#nightmares rewritten

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

oh hey! i was reading a fic the other day where Wangji was once misspelled as Wangu. which leads me to: MDZS Pingu-style??? noot noot!

Do you think love can bloom on the sea ice?

[sorio99]

Knowing “Nerdy Prudes Must Die” was the first idea the Lang brothers had for Hatchetfield makes the whole series so much funnier.

Like, did they know in “The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals” that the weirdo who demanded a hot chocolate would be the leading man of the high school horror show?

Did they know the prude they mentioned a few times would be a homophobic murderer who defiled a corpse, fucked a ghost, and became a vessel for dark lords?

Was the homeless man joke in BEFORE the recast because they were still brothers, or not?

[wonder-worker]

Thinking about Elizabeth Woodville as a gothic heroine is making me go insane. She entered the story by overturning existing social structures, provoking both ire and fascination. She married into a dynasty doomed to eat itself alive. She was repeatedly associated with the supernatural, both in terms of love and death. Her life was shaped entirely by uncanny repetitions - two marriages, two widowhoods, two depositions, two flights to sanctuary, two ultimate reclamations - all paralleling and ricocheting off each other. Her plight after 1483 exposed the true rot at the heart of the monarchy - the trappings of royalty pulled away to reveal nothing, a never-ending cycle of betrayal and war, the price of power being the (literal) blood of children. She lived past the end of her family name, she lived past the end of her myth. She ended her life in a deeply anomalous position, half-in and half-out of royal society. She was both a haunting tragedy and the ultimate survivor who was finally free.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

We’ve heard about killer getting jealous of himself—stages, alternates—when it comes to color, now how about color getting protective and defensive of other killers from killer

[justanamericanartist]

I’ve finally finished it! The moment you may or may not have been waiting for it here! Enjoy!

Here is the full page as well!

I’d also like to officially announce my own Kirby AU: Kirby: Rewritten Back At Ya!

Just like it sounds, it’s a rewrite of the Kirby anime, Kirby: Right Back At Ya!, but now with expanded lore and more storylines beyond the original one with Nightmare!

I probably won’t make anything quite this polished for it for a while, but if anyone has any questions about it feel free to ask! I just ask that you keep it clean!

I hope you’re all having a wonderful day!

Sincerely,

Just An American Artist

[windyboi101]

Designing Serial Designation T.S.

Hello! If for some reason you have any sort of interest in my Murder Drones OC, Serial Designation T.S., then you can view this post for some insight into the philosophy and ideas behind my designing of T.S. You can see the first 'reference' image of him here.

Most of these inspirations were on purpose, but some happened subconsciously, and I only realized later. :shrug: This post is EXTREMELY LONG! Open at your own risk!

MUSICAL INSPIRATION

One particular song by the retired Dr.Steel inspired me for the idea of this OC, as the lyrics gave me major 'Absolute Solver' vibes:

Left ajar to his hard drive He felt all alive The old robot he used to be dead

There was rage in his brain There was pain in his frame There was love, there was hunger and strife He felt lonely, rejected at times disconnected No answer to the meaning of life So he sang So he sang

The lines about being 'dead' and 'hungry' really just fit Solver as a whole, so the seed of an idea was planted and began to grow into the OC concept I now have.

DESIGN INSPIRATION

I have always been a fan of 'skeletal' and 'lanky' robots. Started far back as Disney's Toontown back around 2010 with Skelecogs.

Here to do business. Source: Toontown Rewritten

I was very young at the time, but these guys terrified me. Their weird toothy smiles and deeper voice than their suited-counterparts cemented them in my brain. More inspirations would come later in my life, around 2017.

Enter: Deadline

Simon Says: Do you want to learn the truth? Source: Popgoes: The Dead Forest

I was (and still kind of am) a huge Five Nights at Freddy's fan. Back in 2017, a particularly interesting fangame was canceled pretty late in development. They released a bunch of trivia on the game and characters, and the 'final boss' was this hooved-monstrosity.

While his design was clearly inspired by a particularly popular cryptid design, I just loved how imposing this robot was. He was giant, he was unbeatable, and you only won the game by terminating the AI that controlled both you and Deadline.

