#despite the fact he has the WORST situation between the three of them

[stuworbutwitheds]

This might be a hot take(?) but i do like how Eddy become more grumpy as the show went between seasons

Of course he is more mean and kinda more aggressive with his friends.

But i think it's a great way to show how trauma can affect your personality, especially when it comes to physical abuse. Not every child that suffers like that is quiet and shy, some of them can mirror the bad traits of their abuser and they're just as valid to get love and support.

[yeyinde]

baby blues

John Price + the panic of fatherhood x reader

pregnancy. babies. soft. sappy. angsty. slight allusions to rough sex. John being possessive and smitten. allusions to childhood trauma. the fear of children is somehow more potent than the fear of god. girl dad John. mentions of Price's divorce lmao

Most assume he'd take to fatherhood like he'd been born for the role; handcrafted to cradle a swaddled babe in his arms. The perfect father figure. But as he hovers over your sleeping form, the little bundle nestled in the sleepy bracket of your arms, he's overcome with a sense of dread that punches hard enough to shatter bone.

The reality is this: Price doesn't understand kids. He wants them. Covets them with a viciousness that almost immediately sets alarm bells off in the heads of those who were opposed to the idea of children, parenthood. Giving birth. But when it comes to being a dad, a role model, an effigy to siphon wisdom and knowledge off of, he flounders. Hesitates.

All he has as an idea of fatherhood is bruises laughed off by the neighbours as him being a clumsy boy. A man who drank in the living room, silent in his fury, his belligerence, until something—anything, really—set him off. He always seemed like he was itching for a reason to punish.

And god, was he ever fucking good at it.

If anger issues are hereditary, then Price picked up the generational slack of his seething ancestors. 

It's this, and the plethora of scars and burns that decorate his skin (well hidden, tucked away like a dirty secret because if Old Man Price was anything, it certainly wasn't stupid; he knows how to hide the ugliness of himself away, and how to turn a boy into a punching bag without causing too much damage, too much alarm) that make him ache something fierce when he sees his chubby little child for the first time. 

Price doesn't know how to be gentle. All he has are worn, rough hands and a constant stench of smoke. A voice that makes grown men tremble. An ire unmatched thus far in his life. 

Until you. Little spitfire. His hellion. You stood on the tips of your toes just to tell him off for being a stubborn pig! and then taught him how to hold you. How to be tender. But even now, he can see the wear on your skin from his bites. His propensity for violence that he morphs into desire. Into lust. 

How is he supposed to be a dad when he's this caustic? This mean? 

The answer doesn't come. All he gets is the rhythmic sigh of your breath as you sleep, well and truly exhausted after giving birth to their child. All alone. A constant in your lives, it seems. Aloneness. His work takes him away, throws him into dangerous situations. And you carry the brunt of it. 

It caused the rupture of his first marriage and is a needling fear he carried with him when you started pursuing him some odd years ago. To think that he'd be standing here now, gazing down at you with your heavy eyes and your soft cheeks, rounded with the additional weight you gained during your early trimesters. A plushness he's trying to keep on you for good—all softened edges, flesh that gives when he touches you, marshmallows out between his fingers when he squeezes.

You look good like this. Motherhood, despite your misgivings (it took three years of him hinting and hounding you before you'd relented with a sure, what's the worst that could happen? We're terrible parents and raise a terrible kid? Or we end up the catalyst for a list of psychological issues and get reamed out during their therapy sessions later on in life?), suits you. Fits you like a glove.

A fact you'd been quietly overwhelmed by in the first few months, grieving the loss of something he couldn't ever understand, or experience. A piece of yourself morphing into the mother that raised you. A kaleidoscope of feelings that you choke on when he asks, unable to render them into coherent words. 

But you're good at that, aren't you? Good at culling expectations, at superseding the limits others place on you. Even him. 

Especially him. 

When he'd said, don't know what you're gettin’ yourself into, love, you took it to the chin like he challenged you to a brawl, and set out to show him why you knew what this was, what he was, and why it didn't matter much. 

Even now—

Giving birth all alone. Overcoming the isolation of being shackled to a man who married his post first. Sisterwife to his career. Second in all things. 

Even this. 

He was in Iceland when he got the call. Laswell, of all people, was on the other line telling him his own wife was in the delivery room. Water broke. Baby is on the way. 

And you—

Don't worry, old man. Just do what needs to be done and we'll be waiting. Always. 

—well. You certainly are. Alone in a hospital room with the curtains drawn to blot out the sun as you sleep, cradling this thing he made with his fingers shoved deep into your mouth, uttering foul under his breath as he crushed you to the bed, rutting you like an animal—the most tender he could ever be—and he's suddenly all too aware of his own inadequacies. His shortcomings. Failures. 

He's not a dad. He's not the sort of man people think about when they think healthy father figure. He likes cigars and whiskey, and sometimes aches for a mission that will let him cut his knuckles on teeth—bloodletting; exorcising his demons out on the people he's sanctioned to kill. How is he supposed to guide a child when he threw a man over a railing without a second thought—

The bundle stirs. Wrinkled, red face scrunching up tight. Little thing is just like you, huh? All softness and give. All—

They cry, and it's shrill. Loud. It jars him.

Not the sound, but the anguish he feels piercing through his chest as they bellow out their confusion to the world, this lost little thing. Strapped with a father who was beaten black and blue and told to be a man when he cried. 

But right now—anger is the furthest thing on his mind. He can't fathom that emotion when his child is whimpering in your arms, chubby little fingers grasping at the air. Seeking comfort. 

Waking you feels cruel when you've spent the better part of two days awake. Four, really. You couldn't sleep when the contractions hit, wide-eyed and worried about everything. What if something went wrong? If they hated you? What if you hurt them—

Worries he tried to assuage, but couldn't deny he felt them, too. 

All he knows how to do is hurt. But as he reaches down for this little thing squirming in your arms, he tells himself to be tender. To be the man his dad never was. 

And they're soft. So fuckin’ soft. Tiny, too. His hands dwarf them, engulfing them completely. He tries to blame the way he trembles on the denial of nicotine for so long, but the mist in his eyes, and the burn in his throat, call him a liar. He doesn't know what to do. Even with all the hours spent thumbing through manuals and books and scoffing under his breath at the parenting courses you dragged him to (but paid rigid attention to every word the heavily bangled woman said to him), he feels lost. Unsure. The ground is shaky. Control slips. And that's maybe the crux of it all—

Babies can't be controlled. And it's the loss of this, what makes him whole, keeps him steady, that has him feeling rubber-limbed and fawn-like. 

“Quiet, now,” he murmurs, and then winces at the rough drag of his voice in the silence of the room. Too firm, too forceful. All the gentleness he has in his bones was devoured by your greedy mouth when you cracked him open like the legs of a snow crab, marrow slurped up until he was hollow. Empty. His tenderness rests inside your belly. What else does he have to give—

But the warm bundle in his awkward, clumsy hold stops their shrill cries. A girl, he remembers you saying. Crying. Sobbing into the phone when he called, all ugly and gross. He heard you sniffle, snot undoubtedly dribbling from your nose as you wept to him about how fucking cute their baby was. Their little girl. 

She's soft. Smells of a newborn, too—something powdery. Sweet. Warmed milk, fresh bread. The clinical books that made you squeamish, the ones that outlined every anatomical and chemical change to your body, mentioned that newborns smelled distinct to each parent. A phenomenon meant to encourage protection and bonding. 

It made you shiver, muttering my little parasite under your breath, even as your hand curved possessively over your bulging belly. 

He knows that's what this is. Chemical. His mind is evolving, shifting. Changing. And it's then that he feels something hot thicken in his throat. Something ugly, and bitter. The scars on his knuckles, the cigarette burns on his fingers are a sharp reminder of what his father felt and ignored. 

He scoffs, then, irritated at himself. He's a grown man and still—

Still thinks of him. 

“Won't be like that,” he says, still rough. Still firm. She blinks up at him, eyes rheumy and wide. “Not with you.” 

Never. Never. He pins the word to his pericardium, letting it rot his tissue. He'd rather die, he thinks, than ever hurt this little girl. But despite that, he knows he will. Inevitably. Just like he does everything good—or bad—in his life. Leaching from the goodness of others, sucking them dry and letting them moulder. A disappointment everywhere except the battlefield where he screams himself hollow and rents the air with his ire. Incorrigible. Immovable. An object of cruelty. Unforgiving in all aspects. A curse that follows him home, into his marital bed when he pins you down, and makes you profess your love for the beast inside of him. Never satiated, never quelled, until you're shackled at his side. Tucked away from the world he knows is too cruel to people like you who end up a corpse he has to step over on his way for empty retribution. 

He thinks, too, about all the ways he's going to ruin this chubby little thing in his arms, and wishes, suddenly, he was a better man. 

“Gonna hate my fuckin' guts when you're sixteen, aren't you?” In response, this little thing just opens its red maw and blows bubbles. He huffs. “You're gonna be nothin’ but trouble, mm? Steal my car. Crash it because your mum's gonna teach you how to drive and she backed into the garage six times already. Gonna gang up on me. Both of you. Little nightmares.” 

He's not sure what else to say, and thinks, already, that he said too much. Bared his belly to her too soon. She'll have this memory, buried down in the deep recesses of her psyche of her father falling to pieces while he held her. An impossibility, he knows, but can't shake the feeling that this, in itself, is an epoch. A marker for what's to come. All the ugly, the hate. The screaming matches that make him curl his hand into fists as she levels his failures at him. Not to hit. Never to hit. But to stop the tremble that won't stop. That has already started. The shake in his joints that tell him to run before he hurts. Before he ruins this precious mass of his blood and your tissue in his arms. 

“Gonna—” he isn't crying. Isn't. But there's a thickness in his throat as he thinks about how quickly she'll grow up. Age marked in the crows feet that gather around your eyes. The laugh lines. “Gonna be a fuckin' menace, and I'll—” he chokes, then, when she reaches up with a pudgy, red fist and snags the strap of his vest he didn't even bother taking off before he fled here. Fat, tiny fingers curling into the spot he grabs to ground himself from lashing out. “Fuck.”

He'd burn the world for her, he knows. Sacrifice everyone and everything just to keep her warm. Both of you. It begins and ends with this little thing that has your eyes and his nose. 

But he doesn't know how to translate that into love. Into affection. 

It comes out caustic. Abrasive. Possessive. 

And he is. 

Now that he has her in his hands he knows that nothing else will ever compare. That they'll never be empty because she'll always fit in his palms no matter how big she gets. There's only ever been enough space in his heart for you. Chiselled into with a fuckin’ pickaxe because you wouldn't wait for it to grow on its own. 

But there's give, he realises. This domicile you carved yourself has a room attached. A place for her. And she fits like a glove. Sliding inside. Cocooned against his pulse. 

He loves her. Endlessly. Forever. She deserves better. More. 

But when he tells her this, she makes a noise and it sounds like a giggle. 

“Laughin’ at me already, mm?”

She giggles again, and he likes that her laugh is a little ugly. A little mean. 

“Scarin’ the wits outta me,” he confesses, shifting her weight as she occupies herself with the clasp of his vest, disinterested in the man that breaks into pieces around her now. “I don't know—fuck, I don't—”

You come to in a panic. It starts as a slow roll to the side before your eyes flash open, wide and furious even as sleep congeals in the corners, pawing at the empty spot where the lingering warmth of your child presses into your chest. Anger, fury, darkens over your brow, and the apoplectic rage that simmers in the gaps of your dread, your fostering panic, softens him. Makes him melt. The burn of your ire, your fear, liquifying his bones. 

He falls in love with you a little bit more at that moment. When the snarl rucks your upper lip up, up, teeth bared to the world as you whip your head around in frantic, desperate dismay, searching for the little girl he knows you, too, will burn the world for. 

“I've got her,” he says, whisper-soft and low. Cadence even, clear. Tries to quell the howl he can see hammering its fists against your throat before it rips from your lips and scorches the world around you in a hail of horrifying anguish. “She's safe.”

It says something when you immediately go still at the sound of his voice, muscles going lax, slack, as you slowly turn your head toward him, blinking against the fog clotting your vision. Something that cuts him to the core. Rents his chest in halves. One side for you, and the other for her. Nothing left to spare. 

This feeling brimming in his chest sweetens when you startle at the sight of him, them, lashes shuttering like an old camera as if you were trying to sear the image in your head forever. Branded on the back of your eyelids. (A sentiment he knows all too well considering the stream of photos added to his camera roll of you and her nuzzled together.)

“You—” your voice catches, breaks from sleep. Fatigue. You swallow, slowly licking your lips. “When did you get in?”

Your eyes are glued to them. Unblinking. Widened with pure affection, the intensity of which makes him want to touch you, hold you.

“A few hours ago,” he murmurs, glancing down at his—

It cuts a jagged line through his chest. Knicks his bone with how deep it goes. False starts pressed tight to his heart. 

—his daughter. Fuck’s sake. 

He's choked. Strangled. Rendered mute, immobilised. It guts him, this. Daughter. The ring of it echoes in his head, filling the recesses of his mind. Embedding itself within his head. Congealed over. Fixed in place. 

“I have a fuckin’ daughter,” he breathes at length, the air knocked from his lungs. He's not sure why this is what breaks him, but it does. And it's you, then, holding the fracturing pieces together, hands reaching out—in a startling mimicry of his daughter, and fuck, doesn't that just eviscerate him—and curling against the heaving brackets of his ribs, boxing him in. 

“John,” you say, but your voice wobbles. Wavers. When he peels his eyes away from the sleepy yawn she lets out long enough to look at you, there's tears flooding your lashline. Threatening to break. “Fuck,” you say, crass and beautiful, and he's overcome with the urge to tuck you into his other arm, keep you both cradled in his hands. “Don't make me cry or my stitches will tug.” 

“We've got a daughter,” he says again, just to hear it uttered aloud. We. Yours. His. It messes with him. Bludgeons into his core. “We've—”

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” 

Your words shatter him, but the pinch of your hands on his waist keeps him from buckling. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice thick. Ugly. It's mangled in his throat. All fractured and raw. “Just like her mother.”

He shows his affection in the burn of his embrace. In the way he holds you tight, refusing to let go. Keeps his words callous and firm. Soft utterances, declarations of love, tucked away in the sure, greedy way he clings to you in his sleep. Yields to you like no one else. Lets you in. 

And he supposes he ought to say it more often if the way your face crinkles up just like his daughter when she cried, tears spilling over your rounded cheeks. 

“Don't,” you heave, ugly and brittle, and he thinks you're the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. “Don't or I'll rip my stitches—”

He huffs. Nods only once, and then steps toward you. “Do you want—?”

“Keep her for a little while,” you mutter, leaning back into the bed, eyes lidded by fond. So in love with him, the picture they paint, it's almost sickening. “She likes you.”

He snorts. “She's only three hours old. Give her time.” 

You're quiet for a beat. Pensive. Mulling something over. It's never a good thing when you're silent, and the unease that grows in his belly is justified when you heave out a long, tired exhale through your nose. 

The way you look at him is raw. “You're not your father, John.” 

And isn't that just the worst lie he'd ever heard.

He scoffs, then. Shifts his weight, still cradling his daughter tight to his chest. “Mm, 'dunno about that.”

“I do.”

“Jus’—” leave it. Keep going. Keep feeding him lies as he stands here and pretends that he wasn't a horrible bastard for wanting this from you. From taking it. Strapping you with a man who's always, always, one foot out the door—

“No.” You say, soft and sure. “You're not him. I know you're not because you're still here.”

“So was he.” 

You don't acknowledge the interruption. Content, it seems, to rattle off lies and half-truths into the stifling air. Your eyes close, the curve of your lashes leonine. Breathtaking.

“Do you want me to take her?” You ask instead of the multitude of things he can see piling behind your eyes. Some of the ugly. Jagged glass. Others powder soft. 

He shakes his head. “You need your rest,” it's a half-truth. Fatigue clings to you still, swathed in the purpling of your skin. The slow, heavy blinks you take to try and fight the tug of an artificial sleep. 

But the real reason is this:

He's just not ready to let her go. 

Thinks, viciously, suddenly, that if he does, this moment built between them in budding, liquid blue will cease forever. Severed too soon. She'll carry the same resentment in her heart he feels for his own father, and he'll die in a shallow pit thinking about how badly he wanted just a second longer. 

Generational, right? Trickle down hatred. Ancestral rage. It's what your grandma talks about sometimes over tea and fried bread, half disbelieving you brought a white man into her home, and making a show, a facade, of wisdom even though he spotted the how to raise a child notebook she hastily shoved into the kitchen drawer when you arrived. Taking over in place of your own mother, stepping up. And yet—

She just doesn't get it, you said, rubbing your hands over your belly when she steps away after another long-winded conversation about traditions, spirits, and dead languages. Raising a child like yours in a world like this. She's just. I don't know. Ignore her. 

(He doesn't. But you don't have to know that.)

So. He clings to her a little tighter. Holds her a little firmer. Brings her close to his chest and hopes she can hear the echo of his heartbeat and know that this tired, old song is just for her. 

(The heart itself for you—)

And maybe—

Maybe he's not quite ready to see you be a mother. Some perverse part of him is already trembling at the promise of watching you nurture and feed her, the tantalising whisper is enough to make the air in his lungs turn humid, sticky. Tar, you remind him sometimes, having seen the ugly spatter of black in the grainy photos the doctor in Hereford likes to shove at him. Never too late to reverse the damage, John. 

Or maybe he wants you for himself just a moment longer. An hour. A day. When you're still you, shackled and bound to a man who reeks of stale tobacco, and started sneaking cigarettes in the dead of night like some pimply, awkward teenager when you first came to him, cheeks wet and eyes wild, and said:

“John, I'm—”

Pregnant. 

He did it, of course. Put that baby in you. Made it with his teeth buried into your throat and your hips canting up to meet him, taking everything he had to offer. Animal aggression. Nothing tender in the way he chewed you up, made you beg him for it. But still—

Wanting and having are worlds apart, aren't they? 

Faced with it, the consequences of his actions, he's at a standstill. 

You hum, and when your eyes slide open, he feels the mallet against his head. Cracked open. You fossick about until you find what you're looking for. Cheeky fuckin’ thing—

“Fine. Just pull up a chair before you keel over, old man.” 

“M’fine,” he grouses in that voice that serves as a dice roll between making you feel hot or homicidal depending on the mood he catches you in. Muttering something under your breath that sounds like a whispered plea for guidance (“tss, gimme strength.”)

But even with the waspish denial, he's inching closer to the spare chair left in the corner, looping his ankle around the leg to slide it closer. The squeal of rubber on aluminium makes him grimace, eyes darting down to his sleeping girl, nestled in his arms. Her brow pinches in the same way your grandma’s do when she's annoyed by the news. Her bingomates. The way he refuses her offering of burning tobacco and lemongrass whenever he goes away for a while, unable to really commit to this little, broken family that feels more like home than his own ever did. 

(“aint my place,” he says, and she scoffs. 

“fuck, s'matter wit’cha?” is her counter, the harsh line between her brows now perfectly superimposed on his daughter’s face. “tss. ain't yer place, eh. are you tryna piss me off? fuck, you make me mad—”)

He sees that spitting anger in you. Generational, he knows. The same inherited attitude his daughter will inevitably have. The one that singles him out as an outlier. Outnumbered. Three, now, to one—

There's got to be a reason why his chest bubbles, innervated by the thought of a Sunday dinner when she's old enough to watch her grandma make intricate bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and pins with thread and glass beads as you, her mother, cuss at the stove that doesn't burn as hot as it used to, flipping over golden dough in a sizzling pan. 

Orange juice in old cups your grandma kept since the nineties. Something soft playing on the radio. The peeling, waterlogged wallpaper flakes off the wall when you slam the pan down too hard. The way the spill of the sun through the rusting window rents the room in half. Pale yellow and oak. Little orange blossoms in soft pink above the speckled granite countertops. Everything awash in a gossamer of sleepy-eyed affection. 

Just like it is now. But—

He looks down at her, head full of lead. Cotton. 

Complete, maybe. 

“Don't know how to be a dad,” he confesses to you, and thinks of how much easier it is to slam a sledgehammer into a metal door than it is to peel back the veneer sometimes. “Don't want to mess up.” 

“You'll be fine.” 

The crinkle of the plastic mattress, the scratch of the sheets sliding across the bed is louder now than it was before. He cuts the gentle sounds with an abrading hum that clicks off his teeth. 

“Get some sleep,” he says again instead of the awful truth that buoys in his throat. Things like you don't know and I tricked you this whole time into thinking I'm a good man and look what you’ve let me do to you. “You need it.” 

Another noise. In his periphery, he watches you lean back against the upright pillows, lips parted on a soft sigh. He feels—

Small, then. An oxymoron considering he has to duck his head to get in and out of the room, towering over most he meets daily. But the inadequacies gut him. Vivisect him. He should be more comforting to you, he knows. This whole thing has been difficult. Tiresome. Cut into and having the life you grew inside of you cut out—

“Did good,” he rasps, still staring down at her even as he pulls the chair as close to your bed as he can get. “With her.” 

You snort. It's inelegant. Ugly. Brittle, like you're holding back tears. 

When he glances up, he finds that you are. “You're strong,” he adds, and knows he should have started with this first. “Doin’ this all on your own.” 

“I had help.”

It's awkward trying to adjust himself in the seat with his daughter perched in his arms, but he finds a way. Settled, then, with her still sleeping away, he lifts his hand from her back, keeping her cradled in his arm with the other, and reaches for you. 

The starchy sheets catch on the bramble of hair on his knuckles, the back of his hand, and the static jolts tickle against the rough scar tissue thickened over his knuckles, some still fresh, scabbed from the latest mission he'd been deployed to. You watch him, misty-eyed and tremulous, as he draws nearer, eyes flickering like a pendulum between the bundle nestled on the thick of his arm, to him, watching you back. Greedily taking in every spasm, every blink. 

Something inside of him cracks. Softens. He thinks, breathless, that you've never been as beautiful to him as you are right now. Bubbles of snot in your nose. Eyes reddened, dropping from exhaustion. A dizzying mess. The sort that speaks of tireless work, of physicality. Muted pain brimming in the backs of your eyes when you pull on your stitches. 

“Got a pretty wife,” he says, and it's not enough. He knows it isn't. Looks away before the fracture lilt to his tone breaks him in two. “And—” it's hard to say. He forces himself to. “And a beautiful daughter.” 

The tears stream down your face at this quiet, clumsy admission. 

“Don't—” you sniffle, hoarse. “Or I'll tear my stitches.”

“M’not doin' anythin’, love.” 

“Fuck you, John—”

He leans back in his chair with a hum, eyes slipping shut. A brief respite amid the panic still clinging tight to his ribcage. “Love you too.” 

It's quiet. Nothing but the soft drag of each breath his daughter takes, the tremulous sniffle you give as you try to dam the tears sliding down your cheeks. His heart hammering in his ears. He commits it all to memory. Glueing it to the fibrils of mind where it'll stay, embedded in tissue, for as long as he is of sound mind. 

Much like the grainy, black-and-white ultrasounds stuffed in his breast pocket. Tucked inside the drawer of his desk where he keeps the pictures of you. Keepsakes he's unnecessarily possessive over, elbowing the rowdier men who try to needle him for sparse information on the little wife he hides at home and the baby they'll never meet. Something just for him. Unshareable to the rest of the world because they don't deserve you. 

The feathered snores tell him you're finally asleep, and he thinks about resting for a moment as well—the bone-deep exhaustion he feels jetting from Iceland to home, to the hospital catches up to him with a vicious kick to temples—but the weight in his arm keeps him awake. Hyperviligent. 

There's this urge clawing at him, making ruins of his chest, and he answers its worried insistence by opening his eyes just a sliver to stare down at the little bundle in his arms only to find she's staring back at him. Eyes wide. Comically too big for her chubby face. 

She has your complexion, but his dark curls. Her eyes, though, are the perfect equilibrium between pools of sapphire, burnt blue, marbled with the dark gleam, that vibrant shade of yours that he's so fond of, the one that's often accompanied by a smart-ass remark. Seeing it gaze up at him with such incipient adoration knocks the air from his lungs. Has his heart shuddering in the brackets of his chest. 

It's love, he thinks first. Instantaneous. Apodictic. And then, cold, callous—

Chemical. 

Just to hurt himself, maybe. Just to let it cut deep. Scar. Because as he stares down at her, he knows it doesn't matter. No amount of hatred, of anger, will ever rip her away from him. His daughter. His family. His.

Like her mother. The root of it all. The catalyst. The start. 

Shackled to this gaping chasm that devours endlessly, never satiated. Always starving. 

Needy. Full of greed. 

Because even now he covets. Craves. Muses to himself about how he can convince you to have another the moment the opportunity arises and you're healed. Whole. Aching for it. 

He wasn't joking when he said he wanted a football team. 

But for now—

The soft sighs you make in your sleep, ones that almost sound like his name, and the comforting weight of his daughter in his arms are enough to make the beast inside purr. Preening under its own conquest, its own victory of successfully turning your body into a home he can rest his weary head on. Sacrosanct. 

He looks at her, then, and feels the dread ease into pride. Into elation. An emotion he knows should have come first, but it's here now, and that's all that really matters.

“Gonna be trouble,” he grouses, watching her pink mouth gape wide, blood-red maw grinning up at him in delirious glee only babies can imbue. Unhindered by the ruination of the world around them. Unfettered. 

Something he couldn't protect you from, but knows you're both on the same wavelength when it comes to her. At all costs, you'd said, hand against the burgeoning swell. And he kissed you until he couldn't feel his lips anymore. Until all he tasted, all he knew, was the taste of you.

“Of the best kind, though, mm?” 

In response, she coos. And he hews the sound into his chest where it sits beside the brand of when you first said, i love you, too, John. 

So, he relaxes. Whispers soft, conspiratorily. "Think you might need'a brother, mm? What'd you say about that?"

And she giggles.

[smoozie]

Did not just watch a full episode of Wild Life in which both of Grian's teammates desperately try to get kills and both end up on red despite (and often because of) their effort, for you guys to keep saying Scar and Jimmy are getting eliminated next episode.

Jimmy has five fucking kills man. He's doing GREAT!! I know that people are attached to the canary curse, and this is Wild Life so I understand anything can happen, but come on. I will admit I don't have high hopes for Jimmy, but I really think people are selling him short this season.

Yeah Scar failed like eight traps this session, but he's still doing well. Ya know why? Because he's good at taking advantage of a situation. That man has six kills on Etho alone for a reason. Do none of you remember last season when Gem attacked Scar early on during the boogeyman apocalypse because she thought he would be an easy kill, and she had to RETREAT because he did too much damage on her?!?

The worst part is that no one is even claiming Jimmy and Scar are in danger for reasonable things, like the fact that Grian (who has the HIGHEST kill count in the series) has just declared them his number one enemies. Everyone is acting like they're both just going to throw themselves off cliffs three times next episode. Like yeah they can both be reckless players but they aren't stupid. They know to stay safe on red. Scar especially performs well on red. (He is a LOT like Joel)

Speaking of which! The Bamboozlers have happily made an alliance with the Family. Two of the strongest pvp players on the server. "But Jimmy killed Joel" yeah and Joel congratulated him because he thought it was a good kill. Scar and Lizzie have had alliances with the Family for a while, now that Jimmy's green there's no bad blood between them. And while I don't think Gem or Joel are gonna die saving any Bamboozlers (well, Joel might for Lizzie), having them on their side may slightly deter Grian's posse considering their desperate attempts on the Family's lives this episode.

POINT BEING: The Bamboozlers are ALL in a really good place at the end of this episode. Their whole team is green, they've secured an alliance with the Family, and they're all competent players. Y'all should be really worried about Mumbo right now. I'm worried about Mumbo.

[sinsmockingbird]

Aight, dis the (F!)MC family with (Yandere!)Yukong request (more like a ramble I guess which you can feel free to adapt to a request/fic as you want) :3

What do you think their children would look like? They'd probably have floofy hairs/tails like Yukong (Foxian/Kitsune genetics I've always thought are probs very strong), and they'd probably grow up very spoiled, by Qingni, who'd I'd imagine would be a great older sister, and by the Astral Express whenever they visit.

I can't help but feel like there'd be some friction there between Yukong and the crew, since the crew might feel something is off about Yukong being overly protective, alongside with Stelle's sudden decision to stay on the Luofu, and Yukong is afraid they might try to take Stelle with them.

I also wonder how Qingni would react to the whole situation in the first place. While she'd probably be very happy to see her mother happy, and to have younger siblings, she might also find Stelle's sudden decision to stay a bit weird (not that'd she'd comment on it).

If Stelle and Qingni grow close during Stelle's stay on the Luofu, I could totally see Yukong using that to further try to convince Stelle to stay, pointing out how they make such a lovely family the three of them together. Something along the lines of, It'd be a shame to throw it all away to go explore, and maybe never get to come back to see them. Who knows, maybe we could give Qingni some younger siblings? She did always want some as a child. Surely it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you somehow ended up pregnant, right?

Sorry for the mess of ideas that this was oeidfvgjherhfgu I had a lot of thoughts after the fic that you made (which I may or may not have read lots of times already). Please feel free to only adapt parts of it/segment it, I can always send other requests in the future with the other sections if they don't mesh well together/get too long if you don't mind.

"PROTECTING" PT.2 | Yukong

PAIRING: Yukong x Afab!Reader

WARNINGS: Fluff, SFW, Slight NSFW, Yandere!Yukong, Manipulation, Alludes to smut & breeding.

AUTHORS NOTE: I love these little rambles and ideas. I tried to include as many of these as possible, and I'd love to hear any more ideas you have!

WHEN YOUR daughter was first born, she was a perfect mix of you and Yukong, with a fluffy tail and ears being the prominent foxian genes in her. She was immediately spoiled and loved by not only you two but the Astral Express as well. She was quickly welcomed into the family, dotted on by someone almost 24/7.

Welt was quickly deemed her Godfather, and was seen as her grandpa considering the fatherly relationship he had with you. Himeko was her Godmother, and she honestly almost cried when you asked her if she'd like to.

Dan Heng was surprisingly protective over her, despite not really knowing... how to treat her, yet he wouldn't dare let someone harm her, like a protective older brother. March 7th was, as expected, absolutely in love with her, declaring her the cool aunt who buys her so much toys, stuffies, clothes- you name it, March will get it.

Qingni was... interesting. She absolutely loved her little sister when she was born, always quick to care and play with her when she got the chance. She'd do anything for her, spoiling her with all sorts of things just like March.

Yet, despite being happy to have a little sister, Qingni couldn't help the weird feeling she had in her chest. Your sudden decision to stay on the Luofu was certainly... sudden, to say the least, and especially how quickly your relationship with her mother grew. While she was happy for Yukong to have found someone to love, she just found it all weird, but she didn't comment on anything, rather just enjoying the fact she has a younger sibling.

Plus, Qingni found herself getting close to you as well. She was really beginning to see you as another mother, despite not calling you mom yet. Which you didn't mind, you were simply happy to have a good relationship with her.

"You and Qingni seem to be getting along fine." Yukong mused as she moved to hug you from behind, nuzzling her face into your neck.

You laugh softly at her affectionate actions, watching as Qingni entertained her baby sister. "I'd like to think so."

"Trust me, she likes you." Yukong reassured, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple before laying her head on your shoulder. "We make quite a lovely family, don't we? Us four."

You thought for a moment, watching as Qingni stopped her sister from chewing on her tail. "Yeah... yeah we do."

Yukong lifted her head, eyeing you for a moment, seeing the way your eyebrows were furrowed together, sensing that something wasn't right. "Is there something wrong, my love?"

"Hm?" You look at her, before quickly shaking your head, then pausing as you thought for a moment. "Nothings wrong, perse... sorry, I'm just having thoughts about missing the Astral Express."

That made worry strike Yukong like a strike of lightning hitting a tree. It wasn't uncommon for you to find yourself having thoughts of the Astral Express crew as well as missing that adventure with them. It scared the old foxian like no other, because she's tried everything to get you to stay here on the Xianzhou with her.

Her ears pulled back against her head, tail swishing back and forth more behind her. She held a hard look on her face when you looked back to gaze at your daughter and Qingni, and Yukong realized what she had to do again to ensure you would stay here with her.

You let out a sudden gasp as you felt Yukong press her front flush against your back, pressing you against the counter you were both standing behind. You quickly gripped the edge of it, eyes widening and face flushing as you felt her press her face into your neck, inhaling your scent while kissing and nipping at your skin.

"Y-Yukong, the girls!" You quickly whispered it with panic, eyes wide as you watched your guys daughters, praying they didn't look over to see one of their mothers pressed so intimately against the other.

"We're fine, they're too distracted by one another," Yukong reassured, her voice low and sultry as she kissed your neck more.

You whimpered softly, before biting your lip to hold back your sounds, not wanting to alert Qingni. You bowed your head slightly, breathing heavy as you felt Yukong grinding her hips against you from behind, letting you feel her growing bulge under her clothes. Her sudden need for you caught you off guard, but you definitely weren't complaining.

"My love, let's go to our room. The girls will be alright by themselves for an hour or so," Yukong murmured, moving to suck on your ear lobe, nibbling on it and making your face flush more.

"J-Just an hour..?" You ask, tilting your head slightly back towards her.

"Just an hour," Yukong repeated, but she had other plans. She was going to keep you locked in your room for however long she wanted, thoroughly breeding you again.

Because there's no way you'd leave the Xianzhou, leave her, if you have a second, maybe third or forth child, right? You wouldn't dare do that to her.

She was going to make sure you'd never leaver.

ENDING NOTES: Sorry this is short! I wanted to keep this part mostly SFW. But I'll maybe do a part 3 if it's asked for.

[galaxythreads]

Loki had no right to envy thor and praise the ground frigga walked on when odin was a shitty dad to all three of his kids

Alright! Time to talk about something that is not discussed enough: jealousy between siblings that grew up in parental abuse/neglectful situations.

As someone who grew up in an abusive/neglectful environment and has siblings, + knows many people who have the same set of parameters, jealousy between siblings is sort of natural byproduct because guess what!

Parents never, never, never abuse/neglect every kid in their family in exactly the same way.

My parents were awful to my siblings in ways they weren't to me, but I'm jealous of the good things they did to for them because they didn't do that with me (i.g. when I was looking for a job last year, i got yelled at every time I failed; when my sister was looking for a job, my parents were very present for her emotionally and assured her she was doing the best she could when she didn't get the job. Their patience was absurd to me) Stuff like that + bigger things. If we were neglected/abused in exactly the same way, my sister would have gotten yelled at, too, or I would have gotten support, but it didn't happen like that because parents don't DO that, even in healthy environments, parents are never the same parents to their kids.

Likewise in ways they were awful to my siblings, they were LESS awful to me, so my siblings are jealous of that. when you're raised in an environment where you have to fight for love and scraps of affection when your parents are in a parenting mood, you are always jealous when someone manages to get the scrap. Like yes, your siblings (often) become your closest friends and confidants in that situation because there's no one else who understands it like they do, but because the abuse/neglect is so different for everyone, it causes resentment.

So here's the thing: Thor, Hela, and Loki were not abused in the same way. Loki can have an amazing, healthy relationship with Frigga (he does not, but we can pretend for a moment) and Thor is fighting for scraps of love from her. (Parents and their parenting moods are weird) and Thor can resent Loki for that because he needs a mom too. Thor can get all the attention from Odin and have a healthier (it is not healthy) relationship with Odin, and Loki can resent him for that, even though he has a "good" relationship with Frigga, because he still needs a dad. Hela can have been banished and raised as Odin's sword and have NO good or even good-ish relationships with Frigga and Odin and she resents Thor and Loki for that because she needed parents.

But is all their trauma valid even though the WAY they were traumatized is different? Yes. Can we look at them and objectively choose the "worst" victim between the three of them? No. We can't. Because different things traumatize people differently. And why should we? it's not a competition. Even though parental abuse/neglect has a tendency to pit siblings against each other despite (usually) said siblings best efforts otherwise, it is NOT A COMPETITION.

Loki has every right to be angry with Odin over what he did to him even though Odin was terrible to all his children because IT! IS! NOT! A! COMPETETION! ABOUT WHO WAS ABUSED MORE! The most suffering victim doesn't "earn" the right to be traumatized. everyone was traumatized. Everyone gets therapy. They're just going to talk about different things in therapy and THEY ARE ALL STILL TRAUMATIZED.

I guarantee to you that if they were real people, Thor would absolutely be jealous of Loki and Hela. Loki would be jealous of Hela and Thor. Hela would be jealous of Thor and Loki, EVEN THOUGH all of them are being abused, it's just the fact they're not being abused in the same way.

And this is WHY I am always in awe of their relationship in canon because it is one of the best written sibling relationships under abuse I have ever seen because it is REAL. (The Umbrella Academy s1 did this spectacularly, also, btw) Sibling relationships under abuse are so so so messy because everyone is in survival mode and it causes SO MANY issues.

and guess what! Everyone IS jealous of each other

^ Thor's resentment that he wasn't taught anything by Frigga (listen to the way he says this, he is very jealous and bitter, i WISH they had poked this more)

^ hela jealous odin replaced her with Thor

^ loki jealous that Thor got more attention than he did from their parents + people in general (all this attention wasn't a good thing) (funnily enough, for someone who is said to be SUPER jealous, this is the only time in canon I can think of Loki actually admitting that he is)

so anyway, sibling resentment HAPPENS but everyone is still abused/neglected and it all sucks and EVERYONE deserves therapy. And hey, if Frigga decided to actually be a parent to one of her kids (she didn't) then I am HAPPY because at least SOMEONE got a parent, even though Thor deserved a mom just as much as Loki did.

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [5] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings:  cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 9k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 4 >> Part 5 >> Part 6

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

Beomgyu has certainly said this before, but he actually means it this time when he says he would rather be anywhere than where he is now. Even the Smythe-Smith musicale. 

It would be hilarious, the fact that he’d rather have his ears tortured for an hour and a half than be here at an objectively much better performance, except he’s been walking through a fog of annoyance, anger, and misery for three days, and during that time he hasn’t been able to find much humor in anything. 

The worst thing is that it’s all his fault. 

He was the one who suggested ending the courtship, after all. He was the one who said it would be best. And, objectively, it is the logical course of action. You have a suitor—several, in fact—and while beginning this farce might have been what drew them to you, continuing it for too long might actually drive them away. It was logical. Rational. 

Too bad emotions have nothing to do with logic. 

Beomgyu sneaks a glance at you where you sit next to him, eyes fixed on the scene in front of you. You look to be the perfect model of attention, your gaze riveted on the two dancers as they sweep across the floor almost as one entity of eight limbs. You were completely unfazed earlier, too. When you met, you at least had seemed unperturbed by anything that happened during the last promenade. If Beomgyu hadn’t already known you were a superb actor, he’d have been entirely convinced of your performance. 

He wonders if you are truly so engrossed in the ballet now, or if you are acting just as well as before. 

Not that it matters. He pinches himself. The courtship is over, or at least it will be soon. And at that point he won’t see you again—not on purpose, at least. He has no business trying to figure out what your emotions are about this change of events. What reason would you have to be anything other than pleased, anyway? This whole agreement was just for your mutual benefit. Nothing more, nothing less. 

But you didn’t look pleased when he said it. Granted, he wasn’t looking at you for most of the conversation but from the few glances he snuck at you when he was sure you wouldn’t return his gaze, you looked more shocked than anything. Maybe not shocked, but at least surprised, and not in a way that screamed excitement. Though to be fair, your expression didn’t really scream anything then. You seemed mostly blank up until you asked to end the walk early. 

Briefly he entertains the thought that you might also be unreasonably upset by the end of this courtship. Just like every other time he’s done this, he shoves the thought away. It’s no use wondering. You wouldn’t tell him, anyway. 

Sighing quietly, Beomgyu turns his attention back to the performance, where the dancers have since separated to opposite corners of the floor. He watches, momentarily dazzled, as they twist and weave their way back to each other sinuously, sensually, until finger by finger, arm by arm, they find themselves entangled in each other’s embrace once more. A collective gasp rises from the room as they come toward each other so suddenly that Beomgyu almost thinks they will collide—

But they don’t. They stop quietly, foreheads coming to touch, faces so close that if one leaned forward even slightly, they would kiss. 

Tiny whispers permeate the room, and Beomgyu sees more than a few glances being directed at the queen, who sits, stone faced, in the seat of honor. This is perhaps the most sensual performance the ton has ever seen. He thinks it was beautiful, a lovely display of human emotion in its rawest form, but some of the more conservative members of the ton might not think so. The queen leads the social scene in London and her reaction will dictate what the papers say of this—he wonders what she might be thinking behind her usual blank mask. 

The queen’s blank mask reminds him of another and without thinking, he looks over at you. He expects much the same reaction—you are good at keeping most of your emotions off your face, after all. But instead of the politely entertained expression he expected, you look somewhat startled by the scene before you. Surprised. 

Flustered, even. 

Beomgyu turns away to hide a twitch of his lips. He hadn’t thought about how you would react to the blatant sensuality of the piece, but it’s more amusing than he expected. Your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted, your gaze riveted on the scene like you aren’t sure whether to be enraptured or disgusted…

It’s cute, in a way. He might even say adorable. 

Someone begins applauding and you jump. Beomgyu has to hide his smile as his own dutiful claps join those of the crowd. From where he sits he can see the queen stand, a smile coloring her features as she leads the applause, and he breathes a short sigh of relief. The Rosenburys are a good family. He would have hated to see them shunned if the queen disapproved of this performance. 

The crowd begins to disperse after that, filtering off into different rooms for refreshment and chatter. Later there will be some dancing, but for now he leads you towards a table filled with small glasses. They need some time to set up the ballroom floor before he can join you in your perfunctory one dance of the evening. 

…He shouldn’t have thought of that. Now his earlier ugly mood has just returned. He allows himself one grimace before schooling his features back into careful pleasantry. “How did you enjoy the performance?” he asks with practiced neutrality, handing you a glass of water. God, he really hadn’t noticed just how much levity you two could share before he shattered it with just a few words. “I have never seen the like.”

“Neither have I.” You stare at your glass, but to his surprise, Beomgyu doesn’t think you’re purposely trying to avoid his gaze—at least not now. You still look somewhat in awe of what you just saw. “It was…something else, truly. I think I enjoyed it.”

“I think I did too,” Beomgyu replies truthfully. Then he smiles, hiding a little smirk. “You looked rather flustered. I gather you haven’t seen something so romantic before.”

You scowl. Beomgyu welcomes the sight—at least it’s far more familiar than the calm neutrality you showed him earlier in the evening. “I wasn’t—flustered,” you snap. “I just…”

One second passes. Then another. You still seem to be floundering for words so Beomgyu takes the lead—to tease, of course. “You just what?” he asks, unable now to hold back his smirk. 

“Well—in the end, they were about to kiss.” Beomgyu bites his lip to hide a real smile at how flustered you look now. “I mean, I know people kiss—”

“I should certainly hope you did.”

“—but—oh, be quiet—but they don’t do it in public.” You shake your head as you and Beomgyu walk over to a quieter room, leaving the noise of the main hall behind. “You can’t tell me you see people kissing everywhere. Of course I would have been flustered.”

Beomgyu has perhaps seen more of it than he should, but he is a man and you are a lady. He cedes your point. “I tease, my lady,” he says, taking a sip of his own glass. “But beyond the near kiss, I thought the rest of the piece was beautifully done, and honestly quite tasteful.”

“So did I.” The two of you stop by a tall table and place your drinks down for a rest. A few others are in the room, mostly minding their own conversation and business. For a moment, Beomgyu thinks about the fact that no one even bats an eye at the two of you holding civil conversation in the same room anymore. Then his sour mood from earlier threatens to return and he abandons that train of thought completely, because this sort of scene won’t be happening anymore in a few weeks. 

God, what does it say about him that he would rather be arguing with you for the entire ton to hear than be absent of your company from now on and forever?

You’re speaking again, so Beomgyu drags himself out of his thoughts and back to the present in time so that he might actually respond to your words instead of making a massive fool of himself. “Even the near kiss,” you’re saying. “It was all part of the story. I’ve read books and been to the opera, of course, but that was the first time I’d seen anyone express a story with such love without words and just through…the body.” 

You look almost shy when your words are done and over, but Beomgyu can’t find it in himself to tease you this time. Maybe because you were so earnest when you said it, because it is more touching than you realize that you would allow him to hear your thoughts in this moment and he doesn’t want to embarrass you for it. Maybe because he’s just glad that the stilted pleasantry of earlier seems to be gone and you are speaking like normal acquaintances again. “I agree,” he says quietly. “It is rather beautiful to see the different ways people use art to express themselves.”

You glance at him sidelong. “You are a true appreciator of art, then.” It isn’t a question, and he can’t really read the look in your eyes. 

“I’m not really,” Beomgyu admits. “At least I wasn’t before. But the duchess is a connoisseur of the classics and music, Lord Kang’s wife is quite literally a world renowned pianist, and Mr. Huening is an accomplished painter, so between the three of them it is now somewhat difficult to escape the influence of different arts around me. Not that I would truly want to, though.” He pauses. “Art is interesting because it captures the pieces of the world in a perspective unique to the artist. As I grow older, I think I find myself appreciating those new perspectives more and more.”

You look at him, a glint in your eye. “You talk of your age like you are an old man, Mr. Choi.”

He scowls, but relents at the softness on your face hidden behind that glint. “I am no old man,” he sniffs. “But I cannot deny that I age by the day.”

“So you cannot.” You laugh a little. “I jest, Mr. Choi. I agree very much with your perspective.” Your eyes take on a faraway look. “I sometimes wish I could experience such a story in my own lifetime,” you say, almost to yourself. 

Beomgyu peers at you. “Everyone has their own story, Miss L/N. Just because it is not immortalized in some art form does not mean it does not impact the world in some way.”

“Oh, I know.” You wave a hand. “It’s just—watching the dancers, I felt so taken by the scene in a way that I have never felt in real life. I suppose the only times I have felt such deep emotion are when I care for Delia and Henry. Or if I am angry.” You snort a little. “That seems to happen more often than it should. I just wonder what it would be like to love as deeply as the dancers seemed to.”

“You have never been in love before?” Beomgyu asks softly. 

“Well, I have loved.” You shrug. “I love Henry. I love Delia. But romantic love…no. I have not. And I honestly do not know if I will ever have the chance to pursue it.” Your laugh turns self-deprecating. “Likely I will not.”

Beomgyu feels a little sick inside. He’s not really sure why. There’s a measure of guilt, he thinks, for having played a part in your somewhat shattered reputation over the past two seasons, as well as a fair amount of sympathy and anger for your situation at home. But there’s another feeling, something fluttery and sticky all at once in the pit of his stomach that he really does not understand. And he doesn’t have time to sort it through—not that he really wants to—because you’re talking again. 

“It just seems so beautiful, the way other people tell of it. True love, I mean.” You stare deep into your glass and Beomgyu isn’t sure you know that you’re talking to him anymore. “I don’t know if I will ever experience it. I mean, sometimes I wonder if I will ever even be kissed.”

Beomgyu blinks. And blinks again. 

You clearly notice his silence because embarrassment floods your features and you look away. “Apologies, Mr. Choi. I did not mean to say that out loud.”

“No need to apologize,” Beomgyu gets out. “But…Miss L/N, I am sure you will be kissed. You will have a husband. Surely he will kiss you.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, looking somewhat depressed. “I certainly hope so. But I assume that would only happen if my husband loved me enough to do it.”

His head is spinning. “Would your husband not love you?”

“I have no idea,” you snap, voice lowering to a quiet hiss. “Mr. Choi, you of all people know very well that I would marry a man even if he did not love me.”

Right. Evil stepmother, and all that. “Of course. I apologize.” He pauses, trying to sort through everything that you’re talking about and all the thoughts he’s having. “But one does not have to love someone to kiss someone,” is all he points out in the end, because his brain is just not working right now. He can’t even blame it on the alcohol because he hasn’t drunk at all today or this week. 

“Yes, but—” You groan before muttering, “This is so embarrassing.”

“What is embarrassing?”

You groan again. “I don’t want to say it in front of you.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “If I may, Miss L/N, I’m certain Lady Whistledown has immortalized far more embarrassing things that you have said to me in her gossip column. Besides—” He cuts himself off before he can say more, hoping you won’t notice. 

Unfortunately, you do notice. “Besides what?”

He’s a damn idiot for saying anything at all, because you certainly won’t let him off without getting the answer out of him now. “We aren’t going to be seeing each other in a few weeks,” he says quietly. “So whatever you say now, you wouldn’t have to face it after a month from now.”

A short silence fills the air, along with a vague tension that isn’t as sharp as the one he felt in the park, but still makes him feel somewhat will. You break it first. “Well, when you put it that way…” Your smile looks more like a smirk and there’s something brittle to it that Beomgyu doesn’t quite know what to make of, but you continue before he can try to figure it out. “You aren’t wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” he says, trying for his usual casual air. It doesn’t quite work but you take the bait with some seeming relief in your eyes. “I could count probably a hundred times you were wrong, and at least half of them are printed in Whistledown,” you snipe. 

“Well, if I’m not wrong this time, then tell me.” Beomgyu gestures to you. “What is so embarrassing that you couldn’t want me to hear it out of your own lips now?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Well, if you truly must know…” You sigh again. You won’t quite meet your eyes and against his will, Beomgyu finds your embarrassment somewhat endearing. “It would simply be nice to be kissed by someone who loves me, and whom I love back. It is the stuff of romantic dreams, is it not?”

“…I don’t really know, Miss L/N.”

You scoff. “Of course not. You haven’t a romantic bone in your body.”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes in affront. “Who brought you those gloves, hm?”

You open your mouth to reply. Then you close it. “Point taken,” you finally admit. “But my previous point still stands. I’m sure it is the dream of half the ladies of the ton—or more—to be kissed in a moment as emotional as the performance we saw earlier. Half of the men, too.” 

“…I take your point as well,” Beomgyu says. 

You shrug halfheartedly, embarrassment still coating your every movement. “It’s a stupid dream. Nothing much of it.”

He wants to say something to take the despondence out of your voice, but for a person who prides himself on always having a witty comeback, Beomgyu finds himself at a loss for words now. You don’t seem like you really want help with this, anyway. There isn’t much he could do to help with your plight even if you did. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in the end. “I wish I…” He trails off, then decides to try for some levity. “I wish I could help, though I’m not sure what I could do beyond kissing you.” He expects you to laugh.

You do not laugh. Instead, you look at him with a gaze oddly blank but also full of something he can’t discern, and ask, “Are you offering?”

Dead silence falls between you two. And in that silence, Beomgyu realizes now that you are the only two left in the room. Everyone else has gone. The door is open slightly for propriety’s sake, but this room is somewhat removed from the rest of the party, and—

Why is he even thinking about any of that? It’s not as if this would happen. It’s not as if you are really asking him to kiss you. 

Kiss you. 

All of a sudden Beomgyu can’t look at anything but your lips. Can’t think of anything beyond what it would feel like to have them against his—to hold you by the waist, pressing you closer to him as your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth swallowing any sounds you might make as he pulls you as close to his chest as he can. 

Dear God. Beomgyu feels somewhat faint. This is very dangerous territory. The logical part of his brain is screaming for him to disengage, to laugh it off and get out of the room as soon as possible because if he says the wrong thing (or the right thing? Is there even a right or wrong in this situation?) there will be no going back. But a deeper, more insistent part of him that isn’t lodged just in his brain but also in the beating of his heart urges him to rise to your challenge. To take the chance to have your lips and body against his. 

He's never felt this way before. He’s only been to a brothel once and he left before anything could happen because the idea of having intercourse with someone he barely knew repulsed him more than he ever expected it would. But even beyond that, even with his female friends and acquaintances, he has never felt this way. Never wanted anyone like this. Not once. 

“Do you want me to offer?” he asks quietly, and something in his chest sends a burst of warmth rippling throughout his body. 

You swallow, but your gaze remains steady. “I asked you a question first.”

And so you did. Beomgyu wonders if he should press his own suit, but something in the set of your features tells him he won’t receive a single answer until you’re satisfied with his reply. Warmth burns in his chest. “I cannot offer you the love you seek,” he says frankly. “But, if you would like…”

You hold yourself very still. Even the air seems to await his sentence to finish.

“…I could help you with a kiss.”

Silence drops between you two. You swallow again and Beomgyu follows the movement of your throat with his eyes, trailing it down from your lips as he cocks his head. “So I ask again,” he says quietly, “do you want me to offer, Miss L/N?”

For a long moment, you stay quiet. Long enough for the air to become stifling, long enough for the rational part of Beomgyu’s brain to regain some more control, long enough for him to come back to his damn senses and realize that this is going in a direction he won’t be able to control for long. Or maybe he’s already lost control. Either way, this can’t continue or you’ll both end up doing something you regret. “I apologize. I forgot myself.” He turns away, ready to flee. “I know our courtship is going to be over soon and I should not have suggested such a thing—even on my honor, I should not have—”

“Yes.”

Beomgyu blinks. A very unflattering noise that sounds like “what?” comes out of his mouth but he barely hears it, blurry, like he’s been submerged underwater. 

You swallow hard. “You asked if I wanted you to offer,” you say quietly. Something tremors in your voice but you meet his eyes. “And I said yes.”

He gapes in a way that is likely extremely unflattering, but you don’t seem to notice. “So?” you say, jaw set with what looks like determination, but Beomgyu can see the slight embarrassment tingeing your features the longer he says nothing. He’d tease you if he had the presence of mind to but he doesn’t, so he only extends a hand. 

“Come here.”

You shuffle forward, steps uncertain. “This means nothing,” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. 

He doesn’t understand why that deepens the sick feeling in his stomach. Of course this means nothing. It could never mean anything even if he wanted it to, which he definitely doesn’t. It’s not as if it’ll matter in a month anyway. “This means nothing,” he echoes, ignoring the pit in his gut in favor of taking your hand. 

The first thing he notices is that you are warm. He’s warm, probably too warm with the feeling in his chest, but when your palm touches his it’s as though a spark travels through his skin, up his spine. “Tell me what to do,” you mumble. 

Your words, for some reason, bring a smile to his face. “There’s not much to it,” he says. “It’s just kissing.”

“I know,” you snap, looking adorably embarrassed. “But I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or anything.”

Beomgyu smiles harder. “Put your arms around my neck,” he says. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

You take a breath. Beomgyu wonders for a moment if you’ll do what he said, but then your arms creep up, cautiously looping around his neck. “Like this?” you whisper, not looking at him. 

He can hardly answer around the sensation of your hands at his neck, palms flush against his skin. Warmth creeps up his face and it isn’t just from your hands, but he laughs, at himself and at you, a little bit. “Yes,” he says, curling one arm around your waist. You make a slight noise when your body hits his and Beomgyu might be delirious, but he swears that sound will be burned into his mind forever. 

You’re still not looking at him. Beomgyu chuckles slightly. “Miss L/N,” he says softly, tapping your chin with his free hand. “You’ll have to look at me to make this work.”

It takes an eternity for you to meet his eyes. When you do, though, Beomgyu finds himself mesmerized by them. Frozen in place by the heat of your gaze in the moment. His hand creeps up from your chin to cup your cheek. “Let me know,” he whispers, “if you ever want to stop.” He pauses for you to nod.

And then he kisses you. 

Your lips are soft against his. Warm, and impossibly sweet—not in taste, not exactly, but like candy, the longer he kisses you, the more he wants. He barely stops himself from letting a soft moan leave his lips but then you make a noise, soft and whiny and wanting, and almost reflexively he pulls you even closer than before. Your arms wrap tighter around his neck and you don’t protest. 

The rolling heat in his gut just flares brighter.

Beomgyu kisses you for seconds. He kisses you for hours. He kisses you until the sun sets and the moon rises, and then the moon sets and the sun rises. None of this is true but all of it is because that’s how he feels, kissing you now—like he could kiss you forever and never once tire of your lips. 

One of your hands creeps up into his hair, tugging it slightly, and he groans against your mouth. Nothing exists except you, now. Nothing but you and him. 

Air forces you to break apart in the end. If Beomgyu had his way he would just stop breathing rather than stop kissing you, but his body has other plans and forces him to pull away. His eyes had closed at some point. He doesn’t know when. He opens them now and when he sees your face, eyes wide, features slack, lips kiss-swollen and dark, he nearly crushes you against him again. 

He watches as you blink once, twice. Your expression stills and you seem to come back to earth. He watches your throat bob as you swallow hard, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “So,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “That’s a kiss.”

Beomgyu nods. “That’s a kiss,” he says, words lower than usual. 

Your eyes flicker around the room like you’d rather look anywhere than at him. Beomgyu doesn’t feel too bad about it because he thinks if you looked him in the eyes right now, he might combust. “We should probably go,” you say haltingly. “We’ve been gone for too long.”

He blinks. He’d almost forgotten just where you are and how compromising this position is. Then it really hits him—what he just did. Kissed you. Compromised you. At a party, a public event full of people when your courtship isn’t even real and is in fact supposed to end soon. Granted, no one saw, but someone very easily could have. The door is open, for heaven’s sake—he didn’t even close it—what is wrong with him—

“Yes.” The word comes out breathless, more air than sound. “Yes, we should…we should go.”

Slowly, you unwrap your arms from his neck. His arm slides off of your waist. And as the two of you leave the room, determinedly not looking at each other, Beomgyu can’t feel much else but the absence of your warmth against him. 

He feels a bit cold for the rest of the night.

. . . . .

It is a beautiful day out. The afternoon sun shines brightly through the windows, making the old curtains look almost cheerful, and when you and Sabine go outside to hang the linens to dry, the fresh but cold air stings your cheeks in the best way. Delia is playing in the small garden with Soyoung, and Henry hasn’t had a tantrum all day. In fact, he’s sleeping right now, and your stepmother has gone to call on some of her friends in town. By all definitions, it’s a wonderful day. 

Meanwhile, you are going insane. 

It’s been three days since the performance and ball at the Rosenbury house. It was supposed to be just another night out. You knew Lord Cho wouldn’t be there so even he couldn’t distract you from the specter of Mr. Choi looming over you, the knowledge that your contract courtship would end in just a few weeks. For all you thought about it, you couldn’t understand why you were so upset, and that just made you even more restless when you entered the estate and almost immediately locked eyes with him across the room. 

You remember polite but cool conversation. You remember feeling awful, having to keep a pleasant expression on your face all the while looking at the person you wanted to think about the least. You remember the performance being beautiful and romantic and lovely, so much so that you almost forgot your troubles, and you remember talking with Mr. Choi after and feeling a little better about it. At least, talking about the performance, you could forget about why you felt so wary speaking to him earlier. 

But you got carried away. You started talking about things you had only ever admitted to yourself, in your head—things you never thought you’d speak in front of someone else, much less Mr. Choi. You still don’t know why you said anything. Maybe it was just that once you started, you couldn’t really stop. Maybe it was because you knew you wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Choi in a month anyway, so you threw caution to the wind. You threw it much too far, though. 

You should never have let it get to the kiss. 

The kiss. You squeeze your eyes shut in the middle of tossing a sheet over the drying line. Even now you can’t stop the heat from rushing immediately to your face when you remember Mr. Choi’s eyes looking into yours, his voice low and soft, his arm around your waist and his hand against your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours. You felt so weak, then. But not in a bad way. There was a heat burning in your stomach that turned your legs to jelly and if it weren’t for Mr. Choi supporting you, you’re sure you would have melted into a heap on the floor. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of that day. You can’t stop thinking about it even now. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything—you said that, and so did he. But you’re beginning to realize that just because you might say something, that doesn’t mean it will be true. 

You resist the urge to scream. You really thought the kiss would be a one and done thing. Mr. Choi obviously doesn’t see you romantically and you were sure the same went for you. So why, even now, can you not think badly of the moment? As if it wasn’t enough to be ruined once? If anyone finds out that you two were left alone in a room, much less that you shared a kiss, you’ll be done for. You almost certain no one saw but you’ll have to be incredibly careful now not to let anyone suspect anything happened. In the wake of that moment, you’re not certain you can trust your acting skills to save you as much as you could before. 

God, why do you want him with you now? Why do you want him to kiss you again?

Sabine has gone back inside but you stay outside for a moment longer, sitting on the grass beneath one of the draped sheets. You would love to move and continue on with the day but your mind won’t shut up. The thoughts that you had been carefully keeping locked away in their little boxes in your mind are unraveling and if you don’t try to sort through them right now you’ll be a gibbering mess for the rest of the day—even more so than you already are—so you bury your face in your hands behind the fluttering white sheets and try to think. 

Mr. Choi can be an annoying pest. You have over a decade’s worth of arguments you can pull out immediately to prove this point. Mr. Choi, however, is not only an annoying pest, as unfortunate as that is. He can be very kind. Gentle. He loves children, as you saw with the duchess’s baby and with Delia—who still asks about him sometimes, and delights whenever he calls and she is allowed to see him. No one who adores children so much can be bad all the time. Not even he. And when he is kind, you can truly see the handsomeness for which he is so well known by the ton. It isn’t just an outward beauty, which you could admit even when you hated him. Physical beauty means nothing. But when you saw that Mr. Choi was truly a good person on the inside, too, he became that much more handsome to you. 

Focus. You pinch your wrist hard and the sharp sting clears your mind beyond Mr. Choi’s handsome face. He knows about your situation at home but did not press you to tell—instead, you were the one who felt comfortable with him enough, somehow, that you told him voluntarily. He did not laugh. He did not look upon you with shame or even pity. He only helped you clean your wounds, and then came calling when you didn’t expect it to give you new gloves because he knew then why hiding your hands was so important to you that you’d wear the same pair over and over for years when you couldn’t afford a new one. He even gave you salve for your hands. You weren’t lying when you told him your hands hadn’t felt so soft in years. 

He knows all of this. You were comfortable enough to tell him things you have never told anyone before, not even your closest friends. That scares you, and it brings back an old thought, one you used to view with irony but do now with a healthy dose of trepidation—that perhaps, because you have shown him the worst parts of yourself for so long, you have nothing else you need to hide. That perhaps, even before this season, Mr. Choi knew you better than many others did, even those with whom you are closest.

You trusted him to kiss you and not to take advantage of you. You trusted him not to say anything to anyone about it. You didn’t even think about it then—you were afraid your reputation might be unrecoverable if someone else saw, but never once did the idea that Mr. Choi would spread the news of your unintentional tryst even cross your mind. Because he wouldn’t, you are sure. He wouldn’t. For all the things that confuse you about him, his honor was never in question for you. He would never hold that moment over your head for anything. 

God, do you really like him? It seems like you do. You were unduly upset when he suggested ending the courtship soon, even though you knew it had to have been coming. You never wanted to think about it but maybe you really did feel that Mr. Choi had become more of a friend than you’d ever admit out loud. You pull your knees up to your chest and swallow hard, trying to digest your mental confession. It would explain a lot of things, at least. 

But would a friend think about another this much? All the time? And more importantly, would a friend want to kiss another this badly? Again?

Maybe you want him as something other than a friend. Something closer to a lover. 

Oh God. You scream silently into your knees. No. You’re not in love with Mr. Choi, you are certain of that. Absolutely certain. It wouldn’t happen—besides, it’s too fast. You couldn’t have fallen in love with someone you hated so much just months ago. Months. It doesn’t make any sense. There is no reasonable way that could have happened. 

Love doesn’t make sense, the traitorous part of your mind whispers. 

Against your will you remember the performance, the dancers and their strange, wild, beautiful movements that took them away from and towards each other. It didn’t make sense, but you knew the story was love, all the same. 

It doesn’t matter. You stand up suddenly, barely avoiding the wet end of a sheet about to slap you in the face. None of this matters. Because you are not in love with Mr. Choi, you know that for a fact. You would know if you loved him. You’re certain you would. Right now, you know that you don’t. And that is that. 

God, this is terrible. One temporary lapse of judgement and already you are such a mess. You have other things you need to be thinking about—namely the suitors who might still ask for your hand. Lord Kim called the day after the Rosenbury performance. Mr. Winslow came just yesterday. Lord Cho himself has come to call twice in the past week. Twice. Mr. Choi hasn’t even come once. 

Yet he’s the one your mind won’t shut up about.

Several hours later, as you descend from your carriage in front of the Bridgertons’ grand London townhouse, your mind still won’t shut up about him. If anything, you’re thinking about him even more because he’s also supposed to be in attendance tonight. You don’t really know how you’ll face him. You hope he isn’t here yet. 

You start walking up the front path, trailing slightly behind your stepmother who has already spotted one of her friends and is clearly eager to get away. Your fingers fiddle with your gloves—a bad habit that you’ve only noticed this season, but you can’t stop yourself right now. The gloves are the silk pair Mr. Choi gifted you. You really didn’t want to wear them today, not when your mind is already in shambles, but the Bridgertons are an esteemed family in town and you’re honestly surprised that you received an invite to their ball. This pair of silk gloves with the careful gold stitching is perhaps the only thing grand enough in your wardrobe for this event. Even your gown, which you had been refurbishing during the nights with new embroidery and patterns you’d gotten from older dresses, can’t quite live up to the elegance of the white silk Mr. Choi chose for you. 

You’ve been to the Bridgerton estate only once before, and the sight of the inside nearly takes your breath away. The viscountess has clearly outdone herself with the decorations—so tasteful and elegant, but never understated. You’re not the only one gawking, which makes you feel a little better as the crowd pushes you inside. Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to be herded toward the ballroom. 

It’s a crush tonight. No one in their right mind would turn down an invitation from the Bridgertons except in an emergency and it shows. You lose your stepmother easily, which isn’t such a bad thing, but what you’re more worried about is the fact that you can’t seem to find anyone that really know. Mr. Choi is supposed to be here. So is Lady Choi and probably her husband, too, but you can’t see any of them yet. You wander the edge of the ballroom as people continue filtering inside, trying to seek out any familiar face, until someone calls your name and you turn around. 

Your initial hope at hearing your name crumbles into dust as you come face to face with someone you usually try to avoid at all costs, even more so than Mr. Choi. “Lady Trombley,” you say flatly, staring right into those narrowed snake eyes. 

“Miss L/N! What a lovely surprise.” She flashes you a bright smile that doesn’t fool you one bit. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Nor did I,” you say, curving your lips in the barest imitation of a smile. You hate her and she knows it, so you see no point in hiding your feelings. Honestly you wonder at the Bridgertons for inviting her tonight, but she is a titled member of society. Perhaps they had to for propriety’s sake. “I don’t exactly plan to see you anywhere, Lady Trombley. You just seem to be there.” Your smile turns sharp. “Hovering, you know. Like a fly on the wall. Or a snake.”

Lady Trombley covers her mouth with a hand, all dramatic shock, but your face remains politely neutral. When you promised yourself you’d be married this year, you only swore off arguing with Mr. Choi. Lady Trombley is a completely other story—she is just mean. Nasty. She slithers around society like a little snake, spitting venomous words into everyone’s ears like no one’s business. You may have a personal feud with Mr. Choi, but if you were to choose who you loathed more, it would be Lady Trombley by far. 

“Well, I only wanted to be kind,” she sniffs, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “After all, I truly thought you would have been married by now. You are quite a beautiful lady, Miss L/N…or at least, so society says.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I might say the same for you, Lady Trombley.”

“Is this not your third season?” she continues as though you hadn’t said a word. “Goodness, how time flies. I suppose beauty doesn’t matter much, then—at least, not compared to money.” Her eyes flash with triumph. “Isn’t it so upsetting when a lack of dowry prevents a beautiful lady from finding the match she deserves?”

“Truly,” another voice pipes up. Lord Grimson sidles up to her side, his eyes glinting with the same malice you saw in hers. “After all, it is one thing to bring in a beautiful girl with money. It is another thing entirely to bring in a beautiful girl with no money at all.”

“Your insults lack all imagination.” You huff out a laugh, keeping the fact that their words really do hurt you close to your chest. “Talking to you is like talking to a tree. Actually, a tree might possess slightly more intelligence than you—not to mention, more beauty, too.”

“Oh, I do not insult.” Lady Trombley holds her fan close to her chest as though surprised at your statement. “I only state what I see, Miss L/N. And what I see...hm.” She leans closer to you, her face suddenly appearing right in front of yours. Her voice turns into a hiss. “I see a lady with a pinprick of beauty and nothing else to show for it. No husband. No dowry.” A smile slithers over her lips. “No worth.”

Your smile drops completely. “Be careful, Lady Trombley,” you say evenly. “How many seasons were you out before you found your husband? Two? Three?” You smirk. “Perhaps, my lady, you and I are not so different after all. Though I’d fancy myself at least a pinch wittier than you.”

Her eyes narrow, and you can see her mouth opening to say something back. Not that it matters much to you, because you’re ready to bow out of this conversation without a goodbye, but then her eye catches on something or someone behind you and suddenly her whole face changes. “Mr. Choi!” she exclaims, and you freeze. Her gaze turns simpering, her eyelashes fluttering quickly. If you weren’t frozen at the mention of Mr. Choi’s name, you’d have half a mind to gag. 

You manage to turn just slightly to allow Mr. Choi into the small circle of conversation, but he doesn’t even look at Lady Trombley even when she addresses him directly. “I didn’t know you would be here, Mr. Choi,” she murmurs, voice a pitch higher than before. “Surely—”

“Miss L/N.” Mr. Choi dips his head to you without acknowledging Lady Trombley at all, very deliberately ignoring her and Lord Grimson. You blink once, twice—he’s given them the cut direct!—and only just manage mumble out his name in greeting. 

“I’m glad I was able to find you in this crowd. It is quite a crush tonight, is it not?” His smile, now that his face is no longer directed at Lady Trombley, has turned much softer. Sweeter. And all of a sudden you want to cry a little. You’ve managed to avoid enough direct confrontations with Lady Trombley and her crowd this season that you’d almost forgotten how terrible it feels to be insulted in public, and you know you can defend yourself, but it feels better than it should to have someone in your corner who might help you when you need it. “Might I escort you to the dance floor?”

Lady Trombley’s high voice cuts in before you can answer. “Surely the rumors are not true, Mr. Choi,” she titters. “You cannot possibly be courting Miss L/N!”

“I apologize,” Mr. Choi says, voice hard as he looks her directly in the eye. “Were you included in our conversation?” He offers his arm and you take it dazedly, letting him lead you away. 

A few steps in, you realize he isn’t leading you to the dance floor, but to a less crowded space at the edge of the ballroom. You’re grateful—you don’t really feel like dancing right now. “Thank you,” you mumble.

“Don’t thank me,” he says brusquely. “Lady Trombley is one of the worst kinds of people. I can’t abide her.” He shakes his head. “It was worth it just to knock her down a peg or two, though it seems like you had it handled before I arrived.”

“Well, it’s old news that I have no dowry. You would think they’d have come up with new insults in the meantime.” You shrug halfheartedly, trying to smile. It’s more difficult than you thought it would be. “Unfortunately, calling someone poor triumphs over everything. Even a terrible personality.”

“Your personality isn’t terrible,” Mr. Choi says sharply. 

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit it, Mr. Choi.”

He flushes a little. The sight makes it easier to smile—he looks rather cute. “Well, I’m saying it now,” he finally declares. “And it is—idiotic, to put someone down for a lack of wealth. Especially a dowry.” He snorts. 

You blink. “What do you mean by that?”

Mr. Choi scoffs. “Dowries are idiotic,” he says, loud enough for you to hear but not quite loud enough to carry. “It is incredible that the bride’s family should have to pay the husband’s to accept her, especially if the husband already has enough wealth to spare.” He shakes his head. “A stupid concept.”

You look at him for a long moment, trying to think of what to say. There are a lot of emotions spinning about your head and you’re not sure what to make of them. In the end, you give him a half smile and say, “You know, if we hadn’t hated each other for so long, we might have made a perfect match.”

Mr. Choi looks at you for a long moment, gaze inscrutable. You can’t read his expression but he seems to be looking for something in your eyes, though you’re not really sure what. In the end you don’t know if he finds it or not because he just gives you a little smile, pleasant and natural, and nods. “It’s a shame we got off on the wrong foot so badly,” he says, voice light. He looks away but you gaze at him a moment longer. If you didn’t know better, you’d say you saw a hint of disappointment, or something akin to it, in his eyes. 

But you do know better, so you ignore that thought and paste a smile of your own onto your face. “You said I didn’t need to thank you,” you say quietly, and he turns back. A wave of…something, you’re not sure what, passes over you, but it’s definitely not bad and feels more like gratitude and relief and maybe that earlier urge to cry, so you continue. “But I do. You…you are not the person I thought you were just a few months ago.” 

Mr. Choi stares at you so intently you almost lose your nerve, but you force yourself to say what needs to be said. It isn’t fair, after all, to allow him to keep thinking that you still believe him to be a terrible person all for the sake of your own pride. “Thank you for helping me just now. Thank you for the gloves. Thank you for not pitying me. And…” You take a deep breath. “I would like to apologize for my part in our childhood feud. I should not have thrown dirt at you, as angry as I was.” It’s too hard to look at him right now so you turn your gaze away, but you continue. “If I may, I’d like to really put that part of our childhood behind us. Not just for the sake of the deal, but in reality, too.”

For a long moment, Mr. Choi says nothing. His eyes rove over your face with an intensity you’ve never seen from him before. You remain still, letting him search for whatever it is he wants to find. “Then I must apologize as well,” he says finally, his voice quiet, though something brims in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “I should have apologized when I ruined your shoes. I should not have let it get to the point that you felt you needed to throw dirt at me to get your revenge.” One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile. “And thank you, Miss L/N, for being the first of us to put aside their pride to resolve this years-long feud. You are braver than I am.” He sighs, and it sounds a little like relief. “For what it is worth, you are not the person I thought you were before, either. I should like to move past our old feuds as well, for real this time.”

You feel like crying a little. You’re not sure which emotion is responsible for it—relief, happiness, gratefulness, or some mixture of all three?—but it doesn’t really matter. You can’t hide the smile blooming on your lips and you don’t have much desire to, either. You feel happier right now than you have in days. 

…Right. Now you’re remembering why you felt so moody over the past week. 

You tear your eyes from Mr. Choi’s face, and more importantly, from his lips. Your cheeks feel warm but with luck he won’t notice anything, as long as you keep your voice steady. “Mr. Choi, it is hard for me to admit, but I think…”

“Hm?” He blinks, suddenly looking very alert. You almost lose your confidence but you force yourself to continue. You’ve made it this far and he hasn’t rebuffed you yet.

“I don’t want to stop talking to you after a month,” you say all in a rush. He opens his mouth to speak but you barrel on, embarrassment flaring in your cheeks. “We don’t need to continue this courtship. I agree that we’ve both met our own conditions. But…we could be friends, could we not?” You’re too afraid to look at him for fear of seeing derision in his face, so you stay turned away. “The—the kiss—” you mumble the word so softly you can hardly hear it yourself—“we said it wouldn’t mean anything. It won’t—it doesn’t mean anything. But I would like to be friends. If you agree.”

This silence is even more unbearable than the one before. “Miss L/N,” Mr. Choi says eventually, very quietly. “Will you look at me?”

Slowly, you turn back to him. There is no derision in his eyes. In fact, he is smiling. 

“You are far braver than I,” he says, seemingly more to himself than you. “I should like to be friends. I was…too scared to bring it up on my own.” His smile widens. “Thank you for asking in place of me.”

Bravery. You nearly snort. If only he knew how selfish this desire was—that your desperation to see him again, even after the aforementioned month was over, was what drove you to this madness. Still, relief pools in your chest and you nearly sag as all of your emotions hit you at once. “Thank God,” you mutter. “I was terrified you would laugh at me.”

He looks at you with mock affront. “I would never laugh at you.”

You raise one deadpan eyebrow. “Yes, you would.”

He does laugh, then. And it’s a beautiful sound. You wonder how you never noticed how lovely it was before. “Touché,” he says, eyes twinkling like stars in a dark sky. 

You sniff, barely repressing your own smile. “I’m always right, Mr. Choi.”

“Beomgyu.”

“…What?” Did you hear him right?

“Beomgyu.” For the first time this night, Mr. Choi looks a little uncertain, but he meets your eyes with a steadiness that keeps you rooted to where you stand. “If we are to be friends, you must call me by my name, no?”

You open your mouth. Close it. To allow one to call you by your given name is an honor typically only bestowed upon family and the closest of friends. You know Mr. Choi—Beomgyu—is friendlier than most in the ton, but to you? Now? “Are you certain?” you ask, blinking fast. 

“Of course I am.” He smirks, but it isn’t even infuriating anymore. “I always am.”

“Tch.” You laugh. “In that case, you must call me Y/N. As a fair trade between friends, of course.”

“Well, if you say so…” He holds out a hand, smiling brightly. “Then might I ask you to dance, Y/N? As friends?”

You smile back. “As friends,” you echo, and as he leads you onto the dance floor, you wonder why, despite all of your relief and joy in this moment, you still feel like there is something missing behind your chest.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[gallusrostromegalus]

Who in the Gotei 13 abuses emojis and how

The Groupchat Crimes of the Gotei-13:

Yamamoto: responds everything with an inscrutable "😎 👍". Announcing your engagement? 😎 👍 Telling him there is a scheduling conflict? 😎 👍 The seireitei is being invaded? 😎 👍 Tonkatasu Tuesday at 6:30 tonight? 😎 👍

Sasakibe: Endlessly persnickety about grammar. Despite having the fact that grammar is fluid and changes with context and what many of the new conventions mean explained to him, a total lack of punctuation to create an informal tone will make him literally foam at the mouth like a rabid boar.

Soi Fon: refuses to relegate fun facts about hornets to the #bugs channel, including unspoilered images of what assorted stings will do to human flesh.

Yoruichi: nudes in the SFW channels

Rose: 🌹❤️🌹 brackets his messages with emoji chains like quotation marks 🌹❤️🌹

Kira: vent posting/generally being a miserable little shit in the general channel

Retsu: consistently forgets to spoiler medical gore, keeps sharing medical "Fun" facts that give people nightmares.

Isane: "Hey guys, I need some advice on how to deal with *insane situation literally nobody that ever experienced before*"

Hanataro: unironically posting scorpions and venomous snakes to the cute animals channel

Shinji: ti xif ton lliw/tonnac dna segassem sih lla desrever wohemoS

Momo: crying for real about how cute the animals in the cute animals chat are

Hiyori: destroying things in rage about how cute the animals in the cute animals chat are.

Byakuya: Signs all his messages, as this is is official Gotei-13 correspondence. -from the desk of Captain Kuchiki Byakuya

Renji: no caps no punctuation no worries

Komamura: spent three *months* pretending to be friends with a pair of rural veterinarians and getting people emotionally involved in the saga of them trying to cure a mystery chicken affliction before finally ending his shaggy dog story with an ATROCIOUS pun.

Iba: unappealing thirst traps.

Shunsui: keeps falling for and linking obviously false clickbait articles.

Nanao: digging up literally decades-old drama

Tousen: setting his text color to match the background color to fuck with people.

Shuuhei: normal messages sent from bizarre locations "-sent from the secret downstairs microwave" "-sent from the captain general's iPhone" "-sent from Massachusetts"

Matsumoto: 💕 Putting ❤️ emoji 💋 between ❤️ every 😘 word ❤️ for 💋 the ❤️ aesthetic 💕

Hitsugaya: 2AM post @ing everyone of a single inscrutable emoji such as "🦆". Claims to have no memory of making this

Kenpachi: ALL CAPS LOCK ALL THE TIME NO PUNCTUATION ALSO FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE THE YELLING BUTTON LOUDER

Ikkaku: figured out how to use image-editing software specifically to make bespoke image macros at astonishing speed so he always has a meme on hand, including the infamous Zaraki Caused Another Bisexual Awakening Counter aka "GOT ANOTHER ONE LADS!!" meme.

Yumichika: ✨ 🦚 ✨ Worst 💙 possible 🪩 combination 💙 of 🪩 Rose 💙 and 🪩 Matsumoto 💙 quirks ✨🦚✨

Yachiru: Pink Text

Mayuri: immediately silenced all notifications from the Groupchat, forgot it exists

Nemu: Tracks Groupchat statistics and presentation them quarterly like a thesis defense and/or stockholders meeting.

Urahara: keeps finding obviously false clickbait articles to send to Shunsui

Ukitake: you can directly track how much Percocet he's on by how colorful, emoji 🤣 filled and ✨ WhImSiClE 🐟 🐟 hIs 💻 TeXtInG 💻 sTyLe 🐟 🐟 GeTS ✨

Rukia: signs her texts like Byakuya, but "-sent from Lieutenant Rukia 🐰 Kuchiki "

Harmless, until somehow her medical records appear under "Rukia Usagi Kuchiki" like she has a middle name.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

More on my "marcanne counts as toxic yuri" agenda because what if Marcy's plan WORKED.

She succeeded at keeping her friends trapped in Amphibia with her. Whatever happened with Andrias never reached the point of interdimensional invasions, cyborg possesions or child murder. He never got to tell Anne and Sasha the truth.

The music box is destroyed. Our three girls remain trapped in Amphibia for years and years after Andrias. Maybe Lady Olivia takes him place. Marcy continues to work as the crown's Chief Ranger, Sasha becomes master of the South Toad Tower and Anne works as some sort of councelor between all three species, traveling around Amphibia to help people solve conflicts. She visits the Plantars every week to lend a hand at the farm and just be with them, but most of the time she lives in Newtopia now, with Marcy. She married Marcy.

So now they're in their 20s and they all have their lives there. It was hard at first - their only hope to go back home and see their families was crushed before their eyes. Anne had it worst, crying herself to sleep for months, horrified to know she'd never see her family again. Sasha tried to be strong, but she could usually be seen crying alongside Anne out of sheer desperation. Processing their grief took them years.

But that wasn't the case for Marcy. Anne thought she just had her own way of dealing with grief, that she needed time, but as the years passed, Marcy never showed any sign of even missing Earth or her family. In fact, she was happier in Amphibia than she'd ever been back home. Anne would love to know why.

But Anne and Sasha both found their happiness in time. They were young and had their whole life ahead of them. To Marcy, it all just seems so perfect. She was right, right? She gave her friends something wonderful. She made their lives unquestionably better! Everything they have now - she gave it to them! Their friendship is now stronger than ever and she even married her favorite girl in this world and the next!

But maybe this girl is growing suspicios, because the ten year anniversary of their arrival to Amphibia is nearing and both she and Sasha are suddenly hit all over again with the utter horror of their situation, and Anne though she'd see something, anything coming from her wife now. Sasha agrees - she got her psychology degree at the University of Newtopia, okay? She knows what she's talking about. This isn't just a "Marcy needs time" kind of issue - not missing her family at all after 10 years - not even feeling a little bit of worry knowing they probably think their daughter is dead or worse - is something to be looked into, but whenever they ask, Marcy insists on how great her life in Amphibia is, how she knows her parents would want her to be happy, so even if they don't know it, she's living the life they would want for her, isn't she? Wouldn't her parents want her to live a happy life?

...yeah, they both call bullshit.

Sasha must return to Toad Tower at dawn after the little anniversary ceremony they hold between the three of them every year. Despite all of them having their different missions and responsabilities, no matter what's going on in their lives at that moment, they make the time to meet for their birthdays, particularly Anne's, for obvious reasons. It breaks Anne's heart a little to think all the birthdays she has left will be only bittersweet, but she tries to smile regardless - she has a new family with the Plantars, her friendship with Sasha has never been this healthy and strong, and she's married to the girl of her dreams. If she's honest to herself, she is happy. Really happy. But inside her happiness there would always be a small but persistent seed of grief.

Marcy is late this year. She has never been late before - and it's less understandable considering this year's ceremony takes place in her own palace. Joe Sparrow is perched outside, so she shouldn't be far. She arrives two hours too late looking nervous and disheveled, hand pressed against her heart, but she quickly draws a wide smile and hugs both her friends, beginning a new ramble to update Sasha on her projects and research. Sasha, bless her heart, listens to her every word and lets herself be distracted by everything Marcy has to say, but Anne can see right through her. She notices Marcy avoiding her gaze, she sees her fidgeting, she hears the high-pitched strain in her voice. Sasha sees them only a few times a month these days, so she wouldn't notice like Anne does.

After Sasha leaves and Marcy falls asleep, she has to make a decision: ask the guards whether or not Marcy had visited him, or trust her wife and oldest friend that she wouldn't. Ha! She can't imagine why she would! What a stupid idea, why would Marcy want to see him after what he'd done to her? What did he even have to offer? She has two huge vertical scars marring her body, one on her chest and one down her back. Her memory of him is one of the few things that keep her up at night out of utter and complete pain. Nonsense. She wouldn't betray Anne's trust like that. She wouldn't.

She falls asleep by her side and by the time she wakes up, Marcy is gone, sneaking out to frog knows where again.

[emisprocrastinatingbywriting]

Alone and Forsaken

Chapter 10 Summary:

Joel's body has become depleted from countless bouts of torture and violence. His fellow prisoner tries to encourage him but the situation continues to deteriorate until he meets someone new in the arena. Meanwhile, the bodies have been piling up as you hunt for Joel. After witnessing a familiar face being beaten to a bloody pulp, will you risk your life to save them or focus on your own problems?

Warnings: Past Trauma, Violence Inflicted on and by Joel and Reader, Threats, Angst, Joel Needs a FAT Hug, Paul Needs to Die, Mention of SA (not on reader or Joel), Cooper also probably needs a hug, Joel misses reader and reader is completely feral.

A/N:

Welcome back y'all. I said I was going to be dropping soon and I meant that shit!

This chapter has a lot of violence towards literally all of the characters we love dearly (sorry lol). Additionally, Joel gets a look in a darker side of the camp. This side of the camp is v gross, the implication being that omegas are SA-ed there. If this is a trigger for you, stay away friend! Keep yourself safe and maybe check in the chapters to come, or message me and I can spark-notes it for ya. As always, keep yourselves safe.

Chapter 10/20

Chapter 9: The Oaf, The Matriarch & The Reunion

Joel didn’t know how many days had passed in this hellhole. Every moment blurred together in an endless cycle of cruelty and pain. His body was depleted, starved despite the small bits of food that Jake shared and bullied him into eating. Joel tried to refuse but the younger man was persistent and badgered him until he finally relented. He slept at times but it was never peaceful for long with the guards coming to drag him back to the arena every time he managed to get comfortable. 

Three times they had thrown him down that hole and three times he had escaped by the skin of his teeth. Joel wasn’t sure if a fourth time was in his wheelhouse. He was too old and too tired to keep getting tossed around. After he had ripped through most of their prisoners in the first two rounds, the last time he had been faced with nothing but riled up clickers. That trip was too close. One had almost got him but Joel barely managed to slip out of its grasp. 

If they took him down there again, if Joel was forced into another round of mindless violence, he couldn’t survive it. Not with the way his back was blackened from the harsh landings. His knuckles were busted from the constant fighting and bled anytime he moved a finger. Not to mention the fact that his pulsing headache had slowly shifted into an ear splitting migraine that warped the corners of his vision. 

Worst of all was the isolation. Jake was right across from him and Cooper came every so often but their presence didn’t help. Isolation had been nothing to him at one point in life but it now grated on him. It wasn’t just anyone his heart called for, it was you. He had heard in some health class long ago that a bond between mates linked people together forever. If the bonded pair were to ever part, it would send both parties into a spiral. 

Joel remembered how he had scoffed at that, making all of his friends around him crack up as the teacher turned from her place at the board to scold him. The notion that a grown man needed anyone other than himself seemed absolutely ridiculous at the time but as he sat alone in his cell, he understood it to be true. He was past the point of desperation, allowing himself to become cloaked in gloom. It felt like all of the safety pins that had held him together for years were being pulled out one by one as time passed. 

The omega across from Joel sensed it, as did his mate. Or maybe they smelled the putrid stench wafting from his pores. The stench of an alpha separated from his mate was unmistakable and it overpowered any other smell in the room. They tried to encourage him, or at least Jake did. Mostly Cooper just avoided eye contact and gave him an awkward thumbs up anytime his mate elbowed him in the ribs. Their support was more compassionate than he deserved and he tried to appreciate it but it was also futile. 

The bond he shared with you was betraying him, forcing him into a state that he had never been in. After Sarah died, he tried to follow her into the abyss and he failed. Joel had the scar across his nose to prove it. With no other choice, he had kept on living in spite of himself. Joel numbed the pain with pills, liquor and violence, hoping that one of his vices would eventually take him out. 

Later on, when Ellie died, his survival served as a punishment for his inability to do the one thing he was created to do. The grief he felt began to hold a different meaning after Ellie’s death. Joel had to live, it was what he deserved for being such a failure. For four years he was alone and miserable, locked away in a prison of his own creation for his downfalls. 

Both times that Joel had been separated from those he loved was brutal but this was different somehow. In between his second and third round in the arena, Joel slowly became catatonic. He had given up on trying to escape. It all seemed so pointless if you were somewhere safe. All he did in the hours he was awake was think of you while he laid motionless in his bunk. 

The curls on the back of head were matted but he let them be. The last set of hands to run themselves through his locks were yours and he wanted to keep it that way. He knew it was stupid but so was the fact that Joel had lived 56 years without a mate only to lose her almost immediately. How much time could he have had if Paul hadn’t found his cabin? 

“C’mon man. You can’t just roll over and die. Talk to me at least. We could try to get out of here. We could go find her! Please,” Jake called. 

Joel remained still in his bunk, facing the wall with a tensed jaw. He knew it was childish to ignore his fellow inmate and pretend to be asleep but he couldn’t help it. How could Joel possibly escape from this place? And if he did, what was the point? If you truly had escaped Paul and found your way to somewhere safe, he couldn’t possibly chase after you. He knew that they would just follow him, capturing you immediately because of him. Joel couldn’t have that. 

Better he die here, lonely and broken, just as he was before he met you. It was almost poetic. A tragic lead doomed to repeat the same cycle over and over again. Joel would find a reason to live and dilute himself into thinking it could last forever, only for it to be torn from him in the cruelest of ways each time. Rinse and repeat. Love and then grief. He was exhausted by it. 

“She’s still alive, you could see her again. Don’t you want that?,” the omega begged. 

What a stupid question. Seeing you again was the only thing in the world Joel wanted. If he had a time machine, he would go back to your first encounter and confess his love immediately so that he could have more time at your side. Joel remembered trying to keep his distance. He wanted to keep you safe from the mess that inevitably came with loving a man like him. The chivalric restraint all seemed so stupid from behind bars. That time had been wasted and now it was the only time with you he would ever spend. 

It was funny how he did that. Everytime Joel loved someone, he took the time with them for granted. The days spent with you had seemed like they would last for eternity, spanning on and on until the sun eventually imploded or the oceans dried up. Maybe that was what it meant to be human, to have the arrogance to believe that life would be that kind to you. To predispose your own destiny without taking the cruelty of the world into account. 

A drawn out sight came from the other side of the room before Jake piped up again

“Christ’s sake, okay listen up you dumbass.”

The harshness in Jake’s tone got his attention. It had been nothing but endless encouragement from him and Joel found himself interested in what he had to say. 

“I know how it feels to be without your person, alright? Cooper and Allie were gone, I had no idea where he was or if my daughter was alive. So I fucking get it, but you can’t just curl up and die! Do you think for a second that she would want that?!” 

Joel turned in his bunk and faced him. His gaze was heavy. He knew that the younger man didn’t deserve the weight of it but he couldn’t help it. A darkness like he had never felt before was suffocating him and a glare was the best he could do. 

“She would kick your ass for even thinking about giving up. And don’t you dare say that she wouldn’t, because I know my best friend,” he snapped.

Joel huffed. It wasn’t a full laugh but it was something and Jake seemed satisfied by it, sitting back on his bed as his eyes raked over Joel. 

Joel’s eyes turned glossy and the mark on his neck throbbed. It felt wrong for the eyes on him to be anyone’s except yours and suddenly his skin felt itchy. He knew that your best friend didn’t mean anything bad by it, he was just trying to make sure that Joel survived. But the distance between the two of you was wearing on the alpha and the attention of anyone else, innocent or not, was almost unbearable. 

“I can’t,” Joel mumbled. 

An empathetic noise came from Jake and he stood, walking to the edge of his cell before he spoke again. 

“There really isn’t any can or cannot with this. It’s either you do everything in your power to survive for your mate or you don’t.” 

Joel was furious at the statement. It snapped him from the darkness he dwelled in and forced him to his feet in seconds. He felt dizzy, the lack of food and the pressure in his skull nearly knocking him flat on his ass but he held strong. He fumbled for a second, catching himself on the bars before he looked up to scowl at the omega. 

“You have no right t-” he started before the omega cut him off. 

“I have all the right Joel. Who is going to have to tell their best friend that the love of her life is dead if you keep it up? Me. And what do you want me to say? Oh, he gave up because he thought it would be easier. Do you have any idea what that would do to her?!,” Jake hissed.  

Guilt seeped and Joel fought hard against it to remain poised. How would you react if he died? The more self conscious side of him whispered that it wouldn’t mean anything to you. If anything, it would be a day for celebration. You could finally be unshackled from the old man that weighed you down, free to roam and find someone more suitable. Perhaps you would find someone who wasn’t locked within himself and weighed down by a lifetime of disappointment.  

However, despite Joel’s self doubt, he knew how you felt about him. He felt it through the bond. His death would leave you devastated. Despite the demon on Joel’s shoulder reminding him of all the ways that you would be better off, he knew that he couldn’t be the cause of your pain. Plus, the thought of you with anyone else sickened Joel and made him clench his jaw in an effort not to scream at the threat he had just made up in his head. 

“I… I just,” Joel stopped to collect himself, trying to find the right words to express how he felt. 

“Like I said man, you don’t have to explain it to me. My pup and mate were MIA for a year and now my pup is somewhere without the both of us. Believe me, I get it,” Jake sighed. 

The two men locked eyes for a moment. Pain was etched onto the omega’s face, shattering the usual hopeful front that he put on, and Joel found himself softening. It was true. Jake understood the agony that he felt better than anyone.

“I’m… I’m sorry about your daughter. I hope -,” Joel cut himself off. 

Hope held no weight in this world, he knew that, and it certainly held no place in the heart of a father whose child was missing. 

“Yeah… Yeah, me too,” the younger man said dejectedly. 

Joel nodded, recognizing the faraway expression that tightened the edges of his usually smirking mouth. 

“Thank-,” the sentiment was halted in Joel’s mouth. 

The door swung open. Jake scrambled back to the furthest corner of his cell, making himself tiny as an unfamiliar man walked in. Joel stayed leaned up against the bars, refusing to allow the guard to see any deterrence from him. 

He waited for the guard to unlock the door and take him down to the arena once more but instead he stopped in front of Joel’s cell, glaring at him with a hatred that he wasn’t sure he deserved. 

“She killed my fucking sister,” the man seethed. 

“Who?,” Joel asked incredulously. 

The accusation was bizarre. Joel racked his brain for what it could mean. The only “she” that he could think of was Tess. That was the last woman he knew to have a penchant for bloodlust but it seemed unusual for this man to be bothered so long after her death. Tess had died four years ago, soon to be five. Did the alpha truly expect Joel to remember one of her victims from who knows how many years earlier? If she had lived, he doubted that even Tess would have been able to remember. 

“Your slut has killed twelve of our men. TWELVE! They say it could be more. Fuck, the bodies just keep piling up. And one of them was my sister. Fucking gutted her like a fish and left her out in the snow to bleed to death,” he spat. 

No. 

No, you couldn’t have. Joel refused to believe it. The omega he knew was funny, smart, and so sweet. His mate wasn’t violent. And she certainly didn’t have it in her to gut a fully grown alpha. It wasn’t about strength, he had seen you lift enough things while working around the cabin to know that you were physically strong, it was about brutality.  

“My MATE had nothing to do with what you’re talking about. She would never,” Joel stated. 

The man cackled but the sound didn’t meet his icy stare.

“Thought you might say that,” the alpha said, reaching to pull a rumpled flannel from his coat. 

Joel’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. It was his flannel, the same one that you had donned the day he was knocked out. The green fabric was soiled, red splotches dirtying nearly every inch of it. The man shoved the shirt through the cell and it fell to Joel’s feet. He stooped down, knees creaking as he gathered the fabric and pressed it to his face. 

There was no denying who this fabric belonged to, not when the smell of peppermint and lavender made his lower lip tremble with longing. He caught the plush skin with his teeth, forcing himself to remain strong despite the fact that your scent was polluted with the smell of other alphas. 

“This can’t - You found her shirt and poured it on. There’s no way. You’re fucking lying to me.” 

The man laughed, “Am I?” 

He wasn’t. 

Joel saw it as plain as day on his face and it shocked him. He wasn’t sure how to feel. A million emotions whipped through him. Surprise at your viciousness, grief at the thought that you now knew what it was like to take a life, pride at your bravery, and fear for the target that had undoubtedly been placed on your back. Paul might want you for himself but Joel was unsure if the alpha held enough power to convince a group of pissed off brutes that you were not to be touched. 

“Paul isn’t the only one looking for her now ya know. A group of the guys have already banded up and left town early this morning. You would not believe the things they were talking about doing to her,” he whistled as he stepped closer to the cell. 

Joel hardened his stance and glared at the leering alpha that raised his hands out in front of himself. 

“Hey man, not my style. I prefer to take it a bit slower, make them really feel it as I break 'em in. That way you can see the light fade from their eyes. The little bit of spark that makes them rebel just goes poof,” the man said as he snapped his fingers together. 

Joel’s hand reached out and grasped the guard by the scruff of his neck, pulling him forward to slam into the bars. The man hissed as he leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

“Anyone who touches her is going to die. Maybe it’ll be me or hell, maybe it’ll be her, but they will be killed by one of us.”

Joel fumbled with his waistband for a moment before he withdrew the tool that had been saving him in the arena for days. He smiled as the blade sunk into the hollow of the man’s throat, cutting off his response and turning him to a gagging mess. 

Blood splattered over the front of him when he pulled it out of the guard’s throat but Joel didn’t care. This was the first person that he had killed in his time imprisoned that he felt actually deserved it. The others had just been helpless bystanders that stood in the way of his escape. 

The alpha fell back onto the floor, twitching and retching blood until he finally stilled. Joel watched in sick satisfaction until he heard a voice from the other side of the room. 

“What the fuck did you just do?,” Jake whispered, mortified at the sight before him. 

Joel started to answer him but the sound of footsteps coming towards the door stopped him short. He looked down at the weapon in his hands, unsure of what to do with the evidence. With the proof of his guilt splattered over his chest, he knew that it didn’t take a genius to figure out who had killed the guard. Joel swallowed and made a snap decision, sliding the blade across the floor until it skidded into Jake’s cell. 

Jake’s eyes widened and Joel responded with a quick nod. The omega reached forward and snatched the blade, tucking it into his shirt before he scrambled back into the corner of his cell just as the guards marched in. 

There was some commotion at the dead guard. Men were running in and cursing at him for killing the man but he was somewhere else. It wasn’t until a set of hands pushed him from his cell that Joel realized how much shit he was in. He stumbled over the corpse and landed in the pool of blood that leaked from its side. Gagging at the stickiness coating his face, Joel tried to push himself off the floor and was knocked down by a boot to the ribs. 

Pain erupted from his chest and he wheezed at all of the air being forced out of him. As Joel tried to draw himself up from the concrete once more, he felt hands patting him down for weapons. They were particularly grabby and he growled at their invasiveness but the guards ignored him. Coming up empty, he was lifted by the men and dragged from the room. 

They didn’t even bother to cover his eyes this time. Instead, he was dragged out of the store into the streets with his view completely unobstructed. The stripmall was abandoned, leaving broken down stores that the group had shoddily remodeled into homes. The street was fenced in with bits of scrap metal, planks of wood and wire. It was a poor excuse for a perimeter, with the youngest alphas all seemingly forced to be on patrol duty for the camp. 

The stench that filled the streets made him gag again. It was sickly sweet and he grimaced at its familiarity as he was dragged past the source. Emaciated and tortured bodies were being thrown on a roaring fire. The skin bubbled with the heat and he gulped down vomit as he watched it melt off of the bone into the coals below. 

The guards dropped him and Joel balked at the sight of the store he was placed in front of. It was a women’s lingerie store with cursive lettering enticing potential clients to come in and look at their products. Dark fabric was placed over the glass door, hiding the contents from the outside world as the guard rapped his knuckles on it. 

They waited until the door flew open, revealing a very disheveled Paul with his fly hanging open. The alpha glared at the two guards before his eyes landed on Joel. 

“He fucking killed Mark, stabbed him with something but we couldn’t find it on him. What do you want us to do?”

The noises that came from inside were revolting and Joel craned his neck as far back as it would go to get away from it. The scent of the place alone was enough to make sweat break out on his forehead, nothing but the stench of distressed omegas and perverted alphas swirling in the air. Worst of all was that Paul stood proudly before all of it, grinning down at him from his place in the doorway. 

“Feeling handsy are we?,” Paul sneered at him. 

Joel scowled. There was no retort that would be strong enough to fully encompass the hate he felt for this man. 

“Mmmmm… Shame, I was just in the middle of the sweetest little thing but it's no matter,” he sighed wistfully. 

“You’re fucking sick,” Joel gritted out. 

Paul stooped down to meet his gaze, his breath soured with whatever liquor he had consumed. The only consolation to having the alpha this close was the fact that Joel could see the damage you had done to his face once more. The bruises hadn’t faded a bit. In fact, they looked worse now that the edges were turning green. 

“Look, I’m a little busy with her right now but I’ll send her down to see you soon. It’ll be a nice little family reunion. You can thank me later,” Paul said with a wink, nodding to the guards to drag him away once more. 

The guards cussed as Joel fought them every step of the way. Yelling and thrashing in their grasp, he used every bit of strength he had against them. Who did Paul mean? Were you here? The memory of Paul’s open fly and his smirking face made fury flare up inside of him. The group of alphas that transported him were forced to call for backup and the several men still barely managed to get him up the stairs, using all of their strengths to heave him into the top level of the store as he shouted profanities at them. 

They shoved him towards the hole in the floor, expecting him to fall back but Joel surprised them as he launched forward. His arms wrapped around the slowest looking one as he fell back, pulling the man right over the edge alongside him. The alpha thrashed mid air, unwittingly positioning himself to bear the brunt of Joel’s fall. 

A sickening crunch resounded throughout the room as the two landed. The sound of his skull hitting the pavement was akin to an egg being cracked open against a pan. Rolling off of the other man, Joel watched as blood poured from his nose and his body twitched. His life dripped from the back of his head until an endless gaze settled on the ceiling above. With the guard dead, Joel turned his eyes towards the towers of boxes surrounding him. His ears were peeled for any sign of danger. 

Most of the bodies had been rounded up to be burned, leaving only the biggest or messiest individuals to rot amongst the merchandise. Sickened by the smell, Joel lifted himself from the ground and crept along the outskirts of the room. He didn’t even try the double doors. After three trips in the arena, he understood that the key to the doors had to be earned through some act of violence. 

The first time it had been around the neck of a clicker. The second time they had given it to one of the prisoners, creating a wild goose chase for the poor beta who had alerted both the infected and the alphas by trying to unlock the doors immediately. The third time was the worst in his opinion, with the key hidden in the stomach of a runner. It had taken him a whole day to figure it out amongst the rotting bodies of the horde he had slashed through. 

After tripping over one of the bodies, he had been outraged as he spied the awful sewing job someone had done on its abdomen. Joel gagged at the memory, remembering how he had to wrap his arms in garbage bags to keep the infected tissue from tainting his skin as he fished them out. 

After circling the entirety of the room, Joel straightened up as he realized that he was alone. The fact that he had no opponents should have been comforting but instead he tensed up even more. Never had they sent him over the edge without anyone to fight and never had Paul threatened him in a more terrifying way. With his heart pounding in his chest, Joel placed himself with his back to the wall as he waited for what was to come. 

A shriek echoed from above and Joel saw the outline of a body fall to the floor in one of the aisles. He slinked towards the aisle, careful to keep his steps quiet as he pricked his ears for any sign of life. The closer he got, the more his heart rate picked up until he skidded to a stop in front of the shaking heap on the concrete. 

The scent was the first thing he noticed. It was almost overpowered with the smell of sweat and despair, but the underlying notes of jasmine and crisp apples still remained. Joel wasn’t sure how he knew this omega’s scent and it confused him. Pausing before the lump, he leaned down and carefully tried to turn the woman over. 

Her screech scared him and he jolted back, stumbling over himself until he fell back. Tailbone smacking against the floor, Joel groaned and cussed as the omega jumped to her feet. She shakily held a knife out in front of her and moved towards him, causing him to raise his hands in defeat. 

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt ya. If I - shit -  Look, I don’t even know where I know you from ma’am. I didn’t mean to get you sent down here, I swear,” Joel soothed. 

The woman glared at him, deepening all of the frown lines in her face. Her nose scrunched up and Joel racked his brain as a wave of familiarity washed over him. How did he know this woman? 

She looked to be the same age as him with streaks of gray throughout the mussed strands. Her eyes were sharp and framed with heavy bags but the shape of them made him cock his head. A heavy sense of deja vu was all he felt as he focused on them. 

“Why do you smell like her? Who are you?,” she hissed. 

Joel gawked but said nothing, which was clearly the wrong choice as the omega launched herself at him. He grunted as the weight of her body slammed into him. He held his hands up in defense just in time for her to slash into his fist. A gasp was all he managed before the woman reeled back to plunge the blade into him but Joel surprised her. 

Not wanting to hurt the feeble woman, he pinched the skin on her side between his fingers. The slip that barely covered her beaten body couldn’t guard her from the pinch and she whined in pain, reaching down to swat at Joel’s hand. With her distracted, he snatched the blade from her other hand and flipped her over. 

She thrashed beneath him, screaming the most proper insults he had ever heard. Never in his life had he been called an oaf in such a ruthless way. Without even having to ask, Joel knew that it had not been you that Paul threatened him with. The woman that fought against his hold was your mother. 

“STOP IT,” Joel roared, shaking her in his grasp until she stilled. 

She glared at him, poisoning him with her pointed gaze as he sighed. 

“I’m your daughter’s mate, okay? My name is Joel, Joel Miller. I ain’t gonna hurt you ma’am. M’trying to get to her before she gets herself killed, alright? Now stop fussin,” he scolded. 

A snort flew from her mouth as he stood up, backing away slowly to give her some room. 

“Ma’am? You look to be the same age as me,” she snapped, “Which leads me to my daughter, are you her mate or her keeper? Because the last time a keeper was chosen, I distinctly remember aiding in the escape. If she has only fallen into the hands of another then I fear it was all for nothing.” 

Joel shook his head, “M’not her keeper. She don’t belong to me or anyone else. I know that I ain’t exactly right for her but I-I love her, alright? I can’t explain it but I’m not like those men, I don’t - fuck - I would never hurt her.” 

A flash of something softened her eyes for a moment, making her appear more like you for just a moment before she hardened again. Joel sighed. He knew he needed her to trust him somewhat so that he could get them both out alive. 

“She claimed me first. I wanted to but I couldn’t until she did and she knew that ‘cus she loves me. Now, I don’t know why she loves me but she does. And I love her just the same,” he said with more confidence. 

The woman sighed and shook her head. 

“They told me that I needed to kill the alpha in here. If I did, they said they would let me out of the pleasure house. I could cook or clean instead of…”

Joel swallowed at the admission. He didn’t judge her for the way her eyes darted to the knife in his hand. If it had been him stuck in that god forsaken place, the knife would already be wedged in between the ribs of anyone that stood in his way. Carefully, he placed it on the ground and slid it over to her. She looked at it but didn’t move to pick it up. 

“And you believe them?,” Joel questioned. 

Sighing, your mother shook her head and dropped down onto the floor. She groaned at the effort as she scooted her back against the shelf. Joel hissed at the sight of handprints bruised up and down her legs. He couldn’t imagine the pain she had endured at the hands of these men. The thought of it made his skin crawl. 

“Mind your manners,” she scolded. 

Caught red handed, Joel moved his eyes away from her with his cheeks pink. He felt awful for gawking at her in such a vulnerable state. 

“Apologies ma’am,” he stammered, carefully easing his coat off to hand it to her. 

Joel kept his gaze elsewhere as your mother wrapped herself in his coat. The bulky fabric did more to cover her than the slip did and he could sense the tension in the air dissipate slightly.  

He wasn’t sure why, but the tiny bruised woman sat beside him was somehow the most intimidating person he had ever met. She exuded resentfulness, with a bitter pinch to her features constantly set in place. Unwilling to look at her again, he scanned the room for anything to help them escape. 

“How was she? Before Paul came for her I mean, how was she? Was she… well?”

Joel turned at the question, opening his mouth for a moment before he snapped it shut. He knew that your mother, despite all of her mistakes, must have loved you. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have aided in your runaway bride act. Still, it surprised him that she would ask him about you while in such a dangerous place. 

“She was okay, happy. WE were happy,” he tried. 

Seeing the unsatisfied look on her face, Joel searched his mind for another answer. Laughing when he found it, he couldn’t help but smile as he continued. 

“She had started drawing but it always turned out super warped. Like, psychedelic almost. I don’t know for sure but I think she was only doing it because she knew they made me laugh.” 

The wonky cat above his nightstand at home flashed before his eyes and Joel sucked down air, trying to focus on the present to keep himself from crying. 

“And you… You cared for her too?” 

Joel nodded thoughtfully, “I tried to, I AM trying to, as hard as I can.” 

Nodding, your mother made an affirmative noise and leaned back once more. She looked slightly less peeved, with the crease still present between her eyebrows but her shoulders relaxed. Joel decided to count it as a win. 

“She gets that from her father. Not Josiah of course but her ACTUAL father. He was light and soft, like her. I tried to make her tough but it only backfired. She hated me but what was I supposed to do? They would have had her hung if they knew,” she sighed. 

Joel blinked, “Knew what?”

“That her father was a Jew. That alone would have ensured her damnation in their eyes. Aside from that, I never told Josiah or her that her father and I never married. We were mated so marriage seemed pointless but again, they killed bastards in that community, so…” 

“So she had to be perfect,” he answered. 

She nodded, “I might have been cruel but I was not without my reasons.” 

He hummed at her words. It wasn’t as if he completely agreed with her actions but he understood the fear involved with trying to keep a child safe in this world. Perhaps her cruelty was just a means to an end, a way to keep you alive. Joel completely understood where she was coming from but he still bristled at the lengths she went to achieve her goals. 

Ma’am-,” he started. 

“You can call me Mrs. Y/L/N, nothing more. It is not correct to keep calling your mother in law ma’am after we have already been acquainted,” she snipped. 

Joel wondered if he should correct her. You were mated and that was as good as any ceremony in the eyes of any potential suitors, with his scent covering your own for the rest of your life but that didn’t mean that the two of you were married. Joel hadn’t even thought about it and you had never mentioned it to him. Still, with the strict guidelines that your mother was used to in her previous community, he felt that bringing it up may sour things between them prematurely. 

“Is… I mean, was that her last name too?,” he asked dumbly. 

“You claimed my daughter and you don’t even know her last name?!”

Joel cringed at the reaction. It became clear to him that admitting he didn’t know your last name was not the smartest thing to do either and he kicked himself for it. Before he could diffuse the explosion of rage that pushed your mother from the floor and into his personal space, the click of the lock forced the both of them to turn towards the doors. 

Light poured into the space, blinding Joel for a moment as a figure hobbled in. After blinking a few times, his vision cleared and Jake appeared before them. 

“Jacob?!,” the omega at his feet screeched, turning in an instant to launch herself at the younger man. 

Jake gasped as she crushed his body against her own, blanching at the affectionate embrace. Given the reaction of the younger man and all of the stories he had heard about her, Joel gathered that this was not a regular occurrence. He tolerated the hug for a moment, even awkwardly patting her on the back a few times before he withdrew. 

“Your daughter, I met her. She’s so sweet that one and I promise, I-I do everything I can when they bring her,” she stammered. 

Jake gasped, “You’ve seen Allie?!” 

Your mother nodded, “Paul brings her sometimes, drops her off with me and the other omegas. She is such a darling Jake, they all love her.” 

“They bring the kid to the pleasure house?,” Joel wondered aloud. 

Panic broke out on Jake’s face and Joel cringed as your mother turned to glare at him. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Joel. They don’t keep us there all the time. He brings her to the place we sleep whenever Cooper gets too close to finding her. Once he lays off, Paul takes her back to wherever she was before,” she explained. 

A gust of air left the omega’s mouth at the admission, the worst fears being washed away and releasing the tension from his shoulders. Jake shook his head as his worst fears left him, rubbing his eyes tiredly before he looked back up again. 

“We have to go, right now. Cooper released the prisoners and they are burning this place to the ground. Quick, there’s not much time,” Jake urged. 

The two omegas took off and Joel stumbled after them, mind reeling with a million questions. The muscles in his legs ached as they bounded up the staircase but he ignored it, focusing on keeping his head clear as he followed Jake towards the exit. 

Just as the key slipped into the door, it was ripped open and Joel shoved the two omegas behind his back. Puffing up his chest and barring his teeth, he was met with the sight of a bloodied Cooper holding a very teary eyed toddler in his grasp. The younger alpha winced at his stance and hugged the girl tighter to his chest, making Joel relax immediately in response. 

“Oh my baby,” Jake cried out, bypassing Joel completely to pluck his daughter from his mate’s hands. 

Allie threw her chubby arms around his neck, blubbering nonsense into his ear as he cooed at her. The moment was heartwarming but it also had to be cut short given the circumstance. 

“We have to get out of here. Paul is fucking gone but this place has gone nuts. Keep your heads down and follow me, okay?,” Cooper paused until the group nodded, “J? You got her or do you need me to carry her?”

Jake shook his head and squeezed Allie closer, “I’m not going to let her go Coop, I promise.” 

They shared a look before Cooper nodded, turning on his heel to lead them towards the exit. Joel’s heart slammed against his chest as he walked along the edges of the ground floor. The anarchy he heard from outside set him on edge. The smell of smoke and the sound of screams overwhelmed his senses. Nothing could have prepared Joel for the scene that played out in front of him as he exited the arena. 

Freed prisoners sprinted away from their captors, only for the alpha chasing them to be struck down by another newly freed individual. Most of the buildings were consumed by flames, with the untouched ones being licked at by the blaze. He watched as omegas and betas tore through the street, crawling under the wire to get to freedom. Overwhelmed alphas tried to shoot them down as they rushed through their defense. Half of them missed the moving targets and ran from their position, while the other half were knocked down and trampled by the survivors.

“LET’S FUCKING GO!,” Cooper yelled over the chaos, rushing in the other direction. 

The group followed closely behind, dodging distressed camp members and traumatized prisoners as they ran. Joel watched as Jake shoved his daughter’s face into his chest, shielding her from the world as they raced towards the final exit. She fought weakly against him but he murmured softly in her ear as he ran, calming her down enough that she stayed put. 

Despite the fact that his lungs burned from the exertion, Joel kept his pace until your mother stumbled and fell. Cooper and Jake stopped, yelling at the woman to get up as she struggled to her feet. She tried twice and then fell, much too weak to stand up by herself any longer. 

“We have to go!,” Jake cried out in a panic. 

Joel debated for a moment before he stooped down to lift her in his arms. She squawked and kicked out her legs, yelling at him to put her down but he ignored her, nodding at the others to continue. 

“Hush up right now unless you want me to leave ya behind,” he snapped as frustration overcame his patience. 

Joel would never do that but she didn’t have to know that. All he needed was for her to allow him to help her but she was making it incredibly difficult. If threats were the way to make her shut up, then threats it would be. 

“You are a mindless brute! I don’t know what my daughter sees in you but put me down now!” 

Annoyed at the cantankerous woman that sat in his arms, Joel glared down at her as he resumed his pace. 

“From what I hear, you’re not such a walk in the park either lady. If you were anyone else, I’d leave ya here but luckily you’re my mate’s mother. Now shut the fuck up and survive this with me so that I don’t have to explain to your daughter why I let you die,” he seethed. 

Her eyes widened at his sharp words before she nodded once and relented, staying silent as the crew raced towards an opening in the fence. Jake squeezed through first, holding the back of Allie’s head as he crawled through the space. Next went your mother, who required a helpful hand on both sides to make her way through. Then Cooper, who went through with ease before it was Joel’s turn. 

The cracking in his knees made him groan as he made his way to the other side but he managed to slip most of the way through the hole before he felt a hand grasp his ankle. Joel turned over onto his back, only to see the face of an infected clawing at his boot. He gasped and kicked it in the face, scrambling through the last few inches to burst out the other side. 

“Infected coming!,” Joel shouted as he scooped up your mother, making the entire group hasten their pace. 

Looking back, he saw the face he had kicked crawling under the metal. Judging by the hands that reached out front around the edges, Joel had a feeling there was more to come. 

“What’s the plan here guys?,” he panted, his breathing no more than wheezes as he tried to keep up with the younger men. 

Cooper pointed his finger at a rusted sunfire and tossed him the keys, the group quickening their pace once more as a roar tore through the air. Joel didn’t need to look back to know that sound. Any shoddily made barrier would be no use for a bloater and as the beast slammed itself against the wall, everyone threw themselves into the vehicle. 

Joel tried the ignition once as the first layer of barrier collapsed. 

“Come on, come on, come on, come on,” he mumbled to himself as he tried again to no avail. 

“Flick the headlights on and off, that might give it some juice,” Cooper called. 

The woman to his right scoffed, “That’s a myth.”

“And how would you know? I’ve never even seen you drive,” Cooper sassed right back. 

“I’ll have you know little boy, that I had a full license and was driving before you were even a thought so why don’t you-” 

“SHUT UP!,” Joel shouted as the last bit of barrier broke down, revealing a bloated body that was running towards them. 

A horde of infected, some newer and some gnarled with age, stumbled in pursuit of the giant. He swore and tried again, holding his breath until the car finally turned on. With the infected hot on their tail, Joel slammed his foot all the way to the floor and sped off. He grimaced at the burst of cordyceps that the bloater flung to his right, jerking to the side of the road before he righted the car once more. The next burst of infection exploded somewhere behind them, the distance between them too great for it to be of any danger and finally Joel relaxed in his seat. 

“Is everyone okay?,” Cooper asked. 

Given the frantic hands that poked and prodded at Allie in the rearview mirror, Joel figured that question was not for him or your mother.  

Jake sighed, “We’re okay Coop, aren’t we Allie-girl?”

The little girl sprung up from her father’s chest, gurgling in response and hooking her fingers around her other father’s finger. Cooper visibly relaxed, falling back against the seat before he scooched closer to his mate. Joel looked away, letting them have a moment as he looked over at the passenger seat. 

Your mother sat ramrod straight, with her chin lifted high in the air. Even with all of her injuries, she remained almost regal in the way she presented herself and turned to glare at him for his gaze. Joel sighed and looked forward, keeping his eyes on the road instead. 

There would be no winning her over until you were found and Joel didn’t blame her for it. If Sarah or Ellie had been missing only for an older alpha to show up unannounced, apparently bonded with one of them, he would have reacted way worse. The nasty looks were, if anything, a courtesy. 

An hour of driving passed before Cooper directed him towards a side road, bringing the car down a terribly shoveled entrance before an old house came into view. Joel pulled the car up and parked, keeping the engine idling as he turned towards the other alpha with an eyebrow raised. 

“Come on, you three out while me and Joel have a little chat,” Cooper said carefully, never breaking eye contact with him. 

Your mother sighed and left the vehicle without another word, too tired to fight against the men around her anymore. She heaved herself up and moved towards the front door, hobbling off until her figure disappeared from the doorway. 

“I’m not getting out unless you tell me what it is that you’re going t-” Jake started. 

“Out of the car and into the house with our daughter. Right now. I am not asking,” Cooper demanded, his clipped tone leaving no room for retort. 

Joel winced at the way Jake balked and heeded his request, leaving the car with the little girl on his hip. He looked back at the car only once before he frowned and followed your mother’s path inside. Cooper sighed when Jake was gone and rubbed at his eyes. He exited the car as well, rounding the front of it to plop himself into the passenger seat. When the door slammed shut, the alpha turned himself towards Joel and began. 

“About 50 clicks south is where our old camp was. I can’t be sure but if I know my brother, that’s where he is taking her. Go down the old service exit before I-80. If you go now, maybe you can save her. I don’t care that she asked me not to, I would want to know,” Cooper rushed out while twisting his hands together. 

Joel froze. 

“Who has her? Wha- What did she ask? I-I don’t,” he sputtered as his heart lurched in his chest. 

“I found Allie and I went to get her but they caught me,” he winced at memory, “She busted in and saved me. I tried to get her to come with, but she wouldn’t listen. She said it wouldn’t end unless she went to him and made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you what happened.”

The world crashed down around him. Paul had you. He had you and he had taken you somewhere 50 kilometers south. All of Joel’s worst fears had come to life. You were going to sacrifice yourself for the safety of everyone else. Memories of a hospital and a little girl who wanted to save the world with her gift flooded his mind, drawing out a sharp gasp from Joel as he clutched at his chest. 

Joel felt so many things, with anger being the first. He was selfishly mad at you for allowing yourself to be taken rather than sacrificing others. Then he felt guilty at that, knowing that it was against your character to ever let harm come to those that you loved. But he was also angered by the alpha that sat beside him for leaving you behind. 

“Don’t look at me like that when I know that if you were in my position, you would’ve done the same. I am not going to sacrifice my daughter for her or anyone else,” he argued. 

Straightening his back at the statement, Joel nodded once in response and motioned for him to leave. 

“I’m sorry Joel, I’m really fucking sorry. I don’t even know what we are going to do now but I have my own family. There is a mate in there that I don’t deserve and a pup that needs me. You have to understand that,” Cooper tried.

Joel sighed and shook his head of the bitterness that seeped in from the corners of his mind.  

“Leave Montana, head into Wyoming and go to Jackson county. My brother’s wife runs a spot up that way, they’d take you in. Tell them that I sent ya. Well, tell Tommy I sent you, not Maria.” 

The thank you was stopped midway by Joel holding up his hand. Cooper nodded and stepped out, wishing him luck as he slammed the door shut behind him. Deep down, he didn’t blame the man for picking his family. Cooper was right, Joel would have done the same in a heartbeat if it had come down to them or you. However, with his mate trapped somewhere alone with a psychopath, Joel didn’t spare him a second glance as he sped off once more. 

Panic bleached his mind of any substantial thoughts and he remained relatively silent as he sped through the streets. The beast within had roared to life and demanded blood, making him tighten his grasp on the wheel until the leather creaked. Flashes of memories, all involving you, were the only things that kept him somewhat human. 

His pulse quickened as he neared your former camp. Sweat dripped down Joel’s face and he noticed that his hands were shaky as he pulled off into the service exit. The fear was overwhelming. Were you alive? Were you hurt? Were you even at the camp? Swallowing every bit of panic that tightened his chest, Joel pressed on towards the clearing before him. 

 - You - 

“I’m not telling you fuck all bitch.”

A cackle echoed throughout the clearing, reverberating off the ice covered trees until it shot back to reach your ears. 

“Oh, I know. That’s not what this is about,” you chuckled, dragging the blade across the other cheek as the man groaned in pain. 

Blood beaded from the slash before it dripped down his cheek. Amused, you watched him thrash against the zip ties for a moment before you stepped back. Red faced and panting, the man called out for you as you stepped away from him. 

“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!,” the alpha yelled. 

Another bout of laughter tore from your mouth as you grasped the hilt of the blade and pulled, tearing it from the chest of his deceased comrade. From somewhere behind you, a twig snapped and you smiled at the sound. 

“I can and I will. They’ll find what’s left of you in a couple days. If you’re lucky maybe they’ll even put a bullet between your eyes. Some of your brothers haven’t been so lucky,” you chuckled and nodded towards the sound of shuffling feet, “Horde just keeps on growing.” 

Without another word, you ignored his cries for mercy as you turned into the trees. The alpha’s insults quickly turned into screams. The sound of a body being torn apart by infected quickened your pace. As swiftly as possible, you scrambled into the cab of the truck and pulled away from the clearing as they finished off your opponent. 

It had been like this for days. After a couple of hours on the road, you had found the first look out and scoped it out. The guards patrolled mostly during the night and kept their weakest alphas on guard during the day while the others slept. Understanding this, you parked in a patch of trees down the road and waited for the right moment. The minute the guards switched out, you were slinking around the perimeter to take out the three men that patrolled the abandoned gas station. 

Thinking back as you drove through the quiet roads, you remembered how surprised the sleeping alphas looked when they had awoken to the feeling of a knife plunged into their chests. Some of them tried to scream but you had gagged them with cloth. It was amazing how much you could accomplish while your opponents slept. Seven alphas were killed at that first stop. You felt absolutely nothing as you watched them die, only a sense of determination to get to your mate. 

Countless men and women had died at your hands since that day, all of them guilty of being associated with the man that had your alpha. It was on the fourth day on the road that you had stumbled across the camp. You had to stop yourself from running towards the strip mall when you saw it. A pang of recognition jolted through the bond at the sight of the repurposed shops, the mark on your neck aching as you overlooked the town that held the man you searched for. 

It was only when you watched a set of guards drag a broad shouldered man from the back of the store and up a set of stairs that you knew for sure. Joel fought against them and you had watched, heart aching at the blood splattered across his clothes and the hood over his face. You had grasped the gun in your waistband, weighing your options before you let it go. 

They might shoot him if you didn’t kill them and even still, you weren’t entirely sure you had the strength to rush the place without the proper fire power. Plus, what if you missed and hit him instead? Joel was dragged up a set of stairs and into another store, while you were forced to do nothing but watch. 

“I’m coming,” you whispered to the air, hoping that it would carry and somehow reach only his ears. 

In the next few days, you had amped up your game. Somewhere between the first outpost and the camp itself was no man’s land, where Paul’s group had left the infected to act as an impromptu defense for them. Leading them towards the camp, you had been the cause of much confusion amongst the alphas. Some bodies you left like a present at their doorstep, mocking them with their mutilated corpses. While others you left trussed up amongst the trees for the infected to find, leaving the group with a growing horde to deal with. 

When you weren’t hunting down the alphas, a handful of houses were scattered around the camp and served as impromptu safe havens for you intermittently. You never went inside, knowing that the second you stepped in that the patrol might catch your scent the next day. Instead, you parked somewhere and rested in the truck for a few hours before heading back to work.

As the days passed, you had slain a good portion of the population but still could not get any closer to infiltrating the space. The guards that patrolled the perimeter were younger and likely greener, but were frustratingly vigilant as they walked along the rickety fence. There were a few holes in the perimeter but you weren’t confident that you would be able to sneak into the store they continuously dragged Joel back to without one of them catching you. 

If you were caught, you knew where they would send you. The lingerie store was frequented by all of the alphas, except for a couple of them that seemed to prefer guard duty over whatever went on in the establishment. Given the screaming omegas that they dragged into the back of the store and the smirking alphas that left out of the front, you had a good guess as to what went on. 

Exhaustion pulled at your eyelids at the thought of it and you sighed, knowing that you needed to rest. Pain radiated from the cuts and bruises that covered your body but you didn’t care. Some of them would scar, especially the wound that cracked open on your cheek with every smile. The owner of the truck had given you that one, her fists slamming into your face until you plunged the blade into her gut. Again, you didn’t mind. It would all be worth it to see Joel’s face again. 

Pulling off of the main road, the truck rumbled down a side street towards the house you had chosen for your nap. Driving closer to the house, you pumped the brakes at the sight of a fresh set of tire tracks in the snow. The truck stopped as you threw it in park, debating for a moment before you shut it off and slipped from the cab. 

Holding the gun close to your chest, you moved into the surrounding trees. With the vegetation acting as a cover, you stepped towards the back of the home only to be greeted with the sight of a group of alphas standing over a beaten man. The sight could have been disregarded if any other man had laid bleeding against the ground, but it was Cooper that gasped for air as a woman kicked him in the ribs. 

“Please! Please stop - fuck!,” Cooper groaned as another boot knocked him from his hands and knees. 

You paused from your place in the trees. Sure, the alpha was not your favorite person but he meant something to Jake. This was his husband, his mate. The mark that your best friend had claimed Cooper with glared at you from above his collar, judging you for thinking about walking away from the scene. A plethora of whispered swears poured from your lips as you watched the group laugh. 

The memory of him allowing you to slam a pot over his head as a guise to escape flashed through your mind. 

“Fucking hell,” you swore, realizing that there was no way that you could walk away from this.  

Four alphas surrounded Cooper, the group snickered as the largest one taunted him. Removing the magazine from the pistol, you counted six bullets left. Since leaving the cabin, your aim had gotten astronomically better but it still left something to be desired. Plus, using all six of your bullets to only possibly kill four alphas was not viable. 

“Just wait until your brother gets here you punk,” the woman spat, “Always knew you were a traitor, hiding your omega from us then conveniently losing the other one when nobody was there to see it. You’re a pussy. Better the kid stays with Paul, maybe she’ll learn her damn place.” 

Cooper growled ferally as he clutched his side, “Don’t you fucking dare bring my kid into this. I will f- oomph.” 

The hand wrenching his head back cut him off, making Cooper whine as his mousy strands were yanked back harshly. The other alpha met his gaze, smiling at the discomfort on his face before another vehicle made its way up towards the house. 

“Looks like your time is up traitor. Doubt big brother is gonna bail you out this time, not when you have been trying to cover up the bitch’s tracks for days.” 

Cooper didn’t say anything. Instead, he bowed his head at the statement, thus proving his own guilt in the matter. You were surprised but it made sense. For days you had been slaughtering their guards or leaving them to be infected in the woods but only the few bodies ever seemed to make it back to them. 

After you had reached double digits in your murder spree, you began to question their patrolling abilities. However, with Cooper’s wordless admission, you realized that their bodies had been hidden by the partner in crime that you didn’t even know you had. 

“What’s this?”

Paul rounded the corner of the home, peering down at his brother as he kneeled on the cold ground. His face showed no emotion towards Cooper’s beaten face, only a look of boredom as he strolled towards the group. 

The alpha that stood over Cooper smiled at Paul, “Asshole finally found the kid, too bad we found a couple of bodies in the trunk when we seared it. Seems our friend here has been using his free time to help out your little slut.” 

A scowl tightened Paul’s face and he stooped down in front of the injured alpha. Cooper flinched at the proximity, his face pale as his brother leered at him. 

“Is that true baby brother? After all I’ve done for you?,” he tsked. 

Cooper’s face snapped up and you were shocked by the uncharacteristically cold glare that hardened his features. 

“All you’ve done?,” he chuckled and shook his head, “And what is that Paul? You have taken everything from me. My daughter, my mate, my life. Even Sophie, our own baby sister, our blood, wasn’t safe from you, was she?” 

Paul reached down, snatching Cooper’s face in his hands and you winced at the way his fingers dug into his skin. 

“You watch it Coop, wouldn’t want to have to teach ya another lesson,” he warned.  

Cooper laughed, “Funny, Sophie used to get lessons too. Maybe that’s why she decided to throw herself off that building. Ya know, you talk a big game about protecting what’s yours but I don’t think you have any idea what it means to care for anything. There’s only one thing you want.” 

“And what’s that?”

“You just want to be the big man like dad,” you watched as Paul’s jaw twitched at Cooper’s words,“Does it make you feel strong to be like him? Does it make you forget what it feels like to be on the other side? Maybe if you hurt enough people, you’ll forget about what he did, huh?” 

Shock was all you felt as Paul slammed his fist into his brother’s nose, making blood pour from it as Cooper groaned in pain. Another punch came down and slammed into his cheek. Then another and another, until the younger man was sprawled out against the snow. Despite the blows, the smile on his face was unmistakable as his brother wailed on him. Paul might have overpowered him but Cooper had read the man so accurately that it had made him lose his nerve. 

Taking a moment to gather himself, you watched as Paul smoothed out the front of his jacket and cleared his throat before turning towards his group. 

“Take him inside. Tie him up in the basement, if he even thinks about escaping you shoot him down. Both of you,” Paul nodded towards the biggest in the group, “With me. If they were working together then she’ll be somewhere close. Let’s go.” 

Two of the men dragged a barely conscious Cooper into the house, hauling him up the steps as the rest of the group piled into Paul’s car. You waited until it drove off, watching until it disappeared. 

As quietly as possible, you crept towards the building and eased yourself into the house. The alphas were nowhere to be seen, likely in the basement with a semi conscious Cooper as you moved throughout the living room. An open doorway led towards the basement but you dodged it and disappeared into one of the bedrooms to wait. The plan was to hide in the bedroom until the alphas re-emerged. You were going to creep downstairs in order to free Cooper but the plan was foiled when the babbling of a small child made you spin around. 

A little girl dressed in a tattered jumper and sesame street pj pants smiled at you from the confines of an ancient playpen. There was no mistaking whose child she was. The golden skin and glossy ringlets made your chest pang, seeing bits of your best friend as you looked upon his daughter. The color was off, closer to Cooper’s light brown, but they still shined in the light like Jake’s did. 

The brightness in her green eyes astounded you and you wondered if the man she got them from had ever been as happy as her. From what had been said outside in the snow, you doubted it. Her mouth seemed perpetually upturned in a smirk, just like Jake, and you smiled as she reached her hands out to you. Slowly, you moved towards her and plucked her from the playpen. 

“Hi baby,” you whispered, “You must be Allie. I’m Ja- I’m your dad’s friend, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Allie blinked up at you and smiled brightly, seemingly unbothered by the fact that a complete stranger held her. She continued to babble, gesturing wildly with her hands as she answered you in her own way. You bit back a laugh, seeing nothing but Jake as she gave an explanation that was complete nonsense but still dramatic as hell. Her words meant nothing, but the tone of Allie’s voice was chalk full of sass. 

“Tell me about it,” you sighed and Allie nodded as if she understood. 

A pair of footsteps walking up the steps popped the bubble of warmth in the child’s room and you panicked. There was no way you wanted to confront these men in front of Allie, but you needed to get her father out of the basement. You gulped and placed the girl back in her playpen carefully. She whined, trying to get you to pick her back up as she began to cry and your heart broke. 

Nobody in Paul’s group seemed like they would be caring enough to look after the child. That meant that she had probably been alone in different rooms since being separated from her parents. You wondered how Allie had remained so cheerful despite her isolation. That was no way for a child to live. Fat tears dripped down her cheeks as her lower lip trembled and you brushed the curls from her face. 

“Shhhh Allie, it’s okay. I’m gonna go get your papa okay? Stay right here baby, I’ll be right back and then we’ll go get your other daddy,” you soothed. 

Allie sniffed and nodded, babbling more jumbled nonsense that sounded vaguely like an affirmation. You leaned down and kissed the top of her head, smiling at her again before you slipped out of the room. 

The house was still but you kept your ears peeled as you moved towards the basement. Just as you reached the stairs, a door clicked behind you and you wheeled around. The alpha that stepped from the bathroom looked more surprised than you, stumbling back against the wall as you reached towards your waistband. Before he had the chance to grab his own, your gun was already out, firing two shots into his chest. 

The other guard yelled out for his partner from outside and you swore, hurrying into the kitchen and hiding behind the island as the alpha raced into the house. The man tore through the place, completely unaware that he had bypassed your hidden figure to get to the dying man. He stooped down in front of the alpha, questioning him as redness seeped into the fabric of his shirt. It was no use, the alpha was too weak to answer as he drowned from the blood filling his lungs. 

The final breath rattled out of the man’s chest and his body stilled, causing the other man to swear. The remaining alpha hung his head for a moment, still unaware of your presence as you switched out the gun for a knife. It was quieter and you had more experience with it. Almost hovering over him, it was the creak of a floorboard that gave you away. 

The alpha’s head snapped up and you gasped as he whipped the gun from its holster in a flash. The shot rang out and you could’ve sworn you heard it as the bullet grazed the side of your head. The force of it buckled your knees, making you fall to the floor in shock as the excruciating sensation forced tears from your eyes. Blood poured from the area and you whined as the red liquid dripped into your eyes, blurring your field of vision while you tried to lift yourself from your stomach. 

Dizzied from the shot, you struggled to get your bearings and were knocked back down by the man. You screamed as he kneeled against your back to keep you down, the sound being cut off as he put more weight into his hold. With your lungs crushed, you coughed and struggled against him. 

“Oh you’re in trouble now baby,” he chuckled, running a heavy hand down your backside. 

The feeling of it was revolting and you tried uselessly to buck him off. The alpha laughed at your protests, unperturbed as he fiddled with the waistline of your baggy jeans. This was it, you thought, this was the end. Dread filled you as you felt fingers dip under your shirt. 

“I will say. The amount of us you’ve taken out has been quite impressive,” he pinched your hip and you whined, “You’ve become a sort of white whale for us all. Can’t believe I get to be Captain Ahab.” 

You laughed, remembering yourself with his stupid statement. 

This man was nothing. All he wanted from you was fear, that’s all men like him ever wanted from omegas. Understanding this, you laughed harder despite the weight pressing you into the floorboards. A growl came from behind and the man flipped you over, glaring down at you as you continued to giggle. 

“The fuck is so funny?,” he snapped. 

“Moby Dick bites off Captain Ahab’s leg you fucking idiot. The whale kills everyone except for Ishmael and survives the crew hunting him. So according to your own metaphor, I’m going to kill you,” you laughed, wriggling your arm from under him to rip the gun from his grasp. 

The man reached forward to take it back but you were too quick, pressing the barrel of it against his gut and firing another shot into his stomach. He groaned as he bled out onto your clothes and you shoved him off. The man held the hole in his stomach closed with one hand and you sighed. Reaching backwards for your knife, you grabbed it and slid it across his neck. He bled out in seconds. 

Rolling away from the mess, you groggily got to your feet and stumbled towards the basement. From somewhere in the distance, you heard the sound of Allie crying but you ignored it. The sight of your bleeding face would only make it worse, so you trudged towards the person who might be able to comfort her. 

The basement was freezing with dripping ceilings and unfinished floors. You hobbled into the space, ears ringing as you moved towards the alpha that was tied to the chair. Cooper was unconscious, or at least he seemed to be, and you paused to collect yourself. 

Nausea forced vomit up from your mouth and you retched, puking onto the concrete before him. Bits of it splattered against your pants. You groaned and swayed on your feet while holding the bleeding graze mark on the side of your head. Breathing in deeply, you slapped at your cheeks to keep yourself alert. 

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened?,” Cooper called out. 

You laughed, spitting out the remainder of it from your mouth before you smiled back up at him. 

“Should see the other guy,” you coughed, spitting up blood as you kneeled beside the chair. 

As quickly as you could, the ties around his wrists were loosened until Cooper could break free. He gently pushed your shaky hands away, reaching down to speedily work his feet out of the restraints. You sat back and watched through bleary eyes. Cooper spoke to you as he released himself from the chair but his words were faraway. Everything was distorted, like you were seeing the world through one of those funhouse mirrors at the carnivals your father used to take you to. 

“Hey! I said, is my daughter okay? Did you see her?!,” he asked, shaking your shoulders to break you from the haze. 

You swallowed down more puke from the sudden movement, “She’s fine. Upstairs in the playpen. She - Look, I don’t even think she’s old enough to know what’s going on.”

Cooper nodded, looking relieved as he helped you to your feet. You expected him to drop his hold on your arm but instead he tightened it, leading you from the basement and towards Allie once more. You stumbled after him, delirious from the blow to your head as Cooper dragged you behind him. 

“Allie-girl! How are you honey, Papa missed you,” he cooed as he entered the room, swooping down to gather his daughter in his arms. 

You leaned against the doorframe, lowering yourself onto your bum and hugging your knees. Queasiness filled your mouth with water and you turned your face away, emptying the contents of your stomach once more until only bile remained. 

You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

Suddenly, the cooing and soft words halted. The vibe of the room shifted and Cooper swore as he peered out of the curtains. Even in your disjointed state, you could tell that whatever he saw wasn’t good. Slowly, you stood up and followed his gaze out the window. 

In the driveway, Paul shoved the door of the car closed behind him. He stopped and began to dig through the backseat of his car as the two of you watched. 

The alpha beside you looked terrified. Any confidence he had previously was lost with his pup in his arms. Allie’s hands smacked against his chest, trying to get her father’s attention as sweat dampened his hairline. Cooper’s face was as white as a ghost as he watched his brother walk towards the house.  

You swallowed the lump in your throat, realizing what you had to do. He couldn’t bear the weight of this for you, nobody could. It was time to face your demons. 

“Take her out the window. Go back to camp and get everyone out, then leave. I’ll hold him off,” you instructed. 

“What?!” 

You shook your head at his incredulous reply, “Paul isn’t going to stop until he has me, so I’m going to give him what he wants. Just… Just promise me you’ll take Joel when you get Jake out. Tell him I love him. And please Cooper, don’t tell him what I’ve done.”  

Cooper shook his head wildly, hugging his daughter closer to his chest as you backtracked towards the hallway. He stepped forward to grab your arm and you whirled around, glaring at him before he could touch you. 

“Joel Miller is the best person I know, okay? And I dragged him into this. Fuck, I-I dragged you all into this. Which means it’s up to me to finish it, alright? Whatever happens just… Just please get him out without telling him what happened here. He’ll come after me and I can’t - fuck - I can’t be the reason for anyone else’s pain anymore,” you pleaded desperately. 

Looking over his shoulder, you saw that Paul was almost all the way to the front door. Cooper stood still, torn as you mouthed the word please. Allie babbled in his arms and he looked down at her for a moment before he looked back up at you with his mind made. Slowly, he swallowed hard and nodded. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, turning away from Cooper and Allie to march towards the front door. 

This was it. Everything that you had been through culminated in this moment. You thought back to your first week at Josiah’s camp. Paul was there, although a young man, and he had leered at you from the barn as you played with Jake outside. Flipping forward, you thought of your wedding day. He had looked victorious as Josiah dragged you down the aisle, like a hunter who had caught his prey. It was the same look Paul had given you when you were caught outside the diner. 

Would he look at you like that again as you opened the door? You didn’t care. The thought of his gaze didn’t hold the same effect it once had. You had grown and now, as you gripped the handle with steady hands, there was no fear as you stepped out into the afternoon sun. 

[uhohbestie]

There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 14]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite the tensions between them. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 14 - Scar's worsening condition forces him to share his situation with the trio. Grian should learn that honesty is the best approach, but he doesn't. Quackity makes dinner, and Karl shows off his nail polish collection to Scar. Grian continues to be his own worst enemy.

📝 Words: 8,099

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 14 on AO3

—

“Who are you waiting for?”

The question catches Grian off guard, and he revels in it.

Everything about it reeks of distrust and paranoia. How on earth would he and Scar communicate with anyone outside the group without attracting attention? And why the hell would they do it in the first place? The sheer absurdity of it sparks a deeply satisfied, bitter validation in Grian’s chest—the proof he needed to confirm he wasn’t the only one with apprehensions lurking in the back of his head.

“Who do you think?” Grian challenges without answering the question.

“It just seems like you were really pushing for us to get us here as fast as possible, and now you’re in no hurry to move on,” Quackity deflects in a perfectly level tone, acting like he has the higher moral ground. “Put yourself in our shoes—how do you think that comes off?”

“I’m in an organ harvesting cult that’s in league with the zombies,” Grian scoffs, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“You’re the one saying it,” Quackity pressures, relentless. “I just asked a question. You started making all these wild leaps.”

Grian doesn’t have time for this, resenting how he’s been pushed so effortlessly onto his back foot by Quackity’s clever questioning. The validation of the trio’s mistrust doesn’t benefit him, and he still doesn’t want to out Scar to people who could not only be a threat, but have just shown they don't see them as equals.

“Are we in court?” Grian snaps. “Am I on trial? There’s no hidden meeting with some ragtag party of bandits waiting in the wings. We’re just tired. It’s not a secret. And frankly, I’m sick of you three acting like we’re holding you back. I’ve said it before, but clearly it bears repeating—you can leave without us. Go ahead. No one’s going to stop you.”

It’s a bold ultimatum, one that Grian’s sure Scar wouldn’t appreciate, seeing as he's made it abundantly clear they benefit from the strength in numbers.

Quackity gives Karl a look, loaded. He then makes a gesture that communicates something Karl clearly understands, but Grian can’t decipher. It feels damning.

It feels like he’s been caught.

It’s a feeling he’s been experiencing way too often, lately.

“I think we should talk to Scar,” Karl says at last, gentle but firm in a way that’s clear he wants to put an end to the argument.

“Scar’s going to agree with me,” Grian mutters anyway.

—

Another Friday with another chapter of zombie au! This chapter has some of my favourite Vulnerable Grian Moments™. We hope you like it!

You can read the whole story thus-far linked below!

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)

[another-lost-mc]

The House Always Wins — Post-Mortem

I don't normally post stuff like this but this fic was a RIDE. I realized halfway through writing (and later during editing) that a Kinktober prompt fic probably wasn't the right time or place for me to deep-dive into Mammon's relationship with Lucifer and how that would influence them during this type of scenario. I blame the fact that I don't write these characters very often so when I had to sit down and do it, I was bombarded with concepts to explore. When I started writing this, I knew I didn't want this fic be mean-spirited in the way that dominant Lucifer & subservient Mammon scenes often play out.

Anyway, here's what I tried to include, some of my headcanons/ideas to explain why certain things happened the way they did, and how the final fic was changed from the original draft.

Writing from Mammon's POV

I didn't want to write this from Reader's perspective because my interest in this scenario was Mammon's feelings/experience (and to a lesser extent, Lucifer's involvement). The Reader probably would've missed the subtle dynamics at play between the other two participants in the room. It was less interesting (to me) to write about Reader's blissed out state of mind, than it was to focus on Mammon's inner monologue while doing those things to Reader as Lucifer watched.

Mammon as an unreliable narrator

We see the scenario from the very start - Lucifer's invitation, Mammon's brief consideration before accepting- and the dramatic shift in Mammon's emotions as the scenario plays out later. He has random spikes of jealousy and bitterness towards his older brother that may or may not be warranted. We don't know what Lucifer said when he invited Mammon to join him and Reader but Mammon's already on the defensive and expects the worst. Between him and Lucifer, Mammon is the one in control of the scenario physically, but he seems to think he's just a puppet dancing along for his brother's amusement.

Mammon makes a lot of assumptions about Lucifer as this unfolds, but we have no reason to really believe what Mammon thinks is true. Throughout the entire scene, Lucifer doesn't say a word. He fades into the background easily enough that Mammon only has a vague awareness he's still in the room. (Does Lucifer do that intentionally because he wants Mammon to forget he's there? Perhaps.) Mammon completely glosses over the positive, encouraging signs that the power dynamic between him and Lucifer in this situation is more evenly-matched than he realizes. He ignores (or doesn't realize) the implications of their sins literally feeding off each other because they're both powerful in their own right, and there is harmony between them that might not exist if it were anyone else except him. Mammon struggles with awkwardness and the idea that Lucifer might do this out of pity but we have no idea how it started or what, if anything, they discussed beforehand in terms of boundaries or expectations.

In the end, Lucifer lets him leave quietly, despite his obvious hesitation to say something. (Would Mammon like to stay?) But he doesn't, perhaps because he assumes Mammon won't out of stubbornness or embarrassment. There's a very real possibility that Mammon might interpret the gesture as Lucifer pitying him or some other negative slight, rather than something genuine that the three of them would likely enjoy, and feed that cycle of strange hostility that seems very one-sided on Mammon's part.

The original angst ending

The first version of this story had more angst throughout and ended on a note that was bittersweet at best. There was a lot more emphasis on Mammon's insecurities and doubts and hostility towards Lucifer, with the implication that some of their long-term issues stemming from their days in the Celestial Realm that he internalized and uses as a demon to question his brother's motives. Mammon worries about which of their brothers know about what goes on between them and it twists his involvement from something joyful into something laced with shame. Which of his brothers knew, what did they think about him if they did, why does it matter either way? Mammon also reacted with a bit more force when he felt a spike of jealousy that Reader reminded him of Lucifer's presence (that he had mostly tried to ignore) by flipping them over and forcing their head to look away from the corner of the room where his older brother watched from. The original version also ended with Lucifer inviting Mammon to stay the night which he refused for all the wrong reasons. (This led to Mammon wallowing in his own confused emotions on his own, denying himself the comfort he wanted and unintentionally feeding that unnecessary tension that he thinks exists between them.) While it's obvious there's still some issues to resolve at some point in the future, the finalized ending is more content and lacks the self-deprecation and resignation found in the original.

[skuntank]

a non-comprehensive list of notable individuals that rika has had some sort of Situation(tm) with, or at the very least, potential outcomes i can think of with the majority of other league members (so very likely not all of these happen in the same universe):

erika. was surprisingly less hurt over rika's dine-and-dash approach than one might expect. but i mean. she has like ten girlfriends who just hang out around her gym. she's fine. tbh she probably forgot rika's name fairly quickly after the whole ordeal

whitney. probably one of the worst outcomes. up there with malva just in terms of nuclear emotional meltdown. thank god whitney doesnt have the kind of social influence malva does. rika lives in her head rent free, to the point where rika has to change their phone number every so often bc whitney's figured out whatever new one they have and spam texts them.

clair. they had intent, but didnt actually end up doing anything because both of them wanted to be Dominant and couldn't find a compromise they could agree on. rika finds her fairly intimidating. (despite seeing rika as a switch, theyre not gonna be submissive to anyone but geeta imo)

roxanne. roxanne is still mad at herself for falling for those charms. so so so mad. and shes even more upset with herself that she knows shed let rika get away with it again. wants to put her foot down and block rika's number but can't bring herself to do it.

winona. sees rika as a skeezebag. can acknowledge that rika is objectively charming and very conventionally attractive, but more than anything finds them kind of annoying and gets more enjoyment out of ignoring them and putting off vibes that theyre nothing special. ultimately doesnt put any energy into any interactions but its a bonus if she can tell her indifference is chipping away at that ego a bit.

roark. imo roark is a trans man and they hooked up before he cracked his egg. at the time, rika being a dipshit skeezebag hurt, but he got over it pretty quick.

candice. one of the few people where rika realized that they actually felt some emotions and ended up having a bit of a crisis about it. in another life, i think they'd actually be a fairly interesting ship, tbh. they remain on good terms, and there is definitely some sort of tension between them that scrambles rika's brain a bit.

elesa and skyla. both of them were only willing to go for it if their girlfriend could be involved too. tbh im far more interested in a potential friendship between the three of them, i think the three of them hanging out would be delightfully annoying.

roxie. has the hots for rika so bad that its funny. cant be in the same room as them at league meetings bc she gets way too worked up and flustered and it turns into aggression. theyve never done anything and tbh rika is fine with that bc its almost more fun just to know what kind of hold they have on roxie's brain

viola. similar to roxanne. i think if she and roxanne were to ever have the opportunity to commiserate over how much rika sucks, theyd end up being a pretty good support system for one another and finally be able to give rika the boot.

bea. was much much much more emotionally wrecked than you might expect and swore off dating for several months after the fact. could benefit a lot from the roxanne and viola support group.

katy. i feel like she and rika have a long and rocky history together. katy got strung along by rika for far too long and still bears the emotional scars, but has become a much more self assured person for it. highly resents in general being seen as a pushover, and rika only makes this worse. i feel like youd have to work pretty hard to get on katy's bad side, and rika is right there at the top of her shitlist.

phoebe. straight up cursed rika once rika tried to pull their usual shit. rika had to beg and grovel for forgiveness for a good long time.

malva. haha. god

diantha. im so on the fence about this one. i can see diantha thinking rika might be a fun romp, but i can also just as easily see her 1000% seeing them as a skeezebag. regardless, diantha has slapped them across the face.

[tornrose24]

(If TGAMM had Amphibia’s plot): Seeing posts about this, I’m quite intrigued. I do have two questions, though:

1. When Molly, Libby and Andrea first become ghosts, do any of them immediately assume they’re dead, and if so, for how long?

2. If Jinx and the Chairman are still the Big Bads here, how do their roles play out in this AU?

So to answer the first question, I need to clarify once again–because of how this AU’s Calamity Box works, anyone who gets sent to the ghost world is turned into a ghost, but they are still alive. However, in order to be part of a Calmity Trio and obtain the powers, you DO need three people.

Anyway, the girls all assume that they are dead at first, but that length of time varies with each girl-

-Andrea assumed she was dead the longest. She got to a point where she just accepted that was what happened and tried to make the best of her new ‘afterlife.’ Though she does secretly miss her parents even if she doesn’t show it that much. She doesn’t realize that she’s actually still alive until she reunites with one of the other girls (haven’t figured out if it’s just Molly or both Molly and Libby, because Molly and Libby reunite, only to get separated once more before we get to the capital/‘season 2’ stuff.)

-Libby was the second longest since she was on her own for a long time, and she was upset about leaving her mom alone. When she explained things to The Traveler/Adia upon meeting her, Adia–who had been doing her research about the box–was quick to assure Libby that she’s still alive. However, if the box sent her and two others, then that might complicate things…

-Molly was the quickest to discover her actual fate because a part of her was optimistic that she couldn’t have died that easily. What proved it? Well, during the first few days she met Scratch, she tried to get him out of a tricky situation and momentarily tapped into her powers as the Heart part of the trio–which also was able to briefly turn her back into a human for a super brief time. (This is a nod to that ‘it wasn’t an error regarding the eyes’ in the first Amphibia episode). This cues her in on the fact that she and the others are actually still alive.

(I also want to add something in case this raises curiosity since I mentioned Adia and Scratch has experience with the box. She found it during her travels and despite several warnings, she took it to Brighton to show Scratch and then things went horribly wrong. Since there wasn’t a third person, they didn’t get the powers. Adia doesn’t assume that she’s dead, based on her research, and her determination to ‘right the wrongs’ is what’s motivating her to find the box. Meanwhile Scratch assumed the worst and was resigned to his fate until he found out that Molly was still alive, which had to mean that he was still alive as well, though it would take awhile before he knows for sure that he DOES want his life back. I imagine Adia would have been aligned with Wit and Scratch would have been aligned with Heart if he wasn’t such a ball of anxiety and depression at the time.)

2. Oh this took a while to figure out, but I do see Jinx and The Chairman as the Andrias and Core equivalents.

See, the previous Calamity Trio were the ones who defeated The Chairman and imprisoned him in such a way that you need the powers of the Trio to free him–in fact, you might need all three. As a final precaution, the box was sent somewhere to the Living World and the barriers between worlds was sealed to keep any ghosts from trying to find it. Over time, the box became a legend and while the ghosts were happy to be free from The Chairman, they were a bit bummed out that they could never revisit the Living World.

Jinx–a loyal follower of The Chairman as per usual–was none too happy for a long time. However, when she found out through Andrea about the Calamity Box and Molly and Libby, she realized it was likely the box returned to the Ghost World. The council were none too pleased about this and wanted the box destroyed (and sent others after it). Jinx secretly played Andrea like a fiddle–tell her to let her friends find the box and bring it to the captial so that all three of them could go home. And because everyone else had their reasons to find the box, they didn’t realize something was wrong until it was too late, when Jinx had the box in her posession.

Though she made the dumbass mistake of harming a lot of people Molly cared about–especially Scratch. And this activated Molly’s powers long enough to face off against Jinx who quickly realized just how much of a threat Molly–and the other girls–could be.

While Jinx was able to keep the box, she wasn’t too keen on letting the girls or Adia and Scratch leave and tried to prevent them from escaping. While she was able to capture Andrea, Scratch and Molly were able to escape back to the Living World–Libby and Adia would have gone with them, had they not been stopped/pulled away in the last few moments. And as a final attempt at a ‘screw you’ Jinx tries to attack Scratch again in some fashion, and this is what ends up causing him to have the problem of having his soul too easily detachable from his human body upon returning to the living world.

Jinx does succeed in freeing the Chairman, but he has to possess Andrea since he is currently too weak to regain his form and full power. Though his return is also what starts to weaken the barriers between the Living and Ghost Worlds.

[variousqueerthings]

I feel like I need to make a little rundown of everything UNIT and Kate Stewart has done since being re-introduced in s7, but I also want to finish watching classic!who so I can make that comparison more effectively. certainly in pertwee-era of doctor who there was some critique and analysis of UNIT's methods as a military group and that the doctor kind of had to work with them to begin with because he didn't have a working tardis (+ already knew the brigadier and UNIT from troughton-era)

liz shaw and jo grant both start with UNIT and both leave UNIT, partially after narratives where they're at odds with what the institution represents and how easy it is for it to abuse power and/or simply make bad choices to begin with (liz taking the doctor's side several times and eventually quitting, although with that slightly lazy--pseudo-feminist "she didn't want to fetch the teas" explanation given post-leaving when there was definitely a lot more going on for her than that, but I think that was the way the actress was feeling so I can see the meta reasonings in it, and jo figuring out that she believes in different ways of protecting the earth joining a radical group and yeah ok straight up getting engaged to that welsh guy after two days, but she was considering leaving before then anyway), and sarah-jane just enters spaces and acts like she belongs there and nobody knows how to tell her to leave, but she's frequently not on UNIT's side so much as the side of Truth (I say, we now enter fourth doctor era so we'll see)

but yeah, the brigadier was there from the beginning, and there's yates and whatshisface, so there's the humanising faces depicting UNIT as essentially for good from the get-go, despite episodes where they're definitely antagonists. but then reintroduced in nu!who s4 as... not quite comfortable to the doctor/partly as that season's narrative of how the doctor affects their companions for worse and inspires them to become soldiers. so they're not the bad guys in the same way torchwood of s2 were, but they aren't comfortable allies either

so now I'm on s9 and... dunno. they're not quite what they were at the beginning, and they're not what they were in s4. more than anything they feel like a get-out-of-jail free card for whatever writer needs to do something that would be easier to solve with a big handy institution with guns, but don't want to analyse the idea of a big handy institution with guns, so we're told that UNIT is "good" but I keep waiting for someone -- osgood and/or bingham -- to become that next liz shaw, and for kate stewart to be confirmed an antagonist based on said rundown I haven't made of her actions, which at best are often ineffectual and at worst some near-villain shit

rtd in the new specials continues writing UNIT the way it has been since s7 -- the same issues and questions about it are at the forefront, with a couple of new ones thrown in (an institution that's very diverse does not make it any less a paramilitary institution and in fact makes one highly suspicious of its propaganda campaign), but I hope he remembers some of the ways they caused problems during three's era, or the way his own original run at least complicated the doctor's feelings about them and I hope he ends up reintroducing those complications with fifteen but x 1000

and. kate stewart needs to become an antagonist. in my opinion. she'd make a very good antagonist, considering how much history there is between her and the doctor. that's another post though, but I want to make a list of every time KS has tried to deal with a situation with extra-judicial violence, because it is practically every episode she's in (if not every episode she's in)

I can buy the doctor feeling some kinda way, because UNIT was the brigadier, was liz, was jo, was yates and whatshisface (sorry I have forgotten his name), was a time where they were stuck and in need of help and UNIT did help them, and then it was also martha and now mel... the doctor built real personal connections with UNIT, but as a structure it is hiiiighly dubious At Best and fully just no-good the majority of the time

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic Yandere! Ultimis Tank Dempsey (COD: Zombies) with broken! Darling? She was the first to be experimented on by Richtofan (she was his favourite subject and probably still is) and experiences dissociative episodes pretty often during their journey. Can’t smile or laugh without flinching at any form of physical constant, let alone the sight of needles. She doesn’t remember the experimentations like the other three, but constantly gets a bad feeling around Richtofan and would throw herself in risky situations without even realizing. (i.e. running to a horde or getting hurt)

I'll see what I can do as I am a bit rusty with writing the personalities of the COD Zombies crew. Hopefully I still get things right ^^

This only makes the feud between Richtofen and Dempsey grow I think.

Yandere! Ultimis! "Tank" Dempsey with Broken! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Human experimentation, Trauma, Broken darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Implied harassment, Dubious relationship, Human experimentation, Poor mental health, Darling tries to heal with Dempsey, Attempted murder, Swearing, Implied manipulation.

Dempsey never really trusted Richtofen anyways.

That only increases as his obsession grows with his darling.

Let's talk about you first.

You were one of Richtofen's first experiments with Element 115.

Takeo, Nikolai, Pablo, and Dempsey came after you.

As a result you have always been Richtofen's favorite.

To make it darker, Richtofen might have tried to make some sort of relationship with you while experimenting on you.

The experiments alone cause trauma for you.

Even more so due to how Richtofen was always touchy when he injected the serum into your skin, praising you for being such a good experiment.

He was never like this with the other experiments.

Fast forward to later, after you, Richtofen, Dempsey, Takeo, and Nikolai become known as Ultimis... you are very reclusive towards the rest of your group.

You often have a blank stare and don't react much when touched.

You'd rather space out then acknowledge your surroundings.

The mention of needles or the sight of them sends you into a panicked frenzy.

You often stay away from Richtofen despite barely remembering the experiments with the others.

In fact any interaction with Richtofen causes tension.

You become hard to take care of due to being unable to stay in the moment.

Dempsey finds this irritable at first but slowly pieces together theories of why you're like this.

Out of all the experiments it looks like you were affected the most.

It's... sad, honestly.

Dempsey really starts to wonder about Richtofen when he senses the tension between you and the man.

He wonders what Richtofen did to you... to any of the group, actually.

Dempsey no doubt theorizes the worst and decides he'll be the one to keep you in check.

When Richtofen protests, saying he's in charge of you, Dempsey puts up a fight

"No way, I'm not trusting you with this woman. I have no idea why she's scared of you... but you aren't coming near her unless you want to tell me what happened."

Despite the experiments changing Dempsey to be more of a stereotype, I feel he'd be protective of you naturally as he would be towards any other member of his old team.

Dempsey has seen the ramblings of Richtofen and can't help but grimace at the idea of what you've gone through to get to this point.

Dempsey tries to be reasonable and care for you during the mission Richtofen sends you all on.

Despite Dempsey being a yandere he provides more comfort to you than any of the other members here.

He soon grows used to your silence and disassociation as you travel together.

Dempsey isn't the nicest person in the world but he is probably the most comfort you have now.

When there's a break and Ultimis settles down, Dempsey pulls you beside him and tries to communicate with you.

You give him blank stares and don't usually react but he assumes you're listening while he talks.

Dempsey wouldn't develop romantic feelings until he knows he's connected to you.

For example; hearing you talk, reciprocation of physical affection, smiling, anything that shows you coming out of your traumatized state.

Who knows if you'd ever recover fully, however....

Dempsey may be foul-mouthed, brash, and a bit narcissistic but he still wants to see you recover.

He isn't sure why he's so attached to you, maybe it's to spite Richtofen?

Or maybe he hasn't seen a woman in so long that he's developed an attraction...

Dempsey doesn't dwell on it too much and focuses on easing you into accepting the current situation.

There is times Dempsey won't even listen to Richtofen in missions due to you.

He hates him due to their sides in the war, he hates that he doesn't know what Richtofen did to him, and he hates that it looks like Richtofen did something to you.

Honestly if you ever did open up to Dempsey and allow yourself to be vulnerable around him, Dempsey would feel himself sinking deeper into his obsession with you.

You hate physical contact, although when Dempsey tries it one time you actually don't avoid it.

It's okay with him... for a little bit at least until you flinch away.

Seeing you slowly begin to rely on him gives Dempsey pride.

He wants to rub it in Richtofen's face... but that would hurt you.

I can imagine Dempsey gets really attached to you to the point if Richtofen came near you... violence on sight.

If you mentioned Richtofen came to talk to you... or that you remember what Richtofen did... who's going to stop Dempsey from murdering the man?

It's a fight you aren't willing to watch.

Takeo and Nikolai have to pull Dempsey off Richtofen as Dempsey probably would not stop until the mad doctor is dead.

When you're comfortable enough, if you ever are, Dempsey would hold you and not let you go.

He wants to kill Richtofen so fucking bad.

He often comments on how strong you are to deal with all of this... he tries to learn how to be someone you can rely on....

Dempsey soon accepts the fact he's fallen for you...

Out of anyone, he wants to help and save you.

Maybe he does love you...

He loves you and wants to help you.

He's overprotective and a bit possessive, appearing on guard when someone tries to come near you.

You soon begin to lean on him metaphorically (soon, maybe even physically) and see him as someone who could protect you.

You bond over your shared distrust of Richtofen.

If Dempsey tries anything overly affectionate with you, you have to signal to him if you're uncomfortable.

He'll then back off and go back to comforting you, apologizing under his breath.

Dempsey takes time to learn how to be comforting and what you are okay with and are not.

He's not used to being all soft.

Yet he learns it for you since you've been through a lot.

Truthfully, he just seems like he wants to try and care for you.

Although, he acts like such a guard dog towards other people around you.

So... here's the question:

Is he trying to help you through your trauma by preventing any more pain...

Or is he using it to keep you all to himself under the guise of protecting you?

"It'll all be okay, doll... he won't hurt you ever again with me here."

[pure-vanilla-lilies]

One, good morning!~

And two, to start this off, lemme give you the list of the angels in fresh dough! Excluding the npcs-

The main angels we have currently are Angel (of course), Eternal Sugar, Strawberry, Pure Vanilla, and Madeleine.

Three out of five of these angels have ascended!

You might be wondering, Pepper, what's the difference between an ascended angel and just, a normal angel? This is where the nightmare fuel part comes in.

In fresh dough, there are two primary differences between an ascended angel and a normal angel, those being appearance, and how they act.

Think of ascension kind of like, an angel's maturity rite in an odd way. Ascension most often will complete during a major event, but it starts years beforehand, the changes slowly build up under the dough over time. And it's not a pleasant experience in the slightest.

One important thing is that an angel's actions effect how their ascension will change them, especially their appearance. The generic "sins" so to speak and the severity of actions related to those "sins" make the most impact on an angel's appearance, Eternal Sugar would be a prime example of an angel with massive changes to their appearance caused by their actions.

Eternal Sugar's ascension completed the moment she became a beast, her main "sins" being lust and, well, sloth, and in a plethora of quantity as well, leading to severe changes in her wings and her halo. Her wings split apart, her halo split apart as well and now rather than her halo being over her head, she has multiple halos around the flight feathers of her wings. Hell she gained a ring of eyes in place of her original halo (do those eyes function? yes. yes they do. but it's up to her if they do).

Another important thing about ascension is how it effects an angel mentally.

And I actually have a song to describe this! This. -> https://youtu.be/1XxhVkIx6-M

Ascension starts out unnoticeable, small changes that don't effect the angel much, but it gets much, much worse the closer their ascension is to completion. Their own actions effect them more and more the closer they are to ascension, if they feel something is the wrong course of action but it's the only course of action they have, it will eat away at them, and it won't stop eating away at them until their ascension has completed.

It's bad enough to the point that if you asked, let's say, Pure Vanilla, about his choice to send his people away from his kingdom before the Dark Flour War begun, he'd tell you that while he doesn't regret it, the images it brought upon him still haunt him despite everything having been said and done now. Pure Vanilla is one of the angels that have ascended, mind you. His ascension completed just shortly after the war began, with the end of it (y'know him sealing away Enchantress (or at least trying to in fresh dough)) being the cause of the loss of half a wing (to say the least Enchantress dropped a massive piece of ceiling on his wing). Everything during an angel's ascension continues to effect them afterwards, maybe think of it like a case of ptsd in a way.

You are in fact going to see what occurs during an angel's ascension in real time during the story! By the time fresh dough starts, Madeleine's ascension has just begun, so I'll be steadily figuring out how to write him going through that.

So anyway yeah out of all the cookie "sub-species" so to speak in fresh dough the angels are definitely my favorite! :D I say, as if I'm not putting them in the worst situations possible-

👀