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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years

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Words: 6,377 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, gore, death, sexuality, nudity, typical TWD A/N: I didn't do nearly as many read-throughs with this one so there are probably typos. And this part was getting HELLA long, so I ended up cutting it in a different place buuuuut that means you'll probably get the next chapter a little sooner! A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: The communities strike at The Saviors.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Everybody knows what they’re supposed to do?” Rick glanced around one final time at all of you gathered together. The air was tense and silent. He nodded. “Alright. Then let’s get this done.”

The crowd broke up a little chaotically as everyone headed to their positions. You watched with some apprehension, wondering just who was leaving now and wouldn’t return… Your reverie was broken by Aaron who ran up and grabbed you into a tight hug. Eric appeared shortly after.

“You be safe,” Aaron said, squeezing you tight. You wrapped your arms around him and returned it, shutting your eyes and hugging him back extra tight.

“You too. Both of you.”

Eric grabbed you next and seemed to give you an extra-long squeeze. “Go be your badass self, okay?” he said as he finally broke apart from you. “And we’ll see you back at home.” You nodded and gave his shoulder one last affectionate pat.

“Take care of each other,” you said, drinking in the sight of the two of them, your brow furrowed with worry.

They nodded earnestly and you exchanged a few more words of parting before they headed to their assigned cars. You watched them climb in, your stomach turning with anxiety.

You felt gentle fingers on your lower back and knew immediately that it was Daryl. You spun to face him and your worried expression was reflected on his face. “This is it,” he drawled.

“Yep,” you agreed with a nod.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip. “Wish we didn’t have to be apart for it,” he said quietly.

“I know. Me too. But we both have to play our roles, right? We’ve got jobs to do.”

He nodded before glancing around briefly and grabbing your hand. “C’mere,” he said, tugging you a little way away from the crowd to a more secluded spot. When he spun around again to look at you, you could truly see in his blue eyes how uneasy he was. He clasped your face and drank in the sight of you, trying to draw strength from the way you were looking up at him. He pulled you in against him with the other hand, light on your lower back. He gave you a pointed look. “I’ll see ya after,” he said vehemently.

You nodded again, gulping at the tightness in your throat. “After.”

Daryl leaned down and heatedly pressed his lips to yours, setting you ablaze. His tongue flicked across your lower lip and you parted yours to allow entrance for him, kissing him back feverishly, your arms looped around his neck as you arched into him. When Daryl’s lips finally softened, he didn’t pull away completely. You both were out of breath and off-balance from that kiss and he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes shut, just breathing you in for a moment longer, feeling you solid beneath his hands.

His blue eyes finally opened and met yours again and now he felt braver, stronger.

“Daryl,” you said, not meaning for it to come out in a whisper but it did. “I love you.” Your eyes flickered between his.

He couldn’t help how his lips curved into a small smile when you said that, every time. He clasped your face again in both hands, looking deeply into your eyes, memorizing the flecks of color. “I love ya, too.” He’d gotten better at hearing it and at saying it. He pressed one more urgent kiss to your lips and then laced his fingers with yours. The two of you headed back out to depart for battle.

Rosita strode over and held her hand out to you for a fist bump. “Ready, chica?” she asked.

You nodded and gave her a small smile as you bumped her fist with yours. You had your game face on now. Any trace of worry or fear in your expression was gone. “Let’s do it.”

“Hey—ya watch out for each other, alright?” Daryl said to both of you.

“We’ve got this,” Rosita said. “Don’t worry.”

Daryl nodded and gave you one last look before heading to his bike.

You caught Rosita’s eyes. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Soon you were behind the wheel in the vehicle with Rosita riding shotgun and all the supplies loaded in back.

“Alright, let’s run through it again,” you said, clutching the steering wheel much harder than necessary.

Rosita laughed a little dryly. “We’ve been through it a hundred times!”

“I know, but—it calms me down,” you muttered, glancing over at her.

She gave you a knowing look and nodded. “I know. Okay. We set the charges—all ten—main highway and the side roads that would lead to Alexandria. Then, we get the hell out of Dodge before any potential Saviors come our way and hopefully get blown to pieces... You drop me to rendezvous with Carol and you head for clean-up duty and assistance at the outpost. After, everyone meets back at Hilltop.”

You let out a forced exhale. “Okay. Okay. We’ve got this.”

You pulled over as you arrived at the first spot you were going to wire up and both of you hopped out to grab the devices you’d built. They’d trigger if something heavy enough, like a vehicle, tripped the pressure hose you laid across the road. By the time you had them assembled and armed you were already dripping with sweat. Rosita looked about the same as you climbed back into the SUV.

You wiped a hand across your brow and glanced over at her. “One down,” you said.

“Nine to go,” she said, clicking her seatbelt and let out a nervous breath. She glanced back at the supplies stacked in the back. “Can’t believe we’re finally doing this. About damn time,” she said. “That bastard and all his assholes deserve to pay for everything they’ve done.”

You felt her eyes on your face and glanced over.

“I just want you to know that you’re one of us. Family. Totally and completely,” she said.

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Thanks. Feel like we won the lottery with Aaron finding all of you,” you replied.

“Especially, Daryl, right?” she said knowingly, laughing at your expression.

You could feel your cheeks burning with a blush. “Shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes at her and turned them back to the road.

“You’re really good for him though, you know. In all seriousness.” Rosita watched as you just chewed on your bottom lip a bit nervously. “I’ve never seen him so happy. And that’s even with us all being right in the middle of this goddamn shitstorm.”

“Well… I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy either,” you said, feeling your cheeks redden again. You cleared your throat and laughed a little bashfully. “Alright, enough distracting me. I’m trying to keep my game face on. We’re almost at the next point,” you said, slowing the vehicle. You and Rosita repeated your set-up at all the assigned locations. At the last one she extended a fist to you again and you happily bumped it.

“See you back home,” she said. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You waved and were turning away to move your gun onto the center console when you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Carol behind you. “Everything alright?” you asked her. Rosita was waiting by Carol’s vehicle.

Carol grabbed you into a hug and you let out a small surprised noise. “Oh—th—thanks,” you said, managing to hug her back.

She gave you a fond look when she pulled back. “Come back in one piece, alright? If something happens to you—Daryl—”

“Hey. You, too,” you said seriously. “But nothing is happening to any of us, Right?”

Carol simply nodded, still looking apprehensive, and rushed back to Rosita and her vehicle to take off to their next position. You forced out an exhale as they sped off and climbed back into the SUV. Alone.

You were feeling extra anxious now. It was agonizing without any way to keep contact with everyone and you kept having flashes of almost overwhelming worry. Enough time had passed that everyone would be in the thick of things and if things were going to go sideways, they almost certainly had by now… But the revving and hum of the engine was somehow comforting as you sped toward your next location. Your plan was to a help at the spot where Aaron and Eric would be with a big group, clearing out an outpost. You had some other homemade IEDs in the back in case they were needed, but mostly you just wanted to be another gun and set of eyes.

You pushed the gas pedal down to the floor as you cruised down the highway. You were making good time when you suddenly felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You squinted up ahead and could see some obstacle in the road. You pressed your foot to the brake to slow a little, and eventually you could finally make out that it was an unfamiliar vehicle almost completely blocking both lanes. you noticed there were a few people standing on the side of the road with weapons. Saviors.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. Your mind was racing as you tried to figure out what to do. You thought you could scrape through on the edge of the lane if you were going fast enough to make yourself a hard target to shoot at or stop. But if they shot out your tire or something… “Fuck it,” you said out loud, and you moved your foot back to the gas pedal and depressed it to the floor again. The SUV leaped over the concrete, the engine roaring to life. “Come on. Come on…”

You were almost to the group of Saviors when you registered some object flying through the air, hurled by one of the men on the side of the road. You watched it as if in slow motion and by the time you realized what it likely was it was too late. All you could do was brace yourself as the grenade exploded just in front of the hood of your vehicle. The shockwave from the fireball was strong enough to blow and roll your vehicle back and on its side into the ditch in the middle of the highway. You vaguely registered the sound of screaming metal tearing against concrete, deafening cracks and crunches, and shattering glass as the SUV rolled over and over before the vehicle came to rest in the grassy ditch on the driver’s side.

Move. You have to move. Move. You couldn’t hear anything but a high-pitched ringing in your ears and your vision was splotchy and blurred with dark and red spots as you tried to keep your eyes open. Your vision seemed to go in and out, blurred and then sharpening, and then blurring again. Somehow you managed to get your bearings and struggled until you could undo your seatbelt. You registered that the windshield was completely busted and you maneuvered until you could kick it out. There was so much adrenaline coursing through you that you didn’t feel any pain, even though you were vaguely aware of a decent amount of blood on your body and hands. You saw your rifle laying down by the pedals and felt for your pistol with the other hand, making sure it was still in its holster on your leg. It was.

You vaguely heard shouting coming from the direction you assumed The Saviors were in. And it was then that you suddenly remembered the IEDs in the back of the vehicle. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” You scrambled to climb out through the kicked-out windshield. “Shit, shit, shit!” The devices hadn’t been completely assembled or armed, but a violent car crash like the one you had just experienced definitely was enough to fuck them up and make them unstable. You let out a groan as you climbed to your feet, keeping bent over low and trying to shelter behind the turned over vehicle even as you struggled to put as much distance as possible between yourself and it. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

The crack of a gun was shortly followed by a bullet whizzing past you and you threw yourself flat to the ground and rolled over on your back so you could look back in the direction of your attackers. The tall grass in the ditch concealed you fairly well, but it also prevented you from being able to see how close they were. You were panting from exertion and the growing trickle of pain that was coming back to you now that the initial wave of adrenaline was waning made it hard to think straight. You sat up and barely peered over the tall grass, the stock of your rifle pressed into your shoulder, ready to be raised completely.

The Saviors were moving cautiously toward the vehicle, all doing their signature whistling which still sent chills through you. One was out ahead and moving in your direction. Where a moment before you had been rushing away and hoping that the explosives in the back of the SUV would remain stable, now you started wishing for the opposite. “Come on, you piece of shit. Blow the fuck up,” you muttered under your breath. You raised the rifle to your shoulder and took aim at the leader moving toward you as best you could without revealing yourself. It was still hard to see from your low vantage point on the ground, but you weren’t about to stand up and draw fire from all of them at once if you could help it.

You didn’t think they knew who you were yet, because they had shot at you seemingly to kill. Negan’s ominous words rang in your mind again, about wanting you alive.

“Why don’t you come on out?” the leader yelled, sweeping his gaze side to side as he slowly moved away from the SUV. “You’re all alone out here and you’ve got no way to get anywhere! You’re probably hurt! If you surrender now we’ll treat you reeeeeal nice. Promise!”

You heard faint laughter from the other men hanging back by the vehicle, apparently still trying to pry a door or something open to more closely inspect what was inside.

“Run, run, little rabbit! Come on!” The leader shouted again.

You were just about to shout something back, getting ready to squeeze off a rifle round, when there was another tremendous explosion and you felt the shockwave run right through you, throwing you back flat to the ground as the hot air and concussive blast rushed past. Smoke drifted over you as you stared up at the blue sky and you could hear the raining of some debris falling back to the ground.

You knelt in the tall grass and cautiously looked over at the blackened skeletal remains of your vehicle, flames still licking out from the interior. The bodies of the Saviors that had been closest to the explosion were still and maimed on the ground. You paced cautiously closer, looking for the leader, and you finally found him on the ground, flat on his stomach, apparently still disoriented from the blast, but largely unhurt.

He tried to get up as he suddenly registered your presence but you pushed the muzzle of your rifle into his back. “Where are the fucking keys to your truck?” you demanded. “Hands up! Where I can see them!”

He complied.

“Keys!” you demanded again.

“My back pocket!” he said.

“Don’t fucking move,” you growled again. You bent down and patted his pants pockets, feeling something in the left one and reaching in to pull out the keys. Just then the Savior made a quick move and pushed himself up off the ground onto his hands and knees. The movement knocked you slightly back as he bumped into your rifle. He was spinning around and reaching for a pistol at his hip when you instinctively shouldered your gun and fired. The round struck him squarely in the chest and he fell back to the ground, landing hard and lying still after a brief moment. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You bent down again and grabbed the keys you had dropped.

You stood over the dead Savior’s body and unsheathed your knife, cringing as you plunged it into his temple so he wouldn’t turn. You went to do the same to the others killed in the explosion. As you moved, you started to register that your entire body felt bruised but you stopped yourself from really looking for injuries yet. Not here. Time to go.

You rushed over to the Savior’s truck and peered in the bed, looking underneath a heavy tarp. There were boxes and boxes of ammo and a couple crates of automatic weapons. Obviously, these guys were moving merchandise to a new place when shit started to hit the fan. They’d probably just been told to watch the main road when you came along. You breathed a sigh of relief and tried to get your heart rate and breathing to return to normal. “Okay… I’m okay…”

Climbing hastily into the driver’s seat, you inserted the key and the truck rumbled to life. You turned and headed in the direction of the outpost, again pressing your foot almost to the floor.

By the time you arrived, you could tell that things were apparently over. There was no active shooting and you could see your people moving around methodically, dealing with the casualties so you weren’t adding any more walking dead to the world. You immediately shut off the engine and forced the truck into park even before it had really stopped moving. You rushed out into the maze of barricades, searching desperately for anyone you recognized. You felt people’s eyes on you as you passed them and had a sense from their expressions that you looked pretty rough. “Aaron!” you yelled. “Aaron! Eric!”

You couldn’t explain it but you felt suddenly frantic and your stomach rolled with nausea. “AARON!? ERIC?” You rushed through the debris and searched urgently. You rounded barricade after barricade but weren’t finding them and the hard pit that formed in your stomach just got heavier and heavier, until finally you rounded one last truck and saw them. You stalled and the air was ripped from your lungs.

Aaron was on the groun and hunched over Eric who was leaning up against a tree. With even a brief glance it was easy to tell that Eric was already gone. He was dead. Gone. Just like that. “No. No… No, no, no. No!” Your feet propelled you forward but you fell to your knees still a short distance away, your legs suddenly giving out. You crawled the last few feet to Aaron’s side. You didn’t want to look at Eric’s vacant expression and the paleness of the skin on his face but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it for a long time. You could feel hot tears streaming down your face and the saltiness stung. You gathered yourself enough to glance over at Aaron who was just hunched over and sobbing in agony, clutching to Eric’s hand like it was a lifeline, like maybe if he just didn’t let go then this wasn’t real. You gently pressed a hand to his back and he startled a little at the contact, apparently realizing you were there now for the first time. He straightened up slightly and the questioning look and disbelief on his face were the same you were feeling. “Aaron,” you managed to croak out. “Aaron, I’m—I’m sorry.” You could barely get the words out. You shook your head, whirling from the ramifications of Eric’s silent and still form lying there heavily. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, now completely breaking down like he was. Tears streamed faster down your face and you felt your throat constrict with emotion. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Aaron—”

Aaron’s crying began again as he looked at you and you grabbed him and pulled his head to your shoulder. The two of you were clinging onto each other and you did your best to pull yourself back together as he went to pieces. There was nothing you could tell him… You couldn’t tell him it would be okay. You didn’t know that. What could you possibly say? The love of his life was laying dead beside you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl arrived back at Hilltop and hurriedly parked his bike. The community was in chaos with the wounded being rushed for care, people searching for their friends and loved ones, and many just standing around in a daze. Daryl spotted Rosita and Carol and stalked hurriedly over to them. He accepted a relieved hug from Carol before turning to look at Rosita. “How’d it go? Any problems?” he drawled.

Rosita shook her head. “No. No problems. We got everything set up like clockwork. Only—”

Daryl’s stomach twisted. “Only what?”

Carol stepped forward again. “Y/N isn’t back yet and we were expecting her by now. And we haven’t seen Aaron or Eric either.”

Daryl felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Well, is anybody from that outpost back yet? Maybe we need to send another group up there.”

“Some of them are back already,” Rosita said. “But nobody seems to know—”

“I’m goin’,” Daryl growled, immediately turning on his heel and heading straight back for his bike.

“I’ll come with you,” Carol said, starting after him.

“No! Ya stay here and help! And if ya see Rick tell him where I went!” he roared over his shoulder.

Daryl pushed his limits on his bike, racing to follow the path you would have driven after Rosita split off from you. He spotted a column of dark smoke rising up into the air ahead and felt like a knife had twisted in his heart again. He urged his himself on even as terror about what he could find made it hard to breathe.

All he saw when he first arrived was what was left of a vehicle he knew to be yours on its side, smoldering in the ditch. Daryl gulped and tried to stop bile from rising into his throat. He climbed off his bike and grabbed his gun, cautiously and fearfully moving toward the vehicle. He stopped a short distance away, his heart pounding, and had to pace a few times, reeling, steeling himself, before he had the courage to move closer. He felt shaky as he approached the bashed-out windshield and peered inside.

He heaved a momentary sigh of relief when he saw no body inside. You weren’t in there.

But where were you?

Daryl began to look around and found some trails in the tall grass. He followed them and discovered the bodies of four men. Each of them had a stab wound in their temple, obviously to prevent them from turning.

Okay. This looked like your handiwork. The archer breathed another sigh of relief. However, he knew you’d likely been in your vehicle when it had crashed and he had no way of knowing where you were and whether or not you were badly injured. There was also still the possibility that more Saviors had arrived and grabbed you. He headed back to his bike and climbed on, deciding to drive the rest of the way to the outpost you were supposed to be heading to, keeping his eyes open for any sign of you.

He rode in strenuous anxiety the rest of the way, searching the road ahead and each side as he went, but seeing nothing that pointed to your whereabouts. When he finally made it to the outpost and parked his bike, he was relieved to see that the battle was over and clearly the Saviors had lost. There were still a few of Alexandria and Hilltop’s people milling around and Daryl started his search for you, his stomach twisting every time he came upon a body, worried he would look down and see that it was you.

He finally rounded one of the armored trucks and froze. His heart sank back into his stomach. You and Aaron were on the ground. You had your arm around Aaron and Daryl could tell he was sobbing against you by the hitched, uneven breaths he was gasping in and the way his shoulders were shaking. The reason why was perfectly clear. Eric’s pale and still form was leaned up against the tree and there was a shockingly large stain of deep crimson on his stomach.

Daryl forced himself to move closer to the scene and lightly touched your other shoulder. You straightened up and looked up at him, your expression one of pure agony and your wide eyes filled with tears.

You were battered, bloody, and bruised, and Daryl was pretty sure there was glass in some of the flecked wounds on your face. Your arms were cut and bleeding, but Daryl knew you weren’t feeling any of those injuries right now.

There was nothing to say, so Daryl just stood there silently looking at you for a long moment, feeling a sharp ache between his lungs that seemed to grow the longer he stood there.

You sniffled and cleared your throat, turning back to Aaron and clasping his face in both hands, making him look at you. His eyes were red and puffy and there was a constant flow of tears down his cheeks. “Go with Daryl,” you murmured to him. “Aaron. Listen to me. Go with Daryl, okay?”

Aaron’s eyes frantically moved back to Eric’s body and his expression was desperate.

“Come on,” you said, climbing gingerly to your feet and pulling Aaron up with you, even while he refused to tear his eyes away from Eric. “Go with Daryl,” you said again. You nudged him away and he finally complied, stepping back. Aaron wandered away toward the nearest vehicle in a daze.

You stared down at Eric’s body, feeling suddenly numb, and Daryl watched as you unsnapped the loop of the sheath that covered the hilt of your knife.

Daryl stepped forward again. “Y/N. Ya ain’t gotta—I can—I can take care of it,” he said gently.

“No. I need to.” You turned and looked at Daryl again and renewed tears flowing down your cheeks. “I need to. I—I want to. I can do it.”

Daryl nodded, his chest aching, and he slowly retreated to stand with Aaron.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Later that night, once you had finally returned to Hilltop with Aaron and Daryl, you insisted on digging a grave and burying Eric yourself. A small group of Alexandrians who had known him gathered to pay their respects, but they finally all drifted away. Maggie was able to convince Aaron to come away to be looked over by the doctor. The archer found you alone, sitting in a cloudy daze on the ground, staring at the newly erected grave marker. Daryl anxiously chewed on his bottom lip and knelt down beside you, gently putting a hand on your back.

His touch seemed to bring another swell of emotion in you and you gasped in a shaky breath and tried not to fall to pieces again.

Daryl’s blue eyes whirred over you and studied all the injuries you’d sustained that day, but none was hurting you more deeply than the loss of one the people you cared the most dearly about. You were exhausted and defeated and Daryl knew it was going to be his job to get you back on your feet. And he was going to do it.

He wrapped his arm around you and spoke gently. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You simply stared straight ahead at the grave, still seemingly lost in the veil of your grief.

“Y/N. Hey. Look at me,” Daryl urged you. “Look at me.”

You finally turned your eyes back to him and they seemed dark compared to the light he was used to seeing in them. Daryl gently clasped your face and you closed your eyes at the contact, falling against him the next moment like you had nothing more to give. Daryl wrapped you against him tightly and smoothed his hands lightly over your back. “I know. M’sorry. M’so sorry.” He left a kiss in your hair and held you for a long time. Finally, you pulled back and looked up at him, your eyes still glistening a little. “C’mon. Let me patch ya up.”

You finally nodded and Daryl helped you to your feet. He kept an arm looped around you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, and you followed him back to the familiar trailer you had shared before. Daryl sat you down on the couch and went to his pack and dug out the first aid kit. He returned and sank down on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, his lips pulled in between his teeth.

He grabbed the pair of tweezers and gently turned your face so he could see where some glass was still embedded in your forehead and cheekbone, apparently from your head hitting the side window and shattered debris when the vehicle finally came to rest. He plucked a several pieces out and you barely flinched. He found a few more bits of glass in your shoulder and arm as well as the palms of your hands. You sat frozen as he tended to you, a faraway look in your eyes. Daryl grabbed a few alcohol swabs and opened them, dabbing at the cuts and scrapes on your cheekbone and forehead. He gently clasped your chin and examined the other side of your face. Your expression was vague and disconnected and it was worrying Daryl immensely.

He shifted his attention back to your arms, cleaning off the dried blood and wounds the best he could, some of which began bleeding freely again. There were angry red marks on your wrists from the chemicals in the air bag.

“Hey,” he said, moving your hair away from your face. “Ya wanna take a shower? Should look the rest of ya over too,” he said gently.

For the first time since he’d sat you down you looked right at him and seemed to really see him. Your expression was still desperate, but you nodded.

Daryl nudged his nose up, returning it. “Alright. C’mon,” he said, standing up and helping you to your feet. You winced a little as you moved again. Your whole body felt like it was bruised and stiffening. Daryl left you standing in the doorway of the little bathroom as he ran the water and tested the temperature. “Alright,” he said, stepping out. “I’ll be right out here if ya need me.” He started to slip past you but your hand floated to his chest and landed lightly there, freezing him instantly.

He easily read the request in your eyes. You didn’t want to be alone. You needed him.

His arms circled around you again and he nodded. “Alright. S’okay.” You collapsed against him again. You shut your eyes and focused on the steady sound of his heart beating. “I’ve got ya,” he said softly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He pressed a kiss to your hair.

You allowed Daryl to gently move you into the bathroom. He shut the door softly behind you and his hands landed lightly on your hips. He studied the bruising and cuts on your face in the brighter light and this time felt a hot swell of rage. Thank God you were alright. It was too damn close… “Let’s take a look at ya, alright?” he said gently. He hesitated before grasping the hem of your dirty and bloodstained shirt and pulled it up over your head. You couldn’t stop the sharp intake of air between your teeth as you struggled to raise your left arm. As you were free from the fabric, Daryl saw the dark bruising from the seatbelt that started at your shoulder and cut across your chest.

He clasped your face again lightly before sweeping your hair back. “How’s yer neck? Sore?”

You nodded. “A little.”

The first words you’d spoken since you’d told him you would take care of Eric… Daryl was quite sure it was more than a little.

You undid the holster with your pistol still in it that was strapped to your thigh and you pulled your knife in its sheath away from your jeans. Daryl’s eyes took in the bumps and bruises on your bare skin, the cuts and abrasions on your arms, as you undid the clasp of your bra and let it fall carelessly to the floor.

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt and Daryl helped you slip it off him. The range of movement in your shoulder was limited by the swollen and stiff muscles around the joint and you winced a little with every movement. Your eyes hungrily drank in the sight of his broad chest and shoulders and you pressed your hands to him immediately, like you wanted to be certain he was real in front of you, grounding, safe. Daryl’s arms gently wrapped you against him, skin to skin. When you broke apart again, you leaned back against the counter and Daryl unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans. He helped you slip out of them, still feeling a little nervous as all of you was bared to him, but your hands found his button and fly and soon he was all skin too, and he stepped into the shower beneath the warmth of cascading water and beckoned you in with a simple tilt of his head.

You were drawn to him and the comfort and safety he gave you like a magnetic. You shut your eyes and let the stream of hot water wash over you. It stung all your wounds but you didn’t care. The sharp sensation was better than the numbness you’d been feeling since— Daryl gently smoothed his hands over your wet skin, his fingers light over every little bruise and cut. He washed the remaining dirt and blood away and you gave into the sensation of being cared for, pushing away the emptiness and nausea that was overwhelming you. Daryl swept your wet hair to one side and kissed your shoulder and your neck so lightly and tenderly it raised goosebumps on your skin despite the warm cloak of the water. He traced his fingers down your spine, letting them wander over the graceful curve of your back before he looped his arm around you from behind, holding you securely against him. You leaned your head back against his chest and tried to convince your muscles to release the tense grip they had on your skeleton.

Daryl thought he felt you soften beneath his hands finally, and the next moment you turned, the water running in rivulets over your collarbone and down your chest, and you looked up at him. He loved the way the water droplets clung to your eyelashes.

“Thank God you’re alright,” you said softly, tears in your eyes again. Your smoothed your hands over his strong chest, your fingers tracing the scars on his skin. “Thank God,” you said again, looping your arms around him and leaning your head on his chest.

“Thank God you are. When I first saw your SUV, I—” Daryl’s hands smoothed over the curves and angles of you again. “S’alright,” he drawled quietly. “We’re alright.”

The pattering of the shower reminded you of the calming sound of rain and you did your best to fill yourself up with this strong man, replacing the empty hole that seemed to have taken hold in your chest since your eyes first landed on Eric’s pale face and Aaron’s anguish.

A short time later, your towel still wrapped around you, Daryl finished patching you up with a gauze pad here and a bandage there. His eyes kept catching on the deep bruise from your seatbelt that cut across your chest. When he was satisfied you were taken care of, you grabbed the kit before he could put it away and tended to some abrasions and wounds he had sustained himself. You lightly rested a hand against his cheek, leaning into him.

“You’ll tell me how today went?” you asked.

Daryl nudged his nose up in a couple nods. “Mhm. Tomorrow. Ya need rest.”

“So do you,” you said, running a wavy strand of his brown hair through your fingers. Your eyes flickered between his for a moment and then shut as you leaned in and met his lips with yours.

Daryl pulled you more tightly into him and tangled his fingers in your hair, kissing you back softly but with a neediness you felt straight to your core. You ran your thumb along the edge of his strong jaw and kissed him with a warmth Daryl felt spread to his chest instantly and bloom outwards.

“C’mon,” he said gently, tilting his head toward the bed. “I ain’t lettin’ ya go all night,” he said earnestly, smoothing your hair away from your face again.

There was a tinge of sadness in your eyes again. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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cavalierious-whim · 4 years

Text

Two’s a Crowd (FE3H)

Felannie | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Teen | Complete There’s only one horse. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

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A/N: This was a Secret Santa give and I was asked to write ‘There was only one Horse’. Read here on AO3 for better quality! Also, I’m on Twitter!

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While Felix has never been one to follow the rules, he now understands why Byleth is so reluctant to let them roam outside the gates of Garreg Mach freely.

Sure, they’re adults and they can make their own dumb decisions. Still, it’s wartime; there are crest beasts and ample opportunity to be stupid enough to get yourself into a pickle.

Felix frowns. Annette’s colorful words, not his.

Byleth often turns a blind eye to the odd training session outside the Monastery, especially when it comes to Felix. Byleth knows that Felix can handle himself when it comes down to it, and while the Professor’s expression is prone to permanent frowning, he’s never said no. Not outright.

It’s more like carefully placed and unasked advice that he knows Felix won’t ever listen to but can claim to have given all the same.

“Just in case you find yourself gored,” said Byleth one dreary afternoon. “I’ll have the chance to say ‘I told you so’.”

So far, Byleth has been denied the pleasure because Felix is a slippery bastard; far too stubborn to die. And, as it turns out, he’s not the only stubborn person in the world, which brings him to his current problem:

Annette crashes through the underbrush alongside him, sagging with weariness and covered head to toe in mud and Goddess knows what else. It’s exactly Felix’s luck that she’s the one to sneak out after him because her curious little nose got the best of her.

At least it’s a cute nose.

“It just had to be a crest beast,” says Annette, mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. That’s cute on her too.

“It had to be two,” amends Felix. He’s never had any luck with anything, least of all women, so he doesn’t know why he insists on longing for Annette. Then, he suddenly remembers something else, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Ingrid is going to kill us.”

A long moment stretches between the two of them as they stand there in the woods looking at each other.

“We’ve lost horses before,” says Annette. Sure, they’ve lost horses, but never a Fraldairan Marsh Tucky. And its accompanying mare because, naturally, that was the horse Annette picked. Ingrid’s captious about her thoroughbreds and she’d brought those from Galatea personally. Felix pauses in his step, leveling Annette with a tired stare, to which she sighs in response. “Okay, yeah, she’s going to kill us.”

Annette is lucky that Felix likes her. More than likes her. Kind-of maybe loves her, not that he’s the confessing kind. But, all her goofy songs and eternal optimism in the world won’t save him from Ingrid’s wrath, Mercedes’s clipped threats for endangering Annie, or Byleth’s contempt for attracting her attention by merely existing.

Byleth’s a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to intra-army romance.

Annette’s mouth then tips into a tiny little smile and Felix wonders if it’s a bad thing that he likes the idea she’d followed him. She’d said that it was dumb of him to go it alone and that she’d been worried. The only person that worries about him nowadays is Sylvain, and it’s entirely unwarranted, unwanted, and suffocating in every way possible. The change is, admittedly, nice.

“There’s a village this direction,” says Felix, pointing to the west. “They’ve got a decent inn with tolerable food, and a stable with likely a few horses for sale.”

“Do we have the coin?” asks Annette.

“We’ll manage,” says Felix, thankful that he’d brought his purse with him that day. He doesn’t always, so maybe he’s luckier than he’d thought. His gaze slides back to Annette who watches him with interest, her eyebrows drawn up. “What?” he snaps, testily.

“Nothing,” says Annette, but judging by the sly little smirk on her face, it’s anything but. Felix doesn’t have the time to think about it anything further.

“We’re losing daylight,” says Felix. “We should get walking, otherwise Byleth will close the gates for the night.”

“He’d let us in,” says Annette.

“He won’t,” says Felix. He’d know, he’s camped outside the entrance before, punishment for making it back late. There’s a pause and then Annette laughs, causing Felix to scowl. Even if he likes the sound of it.

“He’d let me in, then,” says Annette.

Felix grumbles at that. “He probably would.” Annette smirks at him again and Felix rolls his eyes, but he’s only mildly irritated. Truly, Annette is lucky that she doesn’t incite his ire much. Felix wonders how this entire thing would go if it was literally anyone else stuck out here with him.

They’d probably have a sword through their neck already, or at least, be slightly maimed. Felix is in a maiming sort of mood. He and Annette head westward, slogging through the slick mud leftover from earlier rain.

“Hopefully, there won’t be any more beasts out here,” says Annette, and Felix whirls on her, pressing a finger against her lips. She blinks, surprised. But she doesn’t move away, if anything, she leans into the touch.

“Don’t!” hisses Felix.

“Don’t what?” she says against his finger, her breath warm against his skin.

“Say something like that. Don’t you know that’s exactly how it works?”

“What works?” asks Annette.

Felix groans, almost certain that she’s being obtuse on purpose because Annette’s the teasing sort. “It’s bad luck,” he says. “The moment you say something like that, it--”

There’s a deafening roar behind them that echoes through the trees. And then the woods fall deathly quiet. Annette swallows thickly, but to her credit, doesn’t pale or look scared. She’s a plucky little thing and that’s in part what Felix loves about her most. Annette isn’t one to back down, she seeks danger out. Case in point, trailing after him on her own.

Felix pulls his hand away from her.

“We’ve no choice,” says Annette. It’s not a question.

Felix draws his sword and readies a bolt of Thoron. “Might as well make it quick,” is all he says in return.

Annette answers with a resigned sigh.

Turns out, their luck is worse than anticipated, not that Felix is surprised. This entire trip has been working against him since before he left the Monastery.

“I have a bad feeling,” Byleth told him as he saddled up.

“Nonsense,” Felix said, annoyed at the Professor’s incessant mothering.

Felix is eating that word now, laying on his belly in the underbrush, slick with muck and worms. Annette shifts beside him, leaning closer.

“How long do we wait?” she asks.

“Until the damn beast is gone, obviously,” says Felix.

Annette’s eyes narrow at his tone. “This isn’t my fault.”

“You said the words,” says Felix. “You should never say the words.”

She huffs at that. “You’re the one that forgot a spare blade. Since when do you strap only one sword to your hip?” Then she pauses. “Also, what are the chances that it would just crack right down the middle--”

“The entire point of laying in this filth is to be quiet, Annette, and let the beast leave.”

Annette’s mouth snaps shut, but it’s not without an annoyed scowl shot in his direction. “You’re evil,” murmurs Annette, just loud enough for him to hear. Felix knows it’s absolutely on purpose. She’s got a mean streak in her at times, he’s just never been on the end of it.

The mud and foliage hide their smell, and eventually, the crest beast determines them to be a lost cause and saunters away. Felix reaches out to grab Annette’s wrist before she can get up. “Wait, just a little bit longer. It might come back.”

They lay there for longer than she wants, Felix can tell by her squirming, but Byleth’s words have been prophetic: it’s just one of those days. Finally, they rise. Annette looks down at her dress and cringes at the sight.

“I’ll have to burn this and get Mercie to make me a new one.”

“Mercedes has more important things to do than sew garments,” says Felix with an annoyed huff.

Annette narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll remind you that this is your fault.”

“I didn’t ask for you to sneak out after me.”

“You brought that upon yourself when you decided to go out on your own.”

Felix glowers. “Which I do, often.”

Annette shoots him a rival glare. “Because you have no sense of self-preservation. Honestly, Felix, I should have come with you sooner. How often are you so ill-prepared? How unlike you.”

Felix can’t deny that one; how unlike him indeed. “I’ve been distracted lately,” he finally says, and Annette’s face softens slightly. She thinks that he’s talking about the war, but that isn’t it actually, it’s more so the tight feeling in his chest that he gets when he looks at her. He’s taken to marking up trees in frustration, away from prying eyes in the training ground.

The dramatic irony of her blaming Felix isn’t lost on him.

“It’s going to get dark,” says Annette. Felix frowns. How astute and glaringly obvious. “And, according to you, Byleth will abandon you outside the gates.”

“Wouldn’t be a first,” gripes Felix.

“So,” starts Annette, rolling back on her heels slightly. Her hands are tucked neatly behind her, all manners despite looking like she crawled out of a sewer. “To the village then. We’ll get a room.”

Felix, who’d already turned around to head west, stops dead in his tracks. Then he closes his eyes. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Two rooms, he thinks. He can afford two rooms, he’s got enough gold for at least that.

When he looks back to Annette, she’s already beaming at him like she always does. Felix wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. Instead, he wants to do something a little more drastic, like pull her in for a hug.

Which is ridiculous, because Felix doesn’t hug people.

“Felix?” asks Annette. “You’re staring.”

It takes everything in him not to wince. “Mud,” he says, dumbly. “And sticks. In your hair.”

Eloquent, Felix is not. Despite this, Annette takes the explanation in stride and their walk to the village isn’t so terrible considering.

“Say that again, but the answer better be different.”

The innkeeper swallows, his thick neck turning a little bit red. Felix threatens people often enough that he’s got it down to a science. Arms crossed over the chest, his foot tapping in annoyance. The worst scowl he can manage followed by a flash of steel.

He’s having to make do without that last one.

“We’ve only one room left,” says the Innkeeper.

It takes everything for Felix not to jump the desk and choke the man out.

“Felix,” says Annette, resting her hand against his arm. He doesn’t pull away and neither does she, her fingers curling into his quilted sleeve. “It isn’t his fault. The men out in the bar must be the reinforcements we’re waiting on.”

Felix massages his temple. Right, reinforcements; Byleth had told them all they were expecting another Magic Corps to show up. Just their luck. Or lack thereof. He looks to Annette, who looks back at him, large eyes framed attractively by delicate eyelashes.

Goddess above, he can’t do this.

“You’ll take the room,” says Felix, finally tugging his arm away from her grasp. “I’ll stay in the stable.”

“Absolutely not,” says Annette.

“There’s no room there, either,” says the innkeeper unwisely. Upon Felix’s dangerous glare, the man immediately adds: “I’ve got two stable boys who bunk there.” They would find the one inn that employs by way of food and shelter, and not coin.

The innkeeper takes a deep breath and then bravely says, “There are two beds. If that makes a difference.”

It does, but only barely. Felix eyes the man warily, but slaps down a handful of gold.

That’s when Annette does the unthinkable and says, “And a bath, please. And fresh clothes.”

Felix is going to sleep in a stall with a horse if that’s what it takes, because he cannot, cannot share a room with Annette if she’s intent on bathing. Annette doesn’t think about these kinds of things. She’s not a healer like Mercedes, but she does her share in the medical tents. She sees a body like she sees everything else; just as it is and nothing more.

When he finally meets her gaze, she’s looking at him expectantly. Her eyes flash to his coin purse and then back to the pile he’s left on the counter. Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh and slaps down a few more coins.

“For the bath. And the clothes,” he says tersely. All Annette does is smile widely, happiness practically beaming off of her and she looks utterly ridiculous, covered in the mess that she is.

The room isn’t large, but there are two beds as promised. The stableboys haul a bath inside and Annette has the forethought to direct them to place it behind the changing screen. Felix lets loose a breath. Small blessings and some actual luck, finally.

Annette sings as she bathes. Felix washes his face in the basin by the door and changes into the clothes they’ve been provided, before settling into one of the beds. The moment he hits the mattress, he realizes how weary he is. It’s been a long day of dodging crest beasts and avoiding pesky feelings.

“Felix,” calls Annette from behind the screen, “has Byleth actually left you outside the gate after coming back late.”

Felix snorts a laugh. “Once. The lesson was learned.”

Annette chuckles and then goes back to her made-up tune. “Oh, how I love to bathe. Wash away the icky bits, ‘cause being dirty is just the pits.”

It isn’t so much that her voice is good, it’s just nice. Calming. Sweet. Felix closes his eyes and listens, drifting off to the soft tune on her lips. Comforting when you think about it because Annette sings about the things that she loves.

He falls asleep before her song shifts, singing about a dark, handsome swordsman instead.

There’s only one horse.

It’s a curse, straight from one of those ridiculous romance novels that Sylvain pretends he doesn’t like to read. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

Annette has the gall to look amused. “It’ll be fine, Felix,” is what she says.

It will be the exact opposite of fine because while Felix has been very good at keeping her an arm’s length away, that isn’t an option here.

Felix glares at the stablemaster who regards him with an apologetic look. The only reason Felix doesn’t gut him right then and there is because it isn’t his fault. The man isn’t responsible for the delay in new livestock, the rain had done that. Regrettably, because Felix very much wants to stab something. Anything.

His head falls back, cheeks to the sky, eyes slipping closed as he lets out a long, drawn-out groan. This is divine punishment, Felix thinks, because he’s too much of a coward to just tell the damn girl that he likes her.

Or loves her. But really, at this point, what difference does it matter?

Annette pulls herself up first, settling into the saddle with ease. Felix turns to drop gold into the stablemaster’s hand, who offers a small smile in return.

“If it’s any consolation--”

“It’s not,” Felix cuts in.

“-- I think that she likes you back.”

At that moment, Felix wishes that murder for entirely inane reasons is legal. But alas, it isn’t, and Byleth would be quite irate if Felix were to remove the head of this man. The Professor loathes cleaning up messes and Felix makes a lot of them. So, the stablemaster keeps his life.

Only because Felix is too lazy to think of a valid excuse, or cook up a proper plan.

He pulls himself up behind Annette and settles in easier than he thought possible. Annette’s tiny enough that it’s not as awkward as it could be. Felix slips his arms around her waist and she hands him the reins, and then they’re off at a small trot.

The horse is calm and moves along the road well. Annette leans back against Felix’s chest, humming a tune. Felix is relatively relaxed. The Goddess hasn’t set the world on fire just yet. Small blessings.

“This is nice,” says Annette.

Not how Felix would phrase it. He’s caught somewhere between ‘this is divine’ and ‘this is absolute hell’. He allows himself the former though, arms settling around her closer than he’d normally allow. His nose close enough to the crown of her head that he can smell the fresh soap she’d bathed with. He enjoys the way she fits against him.

Felix would say that Sylvain’s a saint for putting up with this on the regular, but it’d be a lie. Worse, Felix gets why it’s a lie because Annette in his arms feels nice, even if it’s on the back of a horse, and only because there isn’t another choice.

“Nice,” agrees Felix halfheartedly, when he remembers to reply.

“You know, one could even say romantic.”

“There’s nothing romantic about being forced to share a horse because the Magic Corps didn’t think to bring their own.”

Annette turns her head slightly to look back at him, lips quirked into an amused smile. “Not one bit?” she asks.

Felix looks down at her, frowning slightly. What on earth does that mean? And why is she so amused? “I said that it was nice.”

“Felix, you look like you ate some of Flayn’s cooking.”

“This is definitely preferable to that,” says Felix, meaning it.

Annette sits there, twisted awkwardly in front of him for a moment longer, watching him. Felix squirms slightly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Finally, she says, “I must admit, I’m at a loss.”

“For what?” asks Felix.

“Nothing,” says Annette. Felix frowns again because now she just isn't making sense. But then again, Annette often doesn’t make sense, it’s part of her charm.

The Monastery isn’t far from the village, barely an hour by horse. The rest of their ride passes without any issue. No crest beasts, no bandits, and miraculously, Felix doesn’t entirely combust after enduring close contact with Annette.

He’s decided to treasure the moment because it’s never happening again.

It’s no surprise that Byleth is waiting for them at the gate, their arrival having been spotted by a lookout and announced. The Professor looks calmly collected and not at all worried. Felix’s eyes narrow, instantly suspicious.

Felix drops from the horse first before reaching up and helping Annette down. She lands gracefully, her hands grasping Felix’s forearms. She doesn’t let go. Felix tries to pull away, but she holds tight, and damn, she has an impressively strong grip. She just looks at him, a soft little smile on her face.

“Annette,” says Felix, unsure how to continue.

“Felix,” replies Annette. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re such a gentleman.”

Felix is anything but, and he’s about to tell her that when she finally let's go. Only to reach up and grab him by the face, fingers curling around his jaw. She yanks him down, none too gently.

And then, Annette’s kissing him, pressing her lips against his with careful precision. Felix is surprised but he doesn’t go entirely rigid. His hands slide up to grasp her cheeks and he kisses her back. It’s not sweet in its touch, but it’s not scorching either, somewhere middling of the two. Her hand snakes around the back of his neck to grip him possessively, pulling him closer.

Felix responds eagerly, his fingers slipping into her hair, tugging her face into a different angle to slot their mouths against each other better. Then, he parts his lips, intent on licking into her mouth--

There’s a cough from next to them and they break apart. Felix doesn’t look away from Annette whose cheeks are tinged pink. Annette looks to the side. “Byleth,” she greets coolly.

“Um,” starts Felix, but can’t think of words past that.

“I’m pleased to see that the two of you are okay,” Byleth deadpans.

Annette is looking at Felix again, and his gaze is still glued to hers, unsure what’s just happened, still trying to process the kiss. That she’d started. That she’d enthusiastically responded too. That she seemed annoyed to have been interrupted in the midst of. The stuff of dreams, really, specifically his dreams, and more often than he’d like to admit.

Felix’s brain is having a hard time comprehending.

“As I said, Felix took fantastic care of me,” says Annette kindly. Then, she reaches up and brushes Felix’s bangs away from his forehead.

“I’d prefer it if the two of you would continue taking care of yourselves within the gate.” Byleth pauses. “And after the meeting. We have things to discuss.”

The mention of a war council breaks the spell that’d fallen over Felix. He can feel his skin burning bright red in embarrassment, and worst of all, Annette looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

And she’s holding his hand. He hadn’t noticed her grabbing it.

“When I was singing about the dark, handsome swordsman, who’d you think I was imagining?” asks Annette, words quiet enough for only Felix to hear.

“When you were singing about what?”

Annette pouts. “Oh darn, so you were asleep then. I’d hoped you weren’t.”

“Annette, what on earth--”

“Later,” says Annette. “Mostly because Byleth is giving you the stink eye, and I think it’s because we’ve delayed his carefully planned schedule.”

One look at the Professor proves her right. Felix clears his throat and takes several steps away, before grabbing the reins of the horse. “Right, then. I’ll just handle this. The horse, I mean.”

“I’ll see you in the war room,” says Annette, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

Felix decides that he doesn’t hate the light-hearted, flabbergasted feeling that’s floating through him. He also knows that the moment he regains his wits abashment will hit him full force because he’d practically eaten Annette’s face off in front of half the Monastery guard.

And Byleth.

So, Felix properly excuses himself in favor of stabling their new horse and perhaps locking himself away forever out of embarrassment.

If he’d stayed just a moment longer, he’d have seen Annette flash Byleth a conspiratorial wink as she passes him by. And how Byleth smiles slyly in return, tapping at his nose like he’s keeping a secret.

#felannie #felix x annette #felix hugo fraldarius #annette fantine dominic #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Chapter 14: A Life For A Life

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which Y/N takes a life and saves a life.

Word count: 7.7k

AU: princess!y/n, conman!harry, prisoner!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

Warning: character’s death, gore, violence

Two Isolde guards grabbed Egon, twisted his arms behind his back and forced him down onto his knees. Another one stabbed Jo’s murderer from behind. His body stumbled forward before collapsing right beside Jo’s. Dead. More screams erupted from the crowd of courtiers, but all Y/N could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

These weren’t Isolde guards; they were Attwell’s men in disguise. And this was all a part of the Bastard Prince’s plan to assassinate his brother and soon, Egon. If that was the case, then there was no chance for Y/N to walk out of here alive.

“The throne room has been secured by Attwell guards,” Lance announced, taking in every frightened face before his grey eyes stopped at Y/N once again. “We are here for the tyrant and the rescue of Princess Y/N. I’m going to free you from tyranny, not imprison you. Those who are innocent shall not be harmed. Unless you try to defy us.”

Catching her breath, Y/N narrowed her eyes at him to silently question, ‘Why?’

Lance seemed to understand and yet did not answer. “Kill him.”

“Stop!” Y/N shouted. All eyes fell on her. Lance was frozen in his spot though there was no sign of astonishment on his face. She couldn’t figure out why such a kind-looking prince could murder his brother cold-bloodedly. But she could not criticize him for something she also would have done.

With all her courage, she marched toward Lance. His guards reached for their weapons, but he raised a hand for them to stay back and let her approach. She stood an arm’s length away from the prince, her voice lowered, “You are not going to kill my brother in our home.”

“I just saved your life, Princess,” Lance said coolly.

Y/N let out a mirthless laugh. “Don’t expect me to thank you. You are no better than him if you saved my life only to take my father’s throne.”

Lance considered her, his voice steady, “I’m here to kill the tyrant. I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Really?” Y/N challenged. “Not even when I’m standing between you and my crown?”

The question had captured Lance’s full attention. His eyes squinted as though to ask her to explain. She lifted her chin and bent down to take the letter out of her boot. “This is my father’s letter,” she said, “in which he stated that I shall be the new ruler of Isolde. So if you want the crown, you’ll have to kill me.”

Lance didn’t speak. Y/N then beckoned to the Lord Chancellor who was trembling in the corner. “Lord Chancellor Callahan, would you please read this letter and confirm that it is from my father?”

“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” the old man said as he accepted the folded piece of paper with both hands.

The atmosphere in the throne room became heavy as the Lord Chancellor scrutinized King Willem’s letter. The stench of fresh blood hung in the air, sickening Y/N. She gripped her sword-hilt and refused to acknowledge Jo’s dead body lying on the floor. She would avenge her loyal friend. Even if it cost Y/N her life.

“This is,” proclaimed the Lord Chancellor, “indeed King Willem’s handwriting and signature.” The whisperings among the crowd grew louder. The old man stroked his beard as he looked over at Y/N. “That would make you the rightful heir to the throne, Princess Y/N.”

When her eyes met Lance’s once again, he composed and inclined his head. “Very well,” he said. “Then I shall leave the fate of the tyrant in your hand, future Queen of Isolde. I would not break my promise of becoming your ally.”

The indifference in his expression left her bewildered. Was he simply here to murder Egon and free the people of Isolde from her brother’s tyranny? What was he? A living saint? It was unthinkable that he’d gone through all this trouble to plan this assassination just to hand the crown back to her.

What were his real motives?

She was about to ask when suddenly Egon, who had been silent this whole time, raised his voice.

“Cheers to you, little sister.” He was smiling despite being held down by two Atwell’s guards. “Are you going to kill me now? Put me out of my misery?” His tone was full of mockery. “Remember. You will never escape the fate of our family. How do you think the people would react to their new Queen,” his gaze jumped to Lance, “who’s been assisted by the enemy to commit treason,” then back to Y/N, “murdered her own brother and stolen the crown.”

His words chilled her to the bone. She wished he would stop talking, but everything he said was based on facts.

“People won’t care if you are the heir Father chose, Y/N. You are weak. You are not meant to rule. It won’t be long until another one cast you down and our dynasty crumbles. If you believe in a prophecy told by a madwoman, then you are more a fool than a queen.”

“You believe in the prophecy,” she hissed, bending down to come face to face with her kneeling brother. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have kept Maggie alive after murdering her sisters. Admit it, Egon. You are afraid of me.”

Egon did not waver. “Is that what you tell yourself at night?”

Y/N balled her free hand into a fist as she straightened. She felt the whole room watching as she motioned for a guard to hand her his sword. Lance was the first to realize what she intended to do.

“Princess, don’t do it,” he implored. “Just have him executed and take the crown.”

She ignored him. He was, after all, a foreigner. She knew her people. They would never bend the knees if they couldn’t see her as a ruler. Her father might have passed the crown onto her, but it was she who had to show the people she’d earned it rightfully.

She tossed the weapon on to the floor and it slid toward where her brother was being held. His head jerked up as he shot her a tentative look.

“We’ll have a duel,” she declared.

The crowd gasped.

“Princess–” the Lord Chancellor interjected, but she raised a hand to silence him, her eyes fixed on her brother, who couldn’t seem more satisfied. She’d had him on his knees, but now she’d given him the chance to kill her.

“Just like Uncle and Father,” she said.

“The winner takes Isolde,” Egon stated.

“Not only Isolde.” She shook her head. “But also the other’s life.”

“Princess, this is absurd!” Lance cried out and his men unintelligibly agreed.

Y/N cast him a pointed look. “I don’t know who you are and why you’re doing this, but I can condemn you for invading the nobility of the Isolde court. If you wish to preserve the alliance between your kingdom and mine, I suggest you do not speak up. This is our land. We go by our rules.”

Lance didn’t break their gaze, and Y/N found herself trying to convey through her eyes that she wanted him to trust her. He then released a heavy breath and ordered his men to release Egon.

“Pick up the sword,” Y/N commanded. Her brother growled as he got up to his feet, almost losing balance on his wounded leg.

“With all due respect, Princess,” spoke the Lord Chancellor. “King Egon is the best swordsman in the royal court. I cannot stand by and watch you risk your life now that you are the rightful ruler of Isolde. King Willem would not approve of this.”

“If you accept me as your new ruler,” Y/N said, “the first thing you should do is believe in me.”

Her command silenced the Lord Chancellor. He reluctantly bowed and stepped back.

Wiping the blade with his sleeve, Egon said, “It’s not fair that you’re requesting a duel with a wounded man, sister.”

“You’re wounded. I’m wearing a dress. We’re both at a disadvantage, aren’t we?” She cocked her head. “Now, should we take this outside?”

“It’s snowing,” Egon said.

“Good,” Y/N replied. “Just like old times.”

When Harry arrived at the home of the witch sisters, he was shocked to see that what had been a beautiful cottage was now ashes and burnt wood. He dismounted Lightning in the shade of a tree and asked Kenny, his companion, to stay right there. Stubborn and curious, Kenny got off the mare and followed him toward the ruins of the house.

“What do you think happened here?” she asked.

“Egon’s men,” Harry said with no further explanation.

“Do you think these sisters had something to do with the prophecy about Y/N?”

“Possibly,” he sighed. “Come on. We better get going. Hopefully, we’ll reach Stefan’s village before it gets dark.”

The two returned to their horse. Harry was helping Kenny vault Lightning’s back when he was greeted with a swift blow to the back of his legs. He cried out in pain as he came down on his hands and knees. Lightning neighed loudly to frighten Harry’s attacker, gaining just enough time for him to get back to his feet and draw his sword.

He froze when he recognized the person.

“Mary?”

Half of her face was severely burnt, but Harry would never forget the one who’d given him love potion so he would sleep with her.

“Harry, are you okay?” cried Kenny, snapping him back to reality.

“I’m okay,” he told her without breaking his gaze with Mary. The maiden was holding a wooden board above her head. She looked like she’d lost her mind. “Put that thing down, Mary,” he cautioned while extending a hand toward her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Mary recoiled like a scared animal. Something told him her sisters were both dead and somehow she’d survived. He wasn’t sure if she recognized him.

Suddenly, she asked, “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The princess.” Mary’s eyes darted around, her breathing quickened. “Your lover. She did this. She did this to us!”

“Y/N...burnt down your house?” Harry arched both eyebrows in disbelief.

Mary shook her head. She was calmer than before, even though she was still scared. “Her brother did,” she said. “His men came. If it weren’t for her, my sisters would still be alive!”

Harry regarded Mary for a moment before he slowly lowered his sword. To his surprise, she did the same with the wooden board. She let it fall to the ground and jerked back when he tried to reach for her arm. He quickly held up both hands to let her know he meant no harm.

“I’m sorry about your sisters,” he said. “But Y/N didn’t want this to happen. She’s–”

“You’re defending her because you love her!” Mary shouted. “My sisters called her the saviour but what has she done for us? She’s not a saviour! People die left and right for her and she’s now safe in the North castle with her tyrant brother!”

“Mary–”

“I just...I just want to be normal! I didn’t get to choose! I wanted you for myself, but I had to give you to her. Now I’ve lost my sisters to her as well. I want her dea–”

An arrow whooshed right past them and stuck into the trunk of the tree next to Lightning. The animal reared up on her hind legs, tossing Kenny right off her back, and before Harry could react, Kenny screamed, “Harry, behind you!”

He jumped just in time to dodge the blade of a sword. The bushes rustled, and Mary disappeared into the wood, leaving them to deal with the attacker. A man dressed in a black cloak.

He advanced toward Harry and raised his blade above his head. Harry rolled to the side. The sword thrust into the dirt. He leapt back to his feet and swung his sword, but Black Cloak was fast enough to block the blade. The villain kept attacking and Harry kept deflecting the blows. Harry might be quicker, but his weapon was no match for his opponent’s. He recognized the symbol on the blade. It belonged to the Isolde court. This man served Egon. He must be here to make sure none of the sisters had survived.

Harry could not strike back with his stubby sword, not even once, so he tried to buy himself time, hoping he would exhaust his opponent before himself. Just as his hands were getting numb, he heard galloping and whipped his head to find Lightning charging forward. The mare kicked Black Cloak with full force, sending his massive body sliding across the dirt and slamming into a tree, his sword in the opposite direction.

Harry fetched the heavy weapon as fast as he could and pointed it at the defeated opponent. Groaning, Black Cloak pushed himself up to sit against the trunk of the tree. His hood fell off, revealing an ugly scarred face. It looked like he’d been attacked by a jungle cat.

Harry took a moment to recall what had happened to Y/N at the market. How she’d been beaten by a man in a black cloak. She’d scratched his face before he could squeeze the life out of her.

“You...” Harry hissed, the tip of his sword pointing at the man’s heart. “You tried to kill her.”

“Prince Egon’s command,” said Black Cloak, giving a half-smile. “I was just going to bring her back alive.”

“Wait, I know you!” Kenny limped toward them and stood behind Harry, peering around his arm. “I know him, Crow. I’ve seen him a few times when my mother used to work in Theros court. He used to be a courtier. He betrayed the Queen!”

Harry’s chest burnt with rage as realization hit him. “You killed the king, didn’t you? Everyone wanted to believe the North did it. They did not suspect the murderer to be an insider.”

Black Cloak didn’t even try to deny. “Calanthe is not my queen,” he spat out blood while smiling as if he was at the other end of the sword. “I’ve served the court of Theros my whole life and I was nothing but a poor soldier. Now I’m loyal to King Egon. He would make me his commander when the war is over. He should rule both the South and the North. Not some little girl.”

Harry gripped the hilt of his sword so tight he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

“Look at you, street rat,” Black Cloak continued with a sneer. “A whore spreads her legs and you stick out your tongue and become her dog. I wouldn’t aim too high if I were you.”

“Harry, leave him.” Kenny tugged at Harry’s arm when she recognized the darkness in his eyes. “Let’s go. Before it gets dark.”

He let her take his hand, but instead of following her steps, he thrust the sword into Black Cloak’s chest. Kenny cried out and begged him to stop when he twisted the blade and yanked it out. Red blood poured from the wound. The man died fast. His eyes were open, staring back at his murderer.

Harry dropped the sword with a clang and wrapped both arms around Kenny, holding her tight against his chest as she wept uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, closing his eyes and kissing her forehead.

She was still crying as she buried her face into his chest. “You had to,” she choked out the words. “He was a bad man...You did the right thing.”

Harry wanted to believe that, but he knew he hadn’t done it in the name of justice. He’d been triggered by the disgusting words Black Cloak had said about Y/N. After all, Harry was only human.

The snow was falling outside in the court of Isolde, each flake dancing in the fading light of day. When Y/N was little, she used to stand on this field outside the castle and picture herself in a wintry ballroom as colourless confetti fell weightlessly downward from heaven. Now, as the entire royal court had gathered here, it really did look like a ballroom. And she was about to dance to the death.

She’d ripped off the tail of her skirt, leaving her legs exposed from the knees down. Her breath was pale against the numbing air. The frost kissed her face as she blinked thoughtfully, enthralled by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavily on her eyelashes. For a moment, the world faded away, and there was just her, the snow, the trees, and the sky.

Then, the clang of armour snapped her back to reality. A guard presented her with the maid named Aleina. The poor girl was shaking. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was scared or simply cold.

She stopped in front of Y/N and curtsied. “You asked for me, Your Majesty?”

Y/N met Egon’s eyes as he bandaged the wound on his calf with a torn piece of his sleeve. He smirked at her, and she looked away. She took Aleina’s hand, leaned in and whispered to the maid, “Clean the body of Lady Josephine. Make sure no one moves her.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’ve ordered the guards to take the white-haired lady from the dungeon to see Jo.” Aleina nodded though she seemed utterly perplexed. “You will tell the witch that...she may have her pure soul to travel to another world...in exchange for Jo’s life.”

“My lady!” Aleina exclaimed and immediately lowered her voice to a whisper, “What are you talking about?! Jo...is dead!”

Y/N placed a finger on her own lips to silence the girl. “You are not allowed to question. Just do as I say.”

Aleina hesitantly nodded again, her gaze fell to her feet.

“And no one will be in the room with Jo and the witch,” Y/N went on. “No one will know what happens in that room. Do you understand?” Seeing how frightened and shocked the maid was, Y/N took Aleina’s warm hand with her cold fingers and squeezed it tight. “I might not come back, and you’re the only one I can trust. Can you take care of this for me, Aleina?”

Aleina nodded, seemingly more determined although her voice wavered as she spoke, “You’ll c-come back, Your Majesty...I-I believe in you.”

Y/N thanked the girl and promised that she would try her best. Watching Aleina disappear into the crowd, Y/N gripped her heart to stop it from beating so hard and fast. She had no idea if Maggie was capable of bringing Jo’s back, but she knew Maggie had a reason to tell her about the other word and how to get there. Y/N believed this was it. This was how she must save Jo.

She wasn’t a mother. Who knew if she would ever be if the circumstances had been different? But Jo had been with child. Jo had sacrificed the life of her baby and her own for Y/N to almost get killed if it hadn’t been for Lance’s interference. Jo would still be alive if Y/N hadn’t one-sidedly involved Jo into her stupid escape plan.

She would never be at peace bringing up a child with the memory of what had happened to Jo today. And she didn’t want to have her child grow up in court and live the same life she had lived, full of risks and uncertainty. She’d thought that, with her father’s permission, she could find Harry once she’d become Queen and bring him here so they could live happily ever after in richness. But Egon was right. Her father could forgive her for breaking traditions, but her people would not. She’d be a queen. She’d live and die for her kingdom, and that was her only purpose. If she was not allowed to end up with the man she loved, be his wife, have his children then she wanted none of it.

With that in mind, she must survive today.

When she was little, every time there had been a duel, she would be so certain that she’d lose because Egon was bigger, stronger, and faster. Now Egon was wounded and it had been years since the last time he’d picked up a sword to fight. He had never left the comfort of the castle grounds, while she had travelled all the way to the South and escaped Death countless times. Many people had tried to kill her and failed, so she would not die in a duel where there were rules and spectators who were also the judges.

She remembered the euphoria of watching duels between her father and uncle; it’d been nerve-racking watching from the front row, but it’d been nothing compared to how she was feeling now. She squeezed her free hand into a fist so no one could see her shaking.

The Chancellor went over the rules which she had learned by heart, then prayed for the Gods to bless them both. As his sad eyes lingered on Y/N before he walked back to the crowd, she realized she might be the only one here who believed she would win.

She hated how knowing that troubled her a little.

Still, she steadied her breathing, her numb fingers closed around the sword-hilt, her boots pressing firmly into the snow.

Egon stood a few feet away, holding his sword, mirroring her fighting stance. “It’s not too late to back out, little sister.”

“No,” said Y/N. “If you want my blood, take it.”

“Very well,” he replied, drew his sword and lunged. When he moved, the blade caught the light with a wavering spark. Y/N backed up, her eyes on the weapon. They had been here too many times before and she’d been defeated too many times before. Her brother attacked with confidence but also negligence. She was wiser now. For all the fall she’d taken, the way he moved was imprinted on her consciousness.

She ducked his strike and advanced, her sword almost cutting his arm but he moved fast enough to dodge it. The crowd fell silent, watching. His face hardened. He advanced, faster than before. His blade broke her guard and scoured her shoulder. Her sleeve tore, blood running down her arm. He struck mercilessly and she parried the blow and shoved him back. From the horrified look on his face, she knew it wasn’t her skills that had shocked him, it was also the fact that she was ruthless. She wasn’t afraid to hurt him. And this was not a threat.

All about her, the crowd stood mute. The hot smell of her own blood drove home to her. She thought about Jo’s body turning cold on the floor of the throne room, and fury filled her to the brim. She drove suddenly beneath his guard and dragged her knife across his ribs. Blood poured from the open wound. The crowd broke into gasps.

He howled and leapt back, face twisted with pain. Blood was dripping down her fingers, staining the pure white ground every time she moved. She didn’t know how bad her wound was, but the pain caused her teeth to rattle as she gripped the hilt of the sword, using all the strength she had left to strike continuously. Her brother could only dodge and parry. He was helpless and horrified.

He fell to the ground with a loud thump and cries burst among the crowd. Someone screamed. Someone wept. She saw her reflection in her brother’s eyes as he soundlessly begged for mercy. She forced her sword down, broke his guard; her blade cut through the blood-stained bandage around his leg. His painful wail rattling the trees.

The snow kept falling lazily all around them. Her vision went hazy for a second. From behind her, Lance shouted, “Kill him!”

Her blade was lifted, then frozen midair.

She could not.

She remembered the dream, how she’d murdered her brother, but she was the one bleeding out.

“Do it, whore! Kill me! Are you scared now, little girl?” Egon taunted, veins popping on his necks. Y/N didn’t answer, so he turned to the people. “This is the heir my father chose. A coward. Look at her. Would you want this, a frightened little girl, to become your ruler?”

There was only silence.

The Lord Chancellor was the first person to bend the knee.

Then the guards.

The maids.

Even those from Attwell.

Each and everyone got on their knee and bowed their head to the new queen of the North.

Y/N’s tear-filled eyes searched for Lance, who was one of the last to kneel. He held her gaze, and she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but she saw a smile, as though to say, ‘Well done.’

Egon was bewildered. He started screaming at his men, calling them insulting names, ordering them to take her, but no one paid attention to him. Y/N thrust her sword into the snow and gazed down upon her brother, taking a deep breath.

“For the innocent lives you’ve taken,” she declared. “For the ones you’ve hurt. For the murder of Josephine. I banish you from Isolde.”

“You are not allowed, you stupid bitch!”

“If you manage to stay alive until dawn, you’ll be taken into the woods, and you shall never return again. If you disobey my order, you’ll be sentenced to death.”

Just as Y/N spun her heels, Egon shouted after her, “I killed two kings, Y/N. I will come back and kill you, too.”

The crowd cried out as Y/N stopped, and turned slowly. Her fingers hardened around the sword-hilt despite the blood pouring from her open wound.

Egon was bleeding to death. The pain had turned him hysterical as he laughed like a madman. “I killed our father, Y/N. I plotted our uncle’s murder, too. There is nothing I couldn’t do. You cast me out, I will return. I will live. Because I am the face of Go–”

Her blade slashed across his throat and blood splashed on her dress. She stood quietly above his dead body, watching the light in his eyes go out. Someone was calling her name. Blackness oozed in from the corners of her vision. She was on the edge of consciousness when two strong arms caught her before she fell.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Lance called her name, his face was blurred. In his cold grip, she remembered riding on Thunder’s back through a snowstorm. The crackling of the fire. The sound of the running river. A road in a forest full of stars. A pair of green eyes and a familiar voice whispering sweet words in her ears.

She could have sworn the prince cursed under his breath before she could feel his arm beneath her knees, beneath her shoulders as he lifted her from the ground.

Y/N woke up screaming.

In her dream, Egon had had his fingers around her throat. It was the pain of the wound that brought her back to reality. She blinked frantically, feeling a warm hand placed over her forehead, calming her nerves, before the room and the face above her came into view.

She was staring into Jo’s bright blue eyes.

Before Jo could speak, Y/N jolted upward and wrapped both arms around Jo’s neck, laughing and crying hysterically. Jo was crying, too. They held each other for the longest time until it was too painful for Y/N to remain sitting. Jo helped her lie back down and brushed her hair out of her forehead.

Jo looked so well. Her cheeks were pink, her hair shiny and more golden than Y/N remembered. She seemed more alive than she had always been.

“You’re so stupid, Y/N. So stupid,” she sniffled, stroking Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to Jo’s flat stomach, eyes widened before glancing back to Jo’s face. “Did it...did it hurt?”

Jo pursed her lips. “I guessed it couldn’t have hurt more than being stabbed. Still, there are scars to make sure the emotional pain is permanent.”

Y/N frowned as she placed her hand on Jo’s belly, trying to feel a beat that was no longer there.

“A life for a life, the white-haired lady said,” Jo sighed. “It’s gone forever. I won’t be able to have one again.”

Y/N felt tears sting her eyes again. “I’m so sorry, Jo. This...this is all my fault.”

“No, Y/N! Stop that!” Jo leaned down and cupped her face. “You saved my life! I would have jumped in front of the blade for you, you know that!”

“The baby was innocent!”

“It’s better this way, Y/N. If the baby was born, it would forever be condemned for having a tyrant as a father. Children don’t deserve to pay the price for their parents’ wrongdoings.”

Y/N bit her lip. She nodded once before changing the subject. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

“And the Prince–”

Jo didn’t even let her finish. “Aleina told me he was the one who carried you back from the field! He could be a wonderful suitor considering now that he’s the next in line for his father’s throne.”

Y/N laughed. She was glad that Jo had found her sense of humour, but she was not amused by the joke.If it had been a joke.

“He murdered his brother,” she said coolly.

Jo didn’t seem to agree. “His brother was no better than Egon. The Prince did you a favour.”

“But why?”

“You’re going to have to ask him. He’ll be in court to have an audience with you when you have recovered,” Jo said brightly. “I think he wishes to marry you to strengthen the alliance between Isolde and Atwell.”

Y/N didn’t reply, but she supposed Jo could see right through her. Jo sighed as she fidgeted with her skirt. “He’s a charming young lad,” her voice lowered, “but maybe your heart is in another place?”

Y/N shut her eyes and exhaled sharply. “I should have asked Maggie to take my heart, too. I would have given her for free.”

This made Jo giggle. “I adore your heart, Y/N. It saved the kingdom from a tyrant.” Then, she put her fingers under Y/N’s chin, making Y/N open her eyes again. “If you want to talk about him, I’m all ears.”

“I cannot ask that of you,” Y/N mumbled.

There was a flicker of sadness in Jo’s eyes, yet she managed to conceal it with a twitch of her lips. “I love you, Y/N,” she said. “I always have and I always will. I know you don’t love me the same way, but you do love me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sacrificed so much for me. Maggie told me what it took to bring me back. I could never repay you. All I ask is for you to let me be your friend again. I’d be happy to serve you as your lady-in-waiting.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a smile. “I didn’t bring you back to cast you out, Jo. If the two of us are going to be husbandless and childless. Let’s be that together.”

Jo gave her a look that said ‘I don’t believe you’, but all she said was, “I’d be honoured.”

“Do you know where Maggie is?” Y/N asked. “I have to thank her when I can get out of this room.”

“She’s gone,” Jo told her regretfully. “She said something about another world.”

It took a week for Y/N to recover.

Lance and his retinue were meant to leave tomorrow. He had requested an audience with her the day before his departure, and she had gladly accepted. However, instead of meeting in the throne room, she’d demanded to see him in the garden where they could be alone.

She had ordered the servants to grow some winter flowers in the garden. Her mother had always wanted that. As she was admiring the primroses, she heard heavy footsteps coming up from behind, and so she spoke before the person could, “Your walk is so loud, you’d scare off the prey during a hunt.”

Lance laughed lowly as he stopped beside her, hands behind his back. He was dressed in all black, his silky hair was dark as midnight. In her white garden, he stood out the most.

“I’m not hunting and you’re not my prey,” he said.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you finally going to give me answers?”

“Yes.” He inclined his head. “And also...an apology. I should not have caused so much chaos.”

She lifted her shoulders. “We both slit our brothers’ throats. I’m not fit to judge you, am I?”

His dimples made an appearance at her response.

She expected him to wait for her to prompt, but then he commenced, “I was supposed to marry your aunt. Queen Calanthe of Theros.”

Y/N assessed his face to make sure he wasn’t joking. His eyebrows were drawn together; he could not look more sincere.

“My father had offered the marriage to save her after her family had been executed. But she chose your uncle’s proposal because she’d rather be married to a king than a bastard.”

This information amused her more than it should. She couldn’t help but smirk. “So you hate her because she turned you down and hurt your pride?”

“Some would find your mockery offensive, my lady.” He grinned.

“Do you?”

“I find it attractive.”

She waved off his compliment. “Don’t expect me to swoon and sigh for that.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, still grinning. “To answer your question ‘Why did you kill your brother?’: My half brother was an idiot and since my father’s reign was over, he was going to be the new king.”

Y/N blinked. “The king of Attwell is dead?”

Lance nodded. “The news hasn’t been announced to the people of Attwell yet, but it would be when my half brother returns with his new bride, which was supposed to be you.”

“So you planned on killing Kavan and then Egon in the hope of stealing his bride and ruling two kingdoms at once.”

Lance lifted a brow as though to say ‘well done, you’ve figured it out.’

“I raised an army,” he told her. “People of Attwell are more open-minded than those of Isolde. They serve whoever they think is more competent, and most of them have chosen me as their leader. No one would speak of what had happened here. When we get back to the West, we’ll tell the people that Kavan has been murdered in Egon’s order.”

“So you lied your way to the throne?”

“Are you judging me?”

“No. Just wondering.” She arched her lips. “Well then, congratulations on your soon-to-happen coronation.”

Lance took a moment to contemplate her face. She almost thought he’d lost grip on reality. Then, he said, “Not everyone would be happy that their new king is a bastard. Same as how many of your people would react to having a female ruler.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you suggesting, my lord?”

“Call me Lance,” he said with a hand over his heart.

She nodded. “Well, Lance?”

“A marriage to unite our kingdoms.”

“No,” she answered without pause. “I did not kill my own brother to hand my reign to you. A foreigner. And no offence, a bastard.”

Lance didn’t look offended at the slightest. “We are both the black sheep of our family, Y/N,” he said quietly.

“You may call me Your Majesty.” Her anger didn’t stir him. If anything, he seemed even calmer than before. She lifted her chin. “I suppose you wonder how I’d convinced the witch to save Jo’s life.”

“There have been different versions of the story,” he said, his forehead puckered. “No one dares to ask you, however.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you now, Lance. In return for Jo’s life, I gave up the ability to produce an heir. So you will gain nothing from this marriage.”

“I’m not proposing to you for a baby, Y/N!” She glowered at him, and he cleared his throat into his fist, his face reddening. “Sorry…Your Majesty. But that was not the reason I’m proposing–”

“You’re not proposing to me at all. Good day, my lord.”

She turned and he caught her elbow. She shot him a glare, and he released her in an instant.

“Think about it,” he said. “You gave up the chance to have an heir, and I suppose you’re not going to marry, either. Because you cannot bend the rules of your kingdom for your own benefits and marry a peasant.”

This time, her gaze silenced him. And she regretted it. He’d heard the rumours about her ‘romantic excursion’. Now she’d confirmed it was true. She’d shown her weakness and he was going to use it against her.

Lance stepped forward until he was close enough for her to see herself in his grey eyes. “If you have a king by your side–”

“I don’t need a king.”

“Yes, you do. It’s politics,” he said. “Look, we can have an agreement. The marriage will be based solely on the political stability of our kingdoms. We’re neighbours so the North and the West can become one. I will rule my country and you will rule yours, separately, but together. I will even stay here in your court if it means that I get a chance to gain your trust. I don’t want an heir. I just want to do the best I can for my people and be the ruler they need. Calanthe can use the murder of Egon to turn the other kingdoms against Isolde, and I cannot side with her. Your people would let you rule in peace if you have a king by your side, and my people would let me rule in peace if I marry an actual royal queen.”

She took some time to ponder over his words before asking, “Why can’t you side with Calanthe?”

He gave an open-mouthed smile. “Well, first of all, she rejected my proposal and insulted me.”

“So you’re a bitter little boy?”

Her teasing made him chuckle.

“What is the second reason?” she asked, genuinely curious.

His eyes found hers. “Am I allowed to say I fancy you?”

Y/N went stiff. She worked her jaw, trying to find an answer, but the Prince didn’t wait for her to succeed.

“We won’t have to fall in love,” he said, smirking. “Unless you want to.”

“I don’t. Thank you,” she huffed and looked away. “But I will consider this agreement.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He took her fingers, his lips warm against the cool skin of her hand. He glanced up from beneath his long lashes “I would gain your trust. You have my word.”

She could not withdraw her hand fast enough. “I would love to see you try.”

There was a ball that night in celebration of the Queen’s recovery.

Y/N had not doubted Lance’s warnings about how she was perceived by her subjects. But it wasn’t until she conversed with the courtiers that she allowed herself to fully believe him. As courteous as they might appear, she could feel it in their words, bows and curtsies that half of these people doubted her, the other half feared her. Though they had bent the knees, their loyalty was not rooted.

However, they loved Lance. She supposed it was because they knew nothing about him while Egon had spent all those months convincing the people that she was either a madwoman or a whore. When she was with Lance, her subjects seemed to like her better.

The courtiers who had witnessed the massacre in the throne room were not allowed to speak of it to the public. So the other members of the gentry who had not been here only knew the details of the duel, and Lance was portrayed as the knight in shining armour who’d shown up just in time.

Of course, people also knew about Y/N’s bravery and that she’d commanded a witch to bring Jo back to life. Y/N believed that was why they feared her. But she didn’t want to be feared. She wanted to be loved, like her mother. She had spent her whole life trying to not be like her father and Egon. With Lance by her side, she might succeed. Everyone loved the romanticized version of what had happened that day, with less blood and death, more prince carrying princess home from the bloody battle. Tonight, she would give them that. She was still on the fence about the proposal, but the ball tonight had really made her think.

That was until she saw him.

At first, she thought it was only a trick of the mind. Because there was no possible way he could sneak past the guards to enter the castle, let alone attend the royal ball. But she could not mistake him from any other faces. That was him.

Their eyes met from across the room. He was dressed like a gentleman, probably had stolen the clothes from a real gentleman who’d been too drunk to care. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.

She opened her mouth although he wouldn’t be able to hear her voice over the music even if she shouted his name. Suddenly, he broke their gaze and disappeared through the doors like a ghost.

She immediately excused herself from the conversation and left Lance to entertain the guests with his jokes; they liked him better anyway.

No one followed her as she ducked out of the ballroom, holding up her full skirt as she ran down the long stairs leading to the garden. The snow was falling thick and the night was black. The dim flickering of lanterns could not help her see more than ten steps ahead of her.

The snow had covered the footsteps of the runaway guest, if he existed at all. She believed he did. She wanted to believe so. She found herself wandering into the darkness as the wind blew stronger and colder. One of her hands holding the crown upon her head, the other gripping her skirt, her hair flying wild, and her eyes burning from the cold.

“HARRY!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, the howling of the wind drowning out her voice. “IF YOU DON’T SHOW YOUR FACE, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!”

There was no answer. She feared he couldn’t hear her, and after a moment, as the hot tears turned to frost on her cheeks and eyelashes, she feared that she’d gone mad.

“Y/N!”

She whipped her head around to the doorway where Lance stood with a guard in the warm glow of the castle corridor. He rushed down the stairs toward her while shrugging off his coat and wrapped it around her body. He tugged her to his chest and walked her back inside.

“What happened?” he panted, his gloved hands warming up her cheeks. Her teeth were rattling, and she could see her breath. “Are you hurt, Y/N? Speak to me!”

“No,” she managed to say. “I thought I saw someone…”

“An intruder?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed and buried her face into his chest. She was crying. She couldn’t control it, but it felt good to let it all out. Lance rubbed her back and mumbled into her hair that it could be a wild animal and he’d send the guards to search in the garden. Her heart jumped as she thought of Harry getting caught. But maybe he deserved it. If the guards caught him, they’d present him to her, their Queen. And she’d meant it when she’d said she wouldn’t forgive him for messing with her like that.

Deep down she knew there was no Harry. Just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Would you like to return to the ball?” Lance asked, still not letting her go.

She shook her head, still shivering. He didn’t object and told the guard behind him to escort the Queen back to her bed-chamber.

“I’ll tell the guests that you don’t feel well,” he said.

She scowled at him from beneath her frosted lashes. “I don’t trust you to deliver the words. You’ve tried to win my people’s affection all night.”

He laughed a little, his hands were firm on her shoulders. “Just because you can resist me doesn’t mean the others can.”

At that moment, the Lord Chancellor appeared at the end of the hallway, apparently also looking for the two of them.

“There you are, my lord,” said Lance. “The Queen doesn’t feel well. She’d like to return to her bed-chamber.” Then he gave her a look which said ‘do you believe me now?’

She rolled her eyes in answer and pushed away from him. His touch lingered on her body when she left.

The guard followed her all the way back to her chambers. She could not wait to be alone so she could scream and break things, so as soon as she entered the room, she ordered for all the maids to leave. The door fell shut, but she could still feel the guard’s presence. He was standing at the door, in full armour.

“Did Lance tell you to stay?” she sighed. “Get out. You are not needed. I’m going to have to change my clothes.”

The guard didn’t move.

Something was wrong.

Intruder. Think fast.

Y/N held her breath as she ambled to the bed. Right as she drew out her dagger from under her pillow and raised it in the air, the guard had advanced and caught her by the wrist. She did not give in. She kicked and screamed. He covered her mouth and said something, but his voice was muffled by the helmet. She punched him and he pinned her to the bed, straddling her waist. He managed to take the dagger from her hand and held it at her throat.

He tried to tell her something again.

Wait, the ring. The ring on his finger! She knew that ring!

Before she could react, the guard used his free hand to pull off the helmet, his long brown curls tumbling out, dim candlelight flickering in his green eyes.

“It’s me, Peach,” he said, his voice soft and warm.

He smiled that beautiful smile.

And she struck him across the face.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #tctm series

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octoyani · 4 years

Text

Beach Day (Gone wrong) Octavinelle x gn! reader

Lol don't mess with them. I wrote this at 3AM. I seriously need to sleep.

Pairing: Azul x reader, Jade x reader, Floyd x reader (though I've come to realize it's mostly Azul)

Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 1648

Tw: Violence, slight gore, a bit of yandere if you squint, Assault

"H....help.........me..."A shaky voice called out, their pained voice strained as they tried to be even just the slightest bit louder. It didn't help that there was a small blade stuck in his side, every movement causing it to push deeper into his flesh. He winced, an exasperated groan of agony emitting from his mouth. Oh please let someone hear him...someone come to his rescue.

He didn't deserve to die...sure...he had done some bad things...but he didn't deserve to suffer like this, or so he believed. If his captors held any remorse for him at all, they didn't display it. They were watching him from the cameras. His pathetic state was being watched, as the sickening eyes were burning into whatever of a soul he had left.

He limped through the tunnels, hoping he would eventually find some sort of exit, and soon. Yet, he was greeted with no such thing. Instead, he saw a figure slowly approaching him. Another person, someone who could help him!

His pace quickened, even though his entire body was aching in protest. Blood dripped down from his forehead, as his right hand held his bloodied eye, while the other was supporting him against the wall.

"P-please......help......" He approached the man, but the moment he got a look at his face, all of his hope shattered. He recognized the man as the one who had threatened him earlier that day.

The man looked down at him and smiled sadistically. Or, rather his expression was that of disgust and yet enjoyment as he observed the pathetic man begging for his forgiveness.

"Jade, do you think he deserves to be forgiven?" He asked another, who appeared from the darkness. The other twin smiled, but his smiling facade was anything but kind.

"Why most certainly not, Floyd, you recall what he previously did, don't you remember?" Jade responded, gazing down at the fallen man. By now, he had already given up on pleading, rather, he looked just about ready to run in the opposite direction.

However, before he could make a single move away, his neck was grabbed harshly and he was shoved into the stone wall. He found himself gasping for air as two large hands wrapped around his throat. "You think this is over? Guess what, we're going to have lots of fun from now on..."

As his oxegyn source was quickly depleting, his vision was spotted by black dots, which frequently appeared, eventually covering his entire view of the twins who were both smirking like maniacs. His body went limp as he was slung over the other's shoulder without care or gentleness at all.

Oh how miserable his life was going to be from this point on...if he even survived.

Well how exactly did this start? Well it was actually quite a wonderful day to say the least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were going out to the beach with Azul and the Leech twins, the heat was finally starting to get to you as you groaned in annoyance. "Are we almost there yet?" You whined like a child, which was unlike your usual behaviour, but because of the intense rays of sunlight, all your morals have seemingly been thrown out the window.

Jade quietly chuckled, while the other two were in a similar state as you were. "Yes, it's actually just around this corner," He answered as the group took a left around some small shop. You made a mental note to check out the shopping district here some other time.

Once the beach was in view, you took off running, Floyd quickly on your trail as you both rushed to seek comfort in the refreshing water. You wore your bathing suit underneath your clothes, so it took a moment of fumbling with your shirt before you finally managed to get your clothes off and run into the water.

Azul was setting up a few beach towels for you guys to rest on, and Jade was already walking towards you and Floyd who were already splashing each other. You kept insisting on going further out, so random people wouldn't cast strange glances at the the twins' eel forms.

Even after enough pestering convincing, Azul agreed to join you three, since you were far enough out in the water that nobody was looking at you.

You were instant tackled by Floyd who just so happened to be holding you so tightly that Jade reminded him that you had to breathe. "Aw, but shrimpy is just too adorable that I almost wanna eat them!" He rubbed his face against your own, before you tried to pry him off of you, much to his annoyance.

Once swimming was over, you began to dry off as Azul pointed out a lovely cafe they'd passed earlier. The thought of a nice cold drink after a refreshing swim was just too good to pass up, so you agreed that they should all go check it out.

On your way to the cafe however, a certain store caught your eye. The window display looked really cool, an idea rose in your head. "Hey, I'm gonna go check out that store. You guys go on up ahead and get a table, I promise I'll be quick," You said, already walking across the street.

"Okay, but seriously, don't take too long," Azul warned before continuing up the path to the cafe, which was almost in sight.

"We'll try to get a window seat, so it'll be easier to find us," Jade added, as you waved goodbye. The group chatted mindlessly as you disappeared into the interesting store.

The small shop was full of cool and interesting trinkets, and a wide arrange of other unusual products. You found a small jar of seashells which would go lovely with your newfound seashell collection, due to the numerous times you've been to the beach since meeting the trio.

You picked up the glass bottle and placed it onto the counter, purchasing it and thanking the cashier as you left the shop. Even though you weren't fully dry yet, the harsh beams of sunlight seemed to speed up the process tenfold.

However, this trip wouldn't end oh so perfectly. No, something was going to happen, but hopefully wouldn't ruin the enjoyment of this perfect day completely.

And that's when you came across a small alleyway. Your head turned to the left, and instantly noticed a man being beaten into the ground by another. Being the kind of person that you are, you rushed in to help. Okay, maybe that wasn't the greatest idea.

You realized this when you remembered that you were currently unarmed, and you happened to leave your phone with Azul. Welp, no backing out of it now, the guy had already spotted you.

"Oh, what do we have here?" His demeanor chanced slightly when he noticed you. He dropped the guy he was holding and instead, grabbed you by the collar.

You thrashed around, trying to get out of his grip, but he was still too strong. Only then did you notice the look in his eyes...it wasn't murderous like he was to the one he was previously beating, no, his eyes looked hungry and definitely not the normal kind of hunger.

He started unbuttoning your shirt. You almost screamed before he threw his fist into your gut, making you nearly double-over in pain if he wasn't holding you against the wall.

Once your shirt was off, he threw it onto the ground. He pulled out a knife from his pocket and began cutting into your chest in several places. You winced at the pain, but refused to cry like he wanted you to.

Even though you were so clearly panicking, a single, rational thought managed to make it's way into your head.

I've been gone long enough, surely they're gonna come looking for me soon, right?

And you were right. You heard the sound of three sets of footsteps approaching, followed by Floyd complaining about being bored.

You tried to call out to them, but the man's hand pressed tightly against your mouth. In an instinctive attempt, you bit down on his hand as hard as you possibly could, drawing blood.

He retreated backwards and held his hand in pain. You spat out his blood from your mouth, and then screamed "AZUL! JADE! FLOYD!" Loudly enough that your voice was hurting. You'd probably end up loosing your voice later, with how loud that was.

Quickly enough, the three of them rounded the corner and noticed the horrific sight. Blood was seeping down your chest, your shirt was tossed aside and dirtied, and the man standing in front of you now was focused on Azul and the tweels.

They were all so furious they couldn't even explain. However, Jade was the only one who still appeared slightly composed, even he was loosing it. He whispered something in a quiet voice. "Azul, you should take y/n out of here," To which he nodded

In that same moment, Floyd lunged towards the man, instantly beating him to a bloody pulp. Azul rushed up to you and grabbed your hand, dragging you away from the scene so the twins could finally go crazy.

Since your shirt was left behind, Azul brought you to another alley across the street and wrapped one of the spare towels around you. He dragged you into a convenience store and bought an overload of disinfectant and bandages.

Then you were back in the same alley, where he tended to your wounds as he comforted you with soft words. Once you were all bandaged up, he dragged you back to the cafe where he treated you to any desert you wanted.

Meanwhile with the twins, the man had already passed out, but they weren't finished yet. They dragged him away, to a spot where he'd never be found.

Of course, they'd stil get their fun with him before tossing his corpse into the ocean.

#disney twst #tweels #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland yandere #twst x reader #twst yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

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lvlyhao · 4 years

Text

「PART TWO: FEAR」

HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K

A/N: took me long enough to post, I know, but thank you to that last anon for reminding me of the series lol with school i tend to forget what i have and haven’t posted but i’ll do better from now on. i hope you like this :)

important: this chapter includes mentions of vomiting and though i’ve already put a warning for violence and gore in the masterlist, i’m saying it again: please don’t read this if you are not okay with that!!!!

word count: 2.1K

pairing: qian kun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

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“I’m heading out”, your hands fondly squeeze Taeyong’s shoulders from behind him. He does not look up from his task for a few seconds, counting rolls of gauze. Then, upon processing your words, he twirls to face you. His eyes trail up and down your figure, making a mental checklist of everything you need to be safe. Apparently, one thing is missing.

“Take Jaehyun with you”, he asks, “or maybe Yuta. Johnny is always good to have around, and so is Renjun. Those swords of his are no joke”, he rambles, losing focus. The way he places his hands on his hips and sighs tells you he’s absolutely drained. “Or maybe I should go with you—”

Shaking your head fervently, you pat his cheek for his attention, observing the streaks of noon sunlight across his face. He stares at you with concern and shifts his weight.

“You’re staying right here and so are the boys, Tyong. We haven’t found a survivor in weeks, and taking one of them is always more stressful than anything”, you reason. Recollections of how the boys attract trouble wherever they go cloud your mind, far too many to count. The air suddenly feels too chilly, with shivers running down your spine.

“Just stay here and maybe find a way to rest. You know Doyoung won’t mind keeping track of the supply for you.”

At this point, he knows it’s no use arguing.

“Just be careful… and get back before dawn”, he adjusts the collar of your jacket, thinking back to the weather outside of the grey walls of the dorms. “All I’m saying is you never know what you’re gonna find.” Giving you a tight-lipped smile and a nod, he resumes his job, and you leave him. Headed to the heavily locked iron doors guarded by the towering figures of Shotaro and Sungchan, you ask yourself if there was any hidden depth to Taeyong's words.

“You never know what you’re gonna find, huh", you mutter.

Now, roaming the deserted streets on your own and basking in the orange glow of the afternoon, you just think he was wrong.

It’s already been a couple of hours since you left: you’ve explored parts of the district you barely even knew before the virus, seeing all kinds of animals scurrying around your path. You’ve also eaten the rice balls Jaemin packed for you, and you’ve gawked at the decaying building that used to be your favourite theatre. It’s all the same as you imagined it would be. Not many walkers litter this part of town—just 7 or 8 you managed to avoid—and no people. No one worth rescuing.

