this- like I’m fucking worth anything at all and it drives me crazy- I’m not like you- You ask me to confide in you but you wouldn’t fucking understand if I tried- I’m the fucking dregs of what anyone wants and I’m never going to be like the others- I’ve already fallen too far behind and you might as well give up-” 

- “Jimin” its Namjoon at the door, his voice full of caution, not anger- Jimin expects anger but when he looks up all he sees in Namjoon biting his lower lip and looking like he’s about to cry. He reaches out to try and touch him but Jimin flinches back, namjoon freezes, eyes wide and worried. Jimin’s tail drops low, and he pushes past Namjoon without a second thought, leaving you there- you let out a strangled aborted noise in your throat. 

- His beat-up second-hand shoes thud against the wooden steps and the adrenaline is still firing in his system telling him to get away from you. Namjoon calls his name and he breaks out into a run across the field, his ankles almost failing when he stumbles in some of the holes. The tears in his eyes burning as he runs and runs and runs. 

- I’m never going to be like them, I’m too damaged for a life like this, I’m never going to understand how to function because- because I wasn’t raised like them. And it’s too late to learn- it’s too late for the life he wants- even though he never wanted it until they showed him what life could be like.  

- Jimin feels terribly alone. 

- Taehyung finally finds Jimin in the paddocks, deep in the barn with a baby lamb in his lap. It’s little soft pink and white body sitting in Jimin’s lap. Docile at his pets even as the hybrid sniffles, nibbling cutely at his fingers. He puts a hand on Namjoon’s arm, wordlessly telling him to stay behind with Seokjin. “Thanks for getting us Jin” Jimin hears him whisper. Even if he dosent sit up or stand to acknowledge his bunkmate's presence. 

- “That looks a little nasty,” Taehyung says, gesturing at Jimin’s hand. He’d fallen on his mad run, his knuckles grazing the ground. And they’re a little bloody and dirty. It’s not that bad though- Jimin has felt worse pain. 

- “You want to talk about it yet?” 

- “No,” Jimin says too quickly, worried that Taehyung would leave and also- that he would stay. “But I think I should?” The little lamb seems to tire of Jimin’s restless pets and migrates over to Taehyungs lap.  “Where were you before you came here Tae?” in all his weeks at the farm Jimin has never asked Taehyung about his own origin story. But the hybrid dosent look surprised or unwilling. The lamb lets out a little bleat. 

- “You know the story probably, its the same one a lot of us rare breeds have- rich family- bought me as a present for their youngest son- never knew my parents, you know- the classic hybrid trifecta of angst” 

- “I didn’t know my parents either,” they shift to sit back against the wall of the barn. “How did you end up here?” 

- “He wasn’t always violent, but by the time his parents realized it had gotten out of hand, they barely cared he was hurting me only that I bit him back- they didn’t tolerate it and sold me to a circus.” Taehyung gets a faraway look in his eyes. 

-“I refused to perform, and they put me out in the sun without food or water until I agreed, I escaped within the first week, they didn’t realize that the chain was rusty enough for a hybrid to break.” Tae’s softness has always been disarming, but Jimin has also seen the bear hybrid lift 50-pound bags of flour like they weighed nothing. 

- Jimin thinks about his next words carefully, “Do you ever, think it would have been better if you stayed? sometimes I think I deserved it.” Taehyung’s inhale is jagged- “No- Jimin- you shouldn’t- you didn’t deserve what you got I promise you” 

- Jimin looks down and tries not to feel upset because- he feels like he deserved it even if Taehyung is telling him he didn’t. The bear hybrid has never lied to him and maybe, just maybe Jimin didn't- maybe he really hadn’t deserved it.

- “I don’t miss it not really- but- sometimes I think- my body does or maybe my head? It’s hard to explain.” Jimin knows Taehyung is trying. Tae puts his arm around Jimin’s shoulder, his wide hands rubbing up and down Jimin’s spine.  Jimin tucks his face close to his knees and lets Tae touch him. The repetitive pets feel nice. 

- “Why do I feel so scared Tae? Why is everything so hard? why do I feel like I don’t deserve anything good? There are so many things that I don’t understand or don’t know- so many things I never even knew I didn’t know.”

- “I think I might know someone who understands how you’re feeling Minnie.”

- Jimin tries to turn away when Taehyung leads him up to the front porch where you sit with Yoongi, but his hand is strong on the back of Jimin’s neck. Jimin is a little startled to see Yoongi’s hand withdraw from yours quickly. “It’s okay Yoongi, wanna give us a minute?” you say, standing along with him as Jimin rises on the steps, hands clenched by his side. 

- Neither of you talks, Jimin can’t look up to meet your eyes. Taehyung and Yoongi sigh at the same time. “I left some of my beekeeping gear down at the bottom of the hill- if you help me carry it up I’ll give you some honey?” Yoongi scoffs but shows a small smile as Tae turns and starts off with him down the hill. Yoongi sends Jimin a single pitying glance before he does. 

- “I think the squash is probably done cooking by now, Come inside.” The ground floor of the farmhouse is empty but filled with a mild sweet scent. All of the other vegetables are already set out, The carrot, celery, And onion already chopped. It doesn't look like there's enough to feed the whole farm and Jimin is about to ask when you clarify. “I thought it would be better if we all ate together tonight, and this soup is a little specialty of mine.”

- You go to the cellar door and opening it. “Go downstairs, look at the floor- and tell me what you see.” Jimin listens- he’s always been good at following instructions. 

- The cellar smells musty and cold he’s careful not to trip over the extension cords that wind down the stairs, the industrial-sized freezers and refrigerators hum and buzz. There is a barely-there stain in the concrete, rust-colored, fading like someone had tried to wash it away but hadn’t been able to it. 

- “Why is there a bloodstain on your floor?” Jimin says as he comes up the stairs, taking them two at a time. You're just stirring vegetables in the pan. “iI’s mine,” you say, turning the heat down and covering it. Jimin's breath catches. You start fiddling with the other burner, “You’re not the only one who's been through some shit Jimin,” 

-“Who hurt you- when.” Yimin pulls out a place for you at the prep table and you make a noise when you see his bloody hand, “my late husband,” Jimin's eyes hover on your stomach for a second before you flinch, turning away to retrieve the first aid kit from below the sink.

- “Why did he hurt you?” Jimin asks as you pull his hand close to you to rest on the table, carefully and gently dabbing at the broken skin with a cool cloth to clear away the dirt. You’re so gentle that It barely stings. A lock of hair falls in front of your face, and Jimin reaches across the table to tuck it behind your ear. 

- “Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe some people are made rotten- maybe it’s easier to hurt others than hurt- but regardless- I hate him- hated him- But I also loved him at one point. And I think- until Namjoon came- I honestly was dependent on his approval, did you feel dependent on your old owner?”

- “Every day. I don’t miss him- I hate him too- but” Jimin’s hands are shaking when he looks down at them. ou steady them a little- rubbing ointment into the scrapes “I think that I miss understanding everything that was going to happen, knowing what my purpose was.” 

- Your face is shadowed and dark as you keep working- you might not be able to fix Jimin’s mind- but you can help this- the wounds on his body that ache in time with the pulse of his heart. “People like us- we miss abuse because we get dependent on it- because it ran your life and now- you can’t make any choices without-” 

- “Without thinking you’re making the wrong one because choices have consequences and now they don’t- not really- not in the same way. It was like that for you too?” you nod, starting putting bandaids across Jimin’s knuckles. The onions in the pan smell good and start to sizzle. Jimin is almost breathless when he asks- cuz now you’ve helped him put it together he needs to know “How did you get out- how did you learn?” 

-“Namjoon was really patient with me, he gave me what I needed without letting me fall back into the cycle- I’m lucky to have him.”  We’re lucky to have you, he wants to say, he’s never heard of a human who had been through the kind of abuse that hybrids do. But he thinks that maybe it would be wrong to say especially after the words he’d shouted at you. He winces, and you look up from his hand worried you’d hurt him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier- you didn’t deserve it.” 

- You shrug, “We’ve been expecting you to be okay- and I’m sorry- I should have been more communicative. It’s kinda been a hard transition for you and I should have been there to help more.” 

- “Why does doing what I want not feel free all the time? Why do the choices make me feel like im suffocating?” 

- “Because if you don’t have a choice- you can’t make a wrong move.

- “Did you know- neither Namjoon or I can go into that basement without having a panic attack? There are other things too- like if something comes at his face too quick he growls- even if it's me. The smell of motor oil makes him feel sick and I still have nightmares- We’re still learning. The people we love don’t negate our trauma, but it helps at least when they try to understand it with us.” 

- You set the last bandaid over his nuckles, and he reaches out to grasp at yours and give it a squeeze. You take his hand and lift it to your mouth all of the scrapes covered. You press a kiss to each bandaid and Jimin feels like he’s going to cry for a whole different reason- he feels so undeserving of your care and of your affection, especially after today. 

- “I want to help you Jimin- I care about you too much not to try and make you happy,” Jimin can’t argue- not like he did before when he was too anxious not to perceive anything close to him as an attack. “What do you want? There are no wrong answers” 

-“I want-” before he can answer, Namjoon and Yoongi walk through the door, the younger hybrid prattling to yoongi about the restorations currenly underway at once of the little chicken coops on the sothern edge-  and then he looks back at you- your face a little tired, but truly truly imploring, Jimin feels a strange kind of acrid black hope lurch in his belly. 

- Both of them smiling softly, Namjoon saying something and Yoongi nodding while makeing a so-so motion with his hands. When Namjoon looks up and sees the two of you sat on the kitchen table his tail wags and then falls still, then wags again when he sees both you and Jimin sitting close. Your hands still tightly clasped in each other. 

- “I want to help you cook- can you show me how you make the soup?” Jimin lies. But you don’t catch it, even as you smile at him, and reach your hand up to touch his ears. Pull gentle scratches over them. “That we can definitely do,” you say. Namjoon and Yoongi don’t look upset with Jimin when they come close, Yoongi opening up the pan on the burner and sniffing the air. making a pleased noise in the back of his throat, “squash soup” you clarify and Yoongi smiles.

- Namjoon lifts Jimin’s hand up for inspection, “You okay?” Namjoon asks, his tail hanging low, he doesn't like to see the younger hurt- doesn't like the shyness lingering. “No,” Jimin says quietly, “But I will be,”

- Namjoon pulls him up with a whine, scent-marking along Jimin's shoulder- the other hybrid freezes and then whines when Namjoon’s scent puffs up fanning out to comfort Jimin. The other hybrid is so much larger than him, he makes Jimin feel so small. Namjoon’s hands on both of his shoulders holding him still. Jimin is breathless even after Namjoon pulls away with a faint blush on his cheeks- because Jimin- Jimin smells like Namjoon now.

- Every hybrid is going to know what Namjoon did that when he walks out. And it’s intimate- so intimate- because hybrids the only scent mark each other when they- Jimin's breath catches in his throat- when they belong to the same pack.

- That means Namjoon wants Jimin to belong here. 

- “Can I-” Jimin knows his face is bright red, “Do me?” Namjoon proffers, and though Namjoon has to stoop for Jimin to rub his cheek all over Namjoon he does and looks happy, his dimples poking out. 

- “What do I smell like?” Jimin asks, because honestly- he’s never known- never had another hybrid scent mark him. “Something flowery but more like- citrusy?” Namjoon says, taking in a deep breath at Jimin’s throat that makes a shiver run down his spine.

- Yoongi makes a noise and holds out a lemon- tapping it for a moment and nodding sagely, The visual makes you all giggle. You smile too, “What do I smell like?”

- “Flowers,” Namjoon says instantly, at the same time Jimin says, “Peonies... and cream?” Namjoon blushes- gesturing at your stomach, “that wasn’t there before- yeah” his dimples are so pronounced when he absently rubs a hand over your bump, You can't resist getting up on your tippy-toes to peck them. 

- Jimin learns that even though he had asked you to teach him how to make butternut squash soup, that didn’t mean you were going to let him do any of the work involved. You explain how to do everything sure- but Jimin is banished to sit at the table with namjoon and watch. 

- You and Yoongi cook, dancing around each other in a dance that seems almost choreographed. You must cook together often because Yoongi seems to anticipate your movement, handing you a wooden spoon to stir the vegetables. 

 - Namjoon pulls him back to lean against his chest facing where you cook, Namjoon’s back up against the wall the older hybrid combing his hands through Jimin's hair. Jimin would think it was weird had he not seen countless other hybrids cuddle the same),

-  Yoongi brings Jimin spoonfuls which he presses to Jimin's lips and makes him taste. And Jimin wants to yip when the savory tang of the soup hits his tongue, makes a happy grumble as his eyes flutter closed. “Wait- that's so good- how is it so good?” you look happy at his praise. 

- When it’s finished, the four of you eat out on the porch. Jimin licks his bowl clean, he catches Yoongi watching him, a small satisfied smile on his mouth, he even gets up and gives Jimin seconds. The warm soup fills his belly like liquid comfort. and after so many bowls he ends up listing to the side, nose pressed to the hard part of your shoulder, lulled further to sleep by the rub of your fingers up and down his skull.

 -The kitchen starts to buzz with the noise of dinner preparations but jimin is full and happy, his sun-warmed skin soothed by the dropping temperature. You don't say anything when he starts to cry, his face hidden in your shirt, you just keep running your fingers through his hair scratching his ears. Namjoon and yoongi get up and go upstairs, leaving the two of you to sit side by side. 

- No one hears the words you whisper into Jimin's ear, “You’re not broken beyond repair Minnie, help me- help me fix you- tell me what I can do to make things easier for you.” 

- Jimin's eyes are half-lidded when he opens them, “Can you just- tell me things? Not order me- I’m not asking for you to like- control me- but I think if you just all told me what you want it would be better- take out the guesswork you know?”

- Jimin is so sleepy Namjoon ends up having to carry him back down to the bunks. his strong hands gripping Jimin under his thighs The smaller hybrid on his back, Jimin’s hands around Namjoon's neck. The younger hybrid nuzzling his nose into Namjoon's shoulder to get more of the pine scent on himself. They pause on the steps. The last thing Jimin is aware of is a puff of your scent and soft lips on his hairline.  He wakes up in his bed the next day, his pillows smelling like Namjoon. His bunkmates give him strange looks. 

- The next few days are better, and slowly but surely, the anxiety he’d felt dissipates. You give Jimin little moments to latch onto. the Stability of clearly communicated consent. You say “sit next to me” when dinner comes. Yoongi and Tae across from you at the table. “It makes me feel better the more you eat- I like seeing you full and chubby Minnie” 

- The other hybrids help too- so you must have told them. Namjoon brings Jimin one of his old button-downs, a thick flannel that smells like the other hybrid. “This is too small on me now- so here- it’s yours.”

“Enjoying your courting gifts? Taehyung teases after he sees Jimin wearing it, making the younger splutter, “this? a courting gift?” Tae shrugs, “that's the only reason why he would give you something of his to wear- and both of us know it the alpha of a pack that initiates the courting.” 

- The clearly communicated wants and desires do wonders for his level of comfort. Even Yoongi tries- writes down what he wants on a napkin at dinnertime. I want to help you in your garden today. No offering for Jimin to decline, no wiggling out of it. And slowly, Jimin finds himself becomes more comfortable with his place here. 

- You try to keep the satisfied smile off your face when one day you ask Jimin to come up to the house- cuz it’s just too hot today- and he’s struggling to put together a trellis, “one second, I want to finish this before dinner” and he sits up with a jolt- realizing- he’d actually articulated his own wants for once, he’d asserted his own wants into a conversation instead of just- reacting to everyone else's. 

- Your satisfied smile warms his heart too, you notice the slow change. jimin beginning to heal. “no- I don’t need that it’s okay” “yes you do jimin just take the fancy soap,”

- “Are you sure it’s okay if i-” “Yes it is I promise.”

- The change is slow but one day, He gets to the point where he can say “Tae and I are going to go try and find some berry patches down by the river so I’m going to meet him after we get done with the ground cherries” without fear

- Jimin takes a bucket and he brings back a quart of wild blueberries. You make blueberry muffins with them while Tae, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin sit at the prep table. Yoongi carefully plucks thorns out of Taehyungs hand as Namjoon tells Jimin that even though Yoongi can cook- you’re the only one in the house that can bake. He even gets a pat on the head for his work and a soft “good boy” from you, and it makes Jimin's heart feel light and blooming like a flower. 

- The afternoons stop making him anxious, and after the first few days, he’s inclined to relax rather than go in search of more work. He goes to visit Taehyung by the bee hutches, hovering a few meters away as Taehyung brings him a spoonful of honey. Or if he dosent feel like doing anything at all- he plays cards with you and Yoongi on your back porch, Namjoon too- if he finds out that you’ve all turned in for the day. 

- Yoongi always wins during the afternoon card games. Whether it is poker or rummy the snake hybrid comes out on top- even when it’s something like Uno, and the elder will just shuffle the cards again for another round and smile a little, more than he does ever. And the three of you will shout and grumble in dismay when he shows his winning hand, round after round until dinner preparations start to pick up enough for someone to need help.  

- One afternoon, you look so sweet in your loose taupe frock, the stretchy material pulled over your belly and your hair free from its fixings spilling over your shoulder Jimin sees the way that Namjoon has his palm placed against your round stomach and can’t stop himself from asking. 

- “Can I?” Jimin asks, and you look up from your hand of cards and place them on the table before taking Jimin’s in yours, and oh, your baby bump is warm and soft and surprisingly more solid then Jimin expected. He wasn’t expecting to immediately feel like he was going to burst into tears, but he feels an incredible well of fondness well up in him. It must have something to do with the way that your peony and cream scent seems to tug at his heart like strings on a marionette. 

- He wants to lean forward and press a kiss there- or nuzzle it and scent mark it the way he knows Namjoon does- but even that feels like too much. You must know what Jimin is wanting as you look down at him, smiling a little even as he blushes. 

-  Little does Jimin know that this is nothing particularly new to you, every time Namjoon gets a whiff of your pregnancy hormones- he’s gotten simultaneously possessive and cloudy eyed with protectiveness. Yoongi seems to be the only one who doesn’t have that reaction. But you bet he’s spared that particular embarrassment by his admittedly more human sense of smell.

- The rest of them don’t notice Jimin’s wave of emotions, or at least they pretend to be interested enough in the third round of hearts that you’ve played this evening. Though Jimin does catch a small smile on Namjoon’s face when Jimin scoots closer. Reluctant to let go now that he’s felt the soft pleasure of feeling your baby bump.

-  The endorphin response alone has his voice husky, he’s a goner the second you lift your hand up and rub his ears, letting out a whine and putting his cards away- much more interested in begging affection off of you now.  

- “How far along are you?” “Around 5 months now I think- nearly 6 now that I think about it.”

