Murmiss

🍭She/Her.🍭 🌺Artist and writer🌺 🍰multifandom💐

[murmiss]

Masterlist

1. about me.

2. masterlist of Character ai.-COD

3. Masterlist COD

4. Masterlist DbD

5. Masterlist Avatar.

6. Masterlist of Character ai.- TWD

7. Masterlist of Character ai.- slashers

8. Masterlist Stranger things

9. Masterlist of Character ai.- Stranger things

[murmiss]

Broken.

Short description: After a difficult mission, Simon loses the ability to walk, plunging into the abyss of despair. However, he is missing the only light of his life-You

Pairing: Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley.

Warning: mistakes in words, grammatical (remember, English is not my first language), Angst, but with a good ending, maybe swearing, anxiety, and I think that's it.

Part one

Part two.

It's been almost two weeks since Simon was able to be stabilized, and only then could you breathe a sigh of relief, although Simon constantly tried to push your help away.

"I don't need this, woman!" -he swore in a rough voice, but without hatred, as if he was afraid to really push you away.

"Si, honey, it's okay, it's simple.. You just need to sit here,"- you were holding the wheelchair while rushing to help him sit up, but he was trying his best to move it.

"Don't call me that!" -His voice was even angrier, and he pushed himself up on his hands, sitting on the hard chair and squeezing his legs together with hatred and moving them. He wanted them to do something, he wanted them to move, not be a chaotic piece of meat. He hated seeing you tired, and he hated being pathetic,but right now he was in a damn hopeless situation.

Until the very end, he hoped that they would give him an IV and an injection, and he would feel his legs again, even though he knew that it was all just a fantasy.

You took him to another physical therapy session, where a group of elderly people were struggling to stand, and he was just like them, weak and frail. He felt ashamed and afraid, uncomfortable under their gazes. The nurse's compassionate whisper made him want to disappear.

"Let's go, please," -you said, taking some of his weight on your own, just so he could make a simple movement, as weak and insignificant as he was.

He was going crazy, not wanting to be visited, but not saying anything about it, just nodding when your mother, a woman going through the same thing at her age, came to visit.

At home, things got worse. He saw your shoulders drooping with exhaustion, and he heard you sobbing occasionally out of despair, and that's when the hatred began to awaken. He felt like a burden, someone who wasn't worthy of living.

But what he didn't know was that you weren't crying out of frustration; you were crying out of a glimmer of hope when you discovered yet another vitamin labeled "improving blood circulation, helping with stroke recovery." It might have been a marketing ploy, but anything labeled as aiding in rehabilitation found its way into your shopping cart.

Early in the morning, Simon hadn't even woken up when you placed a tray on the bedside table.

"What's this?" he croaked, propping himself up on his elbows, sleepily kicking his feet off the bed to put on his fuzzy slippers, but he felt nothing again, frowning.

"Soaked dried fruits and nuts, and chicory instead of coffee," you said in a quiet, caring tone.

"What the hell is chicory?" he asked in a gruff tone, showing his disgust with the strange drink.

"Coffee is forbidden," you replied, and he sighed wearily, curling his lips in displeasure.

Simon hated all these rules, and most of all, how many times a day he had to answer stupid questions. He remembered everything, from your cat's birth date to other damn little things. His brain was fine!

The worst part was that he even remembered exactly how it all happened, and he knew that he couldn't do anything about it, either then or now.

It was a routine mission, like a thousand others: find the hostages, get them to safety, catch the ones you need to catch, and so on. He had a couple of new recruits with him, not exactly green, but not like his team. Then the shooting started, and Simon almost had the cartel leader cornered. One of the new recruits rushed in to intercept, but suddenly a gas hit his nose. The smell was pungent and strange, and Simon had no idea what it was, but his mask was filtering it out, and he didn't have time for gas, he was close to his target. And then something completely incomprehensible happened. The headache was sharp, but he didn't stop, trying to walk, even though it seemed like he wasn't moving. His legs didn't listen, as if one leg was just an appendage to his body. He reached out, almost grabbing the fugitive, but at that moment, the Ghost simply fell. The adrenaline rush made him jump to his feet, trying to take a few more steps, but Price caught him, scooping him up.

"How are all?"- asked Simon in a slurred voice, his handsome face contorted beneath the mask.

"Dead," Price replied bluntly. Ghost grumbled, "How?" But before he could finish, he collapsed again.

After that, it was all a blur—the hospital, the blurry faces, and his words repeating your name over and over. He couldn't die- you'd be upset.

Days continued to pass in a heavy cycle, and Simon was feeling worse and worse, not physically, but emotionally. He couldn't flirt with you as usual, knowing that he was paralyzed, and he couldn't act tough and manly, as his appearance didn't match. But these were just his thoughts, because no matter what happened, he was still the same hot and tough guy to you. It's just that life happens, and you would never leave him.

Jealousy was suffocating and disgusting, because from self-loathing he felt that you would leave, find someone better, and the way you hid your phone, not letting him read your correspondence, made him even more angry.

Yes, you were behaving strangely, but there were reasons for that. Therapeutic exercise did not give results, and then one of the doctors, looking at Simon's tests, suggested a completely different approach to treatment, not quite classical, but in any case, you clung to everything, to any examinations that could help.

Simon didn't like the new trainer, who was a strong man who smiled charmingly at you while Simon struggled to bend on the exercise machine. But your eyes were always focused on Simon.

After training, he felt a strange pain, but he didn't pay much attention to it, more annoyed by the high-calorie, protein-rich meals and the large amount of supplements, vitamins, and unknown rehabilitation pills, wondering why he needed so many of them.

But this mixture was everything he needed. And every damn day you waited for the result: the doctor said that Simon's brain was completely fine, as if his blood vessels were not affected and as if the diagnosis of 'stroke' was not accurate, but one thing was clear: something was affecting his nervous system like a parasite. Therefore, even the choice fell on adsorbents

And the treatment bore fruit. Waking up late at night to the sound of Simon whining, you jumped up, turning on the bedside lamp. Simon was cursing and making painful wheezing sounds, and his big toe on his left foot was moving and trembling. You immediately leaned over Simon's body, wrapping your hand around his toe, as if in disbelief. He woke up instantly, cursing, but you simply said happily, "Your toes."At first, he didn't understand, but later, in the morning, he realized it while sitting in the kitchen, in a chair, looking at his legs and moving his thumbs, the only thing moving on his legs.

That day, for the first time, he willingly went to physical therapy and with great enthusiasm seized on everything you offered, transformed literally in a day. You began to recognize your Simon.

He got back on his feet almost a month after he moved his fingers. It was abrupt, but expected, his muscles were stronger, as perfect as before. "It's impossible," the doctors kept saying, spreading their hands, but Simon stayed in a standing position for longer and longer.

And now it's been almost three months. He's walking around, blooming again. It was the first time he went out to the store on his own, heading to the flower shop early in the morning to pick up a bouquet of peonies and your favorite chocolate. He then made coffee and brought it to bed, intending to wake you up, but his gaze caught a piece of paper sticking out of the nightstand. Simon carefully placed the tray on the table, pulled out the crumpled sheet, and read the name and amount. It was the experimental medication. It was damn expensive.

Hearing you fidget, he immediately shoved the document into his pocket, crumpling it even more, and smiled as he met your sleepy face. "Hi, my little one."

"Si?" A smile immediately spreads across your face, and you reach up to rub your eyes, sitting up and gasping when you see the bouquet of pink peonies, your favorite.

However, Simon couldn't stop thinking about it, and later that evening, he couldn't wait any longer and asked you. You were wiping down the table in the living room, preparing for Simon's friends to arrive.

"The medicine... That Mr. Zahr prescribed... Where did you get the money?" Simon frowns, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The amount the rehab center quoted you was damned high—a housewife couldn't afford it. Where did you get the money? His insides twisted at the thought of you going into debt, humiliating yourself in front of others, all for someone like him—a dirty old dog, injured and unable to walk. Him! He should have been providing for you, being your support, your protection, not you, a fragile girl, carrying a cripple like him.

"From our account," you said quietly, looking away, not out of fear, but out of shame. That money had been carefully set aside for the wedding, saved for a cherished dream, but it didn't matter now. Not when you had a chance to put Simon back on his feet. What did it matter if there was a lavish wedding or a balance in the account when Simon's life was at stake?

Simon asked softly, his blue eyes boring into your face, searching for an explanation. At that moment, understanding what was on the bill didn't work in his head, but when he realized, his shoulders slumped in frustration and he just pursed his lips. It was the money.

"I couldn't do anything else," you continued, as if justifying yourself, looking up at him, wanting to look into his beloved eyes.

And in that moment, looking into your eyes, so beautiful and confident in your actions, he realized that he would put that damn ring on your lovely finger. These thoughts filled his chest with warmth, causing him to smile to himself and look down at the floor. His thoughts were a jumble of images: the soft sunlight falling on you, the beautiful ring, your favorite pink apron with ruffles, and your bare legs. Unconsciously, he swallows the lump in his throat and sighs, coming to his senses almost immediately as he hears your soft, plaintive voice: "Simon?" Your eyes are watering, and your hands are reaching up to wipe away the tears that are coming from the excitement, but before you can even raise your hands, Simon gently wraps his arms around your face, leaning in towards you. He gently rests his forehead against yours, and whispers softly, "It's okay, my light, I'm not angry."

He hugs you so damn tight, gently kissing the top of your head and whispering, "You are my light, my love."

[murmiss]

Broken.

Short description: After a difficult mission, Simon loses the ability to walk, plunging into the abyss of despair. However, he is missing the only light of his life-You.

Pairing: Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley.

Warning: mistakes in words, grammatical (remember, English is not my first language), Angst, but with a good ending, maybe swearing, anxiety, and I think that's it.

(In fact, I wanted something simple about love.)

Part two

Part one.

"Be careful, marriage is serious,"

"Stop, Simon, it's a damn cage with a wild snake inside, and if you take a step, you'll get bitten,"

"It's all dog shit,"

Simon heard over and over again as he sat in a bar late at night with his Comrades, his team, or, in other words, his friends. They were celebrating Johnny's divorce. John Mactavish was Simon's closest friend, someone who could read him like a book and who would never judge him, and that day he came to listen to Johny's stories about his married life. Margaret was a dream, everything that Mactavish could have dreamed of: she was beautiful, very sweet, and his mother liked her a lot. Their dates were like flashes of stars in the sky, just as impressive and bright. Johnny's wedding was a lavish affair, just as Margo had envisioned, sharing her fantasies in the evenings, typical but sweet and long-awaited: a white dress, a long veil, and a path strewn with rose petals.Soap was overjoyed: a beautiful wife waiting for him at home, a sense of completeness and idyll, until hell broke loose. It started small, Margo started forgetting to cook dinner, she was on her own, distracted and not really interested in Johnny's affairs, but he thought she was just tired. Then she stopped responding to messages, leaving Johnny in the dark and worried during his work and missions. He needed letters, he wanted to know that everything was fine, but he only met a cold back. And then the arguments started. One hysteria after another, broken vases and accusations, it all came crashing down on Johnny's head, and he'd spent the past few weeks, almost his entire vacation, dealing with the damn divorce.

For Simon, this was significant, as he always believed that marriage destroys relationships and corrupts people. This was his conclusion when, as a child, his mother often spoke about Simon's father, saying, "He never drank until we got married, and he loved me so much that he gave me flowers." This was a vivid memory that came to Simon's mind whenever the word "marriage" was mentioned. For him, marriage was something that could transform people in a matter of seconds, and he never intended to get married. Especially now, hearing his friend's disappointment.

But that didn't mean he was going to hide from the opposite sex. In fact, he didn't even understand how it happened, because what started as a simple one-night stand turned into something he couldn't comprehend. On that fateful day, you simply stayed the next morning. Dressed in his old terry robe, which was too big for you, but you managed to tie it around your waist. You made him a delicious cup of coffee, and although Simon remained silent, he spent a long time wondering how it happened. Why, when he made coffee in that damn coffee pot, it tasted like something absolutely disgusting, but now your coffee tasted like a real paradise? Something delicate, with a velvety taste of roasted beans, with a slight hint of cream. Where did you get the milk from?

He's never felt so cared for. Damn! You were supposed to be a one-night stand, just another bar encounter, but now you, a girl he barely knows, has ordered delivery, managed to set up a goddamn coffee machine that's been sitting there for months, all for the sake of making him coffee? It's strange.

He didn't realize how he'd fallen into the trap. Maybe it was the women's allure. Or maybe it was just the oxytocin making him feel this way. Is this what love feels like? Simon can't answer that, but he feels a damn need to protect, a sense of unease that scratches at his insides like sharp fingernails when you fall asleep without responding to his messages. He's not weak, he's not in love, because he doesn't know how to love. Does he?

It was only a couple of months before you moved in together, and Simon's house came to life almost instantly. A quaint ruffled blanket covered his bed, and a nightlight with a projection of different planets appeared on the nightstand. At first, he thought he wouldn't get used to your nightlight, but soon, during periods of insomnia, he would gaze at the ceiling, feeling comforted by the weight of your head on his shoulder and the slow-moving projection of planets that dimly illuminated the room. Irish coffee in the morning? And to be more precise, coffee with the flavor of cream.Cream?!- an unknown mixture for Simon, but damn tasty, if he admit. For breakfast, scrambled eggs, and strangely enough, not burnt, like bacon, a sandwich for a snack, and quite soon lunch. Simon didn't have the habit of eating as much as you put in his portion, stating with your insolent voice and charming smile: "My mother said that a man should eat a lot to stay healthy!"

And Simon replied, "Really? " and couldn't help but smile. He didn't wear a mask at home, feeling comfortable and unjudged.

Life seemed peaceful, until a new series of endless missions began, quite ordinary for Simon, but terrifying for you. Day after day, you kept saying, "Maybe you shouldn't go," "Stay with me, please," "I had a dream about you getting into trouble." It was so obsessive that you grabbed onto him, but his once gentle face became rigid, and despite his careful attempts to push you away, you felt a wave of pain in your chest, fading and rekindling deep beneath your ribs. It wasn't the first time he had left, but for some reason, it was terrifyingly scary, to the point of trembling and hysteria.

When he left, you prayed, as strange as it may sound. It was a prayer for protection and health, and your heart ached for your beloved. The first few days were difficult, as you waited for a simple letter, and the question "How is he?" was on your mind almost every hour. When the letter arrived, it was a brief message saying "I'm fine." It brought you peace, and you continued to live with a sense of relief, although your heart occasionally burned with worry, and your nights became sleepless and difficult. Perhaps it was for a good reason.

The call came sometime around midnight, the already familiar ringtone loud in the dark bedroom, the song by Katy Perry, your favorite, set once and for all and ironically left in place as the one you've grown accustomed to. You jumped up from your seat almost instantly, opening your eyes, feeling your heart rate spike and the intensity of your hands shaking as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, staring at the unfamiliar number. The numbers blurred in your eyes, and your brain couldn't figure out who was calling. After your mother had her stroke, the late-night calls were the worst.Everything was fine then, or rather it was fine, but thanks to your quick reaction, the ambulance managed to help.

"Yes?" - you ask, coming to your senses a little, already thinking that this is some kind of prank and intending to scold them, not knowing that the next words will be the worst you've ever heard in your life.

"Simon's in the hospital, he asked for you," said a completely unfamiliar voice with a distinct Scottish accent, but you didn't care about that anymore. Your tongue stumbled as you almost shouted into the phone, "What? What?" interrupting the caller. The man only gave you the address and then hung up.

You dressed on autopilot, frantically rushing to the closet and grabbing the first thing that came to hand, not caring about how wrinkled the clothes were or whether they even went together. What could say, when a shiver ran from your feet to your shoulders, and a dull pain pressed against your solar plexus. The muffled sobs didn't stop, you hopped on one leg, trying to pull on the jeans, completely unaware that you were putting them on the wrong side, the legs didn't listen and you just couldn't get into the trouser leg, but with the fifth attempt, you still managed. The T-shirt was at least put on the right side, socks of different colors, sneakers. You ran around the apartment, grabbing the car keys, but then realized that you couldn't even insert the keys, so you decided to take a taxi.

Did you take the keys to your house? You don't remember, but the important thing is that you had money in your pocket, a cash card, and your phone.

You didn't even check to see if you'd closed the door, a silly and absurd habit when your anxiety got the better of you and you returned with annoyance, which Simon had teased you about, but you didn't have time for that now.

The taxi fare was not cheap, the hospital was damn far out of town, and the taxi driver was grumbling angrily, but he accepted the sloppy tip with a smug, satisfied smile. The hospital was quiet, and several nurses tried to stop you, but all you could do was repeat the same, adrenaline-fueled phrase: "Where is my husband?" Fortunately, the guy with the mohawk, who had apparently made the call, shouted, "She's with us," and the nurse, with a displeased expression, let you pass. Your legs felt weak, your eyes darted around the door to the ward, where a man in uniform, with a beard and a hat was standing, he was reading the rules of visiting the ward.You tried to push past him, brazenly and presumptuously, but he just stopped you, asking, "You.. "-but before he could finish, you, a fragile-looking girl, at least compared to a big guy like Price, managed to rudely and easily push him away from you, breaking into the room.

Simon, your Simon, your sweet Simon. He was lying on the bed with a bunch of tubes, an IV, and surrounded by machines. You reached out, gently touching his hand, your eyes darting around his face in horror, trying to see what was wrong with him, trying to read him, but you couldn't understand anything. Yes, there were bandages, but it didn't look critical, so what was wrong with him? Would he live? Was he in a coma?

