All My Writings

Read a thousand books, and your words will flow like a river. + Lisa See Tracking: #4llmywr1itings #4llmywr1tings' finds #fridayfanday tag me to be added the Friday Fan Day list No shipping | ONLY reader inserts or OFC's | All fandoms welcome Masterlist in progress

[tevivinter]

Writer friends, I discovered a fun website today. It’s called “I Write Like” and here’s the description: Check which famous writer you write like with this statistical analysis tool, which analyzes your word choice and writing style and compares them with those of the famous writers.  Let me know which autor you got! 

[4llmywr1tings]

[fictionalabyss]

Deadcock.

Pairing : Winchesters & Reader

Word count : 518

Header by : The amazing @sorenmarie87

Chapter prompt :  “I never met an outlaw before. What’s your cool code name?” 

Warnings : Dorky Dean, Dean loves westerns.

A/N : Special thank you to @coffee-obsessed-writer who gave us the list of prompts.

Part 2 of Shenanigans.

You were sitting on the motel room table, legs swinging as you waited. Sam sat in the chair next to you, fingers drumming on the table inches from your thigh. “What’s taking him so long?” you looked down at Sam confused. “We’re just going sightseeing, and he was already in jeans, I don’t see why he had to-”

You were cut off by Dean finally emerging from the bathroom with a grin on his face. “Eh?”

Your eyebrows shot up as you took in his outfit, and Sam just groaned “Not this again.” and suddenly, his forehead dropped to his forearm on the table.

“I’m sorry? Again?” you looked down at Sam for a split second before looking at Dean again.

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 12

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: For once… no violence in a MOTW chapter. But… maybe some poorly written rushed angst? I’m sorry… I just wanted to keep this story alive without having to wait a month in between updates… Oops!

A/N: Ayyy… Next chapter things are gonna heat up a bit…. and not just with our killer hunter tree people (Oh gawd, this sentence was stupid.) Enjoy meeting the family!

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

~

The drive to the Homestead was filled with awkward silence, half snores and faint mumbles traded in for regular conversation. You had been resting against Derek’s chest the whole drive, teetering between full-on sleep and temporal distortion from constantly zoning in and out -or at least, it felt like you were time travelling whenever you’d close your eyes for a second and then the next thing you knew, a whole hour had flown past.

Your dreams were foggy, hitting you vividly one moment then incomprehensible the next. Several symbols flooded your thoughts when your eyelids closed, so did Alyster’s hoarse voice, but you blocked most of that out. Through all the disorder within your brain, only one image presented itself clearly and repeatedly: the bow and shank of a golden key without a bit. You kept sketching it in your mind. Over and over and over again until you started tracing the outline of the shape on your thigh using your index finger. Derek noticed but didn’t say anything. You were grateful because you wouldn’t know what to say had he asked.

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[4llmywr1tings]

I loved everything about this chapter.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 11

Catch up here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Violence, death and some… rushed action.

A/N: Sorry this update took like a month to churn out, my brain decided to be more creative with other franchises -Oops! Anyway, we’re in the final stretch now guys. Thanks for being patient!

~

Liam paced about in the dark, heart thundering in his chest. Derek’s contact was late. This was making him jumpy. He glanced at his watch once, twice, a third time -still nothing. He was about to make a U-turn and head for the church when his keen wolf ears picked up on the sound of a motorcycle growling in the distance. The scent of gasoline and carbon monoxide mixing in with the crisp night air. She was here.

“You’re late,” he said sheepishly as Braeden took off her helmet and turned her keys in the ignition. The bright beams turning as dead as a doornail as soon as she dismounted.

“I’m never late,” she retorted as she chucked a duffle bag at Liam.

“Jesus,” he jumped, eyes wide. “Are you insane?”

Braeden chuckled, her eyes rolling backwards, “Relax, kid. They’re inert in that state.”

Liam unzipped the bag and examined the blocks of C4, and just as she said, they were inert. He exhaled while she fished a crowbar from her backpack and used it as a lever to lift an old sewer access grate.

“Come with us, and all this chaos can end. Come with us and I’ll tell you the truth,” Alyster’s words swarmed around your brain. It was then that you realised he was inside your head. You tried to shake him out, to scream for him to shut up, but you were motionless, voiceless and completely helpless. “Come with us and you will learn of your importance to the Order… And the fate of the world.”

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 10

Catch up here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 3800

Warnings: Violence (duh!), mentions of PTSD

A/N: This is long overdue and also a hefty chapter with me trying and failing to write action scenes. There are flashbacks (in italics) between scenes because this is quite the back and forth chapter. As well as some Japanese and Swedish dialogue! ENJOY! Also: Kaze is Japanese and is pronounced Kah-Zeh. Feedback is encouraged. Like and reblog :) Don’t be afraid to ask to be tagged!

Previously:

Derek watched you try your hardest to move to the beat, but he could tell you weren’t in your element. No one should be sober in a night club. Watching you brought a cheeky smile to his face, he almost had the urge to laugh a little.

His phone chimed in his pocket. On the dance floor a few feet from you, he noticed Scott get the same message. Peter’s text message read: “We’re in position.” A few seconds later Liam sent a message of his own: “They took the bait. They’re heading your way!” Derek looked down at Scott and spoke just loud enough for his wolf hearing to pick up, “Guess its show time.” Scott nodded in acknowledgement and made his way to the stairs leading up to the roof.

“We’re all gonna die,” Derek sighed to himself, bunching up his fists in anticipation for a fight.

Derek melted further into the crowd until it thinned out to nothing more than one or two people using the empty space to make out and be alone. He pushed through, a part of him feeling uneasy at having lost sight of you on the ground floor, but he had a role to play just as you did. He reached a door that led onto a structurally unsound balcony and pushed it open. On the floor was a bag full of equipment and specially crafted grenades. He picked up the bag and made for the stairs that led further up.

***

Liam ran as fast as his human legs would let him. He refused to change under the circumstances. He needed to keep his senses sharp, but more importantly, he needed to stay in control. His heart hammered against his ribcage vigorously. He could taste the metallic tang of his own blood from where Monroe struck him, rage bubbling to the surface. Rage he had to contain for the fight they’d undoubtedly face in the next few minutes.

When Liam reached the abandoned church they had chosen for their plan of attack, he was surprised to find it illuminated by flashing lights and loud music blaring out of unsound window structures.

His phone beeped, displaying a message from Peter. He was in position and soon Liam would be too.

In swift motions, Liam pulled his phone out, typed away a message and sent it out to the group chat before tossing the tracker Monroe slipped in his pocket into a crack on the side of the church. With his part handled, Liam made for the next rendezvous point.

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Mark of The Wolf Part 9 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here! |

A/N: Sorry for the cold open… I swear it snuck up on me too! Hello Mexico, I see you. Is there gang going back? You betcha. And excuse the very SUDDEN appearance of a character I never even bothered to foreshadow because… let’s be real, did anyone like them as a villain? I didn’t.

Note: Reader’s last name is Markolf. *** means change in POV/time.

Words: 2026 (this is a shorter chapter)

Warnings: Violence, swearing and A COLD OPEN!

[Song: It’s You by Rique | High by Zella Day]

(gif not mine)

Liam was tied down to a chair using wolfs-bane laced ropes in an abandoned warehouse. The sting of the ropes digging into his skin was painful but bearable. It was the rancid smell of death that bothered him. How many of his kind had been killed here? All he could do was hope he wouldn’t be next. In front of him were two of Monroe’s men armed with guns, they were his prison guards.

After a few minutes, Monroe emerged from behind a plastic sheet acting as a divider. She sauntered over in combat boots and a green camo ensemble.

“The Beta,” she spoke at him rather than to him, dragging a metal chair from nearby. She made sure to generate as much noise as she possibly could from the cold steel of the chair and the bare concrete of the floor. It was torture to his wolf hearing. “What’s your name again? Leon?”

“Liam,” he spit back.

“Ah, Liam,” she pulled out a knife from her boot holster. “Tell me, Liam. Where is your alpha? Where is Scott McCall? I know he’s here with you. My men spotted him just before they took you.”

Liam kept his eyes focused on the scrape marks left on the floor by the chairs legs.

“Silent type?” she said in annoyance. With quicker reflexes than he would have given her credit, Monroe grabbed his collar and forced him to meet her eyes. They were wired and fully unhinged, “You are lucky my men didn’t kill you right there and then! The only reason you’re alive is because you know where Scott is. Tell us and we let you go.” She tried to normalise her octaves to resonate calm, but her heartbeat gave her away. She was lying.

“Screw you!” Liam said venomously. Making sure to give her a shit-eating grin to boot.

Monroe struck him and he coughed. She walked around him to whisper in his ear, “Your kind thinks they’re so special. Don’t be so inclined to underestimate me.” She warned. Liam felt her arm ghost his shoulders.

“Trust me, I would never be so foolish as to underestimate you.” Liam chuckled lowly.

“Should we kill him?” One of her drones asked.

She cocked her head to the side as though his words were utter gibberish. Then sighing with exhaustion she turned and said, “No, you idiot. We need him. Go check on his restraints, make sure they’re tight.” Monroe walked away and disappeared behind the plastic curtain.

After the guards checked his bonds, they left the room and went out for a smoke by the scent that clung to their clothes.

Liam generated some noise by shuffling his chair to see if anyone would come after him. Dead silence. Then, with surprising ease, he used his claws to snap the binds around his wrists and feet and made a run for it. Though, he wasn’t very stealthy.

***

“Should we go after him?” someone asked Monroe. She rolled her eyes and looked down at her phone screen. A small red dot was moving, with great speed, away from the abandoned factory. She had placed a tracker on the young Beta.

“Not yet. He’ll lead us to Scot McCall and the rest of his pack. Only then do we kill him.” The rest of her men began gearing up. “Leave a few men to make sure our guest in the basement stays put,” she ordered.

“Yes, Ma'am!”

“The rest of you, with me.”

***

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 8 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here! | Chapter Masterlist here

A/N: So it’s finally here, the long-anticipated eighth chapter! Three cheers for the amazing readers who asked when my next instalment would be, you guys kept me writing through this stressful and busy academic year! Also, was the wait worth it? No. You guys deserved an update months ago! (I still have Halloween prompts in my inbox… *laughs nervously*) I hope you enjoy this chapter. All I can say is… the action picks up in the next chapter!

Note: Reader’s last name is Markolf. A lot of season 3 callbacks!

Words: 3062 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Past Trauma??? An insensitive Peter? Some tropes thrown in there! That’s it I guess.

“What did you find out?” Liam whispered, conscious not to be too loud since you were passed out on the cot a few meters away.

“It’s too much to get into now,” Derek whispered, his eyes on your resting form. “But I think I know how she survived the first attack.”

“The John Doe case in New Hampshire?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded.

“In her memories, she hid behind a sage bush that caught on fire.”

“Are you suggesting these hunters are afraid of Sage?” Peter fired off the question like it was a race after rolling his eyes at the idea.

“She burnt some sage at the animal clinic too. I think they have to sense who their targets are. The sage probably throws them off the scent… or however they track people.”

“There has to be a reason people use sage to cleanse houses. I saged the hell out of my house after I found out we had a Hellhound on the Police payroll.” Stiles revealed boldly. Everyone turned to look at him like he’d set his underwear on fire. “What? Lydia told me sage cleanses negative energy and auras.”

After a beat, Liam added, “Sometimes the answers to the hardest questions are the simplest ones.” He sounded like a philosophy major. Now it was his turn to get everyone’s confused glares. “What? I read it on a fortune cookie once.”

Scott’s head snapped up with a thought, “What if they see their targets the way we see Kitsune? Auras.”

“And the sage acts as a smoke screen,” Stiles finished Scott’s thought.

“Are we supposed to start sporting necklaces made of sage? Maybe make a nice cologne? Don’t know about you, but I’m quite partial to the smell of my Eau De Nuit Oud. Besides, we can’t set fire to any bush we come in contact with in hopes it may be sage when the hunters attack again.” Peter said.

“We aren’t a priority on their kill list now that we know they want Y/N.” Derek reminded his uncle bitterly. “Which means we can’t leave her unprotected until we find a way to fight them.”

“Who’s gonna be on first watch?” Stiles asked, “Because I’m in desperate need of a shower and a nap.”

“I’ll do it.” Peter offered.

“And are we just supposed to trust that a former homicidal maniac like you wouldn’t just give her up to the Order to try and save your own skin?” Stiles shot back.

“Hey!” Peter acted offended, “Reformed homicidal maniac to you.”

Derek made his way to the exit, “Peter comes with me. I have a lead to check out.”

“I’ll take first watch.” Scott declared.

Derek took a double take of your sleeping form. He was becoming all too aware of how increasingly protective over you he was getting. He didn’t like where this was going. He clenched his jaw, and with large strides, he left the bunker with Peter on his tail. He kept berating himself; he should have never fucking kissed you!

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Mark of the Wolf Part 7 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: So I take major liberties with the lore of transferring memories between werewolves in this chapter, but it’s still bordering the line of the established lore in the series so… But now I can happily say that the mystery of who the Order are and what they want is slowly unravelling. Now about that slow burn… (Also when you read the dream state part where the reader’s eyes change colour, that’s just the eye colour of her inner wolf).

Note: I had previously described Derek’s eye’s as being Hazel but I was corrected and was informed that they are in fact Green, so I edited the eye colour descriptions.

Words: 3660 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Violence, Past Trauma??? That’s it I guess.

(gif isn’t mine)

“I’m like you. I’m a werewolf.”

The words rang through the room as all four sets of eyes were on you.

Scott’s face was scrunched up in thought, he had found your reveal to be quite the shocker. You guessed he was probably unsettled by the fact he had never sensed the werewolf in you. Not that many could. Even your own family had a hard time sensing your other half. They had said it was because the wolf had remained buried, never once surfacing to take to its own unique scent and feel.

Stiles and Liam seemed the least shocked. If anything Stiles seemed to find some credibility in your being a werewolf. After all, just as Liam put it, the Order hunts other supernatural creatures, not humans.

Derek, however, had an unreadable expression on his face. It bothered you somewhat. You didn’t want him to look at you with that same level of distrust and caution as he used to. You had hoped things would be different after the attack on the clinic.

You waited in deafening silence as the boys mulled over your words. Until finally Derek spoke.

“How did you know the sage would work?” Derek asked, to your delight he regarded you no difference on account of your secret being made known. You felt more at ease for some reason.

“I’m not sure. I just knew,” You told him, surprised by his choice in question.

“How come we couldn’t sense you?” Liam asked, bringing the focus back to your newly revealed secret.

“You and I both know the wolf form and the human form can have two very distinct scents. Also, I’m what you call an ‘afflicted,’” You said in a hushed voice, the word afflicted rolled off your tongue with a slight sting to it. You always hated that word.

“What is that?” Scott asked, finally breaking from his stupor.

Derek’s brow was drawn together as he wore his signature scowl whenever he was deep in thought.

“I thought they were a myth. My mother told me stories as a kid… the Afflicted are pure born shape-shifters who can’t shift,” Derek looked at you with what you assumed was pity in his eyes.

“Yahtzee,” you said sardonically, “give this man a prize.”

“That’s a thing?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, my mother would tell me these stories about werewolves being cursed to stay in their human form forever. To be honest, I always thought it was just a scary story to keep me from turning outside a full moon,” Derek had a fond look on his face, the memory brought about a bitter-sweet touch to his chiselled features.

“It’s actually a recessive gene. My family are one of the last few remaining carriers. It only runs in pure-blooded werewolf families. My brothers and sisters can shift, my mother is the carrier and I’m the one with the genetic predisposition, that is, assuming lycanthropy works the same way as gene expression,” You said brazenly, a solemn smile gracing your lips.

Stiles’ eyes went wide as he flailed about trying to open one of the leather bound books he had in his possession. His actions caused quite the ruckus and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his goofy behaviour.

“Okay so on my way here, I started thinking about the name they gave the hunted:  Ex Alia, right. And it’s an odd phrase because combined Ex Alia actually means 'from the other’ and that can also mean 'apart from’, right.”

“Stiles, we’ve been over this,” Derek said running his fingers over his thick eyebrows.

Stiles mimed Derek’s words back at him in a comical way, “If you would just let me finish!”

Derek held up his hands and folded them over his chest, eyeing Stiles intensely for the loud tone he had shouted at him with.

“Thank you,” Stiles said condescendingly, “Now, what if it’s in reference to werewolves who are apart from their kin. Like for example…”

“Werewolves or other shapeshifters who can’t shift,” Scott finished Stiles’ thought.

Even though Stiles argument made sense to you, you couldn’t help but fight against his logic, “Even if that were true, they still went after Alex, and he could shift,” you rebutted.

“Yes, but you said it’s genetic. So what if Alex was a carrier?” Stiles rebuffed.

You went silent. Stiles had a point.

You knew Alex since childhood, he was a third generation werewolf. Your family had a close relationship with other legacy families, that’s how you met. It was completely plausible for Alex to be a carrier for the same recessive gene you expressed.

You were startled from your lamentation when you heard a booming knock come from the bunker door. Everyone in the room exchanged questioning glances as they silently asked each other if they knew who it could be.

Stiles drew the short straw and offered himself up to go and see who it was. You were still standing there, numb from everything that had transpired.

You heard Stiles pull open the heavy metal door of the bunker, mutter a quick “Nope,” like he was rejecting Girl Scout cookies and shut it behind him before he came to re-join the half circle again.

“Who was it?” Liam asked.

“No one important,” Stiles said coolly as he waved the question away and wore an upturned frown. It was certainly a dubious look. Derek wasn’t convinced as he raised a brow at him.

A second later, Derek and Scott’s heads snapped to the doors direction just as the door flew off its hinges. Their claws and fangs protruding outwards, their wolfish features taking shape.

Liam was already fully shifted, his nostrils flaring as he let out snarls for breaths. The energy coming off him was powerful and angry, making you instinctively take a few steps back.

All three of them lined up in front of you and Stiles, their eyes creating a gradient from red to yellow to blue. Their animalistic growls echoing through the room.

A set of footsteps descended the steps in a relaxed, languid manner. They belonged to a handsome faced man, slightly older than everyone else in the room, with the same dramatic streak as Derek. He smiled wickedly as he opened his arms in a warm mocking embrace, his head held up high like some entitled prince. His own blue eyes glowing with the same intensity as Derek.

Derek, Liam and Scott retracted their fangs and claws and dropped their defensive stances as soon as they registered who it was that had just punched the door in.

Apparently, the man making the needlessly dramatic entrance wasn’t a threat.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to shut the door in people’s faces?” The man asked Stiles in a low threatening voice. His clawed fingers dusting off none existent dust from his leather jacket.

“Yeah, well I was also told not to invite homicidal maniacs into any enclosed spaces with me, so…” Stiles shot back.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” Derek asked with a hint of familiarity.

“Why dear nephew, I heard your call.”

“Okay who called the homicidal maniac?” Stiles said as he looked over at Derek, Scott and Liam with exasperation.

“He meant the howl,” Liam told Stiles.

“Oh, this is just great,” you sighed, plopping yourself down on the stool where Liam had previously sat. “More werewolves.”

Stiles just patted you back and gave a weak, “There, there,” in place of consolation.

“So what have I missed?” Peter said with a large smirk on his clean-shaven face.

The next hour was spent catching Peter upon what was currently plaguing Beacon Hills and your life.

Peter stopped Scott from talking with a single look when he heard you had repressed the memories from the night Alex died. He had an idea, you could read it on his face.

He came and stood a few inches away from you, looking down at you like you were some mathematical theorem to be solved. He held up one finger after much silence and ushered Derek closer to you.