Wandering like this, in silence, brings back memories you're not sure you like. Weekly game nights with your friends, attending Jisung’s dance presentations, playing in the park’s playground at night... All of those feel foreign to you, parts of life too good to have ever been yours. Still, the need for a shot of wistfulness takes over, and you sigh. Better now than when it gets late, then. With a shake of your head, you pick a destination and start moving.

You’re conscious of your surroundings as you keep one hand on the bow and make your way across the square. Dry, fiery leaves crunch under your boots, being the only sound you pick up. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, either. The same old abandoned stores seem to look down at you, their busted windows moaning in the wind. But, right then, something jabs at your gut. It's a silent alert to a threat you can't see.

Damnit. You better pick up the pace.

As soon as you make a turn to the left, spying the pizza place you used to visit, you freeze. Walkers, maybe 10 of them, whimper and try to get past the debris to reach something inside a pharmacy.

How could you not notice them earlier? They’re not a quiet horde, and the awful stench is not something you should have missed either. Have you been that lost in your nostalgia?

Whatever happened, you don't have much time. If the undead are making that much effort to get around the rubble, there has to be someone inside. A fellow human being—hopefully, a nice one. Someone you can help.

Acting out of instincts, you drink in your surroundings. Having your back hastily pressed against a tree trunk is not ideal, but it's what comes to you. While you can't call yourself a strategy master, jumping right into action is not the right plan when someone else's life is in danger.

Mind racing, you know you need a better shooting spot now if you want to make a move. Drawing them out to an alley is not a totally bad idea either. They wouldn't be able to escape, and maybe then they could flee.

As soon as you found a perfect corner for that, the screech of old door hinges catches your attention. A second later, shattering glass.

Shit. They broke in.

With no more time to assess the situation, you quickly climb up a rotting picnic table. The zombies, some missing a limb, slowly drag their feet towards a man in a plaid, blue shirt.

He's petrified, head lashing from side to side, looking for a way out. You know very well there is none, and soon enough it will be too late. He’ll be just at reach for those disgusting, putrid fingers. If they get a bite in, it's over for you, and it's over for him.

That’s when you take the stupidest decision of your life.

Screaming.

“YO, YOU POINTLESS MEAT SACK! WHY DON’T YOU LOOK OVER HERE?”

The boy might just get whiplash from how fast his eyes find yours. His are dark and desperate, but there is something else to them—to him. Something you will never find it in you to explain.

It could have been the way the stares right at your soul, or how his face displays every emotion from relief to terror. You could even say it was how his knees buckled under his weight or his fluttering hair in the wind. You can blame your reaction on a lot of things, but none of them startles you as much as yourself.

A cold hand grasps at your heart, squeezing it tightly in your chest. Blood drains from your face, and your frame shakes in the wind. You know this sensation all too well to have doubts, although it is what you swore never to feel again. Fear. Not for yourself, no, even when the undead start walking towards you instead. You don't—can't— care enough about your life, and you know it. It is all for him, the beautiful stranger you are going to save.

The first two arrows find their aim, speeding right through the undead’s skulls, but something shifts in your arms. The rest of your arrows now seem to swerve a bit to the sides, lodging themselves on necks or shoulders. In other words, not where they are supposed to.

Oh, how much you hate that the walkers will only die if you damage their brains.

“Annoying bastards, I swear—”

Falling into a state of near panic, you drop to the floor unceremoniously and race to the horde. If your bow won't do the trick, your other weapons will.

Momentarily thankful for their lack of agility, you pull out the knives hidden on the sides of your shoes. In a flurry of drive, you slash and stab everything around you. While throwing some hand-to-hand-combat here and there, your eyes start to burn. The walkers smell even worse from up close, you bitterly recall from past encounters. It's one of the things that make fighting harder—the urge to run away from them at every second.

The more daring among them clutch at your clothes, keeping your movement limited, but you manage to cut off their hands. The slick sound it makes is enough to make bile rise up your throat, but you swallow it back.

“C’mon, Y/N”, you pant, kicking what had once been an adult woman in the chest to send her down to the asphalt. “You’ve had tougher battles than this." With a breath as deep as you can manage, your knife cuts at another zombie.

It is true, you know. It's impossible to count the times you’ve been up against groups of 20 or more. You were always fine. Right now, though, wincing from multiple wounds scattered around your skin, you question how the hell did you do it.

Hurriedly glancing to your right, you notice 5 are already dead—well, dead-er than they had previously been. The lady you kicked struggles to get up, giving you a gap to spin and bury your knife into her scalp. She goes limp right away, and you stare. 4 more to go.

Just as you retrieve your blade and turn to face the other walkers, something bites your dominant hand. Hard.

With your knife tumbling down in a metallic clunk, fire shoots up your arm. The first thing you do is wiggle your hand back and forth. Some part of you thinks it was going to let go like it’s some sort of dog. You realize you were wrong when darkened saliva flows into the cuts, your mind going blank with agony.

You figure it was one of the undead you had pushed down before, only to lose sight of him later. And, yes, wiggling was a poor attempt at getting him to drop you, but you did it out of pure alarm. Fear is gradually taking over you now, freezing cold and impossible to fight.

With only your non-dominant hand free, you sloppily sink your blade down however many times it takes for the corpse to stop moving. The pain you feel is sharp, travelling through your veins like blue fire. As his grip slackens, the body slumps to the ground, a wet thud echoing. Despite the agony that threatens to blind you, you're aware of the other 3 walkers you have yet to take down.

One is easy enough, with an arrow embedded deep on one side of her neck, and another coming down on her brow bone. Repugnance swirls in your gut, and you have to look away. Their skulls are incredibly soft.

Your remaining enemies pace at either side of you, circling you with dead eyes and faltering strides. You keep your wounded hand close to you while the other clutches the leather grip of your weapon. It's time to put an end to this.

Choosing to go for the right first, you slash at his chest, grimacing at the black blood that oozes. It taints his shredded red hoodie and sprinkles at your front. The shudders that course through you in silent rage give you the strength to finish it off.

In one clean, powerful strike, your knife goes through an eyeball, but he collapses a bit too fast. You can't recover your blade.

Having no weapons on your hands, even for a second, is critical. The walkers are borderline sluggish, but it was easy to lose track of them: your severed hand was proof.

To your relief—or mild disgust—, hasty strides bounce at the pavement behind you, followed by heavy thuds on a slimy surface. It takes no more than 3 seconds for the last body to tumble by your feet, face down.

It's only then you see the skull, or better, what is left of it. Blood and brain flow over a gaping crack, done by something sharp. You could guess it was the heavy, black rock that you find before you, held in the hands of the man you are supposed to be saving.

From there, you realize his medium length hair is a faded blue, with dark brown at the roots. A grey university hoodie hugs his slim figure under the plaids, matching his cargo pants and busted sneakers. His face is all sharp angles and soft edges, but his gaze is nothing short of magnetic.

Wide, chocolate eyes glare at the body with such horror your own throat tightens. Then, with no words shared, he lets go of the rock and stumbles back like he cannot believe what he did. Your own eyes divert to the cloudless sky, hearing him vomiting on the concrete in a matter of seconds. Poor dude.

Pity, combined with the reminiscents of adrenaline and dread, settle in you. Your thoughts boil down to one small detail: the Sun is setting.

The throbbing on your hand momentarily vanishes, lost in the memory of Taeyong very clearly telling you to be back before dawn. Aside from that, the memory of what you did to get the walkers' attention still burns at your mind. That goddamned shout. Having a sense of hearing as acute as they did, you are sure any other zombies around you are coming your way.

You have fucked up big time.

-------

final notes: ik chapter one wasn’t all that exciting but i’m hoping this one is better wheeze two more to come, stay tuned <3

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headfulloffantasy · 4 years

Text

Patch me up

Disclaimer: heavy angst, open end, blood and gore

Ship: Reed900

I am sorry, today is whump!Gavin day. *nervous laugh* @definietlynotsatan Here is a short version of your awesome idea :3

Nines tried to be as careful as possible as he dabbed the alcohol on the wound, a cut across the forehead. The Detective hissed and winced, but the doctor’s grip was strong enough to prevent him from flinching away.

“It wouldn’t hurt that much if you would just stay out of knife fights and prevent injuries like this, Detective.”

The man, Gavin how Nines had found out, rolled his eyes, but the edges of his mouth twitched.

“Are you lecturing me again? Thought you learned that this doesn’t work on me by now.”

There was a challenging glint in Gavin’s eyes as he let the other put a small band aid on his wound.

“Just like all my medical advises, I know.” Nines couldn’t suppress the smile sneaking on his face. Why did this dumbass always had to be this goddamn reckless? This had to be the tenth time of him being at the hospital this week already. “What happened this time?”

“Oh, just some angry dealers.”

Something in Nines’ stomach contracted at the thought of the Detective going against a group of ruthless criminals. He had started to like the idiot sitting in front of him way too much. That crooked smile, the scruff on the man’s jaw, the scars covering his body Nines had witnessed when he had patched him up… No, he should definitely not think about that time he had to help the Detective out of his shirt to treat a wound on his stomach. Or how close they were at the moment. Nines hadn’t even noticed how far he had leaned forward while cleaning the cut. His face was only inches apart from Gavin’s and he could feel the other’s breath on his skin.

The man’s eyes flickered to Nines’ mouth before he let his gaze wander back up, locking their eyes.

“You’re not gonna kiss it better?” Gavin asked in a low husky voice.

Nines didn’t even notice how he leaned in, the only thing on his mind was how soft those lips were, despite the rough appearance. He raised a hand to his patient’s jaw, drawing small circles on the skin as he pressed their mouths together in a hungry yet gentle way. The combination of soft lips and prickly stubble felt so nice under his own.

A hand sneaked behind the doctor’s neck, pulling him closer so that Nines almost stumbled on top of the Detective’s lap. Increasing the rhythm of the kiss, Gavin let out a small sigh, almost driving his caretaker crazy. Nines’ tongue carefully pressed against the man’s lips, causing him to open and granting the other entrance into his mouth.

Gavin tasted like cheap coffee and the faint hint of cigarettes. Nines knew he was addicted the second their lips had met.

The sound of something beeping disrupted the silence.

“Shit.” The Detective cursed as he broke away, panting. “Not now.”

He looked down on a small device hanging on his hip which reminded Nines of his own beeper. A call for the Detective, probably another case.

“I see you are needed, Detective Reed.” Nines smirked while the other regarded him with an annoyed grunt.

“Are you really going to call me that, even after we kissed?”

“I think it’s sexy.”

The doctor’s grin widened, seeing a beautiful blush spread over the bridge of Gavin’s nose. He held out a hand and pulled the man up from the hospital bed, though not without wrapping an arm around the other’s waist.

“I don’t know if it’s too late to ask you on a proper date, but I am going to do it anyway.” The Detective’s eyes grew big. “What do you say? After my shift, 9 pm this evening?”

Gavin seemed to be a bit overwhelmed at first, but then a wide smile spread across his face, lighting up those grey-green eyes like Nines had never seen before.

“Y-yes, of course.”

His caretaker couldn’t help but press another quick kiss to that smile and he felt how his own heart beat against the inside of his chest in a fast rhythm.

“Perfect. I will meet you at the entrance.”

With that, he let the man go and Gavin squeezed his hand before turning around towards the door.

“And Gavin?”

“Hm?” The Detective turned around, a smile still on his mouth. Nines couldn’t help but think how much he loved to see him happy.

“You would do me a favour if you looked after yourself. It’s cute that you want me to patch you up, but I would very much prefer you in one piece.”

“Aye aye, Doctor Nines. Though I have to admit that my stays in your office always are the highlight of my week.” With that Gavin was out the door, only the warm feeling of his presence lingering in Nines’ chest.

A few hours later, the medical finally closed the door of the emergency room, heartrate faster than it should probably be. The whole day he couldn’t wait to finish his shift and meet with Gavin, hopefully seeing that smile again that warmed something deep inside of him.

“Nines, you are needed in the surgery room.” The voice almost made the doctor jump. He turned around to his brother.

“Are you serious? It’s the end of my shift! I was about to leave!”

Connor threw him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, direct order from Amanda. Everyone is busy and I have to look after a bunch of patients before I can end the day. But the guys from the ambulance said it probably is a lost cause anyway. Hope it won’t take too long, I know you have a date today.”

“Yes,” Nines grunted frustrated, “the first in forever.”

“I’m sorry, Nines. You know how Amanda can be.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I will see what I can do. Which room?”

“16.”

The doctor quickly fumbled with his phone to send Gavin a message that he would be late. He just hoped that the Detective would wait for him.

“Okay, see you, Connor.”

Rushing down the hallway, Nines approached the surgery room his brother had told him. He changed into his green robe and washed his hands before stepping into the room. A nurse helped him tie everything.

“What do we have?”

“Critical injuries in the abdomen, chest and on the face. We don’t know if the skull is broken yet. Multiple shot wounds and severe bruising, maybe even internal bleeding. Poor guy got riddled with bullets by a gang or something. They beat in his face in with a rod and kicked him until he was unconscious.”

“Name? Any medical history?”

Though Nines didn’t need to hear the nurse’s answer anymore. His eyes fell onto the face he had hoped would greet him outside with a smile.

“Detective Gavin Reed. Has been here quite often.”

Gavin’s face was almost unrecognisable, beaten to a swollen mush. His hair had a red touch from all the blood and stuck to his forehead where the band aid Nines had applied earlier still sat, now soaked in a scarlet colour. The Detective’s clothes had been removed already in preparation for the operation, revealing dark bruises where a few ribs appeared to be broken and a sea of blood where bullets had eaten their way through the man’s flesh.

Nines’ knees threatened to give in at the sight. Swollen busted lips, lips he had kissed only hours ago. Limp hands that had pulled the doc closer earlier. A bloody face Nines had cradled just this afternoon.

Just some angry dealers. Gavin’s words echoed in Nines’ head. This couldn’t be. It had to be some bad dream. Nines desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare, but he felt how an unknown pain twisted his heart, pierced it as if he was the one shot.

“No.” he whispered as the first tear fell.

#reed900 #gavinreed #nines rk900 #dbh #whump #heavy angst #blood

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abused-sides · 4 years

Text

You Can’t Leave [Whumptober 2020]

Note: I’m doing whumptober as a series. Check out the tag #whumptober 2020 v on my blog to read in order. Also on ao3.

Prompt: No. 10: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed [Trail of Blood]

Synopsis: Bates reminds Virgil and Janus why they should stay.

Trigger warnings: Cults, gaslighting/manipulation, restraints, kidnapped, non-con, humiliation, treating people like property, blood, knives, violence/beatings, a person in a cage, guns, body horror/gore, reference to murder/hate crimes/child death/minor character death, vomiting, non-consensual drugging, burn scar mentions and brief descriptions, let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 1778

October 12th. 4:40 pm.

“You see what happens when you abandon us, Janus? When you infect others with the same ideas?” Bates sighed and dragged the knife over Virgil’s skin again, drawing blood and a cry from Virgil’s mouth. “People get hurt. I wouldn’t have to do this if you just… Listened.”

“Stop hurting him,” Janus begged. “I know it’s my fault, you should be hurting me!”

Bates set the knife down on the metal tray he had brought in. He looked at Janus with sad eyes. “I know you too well, sweetheart. You’d let me do anything to you. You don’t care about yourself enough for it to matter. This is the only way to get through to you.”

He picked up a syringe filled with clear liquid. Janus pulled at his chains violently. “STOP, STOP, DON’T! You got through to me, you did! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

“You said that last time.”

Virgil flinched as Bates stuck the needle into his neck. He heaved for breath, hands gripping the chair he was strapped to. His arms were covered in bleeding cuts, his face swollen and bruised. He hadn’t looked at Janus once.

Bates set the empty syringe down as Janus sobbed. He came to kneel in front of Janus and take his face in his hands. “Honestly, Jannie, calm down,” he hushed. “He’ll be fine. And this isn’t a fraction of what could happen to him if you guys left. You of all people should know that, shouldn’t you? After what happened to your parents?”

Janus sniffled. “That doesn’t happen to everybody. It was bad luck.”

He wiped Janus’ tears away. “I know. But in here, it happens to nobody. Don’t you want him to be safe?” Janus nodded shakily. “Then I have to do this. You need to know why you can’t leave.”

Virgil’s head slumped to his chest. Janus gasped as Bates strolled back over. “What- What did you do to him?”

“Just a little sedative.” Bates picked Virgil’s chin up. Virgil’s eyes rolled back in his head, but he was awake. “It’ll make things easier.”

Bates untied Virgil, and he fell out of the chair and face planted onto the stone. He pressed his hands to the ground and tried to lift himself up, but his arms trembled so hard he couldn’t move. The door to upstairs was wide open, the stairs mere steps away. If Virgil could only get his strength, he could make a break for it, get out…

Bates sighed. “I know what you’re thinking, love. You say I’ve gotten through to you, but you still want to get him out of here.”

Janus dragged his eyes away from the door and shook his head. “No,” he said thickly, “no, you’re wrong. Please stop hurting him.”

“I’m not the one hurting him.” Bates flipped Virgil onto his back with his foot and held him down by his stomach. Bates crossed his arms. “Tell Virgil why he should stay.”

“What?” Janus whispered.

Bates raised an eyebrow. “Tell him why he should stay. Tell him why he would be better off with us, with our family.”

Virgil’s gaze raised, meeting Janus’ eyes. They were glassy with tears, begging Janus to get him out.

“It’s… It’s better here,” Janus managed. “They can… Protect us. They can- Bates can keep this from happening. He can keep us safe.”

Bates hauled Virgil to his feet. Virgil was completely limp, Bates’ arms under his the only thing keeping him upright. His head drooped again, chin pressed to his chest.

Janus squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, before he swallowed and forced himself to look at Virgil. “You should be grateful I led you here. It’s better here. It is.”

“You’re right,” Virgil choked out, voice thick with sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I want to stay.”

Bates dragged Virgil over and dropped him into Janus’ lap. All Janus wanted was to hold him, but as much as he pulled at his chains, they didn’t budge, and Virgil was too weak to adjust. Bates climbed the steps and shut the door, before locking it and tucking the key in his pocket. He came back down and unlocked Janus’ handcuffs.

Janus immediately lifted Virgil to sit properly in his lap, hugging him tightly. Virgil’s head dropped to Janus’ shoulder.

“You did so well,” Bates whispered, brushing their hair back. “You both did so good. Here, Janus, have some water-”

He shook his head and cupped Virgil’s face. “Him first. Please.”

Bates nodded and fit the straw between Virgil’s lips. Virgil sipped slowly, eyes lidded. Janus sipped some water after, and it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“I think you guys have earned some dinner,” Bates said gently. “Virgil, time to get back in your cage.”

“Can we please just have a few minutes?” Janus begged. “Please, I’ll give up my dinner, just a few more minutes?”

Bates’ eyes slipped to Virgil. “And do you agree with this?”

Janus quickly shook his head. “No, no- I’m giving up mine. He needs to eat.”

“Janus,” he sighed. “You know this. You two are a team. Either both of you eat, or neither.”

“I want to stay,” Virgil slurred.

“No, you have to eat.” Janus rested his hand on Virgil’s tummy. He’d already lost so much weight in less than two weeks. “I take it back.”

Bates raised an eyebrow and looked between the two expectantly. After a minute of no complaints, he sighed and nodded. “Okay. Virgil, get back in your cage, I’ll have Styx bring your food down.”

Janus helped Virgil off his lap and as far across the floor as he could before the chain wrapped around his waist stopped him. The blood dripping from Virgil’s arms dragged across the ground, leaving a sickly smell of copper behind. He backed into his cage and tucked his knees under him, his forehead pressed to the barred floor.

Bates locked them back up before heading up the stairs. After a few minutes of tense silence, Virgil sniffled and asked quietly, “Did you mean it?”

Janus’ eyes widened in horror. “Of course not,” he whispered. “We’re- We’re getting out of here, I promise. I’d never keep you here.”

Virgil sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped his eyes. He struggled to pull his shirt off in the tight confines. He wrapped it around his forearm, the fabric quickly growing heavy with blood, then pressed his arms together.

“I don’t care if it kills me. You’re not staying here.”

“Thank you for stopping him,” Virgil mumbled.

He opened his mouth to say something else when the door squeaked open. Styx climbed down the steps holding a tray and wearing a sick grin.

“Evening, darlings.” He set the tray on a filing cabinet and knelt in front of Virgil’s cage. It creaked and clattered as Bates slid the chain out and clipped the leash to Virgil’s collar. He tugged Virgil out and tied the leash to the pipe Janus was cuffed to. Virgil put his hands behind his back and Bates cuffed those, too. “Remus should be down here soon to take care of you, my pet.”

“Thank you, master.”

Janus hid a flinch. Virgil was becoming more obedient by the day, less vibrant, and it made Janus want to scream, and fight, and burn the entire school down with everyone inside.

Styx set Virgil’s bowl of food down in front of him. Relief spilled through Janus’ stomach like cold water when Virgil grimaced, Styx’s back turned. Styx picked up Janus’ plate and sat next to him. He scooped food onto the fork and held it up, but his attention was focused firmly on Virgil, bent over with his head buried in the bowl. Styx grinned widely.

Janus’ mouth watered. His stomach growled.

Styx’s eyes snapped to Janus and he laughed. “Where have your manners gone?”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Styx snickered and shook his head, but brought the fork closer for Janus to close his mouth around. Remus came in halfway through their meal and waited patiently to the side. When they were finished, Styx piled their dishes on the tray and kissed Virgil roughly on the mouth. He unclipped his leash and left.

Remus closed and locked the door behind him with a sigh. Janus pulled his bandages off after Remus uncuffed his wrists, and Remus knelt to wipe off Virgil’s face.

“Hopefully it at least tasted good?” He unlocked Virgil’s binds and pulled his med kit out of his bag.

Virgil cuddled into Janus’ side, nuzzling into his shoulder. “At least they stopped giving me shit I’m allergic to,” he grumbled. “They’re so fucking twisted.”

Janus held him tight. “I’m glad you’re still saying that,” he said quietly.

Virgil looked at him in confusion as Remus worked on his arms. “What does that mean?”

He buried his face in Virgil’s hair. “You seem… Tired, lately.”

“Like I’m going to give up?” He laughed. “That’s not something you have to worry about.”

“Good.” Remus finished wrapping Virgil’s arms and started rewrapping Janus’ wrists. “Because I think I have a plan.”

They both sat straight up. “What?” Virgil asked. “What is it?”

Remus shook his head and sat back. “I can’t tell you yet. You just have to trust me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re one of them, and you expect us-”

“We can trust him.” Janus squeezed Virgil. “If you can trust me, you can trust him.”

Virgil hesitated. “Look, Jan, I don’t want to… Offend you or anything, but you’re not…” He bit his lip as he thought how to word it, then sighed and said, “I’ve seen you be manipulated. Quite a few times, in fact. It doesn’t take much. I trust you, but that doesn’t mean I trust your opinion.”

Janus fell silent. Part of him was relieved that Virgil knew how weak he was. It made it significantly harder for him to bring Virgil down when Virgil was on the look-out for it. But he was also… So fucking embarrassed.

“I have to go now,” Remus stood, “Bates needs me somewhere else. I’m sorry, but I have to…” He nodded to the cage awkwardly.

Virgil’s grip tightened on Janus. Janus kissed the side of his head. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Go.”

Remus helped Virgil into his cage and locked the cage. He restrained Janus and headed up the stairs.

Janus almost stopped him, almost begged him to go with them when they left, told him his brother missed him and Janus did, too. But the words got stuck in Janus’ throat and the door slammed behind him.

Kofi and commissions, 1 coffee = 300 words of your prompt

#whumptober2020 #no.10 #they look so pretty when they bleed #trail of blood #sanders sides #fic #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #anxceit #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #whumptober 2020 v #virgil writes #whump #angst #hurt/comfort

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tw-anchor · 4 years

Text

27. Very Busy Night

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x02; Chaos Rising + 3x03; Fireflies

Word Count: 10,425

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, character death

Author’s Note: I fit in the rest of Chaos Rising in this chapter because I thought it would flow with Fireflies better. I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think! Make sure to reblog and like!

Find the masterlink where’s it pinned to my blog!

Allison pulled her bolt cutters from where she was hiding them behind her back and snipped at the chain holding the front doors to Beacon Hills First National closed. Olivia quickly grabbed the chain before it could fall to the ground and make any nose, alerting the alpha pack that someone was breaking into the bank. The last thing they needed was to get caught right away; that wouldn't make a very successful mission.

Olivia and Allison nodded at each other before they opened one of the doors and slipped into the abandoned building. It was very dark inside, which made it hard to see, but at least the subtle glare of the full moon provided a little light to guide them around. The bank was just as Olivia saw in Isaac's memories, dusty and deserted. The lobby was full of mishappen furniture that was thrown about, including chairs, desks, and teller counters that would have been nice once upon a time. The whole feel of it gave Olivia the creeps—and it didn't help that the full moon was starting to affect the werewolves in her life.

She could feel five different struggles in her mind, each belonging to the werewolves she considered pack. It was a little distracting, having to feel a loss of control while having no side effects from the moon herself. She had to make sure that she wasn't focusing on her pack but on what she was involved in. If she didn't focus, she would lose control and act like she did in the classroom on the first day of school. She wouldn't be able to do anything and she wouldn't be able to have Allison's back or protect herself—not that she could do much fighting, anyway.

She clenched her fists as she and Allison walked through the lobby, dodging the old furniture, and made their way back to hallway that would lead to the offices. They passed a couple of file cabinets on the way, but they were only a quarter of the way through the hallway when someone attacked.

Allison was quick to defend them, drawing one of her ring daggers and blocking the woman who had pushed them. Unfortunately, Allison was too caught off guard and Olivia was practically useless in defending themselves; the woman pushed both of them up against the wall.

It was then that Olivia saw exactly who it was that attacked them.

"Ms. Morrell?" she breathed in confusion. She was the guidance counselor, for crying out loud. Lydia and Stiles literally had appointments with her every week. What the hell was she doing in the alpha pack's den?

"Keep your mouths shut and listen close," Ms. Morrell warned them. "You have no idea what you two just stepped into. Right now, you've got maybe twenty seconds to get your asses hidden."

"What are you doing?" Allison asked.

"Get in that storage closet over there and lock the door," Ms. Morrel nodded at the door behind Olivia and to the right. "When you hear the fighting start, that's when you come out."

"There isn't supposed to be fighting," Olivia stated; their plan was for her to calm down Boyd and the girl and get them out of there before the alpha pack even knew they were there.

"You're wrong," Ms. Morrel said. "You'll hear it. Now go!"

Ms. Morrell let go of Olivia and Allison and ran out of the hallway. They didn't waste any time as they rushed toward the storage closet and entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind them. It was pitch black in the room and as expected, the light switch didn't work. They were blind for the moment.

And then they heard the multiple sets of footsteps. Realizing what was happening at the same time, they both nudged each other away from the door and held their breath, hoping that the oncoming alphas wouldn't be able to hear them.

That didn't exactly take care of their scents, though.

As the footsteps started to pass by the closet, Allison knocked over a jug of cleaner. Olivia didn't know exactly what it was but it sure smell strong enough to hide their scents. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too suspicious that there was a strong chemical smell coming from the closet out of nowhere. It was a storage closet, though, so who knew.

Nothing happened, though. They weren't caught. When the footsteps faded away until they were sure no one would come back, Allison shredded her jacket and placed it on the puddle of cleaner, hoping to dilute the scent that burned their nostrils. Olivia quickly pulled her phone from her own jacket and turned on the flashlight; now there was enough light to at least get their bearings.

However, when Olivia spotted something out of the corner of her eye, she wished she wouldn't have turned the light on at all. When the beam of light hit Erica's body, her stomach heaved and her chest tightened. Her eyes stung as she looked at her former packmate; her body was already decomposing, her skin chalk white with spots of decay here and there.

"Oh, my God," she breathed shakily. She grabbed Allison's offered hand and squeezed it with all of her might, trying not to freak out and blow the whole operation.

Erica was only two months older than her. She spent most of her life without friends and riddled with seizures that brought her self-confidence down to the negatives. When she was given the bite, she was okay for less than a month before she was being hunted down by the Argents. She didn't get to live the life she deserved and it made Olivia sick to her stomach. Erica was good. She was good and she deserved better than what she got.

She hastily wiped her wet face with the back of the hand that held her phone. It was no use, more tears were already slipping down her cheeks. She felt like a piece of her was missing and she couldn't believe that she hadn't even known that Erica was killed because it was clear that it had been more than a couple of weeks that her body had been in the closet.

"I'm so sorry, Liv," Allison squeezed her hand in comfort. She hadn't been friends with Erica like Olivia had been but it was still upsetting to see her dead. They were classmates and had Erica been on the right side of things, maybe they would have been friends. They'd never know now.

Stiles stared out the huge window in Derek's loft, staring at the full moon in the sky. It had been maybe an hour since Olivia, Derek, and Scott left but he was already impatient for them to get back. He didn't like waiting, especially when his girlfriend and best friend were risking their lives at the moment.

"I can't take waiting around like this, you know?" he spoke aloud, hoping that Peter would understand his worry. "It's nerve-racking. My nerves are racked. They're severely racked. Racked."

Why would Peter care, though? It wasn't like his own daughter and nephew were in danger. "I could beat you unconscious and wake you when it's over."

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned away from the window, facing Peter where he was laying on the couch. "Do you think that Erica's really dead?"

"Do you think I really care?"

Stiles quickly moved on and changed the subject as he started pacing around the loft. "I just, I don't understand the bank, though, okay? What—like, why wouldn't they chain them up in some underground lair or something? They're an alpha pack, right, so shouldn't they have a lair?"

"They're werewolves, not Bond villains."

"Wait a sec, wait a sec," Stiles turned back to him. "Maybe they're living there, you know? Like, maybe the bank vault reminds them of their little wolf dens."

Peter opened his eyes and stared at him blankly. "Wolf dens?"

"Yeah, wolf dens," Stiles nodded. "Where do you live?"

Suffice to say, his girlfriend's father hadn't exactly invited him around for dinner.

"In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods."

Maybe that was why. "Woah, really?"

"No, you idiot," Peter rolled his eyes. "I have an apartment downtown."

Stiles almost felt a little disappointed. "Okay, fine, but still, that just proves that there's something up with the bank," he pointed out. "And why wait around for the full moon, huh? Why not just kill them whenever they want to?"

"Maybe they think it's poetic," Peter suggested casually.

He shook his head. "They've already had three full moons to be poetic."

"And here, you've only had one full hour to be so annoying..."

Stiles waited for him to go on complaining about him but he didn't. "No, go ahead and finish what you were saying. I'm—I'm annoying...What were you gonna say there?"

Peter didn't rise to his challenge. "What are the walls made of?"

"What?" Confused, Stiles looked around the loft. "Uh, I don't know, like, wood and brick, or—"

"No, the vault, the vault," Peter jumped up from the coach and headed over to the bank's blueprints that were still spread out on the table. "the walls, what are they made out of? Where would it say that?" he went through the various pages of plans. "This doesn't say anything. Where would it say the materials, the type of stone?"

"Oh! Okay, hang on," Stiles rushed over to the table and searched for the binder that held the details of the build; when he finally found it, he handed it over to the werewolf. "Here, it's gotta be in there."

He looked carefully as Peter swiped through the pages, looking for what kind of stone they used for the vault. When they finally came to the page that held the details for the vault, Stiles discovered the section of materials.

"There," Stiles pointed to the section. "That's it."

"Hecatolite," Peter read.

"Is that awful? That sounds awful."

"Get them on the phone," Peter demanded. "Call them, now."

"Okay," Stiles scrambled for his phone and quickly started dialing Scott. "why?"

"Because Boyd and that girl aren't gonna kill each other, they're gonna kill Derek and Scott."

Panic raising in his chest, Stiles pressed his phone to his ear and was relieved when Scott picked up.

"Stiles, now is not the best time."

"Scott, Scott!" he exclaimed frantically. "No, listen to me, okay? Look, you gotta get out of there. Look, the walls of the vault are made with a mineral called Hecatolite. It scatters the moonlight."

"What does that mean?"

"It keeps the moonlight out, okay? They haven't felt the full moon in months."

"Okay, think of it like the gladiators in the Roman colosseum," Peter took over explaining. "They used to starve the lions for three days, making them more vicious, more out of control. Deucalion has kept them from shifting for three full moons, diminishing their tolerance to it."

"Scott, they're gonna be stronger—"

"More savage, more bloodthirsty," Peter cut him off. "Scott, they're the lions. They're the starved lions and you and Derek just stepped into the colosseum."

"Derek, we have a problem," they heard Scott say. "A really big problem."

Then came Derek's surprised voice. "Cora?"

"Who?"

Stiles looked at Peter, wondering if he knew a Cora. The shocked look on his face made him think that he did.

"Cora?"

"Derek, get out," a female voice came from the other line. "Get out now!"

"Scott," Stiles spoke again, hoping to get Scott's attention. "Hey, Scott! Scott, are you hearing this?"

Vicious growling started out on the other line and they could hear the fighting start.

"Scott?!"

The dial tone started beeping.

The fighting started not long after Olivia and Allison discovered Erica's body. They waited only five minutes before they set out of the closet, afraid that they were run into any members of the alpha pack on their way to the vault.

From the loud growling, the vicious roars, and the painted grunting, Scott and Derek had to have been having a bad time in that vault. The crashing and bangs didn't bode well for them, either.

Olivia had to get in there, now.

She and Allison were quick getting to the vault. Olivia was quick to notice the circle of mountain ash on the floor and that was good and bad. It was bad because Derek and Scott couldn't get out of the vault but it was good because neither could the girl or Boyd. Believe it or not, it was safer for Beacon Hills if Boyd and the girl were contained in one place. It wasn't so good for Derek and Scott, though.

"Look out!" Allison yelled as Olivia jumped over the seal and into the vault. Derek and Scott jumped out of the way as the mystery girl and Boyd lunged for them.

Boyd hit his target with Scott, digging his claws into his stomach and rising him up into the air. Scott grunted and searched for the strength to get out of Boyd's hold but he was unable to fight back.

"Boyd!" Olivia rushed to a stop and held out her hands toward her large packmate. He was seething and out of control as he turned away from an injured Scott to glare at her. "Boyd, control yourself!"

He roared a her, furious. Honestly, it scared Olivia more than a little bit. For some reason, Boyd was more out of control than usual and she didn't know if she could do anything about it. Yeah, she had been practicing with her abilities and they've grown stronger but Boyd was only with her for a month. She didn't even know the girl, so it'd be hard to do anything to her.

Then Olivia was on the ground, a girl her age hovering over her. The breath was knocked out of her chest and she was pretty sure she was going to die but when she took a look at the girl's face, time seemed to stop.

She knew who the mystery girl was now and she couldn't believe it. Cora, her cousin who was born only a year before her, was supposed to have died in the fire. That's what they all assumed when she didn't show up after the disaster that ravished the Hale house and killed Olivia's aunt and mother, along with other members of the pack. They hadn't seen her for six and a half years and now, all of a sudden, here she was, trapped in a bank vault by the alpha pack.

How had she even survived?

"Cora?" she breathed in shock. "You're alive."

Cora's face only slight softened as she realized exactly who she had tackled. She didn't really get to think on it further when Derek plowed into her, knocking her off their cousin and onto the floor.

"Ollie, go!"

Olivia hurriedly got up and backed away from her cousins, heading toward Boyd and Scott. She said nothing, as to not give away her position, and slapped her hand onto Boyd's back. Her gaze was tinted purple as she concentrated all of her energy into calming Boyd down so he wouldn't end up killing Scott.

"Come on, Boyd."

He was fighting her and it was hard to get a hold of him. Just as she was only a second away from reaching him and getting him into control, Derek called out, "No, don't break the seal!"

Her concentration lost, she looked over at Allison just as the taller brunette crouched down to break the mountain ash barrier.

"Boyd!" Allison called, getting the beta's attention.

As Boyd let go of Scott, Olivia tried to wrap her hands around his huge arm. "BOYD!"

Boyd only faltered for a long second before Allison broke the barrier. He ripped away from her grasp and sped out of the vault, Cora on his tail. Olivia stared after them in belief; she was so close to getting to Boyd.

Derek angrily stormed out of the vault and grabbed Allison's arm.

"Don't touch her!" Scott pushed him away as he and Olivia approached.

"What were you thinking?" Derek growled at her.

"That I had to do something," Allison shot back."

Scott immediately jumped to Allison's defense. "She saved our lives."

But she could have put many more in danger, Olivia thought to herself. She didn't blame Allison for what she did; if she were in her shoes and was watching Stiles get beaten up by a raving werewolf, she'd break the seal too.

"Yeah and what do you think they're gonna do out there?" Derek brought up the point that Olivia made in her head. "Do you have any idea what you just set free?"

"You want to blame me?" Allison scoffed in disbelief, her eyes narrowed into daggers. "Well, I'm not the one turning teenagers into killers."

"No, that's just the rest of your family," Derek retorted.

It was totally not the time but Olivia was impressed by Derek's comeback. Until now, none of Derek's betas had been bloodthirsty or out of control. Allison couldn't say the same about herself or her family of hunters.

Allison slumped a little at his comment, seeming to know that Derek's words weren't exactly a lie. "I made mistakes," she admitted. "Gerard is not my fault."

"And what about your mother?"

"Derek!" Olivia hissed at her cousin. Did he really have to bring that up at a time like this? They needed to be out there looking for Boyd and Cora.

Allison, however, wanted to know what Derek meant. "What do you mean?"

Derek turned to Scott with a daring look. "Tell her, Scott."

"What does he mean, Scott?" Allison's voice trembled. "What does he mean?"

Scott looked hesitant to tell her and Olivia guessed that it was because she and Derek were with them. If it was her telling Allison about her mother's actions before she died, she wouldn't want Derek around to butt in with scathing and insensitive comments—even if Victoria Argent deserved them, Allison didn't.

"Derek," Olivia spoke up, catching her cousin's attention. "We found Erica. We should—we should go and get her."

Derek's face crumpled as he seemed to realize what Olivia meant. Her heart ached as she took his arm and clutched it tightly before leading him away from Scott and Allison. They slowly walked down from the second level and to the hallway that held the storage closet she and Allison hid from the alphas in.

"She's dead..."

"Yeah," Olivia confirmed quietly, her eyes starting to sting with tears. "From the...her body looks more than a couple of weeks old."

She wanted to prepare him; he would take the loss of Erica harder since she was his beta. Even for her, the loss of a packmate was hard. It was like losing a limb; it still felt like Erica was there but when she reached out to find her, the blonde wasn't there to meet her.

Derek tightened his grip on Olivia as they entered the storage closet. He completely shocked Olivia when he faltered after laying his eyes on Erica's body. Derek was literally the strongest person she knew so it was tough to see him in such grief. He wasn't quite as bad as when most of their family died but it was still hard.

"This is all my fault," he whispered, taking in the decay of her body.

"No, it's not," Olivia insisted. "It's not, Derek. The alpha pack did this, not you."

"I was the one who turned her."

"And you didn't know it would turn out like this," Olivia bit the inside of her cheek. "Derek, please...please believe me. This isn't on you and Erica...Erica wouldn't want you to think that way, either."

Derek shook his head and slowly let go of Olivia before taking the few steps toward Erica's body. In one swift movement, he picked Erica up and cradled her in his arms. It was so heartbreaking for Olivia to see the pure guilt and grief he felt on display. It almost hurt worse than the grief she felt for Erica.

"Come on," Derek's voice was hoarse.

They slowly walked back to the vault where Allison and Scott still stood together, discussing what really went on the night that Derek bit Victoria Argent. They arrived just as Scott was finishing, telling Allison that he couldn't have the memory of her mother trying to kill him be the last memory she ever had of her.

The both of them turned when they noticed that Olivia and Derek had arrived with Erica's body. Allison frowned sadly while Scott's face crumpled; Olivia could tell that he was very upset with Erica's fate and while it didn't make much sense because he and Erica weren't very close, it was Scott. He felt for people so deeply that his reaction didn't really surprise Olivia.

Derek cleared his throat. "We'll come back for her after we catch Cora and Boyd," he stepped into the vault and gently laid down her body before turning back to Scott. "Are you ready?"

Olivia swallowed down the lump in her throat and spoke up, "If I can concentrate, I think I'll be able to find Boyd."

Derek nodded at her and then looked back at Scott. "You go after Boyd and I'll try to find Cora. Olivia, you give Scott any information that you find. I'll Isaac and Peter and get them to help. We need to get to them before they hurt anyone."

Olivia and Scott nodded in unison at him. "Let's do this."

Olivia sat at a picnic table just outside of the campground part of the reserve, her hands clasped and her eyes closed. She was deep inside her head with her focus on Boyd, mentally following him around Beacon Hills. It took a lot of energy to keep on him but she didn't have a choice. It was either this so Scott could find him, or let innocent people die. Cora had already tried to terrorize the drive-in if Derek hadn't stepped in but unfortunately, she ran off before he could catch her.

Apparently, she was much faster than Derek when she went without feeling the full moon for three full months.

She sighed when she felt Boyd take off again; she had given Scott his last location but he must have lost him.

Sure enough, Scott was calling her. Her focus now gone, she answered the phone and looked up at Derek as he made his way over to her. She put the call on speakerphone—even though he could hear it fine—just in case he wanted to talk to Scott.

"Scott?"

"Hey," Scott greeted her breathlessly. "I lost Boyd."

"You lost him?" Derek asked, disappointed.

"Yeah, I kind of had to."

"That wasn't exactly the plan."

"I know, which is why I think that we should stick together," Scott stated. "Trust me, he's too strong, too fast, and way too angry for one person to handle. We've got to do this together."

"Scott, we're at the edge of the preserve campground," Olivia spoke up, exchanging a look with Derek. "Can you meet us here?"

"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "I just got to drop something off first."

Olivia furrowed her eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"I'll fill you in later. See ya soon."

Olivia ended the call and locked her phone, setting it on the table before looking up at Derek. "This is a nightmare."

"No kidding..."

Olivia winced as her hearing cut off and a loud scream took its place. This had happened only a half-hour earlier but this one was much more severe and terrifying. The first time she didn't even know where it came from but as the scream died down now, the whispers started.

Lydia's there, she heard. A picture of the community pool flashed through her mind, leaving a searing ache behind. Lydia, Lydia, Lydia. She found him. She found him. Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.

What the actual hell?

"Ollie, are you okay?" her hearing came back all at once. She grimaced at her sensitivity and opened her eyes, seeing Derek's worried face hovering over her. "Ollie, can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," she croaked; for some reason, her throat felt sore.

"You screamed," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What happened?"

She hadn't known that she screamed. Why did she? Was that Lydia who screamed in her head? That's what the whispers seemed to imply. If Lydia was the one who screamed, how did she hear it and why did she scream too?

"I heard screaming and Lydia's name," she hurriedly picked up her phone and tried to call Lydia. As she pressed her ear to her phone, she added, "She found something but I don't know what. I don't know what's going on."

To her disappointment, Lydia didn't answer. The line beeped rapidly, informing Olivia that Lydia's phone was currently busy. She hung up the call and tried Stiles; she couldn't leave to go check on Lydia, so he would have to.

"Olivia, are you okay?" Stiles picked up almost immediately. "No one called me after and I was afraid someone got to you guys. Are you okay? Did Boyd kill you? Who is Cora, by the way? Tell me what happened. Is everyone all right?"

"Stiles," Olivia interrupted; as much as she thought his rambling was cute, now wasn't really the time to indulge him. "We're all okay. Boyd and Cora got out but Derek, Isaac, and Scott are out looking for them now."

"Okay, good," Stiles sighed in relief. "So, who's Cora?"

"She's my cousin, Derek's little sister—"

"Derek has a little sister?"

"Yes and we thought she died in the fire—"

"You thought she was dead? How the fuck is she here now?"

"We have no idea, Stiles. All we know is that she's alive and she's been with Boyd for months," Olivia answered. "but that's not why I called you."

"What's up?"

"I need you to check on Lydia. Something happened and I heard her scream—"

"How did you hear her scream? Is she with you?"

"No, she's not," if he didn't quit interrupting her... "Look, she's at the community pool. Can you please go check on her?"

"Of course I will. I'll go right now," Stiles confirmed. "I love you, be safe."

"Love you, too," Olivia stated. "Call me when you get to her."

"I will. Bye."

Olivia ended the call and turned to Derek once again. He was looking back at her with a half-irritated, half-amused look. Clearly, he had heard the whole call.

He shook his head. "I can't believe you're dating him."

The tires of the jeep squealed as it came to an abrupt stop next to Lydia's car. Stiles quickly ripped off his seatbelt and threw himself out of the vehicle in order to get to Lydia. From the way Olivia's voice trembled when she spoke about her cousin, and the fact that Lydia had called him in a panic over finding a dead body at the pool, he was quick to panic.

Not only did Stiles have to get through Olivia's occasional episodes but now Lydia was having them too. The Martin girls would be the death of him, surely. Actually, the whole supernatural thing would be. He didn't have a doubt about it.

"Lydia?" he called her name as he ran past the pool's gate and made his way toward the redhead. "Lydia, are you okay?"

Lydia had her arms around her, tightly holding herself. "I'm okay," she trembled. "That over there...not okay."

He followed her gaze to the dead body in the lifeguard stand. He could already see without moving that there was a lot of blood; it made him sick to his stomach. "Yeah, all right," he pulled his phone from his jeans. "I'm gonna call my dad."

"I already called 9-1-1."

Stiles paused and looked back at her while blinking rapidly. "You called the police before you called me or Olivia?"

"I'm supposed to call you guys first when I find a dead body?"

"Yes!" Stiles exclaimed loudly.

He changed gears, calling Olivia like she told him to. She quickly answered the call. "Hey, Livvy—"

"Is there really a dead body?"

"Yes, there is."

"Are you sure?"

Stiles rolled his eyes as he inched closer to the body so he could check it out for himself. "Yep, throat ripped out, blood everywhere. It's like the fucking Shining over here. If two little twin girls come out of the woods and start asking me to play with them forever and ever, I'm not gonna be surprised."

"Okay, okay," Olivia said quickly; she absolutely did not like the Shining when Stiles showed it to her. "Um, can you get a little closer to make sure it was them?"

"Make sure it was them?" he repeated in disbelief. "Olivia, who else is going around ripping throats out?"

She sighed. "Please just do it."

Stiles stepped closer to the dead body, stepping around the huge puddle of blood that had collected on the edge of the pool. Like he told Olivia, the guy's throat was ripped out. He bled a lot; his whole arm down to his purity ring wearing fingers.

"It was them," he confirmed for her. "Listen, Lydia called the cops so I'll call you when we're done with them."

"Okay," on the other side of town, Olivia pressed some fingers to her temple, trying to rid herself of the horrible pain her head was in. "Thank you, Stiles. Really."

"No problem. Love you, talk later."

"Love you," Olivia locked her phone and slipped it into her jacket before turning to Derek, Isaac, and Scott.

Derek shook his head in denial. "This doesn't make any sense," he declared. "The public pool is all the way on the other side of the woods. We haven't tracked them anywhere near there."

"Derek, they killed someone," Scott pointed out needlessly.

"How are they moving so fast?"

"Derek."

"But they can't be that fast on foot," Derek insisted.

"They killed someone," Scott said firmly. "Some totally innocent kid is dead...and it's our fault."

Derek was quiet for a moment, blinking slowly. "It's my fault."

"We need help," Olivia interjected. The four of them weren't getting anything done when it came to Cora and Boyd. They had no experience hunting werewolves and why should they? They didn't hunt their own kind. That was a whole new kind of barbaric. They weren't the Argents, for crying out loud.

The Argents...

"We have Isaac now."

"No, more help," she clarified, a plan forming in her head. "Look, they're too fast, too strong, and too rabid for you guys."

"We'll catch them."

"What happens if we do?" Isaac asked his alpha in response. "We're just gonna hold them down until the sun comes up."

Derek shook his head grimly. "Maybe it would be easier just to kill them."

Olivia immediately went to protest but Scott beat her to the punch. "Killing them isn't the right thing to do."

"What if it's the only thing to do?" Isaac replied. "If we can't even catch them, what else do we do?"

"We find someone who knows what they're doing."

They turned to Olivia, curious. "Who?"

"Someone who knows how to hunt werewolves," Olivia said decidedly. "Like Mr. Argent."

Derek scoffed. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not. Mr. Argent isn't as bad as the others and we all know it," she defended Allison's father. It was true; Argent was probably the mildest of the Argent hunters, including Allison. "If he knows the trouble we're facing and about the innocent people getting hurt, I bet he'll help us."

"She's got a point," Scott backed her up. "Me and Olivia can talk to him."

"And if he says no?"

"Then we make him say yes."

With a call to Allison, they tracked down Mr. Argent to the grocery store. Derek and Isaac stayed in the former's car and let Olivia and Scott take the lead on him. Mr. Argent wasn't a big fan of Scott and he didn't adore Olivia, but he was more tolerant of them than the other werewolves.

Olivia and Scott waited for him to come out of the store behind the car next to Argent's SUV. When he came out, his arms full of grocery bags, they came out of hiding and watched as one of his bags fell to the ground.

Argent picked it up with a sigh. "It had to be the one with the eggs..."

Once the bag was safely in the back of his SUV, he shut the hatch and abruptly turned around. Olivia flinched away as he held a gun up to her and Scott, both of them immediately putting their hands in the air to show that they didn't mean any harm.

"Hi, Mr. Argent," she squeaked.

Mr. Argent pressed his lips together. "Olivia, Scott," he greeted them cautiously. "What are you doing here?"

"We need your help," Scott said before he started explaining all that had gone on that night so far, from the alpha pack, the bank, and the wild goose chase that Cora and Boyd were giving them.

Argent didn't look happy to be approached. "First of all, why would I care about anyone related to Derek?"

"Ouch," Olivia mumbled under his breath but Argent steamrolled on.

"And second, I don't know this kid, Boyd. I don't even know his last name."

"Boyd is his last name," Olivia informed him.

"What's his first name?"

"Vernon," she said simply. "and could you put the gun down, please? You're freaking me out."

Argent shifted the gun away from her and more toward Scott; Olivia sighed in relief.

"Yeah, just curious, is there a reason the gun is still pointed at me?" Scott was offended.

"Well, there's probably still some part of me that wants to shoot you," Argent answered honestly.

Scott raised his eyebrows and nodded. "I get that."

Argent sighed and lowered his gun, putting it back in its holster. "I watched my father brainwash my daughter and almost turn her into a killer," he shook his head. "That world—your world—decimated mine. My wife, sister, father, my entire family. Why would I ever step foot in it again?"

"Because people are going to die," Olivia said bluntly. "and because you know how to catch Cora and Boyd without killing them."

Argent hesitated for only a second before shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

He went to enter his SUV when Scott stopped him. "Uh, do you think you could do us, like, one tiny little favor?"

Argent lifted his chin. "What's that?"

"Can you give us a lift to the public pool? We're supposed to meet Stiles and Lydia there," Scott stretched the truth.

Olivia gave him an impressed look, immediately catching onto his plan. Argent would see the police and medical examiner at the pool to pick up the body and investigate the scene and hopefully it would sway him to help them catch Boyd and Cora. It was manipulative but necessary. Cora and Boyd could kill even more innocent people by the time the moon fell if they were able to go free.

"Get in."

Ten minutes later, they were pretty close to the community pool. The whole ride was silent and awkward and Olivia was nervous, hoping that Cora and Boyd weren't out terrorizing the town while they played carpool. If Argent would agree to help them, though, they'd have a significant advantage over them.

"Left or straight?" Argent asked.

"Left," Scott answered from the backseat. "Sorry, it's right about the corner."

Argent turned onto the street on their left and slowed down, looking for the pool. Olivia could already see the red and blue lights coming off the police cruisers.

"That parking lot there," Scott pointed to them. "Yeah, just a little further up, right here."

"Thanks again for the ride," Olivia said as Argent came to a stop and parked.

She and Scott watched Argent's face as he took in the scene. There was already an ambulance there, ready to take the body to the morgue, and it looked like the kid's parents were there, too, to identify their son for the record. It was a disturbing image, how heartbroken the parents were as they sobbed over their child.

It made Olivia's chest hurt a little. Erica's parents would soon find out that their child was dead, too.

Scott went to leave the vehicle first, but Argent stopped him. "They did this, Boyd and...?"

"Cora," Olivia supplied her cousin's name. "Yeah."

Argent lifted his gaze to look at her. "Where's the last place you saw them?"

Minutes later, they were meeting Derek and Isaac back at the campground, where they stopped Cora and Boyd from killing a girl their age.

Argent stood in front of the four of them, kneeling down over two sets of shoe tracks. "You're tracking them by print?"

It was Scott who answered him. "Trying to."

"Well, then, you've been wasting your time," Argent stated. "There's only one creature on earth that can visually track footprints and that's man. And if you're not trained like me, you have no idea that this print is Boyd's," he pointed at the large shoeprint in the mud and then the slightly smaller ones. "and these—"

"Are Cora's," Isaac assumed.

"Nope, they're yours," Argent corrected him casually. "You trampled Cora's as soon as you walked over here."

Olivia raised an eyebrow as she looked over at Isaac, who looked embarrassed.

"Listen, I know the three of you are focusing half your energy on resisting your own urges under the full moon but that puts you at a severe disadvantage to Boyd and Cora, who have fully given in," Argent addressed Derek, Scott, and Isaac. "They put the pedal to the floor where you three are barely hitting the speed limit."

"So, what do we do?" Derek looked annoyed that he had to listen to Argent's advice.

"Focus on your sense of smell," Argent told him. "Actual wolves are known to track their pretty by up to a hundred miles a day by scent. A trained hunter can use scent to track them. If the wind is with them, wolves can track a scent by a distance of two miles, which means we can draw them to us...or into a trap."

Argent reached into the duffle bag that he had brought with him and pulled out a net. "The full moon does give us one advantage," he threw it at Scott, who caught it easily. "They'll have a higher heat signature, which makes them easier to spot with infrared."

Argent threw two infrared binoculars at Scott and Isaac before tossing one to Derek.

"Thanks," Derek handed them to Olivia and flashed his alpha-red eyes. "but I've got my own."

Argent nodded. "Just remember, we're not hunting wild animals. Underneath those impulses are two intelligent human beings. Don't think they can't rely on that human side. It's suppressed but it's there, reminding them how to mask their scent, how to cover their tracks, and how to survive."

They moved from the campsite to the cliff that overlooked all of Beacon Hills.

"When was the last time you saw your sister?" Argent asked Derek.

"Six years," Derek told him. "We thought she died in the fire."

Argent didn't comment on the fire. "Do you feel like you have a lock on her scent?" Derek shook his head so he turned to Scott. "Scott, how confident are you in your skills?"

Scott scoffed lightly. "Honestly, most of the time I'm trying not to think about all the things I can smell."

Olivia wrinkled her nose in disgust. She certainly didn't envy him.

"All right," Argent turned back to the overlook. "The problem is when they breach the woods and hit the residential area. Once they're past the high school, they're right in the middle of Beacon Hills."

"They're not going to kill anyone they see, are they?" Olivia spoke up hesitantly.

"No but there is an important difference to recognize," Argent answered her. "Wolves hunt or food; at a certain point, they get full. Boyd and Cora are hunting for the pleasure of the kill, for some primal apex predatory satisfaction that comes from the ripping of warm bodies to bloody shreds. And who knows when that need gets satiated?"

"We can't kill them," Scott declared.

"What if we can't catch them?" Derek countered reluctantly.

"Then maybe we just need to contain them," Argent offered thoughtfully. "There's no one in the school at night, is there?"

Derek looked at him in surprise. "You want to trap them inside?"

"If there's somewhere with a strong enough door, no windows, or access to the outside."

"What about the boiler room?" Isaac spoke up. "It's just one big steel door."

Argent paused for a moment before asking, "You're sure the school's empty?"

"It has to be," Scott confirmed. "There can't be anyone there this late, right?"

"All right," Olivia mused. "So if we do this, how are we going to lead them into the school?"

"I have something."

Argent led them back to his SUV, where he opened the hatch and pulled out another duffle bag with hunting supplies. He took a large silver stake that had some kind of light and button on the top and stabbed it into the ground.

"These are ultrasonic emitters. It's one of the tools we use to corral werewolves, pushing them into a direction we want them to run," Argent pressed the button at the top; there was a light squealing noise as the light flickered on. "It gives off a high-pitched frequency that only they can hear."

There was a slightly uncomfortable feeling in Olivia's ear but she certainly wasn't reacting to the noise like Derek, Scott, and Isaac were. They were all bent forward, their hands smushed to their ears in attempt to block out the noise.

"God, no kidding!" Isaac grunted

Argent turned off the emitter and started grabbing more of them from the hatch. He gave two to each of the werewolves. To Olivia's surprise, he gave her two, too.

"These are gonna drive them to the school?" Derek asked skeptically.

"And then it's up to you to get them into the basement," Argent stated.

"Does anyone else want to rethink the plan where we just, uh, kill them?" Isaac wondered.

Olivia rolled her eyes at him. "All right, lazy bones."

"It's going to work," Scott said encouragingly. "It'll work."

"Uh, you didn't have to follow me home," Lydia told Stiles flatly as they walked into her bedroom.

Stiles shrugged awkwardly, looking around the room. Despite the many times he had come over to the house, he'd never been inside the redhead's bedroom. "I just wanted to make sure you got in okay."

"I had a police escort."

"I know the inner workings of that force, all right? They're not nearly as reliable as people think," Stiles defended himself. "And I wanted to wait for Olivia, okay?"

Lydia gave him a displeased look as she sat down at the end of her bed. "And you're in my room, why?"

"Because it's creepy for me to wait alone in Livvy's room," Stiles made up an excuse; the real reason he was in Lydia's room was because he wanted answers. Like, how she had ended up at the pool in the first place or the fact that she found a fucking dead body out of nowhere.

"You're lying," Lydia smacked her lips together and rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just ask me the question that you've been dying to ask?"

Stiles faltered. "Well, I'm not—I haven't been dying to ask anything. I—no questions here for Stiles. Nothing."

"I can see it on your face."

"Maybe my face just has, like, a naturally interrogatory expression."

"Well, your interrogatory expression is getting on my nerves," Lydia snapped. "The answer is that I have no clue how I ended up finding that body. I didn't even know where I was until I got out of the car."

"Yeah, but the last time something like this happened..."

"I know," Lydia nodded. "Liv's dad."

"Peter," Stiles sighed; his future father-in-law was a pain in his ass. Well, he was a pain in everyone's ass. He went to say something else when his phone started ringing. "Oh, hold on."

He quickly pulled his phone out of his sweatshirt, eager to see if it was Olivia, but it was Melissa instead. He answered the phone and listened carefully as Melissa explained that he needed to show him something peculiar with the body that Lydia found.

After Lydia insisted that she go with him, the two of them headed into the hospital. They made their way to the emergency room where Melissa had a night shift and stopped at the desk where Melissa was waiting for them with some paperwork.

"Hey," she greeted them, leaving her paperwork for another time. "Over here...and if you tell anyone that I showed you this, I swear to God, I will kill you painfully and slowly."

She led off down the hallway that led to the morgue, sneaking into the room before anyone saw them.

"Why do you want to show us a body we've already seen?" Stiles asked her.

"Because you haven't seen everything," Melissa replied as she gloved up and walked over to one of the bodies displayed on the tables. She uncovered the guy that Lydia found at the pool and pointed to his neck. "See this around his neck?" there was a dark bruise that encircled the entire front of his neck. "That's a ligature mark. That means that he was strangled with something, like a cord or rope—"

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Ah, okay, wait a second," he interrupted her. "What kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, that's not very werewolf-y."

Melissa looked at him proudly. "My thoughts exactly," she confirmed before picking up the kid's head and turning it slightly. "And then there's this."

Stiles' stomach flipped nauseously at the sight of the kid's broken skull and exposed brain. "God, what the hell is that?" he gagged slightly. "Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter, of course."

Lydia gave him an annoyed look. "Seriously, Stiles?"

He honestly didn't know how she was so calm.

"See the indentation? He was hit in the back of the head, hard enough to kill him," Melissa stated as she carefully set down the head back on the table. "In fact, any one of these things could have killed him. I mean, someone seriously wanted this poor kid dead."

"So, this couldn't have been Boyd or Cora," Lydia assumed thoughtfully. "They wouldn't have tried three different ways to kill someone when they're that out of control."

"Maybe it's just one murder," Stiles suggested. "I mean, maybe it's a random coincidence."

Melissa shook her head. "I don't think it was just one murder."

"How come?"

"Because that boy over there, he's got the exact same injuries," Melissa answered Stiles, pointing to the table to their right.

The three of them shuffled over to the other body. When Melissa uncovered it, Stiles felt Lydia stiffen next to him.

"The M.E. said this one wasn't just strangled," Melissa started talking so Stiles didn't get to look over at the redhead. "Whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through a rope and you just kind of keep twisting and—"

Lydia whimpered lightly, cutting Melissa off. Both she and Stiles turned to Lydia and were shocked to see that she was in tears, staring down at the body in horror.

"Lydia, are you okay?" Melissa asked her worriedly; Lydia shook her head. "Oh, my God, did you know him? I'm so sorry, I didn't even think."

She carefully pulled the sheet back over the body.

"I was...I practically grew up with him," Lydia whispered. "Liv and I were at his birthday party the other night. His name is Heath."

Stiles awkwardly patted her back, trying to instill some sort of comfort in her. His own eyes started to sting as he looked back down at the blonde boy on the table. Olivia had told him some of the conversation she and Heath had at his party after he kissed her. He really wished that things didn't turn out this way. He wished that Heath was alive and that he'd be able to drop his asshole friends and feel better. Who made fun of something because they were a virgin anyway? Dicks.

"Okay, we need to call the sheriff because you're a witness," Melissa smiled sadly at Lydia.

Wait, wait, wait...Stiles thought quickly, his mind racing. The guy at the pool was a virgin, he had a purity ring. And Heath was a virgin, too. That couldn't be a coincidence, it was just too major of a detail. And if there were two bodies already, that meant that there was probably another coming.

"Has anyone else been through here tonight?" he asked Melissa urgently. "Any—any other bodies or even anybody missing?"

Lydia and Melissa were understandably confused by his sudden behavior and question.

"Uh, no, no bodies but um..." Melissa hesitated.

"What?"

"Two girls," Melissa told him. "They brought the first one, Caitlin, in for a tox screen and then I overheard that her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared. I mean, they were out in the woods and—"

"Nobody's found her yet?" Stiles cut her off.

"I don't know."

"Okay, the first one—"

"Caitlin," Lydia supplied for him.

"Right," Stiles nodded at her before addressing Melissa again. "Is she here? Is she here right now?"

Melissa nodded. "I think so."

"Okay, where?" Stiles went to leave the room but Melissa quickly stepped in front of him.

"Okay, okay, wait. Just wait a minute."

"I have to talk to her," Stiles insisted impatiently.

"Why?"

"Because I think I know what's happening."

"We weren't doing anything that bad," Caitlin, who was laying in a hospital bed with a sad expression on her face, told Stiles. "I mean, I've camped out there plenty of times."

"Right," Stiles acknowledged calmly. "but why tonight?"

"We wanted to be alone for one night. Emily lives with her mom and I have three roommates," Caitlin scoffed lightly. "Not exactly romantic settings, you know?"

Stiles smiled lightly; he did know. Olivia's aunt was a meteorologist at the local news station, so she was only gone in the morning and early afternoon and Lydia seemed like she was always home, especially during the summer when she was bringing guys home after her dates. It made getting intimate difficult there, so most of the time they hung out at his house since his dad was out at odd hours depending on what shift he took.

"I can relate," Stiles said. "How long have you two been together?"

"Three months."

Stiles nodded in realization. "And you wanted to make it romantic."

Again, Stiles could relate to Caitlin. He had been putting off having sex with Olivia because he wanted to make their first time romantic. Olivia was a virgin and he...was not. He took that swan dive the summer before. It wasn't anything special but he loved Olivia and he wanted her first time to be different than his.

"Yeah, you know, because..."

"Because it was her first time," Stiles finished for her.

Caitlin's face crumpled as tears welled up in her eyes. She turned to him with a pleading expression. "They're gonna find her, right? Aren't they?"

"I hope so," Stiles smiled sadly at her, his heart sinking.

Both Olivia and Argent met up with Scott and Isaac at the school once they were done setting up the ultrasonic emitters. After Scott and Isaac broke into the school to make sure Boyd and Cora would have a way in, Scott joined them.

"Do you see that?" Argent caught Olivia and Scott's attention, his eyes focused on a firefly only a foot or so in front of them.

Olivia furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The fireflies in California weren't bio-luminescent, which meant that they didn't light up. It was weird that now, all of a sudden, there were some in Beacon Hills, of all places.

"Yeah," Scott gave him a strange look. "it's a firefly."

"No, no, I know that but..."

"What?"

"It's, uh, very unusual," Argent mused.

"California fireflies aren't bio-luminescent," Olivia informed Scott. "They don't glow."

Scott looked back at the firefly. "Does that mean something?"

Before Argent could answer, a loud howl broke out into the night. They immediately went into action with Argent getting into his SUV and Olivia and Scott settling themselves by the parked school buses.

"They're with Isaac now," Scott informed her quietly as they waited for Boyd and Cora. "and now they're coming this way."

Scott got ready as Boyd and Cora appeared, bending his knees so that he could lunge at them at a second's notice. However, Argent's SUV appeared and he blared his horn, causing Boyd and Cora to turn away from their direction.

"They're heading toward Derek," Scott said needlessly, as Olivia could still see them. To their shock, instead of plowing toward Derek, they jumped onto the roof. "They're not going through the school. They're going over it."

Olivia, Scott, Argent, Isaac, and Derek quickly grouped together.

"The red doors," Argent said urgently. "someone has to get them open."

Derek nodded, volunteering for the task, and started running back into the school.

"Someone has to drive them inside," Olivia pointed out.

"I'll go," Argent volunteered.

"No," Isaac shook his head. "I'm faster."

As he took off with a door blocker, Argent turned to Scott and Olivia. "You two need to get in there and lead them to the basement."

Olivia and Scott ran into the school side-by-side.

"Does this mean I'm your Robin now?" Olivia asked breathlessly as they turned into the English hallway.

"Nah," Scott shook his head. "Come on, Derek's in the math hallway."

They continued running through the school. The closer they got to the math hallway, the more they could hear the growls coming from Boyd and Cora. It sounded like Derek was already fighting with them while he tried to lead them into the basement.

They rounded the corner into the math hallway just in time. When Derek threw Cora to her feet, Scott and Olivia came to a stop next to him when Boyd looked like was going to fight. Trapped, Boyd and Cora would have no choice but to head for the basement.

That didn't mean that they were going to go willingly.

"Come and get us," Derek dared them.

At once, all three of them opened to the door to the basement and ran down the stairs. They went through the door that separated the rest of the basement from the stairs and ran in, heading over to the boiler room, which took up most of the basement and housed supply rooms.

Olivia couldn't see in the pitch-black boiler room but Derek and Scott could. Olivia made sure to stay out of the way as they did something to prepare for Boyd and Cora's appearance. The two out-of-control werewolves entered not long after and a second later, two fire extinguishers were going off.

While Boyd and Cora screeched and grunted from the ice-cold foam being sprayed over them. Olivia quickly went for the steel door. Soon enough, Derek and Scott were coming out after her, allowing the door to be slammed shut and locked into place.

They stood still, with Derek leaning against the door, as Boyd and Cora pounded on it to try to get out.

"Did that actually just work?" Scott asked, shocked.

Derek nodded at them with a relieved expression on his face. "It worked," as he answered, Scott slowly stepped up to the door, concentrating. "What are you hearing?"

"Heartbeats."

Olivia raised her eyebrows. "Two of them?"

"Actually, there's three of them," Scott's eyes widened.

"Who else could possibly in there?" Olivia hissed at him.

"Maybe a teacher," he shrugged.

Derek shook his head and grabbed the lock, preparing to open the door and run inside.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked him.

"Ollie, you need to come in with me. You and I can keep them calm until the sun comes up," Derek told his cousin, who nodded, and then turned to Scott. "Close the door behind us and keep it shut."

Scott gaped at him like he was nuts. "If you guys go in there alone, you're either gonna kill them or they're gonna kill you. And, if you haven't noticed, Olivia's not exactly like us."

"Okay, well, that's obvious," Olivia sighed.

"She'll be fine," Derek insisted, slowly unlocking the door. "Come on."

As soon as he opened the door and slipped into the boiler room, Olivia quickly followed him. Scott did as Derek told him, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them. Olivia followed Derek all the way to the teacher supply room, where Boyd and Cora were waiting for a teacher to come out.

Derek roared at them and they roared back. Olivia stumbled back as they attacked Derek. He fought back, dodging attacks and making blows of his own. Eventually, he had a hold of both of them at the same time, letting them claw at him.

Seeing Derek being ripped apart like that killed Olivia. It was time to get to work; her gaze went purple as she stormed toward the three werewolves as she sent as much calming waves over to Boyd and Cora. She was trying to anchor them and make them come down from their impulses to kill Derek, or anyone, for that matter.

"Boyd, Cora, stop," she carefully placed a hand on each of their backs. "Control yourselves."

Boyd growled viciously and then so did Cora. If it wasn't for the hold Derek had on both of them, they would have turned and possibly rip Olivia into shreds.

Control, control, control, Olivia repeated in her head like a mantra. You have control. Come on, come on, come on.

As if she wasn't already having a difficult time, the whispers started up, too.

Derek, Derek, Derek. Over and over again, her cousin's name was chanted. Derek, Derek, Derek.

She had to do something.

Gathering all of her strength, a scream came out of her mouth. "BOYD! CORA!"

She was shocked at the scream because she hadn't even been trying to do that but it seemed to work. As if a switch was flicked, Cora and Boyd fell unconscious and dropped to the floor. Derek almost went down with them is it wasn't for the fact that Olivia quickly grabbed him and let him lean his weight on her.

He was very beaten up, with horrendous scratches littered all over his whole body. His torn olive-green shirt was mostly brown from the blood he shed. Luckily, despite the fact that he was completely exhausted, the wounds on his face were starting to heal.

A ray of light coming from the window caught Olivia's attention. "The sun came up," she whispered to Derek. "It's over."

Unable to hold Derek's weight anymore, she allowed him to carefully drop to his knees. She still supported his upper body, letting him lean against her, but thankfully, most of his weight was gone.

Scott and Isaac came running into the boiler room only seconds later.

"There's a teacher. I'll take care of her," Derek breathed heavily, still trying to catch his breath. "Get them out of here."

While Scott and Isaac rushed toward Boyd and Cora, carefully picking them up and carrying them out of the boiler room, Olivia asked Derek, "Are you sure? You can go with them and I'll talk to the teacher."

"It's fine," Derek insisted as she helped him to his feet. "You go get some sleep. You have school in a couple of hours."

"Okay," Olivia was hesitant to leave but she was tired, especially after getting Boyd and Cora to control themselves. Derek seemed pretty insistent anyway, so she wasn't going to argue with him. "Be careful."

"I will," he promised her.

Olivia made sure that Derek was steady before pulling away from him. Just as she stepped out of the boiler room, her phone started ringing. It was Stiles.

"Hello?" Olivia knew how exhausted she sounded.

"Hey," Stiles croaked from the other line. "I need you to come to the hospital."

"Why?" she stiffened nervously. "Is it Lydia? Is she okay? Are you okay?"

"We're both fine, Livvy. We're okay," Stiles assured her; she relaxed, relieved that they were safe. "Just please meet me here and bring Scott."

"Okay, I will. I'll see you soon."

"So, Boyd and Cora might not have killed anyone?"

Olivia heard Scott but she didn't pay much attention as she sat by Heath's body, trying to control her tears. It was too much death in twenty-four hours and she felt like she was going to suffocate from the grief weighing down her chest.

She knew Heath since she was practically born. Now he was gone and Olivia had been so negative about seeing him again. She hadn't wanted to go to that party but she did and she was glad. She was grateful that she got to see him one last time but it also hurt. She didn't know who did this to him but he already had a hard life. He didn't deserve this—no one deserved this.

"You're gonna wish they did," Stiles said solemnly, letting Olivia grip his hand tightly.

"Why?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet, but...The other girl who was out in the woods, Emily? Eventually they're gonna find her," Stiles stated. "She's one of them. Emily, Heath, the guy that Lydia found at the pool. All three were virgins and they're all gonna have the same three injuries...strangled, throat slashed, head bashed in..."

Olivia sniffed and raised her head to look at him in disbelief. "The threefold death?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah."

"So, if these aren't random killings, then what are they?" Scott wondered.

"Sacrifices," Stiles dropped the bomb. "Human sacrifices."

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years

Text

ancient names, part x

ancient names, pt. x

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt x: how large the teeth

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.2k (yes I am a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Gore/violence, forced used of psychotropic drugs to induce hallucinations, spooky scaries (hi October!), implications of sexual assault though nothing specific, and uhhhhhhh liberal use of a shotgun. And you know, the usual things that come with Far Cry 5. Also, proofreader? I hardly know her.

Notes: So this chapter took quite a while to get around (thank you, writer's block), but it's here! And a spooky update, just in time for October, too! Yes, Elliot is hallucinating basically this entire chapter. What's real?? What isn't??? The world may never know.

I pulled a lot of inspiration from a LOT of medias/myths, so if you think you know what it is I would LOVE to hear from you and see if any of it comes through in my writing the way I want it to!

Special thanks to my lovely @starcrier, who has been a true homie throughout my wrestling with this chapter, and all of the lovelies here on tumblr and on AO3 who have sent in their feedback, chatted with me, and just all in all provided me with the support and inspiration I really needed to get this chapter done! I probably sound like a broken record by now, but the fact that I have managed to write this many chapters at all after finishing my first chaptered fic in a VERY long time just a few months ago is insane to me and certainly would not have happened without y'all.

Okay, sappy notes over. Enjoy! Thank y'all so much again!

She is twenty-four, and she cries under the tent of blankets that Joey has made for them.

It feels like she is seventeen, again, in a little fort that they make, but there are key differences: they are in Elliot’s apartment in the city, and Joey’s face is somber, and in the dark Elliot can feel the guttural, gut-wrenching grief sounds shaking her down to her skeleton.

Blanket tents were never for crying in, before. They were never a place to say, between gasping breaths, that she didn’t know why she let a man that she trusted touch her even when she didn’t want him to. How can she? If someone has never experienced the paralyzing fear of being completely out of control, of being helpless, how could it ever make sense?

Elliot knows that it doesn’t. She knows that Joey doesn’t understand completely, not really, and that it hurts her feelings that Elliot flinches when she moves too quickly, and that it stings to say the name of the man she had been dating—that his name tastes sour, like a venom, on her tongue now—and that when Joey tells her that she needs to tell someone what he did, it draws a noise of agony out of her not unlike the way an animal trapped sounds.

She does not sleep that night, or the next night, or the next, and finally when she is tired enough to be worn down she goes to a therapist. She has to, Joey says, or she will never get a job working with the law in Hope County, and Elliot knows she’s right so she does.

There are a lot of things that the therapist says. Trauma hits her the hardest. It blinks, a neon sign above her head, assigned to her so that all will know: that she is Trauma, that she has it, that it sits in her bones and makes a home out of her. Is that all I will ever be? She wonders. Trauma? Is that all that I have, now?

Each day is a series of motions, one after the other: waking up, getting up, standing and walking and breathing and existing, all the time. Each of those motions exhausts her. She files a restraining order; she goes to therapy; she takes the sleep medication but that is all she wants to take because otherwise she will feel too much unlike herself. She finishes her training with a clean bill of health from the doctor and her therapist and she packs her apartment, which hurts worse than maybe anything else, because each book and blanket and trinket packed away is a constant reminder of the person who had been there, who had stolen her safety from her in the very place that she was supposed to always feel safe.

But Hope County is waiting for her, and that is what she will take comfort in: that there is always a place for her, there.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the worst-case scenario. In any other universe, in any other life, she would not have let herself be convinced to approach an enemy unarmed. Not even John’s flippant confidence that she could make a weapon out of anything instilled in her the idea that things would be alright, in the end.

That had been the only thought that could keep her going. Once I get Joey and get the hell out of Dodge, everything will be okay, her brain would say. Get Joey, get out. That’s all there is to it.

But that wasn’t all there was to it, anymore, and she knew that; she knew it while her heart hammered in her chest, while her skin itched and burned where the redhead had touched her like he was dripping in acid, while the blood rushed through her head in a violent tidal wave that made her feel like she was going to puke. They had stuffed a wet cloth into her mouth and hauled her away, out of sight of the Seeds, and now she sat—alone, tied, the cloth spit out onto the floor of the cabin they had left her in.

She was somehow both unaware of how much time was actually passing and fully confident that it had only been a half an hour; if she moved her head too fast (which was to say, at all) the world wobbled and swam around her. Elliot finally relented to burying her face into her knees and closing her eyes to try and stop the swimming nausea.

The door clicked open. She saw Ase, first, and behind her loomed the redhead. The woman was taller up close than Elliot would have thought—probably bridging five foot ten—which made the redhead much taller than she had thought, too.

I could kill her, she thought furiously, through the strange haze that had fallen over her. If I got my hands on her, I could.

“Hello, mor,” Ase said. Elliot saw the warmth blooming in her voice, like an aura welling up out of her, red and searing; the realization that they had certainly dipped the cloth in something that would ultimately be worse than just dying-by-chemical-ingestion hit her hard, sending her heart fluttering in a panic. It was the same brand of panic she had felt when John had found her in the field; wildly out of her control, as if she were being puppeted by something else, something larger than her.

The redhead closed the door behind them, and Ase closed what little distance that remained between the two of them, crouching in front of her. Elliot tried her best to muddle through the panic and muster up some hostility, but it was hard, when it felt like the floor was both sturdy and melting underneath her.

“Fuck you,” Elliot managed out, her mouth feeling like it was full of cotton balls. It didn’t seem as though her words had any effect on the blonde, and for a second she panicked, wondering if she had even said anything at all in the first place or if it had just been in her imagination.

“You left Kian with a few nasty bites, didn’t you?” Ase asked, her voice welling with amusement. “I did not want to stuff a tea-soaked washcloth into your mouth, but we couldn’t have you drawing any more blood.”

Elliot’s gaze slid to the redhead—Kian, she thought venomously—and the movement of her eyeballs felt like they were hitching unsteadily in her skull. So they had drugged her, again. What the fuck was it with cults and drugging people?

The woman reached for her, and instinctively, Elliot flinched. The gesture came a few seconds too late; the drug in her system, whatever it was they had soaked the cloth in, was already starting to wear her down.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Elliot said, as Ase untied the rope around her feet and then her hands, “if you want me to stop biting people.”

“I am not worried,” Ase replied sweetly. “You’re already looking more docile by the minute, mor.”

Elliot swallowed thickly; to do so took concentrated effort. “That isn’t my name.”

“It isn’t a name at all,” the blonde agreed unhelpfully, tossing the ropes to the side and coming to a stand. She smoothed her hands across the dark fabric of her dress, and then extended a long, elegant hand. “Now, do you want to see your friend?”

She felt her heart stutter painfully in her chest at the woman’s words. After having been tricked and toyed with by John, it was strange to think she was finally in the home stretch that she had been trying to reach these last few days; that finally, finally, all of her toil and trouble was bringing her back to Joey.

Briefly, the idea that she could take Joey and run--leave the Seeds to their own devices--fluttered through her brain. Leave the Seeds to clean up this mess on their own. Hopefully, the Resistance had already bolted out of Hope County and were well on their way elsewhere. If she grabbed Joey and got out--if she could get in touch with law enforcement outside of Hope County--

Elliot stared at the Swede's hand and tried to gather her thoughts up in one place. It felt too much like they had become marbles, spilling out of her hands every time she tried to focus. She took a breath and then forced herself to a stand, blatantly ignoring Ase's outstretched hand. Just the act of using her legs to stand felt a little like being on stilts; the world lurched and ground to a watery stop around her, and only confirmed, infuriatingly, what Ase had said--that she was in no shape to bolt, or fight for that matter.

"Come along, then," Ase said pleasantly, taking a few steps away from her. Those few steps made it look as though the ground stretched out for miles between them, and her stomach twisted. The blonde looked at her over her shoulder and smiled.

"Kian, help our friend," she murmured. The redhead stepped forward and reached for her, ever obedient to his master, and Elliot immediately gritted her teeth and took an unsteady step backward.

"Kian, don’t," she bit out, mimicking Ase’s honeyed tone as much as she could. And then, less sweet: "If you touch me again, you'll walk away with a lot more than a bite mark, fuckhead."

Kian flashed a smile that felt like a snake against her skin and gestured for her to go on ahead. "Go on, then."

Just being in his proximity again made her skin crawl; it felt still like his hand was around her throat, the heat of his breath against the shell of her ear. Even in the dizzying haze that had settled over her, she felt her heart leap uneasily into her throat at the memory.

Before she realized what was happening, Elliot's feet had carried her out around Kian and out of the cabin, trailing the beacon that Ase had become, a strange green aura undulating around her. I hate this, she thought, watching the way the trees around her shifted and bled into the night sky.

"How—how long was I in there?" She asked, falling into an uneasy pace next to Ase.

"A few hours," she replied, looking over at her. "Felt shorter?"

Yes, Elliot thought, but the word didn't come to her mouth. The ground slid under her feet; the world around her pulsed in time with her breaths, stretching and cinching in equal parts until she found herself standing in front of another of the cabins. In the distance, the sound of the lake water lapping at the shore echoed over and over in her head.

Ase pushed the door to the cabin open, and inside sat Joey Hudson.

She looked tired, days of exhaustion sitting heavy on her face, a dark shadow of sleeplessness and makeup both ringing her eyes. Joey had always been pretty, and now was no exception; the brunette, though her clothes were dirty and her eyes fluttered with tiredness, was just as lovely as she always was. The sight of her had Elliot’s head and heart swimming with emotion, rising up thick and high in her throat until she thought she might come unglued right there, in front of a psychotic woman.

But with the feeling of being on a seesaw unseating her nonstop, and the desperate, aching reminder of the person she had been missing all along, Elliot didn’t think almost anything about Ase. As far as she was concerned, in that moment, the woman ceased to exist; the same choking feeling that she’d felt when Jerome had said, you can tell me if it’s not okay. A relinquishing. A lifting of her burden. You don’t have to Atlas this thing alone.

“Joey,” Elliot said, the woman’s name coming out of her mouth hoarse and heavy. Joey’s eyes fluttered tiredly and she mustered up the closest thing to a smile.

“Hey, El,” Joey replied. As Elliot crossed the space between them and immediately crouched to kneel in front of her, the smile warmed into something more genuine. In an effort of lightness, the brunette said, “You should have called, I would have cleaned up.”

Elliot felt the soft, wrecked little sound, so close to a sob, more than she heard it; it was a choked almost-laugh, her hands fluttering absently as though unsure of where to land. “I tried,” she managed out, as thinking and speaking became harder, her jaw stiff and unyielding. “I tried, Joey—”

Joey nodded and said, “I know.”

“I will leave you,” Ase said lightly from the door, “but, Elliot? You only have a short time before you become fully open to the influence. I would drink some water.”

The blonde turned, leaving and closing the door behind her, leaving just the two of them there. By then, even while the world swam around her, and she thought she could see little sparks of orange light flying off of Joey, she threw her arms around the brunette and hugged her tightly. It took a minute for her to realize that she was crying--happy, relieved tears, the kind that came suddenly and without warning.

“I was so worried about you,” Elliot murmured between sniffles, pulling back and immediately searching for restraints. There were none. Unlike John Seed’s version of Joey’s captivity, no duct tape covered her mouth, nothing bound her hands together; she was just sitting in there—probably knowing well enough that running would have been a worse idea. “I thought John had you, and then he got me, and then he said he’d pawned you off to Faith, and—”

“Slow down,” Joey laughed, the sound not quite reaching deep enough in the cavity of her chest to be a real one. “You have crazy eyes, El.”

“They gave me something,” she explained, pressing the heel of her palm against her eye. “They did it once before, but it was stronger then.”

Joey handed her the bottle of water she had been nursing, uncapping it for her. “They gave it to me too, once,” she replied. “But not again. Maybe I didn’t give them the response they were looking for. Elliot, these people are--there’s something really wrong here. They keep talking about this thing in the woods, asking if I’ve seen it...”

Elliot took a big swallow of the water, shifting on her knees and then taking another. She felt absolutely parched—the water tasted a little funny, but she wasn’t sure if she trusted her own sense of taste right in that moment anyway. “We have to get out,” she said. Whatever the cult believed in or practiced didn’t matter; what mattered was getting the fuck away from them.

She was certain she could hear Ase’s voice just outside. She lowered her voice, trying her hardest to make sure she was whispering, “We were hoping to—I mean, I was hoping to—the plan went wrong, Joey, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But we can still get out.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Joey asked. “Sheriff Whitehorse, and Burke, and…”

Her voice trailed off absently, and Elliot could feel the brunette’s eyes on her. She hesitated, taking Joey’s hands in her own before she replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then who is ‘we’? Jerome and the others?”

“No, Jo, it’s--”

The door clicked open behind them, echoing once, twice, three times in Elliot’s head before she turned to see Ase looming in the doorway. Long, dark, the sharp angle of her jawline and the high slope of her cheeks making her look more severe, more beautiful than before.

“It is time for you to see,” she said, her voice light. “You will have time with your friend later.”

“What about Faith?” Elliot asked, struggling to her feet. “I want to see that Faith is okay too. That you haven’t—”

“After,” Ase replied, her voice startlingly ironclad.

“Joey comes with me.” She tried again, tried to force her voice to firmness, to assertion. But Ase only smiled, tranquil now despite the hardness of her voice. She crossed the small space between them, looming in Elliot’s vision--eclipsing all other light, taking away all sense of anything else outside of her.

“She stays,” Ase replied, not unkindly. “This is only for you to see.”

She crossed the distance of the cabin between them and reached for Elliot, taking her hand. The contact made Elliot’s skin buzz. She was so tired--so tired of this stretching and pulling of herself, so tired of the way their drugs made everything somehow more than what she could handle and forced her to handle it anyway.

“Joey—”

Elliot turned back to look at the brunette, reaching for her as Ase pulled her along; Joey had pulled herself to a stand and was trying to follow after them, saying something like, it’s okay, I don’t mind coming, really, more practiced at polite coercion than Elliot was. Before Joey could reach the door after them, Elliot saw the broad, tall form of Kian blocking out the doorway, saying something to Joey in Swedish.

“Hey! Leave her alone, you fuck—”

Ase pulled on her hand, hard, yanking her until she was stumbling after her sleek figure. Out in the night, where the air was chilly with an early-Autumn coldness and Elliot could see her breath floating out of her mouth, she almost felt at peace for a second. Everything was still. Incredibly still, the way the surface of a pond was before a stone landed.

One step at a time, she walked her to the edge of the campground. They broke the treeline, hand-in-hand, until they could see Sacred Skies Lake stretched out below them. Elliot craned her neck to try and see the cabin where they were keeping Joey, but the trees blocked most of her vision of the campground.

“Look, there,” Ase said, interrupting her thoughts. She gestured down at the far treeline. When Elliot turned to look, she saw nothing; only darkness in the still woods. Too still, she thought now—still in the way the forest was when a predator had arrived and all the prey had fled.

The lake rippled below them, and then smoothed out, dark and clear as glass. She tried desperately to see--really see, not just what the drugs were making her see, as though she could brute force her way through the barrage of sensations overwhelming her.

And then: “Hey!”

It was a woman’s voice, thrown from somewhere down by the lake. Elliot felt apprehension crawling across her skin. She didn’t know why it was making her nervous, but she strained to listen for it again all the same.

The voice said again, “Hey, Elli!” and she felt her stomach drop. It was her mother’s voice, the sweet Georgia drawl that her mother had always sported, calling to her from the woods. Calling for her.

“Mama?” Elliot managed out, her voice thick and hoarse and bubbling before it even left her mouth. She felt Ase’s eyes on her, inquisitive, but all she could think about was I have to get her out of here, what is she doing here? Why isn’t she with the others?, so louder this time, she went, “Mama, I’m here!”

She took a step forward. It was Ase’s hand that stopped her, a gentle shake of her head. Elliot looked back at the woman for some kind of answer, but her expression was empty of anything that might have been helpful; on it was only the serene, delicate smile of a woman enthralled.

There was a stretch of silence. Something dark shifted in the trees. Something big, rippling leaves and branches as it moved.

And then: “Mama?”

It was her voice.

It called, again, “Mama, I’m here?”, and the pitch and timbre felt the same as her own voice, like she’d shouted into an echoed canyon, but it was wrong. It was all wrong. It sounded like something trying her out, feeling out the way she sounded. Practicing.

The air bubbled around her with some kind of emotion. It popped, pulled tight, stretching over her vision like saran wrap, until it hurt to keep her eyes open, until she thought desperately that all she wanted to do was close her eyes—but she couldn’t. She had to stay awake, stay clear, stay conscious. For herself, for Joey and Boomer and for—

(Whether you like it or not, you and I are on the same side.)

It called, from deep in the treeline beyond the lake, again. “I’m here!” The voice pitched and pulled between words, like whatever it was kept trying to get the exact cadence of her words—trying her out, tasting. Sliding beneath her skin.

“What the fuck is that?” Elliot whispered. Ase smiled serenely at her, and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Look harder,” Ase murmured. “You will see It.”

She took a step forward, her heart thundering in her chest, trying to see beyond the utter stillness of the forest. Nothing moved; nothing breathed in time with her, anymore; where the drumbeat of the world had once felt it was intrinsically tied to her, she was now cut off from it, in a cold, dead space somewhere beyond.

Something in the trees shifted again, and rumbled.

“It has been waiting for you,” Ase murmured, coming up behind Elliot. Her voice was silky, warm, spinning a web around and around her until it made her feel—

Safe.

“What has?” Elliot managed out, swallowing thickly.

“We call it the Father,” she said. “It talks to us, when we are open to it. In voices we recognize, in the voices of our loved ones, so that it does not scare us.”

Her hands were on Elliot’s shoulders, gently squeezing, and she thought she was going to throw up. The trees in the distance warped and bent, swallowed up by something big and dark and humming, the vibration of it melting around her thrumming beneath her skin.

“It tells us, Elliot, that the end of the world is here. Your own Eden’s Gate knows it, do they not?” Ase’s voice was more urgent now; Elliot didn’t have time to think about how she said your own Eden’s Gate before she was plunging on. “They know it. The only difference between us and them is that we serve It, that we help to usher it in. Just as we once took, so do we give back to It—life, cyclic and infinite. You know it. You understood the words, in the flowers, didn’t you?”

My heart aches for you.

Be gentle with me.

I come soon.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she said, the words coming out slick with panic, spilling out of her before she could stop them. Her shoulders scrunched up to her jaw to try and brush Ase’s hands off of her. “You’re insane. You—crazy bitch—”

They were John’s words, not her own, but it was all she could muster up; the woman’s face remained light and serene, turning Elliot to look at her now.

“It waits for you,” she insisted, her voice wobbling around Elliot like the reverb of a bass drum. “I told you that you would always come back to us. I knew when I saw your color.” Her gaze swept over Elliot, almost affectionate. “White, in perfect balance.”

“Stop touching me,” Elliot managed out, pushing Ase’s hands weakly off of her. The strange thrumming persisted under her skin, a violent cacophony as she tried to block out the sound of her own voice beckoning her from the woods. Hey! Mama, I’m here! It said, begging her to follow, begging her to investigate.

Breathing became harder. It felt like she was gulping in lungfuls of water, eeking out whatever oxygen she could, but no matter where she looked to try and get Ase out of her mind she only saw dark trees; bending and curling and pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

“Mor,” Ase said, taking Elliot’s face in her hands like a lover would, “Mother, that’s what you are. For us, to us, while we serve It.”

“Fuck you,” she spit out, but her voice cracked instead, the fear welling up inside of her like a tidal wave. “I’ll—”

Ase shook her head. “I told you, it is a cycle,” she whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “Wherever you go, wherever you run, It will wait for you. It waits for us all, Elliot, and it will have you. As It gives, so too, does it take.”

She opened her mouth to respond when the loud crack of a gunshot echoed just a few feet away. Ase’s head snapped around viciously, her hand still gripping Elliot’s face with a firm, unforgiving hold; even in the dark, even with the drug wreaking havoc on her system, Elliot recognized the filthy backwater whooping of Peggies.

The flash of headlights through the trees suddenly brought everything back to life, the sound roaring in through Elliot’s head like someone had flicked the mute button back off again.

She turned to look back at the lake. Whatever had been lurking there was gone, now. The sound of feet hitting the dirt, shouted words in a foreign language, and the sweeping realization that they might yet still get out of here sent her heart hammering.

Ase pulled on her, hard, until she was stumbling after her. She craned her neck to try and see if she recognized anyone, to see if she could see one familiar face, but where the gunshots were echoing was already far enough that she could only see the brief flicker of headlights.

The door to the cabin opened. Warm light flooded her vision, splintering behind her eyelids as Ase pushed her inside and said, with a sudden and violent amount of poison, “Stay.”

Everything felt like she was swimming in molasses; each movement harder than the last, each breath taking more and more of her concentration. The door slammed shut. In the time it had taken Elliot to will her venom into existence, Ase had released her hand and swept out of the cabin, leaving her alone with Joey. Through the curtains, she could see dark shapes shifting and melting, one into another, and she took in a stuttering breath.

“Are you okay?” Joey asked immediately, reaching for her. “What did she say? When they did it to me, she kept asking if I could see—but it was just trees, out there, to me. El, look at me.”

“We have to get out,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, cracking with panic. “We have to get the fuck out of here, Joey. These people are—so much worse than Eden’s Gate—”

Voices catapulted in volume outside, tires squealing and doors slamming. All of it felt too loud, even with a wall between herself and the violence—like someone had cracked the volume up to one-hundred and then pulled the knob off.

“What the fuck? Are those Peggies?” Joey whispered, glancing out the window. “I do not want to be in the crossfire of two fucking cults. Elliot, when are the others coming? Where are they?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. As the sounds of cacophony increased outside, reminding her that she had made something like a deal with the devil, she took in a deep breath. She didn’t have time to think about the woods, or whatever it was she thought she’d seen in there, or the way that Ase had gripped her face and said, It waits for you.

“Right,” she said, trying to push those thoughts somewhere far down and out of sight. “So, listen, Joey, about the others, they’re—gone.”

Joey stared at her. “Gone?” she repeated. Horror started to creep into her tone. “Like—dead—?”

“No, I mean—they’re gone. Or they should be,” she added quickly, heading towards the window to look out, “I told them to evacuate Hope County when I ran into these crazies the first time.”

“Okay,” the brunette began, slowly, “so… before, when you said we and—that you had a plan…”

“Right,” Elliot replied, her head swimming a little. “Yeah, a plan. Remember when I said that John got me—”

Joey shook her head, not because she didn’t remember but because she already saw where this was going. “Elliot—”

“—and then he told me that he pawned you off to Faith, and—well, Joey,” Elliot managed, “there wasn’t any way I was going to lose one iota of a chance of getting you back.”

“Fuck,” Joey groaned, pressing her hands to her eyes. “Fuck, Elliot, please tell me you didn’t—”

“Well, look, Joey—”

Something rattled the door. It struck Elliot with a note of panic that they had been locked in, and she didn’t know if in that moment she felt worse to know that they had closed them in or if it was a comfort, considering the chaos that was probably ensuing outside.

Worse, something in her head said. It always feels worse, to be trapped.

Someone banged on the door three times, and then through it came a blissfully familiar voice: “Elliot? Are you in there?”

Elliot felt a wave of relief wash over her. She never thought she would see the day where hearing John Seed’s voice would bring her relief, let alone comfort: but it did.

She hurried to the door, rattling the doorknob for good measure. “Yes,” she replied quickly, the words coming out a bit hoarse, so she tried again, louder this time: “Yeah, John, I’m in here. Can you break the window?”

“I’ll do you one better. Get back from the door.”

She did as he said, reaching for Joey just mere seconds before she heard a concussive splintering of wood and metal from the other side of the door, which swung open shortly thereafter. She was not wrong to think that the outside was chaos; she could hear it more clearly now, but almost none of it mattered, because John Seed was standing there with a shotgun in his arms.

“You could have just broken the window open,” Elliot managed out, around the complicated mess of feelings welling up inside of her and her tongue feeling two sizes too big in her mouth. “Idiot.”

“That’s a lot of attitude you’re giving your rescuer,” John replied, cocking the shotgun with an affirmative click, click, the plastic shell clattering onto the front porch of the cabin. “What are you standing around for? Let’s get moving, hellcat.”

“I’m not going with him,” Joey bit out venomously. “That psycho kidnapped me and held me hostage!”

“Oh, Hudson, that was so long ago,” John drawled, glancing over his shoulder at the erupting chaos behind him. “Keep up with the times, won’t you? Elliot and I are partners, now.”

It shouldn’t have felt dirty, hearing John Seed say that to Joey—because they were partners, because he didn’t have to come for her if he had Faith already and he did anyway—but it did. It felt traitorous.

“You fuckhead!” Joey snapped. “If any of our friends are dead, it’s your fault!”

“Okay!” Elliot announced, her voice high and panicked. It felt weird to be the middleman, the one demanding that everyone be calm. “Okay, let’s just—everyone shut the fuck up, okay? I am hours into a fucking drug trip and there is no time to debate the moral ethics of teaming up with a cult leader to escape another cult leader!”

Joey’s jaw clenched as she stared at John, her eyes narrowing, Elliot’s hand still firmly gripped in hers. She looked at Elliot for a moment, and then—

“Fine,” she ground out.

“Great,” John replied.

“Awesome,” Elliot said, taking in a deep breath. “Joey, is there any medicine in the cabinet? We should grab it.” She paused, looking at John for a moment, her gaze sweeping over him. He was unmarked. Unscarred. Splattered with blood, but it didn’t bother her—rather, assured her. “Did you—did you get Faith?”

He watched Joey let go of her hand and cross the room to gather up what few things she had—the half-drank water bottle, some pills from the cabinet in the bathroom that may or may not have expired, Elliot thought—and then he said, “First thing. She’s waiting for us down by the lake.”

“Good,” Elliot murmured, nodding and swallowing thickly. For a second, a strange silence stretched between them, and then John took a few steps into the cabin and he reached for her.

“They didn’t hurt you?” he asked, his voice dropping in volume, his fingers brushing her jaw and tilting her face to get a look at her neck where Kian’s fingers had dug into her skin.

She felt her lashes flutter, the feeling of his fingers skimming the still-tender spots sending strange vibrations rattling through her skull. Her skin didn’t crawl the same way it had when Kian had grabbed her, but heat did bloom in her face, and she felt it crawling all the way down her neck. His gaze darted over her face, lingering on her mouth for a heartbeat in their close proximity.

“Stupid,” she muttered, brushing his hand off. “Of course they didn’t. You should be checking on Ase’s little boy-pet.”

John grinned, the expression drenched in something close to pride. “I should have known.”

“Let’s go.” It was Joey’s voice that interrupted, slicing right through the moment, dousing out the flames Elliot felt in her chest. The brunette grabbed her hand and pulled her through the doorway, out into the cold, black night—a night swelling and vibrating with sound now, no longer ruptured by a stillness that sat like condensation in her lungs but noise, bubbling and sparking in the air like electricity.

Joey stopped, ducking and pulling Elliot back behind the next door cabin when the sound of gunfire pierced through the night. John slipped just ahead of them and said, “Hey, maybe let the guy with the gun go first?”

“Maybe the guy with the gun should be covering our asses instead,” Joey retorted. She pushed the water bottle into Elliot’s free hand and nudged her ahead. “C’mon, get a move on, Elli.”

John glanced back at her, and his expression said, Elli, huh? That’s cute. Elliot glared at him, but there was a lightness in her when she did—it didn’t matter, that infuriating way he cocked his grin at her, like he was equal parts pleased with himself and proud of her ferocity. It didn’t matter, because she could see the hilltop where Ase had shown her the lake, and once they got down they were home free, and John Seed could feel however he wanted to about her.

She had Joey. She would be free to go, and leave the Seeds behind her.

Shouting clipped through the air in the distance, and John glanced back behind them, exhaling through his mouth. No doubt the members of Eden’s Gate that were creating this diversion (and that’s what it was, a diversion) were getting mowed down, obliterated by the organized, methodical killing that the Family was capable of.

Elliot glanced back. Through the gaps in the trees, she could see bodies dropping and crumpling against the ground, pulled and yanked out of trucks that had been driven right up against the clearing. Lambs to the slaughter, she thought hazily, her fingers slipping out of Joey’s hand. What am I, then?

Wherever you go, wherever you run, It will wait for you.

Someone screamed. She saw the light of it, pinching off of them in sharp, rapid bursts of yellow, swimming through the air until disappearing into the night sky above her where the boughs of the trees stretched impossibly far. Each massacre, each bloody slaughter ending life after life, the residue filtering through the air in ghostly wisps of color.

As It gives, so too, does it take.

“El,” John said, taking a step down the hill, “we have to go.”

“Joey?” she asked. “She--”

“On her way down the hill, already.” He reached for her, hand outstretched, ignoring that she seemed to keep losing time. “Let’s go.”

Elliot paused at the top of the hill; her gaze darted, without much thought, to the treeline—it’s nothing, she thought to herself, I just want to check.

Something lurched in the treeline. Big, breaking and snapping trees, and Elliot felt a breath slip out of her, violently departing her lungs.

“John,” she began, uneasily, “I don’t think I can—”

“You’re fine, El, just keep—”

Joey called something from down below them; irritation flickered across John’s expression, and he turned away from her to take another step down the hill and call back, “Yeah, we’re—just sit tight down there, Hudson…”

Elliot took an unsteady step backward, and just as she did, she felt someone grab her arm.

“Not you,” Ase hissed at her, yanking her hard until she stumbled back from the hillside. There was a frantic, wild energy about her now, infernal, bubbling up out of the calm, polished veneer. “Not you, mor, not this time. You get to stay and see what you’ve done.”

Elliot felt cold earth and pine needles beneath palms, prickling through her jeans as she hit the ground. Her stomach lurched; she thought she was going to throw up, but when she turned around to see Ase stalking towards her, a different kind of nausea welled up in her. For the first time in a long time, Elliot felt real, cold fear in her, searing through her like a venom.

She wanted to call for John, or Joey, or anyone—but her jaw felt like it was wrenched tight, and violent sparks of light were rushing off of Ase right in front of her eyes.

“You’re insane,” she managed out unsteadily, the heat in her voice whipped away by the panic inside of her.

“I told you,” Ase said, taking two steps closer to her, “no matter where you go, you will always—”

Something loud and concussive echoed. Elliot heard flesh and sinew tear until the pressure of something greater; the arterial spray of it peppered her vision, splattering across her face until the world looked like it was doused in red film.

Ase’s expression went slack as she sank to her knees in front of Elliot, and in the dark of the night, Elliot could see the blood splatter of the gaping wound in Ase’s stomach just before she slumped forward. She wasn’t dead, yet—as John took a step forward, cocking the shotgun again, Elliot thought about the way Ase’s stomach had been spilling out of her.

“John?” she asked, feeling very small and very far away. A part of her brain was vaguely aware of the sounds of the firefight echoing in the night, of voices shouting closer to her, but she couldn’t think about any of that. All she could think about is the way John was looking at her, the shotgun propped up and ready to fire again, though he didn’t. Not yet.

Something brushed her hand. Elliot looked back and saw Ase’s glassy eyes, her fingers brushing Elliot’s, reaching for her. Blood dripped out of her mouth, and the green light that Elliot had thought she’d seen around her now was beginning to dim. Her lips parted, her gaze flickering absently over her face.

“Do you see?”

Ase interlaced their fingers. The earth below her stretched out, pulling her, sweeping like a neverending conveyor belt that only managed to make her sicker.

Another concussive blast muted out the world. She heard nothing but the ringing in her ears as the back of Ase’s head caved in, their eyes locked and their fingers interlaced, like friends. Like sisters.

“No,” Elliot said, the sound coming out of her like some kind of agonized noise, “no no no—”

Something firm and warm gripped her shoulders. A hand reached up, pushing against her jaw until she was forced to turn her eyes away from Ase’s mouth moving silently.

It was John. Eclipsing her vision, filling it up until there nothing else. John, pulling her to her feet, wiping the blood from her face and saying something—something that she couldn’t hear, her head vibrating with the residue of the shotgun blast that had covered her in gore—pulling her to the hillside, pulling her down.

The world swam and melted around her as John pulled her down the hill, one hand gripping hers and the other steadying her as she stumbled and swayed. She tried to look elsewhere, anywhere that wasn’t John, John who had looked like maybe he was hesitating and then had blown Ase’s head to pieces, but she couldn’t.

At the bottom of the hill, Joey immediately grabbed her away from John. “El? Elli? Are you okay?”

She didn’t know what to say. The feeling of Ase’s fingers reaching for her, interlacing with hers, stuck to her ribs. Elliot thought about the curve of the back of Ase’s head, concave from the shotgun shell, the carmine spray of the woman’s wound coating her face.

“If you want to stand around down here and chit chat, that’s fine.” It was Jacob’s voice. When had Jacob gotten there? Why was he there? She watched him grab Faith’s hand and pull the girl along, heading further down to the lake. “We’re leaving.”

“When—” Elliot began, still dazed, feeling like the world was becoming a watercolor painting around her. “When did Jacob—”

“Drink some water,” Joey said, holding the water bottle out to her, “and we’ll talk about it later, but right now we need to move, Elli.”

She nodded numbly, clutching Joey’s hand as she started to walk, John’s radiating warmth on the other side of her. Elliot glanced at him through the corner of his eyes for any indication that he felt, at all, any emotion about what he’d just done—but he only looked quietly troubled, his fingers brushing hers as they walked.

He’d said to her, grinning slick, yours must surely be the sin of wrath. But she didn’t feel so very wrathful now, Ase’s blood on her face and the world falling apart around her. She watched him, glancing around through the trees, checking the chaos behind them, the slaughterhouse he had led his lambs to.

Not this one. John’s voice, hissing in her ear, as she gasped around lungfuls of water. This one’s not clean.

John’s hands on either side of her face, gripping, grounding her to the earth when she felt like she was going to float away, when it felt like the earth was slipping out from beneath her feet. John, not grimacing or flinching when her nails dug into his arm to keep her present, to keep her anchored.

Which one are you? she thought, staring at him until her eyes burned, until he looked over at her inquisitively. Which John are you?

John, glowing with pride at Joseph’s praise. John, irritably telling her to smoke a cigarette because he knew from one casual conversation that it would relax her. John, his fingers brushing the skin just below her collarbone, saying maybe we’ll tattoo it here, just over your heart. John, calling her a killer.

By the pricking of my thumbs.

#far cry 5 #john seed #john seed x deputy #john seed/ofc #far cry fic #my writing #john seed/original female character #am i clown? yes #does that stop me from posting as much as i would like? also yes

14 notes · View notes

mylittlemarston · 4 years

Note

Hi, I have a request! I’d love to read Arthur x f!reader with #79, 65 and/or 4 from that prompt list. I just think all three of those lines go well together, so I’d be happy with just one of them or all of them ;) Thank you so much, keep up the good work!!

Thank you so much!!!

I’m sorry that this took me so long to write, but I really enjoyed doing it and I even went back and spaced out the speech lines so that it’s (hopefully haha) easier to read !! I really hope you enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur Morgan x female reader

Warnings: gore, violence, swearing, torture, abuse

Summary: After reader goes missing, Arthur starts worrying about her whereabouts, despite being told everything was fine.

word count: 3063

_______________________________________________________________

Those damn O’Driscoll’s

June 16th, 1899

18:17

“All right Jackie. You ready for me to get ya back to mama?” I ask Jack. I took him into Valentine today to let him get out of camp for a while and get him a few things, my treat. Poor kid needs to get out every now and then.

“Yeah! Thanks aunt y/n!” He says with a big smile, hugging my waist. I rest my hand on top of his head, rubbing it gently.

“No problem kiddo. Come on.” I say, getting on top of my horse, cooing at him. I hold my arm out for Jack and pull him up, putting him behind me.

“Ride fast aunt y/n!” He cheers.

“Hold on tight!” I say speeding up.

-------------------------

“Thank you so much, y/n. He really needed it. I appreciate you even offerin’ to take him out. I would’ve but-“

“Abigail, it’s fine.” I say. “Anytime. I love that boy like he’s my own, you know that. If you ever need anyone to watch him, you know I’m here. I needed to get out anyways.” I tell her with a smile. She smiles back and takes Jack by the hand.

“Did you have fun with Miss y/n?” She asks him.

“We had a lot of fun Mama!”

I smile, kicking my foot around in the dirt for a short moment before heading over to Arthur to let him know I’m leaving. “Hey Arthur. I just wanted to say goodbye.” I say, heading into his tent.

“Well where you goin’?” He asks me, walking closer with his brown hair shining gold in the faint evening sun.

“Just gotta do a few things. I’ll be back soon.” I tell him, walking out of the tent. Getting on my horse, I head out of camp.

“Be safe y/n.” John says, guarding the camp.

“I always am John.”

-------------------

I ride for a few minutes when a man on a horse charges into mine, knocking me off and onto the ground. “What the hell! Watch where you’re goin’, you son of a bitch!” I stand up, wiping the dirt off of my knees.

“I wouldn’t talk that way missy.” The man says getting close to me. Before I can do anything, he pulls out a revolver and hits me with it, knocking me unconscious.

June 17th

03:17

“Wake up, bitch!” A man yells, his voice deep and heavy. He kicks my side, forcing me to cough. I cry out in pain, and the man just laughs.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice angry.

“We want Dutch. Your leader. Whatever the hell you call him.” He says. I try to move, but realize I’m tied up with rope and reinforced by heavy chains. They’re as tight as they can go around my wrists and ankles, every subtle movement causing me to wince. He gets closer to me and I try to back up but am greeted by a cold wall.

“You’ll never get a damn word outta me! They’re my family!” I say, anger growing within me at the thought of whoever these people are scarring poor Jack and hurting anyone within the camp. The man doesn’t take no for an answer, and I’m greeted by a hard smack on my cheek. I forget about being tied up and try to lunge at him, the rope digging into my wrists. I feel something wet drip down from them, and when I look back behind me, I see blood on the rope and my wrists cut to shit. Tears start to fall down my cheeks, dripping onto my shirt that has been torn and dirtied. I try to ignore all the pain I feel in my body, but it’s too unbearable.

“Let’s try this again, girlie.” I wince at the pet name, wanting so badly to kill this pile of shit.

“I already told you. I’m not tellin’ you a goddamn thing! You can keep me here forever and I wouldn’t tell you!” I fire back at him, my voice going hoarse from all the yelling. The man gives me a cold smirk before grabbing me by the throat and squeezing down hard on it.

“We’ll just have to do this the hard way then.” He says. “Boys! The boss said we can do what we want to her. Get the knife.” He lets me go, and I cough while trying to catch my breath. Another man walks up to me with a knife while two more men stand on either side of me, the original man who kidnapped me undoing his belt.

“What are you doing?!! Stop! Get away from me!” I thrash around, the rope digging deeper and deeper into my skin as I scream and kick with all my might. Tears are flowing down my face, my throat sore and my head pounding. The man with the knife holds it to my throat, putting a little bit of pressure down onto it. Just enough to draw blood, but not enough to make me bleed out. While trying to pull away, I slam my head against the wall, making everything fade to black. The last thing I saw was the two men standing beside me undressing me.

09:32

I wake up in more pain than I was before; my eye swollen, lips bloody, stomach and legs bruised, and an ache in my lower abdomen. Another man walks up to me, forcing my head up to look at him. His thumb brushes over my lips, the cuts on them burning as he does.

“Good mornin’ sweetheart. Hope you got yourself a full nights rest. We got a lot of fun things to do to ya.”

“Who the fuck are you? Why do you have me here?” My voice is a little hoarse, but nothing I can’t handle.

He flashes a cold smile as he licks his lips greedily. I look away, thoroughly repulsed. “I’m Colm O’Driscoll. I’m guessin’ you know who I am?”

I meet his eyes again, tensing at his name. I make as much distance between us as I can but am not very successful. His face is inches from mine, his hot breath laced with alcohol and tobacco.

“Yes, I do. But why do you have me here? If you’re gonna kill me, just do it already.” He chuckles, stepping back.

“I don’t wanna kill ya, honey. I want Dutch to come find you.” It was my turn to laugh at him.

“Then what. He and the boys kill you? You don’t stand a chance.” I say, laughing a bit harder than before. Colm’s eyes go dark and cold, his face showing pure anger.

“I won’t stand a chance… if they come for you. If they don’t… well…” anger pools inside of me again.

“You hurt anyone in that camp, I’ll find you and kill you myself! Don’t you go anywhere near it!” I smirk at him, realizing what I said. “Oh wait. You can’t. You need me alive to tell you where it is, right? So you wouldn’t kill me anyways.” He gets close to me again, his hand going across my face with a hard slap.

“You’ll tell me where he is. Trust me.” He turns and walks away, grabbing a gun and vanishing into the shadows. I drop my head down, tears stinging my eyes. Maybe he’s right. What if they don’t come for me?

14:48

Arthur’s pov

“What if she’s in trouble, Dutch?” Arthur asks, his voice gruff.

“It’s only been less than a day, Arthur. We’ll wait another day or so and go from there.” Dutch says, lighting a cigar and taking a puff from it. Arthur walks away from him, going to sit on a log by the fire. He rubs his face, his mind only producing thoughts of you and your safety. John joins him on the log, sighing.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up and examining Arthur’s slouched position.

“It’s y/n. I’m really worried about her. What if she’s in danger? With the amount of people after us, anything could’ve happened.” He sits up, staring into the dancing flames.

“She’s strong. You know that. She won’t deal with our bullshit, let alone anyone else’s.” John tells him, chuckling. Arthur chuckles too, loosening up.

“Yeah, you’re right. Dutch said to wait a little longer and if she doesn’t show up, we’ll go find her.” John nods, patting Arthur on the back.

“She will. And if she don’t, I’ll go with you.” He says standing up. Arthur nods, staying on the log and sighing. What if she really isn’t okay…? He asks himself, the anxiety only growing within him.

June 18th

07:53

I can barely lift my head up from yesterday’s torture. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this. I try to swallow, my throat in so much pain from screaming. My eye is even more swollen than before, forcing a wince from me when I try to look up. I lick my dry lips, greeted with the taste of blood. There’s no telling if it’s from my mouth or my nose at this point. I can’t imagine what I must look like; bruised and battered to hell. If only Arthur could see me… he’d kill every one of these monsters. I smile weakly at the thought, even though it hurts. I force my head up, leaning it against the cold stone wall. A heavy door swings open and a silhouette approaches me. “Colm.” I can’t be bothered to try to look at him as I say his name.

“We found the camp. Turns out we didn’t need you after all.” I forget about the pain and take every ounce of energy and might that I have to look at him.

“Don’t you dare…” I say angrily.

“Calm down girlie. We’re only givin’ ‘em a warning. No harm from a warning, right?” He sneers.

“From you, who knows. Anythin’ could happen. They’ll kill you in a heartbeat and you know it.” I say. He chuckles, getting close to my face and caressing my cheek. I try to pull away but can’t.

“Let’s just see how that goes, hm?” He walks away.

“Let’s see…” I say quietly.

19:23

Arthur’s pov

Arthur finished his bowl of Pearson’s stew, setting it down on the ground and walking to his tent.

“Arthur,” Hosea calls out for him. “we need to find her.” He tells him while Arthur rummages through his things, throwing a bag together.

“Yeah we do.” He says, turning to the older man.

“There’s no telling where she is. But we need to look.” Hosea tells Arthur solemnly. Arthur nods. They head out of the tent and into Dutch’s for a game plan.

“What are we gonna do, Dutch? We can’t just sit around while she’s out god-knows-where with god-knows-who, getting hurt or lost or whatever the hell she’s going through.” Arthur says angrily.

“I know, son. We’re leaving first thing after we come up with a plan and get everyone who’s goin’ with us together.” Dutch says, clearly exasperated. Arthur rubs his face again as he tries not to let his emotions get the best of him. He’s truly worried about you. Just the thought of someone ‘having their way with you’ vexed him. How could someone so monstrous harm such a fragile, delicate flower such as you? His mind raced with thoughts as the other men conversed in front of him about what they’re next move will be. Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw rushes into the tent.

“Dutch! It’s those damn O’Driscolls! They’re here!” She whisper-yells.

His face flushed red with rage and he storms out, everyone in camp forming a line with the men in the front. Colm walks up to them, three men of his own behind him with their guns out.

“Van der Linde.” He says, leering.

“O’Driscoll…” Dutch says, his hands moving to his hips. The only sound between them is the wind blowing between the trees, rustling the leaves on them this warm summer night. The smell of firewood and thick atmosphere that made it hard to breathe.

20:37

I woke up peacefully from a painful nap, having only terrible nightmares of what might happen if I never make it out of here. I lift my head up slowly as to not bring myself more pain then I’m already experiencing, but it’s no use. I groan, letting my head gently hit the wall behind me. I hear the door open again. That goddamn dreaded sound of a creak and heavy footsteps. It’ll take a while to not hear them in my mind at night when I close my eyes. I whimper and try to get as far back as I can before my body meets with the wall. The man who entered mumbles under his breath angrily about something, quickly taking the shotgun by the door and practically running out of the room again. Even when I’m not talking, my throat is in agonizing pain. God what I would give for a hot bath right now. Then again, I would give anything just to get the hell out of here. There’s audible yelling outside followed by a couple of gunshots. There's footsteps above me, and I can’t help but hope that Arthur came for me. That they all did. Then I hear it. That familiar gruff voice that only seems to soften when near me.

“Where is she?!”

It’s muffled, but I know that voice from anywhere. I lift my head up too quickly for my liking, groaning at the discomfort. “Arthur…” I try to croak out, but it forms into a whisper. I hear another gunshot from where I heard his voice before, along with heavy footsteps headed towards the door. I sit up straight, tears welling up in my eyes. “Arthur!” I say louder, this time making it audible for him to hear.

He busts the door down, looking at me while he slowly and gently places his gun in his holster. “Y/n…” He says softly, freezing up as he looks at me with sorry eyes and a mournful expression.

“Please… Arthur please get me out of here… I wanna go home…”

He rushes over to me, freeing me from the restraints that held me to the wall.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m gonna getchu outta here. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” He says with his voice as sweet as honey wine and as soft as silk. Oh how I missed it. He picks me up and slings me over his shoulder, retrieving his gun from his holster once more and holding it to his side. He opens the door, walking up the stairs. I grunt at the subtle movements that make my pain even worse. “Shh… You’re alright… You’re with me now.”

I can’t help but start to cry softly at his sweet words. I hold onto his shirt, missing the way his eyes lit up and the faint flush that rose to his cheeks.

Arthur’s pov

How could he not feel sorry for you? How could he not freeze up when he entered the room where you sat with dull eyes and blood on multiple wounds on skin that was once clean and soft. Lips that he so badly wanted to kiss that were now bloodied and chapped. The image of you with Jack while inside of camp and the way you would play with him. The kind, loving smile you would give him when you spotted him across camp that made his day a hundred times better. You had held onto his shirt as you cried onto it, and he had never felt so protective of anything or anyone before. He swung the door that led outside open, looking around for many O’Driscoll’s. Thankfully there weren’t any, thanks to the rest of the gang that had tagged along. Dutch and John rush up to the both of you, John turning his head away when he sees your face.

“Christ… we need to get her back to camp immediately. You two go on ahead. We’ll meet you back there.” Dutch says with eyes locked on you. Eyes of guilt.

----------------back to reader----------------

The ride back to camp was anything but enjoyable. Everything hurt. Arthur laid me down in the medical tent, fetching a bucket of water while I changed into the clothes he brought me from my tent. He came back with the bucket and a rag, smiling at me sadly as I tried to sit myself up on the cot. He brought the bucket next to me, sitting in the chair that was next to the cot. He dunked the rag in the water, squeezing it and gently placing it to my busted lip.

“You can’t keep doing this.” He says after minutes of silence.

“What’s that?” I ask him, a whisper being the loudest I could speak.

“You can’t keep getting yourself into trouble like this. I worried about you so much. You really scared the shit out of me, y/n.”

A weak smile spreads across my lips as I fidget with the blanket laid on top of me. “I’m sorry. But goin’ through all this made me realize… Never mind. Forget I said that.”

Arthur pulls the rag away from my face, laying a gentle hand on my forearm.

“Y/n, what is it? Talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

I smile down at the blanket, watching my fingers play with the soft pelt. “It’s a silly thought, really. I don’t know why I even thought I could say it out loud… it only makes sense in my mind.” He takes a gentle hand and turns my head to look at him. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest and my cheeks feel red. I shift so that my face is just mere inches from his. I put my hand on his cheek, looking deeply into his blue eyes that shine like the ocean on a midsummer day. I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips ever so gently. He very carefully wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into a sweet embrace. I bury my face in his neck, smiling against his skin as he places a gentle kiss on my neck.

/////fin~/////

Sorry if this isn’t lined up either haha I tried

#rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redmeption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #rdr fanfic

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inside-of-a-fangirls-mind · 4 years

Text

The White Wolf’s Dance; Chapter 2

Request; Still none but I needed a little action and angst. Hope you guys enjoy.

Words;2,753

Warnings; Minor Character deaths, Family deaths, Blood and Gore. Trying to save a life. Reader passed out from wounds after a fight.

Pairing; Defintley more Geralt x Reader ish. IF you squint.

Note; So I dunno where I really went with this chapter. Just wanted to give some background info on reader mainly. And show how freaking powerful she is and how much Geralt lowkey cares about her already. Maybe one day Geralt will train her to become even better? Idk.

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{I don’t own any gifs or witcher content!}

Tag List;

@yuminyg @andyl394

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*Chapter 2; The Girl Behind the Mask*

Geralt and Jaskier stood away a bit from you, Jaskier just staring at you the whole time. “She’s a bit peculiar isn’t she?” Jaskier whispered to Geralt as he watched the girl. “Maybe I can get her in a talking mood. It seems she knows loads about us and we know nothing of her.” Before Geralt can say a word Jaskier walks over and pulls a log up to sit by the fire as well.

“Y/N,” He hums softly setting his lute down beside him “That’s your name right?” Jaskier offers a smile to you but you don’t open your eyes. Just giving him a slight nod which he would have missed if he wasn’t staring at you.

“Why’d you try to go after the harpy yourself? Surely you could have just put out a contract on it like anyone else?” He watches you before his attention goes to the fire. You peek an eye open to look at him before a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“I’ve killed many a monster before. Didn’t think one with wings would be too different. That’s where I was wrong. Unlike your friend,” You glance over to where Geralt is pulling up a log to sit at the fire as well. “I haven’t had years of training or been enhanced in any way. I just try my best and out of sear will I make it.” You look across the fire and catch his amber eyes looking back at you for a second before you sigh loudly. “Well, I’m sure you have more questions. Let me hear them. I’ll answer all I see fit.”

“Why’d you start killing monsters?” Geralt’s rough voice shocked you for a second, you didn’t expect a word out of him. His tone didn’t seem truly interested in the answer just trying to make conversation.

“Well the basic sob story, my village was attacked, my people killed. My father went off to fight and never returned. I was the oldest so someone had to take care of the family. Mom couldn’t do it all alone. Soon I was hunting, small animals. But one day something attacked my little sister. Tore her leg clear off, I picked up my first sword that day and I did what I had to, to save my sister. Just luck has it be, life wasn’t easy. Ma got sick, sister healed but couldn’t walk. My brother and I had to provide. I took to towns betting mostly, I’m pretty good at Gwent if I say so. Come across a bit of oren. My brother was the monster hunter. They attacked our village often because of the smell of death each grave gave off. Once ma died I decided I would protect everything I knew too.” You shrug and glance up at the small patch of sky through the tree line.

“And your sister? Where is she now?” Jaskier asked leaning in for the story. He was very interested in the new travel companion, Geralt was never this talkative.

“Dead.” You speak softly, before throwing more sticks on the fire. “Brother was all I had left after she passed last winter. Part of me hoping he’s still alive somehow. Though I know he isn’t.” You stretch over your head before letting out a yawn. You had all but blocked out emotions from your family matters. It had been a while and you were better off on your own anyway. No one to care about or miss.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered before putting a hand on your shoulder. You stare at it for a moment before shrugging it off. He didn’t take it the wrong way, moving his hand back to his lap.

“It’s fine. All the more reason to kill the creatures.” You hum, you had been numb for a while to all this. Not like they would understand anyway. Not like they knew what you really were. Most of the story had been true, though the monsters at first. They weren’t beasts like the one you hunt now. They were humans, mostly men. See what your hired monster killers didn’t know is that you were an elf. You hid it will. Passing off as a sorceress explained your magick and a simple concealing spell hid your ears. Soon you could go back to your home and live out the rest of your days avoiding humans. Just had to stop that harpy first.

“Where’d you learn magick?” Jaskier asked then followed up with “And why’d you use it on me in the first place?“ He wasn’t used to having magic used on him. Geralt knew some but never once used it on him. Yennefer had to heal him but that was a whole didn’t story.

You chuckled at first before looking over at him. “The brotherhood,” You lied easily before smirking. “You weren’t my first choice. I was looking for The Witcher. Though he was suspicious of me, weren’t you?” Your eyes turn to Geralt as you offer a charming smile.

“No normal lady buys free drinks for strangers, especially without speaking first.” His rough voice was almost like music to your ears however you didn’t let it phase you. Sure he was big and handsome. But Witchers have no feelings, they only care about money.

“Well If you hadn’t left the party so soon I would have gladly explained my job to both of you. But Jaskier had other intentions didn’t you?” You smirk looking over the bard before winking.

“Hey! You came on to me! She came on to me Geralt!” Jaskier tries to explain looking to his friend. Although he did play a part in everything. She had made the first move.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts with an eye roll.

You chuckle softly before smirking. “Relax. I just wanted to make sure you got some needed sleep before this journey. Though looking back. You’re not much of a monster hunter are you?”

“Uh..no.” Jaskier looked away before faking a yawn. “I’m going to bed have fun you two.” And with that, he was heading a bit away from the fire to sleep.

Not much was said for a while. Just glances at each other before he spoke. “Just don’t get killed. I want to get paid.” The Witcher grumbled.

“That’s the plan. You don’t get killed either. Don’t wanna be known as the one who got a Witcher killed.” You glance at him through the flame as it flickered quickly before you looked away. Okay, maybe the Witcher was pretty hot but still. You needed to get a grip. Not like the two of you would ride off into the sunset on his horse. Your dream of finding someone died with most of your people.

“Don’t worry.” He stood up before looking down at you and at this moment you felt incredibly small. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch. I know that’s on your mind.”

You don’t say a word as you stand up and look at him in a different light. Before nodding and then glancing at where Jaskier was laying down. “But I’m not sleeping with him.” You smirk before heading to a nearby tree and leaning against it. Suddenly your eyes feel heavy and you’re quickly drifting off into sleep.

Geralt keeps watching overnight. Though he is mostly watching you. The way your flowing H/C locks frame your face. The soft steady beat of your heart. And your willingness to run off and try and slay this monster yourself. For a human you had guts and he couldn’t wait to see you with a sword.

He already thought he was going soft because of Jaskier. Now another human he could grow to care about? What was all this becoming? He did his best not to think of it as he watched the fire dance in the night. A few hours later you woke up and noticed Geralt was gone. You feared he had runoff. You quickly checked your pockets but nothing had been stolen and as you focused your gaze pass the fire you saw Jaskier still laying on the ground sound asleep.

Suddenly a hand on your shoulder made you jump. Quickly another flew to your mouth before your eyes met familiar Amber ones. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” But the smirk on his face said otherwise.

You pulled his hand from your mouth and rolled your eyes. “a simple hello wouldn’t have done that.” You lean back against the tree noticing the softness of the black night sky. “Sun’s rising soon. We best be on the way. Not much further.” You stood up and brushed yourself off.

“Jaskier will wait here with Roach. We will continue on our own.” He spoke before going to wake his friend and tell him.

As soon as you two were getting ready to leave you walked over to Jaskier and placed a hand on his forehead. “Beri- na- os- cin.” You whisper as a soft blue light admits from your hand.

“Geralt…?” Jaskier whispers looking to his friend who didn’t seem alarmed.

“Relax. It’s a spell to hide you and protect you from everything else in this forest. Do not worry though. I’d bet my life on that spell. And have many times.” You pat his cheek roughly before strapping your sword to your hip and bow to your back.

“Stay here Jaskier. And don’t make too much noise. We will be back come nightfall.” Geralt’s rough time warned him before starting up the rocky trail to the mountain top.

You followed behind not saying a word. Just fiddling with the handle on your sword.

“Hope you got silver.” His voice was softer and surprised you.

“Yeah. Forged from my mas old jewelry. Made her myself.” You pat your sword on your hip smiling slightly. You were quite proud of that. But soon nothing stood between you and the top of the mountain but an area of trees.

“Hell, we go. Right past these trees. She’ll be there hopefully asleep.” You whisper as you draw your bow ready for anything. Geralt draws his sword and you both creep out of the trees and up the small trail to the nest. Only when on top do you both realize the mistake you made.

Not only was there the harpy sound asleep but two more. Three in total and they were twice the size of you both. This was going to be a lot harder than you thought. Geralt glances to you before motioning you to creep to one side as he did to the other. Taking out two while they slept making the third easy.

Though what you didn’t expect was a soft wheezing sound from the far side of the Harpy’s nest. And a weak “help.” You crept along to see who or what was making noise and upon laying eyes on your brother he screamed for your help. The Harpy’s shot up just as Gerald was slashing at one of them.

You notched your arrow and fired but the harpy moved out-of-the-way just in time. Soon the two of you were standing in their nest back to back as they circled you. “well this wasn’t planned.” Geralt spoke to you and you nodded. You had to stay focused.

Geralt was soon caught in a slashing fight with a harpy before you could respond. You notched arrow after arrow firing at the two that still flew around you two. That was until your brother cried out as one of the Harpy’s was trying to pick him up in her claws.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU BITCH,” Yout shouted sword now drawn as you ran towards it. Swinging your blade at it with pose and slicing off one of its wings. It recoiled in pain and shrieked at you.

While being distracted the other swooped in and gashed your arm and thigh with its huge claws. You cried out in pain and dropped your sword. Geralt had managed to kick back the harpy before running over to you. “Get out of here kid. I got this.” He growled before knocking the already wounded Harpy’s head off.

“No!” You shouted picking up your sword in your other hand and standing with your back to your bother. “COME AT ME, YOU SORRY BITCHES.” You cried out sword pointed to the sky. Another harpy swooped and you swung at it missing. Tears covered your cheeks as your brother screamed for you to leave him.

Geralt managed to fight one-off giving it a gash on its foot before backing up towards you. “Kid leave now. I don’t get paid if you die, remember?” He yelled at you his amber eyes were something furious now.

You shook your head no and swung your sword again but the Harpy’s claws hit your shoulder with another gash. You cried out in pain and dropped to your knees.

Geralt turned towards you and got surprise-attacked by the one he had wounded. Pinned to the ground as the harpy tried to sink her claws into him. The other heading for your brother again. This was it. Your last few seconds and you had to make it count.

You dropped your sword, “GET OUT OF HERE KID.” Geralt yelled as he tried to hold off the harpy.

You got to your feet and slowly lifted your damaged arm and other. Both palms to the sky as you screamed out “Rost naur!!” And fire shot out of your palms as you screamed. Your hair coming undone and falling against your shoulders. Your eyes shut as you merged the flames into a dome and let them burn the harpy above you to dust. Then with one quick move, you shot your hand out at the one on top of Geralt and screamed “Torth- -o cín faer!!” And ripped the harpy in two.

Blood crashing down and drenching Geralt. He got up and watched as you were about to drop. And was there to catch you as your legs gave out. “Easy now.” He whispered.

You rested against his chest for a moment before a surge of power ran through you and left to the sky in blazing orange light. Your appearance slightly changing. Your eyes turning a soft orange your ears returning to their familiar pointed ones and your body covered in glowing light blue tattoos. You take one look at your hands before up at him.

“I have a job to finish.” You whisper and push out of his arms before he can say a word. You fall to your hands and knees crawling to your brother. Only then does he notice you and your brother’s features.

You’re face stained with tears and blood you take his hand and smile. “I never thought I’d see you again.” You whisper holding it close. Your brother smiles slightly, “Y/N, my Luna. I need you to follow through with our promise.” His voice was rough as he coughed up blood. At this point, you could see one of his arms was missing. His legs ripped opened and a hole in his midsection. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded.

“I love you, Rydel. Say hi to ma, pa, and Nuala for me.” You smile before caressing his face once more than going to your hip and pulling out your dagger and slicing his throat. Your hands going to the blood and drawing a symbol on his forehead before chanting “N- with mín kin in mán a faer.” Then setting your hands on his chest as a shooting solid blue light goes through his body. You fall backward everything going dark as his body burns in soft blue flames, the ashes dancing to the sky.

Geralt quickly grabs you in his arms looking over your wounds before carrying you down the mountain back to Jaskier without a word. Once Jaskier sees the two of you he freaks out. He runs over following the two of you like a lost puppy.

“Y/N!! She’s an elf!?” He nearly shouts as Geralt lays her almost lifeless body on the ground. Jaskier instantly puts a hand to your cheek, he was just starting to get used to you around.

“Doesn’t matter. Get my bag.” He spoke softly as he moved your hair and ripped your shirt off your shoulder, stitching you up the best he could at the moment. At least you wouldn’t bleed to death. But it was going to be a long trip back.

Chapter 3

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opheliacassiopea · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER 9.

TW: Typical case briefing, mature language, mentions of weapons, a stalker, significant injury, car crash, suicide, blood/gore and murder/death. Case based off 4x23.

As soon as you wake up, you notice that the other side of the bed is empty, flicking your gaze to the bathroom, you notice there’s a small note on the table, informing you that Hotch had gotten a call and headed into the station early. Padding over to the shower and stepping in, you let the water wash over you, along with thoughts of the night before; you’d had sex with your boss, you’d had sex with Hotch. Maybe it was a good thing you’d woken up alone this morning, you didn’t regret it, but you knew there would have to be a conversation at some point, Hotch wasn’t one for spontaneous one night stands, or at least that’s what you thought, but then perhaps things were better just left unsaid? Putting on your outfit of the day that consisted of a plain black t-shirt, forest green blazer and plaid trousers that you’d rolled up at the bottom along with your signature jewellery and doc martens, you gathered your things and headed out the door, ready to meet the others and drive to the station.

“Morning, you’re lookin’ good today, Lee” Morgan greets you in his silky voice, smiling as you join him and the others. Some good sex the night before works wonders you thought, not that you told them that of course.

“Morning guys. Are you saying I don’t look good every morning?” you tease, hand to your chest in mock pain.

“Yeah Morgan, that’s no way to compliment a lady” Reid chimes in, taking your side as he moves to greet you, waving with his coffee cup in hand.

“No Hotch this morning? Did you really piss him off that badly, huh?” Prentiss asks you, raising her eyebrows as JJ laughs beside her, their hands intertwined as normal.

“No, he left a note saying he’d gotten a call and headed into the station early”. You say as you shrug your shoulders, not wanting to seem any more bothered than normal. Making your way to the SUV’s you join in with the small talk, listening to Reid’s stream of facts and statistics, which are shortly drowned out by the noise of the local radio and before you know it, you’re hopping out of the driver's seat as you arrive at the station.

The four others walk ahead of you and as you move to follow them, Rossi pulls you to the side. “Everything okay, Cara?”. The use of the Italian word for ‘dear’ showing that his concern was genuine and you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d noticed Hotch’s strange behaviour yesterday and somehow knew what happened between the two of you last night and you began to panic slightly, but played it off as best you could.

“Sì. I’m okay, everything’s fine, Zio”. You tell him, reassuring him with yet more smatterings of Italian, something that the two of you often did, both of you finding humour in the fact that you chose to call him ‘uncle’ rather than addressing him as his true relation to you; it was incredibly ironic, not that the team knew that of course. Making your way inside of the station a few moments later, you thought over what you’d said. You genuinely did feel okay, you didn't regret your actions last night with Hotch at all, you didn’t feel awkward about it and part of you knew it was because he was more than likely never going to be the one to bring it up, and quite honestly you knew you wouldn’t either.

As soon as you walk in, accompanied by Rossi, you feel Hotch’s eyes on you and see a flash of concern in his eyes. “Everything okay?” he questions, moving toward you, not noticing the items in his hands.

Nodding in response you reply. “Yeah of course” and you can’t help but to smile at him and you’re pleased to see him return it ever so slightly, not wanting to seem any different than normal in front of the team.

“Good. Before we make a start these are for you, figured you didn’t have the chance to get breakfast”. He speaks to you, handing across a freshly made tea and a raspberry muffin and you force yourself to ignore the watchful eyes of the team that are very much focused on the current interaction between the two of you. He doesn’t give you the chance to thank him as he turns to the rest of the team. “Let's get started, focus on where we left off yesterday” he announces, his instructions taking most of the focus away from you, but you still feel a few lingering stares.

“You heard the man, let’s get going” you protest, eventually following after them.

Sitting in one of the chairs in the conference room, you flip open one of yesterday’s case files, taking a bite out of the muffin that Hotch had gotten for you, just as Prentiss drops into the chair next to you. “Look at Hotch buying you breakfast, what’s that about?” she asks quietly, not even bothering to hide the curiosity in her voice, nor the slight hint of a smirk.

Turning to face her, you keep your face and tone of voice as natural as possible. “No idea, maybe he wants to make up for being a dick yesterday”. You rattle off easily, feigning genuine confusion and it clearly pays off as she murmurs her agreement and asks you about the current file you were working on. If only you know how he really made up for it you thought, but pushed the thought aside, you needed to be professional, thoughts of Hotch could wait till later.

After much back and forth, the team is able to narrow down that the accident happened between a five month window of September 2007 and January 2008 and Hotch tasks you and Reid with visiting one of the rehabilitation facilities to speak with a Doctor Ridgeway, who would hopefully be able to offer more information. The drive there is easy, accompanied by Reid who fills the time by spewing facts about local radio stations which was prompted by you turning the radio down as you focused on the conversation at hand.

“Hey, I just thought, this is the first time we’ve been partnered together since you’ve gotten your doctorate. I’d always said that you were as smart as me”.

Looking over to him in the passenger seat, you smile at him before looking back at the road. “Well I suppose it is, but you’ve still got me beat in terms of the actual amount of doctorates,

and you speak more languages than I do, not to mention your ridiculously high IQ. So I’m afraid you’d be wrong there my good Doctor”. These conversations were not unusual for the two of you, it was nice to talk to somebody about your academic achievements without sounding like you were boasting and Reid understood that more than most.

“Technically I understand more languages than you, but I think being fluent in three is marginally more impressive”. He replies, not wanting you to put yourself down in light of his qualifications and you smile at this thoughtfulness. Carrying on the conversation for another five minutes or so, you quickly arrive at the facility and Reid introduces you both to the receptionist who takes you to find Dr Ridgeway.

She finds him in his office and he greets you immediately. “I spoke to Agent Jareau on the phone regarding some information you might find useful”. He rises and shakes your hand, whilst Reid waves from slightly behind you. “Dr Ridgeway”.

“Doctors Selwyn and Reid. Thanks for calling, what do you think you have for us?”. You ask the man, ready to get straight to the point, you knew the clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before there was another victim.

“He left our facility around four months ago, he didn’t make the kind of progress we’d initially hoped for”.

Reid moves forward, craning his neck to see the file in Dr Ridgeway’s hand. “Progress physically?”

Not looking up from the file, he responds with a shake of his head. “No, no. Physically he made massive improvements. Psychologically, less so.” he informs you, regret tainting his voice.

“So he had anger issues? Did he ever talk about revenge, getting back at the person who caused the accident?” you question, pressing for more information.

“We have the patients here write and draw daily, we find small tasks help to strengthen their hands. Here, take a look for yourself.” He holds out a file and Reid is the one to take it, scanning over the contents at a frightening speed.

“Doctor, forgive me, but surely you could tell that this man was disturbed, these drawings are incredibly detailed, incredibly angry. He’s basically drawn out the perfect murder fantasy” Reid states, eyes flicking up and down from the folder.

“Grief takes on many disturbing forms, surely you two would know that more than most in your line of work”.

Ignoring him, Reid passes you a few of the papers in the folder. “Paisley, look, all drawings are of different red cars, it’s like he couldn’t decide which one”. It’s at this point that the doctor informs you that when the patient's memory came back, it was fluid, meaning that it was constantly changing and you were able to decide that as his mind tried to work out the truth of what had happened, his targets constantly changed. After getting confirmation of the patient's name and date of the accident, the two of you headed back to the station.

“September 28th, 2007”. Is the first thing that leaves Reid’s mouth upon your arrival back at the police station as you walk into the conference room.

JJ looks at him with confusion “What?”

Saving her from a long winded explanation from Reid, you take over. “It’s the date that Ian and Shelia Coakley crashed on their way home from Napa Valley, heading Eastbound on Route Seven at around midnight. It appears they were run off another road, flipping numerous times with no witnesses present”. You explain to her and the rest of the team.

“His wife was in the passenger seat and later died at the scene. Coakley survived and was left with a spinal cord related injury and unable to walk again”. Reid takes over, finishing your point with a flourish.

Rossi finishes reading over the personal file of Ian Coakley first and with a heavy sigh places the file on the table, informing you all that Coakley was in fact a former mechanic in the armed guard. Joining you all at the table Detective Fulbert asks. “Is there any mention of a red car at all?”.

With a shake of his head Hotch is the one to reply “No. Coakley suffered from severe memory loss after the accident” not looking up from the file until Reid offers a fact about memory loss.

“Short-term retrograde amnesia is common after a significant accident or injury”.

Morgan chuckles as he speaks. “Yeah, think it’s safe to say he remembers it now though” and you stifle a laugh as you saw the unimpressed look Hotch was giving him.

“Do we have an address for Coakley?” Hotch asks, tone strict and stern.

Prentiss is the one to answer him “Garcia is working on it now” and just as she finishes her sentence, the unrecognisable voice of Penelope Garcia rattles through the speaker.

“The house the Coakley’s bought was foreclosed ten months after the accident, and I’ve tried to follow a paper trail, only there isn’t one” she informs you, her chirpy voice unwavering even when delivering bad news. “He cashed some insurance checks during a stay at a halfway house, but after that, zilch, nada, nothing”.

“Any relatives he could possibly be staying with?” Rossi asks, but sadly there’s nobody in the area for him to go to, meaning he’s either squatting, or staying off the radar and paying in cash to live somewhere.

“PG, what about his truck, what can you tell us about that?” you ask her, hoping this will lead you somewhere.

“Ah, there’s my pretty little Dr Paisley!” she exclaims and you laugh, trust Garcia to improve your mood when she’s miles and miles away. “He owns a 79’ Dodge D100, bought it used ten years ago”.

“He would’ve needed to rebuild it due to the extensive damage, several times now” Emily chimes in. “Can you work with that? Parts for such an old truck can’t be easy to come by”. You didn’t know a huge deal about cars, but you did know that much and nod along in agreement.

There’s quiet as you hear her furiously typing away at her computer. “I’m checking auto suppliers in the area, and yes! He’s having the parts shipped and delivered to an address through the use of a company called ‘Syd’s Auto”.

“Alright babygirl, but you know I need you to give me an address”.

“Derek Morgan, must you make me do all the work? Address is a house in Southwest Bend. Forwarded it to all your deceives, Garcia out.” She clicks off and you all spring into action, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss head to the address in hopes that they can find Coakley before he sets out on another spree.

Back at the station, you get a call from Prentiss and put her on speaker. “Coakley’s gone, but local police are setting up a roadblock and a perimeter so we’ll be ready for him if he comes back this way”. She tells you and you throw down the papers you had in your hand, once again not realising that Hotch was behind you.

“What else do you have?” He asks, standing behind your shoulder.

You can hear Prentiss hand the phone over to Morgan who begins to explain. “We’ve got grills from a vehicle with blood still on them, and he’s been switching out plates on his truck. There are stacks of fake plates so we’ll need to revise the description of the truck that we put out to the media”.

Rossi’s voice comes through the phone once Morgan’s finished. “We’ve got hundreds of photos of the first two victims and there’s one photo we don’t recognize. It could be his next victim”.

You promptly hang up, leaving them to comb through the rest of the house and contact Garcia to run the registration plate of the man in the latest photos. Picking up the file that you had thrown down in annoyance, you turn to Hotch. “I’ll ask JJ to make a start on amending the description” you tell him and he nods in response and you can tell the case is beginning to take its toll. He’s not an overly conversational person at the best of times, but he’s even more reserved when the end of a case is so close. Garcia is eventually able to track down the man in the photos as Garret Burke and to nobody’s surprise, he owns a red convertible. Prentiss stayed back at the unsub’s house, still combing through evidence whilst JJ went to lend a hand. Meanwhile Morgan and Rossi raced to Garret Burke’s home address and managed to find out from his wife that he was on a bike ride with the local biking club and is able to give you the exact route: Prineville Reservoir Loop, which was about fifty miles from the house.

Practically throwing yourself into the SUV with Hotch and Detective Fulbert, your mind goes into overdrive thinking of all the possible outcomes of the chase, but you’re abruptly snapped out of it as Hotch makes a phone call to Rossi and Morgan, informing them of your location. “We’re heading South on Twenty. Hopefully we can hit Route Twenty-six before they pass by us. Give me an update”.

It’s Rossi who updates him of their whereabouts. “We’re on Route Twenty-Six, headed toward the reservoir. I think we’re halfway around the loop” Rossi tells you hurriedly through the phone. So far there’s no sign of him”.

Minutes after disconnecting the call form Rossi, Prentiss and JJ call through. “The car Coakley was driving on the night of the accident, was his wife’s” Prentiss informs you all.

“Are you sure?” Hotch questions her and she utters her certainty as the detective voices his confusion.

“So what does this mean?”

“I-”

“Maybe there wasn’t another car. Hotch, think about it.” Cutting him off, you continue to explain, making a mental note to apologize for it at some point later. “He keeps changing his targets, the make and model of the cars keep changing.

”Quickly catching your train of thought, Prentiss continues. “Because he knows they aren't right”.

Shifting in your seat you remember what the doctor at the rehab facility had told you. “His doctor called it ‘fluid memory’, but what if it was more than that?” you question out loud.

“So if it’s a single car accident, who’s fault was it?” the detective voices his question.

You and Hotch answer at the same time “Coakley” and you let him continue.

“He was coming back from Napa Valley and must have been driving too fast, going way over the speed limit, or fell asleep at the wheel, that’s a long drive”. He finishes and you can hear Prentiss agreeing over the phone.

Taking over, you continue to let your thoughts flow verbally. “ The truth of what happened will have proven too much for him to handle, he’s overwhelmed with guilt. He’s projecting blame” you state, looking across to Hotch for some reassurance in your ideas.

He senses your slight uncertainty in your theory due to the speed in which you made the connection, but he didn’t doubt you for a second. “ A red convertible did cause the accident, only he was driving it”. The call is disconnected and the rest of the drive is tense, the speed at which you’re travelling making things seem all the more on edge and you know the atmosphere will be the same in the other SUV. Rounding the corner of a small dirt path, all three of you spot the unsub’s truck accelerating toward the group of cyclists. Putting his foot to the floor, Hotch accelerates, driving forward at an even faster pace, shouting for you and Detective Fulbert to hold on and brace yourselves. Before you have time to even think about it, the SUV is colliding with the truck, more specifically your side of the SUV, most of the severe impact missing where you sat in the passenger seat. The force of the collision drives the two vehicles to a stop in some bushes slightly further onward and you can hear the two men in the car with you checking to see if you were okay as your door had taken some impact and was now forced shut and pain radiated through your side

.“Pais, Paisley, are you okay?” Hotch repeats over and over.

“Doc, are you hurt?” Fulbert asks you as he moves to help you from the backseat on the opposite side of the vehicle.

“I’m fine, just go. Go!” you insist, you could hear the revving of the unsub’s engine. He was still trying to find a way out and you knew the team needed to either talk him down, or put an end to what he was trying to do. They eventually exit the car and you can hear them coaxing Coakley down, trying to deescalate the situation as the other SUV arrives.

“You can’t keep blaming others for what you did, Coakley” you hear the detective tell him and then you’re not sure what happens, all you hear is three shots being fired and the truck’s engine revving before driving away and the SUV with Morgan and Rossi following, Hotch shouting at them to follow and not worry about the scene before them.

Running to your side of the SUV he speaks to you through the now shattered window. “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you out of here and to hospital”. He tells you and you wearily nod in agreement, your head was throbbing and the entirety of your side and one shoulder hurt like hell, but you doubted you had anything majorly wrong. Hotch accompanied you to the hospital, refusing to update you on the case until you’d been seen and properly treated. Luckily you hadn’t sustained any major injuries and were just given instructions on how to clean the decent sized cut on your right cheek that came dangerously close to the faint scars that laid there since you wouldn’t let anybody touch it. Eventually Hotch would ask you why, he saw how rigid your body became as a nurse moved to clean your face, you’d thrown yourself at killers, chased the most hardened criminals and yet you wouldn’t let somebody clean your face. He knew better than to ask, and decided to put it to the back of his mind, for now at least.

The journey back to the station was a quiet one, you didn’t realise how tired you were until your head rested on the side of the window and soon enough you were back in the station, helping take down all the resources in the conference room as Detective Fulbert spoke from the doorway behind you. “I don’t know about you, but that’s not how I thought this one would end”.

You’d been informed that the unsub had finally come to the realisation that he had in fact been the one driving when his wife was killed, and couldn’t cope with the truth, the guilt overwhelming him and drove off the edge of a cliff before anybody had the chance to do anything. It was a sad ending to the case and definitely not the outcome anybody had hoped for. “No, but at the end of the day he made a choice and unfortunately there’s nothing we can do now”.

“How is it that you’re so young and yet you act so far beyond your years?”. He questions light-heartedly.

“This job forces you to grow up fast, you get used to it.”. You bid him goodbye, promising that if you’re ever in Bend again, you’d take him up on his offer of going for a drink, you knew the chances were unlikely, so you didn’t see the harm in agreeing. As you finish packing up the last few boxes, you see JJ talking to the man that thought he caused the unsub’s accident, thus starting the killings, but now the case was over, the team knew this wasn’t true and he deserved to know that he had nothing to do with what had happened.

Linking your arm with hers as you exit the station you tell her “I saw what you did, for Mr Bonner. He’ll appreciate that for the rest of his life, the guilt was eating him alive and you put a stop to that. Now let’s go home. Speaking of home, when are we going to see yours and Emily’s new place?” you ask her, choosing to ignore your slight discomfort and focus on the positives and you can’t help but feel a slight weight lift from your chest as JJ rambles excitedly about their new apartment, promising to have you all over when they’ve decorated and you soon find yourselves ready to fly home.

As soon as you board the jet, you’re immediately smothered in a hug from Morgan. “Pretty girl, you good?” he asks you, a serious tone to his voice, any hint of a joke gone.

Wincing slightly, still aching from the crash you pull away. “All good, hot stuff, just tired”. You tell him, waving off everybody’s concerns as you slide into your usual chair, wanting nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. Eventually a quiet calm settles over the jet and getting comfortable in your seat, you put your headphones in and let the soothing music lull you into a gentle slumber, unaware of one particular unit chief watching protectively over your sleeping form, thinking back to the last night in the hotel room. ‘I don’t tell the team everything you know; got to keep some of my mysterious nature’ and so he began to wonder what mysteries you could possibly be hiding.

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