- The four of you decide to eat dinner out on the patio instead of joining the others in the barn. The older cat hybrid sees how slumped you are and how you’re near to sleeping on Namjoon’s shoulder, and brings the four of you out dinner plates, much to the thanks of Namjoon and Jimin, Yoongi nods gratefully when she hands over his plate. 

-  By the time Jimin reluctantly so steers his way back towards the barns, the common room lights have finally turned out. A lone fox hybrid sleeps on the couch in the common room, her head tipped back and the light from the tv blue across her face. 

- He goes up to his bunk bed, the other hybrids sleeping soundly around him, perplexed to find his bed disturbed, his pillow gone and his blanket missing from his bed. He figured someone might not have wanted to get up to grab one from the linen closet downstairs, but when he goes down to the ground floor he finds it empty, not uncommon on a cold night like tonight. Jimin’s bare feet are already feeling the brunt of the cold stones, and the cozy but still slightly drafty barn. 

- He goes up and notices that the hybrid that shares the bunk to the left is the one that’s taken his blanket. “Hey give it back” Jimin hisses hushed, fighting with the half-asleep hybrid whose eyes still haven’t opened, he’s clutching the extra warmth to his chest. “I need that to sleep” the dog hybrid on the bunk above them grumble and turn over in his sleep. 

- Jimin puts a hand on his shoulder to really wake him, The hybrid, a wolf hybrid named Minhyung, wakes up with a start, arms already swinging, his foot kicks out at Jimin’s stomach.  The sudden violent reaction tosses him onto the floor with a thump, waking those in the vicinity.

- Jimin tries not to let the stinging feeling invade too much even as his ass goes numb, and he flushes with anger, especially when one of the others whose woken by the brief scramble laughs at Jimin. Minhyung does too, looking barely contrite with half his hair messy and a little bit of drool on his cheek. 

- Minhyung smiles showing his teeth. “Thought you’d be warming up that snake boy by now. Have fun sleeping in the cold.” He says, and turns to his side, ignoring Jimin. Jimin tries not to feel ashamed or rejected or any of the other nasty emotions singing in his chest at the indifference of the other hybrids in his bunk.  

- A glance at Taehyung’s bunk, the only one who might come to his aid, confirms both that the bear hybrid was the only one without an extra blanket and is also still asleep. 

- Jimin doesn’t even stop to think, he just knows that he doesn’t want to stay here on the bed, feeling cold and alone and like everyone in that room hates him. Feeling his head spinning, and his heart thudding erratically, he leaves the bunkroom and the barn and stops just outside. The cold is worse here and he tugs his fluffy cardigan around his shoulders before he starts walking slowly up the hill to the main house. 

- The lights on the ground floor are all but turned off, but the glowing he can see in the living space foretells that of a television. He deliberates on the front porch for a second, wondering If he should even bother, momentarily worried that you’ll keep him out in the cold too. 

-But he shivers and hopes beyond hope that you won't. And when he knocks on the door it's only a few seconds before he can hear someone get up. It’s not nearly enough time for him to think of a good excuse as to why he can’t sleep in his own bunk. 

- It’s Yoongi that answers, bundled up in a pair of very warm flannel pajamas and a sweater, his hair curling against the nape of his neck from a fresh shower. The bright green tartan does wonders for Yoongi’s scales, making the ones on the back of his neck look brilliant even in the half-light of the porch. He’s a little wide-eyed and taken aback by Jimin’s presence, but he waits for Jimin to speak.

- “The others- they-” Jimin’s words fail him at the worse time, throat closing off into a whine, his ears pressed into his skull. “Is it okay if I sleep up here tonight?” Yoongi’s eyes are dark and half-lidded, but he steps aside instantly nonetheless. Jimin slips into the warmth of the house closing the door behind him.  

- There is an old fashion black and white movie playing on the tv but Yoongi clicks it off and goes into the ground floor bathroom. Making a noise for Jimin to follow, he rummages around in a drawer and pulls out a toothbrush and a washcloth for Jimin to use to wash his face and leaves Jimin to wash up in peace. And comes back a few minutes later lugging a blanket with too many cords to seem logical.  

- Jimin realizes what it is when Yoongi fluffs it out on the couch and a wave of Yoongi’s scent- like the crackle of heat and something that kind of smells a lot like marshmallows fluffs towards him- Yoongi’s scent. Taehyung’s words about courting gifts suddenly ring in his ears.  

- “Yoongi, I can’t take one of your heated blankets on the coldest night of the season” Jimin protests. But Yoongi just shakes his head, putting his hand on his chest while keeping eye contact with Jimin meaningfully, then pushing his palm to the floor. jimin takes it to mean “I don’t need it.” 

- Yoongi ignores Jimin’s protests and stoops to plug it into a surge protector anyway. The couch, which already has a pillow on it, looks even more inviting now.  

- Jimin feels like a broken record uttering thank you after thank you even as Yoongi heads towards the landing, and up to where his room must be in the house, after nodding what must have been a goodnight at Jimin. 

- The couch is so comfortable that jimin gets cozy quickly (even if it is a little squishy). His heart feels a little heavy with the events of the day. He’s sure you’ll ask in the morning, and probably Namjoon too. He falls asleep easily, sighing into the warmth of the blanket as it heats up. 

- A story above, in the master bathroom, you’re pressing giggles and kisses into Namjoon’s bare chest. “Oh my god - we have to sleep it’s so late,” you already can tell waking up tomorrow at the crack of dawn is going to be brutal, but you can’t help it, Namjoon looks so soft and fluffy. He’s punch drunk and smiley with his hair ruffled at the back from the countless times you’ve tugged on it or ran your fingers through it in the past few hours.

-  He nuzzles into your shoulder and hums. A strong arm clung over your waist that draws circles over the spot where your baby bump meets your hip. He pulls you snug against him, always closer- as close as he can physically get you. 

- Namjoon whines, he never wants to sleep when it’s you in his bed- or more correctly- him in yours. Though it’s been months since he even thought about sleeping in his old room downstairs, and months since it was unoccupied by Yoongi. 

- The only good thing about going to sleep is that he gets to wake up to you. The thought always has him going to sleep like a kid on Christmas, almost too excited to sleep at all. What a dichotomy love was, making you soothed and calm and at the same time too elated to dream at all.

- You try to get out of bed, prompting immediate grabby hands and a low whine that tapers off into a growl from his throat. You're immune to his display of possessiveness, and it only makes him melt into the sheets further. “Oh you big puppy,” you tease happily in response to his whines, Tying your fluffy pink robe around your waist concealing your nakedness as you head downstairs for a glass of water and leave the door open.

- Namjoon whines again with no one to hear and burrows into the warmth you left, getting impatient pretty quickly, kicking his feet a little when he presses his nose to your pillow and gets a particularly strong wif of your scent. his tail thwacking against the covers. 

- The ground floor is dark, almost dark enough that you don’t see Jimin asleep on your couch. The blanket all but making him blend in. You only see him when you are already on the way back. 

- You’re not exactly surprised to see him asleep on your couch as he hadn’t exactly looked like he wanted to leave earlier but there is something about the tense pull of his eyebrows that tell you there must be some deeper reason why he’s here. Oh well, you’ll find out in the morning, for now, you’ll let him sleep. 

- The whining behind you and the sheer familiarity for Namjoon’s body is the thing alone that keeps you from being startled when his arms snake around your waist to rest on your baby bump. Namjoon stills for a second when he sees the figure on the couch. Jimin’s blonde curls puffed against the pillow, his thick lips pouting in his sleep. 

- “Yoongi must have let him in.” Namjoon murmurs over your shoulder into your ear, hushed so as to not wake him, you make a noise in the back of your throat in agreement taking in the delicacy’s of Jimin’s face as he sleeps, unable to resist running the back of your hand softly over the top of his cheekbones. 

- They’re so much fuller than they used to be you notice appreciatively. Brushing over his puckered lips, finally pushing back the blonde curls at the top of his head and running through his hair a little. Jimin tilts his face up, his cheeks flushed, Plush lips parting in a sigh as he chases your hand, needy for affection even in sleep. His ears twitching in the direction of your movement. 

-  “He’s so cute” you murmur. Namjoon stifles his laugh in your shoulders. “Yes” he agrees, his hands tugging on your waist, “now stop ogling the pretty pup and come to bed with me.” You grumble something like “you’re ogling too” but let Namjoon pull you back upstairs.  

- On the couch, Jimin sleepily opens his eyes to the darkroom, hearing the thud of your retreating footsteps on the creaking steps.  unsure of what he just heard was a dream or reality, the tide of sleep quickly pulling him down. The memory of the moment to be lost in his dreams by the next morning.  

- When the four of you wake in the morning, it’s too a muffled shriek on your front doorstep. One moment namjoon is asleep curled around you and the next he’s vaulting down the stairs in only his pajama bottoms. Hauling opens the front door, splattering blood everywhere before Jimin can do more than stir and rub at his eyes. 

- “Jesus what the fuck!” Jimin cries, rushing to the door while Namjoon blinks, Still half asleep and barely awake. One of the cat hybrids that usually come to cook has fallen back against the steps, disgust roiling in her face, hand against her heart in shock. “I promise it wasn’t me I just- I just was gonna get breakfast early and I came up and it was already there”  

- Namjoon turns to the door, touching his face where the blood sticks smearing it against his cheek. Yoongi skitters down the stairs after Namjoon, socked feet sliding on the floor. 

- “Fuck-” Namjoon growls out- turning to Yoongi, “don’t- Yoongi you shouldn’t-”  Yoongi makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, goes pail,  and Jimin makes the split-second decision, turning to him to block his view and asking him to go get a rag from the bathroom to wipe the blood off of Namjoon’s face. Anything to get him away from this. 

- You're standing bleary-eyed at the top of the stairs in your Pajamas, “What is it Joon? what's wrong?”  None of them knows how to say it, or what to say. 

- Its blood has dripped down the blue chipped paint of the door and pooled on the porch beneath- its scales black and pearly just like Yoongi’s. 

- On your front door, a dead snake hangs, gutted. It’s head nailed to the wood. 

My Kofi

[aceofspadegrass]

Dori is in the mood for cosplaying.

So instead of cosplaying ng as pretty princess like last time,

He decided to just cosplay as a normal girl,as he walks through the hallways of the beach,doing his job(spraying Niragi)

Lady in White? Nah, just Fancy in White

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Sakurada Sori

Genre: Fluff. Just some casual crossdressing. And a grumpy lizard.

1.6k words

Sakurada would probably rock a beach dress. He has like.... a picture of him wearing a wig for reasons I have no idea of, but it's there. I find it interesting.

Anyways, I hope you like this! I.... tried to make it fit.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Niragi liked having a full rest after a day and evening full of exhilarating excitement and a little chaos sprinkled into each day however he pleased.

What he didn’t like is waking up to the sound of his unintentional roommate tripping over his own pillow, hitting the floor quite loudly, then apologizing to said pillow like he tripped over his baby.

Which, Niragi had found out from having to share a room with him, was pretty much his baby. Just cylindrical. He’s never seen a man that excited over a body pillow that was simply a black air tube, yet here he was.

“ Can you keep it down, asshat? I’m trying to sleep.” Niragi grumbles, Sakurada quickly bowing and apologizing to him. It was still dark, and Niragi didn’t feel like turning on a light, pulling the blanket back over himself and huffing in annoyance.

There was quiet shuffling around the room, and the other male at least kept the lights off to let him sleep, although whatever he was doing in the dark was suspicious at best. Niragi rolls over, squinting into the darkness as he tried to figure out what the heck Sakurada was even up to. All he saw was his figure, which held a weirdly uncanny similarity to his own, although darkened. “ It’s early, go to sleep.” Niragi mumbles, glaring into the darkness. “ I apologize for waking you, Niragi, but I am merely choosing my outfit for the day!” “ It’s the Beach, your only choice is swimwear. You know you’re pushing it with all this fancy getup, right?” “ You don’t adhere to the rules either, you know.” Sakurada says, Niragi rolling his eyes. 

“ Because the rules are so nobody hides a weapon.” He gestures to his gun, which he lovingly tucked into bed with him. “ And spoilers, I have a gun.”

“ I am very aware of that, but your leader of this place was very kind and let me wear whatever I want because, and I quote, ‘ You look absolutely stunning you french baked potato, and who am I to deny a man of being this nice to look at’.” “ Why the fuck did Hatter call you a baked potato.” Niragi mutters. “ You’re more of a chocolate waffle cake with truffles if anything else.”

“ I’m going to take both as a compliment, even though it is amusing how you both jump to calling me after a food item.” Niragi just rolls back over. “ Whatever. Just be quiet, it’s too early for this shit.” He yawns, and the shuffling began anew, Niragi mentally blocking out the sound as sleep reclaimed his body and mind.

—————————————————————————————————

Morning soon came, Niragi drifting out of his silent unconsciousness and into the chaotic real world. He sits up, stretching his bones and groaning as he did.

“ Good morning!” An all too familiar voice chirps out, and Niragi barely mutters one back, eyelids still firmly draped over his eyes and blocking most of his sight. “ Morning.”  He finally opens his eyes, but pauses as he spots a figure that definitely didn’t look like Sakurada. Said figure was just idly standing there, fixing rather long and wavy dirty blond hair, a simple and loose white beach dress draped over her body…. A bit tall, but nothing that could deter the bastard that is Niragi. He blinks in confusion, but doesn’t falter as he gets up, grinning and approaching the mysterious person from behind.

“ What’s a sexy lady like you doing in my ro-“ Niragi gets cut off again as the figure whips around and spritzes water straight into Niragi’s face, Niragi hissing and backing up. He furiously rubs the water away and glares at the figure, face heating up in embarrassment as he recognizes the facial structure, Sakurada raising an eyebrow at him, donned in a dress and wig. 

“ Bad Niragi.” Sakurada lightly scolds, crossing his arms. A pair of sunglasses rested atop his head, only completing the look. “ I know I look good, but don’t think you’re gonna get away with trying to come onto me again.” He sighs, Niragi grumbling under his breath. 

Stupid weird clone, looking decent in a dress. Niragi leaves him there to do whatever Sakurada was doing with himself to get ready for the day, which just equated to a quick brushing of his teeth, brushing his hair, and washing his face. He knew he looked pretty enough, so he didn’t need much else.

When he leaves the bathroom, Sakurada was still there, sunglasses now over his eyes as he smiles at Niragi. “ Ready to go?” He asks, and Niragi barely even offers a grunt as he grabs his rifle and leaves the room before Sakurada. As he usually did, Sakurada follows after him, water sprayer at his side. Niragi much rather prefer no more sprays today, as his pride kept getting damaged every time it happened, especially in front of the other Beach members. He wanted to just shoot Sakurada and get it over with, but something in him kept him from going through with it. Maybe the idea of shooting what looked just like him turned on some weird survival instinct that kept him from killing ‘himself’, even if he attempted to just treat Sakurada as the weird twin that won’t leave him alone.

The trip to the dining area was… weird. Niragi could spot other members looking towards his direction, some whispering or plainly talking to each other. Most of them were about the ‘pretty lady’ right behind him, wondering who ‘she’ was, and why ‘she’ was even following a guy like Niragi.

Niragi couldn’t help but approach every single one and sneer at them, telling them off and watching them flee with their tails between their legs, only to have to deal with Sakurada lightly scolding him on manners.

“ Yada yada yada, still don’t care!” Niragi comments after the seventh time, Sakurada lightly spraying the back of Niragi’s neck with water. Niragi hisses at the cold temperature, whipping around and glaring at Sakurada, who just gives him a disappointed look.

“ You should. I know you like doing whatever you please, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little more polite.” “ Politeness can get fucked.” Niragi grumbles, and that only earns him a second spray, right on the ear. He angrily swipes the water droplets away, and picks up his pace, Sakurada quickly matching his pace.

The two of them continue to walk, and Niragi finally decides to ask about his weird getup, looking towards Sakurada. “ So what’s with the dress? Decide you’re a girl now or something?” “ This dress was very free flowing, and I felt like dressing up like this for the day! It doesn’t have to mean anything! Don’t I look nice?” “ I mean……” Niragi just shrugs. He has no idea what to really make of it. Sakurada in a dress and looking decent was…. not something Niragi thought he’d see. Or ever want to admit. He never understood. “ Sure. But it’s weird as shit. You’re fucking weird.” “  Language. But thank you for the compliment.” Sakurada chirps with a soft smile. He still was wearing the sunglasses, so Niragi couldn’t tell what his eyes said, but the smile said enough. Niragi rolls his eyes.

They make it to the dining area, and people immediately are looking at the both of them. Some were faces of concern because of Niragi being there now, others in a curious light as who his companion was, as Sakurada didn’t bother to separate from his side yet. Niragi smiles at a few members in a prideful air, and heads to grab breakfast, Sakurada keeping in step. From the corner of his eye, Sakurada had been waving at a few, nodding his head in greeting at others, people settling easily with the sight of him instead of focusing on Niragi minding his business.

He sits down by himself at a spare table, Sakurada sitting besides him and pulling back the blond locks so he didn’t stain them in the food, simply eggs and fruits with yoghurt on the side. “ How long are you gonna stay like that?” Niragi asks, chewing on the end of a honeydew slice. “ All day!” “ You do realize you look like a girl right? Everyone’s gonna think you’re like….. my girlfriend. Which is gross. I don’t want you as a girlfriend.” Sakurada lightly laughs, smiling. “ I wouldn’t want to be, no offense to you of course. I suppose it’ll just have to look like that for today! I’ll clear up the misunderstanding if anyone asks. There’s a lot of people here that come in and out, there’s no harm in one day of looking like this, is there?” Niragi rolls his eyes again.  “ You’re weird." “ But I’m good company, am I not?” “ You do nothing but look pretty and spray me.” “ It’s simply for your own good! You can’t go around all mean all the time you know! You can be tough without being creepy!” Sakurada cheerfully reprimands, pulling his sunglasses up to rest on his head, Niragi rolling his eyes even harder.

“ Shut up.” “ I think you’re very tough! Look at you go, with your cool piercings and gun! And  you hold yourself very proudly! That’s enough for now! The creepy part can chill-“ “ Sakurada, if you don’t shut up right now I am going to blow your head off.” Niragi grumbles, Sakurada smiling and eating a spoonful of yoghurt. He sighs, then smirks, nodding a little. “ I am pretty cool, huh?”  Niragi mutters to himself, then barks a short laugh. “ Hell yeah.” Sakurada chuckles, and gives him a thumbs up, Niragi glancing at his dress-wearing doppelgänger.  Even if he was a weird, dress-wearing pretty face, at least he had a point.

Still wasn’t gonna stop him from doing fuck-all though. Water hits his face, and he sputters, head whipping over to glare at Sakurada, who blinks too innocently at him.

“ The fuck-“ “ You have very loud thoughts. Please restrain yourself today, and I’ll get you a really cool pair of leather pants on a supply run next time!” “…. Make them black and you got yourself a deal, you spring roll-looking grass stick.”

