#also john does things all the time! just not to you

[potato-lord-but-not]

idk if it's unpopular or just nobody's considered the concept or maybe i am just too fond of medical knowledge but one of my takes is, if Arthur remains blind when John gets his own body his left hand to the elbow and right foot that John used to control are somewhat numb. It's a lot like when your legs fall asleep, a warm cold feeling, but no pinpricks and you can move them but not as coordinated or presise. More important to note however is this means if Arthur gets hurt in these places it is incredibly hard to notice, any should be pain is far away and feels like vague pressure. It seems and likely seemed small. There is a good chance Arthur would not even bring it up because he thought in a couple days that turned into weeks that maybe he was imagining or it'd go away on its own, but like leprosy thats how it does the most damage. And of course being blind doesn't help and it starts becoming scary. In the right time of year or being on the job, most people who don't experience pain rely on the sight of blood, a bruise, something visual, but how do you know youre bleeding if it feels no different from the sweat that drips down your neck and back? And if youre wearing particularly dark colors how many strangers are likely to notice if your sock takes on a red hue before you notice a squelch when you step? Just like his eyes if Arthur even went to a doctor, coaxed into entering an office and being patronized for a lack of symptoms the most likely conclusion would be Psychosomatic. If he's lucky told stress, but more likely that it's all in his head (ironic in a way, yeah that thing in his head was named John and likely the one who brought him here but hes not in there now is he?). But even if thats the issue being in your head doesn't mean you don't get bruises, cuts and scrapes. It means you don't stop putting weight on a foot when you step on an nail and it pierces far beyond the sole of your shoe. It means you might not notice a cut on your arm has become infected until you come down with a fever and the only thing you can say to explain yourself is "It didn't feel painful. I thought i was managing." the second half of that statement feeling like a lie because if anything you were drowning the moment you realized you could spend all day walking around and have no idea you were injured. It means at the end of the day even if you didnt want to be a bother, there is such a heavy comfort in someone rolling up your sleeve and making sure if anything is there that its cleaned, and bandaged. And maybe its also a comfort for them to grab that same hand and give a slow deliberate squeeze that your can't reciprocate but you can feel it, and know that one isnt hurting you. Anyways im rambling that's it thats the concept take notes, im telling you there is so much potential here. Im so normal about this concept

good lord absolutely no notes just everyone read this

[sugarcubetikki]

Okay. I am annoyed by the everything so I’m gonna go ahead and debunk all the arguments against the Francesca X Michaela storyline.

In case you weren’t aware of all the complaints going around, here they are:

they’ve completely changed the storyline from the books! francesca’s infertility storyline was sooo important and now it won’t happen!

eloise would’ve made more sense as the queer bridgerton, her and cressida or some other female character would’ve been great over francesca.

by immediately making francesca attracted to michaela they downplayed john and her’s relationship that was built up this season, they cheapened the book storyline into a cliche love triangle!

michael was the best book hero ever! I can’t believe they’ve changed him to michaela.

I am taking all these criticisms/complaints at face value and ignoring any lesbophobia undertones (for now) just to prove how flawed they still are on their own.

Firstly, saying that Francesca’s infertility storyline has been ruined is far from the truth. Instead it can be done in a different way. Think about Francesca in a queer relationship and wanting kids in the kind of society she lives in. It basically mirrors the infertility storyline from the books except her struggles would become representative of the struggles that queer people who want kids face. If they went for this storyline in her season, I think it would be really really nice, we’ve seen a straight infertility storyline play out so many times, this would be great.

Secondly, I am so tired of hearing that it should’ve been Eloise over Francesca. I don’t think Eloise would’ve made more or less sense as a queer women. I think any and every character has the potential to be written as queer or straight. Being an outspoken women with little interest on marriage shouldn’t make Eloise more queer. I also really liked the idea of a potential Eloise X Cressida romance but that does not mean Francesca cannot be queer. In fact, I’m excited to see this introverted autistic queer girl rep! Francesca, go prove we exist.