He was so giant he had to crouch in a large hallway to get to you! Source: Popgoes: The Dead Forest

I unknowingly really made some similar design choices with T.S. and I implore you to understand that I was NOT trying to copy the design. A major difference is Deadline's legs bending outward whereas T.S.'s legs bend inward. This was inspired by the next entry. The bones and organic material in T.S.'s design were because of The Solver's abilities, not Deadline's design. What I did intentionally take direct inspiration of was his feet, as I like N's circular 'feet' as opposed to the female Disassembly Drone's pegleg design. Unfortunately, not many Five Nights at Freddy's fangames had these spooky skeletal robots. However, a game I discovered in late 2018, Warframe, introduced a new main antagonist in July of 2019.

"Don't be afraid." Source: Warframe - The New War Teaser 2019 Erra, Sentient-Warlord, Son of Hunhow and Brother of Natah.

Holy shit I love this guy. Sentients are a race of - you guessed it - sentient machines in Warframe that are highly adaptive to all forms of opposition and damage. They started as giant planet-sized creations made to teraform planets and gave birth to 'children' by dividing themselves like starfish. Hunhow even earnt his name as 'Sentient Destroyer of Worlds', and his size explains it all.

Yes, those are entire 4-man-crew spaceships being dwarfed by him.

To sum up the long history, they waged war against their creators and lost, fleeing beyond the solar system. In the New War, they have returned to finish what they started. With this, Erra himself got a small makeover.

Red is my favorite color, and the unnatural, alien-like design of Erra gives him an unsettling figure. His odd grasshopper-like legs have him standing at around 14 ft / 4.26 meters tall. I instantly fell in love with his new design more than his old one. He even has slight mad scientist vibes to him, as he created hybrids from the corpses of Sentient and Warframe alike. Unable to die, these creatures regenerate using the entropic radiation from the shards embedded in the corpses of their 'host'.

Once Creatures made to recreate beauty, now grafted to the corpse of their undying enemy. Source: Warframe Wiki: Archons Lots of spoilers for Warframe ahead: After initially winning the war, enough plot happens where Erra surrenders himself to you in an attempt to save his people and dies helping you make your way to the actual antagonist. Or one would hope. Unfortunately, the Archons were vengeful against their creator, full of spite for the weapons they had been made into. (Sound familiar, Murder Drones fans?)

"Narmer offers freedom. Is that so terrible? Freedom from desire and responsibility, alike. Find freedom, and surrender... as I did."

Source: Warframe - Veilbreaker Ignoring the design similarities between him and Deadline, Erra's new form is more tragic than you'd think. Rather than being some sort of feral beast, Erra's mind is suppressed by the Sentient that has been grafted onto him named Pazuul. Worse, Erra is still in there, unable to act of his own will. Pazuul leads the remnants of the Sentient's army and preaches of their home system, promising their followers eternity in bliss...if they die for their cause. In one of these missions, Erra is able to break through and speak to the player.

"Tenno… I'm truly sorry… for everything. I saw the truth far too late. She will never forgive me. But you will… won't you?" - Erra

As of this post, Erra has yet to be freed from Pazuul's influence, and I can only hope the day comes we can either remove the parasite on his body or put him out of his misery. Erra was the biggest inspiration for T.S. : The concept of a single body having two minds is not a new idea, but the idea of it being two entirely different entities in a robot? Now that's cool as hell! It also helps that both Solver - Affected Drones and Sentients are highly resistant to damage, regenerate, and are otherwise 'alien' to the world.

It was also super similar to how The Solver works in Murder Drones, which is why I made T.S. a host for The Solver...but not any typical one: a host with no more free will. Similar to Cyn, The Solver is all that remains in the form visible. T.S. has been dead for a long, long time.