Sakurada nods. “ Of course! “

[realityhelixcreates]

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel) 

Additional Tags:  Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary:   Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

   *****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

                ****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

                                                                         *****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that?  Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

[drabbledragon]

Linktober: Forest

It’s been a while since I had some free time to write and since exams are done and over with, I can now keep having that free time. So I present to you all, two months late, day 9 of Linktober. Also, please be cautious of the warnings: it does get a bit gory at parts and of course if you get too uncomfortable, you can always just skip this chapter.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749021/chapters/68583117

Summary: Nearly every one of the heroes' Hyrule is peaceful. Just nearly.

Warnings: Minor (teenager) character death, description of (teenage) character burning to death, and swearing. 

Day 9: Forest

The group looked curiously at the folded pile of cloaks Hyrule was offering them.

“If we’re heading into town, then you’re gonna have to wear one of these.”

The traveller didn’t miss the baffled glances he got in return, nor did he miss the hesitance they each displayed when reaching for their own part of the share.

“Why do we need to wear a cloak? We haven’t worn one in any other part of your Hyrule.” Sky questioned as he pulled the tattered piece of cloth over his head. The aforementioned apparel hung loosely around his body, falling just low enough to reach the top of his boots.

Hyrule opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it, and then just shook his head. “ We’ll need it here, trust me. Make sure you wear the hood on the back and whatever you do, don’t take it off until we’re alone.” He then proceeded to pull the hood of his own cloak up, and the others were quick to follow suit.

They wandered into town soon after, and they could immediately feel the hostile dread in the air. The place itself was a sea of uncontrollable weeds and messy dirt pathways, with abandoned buildings and makeshift homes placed haphazardly in crooked lines. Almost all the people they saw outside regarded the group with nasty and distrustful looks, with many of them going so far as to place a hand readily on the weapon hanging from their hips; they were anticipating some sort of attack, Twilight recognised, but he didn’t understand why.

The Hero of Hyrule eventually led them towards one of the bigger buildings in the back, and the broken door he opened wailed with a high - pitched creak. It appeared to be a run - down inn, and the young traveller promptly made his way to the front desk where a middle - aged woman eyed him with scrutiny.

“Hello, ma’am, four rooms, please.” Hyrule’s voice was soft and polite, and if he was unnerved by the woman’s gaze, he didn’t show it.

The tension in the air was nearly palpable, and the Links did their best to not let the innkeeper’s piercing gaze intimidate them. Once the woman had finally focused her attention back onto Hyrule, she questioned, “ What are you nine doing here?”

“We’re travellers, ma’am; we just came down from Darunia Town.”

“And your occupation?”

“We craft and sell instruments we make, ma’am.”

“Take off your hood.”

The group was nearly taken aback by the command, and a few of them were even ready to protest just based on the rude tone alone, but Hyrule didn’t care, and his fingers lingered at the edges of his hood for a moment before pulling it down. All of the heroes’s eyes widened at the sight before them: Hyrule’s usual brown hair had been colored a fiery orange and his eyes now shone with a light blue hue; his long and pointy ears had become rounded around the edges, making him appear more like a human and less like a Hylian. The hero looked to the woman expectantly, and after a few long seconds, she scoffed.

“20 Rupees for the rooms then.”

And so Hyrule paid, placing the gem delicately on the desk and accepting the keys. He led the group towards one of the rooms and locked the door without a word, and once he was sure that the nine of them were completely alone, he allowed his appearance to fade back to its usual self with a long, relieved sigh. He was bombarded with questions just a second later.

“Hyrule, what was that?”

“Seriously, what just happened?”

“Why’d you change your ears and eyes and hair, ‘Rule?”

“What’s that old lady’s problem? Why was she treating us like garbage?”

“What’s up with the people here? How come everyone’s looking at us weird?”

“Boys, enough.” Time had finally sounded over the fray, and when the rest of the heroes finally settled down, the eldest hero turned to the traveller and politely asked, “ Hyrule, what happened back there?”

The Hero of Time could tell the question bothered the other, if the sudden bite of his lip and darting green eyes were anything to go by; but after a few tense seconds, he finally piped up with, “ We needed a few rooms, so I got us a few rooms.”

“You need to elaborate on that. Why did you change your appearance? And why did you have us all wear cloaks?”

“Oh, well that’s, um ...” He struggled for a moment, and looked nervously to the floor as if the wooden boards would give him a sound answer. He could feel eight pairs of eyes boring right into his very being, and he couldn’t help but shrink under their anticipative gazes. “ It’s just a thing we need to do to … y’know, keep a low profile.”

“But why would we need to?” Warriors questioned next, taking an assertive step forward. “ Hundreds of other heroes have passed by here without any issues, correct? So with the exception of you, there really isn’t a need to go through the trouble of hiding ourselves; to them, we’re just ordinary Hylians looking for an overnight stay.”

“I know, I know, but it’s just -”

“We found another Hero of Hyrule!”

Their interrogation was abruptly cut short as a deep voice from outside suddenly caught their attention, and eight confused faces turned to look through the sole window in the room. From what little they could see, they were able to discern a large gruff man standing in the middle of the supposed town square, shouting the same message through cupped hands over and over again as he turned in all sorts of directions; just a few paces behind him stood three men, one of which was just a young boy with floppy brown hair, easily in his teens, and tightly bound around the wrists and ankles while the other two grown men supported him under the arms. Behind them was a slightly larger group that worked together to dig a large wooden pole into the ground, while others began piling sticks and wood around the structure as if to make a bonfire.

The heroes stood still, trying desperately to wrap their heads around the scene in front of them. That man … What did he keep calling out? ‘Another Hero of Hyrule’? But that made absolutely no sense: the Links all knew of one Hero of Hyrule and that was, well, Hyrule; but the man outside kept yelling out the title like it was something more than that - like it was some kind of breed rather than just one very specific person; couple that realisation with the strange structure the townspeople were setting up and that just released a whole new set of questions: what was so special about that one person versus everyone else in this town? Why was he tied up? What were the other people creating behind him? Why was there such a strong sense of bloodlust in the air?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Twilight finally said, being the one to break the silence. “ But I do know that that guy needs help.”

He was about to take a step towards the door when a sudden hand clung fiercely to his pelt, and when he turned around, he was quietly surprised to find that it wasn’t a stoic Time stopping him, but rather an alarmed Hyrule.

“Twi, you can’t go out there right now.”

The ranchhand knitted his brows together. “ Huh? Why not?”

“It’s -.” He held his breath for a second before continuing in a small voice, “ It’s not safe there right now.”

“Well if you’re that concerned about safety,” The two heroes watched as Legend casually walked over to them before coming to a stop by Twilight’s side. “ Then I can stick with Farmboy here. One of us can make a distraction and the other can get the guy out; shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

The traveller only frantically shook his head in response, fixing his predecessor with a desperate look as he quickly said, “ No, the both of you can’t go either! It still won’t be safe!”

“Alright then,” Warriors added slowly as he made his way to the Ordonian in the same fashion. “ What about the three of us, then? Surely we’re enough to save that man now.”

But Hyrule only denied the group once again; and again when Wild offered to go, and again when Four offered to go, and again and again and again. Three faces had now become eight as the remaining heroes all looked to the Hero of Hyrule with a mix of confusion and impatience, each one of them asking a myriad of questions about what was so dangerous about the situation and why Hyrule of all people was preventing any of them from going. It was Wild who finally asked the key question with,

“‘Rule, are you hiding something?”

Those words made the traveller freeze, causing him to fall silent and fix the champion with a wide - eyed stare. It appears that the group had finally struck a chord in him, one that somehow instilled fear into their resident hero, and a few of them were starting to become worried at how quiet Hyrule had suddenly become at such a simple yet pivotal question. After what felt like hours, the traveller finally answered back:

“I’m sorry.”

Oh no.

That was all the Ordonian needed to hear before he was suddenly sprinting out of the small room and down the cramped hallway, ignoring the sudden shouts of surprise and alarm from his fellow heroes. He knew it - he knew from the moment he saw that young boy being dragged across the worn dirt by those men that there was something deeply wrong. He should’ve said something sooner - maybe something about how much Hyrule seemed to be dodging their questions - but he stupidly played along with this pointless game like he was some dog chasing its tail.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late to save him.

He felt the rotten wood press against his shoulder as he barged his way through the inn door and out into the cold night air, stumbling as the terrain suddenly switched from wood to dry dirt and overgrown weeds. He silently thanked the goddesses when he was steadily back on his feet in an instant and rushed towards the crowd centered around the square at a breakneck pace. He suddenly felt his stomach plummet as he heard the gruff man from before shout out:

“Death to the Hero of Hyrule!”

That was it. That was the only warning Twilight got before a torch was haphazardly thrown into the pile of wood and the flames started to climb the stake. Everything became unbearably bright, engulfed in a swirl of bright orange and blinding yellow as brown wood burned to black ash in an instant and the fire climbed higher up the pole without any bit of hesitation, right up to the poor teen who was bound to the very top. It only took mere seconds for the agonised screams to fill the air, and even less for Twilight to smell the distinct scent of burning flesh as the flames mercilessly engulfed the body. Once - pale skin turned into blistering red, and the light - brown hue of the boy’s hair started to disintegrate and leave nothing behind but a memory of what used to be there. The Ordonian’s instincts told him to get over there and do something because he was supposed to be a hero - he was one of the few that Hylia had chosen to protect everyone - but all he could do was watch helplessly from the back of the crowd, his stomach churning threateningly as it promised to expel everything he had eaten in the past week.

Goddesses, the crowd. The crowd was thrilled at the sight of one of their own burning helplessly from where he was bound, his agonised screams appearing to be music to their ears. They watched him writhe and scream and plead to be released but they just watched him with some sort of maniacal fascination that only a true cold - blooded serial killer could have. The crowd was smiling, cheering, even echoing the same phrase of “ Death to the Hero of Hyrule!” as they watched someone burn to death, and perhaps what terrified Twilight the most was that some of the people in the crowd were literal children, and they seemed to be entirely fine with watching someone their own age burning right in front of them.

He jumped when he felt a rough hand gently touch his shoulder, and he quickly spun on his heels to find the source, relaxing just a bit when he saw his mentor’s face staring back at him.

Time looked pale. Had he just witnessed the same thing Twilight had just a moment ago?  

“Let’s go.” His mentor said after a moment, nudging his head towards the direction that Hyrule was leading the rest of the heroes towards. Twilight wanted to protest - to firmly tell Time that “no, we need to do something” - but the only thing that came out was a shaky sigh. His whole body felt numb, and the remaining rush of adrenaline from before seemed to have sapped him of all his strength and left him with a hollow feeling in his chest, so he didn’t refuse Time’s firm grip around his wrist, and he didn’t protest as Time led him forward.

It didn’t take long for the group to reach the outer edges of the town, and it certainly didn’t take long for them to disappear into a nearby forest. They wove their way through overgrown bushes and drooping trees, and treaded through murky waters and destroyed campsites, and didn’t stop until they reached a dark and desolate clearing that was far from any type of civilization. It was quiet here, and it was a welcomed contrast from the deranged cheers that filled the small town.

Four was the first to speak up as he shakily asked, “ That … That wasn’t real, right? It was just some - some stupid trick, r - right?”

The only immediate response he received back was a heartbreaking whimper from Wind as he dug his face further into Warriors’s scarf.

“I’m sorry.” Came Hyrule’s eventual answer, but the sound was barely above a whisper and his throat strained to keep his voice level. Any hint of anxiety or desperation from before seemed to have been completely wiped away, his tone now a clear reflection of the guilt and regret that was no doubt plaguing his mind. A few heroes opened their mouths to respond, but Legend beat them all to the punch.

“No. No, all of this is bullshit.” He claimed, anger and disbelief clear in his features. “ There’s no way in hell that a bunch of townspeople would just pick up a random kid off the street and burn him alive just for fun. He must’ve been a monster in disguise or - or a traitor that’s killed innocent people or just … just something.” He looked to his protege for some kind of assurance, but felt his resolve start to fall apart when Hyrule refused to meet his eyes. He took a shuddering breath as he said, “‘Rule, tell me this isn’t what people are really like here. Tell me that these are just some sick fucks who get a kick out of torturing people.” His voice took on an uncharacteristically small tone as he continued, “ Tell me this isn’t what I left behind for you.”

The traveller ducked his head even lower and hunched his shoulders as he repeated even quieter than before, “ I’m really, really sorry -.”

“Hyrule, I believe you owe us an explanation.” Time cut in, but instead of the stern and demanding tone the group was expecting, they were all surprised to hear his request as a quiet and gentle one. Perhaps he did it because they were all in shock, or perhaps he did it because Hyrule looked like he was one second away from a complete breakdown, or perhaps he did it because he was just so morbidly curious and he didn’t want to scare away the resident hero by forcing the answer out of him. Regardless of the reason, it got Hyrule talking.

“The people of my Hyrule want me dead.”

He let the air of initial shock settle for a moment before continuing.

“They’ve been hunting me down ever since they knew I was the Hero of Courage here because they all knew the legend: one drop of the hero’s blood on Ganon’s ashes will revive him. At first it was just a silly old wives’ tale that got passed down from generation to generation, but a group of villagers broke into Hyrule Castle one night and found out it was true through one of the books we have in the Royal Library. Word spread from person to person and that’s when people started to get … scared of me.”

The traveller bit his lip for a moment, the memory of first hearing that news all those years ago playing fresh in his mind.

“They thought I was a ticking time bomb - one slipup when fighting a Moblin or a Zora and the entire kingdom was pretty much doomed - so a few people started to hunt me down in order to lock me up or something like that; they just wanted me far away from danger - a place where no monsters would be able to get me. They found me eventually and told me about their plan, but I just ignored them because Zelda was in trouble, and if I didn’t reunite the Triforce in time, then the whole kingdom would be taken over by some prince. I needed to travel across Hyrule; I couldn’t just hole myself away somewhere when the whole kingdom was in danger, so I kept going. Weeks would go by without anyone seeing me, and the number of people that feared I was dead started to grow. More groups started to form in order to find me quicker, and they started to camp out in forests and by rivers just to keep a lookout, but they kept coming back empty - handed and that just made everyone more terrified. Eventually those groups just started locking up people that looked like me just to get rid of a potential Hero of Hyrule, so that’s why I -.”

“That’s why you changed your ears, eyes, and hair with magic earlier, and why you made us wear cloaks: to throw people off our trail.” Legend interjected, and Hyrule nodded in confirmation.

“Right. They knew the Hero of Hyrule was Hylian, had green eyes, and brown hair, so they just locked up anyone who fit the bill, but they wouldn’t even look twice at a human with orange hair and blue eyes. So I was taught how to change my appearance from a magic - user I met in a cave one day, and although that kind of magic took a lot out of me at first, I eventually got a hold of it and was able to pass under everyone’s radar. I travelled from town to town, learning whatever I could from other magic - users and getting whatever I needed to survive in the wild in order to look for Ganon. But because I was so good at hiding, the people that were trying to find me were getting more desperate.”

“They were tired of locking people up and asking if they were the Hero of Hyrule or if they knew where the Hero of Hyrule was, and as more monsters started to surround the villages and kill those who dared to travel, things started to become more serious. The groups started to kill Hylians that looked like me, skipping the whole interrogation part and going straight for the quickest and painless kill they could do in order to remedy a little bit of their guilt. Of course they regretted killing innocent people; nobody wanted to kill someone that was just living their lives and had nothing to do with being Hylia’s Chosen, but they justified themselves by saying that it was either the life of one potential ‘Link’ or the entirety of the Kingdom, and of course they would want to save the kingdom. But months went by, and the monsters kept coming closer, and the real Hero of Hyrule still hadn’t been found, and those villagers got to the point where they were too scared to harvest crops or go hunting or even step outside of their houses. They felt like they were living in a nightmare, and they needed to get out there and kill me or else they would never be able to live a normal life ever again.”

“People started to come out of their houses, daggers and swords in their hands, and got to killing any ‘me’s they could find. The killings weren’t painless anymore: people who were scared of Ganon coming back to full power again started to release all their frustration and fear on innocent people by killing them in the most gruesome ways possible; it was an outlet to them, and now all that guilt from before was starting to turn into satisfaction. To them, it was just getting revenge on the Hero of Hyrule for all the pain and suffering I’ve caused them. Every person, even if you were a salesman or a farmer, started to have weapons by their side just in case I happened to walk into town, and everybody started to become more suspicious of any travellers because they knew the Hero of Hyrule was one. Whether you were a little kid or an old man just passing through, as soon as people saw that you had brown hair and green eyes, then you immediately became a target. They’ll stab you to death, drown you, burn you alive - whatever they needed to do to get rid of the Hero of Hyrule, just so they could make sure that Ganon never comes back. It’s been like that ever since.”

It was a terrible story, the other heroes had silently agreed - like a morbid fairytale gone wrong. It was ironic: the very people Hyrule was chosen to protect were now actively out to get him just for the sake of quelling their own fears.

“...So you’re just letting this happen?”

Eight startled faces all turned to the group’s ranchhand, who looked to the traveller with a deep frown and crossed arms. His lip curled upwards as he snarled out, “ You’re just letting innocent people die because you’re too much of a coward to go and save them?”

Twilight wasn’t actually sure what compelled him to say something like that. Maybe it was because the thought of innocent people dying struck a very strong chord in him, or maybe it was because the people dying were those as young as Talo and Malo and Colin, or as old as Rusl and Mayor Bo; maybe it was a combination of both, and just the knowledge that Hyrule was refusing to do anything about the situation made his blood boil.  

The resident hero looked to the other with a mixture of confusion and hurt, but an underlying wave of anger made his tone a little more clipped than he wanted it to be. “ I know I’m a coward, but I’m not just letting them die because I want them to. The people here are aggressive: once they think you’re the Hero of Hyrule, there’s no way you can back yourself out of that situation. Having someone to come and rescue you will only make things worse, and there’s a pretty good chance that you’d be the next one to die.”

“Well if you know all of that, then why aren’t you doing anything to stop all of that from happening? We saw you change your appearance, and you gave us all cloaks to - what? Be less suspicious? - so why aren’t you doing any of that for the people passing through town? You could’ve saved hundreds of lives here, Hyrule, but you’re just staying quiet and watching people die in front of you.”

“I’m not!” Hyrule answered back sharply. His nails dug painfully into his palms. “ I always try to help them when I can, but I can’t be in a hundred places at once. It’s not just Nabooru Town who’s doing this, but literally every other town in this kingdom. People will be dying whether I’m there or not, and there’s no way I can rescue everyone who’s been accused of being me and protect Zelda and the castle.”

“Then think of some other solution!” Twilight threw his hands up, letting all of his pent up rage and disgust finally get the better of him. “ Have your Hyrule Castle give them a safe place to live or create some group to find the people that want you dead and put them in prison! I don’t know, kill them if you have to! Those villagers there are no better than monsters, so there’s nothing left to salvage.”

