#⁎ || if werewolves are real then what else is ( teen wolf. )

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 8: The Favor

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 2 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining and depressed, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good}, amnesia, finger picking, AGAIN ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: Don't worry

100% recommend listening to rain sounds when you get to the end part where it's a thunderstorm.

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor {You Are Here}

“No, I’m sorry, who are you?” The look on your face sends a wave of hurt down Stiles. “How do you know my name?”

He’s gripping the steering wheel of the jeep, cruising with Scott and Allison in the car. Lydia had gone missing about twenty minutes ago, the police at the hospital taking witness statements and rallying an APB.

With you indisposed, the trio decide to take matters into their own hands. That doesn’t mean Stiles is free of the hurt. You really have no idea who he is.

“Alright, but if Lydia’s turning, would they actually kill her?”

Allison is fretful, “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Okay, all they say is, ‘We’ll talk after Kate’s funeral when the others get here.’”

“What others?” Stiles looks in the rearview mirror.

“They won’t tell me that, either.”

Stiles sighs, “Okay, your family’s got some serious communication issues to work on.” He yells at Scott whose head is out the window, “Scott, are we going the right way?”

Scott sniffs the rushing air and says, “Take the next right!”

“This is really turning into a real shit night.”

Allison is chewing on her fingers, “(Y/N) really doesn’t remember us?”

“She’s lost her memory from the last few months,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “She remembers last summer but doesn’t remember starting her job at the hospital. That means her memory stops around October of last year.”

“God…” Allison mumbles, “Did they say if her memory would come back?”

Stiles digs his thumb into the ridges of the wheel, “They called it retrograde amnesia, and there’s a chance the memory loss could come back if they treat the underlying cause. But the cause was an anoxic brain, and they just needed to oxygenate her body to fix that. I don’t…” he slams a hand against the wheel as Scott slides back into the car. “This is what happened to…”

“Happened to…?” Allison presses, but it was Scott who answers.

“His mom,” Scott’s voice was quiet and full of sympathy. “There were days she didn’t know who Stiles was.”

Allison looks mortified, “Stiles, I am so…”

“How close are we?” Stiles cuts in, jaw set.

Scott points toward the woods, “It’s coming from that direction. We’re definitely closer – the scent is stronger.”

“There’s no way she’s a werewolf, right?” Allison says in a shaky voice, an attempt to get past the topic of you. Clearly this expedition to save Lydia was a way to distract Stiles. “You said her bite didn’t heal.”

“I know,” Scott frowns, not-so-subtly looking over at his friend to gauge the hurt he was feeling. “Maybe it was a late reaction?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles muses, tone a little rigid, “This has got to be something else. Peter made it clear that she either turns or she’s dead.”

Scott directs the jeep further into the woods, “Maybe we should try to get ahold of Derek?”

“I’m done being on speaking terms with psychotic alpha werewolves,” Stiles goes off road into the trees and leaf-strewn ground. “I want that guy out of here by the next full moon.”

“Do you think he’ll leave town now that he’s gotten his revenge?” Allison muses, eyeing the back of Stiles’ head just as much as Scott was looking. “He avenged his sister, right?”

Scott shrugs, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to create a pack of his own.”

“And he can do that somewhere else,” Stiles scoffs, bouncing along with the jeep, “Go back to wherever he was the last six years.”

“(Y/N) wasn’t bitten, right?” Allison asks quietly.

Stiles is quick with the answer, “No, just… she was just thrown around a bit. No teeth action.”

“With all the supernatural stuff happening to us… hearing about (Y/N)’s heart problems just seems so – human, don’t you think?”

Scott gives his girlfriend a warning look, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I think her memory will…”

“Can we drop the whole (Y/N)-amnesia thing?!” Stiles grumbles.

Allison is swift in her retort, “She’s my friend too, Stiles. I’m allowed to be worried about her just as much as you!”

“Let’s not do this right now,” Scott says in a louder voice. “Lydia’s scent is coming from there.”

Stiles parks the jeep, leading the way into the moonlit forest and the house far in the distance. The Hale House. He’s still grumpy as he asks, “She came here? You sure?”

Scott stands back with Allison, hands nearly touching, “Yeah, this is where the scent leads.”

They keep walking, “Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?”

Allison shakes her head, “Not with me. I don’t think with (Y/N) either.” She talks with Scott in hushed tones, “Maybe she came here on instinct, like she was looking for Derek.”

“You mean, looking for an Alpha.”

“Wolves need a pack, right?” she asks, “Would she have been drawn to an Alpha? Is it an instinct to be part of a pack?”

“Yeah, we’re stronger in packs.” They watch Stiles wander around the tree line, inspecting the area as he goes. “Like literally stronger, faster, better in every way.”

They could see the breaths coming from their mouths, it was so cold. Allison pulls her beanie over her ears, “That’s the same for an Alpha?”

Scott nods as something tightens around his ankle and lifts him into the air. Allison muffles a scream and backs away, watching her boyfriend be pulled toward a tree.

Stiles makes a funny choking sound, squatting on the ground and holding a black wire between his fingers, “Sorry, buddy.”

“Stiles, next time you see a tripwire… don’t trip it.”

Allison smiles, cheeks rosy from the cold, “Let’s get….”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Scott flails in the air, waving them off, “Someone’s coming. Hide!”

The pair of them jump into action, Stiles grabbing Allison’s arm to pull her back towards the woods. No sooner had their footsteps soften on the leaves as they hide behind a tree, did a group of hunters appear from the backside of the house.

“Oh, shit,” Allison mumbles into Stiles’ shoulder, “They probably thought about Derek too.”

“I can’t hear anything they’re saying,” Stiles bemoans, “This is stupid.”

Allison clutches his arm, “It’s going to be okay.”

In a quick motion, Stiles slams his head into the tree. Considering they were already pressed into it, the hit wasn’t that hard. “Things are anything but okay.”

~~~

The boys huddle into the locker rooms as Coach yells for them. Isaac fumbles with his equipment, joining the back of the pack.

“Quicker!” Finstock yells, “Danny, put a shirt on.” The coach prattles on, “Stilinski, that means you! Let’s go, gather round. Listen up.”

Isaac searches the office wall behind Finstock, looking for you. You were always near the Coach during team meetings, usually holding an energy drink or pointing out things Finstock failed to mention to the team.

But you are nowhere to be seen.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It’s a sick girl, roaming around, totally naked.”

Isaac remembers how the Sheriff questioned him about the same advisory that morning when he reported the strange grave robbery at the cemetery.

“Now, it’s supposed to get below 40 degrees tonight. I don’t know about you, but the last time it was that cold, and I was running around naked… I lost a testicle to exposure. Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl. So police are organizing search parties for tonight.” The Coach brandishes a piece of paper and Isaac can visualize the rolling of your eyes at the poor delivery of the speech.

Finstock tapes the paper to his office window, “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic ‘A�� in my classes.” He smiles at the instantaneous cheers, but Isaac is of the few standing still.

He holds his duffel bag and looks for you again. There was no way you’d let Coach give students straight A’s like that. You were his voice of reason – the only way classes came out coherently and fairly graded.

A swarm of players rush past him, but Isaac lets his eyes roam until he finds Stiles and Scott. He knew you were friendly with those two, more so than him at least. He walks over to the boys at the shower entrance.

“Um… hey…” he says awkwardly, holding the strap of his bag with two tight hands.

Scott looks taken aback, but is friendly anyways, “Hey, Isaac.”

Stiles is a little more blunt, “What do you want?”

“I uh… I wanted to ask where (Y/N) was,” he wrings his hands, “Usually she’s at these team meetings.” He notices the way Stiles looks to the ground, letting Scott speak first.

“She’s still at the hospital,” he says calmly, “She won’t be back for a while.”

Isaac knits his brow, “Oh, is she okay?” Again, he notices how Stiles scoffs at his shoes.

“Yeah,” Scott says with a lackluster tone, “She’ll be fine. Did you need her for something? We can give her a message.”

“Just… I haven’t seen her in class and – we miss her.” He has a hard time looking them in the eye, “And maybe that Coach is running rampant without her.” His lips upturn ever-so-slightly, “She’ll want to know her assisting is very much appreciated.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cuts in front of Scott’s laughter. “I didn’t realize you and (Y/N) were close?”

Isaac wipes the smile from his face. “We’re not. Not outside of class at least.” He grinds his teeth, “She’s great. She’s always been kind to me. I’d hate if something happened and I didn’t know about it.”

That seems to appease Stiles, a flash of guilt washing over his face. “Right.”

~~~

The days seem to darken. Even with the promise of spring right around the corner, the world seems dusky, like the sun was a dimmer set low. Stiles’ lens was filtered with gray, shadowing his perspective with melancholia.

He spends his afternoons chasing the supernatural with Scott. But his nights he spends alone – quiet – in his room. He sits at his desk, spinning from side to side to look at the bulletin boards on the walls.

The one directly in front of him was all about you. He had covered it up with a blanket when you slept over that one time. A family picture and a selfie he got from your social media are pinned in the middle. Countless strings are between the picture of you and little bits of information.

A few green strings lead to fun facts like:

Watches true crime

Likes to read

Works at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Born in Palo Alto, California

Fireman Tom

Front Desk Westbrook

Atrioventricular canal defect

A yellow string leads from the fact about a congenital heart defect. It spreads to multiple pictures, article clippings, and website screenshots on the heart problem.

“Children born with this condition have a hole in the wall between the heart’s chambers. They also have problems with the valves that control blood flow in the heart.

Atrioventricular canal defect allows extra blood to flow to the lungs. The extra blood forces the heart to work too hard, causing the heart muscle to grow larger.”

“Ventricular tachycardia is a type of irregular heartbeat, called an arrhythmia. It starts in the lower chambers of the heart, called the ventricles. A healthy heart typically beats about 60 to 100 times a minute at rest. In ventricular tachycardia, the heart beats faster, usually 100 or more beats a minute.

Sometimes the rapid heartbeat stops the heart chambers from properly filling with blood. The heart may not be able to pump enough blood to the body. If this happens, you may feel short of breath or lightheaded. Some people lose consciousness.”

He has a red string leading to an unknown section about the 3-inch incision on your chest. After hearing you mention that it was a device inserted near your heart, he did some more research. It might have been an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, or an ICD.

Those devices detect irregular heartbeats and deliver electric shocks to hopefully restore a regular heart rhythm.

Other blue strings lead to theories he has about why your CHD correction wasn’t permanent, as well as solutions to your persistent tachycardia.

The other side of the board has a few other green strings that lead to a picture of you, Lydia, and Allison. Another is the name ‘Andrew’ written sloppily and then crossed out repeatedly with a ballpoint pen. A few short strings lead to the various situationships in your past and some notes on their kissing techniques.

Overall, Stiles was proud of the research he had conducted on you. But staring at it wasn’t making him feel any better. He was exhausting himself over retrograde amnesia, failing to put those details on your bulletin board.

He was hoping it would correct itself before he had to.

He barely registers that his dad enters the room. “Hey, kid,” he says, void of his sheriff uniform. “How you holding up?”

Stiles shrugs and it pulls a sigh out of Noah. “Listen, I’m glad we were able to find that Martin girl tonight. We should consider that a real victory.” Stiles just nods and Noah continues, “I uh… what in god’s name is that?”

He looks over Stiles’ bulletin board. “Research,” Stiles mumbles.

Noah sounds hesitant, “Right. Um… should I be concerned about this?” He searches his son’s vacant expression, “Like, are you peeping into her windows and stealing things from her underwear drawer?”

“What?” that snaps some life into Stiles, “No! No, dad, it’s not like that. It was a little inside joke from when we first started hanging out. Then it kind of turned into me trying to figure out what her heart problem was.”

Noah looks to the side with the medical research, “You know… uh, the Westbrooks called.”

“And?” Stiles looks up with dull brown eyes.

“And the doctor says (Y/N) should be exposed to things that might trigger her memory back. Stuff that she doesn’t remember.”

Stiles bites at the inside of his cheek, “Like me?”

Noah takes a deep breath, folding his arms. The reserved Stiles before him was disconcerting. “Having you visit might help.” The Sheriff tries to find something helpful to say – his wife was always better at these things. “They’ve had Scott sit with her and she remembers the few times they ran into each other during her early hospital days; back when she was still getting surgeries.”

“I don’t know how I… how do I sit there and…” Stiles leaves his hands limp in his lap. “How am I supposed to help? Pretend that I don’t know anything about her? Act like we’re meeting for the first time?”

“Maybe,” Noah grimaces, “I’d start with keeping this bulletin board to yourself. It might scare her into getting a restraining order.”

Stiles cracks the smallest smile, “How long is she going to be at the hospital?”

“About two or three days,” the Sheriff scratches the scruff on his chin, “They’ll probably keep her from school for even longer.”

“She’ll need to keep up on homework,” Stiles sighs, “She’d hate to miss out on so many assignments.” His small smile grows, “Of course she’s already done with her end of term projects.”

Noah smiles, “Even that biology one you guys were supposed to do together?”

Stiles shrugs, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

They both share a laugh before Noah beckons him, “You should go. I’ll tell Tom you’re on your way.” He looks at his son, nostalgia flooding him.

Little Stiles jumping across waiting room seats. Little Stiles following the nurses around. Little Stiles foraging for snacks in the vending machines. Little Stiles afraid to talk to his mother who didn’t recognize him.

Little Stiles that cried in the hallway while he was busy with a police dispatch.

“Hey, it’ll…” Noah tries, “… it’ll be okay.”

Stiles looks drained, but he smiles at his father’s attempt. “Thanks dad.”

It was a long drive to the hospital. It felt like the world around him was moving in slow motion. It was like his jeep was gliding on the road with no traction. It didn’t help that he let the ringing in his ears be the only source of sound.

There was a tightness in his chest that wasn’t as warm as before. It was accompanied by an anxious knot in his stomach. Hospitals were bad enough. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his mother while he sits with you.

Knots in his shoulders, he walks into the hospital with shuffling steps. He vaguely remembers running into Melissa. He barely notices how the Westbrooks dismiss themselves to grab lunch.

He’s in your doorway and watching the line of confusion grow between your brows. The look of someone meeting a stranger.

And he’s suddenly eight years old again.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says with a growing lump in his throat.

You fidget with the blanket laying over your legs. Your eyes are uncertain, “Hello. Um… are my parents…?”

“They’re grabbing lunch,” he says, hands in his pockets, “Is it okay if I visit for a bit? The doctor said it might trigger your memory.”

You look reluctant and it pains him. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” you watch him pull a chair over, “I don’t think you told me your name before.”

He tries to swallow past the lump, “Stiles.”

“Stiles,” you say quietly, as if you had never said the name before. “Stiles what?”

“Stilinski.”

Your eyes brighten, “You’re a Stilinski?”

He snorts, “Yeah, my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Woah,” you smile, “Your dad has been to my house a few times.”

Stiles nods, reminiscent of your first conversation together searching the woods for Scott all those weeks ago. “And you’re front desk Westbrook’s daughter.”

That makes you giggle, “I like that nickname.” It grows quiet for a few seconds while you consider his deflated figure. His eyes are downcast and his hands are stuffed in his pockets; you can see his leg starting to bounce. “Are we really good friends?”

His muted brown eyes turn to your brighter ones. “Yeah, we are.”

You nod, “For how long?”

“Since January when the school came back from winter break.”

You give a side smile, “So I did manage to start public school.”

He licks his lips, “Yep. And being a medical assistant here and being a teacher’s assistant to Coach.”

“That’s amazing,” you remark, “I didn’t realize… I’ve been dreaming about doing those things for years, but the fact I did… and I don’t even remember.”

Stiles frowns deep, “You haven’t gotten any of your memory back?”

You shake your head, “I get these flashes sometimes and I can’t tell if they’re dreams or not. Like… blue spray paint on my arms.”

Stiles’ face brightens with hope, “That’s – that’s real! That’s not a dream. We had a spray paint fight when we were fixing my jeep.”

Your eyes snap to his. A strange guilty feeling enters your stomach. It was bad enough disappointing people simply because you couldn’t remember them. Seeing the hope on his face makes you fill with pressure. You two must’ve had a pretty significant friendship.

“What other things have we done together?”

Stiles takes a tight breath, “Well… we’ve had dinner together. You’re an excellent cook. We painted my jeep and took Scott to get drunk on the preserve. We did a few school projects together and hang out at lacrosse practice. I took care of you when you were sick,” he suddenly looks you right in the eye, “I was there when you broke up with Andrew.”

Your eyebrows go up, but you don’t interrupt him.

“I was there when you got those claw marks on your shoulder – and other times you felt in danger,” he swallows hard, “We went to the winter formal together.”

“I went to a school dance?” you breathe out quietly. “Was it amazing? I’ve always wanted to go to a school dance.”

Stiles rubs his suddenly clammy hands down his pants, “It was. You looked great.” At seeing the light shining in your eyes, he continues. “You wore a dress that had these sparkling stars on it. The… y-you let the scars on your chest show. You were… you looked beautiful.”

“Did we slow dance?”

“Yeah, we did,” he sighs, chest aching. “It was the only dancing you could do that didn’t mess with your heart.”

You feel a drop of insecurity enter, “How much do you know about my heart?”

“I know about the heart defect and the tachycardia,” he rubs at his face. He could really take advantage of the situation here and learn more about your condition. But as quick as the thought came, it left. He wasn’t going to manipulate you like that. “I know you had a device put in last summer.”

“And that’s it?” you ask quietly. “I didn’t tell you more?”

“You always felt like it wasn’t the right time,” he shrugs, “But I suppose you might feel differently once your memory comes back.”

You brush your hair away, “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

A sadness creeps into him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I hate seeing the disappointment,” you gesture to his slumped figure, “I really am trying.”

“I believe you,” Stiles says with a little more vigor.

Your eyes are a little wide as you say, “My mom told me you were the one to find me and bring me here.”

Stiles bows his head, visions of your bloodied figure going purple from the lack of oxygen. “Like I said… it’s not your fault.”

“And you’re saying it’s yours?” It was an honest question, but you said it with such sarcasm that it takes you aback to see the seriousness on his face. He really believes it was his fault. “From what I hear, you saved me Stiles.”

“Not all of you,” he winces a smile, leaning back in the chair, “If I had been sooner… maybe your heart wouldn’t have given out in the parking garage.”

“You don’t know that,” you say quietly. You may not recognize the boy, but it upset you to think he was blaming himself for your condition. “Regardless of whatever retort you can think of… you brought me to help. If you hadn’t done that then I would’ve been dead for sure.”

He doesn’t see the point in arguing with a version of you that doesn’t even know him. “Maybe. How has your heart been since being here?”

“Fine,” you say quickly, “I’m ready to get back home.”

“Ollie misses you,” he smirks.

You gush, “Oh my god, you know Oliver! He’s my handsome little man.”

“That he is…” Stiles laughs, “Very handsome.” He plays with his fingers, leg still bouncing from the rising anxiety in his stomach. “Is this helping with your amnesia at all?”

Your shoulders rise in a shrug, “I’m not sure. Nothing has come to me yet. But I do like talking to you.” You have a sweet smile on your face, “You mentioned I was dating someone named Andrew?”

“Just for like two weeks,” he says hotly.

You don’t notice, “I told myself I wouldn’t ser…”

“…seriously date anyone,” Stiles finishes, “That’s why you broke up. He was looking for something long term with you.”

Curious, you tilt your head to the side. “Was he cute?”

Stiles snorts, “Well… I guess. You had a crush on him.” He tries to stop his leg bouncing, “You have good taste too, he’s a good guy.”

“Is that why we went to the dance together?” you wonder, “Because I broke up with Andrew?”

“Technically we both went stag,” he says with a faux smile. A forced smile to keep you at ease. “But it was important to you to have the full experience – so I asked.”

You sigh, leaning against your pillows in thought, “You don’t realize how lucky you are to live such an average teenage life.” Stiles holds back his sarcastic laugh. What you said was so ironic. “I spent a lot of my life dreaming about the little things – silly things – like high school dances and playing sports and learning to drive.”

“Wait…” Stiles leans forward, “You don’t know how to drive?”

“No, I do,” you say defensively, “I have a license, technically.” You slump a little further, “But medically I’m not allowed to drive. The potential for fainting is a big red flag for driving. I don’t want to cause any accidents because my heart decided to give out on the road.”

Stiles has a wary smile on his face. “That’s okay, I drive you everywhere.”

“Is that with the jeep you mentioned?”

“Yep, my pride and joy,” he says, “It was my mom’s. She called him Roscoe.”

You remember how the Sheriff lost his wife. Something your parents told you after a few visits from him. You remember feeling sad that someone had died. Now you realize how sad it would be for a child to lose their mom as well.

“And we fixed him up one time?” You want to hear him talk more.

“Yeah, we put a new hood on him,” Stiles sighs out a smile. “You kept poking fun at how… how much duct tape and spray paint I have for him.”

You have a sweet smile on your face, “You want the car to last, I get it. Probably will be just duct tape by the time you turn him in.”

“Oh no,” Stiles waves his hands, “I’m going to keep this jeep for the rest of my life, even if it runs down. I’ll import custom parts to keep him fixed, I don’t care. I just need to find a way to make enough money to.”

You giggle and it strikes Stiles.

“What sort of job would that be?”

“I don’t know, maybe like an FBI agent or something.”

“FBI…” you nod, impressed, “That’d be cool.”

Stiles swallows, unsure of how to keep a conversation going with you. That was a feeling he wasn’t used to. It was so easy to talk to you before. He hates the awkward edge he feels brimming his smile.

“What about you?”

“Another one of those silly things I dream about,” you say sadly, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

His brow knits, “Spitball some ideas for me.”

You laugh again, “Maybe… a writer. Or maybe I’d open a cat rescue. Even better, what if I opened a cat café where you could read and buy books and pet cats.” The more you talk, the easier it was to spill your dreams. “I could be a nurse one day. Maybe work under a cardiothoracic surgeon. I could also just be a stay-at-home mom.”

Stiles feels that achy warmth in his chest more and more. “You want a family?”

“Of course,” you say as if it were the easiest decision in the world. “I always hated being an only child. It made being stuck at home so much worse. I’d want a bunch of kids.”

“How much is a bunch?”

You smirk, “I don’t know, like ten maybe.”

“Ten!?” Stiles jerks in his chair and it makes you laugh louder than before.

You wave a hand, “I’m kidding. I think four might be my max.”

Stiles wipes at his brow comically and your following giggle keeps that ache pulsing in his chest. “I think all those ideas are great. I think I’d even read a book written by you.”

“Are you not a big book reader?” you ask.

He winces, “If it’s not for research I don’t usually partake.”

“That’s a shame. There’s some really good fiction out there,” you smile. But there’s a sudden shift in your expression. “Have we had this conversation before?”

Stiles feels a tug at his heart, “No, actually. We don’t talk about the future much. Usually it’s whatever has happened in the past before we met – or what our friends are up to.”

You nod, a little reassured. “I would hate it if you just pretended like you didn’t already know this stuff about me.”

“When it comes to you, (Y/N),” he says confidently, “I’d say I’m scarily unfiltered. I say things to you that I don’t to anyone else. I don’t think I could pretend.” Even with his feelings for you – they came out in the littlest of ways without him voicing them directly.

That puts the smile back on your face, “It makes me sad not remembering you. It sounds like we got along really well.”

“We did,” he says quickly, “We do.”

You pull at the edge of your cotton blanket, “Our friends seem nice too – Allison and Lydia.”

“Nice might be a little kind for Lydia,” Stiles laughs, “Maybe a faux cold-hearted rich bitch is more appropriate.” He feels proud to rouse a look of shock on your face, “She’s all talk at school, but she has a good heart and is super smart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

You chuckle, “And Scott sat with me a couple times. He looks different than what I remembered.”

“It’s been almost six months from where you memory ends,” he says, “That makes sense to me.”

“Do you…” you falter, “Do you think I will remember eventually?”

God, I hope so, he thinks. “I think you’ll get a few things back,” he says honestly, “I don’t know about everything. Amnesia is stupid like that.”

You frown, “Will you still – hang out with me?”

“Of course,” he says instantly, “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know it’s probably overwhelming.”

“It is,” you push back your hair again, “But I still want to try.”

~~~

The next week is full of anxiety. With spring right around the corner, March appears with sunny days and average temperatures. The promise of rain was on the way. It was nearing the next full moon and Stiles was full to the brim with nerves.

You still hadn’t come back to school, and he was finding it hard to come visit you. Meanwhile he and Scott try to tackle school one day at a time. Scott finds ways to see Allison while the overly watchful eyes of her grandfather become an increasing pressure.

The old man, Gerard, was still living at the Argent residence after his daughter’s funeral. His presence brought a newfound fear to the group.

He was the one at your door when you heard it knock.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he says with a smile. “I’m Mr. Argent, the new principal at Beacon Hill High.”

You blink a few times before awkwardly saying, “Right, um… hello.”

He raises his eyebrows, “May I come in?”

You look behind your shoulder for a moment before muttering, “Sure, we can sit here.” You gesture to the sitting room with the piano just beside the door. The older man nods his thanks and finds a seat in a comfy armchair.

You follow and sit on the loveseat opposite him. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just checking in on your progress since leaving the hospital. Many of your teachers have asked about you returning. I understand you experienced some memory loss the night of the school dance.”

“Yes,” you say, sitting on your hands, “I don’t remember any of it.”

He leans his elbows on his knees, looking at you seriously, “And you haven’t regained anything?”

“I get these flashes sometimes,” you mutter, looking towards the carpet beneath your toes. “But those seem like dreams to me. I don’t recognize them.” At his persistent look, you elaborate, “Like visiting the mall or a lacrosse field or the woods.”

He nods, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any intention of returning to public school?”

You swallow hard, “Well, um… seeing as I don’t remember any of it – I think it would be hard to pick up where I left off.”

“Our staff is willing to accommodate to your situation,” he finally leans back, “We’ll give you special permission to use more resources and have extension time on all assignments. We want to make sure you’re comfortable in returning.”

“That’s good to know,” you say, noticing Oliver enter the sitting room. He jumps onto the couch with you, “I’ll need to talk to my parents about it.”

Gerard gives another strange smile, “Of course. Are you getting any of your course work from friends at least?”

You grimace – does he mean the friends you don’t remember? “I’ve had a few homework things dropped off.”

“Some from my granddaughter, I believe,” he chuckles, “She’s always had a good heart, that one.”

“Who is your granddaughter?”

“Allison Argent,” he says.

You widen your eyes, “Oh, yes – Allison. She’s been helping me with some assignments. I didn’t realize her grandfather was the principal.”

“Like I said, my position is relatively new.” He claps his hands together, “Please reach out to the office if you plan on returning full time.”

Meanwhile, in the middle of town, Stiles and Allison are at a hardware store looking for something to help Scott with the upcoming full moon. Allison was intent on being involved this month, her first full moon since learning the truth of it all.

“You used handcuffs last time?”

“On the radiator, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, looking at the shelves stocked with tools. “And he still got out and almost killed (Y/N).”

Allison gasps softly, “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. If Derek hadn’t shown up, I think he would’ve…” he stops at the end of the aisle, “We need something that won’t break as easily. Heavy duty.”

“Like… chains?”

Stiles waggles a finger at her, “I like your thinking.” He checks the signs above each aisle for what they need. “We can chain him up somewhere until the moon sets.”

She follows, her intentions on more than just helping Scott with the full moon. “(Y/N)’s told me you haven’t been visiting her.”

It’s like she can see the tension knot in his shoulders. His sneakers squeak on the tile floor, “And you have been?”

“I’ve been helping her keep up to date on our school assignments.” She watches the hunch develop in his posture. It was like he was deflating before her eyes, “Don’t you remember the doctor said exposing her to things she…”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says a little more coldly than before. “It’s just that…” He spots the chains and goes for them.

How does he tell Allison that seeing you might finally break his already tearing heart? He’s sure seeing the look in your eyes again – the polite look someone gives a stranger – would kill him. How does he explain the pain he feels knowing you don’t remember a single memorable thing you’ve done together? It was a new kind of rejection.

He prefers daydreaming about the you that knows him. The you that he feels more deeply about than anyone else before. The you that he now searches for in his sleep. It was now his favorite time of day.

Sleep meant he could dream about you. He could see you there, smelling of sparkling strawberries by the lake – looking like a sun warmed burst of color. He yearned for that peachy summer filter your presence brought to his life.

His days were dull without you. Like the world resorted to turning the brightness down because its sun had disappeared.

“I’ve been…”

“… distracting yourself?” Allison offers.

He grips a coiled pile of chains and pulls them over his shoulder, “Maybe. The full moon kind of takes priority the next couple of days.”

“Do you think (Y/N)’s in danger?”

“Not if this idea works,” he grumbles under the weight of the metal links. They walk towards the registers. “And with you helping it might make things easier.”

Allison pulls out some cash so they can split the cost. “First searching for Lydia, then looking into a new beta werewolf, now making plans for the full moon… you’re going to run out of distractions eventually.”

I’ll just sleep then, he thinks. You’ll be waiting for him there.

“Let’s tackle this first,” he says.

Allison sighs her frustration. “I wish there was a way we could just… reach in and pull the memories out, you know? Make her remember.”

Stiles drops the full weight of the chains on his foot, and he curses loudly, “Ah, fuck!��� He bounces on his unhurt foot, panting as he has a stroke of brilliance.

Maybe there was a way to force your memories to the surface.

 ~~~

Scott is lying on your living room floor, Ollie hiding upstairs from the doggish presence. You’re sitting cross legged on the couch ottoman, listening to his woes.

“So you think the principal became the principal to spy on your secret relationship with Allison?”

“No, there’s got to be more to it than that,” Scott grumbles, arms splayed to either side. “He’s looking for something more. The Argents are… very loyal to their ideals. Once they set their minds to something – they accomplish it no matter what.”

“And by becoming principal, Mr. Argent is trying to accomplish… total domination over teenagers?”

Scott sighs out a laugh, sitting up, “Maybe. I’m sorry – I’m venting too much. It’s got to be super confusing for you.”

You shrug, “Just a little. I’m starting to piece things together.” You start to pick at your nails, a nervous habit you’ve been more partial to since the hospital. “Allison has been a big help. I think Lydia is still recovering from the attack, more than me at least.”

“And Stiles?”

You frown, “I haven’t seen him.”

Scott matches your frown, “He’s taken it pretty hard.”

“I thought as much,” you pick at your cuticles, “Why do you think that is?”

Sensing the touchy subject, Scott looks to the ground. “We all deal with hard stuff in our own way.”

“But he told me he still wanted to see me,” you say confusedly, “Even if I didn’t remember everything.”

“I think he holds a lot of guilt for the memory loss,” Scott defends, “He uh… he cares a lot.”

“I sort of got that from his last visit,” you wince, “I guess I wouldn’t want to be reminded of something I consider a failure.”

Scott furrows his brow, “You being alive isn’t a failure, (Y/N).”

“My amnesia is, though,” you sigh, “But it’s got me thinking… maybe there’s more to why he thinks of it as a failure.”

“What do you mean?”

You swallow, “I don’t know. It’s hard trying to figure this whole thing out. It’s like I’m trying to give a summary on a book I never read.”

“We’ve done that plenty of times in English class,” Scott smiles warily.

You chuckle at the joke. “I mean, I’m seeing the end of the movie without any plot. I don’t know what to make of anything I see. I hear of all these things I did, and it just feels like I’m out of the loop. I’m being told about someone I don’t even know.”

Scott nods at your words, happy to be your confidant. “It sounds hard.”

“And even with that, everyone is making an effort to stay connected to me. Everyone I don’t remember. Allison does homework with me, you vent to me about Allison, the hospital has put my work schedule on hold, the high school is making accommodations, even Lydia has texted me.” You grimace as you pull at the skin around your nail. Part of a cuticle tears away, “So why hasn’t Stiles? Why is he different?”

Scott bites his tongue. “This whole thing might mean something a little different for him.”

“In what way?”

“Just you,” he swallows, “You mean something different to him.”

“You mean, because he was the one who saved my life?”

Scott clenches his jaw, “Yeah, something like that.”

You suck on your finger. It stings where you tore the cuticle away. You taste blood on your tongue.

“We should do something,” Scott decides, “We should get the friends together and hang out.”

“And do what?” you ask, standing to find a band-aid.

Scott follows you to the hallway closet, “You have a firepit in the backyard. Maybe we roast some marshmallows?”

“You don’t think it might rain?” you wrap a plain brown band-aid around your finger. It almost surprises you to see two other fingers with the same bandage around the nail. “It’s been cloudy all week.”

“No, I think we’ve got a few more days before the weather gets real bad,” Scott waves a hand at you, “Would your parents be okay with it?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “My mom would probably be thrilled.”

Scott is already texting on his phone, “Perfect. I’ll let everyone know – do you have firewood?”

“Are you kidding?” you laugh, “My dad keeps the shed fully stocked. Marshmallows and everything.”

“It looks like Lydia is going to be at her dads place tonight,” Scott grimaces at his phone, “But Allison is available.”

You watch the dopey lovestruck smile grow on his face, “Won’t it… won’t it be terribly awkward for everyone? You guys have history to talk about while I… I don’t remember meeting any of you.”

Scott shifts his face into a serious expression, “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to still hang out with you.”

You fist your bandaged fingers into the pockets of your sweats. “I guess I can see it as a chance to get to know you guys better.”

“We could play like truth and dare, or answer get to know you questions,” Scott chuckles.

The next half hour has you creating a s’more station outside while Scott brings over a pile of firewood. He’s just exploring the depths of the shed when Allison appears, the sunset illuminating her in flattering light.

“Hey!” you say, glad to see her again, “I was just laying out the chocolate.”

Allison gives you a hug, eyeing her secret boyfriend carrying an armful of wood from the shed. “Perfect. Let me help with the camping chairs.” She hops over to kiss Scott before taking the covers off the chairs.

“Have you talked with Lydia recently?” you help move the seating around the firepit, “She was a little frazzled the last time I saw her.”

“She was a little shy coming back to school,” Allison admits, “But Lydia has always exuded a kind of confidence, even if she doesn’t especially feel it. The whole school was gawking at her, and she strut down the hallway like nothing happened.”

You nod, a smile of gratitude on your face, “I’m glad.” You notice how Allison deliberately set the chairs in two pairs across from each other, on either side of the firepit. She plans to sit by Scott, and across the fire, you sit by Stiles. “Is Stiles for sure coming?”

“He told me he would,” Scott throws a few more logs on their pile, “Just that he’d be late.”

As Scott was making a tent of wood in the firepit, a grumbling engine could be heard pulling in front of the house. You sit in your chair, matching cream colored sweatshirt and sweatpants on. You even had a green and blue flannel on over the sweatshirt for an added layer of warmth. It was something you just found in your closet.

Stiles appears walking around the house, hands in his pockets. His lips are in a thin line as he waves a hand in hello.

“How are you, Stiles?” Allison asks, ever the polite one.

He shrugs, eyes flitting between the remaining seats. He knows his best friend will want to sit beside his girlfriend. “I’m alright.”

Your eyebrows knit. Stiles doesn’t look very alright. He looks like he could collapse from exhaustion at any second.

“Hey, grab me some of that kindling, would you?” Scott says, kneeling beside the firepit and crumpling old newspapers into flammable balls.

Stiles leans down for a box of splintered wood and shaved bark. He gives the pieces for Scott to create a nest in the heart of the pit.

You fold your arms as the sun fully sets and the stars become more visible across the indigo sky. You observe the wrinkled nature of Stiles’ clothes – the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looks a little worse for wear.

“This is my first fire of the season,” Allison says, crossing her legs and admiring how Scott sets the kindling aflame, “I love having campfires.”

“Me too,” Scott says warmly, standing to go sit beside his girlfriend, “I’m a fiend for toasted marshmallows.”

“I like them a little on the burnt side,” she says in reply, enjoying how he easily slips his fingers between hers.

Stiles stands as the kindling burns more brightly, sending plumes of smoke into the air. His eyes find your form tightly wrapped in your chair. There’s a flicker of something sad in his gaze – guilt, pity, pain?

He walks around the pit and sits in the camping chair beside you. It was more like he collapsed in the chair, the legs scraping on the stones littering the ground.

“What about you?” you ask timidly.

Stiles looks at you with tired eyes, “Sorry?”

“How do you like your marshmallows roasted?”

His eyes are still sad, but something quirks in his lips, “Golden brown – although that’s dangerously close to burnt and that happens more often than I care to admit.”

“I don’t have patience for roasting marshmallows,” you say begrudgingly, “They’re never exactly what I want. I eat them too fast.”

Stiles swallows hard, moving his limbs slowly as if any faster would give him a headache. He spears two marshmallows on the end of a roasting stick. “And if you had patience for marshmallows – what would they look like?”

“I like them golden too,” you smile, “A little or a lot is fine with me. I just don’t like them burnt.”

“It gives them flavor!” Allison defies, “And it’s fun blowing them out when they catch fire.”

“Until they melt right off the stick,” Scott laughs, “And they burn in the pit like Anakin near the lava pools.”

You giggle, a strange flash of a dream crossing your mind. Yourself wearing a star wars t-shirt with a blue and green flannel. The same flannel you have on now. Was it a dream… or a memory? Was it like the strange memory of blue spray paint on your arms?

There was something stirring in your stomach. You could mistake it for anxiety or the painful churning of your insides – but something was trying to pry itself out of you. Watching Stiles rotate the roasting stick against the firepit was sending waves of familiarity through you.

The campfire reminds you of Stiles in a way. He reminds you of autumn and woods and campfire smoke. It makes you think of fallen leaves and flashlights and flannels.

Just as you remind Stiles of summertime – he reminds you of autumn.

“Did you hear about Isaac’s dad?” Allison suddenly speaks.

Scott sighs, “Yeah, he was taken out of lacrosse practice today to talk to the police.”

“I don’t think he has a strong case of his innocence,” Stiles mumbles.

“What happened to Isaac’s dad?” you ask, unsure of who Isaac even was.

Scott clears his throat, checking his marshmallow by pinching the soft white fluff. “He was murdered.”

Something cold and steely takes ahold of your limbs, “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it happened during the last rainstorm,” Scott continues, “I think they suspect Isaac.”

“Why would he kill his own father?” you ask with a slanted brow.

Allison prepares some graham crackers and chocolate, “I don’t think they had a very good relationship.”

“You could say that,” Stiles scratches at his neck, “Seeing as he comes to school with new bruises weekly.”

A small gasp escapes you, “That’s awful…”

“You’ve actually helped Isaac with it before,” Stiles says, “You’ve taken him to your house and cleaned him up after a fight.”

You find it hard to swallow, “I’m glad someone did. Has there ever been an investigation at the house for child abuse?”

“Not that I know of,” Stiles sighs, “Isaac has never wanted any trouble.”

“That doesn’t make any of it okay,” you say more to yourself, “Is he still being questioned?”

“I think my dad might take him into the station tomorrow for further questioning,” Stiles says.

You tilt your head towards him, “As in, Isaac is going to be arrested?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says quietly, “I wouldn’t be surprised seeing as he’s their biggest suspect with a damning motive.”

You don’t realize your fingers are searching for more tender skin to pick at around your nails. Scott puts his toasted marshmallow on a prepared cracker and proceeds to set another on fire. Allison giggles as she smashes one s’more down.

“I haven’t seen Isaac,” you say quizzically.

Scott presents the marshmallow aflame on his roasting stick for Allison to blow it out. “He’s been asking about you though.”

Stiles removes his marshmallows from the fire as well. “He says Coach has been unreliable and chaotic since you’ve left.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Because I’m his TA?”

“He may be your superior, but that man is hopeless without you,” Scott laughs, “I honestly don’t know how Coach has kept his job as long as he has.”

Stiles is preparing two s’mores beside you, layering a graham cracker and chocolate with golden brown marshmallows. You are picking at your unbandaged fingers terribly.

Scott and Allison are preoccupied with feeding each other sticky s’mores while you stare into the dancing flames of the fire. You wince at a sharp pain. Looking down you see your fingers have pried a sliver of skin from around a nail. It stings being exposed to the nighttime air and a blossom of blood speckles the tender skin beneath.

A large hand enters your vision – long fingers reaching for yours. He pulls your injured hand away and inspects the bandages on your fingertips. He places a readymade s’more in your palm. “What’s happened to Isaac isn’t your fault,” he says quietly, “Neither is Coach being manic – that’s nothing new.”

You watch his hand pull away, fisting in his lap as if regretful to touch you without your permission.

Taking a deep breath, you look at the perfectly cooked s’more, “Man, there weren’t even coals yet,” you say with mustered warmth. “This looks amazing.”

You catch him staring at your smile. The tiredness is evident in his look, but the fondness that warms his eyes is undeniable. He holds his hands together like he fears they’ll move for you if he didn’t.

The gooey marshmallow sticks to the sides of your face as you eat. It’s exactly how you like it, and you can’t help giggling at the sticky sweetness melting on the chocolate.

Stiles is watching you with something sad and sweet in his face.

“Thank you,” you say, cracker crumbs littering your lips. “You didn’t have to make me one.”

“I wanted to,” he says in return. “I wanted to see if that marshmallow would stay on the cracker or not.”

You snort with a full mouth. Bits of sticky fluff are on most of your fingers and stuck to your cheeks. You flick your fingers, seeing how some of the marshmallow was gripping the fraying fibers of your band aids.

“Oh, shoot,” you shake a hand free of crumbs. “I’ll be right back.”

As you rise from your chair, Stiles grips the arms of his – like he was about to stand with you. His eyes follow you all the way to the back door.

Scott clears his throat loudly and Allison nibbles the marshmallow from her fingers.

“What?” Stiles questions, still on the edge of his seat.

Scott wiggles his eyebrows, “You know what.”

Allison licks her lips and nods toward the house, “Take the chance.”

“Ah… god.” Stiles slips out of the chair, tripping on his way to the house. He opens the door and spies you starting to open new band aids at the kitchen counter.

 “Oh!” you say sharply, “Hey – everything okay?”

“Um…” his throat was suddenly very dry, “I just – wanted to see if you needed help.” He walks to the counter and sees the pile of marshmallow coated band aids. “I know it can be hard to… wrap those on your fingers by yourself.”

You feel shy, hesitant to display your fingers, “That… that’d be nice, thank you.”

He ignores how your hands shake, unwrapping a band aid and picking a finger with raw skin around the fingernail. Some were scabbed over, and others were still wet with exposed, tender skin.

He’s soft in how he holds your hand, gently wrapping the band aid. “I’ve never seen you pick at your fingers before.”

“Me neither,” you say quietly, “I guess it’s just a new nervous habit.”

“What was making you nervous?” he asks just as quietly. He keeps his gaze on your hands, his own oddly cold against yours.

It leaves you free to look at his face without fear. You never noticed how thick his eyelashes were. You suspect they frame his bronze eyes well, especially when they were well rested. He also has a constellation of moles across his face.

You were tracing them with your eyes as you say, “I guess I was feeling guilty again for losing my memory. It sounds like people need me… the old me.”

I need you, Stiles thinks, upset at how the guilt was presenting itself in you. “But none of it is your fault.”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that lots of problems would be solved if I could just remember.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with hidden emotion, “I… I could’ve… if I had just stayed with you…”

Your brows knit as he applies a third bandage. “It’s not your fault either, Stiles. We’re both doing the best that we can.”

He clenches his jaw, “Maybe we should put band aids on all your fingers so you’re not tempted.”

You snort, “Thank you for helping me.”

Stiles smiles and again you’re struck by another one of his features. Stiles is cute, you think, he’s really cute. “You’re welcome,” he says.

He holds your hands for a second before lifting them to his lips. He kisses each of your bandages in a chaste, silly way. “Make-it-better kisses,” he says almost dreamily – remembering a past memory, “Your specialty.”

You’re stuck on the way his mouth hovered over each of your fingers. “You learned well, apparently.”

“You’re basically cured,” he smiles again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Make-it-better kisses are a medical miracle, so they say.”

You nod slowly, “Maybe I just need a couple more of those to get my memory back.”

Stiles’ eyes blow wide, “Oh… oh my god – that’s not what I… I didn’t mean to insinuate – I mean, not that I’d be upset to do… ah, shit, I’m messing this up.”

Giggles are falling out of you faster than Stiles is running his mouth. “Stiles, I was meaning a forehead kiss. Help fix my brain.”

He lets out a loud sigh, “Of course – of course that’s what you meant.” He’s jerky and hesitant and terribly endearing as he leans over to place an awkward kiss to your temple.

~~~

The jeep stops with a jolt in front of the sheriff’s station. Through the blinds Stiles and Derek see a woman behind the counter.

Somewhere in the holding cells is Isaac, being held on suspicion of his father’s murder.

“Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office,” Stiles says. He grits his teeth, “The problem is getting past front desk Westbrook.”

It was Angela on duty, filling out her part on police reports behind the counter.

“I’ll distract her,” Derek says nonchalantly.

Stiles freaks, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he grabs Derek’s leather jacket, “You? You’re not going in there.”

Derek looks at the hand on his jacket like it might be his next snack.

“I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles says quickly. “That is Angela Westbrook in there – you can’t just ‘distract her.’” He uses air quotation marks.

“Sure, I can.”

“She’s married!”

Derek shrugs, “And I’m charming.”

“You’re a criminal!”

“I was exonerated.”

Stiles licks his lips, “You’re still a person of interest, and trust me, Westbrook is the last person you want to mess with. She almost always hangs up when I try to call the station.”

“That’s because you’re a hyperactive, overexaggerated teenage boy and I’m…” he adjusts his collar, “A handsome innocent person of interest that looks really good in leather.”

The look of acceptance in Stiles’ face was laughable. He couldn’t deny any of those points. “Fine. Try and charm her and see what happens.”

They wait as another police officer appears to talk to Angela, looking like they were about to head home for the night. It’s the opportunity Stiles needs to talk to Derek about one more tiny favor.

“So with me helping with this whole Isaac fiasco… I was thinking maybe you could do something for me.”

Derek whips his head over, “Excuse me?”

“A favor for a favor.”

“You know I could just walk in, knock everyone out, and break into that lockbox, right? I don’t actually need you.”

Stiles lifts his hands in protest, “You do if you want to remain an innocent person of interest!”

Derek stares him down uncomfortably, “What favor?”

~~~

The new spring rain was finally here, starting with a light sprinkle. You are on the couch, your favorite forest green blanket over your socked feet. Oliver is snuggled on your lap, enjoying the way your stomach rocked him back and forth with your breaths.

Angela sits with you, warming her hands on a mug of tea she brewed for you. “Chamomile and lavender,” she says.

You sigh, “Good for stress.” You give her a knowing look, paired with a smile.

“And sleep,” she says, “I’ll probably pass out in about ten minutes.” She laughs and then clears her throat, “You know, there was something super strange that happened at the station the other day.”

“What was it?” you ask, excited that your mom wanted to share about her workdays again. She had been worried about putting stress on your heart by telling you those stories.

She looks worried now, “It was a little chaotic.”

“Please, mom,” you say, “We haven’t just talked in a while.”

Angela seems to agree, taking a big gulp of her tea. “Well, we had a boy in holding for a murder – no, I won’t tell you who. And Derek Hale came in to talk to me.”

“Hale,” you mutter, “Wasn’t that the name of the family whose house…”

“Burned down, yes,” Angela says, “And while he was there, the boy broke out of holding and an officer I’ve never seen before was knocked out on the ground.” She shakes her head, “I have no idea how any of that happened on my watch. The poor officer had an arrow in his leg and everything.”

“Oh my god, from what?” you ask with pursed lips.

Angela shrugs her shoulders, “The Sheriff is looking into it, but I’m not sure. His son was by the holding cells when he got there.”

“That Stiles guy?”

She nods, suddenly looking at you with warmth – a question in her eyes. “That’s right. He’s a good kid. A strange one, but good.”

“Did you…” you start to say, “Did Stiles and I hang out a lot?”

Angela swallows, “You did. He thought we couldn’t hear all the times he climbed the garden trellis,” she smirks, “But your father and I aren’t that dumb.”

You scoff in surprise, “He climbed the front of the house?”

“A couple times,” she replies, finishing her tea, “He’s not exactly the most graceful person. It’s easy to hear him struggle up the vines and fall through your window.”

You laugh, “And you never thought to stop it?”

“Your dad considered it,” she says, pausing to hear the rain fall heavier on the roof. “But we knew you kids were fine. He might be a bit of a troublemaker, but I know he wouldn’t do anything to put you intentionally in harm’s way.”

Squinting your eyes, you suddenly gasp, “Oh my god, you approve of him, don’t you?”

Angela shrugs again, “Maybe.”

“You’ve never liked any boys I’ve brought over.”

“I think your dad still needs a little convincing,” she says, “But Stiles will win him over eventually.”

“I didn’t realize…” you say, flinching as thunder crashes overhead.

Angela shivers, “Well, that’s my cue for a nap.” She stands and stretches, “Warm tea, cozy bed, and rain in the background? Don’t expect me to wake up anytime soon.”

You laugh, “I’ll be here reading. Thank you for the tea, mom.”

“No problem, sweetie. I wish I could start on that garden, but the recommended time frame is the end of April,” she rolls her eyes, “My herbs are suffering in their little pots!”

You smile as she retreats up the stairs. The rain was really coming down now, pelting the roof like a hail of bullets. You always loved the sound of rain. Maybe it was the cliché book reader in you, but the weather gave the perfect conditions for a reading session.

Ollie sleeps soundly on your lap as you pick up your latest read. It was strange coming home to see a bookmark in a book you didn’t remember. It still sits on your nightstand, hopefully to be picked up again should your memories return.

In the meantime, you begin to read a new fantasy trilogy.

The rain and thunder continue for another half hour, Oliver choosing to sleep on an overturned pillow beside you. He snuggles his face into his fluffy tail as you read. You were just starting to feel sleep tugging at your eyelids when a firm knock came on the front door.

You close your book, apprehensive as the last time someone knocked on the door, the new principal sat you down to question your current whereabouts.

But you find that it was someone new. A tall handsome man with light eyes stands on the porch, sprinkled with rain.

He wipes the water dripping into his eyes, “Hey, (Y/N).” He looks up at the ceiling as if listening for something, “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you ask, shocked that this handsome man knew you by name.

“I’m Derek,” he says, pushing his way in and standing beside the piano.

You follow by quietly closing the door, afraid to wake your mom. One of the men involved in the strange chaos that happened at the police station was currently in the sitting room.

“Like Derek Hale, Derek?”

“You remember me?” he asks with confusion in his brow.

You fold your arms, “I remember your name on one of my mom’s police reports years ago. About a house fire.”

He clamps his mouth shut and nods. “Listen, Stiles and Isaac have been talking about you – asking me for favors.”

You remember your friends talking about an Isaac. “Okay?”

“I told them it might not even work, but alphas are usually the ones best apt to do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, arms tightly wound and your feet rooted to the spot. You are starting to get a pit in your stomach. Thunder is roiling outside.

“Just… jog your memory a little bit.” He takes a step forward and you suddenly find the ability to move backward as far as the room would let you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say quickly, “I don’t even know you!”

Derek holds up his hands, “You need to calm down. Your heart is stuttering all over the place.”

“Yeah, it does that,” you say angrily, fear overtaking you, “Especially when strangers threaten to do something to jog my memory.”

“It’s just some minor memory manipulation,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I haven’t really done it to extract memories out of someone else before, but it can be done.” He approaches your body pressed against the wall, “You need to hold still though – I don’t want to damage your spinal cord.”

You gape your mouth, “What the hell do you mean!?”

He takes ahold of your neck and you’re on the brink of a scream when he covers your mouth with his other hand. “I need you to stand still.” And he sinks his claws into the back of your neck.

You flinch and gasp behind his hand. Something sharp punctures the nape of your neck, heat trickling down from the top of your head to your spine. You feel a strange twinge of electricity and it makes you shiver.

A picture was filling your mind, crisp and warm as you close your eyes to see it better.

It was you in a pale yellow dress, bows in your hair, and your hand held tightly in Tom’s fingers. Judging by how you had to crane your neck to see his tall figure, you had to be about four years old.

Another warm image appears: dirty carrots being pulled from smelly earth. Your mom claps her soil stained gloves, proud of the garden you planted together. Little you was just as excited, taking a bite out of the carrot and grimacing at the gritty taste of dirt.

One memory flows in, a tinge of cold on the edge of this one. Like you found a cold spot in a pool of water. You were finishing a homework page your mom made on algebraic equations. A bitterness was in your chest at not being able to do it in an actual school.

Your mom appears to place a stapled packet of papers in front of you. You curiously pull the first page towards you and the top reads: ‘Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital – Job Application.’ You squeal and launch yourself into a hug with your mom.

The next memory that tries to surface isn’t as warm as the others. And it doesn’t flow in as easily. You start to get a headache as a cold image swims into view. A jeep driving through the woods.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughs, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirks.

You flinch, the memory crumbling into something new – just as cold and difficult to resurface as the other one. A movie was playing in the background and a steaming meal was on plates in front of you.

He was describing a different meal to you, “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say, moving your plate, “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

He laughs, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” he says quietly, “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

Pain pulses in your temples as floods of memories try to pry through your vision. It was like trying to yank sharp rocks through a rubber hose. But the next memory appears with a slight warmth.

Your chest was fluttering with desperate breaths.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

“My heartbeat,” you say, tightening your fingers around his, “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe as you open your eyes to look at him.

You can see your initials drawn on his cheek with blue paint. He looks concerned as his thumb starts to rub along the inside of your knee.

Stiles, you think. That’s Stiles!

A burst of freedom surges through your head – like a lock being broken. You start to remember everything in between these colder memories. They start to warm with recognition.

Stiles is rambling, “… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”

You smile as he gets even more adorably endearing, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”

He still looks ashamed, whispering, “Okay.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”

He whips his head to you, his throat bobbing.

Your eyes start to prickle with tears. How did you not realize how much this boy was into you? The signs were all there.

“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already soothed by his woodsy honey scent. You breathe it in deeply, loving how he apologizes as he gets under the sheets. You relish in his awkward avoidance of your limbs, “It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”

He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling like avoiding your gaze would save him from the heat encompassing his heart. It was making his cheeks burn.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

He bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Tears are filling your eyeline, a drop racing down your cheek as the distant, cold memories are fully back in focus. The pain in your head was growing, but it was worth it to remember all this. The fact you didn’t notice Stiles’ feelings sooner was putting a pool of guilt in your stomach. The poor boy was being so terribly obvious now that you saw the scenes again in your mind’s eye.

He smells like candy, you think.

Your lips fall into an easy pattern. He moves his hands to the small of your back to remove any more space between you. Your noses brush and press into cheeks as you kiss.

He hums deep in his throat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He places two quick kisses along your jaw and lands on your neck, right beneath the bend in your jaw. Your head falls back as he leaves chaste kisses there too.

“Is this good?”

You laugh with your eyes still closed, tears actively falling down your face. It was good, you remember. So good you actually have a crisis in thinking you might’ve made a mistake. You were in denial of any feelings you had for him.

Even when Allison and Lydia questioned you before the dance.

Your mind swims to the desired memory that you had forgotten. Projected stars fill the space as the band plays a soft song. You hold onto Stiles in a beautiful starry dress. You’re hidden from him as you’re pressed together, swaying to the music.

You wonder if that’s part of the reason you two have courage to talk. Neither of you were looking.

“What else?” you ask with a puckered brow. A warmth you now know to be likeness enters your chest.

He grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

You laugh, “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.”

Your cheeks start to feel itchy with salty tears, a quiet sob making your breath stutter.

“Like a lot a lot.”

Before watching the aftermath of that dance play out in your mind, you force yourself to the present. Claws rip out of your neck, and you wince, wiping at the tears that had dripped down your chin.

“How…” you sniffle, “How did you do that?”

Derek looks serious, searching for side effects in your crying, “It’s just something werewolves can do.”

“Never heard of that one before.” You cover another sniffle with a laugh, “Thank you,” you say, “Thank you.” You jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s frozen for about three seconds before placing his hands gingerly on your back, “You’re welcome.”

You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but it’s the perfect height to hide your face in his chest, “He was so devastated when I didn’t remember.” You recall Stiles when he first saw you in the hospital, “He has to be so upset.”

“He’s miserable,” Derek says gruffly, pulling you away. “I need you to fix him. I didn’t think he was capable of being any more annoying.”

Your smile suddenly drops, “I never got the chance to tell him.” Your hands fly to your hair, completely ignoring the pain still pulsating in your temples. “I went to find Lydia before I…”

Derek raises his eyebrows, “Before you…”

You look at him with red eyes, “Derek this is so important. I need a ride. Please!”

~~~

The rain is in full force behind you, providing a backdrop to your panting silhouette. Just traveling from Derek’s car has you soaked in rainwater. The sleek black car drifts away under the cover of thunder.

You’re shaking terribly, water dripping from your hairline and down your face. The porch at least gives you some cover while you wait. It was ridiculous. You left the house in such a hurry, you hadn’t thought to change.

You wear comfy sage green pajamas, matching with little white daisies on them. A sunflower yellow knitted cardigan lays wet and heavy over your shoulders. One sleeve is dangling further down your arm than the other.

Anxiously you check that the police cruiser is absent from the driveway. Then you hear the door creak open.

Stiles is there in dark blue loungewear himself. It brings out the purple circles under his eyes.

“(Y/N)?” the dull expression in his face suddenly changes to one of deep concern, “What are you doing here? Did you walk in the rain?” He’s reaching for your cardigan, wishing to pull you into the shelter.

But he hesitates – not knowing if it was okay to touch you so forwardly. Not knowing if you’d find it a violation that a near stranger lays his hands on you.

It breaks your heart.

“I need to talk to you.”

He blinks, hand falling to his side, “Yeah, of course.” He opens the door further and ushers you in. “You must be freezing.” He jumps to find a towel to cover your shivering figure.

You’re pulling the wet cardigan off when he returns with a giant fluffy towel. He sees the straps of your pajama top and immediately averts his eyes, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. He rubs up and down your arms for about two seconds before catching himself again.

He takes three steps back, rubbing at his face harshly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You aren’t sure if the tears ever stopped since regaining your memories; it was too hard to discern what was from the rain and what was from you. But you look at Stiles now with a deep warmth in your chest.

It was so large and so warm it was constricting your lungs. Looking at him was making it hard to breathe. “Are you not sleeping?”

He clenches his jaw, “I try to sleep as much as possible. It’s probably not very restful sleep,” he runs a hand over his shaved head, “But… it’s nice to dream.”

You want to touch his face, touch the circles beneath his eyes. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. I completely forgot and then there just wasn’t any time to.” You hold the towel around your shoulders, taking a few steps toward him.

He looks scared, his throat bobbing as you approach.

“That night at the dance,” you start, “We were on the dance floor, and you were saying such wonderful things.” You shiver, “And I was afraid to admit the things I was feeling.”

Stiles’ eyes were growing wide. Wide and desperate. They were silently pleading with you. The very air surrounding you two seemed to be sucked out. A hitch is in your chest as you continue:

“I never got the chance to tell you… how I feel.”

His eyes were growing warm, tears lining his bottom lashes, “(Y/N)…”

“I like you too, Stiles,” you say with a proud smile. “I like you a lot.”

You watch the breath leave his lungs – like his chest had collapsed. He’s screwing up his face like he’s trying not to cry, but a tear falls anyway. “Really?”

You give a breathy laugh, voice choking on the emotion in your throat. “Really.” And you let the towel drop from your shoulders, launching yourself forward to crash your lips against his.

He stumbles back and grips your waist for support.

You stand in the entryway, holding his face and kissing him deeply. You tilt your head and make the kiss deeper; he follows a second behind you, still recovering. He’s shaking just as much as you are now.

Goosebumps erupt on your bare arms, and you pull away to look at him. Tears are smeared on both your cheeks.

“You remember?” he whispers softly, moving his hands to hold your face.

You run your hands down to his chest, “There’s this little trick with a werewolf and my spinal cord,” you shrug, unable to stop smiling. “It pulled everything back for me.”

He’s still trying not to cry, twisting his lips, “Thank god,” he gasps a sob. “Thank you god.” He pulls you in for another kiss, soft and tender this time. He wipes away the wet strands of hair framing your face.

You take a deep breath, tracing a finger up his chin to the soft skin beneath his eyes, “You really need to sleep.”

“I do,” he licks his lips, eyelashes sticking together with tears, “Just to see you.”

You take ahold of his wrists near your face, “You need real sleep.” You tug on his hands and lead the way upstairs. The rain continues to fall, accompanied by rumbling thunder. It gives you something to listen to as you enter Stiles’ bedroom.

You take a quick peek at the disarray: clothes strewn about the floor, old books open and stacked precariously on scrap paper, lacrosse equipment dirty with soil and grass piled in the hallway. The bed is scrambled like he was kicking in his sleep.

Pushing him to sit down on the mattress, you turn to move toward the dresser, but his hand clamps down on yours.

“Where are you going?”

You look back at the instant terror that envelops his face. “I’m just going to change out of my wet clothes.” You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

At the dresser, you find a pair of plaid pajama pants and a shirt with a Doctor Who logo. In the hallway bathroom you change and comb through your hair. You’re hanging your wet clothes on the shower rod when you hear stuttered breaths coming from Stiles’ bedroom.

In a few quick steps you’re back in the room and see Stiles struggling to maintain his breathing. His eyes are still wet with tears and he’s holding his chest like it hurt. His head snaps to you when you enter, and a micro change happens in his expression – the smallest amount of relief.

You’re at his side in an instant, running your hands over his chest and to his face, “Stiles, it’s okay. I’m here and I remember. This isn’t a dream. We’re okay – I’m here.”

He nods his head, but still struggles to draw breath. He is fully panicking.

You grab the covers and pull them over you, crawling onto the bed and laying yourself over his body. Like a weighted blanket. You take deep breaths and hope he can mimic the feeling as he feels it against his torso.

One of his hands goes to your back, holding you to him. With his other, you intertwine your fingers. You pull your hands under your chin, giving them a kiss. With your head nestled into his chest, your free hand raises to be up by his pillow. You’re able to reach his short hair, running your fingers over his head in a soothing motion.

A tangle of limbs, your body holding his down, he starts to calm. He holds onto you like his life depends on it. Like if he lets go you’ll float back into his restless dreams.

It feels like hours later you both fall asleep, holding each other.

And it was the best sleep either of you have had in weeks.

~~~

Research Websites

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Ventricular Tachycardia

Ventricular Tachycardia

Implantable Cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs)

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 18

We are really getting down to the end now. But there are so many twists and turns coming and I'm excited for you to see them all.

In this Jason is stupid, Tommy is late, and Billy is not what he seems.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

~

Tommy couldn’t wait until he turned eighteen. Then he could finally dispense with the fucking pretense of being Steve Harrington’s bitch.

Him and Carol had been ordered by Hopper to befriend Steve at school, to keep an eye on him. Asshole used his alpha voice and everything so they couldn’t refuse. Carol learned to actually like the knucklehead, but Tommy couldn’t stomach Steve. He wasn’t Pack. Not that Tommy wanted to be a werewolf. No, he had other plans. But to order them to hang out with the idiot was just too much to bear.

So when Bill Hargrove came into town and cleaned up that hornet’s nest that was the old Coven, Tommy knew what he wanted. He wanted real power. Werewolves were big slobbery beast who didn’t have a fucking thought in their head. Just pure instinct.

And of course Steve was too stupid to see that Billy always was a step ahead of the lumbering brute. He did think once or twice that maybe Nancy had figured it out earlier on in his little spy game, but no, not even the supposed smartest girl Hawkins figured it out.

She was completely wasted as a werewolf. She was too beautiful and smart to be limited by being a Were. Fuck, if Tommy hadn’t been gay, he would have pummeled Byers for her. Not that the Pack knew his proclivities toward his own sex. He had been ‘dating’ Carol for most of high school and hated how open Steve was about liking both.

How dare he! How dare Harrington be so comfortable in his skin that he could walk the halls of Hawkins High with confidence about his sexuality and have literally no one give a shit that he could easily be found with his mouth on a cock or his hand up a girl’s skirt.

Tommy was doing his patrols as normal and if Billy got reported to before Steve, then that was his business. Steve had told everyone to be on the lookout for a rogue Were. Most likely wolf, but could be fox or coyote.

It would just be his luck to run across the damn thi–

He stopped in his tracks. The wind had shifted enough that Tommy was almost literally hit in the face with the scent. His nose wasn’t as powerful as a full Were, but as a keeper, his nose was more than adequate for the job.

There! Just off the path and to the north. His nose wrinkled in distaste as the scent of blood hit his nose next. Whatever the Were was eating, he hoped it was while in Were form and not human.

He took a step toward the clearing, but stopped when someone else exited the woods. He froze, stock still.

“Oh my beloved,” the person was saying. “Perhaps I should have picked a different pack to manipulate. I thought it would be so easy to convince Hopper to remove your banishment, but all my plans have failed.”

The feral Were muttered something and the other person sighed. “I’m afraid we’ll have to move on, too many people are becoming suspicious.”

The feral Were muttered again.

“Of course, darling,” they muttered. “I just need to finish one last thing before we go.”

Tommy pressed his hands to his mouth to keep the scream from coming out of his mouth. He turned and ran out of the woods as fast as his feet could carry him. Every instinct as a keeper told him to run to his alpha. His very blood screamed at him that he was going the wrong direction.

But Billy needed to know. Even if Tommy was still loyal to the Pack. Billy needed to be warned.

~

Gareth was itching to race Steve. As a gwyllgi he wanted to see who was faster, the wolf or the Graveyard Dog.

Steve smiled when the younger teen suggested it because he knew of the Munsons’ plans to keep him guarded.

What surprised him the most was the fact that Barb had offered watch over him whenever he went outside of the town limits, closer to her family’s domain of Lover’s Lake. He assumed with Nancy being kept out of the loop on why it was necessary in the first place that she would not only disagree, she would go running to her best friend to tell her.

But according to Eddie and Brian, the selkie had overheard them talking about it at school and volunteered. She had been fighting with Nancy over her classism and if Steve needed her protection. She was going to give it.

There had been a few others, a couple of harpies from town, a pair of elderly sisters whom Steve had been kind to, a gumiho who was there at the school as an exchange student, and Bob Newby, who was much to everyone’s surprise a gnome.

Steve had told Nancy about the incident with the other pack and the one who had been banished. She frowned and nodded like she was expecting that answer. She then told Steve that she thought there was more to the story than what the papers and even the report let on. Something about the differing accounts and how his mate seemed insistent that his mate wouldn’t do such things.

He had left her to it.

Gareth and Steve had been racing down Main Street when Eddie who had been roped into judge the show of speed and agility spotted the smoke on the horizon.

The two shifters skidded to a halt, changing back into their human forms as they held each other.

“It’s the coven!” Gareth hissed, his nose positively quivering from the scent of death in the air.

Steve pushed him in the direction of the compound. “Warn the pack! Eddie get your uncle, quick!”

Both boys dashed off, changing as they hurtled themselves down the road to do as Steve said. Steve himself looked around and spotted a pay phone.

He called the fire department and told them it was the coven and to send only supes to the fire. He wasn’t sure he was believed but he sincerely hoped they had.

When he got the house Steve could see the carnage. And only three of them were vampires, and one thrall. Thankfully no one he knew personally, but still a grave loss to the coven.

The remaining dozen or so?

Humans.

Hunters by their garb and weaponry. They were dressed in bright white combat gear with silver crosses on their chest. Their neck guard, bracers, and chest plate were all silver painted white.

Steve spotted Jeff first and changed back into a human.

Jeff was sitting on the stoop of the house, covered in soot and coughing something fierce.

“Hey,” Steve said soothingly. “Are you okay?

Jeff looked up at him in shock. “What are you doing here, man?”

Steve crouched in front of him and looked him in the eye. “Saw the smoke, Gareth’s getting the pack and Eddie’s getting Wayne. I also called the fire department. Help’s on its way. But are you okay?”

“You really are something else, Harrington,” he muttered. “But yeah, I’m fine.”

It was then that Chrissy came out of the smoke and fog of the burning building and threw something to the ground. She spat on it and started kicking it repeatedly, cursing and foaming at the mouth.

Jeff and Steve dashed over to her and saw the object of her ire.

There, torn to almost literal pieces, but still unmistakable, was Jason Carver. His blue eyes wide in death, his perfect teeth and blond hair, covered in blood, and his golden crucifix twisted and bent.

“What the fuck happened?” Steve hissed as the sounds of sirens drew close.

~

The sun had risen a couple of hours ago and the Coven was happily kicking back in the house that they had long since claimed as their own.

Up top it was a regular house; three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a dinning room, kitchen, study and front room. This was where Billy, Heather, Chrissy, and Keith stayed. Billy and Heather roomed together as a couple and if either Chrissy or Keith got a partner, they would be able to stay above ground, too.

But everyone else was underground. Not because the sun would burn them, it wouldn’t. They weren’t bitten. As they were still living, the sun didn’t hurt them. Not like it did Eddie and Wayne.

No they were underground because it was safer for the vampires to be protected from hunters.

Around noon, the doors to their house burst and Hunters begin to file in, smoke billowing everywhere from the smoke bombs they had thrown. A dozen men and women in white combat gear splashing the place with holy water and shouting in Latin.

Billy’s lips curled back into a snarl. He had fought hard for his position and wasn’t about to let a few humans ruin that for him.

He merrily lead them through the house, baiting them into using their ammo and holy water against him, wasting every bullet, every drop. Crucifixes were brandied about and still Billy ran, as they gave chase.

Just when they thought they had him cornered against the bookshelves in the study, the leader stepped forward and removed his gas mask, his hair tousled from the head gear.

There in all his blond hair, blue-eyed glory was Jason Carver.

“I have you now, Hargrove,” he sneered. “You think your kind is so clever, but I have the upper hand now. You could have healed Patrick, but now he’s a monster. And once I’m rid of you, those flea-bitten werewolves are next. You are the scourge that needs to be scrubbed from this world. And I aim to do just that.” He pulled out a sword from his hip and it glinted with silver. “For Patrick!”

Billy grinned as his eyes glittered with blood lust. “That’s where you’re wrong, Carver. I’m not trapped in here with you. You’re trapped in here with us!”

He pressed a button on the bookshelf next to him and it swung inwards to reveal the entire Coven standing behind him.

The vampires poured out of the hidden space into the study to the screams and terror of the Hunters.

Empty guns clattered uselessly, empty bottles of Holy Water thrown in hopes of a single drop hitting it’s target.

But it was no use. The vampires had the upper hand.

Billy launched himself right at Jason, going straight for the throat. The neck guard prevented Jason from dying on the spot, but Billy was well built outside of his super human strength of being a vampire. The silver merely slowed down the inevitable.

Jason went down hard and fast as Billy clawed and tore at the armor. Jason’s arms flailed wildly as he tried get purchase on any bit of Billy he could get his fingers into.

Billy placed a well aimed punch right in the center of Jason’s face, shattering the nose. Jason screamed but another hit made him black out just long for Billy to tear off the armor in pieces, snarling like a wounded animal. He shook Jason until the other boy awoke.

Instantly Jason knew this was the end. Without the silver armor, Billy was far too powerful to even try to struggle to get free. He was a dead man. His eyes went wide.

Billy held him up by his throat to show the remaining Hunters, that their leader was done for.

“This is the might of the vampire!” he bellowed and then he slowly, excruciatingly, painfully crushed Jason’s throat. And just before he took his last breath Billy leaned forward and whispered, “Your god is dead.”

He dropped the lifeless body to the floor and snarled at the fight going on around him. He rushed into battle, more monster than man in that moment, transforming into the beast humans’ truly feared.

Far too soon in Billy’s opinion all the Hunters were dead.

Heather, Keith, and Chrissy circled around him to stare down at the twisted body of Jason Carver.

“Religious zealot,” Chrissy spat.

“Hateful man,” Heather agreed, nudging the body with her toe.

Just then Tommy arrived at the door, a stunned expression on his face. “Oh god!”

Billy was in front of him in an instant, grabbing his shirt collar and hauling him off his feet.

“What do you know?” he snarled.

Tommy shook his head. “Nothing about this, I swear! I was coming to warn you. I know who’s behind this and your attempted poisoning.”

Billy set him down gently and tilted his head to one side. “I’m listening.”

So Tommy told him about what he heard in the clearing and who he saw.

“Excellent,” Billy said with a feral grin. “You’ve done well, little spy.” He snapped his fingers. “Keith, you’re with me.”

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. “So I have I done enough?”

Billy put his arm his shoulders and led him out into the bright light of the afternoon sun. He leaned in close so only Tommy could hear him. “I can’t change a Keeper into a vampire, even if I was a real vampire. But as I’m not, you’re just out of luck, dumbass.”

He pushed Tommy to the ground and laughed as he and Keith walked away from Tommy and the burning house that once was the abode of the vampire Coven.

~

Part 19 Part 20

Tag List: THIRTEEN SLOTS REMAINING

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @fullpoetrybread @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @thelittleclare

5- @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @she-collects-smut @irregular-child @y4r3luv

6- @fairytalesreality @anaibis @papergrenade @ravenfrog @blondie1006 @dreamercec

7- @thedragonsaunt @sadisticaltarts @kultiras @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman

8- @kal-ology @w1ll0wtr33

[teencopandthesourwolf]

THINGS THAT HAPPEN IN EVERY EPISODE OF TEEN WOLF EVER

part i (part ii HERE)

17 different heart attack-inducing storylines all overlapping with one another with some genuinely excellent concepts and lots of cool af lore that's executed so terribly it convinces you that whomever is in charge must surely be a hamster

werewolves and teenagers alike with some seriously debilitating mental conditions running around like they're contestants on the wheel of fortune

scott pining loudly over allison, pre or post allison's death, regardless of who he is dating at the time

beautiful beautiful derek "my whole family died and i'm being soso brave about it and trying to make myself a new one by collecting teen misfits and putting them in a plastic tupperware box but forgetting to poke holes in the lid bc i'm on the spectrum and trying to process and deal and grow as a person which is really tough when life keeps getting harder instead of easier and will somebody please PLEASE just give me a break" hale.

deaton being a smug little twat

STILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTILESSTI

greenberg being the star of the show

lydia slaying

everybody apart from stiles running around like headless chickens while stiles tries to tell everybody what they need to do but none of them ever listen to stiles so stiles has to do something drastic and dangerous then everybody is all like OMG STILES WHY DID YOU DO THAT THAT'S SO DRASTIC AND DANGEROUS WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU and stiles has to try his best not to eviscerate every single fucking one of them bc he is a good friend to scott

jeff davis doing his doggone constipated best to debunk sterek by writing dialogue/giving directions that hilariously just ardently confirm sterek even more with each epically gay scene

scott sending out thee biggest punch me i'm a motherfucker vibes

AUTISM

danny mahealani stealing the hearts and minds of young and old alike

dylan o'brien being extremely kind by trying his absolute best not to show up all the other actors with his scene-stealing, oscar-worthy performances every second he is on screen and failing miserably.

scott ignoring his phone

mama mcall being so real and a milf

derek's eyebrows being an actual main character

scott auditioning for a new cutting edge reality tv show show called: GIVE ME A NEW PERSONALITY BEFORE SOMEBODY ENDS MY LIFE FOR ME!

boyd being better than everybody else

57% of scenes being filmed in beacon hills high school

41% of scenes being filmed in beacon hills hospital

peter hale, cunt, rocking your world whether you like it or not

(part ii HERE)

[uselessgirl87]

Outsider No More by Useless-girl

Note: The Teen Wolf & Cyberpunk 2077 crossover you didn’t know you needed! :D Obviously, I’m a huge fan of this game (did many playthroughs already and still not finished) and I fell in love with its world, so at one point I started thinking about how Derek and Stiles would fit in it, what kind of characters they would be. So this is what I came up with and hope that you’ll enjoy this little detour into this world. Also, see more info in the end notes! ;)

Fandoms: Teen Wolf, Sterek, Cyberpunk 2077

Characters/relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Cora Hale/original female character, Erica Reyes/Vernon Boyd, Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish (mentioned), Isaac Lahey, Theo Raeken, Alan Deaton, Matt Daehler, Scott McCall, Viktor Vektor, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Brett Talbot, Kate Argent (mentioned), Gerard Argent (mentioned), Talia Hale (mentioned), Peter Hale (mentioned), Sheriff Stilinski (mentioned), other Hales (mentioned)

Rating/category: explicit,Teen Wolf AU, Cyberpunk AU, Sterek, alternate universe, canon and non-canon elements, slash, M/M, aged up characters, no werewolves, human Stiles, orphan Stiles, netrunner Stiles, mercenary Stiles, streetkid Stiles, BAMF Stiles, tattooed Stiles, bottom Stiles, human Derek, top Derek, nomad Derek, clan leader Derek, hacking, betrayal, revenge, action, violence, cursing, blood, gore, found family, family feels, pack feels, getting together, falling in love, romance, love, emotions, wit, sarcasm, light Dom/sub, light BDSM, smut, handjob, blowjob, gay sex, rough sex

Summary: In the unforgiving underbelly of Night City the “survival of the fittest” law applies more than anywhere else. After his father’s death, Stiles Stilinski has been working as a netrunner/mercenary to stay afloat. But when a gig goes wrong, he finds himself fleeing the city from more than one of the notorious and very deadly gangs of NC. Due to a favor, he soon ends up with the feared and respected Hale nomad clan. It is led by the charismatic but broody Derek Hale, who at first isn’t too happy about letting a stranger into his close-knit family, but still provides shelter to Stiles, who in turn is not too keen on experiencing the nomad lifestyle. But with time both men’s perspective changes about things – and each other.

Disclaimer: This is a product of my imagination and was written only for entertainment and fun. I don’t profit from this fanfiction and I mean no harm or disrespect against any real person, culture or custom that might appear in the story. All original pictures or edits and fictional characters used in the story belong to their respective owners and credit goes to them.

---------------------------------- To read the story on AO3, click HERE! Illustration by Useless-girl.

[sterekmylove]

Red Fabric {Young Sterek}

Your prompt: Person B lends their sweater to Person A. When Person A is home, they realize they still have Person B's sweater and find Person B's iPod. Out of curiosity, Person A looks through Person B's music and finds a playlist titled with Person A's name.

P: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski

Age: 18 & 19

A/N: I forgot to post it here.

—

“Dude… just take the damn sweater! Stop being stubborn” Stiles groans as he tried to shove his sweater into Derek's hands, the sick omega

Refusing his friend's request. They've been repeating this little argument since Derek first walked into History, taking a seat next to Stiles and dropping his head onto the table ignoring Mr. Harris words to pick up his head, and that it wasn't nap time. Derek hadn't picked up his head, instead, he made a sound that nearly sounded like a growl. The sound even caught Scott's attention, looking away from Allison to look toward the Omega who sat one row ahead. Stiles kept his eyes down on his notations scribbling away— adding in extra for Derek later. He kept his voice low so Mr. Harris didn't try to give him detention for the simple fact that he spoke.

“Are you okay?” the lanky teenager asked in a low voice. Derek had hummed in response. Not good enough.

“Der” Stiles tried again.

Derek let out a raspy breath shifting his head against the desk to peak towards Stiles, the brunette doing the same— side-eyeing the werewolf. The omega looked like hell, his tan skin was paler— Stiles couldn't even blame that on the season— the cool air in the room being a reminder of the freezing cold outside that is known as winter.

“ ‘mm fine” he mumbles in response.

Stiles snorts, keeping his eyes on the paper. Bullshit.

“Something funny Mr. Stilinski?” Mr. Harris questions

Stiles glanced up at the teacher with a pen in his mouth— when did he get it there? Stiles glances around the room to see everyone looking at him— facing his attention back on the teacher.

“Uh—” the pen drops from his mouth, making a sound against the table— he looks down then back up real quick to do a one-over when his brain comes to a halt.

“Um… no?”

“Then why did you snort?”

“Cause I farted— what else?” He asked his expression mocking a duh look mixed with ‘are you stupid?’ Look.

Derek made a low strangled sound. Scott covered his mouth while ducking his head. Stiles twisted in his seat to turn and look at Allison who was sitting with Scott and behind Stiles.

“Forgive me Ms. Argent for passing gas, is that nose okay?” Stiles asks dramatically.

Allison pressed her lips together trying her best to hide her smile as she just nodded at Stiles. Stiles smiles brightly, turning back to the teacher. Mr. Harris stares at Stiles then sighs— deciding not to argue with the lanky boy today.

For once.

Now, back to what’s wrong with the sourwolf.

Stiles found out in second period Art what was wrong with his friend.

“Sick? you’re sick. How the—.”

“Breathe Bambi,” Derek declared as his hand moved in strokes on the canvas.

Stiles takes a second or two to breathe and then speak.

“I thought werewolves couldn't get sick?”

“Bitten one can't, born can. We're still Humans Stiles, just grow extra hair on a full moon” Derek spoke in a low tone.

Was— did he— did Derek unintentionally make a joke to Stiles on the last part? nevermind that he'll go back to that later.

“But how— dude are you—”

“Stiles what are you—” The back of Stiles's hand touches the omega's cheek, Derek's droopy eyes widening a bit at the contact of Stiles's cool skin against his face. Before the sick wolf can even consider leaning into the touch of Stiles' warmth— which he will blame on his sickness— Stiles pulls away.

“Dude— you're cold, you, Derek Hale who is usually built like a real-life heater are cold!” Stiles stresses out, Derek didn't need to look at the lanky teen to see what type of face he was making.

“Take my—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Derek—”

“Stiles.”

“My sweater is better!”

“No, I'm already wearing my leather jacket” Derek declines, pushing down the feeling of accepting the human request— the excuse of Derek wearing his close friend's sweater and smelling his scent for the rest of the day was tempting– but he wasn't going to. He was sick, those little ticks were all a part of his cold.

The want to lean into the cool touch, the want to accept the sweater, the want to be even closer to Stiles and bury his face deep into his friend's neck and take in his scent till his mind is dizzy with the smell of Stiles.

Roasted hazelnuts with the lingering smell of black coffee and medication—Adderall.

“And clearly it's not keeping you warm enough if you caught a cold Derek”

—

Which leads to now— they were in third-period gym playing dodgeball, Derek weak on his feet— stubborn and very human Stiles still arguing with the Hale boy over his sweater as balls were being thrown at them.

“Come on—“

“Duck!”

Stiles dodges barely fast enough from the flying ball that hit the wall hard, Derek glares at the culprit that threw the ball— Tyler Johnson.

“Johnson!” He barks picking up one of the red balls that landed by his feet throwing it towards the brunette hitting him in the stomach making the other teen wheeze sinking to his feet, Stiles winches at the site.

“Derek—.” Derek grabs Stiles by the front of his shirt yanking him towards himself— making the lanky human not get hit by a ball.

“Stiles focus—.”

“Take my sweater and I will!”

“Stiles it’s cold outside-.”

“I’ll wear your leather jacket— just take the damn sweater you stubborn—.”

Bonk!

A ball gently hits Stiles in the head, the pale teen blinks a couple of times. Staring— staring at Derek who had pulled him close to him with a ball in his hand and with enough force hit him in the forehead with it. Stiles looked at the omega as if he committed a crime, his mouth opening and closing— Derek catching a ball before it hit him in the face.

“Did you—“

Derek gives him the famous Hale smirk.

“Got to sit down Stilinski”

Stiles gasp, then looked over to Scott who just shrugged his shoulders.

“You little…”

“Go.”

Was that even allowed!?.

—

“I look stupid” Derek mumbled as he tugged at the red fabric that hugged his body, Stiles' sweater was loose but also fitted tight around the werewolf’s sick frame. He wore the cuffs of the sleeves over his palms looking down as the two walked down the hall— Stiles fixing Derek’s leather jacket around his body, patting the pockets filling his curiosity that can sometimes be dangerous.

“You look nice in red sourwolf I don’t see the reason to complain” Stiles says in a tone that can let anyone know he’s not paying attention to his words.

“That’s not— not that pocket Stiles”

Stiles stops his hand barely above the chest pocket looking at Derek while they walked down the hallway as the last bell rang.

“What’s in it?”

“Just don’t touch it”

Stiles nods moving his hand away shoving them in the pockets walking in silence.

—

Tags: @cowandcalf

[dufferpuffer]

No, you are justifying Snape’s actions, you literally said “Severus was absolutely justified to snoop on Remus.”

I understand everything you’re saying, and I don’t think I underestimated the societal biased the text poses. I’m just saying that for even the most ingrained, deep set prejudices, there will be average people who challenge it. Snape had his many reasons to want to dig up dirt on his bullies, and dirt he found. I just don’t think it’s cute to see people justifying instead of condemning the bigoted side of it.

But alas, sometimes every single one of Snape’s action gets distorted into a veiled demonstration of utmost kindness and tolerance.

I’m not at all suggesting if Lupin was ousted as student, he’d be fine because love wins. But just because outrage and revulsion would be the average crowd reaction, doesn’t make it ok.

This can way too easily get mixed with their complicated dynamics in PoA, where yes, a lot (but not all!) of Snape’s unpleasant actions were actually attempts to protect Harry. I’m talking about Snape stalking and planning to oust Remus as a teen.

I don’t find it heroic or justifiable that he’d “snoop on Remus”. If he had sincere concerns about the safety of his peers, he could go to a teacher or the headmaster (he would be disappointed, but it would have been the most direct and earnest way to handle it). Instead, he wanted to use Lupin’s condition to make the point that “they’re not as great as everyone thinks they are”.

Maybe this got out of hand, I do feel like I am stating the obvious: Snape is prejudiced and that is bad. Not everyone is prejudiced even if most people are. We should hold everyone to high standards, not lower it to the average.

As demonstrated by characters much less controversial than Snape, you can be prejudiced and still try to be a good, loving person, like Molly. But she should not be off the hook, and neither should Snape.

“Snape was picking up Lupin’s slack and just dutifully teaching from the curriculum” is also a bit weak, come on. Are we gonna let the man be a petty bitch or what.

From an objective, black-and-white moral viewpoint: Of course Severus is wrong trying to expose Remus. Severus was contextually justified in snooping only in that he believed Remus was a threat… but the belief that Remus was a threat, that he was 'not good' simply because he is a werewolf, is bigoted.

I can condemn the bigotry in that. I LOVE condemning the bigotry in that. My favourite thing is the parallels between Remus' depiction and living with real disability. So much of what he goes through socially and mentally parallel real disabled experience in a way that is shockingly deep for… any media, let alone a children's book series. Being snooped on for your invisible disability, whether that be to find a reason to fire you or make fun of someone walking out a wheelchair... Having laws that don't outright exclude you, but may as well... Feeling like you let people down, especially those who love you, simply for your symptoms... Medicine being degrading and depressing to take - after jumping through hoops to get it… I'm getting off topic.

It's just that the tolerance Severus displays is more notable. I don't blame Ron for treating Remus like an animal. It's bigotry, but what else could he believe in that context? He learns to tolerate and trust. So does Severus. He he tolerates and trusts Remus despite his bigotry and experiences. He has bias against werewolves, hates Lupin - and yet still treats him like a man. Ties him up like a criminal - not kill him like a wolf, even though (based on what he believes is happening) he has every right to. He knows how to. He TAUGHT how to. But he doesn't.

He wanted confirmation Remus was a werewolf when they were kids. He GOT that confirmation, and could have gone public. The marauders were STILL bullying him, doing nothing at all to earn his silence - he could have lashed out, spread rumors and watch society turn on Remus. Yet he didn't. He trusted he wasn't the threat everyone believes werewolves to be.

Not going to the teachers about it was, as I said, petty and irresponsible of him. Teen boy tries to be a big hero, win back his friend, put his bullies in the bin and unmask a monster all by himself… a rather arrogant Scooby-doo plot. Gaining from 'justified' misery, exposing the crooked bully Griffindor Prefect as EVIL when everyone thinks he is great... It's irresponsible for such a serious thing - but there is so much more going on with him than 'he is prejudiced and that is bad.' Like when he took over Lupins class.

I'm not saying he was just innocently and dutifully teaching what the curriculum should have been - you just insinuated he was teaching them how to kill werewolves, as if that isn't plainly written in the textbook. Sirius Black betrayed those who trusted him and killed Lily Evans. Now he is infiltrating the school using secret methods - and his last living friend is wrapping everyone around his hairy little finger like a wolf in sheep's clothing to trust him.

He picked the werewolf section specifically. He taught it intensely, under the guise of them being 'so behind': TWO rolls of parchment, due so soon only Hermione managed it. Not because he was being petty - PoA is probably where he was at his least petty. To him this is an emergency situation, a ticking time bomb nobody else is taking seriously.

+ Petty would have been tampering with Lupin's potion. + Allowing Remus to fuck his own job up by forgetting it... + Refusing to work with him or on his behalf on his bad health days. + It would have been making snide comments about him, likening him to a wolf or asking where he was on the Full Moon. + He could have been making Remus sweat all year. It would have been in character. Instead he has faith in Albus' judgement (while tugging on his sleeve) and lets Remus walk all over him in their verbal fencing. How very odd for Severus to never once snap back...

Yet he doesn't. He tolerates it all, despite Remus never doing a single thing to earn it - and doing everything to earn his scorn.

...

You're saying Snape is wrong for snooping on Remus to out his Lycanthropy to a bigoted society, especially as there are selfish desires behind the action. That despite how difficult it would be to question the bigotry, there are still average people who do - and Snape isn't one of them. He is prejudiced and remains so even in adulthood.

And you are ABSOLUTELY correct. I agree.

I'm saying Snape was contextually justified in most of the actions he took against a perceived (and known) threat. They were not always good actions but they are far more reasonable than most others. He has MORE reasons to be bigoted and yet shows LESS bigotry in his actions than most others.

Snape is a prejudiced person who doesn't try to be good and loving… he just tries to be good. Good enough. He dedicates his entire life to be good. To do the right things, even when he personally disagrees with them, even when its like sandpaper against his skin to put up with. He just doesn't do it lovingly.

That, I think, is the biggest issue people who dislike Snape have. Why they see people saying he did good as trying to distort him, claiming he is kind when he is obviously an asshole: He doesn't always do things well. He almost always has some sort of petty, arrogant prejudice behind his actions. He is a sour, prickly, nasty bitch... but he is still STRIVING to do whats right. Doing the right thing when it is hard, directly in the face of his own biases... that's pretty cool. Remus thinks so too.

"...Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon. ...We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful.” “Maybe he didn’t dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!” said Harry. “You are determined to hate him, Harry,” said Lupin with a faint smile.

[berenwrites]

Stranger Things Fanfiction

So I thought I'd do a master post of all my steddie fanfic so far. It's listed in my pinned post too, but I am shameless 😜.

Chaptered:

Whole New Us: Trauma Bonded & Beyond - Steddie (COMPLETE) - ~57K wds (26 ch) - Teen (with mature options) - (also on AO3) Steve has been ignoring his own problems, he’s been busy. They’ve all been busy, preoccupied with fixing everything that was broken. Vecna has been defeated, but the Upside Down is still there, and the gates are not completely closed even though Hawkins has almost returned to normal. It’s been a couple of months and the aftereffects of Steve’s encounter with the demobats is about to come back to bite him. However, it also brings some unexpected hope.

Beyond the Battle: Action & Consequence - Steddie (COMPLETE) - PG13 - ~108K wds (46 ch) (Also on AO3) Steve hits things with a bat or gets hit depending on who you ask. He definitely does not have anything to do with the psychic stuff. That is El’s domain. However, as Vecna is defeated, the rules change.

Dreams in the Night: But Vampires Aren't an Upside Down Thing - Steddie (COMPLETE) ~18.5K wds (9 ch) - Explicit - (also on AO3) Steve has been having nightmares, seeing through the eyes of a vampire like creature in Hawkins as it hunts. He puts the dreams down to past trauma and too many horror movies at Family video. He’s checked and no one’s been hurt, so even Robin agrees. However, his world is about to be turned upside down yet again as the nightmares become far too real.

Sight: Now I See You - Steddie (COMPLETE) ~26K wds (13 ch) - PG13 The final battle with Vecna was victorious, but not everyone came out unscathed. Steve wakes up in the hospital high as a kite with something wrong with his eyes. Robin’s right there to assure him it’s nothing permanent, but something weird is going on, and he needs answers. That there appear to be two government factions in town, one of which is hunting El even though she saved the world, does not help. Neither does the feeling there’s someone watching him. It’s all a mess and Steve can’t sit back and let the others fix it by themselves.

Wolf in the Light - Steddie (COMPLETE) ~45K wds (23 CH) explicit - only on AO3 Steve has been keeping a big secret: he’s a werewolf from a long line of werewolves. Only problem is, he’s a complete failure at it. He can’t even shift, but it does make him a bit harder to kill, so he thought he’d found his perfect niche keeping the kids and his secret safe after ‘83. With their plan to end Vecna only half successful and Eddie bleeding out, he has no choice but to reveal the truth and try and convince his friends that werewolves are real. That would be enough of a task for anyone, but to his shock, his heritage has an even bigger surprise in store, and of course, there’s Max to worry about too.

Oneshots:

Secret Lover: A Vampire Eddie Short - Steddie - ~1Kwds - Mature - (on AO3 too) Vecna is dead and gone thanks to El and the party. Not all his creations are. Eddie is one of those creations. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but Steve knows better.

In His Kiss: The Trouble With Vampire Tendencies - Steddie - ~2.5K wds - PG13 - (on AO3 too) Steve could feel Eddie’s eyes on him. It was like he could tell, even without looking that Eddie was staring at him. Every time he glanced over, Eddie looked away, but half a second too late. It was beginning to drive Steve crazy.

So Sweet: Hard to Begrudge Love - Steddie - ~400 wds - G - (on AO3 too) Tooth rotting Steddie fluff from Robin’s point of view.

Connections: Voice from the Other World - Steddie - ~2K wds - PG - (on AO3 too) Steve hears Eddie voice in his head. At first he thinks it’s guilt, but that soon changes. Now all he needs to figure out is if it’s one of Vecna’s games or something else.

So Sorry: Through No Fault of His Own - Steddie - ~1.8K wds - PG - (on AO3 too) Bad things have happened to Steve, but Eddie is there to help – only it’s not that simple.

Freaks: What the World Sees - Steddie - ~1K wds - PG - (on AO3 too) The world knows a lot about famous guitarist and singer Eddie Munson, including things about his husband, but there is so much they don’t see as well.

Summertime Love - Steddie - PG - 311wds Written for steddiemicrofic prompt: CAKE | 311 words | rated: PG | cw: none

For Love - Steddie - PG - 548wds Written for steddiemicrofic prompt: CHARM | 548 words | rated: PG | cw: none

Guardian at the Gate - Steddie - PG - 387wds (on AO3 too) SteddieMicroFic November '23 - prompt: REST | 387 words | rated: PG Wayne rushes to the hospital when he gets news of Eddie. He does not expect what he finds.

Magnificent - Steddie - G - 508wds (on AO3 too) Written for prompt: PINE | wc: 508 | G | cw: none Steve has never ever wanted to see Eddie in a coffin, but this one looks absolutely perfect...

Reborn: Facing the Unexpected - Steddie - PG - 404wds (on AO3 too) Written for steddiemicrofic January prompt: HOLE | wc: 404 The final confrontation with Vecna has come and gone, they won, but Steve can only focus on one thing...

Wake-up Call: An End or a Beginning? - Steddie - PG - 404wds (on AO3 too) Written for January 2024 prompt: HOLE | wc: 404 When you're dead, you're not supposed to wake up.

Strange Relationship: Of Sex and Revelations - Steddie - Explicit - 404wds (on AO3 too) Written for January 2024 prompt: HOLE | wc: 404 Steve is good at sex, but there are some things he hasn't been considering. Eddie is very happy to open his eyes.

Caring: Now It's Your Turn - Steddie - G - 593wds (also on AO3) Written for @steddielovemonth 2024 day 1 Steve has been looking after everyone, now it's his turn.

Still Oneshots - New list because Tumblr complained ;)

Revelation: A Heart-Stopping Reality - Steddie - G - 1396wds (also on AO3) Written for steddielovemonth day 3 Steve is just sitting by the pool watching his friends have fun when he comes to a stunning conclusion.

A Small Thing: The Truth Hurts - Steddie - T - 956wds (also on AO3) Written for steddielovemonth day 4. Eddie wants to know everything about Steve, and Steve has a confession to make.

Falling: Who Will Catch Me? - Steddie - PG - 509wds (also on AO3) Written for Feb prompt: EDGE | wc: 509 | PG | cw: PTSD, mentions of torture It's all over and Steve has nothing left to keep the horror at bay.

See Me: In the Silence - Steddie - G - 309wds (also on AO3) Written for steddielovemonth day 5 Steve always see what Eddie needs.

Quiet: But Far From Idle - Steddie - G - 627wds (also on AO3) Written for steddielovemonth day 6. Eddie loves when both he and Steve are in the zone.

Arms of Love: Whatever You Need - Steddie - G - 678wds (also on AO3) Written for @steddielovemonth day 8. It's July, Steve is having trouble sleeping, Eddie helps.

Closure: Rifts & Reactions - Steddie - G - 836wds - (also on AO3) Written for steddielovemonth day 12 The final battle is over, it's time to look forward.

Late Again?: Love Is Too Compelling! - Steddie - PG - 980wds - (also on AO3 soon) Written for steddielovemonth day 14. Eddie doesn't want Steve to go to work, so is trying to convince him to quit.

Always and Forever: Love Finds a Way - Steddie - G - 1237wds - (also on AO3) Written for steddielovemonth day 29. After their usual phone call while Eddie is on tour with Corroded Coffin, Steve is worried.

Best Present Ever - Steddie - G - 290wds Vecna was dead. Hawkins was no longer split open. It was time to celebrate.

Still Oneshots - New list because Tumblr complained again ;)

Half a Dream - Steddie - G - 510 wds (also on AO3) It took Eddie until he reached the top to realise he’d been chasing only half a dream the entire time.

The Giveaway - Steddie - G - 483 wds (also on AO3) It's not anything they would have guessed that give Steve and Eddie away to their friends and family.

With Both Hands - Steddie - PG - 838 wds (also on AO3) Eddie is having trouble figuring out how he got here and believing it's real.

A Simple Question - Steddie - PG-13 - 1155 wds (also on AO3) Eddie is a little tipsy, and he has a question for Nancy.

Through Your Eyes - Steddie - PG-13 - 943 wds (also on AO3) Steve wakes up and something is definitely not right.

Suddenly There Came a Tapping - Steddie - PG - 350wds (also on AO3) Eddie has a visitor with a message.

[alleykatart]

Three words: Hot. Himbo. Werewolves. (Werewolves and werecats and witches, oh my!)

World building and character summaries below, along with a bit more art!

From left to right:

Kyle Johnson: Human. He/Him. Gay. Gym twink with a crush. Went home with Rhys and ended up pulled into the world of the supernatural while trying to juggle his college coursework. Architecture major. Happy go lucky, down for an adventure, often bites off more than he can chew.

Rhys Whitethorne II: Werewolf, Born. He/Him. Bisexual. Older cousin of Jason Whitethorne, but mostly content to let his little cousin lead. His father's Jason's father's little brother, meaning Jason "stole" his "birthright" to lead the Whitethorne Pack. Had a nasty habit of stealing or ruining things that were important to Jason when they were kids. Toys, books, friends, and at least one lover. Now he runs a gym on the first floor of an old warehouse Jason is renovating. Still annoyingly competitive with everyone, but especially his cousin... but also trying to get over his own bullshit. Trying.

Mercy Lawless: Witch, Fae Blood. She/Her. Heteroflexible. Orphaned granddaughter of the Witch Queen of New York, Mercy Lawless and Jason Whitethorne were pushed toward each other from a young age, in an attempt to secure peace between the Witches and the Werewolves. They had an on and off teen sweetheart situation, but neither truly felt a romantic spark, and merely continued the pretense of dating as an excuse to hang out as friends. Easily the smartest person in the Pack, fiercely loyal to her friends. Still working her way out from under her grandmother's thumb. College student going into Occult Studies.

Jason Whitethorne: Werewolf, Born. He/Him. Pansexual. Eldest son and heir of real estate tycoon Owain Whitethorne, current Alpha of the Grand Pack of New York. Jason is the wearer of the Fangs of the First Alpha, which enhance his wolf form while also making him a bigger target for other wolves seeking to prove themselves or claim the artifact for themselves. Business major. Sometimes too direct and harsh, Jason holds himself to an impossible standard he'd never dream of holding anyone else to, wanting to prove he's good enough. He and Mercy have become the closest of friends, their bond far closer now than when they tried dating, enough that he's let her channel the Fangs of the First in the past.

Soo Park: Werecat, Turned. He/Him, Tentatively They/Them. Gay. Orphaned in a horrific "wild animal attack" at 17, the only child of Ha-Yun Park and her husband, John. Taken in by his maternal aunt, Soon-Yi and her girlfriend, Carmilla. Knowing it damn well wasn't a wild animal, Jason and Mercy helped the nerdy, awkward Soo through his clumsy first steps into the supernatural world, and the grief and loneliness after his parents died. With their friendship, Soo blossomed, came out of his shell (much to everyone's horror and delight) and learned to control his new abilities... mostly. After almost a year of waiting for Soo to figure out his feelings, Jason finally made the first move... that Soo only wasn't willing to make because he assumed Jason was straight and just "really sweet" to let Soo hang all over him all the time. Art major. Snarky, overly fond of swear words, utterly clueless that his aunt's girlfriend is an ancient vampire. It's not like he's ever smelled one before, after all. Tends to exaggerate confidence he doesn't quite feel.

Kane & Zane Li: Werewolf, Born. He/Him. Pansexual. Human father, werewolf mother, the twins were raised in the Whitethorne pack and are virtually inseparable, considering Jason to be their unofficial brother. What they lack in height and wits, they more make up for with their big... hearts and their desire to help others. Besides, if they need a witty comeback, they can just ask Mercy, who's often seen with one twin on each arm. Kane is secretly a gamer nerd who spends his Thursday nights with Soo and Kyle playing tabletop games, because they don't fight enough monsters in their real lives. Zane keeps his twin's secret, and hangs out with the Whitethorne cousins and Mercy on Thursday nights. Kane harbors an unrequited crush on the hunter, Pixie. And honestly, who can blame him?

Bonus images~

(Soon-Yi and Carmilla, who definitely is not an ancient vampiress with a penchant for beautiful young women with beautiful smiles and soft curves.)

Pixie, a hunter with compassion. She takes down the supernatural beings who cross the line, and does it with style.

[asterekmess]

Bit of a random question, but: in Teen Wolf, if a werewolf was surrounded/trapped by a mountain ash barrier, would they still be able to, say, take off their shoe and punt it at someone outside the barrier? 🤔

Can't remember them acting like anything but "mountain ash contains werewolves/supernatural creatures" meant that no one would ever even think to try exploring the boundaries of that in canon, but what do you think?

(Alternatively, if you could set the rules of magic tree powder boundaries, what would you choose for them to be?)

I'm afraid I have no idea how I would go about dealing with that. Some people have hypothesized the mountain ash making essentially a sphere, so you can't go over or under it. Others have questioned whether the circle creates a cylinder that goes a certain distance up and down through the ground, or if it ends at floor and ceiling (So like, if there's a mountain ash circle in the middle of someone's living room, could a werewolf cross over the roof without getting bounced off it?) If I HAD to choose something, I think I'd go for the sphere idea. Something that protects above and below, but not to an unreasonable extent? Or hell, maybe I'd prefer the concept of it ending at floor and ceiling, since it seems to be based heavily on the premis of closed spaces. Though that seems unsafe, since you could just pop the roof off the room and ruin the entire thing. and how would it work outside? Sphere/limited cylinder it is, then. But it inspires so many questions. Like, you see them put the ash across a doorway and it blocks off the whole room, as though the werewolf can't just break through the wall beside it. Or does that only work if the walls are made of ashwood? can you put mountain ash in paint and use it to paint a line across all the walls of a room and have THAT count? You're right that they don't really question the real boundaries of mountain ash in TW. Like, there's the chest full of mountain ash that has something important in it in it, and Derek and Peter seem to think they need Braeden to retrieve the item from inside it, without considering that they could just smash the damn chest or tip the ash and the item out of it. But at the same time, in Season 1 when Peter goes after Scott in the clinic after Derek is taken by Kate, he can't enter the back of the clinic because of the mountain ash deaton uses as a barrier in the partition. So, he throws a chair at the wall behind Deaton. It's unclear whether he didn't hit deaton because he didn't WANT to hit deaton, or if there was something else at work keeping Deaton safe, but the moment DOES make clear that the scenario you suggested of throwing something else across the barrier is possible!

Trying to apply really strict rules to soft magic systems like what TW has is very difficult. /o\

[maria021015]

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 10 AHEAD!

Zaida and Scott had shared one conversation in total, and it had been the day when she’d relentlessly questioned him about what she had thought at the time was a wolf. It made sitting on his bed in his room as he peeled back her bandage incredibly awkward. Scott and Stiles looked at each other in fort of her with worried expressions.

“It’s healed, hasn’t it?” she asked as dread sank to the bottom of her stomach.

“Yes,” Scott tilted his head but sounded unsure. “But also no.”

“What do you mean? It can’t be both.” she swallowed dryly and pulled up her phone camera as a mirror to check for herself. Her wound was completely scabbed up and the teeth marks had already started to thin.

“You are healing,” Stiles explained further. “Faster than I would, but not as fast as Scott.”

“So what does that mean?” she scrunched her face in confusion. “I’m a werewolf, but just a shitty one?”

“Or maybe, you’re not a werewolf at all. Maybe, you’re something else.” Scott mused.

“Is that even possible? Is there more out there than just werewolves?” Zaida questioned. She didn’t know if she was prepared to accept more than what she’d already been faced with at the moment.

“It makes sense. If werewolves are real why not other supernatural and mythical creatures?” Stiles shrugged.

“So you’re telling me that you have no idea what I might be?” She paled at the thought of having to discover something entirely new without any of them having any experience in the matter. “Well, that’s just fucking fantastic. Can we go see Lydia now?”

The trio took Stiles’ car to the hospital and acted as casually as possible when they passed by the staff to sneak into the girl’s room. She wasn’t supposed to be taking any visitors at the moment even though the experts had cleared her and stated she was on her journey to a certain recovery according to the text Jackson had sent Allison, which she had then passed onto Zaida. The brunette walked into the room first, pretending she was meant to be there. It was empty save for an unconscious Lydia, still hooked up to various machines and devoid of any of her usual spunk and colour. There was a shuffle behind her and she looked back to find Scott and Stiles crawling inside.

“Shut the door,” Scott instructed and the boy with the buzzcut leaned over to push it shut painfully slowly as it creaked loudly, still on the ground. His face cringed at the sound and Zaida rolled her eyes at the two. How they’d gotten this far on their own she had no idea.

Zaida pulled back the blankets and shifted Lydia’s hospital gown to the side, grimacing as she peeled back the bandage to reveal an almost fresh wound, still bleeding. Scott rose to his feet and stood by her side, inspecting the wound for himself.

“Is it completely healed?” Stiles asked, averting his gaze with a disgusted expression, standing just a bit apart from them.

“Not, not at all,” Scott answered as Zaida replaced the bandage and blankets carefully. “Not even a little like Zaida.”

“I don't get it. The doctor said she'd be fine.” Stiles questioned, figuring that if her body had stopped going into shock and rejecting the bite, she must be transitioning.

“Yeah, but the bite's not healing like it did with me. Which means…she's not a werewolf either.” The shaggy-haired boy explained.

“Then what the hell are we?” Zaida’s voice was quiet and shaky.

[rotisseries]

gabe shows theo and liam the bodies that the anuk-ite has hallowed out trying to find their other half. theyre locked in a freezer. its literallt a freezer at school. theo's like "does the teacher know about this?" and gabe points to one of the bodies n is like "thats the teacher😗" anyway liams like "unless theres a gun in there too this isnt helping us find the shooter." like bro doesnt even care 😭 theo asks gabe why he hid the bodies. ans gabe says "we didnt wanna get caught." and theo's like 😐 sour. "caught doing what." "testing them. to see if they were werewolves. and they were." and liam, ever the NOT ON TOPIC SAYS "just like you tested corey?" like yes obviously . anyway gabe is like "but we didnt kill them, look at their faces, something else did that." and theo says "the anukite" kinda quietly and gabe says "😥the what?" and they just ignore him collectively liam turns to theo and asks "why would it want to kill anyone? it feeds off fear. dead people arent afraid." and theo's like maybe the killing just a by product. and liams like of what. "of it looking for its other half. which means its looking for a supernatural creature. someone like us." "so these three could have been werewolves just not the ones that the anukites were looking for." NOW THEY TURN TO GABE AND THEO GOES "which means youve been helping it" AND THIAM GIVES HIM DEADDDDDLLLY LOOK IN UNISON. "Idiot." + slamming the freezer shut to really punctuate it .  theo kills me . and gabes like "idek what you guys are talking about. i was just helping aaron it was his idea to test everyone." "who's aaron?" "he's on the lacrosse team. he's just a freshman." and this is how they figure out that aaron is one part of the anukite. theo and liam the power couple, the dynamic duo, they can do it all!!! they really do work well together. liam rather kill someone than admit that tho. two things tho. gabe just. was finding bodies and hiding them . crazy . two, HE WAS TESTING TEACHERS????

can I be real I got the impression theo and liam were side characters because they were names I had literally never fucking heard of in relation to teen wolf before you talked about them, + that tracks cause you're always a rarepair shipper and side character supporter, but it sounds like theo and liam are kinda carrying the plot here

[mikaharuka]

Slash Ships to Get to Know Me

Bleep (@bleepbloopbotz) resurrected this tag game from the depths of her notifications and tagged me and Annie (@udaberriwrites) on it, and of course, Annie being Annie went and tagged me too, so yay~

It got me thinking a bit, and I figured I might as well, since I never actually sat down and listed all the ships I had - slash and femslash alike. I'm only listing the major slash ones for now, but I'll continue my list beyond that... for real, though, I need to do this same exercise for my femslash ships (yes, I saw your tag, Annie, and will get to it soon!)

**Rules**: Name at least five (no upper limit) slash (M/M) ships you love. Each from a different fandom. (Sadly, I have no pictures here).

1 - Twilight & Life and Death

I'd be pretty remiss if I didn't mention the two slash ships I'm actually writing right now - Carlisle/Beau (MM Bellisle) and Edward/Mike. Being the only writer of the former ship (as of today) is quite the interesting experience! At first, they were just convenient characters to carry out worldbuilding plans... but jokes on me. I became a massive shipper as I wrote and I suckered Annie into them too XD

2 - Teen Wolf

I need to mention both my slash OTP, Steter (Peter/Stiles), as well as the Sterek (Derek/Stiles) ship that is so popular and well-known. I almost chose Teen Wolf as the fandom for my concept instead of the Twilight/Life and Death combination I settled on, and if I had, I'd be writing Steter and my femslash Teen Wolf OTP, Allydia, right now.

3 - Fire Emblem Three Houses

I'd also be pretty remiss if I didn't mention the slash ship that got me writing fanfiction in the first place - Ferdibert (Hubert/Ferdinand). I have no idea what about these two managed to get me writing after 15+ years of silent lurking, but they somehow did and I'm grateful, since it ended up in me being here, meeting so many lovely people!

4 - NBC Hannibal

Quite a few people know how I love the Hannigram (Hannibal/Will) ship - and I love that it's canon. It's the perfect darker ship for me! Heck, fun fact - I was heavily influenced by NBC Hannibal's fantasy-like sequences when I wrote Apricity's Azure Mystique dreamscape!

5 - Scum Villain (SVSSS)

You know what's interesting? Scum Villain is the only MXTX novel I've read, despite MDZS and TGCF being way more popular. I'm quite the fan of the main ship Bingqiu/Bingyuan (Luo Binghe/Shen Yuan), but I also love the dark ship that is original Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan.

6 - Ace Attorney

Decided to end this list with one of my more lighter, older, and cuter ships in Narumitsu/Wrightworth (Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright). Also, Momo is selling me on Klapollo (Apollo Justice/Klavier Gavin), so there's that! I love Ace Attorney in general and I'm pretty confident Capcom was intentionally making the whole thing ridiculously gay lol

...

You know, looking at this, I noticed two similarities across all of them.

First, that they all have at least a shade of darker themes among them. Heck, even Ace Attorney's Narumitsu isn't free of the ambiguity either, with the angst and all.

Second... I strongly favor the magical and supernatural stuff. I mean... there are vampires in #1, werewolves in #2, dark magic in #3, magical themes despite technically not being that in #4, heavenly demons and cultivation in #5, and the sheer absurdity present in #6

Tagging @udaberriwrites @axolotlsupremacyowo @alpaca-clouds @sliebman10 @0nelittlebirdtoldme @mrsmungus and the open tag for anyone else interested.

[clotpolesonly]

Ten Random Lines

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

tagged by @sapphireginger​ ♥♥♥

this is literally so difficult wtf how do i CHOOSE ok.......

.

.

1) To Be A King

| BBC Merlin | Gen | 127k | Canon Divergent | Royal Merlin | Magic Reveal |

Merlin resisted the urge to adjust the circlet of gold where it sat on his head and made his fringe—his hair was getting long, he thought idly, and he should probably cut it sometime—stick to his forehead. It was a near constant struggle not to fiddle with the unfamiliar weight, but he usually managed to hold himself back, knowing that fidgeting was not dignified.

2) For Shell And Safety

| Teen Wolf | Sterek | 45k wip | Outsider POV | Apocalypse |

“We’ll figure all that out later,” Stiles said firmly. “We always manage to figure these things out.”

He was lying. His heartbeat skipped, but Leah was the only one of them to hear it and she couldn’t bring herself to call him out when Derek was looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes like he truly expected Stiles to succeed. He had far more faith in Stiles than Stiles had in himself, that much was clear.

Stiles stepped back out of the circle of firelight, the darkness of night creeping in to wrap around him like a cloak.

3) REM-DAC

| Teen Wolf | Sterek | 43k wip | Cyberpunk AU (w/ werewolves) | Technopathy |

If it had been anything like that for Stiles, then Derek envied him his forgetfulness.

4) I'll Dissolve When The Rain Pours In, When The Nightmares Take Me

| Teen Wolf | Stackson | 37k | Canon AU | Soulmates | Post Nogitsune/Kanima |

“Focus on me, Stiles,” Jackson said, firm and insistent, giving him a shake. “Just look at me and nothing else, okay? What do you need? Stiles, this is real. What do I need to do to prove that to you?”

It took Stiles a minute to process the words, to make his eyes stop straying to the door of his closet and the void beyond it, and another to find his voice and force it past the broken glass feeling of his throat.

“Fingers,” he croaked. “Y-you have extra...extra f-fingers in dreams.”

5) These Gordian Knots

| Teen Wolf | Sterek | 29k wip | Shibari | Sub Derek | Self-Destructive Behaviors |

He could drown it out, mostly. The method was tried and true, after all. One-fifty-one had never let him down before. If he took enough shots quickly enough, then Derek could fool himself into thinking that he wasn’t completely broken.

6) Patterns In The Ashes

| Teen Wolf | 5.6k | Missing Scene | Family Angst | Ambiguous Relationships |

All that restrained violence was released in a split second. It was a roar that shook the walls and a blur of motion that ended with Allison slammed back against the railing of the stairs in the entryway, Derek’s clawed hands digging into the fragile wood on either side of her head. Part of Allison acknowledged that she could’ve been dead already. The rest told her to push, to take that cruel knife she had lodged inside her, ram it into Derek’s gut instead, and twist.

7) In The Afterimage

| Teen Wolf | Sterek | 26k | 6A Rewrite | Everybody Lives AU | Pack Feels |

“It— I can’t—” The Sheriff was shaking his head again, eyes distant as the tears wet his cheeks. “I can’t have forgotten,” he said weakly. “I couldn’t just—”

“You haven’t,” Derek repeated. “This is you remembering him.”

8) The Strongest Among You

| BBC Merlin | Merthur | 21k | Slavery AU | Abuse | BAMF Merlin |

Merlin shook his head, clutching at him. “Don’t make promises,” he said. “Don’t make promises when there’s no way for you to keep them.”

“I will keep them,” Arthur insisted. He pushed Merlin back enough to look him in the face, his heart breaking to see the tear tracks on Merlin’s cheeks. “I know you don’t need me to save you,” he said. “But I will if that’s wh—”

Merlin stopped him with a kiss, wet and messy and a little bit frantic.

9) Magic and Drag Queens and Lizards, Oh My

| Teen Wolf | Sterek | Ace Derek | Bi Stiles | Pride Parades | Fluff |

“Aw, aren’t you two just adorable,” the queen coos. “Derek, honey, is this that cute boy you’ve been telling me about?”

Derek chokes like he’s just inhaled a lungful of glitter. Stiles is pretty sure he’s the one red in the face now because Derek does not say she’s wrong.

10) Roots To Tether By

| Teen Wolf | Sterek | Derek Deserves Nice Things | Pack Feels |

Derek was not wrong about Scott following through on his playful threat. It’s barely three hours later when Stiles’ name pops up on his caller ID, and Derek takes a moment to brace himself before accepting the call.

“So,” Stiles says, smug as anything. “I hear that I’m a smart guy. Tell me more.”

.

.

let me tell you how horrifically difficult this was to narrow down, and i only scrolled through like 2 pages of my stuff before i had to stop just to limit myself cuz i was gonna go on all day finding more and going oKAY BUT WAIT WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE and i just had to put my foot down somewhere arbitrary alkfdjg

i do not have 10 people to choose anymore, and not all the ones that come to mind to tag have enough fics to do it properly 😅 soooo anybody who wants to do it?? consider yourself tagged

[uselessgirl87]

Home Is Where the Spark Is  29: Ember to Inferno by Just Jim and Useless-girl

Note: This is the 29th part of the “Home Is Where the Spark Is” series. To understand better what’s going on, we recommend reading the previous entries. Enjoy!     

Note 2: If you like our series and want more aside from the main storyline, make sure to read our one-shots connected to this universe HERE! (After all, we needed a place where the extra smut, cuteness or emotions could go, which we couldn’t cram into our main story parts!) You’re welcome! :D

Fandoms: Teen Wolf, Sterek

Characters/relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Jake Hale (OC)/Jasmine Doyle (OC), Sheriff Stilinski, original Hale children

Rating/category: supernatural, post-Teen Wolf, canon and non-canon elements, slash, M/M, Sterek, aged up characters, Spark Stiles, Darach Stiles, Magic Stiles, Emissary Stiles, detective Stiles, matured Stiles, BAMF Stiles, tattooed Stiles, pierced Stiles, switch Stiles, Alpha Derek, switch Derek, epic romance, love, magic, soulmates, Mate bond, Emissary bond, werewolves, emotions, wit, sarcasm, secrets, mating, smut, gay sex, fingering, mpreg, pack bonding, domestic life, established relationship, family time

Summary: More family time, a hormonal pregnant alpha, a new car, and a surprise guest leave no dull moment in the Hale-Stilinski household. What else might come?

Disclaimer: This is a product of our imagination and was written only for entertainment and fun. We don’t profit from this fanfiction and we mean no harm or disrespect against any real person, culture or custom that might appear in the story. All original pictures or edits and fictional characters used in the story belong to their respective owners and credit goes to them.

————————————–

Picture credit:  Just Jim

To read the story on AO3, please, click HERE!

[loganwritesprobably]

Hello and welcome to

Fuck J*ff D*avis

I'm your host, Logan, and I'm rewriting teen wolf.

Priority One

Diversity

Some of these are classics in the fandom, some are personal interests, some even suggested by friends who only know Teen Wolf through me.

Latino Scott, Mexican specifically

Polish/Jewish Stiles

Previously Catholic Theo

Italian/Latino/American Hales

(I need you to understand the joy Italian mobster Peter brings me)

Plus actually including things like holidays and elements of culture for characters that were already diverse - admittedly I need to do more research for this so bare with me

Lunar new year (Kira)

Chinese new year (Tracy - actress is half Chinese half native)

Celtic holidays (Deaton/Morell)

More actual Druidic practice

Even Christmas because we never see it in the show

Picture the shambles the pack is in during November/December/January with the three different new years, Christmas, Hanukkah, Yule, anything else I've yet to research. They do the wrong traditions for the wrong holidays, but they love it because it's theirs.

Priority Two

Timing

It felt like lots of things in the show were rushed, or paced strangely (see: just accepting that Werewolves are real in season one) and while of course there is simply limits on how long an episode/season can be - I don't have those same limitations and I plan on taking advantage of it.

Priority Three

Lore

If you read that in MatPat's voice.. same

The show can be.. lacking sometimes. Jeff himself sometimes contradicts his own lore (see: the damn movie) and I want to take more care with this. Stiles gets a reputation for being a researcher, and Peter for being very intelligent - so let's see it! Actually tell us what's in the Bestiary, more clearly define the differences between species, tell us more about who we're seeing. Let teenagers be teenagers and ask questions!

I'm planning on developing Werewolf lore, Kitsune lore, adding extra species, adding more defined rules to Chimeras and more clearly separating Werewolves and Werecoyotes.

Priority Four

Characterisation/Relationships

I'm grouping these two together because I feel like they kind of go hand in hand in some elements, but this covers a lot of ground.

Age - no cop outs, everyone has a concrete age that we are informed of, no changing age for plot reasons down the age and fucking up the timeline.

No random switching of sides (See: Peter in season four)

No strange out of character moments that don't make sense (See: Stiles/Scott drama in S5)

Making some characters more three dimensional, and keeping them around (Danny, Corey, Mason, Boyd)

I have.. thoughts on some teen wolf ships, and I'm going to be playing around with them, but nothing is set in stone just yet

Characters have strangely placed emotions sometimes, either more angry or less than I think feels right so I'll be adjusting that too

I'm totally not done, I haven't even reached season two as far as planning goes just yet but this is my plan for structure:

Each season will be listed as a fic on AO3, in a wider collection. Each chapter will be an episode. I will rewrite the show episode by episode, adding episodes where I think it's necessary (namely season one, since it's half the length).

I've got some friends working on it with me, those on Tumblr are

@fairylightsandthings and @claryeverlarkf

Though there's a total of six of us!

As progress is made, I'm thinking I'll post updates under the first tag below. I'm also going to work on my Bestiary rewrite in tandem with the series rewrite.

Can I interest anyone

In the beginnings of my plans for a Teen Wolf Rewrite?

S1 all the way to the movie

[luulapants]

Goncharov (1973) is a perfect example of how fandom creates a shell around a piece of media and then slowly erodes the core it was originally built upon.

I have been in two fandoms that echo chambered their way to a theory invalidating all of canon, thereby making the source material itself irrelevant. One is the “Scott is an unreliable narrator” theory from the Teen Wolf fandom, which uses an odd POV choice from the series finale (the protagonist telling the story of their final battle to a character in a flash-forward) as evidence that the entire SHOW is actually him telling a heavily edited version of the story to make himself look like the hero. The other is the “Ghostfacers Effect” from the Supernatural fandom which also uses a weird POV episode (told through camera footage from a ghost hunting crew) to argue that, because the characters swear (bleeped out) in that episode but nowhere else in the series, this is evidence that the whole series is censored and edited by the author/God Chuck.

Both fandoms had animosity between fans and show creators, especially from queer shipping bases. Both have a huge amount of fanworks for those ships, and both experienced the “fandom echochamber” effect. Reinforced by positive responses from those seeking fluffy, kinky, self-insert, or otherwise wish-fulfilling stories, popular fanon characterizations slowly drifted until many fanworks featured characters virtually unrecognizable as their canon counterpart.

These drifts are addressed differently throughout fandom: Most people look at it and say, “No, that’s not canon, but it’s fun to read sometimes anyway,” or “This is just my headcanon.” Fanfic readers who never watched the source material are oblivious and perpetuate fanon characterizations as canon. Canon lovers decry the OOC-ness and complain that they can’t find fics about the actual characters they want to read about.

And some start arguing that fanon is actually more correct than canon.

Thus, the erosion of canon begins. “These episodes don’t count because the head writer was garbage.” “They made the character act like that to advance the plot - they wouldn’t have actually done that.” “Everything after this season is basically a different show.” “This happened off-screen but the network was too cowardly to show us.” And, finally, “Canon isn’t real.”

There is no canon. It’s a fanon shell wrapped around a desiccated center.

It’s Goncharov (1973).

Why do we need a source material? Canon isn’t real!

No shit canon isn’t real. It’s a fictional show.

You can’t argue the objective reality of a fictional story.

“But what’s the truth?”

None of it. None of it is the truth. It’s about werewolves. It’s about a gay angel. It’s not real.

You can argue objective reality in real-life historical accounts, analyzing sources and biases and excluded viewpoints. In a fictional story with an unreliable narrator, you can argue about what the text of the narration reveals about them. But there is no argument to be had about the objective reality of a fictional character. They are the text. Everything else is interpretation.

Why can’t your interpretation be what it is: an interpretation? Why can’t your headcanon be a headcanon? Why do you feel the need to saw the ladder off from underneath you? Why does fanon need to be more “true” than canon? Why would you rather have a fandom built on nothing than a fandom built on a text that disagrees with it?

Goncharov (1973) is the perfect canon because it will never disagree with fanon. It has no voice to do so. It is the perfect void that people have been trying to carve into their respective canons for years.

As Andrey said before his final betrayal, “You once told me you built your empire from nothing. You can’t get something from nothing, Goncharov. And so I fear we are nothing.”