“Derek, come here a second,” he said. Derek obliged but made sure to drag his feet a little so Peter didn’t think Derek was open to being summoned.

“I hear you have amnesia,” Peter directed the statement to you, you just stared up at him and didn’t reply. “You’re a werewolf, right? So that means even though you can’t shift, the same rules apply to you?”

“In a way. I can heal faster than humans, my sense of smell is better and in some cases, I can hear better, but without the ability to shift those powers are significantly weaker to that of actual shapeshifters. But… yes, the same rules apply. Wolf’s-bane is still toxic to me, I still feel the pull of the moon, and my abilities are magnified when I’m in a pack. Why do you ask?” You were curious as to where Peter was going with this.

“Just making sure this won’t kill you,” Peter just gave an innocent smile before he extended his claws and dug them into yours and Derek’s neck, linking you to one another, using himself as a conduit. Before you were lost in the spiral of memory and shared consciousness, you heard Stiles say “Oh my God!” in shock and Scott shout Peter’s name in an alpha male voice.

It was too late though, you and Derek were already linked and pulling you out now would just cause more harm than good.

***

It felt like you were free falling through an endless white space. Incoherent chattering and sounds playing all at once like someone had overlapped several songs onto a single track.

You were lost in the cacophony of your mind in disarray, until you felt Derek’s hands link with yours, pulling you from your confusion.

“Where are we?” You asked him.

Derek looked around at the white empty space, it was like staring at a blank canvas that had no end. His brows knit together for a moment before he realised what was going on.

“We’re in your mind, Peter linked us in a shared dream state. Werewolves can sometimes share memories by a bite or a scratch. I think in this case he figured you couldn’t grow out your claws or fangs, so he used himself as a proverbial telephone cord.”

You were familiar with how the sharing of memories worked. Your father had done something similar with your older brother Markus when he had passed on the mantle of Alpha to him.

Just as you were reliving the memory, the blank canvas of your mind bled through with colour and voices and suddenly a clear image of that day began to replay as though you had just stepped back in time.

Your brother was lying in the centre of a field by the meadow you had spent much of your childhood watching your sibling’s roughhousing.

Markus was writhing in pain as his eyes shimmered between his former vibrant gold to the frightful red they were now. Your mother, sister and younger brother were standing alongside you as you all watched your father transfer his powers onto Markus.

“What is this?” Derek asked

“The Markolf tradition,” you said with a hint of pride at your legacy and sorrow for the pain your brother was enduring.

Your brother let out a howling scream, you winced. so did Derek.

You continued, “We differ from most werewolf families because we have the ability to pass on the mantle of alpha when we are no longer fit enough to carry it. That’s partially where we got our name from. Markolf is old High German, it combines the words ‘border’ and ‘wolf’ because we aren’t like most werewolf families. The transferral is painful and can only be done during a full moon. If none of the pack contests, and if the progeny is strong enough, then passing on of the mantle is usually successful.”

“I’ve never heard of this…” Derek was perplexed and in awe of what he saw unfolding.

“My great-grandfather was what you call a True Alpha, he discovered it was possible to pass on the gift by focusing his power through a bite. However, in doing so, you also relinquish most of your strength, making you considerably weaker.”

Derek shook himself of his astonishment and tugged at your hand to make you face him, “I think I know why Peter did what he did. If you can’t remember what happened to you, then maybe I can. Earlier, you were having a nightmare, I think it was about the night Alex dies.”

You squinted your eyes at him, not having any memory of having had a nightmare earlier, “I don’t remember having a nightmare.”

“It must be your subconscious protecting you from the trauma. All I need you to do is just think about that night. Close your eyes and picture it, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

You closed your eyes and let your mind wander.

***

Derek kept his eyes on you while yours stayed shut. He held onto your hand to be your anchor, your guide. He watched silently as the canvas began to bleed through with new colours and images and sounds again.

It started with a laugh.

A sweet, sing-song laugh that tugged at Derek’s heartstrings. He turned in the direction of the laugh and saw a younger version of you. A version from the past. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with a bright eye-creasing smile and a glow to your skin from the beams of light falling against your body from the moon.

Derek’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the younger version of you wrapped in another man’s arms. A strong man’s arms. Alex, no doubt.

Alex tucked a strand of your longer hair behind an ear. There were accents of playful red streaks hidden amongst the darker parts of your hair. He enjoyed your vibrancy and so did Derek.

You had seemed a different person in the memory. More carefree and easier with a smile, it had managed to coax an unexpected smile from Derek too.

Alex whispered sweet nothings in your ear as the camp sight materialised behind you, and soon so did the trees and the speckled night sky.

Derek couldn’t help it when his jaw tightened and his eyes filled with what held the familiar tang of jealousy. He didn’t understand where this feeling was coming from, but he was sure it had to do with the fact the younger, longer-haired version of you was looking longingly into the eyes of another man.

Was Derek jealous of a dead man?

Derek grew annoyed at his boyish behaviour, he was here to help you uncover your memories, not be yearning after a version of the woman whose hand he held.

Once the memory had been constructed it was time for Derek to relive it for you while you kept your eyes shut.

The memory shifted from its pleasant sweetness into a slightly more darkened tone. Derek saw the younger version of you having an argument with Alex. Your face frowned and your eyes held a stubborn conviction, Alex appeared more worn out, as though he was slowly realising he was losing the fight:

“I just don’t understand why you would take the job in Vancouver without talking with me about it…” Alex said with gloom.

“Alex, I don’t want to fight about this again. It’s not every day that someone gets offered such a desirable job straight out of university!” The younger version of you shouted, tired of arguing about the same thing for the past month with Alex. “You know I couldn’t pass it up.”

“But you did so without talking it over with me first. It’s like you’re using the job as an excuse to end things with me. I know we haven’t been ourselves in a while now, I know we fight a lot but–”

“Alex, please stop. We can talk about this when we get back home.”

Derek noticed that your smile began to falter as you heard the words the younger version of you shouted at Alex. He squeezed your hand slightly to let you know he was still with you. That you weren’t alone.

The memory grew darker still.

The night was less illuminated and the moon was obscured by rain clouds. In the memory, you were holding a hand over your mouth to keep your ragged pants as inaudible as possible, hunkered behind a sage bush as Alex slowly bled out a stone’s throw away from you.

Alyster -the man in the green robe from before- was scanning the forest, he was searching for you. His eagle eyes still every bit as disconcerting as before. The compass around his neck slowly losing its green glow.

The blonde archer from before came to his side, “Alyster,” she called out, “the girl, can you sense her?”

Alyster shook his head, his red hair weightless against the howling wind, “Her aura has been shielded from the Oculus,” his bony fingers clasped the compass around his neck, “its ability is being obscured.” Alyster pointed at a burning cluster of sage close by.

The archer grabbed a hand full of sage growing on one of the many bushes closest to her and crumpled it in her hands with distaste, “And the boy?” the archer asked, glancing down at a slowly dying Alex.

“He carries the magic in him as well, but the girl’s was stronger. She is the one we need if we hope to keep the Mother Tree fuelled. I fear, she may be the last.” Alyster glanced down at his arm. A tattoo made up of a strange marking etched onto his forearm, previously hidden under his green robe.

When Alex finally drew his last breath, a green mist came into view around his body, the mist was drawn towards the tattoo, embedding itself into it. The tattoo glowed the same shade as the Oculus for a brief minute before it returned back to normal. Alyster let out a pained growl.

“The rest of the pack have scurried off, do we make with the chase?”

“No. They do not possess the magic. Leave them be, tell the others to return. Daybreak is upon us.”

Derek noticed tears streaming down your face.

Your hand had clutched his in a death grip as the memory began to unravel and spiral into chaos. It played over and over again: the lone arrow whistling through the tree line, embedding itself into Alex’s chest after your argument; Alex shouting for you to hide as another arrow flew out; you scurrying behind the bushes and holding your breath as you listened to Alyster and the female archer converse; Alex losing the light in his eyes; the eagle eyes that scanned the forest belonging to Alyster and the green tendrils that felt out for you emerging from the Oculus.

It just kept repeating.

“Y/N, snap out of it,” Derek shook your shoulders. You didn’t budge, your eyes shut tight, refusing to open.

“Y/N, wake up, listen to my voice,” Derek tried to reassure you, “I’m here, I’m right here, don’t lose yourself in the memory. Stay with me!”

He was shaking you violently but you were lost in the chaos. Derek watched as the memory replayed itself, getting corrupted and altered the longer it stayed in its loop.

Derek couldn’t think of anything else to do, he needed to draw your senses to him, to pull you out of your hell.

In desperation, he gripped your face between his hands and drew you in for a kiss. Your lips were stiff and unmoving at first, but soon enough he felt you loosen in his arms as you began to instinctively kiss him back.

In the background, the horrific memory dissipated into blackness and the dark canvas mutated into a beautiful rendition of a romanticised full moon and starry sky.

Derek felt himself let go of all senses and logic as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. He felt your fingers grace his jawline as his tongue practically serenaded you into a peaceful quiet.

You were drowning in each other.

When Derek pulled back, he was utterly thrown by what he saw. Your eyes, they weren’t their normal colour, they glowed a magnificent silver, like the moon itself. And your body was surrounded by a shimmering green aura.

If the moon were personified as a woman, Derek imagined she would not be able to hold a candle up to your spellbinding beauty.

You had taken the very air from his lungs.

His eyes turned their werewolf blue, but it wasn’t from being on the defensive or from anger. They were blue for another reason.

“Why did you–” you couldn’t finish your question, a deep flush colouring your neck and cheeks.

“It was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of your… daze,” Derek explained, his chest heaving up and down.

Without any warning, just as you were mere moments from placing your hand back on his face, to feel if he was real even in the dream state, the dream melted away.  Derek and you were pulled apart in opposite directions as reality bombarded your senses again.

***

“Welcome back,” Peter said in between ragged pants as his head was coated in sweat and he was hunched over, holding onto his knees to keep him upright.

Your neck bled from the claw marks, staining your clothes red. Your eyes struggling to open.

You gasped out loud as you almost toppled over from the stool. Derek caught you before you touched the ground, his arms struggling to hold you up, Liam rushed to help him.

As you lost consciousness, the last thing you saw was his soothing green eyes looking down at you with worry and Liam’s own panic riddled expression contrasting deeply with the calm that was settling over you.

Part 8 is Here!

MASTERPOST | Mobile

As Always: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think so far! Don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and just a heads-up, this will be my last update for this series for a little while. I have some moving to do!

Tags: @melissavercos   @theflash-trash @mynamesalreadytaken @island-end @chipster-21 @helloscorpious  @marvelismyfantasy @anonymousfanfics @homra-the-red-clan @derangedangel @phonegalhelp’

Permanent tags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 7 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: So I take major liberties with the lore of transferring memories between werewolves in this chapter, but it’s still bordering the line of the established lore in the series so… But now I can happily say that the mystery of who the Order are and what they want is slowly unravelling. Now about that slow burn… (Also when you read the dream state part where the reader’s eyes change colour, that’s just the eye colour of her inner wolf).

Note: I had previously described Derek’s eye’s as being Hazel but I was corrected and was informed that they are in fact Green, so I edited the eye colour descriptions.

Words: 3660 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Violence, Past Trauma??? That’s it I guess.

(gif isn’t mine)

“I’m like you. I’m a werewolf.”

The words rang through the room as all four sets of eyes were on you.

Scott’s face was scrunched up in thought, he had found your reveal to be quite the shocker. You guessed he was probably unsettled by the fact he had never sensed the werewolf in you. Not that many could. Even your own family had a hard time sensing your other half. They had said it was because the wolf had remained buried, never once surfacing to take to its own unique scent and feel.

Stiles and Liam seemed the least shocked. If anything Stiles seemed to find some credibility in your being a werewolf. After all, just as Liam put it, the Order hunts other supernatural creatures, not humans.

Derek, however, had an unreadable expression on his face. It bothered you somewhat. You didn’t want him to look at you with that same level of distrust and caution as he used to. You had hoped things would be different after the attack on the clinic.

You waited in deafening silence as the boys mulled over your words. Until finally Derek spoke.

“How did you know the sage would work?” Derek asked, to your delight he regarded you no difference on account of your secret being made known. You felt more at ease for some reason.

“I’m not sure. I just knew,” You told him, surprised by his choice in question.

“How come we couldn’t sense you?” Liam asked, bringing the focus back to your newly revealed secret.

“You and I both know the wolf form and the human form can have two very distinct scents. Also, I’m what you call an ‘afflicted,’” You said in a hushed voice, the word afflicted rolled off your tongue with a slight sting to it. You always hated that word.

“What is that?” Scott asked, finally breaking from his stupor.

Derek’s brow was drawn together as he wore his signature scowl whenever he was deep in thought.

“I thought they were a myth. My mother told me stories as a kid… the Afflicted are pure born shape-shifters who can’t shift,” Derek looked at you with what you assumed was pity in his eyes.

“Yahtzee,” you said sardonically, “give this man a prize.”

“That’s a thing?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, my mother would tell me these stories about werewolves being cursed to stay in their human form forever. To be honest, I always thought it was just a scary story to keep me from turning outside a full moon,” Derek had a fond look on his face, the memory brought about a bitter-sweet touch to his chiselled features.

“It’s actually a recessive gene. My family are one of the last few remaining carriers. It only runs in pure-blooded werewolf families. My brothers and sisters can shift, my mother is the carrier and I’m the one with the genetic predisposition, that is, assuming lycanthropy works the same way as gene expression,” You said brazenly, a solemn smile gracing your lips.

Stiles’ eyes went wide as he flailed about trying to open one of the leather bound books he had in his possession. His actions caused quite the ruckus and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his goofy behaviour.

“Okay so on my way here, I started thinking about the name they gave the hunted:  Ex Alia, right. And it’s an odd phrase because combined Ex Alia actually means 'from the other’ and that can also mean 'apart from’, right.”

“Stiles, we’ve been over this,” Derek said running his fingers over his thick eyebrows.

Stiles mimed Derek’s words back at him in a comical way, “If you would just let me finish!”

Derek held up his hands and folded them over his chest, eyeing Stiles intensely for the loud tone he had shouted at him with.

“Thank you,” Stiles said condescendingly, “Now, what if it’s in reference to werewolves who are apart from their kin. Like for example…”

“Werewolves or other shapeshifters who can’t shift,” Scott finished Stiles’ thought.

Even though Stiles argument made sense to you, you couldn’t help but fight against his logic, “Even if that were true, they still went after Alex, and he could shift,” you rebutted.

“Yes, but you said it’s genetic. So what if Alex was a carrier?” Stiles rebuffed.

You went silent. Stiles had a point.

You knew Alex since childhood, he was a third generation werewolf. Your family had a close relationship with other legacy families, that’s how you met. It was completely plausible for Alex to be a carrier for the same recessive gene you expressed.

You were startled from your lamentation when you heard a booming knock come from the bunker door. Everyone in the room exchanged questioning glances as they silently asked each other if they knew who it could be.

Stiles drew the short straw and offered himself up to go and see who it was. You were still standing there, numb from everything that had transpired.

You heard Stiles pull open the heavy metal door of the bunker, mutter a quick “Nope,” like he was rejecting Girl Scout cookies and shut it behind him before he came to re-join the half circle again.

“Who was it?” Liam asked.

“No one important,” Stiles said coolly as he waved the question away and wore an upturned frown. It was certainly a dubious look. Derek wasn’t convinced as he raised a brow at him.

A second later, Derek and Scott’s heads snapped to the doors direction just as the door flew off its hinges. Their claws and fangs protruding outwards, their wolfish features taking shape.

Liam was already fully shifted, his nostrils flaring as he let out snarls for breaths. The energy coming off him was powerful and angry, making you instinctively take a few steps back.

All three of them lined up in front of you and Stiles, their eyes creating a gradient from red to yellow to blue. Their animalistic growls echoing through the room.

A set of footsteps descended the steps in a relaxed, languid manner. They belonged to a handsome faced man, slightly older than everyone else in the room, with the same dramatic streak as Derek. He smiled wickedly as he opened his arms in a warm mocking embrace, his head held up high like some entitled prince. His own blue eyes glowing with the same intensity as Derek.

Derek, Liam and Scott retracted their fangs and claws and dropped their defensive stances as soon as they registered who it was that had just punched the door in.

Apparently, the man making the needlessly dramatic entrance wasn’t a threat.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to shut the door in people’s faces?” The man asked Stiles in a low threatening voice. His clawed fingers dusting off none existent dust from his leather jacket.

“Yeah, well I was also told not to invite homicidal maniacs into any enclosed spaces with me, so…” Stiles shot back.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” Derek asked with a hint of familiarity.

“Why dear nephew, I heard your call.”

“Okay who called the homicidal maniac?” Stiles said as he looked over at Derek, Scott and Liam with exasperation.

“He meant the howl,” Liam told Stiles.

“Oh, this is just great,” you sighed, plopping yourself down on the stool where Liam had previously sat. “More werewolves.”

Stiles just patted you back and gave a weak, “There, there,” in place of consolation.

“So what have I missed?” Peter said with a large smirk on his clean-shaven face.

The next hour was spent catching Peter upon what was currently plaguing Beacon Hills and your life.

Peter stopped Scott from talking with a single look when he heard you had repressed the memories from the night Alex died. He had an idea, you could read it on his face.

He came and stood a few inches away from you, looking down at you like you were some mathematical theorem to be solved. He held up one finger after much silence and ushered Derek closer to you.

“Derek, come here a second,” he said. Derek obliged but made sure to drag his feet a little so Peter didn’t think Derek was open to being summoned.

“I hear you have amnesia,” Peter directed the statement to you, you just stared up at him and didn’t reply. “You’re a werewolf, right? So that means even though you can’t shift, the same rules apply to you?”

“In a way. I can heal faster than humans, my sense of smell is better and in some cases, I can hear better, but without the ability to shift those powers are significantly weaker to that of actual shapeshifters. But… yes, the same rules apply. Wolf’s-bane is still toxic to me, I still feel the pull of the moon, and my abilities are magnified when I’m in a pack. Why do you ask?” You were curious as to where Peter was going with this.

“Just making sure this won’t kill you,” Peter just gave an innocent smile before he extended his claws and dug them into yours and Derek’s neck, linking you to one another, using himself as a conduit. Before you were lost in the spiral of memory and shared consciousness, you heard Stiles say “Oh my God!” in shock and Scott shout Peter’s name in an alpha male voice.

It was too late though, you and Derek were already linked and pulling you out now would just cause more harm than good.

***

It felt like you were free falling through an endless white space. Incoherent chattering and sounds playing all at once like someone had overlapped several songs onto a single track.

You were lost in the cacophony of your mind in disarray, until you felt Derek’s hands link with yours, pulling you from your confusion.

“Where are we?” You asked him.

Derek looked around at the white empty space, it was like staring at a blank canvas that had no end. His brows knit together for a moment before he realised what was going on.

“We’re in your mind, Peter linked us in a shared dream state. Werewolves can sometimes share memories by a bite or a scratch. I think in this case he figured you couldn’t grow out your claws or fangs, so he used himself as a proverbial telephone cord.”

You were familiar with how the sharing of memories worked. Your father had done something similar with your older brother Markus when he had passed on the mantle of Alpha to him.

Just as you were reliving the memory, the blank canvas of your mind bled through with colour and voices and suddenly a clear image of that day began to replay as though you had just stepped back in time.

Your brother was lying in the centre of a field by the meadow you had spent much of your childhood watching your sibling’s roughhousing.

Markus was writhing in pain as his eyes shimmered between his former vibrant gold to the frightful red they were now. Your mother, sister and younger brother were standing alongside you as you all watched your father transfer his powers onto Markus.