The Ordonian said that last bit with complete and utter conviction as his subconscious flashed him that same memory of that boy burning to death, and the villagers around him smiling and cheering as they watched the scene with absolute glee. They really were no better than monsters at this point, were they? Cold, cruel, heartless monsters.

“They’re not monsters.” The traveller replied just as firm. “ They’re only the way they are because they’re scared. They know the Hero of Hyrule is still out there - that I’m still out there - and they know that one little slip up could cost them and their entire family their lives, so if they have the chance to control that, then they’ll try everything in their damn power to do so, even if it means killing innocent people. It’s not their fault that they think like that; it’s because they’re all - because Ganon’s - I’m just -.”

“It’s because of mass hysteria.” Warriors interjected, and when the group’s collective attention was brought to him, he hardened his features and explained. “ Consider this: the people of this kingdom know that Ganon could be revived at any second as long as his followers had Hyrule in their possession. If you were a simple villager who hasn’t seen your Hero for weeks on end, wouldn’t you start to panic and fear for the worst? Like the traveller said, a single drop of blood on Ganon’s ashes would be enough to bring him back to life, and even more would bring him back to full power, so I understand the people’s worry for having Hyrule wander alone in a territory riddled with monsters. One wrong move, and their entire livelihoods would disappear, and they most likely won’t have a hero to protect them if Ganon does go too far.”

Hyrule nodded with a grim look on his face, and then redirected his attention to the ranchhand. “ They’re not monsters, Twilight,” He repeated, his voice softer and more controlled than before. “ They’re scared. They’re scared because they don’t have any control over anything, so they do whatever they can to make them feel in - control, even if it’s something as horrible as killing their friends. I know I’m causing this, and I know I’m not doing anything to stop this, but the sooner I get to Ganon and defeat him once and for all, the sooner things can get back to normal.”

It was strange to hear one of their own so conscious and accepting of the horrors around them. Twilight knew that Time and Wild both have regrets about the past and refuse to accept it, and he was sure that Legend and Warriors were both hiding something as well based on all those times they woke up screaming in the middle of the night, but to hear Hyrule, a meek and timid teen that rarely spoke at all, so readily admit that his land was nearly beyond saving and that it was all his fault, was something breathtaking in and of itself. The traveller knew that monsters and his own people were constantly after him, and he knew that if he let himself relax for just a second, the chances of him getting captured and killed would skyrocket to an unbelievable level, but despite all odds, he still chose to defend a kingdom that didn’t even show him an ounce of gratitude. To press forward when the whole world is against you takes a great deal of dedication, and perhaps Hyrule was more of a selfless hero than he made himself out to be.

The Ordonian let his shoulders sag with defeat. “ You’re right: I don’t know anything about what you’re going through, and it was wrong of me to be angry at you.”

Hyrule’s features softened, and any indication of outrage melted into quiet understanding. “ It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean any of it; you were just upset at what you saw and I don’t blame you, but there’s more to the story than whatever you see on your first night in one of the towns here.” He met the ranchhand’s eyes and tried for a tiny smile. “ Things will get better - I know they will - but until then, I have to do what I need to.”

The group had decided to set up camp for the night, all of them silently agreeing that a spot among the trees and dirt was the only safe place left in Hyrule’s era. Most of the heroes turned in for the night without a word, and barely any of them had the courage to look at the dancing flames of the small campfire they had started. It was ironic: how could a thing that brought the group warmth and light and a place to sit and chatter every night kill an innocent person without hesitation? Would it bring them that same sense of comfort ever again, or would they constantly relive that memory of their night in Nabooru Town, watching an innocent child burn to death at the hands of those he considered family?

In the end, it was just Time and Hyrule left at their makeshift campfire, both of them silent as they were lost in their own thoughts; that is, until a success of long howls filled the night air.

The traveller tensed, breath catching in his throat for a second, before realisation dawned on him. “ That’s Wolfie, right?” He questioned, and when he received a nod of confirmation from the other, he knitted his brows in worry. “ But he sounds … really sad tonight ...”

“I think he’s crying.”

Hyrule turned to the elder hero with genuine confusion. “‘Crying’? Why would he be crying?”

Time stared absently at the bright orange flames in front of him. “ I think he’s crying for all those who’ve lost their souls to such a cruel fate.”

[notsosensational]

This is my classpect master post for Danganronpa 2! It's been a while since my post for the first game, mostly because I was stuck on a few characters (it was much harder overall for some reason), but I'm finally done, god bless. I’m hoping to start and finish V3 soon to work on the next classpect post

Hinata Hajime- Page of Hope

-actively exploits and is served possibilities and positivity. Hope was easy for Hajime, because even though he's more of a "realist" than our other hope players, he's a fantastic beacon of encouragement to the people around him. Somehow he just knows the right things to say in order to lift people's spirits. He definitely didn't start out with much hope himself though. He was bitter and futureless, attending the Hope's Peak reserve course as more of a conciliatory prize than anything. But Chiaki bumped into him and gave him the belief that he's not any worse by not having a talent. And later, he was given a huge opportunity to take part in the "hope cultivation plan". There's a lot of self-denial going on with him, trying not to admit to others that he's only in the reserve course and trying to convince himself that he doesn't care that much, which runs rampant in pages and knights.

Kamukura Izuru - Muse of Hope

-passively embodies possibilities and beliefs. On my previous classpect post with the DR1 characters, I said I didn't do the master classes but I've changed my mind. I'm not going to go back and edit my post but I'm definitely sorting Junko as a lord and Izuru as a muse. There's nothing else he could be. Extreme passivity and preoccupation with personal belief and possibilities (what is interesting, what is boring, is there anything I can't do?). He *is* possibilities in that he has so many talents, he can do nearly anything. Also, this just goes to show that no class, aspect, or title is inherently good or bad. Some might be more inclined to, uh, moral confusion, but we all make our own choices.

Owari Akane- Mage of Life

-actively understands and guides energy and growth. Life seems a pretty solid fit for her, as she's basically grown up overcoming obstacles, metaphorically and literally as she does parkour and gymnastics. Her relationship with food is all about energy and not about quality (... she eats crushed flowers after Hiyoko tells her you get more protein when you crush the food). What really sold me on mage though, was her intuition. She's really noted for her accurate gut feelings; she can tell when someone is strong even when they don't look it and I learned after reading her wiki that in the "ultimate talent development plan" she could sense Mukuro and Maki weren't who they appeared to be.

Komaeda Nagito- Bard of Light

-passively destroys information and fortune. A lot of people say he's hope but while that could fit, light fits so much better. His cycle of good luck & bad luck makes sense as he's drawn to luck as a light player but then destroys it as a bard. Most importantly though, the way he wields information like a weapon to confuse and undermine people really solidifies it for me. Somehow, someway, he always knows (or acts like he knows) much more than everyone around him. His dialogue is endless exposition and self-centered but all his information is given to manipulate people and tear them down.

Pekoyama Peko- Knight of Doom

-passively serves systems, restrictions, and suffering. She serves the system she's always known. She is a tool to be wielded by Fuyuhiko and nothing more. Her feelings and desires are pushed down because there's no point in expressing them. She's very good at what she does though, she definitely exploits the rules she adheres by enough to be called an Ultimate. And even though she doesn't express her emotions, it's clear that her suffering has made her empathetic, as she's respectful and one of the few people who holds basic decency towards Nagito.

Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko- Prince of Blood

-actively destroys through relationships and bonds. He's destructive and he acts like it; heir was the only other class I was considering but he's very active and more into intentional destruction than unintentional changes. Obviously he destroys nearly any chance of close relationships with his classmates, but as a yakuza his job is to use his connections to lead, which often involves tearing down other gangs and ties. And finally, he destroys his only real relationship after Peko is executed after he orders her to kill Mahiro.

Hanamura Teruteru- Maid of Rage

-actively creates rage and limitations. I think maid fits well from the start, as he's a cook and that's all about creation. He definitely inspires rage in people, and the doubt and disbelief of rage is very evident in his constant denial of his surroundings. He created a lot of fear and negativity in himself because he wouldn't settle on believing or refusing what was going on- he needed to know the truth and that drove him to acting out. His insistence on being called "chef" and that he's from the city both fuel a sort of self-delusion that seems to be common with rage.

Nanami Chiaki- Rogue of Blood

-passively steals and relocates relationships and bonds. She is very focused on interpersonal relationships, and not just those centered on herself. To some extent, she's able to connect with everyone including reserve course Hajime, and black sheep Nagito. In the game, she's *really* good at redirecting people. If they're focused on arguing with someone, she manages to turn it around for the better, like with Hiyoko's shrine to Mahiru. She also fits the rogue archetype well, as in the anime she was an outcast in the beginning, and- this might just be my opinion- honestly I don't think anyone ever seriously got close to her as well as they did with some of the others.

Tanaka Gundham- Witch of Hope

-actively changes beliefs and possibilities. Honestly, I could see a bit of everything in him. I think witch fits very well with his aesthetic, but it also fits his choices. Witches are highly active but often off doing their own thing instead of cooperating with everyone; he spent more time looking for his earring than investigating for the first trial. Hope very clearly fits the zany belief system he has, but it also fits in other ways. It's not obvious because of his vernacular, but he has a crazy amount of optimism; he gets regular remarks ranging from "politely shunning" to "outright hurtful" and they never seem to seriously bother him. I view his act in chapter 4 as a grand example of changing his classmates' hope.

Sonia Nevermind- Knight of Breath

-passively exploits and serves through freedom and direction. While she is a princess, she definitely does not act like a prince. Instead she considers her title to essentially be a servant to her people. She isn't above them in anything but position, and she needs to direct them to a better future. She is cooperative and helpful to the rest of the class but not in the healer way a sylph would be, more in the useful motivator kind of way. She serves the team by keeping a composed head and encouraging everyone to stay calm and work towards the goal. She expresses the motivation and direction aspects of breath more so than freedom but it still shows in her detachment from everyone else due to her status. She's never really had close bonds before Hope's Peak.

Saionji Hiyoko- Thief of Time

-actively steals time. I went through several different titles for her in between analyzing other characters. She definitely fits the role of thief with a personality comparable to Vriska and Meenah. Dancing is a time activity as you need perfect timing for a routine, and traditional dancing even more so since it's lasted for centuries. Personally, I think because of her upbringing she is not quite acting as she wants to, and is ghosting the knight of space. She wants to be bold and confident, able to take up the time of others and act meaningfully, but she's hesitating; serving others space to keep them away and is pretending she's more capable than she is. She was kept spoiled and helpless growing up which means she developed the personality and drive of a thief, but not the skills needed for one.

Mioda Ibuki- Sylph of Heart

-passively heals emotions and sense of self. To me she is very clearly a heart player. She's very sure who she is and doesn't mind expressing it, and all of her free time events with Hajime are centered around helping him with his identity. She's friendly and gets along with pretty much everyone in some way, including "Byakuya", Mikan, and Hiyoko; all of which are not so easy to hold friendships with. I think it's interesting how much she likes "Byakuya" considering his constant identity crisis and I wonder if she can sort of sense that. She's loud and she stands out, but she's a pretty passive person concerning her actual actions and mostly helps people individually.

Souda Kazuichi- Page of Space

-actively exploits and is served space. I like space for him; I think the creationistic, physically-oriented, free-flowing structure of space suits his nature well. He's more concerned with the journey rather than getting to the perfect end results, as shown by the examples we have of his machines. One of his inventions automatically draws the lines on a soccer field but it had no stopping mechanism and escaped from the school grounds- it was quite a success to him though! He dreams of creating an incredibly fast bike that he can't even ride and he enjoys every step of the process even though it's taking him a while. He has created an intimidating physical persona for himself by dying his hair and wearing contacts to give him a punk look, but others comment that it doesn't quite match his jumpy, anxious personality. This is on-par for pages, who often feel the need for a mask, because he is now served space by strangers due to his appearance.

Koizumi Mahiru- Seer of Space

-passively guides and understands space. I struggled with her a bit as we really don't know much about her. She's kind of plain compared to the other outlandish personalities and she says she doesn't open up to Hajime as much as she would with a girl. Space is about creation, physicality, location, and enjoying the moment. Her interest in photography satisfied all of those especially with how she views it; she captures pictures of people smiling to create a record of the current moment. She's very level headed and is good at seeing the whole ~picture~ (hehe). She's not a very active person but she's quick to give her opinion and advice if she thinks someone is on the wrong track.

Tsumiki Mikan- Bard of Rage

-passively destroys through negativity and limitations. Rage was easy for her; she's surrounded in negativity and it tends to annoy (and occasionally enrage) those around her. It provides a unique contrast with Nagito, as she subverts the usual motive for killing (hope of getting off the island) and kills only for despair. It is, of course, expected for a bard to flip their lid, but she also acts as a bard before remembering her prior life. She does destroy some of the limitations through the first two trials by providing autopsies when the Monokuma files didn't cut it, and she very clearly represses her own rage at her abusers nearly 24/7. I think it's also worth mentioning that on a fictional level, rage and hope both are often associated with a sort of hand-wavey deus ex machina bullshit which I'd say applies to her ability to retrieve the memories of her past life due to the despair disease, even though it didn't work that way for anyone else.

Nidai Nekomaru- Heir of Mind

-passively changes actions and logic. The English translation of his ability is "team manager", but when he explains his skill, he doesn't focus on teams, he focuses on the athlete themself, so "coach" or "trainer" would be more apt I think. And a trainer is focused on changing your actions, getting you to perform better and better. Despite his loud and boisterous personality, he tends to be pretty level headed. He's able to clearly ascertain what each individual athlete needs to improve and create an orderly regiment for them. It took me a while to decide on heir, but it fits better than any other class I feel, as he does inherit the title from Daisuke, a team manager he shared time in the hospital with who later died, and his personality is similar to the other heirs we know in Homestuck.

Ultimate Imposter- Maid of Void

-actively creates nothingness and secrets. I was originally gonna go with heart because of identity issues, but after reading their wiki because I didn't want to rewatch the anime, most of their issues stem from feeling like they don't exist, feeling like nothing, which is spot on for void. Not to mention they need to keep their secret while impersonating someone, and they have to basically create secrets whenever people ask them personal information about whoever they're portraying at the time. They are made of nothingness, with no name, no background, and they create more of it when providing falsities to their classmates. Even without the pun of "made" and "maid", they're a very kind and helpful person no matter who they're posing as.

[alexius-fr]

Chapter 3 - Dissent

Click the link for the AO3 experience or just read below the cut ^^

The Spire's top village was bustling with traders, visitors, and locals there to shop for their daily needs. It'd been a while since Sanguine had been in such a busy place, feeling a bit uncomfortable, noticing he was drawing attention from the overall much smaller dragons. He knew Zephyr's parents owned a food stand, but there were so many in the bustling tiny streets he kind of lost his way. The smells coming from them was making him hungry though.

The afternoon sun beamed down on the busy alleyways, colourful banners asking his attention everywhere he passed. They all advertised the stands they belonged to, like bright colourful billboards. It'd just rained this morning and the sandy path was still a bit damp and muddy, Sanguine sinking down with every step he took. It aggrovated his old injury, having to work harder to even just walk.

Finally, he found it. Zephyr was standing at the side with a tired smile. No wonder, if he'd been up since before dawn to fish. His catch from this morning was laying on display, on a bed of ice to keep them fresh. Odd, where did they get ice here? Sanguine hadn't seen any ice dragons around yet, and the frozen icefields were too far to transport ice from without having it melt.

“Hey, you actually came!” Zephyr smiled happily when he noticed him.

“Was that in doubt?” Sanguine frowned. “No, I'm just happy to see you.” Zephyr said, genuinely. “Welcome to my family's little business.”

“It's indeed very...little.” Sanguine agreed, looking over the little stand, which was in front of what he presumed was their home, hewn out of the rock of the spire, just like all the other houses in the street. It looked like it

“I know, it's not much, but it sustains us. We're happy with what we have, and it's a good life here.” Zephyr said, not offended. “My father's just gone to get us some other supplies we need for tonights dinner. Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, no thank you. I'm fine.” Sanguine said. “Too soon huh? I'm sorry, I get like that.” Zephyr smiled apologetically. “How have you been?” “Well, thank you.” Sanguine appreciated the self reflection, smiling amicably. “Yourself?” “It's been busy. I help Alexius a lot and then I also have to help out here. It's a tough job to juggle it all.” Zephyr said. “Or should I just say I'm fine? Is that the well mannered way?”

“No, I appreciate your honesty. You seem like a hard worker.” Sanguine said, in earnest.

“I suppose I am. I won't deny that I envision a more exciting life for myself eventually though.” Zephyr confessed. “I've read books about monster hunters, a life on the go, helping the people get rid of the most terrifying monsters? Now that sounds exciting to me.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you don't strike me as a fighter.” Sanguine noted.

“I'm not. Not yet.” Zephyr grinned. “But my mother is going to teach me! She's a fearsome warrior from an old nature bloodline. She tells me stories of how her grandfather fought a great battle in the Icefields, where she was born.” “Ah, so she's the one keeping your food fresh.” Sanguine nodded, understanding.

“She is. But she's been through a lot. She fought hard in her younger days, and she just wanted somewhere to settle and have quiet life with my father and my siblings.” Zephyr said, a fond, loving look in his eyes. It was clear he cared about his family a great deal. A feeling Sanguine had never known. He caught himself wishing he could be closer with the family he had left. Perhaps he really was going soft, just as Silas said.

“Zeph?” a deep, powerful voice spoke, both Sanguine and Zephyr looking up. From Zephyr's home walked a tall ridgeback, her hide as green as forest, her antlers reaching far behind her head, that was tilted back a little bit due to their weight. Sanguine's blood turned to ice at her stare, piercing platinum casting their gaze right through him. Her eyes were not the same colour, but her facial structure and the antlers she grew had Sanguine shudder with the realization that the bloodline Zephyr mentioned was one he was very familiar with. He looked at her and saw him.

Athelstan.

The realization grabbed him by the throat and took his breath away, his heart shrinking in his chest. The likeness was uncanny, there was no doubt. He stood frozen, baffled, staring at her as she greeted her son, unaware of the disturbance her presence had caused.

“Mom, this is Sanguine, the leader of the clan that arrived here two weeks ago.” Zephyr introduced him, oblivious of Sanguine's discomfort. “Sanguine, this is Ziray, my mother.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Ziray smiled, her wizened eyes friendly. Of course, she had no idea who he was. She'd never met him. This put Sanguine at ease somewhat, and he bowed his head.

“Honoured.” he said, respectfully. His eyes lingered on her antlers, which were very impressive in size. Is this what Athelstan would've looked like as well, if he hadn't interfered? He found himself not wanting to think about that subject. He'd destroyed a beautiful young life and there was nothing he could do to change that. He was a plague dragon, it was kill or be killed. Use or be used. Being ruthless was the only way to survive. He believed it. He had to believe it or be lost to despair.