Thirdly, Francesca’s season hasn’t even happened yet! Getting mad over one scene of Michaela, saying that John and Francesca’s relationship has been downplayed and that we’re in for a cheapened love triangle story is so unreasonable. It was a single scene and people are choosing to get mad over something that hasn’t even happened yet? Besides, if this storyline plays out, it wouldn’t mean that Francesca shouldn’t have been made queer but simply that the writers didn’t write the storyline to your liking. The fact that there’s this much outrage over this is so ridiculous to me. Wait till her season. We have no idea how they’re going to play out the storyline just yet so stop hating already (there may be some lesbophobia implications to this claim which I have spoken about below).

Fourthly, I know it’s not a nice feeling to not get the chance to see a beloved book character onscreen due to this gender swap. It may feel unfair but I mean but…give Michaela a chance? We haven’t seen her personality yet and we don’t know how Masali will bring her character to life. If your qualms are that the love interest is no longer a guy you can fetishise and fawn over, then well…log out of the internet, rant to a friend and stick to the books. Let the sapphics have their wlw romance that we rarely get these days because we keep getting cancelled since streaming services hate gay women. And no that is not an exaggeration but our plain reality. So let us have this.

Finally, to end things off, let us address the lesbophobia aspect to this separately because it is 100% worth mentioning.

The treatment towards queer women onscreen is hardly the same as the hype around queer men.

We can see it in the way streaming services and the internet hype up gay romances whilst sapphic romances are largely ignored and cast to the side (just to make it clear I have nothing against people enjoying mlm romance I enjoy mlm romance all I’m saying that it’s a real shame that wlw romance doesn’t get the same amount of appreciation).

The response to Francesca X Michaela has been largely negative and it’s frustrating. Outside of the cosy gay rabbit hole that tumblr is, there’s just outrage over this storyline/pairing for a number of different reasons that well…all feel ridiculous.

Bridgerton has gone off the books many times yet there’s more outrage than before when it comes to Francesca X Michaela?

Fans are getting a lot more defensive of John and Francesca’s relationship despite knowing he was never going to be endgame all because of Michaela? I’m sorry but I’m sure that if Michaela was Michael and we got the exact same scene with Francesca, do you think there would be as much outrage over John and Francesca’s relationship being downplayed? No. Let’s be honest. People wouldn’t be as mad because there’d be an attractive man involved.

I think the sapphics deserve so much more and better treatment from fellow non-sapphics. Instead of a show of appreciation, we keep getting unreasonable amounts of fire onto this storyline that hasn’t even happened.

What’s worse is that I know that Francesca X Michaela’s romance could follow the story beats of previous seasons that were eaten up by fans and still be bad to people because sapphic romances are just judged more harshly as straight audiences refuse to connect with them. If their romance isn’t phenomenal and just good, then it won’t be enough which is just frustrating.

So yeah, the hate towards Francesca and Michaela is unwarranted and unjust. People need to calm down and realise that their claims are contributing to lesbophobia whether they realise it or not.

[smokeys-house]

Normally I wouldn't address something this trivial but it's a take I keep seeing pop up in the moomin fandom by non moomin fans and it's annoying me. I don't even ship snufmin but periodic reminder that

1. Snufkin and moomin are around the same age. This confusion pops up a lot since the English VA for the 90s series is John Chancer and moomintroll's VA sounds like a child, but no explicit ages are ever given to any of the characters for the intention of whimsy and easy of story telling. This is intentional. The gap between their ages has always been that the children are younger than the "adult" characters, and old enough for whatever adventure is planned for them, and that Moomintroll and snufkin are close enough in age to share a room. Any idea that one is older than the other at all would be speculative at best and fanon at worst.

2. Snufkin is not a human, and a relationship between two fantasy species does not at all mirror the very real crime of animal abuse (I can't believe I have to say that, did you people have a problem with beauty and the beast, too? Lmao)

3. Snufkin was made to resemble or mirror Tove's at the time partner Atos Wirtanen, and Moomintroll represented herself at the time as well. She's said as much in interviews. While this doesn't mean "O: snufmin canon!" It also means you cannot discredit the fact that their dynamic was predicated on an existing romantic relationship.

