#tethered bonds

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Six - The ping

I can't even begin to tell you how shitty things have been on my end of the screen, but for those of you who don't stalk my tumblr for updates just know that my health has been on an ever downward spiral and it is a challenge for me every day to do the things I love - writing included. I'm so sorry it has taken so long for y'all to get a peep outta me, but I hope you're still out there because this story and you all bring me happiness even in the darkest times.

Trigger Warnings: depression

You’d been staring at your phone for the past thirty minutes. 

Unblinking.

Shallowed breaths.

Regarding the thing like an elephant would a mouse.

The item itself was an innocent thing, really; just a complex bit of clever machinery constructed by some of the twentieth century’s most innovative minds. Technology that once struggled to fit inside a vast room at NASA that now came compact for your convenience, fitting snuggly inside jean pockets – just not the kind designed for women – and getting lost between couch cushions at the exact wrong time for the ringer to be left on silent.

And it’s pretty, too, all wrapped up in a sparkly case with chibi pastel dinosaurs, the purple metal beneath showing through the clear acrylic protection. A hairline fracture in the screen protector annoyed you at times, but as it did nothing to hamper the effectiveness of the touchscreen you kept pushing its replacement further down the road.

You had a couple games on it – cozy ones meant to distract, a cheerful bird to lift your spirits, an alpha harem from years past that you couldn’t bring yourself to break up with (or justify deleting the save file after investing so much money in their special cards). Options for mindless scrolling. A music app for all your playlists. Handful of streaming services that you still mooched off from back home. A library of treasured books you kept revisiting and a wishlist a mile long of ones you’d get to eventually.

Harmless. 

Helpful. 

Fun at times. 

Nothing ominous at all about the pale blue notification light flashing ten times slower than your current heart rate.

You’d initially clocked the message waiting in your inbox as you unplugged it from the charger, ignoring your phone per usual to go about your lethargic morning routine, focusing all your lacking brain power on just getting through a meager breakfast first. Honestly you’d almost forgotten about it after that, curled up in bed with your few remaining swigs of tea, whirring laptop open in front of you, pointer finger on the touchpad scrolling aimlessly for something comfortable to watch – but not too comfortable that you’d find yourself painfully bored a mere twenty minutes in and fall predictably back on your mindless phone apps as the ever reliable crutch to hobble through the monotonous day instead. 

Of course, as was the case with so many times past, banal routine kicked in partway through the first episode which left your palm itching for the familiar electronic, ignoring the resigned twinge in the back of your mind that muttered defeat in favor of an even shallower distraction than a fourth rerun. 

The pale blue dot thrummed steadily in the upper righthand corner, a small but helpful reminder that someone had been waiting on the other side of the screen – not that you’d been purposefully ignoring them for the better part of an hour. Most everyone who had you in their contacts knew to expect delayed response times depending on how functioning your symptoms allowed you to be on any given day. 

(Still didn’t help the guilt that settled in your stomach when you eventually remembered to text back after hours of forgetfulness. Your fathers shouldn’t have to have such patient hearts with you.)

The curve of the ceramic mug pressed against your lips gave your mouth something to nom on as your thumb mindlessly swiped at the notification. There was an eighty five percent chance at this point in the day that it was a picture from Chloe sharing her work-in-progress on the eighteenth century William Blake restoration that had been the focus of her vexation for the better part of a week (watercolor fairies were apparently not as fun to color match as she’d initially believed). That or it was a tiktok from your father asking if a christmas cookie recipe looked edible enough for the picky palate of his discerning other half. God forbid the alpha tasted flavors along with his heaping helping of dark chocolate chips. You loved the man dearly, but he seriously needed to broaden his horizons beyond what he ate as a scraggly teenager.

With those options in mind, you didn’t really register the name as you tapped the text open.