AUDIO / VOICE-CLAIM INSPIRATIONS

The audio I use as a voice claim for T.S. is from Dead by Daylight's Singularity character, who uses a heavily modified text-to-speech voice as it insults its victims. I always interpreted T.S. being very, very broken and thus having a voice that does not synthesize correctly like other drones, disrupting the illusion of 'humanity' that even normal Worker Drones show, let alone the personalities of main characters like N and Uzi. I also just really like menacing sounding characters. Singularity's voice is split into two parts: a deep, menacing voice, and the normal text-to-speech with modifications made. I chose the deeper voice, as T.S. is a character that would only exist Post-Episode 8 of Murder Drones. You can listen to the voice claim here. Lots of people like to attribute music to their OC's. I tend to do the same, especially for 'boss battle' themes for my OC, because why not? I wanted something that speaks "danger" and "otherworldly" while still being a track for a showdown. Coincidentally, Warframe has a track with the perfect title- Warframe: Hybrid Abominations

STORY INSPIRATION

I struggled making T.S. a character that was scary and tragic without it becoming overtly edgy and reminiscent of a Sonic the Hedgehog OC from DeviantArt in 2012. I'd like to hope I managed this, and if I am wrong, I would appreciate anyone telling me lmao

I am a sucker for 'Doomed Fate' characters. Characters who never even got to experience their life to the fullest, if at all. T.S. lost the memories of how he was damaged, so he only knows what came after his initial repair. Unfortunately, this would not be long before the Absolute Solver arrived in the form of Cyn at the Elliot Manor, and T.S. would be one of the first victims of its experimentation. One of the biggest inspirations of this fate and 'innocent but doomed' character trope was from Mono from Little Nightmares 2, my favorite game of all time. I recommend you play it yourself / watch a no-commentary playthrough before you read the spoilers I am about to drop:

End of the Hall. Source: Little Nightmares 2

Mono is betrayed by his only friend and is doomed to a never-ending cycle of loneliness and betrayal as he earns his place as The Thin Man, doomed to failing to save himself from his own fate and dying at his past self's hands.

While not an exact match to T.S.'s story, he is one doomed by the narrative itself. He never lives a normal life (or what would be normal for a Worker Drone in the Murder Drones universe), he never learns about The Solver. He never learns why anything that happens to him actually happens, or that it is unnatural for it to occur to him. T.S. simply comes to accept his reality, even if it is one he wishes would end. But The Solver does not win. Even though a small fragment of The Solver survives Post-Episode 8 (which I will elaborate on in a separate post, not this one) and takes the irreparable form of T.S. as it's host,

even though The Solver loses any sort of silly personality or innocence in its coding and becomes focused on consuming everything,

even though it knows what it did wrong last time it faced against Uzi, N, V, and the rest of Copper-9: The Solver will not win. Again, I won't spoil it in this post, but The Solver will not prevail in its last-ditch-effort. T.S. will be destroyed and be forgotten by time and only remembered as another victim of The Absolute Solver. Well, you made it to the end of the post! I appreciate your interest in my character and hope you'll stick around my account for content I reblog or write myself. Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated, as they expand my feedback sample-size so I can continue to improve my work :)

[ivyprism]

Underverse Opening Brain Creator Thoughts

Warning: Blood, death, devastation, violence, lots of it, not great written fight scenes, creator rambles.

"In the face of tension, pain and devastation... The connection that's between our hearts..." Cue the showcase of many skeleton boys as well as their respective sonas. "Is reaching through the time!" It then cuts to Ivy startling and then looking over as her eyes widen in horror as it cuts to the title card. "Through the time!" It showcases someone smirking at her as others surround them.

Then, as it continues, it shows a fight between Dusk and Bliss before it cuts to another fight. The fighting continues as someone seems to interrupt it and the twins look over in horror.

It shows a variety of scenes after:

It then shows Marguerite tensing and looking over.

Willow fixed her scarf and looked away.

Primrose holding a piece of fabric before she looks up.

It shows Nerium moving her hand from her cheek to under her chin.

Then it shows Flori pulling her hair free of a ponytail.

It shows Marigold dancing happily as she pauses to glance over and Primula stops dancing as water that was floating falls around her.

Azalea rests her hand on her chest as she startles and looks around.

It shows Hollyhock biting her lip as she then reaches out towards something glowing.

It shows Ivy gripping her necklace as her magic glows and then she closes her eyes as the camera pans.