“I know. They're a bit of a chore at times.” Ziray saw him looking at her antlers, but was obviously proud of them as she said it. “They're a gift from the Gladekeeper. Her magic runs deep in our line, even if I was born in a different territory.”

“I think they look beautiful.” Sanguine said, as politely as he could. If she knew what he had done to her relative, she would kill him on the spot. He might even let her, with the wave of regret that washed over him. “I'm sorry, but I can't stay long. I promised my brother we would scout the forests below for more plentiful hunting grounds.” “Aw.” Zephyr pouted a little bit. “That's a shame. But please don't be a stranger.”

“Thank you. I won't. It was lovely to meet you, Ziray.” Sanguine bowed his head again, hearing his mother snap at him for showing such subordination in his thoughts. Leaving, he saw Zephyr looking at him with a concerned frown, but if he knew what was good for him, he would stay away before Sanguine would ruin his life as well. How cruel of fate to place someone he liked in his path and have them be related to his greatest regret in life.

Perhaps Karma really did exist.

Back at the temporary lair, Silas was waiting anxiously, hopping from one foot to the other.

“You're late.” he snapped, as Sanguine struck land in front of him.

“And?” Sanguine frowned.

“I don't know what's gotten into you, brother, but we agreed that we would be gone from this place in a few days. It's been two weeks.” Silas said, obviously annoyed. “And you're planning on staying here even longer. We were supposed to head back home!”

“What does that even mean anymore?” Sanguine scoffed. “We've been on the run for so long that nowhere is home to me.”

“To you, maybe.” Silas said, headstrong. “I miss it. The heartbeat of the land under my feet, the warmth of the bubbling pools, the green haze that coats everything in a dim light.” he sighed, wistful. “It's where we belong, Sange. Regardless of the struggle that awaits us, we have to fight for our rightful place. Our home.”

“Since when do you make the decisions here? I've lead us this far, I think I can go a little bit further.” Sanguine said, irked.

“It's my life too, Sanguine. And that of others in our clan. I'm not the only one who thinks we should be moving on by now.” Silas replied with held back anger. “Besides, your decision making has been rather poor, lately. I thought-”

“-Thought what? That you could talk me into doing something stupid, like turning myself into an abomination?!” Sanguine snapped, his voice mighty as he raised it and growled. He lashed out, Silas flinching, but the bite was never meant to hit him, so it didn't. Sanguine just wanted to put him in his place. He'd had enough of the whining, of the incessant talking, the constant pushback he received from his brother.

Silas looked hurt, angry as he hissed back. “How dare you, I am stronger than you'll ever be!” he snarled, but did not lunge back.

“The Banescales were sealed away for a reason. They were weak. For someone who values our home so much you sure don't seem to uphold it's values, rejecting the form that you were granted on birth, the one gift our mother saw fit to bestow us. She made us stronger than all the others, and you rejected that.” Sanguine spat.

“Adapt. Survive. Overcome.” Silas said, repeating the values. “I adapted, brother. Whereas you'd rather stay weak, crippled. The day will come where you can't threaten people into obedience with your words anymore. And when that day comes...well you'd best beware.”

“Are you threatening me, you little snake?” Sanguine narrowed his eyes.

“Not so little anymore, brother.” Silas challenged. “It's time you started taking me seriously.” “I will.” Sanguine said, raising his head with eyes full of disdain. “When you stop being a joke.”

Silas fell silent, his ruby eyes glinting with rage, his lip pulled up, sharp teeth showing. But he had no reply for Sanguine, silence tense between them. They'd drawn a crowd, other members of the clan looking on tensely. Sanguine tried to gauge their moods, their alignment in the argument, dark eyes scanning the crowd. He felt how interested some where, their judgemental eyes upon him. He hadn't noticed the dissent until now, so in a way Silas was doing him a favour with this. Now all that remained was for him to stamp this fire out before it truly got going. He stalked towards Silas threateningly, holding eye contact. Silas boldly stared back, defiant as always.

“You'd better believe I will be ready when that day comes. I suggest you step back in line and learn your place. I lead this clan. You're just a parasite. Always have been.” he said, his voice low, threatening. “And if anyone else has a problem with me leading, feel free to speak up now.” he called, seeing some onlookers shift uncomfortably. Sanguine allowed the moment to become awkward, the silence dragging on as Silas looked around for support but received none, most dragons resuming their previous activities. Eventually Sanguine scoffed.

“I didn't think so.

He turned is back on Silas and walked into the lair, head held high, not showing how his heart beat in his throat. He'd never imagined he would have to worry about a betrayal that was so close to home. But he would be ready, if Silas tried it again. He sighed, finally out of sight of the others, climbing to his roost to rest and think for a bit.

He didn't notice the gleaming red eyes that watched him from the darkness, a bright rage burning inside them..

[letterboxd]

Best of Sundance 2021.

From pandemic-era stories, via portraits of grief, to the serendipitous 1969 trilogy, the Letterboxd crew recaps our favorite films from the first major festival of the year.

Sundance heralds a new season of storytelling, with insights into what’s concerning filmmakers at present, and what artistic innovations may be on the horizon. As with every film festival, there were spooky coincidences and intersecting themes, whether it was a proliferation of pandemic-era stories, or extraordinary portraits of women working through grief (Land, Hive, The World to Come), or the incredible serendipity of the festival’s ‘1969 trilogy’, covering pivotal moments in Black American history: Summer of Soul (...Or When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised), Judas and the Black Messiah and the joyful Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street.

The hybrid model of this year’s Sundance meant more film lovers across the United States—a record number of you, in fact—‘attended’ the prestigious indie showcase. Our Festiville team (Gemma Gracewood, Aaron Yap, Ella Kemp, Selome Hailu, Jack Moulton and Dominic Corry) scanned your Letterboxd reviews and compared them with our notes to arrive at these seventeen feature-length documentary and narrative picks from Sundance 2021. There are plenty more we enjoyed, but these are the films we can’t stop thinking about.

Documentary features

Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) Directed by Ahmir-Khalib Thompson (AKA Questlove)

One hot summer five decades ago, there was a free concert series at a park in Harlem. It was huge, and it was lovely, and then it was forgotten. The Harlem Cultural Festival of 1969 brought together some of the world’s most beloved Black artists to connect with Black audiences. The star power and the size of the crowds alone should have been enough to immortalize the event à la Woodstock—which happened the same summer, the film emphasizes. But no one cared to buy up the footage until Ahmir-Khalib Thompson, better known as Questlove, came along.

It would have been easy to oversimplify such a rich archive by stringing together the performances, seeking out some talking heads, and calling it a day. But Questlove was both careful and ebullient in his approach. “Summer of Soul is a monumental concert documentary and a fantastic piece of reclaimed archived footage. There is perhaps no one better suited to curate this essential footage than Questlove, whose expertise and passion for the music shines through,” writes Matthew on Letterboxd. The film is inventive with its use of present interviews, bringing in both artists and attendees not just to speak on their experiences, but to react to and relive the footage. The director reaches past the festival itself, providing thorough social context that takes in the moon landing, the assassinations of Black political figures, and more. By overlapping different styles of documentary filmmaking, Questlove’s directorial debut embraces the breadth and simultaneity of Black resilience and joy. A deserving winner of both the Grand Jury and Audience awards (and many of our unofficial Letterboxd awards). —SH

Flee Directed by Jonas Poher Rasmussen

Flee is the type of discovery Sundance is designed for. Danish documentarian Jonas Poher Rasmussen tells the poignant story of his close friend and former classmate (using the pseudonym ‘Amin Nawabi’) and his daring escape from persecution in 1990s Afghanistan. Rasmussen always approaches tender topics with sensitivity and takes further steps to protect his friend’s identity by illustrating the film almost entirely in immersive animation, following in the footsteps of Waltz With Bashir and Tower. It’s a film aware of its subjectivity, allowing the animated scenes to alternate between the playful joy of nostalgia and the mournful pain of an unforgettable memory. However, these are intercepted by dramatic archive footage that oppressively brings the reality home.

“Remarkably singular, yet that is what makes it so universal,” writes Paul. “So many ugly truths about the immigration experience—the impossible choices forced upon people, and the inability to really be able to explain all of it to people in your new life… You can hear the longing in his voice, the fear in his whisper. Some don’t get the easy path.” Winner of the World Cinema (Documentary) Grand Jury Prize and quickly acquired by Neon, Flee is guaranteed to be a film you’ll hear a lot about for the rest of 2021. —JM

Taming the Garden Directed by Salomé Jashi

There’s always a moment at a film festival when fatigue sets in, when the empathy machine overwhelms, and when I hit that moment in 2021, I took the advice of filmmaker and Sundance veteran Jim Cummings, who told us: “If you’re ever stressed or tired, watch a documentary to reset yourself.” Taming the Garden wasn’t initially on my hit-list, but it’s one of those moments when the ‘close your eyes and point at a random title’ trick paid off. Documentary director Salomé Jashi does the Lorax’s work, documenting the impact and grief caused by billionaire former Georgian PM Bidzina Ivanishvili’s obsession with collecting ancient trees for his private arboretum.

“A movie that is strangely both infuriating and relaxing” writes Todd, of the long, locked-off wide shots showing the intense process of removing large, old trees from their village homes. There’s no narration, instead Jashi eavesdrops on locals as they gossip about Ivanishvili, argue about whether the money is worth it, and a feisty, irritated 90-year-old warns of the impending environmental fallout. “What you get out of it is absolutely proportional to what you put into it,” writes David, who recommends this film get the IMAX treatment. It’s arboriculture as ASMR, the timeline cleanse my Sundance needed. The extraordinary images of treasured trees being barged across the sea will become iconic. —GG

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World Directed by Kristian Petri and Kristina Lindström

Where Taming the Garden succeeds through pure observation, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World relies on the complete participation of its title subject, actor Björn Andrésen, who was thrust into the spotlight as a teenager. Cast by Italian director Lucino Visconti in Death in Venice, a 1971 adaptation of Thomas Mann’s novella about obsession and fatal longing, Andrésen spent the 1970s as an object of lust, with a side-gig as a blonde pop star in Japan, inspiring many manga artists along the way.

As we know by now (Alex Winter’s Showbiz Kids is a handy companion to this film), young stardom comes at a price, one that Andrésen was not well-placed to pay even before his fateful audition for Visconti. But he’s still alive, still acting (he’s Dan in Midsommar), and ready to face the mysteries of his past. Like Benjamin Ree’s excellent The Painter and the Thief from last year, this documentary is a constantly unfolding detective story, notable for great archive footage, and a deep kindness towards its reticent yet wide-open subject. —GG

All Light, Everywhere Directed by Theo Anthony

Threading the blind spots between Étienne-Jules Marey’s 19th-century “photographic rifle”, camera-carrying war pigeons and Axon’s body-cam tech, Theo Anthony’s inquisitive, mind-expanding doc about the false promise of the all-seeing eye is absorbing, scary, urgent. It’s the greatest Minority Report origin story you didn’t know you needed.

Augmented by Dan Deacon’s electronic soundscapes and Keaver Brenai’s lullingly robotic narration, All Light, Everywhere proves to be a captivating, intricately balanced experience that Harris describes as “one part Adam Curtis-esque cine-essay”, “one part structural experiment in the vein of Koyaanisqatsi” and “one part accidental character study of two of the most familiar yet strikingly unique evil, conservative capitalists…”. Yes, there’s a tremendous amount to download, but Anthony’s expert weaving, as AC writes, “make its numerous subjects burst with clarity and profundity.” For curious cinephiles, the oldest movie on Letterboxd, Jules Jenssen’s Passage de Vénus (1874), makes a cameo. —AY

The Sparks Brothers Directed by Edgar Wright

Conceived at a Sparks gig in 2017 upon the encouragement of fellow writer-director Phil Lord, Edgar Wright broke his streak of riotous comedies with his first (of many, we hope) rockumentary. While somewhat overstuffed—this is, after all, his longest film by nearly fifteen minutes—The Sparks Brothers speaks only to Wright’s unrestrained passion for his art-pop Gods, exploring all the nooks and crannies of Sparks’ sprawling career, with unprecedented access to brothers and bandmates Ron and Russell Mael.

Nobody else can quite pin them down, so Wright dedicates his time to put every pin in them while he can, building a mythology and breaking it down, while coloring the film with irresistible dives into film history, whimsically animated anecdotes and cheeky captions. “Sparks rules. Edgar Wright rules. There’s no way this wasn’t going to rule”, proclaims Nick, “every Sparks song is its own world, with characters, rules, jokes and layers of narrative irony. What a lovely ode to a creative partnership that was founded on sticking to one’s artistic guns, no matter what may have been fashionable at the time.” —JM

Narrative features

The Pink Cloud Written and directed by Iuli Gerbase

The Pink Cloud is disorienting and full of déjà vu. Brazilian writer-director Iuli Gerbase constructs characters that are damned to have to settle when it comes to human connection. Giovana and Yago’s pleasant one-night stand lasts longer than expected when the titular pink cloud emerges from the sky, full of a mysterious and deadly gas that forces everyone to stay locked where they stand. Sound familiar? Reserve your groans—The Pink Cloud wasn’t churned out to figure out “what it all means” before the pandemic is even over. Gerbase wrote and shot the film prior to the discovery of Covid-19.

It’s “striking in its ability to prophesize a pandemic and a feeling unknown at the time of its conception. What was once science fiction hits so close now,” writes Sam. As uncanny as the quarantine narrative feels, what’s truly harrowing is how well the film predicts and understands interiorities that the pandemic later exacerbated. Above all, Giovana is a woman with unmet needs. She is a good partner, good mother and good person even when she doesn’t want to be. Even those who love her cannot see how their expectations strip her of her personhood, and the film dares to ask what escape there might be when love itself leaves you lonely. —SH

Together Together Written and directed by Nikole Beckwith

Every festival needs at least one indie relationship dramedy, and Together Together filled that role at Sundance 2021 with a healthy degree of subversion. It follows rom-com structure while ostensibly avoiding romance, instead focusing on how cultivating adult friendships can be just hard, if not harder.

Writer-director Nikole Beckwith warmly examines the limits of the platonic, and Patti Harrison and Ed Helms are brilliantly cast as the not-couple: a single soon-to-be father and the surrogate carrying his child. They poke at each other’s boundaries with a subtle desperation to know what makes a friendship appropriate or real. As Jacob writes: “It’s cute and serious, charming without being quirky. It’s a movie that deals with the struggle of being alone in this world, but offers a shimmer of hope that even if you don’t fall in fantastical, romantic, Hollywood love… there are people out there for you.” —SH

Hive Written and directed by Blerta Basholli

Hive, for some, may fall into the “nothing much happens” slice-of-life genre, but Blerta Basholli’s directorial debut holds an ocean of pain in its small tale, asking us to consider the heavy lifting that women must always do in the aftermath of war. As Liz writes, “Hive is not just a story about grief and trauma in a patriarchy-dominated culture, but of perseverance and the bonds created by the survivors who must begin to consider the future without their husbands.”

Yllka Gashi is an understated hero as Fahrjie, a mother-of-two who sets about organizing work for the women of her village, while awaiting news of her missing husband—one of thousands unaccounted for, years after the Kosovo War has ended. The townsmen have many opinions about how women should and shouldn’t mourn, work, socialize, parent, drive cars and, basically, get on with living, but Fahrjie persists, and Basholli sticks close with an unfussy, tender eye. “It felt like I was a fly on the wall, witnessing something that was actually happening,” writes Arthur. Just as in Robin Wright’s Land and Mona Fastvold’s The World to Come, Hive pays off in the rare, beaming smile of its protagonist. —GG

On the Count of Three Directed by Jerrod Carmichael, written by Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch

It starts with an image: two best friends pointing guns at each other’s heads. There’s no anger, there’s no hatred—this is an act of merciful brotherly love. How do you have a bleak, gun-totin’ buddy-comedy in 2021 and be critically embraced without contradicting your gun-control retweets or appearing as though your film is the dying embers of Tarantino-tinged student films?

Comedian Jerrod Carmichael’s acerbic directorial debut On the Count of Three achieves this by calling it out every step of the way. Guns are a tool to give insecure men the illusion of power. They are indeed a tool too terrifying to trust in the hands of untrained citizens. Carmichael also stars, alongside Christopher Abbott, who has never been more hilarious or more tragic, bringing pathos to a cathartic rendition of Papa Roach’s ‘Last Resort’. Above all, Carmichael and Abbott’s shared struggle and bond communicates the millennial malaise: how can you save others if you can’t save yourself? “Here’s what it boils down to: life is fucking hard”, Laura sums up, “and sometimes the most we can hope for is to have a best friend who loves you [and] to be a best friend who loves. It doesn’t make life any easier, but it sure helps.” Sundance 2021 is one for the books when it comes to documentaries, but On the Count of Three stands out in the fiction lineup this year. —JM

Censor Directed by Prano Bailey-Bond, written by Bailey-Bond and Anthony Fletcher

The first of several upcoming films inspired by the ‘video nasty’ moral panic over gory horror in mid-’80s Britain, Prano Bailey-Bond leans heavily into both the period and the genre in telling the story of a film censor (a phenomenal Niamh Algar—vulnerable and steely at the same time) who begins to suspect a banned movie may hold the key to her sister’s childhood disappearance. Often dreamlike, occasionally phantasmagorical and repeatedly traumatic, even if the worst gore presented (as seen in the impressively authentic fictional horrors being appraised) appears via a screen, providing a welcome degree of separation.

Nevertheless, Censor is definitely not for the faint of heart, but old-school horror aficionados will squeal with delight at the aesthetic commitment. “I’m so ecstatic that horror is in the hands of immensely talented women going absolutely batshit in front of and behind the camera.” writes Erik. (Same here!) “A great ode to the video-nasty era and paying tribute to the great horror auteurs of the ’80s such as Argento, De Palma and Cronenberg while also doing something new with the genre. Loved this!” writes John, effectively encapsulating Censor’s unfettered film-nerd appeal. —DC

CODA Written and directed by Siân Heder

A film so earnest it shouldn’t work, with a heart so big it should surely not fit the size of the screen, CODA broke records (the first US dramatic film in Sundance history to win all three top prizes; the 25-million-dollar sale to Apple Studios), and won the world over like no other film. “A unique take on something we’ve seen so much,” writes Amanda, nailing the special appeal of Siân Heder’s coming-of-ager and family portrait. Emilia Jones plays Ruby, the only hearing person in her deaf family, at war between the family business and her passion for singing. While Heder is technically remaking the French film La Famille Bélier, the decision to cast brilliant deaf actors—Troy Kotsur, Marlee Matlin and Daniel Durant—makes this feel brand new.

But it’s not just about representation for the sake of it. A sense of authenticity, in humor as much as affection, shines through. With a script that’s 40 per cent ASL, so many of the jokes are visual gags, poking fun at Tinder and rap music, but a lot of the film’s most poignant moments are silent as well. And in Ruby’s own world, too, choir kids will feel seen. “I approve of this very specific alto representation and the brilliant casting of the entire choir,” Laura confirms in her review. Come for the fearless, empathetic family portrait, stay for the High School Musical vibes that actually ring true. —EK

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair Written and directed by Jane Schoenbrun

Perhaps the most singular addition to the recent flurry of Extremely Online cinema—Searching, Spree, Host, et al—Jane Schoenbrun’s feature debut ushers the viewer into a haunted, hypno-drone miasma of delirium-inducing YouTube time-suck, tenebrous creepypasta lore and painfully intimate webcam confessionals. Featuring an extraordinarily unaffected, fearless performance by newcomer Anna Cobb, the film “unpacks the mythology of adolescence in a way that’s so harrowingly familiar and also so otherworldly”, writes Kristen. Not since Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse has there been such an eerily lonely, and at times strangely beautiful, evocation of the liminal spaces between virtual and real worlds.

For members of the trans community, it’s also a work that translates that experience to screen with uncommon authenticity. “What Schoenbrun has accomplished with the form of We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is akin to catching a wisp of smoke,” writes Willow, “because the images, mood and aesthetic that they have brought to life is one that is understood completely by trans people as one of familiarity, without also plunging into the obvious melodrama, or liberal back-patting that is usually associated with ‘good’ direct representation.” One of the most original, compelling new voices to emerge from Sundance this year. —AY

Judas and the Black Messiah Directed by Shaka King, written by King, Will Berson, Kenneth Lucas and Keith Lucas

It was always going to take a visionary, uncompromising filmmaker to bring the story of Fred Hampton, the deputy chairman of the national Black Panther Party, to life. Shaka King casts Daniel Kaluuya as Hampton, and LaKeith Stanfield as William “Wild Bill” O’Neal, the FBI informant whose betrayal leads to Hampton’s assassination. Both actors have never been better, particularly Kaluuya who Fran Hoepfner calls “entrancing, magnetic, fizzling, romantic, riveting, endlessly watchable.”

Judas and the Black Messiah is an electric, involving watch: not just replaying history by following a certain biopic template. Instead, it’s a film with something to say—on power, on fear, on war and on freedom. “Shaka King’s name better reverberate through the halls of every studio after this,” writes Demi. A talent like this, capable of framing such a revolution, doesn’t come around so often. We’d better listen up. —EK

Pleasure Directed by Ninja Thyberg, written by Thyberg and Peter Modestij

A24’s first purchase of 2021. Ironically titled on multiple levels, Pleasure is a brutal film that you endure more than enjoy. But one thing you can’t do is forget it. Ninja Thyberg’s debut feature follows a young Swedish woman (Sofia Kappel) who arrives in Los Angeles with dreams of porn stardom under the name ‘Bella Cherry’. Although Bella is clear-eyed about the business she’s getting into, Thyberg doesn’t shy away from any of the awfulness she faces in order to succeed in an industry rife with exploitation and abuse. Bella does make allies, and the film isn’t suggesting that porn is only stocked with villains, but the ultimate cost is clear, even if it ends on an ever-so-slightly ambiguous note.

Touching as it does on ambition, friendship and betrayal in the sex business, Pleasure is often oddly reminiscent of Paul Verhoeven’s Showgirls. Or rather, the gritty film Showgirls was claiming to be, as opposed to the camp classic it became. There’s nothing campy here. Kappel is raw and fearless in the lead, but never lets the viewer lose touch with her humanity. Emma puts it well: “Kappel gives the hardest, most provocative and transfixing performance I’ve seen all festival.” “My whole body was physically tense during this,” writes Gillian, while Keegan perhaps speaks for most when she says “Great film, never want to see it again.” —DC

Coming Home in the Dark Directed by James Ashcroft, written by Ashcroft and Eli Kent

A family camping trip amidst some typically stunnin—and casually foreboding— New Zealand scenery is upended by a shocking rug-pull of violence that gives way to sustained terror represented by Daniel Gillies’ disturbingly calm psychopath. The set-up of this thriller initially suggests a spin on the backwoods brutality thriller, but as Coming Home in the Dark progresses and hope dissipates, the motivations reveal themselves to be much more personal in nature, and informed on a thematic level by New Zealand’s colonial crimes against its Indigenous population. It’s a stark and haunting film that remains disorientating and unpredictable throughout, repeatedly daring the viewer to anticipate what will happen next, only to casually stomp on each glimmer of a positive outcome.

It’s so captivatingly bleak that a viewing of it, as Collins Ezeanyim’s eloquent reaction points out, does not lend itself to completing domestic tasks. The film marks an auspicious debut for director and co-writer James Ashcroft. Jacob writes that he “will probably follow James Ashcroft’s career to the gates of Hell after this one”. Justin hits the nail on the head with his description: “Lean and exceptionally brutal road/revenge film … that trades in genre tropes, especially those of Ozploitation and ’70s Italian exploitation, but contextualizes them in the dark history of its country of origin.” —DC

The World to Come Directed by Mona Fastvold, written by Ron Hansen and Jim Shepard

Mona Fastvold has not made the first, nor probably the last, period romance about forbidden lesbian love. But The World to Come focuses on a specific pocket in time, a world contained in Jim Shepard’s short story ‘Love & Hydrogen’ from within the collection giving the film its name. Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby are Abigail and Tallie, farming neighbors, stifled by their husbands, who find brief moments of solace, of astonishment and joy, together. What shines here is the script, a verbose, delicate narration that emanates beauty more than pretence. “So beautifully restrained and yet I felt everything,” Iana writes.

And you can feel the fluidity and elegance in the way the film sounds, too: composer Daniel Blumberg’s clarinet theme converses with the dialogue and tells you when your heart can break, when you must pause, when the end is near. “So much heartache. So much hunger. So much longing. Waves of love and grief and love and grief,” writes Claira, capturing the ebb and flow of emotion that keeps The World to Come in your mind long after the screen has gone silent. —EK

Related content

The 2021 Sundance Film Festival lineup by Letterboxd rating

Letterboxd’s ‘Official’ Top 50 of 2021

Awards Season 2020-2021: our awards-tracker list

Letterboxd’s Festiville HQ: our home for up-to-the-minute festival coverage

[goron-king-darunia]

@hannikka Regarding a comment on this post. “i know this ask has nothing to do with me, but i will be honest with you, before you said to take this with a grain of salt i was going to fight you XD (not really, but still XD) because i definitely and actually fell in love as in real lovewhen i was very young and it lasted years, so i was horrified for a moment, but then again like you, said our experiences are not universa” Again, like I said, I have not been a child in a very long time and I am demisexual so my threshold for attraction is VERY different from the standard. I can only speak from my experiences as a child and what I’ve seen regarding other kids I’ve worked with. It’s not impossible to fall in love, real genuine love, as a kid. I just think that’s VERY rare for it to happen and it seems to be the exception rather than the rule. Obviously this is anectdotal rather than data driven and even then, in the USA, narratives involving children and romance are heavily sanitized because in the USA implying that children are people with feelings like adults is very scary strawberry territory for censors because god forbid we imply children are complex people. Even worse if we imply children and adults can be friends, good heavens. The USA tiptoes around intergenerational friendships like a plague corpse in the street because if something even remotely resembles pedophilia, it’s BAD. Like, the USA buries that shit so hard, to the point where when the Professor Layton games came out I was confused for the longest time about what relation Luke had to Layton because in the USA one does not simply just have a grown man mentoring a young boy that isn’t his son or a blood relative of some sort. Like... there were memes about Layton being a guy that kidnaps orphans because that, for some reason, seemed more probable than the actual explanation which is that Luke is the son of one of Latyon’s close friends, and he and Luke bonded over solving a mystery together in town. Hell, even Layton being adopted was kind of a revelation for me when that showed up in the narrative because the USA had a BAD track record of underrepresenting non-traditional family structures. So I’m sure my view on children is partially cultural as well. The USA doesn’t want to admit it but we’re STILL barely out of that old phase of “children should be seen and not heard” bullshit of treating kids like extensions of their parents and swung right around to some weird other extreme of “if we even acknowledge kids at all, we either make them wise beyond their years or infantalize them to hell and back because what even is a child anyway? Baby? Yeah, we know what that is. Helpless cinnamon roll that can never do anything bad ever. Teenager? Yeah we know what that is. That’s like that weird stage of development where you’re like an adult but with now power and lots of feelings and you’re terrible with everything. IDK if I just grew up overly sheltered (which is probably the case) but like... seeing all these new shows on Netflix that acknowledge that teenagers have sex feels... transgressive somehow. Like, I LIKE that we’re acknowledging it. Because we’ve known for ages it happens and clearly doing pearl-clutching and trying to pretend it doesn’t won’t stop teen pregnancy. But it feels so terribly RECENT that we’re actually not actively shoving that under the rug. The Lion King (the good animated one, not the CG one) firmly cemented in my head when I was a wee baby watching it that “friends” and “lovers” were separate categories (even though Nala and Simba are a couple, LOL) because like, yeah, thinking about getting married to my best friends was WEIRD (even at a time in my life when a lot of my friends were boys. XD) So I was totally with Simba when he was like “Ew, I can’t marry her! She’s my friend!” It’s really only been in recent years that the idea of friendship and romantic/sexual relationships aren’t mutually exclusive has become mainstream. Or at least, it’s only recently that I aged into a group where these stories were targeted. IDK, I feel like I’m getting into the weeds here and talking in circles. But the point is YES, I am totally only speaking from my own experiences here, I am 100% not an authority, I am only giving an opinion, and my opinion is largely shaped by experiences and media that are not universal by any means. XD. I was relatively sheltered, have conservative parents, was a neuroatypical child and still am neuroatypical as an adult, turned out to be demisexual which is pretty different considering most of the world is some flavor of allosexual, an I grew up in the USA where basically the only acceptable adult/child relationships are parent/child and teacher/student (and if you’re a teacher you’re on thin fucking ice, fucking YIKES) because the USA treats every other possible interaction between an adult and child as highly suspect. The only factors I have mitigating these views is that I’ve worked with kids and took developmental psychology in college. So I am aware children are a lot more complex than the culture in the USA gives them credit for being. Children aren’t some weird alien species. They’re largely just very tiny adults with very little power/little ability to act on their agency and very little experience. I have met 10 year olds I would trust more than I trust myself, honestly. Kids that are more mature than me and just... understand things I would definitely NOT have at the same age. So, like, again, I’m not saying it’s impossible for kids to fall in love. I’m just saying that usually kids aren’t concerned with that, and when they ARE, they’re usually practicing the particulars of love. but this is just from my own childhood and my limited experience working with grade school kids. Kids I worked with were far more interested in friendships than romances, and as a kid, my romantic interests were, like, Link from Ocarina of Time and I couldn’t decide if I liked fucking Knuckles the Echidna as a dad or as a boyfriend and I think I settled on dad material because I have an old old old illustrated story that I might have even uploaded here where Knuckles is my dad. XD So, like, for real, take my opinions with a FAT grain of salt because I am literally just a goofy goober and have been in exactly 2 romantic relationships and one of them only lasted a year. XD (The other is basically from college until now which is practically 10 years, but also largely long-distance so, like. Definitely not the usual experience. XD) But also, for real, if I say something controversial, weird, or just plain wrong, you can 100% feel free to fight me because I am an idiot and I say dumb shit all the time. That one debunked post that went around about the “Azhar Library bombing” is a big case in this. XD I am basically an educated adult child. I know some things, but more than anything I know enough to realized that I actually know VERY LITTLE and my whole life should be a learning experience. So I am absolutely not opposed to being wrong and getting taught things because that’s honestly half the reason I’m even remotely as good a person as I am today because I was a garbage kiddo and a garbage teenager and still probably a garbage young adult and was educated out of it. I have a lot of internalized beliefs that were changed because of college and listening to people online, and I can only learn more and grow more my having good friends throw down and fight me over stuff when I say a dumb thing. XD Literally I am probably only on the Left because good people educated me on politics when no one else would. I legit could have been one of those awful cases of a disenchanted teen that was led down the alt-right pipeline. Scary to think of but my parents weren’t teaching me so thankfully better people stepped up to do it. So, legit, you are welcome to fight me any time, man. I want to learn. I want to be inoculated against bad ideas and educated away from any bad opinions I hold.

[saikagerights]

Newlyweds- A Saiino Fanfiction

Gee has this idea transformed into its own monster. Last week I had the idea of writing out a few headcanons about Sai that were meant to be separated from the journal, which is also the reason why I haven’t updated.

It is still coming btw, I just wanted it to write this out first. This fic had started out as a few ramblings, so I personally had problems with structure. Luckily, I found my way through and made a cohesive story.

Anyway, I had to restructure this so many times, but I was hoping to use this as a way to cheer up @bauschblog. I hope it doesn’t look rushed.

Hope you enjoy!

*edit. I wrote and posted this days ago, but it never appeared in the tags, so I am posting a second time and deleting the first post. Thank you for your patience

Also available on AO3

If you ever asked Ino if she got what she wanted in life, then you would receive a yes and a no.

She was now as happy as she could be, newly married to who she would’ve called a literal dream years ago. A gorgeous man willing to walk to the ends of the Earth for her.

But that happiness was derived from pain and loss. She would never be able to share that happiness with her father, and she now shared the burdens of her husband, who had lost more than anyone else she knew.

But that didn’t make her love him any less.

Sai was a far cry from the young man she met. Over the years he had learned more and more about the bonds and emotions he had lost, many things she taught him first hand, and she couldn’t be more proud of his progress.

He was once empty, but now it was her job to fill him with as much love and care she could muster. And that’s what she found herself doing, seated beside him and resting her head against his left shoulder as he was immersed in a new sketch. This time it was a pot of primroses he had gathered from the shop below him. She secretly hoped it was a gift for her, as he would occasionally drop his pencil to awkwardly stroke at her head.

Observing his quiet focus made her reflect on her marriage so far. It had only been a month since their wedding, so she had yet to come down completely from cloud nine and she was sure that Sai was feeling something similar. Although it might be starkly different from hers. It didn’t take that long for them to marry either. They still had a lot of time ahead of them, and Ino was delighted to discover more about her enigmatic love.

Part of her joy came from observing common quirks that only a wife could. Like how he was so meticulously organized with his supplies but still fumbled with arrangements in the shop. Or how he’d gently stroke her face when he had to work early, not attentive enough to realize that she was only feigning sleep.

The amount of love she had for her new husband was immeasurable , but with the discovery of these cute habits only came the realization of darker secrets.

Sai was unresponsive at times.

When she would call out to him and would receive nothing but silence in return. It wasn’t as if he was ignoring her, he was simply far into the depths of his own mind.

She then tried to gently repeat her call. And if that didn’t work, her volume would increase, tone sharp and direct. That would usually do the trick and her husband’s head would snap towards her, indicating that she now had his full attention. He’d give a soft hum of inquiry, then his eyes would shamefully cast downward as it dawned upon him that he had done it again.

Ino knew that this was a common occurrence of those in her field of work, especially those who have seen war. There were times when she felt as if father’s guidance was needed more than ever, like on days when the responsibility of leading her clan had weighed most on her. But Sai wasn’t like most shinobi, something that she was reminded of every day. He had made leaps and bounds with his ability to express himself, but there were some things that couldn’t be improved with just awareness and lessons on sociality.

Just like how his fingers would flex and he would grasp at air in moments of silence as if they yearned for something to feel secure. Her left hand would gladly supplement the presence of his brush when he needed it most. In private she would allow him to let his itching fingers run through her long bright blond hair, rubbing the ends of strands between the pads of his thumb and index finger until he was content. His hands would then begin to wander to other parts of her body, desire beginning to cloud his mind and slowly overtake him until he wrapped her up into it.

Ino could hardly articulate how wonderful it felt for him to be able to physically love her. It seemed so long ago when he’d freeze up any time she touched him, but now he was capable of proving to her that his natural instincts were that of any man. She adored nights of tangled limbs and resting on his still heaving chest that took it’s time to settle into a steady rhythm as he drifted into a blissful and dreamless slumber.

Without the exhaustion and comfort that came from sex, Sai was probably the most restless sleeper imaginable. The smallest rustle or bump in the night would force him awake, as if alerted to a nearby enemy. It was a stark contrast from how she slept on missions as a genin, among two of the heaviest sleepers in the entire world. But even then, she felt that neither her or her boys could sleep as soundly as they used to. Unrest and insomnia were another common trait for experienced shinobi, which tended to be spurred on by night terrors.

The first one she experienced with him was shortly after he moved in with her, frightened awake at the feeling of arms constricting her body and hands grasping brutishly at the fabric of her night shirt. The loud air-starved noise her throat produced was enough to yank him from his subconscious, jerking away from her. Ino couldn’t see Sai’s hunched form sitting on the edge of the bed that clearly in the dark, but she could very well hear his slightly ragged breathing tear through the silence. He was too far from her to reach with a soft call, frozen in place with his head in his hands. As desperate as she was to reach out to him, she knew that she had to be cautious when dealing with him in this state. Testing the waters, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She felt a shiver coarse through his body upon the contact, so she gave him time to get used to the touch. She gradually added to that, scooting her body over to him so that she sat behind him, legs dangling off the bed encompassing his. She waited once more until his breathing settled before she fully took the plunge, resting her chest on his sweat soaked back and wrapping her arms around his torso.

After that incident, Sai had admitted to her that these dreams had become common shortly after their mission in the Land of Silence, serving as another hangoff from Gengo. Ino could never forgive that man for taking advantage of her Sai like that and even a year later he is still experiencing effects from his influence. The same could be said about Danzo, who’s authority still had her husband within its grasp even in death. She believed that the more in touch with his emotion Sai became, the more likely his sense of duty were to weigh on him like this, only to lead to more nightmares.

Ino wasn’t sure how often Sai experienced them, but she knew that it was difficult for him to return to sleep, as she often awoke to him intently staring at her or even missing from bed completely. The panic that settled into her chest would quickly be dispersed when she felt his presence still within their walls. It had become a routine of hers to search for him and use all of her power of suggestion to get him back into bed.

The worst kind of nights were when soft words and kisses were simply not enough and he pleaded for her to return to bed alone that night.

As much as she worried for his well being, there were selfish reasons behind her insistence. She realized early on that she couldn’t sleep soundly without him beside her and it had only comforted her further when he had assured her in his own way that she was “imperative in improving his sleep practices since they began their courtship.”

Crowds were also a struggle for him. This was something she learned after attending weddings attached by the hand. Upon arrival, his body tensed beside her and his eyes darted around as if surveying the area for possible threats. It couldn’t be helped when they suddenly became the center of attention. A quick squeeze of the hand would direct his eyes down to her and the glance she cast that was meant to keep him cemented in the atmosphere. With that, he would relax into a comfortable vigilance for the rest of the event as he partook in festivities. They would later find a secluded place to exist frozen in time while the rest of the world persisted. It seemed as if his introverted nature had only complemented her extroverted status in times like that.

Not everyone could understand this, though. The prospect of marrying Sai came at the cost of angering her clan’s elders. After the mysterious fate of Fuu had been revealed to her clan, they immediately dismissed the idea of their next patriarch being another member of Danzo’s ranks. But for all she was concerned, she was marrying Sai whether they liked it or not. Luckily for her, the entire Ino-Shika-Cho trio had all decided their betrothed to be from beyond the realm of tradition, In a political sense, the Yamanaka clan elders couldn’t complain about foriegn affairs like the Nara and Akimichi clan, making Sai the lesser of three evils in this case. They accepted the union only on the condition that they regulate his responsibilities as the newly dubbed patriarch. He accepted this condition with no question, and Ino was concerned to find him reading through every little stipulation with a critical eye.

“It is not that I am finding a reason to oppose marriage. I simply want to satisfy them so I can make you happy.”

She wanted to argue that it didn’t matter what the elders thought of them, but she was too moved by his determination to appease her that she didn’t dare complain.

But alas this couldn’t ease her worries over what came next.

The baby.

There wasn’t a physical baby in question, but there would be soon enough.

She was the clan’s matriarch just as she was its leader, which meant her responsibility was the same as it had always been. She had to produce an heir to continue her bloodline along with all of the values and traditions that she had been granted by her father. It would seem strange to any woman to just accept the decision of becoming a mother made well in advance, but it wasn’t just for the sake of her family. She wanted this as well, and the idea of raising a child with Sai made her heart race.

But she still wasn’t sure how Sai really felt about it all. She had been abundantly clear about this back when they had started dating, as she was already sure that the man would be the father of her children. But Sai was an objective man who was raised on the value of having a purpose to serve, and she was afraid that he took this as another objective, which was confirmed by his statement.

“I vow to uphold this responsibility.”

She still hadn’t gathered the courage to have that conversation yet. To properly tell him that raising a child was more than just another task to complete. There was emotional value that came alongside the immense responsibility and hardships, and Sai had to be ready to adapt to that, especially when it was barreling toward them with every passing day. She could allow him to look through books when the time came like he always did, but a good wife would at least try to give some perspective for him in a way he could understand.

It seemed like now was as good a time as any, when they were both sitting around in a blissful silence like this. Oh how she hated to break up a moment to bring up something awkward, but it had to be mentioned or she would never get her peace.

“Darling.”

The word seemed almost accidental, as it came out only a little bit above a whisper

She was dreadfully wrong to expect a non committed response from him, as he directed his head away from his sketchpad to look down at her, the lightest flicker of worry lining his features.

“Is everything alright? A soft voice from you usually means there is something wrong.”

She hated when he figured her out so easily. What happened to that clueless man she married?

“Is it so out of the ordinary for me to be nice to you?” She shifted her gaze to the wall. Her eyes narrowed, but she was unable to focus on anything in particular. “You must think I’m a monster or something.”

She waited for his hastened apology for misunderstanding, but was surprised to find him still staring at her when she pulled her eyes back up to him.

She clicked her tongue when he didn’t respond in the way she wanted. She wasn’t going to be able to avoid this any longer. She huffed out a sigh.

“It’s about the baby.”

“You want to conceive now?” His response was so immediate it was almost as if he had it on standby. The bubble of laughter that escaped her lips caught her off-guard.

There it was. The quickfire statement that was capable of ruining any conversation. It was almost as if that answer actually comforted her.

She swatted his shoulder, laughter dying down. “Of course not, you lech!” She returned to her previous position leaned against his shoulder. “You know it’s still too soon for that. We all have to meet about that, remember?”

His attention was then brought back to his drawing with a hum of agreement. That wasn’t able to conceal the blush that found its way to his cheeks, she noticed. Changing the topic to sex would be a good way to end the conversation, but no. She had to ask him.

“How do you feel about all of this?”

He pondered for a moment, looking down at his drawing as if there was something wrong with it. A crooked line or a misplaced shadow.

“I promised you I would uphold your obligation.”

“Sai, that’s no-”

“But I am still unsure if I have what it takes to be a father.” He interrupted her, unaware that he had just bewildered her.

“From the knowledge I’ve attained. Successfully raising a child means meeting their emotional needs along with their physical needs. It isn’t just about helping them survive, it’s also about giving them support and guidance as they develop into a person. It seems so complicated, but it’s supposed to be natural.”

Ino stared in awe at his ramblings. He really did understand.

His obsidian eyes suddenly targeted her, startling her from her stupor.

“I don’t know how I can do that for a child the way that I am. I hardly have the instincts of a normal person, let alone a father. I don’t have many positive childhood experiences to pass onto a child. But I will try my hardest.”

“Sai…” Ino was left speechless and sputtering. Sai understood everything. In fact, he held the same issues that she held. The worry drained from her mind, leaving her with pangs of guilt for underestimating him. She wondered where he found his conclusion. Surely no single book would be able to articulate that point to him.

“Naruto has confided me a lot these past few months about Hinata’s pregnancy. He is afraid that he won’t meet the standards of a good father because of his lack of fatherly figures growing up. I-”

He paused, finally noticing clear eyes focused intently on him, hanging onto every word. Sai centered his head forward to divert himself away from her immense pressure before continuing.

“I also am afraid that I don’t have a good reference for fatherly behavior. I’d hate for my child to withstand the same experiences as me, so I did more research and found-”

Her husband halted once more when he heard her sniffle. His head snapped in her direction to find tears clouding her eyes.

“It’s okay if that’s how you feel.” Ino choked on her words, trying to hold her husband in place with her hands on his cheeks. “That’s why we have to figure it out together.” She struggled to hold back a sob that was only freed when Sai brought a hand up to swipe away her tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?!” Her shout was uncontrollable, as now she was wailing into her husband’s chest. Ino knew he was probably confused that the conversation took this turn, but she did appreciate that he still tried to sooth her with warm hands running along her back. He patiently waited until her sobs quieted before answering.

“I already promised you and I will try my hardest to fulfill that promise. I didn’t think I needed to doubt that.”

“What?!” Ino cried incredulously. She jerked away from him to stare him down, making zero attempt to conceal her dripping face. “I’m your WIFE! I’m supposed to know these things so I can help you!” She gripped both of his hands, bringing her knuckles together, voice softening once more.

“I was afraid you didn’t fully understand what we are up against.” Her eyes  dropped down to their conjoined hands.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. I just want to be ready so I can support you when the time comes. The last thing I wish for is to make you worry about me.”

Her face scrunched up into a pout as she unhanded him to wipe at her face. “You idiot, I will always worry about you. And besides, no one can ever be ready for children. The only way this will work is if we are open and honest about this. I’m scared about this too, you know?”

His hands rose in front of his chest in surrender to her will. It was relieving to know that he still knew his place.

“From now on, we will tell each other all of our insecurities about this matter.”

Sai blinked, slowly realizing what that entailed.

“E-Everything?”

“Yup, everything. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t grow up with a father. Not every parent is the same. I think you’ll be great.” She closed her eyes as she continued. “ And if you are really struggling, then I can tell you all about what dad used to do with me.”

Ino’s chest swelled with pride at that, impressing herself with how well she handled that.

“I would love that!”

Her eyes slipped open to reveal a rather enthusiastic smile blooming on his face. It made her melt to see how far that smile had come. It seemed her influence also affected his charms as well.

He suddenly raised from the sofa before scooping her up into his arms. Ino panicked at the look on his face transformed before her. His eyes lidded into a trademark squint and his one sweet smile became a teeth bearing grin.

“Wh-What do you think you’re doing?!” She sputtered. Her panic increased as he had now abandoned the room . He hummed at that as they turned the corner towards their bedroom. Never a good sign.

“I know you said we had to wait, but I figured that we could perhaps get a head start.”

“Sai, wait-!”

They would be just fine. She just knew it.

[he-is-mine-i-am-his-blog]

Wild geese 7/18

Fandom: Painter of the Night

Pairing: Baek Nakyum/Yoon Seungho

Ratings: M

Word count: ~1900 words

Story summary: When Nakyum enters an arranged marriage with Lord Seungho, he does expect to find himself in a situation where he does, fighting for his life. ***An arranged marriage AU, set in the Joseon period like the canon.

Warnings: This story contains graphic depictions of violence. These scenes are not terribly gory, excessive, pointless, and violence is not glorified in anyway. I will not give warnings with specific chapters as not to spoil the plot.

Read below or on AO3.

***

When Seungho’s personal servant is set to go out to run some errands at the town a few days later, Nakyum asks to join him.

He hasn’t ventured much outside the walls at the Yoon residence. Now, he is filled with such nervous, restless energy – from the events of the past days, from the vague threat looming over him – that he feels as if he is suffocating from it.

In the past days, Deokjae has unexpectedly made himself more present to assist him, but he doesn’t hide his disdain for Nakyum, for the very thought of him having to serve a commoner – even when he no longer is one. It makes Nakyum’s life at the residence only more distressing.

Nakyum does not wish to stay, hiding inside his room all day. It clearly isn’t a safe haven even if his suspicions are not correct. He wants to go just to get out of this place for a moment.

When he asks Mr Kim, the older man hesitates at first, but then, he nods.

The first step outside the gated entrance comes with a subtle wave of relief washing over him. Though, his tangled thoughts do not fully leave him until they get to the busy main street of the town.

They stop several times along the way to see what the different merchants have to offer. It is often Nakyum who stops. The older man is too kind to indulge him with these small freedoms during their outing, especially when it only causes further delay for him.

When Nakyum once again stalls outside the small shop selling a variety of books and illustrations, Mr Kim suggests that he stay there while he quickly goes to another shop just a bit down the street. Nakyum looks at him for a moment, uncertain, until he inclines his head in a wordless agreement.

As the older man walks off, Nakyum returns to look at the books that are settled in a shelf just outside the shop, under the shelter of the wide awning.

He is examining a book of illustrated fairy tales when he hears someone approach him.

“What a chance encounter, meeting you here.”

Nakyum lowers the book, and he looks behind him to find two men standing at a polite distance. He recognizes them as being Seungho’s friends. He had briefly talked to them at the wedding celebrations. One of them has a lively face, Min was his name, as Nakyum recalls. The other more familiar yet was Jihwa. He is the man who Nakyum had seen arguing with Seungho at the Yoon residence days ago.

When Nakyum doesn’t say anything, the man speaks again, “Ah, I’m not sure if you remember. I’m Min, and this is my friend Jihwa. We met briefly at the wedding.”

Nakyum puts the book away before turning to bow at them.

“I hope you have been well since we last saw you,” Jihwa says with a kind smile on his face.

“As well as I can be.”

It is not a lie, even if it is not the truth either. He does not wish to express his current miseries to men he barely knows.

Min nods along, ”Married life is clearly treating you well.”

His eyes flick down Nakyum’s frame. He pastes a cordial smile on his lips, as he lifts his eyes to meet Nakyum’s again.

Nakyum inclines his head, not knowing what to say, feeling slightly awkward under the attention.

“It’s a shame we haven’t really got the chance to make further acquaintances yet,” Jihwa says politely after a moment of silence, smoothing over the awkwardness, “We should take our horses and meet for a ride in the forest someday.”

Nakyum tenses at the words. The loss is still too fresh in his mind, time has yet to fully heal the wounds.

Min turns to his friend, nudging him at his shoulder.

“Have you not heard”, Min admonishes him, with a twitch of lips, before he continues, “Ah, yes, you were not at the hunt. See, Nakyum got into the most horrible accident with his horse during. Had to end the poor creatures suffering then and there.”

Nakyum swallows. He blinks away the tears that are threatening to well up in his eyes from just hearing Min’s recount of the events. The words are not unkind though, neither is the look that Jihwa gives him when he turns back to him.

“My deepest apologies, for I did not know.”

Nakyum lowers his eyes, as he cannot look. He doesn’t wish to see the concern, the pity in his eyes. He is quiet when he replies, “It’s okay.”

“I’m glad to see that you are well enough though,” Jihwa says, “Perhaps we ca-“

His words are cut short though, when someone calls for Nakyum.

Nakyum lifts his eyes to look back. It is Seungho’s servant, who walks up to them in hurried strides.

The older man looks at the two young lords for a moment, before he turns his attention to Nakyum once again, “We should return to the house – if you are ready, Lord Yoon.”

It is the first time that Nakyum has been called as such. It is his title, but only through his relationship with Seungho. It is not his name though, not officially, but Mr Kim had called him by it anyway. Likely to associate him with his husband in a more perspicuous manner.

Nakyum nods silently.

He must’ve already taken far too much of the servant’s time, so he does not wish to delay him further. He turns back to Min and Jihwa to say his goodbyes to them.

After cordial bows, Min smiles and says to him, “We shall hope to see you soon again.”

“As do I,” Nakyum replies in kind.

They part ways, and both parties go in different directions. Nakyum follows after the servant, as they make their way back towards the residence.

It isn’t until they near the entrance that the older man turns towards Nakyum. They have remained silent much of the way, but he speaks now.

His eyes are serious and sure on Nakyum’s, as he says, “You’d do well to keep your distance from the young lords.”

  ***

  Nakyum is walking alone in the garden of the Yoon residence. It’s colder than it has been since the seasons changed, and the ground is blanketed by fresh snow from the previous day. He has bundled himself in his thickest winter jacket, and he has put on his bonnet and mittens too to ward off the chill.

He felt too restless staying in his room, having been indoors the entire morning and the day before too.

He does not wish to go to the town unaccompanied, nor could he ask for Seungho’s personal servant to escort him whenever he wants to go. He would not ask his own servant either.

He has not seen Deokjae all morning, and he barely saw him the previous evening, but he doesn’t mind. After receiving far too much of his attention and time in the preceding days, it’s a welcome change. He does not wish to be in the man’s company any more than he must, as it only ever comes with the obvious scorn.

And so, Nakyum finds himself alone outside on this grey, dull day.

He looks around the empty garden. It looks so different from how it did on the day he saw it for the first time. He was so different then too. It’s hard to believe that it hasn’t even been two months since that day.

Slowly, he steps onto the platform that is still there, only now covered by a layer of untouched snow. He walks up to where he stood then, and he stops to stand right there again.

Nakyum has not talked with his husband since their argument and the following exchange at the courtyard, nor has he seen more than a few glimpses of the man. He wonders if Seungho is purposefully keeping away, if he is carefully avoiding him because Nakyum asked him to do so.

The thought – bothers him – more than he expected. He isn’t sure if he truly meant his hasty words, or he isn’t sure that he means them anymore at least.

A lifetime would be a long time to spend trying to avoid someone who lives in the same house, who interacts with the same people.

Nakyum isn’t sure at all if he wants that, but he doesn’t know how to have anything else with Seungho either, nor what that else would even be.

He looks up at the sky that is nothing more than a canvas of solid grey. The sun is hiding behind the thick veil of clouds. He already misses its warmth, its brightness, although the winter has barely begun.

He carefully steps down from the platform, and he begins trailing the pathways of the garden again.

There have been no more attempts to harm him since the day of the hunt. There have been no hints of such attempts either.

It would be easy to dismiss his concerns as being only figments of his imagination running wild, the oddities as being nothing more than coincidences. He can’t rid himself of this eerie feeling inside, as if it’s foreboding of something bad yet to come.

The lingering dread is only made more pronounced by this sense that someone is watching him, observing him – secretly. He felt the eyes on him during his exchange with Seungho after their argument. He has felt them half a dozen times since.

Nakyum wakes up from his thoughts with a startle, when he notices that he has trailed down to a pathway that he has not taken before. It’s a narrow passage running alongside the walled edge of the residence. It is most likely only used by the servants, as it passes the two smaller structures that are used for storage.

When he walks further down the path, he soon arrives at a small clearing in front of a side entrance. Since even the servants use the main entrance at the front, this must be used rarely. The distinct lack of footprints in the snow corroborates the notion.

He shakes his head at himself for having wandered there thoughtlessly. He is about to turn back, when he notices something towards the edge of the clearing. There is a piece of woolen clothing lying in a crumpled pile on the ground. It is then that he notices something far more chilling.

Nakyum takes a step forward, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He takes another step and another, forcing himself to move. He walks slowly, carefully to what he found. He stops only a few steps away.

He looks at his findings then.

Right there next to the woolen garment, there is a red smudge, bright and stark, mixed into the pure white snow that has been trampled upon. Blood, Nakyum thinks to himself. It cannot be anything else.

Nakyum stands there staring at the scene before him.

While the family kept some animals, they would never be killed or butchered here at the residence. It would be considered impure, ill-fated to do so.

He can look nowhere else, as he is shaking, trembling at this discovery, at the very realization of what this must mean.

The woolen garment that sits next to the blood-stained snow – he recognizes it.

It looks just like the scarf that his servant Deokjae often wears, the servant who Nakyum has not seen since the previous day.

[shesclearlya3]

Dancing With a Stranger P.1

@iits-mikha asked: n a recent interview they asked Cody if he could have the opportunity to play another character he would had chosen to be the Countess, So my request is this: an AU where old!Michael where he’s not the antichrist but is the owner of the Hotel Cortez, please!! 

I’m really nervous about this since it’s my first time writing for our boi Michael. I hope I delivered! I decided to make Michael 34 as, I am not too familiar with the Older!tag, but this seemed like a popular range.

pairing: Older!Michael x Reader

word count: 1,973

warnings: au!, language, seductive-boi, there will be a 2nd part!

part 2

October 29th, 2019

You stood next to your best friend, Winter Anderson, as you both stared up at the Hotel Cortez. You two were going to spend the next few days at Halloween Horror Nights, and this was the only hotel you two could afford. Universal was expensive, plus you knew you'd only be here to sleep, that's it.

"Are you ready, you seem kind of nervous," Winter asked, raising a manicured eyebrow at you. You smiled, nodding while tightening your grip on your suitcase.

"I'm fine, we can go inside," you said. You followed Winter into the hotel, gaping at the wonderous exterior. You had never seen so much red in your life. The lobby was huge, and you were slightly taken aback at how empty it was. 

You stopped at the front desk, peering around it. An older, slightly plump woman sat in the chair, a worn-out romance novel in her hands. She was so entranced in the book that she didn't notice your arrival. 

"Excuse me?" Winter piped up.

"OH!" she gasped, a hand flying to her chest. It startled you, but you managed to contain the laugh that bubbled in your throat. "I apologize, I didn't- yeah," she laughed, standing up. "I'm Iris, can I have the name for your reservation?" 

"Anderson. Winter Anderson," 

Iris flipped open a folder, running a finger down the names before stopping. "There you are," she whispered. You frowned, wondering why they didn't just use computers like other hotels did. Iris reached behind her, grabbing a key from the shelf behind her. She handed it to you.