“What is this?” Derek asked

“The Markolf tradition,” you said with a hint of pride at your legacy and sorrow for the pain your brother was enduring.

Your brother let out a howling scream, you winced. so did Derek.

You continued, “We differ from most werewolf families because we have the ability to pass on the mantle of alpha when we are no longer fit enough to carry it. That’s partially where we got our name from. Markolf is old High German, it combines the words ‘border’ and ‘wolf’ because we aren’t like most werewolf families. The transferral is painful and can only be done during a full moon. If none of the pack contests, and if the progeny is strong enough, then passing on of the mantle is usually successful.”

“I’ve never heard of this…” Derek was perplexed and in awe of what he saw unfolding.

“My great-grandfather was what you call a True Alpha, he discovered it was possible to pass on the gift by focusing his power through a bite. However, in doing so, you also relinquish most of your strength, making you considerably weaker.”

Derek shook himself of his astonishment and tugged at your hand to make you face him, “I think I know why Peter did what he did. If you can’t remember what happened to you, then maybe I can. Earlier, you were having a nightmare, I think it was about the night Alex dies.”

You squinted your eyes at him, not having any memory of having had a nightmare earlier, “I don’t remember having a nightmare.”

“It must be your subconscious protecting you from the trauma. All I need you to do is just think about that night. Close your eyes and picture it, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

You closed your eyes and let your mind wander.

***

Derek kept his eyes on you while yours stayed shut. He held onto your hand to be your anchor, your guide. He watched silently as the canvas began to bleed through with new colours and images and sounds again.

It started with a laugh.

A sweet, sing-song laugh that tugged at Derek’s heartstrings. He turned in the direction of the laugh and saw a younger version of you. A version from the past. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with a bright eye-creasing smile and a glow to your skin from the beams of light falling against your body from the moon.

Derek’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the younger version of you wrapped in another man’s arms. A strong man’s arms. Alex, no doubt.

Alex tucked a strand of your longer hair behind an ear. There were accents of playful red streaks hidden amongst the darker parts of your hair. He enjoyed your vibrancy and so did Derek.

You had seemed a different person in the memory. More carefree and easier with a smile, it had managed to coax an unexpected smile from Derek too.

Alex whispered sweet nothings in your ear as the camp sight materialised behind you, and soon so did the trees and the speckled night sky.

Derek couldn’t help it when his jaw tightened and his eyes filled with what held the familiar tang of jealousy. He didn’t understand where this feeling was coming from, but he was sure it had to do with the fact the younger, longer-haired version of you was looking longingly into the eyes of another man.

Was Derek jealous of a dead man?

Derek grew annoyed at his boyish behaviour, he was here to help you uncover your memories, not be yearning after a version of the woman whose hand he held.

Once the memory had been constructed it was time for Derek to relive it for you while you kept your eyes shut.

The memory shifted from its pleasant sweetness into a slightly more darkened tone. Derek saw the younger version of you having an argument with Alex. Your face frowned and your eyes held a stubborn conviction, Alex appeared more worn out, as though he was slowly realising he was losing the fight:

“I just don’t understand why you would take the job in Vancouver without talking with me about it…” Alex said with gloom.

“Alex, I don’t want to fight about this again. It’s not every day that someone gets offered such a desirable job straight out of university!” The younger version of you shouted, tired of arguing about the same thing for the past month with Alex. “You know I couldn’t pass it up.”

“But you did so without talking it over with me first. It’s like you’re using the job as an excuse to end things with me. I know we haven’t been ourselves in a while now, I know we fight a lot but–”

“Alex, please stop. We can talk about this when we get back home.”

Derek noticed that your smile began to falter as you heard the words the younger version of you shouted at Alex. He squeezed your hand slightly to let you know he was still with you. That you weren’t alone.

The memory grew darker still.

The night was less illuminated and the moon was obscured by rain clouds. In the memory, you were holding a hand over your mouth to keep your ragged pants as inaudible as possible, hunkered behind a sage bush as Alex slowly bled out a stone’s throw away from you.

Alyster -the man in the green robe from before- was scanning the forest, he was searching for you. His eagle eyes still every bit as disconcerting as before. The compass around his neck slowly losing its green glow.

The blonde archer from before came to his side, “Alyster,” she called out, “the girl, can you sense her?”

Alyster shook his head, his red hair weightless against the howling wind, “Her aura has been shielded from the Oculus,” his bony fingers clasped the compass around his neck, “its ability is being obscured.” Alyster pointed at a burning cluster of sage close by.

The archer grabbed a hand full of sage growing on one of the many bushes closest to her and crumpled it in her hands with distaste, “And the boy?” the archer asked, glancing down at a slowly dying Alex.

“He carries the magic in him as well, but the girl’s was stronger. She is the one we need if we hope to keep the Mother Tree fuelled. I fear, she may be the last.” Alyster glanced down at his arm. A tattoo made up of a strange marking etched onto his forearm, previously hidden under his green robe.

When Alex finally drew his last breath, a green mist came into view around his body, the mist was drawn towards the tattoo, embedding itself into it. The tattoo glowed the same shade as the Oculus for a brief minute before it returned back to normal. Alyster let out a pained growl.

“The rest of the pack have scurried off, do we make with the chase?”

“No. They do not possess the magic. Leave them be, tell the others to return. Daybreak is upon us.”

Derek noticed tears streaming down your face.

Your hand had clutched his in a death grip as the memory began to unravel and spiral into chaos. It played over and over again: the lone arrow whistling through the tree line, embedding itself into Alex’s chest after your argument; Alex shouting for you to hide as another arrow flew out; you scurrying behind the bushes and holding your breath as you listened to Alyster and the female archer converse; Alex losing the light in his eyes; the eagle eyes that scanned the forest belonging to Alyster and the green tendrils that felt out for you emerging from the Oculus.

It just kept repeating.

“Y/N, snap out of it,” Derek shook your shoulders. You didn’t budge, your eyes shut tight, refusing to open.

“Y/N, wake up, listen to my voice,” Derek tried to reassure you, “I’m here, I’m right here, don’t lose yourself in the memory. Stay with me!”

He was shaking you violently but you were lost in the chaos. Derek watched as the memory replayed itself, getting corrupted and altered the longer it stayed in its loop.

Derek couldn’t think of anything else to do, he needed to draw your senses to him, to pull you out of your hell.

In desperation, he gripped your face between his hands and drew you in for a kiss. Your lips were stiff and unmoving at first, but soon enough he felt you loosen in his arms as you began to instinctively kiss him back.

In the background, the horrific memory dissipated into blackness and the dark canvas mutated into a beautiful rendition of a romanticised full moon and starry sky.

Derek felt himself let go of all senses and logic as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. He felt your fingers grace his jawline as his tongue practically serenaded you into a peaceful quiet.

You were drowning in each other.

When Derek pulled back, he was utterly thrown by what he saw. Your eyes, they weren’t their normal colour, they glowed a magnificent silver, like the moon itself. And your body was surrounded by a shimmering green aura.

If the moon were personified as a woman, Derek imagined she would not be able to hold a candle up to your spellbinding beauty.

You had taken the very air from his lungs.

His eyes turned their werewolf blue, but it wasn’t from being on the defensive or from anger. They were blue for another reason.

“Why did you–” you couldn’t finish your question, a deep flush colouring your neck and cheeks.

“It was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of your… daze,” Derek explained, his chest heaving up and down.

Without any warning, just as you were mere moments from placing your hand back on his face, to feel if he was real even in the dream state, the dream melted away.  Derek and you were pulled apart in opposite directions as reality bombarded your senses again.

***

“Welcome back,” Peter said in between ragged pants as his head was coated in sweat and he was hunched over, holding onto his knees to keep him upright.

Your neck bled from the claw marks, staining your clothes red. Your eyes struggling to open.

You gasped out loud as you almost toppled over from the stool. Derek caught you before you touched the ground, his arms struggling to hold you up, Liam rushed to help him.

As you lost consciousness, the last thing you saw was his soothing green eyes looking down at you with worry and Liam’s own panic riddled expression contrasting deeply with the calm that was settling over you.

Part 8 is Here!

MASTERPOST | Mobile

As Always: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think so far! Don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and just a heads-up, this will be my last update for this series for a little while. I have some moving to do!

Tags: @melissavercos   @theflash-trash @mynamesalreadytaken @island-end @chipster-21 @helloscorpious  @marvelismyfantasy @anonymousfanfics @homra-the-red-clan @derangedangel @phonegalhelp’

Permanent tags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 7 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: So I take major liberties with the lore of transferring memories between werewolves in this chapter, but it’s still bordering the line of the established lore in the series so… But now I can happily say that the mystery of who the Order are and what they want is slowly unravelling. Now about that slow burn… (Also when you read the dream state part where the reader’s eyes change colour, that’s just the eye colour of her inner wolf).

Note: I had previously described Derek’s eye’s as being Hazel but I was corrected and was informed that they are in fact Green, so I edited the eye colour descriptions.

Words: 3660 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Violence, Past Trauma??? That’s it I guess.

(gif isn’t mine)

“I’m like you. I’m a werewolf.”

The words rang through the room as all four sets of eyes were on you.

Scott’s face was scrunched up in thought, he had found your reveal to be quite the shocker. You guessed he was probably unsettled by the fact he had never sensed the werewolf in you. Not that many could. Even your own family had a hard time sensing your other half. They had said it was because the wolf had remained buried, never once surfacing to take to its own unique scent and feel.

Stiles and Liam seemed the least shocked. If anything Stiles seemed to find some credibility in your being a werewolf. After all, just as Liam put it, the Order hunts other supernatural creatures, not humans.

Derek, however, had an unreadable expression on his face. It bothered you somewhat. You didn’t want him to look at you with that same level of distrust and caution as he used to. You had hoped things would be different after the attack on the clinic.

You waited in deafening silence as the boys mulled over your words. Until finally Derek spoke.

“How did you know the sage would work?” Derek asked, to your delight he regarded you no difference on account of your secret being made known. You felt more at ease for some reason.

“I’m not sure. I just knew,” You told him, surprised by his choice in question.

“How come we couldn’t sense you?” Liam asked, bringing the focus back to your newly revealed secret.

“You and I both know the wolf form and the human form can have two very distinct scents. Also, I’m what you call an ‘afflicted,’” You said in a hushed voice, the word afflicted rolled off your tongue with a slight sting to it. You always hated that word.

“What is that?” Scott asked, finally breaking from his stupor.

Derek’s brow was drawn together as he wore his signature scowl whenever he was deep in thought.

“I thought they were a myth. My mother told me stories as a kid… the Afflicted are pure born shape-shifters who can’t shift,” Derek looked at you with what you assumed was pity in his eyes.

“Yahtzee,” you said sardonically, “give this man a prize.”

“That’s a thing?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, my mother would tell me these stories about werewolves being cursed to stay in their human form forever. To be honest, I always thought it was just a scary story to keep me from turning outside a full moon,” Derek had a fond look on his face, the memory brought about a bitter-sweet touch to his chiselled features.

“It’s actually a recessive gene. My family are one of the last few remaining carriers. It only runs in pure-blooded werewolf families. My brothers and sisters can shift, my mother is the carrier and I’m the one with the genetic predisposition, that is, assuming lycanthropy works the same way as gene expression,” You said brazenly, a solemn smile gracing your lips.

Stiles’ eyes went wide as he flailed about trying to open one of the leather bound books he had in his possession. His actions caused quite the ruckus and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his goofy behaviour.

“Okay so on my way here, I started thinking about the name they gave the hunted:  Ex Alia, right. And it’s an odd phrase because combined Ex Alia actually means 'from the other’ and that can also mean 'apart from’, right.”

“Stiles, we’ve been over this,” Derek said running his fingers over his thick eyebrows.

Stiles mimed Derek’s words back at him in a comical way, “If you would just let me finish!”

Derek held up his hands and folded them over his chest, eyeing Stiles intensely for the loud tone he had shouted at him with.

“Thank you,” Stiles said condescendingly, “Now, what if it’s in reference to werewolves who are apart from their kin. Like for example…”

“Werewolves or other shapeshifters who can’t shift,” Scott finished Stiles’ thought.

Even though Stiles argument made sense to you, you couldn’t help but fight against his logic, “Even if that were true, they still went after Alex, and he could shift,” you rebutted.

“Yes, but you said it’s genetic. So what if Alex was a carrier?” Stiles rebuffed.

You went silent. Stiles had a point.

You knew Alex since childhood, he was a third generation werewolf. Your family had a close relationship with other legacy families, that’s how you met. It was completely plausible for Alex to be a carrier for the same recessive gene you expressed.

You were startled from your lamentation when you heard a booming knock come from the bunker door. Everyone in the room exchanged questioning glances as they silently asked each other if they knew who it could be.

Stiles drew the short straw and offered himself up to go and see who it was. You were still standing there, numb from everything that had transpired.

You heard Stiles pull open the heavy metal door of the bunker, mutter a quick “Nope,” like he was rejecting Girl Scout cookies and shut it behind him before he came to re-join the half circle again.

“Who was it?” Liam asked.

“No one important,” Stiles said coolly as he waved the question away and wore an upturned frown. It was certainly a dubious look. Derek wasn’t convinced as he raised a brow at him.

A second later, Derek and Scott’s heads snapped to the doors direction just as the door flew off its hinges. Their claws and fangs protruding outwards, their wolfish features taking shape.

Liam was already fully shifted, his nostrils flaring as he let out snarls for breaths. The energy coming off him was powerful and angry, making you instinctively take a few steps back.

All three of them lined up in front of you and Stiles, their eyes creating a gradient from red to yellow to blue. Their animalistic growls echoing through the room.

A set of footsteps descended the steps in a relaxed, languid manner. They belonged to a handsome faced man, slightly older than everyone else in the room, with the same dramatic streak as Derek. He smiled wickedly as he opened his arms in a warm mocking embrace, his head held up high like some entitled prince. His own blue eyes glowing with the same intensity as Derek.

Derek, Liam and Scott retracted their fangs and claws and dropped their defensive stances as soon as they registered who it was that had just punched the door in.

Apparently, the man making the needlessly dramatic entrance wasn’t a threat.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to shut the door in people’s faces?” The man asked Stiles in a low threatening voice. His clawed fingers dusting off none existent dust from his leather jacket.

“Yeah, well I was also told not to invite homicidal maniacs into any enclosed spaces with me, so…” Stiles shot back.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” Derek asked with a hint of familiarity.

“Why dear nephew, I heard your call.”

“Okay who called the homicidal maniac?” Stiles said as he looked over at Derek, Scott and Liam with exasperation.

“He meant the howl,” Liam told Stiles.

“Oh, this is just great,” you sighed, plopping yourself down on the stool where Liam had previously sat. “More werewolves.”

Stiles just patted you back and gave a weak, “There, there,” in place of consolation.

“So what have I missed?” Peter said with a large smirk on his clean-shaven face.

The next hour was spent catching Peter upon what was currently plaguing Beacon Hills and your life.

Peter stopped Scott from talking with a single look when he heard you had repressed the memories from the night Alex died. He had an idea, you could read it on his face.

He came and stood a few inches away from you, looking down at you like you were some mathematical theorem to be solved. He held up one finger after much silence and ushered Derek closer to you.

“Derek, come here a second,” he said. Derek obliged but made sure to drag his feet a little so Peter didn’t think Derek was open to being summoned.

“I hear you have amnesia,” Peter directed the statement to you, you just stared up at him and didn’t reply. “You’re a werewolf, right? So that means even though you can’t shift, the same rules apply to you?”

“In a way. I can heal faster than humans, my sense of smell is better and in some cases, I can hear better, but without the ability to shift those powers are significantly weaker to that of actual shapeshifters. But… yes, the same rules apply. Wolf’s-bane is still toxic to me, I still feel the pull of the moon, and my abilities are magnified when I’m in a pack. Why do you ask?” You were curious as to where Peter was going with this.

“Just making sure this won’t kill you,” Peter just gave an innocent smile before he extended his claws and dug them into yours and Derek’s neck, linking you to one another, using himself as a conduit. Before you were lost in the spiral of memory and shared consciousness, you heard Stiles say “Oh my God!” in shock and Scott shout Peter’s name in an alpha male voice.

It was too late though, you and Derek were already linked and pulling you out now would just cause more harm than good.

***

It felt like you were free falling through an endless white space. Incoherent chattering and sounds playing all at once like someone had overlapped several songs onto a single track.

You were lost in the cacophony of your mind in disarray, until you felt Derek’s hands link with yours, pulling you from your confusion.

“Where are we?” You asked him.

Derek looked around at the white empty space, it was like staring at a blank canvas that had no end. His brows knit together for a moment before he realised what was going on.

“We’re in your mind, Peter linked us in a shared dream state. Werewolves can sometimes share memories by a bite or a scratch. I think in this case he figured you couldn’t grow out your claws or fangs, so he used himself as a proverbial telephone cord.”

You were familiar with how the sharing of memories worked. Your father had done something similar with your older brother Markus when he had passed on the mantle of Alpha to him.

Just as you were reliving the memory, the blank canvas of your mind bled through with colour and voices and suddenly a clear image of that day began to replay as though you had just stepped back in time.

Your brother was lying in the centre of a field by the meadow you had spent much of your childhood watching your sibling’s roughhousing.

Markus was writhing in pain as his eyes shimmered between his former vibrant gold to the frightful red they were now. Your mother, sister and younger brother were standing alongside you as you all watched your father transfer his powers onto Markus.

“What is this?” Derek asked

“The Markolf tradition,” you said with a hint of pride at your legacy and sorrow for the pain your brother was enduring.

Your brother let out a howling scream, you winced. so did Derek.

You continued, “We differ from most werewolf families because we have the ability to pass on the mantle of alpha when we are no longer fit enough to carry it. That’s partially where we got our name from. Markolf is old High German, it combines the words ‘border’ and ‘wolf’ because we aren’t like most werewolf families. The transferral is painful and can only be done during a full moon. If none of the pack contests, and if the progeny is strong enough, then passing on of the mantle is usually successful.”

“I’ve never heard of this…” Derek was perplexed and in awe of what he saw unfolding.

“My great-grandfather was what you call a True Alpha, he discovered it was possible to pass on the gift by focusing his power through a bite. However, in doing so, you also relinquish most of your strength, making you considerably weaker.”

Derek shook himself of his astonishment and tugged at your hand to make you face him, “I think I know why Peter did what he did. If you can’t remember what happened to you, then maybe I can. Earlier, you were having a nightmare, I think it was about the night Alex dies.”

You squinted your eyes at him, not having any memory of having had a nightmare earlier, “I don’t remember having a nightmare.”

“It must be your subconscious protecting you from the trauma. All I need you to do is just think about that night. Close your eyes and picture it, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

You closed your eyes and let your mind wander.

***

Derek kept his eyes on you while yours stayed shut. He held onto your hand to be your anchor, your guide. He watched silently as the canvas began to bleed through with new colours and images and sounds again.

It started with a laugh.

A sweet, sing-song laugh that tugged at Derek’s heartstrings. He turned in the direction of the laugh and saw a younger version of you. A version from the past. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with a bright eye-creasing smile and a glow to your skin from the beams of light falling against your body from the moon.

Derek’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the younger version of you wrapped in another man’s arms. A strong man’s arms. Alex, no doubt.

Alex tucked a strand of your longer hair behind an ear. There were accents of playful red streaks hidden amongst the darker parts of your hair. He enjoyed your vibrancy and so did Derek.

You had seemed a different person in the memory. More carefree and easier with a smile, it had managed to coax an unexpected smile from Derek too.

Alex whispered sweet nothings in your ear as the camp sight materialised behind you, and soon so did the trees and the speckled night sky.

Derek couldn’t help it when his jaw tightened and his eyes filled with what held the familiar tang of jealousy. He didn’t understand where this feeling was coming from, but he was sure it had to do with the fact the younger, longer-haired version of you was looking longingly into the eyes of another man.

Was Derek jealous of a dead man?

Derek grew annoyed at his boyish behaviour, he was here to help you uncover your memories, not be yearning after a version of the woman whose hand he held.

Once the memory had been constructed it was time for Derek to relive it for you while you kept your eyes shut.

The memory shifted from its pleasant sweetness into a slightly more darkened tone. Derek saw the younger version of you having an argument with Alex. Your face frowned and your eyes held a stubborn conviction, Alex appeared more worn out, as though he was slowly realising he was losing the fight:

“I just don’t understand why you would take the job in Vancouver without talking with me about it…” Alex said with gloom.

“Alex, I don’t want to fight about this again. It’s not every day that someone gets offered such a desirable job straight out of university!” The younger version of you shouted, tired of arguing about the same thing for the past month with Alex. “You know I couldn’t pass it up.”

“But you did so without talking it over with me first. It’s like you’re using the job as an excuse to end things with me. I know we haven’t been ourselves in a while now, I know we fight a lot but–”

“Alex, please stop. We can talk about this when we get back home.”

Derek noticed that your smile began to falter as you heard the words the younger version of you shouted at Alex. He squeezed your hand slightly to let you know he was still with you. That you weren’t alone.

The memory grew darker still.

The night was less illuminated and the moon was obscured by rain clouds. In the memory, you were holding a hand over your mouth to keep your ragged pants as inaudible as possible, hunkered behind a sage bush as Alex slowly bled out a stone’s throw away from you.

Alyster -the man in the green robe from before- was scanning the forest, he was searching for you. His eagle eyes still every bit as disconcerting as before. The compass around his neck slowly losing its green glow.

The blonde archer from before came to his side, “Alyster,” she called out, “the girl, can you sense her?”

Alyster shook his head, his red hair weightless against the howling wind, “Her aura has been shielded from the Oculus,” his bony fingers clasped the compass around his neck, “its ability is being obscured.” Alyster pointed at a burning cluster of sage close by.

The archer grabbed a hand full of sage growing on one of the many bushes closest to her and crumpled it in her hands with distaste, “And the boy?” the archer asked, glancing down at a slowly dying Alex.

“He carries the magic in him as well, but the girl’s was stronger. She is the one we need if we hope to keep the Mother Tree fuelled. I fear, she may be the last.” Alyster glanced down at his arm. A tattoo made up of a strange marking etched onto his forearm, previously hidden under his green robe.

When Alex finally drew his last breath, a green mist came into view around his body, the mist was drawn towards the tattoo, embedding itself into it. The tattoo glowed the same shade as the Oculus for a brief minute before it returned back to normal. Alyster let out a pained growl.

“The rest of the pack have scurried off, do we make with the chase?”

“No. They do not possess the magic. Leave them be, tell the others to return. Daybreak is upon us.”

Derek noticed tears streaming down your face.

Your hand had clutched his in a death grip as the memory began to unravel and spiral into chaos. It played over and over again: the lone arrow whistling through the tree line, embedding itself into Alex’s chest after your argument; Alex shouting for you to hide as another arrow flew out; you scurrying behind the bushes and holding your breath as you listened to Alyster and the female archer converse; Alex losing the light in his eyes; the eagle eyes that scanned the forest belonging to Alyster and the green tendrils that felt out for you emerging from the Oculus.

It just kept repeating.

“Y/N, snap out of it,” Derek shook your shoulders. You didn’t budge, your eyes shut tight, refusing to open.

“Y/N, wake up, listen to my voice,” Derek tried to reassure you, “I’m here, I’m right here, don’t lose yourself in the memory. Stay with me!”

He was shaking you violently but you were lost in the chaos. Derek watched as the memory replayed itself, getting corrupted and altered the longer it stayed in its loop.

Derek couldn’t think of anything else to do, he needed to draw your senses to him, to pull you out of your hell.

In desperation, he gripped your face between his hands and drew you in for a kiss. Your lips were stiff and unmoving at first, but soon enough he felt you loosen in his arms as you began to instinctively kiss him back.

In the background, the horrific memory dissipated into blackness and the dark canvas mutated into a beautiful rendition of a romanticised full moon and starry sky.

Derek felt himself let go of all senses and logic as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. He felt your fingers grace his jawline as his tongue practically serenaded you into a peaceful quiet.

You were drowning in each other.

When Derek pulled back, he was utterly thrown by what he saw. Your eyes, they weren’t their normal colour, they glowed a magnificent silver, like the moon itself. And your body was surrounded by a shimmering green aura.

If the moon were personified as a woman, Derek imagined she would not be able to hold a candle up to your spellbinding beauty.

You had taken the very air from his lungs.

His eyes turned their werewolf blue, but it wasn’t from being on the defensive or from anger. They were blue for another reason.

“Why did you–” you couldn’t finish your question, a deep flush colouring your neck and cheeks.

“It was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of your… daze,” Derek explained, his chest heaving up and down.

Without any warning, just as you were mere moments from placing your hand back on his face, to feel if he was real even in the dream state, the dream melted away.  Derek and you were pulled apart in opposite directions as reality bombarded your senses again.

***

“Welcome back,” Peter said in between ragged pants as his head was coated in sweat and he was hunched over, holding onto his knees to keep him upright.

Your neck bled from the claw marks, staining your clothes red. Your eyes struggling to open.

You gasped out loud as you almost toppled over from the stool. Derek caught you before you touched the ground, his arms struggling to hold you up, Liam rushed to help him.

As you lost consciousness, the last thing you saw was his soothing green eyes looking down at you with worry and Liam’s own panic riddled expression contrasting deeply with the calm that was settling over you.

Part 8 is Here!

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As Always: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think so far! Don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and just a heads-up, this will be my last update for this series for a little while. I have some moving to do!

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 7 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: So I take major liberties with the lore of transferring memories between werewolves in this chapter, but it’s still bordering the line of the established lore in the series so… But now I can happily say that the mystery of who the Order are and what they want is slowly unravelling. Now about that slow burn… (Also when you read the dream state part where the reader’s eyes change colour, that’s just the eye colour of her inner wolf).

Note: I had previously described Derek’s eye’s as being Hazel but I was corrected and was informed that they are in fact Green, so I edited the eye colour descriptions.

Words: 3660 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Violence, Past Trauma??? That’s it I guess.

(gif isn’t mine)

“I’m like you. I’m a werewolf.”

The words rang through the room as all four sets of eyes were on you.

Scott’s face was scrunched up in thought, he had found your reveal to be quite the shocker. You guessed he was probably unsettled by the fact he had never sensed the werewolf in you. Not that many could. Even your own family had a hard time sensing your other half. They had said it was because the wolf had remained buried, never once surfacing to take to its own unique scent and feel.

Stiles and Liam seemed the least shocked. If anything Stiles seemed to find some credibility in your being a werewolf. After all, just as Liam put it, the Order hunts other supernatural creatures, not humans.

Derek, however, had an unreadable expression on his face. It bothered you somewhat. You didn’t want him to look at you with that same level of distrust and caution as he used to. You had hoped things would be different after the attack on the clinic.

You waited in deafening silence as the boys mulled over your words. Until finally Derek spoke.

“How did you know the sage would work?” Derek asked, to your delight he regarded you no difference on account of your secret being made known. You felt more at ease for some reason.

“I’m not sure. I just knew,” You told him, surprised by his choice in question.

“How come we couldn’t sense you?” Liam asked, bringing the focus back to your newly revealed secret.

“You and I both know the wolf form and the human form can have two very distinct scents. Also, I’m what you call an ‘afflicted,’” You said in a hushed voice, the word afflicted rolled off your tongue with a slight sting to it. You always hated that word.

“What is that?” Scott asked, finally breaking from his stupor.

Derek’s brow was drawn together as he wore his signature scowl whenever he was deep in thought.

“I thought they were a myth. My mother told me stories as a kid… the Afflicted are pure born shape-shifters who can’t shift,” Derek looked at you with what you assumed was pity in his eyes.

“Yahtzee,” you said sardonically, “give this man a prize.”

“That’s a thing?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, my mother would tell me these stories about werewolves being cursed to stay in their human form forever. To be honest, I always thought it was just a scary story to keep me from turning outside a full moon,” Derek had a fond look on his face, the memory brought about a bitter-sweet touch to his chiselled features.

“It’s actually a recessive gene. My family are one of the last few remaining carriers. It only runs in pure-blooded werewolf families. My brothers and sisters can shift, my mother is the carrier and I’m the one with the genetic predisposition, that is, assuming lycanthropy works the same way as gene expression,” You said brazenly, a solemn smile gracing your lips.

Stiles’ eyes went wide as he flailed about trying to open one of the leather bound books he had in his possession. His actions caused quite the ruckus and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his goofy behaviour.

“Okay so on my way here, I started thinking about the name they gave the hunted:  Ex Alia, right. And it’s an odd phrase because combined Ex Alia actually means 'from the other’ and that can also mean 'apart from’, right.”

“Stiles, we’ve been over this,” Derek said running his fingers over his thick eyebrows.

Stiles mimed Derek’s words back at him in a comical way, “If you would just let me finish!”

Derek held up his hands and folded them over his chest, eyeing Stiles intensely for the loud tone he had shouted at him with.

“Thank you,” Stiles said condescendingly, “Now, what if it’s in reference to werewolves who are apart from their kin. Like for example…”

“Werewolves or other shapeshifters who can’t shift,” Scott finished Stiles’ thought.

Even though Stiles argument made sense to you, you couldn’t help but fight against his logic, “Even if that were true, they still went after Alex, and he could shift,” you rebutted.

“Yes, but you said it’s genetic. So what if Alex was a carrier?” Stiles rebuffed.

You went silent. Stiles had a point.

You knew Alex since childhood, he was a third generation werewolf. Your family had a close relationship with other legacy families, that’s how you met. It was completely plausible for Alex to be a carrier for the same recessive gene you expressed.

You were startled from your lamentation when you heard a booming knock come from the bunker door. Everyone in the room exchanged questioning glances as they silently asked each other if they knew who it could be.

Stiles drew the short straw and offered himself up to go and see who it was. You were still standing there, numb from everything that had transpired.

You heard Stiles pull open the heavy metal door of the bunker, mutter a quick “Nope,” like he was rejecting Girl Scout cookies and shut it behind him before he came to re-join the half circle again.

“Who was it?” Liam asked.

“No one important,” Stiles said coolly as he waved the question away and wore an upturned frown. It was certainly a dubious look. Derek wasn’t convinced as he raised a brow at him.

A second later, Derek and Scott’s heads snapped to the doors direction just as the door flew off its hinges. Their claws and fangs protruding outwards, their wolfish features taking shape.

Liam was already fully shifted, his nostrils flaring as he let out snarls for breaths. The energy coming off him was powerful and angry, making you instinctively take a few steps back.

All three of them lined up in front of you and Stiles, their eyes creating a gradient from red to yellow to blue. Their animalistic growls echoing through the room.

A set of footsteps descended the steps in a relaxed, languid manner. They belonged to a handsome faced man, slightly older than everyone else in the room, with the same dramatic streak as Derek. He smiled wickedly as he opened his arms in a warm mocking embrace, his head held up high like some entitled prince. His own blue eyes glowing with the same intensity as Derek.

Derek, Liam and Scott retracted their fangs and claws and dropped their defensive stances as soon as they registered who it was that had just punched the door in.

Apparently, the man making the needlessly dramatic entrance wasn’t a threat.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to shut the door in people’s faces?” The man asked Stiles in a low threatening voice. His clawed fingers dusting off none existent dust from his leather jacket.

“Yeah, well I was also told not to invite homicidal maniacs into any enclosed spaces with me, so…” Stiles shot back.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” Derek asked with a hint of familiarity.

“Why dear nephew, I heard your call.”

“Okay who called the homicidal maniac?” Stiles said as he looked over at Derek, Scott and Liam with exasperation.

“He meant the howl,” Liam told Stiles.

“Oh, this is just great,” you sighed, plopping yourself down on the stool where Liam had previously sat. “More werewolves.”

Stiles just patted you back and gave a weak, “There, there,” in place of consolation.

“So what have I missed?” Peter said with a large smirk on his clean-shaven face.

The next hour was spent catching Peter upon what was currently plaguing Beacon Hills and your life.

Peter stopped Scott from talking with a single look when he heard you had repressed the memories from the night Alex died. He had an idea, you could read it on his face.

He came and stood a few inches away from you, looking down at you like you were some mathematical theorem to be solved. He held up one finger after much silence and ushered Derek closer to you.

“Derek, come here a second,” he said. Derek obliged but made sure to drag his feet a little so Peter didn’t think Derek was open to being summoned.

“I hear you have amnesia,” Peter directed the statement to you, you just stared up at him and didn’t reply. “You’re a werewolf, right? So that means even though you can’t shift, the same rules apply to you?”

“In a way. I can heal faster than humans, my sense of smell is better and in some cases, I can hear better, but without the ability to shift those powers are significantly weaker to that of actual shapeshifters. But… yes, the same rules apply. Wolf’s-bane is still toxic to me, I still feel the pull of the moon, and my abilities are magnified when I’m in a pack. Why do you ask?” You were curious as to where Peter was going with this.

“Just making sure this won’t kill you,” Peter just gave an innocent smile before he extended his claws and dug them into yours and Derek’s neck, linking you to one another, using himself as a conduit. Before you were lost in the spiral of memory and shared consciousness, you heard Stiles say “Oh my God!” in shock and Scott shout Peter’s name in an alpha male voice.

It was too late though, you and Derek were already linked and pulling you out now would just cause more harm than good.

***

It felt like you were free falling through an endless white space. Incoherent chattering and sounds playing all at once like someone had overlapped several songs onto a single track.

You were lost in the cacophony of your mind in disarray, until you felt Derek’s hands link with yours, pulling you from your confusion.

“Where are we?” You asked him.

Derek looked around at the white empty space, it was like staring at a blank canvas that had no end. His brows knit together for a moment before he realised what was going on.

“We’re in your mind, Peter linked us in a shared dream state. Werewolves can sometimes share memories by a bite or a scratch. I think in this case he figured you couldn’t grow out your claws or fangs, so he used himself as a proverbial telephone cord.”

You were familiar with how the sharing of memories worked. Your father had done something similar with your older brother Markus when he had passed on the mantle of Alpha to him.

Just as you were reliving the memory, the blank canvas of your mind bled through with colour and voices and suddenly a clear image of that day began to replay as though you had just stepped back in time.

Your brother was lying in the centre of a field by the meadow you had spent much of your childhood watching your sibling’s roughhousing.

Markus was writhing in pain as his eyes shimmered between his former vibrant gold to the frightful red they were now. Your mother, sister and younger brother were standing alongside you as you all watched your father transfer his powers onto Markus.

“What is this?” Derek asked

“The Markolf tradition,” you said with a hint of pride at your legacy and sorrow for the pain your brother was enduring.

Your brother let out a howling scream, you winced. so did Derek.

You continued, “We differ from most werewolf families because we have the ability to pass on the mantle of alpha when we are no longer fit enough to carry it. That’s partially where we got our name from. Markolf is old High German, it combines the words ‘border’ and ‘wolf’ because we aren’t like most werewolf families. The transferral is painful and can only be done during a full moon. If none of the pack contests, and if the progeny is strong enough, then passing on of the mantle is usually successful.”

“I’ve never heard of this…” Derek was perplexed and in awe of what he saw unfolding.

“My great-grandfather was what you call a True Alpha, he discovered it was possible to pass on the gift by focusing his power through a bite. However, in doing so, you also relinquish most of your strength, making you considerably weaker.”

Derek shook himself of his astonishment and tugged at your hand to make you face him, “I think I know why Peter did what he did. If you can’t remember what happened to you, then maybe I can. Earlier, you were having a nightmare, I think it was about the night Alex dies.”

You squinted your eyes at him, not having any memory of having had a nightmare earlier, “I don’t remember having a nightmare.”

“It must be your subconscious protecting you from the trauma. All I need you to do is just think about that night. Close your eyes and picture it, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

You closed your eyes and let your mind wander.

***

Derek kept his eyes on you while yours stayed shut. He held onto your hand to be your anchor, your guide. He watched silently as the canvas began to bleed through with new colours and images and sounds again.

It started with a laugh.

A sweet, sing-song laugh that tugged at Derek’s heartstrings. He turned in the direction of the laugh and saw a younger version of you. A version from the past. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with a bright eye-creasing smile and a glow to your skin from the beams of light falling against your body from the moon.

Derek’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the younger version of you wrapped in another man’s arms. A strong man’s arms. Alex, no doubt.

Alex tucked a strand of your longer hair behind an ear. There were accents of playful red streaks hidden amongst the darker parts of your hair. He enjoyed your vibrancy and so did Derek.

You had seemed a different person in the memory. More carefree and easier with a smile, it had managed to coax an unexpected smile from Derek too.

Alex whispered sweet nothings in your ear as the camp sight materialised behind you, and soon so did the trees and the speckled night sky.

Derek couldn’t help it when his jaw tightened and his eyes filled with what held the familiar tang of jealousy. He didn’t understand where this feeling was coming from, but he was sure it had to do with the fact the younger, longer-haired version of you was looking longingly into the eyes of another man.

Was Derek jealous of a dead man?

Derek grew annoyed at his boyish behaviour, he was here to help you uncover your memories, not be yearning after a version of the woman whose hand he held.

Once the memory had been constructed it was time for Derek to relive it for you while you kept your eyes shut.

The memory shifted from its pleasant sweetness into a slightly more darkened tone. Derek saw the younger version of you having an argument with Alex. Your face frowned and your eyes held a stubborn conviction, Alex appeared more worn out, as though he was slowly realising he was losing the fight:

“I just don’t understand why you would take the job in Vancouver without talking with me about it…” Alex said with gloom.

“Alex, I don’t want to fight about this again. It’s not every day that someone gets offered such a desirable job straight out of university!” The younger version of you shouted, tired of arguing about the same thing for the past month with Alex. “You know I couldn’t pass it up.”

“But you did so without talking it over with me first. It’s like you’re using the job as an excuse to end things with me. I know we haven’t been ourselves in a while now, I know we fight a lot but–”

“Alex, please stop. We can talk about this when we get back home.”

Derek noticed that your smile began to falter as you heard the words the younger version of you shouted at Alex. He squeezed your hand slightly to let you know he was still with you. That you weren’t alone.

The memory grew darker still.

The night was less illuminated and the moon was obscured by rain clouds. In the memory, you were holding a hand over your mouth to keep your ragged pants as inaudible as possible, hunkered behind a sage bush as Alex slowly bled out a stone’s throw away from you.

Alyster -the man in the green robe from before- was scanning the forest, he was searching for you. His eagle eyes still every bit as disconcerting as before. The compass around his neck slowly losing its green glow.

The blonde archer from before came to his side, “Alyster,” she called out, “the girl, can you sense her?”

Alyster shook his head, his red hair weightless against the howling wind, “Her aura has been shielded from the Oculus,” his bony fingers clasped the compass around his neck, “its ability is being obscured.” Alyster pointed at a burning cluster of sage close by.

The archer grabbed a hand full of sage growing on one of the many bushes closest to her and crumpled it in her hands with distaste, “And the boy?” the archer asked, glancing down at a slowly dying Alex.

