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Chapter 8: Stitches
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: sexual themes/content; angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; hurt/comfort; tending to injuries; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); blood and injury; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)
Note: Iâm excited for this chapter!!
If youâve read my first fic âYouâre My People,â you might recognize parts of the second half of this chapter. I was going to rewrite the scene entirely, but then I reread YMP for the first time since I wrote it and thought âwait, i actually like this.â So I edited it to be a more accurate depiction of the current vibe/dynamic between our Prophet and our beloved Wolf, switched up the povs, and fixed any plot changes. And it has an entirely different ending!
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When Abby had asked you to stay behind, to wait for her back at the aquarium, you just shook your head, picked up your bow, and motioned for her to lead the way.Â
Something was off with you. You had been silent for the entire trek from the aquarium to the theater, not asking a single question.Â
You didnât ask who had done that to Owen, Mel, and Yara. You didnât ask what Abby was planning on doing once you got there. You didnât ask why this was happening, why someone was tracking her down, how your own friend couldâve gotten caught in the crosshairs and ended up dead.
Which was good, because Abby wasnât prepared to answer any of those questions right now.Â
But you hadnât even reacted to seeing Yara dead. Abby doesnât think you even looked at her body, and you treated the huge pools of blood on the floor like they were puddles of rainwater on the street after a storm. Inconvenient but inconsequential.
She knew what this was. Sheâd seen it before in her friends and fellow soldiers. Hell, sheâd done it herself plenty of times. When the hurt gets too big, you shut it down entirely just to make it through. Itâs fine in the middle of combat â helpful, even. It becomes a problem when you canât pull yourself out of it, when you close yourself off indefinitely.
If you didnât snap out of it on your own once all of this was over, Abby would do it for you.
The two of you had been able to navigate the Seattle streets pretty quickly and without interference. The Wolves and the Seraphites mustâve still been busy killing each other on the island.
âPinnacle Theater Presents: Cassandra, September 26â was plastered across the front of the building.
And now, staring at the entrance to the theater, Abby realized that she actually had no idea what she was up against. The lights were on inside, so someone was here.
She had seen Tommy Miller earlier at the marina, so she knew he would be inside, but Manny hadnât said there was a trespasser; heâd said trespassers, plural. She could be in way over her head here, totally outnumbered. Jackson had been huge. They obviously had numbers and resources. But would they really risk those numbers and waste those resources just to avenge one guy? She didnât know.
Did they leave the map behind on purpose?
Abby could be walking right into a trap.Â
She could be leading you into one.
She was about to turn back, about to tell you it wasnât worth the risk, when her eyes caught on the blood. It was on her hands, under her nails, staining her skin and her clothes. Mixed with the caked-on mud on her shoes.Â
Levâs blood. Yaraâs and Melâs. And Owenâs.
Owen, who had been Abbyâs best friend. Who had loved her dad so much. Who cared for her, even when sheâd done nothing but push him away. Who never abandoned her, even when he should have. Who continued to be there, to look out for her and support her, even after she broke his heart.Â
Owen, who mightâve been the only person left in the world who loved her.
The person who killed him was inside this building.
âLetâs find a way in,â she said.
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On the side of the building, there was a metal ladder that was too high up for either of you to reach it on your own, but it led to a fire escape.
âOkay,â Abby said, âGrab that ladder.â She stood beneath it and intertwined her fingers over a bent knee, ready to boost you up.
Realistically, you didnât think you would be able to reach it even if you grew a full foot taller and stood on top of her head, but you werenât in the mood to argue. With your right foot, you stepped into her upturned palms and pushed up. Planting your left foot on her shoulder, you stood at your full height, one hand against the wall, and â as you suspected â still couldnât reach.Â
She said your name, clipped and strained, and then, through clenched teeth, âJump.â
You did, but you wouldnât have made it if she hadnât pushed you up, practically throwing you at the ladder.
Holy shit, she was strong.
You grabbed hold of the lowest rung and had to use upper-body strength you honestly didnât know you had to pull yourself up with your arms until your feet could reach that bottom step.
âGood. Youâve got it,â you heard Abby say from below as you made your way up, the hard part done now. Once you were standing on the fire escape, you quickly found the latch that released the ladder to its full length. Even then, it still didnât come close to reaching the ground, but it was manageable.
You watched as Abby jumped to grab on and had to go through the same process of pulling herself up with her arms for the first few rungs. Once you were sure she would make it up okay, you turned away and started looking around. There was a window next to you that led into the building, cracked open and letting in the rain. You could hear voices coming from inside, crackling and speaking in code.Â
A radio.
âUnits Alpha, Bravo, Echo, come in.â
The metal shook as Abby finally landed on the fire escape, and she quickly moved away from the edge.
âUnits Alpha, Bravo, Echo, please respond, over.â
Abby pushed the window further open and jumped into a small room with brick walls and faded wooden floors. You followed behind.
She shot you a quick look, putting a finger to her lips as if to warn you to stay quiet as she moved forward through the building, closer to the radio.
âWhat the hell is going on over there?â
Sounds like things arenât going so great for the Wolves, you thought as you stepped quietly behind Abby.
She walked up to the work table where the radio sat and stopped in her tracks. You came around to her side to see what she was looking at. On the wall behind the radio, there was a larger map of the area, marked with WLF zone numbers, unit movements, names, and even Seraphite territories. Whoever was staying here had been tracking everyone, and theyâd probably been using this radio to do it.Â
But why? Who were they and why did they want Abby?
You glanced over to her, but she wasnât looking at the map. She was staring down at the table at a collection of little photographs.
âThese are Leahâs,â she said quietly. You didnât know who Leah was, but you studied the pictures anyway. Each of them had names written at the bottom.
Abby and Owen. Mel and Owen. Nick and Nora. Manny. Leah and Jordan. (And one of just Leah with her shirt lifted enough to show off one of her breasts⊠You wondered who that was for.)
You recognized most of the names from the maps. Were all of them dead now?
Abby turned away from the pictures, leaving them there on the table as she moved over to study the map.Â
Over the radio, a new voice said, âSite Two! This is Briggs from Unit Echo. Fuck!â
âThis is Site Two. Echo, whatâs the situation?â
Abby pushed off from the table and headed back out into the hallway, gun at the ready. You took another look at the pictures before grabbing them and shoving them into your pants pocket beside the things youâd taken from the island earlier. Whoever these people were, they didnât deserve to keep these pictures of Abby and her friends. And maybe later, Abby would want them.Â
âIsaacâs dead. Itâs a fucking massacre!â
You smiled, despite everything. Your people were fighting back against those fuckers.Â
Since when did you use â or even think â words like fucker?
And could you really call the Seraphites your people anymore?
You turned and sped down the hall behind Abby.
âCareful. Stay close,â she whispered once she heard you behind her.
The hallway opened up into a much bigger, wider space. Youâd never seen an Old World building like this one before. Carpets covered the floor, some red and some with fancy patterns on them. The walls had colors and designs, the ceilings were so tall, and there was furniture everywhere. You wondered what this place had been used for. Maybe you could ask later.
Abby led the way down a winding flight of stairs, stopping just before going around the corner, holding a hand back behind her to signal you to stop. You lifted your bow and let out a quiet breath.Â
A manâs voice came from around the corner, speaking with an accent that was unfamiliar to you.
âFuckinâ Jesse,â he said. âHe thinks I donât know what real gold looks like.â Abby stepped around the corner, gun pointed at the man who had his back to you. You followed hesitantly, staying close. âWell waitâll you see this, you son of a bitch. Sheâs gonna love it,â he went on, clearly talking to himself, completely unaware of the threat directly behind him.
âHands up,â Abby said, voice cold and hard. He froze. âBack away from your shit.â When he didnât move, she spoke more forcefully. âI said back up!âÂ
Slowly, he did, hands empty and out where you both could see them. âYouâre making a big mistakeââ
âDonât fucking turn around,â she spit out, stepping forward.Â
Her eyes darted to you for a split second, voice lowering as she told you to keep your bow on him. You did, moving around to his side, weapon raised and aimed and ready to fire at a momentâs notice.Â
âGet on the ground,â she said, speaking to him again.
âYou gonna kill me like a coward?â he asked, unmoving.
Abby didnât answer. Instead, she kicked in the back of his knee and knocked him on the floor with one swing of her pistol. With the muzzle pressed into the back of his neck, her voice cracked as she mumbled, âYou fucking peopleâŠâ
The giant red doors across from you swung open, and before you had even registered that a young man was rushing through them, Abby had already shot him in the head. Someone else had come in right behind him, but they managed to duck behind the counter before either of Abbyâs two shots in their direction could take them out.Â
âJesse!â the other voice gasped from their hiding spot, just as Abby said, âStand up! Hands in the air or I shoot this one, too!â She trained her gun back on the first man. You kept your bow aimed at the person behind the counter.Â
âDonât you do it, Ellie! Get out of here!â the man said, rolling onto his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows.
âStand up! Now!â Abby commanded.Â
âDonât you fuckinâ dare!â
âShut the fuck up!â Abby seethed, kicking him in the stomach. He let out a cry as she brought the gun closer to his head.
âStop!â came the voice behind the counter. The girl stood up, hands raised, fingers extended away from the trigger of the pistol in her right hand. âStop.â
You and Abby both took her in.Â
She was probably around your age, with shoulder-length brown hair pulled half up. A bruise went across her freckled cheek, and a tattoo covered her entire right forearm. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly with her gasping breaths. Her eyes were panicked. And sad. And scared.
She looked⊠nice? Harmless?
This was the girl who helped kill all of Abbyâs friends? Who killed Yara?
Instantly, there came a stinging pain in your chest so strong that it took your breath away. Youâd been trying not to think about that.
You refocused and re-aimed.
âToss your weapon,â Abby said. The girl hesitated. âToss your weapon!â Abby shouted.
âFuck!â Ellie breathed out as she flung her gun on the other side of the counter.
âNo⊠no,â the older man muttered.
âI know why you killed Joel,â Ellie said, voice desperate. âHe did what he did to save me. Thereâs no cure because of me. Iâm the one you want.â
If you werenât confused before, you definitely were now. Who was Joel? What did he do?
And what cure? A cure for the Infection?
You were really starting to wish youâd asked Abby more questions before you came here.Â
âJust let him go,â Ellie went on, quickly gesturing to the man on the other end of Abbyâs gun.
Abby seemed surprised by the girlâs words, taking a second to process and consider before her eyes hardened again.Â
âYou killed my friends,â she said, speaking quieter now. âWe let you both liveâŠâ her voice quavered as she lifted her gun to aim at Ellie, âand you wasted it.â
Before she could pull the trigger, the man jumped up and pushed her arm to the side. The gun went off twice as they struggled for control of the weapon.
âWait!â Ellie cried out.
âGet off of her!â you shouted, firing an arrow through the manâs leg. He fell back to the ground as Abby pointed her gun at his head and shot.
âTommy!â Ellie had grabbed her gun again during the struggle, and you screamed as she fired a shot at Abby.Â
It missed and Abby shot back, also missing.
The girl took off through the doors in the same direction sheâd come from.
âCome on!â Abby said to you, running after Ellie.
On the other side of the doors was an even bigger room, filled with rows and rows and plush red seats, leading up to a giant stage. Ellie, already nearly to the stage, continued to fire in your direction, barely missing every time.Â
You and Abby ducked down behind the back row of chairs, and her eyes met yours, both of you breathing heavily.
âStay here,â she said, peeking over the chairs to locate the other girl. âWatch the exits. Donât let her leave.â
You nodded, hanging back as gunshots continued to go off from the far end of the room.
Abby paused for just a beat longer before starting down the aisle, staying low but moving quickly.Â
âDonât you fucking run!â she shouted to Ellie, who you could now see on the stage. She had the advantage of higher ground and a familiarity with the building.
Please donât die Please donât die Please donât fucking die, you pleaded over and over and over, as Abby made her way to the stage and out of sight behind the big red curtains that Ellie had disappeared into.
They were far away now, but you could still hear the struggle, followed by more gunshots and then more struggling.Â
You held your breath.
But for once you did what Abby asked you to do. You stayed put.
Until several minutes later, when another woman â one you hadnât seen before â ran out onto the stage, looking around frantically before dashing back behind the curtains, not seeing you from where you still crouched behind the last row of seats.
And now Abby was outnumbered back there.
A split second decision and you were up, running down the aisle after them.Â
Behind the stage was a darker space, cluttered with junk from floor to ceiling. You moved carefully and quietly, heading towards the commotion.
When you came to a hole in the ground, you realized that the fight was now down below.
God, did they fall through the floor?
You quickly climbed down and dropped into the basement.
Just as your feet touched the floor, you heard someone scream. You ran, finding Abby down with the unknown girl above her swinging a knife.
You fired an arrow through her shoulder, and she fell to the side. And then Abby was on her, bashing the girlâs head into the floor.
You looked away, your eyes landing on Ellie, flat on her back on the ground nearby, conscious but unmoving, her face covered in blood.Â
âStop,â Ellie forced through dripping red lips as the other girlâs head hit the floor a second and third time. âStop!â Ellie couldnât even turn her head to properly look at what was happening to her friend. âShe had nothing to do with this.â
Abby grabbed the girlâs knife from where sheâd dropped it on the floor, grabbed her by the hair, and flipped her onto her back, holding the knife against her throat.
âSheâs pregnant,â Ellie choked out.
Abby let out a few heaving breaths before pressing the knife closer. âGood,â she seethed.
âAbby!â you called out.Â
She stopped, eyes softening as they met yours across the room. She watched you, read the plea in your eyes, and the fight seemed to seep out of her in an instant.Â
She dropped the knife, pushed the girl to the side, and slowly got to her feet.
Ellie coughed, choking on her own blood as Abby stood over her, their gazes locked.
âDonât ever let me see you again,â Abby said. A firm command. A sincere warning.
And then she walked away, passing you without making eye contact.
âCome on,â she muttered.Â
You followed her out of the theater.
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Abby didnât know where the hell she was going.
She had been walking through empty streets, blinking past the pouring rain, for who knows how long before it even occurred to her that she didnât have a destination.
The thought of going back to the aquarium right now, of facing what was waiting for her there, made her sick.
Her body felt heavy. Everything hurt. It had been a long time since sheâd gotten anywhere close to as fucked up as she was now.
That girl â Ellie â bit her. Hard. Like a fuckinâ rabid dog. And then Abby had hit her lower back on the corner of something hard when she fell through the floor and into the basement. She took some punches, got a knife buried in her left thigh, and that other girl got a few cuts in with her own blade before you shot her with an arrow.
And that didnât even take into consideration everything else sheâd been through today. The marina and the island and the aquarium.
It was⊠a lot.
She couldnât really take stock of the total physical damage while she was busy trudging along down dark streets, but she knew that everything hurt. And she was definitely bleeding. And her body felt too hot but also too cold. And she was so tired.Â
Shit, this wasnât good.
Abby was aware of your presence behind her. She could hear you. But you hadnât spoken at all, and she hadnât looked at you once since you left the theater.
She needed to put some more distance between you and that place (and what happened there) before she could bear to do that, hoping that the further it was behind you, the further it would be from your mind.
But thatâs not realistic. There was no way you would forget what you just saw.
She needed to know if you were scared of her now, if you didnât trust her anymore. She saw the look in your eyes when you stopped her from killing that girl. You were horrified.Â
You must think sheâs a monster.Â
She stumbled, her bleeding left leg becoming harder and harder to maneuver.
Here you were â this perfect, beautiful thing that came out of nowhere â and she had to ruin it with another revenge plot that ultimately accomplished nothing except to make the people close to her look at her differently, regard her more cautiously, whisper about her when sheâs not around.
Did you see the look in her eyes when she beat Joel to death with that golf club? Brutal. Whatâs wrong with her? What kind of person could even do that?Â
God, her life was turning into one sick, cyclical joke.
But you were literally the only person she had left, so she refused to turn around. Because if you still had that same look in your eyes the next time she saw you, it might break her. And she wasnât ready to face that.
Abby stumbled again, this time more noticeably. She was able to right herself, but it took her longer to recover this time.
She was losing steam.
âAbby?â Your voice was as soft as the steadying fingers she felt on her shoulder as you walked around to face her. She kept her head down, still not wanting to meet your eyes. âAbby,â you said again when she didnât acknowledge you, and then you were holding her face with both hands, cold fingers against her warm cheeks. You gently lifted her face until she had no choice but to look at you.Â
She thought she might be crying, but she wasnât sure for how long.Â
Your eyes were wide, but not with fear or apprehension like sheâd feared, not like you looked in the basement of the theater. You were worried about her.Â
âWe canât keep going on like this,â you said. One of your thumbs was lightly, soothingly, grazing her cheek as you carefully studied her face. âYouâre hurt.â
Her whole body shook with a sob, but you didnât shy away. If anything, you pressed closer.Â
Despite everything, she felt stupid for crying. She wanted to argue with you, wanted to be strong. She could keep going.
But you were looking at her like you cared, like maybe she hadnât ruined everything like she thought. And she wanted you to stay close. To keep touching her.
âCome on,â you said, tilting your head towards the nearest building. A house. âLetâs at least get out of the rain.â
Abby nodded as your hands fell away from her face to pull your bow from where it rested over your shoulder and notch an arrow, and she was glad at least one of you had the wherewithal to be cautious of an abandoned building. If she had an ounce more energy, sheâd be horrified to realize that neither of you had a weapon out until now.Â
The front door was mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approached carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you stepped inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that posed a threat. Abby followed behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg.
âYou need to sit down,â you said over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. Under any other circumstances, sheâd insist on making sure the building was clear first herself, but she wasnât confident in her current ability to even make it all the way inside, much less up and down the stairs.Â
With your bow still drawn, you led the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room was filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.
You pointed to it. âSit,â you instructed. She moved toward the couch without protest and sat in the left-most corner, albeit very slowly. You set your bow down, leaning it up against the wall by the couch, and shrugged off a backpack you brought from the aquarium, digging around in the main compartment until you found what you were looking for.
You pulled out a small battery-powered lantern and your dagger. âIâm going to check the rest of the house, okay? Iâll be back. Donât move.â
Abby let out a scoff, immediately followed by a pained hiss. âI couldnât go anywhere if I wanted to,â she said. It wouldâve sounded more cool and casual if she hadnât had to say it through gritted teeth. And if she hadnât been crying in the rain in the middle of the street two minutes ago.Â
Just the thought of it made her cringe. It felt weird being the one who needed help, the one being taken care of. She really didnât like feeling weak. But she was glad to be sitting down, glad to be near you, and glad you still seemed to want to be near her.Â
Your face held that same hesitant, worried look long enough that she forced a small smile and attempted to reassure you with, âIâm fine. Go.â
She was lying and she could tell that you knew that, but you didnât have much of a choice. You turned to go quickly search the house.
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The second floor was clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummaged through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty closets in the hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.
You found nothing there and moved on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room was even more ransacked than the rest of the house, so it wasnât a surprise when you didnât find what you were looking for.
You groaned loudly and dramatically, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.
âWhatâs wrong? What happened?â Abby quickly asked from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It made you smile, just a little, until you remembered that this was no time to be smiling.
âItâs nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.â
âWho needs medical supplies?â she asked, surprising you with an attempt at a joke. Either that or she was so out of it that she was starting to lose touch with reality.
âYou do, Abby,â you said. âYou need medical supplies. Urgently.âÂ
You were still staring up like the answer would be written up there somewhere if you just looked hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling caught your eye. If you werenât mistaken, it looked like the corner of a first aid kit, similar to the one Abby brought back from the hospital for Yara.
It was too high for you to reach standing, and there was nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops were broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets was rickety and unstable at best.
You were grumbling under your breath about high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reentered the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still planted on the floor. Both of her hands were hovering over the gash in her thigh like she wasnât sure if she wanted to touch it or not, her face tense. She was in a lot of pain.
You pulled your eyes away and looked for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slightly wobbly small metal table. You dropped the lantern on top and started pulling it toward the kitchen.
âDo you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, princess?â Abby asked, glancing at you in her periphery. She was joking again, and you knew that, but you couldnât help the warmth that pooled in your cheeks at her use of that pet-name. But maybe humor and casual flirtation were just how she coped with pain.Â
âIââ You cleared your throat, âI need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.â
âAww, canât reach the top shelf by yourself?â Abby asked, amused. She turned her attention from her leg to watch as you struggled to drag the table out of the room. It squeaked along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.
The fact that she was being playful with you started to ease your lingering panic about the state of her health. If she was cracking jokes, she couldnât be that close to dying, right? A little rest and sheâd probably be just fine.
âCrazy how youâve lost like half your blood supply and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,â you said, your own teeth gritted now. The table was much heavier than you anticipated. âAnd for your information, the thing that Iâm trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.â
âUh huh. Sure⊠Take your time. Iâm just over here casually bleeding out.â
You liked this.Â
Was it weird to like this?Â
It was nice when you just got to talk, when the world wasnât actively burning to the ground around you, when things felt easy and wonderful and comfortable between you two. Youâd seen glimpses of it over the last few days, had fallen into pockets of space where time seemed to stop and you got to feel happy. And hopeful. But those moments were few and far between and always over too soon. Selfishly, you wanted more of it. You wanted more time. More of Abby.
You were scared to hope for it, scared to want something so strongly. Your wishes had never come true before.
âWell,â you responded, finding your words, âIâm no doctor. But Iâm pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you wouldâve bled out a long time ago. So youâll be fine for another minute. Probably.â With one final shove, you managed to get the table where you needed it.
You carefully stepped up on it, hoping that some sadistic asshole hadnât thrown an empty first aid kit all the way up here just to waste the time and energy of some poor desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)
After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grabbed the handle. The kit was full.
âYes!â you shouted, nearly tumbling off the table in your excitement. With the medical supplies and the lantern in hand, you rushed back to the living room.
Abby could tease you all she wanted and try to make light of the situation, but she couldnât hide the look of relief that washed over her features when she saw what you were carrying.
And if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldnât have been able to hide the way her eyes went wide and her cheeks got visibly pink when you got on your knees on the floor in front of her.
âUhhh hey, you canâyou can sit on the couch.â
You raised your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. âNo, the angle will be better this way,â you insisted. âJust bring your leg over here. Thatâs the worst of your injuries, right?âÂ
âI donât know. Probably,â she conceded, avoiding eye contact as you helped her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot was back on the floor, practically between your knees.
There was already a tear in her pant leg where the gash was. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opted to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear, making it just wide enough to clean and stitch if necessary.
But it didnât occur to you to fill Abby in on this plan before you did it. You took the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tore. And when she gasped in response, there was twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby. You chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.
âSorry!â Your eyes darted up to her face. âDid I hurt you?â
She shook her head quickly. âNo, just⊠wasnât expecting that.â
You didnât know what to say, so you dug around in the first aid kit and started cleaning the wound. Abby was quiet as you worked, wincing slightly but remaining still.
The cut was deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.
You moved even closer to her. Abbyâs shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.
She brought her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tensed, arms engaged. You allowed yourself one glance before tearing your eyes away, feeling guilty for ogling.Â
Focus.Â
You looked back down at her thigh and began.
As you worked, a strand of your hair fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you could attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abbyâs fingers gently brushed it back behind your ear. You felt yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.
When the last stitch was done and youâd carefully wrapped the wound, you felt Abbyâs fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.
âCome up here,â she said, her voice low. You stood, bringing the first aid kit with you, and felt the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sat on the couch, facing her and closer than was probably necessary.Â
You felt jittery, and it suddenly occurred to you that youâd never been this alone with Abby before. There had always been someone else close by, somewhere in the same building or around the next corner. But now it really was just the two of you. It was scary in an incredible, thrilling way that you werenât accustomed to.