The days passed like a hellish blur, and he only opened his eyes, sometimes uttering incoherent words that were completely incomprehensible, but then, on the third day, he was able to whisper your name. It was a difficult task for him, just as it was incredibly painful for you to look at him. He was injured, but not in the same way as a bullet wound. His diagnosis was much more severe and distressing. It was a stroke.

No one could explain how a big guy like Simon, with his horse-like, robust health, could get such a disease. It just happened suddenly, and no one could figure out how, when he came out, trying to speak incoherently, but he couldn't, and then the medics took him away so quickly that even Johnny didn't have time to find out anything.

The prognosis is terrifying: from paralysis, coma, complete loss of consciousness and memory, to death. This is the case of Simon the Ghost of Riley. He has seen and experienced everything, and his body has seen and endured it all. He has been injured by shrapnel, bullets, and knives, and his body has known it all, but it has failed him in the most unexpected way.

It has been like playing a game of roulette, where one shot could mean life or death.

All this time, you hadn't even thought about food, you didn't feel like eating, and your mind was empty, while other people's words were just noise, like the sound of water, rain, and a running machine. You practically lived there.

Fortunately, everything became clear later. His condition improved every day, he saw you, remembered everything, and could speak. He had a good appetite: the charlotte, hastily prepared just because Simon mentioned that he missed it, disappeared at the speed of light, as he ate everything.

However, there was one problem. His legs had given up. He simply couldn't move them, and it was killing him from the inside.

But never mind, you pull out your Simon, as you helped your mother back then, and you won't give up. Your Simon, your love.

[murmiss]

hey hey, hi, how are you? I haven't heard from you since (I'm not sure if I wrote this set expression correctly in English).

I hope you are doing well and you are just resting now or just living well. It's so sad without your creativity. Anyway, I'm not that good with words, but I hope you are doing well, don't forget to drink more water, especially because it's summer now

Hi!

Sorry I replied late. My "open air" ended, and, thank God, I closed all on good grades.

Summer is rainy, then scorching sun, then showers with hail.. But in any case, thank you for your concern! I am very pleased that remember me

About the stories:

I woke up and decided to re-check my notes and came to the conclusion that new stories should be completed and already posted, as well as the continuation of the old ones. And thus, I have such plots:

1) about the neglected beta, I have two different lines, one with Konig and Kortac, and the other with the beta leaving the pack, but it's not that simple.

2) about Price's daughter, I have a next chapter where we delve deeper into the relationship between Reader and Konig.

3) I had an unfinished headcanon on the Yandere Simulator! Soap

4) the story "our love", I have a chapter, but oh damn, there are some violent descriptions, like 'fights' (with a rather severe wound that is described).. Well, almost, and I'm a little afraid to post it on Tumblr, although I think I'll put a lot of notes before the chapter

5) And there are also stories about a school project where the Popular Boy! Simon and the reader are forced to be together, babysitting a robot baby for a social project,

6) a story about the Queen, Simon, the King, and the second Queen, the mistress, all in the spirit of novels and manhwa

7) Zombie apocalypse here are two stories, the first about a red-haired reader, with a rather self-indulgent character, and the second story about cities, inequality and conflicts, where the reader-possesses an antigen, her relatives are sick, but no one cares, because they are among the important people. In general, I actually love the theme of the apocalypse, and I thought to touch on the topic of Fallout and shelters, maybe write specific small sketches with individual characters or a story plot. There are outlines of several stories with a reader-pathologist , Angst with surrogacy with a good ending, Well, I was also thinking about Au with an avatar. That is.. I've seen bots and stories where the reader is the na'vi, but where the navi is 141, I haven't come across yet..

Oh.. Well, wait in the near future. You can write what you want to see first, I will take into account all the wishes

Thank you again for your kind words and attention!!♥️♥️♥️

[murmiss]

Good day, how are you? I hope you are doing well, it's just that you stopped publishing sequels to your fascinating stories and I was worried (;-;)

Oh, hi! I remember you ♥️

Yes, I'm fine, it's just that college exams are coming up, it's time to hang up our paintings and it's time for summer plein air painting (I don't know how to say it in English, but it's when we paint outdoors).

The exams will continue next week.

About the works: I'm writing several versions about Beta at once, and I also have a piece written about Price's daughter.

And the most interesting thing is a new story about the apocalypse and TF141 in progress.

I will try to post as early as possible! ♥️

[murmiss]

Price's neglected daughter!Reader and kidnapper!Konig

Warning:Brief mention of kidnapping sleeping pills,swearing, possible mistakes in words, grammar. English is not my first language.I might have missed mistakes, don't be afraid to point them out to me.

Finally, everything fell into place and his daughter, his own blood, came home. The days without her seemed like hell, a meaningless confusion of days and weeks, empty and soulless moments of life. But now that Megan was back, nothing mattered. At first, when she first came home, Price insisted that she take an academic leave, but the girl was determined, and with her signature smile and the help of light words, she managed to convince her father to let her continue her studies. She knew the entire program perfectly, which sometimes confused the teachers - how could she know all this? But on the other hand, now she was fine, safe and sound.

When Megan showed up, rumors spread everywhere, and in the tiny town where they lived, calm times finally came. It was as if no one had thought about such basic things and inconsistencies as "why did Megan Price disappear and suddenly appear after almost two years? What happened to her? Where was she all this time?" Everyone seemed to be just happy that she was back.

It was as if Price had come back to life with her appearance.

Clubs, movies, melodramas, a trip out of town to an old family house by the lake? Hell, everything Megan wanted was done instantly with 100% dedication.

Is your phone acting up? No problem, we'll buy a new one, but we'll definitely install an app to track your location. Want a new dress? Order one, here's daddy's card. A party at the university? Oh no, daddy will worry and will wait for you at the university. A few words of concern enveloped Megan from all sides. Price was tracking her, the old lady next door was looking suspiciously at Megan's friend, and the salesperson at the store where Megan went every lunch to buy coffee and a candy bar from the machine, was wary of strange people who were looking at Meg.

It seemed that the entire tiny town had united and protected Megan Price from danger.

Price's colleagues were also the most defensive,

Simon became a loyal "dog" - when Price couldn't, Simon met Megan on his motorcycle. And it didn't matter that you were standing there too, that you also needed a ride home.

Gaz was tracking the location with his devices, Soap was damn busy buying expensive anatomy books, sweets or some complex and unusual wishes for Meg, meeting her after university, like the others.

And where were you? That's right, but on the same day. For some reason, from the very beginning, even your father's colleagues did not accept you, the old lady next door disliked you, considering you "the evil eye of the family", like when you were around, something went wrong with Megan.

So when you suddenly disappeared, changing places with the once missing Megan, no one paid attention. Not your father, not the neighbors, not even the teachers.

But after an indefinite amount of time, it was noticed, and it wasn't your father who noticed first, no. It was the institute. The semester was ending and the session was starting, everyone was taking exams, everything would be fine, but you still hadn't turned up. Then one of the teachers in charge of attendance turned to Megan, deciding to find out what the problem was.

Wednesday, the middle of the day, a woman, a brunette in her forties with a short haircut, dressed in a striped sweater, trousers with clearly ironed creases and patent leather shoes - Mrs. Rocks, stopped Meg, calling out to the girl in a respectful tone: "Miss Price".

Megan, hearing the voice of her philosophy teacher, was distracted, and with a smile turned around, stopping and answering: "Yes, Mrs. Rocks?"

The philosophy teacher came closer, sighing wearily from a week of paperwork. woman stared at her papers, reading the names carefully: "Harris, Bronton, Fox, oh, Price. Megan, I have a serious question for you..." Megan gasped, immediately embarrassed, her eyes still on Mrs. Rocks's speech. "The thing is, your little sister hasn't been around lately. She's had quite a few absences."

Megan sighs sadly, looks down at the floor and fidgets in one place, adjusting her backpack, saying with anxiety in her voice: "Oh, miss.. If only it were that simple.. My little sister is very ill, she is with her mother in Germany now.. We did not want to tell anyone, but it is very serious..". Woman looks up from the documents and looks at the young lady in front of her in surprise. Her heart squeezes at the thought of how hard it is for Megan and her family right now, and she, losing all sternness, replies: "I am very sorry, Miss Price.. I wish your family could get over this as soon as possible..". Woman pauses and after a few moments continues: "Your sister can send assignments by mail, e-mail. I think this will help her stay afloat for a while."

Megan smiles faintly and sincerely replies: "Thank you, Miss, your understanding is very valuable to us" and almost immediately, the girl reaches out to hug the philosophy teacher. This informal gesture was the final note of the game that Megan started. Woman, not expecting a hug, turned out to be damn upset and feeling the mother's protectiveness, the desire to help, hugged Meg back, repeating once again: "I sympathize with your family, Miss Price.."

It was already a dark night, little was clear, but you didn't want to ask questions. Chemistry, anatomy, histology and other subjects were exhausting and torturous, especially when they were difficult for you, so when Konig brought you to his house, you weren't even scared. Was he a friend of your father's? Yes, and that was enough.