4. Whether you ship it or not or even find the ship annoying, you can't discredit facts. You're allowed to just not like something. But I'd also remind you that nobody wants to hear about how much you hate what they like. Live and let live, there is 0 harm occurring in either circumstance regarding this situation. It is simply not that serious

5. This is specifically addressed to the person who annoyed me who I blocked but the English translations really do not lose or gain much compared to the original versions. The stories don't change just because it's in another language. I'm sorry you hate that a beloved series of stories was adapted to animation and translated so that the world could love these stories, too, but part of cherishing something is not squeezing it so tight that you crush it. You simply must face that people are going to enjoy things differently to you. It is not blasphemy. The moomins are not some sacred holy text, you can literally buy chewing gum with moomins face on it lmao

Like I said I don't really ship it. I don't see it. But it's not something I'm going to bother others about and dwell on. It's not out of character. There's no real reason for you to bash so hard on it outside of just generally disliking it. There's not a moral high ground to take with it, unless you just hate gay people I guess lol I get that the infatuation with snufmin and the way some folks strip them down to barebones just to have an mlm ship can suck, but that's literally all fan content. Any fandom has this. Relaaaaxxxxx

[jsvausvqbd]

Bridgerton S3

Whoever decided the amount of storylines that would go into season 3, whoever decided to remove Penelope and Lady Danbury's friendship, and whoever decided to have Colin finding out LW's identity towards the end of the season... I have a bone to pick with you.

I was so hyped for this season since I loved the book and loved Penelope's character but it all felt so...flat. Some of these storylines could've easily been pushed to the next season i.e., Lady Danbury and her brother's relationship, Violet Bridgerton exploring finding love again, and the Mondrichs; I genuinely kept waiting for their storylines to tie in some sort of way to the lead couple but nope. Nothing. Nada.

Also, dragging out the LW reveal for Colin ruined his romantic scenes with Penelope for me, the whole time it felt like there was this impending doom hanging over them...idk it just made it a lot less enjoyable to me, a lot less intimate.

My favorite arc this whole season was Francesca's storyline- I could not care less about Michael being turned to Michaela- but what was the point of Francesca trying to convince Violet about there being multiple types of love- that not everyone's love is explosive and fiery- just for her to do the same thing her mom told her about and losing her breath upon meeting Michaela???? like huuuuuh???? what was the point of the whole season then????? Does this mean she doesn't love John? will she spend her whole marriage pining for her until john eventually dies?? or will they say that she doesn't know what/why she felt that way until much after? I hope the writers are able to pull her story off.

I'll let the season simmer a little more, maybe I'll come to like it more with time but so far nope

[iovesia]

what do you think various keanuverse characters reactions would be to reader still sleeping with a stuffed animal at night?

guilty as charged, anon 😞

reader with stuffed animal,⠀౨ৎ⠀keanuverse. cw⠀/⠀f!reader. fluff. slight angst.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄.

he's just a little weirded out, i'm afraid. constantine's used to his grimy, "minimalist" apartment, and his bed which only has decade old sheets and plain blankets. so when you come over, and pull out a bright teddy bear— he's a little.. perplexed.

"the hell is that?" he furrows his brows as he steps back in from the balcony, smoke staining his scent. the pink plushy lays right beside you on the bed, taking constantine's spot on his pillow.

"it's nothing.." you dismiss, shrugging your shoulders. but the way you're borderline nuzzling that pink stuffy says something different.

"aren't you a little old for that?" constantine raises a brow as he unbuttons his shirt.

"aren't you a little old in general?" you quip back defensively, making him chuckle. it was cute seeing you bite back. like a chihuahua.

"woah— excuse me, princess," constantine holds his hands up in mock surrender before crawling into bed beside you. the stiff mattress squeaks under the weight, silently signalling to constantine it's time for a new one.

of course he'll tease you about it a little, and maybe even try to subtly wean you off it. but as soon as you start getting upset about it, he'll let it go. if it brings you comfort, he guesses there's no harm. (even if now he losing late night cuddles to an inanimate object— he's totally not.. at all... jealous...).