"You, so tired and cold stand here, between the worlds..." It shows Tusche and Lenovo waking up with their brothers confused as children. They have some people reaching for them. "Each of them you saw get broken to the core..." It then shows the dust of the people and then their conflict as it grew. "Dark is creeping closer..." It shows someone writing and then smirking as a creature comes to life. "Spark in your heart's frozen..." It shows a ghost skeleton monster glance over, her eyes glowing before she turns to mist. The camera pans... "There's nothing left anymore." It shows an angel skeleton monster yelling and reaching before the AU falls apart around them.

"When a dream turns into a nightmare!" It shows Dusk and Bliss facing off but then time cuts to them as Myrsky soothes Bliss and Archemoros fights Dusk in a looming large form. "Truth is right there!" It shows Archemoros besting Dusk, but then it cuts... "Gotta stay determined! (Listen to your heart and let it be your guiding star!)" Ivy is stranded in the anti-void as mechanical creatures surround her and she stays frozen. Her eyes widen in horror as an attack, but before it hits a skeleton with a mask scoops her up.

"Fight to push back the night!" It shows Acrylic using paints as Virus uses his strings. Comet and Umbra tag team as the creatures attack with beams and a figure looms above them. "No matter the pain and this plain devastation!" It shows Dusk and Bliss working together as Tusche and Lenovo work to push back the creatures. Cecilia and Poison help fight back as well. "For all the creations' sake -" It shows the masked skeleton avoiding attacks and weaving through as the princess carries Ivy. "Do not be afraid!" Ivy blinks in surprise.

"Together, we'll save everything-!" It shows Marguerite and Willow back to back as Marguerite grows confident and Willow seems angry. Nerium guards Flori as Primula and Marigold dance circles around the enemies. Azalea is healing while clasping her hands together and looking up. Primrose is helping heal with Azalea. "and make a new alternation!" It then cuts to Hollyhock, barely holding on, bleeding as she reaches for the "Break the Barrier button" and she hits it as she falls.

Time resets... And Ivy wakes up.

"Has this all been planned by one infernal hand?" It shows the enemy talking to someone as he finishes his next bot. "Made to play their role, the universes fall..." It shows Senna sitting in the void as she writes something down. She clenches her teeth as flowers bloom on her neck. "Lies are spreading fast, and lives get turned to dust..." It shows Senna lowering her pen as she sees the constant fighting of the Outcode group and looks displeased. "Is this deserved by them all?"

"Gotta step in, stop the daydream." Senna looks even more displeased as the fighting grows worse. She looks at her hands, she has to do something. "Your hearts filling with determination!" She wants them to survive this time. She wants everyone to survive.... She'll deal with this. "(Cannot pick the bridge when it's already time to cross!)" She steps forward a lightning strike forms as she raises her hand.

"Fight to bring back the light!" It shows the Outcode fighting before Senna decides to finally intervene. She moves forward as she their attacks deflect off her and her mask holds strong. "There won't be a sign of divine intervention!" It then cuts to a nasty fight between the enemy and the group, but now they're in unison.

"To save this dimension -!" It shows Captain and Cardinal tag teaming enemies together. Brass and Jet smoothly avoid fighting as they take out enemies together. Clove is protecting Hydra as Cinnamon heals Hydrangea and Harper. Glamour and Caramel are caring the back as the Dance boys dance around their enemies. Vanilla is carrying his brother as he shows off, but then it shows.... "Go, let's rise from below!" It shows Navy and Ebony joining the fray as they attack. It shows Sentinel and the other Angels not backing off as they're backed by the demons. "We have to take it all in our hands and show our true determination!" It shows the skeletons all joined together, but as Ivy ran, she fell into a crack and the skeleton who grabbed her reached for her. He falls after her.

It shows the two free-falling as Ivy seems to recall something.

"In the face of tension, pain and devastation... The connection that's between our hearts..." It shows Ivy sitting in a group of blurry and distorted groups as she stands by a familiar masked skeleton.

"Ivy!" The voice of the skeleton breaks her out as he reaches for her father.

"Is reaching through the time!" Ivy's eyes are blurred as she remembers her friends, the war, the death... All the death... "What's this feeling in my heart?" Ivy slowly reaches back as her eyes slowly unblur and she recalls who's reaching for her. "We're connected, though apart..." She can see her soul as his reaches for her.

"In the face of tension, pain, and devastation..." Ivy opens her mouth, willing it to work. She recalls everything as her soul glows more and her magic engulfs his. "Now I know I am filled with determination!"