The living room was quite dark, despite the light gray wallpaper. The furniture was dark, a black terry blanket was laid out on the wide sofa, and there were strange pictures of owls on the pillows. They were so stupid that you couldn't stand it, grabbed one of them and started squeezing it.

"Tea, coffee? Cherry juice, orange juice?" - you were interrupted by Konig's voice, who entered the living room, in his hands he was holding a gray plastic tray with plates of snacks. The first one, with a tiny red flower, had strawberry marshmallows, the blue flat plate had cookies with marshmallow layers, and the orange deep bowl had little fish cookies mixed in with wafers laid on top.

So delicious. Oh, your father never cared what you drank, like tea or something sweet you wanted.

"Is anyone else coming?" you ask, expecting to see his wife, maybe his girlfriend, or someone from Price's group, because the portion was too big.

"No, just us," he says, sitting down next to you, slowly, as if approaching a fawn that is about to break free and run away. Sitting down next to you, you notice his size again: he is big, an incredible mountain of muscle. He was nervously stroking his knee, holding his head up, he sat tensely, squinting at you and saying nothing. A fucking weird guy, oh well.

"Oh, yeah, right, what drink?" he immediately stands up, couch creaks under his weight, and he immediately turns to you

"tea," you interrupt, sighing tiredly and stretching out your leg, leaning back on the back of the couch and propping your head up with your hand, sitting sideways to him, stretched out like a doe.

He swallows nervously, not taking his eyes off you, but, having come to his senses, immediately heads to the kitchen. His gait was strange, his legs were shaking slightly, and his arms were dangling, as if they were separate. Before he finally disappeared, he glanced at your figure. You had already turned away, resting your head on your hands and looking boredly behind the sofa.

His palms were sweat, hands were shaking, and his head was spinning from just thinking. He took the teapot, the mug with lilies and splashed boiling water, mixing it with the tea leaves. Then he looked around again, checking where you were, and making sure that you had not moved from your place, sitting just as beautifully and perfectly, Konig reached for the sugar bowl, and damn! immediately knocking over the neighboring cans. "Fuck!" - curses flew from his lips. From nerves, he shook even more. Hearing a quiet question: "What happened?", Konig, stuttering, answers: "Everything is fine, Mein Engel." and again grabs the spoon and nervously stirs the sleeping pill, biting his lip.

"He's taking so long," flashes through your mind. You sigh tiredly and look down at your phone. "7:00 p.m." You damn well need to go home and you'll probably have to make do with cookies. You get to your feet, wanting to go home, to ask Konig to take you there, cursing under your breath - if your father notices, he'll scold you.

"Where are you going?" - a confused deep voice sounds nearby, you come to your senses almost instantly and look at him in confusion, saying: "I need to go home", to which Konig only laughs and, putting the mugs on the table, casually puts his hand on the small of your back. Light pressure is enough to make you sit back. At first you want to be indignant, but then you think again: your father wouldn't care, where are you rushing to? What are you even worried about?

"Guests shouldn't leave hungry" - he answers boldly, sitting down next to you again, this time more casually, the sofa creaks again and you jump slightly when the sofa springs from the Konig's weight.

"I thought my father would worry" - you answer, shrugging your shoulders and thoughts fly through your head about how damn stupid all this is. Konig laughs, and your cheeks flush with shame, as if he knew about your suffering, as if he was ridiculing your stupid thoughts about Price remembering you, especially now that Megan was found. You feel like a Dumbass.

You sigh for the umpteenth time, reach out and take the mug, bring it to your lips and take a small sip. The hot, sweet liquid runs down your throat, burning it, and a strange taste settles on your tongue. It must be some kind of specific, unusual tea. You look at Konig again. What a strange mask he has.

Konig smiles to himself, his hands are shaking, and his eyes are wide, as if looking into his very soul. He put on his usual hood, comfortable and hiding any strange facial expressions.

You feel relaxed, as if a heavy load fell off your shoulders in an instant. You immediately stretch your legs, reach for the tray and grab a cookie with marshmallow inside, put it in your mouth, biting off and smacking your lips with pleasure. For some reason it seemed five times tastier. You take another cookie, then a marshmallow, then you take a fish-shaped cookie and smile involuntarily.

"So funny" - you look at Konig, and he looks like stone, frozen in anticipation

For some reason you feel sleepy...

Third chapter is in progress, it will be more interesting there.I'm sorry that this chapter didn't come out for a long time.

If you need to be mentioned in the following chapters, write to me.,

@veryrawknees , @fightmebissh

Part one

[murmiss]

will you continue the first version? Personally I can’t get into the new one, mostly because idk who those characters are, but also because the first two parts were very intriguing, coming in strong with the angst and this is just ‘meh’.

Hi, yes, I will continue the first version too. I think it will be like rehabilitation and an attempt of pack 141 to become a normal pack.

in the end, this story is planned to have different endings

[murmiss]

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part4

Warnings: alcohol, a bit obsessive, amorous mood, I don't know what else to add, except to warn about possible mistakes, repetitions of words, mistakes in grammar. Valeria was also added to the story, and I want to know if you are interested in seeing her too.

I checked the text several times, but if I missed something, don't be afraid to let me know, sometimes I don't notice obvious mistakes

in my head, I have the outlines of another branch of the Story, where, on the contrary, TF141 would be a Good Pack, or another one where they would realize themselves.

I'm also thinking of creating a bot on the topic of "Beta Reader" based on this story.

This is an alternative version,

"So... you're just walking? Alone.. At night.. On the highway.." - Kruger's deep baritone sounded. He was a large man, with very developed hands, and it even seemed that his hands were bigger than Ghost or Soap's.

You involuntarily sighed, looking at them, and your gaze moved from one to the other. Maybe they are not such idiots, since they decided to really help you and take you away from the terrible road and disgusting rain.

"ahem-ahem" - Horangi coughs, and then his ringing laughter, when he, clearly enjoying the fact that you are looking at him, cheerfully said: "well, princess? Finally, you saw it..." - before he can finish, Konig sharply nudges him in the side with his elbow, forcing Horangi to choke from the sharp pain and giggle again, but still shut up after a few moments and continue the trip

It was dark outside, and the light on in the car didn't allow you to see anything out the back window, forcing you to stare stupidly at your own reflection.

Disgusting. Tousled, wet hair, wrinkled clothes and smudged mascara were something very contrasting with your usual perfect appearance. A broken image of a good girl, an exemplary housewife and a modest beta.

You grin, look with annoyance, make a face, trying to depict in your own facial expressions, in a grin, all your hatred. Towards yourself or towards your pack? You don't know.

You look up, and after a few moments you notice a pair of eyes. Kruger, the fucking bastard, was looking back at the reflection and smiling. Out of fear or embarrassment you let out a squeal and turn your face to this impudent bastard and... you can't say anything... he looks at you, smiles impudently and his cheeks turn crimson with shame. You mumble something unintelligible, but Kruger's laughter interrupts, and his cheerful voice says: "be careful, we have a little thing with fangs here."

It seems that your cheeks become even redder, and you lower your gaze to your knees, suddenly falling into your melancholic state.

They laugh at you again. Again and again.

Kruger's face changes from brave to panicked in a matter of seconds and he hesitates a little, his hand hovering over your back and hesitating, not understanding whether he can touch you.

Konig's growl came from the front seats, damn protective, leader and warning: "Kruger, damn you"

Kruger smiles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head and stares off to the side. A couple of minutes of driving in silence and then, having plucked up courage and calmed down, you say: "Ah.. Eh... Where are we going?"

Horangi breaks into a smile and says boldly: "To your new home", and Konig again sharply and painfully nudges his comrade in the side with his elbow. The big guy did not want to scare you at all, but in his thoughts everything was already determined.

“To our pack home.” - Kruger corrected the situation, again drawing attention to himself.

You just sigh. You don't really care who you're going to. More precisely, you know that you're safe, that they, even though they're a bunch of idiots, won't touch you.

Your thoughts involuntarily return to your pack, and your shoulders involuntarily sag. You peer into the darkness again, but this time, stuck, looking at one point, you already see alternating trees, shimmering in the light of the lanterns and smoothly growing into country houses.

They're probably all having fun. They're probably happy, they're well-fed and don't even think about where you are, and that makes your soul even heavier.

You're pulled out of the stream of depressive thoughts by a light pat on your knee. You look over and see Kruger's hand on your knee. He's not being rude, not flirting, but as if he's giving you that little bit of support you need.

You nod unconsciously, sigh again, and as soon as the car stalls near one of the dark houses, you jump out without thinking. It's chilly outside, and your skin is covered in goosebumps, and you shudder, hunching slightly, Trying to warm yourself, you hug yourself with your arms. However, literally a few moments later, a heavy leather jacket with some old-fashioned stripes falls on your shoulders. You turn around and meet the silent gaze of a man in a hood - Konig gave you his jacket, although it was several steps to the house.

Horangi whistles and, getting out of the car after the others, immediately goes to the trunk, starting to unload his own purchases.

"Wow," you sigh and carefully, with interest, examine the boxes. Even in your pack eat less, damn it. A few cases of beer, bags of groceries.

Konig looks at your curious face for a long moment and can’t help but smile. Suddenly, he takes a pack of strawberry marshmallows out of his bag and hands them to you. You think for a few seconds, then carefully take them and say warningly, “I don’t have any money with me.” To which Konig grunts, grinning and says with obvious amusement in his voice, “No need for money, these are for you, baby.” You step in his way again and, not quite understanding their behavior, simply nod, deciding not to ask questions. Horangi, peeking out from behind the slightly open front door, curses again in pure Korean and immediately dilutes it with English: “이리 오세요! 그 여자를 얼어붙게 하지 마!(Damn it! Don’t freeze birdie!)! Konig, bring her here!”.

And as if by a snap of his fingers, Konig came to his senses and immediately led you to the house, finally allowing you to look at the interior of his pack's cottage. It was interesting to you, it had once seemed larger than your pack's house, but it was still unusual.

Hearing a clear female voice, growling harshly with a strong accent, you immediately became nervous, standing at the threshold, unable to take a step further into the house. Omega. Of course, they were not trying to hit on you, and their compliments were nothing more than just a kind gesture. Of course, they would choose an omega. Unconsciously, images of a girl, an omega with character, whom Konig was hugging, popped into your thoughts, and the mental comparison led to the realization of your own inferiority. Their cute nicknames and phrases were nothing more than a kind gesture. You involuntarily winced, and then came to your senses. Do you even care? This is not your pack. What do you care about their damn omega? But honestly, somewhere deep down you still hoped that all these weird compliments were real.

You were immediately brought to your senses by a voice and, looking up from the floor, you met bright, black eyes. It was a woman of a strong, athletic build, taller, with dark short hair and a clearly dominant nature. You had never seen such an omega before.

Woman spoke: "¿Quién demonios es ese? ¿Es la chica?" (Who the hell is that? Who's the girl?).

You immediately felt goosebumps crawling down your back and opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but before you could even figure it out, the suffocating aroma of rum and cinnamon hit your nose. You involuntarily squirmed and slowly, from nerves, but surely realized that in front of you was not an omega but an alpha. Why would she release so many pheromones if they had no effect on you? You're a beta, not an omega, and the last thing you care about is what they smell like or what cologne they wear.

The woman grins and clicks her tongue, comes closer and grabs your chin with her fingers rather roughly, turning your head from side to side, saying something in another language: "hermosa" (beautiful)." You frown again, hugging yourself protectively, you are still shaking from the alcohol you drank earlier, and the distinct weakness and approaching fatigue make everything much worse. You do not answer, and behind your back you hear another growl of the leader. It was worth Konig to be distracted for a couple of seconds, as someone is already laying claim to his bird?.. That is, of course, his flock can pay attention.. But until he leaves HIS mark, he will subconsciously perceive this as rivalry. Valeria is a woman, as many say, "with balls", she is cunning, strong in character and will, drives many betas and omegas crazy.

Konig's growl was uncontrollable, just seeing his birdie being touched sent him into protective mode.

Protecting and guarding, loving, building a nest, marking - everything that was spinning in his head, making him choke at the thought of puppies, or at the slightest touch to you, everything that was deep in his obsessive brain. He was not ashamed, but in his soul he, like his pack, felt relief at the thought that everything turned out this way. Finally, finally you were alone, without the control of your shitty pack, finally you were no longer looking through rose-colored glasses at a gang of people who did not appreciate you.

And finally you saw him. Your beautiful eyes, the curve of your lips, the smile, even if sarcastic - all this was like a curse, making him, the old colonel, feel trembling in his legs. And he damn well shouldn't have given his heart to some girl. But he did, and he doesn't regret it one bit.

"Calm down, big guy, I'm just curious," Valeria replied with a smirk, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her brown gaze never leaving the leader. She knew how weak he was towards you.

You look at one of them and then the other with confusion, and you can't help but clear your throat, seeing their obvious resistance. "Can I go in further or should I call a taxi?".

"No!" - a growling voice interrupted you almost immediately, and you frowned even more: "No, I mean..."

"In that very one, birdie, you're coming here" - Horangi diluted the atmosphere, leaning out into the corridor with his signature smile. In response, you sigh, follow the Korean, leaving a couple of Alphas to sort things out with each other.

You walk into the living room, it is a large, rather spacious space. The sofa is long, made up of several blocks, or, to be more precise, several sofas pushed together into one long structure. There are several armchairs along the edges and a small, but long, low table in the middle, on which snacks and drinks were already laid out. At the sight of multi-colored bottles with bright labels, you feel nausea creeping up on you, remembering that same shitty tincture that you bought for pennies an hour earlier.

You want to go to the couch, but decide to look in the mirror for a few seconds, and then, without paying attention, take a step towards the couch. But immediately suspecting something is wrong, you turn around and meet your reflection in the eyes. This is fucked up.

Mascara is smeared across your cheeks, and your wet hair is fluffed up and disheveled. The sundress is not bad, but wrinkled.

"This is shit" - you whisper, sighing, demonstrating all your disgust. Although what did you expect? As if something colossal would happen in half an hour's drive, but, unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale.

"I completely disagree" - a rough voice is heard from behind, forcing you to reflexively turn around with a squeal and meet the gaze of blue eyes. That idiot Kruger again? or... wait... no.

The man is wearing a mask, big black sweatpants and a T-shirt with blue and white stripes. You frown again, but you don't take your hand off your chest, you can still feel your heart beating. Who the hell is this?

"И все же ты такая милая (You're such a cutie,)" the Russian words are clear. You frown again, to which the man chuckles. He stands with his hands in his pockets, but slowly and deliberately he pulls one hand out, reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, saying with tenderness in his voice, "Don't frown, smiling suits you better."

Why do they even care about your appearance? What the hell do they even want, you have absolutely no idea. And there is only one thing on your mind, the desire to drink and fall face down into soft pillows, in your warm room and soft fluffy blanket.

"Have you met Nikto? This big guy is the most secretive, you know" - once again the atmosphere is saved by Horangi, who nodded towards the table with a smile - "come here, birdie".

"Why birdie?" - you ask, moving closer to the middle, hoping that you will not disturb anyone.

"Why birdie? You know, they are so tiny, they need a nest, protection and all the love" - ​​the Korean laughs easily.

What does he even mean?

You nod again, this time you are silent. Konig, Valeria, Kruger enter the living room. Kruger was shirtless, in only shorts, and, finally, without a mask.

So interesting.. For the first time you see some without their signature masks, and out of curiosity you look at his features, absorbing every scar that adorns his face, not even noticing how this idiot plays with his muscles. Curiosity about his face completely distracted you from his chiseled muscles.

Horangi pours a bottle into glasses and, distracted, you take it, boldly taking sips, not looking away from Kruger. Surprisingly, his wide black eyebrows suited him, adding unreal brutality.

A sudden rustle on the left brought you to your senses and, turning your gaze, you immediately meet the face of the bare chest of the Konig. Even sitting, he remained big guy.

The alcohol you drank, mixed with a new portion loosened your tongue and you, smiling, asked in a perky voice: "What kind of wet T-shirt contest is this?"

Konig just smiles under his mask, watching your reaction carefully, sitting down more comfortably and stretching out his legs. He was still a big man fellow, with strong muscles.

One glass follows another, and you feel how the previous misunderstanding and fear evaporate damn fast, leaving behind a feeling of freedom. You don’t want to remember the existence of packs, betas, omegas or Alphas. There is only you, a bunch of cool guys, and all this alcohol on the table.

“Oh, I didn’t say that!” you laugh, smiling from ear to ear and not taking your eyes off the Konig’s face. He was sitting without a mask, like everyone else in this living room. Valeria’s laughter attracts you again and you turn your gaze to the woman, swallowing nervously when she shoots her eyes, winks, whispering hotly: “Oh, no, cariño.” In response, you giggle and turn your gaze with interest to Nikto, who was sitting in the chair to the right of you, only smiles, and, having finished peeling the tangerine, stretches it out, calling out “Детка (Baby).”

For the first time in these few hours, you felt like a person, a personality. And what is there to say? Honestly, you yourself didn’t know that you could talk for so long and, most importantly, be listened to.

Oh my God, you’re drunk as hell, and you’re happy, without a single thought.

“Stay with us,” a quiet voice asks in complete silence. You frown, sleepily open your eyes and answer just as quietly: “Why?”

Who are you with anyway? Where are you anyway? There was too much alcohol for you to remember every conversation.

A soft kiss touched your forehead, and you also frowned sleepily, fidgeting in bed and squinting at the man in front of you. The big guy looked with tenderness, with love, and with which he tried to express himself: “You got into my soul, under my skin, under my ribs. I need you, my pack needs you.”

Just the words alone make your soul feel warm... And you just smile silly before your eyes close and sleep takes you somewhere far away.

Your opinion is very important to me. You can ask me to tag you in the next chapter in the comments. Also, please tell me if you are interested in seeing Valeria in the story

___________________

@sheepispink

[murmiss]

I would enjoy your works but you use Ai 🙄

Hi, thank you for your comment.

But I want to refute that statement.

All my stories are the fruit of my thoughts, my long sketches in my notebook, and I treat them very carefully, that's why I write for a long time.

English is not my first language and like others I use translators, paper Dictionary for translation and my own knowledge. For example, I use the classic Google translator and Deepl, which I found on the Internet, because it is very important for me to make it easier for readers to read.

And if you want to know more, to read all those crooked and first drafts of chapters, I can drop them into my telegram channel

And so that I don't get asked any more questions like that, here's my telegram channel. there are my sketches (drawings) from different times, and now I will drop fragments of chapters there.

Telegram

[murmiss]

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part 3

(No special warnings, possible unpleasant descriptions,mistakes in words and grammar ,but in this chapter I go back to thinking "what if those assholes hadn't caught her then?".

I think I'm going to be putting up different chapters with different developments now, and this chapter will be one of the alternatives and there will be more to follow.

I'm putting this up as a warm up, and I intend to post the sequel in This week)

This is an alternative version, do not take it as an original continuation of the second chapter.

A sudden scream from the TV, telling about another promotion "two packages of milk for the price of one" wakes you up, and you, breathing deeply, try to come to your senses.

Was it a dream? Then it was the shittiest nightmare of your life.

As if Soap would leave you alone and you lost yourself, becoming a hostage of someone else's dirty hands.

You shift from foot to foot for a long time, unable to remember what you need, and why you came here in the first place and with whom?

Soap? Oh, yes, Johnny.. - you turn back, but do not notice the cheerful mohawk next to you, so you slowly and sleepily shuffle your feet on the old tiles of the store, intending to find your alpha. The store is almost empty, except for the occasional people and the seller. From somewhere You hear a woman's laughter. You quicken your pace, but unfortunately, you only bump into the back of Johnny as he leaves, then you rush forward faster, screaming: "Johnny!", but he is already leaving the store with bags in his hands and girls nearby.

This asshole didn't hear you, but you don't want to stay here, not now, when you're tired, when you want to go home and damn it, you don't want this bastard to go home with some girls.

You sigh angrily, leave the basket on the floor, and run out of the store, but Soap's car is already pulling out of the parking lot, and no matter how hard you try to catch up, it seems futile. Your hand reaches into your pocket, straight for your phone, quickly dialing numbers, but the calls and messages still don't get you anywhere. It's as if you've been blacklisted and left here on purpose.

A dim light illuminates the steps of the store. A cool breeze ruffles your hair, which falls irritatingly over your face, into your eyes and mouth. You toss your hair back carelessly and snort irritably, keeping your eyes on the deep darkness in front of you. An empty parking lot, if you don't count the wreck at the very end, with its wheels off and rotten doors, abandoned by its owner like a relic of the past or maybe just plain rusty garbage.

Your hand reaches for the tincture, and with a decisive movement, the cork flies away. Your gaze drops to the dark liquid, whose origin you don't know. It's just some alcoholic tincture, a cheap drink, for which the last pennies you found in your pocket, carelessly left behind, were spent.

Oh, yeah, you wanted to throw your change in the piggy bank. The same piggy bank your grandmother gave you before you left. That flower-shaped piggy bank.

What would have happened if you hadn't left then, stayed home, torn up the letter calling you to the pack?

Maybe you would have had a bus to University, a home-cooked dinner with your parents and your father's silly jokes. Walks with friends, and a free university life. What would it be like to live if there weren't all these obligations of omegas, alphas and betas. If all that didn't exist, would life be better?

you take a sip. The alcohol burns your throat, forcing you to frown, but the pain blooming in your chest forces you to take another desperate sip, hoping it will help shut the aching feeling inside, spilling through your veins along with the blood.

Not so bad. The second sip hits you right in the head, right where you need it, giving you a long-awaited release from all the thoughts that parasitize you. You lean back, cover your eyes, and just listen to the scrambling of bugs, the almost soporific chirping of birds that peeked out of their nests as soon as city life died down.

You hear the girls' laughter, Soap's laughter, and see them before your eyes. Your Johnny puts his hand on one of the girls' thighs, pulls her hard against him, forcing her to let out a loud sigh or a defiant hot moan.

A whimper escapes your lips, and a new wave of disgusting grinding under your ribs reappears. You try to open your eyes, but you realize you can't, being a mute witness to their caress. Johnny runs his other hand through the girl's hair, drawing her into a rough kiss. You try to move your arms, but it's as if the straps are holding you in a torture chair, forcing you to watch, hear, and see everything that's happening as if you were in the worst nightmare.

There's a slamming door right behind you and you open your eyes sharply. Your heart beats at a furious rhythm and your breath hitches, forcing you to gasp for air. Abruptly you turn around and try to focus your vision, aggressively trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, but they won't stop no matter how hard you try.

The woman across from you looks at you with disdain, frowning and backing away squeamishly as if she's seen something dirty. Her ringing voice echoes above you, pierced with pity: "We're closed.

You know. You know perfectly well that the store is closed, just as you know that that usual squeamish voice is probably because you're just a goddamn beta - a completely unnecessary character in this whole story. Perhaps the world would do just fine without the beta.

You frown as you watch the woman walk away, remaining in near total darkness with only the streetlights working.

Scary. You take another deep sip straight from the bottle and wait again-Who the hell wants you anyway? Just a tasteless beta, with a perfectly ordinary figure, an ordinary face and an ordinary stupid sundress.

You rise to your feet, bottle in hand, and walk straight ahead with firm steps. If this bastard isn't planning on picking you up, you go home and fuck them all. Just fuck everyone, them, the Omegas and every goddamn Alpha you know.

You try to walk with confidence, but the cheap booze makes your gait a little sloppy and loose, but even that doesn't stop you. As you pass by the same wreck, you unconsciously reach for one of the doors, touching the stupid and crude graffiti with your fingers.

And indeed some idiot managed to leave his car in such a state, probably having traded it for some cool car, like a BMW, and let hooligans, dirty people with itchy hands break the once native and beloved car, consciously turning it into a pile of iron trash.

It's silly, but right now, in this moment, you felt like this car-just as lonely and abandoned on the outskirts of town. Or maybe it was just the alcohol making itself felt. Again you reached for the phone in your pocket and checked it, but it was still unavailable and turned off. It seemed to be about an hour or two walk from here to home, and the dim streetlights, though not frequent enough, were still present along the way.

The highway was empty and everything around was so dead, quiet and almost silent, if you didn't count the sounds of nature, the rustling of leaves and the swaying of trees from the increasing wind.

And inside, it was like worms were swarming, painfully eating away at your flesh, along with the swarm in your head. You try not to analyze, not to imagine how everyone is having fun now, not noticing that you're not there, You take another sip in frustration and it's already disgusting. It's like drinking the cheapest pure alcohol diluted with water or juice.

Somewhere far away, in the depths of the forest, you hear someone's voices, someone's insidious whisper, calling to you. You frown, take another sip, and quicken your step, but you can't go any faster, only more wobbly.

"Die, go, get out of here, come, hear."

The words echo throughout, blending into the general cacophony of sounds. Nervously you turn your head and look back at the extinguished streetlight a few meters away and unconsciously squint, as if hoping to see no one there.

A pair of red eyes stare at you, as if looking into your soul, making you stiffen, but drunken brains are brave brains, and part of the reason is that you don't break from your seat and run screaming wildly wherever you go. Even if sooner or later you have to do it.You just quicken your step, dark liquid splashing in the bottle, scarlet eyes popping up everywhere. You take a step and two scarlet spots appear somewhere among the forest foliage. Another step and it is already on the left standing under the lantern, there are many of these silent witnesses. You speed up your step, almost running, frowning and shouting "disappear! Disappear goddamn it! ", running as fast as you can. The voices get louder and louder, the whispers are discouraging, coming from every crevice, and you can't even identify the words, just multiple different intonations, an active conversation as if arguing.... The red color differentiates under your feet and the whispering becomes like the noise of a crowd on a rush hour train. A hateful shriek escapes your lips and a painful burning sensation in your legs prevents you from continuing to run, forcing you to slow down.

Everything stops and subsides. You no longer hear voices, no longer see scarlet eyes. Just silence and nothing more. You freeze, breathing heavily and staring into the deep darkness, no longer seeing any ugly eyes.

Maybe that alcohol wasn't the best solution, you think to yourself, and slowly turn around, intending to continue towards home, especially if you look closely, the turn towards the houses, lit by a dim streetlight, was starting to show. Just a little more and you're here.

When you turn around, the headlights are blinding, illuminating your figure in the night with a bright glow, as if letting all creatures know you're here. Reflexively you raise your hand and cover your eyes, wanting to look and just stand there, as if waiting for something.