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊.

john doesn't judge you, and thinks it's sweet :') if you need a stuffed toy as a result of trauma or simply just having something to soothe you to sleep— he sympathises with you. when john was a little boy, he had his own thing to help him sleep: a small baby blue cotton blanket he's had since he was orphaned. it was dirty and worn out, and it was his.

but he was quickly robbed of that, much like everything else close to him.

the sun is barely peeking through the window as john's already dressed, tightening the belt around his waist. in the reflection of the long mirror, he sees you in the back, fast asleep and buried under his duvets.

he smiles softly, seeing that your stuffed animal fell off the side of the bed. walking over quietly, john picks up the small animal, a wave of nostalgia tugging his heartstrings.

john places the stuffed animal back in your arms, kissing your forehead gently.

𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍.

you're telling me this guy DOESN'T also have one?? he does. ted is very lowkey about it, and kind of embarrassed. he doesn't think it's very sex-god-rockstar-eddie-van-halen of him to still be cuddling with a teddy or stuffed animal.

"awww, what's this?" you smile, picking up the small inanimate creature on his bed. it was a cowboy hat attached, with a sewn heart in the middle of it's chest.

the blood rushes to ted's cheeks, and painfully forced chuckles leave his lips. he quickly snatches it from your hand, trying to seem non-chalant as he tosses it to the side.

"oh that? that's—that's nothing. just a .. stupid toy— it's my brother's—" ted waves his hand as he tries to act nonchalant, and chill, and totally not super embarrassed.

safe to say when you pull up to his house next time with your own, he's grinning ear-to-ear: relieved and also a hell of a lot more in love with you.

©⠀iovesia,⠀⠀2024.⠀⠀do⠀⠀not⠀⠀plagiarize⠀⠀or⠀⠀repost.

[jetskisonyourmoat]

My obsession with early interviews continues

Bonus clip of Alex getting incredibly distracted and forgetting he’s in an interview.

Part 1 and Part 2

[darkshrimpemotions]

Actually the implications of John also being bisexual are so fucking tasty to me because like. OG John has no support system and no protection against the world except his own perceived strength so he learns to ferret out anything that can possibly be seen as weakness to those around him and that includes any affection or attraction he might feel towards men because nothing screams "stay in your fucking closet" like spending all your time around a fringe subculture of serial killing doomsday preppers in the Midwest during the Reagan era.

By the time he notices Dean starting to look a little too long at boys his age, he's probably convinced himself that whatever he felt (still feels but ignores) was a temporary youthful indiscretion, and of course Dean can't afford those, doesn't get to have those, he's got to be a soldier. He's got to be a better soldier than John, even.

I dunno I've just had enough conversations with family members who are loudly but somehow also mildly homophobic and yet say or do things that make me *eyeballs emoji* not to think this is not only possible but arguably likely.

[coconut530]

AN. EPISODE. 🎸🪕🎻🪈🎺🎷🪘🥁🪇

[angelsdean]

their sibling dynamics are so fascinating to me bc i have a similar parentified dynamic w/ my own younger sister, like to the point where it's the "joke" in the family that i'm literally her second mother / third parent like people say that about me. anyways. but we're also like, besties ??? and we have a bigger age gap than dean and sam, double their age gap actually. and we both make fun of each other and "fight" and have our own inside jokes and can make each other riot with laughter from just a single look and we can have whole conversations w/o saying a word and we have overlapping neurodivergencies that just make us go "same brain!" but then also she has sensory issues that i just do not get and vice verse and we tease each other abt them but if anyone else were to do such a thing obvs it'd be like wtf dude??? but we're allowed to be extra mean to each other (and no one else can) bc we love each other and it's unconditional and we're literally besties. but then at the same time, she'll be a huge baby and not want to do something or do it wrong and i'm just like [exasperated sigh] "give me that" and just do it myself. or she won't want to order at restaurants. or ask for help finding something in a store. and i also do not want to do that but my older sibling "mother-mode" kicks in and i'm like ok fine i'll do this for you. and i always give her the bigger portion of things if it's not evenly cut or distributed. and i'll leave the last of the pink lemonade in the fridge for her and drink water instead. and it's just, a weird complicated dynamic of "i love you like my own kid but also you are my sibling and we will have these sibling moments of getting on each other's nerves but i'm also always going to put you first in the things that really matter" and that's how i see the sibling dynamic from dean's POV really. and sometimes the show manages to show that dynamic but a lot of times it flops hard on getting the sibling-isms right and it's very frustrating lol

[teaandinanity]

Yep, looks like this is happening. Here’s the first segment of the uh. 17 pages and counting I’ve written going ‘I can make this better worse’ about I Was A Teenage Exocolonist.