"Honeycomb!" Her voice finally worked as he grabbed her hand and they're back in the fray.

"Live! You gotta believe!" As Ivy comes to, Honeycomb is holding her as Aquamarine joins the fray with Rain and Heath. They're fighting together as a trio. "Whoever you are, feel your star shining brighter!" It shows Undyne fighting as Asgore and Toriel protect the kids. Athena and Beryl were tag teaming together. The group fights as one as Tara and Theodoric help heal. "To bring back the light of day!" Oriel runs in and throws her spear through a great number of machines. Della is helping as best she can as the fight continues. "We cannot delay!"

"It is all or nothing, my friend..." Ivy pulls away from Honeycomb as she gets up. She helps the other sonas stand up as her body glows in her mafic. "So, right to the end, together we'll stand and-!" Marguerite guards Ivy on both sides as Willow helps guard the back. They nod at her.

"Fight to push back the night!" It cuts to Floryn closing her book and then her hands glow as Ivy pushes through the group as she dodges attacks. She is running now as her fellow sonas fight and fall. "No matter the pain and this plain devastation!" Willow fights hard and never backs down, Marguerite fights and doesn't hold back, and Nerium guards Flori as Primula and Marigold dance circles around the enemies, but even they fall. Azalea is guarding them with her magic as Hollyhock supplies more magic. Primrose helps supply the magic before Ivy runs.

"For all the creations' sake -!" Acrylic and his brother are fighting, but they're getting outnumbered. Cecilia is holding her hands together as Senna helps guard Ivy from a distance. Ivy winces and holds her bleeding side as she runs.

"Do not be afraid." A voice pushes Ivy harder. She listens to the voice as she runs and bleeds. She reaches for the button, the button to save the group again.

"Together, we'll save everything and make a new alternation!" Ivy hits the button as she smiles at Honeycomb one last time before...

She wakes up.

-------

Song: https://youtu.be/75J3Mx4FP5A?si=JJc2h4IvRniaANIp

[sewerratmaxx]

are we really stuck in eternal night…

[fantasmadelaciudad]

i love you manage tumblr palette i love you old tumblr dashboard extension i love you xkit rewritten,

[noellewrxtes]

It was hard to neatly quantify Shisui’s feelings on the whole affair, but if he had to try it would probably go something like this:

The first and most obvious bullet point was that Shisui loved Itachi, and had for a long time. He loved the way his lashes cast delicate shadows across his cheeks in the afternoon sun. He loved the way he leaned his weight against Shisui after a particularly rigorous sparring session, boneless and completely at ease. He loved the sound of his voice, the subtle changes in pitch that indicated tone, how it raised a note when he was amused, how it lowered and slowed when he was drowsy, drifting in and out of sleep. He loved the gentle line of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the way he looked delicate to the point of seeming fragile but was strong enough to hold his own against some of the most powerful shinobi in the world.

So Shisui loved Itachi, but the thing was that he also loved him in the normal way, the way a best friend should—his sense of humor, dry and cutting and so bizarre at times that one could miss the joke entirely if they didn’t know him; the faces he made when Shisui teased him and the way he always knew the verbal punches to throw back to make Shisui bark out a laugh; the fact that he knew Shisui better than anyone in the world, that they were so familiar with each other that they could share an entire conversation in one glance, and that bone-deep, lifelong friendship was more important to Shisui than anything. It wasn’t difficult for him, then, to make peace with the fact that Itachi didn’t seem to return his more romantic feelings and wasn’t likely to start any time soon. That was fine.

Life went on. He dated other people. He buried his feelings as best he could, and if his overt acts of affection for his best friend sometimes danced too close to the line between amicable and amorous—well. Itachi never seemed to mind, so why should anyone else?

But then Itachi had kissed him, and things got a lot more complicated.

[rhyssands]

rewriten/expanded version of sour apples is finally done! enjoy uwu

[exopelagic]

I did NOT realise how out of it I am December is messed up

[ellipsus-writes]

(Read on our blog)

Beginning in 1933, the Nazis burned books to erase the ideas they feared—works of literature, politics, philosophy, criticism; works by Jewish and leftist authors, and research from the Institute for Sexual Science, which documented and affirmed queer and trans identities.