But Abby was injured and you were both tired and today had easily been the longest â and the worst â day of your life, even if you still werenât letting yourself think about what happened.
No. Youâd rather focus on Abby. On what she needed.Â
You started searching her body, analyzing the rest of her wounds. Abby sat still under your careful ministrations, watching your face with a soft look in her eyes as you took stock of the damage. You found several cuts of varying depths across her arms along with the one under her eye. And there was something else on her right arm, below the elbow. You took her wrist in your hand, turning that arm towards the soft glow of the lantern.
âDid she bite you?â you asked, nose scrunching up in distaste.
âOh,â Abby winced. âYeah.â
âOuch,â you said simply, and she laughed a little as you grabbed some more supplies from the kit. You began gently wiping away the blood surrounding her remaining injuries, cleaning all of the wounds and stitching up the deeper of the cuts. You saved the cut on her cheek for last.
It was clear to you now that things werenât quite as detrimental as you had feared. With everything else taken care of, her face was the last thing that required your attention. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seemed that much less of that blood had come from Abby than you had anticipated anyway.
âI can do that,â she said in a whisper when you went to clean her face.
âI know,â you replied, just as quiet. âI want to.â
A few moments went by in silence as you worked gently but diligently, eyebrows drawn together in concentration.
âIâm sorry about tonight,â she said suddenly, quickly clarifying, âNot sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to⊠see me that way.â Her eyes were downcast, and you wanted to hold her face and make her look at you again the same way you did in the street, but you refrained. You put your hands in your lap and drew back a bit, giving her space.
If you were being honest, the Abby you saw in the theater scared you. That Abby beat a person so thoroughly that they couldnât move, couldnât even turn their head to stop from choking on their own blood. That Abby would knowingly slit the throat of an unconscious pregnant woman without batting an eye.
Of course, you had known that she was physically strong. You saw her kill swiftly and without hesitation to protect herself and those close to her. But this was different, right? It was excessive violence.Â
There was a lot you didnât know about those people in the theater; that much was clear. They had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in their path.
They killed Owen and Mel and⊠and everyone else in those little pictures still tucked in your pocket.
You werenât sure of the exact history between Owen and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen her reaction when she found him dead.
Whoâs to say Ellie wouldâve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Whoâs to say she would even stop now?
So could you really judge Abby for her actions, given how much you didnât know?
This world is great at breeding darkness, planting it in you from the moment youâre born, growing and spreading both inside your being and out. Everyone has darkness. Tonight you caught your first glimpse of Abbyâs.Â
She had gotten scary, but that didnât make her a monster.
And she pulled back. She stopped. That meant a lot.Â
You trusted her. And you trusted yourself. You were sheltered, but you werenât stupid.
Abby was a good person, and she was in your life for a reason, so you werenât going anywhere.
You knew it was weighing on her, though. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing between the two of you.
So you shook your head. âDonât apologize. Iâm glad I was there. You shouldnât have had to do that alone.â She nodded, but seemed unconvinced that you didnât have anything else to say on the matter.
Part of you wanted to ask for the history now. How she knew Ellie. Why she wanted her dead. But you didnât need that from her right now.Â
Instead, you took another swipe at her face, wiping away the last of the blood. When you were finished, you pulled your hand away. The cut there might form a scar, but you werenât brave enough to attempt stitches. Not on her lovely face, so close to her eye.
Now that Abby was about as fixed up as she was going to get, you turned your attention to the blood on your own hands.Â
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Abby watched as you meticulously scrubbed at your fingers.
When you finished with that, you put everything back into the first aid kit and put the kit in your backpack. Then you made a pile of all the trash that had accumulated. Then you sat back down and immediately stood back up. You shrugged off your jacket â Well, her jacket. (You hadnât taken it off since Abby gave it to you on the boat, and she didnât want you to. It looked better on you anyway.) You draped it over the other end of the couch, and then you sat down again.Â
You were so restless it almost made her wish she had sustained more injuries, just to give you something productive to do with your hands.
When you started to stand again moments later, saying something about needing to move that little table back where you found it, Abby stopped you with a hand encircling your wrist.
âHey. Stop. Just sit. You need to rest,â she said, pulling you back down on the couch.
âIâm fine,â you insisted but stayed put. âYouâre the one who needs rest after everything youâve been through today. You should try to get some sleep.â
âEverything Iâve been through?â she asked. âWhat about you?â When you didnât react, she said your name. You cut her off before she could say anything else.
âYou got hurt,â you said, almost exasperated, motioning to her entire body as evidence.
âThatâs not what Iâm talking about,â Abby said.
âIâm fine,â you said again, colder this time.
âNo, youâre not.â
âAbbyââ
âYouâre not fine! Youâre just pretending like it didnât happen.âÂ
âDonât,â you said, looking away now.
She knew she was pushing, maybe even too far, but she promised herself sheâd snap you out of this if you didnât do it yourself.
âYou didnât even look at her body. You havenât reacted at allââ
âAbby, stop,â you begged in a breathy exhale.Â
And she did, but only because at that moment you closed the short distance between you and pressed your lips to hers.Â
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You were hesitant at first.
Youâd never kissed anyone before.
You hadnât even meant to kiss Abby.Â
You wanted to â had been wanting to for some time â but it wasnât a conscious decision you made in that moment.
You just needed her to stop talking.Â
So you kissed her, surprising both of you.
Just a soft brush of your lips against hers, a hand on one side of her face, holding her still, keeping her where you wanted her. By the time she responded to your touch, you were already pulling away.Â
A thrill shot down your spine and spread throughout your body. You wanted more, but you didnât know if it was yours to take.Â
You werenât sure Abby wanted you the way you wanted her.
You studied her face, watched as her eyes went from being wide-blown and shocked to something that looked like hunger. A neediness that matched your own.
She was looking at your lips, so you grabbed her face with both hands this time and pulled her in, kissing her again.
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Abbyâs heart beat against her chest as her hand found your waist. She gripped you there, pulling you even closer.
If the first kiss had been testing the waters, this was diving in head first.
It had never felt like this for her before. Touches that she had only ever pulled away from in the past, she heavily leaned into now, seeking more, needing it in a way she wasnât used to.Â
She knew you were just distracting her, that you only wanted to get her to stop talking about Lev and Yara, the island and the aquarium. She knew that you probably wouldnât even be doing this if she hadnât pushed you to talk.
But then you deepened the kiss and suddenly she didnât know much of anything. Except that she didnât ever want you to stop.
God, you still. werenât. close enough.
She pulled you towards her, and you went willingly where her hands guided you until she had you on her lap, your knees straddling her legs on either side.
You stopped, pulling away from the kiss and whispering through heaving breaths, âAbby, your leg-â
â âM fine,â she mumbled, already pulling your face back down to meet hers. The soft moan you let out as your lips met made her crazy. Her hands moved from your face, tracing their way down before landing on your hips.
She wanted to slow down, take her time with you. She wanted to strip off all of your clothes, push you on your back, pin you beneath her, and explore. She wanted to hear every sound you could make and learn exactly where to touch â how to touch â to make you come undone.Â
Abby pushed her hands up under your shirt, fingers sliding along your lower back and up your sides. You gasped, leaning into the touch.
But then you pulled away entirely.
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You promised. The thought cut through the fevered haze in your mind, sending a shock through your system.Â
You promised Yara that you would bring Lev back safe. You said you wouldnât let anything happen to him.
You told Lev that everything would be okay. You told him youâd get off that island together.
The full weight of it hit you like a tidal wave, so hard you thought it mightâve actually bruised your body and broken your bones. It knocked the air from your lungs.
Your friends were gone. It was your job to take care of them, and now they were dead. You did everything wrong today, made every mistake, and it cost them their lives.Â
Somehow, you had gone from Abbyâs lap to the other end of the couch, pressing yourself as deep into the corner as you could as you pulled your knees up. Your trembling hands pressed against your chest as you shook with the first of the sobs.
Abby moved and then she was on her knees on the floor right in front of you.
You thought she might be talking to you, but you couldnât hear anything over the sound of the ringing in your ears.
It felt like something was pressing down on your chest. You couldnât breathe. You kept trying but your lungs wouldnât fill.Â
Lev. Yara.
Images of one on the dirty ground and one on the hard floor. Both of them laying in a puddle of their own blood. And both of them left there by you.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make them go away. But they were still there behind your eyelids.Â
Still dead.Â
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You were having a panic attack, the worst one sheâd ever seen, and nothing Abby did was helping.
She kept trying to get you to look at her, to breathe, but it was like you couldnât hear her. Your chest continued to rise and fall jaggedly.Â
She wasnât sure if she should touch you â Were you supposed to touch people who were in the middle of a panic attack? â But she did anyway. With a gentle hand, she pushed your hair out of your eyes and held your chin, turning your face to look at her.
Your eyes widened like you hadnât realized she was there, like you were seeing her for the first time.
Good. Now that you could see her, maybe you could hear her too.
She held your gazes as she spoke softly. âBaby, you need to breathe. Copy me.â She modeled a deep, slow inhale, followed by a slow exhale. It was shaky and not nearly as strong, but you tried. âGood girl. Again.â
You continued like that for several minutes until you were able to follow Abbyâs breathing patterns exactly. The tears didnât stop, but the heaving sobs had calmed to occasion hiccupping whimpers.Â
Abbyâs fingers ran through your hair, pushing it behind your ear. You still hadnât said anything, and she didnât think you would tonight.Â
âCan you lay down for me?â she asked, voice low. You nodded and began to shift out of your curled position, slowly stretching out your legs. Abby stood to grab the jacket from behind you on the couch and waited for you to lay down before she spread it out over you, covering you up as much as possible. Then she sat on the floor in front of you, turned so that her side was pressed up against the couch.
You were blinking more slowly now, exhausted from⊠everything.Â
When you started crying again, she put her hand back on your head, letting her fingers run through your hair and scratch at your scalp in a way that she hoped was soothing. (At least she knew it wouldâve been for her.)
âI know,â she said, leaning her head against the arm of the couch. âIâm so sorry.â
She stayed like that for a while, even after your breathing slowed and evened out and she was sure you had fallen asleep. She felt a tightness in her chest every time you sniffled.Â
Abby had already decided to stay awake and keep watch.Â
Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on your backpack. She got up, grabbed the pistol from inside the bag, and returned to her spot in front of the couch.
She watched the doors and windows, listened closely for any sounds of danger, but her eyes kept drifting back to you.
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Taglist: @h0meb0dyi @strawbeffys @sapphicontherun @lmaoo-spiderman @stickynachomaker @4-atsu @00ops1e @absoluteshitshow
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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Chapter 7: Lost Haven
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)
Note: The last chapter was short and (mostly) sweet. This one... not so much.
Enjoy!
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This was your fault.
You knew Lev was upset. You knew Yara was having trouble getting through to him. But instead of talking to him â making sure he understood exactly why none of you could go back to the island, handling the situation that was yours to handle â youâd been too busy worrying about your clothes and almost kissing Wolves.
As you raced after Yara through the dimly lit hallways of the aquarium, you silently berated yourself for getting so distracted. For losing sight of what was important. For failing to predict that Lev would do something reckless if you didnât keep him in your sight.Â
If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself.Â
A strong gust of wind hit your face as you made it into open air, looking out on the makeshift dock where Owenâs boat floated idly. He was already out there, standing near Mel as the two of them looked out at the open water.Â
Ominous dark clouds and another punishing current of air told you a storm was coming.
âAre we sure heâs heading to the island? Maybe heâs just blowing off steam,â Abby offered, attempting a comforting tone.
âNo,â Yara said. The three of you joined the two others, and Yara pointed out in the same direction Owen and Mel had been looking. âThatâs him. Heâs definitely going to the island.â
You could just barely make out a small boat in the distance.Â
âShit,â Abby breathed out.
âWhatâs he doing?â Mel asked.
âHeâs going after her.â Yaraâs hand grasped onto the metal fence in front of her desperately.
âAfter who?â
âHis mom,â Abby supplied.
âSheâs going to kill him, Prophet! You know that,â Yara turned to you, looking devastated. Your fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms. It was true. You would have to go after him.
âWoah, wait. What? Prophet?â And then it occurred to you that that was something Owen and Mel were not aware of.
But that didnât matter right now.Â
âYour boat.â You turned to meet Owenâs wide eyes. âDoes it work?â
There was a brief moment where he seemed to battle with whether or not to push about the Prophet thing, but he chose to let it go. He shook his head. âNot yet.â
âHow much time do you need?â Abby asked.
âUhhh,â he looked away, thinking. âA few hours. At least.â
âFuck.â Abby turned to you. You were about to ask if there was somewhere else you could get a boat â and you had begun to wonder if you shouldnât just run off by yourself and hope you came across one quickly by chance â but Abby was already thinking the same thing, already moving, already prepared to jump back into danger for you and your friends. âWeâll head him off. Weâll grab a boat from the marinaââ
âHey! She just had surgery.â Mel threw an arm out in front of Yara, who had begun to follow you, Abby, and Owen.
âIâm fine,â Yara insisted, pushing past the woman.
You paused, reaching blindly behind you to pull Abby back.Â
âNo, sheâs right,â you said. You needed to stop and think about this before you went forward. There was no good way to go about this, but one option was definitely better than the rest. You found Abbyâs eyes and realized that you had somehow gone from pulling her by her wrist to holding her hand.
You didnât let go.
âI could use your help to find a boat, but then I need to do the rest by myself.â
Abby pulled away in shock, and her and Yaraâs responses came immediately and simultaneously.
âFuck that!â
âWhat? No! You canât!â
You nodded, doubling down. This was the right thing to do. You were sure of it. âGoing to the island would be deadly for anyone here except me.â Again they both tried to protest as you went on. âI know the island better than almost anyone else. On my own, thereâs a good chance I could stay undetected. And even if they were to catch me, it would be fine. They donât know that I deserted. And even if they suspected as much, Iâm confident that I can convince them otherwise. Worst case scenario, they wonât kill me immediately like they would the rest of you.â
âYouâre not going by yourself,â Abby said, and it was your turn to protest, but she cut you off. âYara should stay here, but Iâm going with you.â
âIâm coming too,â Owen stated matter-of-factly, just as Yara said, âI am going!â
Mel and Abby both jumped to argue with Owen. You left them to figure that out and pulled your friend to the side to talk privately.
âYara,â you began, âstay here. Please. Help them get ready to leave for Santa Barabara. I promise Iâll bring Lev back.â
âI justââ
âLev wouldnât want you to get hurt. Especially not because of him.âÂ
Yaraâs eyes went back out to the water, as if she could make him come back through sheer force of will. You wished the same. You didnât want to go back to the island, and you really didnât want Lev to be in danger.Â
âIâll get him. I wonât let anything happen to him.â
Yara was silent for a moment as the first rolls of thunder rumbled loudly.
âIâll stay,â she said. âBut you have to agree to take Abby with you.â
âYou already trust her more than me, donât you?â Your words took on a lightly teasing tone.
âOf course not.â She gave you a small smile as, you assumed, her eyes found Abby somewhere behind you. âBut you need someone to watch your back. Lev wouldnât want you to get hurt either. And neither do I.â She stepped forward and hugged you. It was a bit awkward on your end â with you having to be careful to avoid her healing wound â but it was the first time anyone had embraced you in years. In fact, you were pretty sure the last time had been when Yara hugged you on the morning of your scarring ceremony.Â
You cleared your throat. Even if emotions hadnât already been running high, you wouldâve had to swallow down some tears in that moment.
âYara?â you said, still holding her.
âYes?â
âWhen we get back, Iâm really going to need you and Lev to stop calling me Prophet.âÂ
She let out a little laugh at that as you parted. âDeal.â
When you looked back at the other three, you found them standing in the same place youâd left them, watching you and Yara, apparently having already come to an agreement themselves. By the look on Owenâs face, it hadnât gone the way he wanted it to.
So it would be just the two of you then.
You looked to Abby.
âReady?â
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The process of getting a boat wasnât nearly as straightforward as Abby thought it would be. And it had taken a lot longer than she wouldâve liked.
At the marina, the two of you were greeted by the sound of gunshots. She asked you to stay there, hidden near the dock, while she grabbed a boat.Â
If there were WLF soldiers nearby, being spotted with you would be a problem. Your lack of facial scars meant you werenât recognizable as a Seraphite at a glance, but you were still a stranger. She didnât know how to explain you being with her in a way that wouldnât bring up too many questions. All in all, it would be easier and faster for her to go alone.
You surprisingly didnât argue with her, willing to hang back for a bit if it meant getting to the island â getting to Lev â quicker.
Abby almost immediately ran into Manny and found that the gunshots were coming from one of the trespassers whoâd come out of nowhere and been hitting WLF hard the last few days.Â
She didnât get the chance to ask Manny what he meant by that.Â
The trespasser shot him in the head.
But she got close enough to see him. Close enough to fight with him hand-to-hand.
It was Tommy Miller, Joelâs brother â a realization that made her worry about what these trespassers were here for and what they meant to do.
But Abby was great at setting things aside for later for the sake of focusing on one problem at a time.
And right now, she needed to get you and get to Lev.Â
By that point, youâd already caught up to her â because of course you hadnât actually stayed very far behind at all â but you still needed a boat.Â
Abby found a small motorboat tied to one of the docks that proved to be in working order. She got it going, sat behind the wheel, and headed out toward the island, quickly reaching the boatâs top speed, trying to make up for lost time.
You had been silent since you got on the boat, looking out at the water. She cleared her throat, speaking loudly over the combined roar of the motor, the wind, and the water. âSo how do we get to that village in one piece?â
Your eyes remained focused ahead. âThere are blind spots along the coast we can boat into. From there, weâll follow back roads.â
âTheyâre safe?â
âItâs the safest option we have.â
You wore the same expression youâd had since you found out Lev had run off, eyebrows drawn together, a storm in your eyes just as strong as the one in the sky. You were worried, but it was more than that.Â
Abby had to call your name twice before you turned to her, reluctant to meet her eyes. âThis isnât your fault, you know.â
You shook your head once and looked back out towards the island, pointing as you began to direct her to the best entrypoint.
The island was weirdly exactly what Abby expected, given what she knew about the Seraphites, and yet seeing it with her own eyes was still shocking. Â
The Washington Liberation Front used existing buildings from the Old World. SoundView Stadium and the Lakehill Seattle Hospital. Schools and office buildings. They didnât build so much as clean, repair, and repurpose.
The Seraphites had built a whole new world on the island. Wooden structures, villages, homes, farmlands.Â
It was honestly impressive.
As promised, you had been leading the way through the woods, using backroads. You had yet to run into any other people, but Lev and Yaraâs village was further inland, and it was only a matter of time before it became unavoidable.
Abby wondered if you were prepared to kill your own people. And if you would hold it against her when she did, to keep you safe and to get to Lev.
You had been quiet for a while, deftly navigating through a thick stretch of forest with her following close behind. If you didnât want to talk, she wasnât going to force the issue.
It had begun raining a while ago, although the worst of the storm hadnât hit yet. The outfit Mel gave you hadnât included a jacket, and youâd left your cloak behind with the dress.
Would you be offended if she offered you her jacket? Abby wasnât sure, but you didnât seem to be bothered by the rain or the cold.Â
At a point of higher elevation, you came to a stop, looking out onto a huge settlement in the distance along the western coast.
âWoah. Is that the village?â she asked, using one hand to shield her eyes from the rain to get a better look.
âNo,â you said. âThatâs Haven, our capital. And thatââ You stepped closer to Abby, placing a hand on her shoulder as you shifted your weight to the tips of your toes so your eyelines were level. She leaned into the touch, bringing your faces even closer, cheeks nearly brushing. You pointed to a specific building just north of the large town. It was bigger than the rest and even from that distance, Abby could tell that it was nicer. More carefully and intentionally made and maintained. ââThat is Sanctuary. It was the first Prophetâs home and a sacred place of worship. And itâs where I lived after my scarring ceremony.â
You let several moments pass before your hand fell and you dropped back down to your heels, taking a step to the side.
Sometimes it seemed that you touched her without realizing, without meaning to. And then thereâd be a moment when youâd become aware of your actions and pull away.Â
She wished you wouldnât. But now wasnât the time for that conversation.
âThe village is further east.â You turned to go, continuing back into the forest. Abby stood there for a second longer, looking out at the place youâd spent much of your life, being literally worshiped and yet entirely controlled, and she wondered how strange it must feel for you to come back now.Â
âDonât linger,â you said, turning back to find that she hadnât moved. âThey have scouts. They might see you.â
She glanced back one more time before following.
âAre you sure the Wolves are attacking tonight?â you asked, breaking several minutes of silence, both of you having been lost in thought.
She cleared her throat. âYeah, thatâs what my friend told me. Theyâll use this storm as a cover for the attack. Unless Isaac changes his mind.â
âWill he change his mind?â
Abbyâs gaze was locked onto the ground in front of her. â...I doubt it.â
You stopped abruptly, a gasp leaving your throat. Her eyes shot up, hand flying to her gun at her side.
âFuck,â she breathed.Â
Two WLF soldiers were dead, disemboweled in typical Seraphite fashion, one hanging from an old road sign and the other discarded on the ground like trash. They had clearly been dead for several days, but Abby pulled the gun from the holster on her right thigh anyway. Just in case.
âDid you know them?â you asked, turning to her.
âIâve seen them around.â Abby brushed it off and kept walking, taking the lead.
âIâm sorry,â you said, running to catch up, voice sincere despite the fact that you hadnât been the one to do it.
Itâs not your fault, she wanted to say.
âIt is what it is,â she said instead. And then, because she was curious, âHave you everâ?â
âNo,â you said quickly and definitively. âYou were supposed to be my first.â Abby felt her cheeks warm. You hadnât meant it that way at all of course, but thatâs where her mind went. She let out a weird, strangled, kind-of-coughing noise that only aided in deepening her blush.Â
You went on, unaware, âIt was supposed to be a big deal. They were calling it my first kill.â You sounded put off by the whole thing, like very nearly killing Abby had been so beneath you. âThatâs why they were letting me off the island for the first time. Things⊠obviously didnât go as the Elders planned.â
âWell I feel⊠weirdly honored,â she said, an attempt at lightening the mood.
âHonored that you were chosen to be my first kill? Or honored that I didnât actually kill you?â you asked, brows slightly raised but playing along.
âBoth I guess.â She shrugged as you sped up a bit so you could walk side-by-side instead of one after the other.
âYeah well.â You bumped her gently with your shoulder. âIâm glad I didnât kill you.â
Abby scoffed. âYou were never actually going to do it.â
âYes I was!â
She scoffed again. âSure. If you say so, princess.â
âI absolutely was going to kill you,â you said, feigning offense. âAbby, if Lev and Yara hadnât shown up exactly when they did, you would be so dead right now.â
She laughed lightly, shaking her head. To anyone else, this mightâve been a weird thing to joke about, but between the two of you it worked.
âYou really donât think I couldâve done it.â Your eyes were wide in realization, and now you looked like maybe you were truly offended.
âAll Iâm saying is,â Abby said, smiling to herself, âthere seemed to be a whole lot of hesitation on your end of things.â
âWell Iâm not saying that I wanted to do it,â you insisted, watching her as you walked. âIâm just saying that I couldâve.â
âUh huh. Whatever you say.â She knew she was goading you, but it was the first time sheâd seen you get anywhere close to a smile since you left the aquarium.Â
âShut up,â you mumbled harshly, whipping your head back around to face forward.Â
That made Abby really laugh. Sheâd never heard you say anything like that before.
You were biting your tongue, trying to suppress a smile of your own.
A loud, low groaning alarm sounded out over the island, and your face instantly fell.
âWhat is that?â
âItâs our warning signal,â you said, pulling Levâs bow over your shoulder and grabbing an arrow. âYour people are here. The whole island will be on alert now.â
âGod damn it, Isaac,â Abby muttered to herself.