[cut]

They wonder, sometimes, if the augment was a response to their nightmares.

They’ve always had them. When they sleep, they remember things that haven’t happened yet, awful things, things that left scars on a psyche significantly more well-equipped to handle them than that of a toddler.

They’re not a toddler anymore. The dreams - the memories - have only gotten worse.

They can’t talk about it. They tried a few times as a little kid. They tried, only to be told they were just dreams. That alone probably wouldn’t have stopped them; what did was the creeping certainty that if they didn’t stop, the adults would decide there was something wrong with them, something that needed fixing.

At eight, they haven’t tried in years. They know that if they’re too strange, the adults will try to fix them, and it would mean everything went wrong again. The dreams aren’t a problem; they’re a warning.

They don’t need to be fixed. Sol doesn’t need to be fixed. What they need is to fix the shields. Which they can’t do until they understand what’s going to go wrong.

They sit on the floor with the engineering manuals they used to demand to be read instead of storybooks and stare at the diagrams, trying to force their developing brain to grasp concepts that were challenging as a teenager, frustrated enough to cry.

They do cry, tears welling up and sliding down their face, but they don’t sob. They don’t make a sound, tucked away in a corner, and that means no one notices. No one but Congruence, but they changed their privacy settings off the infant alerts as soon as they could speak. No one noticed that, either.

The temperament augment doesn’t keep them from feeling desperation or despair or fear, but it means they deal with what’s troubling them quietly, in a way that doesn’t trouble anyone else. So they cry quietly through eyes they don’t let waver from the diagrams, repeating mathematical formulae in their head, making sure they have them memorized.

This time, it’s going to be different.

[this-is-a-url]

Homestuck ships can so easily be "experts warn that polycule could expand to cover all of seattle" style, but then that sucks so much bc nobody else ships it but you

Nepeta: :33 < This is my moirail Equius, and his matesprit Karkat, and Karkat's boyfriend Dave, and their girlfriend Jane

[thymewayster]

Really good Twitter thread originally about Elon Musk and Twitter, but also applies to Netflix and a lot of other corporations.

Full thread. Text transcription under cut.

John Bull @garius

One of the things I occasionally get paid to do by companies/execs is to tell them why everything seemed to SUDDENLY go wrong, and subs/readers dropped like a stone. So, with everything going on at Twitter rn, time for a thread about the Trust Thermocline /1

So: what's a thermocline?

Well large bodies of water are made of layers of differing temperatures. Like a layer cake. The top bit is where all the the waves happen and has a gradually decreasing temperature. Then SUDDENLY there's a point where it gets super-cold.

That suddenly is important. There's reasons for it (Science!) but it's just a good metaphor. Indeed you may also be interested in the "Thermocline of Truth" which a project management term for how things on a RAG board all suddenly go from amber to red.

But I digress. The Trust Thermocline is something that, over (many) years of digital, I have seen both digital and regular content publishers hit time and time again. Despite warnings (at least when I've worked there). And it has a similar effect. You have lots of users then suddenly... nope. And this does effect print publications as much as trendy digital media companies. They'll be flying along making loads of money, with lots of users/readers, rolling out new products that get bought. Or events. Or Sub-brands.

And then SUDDENLY those people just abandon them. Often it's not even to "new" competitor products, but stuff they thought were already not a threat. Nor is there lots of obvious dissatisfaction reported from sales and marketing (other than general grumbling). Nor is it a general drift away, it's just a sudden big slide. So why does this happen? As I explain to these people and places, it's because they breached the Trust Thermocline.

I ask them if they'd been increasing prices. Changed service offerings. Modified the product.

The answer is normally: "yes, but not much. And everyone still paid" Then I ask if they did that the year before. Did they increase prices last year? Change the offering? Modify the product?

Again: "yes, but not much."

The answer is normally: "yes, but not much. And everyone still paid." "And the year before?"

"Yes but not much. And everyone still paid."

Well, you get the idea. And here is where the Trust Thermocline kicks in. Because too many people see service use as always following an arc. They think that as long as usage is ticking up, they can do what they like to cost and product.

And (critically) that they can just react when the curve flattens But with a lot of CONTENT products (inc social media) that's not actually how it works. Because it doesn't account for sunk-cost lock-in.

Users and readers will stick to what they know, and use, well beyond the point where they START to lose trust in it. And you won't see that. But they'll only MOVE when they hit the Trust Thermocline. The point where their lack of trust in the product to meet their needs, and the emotional investment they'd made in it, have finally been outweighed by the physical and emotional effort required to abandon it. At this point, I normally get asked something like:

"So if we undo the last few changes and drop the price, we get them back?"

And then I have to break the news that nope: that's not how it works.

Because you're past the Thermocline now. You can't make them trust you again.

[lxvvie]

Y'all know that whole trend that was going around social media with women calling their significant other by their full name? Yeah, that one. Yet another conversation was had, this time it was about the reactions your favorite babygurls would have if you called them by their full government name because of reasons. Maybe.

Capt. John Price - He's, uh, startled but not enough to drop his cigar this time. Does take a puff of it, though, before addressing you like it's the calm before the storm. Isn't too fazed because he heard it enough from his own mom growing up and he figures he's suave and diplomatic enough to placate you.

Gaz - Pointedly ignores you while giving you side glances here and there which is a major indicator that he's gotten into some shit. Probably. More than likely. Yeah... it was Soap's fault.

Alex Keller - Actually did get into some shit. Does not answer the call of duty.

Soap - You hear 'ah, shit', heavy footsteps, probably a crash, and Soap's peeking his head out from the other room. Has a deer-in-headlights look about him. It was Gaz's fault, goddamnit. He's so adorable. It's enough to make you giggle.

Ghost - You get a grunt. And then it hits him. He stops doing whatever it is he's doing. Fuck, he knows that tone. Simon turns to look at you and he stares into your soul or something like that. What in the hell kind of made-up middle name is that? You spend the better part of a good minute staring each other down before you're all, "I love you ♥️," and Ghost groans and rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was he was doing. But not before he grunts out a "Love ya, too." in return.

Alejandro - This is one of the few things that'll actually faze the man. Will damn near break his neck turning to face you to see what's wrong and his eyes will be wide. Oh, the last time he heard his full name called like that was from his beloved grandmother and he'd gotten into some shit then, okay?

Rudy - Ducks his head. Doesn't show his face; he can't bear the sternness of your voice, your gaze. It wasn't him this time, he swears; it remains, though, the way you say his name, an echo in his mind: Ro-DOL-fo. Why'd you have the emphasize THAT part of his name, huh?

König - König.exe stops working. Actually does break something trying to get to you. His eyes are fucking saucers, okay? Oh shit, what did he do this time, Schatz? Are you getting him back after that one time he snuck up on you to surprise you and you dropped dinner? Did you find out about the time he accidentally messed up the laundry and the white clothes came out pink? WHAT DOES HE HAVE TO DO FIX THIS?! Oh, you... just needed him to grab something off the top shelf for you.

Horangi - Also did some shit. Is unapologetic about it. Hits you with a nonchalant, "Yeah?"

Graves - STAYS IN SOME SHIT, OKAY? Saunters in like the smug bastard he is. Smirks and winks at you. "Haven't heard that name in a while, darlin'. What's your fancy?"

Valeria - Pulls a Uno Reverse and calls you by your full government name. Wait―

[radiance1]

Danny wears sunglasses 24/7.

So much so that slowly it's been ingrained into everyone's minds that he's never taken them off. Like, they can't even remember a time where he hasn't worn sunglasses.

It's just like, his thing.

Why does he wear them? Well, because Danny's previous blue eyes changed to a startling, glowing green that he knows the GIW would eat up and use as a reason to force him into their custody.

Solution?

Sunglasses.

His parents? Oh yea they went all in when he they found out why he was wearing them (Reveal gone right au babyy). They made them extremely durable; they can film audio, take pictures, take videos, see through walls and even track down ecto-signatures for whenever he's tracking down a ghost in human form, see through walls and self-cleaning.