Your brow furrowed a few words in. There was no picture; no link. Only a handful of words that didn’t make sense in the context you were expecting. Not even glancing up to the previous message sent a few days prior gave you any hint at recognition or clarity, just befuddling you further as a small pear emoji stared blankly back at you. 

The fuck?

The noise in your throat matched the look on your face. It was one of those annoying moments where blaming your brain fog for the initial confusion felt perfectly justified… right up until the point your eyes finally drifted northward and skimmed over the name of the sender.

There was a pause as your brain processed the combination of letters, short as they were. A name you’d only seen written down once on the side of a coffee cup. A name that invoked memories of crisp air and snowflakes and a shot of rich adrenaline.

The sweet taste of longing. Of purpose.

Of broken promises.

Panicky instinct and a fumbled throw sent the phone flying twenty feet to crash-land on well worn carpet, its resting place in the heart of your home where it could not be ignored no matter how much you wished for its existence to cease, refusing to succumb to the lowest probability of quantum mechanics. Mocking you with its black shiny screen faced towards the sky like an unlucky coin.

You knew you’d have to retrieve it - eventually - as you sat perched in your nest, hugging your knees to your chest to peer over them like a nosy neighbor at an unwanted solicitor. Belongings had been sent flying when you’d scrambled backwards from the perceived snakebite of your phone. The overturned mug pressed against your hip left a darkened stain on your pants, trailing a path from where its contents splashed across your lap and soiled the closest of your blankets like blood splatter. The stickiness soaking through the fabric to your skin would leave the material smelling of honey long after it dried.

Yet another thing you had no energy to deal with. Not that it was at the forefront of your mind at the present moment.

No, that honor belonged to the palpitations. And the full body trembles. And of course the incessant nausea. God was poor zofran you took this morning working overtime to keep your fruit loops down.

How long could you leave it there – realistically? Your fathers would call in a couple days but no one else would. It held your kindle library and a handful of carefully curated music playlists for various mental breakdowns, but who needed those when you could just stare into the void behind your eyelids with disinterest, making a Jackson Pollock out of the microorganisms swimming across your corneas? Maybe you could have Chloe replicate it and make a fortune off the poor taste of rich gullible tightwads. Live off the grid like wealthy eccentric witches who poisoned their husbands and threw masquerade balls. You were sure she'd have no objection to the arrangement.

Alas, as fun as it was to fantasize foolish notions, the longer you sat there in the stillness of your flat with only the faint hum of the heater to keep you company, the more your mind was lugged back to the cause of your discomfort: John.

How dare he do this to you. After pulling your heart strings like a jumbled cat’s cradle and snipping the future you both knew was beyond reach, he still had the gall to try whatever the hell this current approach of his was. You'd spent hours waiting by the phone like a forlorn puppy in hopes of getting adopted, only to curl up in the corner when you realized days later that that time had already passed. And then with what happened yesterday? He may not have been the one to leave a mark on your cheek, but he bore more responsibility for it than the one who struck the blow.

You didn’t blame her. How could you? Even as you felt the phantom sting on your cheek from where her palm made contact for even daring to exist in the same vicinity, you knew in the end that you were at fault. So great was her pain that if you were in her position you honestly couldn’t say if you wouldn’t have done the same exact thing.

Emotions ran high in your designation more so than the others. Yes, there was absolutely an argument to be made about how alphas were seen as the level headed ones when in truth they were driven like snapping sled dogs by barely contained instincts. But just because omegas were the ones fisting the reins didn’t mean that they weren’t as blood thirsty or possessive as their hounds. 

‘Precious cinnamon rolls’, indeed. Especially with a bite mark to strengthen the bond.

What must this have been like for her? To find happiness with a pack – to court and trust and mate and make plans for forever – only to watch them react to their one-in-a-billion chance who wasn’t her.

How long had they known each other? Maybe they grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school. Bosom friends? Made promises at sixteen that they would pack together no matter what? It certainly wasn’t uncommon for childhood crushes to grow up into treasured sweethearts once the designations revealed and the pheromones kicked in. Maybe that was too ‘hallmark movie’ though.

Perhaps they were coworkers. Blind date set up by a friend of a friend. Did they go through a scent matching facility? Could have been flatmates even. Or neighbors who moved in across the hall making too much racket one night that garnered a hefty worded noise complaint followed by a guilty tupperware offering of homemade brownies. 

Or was it a sweeter handed twist of fate? A brush of fingers reaching for the same item at the grocery store. A few minutes alone trapped in an elevator sharing distracting laughs. A sultry look across a throng of swaying bodies, intentions wrapped in a haze of booming speakers and two shots of cheap tequila.

That last image made you wince as you thought about the connotations afterward. You didn't need to picture your scent matches slipping off somewhere quieter where they could go be loud.

In any case, you were the intruder on a perfectly built up life. The poisonous snake in a garden of eden to tempt them away from a chocolatey paradise. A dangling pear just sweet enough to mask the taste of betrayal once their teeth sink into your ripened flesh.

A smack was the least of what you deserved.

The hit lingered like a brand long after they departed, haunting you the same way as the fresh words on the screen.

‘I know I've been a right cunt to ya, but can we talk?’

Well, at least he was upfront about it. No shitty attempt at gaslighting; not really an apology though either. 

You knew not to answer – you knew. In any other situation you’d be pulling your hair out at the thought of harbouring such mistreatment. Certainly if Chloe was trapped in such a precarious arrangement you’d be holding her hand with all the love in your heart as you pleaded with her to listen to reason. This toxic man coming into your life, spinning distortions of pleasant reality, baiting and switching and ghosting your vulnerabilities for… for what?! Some brief stroke of his ego in the same sheets as his mated omega?!

Whatever hope he might have had at your good graces was lost the moment they drove away. You were a worthless, pathetic, shell of a person but surely you had more dignity than to give in to that gullibility. 

Surely…

You’d never before felt so bumfuzzled as you slumped onto your back, squeaking out a whine of frustration once your inner omega started making her presence known over the loudness of your sensibilities. Apparently the wayward bitch wasn’t quite so keen on abandoning her foolhardy ways just yet. You'd call her a glutton for punishment but then that would also apply to you and you weren't eager to make that association.

What a fucking joke you were; this pitiful example of the weakness of your kind and the power of bonds to sway them towards madness. 

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid–

You didn’t know who you hated more in that moment: the alpha causing you grief or the voice in your head that wouldn’t fucking comply.

Why?! Why couldn’t you just delete and be done with it?! Why couldn’t you erase all this chaos with a block of a number and go back to a life swallowed in mediocrity and sober expectations? Nothing he could offer you at this point would change the trajectory of that anyways. 

‘We’ was impossible. She made that quite clear – and him by extension when he walked away from you.

‘But you forget,’ the incessant voice argued, ‘he hadn't gone to her. You were the one who held his concern.’

Such a simple minded creature your omega was. Even for how badly it bled in the caverns of your chest after you’d finished retching up acid and drove the few blocks back home to anguish in your apartment, the poor thing was much too apt towards forgiveness and hope, giving credit where none was due. Too much of the world shined like sparkles in her eyes, but she was just another example of innocence trapped in a predestined tragedy. 

You would not speak it aloud lest a malevolent universe take exception to your musings, but in truth, some fragmented part of you still curtained in warmth was grateful that life still remained near your core; that the source of your debility hadn’t rooted far enough to leech everything pure that deleterious night.

But was that really it? Was that all it took to keep you tethered to this new alpha? That one brief flash of him seeing you – the implication that someone somewhere thought you might’ve mattered? 

Your head danced in circles until your heart took the lead, slinking from bed against all prudent judgement and crawling to the phone bereft the dignity that sloughed off in tandem. Whichever way you opted, you still needed to physically interact with the object – that was a nonstarter. Chloe wasn’t around for you to shove your dirty work onto. You needed to put on your big girl pants and make a rational, completely unbiased decision.

Twelve minutes later, you weren’t so sure how that was going.

You hadn’t blocked him. Turns out you were just too weak-kneed to cut the cord entirely when faced with a ball of yarn begging to be batted. Even the devil on your shoulder fucking judged you at the lack of force it took for him to worm past your ‘defenses’. Practically held the door open with concierge and valet parking as he strolled into your psyche – red carpet roll-out and all. Couldn't even look him in the eye as he passed you on his way to your prefrontal cortex. 

At that point the only viable option was to talk to John, which unfortunately left you with too many decisions branching off in too many directions.

How in the hell were you even supposed to start things off? He'd asked you the question, but do you now yell at him to ‘leave me alone’? ‘Get rid of my number’? Break down and plead with him ‘why would you do that to me?’ ‘Why are you still thinking about me?’ ‘Are you ok?’ ‘Is she ok?’ 

Go figure, the man was talking to you and still you were more mindful of how they were feeling. 

At least your personality remained consistent.

Eventually you gave up and just spewed something out instead of giving yourself a migraine your first sentence in.

‘I don’t know what there is to talk about’

Your reply was honest at least. For all you knew, it was John who wanted to speak with you about some sense of closure, especially after yesterday’s fiasco in front of the store. You couldn’t imagine a comfortable car ride after that stunt he’d pulled in front of his packmates and you wouldn’t be surprised if she was bedbound herself this morning given the stress that must've been causing across their bond. It would be the right thing to do for the sake of everyone involved.

You didn't have to wait long for an answer, almost dropping the phone again at the unexpected vibration so soon after sending, pulse fluttering in your chest as you read with anxiety.

‘Think there’s a lot to talk about. And a lot of apologies I should be making if you’ll hear me out’

There was no universe where indulging his plea wasn’t a stupid idea. And yet…

‘Then talk’

…you acquiesced.

His response came a bit slower, the text bubble longer than it had been so far. All the while you remained in your spot on the floor, questioning every second you chose to engage and paying the price with an uncomfortable butt. At least you were on carpet instead of the tile. Could be having this conversation in the bathroom instead.

Your phone pinging pulled you back to the present.

‘Yesterday was a mistake that never should’ve happened. She crossed a line with her actions and yet nothing was done to make it right. I’ve given ya the worst impression and I won’t blame ya for however you feel about her or us or me or any of it. You deserve better than that and I’m sorry for my part in it’

It was a start at least. His acknowledgement of the fact dulled the brunt of the blade enough to act as makeshift chainmail, but just because he wasn’t making excuses didn’t mean the jab hadn’t hurt. It wasn’t even really that you were angry about all this – you were, but that part was only secondary and stemmed more from your own mistakes than his. And even then, so much of that emotion was the result of wasteful follies that you never should have brokered in the first place. So enchanted you were by the proffered temptations that you forsook every warning for a glimpse over the rainbow. 

You let Icarus carve your wings even as he knew they would fail. 

‘You lied to me’, you replied, feeling the words in your soul as the tang of disappointment mixed with the bitterness of betrayal.

‘I know. I’m a certified asshole and I’ll own up to that. But I swear it wasn’t meant to be at the time. I’d never make you a promise I didn’t intend to keep’

‘Then why tell me that things with your pack were ok when clearly they weren’t?’

‘They should’ve been. It's complicated.’

Understatement of the century, but then that also begged the question:

‘Do they even know you’re texting me?’

No hesitation. ‘They do.’

It should’ve been a good sign that John wasn’t hiding you from them at least, but that also didn’t answer if that knowledge came attached with their blessing.

‘And they’re ok with it?’

This time there was a pause. 

‘They agreed it was necessary’

You almost wish he’d have lied to you. If it wasn’t painfully clear that you were an unwanted pestilence before, that text certainly cemented their abhorrence for you now. It was bolded in the gaps between the neutrality of his tone. Lemon and heat weren't necessary to reveal the hidden message.

You didn't belong.

Frowning at the screen, you absentmindedly rubbed the spot on your chest that throbbed like a phantom bruise. Pain had been more than a fair weather friend these past few years. It visited more than your artistic neighbor and came to call more than the spammers you ignored. It spent holidays and birthdays and shared in your milestones. Had its own placemat at the dining table, a dirty toothbrush near the sink. You planned your days around its drop-ins and sacrificed much for its selfish entertainment. Kept a fully stocked first aid kit in the bathroom for when it needed more from you than salty tears. Yet the implication that these strangers wanted no part of you was the wound that wouldn’t cauterize no matter how much force you used.

It hadn’t been your intention to leave him sweating over your inaction, but you must’ve taken too long ruminating as John’s next message appeared for lack of your own. 

You weren’t ready for it.

‘I know this isn’t the kind of talk you were probably hoping for and I can only imagine all the creative insults you’ve been shouting at the screen to me… which totally justified btw. Hell you can fully tell me to shove my head up my arse and I’ll gladly lift my kilt in front of god himself as witness. But on the off chance you don’t, we wanted to ask if you would be willing to sit down somewhere to have a proper conversation’

Oh fuck.

The ache in your chest all but forgotten as you scrambled for the porcelain throne.

Your reply would have to wait. He just sent you the straw that broke the zofran’s back.

The cool water felt refreshing as you splashed it against your face, breathing through your mouth as you grasped blindly for a towel. The churning had lessened now that you were painfully empty, but the sensation remained as your mind rewound his words over and over again like a broken cd player. Wiping the water from your eyes provided you no more clarity on the matter as the person in your reflection stared back at you with worry. 

This was not how you anticipated things would go at all. You’d made peace in bed last night that you were destined to be fucked as Lady Luck’s unwilling mistress. If fate was kinder and your immune system stronger, you would have never stepped foot in that grocery store last week and discovered just how close to salvation you’d always been. Twisting paths never crossing. Star-crossed bullshit staying in plays. You’d been a fool and had been made as such all for the crime of merely being a victim. It should have ended there and life moved on and order satisfied as you learned a valuable lesson about the dangers of errant wishes. After all, a rice ball could never belong in a fruit basket no matter what shape it molded itself as.

It should be so simple to ignore the pull to them – fated mates be damned. For years now you’d fought back against the rabid beast chained to your soul, his distemperature of your vital organs. The distance made things easier, but you’d still proven you possessed the will to live a life entirely of your own creation. Not everyone in your scenario could be so fortunate. Some days the urge to claw out your entrails to harvest out the rot was so dire and all consuming that you understood why so many like you chose to stay with their abusers. 

The crucible of freedom was a heavy cross to bear. Yet here you remained of your own volition. Even at your weakest you were stronger than your suffering.

So why was the concept of turning down John the one thing that made you want to curl up and die?

The question weighed on your mind as you flicked off the bathroom light on your way back out to the main area, passing by your nest to collect your capsized mug on the way to your tiny ass kitchen. It joined your cereal bowl on the drying rack after a quick rinse in the sink, wiping your hands on your blessedly clean shirt before collecting your discarded phone off the floor to deal with again once you were good and settled.

The fatigue in your muscles were grateful as you took pity on your already struggling body and plopped your ass back down in your nest instead, changing into cleaner sweatpants and kicking the soiled blankets out of the way. You’d have to do something about the accumulative pile at the foot of your bed eventually, but that would be a problem for another day. At least you didn’t have to run the worry of dealing with an ant infestation from all the honeyed sweetness given the winter season. Maybe after Christmas you’d make the long trudge up and down three flights of stairs to give your bedding a proper cleaning. Lord knows you couldn’t recall the last time you'd bothered to.

Without any further distractions, you took a deep breath as you swiped your thumb across the sleeping screen, mindful to the return of that pale blue light signalling yet another missed message in your absence. You’d kept him waiting for nearly twenty minutes while you’d gotten things settled and now you braced yourself for whatever words he had to say in follow up.

Only, they weren’t from him this time.

‘This painting has been a lesson in nuance >< next project I’m picking something with more shade variation’

The accompanying image gave you an unexpected but welcomed laugh – a beautiful example of watercolor mastery held snuggly displayed on a paint splattered easel, full of celebration and mischief with the occasional flecks of blank canvas interrupting an otherwise whimsical scene. The gathered fairies paid no mind to their incomplete parts as they danced and gossiped just as they always had for the past two hundred years, totally ignorant to the grief they gave their refurbisher currently hidden behind the camera. The middle finger in the bottom right corner gave away their presence and was what drew your attention in the first place. 

You allowed yourself to sit with that for a minute, taking in the reprieve from heavier emotions to exhale the bunched up stress in your gut. Chloe didn’t know how much you needed that break when she sent you it in aggravation, but you were grateful for her impeccable timing nonetheless. You quickly shot off a text back with a laughing emoji followed by a gif of two dogs hugging. She'd been working so hard on that finicky project and deserved a little commiseration. 

The interruption sparked a quick debate in your head on if it wouldn’t be smarter to consult her before any further discussion with the alpha; the whole outsider perspective against your partisan blinders thing. And maybe you would've had she shared your designation, but without being able to feel the cosmic lure dragging you like riptides towards your fated mates firsthand you weren’t sure anything she had to say would be that different from the war you’d already been raging between the two mythical entities on your shoulders.

She couldn’t make that decision for you. Only you had the power to do that.

The question was: should you follow your own advice that you’d be handing out to others, or do you throw all that aside at risk of further humiliation?

Flipping back over to the conversation in question, your thumbs drove in the stake before your heart could change its mind.

‘Ok. When do you want to meet?’

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[phonification]

bickelheads stream my love by modern baseball . Please . PLEAAASWEEEEEEE

[fatcatlittlebox]

AU Dagor Dagorath: Sauron and Galadriel find each other at the end of the world.

Inspired by a fantastic fic, Wild Card by Reese.

[heirofshadowsingers]

@gwynweekofficial Day Three: Tethers - Bonds That Heal

Cassian: no way you three will make it without falling on your faces. The Valkyries: alright, bet.

The Valkyries have such a beautiful bond with each other. Their friendship is a true testament of love and support, reminding us that strength isn't just about fighting battles and winning wars. It's about lifting each other up (sometimes literally!😅)

Friendship is so important and these three are such a good example of the power of it. Nesta and Emerie came into Gwyn's life at a perfect time and I can't wait to read more about them in future books! 💪 💕✨

[drolta]

no notes. just louis and madeleine.

[seijorhi]

all those all in asks got me thinking about angst... did ayako have some thoughts wishing she was born a beta instead? or maybe sometimes it's the reader who wishes she was born an alpha 😔 i can imagine them having sleepovers, having those thoughts while wistfully staring at the other's sleeping face, wishing that they could stay together, just the two of them... Without the need for a third party to tend to ayako's biological needs 😭 doomed yuri fr 😭

i don't even know necessarily if it's as fully formed a thought as that, at least on ayako's end. she isn't angry at her biology until it inadvertently causes someone she loves harm.

she isn't exactly dreading the prospect of a pack of alphas taking care of her needs (and, in her ideal world, her beta's too) and why should she? for her it's more a wistfulness over not being able to really claim her beta herself. why can't she bite her into a fledgling pack, just the two of them> why shouldn't it stick and stay? if she could bite her, she'd keep her forever, the reader wouldn't be able question whether she belonged, she'd be able to feel it, know it deep in her bones. why can't she help ride out aya's heat?

in another world, she'd be enough, and aya would be happy with that

[aureliasfate]

[thetombedspirit]

So... you know those critics that said that AFOP was basically a reskinned Far Cry?

And... you know the Severed Bonds side quests?

I PRESENT TO YOU AN AU!: Tethered Bonds AU! Where Hajir was able to save a baby Viperwolf and a baby Pululukan before ditching the RDA and joining the Resistance and they just hang around the area, providing protection while receiving love and affection! And eventually, we get side quests to where we would aquire them as buddies, like Boomer and Peaches from Far Cry 5 or the Beast Master quests from Far Cry Primal!

Here's my take on how said quests would go.

After getting more situated to the Resistance and heading out to the campfire with the other Sarentu, there would be a cutscene where a Viperwolf is just... sitting there as the doors open, panting like a dog and looking up at you calmly. Hajir rushes out and placate the whole situation, claiming that 'Apollo' is friendly. He then briefly explains that he saved him and Artemis when he defected from the RDA and that Apollo is fine once he gets to know you, however Artemis only let's So'lek approach. You assume Artemis is also a Viperwolf and move on.

Then, during one of the Severed Bonds quests, namely the one where you confront the main feral Thanators, is where Hajir suggests taking Apollo with you for extra security. You get a mini-quest where you feed him and suddenly he's your buddy!

Now Apollo brings his own sets of skills to the table: like Boomer in FC5, he can tag nearby enemies and can stealth kill any non-AMP enemies unless they in clustered groups.

And then there's Artemis.

After the Resistance move to the Clouded Forest, Alex tells you that Artemis initially took off in the chaos and has been spotted in the Clouded Forest, but is being hunted by the RDA. That's when they reveal that Artemis is not a Viperwolf, but a Pululukan, a Thanator!

And you are given the quest to go and find her. You go and kill all the RDA in the area, and then track and soothe Artemis, even forming a bond with her. So now, you have a Thanator as a buddy!

Artemis would be a mixture of Peaches the Puma and Cheeseburger the Bear from FC5 and the Sabretooth Tiger from FCP. Her skills include being unseen by enemies while in stealth, taking attention off MC during combat, and is very capable of taking out AMP suits! She can even be a mount for MC while on the ground! Making for a very formidable duo.

And why stop there! Start adding Na'vi to your buddy roster!

So'lek is an obvious choice, with his skillset in stealth and human armaments, he'd be a valuable addition.

And you can Etuwa and her Ikran as an aireal assault ally, taking enemies out from the sky like Nick Rye.

And to represent the Zeswa, non other then their Olo'eykte, Nesim, with her sharpshooting with a spear and fierce temper.

And for the Kame'tire, I have been thinking Sa'ney, the hunter who wanted to give a peaceful death to the feral Thanator that nearly killed her. Her drive and skill against the RDA will be invaluable.

And finally, Anqa should be part of the buddies too. With her Sampson and her experience, she'd be great aereal support as well.

I kinda went off on this, but I like it and I could see this being a part of the game.

I hope to hear your opinions💙

[gibbycat]

(dungeon meshi spoilers below for mobile purposes)

do people talk about how laios and the winged lion are parallels to each other in terms of their relationship to their "true" identity (laios feeling disconnected from humanity and finding comfort in monsters due to their predictability while the winged lion became too human in its thoughts/behaviors as a result of coexisting with humans). and how the only reason laios was able to defeat it was because he relied on monsters acting primarily on instinct rather than human thought (him making sure the ultimate monster had an instinct to consume anything, including desires) which the winged lion wasn't able to predict because it's far removed from its "natural" behaviors or are you normal

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[gwynweekofficial]

Third day of Gwyn Week and the prompt is Tethers - Bonds That Heal

Which of Gwyn's past or present bonds do you love the most? Share your theories, quotes, art, fanfic, moodboards, or headcanons—we’d love to see it all.

[bekah-reading]

93

4/5

I was reading this behind the scenes for a few days/ a week now.

Willow is a human that suddenly drops out of the sky and wakes up in a forest at the end of a gun. Caz is the Ruler of Blackwater and now has to deal with Willow and help her find her way home.

I only know and picked this up because I found out Caz is heavily inspired by Thomas Shelby, from Peaky Blinders. And let me tell you, heavily inspired is more code for he is. Caz dresses like his and acts like Thomas Shelby- he practically is Tommy. So I’m not at all upset at that; since that’s what I wanted.

I found the writing to be a bit almost juvenile in a way and it took some enjoyment out of it. Willow is annoying- she kinda annoys me the same way that Feyre from A Court of Thorns and Roses annoys the hell out of me.

Caz, stole and kept this book together and going for me. I loved Caz. I was glad that I found it to be dual POV and Caz got chapters of his own. Once you get to the part where things pick up, this is a lot more enjoyable.

I loved Caz, and while this got on my nerves- I do enjoy it enough to say 3.5/4 stars. I definitely want the second and third book and I’m glad I read it.

[bayofwolves]

I’ve been obsessed, obsessed, obsessed with Raisha for a while now. I know you’ve said little things about her in the past and i want to know what’s up with her/Gerathon if you’d be willing to talk about it.

I really like Raisha as a character, too! We know so little about her, but in my opinion, she's one of the most fascinating characters in the series. Unfortunately, she meets a sad end in A Revised History of Erdas.

All we know about Raisha post-infection is that she was present at the final battle in The Burning Tide, still under Zerif's control and in pretty bad shape. She vanishes off the grid after that, never mentioned again, not even in the concluding montage of Great Beast summoners reuniting with their fallen spirit animals. My retelling offers some closure, but not the good kind.

In my version of events, Raisha is flanking Zerif when he emerges from the ship with his Great Beasts. Zerif, in an act of cruel irony, saw fit to keep Raisha by his side even in her mindless, infected state. Shane, up in the archers' keep with Abeke, hardly recognizes the girl who helped steal Halawir months earlier. Later, she reappears to restrain Abeke when Zerif brings the defeated Redcloak forces to the Wyrm. When the Wyrm is killed and the parasites lose their power, though, Raisha collapses to the ground and doesn't get back up. The Wyrm had pushed her finite body to an extent that it couldn't recover from. Many people and animals in Zerif's army are the same; their possession eventually killed them. The Wyrm was a child playing with toys, the mechanics of which it couldn't possibly understand. Thankfully for it, its parasites could go on controlling a body in the event of an untimely death. Indeed, Stead raises the possibility that Raisha had been dead for some time, and the parasite was only animating a corpse.

Like I've said before, I didn't do this out of dislike for Raisha or anything like that. She was ultimately another victim of Zerif -- a young, lonely, impressionable girl he took advantage of -- and didn't deserve anything that happened to her. I'll always support AUs where she is alive and well. In my eyes, though, her story was always meant to end in tragedy. By the time she realized her mistake and reached for the light, it was too late.

Gerathon, after reemerging in southern Zhong and feeling the loss of her human partner, disappeared into the brush and is currently at large. She is only an adolescent cobra at the moment, hardly a threat... but the Great Beasts are growing, and Gerathon's time will inevitably come again. (I like the idea of her becoming a maneater as she slowly regains her former size and power, terrorizing the locals and gaining a place in their legends.) Who knows how she feels about losing Raisha. I expect, under the excruciating pain that may one day drive her to madness, there is a sweet sense of relief.

[lupismaris]

I think it's a good time to resurrect the Craig!bond fixation what do we think lads

[marshroom580]

Chat if I explain demiromantic to another person and the next sentence they say right after is something along the lines of "isn't everyone like that" I will end up on the news

[chiistarri]

sometimes i hear or see something thats so me and someone and wonder if they would do the same if they saw the posts too