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#we are writing alternate chapters.

renee-writer · 2 years

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Loved Her First Chapter 1 The Stones

A/N @omgbarbiegurl came up with this brilliant idea. As she didn't wish to tackle it alone, I offered to write it with her. We are doing alternate chapters. This one is hers. 💙💙💙

AO3

Claire cuddled Faith closer to her as Jamie galloped down the road.

She was so confused as to where they were going, Lallybroch was back the other way, she thought.

Her confusion turned to fear when the sight of Craigh na Dun. He got off the horse, and helped her down.

She shook her head and tried to run from him, but he held her arm firmly.

“Ye must go Sassenach, this world is done, the battle already lost. Ye ken it.”

“No!”

At her shout, Faith starts to cry, Jamie takes her into his arms. “Shhh caileag bheag bhòidheach.”

Claire didn’t brush away the tears that were falling.

“At the witch trial at Cranesmuir; if I’d gone to the stake with Geillis, would you have left me?”

Jamie rocked Faith side to side, she was starting to quiet now.

“I would have gone to the stake with you, and to hell and beyond, if it had come to that.” He gave her his sweet half smile. “But I wasn’t carrying your child.”

Claire felt her face fall. “You can’t tell that. It’s much too soon.”

He moved closer to her, putting Faith into her limp arms. She tightened her grip on the baby, still in shock.

“Sassenach, ye haven’t been a day late in your courses in all the time since ye first took me to yer bed. It’s been two months now.”

“We are in the middle of a bloody fucking war, and you kept track?!”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, and then to Faith’s head.

“She, and this bairn is all that will be left of me...ever. I beg ye, Claire…”

“No, please Jamie, no.”

She looks down at Faith’s red head. Her sweet little girl, born so early. She was so sure she would die, but between Mother Hildergard and Master Raymond, she lived. A precious gift to both of her parents.

And now she was expected to take this precious thing that she shared with Jamie, and play happy family with Frank.

“And how shall I explain all this...when I get back?” She sways Faith a little.

“To Frank? That I leave to you. Tell him what you will about me. About us. It’s likely he’ll no want to hear. But if he does; tell him I’m grateful, tell him I trust him, and tell him I hate him to the marrow of his bones!”

“Jamie, come with us!”

“I canna come Sassenach, ye know this. My destiny is on the moor.”

He pressed his lips to hers and then to Faith’s head.

“Blood of my Blood.”

Claire fought back her tears. “Bone of my Bone.”

He reaches into his Sporran and pulls out a ring. “Give this to Bairn, when he is old enough.”

“I’ll name him Brian, for your Father.”

He gave her a small smile and tapped Faith’s cheek, making her giggle.

“Young Miss, this is for ye.”

He pulls out a gold locket with a diamond. Inside is a miniature of a Baby Jamie.

“Yer Grandmother Ellen painted this. It is a family legacy Faith Elizabeth, carry it well.”

He places it around her neck and kisses her cheek.

There is a distant echo of Cannon Fire. Jamie looks out over the hills, knowingly.

“It has started, it is time for you two to go.”

Claire sobbed as she pushed her backwards, Faith was starting to cry now, confused.

“I love you, Jamie.”

“And I you.”

And then they were gone.

Claire woke up at the foot of the stones, clutching a crying Faith. Her 18th century garments were bedraggled and filthy, but they were both alive and whole.

She hoped the 3rd member of their party was as well.

She set Faith down for a moment to get to her feet, but baby completely fell to pieces, clutching her mother’s skirt, screaming at the top of her lungs, which made it impossible for Claire to get to her feet.

“Faith! You have to calm down my love. Everything is fine!”

For an almost 3-year-old, the baby had a grip like an adult.

“Faith Elizabeth Fraser! You let go of me right now.”

The firmness in her Mother’s voice made her start, and she really started to howl.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” Tears started to fall from her eyes as she joined Faith in sobbing.

“Ma’am? Are ye alright?”

She started at a male’s voice, half expecting it to be Jamie, but it was a just a man in a derby hat.

She wrenched Faith off of her skirt, and marched over to the man.

“What...year is this?”

“The year?”

“Tell me the fucking year!”

“Why it’s... nineteen hundred and forty-eight.”

Claire sobbed as she collapsed into the man’s arms.

The man calls an ambulance, and Claire and Faith are taken to the hospital.

They are both declared healthy, if not a little dehydrated and malnourished.

Claire is given a sedative as she gets hysterical when they ask her where she has been, and even more so when they try to take Faith from her.

In the end, they give her a sedative and put the baby in a cot in the same room.

And of course, they called Frank.

Because clearly, a woman couldn’t take a piss without needing a man around.

No, no, she needed to change her attitude. Jamie was gone, Scotland had lost Culloden; he was dust in his grave now.

She only had herself, Faith, and the new baby.

She stroked her belly gently and sighed softly as the matronly nurse swung into the room.

“Breakfast for ye Mrs. Randall! Your husband is on the way.”

“Fabulous.”

Faith stirred in her cot and sat up, her red hair was fluffy and curled like a halo, she looked so much like Jamie, she wanted to cry.

But instead, she smiled at the nurse.

“Can you hand her to me so I can share my breakfast with her?”

“Of course.”

The nurse set Faith on the bed with her. Claire fed her bits of food, until Frank arrived.

He stared at her for a moment, and then at Faith who was looking at him with wide blue eyes.

“I-”

“Frank, I know you have just arrived, But I have a favor to ask of you. It’s a long story, and I’ll try to

relate it all exactly as it happened. Please let me tell it at my own pace and keep any questions until the end.”

He nodded and Claire took a deep breath.

“You’ll remember that I had gone back to Craigh na Dun that day looking for a flower I’d seen near the standing stones…”

She recounted everything. Slowly, painfully, and cathartically.

She held Faith tighter during the story of her birth, and sobbed into her hair when she talked about the last day with Jamie. The baby fell asleep as she got to Culloden.

“And then the man brought me here, I was hysterical until they gave me a sedative.”

Frank said nothing for a long moment, and then he cleared his throat. “And did this Jamie believe you, when you told him you were from the future.”

“Yes.”

“Then I can as well.”

“There is something else that may cause you to rethink that.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

She can see the brief look of incandescent joy on his face, and then complete and utter heartbreak.

“If this is not going to work for you, or you can’t reconcile yourself with it, tell me now so I can make other arrangements.”

“What arrangements?”

“Housing and money. I still have my inheritance from my parents and Uncle Lamb.”

Frank puffed out a breath.

“I was offered a position at Harvard, I wasn’t going to take it. However, with these circumstances, I feel we should. I can accept this Claire, Faith and this new child.”

“Just like that? We just... pick up where we left off?

“No, we can start over in Boston. Leave everything behind.”

Claire looked down at Faith and nodded. “I suppose we could try. But I am sure you have conditions.”

He nods. “One, We shall raise the children as our own. Ours. Yours and mine.”

“In a lie.” She said softly.

“Raised with a father. A living, breathing, man -- not an echo of a memory they can never catch.”

She nodded. “And the second?”

“I cannot share you with another man while I draw breath on this earth. No research. No searching through the libraries of the world hoping to find some reference to him or the lives you once led. You must let Jamie go.”

She hesitated only for a moment, before she nodded.

“I can agree to that.”

He smiled and kissed her hand lightly.

“Reverend Wakefield has been kind enough to invite us to the Manses for you and…Faith to recover. After you two are steadier, we shall go to Boston.”

Claire gave him a faint smile.

“To Boston.”

#my writing #omgbarbiegurl and I's #we are writing alternate chapters.#this one is hers #outlander fanfic #loved her first #the stones #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom

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pastafossa · 9 months

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Ok. TRT business and a question, cause I need feedback from readers at this point.

First: the final chapter of the Raven What If fic should be posted this week, I'm about done editing it. The bigger, much more important question: So I have a potential chapter for tomorrow. I've been worrying and fretting over posting it, not because I think it's bad, but because it's short by TRT standards, currently around 2k words, and it both frustrates me and makes me feel weirdly guilty at the thought of dropping what's so much less than my usual. I'm used to being able to write longer chapters, being able to squeeze everything I want into them, and I have a literal outline of this goddamn chapter that has this good stuff in it and I know what needs to be written. I can see it right there. The movie is playing in my head just fine. But the truth of it is, my writing is slow at the moment thanks to post-covid brain fog. I'm checking in with my doctor, I've started taking specific supplements (which I'm hoping to see results from in the next few weeks), I'm clawing my way back bit by bit, but I continue to write slowly, mostly because I either can't focus or I have to stop every few sentences to struggle with a word I can't remember. It's incredibly frustrating. The thing is though, at least I *am* writing, which gives me hope. But this is where you - the readers - come in. Because right now we have two possible paths for updates going forward for a bit. Option 1: Longer gaps between our usual chapters. If we go this road, it'll take longer but as I chip away, I'll eventually have the full planned chapter, which I'd post. This would be a chapter closer to what we've had most weeks for the past oh god like 2 years. At current speed I'd drop it in a few weeks, and then hopefully the next one would come a little faster, until eventually we're back to our usual. So basically, you'd get your big chunks when the updates do come, and the same natural endpoints and arcs as before. Drawback is obviously the time between updates, so you won't be fed as often (though I'd try to find things in my editing folder to clean up and drop, like the Raven fic).

Option 2: Shorter chapters but more regular updates. If we go this road, we'd be back to weekly updates of our adventures with Matt and Jane. There'd just be less than usual for a bit and then, hopefully as I improve, you'll see the word count begin to climb back up. So in this case, you'd be getting a weekly dose of TRT, the usual fluff and angst and action, but the catch is less overall to read (likely individual scenes rather than multiples), and potentially sudden endpoints/more cliffhangers as I 'end' at what was outlined as a scene change.

Which way I go will mostly depend on ya'll tbh. I think I can make either work, since I've managed to start writing a little again and I really, really am hoping the supplements help. But since this'll potentially alter the update schedule we've had for years, I wanted to see which you'd prefer.

So, Option One - longer gaps but long chapters - or Option Two - shorter chapters weekly. Which would you prefer?

#the red thread #i have been so gd frustrated. like it doesn't help my meds and other illnesses ALREADY cause brain fog #now i have this shit #where i can literally see in my head what needs to happen but words no go for long time #and i've gotten so used to long TRT chapters that i've been fighting the guilt over the idea of shorter chapters #so i figured i'd check in because if ya'll are actually fine with that then i'd feel better about it #alternatively i just keep plucking away and eventually drop the full length chapter #i feel like the feedback for whichever way we go will help me settle and not feel bad about longer gaps/shorter chapters #in the meantime i'm doing what i can. following doctor's orders and taking my supplements #along with writing in little chunks and editing to see if that can help me retrain whatever's been fucked up basically #so. option 1 or option 2?

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takiki16 · 1 year

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THE LOST ASTRONAUT

UPDATE! Chapters: 5/?

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Creators: art by @lizzybizzyart, fic by @gallifreyburning and @takiki16

Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Space

In which Nicky is haunted by the past, J03 offers some answers, and our brave crew try to come up with a plan to survive together.

#tog big bang #the old guard #kaysanova #joenicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #alternate universe #FINALLY AN UPDATE. we are writing a chapter ahead of the one we actually post so never fear - it WILL get done #but YOU GUYS...IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE COLLABORATING AGAIN

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daisywords · 8 months

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10 lines tag

thanks @megarywrites for the tag! idk exactly what the rules are but I'm going to give you the first lines of 10 chapters!

DaDBaB Past Timeline

Act 0, chapters 1–5:

The wagon stopped with a jolt, and Trip jerked awake.

The hall of records wasn’t much to look at, mainly because it was dark.

Lya took the arm the boatman offered, holding her cloak out of the way with her other hand as she stepped over the gap between boat and flagstone.

Gerik ordered a firewater.

When the crier on the other side of the wall announced the Chosen of Tarinthe as the guest of honor, Lya swept into the banquet hall, shoulders back, eyes fixed firmly on the far wall.

Act 2, chapters 1–5:

Trip trudged through the thick Tiresian jungle, tired and favoring his left leg.

The journey began early the next morning with a short ride on a rickety train that would stop in the small town of Sematey. After that, it would be into the wilderness.

It was on the morning of the fifth day that they found the door.

The silence and sameness of the city had crept slowly into Trip’s bones, far enough that he didn’t notice the temple until they were two rings deep.

Several aspects of the situation competed for his attention, amidst all the running.

tagging @baroquesse @theroseempress @sleepyowlwrites @e-s-willswriting and @zevarcoda to play based on your whims :)

#my writing #second chance wip #skipped right past act 1 bc it's a mess and idk where all the chapter divisions should even go #but this was actually so fun! noticing some trends in my first lines #and even the fact that I tend to start chapters from Trip's pov more often than Lya's?#I think they're pretty equally balanced as narrators but I alternate within chapters rather than between chapters so it's not every other #but also since theoretically the final product will have the past timeline interspersed in the present timeline #the first lines are meant to orient the reader pretty quickly since we might not be picking up where we left off #and I feel like they are for the most part #but idk I am still writing the past timeline mostly to tell myself the story in this draft so I'm not thinking too much abt that yet

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thewinedarksea · 1 year

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the sith campaign ✦ act six - alizarin

from above, the planet resembles nothing more than a droplet of blood—red and red and red all the way through, vividly apparently against the dark of space. in the center, a single pinprick of black mars the inexhaustible hue. this is alizarin. home of carnadine. a world lost to time, cut from the very pages of the galactic saga. it is also where we end our story.

we start with a ship, whizzing towards the planet at speeds double the galactic limit. smoke pours from its exhaust ports in an orange trail. sparks fly from its metal frame. it looks like it’s held together with duct tape and spite. the name “the paper shrike” is emblazoned on the side in worn-out, blocky paint.

#alternatively known as the homecoming #where we find carnadine--alive and not and waiting for their apprentice to follow them on their great and glorious path #where they killed their apprentice #where their apprentice is a storm and a poison and seething that she cannot follow them #where the poppies grow thick in the ruins of an old jedi temple #where the commenstanza of the force sings #where fen became fen. where fen became everything.#(where sumi follows her still and off of it and into the next chapter of their lives.)#i will be posting a separate edit for that at some point lol #mine #my writing #*#sithcampaign #dnd

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byblix · 1 year

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Who wants a random scene from one of the fics I'm working on? Too bad, you're getting one anyway.

Set in S01E22, "It's About Time." Question: How does Doctor Barbara Lake forget about Mr. Blinky and his clear medical distress? Answer: Insert one punk wizard distraction. Minor injury warning for a cut arm, and mention of getting stitches, but I don't think anything's too graphic, especially not in this tiny snippet of the thing.

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“You know you don't have to be all macho about this,” she said calmly. “If it hurts, tell me. I can't help if I don't know something's wrong.”

“That's not what it is,” Douxie told her. “Trust me. It really isn't that bad.”

She made a noncommittal noise, carefully pulling back the cloth. “Well, looks like the bleeding's stopped, at any rate. Let's get this cleaned and wrapped.”

Douxie stood so he could hold his arm under the running water, and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Still need those stitches?”

Dr. Lake wet another of the cloths and started wiping at his arm, movements steady and gentle as she gave it a more thorough inspection. “Looks like, yeah.” She returned the raised eyebrow. “And I notice you've got a suture kit in this box. You were going to do them yourself, weren't you?”

Douxie bobbed his shoulder in a helpless half-shrug. “Like I said: wouldn't be the first time.” Then he waved his left hand. “And it's not my dominant hand, so messy stitches aren't a worry.”

She pursed her lips at him, but then returned her focus to cleaning his arm. “Don't see any debris. Sit down and hold this while I get ready to stitch you up.” Douxie opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Lake just looked at him, something in her eyes piercing straight through the centuries to make him feel like an actual teenager again. “Doctor's orders, young man,” she told him, face resolute.

He froze, totally at a loss for a second, then let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head with amusement. “Alright, alright,” he said, lifting his free hand in a gesture of surrender before dropping back to his seat and holding the cloth in place. He gave her a crooked grin. “Suppose I'll owe you lunch when you come back to take them out?”

“Now you're getting it,” she said wryly, a playful sparkle in her eyes.

#tales of arcadia #toa fanfic #minor injury #douxie #hisirdoux casperan #barbara lake #libby writes #libby's fics #this is one of like seven ideas bouncing around in my head #working title is douxie spotting #started as alternate pov for those little early-bird cameos #and it is trying so hard to grow past those initial plans #it's threatening to become a full-length parallel with trollhunters and 3 below #case in point: the chapter this scene is from - set back in season one before wizards was even a concept #but hey we all like barbara and douxie interactions right?#also barbara pulling rank is very funny to me #might put the rest of this one up -- it's basically the only one that's mostly finished and *could* stand alone as a oneshot

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acaciapines · 1 year

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lol I meant to type actually the middle number of 46 but you can do 31 too! I love hearing about this au

both of them it is! im glad you love hearing about it bc there is. truly so much. <3

31. Baptisms – Radical Face

“it’s not that bad, you know.”

mari looks up at her, ears still pressed flat. whatever sickness has been hurting luz has left her mostly quiet the entire time amity has been sitting here, and though there’s a hint of pain in the way mari holds her shoulders her eyes are bright and alert.

in amity’s lap, alma shifts: cat, glowfish, spottedfish, lionfish, and cat again. amity rests her hand across her palisman’s back, brushing soft fur.

“it’s not the same.” mari looks away, out towards the window where the moon trickles in. “you never…you get to figure out who you are. i already did, and i…”

“got it wrong?” alma offers, and mari’s lips curl back in a growl. alma’s purr rises in volume, loud enough that mari should hear it, too. it rumbles though amity’s own veins. “that’s okay. we did, too.”

46. Bugbear – Chloe Moriondo

she’s not so sure why she’s here, at school, doing this, when eda and king and firefly and lilith and burkit and every single adult she cares about save for mom is back stuck in a world under the collector’s control.

“it’s to make mom happy,” hunter says, a tiny red bird on her shoulder. he’s been doing that a lot—the bird, and the slipping up. calling camila mom, just like she would. “this way, we at least are able to somewhat pass for normal.” he fluffs up his feathers. “but…yeah. i get it. i wish we were with mari and flapjack, too.”

“it’s not fair,” luz whispers. she’s hidden herself away in an empty corner of the hallway for lunch, because people always stare at her weird when she and hunter talk to each other—just another one of those ways where she won’t fit in, talking to her daemon in public. “i want mom to be happy, i do, i just…why doesn’t this make me feel better?”

hunter shrugs. “i don’t know.”

“yeah.” luz huffs. “just five more hours of this.”

“five more hours,” hunter echoes, flapping down to peck at her sandwich. “let’s get through them together.”