(The ectoplasm tracking system is for when they aren't close enough to set off his ghost sense.)

He honestly believes his parents watched a spy movie before they built him these, but it's not like he's going to complain about it. The only time he isn't wearing them is when he goes ghost, you know as a way to not link him to Fenton or whatever.

So, Danny meets John Constantine while the both of them were on the hunt for a ghost who was causing problems in the area. Danny manages to find them first, the ghost in question being an animal who was terrorizing a place because it didn't understand the fact it was dead yet and wanted to protect it's children.

John Constantine comes while Danny is pacifying it. He watches as Danny calms it down enough to get to the babies and sends it to the Ghost Zone after promising it to get them somewhere safe.

John Constantine also saw his eyes, because he pulled his sunglasses off to show them to the ghost as a silent sign to trust him. John Constantine of course asked what he was going to do with the babies, and Danny just sent them over to Sam.

After that he decided to keep an eye on Danny because of his eyes. Which were the eyes of a ghost, and he was genuinely thinking Danny was possessed before that went out the window. So he thinks Danny is a ghost pretending to be human and wasn't able to hide his eyes so he wore sunglasses.

Danny neither confirm nor deny that.

So Danny just kinda followed him around until Constatine eventually made him into a contact whenever he was dealing with ghosts that he could peacefully deal with instead of just forcefully banishing them to the Infinite Realms.

This, eventually, comes to light when Constantine goes "I know a guy." In front of the whole Justice League, bonus points if they somehow come to the conclusion that Danny is Constantine's secret child, sidekick or both.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.” 

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.” 

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?” 

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.” 

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago. 

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink. 

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her. 

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting. 

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care. 

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long. 

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic. 

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not. 

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack. 

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week. 

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head. 

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath. 

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-” 

“Classified?” You finish for her. 

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...” 

The less there is to make you a target. 

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time. 

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.” 

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal. 

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military. 

That, and the excuse for violence. 

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented. 

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you. 

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together. 

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face. 

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.” 

You look nervous. 

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly. 

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega. 

His omega. 

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy. 

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand. 

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly. 

He doesn’t even want to think about that. 

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy. 

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand. 

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed. 

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.” 

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side. 

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents. 

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit. 

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about. 

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?” 

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.” 

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went. 

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.” 

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks. 

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.” 

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right. 

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.” 

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega. 

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says. 

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.” 

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” 

He hasn’t failed her yet. 

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked. 

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags. 

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment. 

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent. 

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk. 

One more to go. 

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk. 

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible. 

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane. 

“Coming, Si?” 

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared. 

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute. 

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent. 

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack? 

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door. 

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly. 

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says. 

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no. 

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back. 

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.” 

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression. 

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?” 

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.” 

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it. 

You can hold power over them. 

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to. 

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile. 

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell. 

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already. 

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in. 

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha. 

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”  

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs. 

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?” 

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.” 

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer. 

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“You lived on base?” He asks. 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.” 

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it. 

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say. 

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well. 

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.” 

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent. 

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.” 

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks. 

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.” 

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks. 

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.” 

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks. 

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance. 

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.” 

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails. 

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.” 

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either. 

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.” 

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting. 

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach. 

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell? 

What if they don’t like the way you smell? 

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you. 

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier. 

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.” 

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible. 

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen. 

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack. 

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs. 

“Ready?” 

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin. 

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland. 

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others. 

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you. 

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours. 

He’s testing you. 

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl. 

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting. 

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached. 

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place. 

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?” 

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head. 

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.” 

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland. 

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you. 

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze. 

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this. 

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him. 

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat. 

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper. 

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek. 

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze. 

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them. 

They could if they wanted to. 

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you. 

“You hungry, pup?” 

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work. 

Pup. Price called you Pup. 

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you. 

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment. 

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again. 

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.” 

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.” 

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out. 

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear. 

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes. 

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear. 

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing. 

He’s proving his ability as a provider. 

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can. 

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you. 

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks. 

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost. 

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult. 

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe