Now that the work project is live and I've survived Week 1 support I get to focus on writing. 🙌🙌
I'm late to Nov writing month but my goal is to get 70k written by the end of the year, and I'm cautiously optimistic because I've got some time off around the holidays. 😤
With that said if there's any fic I've written that you would like to see more of let me know! I'm hoping for all of my active series to get at least one update but some might get more.
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Summary: Everyone always told stories celebrating the marks of a soulmate. A physical manifestation of bonds between two souls, scars mirrored in silver.
They never mentioned the weight of unknown bonds when wars ravaged entire continents. No one talked about the fear that accompanied silver scars.
Richard Winters had known for months that his other half was somewhere in the war. As Easy Company lands in Europe, he holds onto the hope that they’ll still be alive when he finds them.
Author's Note: This series will include historical references and explore heavy themes. Be mindful of the tags.
Chapters will be posted to Ao3.
Wip Updates
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe – Soulmates, Period Typical Violence, Medical Inaccuracies, Graphic depictions of injuries & death, Historical References, WWII, Explicit Language, Period Typical Racism, Period Typical Sexism, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, Aftermath of Violence, Found Family, Trauma, Survivor's Guilt, Non-typical Soulmates, Forced Proximity, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
I do not consent to any reposting, translations, or cross-platform reuploading of any work (written or otherwise) that I produce. Any use of my work to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited.
Chapter 1 Foundations [Full Chapter on Ao3]
The SOF settle into Albourne and run into familiar faces.
Chapter 2 Zero Hour [Full Chapter on Ao3]
The SOF returns to Albourne and are officially assigned to Easy Company ahead of the D-Day advances.
Chapter 3 Test Fire [Full Chapter on Ao3]
The Platoon is left scrambling to regroup after the jump doesn't go according to plan.
Chapter 4 Bisque Firing [Full Chapter on Ao3]
Winters notices a change. The Division sets out for Carentan.
Summary: The Rangers return to the frontlines to support the advance on Hotel Allendorf.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Canon typical violence, period typical violence, medical inaccuracies, graphic depictions of injuries & death, Historical accuracies & inaccuracies, WW2, language, period typical sexism & racism, hurt / comfort, PTSD, angst, fluff, Slow Burn, survivor's guilt, Soulmate AU, Non-Typical Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Grumpy & Grumpier, Blood and Gore, Background Relationships, Minor Character Death
Word Count: 10.6k
Full Chapter on Ao3
A/N: I was writing like a crazy person because I wanted to get this chapter out on the 1 year anniversary for Familiar Fires.😂 It's genuinely wild to look at some of the stuff that I had on the outline for this story last year vs what's happening now. I'm so excited to see where it goes from here. :)
Series Masterlist
There was something haunting about the city streets now.
October 17th, 1944
Aachen, Germany
Somehow worse than the other towns they’d fought in. Part of it was the length of time, Zussman couldn’t remember the last time they’d been stationed in one city for so long. After they breached the main wall, Command had them clearing the streets block by block, house by house. By now, whatever Aachen had been before the war was splintered and fractured. Buildings crumbling under the strain of the fighting, bullet holes and soot marring what remained of the walls.
It felt more like a graveyard now.
Daniels’s attention drifted, quiet frown stretching across his lips as he watched a pair of corporals drag another body to a stack outside of an old shop. He tried not to look at the faces, something uncomfortable needling beneath his ribs as Zussman drove past them. 1st Platoon had been lucky; but other battalions had lost too many. Somehow, they’d managed to dodge the worst of it on patrols.
But Turner and Pierson were still at odds.
They hadn’t seen eye to eye since they left for the advance. No one in the squad could pinpoint the cause. Aiello wondered briefly if it had been because Pierson took a squad to support Ramirez’s impromptu rescue mission. But that didn’t make any sense. Regardless of Aiello’s opinions on Pierson – they’d been able to pull Bishop and Hoyle out without incident. And whatever reprimands Command had attempted to make, Bishop had dealt with it.
Movement pulled his attention towards the perimeter of the makeshift staging area as Zussman parked, brows furrowing as he spotted Ramirez and Cooper standing at the back of a truck while Koji and Moore slid boxes towards them. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Daniels was relieved to see new faces. They’d heard rumors that Rangers were being brought back in, but he’d been worried that it would be another team like Becker’s.
“Time for more beans and bullets.” Zussman announced dryly as he climbed out of the jeep, hand knocking against the frame as he glanced over the back at Daniels.
“If I tell you to do it,” Turner’s voice echoed, dragging their attention to where the officers were standing. “It is the goddamn mission!”
Moore paused at the volume, gaze flickering towards the Infantry officers with a frown. He’d heard the pair argue more than once, that was just the nature of high stress environments. But this was different. It felt off. A level of frustration and irritation that felt out of place coming from Turner.
“Hey, pick up the pace!” Pierson snapped, gaze firmly locked onto Zussman and Daniels as they stood awkwardly at the back of a jeep. “We gotta hit CP by nightfall.”
“Jesus…” Moore muttered under his breath, watching as the officers turned back to each other again. “The fuck is their problem?”
Ramirez snorted, hand dragging down the side of his face before he shook his head. He had a couple of guesses – not that he’d say them out loud here. He’d heard that the Infantry was being stretched thin – when weren’t they – but this was more than frayed nerves. He wouldn’t be surprised if things got worse before they got better.
“Just stay outta their crosshairs.” Coooper muttered, shooting Moore a pointed look. “Especially you-.”
“What the hell did I do?”
“We’ll finish here ‘n go track Luciel down.” He continued, ignoring the outburst. “You two see if you can help 1st Platoon get their shit done. Maybe that’ll help mom and dad stop fighting-.”
“How is that not worse than whatever I say?” Moore huffed, dropping from the truck. “I don’t say shit like that-.”
“It’s your personality.” Ramirez waved him off, “Now fuck off before we find something worse for you to do.”
Pairing: William Pierson x f!oc
Summary: The battle of Kasserine Pass changed everyone unfortunate enough to witness it and Sergeant Pierson was no exception. More than a year later he's still grappling with what was taken from him.
Prompts Used:
AI-less Whumptober: Came Back Wrong | Painful Transformation
Promptoberfest: Alternate Universe | Presumed Dead/Captured | Established Relationship
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Canon Typical Violence, Graphic Depictions of Injuries & Death, Whump, Blood & Injury, Period Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst w/ a Happy Ending, PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, Historical References, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Possessive Behavior, Pack Dynamics, Angst, Explicit Language, Werewolf AU, Shifter AU,
Word Count: 6.2k
Full Chapter on Ao3
A/N: I'ma go ahead and blame @cramberry24 for this, because she shared her AI-less Whumptober prompt list and then I found one that looked like fun and then she encouraged it so here's two prompt challenges in one.
It should've been a shorter fic but the words were wording so now we have a two part-er.
May 6th, 1944
Allied FOB, England
Curious eyes watched as the newest batch of rookies marched through the parade grounds, a small group of COs barking at their heels. The familiar string of orders shouted over the dull roar of conversation from the rest of the battalions already settled into their posts. It felt like every day there was a steady stream of buses shuttling new bodies through the gates, nervous eyes glancing around at the unfamiliar faces staring back at them. The sharp increase in troops only meant one thing –
The invasion would be happening soon.
Command hadn’t said anything, or at least, not that their COs had confirmed. Daniels wasn’t surprised, even if the details had been passed down to the Platoon level, he wasn’t in a position to hear about it. He’d barely been out of basic for a week before they were herded onto the carriers and shipped off to Europe. It felt like they barely trusted him to clean his rifle without supervision – there’s no way they’d give him any intel on the invasion.
“That’s the fifth one today.” Stiles muttered, idly rolling his mug between his palms. “What’re the odds we’re shipping out soon? Maybe we’ll meet the new COs today?”
“Dunno.” Zussman mused, lips pressing together as he glanced back towards the marching teams. “Sullivan didn’t say anythin’ to me.”
“Just as long as it’s not that one.” Daniels grunted under his breath, bright eyes tracking one of the taller Sergeants as he moved through the crowd.
“Careful what you wish for.” Stiles mumbled, grimace stretching across his face as the man stopped in front of Sullivan. “You just had to open your mouth…”
Daniels scoffed, tension winding across his shoulders as the Sergeant’s gaze settled on them. Even from across the parade grounds the eyeshine was unmistakable. He wasn’t human. It was a conscious fight to keep his hackles from rising at the scrutinizing look, a dull chill washing over him until he felt a growl threatening to build in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, he’d met hundreds – thousands – of shifters since enlisting. Most of the 1st Infantry Division were Shifter Battalions, none of the men and women had been a problem.
