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koqabear · 2 years ago

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Lamb To The Slaughter

♫: Gods & Monsters, Lana Del Rey

"An act of kindness goes a long way, your parents told you once; their words stuck with you all your life, your pure heart never failing to follow their philosophy— though, it seems your naive self was left unaware of just how far an act of kindness can go."

wolf hybrid!beomgyu x lamb hybrid!fem!reader x herding dog hybrid!soobin

Genre: smut, hybrid au, angst, porn with the world's smallest amount of plot

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings: barely edited oops, heavy predator/prey themes, injuries/blood, use of scents, scent glands and scenting, mentions of kidnapping and murder, psychological abuse i guess… this fic doesn’t let you forget that they’re hybrids btw, (showcases animal-like behaviors and habits), soogyu are stronger than the mc, obsessiveness, manipulation

Smut Warnings: DUBCON. threesome, mean dom!gyu, soft dom!soobin, sub!mc,inexperienced!mc, pet names (pretty, doll, good girl, etc.) manhandling, marking, subspace, possessiveness, choking kinda, dry humping, praise, praise kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, orgasm control, dumbification, finger sucking, cum eating(?), spanking, begging, mind breaking, unprotected sex, jerking off ig, jealousy, hair pulling, rough sex, corruption kink maybe, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration… brief mentions of breeding, creampies, knotting, claiming, mc blacks out. (lmk if i should add anything.)

Notes: look at these stupidly long paragraphs of warnings oh im gonna kms. this story almost had me plucking my hairs out one by one, i’ve never been so stressed out by a pwp before. it was originally an ot5 au and was supposed to come out during october but… yk. shit happens. (i saw a post that changed the entire trajectory of this fic)

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The forest at the edge of the village is something that should’ve been closed off long ago— but there’s no resources, no men to work on the border, no money— so the townspeople have resorted to old myths and tales to ward off wandering children and defenseless women instead.

There’s a killer in the forest— fairies will lead you down the wrong path and trap you in the woods forever; there’s a hidden pond so deep that if you fall in, you’ll sink forever. Typical tales that are told around the bonfire, where people cower and whisper from the thrill of the stories. Yet with each varied warning, one thing stays the same.

There are wolves in the forest.

Large and strong and invincible, with a terrifying bloodlust and noses so keen they could spot you the moment you cross the barrier; tearing you to shreds, eating you alive and forcing you to feel the pain all throughout it. The wolves are always hungry, insatiable, and lurking about for its next prey— anyone who would enter the woods willingly would be deemed suicidal.

You’ve never been one to believe such tales; how could you, when you’ve grown alongside the forest?

There are wolves in the forest, that much you’re sure of— but the fantastical tales and myths are nothing but a farce, crafted from the fear of the unknown and the dark, entangled landscape that lies past the backyard of your small cottage; belonging to your deceased parents, now left to fend on your own and care for the gardens and lush plants your mother had carefully cultivated since you were a child.

She taught you everything you needed to know about the forest; which paths to take, which areas led to steep cliffs or poison ivy, and where to find herbs and plants that would aid to the medicinal business your family ran— you were fascinated by the craft, even as a young child, learning with eager eyes and an even more eager mind as you stored all the information in your small, worn down journal; the pink material of the cover faded and torn at the corners, filled to the brim yet still useful to you as you took it with you on every trip.

Tonight, you pull on a warm coat dress; it’s thick and durable, a cute piece gifted on your birthday by the baker’s son, the border collie family always making sure to look after you since the day you were left on your own. The shawl sewed into the coat hangs over your shoulders like a small cape, adding in extra warmth as you look out the window and onto the cold scenery; the leaves have begun to abandon the trees, and if you hadn’t memorized the forest layout like the back of your hand, the covered paths might’ve concerned you— but you’re confident as always, grabbing your wicker basket and perching it on the crook of your elbow, glancing down to make sure your journal is already inside— and with one last mental check to make sure you have everything you need, you slip on your boots and make your way outside.

“Soobin,” you say in surprise, swinging the door open, getting scared at the sight of someone already waiting for you outside— the said man only smiles at the sound of his name, laughing fondly at the way you press a gentle hand against your startled heart; his ears perk up at the sight of you and his black hair is slightly disheveled, though you guess it’s probably from his habit of running a hand through it whenever he’s restless— he holds a basket of his own, and your eyes fall onto it with a curiosity you don’t bother to hide.

“Hello pretty,” he smiles softly, the nickname never failing to make a heat flush up the back of your neck— you really hope he doesn’t notice your flushed expression, his eyes narrowing with fondness as he brings his basket up, opening it to show you the contents, “I made an extra batch of bread, and I thought you’d like some. Business will get busy for us both soon, and I’d hate for you to get hungry because you don’t have time to eat.”

He’s sweet and caring, and it never fails to leave your knees weak— he looks at you with nothing short of affection, raising a brow in curiosity and glancing down at your already occupied arm— his brows furrow, biting his lip in thought as he finally pieces everything together.

“Are you going to the woods?” he asks softly, reaching past you and into the doorway, placing the basket of bread on the table next to the door— his hands are immediately coming up to your shoulders, smoothing out the soft material of the coat with narrowed eyes— and they’re filled with worry again, ears angling down and tail swaying slowly from side to side, searching your face that can’t seem to lie to him, “It’s dangerous to go at this hour, you shouldn’t.”

“It’ll only be dangerous if you continue to stall me,” you tease, shrugging his hands off and wrapping your own around his elbow, tugging him until you’re both stepping out of your home; he allows you to, and you’re locking it up with ease, even as he continues to tell you not to, to go another day, another time— you huff, shaking your head and frowning at the way he begins to offer to come with you; his instincts must be kicking in again, eyes filled with a calculated look he only sports when looking out for your safety— and with you being nothing but a fragile little lamb in his eyes, this look was something you’ve become very familiar with.

“No, you mustn’t come with— it’s dangerous, and I’m the only one who knows my way around the woods,” you scold him, and even though he stares at you with that intimidating, stern look, murmuring about something about his keen senses, you stand your ground, “I’m too one-track-minded to guide someone else through these woods— I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

He sighs— and you know you’ve gotten him good by the way he remains silent, stalling his leave as he tries continuing to reason with you— but you keep refusing in return, cooing softly that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be quick.

“I’ll wait for you,” he finally says, refusing to back down even as you express your worry; after a moment of bickering, you finally give in. Your eyes widen in surprise as he gently pulls you in for a hug, engulfed entirely in his embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a content sigh— warm, comforting and pure, like jasmine with the hint of a pure, soft vanilla, his nose subconsciously poking at your gland in search for more— and you shiver at the feeling, engulfed in his calming scent, a sage and rich pine, allowing yourself to melt in his arms and hold you tighter, ignoring the way your heart begins to race the longer your remain there.

“Come back to me safe.”

Soobin is just as solemn and loyal as he was the day he declared that he would always protect you— and it makes your heart race a bit faster, a dopey smile stuck on your face as you wave him goodbye— you sigh pathetically the moment you’re finally in the woods.

The leaves crunch under your feet and birds chirp in the distance; it’s comforting to you, humming softly to yourself as you walk the paths you need to take without much of a thought, gathering herbs and plants as you slowly check them off your list; everything goes as smoothly as it always does, your mind in awe as you witness the sun beginning to set.

You should get going soon; it was never ideal to be in the woods after dark, no matter how familiar you were with the landscape. The thought makes your steps quicken and your eyes sweep over the land in acute concentration, looking for the last plant on your list— you’re freezing entirely when you hear a shift against the leaves.

You’re still; was it a false alarm, or a harmless rabbit passing by? You’re not entirely sure, wicker basket heavy in your hand as the other presses firmly against your heart; trying to settle your heart rate, breathing deeply as you look for any signs of movement, any signs of life around you.

Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear it again; rustling against the leaves, harsh and erratic as something else greets your ears— sharp pants and sounds of struggle, a pained yelp resounding into the vast space and sending you into action before you can think twice.

You round the thick oak tree ahead of you, searching for the source of the sound— and stumble back in surprise, an involuntary gasp escaping you as sharp eyes and equally sharp teeth point your way— a man lays before you, injured and weak.

Except, he’s not just a man; that much is made clear to you the moment your eyes sweep over his frame once more, taking in the ears that press flat on his head and his fangs that remain bared at you, the injured man—wolf hybrid— growling lowly at you and shuffling back to curl against the thick tree that once covered him; your hands shake as you hold onto your basket a little tighter, wide eyes sweeping over his figure and inevitably landing on the source of all this commotion; a twisted ankle, rendering the man before you immobile.

You must run— you must, and it’s all your instincts seem to yell at you, your muscles becoming rigid with tension, white ears pressing flat against the top of your head and fluffy tail quivering with fear— but you have yet to, something about the look in the wolf’s eyes making you ignore your instincts, just for a second; behind the dangerous fangs that glint beneath the remaining light and his eyes that are narrowed threateningly, you can still see the pain he’s found himself in.

Something inside you clicks— your weak heart twists and your hands grip your basket a bit tighter, a voice in your mind telling you that you can’t just leave him like this; you can do something to help. Next thing you know, you’re taking cautious, slow steps toward him, hands held out to show that you’re nothing close to a threat— though you’re sure that the smell of fear that rolls off you in waves is enough of an indicator— and your soft voice is whispering out your intentions, continuing your approach even as he bares his teeth at you in warning.

“I want to help you,” you say softly, finally at his feet as you place your basket gently next to him; and he growls at you once more, though you don’t find yourself to be afraid— if he were dangerous, he would’ve attacked long ago. It’s the only thought that repeats itself in your mind like a prayer, pretending as though your hands don’t tremble as you reach into your basket, as you grab the herbs you were just stocking up on and the bandages you carry for emergencies.

He lets out a particularly harsh growl that makes you jump; it makes you hesitate to touch his skin, bruised and broken and bloody, eyes jumping to meet his— and though the action was meant to be confident, nothing can hide the fear that taints your eyes, the way your frame shrinks slightly when you’ve found that he has no issues holding eye contact— and after a standstill moment, you finally continue, ripping a piece of the bandage and attempting to clean the wound as best as you can.

You’re a bit clumsy at first; unable to look away from the man, his strikingly dark red hair that's matted to his head from a thin layer of sweat, dirtied clothes and face that’s twisted in a mean glare— but eventually, it softens, the deep heaving of his chest calming as he watches the way you tend to him with deft hands, not seeming to care if he’s soiling your pretty coat as you tug him closer to you.

The bandages are tight on his ankle and you’ve placed herbs within to help soothe the swelling— all tricks you’ve learned from your mother, from the times when you would run about carelessly and twist your ankle in some hidden hole, only calming your cries to see her work her magic on you.

Reassuring words don’t do much in the grand scheme of things, but you still whisper them sweetly to the injured man before you, dry bandage cleaning along the rest of his calf as you tell him to rest, to try and not overexert himself. And though you don’t know if he can understand you, though you’re unsure of where he came from— because as far as you know, wolves have been banished from your village for decades— you still find yourself caring for him. It’s something he can pick up on in your eyes, gentle and reflecting the last of the sun’s golden rays that leak through the woods.

It’s quiet; it’s peaceful. Warm fingers lingering on his skin much longer than you intended, a curiosity leaking through your wide eyes as you take in his figure, the tall dark ears that stand on his head, the tail that lays on his side, thumping rhythmically— and you think you’ve finally found the courage to ask who are you? Lips parting to speak, you’re cut off by the sound of rustling, a new overwhelming scent overtaking your senses; something is approaching.

The man before you doesn’t seem to be worried; it’s you that’s whipping around to the source of the sound, shrinking pathetically once you spot something emerging from the dark, thick mass of trees behind you; eyes, multiple pairs, glowing and angry as they stare at you like you’re their next meal— you’re not sure how many pairs there might be, but you’re stumbling to your feet quickly, eyes widening as you realize that the sun has set long, long ago.

You almost slip on the leaves beneath you; one last glance at the man behind you shows that his hands were out as though to catch you, expression twisted with what you’re surprised to see is… concern. But as a rough growling begins to surround the two of you, a sharp pang of fear courses through your body, the gravity of your situation finally sinking in as your eyes sweep around the area in one last, terrified glance.

They’re targeting you.

Before you can think twice, you’re turning on your heel and running— though nothing follows behind, you still let adrenaline take its course, shallow breaths and teary eyes guiding you back to your home; you don’t realize how crazed you must’ve looked until you’re finally reaching your front door, a worried Soobin immediately interrupting your flee and scooping you into his arms, whirling around to shield you away from the forest.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Dear, what happened?” he’s breathing out the concerned questions against the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle and the only thing keeping you up as your knees buckle with fear; his gaze sweeps down to the state of your cute coat, the once pristine and pink material now dirty and bloodied; his hands hold onto it with a newfound panic, lifting the coat and attempting to find the source— it isn’t until you’ve let out a few pathetic sniffles that you can finally reassure him the blood is not yours.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? Oh, I should’ve—” Soobin has pulled away to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the tears that escape your sweet eyes like a fountain; thumbs caressing your tear-streaked skin lovingly, brows knitted together as his concern pours off him in waves— and you shake your head softly, attempting to dissuade the guilt he must’ve felt for leaving you on your own.

“It’s fine, I’m not hurt,” you croak out, grabbing onto his waist for support as you finally regain the strength in your legs, “I just— had some encounters with a wolf— but I’m safe, they didn’t hurt me, I’m just a bit shaken, is all.”

“A wolf?” Soobin asks, much more concerned by your words as he pulls away to inspect you once more; his hands run gingerly over your shoulders, running along them until they’ve stopped at your neck, eyes honing in on the spot for a moment before he sighs in relief. His gaze is hardening once more, cupping your face and looking at your sternly as he speaks. “Where were they? Did they follow you? Did you interact with them?”

“No, no— it’s alright, I’m alright, I promise,” you breathe out, hoping that Soobin doesn’t notice the way you shrink under his gaze, the way your body warms up at his touch— but he’s much too concerned about your safety to pick up on it, dismissing every cue of your body as nothing but fear, instincts heightened as he looks behind you and back at the forest you just came from. He watches the woods carefully, eyes narrowed and ears perked in concentration— but nothing happens, and he’s left to reluctantly believe your words, even if he wants nothing more than to run into the woods himself and make sure there’s no threat to you.

After a moment of observing the forest, Soobin is turning back to you, and his gaze immediately softens at the sight. The brave front you put up isn’t fooling him, and it’s quite obvious that you’re still shaken from your encounter, delicate ears still pressed close to your head, eyes wide and scent muddled with distress— like rotten flowers, earthy and pungent— and with all the adrenaline ebbing away from your system, you’ve found that your legs have become pure jelly once more; Soobin is quick to catch on to the way you tremble and hold on to him tightly.

“Oh, my doll,” Soobin sighs softly, fishing for your keys in your coat pockets and unlocking the door for you, leading you inside with a careful hand— as though you were made of porcelain, still shaken and anxious as he leads you to sit down, “it’s alright, you’re safe now— I’ll keep you safe.”

Soobin insists on taking care of you long after you tell him you feel better; he’s keen to protect you through and through, keeping his distance yet still doting on you as he makes you tea, helps you out of your coat, and even offers to wash it for you— the sight replaces the heavy fear in your stomach with butterflies.

When he bids you goodbye, his eyes are soft, his movements slightly reluctant— but he must, it’s unlawful for him to stay the night with you; an unclaimed little prey like you, spending the night with Soobin, even if he was nothing short of perfect and kind, was enough to have the town gossiping like a storm. The very thought has your cheeks hot and your tongue stumbling on words, telling Soobin to get home safe with a shy, sweet voice— and he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones, smiling fondly before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead; he lingers there, and you think you might just melt against him before he finally bids you goodbye.

Your heart still races long after he’s gone; you suppose all this makes up for the fact that you forgot your basket in the woods, mourning the fact that you’ll have to go back to get it tomorrow— but for now, you’re content with giggling softly at the memory of Soobin’s lips against your skin, completely unaware of the eyes that watch you twirl around your kitchen happily.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you wake up, you find something peculiar at your doorstep; your wicker basket is placed before your feet, pristine as it was when you first took it out.

Your brows furrow, looking around the area and wondering how it got here— your mind is going back to the wolf you tended to, eyes slowly sweeping over the dense forest, ears twitching in attention, listening for even the slightest rustle of leaves, wondering if he’s still lingering— but the world around you is still, and it seems to be only you here. You bend down to pick the basket up carefully.

Everything is intact— your herbs, your bandages, your worn down pink journal— and the closer you bring it to your face in order to inspect it, the better you’re able to catch something peculiar; a scent, your nose twitching in curiosity and your eyes narrowing. The unknown scent only grows stronger the closer you get to the handkerchief you used to line the inside, and only then are you able to get a good sense of it— light and heady, like an amber and smoky smell filling your nose, finding yourself oddly enticed by the scent.

You’re far too wrapped up in attempting to decipher the complicated notes of this new scent to notice someone approaching; your senses have gotten so used to Soobin’s presence you no longer find yourself alert around him, only perking up at the approaching sound of leaves crunching and the familiar, sage filling your senses— tucking the basket behind your back, you send him a meek smile, cheeks heating up as you silently hope he didn’t see you curiously nosing at your basket.

“Hey, pretty thing,” Soobin rumbles out lowly, smiling fondly at the way you practically preen at the name; you’re terrible at hiding your expression, the way your ears twitch at his words not helping your attempts to seem nonchalant before him.

“Hi Soobin,” you smile, fingers restlessly playing with the wicker basket behind your back as you tilt your head curiously, “what’re you doing here today?”

“I needed to check on you,” he says immediately, a soft oh leaving your lips at that, “I couldn’t sleep well knowing I just… left you here on your own. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Soobin, it’s fine, really,” you reassure him softly, fluffy tail wiggling behind you at the fact that he confessed how worried he was about you, his dedication to keep you safe, “Nothing happened— as long as I’m in my home, I’m safe.”

Soobin wants to argue against that, you can tell. But you don’t give him a chance to, inviting him in with a tug at his arm, smiling at the way he immediately relents; you tell him about your plans for today over a cup of tea, that you have to make a few deliveries to some homes across the village— Soobin practically jumps to offer to come with.

“You– won’t you be busy?” you ask shyly, staring down at your teacup and stirring your spoon in a feeble way to distract yourself.

“No, I’m not needed at the bakery today,” Soobin immediately reassures you, reaching over the table to place a delicate hand over your own— and you stiffen, a heat rushing through your body at the sudden contact; the smell of sage wafts over to you as his thumb rubs soothingly over your skin, your mind mulling over his offer as you bite at your lip in thought.

He’s eager to hear you say yes; his tail wags slowly behind him, ears perked up and eyes honed in on your every expression— and after a moment, you finally nod meekly.

“It’s only a house or two, but the walk is… it’s far,” you say, standing at the doorway and reaching over for your basket, placing the bottles and jars filled with homemade remedies inside carefully— but before you can continue your explanations and tuck your basket snuggly into the crook of your arm, Soobin is taking it from you, his brows knitted together as he stares down at the item in confusion.

“I thought you lost this,” he says quietly, rotating the item in his hands, taking in its pristine condition with a frown— his ears are perking up and his tail is straightening, head whipping over to you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did you go into the woods to retrieve it?”

“No!” you say, oddly defensive as you shake your head adamantly, “It just— it was at my doorstep this morning, I think someone might have found it—”

“The wolf,” Soobin sneers, his tone much darker than it was mere moments ago— it makes your ears flatten against your head and your figure shrink, his scent turning earthy and thick and rendering you docious and pliant— his eyes are darting from the basket and back to you, only to go back to the basket in order to examine it closely; the moment Soobin brings it closer to his face, you’re able to see the very moment where that same, smoky scent enters his senses— his pupils dilate, and his nose twitches.

The same scent as before. Soobin recognized it as the same scent that you were drenched in the moment you found him, shaken and face aghast— your coat and skin reeked of nothing but that scent, wanting nothing more than to take you inside and replace it with his own— but the most he could do in the moment was hold you close and hope that it would wash off.

The owner of this scent must have brought you the basket back; Soobin’s head races to find meaning, to find reason, adrenaline coursing through his body that yells at him to take action; this must be a threat—you’ve been followed, they know where you live.

“It isn’t safe for you to stay there anymore,” Soobin proceeded to tell you, only confessing how he felt once you were far, far away from your home— from the woods. And you could only shake your head at that, the reassurances an automatic response in your head at this point.

But Soobin wasn’t going to go down without a fight this time; knowing that the wolf was out there somewhere, that he knew where you lived and even went as far as to visit your home— it made Soobin tense with anger.

“That wolf was at your doorstep without you knowing,” Soobin continued to reason, all throughout your walk back, “you don’t know who they are— what their intentions are.”

It was only then that you decided to mull through his offer to stay, or for you to stay with his family— images of a bloodthirsty wolf at your doorstep filled your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel like your nine year old self again, sitting at a fireplace and telling each other scary stories about the forest only a few feet away from you— your young self would always be left shaken and paranoid, asking your parents if you could sleep in their bed.

Maybe you’ve become too used to being independent; you’ve survived this long on your own— most lamb hybrids you knew couldn’t walk around at night without having a trusted predator around to protect them, just in case— yet you were so used to depending only on yourself that you seem to have forgotten how truly vulnerable your species is; Soobin made sure to remind you with a stern look and crossed arms.

“I don’t see why you’re insisting so much, binnie— I promise nothing happens here, this place is dead,” you tell him as you make dinner for the two of you, the sun now long gone and the man still stuck to your side, leaning against the counter beside you and watching you cook dutifully— his eyes drift over to the window behind him, looking over his shoulder and at the dark, gloomy forest that obscures his view; his eyes can’t help but narrow and pick apart each shape he sees, nose keen and eager to sense any changes, any hint of that smoky smell— but he sees nothing, and he’s turning back around to catch the way you send him a slightly incredulous look.

“I understand why you might feel this way— you’ve been on your own for longer than you can remember, after all,” Soobin says softly, taking in the way your eyes remain downcast and you shy away from his gaze. Hesitantly, he shifts to stand behind you, a gentle hand placing itself on your bicep before his head lowers to rest on your shoulder; his forehead rests against you, able to smell the restless, flowery notes of your scent— despite the strong front you put up, Soobin’s keen senses are still able to pick up on the tenseness of your body, the way you keep glancing out the window and into the forest unsurely.

“You have to allow yourself to be helped— there’s nothing wrong with that, doll,” he coaxes softly, ears atop his head twitching at the sound of the shaky sigh you let out— the stove is turned off, and the food is done— but you don’t seem to care about that much.

Carefully, Soobin nudges at your jaw with his head; allowing your neck to tilt slowly, to expose it to him as his nose runs along your skin delicately, until it’s pressed against your scent gland, inhaling slowly and taking in the intense mix of smells and emotions within you— and he presses his lips softly against it, a gentle kiss that turns your scent sweet and fresh like a blooming flower; your heart pounds against your chest for a second, then proceeds to relax against Soobin’s hold the moment his scent invades your senses.

“I’m here to protect you.”

His words stick to you for the rest of the night— as does he, his presence reassuring enough to make you forget of why he was here in the first place— enough to allow you to miss the glowing eyes that peek from the edge of the forest as you get a glass of water in the middle of the night, taking in your drowsy figure and eyes that are heavy with sleep; unaware of the pair of eyes that take you in hungrily, the tongue that runs along a sharp set of teeth, nose twitching to get another gust of your sweet, clean scent, the muddled vanilla that makes his mouth water.

With Soobin lying in the guest bedroom, you’re almost able to forget that there are wolves in the forest. That there is one that has now set his sights on the cute little lamb that tended to him with wide eyes and an innocent heart.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

It’s early in the morning when you bid Soobin goodbye; your cheeks are flushed and you’re barely able to look him in the eye, despite not having done anything more than talk the whole night. He finds your shyness nothing short of endearing, placing one last affectionate kiss on top of your head before he tells you to call him if you ever need anything— to never be afraid to ask for help. You nodded to his words with a soft smile.

Watching him leave had left a bit of an empty feeling in your heart; you couldn’t seem to help but watch him leave pathetically, standing at your doorway even after he had long gone; his scent still drifted around in your senses, the warm and sturdy scent helping you remain calm as you finally went back inside— closing the door behind you, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your home still smelled strongly of him.

You had over ten different orders you needed to work on; you were able to busy yourself with making medicine throughout the rest of the day, boiling herbs and making remedies for colds and illnesses and burns. It was a tedious and slow process, and as you finally began to reach the end of your list, you couldn’t help but frown.

You ran out of two different herbs needed for these next three orders; without them, you wouldn’t be able to make the medications at all.

Glancing out the window, you gulped; it wouldn’t be another thirty minutes before the sun set, but after your encounter a few days ago— paired with Soobin’s warning and harsh reality check— you were much more hesitant to go into the woods on your own.

You could call Soobin— ask him if he’d like to accompany you, stay put until you finally had proper protection. You mulled over the idea for a moment, your traitorous mind whisperering encouraging words in order to see him again; it’s just for protection, you told yourself, walking over to your landline phone before you began to dial his number, tangling the long cord around your fingers absentmindedly as you did; you tried to dismiss the nervous pounding of your heart, the way you bit at your lips in anticipation of hearing his voice again.

“Hello?” you’re gulping slightly at the sound— part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually answer. Clearing your throat softly, you muster up the courage to do what you’ve been hesitant to for so long.

“Hi Soobin,” you start softly, listening to the small hum of acknowledgement from the other side, “I— I’m sorry to bother, but I just wanted to ask; I have to make another trip to the forest— it’s urgent— and I… well, I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me. For protection.”

The shyness and hesitance in your voice is horribly apparent; it makes you face burn and your hands grow clammy, feeling as though there’s a lump in your throat as you wait for him to respond— it feels like eternity, but in reality, it’s merely seconds—- and you’re practically slumping against the wall in relief when he gives you a soft of course I can in response.

“Wait for me inside until I get there,” he says, and you nod, letting out a sound of affirmation as well, “I’ll be quick.”

Soobin hangs up promptly after; you’re left to scurry around your home in preparation of your trip, changing out of your sullied work clothes and into something more comfortable— inevitably, the same coat from before finds itself wrapped around your form, and as you wait by the doorway with your wicker basket in hand, you realize with a smile that the item is practically drowned in Soobin’s scent— the item is wrapped around you tighter and your nose is burrowed deeply into the soft plush-like material, your senses spinning with the warm, earthy smells that belong to the man.

The sun is setting— but he’ll be here soon, a fact only proved by the sound of footsteps your keen ears manage to pick up on; you’re practically racing to make it to your front door, only to pause at the sound of something else— more footsteps.

Instinct brings your body to the floor and away from all windows; your back is pressed up against your door, ear pressed tightly against the wood as you remain alert, subconsciously holding your breath in fear of getting spotted in any way— but whoever is currently surrounding your home knows you’re here, judging by the way they take careful, calculated steps closer to your door— you will your heart to remain calm, to not alert them that you currently lean on the very item separating the two of you, but the fear that courses through your veins is simply too strong.

Your mind is racing a mile a minute; you try to calculate who it could be, why they’re here— and you’re thinking back to Soobin’s warnings the night before, eyes widening as you scold yourself for being such a naive idiot— because as you pick up of the soft sounds of sniffing and low growls, you realize that you’ve managed to lead a pack of wolves right to your home.

It all happens too quickly; you’re running from the door at the sudden spike of scents, like a dirty smoke that approaches your door in the blink of an eye— the wood practically flies off its hinges with the way it’s broken into, a scream involuntarily leaving you as you grab the nearest thing to you as a weapon— the fire pit poker is thin and old in your hands, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you back away slowly, taking in the wolves that make their way into your home with sheer terror.

One, two, three— it’s only three of them, but it’s enough to have your limbs trembling and your ears pressed flat against your head; tall, broad figures, disheveled in appearance and looking at you with eyes dilated, filled with nothing but a carnal hunger that makes your stomach twist into knots.

It’s a standstill. They watch you with coy smiles and blown out eyes, watching as you press yourself against the wall, wondering if you can make it to the back exit of your home if you try enough— but they’re perceptive to even the most miniscule movement, every twitch of your muscle garnering a step closer from any one of them; you remain still, and so do they. It’s silent, save for the ragged heavings of your chest and the low grumbles that resonate from theirs— they have yet to make a move, locking eyes with the tallest and watching as his lips quirk into a smile.

You feel nauseous. They’re toying with you.

They could easily take you— kill you— in a split second; the second you try to run, they’ll be hot on your heels, outmatched three to one and left at their mercy entirely. And judging by the way they practically salivate at the smell of fear that radiates from you, you don’t think your fate with them will end well.

You gulp. They watch you, keen eyes taking in the way your throat bobs, the tears that fill your eyes— the way your legs look as though they’ll give out on you any moment now, the flimsy poker in your hands nothing but a joke as you point it at them in warning— as though it would do anything, they muse.

One of them, with a head of ginger hair and eyes sharp as a knife, begins to approach; you tense, bringing the poker forward more, inhaling sharply and taking a step back— but that only garners a sharp growl from another, with pitch black hair and a gaze so threatening it renders you pliant; hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the man who stands before you, narrowed eyes taking you in with amusement.

He reaches towards you— again you tense, flinching at the movement and weakly yelling at the wolf to stay back—! But it can only come out as a breathless whisper, your entire being rendered useless, instincts doing nothing but telling you that this is it; accept your fate, it tells you, weakening your muscles and sending off waves of fear so thick the room reeks of death and rot; your figure shrinks the moment he grabs your poker, ignoring your clearly empty warning as he lowers it forcefully, fighting easily against any strength you had left.

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiles, baring his teeth that only makes your blood run cold— sharp canines, strong and in great condition to bite and chew even the toughest of meats— “We’ll take good care of you.”

A sharp growling impedes the man before you from closing in on you, from taking away what little space was left between you— the sound is loud and furious, making the three wolves before you turn immediately in search of the source; including you, the foreign sound making your knees buckle and the poker fall from your hands as you paralyze with fear.

Standing in the doorway is a figure you remember quite well— the sight of him makes your eyes widen and you heart flicker a dim light of hope, watching the way he sends the three wolves before you a pointed glare, enough to make the two nearest to him avert their eyes the moment his gaze lands on them.

“Beomgyu,” the wolf near you sneers, “what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother answering the question; his eyes land on you, on your figure that visibly trembles with fear, nostrils flaring at the scent that radiates from you and fogs the room— and he growls.

“Get out.”

It’s a simple command given by the man— Beomgyu— to the others, eyes filled with an unbridled rage that makes the others flinch; they’re confused, glancing to where you remain frozen before they’re turning back at the man, as though waiting for him to back down on his words— instead, he bares his teeth, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with rage, and repeats himself.

“I said, get. Out.”

Silence; you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you watch the two wolves glance at the man with the bright head of ginger hair— as though looking to him for their next move. The two remain in a standstill, refusing to look away from the other, as though silently communicating. And after what feels like eternity, the wolf near you scoffs, lips upturned in annoyance as he finally looks away— he turns back to you, eyes scanning your shaken figure, and he smiles the moment your eyes meet.

“Don’t expect any mercy from him.”

You’re sure you might be on the verge of fainting as you watch them all exit, one by one; tails practically tucked between their legs, only wolf to make a fuss being the orange-haired one from before; you watch the two of them bare their teeth and make comments you can’t quite pick up on, pressing yourself firmly against the wall and jumping the moment they snap warningly at each other— a threat to bite, the sight of their sharp fangs enough to have you retreating slowly to the exit of your backyard.

The second his back is turned from you, watching the wolves retreat to the forest, is the second you make an attempt to escape— hurried steps leading you to the kitchen, walking backwards in order to keep an eye on him— your shaking hands remain pressed against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself upright, keen eyesight taking in any small movement from him, body alight with adrenaline as you wait for the moment you can book it.

His ears, a dark auburn just like his hair, twitch; his head snaps over to where you stand, dilated eyes meeting yours in milliseconds.

You’re turning around to make a run for it— the floorboards creak behind you from the very sound of Beomgyu running after you, a yelp leaving you involuntarily; your feet are falling harshly on the cool tile of your kitchen, but before you can so much as outstretch your hand and reach for the doorknob of the back exit, strong hands are wrapping around your middle and spinning you around, away from your last taste of freedom.

“Please!” you cry out aimlessly, a pained groan falling from your lips as your back collides with the wood of your counter; you’re pinned into the very corner, tears pricking at your eyes and weak hands pressing against the strong chest of the wolf before you— your eyes remain glued to the floor, soft tail trembling with abandon and ears willing hopelessly to hide your face.

“You’re running? After I just saved you?” is all you get in response, his voice gruff and genuine as he remains unfazed at the weak pushes against his chest; his arms cage you in, body impossibly close to yours as he looms over you, watching the way you cower and make yourself shrink with wide, interested eyes. “Why do you run from me, my flower?”

The pet name makes your stomach lurch; a soft sob escapes you, eyes closing in defeat as your mind makes peace with your demise— your shoulders shake with every attempt of yours to breathe properly, every inhale only flooding your senses and clogging your mind with the scent of the wolf above you, like a thick smoke that burns your lungs and leaves your thoughts impaired.

Beomgyu is all but salivating at the sight of you; your soft, fragile body, the tremble of your limbs, your pure and fluffy ears that are pressed flat atop your head, hands subconsciously gripping onto his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep yourself upright— your heartbeat overwhelms him, quick and panicked just like your scent; it makes his brows pinch together and a confused pout form on his lips, the familiar, delicate flower no longer radiating from your figure.

“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs, ears twitching in curiosity as you remain silent; he leans down, willing to get close even after you continue to shrink away in response, curling into yourself and keeping your chin tucked in dutifully; his hand flies to your waist in attempts to prevent you from shifting away any further, rough claws digging in through your dress and making you jolt in surprise— a shaky breath leaves your lips, the wolf that continues to inch closer to you, cocking his head in fascination. His eyes all but burn through your skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple as he speaks; you remain frozen, stiff, feeling the way he continues to wander down, nosing at you softly in search for a sign of that sweet, intoxicating smell you once gave off.

“You’re safe with me— remember?”

Your voice remains stuck inside you— all you can muster is another shaky breath as you feel his lips brush against your jaw, wandering along until he’s at your ear— then he trails down, forcing your head to tilt as his nose runs a soft line along the column; a weak whimper falls from your parted lips the moment he presses down against your pulse point, feeling him inhale slowly before he presses a soft kiss against your sensitive neck— like an automatic reaction, warmth blooms from the spot, spreading through your body, your heart telling you to calm down— but you refuse, and though Beomgyu is able to smell the sweet vanilla and the flowers that blooms from his action, it all dies into one muddled mess that leaves him to huff frustratedly.

His hands have begun to wander— large and warm, sharp claws scratching at your garments and running up your sides before he hugs you tight, pressing your figure flush against his— and as have his lips, pressing soft kisses against your scent gland repeatedly, in search of the scent that he was only granted a mere glimpse of— soft, careful kisses at first, listening to the way you whimper and cry against him, trembling hands balling up his shirt in your fists— only to feel himself grow more desperate, out of control, his lips parted and harsh as he presses his kisses against one of the weakest points in your body.

Beomgyu’s nose is sharp, is able to pick up on even the slightest changes within your scent— so when he picks up on the warm, subtle twinge of vanilla that peeks through everything else, he’s unable to find himself exhibiting restraint. Warm and wet, you feel his tongue press against your skin, the sharp, accidental scratch of his fangs following after— and you gasp, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you as your mind finally processes what his intentions truly are, feeling your instincts take over soon after— the moment of clarity passes, and your vision fogs; your body melts against Beomgyu’s.

You’ve been sandwiched between the counter and Beomgyu’s body; even more so now that Beomgyu’s felt you submit to him, head lolling to the side and displaying your most fragile part to him, a smell of vanilla, warm and sweet like a pastry, filling his lugs soon after— you’re presenting yourself to him, eyes glassy and lips parted as you simply let out a shaky exhale.

Your legs are parted with every attempt Beomgyu makes to get closer to you, feeling him stand in between them as he continues to cage you in, continues to kiss and lick along your exposed skin, huffing and sighing in satisfaction with every soft keen you let out in response, your mind and soul still convinced that your time has come to an end.

From a distance, Soobin senses it; he sees the dim lights of your cottage, the door that is left ajar, crooked on its hinges— most of all, he’s able to pick up on the intoxicating sweetness that escapes from the cottage, the innocent jasmine that’s intertwined with the scent that travels with the wind— and his ears stand straight, keen senses straining to hear the soft sob that leaves your delicate lips— his body reacts before he can, and he runs straight to you.

The sharp call of your name is all Soobin can get out before he stumbles to a stop at the kitchen doorway— his eyes remain wide and focused on the sight before him, body on edge and tail stiff as he grits his teeth in rage.

Your doe eyes meet his instantly— they’re shining and incoherent, and Soobin wonders if you’re even conscious of where you are, of the way you whine out his name in the most fragile tone he’s ever heard. The rest of you is covered— you’ve been pressed tightly against the kitchen counter, back arching backwards due to the sheer pressure of the body that weighs you down; ragged clothing covers your own, the pink coat obscured by a white flowing, dirtied white button up, falling off the owner’s shoulder and pooling at his elbow— Soobin’s eyes follow the line of movement, taking in his arms disappear behind your waist, forcing your lower halves to be glued together, your dress bunched up at your thighs from the crude way they’ve been forced open.

“Soobin,” you whine again, taking his attention as he watches a hand of yours appear from where they were caged in, outstretching shakily toward him before it falls limp, hanging over the arm that pulls you closer against him.

Dark, long hair covers the face that is buried in your neck— ears of the same color adorn the top, twitching with interest at the sound before they stand forward— roughly, the head emerges from its hiding place, eyes blown open with nothing short of hunger; the wolf before Soobin bares his teeth and growls, hugging you tighter against him, stepping back and shielding you away from the dog’s view.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to mimic the other’s threats— he means every bit of it and more, face alight with rage and body poised in an aggressive stance— and though your face has been tucked into the wolf’s chest, though the arms that wrap around your body attempt to prevent you from being seen at all, Soobin is still able to catch glimpse of your tail that quivers with fear, of your figure that shakes pathetically from instinct.

Loud, angry growls and spiked scents fill your senses and leaves you docile; Soobin’s sharp, strong pine mixes with Beomgyu’s thick, intoxicating smoke, painting the scene of a burning forest as they continue to warn the other, narrowed gazes and sharp canines creating yet another standstill.

Beomgyu’s eyes catch onto Soobin’s restlessness with ease— and before he’s able to make a move, Beomgyu is manipulating your body once more, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against him, feeling the way you follow his every command without a second thought— and when you present yourself to him for a second time from pure instinct, Beomgyu grins; his eyes lock with Soobin’s and his head cranes down, dangerously close to your scent gland that continues to release its tempting smell.

“Stay.” is all Beomgyu growls out, eyeing the way Soobin freezes immediately, wide eyes watching the way Beomgyu’s mouth opens, tongue lolling out lazily before it’s running slowly against your shoulder, gliding along until it stops dutifully against the joint of your neck, pressing down to feel your pulse— Soobin flinches, undoubtedly wanting to lunge forward, but is stopped again by the wicked smile Beomgyu sends him, sharp canines meticulously on display.

You’re all left frozen— Beomgyu’s arm that has been thrown around your waist toys with the hem of your cute coat, the other that presses against your heart feeling the quick pounding against his palm— and he laughs, inching his hand up slowly until it’s around your neck, his index and thumb exuding little effort to keep your head upright, watching your eyes slowly meet Soobin’s.

“Any sudden moves,” Beomgyu begins again, eyes flickering down to your neck, watching the quick rise and fall of your chest with fascination, feeling the way your throat constricts with every swallow against his palm— and he smiles, looking back at Soobin and allowing his tongue to run over the top row of his teeth leisurely, “and she’s mine to claim.”

Silence; Soobin takes a moment to weigh his options, to inspect the scenery before him— the wolf means it, Soobin is quick to realize, seeing the way he all but drools over your exposed neck and faint figure— and he meets your eyes again, attempting to decipher what you may be thinking, only to realize that you’re not composed at all; you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your basic survival instincts, and yet it seems as though your brain has told you that it’s best to give up any fight you have left inside you.

Soobin feels his jaw ache from the way his teeth grit together angrily— and with a soft huff, he becomes the first to look away from Beomgyu entirely, turning his head in defeat and forcing his body to back down.

“Good dog,” Beomgyu coos mockingly, grinning unabashedly at the sight of Soobin’s face twisting up in anger; he turns to you, placing a slow, lingering kiss on your cheek before he murmurs softly into your ear. “My flower, don’t you want to show him how perfect you are for me?”

Beomgyu doesn’t expect a response from you; the way you whine and shift restlessly against him is enough, having already felt him rutting against you the moment he had you caged against the counter— and he continues to do so, even now, the hand on your throat forcing you to tilt your head, allowing him access to suck and bite on the clean canvas of your skin; your eyes flutter shut, and you’re left to rely on his strength to hold you upright, body rocking gently with every thrust that is delivered from the wolf behind you.

“So sweet for me,” Beomgyu groans, his hands letting go of their respective places before they begin getting busy; your legs feel shaky and you’re left to watch as he undoes the ties of your coat, slipping it off before he reaches to bunch your thin skirt at your waist— you gasp softly, face heating up at the feeling of being so exposed, hands flying to pull down your skirt on instinct— but you’re granted no such reprieve, stilling immediately as a growl leaves Beomgyu’s lips at your action.

Soobin’s head is snapping back at the two of you at the sound of the threat— his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, a clear mistake that only makes Beomgyu grin— your scent, thick and progressively needier, clouds Soobin’s mind, clouds his judgment, unable to do anything more than stare at the way Beomgyu has you in his arms, canines still glittering under the soft lights of your home as a constant warning.

“You smell it too,” Beomgyu speaks, his words less of a question and more of a fact— Soobin’s eyes dilate and his nostrils flare that moment Beomgyu’s lithe fingers begin to wander around the hem of your panties, feeling your thighs press together and your hands grip at his forearm shyly; from Soobin’s distance, he’s able to pick up on the tears that hang on your waterline, the way your lip quivers from the humiliation of being exposed so crudely.

“Innocent thing…” Beomgyu murmurs, dipping down to swipe the pad of his middle finger across your slit, listening to the yelp that escapes your lips, feeling your body buckle against him— and sure enough, a spike of your scent follows after, like an addicting toxin that only fuels the desire of the two canines before you, “So tempting. So good.”

You’re crying softly at the way he continues to tease you, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation, mouth parting in shock as his hand sneaks past the waistband of your panties; you feel as though shocks of electricity flow through you the moment he brushes against your clit, teasingly at first, only to begin circling it steadily soon after— and you can only moan and whine for more, unknowingly bucking your hips forward in search for something else that can satisfy you.

When your eyes meet Soobin’s, you can only feel a hot wave of shame flow through you— his expression is unreadable; is he embarrassed of you? Disgusted, ashamed that you have already given in to the simplest threats? You’re not remotely near as strong as he is, you defend yourself mentally, you’re sure that it was either this or— or…

“You filthy mutt,” Beomgyu spits out beside you, laughing softly at the way Soobin has yet to take his eyes off you, eyes narrowed meanly and brows tugged together, an expression that could be easily read as rage— but Beomgyu knows better, watching as the said man jumps at the sudden sound of the other’s voice, gaze hardening the moment they lock eyes; Beomgyu huffs out another mocking laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beomgyu asks, as though he were sharing a secret— behind you, you feel his hips buck against you, able to feel the hardness of his cock as he uses his free hand to press just below your navel, forcing you back on him— and you gasp, his ministrations against your clit never ceasing as he continues to fuck against you slowly, groaning breathlessly at the feeling of your warm body against him; Beomgyu’s eyes never leave Soobin’s, however, pupils filled with nothing but a mocking joy as he continues breathlessly.

“You want her.”

Another wave of arousal floods though you at his words, filling the room and reaching the two men before you with ease; you’re able to see and feel the way their chests rise slowly, the way they take in your essence before letting out pleased sighs, their own strong, heady scents filling your senses as you simply flutter your eyes shut and whine with need.

“No need to deny it,” Beomgyu grins, leaning his head against yours fondly, middle finger abandoning your clit to tease your entrance, your mouth falling open and hips twitching in surprise at the feeling— the man behind you simply watches with amusement, watches the way you meet Soobin’s gaze shyly, body heated up with embarrassment as you can only let out pathetic cries and breathless gasps with every new stimulation— and Beomgyu’s finger enters you slowly, meticulously, angling himself just right; your vision is fogging at the stretch, hands gripping onto the strong forearm that helps keep your upright as you merely beg for more.

“I’m sure she’d love to give you a show,” he continues, palm pressing against your clit, other hand guiding your hips to roll steadily against his hand— he chuckles softly at the way you’re pliant for him, following his every command without a second thought, “filthy, greedy thing.”

Though Beomgyu directs those comments at you with a voice of acid-like hatred, the way he stares at you is anything but; his eyes are just as keen as the rest of him, willing to not miss a single reaction you make for him, from the way your voice breaks with need to the way your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin— his body buzzes with a desperate energy, his cock pulsing and begging to be inside you the longer he feels you rock helplessly against him— lucky for him, you seem to be getting just as desperate.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Soobin seethes, though he’s unable to make a move to get you away— a single twitch of his tail enough to garner a harsh sneer from Beomgyu, teeth snapping together in warning— the idea of having you claimed, taken, and possibly killed by the monstrosity that holds you hostage is enough to keep Soobin complacent for now, undoubtedly waiting for the moment the wolf no longer has easy access to such a vital part of you to make his move.

Beomgyu doesn’t heed the other’s comment— if anything, he laughs, prodding a second finger at your entrance, forcing the other to listen to the way you perk up and cry in panic, poor inexperienced body not used to the stretch, to the curve of his fingers as he presses against your soaking, tightening walls, calloused skin making you shiver as he forces you to grind against him, to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Hmm? Don’t touch her?” Beomgyu asks, curious fingers stretching you open slowly, grinning at the way you throw your head back against his shoulder and whine, a hand slapping over the arm that currently fucks your slowly, pressing against it in feeble attempts of getting more, “What, does it upset you that you won’t be getting to her first?”

With a particularly calculated thrust of Beomgyu’s fingers, you’re jolting up and letting out a broken moan; he proceeds to continue to abuse the weak spot within you cruelly, watching with an amused gaze as you continue to fall apart against him like clockwork. You’re getting wound up quite quickly, not used to the intense feeling of pleasure being provided to you— and Beomgyu takes in the sight eagerly, smiling in amusement before he’s stopping abruptly, watching your head hang and your chest heave from the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Does it anger you?” his fingers slide out from your cunt slowly; you twitch at the feeling of emptiness, barely processing the way his hand slowly snakes its way back up, grabbing at your neck and forcing you to look forward again— his fingers, covered in your arousal, prod at your mouth, and in your dumbed state, you can only follow his commands and part your lips dutifully; your tongue circles around his digits and your lips close around them, flushed face painting a lewd scene that only makes Soobin tense; beside you, Beomgyu smiles wickedly.

“Knowing that you’re about to watch her get fucked open— get knotted good— by a wolf?”

Soobin thinks he might be seeing red at this point; his hands remain by his side, closed into a tight fist that has his nails threatening to break through his skin— but that’s the least of his worries, especially with the way your ears twitch and your body perks up at the wolf’s words— both of the men are able to pick up on your reaction with ease, one clearly much happier than the other at the sight.

“You know, if you behave, I might give you a turn.” Beomgyu looks over at you, chuckling softly before he removes his fingers from your mouth, only to grab at your face and turn it roughly to look at him; his fingers dig into your cheeks and his forehead presses against yours, taking one glance at your hazy expression before he’s cooing softly. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

All you can do is muster a broken whine in response.

Beomgyu is letting go of your face with a soft chuckle; slowly, you muster the courage to look forward once more, inevitably meeting Soobin’s gaze as a result— his expression is unreadable, and it makes your knees feel weak— your mind races to try and decipher what he may be thinking about, left unaware of the way Beomgyu has let go of your dress, letting the skirt fall slowly over your front as he busies himself in lifting it from the back instead, allowing himself access and grazing your skin curiously; it is only then that you’re coming back to your senses, heart rate picking up with a panic and body bristling the moment you feel the wolf’s hands wandering across the swell of your ass, muttering soft praise that doesn’t quite reach you— a firm hand grabs at your waist, keeping you in place the moment you tried to shift away from him shyly, tried to cover yourself with a weak protests that only garnered yet another growl; with wide eyes, you looked to Soobin, unaware of the helplessness that coated your glassy pupils.

“Soobin,” you cry yet again, blood growing cold at the way he simply seems to stand and watch; his gaze seems to have wandered, seems to have been following Beomgyu’s every action, adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden sound of impact that filled the room, the sound of your yelp followed by the sight of your pathetic hands attempting to swat Beomgyu away, easily overpowered the moment the wolf gathers your wrists in his tight hold and scolds you to stay still, his claws digging threateningly into the soft skin— and again, your head whips back around to look at Soobin, ignoring the keen stance of his ears and the slow, interested sway of his tail as you simply call out to him again, “Soobin, please…”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for any more. All you know now is the feeling of Beomgyu’s broad chest pressed against yours, the muddy feeling of your brain as smoke fills your lungs, allowing your head to loll back against his shoulder, allowing your hips to begin to grind back against the hard bulge that has begun to tease you, shivering softly at the way Beomgyu’s head remains buried in your shoulder, pulling you back against him firmly— you barely register the way your voice whines in protest the moment you feel his lips pull away from your delicate skin, abandoning the gentle kisses and sucks to sneer triumphantly, his low voice a half-hearted replica of yours as he proceeds to parrot your words softly.

“Soobin…” Beomgyu sing-songs, reaching his free hand down to tug at the waistband of your panties, soaked through with arousal that leaves your inner thighs shining pathetically; the said man is snapped out of his trance immediately, enticed gaze hardening the second his eyes find Beomgyu, chin perched on your shoulder leisurely as he continues to tug your panties down, feeling the way they slip down your hips ever-so slowly, “Soobin, come here.”

When Soobin refuses, Beomgyu scoffs— though, he doesn’t seem to be surprised in the slightest.

“Come on Soobin,” Beomgyu repeats again, softly this time, eyes half-lidded as his mouth dips down to kiss your skin; right at your scent gland, tongue darting out before his eyes dart up to lock eyes with Soobin— you can feel goosebumps form on your skin as Beomgyu laughs breathily, mouth still open as he proceeds to nip at the spot gently; not enough to break skin, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squeal and jolt in surprise. Soobin flinches.

“Come.”

It takes a pleading look from your tear-brimmed eyes for him to move. A slow, hesitant step first, pausing momentarily to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction— the said man quirks a brow in amusement, a silent encouragement to continue— and Soobin finally finds himself looming over the two of you, eyes dark and narrowed as he watches you reach out for him with a trembling hand— curling his shirt into your fists, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his chest, body unintentionally arched forward and left in the perfect position for the man behind you— Beomgyu simply coos softly at the action, a false sense of endearment that makes Soobin’s teeth grit with rage; when their eyes meet, the wolf simply smiles.

“Kiss her,” Beomgyu says, the words almost inaudible from how softly they were uttered— but then he’s grabbing at your head and forcing you to look back up, ignoring the sound of protest you make and holding you up by your jaw as he tilts your head to look at Soobin, fingers squeezing your cheeks and forcing them into a soft pout, “Go on. She’s dying for you to touch her.”

Beomgyu speaks as though he were the one in control of your body and mind— and perhaps he is, you find yourself thinking, teary eyes unable to communicate anything more than want as you feel your panties slowly dragging down your thighs, the wolf behind you hissing softly at the sight of the string of arousal that sticks to the fabric, your slick cunt tightening around nothing in response— Beomgyu’s fingers find themselves teasing your entrance again, three this time, dipping in and out of your cunt, stretching you yet leaving you craving for more.

“I…” Soobin breathes out, reaching out slowly for your face; Beomgyu’s rough hand retreats, and it’s replaced by Soobin’s large, gentle ones that cup your face and stroke your cheekbones, watching the way your eyes flutter up to look at him, tears clinging to your lashes like crystals; his eyes follow the path one makes as it falls, thumb wiping it away softly as he finds himself leaning closer, watches the way your lids fall and leave your eyes hazy and obedient.

This is it, Soobin realizes, eyes flickering back to where Beomgyu continues to tease you, much too lost in the sight of your cunt trying desperately to suck in his nimble fingers to pay much attention to the two of you, this is his chance— he can save you.

You seem to catch onto Soobin’s calculative gaze quite quickly this time— and your heart flutters with a slight hope, your chest falling in quick, shallow breaths as your hands tighten against the fabric of his shirt— his eyes flicker back to yours from the action, taking in the way they hold that innocent light of yours he’s always adored— and his heart breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

There’s nothing you can say to that; his lips are on yours before you can so much as let out another breath. They’re soft, hesitant, as though you could shatter if he touched you wrong. His hands shake slightly as he holds your face close to his, feels the way your mouth remains frozen for a second, only reciprocating once you’ve felt the soft pass of his tongue against you— and your overwhelmed mind blanks entirely. For the final time tonight, you submit.

The kiss is slow, it’s deepening out of your control, and it’s everything you imagined many moons ago, when you first began to feel a spark of desire for the man before you— when you swooned and flustered at the comfort you found in him, the warm feeling that always settled in your chest when he was next to you, knowing you could always go to him for protection.

So as you feel his hold on you become firmer, feel the way he sighs against your mouth with no intentions to let you go soon, you wonder what it is you feel now— trapped between the two canines, lungs burning and and mouth left open as you allow Soobin to venture inside, not allowed any reprieve from the man who keeps you close, a soft groan leaving your lips as your sensitive ears pick up on foreign, slick sounds behind you, hisses and sighs of pleasure from another— because the feeling that pools in your stomach isn’t remotely reminiscent of the gentle, delicate warmth you always felt around Soobin; it’s hotter, angrier, greedier— it begs to be satiated and throws away the last good sense of judgment you had within you.

“Soobin— oh god, Soobin—” you hiccup suddenly, finally able to escape from the said man’s mouth that seems to chase endlessly after yours; even now, you still can’t help but cry for him, your body unprepared for the sudden feeling of a cockhead swiping at your slit, the wet noises that arise from the sheer arousal that continues to leak out of you. You cry and you beg with hot shame burning at your skin, unsure of whether you plead for mercy or for more— your body arches and your hips seek for more, cunt throbbing at the feeling of Beomgyu’s tip pressing at your entrance, his rough hands rubbing circles along your ass absentmindedly, but your heart twists and makes a thick lump build in your throat, wishing nothing more than to be experiencing this all differently, in the comfort of your room and in the secure, warm embrace of the man in front of you— you wish for something more intimate, something as gentle as the love you felt.

But all Soobin does is watch. He strokes your hair with a slow hand and cups your cheek fondly, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before wandering down to press another at the tip of your nose— and he soaks up the pitiful sounds that make your voice break, feeling your hands attempt to steady themselves against him as Beomgyu begins to enter you; slowly, salivating at the way he feels your walls stretch around him, struggling to adjust to merely the tip— he stares down at your dripping pussy with a parted mouth, letting out a slow breath at the sight of your legs that threaten to buckle and your fluffy tail that goes wild with every inch he eases in— and he finds himself having to take deep breaths to not take you as he wants then and there.

“It’s okay. I know, I know— I’m right here, I’m right here with you,” Soobin murmurs against your skin, placing slow kisses along your jaw, allowing you to duck into the crook of his neck for solace— and he smooths your hair as he feels you nuzzle into him, eyes hooking onto the sight over your shoulder of Beomgyu entering you, the feeling of his hips flush against your ass bringing about another shuddered sigh from your lips, nails digging into Soobin’s chest as you attempt to overcome the new sensations.

“I got you, don’t worry my doll,” Soobin utters, a hand going to place itself on top of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours before he begins to weigh it down, to guide it down his chest— he lets out a shaky sigh, feeling you cry and squirm against him, “It’s okay… just relax and you’ll feel good, okay?”

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” Soobin coos against your temple, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you nod against his shoulder, feels the way your hand has successfully breached past his underwear, pants already undone and still guided by his much larger hand as he brings you to palm him slowly, wrapping your shaky fingers around his length; you’re hesitant, unsure of your actions as you allow Soobin to show you what to do— though, you don’t think your brain has truly processed what he’s doing with you yet, preoccupied instead by the thick smoke along with another smell that leaves you feeling lightheaded, along with the feeling of hands groping and smoothing over your skin as a heavy cock continues to twitch inside you.

Beomgyu isn’t quite fond by your sudden shift of attention; his lips remain upturned in distaste, watching intently as Soobin continues to use you however he likes, your face that remains hidden in his neck directly able to smell the calming, dizzying scent Soobin exudes, placating you and dumbing you down to nothing but a fuckdoll for him— his eyes trail down to where he has you jerking him off slowly, Soobin’s lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as he continues to murmur soft praises that have you melting against him— an unfamiliar, hot streak of rage courses through Beomgyu’s system at the sight.

“So ungrateful,” Beomgyu scolds suddenly, reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back— he’s forceful, uncaring of the way you protest, an arm that’s wrapped around your stomach pressing you flush against him as he forces the two of you to move— and you’re left bent over the counter, face pressed against the wood and wrists secured behind your back as Beomgyu bunches the skirt of your dress at your hips and bottoms out inside you once again; you hiss at the feeling, looking to the side to see that Soobin is unfazed by the action— if anything, his eyes cloud with lust at the scene before him, taking in the way you’re stuffed full and arched prettily with a gulp.

“Why won’t you pay attention to me?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, looking down at your pliant figure with blown out eyes, tail whipping side to side in anger as he catches the way your gaze still seeks out Soobin’s, eyes unknowingly pleading for reassurance— and he growls, low and heavy in his throat, catching the attention of both of you successfully— but he only cares to have your eyes on him, fully engrossed in the way your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back the moment he ruts into you with rough, slow thrusts.

“Look at me,” Beomgyu groans, pulling out slowly as he speaks, all the way out until the tip of his cock is the only thing catching at your entrance. You’re squirming, trying to move your hips back against him, but the brutal hold Beomgyu has on you keeps you in place; ears pressed flat against your head, you look over your shoulder, back at the wolf who continues to fuck his tip into you with subtle thrusts, sneering at your glassy eyes that continue to look at him with a jarring innocence.

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking into you oh so slowly, filling you up and laughing cruelly at the way your hands scramble to hold onto something for stability, for a simple comfort Beomgyu denies, “Eyes on me.”

Beomgyu fucks you to prove a point; he fucks you so your eyes roll back and your mouth spills moans and whines dumbly, cock filling you to the brim and stretching you out in a way you never knew was possible— the sounds are lewd and has your skin burning, slick, wet sounds of skin against skin filling up the room and mixing along with your cries of pleasure. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be doing any better than you, transfixed entirely on the sight of your cunt sucking him in eagerly, dripping with slick that makes his cock shine and falls to the floor in a mess, of your ass that ripples with every smack of his hips against you— this is all so new to you, he can tell, your body buzzing with an insatiable need that turns you into nothing more than a cock-hungry whore, your tail wiggling desperately with every harsh thrust of his, as though hypnotizing him to keep going.

The sight of you— a drooling, crying, moaning mess— is the polar opposite of your sweet, naive self, your trusting self that got you into this situation in the first place— and it makes Soobin’s cock twitch with raw lust, the spectacle of you becoming ruined so easily something he never thought he’d witness; such a pure thing, Soobin always felt as though you needed to be treated like glass— but Beomgyu is more than willing to prove that’s not the case with you, growling pure filth at you as he continues to fuck you into the counter, watching the way he hovers over you, practically caging you in with his body, as though wishing for the two of you to become one. And just like before, Soobin watches. He stands to the side and listens to every sweet mewl of yours attentively— after all, he’ll get his hands on you soon enough.

“Tight little cunt— fuckin’ takes me so well,” Beomgyu murmurs into your ear, panting and groaning at the way you tighten around him, “such a good girl for me— shit, you like that? Like it when I talk nice to you?”

Beomgyu is quick to catch onto every little reaction of yours, including the way you tighten hopelessly around him every time he sings soft praises into your ears; it makes you want to hide your face in shame and deny his questions, but you barely get a chance to speak with the way he fucks you— fat cock stretching you out, leaving you speechless as he continues to pound into you firmly, sloppy mouth nipping and marking all over your neck; feeling him on your shoulders and back, canines brutishly ripping at your clothes to get more access to your innocent skin, feeling the way your walls squeeze with every scratch of his sharp teeth against you, eager to get his lips onto any part of you he can.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re— shit– you’re squeezing me so tight, can barely fuck you,” he rambles off, hand letting go of your wrists so he can grab your hips and pull you back onto him— you’re wailing at the feeling, hands failing to stabilize you as you hold onto the counter, eyes screwed shut as you babble at Beomgyu to slow down— but of course, he doesn’t listen, too caught up in the feeling of you to pay any attention, “Oh, are you close, sweet thing? I can feel you— can feel you getting closer.”

“Do you wanna cum?” He asks you in that same, sweet voice laced with faux pity, smiling unabashedly at the way you immediately nod in response, giving in to his brutal pace, “tell me how bad you want it then.”

“Please… please let me…” you trail off, unable to communicate properly with the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you, not granting you any mercy as he watches you struggle, “need– need t’cum, want it, feels so good.”

Beomgyu laughs, the sound labored and breathy from the way you clench around him throughout it; he finds himself glancing over to where Soobin continues to watch, the sight of him focused entirely on your figure making him sneer— his eyes are hypnotized by you and his ears twitch at every weak word that spills from your mouth, lips parted as he all but drools for you— the drastic contrast in character has Beomgyu’s lips twitching in amusement, wondering just where that overprotective bodyguard of yours has gone.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel good?” he mocks, watching as your bowed head nods instantly; he huffs, glancing back at Soobin before he coos softly at you, “Who’s making you feel so nice? Tell me, pretty thing.”

The sudden mention of the pet name is enough to set you off unexpectedly; your mind goes blank entirely, save for a single thought that continues to roll of your tongue like a mantra:

“Beomgyu,” you cry, sobs wracking at your body from the intense feeling, your voice interrupted with loud, uncontrollable moans, “You— it’s you– Beomgyu— please, please— too much…!”

Beomgyu continues to fuck you until your legs tremble and your body weight is placed entirely on the counter, hips held up entirely by the strength of the man behind you as he finally heeds your pleas; he slows until he’s bottomed out inside you, feeling the way your walls continue to pulse as you whimper quietly at the sensitivity— such a touchy thing, Beomgyu muses to himself, looking down at your messy cunt and feeling the way his cock twitches, still in need to fill you up properly.

“Can’t take anymore?” Beomgyu asks apathetically— and though you weakly let out a sound of affirmation, you can tell he doesn’t really care to hear your answer; not with the way he strokes at your skin in fascination, wandering hand pulling at the base of your tail and watching you squeal in surprise, body arching in an attempt to get away— you all but slump into a pool of overstimulation once he finally lets you go, foggy mind barely able to pick up the way he tsks.

“Don’t lie— you can, I’m sure you can,” Beomgyu tuts, watching with amusement as you pout and petulantly shake your head, “you’re a good girl, you can take whatever we give you.”

You don’t seem to process the meaning of his words to a full extent— you’re too far gone to do so, body turned weak as you continue to try and stabilize yourself, chest heaving with every breath you take. But it doesn’t matter if you’ve caught on to what’s happening around you, your every movement taken care of by the two men that cage you in— your shudder at the feeling of Beomgyu pulling out of you, the slick sound drowned out by the crude praises Beomgyu growls; two, strong hands are pulling you up next, proceeding to maneuver you so you sit on the counter— Soobin stands between your legs, looking at you with eyes filled with want and an undeniable pity; he takes in your worn, marked and messy figure intently, watching as his eyes linger on the rips of your dress and the marks all around your shoulders. His hands go up to the area, and your eyes flutter shut, body craving to be covered, to be coddled and tidied.

“Such a perfect doll for me,” Soobin sighs out, beginning to tug down at what’s left of the material, watching the way you shudder and open your eyes with a slight shock— a whine bubble up at the back of your throat, but you can’t really find the strength to protest the way you’re slowly left undressed before the two pairs of hungry eyes before you, no longer able to find the energy to feel embarrassment from being left bare— Soobin’s voice is as gentle as his movements, feeling him lift your hips so he can slide the dress off you properly; it wasn’t very hard to do anyway, the fabric practically hanging together by a single thread, “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

When Soobin wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you off the counter, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean your forehead on his shoulder, seeking for more of the scent that calms you down and leaves you mindless; your grip tightens the moment you feel the head of his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he sighs out shakily at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering at the feeling— he’s stretching you out slowly, filling you up, and all you can do is bury your head into his neck and try to calm your breathing, taking in the thick sage that fills your senses.

Soobin stays buried deep inside you for a moment, cursing at the tight embrace of your heat around him; you allow yourself to relax— it doesn’t last long though, body jolting with shocks as you feel another head poking at your already stuffed cunt.

“Wait— wait– I can’t— too full, it won’t fit…!” you cry out, looking at Soobin in a panic; a broad chest pressed firmly against your back, familiar lips pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder— Soobin’s eyes are dark as he takes you in, ears forward and twitching at your pleas; softly, he shakes his head in reassurance.

“You can,” is all Soobin murmurs, watching your face twist as Beomgyu begins to push into you— little by little, stretching you past your limits, resting his chin on your shoulder and shutting his eyes at the sensitive feeling— tears stream down your cheeks freely, soft hiccups escaping you as Beomgyu’s hips press flush against you from behind; Soobin reaches up to caress your head, to pet gently at your ears, and smiles. “See? You’re doing so well. You can take it.”

You shake your head to refute his claims— but it’s not as though that would change the way they’ve begun to slowly pull out, setting their individual paces that inevitably work together, leaving you full no matter what— and it has your head falling back, mouth falling open dumbly as they begin to fuck you; slowly at first, gently, only because your poor cunt has yet to adjust to the size of them. But once they feel the way you leak onto them, the way your cunt begins to clench as their tips ram into places that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, they begin to find the confidence to use you how they want.

Eventually, you’re nothing but putty in their arms; weakly grabbing onto anything you can for support, one finding a firm grip onto Soobin’s shoulder as the other ventured to tangle itself in Beomgyu’s hair— the said man continues to keep his head buried in your neck, lips having a mind of their own as he continues to nose at your scent gland; the action of him nuzzling against it, of him scenting you, is enough to have you a whining mess, fingers tugging at his hair desperately; it only serves to have him fuck into you harder, hips snapping ruthlessly against yours and rough groans escaping him from the pleasure.

“Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight— ah,” Soobin groans, watching as your eyes flutter open to look at him, teary and catching the moonlight that shines down through the window; he cups your cheek, stroking at your cheekbone fondly as he speaks, “so pretty… you’re so pretty, all I’ve ever wanted— god, you’re perfect.”

The look of adoration Soobin gives you isn’t lost on you entirely— but there’s something else that rears its head within his gaze, hungry and desperate, threatening to swallow you whole— and you realize that, for the first time ever, Soobin seems to be staring at you as though you were nothing but prey; something for him to claim and own.

But it seems as though he’s not the only one who possesses those particular feelings— Beomgyu’s pace seems to be growing erratic behind you, knocking you forward against Soobin’s chest and leaving you to wail at the feeling of his cock ruthlessly pounding into you, uncaring of the rhythm the other has set in place; he mumbles gruff words against your neck, but it’s all muffled and interrupted by huffed out moans he lets out in between— but your poor cunt seems to catch onto what he might be saying quite clearly.

“C-close, oh shit, ‘m so close,” Beomgyu says, finally perking up from his place in the crook of your neck to speak directly into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your jaw as he does, “Ah, d’you feel that? Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?”

You know what his question really entails— you know what your answer should be. But your body simply trembles and your brain short circuits at the thought, traitorous to the last bits of reasoning within you as you dumbly nod at his request; he lets out a moan at the sight.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Want my knot, wanna be bred— ffffuck, I’ll give it to you, I’ll knot you, make you mine,” his every movement has become erratic; Soobin finds it hard to continue fucking you, undeniably sensitive to the harsh pace the other has set— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, leaning in close to your ear to whisper his next words.

“I’ll claim you,” he breathes out, enjoying the way your little tail thrashes against him at the sound, panic filling your tone for a second before you melt into the idea, too fucked out to be able to refuse anymore— if anything, you tighten like a vice around the two, bringing out sensitive sounds from the two; Beomgyu continues to ramble into your ear, much bolder now that he’s taken control of the situation.

“You want it— oh fuck, yeah, you’ll make such a pretty mate, all for me,” he growls, his words slipping to the other’s ears and alerting him, his eyes widening yet his pace not stopping, “all mine— mine, mine mine— o-oh, shit—!”

It all happens so fast. The swelling of a knot inside you, stretching you out to the point where you find yourself sobbing, pawing at whatever you can and begging for them to slow down, to be gentle— hot cum fills you, your cunt only able to handle so much as Soobin’s cock is pushed out, just enough so his own knot doesn’t catch, his orgasm triggering immediately after— it’s so much, yet it’s not enough, your whole being pulsing with desire for the final thing to push you to the edge— and it comes in the form of sharp canines digging deep into your neck.

The right side of your neck stings— then, your left. Two sets of teeth have found their home within your skin, the last of your freedom stripped away as your orgasm swallows you whole— you tremble and you twitch within their hold, cunt filled and leaking with their cum, unable to do anything more than lie within their embrace and take what they give you.

Your eyes feel heavy; you will yourself to stay awake, but your vision becomes spotted within moments— for the first time in a while, your mind is able to find peace.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you finally wake, you find yourself surrounded by warmth; with heavy blankets over your figure, you’re able to recognize the place as your room. You attempt to look around, but are immediately met with a searing pain— the night’s events flood through your mind all at once, and suddenly, you’re able to sense the presence of two others next to you; their arms wrap around you and they remain glued to your side, one embrace much more familiar than the other.

Through your line of sight, you’re able to spot the moon that peaks through your window, hovering just above the dark, looming canopy of the forest. You stare and you stare, unsure of what to make of everything— of what you’re feeling, of the bodies that shift beside you, pulling you closer to them, as though it could never be enough.

Your eyes sting, and after a second, you find yourself mourning. Mourning for your loss of freedom, for the overwhelming amount of sensations you were put through, and for this complex, dangerous situation you’ve been thrust into.

You were warned of the forest; you were warned that nothing good came from venturing within.

But even then, nothing could have saved you from the creatures that roamed beyond.

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lightfromthelostland · 8 days ago

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Okay, everyone, I went down the The Pitt to ER pipeline rabbit hole and I Need to talk about the Carter Family Dynamics and specifically the elements raised by Chase Carter. I'm gonna be calling Carter John even though it's weird because everyone in this post is a Carter, haha.

Firstly, the situation with Carter's parents is a lot. His mom's multi-episode arc clearly shows that she basically got trapped in the moment that Bobby died, and she seems to resent the fact that John didn't get stuck there too. "You were exactly where you've been my entire life - you were somewhere else" is brutal but apparently factually accurate if his parents couldn't be bothered to come see him for three weeks after he was literally almost murdered by a patient. Like, my parents have way fewer resources to work with and they would be there in absolute minimum amount of travel time were something like that to happen to me. I did see some comment the other day about it being sexist that John is more willing to forgive his dad's screwups than his mom's but, friends, "she was disappointed in you as a father and as a man" is a hell of a thing to say to your father about his recently deceased mother, if you have forgiven that man for his absentee parenting. I think the continued contact with his dad was more a feature of his father making a decision to at least try to change and continuing to show up, while his mother continued to do what she (they) had always done before, which is hiding from the feelings.

But. That thing John says to his dad comes after his grandmother skips right over his dad - and any other relatives who might have a claim - and leaves the entirety of the Carter family fortune (and the ancestral home) in John's control. Which brings me to my main point, which is - the Carter Family Dynamics are real weird, and nothing makes that clearer than the introduction of Chase Carter.

So. The Carter Family is super rich and they have a lot of built-in expectations with that, as rich people often do. For this reason, John has received a great deal of disapproval for his pursuit of a career in medicine, which is bizarre from the perspective of us normal people, for whom a doctor in the family would be something to be proud of. He gets cut off from the family money for a while because he wants to continue to pursue it without them holding anything over his head. His grandmother repeatedly tries to talk him out of it. Chase says he's pretty much the only family member with a career outside of the family holdings, and as such, he's something of the black sheep of the family - or is he?

When Chase shows up, he makes it very clear that John is the Anointed One. He's the one that John Carter Sr. has always wanted to take over when the time comes. And apparently, this is still the case despite his medicine based rebellion. And that's weird for a number of reasons.

Firstly, let's talk about the rest of the Carter family. As previously mentioned, John's dad is very much alive. Logically, he would be the first choice to take over, you'd think. But beyond that, John had an older brother. He has at least one cousin (Douglas) that we know for absolutely certain is older than him, and personally, I interpreted Chase as being older as well, though not by much. He also, maybe, has an older sister who we never met and who may or may not exist. (As far as I can remember from my binge watch, the only mention of her is when he tells Benton that his parents are visiting her for Thanksgiving, prior to Benton inviting him to his family dinner. My personal headcanon is that she doesn't actually exist and he was just covering the fact that his parents couldn't be bothered to be around for the holidays.) In a family dynasty like this, the older boys would seem like the prime candidates, and yet.

Also, this is a good time to talk about how these older boys make John's name kind of weird. Even if you ignore Chase and Douglas as not being in the Main Line, Bobby still exists! Why is the second born son the one that got The Third-ed? I saw something in a fic speculating that the choice was an attempt to curry favor by John's parents, which would make some sense, but also implies the presence of significant dysfunction in the family even before John was born, let alone before Bobby died. I have questions!

SO. It is strange that John would be the Chosen Grandson, purely from a dynastic standpoint. Now, on the other hand, I love John Truman Carter III with my whole heart, and he demonstrates throughout the show that he is a) very smart b) very capable of setting a difficult goal and following through on it even the face of opposition (ironic that this trait that makes him a desirable heir is Also the reason that they're frustrated with him) and c) able to turn on the social graces and charm the general public in the specific way that the family wants. I can see how they would focus on him based on personality but there is still his dad! Who even the younger generation (as spoken through Chase) is ignoring as a stepping stone at best and a non-candidate at worst for inheriting Head of the Family status.

And that's not even getting into the way John seems to have simply supplanted his father in his grandparents' affections. John has a room in the house and feels comfortable adding a home gym without discussing it with his grandmother. John is the one who has a giant portrait of him hanging in the foyer (yes I know from a Doylesian perspective this is for the giggles of Anna and Carol stumbling across it, but like, that painting is canonically there). John's parents stay in a hotel rather than at the house when they're in town for Senior's funeral. John is the one who handles Gamma's home care after her accident, and the one who goes for a drive with her after Senior's funeral, and the one she leaves all the money to. He's the one being recruited to hand out checks at benefits even though he still hasn't given up his day job. There's a lot going on!

Anyway, clearly I have a lot of feelings about this, TLDR: Carter family dynamics are seriously whack.

Please discuss.

#er 1994 #john carter #john truman carter iii #carter family

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nazrigar · 4 months ago

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The Main Human Cast of my Transformers: All-Sparks AU

Shifting from the Cybertronian perspective of things, humans are also a vital part of my All-Sparks setting, especially once the conflict reaches Earth.

The AU takes place mostly in Jasper, Nevada. It's a little bigger than in TFP canon, but still tight knit. The story centers around two families, the O'Haras and the Darbys, all the while being observed by some friendly local secret agents supervised by the literal most powerful man on planet Earth.

The O'Haras

Shana, AKA Scarlett. The legendary former G.I.Joe herself, is a single mother doing her best to raise her only daughter, Sierra. She's powering through her own personal demons and working as a baseball coach in Memorial High School. For all her emotional baggage, she is still a formidable athlete and fighter. Haunted by nightmares of a "Silver Demon".

Sierra meanwhile, is an upbeat and assertive young woman who's the captain of her local cheer team. She has a strong interest in chemistry and engineering, and a enormous love of cars, especially how they tick. She does her best to be as supportive of her mom just as she is for her.

The Darbys

Jack Darby is a mostly directionless young man who works in KO Burger, and had his soul thoroughly sucked out of him via the horrors of the fast food history. It does mean whatever insults are thrown at him, he just doesn't care and shrugs. Sierra's boyfriend, and suprisingly affectionate when he can be. When push comes to shove, he is perceptive and resourceful.

June Darby is a doctor, and might just be a bit overworked but so long as she can help save lives and provide for her son and herself, it's all worth it. She is kind, patient but also firm and outspoken. She's a woman that's seen a lot in an emergency room, and has a resolve stronger than steel.

The Local Federal Agents

Agent William Fowler is a heavy set man with a strong sense of professionalism, but if he finds something off or a plan is stupid or dangerous, he'll cut to the chase and call it outright. His job is that as an inter-department liaison for multiple agencies and sections of government. A former Army Ranger with an additional skill in manned flight, in another life he would've been prime G.I. Joe material, but ultimately didn't make the cut.

Agent Seymour Simmons, representing that most secretive of departments, Sector 7, and a man with some very "interesting" ideas on the potential troubles man will be facing off in the future. After all, the long-deceased Cobra Commander was himself part snake-person. Anything can happen at this point, and Sector 7's is always on the case! One man, not-yet betrayed by the country he loves, but WILL step up as its last hope in its hour of need… eventually.

Joseph B. Colton, the Most Powerful Man on the Planet

The Legend. The First G.I. Joe. The Unbreakable Joe Colton, valor and courage incarnate. The man that crushed Cobra once and for all… and the real power within the United States government and the mastermind of security measures around the world. No administration was able to muscle him out of power, too beloved by the people, and just too damned good at his job. He commands the loyalty of servicemen active and retired, to the point many are loyal not to the President or Constitution, but to him. Joe Colton is a man that puts service, sacrifice and doing what must be done for the good of all above all else, having sacrificed so much for the good of his nation and the world… and has been witness to seeing his veterans, even former G.I.Joes, be "welcomed" to a nation that either doesn't care about them or offered mealy mouthed "thanks" for their service.

Years of administrating the U.S. government has made him a jaded man, and he has come to increasingly view civilians as greedy, ungrateful and never satisfied, voting against their best interests while always demanding more from him and his servicemen, without ever knowing what they actually want. Sometimes he wonders maybe… JUST maybe… this country, no, the world needs a massive overhaul… but hopefully it doesn't come to that…

When the Autobots eventually awaken on Earth, it is Joe Colton they'll have to work with... a heavy dose of caution.

#maccadam #transformers fanart #jack darby #june darby #scarlett #shana o'hara #sierra tfp #character design #nazrigart #digital art #artists on tumblr #transformers all-sparks #transformers au #all-sparks au #transformers prime #gi joe #gi joe arah #tfp

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seonghrtz · 6 months ago

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iT'S A TERRiBLE LiFE !

𝒮 YNOPS𝑖S,ㅤㅤyou find yourself in a job that does not feel like the right one for you.

͏𝒘. ͏ ͏͏ dean winchester / smith & f!reader ᡴꪫ ( 5,9k ) fluff + cw. canon violence mentions of suicide season 4 episode 17 — spoilers

There was something about your job that you couldn't put your finger on it. Something about sitting behind a computer, wearing office clothes and heels that just didn't feel right.

When you started working in the Human Resources department at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. three weeks ago, it seemed like a good and decent job ⸻ even if it wasn't your dream.

But things seemed to get complicated when HR received the news that one of the technical support staff, Paul Dunbar, had committed suicide.

Apparently Paul was in the break room and opened the microwave, stuck a broken plastic fork in the safety catch, and set the timer before sticking his head in and killing himself.

And as much as it was the HR's job to communicate the death of the employee to the colleagues, to collect the necessary documents for the dismissal of the deceased, to pay the severance, and so on, you couldn't help but notice how strange the people who worked in this department were.

"Darling, could you read out the employee's death notice to the technical support department?" Janette, the friendly elderly woman who had welcomed you and shown you every corner of the company and how HR worked, approached you with a sheet of paper.

"Janette..." you took the sheet of paper from her hands, "don't you find this strange? Someone has just killed themselves in the company microwave, and the HR people are acting like it's any other Tuesday.”

"Oh dear, that's because you've only just joined the company." Janette put her hand on your shoulder. "This isn't the first suicide in the building."

"What?" You looked at the older woman in front of you, startled.

"Sometimes I think this building is somehow haunted." Janette tapped you lightly on the shoulder, indicating that you should go to the Technical Support floor.

However, you couldn't ignore the shiver that ran down your spine when Janette said the building looked haunted. But the most intriguing thing was that you weren't afraid; you were hoping that the building really was haunted.

When you arrived on the floor where the technical support was located, you approached the woman in charge of the area, who immediately grabbed a microphone to get the attention of the staff. She introduced you as someone from HR and then handed you the microphone.

"Good afternoon," you began, dazed by the number of people in the cubicles, "it is with deep sadness that we announce the death of our valued employee, Paul Dunbar. Throughout his career he demonstrated dedication, professionalism, and unrivalled commitment, earning everyone's respect and admiration. Our deepest sympathies go out to his family, friends, and colleagues. We know that this loss leaves a void that will be difficult to fill, but we will cherish the moments we shared and the legacy Mr. Dunbar left behind. In solidarity, the company will provide the necessary support to the family and other employees at this difficult time…”

Your eyes wandered over the unfamiliar faces as you recited the speech you had memorised on the walk, but your gaze fell on one of the employee.

He was tall, quite tall, with rather long hair and green eyes, but his look reminded you of a sad puppy. There was something about this unknown man that you seemed to know.

When your speech was over, you handed the microphone back to the head of the department and made your way to the lift, but you soon felt a body collide with yours, almost taking you to the ground ⸻ if a hand hadn't held you by the waist, preventing you from falling.

"I'm sorry..." you said as you looked at the person in front of you and met a pair of piercing green eyes (quite different from the eyes of the unknown tech support guy).

"Is everything all right?" The stranger took a step back, looking you up and down.

"Ah? Yes, everything's fine! I'm sorry again." You said and hurried to the lift, trying to calm your nerves and the sense of familiarity you felt with this man you had never seen before in your life.

When you went back to the seventh floor, all you wanted to do was go home and lie down in your comfortable bed and sleep, forgetting about the chaotic day and the two green-eyed guys who seemed somehow familiar to you.

The thought that your life would get better and that maybe you were just shaken up by the strange events at the company was shattered when you received the news that another technical support employee had committed suicide.

You couldn't help but feel that there was something wrong with the deaths in the company. The whole situation didn't seem to fit together, and there were certainly some loose parts.

Janette approached you, and you quickly got up from your chair, expecting to be the person she asked to tell the others about the employee's death.

"Oh dear, there's a young man from technical support who wants to talk to you."

You looked at Janette in confusion but you followed her anyway. Why would someone from tech support want to talk to you? You of all people?

And though you waited for answers, your doubts only grew when you saw the worried look on the face of the unknown, yet familiar man.

"Hello, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you," the man said.

"What do you need?" you asked.

"Can we go somewhere less crowded?" The man murmured as he looked around.

"Sure." You led him into the HR's break room and closed the door. "Sit down, please," you indicated one of the chairs available in the room.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" The man's question took you by surprise.

“What?”

"I know it sounds crazy, but do you believe in ghosts?" He repeated the question.

"I don't know… I've never seen them myself, but I don't rule out the possibility that ghosts do exist." You replied, even though you didn't understand what was going on.

"Look, lately I've been having these crazy dreams where I'm fighting monsters and ghosts that are supposed to be just legends and myths…”

"Should I make an appointment with the company psychologist?" You interrupted the man, already worried about the stranger's mental state.

"You're in it."

"What the hell?" You stared at him in surprise.

"You appear in my dreams. You and Dean. And apparently the three of us fight these monsters, and we're very good at it."

"Who's Dean?”

“Dean Smith, the Director of Sales and Marketing”

"I'm sorry, but I don't know this Dean, and I don't know you. It's probably just a coincidence. A scary coincidence." You let out a sigh. "Look, I have to get back to work; someone has just committed suicide in the building, and that is the second time this week."

"Sorry to bother you.” The man stared at a random spot like an abandoned puppy.

"The company psychologist is on the fourth floor." You said to the young man before leaving the break room and returning to your desk.

But as soon as you focused your eyes on the screen in front of you, everything seemed wrong again, as if you weren't supposed to be there.

That feeling chased you like hellhounds after souls ⸻ and for a moment you wondered about the comparison you had made. All this talk of ghosts and all these suicides that didn't seem natural had affected you in a way that didn't even make sense to you.

You had no connection to these events, and yet everything made you realise that there was something very wrong with your life. As if there was a hole in your chest, as if something very important was missing, something that was part of your history.

"Aren't you going to answer that call?" the woman sitting at the table next to you asked, snapping you out of your trance.

"Oh yes!" You said, reaching for the phone on your desk and bringing it to your ear, "How can I help?”

"I'm Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing, and I'd like to ask you to join me in my office." The voice on the other end of the line sent a shiver down your spine.

"Of course, Mr. Smith." You quickly put the phone back and stood up from your chair, feeling a slight nervousness running through your system.

Your mind was racing. On the same day, there was a suicide, a strange man (whom you couldn't understand why he seemed so familiar) asked you about ghosts while admitting that he'd dreamed about you and a Dean who, as fate would have it, was the same Dean who'd called you into his office. If all these events weren't enough to justify your resignation, you didn't know what to do with the chaos you called life.

As soon as you stopped outside the sales and marketing director's office, you took a deep breath, not at all prepared for what was about to happen ⸻ not least because there was no way you could have prepared for it. You knocked lightly on the door and waited for the man on the other side to allow you to enter.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to see the man you had bumped into a few days ago behind the desk, and the tech support guy who had asked you about ghosts less than an hour ago sitting across from the other man.

"I swear, if you talk about ghosts and dreams, the next suicide in this company will be mine." You muttered, already tired of the whole story.

"Please, sit down." Mr Smith gestured to the empty chair next to the tech support guy, ignoring your inappropriate comment, "You work in HR, do you happen to know about any of these messages?" He handed you two sheets of paper.

You looked at the paper and noticed that it was a printout of two emails, one from Paul and one from Ian, the two employees who had recently committed suicide.

"You hacked into the emails of two dead people?" you looked at the two men in the room in surprise.

"Let's just say Sam here used his skills to find a pattern and satisfy a curiosity." Dean commented.

"A pattern?" You looked in Dean's direction, but soon got lost in the beautiful green of his eyes.

"We're thinking that maybe the suicides aren't really suicides." Sam commented, breaking you out of the trance of the green eyes of the man in front of you.

"Are you saying there is a ghost behind this?" You looked at Sam incredulously.

"How did you know that the ghost was our hypothesis?" Sam looked at you suspiciously.

"It's not even an hour since you came to me with all this talk of ghosts and dreams and now you're saying that the deaths of two employees don't seem natural and that there's a certain pattern to them.”

"What about the emails?" Dean asked, remembering the main issue.

"Look, those emails certainly weren't sent by anyone from HR, if we're requesting a meeting with an employee, the meeting should take place on the seventh floor, where HR is based, not in an unused, storeroom on the fourteenth floor."

"Room 1444 is unused?" Sam looked at you in confusion.

"Yes, it has been for quite some time."

"When did you start working here?" Dean asked you.

"Three weeks ago."

Your answer made Sam and Dean look at each other as if they were talking telepathically.

“Should we go check this out?” Dean asked thoughtfully.

“Like right now?” You and Sam asked Dean in unison.

“No,” Dean replied quickly, “No it's getting late. You're right.”

“I am dying to check this out right now.” Sam said, as if trying to convince Dean.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but so am I." you agreed with Sam.

“Right.” Dean looked at you and Sam, turning his gaze back to you.

You were one step away from madness for sure. In fact, you didn't have a sane thought in your head to justify going to room 1444 with Sam and Dean ⸻ a man who dreamt about you and another who supposedly saw a ghost in the bathroom. But apparently your lack of self-preservation and your curiosity screamed louder, begging you to solve the mystery. It was like living in the Scooby-Doo universe, but apparently with more blood and death and less people in costumes.

The three of you were heading down the corridor in search of room 1444 when you heard a man's scream. Rushing in, you came across the room and the locked door, which was soon opened as Sam kicked in the door.

"Whoa." Dean muttered in amazement as Sam looked surprised at his own action.

You quickly entered the room and saw a man lying on the floor under a shelf, struggling to get up. However, as you tried to help the man up while Dean and Sam lifted the shelf, you felt a force pull you backwards, throwing you across the room.

You coughed from the dust that had settled and noticed a wrench lying beside you. Without even knowing what you were doing, you grabbed the wrench and called Dean, who was getting up from the floor after being thrown against the wall by the ghost, and threw the object in his direction. Dean grabbed the wrench and in one swift motion hit the ghost, making it disappear.

Suddenly, the monitors in the room switched off and everything stopped moving, and Sam and Dean went back to helping the poor man who had been attacked by the ghost.

"How did you know how to do that?" Sam asked about the wrench attack.

"I have no idea," Dean said, approaching you and helping you up from the floor.

Dean's apartment was exactly what you had expected, all upper class and expensive looking, but somehow you seemed disappointed.

"Holy crap dude." Dean commented as he went into the kitchen to get a bottle of what you were sure wasn't water.

"Yeah. I could use a beer."

"Yeah, me too," you agreed with Sam.

Well, a beer (or something strong) seemed like the right choice after facing a ghost.

“Oh, sorry. I'm on the Cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house.”

"You don't need that," you said, attracting Dean's attention, "you're in good shape."

"Are you flirting with me, sweetheart?” Dean smiled slyly.

"No, I'm just stating the obvious." You rolled your eyes. "And you're not my type."

"Not your type?" Dean crossed his arms, trying not to look offended by your comment.

"Yeah, I'm more into leather jackets and rock than suits and Beethoven." You smiled and shrugged.

"Hey. How the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?" Sam asked you curiously.

"I don't know..." You replied thoughtfully, "It was like... instinct..."

"Crazy, right? And nice job kicking the door, too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?" Dean handed you and Sam a bottle of water.

"No. I have no idea how I did that. It's like... we've done this before." Sam replied.

“What do you mean, before? Like Shirley MacLaine before?” Dean looked at Sam like he was from another planet.

“No. I— I just can't shake this feeling like I— like I don't belong here. You know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle.”

“I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way.”

“No. Well, look, it's more than that. Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town. I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name. I don't know how else to explain it, except that… it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you? You ever feel that way?” Sam tried to explain the situation to Dean.

“I don't believe in destiny. I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though.”

"Um," you scratched your throat before speaking, "I understand you Sam, ever since Paul Dunbar killed himself I've felt like there's something very wrong with my life. To tell you the truth, I don't even know what the hell I'm doing in HR, my memories are all messed up and it's like I have this..."

"Hole?" said Sam, finishing your speech before you had the chance.

"Yes." You looked at him with understanding, "Like a hole, and something very important, much bigger, is missing..."

There was silence in Dean's apartment. With nothing to add, you opened the bottle of water in your hands and sipped slowly.

“All right, so, what do we do now?” Sam asked after a few minutes of silence.

“We do what I do best, Sammy. Research.”

“Okay… Did you just call me Sammy?” Sam looked at Dean in disbelief.

“Did I?” Dean looked at Sam as if nothing had happened.

“I think you did. Yeah. Don't.”

“Sorry.”

The three of you sat down at the table, Dean and Sam with their respective laptops, while you sat next to Sam and helped him research ⸻ since you didn't have a laptop with you and Dean didn't have one to lend you.

Time seemed to pass slowly as you and Sam researched ghosts, trying to find key words and different lore about ghosts in different cultures.

"Oh, jackpot!" Dean exclaimed excitedly.

“What you got?” Sam asked, looking away from the laptop screen.

“I just found the best site ever. Real, actual ghost hunters.”

You and Sam stood up. You sat in the chair next to Dean while Sam stood behind the two of you. Dean's laptop was open on a site called Ghostfacers ⸻ you felt a slight lack of credibility coming from the site, as if they were two kids obsessed with the supernatural setting up a group in the garage of one of their houses.

“These guys are genius. Check it out.” Dean pulls up a video.

Ed and Harry, the guys in the video, started talking about ghosts. The first tip from the video for any fight against the supernatural was to find out what you're fighting.

Sam went back to his seat and typed some more until he turned the screen towards you and Dean, showing an article about the death of Sandover's founder.

“That's him. That's the ghost.” Dean said, referring to the photo of Sandover that appeared with the article.

“P. T. Sandover. Died 1916. Devoted his life to his work. No wife, no kids.” Sam commented as he looked at the article.

"He worked in office 1444, that's why he must have asked the victims to go there." You commented as you flicked through the article, “And apparently office 1444 was considered to be the center of the company's operations, with Sandover himself overseeing all details of any construction project the company undertook.”

“Used to say he was the company, and his very blood pumped through the building.” Sam completed your speech.

“Wow, okay. So slight workaholic. Maybe he's still here, you know, watching over the company, even killing for it.” said Dean.

“Plus, turns out this isn't the first time people started killing themselves in the building. 1929.”

“Yeah, but lots of guys jumped off lots of high rises that year.” Dean shrugged his shoulders as if it were a matter of course.

"But seventeen suicides? How many companies have that many?" you asked.

“Phew. Okay, so P. T. Sandover, protector of the company. His ghost wakes up and becomes active during times of grave economic distress.” Dean comments.

“Well, I mean, the worst time we've seen since the Great Depression—”

“Is now. Yeah, now sucks. My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even wanna talk about it.”

"As if your portfolio is more important than a killer ghost..." you commented, rolling your eyes.

“So Sandover's helping the bottom line—”

“By zapping some model employees.” Dean completed Sam's speech.

“Yeah. I mean, Ian and Paul. It was like he turned them into different people.”

“Perfect worker bees, exactly. So devoted to the company that they would commit hara-kiri if they failed it.”

After discussing what you were dealing with, Dean went back to playing the video and Sam joined the two of you back in front of Dean's laptop.

“Once you've got that thing in your sights—” said Harry.

“You kill it.” Harry and Ed said in unison.

The boys in the video started talking about special weapons for hunting ghosts. Salt, which acts as an acid on ghosts, iron, which dispels ghosts instantly ⸻ which explained why the wrench had worked on Sandover's ghost.

“Next little trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags—” Ed said in a disgusted tone.

“That we hate.” Harry added.

"The Winchesters and the dear girlfriend of one of them, the Singer," said Ed, and for a moment the two surnames sounded familiar.

"Oh, I like Singer, she was a badass," Harry commented.

"She was hot," Ed said with a dreamy look on his face.

When the video finally ended, you, Sam and Dean came to the conclusion that you had to act that night to stop the killing once and for all.

Dean packed two pokers from his fireplace in a duffel bag that he had already placed a container with salt and other iron objects.

"Where do we even get a gun?" Dean asked.

"Gun store?"

"We don't have time to go to a gun store." you reminded the men.

"Right. Back to the video" Dean sat back down in his chair and waited for you and Sam to play the video.

"The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles and our dear Singer also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains." informed Ed.

"Okay, this next part gets a little gross. Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry."

"It's illegal in some states."

"All states." Harry corrected his friend.

"Possibly all states."

"Sandover was cremated." Sam commented.

"What? So what do we do now?" Dean asked with a tone that indicated he was losing hope of fighting the ghost.

"Now, if the deceased has been cremated—"

"Don't panic." Harry and Ed spoke in unison.

"Just gotta look for some other remains."

"A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth." Harry listed.

"Milk teeth." added Ed

"Genetic material. You know what we're talking about."

“Set your cell phone to walkie-talkie in case we get separated.” Dean commented while you were in the lift going up to floor 14.

You opened your bag, looking for the device, but couldn't find it anywhere.

"Shit." You muttered, "I left my phone at your apartment." You said, turning to Dean.

"For someone who says I'm not her type, you've already left something at my place." Dean's comment made you roll your eyes.

“How the hell are we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper?” Sam questioned doubtfully.

“Well, that creepy storeroom used to be Sandover's office, right?”

The fourteenth floor was more dingy at night than the last time you were there, earlier in the day, to prevent a ghost from driving an employee crazy, who later would committed suicide.

When the three of you entered room 1444, it didn't take long for you to start scattering around the place, looking for possible objects that might contain some of P.T. Sandover's genetic material.

“What the hell are you doing here?” A guard opened the door to the room, taking the three of you by surprise.

You felt a hand wrap around your waist, pulling you down so the guard wouldn't catch you. Dean's muscular chest was against your back and you took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on what was happening (and the fact that you had almost been caught by a guard) and not on the man behind you.

“Nothing. I just—” Sam said confused, not quite sure what to say to the guard.

"Come with me," the guard demanded as he grabbed Sam's arm and shut the door behind them.

"You can let me go now..." you said in a whisper and felt Dean release you slowly.

You and Dean searched the room until he found a framed photograph of Sandover Bridge.

"I think I've got an idea where we might find something useful," Dean said, putting the picture back and then picking up the phone to try and communicate with Sam. “Hey. You okay?”

“Call you back.”

Dean grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of room 1444 and into the lift. Dean pushed the button with the number 22 and you stared at him in confusion.

"Where are we going?" You asked.

“Sandover history display”

“Dean, you there?” Sam's voice echoed through Dean's cell phone.

“Yeah, listen, I think I got it. Meet us on twenty-two.”

“Okay, yeah. Just, uh, take the stairs.”

In the lobby, you looked at the history display in chronological order and noticed a glove in a display case on the wall.

“Whoa. That's a lot of blood.” Dean said, noticing Sam's arrival on the scene.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Right. So, uh, in there.” Dean points to a glass case containing a pair of gloves, the ones you were looking at.

"P.T. Sandover's gloves," Sam commented.

“Yeah, how much you wanna bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two? Something.”

“So you ready?” asked Sam.

“I have no idea.” Dean said worriedly.

"Really?" You looked at the two men beside you, incredulous at their hesitation, and took off your heel. With the thin heel, you broke the glass protecting the glove.

"Wow." Dean looked at you in surprise.

Sam and Dean both pick up a poker and Sam picks up a container of salt. But before you can remove the glove, Sandover appears behind Dean and throws him into the wall, then throws you in the same direction, causing you to fall on top of Dean.

“We need to stop meeting like this," Dean grinned, making your heart skip a beat.

“Shut up” You stood up and helped Dean.

"Oh. Nice." Dean smiled at Sam and noticed that he had used the salt to make Sandover disappear.

But it wasn't long before Sandover appeared behind Dean.

"Dean." You and Sam said in unison.

Sam threw the poker at Dean, who grabbed it and swung it through Sandover, causing him to dissipate again.

"Nice catch." Sam smiled.

"Right?" Dean said, looking at you. You shrugged, but the smile on your lips gave you away completely, causing a discreet laugh to escape Dean's lips.

The three of you approached where the gloves were, ready to take the object and set fire to it. But, as any plans actually seemed to work, Sandover appeared between Sam and Dean, who simultaneously hit him with pokers making the ghost dissipate and reappear not long after.

Taking advantage of Smith and Wesson's fight with Sandover, you went to the bag, grabbed the lighter and returned to where the glove was. You took the object through the broken glass, turned on the lighter and lit the gloves on fire before dropping it on the ground, watching Sandover's ghost burn.

“That was amazing.” Sam said, trying to steady his breathing.

“Right? Right?”

You, Dean, and Sam were in Dean's office after confronting the ghost, and the only thing on your mind was how good a cold beer would feel at that moment.

“Man, I gotta tell you, I've never had so much fun in my life.” Dean pulled a first-aid kit out of his desk.

“Me neither.” Sam smiled.

“That was crazy, in a good way.” You grabbed the first aid kit in Dean's hand and opened it, looking for the alcohol and gauze.

“Was a hell of a workout too, wasn't it?”

“We should keep doing this.”

“I know.”

As if it was automatic for you, you dabbed the alcohol gauze on the bruise on Dean's forehead, but when his eyes met yours, you quickly turned away in embarrassment, leaving him to tend to his own bruise and sitting down in a chair away from him.

“I mean it. There gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people.” said Sam.

“Right, we'd be like the Ghostfacers.”

“No, really. I mean, for real.”

“What? Like, quit our jobs and hit the road?”

“Exactly.”

“How would we live?”

"Uh…” Sam mumbled without knowing what to say.

“You gotta be kidding me. How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?”

“That's all just details.” Sam shrugged.

“Details are everything. You don't wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance.”

You were torn by Sam and Dean's argument. On the one hand, you agreed with Sam, you didn't know how long it had been since you felt so alive, like there was no hole in your chest, like you were whole again, without a doubt. But Dean had a point. Hunting ghosts was a life-threatening business and certainly a lonely one, with people who didn't understand or even believe in your purpose.

“All right. Um. Confession.”

“What?”

“Remember those dreams I told you about with the ghosts?”

“Yeah?”

“I was fighting them.”

“Okay.”

“With you and her." Sam pointed at you. "We were these, like, hunters, and we were friends. You and I were more like brothers, really. And you and her obviously had something going on— I mean, what if that's who we really are? I mean, you saw us back there, working together. The ghost was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?”

“That's insane.”

“Is it? Think about it for just one second. What if we think this is our life, but it's not?”

“Hey, man, the ghost is dead and we're still standing. I mean, I'm sorry, but—”

“Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be.”

“No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo.”

“When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them?” Sam confronted him.

“Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused—”

“Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number and I got a damn animal hospital.” Sam mentioned feeling frustrated with the argument.

“Okay. What are you saying? Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on.”

“All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know—I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you.”

“Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go.” Dean said. He certainly was stressed about the whole situation.

And in a matter of seconds, Sam walked through Dean's office door without looking back.

You got up from your chair, ready to leave the office and finally go home, when you felt a hand gently wrap around yours.

"Are you leaving me too?" Dean's question came out bitter with a strange hint of inexplicable familiarity.

"Look, I'm really sorry. But I think Sam is right about this. Now that we know about ghosts and that they attack innocent people, we can help them. You don't have to be a superhero in magazine covers and secret identities to help people and do good." You held Dean's hand in yours and looked into his eyes, "I don't think I've ever been more sure of what I want for my life than I am right now. And I know that can be hard for you. Just look around you! You're the sales and marketing director, you've got your own office, a nice fancy flat in a safe neighbourhood... You've got it all, Dean, but there's no point in having it all and feeling empty inside.”

You slowly let go of Dean's hands and walk out of his office with a determination you haven't shown in the last three weeks.

"I quit," you muttered.

"What, dear?" Janette asked you as she walked past your desk.

"I quit." You said a little louder with a smile on your face.

"Darling, I don't think you're feeling well.”

"Actually, Janette, I've never felt better," you got up from the swivel chair and picked up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, "You know, I'm sick of it all. The office, these clothes, these tight heels, everything."

"I don't think you're thinking clearly." Janette said, coming up to you and holding your hands.

"I have already handed in my letter of resignation. Thank you for everything, Janette, but I don't want to feel empty ever again."

You let go of Janette's hands and walked towards the lift with firm, determined steps.

As you left the building, someone bumped into you on the way.

"Sam?" You looked up at the tall man, surprised to find him there.

"What are you doing here?" he asked you, equally surprised.

"I just quit."

"You've got to be kidding?" An incredulous laugh escaped Sam's lips, "I've just quit too."

"Don't tell me you're thinking of— ghost hunting," you muttered the last words of your sentence as if it were a secret.

"I get the impression you already know the answer!"

Before you could say anything else, you felt something else change both inside and around you. Your eyes wandered around, looking at the building and the busy street without understanding anything. You only came out of your trance when you heard Sam call your name multiple times.

"Why are you dressed in office clothes? And are you wearing heels?" Sam asked, looking you up and down.

"What the fuck?" You looked down at yourself, not even when you wore a suit and pretended to be an FBI agent you wore heels (they weren't very useful for chasing monsters) "And why are you wearing a company uniform, Sammy?"

"I don't understand, nothing makes sense." Sam muttered, startled by the whole thing.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean's voice caught both your and Sam's attention, "Sweetheart!" The older Winchester wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly.

“Dean, you're crushing me!" You smiled, "And what's with the tie?"

"Long story..." Dean murmured before capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

However, your moment with your boyfriend didn't last long though, as Sam scratched his throat and interrupted the kiss.

"Aren't we going to talk about what's going on?" Sam asked, looking at Dean.

"We can talk about it later, I'm so hungry I feel like I'm going to die if I don't eat."

"Okay, okay, so you can explain everything on the way to the diner." You smiled and gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek as he led you and Sam to where Baby was parked.

If you ever had felt that something was missing before, now you felt completely whole again.

this was my first time writing for dean, and it certainly wasn't my best work, but i've wanted to write for him for a long time :) and english isn't my first language, so please forgive me for the mistakes!

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pandavalkyrie · 7 months ago

Text

If it isn't already obvious, I work in utilization management. For those that don't know, it's a department that exists in most hospitals with the single minded purpose of getting health insurance companies to pay their due.

It's usually staffed by a lot of overworked nurses and one or two physicians, usually doing UM alongside actual clinical practice.

The nurses use whats in the patient's chart to justify the diagnostic code. They then upload those clinicals to the insurance company's portal, or fax them over.

Then, if we're lucky, a human being compares the clinicals with the MCG or other clinical standard guidelines and decides whether or not the chart justifies the diagnosis and treatment.

If we're not lucky, it's UHC which uses an automated system with a 90% error rate that denies 1/3 of the claims they receive.

In that case our nurses, who have to do this and so much more for about 90 patients a day *each*, have to go back in and highlight the criteria and hope it escalates to a human being.

The denial will usually be upheld.

So the case is forwarded to a contracted consultant company that staffs physician advisors. Their job is to narrow down exactly what needs to be done to beat the insurance company at their own game. The hospital pays for this service. Sometimes it works.

Often it doesn't, and the denial is still upheld.

So it goes to peer to peer. This means one of our doctors will have a phone call with a doctor on staff at the insurance company. There is no guarantee their doc will know anything about the specialty involved. I've seen OBGYNs make final calls on psych cases. This is the last chance.

Sometimes the physician on staff at the insurance company has a heart, and remembers what they got into medical school for. But often they have only a few minutes to make a judgement before the next peer to peer, and they have a quota of denials to maintain to keep their jobs.

So usually it's denied, and that's it. There's nothing else to do. The insurance company smugly gloats about protecting consumers from overuse of healthcare resources, the hospital bills the patient directly hoping to recoup something from it (even giving the patient services to help reduce their bill) and the patient is fucked at best, forgoes life saving care at worst.

All of that for such a shit ending. All of that money, time, administrative resources, look at it. Look at how many people are employed in the attempt to get insurance companies to pay and how many are employed to prevent it. There is so much bloat in the industry around this one thing, this one process, and it all goes back into the already inflated bill.

I go through insurance communications, I open the medical record with a photo of a child undergoing chemo. She's so small and so brave, smiling for the camera. Weeks of fighting back and forth to guarantee her care until one day I open it to forward yet another denial, and see the big gray 'deceased' tag under her now black and white photo. And I take a minute, I cry, I forward the fax, and I continue on. And this exact scenario repeats at least twice month.

We don't have to live this way. We don't have to.

#And I know I'm biased towards the hospital because I work for them but the hospital is not innocent in this either #Overworked physicians miss charting important vitals and communication in the medical record that fucks this process up

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achilrou · 2 months ago

Text

Hello! Thank you everyone who got me to a thousand likes!!

To celebrate this Special Day and for 60+ followers, here's an introduction of my RunningMan Animation Original Characters!(OC)

I couldn't finish the rest of my ocs in time, so here's Part 1/2

———◆

Lico (Lee-kou) - NyaNya Tribe, Valkareth Claw Order (VCO), aka the DIVA.

Unlike Miyo, she has a tail🥹.

• Gender/Sex: Female, Bisexual (More on Women)

• Age: 19-20

• Height: 5'9" to 6'0"

• Species: Lykoi (Werewolf Cat)

• Tribe: NyaNya Tribe (as previously said)

• Relationships: Miyo (formally worked with, rival), Narra & Lei (companions, will be introduced in pt.2), Jhen (despised foe for trespassing)

Background:

Lico leads the elite Valkareth Claw Order, a secretive faction dedicated to protecting their tribe's ancient relics and upholding their laws. She was trained from a young age in stealth and combat, excelling in her duties due to her innate agility and cunning. Her family has a long lineage within the Order, making her heritage a source of pride and pressure.

Despite her position, Lico struggles with the weight of expectations and yearns to discover her own identity beyond her role in the Order.

Personality:

Lico is sharp-witted, resourceful, and fiercely independent. While she appears socially aloof and calculating to outsiders, those close to her know she has a dry sense of humor and a deep sense of loyalty. Her guarded nature makes it difficult for her to trust others, but once she does, she is an unwavering ally.

Voice claim/s:

Rye Cookie - CRK (English and Korean)

youtube

———◆

Jhenssenn/Jhen (Jenn-sen) - Tokki(Rabbit) Tribe

(If he was in rma-style, he would somewhat be like Miyo with rabbit features, but I prefer to go with this instead).

We need more characters with tails.

• Gender/Sex: Male, Aromantic

• Age: 16-17

• Height: 4'8" to 5'0"

• Species: Rex Rabbit

• Tribe: Tokki Tribe (Southwest part)

• Relationships: Rue (Cousin, bestfriends since 9), Rue's Aunt (Mother figure, in bad terms with his passed mum),Lico (Enemies, calls her the "worse cat-ptain", would never truce with her)

Background:

During the VCO's invasion of the Tokki Tribe, most of the civilians were mercilessly slaughtered, including his parents. Left orphaned, he now lives under the care of his deceased cousin's aunt. From that day forward, he was taught to prioritize self-preservation and to keep a safe distance from other tribes, harboring a deep-seated mistrust for those unlike his own.

In spite of this, he chose to defy the fear and isolation that had gripped his tribe for years. After a long period of silence from the Tokki Tribe, he became one of the first to volunteer for the championship. His decision was driven by more than just bravery—it was a mission to represent the enduring spirit of his people, to demonstrate their abilities, and to remind the world of their perseverance. Through his participation, he hopes to earn the recognition and respect his tribe desperately needs.

Personality:

Jhen is a calm and composed individual who often comes across as aloof, but beneath lies a dependable heart. He values meaningful connections and is always willing to help those in need, even if he doesn't express his feelings openly. While he has a cool sense of humor, his cleverness and resourcefulness make him an invaluable ally in any situation. Jhen thrives in high-pressure environments, staying level-headed and finding solutions where others might falter. Though he prefers quiet surroundings, his determination to protect those he cares for stems from a personal vow to honor his late cousin, whose loss shaped his quiet resilience and unwavering resolve.

Voice claim/s:

Werewolf Cookie - CRK (English)

youtube

Gon Freecs - HxH (Korean dub)

youtube

———◆

Haruhi/Rue (Harūhee) - Tokki(Rabbit) Tribe

Slightly redesigned him. I'm not really proud of what I did here, though, it isn't half bad.

• Gender/Sex: Male, Pansexual

• Status: Deceased

• Age: 15-16

• Height: 4'7" to 4'9"

• Species: Silver Marten

• Tribe: Tokki Tribe (Northeast Part)

• Relationships: Aunt Koku, Jhen (Cousin, bestfriends since 8)

Voice claim/s:

Kingsley - Yaelokre (English)

youtube

Wizard Cookie - CRK (Korean)

youtube

Again, thank you all !!! ♡

#1000 likes #tumblr milestone #thank you #Youtube #running man animation #runningmananimation #running man #rma #rma ocs #ocs #original characters #voice claims #lore #if you want to ask questions just reblog- reply- dm- or use my “Ask me anything” on my profile :)#hbd 2 me!!#doodles #part 1/2 #achilrou

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oiblackestsheep · 10 months ago

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MBTI Hunger Games Simulation

Gonna throwback to the 2010's (shudders) (skip to bottom of post if you just want the stats and the ending/ultimate betrayal lmao)

There are eight teams of two, all of which were chosen randomly by spinning the ✨Wheel of Fate✨ Before we see how this game goes, let's take a look at the teams determined by nothing other than DESTINY and place your bets.

District 1: ISTP x ENFJ

Opposites attract, maybe? Could compliment each other well, but there could be some infighting. I'd bet on it.

District 2: INFP x ESFP

...Not a very goal driven bunch, are they? If they win... it'll be dumb luck. With style, of course! They'll be interesting to watch, nonetheless. Bet against.

District 3: ENFP x INTP

Lmao, okay, do they even want to win? That's a lot of Ne for one team. They might have better luck actually breaking out of the arena itself, instead! Bet against.

District 4: ISFP x ENTP

Interesting take... it's not what I think of when I think "winner", but honestly? I think they could pull it together in their own way. Sure, why not! Bet on.

District 5: ESTP x INFJ

This one feels like a practical joke lmao. I'm gonna say most likely to split up and do their own things. Bet against.

District 6: ISTJ x ESTJ

I'd say they're probably the scariest team on the list, I would watch out for that. It almost feels kind of unfair that they got paired up? Kinda wanna see them meet their maker. Bet against.

District 7: INTJ x ESFJ

Now these guys seem like unlikely friends, actually. I think they'll discover that they unexpectly work well together, keeping a balanced team! Bet on.

District 8: ISFJ x ENTJ

So close to the other team, but for me, no cigar. I think there's going to be power struggles and opposing priorities. Second team to split up. Bet against.

With all of that said, let's see what happens when the game starts!

Bloodbath

ENFJ convinces ISFP to not kill him only to kill her instead.

ENTJ attacks ESFP but ESTP protects her killing ENTJ.

ESFJ stays at the cornucopia for resources.

ENTP takes a handful of throwing knives from the ground and retreats.

INTJ finds a bow and some arrows.

ENFP finds a bag full of food.

INFJ takes a handful of throwing knives from the ground and retreats.

ESTJ takes a couple explosives from near the cornucopia.

ISTJ takes a handful of throwing knives from the ground and retreats.

INFP dashes to the forest to avoid the bloodbath.

INTP grabs a sword.

ISFJ runs away with a sword and some rope.

ISTP scores a bar mace from inside the cornucopia.

Total Kills ENFJ: 1 ESTP: 1

Deceased Tally ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Day 1

ESFP in a cruel fate, asks ISFJ to kill INFJ or ESTP. She decides to kill INFJ.

INTP fishes in the water for some food.

INTJ discovers a water source.

INFP, ENTP, and ESFJ hunt for other tributes.

ISTP begs for ENFP to kill him. She refuses, keeping ISTP alive.

ISTJ thinks about his family and starts crying.

ENFJ receives a water spile from a sponsor.

ESTJ receives a water spile from a sponsor.

Total Kills ENFJ: 1 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1

Deceased Tally INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Night 1

INTP bashes ENTP's head in with a mace.

ESTJ convinces ENFJ to snuggle with her for the night.

INTJ tries to sing himself to sleep.

ESFJ and INFP hold hands and cry together.

ISFJ huddles up next to a fire and cooks the meat she hunted earlier in the day.

ESFP, ENFP, and ESTP sing songs together, hoping for the best.

ISTJ and ISTP fall asleep holding hands.

Total Kills ENFJ: 1 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 INTP: 1

Deceased Tally ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Day 2

ESTJ accidentally walks over a land mine.

ESTP hides in a bush, terrified and scared.

INTJ, ESFJ, and ENFP hunt for other tributes.

INTP, ESFP, ISTJ, and ENFJ raid INFP's camp while she is away.

ISFJ tends to ISTP's wounds.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 1 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 INTP: 1

Deceased Tally ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Night 2

ENFP is stabbed in her sleep by ENFJ.

ESFP lets INFP into her campsite.

INTJ leaves ISFJ, ESTP, and ISTP because he does not like their plan to kill more people.

INTP tries to sing herself to sleep.

ESFJ falls asleep shivering from a fever.

ISTJ begins to cry.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 INTP: 1

Deceased Tally ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Day 3

ISTP overwhelmed with anger, bashes ESTP's head against a rock several times.

ENFJ scares ESFP off into the distance.

INTJ and INFP create a fort out of sticks and leaves.

INTP chases ISFJ.

ISTJ receives healing ointment from a sponsor.

ESFJ discovers a hidden pathway.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 INTP: 1 ISTP: 1

Deceased Tally ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Night 3

INTP chases ESFJ for over a mile before making the kill.

INTJ starts a campfire with materials on the ground.

ENFJ thinks about his family.

ISTJ falls alseep to the sound of people screaming.

INFP convinces ISFJ to stand guard for the night while she sleeps.

ESFP receives a hatchet and water from an unknown sponsor.

ISTP sleeps in small increments, awaking to every little noise.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1

Deceased Tally ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Day 4

ESFP severely wounds ISTJ and leaves him to die.

ISTP sings a song while searching for a food source. He finally finds some wild berries.

INFP runs away from ISFJ.

ENFJ discovers a hidden pathway.

INTP has a mild panic attack.

INTJ makes a wooden spear from tree branches.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 ESFP: 1

Deceased Tally ISTJ (day 4) ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Night 4

ESFP sets fire to ISTP's fort, burning him alive.

ISFJ is unable to start a fire and is extremely uncomfortable.

INTP, ENFJ, and INFP sleep in shifts, each hoping the other two do not betray them.

INTJ receives an iPad from an unknown sponsor.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 ESFP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1

Deceased Tally ISTP (night 4) ISTJ (day 4) ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Day 5

After hearing footsteps, INFP catches ESFP from behind guard and kills her.

INTJ dreams about home back at his district.

INTP and ISFJ create an alliance.

ENFJ tries to sleep in order to reduce stress.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 ESFP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 INFP: 1

Deceased Tally ESFP (day 5) ISTP (night 4) ISTJ (day 4) ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Night 5

ISFJ slips on a frozen river and drowns.

INTJ, INFP, INTP, and ENFJ sleep in shifts, trying to protect each other.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 ESFP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1 INFP: 1

Deceased Tally ISFJ (night 5) ESFP (day 5) ISTP (night 4) ISTJ (day 4) ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Day 6

INTJ bleeds out from a wound left mildly treated.

After hearing footsteps, INFP catches INTP from behind guard and kills her.

ENFJ injures himself tripping over a log.

Kills Tally ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 INFP: 2 ESFP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1

Deceased Tally INTJ (day 6) INTP (day 6) ISFJ (night 5) ESFP (day 5) ISTP (night 4) ISTJ (day 4) ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

Night 6

ENFJ tends to INFP's wounds.

Day 7

INFP chucks a spiked ball into ENFJ's chest.

Kills Tally INFP: 3 ENFJ: 2 INTP: 2 ESFP: 2 ESTP: 1 ISFJ: 1

Deceased Tally ENFJ (day 7) INTJ (day 6) INTP (day 6) ISFJ (night 5) ESFP (day 5) ISTP (night 4) ISTJ (day 4) ESFJ (night 3) ESTP (day 3) ENFP (night 2) ESTJ (day 2) ENTP (night 1) INFJ (day 1) ISFP (bloodbath) ENTJ (bloodbath)

1st Place: INFP (3 kills)

2nd Place: ENFJ (2 kills)

3rd Place: INTP (2 kills)

Honorable Mention: INTJ (0 kills, lasted until day 6!)

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hoardcloneheadcanons · 2 months ago

Text

Stone & Robotnik's Gaggle of Robot Children P5

Stone begins to radicalize one scientist for his future project and is on his way to a second.

Dr. Keller looked Director Rockwell directly in the eyes.

“At this point if anyone takes Agent Stone for me, I'm killing everyone in this entire office and then myself. I don’t care what he’d done before. I don’t care if he committed terrorist activity. He could have blown up a bus full of nuns and I’d keep him.”

First Chapter

Prev Chapter Next Chapter

Dr. Jamie Keller was a 54 year old woman, of short stature, with dark skin and a full figure.

And she was once again in Director Rockwell's office, asking for more staff.

The office hadn't changed much since Rockwell had taken over from Walters. There was a cardboard box, that had some tchotchkes, and a few photos put into it, and a few of Rockwell's medals had been displayed on a shelf. But otherwise, the room had remained the same, in the desk, carpet, and uncomfortably bright lights.

While Keller, did, to a degree, mourn the death of Walters, she had hoped thar maybe under new management, she might be able to get staff and resource requests filled out faster, or at all. She had two projects in the air, an experimental tank tread, and a high-speed submarine motor, and now they were asking for a retrofit to some old tunnels to create a delivery system between two bases.

"Look, I know I've gotten similar delivery systems designed before." Dr. Keller protested. "But I'm already working on two other projects. and I don't know much about the geotechnics, it'll require research. If you assign me a third and expect me to get it done within the year, I'm going to need more hands-on deck"

"I've considered that and picked someone out for you."

Director Rockwell opened a drawer in Walter's old desk, pulled out a thick manilla folder and slid it over to Dr. Keller.

Dr. Keller, for a brief, shining moment was excited that her request for was for once being fulfilled, and was delighted at the change of Directors before her eyes caught on a deeply concerning portion of text.

"Why does it say security risk?"

Her eyes glanced to the Top of the file to read "Agent [REDACTED] Stone.

The name clicked something in her mind, and she kept reading.

“It says he worked under Robotnik- he’s not-”

This is Doctor Ivo Robotnik, dedicating my final livestream to one very special henchman: Agent Stone.”

It had been broadcast in a message up in the sky. Dr. Keller had remembered that final transmission. It was bizarre. The Robotnik she'd seen in it had not looked like the man she briefly worked with, he looked staticky and frayed, like someone had left him in the dryer far too long.

"Yes… he is the “Stone” mentioned in Robotnik's last transmission. We’re hoping to change his code-name if he ever gets cleared for field work again, but for now it’s better that everyone knows who he is"

" What was his relationship with the deceased?"

"Agent Stone was his personal assistant, bodyguard, and handler."

“Should he be working? That incident only happened a handful of months ago.”

“We did a psychological assessment on it and had him cleared for it. Apparently, the doctor was more attached to him than Stone was to him. Which is believable, Ivo Robotnik was a personality. Truth be told none of us suspected Ivo was capable of emotional connection”

“And we don’t trust Stone because...?”

“Because theoretically he was involved in two terrorist attacks.”

“Come again?” Dr. Keller was furiously flipping through the packet, trying to find the specific incidents Rockwell was talking about.

“The official of Statement of G.U.N. is that Ivo Robotnik was one of our operatives who diverted an attempt to destroy the world and chalking up his statement about “saving the world instead of ruling it” to his eccentricities. He made his transmission so public, we had to say something. Officially that was a successful mission completed by our the new branch of our agency, G.U.N. However- before that incident, Robotnik was caught defecting from the agency, attempting to destroy several of our operatives, as well as the entirety of a small town in Montana. And, in the case of the incident in which he saved the earth, we have neglected to mention that he was in the right time and place to do so because he was on the terrorist side.”

Director Rockwell rubbed her temples.

“We have eyewitness account and several records placing Stone at the location of the Montana incident, and we suspect he was involved in the second, however there was an alien artifact of unknown power that Agent Stone claims Robotnik used to control him- and we can’t confirm or deny his story either way. We were hoping you and your team could.”

"So this isn’t additional personnel this a fourth assignment."

"Yes. You and the agents already assigned to the project should be able to pick up anything out of the ordinary he does. We want you to see what he does when given access to a lab and report any suspicious activity. You, as a researcher, have been the most competent in training your agents, so they should be able to notice any incidents of sabotage. And your lab has the least amount of access to lethal technology.”

Inside, Dr. Keller boiled

"You sent me an email titled "fulfillment of additional personnel request" as an intro to this meeting." Dr. Keller said tersely.

She wanted to scream why would you give me hope?

"We were hoping to keep this under wraps. I know this is asking a lot of you, but we want him in a secure location in case Robotnik ever comes for his personal assistant again. And you're one of more stable and trusted scientists."

"Is he not confirmed dead?"

"We would like him to be. And in the meantime it would be really helpful if you and your team could convince him to give up the activation codes for Dr. Robotniks military drones as we currently have a chunk of them in a warehouse as Uncle Sam's fanciest paperweights."

"So just to be clear- we are working under the assumption that he was possibly involved in two terrorist incidents. And you want to compromise the security of my lab for a psy-op mission?”

“Correct. Your agents should be qualified for that. I’ve traced your work. I’ve seen you do more with less. You’re only required one project with him. If he becomes an active threat, report him and we will put him in a cell. But we suspect you have the resources for this. If you can accomplish this, we can get you access to more assistants and open up funding for your mech-suit proposal.”

That was tempting, she’d been trying to get that project funding for the past 4 years. But this was so much, her lab was her comfort and familiarity, she’d didn’t like the idea of bringing someone unsafe into it.

"Please, we need you for this."

She crumbled, Her smile was weak, and she gave a resigned, “Fine.”

“Great.”

..........................................................................................................................

Dr. Keller stayed up late reading the packet on Agent Stone trying to get an impression of him. She’d worked with Robotnik before, but she didn’t remember Agent Stone well. Robotnik sucked the attention out of a room, and all she had of Agent Stone was a vague impression of a man with a beard in the background on a laptop, presumably doing paperwork. Most of her memory was filled with the arguments she’d get in with Robotnik.

The packet filled with different accounts about him from different field agents. Supposedly there were three different versions of Stone.

There was the one in training, that followed every order to a tee, but had no one close he socialized with, most often described as reserved.

There was the one when he was a field Agent operative, who by account was a nightmare to work with. He was critical of other agents and cold. Often complained about a lack of professionalism and standards in the people he worked with. He had tendency to go off on his own during missions to quickly get things done.

They’d put him with Robotnik in an attempt to teach him a lesson, put him up against someone just as unpleasant as he was, and give him a taste of his own medicine. Robotnik chewed through Agents. They expected him to request a transfer within a matter of weeks and come out more appreciative of his fellow agents.

Instead all complaints of his behavior ceased. Dr. Robotnik had no complaints about Agent Stone’s behavior, and Agent Stone had no complaints about Dr. Robotnik’s. Dr. Robotnik filed for Stone to have an extended stay in his lab 3 months in.

In fact, other Agents reported that Stone suddenly became easier to work with. He could actually make basic water-cooler conversation and smile. He was usually seen occupied with menial tasks. This was the third version of Agent Stone, who was described as amiable.

Dr. Keller couldn’t say which one was the real one. It could speak of two misanthropes bonding, or just one man who couldn’t stand field-work.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

She tried to ask her own agents to fill in the gaps the next morning. She didn’t get much of a clearer picture. Only one of them had interacted with him before, one agent Franklin, whose face contorted into a mask of exasperated confusion.

“I don’t know how to describe him. If you asked me at the time I would’ve said obnoxious and cruel, but that’s just because he was around Robotnik all the time, I don’t know how much of that he did himself. They were sort of a unit. I think I might have seen them separated once or twice? Agent Stone seemed nice enough then, a little overworked but nice. And Robotnik was easier to work with, when Agent Stone was there to bolster his ego.”

“Explain that last portion” Keller interjected.

“Oh he’d consistently praised him, we all thought it was how he kept in his good graces, and under a sort of control. But you could also hear Robotnik blowing up at him from the lab sometimes. Whatever they had- it wasn’t healthy.”

..............................................................................................................................

D-Day came.

It was a Tuesday. Stone showed up in her lab, bright and early, with a smile on his face, a suit ironed to perfection, and a tracker on his ankle.

It unnerved her. It wasn’t the smile of a grieving man, or even one who was upset over losing his charge.

The tracker was blinking red, It was meant to tell them when he left her lab. He was required to stay there every day, until his shift was over, after which he’d be escorted back to the room they were holding him in by two armed agents.

He was personable to everyone in the room, making sure to get their names, and their specialties, and figure out what tasks they were used to, so he knew who to ask questions of.

Dr. Keller kept her distance.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Day after day passed and the only version of Stone they got was what she had dubbed “facility version” of Stone; polite and professional, happy to help.

According to Agent Stone, most of what he’d done with Robotnik had been paperwork; scheduling, expense reports, email, notes.

“Anything technical he tended to be… possessive about, I’m afraid I don’t have much experience in it. But he hated anything to do with people and I’m decent at it." He said sheepishly.

Which was disappointing. When she’d seen 10 years of lab experience on his file she’d hoped she'd be able to skip training him, but at least she wouldn’t have to review his work for sabotage.

They weren’t ready to trust him with important documentation, so instead they gave him the grunt work normally assigned to newbies: Keep the tables and tools cleaned research for alternative materials, hand people supplies as they need it. He did all of it expertly and complained about none of it.

Slowly, all the finicky, mind numbing tasks no one wanted flowed to him. He was growing into their lab like a vine wrapping around the filling in the cracks of a brick wall. It made her feel on edge.

A man he worked with for 10 years had died, He was a prisoner. This cheerfulness and productivity felt-off.

She asked one of her Agents about it, just to get a sanity check.

Agent Adelaid had shrugged.

“I think it’s reasonable to suspect he’s lying. It’s part of his training to be undercover for long periods of time. But also- if he was a field agent and a soldier before that then he’s experienced a lot of death. He might have grown used to it. A couple of months sounds like a fine enough mourning time to me.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dr. Keller was always the first one to her lab.

Except today. Today, someone had gotten in early enough to leave muffins on her desk. Blueberry muffins.

The engine prototype they’d been working on was already hooked up to the lift, and every tool she and her team would need laid out on a central bench, every single one sparkling, except for the few wrenches that were by Agent Stone, grease already over his hands on he wiped them down.

Who’d let him early?

"I hope you don’t mind.” He said from the bench, head nodding towards the muffins I finally got access to the mess hall kitchens again and I took time to make them. Bribed my guards by giving them some of the batch. Can’t really make muffins two at a time. You seemed low energy these past couple of mornings, I know project is getting to close-out, I assumed you were skipping breakfasts.”

She was. These was most tempting muffins she’d ever seen, they were the ones with fat blueberries and a cinnamon-sugar crumble on top. Satan’s muffins. The kind you’d give up your first-born for. But she had to be professional

"You know I can't"

"I understand. I’m still a security risk. I’ll put them in the fridge for myself later. And hey- still got an early start to my task list, there’s worse ways to spend a morning."

There was an hour before she expected the first of her agents to show up, and she didn’t have time to waste worrying about Stone’s supposed security threat. She got through items 1-5 on her 50 item checklist before the silence in the room and the building, ever mounting curiosity got to her.

“What was it like?”

“Hm?” He looked up from his task.

“Working for him. Robotnik I mean.”

He raised his eyebrows and then made a face.

“Honestly, not great. Unreasonable hours. He was very demanding. I’m currently on house arrest here and I have more of a personal life and free time then I did the entire time I was working for him. And you’ve probably heard the stories about how could be verbally and physically aggressive.”

“Then why not request a transfer? Why work for him for so long?” Her voice was tenser, that didn’t seem right, not with everything she’d read.

He scoffed, “You think they would’ve taken it? I had already messed up my chances of being of field agent. They gave me to Robotnik as a last chance job. I couldn’t mess that up. I mean- he gestured to the blinking anklet, “If I’d known things could get worse, maybe I would’ve done it differently but this is still- better than being fired? I was raised in a military orphanage, and then started basic when I was 17. This is all I’ve ever known. I don’t… function terribly well in the civilian world.”

Oh.

That felt like a missing puzzle piece. Why he seemed so cheerful and why it felt so fake. It was desperation of someone who was so sure they were seconds away from being gotten rid of.

He’d had it while working for Robotnik and had it now. He’d been obnoxious as a field agent and realized he could lose it all and overcompensated. And something itched at the back of her mind.

“You never complained about him, did you?”

“Of course not, they were never going to give me other opportunities if I couldn’t hack it as his assistant.”

They'd given him the worst job working with the most temperamental scientist and he hadn’t complained. He couldn't complain. He did his job and toed the line and stayed in his place.

And because he didn’t complain they'd assumed he'd been more loyal to the scientist than the government. His silent suffering had been mistaken for loyalty and after the mind control, he hadn’t had any evidence to contradict them because he had not complained. He'd kept his head down and done his job and it had still screwed him over.

And boy- howdy did that sound familiar.

She’d done the same. She’d been nice, and smiled, and grabbed every opportunity that came her way, it was a teaching her mother and father drilled into her.

She'd been raised to put the chairs away when meetings were done and to participate in the christmas pagenst, and to cook a meal for potluck and when guests came over. She'd been raised to do every extra-credit assignment, and possible club and internship and never complain.

And throughout her 20s and 30s It had served her. She’d gotten opportunities. Her friendly demeanor and charisma had gotten her many opportunities over-her mech engineering counterparts who- truly had not learned to socialize. She’d worked on race cars and mag-lev trains.

But then she got her second degree in aerodynamics and finally got the chance to work on jets for the U.S. military.

It was a dream. She did on deadline in half the time they expected.

And then they cut her time in half for the next project and gave her an additional one to supervise. At first it felt like trust, but the work kept piling on, and every time she did well it was an excuse to give her more, to push her further. Her social life had suffered, and she’d slept less. But she’d been well respected.

And given every shit job they could find for her, and ignored her proposals because she smiled, and didn’t complain, and did it on time. She was 54 and she, and this growing, piling pressure were getting old.

And staring at him, sitting on the bench, wiping down wrenches early in the morning with a tracker on his ankle she felt a viscous pang of familiarity.

She coughed, “The guards that were with you, did they watch you make them?- the muffins I mean.”

He smiled, “Of course, do you think they would’ve eaten them if they didn’t?”

She nodded, “I’ll check in with them, when they come back later. I’d appreciate if you could make a second batch tomorrow.”

“Happy to, Ma’am.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The muffins were goddamn delicious.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Keller started loosening up the restrictions on him and let him do the paperwork. He'd been there for a couple of months, and they hadn’t seen any sign of trouble. This was getting ridiculous.

In return, the expense reports were filled out immaculately, every i dotted, t crossed, and carefully itemized lists were created without a single error.

Suppliers were responding to them faster, because they recognized him from when he worked with Robotnik and they had an ongoing relationship with him, and there were less meetings.

She asked him about it after a week of being able to work on tank-treads without any interruptions from higher ups. He was masterful at giving them the runaround, and insisting on meeting notes provided in e-mail rather than attendance, or in answering the questions they would have asked her in a review.

There was even one instance in which a commander was going to give her another assignment, and he’d responded by inventing a form for the general to fill out that would explain why his project should take priority over the other three they were doing.

He hadn’t called back.

And in the meantime, Keller slept reasonable amounts. She was able to go home every night and take relaxing bubble-baths and pet her cat instead of just flopping into bed for a fitful six hours and getting up and doing it all over again. She was able to dismiss some of her Agents at the end of their eight-hour shifts. For the first time since she started working for the Agency she felt like she could breathe.

And there were more muffins. They weren’t always blueberry, sometimes they were chocolate chip or orange zest. And they were all good. She’d gained a couple of pounds just by letting him exist in her lab, and he’d started making enough for the other agents to steal.

After all, they had to make sure Agent Stone wasn’t poisoning her. Really, they were doing their job, by taking one first.

The final straw in her being able to say no to him was the new printer and the coffee machine.

He’d noticed one of their projects was running under budget again, and to avoid their resources getting cut he ordered a new printer to replace the janky one that chewed up paper and refused to take requests from half the computers in the lab.

And he'd gotten a brand new, shiny, state-of-the art coffee machine. One that came with reusable k-cups, a milk frother, and several bags of imported coffee roasts, and tea blends.

She doubted him when she first saw it.

“I mean, this is nice, but there’s other things we could’ve spent the money on. We have a coffee machine in the mess hall and in the break-room.”

“This is good coffee,” He said, in the darkest tone she’d heard off him so far.

He’d been right. She’d gotten used to making herself little ice-chai lattes with it, and trying some of the flavored coffees he'd brought with it. She’d gotten hooked. She simply couldn’t go back to Folgers.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Eventually she had to have a review with Director Rockwell about “the security risk”.

Rockwell brought her to her metal clad office and asked how Agent Stone’s behavior had been.

“He’s been fantastic. I have no complaints about him, or doubts of his loyalty to the Agency.”

“Then I assume you’ve had progress in getting the drone’s access codes?”

“Absolutely not. It hasn’t been on my top priority list. I was busy. And from the limited amount I heard from Stone, he wouldn’t know about them. He didn’t do any technical work with Robotnik.”

“The creations Robotnik made require more labor than one man in his sixties is capable of and Agent Stone is one of the few Agents who was in his lab for extended periods of time. That is highly unlikely.”

“But it’s consistent with what my Agents have already told you, right?”

Rockwell’s face didn’t move.

Keller didn’t need it to, she knew.

“Director Rockwell let me be clear, despite his lack of technical know-how Agent Stone has made himself indispensable to my team. I've had multiple weeks of uninterrupted productivity and no surprise inspections or pop-up meetings. The morale of my team is up. And he seems to be making steps to close the knowledge gap. He’d been studying propulsion systems and aerodynamics in his free time.”

And maybe it was the good coffee and sugar in her veins, but Keller kept going.

She looked Director Rockwell directly in her eyes.

“At this point if anyone takes Agent Stone for me, I'm killing everyone in this entire office and then myself. I don’t care if he did commit the terrorist acts with Robotnik. Frankly he would have to blow up a bus full of nuns in front of my face before I would consider getting rid of him.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Stone could trust a few things.

He could trust people to consistently underestimate him. He could trust people to believe lies when he repeated close approximations of their life stories back to them.

And he could trust his guards to be heatedly debating whether the coach or the players indicated the victory of a football team every morning as he walked to Dr. Keller’s lab. Their arguments reached a fever-pitch between 7:13 and 7:25.

So it was really no trouble for him to pick the right time to stick a note at the bottom of his shoe, and with a practiced motion, slide it underneath a lab door, for a Dr. Jeffers involved in the study of aliens and biomimicry.

“Meet me at Dr. Keller’s lab tomorrow if you want to get your grants funded.”

#Robotic Gaggle #Rocks and Eggs #Agent Stone #Do I feel like I'm getting a little of track here? yes.#I aim to get Metal back in the next chapter be patient with me.#I need to take a break and write a one shot #Stobotnik #sonic movie universe #sonic fandom #dr. robotnik

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