âWeâll cut through the logging camp. This way,â you took a left, leaving the path youâd been on. âWe no longer have the luxury of taking the long way to stay hidden. We need to hurry.â
Abby nodded, even though you werenât looking at her. âHow many people live here?â
âAround a thousand.â
âHow many soldiers?â
âMore than half are trained in combat.â
âWhat are the other half going to do when my people get here?â
âSome will hide. Most will fight,â you said, leading the way into the nearest village.
It was empty. No one around, ready to attack.
âWhere is everyone?â
âThe children will have been taken to shelters as soon as the signal went off. Everyone else is probably moving towards the coast to face the Wolves.âÂ
The second small village you passed through was still being evacuated. As expected, when they caught sight of Abby, they attacked. In the chaos, no one seemed to get a close enough look at you to recognize who you were.
Abby fought. And killed.
You fired more than a few arrows.
And then you moved on to the next village, making a near-straight shot to where you knew Lev would be.
Abby paused just within the treeline.
In the trunk of a tree, someone had painstakingly sculpted a life-sized, hyper-realistic statue of you. Just above your head, the words âMay Her light guide usâ were carved.Â
You stopped next to Abby, regarding the figure in your likeness for a moment.
ââWhen youâre lost in the darkness, look for the light,ââ she said quietly.Â
âWhatâs that?â
âJust⊠something my dad used to say.â
You hummed in acknowledgment, glancing down to where the trunk met the earth.
âThose are new,â you said, referring to the mass of flowers that were carefully placed around the tree.
It reminded Abby of the flowers people put near the graves and memorials of their dead loved ones.Â
âItâs like theyâre mourning you,â she said.
âThey think Iâm dead?â you asked, knowing she couldnât have an answer.Â
Abby pulled her eyes away from the intricate carving to look at the real, living, breathing version of you beside her. âWhere are we going?â
Without looking away from the flowers, you said, âSee that tall tower?â
âThe Space Needle?â
âThe what?â
âThe â never mind. Yeah. I see it.â
âHead towards it.â
You knelt down, letting the fingers of your left hand graze over some of the flowers. When they landed on a daisy, you picked it up, stood, and carefully pushed it into your pocket.
She waited patiently before following you onward.
You had to get through a few more villages â and the few Scars who had been left behind to defend them â before you got to the right one.
At least Abby thought it must be the right one. Because you had come to a full stop and were staring at one specific house.
âIs that it?â she asked, putting a hand on your shoulder to bring you back down to earth.
âNo,â you whispered absentmindedly. âItâs this one.â You walked towards the house across from the one youâd been staring at, bow drawn, arrow nocked.
Abby moved ahead of you and slid the door open.Â
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A lit fire pit in the center of the large, open room illuminated the space in an orange glow. You stepped inside, letting your weapon fall when you saw the lifeless body in front of the fire.
It was Lev and Yaraâs mother.
Blood ran from a wound in her skull, pooling on the floor beneath her.
You let out a shaky breath.
And whipped around when you heard your name uttered from an even shakier voice coming from the corner of the room.
âLev!â He was sitting, knees up, arms wrapped around them, curled in on himself, eyes locked on his mom. âOh thank god,â you breathed out, rushing over. You were on your knees in front of him before you saw the damage that had been done. Cuts all across his face and arms. Your heart sank even deeper. âDid she do this to you?â
Lev let out a few hiccupping breaths, still staring past you at the body. âI just tried talking to her. I tried to make her understand, but she⊠she just kept yelling. She started chasing me. I tried to make her stop. I was just pushing her off of meâŠâ His volume grew, voice becoming more desperate as he tried to explain.
âHey hey hey,â you whispered, trying to soothe, wanting to fix.
ââThen she hit the table,â he sobbed.
âListen to me.â Your hand was on his elbow, thumb gently circling. âYou were defending yourself. You did nothing wrong.â When he finally met your eyes, you wrapped your arms around him and held him as he cried, grasping onto you so tightly it took your breath away. âItâs going to be okay. I promise.â
You stayed there for several minutes, holding him against you, rubbing his back as he kept his face buried where your shoulder met your neck. You held him until his sobbing subsided and his breathing slowed. You remembered how Yara used to hug you when you were kids, never being the first to let go, and you hugged her little brother â your little brother â in just the same way.
You pressed a kiss to the side of his head and squeezed a little tighter.
âI wanna leave,â he said, voice muffled against you.
âYeah, me too.â When he lifted his head, you stood, offering him a hand up. He took it and kept holding on, even once he was standing too. âCome on,â you said, motioning to the door.
Abby was there â she had been there the whole time â and her eyes looked soft and sad when they met yours.
âHey, kid,â she said to Lev, offering him one of her handguns. You squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go so he could grab it, glad that Abby had the forethought to make sure he was armed.
He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve before taking the weapon from her. âIâm sorry. I never shouldâveââ
âItâs okay,â she said. âIâm just glad we found you. Letâs go.â
He nodded as she turned to push the door back open. The three of you stepped back out into the rain.
âWhatâs happening? Wolves?â Lev asked.
âYeah,â you said, taking the lead. âAll over the island.â Your eyes caught again on the house across the way, making you pause.Â
Lev stopped next to you, immediately understanding. âSheâs not there.â
âI figured.â
âDo you want to go in?â he asked.
âWe donât have time,â you said, but you couldnât turn away.
âWeâre never coming back here, right?â
âGod, I hope not.â
âThen letâs make time,â he said, making the decision for you as he walked over and opened the door. You followed behind him, and Abby followed behind you, not asking any questions.
The inside of your motherâs house was much the same as Levâs and Yaraâs. One large, open room on the first floor. Fire pit in the center. A ladder leading up to a loft.
It looked nearly the same as you remembered it, though you hadnât stepped foot in there in eight years. There was the stool in front of the mirror where youâd tried not to cry while your mom fixed your hair over and over again until she deemed it âas close to perfect as imperfect people can beâ on your last morning here. There was the table where you did your lessons and learned to read the scripture, and where youâd sit and have meals as a family, back before your dad died. The little wooden animals your dad used to carve in his rare, precious spare time. The bed where your mother slept.
Everything was the same. Except for the far wall.Â
Where there was once a painting of the first Prophet, your own face now stared back at you. And next to the painting, in neat lettering:
âThe world is not in balance,
But I have done my part to right it.
You have led me through the storm.
May the current be calm.
May you guide me home.â
âWhatâs that?â Abby asked, speaking for the first time since you entered the house.
âThe Prophetâs prayer,â you said quietly, turning away from the wall entirely.Â
âShe prays to it,â Lev said matter-of-factly. âThe painting,â he clarified.Â
âI couldâve gone without knowing that, Lev,â you said, sounding cross despite your efforts not to.
âYour mom?â Abby asked. âThis is her house, right?â
âYep,â Lev answered for you.
You felt sick to your stomach.
âItâs like the Elders decided you were the new Prophet and then everyone lost their minds,â he went on as you made your way over to the ladder and climbed up to the loft. âYour mom stopped calling you her daughter. Suddenly your face was everywhere, but we werenât allowed to go see you or talk to you. We werenât even supposed to talk about you, you know, before. Someone overheard Yara using your real name, and they⊠The punishment was severe.â
You listened as you stood alone in the loft, looking around at what used to be your bedroom. This, your mother had left completely untouched. It seemed like no one had even been up here in the eight years youâd been gone. âIâm listening,â you reassured Lev as you began searching for something. The one thing you wanted to take with you before you left forever.Â
âAfter that, it was hard to even think of you as the same person we knew. The girl who used to braid little flowers into crowns for us. Who came up with the best games and told the wildest stories and broke the rules but only in ways that didnât really matter and only when you knew you wouldnât get caught⊠The girl who carried me back home, all the way across the island, when I fell and broke my foot, singing the whole way because you knew it would make me feel better.â He paused for a second before continuing, âYou were the first person who I told I didnât like my name â I didnât like the way it made me feel â so, without asking me a single question, without asking me to explain myself or justify anything, you just⊠never called me that name again.â Levâs voice broke just a little, and you wiped away a few of your own tears as you continued looking. You knew this was everything heâd needed to get off his chest, probably since long before you were reunited a few days ago, and you didnât want to interrupt. âYou were our sister and then one day they took you away from us. And no one but me and Yara seemed upset about it. Our mom was weird. Your mom was even weirder. Everyone acted like you were a god. The God. Not even a person. And like everything else, everything before, didnât matter. Like it wasnât real. They made us believe it.â
You finally found what youâd been looking for, and you could sense that Lev had run out of things to say, at least for the time being, so you shoved it in your pocket with the daisy, climbed back down the ladder, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly again.
âTheyâre good at that,â you said quietly. âAt making us forget⊠But itâs okay. Weâre together now. Letâs get out of here.â He sniffled and nodded as you pulled away. âIâm surprised you remember all of that. You were so young.â
He said your name, eyebrows drawing together like he shouldnât have to say this, âYou were my favorite person. Of course I remember.â
âReally?â you asked, smiling. âNot Yara?â
âDonât feel bad for her,â he said, heading to the door. âYou were her favorite too.â
Abby brushed past you as she followed Lev out, letting her hand brush against yours as she went. You met her eyes and smiled apologetically, grateful to her for being here. For helping with this.
You took up the back of the line, taking one final look around before shutting that door behind you forever.Â
Outside, the rain had picked up and daylight was slipping away. By the sounds of it, the fighting had grown closer on all sides, although it hadnât yet reached the village you were in.
âThis way,â you said, taking the lead again.
âShouldnât we head back for our boat?â Abby asked when you didnât start going back the way youâd come.
âNo, I hear fighting back there.âÂ
âI hear fighting everywhere,â Abby argued.
Lev stopped next to you. âThere are lots of boats in Haven.â
âThatâs what I was thinking,â you said. âWeâre closer to Haven now than to where we came from anyway. We can cut through Old Town. Avoid the main roads.â
Abby looked unsure, but relented to the two who knew the island. âAlright, princess. Lead the way.â
Your group managed to avoid conflict for a while, from both the Wolves and the Seraphites, staying hidden in the trees and avoiding areas where the fighting was the loudest.
You moved in near silence, keeping the talking to a minimum.
Old Town referred to an area of old buildings, left completely unused by the anti-Old World Seraphites. The thing that had surprised you the most about the mainland was that it looked like Old Town, only much much bigger. The Wolves hadnât carved out their own place in the world in the same way the Seraphites did.Â
You wondered if the rest of the world was like that. Just people making the best of what already was instead of building something new.
The three of you moved carefully and quickly through the streets of Old Town, cutting through alleyways and relying mostly on side streets.Â
âWeâre leaving so many people behind,â Lev said as you passed by a few dead Seraphites on the road.
âWe canât help them,â you said. Thatâs what you had to tell yourself.
âI know.â
âStay close to me,â you whispered.
âOkay.â
âWe need to get off the street,â Abby said, leading you into one of the nearby buildings as the sound of gunshots grew closer.
You lost count of how many buildings you passed through, each of them equally derelict and damp. It took longer, traveling that way, but it meant you were much less likely to be seen.
âThis way,â Lev said, pulling himself up and out of a large window that appeared to lead out to a side road. His feet hit the street before either you or Abby had even made it to the window. She was the first to follow after him.Â
From inside, you couldnât see what was happening, but you heard a struggle. Someone yelled, âI got one!â And then there was a gunshot.
Your heart lurched.
Abby yelled â no, screamed â Levâs name.
You pulled yourself up as fast as you could.
But you were too late.
Lev was already on the ground.
He was already gone.
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âAbby?â The WLF soldier gasped as she knocked him out with his own gun.
The one heâd used to kill Lev.
By the time she had taken the man out, you were out the window and on your knees next to Lev. Silent. Staring. Your hands frozen, shaking, hovering just above his body like you wanted to touch him but didnât know if you should.
Your whole body shook with a sob.
âGunshots! Over here!â More Wolves were just down the street. You were seconds away from being within their sights.
Abby rushed to you, grabbing your arm. âHey, we need to move.â She wished more than anything that this wasnât happening right now. She wanted to give you time, wanted to sit beside you and cry too, but that wasnât an option right now.
âNo!â You pushed her away. Abby didnât have a choice. If you didnât move now, youâd be dead too. She hooked her arms under yours and lifted you, trying to carry you away. âNo!â you cried out, grabbing for Lev, fighting against her. âI canât leave him here!â
âWe have to!â she insisted, not letting you go.
The Wolves were closing in. âI see someone!â
There was no point. You wouldnât be able to get away in time. Abby put you down and pushed you behind her, raising her gun. âStay back!â she shouted as the soldiers came into view.
âDrop it! Now!â one of them demanded while two others said, âHoly shit!â and âItâs Abby!â
âI said stay back!â She held firm, ready to fire at any one of them at a moment's notice.
âStand down,â came another voice. One Abby recognized.
The man stepped out of the treeline and into view.Â
âIsaac,â she said.
When he came upon Levâs body on the ground, he regarded it for a moment before shaking his head and slowly stepping over it.
Abby held her gun to the side, not putting it away but showing that she wasnât aiming at him. She was, like heâd instructed, standing down.
âWhat the hell are you doing?â he asked.
She slowly bent down, fingers raised away from the trigger, as she dropped her gun on the ground a few feet in front of her. âI need you to hear me out.â
Isaac took a beat before he responded. âWhatâs that behind you?â
Abby held a hand up and kept her voice calm, like she was trying to reason with a wild animal instead of a man and a handful of his soldiers. She took a couple steps back, bumping into you, making sure you were close without ever looking away from him. âShe saved my life, Isaac.â
âMove out of the way. Weâll deal with you back home.â
He wasnât listening.
âSheâs not one of them. Please,â Abby said, desperation in her voice.Â
âAbby, move.â He was firm and expected to be obeyed, just as he always did.
But she couldnât obey this time. She knew what would happen to you if she did. âNo. Sheâsââ
ââThe Prophet,â he finished. And then his gaze slid from hers to yours. âYeah. I recognize you. Theyâve got your face plastered all over this island.â
You said nothing, and Abby wanted his attention back on her, away from you. She tried again. âIsaacââ
He cut her off again, this time with a sudden laugh. âI tried to warn you, Abby. Didnât I?â And then he turned dramatically, to the surrounding Wolves, gesticulating theatrically in her direction. âBEHOLD the power of the Great Scar Prophet!â His eyes landed back on her. âAble to pull my best soldier right out from under me. Make her turn her back on everything she believes in. And everyone she cares about.â
âThatâs notâ Sheâs notââ Abby didnât know how to make him understand. âSheâs not part of this.â
âThat is correct. Sheâs not a part of this,â Isaac seethed. âShe. Is. This.â
âWhatââ
âEvery time they attack us â every time they slaughter one of our people â it is done in her name. Every new martyr of theirs dies with her face at the forefront of their mind. Every life lost here today is because of her, along with every life that has been lost in the last decade of this war. All of this death and destruction â all of the blood â is on her hands.â
âIsaac, you canât seriously thinkââ
And then, for the first time, Isaac pointed his gun directly at Abby, leveling it at her face. âYou have three seconds to get away from that Scar,â he said. âOne.â
âYouâre really gonna shoot me?â Abby reached a hand out behind her, finding you, making sure you were still behind her, still shielded.
âTwo.â
âIâm not fucking moving.â
Isaac paused. And Abby thought, for just a second, that he mightâve changed his mind. That he might back down.
And then there was a gunshot.Â
She flinched, but it wasnât her who had been shot.
It was Isaac. Shot byâ
âLev!â you shouted, surging forward.
âNo!â âWhat the fuck?â âShoot him!â The soldiers all turned their guns on Lev and fired.
You screamed.
Abby grabbed your hand and booked it to the nearest building, taking advantage of the chaos. You were too shocked to fight her this time, so you allowed yourself to be pulled away.
âShit!â âStop them!â âDonât let them get away!â
Abby slammed the door closed behind you and pushed a filing cabinet in front of it, grabbing your hand and dragging you further into the building, through another door. Once that one was secure, she reached for you again. If she had to drag you all the way back to the aquarium, she would.
But this time, you ripped your hand away. Thatâs when you seemed to notice the blood on your hands.Â
Levâs blood.
âWe need to move.â She wanted you to have time, for you to be able to fully react and process this, but it needed to be later. When you were safe.
You didnât hear her. Or didnât care. âHeâs gone. Oh my god. Heâs gone.â
She said your name, forcefully, trying to draw your eyes to her. âCome on.â She reached for you again, but you yanked your whole body in the opposite direction.
âThose were your fucking people!â you lashed out, much angrier than sheâd ever seen you, and for good reason.
âHey! Youâre my people!â she said, matching your volume and intensity. Abby didnât know where that came from, but she knew that it was true. She took a breath, stepped closer, and tried to touch you again, this time putting her hands on your shoulders. You let her, looking up at her with wide eyes. âListen to me. Weâre gonna have to fight to get out of this, okay? And then I need you to show us to those boats.â You nodded, and she moved her hands from your shoulders to either side of your face, holding your gaze. âWe wonât let anybody stop us, yeah?â
âOkay,â you said, barely a whisper.
âOkay.â She stepped back, letting her hands fall to her sides. âFollow me.â
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Haven was burning.
You were on a boat, floating off to safety, while your whole island went up in flames.
Lev was there. Your mother was there. Everything and everyone you knew was there.
But you were here.
In a rowboat.
And you werenât even helping to row it.
You hadnât even thought to offer.Â
The phantom heat of the now distant fires that consumed Haven seemed to lick at the back of your skull as you finally pulled your eyes away, turning to face Abby.
She was rowing slowly, now that you werenât in imminent danger, her strong arms engaged, face focused. She had to be tired. Sheâd done so much.
You were only alive because of her.
âI can row,â you said, voice weaker than you meant for it to be.Â
Abby slowed a bit more, looking you over. âYouâre shaking.â
You hadnât noticed. You clenched your fists tightly, trying to stop the tremors. But it wasnât just your hands that were shaking. It was your whole body.Â
Were you cold?Â
For how long?
You steeled yourself. âI can help.âÂ
She stopped rowing entirely and started to shift. You prepared yourself to switch seats with her, but she wasnât actually moving. She was only taking off her jacket.
You felt like you should protest, that you should insist you were fine and that she should keep her jacket, but you didnât have it in you.Â
When she went to drape it over your shoulders, you let her.Â
The jacket was soaked, just like everything else in Seattle, but it helped.
You put your arms in the sleeves properly and pulled it tighter around yourself, staring at the floor of the boat.Â
What you wanted was for your mind to go blank. Thinking about anything was dangerous. You didnât want to spiral, not right now. You couldnât create more problems for Abby to deal with. You needed to just get back to the aquarium, get dry, and thenâ
Yara.
You had to tell Yara what happened.Â
How could you tell Yara about this? You promised her youâd bring Lev back safe.
Lev.
Images came rushing back to you. You tried to blink them away, but they were stubborn. They lingered.
You swallowed back tears and let your head fall into your hands, trying desperately to focus on your breathing and nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing. Else.
Abby brought the boat right up to a small dock right next to the aquarium. She got out first and tied it off with deft fingers. Then she offered you a hand and pulled you out, stabilizing you as you found balance on embarrassingly shaky legs.
âGot it?â she asked, a hand pressed to your mid-back.
âYeah.â
She stepped away. âLetâs get out of the rain.â
Someone had barricaded the aquarium door from the inside.
That was the first indication that something was wrong.
The second came soon after, when you found the dog â Alice â dead.Â
You and Abby were both on high alert, moving through the dark hallways with your weapons drawn.
Then there was the blood. So much of it that there was a pool of it gathering on the other side of the door. Whatever happened â whatever went so terribly wrong here in the time that you were gone today â was through that doorway.
You forgot to breathe.
Abby pressed on.Â
You really didnât want to, but you followed.
Into the room with whales on the ceiling and Mel, Owen, and Yara lifeless and bleeding on the floor.
You went numb in a way that had nothing at all to do with the cold. You felt the switch flipping inside of you, the failsafe going into effect. You detached. Walls went up in your mind.Â
This was good. It meant that maybe, just maybe, youâd make it through this day.Â
You were somewhat aware of Abby, to your left, as she let out a terrible sound. You thought she was saying âoh,â but no. That didnât make sense. She was saying âno.â Over and over again as she crumpled to her knees near Owen.
Your eyes locked onto something on the floor by your feet. To get it, you had to step through a pool of blood that had certainly come from one of the three bodies.
But it was just blood, you told yourself. And these were just bodies. Nothing to be done. Nothing to worry about.
Numbly, you bent to pick up what you now realized was a map of Seattle. Someone had written on it, covering it in notes and shapes and names.
After studying it for a minute, your eyes went to Abby. She was on her hands and knees, heaving after having been sick.
Youâd give her a moment more if you thought it would help, but you knew it wouldnât.
This. This map. That would help.
âAbbyâŠâ You approached her slowly, letting her make an attempt at pulling herself together. When you were close enough, you held out the map.
She took it, and then she stood slowly, examining it.
When she turned to you, you could tell. She knew the same thing you did.
Someone had been tracking Abby â hunting her â for a while.
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âThe trespassers,â she said.
They killed Manny.Â
They killed Owen and Mel.
And, according to the map, theyâd gotten to Nora, Jordan, Leah, and Nick too.
All in pursuit of Abby.Â
Because of something she had done.
But they fucked up.
They left the map.
And now she knew exactly where to find them.
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Note: As always, thank you for reading! I'm not the best at responding to comments, but I want you to know that I love and cherish them more than words can say! So if you're leaving them, thank you <3
I'm really excited about the turn the story takes in the next chapter, and I think it'll be really enjoyable to read for anyone who's rooting for Abby and the Prophet! (which is, I assume, everyone who reads this fic lol)
Taglist: @4-atsu @h0meb0dyi @lmaoo-spiderman @quinnsadilla @rew1nds @sapphicontherun @stickynachomaker
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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Chapter 6: A Dagger In One Hand
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas
Note: I'm really sorry for how long it took for me to write this chapter. Life's been a bitch lately. Keeps kicking me while I'm down, so to speak.
Someone asked about a taglist, so I'm starting one! Please comment if you want to be added :)
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Abby fell asleep surrounded by Scars but woke up alone.
She sat up, blinking away the stubborn remnants of her dreams. Images of her father, alive, and simpler times.
Sunlight shone in from nearby windows, indicating that it was probably already late morning, if not early afternoon, meaning that sheâd slept much later than sheâd meant to. Much later than she normally would.
But the last couple of days had been anything but normal.
The sound of voices in the hallway brought Abby to her feet and out the door.
Lev and Yara stood just down that hall, arguing, their voices low and insistent.
âEven if you make it, sheâs not going to come with you,â Yara said.
âI can convince her.â
âWe broke the rules, Lev! Thatâs all sheâll care about!â
Abby didnât know who or what they were talking about, and she wasnât nearly awake enough to begin to decipher it. Behind her, a door opened, across the hall from the room sheâd come from.
âAbby?â
Your voice was quiet. Almost surprised. Like you hadnât expected to see her standing there.
She shivered, as if youâd touched her.
She wished you would touch her.
Jesus. She really needed to get her thoughts in check.
She turned to face you.
You smiled, a stark contrast to the tense words being exchanged just around the corner. âHi.â
âHi.â Abby might have just woken up, but she couldâve sworn there was a halo of light surrounding you.
Maybe she was still dreaming.
Her too-recently-conscious eyes could only take in one thing at a time. First, your eyes. She was stuck there for a while. Probably much longer than what was socially acceptable. You had beautiful eyes.
Then, your mouth. Lips still slightly upturned in a warm smile. She wanted to know if you greeted everyone like this. If that smile was a common sight to those around you or if it was just for her. She couldnât imagine sheâd done anything to deserve special treatment from you, but looking at you smiling at her felt like a gift. One that she couldnât possibly have earned.