“He carries the magic in him as well, but the girl’s was stronger. She is the one we need if we hope to keep the Mother Tree fuelled. I fear, she may be the last.” Alyster glanced down at his arm. A tattoo made up of a strange marking etched onto his forearm, previously hidden under his green robe.

When Alex finally drew his last breath, a green mist came into view around his body, the mist was drawn towards the tattoo, embedding itself into it. The tattoo glowed the same shade as the Oculus for a brief minute before it returned back to normal. Alyster let out a pained growl.

“The rest of the pack have scurried off, do we make with the chase?”

“No. They do not possess the magic. Leave them be, tell the others to return. Daybreak is upon us.”

Derek noticed tears streaming down your face.

Your hand had clutched his in a death grip as the memory began to unravel and spiral into chaos. It played over and over again: the lone arrow whistling through the tree line, embedding itself into Alex’s chest after your argument; Alex shouting for you to hide as another arrow flew out; you scurrying behind the bushes and holding your breath as you listened to Alyster and the female archer converse; Alex losing the light in his eyes; the eagle eyes that scanned the forest belonging to Alyster and the green tendrils that felt out for you emerging from the Oculus.

It just kept repeating.

“Y/N, snap out of it,” Derek shook your shoulders. You didn’t budge, your eyes shut tight, refusing to open.

“Y/N, wake up, listen to my voice,” Derek tried to reassure you, “I’m here, I’m right here, don’t lose yourself in the memory. Stay with me!”

He was shaking you violently but you were lost in the chaos. Derek watched as the memory replayed itself, getting corrupted and altered the longer it stayed in its loop.

Derek couldn’t think of anything else to do, he needed to draw your senses to him, to pull you out of your hell.

In desperation, he gripped your face between his hands and drew you in for a kiss. Your lips were stiff and unmoving at first, but soon enough he felt you loosen in his arms as you began to instinctively kiss him back.

In the background, the horrific memory dissipated into blackness and the dark canvas mutated into a beautiful rendition of a romanticised full moon and starry sky.

Derek felt himself let go of all senses and logic as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. He felt your fingers grace his jawline as his tongue practically serenaded you into a peaceful quiet.

You were drowning in each other.

When Derek pulled back, he was utterly thrown by what he saw. Your eyes, they weren’t their normal colour, they glowed a magnificent silver, like the moon itself. And your body was surrounded by a shimmering green aura.

If the moon were personified as a woman, Derek imagined she would not be able to hold a candle up to your spellbinding beauty.

You had taken the very air from his lungs.

His eyes turned their werewolf blue, but it wasn’t from being on the defensive or from anger. They were blue for another reason.

“Why did you–” you couldn’t finish your question, a deep flush colouring your neck and cheeks.

“It was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of your… daze,” Derek explained, his chest heaving up and down.

Without any warning, just as you were mere moments from placing your hand back on his face, to feel if he was real even in the dream state, the dream melted away.  Derek and you were pulled apart in opposite directions as reality bombarded your senses again.

***

“Welcome back,” Peter said in between ragged pants as his head was coated in sweat and he was hunched over, holding onto his knees to keep him upright.

Your neck bled from the claw marks, staining your clothes red. Your eyes struggling to open.

You gasped out loud as you almost toppled over from the stool. Derek caught you before you touched the ground, his arms struggling to hold you up, Liam rushed to help him.

As you lost consciousness, the last thing you saw was his soothing green eyes looking down at you with worry and Liam’s own panic riddled expression contrasting deeply with the calm that was settling over you.

Part 8 is Here!

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As Always: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think so far! Don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and just a heads-up, this will be my last update for this series for a little while. I have some moving to do!

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 6 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: So the story shifts into Derek’s POV and then back to yours briefly, but unlike the last time I did that, I have kept the pronoun you instead of she. I will go back and edit the previous chapter where I used the pronoun she later to keep the style consistent. It’s just a writing style change thing, that’s all. Also, I know I promised a surprise appearance by another character in this chapter, but that has been moved to the next chapter instead!

Words: 2641

Warnings: None, pretty tame chapter.

(gif isn’t mine)

Stiles had gotten tired of waiting around for Scott and Derek to reappear on the computer screen, so he shut his laptop off, pulled out his phone and sent Scott a text saying he was leaving Lackawanna County and getting on the first plane home. He made sure to carry a few of the more important books Professor Ian had lying about as well as some scribblings he had jotted down on scattered lined paper.

He dreaded the mountain heap of paperwork he’d have to do over the flight and the fact he’d have to come up with a plausible explanation as to why Professor Ian should be declared missing without hinting at the fact he had broken into his very abandoned home without a warrant and found it void of occupants to do so.

***

Derek and you had been the first to arrive. He paced continuously until Scott and Liam arrived.

Derek’s bunker was not what you had imagined, but then again you had never been inside a bunker before today. You had seen the inside of the odd storm cellars, but that was a different calibre all together. It was quite large for a bunker with a few shelves and tables and furnishings. What stood out was the amount of weaponry stored in it. You felt like you were inside an armoury more than a protective bunker.

Derek had told you it wasn’t actually his bunker, but that it belonged to a friend named Chris Argent –unbeknownst to him, you actually knew about the Argent’s, they were infamous in your inner circles. It also never escaped you how he used the term ‘friend’ liberally.

You were wrapped in a blanket seated on one of the chairs trying not to have a panic attack.

As it turned out, the hunters had been after you all along. You kept racking your brain to figure out how you had survived their attacks twice in a row now. And why was the sage so important?

You were spiralling into paranoia as your leg refused to stop shaking and you bit at your nails anxiously.

Derek noticed your state of unease. He ran his hand over his scruff before letting out a breath of air and walking over to the chair you sat in. He bent down so you looked down on him, giving you the higher ground in this exchange.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked sincerely.

You nodded your head ‘yes’ but your legs never stopped shaking. Derek placed both his strong hands on your knees to stop them from jolting about. Your eyes instantly snapped to his.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, the sincerity in his voice chipping away at the foundations of your composure. He had only ever spoken to you in this manner once before, when he had thanked you for saving his life that fateful day. It brought about an odd feeling.

Suddenly Derek seemed less intense, less rigid. His eyes were calming. It felt like staring at a canopy of trees as light warmed the dark green petals into luke-warm yellow; the blend of green in his eyes was damn near magical. It was a great contrast to his predatory cold blue eyes that belonged to the wolf.

You couldn’t keep up the brave front anymore as a tear threatened to reveal itself and the tightening feeling in your chest returned. You took in a hitched breath and blew out the air to try and focus your thoughts on something mundane. You began listing all the Latin names of the herbs Deaton had stored in his trunk in your head.

You had always had a great memory, except when it came to remembering vital information about what happened the night Alex died, according to Derek’s keen wolf ears anyway.

“No,” you whispered to him, finally answering his question.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” He said softly, “Scott and Liam won’t be back for a while, you can use the cot.” He pointed to the cot behind him.

You looked over to the cot. It had sacrificed luxury and comfort for practicality and durability. It wasn’t at all inviting, but you’d be fooling yourself if you said you weren’t exhausted from all the craziness with the hunters and the shattered glass and Derek nearly dying… again.

And here you thought today would be werewolf free.

“I promise it’s more comfortable than it looks,” Derek offered up a mild smile.

You let out an uneasy laugh, but your face was the furthest thing from amused. Perhaps you were laughing to try and shift the dark mood that coated the cold walls of the bunker.

Derek shot you a puzzled look but didn’t ask any questions.

You stood from the chair and walked over to the cot, the blanket draped around your shoulders like a cape. When you sat down on the mattress it nearly swallowed you whole as you sunk into it.

You made a weird noise as you were taken by surprise at how easily you sunk into the mattress.

Derek chuckled at the noise you made, “I didn’t know you did Chewbacca impressions.”

“Neither did I until I was nearly swallowed whole by this mattress!” you wined.

The both of you seemed to lighten up after that. Derek’s smile made him look younger, less like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You should do that more often,” you said casually. Derek raised his brow at you.

“Laugh, I mean. Or smile. Either one,” you clarified.

Derek held your gaze for what felt like an eternity.

There was no uncomfortable silence or burning glare. There was just his eyes and the quiet, chasing away the fear and panic and every bitter emotion that had surfaced since your first meeting. In that moment he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, no suspicion, no caution… just two people sharing a moment.

Two people enjoying the momentary reprieve from the madness that ensued outside, not taking the peaceful moment for granted.

Derek cleared his throat and walked over to place a hand on your shoulder, just like he had done before the hunters attacked, except there was no pain or fear to leech from you anymore.

“Rest,” he said softly.

You nodded and fell back into the mattress, laying in the foetal position as you covered your body with the blanket you had draped around your shoulders.

“Hey… Derek, don’t go anywhere,” You pleaded, knowing full well you couldn’t handle being alone in the dark right now, not after everything.

Somehow, knowing Derek was there, in the same room as you, with you, you felt safe enough that the voices in your head stopped screaming and you let yourself go to sleep. Your eyelids heavier than they had been all week.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered when you were finally asleep.

***

You were restless in your sleep.

Frightful images flashed in your mind on an endless loop. The green-robed hunter –Alyster, sneered at you with a wicked smile as he walked over to your hiding spot behind the sage bush. The glowing compass on his neck letting out wisps of green light that stretched outward like long, thin, stick-like fingers towards you.

You heard the screams of Alex and his pack in the distance. You were about to scream but you were rendered mute, no sound capable of being produced by your larynx.

You were a helpless bystander, left to watch the events of that cursed night replay over and over. Your outcome always shifting and changing, but that of Alex and his pack had stayed the same. Like a prophecy carved in stone; predestined and permanent.

You were trapped in your own personal hell, looping back and forth like some broken record that was left to spin and spin and spin…

***

Derek noticed you tossing and turning. Every now and then he’d catch you make a motion to scream or shout or say something, but it was like the words were caught in your throat and you were forced to do nothing but clutch at the blankets and whimper helplessly.

You were having a nightmare he realised, he had had a few of his own. This particular nightmare reminded him of all those vivid nightmares he would have about the fire and Kate and Laura. They had made him feel helpless and useless. A victim trapped in his own mind, he hated that feeling.

His keen ears picked up the fast beating of your heart and his senses felt your anxiety and stress. It was so powerful his hands began to shake on their own. It took someone of considerable resolve to go through something so tumultuous and yet have the strength to put on a brave face every day, a part of Derek admired you for that. Another part pitied you.

Derek stood from the stool and carried it over to the cot. He sat next to you and took your hand, trying to leech off your discomfort, but he didn’t need to.

As soon as he placed his hand in yours, he felt you begin to calm down. Soon enough your breathing returned to normal and the only thing he sensed from you was exhaustion.

Before Derek knew it, he had fallen asleep hunched over the cot. His hand still in yours.

A Few Hours Later…

Liam and Scott’s loud footsteps echoed into the Bunker, waking Derek from his unexpected slumber.

Derek noticed his and your hands were still linked and slowly, carefully disconnected them, but not before Scott caught a glimpse of the contact. He made no comment about it.

He and Liam looked weary, like they had just run a marathon.

Derek placed a finger on his lips to inform them to keep their voices down and leave you to rest.

“Sorry we took so long, Liam wanted to double back in case we’d get lucky and catch their scent to track them back to their base of operations but…” Scott spoke in a low octave.

“But what?” Derek asked suspiciously.

“They kinda, sorta, disappeared into the trees,” Liam finished Scott’s sentence.

“You’re werewolves, why couldn’t you just follow after their scent?” Derek pointed out.

“No, he means they literally disappeared into the trees when first light broke out.” Scott elaborated.

Derek shot Scott a ‘what-the-fuck’ glance for a brief moment. Liam shrugged like it was no big deal that he’d seen people disappear through solid matter.

When he regained his composure, Derek wiped that stupid look off his face and tried to act like he wasn’t shaken to the core.

“That explains why I didn’t hear them approach the clinic earlier. It was odd, it was as if they appeared out of thin air,” Derek said.

“Except it’s more like they appeared out of thick trees…” Liam’s dry wit fell on deaf ears. Derek just huffed and Scott shook his head.

“What now?” Derek asked the boys.

“Stiles called. He said he’d be on the next flight back to California. He’s bringing the book he… 'temporarily misappropriated’ with him. We can look over the research later. For now, I think we all need some rest. And I for one need a shower,” Scott said.

“Is anyone going to fill me in on what I just got roped into?” Liam asked, clueless about all the weirdness that had resurfaced in Beacon Hills.

“I’ll fill you in on the drive back,” Scott said, “I can drop you off on the way home.” He headed for the door and Liam followed behind, his muscles still shaking from the chase. Undoubtedly a side effect of being a werewolf with IED.

Derek watched the two of them ascend the stairs before he decided to grab a new shirt from his duffle bag and start reading up on the properties of sage on the computer.

The mystery as to how the smoke from the burning sage had shrouded his and your exit from the hunters earlier was eating at him. How did you know burning the sage would prevent the hunters from coming after them while they were in the clinic? And how was he going to get the answers he needed if you had repressed the memories that held the key to understanding everything?

Derek needed a painkiller, maybe two.

***

When you awakened it was already past noon. You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept for so long, if anything all that rest just made you feel more tired.

You heard some chatter coming from the other end of the room. Derek, Scott, Liam and someone dressed in a two-piece work suit, jittering about like he was hopped up on Redbull were all seated in a half circle. Derek leaned against the table since there was a limited number of stools.

The boys were discussing something in hushed tones, but you were able to pick up bits and pieces.

“Stiles, did any of the Professor’s books reveal anything else about the hunters? Like a weakness or how they’re able to, apparently, disappear into trees?” Derek asked the man in the work suit.

“No mentions about tree commutes, but on the plane ride over I read over some of the Professor’s notes and he did mention the hunters were bound to something called the Mother Tree. But that could just be a way of saying 'Tree of Life’, it’s very vague. Besides most of the book is in Latin so I can’t translate it,” Stiles said.

“Did you call Lydia?” Scott asked Stiles.

“No I decided against calling the only Latin expert we know that can help us translate an ancient text that could hold the answers to stopping the rampage caused by these hunters,” Stiles’ eyes squinted and he shook his head in a dramatic whip like motion, sarcasm thick in his words.

After a long pause, Stiles said, “Of course I called her. She’ll be here as soon as possible.”

“And when will that be?” Derek asked.

“Whenever the clock strikes 'as soon as possible’ O'clock,” Stiles quipped again. Liam snickered at the way Derek was scowling at Stiles.

“What about you, did you find out why the hunters seemed to be deterred from their attacks as soon as Y/N burned the sage?” Scott asked Derek.

Derek let out an exasperated huff, he ran his hands over his face and rubbed at his temple, “Honestly, the only thing I dug up was how sage is known for cleansing auras and some other hippie bullshit. We should probably ask Deaton about that, he’s the resident expert on this stuff.”

“Okay just hold on a minute,” Liam said, garnering the attention of everyone in the room, “You guys said these hunters hunt other supernatural creature’s right?”

“Yeah,” Derek and Scott said simultaneously.

As you approached them, Liam, Derek and Scott turned in the direction of your footsteps. They heard you walking towards them despite being barefoot. Stiles was the last to look in your direction, his reaction a few seconds slower than his werewolf buddies.

“So then what are you?” Liam directed the question at you.

Derek and Scott turned to look at you as well, curiosity taking over their expressions as they waited for an answer.

Derek stared at the cut on your cheek with a grim expression.

You sighed and ran a hand across the sore gash where the glass had previously embed itself into your cheek, the cut had already begun to show signs of healing.

Guess the cat was out of the bag, there was no avoiding this.

You took a deep breath and raised your eyes to look up at the four men seated in a half circle in front of you.

“I’m like you. I’m a werewolf,” you revealed.

Part Seven is HERE!

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As Always: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, just ask to be added to the taglist if you are interested and anyone notice how teen wolf has two Tylers and two Dylan’s? Must have been super confusing on set!

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 5 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here!

A/N: Not much to say about this chapter except I can’t wait to unveil the reveals I have in store in the next chapter and there’s a surprise character I didn’t think I’d add to the story this early who is also making their debut next chapter!

Remember: readers last name is Markolf

Words: 2758

Warnings: Mature Language, Violence… PTSD?

Summary: After Stiles reveals his findings from the home of former history professor Ian Tennyson about the Order of Saggitarius, Derek goes to confront Dr Markolf about her possibly hiding vital information from the trio. They discover she has repressed the memories they need to help figure out how the hunters choose their victims just as they bombard the clinic with a flurry of wolf’s-bane laced arrows! Derek calls for backup using his howl.

(Gif not mine)

Scott was fiddling with some table ornament that he had found lying about in the bunker.

He kept tossing it about as he anxiously awaited Derek’s return. Hopefully, he’d have more answers or something new to go on. It felt like they had been banging their heads against a concrete wall for the last couple of weeks.

A snore emanated from the computer and Scott realised Stiles had fallen asleep on the stack of books he was looking over. The computer monitors light illuminated the room.

“I swear I’m not the one who ate your bonbons, Lydia!” Stiles said in his sleep.  

Thinking it best to give Stiles his privacy, Scott motioned to end the Skype call when his superhuman hearing detected Derek’s howl.

“Son of a bitch!” Scott shouted as he dropped the ornament, generating a clanking metal noise that woke up Stiles.

“Wha- What?” Stiles asked in his disoriented state.

“Derek’s in trouble. I gotta go!” Scott wasted no time in rushing to Derek’s aid, following after the sounds of his howl.

***

When Scott got close to the animal clinic he noticed the entire perimeter was surrounded by men and women dressed in ancient leather armour that looked like it came off the set of Game of Thrones.

There were at least a dozen members of the Order gathered outside, seemingly unbothered by the rain or the cold or the loud rumbling noises generated by the frequent thundering.

Not wanting to be seen, Scott hid behind a car parked on the opposite lot and used his wolf eyes to see better in the dark.

The windows facing the offices were shattered and there was a group of at least four archers nocking arrows relentlessly into the open window. There were some other armour clad hostiles that were wielding swords or some other medieval style weaponry.

It was the first time Scott could get a good look at them, they were so out of place like artefacts from a museum come to life. If those artefacts were murdering bogeymen from the past.

Funny enough it wasn’t their severely out of date wardrobe that caught his attention. No, it was the black smoke burning out of their pitch black eyes, all but for one.

The man with the unblackened eyes was standing beside the archers -who never let up their assault, not even for a second. He wore green robes and had eagle shaped eyes that glowed in a glorious amber hue. His pupils blown and his face glazed over like he was unfazed by everything that happened around him. He didn’t even flinch when the arrows let loose whizzed past his face, blowing strands of his long red hair away from his sunken cheekbones.

Scott focused his eyesight through the heavy rain on the green-robed man.

He noticed a glowing green necklace that looked like an ancient compass, except it didn’t even have the ‘N,S,E,W’ directions on it. In place of the usual directions, it had engravings that looked like some Asian language, though Scott knew it definitely wasn’t Japanese. He had learnt a bit of Kanji from Kira and was able to eliminate that from his list of ideas.

The green-robed man turned his head and looked Scott square in the eye from across the road. Scott had been rattled by this, there was no way he could have seen him from such a distance unless he possessed superhuman eyesight. It was probably possible because of his otherworldly eyes.

The man, as though reading Scott’s thoughts, smiled at him in a creepy fashion, bowed his head to the side and turned back to the windows to continue watching the arrows rip through the side of the building.

The man had seen him. The man had seen Scott see him, and instead of doing something he chose to ignore him.

Scott wasn’t his prey.

Which meant either Derek or Dr Markolf were!

“Scott?” Someone whispered in surprise from the roof of the building over-looking the animal clinic.

Scott turned around slowly, his body tense, not expecting anyone to get the drop on him from behind since all the hostiles were focused on the clinic in front of him.

Scott’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Liam?”

***

You bandaged Derek’s arm using a strip of your shirt, you knew the bleeding wouldn’t stop until the wolf’s-bane was burned out of his system, but you also knew the pressure would slow the bleeding some.

Derek was beginning to lose the colour in his cheeks and his body temperature was running feverish. You placed the back of your palm onto his forehead in order to measure his temperature.

“Jesus, you’re burning up. Your body is trying to fight the poison like an infection.” You informed Derek.

Derek’s eyes kept fluttering open and closed, and his breathing was strained. The Order must have used a much more potent form of wolf’s-bane this time.

You glanced at the flurry of arrows embedded into the walls and the linoleum floor. You had long since gotten used to the sound of the whistling arrows, the flashes of blinding lightning and the sound of the thunderous booms, that you were barely able to register the quick pace of your heart or the shake in your limbs.

The adrenaline was doing its job.

And to be quite frank, you were just happy the power was still on.

“What are you thinking?” Derek asked when he noticed you staring at the arrows.

“…I’m thinking that maybe those arrows have enough traces of the wolf’s-bane they laced them with to burn it out of your system,” you said.

“How?”

“By cauterising your wound with an arrowhead.”

Derek sighed and let out a breathy laugh, “Of course.”

“Just stay there, don’t move,” You told Derek.

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he retorted as he dragged himself closer to the cover of the wall.

You kept your head low and semi-crawled to the nearest arrow in the vicinity. It was lodged on the surface of your desk, the arrowhead pierced straight through your new phone.

“There goes my insurance plan,” you grumbled in annoyance as you pried the arrow from your unsalvageable phone.

Now all you needed was the blowtorch. The only problem was that the blowtorch was somewhere behind that ever-growing curtain of arrows that pierced the wood and linoleum of the room. Maybe a lighter would do the trick. If only you’d taken up smoking as a bad habit in high school rather than sleeping through third period French with the dreadful Miss Prudeaux.

Your mind went back to earlier in the day when Deaton was re-ordering his trunk and you remembered spotting what looked to be a lighter there. It was going to be slightly more dangerous than retrieving the arrow because the trunk was in the line of sight of the archers, but you figured you could use the lid for cover.

Crawling to the trunk had been more difficult than you hoped because of all the shards of broken glass that cut through the skin on your palms and knees, but you soldiered through.

As soon as you opened the trunks lid an arrow came flying passed and was deterred from hitting you in between the eyes by the thick layer of rosewood it was carved from.

You gulped, an electric tingle shooting up your spine yet again before you hunkered lower and buried your face inside the trunk. You tossed and flipped through what felt like hundreds of bottles before you felt something cold and metal against your fingertips.

“Yahtzee!” You cheered in triumph.

Derek let out what sounded like an exasperated sigh before he began to cough up some black goo. Not good!

Despite the urgency to rush to Derek, there was a scent in the air that seemed to draw you back towards the trunk. It was earthy and herbal. You knew the smell was familiar, but what you couldn’t figure out was why you were focusing your energies on it rather than getting back to Derek. It was like someone else was taking over your body and making you follow after it.

You riffled through Deaton’s trunk until you found the thing you had been smelling, it was a bundle of dried sage leaves.

Almost like someone had switched on a projector in your mind, the smell brought forth images of blood, and the sound of someone screaming again, only this time there was a new image to look upon. A clearer image; in the memory you were hiding behind a thick bush, a hand covering your mouth so you wouldn’t scream or make a peep. There was a smell of burning sage that followed a thick cloud of smoke. A man with striking eyes, wearing a glowing green trinket on his neck glanced over at you behind the bush. You could feel his eyes on you. He took slow steps towards you, and then… nothing. The image faded as quickly as it had appeared.

Not knowing why you felt it important or what the meaning behind the memory was, you stashed the sage in your pocket before scrambling back to Derek’s side.

You opened the zippo lighter and brought the arrowhead to rest above the flame. A black layer of soot covered the arrowhead as the metal began to gain a faint red glow that gave off small wisps of the infamous purple colour of wolf’s-bane. It was working.

“I won’t lie to you, this is going to hurt.”

Derek chuckled, finding something amusing in the situation that you were oblivious to.

“What?” you asked in the hopes he hadn’t spiralled into a delirium.

“You said we’d be even as long as I never trailed blood in your office again. Guess this means I’ll owe you one again,” Derek flashed you a smile and you couldn’t tell if it was from the irony of your situation or because he really was delirious.

“You won’t want to after this,” you whispered as you brought the hot piece of metal in contact with his skin.

Derek groaned from the pain and you winced at seeing his reaction, the smell of searing flesh diffusing through the air.

When he quietened down, you removed the arrow from his skin and tossed it aside as though it were a snake about to sink its teeth into you. You took Derek’s face in your hands, afraid he had lost consciousness and tapped his cheek repeatedly with your hand.

“Hey, Derek… Derek. Derek!” You shouted and he shot up like he’d just woken from a nightmare.

You let out a sigh of relief and looked into his eyes to calm him and remind him where he was. His eyes returned to their mesmerising hazel colour. You had never seen them this colour up close. They were quite beautiful.

Derek broke eye contact in order to look over the burn mark where the arrow had previously sliced through. The scorched flesh was already healing.

“Quick thinking Doc. Don’t suppose you have an idea for the storm of arrows raining down on us?”

The image of you hunkering behind a sage bush as smoke filled the air flashed through your mind again, an idea taking form in your mind.

“Actually… I might. Got a phone on you?”

***

“Liam, what are you doing here?” Scott whispered to the beta who was now standing next to him behind the cover of the parked car.

“I’m in town for summer break. I heard Derek’s howl while I was visiting my dad at the hospital. What are you doing here?”

“Trying to rescue Derek and Y/N from those crusader looking dudes,” Scott pointed at the very inconspicuous dozen men and women gathered around the animal clinic.

“Who’s Y/N?” Liam asked unfamiliar with the name

“Long story, I’ll fill you in later. First, we need to figure out a way to get them out of there, and quick.”

Scott’s phone buzzed from the inside of his old Lacrosse hoodie.

“Derek?” Scott asked as he answered the phone after reading the caller ID.

“Yeah, listen are you at the animal clinic?”

“I’m across the street with Liam.”

“Liam? Nevermind, I need you to create a distraction and lead the hunters away from the rear exit. Y/N think’s she has an idea to help let us slip passed them, but we can’t do it alone,” Derek said.

Scott looked at Liam to make sure he was on board, Liam nodded in compliance.

“Yeah, I think we can manage that,” Scott assured Derek.

“Scott, just make sure their weapons don’t cut you. They are laced with a very potent version of wolf’s-bane. It will weaken you in minutes,” Y/N relayed over the phone.

“Got it, don’t let the weapons cut us. We’ll signal once the path is clear,” Scott said before hanging up.

“Feel like taking on some hunters?” Scott asked Liam.

Liam’s eyes glowed yellow as his lips turned up in a smile, popping his knuckles in anticipation of the fight he was about to dive into, “I’ve been dying for a reason to blow off some steam. Let’s kick their asses!”

***

“Are you sure this will work?” Derek eyed you intensely, the whistling sounds of the arrows increasing the tension in the room.

“No, not at all, but it’s all I’ve got,” you said with some uncertainty.

“So what you’re saying is our lives hang on the balance on account of a… hunch?”

“When you put it that way…”

Suddenly, the whistling noises stopped and the sound of grunts and inhuman roars rippled inside through the broken windows.

“Is that the signal?” You asked Derek as you motioned to sit up from your crouched position.

Derek placed his hand on your knee to keep you from rising up, the contact of your skin burning ever so slightly.

“No,” Derek shook his head, he waited until a howl called out through the night and then he stood up in a quick flash, “that’s the signal.”

Quickly, you took out the Zippo lighter and lit the bundle of sage. When it started to smoke and the dried leaves began to crumble and turn to ash, you placed the sage on the floor and left the flames to die out on their own.

“I hope this works,” you said as you stood up from cover.

Derek gave you his hand and you took it without hesitation as he raced with you in tow to the rear exit. Derek peaked outside and when he was certain there was no one guarding the entrance, he waved you down from corner you took cover behind.

“My car is parked across the street,” Derek said.

“You drove here?” You asked astonished.

“What, you thought I ran here?” Derek asked.

“Well, no, but driving here just sort of makes your entrance less… dramatic, that’s all.” You admitted.

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes, “Come on,” he urged you as he took your hand again.

As soon as there were no traces of the smell of sage in the air, one of the hunters on the far end of the building -the man in the green robe- snapped his head at you and Derek’s direction as though he could see you before he saw you. 

He lifted a long bony finger, and from across the yard he shouted, “Leave the shape-changers be, get after the girl!”

One of the archers, a woman with long braided blonde hair charged after you and Derek as she rallied the others to her side, “You heard Alyster. After the girl!”

“Fuck!” Derek swore as he ran faster to the car, you were having a hard time keeping up with his inhuman speeds but not as much as most would have. When you reached his car, he unlocked the doors, shouted for you to get in like it wasn’t the most obvious thing you were going to do and he drove away, ramming into one of the black-eyed hunters in the process.

Derek drove like a madman as the blonde archer nocked several arrows after you, and for the first time in your life, you were glad to be in the same car as someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass about minding the speed limit.

“Where are we going?” You asked after Derek had put considerable distance between you and the animal clinic.

“The Bunker.”

Over the horizon, the golden glow of first light began to crawl over the dark sky.

Part Six is here!

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 4 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

A/N: So I realised I had finished writing this and just forgot to edit and post it. I’m in a rush so there may still be a few mistakes. Also, I’m not sure if the show actually established that werewolves can take on emotional pain too so I took the initiative and voila, another chapter! Good news is I’ve written up a timeline, so now I don’t have to spend hours trying to remember what I had intended to write!

Words: 2351

Warnings: Mature Language, Violence, Dark past

(gif isn’t mine)

It had begun to rain and thunder and not feeling particularly up to getting soaked you busied yourself in your office until the rain would show signs of letting up. Just as one of the more vibrant flashes of lightning struck, the power went out and you started from freight.

You searched around for your phone and just as you felt something rectangular and familiar in size, thunder followed and another flash appeared in your peripheral. In that instant a pair of blue eyes became visible from the entrance to your office, they were glowing in the darkness. You screamed out loud, your voice muffled by the rain and thunder, your heart in your throat. Suddenly, the power came back on and the eyes were revealed to belong to Derek.

“Jesus!” You exclaimed. Your hand was placed over your heart and you leaned further into the desk to get your bearings. You eyed Derek under your lashes, not at all appreciating his dramatic entrance. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Ever think of knocking? Maybe tie a bell around your neck or announce yourself when you walk into dark offices in the middle of the night.” You chastised him.

The uncomfortable feeling of adrenaline sending shockwaves down your spine brought with it a sensation of nausea. You closed your eyes and took a breath to chase the feeling away. It worked, partially.

“First, it’s barely a little after eight, no need to exaggerate and second, I don’t have control over the weather or the electricity,” Derek remarked like a smart-ass.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

Derek chuckled, but it wasn’t light or humorous, it was dark and void of emotion. He was trying to shake you up and you knew it. He was here for something, something important since he couldn’t wait until sun up.

“Why are you hear? Someone else decide to shoot you with a wolf’s-bane laced bullet because of your bad bedside manner?”

“Hardly, I came here for answers.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued, “Someone went to check out that lead you gave us. Professor Ian Tennyson? Yeah, he’s missing, probably dead, but he left enough of a trail for us to piece together some idea of who these Order of Sagittarius are. What I don’t understand is how they choose their targets, but you do, don’t you?”

“No. I don’t. I already told you everything I know,” your heart was racing and the inside of your palms began to sweat, unable to maintain your balance you decided to lean your full weight on your desk to keep your knee from jutting.

Derek’s head cocked to the side, he looked like he was focusing on something. Shit! You knew exactly what he was doing, he was monitoring your heartbeat. Damn werewolf senses. You thought you saw the beginnings of a smile spread across his lips, his abnormally prominent canines in full view.

“You’re lying, I can tell. You know I can tell.”

You knew deflecting wouldn’t work, you also knew lying was out of the question. The only options you were left with was telling Derek to piss off and take his grumpy mood with him or consider helping someone in a similar situation you had suffered through. The idea of your involvement making a difference this time around made you feel more open to talking about what happened that day, even to someone as cold and demanding as Derek.

As though he noticed the change in your emotional state, Derek backed off and softened his fierce gaze, opting to walk into the light and lean against the door frame in a less imposing manner. He was trying to make you feel safer in his presence. At the very least it helped slow your fast-paced heartbeat, driving away the electrified feeling of adrenaline from your spine.

“What do you think I can help you with that Professor Ian’s expertise couldn’t?” You asked when you felt slightly calmer.

“We know you were witness to one of their attacks, you said as much, which means you must have some idea as to how they choose their victims,” Derek said.

Your jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, you didn’t like talking about this, discomfort clearly showing in the way you held yourself.

“I told you, they hunt those they consider weak.”

Derek’s brow furrowed, “Not according to Ian’s texts.” You looked at him in confusion, he ducked his head, raised his hand and looked at you with a let-me-explain look, “Apparently, that was a common misinterpretation. If anything they are more closely described as being keepers of the natural order. Why did you think they targeted the weaker of my kind?” Derek asked. The intensity he carried with him before ebbing away, replaced by curiosity.

Your chest began to constrict despite your efforts to force your airways open. The large breaths of air you sucked in did nothing to unknot the tightness in your chest. You weren’t feeling uncomfortable or threatened anymore, instead, you felt panic travel through your veins at the thought of having to relive that horrid day. Tears filled the brims of your eyes and you fought nobly against the panic attack that kept poking at the blank spaces of your mind.

You weren’t keen on putting yourself through such emotional turmoil again, but you had convinced yourself that maybe by helping them understand the motivations of the Order, or even give them a new clue to go on, it would help ease your conscience.

“Alex and I,” saying your ex-boyfriends name out loud after so long had been difficult. The way the letters rolled off your tongue felt strained and prickly, like pop rocks crackling against a fresh cut on your tongue. You flinched unintentionally when Alex’s face popped into your head.

Quiet filled the room and Derek, despite seemingly feeling uncomfortable about it, urged you to keep talking, “Alex, was that his name? The person you saw get killed by…” Derek didn’t finish the question, he saw how much discomfort it brought you. You nodded hastily, your hair hopping about from the swaying force.

“Alex and I were camping in New Hampshire with his pack…” You had to rethink your choice of words, but when no alternative presented itself, you decided to try and explain it better. “Pack isn’t the right word actually. They were a group of omegas. Run-aways and misfits. They didn’t belong anywhere, and somehow they found each other and formed a bond over the years. There was no alpha you see, not in the conventional sense. A- Alex was the one they looked to, to make the har–” Your voice was beginning to crack.

Derek kept listening, waiting for you to find the words on your own time. It should have bothered you that his eyes never blinked once, it didn’t, if anything they seemed to anchor you from getting lost in your memories, they gave you a strange sense of lucidity. His expression, on the other hand, was what frightened you, he seemed disturbed by something, not you, but something. His brows were furrowed deeper in thought as he tried to focus more on the thing that disturbed him.

You cleared your throat and sunk into your chair, your arms wrapping around your neck to loosen the straining chords, “Alex was the one who made the tough decisions. It was around May, we always went camping in May. When… When they attacked, Alex, he told me to hide, so I did. I don’t remember anything clearly after that. I can’t picture things clearly, all I get are flashes, images, of blood and screams. I think they were my screams but it doesn’t make sense. Why would I be screaming if I wasn’t attacked? I don’t know how I survived, or how they didn’t find me.”

You breathing was getting harder to control and you felt jittery, you wanted to be anywhere but here… doing this. You never saw him move from his spot, you had been so focused on holding back the tears and keeping your voice clear that you were surprised when Derek’s hand was placed over your shoulder in an effort to comfort you. It felt like he was taking the anxiety and pain and confusion away from you, leeching it away until you felt numb enough to continue talking. In the corner of your eye, you saw his veins blacken.

“The next thing I know I’m holding him in my arms, watching the light leave his eyes and listening to him choke on his own blood. I didn’t dare touch the arrow, it stayed in his chest till morning until the rangers arrived. They told me I was in shock and that it was only the two of us for miles. All I could recall with clarity was the image of a golden medallion shimmering in the moonlight, the engravings in Latin seared into my brain.”

Your hand began to absentmindedly scratch at your neck, the tightness of your chords had muted into an uncomfortable itchy sensation. You would kill for a glass of water. Despite Derek leeching the intense emotions away, you could feel yourself on the brink of cracking and letting the tears flow out.

“When I got home I discovered that same medallion had been stashed away in my coat pocket, I don’t know how it got there. I obsessed over it for months, which lead me to Professor Tennyson. But I don't… I don’t remember anything else…” Your eyes were leaking tears and your throat has turned dry from holding back your sobs. You looked up at Derek, finally, his face contorted by many unreadable emotions, his hand no longer on your shoulder.

“I swear.” You finished.

After he regained his composure, Derek stayed quiet, lost in thought. When all was said and done, he didn’t seem satisfied with your story. You were practically seething now. You had just revealed something you had wished would stay buried forever and he had the gall to demand you tell him your darkest secrets and he still wasn’t satisfied, even after he felt the very emotions they evoked on you. You clenched your jaw tighter, your teeth applying pressure to each other.

“You still don’t believe me?” You were furious, your eyes squinted into slits, fire blazing unchecked behind your gaze as you stared daggers at him.

Derek lifted his head slowly, confusion still present on his face, “No,” he whispered, it was low and smoky, “You don’t believe yourself.”

You were left speechless at his declaration, not knowing what he meant in the slightest.

“I was listening to your heartbeat the whole time. Listening for any ticks or fluctuations, it stayed steady for the most part, except… for when you said ‘I don’t remember’.”

“What are you implying?”

“I think you do remember, subconsciously, that’s why your heartbeat fluctuated. Whatever it is that really happened, you’ve blocked out the one part of that night that might give us a clue as to how they pick their victims.”

“Are you saying I repressed the memory?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

“I… I don’t know what to s–”

“GET DOWN!” Derek growled in the most authoritarian tone you had ever heard.

The sheer power behind his commanding words sent another shockwave of adrenaline shooting up your spine, it was like being pumped full of ice water. Derek began to run towards you, his arm extending so he could force you on the floor. Behind you, the sound of glass shattering accompanied by a faint whistling noise boomed into the night, your heart racing faster than a racehorse. In an instant, he managed to spin you away from the windows and shield you from the glass debris as he brought both your bodies to the floor, but he wasn’t fast enough. Derek let out a pained groan and you noticed a tear on his shirt. His arm that had shielded you was bleeding. A clean, straight incision visible in the poor lighting. It looked surgical, precise. The image of Alex and the arrow in his chest burned at your eyes, you shut them for a second and moved to see the trajectory the incision laid out.

Sprays of water from the rain outside were swept in by the wind, Derek’s shirt slowly getting soaked.

On the far side of the room, an arrow stood wedged into the wooden panelling of the wall, the feathers painted gold.

The Order.

They had come for you again.

You looked back at Derek, horror in your eyes. His face was clenched in pain and you instinctively looked back at his wound, the purple glow from the wolf’s-bane shining through the tear in his shirt.

“Shit! Derek, wolf’s-bane!”

“I. Know.” He said through gritted teeth, “I. Felt. It!”

Another arrow broke through the second glass window, the shards falling like crystallised rain. You both shielded your eyes and averted your faces from the direction the glass flung towards. It didn’t stop a piece of glass from lodging itself in your cheek. You held back your cry of pain and focused on breathing instead. You wouldn’t let the fear take control, you were stronger than that!

“We need to get to the wolf’s-bane in the trunk…”

“We can’t. I saw Deaton pack the trunk earlier. We used the last of his stock the other night.”

Another arrow shot through. There was no window to break this time. Instead, it filled the room with the hauntingly soft whistling sound from before.

Derek raised a brow, an idea forming in his mind. He looked down at you apologetically before whispering: “Cover your ears.”

You complied and soon the building was filled with the thunderous force of Derek’s wolfish howl, it rivalled the sound of the lightning and thunder and rain outside. His eyes glowing blue once again. You squirmed under him, the howl threatening to burst an eardrum. The call had been made, now all you had to do was survive until backup arrived.

PART FIVE IS HERE!

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As always: Thanks for reading, hope you liked the newest instalment of the series. Also, I have already thought up a new big bad in case I want to write this like seasons!! Anyway, don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list!!

Tags: @melissavercos   @island-end @chipster-21 @helloscorpious  @marvelismyfantasy   @theflash-trash

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Mark of the Wolf Part 3 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Part One, Part Two

A/N: This is the chapter where the lore is established and we get to see Stiles at work. Not much interaction between the Reader and Derek, but I have noticed a pattern of how all third chapters of my fics are world building chapters! Also, STILES BEING THE FBI AGENT WE ALL KNEW HE’D BE! Remember: the readers last name is MARKOLF

Words: 2458

Warnings: Maybe some Mature Language? Breaking and Entering FBI Agent Stiles!

(Gif isn’t mine)

Your alarm woke you from your half slumber, it had been increasingly difficult to get a good nights sleep. You had failed to quiet the agonising screams in your head since the night Scott and Derek burst into the animal clinic, trailing blood all over the floor.

You groaned as you forced yourself out of bed to take a shower and run a brush through your unruly hair. Breakfast had tasted bland and the coffee did nothing to shake the fatigue away. You yawned the entire drive down to work.

You were surprised to find the clinic already opened for the day.

“Hello?” You asked the open space, a slight echo rippling through.

“In the back,” a male voice answered.

You followed the voice. It led you to the office space where Deaton was sorting through his trunk. The floor was littered with various herbs kept in glasswares with labels of each species classification in Latin.

“I see you had quite the eventful week while I was away,” Deaton didn’t remove his eyes from the trunk, “I’m pretty sure my letter said to ‘get familiar with the town’. Raiding my Wolfsbane supply and treating werewolves of bullet wounds isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” A soft smile took over his face as he looked up at you through his reading glasses.

You were about to ask how he knew about your performing minor surgery on Derek but Deaton beat you to it by explaining: “Scott called. So, I suppose you are the newest to become witness to Beacon Hills’s own special brand of normal.”

“Ah, now you see that-” you circled your finger around the trunk and scattered glass vials on the floor, “that is exactly what I hoped to avoid by moving to a new town. Turns out this stuff just has a way of following me around. Markus would have a field day if he ever heard about this, he swore up and down I’d never travel far enough to get away from this stuff. He was right.” You said woefully, taking a sip of coffee from your thermos.

“Some people are destined to live a life more superior to those of the mundane,” Deaton made your life sound like some poetic Edda.

“It’s not like I had a say in the matter. Maybe next time I should hang a neon sign that says 'Supernaturals Begone!’”

Deaton laughed at that, lightening the mood a little.

“How’s the family? I haven’t seen your father in almost five years. To be honest I was surprised when you made the offer to partner up with me and move to Beacon Hills. Seemed a little out of the blue.”

You took your side strap bag off and sat down at your desk, turning on the computer and placing the thermos down, “The family is good. Mom and Dad finally moved to the estate, away from the city. Fresh air, no neighbours, the quiet, it’s paradise for them. Markus and Jonah moved in with them too, tons of free roaming space. And Esme got engaged, moved to the city, she’s working as a professional dog trainer,” you giggled at the irony, so did Deaton. “And they were all sad when the runt of litter moved away to work with a certain veterinarian in California,” you continued, swivelling in your chair as you waited for the log in screen to load.

Deaton made a humming noise, “Glad to hear it.”

***

Stiles was a little jittery from all the energy drinks he had on the plane, now he was barely able to keep his hands from shaking from all the caffeine in his system. The drive to the professor’s house was winding and uncomfortable from all the potholes that riddled the old tar road that needed more than the odd patch job. To make matters worse the rental was an old model Corolla with uncomfortable seats that made his spin sore.

When he reached the last known address of Professor Ian Tennyson he was greeted by a metal gate adorned by various coloured padlocks and metal chains. It looked like some modern art piece rather than a paranoid nut job’s idea of securing his gate from unwanted visitors.

“Guess this guy isn’t too big on company,” Stiles said to himself as he got out of the car to examine the locks, “I mean seriously, could he need any more locks?” he asked no one sarcastically.

Stiles began looking around for another entrance or an intercom to announce his presence, after feeling the gate posts for anything out of the ordinary, he felt a small speaker box hidden beneath overgrown vines. He pressed the call button several times in impatience.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Stiles said with impatience. Stiles kept pressing the buzzer repeatedly with no breaks and the buzzer just kept ringing and ringing. After a good two minutes of this ritual, Stiles decided to throw caution (and etiquette) out the window and hopped the fence.

“Boy, those Padlocks made all the difference,” Stiles jested as he slid his computer bag under the gate before he hopped the fence easily, although his shoe did get stuck in a hole in the metal grating and he slipped, coating his work suit in brown dust. “Shit, I just got this dry cleaned!” He slung his bag over his shoulder.

The walk to the house took forever and Stiles was practically heaving from exaggerated exhaustion. He knocked on the door a couple of times, but there was no answer.

“Hello, Professor Ian Tennyson?” Still no answer, “Hello, anybody home?” Stiles peeped in through the mail slot, the house was quiet and empty.

“Did he go on vacation or something?” Stiles wondered aloud. “Well, like they say: when in Rome,” Stiles reached into the hidden pocket in his suit jacket and pulled out a lock pick set. He jimmied with a door for a second before it unlocked and the door creaked open, very loudly. Stiles cringed at the obvious noise.

He walked into the house on tiptoes, but that made no difference since the floorboards still creaked from the contact.

“This is fine, it’s not like I’m committing a crime or anything. Yeah, this isn’t breaking and entering at all,” Stiles tried to reassure himself. The house was coated in dust like it was a second skin, Stiles’s nose tingled from the musty smell of it, the house was old and large and every wall was seemingly filled with some historic artefact, famous replica or row of bookshelves filled with heavy hardcover books.

Professor Ian Tennyson was undoubtedly a collector, he had probably been building his collection since youth, maybe even further back, it wasn’t entirely impossible that this collection could have been passed down from generation to generation. Most of these artefacts and books appeared to have one thing in common, they were all centred on or around folktales, legends and myths about the supernatural.

“Wow, Ian, eccentric doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Stiles whistled as he passed a glass case filled with medieval weapons. He pushed open two sliding doors to be greeted by a room in disarray: there were papers scattered everywhere, an overturned desk, some shattered glass and lamps and a big gaping hole through a large window that let in a cold draft. It looked like someone had been through a struggle, and put up a hell of a fight too.

“Well, I guess we know why you weren’t answering the buzzer earlier,” Stiles heaved a sigh and dropped his bag.

***

“What do you mean she isn’t what she seems?” Derek asked Scott. The two of them were seated around a table in the bunker, they were waiting for Stiles to call about his findings on Professor Ian Tennyson and what he had to say about the Order of Sagittarius.

“Stiles recognised her name or something from an old case file, turns out she was witness to one of the first murders committed by this group of hunters we’ve been tracking. That’s how she knew about the medallion,” Scott explained.

“Are we supposed to believe that her showing up here, the same time those hunters nearly killed me, is just a coincidence?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Suddenly the laptop on the table lit up as it was receiving a Skype call, it was Stiles. Scott clicked 'Accept’ and Stiles’s image showed up on the screen. He was standing in a messy office, the window behind him had a large hole through it and the bookshelves were covered in dust. Stiles was sitting on a desk surrounded by many open texts and loose papers.

“Scott. Wanted Felon. How are we doing?” Stiles quipped.

Derek rolled his eyes and sighed, “Alleged felon,” he corrected.

“What did you find out?” Scott asked.

“Well as you can see from how nice and clean and tidy this place is, and the fact I’m sitting here with my new pal, Ian,” Stiles raised his arms, gesturing to the mess around him and empty space before him, an obvious sarcastic remark, “I found out a whole lot.”

“Now isn’t the time for sarcasm Stiles,” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Okay there, Sour-Wolf. No, but seriously, I actually did manage to dig up quite a bit of information. This professor left all the reference books open on the right pages, I barely had to try to find anything useful. It’s all just laying around here for anyone to read. Which probably means he was kidnapped, but that’s a problem for the Lackawanna County Police… Or you know, I can add it to the roster of already impossible things I have to do,” Stiles rambled.

Derek glared daggers at the computer screen at being called Sour-Wolf. Scott tried to keep from smiling from amusement at such a tense moment.

“And?” Derek asked, unamused with everything unfolding. He folded his arms over his chest.

“I’ve looked over several books in the last hour and from what I can piece together, they all speak about some ancient war that has been waged in the shadows. There are illustrations of wolves fighting other wolves, some creepy mouthless dudes that look like that assassin Peter killed years ago, what looks like a Kitsune and is that… a Chimera? Anyway, this is what the book says: 'for centuries this group of hunters, called the Venatores,’ which is Latin for 'Hunter’ I think, 'sometimes referred to as the Order of Sagittarius, hunt others of their kind in times of abundance and are heralded as keepers of balance.

”'They emerge after long periods of inactivity and usually carry out their sacred duty in a mass cleansing that takes place over the period when the archer undertakes the great hunt.’ I think that is talking about when the constellation is visible in the Northern Hemisphere, which just so happens to correspond with when these attacks began. By my calculations, that’s between June and September. 'Those hunted by the order are given the name Ex Alia, derived from the Latin phrase which means: apart from.’

“This is interesting…” Stiles paused for a second as he read over a new paragraph on a different page, “It says: 'The Venatores were once considered purists because they hunted their own kind, but in actuality, their origins came about after an ancient power cursed them with the responsibility of preventing the Second Coming.’”

“The Second Coming, what is that?” Scott inquired.

“Oh, gee, I don’t know Scott, my whole plan was to hook you in with something that sounded ominous and then leave you high and dry with no answers as to what it may be,” Stiles wise-cracked.

Derek rotated his hand to hurry their exchange of banter along, “Today would be great, Stalinski,” he urged the smaller man on the computer screen.

Stiles fixed his attention back on the book and skim read through two pages before his face lit up in a Eureka moment, he clapped his hands in excitement, “Here it is! Okay, the book says: 'The Second Coming is believed to be an event of cataclysmic proportions that will bring forth the Great Swarm and all under the moon and the cover of night shall be victim to its malice once more.’ That’s it. That’s all it says.” Stiles said with great disappointment, the excitement slowly draining from his eyes.

“I committed a chargeable misdemeanour for a ghost story about locusts?” Stiles admonished himself under his breath in hopes his friends wouldn’t hear him through the computer speakers. No such luck, Scott and Derek’s keen senses picked up on it instantly.

“So you think they killed Dr Markolf’s boyfriend because it would stop some… apocalypse by locusts?” Scott asked, completely baffled.

“That doesn’t explain how they choose their victims or why I’m a target,” Derek said with a confused expression.

“Maybe they weren’t after you,” Stiles hypothesised.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure the bullet that was lodged in my gut the other day was intended for one of the many dangerous tree trunks behind me, Stiles. You’ve cracked the case!” Derek snapped with his own dose of sarcasm.

“Stiles might be right. I mean, they only came after us after we started meddling in their affairs. It could be they were just trying to get you out the way… or scare you,” Scott said.

Derek paced the floor for a few seconds, brows knitted together tightly in thought. Without as much as a peep, he about-turned towards the exit and began making his way to the doors, Scott and Stiles looked at him completely puzzled.

“Where are you going?” Scott asked Derek.

Derek stopped mid-stride and turned around very slowly, his expression unreadable. The dark clothes he wore were practically melting into the darkness of the bunker.

“To get some answers. I have a feeling the good doctor isn’t being completely forthcoming about her encounter with these hunters,” Derek’s eyes glowed blue, a stark contrast to the blackness of everything around him.

The sound of Stiles gulping rippled out through the computer speakers and Scott looked like he was about to protest, but the light above the table flickered on and off, temporarily soaking the room in darkness, and when it turned back on Derek had disappeared.

“He’s probably going to kill her, isn’t he?” Stiles asked Scott, the question was trivial, a poor attempt at easing the tension. Scott in response simply shook his head and let out a puff of air in exasperation at Derek’s lone wolf attitude.

Part Four is HERE!

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As Always: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, feedback is always appreciated and don’t hesitate to ask to be added to the tag list if you so wish it!

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 2 (Derek Hale x Reader)

PART ONE

A/N: So this chapter came about faster than anticipated. I never finished the sixth season of Teen Wolf so this fic may suffer from plot holes. Please, OVERLOOK THEM! LOL! Also I have no idea if Stiles ended up with Lydia or not but there will be some Stydia fluff in chapters to follow because I always liked their playful back and forth chemistry. Otherwise, the only thing to note is that your in-fic last name is MARKOLF.

Words: 2240

Warnings: Some swearing, mentions of a dark past…  Derek giving you the cold shoulder I guess???

(Gif isn’t mine)

“How do you know about this?” Derek asked, flashing the medallion your way.

“It's… It’s a long story, but I just do,” You answered sheepishly.

“We’ve been trying to identify these hunters for months. Maybe now we can finally be a step ahead of them, for once,” Scott said with hope.

Derek exhaled, he wasn’t as open minded as Scott. He regarded you with scepticism, his eyes conveying their distrust of you clearly.

“It’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?” Derek posed.

You looked up in frustration, you knew exactly what he was implying.

Scott seemed to be mulling over Derek’s words. After a beat of silence he said, “Derek, she saved your life. Do you really think she would have gone through the trouble if she was working with them?” The way he said ‘them’ carried an ominous undertone, it made you shiver.

“Yes! I do. If her goal was to gain our trust,” Derek said with a snarl.

You shook your head, annoyed at this entire conversation, “Look, I just work here, okay. Next time barge into someone else’s office with a gunshot wound and see if they’ll be as complacent as to perform minor surgery on you. Scott said no hospitals and no police. Guess what, do you hear any sirens? As for the medallion, you may not believe me, but I assure you it’s just a coincidence that I know anything about it.”

“What about the Wolfsbane?” Scott asked softly, not trying to upset you any further. Derek’s eyes bore down on you like sharp blades. You felt cornered.

“I- I knew someone like you once. He… he,” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish your sentence. You took a deep breath and tried to swallow to keep your voice from cracking under pressure. You continued: “He was attacked by someone wearing a medallion just like that. They used weapons laced with Wolfsbane too. Except then it was an arrow. That’s how come I know about it.”

Derek grumbled, unsatisfied with your vague explanation. Whereas, Scott seemed to accept your answer and moved on passed the unofficial interrogation.

“Can you tell us what it means?” Scott asked as he grabbed the medallion from Derek and handed it to you.

You took the medallion in your hands, feeling the weight of the nightmares it carried inside. You let out a shaky breath. Besides the obvious markings, you analysed the medallion further, flipping it numerous times. There were no other discernible markings besides the ones you had eyed earlier.

“See these words?” You showed them the etchings, Scott nodded and Derek wore an unreadable expression, “Well, it’s written in Latin. This word, Pudicitiam, it means purity or something close to it anyway. And this word, Superno, it roughly translates to the supernatural.”

“Wait,” Scott said with a confused expression, raising his hand, “Are you telling me these hunters aren’t human?”

“That would explain why the owner of this medallion was able to get up and walk away after I attacked him,” Derek said.

“I mean, that does make sense, but why hunt your own kind?” Scott asked completely perplexed by the notion of supernatural hunters hunting other supernaturals.

“From what little I was able to uncover about this sect is that they’re extremists. They believe that for the supernatural world to thrive they must rid it of the weak amongst them. That way the strong prevail and bloodlines can get stronger with each generation,” you revealed. “But, I’m not a hundred percent certain. I had sought an expert on such matters but all he had to offer was a book of folktales and myths and something about a secret war.”

“What secret war?” Derek finally spoke.

“Just your usual Us verses Them kinda secret war,” you said in exasperation. “That was all I found out.”

“Does this group have a name?” Scott asked.

“If they do, it’s a close kept secret. I had discovered mentions of a group of hunters spread throughout history who possessed an emblem similar to this medallion. Because of their weapon of choice being arrows, they were called the Order of Sagittarius,” you explained. “I believe they may be the same group of hunters.”

“This expert you mentioned, he got a name?” Derek asked.

“Y- Yeah, Dr Ian Tennyson. He’s a retired professor of history who specialised in folklore. He lives out in Lackawanna County. I have his address in my diary somewhere.”

“Shit! Lackawanna is across state lines. It wouldn’t be wise for you to leave Beacon Hills, the police still think you’re responsible for the string of murders committed by this… Sagittarius group,” Scott pointed out to Derek. “At least here, Sheriff Stilinski can give us a heads up if anyone comes looking for you.”

Derek ran his hand over his face in dissatisfaction. He didn’t like hearing what Scott had to say, but at least to your eyes, it seemed he agreed with them. Even if he wasn’t comfortable with sitting on the sidelines.

“Wait, you’re wanted for murder?” You said in shock. Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest. Today was turning into quite the stressful affair. All of a sudden the gears were put in place and you remembered why the triskelion tattoo had entranced you earlier. You had seen it on news footage about a manhunt in California. Now you knew who it belonged to.

Derek eyed you under thick lashes and sighed, “Alleged murder. And no, I didn’t do it. I just happened to be present at the crime scene of one of the first incidents involving this extremist sect of yours.”

You barely knew either of these men, but for some reason, despite the prickly tension you shared with the perpetually brooding Derek, you believed them. After all, what reason had they to lie?

“There’s only one problem,” you informed them. Derek and Scott looked at you, fully attentive and bracing themselves for what was undoubtedly more bad news, “Ian is a recluse. He suffered some injury a few years back and ever since he has been a little paranoid. He won’t be so welcoming to strangers.”

“Then how did you get him to open up to you?” Scott asked.

“My brother was a student of his, back when the professor taught at Penn State.”

“So the only way we get to talk to this supposed expert is if we bring you along?” Derek asked rhetorically. You didn’t bother responding to his snarky comment.

“I may have an idea around that,” Scott offered. “We could ask Stiles to go. He is heading up your investigation anyway. He has access to the case files and would probably have an easier time getting this recluse to talk. That way we don’t have to drag Y/N into all this.”

You crossed your fingers behind your back, not wanting to be dragged back into the life you had sworn to leave behind. You came to Beacon Hills for a fresh start and getting mixed up with extremist hunters, unsolved murders and werewolves were not on your agenda for the month.

Derek seemed to be enthusiastic about Scott’s compromise and snapped his fingers in agreement, “Yeah, let’s do that!”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, oxygen flooding through your system and untangling the nerves in the pit of your stomach, undoing the tension in your muscles.

“We should leave, it’s nearly sun up and it’s best to keep my presence here under wraps until I can prove my innocence,” Derek added. Scott agreed with a simple nod and thanked you before retreating into the greying darkness slowly being broken away by first light.

As Derek turned around to follow suit, he cocked his head to the side so you could only see half the profile of his chiselled face. He looked like he had been carved by the pantheon of the Greek Gods themselves. In the right light and with the glow of his bright blues, Derek could entrap a breath within anyone’s bosom and cause them to flinch from the intensity of his gaze, it was white-hot despite the stare being as cold as ice.

“Don’t tell anyone about what happened here,” he warned, “And… Thank you.” His words seemed apologetic for the way he had treated you with such animosity, but you understood where he was coming from. The life he led, one of secrets and shadows and living one moment at a time, was not an easy one. Or a trusting one. He may have looked softer and less rigid, but he hadn’t shed his prickly and guarded front. He still didn’t trust you, which bugged you more than it should.

“Just… Promise not to come barging in here bleeding half to death and consider us even,” you joked half-heartedly. You heard a rumble from deep in his throat and suspected that was as close to a laugh or break in his serious outward persona you were going to get.

When you were finally alone you tried to continue taking inventory, hoping being entrenched in a rudimentary task would distract you from thinking about what had transpired. Your effort, valiant as it was, bore no fruit. So, defeated, you hopped back into your pick up and headed back home for a much-needed nap and maybe an hour-long phone call with your mother to listen to her chatter on about the gossip of your hometown to drown out the anxious nerves and skittering thoughts that screamed at you. It seems your life was destined to never go down the normal and boring route after all.

***

“Where did you get this lead?” Stiles asked Scott over his phone. He was seated at his small desk in the FBI offices in San Francisco. A picture of him and Lydia on one of their vacation trips decorating his cluttered desk. He was looking over a case file labelled: Un-Sub, Beacon Hills. It was Derek’s case file, he knew that, but he wasn’t going to tell his superiors he knew the suspect of the string of murders currently plaguing California.

“Completely by coincidence. A woman named Y/N Markolf. She’s the new co-owner of the Vet Clinic with Deaton,” Scott replied. He began to ramble on about how he couldn’t believe Deaton hadn’t told him he had sold half the clinic to someone else and that he was not so keen on being dragged into this entire mess as soon as he got back for summer vacation.

At the mention of the woman’s name, a part of Stiles’s brain began to gnaw at him. He recognised it from somewhere. He pulled out a file box from under his desk and began to sift through countless case reports pertaining to Derek’s case.

“Hey, Scott, can you run me by that name again.”

“Uh- Dr Y/N Markolf. Why?”

“I think I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

Stiles continued to flip through case folders until he came across one named File JH50-A, John Doe, New Hampshire. He flipped through to the Eye Witness Accounts section and skimmed the summary highlights: Man attacked by Un-Sub, after a full moon, used a compound bow, girlfriend of deceased described the perp of being in possession of a medallion, no medallion was found at the scene, name of girlfriend was listed as Y/N Markolf.

“Scott, that doctor, her boyfriend was one of the first victims we ever investigated,” Stiles said with a hint of disbelief, “The fact that she would be linked to two attacks perpetrated by this group is…”

“One hell of a coincidence,” Scott finished for him.  

“Yeah… I’ll try and get permission to check out this professor in Lackawanna County, until then-”

“I’ll make sure Derek doesn’t do anything hasty or draw unwanted attention to himself. Don’t worry, he’s being careful.”

The worry ebbed away at Scott’s insistence that they were being careful. Stiles didn’t need more stress as it was, his hands were already full with trying to secretly prove Derek’s innocence why heading the very same investigation against his friend (though many didn’t know of their relations to each other).

***

Derek was back at the Argent bunker. He hated it here. It was cold and smelled of damp and he missed his loft. He had been forced to take shelter underground since the investigation against him had begun.

He sat on the cot by the wall and took off his shirt. He glanced down to where the gunshot had previously been and grazed the skin with his fingers. He could have died last night. He probably would have if that doctor -you- hadn’t been there.

If you hadn’t been so willing to help him.

A part of him hoped you weren’t what he feared you were.

He thought you had a warmth about you, but all the while he could sense an air of dread permeating around you like an invisible cloud. Even if you weren’t a threat and were exactly what you claimed to be, Derek knew you were hiding some dark secret behind your enchanting eyes and powerful voice.

He sighed and stretched his arms over his head before he lay back down onto the bed. He was moments away from slipping into a much-anticipated slumber before his phone chimed. He groaned as he picked himself off the cot and walked over to the table he had perched his belongings atop. He unlocked his phone and read the message from Scott:

“Stiles will try and talk with the professor. You were right. Dr Markolf was hiding something. Stiles will email you the case files.”

Some days Derek hated being right. Today was one of them.

Part Three is HERE!

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[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf (Derek Hale x Reader)

A/N: I literally have no words right now. I have like four other series to work on and write for and here I am writing up a new fic that no one asked for??? I need to rewatch Teen Wolf before I fully commit to this fic. But, for now, enjoy the opening chapter! This takes place after season 6.

Words: 3117

Warnings: Blood, I guess? Mentions of a violent past. Probably going to be a slow burn fic! The gif is definitely judging me!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

(Gif isn’t mine)

PRELUDE:

Dr Alan Deaton sat in his poorly lit back office at his veterinary clinic, he was reading a piece of paper. It was a formal legal document of partnership for his clinic. Deaton hadn’t told many people this, but he had fallen on hard times the past few years and struggled to keep the clinic afloat. Especially, since his extra activities dealing with the supernatural creatures in town had demanded more of his attention than stitching up pets paws.

He read over the contract once, twice, three times. Everything was in order. Better yet the contract allowed him to remain as the official owner of the business. The only changes would be that there would be two business partners involved in running the clinic: himself and a woman new to Beacon Hills.

The only reason he even agreed to this compromise was because she was the daughter of one of his oldest friends. It also helped that she was no stranger to the weird happenings the likes of which Beacon Hills attracted.

Deaton let out a sigh, though it wasn’t from defeat or exhaustion, it was one of new beginnings. He was taking in the new and letting out the old. By this time next week Beacon Hills Vet Clinic would have a second person to run it and share the burden with. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Deaton was distracted from his mindful contemplation by the sound of the landline ringing. He picked it up after two sharp rings: “Alan Deaton speaking,” he said calm and clear. The person on the other end of the line was an old acquaintance, a werewolf who needed a druids help. Deaton was never one to turn away those in need, so he asked for the particulars and jotted down their location before hanging up and penning a note to his new partner:

“Dear Y/N,

Unfortunately, I will not be town when you get here. I have been called away on an urgent house call. The clinic will stay closed until I return, if anything urgent comes up don’t hesitate to call me, I have left an envelope with all necessary contact info in your desk drawer. In the meantime use this opportunity to orientate yourself and get familiar with the lay of the land. Since you emailed about taking inventory I have placed your key to the clinic under the potted plant of the forwarding address you sent me, feel free to make yourself at home.

A. Deaton.”

With everything in order, Deaton went to the backroom to grab his emergency go-bag and gathered a few extra vials of herbs from the large trunk in his office. Then he proceeded to get into his sedan parked outside and drive away.

CHAPTER ONE:

The choice to move to Beacon Hills had been a spur of the moment thing brought on by a desperate need for change and a willingness to take on a new adventure.

You were tired of living under your parent’s roof. Ever since the incident, you had needed their stability to help you move past everything, but you felt strongly that now was the right time to get back out there and stop watching life pass you by.

It helped that Beacon Hills was in desperate need of someone in your profession and that the only vet clinic for miles was open to the idea of a joint business partnership. So now here you were, face stinging from the summer heat due to lack of sunscreen, reading the note Deaton had slipped under your door after unloading your Ford pick-up of most of the moving boxes.

“Key is under the potted plant,” you repeated aloud to yourself, making a mental note to retrieve it later. After all the boxes were unloaded you decided to sort out your bedroom, kitchen and bathroom first. Once that was all done you let the procrastinator in you take root. You went to take a shower to help with chase the uncomfortable humidity that layered your skin, leaving more than a dozen boxes unpacked and stacked in a clutter in your living room.

After the shower rejuvenated you, you grabbed the keys from under the potted plant and made your way down to the vet clinic with your work laptop and a box marked Office Supplies.

You had been so busy unpacking and rearranging the furniture in the office to accommodate for two that you almost didn’t hear the back door slam hard against the wall. The sound of the door’s impact made you start from shock and you cautiously made your way to where it originated from, pepper mace in hand.

“Deaton! Deaton, we need your help! Deaton!” A young man’s voice shouted full of panic.

Instantly, you dropped your cautious approach and stuffed your can of mace in the pocket of your shorts as you rushed out to greet what you thought would be a desperate customer with a badly injured pet. The reality was much, much worse.

You stood, stumped for words, as you saw a young man barely out of his mid-twenties anchoring a much larger, older and more masculine man over his shoulder. The older man was bleeding and badly hurt, his eyes clouded by pain. It looked like he was about to pass out from blood loss. Both men had dark hair, both wore dark clothing and both gave off this intense animal fierceness.

“Who are you?” asked the more lucid of the two men, a double-lined tattoo clearly visible on his arm thanks to his short-sleeved T-shirt.

“Dr Markolf. Y/N Markolf…” Shock still very much present in your voice. You were dazed, you hadn’t seen this much blood since…

“Scott. McCall,” the boy said hurriedly, “Where’s Deaton. I need his help!”

“What happened to you two? You need a hospital or the cops. You’re friends in bad shape,” you pointed out the obvious as you watched the blood leaking from a well-concealed wound. It made your lungs tighten and head spin.

“No! No hospitals, no cops! Where’s Deaton?” He asked impatiently, snapping you out of your daze.

“H- He’s out of town. On a call!”

“Ah!” The man slumped over Scott’s shoulder let out a controlled moan through gritted teeth, he was fighting with commendable spirit against what must have been skull-splitting pain. You were amazed he was still conscious, let alone on his feet.

“Here-” You brashly swept all the equipment on the metal slab onto the ground with no reservations, “Put him down. I may be able to help.” You pulled off your hair tie from your wrist and knotted your shoulder-length hair in a messy updo. Scott regarded you with a blank expression.

“Look, you said no hospital and no cops. Deaton isn’t around. So unless you want to stitch up your friend alone, put him on the bloody table and grab the emergency First Aid kit from the bathroom and help me!” You ordered. Scott did as you asked, moving at inhuman speeds.

While he had his tasks, you slapped on a pair of surgical gloves and tied a splatter proof apron around your front. When Scott returned to the table he did the same, no questions asked, no directions needed.

Has he done this before? You wondered.

“Hand me the scissors,” you outstretched your hand. Scott complied. You tore through the fabric of the man’s shirt revealing the magnitude of his injury. It looked like a bullet wound, and not from a small round either. What was most impressive was that his body appeared to be healing itself, only something was preventing it from completing the job. Something that caused the intruding hole to glow a beautiful purple hue.

“Wolfsbane…” you whispered to yourself without thinking as to what saying that word, in this type of situation, would imply.

Scott’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, you lifted your own gaze slower. You knew what they were, and by uttering that word so carelessly, now Scott knew that you knew. Whether that made you friend or foe would be determined at a later hour. For now, the two of you were focused on saving his friend’s life.

You returned your eye level to the bullet hole in the man’s abdomen, “Hand me the tongs,” you directed and just like before, Scott complied easily. You used the tongs to dig around the exposed, torn flesh in search of the bullet. The man you were operating on made a groaning noise, clearly conscious enough to feel pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered knowing full well his body would burn through the effects of any painkillers you thought to administer. “Just breathe,” you said in as much of a reassuring tone as you could produce at a time like this. The man gritted his teeth, his jaw locked like a steel trap.

“Scott, grab a mouthguard, don’t want him to break his teeth!” you urged. Scott followed your instruction and forced his friend to bite down on the piece of flexible plastic intended for canines.

“Here, Derek, bite down on this,” Scott told his friend. When his teeth were now spared from grinding against each other you placed your focus back on the man with the bullet wound -back on Derek.

“I need you to hold him down,” you spoke to Scott. He, in turn, placed both his palms on Derek’s chest and held him down, “Good. Now, Derek, if you can hear me, I need you to take a deep breath because this is going to hurt like a bitch.” You warned. You heard the faint sound of air flushing in through Derek’s nose, his chest rising up to twice its size.

You wasted no time and began digging around for the bullet. Derek’s grunts and groans were muffled by the mouth guard. Beneath the hum of the fluorescent lights, you caught a glimpse of his eyes: bright blue. Unnaturally blue. They looked colder than Antarctica. Then, you felt something hard where soft tissue should be.

“I got it.”

Slowly, precisely, you pulled the slug out of its nestled resting place and tossed it into the metal dish Scott had presented in front of you. The bullet was out and Derek was finally letting the fight inside him die as he slipped into unconsciousness, but it wasn’t over yet because the wound still wasn’t healing.

“Shit! The wound won’t heal unless we reverse the effects of the poison, but we don’t have any Wolfsbane.”

Scott’s eyes lit up in recognition of something, “Yes we do!” He shouted as he darted back into the office and returned a few seconds later with a perfectly preserved sample of dried Wolfsbane and a blowtorch.

You didn’t bother asking. You took the dried herbs and crushed them in your hands, rolling them up into a collective ball of shavings. You took the powder and smeared it onto the open wound. Scott lit the blowtorch and brought it to Derek’s flesh.

The sound of the sizzling made you queasy, but you bit your cheek to keep from letting the inkling of nausea get the better of you. Derek was shaken out of his unconsciousness by the open flame searing his toned flesh, this time he didn’t grunt or groan, this time he let a bellowing cry of pain escape his lips. Towards the end, it transitioned into something that sounded like a whimpering howl.

Scott removed the open flame from Derek’s abdomen allowing his friend to finally pass out. You sighed a shaky sigh and Scott let his body slump down onto the floor. He wiped his forehead of the sweat with the back of his hand.

You practically tore off your blood-drenched gloves, a splatter of blood splattering on your exposed white collar as if it were a Jackson Pollock painting. You sighed in annoyance from staining your favourite shirt.

After disposing of the used medical equipment and gloves, you headed to the sink to disinfect your hands.

You scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw and reddened. The memories you tried so hard to repress through this whole ordeal threatening to make themselves known. You scrubbed harder at your fingernails to distract yourself.

Scott seeing you in distress, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. It felt like he was saying “You’re gonna be fine.” He didn’t know that this wasn’t the first time you had watched someone bleed out. The only difference was that this time the man bleeding out actually survived.

“Thanks.”

You gave a half nod, paying more attention to Scott’s relieved expression through the corner of your eye.

“You know about us, don’t you?” Scott asked after a beat of silence. You gave another half nod. Scott didn’t press you further, you were grateful for that, you didn’t feel like having the ‘How do you know about the supernatural?’ conversation. Instead, you headed to the cabinet where the tranquilisers and painkillers were kept and grabbed a small vial filled with a colourless liquid and a syringe.

“You know what this is?” You asked Scott.

“Yeah it’s a tranquiliser used during surgeries on animals,” he answered quickly.

Impressive, you thought. “Yeah, that’s right. Your friend’s body just went through the stress equivalent of a boxing match with Muhammad Ali. If he wakes up before getting a minimum eight hours, give him 5cc’s and that should knock him out again. He needs to conserve his strength. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said casually, “By the way, what were you doing here so late?”

“Didn’t you hear? As of today, I’m Deaton’s business partner and Beacon Hills’s newest hire.”

***

You were sipping on your fourth cup of coffee while you sat in your office, eyes staring at the unconscious Derek. In all your years you had never seen someone so stubborn that they could refuse to pass out from the pain of a bullet wound. The only person who came close in that department was your older brother, Markus.

As you had predicted, Scott had had to use some of the tranquiliser to force him back under a mere two hours after you removed the bullet. Afterwards, you had gone home to take a shower and change into clothes that weren’t stained by blood. Now it was your turn to watch over Derek while Scott went to his own home to do the same.

You let a yawn escape and stretched your arms to try and soothe your sore muscles and joints. You needed sleep. You motioned to take another sip of your coffee when you realised the cup was empty.

“Oh that’s just perfect,” you sighed.

You shoved yourself off your desk chair and carried the empty mug to the coffee maker atop the minifridge. The coffee maker was empty.

“Well, that’s just great,” you put the cup down and peered into the coffee container next to the coffee maker, luckily there were some coffee grounds left, “Thank God,” you rejoiced.

You were so focused on making coffee that you never heard Derek stirring about as he slowly began to gain consciousness. When the coffee maker started making that groaning noise which meant it was brewing, you went to check on your patient. Derek was no longer laying on the metal slab and you began to panic as your eyes darted all over the room.

In fluid, quick movements, your arm was pinned to your back and a strong hand wrapped around your slender neck. It wasn’t meant to hurt you, only scare you.

“Who are you?” Derek demanded.

You wiggled against his grip, trying to free yourself, “I- I’m the person that dug that metal slug out of your body,” you nodded your head in the direction of the small metal dish with a bloodied bullet in it and some stained gauze.

You felt Derek’s grip loosen and after a beat he let you go completely. You turned around to stare him down with a disapproving scowl. Derek looked at the bandage on his abdomen and ripped it off effortlessly, the wound had healed completely, leaving no scars behind.

His thick brows furrowed in thought, “How did you know to treat a Wolfsbane bullet wound?” he met your eyes with an icy stare of his own.

“This is Beacon Hills,” you answered as though you had lived in this town for years. He didn’t buy your answer. Derek grumbled disapprovingly at your unwillingness to tell him the truth.

Suddenly, his head snapped up and to the side, his eyes squinted in concentration and his claws began to extend out. He spun you around and placed his body in front of yours, shielding you from whatever had caused him to shift defensively. You found it increasingly hard to swallow.

A second later Scott waltzed in out of the dark and Derek eased up. He tossed a small bag at Derek, “I figured you’d appreciate a change of clothes.”

Derek nodded.

“I see you’ve met the good Dr Markolf,” Scott said in an effort to soften the mood, he beamed a smile at you, it was the first smile you had seen all day. “You should thank her, Derek. She saved your life.”

Derek didn’t say anything, he just unzipped the bag and pulled out a maroon coloured Henley shirt. It was then that you noticed the triskelion tattooed on his back.

“The hunters, what happened to them?” Derek asked Scott as he pulled the shirt over his head and covered up his tattoo.

Scott shrugged, “I went back to try and catch their scent, they masked it. They’re probably long gone. I did find this though-” Scott pulled out a medallion and chain from his pocket, “It’s probably from the guy you attacked. Do you know what it means?”

The medallion was old, the metal rusting around the edges. In the centre was an engraving of a hand clutching a broken arrow towards what looked like three stars and around the edges was an etching of something written in Latin. Most of the words were rubbed off or rusted over except for ’Pudicitiam’ and ’Superno.’

Dread threatened to consume you as your stomach practically overturned, you had to grip onto the metal slab to steady yourself as the memories of that night came flooding back. Blood. Screams. Someone whispering your name.

Derek looked over the medallion for a few seconds, analysing the engraving and the words, disappointment clearly visible in his eyes, “No.” He handed the medallion back to Scott.

“I do,” you said with a hint of melancholy. Derek and Scott turned to you with a puzzled look. “I know what it means.”

-PART TWO IS HERE!

P.S: I nearly changed this to a Derek Hale x OC because I liked the name Rosamund Markolf for the character a little too much, however, I decided against it because I already have one OC story in the works and once I go down the road of OC’s I’ll never stop! But because of established lore I’ve built into the Teen Wolf universe, the reader’s last name is Markolf (which is Old High German for Boarder-Wolf) 

As always: Feedback is welcomed, I hope you enjoyed reading this and since it will be a series (slow updated one at that) if you don’t want to miss out on the next chapter just ask to be added to the TAG LIST!

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