But this one was different.
There was something about the man that had his instincts buzzing warily.
It didn’t make sense.
“Yeah… That’s Sergeant Pierson.” Aiello drawled lazily, snapping Daniels out of spiraling thoughts. “Best to stay out of his way if you can.”
“Worse than that bear shifter from the 107th?” Stiles questioned uneasily, wincing at the memory of gnashing teeth and grueling drills.
“Oh yeah.” Aiello laughed. “He’s not a shifter though, Sarge is a werewolf. Most officers in the Battalion are.”
Werewolf.
Daniels’s brows furrowed deeper, frown pulling at his lips. He’d met a handful of werewolves in Texas, but this was the first one that had his hackles rising. He remembered his father’s stories, werewolves were unpredictable. They were either brilliant tacticians and great assets to the platoon – or they were liabilities.
He resisted the urge to make a face as the sergeant started towards them, gaze narrowing when the man moved with predatory efficenct. A deep scowl carved across his features, gold rimmed eyes flickering between the four of them. Posture unbothered by the small group even as Daniels felt the animal shift beneath his ribs, low growl echoing at the back of his skull.
“You four,” Pierson spoke up, each syllable like gravel scraping across his teeth. “You should be at Parade 3. Move your asses.”
Inhaling slowly the Texan prayed that, despite appearances, the man’s abrasive personality wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Unfortunately for Daniels, he wasn’t a religious man.
It’s a long road to the Rhine.
July 15th 1944
Outskirts of Marigny, France
“Jesus.” Daniels bit under his breath, lips curling into a scowl when the Sergeant stepped out of earshot. “What’s his fuckin’ problem? He’s non-goddamn-stop.”
Pierson had been at the back of their necks since they broke out of Normandy. A constant presence pushing them at every opportunity. If they weren’t on mission, they were alternating patrols. It was never ending. Turner intervened, sometimes. Intercepting the Sergeant and redirecting the man’s focus. But it wasn’t enough, Daniels was beginning to wonder if they’d survive Pierson long enough to even see the German border.
At the rate they were going they’d be dead in the ground long before the Nazis had the chance to put them there.
“He’s been like this since Kasserine.” Aiello shrugged, pointedly ignoring the glare the Texan sent his way. “Like I told you, just stay out of his way ‘n he’ll move onto something else.”
“You sayin’ there was a time when he wasn’t such a miserable bastard?” Daniels muttered, glare turning to Jacobs when the man scoffed bitterly from the other side of the fire.
“Yeah.” Aiello confirmed, absentmindedly rolling his shoulders to alleviate the tension building along his spine. “Pierson was one of the better ones, used to be almost as patient as Turner, if you can believe that.”
They didn’t believe him. And Aiello couldn’t blame them, if he hadn’t known Pierson before the Tunisian campaign, he wouldn’t have believed it either. The Pierson that had led them into the valley might as well have been a completely different person. Levelheaded, patient. Unshakable under fire, both on mission and on Post. There were only a handful of werewolves that handled conflict better, and they just had more experience.
But that was before Kasserine.
“Yeah. Sure.” Stiles deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Is there a bridge you’re gonna try and sell us next?”
“Fuck off, I’m not lyin’.” Aiello snorted, pulling a cigarette from the pack. “I said he was like that before Kasserine. Just be happy he’s not shifting feral during the Full Moons anymore-.”
“Can you fuckin’ blame him?” Jacobs interrupted sharply, the tone catching the rookies off guard, wide eyes all snapping towards him. “He lost Eloise in the Pass; in case you forgot.”
Daniels froze, an uneasy feeling sparking beneath his ribs. Wide eyes slowly turning to find the same look staring back at him from Zussman and Stiles. He didn’t recognize the name, but he knew the tone. Knew the implication. At first, he didn’t believe it, it was next to impossible to picture Pierson as anything but the constant threat looming just outside their peripheral. Harder still to picture anyone willing to put up with him let alone –
“And they never found her body.” Jacobs continued, jaw clenching as he swallowed back the venom building at the back of his throat. “Most wolves don’t recover from that. Frankly, it’s surprising he’s still here at all.”
Summary: 1st Platoon struggles to adapt. The Rangers are forced to regroup.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Canon typical violence, period typical violence, medical inaccuracies, graphic depictions of injuries & death, Historical accuracies & inaccuracies, WW2, language, period typical sexism & racism, hurt / comfort, PTSD, angst, fluff, Slow Burn, survivor's guilt, Soulmate AU, Non-Typical Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Grumpy & Grumpier, Blood and Gore, Background Relationships, Minor Character Death
Word Count: 10.4k
Full Chapter on Ao3
A/N: I am very, very excited for this chapter. It's been lurking in the in my wips for almost four months and now it is finally ready to be released into the wilds.
Series Masterlist
It felt wrong.
After months of calm indifference, the sharp aggression felt out of place. Anxiety twisting into panic and desperation just to be pulled beneath waves of anger and malice. It was hard to differentiate between his own emotions and the maelstrom bleeding across the thread. In the years he’d known Luciel she’d always been too relaxed for a warzone, too unbothered by the carnage around them. He didn’t know how he’d ever mistaken the stillness for absence.
The signs had been there, subtle but persistent.
He should’ve known, should’ve been able to pick up on it sooner. He couldn’t think of a time after Kasserine that she rolled up her sleeves – only when the brand was hidden beneath bandages. At the time he hadn’t questioned it, but now –
The tether wound tighter, fingers curling around his throat until his breath snagged in his chest. Phantom pains echoed in abused muscle, a dull ache building along his spine. Bruising grip winding tighter until he could’ve sworn, he felt color bloom beneath his skin. The pressure built against his throat as the grip constricted, a heavy weight pressing down against his chest until it was a fight to force air into his lungs. He knew enough to recognize it for what it was – a warning. The death rattle of a bond instinctually reaching out for the other half for stability.
He’d heard countless people talk about it over the years, but it was something else entirely to experience it.
His grip tightened around his rifle, teeth grinding together as he forced himself forward. He could hear the Rangers somewhere behind him, Ramirez’s orders echoing off the walls as they engaged a patrol team in the alley. The stairwell muted the rattling gunfire, a vague shout from one of the Rangers answering one of the questions he hadn’t wanted to voice aloud.
They’d found Hoyle –
Alone.
A new voice interrupted his thoughts. Angry words echoing down the hallways, he didn’t need to understand the language to know they were insults and threats. The grip at his throat faded as the hall was plunged back into silence, the only sound coming from the muffled guns on a different floor. Pierson stumbled to a stop, frame freezing as he strained to pick up sounds from the surrounding rooms. He knew Luciel was still alive – he felt the steady thrum across the tether. But it did nothing to ease the hollowness beneath his ribs.
The fear was fading.
Pulled back beneath the surface by a white knuckled grip. A quiet anxiety buzzing steadily as anger and vitriol slowly smothered it. The acceptance was unsettling. He recognized it for what it was, the practiced, manufactured calm that came from experienced soldiers. The dull acknowledgement that came when they were reaching the end of their rope with no way of knowing whether they’d survive the next conflict.
Vaguely, he wondered if she’d put the pieces together already. He thought back to conversations they’d had, brows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint a change. There was a part of him that wondered if she’d known since Kasserine. At the same time, nothing had changed. She’d treated him the same way she always had – even before Kasserine. The same sarcastic barbs with the same unbothered expression even when he snapped back.
If she didn’t know – did she think he’d run too?
The thought made his stomach churn.
While Luciel seemed to have more answers than questions, it was entirely possible that she’d been just as lost in the aftermath of Kasserine. He’d heard about what happened to her platoon – everyone had. Whatever comfort might have come from the thought was smothered just as quickly by a new anxiety. If she didn’t know –
Was she dying now with the same questions –
His vision tunneled as he pushed forward again. His grip tightened around his rifle, finger brushing against the trigger as he forced slow, quiet breaths through his nose. The brand thrummed dully against his ribs, cold unease hooking between his ribs before coiling tighter. Images flickered in his peripheral, memories echoing under a new light as he approached another doorway. Dark eyes snagging on tracks carved into dust and grime, the scent of copper knocking against his lungs.
It was too quiet –
Pierson slowed, ears straining to pick up movement in the room. The tether burned dully, a quiet anxiety settling heavily beneath his ribs. A bitter curse snagging at the back of his teeth, jaw clenching as he stacked up against the door. He could see the blood now, dark red pooling across dusty floors, tracks smeared as if someone scrambled away from the source. The loud anger was gone, the conflict snuffed out before he even laid eyes on the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzzing anxiety he knew she was still alive –
She had to be.
He resisted the urge to pull against the thread. Jaw clenched as he moved towards the door slowly, finger curling around the trigger. He could practically taste the blood as he leaned towards the door, dark eyes snagging on the broken body of an enemy officer. His throat torn open, red soaking into grey wool, dirty fingers still tangled around the collar of his shirt. His heart climbed into his throat, boot scraping quietly against the ground as he stepped into the room.
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Pairing: William Pierson x f!oc
Summary: Zussman fights to return to the frontlines. 2nd Platoon prepares for the advance on Marigny.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Slow burn, Cannon typical violence, period typical violence, medical inaccuracies, historical references, graphic depictions of injuries & death, claustrophobia, depictions of Pearl Harbor, Normandy, WW2, language, period typical sexism & racism, harassment, hurt / comfort, whump, PTSD, angst, survivor's guilt, near death experiences, aftermath of torture, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Grumpy & Sunshine,
Word Count: 9.5k
Full Chapter on Ao3
A/N: After so many updates that were angst central it's been a nice little break to go back to a fic that's just fluff, sass and bickering.
It's of course me, so there will be angst in the backstory, but for now the teasing and snark has been a lot of fun. Travis is also the first OC who went off the rails and went from kinda stoic to an absolute menace through the writing process. So that was a new experience. 😂
Series Masterlist
June 8th, 1944
Calvados, Normandy, France
The world came back to him in pieces.
Fragmented memories slowly bubbling up to the surface, echoing guns knocking against his skull as his pulse pounded in his ears. Everything hurt. His stomach was on fire, every flex of muscles causing new agony to tear against his abdomen until his breath stuttered in his lungs. His head swam dully, thoughts muddled as he tried to force his eyes open. The scent of antiseptic burned his nose, the dull metallic undertones causing his stomach to roll –
It crashed over him in an instant.
Memories of sea spray and gun smoke, red tinted sand and rattling guns. Cold damp air of the bunker as they charged through the doorway, caustic insults screamed over the noise of the battle. Grappling limbs as a Nazi attempted to rip the rifle from Daniels’ hands. The cold agony that tore across his abdomen when he’d tried to intervene.
His hand settled across his stomach, face contorting as fresh pain bloomed beneath his palm. Suddenly he was acutely aware of the rough blanket beneath his fingers, eyes creaking open to find the familiar grey of the carrier walls. Blinking slowly his attention drifted, gaze snagging on the IV bag hooked up next to his bed.
“Oh good – you’re awake.” A voice announced, drawing Zussman’s attention to the physician standing in the doorway. “I was honestly beginning to worry a little bit, was hoping I’d be able to give Nori a good report.”
Nori –
Eleanor –
Zussman lurched forward, a strangled shout catching in his throat as stitches pulled at raw skin. The physician cursed under his breath as he rushed forward, hand pushing against Zussman’s shoulder to force him back against the bed. The room spun, sound muffled beneath the high pitched ringing echoing in his ears. The pain was back, sharp, violent waves spasming across his abdomen as nerves protested the quick movement.
“Jesus Christ, kid.” The man grunted. “She’s fine, but you won’t be if I tell her you ripped your stitches out being stupid.”
“How do you know-.”
“If she wasn’t writing letters she was reading them – I’ve heard all about you.” he huffed, shooting Zussman a disgruntled look as he reached for his clipboard again. “I’ve known your sister since she docked at Hawaii.”
He resisted the urge to cringe. He knew Eleanor talked about him – he did the same thing. Sharing stories with Daniels and Stiles, though he admittedly intentionally didn’t share specifics. Suddenly he was worried about what she might’ve shared – and with who. He tried to think back to the letters he’d sent and received – scrambling to try and remember if any of hers had mentioned the islands –
“Glad she’s back though.” He continued, scribbling away at the charts. “She’s a good doctor, was a little worried she wouldn’t have come back after everything.”
Zussman’s brows furrowed, gaze turning to stare back at the doctor with a scrutinizing look. The silence stretched on for a moment, pen stilling against the paper as his attention slowly drifted back to Zussman. Gears turn slowly in his head, realization flickering behind his eyes as a grimace stretched across his features. A quiet curse muttered under his breath, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. At first, Zussman didn’t understand the sudden awkwardness. Thoughts spiraled as he tried to put the pieces together, frown stretching across his lips.
Then it clicked –
“She… was at Pearl Harbor?” He didn’t recognize his voice at first, the words echoing around him as reality dawned on him. “Wait-. She… She was there during the attacks?”
“Shit-.”
She’d been there when the Japanese attacked –
“Sorry kid-.” He muttered, hand slowly dropping from his face as he shot Zussman a sympathetic look. “I thought you knew, letters went out and I just assumed… I shouldn’t have said that. But, hey. She’s alright – obviously, since she’s here-.”
“Letters went out…? For who?”
His face contorted again, fingers digging slowly into the back of his neck as he stared back at Zussman. It was clear he was weighing the options – whether he should risk it and continue talking or whether he should wait for Eleanor. Probably trying to figure out if she’d be angry or just annoyed.
“Command sent them… After it was all sorted.” He drawled slowly. “I assumed… apparently incorrectly, that your folks would’ve mentioned it… Figured if Pierson had gotten the clearance to fly over-.”
“Pierson flew over?”
“Goddamnit.” Both hands were at his temple now, fingers grinding into tense features as he cursed under his breath. “Listen, Kid. Clearly, I overstepped. I dunno what you or your parents know – and I’m not about to overshare anymore than I obviously have. You can take this up with Nori. You wanna write a letter about it and I’ll be sure to get it passed along, but I’m not about to put myself on her list by saying something stupid.”
Pairing: John Price x f!oc Shifter AU
Summary: Price's attempts to get the bear under control are interrupted by a new complication. Ghost attempts to bridge the gap with Eva before the mission.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Cannon Typical Violence, Medical Inaccuracies, Graphic Depictions of Injuries & Death, Slow Burn, Impolite Language, Forced Shifter, Human & Shifter Experimentation, Survivor's Guilt, PTSD, Fluff, Possessive Behavior, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Serious Injuries, Pack Dynamics, Shifter Behavior, Full Tags on Ao3, Tags May Change
Word Count: 7.1k
Full chapter on AO3
A/N: So, from pretty early on with this fic I've known I wanted the characters to go back to the bunker and I have planned on it being a big linchpin for a lot of the development shifts for them. All that being said I thought Price needed one more complication before things got off the ground, and Ghost needed to do a little more meddling.
I'm still on the fence on how bad I want the bunker to be. I have a couple different possibilities outlined that range from bad to worse, and some that might require a review of of the tags.
Series Masterlist.
It was suffocating.
The smell of rot hung heavily in the air, permeating the long dark of the corridors. Emergency lights flickered dully overhead, the constant buzz of decaying wiring echoing around them. The bunker was somehow worse than what they’d imagined; old doors screeching on rusted hinges as they forced their way through. It was one thing to see the horrors through faded pictures and grainy footage; it was something else entirely to experience it. They could taste old blood across their tongue with each breath, clouds of stagnant air burning their eyes as they trailed behind Eva.
The Trials lingered in the hallways.
Stress and desperation so visceral that it clung to the walls around them. Deep gouges carved into concrete and steel, marks of struggle deep enough to scar the walls beneath peeling paint. Doorways slowly rusting after years of neglect, twisted metal crumbling away from the walls, doors ripped from hinges and left rotting on the floor. Yellowed papers lay scattered across desks and consoles, the ink illegible after months in the damp environment.
Price followed Eva closer than what was considered polite. Tense frame never more than a step away as they navigated the twisting halls. He could feel the bear beneath the skin. Stress threatening to bleed into the air, low snarls and clacking jaws echoing over the hollow footsteps. Instincts roared, corded muscle winding tighter each time they approached a blind corner.
Something was wrong.
Shadows moved at their peripheral. Shapeless figures trailing behind them until the hair began to stand at the back of his neck. The Trails clung to the bunker with vengeful claws, the devastation so complete that it haunted the space. A quiet presence that watched them with hollow eyes. Price couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so suffocated by a mission.
It was unnerving.
The pack was on edge.
It was hard not to be. They’d read the files; they’d seen the images and witnessed the procedures. It was only natural that submerging themselves in the environment would agitate instincts more than previous missions. And it was more than just reconnaissance. They weren’t there to gather intel or capture targets, they were added security – added protection. Another line of defense for the survivors, even if they hadn’t readily agreed to the additional support.
“Control room is 300 yards down.” Gold rimmed eyes snapped to her. “Server room is 100 farther. If the intel’s valid we’ll know.”
A familiar pit opened in his chest. Attention dragging back to the winding tunnels, lungs filling slowly as he attempted to pull a scent from the air. Apprehension hooked between his ribs, teeth grinding together to smother the snarl threatening to build. Boot scraped across rusting grates, metal groaning under their weight as they pressed ahead. They could taste the rot now, old blood and new settling across their tongue.
Price stilled, tension winding across corded muscle. The pack continued, the Sergeants flanking Eva and Nikto as they moved across the catwalk. Ghost barely hesitated, a questioning glance tossed towards the Alpha before he continued forward. The bear twisted beneath the skin, a low snarl building in his throat, the volume growing in intensity. The pack didn’t respond, Soap’s voice echoing off brick with a dull joke. The annoyed huff from Gaz cutting through the air before he bit back a response of his own.
The world tilted.
The faint hiss of canisters before they bounced off metal and brick. The scene changes. Images contorting and twisting, the pack ripped away from one another violently. The floor collapsing under their feet, the sickening feeling of their chest opening up as they fell. His body ached as it collided heavily with the ground, the oppressive weight of broken concrete and twisted rebar pressing down on him from above.
He could hear the voices.
Panicked shouts overshadowed by Ghost’s sharp orders. The rattling of guns twisting into the echo of boots and scraping claws. He didn’t remember dragging himself from the rubble, the familiar burn of his uniform dragging across open wounds as he tore across the room. The Bear snarled again, snapping at the back of his neck, heavy paws knocking against his ribs. Repeated warnings echoed in his skull, caustic reminders of what happened ground out between bared teeth.
The scent of bitter lilac caught in his throat.
Copper filled his lungs, the metallic tang pooling across his tongue as red flickered at the edges of his vision. Apprehension twisted into something darker, a bitter chill running down his spine, dread contorting into open aggression. He couldn’t tell if it was the man or the bear that drove him forward. The halls blurred around him, broken bodies scattered across blood stained tiles, viscera smeared across the walls until it pooled at the base.
Chemicals burned his nose and throat, a familiar absence nearly knocking the air from his lungs.
The sound of cracking bones stopped him short.
Boots sliding across dirt coated pavement, frame nearly toppling over with the force. Gold snagging on a figure huddled against a door. Body curling inward, one hand leaving a crimson streak down the wall while the other fisted in torn fabric. Shuttering muscles twisted beneath the surface, skin stretching too thin along their spine. Their fingers shook, nails hooking into old scars. Their body pressed tighter to the floor, a rattling snarl shaking free from expanding lungs.
Price took a cautious step forward, heart catching in his throat as bloodshot hazel snapped towards him. Dark eyes tracked him over her shoulder; features twisted somewhere between scowl and snarl. The sound of snapping tendons echoed around them. Glowing eyes snapped shut before her head dropped to the floor, forehead pressing against the tiles as her lips twisting into an agonized grimace. Her spine shifted, vertebrae grinding dully before they pierced the flesh. Blood pooled beneath her, muscle fiber writhing slowly before it wound around exposed bone.
He took another step forward.
Another shuttering breath pulled through clenched teeth, fingers hooking deeper into shivering muscle. Stress saturated the air, the bitter, sour scent catching at the back of his throat. Instincts knocking violently against the back of his skull as hesitant hands reached forward. Uncertainty slowed his movements, the fear of making it worse in direct conflict with the urge to help.
The bear chuffed, a nervous presence pacing at the back of his mind.
Calloused fingers ghost across the back of her hand tentatively. She flinched at the contact, shoulder slamming into the door in an attempt to create space. A rattling snarl building in her throat, the sound reverberating beneath his fingers as it rolled through her ribs. Glowing eyes turned towards him slowly, the dull gleam of bone splitting the skin beneath her eye as the Predator’s skull forced its way to the surface. Tendons stretched, jaw hanging before canine broke the surface.
The skull twisted and warped as she turned, human frame contorting as the Chimera settled into place. He recognized the mistake too late, eyes widening as the tattered maw turned towards him with another rattling growl. Teeth exposed as skin stretched over thick muscle and gleaming bone. He stumbled backwards as the creature lunged –
Price hit the floor with a thud. Air rushing back into his lungs as his head collided with his gear, gold rimmed eyes shooting open to stare at the ceiling. The bear snarled beneath the skin, teeth clacking hard enough he felt it in the marrow.
But on a Friday, because It took me about four days to finally figure out how I wanted the start of this chapter to go. Fought all week to get 200 words down and then had that random breakthrough yesterday and threw 4k down, and I'm at the fun part.
I'm pretty excited for this next chapter so here's a little chunk of unedited fun. I'm pretty sure the author's note with the last chapter was that the Angst Train had arrived- and it's still rolling through this one. 😇
It felt wrong.
After months of calm indifference, the sharp aggression felt out of place. Anxiety twisting into panic and desperation just to be pulled beneath waves of anger and malice. It was hard to differentiate between his own emotions and the maelstrom bleeding across the thread. In the years he’d known Luciel she’d always been too relaxed for a warzone, too unbothered by the carnage around them. He didn’t know how he’d ever mistaken the stillness for absence.
The signs had been there, subtle but persistent.
He should’ve known, should’ve been able to pick up on it sooner. He couldn’t think of a time after Kasserine that she rolled up her sleeves – only when the brand was hidden beneath bandages. At the time he hadn’t questioned it, but now –
The tether wound tighter, fingers curling around his throat until his breath snagged in his chest. Phantom pains echoed in abused muscle, a dull ache building along his spine. Bruising grip winding tighter until he could’ve sworn he felt color bloom beneath his skin. The pressure built against his throat as the grip tightened, a heavy weight pressing down against his chest until it was a fight to force air into his lungs. He knew enough to recognize it for what it was – a warning. The death rattle of a bond instinctually reaching out for the other half for stability.
He’d heard countless people talk about it over the years, but it was something else entirely to experience it.
His grip tightened around his rifle, teeth grinding together as he forced himself forward. He could hear the Rangers somewhere behind him, Ramirez’s orders echoing off the walls as they engaged a patrol team in the alley. The stairwell muted the rattling gunfire, a vague shout from one of the Rangers answering one of the questions he hadn’t wanted to voice aloud.
They’d found Hoyle –
Alone.
A new voice interrupted his thoughts. Angry words echoing down the hallways, he didn’t need to understand the language to know they were insults and threats. The grip at his throat faded as the hall was plunged back into silence, the only sound coming from the muffled guns on a different floor. Pierson stumbled to a stop, frame freezing as he strained to pick up sounds from the surrounding rooms. He knew Luciel was still alive – he felt the steady thrum across the tether. But it did nothing to ease the hollowness beneath his ribs.
The fear was fading.
Pulled back beneath the surface by a white knuckled grip. A quiet anxiety buzzing steadily as anger and vitriol slowly smothered it. The acceptance was unsettling. He recognized it for what it was, the practiced, manufactured calm that came from experienced soldiers. The dull acknowledgement that came when they were reaching the end of their rope with no way of knowing whether they’d survive the next conflict.
Vaguely, he wondered if she’d put the pieces together already. He thought back to conversations they’d had, brows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint a change. There was a part of him that wondered if she’d known since Kasserine. At the same time, nothing had changed. She’d treated him the same way she always had – even before Kasserine. The same sarcastic barbs with the same unbothered expression even when he snapped back.
If she didn’t know – did she think he’d run too?
The thought made his stomach churn.
While Luciel seemed to have more answers than questions, it was entirely possible that she’d been just as lost in the aftermath of Kasserine. He’d heard about what happened to her platoon – everyone had. Whatever comfort might have come from the thought was smothered just as quickly by a new anxiety. If she didn’t know –
