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ot7always · 4 years

Text

My Fair Lady

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Captain of the Guard!Reader

Genre: Historical/Fantasy AU, fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: Sparring (swordfight/fistfight), I’ve literally never fenced in my life I’m sorry for any errors, pining, mentions of battle scars, angst angst angst, angsty sex, crying during sex (and not in a sexy way), unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, it’s super angsty but I promise it’ll be okay

Rating: 18+

Summary: His brother unable to spar with him that day, Crown Prince Taehyung comes to you in need of a partner.

A/N: This fic was such a wild ride of a writing experience, and I literally lost chunks of writing because of my laptop crashing multiple times. But this fic is my baby, please let me know what you think!

Huge thanks to @wwilloww for beta reading for me, and also @peekaboongi for crying with me as I wrote.

Tagging @moonmintrails @ppersonna @irissilujm @dee-ehn

Masterlist

You gaze swept across the palace training grounds, hands clasped firmly behind your back. You watched as your soldiers trained, whether it be alone or with each other, and kept an eye out for any glaring errors – incorrect form, weak footwork, and the like.

As the youngest Captain of the Guard in history, it was your duty to ensure each of your soldiers, men and women alike, were in prime condition. Though the position was not passed through bloodlines, you had taken over from your father following his retirement from duty. He was a very well-respected man, and you were determined not to disappoint him. You would continue to prove time and time again that you deserved the honour of your place.

You kept your eyes forward even as you sensed a tall presence settle beside you, taking on a similar stance to your own.

“My Lady,” a deep voice greeted. Your nose crinkled at the title. While it was true your family was of noble station, you much preferred to be addressed as “Captain.” You sought to distance yourself from your cousins who enjoyed hosting fancy balls and tittering about the latest messenger visiting from overseas.

You gave the man beside you a brief once-over, eyes quickly returning to your soldiers in the field. The Crown Prince was looking particularly fresh today, white cotton shirt laced neatly and tucked into black pants that moulded to him like water. His dark curls appeared freshly washed, small tendrils swaying in the wind, having escaped the small tie at the nape of his neck. He smelled suspiciously of lavender. Perhaps he had been delving into his sister’s perfumes once again.

“Your Highness,” you nodded curtly, ignoring the pang in your chest at his appearance. While you tried to put up a good front, you were not immune to the Prince’s charms.

“You know I don’t like when you call me that,” he smiled bashfully at his feet before turning the entirety of his attention to you. “I am in need of a favour,” he continued, gaze imploring.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” you responded, suppressing a smirk when you heard him sigh at your words. Having grown up around him, even sharing lessons and training together before you surpassed his abilities, you would consider the two of you friends – more, even. However, you had an image to keep up, barriers that needed to be kept in place lest anyone question your ability to prioritize the royal family’s safety without distraction.

“I require a sparring partner.”

“Do you forget yourself, Your Highness?” you grinned at the notion. Not many dared to challenge you to a fight, and the last time Taehyung matched you in skill he was perhaps a foot or two shorter.

“I beg of you, Captain. My brother is feeling out of sorts and I am in need of a distraction. I have been meeting with courtiers all morning and I cannot begin to express how tiring-”

“He’s taken ill?” you cut in, eyes wide and tone laced with concern as you finally turned to give the Prince your undivided attention. His younger brother was only 15, and you had developed a soft spot for the boy over the years. The plague which tended to come and go from your Kingdom was no joke. While many recovered, many more slowly but surely lost their lives.

“Don’t worry yourself too much, My Lady. Our doctors have assured us it is simply a minor ailment.” His heart warmed at your obvious affection for his brother, knowing how much you cherished his younger siblings. He wondered whether he himself held a similar place in your heart. “Let’s not concentrate on that which will resolve itself quickly in time. Rather, I am still in dire need of a partner. Please?” he appeased, giving you his best impression of a pout. You tried not to crack a smile at the resemblance to his sister.

Your hesitation did not last long – you found it difficult to deny Taehyung anything, not that he asked much of you very often. “Very well, then. Though, we are not exactly dressed for the occasion, are we?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. It was true. Having only recently left a meeting with those who would accompany Their Majesties to town the next day, you were dressed in a white blouse, dark leather bodice laced on top. While your leather boots allowed for sufficient footwork, the suppressed movement of your torso was not exactly ideal for a fight.

“We both know that you are more than capable of fighting in such attire. Come,” he said, giving you no time to refuse before you were led to the central combat ring. The ring was often used to host friendly tournaments and was clearly visible from any spot in the field.

“Are you so keen to showcase your defeat to my entire squadron?” you teased, shooting the Prince a grin as you caught the foil he tossed to you. Light, thin, and dull, it ensured you did not cause any serious injury lest you accidentally hit him. Cotton, after all, was not the most ideal material to prevent bruising. As for you? Well, you didn’t plan on getting hit anyway.

You took up your position opposite him, bent slightly at the knee, sword in hand, opposing hand clenched comfortably behind your back. You watched as Taehyung settled into the same posture. You clicked your tongue in disapproval upon seeing his form. Shoulders tense already, you sighed. Well, you would just have to see if he fixed his error later on.

“Ready when you are, Sweet Prince,” you smirked, exhaling a laugh as his face flushed. It was a nickname given to him by the men and women he’d seduced and bedded over the years. Even if he’d invited them into his bed only once and never again, they never stopped singing his praises. A part of you was desperate to know what he did to impress them.

“I don’t have all day, Your Highness,” you called out, smile slowly lighting up your face at his embarrassment. A lie, of course. If he asked you to stand there and wait for hours while you simply stared at each other you would do it. You liked to tell yourself it was because of your royal duty, but in reality you had never been able to say no to him, even in your childhood. There was something so charming yet shy, so mature yet naïve about him, that had you wishing for his happiness at every moment. He was a walking contradiction you wanted nothing more than to solve.

Having collected himself, Taehyung launched himself at you quickly, sword flying its way toward your shoulder – easily parried. You figured the two of you would ease into a proper match. After all, neither of you were properly warmed up, and you refused to listen to the Prince’s complaining of sore muscles if you could avoid it.

You remained light on your feet, focusing solely on defending against his basic lunges rather than attempting to retaliate. That would come in time. It wouldn’t be so enjoyable if you didn’t toy with him just a little, right?

After several minutes of rather simple steps, you figured you were ready to break a sweat. The next time his blade swung at you, you batted it aside and thrust your own at his chest, tip poking into his shirt before he could even blink.

“Come now, Your Highness. Shall we see what my father taught you?” you taunted, backing away to your original position. Your heart warmed when you saw the fire light in his eyes at the challenge, his playful expression temporarily replaced by sheer focus. You couldn’t conclude which was more handsome.

The next time he flew at you, it was with newfound ardour, the clink of metal on metal a familiar symphony to your ears. The Prince was skilled, you would give him that. Not that you were surprised – you recalled a time in his youth when he dedicated himself fully to training in this exact spot.

You gave yourself fully to your reflexes, blade swinging left, right, and circling round as you blocked his attacks. Quickly side-stepping a stab toward your neck, you grinned. Despite your original hesitance, you were enjoying yourself. Seeing the sweat form on Taehyung’s brow from his effort, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to something so completely. His technique focused on agility over power, something well-suited to his long limbs and lean muscle. You were the same – fight smart, not hard, your father used to tell you.

Backing away suddenly, Taehyung pouted slightly as he caught his breath. “I can tell that you are going easy on me, Captain. At least try to hit me, I swear to you that I can handle it.” You chuckled at his words.

“Very well, Your Highness. Though if I may point out, perhaps it would serve you better if you relaxed your muscles more. How can you expect to hit me when your shoulder fails to follow through?” you chided. Taehyung bit his lip at your words.

“My apologies, Captain. I find it difficult when I am near you.” Your brows furrowed, unsure whether you heard correctly. He has trouble relaxing around you? You preferred not to pick apart such a statement.

In answer, you lunged at him, a tide of satisfaction flowing through you when he moved immediately in response. You allowed him to continue on the offensive, though this time you followed up every few parries with a riposte, ensuring you never actually hit him with your blade.

Steel was flying through the air so fast it was a blur, your focus lying solely on the flurry of blades between your bodies. You quickly lost track of time, though based on the slight burn in your calves the activity must have gone on for quite a while.

It became almost like a rhythm – feet dancing, you blocked thrice, circling around for a responding thrust. Little did you know, in your focus you missed Taehyung’s wistful glances as he took in your appearance – gaze sharp, hair around your face flying as it escaped your tight knot at the back.

While you did your best not to make contact, your efforts were not perfect. Because as the Prince stepped left rather than right as you had expected, your blade made full and hard contact with his abdomen, confirmed by the faint oof that accompanied the motion. Broken out of your trance, you stared wide-eyed. “My apologies-”

You let down your guard for only a moment, but it was enough for him to swipe your blade aside, his own resting right between your collarbones. Raising your eyes to meet his own, you found only a grin, no sign of pain. That little-

“KIM TAEHYUNG!!!” you bellowed, ignoring the nearby gasps at your blatant show of disrespect. The eldest soldiers only shook their heads in dismay, having become used to your antics over the years. You whipped the side of his blade with your own, force enough to send it flying out of his grasp. “I was worried about you!” you shouted, stalking your way over to his retreating body, met only by a full-bodied laugh and hands raised to defend himself.

He took hold of your shoulders, keeping you at arms’ length as you glared up at him. The look only sent him into another fit of laughter. “The look on your face was magnificent, Captain,” he snickered, ignoring the betrayal on your face. “I’m perfectly fine, also. You needn’t worry so much-”

“Oh, you will not be fine by the time I’m done with you, Your Highness,” you seethed, picking up his discarded blade only to chuck it at him with just a little more force than necessary. “If you wanted a fight, Kim Taehyung, you’ve found one. I will pray for your recovery.”

Taking up your position for the third time of the afternoon, you scanned his features opposite you. He had no blaring weak spots, though you would be surprised if he did after all his years of training. He was fast, though you would bet that you were faster. Defeating him at his full capabilities would not be extremely easy, but if you gave it perhaps 80% you supposed you could be done within minutes.

“Any last words?” you goaded, grinning at the fleck of worry that crossed his face. “You look afraid, Your Highness.”

“It is perhaps in my best interest to remain a bit afraid, My Lady,” he chuckled lightly, eyes keen as they awaited your first movement. The narrowed your eyes, taking him in, planning your actions. He’s not wrong, you thought. Everyone in this field was just a little bit afraid.

Taehyung jumped when your blade made contact with his own, a high-pitched screech ringing out as he fought you off. You gave him no time to contemplate his own actions before you lunged relentlessly at him, delivering strike after strike without pause. He was forced to remain on the defensive, putting in his full effort to parry and step away in time.

Despite his struggle, you were impressed he was able to keep up with you as well as he was. He’s been training more, you noted. His improvement was clear compared to the last time you fought only several months ago. However, in a game of stamina, you were sure to win.

The top of your bodice dug sharply into your chest as your breaths quickened, but you were no stranger to discomfort. Over time you had learned to put aside such trivial things. Aches and pains were part of your job, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it well.

Unwilling to let go of your pride, your steps quickened, Taehyung’s blade moving frantically to keep up but inevitably slowing slightly as you did not give him time to breathe. If you hadn’t focused all of your energy into this alone with no distractions, you perhaps would have poked fun at him.

When his sword arm lagged only slightly behind, arms slightly too wide, slightly too open, you struck hard. Batting his blade to the side only centimetres above where he held it in his grasp, you simpered, watching his shocked face as his blade went flying. His eyes darted between you and the blade, metres away, seemingly contemplating whether to give up or to pounce on it.

“What now, Little Prince? If this were a battlefield, would you simply cower in fear?” you coerced, eyes predatory. Perhaps it was sadistic of you, but you relished in the look of dismay in Taehyung’s face. He’d been thoroughly defeated – it was only a matter of how long you would draw it out.

Tossing your own foil to the side, you stretched your limbs before beckoning him over, fists positioned in front of you. It was a petty move and you knew it, for soldiers were much more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat than the Crown Prince, who was known to favour his swords and bows.

Taehyung had no complaints, however. A fight was a fight, after all. As he came after you with one, two, three jabs to your chest, you danced aside as you evaded easily. The difference in speed between his punches and sword thrusts were clear, the former much less practiced than the latter.

You unfortunately had not thought this idea through, because your options for victory without injuring the Prince were limited. While you were aware Taehyung would not mind, it would not be the best image for you to beat the life out of the Kingdom’s Crown Prince in open view of a squadron sworn to protect him.

“Are you so eager for my company that you would draw this out?” he joked, a weak punch toward your face easily shoved out of the way by your forearm. “Or perhaps you find pleasure in cornering me, My Lady?”

“You think so highly of yourself, Your Highness. Is it so disconcerting to find yourself put in your place every so often?”

“Quite the opposite, I think. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much,” he beamed, eyes shining. “I’ve quite missed you, Captain.” You faltered at the admission. While you loved to give him a hard time, you knew he was well aware of your fondness for him. However, you don’t believe you’ve ever said something so forthright to each other, and the statement awakened something in you that you thought you had buried deep.

Noting your slightly frozen state, Taehyung charged at you. However, you would not be fooled twice. The audacity of this man-

Twisting your arm to grab hold of his, you leaped forward. Suddenly taking the force of your full weight, Taehyung had nowhere to go but down, groaning as his back thudded against the canvas floor. Knee digging itself into the Prince’s ribcage below you, you sighted your previously discarded blade nearby. Grabbing hold of it, you held it to his throat.

“Yield,” you whispered, words escaping you much softer than intended. He made no effort to move, only staring up into your face with unspeakable emotion.

“And what if I am happy where I am, My Lady?” he murmured, taking in your appearance. Chest heaving, escaped hair wet with sweat, blouse crinkled – you were perhaps the finest sight he’d ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Though his words might have been taken for humour, you saw the look on his face. He didn’t even attempt to mask the desire, shameless through and through.

Before you could even think to respond, smatterings of applause broke out across the field at your victorious display, though they could not even begin to understand what was happening between the two of you. Moment broken, you quickly hopped up, helping Taehyung to his feet but avoiding his gaze. You were afraid to admit how much your heart fluttered when you heard his words, afraid of how much it would hurt when you would be forced to walk away and never speak of this moment again.

It was for the best.

“Y/N,” he called out softly, hands reaching for your own, but maintaining a respectful distance. Your eyes flew up to meet his, unused to hearing your own name in the palace nowadays. The look he gave you was honest, sincere. “Do you feel this too?”

You paused. Though he didn’t quite say what this meant, you could guess. In fact, his knowing gaze told you he only wanted you to admit what he already knew. The man had always been perceptive, and you had more memories with him than with your own family. You were certain he was familiar with your every expression. After all, you could write novels about his face – the way his eyes shone in his passion, the way the corners of his lips twitched when he was repressing a scowl.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Pleading ignorance was the best defense. Admitting to your desires was foolish, and would not change your circumstances. You knew this was deeper than physical desires, but that just made it all the more impossible. Princes were destined for arranged marriage – nobody could simply form a relationship with a future King, least of all the soldier who has pledged her life to his parents. No, a proper relationship was not within the realm of possibility. But neither could you lay with the Crown Prince in good conscience – how would the public trust you to put the King and Queen’s safety above all else if you were warming their Prince’s bed?

Every option to act on your desires was fated for failure.

Taehyung’s hands moved from your palms to your wrists, his thumbs pressing into your pulse firmly. “Your heart is racing,” he murmured, eyes staring into your own as though he knew your every secret. “Why do you hide it?”

“You know why,” you stated, voice soft. “Of course I feel it, but it matters not.” The admission coming from your own lips shocked you. You had danced around each other for years, orbiting each other like binary stars, but you’d never admitted your attraction to him.

“It matters to me,” he whispered, thumb stroking at the soft skin of your wrists with care. “Come to my chambers after dinner.”

Your brows shot up at the suggestion. This was not a light request. You were no longer children, no longer laughed in his company until the maids shooed you away, chiding you for making so much noise.

This was real. As much as you grew to accept your desires, you had never even fathomed acting on them. Not when you knew it couldn’t last – not when your reputation, perhaps even your position, were at stake. “Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please,” he begged, staring into you with an expression you would liken to a puppy begging for scraps. You attempted to turn away, but he only followed. “Please,” he repeated, noting your conflicted expression. It was hard to deny him anything when he was looking at you like that, but even harder to deny yourself when every part of you wanted nothing more than to say yes.

“Very well,” you breathed, sealing your fate. “I shall come when the clock strikes eight, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t do it. As much as your heart craved him more than anything, you couldn’t. He was untouchable. If you were any other person, if you were just a court lady, you would jump at the chance. It wasn’t a secret that the Prince has had many partners, and nobody gave it a second thought. But to be with you?

It was improper. Impossible. How could you be trusted to do your duty fully and objectively if you’d laid with the Crown Prince?

After bathing, you made your way to his bedchambers, clad only in a loose blouse and cotton pants, hair flowing freely around your shoulders, still wet. You could not join him in his bed, but he at least deserved a rejection in person rather than your absence.

Knocking lightly on the door, you were startled when it swung open, your arm still raised. He gave you such a sweet smile it was almost painful, still dressed in his earlier attire but hair loose around his face. You stepped into the room, taking in its appearance, having not seen the room in years. It smelled of him, of vanilla and lavender and musk, a scent you would breathe for the rest of your life if it was possible. The room was exactly as you remembered it, mostly barren if not for the set of throwing knives on display – a gift from your father for the Prince’s coming-of-age.

“I’m so glad you came-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, turning to face him. “I came to put a stop to this before it’s begun, Your Highness. You're trying to start something that will be too painful to cease.” Your words struck him, and it physically pained you to see his face transform from excitement to distress.

“But I am not imagining what we have, am I? I have longed for you for years. Am I wrong to think you have too?” he pleaded.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Your Highness. We can’t possibly do this – think about it. Not only that, I cannot have the palace thinking I earned my position through your bed. There are so many reasons we cannot – I want you but I cannot have you!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you couldn’t help it in your grief. Eyes brimming with unshed tears of frustration, it hurt to look at him standing so close, and yet so out of reach.

At your anguish, Taehyung reached for your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even notice had fallen. His tenderness only sent another wave of sorrow through you, chest heavy. “I’m sorry. I know it was selfish to call you here. I know this is easier for me than you. Please forget I ever asked.”

“I know it’s wrong, but...”

“But?” he urged gently.

“Is it so foolish that I want it anyway?” you whispered. You looked at him wide-eyed, gaze pained, searching his face as if it held the answers to the universe. For you, perhaps it did.

“Y/N...” he begun, the sweet sound of your name coming from his lips the final nail in your coffin. Denying that you wanted this more than anything would be the greatest lie you’ve ever told. It was brash, and stupid, and irresponsible, but you wanted to feel this at least once. You wanted to indulge in his touch, his affection. You needed to feel his hands on you, his mouth on your skin, and you didn’t know if you would ever be brave enough to accept him again if you didn’t do it now.

“It can only be once. Nobody can know.” You couldn’t risk the noblewomen catching on to your activities. They were unusually observant, and you didn’t doubt their abilities to discern your relationship with even the faintest of hints. Taehyung knew better than anybody that the palace ladies treated gossip as currency, and word traveled especially quickly on matters involving him. He nodded at your words, but the grave look on his face told you he wished things were different.

“I will cherish our time together, My Lady” he breathed, but his conflicted expression spoke volumes. “We don’t have to do this-”

You shook your head, closing the space between you until your chests were pressed together. Stomach in knots and chest tight, you ran your fingers along his broad chest and down to his abdomen before wrapping them loosely around his waist. You would savour every touch, make note of every expression, save away every delightful noise from his lips, and you would pray for it to be enough to satiate you for a lifetime. Because it had to be.

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, your heart nearly leapt from your throat at the look on his face. The adoration, the warmness – but most of all, the pain. This was torture for both of you, and you knew it. It was selfish and self-destructive, but the two of you always seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in each other.

Without speaking, you reached up to grab hold of his head, yanking it down to smash your lips together without ceremony. He responded with fervor, moving against you, arms tugging until there was not even a millimetre of space between your bodies. You tried not to think about the desperation in your movements, the saltiness of the tears still present on your face. You dragged your hands over the planes of his chest and down to his biceps, nails digging in slightly when he bit at your bottom lip.

Harshly tugging his shirt from his waistband, you traced your nails up his bare skin, relishing in the uneven breath he let out in response. You would dedicate yourself to memorizing every inch of him. Every dip, every curve would be ingrained in your mind for eternity, your hands tracing patterns into his skin like a brush on canvas.

He did the same to you, his large hands finding their way beneath your blouse and chemise, lifting them both above your head to toss them to the floor. You were bare underneath, having planned to leave for your own bedchambers only minutes after arriving. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you on display entirely for him. His careful fingers traced the scars on your abdomen, accumulated through years of training and fighting on the frontlines. While ugly, you were not ashamed – these were proofs to others and to yourself that you would put your Kingdom above all else.

Bending at the knee, he traced his mouth down your jaw, down your throat, kissing you reverently as he continued his path. Passing over your breasts, he moved lower to mouth gently at the scars littering your belly, his gentle presses causing new tears to spring to your eyes. Was this how it felt to be worshipped? To be loved?

Taehyung took in the sorrow painting your features, but did not comment. There was nothing to be said – he understood perfectly. Perhaps if he pressed his face more firmly into the softness of your skin, he would spare you having to see the twin look of despair he was unable to hide.

Sliding a hand into his hair, you softly brushed it away from his face, gently pulling his chin up to look at you. Your heart wrenched at the sight of him, eyes looking at you as though you were a treasure, as though you weren’t the thing causing him so much pain. As though you wouldn’t leave him alone after this.

Tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, he quickly got the memo, shucking it off in a direction you didn’t see, too focused on what was just revealed to you. If not for the honeyed gold of his skin, you would have been convinced he was carved of marble. You traced the lines of his body, a tiny smile breaking through at the shudder he gave when your nails scratched over his nipples. Though your actions were slow, he did not rush you. He only watched the awe in your gaze, eyes wide as though if you blinked, he would disappear. The childlike wonder in your face warmed his heart, pleased that you would let your guard down here with him.

You blinked out of your stupor at the sensation of a warm hand on your cheek, the sight of Taehyung’s soft grin at your antics lighting a small fire of embarrassment in you. “Bed?” he asked lightly, nuzzling his face into your neck. The hot breaths near your ear sent a shiver down your spine, tugging him ever-so-closer as you nodded in response.

Pulling away from him, you tugged lightly at the drawstrings to your pants, biting your lip when you saw the Prince follow your every movement. Taking his hands into your own, you brought them to your waistband. “Help me,” you breathed, heart racing at the knowledge that you would soon be laid bare to him.

He took a deep breath before releasing the knot at your waist, tugging your pants ever so slowly down your legs. He knelt at your feet, removing the fabric from your ankles until the only cloth left on your body is your underwear. Eyes falling on your face, he thumbed the waistband, looking up at you in question. At your quiet “please,” he removed that too, your folds revealed to him, shiny with your arousal.

Groaning at the sight, Taehyung latched onto your clit before you could even process the movement, the sudden pleasure making you weak in the knees. He sucked at your bud lightly, taking pleasure in the way you sunk your hands into his hair to ground yourself. When you wobbled slightly in your bliss, his left arm rose to hold you steady at the waist.

When his other hand rose to thumb through your folds while his mouth continued its ministrations, you moaned out. Eyes falling down to observe the Prince, the sight brought a small whimper to your lips, your hips grinding down onto him. He looked absolutely sinful, his eyes heavy-lidded as he delved into your heat with such abandon, focused entirely on your pleasure. When he inserted a finger into you, quickly followed by another upon feeling your wetness, you were sure you would have fallen if not for his arm holding you steady.

“What-” you started, but ended up cutting yourself off with a loud moan at the sensation of his fingers scissoring inside you. “What happened to going to bed?” you managed to get out, utterly breathless.

You let out a gasp when he pulled from you abruptly in response, picking you up at the waist and throwing you onto his mattress. You had no time to reprimand him before he was spreading your legs, mouth and fingers returning to you as he joined you on the bed. Any words were stolen from your throat at the stretch of a third finger, your hips bucking up to get closer to the source of your pleasure.

“You taste so good,” he moaned out, panting. You didn’t miss the way he grinded his clothed crotch into the sheets, heat shooting through you at the sight. When his fingers curled inside you, the heat spread throughout your whole body, abdomen tight and walls clenching tightly around his fingers. You were so close to the edge, it would take only one breath before you fell over.

“Give it to me, please,” he pleaded, tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers continued to nudge that spongy spot inside you. Needing no more encouragement, you fell apart, moans forced from your throat, hips grinding against him as he worked you through your orgasm. When a dull ache begun to replace the pleasure, you pulled away from him, pushing him onto his back.

His arousal was clear, his cock straining in his tight pants enough that it must have hurt. Though, his face held no complaint, only dazed wonderment clear on his features, almost as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. He let out a sharp hiss as your nails traced the outline of his cock, his teeth biting furiously at his bottom lip.

Deciding not to torture him after the ecstasy he brought you, you tugged his pants and underwear down in one go, Taehyung groaning in relief as his cock sprung free. The tip was angry and red, the slit leaking precum. After freeing him of his clothing, you reached out a hand to pump lightly at his cock, noting the way it twitched in your hold. It looked almost painful, the vein running up the underside big and angry.

You began to lower your mouth to him, eager to return the pleasure he gave you, but were halted by a gentle hand on your cheek. “Please,” he begged, “I can’t. I need you,” he expressed all in one breath, eyes pained and needy.

Taking mercy on him, you rose, shifting until you were seated in his lap, mouth seeking his out. He cried out into your mouth at the sensation of your slick folds rocking against him, grinding down onto his cock. Hand reaching down to position him at your entrance, you pulled your face away to watch his as you sunk yourself slowly onto his length. The moan you let out at the stretch was crude, and it didn’t appear that Taehyung was faring any better, his breaths coming in pants, eyes screwed shut.

He’s beautiful like this, you thought, your own eyes wanting to badly to flutter closed, but your need to take in his every expression won out. Your head tipped back in pleasure as you seated yourself fully, moans escaping as you rocked against him, his pelvis pressing into your clit.

Losing yourself in the sensation, you fell forward to bury your face into Taehyung’s neck, his scent only adding to your pleasure. His hips rocked against your own, thrusts shallow, both of you letting out low moans at the movement. The friction against your clit had your abdomen tightening again, his tender hold on your body the best thing you’d ever felt. But as the pleasure reared in on you again, it was at that moment you remembered the totality of your situation.

You would never get this again.

The thought was like ice-water thrown over your head. How could you have forgotten? His cock deep inside you, his hips rising to meet your own, his hand clutching at the small of your back, his moans – it was all temporary.

You shoved your face tightly into his shoulder, hoping your sob would disguise itself as a moan. But at the shaking of your shoulders, Taehyung paused his actions, hand rising to cradle your head. “Y/N?”

“Tae,” you cried out, heart wrenching. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time he’s properly heard his name from your lips since your promotion – no teasing, no games. His heart broke at the sound, your sobs guttural, and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. The gravity of the situation brought tears to his own eyes, unable to suppress the emotion any longer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, your head lifting to meet his glassy eyes. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your lips quivering. This was an agony that only the two of you could ever understand.

“Taehyung, I-” you faltered, choking on a sob. I love you. You couldn’t say it. What good could it bring you now? But your eyes spoke volumes, the emotion clear on your face. He knew how you felt just as much as you knew how he felt.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears finally escaping his eyes as he tugged you closer. There was no way to be more intimate than this, arms cradling each other as you cried, his cock still nestled inside you.

It would have to be enough.

As your bodies shifted minutes later, the friction against you had you shivering, remembering the position you were in. You pulled your head from his neck to gaze at his face, his eyes meeting your own. It hurt, but there was sad acceptance in your eyes, mirrored in his own. You tried to force a small smile onto your face, but you were unsure whether it appeared as a grimace. You instead elected to press a soft kiss to his lips, eyes falling closed as he returned it.

You rocked your hips together slowly, relishing in the light sighs and quiet moans of the other. Your movements were tender, careful, full of love and affection you would never get the chance to verbalize. When you felt your release creeping up on you again, you arched your back, grinding into his pelvis. Wanting to help you along, Taehyung grabbed hold of your hips, holding you steady as he thrusted up into you, every so often holding himself deep, grinding against you. The emotion of it all had your breath caught in your throat, your orgasm washing over you in gentle waves as you writhed against his body.

You could tell he was coming undone, his thrusts erratic, breaths heavy as he pulled away from you to leave open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. You moaned at the overwhelming sensation of his movements so soon after your orgasm, but you wouldn’t dare rob him of his pleasure. Not now, not like this.

Groaning loudly, you felt his cock twitch inside you as he continued his thrusts, feeling the warmth of his release coating your walls. He shook in your arms, and you couldn’t bring yourself to confirm whether he was overwhelmed with pleasure or sorrow.

Letting out a whine as you pulled yourself off him, you wiped the mess between your legs on his sheets. His maids would clean for him come sunrise, and you were anxious to escape the room before you lost yourself fully to despair.

You allowed yourself to bask in his presence momentarily, laying alongside him for several minutes before you rose to get dressed. You kept your back to him, unwilling to show weakness despite your vulnerability only moments ago.

“Stay,” he begged, his voice still husky from the passion you’d shared. Your heart sunk at the suggestion. You wanted nothing more than to stay, but every minute you spent here knowing the outcome only shattered you a bit more.

Fully dressed, you made your way to the door. You could still feel where his hands touched you, where his lips pressed against you, where his cock had been inside you. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, misery colouring your tone. You turned to him, taking in his bare appearance for the last time. You stared, hoping to burn the image into your retinas.

“I know,” was his only response. What more was there to say? Your eyes swept over each other, locking this moment away in your hearts forever. Finally, you turned back to the door, turning the knob and stepping out into the hallway without looking back. The sound of the hinge falling into place behind you felt like waking up from a dream, the period at the end of a sentence.

Your tears fell freely and silently as you made your way back to your chambers. Your heart ached a bit more with the increasing distance, every step leaving a piece of you behind.

It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? You supposed whoever could claim such a thing had never loved like this. Because walking away left your heart in a million pieces, the only glue that could piece you back together still staring at his empty sheets, the dip from where your body once laid still warm to the touch.

Months went by without speaking of that night. The tonic you’d taken upon returning to your room had worked well, your body having bled weeks later. You had still talked to Taehyung – you had to; your duty required it. But the pain never ceased, only dulled. You told yourself you would move on, that there was no use in dwelling. But the heated glances you caught him directing at you, desire and heartbreak in his eyes, always took you right back to that night.

He hadn’t been with anyone since – not that you were listening. You couldn’t help but to overhear the palace ladies gossiping, spreading word of the Crown Prince denying their advances. You didn’t know what to do with the information.

Having just returned from mapping out Their Majesties route to a neighbouring city, you returned your horse to the stables. While not necessary, you much preferred to prepare yourself for every possibility of attack, taking note of any weaknesses in visibility along the path. Every second counts when you’re under attack, after all.

“Captain!” a voice called out to you urgently. Having just handed off your horse to the stablehand, you turned to meet the man, his hands on his knees as if he had just run a mile before coming here. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Captain. Their Majesties have requested your presence in the throne room.” Unusual, since you had met together only this morning, but you would not keep them waiting.

“Thank you, sir. I will head there now.”

You went directly to the throne room, pausing outside to nod to the royal family’s assistant stationed outside. He smiled to you briefly before pushing the door open.

“Captain Y/N to see you, Your Majesties.”

“Let her in, thank you,” a kind, feminine voice rang out.

You stepped inside quickly, taking a knee until the King gestured for you to stand. “I deeply apologize for my appearance, Your Majesties. I had just returned from planning our route for tomorrow and thought it better not to leave you waiting.”

The King smiled at you, the warm-hearted expression reminding you of Taehyung’s. Your chest ached at the thought, but you kept a blank expression. “Hard at work as always, I see. We had something we would like to discuss with you.” At his words, you noticed that not only were the King and Queen present, but Taehyung was stood off to the side as well. Your heartrate increased slightly at the sight of him.

“Your Highness. Forgive my disrespect, I had not seen you there,” you bowed respectfully, ignoring the heat that rushed through you at his appearance. His hair was loose, his outfit form-fitting. He was beautiful. You tried not to think too much on what he looked like beneath the clothes. “What can I do for you, Your Majesties?”

“Captain, my son came to us earlier today with quite the startling proposition,” he began, and your brows furrowed in confusion. When he failed to elaborate, you spoke up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“You see, he came to us in a frenzy and asked, ‘Father, what would you say if I wanted to marry the Captain of the Guard?’” You froze, eyes wide. Marry? You? Taehyung? Your heart pounded violently at the notion.

“Sire, I promise you this was not my idea. I apologize-”

“My dear, do not panic. We are not angry. But we wanted to ask your thoughts.”

“Your Majesties, I couldn’t possibly marry your son.” You made effort not to look at the Prince, lest your composure fail. “I have no lands to offer. No gold, nothing. I cannot offer you any alliance, I cannot bring anything to your family,” you turned to Taehyung, his expression unreadable. “You cannot marry a soldier,” you whispered, heart breaking once again as the possibility was dangled in front of you, lingering just beyond reach.

“Captain, do you know that the people adore you? That they sing your praises when we pass through their villages?” the Queen asked, a bright smile painting her features. Your face grew hot at the mention. “Your soldiers respect you. Your hometown throws festivals in honour of your birthday. Dare I say that you’re more popular than us?” she joked, giggle chiming lightly through the room. Taking in her appearance and mannerisms, it was no question why Taehyung was as handsome and as loved as he was.

“Ma’am, of course not,” you responded, hand raising to awkwardly scratch at your head. You were unsure where she was going with the statement.

“You’ve earned the Kingdom’s trust, Captain. You’re perhaps the most loyal person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Might I also add that you are not just some nobody? Your family has served ours for generations. You are of noble birth,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Do you consider yourself so unworthy?”

You paused at the question. It did not seem to be a trap, and the Queen was certainly not one to be malicious. Glancing around the room, you noted the King and Prince were observing your reaction expectantly. It was not an environment good for your nerves. “A soldier is not fit to be the future Queen,” is the statement you settled for, attempting to maintain a mask of indifference.

“My dear, do you remember what you told me only a few years ago? When I asked you if you were afraid of trying to accomplish what nobody else in history has?” the King’s deep voice rang out. Your gaze snapped up, knowing exactly what he was about to say. Oh no...

“‘Damn history. I will write my own history,’ I think it was.” Chuckles broke out across the room, the Queen tittering, Taehyung snickering. You’d never told Taehyung about that encounter, embarrassment flowing through you every time you thought about it. You focused your gaze on your feet, face burning at the reminder of your words.

“I have since learned to control my words, Sire,” you muttered ashamedly, fingers tangling together.

“Y/N,” the King’s voice called, grabbing your attention once again. “You have guts. Daring. You’re smart, well-trained. And there’s nobody I would trust to guard my life more than you.” You bit your lip at the praise, struggling to hide a proud grin. Being praised by the King was a feat not many experienced. “It would be an honour to call you our daughter.”

You stared, slack-jawed, processing his words. You didn’t notice Taehyung approaching you until his fingers laced with your own, his opposing hand moving to raise your chin. The open affection on his face, the love - it was everything you’d ever dreamed of and nothing you’d ever dared hope for. Your breathing quickened as he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Please,” he beseeched, vulnerability clear on his face. “Spend eternity with me, together. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled your eyes, but for once they were tears of joy, not tears of despair. You dropped to your knees to meet him, arms thrown around his neck. He barely had time to catch you as you threw yourself at him, bodies the closest they’ve been since that night in his bed. Raising your head to lock your eyes on his, you knew the same love you had for him was written all over your face.

“Yes,” you cried, hands raising to cup his jaw. “Yes.”

#vantaenet #heartsforbts #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fantasy au #bts historical au

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genesisrose74 · 3 years

Text

𝕤𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕠𝕗 𝕡𝕠𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕖𝕤 ▸ 𝕜. 𝕥𝕖𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕦

| the piggyback passages series |

Installment 2: in which a visit to the gym after practice leads to bubbly fits of laughter and dizzying shenanigans.

Pairing: Kuroo x Reader

Getting to see the Nekoma gymnasium right after volleyball practice ends was always an interesting sight. Players cleaning up, putting things away, and occasionally bickering with one another never failed to entertain your inquiring eye, one that managed to catch the remnants of their training session nearly every time you stopped by.

With a swift set of knocks on the gym door and a welcoming nod from Coach Nekomata, you enter into the vast space that’s become all too familiar to visit after school hours. The handle of the brown paper bag in your possession sways back and forth on your finger until it’s placed down on a folding chair near the boys’ practice bags, the smell of nikuman wafting through your nose as you crouch down to set it aside. Hopefully the team was hungry — which they almost always were post-practice.

Turning to the court, you’re met with an assortment of kind but tired out faces as numerous team members wave hello, at which you flash a kind smile of greeting. Your eyes finally settle upon a familiar figure leaving the storage closet, his voice easily distinguishable even in the midst of multiple as he converses with a (clearly disinterested) Yaku.

“I’m just saying that science is much more interesting than history,” he remarks airily, at which the libero scoffs.

“You’re clearly incorrect,” he responds matter-of-factly. “At least history is somewhat applicable to my daily life.”

“You say that as if everything around you doesn’t exist and work based on scientific principles—kitten!”

The Nekoma captain is pulled from his little debate for the moment as his gaze finds itself lingering on you, who’s currently snickering at one of many constant disagreements that the two aforementioned third years seemed to instigate on the daily. At your next words, however, his own growing smile at seeing you drops into a dramatic frown.

“Sorry Tetsu, but I’ve gotta agree with Yaku here,” you shrug with a cheshire grin, skirting around a casual greeting in favor of poking fun. “History is far superior to science as a core subject.”

Yaku smiles back at you, raising an arm in your direction with a smug flourish. “Case in point, rooster ass.”

Despite your disagreement on which academic course was better, Kuroo can’t help finding your expression adorable as you start to laugh, a bright tone that has your cheeks puffing out ever so slightly. On his right, Yaku simply rolls his eyes at his clearly captivated classmate, watching for a moment before pushing him towards the court’s sideline with a knowing look. “I’ll get the rest of the shagged volleyballs and put them away, because clearly you’re not going to be much help.”

Ignoring the lighthearted jab thrown by the libero, Kuroo takes advantage of his offer and quickly starts on his way over to you, still standing on the outer edges of painted court with a smile so pretty it just might kill him. You note that his tall stature only becomes more apparent when he stops only a foot away from the sideline, reminded once again why he was chosen to be one of Nekoma’s towering middle blockers. If not for the knowledge of some of his teammates, you would have thought he was the largest player in the entire school’s sports department. He’s probably still up there, in all honesty.

“You hurt my heart with that science thing,” your boyfriend chides, bringing a hand to his chest. “I thought our bond was closer than that.”

He pouts when you huff out a laugh. “Unfortunately for you babe, I could never lie to that cute face of yours.”

“You might just regret siding with Yaku when you figure out what’s coming next.”

“Yeah well...” your sentence trails off awkwardly, contemplating what Kuroo just said with slightly furrowed brows, whereas the third year in question watches quietly as playfulness swims in his eyes. “Wait, what do you mean by—TETSUROU!”

Without a word of warning, Kuroo sweeps you off the safety of the solid gym floor and into his arms, throwing you over his shoulder with ease. He only cackles when you shriek loudly, reaching pitifully for the hem of the back of his shirt as some weaker form of revenge. He’s got a secure hold on the back of your legs despite their halfhearted flailing, running around the court’s perimeter like a middle schooler.

Anyone who walked in wouldn’t even fathom that your idiot of a boyfriend was the captain of an up-and-coming powerhouse team. You would tell him that his playfulness is a quality you loved about him, if not for the fact that you were currently hanging upside-down as a result of his antics.

“I swear Tetsu, as soon as you put me down I am going to kick your ass!” you warn — although the growing smile in your voice doesn’t escape the ears of your ‘captor’.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep you like this then,” he hums, chuckling when you whine exasperatedly.

“But I still have to give the boys the snacks I brought for today!”

At the news of food, the remainder of Nekoma’s team perked up, a good number of them already watching your shenanigans as they finished cleaning.

“Fuck yeah!” Yamamoto cheered from across the floor. “Have I ever mentioned how much cooler you are than Kuroo?”

��What the hell, Tora?” the captain of topic snapped back, turning on his heel and making you squeak from the sudden change in direction. “I thought I was your favorite upperclassman!”

“Nah, that’s Kai,” he waves dismissively, sending you and Yaku into another fit of laughter.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, “you just keep getting thrown under the bus today, huh?”

Kuroo sways your still-suspended body lightly in retaliation. “Do you want me to hold you like a sack of potatoes for longer? Because just for that I will.”

“Ugh, please no more. I can feel the blood rushing to my head now.”

With that statement, he gently picks you up by the waist and brings you down, keeping his hold there as you wobble slightly on your own two feet. You meet his eyes with a partially twisted expression, nose scrunched up as you try to regain composure. “Gimme a minute.”

He only grins softly back at you, bringing one hand up to smooth out your tousled hair. “I might have overdone it that time; sorry kitten.”

“It’s alright — I thought it was fun for the most part, but now you might actually have to carry me for a second.”

“Wanna help me hand out the food you brought for the team, and I can have you on my back?” he offers, and he quickly crouches down when you nod affirmatively.

You hop on easily, Kuroo having no problem hoisting you up and waving the rest of the Nekoma boys over to the sidelines where the bag of nikuman still sits. Lev is the first one to bound over at the mention of snacks, and he smiles warmly at you before scouring through the available assortment of meat buns.

“I ‘dunnow how you put up wiff him tsum-times,” the tall Russian first year remarks as he stuffs his mouth full.

“The first time I agree with Lev on something,” Kenma murmurs as he approaches the gathering group of players, and Kuroo snorts at their mutual agreement.

“For your information, I’m a great boyfriend, thank you very much. Isn’t that right, babe?”

From a comfortable spot against his shoulder, you hum in agreement with the third year’s words, gently pressing your cheek against his. “He’s pretty alright, I suppose. Better when he’s not carrying me around like a ton of bricks.”

Kuroo snickers, offering the paper bag he holds out to an awaiting Fukunaga in front of you. “Maybe just piggyback rides like this from now on, then.”

“Sounds good to me.”

#piggyback passages #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo #kuroo haikyuu #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hq oneshots #hq fanfic #hq #nekoma x reader #haikyuu captains #nekoma

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ckret2 · 3 years

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GVK spoilers below, about conspiracy theories

I’m gonna get around to posting all my GVK reactions but this one got long so I’m putting it in its own post.

The Monsterverse series, in both KOTM and GVK, has some pretty interesting things to say about conspiracy theories and ecofascism; but, unfortunately, it doesn’t REALIZE that it’s saying any of them, so it keeps dropping the ball and missing opportunities to explore them.

Starting with KOTM, “there’s too many humans so we’ve just gotta let some die and that’ll fix pollution 🤷” is like false ecofascist claim #1 but at no point in the movie was it challenged as unfactual, it was just presented as a sad truth that people have to do morally ambiguous things about. Except that it’s just literally mathematically not true!

Emma could be such a GREAT, believable character—especially in this world with, like, frigging QAnon nonsense getting such widespread traction—showing a compelling, realistic tragedy of how this normal, intelligent, well-educated white mom who otherwise is likely left-leaning (pro-environmentalism, pro-nature conservation, got a doctorate and generally more academia correlates with more liberal ideals) got sucked into a far right ecofascist doomsday militia that combines hokey pseudo-environmentalist propaganda with “in balance with nature” semi-religious mysticism, because she was exploited at a time when she was emotionally vulnerable (when her kid had just died) and was lacking healthy emotional support (when her husband turned to alcohol and then ran off).

... Except the movie never says that her “overpopulation” beliefs are WRONG. It says that they’re RIGHT, and she was just forced to choose between two losing scenarios—deliberately kill most of humanity to hopefully save a few, or watch humanity kill itself.

Nobody bothers to mention that the size of the population isn’t the problem, it’s the disproportionate pollution coming out of first world countries. Nobody bothers to mention that when Emma talks about “overpopulation” and shows a screenshot of an overcrowded neighborhood, it ain’t affluent downtown skyscraper condos in Europe or America that she’s highlighting, but large masses of poor people whose neighborhoods look “dirty” to the white woman’s eyes, despite the fact that they’re contributing the least to humanity’s carbon footprint.

Emma’s beliefs are empirically wrong, and if KOTM had ever demonstrated that, it would’ve been brilliant. Instead, it tries to say “she was right, she just went too far,” and in doing so loses an opportunity to make Emma a deeply believable, timely, realistic, well-meaning but wrong villain.

And now we’ve got GVK, which has swerved away from the ecofascism but doubled down on the conspiracy theories. Here, Emma’s daughter, who was raised for five years with what amounts to a survivalist doomsday cult’s beliefs, when faced with the grief of her mother’s death and the struggle of trying to reconnect to her estranged father, turns—again—to conspiracies to make sense of the world around her. Because that’s what Madison’s been raised with, and even though she got disillusioned with the particular “we know something special that the normal people can’t handle” beliefs that she was raised with, that kind of thinking is still what she knows. She’s still doing what her mother raised her to do! She’s still pulling the “hypercompetent highly-trained lone wolf ‘survivor’ saves the world” shtick that Jonah’s gang taught her to do—but it’s never brought up that it was screwed up to raise a child like that and it’s screwed up for her to still be interacting with the world like that.

At least THIS conspiracy theorist isn’t literally advocating for global genocide. Bernie’s focus largely seems to be on “this corporation is trying to screw people over and screw up the environment—” (because in Monsterverse, as in Toho monster movies as a whole, kaiju/titans and the environment are symbolically conflated, so if a corporation is messing with Godzilla then they’re messing with nature as well) “—so I’m gonna find out what they’re up to and be a whistleblower.” Which is great! Solid start! We’ve got a guy taking aim at big business and who says “when the weather Godzilla acts erratic, it’s not random chance, it’s because a big business is doing something it shouldn’t,” so it looks like we’ve got a leftist conspiracy theorist, that’s different, could be interesting to explore.

Except then he starts talking about governments serving a “global elite” and facilities built by “lizard people” and then we’ve swung right back around to the far right by casually dropping in a couple of antisemitic conspiracy theories.

Add that in with the whole “hollow earth” thing and damn, we’re namedropping a lot of antisemitic conspiracy theories, aren’t we? Granted, most conspiracy theories ARE antisemitic—but like, they could have dug around for some that aren’t. Have him talk some more about Roswell. Have him bring up things that we’ve actually got documentation happened and theorize that MKUltra research was used in Apex’s development of their pilot’s psychic mind link to Mechagodzilla. Have him bring up tailor-made-for-the-Monsterverse conspiracy theories that don’t exist here, “Monster Zero is actually the secret weapon of a nearby ‘Planet X’ that’s gonna invade,” whatever. Instead, nah, we went with the antisemitic ones.

Now, do I think the writers behind KOTM and GVK intended antisemitism? Do I think they’re closet alt-right trying to dogwhistle the fascists in the audience? No, I think they think they’re making fun of—or playing around with—what they see as harmless, unbelievable, way-out-there conspiracy theories. I think they know just enough about “hollow earth” and “global elites” and “lizard people” to make references to them, but not in a way that promotes the common antisemitic understanding of those theories as true. (Monsterverse’s hollow earth, a weird underground jungle where King Kong lives, sure doesn’t resemble the usual conspiracy theory.) To me, the way they were used suggests the writers didn’t deeply understand (or at least, didn’t deeply think about) what the theories really mean—nor what they imply about the beliefs of the characters who espouse them. Which is the crux of my issue with how the movies deal with conspiracy theories and ecofascists and so forth (beyond the fact that, hey, I just don’t like seeing likable characters casually referencing antisemitic beliefs): the writers didn’t think about the implications.

Because these things do imply a lot! For example, if, say, Josh, total newb to conspiracy theories, had asked about lizard people, I would have grimaced to hear it but I would have believed that he’s a teen boy that picked up the term at school and doesn’t know anything about what’s behind it. But on the other hand, I can’t believe a guy so deep in the conspiracy theory world that he bathes in bleach doesn’t know exactly what those conspiracies mean—or, even if he does somehow staunchly refuse to believe that “lizard people” is a code for “Jewish people,” that whatever circle of conspiracy theorists he runs with doesn’t use it as a code. Bernie didn’t pick up those beliefs in a void. I really doubt that’s what the writers wanted to imply about the goofy likable underdog with a podcast.

And sure, the “global elite” and “lizard people” references are presented like a “haha look how far out his beliefs are” joke—the same as the fluoride reference, which is basically Hollywood code for “bogus nonsense only complete lunatics believe” thanks to Dr. Strangelove—but at the same time, they’re never really disproven. Nothing he believes is challenged. Nor are any of Madison’s beliefs that she’s picked up from him. Everything they both believe is either a “wow that’s wild” throwaway joke, or else they’re presented as totally right, e.g. about Apex being up to dubious crap that’s irritating Godzilla.

Just like Emma, who was presented as in the wrong not because she was incorrect but because she WAS correct but took the wrong actions. And just like Rick in KOTM, who kept bring up the hollow earth theory like a running joke but then the joke was that he was right.

And that’s at the root of the issues with both movies’ portrayals of conspiracy theories. Aside from the jokes that are never explored (and therefore, never disproven), the movies say that, every time it matters, the conspiracy theorists on the fringe are correct, the heroes that need to be believed. Even though all (excluding Rick) are characters who have suffered deep loss, who have been hurt, who you can imagine as passionate but grieving people who turned to dangerously wrong extremism in their search for meaning... the movies don’t portray them as people who have been led astray by their pain, but enlightened by their pain. Which is what they themselves think they are, sure, but that doesn’t line up with reality.

The movies never forces them to grapple with how far they’ve gone astray from reality—and I think they should. I’d like to see them processing the revelation that their beliefs are wrong. Whether it’s as big as somebody trying to convince Emma that killing half the population doesn’t fix the pollution caused by corporations rich enough to weather a global hurricane, or as small as Bernie looking at Apex’s financial records and realizing the company’s money is going to the CEO’s vacation home rather than a reptile government and deciding to rethink those beliefs after they’ve checked out Hong Kong.

“Conspiracy theorist is right about everything” is already a common enough trope that Monsterverse isn’t breaking any new ground with it. And in a franchise like Godzilla, whose movies are rife with messages both allegorical and literal about environmentalism, corporate exploitation, the futility of military action, international politics, war crimes... letting the conspiracy theorists be wrong and showing that they’re wrong and what that wrongness can lead to would mesh far better with the themes of Godzilla.

Think about Jonah and Emma unleashing Ghidorah (who emerged from a destroyed ice cap and immediately caused devastating hurricanes—a perfect metaphor for climate change), and what that could say about how ecofascists who purportedly joined the movement because they support environmentalism are actually far more in bed with the destructive industries really at the root of environmental damage... if the movie acknowledged them as ecofascists.

Think about how Jonah collected Ghidorah’s head at the end of KOTM and by the time of GVK it was in Apex’s hands, and how this exchange demonstrates that “I want to unleash titans to destroy humanity to save the environment” Jonah the ecoterrorist and “I want to beat the titans to protect humanity” Simmons the billionaire CEO actually have far more similar ideals beneath the surface of their opposed goals—ideals that have less to do with the environment or with humanity and more to do with securing personal power and control... if the movie had explained how this exchange took place.

Think about how Madison’s mother died trying to mitigate just a little of the damage she did under the thrall of a doomsday cult’s skewed beliefs, how even though Madison broke free she found herself embroiled in similarly skewed beliefs just three years later, and how powerful it would have been if she recognized that she herself had walked right back into the kind of fringe beliefs her mother had led her into as a child, and if she had then resolved to learn how this kept happening to her and break this pattern... if the movie had ever let her realize that she was making the same mistakes, or even acknowledged them as mistakes.

There’s so much potential there, so many things you can see happening right beneath the surface... but the movies never touch on them. And so it looks like, in Monsterverse, all fringe beliefs are either right or harmless. And we never get the “disillusioned conspiracy theorist” story that could be so brilliant and that, right now, would be so relevant.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #kotm #meta

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 3 years

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Locked and Reloaded [Ch. 5]

Marvel AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Implied Abusive Household

Genre: Action, Light Comedy, Angst

Pairing: NCT Dream x Reader

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

(5/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Locked and Reloaded Masterlist]

Word Count: 6.5K

Notes: It’s about time these members entered the story. I’m dropping this now instead of a Saturday upload because I’m getting my second dose of vaccine in about nine hours, and from how both of my parents reacted something tells me that I’m going to be incapacitated for the next two days, so I decided to finish this bad boy up now! Currently next on my list to work on is Infatuation, so I’ll see you in that update!

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in or condone these actions. I would never wish any of these actions to occur to the Idol(s) mentioned in the writings of these stories, nor do I wish any harm on them.

“That’s stupid,” you told your older brother. Baekhyun just laughed. You had just finished ranting to him how a majority of the premise of chemistry was ridiculous, being founded on one key theory that could be amended at any moment, something now set in stone or put to law. It was a theoretical science that clashed with the lawfulness of physics and the puzzle of biology. “Chemistry is literally the weakest link.”

“I don’t quite think so, songbird,” the nickname was sweet in his voice, it was one you had had for as long as you could remember. He leans against your desk and he points at the picture. “It’s just atomic theory.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid. Imagine, all of this work, all seven hundred of these pages and countless other books could get proved incorrect if someone disproves it.”

“You read this entire textbook and that’s all you have to say about it?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wah, you’re so amazing and you don’t even know it,” he hugged your head to his stomach and you pushed him away.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you wiped the sweat from your face. “At least shower before coming into my room! You’re disgusting when you use the gym.”