"Let me show you to your room," she said, smiling. You liked to see the good in people, but there was something off about the look in her eyes. Winter seemed to have gotten the same vibe because she kept pace with you instead. 

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was claustrophobic. You tugged at the neck of your shirt, praying for the moment you and Winter were alone. Maybe you'd spend the night out instead of catching up on sleep, you had to be up early for your flight here from Michigan. 

The doors slowly opened, before Iris led you down just a few doors. "Room 537," she said, before unlocking the door. She gestured for you guys to go first, and you smiled and thanked her.

The room was nothing too special, but you get what you paid for. Since you and Winter wanted to stretch your money as much as possible, you settled on sharing a bed. Winter set her stuff down, as Iris mentioned some of the things the hotel offered, including a bar downstairs.

"What brings you two lovely ladies to Los Angeles?" Iris asked kindly, and you felt your nerves from earlier slowly disapparate. 

"We're going to Universal Studios, we're ready to get our asses scared, right, y/n?" Winter looked at you eagerly. 

"Of course! Have you been there, by chance?" you asked Iris. 

"Oh, years ago, I took my son Donovan," Iris exclaimed, seeming to be truly happy for the short length of time you knew her. "I'm sure lots have changed since then..." 

Awkward silence.

"Well, I must get back to the front desk. If there's anything you two need, give us a call," Iris said, already turning towards the door. She set your room keys on the table, then she was gone. 

You and Winter spent the next hour organizing your stuff. You usually left your things in your suitcase while staying in a hotel, but since you'd be here until November 2nd, you didn't want your clothes to be wrinkled. 

"I think we should go down and get a drink, those seats on the plane were not comfortable," Winter complained as you organized your toiletries. 

You glanced at your phone, seeing it wasn't too late. You and Winter planned on getting to the park first thing in the morning. "Who is buying? NOSE-"

"-GOES!" Winter said, whirling at you with a finger to her nose. You squinted at her before you spent the next few minutes trying to touch your nose before Winter. 

Finally, you humored her and said you'd pay for drinks the first night. 

Since you both had dressed comfortably for the flight, you changed into more acceptable clothes. Your favorite jeans and an off-shoulder top. Winter tied her blonde hair up into a half-down, half-up bun, and you set on your way. 

There was only one other patron at the bar, and he didn't seem to pay you much attention. At least at first. 

A tall woman with a shaved head and makeup talked to him, her eyes lightening up at everything he said. You and Winter took the seats farthest away, not wanting to seem like you were eavesdropping. 

"Hilarious, Tristan," she gently scolded. "Hang on, my services are needed elsewhere," she laughed another time before approaching the two of you. "And who do we have here?"

"My name is Winter, and this is y/n," Winter said proudly. 

"Welcome to the Cortez, I'm Liz. Liz Taylor," she offered her hand to the both of you, and you shook it with a smile. "Now, you seem to be old enough to drink, but I need to see your ID's. I am a woman of responsibility-"

The guy named Tristan laughed aloud at the end of the table.

"Ignore him, he drinks," Liz smiled as you and Winter laid your ID's out. "Perfect, what can I get for you?" 

The last thing you wanted was to wake up with a hangover, so you kept it simple. Winter didn't have the same concern since she ordered a Screwdriver. 

Liz was very enjoyable to talk too, and eventually, Tristan felt left out. He sat at the stool next to him, and you found out they had been dating a few months now. They were totally in love, and it showed whenever they looked at each other.

"I wish somebody loved me like that," Winter sighed.

"You will find someone, love. The both of you will." Liz smiled. 

The energy in the room suddenly changed. 

Everyone else kept talking and laughing, but you could feel it. You knew it wasn't the alcohol, this drink was more juice than anything. The sound of the elevator beeping, and the doors sliding open finally piqued their interest.

"Oh boy," Liz said flatly. Tristan chugged the rest of his whiskey before looking at you. You smiled briefly, wondering why they both seemed so on edge. 

You and Winter seemed to be in a trance as a man slowly stepped out, his lean figure in perfect posture. He kept his hands behind his back, and you wondered if it was really comfortable walking like that. His hair was close to being strawberry blonde, and it reached his shoulders. This mysterious man kept his focus ahead, his gait elegant and intimidating. 

"Who is that?" Winter asked.

"That's Michael- uh, the Count?" Tristan said, stuttering when Liz shot him a warning glance. 

"What is this, Seasame Street?" Winter snorted. You couldn't help but laugh a little too loudly, but immediately stopped when Michael- the Count, turned his head in your direction. 

From the side, you could see his excellent bone structure, but it didn't prepare you for getting a good look at him. His cheekbones, his jawline, his eyes immediately drew you in. Michael stared at you for what seemed like an eternity before he broke your gaze. He continued on his way, a smirk now prominent on his lips. 

"Ooooooooh, he was looking at you," Winter teased, bringing her glass to her painted lips.

"Hush," you whispered. Tristan and Liz were still staring at each other, almost like they were having a conversation entirely in their heads. 

"Who is he again?" you questioned.

"He owns the hotel," Liz sighed. "He can be nice when he wants to be, but for the most part, he is a pain in my ass," she continued. "I can't talk shit for long, he saved my life, and Tristan's here."

"For sure, babe," Tristan hiccuped, patting the hand Liz had on the countertop. "I used to be a model, but that environment was so fucking toxic, Michael- shit! COUNT got me out of it, got me help, and here I am," he giggled, before leaning his head on your arm.

"I think that's enough for you, mister," Liz said, taking the empty glass and replacing it with water. Tristan pouted, taking a dainty sip. You and Winter watched with amusement, and you could smell his cologne. It was quite nice. 

"Do you think he'd talk to y/n?" Winter continued with her teasing, and you couldn't hide the blush on your cheeks. "I'd totally tap that if his hair was a bit shorter-"

Liz laughed, "Oh honey, he hasn't had short hair since ninety-nine, and he was a kid back then," 

You looked at her with a confused look, "Wait, how old is he?" 

"I'm thirty-four," you froze at the sound of a velvety voice. "Don't you know it's not polite to ask a man his age?" 

You and Winter shared a quick look, before slowly turning in your stools to face him. Tristan cleared his throat, taking a deep sip of water this time. 

Michael smirked at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. You tried to laugh with him but found you couldn't make a sound. Winter was still gazing at you with a sense of excitement and an "oh shit, you're in for it now," look. 

"I uh, I'm sorry, Mr...?" 

"Langdon," he finished for you. A smirk still plastered on his face, "However, I do find it rather endearing that two complete strangers seem to fret so much about my life," he said, his eyes now sliding towards Winter, who looked away in embarrassment.

Liz had made you another drink while Michael occupied your time, making this one stronger than the first. You'd need it after this. 

"You have such great eyeshadow," Winter said randomly, "It's perfect, really compliments your face,"

Michael's lips curled at this, but he found his eyes still trained on you. You were uncomfortable under his gaze. Like most of the human population, you hated being stared at. 

"How long are you two ladies staying?" he asked. 

"We leave Saturday morning," you answered without hesitation. Michael raised his eyebrow at your confidence. He assumed you were a bit of a hermit. 

"Interesting... I'm going to extend an invitation to you, y/n," he said. You didn't bother to ask how he knew your name. "Halloween night, You're going to join me for dinner. I don't do this often, as you know," he said, directing this part to Liz.

Liz didn't say anything until he widened his eyes at her, and that's when it clicked. "Oh, yes, never does this, never," she shook her head. Michael rolled his eyes before bringing a hand to his head. You noticed the large rings adorning his fingers, wondering if you could pay off your bills with those things. 

"I dislike when people talk about me, especially strangers," he smirked at you, "I find it rather rude, wouldn't you agree?" Michael pressed, waiting for a chorus of agreements.

And of course, he got them.

"Good. I'll have Iris keep you updated, y/n," Michael's eyes ran over you before he nodded towards the others. "And don't break anything, the other ones learned the hard way."

Michael walked off, still poised as if he were meeting royalty. You remained quiet as you swirled back in your seat, taking your new drink and chugging it. Winter grinned at you. 

"Is he always like that?" you asked the couple beside you, who continued to stare at you.

"Weirdly arousing and complex? Always." Liz replied before taking a shot of Vodka. 

*if you want to be added to this taglist, you know the drill.*

[hysteriium]

The Irony of Fate [1]

Gif not mine folks!

(A/N): HEY okay so I know this is kind of taboo considering the whole controversy surrounding this film and while I don’t agree with the labelling, I don’t wanna get political on my blog. I think Joaquin is an amazing actor, he’s a lovely person and I’ve completely fallen head over heels for his portrayal. I’ve loved the Joker ever since I was a kid (guess I’ve had coulrophillia for as long as I can remember lol), I’ve watched him evolve on screen, and in the comics, for as long as I can remember and I guess, as dumb as it sounds, it’s a character that’s been part of a large chunk of my life. So, in sum of my very long, convoluted message, I hope the people who may have a problem with me writing a fic/series on Arthur Fleck/Joker, are able to respect my position as I am with theirs; everyone’s entitled to hold their individual positions, and I won’t fight that, what you believe is totally okay and I’m not here to shoot it down. Thank you :) - Kat  

M A J O R   S P O I L E R  W A R N I N G S!!!  (IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT ALREADY PLEASE DO NOT READ).

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn't seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word count: 2134

Warnings: none; let me know if you think there should be any. 

It was cold. 

The meandering, tickle of wind brushed against Arthur’s half-bare form, caressing the soft skin of his chest, while weary arms wrapped around his fragile body, riddled with goosebumps. The front of his neck, which was exposed as it rested against the top of his sofa had his head dangling off the rear of it. He ignored the chill that spread across his body, a shiver that travelled as swift as a racing river; icy and immersive. Encapsulating. 

It was the only thing he had felt in days.

Perhaps weeks. 

His hair was long and untamed, the fluffy strands which occasionally brushed up against the structure of his cheek, due to the wind, acted like a concerned friend.

Or at least that was what he thought. 

In all honesty, he wasn’t certain what friends felt like. 

The flashing of the tv screen before him was disregarded, as well as the noise it discharged; with its aim nothing more than to provide background noise to Arthur, he lost himself in the static it transmitted. Though the thought spirals, which occurred day after day, were far harsher, and unlike the little device in front of him, couldn’t be switched off. 

As he eyed the ceiling, he became conscious of the paint chipping away at the corners of the roof as well as the water damage caused by small leaks from the apartments above him. It had led to the discovery of discoloured small sections in the ceiling; sunken, and dark were the bubbles that formed. Most worrying of all, was the mould which peeked out from the fragmented paint, festering and collated. It strangely didn’t bother him, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care as his blue eyes raked across the surface of the cream, shabby ceiling. Vacant and void of emotion. Cold and uncaring. 

Another breeze crammed itself through the window, dancing its way to him. 

The cycle repeated. 

Shivers.

Goosebumps.

Thought spiral.

Wind. 

Everything was the same.

That was, until he heard something.

Something new. 

It was melodic, yet stifled as his thoughts suffocated him. It trickled inside from the alleys of Gotham, crossing his open, dilapidated window.

Singing. 

And it wasn’t the type of singing you heard every day - no it was touching; unique. And it came from deep within. From the heart. It was something rare, something Arthur had only heard a few times in his life. While he was often surrounded by music - his mother's influence - he rarely connected with any. 

This though...this was different. 

The tune wrapped around his form like a firm lead of rope, binding around his chest with a great, complex knot, one impossible to escape, and further, one impossible to unravel. The spell had been cast, and he had been enchanted. 

He lifted his head from its lazy hanging position, abruptly sitting upright, supporting his back against the couch while his fingers fiddled in his lap. Instantly, he found himself drawn to the window, hypnotised like a man in love as he stumbled towards it, scurrying. 

Another gust of wind. 

His hands were shaking. Whether it was from the sudden feeling of liveliness or nervousness he couldn’t distinguish, though they gripped the window frame tightly and he thrust his head out, first hitting the top of his head against the extendable part of the frame, before shaking the pain away and righting his position. Wild eyes darted across the filthy, littered Gotham streets, the busy, gloomy city sinking into his now sparkling, curious eyes, searching for a source. 

It took a few moments before he finally found it - a woman - just across the road from his apartment, meters away. She stood in front of a store, an acoustic guitar in her grasp, one hand sliding up and down the neck to find the perfect notes, while the other strummed. Her guitar case was fixed below her, open as bills, pennies and dimes were scattered inside it, tossed in by those absently walking by. In a way, the thought of those strolling past, who had yet to stop and appreciate her sheer talent, made the bushy brows at the top of his head crease into a frown. His blood boiled. No one appreciated art these days.

She wore a red dress, elegant and fitting, extremely well dressed for the streets of Gotham. Almost strangely formal. She was beautiful though, graceful even, as her form swayed with the music, completely invested in the lyrical masterpiece that passed her lips.

Arthur had to pinch herself to make sure she was real.

To him, she was otherworldly. Angelic.

He was frozen and rendered speechless as his breathing caught in his throat. Even though he was observing her from his dingy window like a common creep, he felt compelled to talk to her, to get to know her, to know every little detail about her. Was she kind? Was she as sweet as she looked? What was her favourite colour? Did she like comedy?

As he continued to mentally question her from above, he felt reality slipping from him. It was escaping from his grasp, melting like candle wax, or perhaps like putty in his hands, the goop raining down from the gaps of his fingers. He could feel the daydream occurring, the blurring of his vision as he zoned out on her form - and only her form. 

The only important thing illuminating the dull, insignificant seconds that plagued his life like a cancer. 

He’d walk up to her, a hand nervously fixing his hair, tugging at the strands if he encountered a knot. First, he’d wait for her to finish the rest of her song, standing nearby with an encouraging smile, one she’d promptly return. She’d continue the sway of her hips, a move he’d find hard to restrain his eyes from drinking in. Somehow he’d manage. 

He’d practically be bursting with excitement when she finally reached the climax of her song, clapping frantically. She’d bow, a large grin plastered on her face as she does so. 

“What’s your name?” She’d say. 

“A-Arthur. M-my-my name is Arthur.” He’d stutter out, the fidgeting of his fingers while noticeable, he’s thankful she ignores. 

“Nice to meet you, Arthur!” 

He’d perform a little dip of his head, an idiosyncrasy he couldn’t help as he laughed nervously, replying with a soft, “you too.” 

Next, he’d compliment her - on her singing. He’d be honest too, trying his best to articulate the feelings they evoked within him. It was a difficult task. Arthur learnt that the hard way as they carried on talking for a while. 

It remained this way, soft, sweet and casual - until he made her laugh.

It was the most beautiful, infectious sound he’d ever heard. It was something to add to his ever-growing list of likes. He was well and truly hooked, an addiction he wasn’t willing to shake off. 

Like a curse, something he could never stray too far from, he’d think about the dreaded, intrusive laughter that tended to emerge at the worst times. He’d obsess over its emergence, wondering just when exactly it would spontaneously occur. Would she accept the card he’d force into her hand? A simplistic explanation of his condition? Would she understand? Would she think him a freak?

Even in his mind, he couldn’t escape ridicule. 

The negative thought threw him off track. No longer was he able to picture her smiling eyes boring into his own, the large stretch of her grin, and the teeth that briefly bit into the bottom of her lip as she laughed, a small involuntary action. No longer was he able to picture himself smiling back, his lips pursed into his lips, the soft crinkle of his eyes and the subtle rise of his brows. It faded away like a fog, the happiness that bubbled in his stomach popping along with it as he snapped back to reality. Harsh and brutal. The upturn of his mouth deflated like a tire, slow and agonising once he was confronted with the truth. 

He hadn’t actually gone up to her. He was still centred at the window in his mother’s grossly, illegally defective apartment; trapped in a home he firmly believed had never met the standards, even in its inception. Along with the new outbreak of ‘super rats’, a phenomenon he was well acquainted with, things were only set to go further downhill.

Because of this, he’d have to settle for the next best thing.

He disappeared from the window, retreating into one of the other rooms. Hands gripped the wood of the chair - one precisely chosen for its comfort; a chair pleasant enough to sit down on without his backside turning numb. After he dragged it to the window, the continual, ear-piercing groan of wood against wood was a sound that had piqued his mother’s interest from the other room, an attraction Arthur quickly and almost desperately shot down. Once he found himself semi-relaxed in the chair, he rested his head against the window frame. The air which blew against his face, filtered through the lifeless room, lifting the curtains beside him.   

He didn’t know how long he sat by his window, absorbing the stunning tune which serenaded his ears. The setting sun had coloured Gotham by then, and the beautiful girl before him. Its orange glow sunk into her skin, somehow making her more dazzling in his eyes. All he knew was that he couldn’t peel himself away, nor his eyes, or attention. He was well and truly charmed.

All good things must come to an end though, a concept Arthur hated. When she finished her last song, his heart leapt out of his chest, and his gut churned with dread. Was he ever going to see her again?

This thought was promptly put aside when she finally looked up at him, their eyes locking. Although she was some distance away, he could still see the slow smile forming on her face and the small wave she gave him. 

He quickly, and rather nervously returned the acknowledgement, the mini-debate in his head promptly cut short as his mind blanked and he darted for the door. Turning the doorknob with extreme force, he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, running for the stairs. The elevator in his building had a bad track record, and had done nothing in the past but inconvenience him. He was sure to miss her if he took it - hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d catch her taking the stairs. 

Nevertheless, he persisted, shoving the thought away. 

His feet moved on their own accord, his hurried descent echoing throughout the empty stairwell. It was multiple, exhausting flights before he got to the bottom. His heart was racing and his breathing was ragged as sweat formed on his forehead; not only due to the strenuous workout he had endured but also because of the fear of her departure. In a burst of confidence only then had he decided to talk to her, a confidence that seemed to completely leave his disappointed form once he reached outside, slamming into the fire escape exit and into the littered streets. She had left, and he had been too slow. 

He sighed.

Off Arthur went, performing the walk of shame back to his apartment after searching for her red dress for the 100th time. He ascended the stairs, hair hanging low, along with his head fixed towards the ground. 

Oh, the irony of fate.

-----

It was a few days later when he saw her again. She popped up into his mind a lot, more than he’d like to admit. Her beauty, which was not something to sneeze at was often the first thing he thought of, followed by the songs she sang. It was this he remembered most and he often found himself replaying them, a calming mantra as he relished in her delivery. He found he did this when he was having an especially bad time. 

The effect she had on him was yet to dissipate. 

Considering the imprint she had left in his life, despite Arthur observing the woman for what had probably only been a few hours, he could recognise her voice anywhere. 

So, it was quite a shock to Arthur when he heard her voice on the television. At first, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it, believing she was outside again. The thought had the blood rushing to his cheeks and the sweat glands in his palms working into overdrive. It took a few more seconds for Arthur to realise that the beautiful, unique voice that had once, for a short period, softly soothed his woes was in fact, right in front of him on the cubic form of entertainment.   

On the Murray Franklin show.