It was at that moment that Abby remembered that she was looking at the Seraphite Prophet.
Isaac had warned her about you just over forty-eight hours ago. Heâd said that the greatest threat you posed was in your ability to win people over, earning their loyalty even at the cost of their own morals. Their life-long allegiances. Their people.Â
She understood now why you had been chosen to be the new Prophet. There was something about you that drew people in â had them letting their guard down â with or without all of the Seraphite brainwashing.Â
Hell, Abby met you two days ago and she was already prepared to leave the certainty and security of the Washington Liberation Front to follow you wherever you wanted to go.
There was something magic about you. You must have a similar effect on everybody.
Abby was momentarily relieved, feeling like sheâd solved an equation. She wasnât losing her mind. (At least not any more than anyone else around you was.) This wasnât her fault. It was yours.
Even as she thought it, it sounded stupid to her. But the only alternative was that these thoughts and feelings were uniquely, inherently her own. And that could only lead to the hope that you might feel the same way about her.Â
She finally managed to pull her eyes away from your face and noticed that you were carrying a small, neatly folded pile of clothes.Â
âMel gave these to me,â you said, following her gaze. âShe said that they donât really fit her anymore.â Abby only blinked at you incredulously, not understanding. If she hadnât just woken up, she wouldâve known what you meant. âYou know. Because of theââ You trailed off, using your hand to make an arching motion over your own stomach, as if to represent a pregnant belly. ââthe baby.â
âOh. Yeah.â Abby looked away, running a hand absently over her braided hair. âMakes sense. That was⊠nice of her.â
You nodded, falling quiet as Lev and Yaraâs voices grew louder just around the corner, the two of them still arguing.
âI canât believe sheâs on her feet already,â Abby said after a minute.
Your worried look gave way to another small smile. âYes, well, Yaraâs always been tough.âÂ
There was so much that Abby didnât know about you. And Yara and Lev. And about your history together. Sheâd been picking up on bits and pieces of it, especially yesterday with Lev. It had taken some time, but he definitely started opening up to her as they traveled to and from the hospital.
He had even turned things around on Abby and asked what was going on between you and her. And he seemed to find it funny when she got flustered and dodged the question entirely.Â
But you had not been such an open book. And Abby wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything.Â
She just didnât know where to start.
âWhat are they fighting about?â she asked instead.Â
âLev is worried about their mother,â you explained, just loud enough for Abby to hear. âAbout whatâll happen to her because of them.â
âShould he be worried?â she asked.
âHe needs to focus on his own safety right now.âÂ
âWhat could happen to her?â If she had to guess based on what she knew about the Seraphites, it couldnât be good.
You looked away. âSometimes parents are held responsible for their childrenâs sins. But their mom is so devout that sheâll probably be fine.â
âAre there options? For helping her?â
You frowned. âLev wants to go back to the island to get her. But he would never be able to convince her to leave. Iâm not even sure that I could, and Iâmââ
âThe Prophet?â Abby finished.
You moved on without acknowledging that truth. âYara and I are more worried about what she might do to him.â Before she could think of a response to any of that, you looked back at her, shaking your head like you were shaking those thoughts away. âTheyâll work it out. Levâs not unreasonable.â
âHeâs a kid,â she said frankly. âIâm not an expert, but arenât kids supposed to be hard to reason with, especially when theyâre emotional?â
âHeâs a Seraphite,â you corrected her. âSeraphites are never really kids.â
Again, Abby felt the urge to ask you to explain, to tell her more about what you meant by that.Â
âI could use your help with somethingââ you said, hesitant, ââif you wouldnât mind. I would ask Yara, but sheâs occupied. And sheâs also down one arm.â
âYeah,â Abby said, sincere and probably far too eager. âOf course. What do you need?â
You smiled gratefully and gestured for her to go back into the room where you had all slept. She followed without question, shutting the door behind her.Â
âItâs kind of embarrassing.â The look on your face told her that you wouldnât be asking if you didnât have to. âItâs this dress,â you said. âIt isnât meant for me to be able to take it off myself. One or two of my attendants would always have to help.â And then you turned, just enough to draw Abbyâs attention to the back of the dress, where there was an admittedly overly complicated looking corset thing going on. It looked cool, but yeah, she could see how it would be difficult, if not impossible, for you to undo it by yourself.
âThey might as well have sewn me into it,â you added, doing your best to look at it over your shoulder. Then you turned back to face her.Â
She took a beat before she found her voice. âYou have attendants? Like maids?â
You shot her an exasperated look. âI had attendants. But they are on the island and I am here, and itâd be really great if someone would help me get out of this thing once and for all.â
âYeah yeah, I got it,â Abby said, smiling now. âTurn back around.â
You sighed but did as you were told, tossing the pile of clean clothes on the couch for the sole purpose of being able to cross your arms over your chest. Abby chuckled, surprised but amused by your sudden attitude.Â
She stepped up behind you, taking a closer look at the fabric contraption that had you trapped in this dress. It suddenly occurred to her that, in order to help you with this problem, she would have to get very close to you⊠And that sheâd have to touch you⊠And that this would inevitably end with you taking off your clothes. Hell, she was (technically speaking) the one who would be undressing you.
She cleared her throat and tried â not for the first time that day and probably not for the last â to get her thoughts under control. You werenât coming on to her. You just needed help. You probably wouldâve been just as likely to ask Mel to do this.Â
Abby shifted on her feet behind you, lifting her hands to start what was sure to be a very long untangling process, but she paused before actually touching the fabric that hugged your back. âCan IâŠ?â she asked. It felt important to have your permission before she touched you.Â
âHmm?â you hummed, glancing over your shoulder before you realized what she meant. âOh. Yes. Please.â
A thrill shot through her at the sound of you responding to her request to touch you with please.
God, there had to be something wrong with her.
No one â genuinely not one single other person in her whole life â had ever had this effect on her.Â
She got to work on the dress, trying to convince her stupid, horny mind that the ribbons and fabrics beneath her fingers were not, in fact, attached to your body. She was unsuccessful.
âJesus, they really did not want you getting out of this thing,â she huffed. âWhat? Was trapping you in your clothes their way of keeping you chaste?â
Since when did she say shit like chaste? It did sound like some bullshit the Seraphites would do though.
To her surprise, you laughed. âI think the idea was more likely to keep me dependent on others. Trapped both physically and mentally, you know? ⊠Itâs a dress, Abby. You donât exactly have to take it off to have sex.â
Abbyâs fingers stilled, her eyes went wide, and her face warmed. And she was glad you were facing the other way so you didnât see any of it.
She changed the subject before she did anything stupid, like ask you literally anything else about that subject. âSo⊠have you always worn this dress?â
It was a stupid question, but itâs the first thing she could come up with under these conditions.
âThis exact dress, no,â you said. She could tell from your voice that you were smiling, and she couldnât be sure but she thought you might be teasing her. âBut some version of it, yes. Since the day I turned twelve. New ones were made for me as I grew and if they tore or got dirty, but it was always something like this.â You paused for a few seconds before going on. âItâs strange. I havenât worn pants in eight years. Iâm kind of excited.â
Abby couldnât imagine being excited to wear Melâs hand-me-down pants. But she also hadnât been forced to wear the same virtually inescapable dress for nearly a decade. The thought alone made her chest feel tight.Â
She had made a small amount of progress with the dress, but not as much as she would have wanted, and she was getting frustrated with the whole thing. She yanked on something that she thought would loosen it, but ended up making it much tighter. You let out a sharp hiss.
âSorry,â Abby said quickly. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to do thaââ
âDo you want to just cut it off of me?â you asked, spinning around to face her again, clearly even more eager and annoyed than she was.Â
âUmm.â Abby thought her brain might be shutting down entirely. âYeah. I can do that. If youâre sure youâre not gonna want to wear it again.â
âIâm not going to want to wear it again,â you confirmed.
Neither of you had taken a step back when you turned around, which left very little space between you. Something that Abby was painfully aware of.
âOkay,â she said, voice low. âThen I guess Iâm cutting you out of the dress.â But she didnât move from where she stood, just a breath away from you.
You were the first to move, walking over to where you had all dropped your stuff yesterday and returning with your dagger.Â
âHere.â Face unreadable, you offered the deadly blade to Abby handle-first. She took it as you spun back around.
She gripped the daggerâs hilt in her hand tightly. The trust that you mustâve had in her, to hand over your weapon and willingly turn your back to her⊠It made her feel brave.
Or maybe she had bravery and stupidity mixed up.
Abby began carefully cutting through the same ribbons that sheâd previously been attempting to untie.
âAre there rules,â she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, âabout abstaining from sex? Iâve read about a few Old World religions that were strict about that.âÂ
You were entirely unfazed by the question. âSeraphites have rules for everything. Some of them always made sense to me. But most of them are ridiculous. Meant only to ensure that our Elders are able to maintain complete control.âÂ
The top of the dress loosened and began to sag as Abby continued to slice through the offending constraints, until it was only held up by the straps. She had done enough for you to be able to easily get out of it. If you were to let those straps fall from your shoulders, the whole thing would fall to the floor, gathering at your feet.Â
She looked away from the smooth expanse of skin in front of her and tried to force that image out of her mind.Â
âShould be able to get it off now,â she said, deciding that it would actually be better for her to take several steps away.Â
An earnest âthank youâ came from your lips as you grabbed the new clothes from the couch. You didnât ask her to turn around, but she did anyway. And she was decidedly not thinking about what was going on behind her.
âTo answer your question from before,â you began as you got dressed. âYes, there are rules about that, but theyâre wildly unimaginative. We are not permitted to be alone with someone of the opposite sex â outside of our family members â until a spouse is chosen for us. At which point, that person becomes a family member. So technically, weâre never allowed to be alone with someone of the opposite sex.â
âThat sucks,â she threw out, not knowing what else to say as she stared at a random stain on the wall and forced herself to wonder how it mightâve gotten there.
âProbably. For most people. But I never really had a problem with it.â Your voice was much closer now, just behind her.
âWhy not?â Abbyâs question of if it was safe to turn around yet was answered with the light touch of your fingers against her wrist, trailing down to meet the dagger still grasped in her palm. She relinquished the knife to you, letting her hand linger against yours as she turned to face you, taking it all in.
You were, indeed, wearing pants. And also a shirt. And they both fit you pretty well.
And you were beautiful. There was always that.
You passed the dagger from your right hand to your left, and the look of determination on your face was nearly the same as it was moments after she first saw you. When Abby was hanging by her throat and you were going to kill her. Only this time the feeling coursing through her body wasnât fear. It was anticipation.Â
Whatever you were planning to do next, she wanted it.Â
âWhy not?â Abby had asked a minute ago.
âBecause Iâve never had any interest in the opposite sex,â you answered as your right hand found its place against her jaw.
Time slowed as you stood there for a moment, holding a dagger in one hand and Abbyâs face in the other.Â
She thought you might kiss her. She was hoping youâd kiss her.
And then the door flung open and your hand fell to your side.
Yara was crying or yelling or both, and it took Abby way too long to process the words she was saying.
âLevâs gone! He took a boat! Heâs going back to the island!â
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Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it felt good to end it here for now. Also, I want you to know that I'm dedicated to finishing this fic, and I know exactly where I want to go with it, so expect more updates soon!
Taglist: @h0meb0dyi @lmaoo-spiderman @quinnsadilla @rew1nds @sapphicontherun
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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This is so coolđ„șâ€ïž
Thanks for reading!!

My Y/N ( this is how I see myself in fics)
My character is based off Y/N in,
The Wolf and The prophet
Iâve been looking for a good tlou slow burn for soo long because every creator on this app just likes the write smut but Iâve been reading reading this fic it isnât that long but itâs really good if you guys want to read it the user is
@burnednotburied please go follow them ! â€ïž
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Iâm so excited for chapter 6!!!! Sending you so much love, I havenât found a fic without the whole plot being smut this good in a long time!!!!
đ„Čđ„Čđ„Čthank you so much!!!
Iâm actually working on chapter 6 right now! Hoping to have it posted in the next day or two.
It means so much to hear from people who enjoy reading what I write! Itâs seriously so encouraging and motivatingâșïžâ„ïž
Also, while Iâm here, someone else asked about a taglist. I never even thought to start one, but I will now! So to anyone who reads The Wolf and The Prophet, let me know if you want me to add you!
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Chapter 5: The Aquarium
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; sorry (but not that sorry) to any Owen fans, but heâs kinda a huge asshole in this
Note: I added chapter titles and finally figured out exactly where Iâm going with this story lol. Hooray for having a plan!!
(Sorry it took more than two weeks to get this chapter out! End-of-semester craziness, ya know? I hope this chapter being like twice as long as usual makes up for it!)
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Abby realized too late that she probably shouldâve warned you about the life-sized whales on the ceiling.
By the look on your face, she could tell youâve never seen anything like it.
Which made sense. She hadnât either before she and Owen found this place three years ago.
She paused to watch you for just a second, taking in your amazed expression as you marveled at the enormous hanging sea creatures above you.
Abby could easily remember what her first time here was like. How incredible and other-worldly this place felt. She imagined it must be even more overwhelming for you, this fractured piece of a world you were not a part of and knew little about. A world where humans built a place where they could go to look at fish for no reason other than that it was entertaining. A world where people did things just for fun.
Of course, Abby had also never been a part of that world, but at least she knew about it. Sheâd caught glimpses of it, carefully and intentionally gathering bits and pieces. She watched films and documentaries. She read novels and history books, newspapers and magazines if she could find them.
Knowledge was power. And, to Abby, having power was important. Having power meant being able to keep the people she cared about safe.
And if you had enough power, no one could ever take it away from you.
So she dedicated herself to becoming powerful, both of mind and of body. Itâs all she had known and cared about since she lost her dad.
Itâs why she lost Owen.
She still wasnât sure if that had been a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew she felt guilty about it.
Three years ago, Owen had quickly claimed the aquarium as his own. He cleaned it up, made it feel as homey as possible, and spent as much time here as he could get away with. Abby didnât tell anyone, not even the rest of the Salt Lake crew. It was right around the time they were breaking up. She felt like she owed him her discretion at the very least. Not that it really made up for anything.
Yesterday morning, when Nora told Abby that Owen was missing, she assumed heâd come here.
God, she hoped she was right.
Abby shifted the injured Yara in her arms, her muscles burning from carrying the girl for so long.
It was early in the morning now. The sun had just begun to rise as the four of you had been making your way into the aquarium.
âOwen!â she shouted, leading the way down one of the hallways off the main entrance. Abby thought he would most likely be out on the boat, either sleeping or continuing in his never-ending attempts to get the thing in working order.
âOwen!â she called out again. âOwen! Are you here?â
She paused for a moment, listening. Nothing.
âOwenââ
âIâm here.â She heard his voice just before he rounded the corner, stopping short when he saw the whole group of you. âAre those Scars?â he asked, genuinely surprised and definitely confused as hell.
Abby ignored the question. âI need whatever medical supplies you have.â
Before Owen could respond, Alice came barreling around the corner, barking aggressively at the perceived enemies.
The next few seconds were chaotic to say the least.
You screamed and jumped back. Lev reacted quickly, his bow drawn and an arrow notched.
âAlice, no!â Abby yelled out.
Owen grabbed for the German Shepherd, holding her back as she continued to lunge forward, trying to attack.
âPut the bow down! Itâs okay!â Abby shouted.
Owen gripped the dogâs harness tightly. âPut that down!â
âAlice, shut up! Lev, put the bow down!â
âAlice, stopâAbby, what the fuck?!â
âLev, listen to them! Put it down!â you insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder as you tried to push him behind you.
All of this happened simultaneously, muffled by the sound of deafening, echoing barking.
âAlice!â a new voice, one that Abby knew belonged to Mel, shouted. To her, the dog listened, sitting down obediently with one final bark.
Mel stood next to Owen and Alice, staring.
There was a moment of silence.
Abby turned to the young boy. âLev, lower the bow. Itâs okay.â
Reluctantly, he listened.
âAbby, who are these people?â Mel asked.
âThey saved my life,â she said, hoping that would be enough of an answer for now. âCan you take a look at her?â Abby looked down at Yara, who seemed to be barely conscious in her arms.
Mel dropped a hand on Aliceâs head, instructing her to stay, as she slowly stepped closer, eyeing you and Lev cautiously.
âThis is Yara,â Abby said before nodding over to the kid at her right, âThatâs Lev. And thatâsââ She stopped short. She wasnât about to introduce you to them as Prophet.
Behind her, you spoke, offering up your name. Abby and Levâs eyes both swung to you, widening for two entirely different reasons.
Abbyâs because she was hearing your name for the first time. It was your name. It was like she discovered a brand new piece to this puzzle she had been frantically trying to assemble since the moment she saw you.
She wasnât sure why Lev looked shocked, but it seemed like a big deal, for you to use your name in place of the title that had been forced upon you by the other Scars.
Abby quietly repeated the name, committing it to memory.
Mel gave a small nod, unaware of the mini revelation that was happening right in front of her, instead focusing on Yara with a concerned look on her face.
âWhat did this?â she asked, looking down at the girlâs mangled arm.
âA hammer,â you said, stepping forward until you were standing right next to Abby.
âIt wasnât me,â Abby quickly added. Guilty, despite her innocence. She was ashamed that she needed to make that clarification. Worried about what you would think about it. Â
Mel hesitated, regarding each of the Scars one by one again before sighing. âAlright. Letâs lay her down.â
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The pregnant womanâclearly someone Abby knew but wasnât exactly friendly withâdecided that Yara had compartment syndrome, which apparently meant they would have to cut her arm off.
While everyone else argued about the best way to accomplish that task, you stood off to the side, feeling sick. If you had been able to stop Emilyâs men last night, this wouldnât be happening.
It shouldnât be happening.
Yara was going to lose her arm or die because you failed her.
You were trying not to spiral. Trying to be helpful now. (Too little, too late.) Trying to pay attention to the Wolvesâ conversation.
They didnât have the supplies they needed to perform the amputation safely. Yara didnât have time to wait the couple days it would take Abby to travel all the way to the hospital and back.
âWhat if we could get you there in two hours?â Lev asked, hands grasping the metal table where Yara laid in the center of the room. âThe Wolf hospital, right? On the west side?â
The manâOwenâstood, interested. âHow?â
âThe bridges,â you said, realizing what Lev was getting at. All eyes turned to you. âOur people built them. High up.â
Lev nodded. âItâs how we get around the flooding. And⊠you people.â
After a quiet moment, Abby stepped forward. âCan she handle two hours?â
The woman considered this, her hand comfortingly placed on Yaraâs shoulder. âProbably, yeah.â
Abby nodded. âThen make a list of what you need.â
Owen stepped closer, joining the circle the rest of you had formed around Yara. âWait. Are you serious? Abby, these bridges are used by Scars.â
The fact that he was arguing against the plan frustrated you. Yara didnât have time for this.
âThey only send in small groups at a time,â Lev said.
âYou heard that? Small groups.â Abby said, watching as the other woman jotted down the supplies on a loose piece of paper and handed it over.
âThis isnât a joke.â Owen looked only at Abby, trying to catch her eyes. She seemed to be actively avoiding making contact.
Instead, she turned to you and said your name, followed by, âLetâs go.â
You looked up at her, at a loss for words. It was sad that something as simple as hearing your name could have this effect on you, but it had been eight years since youâd heard it⊠And this was already the second time Abby had said it.
You wanted to turn and walk right out the door with her, happy to follow her anywhere, but reality set it.
âI canât,â you said. âI donât know where the hospital is. And I donât know our bridges well enough to guide you. It will have to be Lev.â It looked like Abby might argue with you, or at least tell you to come with them.
You wanted to. The idea of letting Lev go back out into danger without you made you sick with worry. But, foolish as it may seem, you trusted Abby to look out for him. And you didnât understand these other Wolves and the strange dynamic at play here. You certainly didnât trust them to be alone with Yara.
âSomeone needs to stay with her,â you said, holding Abbyâs gaze.
She nodded, grabbing her backpack off the floor. âAlright. Lev.â
He looked to you, taking your hand in his. The group splitting up mustâve felt wrong to him, too.
Almost on instinct, you did what you had been trained to do. You offered a bit of comfort.
âMay She guide you,â you said quietly, giving him a small, encouraging smile as you squeezed his one hand between both of yours.
The words were familiar to you both, a common Seraphite mantra. He reciprocated your tight grasp and finished the line, âMay She protect you.â
When you released his hand, he placed it on Yaraâs shoulder, as if to tell her goodbye as well. She was unresponsive.
You felt a hand fall on your own shoulder and looked up to find that it was Abby. She nodded her head to the opposite end of the room, impatiently taking your wrist in her hand and leading you over there when you didnât immediately catch her meaning.
She didnât let go.
Abby stood close, speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. âWeâll be back as soon as possible. Yaraâs going to be fine, okay. And Iâll keep Lev safe.â
You couldnât help the slight upward curve of your lips. âI know,â you said. âI trust you.â
She blinked, caught off guard, but continued. âI wouldnât mention the whole you-being-the-Prophet thing to Owen and Mel if I were you.â
âIâm not a prophet,â you deadpanned.
She let out an exasperated breath. âOkay, sure. Well I wouldnât tell them that the Scars thinkââ
âSeraphites,â you interjected.
ââSeraphitesâJust⊠you get the point. Donât mention it, okay?â
âWhat if they ask questions?â
âDodge them. Be vague.â
âYou donât trust your friends?â you asked, more serious now.
âNo,â Abby said. âNot with you.â
You couldnât begin to guess what she meant by that.
âI trust them⊠for the most part.â She glanced at them over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again. âI just donât know how they would react to that information. Itâs not exactly a small thing. I donât know what they would do with it.â
You looked at her for while longer, then nodded your head. âOkay. I wonât say anything.â
âAbby?â the manâs voice came from behind you.
She let go of your wrist immediately, as if she had been caught doing something she wasnât supposed to.
You turned around to find the womanâMelâand Owen both looking at you like they were witnessing something truly insane, instead of just two people having a conversation.
Lev stood on his own by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eager to get moving.
From behind you, you felt Abbyâs hand wrap around your wrist again, squeezing lightly and then letting go.
âWeâll be back,â she said, this time at a normal volume. She joined Lev by the door, opening it and leading the way out.
âAbby!â Owen said again, moving to follow them out.
Mel groaned, frustrated. âGod! Owen, just let them go.â When he ignored her, she went after him, the door slamming loudly behind her.
You stayed behind with Yara.
She was blinking slowly, barely awake, her shallow breaths too few and far between for your liking. You felt helpless, knowing there wasnât much you could do other than sit and wait.
You pulled up a chair.
Just outside the door, the two Wolves were arguing. Although, you only caught bits and pieces of it.
Something about Abby and Scars and a cloak⊠Something about someone who looked like she just stepped out of The Lord of the Rings. You didnât know what that meant, but it was clear they were talking about you.
Again, you unfastened the cloak and freed yourself of your top layer. Whether that was due to embarrassment or a sudden recognition of the uncomfortable warmth of the room, you couldnât tell.
âDid you see how she was looking at her?â âOwen, why do you care? Why does it matter to you?â you heard through the door.
The dynamic here was becoming more and more confusing.
Youâd assumed that Owen was the father of Melâs child, just because they seemed to live here together. But that didnât explain Melâs rather apparent unfavorable opinion of Abby. And it definitely didnât explain Owenâs preoccupation with Abby.
Their conversation continued for several minutes, volume rising and falling periodically. There wasnât much you understood and even less of it seemed important or interesting to you.
Eventually, the door swung open again, making you jump in your seat. Mel reentered the room, offering you a strained smile as she checked on Yara. You quietly watched her work.
âThereâs not much we can do for her until Abby and your friend get back,â she said to you, eyes still focused on Yara. âIf you want, I can get you set up with a place to sleep while we wait.â
âNo,â you said, too quickly to be polite. ââŠThank you. Iâll stay with Yara.â
Mel pulled her lips into a tight line and nodded, leaving the room again. She came back a few minutes later with water and a shiny red apple, offering them up for you to take.
âSorry. I know itâs not much. Owen isnât well-stocked on food right now,â she said after youâd accepted the snack.
You smiled. âThank you. Youâre very kind to be helping us at all.â
Mel didnât really answer, instead gesturing to the door as she walked toward it. âWell, weâll⊠be around. If you need anything. And Iâll come in and check on her periodically.â
You nodded, quietly thanking her again. The discarded cloak that youâd left on a table by the door caught your eye. âOh. Wait.â
She turned to face you again, eyebrows raised in question.
âWhat is The Lord of the Rings?â you asked.
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An excursion that was supposed to take two hours ended up taking nearly all day.
But hey, Abby had done the best she could.
She faced her deeply-rooted fear of heights on that sorry excuse for a bridge. She fought off Infected and Scars. She was, letâs say, detained by her fellow WLF soldiers at the hospital. And then she had to fight and kill what mustâve been the biggest, gnarliest, freakiest blob of cordyceps infection to ever exist.
She barely got out of there alive, but she managed to leave with the medical supplies in hand. Plus tons of new material for her future nightmares.
Mel had started operating as soon as they got back to the aquarium, with Owen assisting her.
You and Lev sat just outside the door the entire time.
The surgery had gone well. Yara was doing okay, all things considered.
After, Owen handed Abby a pile of sleeping bags and blankets and walked off without saying a word.
Abby handed them off to you and carefully lifted Yara again, this time to move her to a more comfortable spot to rest. She led the way to the next room, you and Lev trailing behind.
There was a long couch in the new room. You motioned for Lev to lay down on one end while Abby set Yara down on the other.
She stepped back and watched, amused, as you fussed over the two of them for a few minutes, using most of the blankets on your young friends.
When you were sure they were both as comfortable as possible, you left them to rest and walked back over to Abby. In your arms, you held the two sleeping bags that you hadnât used on the kids.
You offered one of them to her.
She shook her head, motioning to the space on the floor in front of the couch where there was an old, worn-out rug.
âLay mine out for me? I have to go do something before I go to sleep.â
âYouâre leaving?â you asked, looking concerned.
âI just need to talk to Owen. Iâll be right back.â
You studied her face, like you were trying to figure out whether or not she was being truthful.
Abby doubled down, pointing again. âGo. Get some sleep. Iâll be back.â
You sighed but went where she had pointed and began laying out the two sleeping bags.
One for you. One for her. Right next to each other on the floor.
You had been doing a good job of hiding it, but Abby could tell you were exhausted. She couldnât blame you. Hell, she was exhausted. And the sooner she touched base with Owen, the sooner she could come back.
She turned and went out to track him down.
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You didnât know what was wrong with you.
You had been awake for almost forty-eight hours, but you couldnât fall asleep. Your mind was racing. Filled with worry for Yara, concern about her condition, guilt for having been unable to prevent the injury from happening in the first place. Thoughts of your own people hunting your friends with the intent to kill them. Fear that, despite your desire to keep them safe, your lack of knowledge and experience in the world outside of Haven would make that impossible.
You thought about the woman you killed yesterday. How sheâd so tenderly and earnestly called you her Prophet just moments before you snuck up behind her and ended her life.
You wondered if you too were now an apostate. If the Seraphites had found the bodies of Emily and her men and assumed you were dead, or if they somehow knew that you betrayed them all the very moment you were given the chance.
You wondered if your mother knew what you had done. If she would be punished for your sins.
You thought about Abby, hoping that your faith in her was not misplaced. Hoping that your attraction to her hadnât clouded your judgment.
This was crazy. All of it. It was too much.
You had tossed everything and everyone youâve ever known aside, thrown the first twenty years of your life to the wind like it meant nothing at all, and run off into the forest with a Wolf without a second thought. And now that you, Yara, and Lev were finally (seemingly) not in immediate danger, you had time to think things through. Contemplate what youâd done and try to figure out where it left you.
By your own hand, your life had been irreparably changed forever. It was done. There was no undoing it. No going back.
You would stay with Lev and Yara. You would stay with Abby if thatâs what she wanted.
But where would you go? It wasnât safe for any of you to stay here.
That wasnât a question you could answer. You didnât know of anywhere else. You wouldnât know how to find a place that was safe.
All of these thoughts bombarded your mind at once, taking turns at the forefront. Contradicting emotions swirled, adding to the chaos.
There was a sadness, a sense of loss for the people you had always belonged to.
Guilt and shame. Two feelings that were not at all foreign to you, but you had never felt as strongly as you did now.
A lightness. A happiness. Almost a thrill. A hopeful nervousness for the freedom you had claimed for yourself, the agency you had uncovered, and the possibility of what was to come.
Sadness, again, for the mother you would miss, and the realization that you had already been missing her for a very long time.
Frustrationâsimmering angerâfor your childhood that was stolen and the shame that did not originate within yourself. The unrelenting voices that lived in your head, weighing in on every thought and critiquing every action. But those voices were not your own. You would take your dagger and cut their presence from your mind, carefully carving them out of your head and disposing of them yourself if you could.
And, amongst everything else taking up space inside of you, demanding your attention, it felt stupid and frivolous and wasteful, but you couldnât keep Abby from your thoughts. She kept appearing, in the middle of it all. This was something that you truly did not have time for and should not be putting energy toward.
But you had never felt intrinsically drawn to someone in the way you were drawn to herâŠ
Behind you, you could hear slow, heavy breaths coming from either end of the couch. You were glad that Lev and Yara were getting some rest. Youâd do your best to make sure they got their fill of it this time.
You got up quietly, trying not to disturb them but feeling like you needed to move. You shook out your arms, rolled your neck around, wiggled your fingers, stretched your legs.
Honestly, you wanted run. Or hit something. Or scream. Loudly and for a long time. Until you ran out of air and your voice was ragged.
But you didnât do any of those things.
Instead, you went to look for Abby.
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âSeriously? Youâre telling me Isaacâs top Scar killer just⊠turned over a new leaf? Decided to befriend and help three Scars?â Mel was staring into Abbyâs soul, her words dripping in disbelief.
Abby had found her and Owen upstairs, in the same room that had once housed the boat manâs skeleton and the coupleâs Christmas stockings (not at the same time, of course).
Owen was angry. Exactly what she had done to earn his anger, she couldnât say. He held a jar of his homemade moonshine. A jar that was somewhere between three-quarters and one half full. Abby assumed it had been filled to the top just a few minutes ago.
He had apparently decided to be a silent, brooding drunk tonight, so Mel had been the one to interrogate her.
Abby tried to explain everything, albeit keeping things pretty vague. She didnât want to give them too much information about you specifically, and she didnât want them to get the wrong idea about you, so she made sure to omit the part where you nearly gutted her. And the part where you were the new Scar Prophet that Isaac was after.
Mel wasnât buying the part where Abby simply had a change of heart.
She shot Owen a cautious look before she said, âAbby, do youâI thought you mightâIs it possible that youâreâŠâ Mel stopped, gathering her thoughts, trying to find the best way to word it. âItâs not⊠like⊠a problem that sheâs a woman. Itâs just⊠it is kind of a big deal that sheâs a Scarââ
âAbby isnât into a fucking Scar,â Owen interjected, his knuckles white around the mouth of the jar. âAnd sheâs not fucking gay.â
Then he started chugging the jarâs contents, forcing down swallow after painful swallow.
The women were both silent for a second, surprised by the anger in his words.
Abby didnât know what to say. She knew she was into youâand sheâd be lying if she said that wasnât at least part of the reason why she was helping you and your friendsâbut she had never considered if that made her gay.
She honestly didnât really care to label herself as anything either way. It felt stupidâin the honest-to-god post-apocalyptic hellscape that they lived in, where they had been engaged in a never-ending war since they were kidsâto care about that kind of thing.
Why should it matterâwhen her family was dead, her friends were constantly in danger, and there were enemies closing in from every angleâif she was romantically or sexually interested in men or women or both? Wasnât that almost guaranteed to be the least important detail at any given moment? And why should she waste any of her time or energy trying to define herself in that way?
This was all really new to her. She hadnât really let herself be interested in anyone since Owen, and she honestly wasnât sure if she had ever been into him for the right reasons. Again, she remembered how uncomfortable it made her feel to kiss him, to be touched by himâŠ
She couldnât imagine that it would feel like that if you touched her. And just the fact that she hoped one day sheâd find out was probably telling enough.
So maybe, in the Old World, people wouldâve called Abby a lesbian. Maybe she wouldâve identified with that title if things were different, if her life was lower stakes, and if sheâd had more time to explore herself and her interests.
What-ifs didnât matter. What mattered was that she was here now. You were with herâand she needed to figure out a plan of how to proceed from hereâso she could make sure to keep it that way. She could figure out the rest later.
Mel was the first to speak, annoyed, but addressing him calmly, like she was talking to a rabid animal. âOwenââ
He didnât even let her get a word in.
âNo. This is bullshit! Abbyââ He looked past Mel to meet Abbyâs gaze, insistent. âIâm going to Santa Barbara to find the Fireflies. If youâre smart, youâll ditch the Scars and come with me.â
Mel slammed her hands on the table, causing both Abby and Owen to jump. âWhat the hell do you mean, youâre going to Santa Barbara?! We are going to Santa Barbara!â They werenât used to seeing violent outbursts from Mel. She was the queen of passive aggression, but she rarely lost her cool. âWhat is wrong with you, Owen? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? This is all so seriously fucked up.â She turned away from them, clenching her fists at her sides, looking like she might cry. Or hit something. Or both.
But for the first time in years, Abby wasnât on the receiving end of her disdain.
Guess all she had to do for her old friend to stop seeing her as a threat was get entangled with the Scar Prophet. No big deal.
Owen, in a moment of clarity, seemed to realize how huge of an asshole he was being to the mother of his child. He set down his jar, stood, and walked over to Mel, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her into him, her back pressed against his front. He was swaying on his feet, his cheeks flushed, hands clumsy. If he hadnât been drunk before, he definitely was now. âHey, I didnât mean it like that. We are going to Santa Barbara. Of course itâs we. Hell, the Scars can come too for all I care. Weâll make it a party.â
Abby rolled her eyes at his quick switch-up and turned to go. Clearly this conversation wasnât going anywhere productive tonight, with Owen drunk, Mel upset, and all of them exhausted beyond belief.
There was a creak by the door, and all three of them turned to look, Owenâs reaction far more delayed than Abby and Melâs.
You stood there in your long white dress, hesitant to come in. Shy, having clearly interrupted a tense conversation.
Abby wondered how long youâd been standing there unnoticed. Her instinct was to meet you in the doorway and take you back to bed, away from Owenâs rude drunkenness and Melâs inquisitive eyes.
âHey! Scar! How the hell are ya? Come join us! We were just talking about sunny California. Ever been?â Owen pulled away from Mel and plopped back down on the couch, finding his jar again.
âUmmâŠâ You looked to Abby for guidance, but she was just as unsettled as you. âNo. I havenât⊠Sorry, I was just looking for Abby.â
âYeah, I bet you were,â he mumbled under his breath. Abby wasnât sure if you caught that, but she wasnât interested in having you hear any more of this.
âLetâs just go,â she said to you, moving toward where you still stood in the doorway.
âNo! Come! Sit! Letâs talk,â Owen insisted, slapping the spot next to him on the couch.
You gave Abby another hesitant look before walking past her to join Owen. Mel sighed and lowered herself into a nearby chair. When it became clear to her that retreating with you wasnât an option right now, Abby walked back over. She stood right across from the couch so she could see you, leaned against the wall behind her with her arms crossed over her chest.
You sat next to Owen, although not so close, putting as much distance between you as possible.
âAtta girl,â he chuckled. Abby wanted to punch him.
All of this was out of character for Owen, but she knew that he was always kind of unpredictable when he got drunk. With everything that had happened and emotions running so high, everyone really should just be going to sleep.
With that in mind, Abby would continue to stand nearby until you were ready to leave. She wouldnât let things get out of hand.
âSo⊠Scarââ
âSeraphite,â Abby corrected him. He scoffed and took another swig.
You smiled softly at her, looking grateful.
âScar,â he said again. âCan I perhaps interest you in some hooch? Made it myself.â He offered up the jar for you to take, tilting it towards you with unsteady hands.
âNo,â Abby immediately answered on your behalf. âShe does not want any of your hooch.â
âWell give the girl a chance to answer,â he slurred. âWhat? Your little girlfriend canât speak for herself? She canât make her own decisions?â
You glanced back and forth between him and her, reaching for the open jar of clear liquid, properly baited by his taunting words.
Abby tried to remember that Owen was her friendâher best friendâand that he wasnât usually like this.
âWhat is⊠hooch?â you asked, staring down into the glass jar suspiciously.
âItâs moonshine,â Abby said. When that didnât clear things up for you, she added, âAlcohol.â
âLike wine?â you asked, tentatively sniffing it.
Owen laughed. Abby nodded, âKind of, but itâs much stronger. Seriously, you wonât like it.â
There was a flash of something that looked like defiance in your eyes, offense taken at the idea that you wouldnât be able to handle something that others could.
You put the jar to your lips and tilted it back enough to take in a generous mouthful.
Abby watched as your eyes went wide and you struggled to swallow it. Honestly, she was impressed that you didnât immediately spit it out. You managed to choke it down before breaking out in a harsh coughing fit.
Owen laughed, accepting the jar as you shoved it back into his hands. Your eyes watered as you tapped on your sternum, taking a second to regain the ability to speak.
âYou made that?â you wheezed in disbelief.
âYep!â
âOn purpose?â
Abby laughed at that, leaning back against the wall again once she was convinced that you werenât dying.
âHey, thatâs prime hooch! You should be thanking me right now.â Owen took his own swig of it, lounging back against the couch with his arm resting along the back.
âThank you?â You squinted your eyes but tried to be polite.
âI was kidding, princess. You donât have to thank me.â
Abby, again, resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
âSo,â Owen began, âtell me. How is it that youâre a Scar⊠but youâre not scarred?â He chuckled to himself, as if he had made a joke.
Your eyes shot to meet Abbyâs, clearly unprepared to answer that question.
âNot every Seraphite has facial scars,â you said, keeping things vague.
âEvery Scar Iâve ever seen does.â
âYouâve seen me, havenât you?â you shot back.
Abby let out a surprised laugh. Owen clenched his jaw.
âEvery Scar has face scars. Itâs like your defining thing. Itâs why we call you Scars.â He was adamant, unyielding. And the playful mask was starting to slip back into anger. Abby could tell this wasnât going to end well.
âWell I guess you donât know as much about Seraphites as you thought you did.â You were frustrated now, pressing yourself further into the far end of the couch to put more distance between the two of you.
Owen opened his mouth with a rebuttal, but Abby jumped in. âLay off, Owen.â
He threw his hands up in surrender, leaning back against the brown cushions. âFine, fine. Whatever. Forgive me for having questions. Fuck me, I guess. Iâve just never seen a hot Scar befoââ
Before he could finish the sentence, Mel was on her feet. âAlright. Thatâs it. Youâre done.â She had been sitting silently up until then, ready to intervene if things got out of hand, just as Abby had been. Apparently, Owen calling you hot was where she drew the line.
Abby was glad Mel was saying something. Because if things had gone much further, she really mightâve hit him.
âGet up,â Mel instructed firmly, standing over him. âYouâre going to bed.â He let her take the jar out of his hands and, with much effort, pushed himself up off the couch and started walking toward the door. Mel was right behind him, hands hovering on either of his sides in case he lost his balance. He was grumbling under his breath the whole way, like a toddler whose bedtime was being enforced.
Abby watched them go.
Once they were out of sight, she looked down at you, only to find that you were already looking at her.
âSorry,â she spat out. âAbout him. Heâs not usually like that.â
You nodded, but you didnât seem sure that you believed her.
âSo you guys are⊠friends?â
Abby cleared her throat. âUh, yeah. Weâve known each other for years. Joined the WLF together. Me, Owen, Mel, and a few others.â
You considered this for a second before responding. âWhere were you before?â
âSalt Lake City,â she said, looking down at her feet. âUtah.â Abby didnât know if that would mean anything to you.
âMel doesnât seem to like you very much,â you said, observant, not trying to offend. Abby smiled, despite the meaning behind your words. You added, âAnd Owen doesnât seem to like me.â You stated it like it was a fact, like it was neither good nor bad, just true.
âHeâll get over it. Heâs just drunk.â Abby didnât know if that was true, but she wanted to comfort you in that moment, not that you actually seemed to care all that much about Owenâs opinion of you.
âCan I ask you a question?â You were looking up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable.
Anything, Abby thought. Out loud, she said, âSure.â
She pushed away from the wall and came to sit next to you on the couch, filling the spot where Owen had been.
âWhy do you people keep calling me princess?â you asked. Abby laughed quietly under her breath, turning her body to face you.
âI donât know. Thereâs something about you thatâs very princess-like I guess.â
You made a face at her. She smiled wider.
âItâs not a bad thing. You just come across as soft. Delicate. I donât know⊠Graceful.â
âI am not delicate,â you said, defensive.
âI know.â
âIâve killed.â
âI saw.â Abby was being serious, although she did find the conversation amusing. âYouâre very skilled with a knife.â
You nodded, satisfied with her response, and fully turned to face Abby. âAnd what does hot mean? Why did he call me hot?â
âOhââ Abby stuttered, âUhâHe meant⊠He was saying that youâre very pretty.â
âOh.â You considered this, eyes wandering away. âEarlier he said I look like The Lord of the Rings.â
Abby smiled again. There was something about you that felt like it mightâve been taken straight from the high fantasy genre.
âDo you know what that is?â she asked.
âYes. Sort of. I asked Mel. She said it was a film about a magical land. With fairies and stuff.â
âThey were books first.â
âHave you read them?â
âYeah.â
âHave you read a lot of books?â you asked, genuinely curious.
âI try to read as much as I can. Whateverâs available.â
You nodded, thinking, letting the conversation die down.
After a moment, âAbby?â
âHmm?â she hummed. She liked the way you said her name. Just the sound of it made her heart beat a little bit faster.
âOwen also called me your girlfriend.â You were studying her face, trying to read her reaction.
âYeah. He did.â Abby said, looking into your inquisitive eyes.
âDoes that just mean friend? Or is it something else?â
âHe was just trying to piss me off.â
âSo it does mean something else?â Your eyes were on her lips now, and you were ever so slightly leaned forward. Almost subconsciously.
âIt doesnât matter,â Abby said. âIt doesnât mean anything.â
She was pushing you away, and she didnât know why. She couldâve answered that question so differently. Maybe she shouldâve.
Abby wanted you. And she was almost certain that you felt the same way. At the very least, there was a curiosity. A hesitant attraction.
But she couldnât shake the feeling that it was wrong. That anything with you would be something she wasnât good enough for.
Something she didnât deserve.
Something she would ruin if given the chance.
So tonight, she didnât give herself that chance.
Was that noble or cowardly? She wasnât sure.
You pulled away, turning to face forward as you let out a long breath, puffing out your cheeks.
âIâm tired,â you said, standing. âAnd I should check on Yara and Lev.â
âYeah.â Abby nodded. âOkay.â
She remained in place, ready to mentally beat herself up some more and stew in her thoughts alone for a while.
You cleared your throat lightly, swaying on your feet. âUmm⊠Iâm not sure that I can find my way back to the room. Can you⊠pleaseâ?â
âOh.â Abby hopped to her feet. âOkay, yeah. Iâll⊠I guess Iâll go with you.â
She avoided eye contact, leading the way into the dark hallway.
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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What were you dreaming about?
(original game photography from The Last of Us Part II by @westonspharmacyphotodept -- all manual post-production using no presets, stock, templates or AI).
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Hey abbyyyyy
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Chapter 4: Uncloaked
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas
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You watched from the wide window in the second room as Abby walked away and headed towards the coast, your fingers lifting the blinds just enough for you to peek out.
Yara was already drifting off to sleep on the couch behind you. Even Lev was starting to succumb to his exhaustion, his head leaned on the couchâs arm, his eyes blinking slowly.
Quietly, you instructed them both to get some rest, promising to keep watch. Yara mumbled a Yes, Prophet and pulled her legs up just enough for her brother to have room at the other end. He moved from where he knelt on the floor by her head to curl up by her feet, finally allowing himself to close his eyes.
You couldnât imagine that they had been able to get much rest in their last few days on the run. But you were here now. You would keep them safe. Â
You turned your eyes back to the window, to the Wolf, expecting to find her out of your line of sight by now. Instead, you found her standing still, just far enough away for you to be unable to read her expression.
She stood there in the rain for several moments, swaying on her feet, looking back and forth between the coast and the building like she was trying to make a decision.
Stupidly, you wished again that she would stay.
As if she had heard your thoughts, Abby turned and started walking back in your direction, her mind made up.
You smiled and ran to meet her, carefully shutting the door that separated the two rooms as you went, leaving Yara and Lev to sleep undisturbed.
When Abby was once again outside the door, you swung it open, watching her blink at you incredulously with her fist raised, ready to knock.
âWolf,â you said, trying to hide your pleased smile.
âProphet.â She let her hand fall.
You stepped aside to let her in.
She brushed past you.
Again, you closed and locked the door, leaning back against it with your hands behind you.
This first room didnât have furniture. At least not anything to sit on. Abby dropped her bag and sat on the floor across from you, leaning back against the wall with her forearms resting on her drawn-up knees.
You wanted to question her decision to come back, hoping she might give you some insight into why there seemed to be this pull between you two.
You had always longed for connection, feeling so thoroughly set apart from your people that you might as well have been completely alone. They revered youâworshipped youâbut they didnât love you. Not in a way that you truly felt.
You were nothing more than a symbol. An object to worship. No different than an intricately painted mural on a wall. A counterfeit version of the Prophet they once had.
So you didnât have people who loved you. Who saw you.
That was what you wanted more than anything.
And here was this Wolf, who had fought alongside you and spoken to you like you were a real person. She smiled at you and called you a âgood girlâ, making you feel what felt like the most tempting sin. And she called you Prophet like it was a joke between the two of you.
You hadnât wanted her to leave, and here she was. Not leaving.
Maybe this wasnât one-sided. Maybe it wasnât all in your head. The fact that she came back was proof that she felt it too.
You studied her face, as if that would reveal something to you.
It didnât.
You broke the silence. âIâm not actually a prophet, you know.â
This clearly wasnât what she expected you to say. She probably thought you would ask her why she came back. But you figured her honest answer would be similar to yours: She just felt like she had to, and she didnât know why.
Abby seemed grateful to bypass the interrogation, so she scoffed, feigning shock. âYou mean to tell me youâre not a wise, all-knowing seer of the future, cosmically and singularly chosen to lead the righteous few?â
Your smile returned as you shook your head.
âSo howâd you end up with the title?â she asked, genuinely curious.
You had spent a lot of time thinking about this over the years. You decided to give her the simplest answer.
âHonestly, I think I was just the first child who turned twelve after the Elders decided that they wanted a new prophet.â
âWhy would that matter?â she asked. When she saw your confused look, she added, âThat you were twelve?â
âThatâs when we get theâŠâ You gestured to your face, drawing lines on either side of your mouth to indicate the scarring.
âOh.â
âYeah.â
She let her legs straighten in front of her, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her head back against the wall. Her eyes stayed on you, watching you carefully. âWell, at least you got to bypass that fun little rite of passage.â
âI have marks like any other Seraphite,â you said. âI just carry them differently.â
Abby looked curious, like she wanted to ask you to go on. Instead, you pushed off from where you leaned against the door and began unfastening the long cloak that you still wore, glancing up briefly to see the Wolfâs eyes widen and her cheeks flush ever so slightly as she leaned forward to watch you.
It did feel scandalous. Removing the cloak in front of her. Even though you were clothed underneath.
Slowly stripping a layer away with her eyes on you, transfixed. Enamored. Like you were something beautifulâmaybe even desirable.
It felt good in a way that you had been taught was bad.
You hoped that, as time and distance came between you and Haven, the Eldersâ voices would fade away in your mind. Their rules and demands had always been a suffocating weight on you. But maybe now it was your choice. You got to decide what was true and how to live.
You promised yourself youâd revisit that line of thinking later.
Beneath the cloak, you wore what you always did. A long, simple white dress. The fabric was soft and light. Thin, although not sheer. The sleeves were short, leaving your arms mostly bare, and the whole thing ended just above your ankles. It flowed enough for you to move without any difficulty, but it was properly fitted to your exact measurements at the top.
At Sanctuary, your servants had always been responsible for your dresses, making new ones as your body changed, growing taller and filling out. You hadnât initially been comfortable in dresses, never having worn them as a child, but after eight years of it being the only option offered to you, youâd grown accustomed to it. Comfortable, even.
Now, you felt naked in it.
The cloak had protected the dress from most of the mud, blood, guts of the day, but it hadnât totally shielded it against the rain.
The fabric was damp against your skin, clinging more than it usually would.
You kept going, remembering why you had removed your cloak in the first place.
Holding the cloak by the collar in your right hand, you lifted your left arm to show the Wolf the scars that covered the back of your forearm.
Her eyes were focused elsewhere, slowly wandering down your body. Skirting along every line and following every curve, she took her time taking you in. You couldnât describe the look on her face if you tried.
You shivered, and that movement finally brought her attention back up to your eyes. And then lower, to the arm you had been trying to show her.
Abby seemed to come back to herself, remembering what you had been talking about and why you took off your top layer.
She stared at the marks, quiet. You transferred your cloak to your left hand, lifting the right arm to show the matching scars there.
Neither of you said anything for several moments.
âIâm sure that wasnât it,â she said, meeting your eyes again. You let your arm fall.
âHmm?â
âI mean, Iâm sure your Elders chose you for a reason. A bigger reason than just when your birthday happened to land.â
You thought for a moment about your other theories. The fact that your father had been a loyal soldier who died protecting the first Prophet. The fact that you were an only child, and with your father dead, you had no family other than your mother, who had always been the most devout follower. The fact that, when you were a child, your teachers said you were the perfect student. Quiet and obedient. They said you would make a wonderful wife someday. Something that left you feeling strangely uncomfortable, but your mother had taken great pride in. She used to talk about her hope that you would be chosen to marry one of the Elders themselves.
Maybe the same things that wouldâve made you a good wife also made you a good Prophet. At least as far as what the Elders wanted from a Prophet. They never really wanted you to lead. Just for you to become the face of their initiatives. A mouthpiece. Maybe even a scapegoat.
You decided not to tell Abby any of this, already feeling that she knew so much about you while you knew absolutely nothing about her.
You almost pointed this out when she spoke again.
âYou can sit, you know. You should sit. Iâm sure youâre tired.â
You werenât supposed to sit on the ground. Or kneel. For anyone or any reason. Although, youâd already broken that rule a few times tonight. Youâd knelt to cut Abby loose from the ropes earlier, and again when she had been setting Yaraâs arm.
It was a stupid rule anyway, you decided. And what was it you were thinking about earlier? About making your own decisions about what is good and true from now on?
The floor was dirty though. And your dress was white.
You stepped away from the door, closer to Abby, and spread your cloak out on the floor, sitting on top of it.
Abby scoffed. âPrincess.â
You tilted your head, confused, not offended.
âYou donât know what a princess is?â she asked in slight disbelief.
âItâs a word that was used to describe the daughter of an Old World monarch. Or I suppose the wife of a prince, which wouldâve been the son of a monarch,â you said matter-of-factly. âI just donât understand what that has to do with me.â
âIââ Abby started and then stopped. âNever mind.â
You narrowed your eyes, unsatisfied with her lack of an explanation, and decided to ask the much harder question after all.
âWhy did you come back?â
âHuh?â she asked, suddenly nervous.
âWhyâd you turn around?â
âI donât know.â
âYou donât know?â
âNo, I meanââ She sighed, avoiding eye contact. âYou guys will die without meâwithout my help.â
You didnât like that answer.
âYou think we canât take care of ourselves? That we need a Wolf to protect us?â
âHonestly? Yeah.â
âWhaââ
She cut you off. âYouâve never left that island, Iâm assuming, until today. Youâre a capable fighter, but you donât know anything about this worldââ
âIââ
âYou can argue with me if you want, but you know Iâm right. And the girl is badly injured. Setting the bone wonât be enough. She needs much more medical attention if sheâs going to make it. And the kid is⊠a kid.â Her eyes meet yours again, determined. Insistent. âSo yeah, I think you could use my help. And you would be smart to accept it.â
Abby was right. You knew she was.
You wanted to ask why she cared though. But you didnât bother, knowing she wouldnât have much of an answer. Instead, you relented, leaning back on your hands behind you, arms straightened.
âSo whatâs the plan?â you asked.
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Abby breathed out, relieved that you werenât fighting her.
âRight now, to stay here and rest.â
You nodded your head towards the door between the two rooms. âYara and Lev are already sleeping.â
âGood. You should join them.â
You smiled a little, making Abbyâs heart beat faster. âSo I should just go to sleep and trust the Wolf who came into my life under mysterious circumstances?â
She let out a short laugh, dumbfounded. âI came into your life under mysterious circumstances?! You attacked me, knocked me out cold, and hung me up by my neck.â
When you laughed softly and leaned closer, her heart raced.
âTechnically, I didnât do any of those things,â you pointed out.
âNo. You just tried to kill me afterwards.â
âI apologized for that.â
âNo, you didnât.â
âI asked you if you were okay.â
âThatâs not the same thing.â
âYouâre right,â you said, gazing into her eyes. âIâm sorry.â She could tell that you were being sincere.
She cleared her throat, looking away. âGo to sleep.â
âNo, I donât think I will,â you said, smiling again, arguing just for the sake of it. âMaybe you should get some sleep and Iâll stay up.â
Abby let out an exasperated breath.
She couldnât help but look at you, sitting on the floor with her in an old trailer like you werenât the most ethereal thing sheâd ever seen. In that dress that looked incredible on you.
It made her wonder what you would look like without it.
She wanted to reach out and touch you. To let her hands lazily travel the same path that her eyes had taken when you first took off that cloak. She wanted to hear the sounds you would make as her fingers grazed your bare skin.
She wanted you.
Her own thoughts surprised her.
Abby hadnât spent much time thinking about whatâor whoâshe was into in the past. Being with Owen had made sense. He was nice and funny. He made her laugh. He liked her. And her dad loved him. They were young.
But when he kissed her, sheâd get this unsettling, jittery, nervous feeling. One that she could never tell if she liked or not. But she always heard people talking about having butterflies in their stomach, so Abby thought maybe that was normal. Still, she was always the first to pull away, always retreating from his touch when things got too⊠overwhelming.
When her dad died, she didnât let anyone touch her for the longest time. Owen stuck around, though. He kept trying. They joined the Washington Liberation Front, and Abby felt like that gave her a purpose. She had training to stick to and orders to follow while she continued to listen for word about Joel Miller, any hint about where he could be.
She kept pushing Owen away until, eventually, he let go. Abby could remember the moment she realized it was over, although neither of them came out and said it. It affected her more than she thought it would. She was devastated. Almost like she was losing another part of her dad. Like she was watching every piece of her life crumble and fade away until she was left with something completely unrecognizable.
Then Owen and Mel got together, and things got even weirder. Mel, who had once been one of Abbyâs closest friends, started treating her like an enemy. Always looking at her with distrust, pulling Owen away when he tried to talk to her.
It got worse after Jackson. Abby didnât know if that was because of what happened there or because Mel was pregnant. Probably both.
Abby kept her head down. Threw herself back into the flow of things in Seattle. She focused on making her body strong, following orders, and killing Scars whenever she got the chance.
And sure, sometimes someone caught her eye. Maybe a character in a movie sheâd watched with Manny, or someone sheâd crossed paths with in the WLF compound. Now that she thought about it, those people were almost always women.
She found those thoughts easy to ignore, so nothing ever came of them. Abby didnât think she was well-suited for a romantic partnership, after what she did to Owen. She was sure didnât deserve it. So she always brushed those feelings off and kept moving forward. She had work to do. A city to fight for.
She had known you for just one night and everything was changing. She could feel it happening. Her life was never going to be the same.
She wanted to be good enough for it. She wanted to deserve this change.
So she was going to protect you and your friends. Because it was the right thing to do, and because she really wanted to.
And if that meant she got to keep you close, she wouldnât complain.
Abby couldnât fucking believe that she was into a Scar.
But she couldnât stop looking at you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your body. It was like every piece of you had been hand-crafted for the purpose of driving her crazy. She couldnât walk away if she tried.
Hell, she did try and she didnât even make it down the street.
All of this, and you hadnât even touched her yet. Maybe you never would.
And she didnât even know your real name.
But it was becoming more and more clear to her that you were a really good person.
Abby wasnât sure if she was a good person, but she wanted to be. If she hadnât been before, she could start now.
The door between the rooms creaked open, and Levâs head poked out. When he saw her sitting there with you, he froze, his eyes narrowing disapprovingly.
âWhatâs she doing here?â he asked, his eyes remaining on her while he spoke to you.
âSheâs going to help us,â you said.
âWe donât needââ
âYes. We do,â you said firmly.
He let it go, turning to face you. He looked worried, saying nothing.
âIs it Yara? Howâs she doing?â you asked, already moving to stand.
Lev just looked down and shook his head. He stepped aside, opening the door further as you rushed into the room to check on her with Abby following close behind.
Yara was on the couch, curled into the fetal position. She was shaking, breathing heavily and unevenly.
Abby watched as you rushed over to the girl, putting your hand to her forehead to check for a fever. The look on your face alone told her it wasnât good.
Your eyes found her, fearful and unsure of what to do.
She moved in closer, crouching down to be on Yaraâs level. âIâm going to move your arm,â she said to the girl. Yara whimpered as Abby carefully adjusted her. âLean into me.â
Abby picked her up.
âWhere are you taking her?â Lev asked, stepping forward.
âCâmon.â She tried to walk past him, heading for the door. He stepped in front of her.
âWhat are you doing?â
âIâm giving her a chance,â Abby insisted, giving him a look that seemed to convince him to move aside and go along with it.
Lev grabbed his bow and quiver. You quickly put on your cloak, grabbed your own weapon, and threw Abbyâs backpack over your shoulders.
You followed her back out into the rain.
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Note: I had a really good time writing this chapter! I loved that it was mostly just Abby and reader talking and getting to know each other :)
P.S. If you're someone who's been leaving comments on AO3, please know that I love you <3
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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Chapter 3: Cursed Creatures
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas
Note: This is not at all how I thought this chapter would start. Alas, I am riddled with religious trauma, and Taylor Swift just released the song âGuilty as Sin?â I mean⊠âMy boredomâs bone-deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry? I dream of cracking locks, Throwing my life to the WOLVESâ Are you kidding me? Itâs perfect. So this started out differently than I planned. But what was I to do? I am just a girl.
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There were many topics on which you had been educated in-depth but were never supposed to experience first-hand.
Sex was one of those topics.
You knew the mechanics of it. The anatomy that was involved. Its purposes and benefits. The dangers of it.
You had been told, vehemently, that it was something that should never be done outside of the safe and proper confines of marriage.
Which meant you could never do it because you could never marry.
The Prophet had to remain pure.
Set apart.
Free from romantic, familial, worldly ties.
You were taught to suppress any desire to do otherwise. A task that you had been mostly successful at upholding.
But there were times when your eyes lingered where they shouldnât and your own thoughts made you shiver and blush.
It was the sin of lust.
The other major vices were usually easily circumvented. You could be disciplined and selfless, just and kind, modest and brave.
You always did what you were told, and you didnât ask questions.
You told yourself that you werenât weak; you just knew your place. You knew what was expected of you, and no other options had ever been made available.
So, like thrown clay, you had allowed yourself to be molded into the person you were today, each piece of you carefully and intentionally shaped by the hands of others.
The Elders created the perfect Seraphite specimen. Quietly devout. Enigmatic. Indelible. Untouchable. Obedient.
A mouthpiece disguised as a leader.
A Prophet.
They made you.
You were not a naturally occurring thing.
Sometimes you didnât even feel human.
Lust was one sin you knew could be concealed, buried far below your surface, unseen by critical eyes.
It was a small act of rebellion. A hidden glimmer of defiance. Although, you werenât doing it on purpose.
And it was made especially loathsome due to the regrettable fact that it only ever happened to you when you were looking at or thinking of a womanâŠ
Now the Wolf stood in front of you, hammer held tightly in her right hand.
Demons were quickly descending upon you, and you had just witnessed (and neglected to intervene into) the death of three of your own people. The only person you helped was the Wolf, your enemy, who you were meant to kill.
You could guess what the Elders would say if they were here now. How disappointed they would look as they pointed out your many failings.
For once, you didnât care.
Strangely, despite everything, you felt like a bird whose cage door was just thrown wide open.
Or a well-trained dog that had been mistakenly let off leash.
You could breathe. Unrestricted.
Your eyes remained glued to the Wolf.
Her back was to you, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. Her shoulders rose with each of her deep, deliberate breaths.
Time seemed to slow as your eyes traced down the length of her arms, taking in her strong formâŠ
See, you knew the sin of lust was bad, if only because it made you stupid.
Or distracted, at the very least.
Demons were coming, and you had just been moments away from gutting this girl.
You definitely couldnât trust her.
But you didnât have to trust her to look at her.
A series of snapping twigs and high-pitched shrieks from the surrounding forest instantly brought your attention back to the approaching threat.
Demons were another one of those things that they taught you about but never thought youâd actually encounter.
When you arrived on the mainland that morning, you had been led to the network of Seraphite-built bridges, above the city, concealed in the clouds.
Nearly your entire day had been spent in the sky.
If there were any Demons below, you didnât see them.
Honestly, you hoped youâd never have to come across the cursed creatures.
The sounds they made were animalistic, but somehow still eerily human. Like a voice that was either enraged or overwhelmed with pain.
You had been told that they were unsavable. Completely consumed by the disease and irrevocably punished for their sins. No longer even human.
As a child, you heard stories of the first Prophet valiantly fighting off hordes in defense of her early followers.
In training, they taught you how to fight both Demons and human adversaries alike. Although the former was always theoretical.
You were shown sketches, detailing the different stages of it.
Foolishly, you thought you were ready.
But nothing couldâve prepared you for what came running out from the cover of the trees.
It moved faster than you wouldâve thought possible, too quickly for you to take it all in, but the glimpses you captured were grotesque.
It went straight for the Wolf, swinging its arms wildly. She effortlessly dodged its attack before striking with the hammer. Hard. It was dead in just three blows.
Two more approached from behind you, closest to Lev, and it was past time for you to be useful.
Lev was a skilled archer, but he was still a kid. And Yara, also a kid, only had use of one of her arms.
Both of the Demons were focused on Lev. He fired an arrow, hitting one of them in the chest, but it didnât take it down.
Its back was to you.
You couldnât let yourself freeze again.
You closed the distance between you and the beast, lifting your dagger with both hands and bringing it back down swiftly, piercing deeply through its skull.
It let out one last pained shriek as it fell.
The Wolf had taken out the other Demon before Lev had to loose another arrow.
But there were two more where those came from. One swung at the Wolf, and the other came for you.
You were able to dodge, narrowly missing the impact of its savage attack. Stepping back, you continued to evade its blows.
You swung at it, but the thing was fast. Your blade cut into its shoulder instead of its head. Ripping your weapon out, you tried again. This time, you hit your target.
That was two for you.
âProphet, look out!â Yara shouted. Before you could discern which direction the threat was coming from, you were brutally thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you entirely.
Death wore the grisly face of the Demon standing above you.
You had dropped your dagger, leaving you completely defenseless.
Levâs arrows pierced its throat twice.
It kept coming.
You blinked and it was on the ground. The Wolf knelt over it, hammer crashing over its skull repeatedly, past when the thing was decidedly dead, until the hammer actually broke in her hand.
You just blinked again.
She saved you.
Why did she save you?
You scrambled to your feet, your breaths coming too quickly.
You tried not to panic.
You had only almost died.
You were fine.
The Wolf dropped the splintered remnants of the hammer and stood, shaking out her hand. You stared as she walked over to where your dagger lay on the ground and bent to pick it up.
She looked at you forâas far as you could tellâthe first time since youâd cut her down from the rope.
She walked over, holding your gaze.
You realized that she could kill you now. That that was likely why she had saved you.
So she could end you herself.
Because you were the Prophet, and a Seraphite. Or because you had nearly killed her before.
She could even do it with your own weapon. The one that had been meant for her.
You imagined that would be satisfying for a brutish Wolf.
As she approached, you noticed that she towered over you, making you doubly aware of the fact that this was not a fight you would win if it came down to it. Especially when you were unarmed.
She stopped when she stood only a couple feet in front of you, turning the dagger over in her hand and simply offering it to you, handle-first.
Dumbly, you slowly reached out and took it.
Her hand fell back to her side.
There was a hint of a smug little smile on her face, like she knew what you had been thinking.
âTry not to drop that again, yeah?â she said, voice low. It was the first time sheâd spoken directly to you, and you resented the way it made your cheeks warm.
Before you could come up with a competent response, Yara interrupted.
âProphet, Wolf! Come on. We have to move!â She held a lit torch in her uninjured hand. Lev stood at her side, ready to run.
âWhere are you going?â the Wolf asked, unsure if she would be following. You were already moving to join Yara and Lev.
âOut of these woods. Weâve gotta run! Now! The coast is this way.â
They took off into the trees with you close behind. The sound of footsteps falling behind you informed you of the Wolfâs apparent decision to tag along, at least for the time being.
You could also hear more Demons, closing in on either side, chasing the torchâs light. Which meant they were after Yara.
You ran faster, trying to close the distance between you just in case.
As she passed an abandoned vehicle, one of the Demons jumped out, tackling her to the ground.
Lev shot an arrow through its head as you ran to her, pushing the dead Demon off and helping her back to her feet.
The horrifying chorus of even more of them, just beyond your vision, made you startle with each screech.
âTheyâre all around us!â Yara cried, moving closer to her brother.
The Wolf, weaponless after breaking the hammer, quickly looked around, finding a glass bottle. She grabbed it and threw it at the next creature that emerged from the forest.
The Demon slowed, momentarily stunned, and the Wolf wasted no time knocking it over and bringing her foot down on its skull hard and fast.
Just one stomp and it was dead.
You flushed again, transfixed.
Stupid.
You should not find that attractive.
But she was undeniably incredible.
You shook your head in an attempt to refocus as you turned to watch Lev take down another with a couple well-aimed shots.
A shriek behind you revealed the presence of yet another. You turned to meet it, killing the thing easily enough.
It seemed your training in combat had been sufficient after all, at least where Demons were concerned.
âThat was the last of them,â Yara said.
âYou guys okay?â the Wolf asked, like she might actually care.
âYeah,â Lev breathed out, bow and arrow still at the ready.
âWe have to keep moving before more come,â Yara insisted, taking up the lead again as she pressed forward.
You all ran after her.
âEvery direction looks the same,â said the Wolf. You were inclined to agree. âYou sure you know where youâre going?â
âIt has to be this way,â Yara said, quietly determined.
âWhat the hell am I doing?â the Wolf muttered to herself under her breath.
The four of you picked up your speed as the Demons grew closer.
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Abby seriously had no idea what the hell she was doing.
She was running through the woods, fighting off Infected with three Scars.
And one of them was the Prophet.
Who had been fully intending to disembowel her not too long agoâŠ
Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe it was brain damage from nearly suffocating.
Because this wasnât like her.
A couple hours ago, Abby was killing Scars. Happily.
Well maybe that wasnât the best word for it. It didnât make her happy. She just didnât feel bad about it.
And now, she was prancing through the forest and going out of her way to protect Scars?
The kids were one thing. They seemed to be just as in danger with other Scars as they were with the Infected.
What had that one woman called them? Apostates?
Abby had done enough reading to know what the word meant. She guessed they must have broken some stupid, insane rule and run off.
Or been kicked out.
Either way, from what Abby had gathered, they had gone rogue and were being hunted by their own people.
Which meant they werenât necessarily her enemy.
But the other girl. The ProphetâŠ
Abby didnât know what was going on with you.
Were you going rogue too, or were your friends just dead and you needed help getting past the Infected and out of the woods?
And yeah, you had been about to kill her before. But youâd stopped as soon as there was a distraction. Took the out the second it was offered.
And then you had been the one to cut her down.
So maybe you didnât want to kill her.
That counted for something, right?
Abby didnât let herself think too much about how pretty you were.
How stunning your eyes looked when they met hers.
How your fingers felt, lightly grazing her bare skin for just a second, then leaving all too soon.
And how you had definitely blushed when she spoke to you.
See? She totally wasnât thinking about any of that at all.
And she was probably delusional.
And way too distracted, spending any amount of time or energy thinking about such crazy shit while you were all actively running for your lives.
Abby was bringing up the rear of the group, and she knew a horde of Stalkers was not far behind her.
She really hoped these Scars knew where they were going.
âItâs just up here!â the girl, Yara, shouted from up ahead, leading the way to a wall of hanging vines.
The boy, Lev, pulled the vines aside, revealing an opening behind. Yara carefully but quickly maneuvered through. You waited until both she and Lev were on the other side before looking up at Abby expectantly.
There wasnât time to argue, so Abby went next. You followed closely behind, then let the vines fall back into place, hiding your path from the Infected that pursued.
On the other side, Abby was met with the sight of several dead bodies, clearly recently slaughtered.
She couldnât tell from this distance what had killed them. Or if they were Scar or WLF.
âThose are fresh. There another way around?â she asked, maneuvering around the corpses.
Lev spoke up. âIf there were, would we be going this way?â
Okay. Fair point.
Yara pointed to a chain link fence with the torch. âCome on, Lev. Get it open.â
The kid tried to bend the steel wires up to create an opening. It didnât budge, despite his efforts.
âMove,â Abby said. He did.
She strained as the piece of fencing gave way beneath her hands.
âGet in there, Prophet,â she said, teeth clenched.
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You quickly slid through the opening and popped up on the other side.
Finally, you were free of the suffocating forest.
The clearing was illuminated with light of the full moon.
You wandered on ahead as Lev, Yara, and the Wolf came through the fence behind you.
âProphet?â A new voice spoke out as you turned the corner. The reverence in the personâs tone alone told you that you were dealing with a Seraphite.
You turned toward the voice to see a woman you recognized but whose name you couldnât recall. She was large and stood tall, the side of her face bloody and a pickaxe in her grip.
She had been part of a patrolling squad in the area. Youâd seen her briefly earlier in the day, with Emily, after the Wolf had been captured.
The woman saw that you were, in fact, who she thought you were, and she bowed her head out of respect.
âAre you alright, Prophet? What are you doing out here? Where is Emily?â
You were at a loss for words.
Her voice was calm and concerned now, but you knew that she would kill Lev, Yara, and the Wolf if given the chance.
âIââ
Your two friends entered the clearing behind you, drawing her eyes toward them.
âApostates,â she hissed, and instantly her demeanor changed.
She rushed past you, ruthlessly throwing Yara to the ground and lifting Lev up by his neck.
You moved without thinking, your dagger still tightly clutched in your fingers. Again, you raised your arms above your head, just as you had done when fighting the Demons. Using all of your strength, you brought the blade down above her head, piercing her skull. The weapon was long enough that it exited through her chin.
Her body slackened and slumped to the ground. Dead.
You stared down at her, feeling the weight of what you had just done.
This wasnât a Demon. It wasnât an animal.
She was a living person.
And a Seraphite. One of your own people.
You were supposed to be her Prophet. Her leader. Her new hope.
She hadnât been watching her back because she never imagined that you could betray your people like that. That you would pose a threat to her.
You continued to stare, holding your breath. You couldnât look away.
You didnât deserve to look away.
You felt a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes began to water.
No. You would not cry.
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Abby was the last to enter the clearing.
By then, the Scar was already holding Lev in the air, and you were already approaching from behind, lifting your dagger.
Abby watched as you killed her.
Woah.
You were good with that knife, sheâd give you that.
Yara and Lev got back to their feet and watched as you stared down at the dead Scar, unmoving. Like you were frozen.
You werenât even breathing, and you looked like you might cry.
Abby had been wondering how many WLF soldiers you killed today before you got to her. If the three sheâd seen hanging when she first came to were yours.
Now, she was sure they werenât.
Because based on your reaction, that had to be your first time.
She wasnât usually one to be especially sensitive to the emotions of others, but when she heard you sniffle, finally taking in a ragged breath, she couldnât help but move towards you.
Abby thought of her own first kill. How easy it was to do in the heat of the moment, but how torn up sheâd been in the aftermath.
She understood that it was necessary, but that didnât mean it wasnât hard as hell.
She fought the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, or even rub your back soothingly. Reminded herself of who you were and who she was and all the reasons why she shouldnât even be here right now.
Instead, she bent to retrieve your dagger from the body. She tried to hand it back to you, but you were still stuck, staring down.
âHey. You did a good job.â She took your hand in hers, placing the handle into your palm and closing your fingers around it. She didnât let go, allowing her hands to fully encompass yours.
Abby waited until you met her eyes. âYou saved them,â she said, nodding towards Lev and Yara, who were both silently watching this unfold. âYou did what you had to do.â
You drew your eyebrows together at that, like you wanted to argue. But you seemed to change your mind, ultimately just nodding your head lightly.
She let her hands drop and glanced back down at the slumped body again, her eyes catching on something.
âWait. Is that my backpack?â Abby asked, looking more closely.
Beside her, you lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
âProbably. Emily gave it to her earlier,â you said numbly.
Abby didnât need to ask who Emily was. She could guess.
She reclaimed her belongings while you pulled yourself together.
âAre you two alright?â you asked the siblings.
âYes, Prophet,â Lev answered, watching you closely. Abby noticed that you seemed to bristle ever so slightly at his use of your title. You didnât say anything though.
She held her rifle in her hands again, happy to have her stuff back.
Especially the guns.
Wordlessly, the Scar kids led the way into the nearest building.
Out of habit, Abby began gathering supplies as you went along, taking ammo and medical supplies and anything else that seemed useful.
âHowâs the arm?â she asked Yara, breaking the long stretch of silence.
âI have it under control,â the girl insisted defensively.
âOkayâŠâ Abby took a box of ammo from a cabinet. âGrab any supplies you find.â
âWe canât touch this stuff. Itâs Old World,â Lev said, like that shouldâve been obvious.
âAre you fu---? You need supplies. Weâre not out of the woods yet.â She opened and then shut a drawer. âPun fucking intended.â
âWhatâs a pun?â Lev asked from another room.
Abby didnât have the energy to answer that question.
Instead she said, âIâve never seen Scars go after Scars like that before.â
âSeraphites,â you and Lev corrected in unison as you explored different rooms of the building.
Again, she ignored. âSo what the hell did you do?â
âI shaved my head,â Lev answered simply.
Abby scoffed. âFine. Donât tell me.â
The group passed through building after dilapidated building, heading towards the coast. At least in theory.
âWeâre almost there,â Yara said. âJust a little farther.â
She led the way down a steep drop-off into another run-down building. One where you wouldnât be able to get back out the same way you went in.
âNow what?â Abby threw out, tired and frustrated.
âIâm quite confident itâs this way.â
âQuite confident?â Abby repeated incredulously.
âYou donât have to follow us,â Lev pointed out.
âYou want me to leave you three out here alone?â Abby shot back.
Your response was an immediate and insistent, almost panicked, âNo!â
Everyone else turned to you, surprised.
âLetâs just get out of here,â Lev offered.
Abby found the front doors, but they were held firmly closed by a metal gate on the outside.
Above the door was a large opening, too high for Abby to pull herself out of, but not too high for someone to climb through with a boost.
âIf you get us through there, weâll open the gate,â Lev said.
Abby remembered again that these were Scars she was dealing with. And like hell was she going to boost you all up to safety just so you could leave her stranded here.
âGet them out,â you said, as if you could read her mind. âIâll stay with you.â
Lev started to protest but stopped after one shake of your head.
Abby nodded. âOkay. Come on.â
He gave you one last look before walking over to her, stepping into her open hands and pulling himself through the opening.
âYour turn.â Abby looked at Yara. âWatch that arm.â She carefully helped the injured girl maneuver up and out.
The all too familiar shriek of Infected sounded off behind you, coming from deeper in the building.
On the other side of the doors, Lev pushed at the gate. It wouldnât budge.
âThe gateâs stuck!â
âFuck! Hurry up!â Abby looked back and forth between the door and the direction the Infected were coming from.
âWeâll look for another way!â Yara said, and the two of them disappeared from view.
Abby tried to stay calm and prepared herself for the inevitable fight.
âTheyâre not going to leave me,â you said, drawing her attention. You held your knife at the ready, rolling your shoulders back.
She didnât respond, not sure if she believed you.
âThey wonât,â you reiterated.
âI hope youâre right, Prophet.â She offered one of the weapons from her stash. âYou ever shot a gun before?â
You shook your head but accepted the firearm anyway.
âCome here. Iâll show you.â
What Abby hoped would only be a few Infected turned out to be an entire horde. Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, and even a couple Shamblers.
You were fighting them off like a champ.
Seriously. She was impressed.
Youâd kept the gun, watched her rushed demonstration on how to operate it, but ultimately chose to primarily stick with the dagger.
Both of you had been fighting for several minutes as you moved through the building. No sign of the other two Scars. Abby had pretty much resigned herself to needing to find her own way out.
She cleared the room she was in, lowering her weapon to take a breather.
You were in the next room, and it sounded like you had cleared that one out too.
The only warning Abby had before she felt the blow was you urgently shouting, âWolf!â
A Stalker that she failed to notice had her pinned to the ground, knocking her rifle from her grip in the process.
It reared its head back as Abby struggled, fighting to get it off her.
A gunshot rang out, and the Infected slumped, lifeless.
She shoved it off her and sat up to see you standing there, borrowed gun still aimed and ready.
âGood girl!â Abby exclaimed, beaming up at you from where she sat on the floor.
Wait.
What the fuck?
She meant to say âgood jobââŠ
Actually, she hadnât meant to say anything.
You lowered the weapon. Based on the look on your face, you were just as taken aback by her use of those words as Abby was. Although, she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Mostly.
She stood quickly and fumbled through a recovery. âGood shot. That wasâI meanâIt was a good⊠A good shot. Good job.â
You smiled softly at Abbyâs obvious display of nerves, walking over to where her rifle had fallen when she was attacked.
You picked it up and returned it to her.
âTry not to drop that again, yeah?â you said, mimicking the teasing tone Abby had used when she said those same words to you earlier that night.
She made a face. Something that was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.
âProphet! Over here!â came Levâs quiet voice from the next room.
You shot Abby an I told you so look before the two of you ran after the sound.
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When Yara collapsed, the Wolf picked her up and carried her.
You listened as she quietly comforted your dear friend, encouraging her to keep breathing and promising to find somewhere to rest soon.
Your heart felt soft for her in that moment.
Or maybe you were just exhausted.
Lev led the group with you in the back, gun drawn and alert to the best of your current abilities.
You entered a clearing, full of enormous metal boxes and small, raised buildings. All things from the Old World that you had never seen before and didnât have words for.
The Wolf instructed Lev to start checking the doors of all the small buildings. It took a few tries before he found one that was open.
The inside was in noticeably better shape than any other structure youâd seen on the mainland, with a few simple, fully intact pieces of furniture.
You watched as the Wolf moved through the first small room and into the second, carefully setting Yara down on the couch. She went over to the windows, checking again to make sure the four of you hadnât been followed.
When Yara began to slowly remove her overshirt, you were quick to help, being especially careful with her injured arm.
It was swollen and bright red from her elbow down to her fingertips, visibly mangled. You had to bite back a gasp.
Lev stood on the other side of the room, a horribly worried expression on his face.
It wouldnât be helpful for you to panic now.
âHey,â you said to him, light and encouraging, drawing his gaze to you and away from his hurt older sister. âIt just needs to be set. Okay?â
You turned your eyes to the Wolf who was still hovering by the window. âYou know how to do that?â
The face she made confirmed what you already knew. Yara needed much more than just for the arm to be set.
Still, the Wolf walked over, instructing Lev to cut the discarded overshirt into strips and telling Yara to lean back.
You helped her, kneeling on the floor by the side of the couch where her head lay, ready to assist in any way you could.
âIâm gonna move it, okay?â said the Wolf.
âOkay.â
They were both speaking so softly.
âYou ready?â she asked.
Yara nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out for one of yours. You held it, letting her squeeze as tightly as she needed to.
The crunching noise the arm made as it was set nearly made you sick.
Yara let out a series of pained noises, panting and grunting. You used your free hand to gently brush the loose strands of her hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears.
You whispered that the worst was over, and that she would be okay now.
You didnât know if that was true, but you hoped it comforted her a little.
The Wolf broke a leg off a wooden chair, took the newly cut strips of fabric that Lev offered, and went to work bracing the newly-set arm, using the chair leg as a splint.
Yara watched the Wolfâs face.
âWhatâs your name?â she asked.
The Wolf secured the last piece of cloth before she answered, meeting Yaraâs gaze.
âAbby,â she said.
She stood, looking to Lev and then to you.
âI should go,â the WolfâAbbyâsaid.
You stood too, to walk her out.
Lev quickly filled in the space that you left, kneeling in the same spot and taking Yaraâs waiting hand in his.
Abby grabbed her backpack and followed you into the first room, toward the door.
You paused, turning to face her.
âAre youââ You wanted to ask where she was going. What she would do next. Really, if you were being honest, you didnât want her to go at all.
But you didnât have the right to ask for any of those things, so instead you went with, âAre you okay?â
You gestured to your neck, meaning to indicate the dark, noose-shaped bruises that circled her own throat.
It felt like so long ago that sheâd been hanging in front of you, unfortunate to find herself on the wrong end of your dagger. But, realistically, only a couple of hours had gone by.
She cleared her throat, her own fingers instinctively ghosting over the marks.
âOh umm⊠Yeah. Itâll be fine.â She waited a beat before adding, âThanks for cutting me down.â
You didnât know what to say to that, considering it was technically your fault she needed to be cut down in the first place.
You settled on a nod and a tight smile.
She turned to go, twisting the doorhandle and stepping back out into the rain.
Before you could close the door behind her, she looked back and said, âThis area gets a lot of traffic. Whatever shape sheâs inâŠâ Abby leaned closer, hand on the door frame, âYou need to get out of here by tomorrow.â
Again, you nodded. âWeâll be fine.â
She held your gaze for a moment longer before she turned and walked down the steps.
You shut and locked the door.
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As Abby walked away from the office trailer, she couldnât help the images that came to mind.
She kept envisioning you and Lev and Yara, dead.
Hanged and gutted by the Scars.
Or shot by the WLF.
Or ripped to shreds by Infected.
She had real responsibilities. A friend to look for. A whole community counting on her.
She had a war to get back to.
But if she left now, would she always wonder about what happened to you?
The urge to stay near youâto protect youâwas so overwhelming. She didnât know where it was coming from or what she should do with it.
You were not safe, but she knew you were much safer with her.
Isaac had warned her that the first Scar Prophet had been able to make even the most dedicated soldiers turn on a dime. He said that with just a few carefully chosen words, she could make a person question where their loyalties lied.
It had seemed so ridiculous just that morning, but now you were doing the same thing to Abby.
You were in her head.
But this didnât feel like manipulation.
She didnât know what it was that drew her to you, but it felt real. Natural. And entirely unintentional.
Or maybe she was reading you all wrong, and you really were a master manipulator.
Abby needed to make a decision. Because she was currently standing still in the pouring rain with the trailer still in view.
She chose to trust her gut.
And her gut was telling her to turn around. To stay with you.
Owen would have to wait.
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Note: Thank you to anyone whoâs read all three chapters of this! The fact that literally anyone has is absolutely bonkers to me. Iâve already learned so much about myself as a writer since I started writing fics a couple weeks ago. For example, this week I learned that I DO NOT enjoy writing fight scenes⊠Unfortunately it was thoroughly unavoidable for this chapter. Regardless, I really hope it was interesting to read, and Iâm looking forward to fleshing out the relationship between Abby and my reader more and more!
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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Chapter 2: First Kill
AO3 Link  |  Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; cutting (not to self, but still); descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; brief allusion to transphobia
Note: I know Iâm not the only one who wanted to be the one holding the knife in that sceneâŠ
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The earth beneath Abbyâs knees was wet. Rain cascaded all around her. When she was able to pull her eyelids open, she found that she was staring at the ground below her. It was dark, save for dim firelight.
Very slowly, she came to, her senses awakening one by one.
It took her far too long to realize that she was being dragged forward, toward a larger fire, with her arms tightly bound behind her back.
She was barely conscious when the arms that were carrying her suddenly let go, sending her crashing onto the ground with no way to cushion the fall. She let out a pained grunt and shifted, trying to get a better sense of where she was.
When she looked up, she found three bodies, hanged and gutted and very very dead.
Panic set in as she quickly got her knees beneath her, trying to get up. Instantly, the hands returned, roughly forcing her back on her face and holding her there, unyielding.
All too quickly, a noose was pulled over her head and tightened.
âNoââ Abby pleaded, but the rope tightened further and she struggled as she was lifted off the ground.
She dangled and continued to struggle until something was pushed beneath her feet, just tall enough for her to stand on the tips of her toes and relieve some of the pressure on her throat.
Finally, she saw her attackers. She knew they would be Scars, but looking at them standing around her, watchingâŠ
She knew she was about to die.
There was a man and a woman directly in front of her, mutilated faces silently staring at her from beneath their hoods.
The woman removed hers and tilted her head, eying Abby.
She spoke. âIt is time.â And then she took a step back. âIf it is your will, Prophet, yield your righteous blade. Free this wretched Wolf from the evil within her.â
You stood in the shadows, unseen, previously unnoticed by the dangling girl. When the woman spoke to you, you stepped into the light, slowly moving toward them.
Where the other Scars wore trench coats, you were covered entirely in a long black cloak, your face concealed beneath a larger hood. Your movements were smooth and intentional. Self-assured.
In your right hand, there was a dagger, loosely held but steady in your grip.
As you stepped closer to Abby, she tried to focus. Tried to analyze you. But her airflow was severely restricted and any small movement from her could result in her losing her footing and falling off the bucket beneath her feet.
The two others stood on either of Abbyâs sides, ready to intervene if she were to try anything⊠Not that she could do anything if she did try.
You were standing directly in front of her now, but she still couldnât see anything beneath the hood through the rain and her faintly blurring vision.
She wasnât sure what she expected. That morning when Isaac told her you existed, she hadnât thought about what you might look like. She had seen the murals of the original Scar Prophet, and she always thought she looked like a regular woman. Just some random lady who became the leader of the worst cult ever.
Nothing couldâve prepared her for when you reached up with your free hand and pulled back your hood. Her eyebrows raised involuntarily.
You were beauâ
You⊠You didnât look like a Scar.
Your eyes met hers for just a moment before they swept downward, taking her in. You eyed her curiously, like you werenât sure what to do with her.
Or maybe that was Abby just being hopeful.
The look on your face hardened, becoming determined. Your grip on the knife tightened. If any part of you had been hesitating, youâd just made up your mind.
Shit.
Fuck.
Yeah, she was definitely going to die.
âThey are nested with sin,â you said, voice low. Your eyes were on Abbyâs face, holding her gaze.
The other Scars watched as your eyes again went lower. You reached your hand toward Abbyâs abdomen, lightly grazing before gripping the bottom hem of the shirt and pulling it up, exposing her bare stomach.
Abby knew that the lack of oxygen mustâve been making her lose her mind. She had to be sick. Because when she felt your fingers on her skin, she shivered. And she wanted to lean into the touch⊠Â
Until you pressed the blade there, harshly enough to emit a trickle of blood.
Abby hissed and looked away, gasping for breath and closing her eyes against the sharp sting of the knife.
You pushed the blade further.
âFree them,â you continued, âThat they may know Myââ
You were interrupted by the sound of a whistle, and you instantly paused.
Abby opened her eyes to watch as you breathed out. You were â what â relieved?
The other two ran off to respond to the whistle. You remained in place, dagger still held firmly against Abbyâs stomach. You stared at it, and she stared at you, waiting for you to either finish the job or pull away.
You did neither, frozen in place. It seemed like you were also waiting for something.
Abby didnât dare to move in the meantime.
The other Scars returned with two more, another man and a younger girl who was struggling against the men as they held her forcefully on both sides.
âYara,â the Scar woman said smugly. You visibly winced upon hearing the name, still not turning around.
âWhere is the other apostate?â the same woman asked. She leaned closer to the girl, who responded by spitting in the womanâs face.
There was a moment of silence before the woman uttered the words, âClip her wings.â
âNo!â You spoke out immediately, turning quickly and bringing your dagger with you. Abby gasped and took as deep a breath as she could, still struggling against the noose and her binds.
âDonât.â Your voice was authoritative, causing the men who were holding the girl to pause.
The woman looked quickly at you, surprised at your outburst, before turning back to her henchmen. âI am your direct superior. Do as I said.â
âBut sheâs theââ
âDo. It.â She seethed.
âNo,â you insisted again.
The men threw the girl on the ground anyway.
You ran forward, but the woman grasped you and forced you back. You were too preoccupied watching the girl on the ground to prevent the woman from taking the dagger from your hands. She tossed it aside, far out of reach.
âI knew it!â she said through gritted teeth. âI told Elder Constance you werenât ready.â
It happened quickly.
One of the men pulled a hammer from his belt and violently smashed it down on the girlâs left arm as she screamed.
âYara!â You tried to push past the other woman again, but again she held you back.
âTheyâre apostates! Traitors to your people and your cause. You should be giving the order to have them killed!â
The man brought the hammer down three more times.
âStop! Please stop!â you cried, fighting against the woman.
No one listened to you.
The hammer was passed to the other man. He raised his hand, ready to shatter her other arm too, when two arrows from an unseen archer stopped him short.
One through the face. The other in the chest.
Everyone turned to look for the unknown assailant, except for the girl.
She grabbed the hammer from the dead Scarâs grasp and slammed the claw of it into the other manâs throat, killing him.
The Scar woman pulled her gun to shoot the girl, but another flying arrow drew her away. She faced the surrounding forest, shooting blindly several times, not knowing where the archer was hiding.
The girl stood, left arm mangled and limp at her left side, hammer firmly grasped at her right.
This whole time, Abby could do nothing but watch.
But the Scar woman moved just close enough for her to wrap her legs around her neck from behind. She squeezed the womanâs head between her thighs until she dropped her gun.
The girl ended the woman by ramming the claws of the hammer through the side of her head.
As the woman went limp, she fell from between Abbyâs legs, sending her swinging through the air by her neck, unable to regain her balance on the bucket.
And Abby began to choke.
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The Elders referred to it as your âfirst killâ.
It was supposed to be the last trial before you fully stepped into your role as the Prophet.
You still werenât sure of all that would entail, but after eight years in limbo, you were ready for something else. Quite literally anything else.
Years of memorizing the scriptures, learning to fight with multiple weapons (and without them), improving upon any and all skills the Elders deemed necessary for you to master, each one seemingly more arbitrary than the last. Hours upon hours upon hours of prayer and meditation. And a whole lot of nothing.
You could kill a Wolf or two if it meant your life would become anything more than what it had been for nearly a decade. If it meant things would be different.
And if it meant you could help your friends.
You knew everyone was searching for Yara and L. Hunting them down.
Youâd heard through the quiet whispers of your servants at Sanctuary that he had cut his hair and told his mother that his name was Lev.
He had no choice but to run, and Yara went too.
You were so afraid for them.
And yet part of you wished they had taken you with them.
You werenât sure if you still got to call them your friends. You hadnât been permitted to spend time with anyone informally or without purpose since the morning of your scarring ceremony, so you hadnât spoken to them since then.
You shouldâve been able to be there for Lev. And Yara. You shouldnât have been locked away.
But maybe once your training was complete and you were officially the Prophet â in authority, not just by name â you could protect them.
Maybe something good could come from your circumstances after all.
That would make it all feel worth it.
Emily had taken on training you in hand-to-hand combat some months ago.
You had a strange relationship with her.
On one hand, she was the only person who didnât treat you like you were some mystical, cosmically-chosen goddess. She usually treated you like you were just another person.
But, on the other hand, she was an ass. So that was frustrating to deal with.
Still, there had always been a greater sense of normalcy between the two of you than there had been with anyone else in Haven.
The Elders decided that Emily would be the one to take you to the mainland for your first kill.
There were some disagreements about how large the hunting party should be.
âThe people need to see Her as a conqueror. They need to know that sheâs a capable fighter,â some of the Elders argued. But it was ultimately agreed upon that a smaller group would be safer. It would draw less attention from your enemies.
So Emily chose two of her best men, and your group set out.
The mainland was not what you had expected, and nothing like the island, but you were able to navigate it well enough.
Emily brought you to see Martyrâs Gate for the first time.
Prayer had long since become a mindless chore of yours. You rarely did it in earnest.
Today, you did though.
You prayed for strength. Because the closer you came to the killing, the less sure you were that you would be able to go through with it.
The idea of killing while fighting, either in your own defense or to defend another, was one thing. You were sure you could do that if the time came.
But this was different. It wasnât necessary. It wasnât fair. And it wasnât a true display of combat skills or strategy or anything else youâd been training for.
Emily explained that the plan was to âcatch a wolf, string âem up, and cut âem open.â
The thought made you sick.
In a rare moment of compassion, Emily put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed lightly. âThey would do the same thing to you, Prophet,â she said, looking into your eyes, âthe second they got the chance.â
You tried to steel yourself, knowing that, just like everything else in your life, you didnât have much of a choice.
When the time came, you werenât even the one who âcaughtâ the Wolf. The men had her pinned down and Emily knocked her out while you just stood off to the side, blinking, trying not to vomit.
As she laid still on the ground, you couldnât help but to examine the girl whose life you would soon be taking.
She was big. And very strong. Strong in a way you honestly didnât know a woman could be.
You wondered if all Wolves looked like this. You doubted it.
She wore a black sleeveless shirt, so you could see her arms, and they were incredible. Your eyes lingered for longer than you shouldâve allowed yourself to.
Her dark blonde hair was long and braided.
She was covered in cuts and bruises. Definitely a soldier. Probably a very good one.
Your eyes traveled over her lightly freckled face, down her long noseâ
Emily interrupted your train of thought. âI think Iâve heard of this one before⊠Never come across her myself though,â she said, joining you in eying the newly unconscious Wolf. âShe has killed countless Seraphites. Numbers of Your people, dead at her hands.â
You felt a flash of anger upon hearing this and berated yourself for having been looking at her so⊠admiringly.