(Nazis collect "anti-German" books to be destroyed at a Berlin book-burning on May 10, 1933 (Source)

Stories tell truths.

These weren’t just books; they were lifelines.

Writing by, for, and about marginalized people isn’t just about representation, but survival. Writing has always been an incredibly powerful tool—perhaps the most resilient form of resistance, as fascism seeks to disconnect people from knowledge, empathy, history, and finally each other. Empathy is one of the most valuable resources we have, and in the darkest times writers armed with nothing but words have exposed injustice, changed culture, and kept their communities connected.

(A Nazi student and a member of the SA raid the Institute for Sexual Science's library in Berlin, May 6, 1933. Source)

Less than two weeks after the US presidential inauguration, the nightmare of Project 2025 is starting to unfold. What these proposals will mean for creative freedom and freedom of expression is uncertain, but the intent is clear. A chilling effect on subjects that writers engage with every day—queer narratives, racial justice, and critiques of power—is already manifest. The places where these works are published and shared may soon face increased pressure, censorship, and legal jeopardy.

And with speed-run fascism comes a rising tide of misinformation and hostility. The tech giants that facilitate writing, sharing, publishing, and communication—Google, Microsoft, Amazon, the-hellscape-formerly-known-as-Twitter, Facebook, TikTok—have folded like paper in a light breeze. OpenAI, embroiled in lawsuits for training its models on stolen works, is now positioned as the AI of choice for the administration, bolstered by a $500 billion investment. And privacy-focused companies are showing a newfound willingness to align with a polarizing administration, chilling news for writers who rely on digital privacy to protect their work and sources; even their personal safety.

Where does that leave writers?

Writing communities have always been a creative refuge, but they’re more than that now—they are a means of continuity. The information landscape is shifting rapidly, so staying informed on legal and political developments will be essential for protecting creative freedom and pushing back against censorship wherever possible. Direct your energy to the communities that need it, stay connected, check in on each other—and keep backup spaces in case platforms become unsafe.

We can’t stress this enough—support tools and platforms that prioritize creative freedom. The systems we rely on are being rewritten in real time, and the future of writing spaces depends on what we build now. We at Ellipsus will continue working to provide space for our community—one that protects and facilitates creative expression, not undermines it.

Above all—keep writing.

Keep imagining, keep documenting, keep sharing—keep connecting. Suppression thrives on silence, but words have survived every attempt at erasure.

- The Ellipsus team

[justanamericanartist]

I finally finished the line art last night! Now onward to the color and text! (I still have some things that I don’t want revealed just yet though.)

It’s strange, looking at something that is a copy of everything I am and what I stood for. A copy created for a twisted purpose, to destroy everyone and everything I care about.

A mockery of me.

But, deep down, I can feel a sort of connection to this copy, this mockery. It shouldn’t be possible and yet… I can feel his aura, it’s like mine, but not quite. It changes sometimes too. Then it feels like them, but still not quite. Nightmare, he has created something, that I think even he won’t be able to control. Not completely anyway.

For as much of it is a monster, it is also a *ERROR* *ERROR*.

My greatest creation! My *ERROR* *ERROR* *ERROR*! It is in it’s final stages, nearing completion. Then, those pesky Star Warriors will finally be outmatched, they will finally know what true fear feels like, and I will relish in that feeling!

Keeping fighting you pesky Star Warriors, it makes it that much more exciting to watch when you fail and fall into fear!

Sincerely,

Just An American Artist

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,520 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude? 

Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind. 

Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body. 

“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.” 

The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being. 

Liar. 

His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through. 

The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever. 

Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly. 

Liar. 

He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave. 

So many things he should have done differently. 

You can’t change the past. 

Liar. 

He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them. 

Not without taking drastic measures. 

He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state. 

You did it because they left you. 

You did it because you thought the abandoned you. 

Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again. 

‘You let me be tortured.’

Christ. 

He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below. 

You think they left you. 

He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language. 

He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words. 

Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger. 

“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them. 

“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp. 

“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.” 

Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight. 

“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts. 

They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured. 

“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit. 

“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.” 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications