#mead moons 21

[triskhellion]

Perhaps

Rated: Explicit (7.3k)

Relationship: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale

Tags: POV Stiles, Human Stiles, Left Hand Peter, Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe, Strangers to Lovers, Getting Together, Gratuitous Endearments, Versatile Stiles/Peter, Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Knotting, Mating Bites, Dubious Consent, Uninformed Consent, Little to no prior discussion of a lot of things lmao, Assholes in Love, Morally Ambiguous Stiles/Peter, Murder Husbands, Song Lyrics, Happy Ending

Summary: Stiles and Peter run into each other when attempting to kill the same people. They get together and go a-murderin'.

For @steterweek 2023. Many prompts, lol.

Mead Moons prompts: 21, Claiming, Fae, Herbs, & Rose. @sterek-and-stuff-events

He drove for hours to get to the target, turning the knob between radio stations in the old, throwaway car he bought in cash for one trip only. His gloved fingers paused when the fist-pumping rhythm, scorching guitar, and sneering growl of “Rebel Yell” came blaring out of the speakers and he put his hand back on the steering wheel, drumming along and shimmying his shoulders. They must’ve been playing alternating sets because the next two tracks were Billy Idol too.

Grinning and even more hyped he arrived at his destination after nightfall, a tiny community on the Northern California coast called Albion. He made the final approach to an isolated McMansion on the outskirts, its resident reclusive and paranoid. Too paranoid to trust others with his security, apparently, relying only on his guard dogs and technology. 

Not paranoid enough, he thought, smirking. After parking the car out of view he climbed out and took off his black hoodie, strapped on a bulletproof vest, and then put it back on again, zipping it up high. This was his tactical hoodie, it had several custom compartments, including a passthrough pocket for his handgun and a sheath on the back for his bat.

Stiles tranq’d the quartet of Dobermans from afar with night vision goggles and dropped the dart gun to be collected later or left behind as circumstances permitted. It wouldn’t led back to him. He slipped inside with a hacked door code, the gentle beeping hopefully not yet alerting his quarry. Carefully, he made his way through the house, avoiding or disengaging a series of booby traps that he used the man’s own surveillance cameras to memorize.

He was almost to the wing with the sleeping quarters when suddenly an alarm that sounded like the apocalypse itself started going off. What the entire fuck? He knew he hadn’t messed anything up. Moments later it blessedly cut off again, but then he heard a roar of pain behind him as he sprinted down the hall and realized that he wasn’t the only one breaking in tonight. Of all the dumb fucking luck.  

Stiles turned and saw a man rushing toward him, shouting, and he sped up. The guy moved unnaturally fast and gave the distinct impression of wanting to rip him apart. Yeah no, buddy. 

He jumped a trip wire and then threw himself to the right, ducking under another sensor. From the sounds of gunfire behind him his pursuer hadn’t bothered to pay attention to his maneuvers, but must’ve been one lucky son-of-a-bitch because the footsteps kept coming, if somewhat slower. 

Reaching the end of the hall, Stiles quickly triggered a thick metal door to descend, which slammed down between them before the mystery mission-crasher could get through. There was a narrow strip of some transparent bulletproof material in the otherwise solid steel door and he met the shadowed eyes of the man cursing him on the other side, an odd reflection making them seem bright blue for a moment. Seconds passed entranced as they stared, but then he shook himself out of it.

“Sorry, my guy. This is my party and you weren’t invited.” 

There was an answering thud near his head and more muffled cursing and noises of frustration.

“If you let him get away I’m going to tear your throat out,” the man threatened. See? He knew the guy was a ripper.

Stiles scoffed. “You’re the one who fucked this up, asshole.” He turned away muttering, “Goddamn Leroy Jenkins over here.”

Luckily, he always had a backup plan, in this case the code to the panic room as well. That’s what too many simulations and drills would get you. 

Humming softly, he withdrew his gun and prepared to go inside. Here she comes now, sayin’ Mony Mony. Shoot ‘em down, turn around, come on Mony. 

When their eyes met again over what was now a mangled corpse it was…something at first sight. Well, technically, it was like, third sight, but this was his first time actually getting a good look at the guy. And vice versa from the way those light colored eyes were currently tracking up and down his body. 

The man was older, but not yet middle-aged — perhaps 35 or so — and had impeccable style. Upscale business casual threads in blues and grays with a belt and shoes in an orange-brown for color. Stiles had no penchant for it himself, but could appreciate it all the same. He noted some red leaking through the navy blazer. The man didn’t seem concerned though, so it must’ve been a graze. 

Stiles straightened up and wiped the blood spatter from his face. The mark had gotten off a couple shots, one going wide and the other embedding in the side of his vest. He’d shot the man’s right arm, causing the revolver to fall to the floor, and followed up with another one high on his leg. Then it’d been bat time. 

This was personal, after all. The motherfucker — a former deputy — almost killed his father. Did kill innocent bystanders. Heather.  He gave the piece of shit a last kick to the head and flipped him over.

“Darling, you look so good in red,” the man purred.

If it were anyone else Stiles would’ve hefted his still dripping bat in warning, but instead he found himself grinning like an idiot and felt himself flush more than from his recent exertion.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he said, cleaning his favorite weapon on the back of the dead man’s shirt before pulling out a bag from his hoodie, wrapping it up, and sliding it back in its sheath. 

Then he unlocked a second door and backed away into the night, not taking his eyes off the man watching his every move until he had to disarm another trap in the side yard. 

The next time they met he’d been the one to arrive to a murder in progress. And how. Stiles had seen a lot in his 21 years — especially the last two or so spent ever further outside of the law — but he never expected to come face to face with a hulking beast with wicked claws and ginormous fangs in a freaky, furry face. Furry everything.

He stood there stunned for several moments, gun pointed at the creature, but not firing as it finished off the lowlife he came to kill. It was disgusting, but impressive.

When it was done the beast looked at him, but made no move to attack. Then it started to change, the sight of flesh rippling and the sound of bones reforming quite disturbing really. Lastly, he watched as the fur receded and it became a man, the man, that he encountered when he took care of Haigh. 

The man he couldn’t stop thinking about and kicked himself for not getting any information that he could’ve used to track him down. To find out more about him. Who he was and what he was about. If he’d liked to get naked sometime. 

Speaking of which, he hadn’t really noticed before what with the very distracting eviscerating going on, but most of the beast man’s clothes had torn in his prior transformation, only scrapes of pants hiding his junk almost like a pair of extra ripped Daisy Dukes. Stiles had no qualms about checking him out and was tickled when he preened and set a hand on his hip.

“So we meet again, sweetheart. Like what you see?”

Always with the endearments, this guy. Monster guy. Werewolf, he supposed. It was obvious that he did like it, but that didn’t mean he was going to say so out loud. Stiles raised an eyebrow and changed the subject.

“Should we be comparing lists or something?” 

There was an amused snort. “Perhaps.” 

They stood around awkwardly for a few moments and then Stiles went to get a closer look at the thoroughly shredded Body Formerly Known As Todd.

“You’re not going to ask?” the werewolf blurted.

There was surprise and incredulity in his voice. And was that a hint of disappointment? Stiles bet he had a whole spiel prepared. He smirked.

“About what? You’re a guy who turns into a wolf-bear creature. And? Do you have another trick up your sleeve? Some fascinating hobby?” 

The werewolf erupted into a full-body laugh, mouth open and eyes sparkling — Stiles was close enough now to see that they were blue — and he was pleased to elicit such a response. He wanted to hear that sound again. 

“Eh, that’s about it unless you consider my day job interesting?” 

“Which is…?” 

“I’m a rather sought after lawyer.”

“Not in the slightest,” Stiles replied, grinning.

“Ouch, you wound me. I bet you’ll change your tune when you need my help getting out of jail and a long prison sentence.” 

“Pbbt, your furry ass will be right there beside me the way things are going.” Which brought him back to the subject at hand. Or foot. “So about that list. Why were you after the likes of this scumbag?” He nudged the body with his shoe.

He listened as werewolf explained that Todd here had been working with a group of Hunters — how original — that attacked supernatural creatures even when they’d done nothing wrong. A group that had killed several members of his family, only himself and his nieces and nephew surviving. That Haigh had helped to cover it up before moving and joining the force in Beacon Hills, where he took part — both directly and indirectly — in the deaths of multiple supernaturals and humans alike. 

Stiles then he gave his own reasons for going after the same targets. His father’s near death and the indiscriminate killing of his childhood friend Heather and other folks who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stiles studied the man in front of him (he was definitely a man regardless of whatever else he was) and mentioned a few more names he was hoping to cross off, observing a reaction to one of them.

“Well, it sounds like a bunch of your enemies are my enemies.”

“Does that make us friends?” the werewolf asked, words laden with seductive promise. 

Stiles put his right hand out flat and rotated his forearm back and forth. “Perhaps.” He winked and retrieved his latest burner phone.

They decided to meet up a few hours later about a 100 miles away at a brewpub in Santa Rosa. Stiles was more nervous on the drive there than he’d been when going a-murdering. At least after the first few times. He slid into a private booth where the werewolf waited upstairs, quiet enough to hear each other easily, but loud enough in the establishment to drown out their conversation. 

He might’ve had a bit (a lot) more to drink than he intended, feeling all kinds of things in the presence of the attractive, deadly, supposed-to-be-mythological man who flirted like innuendos were the gas pedal in Speed. Stiles was amused. Conflicted. Aroused. Reckless.

He remembered flashes of what followed after they settled on a joint course of action. The hawk-eyed stare as he suggestively ate various vaguely phallic finger foods. Stumbling on the steps outside. A hand reaching into his pocket and being buckled into a different car than he arrived in. Asking if the werewolf knew how unfair it was that he was “just so fucking hot” and singing that he wanted to, quote unquote, “Lick lick lick lick you from your head to your toes.”

Being guided through the door of his motel room and onto his unmade bed. A face pressed against his neck and the lightest brush of lips on his throat.  Murmured words, a streetlight briefly flooding the room, and then darkness and silence.

Stiles woke with a start, but soon began to relax after taking stock of first himself and then his surroundings. He was unmurdered, unmolested, and by all accounts still in possession of all of his belongings. The only things out of place were a pair of playing cards tucked underneath his wallet on the beside table. Well, the first was a playing card, the Ace of Spades of course. The second had the back of one, but was actually a fairly standard business card on the other side. It had a triple spiral symbol on the left. 

Peter Hale, Attorney at Law.

He smiled.

Stiles watched as Peter was punched and pistol-whipped, dragged bloodied and bruised into the inner sanctum of some crime lord’s wannabe chateau. Listened as he begged while henchmen laughed and jeered, taunting that he’d never leave this room alive as they continued to pummel him before tying him up for their boss to interrogate. 

And the award goes to…

When “Mr Marc,” the self-described King of Sacramento, entered the room it was his cue to cut the lights. That unsettling sound of rearranging came through his head piece and then the screaming and gunfire began. 

Stiles took out a few soldiers on the way with his second favorite weapon, a semi-automatic pistol, but the rest had already converged on the custom made cell. Unfortunate for them. By the time he peeked inside it was all over, but the cursing of one gasping Carl Marconi. The man who’d been financing the likes of Haigh and Todd and dealing less-than-legal weapons to the Hunters, not out of any particular animus, but finding the extermination of supernaturals and related fuckery profitable. 

“You messed with the wrong folks,” he said, leaning against the wall as Peter lifted Marconi by the throat in the green light of his night vision goggles. Seconds later there was ripping and gurgling and a trachea landed a few feet away from him with a soft thud.

“Gross, dude.”    

Stiles invited him over after they cleaned up what they needed to, leaving the bodies for their affiliates to find. Perhaps they’d have second thoughts about their business. He booked a nicer place this time, an actual hotel instead of his usual hovel-esque lodgings.

Despite all of his suggestive behavior Peter actually seemed surprised when he pounced as soon as they made it inside.

“Well, this is kind of our third date,” Stiles joked, wagging his eyebrows before kissing him again. 

They made out against the door for a bit, getting more and more heated with little nips and delving tongues. It was obvious that Peter assumed that he would be in charge, but Stiles had other plans at the moment. The wolf followed his unspoken directions with an air of being put upon as he went down to his knees, eyes glowing that inhumane blue, but going nonetheless. 

Stiles pulled out his cock and Peter dropped his fangs with a smirk, but that was no deterrence. Danger only made him harder. 

Carefully, he rubbed the head over Peter’s top lip and then on the fronts of both elongated upper canines and the werewolf shivered, whispering his namebefore retracting his sharpness and taking him into his mouth. Stiles caressed his head as it bobbed, eventually giving a testing tug. Peter groaned and increased his tempo so he did it again. Soon he was holding him stationary and fucking his face, so incredibly turned on be having his way with the werewolf — being allowed to use him — and when he came with a shout Peter swallowed it all, lips wet and eyes shiny.

As he leaned back against the nearby dresser in the midst of his afterglow Peter rose effortlessly to his feet, riled up up and ravenous.

“My turn,” he rasped, plundering Stiles’ mouth and sharing a taste of himself. Pressing him hard against the wall, Peter extended his claws just long enough to tear off his pants and boxer briefs, leaving tiny lines that didn’t quite bleed on his skin.  

“Suck,” he growled, sticking blunted fingers between his lips.

Stiles obliged, jerking his hips at a jolt of arousal. It’d take a while before his dick got back in the game, but he wanted nonetheless. Before he could fully register that his mouth was empty again two fingers were rubbing over his hole. He tried to relax as one pressed inside, burning slightly. 

“So tight, you’re going to feel amazing on my cock,” said Peter, grasping under a thigh and around his back to carry him over to the bed. 

Stiles’ heart raced with both nervousness and excitement knowing what would happen next. He’d been fingered before — mostly, though not solely, by himself — but he’d always topped with his previous partners when it came to fucking. He was also aware that this would not be a gentle deflowering, but he didn’t want to stop. 

After tossing him face down on the bed Peter quickly sniffed out his lube before Stiles could tell him that it was still in his luggage — he deserved a reward for not making a dog joke — and then two slick digits were entering him, alternating between spreading him and brushing over his prostate and then just pumping repeatedly. He wiggled and moaned, rubbing against the bedsheets below him.

“Such a good little whore,” Peter crooned, palming an ass check with his other hand and then lifting it off again. “I know exactly what you need.”

Stiles’ face heated at the words, but he discovered that he liked it. He heard a bottle cap being flicked open and viscous liquid being applied to Peter’s cock. Then he was being pulled up by the hips onto his knees, which were nudged farther apart, and the werewolf climbed over him. Hot, hard flesh pressed against his rim. Stiles realized then that he hadn’t even seen it and had no idea what he was getting into. Or rather, what was getting into him. Breathe, breathe. Relax, relax, re—

With a snarl Peter pushed steadily inside him and he gasped as his body struggled to accommodate the intrusion. His hands clenched in the sheets as he was stretched wide, panting with tears instantly forming in his eyes.

Groans of pleasure from just above punctuated the sound of Peter’s balls slapping against him as he was pounded for several moments and willed himself to just take it. He’d taken Peter’s mouth after all, it was only fair.

Then the movement paused, the fact that he was unusually quiet and still perhaps pulling the older man out of his own blissed out world. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” 

Stiles turned his head and gave a shaky smile, nodding, but Peter shot him a skeptical look and then seemed to concentrate inward. He watched in amazement as dark lines began to flow along the werewolf’s veins and suddenly most of the pain was gone, leaving only a mild ache. Taking some deep breaths, he focused on relaxing and letting himself adjust. When Then he experimented with rocking his hips. 

Peter adjusted his position a bit and when he pushed back again he lit up with pleasure, moaning. 

“There we go, darling.” 

The thrusting continued, slower this time, and the werewolf leaned down to lick and suck on his neck. His own cock was hard once more and Stiles began to writhe and gyrate, desperate for more friction. 

Strong hand clamped down on his neck and waist, stilling him as Peter speed up again. “You’re going to be a good boy and take what I give you,” he growled, snapping his hips. 

Stiles gave himself over to the wolf’s control and the cock mercilessly targeting that wondrous little bundle of nerves. He was just starting to get close, but then he felt something happening. An increased pressure.

Peter swore and paused momentarily, grabbing the bottle of lube and drizzling more over them. As he resumed fucking him Stiles felt it again, something stretching him even more.

“Peter?” he gasped.

“Shhhh. It’s okay, darling. Do you trust me?”

Strangely enough, Stiles did. He probably shouldn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“Yeah,” he answered honestly.  The hand at his neck moved to stroke gently down his left side.

“Do you want to be mine? For me to be yours?”

“Yes,” he sobbed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Not understanding what was going on. He wasn’t really sure what Peter meant either, but he wanted it all the same. The idea of belonging. Wishing that could be true.

Peter made a pleased, guttural sound and he felt himself being opened wider still. He whimpered and the part of the sensation that had crossed over into pain was siphoned again. Finally the source of the pressure slipped all the way inside where it nestled against his prostate. The wolf began to swivel his hips, grinding into him over and over.

Stiles cried out as he came, clenching around the large object and then suddenly sharp fangs were embedded where his shoulder met his neck. He was already overwhelmed before a rush of foreign information — impressions and feelings and things he had no words for — flooded his brain just as Peter’s hot cum flooded his body and he passed out to the sound of roaring.

He floated back to awareness being held to a warm chest, a hand gently stroking his back and neck. He felt sticky and slightly sore, bombarded by sensations and emotions.

“Is that what bottoming is always like? Holy fuck,” he muttered, half-lifting his head groggily before letting it fall again.

Peter paused his petting and Stiles almost begged him to continue the grounding contact.

“You…I assumed…” The wolf was actually at a loss for a moment. 

“S’fine,” he mumbled into the pillow. The soothing touch continued more softly.

When his brain truly came back online some minutes later he jerked up, pulling back to look at Peter, who’d apparently been doing that pain drain thing again. He was going to ask about that later, but he had more pressing things on his mind.

“So wait, what the fuck was up with your dick? And why do I feel like…like there’s more…just more in my head?”

For the first time he saw actual worry on the werewolf’s face, before it smoothed back into a neutral expression.

“Well…”

The more Peter explained about werewolves and mating and wolf mates the narrower his eyes got until he could barely see the mouth still flapping only a few feet away.

“And you didn’t think to tell me about any of that beforehand, you son-of-a-bitch?!”

The worried look was back again, but even more pronounced. Stiles could feel -- because he had some mystical bullshit feeding him another person’s emotions somewhere in his head now — Peter’s anxiety and fear. His defensiveness and discomfort and a flash of hurt, as well. Boo-fucking-hoo. Tellingly, there was only the barest whisper of guilt. The bastard. 

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but he cut him off. 

“Blah blah blah, wolfy instincts I’m sure. You’re a selfish bastard.” Stiles glared into stormy sea eyes. “But then so am I.” 

Peter huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, you can always kill me if you want out.”

“I know.” 

He hadn’t actually known until just then, but he’d figured that would be the case. Peter grimaced and nodded. 

“Are you going to?” 

A numb resignation drifted through the bond. That’s what it was called. The bond. Pack bond. Mating bond. He was a mated man. Claimed.

“Hmm…perhaps,” he answered with bared teeth. 

“Lie.” The wolf hissed. He then leaned forward slightly and sniffed, his head tilted and eyes unfocused before they narrowed in turn. “You’re…not actually mad about this, are you?”

“Not really,” Stiles said, shrugging and sighing deeply. He let out go of the anger that he’d been purposefully trying to cultivate. That he probably should feel, but didn’t. He wondered what that said about him. “But it’s the principle of the thing,” he added, punctuating the words with a finger jabbing into Peter’s chest. 

The asshole flashed a triumphant grin and that occupied little corner of brain was all happy and relieved and smug.

“Eat me,” he retorted, flipping double birds.

And well…Peter did. 

God, his tongue. A++, would be rimmed until he babbled and cried again. And again. He had half a mind to make it a stipulation whenever they got around to drawing up the legal papers as well.

The next morning the wolf — his wolf — was in the process of getting out of bed, but Stiles wrapped around him from behind like an octopus and pulled him back to sit on the edge of the mattress. He spat in his hand and reached around and down to grasp his hardening shaft, tweaking a nipple with the other and leaving disappointingly brief hickeys on the side of his neck. Peter thrusted up into his hand for a minute or two and then twisted to push him onto his back, sliding over his body and settling between his legs. 

He lined up their cocks and then began rutting between, making those hot growly sounds as Stiles moaned and wrapped long legs around his waist and moved his hips. 

“I’m going to give that sweet ass of yours a break,” Peter whispered in his ear, licking and nipping at an earlobe. “But I’ll be fucking you again real soon.”

Perhaps I’ll fuck you first.

Stiles followed Peter into Growing Gaines, a cozy, fairly new shop which sold flowers, plants, and natural remedies. He turned the sign in the door to “Closed” and quietly twisted the lock behind him. 

This was a more impromptu job than usual, the result of his mate showing him bestiaries and other books about the supernatural a couple mornings ago and suddenly coming to the realization that the recent influx of missing children in the area was probably due to some kind of fae creature. Likely in Oakland, around 15 miles away from Peter’s apartment in Walnut Creek, based on the pattern of disappearances.

A wandering Higher Unseelie it turned out, though the exact species was unknown.  Ancient. Beautiful. Deadly. And in this case, rather sloppy, sometimes literally.

There’d been no time to waste — they wanted to make sure she didn’t strike again — so they collected what they knew to work against the fae, much of it already in the wolf’s possession. (Peter had informed him that he was something called a Left Hand, a pack’s protector and enforcer. An instrument of vengeance should harm befall them.) Purified salt, mistletoe, holly, and silver. Rowan, which was part of the rose family and also known as mountain ash. Peter had it in both wood and powdered forms despite not being able to touch it himself. And of course “iron — cold iron — is master of them all.”     

There was some debate about exactly what “cold iron” meant: iron turned into a weapon, iron that had been cold-worked instead of forged or welded, raw iron ore or just a poetic term for iron in general. Stiles made sure to cover all his bases by selecting a sharpened, cold-worked spike made from a meteorite and attached to a rowan handle from the Hale vault. Hell, he threw it in the freezer for good measure and packed it in a cooler bag with ice packs even though the wolf laughed and laughed at him.

While Peter turned on the charm and distracted the sweetly smiling platinum blonde he got to work “browsing” the plant section out back and laid out a binding circle. Well, it was more of an oval really. When she led Peter toward the weigelas he asked about Stiles knocked her out with a rag soaked in mistletoe extract and rolled in silver dust. 

They’d been pretty damn certain that they had the right culprit, but to make absolutely sure Peter rifled through the office inside while Stiles kept watch over the unconscious “Alisha Gaines.” When he felt a sense of nausea followed by rage through the bond he knew that they did before the wolf returned with a look of disgust on his face. It took about another ten minutes for her to wake up — they wanted her aware of why she was going to die — and everything was ready.

“You know all you had to do was not be a complete piece of shit and you could’ve lived just about forever,” Stiles said, shaking his head at the triple bound fairy. “It’s not like you even needed to eat people — children — to survive or anything. You just wanted to.” The malevolent creature glared at him with pure hatred, but thankfully looks couldn’t kill unless you were dealing with a basilisk. “Oh well.” He drove the iron spike into her heart.

With a muffled scream she began to dissipate, which was both fascinating and very convenient. Power coursed through him —as he’d read that it would — and also into a set of seven amulets that he had wrapped around his right wrist. Stiles didn’t have magic himself, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use it if harnessed in certain ways. And he could definitely benefit from the general upgrade in health and vitality from a transference of life force.  

“God, you’re so fucking sexy when you do that,“ Peter growled, burying a hand in his growing hair and all but mashing their faces together. “The planning.” He licked over the seam of Stiles’ lips. ”The set up.” A teasing tongue worked into his mouth. “Keeping it short and sweet…” Peter sucked on his lower lip. “Instead of a whole monologue.” 

Stiles slipped his tongue into the wolf’s mouth. 

“The execution,” Peter hissed, resting their foreheads together, breathing each other in. “Pun intended,” he added a few moments later before diving back in again. 

The kissing turned into wrestling for dominance and surprisingly enough Stiles won, arms wrapped around the wolf from behind with teeth set to the side of his throat. He wasn’t sure if the fae power gave him that much of a boost or whether Peter simply relented for once. 

“Looks like I’ll be having you tonight” he teased, swatting Peter on the ass. The wolf huffed and stalked away, but he could tell that he was actually pleased. Excited even. This whole bond thing was pretty cool after all, at least when it worked to his advantage. 

Stiles gathered several bunches of hanging herbs that were drying in the sunshine knowing that Mr. Fancy Pants would totally love that shit. He also swiped two bouquets of roses from inside, one with classic, long-stemmed red flowers and the other a pretty light purple variety. The tag called it Plum Perfect and described it as “lavender” and “double flowered.” What could he say, he was a romantic.

Peter made them a lovely beef roast for dinner with root vegetables — parsnips, carrots, Yukon gold and sweet potatoes, and freakin’ rutabagas because he was extra like that — cooked in a red wine sauce with some of the fresh thyme. Afterwards, Stiles found him in the bedroom naked and spread out on his back for him. He hurriedly pulled off his clothes and climbed onto the slate blue 1000 thread count sheets.

The wolf wore a come-and-get-it smirk on his face, but Stiles could feel that he was nervous too. He just lay on top of Peter for a while, kissing him and mouthing his neck while frotting lazily between his legs, enjoying a nice, slowly building heat. His wolf grabbed one of his hands and kissed it, looking up at him with such affection in his eyes.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s just been a long time.” 

Then he took two of those fingers and sucked until they were sopping wet, guiding his hand down between them. Stiles didn’t need to be told twice.

He bit Peter’s shoulder and closed his eyes after inserting that first finger, circling and rubbing inside. He reached over for the lube when he was about to add another, but then held it over the other man’s left hand instead.

“I wanna see you fuck yourself open for me.”

Peter inhaled sharply and moved to obey. The slick sounds watching those shorter, but thicker fingers pumping into his ass, went straight to Stiles’ already rock hard cock. 

“C’mon, show me how much you want it.” 

Peter’s eyes flashed that beautiful bright blue and he started to thrust up with his hips to meet his hand, the tendons in his neck standing out as leaned forward and threw himself into it. Stiles was practically drooling as he stared and decided to put that pooling saliva to use, letting it drip down over his mate’s now three busy fingers. He bent down off to the side and suckled the head of Peter’s leaking cock, licking and kissing and then enveloping it again a few times before pulling away, the wolf trying to keep him there with the scrabbling digits of his other hand. 

He smirked and Peter glared at him — all flushed and sweaty and shameless…beautiful — until he saw him slicking himself up. When Stiles grasped the backs of his thighs just above the knees and lifted the wolf finally withdrew his fingers so that he could take their place. He shuffled forward and rubbed the tip of his cock over his mate’s quivering hole, teasing and savoring the delicious anticipation.

“Fucking hurry it up!” Peter barked. 

Stiles had half a mind to make him wait even more, make him beg, but he was more than ready to get on with it himself. No, he’d give Peter exactly what he wanted. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as he entered that tight, engulfing heat, steadily sinking in until he was sheathed completely. Peter’s mouth hung open, his rim stretched and clenching around Stiles’ cock, but he wasn’t experiencing true pain. Still, he waited until Peter started to wiggle around and then he snapped his hips, setting an even pace. 

Stiles settled down onto his forearms to kiss him and then buried a hand in his hair, tugging his head up and latching onto his neck. His tips tingled from the vibrations of Peter’s moans. He switched to undulating his hips every so often, dragging long and slow.

It was so so good, but soon he began to crave something else. A wilder, animal impulse urged him to claim.

Peter whined when he suddenly pulled out, but he wouldn’t be left empty for long. Stiles flipped him over and lined himself up, pushing back in with a single forceful thrust. He grasped the wolf by the throat, not choking him, but holding firmly, and began thrusting again with abandon. Deep, hard strokes that pressed him into the mattress. Peter gasped and tilted his hips back, spurring him on even more. 

“That’s a good bitch,” Stiles said before biting the back of his neck.

And then Peter was tensing up all over, making low, breathy sounds and clenching around his cock as he came and came and came. Stiles felt his rapid pulse against his palm, squeezing once before letting go and planting both hands on the bed. He sped up then, chasing his own end as the wolf still twitched beneath him. It wasn’t long before his balls drew up tight and he began to shoot his load. 

“Mine mine mine,” he chanted, just as Peter often did when he was the one coming apart under his mate. Stiles only wished that he had a knot to bury in him too. Perhaps he’d check out some of those not-entirely-fantasy-after-all sex toy makers. 

He continued to slowly thrust into Peter even after he emptied every last drop inside him.

They were on the road again, this time all the way to Austin, TX. They could’ve just flown in and gotten a car down there, but it became an excuse to do some gallivanting on the way. Vegas. Albuquerque. Maybe they’d swing down across the border to Monterrey on the drive back. Hit up some museums and stuff themselves with cabrito al pastor.

Stiles all but skipped into their first stop in the city — one of the dozen and a half or so record stores he pulled up on the map — excited to buy some vinyl now that he had access to a turntable and a state of the art sound system. He was browsing the H-Me section when Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell caught his eye. Memories of that fateful trip to Albion and his first encounter with Peter ran through his mind and he grinned. Of course he had to get it. 

The fact that this was their final mission practically made it a sign. An auspicious one, he hoped. Their kill lists had significant overlap, but there were a number of targets who only made the mistake of enraging one of them. Not that that mattered, they were no less dead for it. If someone made it onto Peter’s then, by golly, that was reason enough to land them in his sights as well and vice-versa. 

This one made the top of both of theirs, though. Gerard Argent. Leader of the Argent clan despite their supposed matriarchy. The Hunter who bribed corrupt policeman like Haigh and introduced the likes of Marconi to the existence of the supernatural. Who approved his daughter’s heinous attack on the Hales. 

Stiles had been happy to learn that she’d been left to rot in scattered pieces — or perhaps to become a meal for some lurking scavenger — in a landfill somewhere in the southwest. Arizona or New Mexico. His mate had been kind of out of it at the time, apparently. Kate Argent was one of Peter’s first post-fire kills and understandably the most emotional. 

Now it was time for her father to pay. They’d saved him for last. 

Things went wrong almost immediately, a series of cascading minor mishaps requiring them to adapt everything on the fly. All they needed was for Peter to wearingly declare that he was too old for this shit (he would never) and it would’ve been a perfect cliche. But in the end the mission was salvaged. Gerard was super dead and they were still around to return one day and piss on his grave. The worse for wear for sure — he’d been injured enough to need all 3 of the amulets he brought and would probably have nightmares from having to burn that much wolfsbane out of Peter — but alive. That was all that mattered.

There is nothing safe in this world. And there's nothing sure in this world. And there's nothing pure in this world. Look for something left in this world. Start again.

They were somewhere between Artesia Wells and Encinal, about 60 miles from the border, when Stiles was directed to turn off onto an unmarked dirt path and through a gate. It was covered in signs declaring it private property and promising trespassers a plethora of bodily harm. Stiles raised his eyebrows and glanced over as he continued farther down. 

“It belongs to friends of the family,” Peter stated, completely at ease

The pack. Sometimes the fact that he was now part of it too, if not yet officially, made him slack-jawed with disbelief. Stiles Stilinski, guy who runs with wolves. 

Well, just the one at the moment. And he preferred a brisk walk or a jog at most. A nice sedate stroll from time to time.

They built an unnecessarily large bonfire from the stack of dry branches next to the large two room shed, which was stocked full of water and nonperishable food on one side and various tools, cleaning solutions, and other potentially useful miscellanea on the other. Nice.

He was about to toss in any last detritus from their venture — a pair of shoes, certain fake IDs, some papers (written in code, but still,) a blood-soaked woven tote bag and such — when Peter grabbed his wrist.

“Ah ah ah, dear heart. Smores first, then incriminating evidence. Who knows what awful chemicals are in that stuff.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m still going to breathe it in, babe.”

“Not if you go back to the car and let me and me and my superior constitution handle it. After dessert.”

He rolled his eyes, but sent a burst of affection through their bond. Peter might often wrap it up in jerkitude, but it was these small, thoughtful gestures that showed how much he cared. 

“So what’s on the agenda when we get back? Redecorating? Adopting a pet?” he inquired between gooey bites of chocolate-y marshmallow deliciousness.

Peter didn’t dignify the first suggestion with a response. “Hmm, a well-behaved adult cat might be negotiable.”

“If…?”

“If you accompany me to the Pack House.”

Stiles felt his face warp into something merely resembling a smile.

“Um…sure.” 

He just couldn’t help being anxious about it. What if Laura refused to accept him after she actually met him? Or the three of them just didn’t like him. He learned about how important packs were to wolves when Peter explained about being a Left Hand and all that. 

His mate chuckled and rubbed his shoulders consolingly.

“Okay love, not yet. But soon. And it’ll be fine, I promise. They’re going to love you.”

Stiles wished he could say the same, already imagining the look on the retired Sheriff’s face when introduced to the older man who was even more bloodthirsty and chaotic than he was, not to mention kind of a snob to boot. And that wasn’t even getting into the werewolf thing, assuming he ever broached that topic at all. But hopefully in time his dad would come around once he saw how well they were suited and how doting and devoted Peter was, even if would have studiously not look too closely should any more trash need to be disposed of. 

Almost a week later they returned to Peter’s apartment. Their apartment now he supposed unless the wolf wanted somewhere new. There was no way in hell he was moving into Stiles’ shanty studio situation up in Sacramento, that was for sure, and the idea of living apart was…discomforting to say the least. He liked to blame it on the mate bond or the frequency with which he awoke to Peter’s mouth around his cock, but he also loved cuddling and spooning and breaksfast in bed, okay? 

The Pack House was in Emeryville about 20 minutes away, but he knew his mate liked having his own place. Hadn’t spent much time there at all recently, what with the various “errands” and then being, ahem, tied up with him. He knew Peter missed them and that they wanted to see him too. Both of them. Perhaps he would invite them over for dinner this upcoming weekend. Yeah, hopefully it would be less nerve-wracking if they met in his territory so to speak. This little slice of home.

Stiles made a beeline for the record player to put on his latest purchase. Peter rolled his eyes, smirking at him until music filled the living room and he started to strut, advancing on the wolf and slipping fingers into his belt loops to encourage him to move. "Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door..." he sang, alternating his shoulders up and down and gyrating.

It turned out that Mr. Hale could shake it with the best of them.

“Never breathe a word of this,” the enforcer threatened as he shimmied forwards and back and then spun, swinging his hips and tossing his head. 

“Sure, babe,” he said, embracing his mate and grinning wickedly behind his shoulder as they swayed together. He wouldn’t say a thing. 

Texts or pictures once he was finally introduced to his Alpha and the others, though…

Perhaps.

#steter #steter fanfic #steter week 2023 #mead moons #mead moons 21 #mead moons claiming #mead moons fae #mead moons herb #mead moons rose #steter fic #mead moons trisk #s&s events #s&snonster

[sterek-and-stuff-events]

Mead Moons Event: Prompts 1-3

Is Derek planning a 21st birthday surprise for Stiles that he'll never forget? Is 21 the number on his college sportsball jersey? (Football, basketball, baseball, Calvinball, soccer, lacrosse, etc!)

Is Stiles an outgoing, accident prone artist intrigued by suspiciously agile broody writer Derek? Did he make Derek a mix cd titled 21 Things I Hate About You in a High School AU where they go from enemies to friends to lovers?

Are they getting married on the summer solstice or celebrating 21 years together? 

It’s up to you!

Does Stiles drop acid while his dad is away one weekend and end up confessing his feelings to what he thinks is just an imaginary Derek? Will he travel back in time to stop the Hale Fire before it happens?

Can Derek help Stiles tell what’s real and what’s not while they’re dealing with the Nogitsune? Did he have an otherworldly experience between his death and resurrection as an evolved werewolf? 

Was it all just a nightmare or a daydream?

Only you know!

Do one or both of the guys stumble upon some apparently ubiquitous sex pollen? Get whammied by a witch's spell or break a mysterious bottle in Deaton’s lab?

Does Derek fend off a Succubus, but now needs Stiles to, um, give him a hand…or more? Is it a Lost Girl AU with Incubus Stiles? 

Do they simply enjoy an evening of rich food & drink that gets them in the mood?

You decide!

Accepting new and unpublished fic, art, and playlists June 3rd - July 3rd. See the pinned post here for more info. 

#sterek #sterek events #teen wolf events #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #mead moons #mead moons 21 #mead moons altered reality #mead moons aphrodisiacs #sterek & stuff events

[hazyange1s]

MC: Raegan DesRosiers

Basics

Full name: Raegan Caítríona DesRosiers

Nickname: Rae, Rae Rae, Reggie (don’t call her that she’ll hex you)

Gender: female

Species: witch

Date of birth: November 27, 1874

Nationality: French and Irish

Blood status: half blood

Wand: blackthorn, dragon heartstring, 11 3/4 in, rigid

Appearance

Hair color: dark ginger

Hair style: often worn pulled back in a loose braid or bun, though she starts wearing it down w/ her natural messy waves in sixth year

Eye color: amber

Skin tone: fair

Height: 5’5” (and some change)

Body type: curvy and toned from Quidditch/dueling

Clothing style: dark and warm colors (black, red, brown), likes heavy fabrics such as wool, velvet, and leather, prefers to dress casual in battle-ready clothes but also enjoys dressing up

Accessories:

likes to use her wand to keep her hair up

often wears dragon hide gloves

ring made of goblin metal (given to her in sixth year)

Other distinguishing features:

two old scars through her left eyebrow (no memory of getting them)

longer scar over the same eye (cut by a sword during the final repository battle)

LOTS of freckles

Personality

Traits: confident, hotheaded, proud, rebellious, domineering, persuasive, flirtatious

Likes: summer, history, flying, parties, freedom, traveling, independence

Dislikes: authority, swimming/the rain, silence, wet blankets, seafood

Hobbies: dueling, Quidditch, historical research, dancing, weapon-making

Fears: drowning, being forgotten/insignificant, losing control

MBTI: ESTP-T

Enneagram: 8w7 (873) sx/sp

Zodiac: Sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, leo rising

Temperament: choleric

Archetype: The Rebel

Similar characters: Aelin Galthynius, Ginny Weasley, Damon Salvatore, Bellamy Blake, Jude Duarte, Faith Lehane

Family/Friends

Father: Marcel DesRosiers

Muggle

French diplomat

Left when Raegan was eight

Massive preening asshole who despises magic

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

Pureblood witch

Dragonologist

Killed when Raegan was 15 (a victim of Jack the Ripper)

Gryffindor alumnus

Sibling: Ronan Sharp (half-brother/twin in utero)

Parents are Kassady DesRosiers and Aesop Sharp

Two months older (born Sept. 21)

Hufflepuff

Pet: Soleil

Phoenix (found in the mountain cave)

Fiercely loyal; as all phoenixes are, known to show up at odd times (whether she’s in trouble or just to harass his mom)

Friends: Diana Blackwine (childhood best friend), Sebastian Sallow, Natsai Onai, Garreth Weasley, Ominis Gaunt, Leander Prewett, Imelda Reyes (frenemies)

Magic

Boggart: her father…until her guilt over the loss of Professor Fig leads him to be her new one

Patronus: tigress

Polyjuice: turns amber and tastes like honey mead

Amortentia: cinnamon, clove, smoke, and sandalwood

Special abilities:

Ancient magic

Dark Arts (wielded “when necessary” which is really just…whenever her instincts say)

Pyromancy - Raegan is an Igneus; a species of witch that is immune to and can conjure fire at will, the trait being passed through her mother’s bloodline

Backstory

Born in Avignon, France, Raegan had a turbulent childhood. While her mother was loving and kind, she often had to travel for her work - as did Raegan’s father, meaning she was often with only one parent for extended periods of time or had to be watched by one of her paternal aunts. When he was around, Marcel was not an affectionate man…in fact, he was often physically and verbally abusive to his wife right in front of Raegan and extended the treatment to her as she got older.

Eventually he discovered that Kassady had had an affair and conceived a son with another man. This coupled with his disdain for witchcraft led him to abandon his wife and daughter. So, the two moved back to Kassady’s hometown of Galway, Ireland.

However, times were tough. Her mother’s career as a dragonologist was no longer lucrative enough in the troubling times, and so they again relocated to London.

It was there that Kassady met a tragic, sudden end at the hands of an unidentified serial killer (who many suspected was actually a wizard). A newly orphaned Raegan, upon hearing the news, burned her house to the ground and wound up killing the officer who reported it accidentally.

The emotion was enough to unlock the ancient magic that had been hidden away inside of her, and just days after her mother’s funeral she received her Hogwarts letter. She now lives with her best friend (Diana)’s aunt in Scotland.

Academics

Best subject: DADA

Favorite subject: Flying and History of Magic

Favorite teacher: Hecat and Sharp

Worst subject: Herbology

Least favorite subject: Herbology and Divination

Least favorite teacher: Binns

Quidditch: Chaser (sixth year) and Quidditch Captain in seventh

As a student:

Rarely late, but she does miss (more than) a few classes in her fifth year

Detention record reads more like a rap sheet

Infamous but still respected; dedicated and intelligent

Future

Career: Auror

Though Raegan notoriously resists authority and despises the incompetence of the Ministry, she sees working for them as an opportunity to change things. Being in on the more secretive matters going on behind the scenes of the Wizarding World (and the chance to deal with them under the protection of their influence) doesn’t hurt, either.

They likely would have fired her on her first day for her insubordination, but they can’t deny the fact that she quickly becomes one of the best they have. Really, it’s a case of mutual loathing maintained through an advantageous truce.

Eventually, she does leave of her own accord, and takes up studying ancient history and magical weapon making.

Spouse: Sebastian Sallow (m. 1898)

(thanks @rypnami for motivating me by association to finally post this months old draft 🤠)

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #hogwarts legacy screenshots #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #oc #sebastian sallow #raegan desrosiers

[taleweaver-ramblings]

Inklings Challenge 2022: The Remnant

It's ten minutes 'til midnight, but it's still October 21, so I am ON TIME. You hear that, @inklings-challenge? It's fine. We're fine. This is somewhat less polished than I would like it to be, but hopefully it'll be ok.

Musical quotations are from Newgrange, Níl Sé’n Lá, and The Voice, all by Celtic Woman. Enjoy!

~~~~~~

I came by a house last night and told the woman I am staying. I said to her, "The moon is bright, and my fiddle’s tuned for playing"

The Golden Moon Inn was full when the stranger strode in, on the night when the rest of the world ended. Brennan didn’t notice her arrival — it seemed that everyone in town, from the poorest farmer to the mayor himself, had braved the wind and rain to visit, and every one of them wanted a drink. Their requests kept him running back and forth behind the taproom’s bar, pulling one drink after another: nutty golden-brown ale, stiff amber whiskey, fresh-squeezed juices, rich honeyed mead, and, of course, glass upon glass of sweet apple wine.

No, Brennan’s first glimpse of the stranger was when he turned to greet yet another customer and found himself caught by a pair of pair of eyes as dark and bottomless and as prone to knock a man cold as a full cask of hundred-year Southgrove Red. Had Brennan a bard’s tongue, he would’ve said those eyes were so deep that stars could get lost in them, and so knowing that one wondered if they had predated those same stars. Had Brennan a scholar’s mind, he would have known just what kind of person eyes like those usually came attached to.

But Brennan had a farmer’s tongue and an inn-hand’s mind. So instead he gaped like a fish until the stranger’s voice brought him back to reality. “Is there a glass of apple wine to spare, Mr. Braeburn?”

Brennan shook himself, pulling himself together. “Always, lady.” And she was a lady, he was sure. She held herself like a general surveying a battlefield, and though her clothes were travel-worn and of a foreign, fluttering style, they were brightly hued and shone dully in the light in a way that the homespun, linen, and wool that marked the locals’ wardrobes never could. “Just a min.”

He turned, fetched a glass from beneath the counter, and filled it from one of the casks along the back wall. The apple wine was the Moon’s specialty. It had never run out, Mistress Fellworth said, not in all the years her family had owned the place, and it wouldn’t do so under her watch. Every autumn, she and her staff laid down a dozen barrels in the cellar to mature; in a week or two, they’d prepare this year’s batch. But it always went too fast to be worth bottling, except when a customer brought their own bottle and paid for it to be filled.

Brennan passed the glass across the bar to the stranger. “By the by, lady, if I can ask, how know you my name? I’ve not seen your face afore.”

The lady held the glass under her nose, breathing in the scent, and then gave Brennan a strange and secretive smile. “I couldn’t miss one of Joli Braeburn’s boys. You look very like him.”

Well, how did she know that? When Brennan’s thrice-great grandfather had lived, the town had been a nowhere-place still, just a cluster of farms, and the inn had been naught but a house large enough to have rooms to rent to people passing through — though even then, the Fellworths had made their apple wine, and people had visited for the express purpose of drinking it. But before Brennan could ask, Mistress Fellworth herself bustled up to him. “Bren! You hear me — the lady and her fiddle are our entertainment for the night. You see that she doesn’t go thirsty.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brennan gave a heavy nod. By the time he turned around again, the lady was gone. But two mugs of beer, a glass of whiskey, and a pewter cup of juice later, he heard the woman begin to play —

And time slowed down.

~~*~~*~~*~~

There is a place on the east; a mysterious ring, a magical ring of stones. The druids lived here once, they said; forgotten is the race that no one knows

This landscape was far too pretty. It was hard to believe that it was host to the only major  concentration of magic south of the Shiftlands — and yet, somewhere in these rolling green hills was just that.

Alessa shifted in her seat, watching out the auto’s windows as the vehicle rolled along the bumpy dirt road. Apparently, pavement hadn’t made it out this far from the cities yet. Apple orchards covered many of the hills; supposedly, they produced the finest crop in the land, though people said the process of removing residual magic from them dulled the taste a bit. They’d been here even before the Magistorm, and they were among the first things to regrow in the wake of its passing.

No one knew exactly how they’d survived so well. Very few people had bothered to try to find out. Most students of history and magic preferred to focus on the problem of the Shiftlands, seeking to understand what had caused it to become what it was so the land could be reclaimed. Very few people cared to study its far less problematic cousin.

A shimmer on the horizon drew Alessa’s attention to the way ahead. She glanced at the driver, a square-built man with a face that looked like it had been passed down through a dozen generations. “Is that —"

His mouth worked the words over several times before releasing them. “Aye. We’re near there now.”

Alessa sat up straighter in her seat, watching eagerly, straining for the first glimpse of what she’d come here for. She was rewarded a moment later, as they crested a hill and the Remnant appeared.

At first, it looked like nothing at all, just a heat shimmer in the air. But the longer Alessa looked, the more she could make out its outer bounds. It rose like a column, ground to sky, a good fifty feet around, blurrily reflecting its surroundings and shimmering where the sunlight went through it. It certainly wasn’t as impressive as anything you’d find up north, where the residual magic made the ground roll like waves beneath your feet and burst up in deadly geysers of power, where the landscape could shift from barren wasteland to deadly jungle in a blink. All the same, it was there.

The car went over one more hill and then stopped at its base. “You’ll have to walk from here,” the driver announced. “Any closer and we’ll break down.”

“Understood. Thank you, sir.” Alessa fished in her skirt pocket for a coin and passed it over. “Will you help me unload my things?”

“Aye.” The driver and Alessa clambered out and circled around to the boot. The driver lifted out Alessa’s bag and her three crates of tools and supplies with a grunt. “You certain about camping out here? There’s a fair inn in town.”

“I’m sure.” Alessa pushed more confidence into her voice than she felt. “I’ve roughed it on the moors before, and at least for the first week, I need easy access to the Remnant.”

“If you say so,” the man grumbled. “I’ll be out this way tomorrow morning, so I’ll stop and see if you change your mind.”

“Much obliged, sir.” She was not much obliged. But it was the polite thing to say. She waited for him to make a few last remarks and drive away. Then she dug notebook, pens, and camera out of one of her bags and approached the Remnant.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Tell me that the night is long; tell me that the moon is glowing. Fill my glass, I'll sing a song, and will start the music flowing

Brennan had never seen the town in such a merry mood, not even on a holiday — nor had he ever seen someone play so well and so long as the stranger.

She danced as she played, weaving through the room, and people danced with her, swinging each other ‘round and laughing. Those too old or too tired to dance sang along, lending voices rough with labor to fill out the choir that the golden-tongued fiddle led. The tapping of feet on the floor and the beat of mugs on tables provided the rhythm, and several people had pulled out pipes and pennywhistles to play along. They traded out one song to the next, but the stranger never stopped. Her songs flowed off the strings like wine into a glass, smooth and rich.

Brennan wasn’t sure how she was doing it. He’d yet to see her stop for a drink, though people had brought her glass back to be filled more than once. And she’d not stopped to eat either, not properly. Instead, she called for a plate of cut-up chunks of cheese and ham and bread and made a show of spearing them with her bow on one stroke and popping them in her mouth on another. It couldn’t have been much fuel to go on, not with how she’d never once stopped moving since she raised her bow. And yet!

He filled another two glasses with apple wine, tilting the cask forward to drain out the last drops. He’d have to go downstairs and fetch another. It would be the second tonight, though the first had been near-empty to start.

Brennan glanced at the clock sitting behind the bar. It hadn’t chimed since the stranger arrived — or perhaps he’d just not heard it amid all the noise. The hands had moved all the same, pointing nearly to midnight now.

He drew another mug of beer and passed it across the bar, then edged down to Mistress Fellworth. “About time for closing, isn’t it?”

Mistress Fellworth shook herself as if she’d been in a trance. “Ay, what’s that?”

Brennan nodded at the clock. “Closing time?”

Mistress Fellworth glanced over the crowd, regret written heavily over her face. “Aye, I suppose . . .”

A blink and the stranger was before them, though Brennan could’ve sworn she was across the room before. “Stay open, if you will. Stay until my fingers are weary and until your guests are ready to leave.”

For a moment, Mistress Fellworth seemed about to nod. Then she squinted at the stranger. “What manner o’ trick are you about, then? Who’s to say your fingers are going to wish to stop?”

“’Til the morning, then,” the stranger replied, calm as could be, her fingers still plucking a melody and her bow tucked under her arm. “Until I and your guests are tired, or until the morning sun rises, whichever is first. Is that to your liking?”

“That’ll do.” Mistress Fellworthy nodded. “The daylight will show well enough if it’s no good you’re about.”

The stranger smiled again, though her eyes seemed suddenly sorrowful. “I mean no evil, Mistress Fellworthy. Wait for the dawn and you’ll see.”

Then she danced into the crowd, raised fiddle to her chin and set bow to strings once more, and the songs flowed on.

~~*~~*~~*~~

"Listen, my child," you say to me, "I am the voice of your history. Be not afraid, come follow me; answer my call, and I'll set you free"

At the top of the Remnant, you could see the stars.

Alessa had noticed this three days and fifty pages into her study of the phenomenon. Most of the Remnant reflected its surroundings, albeit in a blurry, watery sort of way, with occasional ghostly wisp of else blended in. But if you looked up, up, up to the very top, a patch of night sky was visible, and in it, you could see stars.

She had, of course, started tracking their positions. One theory held that the Remnant was a sort of defunct portal to another realm, and so the stars might be from some other world. But if they were, it was a very stagnant world, for they’d not moved an inch in the month she’d been here.

She’d learned a number of things in that month, as the apples ripened and the leaves turned from green to gold. She’d learned that the Remnant was as strongly magical as anywhere in the Shiftlands, something that had sent her double- and triple- and quadruple-checking her equipment and then to review the textbooks she’d dragged along to make sure she’d not misread. A magical concentration of this level should have made the surrounding region uninhabitable, and yet a day never passed without Alessa seeing a farmer or a farmer’s children or a group of orchard-workers go by.

She supposed it had to do with the nature of the magic, and the way it all seemed to be bound up in this spot. That was something else she’d noticed. Her textbooks were all very insistent that magic was like boiling water. It couldn’t stay still. It would move and bubble and try to spread out, changing form as easily as man changed his hat. But the Remnant stayed placidly where and as it was.

Perhaps, she sometimes thought, in the late hours of the night, it was all still doing something, and that was why it wasn’t wrecking havoc. But for it to be still in use, for it to still have a spell directing it, there would have to be a living wizard to wield it. And the last of the wizards had died out in the conflict that produced the Magistrom.

Many of her other findings simply confirmed what she’d already known. You couldn’t touch the Remnant; even in the proper protective gear, your hand would turn away. If you tried to go through it, you’d find yourself abruptly walking the other direction the moment before you passed its surface. Objects thrown at it seemed to either vanish or disintegrate — Alessa had yet to figure out which. Animals wouldn’t go near it, though they didn’t seem alarmed by it.

And all around its border were great, smooth-sided stones, with a crust of grey that could be brushed away to reveal a shimmering opal surface. Reports told of similar stone in the Shiftlands, great mounded towers of it. Scientists hypothesized that it was the leavings of spent magic, that it was left behind in the same way that calcium deposits were left in a teakettle by boiling water. As they were only found here and in the Shiftlands, that hypothesis seemed quite likely true. Trying to cut away the stone, however, simply left the cut section to turn to grey dust that blew off in the wind before Alessa could run any useful tests on it.

Of course, she didn't spend all her time at the Remnant. She hailed passing workers and trekked out to nearby farms to talk to the locals. Many an afternoon found her helping a farm wife with chores in exchange for information, and many an evening saw her sitting at the dinner table of those farmwives, enjoying a good meal as she questioned the farmers and fieldhands. And once a week, the driver who’d brought her out from the train station would return and drive her into town to restock supplies and speak with anyone willing to have a conversation.

Most of them, she found, had little enough to say about the Remnant. It was a fact of life for them, hardly worth remarking on. It interfered with no farmwork, killed no animals, and created no disturbance. It had always been there. It always would be there. Alessa tried bringing up the issue of magical contamination of crops and livestock, but those she spoke with laughed off her concerns. The Remnant wasn’t like the Shiftlands, they said. If it were going to cause anycone harm, it would have done so long ago. True, they had to process away the residual magic in any crop they wished to ship away. But for their own use, the Remnant’s influence did no harm, and a few old grandfathers swore up and down that the magic helped the plants grow, helped produce larger and better fruit.

And, indeed, the people who dwelt by the Remnant ate apples off the tree and tomatoes off the vine without fear. Alessa gradually worked up the courage to do so as well, when the trees nearest her camp ripened to irresistible perfection. For the first week, she monitored herself carefully for symptoms of arcane corruption. After that, though, she learned to love the extra crispness and sweetness that the magical influence seemed to bring. And the flavor only added to her suspicions. Untamed magic corrupted — but why should not a magic directed for some good improve everything around it?

~~*~~*~~*~~

Don't go out into the cold, where the wind and rain are blowing, For the fire is flaming gold, and in here the music's flowing.

Far away, far to the north, a storm was coming to a head. In cities and towers, wizards prepared the first and last spells of a war that had been going on in secret for centuries. Soon, that war would be a secret no more, though the wizards had no idea just how much of an effect their clashing spells would have.

But in the Golden Moon, the stranger still played. Brennan couldn’t make out what was odder: that he wasn’t tired, or that she wasn’t. Midnight, one, two in the morning had come and gone, and more than a few guests had purchased rooms in the inn to sleep off their drink and merriment. Yet she never stilled, never stopped, never slowed. Every time Brennan thought she’d reached the end of all songs ever written, she produced one more, or else a guest called out a request for her to play something again. And she did so, unwearyingly.

And something in her tirelessness must have been catching, for Brennan felt no more inclination towards his bed than he had at the evening’s start. Neither, it seemed, did Mistress Fellworth, nor any of the inn’s staff. The remaining guests, too, were unusually alert and cheerful for this hour. Many still sang. A few still danced.

But not all were so affected. As the stranger slid from one song to another, old Farmer Martin stood and gathered his family and farmhands. He tipped his hat to his friends and started towards the door.

The stranger was at his side seemingly without moving — or perhaps she’d already been there, and no one had quite realized it. “Stay,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, the whole inn could hear. “Stay, good man, if you will.”

Farmer Martin gave a rough shake of his head. “It’s another day of harvest tomorrow, lass. Better to work on a few hours of sleep than none at all.”

“Stay,” she said again, fingers plucking her violin strings in a melody as sweet as a summer’s afternoon and as sticky as a spider’s web. “Stay, I pray you. The night is wet, and the wind roars outside. Stay and sing by the fire. Or if sleep you must, do so here, and I’ll pay for a room for you, since you remain on my behalf. Stay till dawn, I beg you.”

Brennan saw the old man waver. Then, with a nod, he turned away from the door. “Till dawn, then, though I imagine I’ll take you up on that offer of a room. But if I’m to stay up, I’ll need another drink. Braeburn!”

“Yes, sir.” Brennan took the proffered glass and refilled it with apple wine. He had to tip the cask again, though there were still a few more drinks in it, by the feel. Sooner rather than later, he’d need to bring up a fresh cask.

Far away, the wizards cast their first spells.

~~*~~*~~*~~

I am the voice of the past that will always be Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields.

One chilly night, the Remnant locals introduced Alessa to apple wine.

She sipped the sweet drink, barely noticing the slight sting of alcohol beneath the fizz of magic, and listened as they told her of its history. Apple wine had always been made in these parts, they said. It was as old as the orchards themselves. And while it could no longer be shipped across the realm — removing magic from the apples made them too expensive to be used for wine — it was still a local favorite.

Of course, the locals told her, even their best wasn’t as good as it had been before the Magistorm. In those days, it had been the specialty of an inn called the Golden Moon and a family called the Fellworthies, or so the stories said. But inn and family both had been lost in the aftermath of the wizards’ war, along with the rest of the village. As far as anyone could tell, the village had been centered on the Remnant’s current location, though no trace of it remained.

A pity, the locals said, and laughed. A pity, but at least today’s wine was still good.

A pity, Alessa echoed, and drank her wine, and wondered.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Fill the glasses one more time, and never heed the empty bottle! Turn the water into wine, and turn the party up full throttle.

The last cask of apple wine was half gone. Brennan rocked it on its stand, feeling the liquid within slosh back and forth. How had the crowd drunk so much? Or perhaps the better question was, how had the wine lasted so long, with all the town calling for it over and over again?

Mistress Fellworth joined him at the barrel. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re nearly out.” Brennan kept his voice low enough that the crowd wouldn’t hear. “This is all we’ve left to sell.”

Now it was Mistress Fellworth’s turn to rock the barrel. For a moment, her face was dark and distant. Then her expression hardened. “Water it down as much as you can. Half the crowd is probably drunk enough they won’t know the difference. Stop when there’s a cup or two left. We’ll have to close then, whatever our player says.”

There was a soft gasp from somewhere. Brennan glanced back in time to see the stranger stumble. But she recovered and spun back into her song with a laugh. He turned back to Mistress Fellworth. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

With that, he trekked down to the cellar yet again, returning with a cask of drinking water. He hoisted it onto a stand next to the wine and hammered in a tap. He held a glass beneath and turned the nozzle.

Golden apple wine, as fair-smelling as the best of the Golden Moon’s vintage, flowed out.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Wait for the sun on a winter's day, and a beam of light shines across the floor. Mysterious ring, a magical ring; forgotten is the race that no one knows.

The last of the year’s harvest was picked, and the first frost laid thick on the ground as Alessa circled the Remnant yet again. The latest shipment of scientific supplies from the university had included a set of arcane detection goggles, and wearing them, she could clearly see the threads of magic running off the Remnant into the orchard, bright as streams of water.

Perhaps the old men had been right. The magic flowed in the core of each tree, and in every branch and twig. Perhaps it was helping the trees grow. Perhaps it had always done so. Perhaps that was how the groves had regrown so quickly after the Magistorm. Perhaps the Remnant had preserved them.

But why? And . . . Alessa looked back towards the Remnant, studying it as best she could. With the goggles on, it was almost like looking into the sun, but she thought she could see a sort of pattern — and beyond that, a shape. A building, maybe, large as a city inn.

Alessa pulled off the goggles, and the Remnant went back to normal. Maybe she should check again if anyone knew of any records from the time before the Magistorm. If she could find out exactly what had stood where the Remnant was . . .

A shift in the sky pulled her away from her thoughts. Alessa looked up with a gasp.

At the top of the Remnant, the stars were fading.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Tell me that the night is long. Tell me that the moon is gleaming. Fill my glass, I'll sing a song, and we'll keep the music streaming Until all the songs are sung.

Dawn came in a flash, in the same moment that the songs stopped.

The sudden cease of music was nearly deafening. Brennan stood, stock-still, blinking in the light that suddenly flowed in the windows, wondering if he were going mad. A few feet away, Mistress Fellworthy swayed on her feet, staring dazedly.

A murmur swept through the guests, confused and then panicked. Questions were thrown here and there, but what happened was repeated the most, over and over again.

What had happened? Brennan glanced at the clock as if it would give him answers — but it had stopped long ago, though its pendulum still swung slow and useless behind the glass. Mistress Fellworth had begun to mutter as well, grumbling about a headache and how she shouldn’t have stayed up so late.

There was something wrong with the light, Brennan realized. It was — different. Too green. And the air tingled with the absence of . . . something.

Where had the stranger gone? Surely she could explain. But when Brennan looked around, he could see her nowhere at all. Had she slipped out already? Ducked away amidst the crowd’s confusion?

She couldn’t have gone far. He went to the door and threw it open. And then he stopped.

There was no street outside. No village. Just rolling hills and apple orchards — and, some twenty feet away, a girl in strange but serviceable-looking clothes standing and staring at the inn like she’d never seen it before. She looked nothing like the stranger, but he called out to her anyway, “Hello?”

“Hello,” she called back, and then took several careful steps forward. When nothing stopped her, she picked up her skirts and ran to the inn. “Is this — is this the Golden Moon Inn?”

“Aye, where else would it be?” Brennan looked around again, hoping against hope that the village would appear. “What’s become of the rest of our place, then?”

“It’s . . . It’s a very long story.” The girl shook her head. “I’m not sure you’ll believe it. I’m not sure I know all of it, but maybe you can help me.”

“I’ll be glad enough to try.” Brennan held out a hand. “Brennan Braeburn, miss.”

“I’m Alessa Foxwood.” She shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same to you, miss.” Brennan took one last look around, then turned to re-enter the inn. “Come on then. Let’s have a drink, and we’ll see if we can’t answer each other’s questions.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” And inside Alessa went, as the last of the Remnant faded into the soil and the sky.

~~*~~*~~*~~

I am the voice of the future. Bring me your peace — Bring me your peace, and my wounds, they will heal.

They never found the stranger. But they found her fiddle and its bow, still warm to the touch and tingling with magic. Later, when all was revealed, they would hang the instrument in a place of honor above the Golden Moon’s hearth.

But for now, bow and fiddle sat on a table in the center of the taproom, while the Golden Moon’s occupants listened in mingled awe and horror as Alessa told them of the world outside — of the wizards’ war and the Magistorm that swept across the land in its wake and of thousands of years passing by afterwards. Many of them thought of their homes and farms and wondered what would become of them, now that they had nothing but the others within the inn. Many of them thought of what would have become of them had they not been at the inn, and they blessed the stranger in their hearts for convincing them to come in the days before and for not letting them leave that night.

It was Alessa who discovered at last who the stranger had been. In the days after the Remnant faded, she requested any records, any papers, anything of note that the Golden Moon had so she could copy them out and preserve them. Records from before the Magistorm were few and far between, and she would pass up no opportunity to find more.

Mistress Fellworth was willing enough to comply in exchange for Alessa’s help in establishing relations with the local farmers — though all her casks of water had been filled with good wine, she had the future to think of, and she’d need to lay out twice as many barrels as she normally did. So Alessa spoke with the farmers and was rewarded with a box of papers to go through. Among them was a sketch, carefully preserved between the pages of an old book, of a woman whose face made Brennan gasp. That was her, he said, the stranger who’d played that night, though she was younger in the picture, and her eyes not yet so deep and knowing.

Alessa turned the picture over. Melanie Fellworth, age 19, the back said, and the family tree buried deeper in the box recorded that name: a daughter of the long-ago Fellworth who’d turned the farm into a proper inn. While Melanie’s siblings had stayed, Melanie herself had left home and traveled far away to seek her fortune and an education in magic.

“She must have been one of Melanie’s descendants,” Alessa suggested, setting picture and family tree aside and returning to the original book.

But Brennan thought of the stranger’s endless eyes and the way she’d spoken of his thrice-great grandfather. “No. It was her, herself.”

Alessa shrugged, and agreed that it might be so. Wizards were said to have been very long-lived, after all. Perhaps it had been Melanie herself. Perhaps she had returned to her home on the eve of its destruction to save the family she’d left behind so long ago. If it was, it was surely her magic that had made the Remnant, that had kept the Golden Moon safe and preserved through the centuries.

Brennan nodded at this, thinking of the wine in the water casks and the way the stranger had swayed just before that moment. She had to be a Fellworth, he agreed. For the wine still flowed, and it would flow still for many years to come.

#inklings challenge #inklingschallenge #team tolkien #genre: secondary world #genre: time travel #(sorta anyway) #imagery: wine #taleweaver writes #my writing #short story #short fiction

[ben-the-hyena]

1, 12, 21 for the Basic Ship Asks

Since I started with Meryamun and mentionned him and Yumi, let's see Meryamun and Yumi !

1. Describe their first date.

By first date I precise, it is AFTER they officially got together after she left her pack for staying with him and he stops to be a lone vampire and she stops to be an alpha werewolf, not between that and when they did kiss and fuck admitting they are super attracted, even if they do have romantic moments in between they officially were still friends up to that point. At this moment he loved in the ruins of an abandonned fort in an English forest and humans were still superstitious and hunted down monsters in groups (late 15th century) and they highly suspected that mysterious nobleman living in literal ruins and that strange group of people were up to shady business with him who were camping nearby. So they wouldn't really get to be out in the open much. Especially since they would move out rather quickly for a whole new start when these ruins and their new reputation were becoming too big

Their actual first date would be weeks later once they managed to move to Ireland, in a town. It was now or never since they had freshly come so didn't kill anyone yet to feed on so wouldn't be suspected yet. Meryamun wished he could have offered her a queen's date, but back then they had nothing but their clothes for being on the move and needing to stop at day for him not to burn and at full moons for her not to be unable not to transform. But as much as she missed riches from the days of her being a courtesan Yumi really loved the gesture and just wanted to be with the first and only man she ever loved and still loves. So in that little town, they shared a meal and mead in the pub, they danced to the folkloric music, they had a walk arms over one another speaking sweet nothings and about their future plans and themselves, he courted the courtois way (late Middle Age after all) on his knees with a lute and a rose, still her rose in her hair they killed off a boar together for the thrill of the hunt, they happily brought their hunt home to the little loosy cottage they rented to have food savings laughing, which ultimately turned them on and they banged on the boar and fell asleep on it cuddling and covered in blood. Still a very fond memory

12. Do they have a difficult time when separated from each other, or are they fairly independent?

Surprisingly they are pretty much ok ! They may adore each other, they are not clingy at all and are their personalities are just not defined by each other and know it is the case for each other. Sure the first 2 centuries together they roamed the world the nomadic way always side by side to survive and be as discreet as possible, but once they finally settled in America building the manor they still have to this day using 2 centuries of savings in a little improvised vampire town (not knowing it would ultimately get surrounded by a whole human city and become one of its historical districts, oh well the food is here at least), they could allow themselves a sedentary life. Which implies sometimes one outside while the other stays inside

Which did happen, being sedentary now Meryamun was determined to start anew and not just hunt and run he needed to bring money so started a food business and invest some of his earnings in various fields he hoped would flourish one day thanks to his immortality, and Yumi after centuries of having to just be a beast could finally sit down and write and paint like she missed so much and sold some of her pieces to contribute to the house. Which would imply that during the following centuries Mery would sometimes leave for work (not that he has to much, he is the boss lol) and for meetings and conferences far away and later since late 19th centuries sometimes to cook in his own restaurant the Golden Canine, and Yumi would sometimes leave for artistic deals and nowadays going to conferences as well as receiving rewards (of course if her family is available they do come to cheer for her). They also are away for interviews sometimes, him for being a business man very popular and philanthropic, she for being the woman behind the man as well as a feminust figure for proudly sporting her hairy arms and legs

They also do need alone time sometimes one relaxing at home or relaxing outside like at a spa or something, and do have outings with their respective friends or alone with one or both of their children for parenting bonding while one of them is away or stays behind when they don't go on a family outing. Of course even if they often hunt together sometimes they do alone, and ever since they became parent they also go hunt and teach how to werewolf and how to vampure to their 2 kids, Yumi mostly with their son Asmar who mostly takes from the werewolf side, and Meryamun with their daughter Absinth who mostly takes from the vampire one. Plus, vampires technically being undead they sometimes need to regenerate, so there will be whole days Mery will be pretty much dead hibernating in his sarcophagus (and their kids too) and Yumi would be fully alone and content

21. Do they enjoy domestic life?

They really do, after having been on the run for so long after being stripped off from human lives of luxury they are grateful to finally live in comfort again and not alone this time. They and their children too in fact love to stay inside with all the inside activities a billionaire paycheck can allow. Meryamun loves to cook for his family and Yumi is his biggest fan so no need for a hired cook, Yumi often paints her loved ones who pose him included or herself or any object or subject, they do have a butler woman they consider family Mariam but they don't let her do it all herself and do participate in the chores and force their kids to too, they enjoy the garden during good days (nights in his case) with BBQ with friends, swimming pool, feeding the birds and in Yumi's case gardening a little, cuddling in the sofa, reading, watching TV, playing games, listening to music sometimes played by Mery and their daughter themselves, Yumi and son exercising and dragging the vampires into enjoying it too, playing with their pets... a good rich life

#meryamun ankhkemet #Yumi ankhkemet #ocs #moi #the ankhkemets #love is here #ask #papabirdurskeks

[pearlsoftheparticular]

notes on chapter 3

Another Dante reference at the very beginning - "The Great Florentine" (Dante) mourning his having been chosen for this journey.

"He's the kind of guy who thinks sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila." Sublime: of such excellence, grandeur, or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe. Also, elevate to a high degree of moral or spiritual purity or excellence.

Lude's real name is Harry. Significance in the name? Or in that he is not known by his real name?

"Lude knows every bar, club, and gatekeeper at every bar and club. Hollywood has always been mother's milk to Lude. Mother's tongue. Whatever. Unlike me, he never needs to translate, interpret or learn in LA. He knows." - Setting up Lude as Johnny's Virgil (guide)? (pg 19) ('hell's cartographer' (pg 21))

"Despite a nose that others have described as "a bee-battered..." (19) odd phrasing. Potentially a reference to the fight between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman. There was an article from 1974 on the fight, a quote from which read "Under an African moon in the darkness before dawn today, a bee battered a lion." Article was called "Rumble in the Jungle". Also a call back to the Lange quote at the beginning, referencing 'lion tamers'.

"... Lude just wants more money, better parties and prettier girls and I want something else. I'm not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it's drenched in sunlight and it's weightless and I know it's not cheap. // Probably not even real." (20)

First reference to his parents - his "Shakespearean mother" on pg 21.

Amaurotic: Total loss of vision, especially when occurring without pathological changes to the eye. (pg. 21)

"If the house were indeed the product of psychological agonies, it would have to be the collective product of every inhabitant's agonies." (pg 21)

"It is no great coincidence that eventually someone... would show up at this Mead Hall and confront the terror at the door." (pg 21-22) Beowulf reference. Grendel is the monster terrorizing the Mead Hall.

"Because the enormous narcissism of their parents deprived Will and Tom of suitable role models, both brothers learned to identify with absence... treated it as temporary... discontinuous lifestyle... threats of abandonment..." liminality, also referencing the Israelites' wandering in the wilderness that was introduced at the end of chapter 2 (Succoth) and the quote from Exodus at the beginning of this chapter.

Laconic (pg 23): (of a person, speech, or style of writing) using very few words.

Selah.

#house of leaves #mzd

[laubm1990]

• LUNA CRECIENTE •

| 12 de Abril de 2024 |

Luna Creciente a un 21% de brillo y 381,495.64km. de distancia.

Equipo: Celular Redmi PRO 11

Zoom: 1X

Sin parámetros (Modo normal)

Equipo: Telescopio Meade LX600 con computadora AutoStar II

Ocular: 9mm.

Hora: 08:57pm.

Fecha: 12/04/2024

#wallpaper #wallpapers #moonwallpaper #photooftheday #luna #moon

[gobboguy]

Chapter 21: A Feast of Contrasts

The night sky above Farfield Castle glittered with stars, casting a gentle glow over the after-party that was in full swing. Alden used his staff to grow a garden of day lillies and moon-flower vines to create a beautiful contrast for guests and grew several strawberry and blueberry plants right on the guest's table to enjoy as they feasted and danced.

King Roderick, more than a little drunk, presided over the festivities. Performers and jugglers entertained the guests, their acts weaving a tapestry of color and movement against the backdrop of the castle’s grandeur. The atmosphere buzzed with laughter and music, and the aroma of medieval delicacies wafted through the air, tantalizing the senses.

Long tables were laden with a plethora of freshly cooked foods—succulent roasted meats, pies filled with savory fillings, and platters of exotic fruits and cheeses. There were steaming bowls of hearty stew, fragrant with herbs and spices, and bread, fresh from the oven, warm and crusty. Guests indulged in roasted game birds, their tender meat falling off the bone, and sipped on mead, the sweet honeyed wine of the era, from goblets adorned with intricate designs.

Amidst the festivities, Alden and Eleanor moved with graceful dignity, their smiles warm and their eyes alight with contentment. The newlyweds were pleased, their hearts brimming with happiness as they celebrated their union amidst the jubilant crowd.

Elara, however, wore a facade of cheerfulness that masked the ache in her heart. She had invited Alden and the rest of her dance troupe to join the festivities, putting on a fake smile to conceal her true emotions. As the night wore on, she couldn't help but steal glances at Alden, his presence a bittersweet reminder of the connection they had shared.

In a gesture of camaraderie, Elara ensured her guests were well-fed and merry. Yet, each laugh she shared felt hollow, her eyes betraying the pain she kept hidden. As the night progressed, she wondered if Alden felt the same—whether his smiles were as genuine as they seemed or if, beneath the surface, he too harbored unspoken longing.

Despite the contrasts in their emotions, the night continued on, a blend of joy and sorrow, celebration and heartache. Farfield Castle echoed with the sounds of revelry, but in the midst of the festivity, Elara found herself wrestling with the ache of unspoken words and unanswered questions, her heart heavy with the weight of unrequited love.

#literature #gobboguy #fantasy #goblins #orcs #SongsofPower1

[soulshardarchive]

𝕬𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖛𝖊

24:03:6 - well ...

24:01:05 - gr8, have you ever wondered how it all ends?

24:00:00 - The Apocalypse of the Soul ⭐

23:12:27 - I died, and spoke with living

23:12:24 - The Yule Tree

23:12:23 - well, itsjustkindofastoryaboutagirl, whose nose was stolen

23:12:21 - bye!

23:12:08 - and just falling stars..

23:12:05 - and just empty mattresses and falling stars

23:12:01 - bro... ure dead, with minus seven hundred

23:11:25 - you guys

23:11:24 - im not waiting to be adopted, ive adopted myself

23:11:02 - #?/*Đ% "+ $&@# */&&#

23:10:29 - Samhain is Coming, i feel in my bones

23:10:21 - Friends here

23:10:20 - The city of cold

23:10:02 - Krwlng, Lets begin

23:09:30 - Im lost in my words

23:09:23 - Idwannatalkabout, but its ... its cold, and its me

23:09:19 - The Anger

23:09:13 - I dont give a shit...I know how down I come from

23:09:08 - Im arrived at the sacred center ⭐

23:09:05 - I felt the hate rise up in meh

23:09:02 - You Know...

23:09:01 - Everything is happenig

23:08:28 - Drink Wine in the Cinema Before Drive, Thankyu

23:08:26 - Okay, Little Horcrux is walking around the city

23:08:24 - The Witch with that Fckin Cards

23:08:21 - Valleys of Casa Grande and Dining Pasta Hill ⭐

23:08:15 - Choking on the Bed

23:08:12 - City of Firefly Lanterns sayin Wellcome Back Again

23:08:07 - I'm curious why you're leaving me, guys...

23:07:29 - Wellcoming

23:07:15 - Oldschool Lake Flow

23:07:04 - The Place...Called Home ⭐

23:06:27 - Hey Wuk, Re U Seein Meh? Im the 17!

23:06:24 - Explodig Night of Fireflies and Arabic Coffe ⭐

23:06:01 - What is known ⭐

23:05:26 - Seagulls and The Camper Van Tales

23:05:25 - The Ultimate Wonder-Deco Shinobi Team ⭐

23:05:17 - Holden Caulfield said correctly

23:05:16 - No one, but at least the dead people talk with me

23:05:09 - Ya, it is a Brand New Day

23:04:28 - Taste the Suffering boi

23:04:08 - I remember you Ice Stack and Magic Buttons ⭐

23:03:23 - Super Team

23:03:16 - The Gods Smile ⭐

23:03:10 - And the Singing Moon, started a Quiet Song 🔒

23:03:04 - Oh Fuck, I have to go to jump out of a plane

23:03:03 - She tried to save meh from that necklace

23:03:01 - Old roads

23:02:22 - A little piece from the Goddess

23:02:11 - I'd love to die today

23:02:01 - Enter

23:01:10 - Tom the Adventurer

23:01:01 - Sky Cloud Meads ⭐

22:12:23 - The Day of Spirit

22:12:12 - Christmas Chaos

22:11:13 - Everything happened for me to be here now

22:11:01 - Celebration in Monster City Center Basement

22:10:20 - The Trick

22:10:15 - Nion

22:09:23 - Burnout

22:09:17 - The Inner Cave Dream

22:09:10 - Past, Present, Be strong for Future

22:08:30 - Lessons

22:08:19 - Atum Seshat ⭐

22:08:13 - Exist

22:08:10 - How you get here

22:08:01 - Gates of the Paradise ⭐

22:07:09 - Across the half World

22:07:05 - Teo Checked Me

22:07:03 - Seth

22:06:30 - Reb’s Gift 🔒 ⭐

22:06:03 - Black Reeds

22:06:17 - The Present

22:06:10 - These are Different Lessons

22:06:08 - Just one word remained: Reb

22:06:04 - Nice Prayers in the Oaks of the Temple

22:05:29 - Between

22:05:20 - You are my Friends!

22:05:16 - Mugwort tastes like the Moon

22:05:12 - The Job

22:05:01 - The First Summer Fires in the Woods

22:04:29 - Poets from shadows

22:04:28 - Ravens

22:04:25 - Almost Done, or not?

22:04:14 - Du you want a puff?

22:04:11 - Funny Ghosts

22:03:26 - Wuk, Mira, Everybody, What happened?

22:03:22 - Underworld Tales

22:03:22 - Annwn ⭐

22:03:16 - I’m a forgotten, empty place, from a previous world

22:02:22 - Cold Empty Matrasess and Falling Stars

22:02:17 - No-No! Students do not open random portals!

22:02:13 - Immrama Islands

22:02:12 - Egypt’s Ancient Dreams

22:01:28 - The Druids Egg

22:01:17 - The Gate to the Triple Goddess ⭐

22:01:08 - Journey in Past 🔒

21:12:16 - One Tribe

21:12:15 - The Dream of Alchemy ⭐

21:12:04 - Headphones and Black Pants

21:11:27 - The Sacred Center

21:11:11 - Land, Sea, Sky

21:10:03 - These are Cold Dawns

21:09:19 - Nightmares and Cardboard Boxes

21:09:13 - Little Ghost Girl of Amsterdam

21:09:04 - At The End Of History II. ⭐

21:08:31 - Kukulkan’s Bloody Pyramids

21:08:29 - The Emerald tables of Thoth

21:08:28 - Base Of Ancestors III.

21:08:24 - IX.

21:08:23 - You Known, Too High Level Wand…

21:08:13 - Druids From Magh Mor 🔒 ⭐

21:08:08 - Wellcome to Paradise

21:08:05 - 12 Towers of Babylon

21:07:28 - The Oak Tree

21:07:24 - Valley of Wonders ⭐

21:07:20 - The Cherry Tree Elemental and the Gnomes

21:07:10 - We Are, Together

21:07:05 - All or Nothing

21:07:01 - The Hanged Man

21:06:22 - Fuck You! 🔒

21:06:13 - The Higher Law ⭐

21:06:10 - Third

21:06:06 - Ivy on Empty houses

21:06:05 - I wouldn't kill you, Friend

21:06:04 - Never look back

21:06:02 - See You Mira

21:05:22 - The last day in This Circle

21:04:27 - Snow Mountains

21:04:11 - The Witch and The Strawberry Tree

21:04:09 - Waking up in the previous dream

21:03:15 - The Ghost of Great-Grand Mother 🔒 ⭐

21:03:09 - A Little Deer Spirit Saved Me

21:03:03 - Get Backpack, but nobody knows

21:02:21 - The Three Glyphs of the Elf Woman

21:01:16 - Underworld of Earth II .

21:01:01 - Fall down, into the Black Hole

20:12:28 - The Sad And Angry Bride Ghost

20:12:12 - Underworld of Earth?

20:12:04 - Base Of Ancestors II. ⭐

20:10:26 - The Joy of The Fireplace With Them 🔒 ⭐

20:10:19 - A Prophecy from the World’s End by a Forest Girl Spirit ⭐

20:10:13 - Again

20:09:23 - Tiramisu Mira ⭐

20:09:01 - The Song of Shepherds

20:08:22 - Shadow Hand

20:08:16 - Lost Magic

20:08:15 - Small Grey Hermit Smell

20:08:07 - The Great-GrandMother's Underworld

20:08:04 - Dancing feet on Summer Rainy Meads ⭐

20:08:03 - The World of Dreamers ⭐

20:08:01 - Ister-Gam ⭐

20:07:21 - The Magic Shop

20:07:10 - Legend of Roe Deer Creek

20:07:04 - Roe Deer’s Clan ⭐

20:07:01 - Just 7 hours Remained

20:06:28 - Star Systems

20:06:23 - We Have One Earth

20:06:10 - Reverse

20:05:27 - Jakks’s Mail

20:04:19 - Another Living Line

20:04:07 - We Are One

20:04:05 - Survive Until Dawn

20:04:03 - Spirit of the Forest

20:04:01 - VLM

20:03:15 - Where always 03:03 AM ⭐

20:03:06 - Trust in Life

20:02:24 - At The End Of History

20:01:01 - We From Earth

19:12:12 - Princess of Frozen Moon 🔒

19:12:08 - Kicked the Moon, Across the Sky 🔒

19:12:06 - Place Called Home

19:12:02 - The Biggest Smoke Clouds

19:10:15 - First in the Depth of The Underworld ⭐

19:10:13 - Zeta Reticuli 🔒

19:09:13 - The Clamp Knockdown

19:08:13 - Sunken Worlds Song ⭐

19:08:06 - Dancing Deer Spirit of the Drum

19:07:31 - Rising Sun, Setting Sun 🔒

19:06:10 - What About Forest? ⭐

19:05:22 - R. From Earth

19:04:25 - Soulshards ⭐

19:04:18 - I don’t want to hear it

19:03:10 - Icaros

19:03:08 - Sweet Bhajanas alone in Temple

19:01:27 - Ben

19:01:03 - Travel, Faith, Love, Lust

18:12:19 - The Glass Table

19:12:06 - Ann’s Magic Buttons ⭐

18:11:22 - Message From the Earth

18:11:08 - The Bird Question

18:10:13 - I want to see with my own eyes ⭐

18:10:13 - Only those who can die, Can Live

18:09:12 - Death Mirror

18:07:07 - Maha Prasadam

18:05:13 - Black & White

18:05:10 - With Me

18:04:16 - Garden of Eden

18:04:01 - Fixed Gear

18:02:23 - Cold Bus Stations

18:01:01 - Without You

17:12:07 - Home like a Temple

17:11:22 - Come Back

17:10:10 - Friends

17:09:08 - The Temple ⭐

17:08:01 - Don’t Leave Me

17:07:07 - Litte Town

17:06:24 - Raspberries Everywhere

17:05:09 - Separating in Process

17:04:18 - Hippies

17:03:11 - Lost in Travels

17:02:21 - Sex, Drugs and You

17:01:01 - Her Name is Ket 🔒

16:12:24 - Who Are You? ⭐

16:11:16 - Hearth Breakers

16:10:27 - Leave The Big Cities

16:09:06 - Forest in the Center of Concrete Jungle

16:08:05 - Keep the Flow

16:07:07 - Thanks Yall

16:06:13 - The Mead Again

16:05:19 - I lose Ang’s Hearth

16:04:04 - Punks Are Dead

16:03:27 - Trainstaions End

16:02:01 - Learn to be Free

16:01:01 - Whistle Back

15:12:16 - Cutted Rowel

15:11:20 - Red Flag

15:10:19 - Travel, Travel, and Travel

15:09:01 - Recreations

15:08:22 - Bye Ang! I’m Travel Again

15:07:23 - Back to the Home

15:06:16 - Long Ways to PK

15:06:22 - Everybody has a Brick

15:05:03 - 2 Times Homeless

15:04:23 - He is

15:04:18 - Ren

15:03:28 - The Start

14:06:02 - The Mead

14:05:22 - Pistols and Ropes🔒

14:05:01 - Child what? I’m getaway 🔒

14:04:21 - Hang-Air

14:04:18 - She has two parents and a little dog

14:02:04 - Cold Streets, Cod Hearts

13:05:11 - Dom

13:01:01 - Connectors

12:12:21 - Waiting for what?

11:05:07 - The Blue Pocket

10:04:12 - Cigarettes at the back of the Church

09:01:01 - Anyone?

08:07:07 - Visions, Lucid Dreams, Others ⭐

08:06:04 - Sky World

07:07:07 - Self Awareness

06:03:12 - Square World

05:07:07 - Just me, My Dog, and Our Meads ⭐

04:04:21 - Base Of Ancestors

04:??:?? - Bye Mom 🔒

04:??:?? - He said my lovely legs, the other broke them 🔒

03:??:?? - Something In Shadows

01:01:?? - Bye Dad 🔒

00:00:00 - XXI. Century

98:07:07 - Waking up in a Next Dream

#soulshardarchive

[triskhellion]

Second Chance Strays

Rated: Explicit (8.4K)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Larem the red deer, unnamed Julia Baccari

Tags: Magical Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Graphic Violence, Getting Together, First Kiss, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, Fuck or Die, Claiming, Various Explicit Sex Acts, Knotting, Mating Bites, Mating Bonds, Wilderness Survival, Happy Ending, POV Stiles Stilinski

Mead Moons prompts: 21, Becomes, Buck, Claiming, Hay, Herbs, & Mead. @sterek-and-stuff-events

Sterek Weekly prompt: Explore (also Healthy & Family.)

When Stiles found the wolf injured and unconscious in the snow he sighed heavily, but dragged the unusually large animal onto his sled over the snorted objections of his hoof-stamping hart. 

“Don’t worry, Larem, I won’t let it eat you,” he said, scratching around a soon to be shed antler and trying to soothe his sole companion of the past 3 years. 

Cutting his foraging short, he secured the unfortunate creature and returned to his solitary hut hidden deep in the forest to take a closer look. Male, with thick, black fur and seeming a healthy weight for his size. That was a good sign. The fact that the wolf had been doing okay before whatever befell him recently gave him a better chance of survival. Stiles had magic yes, but his healing abilities were fairly modest and generally more helping things along than performing outright miracles.

After some minor debate he moved the wolf inside. There wasn’t much for the animal to destroy should he wake and it’d get him out of the elements for now. That way his body could focus on healing and not expending as much energy for warmth, especially with the increase in breath rate he now noticed. 

Lighting a fire was an easy task for Stiles’ magic and he went out to boil some water in his smallest pot to cleanse the wounds —  the wolf’s right front leg had obviously been caught in a trap, but he’d somehow managed to get out of it — and gathered comfrey, yarrow, chamomile, and calendula from his supply of healing herbs in the meantime. 

As he was taught by his mother years before, Stiles used a mortar and pestle to grind them roughly, adding garlic and honey to form a paste. He brought in the hot water and soaked clean cloths to wipe away any debris before applying the poultice and covering it with a strip of fabric. The wolf twitched and whimpered, but remained unconscious. 

Stiles put his hands on the now heaving sides of his patient and concentrated, finding something that felt dark and gave the impression of bitterness — a poison? —  and began to draw it out. It was hard, but several minutes later he seemed to have gotten it all and the labored breathing eased. He used his power to press the noxious matter into a tiny ball and sealed it pine resin before tossing into the fire. 

That done, he filled most of his mid-sized pot with water, salting it, and set it over the flame to make a warming broth with bones from some of his meals over the last few days, which he’d wrapped and buried under the snow. (One didn’t waste anything out here.) He could spare a couple handfuls of grouse as well from his larder out back and still had an ample supply of dock seed flour to make a heartier soup. Stiles took out a large bowl’s worth for the canine and then added onion, garlic, sage, and thyme to the rest.

When he returned he was quite surprised, but not utterly shocked to find a naked man on the floor where the wolf had been. He hadn’t seen such beings in person before, but had heard of them. Stiles put the bowl down on the table and peered at him curiously, noting how his wounds seemed to be gone now and how he looked just like any other man. Well, perhaps not any other man, he was very attractive indeed.

Said man awoke soon after, easing back into consciousness at first and then sitting up quickly, no doubt alarmed by the strange surroundings and possible danger. He whipped around toward Stiles, eyes turning from some pale color to a brilliant red, and growled warily.

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms. He knew he should probably be more understanding of whatever his guest had been through, but he’d been alone a long time (aside from dear Larem, pun absolutely intended) and now here he was being threatened in his own home after rescuing the sorry shifter. His own eyes flashed silver and the warning noise cut off immediately. The man awkwardly tried to both curl in on himself and bare his neck at the same time, releasing a short whine before trying to speak. 

He croaked and cleared his throat a few times as if from long disuse and then hoarsely said, “I’m sorry, Magus, please forgive me. Please don’t kill me.” 

Stiles sighed. So the wolf had heard of his kind too. Magical beings who too often strayed to the dark side and could cause untold harm in their greed and entitlement or simple desire for cruelty. 

It wasn’t the majority of them, but any occurrence was too often when as powerful as they could be. In the past couple decades it seemed to be as high as 1 in 8, at least to some degree of malfeasance, and many a decent mage had been hurt or killed in the process of defending against them. A pang of grief ran through Stiles as he thought of his parents; his mother died when he was 9 protecting him and other children from a mad wizard and his father when he was 17, just 3 and a half years ago, ambushed while doing his lawman’s rounds in the city of Beacon. Both had taken their assailants down with them, but it was little consolation. 

“I didn’t go through the trouble of saving your wolfy ass to kill you now,” he quipped, walking back toward the table. “It’s nothing exciting, but there’s food if you’d like and water to drink and wash up.”

“Thank you, Magus.”

“Stiles.”

“Pardon, but what’s a “stiles?”

“Me,” he responded, looking through the pile of clean clothes in the corner.

“Sorry, Master Stil—“

“Just call me Stiles and stop apologizing. Now, what’s your name?”

“Derek.”

“Here you go, Derek.” 

Stiles threw his loosest shirt and pair of trousers at him and went back out to the fire with the bowl. A minute later the shifter peeked around the corner and then cautiously approached him as he added the soup back to the pot and added more herbs and aromatics.

“I didn’t realize you were a shifter so I took your portion out before the onions and garlic and such,” he explained. Once he figured the flavors had melded nicely he filled the large bowl again and handed it to the stranger, serving his own meal from the cookpot and then gesturing to sit down beside him on the bench. Once he began eating Derek did as well, drinking from the bowl.

“I’d give you a spoon, but I’ve somehow managed to misplace or ruin the others and I haven’t bothered to make more yet since it’s just me that uses them.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m used to eating with my hands or in wolf shape anyway. Thank you for the food. And for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

They continued to eat in silence until the sound of snorting and hooves drew their attention. Stiles looked at the wolf-man and pointed at the 5.5 year old red deer.

“That’s Larem. He’s my friend and helper so don’t eat him.”

Derek started rolling his eyes and then froze after remembering who he was sitting next to. Stiles looked up to the heavens and sighed. The shifter swallowed.

“I-I won’t. I wouldn’t have either. He clearly belongs to someone.”

“Good. ”

And so began their companionship. Derek didn’t seem in a rush to go anywhere and Stiles told him that he could stick around if he wanted. He soon built his own little hut a couple hundred feet away on the opposite side of the greenhouse. It was nice having someone to talk to who could answer back and while the wolf certainly had an appetite the amount of game in Stiles' stores increased significantly and he more than came out ahead. 

Grouse and wild turkey, rabbit and boar. He told Derek that he wouldn’t begrudge him hunting deer too as long as he did it, and the initial butchering, well away. Stiles taught Derek about dock seed, mallow, the roots and greens of daisies, lambsquarters, and tree sap for sweetening and the wolf brought back crabapples, elderberries, and teaberries that he’d found during his ranging, fashioning a bag to wear in wolf form.  

As winter turned to spring they shared more and more of their stories in bits and pieces, Stiles speaking of his parents and his old life in Beacon and Derek telling of his lost pack. Apparently, he had a sister somewhere, but both had assumed the other was dead after they were attacked years ago by Hunters. He eventually learned that she survived and left the area, but could no longer feel her. His uncle came out of a long lasting unresponsive state, but was mad and killed his other sister, leading to Derek having to put him down and becoming an alpha.

This only happened a handful of months ago and he’d spent his time as a wolf ever since until Stiles found him. He’d been hiding from regular hunters when he stumbled into the trap, which had been set by the other kind and soaked in a wolfsbane solution that prevented his usual healing abilities. Derek shifted back to human form just long enough to remove it and then ran far away despite the pain until he passed out from exhaustion and the effects of the poison.

He borrowed from Stiles' haphazard stack of books one at a time — he’d limited himself to 3 dozen when he left Beacon, a mix of fiction and survival/wilderness guides — and built him an actual book shelf. Stiles played minor pranks on him from time to time and played the mandola for him regularly after dinner. One evening when it rained and he’d done his music inside he could’ve sworn that Derek was going to kiss him when he walked the departing werewolf to the door. There was a charged pause, eyes roaming over faces to lips and then back to meet again, but the moment passed with only an awkward smile and a quiet farewell.

Stiles hadn’t much considered the prospect of romance and/or sex with the shifter until then both being completely out of the habit of such things and worried about the possible fallout. He had been texting with Heather about their upcoming first date — his first date, period — flirting and making plans for weekend when he got the news that his father had been killed. Needless to say, it was cancelled along with every other plan he had as he first withdrew into himself and then from society altogether. That had been the entirety of his romantic endeavors and while he masturbated like a typical young man he tried not to dwell on things he didn't, couldn't have.

Then Derek showed up and it also became a matter of not wanting to risk scaring off his only human (-ish) friend or, in the beginning, concerns about taking advantage when the werewolf was still a bit afraid of him. So he just hadn't really let himself go there. But that night Stiles desperately stroked himself while imagining green eyes staring into his as large hands explored him all over. A swarthy, muscular body on top of him and the short beard — which he loaned his scissors to keep trimmed — rubbing against his skin. 

He hadn’t actually gotten a proper look at Derek’s cock, but he did his best to imagine it thrusting into him as well, adding two and then three fingers (as much as he could at that angle) to bring himself to completion. After that night Stiles noticed occasional glances and there were little touches here and there, but nothing more came of it, both likely afraid to make the first move. And then one day everything changed. 

It was a beautiful afternoon in May and Stiles had decided to leave Larem to rest and enjoy some hay with apples and acorns, setting off to take a nice long walk and go foraging alone instead while Derek was out hunting. He was exploring in a direction where he’d seldom gone, happily picking wild garlic in a small clearing he’d come across, when all of a sudden something made all the hairs on his arm stand up. Danger. Eyes wide he threw himself on the ground and rolled just as a burst of magic hit the spot where he’d been standing. 

Fucking darachs. He’d thought he left all of this behind, but apparently even the middle of fucking nowhere wasn’t far enough. Stiles returned fire with his own power, feinting and then hitting the long-haired brunette square in the chest with a what he called a "pain loop," causing her to scream in agony and fury.   

He lashed out again with a stunning spell, but she managed to dodge it and all too soon interrupted the paroxysms from his previous strike, eyes glowing milky white as she threw something in sickly shades of green and brown at him. A perversion of earth magic. 

Stiles was able to twist away in time and then he was running, weaving between the trees as soon as he reached the edge of the clearing. Not for the first time he bemoaned the fact that he was too young to learn killing spells from his mother, who was loath to know such things, but understood their necessity. He tried to put some distance between them so he could face the dark druid on his own terms, perhaps ambush her on ground of his choosing if he was lucky. 

Unfortunately, he was still a ways off from his usual stomping grounds and unbeknownst to him a large tree had fallen and blocked the other end of the fairly short, but narrow path he vaguely remembered from a previous time that he’d come this way. Cursing, he went back and hoped to emerge in time to try another route, but the darach met him on the way out. 

He was at the ready so he got off another pain loop even as he was finally hit with whatever foul magic she was dealing out. Stiles gasped as a chill took hold of him and he felt noticeably weaker than he had just moments before. He hit her with the stunning spell as well this time, but he could tell it wasn’t nearly as strong as it should be as he staggered too slowly towards her. 

Stiles was planning to kill her the old-fashioned way, with his sufficient enough all-purpose knife, but another wave of weakness went through him and he fell to his knees perhaps 5 or so yards away. Wearing a smirk on her objectively pretty, but...twisted, oblong face the darach rose to her feet, stretching languidly like she just woke refreshed from a nice nap. With horror he realized that that was more or less the case and that it was his power and life-force being siphoned to her benefit.

She didn’t speak, but stood there watching him like a cat not quite ready to pounce again on the mouse she’d been toying with, drawing out her amusement. A flash of darkness fast approaching caught his eye beyond her and he pretended to have a fit in order to keep her attention. I really hope I’m not just seeing things, he thought. Hurry. 

“Why are you doing this?” he shouted. The woman rolled her now normal looking light colored eyes and huffed. 

“Power, what else?” she replied in a tone that said he was very stupid indeed. 

No, what was stupid was wasting time gloating and not paying attention to your surroundings or checking for reinforcements when dealing with an enemy. Stiles ranted about less than mediocre practitioners trying to make themselves feel special with stolen power, but always being the same pathetic losers at heart, punctuating his words by slapping his hands on the ground and rustling the leaves and twigs there. The darach’s face grew dark and she clenched her fists, clearly over his continued existence. Just as she was about to step forward he bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin.

“Go to hell,” he said, and then the massive, red eyed, black wolf was there, leaping to clamp his jaws around the back and right side of her neck. Stiles took great pleasure in the utter shock on her face, lastly only a second or two before Derek brought her to the ground and tore her throat out the moment he regained leverage. As her blood sprayed and splattered a rather impressive distance he felt the effects of her spell slow and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Unsteadily, he got up and stumbled toward where Derek was still savaging what was now a tattered corpse.

“I think you got her, dude,” he snickered, feeling not a shred of remorse for the death that just occurred. Who knows how many people she’d hurt or killed before attacking him? 

The wolf shook the body one final time and then dropped it, fangs gleaming red like his eyes, before shifting into a naked, blood smeared Derek. Stiles swallowed. That should not be as hot as it was. Apparently that post-battle feral lust thing in stories was real. Derek’s nostrils flared and he made a pleased growling noise, his cock twitching and starting to harden in interest. Oh my god. Stiles was torn between remaining there, frozen, and closing the last few paces between them when his legs suddenly buckled.

“Stiles,” Derek cried, rushing forward to keep him from slumping all the way over. 

It took a minute to clear his head and he then realized that while the darach’s draining spell had indeed slowed considerably, it hadn’t stopped even with her death. Like she’d also tied it off somewhere and didn’t only anchor it to herself. What the fuck?!

“Draining spell, need to go home now,” he rushed out. Moments later he was lifted into strong arms and cradled against Derek’s chest as the beta-shifted wolf ran much faster than Stiles’ own feet could ever take him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his  diminished well of magic, using it to counteract the spell. It bought him time, but as he was expending more power than he could replenish in his current state doing so only amounted to dying more slowly than he was before. Maybe distance from the casting and using his herbs to restore and amplify his power could make the difference.

He was too weary to stand when they got back so Derek put him down on his bed and tried to find the right jars of plant matter using his descriptions. Stiles had lived alone for so long and had never thought to label what he clearly knew on sight. After trying to figure out which of three nearly identical containers of dried leaves was a particular ingredient a frustrated Derek simply picked him up again and had him point at the right items. The wolf prepared them according to his instructions and he swallowed the resulting tea in between words of focus and intention. 

Stiles felt some vitality return, but even after seven mugs of the frankly disgusting stuff over the next hour or so he could tell that it wouldn’t be enough to give him the strength necessary to break the spell. Fuck. He was now at least able to brew the tea himself and continued drinking two to three mugs of it an hour for several hours, pissing like a racehorse in between trying to think of something, anything, else, but he was quickly running out of a couple of the rarer herbs. 

There was only so much of the infusion he could consume before it stopped being effective and before both the amount of liquid and the ingredients themselves became toxic anyway. Fuck. As the smallest containers emptied the tension evident in Derek’s body increased, the clenching of his jaw more pronounced and the muscles of his back tighter still. The pants-only shifter alternated between pacing inside the small dwelling, trying to sit quietly, and going outside to check the immediate perimeter for any additional danger. 

When Stiles was down to his last mug and half of tea he finally resigned himself to the inevitable. He was going to die by the hand of an evil caster just like his parents. And just like with them, it didn’t matter that the darach had been thoroughly neutralized, though that did at least bring him some satisfaction.

All that hiding and isolation and it had been for nothing in the end. Stiles laughed bitterly. It wasn’t fair. He was only 21, his birthday just the previous month though he hadn’t bothered to mention it. Stiles hadn’t even gotten the chance to see if the whatever between him and Derek eventually went anywhere. It was dark out now and he had seen his last sunrise. 

Around three-quarters of an hour later, maybe 10 minutes after taking that final sip, he turned to the silent, intently watching werewolf with a wry smile.

“Promise that you’ll look after Larem for me.” Derek made a wounded noise and he felt a sweet, sad warmth for his friend. Stiles was very sorry to leave him like this, but he was glad to have met him. To have cared for him and know that he had been cared for too. “And promise that you’ll do what you need to do to both survive and not go feral. Find yourself a pack,” he added sternly.

Derek exhaled forcefully and an expression of grim determination came over his face.

“There’s a way…I might be able to save you.” 

Stiles gave him the mother of all exasperated looks, throwing up his hands. 

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier because…?”

“I’d have to claim you,” Derek replied, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, but moving closer to him.

“Claim me?” Stiles asked, puzzled. 

Like pledging fealty in a ritual or something? Or did the wolf mean giving him the turning Bite? Perhaps he wasn’t aware that it didn’t work on magic users, either doing nothing or killing them. 

“Mate you.” 

Ohhh.  

Oh.

Oh my god.

“Wha—Seriously?!” he blurted out, incredulously. Seriously?!, he echoed internally.

Derek looked like he’d swallowed something sour and was probably about to explain that he was certainly not just trying to have his way with a dying man and how very dare, but Stiles lifted an arm — already feeling heavier again, fuck, this spell was a bitch — and put two fingers to the shifter’s lips before letting it fall again.

“I believe you, Derek. That’s exactly the kind of thing required for binding magic, which I gather this shifter mating stuff is. Blood or bone or, um, essence, and all that kind of thing or some combination thereof. I swear the Universe is a huge perv. It’s just…wow, not at all what I was expecting to hear right now." The werewolf looked at him with fondness and concern. Stiles took a deep breath. “Yeah, you can…you can do that.”

It wasn’t only the increasing weakness that had him trembling when he made his way from the table over to the bed, Derek hovering behind him. He turned and dropped to sit on the mattress, looking up at the older man.

“Kiss me?” he pleaded, wanting to make sure he got to know what it was like and to do some part of this in order. 

Derek smiled and caressed his cheek with a knuckle before sliding it under his chin to tip his head up, bending down to press their lips together. Stiles made a soft sound and opened his mouth to allow Derek’s tongue inside after it swept across his lower lip. A minute or so of exploration and deepening kisses later he felt out of breath and drew back, panting but grinning shakily. 

He lifted his arms as well as he could and the shifter quickly helped him undress, pulling off his shirt and then gently pushing him back and drawing his pants and underwear down and then off along with his socks. And then there he was — flushed, hard, and lying bare — as hungry red eyes raked over his body.

“Beautiful,” the wolf murmured before removing his own pants and freeing the erection that had been straining against it. Stiles’ eyes widened at seeing Derek fully hard. That was going to go inside him? He might’ve whimpered or maybe his scent was tinged with nervousness or fear because Derek paused to run those large hands along his sides (it felt even better than he’d imagined) and told him that it would be okay before guiding him over onto his belly. 

With no hesitation the wolf parted his cheeks and started licking over his hole, circling or pushing at the muscle every few passes. No one had ever touched him sexually much less there — hell, he hadn’t been touched at all in years by another person until the recent brief brushes from Derek — and Stiles was overwhelmed by both the physical sensation and his emotional reaction. The shifter reached up to rub his back and then took hold of ass with both hands once more, soon working his tongue inside. Stiles moaned in pleasure, but then another sudden chill reminded him of the situation.

“Uh, as amazing as this is, you kinda gotta hurry it up, dude,” he got out between breaths. The wolf gave him another long lick before lifting his head and growling in frustration.

“I wanted to take my time with you if this ever happened. You deserve so much better than…” Derek trailed off and Stiles could feel that he was shaking his head.

“I appreciate that big guy and I promise that if this works you can, um, do that as long as you want another time.” Derek snorted. 

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you have any—“

“In that cabinet. The tall, thin bottle,” Stiles cut in, jerking his head in its direction. He’d placed a simple preservation spell on it to keep the things inside lasting several times longer than they normally would. The wolf returned with the container of a clear gel, a curious look on his face. “Aloe vera,” he explained. “I brought some plants with me from…before. It grows in the greenhouse. Good for minor burns and injuries and, er, quite viscous and slippery.” 

Heeding the need for urgency, Derek immediately gathered some on his fingers and applied it to his entrance and Stiles tensed at its coolness. He made himself relax again, allowing a thick finger to slip inside. 

“More,” he gasped, rubbing himself against the bed. “I’ve…used fingers before.”

“I know,” Derek rumbled, pushing a second digit inside. “I’ve heard you.”

Stiles could feel himself turn bright red, which was really rather silly in his current position, but he couldn’t help being somewhat mortified. How many times over the past several weeks, since the kiss that wasn’t, had he brought himself off whispering the wolf’s name?

Derek chuckled and leaned down to kiss his left shoulder blade before going to nibble at his earlobe. 

“I almost came to you a few times, my wolf going wild at how you clearly wanted us,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear, making him shiver. “But I figured you had your reasons and fantasy doesn’t always equal what one would actually do.” 

“Didn’t want to scare you off…pressure you,” he said, panting. 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Derek replied huskily. “And as for pressure…”

The shifter got a bit more of the lubricant and added a third finger, stretching him wider than his own slender ones ever had. Reaching deeper than he could from those awkward angles. 

“Derek!” Stiles cried out when he massaged that special spot within him. 

“One more,” the wolf crooned, pumping faster and spreading his fingers. “Go ahead and come. I want you nice and relaxed for my knot.” Stiles clenched involuntarily at the thought. Right, werewolf. An alpha werewolf. He felt Derek’s pinky enter him and it burned some. “You’re doing so well.” 

Propped up a bit on his elbows Stiles rocked his hips, fucking himself back onto Derek’s hand and then forward to rub his dick on the mattress beneath him, moaning. On some of the forward thrusts he ground down in a circular motion for maximum friction. He was so close. Stiles heard the shifter spit and then a hand was sneaking under him to grasp his shaft. He whined, moving faster between the two palms and then he was coming, spasming around the appendages continuing to piston into him. 

Mere moments into the afterglow yet another wave of cold and weakness wracked through him and he cried out again, this time in fear, as his upper chest, shoulders, and face hit the mattress. Stiles managed to turn his head to the side.

“Please hurry!” 

“Okay, okay,” the wolf soothed, withdrawing fingers from his still clenching hole and shoving a pillow beneath him before shaking more globs of gel out to coat himself. The slick sounds made him flush in anticipation. He felt Derek get into position and the press of his cock against his rim. “Deep breath.”

Stiles did as instructed, bearing down and gasping as the groaning wolf pushed into him steadily until he was all the way in, filling him.  

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Derek hissed, pausing only a few seconds before grabbing him by the waist and beginning to thrust. 

“First..time,” he said breathlessly, eyelids fluttering. It felt so good even lying there like a lump on a log, a doll for the werewolf to fuck. Derek growled again, a pleased sound, and Stiles grinned. “Oh, you like hearing that, big guy?”

“Yes,” the shifter answered before mouthing at the back of his neck and then down to his shoulder, fucking him harder. Faster. Stiles really hoped he survived so that he could actually participate next time, but if he was still going to die, well, what a way to go!

“Going to knot you, bite you,” Derek warned a few minutes later.

His cock made a valiant effort, but it was still too soon to harden again. Then the second part of that statement sunk in it and he tensed with worry. 

“Not that kind of Bite,” Derek added hastily. “Mating bite. It won’t hurt you.” Stiles sighed in relief. “Well, you know, it’ll probably hurt ‘cause teeth, but—“

“I know what you meant,” he replied with a soft chuckle before gasping again. Stiles could feel the shifter’s cock swelling, spreading him even wider than his palm had. Derek groaned, thrusting in sharp jerks, and draped over him. The pressure was continuing to grow and he whimpered, sensitive, as pleasure teetered on the edge of pain. Then the knot locked inside him and Derek began to howl. Stiles intentionally squeezed around him.

Sharp fangs clamped down between his neck and shoulder and he wailed, overwhelmed as new senses and amplified or mirrored sensations crashed into him. He was stuffed full and enveloped by a tight, hot passage milking him all at once. Power coursed through him, a renewed vigor flooding his veins and refilling his nearly empty well. 

When it got to the point of overflowing he looked within and severed the muddy, leeching connection. Stiles made sure to locate and tear out all of its remnants as well, his now red-tinged silver magic immediately rushing in to heal the resultant damage. When he returned to the outside world he was hard again, Derek grinding his still pulsing knot against his prostate, continuing to come with teeth embedded in his flesh. 

“It’s done,” he whispered just before a second mind-blowing, mind-melding, orgasm swept through him and he proceeded to pass the fuck out.

When Stiles came to he being was cradled in Derek’s arms and sitting sideways across his lap, the shifter upright on his bed with his back against the wall. As the last images of some truly strange and spectacular dreams slipped away, he yawned and stretched languidly. He was not only alive, but felt good. Stiles wiggled to look into the green eyes of the very awake werewolf.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, choking up. Derek nodded and swallowed thickly himself, taking one of Stiles’ hands in both of his and kissing it. 

He noted that he was wearing his light robe and had obviously been cleaned up as he wasn’t sticky or anything after their activities. Stiles blushed at the memory and received a light squeeze on the ass, causing him to make a squeaky sound and redden more.

“So I guess I belong to you now, huh?” he said a few minutes later, curious and a bit uncertain, but not displeased with the situation. The part of him that was stubborn and contrary and so very independent grumbled a bit, but the rest of him was okay with the idea. He didn’t think the wolf would abuse whatever power he now held over him.

“No,” Derek replied, eyes crinkling at the corners. ”We belong to each other.”

“Oh, like family?”

“Yes, family. Mates. Pack.”

Stiles more than liked the sound of that just as he more than liked the werewolf. He was content to remain resting where he was for a while longer despite his not only returned, but increased strength — he’d have to give his new capabilities a whirl later — but felt a bit self-conscious as Derek continued to watch him intently with a serious, vulnerable expression. Gratitude. Reverence. Wonder, the new connection in his mind supplied. How cool was that?

“What?” he finally asked, kissing the wolf’s nose as a strong hand caressed his back. “You look like you’re the one who almost died.” 

He said it teasingly, but Derek froze momentarily and then remained suspiciously silent. Stiles’ stomach dropped as his mind sharpened, rising from its nice, floaty haze.

“Derek?” The shifter eventually met his searching eyes. “What would’ve happened to you if I’d died?”

“That close to the formation of the bond? I would’ve followed you,” he answered quietly

Several emotions rushed through him, one after the other, before combining to make him a teary mess. Shock and gratitude for his choice. Anger and sorrow and guilt at the thought of Derek dying with him. For him. Elation that he mattered that much. Stiles swatted the wolf’s shoulder and then pulled him in for a kiss. He was bursting with the desire to express the depth of his feelings, but what came out was something else.

“As soon as I get up I’m sucking your dick, you idiot!” he exclaimed, scowling. 

“Uh…is that supposed to be a threat or…?” 

Stiles tried to smack him again, but Derek grabbed his hand, laughing. 

“I just hate the idea of you risking your life like that. Knowing you could’ve died for me.”

Derek shrugged. 

“You saved me. And more than that, you gave me a reason to live. An existence that's about more than mere survival. Kept me from starting to go feral and having to make a choice about that with only three shitty options.” The older man blushed and looked away. “You mean a lot to me. Make me happy, which I no longer thought possible.”

Stiles felt stunned. He also recalled a conversation from a while back about the basics of being a werewolf.

“Am I your anchor?" he asked tentatively. Derek gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Obviously.” 

"You know, I liked it better when you were all 'Magus this' and 'Master that,'” he glared, crossing his arms. 

"No you don't," the shifter replied matter-of-factly. 

Stiles groaned in annoyance and Derek smirked. He flopped out of the werewolf’s lap and onto his stomach on the bed, resting his head on his stacked forearms and hiding his face. Moments later he felt a hand petting him on the back of the head before lightly squeezing his neck. Arousal flashed through him and he wiggled a bit, making an embarrassing little noise. 

The hand then ran up and down his back and the wolf rumbled possessively, which made Stiles giggle a bit. It wasn't like there was anyone around to witness much less warrant such displays. Their only other companion was a deer and an apparently very straight one at that based on his antics during the last few rutting seasons.

Fingers went back to his neck again, stroking over his bite mark, and Stiles moaned even louder this time. 

"Is that an invitation, mate?” Derek asked with a growl in his voice. 

“Yes, mate,” he replied, feeling a thrill at saying the word for the first time. He repeated his intention of sucking Derek off, but the stubborn werewolf said he’d made a prior promise. Before long Stiles was a writhing, begging mess and the werewolf was only satisfied once he came untouched from being eaten out alone. 

He finally got his mouth on Derek’s cock once he recovered, having him sit up against the wall again, and did his best to get back at him. Stiles experimented with varying maneuvers of his tongue, lips, and hands and after learning some of what the responsive wolf liked most he gleefully teased him until the alpha’s hand shot out to hold his head in place, claws scraping lightly against his scalp. Stiles moaned at the action, his own cock leaking against his belly. Pausing to scent the air and receiving a jerky, eager nod, Derek began to thrust upward into his willing mouth until hot cum was coating his tongue and sliding down his throat. 

Interesting, he thought, licking his lips afterward. It was no honey or tree sap, but definitely better than the godforsaken tea he’d been chugging yesterday. He fully intended to acquire a taste for it.

The mated pair spent their days much as they did before, but with the addition of regularly sparring and practicing finding or sneaking up on each other under a wide range of conditions. Not wanting to be at a disadvantage again, Stiles also worked on creating his own offensive spells and was able to make some actually effective defensive charms with his new abilities. 

And then there was the sex, of course. The quick and dirty fucking and marathon lovemaking sessions and everything in between. Yeah, okay, so there were some major changes, but the plants in the greenhouse still needed tending and the seeds and nuts still needed grinding for flour and the clothes still needed washing, you know?

They built a larger home for the both of them, referred to as the Den, while maintaining their individual huts for those times when they needed space or simply wanted to work on something without disturbing the other. They also built a cob oven outside so they could bake crackers and dense, crumbly breads and granola from the dock seed, acorns, etc, instead of mostly using them to bulk up soups and stews, as breading, or to make a kind of gruel. 

Larem finally got used to Derek even in his wolf form, the two of them actually cuddling together on occasion. 

“I’m a disgrace to wolves,” the shifter muttered after the first time it happened. 

“A very adorable disgrace,” Stiles said, attempting to console him before bursting into giggles.

“Just don’t befriend any boars or game birds,” Derek growled, glaring and wagging a finger.

Summer slid into autumn and when Stiles came across a huge beehive nestled inside a tree trunk he was over the moon. Sap was just fine, but the converted nectar was on a whole other level and he knew exactly what he wanted to do with most of his bounty. After returning with the necessary supplies he smoked the bees out and used his power to keep any stragglers from reaching him, taking care to make sure the hive remained habitable and the queen unharmed. Stiles collected nearly 25 pounds of honey, leaving more than enough for the bees to get through the winter.  

Over the years he’d tried fermenting various things, sometimes doing so unintentionally as well, with a wide range of results. He kept about a third of the honey for sweetening and the rest he used to make a handful of different one gallon batches of mead. The glass containers were left to gather wild yeast, stoppered with airlocks, and then placed in a warm, dark place to do their thing with periodic tending.

Derek told him that he had no idea what day it was or even what month it was for sure, but that fall always reminded him of his family who’d made a big deal of the harvest celebrations between the equinox and the following full moon. Stiles had stopped paying attention to dates too for the most part, but was in the habit of marking a daily tally and so had the means of figuring it out if he so cared to. He later informed his wolf that it was September 27th. 

Derek mentioned some other meaningful days from his past, including his birthday, which was on Christmas Day. Curious, his mate then asked when his birthday was and Stiles told him that it was April 8th, a couple months after they first met and a month or so before they got together. Derek frowned and said that he wish he’d known. 

“Well my half birthday is coming up soon,” he replied, grinning. 

Derek rolled his eyes, but prepared Stiles’ favorite meal for the event — roasted garlic and rosemary wild boar with honeyed parsnips — and worshipped his body all night, knotting him twice.

By the time Derek Day came around (Christmas was hard for both of them, especially Stiles, but Derek’s birthday they could do) most of the mead had been racked and was either aging or in secondary fermentation based on the alcohol content he was going for or the resiliency of the yeast. The rest they had already drank young. 

All of it served its basic purpose of getting him tipsy (or more) and was drinkable at the least, but the blackberry melomel and the meadowsweet and dandelion petal metheglin were truly delicious. He gave a couple bottles of each to Derek as the first part of his 26th birthday gift. The wolf might not be able to get drunk, which Stiles vowed to remedy that one day, but he could enjoy the complex beverages all the same, sweet and semi-sweet respectively.

The second part of his gift was a rich cake-like dessert made with acorn flour, water, honey, boar grease, the last of the duck eggs from his new and improved preservation cooler, vanilla leaf, lavender, and salt, and baked in the cob oven. The third part was simply his mouth and ass, Stiles wearing a bow and everything. (Two bows actually, one around his neck and the other around his waist, made from berry-dyed woven foliage and scraps of fabric.)

On New Years Day he hitched the sled up to Larem once more to go exploring, but this time a massive black wolf trotted along side or ranged ahead to circle back around protectively. Another 5 weeks would mark a year since that fateful afternoon when his tiny world of two began to become a fuller, happier three. Brought him a companion who became a true friend and then even more. A mate.

They stopped to eat lunch near an unfamiliar river — he marked its location on his map and made a note to return and try fishing when it was warmer — and Derek shifted back, pulling on the thick, winter clothing Stiles had packed for him. He unfolded a small metal tripod with a hook and set his small cookpot on it, filling it with the leftovers of last night’s 3 meat and mushroom stew before placing kindling and dry chunks of wood underneath it to start a fire. 

They sat on the sled and when their meal was bubbling nicely Stiles took some hay from a side bag, tossing it and a handful of acorns to the buck, and then ladled the stew into bowls. Two cups for him and three for the always hungrier wolf. They now had 10 fine spoons thanks to Derek’s superior wood-carving skills: the ladle,  3 other cooking/serving spoons, and 3 pairs for eating in different sizes. Afterwards he brought out an apple for each of them as well.

Derek watched as Larem happily munched on his and then turned to Stiles with a raised eyebrow.

“You know, you never did tell me exactly how you ended up with him.”

“Huh, I guess not,” Stiles muttered, thinking back as the shifter took a bite of fruit. “I found him a few months after I came out here, around the end of fall four years ago. He would’ve been around 2 1/2 then and one of his back legs had gotten broken somehow. I don’t know whether he was still with his mother’s herd or with a young bachelor’s group until then and got left behind or if he’d been already going solo, but at any rate, he was alone and leaning against a tree. Larem was able to move around, but it was doubtful that he could cover enough ground to feed himself properly, especially with winter coming, and he definitely couldn’t flee from any predators.”

Derek grunted in acknowledgment, tearing a huge chunk out of his apple. 

“I considered eating him of course, but he was just so defenseless and looked at me with his big, curious eyes — he’d probably never seen a human before — and I just couldn’t do it. Besides I was lonely and rather bored and figured he might be a good project whether just in the short term or something ongoing. 

“I had a ton of apples from some trees I harvested a few weeks before and had brought several with me, so I threw him a couple before approaching. He seemed fairly trusting or at least hungry enough to override his fear and while he focused on a third one in my hand I got close and used my magic to make him unconscious so I could work on his leg. I set the bone as best I could and was able to speed the healing along just enough for it to hold if he bore weight on it. When he woke up he seemed pretty confused, but snapped out of it once I gave him the apple.” 

Stiles looked over to see Larem eyeing the red and green fruit he was currently holding and chuckled. He took out his knife and cut half of it into slices, tossing one to the buck.

“I got him to follow me home like this, giving him pieces of another three apples and eating one myself. Thankfully it wasn’t too far away. I had some hay and other dried plant stuff meant for mulch and more apples of course, so he hung around. 

“I brought rope with me when I moved out here as well; it took two long, slow and heavy trips before I had everything I wanted and where we live is a good ways further than my original shelter at the time. I can make bark cordage now, but frankly the synthetic stuff is stronger so it’s good that I had it. Anyway, I fashioned a harness and lead from some of it and decided I would keep him unless he truly seemed unhappy. I thought I might be able to train him to carry bags or drag stuff for me and, well, the rest” — he finished with a dramatic flourish — “is history!” 

Derek appeared suitably impressed with him and he smiled, throwing the rest of the slices to Larem. 

“I’m pretty sure he kept me from going crazy too,” he added, biting into the remaining half apple. Derek gave him a look that said he wasn’t too sure about that and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“And then you found me,” his mate said, eyes still sparkling with amusement.

“Mmhmm,” Stiles hummed, nodding before swallowing his mouthful. “Three second chance strays: human, werewolf, and hart. Well, Larem was too young be a proper hart then, but he’s one now.” He gestured to the 6.5 year old buck. “It’s a much cooler term for you, right?”  

Larem looked at him blankly and then snorted, turning and lying down on the patch of snow free ground under a tree now that food time was over. Derek laughed, leaning over to kiss him, and they fell back onto the sled. It was too cold to want to get naked out here, but he let his his knees fall open so that the alpha could lie between them and he could wrap his legs around him. They made out for a while, kissing and rubbing against each other through their layers.

Stiles didn’t know what the future held; whether they would just stay out here until death did them part or if they would venture back to civilization at some point either to stay or just occasionally to procure the stuff they really couldn’t get in the wild. Things made from metal and books and certain spices and medicines. Other company perhaps, strange as it now seemed. 

Soft fabrics, at least for undergarments, when their clothes eventually wore down completely and couldn’t be patched or sewn together into more shirts or pants or briefs with other usable scraps. He could make thread from nettles and other plant fibers, but it was very labor intensive to do garments from scratch, not to mention, well, scratchy. All leather all the time would be a bit much as well, especially in the warmer months, but Derek could certainly rock the look and took to making it from his larger kills.  

What Stiles did know is that they’d all saved each other and that he’d follow his mate anywhere. Based on the glint in the werewolf’s now red-ringed eyes and the love and arousal coursing down his bond that meant straight back to the Den to roll around naked. They hastily repacked their things and hitched the sled up to the annoyed deer, promising him additional, rarer goodies upon their return for interrupting his nap. 

“Let’s go home!” he cried, getting into position and signaling for Larem to move. A loud, sustained howl was let loose just ahead and Stiles grinned into the cold air rushing by with a heart full of warmth. 

Larem. About to lose his antlers, sick of your shit.

#sterek #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #sterek fanfic #sterek & stuff events #mead moons #mead moons 21 #mead moons becomes #mead moons buck #mead moons claiming #mead moons hay #mead moons herbs #mead moons mead #sterekweeklyexplore #sterekweekly #mead moons trisk

[sterek-and-stuff-events]

Mead Moons prompt: 21

Is Derek planning a 21st birthday surprise for Stiles that he’ll never forget? Or is 21 the number on his college sportsball jersey? (Football, basketball, baseball, Calvinball, soccer, lacrosse, etc!)

Is Stiles an outgoing, accident prone artist intrigued by his suspiciously agile, broody new neighbor in apartment 21? Or did he make Derek a mix cd titled 21 Things I Hate About You in a High School AU where they go from enemies to lovers? 

Are they getting married on the summer solstice? Or looking back at memorable events while celebrating 21 years together? 

20 times you didn't actually write that story & the 1 time you did? 😏

Accepting new and unpublished fic, art, and playlists until July 31st. See here for more info.

#sterek #sterek events #teen wolf events #sterek & stuff events #mead moons #mead moons 21 #prompt 1 #random daily prompt

[theodorevg923]

Happy Birthday Me!

Have some Glamrock Foxy HC's from me cause I'm avoiding my stories atm cause, ya know, procrastination overwhelms. (21+ cause drinking is for adults!)

Master List!

Glamrock Foxy x GN Reader (Romantic/NSFW)

For clarity I make ADULT oriented FNAF content. My animatronics have much dirtier minds but only around people of age. And never publicly/in front of kids. (Other than Monty slapping assets.)

Romantic / Open hours:

Not part of the band still, but does have Pirate Cove with a replica ship and beach setup. Tiny mouse animatronics live in the ship being chased by an animatronic tabby tom. Sea shanties and ocean sounds play over head.

Night time mode brings out a full moon and stars. No shanties but soft wave sounds play gently.

Doesn't have much merch at first, but ya throw a fit till they make more.

Has gained a taste for alcohol even though he can't get drunk. (Closing time ONLY)

Bloody Irish Pirate. I will NOT accept anything else.

Will gladly get "drunk" with ya after a bad day. (Though he'll cut ya off if ya get too drunk.)

If singin' ain't ya thing, walk the blank. (He has a right to be picky. Don't "BUT" me.)

St Patty's Day is his day to shine! Get ready to be drunk all day and sing shanties! (Again he'll cut ya off if ur too drunk to sing.)

He only cussed like a pirate in front of kids once multiple times. (He couldn't take the kids attitude anymore.)

If ya really having a bad day, he'll stow ya in his quarters that are below decks and hide with ya on slow days.

HAMMOCKS GALORE (Though tbh he'll give into a bed for ya only.)

If ya compliment his singin' he'll turn to sea foam

Foxy will gladly cuddle and sing soft shanties if ya havin nightmares/sleeping issues.

Will love ya no matter gender/size/sexuality. (As long as ya willing to sing, even if ya think ya suck.)

Nicknames: firstmate, sea star, sweet rum, seahorse, kelpie/morrow, sea jelly, Enbarr [Mythical horse of land and sea.]

Bring this lonely pirate sea shells/clam shells, crawdads, sand, anything pirate/sea related and he will make ya captain for a day (in private hanky panky time ONLY)

Captains kids wonderfully. Kiddy mutineers must walk the blank into a shark plushie infested "sea"foam pool below. Ya join the mutiny an ya be walkin the plank too

Dress like a merrow/kelpie for the kids and he'll "capture" and release ya for the kids entertainment

Calls the kids shipmate(s)/crew/lass

Oh? Someone committed mutiny against ya? Expect to never see them again. He is a pirate after all.

Sometimes jealousy does take hold, he is a lonely pirate after all.

Cuddles with ya under the stars in the cove.

He will leave the cove with ya, but not very much during open hours.

(More to come.)

NSFW:

Will take ya ass anywhere in the cove (Closing time only.)

Isn't the largest available in the Plex, but will still fill ya sails better than any human mutineer

He tastes like sweet/sour lemons or rum (Depending on ur preference.)

Oh? Ya committing mutiny while the cove is open? Oof, he'll make ya walk the blank for the kids. But if it's slow, better be prepared to be dragged below decks and keep QUIET.

Come to the cove dressed like a pirate and he'll swoon like a drunken sailor, then tap ya like a keg of rum.

Ever had sex in a hammock? Better learn to love it. He is Captain after all. (Though if ya bring him enough treasures, he'll settle for a bed.)

Not quite into sex/not in the mood? He'll explore ya body like an island for treasure. Plus extra cuddles in the hammock.

Will love the taste of ya sweet mead, gets him "drunker" than rum.

Again size/gender/sexuality doesn't matter, he just wants to hear ya sing like a siren for him

Will hunt ya down relentlessly like a fabled kelpie/merrow to capture and tame. (If ya comfortable for with it.)

Will worship ya like Enbarr, adorning ya with jewels and oils. (No one knows how he gets them.)

This fox lives to be worshipped back like the Captain he is.

If toys are ya thing, again he'll Captain ya ass and order ya around with them. Even worse if ya worshipping him.

He's needs a crew and will breed ya for one no matter ya gender. (Even though he knows he can't.)

Better be able to handle pain/blood as his hook will cut ya often, especially if ya committed mutiny.

Very much up for drunk play. (After limits are set.)

One of the best at aftercare, cause he'll worship ya body no matter what

(More to come.)

______

Again, these are MY HCs

Stay Cruel Till The End! - Theodore

Posted Mar 1 '22

#fnaf fandom #fnaf #theodore923 #fnaf security breach fanart #fnaf glamrock #glamrock foxy #fnaf foxy #foxy #foxy x reader #fnaf security breach x reader #fnaf security breach #fivenightsatfreddysfanart #five nights at freddy's #x reader #fnaf hcs #fnaf hc #my hcs #hc #technician #security breach fanart #security breach x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf security guard #security breach #security guard #fnaf smut

[chierafied]

Intervention

For @jilychallenge, July 21. Theme: Idiots in Love

Partner: The lovely and amazing @the-dream-team! 💙💙 Please go read their fun fic!

Prompt: sirius locks lily and james in a cupboard (or another enclosed space of your choosing) in an attempt to play matchmaker. shenanigans ensue.

4,728 words. Also on AO3.

---

The door of the dormitory slams open and James Potter strides in. He crosses the room quickly, throws himself on his four-poster bed, letting out a groan as his face smashes into the pillow, glasses and all.

Sirius is lounging in his own bed, enjoying the treacle tart he pilfered from the kitchens just after classes ended. Chewing on his stolen treat, he silently studies his mate’s prone figure. He can all but feel the misery radiating off of James.

There are only two things that Sirius knows can send James into such an obvious show of despair: a defeat on the Quidditch field and Lily Evans.

As it’s a Monday and the next Gryffindor game is three weeks away, Sirius is left with one option.

For a while, he wonders if he should weigh in at all. For the sake of his own sanity, it might be better to just leave James to it. Maybe go down to the Common Room and find Peter for a game of Exploding Snap.

But then his conscience pricks him, reminding him that this heartsick idiot is also his best mate.

“What’s she done this time,” Sirius drawls.

“What?” James flops on his bed and stares at Sirius, his hazel eyes dull behind his glasses.

“What has Evans done to cause this cloud of doom?” Sirius asks again, waving his hand to compass James and his misery.

“You remember that she had a date with Andrew Buchanan last Hogsmeade weekend?”

Ahh, yes. That was right. James had been moping all weekend about that and wouldn’t even agree to sneak out to the Three Broomsticks on Friday night.

“I think you mentioned something about that, yeah,” Sirius answers, thinking back to the two-hour rant he’d been subjected to that Saturday afternoon when they’d come back from Hogsmeade.

“The date went really well, apparently. They’re officially going out now.”

Sirius swallows his knee-jerk response of so what with a grimace. “I’m sorry to hear that, mate.”

He’s not, really, of course. But he is sorry that James is reduced to this pathetic miserable lump because of Evans.

“He’s not good enough for her,” James declares sullenly. “Sadly, that’s up to Evans to decide,” Sirius replies, thinking Evans could do much worse than Buchanan. He’s an OK lad, for a Ravenclaw.

“I know.” James sighs. “It’s just… hard.”

Sirius weighs his options. And though he has approached this subject before – not always successfully, either – he can’t help to voice his honest opinion.

“Look, mate… Evans is great. But maybe the two of you are better off as friends, yeah? You’ve been mooning after her for years now and have only been making yourself miserable. I think it’s time to let go, Prongs. Time to move on.”

The silence in the room is so loud that Sirius has time to think up all manner of swear words, thinking he completely bollocksed it up again.

But to his surprise, when James does reply, his voice is quiet but assenting. “Yeah. I think you’re right, Sirius.”

Glowing with righteous victory, Sirius flashes James a smile. “Don’t worry, mate, I’m here for you.”

---

The party is raucous and in a full swing when Sirius, exhausted from all the dancing, plops down on an empty sofa in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room. He takes a long swig from his bottle of Butterbeer – which might have been spiked with good strong mead courtesy of Hagrid, but no one’s the wiser which is how Sirius prefers to keep it.

Across the room, at the edge of the area designated as the dance floor, James is standing, his arm casually slung around Bethany Narang’s shoulders. He is giddy with his Quidditch victory, though that is probably not the only reason he’s let Bethany stick to his side all evening. 

Prongs is finally doing it. Moving on. Sirius couldn’t be prouder and salutes him with his bottle.

He’s taking another long pull of the delicious mix of alcohol when the sofa dips down. Lily Evans slumps beside him, tucking her feet under her as she curls into the corner of the sofa.

“Rare to see you out of the action,” she quips once she’s settled.

Sirius slants her a glance. “Needed to take a breather. You’re usually out there getting your dance on, too.”

“I did, for a while. But I’m tired now.”

She looks tired, too, resting her cheek against the armrest. 

“It’s ok to bow out early, Evans. No shame in that.”

“I know. I’m going in a bit.”

Silence settles over them. Sirius sips his drink. Lily rests. It’s peaceful in their little corner. Companionable.

And they have a good view of the rest of the room.

James bends his head to Bethany, whispers something in her ear. Bethany giggles, tilts her head.

Get it, Prongs, Sirius silently urges him, taking a sip of his mead-enhanced Butterbeer.

And he does.

“Funny,” Lily comments with a chuckle. “I never took Potter as the PDA sort.”

Her voice is light and airy, brimming with amusement. And as she watches Prongs snog Bethany in the full view of the entire Common Room, eliciting cheers and hoots and laughter and teasing from the crowd around them, Sirius watches her.

Lily’s lips are curved in a smile but something about it doesn’t seem quite right to Sirius. Her eyes, even in the dim room, seem duller and darker. Something lingers there, which Sirius recognises only too well.

“Neither did I,” he replies at last. “But it’s good to see him moving on, right?”

Lily’s smile twists. “Yeah. It’s great.”

Silence returns, but now it has an edge to it. Brittleness overlaying the earlier camaraderie.

Lily uncurls from her cosy position.

“Well, I guess I should go get some sleep. Good night, Sirius.”

“Night, Lily,” he wishes her, but she’s already walking away.

Sirius’ gaze trails her as she hurries through the crowd, giving a wide berth to James and Bethany, who’re still lost in one another.

Sirius scowls, uneasiness coiling in the pit of his stomach. He can’t quite shake that look in Lily’s eyes. What it might have meant. And whether he might after all be in the wrong.

---

It’s a sunny and warm April day and Sirius is in a great mood. There’s nothing better than being out with his lads and it’s a nice change to stroll the main street of Hogsmeade in bright daylight, no matter how much fun it is to sneak out in the evenings. They’ve just raided Honeydukes and left with their bags bulging. Remus and Peter have split off to go visit the book shop and the post office so Sirius is left alone with James to wander the village. A group of girls exits Madam Puddifoot’s down the street. Bethany Narang is among them and perks up at the sight of them, smiling and waving at James.

Sirius swallows a snort. Bethany has dropped more than one hint about the Hogsmeade weekend being a great opportunity for a date, but Prongs has brushed them off in good humour. 

Now, too, he waves back to Bethany and then turns to Sirius. “How about Zonko’s?”

“Sure.”

They enter the joke shop, Sirius trailing after James. “You know, you probably could still snag that date with Bethany if you wanted, she seems interested.”

“Nah,” James replies as he meanders through the shop. “She’s nice and all but I’m not really interested.” 

“Uhhuh,” Sirius says, wondering if his assessment of Prongs moving on was too hastily drawn. Still, he hasn’t really mentioned Evans once for the past week so that must be progress, right?

They browse through the shop but nothing really catches their eye.

“Should we go to the Three Broomsticks?”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “Remus and Peter will probably finish their errands soon, too.”

Back on the main street Sirius spots the dark red hair right away and grimaces. Lily Evans is walking ahead of them, hand in hand with Andrew Buchanan. They’re laughing together and Sirius slants a glance at James. 

His gaze is fixed on the couple, his jaw clenched as he watches them.

“Evans looks happy,” Sirius carefully comments.

“She does, yeah,” James replies. 

They walk a few more steps in silence.

“I’m glad. She deserves to be happy,” James continues.

They’re almost at the Three Broomsticks when James speaks up one last time. 

“I’m happy for her.”

Behind his back, Sirius rolls his eyes. The strain in Prongs’ voice belies his words. 

And later, as all four of them are together at a table, sharing drinks and laughs and enjoying themselves immensely, Sirius can’t help noticing that James’ gaze keeps darting to the corner table where Evans sits with her boyfriend.

Much as his mate is trying to move on, it seems to be easier said than done.

---

It’s Monday evening and Sirius is in a storage room in the dungeons, organising the items stored and refilling the jars and boxes and bottles littering the shelves.

Lily is in the adjoining Potion’s Classroom doing preparatory work for tomorrow’s lessons at Slughorn’s desk.

“I should get assigned detention with you more often, Evans,” Sirius quips, calling out to the next room. “This is the cushiest detention I’ve ever been in.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lily replies. “Professor Slughorn intervened with Professor McGonagall. I figure he felt bad that we got into trouble because of Slytherins.”

“I’ve got into plenty of fights before with Slytherins and Slughorn’s done nothing to cushion the detention. So where I’m standing it’s all because of you.”

“Well, it’s all because of me and my blood status that the Slytherins jumped at us in the first place,” Lily says, her voice wry. 

“I won’t let you hog all the credit for that,” Sirius counters. “I’m not very popular among their ilk either.”

“Not after that masterful Inpendiment Hex you aren’t. You’re a good partner to have in battle, Sirius.”

“Likewise. You’re quick on your feet and your wandwork is excellent.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to hear that. Especially after the scolding I got from Andrew.”

“Why would your boyfriend give you a hard time for getting jumped by a group of hex-happy Slytherins?” Sirius asks, baffled. He moves to the doorway of the storage room and leans against the doorframe to watch Evans.

“I think mostly he got angry because he was worried I might have got hurt,” she says. “He’s really sweet. But he does not approve of fighting.”

“You didn’t start it, though.”

“I know. I guess Andrew feels I shouldn’t have reacted with violence.”

Sirius snorts. Deep inside him, the bitter anger of experience simmers. “There’s no reasoning with bigots.” 

“I could’ve walked away, I suppose.”

Sirius shakes his head. “No. Someone could’ve walked away, yeah. But not you. It’s not how you’re built, Evans. How we’re built.”

Their eyes meet from across the room and Lily smiles.

“Thanks, Sirius. That makes me feel better.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sirius shrugs.

Lily turns back to the Potion prep.

“Sorry for unloading you like that. I was a bit upset since it was the closest to a row I’ve had so far with Andrew. He’s been really great, but I guess there will always be things we disagree on.”

“Yeah, that’s only natural,” Sirius says. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure we will,” Lily agrees.

Or maybe they won’t. But Evans will manage either way, of that Sirius is sure.

And suddenly, he is taken back to the moment of miserable moping Prongs imparting him the news of how Lily had started dating. James’ sullen voice echoes in his head. ‘He’s not good enough for her.’

Now, a part of Sirius can’t help but agree.

---

Sirius lounges in a hammock in the Potter’s back garden, reading a book and enjoying the sunshine. It is quiet and peaceful and relaxing, which is all well and good… But inside, Sirius is starting to itch a little bit. Reaching that part of summer holidays when that giddy sense of freedom is starting to pass and there’s so much time and yet somehow very little to do.

Maybe he can talk James into going to visit Muggle London with him someday soon. They could go to the cinema, that would be grand.

And as if thinking of Prongs summons him, Sirius’ peaceful reading time is shattered when James strides into the garden.

He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and waving a letter in the air.

“Sirius! You’ll never guess what happened.”

“OK, then I won’t.”

“Just got a letter from Marlene, she says hi –”

“Tell her hi back then.”

“– and she says Evans broke up with Buchanan.”

“What shocking news,” Sirius replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It was only a matter of time, really.”

“What?”

“I had a feeling, back when Lily and I were stuck on detention together and she told about their fight. Different opinions and personalities.” Sirius shrugs.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why would I have? You told me just last week, and I quote, that you were ‘totally over Evans’.” 

Though for someone who’d voiced such a lofty claim, James is looking much too happy about Lily’s breakup, in Sirius’ opinion

“Well, I am! Obviously,” James insists. Sirius remains unconvinced. “But we’re still friends, right, Evans and I! So I still want to know how she’s doing.”

“You should practice holding your grin in check before you go and offer her your heartfelt consolations,” Sirius tells Prongs.

He shakes his head and stalks off.

Sirius gets back to his book.

Three weeks later, another letter arrives, this time causing much more mayhem. Sirius is skimming through the lines of his own letter when James bursts into his room. 

“Did you get yours, too, Prongs?” he asks, not even bothering to look up from the parchment as he’s busy taking in the book list.

“I got more than I bargained for,” James says, flopping down next to him on the bed.

Sirius frowns and turns to slant him a glance. “What do you mean.”

“Look at this.”

Sirius does. He stares at the gleaming object on James’ palm, trying to make sense of it because surely it can’t be what it looks like.

“Is that a Head Boy pin?” he asks.

“Yes,” James says.

“And it was enclosed with your letter?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure they haven’t made a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell, Prongs. Are you planning on going all respectable on me, now?”

“I guess I’ll have to be,” he says and tugs at his hair as he often does when nervous.

Sirius can’t blame him. Poor bloke, having so much responsibility shoved onto his shoulders. Still, better Prongs than him. At least Prongs will likely do a decent job of it. Although…

“Do you know who the Head Girl is?”

“Yeah, actually, they told me that in the letter too.” James’ fingers are making even more of a mess of his hair and he isn’t quite meeting Sirius’ eyes so he knows the answer already.

“It’s Lily, isn’t it,” he says, and when James nods, Sirius isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

---

Less than a month into the autumn term, Sirius is deep in the stacks in the Hogwarts library, actually trying to get homework done for once – and if he can look up some charms and hexes he can appropriate for pranking purposes, all the better. He can multitask. But his diligent work is rudely interrupted by Lily Evans. 

She sits at his table without an invitation and leans her elbows on the table. "You're a hard man to find."

“I’m not trying to be found, I’m trying to work,” he replies, trying to ignore her.

“Well, can that wait for a bit?”

Sirius’ head snaps up with that. Lily Evans, encouraging him to put off homework? Sure enough, there is something troubled lurking in her green eyes and she’s biting her lip.

“What do you need, Lily?” he asks, his tone gentler now.

“Just a moment or two of your time. And some… information.”

“Information on what?

Her cheeks look a little flushed now and there’s a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of Sirius’ stomach. Surely, she can’t…

“James used to fancy me, right? I mean he even asked me out that one time in the fifth year though I don’t think he was being serious… But I wasn’t just imagining it, right?”

“You weren’t imagining it, he was pretty into you,” Sirius replies, feeling much like a deer in headlights at this entire conversation.

“But he must have moved on by now, right? I mean he still can’t… Can he?”

Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering what dastardly deed he has done to earn this privileged position of being a soundboard for Prongs’ and Lily’s respective love lives – or lacks thereof.

He levels a stare at Lily and crosses his arms. “Why do you want to know?” 

“I broke up with Andrew during the summer break. After three weeks or so back home at my parents’ I just suddenly realised I didn’t miss him at all and that isn’t really a good sign so I figured… Anyway, I got my Hogwarts letter at last. I got my Head Girl pin. And I read that James Potter would be the Head Boy. And that’s when I realised I had feelings.”

That last word comes out as a hiss and Sirius raises his eyebrow.

“You have feelings for James,” he echoes, wondering at the universe’s perverse sense of humour.

“Yes. And I don’t know what to do about them. Or if I should do anything about them. I mean I don’t even know if there’s a chance that…”

“Look, Lily,” Sirius cuts in. He’s had enough. “I’m sure this all is a shock to you and I understand that you want a confirmation about certain things before you can decide what to do about it all but you’re going about this all wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“You shouldn’t be talking to me. It’s James you need to seek out and have a chat with.”

Her shoulders hunch. She deflates in front of his eyes and gives a slow nod.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Lily gets up and slinks out.

And though Sirius doesn’t regret his words and knows he’s in the right, there are pricks of guilt plaguing him when he returns to his homework.

---

A month goes by. A whole month of stolen glances and longing stares, of too-loud laughter to one another’s jokes. Of flushed cheeks and biting lips, of mussed-up hair and awkward grins. Of gravitating towards each other’s company. Sitting together in class, heading off to Head Student meetings and Prefect meetings, sharing a sofa in the Common Room.

A whole month of small meaningless conversations, of yearning not given a voice, of a thousand important words going unspoken.

Lily Evans hasn’t talked to James.

And after a whole month of their nonsense, Sirius is fed up with both of them.

---

Sirius opens the supply closet and James strides in; starts to rummage through the shelves.

“What kind of a prank did you have in mind?” he asks, rifling through all the piles of assorted items stuffed into storage and then promptly forgotten about. “Replace the regular ink with vanishing ink? Put an Anti-Cheating Charm on all these spare rolls of parchment here? Oh, maybe we could hex the quills to –”

“Expelliarmus!”

James’ wand is yanked from his hand. It soars through the air to Sirius’ waiting palm.

James whips around to frown at his mate.

“What the hell, Sirius?”

“This is for your own good, Prongs,” Sirius says. Then he shuts the door and locks James into the closet.

---

Lily sets down the textbook and scowls at Sirius. “Missing? What do you mean James is missing?”

“I mean James isn’t here or in the dorm and no one knows where he’s gone. He could be locked in a supply closet for all that I know,” Sirius says, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Anyway, I thought you might want to help me look for him since it isn’t a good look for the Head Boy to be wandering about after curfew.”

“Give me a second, I’m coming.”

Lily runs up the stairs to her dorm room and leaves her textbook there. As she’s heading out the door, she grabs a pouch off of a side table and stuffs it into her pocket. She rushes back down to the Common Room, where Sirius is tapping his foot.

“Let’s go,” she tells him and Sirius jumps to match her step as they climb out the portrait hole accompanied by the sleepy grumblings of the Fat Lady.

“Where could that idiot have got off to,” Lily wonders out loud, tucking her wand behind her ear.

“Let’s try this way first,” Sirius suggests.

Eventually, they stroll along the abandoned fourth-floor corridor, when a muffled sound around the corner catches their attention.

“Come on. You’ve had your laugh, you can let me out now.”

Lily turns to share a quick glance with Sirius. “That’s James.”

She sprints ahead, rounds the corner and zeroes in on the rattling handle of a supply closet just a few yards out.

Lily shakes her head in disbelief and then she’s running over to grab the handle.

“James? We’ll get you out, just give me a moment.”

“Lily? Oh, thank Merlin.”

Lily reaches for her wand – only to realise it’s no longer there, tucked behind her ear.

“What?” she stammers, turning around.

Sirius is holding her wand and pointing his own at her.

“Sorry, Lily, but needs must.”

“Sirius, you bloody bastard!” comes James’ muffled yell from the closet.

And then quicker than Lily’s brain can catch up with what’s going on, the closet door springs open and a well-aimed shove has her stumble against furious James.

They collide and stagger – and behind them, the closet door ominously bangs shut, followed by the definite click of the lock.

“Well, bugger,” James mutters in her ear and Lily can’t help but to agree.

---

James thought being locked in a supply closet was bad, but being locked in a supply closet with Lily Evans is infinitely worse. Her floral scent is teasing his nose and in the enclosed space he can feel the heat radiating from her body and it’s all very distracting. It’s hard to remember that he’s completely over his silly old crush. The darkness isn’t helping either. Evans is standing close, but he can only make out an outline of her, hand stuffed in her pocket. He can feel the weight of her stare on him, it’s making his neck tingle.

Rather than deal with any of that and those pesky fluttery emotions he’s most definitely not feeling, James turns and slams his fist at the door.

“Enough, Sirius! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“With me?” His incredulous voice comes through the door. “What the hell is wrong with you two idiots? I told you, Lily, all you had to do was to have one conversation but no!”

James glances at Lily. “What is he talking about?” he whispers, but Lily only shakes her head.

“So you two stay there and listen. Prongs, you’ve been pining after Evans for years now. It’s pathetic and we all know it and no matter how many times you tell me you’re over her, it’s painfully obvious you aren’t. Lily, you know I was right and you know you’re overdue a very honest conversation so just acknowledge your feelings and talk already for my sanity’s sake! Get it over with. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

James’ ears seem to be ringing and he’s a little light-headed. The muffled sound of Sirius’ retreating footsteps is deafening in the thick silence shrouding them.

Flustered, James buries his fingers in his hair and slumps against the door. “I’m really sorry about this, Lily. He’s clearly lost his bloody mind.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Lily sighs. With a rustle of robes, she sits down on the stone floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. “He’s right, actually. And if either of us owes an apology for this mess, it’s me.”

James slides down to sit on the floor as well, his long legs stretched out. He frowns at her vague outline, wishing he could see her expression. Maybe that would help him understand.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, James. I just haven’t been able to. I’m not sure when it actually started. Probably it’s been going on a while, I just haven’t been aware of it. But then, last summer there just came a moment when I realised what had happened.”

James’ heart is beating faster now, his breath caught in his throat. He thinks he knows what Lily is talking about, but it can’t be right. He doesn’t dare to hope.

Lily’s voice is soft in the darkness. “You’re funny and fit and brilliant and sweet and kind and clever and brave and bold. So it’s no wonder that I fancy you.”

Time stops and the world tilts. James’ mind can’t quite process the words but his heart is singing and pure emotion balloons in his chest. A victorious roar rushing through his veins. 

James’ brain is still stuck on trying to catch up with Lily’s confession so there is no conscious thinking involved. He reaches for her in the dark and pulls her close. Her fingers trail up his arm, her hand settles on his shoulder. Her hip brushes against his raised knee. His hand finds the small of her back.

Her breath is warm, that teasing floral scent intoxicating, the bare skin of her neck like silk under his fingers.

And then his lips crash against hers or maybe she leans in to press hers against his – it doesn’t really matter because it’s a kiss of James’ dreams. The one he has yearned for so very long and the reality is so far beyond anything he has imagined. He didn’t think such a perfect kiss was possible. And in that moment, and all the moments that will follow, he loves Lily Evans all the more.

---

Lily shifts her weight, trying to settle. She doesn’t want to move, leaning against James and resting her head on his shoulder is the happiest place she’s ever been.

But the stone floor is hard and cold and her bum is growing numb.

So she squeezes James’ hand and asks: “Do you want to wait until morning?”

“I mean I can’t complain about the company but I wouldn’t want to spend a whole night stuck in a supply closet. Not that we have much choice.”

“Well…” Lily drawls, slipping her hand out of his. “We do, actually.”

“What?”

Lily gets up and takes a few short steps to the door. From the pocket of her robe she pulls out a small pouch and reveals the lockpick she’s been carrying with her. 

And then she sets to work. She can feel James’ gaze bore to her back as she carefully jiggles at the tumblers in the lock. Once they each click to place, she straightens and swings the door open.

In the torchlight streaming in from the corridor, she meets James’ eyes. Their hazel depts are muddy with mixed emotion – awe, amusement, incredulity.

“Are you telling me you could have done that the whole time?”

“Yes.” Lily shrugs. “But then, Sirius went to a lot of trouble and he was right about us needing to have that long-overdue discussion.”

James’ grin is wide, his hazel eyes warm in a way that makes Lily’s stomach flop.

“Lily?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you again now.”

She smiles bright enough to light up the night and steps closer. His arms come around her just as she threads her fingers in his hair. As promised, his lips claim hers – slow, sweet and lingering.

It's the kind of kiss she can lose herself in, a kiss that makes the world fall away, a kiss that bends time so that five seconds feel like forever. It's the kind of a kiss that makes Lily fall in love with James Potter all over again.

---

End.

#jily #jily fanfic #jilychallenge #the dream team #idiots in love #chie writes #fic: JL

[streetlightastronomy]

Collage of my best images from this month.

Moon: 10/15/21, Meade ETX90, Nikon Z5

Venus: 10/28/21, Meade ETX90, Celestron NexImage 10, PiPP, Autostakkert, Registax

Jupiter: 10/29/21, Meade ETX90, Celestron NexImage 10, PiPP, Autostakkert, Registax

Saturn: 10/28/21, Meade ETX90, Celestron NexImage 10, PiPP, Autostakkert, Registax

#moon #lunar #venus #jupi #Saturn #planetary #Astrophotography #Astronomy #Space

[the-drunken-huntsman]

OC associations tag game

Tagged by @bees-tes-blog :3 thank you

Also I saw someone else do this a few days ago and liked it and wrote the categories down just for character building which is why mine has a few more categories than yours lol

Anais

Animal(s): stags

Color(s): faun brown, opal white, lavender

Month: Hearthfire (September)

Song(s): Hunting Season by Ice Nine Kills, Dragon In Me by Seether, Renegade by Styx

Number: 27

Day or Night: Day

Plant(s): lavender, sage, canis root

Smell(s): lavender, roasting meat, fallen leaves

Gemstone: white diamond

Season: Autumn

Place(s): Falkreath, any wooded area, The Hunting Grounds

Foods(s): Venison Stew

Astrological sign: The Serpent

Element(s): earth

Drink(s): whiskey

Murza

Animal(s): emerald boas

Color(s): emerald green, violet, whatever shade of blue the Eye of Magnus is

Month: Sun's Dusk (November)

Song(s): Alone Together by Fall Out Boy, Smoke And Mirrors by Imagine Dragons, Devil May Cry by The Weeknd

Number: 21

Day or Night: Night

Plant(s): Dragon's Tongue, Nirnroot

Smell(s): copper wires, charcoal

Gemstone: Emerald

Season: Winter

Place(s): Winterhold, Largashbur

Foods(s): Mammoth steak

Astrological sign: The Atronach

Element(s): lightning

Drink(s): Stros M'Kai Rum

Endurys

Animal(s): Sparrows

Color(s): Burnt Umber

Month: Sun's Dawn (February)

Song(s): SING by My Chemical Romance, Be My Escape by Reliant K,  Poet by Bastille

Number: 18

Day or Night: Day

Plant(s): Creep Cluster

Smell(s): sandalwood, clove

Gemstone: Ruby

Season: Autumn

Place(s): The Bard's College, Hlaalu Farm

Foods(s): Roasted Ash Yams

Astrological sign: The Lover

Element(s): Water

Drink(s): Alto Wine

Reyvi

Animal(s): Panthers

Color(s): Black, blood red

Month: Second Seed (May)

Song(s): Like Suicide by Seether, Psycho Killer by The Wrecks, Alibi by HAWK

Number: 30

Day or Night: Night

Plant(s): jarin root

Smell(s): burning flesh, cold stone

Gemstone: Obsidian

Season: Winter

Place(s): Dawnstar Sanctuary

Foods(s): they're a vampire so blood ig

Astrological sign: The Shadow

Element(s): Fire

Drink(s): uh. Blood again.

Metja

Animal(s): wolves

Color(s): yellow, silver

Month: Frostfall (November)

Song(s): Wolf Moon (Including Zoanthropic Paranoia) by Type O Negative, Führe Mich by Rammstein, A Question of Time by Depeche Mode

Number: 14

Day or Night: day

Plant(s): Wildflowers

Smell(s): damp soil, funeral pyres

Gemstone: Alexandrite

Season: Spring

Place(s): Jorvaskr, the Whiterun Plains

Foods(s): Snowberry Pie

Astrological sign: The Tower

Element(s): Air

Drink(s): Mead

Lilynwe

Animal(s): foxes

Color(s): blue, pink

Month: Hearthfire (September)

Song(s): Rosenrot by Rammstein, The Curse Of Curves by Cute Is What We Aim For, Thief by Imagine Dragons

Number: 5

Day or Night: Night

Plant(s): daisies, elephant ears

Smell(s): Palo Santo

Gemstone: sapphire

Season: Spring

Place(s): Riften, The Drunken Huntsman

Foods(s): sweet rolls

Astrological sign: The Lady

Element(s): does shadow count?

Drink(s): honningbrew mead

Dire

Animal(s): rabbits, frogs

Color(s): ginger

Month: Mid Year (June)

Song(s): All I Want by A Day To Remember, Life On Earth by Snow Patrol, Blasphemous Rumors by Depeche Mode

Number: 30

Day or Night: Night

Plant(s): Baby's Breath

Smell(s): baked goods

Gemstone: Topaz

Season: Summer

Place(s): Haemmar's Shame, The Reach

Foods(s): SOUP

Astrological sign: The Steed

Element(s): Air

Drink(s): hot chocolate

Tagging @drunkmiraak @ancano @friend-of-giants and anyone else who wants too :)

#this is gonna look like shit in desktop lmao #thanks for the tag! #tag game #oc: murza #oc: endurys #oc: reyvi #oc: metja #oc: lilynwe #oc: dire #oc: aneis

[bakusnout]

for the ask:

5, 8, 19, and 21? or any others you want to answer!! :)

you can't answer numbers that weren't asked that's cheating!!

5. Does your clan produce any sort of item coveted by other clans? Specialty items, services, food/drink?

The main exports are probably warm clothes, wine/mead, and maple syrup! Though the sanctuary tries to not draw much attention to itself outside of being a place of safety as to not risk being found by someone who might mean harm to one of the inhabitans.

also I need to get a dragon who actually processes ginnunga's wool, despite everyone being cozy as heck nobody makes the clothes

8. What sort of superstitions do many in your clan believe? Is there any merit to it, or is it just wives tales?

I am drawing a complete blank here I've been sitting at this for ages and couldn't think of anything, I'll make a post or something when I think of something neat!

19. If your clan has a diverse number of dragons of different elements, how does that affect society? Are some dragons prejudiced against certain elements/breeds? How does the clan handle this?

Generally inhabitants do not care, occasionally it can happen that someone might have a fear of dragons from specific elements due to past experiences, but never any prejudice. However if you're a new visitor from somewhere that hasn't been represented much yet then be prepared for a lot of questions!

21. Are there some Beast Clans that are allies and others that are enemies?

I haven't given it much thought, I tend to mostly ignore beastclans beyond having them appear in a story occasionally by name, the largest appearance was a hunting party chasing a dragon.

I do think that New Moon occasionally trades with them, as they are more or less neutral to dragons they're safe to interact with.

#answered #orphanednegative #my lore