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bangtanflirt · 10 months

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(Un)natural Instincts (Part 2)

angst, fluff, smut

Pairings: OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids Joon, Jin, Hobi, Jimin, Tae, and Kook.

Basic premise: You and your assistant end up rescuing six wolf hybrids. No part of the process is easy.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3

General Warnings: Hybrid abuse and lab experimentation, hybrids as second-class citizens/owned property, future smut (Minors DNI, 18+ content)

Specific Warnings: torture collars, needles, mention of past dubcon (hybrids under influence of the synthetic hormones cannot properly consent), more inaccurate business talk,

____

It’s 7am the next day when your actual assistant shows up at your door, with your precious Americano in hand.

“I heard about the coffee mishap yesterday, so I thought I’d bring you this a little earlier than usual.”

“You are my savior.”

Yoongi laughs as you invite him in. Your assistant is one of the few people you found you could let your guard down around. He’s probably the closest thing you have to a friend.

“Is everything alright with you? You never call off work, and you didn’t reply to the message I sent.”

“Sorry, there was a lot going on. Everything’s fine now, just had a little scare with my mom’s blood pressure. She’s good though!”

“Oh thank god. Are you sure you don’t need more days off to take care of her?”

“My brother is keeping an eye on her, but I very much appreciate the sentiment.”

“Of course. Don’t hesitate to step out when you need. Or if you need help with her medical bills, I’m always here.”

“Woah woah, calm down there before I start spreading a rumor that you’re actually a nice person Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, “Don’t you dare.”

But the joking atmosphere only lasts for two seconds before your mood turns solemn.

“I’m actually so far from a nice person you wouldn’t believe it.”

And so it goes, you explaining the entire fiasco of last night. You know you deserve the judgy look he tries to hide when you get to how easily you caved in. But there’s also sympathy in his eyes, because he’s one of the few people in the world who would even try to understand where you’re coming from.

“That’s not all…they also…um…gave me one.”

He looks puzzled.

“They gave you a collar? But you don’t even have a hybrid.”

You take a deep breath before uttering the next sentence.

“They gave me a hybrid.”

“WHAT?!”

“Shhh! Keep your voice low, he’s sleeping in one of the guest rooms right now!”

He switches to a whisper yell instantaneously.

“You took a hybrid home with you? Are you insane?!”

“Maybe I am. I don’t know, I wasn’t exactly acting with a plan. I just couldn’t send him back to get tortured. You should see him Yoongi, he looks like he’s been through hell and back.”

The man’s eyes softened.

“I don’t know how you’re going to get yourself out of this mess, but I guess I’m getting dragged into it with you, aren’t I?”

“You can always quit, you know. I’d give you a cushy desk job somewhere in the company.”

“Eh I’ll wait. I’m still not fed up with you yet, even if I think you’re actually insane for this. So is the hybrid going to just lounge around here while you’re at work? Shouldn’t there be some supervision?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I notified the housekeepers already, told them I’d pay extra if they take care of him for me. His name’s Jungkook by the way. 60% human and 40% gray wolf.”

“40% is a lot.”

He’s right. The very few pet wolf hybrids in the market right now are 25% wolf, as that’s the max percentage before they get too dangerous to handle.

“Yeah, but I’m more of a threat to him than he is to me at this point.”

___

The workday is long, and you’re mentally not even there. Every five minutes, you’re thinking about Jungkook and how he’s doing. Thankfully, the housekeepers keep sending you updates to assure you he’s doing fine.

You scroll through with relief, reading what he’s up to throughout the day. Apparently, he was terrified of the shower, but had no problem drawing himself a bath. Another text let you know he loves the omelet the chef prepared for lunch. And the rest of the texts are just notifying you that he’s resting in his room at various points in the day. So far so good, thankfully.

With your mind at some ease, you can actually focus on work.

You get your hands on everything Pet Paradise can give on the Obedience Collar before officially signing a contract. There’s information that’s classified, mainly the patent for the synthetic hormones, but the books and research procedures are documented in the files in front of you. And unfortunately, they look spotless. The money is all there in a clear trail, no gaps or unusual patterns, and the research procedure follows all protocol needed. You want to just hide under your desk and avoid this entire situation.

You’re scheduled to tour the research facility tomorrow, and the last thing you want to do is see five more hybrids as scared as Jungkook—especially knowing you can’t scoop these ones up and take them home. But you’re holding out hope. There’s still a chance that something’s wrong at the facilities, something not shown on paper. At this point you’d settle for the smallest thing and find a way to blow it up so the whole operation has to be shut down. You’ve got some of the best lawyers in the country, so you might as well use them. You just need something to be wrong.

It's around 6:45pm when you arrive home, and one of the housekeepers greets you with a warm smile, immediately jumping into how well-behaved Jungkook is. It makes you wince to hear him described like that, especially knowing the amount of needles piercing his skin just to achieve the “well-behaved” status.

The staff all leave as you arrive, knowing you like them to be done by the time you're back. The chef has already left hours earlier, as he usually prepares dinner in advance and keeps it in the fridge.

Jungkook’s door is slightly ajar, and you peek in to see the boy melted into the bed. It’s weird; he looks a lot more tired than yesterday, eyes barely keeping themselves open. It’s probably the hormones, you conclude somberly.

“Jungkook, it’s time for dinner. Come on out.”

The boy takes the last bit of energy he has to trudge to the dinner table, and you put a heated up bowl of kimchi-jjigae down. You sit across and join, noticing that the stew is extra flavorful today.

“Mhmm, Chef Gyu really outdid himself with this one. And I bet the omelet was just as delicious. I was told you loved it, is that true?”

You look over expecting an answer, but what you see instead is Jungkook almost falling asleep right into the bowl before catching himself at the last minute.

Maybe the side effect of the hormones make him too sleepy to do anything?

Your thoughts are interrupted by your ringtone. It’s Chef Gyu.

“Hello Chef, I was just singing your praises for this food.”

There’s a nervous chuckle at the other end of the line.

“Thank you Y/N, glad you and your new friend liked it.”

“Is something wrong? You usually don't call this late.”

“Um, yes, actually. The reason I called is because of your hybrid.”

“What do you mean? I was told he stayed in his room for most of the day. Did he cause you any trouble?”

You look over, but Jungkook is too exhausted to register that you’re talking about him.

“No, none at all. He was extremely polite. The problem was the housekeeping staff…they didn’t do any of the work today.”

You feel a pit in your stomach, putting the pieces together.

“Did they…did they make Jungkook clean the house?”

“Yes Miss. They were watching TV for practically the whole time. I should’ve told you earlier, but I told myself it wasn’t my place. I’m deeply sorry.”

“Thank you for telling me now. I appreciate it a lot. I have to go.”

You hang up abruptly, seething the minute the phone is cut.

There’s a million different ways your mind is conjuring up of how to ruin the housekeeping agency, make them cry bankruptcy as you blacklist them from working anywhere ever again. The rage inside you is glowing red, and the only thing getting you to calm down at all is your objective of getting Jungkook back into bed before he actually does fall asleep into his dinner. You support his weight gently, grateful that he’s awake enough to zombie-walk wherever you lead him. It’s only when he’s tucked under the blankets do you let the anger stir up again.

They made him clean the entire house by himself. A house that usually takes eight people to clean, they made him do all alone so they could kick back and relax with your flatscreen TV. It astonishes you how cruel people can be, how they can look into his scared doe eyes and take advantage of him.

The world is not on Jungkook’s side right now, it seems.

___

Yesterday’s incident is fresh in your mind the next morning. Thankfully, Yoongi found a new housekeeping service at the last minute. You’re still worried that the same thing might happen again, but you can’t afford to miss work today; so, you do the best that you can and ask Chef Gyu to keep an eye on the situation while he’s cooking.

Today’s the day you need to tour the lab facilities for the Obedience Collar—a task you’d trade in to do quite literally anything else. Yoongi looks at you with concern, seeing the strain this visit is putting on you.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Isn’t the plan to go in and find something to shut the whole thing down?”

“But if I can’t shut it down? What if there’s nothing wrong there either, and I have to look into the faces of five other abused hybrids and know I’m ruining their lives? What if I just call the whole thing off? Yes Mr.Kang is going to be insufferable and yes it’s going to cause a blow to my reputation, but it can’t be worth it to go through with this. It’s just not right.”

The room is silent for a second before Yoongi speaks up.

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was trying to find a good time to tell you since yesterday, but you’ve been so stressed that I didn’t know how…”

“Spit it out Yoongi.”

“Kang got on the board of directors at Jewel Accounting.”

Your blood runs cold. Jewel Accounting is one of your key partners.

“W-what do you mean? Isn’t that a conflict of interest? How can he be on the board that has to audit his own company?”

“He’s overseeing consulting, not audits. Pet Paradise wouldn’t be his client, but I’m afraid pulling out of this deal on a whim is going to make business a lot harder for us. The only way out is finding a good legal argument against investing.”

You want to shove your head into a bucket of cement.

___

The lab is cold and sterile, with glaring fluorescent lights, medical lab equipment spread everywhere, and white-tiles lining floor to ceiling. The researchers guiding you, however, seem to be in a chipper mood, smiling as if they don’t torture hybrids on a daily basis here. First, your team is taken around to look at the facility in general. Jungkook’s adverse reaction to showers makes sense when you see the one tiny sad looking shower stall they use—a lab assistant boasts about the stall being “efficient” by fitting at least three of them in at once.

Yoongi lightly touches your shoulder at different points throughout the tour, as if to ground you. There’s no beds, just a chamber with cots on the floor, and the food packets of sludgy brown gruel are easily the least appetizing thing you’ve ever seen.

“And now we have the part you are all, no doubt, most excited for: the research subjects!”

You hold your breath, dreading what comes next.

One by one, each wolf hybrid is brought out and lined up in front of you, all with the same fear engraved in them as Jungkook. They might be the hybrids, but you’re the one with urge to claw someone’s eyes out at the moment.

“We’ve trained different ones for different purposes, just to test how well the collar can make them behave in different situations. Jungkook was given away before any specific training, but the rest are skilled in different domains. First up we have Jin, Jimin, and Taehyung.”

Three of the hybrids step forward. One is a broad-shouldered blonde, with two smaller-framed brunettes next to him.

“These three have been trained for housework and taking care of children. Now, we know the image of a wolf-hybrid putting a baby to sleep sounds ridiculous, but this technology really is that advanced.”

Someone in the back makes some joke about a wolf singing rock-a-bye baby and everyone laughs. You and Yoongi fake a laugh to keep up appearances.

“The next one is Hoseok”

He’s lean with slicked-back black hair, and you notice he’s the only one dressed up, with a low v-neck shirt that leaves plenty of his chest exposed. More than he’s comfortable with, it seems, because you notice his hands itching to cover himself up. He doesn’t though, just fidgets with the sides of the shirt instead.

“He’s a romantic companion. Trained to give pleasure to any gender and for any intimate situation. He can fulfill every fantasy your minds can conjure up!”

There’s some snickers erupting again, but neither you or your assistant can attempt to fake laugh this time. Especially not when he makes eye contact, giving you a trained flirty smile that doesn’t reach his eyes one bit.

“And the last one is Namjoon, the pack alpha.”

Namjoon steps up, the tallest of them all. He stands the straightest as well. His hair is black and his eyes are more dragon-like than wolf, looking straight ahead with a stoic expression. The only indication of his scared nature is his trembling fingers and pleading eyes, but that aside, he looks as still as a statue.

“He’s a guard hybrid, perfect to keep intruders away. He’s been trained in a mix of defensive martial arts. Plus, he’s an alpha so you’d have to be insane to try to fight him off. Fun fact, hormone packs for alphas are different—they have a higher dosage. It took some experimentation, but we finally got the levels right.

And with that, you’ve seen the whole pack! Normally, training a wolf hybrid to do any of these would take at least two years, and that’s only for the ones 25% max wolf DNA. God knows training a 40% wolf would be nearly impossible. But with the help of the Obedience Collar, not only can we train higher percentages of wolves, but we can train them in as little as three months! As Mr.Kang probably told you a thousand times already, this will really revolutionize the hybrid market!”

___

You toss your laptop bag onto the sofa right as you come in through the door, kicking your heels off and slouching into your favorite recliner. You can’t be bothered to put things up in a tidy manner at the moment, especially with how shitty you feel.

There wasn’t a single flaw you could find at the lab today. All the equipment had passed inspection checks and were state-of-the art, the researchers had proper credentials and specialized licenses in hybrid research, and every procedure conducted was documented thoroughly—you made it a point to skip over the entire section for Hoseok, wanting to stay far away from the details of what he was made to do.

You let out a frustrated groan. Forgetting you’re no longer alone in your house, hearing footsteps shuffle spooks you for a second, before you see the wolf hybrid timidly come into the living room. Thankfully, he looks well-rested today. Chef Gyu did text you a while back that the new cleaners were doing well, and Jungkook was actually resting in his room for real this time. He does a quick bow before walking over and propping your heels up correctly. His next mission seems to be to put your carelessly tossed laptop bag in its proper place.

“You don’t need to do that for me Jungkook. I can do it myself.”

“Sorry Miss.”

You hate how meek he sounds, and that he’s the one apologizing in this situation. You should be getting on your knees spilling apologies right now, for going to that lab to see his pack be flaunted off like toys. But instead, he’s looking at you as if he’s the guilty one.

“You didn’t do anything to apologize for. Thank you for tidying up, I appreciate it.” You give me a reassuring smile, but he seems more confused than anything else. He doesn’t know if that means to do it more in the future or not do it all…he wishes you could just give simple commands instead of these tests.

You sit down for dinner, but don’t know how much of an appetite you have after today.

“Do you like the fried rice?”

“Yes Miss” he says between big spoonful, and the way he talks with his cheeks full makes you melt a little.

“Call me Y/N, please.”

“Yes Miss Y/N.”

“Just Y/N is fine”

He raises a brow,

“Pets should address their owners politely, Miss Y/N.”

That sentence makes your skin crawl. The way he so casually refers to himself as a pet, and to you as an owner.

“It’s okay Jungkook, I like being called Y/N.”

“…if you say so, Y/N.”

The name alone feels so wrong on his tongue, making him worry that someone in a lab coat is about to come drag him away for extra obedience training.

“Thank you. So, what have you been doing all day?”

“I tried to help out with the housework, but the people today told me that wasn’t my job…which was really confusing because the people yesterday told me that it was my job.”

“It’s not your job.”

“What is my job Mis—I mean, Y/N? I know I don't have specialized training, but I'm a quick learner! If you could give me a list on how to be good here, I’ll do my best and follow it.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t have to worry about things like that anymore, but you’re concerned that a conversation like that will malfunction his brain. How could it not, when the hormones flowing through his body plus the brainwashing tell him that’s all he should be thinking about.

“There is one thing you could do for me”

His wolf ears perk up, eager for a command.

“It’s really hard to keep up with the latest shows with my job, but I feel left out when everyone in the office has seen something I haven’t. If I give you a list, you think you could watch them for me and give me the summaries?”

“Yes absolutely! I’ll take detailed notes and tell you everything!”

There’s genuine excitement in his eyes. Jungkook’s never had the opportunity to watch TV before, and he can’t believe his luck. He doesn’t show his joy too much though, fearing that you’ll think he’s using the assignment as an excuse to slack off. He wants to be good, wants to show you he’s well-trained.

“Perfect. You’ll be helping me out a lot.”

You have to bite your lip to keep a straight face, endeared by how hard he’s trying to hide his excitement. But the moment is short-lived, as Jungkook’s face turns sour in an instant.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My pack. They’d probably love watching TV too.”

You don’t say anything to that.

Dinner ends with an uncomfortable silence looming in the air, that is until Jungkook spills juice on himself.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“B-but you just got me these clothes. I was being careless. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really fine, it’s not hard to get it dry-cleaned. I’ll put the dishes up, so go in and change into something else.”

He gives you one last string of “I’m so sorry”s before heading off to his room.

Once you’ve loaded the dishwasher, you make your way upstairs to the boy’s room, seeing if he needs anything before bed. His bedroom door is open, as is the bathroom door. You follow the sounds of scrubbing before being met with his back to you, hunched over the sink, trying to get the stain out of the white t-shirt. He’s topless and you know it’s wrong to ogle at his incredibly fit physique right now, but something catches your attention right before you’re about to avert your eyes.

Blue splotches pepper his waist, almost bruise-like but not quite.

“Um, Jungkook”

The boy turns,

“What are those blue marks?”

He twists his body in front of the mirror, looking at the marks with the same amount of confusion as you.

“I have no clue.”

Was it an allergic reaction? Have your “eat up” commands been making him eat food he’s allergic to?

“Do you have any allergies?”

“I’m not sure…no one’s ever told me…but I feel fine.”

“Nothing hurts? No nausea, hives, itchy nose?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll come home early tomorrow and schedule a visit with a hybrid doctor in the evening.”

The color in his face visibly drains.

“I’m a-alright. Really.”

No doctor please. Last thing I need is another person in a white coat messing with my body again.

Your tone softens, “Relax, the most it’ll be is an allergy test. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Jungkook’s back to shaking as much as he did on his first day.

____

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know if you're liking it so far!

Taglist: @welcometomyworld13 @kalala22

*If Tumblr doesn't let me tag you for some reason, I'll send you a DM instead!

#bts hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #poly ot7 #ot7 x reader #hurt/comfort #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #unnatural instincts

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healthcaremreports · 2 years

Link

The Medical Needles market report is provided here in USD Million. The report will render insightful data related to growth rates represented in terms of CAGR % during the projected years.

#Medical Needles Market

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ghastlytofu · 7 months

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Wyllstarion thought that’s rattling around in my brain—Wyll’s so willing to give anything for others, even if it’s something he needs, something he can’t afford to lose. So in the long term, if he gets into a position where he trusts Astarion enough to let him feed, it’s entirely possible that he offers himself up even when he shouldn’t—when he’s been injured, when he’s too weak and doesn’t have enough blood to be giving any away.

And Astarion, who has experienced attentiveness to his unspoken needs for the first time in 200 years because of Wyll, notices and stops himself, even though it goes against every instinct he has, and tells Wyll to rest instead.

HE WOULD BE THAT GUY. I hope you don't mind - I wrote a thing based off your thing.

Wyll coughed suddenly, the motion pulling at his wounds under carefully-applied bandages, causing him to grimace both in pain and at the memory of its source. Hours ago now - had it been hours? It must've been hours, the sun had set - he'd taken his own rapier to the gut after a frankly embarrassing display of being disarmed by his opponent in the melee.

He was laid up in their makeshift medical tent now, hurt but healing, his injured ego a small price to pay for his life.

He'd gotten too used to fighting creatures with more teeth than brains, wasn't prepared in the moment for an opponent that could match his wits, not in this barren hellscape where everything was more monster than man.

Sloppy, he thinks, angrier at himself than his enemy (long dead now - few could survive a githyanki silver sword to the skull, and gods if he wasn't grateful for that). He could hardly afford to be careless now, not with so many depending on him.

He vows to pull Lae'zel aside when he's back on his feet, ask her to spar, to encourage more drills and bouts of one-on-one sparring amongst their group in general. The better to brush up on his skills and endurance and test the limits of his companions' own.

They could use the practice, and not just because they'd had their asses summarily handed to them today.

Astarion was wan and bleary-eyed next to him, looking less ethereal in the moonlight than sickly, every bit the walking corpse he was in actuality. His features were drawn tight with exhaustion and pain - nursing several broken ribs, his left side mottled purple with angry bruises from a glancing hammer-blow that had his body ragdolling across the battlefield. It might've been comical if they hadn't narrowly escaped with their lives.

The vampire spawn was plainly exhausted and - and there was hunger there, too, his eyes a little wild with the sharp aroma of blood permeating the med tent, cutting through the noxious scent of sweat and stale air, the suffusive atmosphere of worry that hadn't much abated.

Shadowheart had spent herself patching them all back together and was finally resting, the candle in her tent snuffed out with a tired sigh. The camp was quiet except for Wyll's slightly ragged breathing, the muffled sounds of Karlach snoring into her pillow. Somewhere in the distance or the depths of his psyche, he heard the rushing of a river.

He wasn't feeling his best self. But he wasn't feeling his worst self either. A day of moderate hiking followed by getting his shit wrecked by marauders had him losing precious pints that Shadowheart had tried her damndest to get back in him, to some avail. The pain was tolerable. There were stitches in his side from where the blade had pierced his abdomen - Astarion's work. The lad was surprisingly deft with a needle, and hardly prone to fainting at the sight of blood.

Astarion, who hadn't yet left his side. Wyll wondered distantly if the scent of blood in the air was more a balm or tease for him - did it soothe, the way the scent-memory of the market in the lower city soothed Wyll? Cinnamon apple pie and brioche bread fresh from the ovens, the air suffused with saffron and cloves, spices of every sort peddled by merchants from Neverwinter to Chult. Or was it torturous, to be so near an ambrosia you could only half experience, to merely smell what you were forbidden to taste?

He wondered, but now was hardly the time to grill Astarion on the intricacies of his vampiric hunger. Still, he wasn't looking well. Apart from the extensive bruises and the shattered ribs that lie beneath them, his skin was waxy and clammy like a mortal with a cold sweat, eyes sunken deep in their sockets. Shadowheart could only perform so many miracles a day.

Feeding would hasten his healing. And Wyll wasn't feeling the worst he'd ever felt.

Fancy a nightcap? he thought, didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Astarion stiffened beside him, subtle as the sun. A moment passed, the other man took a deep breath - necessary only insofar as it seemed to fortify him, his atrophied lungs didn't ache for air, did they? -

An unidentifiable look passed over his tired features before he schooled them into something more imperious, raising a dubious eyebrow. A cool hand landed on Wyll's arm, rubbing soothing circles in his bicep.

"You smell about as appetizing as bilge water, darling," he sniffed delicately, attempting haughty but finding that it didn't quite land. "I'd rather partake of fresh food, if it's all the same to you." He wouldn't meet Wyll's eye, and Wyll couldn't bring himself to comment on the tremor in hands or how very large his pupils looked in the lamplight.

Nor did he seem inclined to leave Wyll's side, and Wyll found that he couldn't bring himself to comment on that either. He chuckled tiredly instead, eyes falling shut, blessedly dark and drifting on the effects of a potent healing potion.

"Another time, then," he assented, mumbling through his exhaustion, "when I'm less rank and more appetizing."

He felt more than heard Astarion's answering laugh - curiously wet, but the threads of conscious thought were tenuous now and the observation escaped him as soon as it was noted, as the Blade of Frontiers drifted at last into a dreamless sleep.

#seized me by the brain anon. i'm weak. WEEEAAAK #wyllstarion #baldur's gate 3 #fic #my fic #it's whump it's just whump #asks #anon #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin

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penvisions · 4 months

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the melting point {chapter 16}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: In the aftermath of a rather eventful and terrifying last summer farmer's market, you try to find a semblance of normalcy as best you can. Meanwhile, Frankie is up to something that is beginning to cause you to worry about the burden you've become in your recovery.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: medical jargon, mild language, emotional monologues, internal monologue, negative feelings, negative thoughts, ptsd symptoms, pining, emotional pining, depressive thoughts, description of pain and injuries, blood, descriptions of post shooting chaos, panic attacks, notions of death, hospital setting, mentions of needles and iv's, mentions of narcotics, use of prescription narcotics, feelings of inadequacy, angst

A/N: um, so it's been four months since i've touched this fic, then i woke up yesterday morning and just began writing like nothing. takes breaks when you need to, don't force things and it'll all work out. please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“C’mon, hang on for me baby, please, don’t-don’t close your eyes.”

“Mantequilla, everything is gonna be okay, I promise, we’re all here for you, please know that everything is going to be okay.”

“We’ve got you, you did so good, you saved my little girl, you did, you saved her.”

“Honey, we all love you so much, please stay strong, I’ll hold your hand the entire way there.”

“Let’s get you turned over, ma’am, c’mon. There we go, you’re doing amazing.”

“Santi, she-she-“

“Papa!! Papa, please help her, I love her! Tio Santi, do something!!”

“Merde, that’s so much blood, Frankie you’ve gotta focus, you’ve gotta calm her down. Get her home safe, to your mother’s, somewhere safe.”

“Will!! They got her, call Morgan! She went missing the second things got crazy.”

“Has anyone seen Benny?”

“They’re transporting her now, rushing her to surgery the second the get there.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood, any donations with the same blood type would be appreciated. Who here is a positive?”

“Sweet girl, please, you’ve got to pull through, I know you can do it. You’re so strong.”

“No response, it’s been how many days now?”

“She’s being rushed into another surgery, she keeps clotting. They can’t figure out why.”

“Fransico Morales? You’re next of kin?”

“No, no, but we’re all she has. Her family is flying out, they’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Taylor, take a moment, it’s…it’s a lot to take in.”

“Daddy, why is tia all tangled in those machines, she’s going to be okay, right?”

“This is my son, he wanted to come and cheer her up because she always did the same for him when he was sick.”

“Please, mi amor, please, you have to make it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Fractered memories played over each other, words echoing and bouncing off of each other through the fog that was all you knew. You couldn’t feel anything, all of your senses stripped away, and you were nothing more than a half-conscious mind tunneling in and out of suspended darkness.

Beeping, an even beeping was the only steady thing you could make out. Sense of environment completely gone and sense of awareness slowly trickling in. Your eyes hurt as you slowly blinked them open, the faint lights around you too bright and you clenched them shut with a huff that pulled at your lungs. The stillness of where you were was shattered as the clattering of a chair sounded, followed by a pair of hands tightening around yours that were settled over your middle. A hushed order to go fetch someone and then a deep voice was rumbling close. You turned your head toward the presence hovering close to your left side, drawn to whoever it was.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, sweet girl.”

A grunt sounded from deep in your chest as you tried to open your mouth and respond. Then a gasp when pain reverberated from the same spot. You tried to shift your legs, hips feeling oddly numb but you couldn’t quite feel them. It was as if they were asleep, but… you cracked your eyes open a second time, squinting down the length of the bed you were in. Your legs were there, obvious underneath the thin, knit, scratchy blankets that only a hospital possessed. You tried to shift again, but even your hips didn’t feel like a part of your body. Your eyes flew open completely, tearing up at the brightness of the room.

Shuddering breaths pulled deep hurt, but you tried to shift again and again but there was no movement underneath the blanket. None.

“Okay, alright, querida, please. Take a deep breath, it’s-it’s gonna be okay.” Frankie. It had been Frankie speaking to you, close to you. His hands reached out for your own, where you had pried them from him to try and prop yourself up, wires and tubes pulling, clattering against each other and making your head swim. “The doctors-“

“I know this must be quite a shock, but it’s good that you’re awake!” A white coat, thrown over a modest skirt and blouse, blonde hair. A kind face, pinched. A furrowed brow. Bad news on the tip of her tongue.

You tried to speak, demand why you couldn’t feel anything below your waist. But you could only croak out the faintest notions of words. Everything was a blur, the hospital room you were in a mess of blue and white, the beeping of machines hurting your ears. Nothing made any sense, confusion coloring every thought as to how you got here and why.

“Let’s get you some water and food first, your body is pretty weak right now. Can I get a level two meal delivered to room thirteen eighty-nine, please?” She turned to address someone who had been hidden behind her, a nurse in teal scrubs.

“Tell me.” You managed to croak out, eyes fixated on her pinched ones.

“I would really prefer to get you a little acclimated.”

“No.”

Her eyes flickered toward Frankie, as if in a silent plea to get him to calm you down and put you at ease however little he could manage. But you ignored the warm weight of his hand on your shoulder, eyes trained on the doctor in front of you as you tried to find more strength to speak around the dry cotton feel of your mouth, the panging hunger that was present in your stomach, the lack of control over your body.

She sighed, arms holding the clipboard in front her in an imitation of a fig leave over her hips.

“We had you in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. I’m not sure all of what you remember, the brain is fickle that way, pushing things and events out in response to trauma.” She didn’t look from you as the sound of fast steps approached the door, nor when a large figure moved passed her and came straight to your right side. It was Taylor. Both of the most important men in your life on your sides. He was quiet, but you could see the evidence of tears in the puffiness of his eyes, the lack of a smile on his face as he hovered close.

“You were hit in the sacrum and coccyx region, paralyzing you from the waist down. We performed three surgeries to remove the bullet shards and repair as much of the damage as possible. Your blood flow and reflex reactions have improved but we had no way of knowing if anything truly worked until you woke. A week has passed since we stopped inducing you, we were beginning to think you might not wake up.”

The rest of the conversation was a blur, medical terms floating heavy in the air of the room. Daunting, terrifying, life altering. You didn’t think you could handle another life altering event of this caliber. But it didn’t look like you had to traverse it alone. You teared up once the doctor left the room, offering to come back and talk to you once visiting hours were over, though she had mildly glared at both men as she said it. But knowing them both, they had been alternating staying the night to watch over you past the set hours that allowed for them to be present.

You had two wonderful men who were willing to do anything for you, one with a friend group who would follow his lead and the other who had given you so much already. You hoped it wouldn’t be too much, taking what they were willing to give.

“It’s a lot,” Taylor’s voice broke, his words spoken through eyes glittering with tears. His hands tight around yours as he leaned his forehead against yours, completely in your personal space. “But we’ve done somethin’ like this before and we can do it again. We can do it again.”

You could only nod, throat and voice still weak from weeks of disuse.

He walked closer to the side of the bed, the man’s large build shadowing over you in the dimmer setting of the lights you had requested. The full effect of them too bright for you eyes after being unconscious for so long. You reached out to him, urging him to sit atop it as best he could as you all but threw yourself at him. He let you, aware of Frankie standing close to the other side, eyes watering as he heard the cries that began to bubble up from you.

“I-I-“

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re both here.” Taylor murmured, as he wrapped his own arms around you to pull you close. He smelled like your apartment, a mix of faint buttercream and the rose perfume you favored all rolled into one comforting scent. His own masked by the time he had been in town. “Alfred was here too, but he had to be taken back for school. He sat with you every day for that first week and read to you. He was so worried about you, mami. He kept talking with you like he always does, hoping you would wake up and respond.”

Frankie excused himself, his phone beeping in his pocket and the sound of you crying too much for him to handle all at once. You watched him leave the room, his shadow visible through the blinds in the window looking into the room as he paced up and down the hallway just outside. His voice a low murmur as he spoke with whoever had been trying to contact him.

“I didn’t mean to scare him…or you. I’m so sorry, that call – it must’ve been so terrifying.” You hiccupped into his chest, unable to stop the tears and emotions from flowing all at once, overwhelmed and completely at a loss of how to respond to anything at the moment.

Hushed words eradicated any ill thoughts you were having of yourself, comforting in their genuine indication. He assured you he had been able to handle it, that he was able to handle the hard things that came along with being bonded with someone for life, for knowing someone for so long. For having already done something similar before. But yeah, that it had been scary but Frankie had been as detailed and direct as he needed to be, levelheaded in his description of what had happened and what immediately happened afterwards.

Frankie came up to you both as he entered back into the room, a hand on both your shoulders to get your equal attention. You looked up at him with watery eyes, feeling so proud of how everyone was trying to keep it together for you but guilty at the same time since it had been something they had been dealing with for weeks now.

“That was the airline, they need someone to come in and take over a few tours for double pay. I wouldn’t normally turn them down and I will if you need me here. You’re awake now and I want to be here with you.”

“Y-you should go, if you want to, if you need to.” Scratchy words spoken with what little conviction you could muster. He was conflicted, worried about making the wrong decision.

“You need me here.” He didn’t argue so much as read the thoughts in your mind as clearly as if you had displayed for him to see. “You want me here.”

“Yes, but….money is money, Frankie. For your house, for your daughter, for everything. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I’m gonna run and get a coffee before you head out, I’ll stay the night, okay?” Taylor announced before he pressed a kiss to your temple and stood. Leaving you and Frankie truly alone for the first time since you woke up. You reached out to the man, gripping his open flannel shirt and lightly pulling him toward you. But he didn’t budge, his feet stable on the ground and his back not leaning to meet you. He wasn’t looking quite at you, but just beyond you. His eyes a little distant.

“I’m sorry.” Pulling your hands back to rest in your lap, you began to twiddle your fingers, unsure of what to do, unsure of why he was acting so weird and distant. Maybe he was just exhausted, mentally wiped out from waiting and waiting for you to wake up. Maybe…he was rethinking everything he’s once promised you…

“Hey, no, you don’t have to be sorry.” His eyes caught your own, his hands reaching out to hold your own as he kneeled down to be at your eye level. Emotions you couldn’t read swirling behind them. “I just- It’s just… you’re awake. And I’m so scared I’m going to open my eyes or wake up and you’ll still be unconscious…or passed.”

“I am awake.” You insisted, worried about this being an elaborate dream all the same. Some made up fantasy your brain concocted in its last moments and none of it was real, that you weren’t real anymore.

“I want to stay,” He pleaded with you, desperate for you to understand how hard it is for him to make the decision to leave, to heed the call of an entire week’s worth of pay in just a few days. But he had a plan and he had to stick with it, it would be for the best in the long run.

“C-can you stay tomorrow?”

“Of course, sweet girl. I promise. I just- this is important. For the both of us. I swear.”

“I believe you, Frankie. I love you.” You lifted your intertwined hands and kissed his knuckles. He repeated the words before he shrugged his jacket on and bid you goodnight. He didn’t kiss you back, instead squeezing your hands twice in farewell.

“Hermosa, I-I just-“ Frankie hung his head, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees the next evening.

He had gone home to change and get a little sleep after a hectic two days of back to back tours. A touch restful now that he knew you were awake, but still fleeting. His thoughts had been a jumble as his mind flashed your unconscious form across the backs of his eyelids. Bleeding, hyperventilating, being rushed into emergency surgery not once but three times. Of you completely still save for the slight rise and fall of your chest laid out in the hospital bed. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or diminish anything but- just thank you.”

“You saved her, at such a great risk to yourself. But you did, you saved my little girl when I couldn’t. I have endless love and admiration for you, querida. Please, I am here for you. I will help you with whatever you need or want. And not just because of this, but…but until you don’t want that anymore. You’ve got me, sweet girl. I promise.”

The conviction in his tone was strong despite the way his words were pushed out with deep breaths, trying to keep his composure. His shoulders were quaking with the effort he was holding back another wave of tears. Too many emotions for him to handle since the second you had rushed in front of that gun aimed at his daughter.

“Come here,” You softly compelled him, trying to shuffle atop the bed. Feeling still numb below the tops of your thighs, only some control over your legs that you were trying not to dissect. Going over your charts and test results had helped a little, compartmentalizing that it was happening to you and mind working to help solve and reason the things you read as if it was a patient of your own. Work. And a lot of it was ahead of you.

Frankie shuffled up and out of his shoes, choosing to urge you forward softly so he could be the one resting against the back of the angled bed. He helped to situate you against his chest, his arms coming around you in a warm embrace, the smell of his cologne and body wash puffing up and surrounding you in a comforting way. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head, nose shuffling in your hair and making you sigh out at the human contact.

“I would do it again, in a heartbeat. Even knowing what would happen.”

“Te amo. Te tango mucho amor ti, querida.” He whispered hoarsely in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. All you could do was repeat the words to him, meaning them with everything in your very being. Bringing his hands up to rest over your heart, palms flat over your chest, you both just laid there soaking up each other’s company.

His thoughts took over as you felt your breathing even, reaching over to silence the television that had been playing quietly in the corner where it was installed high on the wall.

‘Everything was so loud, a cacophony of too sharp frequencies grating on his ears as he watched the way your body fell to the ground. The man with the gun fleeing from the scene as soon as the gun had fired, steps heavy as he ran as fast as he could. Pope taking off immediately after him, his own gun pulled from the holster attached to his belt. Permission to carry it around off the clock from one of the local military bases where he worked as a freelance advisor.

Frankie was rushing too, toward you. Toward his daughter. Toward you both. There was a pool of blood forming beneath you, having twisted yourself to prevent from falling on top of Alexia’s smaller frame. She was kneeling beside you, tears running down her cheeks as you reached up to cup her face. A pinched expression on your features and blood blooming dark low on your front. His little girl turned to him as he crashed to his knees behind her and brought her in a crushing embrace to his chest, hearing the hum of the crowd that had begun to form all around.

Shouts to call 911 and responses that more than one person was already speaking with officers, telling them of what had just happened.

She begged him to help you.

She begged him to save you.

Shouting at him in her small voice that she loved you and she knew he loved you too.

She buried her face in his chest as he leaned forward to try and get your eyes to focus on him, but you were barely able to keep them open. Lashes fluttering as your breath became labored. He was speaking, words falling from him as he fell back on years of training. Pinging questions off one after the other, getting no response from you for even one. Unresponsive in the worst way, body completely laid out before him and eyes now completely closed. You could’ve been sleeping, as you were still for a fleeting moment.

But then you started to convulse, body fighting against the bullets that had landed deep in your body. He tried to tilt your head toward him, to avoid you biting on your tongue or choking on your own breath.

A new set of hands was taking over, gently ushering him away as paramedics appeared on the scene.

He could only hold tight to his sobbing daughter as he watched the two technicians tend to you. Your chest ceasing heaving at an alarming rate, your breath almost rattling as your lungs desperately tried to keep working.

Blinking rapidly, Frankie focused his eyes on his hands curled over the controls in front of him. He was flying, the landscape of the city and surrounding greenery, the ocean all laid out before him. He was okay, you were okay. Alexia was okay.

He was at work. He was okay.

His fingers twitched at the clueless ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ of the tourists clamoring for views outside the windows. Their voices coming in clear through the headsets they wore to match his own. Completely in their own world and no problems plaguing them. Carefree.

He was at work. He wasn’t okay.

He should’ve stayed with you.

He should’ve turned down the offer.

But he had run at the first opportunity. Unable to stop the events from replaying in his mind on a loop.

Preventing him from sleeping, preventing him from being able to look at you half the time. Seeing you as you had looked right after the attack, seeing you as they rushed you onto the ambulance, seeing you as your chest went completely still once loaded up. The way your body didn’t respond to the attempts of resuscitation.

Mind torturing him by projecting you laid out in an open coffin. Copper hair resting around your lifeless frame, beautiful face covered in the wrong shade of makeup, hiding the freckles that dotted your face from him. Forever closed eyelids hiding your bright eyes from him. Black dress hiding your soft skin from his twitching fingers, itching to trace the delicate ink that decorated your skin. A masterpiece taken from him in a cruel twist of fate.

Shaking his head minutely, he shoved the fake notions out of his head and pivoted the helicopter toward the coast. Following and announcing the route for the tour that the people sat behind him had requested.

He was at work and he didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. But he would try for you, because you were awake and waiting for him to return to you.

He pulled his sunglasses from where the frames were hanging from his collar and covered his reddening eyes.’

“Come on, two more steps and we’re home free.” The physical therapist was encouraging in the most grating of ways. Your normally polite and civil personality being shattered by the turn of events your life had taken. It was a lot of work now, but it had been a lot of work to initially discover that you had only minimal feeling and control over your lower half. Hips sore no matter how much medicine was added to your IV, legs numb and unresponsive more often than not.

But that didn’t stop the doctor from putting you on a physical therapy track of two appointments per week. Something you had thought was a lot right off the bat but not wanting to argue. Just as angered by the quick pace as you were determined to stick to it. It was the second week since waking up, discharge looming like a storm over the horizon, visible but not yet tangible.

There had been talk about Taylor renting a home to move into for the duration of your recovery. His son being taken care of by his co-parent back home with school having started. But Frankie had offered up his own home, a flush to his caramel skin as he did so. Not having wanted to ask you to move in under such dire circumstances. But he would be lying if he said the thought of offering you a space in his home hadn’t been on his mind lately.

Taylor had offered to split his time between Frankie’s and the apartment above the shop. An outpouring of love from the community delivered to the shop and hospital in overwhelmingly equal parts. Baskets of treats, flowers, cards, vouchers for services from all around the city and local vendors. Everything was being toted back between the two spaces that were now yours.

Lex indulging in the treats as she sat with you in the afternoons after school. Homework laid out before her atop the bed as you helped her with her math and writing. Different people picking her up while Frankie returned to work, determined to put in as many hours before he took two whole weeks off to help you transition to being home once you were discharged.

But right now, you were stood on shaking legs, arms braced heavily on the bars on either side of you as you stood between the set up of the parallel bars. Sweat dripping from your hair thrown up in a haphazard bun, skin sallow from the medication you were on a strict rotation of. You had forgone shoes, insistent that you wanted to be able to feel anything should it come back to you while practicing.

Your arms were shaking, holding up the entirety of your body weight on them, muscles straining and tattoos looking distorted with the flex of them. With a huff, you shifted your hips, right leg lifting slightly and managed to shuffle it about a foot before placing your foot down flat and tipping forward to even your weight with the new stance.

“Alright, you did it!” The nurse was a kindly young man, his arms hovering behind you as he waited for you to tap out. But you sucked in a deep breath and concentrated. Shifting your left foot ahead in the same manner before a spike of pain shot up from the arch of it as you settled it flat on the mat.

“Fuck! Okay, okay, I’m out. That’s all I got.” You wavered, arms shaking and legs beginning to tingle where you could feel them.

“That’s okay, you did good today. Four steps is progress.” The nurse helped you, gathering your form in his arms and lifting to get the pressure off your aching shoulders.

Santi was in the room when you were wheeled back, no sign of Taylor or Frankie. He informed you that they were both taking care of something for you which made you feel a little uneasy that they hadn’t told you themselves the night before that they wouldn’t be in to see you today. The nurse let the man take over with helping you get back into the bed, knowing you’d rather it be someone who you knew handling you for something a little more intimate of a move.

The man’s broad shoulders tensed as he supported your nearly dead weight, completely at a loss of energy from the days activities.

“Did they say where they were going?” You inquired, voice soft as you nuzzled your face into the man’s neck. He smelled so good and you were just in a very physically affectionate mood in wake of not getting any direct attention from Frankie in the way you were too hesitant to ask for.

“Mante, you know I would tell you if I knew, but they were like school boys, shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact. I’m sure it’s just a surprise for you, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

You were quiet for a moment, allowing the man to situate your aching legs as best he could and covering you up with the blankets that had been brought from your apartment. He busied himself with getting a take out bag unpacked and placing containers over the collapsable table attached to the bed for you. A cup of coffee that smelled of caramel and foamed milk pressed gently into your reaching hands. He was so diligent, the soft curls of his graying hair falling over his forehead as he focused. When everything was set up, he settled into the chair beside the bed with his own container and began to dig in.

But you were still, only a sip taken from the hot coffee handed to you.

“Santi…”

“What is it, hermosa?” He looked up from his food, utensils loaded up and a bite halfway to his lips. “I get the wrong thing?”

“No,” A small smile offered to him as your heart fluttered in your chest, unsure of how to even broach the concerns that were crashing over you in overwhelming waves. “No, this is great. Thank you.”

The man watched you, eyes scanning your face as you averted your eyes. He let out a quiet sigh and set down his utensils completely, asking you to tell him what was really on your mind.

“Frankie…he, um, he-“ You felt like a complete idiot as your face heated up, tears welling in your eyes unbidden. Foolish question, it was such a foolish thing to be worried about when the man’s words were nothing but reassuring and loving. “Why won’t he kiss me, Santi?”

“Is that what you need right now?”

You warbled out an affirmative. Feeling for all the world like a pathetic lovesick fool even surrounded by everyone who you could possibly need in your life right now, everyone working together to help you in any way possible.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

A shake of your head was all the answer you could muster up.

“He’s probably just trying to respect you, not wanting to put pressure on you to be that way with him if you’re too overwhelmed.” Santi went on to explain that his best friend had trouble with stuff like this, showing his affection and feelings in wake of traumatic events.

That you should try not to worry too much, though he knew that was easier said than done. To not take it personally, but he admitted to knowing that might be hard to do as well, everything so much at the moment. He reminded you that you could reach out to you with anything at any time. He would try his best to be there for you in any way that he could. Even jokingly offering to pepper kisses over your face and approaching you with overly pursed lips until you erupted into a laughing fit at how ridiculous he looked as he loomed closer. He sealed the conversation with a genuine press of his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hands cradling your face in their warmth before he moved back to his seat and ordered you to eat.

Across town, Taylor and Frankie had a similar conversation as a bell dinged above them where it was nestled in the doorway to a shop front. The two men determined to surprise you with something that Frankie had quietly brought up one night following your first rush into emergency surgery. An approval of sorts he had been seeking after was granted instantaneously with a smile and words of encouragement from the only other man he felt like he could share the conversation with at the moment.

“Discharge papers should be processed by end of day, looks like you’ll be spending the night in your own bed.” The doctor offered you a small smile. She had been worried about having you under her care when she found out you were a once trained medical technician, knowing how bad of a patient she was when sick herself. But you had surprised her, not talking over her or voicing opinions on what needed to be done. It had been another week, progress made in physical therapy.

You were able to walk the length of the parallel bars, slowly and with a lot of huffing and puffing. But it cleared you for outpatient treatment. The feeling in your legs was spotty, coming to you mostly in the mornings when you first woke up and at the end of the day after resting for a few hours. Something she was only mildly worried about, muscle atrophy from being unconscious for so long lingering even now.

But she had been confident that the feeling would come back completely, though she was honest when she said she was worried about numbness flaring up.

That’s how you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of Frankie’s truck as he pulled into the drive of his house. He was waiting for the garage to open, in order to make it easier for you to walk straight into the laundry room instead of having to attempt to tackle the stairs to the front door. Everyone would be over tomorrow, to celebrate your release. Giving you a free night to settle in and mentally deal with the shift in environments. Lex would be at her grandparents so Frankie could focus on getting you settled.

“One moment, just…want to get something set up before I help you out, okay?” His earnest gaze widened his beautiful eyes, watching you and making sure you were alright to be left alone for a moment. He was through the door and back in the garage in a matter of minutes, a shy smile aimed at you as he helped you down and got a walked ready for you. It had a cushioned seat in the middle, in case you needed to take any breaks when trying to move about. Something you wanted to argue but didn’t have a good one against.

You felt…weird. Having to rely on him so much, but extremely grateful that he was willing to. You’d seen friendships and relationships fall apart with this much stress and similar situations. Both as a professional and a civilian, as a friend. You only hoped this wouldn’t be one of the last things he did for you before telling you it was too much, that you were too much. Love could only encompass so much before it wasn’t enough to hold two individuals together.

Melancholic and depressive thoughts abundant as you tried to come to terms with what the near future would hold for an unknowable amount of time. There was no timeline with things like this and that’s what worried you the most. What if you had flares of numbness for the rest of your life, what if he began to see you as a burden, as work he had to come back to after doing his shifts at the mechanics and his flying tours. What if all your progress was meaningless and you woke up one day with no feeling at all?

He had hushed you on more than one occasion with soft words, promises he wouldn’t do that. Promises that he was yours, that you were his, that you were in this together. But doubt crept in regardless. Even more so in the realization that he hadn’t wanted to kiss you. He was quick to dodge your advances, placing placating touches of his lips to your hair instead; of pulling you tighter to his body instead. Almost as if he was hesitant to show you affection in that way and it was hard to handle when all you wanted was that type of comfort from the man you loved so completely.

His hands were warm as he supported your weight, but he didn’t shift you down to the ground completely, instead he pulled you flush against him. Your own arms tightened around his neck, feet barely touching the ground as he ducked his head to kiss you fully for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed. You melted into him even more, welcoming his lips against yours reverently, desperately.

The plush give of them against your own feeling like a true welcome home.

Shifting your hands up into his soft hair, you knocked the cap clear of his head as you parted your lips for him. He held you tight, not risking you putting too much weight on your own feet for even a second as he kissed you again and again, lips meeting yours in a dizzying display of his unfettered affection. Pulling at his curls, you pivoted his head to deepen another kiss, desperate for his touch and his taste. He groaned into your mouth, pulling back slightly to rest his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes slowly, watching the way his face was completely relaxed. The lines of his age smoothed out slightly as he moved to peck one last kiss to your slick lips.

He had set the table up before picking you up, at home during the day as he had received your hopeful text about the paperwork this morning. But he had run inside to pull everything from where it was keeping warm in the oven, lighting twin tapers set in the middle of the dining table. You tried to hide the squeal of surprise as he lifted you up completely, choosing to carry you bridal style over the threshold of the house and through the laundry room and into the kitchen.

“Frankie, you didn’t have to do all this.” You placed a kiss to his cheek as he carefully set you down into a chair, making sure your legs were situated how you wanted them. “I woulda been happy with a fast-food drive thru, you know that.”

“I know, but I wanted to do something special for you.” He moved over to the closest chair, settling down into it with a sigh. He looked nervous, you realized as you took in the dinner had had made before picking you up. One of your favorite dishes filling the kitchen with its tantalizing scent. The boys had snuck in food from time to time, but it had mostly been bland hospital food for a majority of the last three weeks.

Frankie cleared his throat, your eyes lifting from the items on the table and toward him.

In his hands was an emerald velvet box, open to reveal a simple gold band with a sparkling rhombus diamond in the middle.

Your lips parted, a gasp falling from them as your heart stuttered hard in your chest. Hands dropping the utensils you had just picked up clattered to the table and you stared across the table at him. At a complete loss for words as he nervously shifted in his seat and leaned closer toward you to take your hands in his own, the small box set down gently beside your plate. His hands were shaking slightly, his nerves obvious as he bared his soul to you with his next words.

“Sweet girl, I know things are going to be touch and go for a long while,” He took a deep breath, chest pulling the fabric of his shirt taut with the action. His tongue peaked between his lips, a habit you noticed when he had a lot on his mind, and he was trying to sort through everything. “But I don’t want you to worry about anything to do with us, with you and me. You have me, you have me until the moment you decide you don’t anymore. I hope you don’t ever change your mind because I’ve been gone on you since the second you aimed that glare in my direction all those months ago. Will- will you do the honor of marrying me?”

Tears welled up the longer you looked at him, his eyes so wide and open, his voice cradling you with his earnest words. All you could do was nod, voice caught in your throat.

He let out a deep exhale, pulling a giggle from you when he broke out into the widest, goofy smile you had seen on him yet. You mirrored him, lips pulling as you squeezed his hands and leaned forward to rest your forehead against them clasped together.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Fransisco. Of course.” You kissed the tops of his hands, one and then the other before you were pushing yourself up slightly, tentatively placing weight on your legs and surging forward to kiss him.

He only let you get away with one before he was standing from his seat and kneeling in front of you with the box in his hands. He carefully removed the ring from its spot nestled safely inside the velvet cushion and you held out your left hand for him. It took a second for him to place it securely on your ring finger, snug and perfect against your skin. It glittered in the candlelight and you felt a tear run down your cheek.

Frankie’s hands came up to cup your face, his lips connecting with yours as he chuckled breathlessly at having managed to pull out the surprise proposal. At your resounding yes. At the prospect of a concrete future with you.

“I love you so much, thank you for...for everything.”

“I love you too, you dork,” Your laugh sparkled against his parted lips. “I can’t believe you just thanked me for agreeing to marry you.”

“Well, you could’ve said no.”

“Not in a million years.”

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cinnamonest · 2 years

Note

more thoughts on feral animal hybrid darlings please Lena 🥺 the wild fox darling with tighnari was so cute… I was imagining a scenario with Childe or Kazuha plucking hybrid darling out of the woods to take on their travels 🫣

I love writing these man, I don't normally do fluffy cutesy things but these are so soft and good for my soul, yet the "naive and unable to fully consent/easily manipulated" part gives it just enough of a dark touch so I don't combust into flames while making it. Writing hybrid posts is like eating warm soup on a cold day, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy, maybe I do have a soul after all

I actually would like to redo the boys in the original hybrid post, the very first one I did was so short I'd like to go back and make longer entries... So I'll start maybe doing that little by little.

I did do a wild girl one for Kazuha a while back in (the last hybrid post) (love our snek girl, our nope rope, our danger noodle) but for now I am redoing Childe and adding Itto, Dainsleif and Dottore (as this was requested by an ask I answered a bit ago), and a lengthy (entirely skippable so feel free to ignore it) rambling on lore at the beginning! >:3

//Basically enslavement of creatures, trafficking mentions, very naive hybrids, also needles for Dottore's

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In terms of worldbuilding, there's varying social perceptions on owning various hybrids. People tend to be inclined to think of hybrids similarly to how they'd think of the actual animal to which they share traits with.

For example, hybrids of wild animals are thought to be best left to their own devices by most people. But due to their human features, there's a lot of debate and discourse as to whether or not they should be left alone, as some say they "belong in the wild," and that it's cruel or inhumane to take them out of their natural environments. Whereas on the other end, some would argue that it's best for them to be brought into captivity and kept as pets, seeing as it significantly increases the hybrid's lifespan due to being better protected from danger and more readily able to receive medical care.

But even for those who think they should be kept as pets, that raises the issue of how, for some of them. Some are notoriously aggressive, just like their fully inhuman counterparts. Some require very specific environments and care that is very expensive to emulate in captivity, and thus end up only being owned by wealthier individuals who like to show off owning exotic pets (unless someone who probably shouldn't have one and can't afford this special care keeps one anyway, in which case it may become a legal issue). Reptiles, for example, should only be kept in warm climates, although some resolve this by keeping their houses artificially warmed. There are large-sized red lamps available for reptilians as well.

Thus, different nations actually have different regulations on the matter. Some have laws prohibiting the ownership of certain types of hybrids that are considered to be "wild animals," deeming it akin to animal cruelty to take them out of their homes in nature. Some outlaw the ownership of hybrids deemed to be too dangerous to be kept in a human community, such as highly venomous snakes and spiders, or aggressive and strong hybrids such as bears or tigers. Several nations also outlaw the ownership of hybrids considered invasive species, who are dangerous to local wildlife, or hybrids who are simply not suited to the local climate and thus becoming deemed cruel to put them in an environment where they're miserable and uncomfortable.

Black markets still exist, though, for those people who just can't get over the thought of how neat it would be to own an "exotic" pet. Much like a normal universe with normal animals, these people tend to be young males in their teens or 20s who think it's cool or edgy since it's dangerous and illegal, and something they can show off. As you can imagine, this doesn't go over well with law enforcement. However, sometimes they then have to deal with the issue of it being harmful to the hybrid's mental health to take them away from their owner, so exceptions are made as long as they remain subject to regular check-ins... thus, illegal ownership can essentially be excused, and a lot of guys take the chance.

Hybrids, however, are held to a higher standard of care due to their human likeness. Whereas it would be considered acceptable in some climates to have an exclusively outdoor dog or cat (the actual animal, not hybrids), in most places it's illegal to leave hybrids outside for extended periods of time, especially overnight, and especially in particularly hot or cold climates. Hybrid neglect is a crime that carries high penalties, so it's very rare to see this actually occur, and is usually dealt with swiftly when concerned neighbors alert authorities.

Neglected or abused hybrids will be taken into custody of said authorities, and then placed into specifically designated shelters that re-home them, much like animals. It runs the same way it would for regular domestic pets as well -- people can come in, look around, pick one and leave, but only after signing a bunch of papers and performing background checks and the like. Hybrids can be expensive, considerably more so than pet animals. This, however, does help ensure that they go to good people who intend to take good care of them.

Obviously, due to their humanoid nature, hybrids are fetishized, lusted after and frequently taken as partners. It's not necessarily for everyone. Much like any kink or fetish, there will be some guys who are foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of it, and some guys who shrug and say they don't really see the appeal at all.

There's also an attitude held by some that it's kind of pathetic, you'll hear some guys mocking or teasing friends who have one -- couldn't get a normal girl to date you? It's viewed similarly to how a guy who isn't very successful with girls might hire escorts or buy a sex doll or the like.

The legality of hybrid partnership, however, is... messy. The argument against it is a moral issue. Sex slavery, purchasing spouses, and forced marriage are all illegal. How is purchasing a pet to be some kind of fleshlight-spouse any different? Hybrids are loyal by nature, they could also hypothetically be emotionally manipulated this way too.

Likewise, there's moral qualms about their nature as well, regarding the hybrid capacity for consent. Many hybrids are low IQ and highly manipulable and gullible in general, so some people take issue with it. That's not even taking into account the ones that can't speak, and especially the ones that can't understand human speech too.

However, due to overwhelming populace demand, it remains generally legal. In most nations, the final ruling is that partnership and physical relations are legal, but most places do not legally marry the two. Also, this is influenced by the fact that it's simply such a common and widespread thing to have hybrid partners by the era that their rights even come into question, means that outlawing it would be stripping thousands of hybrids from their owners and tearing long-lasting unions apart, which would be emotionally detrimental to the hybrids themselves. Basically, the consensus is simply: is it manipulating the hybrid's good, loyal nature and low IQ? Yes. But is it better than the emotional distress it would cause them to be removed from their owner? Also yes.

Thus, you need money and legal verification, and in many places, you need to register a hybrid for money. In some nations, it's perfectly legal to just bring in a hybrid you find out on the street and take them in, and in some nations it's not, and you need registration through local government establishments. This can also be species-dependent -- there's a pretty stark difference in how it would be seen as wholesome and kind to take in some poor dog or cat abandoned in the street, but frowned upon and potentially seen as a wrongdoing to drag in some wild creature you find on a hike.

Discourse also exists on black market exotic hybrid trappers, people who set traps to catch wild, non-domesticated hybrids that may often hurt the hybrid in the process. Traps like bear traps are gradually outlawed, so wire/rope net traps and cage traps are more common, but this still bothers a lot of people to think of the distress it causes.

Perhaps it feels a little cruel even to trappers themselves -- the poor things are obviously terrified when they come check the traps. Some are angrier, lashing out in an attempt to bite and scratch, others have a more human-like reaction, just huddling at the back of the cage or curling up in the net, sniffling and trembling with tears on their face. Usually they're scraped up or have rope burns from desperate attempts to escape, so that has to be dealt with too.

Wild hybrids don't speak, so unfortunately there's no way to communicate to them that they're not going to be killed and eaten. After a few hours, they stop crying so much, but they're still visibly afraid and make some rather pitiful noises. There's often issues with getting them to eat and drink, as they're wary of anything presented to them. Usually they simply get so hungry they're willing to eat food they're given, despite their caution, and realize it won't harm them. The general public isn't aware of how distressing this whole process is... probably for the better.

Other laws exist regarding what is cruel or humane, and the attitudes regarding this vary a lot depending on the general nation's consensus, and sometimes simply depending on who you're talking to.

Is it cruel to clip bird hybrid wings? To dock certain breeds' tails? Is it fair to require doggirls with a history of biting to be muzzled in public? If a hybrid vet isn't available, is it reasonable to take a hybrid to a human medical facility in the case of an emergency? Should it be required to keep them in portable crates on transportation such as trains? Should they have to be kept on leashes in public areas? Should venomous reptiles be allowed in public at all?

Similarly, some people have different ideas on what is appropriate regarding them depending on whether or not the individual being asked sees them as "animals with human characteristics," or "humans with animal characteristics." Every individual leans towards one view or the other. The former is more likely to see them as lessers, while the latter may question the morality of keeping them so subservient and controlled, even if they do depend on humans a lot.

Some people will also have negative perceptions of others based on what they own, and communities may set rules for specific individuals with their pets. Someone in the neighborhood thought it was a bright idea to own a raccoon girl, who has since terrorized the neighbors by sneaking out at night to rummage through trash -- and due to human weight and size, knocking plenty of bins over and all over the ground in the process. Now, although that one is permitted to stay, the local city board makes a rule against hybrids of non-domesticated animals. Similarly, even in nations where it's generally legal, specific areas with high populations of families and children may make regulations against aggressive or venomous species.

And finally, when dealing with the most intelligent of creatures, there is an issue of hybrid rights to be addressed.

Rarely, a few abnormal hybrids possess full human intellect. It's a case-by-case sort of thing, but most of the time, if they can prove this, they will eventually be granted full, normal rights. They usually prove themselves, and go on to live normal lives (some become war generals and botanists for example!). However, these are abnormalities, and hybrids are assumed to be "normal" (low intelligence) by default.

Hybrid intellect can vary greatly from one species to the next, and this has sparked a lot of discussion as to whether or not some hybrids should be regarded as deserving the same rights as a person.

At the Sumeru Akademiya in particular, there have been studies over the years that have produced a citable average IQ for different species, as well as other matters related to intellect and stability. They test things like short term memory, ability to solve different puzzles of different difficulty levels, ability to follow logical thought processes, and so on. They also test for dependency, trying to determine to what degree the hybrid depends on the owner to go about its daily life.

The speech capacity is obviously dependent on exposure -- wild animals have no speech capacity, dogs and cats can usually speak fluently, and others like cows and goats, as well as street-dwellers like raccoons or rats, etc have moderate speech capacities. Wild animals can be captured and taught to some extent, but it works similar to real-life cases of feral humans: their brains are fully developed and no longer have the elasticity to fully master language, so at most, they will learn some words and phrases, but never speak in full capacity. A lot of such hybrids may learn words like their master's name, words like "hungry" or "water" or "sleepy" to indicate their needs, names of others, times of day, a few common sentences, and other words like "yes/no", "please," "sorry," etc. They also will often pick up on the name assigned to them, but have a pattern of referring to themselves in third person using this name, rather than the use of "I."

Cats, for example, are very high on the list. Foxes and dogs were slightly below them, but still rather high. Dogs in particular showed high levels of dependency -- despite being rather intelligent, they often would interrupt the observing researchers performing the test to ask when they could go home, see their master and so on.

Bovines, sheep and pigs, however, are significantly lower, as were small mammal species. These were found to be incapable of solving complex puzzles, took more time to solve simple ones, struggled with short term memory, and many showed signs of high levels of distress as soon as they were taken to a separate room where they couldn't see their owner (who was watching, they allowed that, through one of those one-way glass panels on the side). The results for those were actually partially inconclusive, because they quickly learned that hybrids of these types would quickly become overwhelmed and confused by the task or puzzle before them and would start to whimper and tear up, shaking their heads and squeezing their eyes shut and stubbornly nn-mm!-ing when prompted to continue, refusing to carry on anymore and, thus proving the dependency aspect, start crying for their masters. They weren't so cruel as to deny them that, so they allowed them to quit early and be returned to the comfort of the familiarity of their owners -- to whom they would usually scamper over to as fast as possible.

On the bright side, the intelligent ones very quickly were able to, and all of them eventually able to, successfully complete the "put the shaped wooden blocks through the correct shape hole" test, which was the most basic one. However, the issues began when they reached numerical problems -- "if you have five and give two away, how many do you have left?" was mostly answered right (they were allowed to use their fingers to figure it out, which helped), but multiplication and division based problems were when some subspecies really began to struggle.

This leaves a bit of an ethical dilemma. The intellect varies so much that it seems unsafe to give the less intelligent ones rights, for the sake of their own well-being, whereas for more intelligent ones it seems cruel to deny them rights. And then the question becomes, where should the line be drawn?

The ultimate decision is that, for the sake of the more vulnerable ones, it's for the best to just make a sweeping judgement for their safety, even if it mean subjecting intelligent hybrids to subservience. So outside of the exceptions of highly intelligent individuals, the average species intelligence doesn't really matter, they'll just be subject to ownership anyway.

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Childe - beargirl

Whenever Ajax makes a trip back home, people often ask him to do all sorts of stuff. Can he fix this or that, fight off these bandits that are harassing a housing cluster, so on and so on. He was always running around doing tasks for locals in his tween years, and it just kind of stuck. Plus, due to being strong, a lot of the elderly in particular ask him out to help them with this or that.

Maybe it makes him feel a little used sometimes, but he likes to help, even if the matter is trivial.

On this most recent venture, according to the neighbors that approach him as soon as he sets foot in his hometown (after at least a brief hello how are you sort of thing, so they have some semblance of politeness), the matter is supposedly a menace of an animal stealing large amounts of fish out of fishery storages. Fishermen come in with their nets, dump a large amount into a vat, leave to get the next batch... only recently, to come back to a near-empty storage unit. Whatever it is, it's eating enough fish to feed an entire family.

But are you to be blamed? They're the ones dumb enough to just leave it all sitting there, unguarded, so you think. If they didn't want their fish eaten, they shouldn't have left it so easy to access. And if the humans really needed it, they would guard it better, so they must not really need it. And you leave some for them, too, you only eat a little over half to make sure they still have enough for themselves.

You still memorize their schedule, though, preferring to avoid direct confrontation, making sure you know around what time they'll be gone so you can come in undetected. Thus, it catches you off-guard when a human nonetheless enters the storage unit as you're chomping down mid-meal.

There's a few moments of quiet that pass as you both look each other up and down. You stare up at him. He looks down at you, where you sit on the ground, half a fish sticking out of your mouth. Round ears, a short little stump of a tail. You make a rough throaty noise.

It's adorable. Granted, this man would probably be able to pet an actual bear without a modicum of fear, but especially seeing as you're human-sized, it's even cuter. After a brief moment of wide-eyed surprise, you see a smirk of amusement form on his face.

It feels mocking. You glare. Your eyebrows furrow and your nose scrunches up, you stomp your way to stand up on your hind legs (or, as humans call them... legs), stretch your arms out for maximum intimidation, and ferociously growl.

He... puts his hand over his mouth, chortling, barely holding back laughter. You don't understand it, but he says something to you, before reaching out, patting the palm of his hand to the top of your head.

Your face suddenly feels very hot. That growl scares off all the small animals! Why is the human not afraid? You will be forced to engage in aggression to get him to go away, lest he try to steal from you. Summoning you maximum strength, growling still, you stomp forward, swinging your hand to thwack him in the side of the head.

But he catches your hand. Hold you firmly, shoves you down. You struggle against the human, but in a few seconds flat, he has you pinned to the ground, growling and snarling at him. A very strong human indeed. It does frighten you, but you're fairly certain humans don't eat creatures like yourself, right? You struggle and you squirm, you writhe and thrash, but soon the human has you all bound up, slinging you up over his shoulder and carrying you off as you growl and huff, a smile on his face. At least that's that taken care of. Who would have thought he'd get so lucky?

The problem is taken care of, sure, but if he just put you out in the woods, you'd just come right back. Normally, this would pose a very difficult-to-solve problem, but as he carries you back to the edge of the forest, he starts to think about this issue, and comes up with an alternate solution. Why not just... keep you? Yeah, that seems like a good idea. Why not? You're so cute, you'll make a great pet!

Of course, he knows people won't really take well to the thought of him keeping a whole bear. Some people will question the morality of the harbinger's actions. It's a wild animal, after all, is it really okay for him to take you away from your natural habitat like this?

However, the vast majority are more concerned with it being... you know, aggressive, strong, incapable of understanding speech, prone to biting and hitting, unfamiliar with human norms and unadjusted to society. But hey, none of that really matters when you have authority to get whatever unreasonable thing you want!

Similarly, some would argue that taking hybrids out of natural environments is unethical when you can't provide them with the food, environment, or temperature they need... but that's not really a problem when you're a high-status, high-power individual who can force a bunch of other people who have no other choice to inconvenience themselves so that you can provide for those needs. He sees no issue there, you can easily have you needs met.

But just look at you, where he has you set on the ground now all tied up, shuffling over to him and viciously gnawing his ankle (unaware you're biting into a boot and not flesh, but making a valiant effort to bite the limb off nonetheless). So cute. How could he just let you go? No, he can work this out. He sets aside the next few hours to go the specifics of his intentions with the first subordinates he comes across, the ones that accompanied him back here. Watching as their eyes go wide, a very uncomfortable look on their faces as they glance over at the growling creature he has in his arms, leaning back to avoid how you chomp your jaws down, craning your neck forward in an attempt to bite them.

One of them is daring enough to voice the obvious concern -- sir, maybe it would be best to let this one go and get something less... wild... and dangerous...?

Huh? Dangerous? Nah, she's just play-biting. She won't hurt anybody, see? He sits you upright, sits behind you, squishes your face in his hands. She's a softie, she's not really mean. You snarl and attempt to bite his hands as he speaks.

Besides, he adds, you'll live a much better life in captivity! You'll be happier and healthier. He's doing a good thing, really, an act of goodwill and compassion for this poor, poor creature. So, while he finishes up all the things he needed to get done on this trip home, he has them go ahead and carry you back to the lodgings to be taken onto the ship when he leaves tomorrow... you do bite directly into a subordinate's ear on the trip. Poor guy ends up with a permanent scar from the whole thing, but at least they got you to un-latch your jaw after several minutes of the guy screaming while they tried to pry your mouth open.

As it turns out, he was right, you're really no trouble at all to have, and keeping you here is a delight! At least, that's what Ajax himself says. The subordinates are less inclined to agree, but they do so verbally, at least.

You have to try to wear the clothes. You don't like them, sure, but it's kind of necessary. Have to start small and gradually make progress, buying a bulk of plain large shirts, gradually training you to not rip them apart via treat rewards for not doing so.

You eat a lot. Like, a lot. He's lucky to be so high in rank, or the Fatui would never agree to cover the costs of your eating needs. It's baffling. If you paid attention to your surroundings (you don't, but just if you did), you would often see the underlings watching you from a distance as you eat with some mix of surprise, bewilderment, and borderline horror as you consume ungodly amounts of food in a matter of seconds.

They have to go to the markets and purchase large amounts of imported fish -- specifically those, as you turn your nose up at local species. It has to be the fish you're familiar with, and yes, you can tell the difference, and yes, you will get angry and violent if you are presented with fish you do not like. You initially turn your nose up to cooked meats too, so they have to go out of their way to procure high quality raw fish and meat. Over time, they manage to get you conditioned and willing to eat cooked fish, so that's at least one small victory for them.

The most desired of treats, however, is raw honeycomb -- made the mistake of giving it to you once, and now you get grouchy when you can't have any, pawing and kneading at your master until you get some (or rather, until subordinates get you some). No, bottled honey is not good and you refuse to eat it, so they quickly discover. Has to have the comb and everything. This is rather expensive to buy, but you know, they have the funds, and if this is what they're commanded to spend it on, so be it... although they do get some odd looks from the poor market vendor when a bunch of guys in recognizable Fatui garb come to purchase everything last piece to be sold. And, of course, someone has to come after you to wipe the floor up after you inevitably spill some on the ground too... calling you a messy eater would be an understatement.

Also, they go to some rather insane extents to keep you cool. They managed to locate a lower rank grunt with a cryo vision, who has now, as per the title given to him by the other grunts who have all sort of group-bully the poor thing about it, become the unfortunate 'bear-sitter' for the harbinger. His job is quite literally to chill down your environment. They've brought in tub-sized containers of water, had them frozen, gotten someone else to crush it up with a hammer and let you -- with a very content expression, seemingly pleased -- rest in it until it melted, and repeated the process. This is not exactly how the poor guy expected the Fatui to make use of his vision, but hey, he's getting paid... at least that what he tells himself.

You're also, ah, kind of aggressive, especially if displeased by being too hot or lack of proper food. They sort of stiffen if they see your presence nearby. Despite being roughly human-sized, you have a lot of strength in those arms, and a good swat to the head will send someone straight into unconsciousness. You are, unfortunately, very aware of your strength, and have no reservations with using it at the slightest of inconveniences or irritation. This has led to a variety of various blunt-force injuries for various underlings. Ajax promises you're getting better with time, and besides, it's just minor stuff that'll heal with time.

However, despite your frequent aggresion, you're not at all unhappy. Sure, sometimes it gets uncomfortably warm, but other than that, you're living like a king!

You have no idea what's going on, but you've accepted it by now.

The humans bring you tray after tray of fish, and you get to lay around all day. Why do they serve you this way? You have no clue. But you're not complaining. Why were you brought out of the wild, why do you sleep in a human bed, what is the point of all these various noises the humans are constantly making with their mouths to each other? Who knows. None of it really matters anyway. You were very oppositional at first, attacked everyone who came near and refused to comply, but you've learned very quickly that this is a major improvement from sleeping outside in caves, drinking river water, having to worry about hunting for yourself. And the many masked humans are the ones serving you, so you have decided that for now, you will spare them, although you may reconsider eating them at a later date.

All you have to do is keep the clothes on your body and not wander off too far from the loud ginger human that brought you here, and as long as you do those things, everything remains tranquil and pleasing to you.

Said human, the one that found you and keeps you by his side, he is very strong. Coming across a human stronger than you was quite shocking, and you have some respect for it. It's why he's the one you don't attack, that you don't bite... at least eventually. You tried to bite him often at first, but he always grabs your jaw and forces it shut, holds your arms still so you can't swat him. No, bad. Bad girl, stop that. Over time, you learn these words mean to cease the behavior, and although you do not like being told what to do, you have little choice. For starters, the human is strong enough to restrain you, and secondly, if you continuously misbehave, he puts you into a large crate for an extended period of time with no snacks and no entertainment. This does give strong incentive to refrain from these behaviors, and you are given toys to chew on anyway, so you just bite those and pretend they are the humans.

But over time, you grow to have a sort of reverence for such strength, so you no longer want to attack him anyway.

More importantly, that means surely, this human is fit to protect you and any potential offspring. If you had to procreate with a human, this one would produce strong cubs. Your brain tells you that strength is good and that this human should be mated with. So for now, you decide to stay by his side and not hurt him.

Unless you're attacking him, though, you can do no wrong. He plays off everything you do like it's no big deal, like it's cute. Oh, you just slammed someone in the side of the head and knocked them out? Aw, someone's grumpy. You snatched some poor grunt's meal right out of his hand and ate it? Well, she can't help being hungry! You end up terrorizing, bullying, and attempt to eat that sheep hybrid that lives here too on a daily basis? Well he should keep a better eye on her, mine's just following instincts.

And then there was that time you quite literally bit a man's finger off, and it had to be reattached -- but not after quite the struggle getting you to give it up, but he was nice about that too. Come on, be good, spit it out. You eventually complied with this request, seeing as you had no way to explain that the human in question had been annoying you, so you supposed you'd be the better person here and give him the appendage back even if such graciousness is undeserved.

Said underlings still attempt to occasionally protest the whole thing. Couldn't he have picked, you know, maybe a normal one? Like... a dog? A cat? A rabbit? Something that only needs light maintenance and doesn't regularly gives people concussions?

Nah. He would hold your face from behind as if to display you, squishing your cheeks and saying something about how cute you are. So cute! She won't hurt anyone, see? You make a low rumbling noise in your throat, intensely glaring at the onlooker, who then by that point usually has taken a few steps back and is quickly trying to exit the conversation. Seeing that narrow-eyed look on your face, the way you bare those pointed teeth when you growl... it shuts down anyone trying to object to him having you pretty quickly.

In truth, he's aware of the effect, even if he pretends to be blissfully ignorant to why they suddenly scurry off. He finds people protesting your presence very annoying, so he has no qualms about scaring them away.

He's not lying when he calls it cute, though. Your growling and aggression is cute to him, in his own morbid little way.

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Dainsleif - Doggirl

Dainsleif has actually considered dog hybrid ownership on more than one occasion. It's more of a passing thought, though, the sort of what-if thought all people have every now and then, briefly imagining the possibility in his head. But he has no intention to ever actually go through with such a thing, no, it would be far too impractical for his circumstances, and unfair to the creature in question. It's just a pleasant concept, but not realistic.

Or maybe he could get an actual dog. Like, an animal, nothing humanoid about it, no having to deal with the awkwardness of the raised-eyebrow look of judgement and suspicion he knows he'd get from the sellers if he got a hybrid one. Single adult man with obvious distaste for interaction, purchasing a hybrid of all things... they'd think it was for nefarious purposes.

But he's certainly heavily considered the idea. He could get one of those big hunting dog types. Granted, an actual animal would work, but it would be kind of nice to have something that could communicate back to him.

It would be useful for his somewhat nomadic, quest-driven lifestyle. He can't always afford the time to stop in cities and the like, but he's not the most skilled hunter out there. Having a dog that could sniff out and even chase down small animals, and hear upcoming enemies from a distance, would be very useful.

But it's just a thought he's entertained a few times. Not something he actually wants enough to act upon. It would be a hassle, you know? So while he's mulled over it a bit, it never goes beyond abstract thoughts, never into anything serious.

Instead, you sort of come to him.

Not that he's doing anything out of the ordinary to invoke your presence, no. Just traveling as usual, exploring a rural area on the outskirts of a more urban one, with the occasional homestead dotted here or there. A voice calls out of nowhere -- wait, wait! When he turns to face the source of the sound, he can see you from a distance, running up to him, clearly intending to approach him for some reason. He pauses, waits for you to come up.

You seem to be one of those little... yappy dogs.

See, much like with animals in general, for various dog hybrids, the personality and breed are correlated. You're one of those tiny fluffy dogs, where the actual dog you share half your DNA with would fit in a handbag or the like. Those breeds that are made solely for the purpose of being luxury pets with poor athletic and endurance abilities. Your tail is shaped like a pom-pom, more fluff than tail itself. Your ears are disproportionately huge to your head, and equally covered in silky fluff. They bounce with each little step you take as you run up to him, eyes tearful and voice strained with panic. He's the first person to have come by in some time, and likely no one else to help will come by any time soon, so you force yourself to be brave and implore for help from this man, even though he is quite scary-looking.

My master is sick.

Your ears flatten to your head. He has to refrain from sighing... he can't afford to be using up valuable time like this, you probably just need to go into town and get a doctor. Still, he can't bring himself to ignore you or refuse to help.

He does try, though. He opens his mouth and is just about to try and say that you need to go into town and get an actual doctor, and that he has places to be, but... then he looks you in the eye, sees your watery eyes and trembling lip and you look so scared and pitiful and... ugh. Curse him for having a soft side. Fine. He takes a deep breath, asks you to take him in and he'll try his best to help you.

Thankfully, the reality of the situation doesn't hit him all at once and thereby catch him off-guard -- no, the moment you open the door into the main room, the smell that hits him is putrid enough that he's prepared for what he knows he's about to see when you pull the bedroom curtain back. Yeah... ugh, the body is at least several days old. He feels a twinge of pity looking around the room, several cups of water and the like that you, in your confusion and concern, have brought over.

...You don't understand. You're looking up at him like you're waiting for him to do something to help. Your cognitive capacity isn't deep enough to grasp what's happening. Great... this is a very unpleasant situation to be stuck in.

He explains it to you slowly, but it dawns on you what he's leading up to as he's trying to explain. Your eyes water up. No! He's fine, he's just sick... he was sick and coughing until a few days ago...

He stays for a few hours. You keep trying to desperately nudge the body, now distraught and whimpering. He can't bring himself to just up and leave, so he watches as you do so, repetitively insisting the man is fine, until finally, after a few hours, you lower down onto the ground, pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, and bury your face into your arms, shivering and sniffling, ears flattened to your head.

He can be cold, but he's not heartless. He feels a lot of pity, watching you as you accept the matter. What is he supposed to do now? He can't just leave you here, not in good conscience... you'll probably die on your own.

He's quiet for a long time, deep in thought. It's well into the evening when he finally speaks again.

You can't stay here. I'll take you somewhere safe.

You refuse, shaking your head. He has to reason with you. Tell you that you'll be all alone, that you'll be in danger of attackers and predators, that you're going to starve or get sick. Eventually, after a lot of trying to get through to you, you reluctantly agree.

Well, that's good. It won't be a big deal, he thinks to himself. He can just... take you to the nearest town, drop you off at a shelter. You'll be much better off than you would be left alone here. You're not made for hunting or anything, you'll certainly starve to death or worse if he were to let you stay by yourself. He's doing a good thing. It won't be much time at all. You'll be taken care of, and in fact, giving you up to a shelter is probably even better than the life you were living out here. He can't help but wonder why some old man had you out here, living alone... ugh.

In the morning, he sets off, letting you trail behind him. Takes you all the way into the nearest big city. Your eyes are full of wonder, mouth hanging open as you take in all the sights and sounds of a bustling urban area. It's rather cute, but he has to get you to hold his hand so you don't go running off. He ends up finding the place, but... well, he doesn't like the look of the local shelter. Big grey slab, looks very uninviting and cold, seems overcrowded, and something about it just makes him feel... off. He can't bring himself to leave you at a place like this. They're probably too overcrowded to take care of you properly. He can't do that, the guilt would eat away at him.

Next town, maybe. You'll have to accompany him a while longer, he tells you, sorry. You don't seem to mind. You barely hear him, too distracted by everything going on around you until you exit and return to the beaten path. And thus begins what he assumes will be a very brief journey together.

It does occur to him that, after so much idle thought about getting one, it's kind of ironic that a dog hybrid fell into his hands by complete chance anyway. Of course, having you is not what he imagined when he used to think about acquiring a dog. He was envisioning a hybrid that could, you know, sort of rough the wilderness with him. Instead, he soon finds that you end up essentially making his life even harder, posing a burden at every conceivable opportunity.

His teleportative capabilities can only do so much, so he does have to travel by foot quite a bit... but you struggle to keep up.

Noooo, you whine, you don't want to cross the stream because your tail will get wet. He ends up having to make two trips across the water, the first to carry you, your legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck (your little pom-pom tail stiff and twitching all the while), then the second to go back and get the things he was carrying. He has to make much more frequent stops, as your feet begin to hurt, and you get hungry rather frequently (and, as it turns out, are a bit picky too).

Granted, you can fulfill the functions he originally considered a dog hybrid for. You can sniff out small animals... except you don't really chase them, just go ballistic at the sight and yap at them as they run up the trees and out of range, scaring away anything nearby. Not to mention, your scent tends to lure predators... and even worse, you attack predators.

See, much like any small dog, you have this odd duality where it seems your brain fails to process that you are, in fact, not a large and deadly animal, and thus you feel the need to attack almost everything, regardless of how many times your size and strength they are. Tigers, sumpter beasts, lawachurls. It's an instinct, too, you'll just be walking or resting until your ears suddenly perk up, your pupils go huge and you bolt off before he can stop you. The creatures often don't see you at first, they just hear a high-pitched yapping sound, turn their heads all around only to finally notice you when you bite their heels. Thankfully, up to now, every single time he's managed to come right behind you, running after you and calling out to you, snatching you up just before you were about to get crushed, impaled, or chomped on. Traveling through Sumeru, you were nearly swallowed up by those tigers what, eight times? It didn't help that, since your brain registered them as cats, your instinct was instead to lunge at them.

In fact, you can't help but yap at enemies even from a distance, thereby drawing enemies that would have otherwise let you pass unnoticed and luring them into combat for him to fight off -- all while ensuring your safety, since, despite your incessant yapping and growling at the sight of them, once they start swinging at you, you curl up into a fetal position and whimper, tail between your legs, crying for him to make them go away. In addition to these safety concerns, you have a tendency to eat whatever you may find, various berries and plants that you swallow up when he has his head turned, often resulting in you getting very sick and him having to care for you as you recover.

You struggle with his name. Mister Day-nz-leeeeev. Too weird of a word for your doggie brain. You settle for Mister, as you call all unfamiliar men, but as time goes on you swap out a vowel, and he sort of just comes to the realization one day when you say it that you've been calling him Master for a while now.

He clenches his jaw. That's not right. That sounds too... permanent. He's still going to drop you off somewhere, you know, he just needs to find a place first.

...He does need to do that, right? He can't just...

No. No, he can't keep you. He chastises himself for even letting the thought cross his mind for a split second. His journey is far too dangerous, and his own future too uncertain to commit to such a thing. It's a non-option.

But the next town also doesn't have a very inviting-looking shelter. He can't leave you here. No, it looks cold and sad and not a place he can feel unworried about leaving you in.

What if the people are neglectful? What if they don't feed you? They'll probably not give you the same amount of focused attention as he does, they're busy taking care of tons of creatures. They won't know you only like this food made this way, that you need these certain conditions to sleep, all the little specific needs you have that he's learned with time. There's no way he can leave you here. He'll have to find someplace else. Surely, soon he'll find somewhere he can leave you.

Each night, now, he runs fingers through your ears and tail, checking to make sure you didn't get any ticks on you with those huge fluffy ears. So soft... but he ends up retracting his hands. He grinds his teeth and moves away from you. Can't afford to get too attached, and he tells himself it would be taking advantage of your naivete to touch you too much in a way that you, too, might get attached.

He ends up not having much of a choice, though. You end up having an… incident. He gets flustered thinking about it at any point afterwards. About a month in, laying there one night trying to go to sleep, you get all… whimper-y. You shuffle over to him and start… wrapping your legs around his leg and… grinding forward… little canine whines, you whimper that you feel hot and weird. Oh. Great. How is he supposed to handle this? It��s the most awkward few minutes of his life.

This man is not exactly the best at dealing with embarrassing subjects, he pretty much just goes red in the face and nearly stammers as he speaks, tells you to just calm down and… and uh… well, he ends up basically just letting you do it. Watching with wide eyes and heavy breath, giving you comforting rubs on your head and neck until you finally shudder and go still, and, thankfully for him so he doesn’t have to deal with unbearable shame, nearly immediately fall asleep – but not before snuggling up to him, wrapping your arms around him. He has trouble falling asleep that night.

He tries not to speak about it from then on out, and thankfully, you seem to not find it strange or shameful at all, not even acknowledging it the next day or ever again. He just resolves to maybe try and forget the matter. He almost, almost finds himself thinking something along the lines of what he can do to help you next time, almost starts thinking through and imagining it in his head, but he stops himself.

No. There is no next time. He'll have found you a better place to stay by then. Maybe those shelters will be able to medicate you or something to prevent this. Yeah, they'll be able to take care of it better than he can.

For now, he'll just have to keep you with him and worry about everything else, such as keeping you safe. He's afraid of failing in that task, though. Always checking up on you.

There's one incident where it comes far too close.

He really, really doesn't mean it. You were being whiny again, complaining you don't want to keep walking, that you don't want to take this route because it's muddy or cold. He's irritated, he speaks without thinking.

Do you realize how much more difficult you make things for me?

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. He didn't mean to say something so cruel... he opens his mouth to apologize, but can't find the words.

Oh, no. Your ears tilt back, your little eyes water up and you start to sniffle. Yeah... now he feels really bad.

Agh... hey, he didn't mean that, just... just go to bed for now, okay? He's just frustrated. It'll be better tomorrow. You both need some sleep. You agree to that, sadly curling up into a ball, facing away from him.

As bad as he feels, the situation takes a turn for the worse when he wakes up to find your sleeping bag empty.

He immediately panics. Dammit. You must have run off. Surely nothing took you away, right? He would have heard that.

Yes, sure enough, there's your footprints on the ground. Unfortunately, they cut off only a few feet away.

He scours the area for hours. Calling out to you, doing everything in his power to hunt you down. Checking under every crevice, behind every tree. Eventually, he swallows the dread and checks beside the nearby river, the only place he's hoping to not find you, as he knows it would likely be in the form of your body washed up on the side bank. But still nothing. He makes several rounds around the area. How far could you have gone?

It's not until he finally resolves to go back to where you two had been sleeping and see if maybe you decided to return there, that he hears a whimpering. Coming from... up?

He tilts his head upward. You're up in the branches, curled up. It's an overwhelming feeling of relief.

So much so that even in that moment, he realizes just how much importance he's staked on you. He's fully aware, and isn't the type to push thoughts away or lie to himself. He has to acknowledge the realization in that moment that he's grown so attached to you that the thought of something having happened to you is the greatest panic he's felt in ages, decades even.

You open your eyes when he calls out for you, you're all trembling and sniffling. You say you climbed up to escape a monster that was chasing you. But being a canine, and not a feline, you're not exactly adept at climbing up or down, and now you're stuck, too afraid to attempt to come back down.

But when he tells you to come down, that he'll catch you, you shake your head, ears facing back, puff your cheeks out.

No! You don't even want me! You want me to go away, so I'm gonna go somewhere else!

He sighs. It's petulant, stubborn. You're being childish, and he knows that. But he can't help but feel guilty.

No, I...

He has to pause for a moment. Never been too good with words.

He says he's sorry. That he didn't mean it. That he wants you to stay with him, that he cares about you and wants you by his side.

If I didn't care for you, I wouldn't have bothered looking for you, would I? So... come on, just come down...

Your ears twitch.

Promise?

He gives a long sigh.

Yes, I promise. Come on, I'll catch you.

He holds his arms up and open. You hesitate a moment longer, pausing to wipe your face from all the crying you were doing before.

And finally, after a moment, you leap off, landing directly into his arms. The force is a bit much, and he actually goes stumbling backwards, landing flat on his back. At least it provides a cushion to you, though.

You both lay there for a moment. You feel him take a deep breath in and out. He reaches up to stroke the top of your head. You lay your face down against his chest.

In truth, he's rather worried about the future, if he gets into any serious danger while pursuing his quite powerful enemies... and even so, he also thinks about the fact that your lifespan is limited. He doesn't like that thought. Perhaps he was intentionally trying to avoid growing attached to you for that reason. It makes him feel like there's a knot in his stomach.

But when he tilts his head down to look at you, sees the content expression on your face as you nuzzle your face into his chest, sees your fluff tail moving back and forth... he decides that whatever inevitable pain the future may hold, maybe he can allow himself to indulge in this happiness for now, even if but for what is to him the blink of an eye.

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

Itto - Cowgirl

"Cow" almost feels like an inaccurate description; it invokes too much imagery of a soft, gentle giant sort of animal, peacefully gnawing at grass in a field, rather than the more accurate portrayal of the utter horned, mooing demon that the actual you embodies.

Aggressive and high-strung, and very territorial, it's a fairly common problem with your specific breed. Your cow ears and wiry tail are always twitching with irritation.

And it is for that reason that you find yourself alone on a path in the Inazuman wilderness. This one's too feisty. So they said, you understood that even with a very limited vocabulary and understanding of speech. Didn't bother to try selling you off, since it your aggression was obvious enough no one would accept, so they just dumped you out here on the road, far away and unable to attack the rest of the hybrid herd. You find yourself huffing, stomping around as you navigate the wilderness. Nothing better to do, so you might as well try and find somewhere to go from here. You're rather irked about the whole thing, though. You were never that bad. They were overreacting.

How rude, to just abandon you out here. You're mad. You decide that the next human you see is getting a set of horns directly in their stomach.

Which doesn't take long. You were dropped off somewhat close to the nearby city, along the pathway. Not even half an hour has passed before you cross paths with a human, a very loud one, walks very heavily.

He does take notice of you, though, pausing in his steps. Says something to you you don't understand -- what are you doing out here? -- with a big smile. Seems to find you quite amusing, strolls right over and past the top of your head, laughing about something or another.

How bothersome. You huff a heavy breath, pawing your foot into the ground in a warning gesture. The golden ring through your nose moves with your huffing. He doesn't seemed fazed by it, still more amused than anything, and thus, you have no choice but to take a few steps back, tilt your head down, and lunge forward. Hopefully you'll skewer him.

You're met with a harsh resistance, stopped so firmly the sudden force to your head makes a dull ache in your skull.

Woah, woah, slow down there, uh....

It takes you a few seconds to process that he's holding you still by the horns, one hand gripped around each one. Humans are generally quite weak, and easily knocked over. This one, however, is holding you perfectly still, and he's not even tense, nor planting his feet apart in a stance to ground himself, no, just sort of standing there in a relaxed stance, looking down at you with an inquisitive, but very unbothered and unstrained expression, as if restraining you is not causing him to exert any real effort or strength.

Woah, you're really trying to get me huh. Haha.

He's laughing at you. Not maliciously, more amused, but it makes you feel a tight knot of embarrassment in your chest nonetheless.

After a moment of aggressive thrashing from you, though, shoving yourself forward with as much force as you can muster, you feel your feet leave the ground. You go up, and then, you go down. Your back slams into the ground.

The blow leaves you dizzy. Your vision is spinning, you're flat on your back staring up at the sky, blinking, wide-eyed with shock.

Oh, uh... didn't mean to throw you that hard.... you alright?

You sit up, but you're swaying from side to side pretty badly, jaw hanging open.... whoops. He was just trying to get you to calm down, swear, didn't mean to make you hit your head. Well, never fear, you're in good hands! So, you know, no need to go running off to your owner and getting someone mad at him...

Actually... where is your owner? Hm... you don't have anything on you but basically rags, no collar or anything. And there's no houses or fencing nearby. Oh, you don't have an owner, you must be wild. That's good, that means no one can come after him and get him charged with hybrid assault or something -- or, ah, good because he just doesn't have to explain that you're definitely not actually hurt at all and that you just fell over is all. Uh... what's got you so aggressive though? He was just trying to pet you...

Oh! You probably have something wrong you need help with! He's heard plenty of stories like that before, some wild hybrid or animal will approach a human and try to communicate some need, try to get help from a higher species. And animals get aggressive when they're in pain right? Maybe you're really hurt. Well, no worries, you've come to the right person. Good thing too, you could've ended up coming across a really bad person instead. You were smart to come to him for help! You clearly knew a capable person when you saw one.

Thus, he lugs you all the way to the nearby main part of the city, full of humans -- all of whom give you a wide berth, eyes widening as they watch your thrashing and hear your aggressive bellowing.

Thankfully, he has just enough mora to cover a hybrid vet visit, and is willing to spend it on you. It's the right thing to do, y'know? Act of goodwill and all that to help some poor animal, probably gonna give him good karma and all that.

A quick examination, however, concludes you have no problems. Found in the wilderness, hm... Well, no tags means they can't track down an owner... Unless you want to keep this one, we'll take it to a shelter....

The decision only takes a matter of seconds. It's like one of those divine signs of fate! You're clearly meant to come with him. You have the horns, it's basically predestined, a sign from Celestia or something. It wouldn't be right to ignore that. You'll be like a mascot! Yeah, that'll work.

You still thrash quite a bit as you're carried off again, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy talking about how you're going to be right at home and really get along with everyone or something like that. You only know a few human words, so you're pretty much lost on anything he's saying.

Even after arriving at what appears to be your new "home," you are not entirely certain why you'd been dragged away, and you're quite confused and afraid. After a few minutes of observation, though, you come to an important realization that you did not look closely enough until now. The one who has brought you here is another hybrid, not a human. He possesses horns, which means he is clearly one of your own kind, you were acquainted with plenty of bull hybrids in your herd days. You were mistaken to think of him as human.

However, he has human ears, and has no tail. What kind of bull has no tail? Maybe his was ripped off somehow. That doesn't explain the human ears though... maybe he's some genetic mishap and got the wrong ears. And how did a bull manage to master human speech? More importantly, why form one's herd out of humans? The others here have no horns, nor any sign of animal blood. That seems rather nonsensical. None of it make sense to you.

But as a herd animal (even if not a very peaceful one), you have an instinct to be around others of your own kind. This one and Ushi are likely the only ones of your own kind you'll find for quite some time, you have an urge to stay with them, and really, the thought of being out there alone again is a bit frightening. So even if they already get on your nerves quite a bit, you resolve to stay right here. It's not like you have anywhere else to go, and you quickly realize that they intend to give you free food, which is a major plus.

In fact, you get adjusted rather quickly. After your initial thrashing when you were carried here, you pose no more real resistance to the setup itself, which is taken as a sign that you have accepted your belonging here. Well, you do protest the cowbell that gets put around your neck on the second day of your stay, disliking the sound and weight, but it proves impossible to pull off with your mere pawing at it. Perhaps if you were a bit smarter and capable of using your thumbs in complex ways, you might be able to remove it, but unfortunately all you can think to do is tug on it, which proves futile, and thus you grow used to it. This way everyone can keep an eye on you, make sure you don't go wandering off.

The humans this bull lives with, however, are wary of you. It doesn't help that your initial reaction to them is to huff and jerk your head in an attempt to stab them.

But he doesn't get mad. You're just getting adjusted is all! That's actually your way of greeting, it's playful! You're not trying to hurt anybody, so he says. Still, after a couple of incidents leaving point-tip scars on the appendages of other members, you have the horns shaved and sanded down to dull ends (quite the ordeal, as it took essentially the entire gang to hold you down and complete the process). Though bitter about it for some time, you eventually accepted this, and gradually became less prone to attack in general.

You are now considered the gang co-mascot and group representative. Your role as representative is to... represent. Exist. You don't really have any responsibilities except to be present at major functions and sit there.

That being said, it is a vital function and nothing important can be done without your presence. You are consulted for important decisions (What do you think?, he asks, and when you grunt or flick your ears, see, she thinks it's a good idea!), and no important decision can be made without your supposed opinion (Hang on, we have to consult the representative...). It has been argued by some that this is not necessary (and perhaps that you aren't even aware of what's being said or what's going on in the first place), but after getting into said argument on a variety of occasions and losing to sheer stubbornness every single time, the other members have come to acknowledge the significance of your say in things.

You also get a vote in any major decisions. With your inability to form and limited understanding of human words, however, your vote is automatically determined to align with his vote, thus often swaying the vote in his favor (it does not help that, as leader, he already gets two votes anyway...).

Much like your general "opinions," this has been protested by other members a couple of times, but it is argued that you deserve to have your opinion heard as a vital and irreplaceable gang member, and since you can't voice your opinion, the responsibility falls upon him to correctly interpret your gestures to the vote you're trying to communicate. Who else knows you well enough to interpret you? Exactly. You're uncertain of what it means when the humans talk back and forth a bunch and then turn to you as if expecting something, but as soon as you give any sort of sound or gesture, that seems to be satisfactory to continue, so you don't mind it.

You're given an outfit color-matching to your owner's, once again for the purpose of matching the gang's "vibes," whatever that may mean, and to be better recognizable as the token representative. Likewise, now, every couple of days, he paints your horns red so that you match, says something about it looking cool and another comment about the aforementioned matching of vibes. You have to be matching, since you're going to be going everywhere together and do everything together!

Well, he does have some necessary things to do that you can't come with him for. In those cases, the others can watch over you. But then again... they're all, you know, normal humans, and there's a chance you could slam them with those horns, make them lose their grip and run off...

Oh, Ushi would never run away. Why didn't he think about that until now? You two would probably get along really well too. You two are kind of the same thing, after all. He loops a rope between the two of you, ties your necks together with a few spare feet of leeway between. See? Just like you. You'll get along well.

You turn towards this... creature, huffing air out of your nostrils, making a low, threatening sound in your throat. Likewise, he makes the same gestures of aggression right back to you, slowly starts to dig a hoof into the ground. After a few moments, you both put your heads down, lunging forward, horns clacking against each other.

Aw, see, you're friends already! Glad that worked out. He'll only be gone a few hours, so just play nice.

Your animal brain is just short of the competence required to understand how to untie a knot, so all you can do is struggle against the tie, but the other creature proves very heavy and prevents you from moving any distance by sitting down flat on the ground, very clearly not intending to move any time soon.

You huff, you moo. You tussle with each other, clonking horns again. The humans that remain to supervise watch on with wide-eyed concern, mumbling to themselves as to whether or not they should intervene, but none of them want to take the risk. Even though they're now very dull, your horns will leave quite the bruise if hit with enough force.

You try your best, but he doesn't budge. In fact, seemingly growing a bit irritated with your disruptions, he gives you a solid headbutt to the side, sending you flopping over. You stay down. Defeated and humiliated and exhausted, you only make a sad sound, resolving to rest on the ground.

...But now that you're not fighting anymore, Ushi seems to calm down as well. Sort of waddles over your way, plops down onto the ground beside you. You're very bitter towards him at first, but quickly find that he is warm and squishy and makes a great companion for napping on the ground in the sun. You're still pressed together by the time your owner returns.

Aw. Look at you two, getting along so well you sleep curled up next to each other like that. This was a good idea.

The days get easier from there on. You still get roped to Ushi daily, you don't mind it so much. You two have fun -- still clonking heads and tussling around, but now it's friendly and playful, with much less force, and when you both get tired you eat and rest together. It becomes a regular routine. Your life is carefree and easy, and the only times you're in any distress were the occasions where your owner was in jail for several consecutive days, but even that never lasts too long.

You think you will stay here, indefinitely, now. You have no real reason to try to run off, you're well-fed and cared for, and all of these humans and the other hybrid alike have become familiar to you, admittedly you are starting to think you might care for them, just a little.

And to be honest, bovine long-term memory isn't that great. Soon you find that your memories of any other life you had before are very fuzzy, you're almost uncertain if they were real or a dream. Soon, they'll fade away for good, and this life here will be all you've ever known anyway.

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

Dottore - ratgirl

Agencies can't always ensure hybrids go to good people.

They try. They do background checks, similarly to how someone would adopt a kid. They want to be sure the hybrid isn't going to be abused, neglected, or otherwise mistreated, and that for hybrids requiring special care, that the person in question has the means and finances to properly do so. Granted, they're aware that many people use hybrids for... self-gratification purposes, and everyone knows why single adult males are by far the largest consumer demographic for purchasing them, but plenty of hybrid owners who get hybrids to be domestic partners are still good to them.

But some agencies are lower quality, more shady, and some are just desperate to adopt out a specific hybrid. And plenty of individuals have no real record, positive or negative, to speak of, so it's easier to just not make a fuss and assume they're decent and hand the hybrid over. And, most notably, shelters and agencies are often quite eager to get rid of individual species considered... less desirable.

That's not what they tell you, though. You're just... very special! Sure, you watch plenty of dogs and cats and rabbits come and go within days, while you've been here for months... but it just takes a certain kind of person to take care of rats. The really nice caretaker lady says that maybe they're just afraid that the injuries mean you're aggressive, but she's certain that if someone takes time to look more closely, they'll see you're very nice. Besides, they can kindly explain to anyone who asks that it's not your fault. Poor thing, you heard one of the workers say to another, attacked by some wild animal... You don't remember it very well. You woke up here all bandaged up, and they took care of you, so these are good people, you assume.

You miss the other half of your tail, though. You don't know much about medicine, you thought it would grow back... but when they took the bandages off, only a stumpy half remains. You suppose you look a bit lopsided too, being able to see yourself in the glass well enough to see that one of your ears are all shredded up, with a chunk missing on each. Maybe the visitors just get confused and don't know what you are, or something.

Maybe they just don't notice you, since you're a bit quiet. They'll just... move you even closer to the front, make sure people notice you. You try to sit at the front of your pen to make sure people see you.

People have negative associations just because of the word, too. They're okay with mice hybrids, fawn over how cute they are, but even though you look very similar, they sort of make a face at the word rat. The workers just tell you it takes very special people to appreciate very special hybrids, and you'll find that person eventually.

"Eventually" takes a long time, but it does finally come. The workers that come in to get you seem to be in a good mood, so it must be something good.

They say you're in luck. Someone came in here very specifically seeking a rat, of all things. They go through the standard process. Take you out front, get you to the person that requested it... which happens to be more than one person. All wearing weird masks. They look very scary. But if they want you, then they must be good people too.

The worker stammers out something about explaining the obvious missing parts of you, but one of them interrupts her. That's fine. We were just told to get a rat.

No hesitation. Whips out the mora -- a hundred mora, specifically, far less than they charge for other hybrids -- and doesn't even give them the chance to ask if there's anything else needed before reaching over, picking you up, shoving you into a crate, and taking you outside.

You're very confused, but you maintain a good attitude. You're just grateful for them. You ask a lot of questions, but they aren't very keen on answering you. Eventually you come to understand you were bought for someone else, that they're supposed to take you to, so you wait patiently... a several-day trip, all the way to this large building. Full of the same masked people.

The man is one of them, but he looks a bit different. You're a bit nervous at first that he might not be okay with you, but he looks you up and down and gives a quick acknowledgement to the ones that brought you here, so he must be content. He stoops down to get a better look at you in the crate and smiles... but it almost feels a bit... sinister. It sends a shiver down your spine. You tell yourself you'll have to get over that feeling, this person is a good person because why else would he bother to bring you here?

He says you're going to help with something very important. That you get to help him with research. It's very honorable to be doing this. A privilege. So many people would gladly volunteer for it, but you get to do it because you're special and perfect for it. Isn't that nice?

Such a serious honor and responsibility makes you feel nervous, but proud. You're not exactly sure what you did to be selected, you don't question exactly what it was that makes you so ideal for it. But he said you were special. That it has to be you. It makes you feel happy.

It's not a lie. Rats are very similar to people, genetically. And they're weak and at the perfect level of being intelligent enough to study reactions, while being too stupid to understand what's going on. Not to mention, they're cheap, they're too weak to be dangerous if they lash out, and they're not very bright socially either. That's why they make such good test subjects.

Besides, acquiring full humans for these sort of tests would require unwilling subjects, which is much harder to work with as they tend to be uncooperative, and you have to dispose of human subjects to prevent them from causing problems.

But your nature makes you very compliant, eager to please and unable to understand the weight of what's going on. He's almost surprised that a few nice words was all you needed to hear to be on board with it. He already had a whole second speech planned to convince you you had some deadly disease that needed to be cured to scare you into compliance, but it seems that won't be necessary.

At first, that's all you really do, and thus begins your new life. Each day, he comes into the lab where your crate is, opens it and takes you out. Does a routine check-up on various vitals, treats you in a variety of ways, and then leaves, and you're back in the crate again. Usually this process happens twice a day, but if he's particularly busy he may come only once. He doesn't say too much to you, although he is always muttering to himself about something or another, you usually can't hear much. Master seems to be a rather eccentric person, you sense some of the underlings aren't particularly fond of working under him, seem to be a bit intimidated... but he's never outright mean to you, so that means he's a good person, you believe.

You're very timid, given how new and unfamiliar it all is, so you don't want to annoy him... thus, you mostly keep quiet, speak when spoken to, which isn't very often. You comply with all the instructions, you swallow everything you're supposed to. You don't fight the injections either, even if your instinct is to pull away, instead only giving a tiny squeak. You do the best you can. You occasionally ask questions about his work, but the answers you get are short and dismissive, so you quickly stop asking.

...But in truth, you find yourself growing increasingly sad. Other than these treatments, you spend most of the time locked in the tiny crate, in an empty, quiet room. He doesn't really talk to you besides commands and questions on how you feel from various experimental treatments. There's a certain coldness you're treated with. Not an intentional, forceful coldness, but rather more like being ignored, like he simply forgets your existence outside of the moments he's directly engaging with you, doesn't think to do anything more with you. He treats you with dismissal as soon as you're done with treatment, and even with your limited perception, you sense he doesn't really view you as anything beyond an object to be worked with. You're still very happy to see him, and you desperately hope that each day will be one of the days you get to see him twice, but... it wears you down.

It makes you question why he has you at all. It's not done with cruel intent, rather just lack of even crossing his mind, so you aren't too hurt, but... it does make you feel bad. Are you doing something wrong? You've seen plenty of hybrids that have masters that really love them, so why not you?

But, you suppose, they were different sorts of creatures. Maybe that's it. Maybe your kind just isn't supposed to receive that same kind of affection. The thought makes you feel sad.

Within a few months, you find that you stop feeling hungry. You stop feeling jittery when you're in the crate, and instead you often feel very tired. All you really want to do is sleep.

And you do. Your life becomes even emptier. You lay there and blink as you stare at the wall. You respond to questions with head motions rather than words. The medicines have less effect than ever, you feel perpetually numb.

This does not go unnoticed. At first, he thinks maybe something he gave you did it, writes it down as a potential effect of this or that, and carries on as usual. Must cause drowsiness or something.

Until, on one occasion, he's coming to bring you food as usual (you tell yourself you should be very grateful, he never forgets and always comes at the same time!), but notices that there's no need. Your food from last night is untouched. And while you used to perk up when he'd enter the room, he's noticed the past few days you just lay there, not even raising your head. Nothing you've been given recently should cause this behavior.

He tilts his head, looks at you with narrowed eyes. Casts a glance to your uneaten food in your bowl, your lethargic slouch. Didn't take this sort of depression into account. Sometimes it's hard to remember subjects are living beings and all that.

Which isn't a problem. It won't affect the research quality. You'll live, you'll eat eventually and as long as you're living and breathing, you continue to have some use. He doesn't say anything, just turns and heads back to the door.

And then pauses. Casts another glance back at you, laying all curled up on your side. You hear the pause in footsteps, feel the gaze on you, and you tilt your eyes up out of curiosity just enough to see, but your eyes dart away as you make eye contact. He's kind of scary to look in the eye like that. You go back to staring blankly at the floor, unmoving.

...It really doesn't matter, and he should have no qualms with just walking out the door, but...

...

You hear the footsteps come back in your direction. The sound of the crate unlocking and swinging open again. But this time, hands wrap under your armpits and pull you out.

You're a bit confused. It's not time for your daily treatment. You make a startled little sound as you're pulled out of the crate and up onto your feet.

He tells you you need to get some more sunlight and movement, so... for the time being, come with him and just don't cause a distraction. There's very important matters to be dealt with, so, stay very close and don't wander off either. And don't speak to anyone else.

You are overjoyed at the opportunity, letting out a particularly ear-piercing little squeak of excitement (he tenses up at the ringing in his ear, but does't bother to say anything). You've never been outside the lab since the day you came here. You do your best to stay still and quiet, trailing behind him as he goes about various tasks, talks to various people. He's a lot more animated and theatrical when talking to people, whereas he's usually more quiet and dismissive of conversation when focused on a task such as when he's dealing with you. It's sort of a new side to him... and is admittedly a bit scary.

He even asks you for some things, asks you to hand him this or that, and you happily oblige, the act making you feel very useful. Well, except you can't get things out of labeled containers, as you are quite illiterate, but otherwise you give it your all. Eventually, he has someone go through the various materials and tape colored strips of paper to the jars, so that you can now help fetch them when needed. In truth, getting you to get things often takes more time than if he were to just get them himself, but it gives you something to do, and it makes you happy.

You still have daily treatment, though. The medicines make you feel woozy and tired. You don't like the needles, you squeak when they go into your skin. You dread the one day every two weeks when you have to have blood taken out. It always makes you feel so tired, you shiver so much, some times you pass out for a while. But if it's necessary, you have no choice but to endure. Much to your appreciation, rather than just the tasteless processed feed, he starts to spend money on some seeds and other food to give you handfuls of as reward for your efforts.

Since he has to know if it's working, he has to ask questions. How does it feel?

Your answers are usually not positive. Tired. Dizzy. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. It burns.

But you can do it. As long as you are certain and reassured of one thing.

Did I do good?

As long as he says yes, you're content.

...At night, you go back in the crate. You can't move around much, can't stand and can only barely turn around, but there's plenty to ensure you're all set -- a rodent drip water bottle latched to the side for you to latch your mouth onto and drink from if needed. A thick layer of blankets. A few durable wooden blocks for you to chew on. You're grateful for the kind consideration. At the shelter, you would be left in the cold concrete pen with none of those things all night, and it made you sad oftentimes. You feel more awake at night, so it's frustrating to be kept in such a tiny space during your most active hours, but you understand. You pass the time by chewing on your blocks.

You endure it, for his sake. You want to help. You want to be good and get the rewards and pats, you don't want to disappoint.

But a day does come that you get pushed over the edge. Lots of needles. The first one makes your stomach feel queasy. The second one makes your head hurt. You feel awful. It gets worse and worse as you swallow this or that, to test how they work together. Something gets attached to your head that feels heavy and just hurts worse. You're about to get another jab, but you can't handle anymore. You squeak.

No more...

You shiver and sniffle. You always try very hard to be good and strong and brave and endure it all, but it's become too much. Tears trail down your face, you shoulders wrack with tiny sobs.

There's a long pause. But you hear the materials clack as they're set back down.

Alright. It can wait.

He comes over to where you are, sits down for a moment, presses a hand to your forehead. Well, you're not sweating, which would be an indicator of a potential reaction that would require emergency intervention, so you'll just have to ride this one out and--

You take the opportunity of him sitting down on the table to shuffle over. You rest your head down on his thigh. You feel all your muscles go lax. You're very tired. He goes quiet when you set your head down.

All his stuff is over there, but even after finishing whatever he was writing down, he doesn't move. After some time passes, you feel fingers run through your scalp, over and over in a soft, gentle motion. You feel yourself drift off to sleep.

And when you wake up... he's still perfectly still. Seems rather bored, he's drumming his fingers against his thigh, but hasn't budged. When you stir, he flickers his gaze down to you. You've been asleep an hour now, he says. It should be over now, yes?

You squeak. You hate to think he sat still just to not wake you up, you feel guilty... but for some reason, something about that fact also feels good. You bolt upright, apologizing, saying he could have woken you up...

He pauses for a moment. It's almost as if your words catch him off-guard, as if that possibility is, for whatever reason, something that didn't even cross his mind. A few seconds pass. But then he just shrugs, muttering something.

It doesn't end, but you do feel that sometimes you're given less tests per day. A lot of it is being given a singular treatment of some kind before being tested in some way. When you asked, he says that yes, it's very helpful, that you've contributed a lot. You feel proud for that much. You carry your head a bit higher whenever you walk around with him during the day.

Granted, you have some inconveniences. You sort of... Detract from his image. He tends to have a bit of a dramatic flair to whatever he does, and enjoys getting reactions out of people, but it's a bit difficult for subordinates to take the theatrical monologuing very seriously when you're sitting there behind him with a blank expression, gnawing on whatever raw vegetable you've been most recently given to placate you for a few hours, occasional squeak and all.

Some of them do question why he allows for what seems so unnecessary, but people generally know better than to question him, and have generally accepted that he's just like that, with "just like that" meaning "weird," and it's accepted that that's not changing anytime soon and that it's not supposed to make any sense to them.

Also, the underlings are allowed to pet you, for a few seconds each, otherwise they're shooed away and told they're overstimulating you, and gods forbid anyone interfere with research quality. Most of them do take the opportunity though, you're just too cute to resist giving you headpats.

Oh, but you do have a tendency to be absent-minded with a particular short rodent attention span, so soon a hybrid harness and leash is acquired for you (think of how they make those child harnesses and leashes? Same idea). It's almost comical, to the various onlookers, to see you two come strolling through the building. While he has that sort of ominous, heavy presence about him, it's quite amusingly contrasted by you pattering away walking on the tile floors next to him, attached by a leash in his hand he pulls you around with. The lower ranks all admittedly find it hilarious though, snicker a bit when you two walk by.

You forget exactly when you stopped sleeping in the crate. He says it's not good for your joints, and you're fairly certain he said he'd get you a larger crate eventually, and you could sleep in his bed in the meantime, but so far the larger crate hasn't come yet. The first night you chew a hole through his sleeve in your sleep, though, so you do have to be given blocks to chew on as you sleep. You're more well-rested this way, and it makes you happier, healthier.

That's what he thinks to himself. It's producing more clear-cut results, having a healthy specimen and all... so it's okay if he cares a bit for you in general. It's rather inconvenient, but might as well roll with it now. Prolonged contact and interaction will cause some variants of attachment in anyone. He just has to ensure to watch over you well, and there will be no concerns as to whether or not any underlying attachment will cause problems.

Oh, and on that note, aside from now-rare occasions where you're locked in your crate while he takes care of things you can't be there for, he ensures you never leave his sight. Can't have you roaming the facility halls... don't want to risk that bastard's bear getting ahold of you... would not be good.

#congrats to dain for getting the Pomeraniussy #also im officially making it canon in this AU that beargirl is an absolute MENACE to ratgirl and lambgirl #the predator instincts kick in 😔

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