#fucking someone with a gun is neither safe nor sane

[foxshaped]

I'm not sure some of the people on kink tumblr have ever heard of safe, sane, consensual. Or aftercare.

[imagining-supernatural]

The Backstory

Part 15 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You and Sebastian sit down and you finally tell him about your past

Word Count: 1,757

HGTV was playing in the background, but neither you nor Seb were paying attention. You were curled together in the recliner with a heavy blanket over your legs. He still had a few hours before he had to head out to his interview with Jimmy Fallon, so this was the best time to tell him about your past. Enough time that he could process everything and not be too burdened during his interview, but not enough time that the two of you would drag out every damn detail. There were parts that you wouldn’t tell him, but most of it, you wanted him to know.

You just had to figure out how to start.

“You grew up in Wyoming, right?” He prompted, as if sensing that you were stuck before you had even begun.

“Yeah.” You sighed heavily, shoring up your courage. “It was just me, my sister, and my parents. If I have any cousins or aunts, I don’t know about them. My, uh, my dad was… you know what? I’m just gonna say everything really quick to get it all out there. I think that’ll be easier.”

He nodded, rubbing his hand along your spine. You tucked your head into his neck, hoping that the lack of eye contact would make it even easier.

“Alright. Ever since I can remember, my dad has been an alcoholic. Abusive too, but I didn’t realize until later. He took out most of it on my mom and sister, since she was older. But then, uh, my sister, Eliza, moved out when she turned sixteen and it was just me and my mom.”

“How old were you?” he asked in a pained whisper.

“Eight. She’s eight years older than me. He died when our house caught fire when I was sixteen. Cigarette left burning. His fault.” Your voice broke on the last two words, but you powered through. “Luckily mom was in lockup for the night for drunk and disorderly or something and I was staying with Jaz. That was… it’s fucked up to say, but that was the best day of my life.”

His hand moved up your back and settled on the back of your head, holding you closer. That simple action drew a wave of tears to your eyes that had you blinking quickly, trying to hold them back. God, you didn’t deserve him.

Remembering the truth of that day… you really didn’t deserve him.

“Um, so that left me and my mom. She… She was an alcoholic too, but more of a neglectful alcoholic. Thank god for Jasmin and her family. I don’t know what I would have done without them. They kept me alive and sane until I was old enough to get a job and basically support myself a few months after my dad died. I thought it was over, then. Up until then, my family was just that trash family that other people in town gossiped about to feel better about themselves. I got some pitying looks, and that was it.

“Then my sister went and got arrested. Everyone expected me to take in her two sons when she was convicted and sentenced to life in prison.”

“What did she do?”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “Fucking murdered her boyfriend. Abused her kids. Assaulted a police officer. She… she didn’t have a friend like Jaz. Or a support system like Jaz’s family. But that’s still no excuse. None at all. They’re her kids. She knew what it was like to grow up being a punching bag. She…” In an effort to control your budding anger, you took a deep breath and turned your face into Seb’s neck for a second, letting his familiar scent calm you.

“So when she was sentenced to twenty-five to life, the entire town assumed I would adopt the kids. I mean, they were my nephews and all, but everyone was acting like it was my responsibility to raise them. But… But I was barely eighteen. I couldn’t even take care of myself and I didn’t want to put them in a position where I—where I might snap like she did. It wasn’t fair to them. And they were young enough that they were adopted fairly quickly and now they’re with some family down in Georgia growing up with cute little Southern accents. Their parents send me letters sometimes. Pictures too. The boys are happy. And I know I made the right decision, but if you listen to what everyone else said, then you’d start thinking I was a selfish bitch who didn’t respect family values as if they’d all forgotten the kind of values my family taught me. I-I-I know I made the right choice. They’re happy. So fuck what everyone else thought.”

“People make far too many judgments based on far too few facts,” Sebastian whispered against your hair.

“And far too many assumptions,” you mumbled.

He held you in silence for a few minutes, just stroking your hair.

“You know what the worst thing someone said to me was?” You asked a bit later, after your heartbeat had calmed down from its angry beating. “When word got out that I had cancer, someone from my hometown told me that God gave me cancer as punishment for not adopting my nephews. For thinking someone else could raise them better than their own blood. Years later and they still couldn’t let it go.”

Not that they were entirely wrong. Your cancer might have been punishment from God, but not because you didn’t adopt your nephews. There were far worse things you’d done.

“That’s—” He couldn’t even find a word to describe how that made him felt. And you completely understood.

“Rude? Horribly offensive? Fucking ignorant? Welcome to small town Wyoming where the bible rules and if you say you’ve never shot a gun you’ll be shunned until you do.”

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetie, that’s… God that’s horrible.”

“People suck,” you said simply. “I just… I wanted you to know. You know, in case this shit hits the news or whatever. And also… Also, I just wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you. Regardless.”

He slid his hand to your chin and tilted your head up until you were falling into his blue eyes. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank for telling me; trusting me.”

“Thank you for being someone who doesn’t suck,” you responded in a weak effort to lighten the mood.

You only had a second to register his soft smile before he leaned forward and brushed his lips against your cheek. “I always knew you were strong. I mean, to go through cancer treatment like this… but now?” His thumb rubbed against your cheek, nearly touching your lips. Your eyes closed at his touch, face leaning into his palm. “Sweetheart, I think you’re the strongest person I think I’ve ever met.”

Just as you were about to argue his statement, he leaned forward again. This time his lips brushed just at the corner of your mouth and lingered, wiping away every single word you’d ever known. He finally pulled away a hairsbreadth and the air between you two was super-charged. All it would take was a tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him properly.

But you couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t.

After a moment more, he drew back, pausing only to press his lips to your forehead briefly. “So, your sister and mom are still alive?”

“No.” Your voice was surprisingly strong. Barely wavering. “My sister’s still in prison, but my mom died a few months after I turned sixteen. Another reason the town seems to hate me. They think if I’d stuck around more, she wouldn’t have killed herself but that wasn’t my job. I was a kid. It wasn’t my job to keep my parent alive.”

“Killed herself?”

“Drunk herself to death, I guess.” It was an explanation you’d said many times before. One that wasn’t entirely accurate, but the closest to the truth you could get. “Suicide wasn’t the official cause of death, but I knew. She drunk too much. I think she was shooting up with something, too. They called it an accidental overdose. Said if I’d been there, I might have been able to call 911 and save her. But they didn’t know us. They didn’t know what happened in that house. I… I don’t blame her. She didn’t want to be saved. She let him break her. My sister became him.”

“And you? What do you think you did?”

“I think… I think… I don’t know. I made a lot of bad decisions in college, but that’s just college. I think I would have turned out differently if I hadn’t spent so much time with Jaz’s family. But even then… I don’t know, Seb. I just know that I never wanted to make anyone feel like I did. It took me my entire college career with campus therapists to work through shit. And there’s some things I haven’t told anyone. And I’m going to be working through everything for the rest of my life. I know that. I think I just became more aware. Aware what kind of affect my words might have on someone else. I’m cautious about everything. Maybe that’s why I went into data security. I didn’t have anyone, really, to protect me.” By this point you’d practically forgotten you weren’t alone. You were just musing aloud. Putting together parts of your therapy sessions with your own emotions.

It was something you’d never done.

Even in therapy, you hadn’t opened up all the way.

But here? With someone you’d met a month ago?

Here, you felt safe. Loved, even.

“What about Jasmin?”

“She tried. But her family was amazing. She just couldn’t understand my family. She was always sympathetic, but never really knew how to help. And, honestly, I wouldn’t ever want her to know how to help. I never want her to be in the position to understand.”

“I guess I get that.”

“’Sides, this way I had her to pull me out. She pushed me to move on. Helped me figure out how to… not become them.”

Silence, once again, fell. Even telling the barest bones of your past had exhausted you and you couldn’t move from Seb’s lap even if you wanted to.

It was nearly a half hour later when he spoke in a soft voice, his words drawing a soft laugh from you. “At least I don’t have to go through the meet the parents shtick.”

Think that’s all of it? The worst of it? 

CHAPTER 16: THE FIRST PAPARAZZI AMBUSH

[areiton]

broken mirror

Author Note: This is a companion piece to reflections. It can standalone, but I like them together. 

~*~ 

It happens slow, and all at once.

Peter sees it first, but then he always saw it--the future was clear to him as he held Stiles by the wrist and offered him the bite.

Sometimes he thinks about how things might have changed, how Stiles might have changed, if he had ignored Stiles’ tremulous no, and bitten him as his instincts screamed.

But that--that is neither here nor there.

Christopher mentions it after the nogitsune--after Allison and Victoria and finding refuge in Peter’s arms. They come home, and he isn’t whole, but none of them are whole and he is better, as best as any can expect.

He mentions it, then. A month or so after their return, when they’re leaving the pack meeting, his eyes lingering on Stiles near the wall, the almost blank expression on the boy’s face.

“He isn’t ok,” Christopher says, later that night, while Peter prepares their dinner.

“Did you think he would be?” Peter asks, genuinely curious.

“I hoped,” Chris admits, and Peter feels his gut twist, because he had hoped, too.

He finishes their dinner, and sits next to his lover, the unlikeliest of men for him to love, and says, “Do you know what I was, in Talia’s pack?”

Chris shakes his head, but it’s hesitant and Peter smiles, sardonically. This is one of the many things they don’t talk about--Allison, Victoria, Peter’s dead wife and pup, the fire, Kate, the dead they both bear the weight of--but. Still.

“I was the Left,” he says. “The one who buried the bodies and kept the secrets and did anything to keep our pack safe. And I did, Christopher. Our pack was safe, and strong. I was drenched in blood and the sins my sister couldn’t commit, but our pack was safe and strong. And that was enough.”

Christopher is staring at him, but there isn’t pity there. There isn’t shock. There is sorrow, and understanding and for the first time, Peter wonders if Chris might understand.

If he was the one cleaning up Gerard’s messes and keeping them from growing.

He shuts down that line of thought, because he loves Christopher, against all odds and sense.

“Stiles--he’s Scott’s Left Hand?” Christopher asks, now, his voice shaking.

“Since before Scott was an alpha,” Peter answers, gently. “He’s a natural, better even than I was.”

“But--Peter--” he breaks off, and Peter sighs, sets aside the dinner neither are eating and draws Christopher into his arms.

“We can’t do anything yet, love.��� Peter murmurs. “He isn’t ready. Not yet.”

~*~

It takes time. Watching the shadows in his eyes gather, watching the way he held himself brittle and apart. Christopher tries, bringing him coffee and books when he’s deep in research, food and forcing him to sleep, dragging him to Peter’s for dinner and company when his father worked long hours, working on the jeep when it inevitably broke down.

Still.

For all that Christopher tried, there was very little that could be done.

Stiles walked a path marked with shadows and death, doing all the things that Scott refused to.

He never asked permission, and he never apologized, and as the blood that coated his hand began to accumulate--he never faltered, when the rest of his pack flinched away. He was perfect, everything that Peter had seen in him that night in the parking garage come to fruition, and it made him ache to see it, to see the way it hollowed Stiles out and left him empty.

~*~

Scott loves Stiles.

Peter thinks it would be less painful for both of them if he didn’t. If he honestly hated the pale boy who had made himself a killer in Scott’s name.

Instead, he keeps trying to understand who Stiles is becoming, and why. He keeps trying to make Stiles into something better, into something wholesome and good and Peter watches, from the edges of the pack where he and Chris always seem to linger, and he hates Scott for it.

“Leave it alone,” he finally snaps, after Stiles has killed a werehyena that’s wandered into their territory and fixated on Malia.

“Stay out of this,” Scott snarls, eager to turn his fury on someone other than Stiles.

“You’re angry that he’s doing his job,” Peter says, and his voice is mocking and cold. “But if he weren’t--if he let all the dark dangerous things wander through Beacon Hills--how many more would die, so you can cling to your damned morality? How many more would die while you argued about how to reform creatures that don’t want  to be reformed?”

Stiles is watching him, his eyes wide and startled and Christopher makes a pained noise.

“You don’t know shit about being reformed. You never even tried.”

That--that stings. Peter flinches back and Stiles huffs.

“Leave Peter alone. He hasn’t done anything to hurt you or the pack, or anyone who doesn’t deserve it, since Kate died.”

That makes Scott stop, cold.

Because Stiles killing--he could deal with that. He’d never like it, never condone or even accept it--but he could deal with it.

Stiles defending Peter.

“I don’t--,” Scott stops, and shakes his head, and his expression is baffled and almost angry. “Who are you, man? What the fuck happened?”

Stiles makes a noise that could almost be called a laugh. “You became an alpha,” he says, exhausted. “And I became your killer.”

~*~

“I’m not waiting,” Christopher snaps, pacing the length of the bedroom. He’s in black and a gun is tucked into his thigh holster, and he smells of wolfsbane and leather and Peter thinks that it is strange to love someone like him--but he does.

He does.

“He shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Chris snarls and Peter nods.

“No, he shouldn’t.” He stands and reaches into his trunk of poison and potions and produces a jar of dead man’s blood. “Shall we help him kill some vampires?”

~*~

Stiles doesn’t seem surprised to see them, or particularly appreciative. But he nods his thanks, when it’s over, and Peter has patched him up, before he drives home, and Christopher huffs and drags Peter to bed.

~*~

Peter pauses in the doorway as Christopher reaches for the lights, aware of the rapid heartbeat, the quick, hitching breath.

“Stiles,” he breathes, and Stiles stares at him, miserably, from the couch.

His hands are still bloody and there’s a bruise forming on his cheek, and Peter wonders through the initial wave of fury, what caused it.

What he was doing, to protect Scott and his damn puppies, that hurt him.

“How--” his voice cracks and he let’s out a sob, and Peter jerks into motion, darting across the room to gather the sobbing boy into his arms. “How do you do this, Peter? I’m trying and I can’t.”

It’s been five years. Five years of nonstop threats and death, of judgments and killing and fighting to survive, and this boy, this beautiful boy, is shattering apart.

Before the fire, Peter stood as the Left Hand for a year or two, before he took a sabbatical, forced someone into his place for a few months while he hid and recovered.

Stiles has never had that, likely didn’t even know it was an option, and the weight of it, is shattering him apart.

He sobs as Peter holds him, these quiet, shaking things, clinging with a desperation that would terrify Peter, if he didn’t know any better.

And Peter let’s him. He holds the boy close, hums quietly in his ear as he maneuvers them, pulls Stiles into his lap on the couch and tucks him under his chin, stroking his back as the boy cries himself out.

Chris tugs off his shoes, and rubs his feet, pressed as close as possible, quietly supportive and grounding.

He falls asleep there. They both fall asleep, and Peter holds Stiles, soothing him when he shivers and whimpers in the dark, until the sun begins to rise.

Stiles doesn’t stir when he wakes. It’s only the change in is heartbeat, the soft inhale against Peter’s neck, that tells him he’s awake, and Peter’s arms tighten around him.

For a long time, they’re quiet. And then, his voice hoarse and soft, Stiles asks, “How did you do it? I thought I could--but it’s so hard, Peter. I’m so lonely.”

“I know, darling,” Peter murmurs.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, plaintively.

“You don’t have to. You can walk away.”

“Did you?” Stiles asks, craning his head to look at Peter.

“Sometimes. Not completely, but yes, sometimes, I needed to stop. You’re allowed to do that.”

Stiles shudders against him, his hands digging into Peter’s sides. “And people die, while I’m off having a break. How is that fair?”

“How is it fair to take care of everyone else, and never take care of yourself?” Peter asks, softly. He tips Stiles head up and peers at him. “How is it fair to never let anyone take care of you?”

“No one wants to take care of me,” Stiles says, and his heartbeat is so steady it makes Peter violent.

How dare they. How dare they treat him like he was useless, like he was disposable and unwanted?

“We do,” Christopher rumbles, and Stiles glances at him. A flush is rising in his cheeks, like he’s suddenly remembering that he’s in Peter’s lap, and Peter’s lover is at their side.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Peter murmurs, rubbing a thumb over the sharp curve of Stiles’ jaw. “Just listen.”

“I should go--”

“You asked how. How I did it. I didn’t. Not the way you do--I was never alone, Stiles. Even when I was Talia’s left hand, even when I was burying the bodies--I was never alone. I had my wife and my sister, and my nieces. I had--” he breaks off, because that’s not his story to tell.

“Me,” Christopher says. “He had me. And I had him. I was the one who buried every atrocity my sister and father made, the one who arranged reparations and saved as many as I could. I was alone, fighting for werewolves, in a family that wanted them dead, and Peter kept me sane. He reminded me of why I was fighting.”

Stiles is staring at them, wide eyed and Peter says, gently. “You are an amazing Left Hand. You’ve fought like hell to keep your pack safe, and they don’t deserve half of what you’ve done. But it doesn’t make you any less to accept help. And we want to help you.”

“How?” Stiles asks, cautiously. “You already help me hunt.”

Peter smiles. “You’re smart, Stiles. What do you think we’re offering?”

A blush, a pretty pink, stains his cheeks and he bites his lip, consideringly, before he leans forward, and brushes the softest of kisses over Peter’s lips.

Does the same to Chris, and sighs, soft and sweet, when Christopher drags him closer and deepens it.

~*~

He still has nightmares.

Shadows still lurk in his gaze, and his expression goes tight and hurt when Scott gives him a disapproving frown.

It’s not perfect, will never be perfect, because he walks in darkness with blood soaked hands.

But now, Chris is there, drawing him into bed with a gentle touch. Now, Peter is there, holding him when he’s silent and shaking. Now, when he wakes, sweating and panicked and thrashing, Peter presses into his chest, kissing him calm, while Christopher rocks against his back, grounding him.

He’s not alone. They reflect him back, a broken mirror image, distorted and not quite whole, but still, something achingly beautiful and good.

It’s enough.

[serpentsangel]

Bounty: Chapter Three

Plot: Olivia starts to grasp the basics of life in Riverdale as she starts to attend college. Evelyn and Quinton struggle to reach a compromise, as a mysterious figure has Olivia on their watch.

A/N: Okie, so I’m sorry this is a day late! But I’ve not been feeling well and haven’t been very inspired. But I ended up writing a longer chapter and I hope you guys enjoy this <3

Words: 3,163

Warnings: Mentions of murder, indications of stalking

Cast // Story Summary // Introduction  //Chapter One // Chapter Two

                                         CHAPTER THREE

Fangs walks up to Olivia’s doorstep and quickly knocks on the door, checking his phone to see if he was either too late or too early, time is still something he is still working on. When he hears the door start to unlock, he steps aside and greets her warmly. “Good morning to you, Scarlett. Ready for your first day at school?” He hands Scarlet her very own hoodie for the Riverdale College. “Though this could help with getting into the school spirit. If it’s too big or too small, I can always trade it in for you. I help out with school merchandise sometimes, keeps me sane doing something thats away from my degree.” He chuckles.

���I’d probably do the same.” Olivia slips on the hoodie, seeing it fall a little too big but the extra material made it somewhat more comfortable. “Thanks Fangs. It’s perfect.” She follows him to his car, tossing her bag to the back as she straps on her seatbelt, getting comfy and adjusting the shade to avoid the bright morning Riverdale sun from drying out her eyes.

“Have you decided what it is you want to study?” Fangs questions as he looks over his shoulder as he backs out and starts to drive towards the College.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to give classes a try, here and there and then see where my heart falls.” Olivia shrugs her shoulder as she looks outside, watching the view phase past her. “I have interests in a lot of subjects and topics so it’s hard for me to make an easy decision. Maybe I will even try something new, who knows. All of this is new to me and I might as well take risks while I can, ya know? I don’t know how long I’m going to be here anyways, I don’t want to get too attached to anything.”

He nods to himself as he grips the wheel, stopping at a red light and looking over at Olivia, who rests her head against the window, he sighs softly as the light turns green and starts to drive once more. “Understandable but, word of advice, don’t use that as a way to assure yourself to not enjoy what Riverdale has to offer. Yes, this town may be small and not as exciting as others but you’ve been through a lot and maybe this is the universe’s way to reward you for making it thus far. Your time may be limited here and unpredictable but who knows when you’re going to have the chance to live this freely. I say, take it as you can.”

The rest of the ride is silent, Olivia dwelling deep into her thoughts, Fangs still grasping at the many questions he has about her but one thing is for sure, he commends her for the way she holds herself. Whatever it is that broke her down this way, he could never push himself through it and still go out and experience life. As he parks, Fangs grabs their bags and hands Olivia hers. Both of them walk down towards the main entrance and weave through a few hallways before Fangs stops by her locker. “Do you think I should wear this jacket?” Olivia takes out a black hoodie from her backpack, looking at it before looking up at Fangs, waiting for his comments.

“Why would you want to wear that jacket? It gets hot in here.” Fangs inquires, he looks down at her arms and realizes why. “You want to hide the bruises and cuts, huh?”

Olivia bites at her lip and nods. “I don’t want people to look at me like I’m a freak. You guys already did and I can’t imagine an entire school doing that.”

A pain pangs in Fangs heart hearing her talk, he didn’t consider her to be a freak, he didn’t think of her as someone that has something wrong with her, she’s just someone that’s clearly struggled through hell. It hurt to hear her say that they consider her a freak. She’s nothing near. “Please don’t think that way.” Fangs sucks in a breath as he takes a step closer to her, placing a comforting and reassuring hand on her shoulder, careful to not go anywhere near her bruises. “I don’t consider you a freak, and neither do the others. When we saw you, we were just shocked, shocked at how beat up you look. We were more concerned about who may have done this to you. I’m sorry if we made you feel like a freak show, you aren’t. People will ask questions and look but just know I see your cuts and bruises as Battle Scars. You’re a warrior Scarlett, and you’re here to win.” Fangs grins and takes the hoodie she is holding. “I say rock it. If anyone tries to hurt you, I won’t hesitate to fight.”

Olivia looks up at him, raising an eyebrow at his last statement. “Sweet Pea said you weren’t much of a fighter before and now.”

Fangs chuckles as he throws the hoodie to sling over his shoulder. “I’m here to protect, I’ll do what’s needed to do so.”

She closes her locker and snatches the hoodie from Fangs and ties it around her waist as she follows him to their class. “You do you, Fangs. I can’t stop you and won’t.” Olivia and Fangs sit around one of the lab tables as he slides her his own textbook to take a look at as he takes out his notebook and pencil case, making sure he’s got it all before setting his bag down on the floor. Olivia takes the book closer to herself as she skims through it. “Oh wow, this is….a lot.”

“Tell me about it.” Fangs hands her over the much thinner guide. “This is a heaven. It’s a lot to take in but it’s absolutely fascinating. There’s so much to know and learn about the beautiful creatures around us that we usually don’t take into account and with this knowledge, we can help them when they’re hurt. I once volunteered at an animal hospital and it was so sad seeing how damaged these fur babies were but being able to heal them and give them a second chance at life…” Fangs happily sighs. “…that’s what I live for.”

Olivia’s eyes widen as she nods in approval. “You’re really passionate about that, huh?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he rests his elbows on the table and leans forward a little, scooting his chair with him. “Yeah. I wasn’t too much of a fighter, as Sweets was, mainly because I had the biggest soft side beyond the jacket and Sweet Pea was a lot better at putting up a tough front to cover his soft side. I love to help and bring animals to their full selves again. Giving back, I guess, is something I’ve always wanted to do with my life. Doesn’t sound like it considering I joined a gang at 16.”

“Maybe I can help out, if that’s alright.” Olivia hands back his books, taking out one of her own notebooks. “If I’m going to live the most of my time here, I might as well engage with the community.”

Fangs face lights up immediately. He excitedly reaches into his bag to grab two business cards, scribbling a note on his paper and ripping it out to hand to Olivia. “You should! It’s so rewarding and really gives you a different perspective. I’ve been volunteering there since I started my program and we are always looking for new people to join. We are non-profit and run on donations and amazing volunteers. I can show you the place this weekend if you’d like! Sorry, I’m just excited to have someone else I know being interested in helping out.”

She takes the cards and tucks it safely into the small pocket of her bag. “I’d love that. Thanks. I appreciate.”

“I appreciate you wanting to help out. We’re currently running low on people, any help counts.”

Suddenly Olivia’s phone vibrates violently on the table, she looks down on it and an unknown number pops up but as she takes a closer look, her entire body almost shut down; her expression dropping and her heart stopping. Fangs notices as he gets ready to question her if she’s alright but she quickly excuses herself for a moment before racing out of the room and finding a small, isolated hallway. Olivia answers the phone and looks around attentively to ensure she is alone. “What the hell are you doing calling me, Vincent? This is fucking dangerous, you can blow my cover.”

“Relax. We’re both untraceable. I’m smarter than that.” Vincent states.

“Stop being cocky. This isn’t the time, nor place, to do so. Now, why the hell are you calling me?” Olivia pops her head out and sees the hallway empty.

“Evelyn is going to meet with Quinton today. They’ve placed a bounty on your head and this time, they don’t care if you’re dead or alive. She’s going to try and negotiate a deal with them in exchange for your safety. I’ll let you know how it goes.” Vincent fumbles through some papers as he rests the phone on his shoulder. “So, how’s the small town treating you. Is it weird? Is it cozy? I heard from Evelyn you’re under the protection of some local gang? Seems a little counter-productive if we’re trying to keep you alive for stealing top secret documents from your ex-boyfriends…”

“Just shut up.” Olivia cuts in. “Quinton made his decision. He betrayed us and that’s that.”

“Sorry.” Vincent mumbles. “It’s just, I don’t understand how you were able to walk away and not want to murder his ass the moment you had the chance. The two of you crossed paths so many times, You’ve had your gun against his head, more than twice and not to mention, the time you shot a crossbow arrow at his arm and leg. Don’t you want to incite revenge, especially after what he did?”

It’s true. Vincent is right. As much as the darkness within has wanted to rip apart Quinton, Olivia has managed to suppress it each time realizing that she’ll only be as much of a monster as he is if she murders him. There have been so many nights where she’s dreamed of that very day, the day she kills him. Throwing him off the cliffs, slowly searing a knife right into his core and even planting one in his head with the barrel pressed right up against his skull. “I do, more than anything. Hence why I stole their papers.”

“What were you even going to do with them? As much as I aspire to be as good of a field agent as you,  I think I realize the dangers of stealing an agencies documents on the complete roster of their agents. It’s like you’re asking for a war.” Vincent slips the phone to the other side as he organizes a few papers and documents in Evelyn’s office.

“To be honest?” Olivia pauses. “I don’t know.”

Vincent pauses, slamming the document he is holding onto the table as he grabs a hold of his phone. “You didn’t know?” He screeches. “What the hell were you thinking, Olivia?! Are you just asking to be killed because that’s where you’re headed!”

“Maybe this was my revenge. If i managed to get their most prized procession then maybe I could have the upper hand on my part. And blackmail Quinton into doing what I want. At the time, it was fool-proof.”

“It never was!” Vincent exclaims. “Sometimes I wonder how and why Evelyn puts you in the forefront. You’re still young, Olivia. It’s too dangerous for you to be fighting these waters. You’ve got yourself in a bit of a pickle here, my dear. Your actions are both admirable and dumb. Please, just promise that once this all blows over you’ll be decently conscious about what your actions can bring?” Vincent begs.

“Fine.” Vincent lets out a heavy sigh of relief. “Keep me in the loop. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Olivia finally hangs up as she walks into the class just as the teacher is about to call out the attendance. She slides back into her seat next to Fangs. “Sorry about that. It was an emergency.”

“Is everything alright?” Olivia nods. “You made it just in time. Are you ready to learn?”

“More than ever.”

Whitticker Agency Unknown Location

Quinton sits by his office desk, his hands together as he anxiously checks the clock on the wall and the watch on his wrist. Any minute now. The door handle on the door jiggles, snapping his head up he lets out a disappointed breath as he sees Amelie walk in. “They haven’t arrived yet. If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“That’s not what I’m here for.” Amelie rolls her eyes and approaches the desk, handing over a folder to Quinton. “It’s an itinerary of everything your girlfriend stole from us.”

Girlfriend. Quinton angrily takes the folder from her hands as he scowls at her. “She’s not my girlfriend. That part of my life is long gone behind me, the moment I entered that ballroom.” He opens the folder as his eyes scan the extensive list, almost shocked at the extent of it. He only figured that she stole a lot less. “It was initially reported that she only stole the undercover dossier. Why are our 401Ks and weaponry list on here?”

“That was before we were able to determine everything that’s missing.” Amelie leans back on the small seat. “Maybe you should’ve left the Ballroom gig to me. It triggered something in her and now she’s trying to bite back at us because she saw you.”

Quinton momentarily takes his eyes off the documents. “It would’ve aroused more suspicion if I wasn’t. Cormac was expecting me too.”

“Ah yes, our dearest Cormac. He’s still missing, you know? Interesting how Vanguard can conceal an agent but can’t find their own leader. Wonder where he went. I reckon he went insane from seeing his wife killed and is hidden somewhere deep in the woods going coo-coo and drinking animal blood as wine.” Amelie chuckles as she gets up from the seat. “Whatever you and Evelyn are going to converse about, you better step up and earn a point for us because, as I see it, we’re the losers right now and everything we’ve worked on is on the verge of falling apart. For once, don’t act like a heart-broken, revengeful ex and lead this team the way we voted you in for.” As Amelie walks out of the office, Evelyn and Vincent walk by the same time. The two of them share a deadly glare before the door closes behind Vincent.

Quinton tucks away the folder, standing up and shaking Evelyn and Vincent’s hands as the two of them sit. An uncomfortable silence falls between them at first before Evelyn finally speaks. “This is something I never thought I’d ever do. Cop a deal with an ex-agent sitting across me in a rival’s chair.” Evelyn scoffs. “I suggest, after everything you’ve done to this agency, take the Bounty off of Olivia’s head and we’ll return the documents in their entirety straight to your door. It’s a simple move. I’m pretty sure that’s something you can shake your hand to.”

“And I’d assume you’re smart enough to know that it’s not that easy, Evelyn.” Quinton pulls out a sheet of paper from his desks holder and reads it out. “Twelve Whitticker Agents confirmed dead, more than 25 minority injured and around six critically injured and three of which are still being treated at the hospital. More than 450,000 dollars in damage and around 20,000 dollars worth of equipment stolen and used, only 1,000 of which we were able to recover using a further 890 dollars to either replace parts and or repair them.” He hands the paper over to Vincent. “Olivia did more than just steal the identity of all our agents, she has caused more damage than the documents can.”

Evelyn sighs, handing the paper back to him. “You know, I’d figure that after what you did to her, you’d at least be rational on how you punish her for breaking in and stealing your things. Don’t you think you’ve caused the girl enough damage, Quinton? I mean for gods sake, you initiated the brutal execution of her mothers murder that she witnessed AND now her father has been missing and now this! God knows how long her own sanity is going to last before it kills her!” Evelyn shouts. “You are the very reason she got driven to do this. You’ve brought this upon yourself. Don’t you dare try to play the sympathy card because you have not shown any remorse or sorry in two years.”


“I had to do what I had to do and it wasn’t me that called for her murder.” Quinton defends himself. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. I was just as horrified.”

“Bullshit and you know it. You have forever engrained a title of complete and utter stupidity in the eyes of the Vanguard’s. You’re a traitor. A fake. A useless, spineless devil! You’ve caused enough damage, Quinton. Is that not enough?!” Quinton falls silent and Vincent too, caught between their feud. “I swear to god Quinton, if you lay one more scratch on my agent, it’d be I who personally kills you. So, this is your last chance. Take my deal, or I will threaten to declare war on you.”

Riverdale

Olivia sits comfortably on the stands as she watches the female college football team kick around. The sun is shining perfectly bright, a view she isn’t so used to enjoying. She picks up a few chips from the bag and stuffs them in her mouth as she begins to sketch the view, her eyes squinting due to the brightness. Fangs walks up the steps and takes a seat next to her, eating a few snacks of his own. “Are you ready to head back home?”

“Yeah, if not then I’d want to stay here forever.” Olivia laughs lightly as she starts to pack up her belongings. As the two of them start heading down the stands, Olivia felt the familiar burning feeling of watching eyes on her but when she scans the area and sees nothing, she throws it off as being paranoid and follows Fangs towards his car.

Hidden in the distance, between bushes, a mysterious figure smirks to themselves as they manage to evade being spotted. They raise take one last look at Olivia as she looks around before entering a vehicle. The figure notes down Fang’s license plate and takes a few photos before proudly walking away. The clock starts ticking.

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