You expect the fool with the Mohawk to come out of the car, throw himself at your feet and apologize, but hell no. A big guy comes out of the car, not one of your big guys, but-- A freakin' giant.

You frown, unconsciously taking a step back, but the man stands, just staring at your figure in silence.

It starts to rain, small drops falling annoyingly on your face, and gradually, over a short period of time, it turns into a downpour.

You still stand there silently looking at each other like this, until the second guy that peeked out of the jeep shouted: "Get in!"

Standing in the darkness, in the rain, like a wild abandoned kitten, with a bottle of cheap alcohol in your hands. a disgusting sight, striking the big man to the depths of his filthy soul. He'd seen it many times, how you follow your pack like a puppy, hoping to be accepted, but in reality you remain just... Just a nobody, never noticing that to the other pack you're a goddamn godsend.

To the Konig pack, you're like a ray of sunshine, forbidden to touch. was. But now the sight of your frail figure standing in the night was driving the Konig mad.

How dare those wretched 141 dare leave a diamond on the street? Don't they realize that this bird could be taken away at the first opportunity?

"Where's your pack?" comes the growling voice of Konig, wanting to deal with everything at once, but Horangi, who was sitting behind the wheel, peers out of the window again with an indignant snarl: "Konig, damn it, get the bird over here, it's about to get wet because of you, damn it! "

When you come to your senses, Konig holds out his hand to you, and you, not sure if you remember them, but vaguely guessing who they are, frown, stand for a few moments, and then do climb into the back seats, meeting your gaze with another big guy. He picks up almost immediately, helping you climb in and sit down. The lights in the car help you finally distinguish the figures and you finally remember this murderous pack. And that Asian jerk, always teasing you about everything. And Krueger, sitting next to you, you remember too, always giving you weird compliments, if you could call them that, because his rude tone sounded like an insult and made you wonder if your appearance was okay. "Nice hair"-a common phrase, but for some reason Krueger's voice sounded like a sneer, though it was a ridiculous attempt at flirting on his part. Horangi had explained that they would all get slaps from Konig for compliments like "Hot Figure".

Konig was always silent and scared you with his stare, because every time you showed up at the base, he looked at you like a typical slasher, almost without blinking.

(You can also offer me your scenarios or headcanon, and I'll be happy to write about them,)

(it seems that I have specified all,I'm sorry if I missed anyone)

@other-fandoms-reblogs @this-is-me19 @iconic-bubonic @sheepispink

[murmiss]

Checking in on you to see how school is going. Are you doing well? ❤️❤️❤️

Hi! My college session finally passed and I got good grades. Eventually the composition, framing of the sketches bored me, but still. i have already started writing the next chapter, and i am thinking of posting a few parts at once as soon as i finish it, i will try today or tomorrow.

[murmiss]

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part 2

(Warning! not a little a few unpleasant descriptions, a description of the abduction,Mention of bullying , other traumatic moments , etc. In the end ,After all, this is angst,but with a good(?) ending,there may be mistakes in words-English is not my first language,the characters are adults, implied SA)

You're walking along the highway, and to the left and right there's a dark, terrible forest, and it seems that your death is about to leap out of the darkness, that every rustle of leaves and whiff of wind whispers about your imminent death, and only the rare passing cars give you a tiny, tiny hope that you'll live, that John is back, that Price is about to run out of the car and hug you, but reality cuts like a knife.

It's starting to rain, a nasty drizzle, and the humidity is making everything worse, and the fog is settling in and even the already sparse streetlights light the road even less.

Mommy said there were monsters lurking in the darkness.

Mommy said to be a good girl and not to walk at night.

A red old car stops in front of you and you stop as the headlights are almost blinding and illuminate you in this terrifying darkness. A slight smile, tired and exhausted, appears on your lips, but just as quickly disappears when you realize it's not Soap, or Price, or even a nice family willing to help.

Three men get out of the car. Your doom is coming to you, stepping on your heels, and you want to just run away, but the forest seems even more dense, you want to fall down and cry, asking for help, but hope is completely abandoned when the one who was the skinniest of them all, says in his hoarse voice: "Sit down with us, bunny, we'll take you for a ride".

Unconsciously you take a step back, you want to run away, but their disgusting hands pull you along, dragging you like a piece of meat, not caring about any moral qualities. They shove you in the back seat and don't even let you squeak.

Their hands touched everywhere, slipped under your thin sundress, and squeezed your legs as you drove and you couldn't even squeak in fear.

The big guy behind the wheel took your phone, and the one next to him was not shy about touching you.

The basement they dragged you into was cold, damp, and dark, lit only by a dim, flickering light bulb, and the stained old mattress was horrifying.

It's all right, Price will knock their teeth out! Your pack remembered you were gone long ago and are on their way anyway, they've pinpointed the location, they're gonna save you.

But will they?

"Damn, Soap, you're a hero.... Didn't think you'd pick up a couple finds"-said Gas, leaning forward to whisper to Soap.

When Johnny burst into the house with three hotties under his arm, no one even wondered "where's the beta?". Price frowned, but when the blonde winked playfully at him, the old man was lost and forgotten, and when the two girls jumped into his lap, he was ready to howl at the moon like a damn wolf.

Ghost, being ice cold, couldn't help but hold back a smile, noticing the colorful brunette with tattoos, and the soap smiled haughtily.

"Damn dog"-mumbled Ghost as the brunette that sat on his hip squirmed her hips on him, rousing him.

The clothes came off even before the drink ran out.

You sit on the mattress damp from the excessive dampness of the basement, hugging your knees with your arms, mentally waiting for the moment when your pack bursts into the basement. The door creaks open and you jump up reflexively, but only a tall, thin man with a yellow tan, a weird curly haircut and a bandage, dressed in a silly beach shirt and shorts walks into the basement. He hisses angrily, "idiots!" but as he gets closer he can't help but smile, mumbling, "okay, she's cute for a beta."

You head spins and everything moves apart under you feet as you head goes blank and vivid images flash before you eyes. You are just fire, you and only you on this stage, there is only you in this world.

You feel a touch on your shoulders, a soft stroking of your hair, and you turn, meeting Ghost's loving gaze. His eyes sparkle at the sight of you, and his mask is off. He's as handsome as you imagined him to be, and his hands reach for your face, pulling you in for a loving kiss before sliding gently down to your waist. You feel hot, with his kisses on your body and his smile, and everything around you shines with yellow light like heaven and you feel safe.

"I hope that girl doesn't fall off, asshole"-pahabic laughter echoes above you, but you don't hear it, don't understand. It's not Ghost whose caresses you feel.

You wake up on the mattress and wake up confusedly, horrified to find that.... You didn't want to-- To see. You didn't want to know! Oh, no, just no, please.

No clothes at all.

You start sobbing in despair, sobbing so loudly that one of the big guys comes down and through reluctance and anger, throws an old T-shirt at you when you beg for your clothes back.

It smells of one of them, smells of its captor, of dust and sweat, but you can do exactly nothing, just hastily putting it on to hide your body just a little.

The food showed up the next day. When the pot-bellied man brought a plate of leftovers from the chicken, a couple of whole chicken legs and a quarter of a tomato. That was all the food for the entire day.

When the main one of all came down to the basement to check on their victim, you asking with desperation : "can I go to the bathroom? ". You hope they'll take you upstairs and maybe like a cool lady you'll run away, but it all goes awry when he puts down an old rusty bucket.

"what's this? " you say, hoping you've misunderstood, but the man says with a sneer, "won't be stupid."

It was hard to wake up from sleep, and Price was the first to wake up. Climbing out of bed, he sighed heavily, but noticing a girl sprawled out on the bed without a blanket, he playfully slapped her ass before laughing playfully as he stood up.Grabbing his phone from the counter, he first checked all the calls, and noticing the new ones, he snorted incomprehensibly as he scrolled through the messages. Why was the beta calling them, and what the hell was going on? He was in the kitchen, making a mug of coffee, when the blonde he'd been with threw her arms around him and John instantly forgot all about it, putting his phone aside.

And everything seemed really fine, the omega numbers were in their pocket, they had one last meeting with the administration of the distribution center before they were allowed to take any omegas into their pack, but....

The hellcats stole their money. Price was the first to notice this as he looked into his wallet, about to head to the center.

"Those bitches stole from us!"-shouted Gas, leaving his room hurriedly:he hadn't found his watch, but the most hurtful thing was losing the damn ghost ring-an expensive gold man's ring that he wore as a gift.

"And anyway, where's the beta?"-said Price also irritably:it wasn't quite time to deal with the theft when they were late for a meeting.

"She's not in her room"-Gas replied, and Ghost just mumbled, "what the fuck does 'pick me up from the store' mean?"

It was a goddamn shock.And they were seriously fucked up.Soap nervously tried to call their beta while Ghost was on his way to the store, but got nothing but a recording of the girl leaving the store.

"Next time you'll clean up after her yourself, amigo," Curly man says in disgust squeamishly grabbing the bucket, but the big man only laughs, quickening his step to further annoy curly, "Maybe we should just let her use our bathroom. "

A slight hope of the slightest goodness instills itself in you, unconsciously pulling you forward, wanting to hear more.

"No way, you idiot, someone will see her. It's easier to stop feeding that bitch"?"

Tell why? Why do you have to go through all this? Why do you have to be a waste of space, and why are you... Not needed by your pack?

Over time, you get used to the sound of droplets dripping from the ceiling, the flickering of the lamp, and other people's hands on your body.

No one will come. No one needs you. 'Have they noticed you disappeared?. You don't know.

Maybe they've already been given an omega and they've forgotten about you.

But the search was on. Fucking week after week, every fucking day they tried to find any clue, and the police were in on it too.

It was bloody embarrassing to explain to the police why their beta was without a pack tag, embarrassing for Price not to remember what color your eyes were, and embarrassing for Soap that it was his fault this happened.

It wasn't even about being a beta, or an omega, it was about being a girl, a girl who was alone on the highway at night. A girl who was afraid and could be attacked at any moment and disappeared without a trace.

Everything changed when a month later a signal was received: the phone was turned on.

The whole squad came to that old shack, an old house somewhere on the very outskirts, in one of the most disadvantaged areas of the city.

Ghost remembered the moment. He was making his way through the house before he noticed the open basement door when everyone thought it was too late.

He ran down the stairs until-- Until he saw you, and his heart sank with horror and pain. So small in that huge basement, you sat with your knees drawn up to your chest, biting your nails and staring at the wall opposite. A frail, thin creature, broken from the inside out. Ghost had seen a couple of such captives in his life, but this time he.... The emotionless big man couldn't hold back a tear as he swept your figure into his arms, hugging you by the shoulders and leading you out of the cellar.

"I'm here, baby," was the only thing you heard, but you didn't understand anything.

A bright light hit your eyes, but you didn't understand anything. What was going on? Never mind. Who was it? You don't care.

You sat in the ambulance with a blanket thrown over your shoulders and didn't hear the paramedics or anyone else as you continued to bite your fingers.

"Something is cracking deep inside me," Soap said, standing in the hospital smoking room, leaning on the windowsill. A beautiful sunset was coloring the sky in shades of peach and pink, but he wasn't interested. Simon, who was standing nearby, took a cigarette out of the box and lit it from the lighter, almost immediately taking a deep puff and letting out a trickle of smoke, he said: "This is the heart. "

It's a heart. But does it have one? Does it have those feelings everyone talks about, or can at least the damn brain stop screaming?

Soap hated himself more than the others. Only if he hadn't gone to that damn department then, if he hadn't left in the night, if he hadn't walked out of the store then, none of this would have happened.

Wouldn't be the broken man he is now. There wouldn't have been a girl whose self-esteem, whose psyche would have been murdered. And there wouldn't be the abandoned, lonely beta with no marks, but with deep scars and a hatred for all alphas.

(maybe I'll write a couple of sketches about their life after the tragedy, but I do not know)

[radmooncomputer]

this was so heart lurching to read, u can’t imagine a day let alone a whole month. let me restate this, u write so well.

[murmiss]

Hi, thanks for the nice words. It's very important for me to know what others think about my work, and I'm just as happy when they give me feedback.

It's college session time right now,but after that I'll definitely post a couple of new chapters and a new sketch with an interesting idea.🌸

[murmiss]

Hi everyone!

Unfortunately, I'm not able to write a sequel quickly, as I'm a student and my session is very soon. But, don't worry, I'm working on writing new chapters and a couple more stories and I'll try to post them as soon as possible.

I can briefly tell you that I have partially written stories about school life, a common project and a rugby player, as well as one story about a queen, a king's mistress and a strong mix-up with our Simon, again with drama.

[murmiss]

Will you tag me when you write more of neglected beta and 141 pack?

It was so different and just messed up (in a god way) that it makes me wanna know more and how they’re gonna do and be better with them.

Poor beta doesn’t deserve any of that and only tried their best.

141 had no idea what it has.

@other-fandoms-reblogs is me by the way

Well, when I write another chapter, I'll tag you. 🌸

[murmiss]

Hi, I'm back in your inbox to gush over your writing even more.

Obviously, I love the angst and the tension, but I actually want to really quickly[this is not going to be quick I'm so sorry] talk about the syntax and diction. 

Mommy said there were monsters lurking in the darkness. Mommy said to be a good girl and not to walk at night.

So, first off it’s “Mommy said,” not “My mommy,” or “Your mommy,” this is an extremely effective shift in perspective and narrative distance, in this moment we shift from a narration of what is happening to us in the present tense to Readers internal monologue. 

However, the lack of the possessive pronoun “my” leads me to believe this is a personal mantra Reader runs through when scared. “My” is a courtesy word we use for the sake of not confusing someone we are talking to, but typically when you are internally thinking about a past experience you'd drop it. 

This feeds into what I’m about to say, to me, it reads as though a memory of another time as a young girl Reader felt all alone and scared is bubbling to the surface. Obviously, based solely on diction, what her mother said  “Monsters” not “Creeps” like you would an adult, and not “Be smart while out,” but “Be a good girl” 

Okay, I need to stop hyper-analyzing these two lines so I can talk about the other ones I want to get to, I don’t mean to bore you.

The encounter took place in December, when Simon was lonely on a holiday night, lighting a cigarette on the street. 

So, I love this so much, I’ll start with the word “Encounter” which could have easily been “meeting,” “moment,” or been reframed to say “They met”. There is something a bit whimsical about “Encounter” though, you don’t meet a fae you encounter one. 

Maybe I’m just a sucker for late nights in December when it’s snowing, but I can clearly envision this man in the empty street lighting a cig, holiday decorations strung across every sign, and lamp-post. The weight of being all by himself lying on his chest.

Trudging through the slippery road, covered with a thin layer of snow, and skirting the drifts, Simon slowly made his way to the small store nearby.

Trudging is such a good word, walking through snow is such a pain, you could have just said “snow-covered road”, but you didn’t, you went out of your way to show what you were picturing. This is also just very visually appealing, your level of description is immaculate. And I’d like to pull another example

But, nevertheless, the lighting was good - paths of glowing sand were laid to huts, bonfires and other structures, and in the houses themselves and on small pillars (tree branches) there was something like a lantern created from a glowing stone inside - or was it not a stone?

This is a good example of environmental storytelling, “were laid to huts” is such a pretty way to say such a thing by the way. But bringing attention to how lit up everything is reflects the idea that while this is a new place it isn’t/doesn’t need to be a scary one. Love the use of a question at the end, it really pulls the audience into your description and allows them to extrapolate.  

I could get even more into it and talk about so many different quotes and pieces that stood out to me in your work, however, I’m about to verge into a third page of a word document. and I figure I should have a little conclusion to what it is I’m saying, and not make this a novel in itself. So

I think your skill is so clearly shown throughout your work, whether or not you go out of your way to pick certain words or it comes naturally, it is a testament to your extreme talent for this art. I truly hope this doesn’t scare you off as I know, as a fellow writer, sometimes it can be a little scary to know someone really likes your work. Please take your time, no pressure to be perfect or anything, you’re an amazing writer. 

-🍒🪐

Hi!

It's really nice to hear that someone likes my writing, because I often have a hard time knowing if it's really good. Thank you so much for your comment, it gives me a hell of a lot of motivation to finish those moments and drafts I have.❤️

[murmiss]

Can I just say your writing is so visceral[positive] I felt like I was holding my breath waiting for them to notice what happened. That tense feeling is really hard to invoke, but obviously you are an excellent writer because you did so flawlessly.

The mixture of wanting to be loved and taken care of juxtaposed to what should be our heros careless and flippant disregard is so well portrayed. I love the way you kept her hopeful, even in the face of clear betrayal of her own needs.

Hope this is okay to put in your inbox instead of the comments, have a good day!

-🍒🪐

This is very unexpected and very, very pleasant! It's important for me to know that people like what I write. ❤️

[murmiss]

Hihi!! Absolutely loved the neglected beta posts you wrote!! Thank you for uploading the two parts back to back, it was a great read! I’m a sucker for angst, your writing hit the spot /pos

If it’s no bother, can you tag it with a specific “implied SA” tw too? I appreciate you already tagging that it deals with unpleasant situations regarding kidnapping, but it’s a bit broad and SA is a heavy enough subject to have its own tw included

(How you tag your work is completely up to you, I’m so sorry if my tone came the slightest bit off, I genuinely mean good but English isn’t my first language so I didn’t know how to quite articulate myself properly, I’m trying my best not to sound harsh or condescending and I dunno if I managed that 😅. You can completely ignore this entire ask and again, I do apologise if I came off rude <33)

Oh, it's okay, don't worry :)

I added it to the mention at the beginning, honestly, sometimes I don't know what else to add, or I forget to mention something, so thank you. ✨