“And miss my darling sister? No way, that and I came to congratulate you!” He points at the certificate on your desk just under your coffee mug. “Not every day you win the science fair… again.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” you put a textbook over it. He was right, but it was hardly an achievement for you at this point, it was an expectation.

“What did you do this year?” None of them even showed up, the only person there to help you with your project was Jeno, but he was always there whether you liked it or not.

“You don’t know?”

“I was at the conference, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you sighed. “It was just an observation on bees.”

“Whoa! Bees are great! They’re so helpful for pollination, for honey, and so much more!” Baekhyun smiles. “Hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? Fourteen? Oh god, oh no, my songbird? A teen? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You’re overreacting! It’s not like I’m going to be any different. Plus, I’m already a teen.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you have no idea. Thirteen is the one year free trial before you start having to pay to be a teen. Once you turn fourteen, ugh, I don’t even know how to say this,” Baekhyun fake cries and wipes away the invisible tears. “It’ll be like you’re a whole different person.”

“Stop that! Why are you acting so weird?” You laughed and turned to him. Baekhyun crossed his arms over his chest and your smile dropped. You knew that look on his face better than anyone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I leave tonight,” he says.

“How long?”

“Maybe a week this time, dad wants to show me the properties over in Zone 8.”

“Seriously? What for?” The factories that far out from the city were nearly ghost factories, they just handled building the smaller removable parts of the weapons your father developed. You couldn’t think of a possible reason why Baekhyun would have to go out that far.

“I have no clue, maybe he just wants me to see the Byun system at a smaller scale,” Baekhyun sighs. “Will you be okay here?”

“Will I be okay here? Don’t make me laugh,” you slammed your textbook shut and stared at him. “She hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She does! You’ve seen the way she talks to me when you’re not around, Baek, I genuinely think that woman wants to get rid of me.”

“She’s your mother.”

“No, she’s your mother.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it did. But you could genuinely say that you never felt anything from her aside from the obvious disdain she must have held for you. But what could you do? You’d hate you too. If one day your husband showed up at your doorstep with a kid you didn’t recognize telling you to treat her as if she was your own, you’d despise that child’s existence. All you were was proof of infidelity, and your stepmother made that very clear. You were her daughter on paper alone, but in reality, you were nothing more than a freeloader. “I’m just the bastard kid from dad’s mistress.”

“Do not,” Baekhyun held a finger up and stared at you with an intensity you’ve never seen on his face before. Seriousness wasn’t something that Baekhyun often used, especially around you. “Do not ever reduce yourself to that. Do you understand? You are so much more than that and you can’t let anyone who says that to you bring you down, you cannot let that weigh on you. Who even told you that?”

“She did. Who else?”

“God…” Baekhyun looked away and huffed. He held his hand to his forehead and sighed. “Keep in touch with me, okay? Just one more year and I can take it to court.”

“Forget it, Baek,” you waved your hand. “It would never work. We have no proof.”

“Well,” Baekhyun pressed his lips together and placed a tape in front of you.

“A tape? Seriously?”

“Don’t hate on old tech, they’re still around for a reason. I have a walkman in my room, second drawer on my desk. Listen to it later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you placed the tape in your own drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

“Just wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay, just go, dad’s probably waiting for you,” you opened your textbook again and stared at the passages on it. You had a really bad feeling about tonight, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.

“Love you, songbird.”

“I know.”

“Sungchan! Four o’clock!” You shouted towards the agent. Sungchan, moving a second too late was met with the spine of a book to his face, promptly knocking him out. “Aw, geez,” you shoved your bag under a table, hoping that it would be somewhat okay after the fight, and threw a metal tray, the circular object blocking one of the flying weapons from hitting Shotaro on his way to Sungchan.

“Thank you!” He shouts. He leans next to his best friend and tries to wake him up while the fight continued.

“I’ll try to keep you guys covered, but you might need to fill in for me eventually, Reaper’s not doing too good over there,” you stumbled over to the two and handed Shotaro one of the pillows from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked out, but I have to watch him just in case… you know.”

“I do, just make sure he’s fine.”

With Jeno’s sudden appearance the Sanctum became a new battleground. Ancient artifacts were being used left and right for battle, whether they were used correctly or not, and with incoherent shouts filling the previously calm room. Strange was doing his best to prevent anything potentially world-threatening from happening, the Sorcerer Supreme understanding the laws of the universe, as well as any of you did, while the Maverick worked to bring down Vulture. The surprise attack rendered them at an unfortunate disadvantage. Strange was more concerned with keeping the battle within the Sanctum than he was helping any of you out, which was entirely understandable.

“I got it!” Peter shoved back the bookcase that was about to fall on you.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Just so you know I am so sorry I did not mean for any of this to happen I didn’t know.”

“Oh goodness, no hard feelings, Peter, it happens to the best of us,” you said to him. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), that means a— Watch out!” He pushed you out of the way just as a shield lodged itself between you, you turned towards the source and saw Vulture, and you had to stop yourself from getting any more frustrated than you already are.

“Fucking hell,” you clapped your hands together and jogged in place. “Stretching before fights is good for you, Peter, don’t forget that,” you said to him. Then you saw Cap waving his hand. You pulled the shield from its spot and threw it back to him.

“Nice arm!”

“Don’t lose your shit!” You moved your head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past you. “And watch where you’re aiming!” You dodged another bullet as it ricocheted off of one of the metal artifacts of the Sanctum.

“I am,” Jaemin’s voice was steady despite the chaos. “Reaper!” Jaemin tossed one o the artifacts towards the other, particularly a sharp one, and Jeno drove it into the wall next to Vulture, just barely grazing the Follower. Vulture grabbed onto the back of Jeno’s neck, the razor claws on his hands emerging and sinking into the half-demon before Vulture slammed Jeno’s head through the wall.

“Urgh, I felt that,” you rubbed the back of your neck as the phantom pain shot through it. You quickly stepped back just as an eldritch whip snapped in front of you.

“Mr. Wong?!” Peter gasps.

“That one isn’t in our database,” Jaemin grabbed onto the whip as it went towards you again, ‘Wong’ staring at him with a slight confusion, to which Jaemin just tugged it away from the other’s hands, watching the concentrated energy dissipate.

“Well then add him later, dammit,” you charged towards Vulture but soon felt something wrap around your ankle. You looked at the portal next to your foot and the hand around it. “Ew! Oh my god!” You yanked it out of ‘Wong’s’ grasp and shot towards him, the bullets disappearing before they could get anywhere close. No wonder it was so fucking convenient, you hoped whoever the real Wong was and where he was currently wasn’t too horrible.

“We should name this guy,” Jaemin dodged the eldritch disk that nearly sliced his throat. “I’m thinking Frisbee.”

“Oh come on, let’s stay true to tradition and wait for Hyuck,” you pulled a sword from the suit of armor next to you and blocked the whip again. You turned the hilt in your hand and smiled. “Ooh, I like this. You know my ex used to be an expert fencer.”

“I almost forgot about that one,” Jaemin hums. “What’s with sleeping beauty over there?”

“Got hit in a face with a book.”

“Oh that’s good, one less bomb we have to worry about.”

“That’s rude,” you scolded him.

“Can someone help me over here?!” Jeno’s pissed off voice came from the office. He pushed himself up from the rubble and cracked his neck before his knuckles. “I’m going to kill this guy, fuck the Agreement.”

“Does the Agreement even apply this far out?” You asked. Jaemin pulled out his phone briefly. The Agreement was offered by the D98 Avengers, basically promising not to do any dimension altering things, but it was just a promise, nothing was set in stone and thus was lacking in any legality. It was a gentleman’s promise, so to say.

“Technically it doesn’t, D62 is far out of D98 bounds. And since none of the Avengers are here…” Jaemin let Jeno fill in the blanks himself.

“Good,” Jeno tapped his wrists together, a blood-red magic circle appearing between them.

“Wait, do you guys hear that?” You looked around while skillfully parrying evil Wong’s attacks.

“Hear what?” Shotaro was nursing the passed out Sungchan while blocking any projectiles that made their way towards him.

“It kind of sounds like screaming,” Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it sounds like… no, of all the members to send,” you groaned. Then the sound of doors crashing open accompanied the chaos that was the Sanctum while a familiar face ran in head first, literally, screaming his head off, and rams into Dr. Strange.

“I got this one, V! Don’t worry!” Chenle shouts.

“You idiot he’s on our side!” Jeno grabs a polearm from a nearby suit of armor and whacks it over Vulture’s head, the polearm breaking in half right after and really just pissing off the Follower more.

“Oh is he? Sorry!” Chenle detached himself from the sorcerer.

“Looks like we’ll be having a change in plans,” Strange murmured and disappeared from the room.

“Did the wizard just dip?!” You yelled.

“I think so!” Chenle yelled back, despite being right next to you.

“Why are you even here?!”

“We were talking to Fury when Jeno just fell into a sudden pool of blood! I followed your tracker here because I figured you’re in trouble. Be grateful!”

“I never said I wasn’t?!” You heard a pang next to you and turned to your side, a circular shield blocking your vision for only a brief moment before connecting with Other Wong’s abdomen.

“Thanks,” you nodded towards Steve.

“No problem,” he says. “But where’d that bullet come from?” Cap looks around the room. Jaemin rushes next to you and grabs something, pointing it upwards. Within a few moments, someone materializes next to him. A classic cloaking spell, of course, right when you needed it most.

“Monsieur,” her voice was hoarse.

“Lynx,” you saw him grimace while the woman drove a knife into Jaemin’s side and twisted it harshly. A loud groan left the man’s throat while you darted next to him and tackled the woman to the ground.

“I like your D62 version better!” You pressed your gun to her head and she threw you off before you could pull the trigger.

“Nat!?” Steve blocked another gunshot from her with his shield.

“Not Nat,” Bucky answers.

“Where have you been?”

“This thing’s still glowing,” Bucky held up the crystal.

“Give that to me!” Chenle appears next to them and grabs it. “You meaty idiots don’t know what to do with this.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Apperio!” Chenle ignored the Captain and chanted the charm, a magic circle appeared around the crystal. Following the ripple of two blue circles that expanded throughout the room, two more people appeared.

“There’s more of them?!” You shot Vulture in the leg. Before you were two other notorious members of the Elite. Arachnid, who you fought before, and Dead Shot, someone you were hoping not to run into in this dimension. “Someone get Parker out of here as soon as he touches Arachnid it’s over!” You shout.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t even try that. What good is this mission if any of us blow up the dimension while we’re at it,” Arachnid catches the flying dagger and flings it back towards Jaemin, who easily dodged it.

“We have orders to keep you alive, Vendetta, comply and the others will live,” Dead Shot spoke in his trademarked mechanical voice.

“Fuck that,” you pointed your gun at Arachnid and click. Click, click. “Well, this is awkward,” you chucked the magnum at Arachnid, the handle of the gun hitting the area between the mutant’s eyes and stunning him briefly, while Dead Shot released a flurry of bullets. You ran along the wall to dodge them, looking for something to shield yourself with now that Cap and Bucky were busy with Lynx, Jeno had Vulture busy, and Jaemin moved over to Arachnid so that Peter could handle Evil-Wong instead.

“Surrender or be forced to, Vendetta.”

“Well, shit,” you held a book in front of you while Dead Shot went through consecutive rounds.

“How could you not know a Follower was here?!” Jeno was pushed back next to you while deflecting Vulture’s attacks.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?! I didn’t even know that those three were here until a couple of minutes ago!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not kidding you because if I was we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“It has been thirty minutes! I let you and Jaemin go for thirty minutes and this happens!”

“In our defense,” Jaemin gets pushed back to the other side of you and clears his throat. “Peter brought us here.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Peter brushes off the embers on his suit. “Aw man, how am I going to explain this to Mr. Stark?”

“Explain? Have you been reporting us to him?!” You asked.

“Uh… no,” Peter’s phone goes off and he answers it. “Hi, Mr. Stark, there’s kind of a situation going on right now—”

“Tell them not to come here! If any of the other Followers show up it could tear the fabric of reality apart!” Chenle shouts. A magic circle appears under Peter’s phone and it short circuits. Chenle adjusts the watch around his wrist, a much larger magic circle appearing from it.

“Vocavi te ab umbris,” at the utterance of the words the shadows in the room gathered together to a much larger amalgamate. “Go, Vendetta, I’ll keep them handled.”

“Fuck,” you spotted your backpack, which was pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“What now?” Jeno asks.

“Backpack.”

“What about it?”

“There’s something really important in there,” Jaemin sounded disappointed. “We could hole-in-one it, V.”

“We could,” you said. “But that risks shaking it up too much.

“Hot potato then?” Jeno offers.

“Who would start it?”

“The closest person is Shotaro, if he throws it far enough I could probably catch it,” Jeno says. “Pass it over to Jaemin.”

“Then I’ll pass it to you. But by then you need to be in that hallway,” Jaemin says.

“Got it, I can do that.”

“And if anything goes wrong?”

“Wing it.”

“We’re going to die in this dimension, aren’t we?” Jeno frowns.

“On the count of three, break,” Jaemin says, ignoring his best friend’s words. You hand Jeno the old sword, which he took without question. “One.”

“What do I need this for?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

“Two.”

“Wait, are we even on the same page?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Three!” Jaemin shoved you forward and you took off, dodging literally everything on your way to get out and probably get some more help.

“Shotaro! Pass me that backpack!” Jeno shouts over the gunshots. Shotaro perked up and grabbed the black bag, chucking it towards Jeno, who caught it easily. “Monsieur— Fuck, too far, Apollo! Pass this over to him!” Jeno tossed the backpack towards Chenle, the heavy bag slamming into the magician mid-spell.

“What the hell?!”

“Pass it here!” Jaemin knocked over Lynx and used her head the propel himself up and grab the backpack after Chenle threw it. He ran over towards you and threw it. Right as your hand grabbed the strap, it was yanked away from you.

“Fuck!” You looked back at who had it now, seeing your backpack in the hands of the last person who should have it. You were about the run over to him, but the bullet that landed too close for comfort reminded you that you had to leave now. “Arachnid has it!” You’d just have to put your trust into the three that were already here.

“Got it,” Jeno bashed his knee into Vulture’s head, finally incapacitating the Follower and switched targets. You turned around and ran into the hallway. You just had to call one of the other members to run over here with some extra materials. You hit the side of your phone, which only frizzed at the motion. Chenle must have jammed the signals to prevent more reinforcements from coming, great. You couldn’t run around forever, Dead Shot always hit his targets in the end, you continued down the hallway, not bothering to look back, but when you found yourself cornered against a hallway, you forced to figure out a solution. With the smell of smoke and the sounds of bullets hitting the ground— Wait a second. You looked down the hallway, bullets hitting metal and ricocheting towards you but never hitting any intended destination, there wasn’t even a bullet hole in sight, instead there were just empty shells on the ground. But in your analysis you failed to notice the stray bullet that was right in front of you. Then you saw someone’s closed fist in front of you.

“Did I get all of them?” He panted. He opened his hand and twelve bullets fell out of it.

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re just in time, I don’t remember you being this fast either,” you caught your breath and hugged the speedster, separating quickly. Mark pat down the smoke on his boots.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast…” He stretches his back and kicks the bullet shells aside.

“How’d you even get here?”

“The sorcerer guy called Baekhyun and asked us to come right away. I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good so I came first, told them I’d scout the area. It’s a good thing I came, otherwise you’d look like Sponge-Bob…” He laughs awkwardly. “You’re at your quota, aren’t you?” He looks down at your feet. You followed his gaze and saw the rusted knife sticking out from it, then you noticed the bloody trail you left behind. You sighed and pulled the old thing out.

“Remind me to get a Tetanus shot.”

“You are at your quota,” he gasped.

“Can’t afford to possibly die right now,” you shook your head. “I thought since the dimension was far enough it’d get me some leeway, but I guess not,” you grimaced.

“Shit, it really is a good thing that I came just in time,” Mark looks over his shoulder. “Dead Shot should be on his way, you didn’t make it hard to find you.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me right now, Mark.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” the speedster ruffled his blue hair and unzipped his jacket, pulling out a book from it. It was heavy, no doubt, leather-bound with metal embellishments around it. The book had lived through as many eons as it did dimensions. You had asked Mark to try to get it for you if he could, but nothing more than that. Better to leave him in blissful ignorance. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to say this,” he says while he hands it to you.

“Just spit it out.”

“I was looking into that thing you asked me about and here, this is all I got,” he says. “Whatever you need it for it’d better be important, I almost got turned into a frog for it. The guy I got it from warned me not to read it though.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, something about corrupting the person who reads it.”

“Oh shit, I should have Jeno read it then.”

“True, you can’t corrupt a demon.”

“But then again he is only half.”

“Look, (Y/N), I only got you the book because you were so insistent on it. Just reassure me and tell me that you won’t do anything stupid with it.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid, Mark. When are the others coming?”

“I just gave them the signal to enter, they’ll be taking care of the Follower problem here in a bit. But you’re going to have to explain why you’re here to them, and I’m afraid that it might involve you revealing your identities this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you be in D62 being housed and paid by this dimension’s Avengers?”

“Fair enough—” you were cut off by the bullet grazing your ear and landing in the wall behind you. Another one rang out and Mark grimaced, holding his hand to his shoulder

“Argh! Come on!” He grunts. He puts a hand on your back and one behind your neck.

“Why?”

“Whiplash,” you blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the Avenger’s Compound.

“Mark, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry! Jeno’s orders! I’d rather a pissed off you than Jeno!”

“Mark, I swear if you zoom out of here—” but the speedster was already gone by the time you turned around. “Dammit!” You kicked the wall and winced immediately, you completely forgot that it was the same foot that had a knife driven through it earlier.

He was right, you’d reached your quota. There was a certain amount of times you were allowed to “die” until it would be too much, and you knew you’d be at this quota when your body would stop healing itself, it was getting ready for its original host to return. You just didn't think you’d reach it soon, and who knows until the number resets? It was always a varying number, and until it did you had to lay low. It was such a hassle that you always tried to avoid it, but coming to this dimension seemed to have expedited the whole thing. You heard a bag of chips drop behind you.

“(Y/N)? When did you get here?” Jisung stared at you while he picked up the bag.

“Mark.”

“Mark’s here? Where?” Jisung looks around.

“There was a complication at Dr. Strange’s place,” you limped towards him, he rushed over to you and reached for your hand to help you, but you tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisung gave you a little more space, but still walked next to you, sporting that easy-to-read concern. “Do they need help?”

“No. The Avengers are coming.”

“Oh… oh no,” Jisung caught onto why you were being short now. “Oh no, oh no, we won’t have a choice then.”

“No, we won’t,” you heaved the large book under your arm. Jisung looked at it but chose not to question you. “I’ll be in my room, I have a lot of thinking to do before we explain ourselves to the lapdogs so, if you need me, I’ll be in there,” Jisung says.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Haechan held his hand up and Jisung furiously shook his head. Hyuck pressed on regardless. “Think you need this,” he waved the small box in his hand and you did a doubletake.

“Where did you get that?!” You rushed forward and snatched it out of his hands. “Be a bit more gentle with it!”

“Whoa! What’s got you pissed? Jeno drowned and dropped this. Changmin said to give it to you so I figured it’s important, damn.”

“The Avengers are coming.”

“Like… these Avengers?” He points around the room. “Or our Avengers.”

“The second one,” Jisung nods. “Right, (Y/N)?” You didn’t answer, you were already halfway to your room. You tossed the book on your bed and you opened the small box, pulling the vial of iridescent liquid from it. You twisted it open and downed its limited contents in one gulp. You felt all of your muscles relax at once and you sat on the bed. The wound on your foot closed quickly.

“Postponed, at least for now,” you stretched your arms. “But not permanently,” you placed the vial back in the box and you grabbed the book. As you held the two sides in your hands, ready to open it, you recalled Mark’s warning. Then you remembered the words of the Demon King himself.

“If you know what’s good for you, and what’s good for the world you reside in. Do not seek more than you already know about yourself.”

The times you spoke to Jeno’s father were limited, and your best friend liked it that way, preferred it actually, but the times you did talk they were always pleasant. Save for that warning. He knew something you didn’t, the both of them. You acquired this book without any of their knowledge. For years you just went with it, there’s a quota for death, there’s a reason why you can’t die, there’s a reason why you should avoid stepping near the Seraph, but now in this new universe, you had to know. There was something calling out to you in this dimension, it was very faint, and you didn’t truly notice it until you walked into the Sanctum.

You put the book away, sliding it under the bed.

Trust is mutual, if two very powerful beings are telling you to stay in your lane you probably should. You knew the bare minimum of your condition, so to say, you knew what you had to. Die too many times too close together and something else will come and reclaim its host, and all you knew about that entity was that it was some eldritch creature that took a millennia to finally contain, and for some reason, it had some affinity for you. That is where your knowledge stopped and your curiosity began. What could be so powerful that even the all-powerful Demon King wanted to keep it contained, and what did it have to do with you? Your answers were under your bed. But you risked too much by simply opening the book on its own. You hit your head lightly on the wall behind you. The liquid in the vial would extend your quota by at most three, you had to use them carefully. If you were going to attract a horrific monster, it would probably be best to not do it in a world that you didn’t belong to.

There was a knock at your door.

“What do you want, Renjun?”

The door opened slowly, and someone else stood at it.

“Is now a bad time?” Stark asks. You shook your head.

“It’s your building, come in,” you sighed. He walked in at your invitation, sitting at the table to the side.

“So this is what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant by living accommodations,” he laughs.

“What did you need, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony’s fine, thanks,” he says. “Sorry, it was eating away at me, I had to ask.”

“You wanna know about what you’re like in my dimension, right?”

“I’d appreciate it, but, something tells me I should come back later.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Probably getting their asses kicked, but I’m here instead,” you shrugged. “Honestly, you’re not that different. Maybe a little less depressed, but that’s about it. For what it counts, to our knowledge, you aren’t a Follower. You work closely with the Seraph, if they found out then you would’ve been executed on spot, at the very least.”

“Oh yeah? Crazy leader or rational one?”

“Bit of both,” you leaned forward on your bed, kicking the book further under your bed. “Want to know anything else?”

“I was wondering if you could walk me through your Traveler of yours, is it anything like Time Travel?”

“Let’s call it two sides of the same coin.”

“How so? What do you use? Cosmic strings? Möbius strip?”

“Have you heard of the infinite cylinder theory?”

“Also known as Tipler?

“Yes!”

“Then yes, I’m aware.”

“How about Schrödinger’s Equation?”

“We’re talking hamiltonian operators?”

“Bingo. If you can manipulate those two concepts, you can get time travel, but it’s not perfect. So manipulate them differently, add a few more concepts because you have to take relativity into account, and bam. Dimensional Travel.”

“That easy?”

“Yeah, well, no, but in theory sure.”

“And you never went to high school?”

“What’s that got to do with it? If you need a degree to prove you’re right then you’re probably not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you shrug. Tony opened his mouth to retaliate, but couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. “Something tells me you want to ask me something more specific though, Peter let slip that he’s been sending you updates, so I’m sure you’re here for a different reason.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help us?”

“Don’t really know how to answer that one, Tony,” you placed your ankle on your opposite knee and rolled out your ankle. “Usually we just take whichever job pays the most, but Changmin asked us personally to take this one, so how could we say no? The guy rarely ever asks us favors, and it was the least we could do.”

“That simple?”

“What? Did you want me to say that we wanted to meet you guys? I mean, it’s certainly a plus. Most of your team happen to be carbon copies of the same one who wants to kill us, so there’s that, we’re observing the ways you act, maybe it’ll help us in the future, maybe not. It’s like a two-way deal, you get your Traveler, and we get data.”

“Data,” Tony scoffs. “I can see why you’d come to that conclusion.”

“What can I say? It’s helpful. But, I can definitely say that we might be relieved of our duties soon, we’re technically here illegally, I’ll have you know,” you said to him. “We’re supposed to get official approval from the Secretary of Travel before jumping dimensions, but we’re not exactly law followers so we never did. But now that an official government team is on their way, hoo boy, my greatest rival is yet to come. Paperwork,” you made light of what would otherwise be a very very bad situation.

“I heard, so we get to meet the other Avengers.”

“Yup. And, let me tell you right now, they’re not the nicest people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just you wait until I tell you about them.”

The shadow amalgamate shattered into what it once was, scurrying back to their original positions, once Chenle had the wind knocked out of him by Lynx. He landed harshly on Jaemin, who then lost his balance and sent the two tumbling down to the first floor of the Sanctum.

“Sorry,” Chenle rolled off the top of Jaemin.

“It’s fine, call it even for the incident with the banshee.”

“Agreed, ugh, my head’s doing cartwheels…”

“Cartwheels? I feel like mine is being churned,” Jaemin holds his head. Chenle and Jaemin lay next to each other for a moment, trying to stop their spinning heads when someone stood over them.

“Are we bothering you, gentlemen?”

“Ugh, these fuckers are here,” Jaemin covered his eyes with his arms. “Tell me when they’re gone, Apollo.”

“That’s kind of mean,” Mark frowns. Jaemin moves his hand.

“Mark’s not a bad person, actually, Tony. I feel bad because I encouraged him to join the Avengers when they asked, but the other guys saw it as a complete betrayal. But he’s loyal, he doesn’t hate us and we don’t hate him, or at least I don’t.”

“Oh look! The traitor!” He lazily points at him. “Do you know how much shit we’ve been through since you left?”

“All the dishes we’ve had to wash?”

“V won’t even let us take your room because she thinks you’re coming back! You dumb traitor, what happened to our friendship bracelets, Mark?! Huh?!”

“You guys, don’t call me that, come on! Look I’m still wearing it!” Mark whines.

“Go away! You left us for your cooler friends who can legally blow things up, go! Go have fun with them!” Chenle points an accusing finger towards the speedster.

“Just leave them there,” Mark whispers.

“We’re looking for Strange,” a deeper voice says.

“Oh my god, is that Wong Yukhei?” Jaemin asks, his blurred vision not helping him at all. “You know, Vendetta has a cardboard cutout of you, I think she talks to it sometimes,” he laughs, his words slightly slurred as a result of the head damage received when he fell on the hard floors in the first place.

“Flattered,” Yukhei responds.

“Wong Yukhei, decorated soldier from the order of war and the first in the super-soldier experiments. Actually not a bad guy, but feels the need to flex his bravado every now and then because of the team he’s on, and honestly, I kind of relate to that.”

“The hatless wizard is somewhere upstairs,” Chenle points up and lets his arm drop to his side. “We’d help, but you guys look like one big ugly walrus right now.” Jaemin starts cracking up and the two high five.

“Do we have to work with them?” Another voice snapped.

“Li Yongqin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Lee Youngheum, he has too many names to remember so people usually just call him Ten. He was a perfect student in the military academies, which I’m guessing where his nickname comes from. But he’s pretty impatient, rather ill-tempered from my experience."

“We don’t have a choice,” a more suave on this time.

“Ooh, Lee Taemin. He's an interesting one, Tony. We’re actually pretty close, or used to be at least. He’s very good at what he does, he has years of experience under his belt, but it’s pretty scary. He’s probably done his research by now, be careful, he knows you better than you know yourself. Don’t argue.”

“Gentlemen, let’s end this, we have clearance from the Seraph to exterminate the Followers,” a more powerful one.

“Oh, oh, Lee Taeyong! He’s great. I’ve seen him work a couple of times, I think he’s shot me in the head before. Don’t ask. I have a great deal of respect for him, but he’s kind of anti-social, not easy to get along with him, but I think it’s all miscommunication in the end. I think if we really got to know each other we’d hit it off, but otherwise, I think I’m just a person with a bounty on her head in his eyes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jaemin pushed himself up, his eyes finally focusing. “Exterminate? Yeah, you guys do that, but let the Maverick leave first, we don’t want to get caught up in your deathmatch again,” Jaemin hits the side of his head a few times.

“Where’s the Vendetta?”

“Not here! She left because Reaper was being a little bitch!” Jaemin laughs again and Chenle joins him.

“We’re wasting our time here with these idiots,” another person says. Chenle squints his eyes to make out the figure.

“Now there’s Kim Jongin, he’s one of the people who started the Avengers project and got them all together. He’s an indispensable member, in my opinion. But when you’re in a team with that many star-studded members who are constantly in the public eye, it’s easy to get lost in the lights. But he knows how to keep things according to itinerary.”

“Who are you again?” He asks. “I thought the Avengers only had six members,” he stifles back a laugh.

“Dude that’s low!” Jaemin cackles. Mark swallows down a laugh when Taemin looks over at him, both of them trying to be respectful to their teammate.

“I know that’s why I said it!” Chenle hits his teammate’s arm and Jaemin winces, but the two continue in their little circus.

“Forget them, let’s just go,” Jongin. The team ascends the steps.

“Enter, the Avengers,” Baekhyun smiles.

“And finally there’s their leader. Byun Baekhyun— yes, he’s my older brother, no we don’t talk, and I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. He’s similar to you in some aspects, he pays for all of their shit. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to get into your head. Be careful with him.”

General Tag List: @vickylamore @yeongwvnhi @mizzdivagirl7-blog @sehunnies-hunnie96 @roses09020617 @bat-shark-repellant @cloudreads @awesomei @raeincitizen @here-aeth

Locked and Reloaded: @leesalts @lublyrecs @beefchippp @hiqhkey @tyuningkai @p-mini @ellie-idk-anymore @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @gaiyofanfiction @lucyinthesunshinee

If you want to be added to either tag list just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

#nct #nct dream #nct u #marvel #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct u x reader #nct fics #nct dream fics #nct u fics #my writings #L&R

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salarta · 4 years

Note

What don't you like about Lorna's characterization in X-Factor?

Thanks for asking!

I believe in transparency, so before I get into that, I want to provide a little background on the point of view I’m coming from that influences my opinions.

I was opposed to Lorna being on X-Factor when it was announced. There was already a lot of bad blood and history for me with Marvel as a result of these past few years especially. I won’t exhaustively detail all of it, but the bottom line is, I was already in a place of having a low opinion of current X-Men comics in general.

Then when it was announced she would be on X-Factor, not even as the leader but just as a team member, that immediately grated on me. She’s been buried and sidelined for so long, and now she’s not only right back on the same title yet again after 30 years - that’s a second wave fringe title - she’s not even leading it, or doing other, more meaningful things outside it simultaneously.

Then I saw the interviews by X-Factor’s writer at announcement, which immediately gave me a couple red flags. One, the writer couldn’t seem to say a single thing about Lorna besides essentially “Magneto is her dad and Havok is her ex.” Not even about trauma, of which Lorna has tons of it. Yet she had no problem acknowledging trauma as an important story point for other characters. Two, in trying to form her opinion of Lorna, she said she talked to a couple friends, one of which she said put the Lorna x Havok relationship in a “new light” for her. Meaning she was limiting her fan input just to a couple people she knows and whatever biases those two have, at the exclusion of all others.

That’s my background. Before a single issue dropped. Now let’s get to the things I have problems with since it’s started getting published.

And I do welcome people correcting me if I’m incorrect about details of the book. Being wrong happens. The only true path toward a better future for Lorna is honest assessment.

My biggest problem with X-Factor’s characterization, as a whole, is that it completely disregards important parts of her history in the way she should think and act, and instead treats her like a blank slate.

This is clearest in X-Factor #4, the issue during X of Swords where Rockslide dies. Lorna is a survivor of the Genoshan genocide. We saw how deeply that wounded her. We outright saw her experience of being hailed as a sovereign princess by the people of Genosha, followed by those same people begging Lorna, specifically, to save them. Only for Lorna to be unable to do so, and unable to handle all the death and carnage and pain around her (note these pages are in order of her experiences, not publication order).

After the Genoshan genocide, we saw how not only did she survive this, she had those moments replaying constantly in her head and all around her until the other X-Men dug her out of Genosha’s ruins.

She suffered immensely from what happened to her. So much. But by the end, after dealing with the strain and trauma for so much time, she started to settle into a role from that experience somewhere in between Xavier and Magneto - which is extremely appropriate, considering her very first appearance in comics was all about her struggling between the “good of the X-Men” and the “evil of her father’s blood flowing through her veins” (as it was incredibly simplistic at the time).

This is the Lorna that came out of her hardships with Genosha. The one who felt the weight of those deaths and took them on to a point of being ready to fight for mutant rights.

In spite of this, Marvel has been ignoring the Genoshan genocide concerning Lorna’s history for 15 years now. Refusing to acknowledge it at all, as they let Jean fight Cassandra Nova on its ruins, and let Storm act outraged about its dead, and let Axis exploit it for Red Skull while Lorna’s written as off doing something completely unrelated.

The problem noted in the paragraph above is not X-Factor’s problem alone. It’s a running problem across all of Marvel.

But where X-Factor differs and is far, far worse is that X-Factor #4 not only completely ignored this event in her history. It had her behave as if she had no concept whatsoever of death and loss, had never received the development she did from the Genoshan genocide.

For over 15 years, Lorna’s been wiped from the Genosha story even though she went through the genocide and had served at Magneto’s side (before learning she was his daughter after all) during his rule. Not once in any of that time did Marvel allow the deaths of millions crying for her specifically to save them to impact their treatment of her. It’s been as if she suddenly no longer gives a damn about them.

But one mutant she doesn’t know at all dies nearby and she has a complete breakdown, running around unable to figure out what to do with herself, getting yelled at by her father to make the prophecies come out and later on wishing she could just disappear and stop being a part of anything at all?

That is not Lorna. Or rather, maybe it could count as Lorna from the 90s before Genosha ever happened. But it is absolutely not post-Genosha Lorna, the woman who endured the pain of millions dying all around her and came out of it a woman ready to fight through that pain.

Perhaps if this story acknowledged and incorporated the Genoshan genocide, did an incredibly good job justifying her behavior through that and making it all make sense, I would feel differently. But as it stands? This is an insult to everything she’s endured.

Which gets me to my other big complaints about this book. It doesn’t ACTUALLY acknowledge anything about her history at all.

This is where fans of the book will say “Oh X-Factor acknowledged Giant-Size X-Men when she built the base” and things like that. No. The book has only vaguely hinted at that history, which is very different from truly acknowledging and using it. The few times the book does this, such “acknowledgments” last for exactly one panel, and you have to be a real hardcore Lorna fan or long-time reader to have any chance whatsoever of seeing those statements as callbacks to her past. If you’re a casual reader, Lorna’s comment to Krakoa before creating the base could just as easily be read as that Lorna and Krakoa used to date and had a really bad breakup.

I’ve been asked before what would count as acknowledging her past. So here’s an example. Instead of the vague hinting with Krakoa, Lorna could’ve explicitly said something along the lines of “Hey, remember when Storm and the others helped me launch you out into space?” That would have been enough for a casual reader to know the amazing feat she did, its importance relative to current Marvel events, AND that she has a history with major known names in the franchise.

But as written? It’s just a silly little joke of a character who’s apparently never done anything notable or interesting “before now.”

Aside from these problems, I’m not keen on what has over time appeared to be a running theme of “Lorna is stupid” on this book. It started with this simple “joke.”

An important note: this panel is out of context. It looks worse by itself, but I have since been corrected by a reader that what happened before this was Northstar trying to charge in, Lorna trying to stop him, both getting caught in this trap, followed by Rachel’s quip. And they do have a history from before X-Factor. They were on the same team, Starjammers, in the late 00s to early 10s.

If this was the only case I had, I wouldn’t be bringing it up. It’s fine taken in isolation. There’s a question of why Lorna’s the sole target of the quip when it was Northstar’s fault, and a problem that people could easily misremember this in the future as Lorna taking the blame. But a single moment is no big deal.

But then we have the scene from X-Factor #4 above where Magneto’s written as yelling at her, putting her down for not being able to get the prophecies out. Lorna even explicitly calls it a “fitting humiliation” during that story.

And then we have the most recent issue. Where Siryn outright calls Lorna dumb as the story has her act in a way that makes her being called that appropriate.

In other words, three times now, Lorna’s been presented as the object of ridicule. As a failure who isn’t able to make plans, think ahead, or handle these stresses that come her way. In essence, it’s wiping out the development she received not just from her experiences on Genosha, but also from her time as leader of All-New X-Factor. Would YOU expect this character, as presented, to be at all capable of leading her own team some day? Or of leading people in a movement, harkening back to when she was called the Queen of Mutants both post-Genosha and when she was initially revealed and Magneto was believed to be dead?

My expectations of X-Factor before it started releasing issues were low, as stated above. But as it’s been releasing issues, it’s just been confirming my worst thoughts about Marvel and how little they think of this amazing character who’s been through so much and never receives her due.

All it’s doing is exploiting her to sell the book and promote everyone else on it. That is my straightforward assessment and opinion of the book. None of the stories or moments truly address anything Lorna’s experienced. The initial story was about Aurora, setting up Northstar as the leader, and forming the team. The Mojoworld story was about Shatterstar. X-Factor #4 was about Rockslide and his death. The latest story is about Siryn.

And it’s great for all these other characters that they’re getting all this care and attention that they often don’t get. But it doesn’t have to come at Lorna’s expense. If she’s going to be on the book, it has to actually give a damn about what she’s been through and how it’s shaped her, and openly acknowledge her too often forgotten past spanning 52 years.

I am not saying X-Factor taken as its own thing is bad. I’m not saying it treats any of the other characters bad. I’m saying it’s bad for Lorna, and she’s better off not on it even if she doesn’t get to join the new X-Men team.

I will end off on a bit more of a positive note for people who happen to like this book. There are a couple things I do like about it.

I like the creative usage of Lorna’s powers in building the team’s base, and in having the prophecies encoded in electromagnetic signatures. Those are an excellent way to show she can be and do other things besides “bend spoons,” and she’s not just “Magneto with boobs” as far as power usage.

I also like that the book does not have a sexism problem in its treatment Lorna. Past treatment of Lorna had this problem in a big way, as demonstrated by this awful as fuck cover from X-Men Blue.

And I partly like the very last few panels of X-Factor #4, in that Lorna gets to do some public speaking among mutant colleagues. I loathe the treatment leading up to it, and I think it could’ve been much better if it followed the vein of one of the variant covers of Lorna holding up a sword in front of an army as if urging them onward to battle as a warrior queen would. But it was still better than okay.

But those few good bits do not in any way make up for the bad as I’ve seen it in this book.

#polaris #lorna dane #x-men #marvel

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theelvenhaven · 4 years

Text

‘I love you’

Elrond x Reader

I changed things up to more noncanon where instead of sailing Celebrian passed away.

1.8k words

* * *

You paced quietly in Elrond’s office, chewing gently on your finger, your shoes barely making a sound despite walking on hardwood floors. An arm wrapped around yourself for comfort, while the other rested comfortably so you could continue gnawing at your soft skin.

Today was the day that you were going to tell Elrond how it was you felt, you knew it was a silly thing to do. He had married once before to the illustrious Celebrian and you knew that you could not compare to the original Lady of Imladris. Yet your heart couldn’t take holding onto such an intimate secret any longer. Especially while under the guise that you were his friend and nothing more.

Each day you spent with Elrond your love for him had only continued to grow, sending fluttering butterflies through your belly, leaving warmth to blossom on your cheeks softly, and your heart thudding with excitement to see him. You were head over heels for him! It was so foolish, but you supposed at this point you were indeed a fool.

Just thinking about that soft smile he gave you sent another fluttering through your stomach and you closed your eyes as if to try and block out the thought unable to control how it made you feel. You had gone over a hundred times how it was you wanted to tell him. Preferably alone of course, as you couldn’t bear the thought of someone overhearing your confession and it not being reciprocated.

Eru that would be a nightmare…

The sound of his voice drew you from your worrying thoughts as you heard him perhaps speaking with either Lindir or the Lord Glorfindel. Papers were being shuffled and footsteps were hurried, approaching the door quicker than you were ready for making you sigh out. You only sped up in your pacing taking a few deep breaths before you heard the door handle jiggle and you stopped.

Facing the door, holding your breath as Elrond dismissed whomever it was he had been speaking with. As he entered, a look of expectation was on his face though a faint smile was pulling at his lips as his silver eyes locked with yours. You couldn’t stop the smile that began to spread despite your nervousness taking a moment to look over the Master of Imladris.

“Y/N, it is not often that you grace me with your presence during a work day, is there something that I can help you with?” Elrond began in his warm and gentle voice before he began to walk towards the desk to set down his paperwork. Taking a shaky breath you began to nod, tucking some of your long hair behind your ears,

“Yes, there is. If you have a moment… I would like to discuss something with you, Elrond.” You began turning to face Elrond who only gave another faint smile to you and was nodding at your words. In a gentle sweeping motion, he pointed to the settee that sat just before his desk, quietly you took your place on one side as you looked around the room.

His heavy oaken desk just before you, with a hearth to your right empty of fire as it was mid spring and the need for extra warmth was not needed. Behind his desk was a door frame, white curtains hanging on either side and beyond that a terrace that overlooked your home.

Golden rays of the morning sun were trickling in, giving the ellon you loved a beautiful golden halo. Making him more ethereal than you already thought he was.

“What seems to be troubling you?” Elrond inquired softly, you took a moment to think, your eyes on him looking over the dark yellow robes he wore. His hair draped down the front of his robes and a simple silver circlet sitting upon his dark brown hair.

“It is… A matter of the heart, I’m afraid.” You began catching his attention as he moved gracefully across the floor to sit on the other side of the cream settee. Elrond faced you as he began to raise his brows at your words,

“I am sure I can find some way to assist even for such a sensitive matter.” He assured you warmly hands clasping together as they rested in his lap, eyes trained on you as you nodded at his words. Once again you let out a sigh, giving him a nervous smile pausing for a long moment to gather your thoughts. It was now or never, and you have committed to it this far, then you could confess what you were feeling to him finally.

“I have thought long and hard on how it was that I was going to confess on how I feel. I have debated even longer on whether or not this was something I should even get off of my chest for risk of losing my friendship.” You began to explain to him, Elrond listening intently to your words with great patience keeping his expression neutral as he always did. Keeping you completely at ease, despite how nerve destroying this moment was with him.

“If it is something so delicate, I doubt that it would ruin a friendship. Perhaps change the dynamic only momentarily, Y/N.” Elrond assured you gently and with encouragement, you admittedly felt some comfort at this. You hoped that, that would indeed be the case when you told Elrond and the feelings weren’t reciprocated.

“I know that my feelings will never be reciprocated, but I cannot keep this a secret for any longer.” You stated matter of factly, still Elrond waiting patiently for you to continue. Even as you looked down at your fingers that you began to entwine together and squeeze snuggly for a moment. Shifting in your seat, mustering and calling upon all of your courage before you exhaled deeply looking back up at him.

“Elrond… I love you.” You confessed with conviction, warmth searing across your face and even up to your ears as they turned crimson with embarrassment. There was a long pause between the both of you, Elrond’s expression having never wavered until he finally looked away from you. Which felt incredibly unusual within itself, and you knew that the rejection was coming.

“You are aware that I have wed once before and that I have children.” Elrond pointed out in a gentle voice, there was not a hint of malice or disgust yet you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. The heat becoming unbearable and the discomfort knotted in your stomach,

“I am aware.” You stated simply, his silence came to be torturous. Then again you supposed for once you had completely caught him off guard and he was trying to find the best way to let you down. For one it was completely possible that Celebrian would be reborn and could be waiting for Elrond and her children as you both spoke right now. This could be completely overstepping bounds in a way that could never be fixed. Unable to help yourself you opened your mouth to speak again.

“It was probably best that I didn’t say anything at all, I am aware of that much.” You paused clutching the fabric of your robes tightly, keeping your eyes averted away from him.

“But I could not in good conscience leave you unaware of my feelings.” It felt wrong to continue being his friend harboring such deep feelings, yet it almost felt just as wrong to have confessed to an ellon who had lost his wife. Panic began to set in as you realized the pressure this might have put on him, and you closed your eyes with a heavy regretful sigh.

Elrond watched you in silence, a look of sympathy crossing his features as he knew you were certainly beating yourself up over giving out such delicate information. Slowly a soft smile pulled again at his lips, while gently he began to shift a little closer, reaching over to place his hand over one of yours. Fingers curling around the back of your hand to hold before carefully he began to pull your hand towards himself.

Leaving it to rest just on his knee as he looked over your soft hand, confusion filled you as Elrond had never done something so intimate before you. But you said nothing, giving him the opportunity this time to express himself.

“I must confess that I had suspected for some time that you felt such a way for me.” Elrond said to you honestly as both of his hands held your one, resting on his knee before he looked back to your surprised face. It made the faint smile show itself once more,

“I felt as though I had no place to be confessing my own feelings, considering my prior engagements and did not want to be incorrect in my assessment or it was only an infatuation and nothing more.” His words left you breathless, you were stunned! Never had you dreamed that this moment would bear more fruit than just a gentle let down.

Yet here Master Elrond was, confessing that your feelings were in fact reciprocated. It was more than you could have ever hoped for. Excitement began to well in your stomach and you couldn’t help the bright smile that pulled widely and warmly at your lips. Gently you began to squeeze his hand, and Elrond tenderly returned the gesture to you.

“I respect that you have been married already, and that you already have a family. It doesn’t bother me and it doesn’t change how I feel about you Elrond. I love you regardless.” You said warmly unable to help but scoot closer to him, your shoulders brushing against one another and a warmer smile found Elrond’s lips.

“I am overjoyed to hear it, Y/N.” He said with warmth you had not ever heard him use before, it was softer than his usual cool demeanor and far more tender. It made your heart quicken with excitement.

“I love you, Y/N. I would love nothing more than to discuss this further with you later tonight over dinner, if you’d have me.” Always was Elrond considerate of never pressuring or pressing you into things that may feel uncomfortable. Quickly you began to nod, beaming as you looked up at him in adoration,

“Yes, I would love that Elrond… Perhaps a stroll as well if you have the time.” Elrond let out a soft hum at your words,

“I wouldn’t plan for anything less, my dear.” He began gently bringing your hand up to his lips to press a tender kiss too, heat immediately flushed to your face at the gesture. Your stomach knotting and flipping, coyly looking away and down in your lap.

“Then I shall see you tonight.” You whispered gently to him, Elrond let out another hum nodding his head at your words.

“Until tonight my dear.” With that you gently pulled your hand away and stood from the couch. Giving Elrond one last warm and bright smile before you left his office, today had turned out far better than you could have ever dreamed.

Finally you were going to be with your one.

* * *

tags:

@saviorsong @oathandichor @fandom-hoe101 @lilmelily Hope this is what you were looking for anon <3

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whumphoarder · 5 years

Text

Emergency Contact

Summary: It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

Or, in which fifteen-year-old college freshman Tony Stark needs a ride to the ER and James Rhodes is too responsible for his own good.

Word count: 4,050

Genre: sickfic, hurt/comfort, angst, whump

A/N: Thank you so much to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta reading, ideas, and encouragement!

Link to read on Ao3

It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

To be fair, the skinny five-foot-four prepubescent kid who’d walked into James’ dorm on move-in day didn’t look much like a college student, nor was he lugging in cardboard boxes and duffle bags filled with crap like the rest of the freshmen in the hall. There was no air of excitement and trepidation to him—no telltale buzz of new experiences. Not to mention, James had spent the majority of his summer away at Air Force ROTC camp, cut off from most forms of media and therefore oblivious to the rumors that Howard Stark’s infamous fifteen-year-old child prodigy was set to start his engineering course at MIT the very same semester that he was. It was hardly his fault for not recognizing the kid.

Even so, he probably shouldn’t have addressed Tony as ‘champ’ and asked if he was there to drop off an older sibling. That was on him.

What was not on James, however, was the fit Stark pitched at the resident assistant’s office upon realizing that his father had evidently not set him up with a single room after all.

“So move me then,” the little twerp demanded. “Just put it on the old man’s bill—he’s got the money. I didn’t just live through the last seven years of boarding school dormitories only to have to keep sharing the fucking bathroom in college.” He glanced over his shoulder at James, before adding, offhandedly, “No offense—I’m sure you’re swell.”

James huffed out a short, ironic laugh. He was standing in the back corner of the office with his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, quietly taking in the scene unfolding in front of him. “None taken.”

(At this point, he wouldn’t have minded a switch either.)

The mousy redhead at the desk looked frazzled. “Look, I’m very sorry, Mr. Stark,” she tried to explain, “but there’s nothing I can do. All our single dorms are fully booked.”

Even when the kid shoved a wad of cash at her tall enough to make James’ eyebrows rise, the RA held her ground.

“It’s a first come, first serve policy,” she explained, her voice faltering, but words firm. “At least until something opens up. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it has to be.”

So there they were, a nineteen-year-old Air Force cadet from a working class family in Philly who had gotten into ‘fancy school’ on an ROTC scholarship, a 3.87 GPA, and a prayer, and a spoiled rich brat with a pile of daddy issues taller than the Bunker Hill Monument. The two were going to be stuck together for at least the next few weeks and neither of them was particularly thrilled about it.

Despite James’ initial concerns, rooming with Stark wasn’t actually that bad.

James had an additional scholarship that was dependent on his academic performance, so he joined several study groups to keep his grades up. Between ROTC, student government, and mock UN, along with his never-ending mountain of engineering coursework, he was rarely home.

Meanwhile, Tony might look like a twelve-year-old, but that certainly didn’t get in the way of his budding popularity on campus. The kid was swimming in invites to different parties and events (though whether that was due to his own sharp wit and natural charisma, or simply his undeniable social status as the son of Howard Stark, James couldn’t tell). Either way, between James’ busy schedule and Tony’s avid social calendar, the two could go days without seeing each other, which suited them both just fine.

With all the partying, James figured his roommate’s grades must be suffering, but a curious glance at the quarterly report letter lying on Tony’s desk last week proved otherwise. The kid had straight A’s in all seven of his classes—two more than James himself was taking.

(Alright, maybe he disliked Tony a little bit.)

James knew it wasn’t going to be a good day from the moment he woke up to see sunlight streaming in through the blinds. That just wasn’t supposed to happen at 5:45 a.m. in November.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling out of his twin-size bunk. The display on his alarm clock was silently blinking the very incorrect time of ‘12:00’. The previous night’s storm must have knocked out the power. He grabbed his watch from atop his desk to check the actual time and immediately breathed out a sigh of relief. 7:22. No morning run today, but he should still be able to make it to his eight a.m. class if he hurried.

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he snagged some clean clothes from his dresser and made a beeline to the adjoining bathroom. He pushed open the door and slapped on the light switch, but the second the room illuminated to reveal the scrawny figure sitting slumped on the floor between the toilet and the wall, James froze.

“Tony?” he asked in confusion. He hadn’t even heard the kid come home last night.

Without opening his eyes, Tony hummed a bit in response. Then all at once, he lurched forward and gagged, coughing up what looked to be mostly bile into the toilet bowl.

James grimaced. It was definitely not the first time he’d seen his roommate severely hungover, but it was the first time he’d seen it happen on a Tuesday . At the rate this kid was partying, he’d be lucky if he had any liver function left by the time he graduated.

With a sigh, James set his stack of clean clothes down on the sink counter. “Look man, I’m sorry, but I really gotta shower. I know you’re not feeling too great, but do you think you can give me, like, five minutes in here?”

Tony blinked up at him, seeming to process the question. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay…”

Doing his best to ignore the acidic smell of vomit, James stepped carefully around Tony into the small room. He flushed the toilet and grabbed the metal trash can from beside the sink while Tony pulled himself shakily to his feet.

“Thanks dude. I promise I’ll be fast.” He passed the can off to Tony and watched him stumble back out of the room before shutting the door.

If the military had taught James nothing else, it was efficiency. He emerged ten minutes later—showered, dressed, and clean shaven—to find Tony sitting listlessly on the edge of his bed. The boy looked more dead than alive, with one arm wrapped around his stomach and sweat soaking through his thin gray t-shirt. Just the sight of him was practically an underage drinking PSA in itself.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” James announced as he grabbed his backpack from the floor.

Tony acknowledged him with a small grunt, but didn’t make any effort to move. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing through it carefully, warily eyeing the trash can on the floor in front of him. For once, James was glad he had an eight a.m. class to get to; he figured in about five minutes, he wouldn’t want to be here anyway.

In a spur of the moment gesture of kindness, James grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the case under his desk and tossed it onto Tony’s bed. “Feel better, dude,” he said on his way out the door.

Tuesday was always a busy day for James. He had back-to-back classes all morning, followed by a student council meeting in the afternoon and a mandatory ROTC training session. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time he made it back to the dorm, and by that time he’d honestly forgotten about that morning’s excitement until he opened the door to their room.

As miserable as Tony had appeared that morning, he looked decidedly worse now. He was lying curled up on the edge of his bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets, cheeks flushed and body shivering. The whole room carried the vague scent of vomit, though the trash can by the bed was currently empty.

“So… I take it this isn’t a hangover?” James deduced, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He plopped the paper sack of Taco Bell that was going to make up his dinner onto his desk, causing Tony’s face to scrunch up in displeasure. “Stomach flu?” he guessed.

Tony made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

“Think you got a fever?”

Another low noise issued from Tony, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, which James took to mean something along the lines of ‘don’t know, and don’t care.’

James hesitated a moment, unsure what to do. If his mother were here, she’d tisk her tongue and press her hand to the kid’s forehead to gauge his temperature, but somehow he didn’t see that going over too well with Tony.

Instead, James checked his watch and sighed. “I can give you a ride to the student health center if you want,” he offered. “They don’t close until eight.”

“Don’ have to... ‘s just a bug,” Tony mumbled into the pillow, the most consecutive words James had heard from him all day. “I’ll be fine.”

The thing was, if Tony were one of his ROTC buddies, James would have dropped it right there. He’d never been particularly good at caretaking, and besides, he had a test coming up in his thermal-fluids class tomorrow morning that he should really be studying for. But something about the utter vulnerability Tony was displaying at the moment gave James pause. True, the kid might be a stuck-up asshole, but he was also just that— a kid. Only a few years older than James’ own kid-brother.

James looked at Tony appraisingly. “Can you handle a shower?”

“Huh?” Tony breathed.

“A shower,” James repeated. “Remember those? Water, soap, maybe even some shampoo if you’re feeling adventurous,” he said wryly. “That is, if you can do it without passing out.”

Tony fixed him with a rather pathetic glare. “Not gonna pass out.”

“You better not,” James quipped, crossing his arms and watching as Tony pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen more than enough white boys’ pasty asses this summer to last a lifetime. I have no desire to add another.”

(Tony lifted his middle finger weakly in his roommate’s direction.)

Over the sound of the shower running in the background, James ate his tacos and started flipping through his class notes in preparation for the test the next morning, but he was finding it unusually hard to focus. He kept listening for any sounds of distress from the bathroom, and after fifteen minutes had elapsed, he got up from his desk and crossed the room.

“Hey, I was serious about the ‘no passing out’ rule, Stark,” he hollered, rapping his knuckles against the door. “If you biff it in there, you’re on your own.”

As if on cue, a loud crashing sound immediately issued from inside the shower.

James’ eyes widened. He jiggled the door handle only to find it locked. “Tony?” he called. “Did you just fall?”

There was no response.

James cursed. He grabbed a paper clip from his desk and quickly jimmied the flimsy lock open—a skill he’d learned from his cousins years ago—before pushing open the door. “Tony?” he called again.

Suddenly, a hand emerged and pulled the edge of the shower curtain back just enough for Tony to stick his head out the side. His face was totally straight, but there was a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Whoops, must’ve dropped the shampoo bottle,” he deadpanned. “Thank god I’m rooming with the US Coast Guard.”

“Air Force,” James corrected irritably.

Tony pulled the curtain back closed. “Whatever.”

James rolled his eyes. “Next time I’m letting you drown, Stark...” he grumbled as he stepped back out of the room.

By the time Tony finally emerged from the bathroom an additional twenty minutes later (the latter ten of which he’d spent retching loud enough into the toilet that James had broken out his walkman and headphones), all traces of his earlier humor had dissolved. He moved shakily back to his bed and managed a couple sips of water before curling up on his side, the trash can within easy reach.

James tried to turn his attention back to his textbook, but Tony’s labored breathing as he drifted in and out of consciousness was making it difficult to focus. James kept stealing worried side glances back at the bed, wondering whether there was something else he should be doing.

At around nine-thirty, Tony jerked up suddenly and stumbled back to the bathroom to start dry-retching into the toilet again, and that was when James gave up trying to study for the night. He got up from his desk and pushed open the hastily half-closed door to the bathroom to wet a washcloth at the sink. When the mostly unproductive spasms ceased, he handed the cloth to Tony.

“Have you eaten anything today?” James asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

Tony just grimaced and shook his head.

“Want some crackers or something?” he offered. “I can go raid the cafeteria soup station.” James might not have had as packed of a social calendar as Tony, but it wasn’t like he never partied. He still knew the college hangover tricks.

Tony shook his head again, eyes closed. He seemed to lack the energy for words.

“Gatorade at least then?” James tried again. “All I’ve seen you drink today is one water bottle—you’ve gotta be getting dehydrated by now.”

Another head shake. “I’ll jus’ puke it up again…” Tony muttered. “Prob’ly a kidney too at this rate.”

“Well it’s better than puking up nothing,” James reasoned. Technically, he didn’t know if that was true or not, but he was tired of watching the kid be miserable. He moved back to the room to grab his keys and jacket. “What flavor do you want?” he called.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony croaked back from the bathroom. “They’re all terrible.”

“That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard you say,” James retorted. “Just for that you’re getting purple.”

And with that, he exited the dorm and shut the door behind him with a bang.

It turned out that the vending machine in the lobby outside the dining hall only sold three Gatorade flavors—blue, orange, and red. James bought a bottle of each, then slipped into the deserted cafeteria to snag a handful of individually-wrapped saltine packets from the clam chowder counter before heading back to the dorm. It took some cajoling, but he managed to get two full crackers and half a bottle of the sports drink into Tony before it came right back up.

“Told you,” Tony rasped, spitting neon blue strings of bile into the toilet bowl. “Lost cause.”

“We’ll try red next,” James said, cracking open a fresh bottle. “One of them’s bound to stick.”

But red didn’t stay down any better, and neither did orange. James mooched a can of ginger ale and a quarter of a bottle of Pepto Bismol off a fellow cadet down the hall, but those fared no better. Even the cup of tap water James kept bullying him into taking sips from proved too much.

By midnight, Tony was still sitting slumped against the toilet on the bathroom floor, barely conscious, and James was at a total loss. “I think we have to go to the ER,” he admitted finally.

Without opening his eyes, Tony made a low noise of discontent in the back of his throat. His eyes were sunken in and he was alarmingly pale.

James let out a deep sigh. “Look, I’m sorry man, but we’re running out of options here. If you can’t even keep water down, you’re gonna need an IV.”

“No…” Tony lifted a shaky hand to try to take the cup of water James was holding. “I’ll-I’ll try again… just—” His words were cut off by a weak gag.

James cursed under his breath and quickly steered Tony’s head back over the bowl. It turned out not to matter though because for the next several minutes of miserable retching, nothing came up. When it was finally over, Tony slumped back against the wall. His eyes were red and puffy, and James figured it was only dehydration that was keeping the tears from falling.

“Alright, that’s it,” James declared. He wrapped an arm around Tony to lever him upright, feeling the feverish heat coming off the kid in waves. “I’m not letting you die on our bathroom floor—we won’t get the deposit back.”

Tony breathed out the ghost of a laugh. “Jus’ tell Howard to write you a check at the funeral...” he murmured. “‘bout all he’s good for,” he added under his breath.

James’ brow furrowed but he chose not to comment. He hoisted Tony to his feet and bore most of the kid’s weight as he led him back to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m gonna get you a clean shirt, okay?”

Tony nodded, gazing blankly forward with half-lidded eyes. James ended up having to help the kid pull his sweat-soaked t-shirt off and guide his uncooperative arms into a fresh one, followed by his coat. When they got to the shoes, James didn’t even bother having Tony try himself. He just stuffed the kid’s feet into a pair of sneakers for him.

“I taught my little sister how to do this last summer,” James explained as he tied Tony’s laces, if only for something to fill the awkward silence. “She’s in first grade.”

Tony hummed lightly. “I never went.”

James frowned, pulling the knot tight. “What do you mean?”

“Firs’ grade,” Tony clarified. “Or second. They started me in third.”

James smirked, imagining tiny five-year-old Tony filling out his multiplication tables in a classroom full of kids a full head taller than him. But his face quickly fell again as he suddenly realized a potential flaw in their plan. Tony may be in college, but he was still technically a minor. James wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to bring him off campus. “Shit, we’re gonna need to call your parents...” he said.

Tony’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

James raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m about to haul their fifteen-year-old son’s ass off to the hospital? Have you been following this conversation at all?”

“Oh. Jus’ leave a note for the RA.” Tony shrugged, listless. “They won’t care.”

James gave him a strange look. “Of course they’ll care—they’re your parents.”

Tony’s eyes were glassy with fever. “They won’t,” he croaked. “Been in boarding school since I was seven.” A shiver ran through his body and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Got pneumonia one winter and was in the hospital eight days. Dad jus’ paid the school to handle everything—didn’ even visit.” A tear finally slipped down the side of his cheek. “I was twelve.”

James knew it was just the fever making Tony so forthcoming at the moment, but it didn’t make his words any easier to take. As much as James always complained about his own mother’s doting whenever he wasn’t feeling well, he couldn’t imagine being sick enough to be in the hospital and not having anyone there for him. He didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, Tony broke the awkward silence. “Sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his palm against them. “‘M fine.”

With a quiet sigh, James put his arm around Tony to help him back to standing. “You know what? We’ll just call them when we get there,” he said before leading Tony out to the car.

The drive to the hospital was uneventful. Tony sat curled up in the passenger seat of James’ old beater of a Chevy Monza with an empty plastic bag in his lap, quiet except for the occasional whimper he’d let out when they’d hit a bump in the road. When they arrived, James got Tony checked in and situated in the waiting room with some forms to fill out before stepping out to the foyer to use the payphone.

James fished the scrap of paper containing the number that Tony had finally agreed to give him out of his pocket. He dialed it three times. Each time, the call was picked up by the answering machine. On the third round, he left the Starks a brief message stating which hospital Tony was at and how they could contact their son, then hung up quickly before he could add anything else he might come to regret.

He reentered the waiting area to find Tony sitting hunched forward in his chair, breathing shallowly and clutching the small kidney-shaped basin that the triage nurse had given him like his life depended on it. “What’d they say?” he murmured. James wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard just a hint of hopefulness in the kid’s voice.

Without meeting Tony’s gaze, he slid into the seat beside him. “They didn’t answer,” he said guiltily.

Tony’s tone returned to flat: “Shocking.”

“They’re probably just asleep,” James reasoned, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “I left a message, but we can try again later.”

Tony hummed absently. Then all at once, he brought the small plastic container he was holding up to his mouth and threw up whatever little liquid remained in him. His hands were trembling so hard that James had to help him steady the basin.

When the heaving stopped, one of the nurses from the front desk exchanged the used basin for a clean one. Tony grunted in thanks, then looked up wearily and locked eyes with James. “You really don’ have to stay.”

James gave a tiny scoff. “What? You think I’d just leave you here to faceplant on the linoleum?”

Tony shrugged a bit. “‘S not like we’re friends, Jim.”

James pondered this for a few seconds before returning the shrug. “I guess you’re right.” He settled back in his chair and picked up a copy of Good Housekeeping from the stack on the waiting room table, flipping it idly open on his lap. “Too bad I’m invested now.”

It was around three a.m. by the time Tony’s name was called. He was taken back and briefly examined before getting hooked up to an IV line for fluids and antiemetics. The doctor ordered some bloodwork to be sure, but said that all signs pointed to a virus. As soon as they could get the vomiting under control and Tony’s vitals stabilized, he should be good to go.

While Tony dozed in and out of consciousness on the ER bed, fluids dripping steadily into his arm, James just sat there, silently mulling the events of the last sixteen hours or so over in his mind. It was weird seeing Tony like this—weak, and small, and just so undeniably young.

James waited until the clock struck five before slipping quietly over to the phone located near the nurse’s station. This time, he dialed a different number—one he knew by heart.

A familiar voice answered on the third ring: “Hello?”

Instant warmth flooded James’ chest at the sound. “Hey Ma,” he said softly.

“James?” His mother’s tone changed from puzzled to concerned in two seconds flat. “It’s so early, baby. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” he assured, the corners of his lips turning up into the smallest of smiles. “Just wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

“Well, you got me,” she laughed lightly. Over the line, James could hear her bustling around the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. “What do you need, baby?”

James hesitated a second, his gaze shifting back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “It’s nothing, just… I wanted to ask if I could invite someone home for Thanksgiving next week.” He shifted his gaze back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “I get the feeling he could really use it...”

Link to all my fics

#sickfic #ironbros #tony stark whump #sick tony stark #mit era #rhodey is a good bro #tony stark needs a hug #teenage tony stark #mcu writing #my fic #vomiting

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lorei-writes · 4 years

Text

The Dragon of Yss: Extra!

Bloopers, Outtakes, some HC

Masamune x MC (Mizusaki Mai)

Fantasy AU

Summary: He wanted Mai to remain herself - and for that very reason, he promised to protect her, at any cost. Little did he know, he may need somebody to save him as well.

All parts: Part 1 - Sands of Estarra , Part 2 - Findings , Part 3 - “ I knew you’d come.” , Part 4 - Reborn , Part 5 - Eevi , Part 6 - Closer , Part 7 - Way to Varshka , Part 8 - The Gods We Trust , Part 9 - Flowers that Bloom in Adversity , Part 10 - Singing Bird , Part 11 - Vibrant Smoke , Part 12 - Hidden in Plain Sight , Part 13 - Heritage , Part 14 - Isger , Part 15 - Mad Possibility , Part 16 - Unraveling , Part 17 - Promises Sealed in Snow , Part 18 - Never Unfamiliar, Part 19 - White Noise , Epilogue: Threads

So, the main part of the story may be over... But it did not stop my brain from coming up with few little things here and there. As such, allow me to share those here as well.

// Dialogue shortly following the ending of the series; between Iroha and Masamune

// General post-chapter 19 notes/HC + explanations

“What do you mean you were turned into a dragon?! I thought you said you’ve lied to me only once in my life and that this was the lie!”

“Of course not. It was when you were seven and refused to go to sleep without having cake, so I told you that the neighbours’ dog was hungry and ate it.”

(Pause)

“Are you for real?”

“Dire situations call for appropriate measures.”

“I swear to skies, dad...”

The Plague of Yss

Iroha - the heiress of the Date clan

I feel it may be somewhat unclear, yet I decided against repeating it in the story itself. As was stated, Mitsunari had some hypothesis to test and needed at least a single person who survived long enough into the plague OR recovered from it.

The plague of Yss was in fact more of a double-edged sword, perhaps it could be even called a ritual performed by Isgerians. Yssians are their descendants and, as you probably already know, Masamune turned into the dragon as the result of this plague.

Long story short: Masamune is the survivor of the plague, the one thing Mitsunari needed. This is also why they came to live in Varshka, the place being one of two major cities presented in the story. (Why Varshka and not Vyrminia? University in Vyrminia would still be partially destroyed. As was stated by Mila, despite being almost the same in most regards, the atmosphere is the major thing setting those two apart. +Take note that Ieyasu did work there shortly before being forced to move to Vyrminia and recorded a rapid increase of cases of said plague there).

As was implied several times in the story, magical abilities or lack thereof may influence one’s life to a great extent - from their social status to rendering them a desirable product on the black market.

Allow me to write a short list (least to most desirable) of abilities.

Giftless.

Healer.

Connector (either of two types).

Transmuter.

(As for why this order is like so: talk between Oxa and Masamune in regards to giftless and healers; fact that the only transmuter in the story is Alleyah/Manya and it’s specifically mentioned that this ability is extremely rare and desirable to the point of people being bred to acquire it in the offspring. Yes - yikes; the only remaining and most common class are, of course, connectors, hence its placement).

Lastly, before I move to the point, please let me remind you: abilities are inherited. It is not completely random.

How does it all tie up into Iroha’s situation?

The history repeats itself. Iroha is hence more desirable heir than any of her cousins. If she so chooses - she will become the heiress of the Date clan. However, as it was already implied in the story: it is a choice. Masamune tells her he will handle any business with his family if she wishes to take a different path.

Masamune is giftless, which, aside from having only one eye, makes him a very poor candidate for a heir. As such, it was his younger brother who was granted the role - whichever type of magic he possessed, it was better than no magic and the risk of passing this “affliction” onto the next head of the family.

However, just as magic is passed, so is lack of it. Even if it did not activate in his generation, Kojirou’s children are born giftless. (Given the context, despite the other parent possessing some sort of ability).

Meanwhile, Masamune’s daughter, Iroha, was born a connector, having inherited the ability from her mother.

Her trip to Mitsuhide’s estate is related to that - there are little other reliable ways for her to be taught about diplomacy.

On warlords and their relationships

This may cause a question to appear: how did the warlords even end up being connected? Well... Simply as that, they were all sons from rather prominent households and had most likely met each other during diplomacy trips of their parents. Them either becoming heads of said families or not - that comes into play later on in their life. Their relationships survived.

It also means that the reason why Ieyasu was able to become a physician is because he was a healer and hence, not the best candidate. Also - Masamune could travel the world in search of Mai because... He didn’t have any political duties to attend to.

As for Mitsunari and Hideyoshi - it’s not explained nor implied how they got where they are. However, it’s possible to adapt canon for the sake of that.

Portal magic and its many faces

As it was stated in the story, the main thing setting Arynthian people from other connectors is that - if one of them is born a connector - their magic manifests somewhat differently. It’s ruled by different limitations.

As such, Mai’s portal magic is different from that of Kyubei. (As it was shown, she can see colorful lines and can follow them basically anywhere. Kyubei, meanwhile, has to be able to see the place he is supposed to open the portal to - or to be able to visualise it well, as was pointed out when Mai passed through a portal point).

Why am I bringing it up? Because Iroha’s magic is a bit different too. It has less limitations that Kyubei’s ability, yet it isn’t as powerful as Mai’s.

This also explains why “Arynthinas” are so rare - the ability degenerates fast. It’s more of an error than actual ability, so to say.

Kenshin & the timeskip

What was he even doing then? How long was it?

Well. Kenshin has a very fuzzy memory of last 20-ish years of his life in the form of the dragon. As was previously mentioned, it happens so when the primal desires take over human mind - when smelling blood or... Well, or what? It was mentioned he was hungry.

Yes. He was starving himself for the entire duration of the timeskip. Why? Because then the flammable substance in his stomach self-ignited and caused him to combust. In a way, he committed an act of self-burning...

And flames of the dragon were the only thing which could turn him back. So they did.

// Bullet-points (not written in the story, may not be written, but overall, you can assume those are canon)

Iroha was born 12 months after her parents reunited. When Mai got pregnant, it was a surprise for all parties involved. However, they chose to continue the pregnancy.

Mai became proficient in portal magic mostly because Iroha’s powers would activate at random when she was still little. A toddler stuck between the worlds doesn’t make for a happy toddler.

On that note, Masamune could be hardly left home alone with her. Hardly, as he eventually developed fast enough reflexes to pull her out of a portal right as she was starting to pass through it. It later became a joke that they needed to keep her on a leash for few months - which is not completely incorrect.

Developing the cure involved taking plenty of samples. In other words: RiP Masamune’s veins, he would curse like a sailor whenever he had to have his blood drawn.

To follow down this path: the preventive medicine involved having your skin cut and then it being injected. Iroha was very young when it happened and so, she has a scar on her arm from that.

Shortly after that, they moved back to Yss. Masamune might have not been the heir, but family standing did make some matters easier to achieve for him. As such, he’s a bit of a local leader in his community, I would say, dealing mostly with local politics and management.

They were relieved when it turned out their son, Tadamune, was giftless.

Iroha will never live down what happened at the apple tree.

During winter, the frostbite on Mai’s hands makes itself known again. Her skin cracks and scabs start to form - and each year, Masamune takes it onto himself to tend to them. He is more than aware that she got it while he was still turned into the dragon.

Manya continued to serve under Mitsuhide. However, she hardly uses her power anymore. She grew particularly close with Kyubei, although they’re still working on the terminology. Or perhpas there is no reason for it?They’re not sure themselves; Call them very close friends.

Mitsuhide does not have a chid or a partner. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, his “niece” having always been a handful to manage. He made sure to tell everybody about the apple tree. All of his stories contradict each other.

Time almost stopped for Kenshin when he was still a dragon. In other words, he’s the oldest in actual years of life, but in terms of physical form? He’s younger than Masamune or any other warlord. This lands him in a rather peculiar spot of... Well, an adult face, although in his case, it’s just another variety of VERY severe baby face.

// outtakes

-- this was a very early attempt at writing the smut scene. Written several months prior to actually getting to this point in the story.

The room was cozy and simple, the inventory of it consisting of warm chimney stretching from below the floor and up through the ceiling, a small table, with a bronze basin on top of it, and a bed, just barely big enough to fit two people comfortably. They stepped inside, the white sheets seemingly calling them, inviting them to come closer. Mai sank onto the mattress first, her legs still remaining on the floor. She kicked her boots off and, this time, lay down properly.

„ We're switching today,” she said, opening her arms for Masamune. He obliged, soon nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Resting in silent contentment, he slung his arm over her waist, pulling her even closer. She stroked his hair tenderly, basking in the warmth exchanged between their bodies. Ever since she was kidnapped, she wanted to just hold him, knowing he'd push himself with no regard for his own well-being.

„ You shouldn't have done that, you know...” she hummed. „ What were you even thinking, it was so risky...”

„ I screwed up in the market, didn't I?” he sighed. „ I'm sorry I didn't keep my word then.”

„ You idiot, you missed the point entirely. I can... If... If that's what I have to do to survive, I will accept it. But I don't want to lose you,” her voice hitched. Masamune propped himself on his elbow, cupping her cheeks with his free hand.

„ I'm sorry. But I couldn't stand having you whisked away again too.”

As if guided by pure instinct, she pulled him into a kiss. His lips pressed against hers more delicately than usually. She opened her mouth, needing to taste him, over and over again. His familiar scent enveloped her, his fingers tracing the outline of her jaw – and for a moment she could have sworn that the time stopped, that the entire universe was reduced just to that single small room. Yet, they had to part eventually, their lungs begging for air. To her surprise, Masamune returned to his previous spot, his hair tickling her chin.

„ I missed you so much, Mai,” he murmured against her skin. His lips brushed her neck once, twice, and so many more, each and every time descending slightly, until he reached the very tip of her collarbone. His hand waited at the hemline of her shirt.

„ But you should rest...” she trailed off.

„ I'm fine. You know the question was whether you want it or not.”

Hadn't she known the answer already? Yet, the reason still fought within her, reminding her of both her and his fatigue... But... Maybe? Maybe just a little... Maybe just a little more.

„ I do,” she uttered finally.

-- At first I considered Mitsuhide and Manya becoming and endgame ship. I ended up deciding against it. However, a line of dialogue stayed. I debated using it for another pair, but it didn’t happen either.

A chilly gust of wind slipped through the tiny creaks around the window. His teeth pulled lightly on the cord keeping her neckline closed, the knot soon unraveling. His hand snuck under her shirt, travelling up so very slowly, as if he wanted to renew the map of her body in his mind. She shivered under his touch, anticipation growing deep within her. His lips returned to her neck, as he cupped her breast from below, massaging it lightly. Switching between the left one and the right one, his fingers caressed them unhurriedly. Masamune pulled onto the top of her shirt, the fabric dispersing over the cord just slightly, exposing her shoulders. Cold air inviting itself into the room again, he kissed the newly freed skin. He propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her, her nipples peaking through her clothing.

„ Masamune...” she whined a bit, as if to rush him. He chuckled in response, the garment soon flying to the floor.

„ Aren’t you impatient, kitten?” he hummed against her breast, his breath warming up her skin. Mai shivered.

“ You’re..!” her voice hitched, as he took her nipple between his teeth and bit on it just lightly, flicking it with his tongue and sucking it a moment later.

“ Have you said anything just now?” he laughed, looking up at her. Mischief played in his eye, as he returned to caressing her, his fingers sliding down her side.

“ That I missed you too,” she gasped as he grabbed her rear, his hand sneaking beneath the fabric of her pants. As if to make up to her for all the missed time, his lips trailed a path down her abdomen – until she couldn’t take it anymore, pulling him up by his shoulders, needing to taste his lips. She pushed Masamune against the pillows and straddled him. Seeing the surprised look he gave her, Mai laughed a little.

“ I still think you should rest,” she stated firmly, her fingers tracing his jawline. She cupped his face and leaned forward, her hair tickling his cheeks as he kissed her again, his tongue entering her mouth eagerly. Wordlessly, she

-- Another dialogue exchanged between Mitsuhide and Manya. It made it into the final story, although slightly altered.

“I love you.”

“What--”

“With every fiber of my being. I love you.”

“He will not love you, no matter how much you change.”

“How can you know that?!”

“The filthiest scums on earth are unable to feel anything lest it’s twisted - and love, my dear little one, can never withstand that sort of deformation.”

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#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

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imtryingmyfuckingbe · 4 years

Text

Werewolf of Portland

Pairing: Dean x FBI!Reader

Word count: 10K

I’m not good a summaries, but I drew inspiration from anytime the boys give actual FBI Agents the “talk”, as well as that episode where Jody calls them out for using Bobby as their “supervisor”. This is a repost because I accidentally deleted the original, but it gave me time to edit it better. I’m thinking of doing a second part if I get enough feedback or requests for it, so please, please, please tell me what you think. I’m hungry for feedback haha. Also I know nothing about Portland or official FBI Badges so please keep that in mind as you read.

Warnings: Canon violence, profanity, and a plot twist I didn’t even see coming

Werewolf of Portland

The repugnant, putrid scent overcomes the clearing, spread by the gentle breeze. Despite the green grass littered with wild flowers, the unforgiving scent of rotten eggs clings to the workers’ hazmat suits. Flies buzz incessantly around the body, like that of an opaque blanket if adorned with beady eyes and veiny wings.

While the forensic cleaners work to gather the corpse’s remains for transportation, Agent Y/L/N stands at the edge of the control zone. Her day started at 4:39 in the morning, wherein she spent the next five hours scouring the field alongside her team. Even with her duties tended to, she refuses to leave the scene. The sparse clues yielded in the first examination plague her mind.

No fingerprints, no shoe prints, no footprints, no DNA; the list of what they don’t have extends further than what they do.

The body itself— what little the attacker left of it, at least— covered the majority of the scene. Torn to pieces, heart removed; remains scattered. She hopes the coroner can get something from her examination. The lacking evidence in addition to this being the fourth body found places an insurmountable weight on Y/N’s shoulders.

The public’s outrage cries for the FBI to put the criminal behind bars, but they’re no closer to identifying witnesses, let alone a culprit. Y/N signs, running her hand through her hair. No matter the amount of cases she faces, no matter how gruesome, she never lets it desensitize her. If she becomes numb to the pain of blood and guts, she fails to invest herself in solving the case.

Turning from the scene, she instead takes in the myriad official vans and workers putting about. Her partner speaks with forensics, gathering whatever helpful information they can provide. A small side glance her way and the lift of his hand by his side, he beckons Y/N over. However, her lead feet refuse to move. Still engulfed in the horror show behind her, she takes a moment to collect her thoughts.

Y/N struggles to keep her emotions in check. Rage courses through her veins at the heinous acts humans commit, to fulfill sadistic pleasure or cure one’s demons. Unfortunately, in the FBI, she must swallow her anger and sadness, replacing it with a monotone voice and calculated expressions. Taking a breath, she departs from the border and heads towards Agent Colt.

He finishes speaking with the worker, who leaves the partners in peace.

“They’ve got nothing. We’ve got nothing. Not for this one, not for the past three.”

She already knows this. A thought tickles the back of her mind, but she cannot name it. “All right. Maybe they got sloppy; maybe this time the coroner will get something. Anything.” Elijah rolls his eyes, pursing his lips and rubbing his chin. Y/N knows he’s saying We can’t base our investigation on maybe. Another sigh. “Fine, let’s run through this again.”

Elijah leads the way to their company car. “So, the heart. That’s the main focus. It’s missing.”

“Yes. This points to it being personal. It takes a lot of passion and hatred to rip through someone’s chest and remove their fucking heart. Which, another thing, the hearts aren’t just removed. They’re taken.”

“Right. Okay, haphazard blood splatter; no pattern. I’d say our killer is disorganized. Listless.”

“Not completely. I mean, there’s an even month between each murder. That leans more towards organized. There’s ritual. It’s not really first come, first serve, ya know?”

Elijah pauses at his door, fingers clasped tightly around its handle. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, staring off into the distance. Y/N knows that look. She’s seen it in herself, survivors and fellow agents. He’s not looking at the clearing, but trying to connect the dots. Perhaps the weight of solving this doesn’t rest solely on Y/N’s shoulders.

As Elijah returns from his reverie and yanks open the car door, Y/N hears a deep, raspy voice greet the local law enforcement. Her partner settles into his seat, staring at her with drawn eyebrows and pursed lips. She holds up a finger.

Casting a quick glance behind her, Y/N finds two suits mid-introduction with the sheriff. The pair hold up identification booklets, much like the one in her pocket. Their suits hang too loosely off of their bodies, their dress shoes too scuffed. The longer she watches their body language, the larger the pit in her stomach grows. She turns around to lean against the car, keeping focus on the men. They talk for a moment more before the sheriff nods in her direction.

Y/N watches their shoulders tense, standing taller from the rigidness. Yes, she muses, something is off.

The window she leans against pulls on her coat as Elijah rolls it down. “Hey, you coming?”

Pondering for a moment whether she should let him in on her instincts, Y/N decides against it. “Yeah,” she leans down, poking her head through the window. “I’m going to stay here, actually. I want to see if I can squeeze anything else out of the uniforms.”

Elijah chuckles. “We’re uniforms too, you know.”

She returns the laugh. “Right, well, you head back to the office. Make a fresh pot of coffee, too. I’ll meet you there.”

He holds two fingers to his forehead before dramatically sweeping them across his face. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Y/N stands as he rolls the window back up, patting the roof. Elijah peels off while she returns her attention to the still-gawking men. Their postures only straighten as she nears; if they stood any more rigid she’d swear they were wax figures. “Harold,” she acknowledges the sheriff. He nods. “How’s it going on your end?” Y/N keeps the men in her peripheral but focuses on Harold.

Harold’s eyes shift to the pair, then back to Y/N. “As I was telling your fellow agents—” at this statement, the men share a glance, “—still nothing.”

“Right, well I want to go over everything again. Give me a moment.” She finally turns to greet the supposed agents. “Gentlemen, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” Scanning their faces, she studies them for any quirk of the lips or perspiration on the brow.

The taller one speaks first. “I’m, uh, Agent Pert and this is Agent Bonham,” he gestures next to him.

Pert and Bonham? Really? She refrains from rolling her eyes.

Instead, Y/N doesn’t respond, using the pressure of silence in her favor. Harold clears his throat, uncomfortable with the tension. She ignores him, keeping focus on the men before her. Most of her suspects break under her gaze; very few can sustain their façade in an encounter with her steely eyes and stiff posture. Harold excuses himself, unable to withstand her harsh eyes. The men continue to stare, neither willing to relent. Unfortunately, this renders them at an impasse. She, too, will not look away or speak.

Agent Pert concedes, taking the lead. “Right, well, we’re here from DC to investigate the murders. What have you got?” His voice imperceptibly wavers— if untrained, Y/N wouldn’t notice the quiver— the corner of his lip twitching.

Ignoring his request, she commands, “Let me see your badges, agents.”

Another conversation through a shared look before they hand them over. They’re good, the badges. A smidgen off center of authentic. If not for the incorrect serial code and too high insignia placement, Y/N would accept them at face value. She closes the booklets and pockets them, earning a small Hey of protest from the short one. Cocking an eyebrow, she dares them to challenge her.

“Impersonating a federal agent is a crime, I’m sure you know.”

“Impersonating a— call our superior and check! Let me see your badge!” Crew cut exclaims, indignant.

“I’ll lend my badge after I’ve talked to your superior officer.” She wonders how far they intend to take this rouse.

With their business card in hand, she retreats a few steps. As she dials the number the little whisper in the back of her head pesters her further. The questionable agents and unsolvable case remind her of… something.

“Agent Willis,” a voice grunts.

“Willis? What’s your outpost?”

“Headquarters. Who is this?”

“Agent Y/L/N. It appears I have two of your agents here; I’m sure some wires crossed when you sent them down? What were your orders for Agents Tyler and Grohl?”

“Who are you to question my authority, Agent?”

His growl pulls the pressing thought to the forefront of her mind. 2005, in Cincinnati on her first case. Similar to her case today: bodies piled up with no leads and peculiar circumstances. She ran into someone claiming to be FBI, too. Fresh from the academy with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she accepted his excuse of bureaucratic miscommunication; why don’t we work the case together?

She laughs. “Wait, hold on. I know you.”

“Noyoudon’t,” he spits out, too quickly.

“Yeah, I do. Fuck, what’s your name?” she mumbles, more to herself than him. “Singer! Ohio, we worked a case together. Culprit never caught and you went on your merry way.”

He blubbers, failing to produce a proper excuse. “I don’t know a Singer, Agent.”

She rolls her eyes, finally turning to face the men. The stricken look on their faces only further points to the truth. “All right, Willis. Even if that were true, you also don’t know your agents’ names. They introduced themselves as Pert and Bonham. Really, Singer? Rockstars’ names?” The humor of the situations drains, replaced with its severity. “All right, I’m taking your men in. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put and wait for mine to come get you.”

“Wait— Y/L/N, right? Hear me out,” he pleads, urgency ringing clear in his voice.

“You have ten seconds.”

“Listen, they’re there to help. Your attacker ain’t what you think it is. I closed that case in Cincinnati, thanks to your help. But, it wasn’t a person. It was a vampire.”

She laughs again, this time wild and unbelieving. “Yeah, right. And this one is a fucking Chupacabra.”

“No, it’s not. We think it’s a werewolf.”

“You’re fucking nuts. No, I’m calling this in.”

“Y/N. Wait. Talk to them, please. People are still in danger. Their names are Sam and Dean. Winchester.” The desperation in his voice settles with unease in her chest. Her time on the force yields too much experience in discerning honesty from duplicity.

Rather than respond, she ends the call and returns to the newly named Winchesters. They stand unmoving, shoulder to shoulder; if not for the wind tussling the tall one’s hair, she’d think they were statues. “So.” They squirm under her gaze. “Which one of you is Sam and Dean?” Their eyes widen at her remark, startled by her knowledge of their true identities.

Crew cut juts his chin out and squares his shoulders. “I’m Dean. That’s Sam. Why don’t you tell us who you are and how the hell you know our names?”

“I’ll be the one asking questions, gentleman. I’ve half a mind to put you in cuffs. First, you impersonate a federal agent; second, your pal Singer brings up werewolves? Sounds like three peas in a pod headed for St. Christopher’s Asylum to me.” Neither respond. “Thirty seconds, boys. You have thirty seconds to make me believe you or the only way you’re leaving is in cuffs.” For emphasis, she pats her hip, whereupon the cuffs hang.

The pregnant silence leers on.

“25.”

Sam sighs, running his hand through his hair. “All right. There are things in this world that you don’t know about; that not many people know about. The bumps in the night, the clichés; most of them are real. Have you had anything happen to you that you can’t explain? Or had an unsolvable case?” He pauses for her answer, but she only looks on, hands on her hips.

Vampires? Werewolves? What the fresh fuck? Her mind reels with the implications of his statement; even still, it doesn’t feel wrong. A few cases come to mind instantly: the serial killer who left victims’ eyes burnt out, people torn to shreds in supposed animal attacks by nothing from these parts. How many victims faced the unknown rather than human wrath? She can handle psychopaths, serial killers, the insane. She knows that evil; deals with it regularly. But the supernatural? No.

“Right, well, we hunt those things. We take them out,” he gestures between himself and Dean.

Y/N’s hands drop from her sides, falling limp at her thighs. “Just you two?” She whispers, cold and disbelieving.

“No,” Dean speaks up. “Not just us. There’s a lot of us out there.”

“Listen, I’m going to need more than just your word. I don’t know you, and I sure as hell don’t trust you. What can you give me that will make me believe you?” Despite not wanting it, she needs proof. Plus, if they turn out to be nuts, she can lock them up and toss the key; no harm, no foul.

They nod once, curt but understanding. Sam takes a step forward, hand raised in her direction. “This’ll take a leap of faith, Agent…”

“Y/L/N.”

“Agent Y/L/N. Let us work on this with you,” Sam implores. “And if we’re wrong, you can book us yourself.”

“Sammy, hold up. Who’s to say we can trust her either? She’s just some Fed. Who’s to say she won’t cuff us anyway?” Dean protests, turning towards Sam.

While the two quietly argue, Y/N takes a step back. Running her tongue over her teeth in concentration, she ponders the options. Even if Sam offers her control, she knows their type: they won’t let her actually take the lead. Dean reminds her of her father, and that man never relinquished supervision. In order for this to work in her favor— seeking the truth, protecting the public— Y/N must fulfill the role as the dutiful public servant. Perhaps they’re not fucking lunatics, and this thing turns out to be real, she’d be way out of her element anyway. Still, she refuses to give up control.

Staring off towards the field, where the body once laid, she contemplates the little evidence recovered. Vics torn to shreds, no prints, no DNA. Local PD swears it’s a cougar, an animal indigenous to the area. Even still, animals are simpler than humans. They kill for sustenance or safety. The brutality of this kill, the length of the claw marks, lack of fur, ritual occurrences; it all points in the wrong direction. Y/N would quicker say some furry decided killing offers more sexual release over cosplay than call it a fucking cougar.

“If you expect me to try to trust you, or at least what you say, then I need your trust, too. This goes both ways,” she interrupts. The men cease their heated discussion, turning towards her. “I don’t like what you’re telling me. I don’t want to believe it. But… I trust my gut, and I think you guys are either great liars or telling the truth.” Sam smiles, but Y/N holds up a hand. “However, I will not put my eggs in one basket. I need insurance that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain. This means I’m taking point, and you guys are consultants. Anything you know, you tell me. Anything you find, you tell me. Anything you do, you tell me. Capiche?”

Sam nods before Dean, nudging his side to encourage his agreement. Dean tosses his hands in the air. “Fine. Where to next, Agent?” Venom drips with each word.

“I need to get back to the station. My partner, Agent Colt, will be—”

“Colt? Agent Colt? The irony.” Dean interrupts. Sam elbows him again, and Y/N chooses to ignore him altogether.

“I’m going back to the station. I’ll talk to the Uniforms and tell them to give you anything pertinent to this specific scene. Anything to do with the others can wait until tonight. Meet me at Carlton’s, off of Hamilton street. I’ll bring the files for the other Vics.” She hands Sam her business card, not trusting Dean to keep it.

“What about our badges?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, exhausted. “Fuck, man. I’m trying my hardest to ignore the federal crime you committed right in front of me. Prove you’re right and you’ll get them back. Until then, you’re consultants employed by the Bureau.”

She pushes passed them, heading towards Harold. Their boots crunch on the gravel as they lag behind her. He halts his conversation with one of deputies upon their arrival. “Sheriff, these two are fresh blood from the academy.” She juts her thumb over her shoulder. “HQ thought this would be a good case for them to learn on the job. Tell them anything you know and let them case the scene. I’m going back to the station to meet up with Elijah.”

“But—” Harold begins. Y/N levels him with sharp eyes and pressed lips, stopping him in his tracks. “Right. Okay. Follow me, Agents.” Sam and Dean shoulder passed Y/N, catching up to the Sheriff with a few long strides.

Y/N stands for a moment, hands in her jacket pockets, watching the two men. If this turns out to be a rouse— if she let two criminals onto the field with her permission— that’s her head. Shaking the thought away, she turns. She’s able to hitch a ride back to the station with the forensic profilers.

———————————————————————————————————

Elijah spared his questions when she returned, thankfully. Instead, he shoved a hot cup of cop shop coffee into her hands before continuing their earlier evaluation. “Right, can’t be disorganized, but he’s definitely passionate. That shows connection to the victims.”

Y/N sips her coffee. Forcing the bitterness down her throat, she also swallows her new knowledge. She must work this case like any other, for it might be. “You think it’s a man?”

Around the bite of an apple, he says, “Yes. Female offenders aren’t typically serial murderers; they’re passion killers. Black Widows, Angels of Death, you know the type.”

“I do, but Wuronous diverged from the typical female murderer.”

“Yeah, that’s one of many. Most other women utilized poison for their kills. The ME didn’t find any traces of cyanide, arsenic, or tetrodotoxin— nothing. Doesn’t fall in line with what we know.”

Y/N simmers. She knows this, of course. “Let’s keep the possibilities in mind.” She sifts through the crime scene pictures, lining up the photos of the different victims side by side. “Placement doesn’t seem to matter, so that leans away from obsessive compulsiveness. The offensive wounds support this, too.”

“Y/N, what are we reaching for? We don’t have a profile, a motive; nothing.”

“Not true. Let’s lay it all out, one more time. Hearts are taken, gruesome attack wounds, lower body left alone. Maybe these are passion killings, and the only thing in common with the victims is the killer. I mean, people come and go all the time here. Maybe they knew the Unsub outside of Portland. The ritualistic pattern of the murders makes me think the killer stalks the victims in the month down time; gets to know their schedule, comings and goings. They’re all aged between twenty-five and thirty-five. Maybe the killer is attracted to the ages rather than physical descriptions. Also—” Y/N stops, sighing.

Even as she tries to string everything together, she knows Elijah is right. Too much of the evidence contradicts any profile they could scrape up. Ritualistic but not obsessive, disorganized but keeps to a schedule, passionate murders between unrelated victims. Nothing points them in any definitive direction. They’re grasping at straws here.

Sam and Dean creep to the forefront of her mind. She downs her coffee in one go. It heats her stomach, and she blames her rising temperature on the beverage rather than brimming anger. Clenching her fists, she crushes the paper cup. Elijah reaches over to rub her shoulder, massaging her tense muscles. “It’s okay, Y/N/N. We’ll catch this son of a bitch,” he encourages, misunderstanding her frustration.

She rubs her eyes, forcing them open. Wordlessly, Elijah fills hands here a new cup of coffee, topping himself off as well. They sit in silence, pouring over their respective files. The victims must have connections; even if Y/N allows herself to believe the Winchesters, she can’t believe monsters don’t have rituals. Psychology reaches further than humanity— scientists observe it in animals. In order to keep hope and keep going, Y/N trusts in the knowledge that all things in existence operate off of some code.

Another sigh, another gulp. “One more time. From the first victim. Elijah, there has to be something.”

He purses his lips, clear indignation warring his exhaustion and winning. Even still, he nods. “All right, Vic One: Stephanie Lane, age 27. She worked at the local vet clinic on Broad Street. Usual nine to five, Monday through Friday. Killer got her leaving work Thursday night, July Fifth, around six p.m. Scratched her up, took her heart. Passerby found her body two days later.” He wets his lips, staring at her file.

Y/N nods in confirmation, already well aware of the facts. With a fine-tooth comb, they revisit each victim after Stephanie Lane. Jonathan Grism, Marcus Kent, and, the most recent, Gabrielle Shaw. All with varying occupations and seemingly no connections, aside from enjoying the casual run or grueling hike. Despite their apparent love of nature, the Unsub chose to kill them in their daily routine.

On a whim, Y/N searches each date (July 5th, August 3rd, September 2nd, and October 1st) for any similarities in the dates, coming up short and further exasperated. Elijah keeps to himself while she abuses her keyboard, refusing defeat. Only on her fifth page of Google searches does she find anything worth noting; unfortunately it supports the Winchesters. Each murder occurred on a full moon.

She slams her laptop closed, finishing her coffee and crushing her cup. “I need a break, Elijah. Just some time to clear my head and get fresh eyes.” She stands, tossing her cup into the wastebasket. Elijah leans back, clasping his fingers behind his head. “I’m getting some sleep. You should too. You look like shit.”

Elijah laughs. “Thanks, Y/N/N. You don’t look too much better yourself.”

She shoves his shoulder as she passes, shouting a goodbye over her shoulder. Elijah hollers something back, but she’s already out of the front doors. The crisp air helps the fog in her head, supplementing it with aches in her bones. Her boots crunch leaves with each step, and she forces her focus onto the noise.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Werewolves?

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The supernatural?

Crunch, crunch— smack.

A broad chest stops her, calloused fingers grasping her upper arm to steady her. Y/N looks up, palms pressing against a soft t-shirt, into effervescent green eyes. Dean grins down at her, the left corner of his lip tilted in an almost-sneer, if not for the mischief in his eyes. She rolls her eyes, pushing back against his firm chest. He releases her, hands up in mock surrender.

“Agent, fancy seeing you here.”

“Where? Outside of the station where I work? Must be kismet.” Sarcasm drips from her words like venomous honey, sickly sweet and sticky.

“Well, to be fair, you did say to tell you anything we find, so here I am.”

Her heart stutters, excited. They found something. This could be the end of the murders. Straightening her back and returning to Agent Y/L/N— locking Y/N into a tight box at the back of her mind— she faces Dean head on. “All right, what have you found?” Her voice lacks the previous emotion, all business and no play.

Dean sighs, a look flitting across his face and disappearing before Y/N can place it. “Walk with me.” He turns on his heel without awaiting her response, starting down the sidewalk.

She follows, despite the annoyance burning the bottom of her feet with each step. They continue down the street in silence, save for their steps and the seldom passing cars. While she wants answers, Y/N knows pestering delays the process. Dean seems like a man who has been through the ringer a couple times. If he shares similarities with herself, he won’t share anything until he’s ready— another form of control she wants to rip from his fingers.

By the time they reach the doors to the Sunshine Diner, Y/N must clench her fists to bury the frustration of unanswered questions. Dean holds the door, motioning for her to go in. In the back right corner of the restaurant sits Sam, typing furiously on his laptop. So. It appears Dean did search for her once they found something. Pleased at the notion, she lets some of the annoyance roll off her shoulders.

Dean settles in next to Sam, Y/N taking the opposing side of the booth. “So, get this,” Sam begins. “Your murders started four months ago, right? Well, turns out a small werewolf pack traveled from Washington to Portland because they drew too much attention to themselves. One of our connections in Seattle worked the case until they completely disappeared, no trace, no nothing. Within a month of leaving Washington, the Portland murders began.” He finished, peering at her through the too-long tendrils of his hair.

Y/N schools her face into indifference, despite her racing heart and sweating palms. He sounds so sure and calm, like they run into werewolves grocery shopping. Dean looks at her, too, sharp eyes searching for anything in her expression or body language.

For a moment of reprieve, the waitress approaches the table. Rushed and rough, the trio relay their orders: Sam an egg white omelet, Dean the Bacon Supreme, and Y/N another black coffee; she ignores her shaking hands and clammy skin. The server jots down their choices, rushing off to the next table.

Y/N clasps her fingers together, leaning forward. “That sounds like a nicely wrapped present with a bow on top. I need your process. How did you come to this conclusion? Who is this supposed hunter?”

Sam squints at her, mouth agape. “Those are your questions, really? Nothing about werewolves?” He turns to Dean, bewildered. Dean shrugs, looking all too comfortable for the topic of conversation.

The server returns with their drinks, setting the three coffees and one orange juice in front of the respective customers. As if purposefully slow, she takes her time to offer creamer or sugar, unaware of the tension. Dean taps one of his fingers on the surface of the table while Sam makes polite small talk with the waitress. Y/N continues to study the men before her. Finally, the server leaves once more.

“Listen, if I’m going to believe your bucket of crazy, then I’m going to believe it. So, no. I’m not going to ask about werewolves, I’m asking about the details of your research. I need to know how credible you are.”

This time, Dean leans forward, staring straight into her eyes and speaking low. “The hunter we know in Washington, Richard, kept track of them enough to know their comings and goings. He put out the word through the Hunter grapevine that he needed help with the… extermination of the pack, but by the time anyone could come to help, they migrated south. To here. We know it’s this pack because the victims share the same hobby: doing shit in nature. Runners, hikers, whatever. It makes them easy targets—”

“— Except they weren’t killed on hikes or runs. They were killed after work or errands or—”

Dean continues speaking, as if she hadn’t interjected. “—This specific pack only eats the heart, a common characteristic of werewolves. However, a lot of them eat more of the body, and depending on what they eat points to which pack is most likely to be the attacker. These sons of bitches blend in, except on the full moon, where they go apeshit for hearts. Richard identified the pack leader; Sam found where they’re holed up in. Good enough for you, Agent?”

She wants to slap the pleased look straight off of his plump lips and pretty green eyes. Instead, Y/N props her head up in her palm, keeping her eyes level with Dean’s, swallowing her ire and replacing it with feigned kindness. “Yes. When are we going to get them?” The thought of coming face to face with a monster rushes like winter water through her veins. She reminds herself she deals with monsters on the daily; hers only lack claws and fangs, and whatever else. The circumstances only vary slightly.

“We? There is no ‘we’, sweetheart. We kept you in the loop, like you asked, but you don’t know Jack from Shit about how the gank these fuckers. You do your job, and we’ll—”

Y/N raises her hand, silencing Dean. “Listen, sweetheart, I know the area. I’m guessing they’re staying at the Crest Apartments off of 205, right? Developers left it abandoned when the surveyors refused to clear it due to landslide likelihood. I know the woods, the city, everything. As for what I don’t know, you can teach me. I may not be trained in proper monster lore, but I know how to fight.”

Dean leans further forward, meeting her at the halfway mark of the table. He lowers his voice, speaking gruffly as if to admonish. “You might be an agent in the normal world, but to us you’re just a civvie. No matter what you think you can do, no matter what you think you know, you’ve never faced these things in real life. I’m not about to put your stubborn ass in danger just so you can prove a point.”

Y/N opens her mouth to retort, but Sam grabs Dean’s collar and pulls him back. “Enough with the pissing contest. I get it: you’re both badass,” he interrupts, at his wits end. “Listen, Y/N,” he begins, softer. “I’m sure you’re good at what you do. You got the location correct without any intel, save for what you know about your city. But Dean’s right. If you come, you’re more of a liability than helpful.”

Y/N closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it for five counts. When she exhales, she forces a smile upon her lips, albeit a bit sardonic, and opens her eyes. The men stare at her, awaiting her response. She stands, instead, straightening her jacket. “Gentleman, I’ll see you tonight. Bring an extra weapon, seeing as I’m sure normal bullets won’t kill a werewolf. Nine o’clock?” Rather than wait for a response, she nods her head and departs onto the street once more.

———————————————————————————————————

From the moment she stepped outside of the diner to the moment she parked her car behind Sam and Dean, her phone rang. Y/N assumed the alternating unknown numbers belonged to the brothers, likely wishing to dissuade her from joining their crusade. She ignored them, deleting any voicemails they left. She knows they’re right; she doesn’t know left from right when it comes to monsters. But it’ll be a cold day in Hell when she lets some terror run rampage in her city.

Instead, she chose to bide her time researching werewolf lore between several more cups of coffee. Luckily she came across a duo well versed in their knowledge: the Ghostfacers. Although they posted their most recent content a year ago, she assumes lore stays the same. Silver bullet, shot to the head or heart, werewolf down for the count.

Y/N alights from her car, closing the door. Sam and Dean stand at their trunk, rummaging through— an entire arsenal of weapons? Y/N still has half the mind to arrest them. First impersonating federal agents to knives and machetes and guns in a hidden compartment of their car? She forces anxiety down, instead choosing once again to believe Sam and Dean are not raging psychopaths. Every bone in her body screams to cuff them and book them; her entire career banks on capturing nuts jobs like these two.

Still, she makes her way to their car, stopping at her front bumper to lean on it. “So. Silver, huh?”

Sam turns to face her, loading his .45 absentmindedly as he takes in her appearance. Gone is her official suit, in its place jeans, boots, and a well-worn long-sleeve. Dean rummages through the trunk, ignoring her presence. “You researched,” Sam replies, more so a statement than a question.

“I don’t go in half cocked. Pun intended. Got any leftover bullets? I’ve got a .45, too,” she muses, patting her hip for emphasis.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other occupied with a magazine. “For the last time,” he begins, turning to face her, “I don’t want you here. We don’t want you here. If things get hairy in there, we can’t protect you, Y/N. You’re a liability. You don’t know—”

“— Jack from shit, yeah, yeah,” she dismisses, waving a hand. “Stow the crap, I’m coming. Now, do you want me going in defenseless or do you have silver to spare?” She stands straight, squaring her shoulders and holding her head high.

Sam covers a laugh with a cough, his attention trained on Dean. Y/N forces her unwavering gaze onto him, who in turn rolls his eyes. His shoulders sag in defeat as he returns attention to his trunk. Wordlessly, he passes her a simple pistol, already loaded. She adjusts her grip, searching for a comfortable hold.

“Thanks.”

Dean barely nods his head. Y/N leaves the pair for a moment, returning her own gun to the glove box and locking it.

Upon her return, Dean closes the trunk with a deafening slam, leaning against it. “All right, let’s get some things straight. We go in first, you follow. We’ll call clear and then we move forward as a group, understood?” Y/N wants to roll her eyes— Dean seems to forget she works raids on the regular— but she nods. “Good. We counted five. You see someone who isn’t us,” he motions between Sam and himself with his gun, “you shoot. Bullet to the heart will do the job.” He delivers a pointed look in her direction, awaiting confirmation.

“Got it.”

He looks at her for a moment, his eyes alight with enough fire to bore holes into her clothing. A familiar look hides behind his façade of rage; it rests on the tip of Y/N’s tongue. Perhaps a concoction of grief and hope. She sees it in herself when a case grows too heavy; grief for the pain and hope for the end. In this moment, Y/N feels like she knows Dean.

The moment breaks when he shakes his head and walks heavy footed to the building. Sam falls in line with Y/N, resting a hand on her shoulder to slow her. She cranes her neck to look him in the eye, skin burning whereupon his palm rests. “He doesn’t want casualties. He doesn’t have the best way of showing it, but Dean cares about people. He’s got enough blood on his hands.” Sam squeezes her shoulder, sparing a tight lipped smile, before dropping his hand.

A few long strides puts him next to Dean, shoulder to shoulder. Y/N hangs back, processing Sam’s vague confession. She understands the need to protect others. The most pressing motivation for joining the Bureau stems from this desire. These men fight in a war separate to her own, but not dissimilar. They’re two sides of the same coin, both Y/N and Dean aching to save, save, save.

She shrugs her shoulders, pushing the nerves building in her chest down to her toes. If Sam and Dean tell the truth of the awaiting horrors, she needs to ready herself. In matters of life and death, anxiety only increases the chances of death. Adrenaline only carries her so far before it peters out.

Dean stands at the front door, gun raised and legs parted. Sam stands to the side, hand on the handle. Y/N, as promised, stands back and behind Dean. With a nod from Dean, Sam pulls the handle, opening the heavy door. The brothers file in first, flashlights illuminating the unfinished floor and walls.

Their footsteps echo as they clear each room, a foreboding cadence through the empty halls. Dean looks back at Y/N, ensuring she still follows. She keeps her gun pointed to the ground and her senses open. At the first corner, Dean holds his arm out. Sam and Y/N flatten themselves against the wall while Dean looks around the corner. He nods, stepping out into the open once more.

A crunch from the right hallway drags Y/N’s attention from the brothers proceeding to the left. Peering down the corridor, she finds it empty. Just as she turns to catch up, another crunch sounds, followed by a squelch and a footstep. Looking behind her, Y/N finds Dean and Sam halfway down the hallway. “Dean!” she shouts as quietly as she can. He doesn’t turn. “Dean. Sam!”

Nothing.

She sighs, frustrated. One side begs her to run down the hallway to warn them; the other implores her to follow her gut and the noise. Another wayward glance in their direction and Y/N turns right. She steps carefully, avoiding debris. Heel, toe. Heel, toe.

The further she travels down the hallway, the darker it gets. Footsteps and low voices grow closer as she reaches another left or right turn. She presses against the left wall, sparing a glance down the right corridor. Empty. The left hallway, however, offers cover to three silhouettes crowding in front of a closed door. She startles back, heart hammering against her ribs.

Y/N holds her breath, calming the relentless anxiety in her chest. Breathe in, hold four seconds, breathe out. Rinse and repeat. She looks back to where she last saw Sam and Dean; they’re gone. Great. Now she's truly dug herself an early grave.

With one last breath, Y/N turns the corner, aims and shoots. One of the people— werewolves— yowls in pain, collapsing to the ground. Yellow eyes glow in the dark, the only light from their end of the hall. Guttural growls roll from their chests as they stalk towards Y/N. She fires again. It hits the plaster, sending dust and shards flying.

“Fuck.”

The monsters pick up speed, running full force in her direction. She fires one more time, hitting one in the leg. It crashes to the floor, knees hitting the ground with a sickening crack. The other continues. Y/N whips around, running down the hallway towards Sam and Dean— she hopes. Her feet thump with each step and she pays little mind to the trash and tools on the ground.

A foolish mistake, it seems, as she stomps on an empty chip packet. Her right foot slips from beneath her, sending her careening to the ground. The side of her head smacks against the concrete. Her vision blacks for a moment before the pain spreads in webs from her cheek to her neck, down her back. The heavy footfalls of her pursuer sound muffled compared to the needling throbbing in her head.

With a groan, she pushes herself onto her hands and knees. A hand on the wall stabilizes her, she clambers to her feet. An unfortunate time to do so; the werewolf runs full force into her, slamming her onto the ground once more. Autopilot takes over as she raises her palms to the man’s chest, pushing as hard as she can.

He snarls, snapping his teeth as he tries to reach her neck. Y/N blocks his throat with her forearm, using her spare hand to blindly search for her gun. Instead of the handle, she grasps a wrench. Good enough. With as much force as she can muster, she clobbers the werewolf’s head. He falls off of her, a hand pressed to his bleeding forehead.

In the second of reprieve, she spots the pistol a few feet away. She throws herself through the air, grabbing the handle before turning onto her back, the gun pointed towards the monster.

He dives after her. Bang. The shot rings out through the hallway. His body tenses before relaxing completely, eyes half lidded and empty. Y/N rolls out of the way as it collides with the floor. Her breaths come ragged and short, but the fight persists. The unforgiving footsteps of her aggressors afford little time to catch her breath; she pushes herself up once more.

Panting, but not yet done, she turns towards the thundering steps. Sam and Dean race towards her, guns at the ready. “Oh, thank God.” She drops her guard and lowers her pistol to her side, leaning against the wall to catch her breath.

Dean reaches her first, fire in his eyes and coating his words. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to stay with us, Y/N!” He grabs her chin, calloused fingers tilting her face to get a better look at her wounds. He pulls back, lifting and examining each arm. Y/N, too spent, lets him search for whatever he wants to find. She feels the welting of a bruise on her right cheek and a trickle of blood from her forehead.

“I got— I got three,” she gasps, watching Sam turn the werewolf over.

Dean releases her, shaking his head. She touches her cheek, wincing at its sensitivity. “Oh, how nice. You also almost got yourself killed. I swear to—”

“—Dean,” Sam warns. “There are two more. We can worry about this later.”

“I got— I killed one of the others, but the third one I just hit in the knee.” Admitting to killing something, despite it being a monster, settles heavily in her stomach. She presses her hand to her lips, forcing her lunch to stay put.

No time to puke, Y/N, she scolds herself.

Shaking her head, she compels herself to focus. She nods at Sam and Dean, who take their positions at the front once more. This time she has no intentions of abandoning their protection. They stalk forward, albeit not as carefully as before; the ruckus certainly alerted the rest of the pact to their presence. Turning the corner, they find the werewolf Y/N shot first. A trail of blood leads the room they convened outside of, the door open this time.

The trio step lightly and quickly to the room. Dean peers in before entering. Inside, the wounded werewolf leans against the wall, a hand pressed against his thigh. Dean shoots him on the spot, wasting no time. Another body lies in the corner, torn the shreds. Aside from the two corpses, the room yields no tell-tale signs of the rest of the pack. Even still, Sam and Dean survey every nook and cranny. Y/N hovers by the door, working on slowing her breath and calming her heart.

She peaks out into the hallway, just in case. The darkness limits her view, but she can’t hear anything either. Her ears ring, a relentless low buzzing from hitting her head and firing her gun too closely. Dean places a hand on her lower back as he passes, alerting her to his presence. The warmth spreads through her body, even when he lets go and walks ahead.

“Do you think they left?” she wonders aloud. It’s what she would do, but packs could think differently than humans.

Sam walks next to her, looking at her in his peripheral. “Maybe. But we want to clear the whole building, no stone left unturned and all that.”

She nods, instantly regretting it. Her brain tumbles around her head, hitting the walls and throbbing. Y/N rubs her temple, but says nothing. Lord knows Dean would already have a smartass retort on the tip of his tongue. Instead, she concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other.

They clear the first floor easily, no signs of the last two. Dean leads them back to the front of the building to the stairwell. The door refuses to open, no matter how much force they use. The handle turns, but something on the other side blocks its pathway. Sam and Dean brace their backs against the door, plant their feet on the ground, and push as hard as they can. It budges slightly, only enough for them to see inside.

One of the railings torn from the stairs leans against the door, while another, wedged between the railing on the door and the first step of the stairs, holds it in place. They’d have to get in there to open the door. The brothers try once again, opening it a smidgen further.

As Sam and Dean discuss the next step, Y/N formulates her own plan. She knows the boys, Dean in particular, won’t like it. Stepping closer to them, she chooses to stand next to Sam, hoping for his support.

“Listen,” she interrupts. Both brothers run their attention to her, Sam’s eyebrows raised and Dean’s drawn down. For a moment, she wonders if they have other facial expressions or if they always look this perturbed. “I can fit in there,” she motions to the opening in the door, a crack about a foot wide. Dean opens his mouth to disagree, but she holds up a hand. “I’ll get in there and move the railings so you guys can get in too. Quick and simple. Won’t go off on my own, promise.”

Sam and Dean meet eyes, silently coming to an agreement. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Fine. Be quick.” He sets his steely gaze upon her face. “And, I fucking swear, Y/N— if you go off by yourself I will kill you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure, you will.”

She shoves passed him, knocking his shoulder on purpose. He grumbles something under his breath, but moves out of the way. A deep breath in, Y/N sidles through the opening. She barely makes it, struggling to get around the railing. Once inside, she grasps the leaning railing, using her whole body to pull the steel from where it’s wedged. Inch by inch, she gets it out of the way.

It hits the floor with a reverberating clang, settling in the alcove beneath the stairs. The other falls to the ground, closing the door with its force. Y/N sighs, throwing her head back in frustration. Fists bang on the other side of the door, Dean shouting her name along with profanities.

“I’m fine, you oaf. Give me a second,” she yells back, exasperated.

“Hurry up, Y/N.”

She groans, sinking to her knees for more leverage. Breathlessly, she retorts, “I. Am. Trying.” With a grunt, she pushes the steel into a vertical position. “All right, you should have enough—”

“Need a hand?” a low voice taunts from above.

Y/N looks up. An unassuming woman stands at the platform of the first level, hands on her hips and an all teeth grin baring her lips. “Dean?” she yells, urgent and frightened. The door opens with enough room for Sam and Dean to squeeze through.

Dean barges in first, gun raised. He casts a glance at Y/N, following her gaze to the landing. Mechanically, he pulls the trigger. The woman falls with a thud. Y/N lets out a breath, hands white knuckling the railing and eyes trained on the body. Sam grabs the metal while Dean pries Y/N’s fingers off, more gently than he’s been with her all day.

She looks at him, eyes wide. As much as she wants to act fearlessly, she’s seen more people— things— die in front of her today than in her entire life. Dean nods, as if to say It’s okay, we get it. She steps back, letting him take the railing. Together, the brothers shift it to rest upon the other.

Y/N closes her eyes, clenching and unclenching her fists. Her nails dig crescents into her palms, the stinging centering her. Okay. Okay. I can do this. Her skin burns under the gaze of Sam and Dean, even if she can’t see them herself. Opening her eyes, she focuses on the men before her.

“You good?” Dean asks, warm and low, a hand reaching out to her.

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.” She motions before her, allowing them to take the lead again.

Four down, one to go, Y/N reminds herself with each step. The task seems less daunting with the odds in their favor at three against one. On the second platform, they exit into the hallway. The builders didn’t get so far as to hinge a door to the opening, thankfully. The trio stalk down the corridor, straining to hear anything out of place.

The end of the hallway yields a wall and two doors opposite of each other— one opened and one closed. The brothers broach the entryway of the open room, clearing it with a quick sweep. Similar to how they entered the building, Dean stands in front of the closed door while Sam grasps the handle. Pushing it open, Dean rushes in, Y/N and Sam following closely behind.

The door slams shut behind them. Y/N whips around, ready to fire and finish the job. She stumbles, lowering her weapon, jaw dropped. Dean steps in front of her, half blocking her from— “Elijah?” Dean looks back at Y/N, brows furrowed and lips parted. Sam rests a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he taunts, almost as if scolding her. “I see you’re running around with scum. I thought you were better than that.”

She shakes her head, struggling to wrap her head around the man before her— her friend— being a monster. “What— how…”

He rolls his eyes. “Wah-how? Blah, blah, blah. You were always so naive.” He twirls a knife between his fingers, a small smirk dancing on his lips. Y/N looks away, unable to handle Elijah being the culprit she sought so long to capture. “When they came to town all those months ago, I caught one of them. I was ready to cuff ‘em and book ‘em, like we’re trained. But Eddie, the one you shot in the leg, Y/N, presented an offer I couldn’t refuse.” His voice glides like silk over her skin. It takes everything not to vomit.

“Only downside is once a month I’d get a little craz—”

The shot rings clear in the air, stopping Elijah’s tirade. Y/N’s head shoots up in time to watch him crumble to the ground. He settles with a soft finality, folded over himself. Dean turns around, saying something, but she can’t hear him. She shakes her head, tears stinging her eyes. Her knees give out, collapsing. Sam falls with her, softening the blow.

She pushes off of him. “Get off of me, get off of me,” she screeches, banging her fists into his chest until he releases her. He holds his hands up in surrender as she scrambles a few feet away.

Y/N rests on her knees, forehead touching the cool ground as if in prayer. Dirt and dust grind in her wound, she knows, but she can’t feel it. She can only replay Elijah’s fall. The separation of the man she knew and the man who he became felt too small. She never noticed a difference. He acted the same: kind, funny, a good agent. A good friend.

Her sobs wrench in her chest, burning her throat. She wants to scream, but it comes out strangled, reverberating from the ground back to her— furious and despairing and inconsolable. Running her fingers through her hair, she grips the roots needing something to hold. Everything feels new in a terrible, sickening way. Just yesterday she believed she and Elijah would put the murderer behind bars. Now, she knows monsters exist. She fought one. She knew one.

Y/N breathes in, steeling herself. The man she knew died four months ago. She pushes herself onto her hind legs, wiping her tears. The burn of her fingers against her wounds calm her. Dealing with physical pain numbs the emotional. She presses her fingers to the bruise, hissing but reveling in the tenderness.

She struggles to her feet, all too aware of the aches in her legs, and turns to face Sam and Dean. They stand by the door, leaning on the border. In her moment of desolation, they moved Elijah somewhere. Out of her sight. Not wanting attention, or Are you okay’s, she pushes past them, avoiding contact. Silently, they follow her to the stairwell and out onto the street. The cool air dries her tears and fills her lungs. For the first time since peering around that godforsaken corner, she can breathe.

Sam and Dean keep a respectable distance, letting her lead them to the cars. Wordlessly, Y/N returns the gun to Dean’s grasp, leaning against her front bumper. She tilts her head back to gaze at the waning moon.

“You good?” Dean asks, settling next to her.

She looks at him, really looks at him, for perhaps the first time. The green of his eyes highlight the bags beneath them. His laugh lines contradict the exhaustion heavy on his lips. His shoulders hang low, weighed down by the knowledge of darkness and pain.

Y/N sighs, accepting the beer he offers her. “I’ll be all right.” She means it. Maybe her monsters don’t have fangs and claws and familiar faces, but they’re monsters all the same. “You know what’s funny?” Dean raises an eyebrow, taking a swig of his El Sol. “I’ve seen worse,” she giggles.

Dean looks away, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Yeah? Like what?”

She sips her beer, too, thinking of a good story. “One time there was this weird inbred family that captured people and hunted them down. Had a barn with cages and shit. They kept their victims cars in a junkyard-graveyard thing, and—”

Sam and Dean share a look before busting out laughing. She glances between them, offended at their mockery. “All right, I’ll keep my stories to myself, then.”

“No,” Sam gets out between bursts. “No, we, um— we hunted those guys. Thought they were monsters. Turned out to be hicks with too much time on their hands.”

It’s Y/N’s turn to laugh. “No fucking way! Must’ve just missed each other.” She shakes her head, taking another sip.

“Small world,” Dean whispers into his bottle.

They settle into a comfortable silence, the tension from the day drained. Y/N lets her mind wander— from meeting these men to now, and everything between. She tries to think back to before all this; before yesterday. The person who stood on the outskirts of the caution tape versus the person who sits on the hood of her car are miles apart.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She pushes off of her bumper, unlocking her car. From the inside door she grabs two small booklets. Y/N passes the fake badges to the respective users. “A few tips: don’t use famous names. That’s the first thing that gave you away. Secondly,” she takes Dean’s badge back, opening it up. “Your official federal insignia is too low. It should be square with your picture. And your serial code is the wrong date. The first number—sometimes letter— is the year this was manufactured. We get new badges every two years, alternating between numbers and letters. Right now,” she says, opening her own booklet, “we are on letter Q.” She passes the badge back to Dean, who pockets it.

Sam nods, “Thanks for the information.”

“Yeah, I just love helping people—”

“— impersonate federal officers,” Dean and Sam interrupt, saying it in unison.

She laughs. “I’m glad you guys didn’t turn out to be crazy.”

In another pocket of silence, they finish their beers. Dean grabs the empty bottles, tossing them into a beat up green cooler while Sam turns to rest on the side of the Impala. Y/N readies herself to say goodbye, ignoring the ache in her chest. She refuses to admit it aloud, but she wishes she met them under different circumstances. She wishes she met Dean under different circumstances.

Despite only knowing him for two days, Y/N can see herself in Dean. He bears the same weight she bears. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that his eyes remind her of fresh cut grass at the beginning of fall. Paired with his smell of cinnamon and gunpowder (a scent she knows all too well), she can’t help but want to know him. If they had met in a bar, she would definitely have taken him home.

Dean returns to her side, this time shoulder to shoulder. “You think you can handle that?” he inquires, pointing to her forehead and cheek.

She touches it gingerly. “Yeah, I think so.”

He nudges her shoulder with his, and she looks up at him. “You did well, tonight. Better than I thought you would, honestly.”

She grins, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s what you get for doubting me.”

He looks ahead again, and she does, too. The sky brightens as the sun returns for its reign. The fatigue from the last twenty-four hours settles in, and, without much thought, she rests her head on Dean’s shoulder. He tenses for a moment, and she feels him look down at her, but he lets his shoulders sag again. He places a hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently, as if to say I’m right here. I’ve got you.

At least, she hopes that’s what he means.

The sun finishes its creep into the sky and the stars fade into a blanket of pink, orange, and purple. Y/N and Dean hop down from the hood of her car and Sam meets them between the bumpers once more. Sam dips down to hug Y/N first, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and squeezing tight. She fights not to groan when his grasp aggravates the aches in her bones. He releases her, casting a smile in her direction.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N. Here,” he passes her a torn piece of paper with two numbers scrawled across. One has an “S” next to it, the other a “D”. “These are our numbers. Call us if you run into anything else.”

She nods, grinning too. “The same applies to you guys. It doesn’t hurt to have someone on the inside.”

He pats her arm before taking his leave, settling into the passenger seat. Y/N turns to Dean. He doesn’t look like much of a hugger, so she extends her hand for a shake. Rolling his eyes, he grabs it, but wraps it around his waist. Dean envelopes her in his arms, holding tighter than Sam with one hand in her hair and the other barred across her shoulders. This time, she welcomes it, in spite of the pain.

He lets her go, but keeps his hands on her shoulders. “I mean it, Y/N.” His voice is low and sinful. “If you need anything, call us. Call me.”

“Anything?” she drawls playfully. He nods, regardless. “Even just to talk?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” His right hand travels up to her neck. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, not entirely sure of his intentions but welcoming anything. He pulls her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Get home safe, Y/N,” he mumbles upon releasing her.

“You too, Dean.”

She waits for him to get in his car before she clambers into her driver’s seat. Her bones creek as she settles. Twisting her keys in the ignition, she rolls the windows down and heads home. Werewolves of London blares across her speakers, and she laughs. Yeah. She’ll be all right.

Taglist:

@angelicthreads

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #fbi!reader #supernatural #supernatural fic #SUPERNATURAL AU #werewolf of portland

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treadmillbuyingguides · 4 years

Text

Considerations to consider when buying treadmills

Belt Power

The first thing you can concentrate on is finding a treadmill that fits your weight and also has a maximum speed value that matches the one you want to achieve; this is also something very personal and depends on the goals you set for yourself.

A simple truth, while not often considered, is treadmill inclination. The higher the incline, the less strength it takes for you to travel.

We 're going to set an example; if we weigh more than 80 kilos, you can buy treadmills with a minimum power of 1.5CV, but if the budget isn't a concern, you should go directly to 2C. This last choice will help you run about 15-16 km/h.

Here's something important to consider: the engine cooling system. We can select a model with a strong one; we can be sure that the model we have chosen will last us a long time.

The hope is that the treadmill will grow concurrently with the athlete, and not the other way around, because it is he who will adjust to the system in question.

Choosing a quiet motor on a treadmill is also very important , particularly if you're going to play sports while your family sleeps, or listen to music or watch TV.

Analyze through engine's peculiarities well before deciding.

Total velocity

Some athletes, particularly those who just start because they don't want to pay too much, buy a treadmill that doesn't have a lot of strength, with the excuse that they will buy another one when they boost their training.

You should know that some cheap models require inefficient speed and strength, which doesn't require progressive training to make any difference. That's why experts suggest clarifying the maximum speed the tape reaches.

If you start, choose a model that allows you to build a speed of about 12 km / h; however, if you already have some experience, you might be able to select one that reaches 15-16 km/h.

The latter are more costly, but ultimately more profitable.

Supporting tendency

The degree of incline is a value indicated in percentage mode (percent) and we can achieve more or less outstanding training depending on it.

This incline 's aim is to slowly increase the speed of the effort being made at all times while running or walking.

A powerful model would allow you to choose the "degree of inclination" at which you will be able to travel, e.g. 9, 12, 15 percent ... Or, if you're a student, pick 1%-2% degrees.

Important: While this aspect is very useful to build a successful workout, it is not advised to use it if you have knee or ankle injury. In this scenario, to determine the condition, a specialist doctor should be consulted.

Damping (shock absorption)

When we jog, it's our feet that have to be in charge of supporting our foundation absolutely, and it's likely that some kind of accident will occur if we go wrong, if we don't have the right footwear or if we don't have the right running machine.

Therefore, quality treadmills have a cushioning system that will allow the athlete to cushion the impact when doing sports and ensure that their joints are still well covered.

Many professional bands incorporate protection devices to secure our joints, like Softrack or Protech Plus.

When selecting one of these cushioning systems, you must remember the weight and whether you have had some kind of accident in the past. Choose a suitable appointment to prevent accidents, even if you have to pay more, otherwise it would have been like throwing away money.

Treadmill sizes

Maybe we should continue here. So that's because, even as we took all the above considerations into consideration while buying a treadmill, if we have nowhere to put that, we 're incorrect.

From this point, we'll have to decide where to put it, and whether it can be folded later to store it without getting in the way.

We do need to remember our height; for example, if we weigh a little more than 1.80 meters, we need a running board surface of at least 56 cm x 130 cm. But if we don't weigh too much, we could settle for 42 cm x 127 cm.

Analyzing its dimensions and weight can be critical in selecting a system that we can use every day, or one that ends up being real.

Security measures

The system we should select will also have some safety measures designed to avoid accidents; for example, the phone might ring at some stage, the doorbell rings, or we may have to deal with some form of unforeseen emergency.

Logically, in this situation we won't jump off the treadmill unexpectedly because we could have an injury, but maybe we can't wait for the treadmill to end alone.

Therefore, we would choose a treadmill with a mechanism to make the treadmill stop slowly (but never dry because it could be fatal). It should also have a mechanism so that it can start slowly and adapt to the corridor.

Analyze that handle padding is of consistency, that favors suddenness, and that is ergonomic. Otherwise it won't last long.

Treadmill repair

A treadmill 's maintenance section is not always very obvious in some models' technical data sheet, relegated at the end as if unnoticed.

We'll warn you that having an overly complex tape isn't what you 're searching for. The hope is that it only needs cleaning it periodically.

If we have chosen a quality brand, the belt itself will adapt to the time-produced wear and tear and continue to work with the same performance. If not, we might have to uninstall it, applying grease to different mechanisms ... And various tedious processes we 're sure to avoid.

Characteristics

Amateur athletes take these traits more into account than beginners; and this has its reason to be, because these first ones are the ones that influence most.

On the screen we will find some essential details to enhance our preparation and numerous initiatives to help us develop it.

Keep in mind whether the treadmill tells us the rpm, gives us details about the surface tendency, the distance we've progressed, the amount we've used the treadmill, the calories we've burned or the number of programs we 're doing.

Many people combine a basic treadmill with a smartwatch or accelerator functions; it might not be a terrible idea, but there are several questions to address about this concept.

The reality is that all these roles have a justification to be far more inspired than giving the athlete the ability to monitor their training in detail. For eg, if you did X kilometers in a certain time when you started, and now you do double, you'll be motivated to continue.

The most advanced treadmill models offer up to four different advantages on the screen for each athlete to visualize precise data.

It will be in these roles that we should think most of the time and that is because, depending on them, hundreds of euros that vary when selecting a model in question.

Care about what you need, and don't pay for anything you won't use.

Here are some of the functions that normally integrate:

Cardiac regulation

Every athlete operates with a certain heart rate value; if it's too high, we can face serious injuries, but if it doesn't rise enough, it's difficult to reach the set goals. Many treadmill models adjust speed to the user's own heart rate, helping them accomplish their goals without risk.

They also give us the choice to do this by ourselves.

User Identity Identification (ID)

A computer with this feature helps us to save various profiles, such as big families, marriages, roommates ... That's a good idea when they want to compete.

If you need this feature, make sure it has at least some user ID slots.

Fitness check

Limited, but strongly recommended, these exams. A fitness test is a software already installed and developed taking into account a set of sport requirements to assess a particular user's performance.

The idea is to start the test and calculate your heart rate, speed , distance traveled, and other favors, giving you some data you can use to enhance your preparation.

Occasionally, experts suggest these experiments to figure out where we can develop.

Training interval function

And we finish with this very advanced feature that helps us train by alternating high-intensity cycles with low-intensity ones. The aim is to make body work with the maximum possible strength in the shortest time. It's one of the most comprehensive exercises, according to several experts.

A standard system offered by qualified treadmills, alternating minutes of high strength with minutes of rest.

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doctor-spencer-ried · 5 years

Text

Just a Crush (VIII)

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Hanahaki Disease AU

Summary: Secrets come out that were never meant to.

Warning: Graphic violence, torture

Masterlist ~ Part 8 (Word count: 1975)

A/N: My knowledge of behavioral analysis is limited to this show and my Forensic class, so there may be holes and incorrect analysis.

~~~

“I am so sorry (y/n),” Spencer murmurs, his voice choked from shouting. You told him to stop but he wouldn’t.

“I told you it’s not your fault,” you breathe, slumped back into the chair.

You’re dizzy from the blood loss and your throat hurts from screaming. You have no clue what time it is now, but it feels like it’s been hours.

“If I hadn’t yelled at you, there’s a chance this wouldn’t have happened,” he argues and you almost want to laugh.

“I’m the one who went out to the scene by myself Spence, don’t you dare try to blame this on yourself.” You force yourself to sit up, a painful cough splitting from your throat. “Promise me you won’t blame yourself.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” You flinch, realizing the unsub is back, his steps clicking behind you. “The little bird doesn’t want you to feel bad, even though you’re the reason she’s dying.”

“Shut up.” You snap, putting as much force into your words as you can, “Don’t listen to him, Spence.”

“Who else is there to blame though?”

“Me,” you growl out, teeth bared in a grimace, “This is all completely my fault, so don’t you dare try to get him to blame himself!”

You will not let this rest on his conscious! He doesn’t deserve that much weight on his shoulders for the rest of his life. Your not worth it.

“She cares so much about you. How sweet.”

“Please, just, just let him go,” you break a bit, hoping to somehow get Spencer out of here, “You can torture and kill me, but please, let him leave.”

“But sweetness,” he tilts your head back with the knife, “I was going to do that anyways. Plus, watching your love’s reaction is part of the fun.”

“You don’t understand…”

“What? What don’t I understand?” He sneers in your ear.

“He didn’t do-“

“Anything? Why do you insist on defending him?! He hurt you didn’t he?! He made you cry, he broke your heart. Didn’t he? Didn’t he?!”

“No!”

“Liar!”

The knife slams into your thigh, dragging a scream from your ragged throat.

“Stop it!”

No Spencer.

“What? Isn’t this what you wanted? You obviously wanted to hurt her! That’s why you shouted at her, demeaned her! This is all your doing!”

The unsub finally comes out from behind you, giving you a good look for the first time. He’s skinny, too skinny, and pale. Your eyes are drawn to the morbid pop of purple covering parts of his face. The petals stick to his sickly, sweaty skin, sprawling in a bloody design over his face. Thick drops of crimson drip down his chin and ooze out between his bared teeth You were right about him being deep in the illness. It has already begun to destroy him. You watch anxiously as he tumbles closer to Spencer, who is attempting to put on a brave face, but you see the fear deep in his eyes.

“If you didn’t want this to happen, you shouldn’t have treated your wonderful love like filth!” He raises the knife higher, gesturing like he’s about to strike, “You should have at least acted like you loved her!!” The knife flashes out towards Spencer.

“He doesn’t!”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. All that runs through your mind is getting his attention off of Spencer and onto you. You can’t let him hurt the man you love, even if he doesn’t love you back.

The unsub freezes before turning to you sharply, eyes crazed and wild, “What was that?”

“He doesn’t love me because he’s just a friend,” You heave out, the words burning your throat, “He is only a friend, just a friend.”

This seems to throw him for a loop. The knife drops to his side as he kneels down in front of you, head tilted and eyes narrowed.

“Why should I believe you?”

Panic slowly builds as you try to think of a way to prove it. Your mind races and your chest begins to heave. There has to be something you can say or do. Something! It only gets worse when the crazed man seems to grow bored of waiting and starts to turn back around to face Spencer. Without realizing, you work yourself up to the point where you can’t breathe. A familiar pain spreads through you and your body begins to curl into itself, convulsing as coughs begin to tear their way from your throat. This brings the man's attention back to you, his eyebrows twerked curiously.

Spencer's soft, pleading voice breaks through your fit, “She’s sick, please she needs help.”

You shake your head rapidly as your body shakes with more violent coughs. The unsub watches on perplexed.

After several seconds, you feel the burning, prickling pain claw up into your throat until you feel the silky texture hit your tongue. You gag, letting the small, spit-soaked rose fall into you lap. You spit out the blood that fills your mouth after, grinning for once at the gruesome site in front of you.

“There, does that prove it?” You wheeze shakily, lifting your watery eyes to glare at the man.

His face is a perfectly blank mask now, his eyes trained on the bloody petals.

“I'm sick, just like you,” you snarl at him in a quiet voice.

“And it’s him, isn’t it?” You purse your lips but manage a nod, “You poor soul. To have something so close yet so out of reach. And he doesn’t even know, does he?”

“Know what?”

Your stare at the unsub as a sickening smile crawls over his lips. You shake your head viciously, eyes blowing wide with panic.

“Why, Doctor Reid, I was just saying that you have no clue how much suffering you’ve already put this girl through.”

No no no no.

“What are you talking about?”

The unsub licks his bloodstained lips as he looks at Spencer over his shoulder saying, “Why don’t you see for yourself,” before stepping out of the way.

You close your eyes, not willing to see the look of confusion and horror that spreads over Spencer’s face. It’s an ugly sight, the blood dripping from your lips and the mangled flower on your leg. He was never supposed to know.

“(Y/n)…?”

“No wonder she was so willing to give herself up for you.” The unsub crosses the room to stand behind Spencer, placing his hands on the brunet’s shoulders. “She loves you so deeply, even though she knows you feel nothing for her.”

“(Y/n)?” Your name rolls of his lips again, quiet and questioning.

“It’s true,” you murmur, eyes still closed.

“She sick just like me. The illness of unrequited love. Your precious little (y/n) is dying because of you. Because you don’t return her feelings. So it isactually all your fault.” He squeezes Spencer’s shoulders, sickening smile widening.

“No,” you croak and open your eyes to look at Spencer, desperately wishing for him to believe you, “don’t listen to him, Spence.”

“But it’s true-“ The unsub walks back behind your chair and his fingers curl around your jaw as he jerks your head up uncomfortably, “-so why do you still protect him, little bird? He’s killing you.”

You muster a weak glare as you look up at him, “No matter how much pain I go through, I will always love him. Nothing you say will change that. I will never be like you.”

The unsub looks down at you as if he’s disappointed, clicking his tongue which sends a few drops of blood onto your face, “That’s a shame.”

You grimace.

“I really thought you were smarter than this agent. But your a weak coward, just like her,” he snarls, features twisting with sudden anger, “She ran away with a man who couldn’t ever love her like I do! She was scared of how strongly I felt. And now here you are, ready to roll over and die just to keep your emotions for this-“ he shifts his glare to Spencer, “-this man.”

“It’s better than turning into a psychopathic serial killer who can’t handle seeing other people enjoy what he’ll never get,” you spit up at him.

“(Y/n)…” You ignore Spencer warning tone.

“You’re just a lonely, sad, pathetic man who didn’t get the girl.”

“Why you-“ The unsub is practically shaking as he crosses in front of you, hands getting a white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair you’re strapped to, “-you little- You’re calling me pathetic?! You think you’re better than me?!”

“I do, actually,” you bark back at him, not backing down since you discovered this new burst of confidence, “I’m not the one on the brink of death.”

“Oh really?” The man grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you forward, painfully reopening the wounds on your stomach and shoulders, “Why don’t we do something about that then, hm?”

Your eyes widen as the knife flashes in your peripherals before you feel a sharp, overwhelming pain burn through your abdomen. It sends flames of agony up your spine and drags a silent cry from your lips.

“(Y/n)!”

Your head drops down, vision fraying when you see the knife protruding from your stomach. Your arms strain against your bonds, instinctively reaching to pull it out. Your chest begins to heave and your hands tremble as you look back up at the man who’s grinning cruelly down at you.

“You were going to die anyways, right?” His voice softens, anger no longer coating his visible features.

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and you can’t find a single word to spit back at him. Every move you make, every breath you take, sends searing pain through your abdomen and scatters the thoughts in your head.

“I’m sorry it had to end so quickly,” You can’t find the strength to move away when the unsub uncharacteristically cups your cheek, “And I’m sorry he couldn’t love you the way you deserve. I’m honestly helping you if you think about it. Now you don’t have to go through that pain anymore.”

You look into his eyes, which now shine with sympathy that he has no right to feel. You wish you could tell him so, but all that comes out is a low, pained whine.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.” He pats your cheek before slowly turning around to Spencer, “I hope you’re happy.”

With those final words, the man steps out of the little room, leaving you to die and Spencer to watch.

“(Y/n)?”

You try to look at him, but everything is getting blurry. It takes a moment for your eyes to fully focus on his face, and it’s only then that you notice how his eyes are gleaming with tears. Your lips twist down into a soft frown and you cringe at the pain when you try to sit up straight in your chair, knife still stuck in your abdomen.

You lick your dry lips, voice raspy when you say, “It’s okay Spence, everything will be okay.” Your eyes droop, and you slump back forward.

“Hold on, (y/n). They’ll find us, you need to hold on just a little longer,” His voice cracks, and you know he doesn’t believe those words.

“I’m sure they will.” You can’t help the sad smile that slips on your face as you close your eyes fully, exhaustion seeping through you.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), you need to stay awake. Look at me!”

You jolt, eyes opening a sliver to look at the man you love. The tears have fallen, and he's straining helplessly against his bindings. His eyes connect with yours, pleading and desperate. Guilt swirls in with the pain at the thought that you’ll be leaving him.

“I love you, Spencer,” You murmur, words sticking in your throat.

“Please don’t leave me, (Y/n), please, you just need to hold on.” You heart breaks at how broken he sounds. You never wanted Spencer to go through pain like this, it was your goal to protect him however you could. You guess you can’t do that anymore.

“Don’t blame yourself, okay Spence?” You repeat your words from earlier, “For me, please. I love you, so much. Just please…don’t…”

Your words slur together, and you vision darkens along the edges. Spencer is talking, shouting, but you can’t hear him. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. You thought it would be terrifying and painful, but you just feel cold and tired now, and focusing sends waves of nausea through you. The darkness seeps further into your vision. You just need to get it out one last time though. You need to tell him one last time.

“I love you, Spencer Reid.”

Then everything fades to black.

Part 9

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #torture

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jlf23tumble · 6 years

Text

1D Day: Hour Four

Over the past few years, I’ve seen people try to insinuate that Zayn wasn’t into 1D Day, that he was moody or distant or some other adjective that implies he was on his way out the door, and to those people I ask, did you actually watch any of this, especially hour four? I mean, seriously, watch Zayn over the course of the whole day, but hour four is a revelation if you’ve ever had that notion. He’s witty, charming, happy, smiley, completely on board with every stupid game, and so professional with the fans and the rest of the team that he makes Liam look like an asshole (and Liam is so very far from being an asshole, like, ever).

In fact, both Zayn and Liam are naturals as hosts; they’re a dream broadcasting team, and for all the (justified, mind you) attitude Louis and (especially) Harry throw down as the day progresses, it’s the complete polar opposite with Ziam. I could watch hours and hours of these two because they manage to convey that fake on-air TV personality chirpiness with a sincerity that’s endlessly compelling. They’re also off-the-charts HOT on this here day (Louis, too, but Jesus CHRIST have mercy on us in hour four). Let’s break it down under the cut.

Hour four kicks off with Zayn and Liam skateboarding onto the set, and Liam is honestly me with his plaintive “I’m really rubbish at skateboarding” as he basically stands on a board that somebody literally pushed in a straight line into the shot.

Zayn’s all excited that this is his first hour (like, he’s literally pumped up for it, and some could argue that he’s as coked up as Harry appears to be, but he’s not as aggressive, he just seems legit happy to be there). Liam’s an old pro by now, and the general mood is positive and calm, in spite of the mega fuckups in hour three and the immediate in-ear issues they’re both already experiencing. Help, they're so hot:

The first segment is about invention ideas from fans, and joining them in the Google+ Hangout (lmaoooo) is Peter Jones (Liam: “a very rich man”) from Dragon’s Den, aka the UK’s Shark Tank, and for all of his cash and presumably all of the D’s, this feels VERY low rent. Way to sell this Google ad, team…maybe that’s why Google+ is a total failure, hmmmm, makes you think. Anyway, the first invention is a 1D Kube, and noah fence to this fan, I’ve made better merch, c’mon, people think outside the box:

Because Peter’s gross, he suggests using nude body parts of the boys instead of their faces, and me as Liam, completely creeped out by that suggestion. The next idea is a 1D pillow, where you go to sleep, and the pillow pipes two 1D songs directly into your brain before powering itself off, but Liam wisely says this might be more distracting than soothing. Peter’s right there with the idea that it should instead offer up soothing pillowtalk (Zayn, take notes!), which instantly worries both me and Liam because it’s weirdly sexi instead of sexy sexi.

The final invention is fart pants, which boils down to deodorized boxers for people like Niall who practically shit themselves when they fart in closed tour buses (paraphrasing). Naturally, Peter likes this idea a LOT, and asks Liam a low-key invasive question about someone stealing his underwear, which leads to a riveting tale of the missing pants and a nervous Liam asking Peter exactly how he knew about this incident. Peter laughs it off as something he found online to embarrass Liam with, but try harder, asshole…they answer worse questions than this before breakfast.

Next, we get Julian “I can’t bother to find out how to spell his last name,” one of the D’s cowriters, in a cringe VT about picking up girls with 1D lyrics. It’s so fucking gross that only Ben Winston could have come up with it, and it goes on FOREVER, even though nothing about it is interesting or cute or witty or anything other than tedious yikes for the women involved. Even Julian knows it’s creepy, and he seems like a guy who’s pretty comfortable with creepy.

We get back in the studio to some actually attractive people who have chemistry together, and, no, it’s not Julian and John “I can’t bother to find out how to spell his last name either” (they make sure to sit far enough apart to maintain their extreme masculinity):

Liam has some good interview questions for these two, such as, “What’s your favorite song that you wrote on for this album,” and John thinks he’s clever by saying it’s both “Little Black Dress” and “Little White Lies,” but the real gem here is the audio of Liam creating “Better Than Words” out of thin air. Look at this fondness while we all listen to Liam’s genius (it’s kind of embarrassing, this whole bit):

We move to fan selfies, and Liam does a terrible Irish accent to request potato selfies for Niall. Moving on to the call box of doom, the two Larries currently rocking out in there seem to dig “Strong” the best (as you do), and Zayn, valiantly battling someone in his ears, politely whispers, “You can crack on listening,” before shutting the door softly.

The VT of randomness from New Zealand prompts Liam to ask, “Zayn, what did you get up to in New Zealand?” (the answer is getting a snake tattoo that’s one of Liam’s favorites on him, in case you’re wondering). But before we can ponder any of that too closely, it’s time for opera singer Rebecca to return for the excruciating opera version of tweets.

Scott’s on the scene to point out the obvious, i.e., Ziam makes it all look so easy, but this next segment is not for the faint of heart. The boys have to blindfold each other (!!) and then feel up crew members to see if they can identify them. Whyyyyy is this so tender:

Someone else blindfolds Liam after he does Zayn (Liam, after it’s done: “Nobody touch me”), and there’s a brief moment where they can feel each other, and Zayn says, “That’s you, Liam,” and fuckkkk me up, wowwww, it’s a lot to take in:

Anyway, they go on to feel up a lot of doughy white guys to see if they can blindly identify them, and AGAIN, it’s gross because Scott keeps encouraging them to feel this person up below the waist, too (note, they don’t know if it’s a guy or a girl). Fortunately, it’s a parade of doughy white guys until they get to Lou Teasdale, and Zayn identifies her immediately because she’s so fidgety.

We head over to another Google Hangout, and god, words cannot express how good Ziam is at this because even though the same shit happens here as it does in the last hour, these two handle it all like pros. I live for Zayn’s, “Have you been watching the whole show? Are we doing a good job?” with an intense amount of sincerity, and thank god these girls give him the thumbs up because they truly are.

My fave part of this segment is the girls who ask them what their first CD and concerts were. Liam says Linkin Park for CD and Gareth Gates for concert, which earns him boos from the homophobes in the studio, but warm hugs from me. Zayn, who answers this fan question to Liam instead of the girls who asked it, says he can’t remember his first CD, but his first gig was JLS with the boys, and wow, the first date realness here:

Zayn’s genuinely sweet throughout all of these fan segments, asking questions and being invested in the answers, dawwww. The last question is about where they get the inspiration for their dance moves, and Liam says he blags its, but Zayn is here to kill us all by saying, “My inspiration for dancing comes from you, Liam (Louis in the background: “hahahahaha”) because you’re such a good dancer,” and god, I’m not ready for this right now, tbh.

There’s a BSE VT from the fans before a bingo spin to figure out who to follow (again, just follow them all, what does it even matter at this point, ratcha fratcha). But the most annoying part of this bit is that even *I* can hear the in-air buzz of chatter from Ben’s team, so I cannot even imagine how annoying it is in actual ears, holy fuck.

Next up is a live link to Finland, to say hello to the fans who created a massive fanbook that Zayn carefully flips through and sincerely thanks everyone for creating. The VT he introduces next is Louis playing footie, and YES, look at this angel who’s only 22:

Naturally, there are LOADS of technical problems and fuckups, but it’s so refreshing to hear that “hahahahaha” in a massive, empty arena, and to see him practicing a sport he clearly loves.

We’re back with the poor bastards running the Guinness Book of World Records, this time with Liam’s ass smashing balloons (Zayn: “If he wins, do we get our names put down as well?”). The first time is a bust (ha) that ends up hurting Liam’s balls (how, I don’t know):

Everyone agrees they can do better, but Zayn’s not having any further fuckups as he literally coaches Sandy in the background about how best to hold the balloons so that Liam’s ass can smash them in the most efficient manner:

Sadly, it’s not enough to smash the record, much to everyone’s chagrin, but there’s no time to fret or redo, we're off to Stan teaching Zayn’s school to sing (ooops, the VT is incorrect, it’s Scott teaching the X Factor staff to sing “What Makes Your Beautiful,” and they’re the shittiest singers ever, so go off on judging people, I guess).

As per usual, the highlights are fucking horrific. Can’t wait for hour five!

#recap #1d day #hour 4

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themangaguide · 4 years

Text

Conventional story beats follow the genuine historic timeline

Concerning the story!

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For a series which counts on the success as well as enjoyment of each fight, it pulls it off really well. Every campaign arc feels distinctively phenomenal, Exciting, and strained whilst producing the personalities as well as topic of this manga throughout. Something That maintains each battle different as well as special is its focus on how much the battle depends on each sides basic. In this series, a general isn't just some arbitrary person who motivates his soldiers and also provides standard orders. Each general in the collection has a special characteristic and styles of war which never ever really feels the same as any kind of other.

Each general methods a fight differently which is amongst the several points that keep the reader on his toes, never recognizing what's gon na occur following. If you read/watched Hunter x Hunter, after that you'll definitely Really such as this aspect of keeper of the pearl. Because just like that collection, this mangaka knows how to record the tactical nuance that involves 2 Extremely smart individuals with unique techniques to battle attempting to figure each other out. While keeper of the pearl does not have insane Abilities or intriguing extremely powers, the writer does a wonderful work of recording the various methods each basic offers the battleground. So, If you 'd like to [check out manga online] as well as want some impressive manga to check out, after that I very advise this work of art. Offer it a shot and also see it on your own! Great source of such ideas found at: https://bookreadingblogblog.wordpress.com/2020/05/07/gqi7tgxklkfvvytupepna1588842895/

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spirify · 7 years

Text

Artificial Flower― CH. 1

Chapter 1 ― by. Rielin | Add x Eve

“Behind the flashiness of an eternal flower petal, there’s a liar who has never bloomed nor withered.” -Eddy Kim.

BGM | GOT7 Never Ever Piano Cover - Smyang Piano

Effortlessly, she rested her lifeless body on the couch as she stared off into nothing but space. Her fragile limbs were barely moving as her lips were slightly gaped, claiming that she was breathing and is alive. She hadn’t eaten anything for hours and she couldn’t even remember the last time she walked outside the front door.

Just at that moment, she heard light footsteps tapping on marble floors from the other side of the door.

What time is it…

Rustling noise of keys and chains tangling with each other haunted into her mind.

Is he here already…

The sounds combined with one another once again, reminded her of a nightmare within reality. Then click― the door opened.

“Eve!”

A husky voice which was rather filled with joy echoed into the vast mansion as he walked closer to the living room. Before her eyes was a silver haired male, rather tall and dressed neatly in a suit. Within his right hand, he was gripping onto a rather expensive box of chocolate as he handed to her.

“I know you like chocolates, so I decided to buy them,”

He smiled brightly like a little kid as he sat down in front of the female. Her soulless eyes slowly transitioned to the male sitting before her. His amethyst eyes which shined under the bright chandelier sickened her heart, yet she could not gaze away from them.

“Oh― did you eat the dinner I made… oh you didn’t,”

As if he suddenly realized something important, he stood up and with startled eyes, he glanced toward the tabletop placed right in front of the sofa. He glanced down, and came to another realization that hasn’t even lifted up the spoon to eat the dinner he had prepared for her. He let out a silent sigh, yet the female quickly caught onto his stressful mind.

“You need to eat, Eve…”

His speech drifted apart as he grabbed the dinner box he had prepared just for her. He slowly walked over to the kitchen and threw the box filled with cold food away into the trash can. With another sigh, he glanced toward the female yet her eyes have already averted away into the space once again. As the male walked over to her, Eve’s shoulders jerked slightly, alarmed by his quick movements.

“At least eat these…”

He whispered underneath his breath as he sat down in front of her once again. He teared up the box of chocolates rather roughly, throwing the wrappers into the ground with hint of anger raging within his amethyst eyes. Yet, his movements were soft and careful as he held onto the chocolate, slowly moving it toward her rosey colored lips. The scent of sweet chocolate drifted into her nose, yet she had no effort to consume the rich vibrance. However, she knew for a fact that if she does not gape her lips within this moment, the tender eyes of his may transition in all of a sudden. As sickening as it was, she slowly opened her lips and the fancily decorated chocolate entered her mouth as the sensation of sweet aroma spreaded inside. The sweet quickly dissolved on top of her tongue, the fragrance of the sugar lingering within her lips.

Add watched the female as she slowly chewed onto sweet he had given her; his eyes were glistening with hint of triumph and joy by the fact that she had accepted his offer. His eyes curved into a shape of moon as he smiled at the sight of the female. His eyes slowly sank into her physical appearance which seemed to radiate off natural beauty. Her skin was snow white, which was complimented by her naturally soft, red lips. His gaze remained permanently locked into her lips as she softly chewed.

She could feel the sensation of heat rising to her cheeks as she could feel his gaze locked into the sight of her face. She quickly averted her eyes away from the male, however that seemed to ignite the hidden ambition of his. As she finished swallowing the chocolate, he slowly gaped his lips and whispered,

“Can I kiss you,”

With startled golden eyes, she quickly turned to face the male, but at that exact moment, his eyes curved into the shape of a crescent moon with satisfaction, and slowly he leaned forward― embracing her soft lips with his.

“Mhm..”

She let out a quiet moan with discomfort as she slightly backed away, however that only seemed excite the male as he slowly reached for the nape of her neck. And with gentle yet somewhat forceful touch, he pressed the back of her neck closer to his lips, however she could only wince away this sickening situation as she slumped her shoulders down.

‘Eid’ wasn’t like this before. Before his mysterious ‘accident’, he was indeed, extremely sweet. The ‘Eid’ she had once known is nowhere to be found, and in front of her was someone entirely new that shared exactly the same physical features as Eid. She would often wonder to herself, who is he? Yet the only answer that would echo back into her is his voice saying, ‘I am Eid’. Perhaps the accident caused a personality changed within him, or that he was afraid to lose her again, she would answer her own question. However that seemed to be an incorrect answer. The feeling she felt towards the new Eid was not love, it was sympathy. She was his entire life before and even after the accident. The only person that defined his life was Eve, herself. She would feel guilt if she left the lonely male by himself. Therefore, she promised her ownself and Eid, that she would never leave his side.

The sound of clock ticking echoed throughout the vacant room. Her long strands of eyelashes fluttered gracefully, slowly revealing a beautiful hint of gold eyes that were hidden under her skin. She glanced about, and realized that she was in her large room that consisted of nothing but one, lonely bed. She softly raised herself up and walked out of the room. She trailed down a long, luxurious hallway, which unveiled a tremendous living room. Three sides of the walls were painted with clean, pure white, while the other wall exhibited a large glass window that displayed an awe―striking view of downtown of the city. She glanced down the window, the view from the fifty third floor of a luxurious condo was indeed, gorgeous. If only she could just walk out of this trapped building and experience the life of the downtown instead. She turned her back toward the city view and glanced around the vast living room. The room itself was neatly decorated, but lacked furniture that gave off a cozy feeling. Then her gaze was locked into the red and white wrappings lazily spread around the floor. After ripping off the chocolate box wrappers, Add didn’t even bother to pick the leftover trash from the ground. As Eve picked up the wrapper he had left behind, she glanced over to the wall clock hanging above. The hands of the clock were pointing 9:40 AM. She guessed that he must’ve left the apartment around 8:30, since his work starts at 9:00. Eve tilted her head as she locked her vision within the clock, thinking about the average time he comes back home.

“...7.. PM?”

She whispered to herself with caution. She concluded that it’s way more than enough time to leave the apartment and enjoy the freedom outside, as long as she stays hidden from Add’s views. He would not leave the company in middle of working unless it’s lunch time… which would be around noon. After brainstorming her plans for today, Eve finally concluded that she would leave the apartment around 1PM and come back during the evening. It was the perfect amount of time to do whatever she wanted to do outside from this trap. Although she have constantly thought about leaving the apartment without Add noticing, she never had the courage to do so; she knew for a fact that Add would become furious and insane, that she left the house by herself, all without his permission. However, after realizing that he wasn’t even home by the time she woke up somehow gave her the ambition to step outside of the front door for once. She was extremely sick of staying indoors, being trapped within a tremendous apartment that caused a lonely sensation due to vacantness.

As long as I’m home before him…

She constantly thought the plan over and over again, whether to actually step outside. However, the thought of always being chained up inside made her ambition to go outside stronger and stronger.

It’s only today…

Every minute she would glance up to see the clock, until it reaches 1PM.

The door smoothly attached itself to the wall behind her and automatically locked with a bell sound, which startled the innocent female. After realizing that nothing was happening, she decided to step into the elevator and press the button displaying ‘1’.

“Today is the day…”

“Today is the only day, Eve… don’t do this again,”

The female constantly murmured to herself as the red numbers displaying on top of the door decreased in number. After continuous waiting the clock hands have finally reached the time she was constantly waiting for. The female cautiously walked over to the table top and grabbed her wallet and her keys― which have not been touched for awhile. She slowly opened the front door, however her fingers quickly slipped due to her sweaty palms. She breathed in heavily and as if she have made a decision, she turned the handle open and stepped out of her nightmare.

5:23 PM.

Was the time displaying on the lock screen of his phone. With a smile that seems to radiate off a warmful sensation, Add placed his phone into his pocket and walked out of the large glass door that opened automatically. During the entire time he worked on multiple documents and requests from other companies, the CEO’s mind was filled with no one but Eve. As the thought of meeting his beloved one after his work, he decided to finish his loads of paperwork with a fast pace in order to see her earlier. The male drove back to his condo with excitement―

only to be surprised by the fact that she wasn’t there.

He glanced at his locked screen once again, which was displaying 5:41 PM. He drove above the speed limit in order to see her earlier, yet she wasn’t here. His pupils within his amethyst eyes started to shake with fear and his palms started to sweat with nervousness.

Where is she…

Rage started to build up within the male although he tried to remain calm. With rather violent actions, he brushed his silver bangs with his fingers as he speed dialed her with his phone. However, he could not remain calm; he heard her phone ringtone from afar, possibly from her room as he realized that she didn’t even bother to take her phone with her, wherever she went. He kicked the door open which led to her room and walked over to her phone, the screen displaying ‘Eid’ without any picture. Just ‘[Eid]’

Was she like this to him…

He thought to himself,

Probably not.

After answering his own question, Add suddenly felt extreme jealousy over his own, dead brother. With anger being piled upon one another, the furious male threw her phone to the ground and with force, he slammed the door behind him and walked outside.

5:52 PM.

He shouldn’t be here yet. He usually comes home a little after 7.

She thought to herself as he unlocked the door and walked in. With careful, silent steps she walked inside. As she heard no sound coming from any of the rooms, she sighed with relief. Then her phone came to her view. She quickly walked over and flipped the phone around, realizing that her screen has shattered. Suddenly, she felt a cold sweat rolling down her spine as her eyes started to shake with fear.

He was here…

Should I stay… should I find another place to stay…?

She constantly thought to herself as she walked over to her room, biting her fingernails with nervousness. Then at that moment, the sound of the door unlocking echoed into her ears. His footsteps were becoming louder and louder as it came closer, she could feel the rage within these sounds. Then at that moment,

her door slammed open.

His bangs were wet as beads of sweat rolled down his face, his amethyst eyes were silently screaming with anger, his veins were extremely noticeable as he was catching his breath. His clean suit was all ruffled and his silver locks were brushed rather roughly in the wrong direction.

“Where were you,”

note:

name change [iReii] -> [Rielin]. sorry for the long hiatus! i’ve been lack of ideas and just couldn’t write any story, until this plot popped into my mind! add is bit of a psycho here.. so please be aware lol.

information:

this story may be confusing so i thought i should explain. Add has an older twin brother by the name of Eid, who have died of car accident. Eid was Eve's boyfriend, who was way nicer than Add. The two brothers look and sound exactly the same. The one currently is Add, who has tricked everyone saying he is Eid. Now everyone thinks that Eid didn't die, but just woke up from a year long coma. Once again, Eid is dead. Add is faking himself as he lives as 'Eid'.

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#elsword #elsword fanfiction #fanfiction #add #eve #add x eve #text #artificial flower

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