DISCUSSION

starting w 31: OH MY GOD I KNOW EXACTLY WHEN THIS IS FROMMMMM its from episode 9! eclipse lake! when luz is sick w. common mold i think its called? yeah that but anyways in that episode luz is super out of it but mari isnt (for Reasons like: it isnt common mold lol but they arent important for this scene).

anyways! that means that amityalma and mari have a really sweet scene together...both of them have been struggling over being unsettled (luz n mari bc they were settled but unsettled, amity n alma bc they spent all of s1 pretending to be settled as something they werent) and they get to bond over it...mari cant talk about this stuff w luz but she CAN with amity and alma, and sort of. figure it out then.

also this is before i decided cats in the demon realm were fun shadowy nightmare creatures lol. originally alma took the form of a white cat (like ghost in the show) but bc i have A Thing im doing w forms that changed.

and 46: yet another luz and hunter suffering in the human realm scene! i think ive said it before but bc of the four of them hunter is the only one able to change form, and luz needs to pretend to be settled for long plot reasons im not getting into, luz and hunter go to school together as a human-daemon pair and neither of them like. enjoy it. theyre still melding together a lot and this Doesnt Help, and luz is used to the demon realm way of human-daemon interactions (aka the way i like them) vs the human realm way (aka Every Other Daemon Au).

hunters also supposed to be a lizard here hence luz commenting on him being a bird. its a fun time! a fun fun time. these kids are Going Through It

#toh #luz noceda #amity blight #hunter toh #daemon au #daemons #i write #fun fact there is a small small chance luz n hunter might end up in the human realm alone #(aka amity willow gus stay in the demon realm for s3)#but proooobably not bc i think their unhealthy codependency hits more if they have their friends theyre just actively drawing away from the #it was a fun idea tho! it would be interesting thats for sure #bc then the pov would swap between hunterluz and then one of gus willow amity #so youd see the demon realm in this aus s3e1 #but eps 1 n 2 might become one big thing where each chapter alternates so you could still get it?#idk we aint there yet lol #and a grove of palistrom to you

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ash-overthinking · 1 year

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In Defiance {Chapter 1}

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Main Characters/Pairing(s): Hargreeves-Family centric; Number Five centric (ish). Canon Pairings.

Chapter: 1/11

Fic Summary:

Five took a day to recalibrate after he and his family parted ways on the hallowed grounds where the Obsidian had once stood. Then, he got back to work.

Unfortunately, the Hargreeves family is more divided than ever, the clock is ticking in more ways than one, and Reginald has more power up his sleeve than any of them could have guessed. When the status quo is shattered and their respective realities become bleaker than ever before, will they be forged anew or irreparably broken?

Read it on AO3

Listen to the Playlist

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five hargreeves #tua fic #writing #hargreeves siblings #i say five-centric but it's really sibling centric and he's just kind of the lynchpin of it all #alternating pov #fanfic #tua s3 #angst #timeline shenanigans #number five the boy #oh look i'm out of hibernation and writing again #wasn't going to share here until I had more than the first chapter sooo ch2 is now up and here we are #number five #Spotify

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tempportal · 2 years

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“You’ve got your decimal in the wrong spot.”

Five would love to say that he simply brushes off the voice coming from over his shoulder, to say that he coolly ignores her without even so much as a single second of doubt or hesitation—it’s pretty much a personal goal at this point to just never listen to Dolores about anything, ever, because she’s so annoying and insufferable about everything, and whenever she turns out to be right about something (which is so exceedingly rare that it’s absolutely not necessary to even discuss those particular instances at all, thank you very much!) she looks at him with that obnoxiously smug smirk playing at the corner of her soft pink mouth and a big I told you so plastered all over her face—but she’s just so unflinchingly blunt and unapologetically confident in her assessment that he has to double-check it anyway, just to be sure.

Maybe he should count himself lucky (that he survived a full four months in an apocalyptic wasteland all alone before he got here, that he has an actual shot at getting out of this hellhole, at going back home and saving his family before he even turns fifteen, that he found an entire camp of survivors, tiny and pathetic and ragtag as it is, and they didn’t turn him away the second they laid eyes on him, even with their scarce and dwindling supply of rations) that, by some complete and total miracle, he has encountered perhaps the only other person left on this scorched and dying earth who can even begin to comprehend the staggeringly convoluted calculus he has to contend with on a day-to-day basis—but whenever he looks at Dolores, he feels the exact opposite of lucky.

Why did the universe have to give him such a useful ally wrapped up in such an incredibly annoying package?

Five scans through that last string of numbers crudely and painstakingly scratched out in his own hand on the grim grey stone in front of him—and, because literally everything in the natural world hates him, it turns out that she’s right again, and the decimal is exactly one digit off from where it should be, glaringly obvious as a neon sign in the dark now that he knows where to look for it.

And it throws the whole entire equation off, which means now he has to redo that last line all over again or it’ll all be wrong, so that’s a full hour’s work down the drain, and he glowers silently at the decimal because he can’t glower at her or she’ll just hit him with that obnoxiously smug smirk and unspoken I told you so combo, and it will be. incredibly difficult. to tear his eyes off her mouth.

God, he just hates her so much.

“That one,” Dolores actually crouches down to point it out to him, like she thinks he’s too stupid to see it for himself, and her arm brushes lightly against his, and her long dark hair falls in front of her face like a curtain, and he has to literally remind himself to take a breath. “Right there. See? The decimal should be in front of the—”

“I know where the decimal should be,” he cuts her off, scratching out the mistake with a vicious slash of his black felt-tip permanent marker—she probably thinks he’s a total idiot who can barely count to ten, and he wants to snap at her that he is not an idiot and he’s the smartest out of all his siblings, and he’s got six of them, so he’s obviously smarter than her, too, but he doesn’t because that would require him to care about what she thinks of him.

And he doesn’t care about that. Absolutely not. Five has far more important things on his mind than the opinion of some silly teenage girl—even if it’s a teenage girl who actually knows what Planck’s Constant is, and who didn’t need him to explain superstring theory, and who’s written an entire thesis on Coulomb’s Law, and who debates with him on the legitimacy of Brane cosmology (which is obviously total bullshit, whatever she says to the contrary) and who has a really nice smile and soft pink lips and pretty dark hair and bright sky-blue eyes that light up like the sun when she’s excited—

—and she’s really annoying and stupid and infuriating and insufferable and impossible and he hates absolutely everything about her, from her nice smile and sky-blue eyes to her die-hard belief in Brane cosmology and breathtakingly brilliant mind that’s always running a hundred thousand miles ahead of everyone else, seeing things that no one else does and thinking about things in ways no one else will, and—

Look, he hates her, okay?!

“Yeah, you got it wrong up here, too,” Dolores frowns, tipping her head back to squint up at a portion of the calculation scrawled farther up on the wall—her hair spills down around her face in thick, curly waves, so black it’s almost blue in the silver-white glow of the stars overhead, and it’s very hard to look away from her shining eyes, lighting up at the math in front of her. “Where you got eight-point-seven, it should actually be eight-point-nine—so this is all way off-base. Here—let me—”

And then she just—she just reaches out and snatches the marker straight out of his hand (and her fingers brush lightly over his open palm when she does, and his skin is suddenly on fire) and she uncaps it with a soft click, presses the black tip firmly to the wall, and scribbles out her own equation right next to his.

Even the way she writes is pretty.

Five scrubs his palm on the ripped knee of his worn-out jeans to try and get his hand to stop the stupid tingling that’s all her stupid fault, and why can’t she just keep her stupid hands to herself?

(If she’d just stop touching him so much, maybe he could finally stop thinking about what it would be like to hold her hand.)

A frown twists the edges of Dolores’ mouth, her face scrunching up and her brows pulling together in a deep wrinkle, her teeth biting into her bottom lip—he can practically see all the different cogwheels spinning and clicking in her brain, hear her mind running a hundred thousand miles ahead of everyone else, seeing things that no one else does and thinking about things in ways no one else will, and his breath catches at the back of his throat.

She’s so pretty when she’s all caught up in her equations like this.

Objectively speaking, of course. It’s not like Five’s got any kind of opinion on the way she looks, or anything. It’s not like he’s ever really noticed the way she looks.

She leans in and jots down one final string of numbers before she pulls back again, blowing on the Sharpie tip like it’s a smoking gun. She caps it up and tosses him a smile that sucks all the air out of the room—and he’s staring at her, openly and obviously and like a complete idiot, all wide-eyed and stupid, and he has to force his face into a scowl and remind himself that she’s annoying and obnoxious and detestable and arrogant and absolutely intolerable, and that is not going to change just because she’s not a total dunce at math!

“Looks better, doesn’t it?” she says, all puffed-up and proud like she always is. Doesn’t she ever get sick of being so infuriating all the time? “Maybe you should try asking for a little help every now and then, boy genius.” And she has the—the sheer audacity to lean in and poke him in the forehead with the end of the marker, right on that narrow strip of skin between his brows that always crinkles up when he scowls (and it’s currently very crinkled right now, the way it always is whenever he has to deal with her).

Five sputters incoherently and swats blindly at the Sharpie, but he misses by about a mile—which is just fantastic, because now she thinks he’s a total idiot who can barely count to ten, and a complete moron with abominable hand-eye coordination who can barely string two words together ninety-nine percent of the time, and he does not care what she thinks about him even a little bit.

“I’m checking your work,” he tells her, and yanks the Sharpie back out of her hand.

“Knock yourself out,” she gets to her feet and dusts off the knees of her dark denim jeans before she heads back toward the maze of ragged, patchwork tents. “But it’d probably save you a ton of time if you just assumed I’m right.”

Five makes it about halfway through her calculation (which is—so brilliantly simple, and unbelievably elegant, taking all his loose ends and tying them all up so perfectly) and Dolores makes it about a hundred feet away before she spins around on her heel to holler at him—

“You’re welcome, by the way!”

Five flips her a one-finger salute—and she laughs out loud the whole way back to the camp, bright and bubbly, and he’s pretty sure he’s just swallowed a swarm of live butterflies because that’s the only possible explanation for what that sound is doing to his insides.

And it turns out her math is right—again.

Goddamn it.

#as promised!! here is the alternate apocalypse fic i've been talking about #i've been playing with the idea of writing a full-on multi-chapter AU based on this premise #and i wanted to establish a solid dynamic for Five and his fellow survivors before i committed #and Dolores was at the top of the list because i love her #v: the best luck is to die at the right time #I KNOW HOW TO DO EVERYTHING ; ( drabble )#we always were an unlikely pair ; ( dolores )

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blacktabbygames · 5 months

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Slay the Princess Concept Art

We shared a bunch of concept art on Twitter today. Sharing it here, too, where you can find it all in one post. Post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution (or just play the game already if you haven't 😉)

Going to start with the first piece of concept art Abby drew for the game.

In the earliest stages of development, we toyed around with the concept of there being multiple "end game" forms of the Princess.

The initial outline, rather than being tied together by an overarching metanarrative, structured a full playthrough as a 5-6 chapter long, self-contained journey down a single route, determined by your decisions in chapter 1. Here's an alternative late-game form:

The idea of deviating end-game forms didn't lost for very long, though. As we explored the game's themes more deeply, it made the most sense for there to be a singular "true" form.

If your reality is shaped by subjectivity and perception, then the "truth" has to be what's left when that subjectivity is swept away. the Shifting Mound's final design feels like that initial truth for the Princess, though there's also another truth if you push back against her and press on into the final cabin.

We really liked this "void" design, and I played around with the idea of it being an intermediary to the final form. The "void" Princess would be what you saw upon encountering the final Princess without understanding your own truth, but once you had that understanding, you would see her as the Shifting Mound, as depicted in the game.

That gave way to the intermediary design of the SM being a sea of disembodied limbs, and we also took parts of both designs and incorporated them into the protagonist (particularly the wings.) You can see the eyes and feathers for this void form in the ending card of the original trailer below:

You can see extremely early concept art for the spectre (top), nightmare (top-right), stranger (left), beast (bottom) and ??? (right) as well!

The eyes became a motif in the Nightmare route (Paranoid's manifestation of the fear of being watched), but I also like to think of them as a part of The Long Quiet's truth. You are space and emptiness, but you're also that which observes those things, and it's your perceptions that give the Shifting Mound shape.

Anyways, on the note of the original original concepts for the game, the Princess was initially going to remain human for several loops before taking on more monstrous forms. Some concepts of that are below. Had to get Abby to tone down some of the more horrifically cartoonish designs because they creeped me out and I didn't want to romance them in a video game.

We had to hold our cards close to our chest in the non-metanarrative early drafts, which is part of why, even in the first demo, the cabin doesn't really change much in chapter 2. More room to subtly play with the concept of transformation over time.

There were a lot of reasons we moved in a different direction for the full release. The branching was unmanageably large to write, and the game felt like a slog to write.

Using an overarching narrative as a framing mechanism in the final version gave us a lot more freedom to explore wildly divergent ideas within routes while still driving the player towards the originally planned finale.

Anyways, now we've got some concept art for individual princesses. There's a lot more than this lying around somewhere, but it's all in sketchbooks, and we'll probably wait until we make an art book to show it off.

First is the tower, who really didn't change much at all. (She got a little thicker, I guess. All of the Princesses did)

Not a lot to say about her, other than the fact that we knew we wanted a set piece where she gets so big that the trees and cabin orbit around her.

The stranger went through many many redesigns over the course of development. Here, she was a "princess skin" filled with a hive of sentient bugs. The script wasn't working for me, though, so instead she became a peak behind the curtains without the necessary context to know her.

A lot of people ask how these earlier drafts of the Stranger route would have played out, and the answer is I can't tell you, because I couldn't figure out something worth writing.

The writing process for individual routes didn't really start with outlines or plot beats. Rather, the routes started from a theme and a relationship dynamic, and I organically found their outcomes by exploring actions within those themes, and then seeing if those passed Abby's editor brain.

Neither of us found actions we wanted to explore with those versions of the Stranger, at least actions that weren't a beat-by-beat retelling of chapter 1, which contained way too much variation to put on a single chapter 2 route.

If each princess examines a relationship formed by perception and first impressions, the Stranger examines one that's fundamentally unknowable. One where you've seen too much, too quickly.

An insect hive-mind pretending to be a person seemed like a good starting point, but it was too difficult to write any interactions that didn't immediately feel knowable, if still strange. So the final version of the Stranger was designed in such a way where her unknowability makes interacting with her on a human level fundamentally impossible, and you don't get to have a real conversation with her unless you satisfy extremely specific criteria.

Anyways next up is the razor's final form. We decided she needed more swords.

Hearts became an accidental motif very quickly in the development process, too. (The fact that it is only strikes to the heart that fell her in the demo was accidental, but it felt poetic so we extended it to the rest of the game.)

So on top of adding more swords, we made her heart visible. This is something we did with the fury as well, as a way of showing their emotional (and physical) vulnerability.

Here's an early version of the Adversary and what would eventually become the Eye of the Needle, back when she was still called the Fury. Originally her hair was going to be fire (as seen on the right), but it didn't feel right in its execution.

She's hit the gym since this concept art. Good for her :)

And we're going to end with the Beast, who at this point was called the Adversary. I think this was before the Witch was added? The Beast was originally designed to be a Questing Beast who lurked in the shadows, where you'd only see glimpses of her, and where each glimpse would make her appear to be a different animal. This was too difficult to execute, though we gave her a more chimera-like appearance in the final game.

This design was from when we still has the Voice of the Obsessed, and the route was going to be a more feral mirror of what eventually became the Adversary, but it felt too thematically similar while being less interesting, so we moved in the direction of making the Beast about consumption as a form of love.

Anyways, that's all we've got for you right now. Hope this was fun!

#slay the princess #interactive fiction #character design

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Summary: You have a long weekend that ends rather unexpectedly. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, suggestive content, language, some brief violence at the end.

A/N: I'm in a bit of a crisis so you're getting a bonus chapter this week. It's a beefy one and I wrote like 90% of it yesterday, just had the brain sludge by the time I was close to finishing and decided to rest before I finished and edited. Things are starting to get a big suggestive here, so as a reminder, this fic will have NSFW content in later chapters so please do not interact with it if you are under 18. I'd hate to have to block you.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“How are you settling in?”

“Fine.” You shrug.

“Any instinct to nest at all?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“That’s fine.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down. “It’s only been just over a week. Have you started kneeling for Captain Price yet?”

You shake your head again. “No.”

Dr. Keller tilts her head. “Why not?”

You shrug again. “He hasn’t brought it up.”

“Is that something you’d like to start doing?”

Her question catches you off guard again. You’re not used to being asked what you want, afterall you’re an omega. That’s not important. You’re here to serve. To do as you’re told. You remember watching your mother kneel for your father while he watched TV, her dazed, glazed over eyes staring at nothing as he almost seemed to hypnotize her into the shell of a perfect omega. It was your first taste of truly how much power alphas could hold over omegas. One hand on the back of your neck and it’s over.

“I...I don’t know.” You say, picking at your sleeve.

“You’re allowed to want things too.” Dr. Keller leans forward just slightly, giving you a smile. “I highly doubt Captain Price will make much of a fuss if you ask for something you need. He cares about you. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone.” She tilts her head at you, watching you pick at your sleeve. “Is there anything you want or maybe need that you haven’t asked for?”

Softer blankets. A fluffier pillow. Different body wash and shampoo. New clothes. A picture or a poster or something to make your room seem less clinical. Your instincts to finally start kicking in. Price to want you as much as he’s supposed to. Ghost to like you. To go back in time and let Soap kiss you.

To go back in time and never present as an omega.

“No.” You finally answer, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

Dr. Keller stares at you for a long moment. You avoid her gaze, picking at the seam of your sleeve. “I know you’re going to get tired of me saying this, but it’s important that you understand that this is a safe space for you. Everything that we discuss, everything that you say in here stays between you and me. Doctor-patient confidentiality is something I firmly believe in, even when it comes to alpha/omega relationships. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say quietly, still avoiding her gaze.

She continues to stare at you for a moment before she leans back on the couch again, shuffling some papers around. “The two betas, Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish. How are you getting along with them?” She continues with her questions.

“Fine.” You lean back in your chair, hoping it might swallow you whole. “They’re easiest to get along with.”

Dr. Keller nods. “Good. I’m a strong advocate for organic pack bonding. Helps avoid any dynamic struggles or false instincts down the line. How are you sleeping?”

“Fine I guess.” You shrug. “I nap a lot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Omegas need a lot of sleep and I can imagine adjusting to a new schedule has been rough.” Dr. Keller moves the papers to the couch next to her, looking up at you. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

You hesitate, pulling at the seam of your sleeve. It’s beginning to unravel a bit from your nervous picking. You’ll have to fix it. Dr. Keller is right, though. You could just ask for a new one. Price had told you they had a budget for your needs, plus they do get paid well. Anything you needed, they would gladly get for you.

You just have to ask.

It’s the asking that you’re not sure you can do. It feels strange to ask anything of your new pack. They’re supposed to be the ones needing things from you. If Soap had wanted to kiss you, he could have. Instead he left it up to you. He let you decide. You wonder if Price’s hesitation to move forward has been because he’s waiting on you.

They’re all waiting on you, except maybe Ghost. They’re waiting on you to make the first moves, on you to set the pieces on the board. What is the first move? How do you set the pieces? Did you even need to? Would they fall into place organically if you just left them alone? Or would the tension continue to build up, would you continue to affect them until it became too much and the pressure causes everything to blow?