How many people did you know whose role of soldier was chosen for them, just as your role of Prophet had been chosen for you. They hadnât asked for it any more than you did. And they had been killed for it.
Many of them by this woman.
Suddenly, the idea of killing her didnât seem so impossible.
âIt will be our honor to take care of the dirty work on your behalf, Prophet,â Emily said. âThe only thing you need to worry about is thisâŠâ She handed you the dagger as the men dragged the Wolf away, into the forest.
You followed behind, pulling your hood over your head as it began to rain.
One of the two men split off, saying he thought he saw something and wanted to investigate. Emily nodded and took the Wolfâs arm from him, taking on half of her weight.
Once in the clearing, you watched as the Wolf regained consciousness, just in time for Emily and one of the men to put the noose around her neck and lift her off the ground.
You watched as she struggled to catch her breath and balanced on the bucket that Emily had shoved beneath her feet.
You watched, hidden beneath your hood, as she saw you for the first time, standing in the shadows, and her eyes widened.
You listened to her gasps and grunts as she struggled against her binds as you approached.
You pulled back your hood and looked into her eyes. Saw a living, breathing human being who had done nothing to you and could do nothing to defend herself against you.
And once again you werenât sure if you could actually do it.
But you pushed ahead, just as you always do, and did what was expected of you.
Until the whistle had cut you off.
Yara had been captured, and you werenât able to stop them from destroying her arm.
In the fight that ensued, you were useless, standing off to the side in utter shock as arrows, bullets, and hammers flew, everything happening too quickly for you to be able to react.
When the Wolf grabbed Emily with her legs and crushed her between her thighs, you couldnât help but note the fact that you had been standing much closer to the Wolf, and for much longerâŠ
But Emily was dead and the Wolf was choking, now dangling freely with nothing to stand on.
âYara!â You heard him before you saw him.
He came running out of the tree line, pausing when he saw the hanging Wolf.
And then he saw you, still frozen. Still useless. Â
âProphet,â he breathed, bowing his head. The genuine sincerity in the gesture disheartened you, but you were glad to see him alive and unharmed, so you gave him a small smile and a nod.
His eyes stayed on you for just a moment longer before he went to check on Yara, quietly whispering her name. She waved him away, her arm limp and face pained.
âThe Demons are coming,â he said, loud enough for you both to hear.
For some reason, that was what got you moving. You found the dagger on the ground where Emily had thrown it and rushed over to rope that held the Wolf.
âWhat are you doing?â Lev asked.
âCutting her down.â
âSheâs one of them,â he said.
âLev,â Yara said, shaking her head.
He went quiet, watching as you quickly cut the rope.
The Wolf fell to the ground with a loud, painful thud and immediately began coughing and gasping for air.
You walked over to her, hesitant. You had been seconds away from disemboweling her just a few minutes ago. Maybe she would turn around and kill you the second she was free.
But you had already cut her down and Demons were on the way, so you knelt on the ground behind her and carefully cut away the ties that held her hands.
The moment she was able, she used her own hands to loosen and remove the noose, sitting up quickly and looking around for something.
Her eyes went to Emily and she crawled over, grasping the hammer lodged in her head and yanking it out.
With one hand to her throat, she stood.
You couldnât believe she was standing so quickly after what just happened to her, but she was. And you knew that if she decided to attack you, you would not win that fight. Even now, in her weakened state and despite your years of training, you wouldnât stand a chance against her.
But she didnât come after you.
A twig snapped in the surrounding forest. She turned towards that, ready to face whatever came out first.
Yara stood, grabbing a knife that belonged to one of Emilyâs men.
Lev had an arrow notched in his bow, ready to fly.
You gripped the dagger tighter in your hand and tried to remember everything youâd been taught about fighting Demons.
âWatch your backs,â said the Wolf.
You supposed youâd get to have your first kill tonight after all.
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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Chapter 1: A New Prophet
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas
Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into something different. It basically follows the plot of Abbyâs Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible.
This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!
Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Levâeven in the flashback part where theyâre little kids and wouldnât have known otherwiseâphysically pains me, so weâre going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev âLâ as a nickname for forever.
Hope you enjoy! :)
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April 2038
Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.
She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.
She knew that they live on the island but they wouldnât fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.
She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.
She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her lifeâs purpose.
And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.
It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:
âThe Prophet is on the move.â
He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.
She didnât know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasnât the only one who was confused.
One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasnât going to fill in the gaps unprompted.
âThe Prophet?â Manny questioned hesitantly. âSir⊠respectfully⊠Sheâs been dead for years. Died before we even joined.â
âDonât you think I know that? Iâm the one who killed her.â Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.
âMy unwilling informants downstairs,â he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the buildingâs lower levels, âtell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.â
âOkay so⊠What does that mean?â Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.
âThereâs a reason why theyâve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.â He clenched his fists on the table. âThis⊠Neo-Prophet,â Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, âis about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so Iâve been told.â
Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.
Manny jumped in. âWhat? So the Scars are⊠celebrating? Youâre saying thatâs why theyâve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.â
Abby let out a short laugh. âIf this is what it looks like when theyâre happy, I donât want to see what happens when theyâre mad.â
Isaac remained stoic. âThey have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.â
âRight, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move soâŠâ Abby said. âWant us to hunt her down? See what theyâll do when we take away their new favorite toy?â
âNo,â Isaac said quickly. âSheâs not our target. Weâll get to her in due time.â
âThen whaââ
He cut her off. âThe Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, itâs possible sheâs already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I donât know what that entails, but Iâm sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. Iâll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I canât get any more information on that. Weâll try to prevent it if we can, but thatâs not our main focus right now.â Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. âWith the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.â
Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. âSir, weâve tried attacking their island andââ
âNot like this,â Isaac said. âNot with everyone. Thereâs a big storm a few days out. Weâre going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.â
âAnd the Prophet?â Abby asked.
âOne battle at a time, Abby.â
âAre we sure it would be a battle?â she pressed. âIsaac, sheâs just one girl.â
âYou would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I donât doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.â Abby huffed. Isaac continued, âAnd if sheâs anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.â
At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.
âWeâve only got one shot at this⊠And this is bigger than any of us.â Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. âI need you, Abby.â
She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. âYeah, I get it.â
âGood.â He pulled away, heading toward the door. âLook over the plans and go through your rosters.â
âI want Owen,â she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.
When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.
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March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)
The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.
Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.
She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.
You were to be brave. And strong.
The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.
No one was meant to question the Prophetâs teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.
You could feel your motherâs breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.
While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.
This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?
You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.
But there would be no crying today.
Instead, you let your eyes wander to your motherâs reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but youâd always thought your mother was beautiful.
Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.
You were not supposed to be vain.
Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.
âWe are imperfect beings,â she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, âAnd thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.â
She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. âGood girl. Iâm proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.â You tried to return her smile. âNow. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.â
She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. âRemember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?â
You nodded quickly. Obediently.
She seemed pleased as she left the room.
You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that youâd spent the whole night before crying. You hadnât gotten a minute of sleep.
The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.
On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.
Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.
âHappy birthday!â she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.
You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and had always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.
Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.
âIâm really scared,â you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.
âI know,â she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. âYouâre the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.â
You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.
âShe will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,â she said, earnest. âOur pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.â
You couldnât help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.
But Yaraâs comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldnât help but admireâand borderline enviedâso you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.
Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.
âItâs time to leave,â she said simply. Firmly.
Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yaraâs mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little Lâs hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.
You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.
For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You werenât scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you inâŠ
The hiss of your name from your motherâs mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.
You took a deep breath and started walking.
Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your peopleâs primary places of worship, second only to Martyrâs Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it â Youâd never left the island â so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)
Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a childâs twelfth birthday.
You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends. Â
The process was always the same.
Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophetâs Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.
It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.
You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.
The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.
As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldnât begin guess what it was.
You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your motherâs hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.
Why were there so many people here?
Your eyes met Elder Constanceâs. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.
The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.
Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?
You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.
When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.
You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.
âWelcome, child, on this most joyous day!â Elder Constanceâs voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. âCome. Join us.â
You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.
But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didnât want your mother to be angry.
So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.
Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.
âTwo years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,â she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.
âBut She is not dead! For the Prophetâs spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.â The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, âShe lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.â
âHere before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our dutyâour privilegeâto share her words with you.â
âBut today, She does not have words for us.â Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. âIt is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion⊠A new Prophet.â
Elder Constanceâs hands landed on your shoulders.
âToday, She has chosen Her successor.â
The crowd erupted in celebration.
You went completely numb and tuned them all out.
The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.
A new Prophet?
There canât be a new Prophet.
What does that even mean?
There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.
And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?
Why you?
Why you?
Why you?
It canât be you.
If any of your questions were answered, you didnât hear it above the ringing in your head.
Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constanceâs hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.
ââŠThe Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until thenâŠâ She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.
The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.
Your legs suddenly felt very weak.
Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.
This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophetâs Prayer. You werenât sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, âThe world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.â
You werenât speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.
The pleased look on Elder Duncanâs face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:
âYou will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.â
Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you wouldâve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.
Almost like they were praying to youâŠ
Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.
You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. Youâd seen him do the same to others many times before.
This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.
But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing inward, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.
You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.
You didnât look away. You didnât cry. You did as you were told.
You wanted to go home.
âWe are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.â Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. âIt is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.â
When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. âBut the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.â
âRemember that You are part of us, but set apart.â The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. âWe look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.â With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.
You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.
Finally, you found your mother among them.
And she was crying.
âMy friends,â Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, âYour Prophet!â
The cheers were deafening.
As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.
You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their motherâs hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.
At least someone was as skeptical as you were.
You wondered if you would get to go home now.
But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophetâs grand house. Into Sanctuary.
There, servantsâ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.
You would never live in your motherâs house again.
And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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You're My People

AO3 Link
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Synopsis: You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.
Tags: slight angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of death and blood; tending to injuries; (mostly) unspoken romantic feelings; reader is a young woman (same age as Abby)
Note: To be absolutely 100% clear, the reader is NOT meant to be Lev or Yara. Reader is a woman (about the same age as Abby) who met Abby on Seattle Day 1 when she was also meeting Lev and Yara. The four of them stuck together. None of this is super relevant for this story. (Just know that Yara was with them, but she was killed just as she was in the game, and Lev is around here somewhere.)
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âDonât ever let me see you again.â
Thatâs what Abby had said to that girl â Ellie â before walking away without so much as a backwards glance.
You had quietly followed Abby out of the theater, because what else could you do, but you didnât know how you were supposed to feel about what you just saw.
Watching Abby incapacitate one man and shoot another in the face without hesitating. Seeing her beat Ellie into the floor while she lay there motionless.
And the other woman. The one who was pregnantâŠ
âGood,â Abby had seethed when Ellie told her. She almost seemed happy about it. Happy to repay the wrong that was done to Mel. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.
If you hadnât called out Abbyâs name when you did, dragging her from the haze that was her desire for retributionâŠ
Well, you could guess what wouldâve happened.
You were just glad the two of you had decided not to bring Lev with you. That he was somewhere safe.
Neither of you spoke a word as you navigated through the dark streets of Seattle, her leading the way with you following quietly behind, just as you had been doing since you met. Although now you may have allowed for a bit more space between the two of you than you did before, trailing further behind. Lost in thought.
It had been three days since you met, but it felt like so much longer. A nagging voice in your head insisted that you really didnât know Abby very well, despite how it felt.
She hadnât given you any reason not to trust her. She had never hurt you. In fact, she had fought so hard to keep you and (more importantly) Lev and Yara safe. She had even turned against her own people, killed her own people, for the sake of protecting you.
No, that wasnât right.
Those werenât Abbyâs people anymore.
âYouâre my people.â
Abby had looked so earnest when she said it back on the Seraphite island just hours before. And you had believed her.
The words left you with a feeling deep in your chest that was hard to describe. You thought it mightâve been⊠belonging. Something youâd been hoping for but never found. Youâd always wanted to truly belong to something.
Or someone.
There hadnât been any time to dwell on the feelings or what they meant.
And now all you feel is a pit in your stomach.
Why were you so shaken up? This is stupid. Youâve killed before, and youâve watched Abby kill.
But this felt different. It wasnât self-defense. It wasnât necessary. It was dark and angry and honestly terrifying. She was honestly terrifying.
But it was justified, wasnât it? You could argue that maybe it was necessary.
Ellie had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in her path.
Ellie killed Owen.
You werenât sure of the exact history between him and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen the look on her face when she found him dead.
Whoâs to say Ellie wouldâve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Whoâs to say sheâll even stop now?
Youâre just beginning to arrange your fractured, contradicting thoughts in a way that makes sense when Abby comes to a sudden stop in front of you. You wouldâve run into her if she hadnât stretched her hand out behind her in warning.
âWe need to stop. Get out of the rain. Regroup.â Her voice is strained.
You hadnât really even noticed that it started raining again, harder this time, but you can walk in the rain. Lev is alone, waiting for the two of you to return.
You open your mouth to protest, only to shut it again when Abby turns to face you fully. Sheâs balancing her weight unevenly, heavily favoring her right leg. A significant bloodstain runs all the way down to her left ankle. And her face⊠Â
The pregnant girl had come from nowhere, attacking Abby from behind. She managed to slash across Abbyâs cheek with a knife before you took her down with an arrow through the shoulder. It had been your only real contribution to the fighting in the theater, but it had been unavoidable. Abby had been in danger.
Now sheâs standing in front of you, soaked from head to toe, from the rain and with blood, and you have no idea how much of that blood is hers, but there are definitely some significant injuries that need to be tended to.
Abby takes in your silence and your wide-eyed stare for a moment before shifting a little in place and clearing her throat. âUm⊠we can try in there. Yeah? The houses here should all be deserted.â She gestures weakly to the building closest to you.
You finally find your voice. âYes, yeah. Letâsâletâs go in there.â
You pull your gaze away from Abbyâs and walk past her, toward the small house, pulling your bow from where it rests over your shoulder and notching an arrow in the string. It suddenly occurs to you that youâve walked all this way without your weapon drawn while Abby was injured and unarmed. For a moment, youâre glad that the Wolves and the Seraphites are too distracted fighting each other elsewhere to be roaming around in this area. Or else you and Abby would probably have been killed by now, both of you practically stumbling through the streets like a couple of vulnerable, mindless children.
You shake your head, silently scolding yourself and promising to be more alert, starting right now with sweeping the house.
The front door is mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approach carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that poses a threat. Abby follows behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg and holding up a small flashlight taken from the aquarium.
âCome on. You need to sit down,â you say over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. For a moment, it looks like she might argue with you, maybe insist that she make sure the buildingâs clear first, but she seems to decide against it, giving you a quick nod of her head in response.
With your bow still drawn, you lead the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room is filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.
You point to it. âSit,â you tell Abby. The fact that she listens and moves toward the couch without protest, albeit very slowly, is further proof of the extent of her injuries and her level of exhaustion. âIâm going to check the rest of the house, okay? Iâll be back. Donât move.â
Abby lets out a scoff, immediately followed by a second, more pained noise. âI couldnât go anywhere if I wanted to.â An attempt at a joke, made through gritted teeth. You give her a hesitant, worried look, long enough that she forces a small smile and attempts to reassure you with, âIâm fine. Go.â
Sheâs lying and you know that, but you donât have much of a choice. You turn to go quickly search the house.
The second floor is clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummage through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty coat closets in hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.
You find nothing there and move on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room is even more ransacked than the rest of the house, and still, you donât find what youâre looking for.
âUgh,â you loudly groan, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.
âWhatâs wrong? What happened?â Abby quickly asks from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It makes you smile until you remember that this is no time to be smiling.
âItâs nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.â
âWho needs medical supplies?â she asks, trying her hand at a second joke. This time you let yourself smile for just a second.
âYou do, Abby,â you say, âYou need medical supplies. Urgently.â Youâre still staring up like the answer will be written up there if you just look hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling catches your eye. If youâre not mistaken, it looks like the corner of a first aid kit.
Itâs too high for you to reach standing, and thereâs nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops are broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets is rickety and unstable at best.
Youâre grumbling under your breath about damn high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reenter the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still on the floor. Both of her hands are hovering over the gash in her thigh, like sheâs not sure if she should touch it or not, her face tense and focused. Sheâs in pain.
You pull your eyes away and look for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slight wobbly small metal table.
âDo you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, honey?â Abby asks, glancing at you in her periphery. Sheâs joking again, and you know that, but you canât help the warmth that pools in your cheeks at her use of the affectionate pet-name.
âI--â You clear your throat, âI need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.â
âAww, you canât reach the top shelf by yourself?â Abby asks, amused. She turns her attention from her leg to watch as you drag the table out of the room. It squeaks along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.
 The fact that sheâs being playful with you starts to ease your lingering panic about her many ailments. If sheâs cracking jokes, she canât be that close to dying, right?
âCrazy how youâve lost like half your blood supply, and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,â you say, your own teeth gritted now. The table is much heavier than you anticipated. âAnd, for your information, the thing that Iâm trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.â
âUh huh. Sure⊠Take your time. Iâm just over here, casually bleeding out.â
âWell, Iâm no doctor. But Iâm pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you wouldâve bled out a long time ago. So youâll be fine for another minute. Probably.â With one final shove, you manage to get the table where you want it.
You carefully step up on the table, hoping that some sadistic asshole didnât throw an empty first aid kit all the way up there just to waste the time and energy of some poor, desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)
After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grab the handle. The kit is full.
âYes!â you shout, nearly stumbling off the table in your excitement.
Abby can tease you all she wants and try to make light of the situation, but she canât hide the look of relief that washes over her features when she sees what youâre carrying.
And, if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldnât have been able to mask the way her eyes go wide and her cheek â the one thatâs not covered in blood â gets visibly pink when you get on your knees in front of her. âUhhh hey, you canâyou can sit on the couch.â
You raise your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. âNo, the angle will be better this way,â you insist. âJust bring your leg over here.â She concedes, avoiding eye contact as you help her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot is back on the floor, practically between your knees.
Thereâs already a tear in her pant leg where the gash is. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opt to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear.
But you have a bad habit of occasionally thinking about something and then doing it, forgetting the often necessary in-between step of alerting the people around you to what youâre going to do first. You take the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tear, successfully making a hole large enough for you to properly clean and dress the wound.
The sound Abby makes when you do this surprises you. Itâs almost sounds like a whimperâa noise that you donât think youâve ever heard her make before. Thereâs a twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby, which you choose to ignore in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.
Sheâs quiet as you get to work cleaning the gash. Wincing slightly but remaining still.
The cut is deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.
You moved even closer to her. Abbyâs shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.
Abby brings her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tense, muscles engaged. You have to tear your eyes away. Focus. You look back down at her thigh.
As you work, a strand of your hair falls from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abbyâs fingers gently brush it back behind your ear. You feel yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.
When the last stitch is done and youâve carefully wrapped the wound, you feel Abbyâs fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.
âCome up here,â she says, her voice low. You stand, bringing the first aid kit with you, and feel the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sit on the couch, facing her, closer than is probably necessary. Before either one of you says anything else, you begin gently wiping away the blood surrounding the cut on her cheek, cleaning around the wound.
It's clear to you now that her wounds werenât quite as detrimental as you had feared. With her leg sown up, her face was the only other thing that required your attention. Most everything else was superficial and would heal on its own. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seems that much less of that blood had come from her than you had anticipated anyway.
âI can do that,â Abby says in a whisper, watching your face as you carefully and meticulously clean hers.
âI know,â you reply, just as quiet. âI want to.â
A few moments go by in silence until Abby once again breaks it.
âIâm sorry about tonight,â she begins, quickly adding, âNot sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to⊠see me that way.â Her eyes are downcast. You know itâs weighing on her. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing you two have only just started to build. Call it trust or friendship or maybe something else entirely.
You shake your head. âDonât apologize. Iâm glad I was there. You shouldnât have had to do that alone.â Abby nods, but you know it doesnât do much to assuage her worries.
You still donât understand what happened back in the theater. Or why it happened. Part of you wants to ask for the history now. How she knows Ellie. Why she wants Abby dead.
Maybe in time she will tell you, but youâve already decided to trust her. To lean into whatever this thing between you is, and whatever it might become.
So instead, you ask another question thatâs been in the back of your mind.
âDid you mean what you said earlier?â You pull your hand away from her face, finished cleaning the cut there. It may form a scar, but it doesnât seem deep enough to warrant stitches. (And youâre not brave enough to try, on her lovely face so close to her eye.)
Abby smiles softly, leaning forward just a bit to bring your faces closer together. âYouâre going to have to be more specific, honey.â
That pet-name again. It makes your head spin. Makes you want to close the already shrinking distance between you and press your lips to hers. But you donât do that. Instead, you explain, âOn the island. When you said that⊠Iâm your people.â You pause, hesitating over the last few words.
Abby stops for a moment, almost looking confused, and you start to spiral internally. You realize that it was probably just something she said in the heat of the moment. To calm you down and get you to keep moving, towards safety. You wish you could take your question back, retract your stupid words. Swallow them up and hide them inside you, along with your ever-growing feelings.
Abby finally answers. âYeah. Of course I meant it. Youâre my people.â
âYeah?â You break out into a grin.
She nods, smiling and sincere. âYeah.â
Itâs that one, small word that makes you close the distance between you. Not to kiss her, but to gently rest your forehead against hers. Abby seems stunned, like maybe she was expecting the other thing, or hoping for it, but she recovers quickly, closing her eyes and maintaining the physical contact. You close your eyes too.
âYouâre my people too, Abigail Anderson.â You can feel her laugh quietly and open your eyes, pulling away just enough to see her face again. âSo⊠where do we go from here?â
âSanta Barbara, California,â she says. You remember overhearing part of a conversation about that between Abby and Owen yesterday. You figured thatâs where she would be heading; you had just hoped to be given the chance to tag along. But you guess you didnât have to worry about that anymore.
So you nod your head thoughtfully. âSounds good⊠Sunny.â
âHmm, yeah. Thatâs what I hear.â Youâre both smiling. Happy, strangely enough, given the circumstances.
âAbbyâŠâ
âHmmm?â
âWe are going back to get Lev before we leave though, right?â
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Note: If you read all of that, THANK YOU! This is the first fanfic Iâve writtenâand the first time Iâve written at all in a long timeâso this is me dipping my toes in the water.
#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson angst
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An Introductionđ„
Hello!!
My name is Cal. Iâm a 25-year-old lesbian, and my pronouns are she/her. Iâm an English student and an avid reader, and Iâve always loved writing.
I'll be writing a lot of Abby Anderson (TLOU) and probably venturing into writing Jade and Kit from Disney's Willow (2022).
My asks and inbox are open! If you have any requests or suggestions or if you just want to chat, Iâm all ears!
Masterlist
Abby Anderson (TLOU):
-- The Wolf and The Prophet -- Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife. (WIP) Chapter 1: A New Prophet Chapter 2: First Kill Chapter 3: Cursed Creatures Chapter 4: Uncloaked Chapter 5: The Aquarium Chapter 6: A Dagger In One Hand Chapter 7: Lost Haven Chapter 8: Stitches
-- You're My People -- You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.
#fanfic#fanfic writing#abby anderson#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson x reader#jade claymore#kit tanthalos#tanthamore#jade claymore x kit tanthalos#willow#save willow#lgbtq#queer stories#writing
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Abby + braid
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Lesbian love teaches you to love yourself. When you love another womanâs body you are loving your own body.
I reach down and grab my own hip. Itâs soft and covered in stretch marks and I wonder if anyone could ever find me beautiful. I reach down and grab my loverâs hip. Itâs soft and covered in stretch marks and I wonder if Aphrodite is reborn in every woman or just this one.
To learn to love another woman is to learn to love yourself.
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RUBY CRUZ as HAZEL CALLAHAN in BOTTOMS (2023) dir. Emma Seligman
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