“I’m affecting them.” You say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Dr. Keller tilts her head as she stares at you. “What do you mean?”

“They’re soldiers. They’re good soldiers with years and years of training, that’s why they're here. But...but I’m changing that. I asked Price if I could go with them and watch them run a training course cause I read in a book that I should get to know them and the things they like and so I was just curious what they do during the day when I’m not with them. He let me watch and he told me their top speeds running the training course but...none of them met those times with me there.”

You take a deep breath, the words pouring out of you easily now. You feel as if you’re not even thinking of them, not even measuring them or using caution as you normally would in any conversation. They’re slipping out from somewhere deep inside and now that you’ve opened that dam, you can’t stop it.

“Price made them run through it five times and they still couldn’t match their top speeds. He said it was a good thing that they figured that out, that they need to know how I’m affecting them and how to adjust to me. And every time they ran through it, I couldn’t stop thinking about...”

You take another breath, the air catching in your lungs. Your fingers are shaking, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the chair, almost as if you’re trying to get it to swallow you whole. As if the chair might wrap its arms around you and pull you into its softness and keep you there until you can’t breathe and it suffocates you.

“What if it was me? What if they were having to rescue me? I know that’s a risk, a low one, but it’s still a risk. The CIA and Kate warned me that I could become a target if the wrong person found out about me. That’s why I can’t know anything about what they do because that puts me at more of a risk, and I could be a threat to them and the entire world if something got out that wasn’t supposed to.”

You’re breathing heavily as the words finally come to a stop. Dr. Keller’s eyes are shining with sympathy as she stares at you. This is the most you’ve ever opened up to her, the most words you feel you’ve ever spoken to her in the two times now that you’ve met.

It feels good. It feels really good to voice your thoughts and your fears to someone on the outside, someone you can trust won’t tell anyone. You couldn’t voice these fears to your pack. They’re used to this kind of thing. They live with the knowledge they could die at any point, that any mission might be their last. How many lives have they seen lost, how many close calls have they had? You’ve seen scars already on arms, hands, faces. How many others are hidden where you can’t see?

How many scars do they have inside, too?

“I want you to know that your fears are very valid.” Dr. Keller says, her voice soft. “Being involved in the military comes with a lot of risks, and then you get to places like this and those risks only get greater and greater. I can’t promise you that something like that won’t ever happen, because we have no way of knowing. The risk is not zero for a reason.”

Dr. Keller stands from the couch, moving to the chair next to you. The calming beta scent washes over you, and you know you have to be stinking up the room. She turns the chair slightly to face you, leaning forward onto her knees. You can see the imprints on the sides of her nose from where she’d been wearing glasses earlier.

“That risk is also only low for a reason. Your identity has been well hidden, just like those of your pack’s. You’re on a well protected and secure military base. This place is a black square on Google Maps. I know, I tried looking it up when I found out where I was being assigned.” She reaches out, squeezing your arm gently. “And I highly doubt your pack would ever let anything happen to you. Packs are highly protective over their omegas. Even bad alphas can’t fight that instinct when their pack is threatened. Your pack would quite literally go to war for you.”

She is right, you know she is. Yet that fear continues to wiggle at the back of your mind. You know they’d never let anything happen to you, but they’re going to start leaving soon. What if something happens while they’re not here? Who will help you then? The other soldiers? The betas that stare and the alphas that catcall you?

“I guess you’re right.” You say, continuing to pick at your sleeve. At this rate, by the time your heat starts, you’ll have unraveled the whole sweatshirt.

The buzz of your phone on your nightstand pulls you from your half asleep state. Your book is on the floor, having dropped from your hands and slid off your bed as you drifted off. Your lamp is still on, casting a warm glow around your room. You prefer the softer light compared to the fluorescent overhead, as most omegas do. There’s something too clinical and sterile about fluorescents.

You grab your phone, pushing yourself up onto your elbow as you try to blink the sleepiness away. It’s not terribly late, but you’ve been feeling the exhaustion all day since your conversation with Dr. Keller.

“Be ready by 0500 tomorrow. Wear something meant for the outdoors.”

It’s a text from Price, your brow furrowing as you read it over. Five in the morning on a Saturday? That’s the earliest you’ve had to get up since your arrival on base. And wear something meant for the outdoors? You can only imagine what he has planned for the day you had been planning on spending sleeping.

You make a quiet noise of indignation as you text back in confirmation, setting an alarm so you can be ready by 5 am. Not up by 5 am, ready by 5 am. You have half a mind to call him, or to text back asking why he feels you need to be up before the sun. You know that’s the normal time they begin their mornings during the week, usually when you hear them up and moving around, getting ready to go work out. That’s usually when you roll over and go back to sleep for another hour and a half before your own alarm gets you up for breakfast.

You pout a little as you set your phone back on your nightstand, reaching down to grab your book and set it next to your phone. You lay back down on your bed, turning off your lamp and bathing the room in darkness. Well, it’s not totally dark. The light from the lamp outside shines in your window, casting cold shadows across the walls and floor. You’ve never been a fan of total darkness. You’d grown used to having some light in the room at The Institute. One of your roommates had insisted on having a nightlight, and there were many nights you were grateful for it as you laid awake at the mercy of your racing mind.

A nightlight.

You add it to the mental list of things you want, but you’ll never feel brave enough to ask for.

Your alarm rings too early in the morning, your hand lifting to silence it quickly. 4:30 am doesn’t feel like a real time as you rise in darkness, hand fumbling for the switch to your lamp. You glare into the dimly lit room, trying to blink the sleepiness from your eyes. How desperately you want to curl back up under the blankets and sleep until someone knocks on the door to check on you because you’ve slept so long into the day.

You don’t doubt Price will knock in about 30 minutes to get you up. He’ll be disappointed if you ignore him, you think. He wouldn’t punish you if you went against his wishes, would he?

You don’t know that.

You haven’t even thought to push that boundary, nor have you discussed it. You don’t want to. You’re a good omega.

You’re a good omega.

You repeat it over and over as you get yourself ready, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up. You silently thank Kate as you pull on a pair of cargo pants and hiking boots, assuming that’s what Price means by “something meant for the outdoors.” Had she bought the items in anticipation of something like this happening? You are on a military base. You should have expected you’d be pulled into something like this eventually.

You’re debating on a jacket by the time the knock comes, right at 5 am. You wonder how long Price has been standing in the hallway, or if he’s perfected arriving right on the dot after years of expected punctuality. You decide on the jacket after checking the weather, slipping it on as you open the door. He hadn’t mentioned needing anything, not that you own any sort of supplies for the outdoors anyway.

He doesn’t say anything as you open the door, instead motioning with his head to follow. You quietly close your door, expecting the others to be waiting for you, but their doors are all closed and they’re nowhere to be seen. You feel slightly nervous as you follow Price out into the cold morning air, glad you decided on the jacket as your breath steams from your lips.

Price is dressed in his usual boots and cargo pants with a cargo jacket and a beanie instead of a bucket hat. There’s two packs leaning against the side of the building, Price grabbing one and approaching you.

“What are we doing?” You ask quietly as he helps you put on the backpack, buckling it across your chest.

“Going for a hike.” He says, putting on the other backpack.

“Why?” You ask as he turns on a flashlight, handing it to you before turning on another one for himself.

“I’ll explain when we get there.” He says simply, motioning for you to follow him.

You hesitate for half a moment. A hike in the dark? The base is surrounded by forest, but you sometimes forget due to the sprawling nature of the buildings, and your usual ventures outside the barracks being to either the mess or the medical center, all of which were central on the base.

Why does he feel the need to hike in the dark? Surely it’s more dangerous, especially for someone not quite so physically inclined like you. If he wanted to go on a hike, why hadn’t he just said that to begin with? Maybe he would have, had you asked why last night instead of just immediately agreeing.

Going into the woods alone in the dark with an alpha you barely know.

Anxiety twists in your stomach for a moment before you force your feet forward, walking fast to catch up to him. He leads you down one of the roads on base, your boots crunching as the ground changes from asphalt to gravel. Your anxiety doesn’t lessen any as the trees loom high above you in the darkness, the forest like a black void before you.

Your brain thinks up all the land predators that might exist in England. Do they have bears? You’ve seen Brave, but that’s in Scotland. What about big cats like cougars or mountain lions? Are there racoons in England?

You’re on a military base, you think. Surely they have means to keep out large predators that might be dangerous.

Your pack won’t let anything happen to you.

Dr. Keller’s words float through your mind as you follow Price through the underbrush and into the trees. You’re not following any path, at least that you can see, though your experiences in the outdoors have been very limited since you left home. Your dad liked to camp and hike, and often you and your siblings were subjected to his weekend and holiday trips into the wilderness.

You missed them in the early days at the Institute. You missed a lot of things back then.

“What’s eating you back there?” Price asks as you weave through trees and underbrush.

“There’s nothing...dangerous out here...is there, sir?” You ask, narrowly avoiding taking a branch to the face. “Bears or mountain lions?”

Price chuckles. “The worst thing you might find is a stray badger or a snake that got through the fence somehow.”

“Oh.” You say, shining the flashlight around you. “That’s good.”

Price stops, turning to face you. “You’re fretting.”

“Well, we’re in the woods in the dark at an ungodly hour and you won’t tell me why, sir.” You pout.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, staring down at you with a hard look in his eyes.

You stare up at him, your grip tightening on the flashlight in your hand. “Should I trust you?”

He straightens up a bit, the corner of his lips twitching. “That’s something you have to decide.” He turns back around, starting to walk again. “All I can do is my best to try and prove myself to you. In the end, you’re the one that decides if I’m trustworthy or not.”

You’ve never thought of it that way. He could do everything in his power to get you to trust him, but in the end it is your decision. He hasn’t proven you wrong yet, but then again...it’s only been a week. You’ve known him for a week and you’re following him through the woods alone in the dark.

Your brothers would have a fit if they saw you right now.

“Do you trust me?” You find yourself asking as you continue to trek through the woods, narrowly avoiding hurting yourself on various occasions.

“You haven’t given me reason not to.” He answers, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder. “I’d prefer it stayed that way.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, sir. I hardly think I’m much of a threat on any term. Well, at least I don’t think I am. Ghost seems to disagree.”

Price lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Simon...Simon is a unique case. He’s good at his job, but that makes it hard for him to succeed in other areas. I’m sure Johnny has told you how much Simon couldn’t stand him at first. Now look at them.” He chuckles warmly, almost fondly. “He only sees you as a threat in your nature.”

You frown, glancing up at the sky. It’s beginning to turn grey with dusk, the trees seeming to come alive around you in the dim light. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

“You’re an omega. To bond with an omega, there is a degree of vulnerability required by the alpha. Being around omegas requires an openness that can be frightening if you’re not used to it.” He explains. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Simon isn’t the most open man.”

You snort quietly. “Hadn’t noticed, sir.”

Price chuckles at your answer. “You’re threatening to him, because you’re a challenge. Give him time. This entire situation is an adjustment for all of us, just as I’m sure it is for you too.”

You don’t know how to respond to that statement. It is an adjustment. Joining any pack was, but a pack like this...a pack that has you tramping through the woods at 6 am for a reason you don’t even know yet is a major adjustment.

Price stops after the sun has come up, taking a moment next to an outcropping of rocks. He clips your flashlight to your bag before unzipping it, passing you a bottle of water. You take it gladly, your mouth feeling dry after walking for so long.

“How much further?” You ask as he drinks his own water.

“Quite a ways.” He answers.

“Can I know why we’re doing this yet?” You ask as he zips your water back into your backpack.

“Not yet.” He says, continuing onward.

You let out an exasperated sigh, but follow him anyway. You don’t have much of a choice.

Your legs are beginning to get tired, and you’re starting to feel a bit hungry. You’re not sure if you should say anything, or if he’d even stop. You assume he’s packed food, or at least you hope so. You’re going to get grumpy if you’re traversing all over the forest for hours with nothing to eat.

Price slows his pace a bit as you approach what you think is a clearing. You can see a break in the trees ahead, the sun coming through brighter here. You’re sore and tired, your phone telling you you’ve been walking for just over two hours.

How big is this base?

You break through the treeline, finding a small clearing with what looks like a fire watch tower in the middle of it. It’s not what you were expecting, the many scenarios of why you had been dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour and forced to hike through the woods you’ve been thinking up the last two hours, did not end quite like this. You stare up at the tower, your head tilting back to take it in.

“Not scared of heights, are you?” Price asks, standing beside you.

“Maybe.” You answer, eyeing the staircase winding around it to get to the top.

“Come on.” He says, nudging you forward gently. “Up the stairs.”

The last thing you want to do after walking for two hours is climb a never ending staircase, but you don’t think you have much of a choice. Perhaps you can finally sit once you get to the top, and maybe you’ll even get to eat.

Price follows behind you as you take the steps, climbing slowly. Your legs are screaming, your feet aching in your boots. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’re bleeding a little, or if you wind up with blisters. You’re breathing heavily by the time you get to the top, sweat beading on your brow. Price doesn’t even seem winded behind you, and you’re sure he could have jogged up the steps if he wanted to.

The top of the tower is mostly empty except for a small table and two chairs. There’s no windows, the tower open between the railing and the roof. Price sets his bag on the table, unzipping it. You sink into one of the chairs, letting your bag drop to the floor.

“Can I know why we’re here now?” You ask him.

“Drink some water and take a breath first.” He says, pulling a couple packets out of his bag. MRE’s.

You dig your bottle out of your bag, taking note of the other contents inside. A few snack bars, a couple MRE’s of your own, another unopened bottle of water, and a book. There’s things in the other pockets but you don’t bother looking, guzzling down more water.

You stand from your chair, your legs almost buckling in protest as Price gets the MRE’s cooking. You lean against the railing, looking down over the forest that stretches out as far as you can see below.

“Can I know now?” You ask, knowing there has to be a good reason for him to bring you out here.

“A training exercise.” He says finally.

“A training exercise?” You frown, turning to look at him over your shoulder. It wasn’t a training exercise for you, was it?

“Sometimes when we get a specific target on a mission, the only thing we have to go off of is a general location and a scent.” He explains. “We have to be able to track that scent effectively, sometimes for miles. We run training exercises out here to test their ability to track scents to hunt down a target.”

You stare at the sprawling woods, beginning to understand. “So, they’re hunting a scent that will lead them here?”

Price chuckles lowly, his hands coming to rest on the railing on either side of you. Your stomach flutters as he leans in close, his scent strong in your nose as his breath fans your ear. “Technically, they’re hunting you.”

Your knuckles go white as they grip the railing, your blood pulsing in your veins. You’re well aware that some alphas like to hunt their omegas. There’s some primal urge deep within your brains to chase and be chased. You’re well aware of how it usually ends, the thought making your stomach clench.

“You gave me the idea.” Price says, the warmth of his body radiating through your jacket. “When you asked to watch them train, I saw how you affected them, I thought...maybe you can be useful for their training afterall.”

“Do they...do they know it’s me?” You ask as he steps back from you. You fight the urge to whine at the loss of proximity.

“They do now.” He says with a smirk. “They’ve already started, so if they can follow your scent successfully, then they’ll be here in about an hour.” He says, looking at his watch.

You frown a little. “But...we walked for two hours.”

He smiles a little, pointing to a break in the trees below you hadn’t noticed until now. “That trailhead is a 20 minute hike back to base.”

Your frown deepens. “But-”

“We weren’t walking in a straight line.” He explains. “We doubled back and recrossed the trail several times to try and confuse them, just as someone running from them would do.” He passes you one of the MRE’s. “That’s what I want you to do, if it ever comes to it. You don’t fight unless you have no other choice. You always try to run first.”

“Yes, sir.” You say, sitting down again. You don’t think you’d do much damage fighting anyway, but you don’t tell him that.

You open the package, peeking at the contents. Some sort of potato hash, you think, but you don’t really care. You’re so hungry you’ll gladly eat the mystery re-hydrated food. Price sinks into the other chair with a quiet sigh, digging into the food. It’s quiet out in the woods, the only other sound besides the two of you the sounds of birds.

You’ve always loved the woods, the quiet serenity of such isolation. You could imagine Price living in a log cabin miles from civilization, with animals and his own garden, happily living in quiet peace away from the stresses of life and war. You blame the fluttering in your stomach on the lingering thoughts of a chase, of a hunt. The thought of running, trying to evade soldiers who train to hunt others by their scents has goosebumps forming on your skin.

They’re not from the cold either.

The sun has disappeared behind clouds, the grey weather of England quickly becoming normal to you. You haven’t seen the sun much since you landed in London two weeks ago, and you’re sure you’re not going to see much of it for quite a long while.

“What’s got you all twitchy over there?” Price asks, breaking the silence.

You turn to look at him, your mouth open a bit in surprise. “How can you tell?”

“I’ve been trained to notice small details, sweetheart.” He says, grinning at you. “Your fingers always get fidgety first. Like you’re looking for something to do with them. Usually they disappear beneath your sleeves, or you start picking at your clothes. Your scent changes too. Subtly, but still noticeable.”

Oh god. You wince a little bit. He can still smell you, even outdoors in an open area.

“Your eyes start to move, looking all over the place, like you’re searching for something, or trying not to stare at one place too long.” He continues, making you want to sink deeper and deeper into the chair until you disappear. Of course he can read you like a book. They all probably can. “Your breathing always picks up, fast enough it’s noticeable if you’re paying attention. It’s easy to set you off too, sweet little thing.”

Warmth floods your face at his words and his stare, the back of your neck prickling. You meet his gaze across the table, the look in his eyes making you feel like you want to crawl under the table and hide. You hate that he can read you so easily. You won’t be able to hide anything from him.

He probably knows you already have.

You continue to hold his gaze, not backing down despite the intense tickling at the back of your neck. Touch alphas like a challenge, you repeat it over and over in your head.

Don’t back down.

A quiet growl rumbles through his chest, a shiver shooting down your spine so violently it nearly steals your breath. You fight the urge to bear your throat to him in submission, your head tilting back just slightly as your eyes squeeze closed. You’re panting, warmth pooling in your stomach as he chuckles lowly. He’s won, he knows it. You were never going to win. Nature was set against you. Your nature is to submit to him.

“Innocent little thing, aren’t ya?” He says, pulling a cigar from one of his pockets.

You know he smokes, you know they all do. You’ve smelled it on them many times, and it was to be expected. Your father hadn’t started until after he joined the Marines. Your mother hated it. “Dirty habit.” She always whispered as she smelled his uniform and the laundry he brought home from deployment.

He could have had worse ones, you always thought.

You can’t help but watch his lips curl around the cigar, the scent of tobacco permeating the air. His eyes are still on you, your own lips tingling a bit. You think back to how close you had been with Soap, inches from having your first real kiss. You regret it a bit now, not letting him kiss you. He wouldn’t have known he was your first, except perhaps by your awkwardness.

You wonder how many times they’ve all been kissed. You wonder how many times they've kissed each other. You wonder how many barrack bunnies Price has been with, how many other omegas he’s been with. You can’t imagine Ghost being one for barrack bunnies, but then your mind sinks somewhere deeper. Ghost in his mask with an omega bent over the side of his bed, his hand wrapped around the back of their neck...

Another shiver runs down your spine, your lower body beginning to pulse in time with your heart.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” Price asks, still staring at you.

“Soap almost kissed me a couple days ago.” You admit, not trusting yourself not to admit to the other things you’re thinking about.

Price’s brows lift in surprise. “Did you not want him to?”

Want. There’s that word again. You keep hearing it, but you’re not entirely sure what it means anymore. He’s asking to be sure that Soap didn’t force you into anything, even though you can’t imagine the beta doing such a thing. Betas usually weren’t aggressive without good reason, not like alphas.

“Well...no, that’s not it...” You say, your face burning as you begin to regret your choice of topic. “I...I haven’t kissed anyone before...well, not like a real kiss. At The Institute, there was this omega, she was...progressive. Nothing they tried could break her of that and she got into the heads of a few other omegas. One of my bunkmates decided she didn’t want an alpha to be her first kiss, so...I volunteered.”

Price continues to stare at you, a dark look in his eyes. You know some alphas like to watch omegas together. You’ve seen it in movies, things your brothers would put on when they were babysitting, things that would have gotten them hit over the head if your father found out.

“Is that so?” He finally says, flicking some of the ash from the end of his cigar. “Not even a real kiss before you presented?”

You shake your head. “No. I was...the weird kid in school. Most people considered it social suicide to be around me.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I bet quite a few of them are kicking themselves now.”

“Why didn’t you want Soap to kiss you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. He’s still wondering if he needs to have a long chat with the young Sergeant, or perhaps take other action.

“Well...it wasn’t so much that I didn’t want it.” You say. “I just...thought you might be upset...if you weren’t my first...” You swallow nervously at his stare. “Since you’re pack alpha...you have the right to claim-”

“I wouldn’t care.” He cuts you off, almost as if he’s uncomfortable with the idea of him having all the rights to claim you. As if he was uncomfortable with the idea of holding a claim over someone else. “If you want your first kiss to be with one of the others, then you shouldn’t keep yourself from what you want.”

His words echo Dr. Keller’s. It confuses you, their willingness to allow you to want. You’re an omega, you don’t get to want. You get told what to do, what to wear. You get told what to want. You don’t make decisions, you sit and be a good omega for your alpha.

“I don’t know what I want.” You say quietly.

“Think about it.” He says, stubbing out his cigar. “I won’t be upset. Makes me feel a little better, in truth. Makes me feel less like an old creep trying to steal your innocence.”

You try not to smile at his words. “I mean...you are, in a way.”

He tsks at you but his eyes are playful as he checks his watch. “You’re trouble. We’ve got a few minutes before the hour is up. Let’s see if they can beat it.”

You stare out at the treeline, taking deep gulps of the cool air to try and calm yourself as you wait for the others to arrive. You’re still tingling a bit from your conversation with Price, that slight tickle still crawling across the back of your neck. You want him to hold you there, feel his calloused skin against yours, feel the strength of his fingers as they press into your skin. You want him to take all the turmoil away, the fear and the insecurity and the confusion.

You want to kneel for him.

You’re saved from your thoughts as a familiar figure breaks through the treeline, big and hulking and wearing a skull on his face. You’ve never seen him in this mask before, only ever seeing him in his balaclava. It’s a haunting image, only his eyes visible as he looks up at the top of the tower. Soap and Gaz appear behind him, the three of them making for the staircase.

Their boots echo on the steps as they race to the top, Soap the first one to appear with a wide grin.

“Aye, we found the target!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you into the air and spinning.

You yelp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He smells like musk and sweat, and you can’t help but wonder if they ran here. He sets you back on your feet, your legs aching in protest after sitting for too long. The soreness of your morning hike has caught up to you, and you’ll be feeling it for a few days.

“Not bad.” Price says, looking at his watch. “For the first time with a new scent.” He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back and you can have the rest of the day off.”

You let out a whine in protest as Price grabs your backpack, gaining the attention of the four men. “You mean we have to walk back too?”

“It’s not even a kilometer.” Gaz says with a grin.

You pout. “I don’t know how far that is! I already had to walk for two hours this morning. My legs hurt.”

“You didn’t stretch before you started?” Soap asks.

“No! I didn’t know we’d be hiking halfway across the country when I was told to get up at 5 am!” You continue to pout.

“Come on, you’ll survive.” Price says, clipping your backpack across your chest again. “You can sleep for the rest of the day.”

You definitely have blisters, the sides of your feet burning as you walk down the stairs. You’re going to take a very long shower when you get back to base, and then crawl into bed and sleep until someone inevitably knocks because they’re worried about you. You’re still pouting, not having even thought about how you were going to get back to base.

Soap stops at the bottom of the steps, turning to glance at you behind him as he bends down slightly. “Hop on, hen.”

It takes you a moment to conceptualize what he’s doing before you break out in a grin, putting your hands on his shoulders to hoist yourself onto his back. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he carries you piggy-back style.

“I’ve lifted weights heavier than you, bonny.” He says, not seeming to struggle at all with carrying you.

“Well, omegas are supposed to be small.” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Aye, like a wee bairn.” Soap laughs.

He carries you all the way back to base, barely even breathing heavily by the time you break the treeline. The rocking motion of being carried, along with your exhaustion, has lulled you into a daze, your head leaning against his as you desperately fight sleep.

You’re jostled awake as Soap gently bounces you on his back. “We’re back, hen.”

You grumble sleepily, holding onto him tighter. “Comfy.”

“You’ll be comfier in bed, love.” Gaz says, stroking your hair.

“Carry me.” You murmur, both of them freezing.

“You sure about that, hen?” Soap asks. “You wan’t tae let us in your space?”

“Mmm...yeah.” You murmur, nuzzling Soap’s shoulder.

You miss the silent conversation between them in your half asleep state, the way Gaz’s hand hesitates on the knob, their slow, cautious steps into your space. It was a big deal, infringing upon an omega’s space. It’s sacred. One could only enter with permission, or if it was an emergency. Infringing on that space without permission could be detrimental.

Soap gently lowers you onto your bed, helping you curl up on your side. Gaz unties your boots, setting them on the floor next to the bed before pulling off your socks. He lets out a quiet hiss as he spots your raw and blistered feet.

“That’s going to hurt later.” He whispers. “No wonder she didn’t want to walk back.”

“Didnae say nothing either.” Soap says, his fingers trailing your cheek.

“Stubborn little omega.”

Gaz’s words are the last you hear before you’re lost to sleep, your brain forcing you to give in to your exhaustion finally.

It’s knocking at the door that wakes you. You’re not sure what time it is, or what planet you’re on. Your eyes are crusty with sleep, your pillow damp from drooling. You’re in your bed in the barracks, tucked under a blanket. You vaguely remember giving Gaz and Soap permission to enter before you were out again.

It’s still daylight, judging by the light around the edges of your curtains. Or maybe you had slept through the day and it was morning. You can’t tell, feeling a bit like you were hit by a bus and jumped dimensions.

“C’mon lass, ye got tae eat at least one meal today.” Soap’s voice calls through the door.

You let out a groan, pushing yourself up to sit. You haven’t even changed or showered, but your shoes have been removed. You flex your toes, wincing at the sharp pain from them. You pull the blanket off, staring down at your bandaged feet. They must be as blistered and raw as they had felt in your shoes. You don’t want to get up. You’re going to be sore and probably walking with a limp.

You know what they’re going to think.

The stares you’ll get.

Soon it will be for that reason, though, you think. Why not let them think it now? Then maybe by then they’ll be used to it and it’ll be much less mortifying for you.

You get up, padding barefoot to the door. You open it, rubbing at your eyes. “What time is it?” Your voice sounds rough with sleep, your tongue feeling heavy.

“Almost 1800 hours.” He answers. “Price let ye sleep. He and Gaz already ate. Had something tae take care of.”

You let out a quiet groan as you rub your eyes. You slept all day, past lunch and nearly past dinner. You likely would have kept sleeping, had they let you, but then you’d be up at an ungodly hour having to scrounge for food in the rec room.

“Get some shoes on.” Soap says. “We’ll get food in ye, then ye can sleep more.”

You let out a quiet grumble but do as he says, grabbing your most comfortable pair of shoes before following him out of the barracks. You let your hand slip into his, the base less populated on the weekend. The mess is still busy, though, most of those that stay keeping their schedules even over the weekend.

Soap helps you make your tray before finding Ghost sitting at a table. You deposit your tray across from them before going to grab something to drink. You look over the options, your sleep-drunk brain trying to decide on what you need.

“I recommend coffee.” A voice says behind you.

You spin around, looking up at a familiar face. Your stomach twists nervously, the back of your neck prickling. It’s the soldier that had been staring at you your second day on base, the one Ghost had scared off with his glare.

“You look like you need it.” He says, giving what you assume is supposed to be a friendly smile, except to you it looks like the grin of a hungry wolf in a storybook, and you’re the injured rabbit about to be devoured. You flinch just slightly as he holds out a hand. “I’m Corporal McKinney.”

You don’t want to take his hand, you don’t want to touch him at all. Catcalling you could handle, the stares and the whistles were nothing. None of them have been so brave as to approach you before now, and you’re starting to realize you prefer it that way.

An overwhelming scent suddenly washes over you, the prickling at the back of your neck intensifying. It’s rich and deep, the scent of leather and gunpowder lacing the ozone-like tang of anger, of danger.

“Can I help you, Corporal?” The deep voice rumbles behind you, the warmth close enough all you’d have to do was lean back slightly and you’d be touching him.

The soldier’s eyes lift from you to Ghost behind you, the wicked gleam to them fading as he stares down the giant alpha. “No, sir.” The soldier swallows thickly. “Just thought I’d introduce myself to the new omega on base. Figured we’d be seeing a lot of her around.”

“She’s no concern of yours.” Ghost says, a dangerous rumble vibrating at the edge of his voice. “You were given the briefing.”

He hesitates and you know he’s measuring the risk of staying, of saying something else. It’s not just the threat of a dangerous alpha, but also of his superior. “Of course, sir.” He finally says, eyeing you once more before he turns on his heel, leaving the mess.

“What do you want?”

You turn on your heel, staring up at Ghost. You’re shaking a little, staring up at him wide-eyed. You no longer feel the haze of sleep, wide awake and alert. Ghost is staring down at you, his scent far less prominent than it had been before.

“To drink.” He motions to the selection, waiting on you to answer.

You stare at the options, your brain trying hard to snap back into the present, to comprehend what you’re looking at. You’re on edge, on high alert after that confrontation.

“W-Water please.” You manage to stutter out,

“Go sit back down. I’ll get it.” He says, turning his back to you.

You scurry back to the table, still trembling as you take your seat again. You’re getting stares, likely from the change in your scent. It’s alerting every alpha and beta in close proximity, their instincts reacting to the scent of fear, of an threatened omega.

“Ye alright, hen?” Soap asks, giving you a worried look. The scent of beta washes over you, Soap projecting his scent to try and cover yours and calm you all at once.

You nod, trying to swallow the panic before you alert the entire mess to your current emotional state. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Ghost returns with a glass of water, setting it in front of you before taking his seat again.

“Thank you.” You murmur, taking a long drink of it. It’s ice cold, the sensation shocking you back into reality a bit.

You’re still trembling slightly as you eat, the back of your neck still prickling. You glance around the quickly emptying mess, eyes following every person that walks too close to the table. You know you’re safe. Soap and Ghost would make quick work of anyone who tried anything.

Ghost did make quick work of the alpha that had approached you.

You’re still in a bit of disbelief that Ghost had come to your aid. You remember the anger burning in his scent, the rumble at the edge of his voice. An alpha poised for a fight. Of course, you were being cornered by another alpha. You don’t doubt Soap could have easily won that fight if he had to, but an alpha had the natural advantage in a fight against other alphas. If it had been a beta cornering you, would he have still come to your aid? Or would he have watched and let Soap handle it?

You're drawn from your thoughts as Soap’s phone rings, and he dismisses himself from the table to answer it. You wonder who it might be. Family maybe? Price? You wish you had someone that would call you regularly. You will, once they start leaving you.

You’re left alone with Ghost, your eyes trying to look anywhere but at him. He takes your tray once you’re done, going to dump it before motioning for you to follow. You’re still a bit shaken, though you’ve managed to get your trembling under control, as well as your scent.

He leads you back towards the barracks, your pace faster to keep up with him. Your feet hurt, but you’re eager to get back to the familiar safety of the barracks.

You stop as a whistle sounds through the air, Ghost’s steps faltering as well.

“Gonna go spread your legs for that freak, bunny?” A voice calls out across the courtyard. “I’m sure I could offer you a better time. At least you’ll be able to see my face.”

The smell of ozone washes over you again, burning straight to some primal part of your brain. You’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion, or the emotions still reeling from your confrontation in the mess, but you turn on your heel, stalking over to the group of soldiers. You’re trembling again, but not out of fear. The anger has gone straight to your instincts, burning hot through your veins.

The soldiers laugh as you approach, the one that had spoken grinning vilely at you. “Gonna take me up on my offer, omega?” The sound of your title from his lips nearly makes you shudder in disgust. It’s wrong, it sounds wrong being said in such a way. “I’d love to bend you over and stare at that sweet ass all night-”

It’s not until your hand is throbbing that you register what happened. The soldier stumbles back a step, hand moving to his face. Your hand is balled in a fist, knuckles throbbing from the punch you delivered to his face. The next few moments seem to move in slow motion, your body pushed backwards as a hulking form comes to stand in front of you. The scent of ozone is still burning hot in your nose, anger pulsing through your body. Your ears are ringing, your hands refusing to unball from the fists they’ve closed into. You’re breathing heavily, eyes training on a small speck of mud on the back of Ghost’s jacket.

“-You even so much as look in her direction again, I’ll rip your intestines out, tie them to the back of a humvee and drag you all the way to London, understood?” The dangerous rumble is back at the edge of his voice, his own hands balled into fists.

“Loud and clear, sir.” The soldier spits out, massaging his face from your punch.

A rough hand closes around your arm, making you stumble as you’re half dragged towards the barracks. You’re breathing heavily, breaths coming in gasps as the flood of emotions through you grows to almost be too much. You’re led down the hall towards the rec room, Ghost pushing you inside.

“Sit.” He snaps, pointing at the couch.

You scramble to sit where he pointed, your brain beginning to move in autopilot as you cradle your throbbing hand to your chest. It’s still curled in a fist, the adrenaline pumping through you preventing you from uncurling your fingers. You try to steady your breathing as Ghost digs around in the fridge for a moment. You flinch as the door slams closed, Ghost dropping an ice pack on the coffee table before he takes a seat next to you on the couch.

He grabs your hand, pulling it towards him rather roughly. He forces your fingers to uncurl, his own rough fingers digging into your hand, poking and prodding. He moves your fingers, bending your wrist and moving your arm. “It’s not broken.” He says, grabbing the ice pack and slapping it across your knuckles. “Luckily.”

You’re still trembling, your hand lifting subconsciously to hold the ice pack in place. You feel dazed, not unlike you had earlier when you’d been pulled from sleep, only this time you can feel the emotions still pulsing through you. The remnants of anger, the disgust, the fear both from attacking an alpha, and the reprimanding you’re sure you’re due for doing such a thing.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” You murmur, feeling far away, outside of your body looking in.

“Probably not.” Ghost says.

You turn slightly to look at him, pupils dilated as you simultaneously appear to see him and look straight through him. “Price is gonna find out.”

Ghost nods again, the burn of ozone gone from his scent. “He’ll believe you, though. Anything you tell him, he’s going to believe you over what anyone else says.”

You stare at him, the skull mask from earlier gone, leaving him just in his balaclava. His eyelashes are blonde, you think as you take him in, trying to ground yourself. His skin looks soft, but that could just be the omega screaming at you. You expect him to get up, to leave you alone until you find the will to move, or one of the others finds you. Yet, he stays where he is, eyes focused across the room as you sit there.

“You’re a purebred alpha.” You say, breaking the silence with the thought that had come to mind earlier. You need to keep talking, to keep your mind steady while you relax.

“How did you figure it out?” He asks, not denying it.

“Your scent.” You say, recalling earlier in the mess, the way his scent had permeated your entire body. You hadn’t just sensed it, you had felt it. His emotions, his anger, the hint of desperation for the Corporal to make the smart decision and walk away. “It’s different from other alphas. Price smells good and I’d like to roll around in his scent, but yours hits some deep primal part of my brain.” You say, turning slowly to face him. “Makes sense you’d end up in a position like this. You’re supposed to be like, an apex human.” You laugh quietly. “Just a couple of purebreds. What are the odds?”

“Very high.” He answers.

You laugh again. “Yeah, I know. Both of my parents were purebreds, and my grandparents. Both of them came from a long line of purebreds.” Your brows pinch into a frown. “I didn’t see it in your file, though.”

“I don’t want it to be.” He explains.

“Makes sense.” You say. “If I’d had that choice I’d have it left out too. As soon as someone sees it, that’s how they measure your worth. It’s not about you anymore, it’s your status they want.” You lift the ice, moving your fingers. Your hand is sore, your knuckles starting to swell a bit.

“It’ll bruise.” He says, staring down at your hand.

“‘Spose it could have been worse.” You say, grimacing at the ache pulsing all the way to your shoulder.

“Yeah,” He scoffs. “You could have broken your arm with a punch like that.”

“‘S not my fault the CIA didn’t teach me much.” You murmur. “They mostly made me run.” You remember the hours and hours you spend running circles around the gym. So many circles, over and over again.

Get involved in their hobbies. Your brain flicks through that section of the book, an idea beginning to form in your head. You’d considered it a few days ago, when you first read that chapter. Ghost speaks in violence and warfare, fighting and defending. How do you bond with the apex of humankind?

“Teach me to fight.”

His eyes shift slowly until he’s looking at you. You wish you could see the rest of his face, read his expression. His eyes don't give you much to go off of, something he'd likely perfected over the years.

“Or, at least defend myself.” You continue, fighting the urge to shrink back under his gaze. “I know, Price already told me to run first, but what if that's not an option? Am I gonna throw a shitty punch and hope it works? Aim between the legs and hope I'm faster than they can block? I promise I won't go around trying to fight asshole alphas.”

He continues to stare at you, his eyes locked on yours. Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach twisting nervously but there's no challenge in his gaze, not even a playful one like you'd initiated with Price. He's simply staring.

You wonder what he's looking for, what he's thinking. Will he laugh at you for asking? Tell you to ask someone else? Get Price to do it since he’s actually your alpha?

“Fine.” He grunts, breaking eye contact first as he pushes himself to stand. “We start Monday. Early.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him leave the rec room. You may have just found your way into Ghost’s heart, or at least a way to get him to tolerate your presence.

Monday. Early.

You’ll be ready.

Taglist Part 1:

@bobaprint, @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10

#call of duty fic #call of duty #cod fic #john price x reader #captain price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics #omegaverse #x reader

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