#2AM pairing

[12timetraveler]

if you're still looking for random requests/inspo ♥️ how do you think it would go down if Arthur tried teaching Albert to hunt??

Shot

Content: Arthur Morgan & Albert Mason, hunting, bromance, romance?, 2AM if you squint, cowboys having feelings.

Authors note: Hello Hello! It's been a minute since I've posted anything. I've been dealing with burnout for the last few months and typing words has been like pulling teeth. Even the joys of Black Hills Redemption couldn't pull me out of my slump. But this ask was sent in to me and it sparked an Idea™ so here we are! Hope y'all enjoy.

I really liked this prompt a lot and I had a ton of fun writing it!

I left their relationship a little more open. Y'all know I ship it like FedEx but I didn't really feel like going into the romantic aspects of the relationship so this could be a romance or a bromance. Readers choice.

As always this was written on my phone so if you see any typos or weird autocorrect things, no you don't.

Also just a shout-out to Matt if you're reading this! You sparked some Albert content in my brain which has been very helpful for overcoming the writer's block so thank you! 💙

The full story can be read below or on AO3 (Must be logged in to view on AO3. Blame AI bots for that.)

~~~~~~~~~~~

“If you're going to be out in the wilderness, you need to know how to survive,” Arthur had explained to Albert over some drinks at the Valentine saloon. “What if your horse spooks and runs off with all your supplies?”

Arthur bumped into Albert on the road into town; Arthur looking for a drink to celebrate a job well done, and Albert riding in to rent out a hotel room for the night. After some friendly chatter on the ride in the two had gone to the saloon together for a drink.

“I know I'm not the adventurous type, but I do know how to make a fire.” Albert huffed good naturedly.

“But do you know how to find water, shelter? Do you know good water from bad? Can you hunt?”

“Mr. Morgan, you know I'm not terribly fond of the sport.” Albert cut in.

“Ain't a sport when it's survival on the line,” Arthur countered. “I'm not talking about shooting an animal just for fun, or to show off. I'm talking about finding a rabbit to eat when you're on the brink of starvation.”

“Well…”

“Listen, I understand why you hate trophy hunters. Killing an animal and leaving most of it out to rot is a damn waste. If I hunt something, I use as much as I can. I eat the meat, turn the pelt into something useful, use any part of it I can. Even if it's just a little trinket on my belt. That's the kind of hunting I'm talking about.”

“I suppose I don't have much experience there,” he admitted. “My father took me duck hunting once but it was just sport. He was usually busy drinking with his business partners. I never really paid much attention.”

“Well, now's as good a time as any. ‘Specially if you're gonna be wandering the wilds taking photos of animals.”

~~~~~~

“I-I’m not so sure about this, Mr. Morgan,” Albert stammered as the two men dismounted their horses just east of Twin Stack pass, in the fields south of the oil field. “I really don't think it's necessary.”

“You're the one wandering the backcountry taking photographs of wild animals. You need some survival experience.” Arthur replied. “Shooting bottles out behind the saloon can only get you so far. You need to try on something real.”

"Mr. Morgan I…” Albert stopped walking, nervously rubbing his hands together. Arthur turned to face him. “I don't know if I can do it.”

Arthur softened slightly. He understood Albert, to a point. He remembered vividly when Hosea had taken him hunting for the first time when he was 15. The thought of killing an animal had turned his stomach. He actually threw up after his first downed deer. He had always had a soft spot for animals, and never wanted to see them suffer. Any time he went hunting, even now, he'd kick himself for hours if it wasn't a clean shot, and the animal suffered at his hands.

“First off, please call me Arthur,” he began, stepping toward the man.

“Then please, call me Albert.”

“Alright, Albert,” Arthur chuckled. “I know it ain't easy. You don't want to see the poor animal suffer. You don't want to become like those poachers who waste everything for a trophy.”

“Exactly,” Albert sighed, openly relieved that Arthur understood his hesitancy.

“But we ain't talking about that kind of hunting. We're talking about survival. Catching a rabbit to feed yourself for the night. That's it. It's no different than eating beef or pork. Just more work.”

“I guess I see your point,” Albert relented.

“With any luck you'll never have to hunt for food. But if your horse spooks or you get stranded or for any reason you need to survive, you need to know how to hunt.”

“Alright,” Albert straightened up, steeling himself for the lesson at hand. “Let's go.”

“Good,” Arthur said, patting Albert’s shoulder. “Now you might want to invest in a little varmint rifle, or even just a standard rifle for protection, seeing as you're out trying to photograph predators. But for today, you can use mine.” Arthur pulled out his varmint rifle and handed it to Albert.

The gun looked a little awkward in the photographer’s hands, like he wasn't entirely comfortable holding it. But he and Arthur had done some practice shots before heading out here, so he at least had some familiarity with the weapon.

“Check that it's loaded,” Arthur instructed, and Albert paused, following Arthur's earlier lesson on loading the gun. Knowing he'd emptied it before putting it on his horse, Arthur handed him some ammo to load the gun before Albert could even ask.

“Thank you,” Albert chirped, nodding politely to Arthur as he began loading the gun. “Would you bring something as well?” Albert glanced over at Arthur as he slid the bullets into their place. “In case my shot is bad, will you bring a gun to finish it off so it doesn't suffer?”

“Sure,” Arthur agreed. “I think that's a fine idea.” Arthur slipped his bow and arrow from the saddle. “No point in bringing in another gun and ruining the meat.” He explained.

“Right,” Albert hummed. “If we're going to hunt the animal, we should make sure it's usable.”

“Follow me,” Arthur said, guiding Albert up the hill a little way.

“See these little holes in the hillside?” Arthur asked, pointing to a few small caves in the dirt as they climbed “Entrances to the warren.”

“How do you know they're not badger holes?”

“Too many to be a badger den. Besides the tracks around are rabbit, not badger.” Arthur shrugged. “Come on. We'll get up here on the rocks overlooking the warren and wait.”

Carefully the two men positioned themselves up on the rocks near the top of the hill, looking down over the slope. Arthur crouched down with a sigh, and Albert moved to do the same.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait,” Arthur grunted. “It's cooling off so they'll likely come out to feed as the shadows grow longer. Just need a little patience.”

“Right,” Albert breathed, settling in on the rock on one knee, varmint rifle gripped loosely in one hand.

The two men waited about twenty minutes, neither saying a word. Albert’s knees had grown sore, then moved beyond, to that painful numbness. Despite this he kept still and did his best not to make a sound. Finally his patience was rewarded.

“Oh, look! A rabbit,” Albert whispered. “What a beautiful shot. I should get a picture–”

“That ain't the kind of shooting we're doing today, Albert,” Arthur chuckled in a low whisper, reminding the photographer why they were there. He knocked an arrow in his bow, ready just in case Albert needed the assist.

“Oh. Right, of course.” Albert whispered. He took a deep breath and raised the gun.

“Good, good,” Arthur soothed. “Get it's head right in your sights for a clean kill, wait for it to stop to eat for a moment.” Arthur could feel the man trembling a little beside him, but Albert was focused on the task at hand. “Take a deep breath in, and out. Always shoot on empty lungs.”

Albert took a couple deep breaths to steady his trembling hands. Everything else seemed to go quiet, and as he finished an exhale, he pulled the trigger.

The shot was good, but the rabbit turned it's head at the last second, and the kill wasn't as clean as either men hoped. Arthur quickly followed it with an arrow, ending the animals suffering.

“Damn,” Albert sighed, defeated.

“Don't beat yourself up. It would have been a good shot if it hadn't moved. Unfortunately sometimes that happens. They ain't prone to just sitting still and letting you get the shot,” Arthur assured him, patting his shoulder. “Even if I hadn't been here, you could have ended it's suffering with another shot, or a twist to the neck.”

Albert shuddered at the thought. But deep down he knew Arthur was right. “I never got a shot like that when my father took me hunting,” he noted.

“Well, the kind of hunting your father was doing sounded a lot more like an excuse to get out of the house and go drinking, instead of actually hunting,” Arthur grunted, swinging his bow over his shoulder. “Now let's go get our catch and clean it.” Arthur offered Albert a hand up.

“Oh,” Albert’s face paled. “We're going to skin and butcher it too?”

“Would be a waste to just leave it here,” Arthur pointed out. “It's death should mean something, even if it's only filling the bellies of two fools like us.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“Come on let's set up a camp further up the hill and we'll have some supper.”

~~~~~~

Albert looked rather squeamish as Arthur showed him how to skin and butcher the rabbit. But he watched with rapt attention, following Arthurs every move with his eyes.

“And that's about it for cleaning it,” Arthur said, holding up the skinned and cleaned rabbit by its back legs. “Then all that's left to do is cook it. Could just throw it over the fire, but if you've got some herbs, it makes it a little more palatable. Lucky for us,” Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled out some thyme. “I've got some seasoning.”

“A gourmet campfire meal,” Albert chirped, much to Arthur's amusement. Using some rendered animal fat he rubbed the herbs into the meat before placing it on a crudely constructed spit over the fire.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Albert continued, giving Arthur a small smile. “I know I've been, shall we say, a reluctant student. But I know that it's good for me to know how to do this.”

“Just don't want to hear about you starving in the wilderness,” Arthur grunted as he sat down by the fire. “By dumb luck you've somehow survived enough trouble with the animals you're photographing. I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It wasn't dumb luck, it was with your help.” Albert settled in the dirt across the fire from him.

“I've only helped a couple of times,” Arthur shrugged, pulling out his journal.

“Maybe, but you've helped more than I can say,” Albert mirrored Arthur, retrieving his own notebook and pen to begin scrawling notes from the day.

“Whatever you say,” Arthur shook his head, turning his attention to his journal.

As the rabbit cooked the men spent the time in silence, each writing down the events of the day. Albert noted the animals he saw, the animals he photographed and where he was when he did so. He also notated the spots he visited that had resulted in no wildlife.

Arthur journaled about the job he worked, totalling up the earnings and doing the math of what to provide to the gang. He also tidied up a quick sketch he'd done of the burnt town below Horseshoe Overlook, as well as a chipmunk he drew.

Both men finished up their writing by noting the coincidence of meeting up with the other, and the events that led them to be sharing a campfire out in the Heartlands. Not that either man would know he was included in the other man's writing.

“Rabbit should be about done,” Arthur said, closing his journal and tucking it away.

“Marvelous,” Albert set his notebook aside and pulled out a pair of tin camping plates and forks. “I have a pair of these we can use.”

Arthur took the plates with a grunted thanks, using his knife to carve the meat off the rabbit until the plates had an even helping of rabbit. He handed one plate back to Albert before settling in with his plate, digging in immediately.

Albert picked at the rabbit slowly, seemingly lost in thought as he stared at the sparse meat on his plate. He took a bite or two, slowly, as if tasting it for the first time.

“You ever eaten rabbit before, Albert?” Arthur asked, studying the man.

“Yes,” Albert flashed Arthur a sheepish smile. “Many times. I suppose it's just different when you see the entire process. See it going from a living animal to a meal on your plate is a bit… jarring. Usually I see it already carved at the butchers, or fully cooked on my plate in front of me.”

“I suppose it would be jarring,” Arthur hummed, scratching his chin. “But after all it's just nature. If we didn't eat it, a fox or coyote probably would have.”

“Very true,” Albert sighed. The two men were quiet for a moment, Arthur taking another bite of rabbit while Albert was lost in thought. “I admire you, Arthur.”

Arthur nearly choked on his food, pounding on his chest a few times to correct it's passage to his stomach. He also had to push aside the way his heart skipped a beat. He'd spent too long living the life of the delinquent outlaw cowboy. There's no way Albert meant it like that.

“Why d’you say a fool thing like that?” Arthur huffed.

“Because I do. You have such a high regard for nature. A trait most hunters I've met are sorely lacking. A respect for life that others just don't have.”

Arthur’s face fell slightly. “I really don't.” He huffed, attempting to lighten the mood with a chuckle.

When he braved to look at Albert once more he only saw a knowing half-smile. Did he know who Arthur was? Well, to be fair he hadn't exactly used a cover name. All Albert would have to do is read the paper and he'd know who Arthur was. But if he knew, why hadn't he turned Arthur in?

Albert just shook his head, as if reading Arthur's thoughts. “Respect for animal life, then,” he countered.

Arthur didn't know what to say. Albert was such a gentle, polite man. How could he be sitting here, talking to a known killer, and calling him admirable?

“Guess I got enough blood on my hands,” Arthur shrugged, deflecting the compliment, as usual. “Seen enough suffering without adding any more to it.”

“I think there are too many people in the world who don't care how much blood they spill, human or animal,” Albert remarked. “They lose their humanity.”

“Most days mine is hanging by a thread,” Arthur grumbled, voice full of self loathing.

“I think you've got a stronger grip on your humanity than you think,” Albert set his food aside, attention all on Arthur.

“You… you understand what I do.” Arthur waved his hand, not really wanting to say it. Albert nodded a confirmation. “You've probably seen my name in papers, or on bounty posters. You know I ain't a good man. Battery, robbery… murder. I don't think I could get much worse. I ain't got much humanity left.”

“It's true those are some… high crimes,” Albert relented. “And yet, in talking to you, I see more humanity than I do in the high society crowd. The leaders of the nation are soulless. They're only out for themselves. Wouldn't help an old lady cross the street, let alone random fools they find in the wilderness.”

“You sure you're not an outlaw?” Arthur huffed. “Sound a lot like my mentor. He loves to ramble on about how crooked society is.”

“We both know if never cut it as an outlaw,” Albert snickered. “I'd die on day one. And it wouldn't be to a gun. I'd sooner trip and get trampled.” The two men laughed at that before Albert continued.

“Whatever your reasons for doing the things you do, I don't think you're the monster the papers make you out to be,” Albert explained. “Every time I've met you, you've been nothing but helpful and kind, if a little gruff. You may be a sinner, but aren't we all?”

“I think my sins may be a little greater than yours,” Arthur scoffed.

Albert only shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the greatness of our sins varies by the hands we're dealt. The life we live. It's easy to be good when you're born with a silver spoon. It's harder to be good when you're fighting every day just to survive.”

“You a philosopher now?” Arthur chuckled.

“I've had a lot of time to ponder life's intricacies of late. Seeing nature in all her beauty will do that.” Albert shrugged. “But my point is, I've met you a handful of times now. You've never given me any reason to doubt you. The papers say you're a monster but I consider you… a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” Albert affirmed. “A friend, if you'll have me.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, staring at Albert, trying to decide how to respond. He clearly couldn't respond with his true thoughts on the matter. He wasn't any good at the sappy emotional side of friendship. His friendships usually considered of having each other's backs and teasing each other relentlessly. Maybe the occasional fishing trip.

“You shouldn't have left your food unattended,” Arthur noted, nodding to the tin plate Albert had set down. It was now empty, the bushy tail of a fox disappearing into the bushes behind him. The fox let out it's laughing call as it darted away with what was left of Alberts dinner.

“God damnit all,” Albert huffed, grabbing his plate and glaring after the fox.

“Here. You can have some of mine.”

“No, you eat, I'll be fine.” Albert tried to protest, but Arthur had already halved the meat on his plate and plopped it onto Albert’s.

“That's what friends are for,” Arthur shrugged. It was the best way for him to confirm Albert's statement. They were friends, as odd of a pair as they may have been. Albert grinned, bobbing his head in thank you before digging in to the small amount of rabbit that remained.

“So, what else have you gotten pictures of since I last saw you with the horses?” Arthur asked.

“Oh let's see. Well I did finally get a picture of a coyote after our first encounter,” he hummed. “And then the wolves. But I showed you that one. The horses, um… oh I caught a beautiful shot of some bison rutting in the dirt. And a loon on the river.”

The rest of the evening consisted of the two men swapping stories of their adventures. Albert detailed all the many trials he'd faced trying to complete his project. Arthur in turn told him if the strange things he'd seen on his adventures. The glowing green light over a cabin in the heartlands. The cauldron of grey liquid up in the hills of Ambarino. The strange bones he'd found in, on and around Mount Shann. Just little things, talking long after the moon rose in the sky, until neither man could keep from yawning.

An unlikely friendship, but one that made a huge difference in both men's lives.

[ghostieblr]

Peter's Vows

When Derek is born, there is an earthquake. Beacon Hills is many things, but it is not a place of earthquakes. This is an anomaly, this sudden shaking of the land, and Peter watches Talia go through the pain of birthing a cub, and he makes note of how her cries resonate with the moving earth. As the baby is brought to the world of the living, the earth shakes more; giddy, Peter thinks of the land. Giddy at this baby's birth. That's what it is.

The town reels with the destruction, however minimal it seems to be. It is the strangeness of the earthquake that has the people in a panic, and it takes two days of Mayor Yukimura calling for council meetings and community barbecues that they begin to somehwat calm down.

The baby is named Derek on the first day itself, born underneath the Nemeton, his pale blue eyes reflecting the moonlight in silver hues. Talia sobs with relief, Nathan beside her, stroking her hair. Laura is back at the pack house, safely tucked in the bed, the rest of the pack members keeping watch. Talia had wanted to bring her with them, fearing the worst of the anomaly, but their mom had convinced her to not do it. The birth of the Alpha's cub is a big deal, but it is also private: only the Mate, Emissary and Left Hand are allowed to be present, for comfort, safety, and protection, respectively.

It has been tradition since ages, and Talia is the last person to break it.

Derek is a calm baby. Sleeps through the night, doesn't cry for attention. Only does it for feeding, his survival instinct as strong as his lungs. Peter adores him, even if he may never admit it to anyone.

He is also curious about the boy. Why an earthquake? It cannot be a coincidence. Truly, he wonders how some people can be so dumb. Calling it a coincidence is insulting to the Powers That Be, which must have called upon such a natural reaction of the land for a reason. Derek is a special boy, and Peter vows to find out how.

Besides his incredibly compassionate heart, that is.

It is in his eyes, which have slowly turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the kindness of him. Derek's trust is not so easily earned, but once it is, it is extremely difficult to dislodge it.

Derek is a boy destined to become a kind man, one that will be an Alpha with mercy in his heart but cunning in his mind. Peter sees the makings of it right from the beginning, the way the boy will procure solutions to his own problems as well as those he deems important to him. Laura is the first born and thus has the claim to being the next Hale Alpha, however Peter knows, somehow, perhaps instinctually, that Derek will be the Alpha.

Another piece of the puzzle falls in place when their emissary falls pregnant. She's an amazing woman, Claudia. Peter likes her wit and humor, and he enjoys the perspective of her husband, the deputy, and if luck is on his side, soon-to-be Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Peter is happy for the couple.

He is, also, astonished to see an almost five-year-old Derek climb onto Claudia's lap one morning, his small fists rubbing against his eyes, and his nose scrunching determinedly to find a scent.

Peter remembers the conversation well.

"Derek, honey? What are you trying to find?"

"Mine," is what Derek growls in reply to Claudia, and shoves his nose against her barely-showing belly.

Peter's laughing figure is shot out of the end of the couch and onto the floor by Claudia's impeccable throw of one of the decorative pillows from said couch.

Thereafter, it was peculiar but not unseemly to find Derek following beside Claudia, his whole little being focused on the life forming inside her. And when the night came, Peter wasn't at all surprised to witness the thunderstorm.

Claudia had plans of giving birth in the hospital, but due to miscalculated steps, or simply because of reasons not privy to them, the best possible option left for her seemed to be below the Nemeton.

John had lost his damn mind at the prospect. "It's raining! Heavily!"

"Talia gave birth in an earthquake," Claudia says through gritted teeth, "And the baby doesn't care, nor do I, John. It is—"

Her words are cut off by another scream, and she is right, of course. It is time.

Talia, John, and Peter are the only ones who should go with her, but Derek, the little sneaky wolf that he seems to have become, follows them. It isn't until halfway through that John, the human, realizes his presence first.

They move forward with the determined little boy, who is all sopping wet in his wolf onesie, and really, this is no laughing matter. Except it is.

Claudia is brought below the Nemeton, and the tree, big and branching and beautiful, hums in their presence. The canopy of it sheds them some, but not completely.

And so, under hard rain and sharp thunderstorms, Mieczysław Stilinski is born, his little body almost white under the moonlight, and his eyes, when they open, a shock of topaz, like a glinting jewel; a fallen angel, Peter thinks.

Derek carefully wraps the baby in the blanket Talia removes from the packed bag, her movements locked onto her son's and the baby's, while John tends to his wife.

Peter watches. He notes the way the baby is calmest in Derek's arms, the way Derek is mesmerized.

This is more than just being True Mates.

True Mates itself are the rarest of occurrences, but something tells him this is more than that. The earthquake, and this sudden rain, in April of all things, simply cannot be coincidence. There must be a reason, one that Peter must uncover.

In the coming years, he dedicates his time to the quest, and finds that, oh, this is something unique indeed.

Unique to the point of legend.

Of course, he gathers facts before telling anyone. Derek's control goes onto the list, as does his ability to switch between his shift as easy as breathing. Having such control at the age of seven is almost impossible, but he has it without the growing ego that would have inflated anyone else's with the amount of praise he gets.

Stiles, as Derek had nicknamed Mieczysław almost immediately post his arrival in the world, is no human. His mother's line has some pretty strong magical abilities, but the kind of power that this boy exudes surpasses imagination. Nobody notices at first, not even Peter, until Stiles is a couple of months past his third birthday. It truly isn't until Derek, almost nine, comes down from his room one day into the kitchen, says, "Which packet, Stiles?" that they realize it.

"Honey, he isn't a wolf. He cannot hear you," Nathan tells him, but Derek just shrugs.

"He is for today."

Peter hears the, "Blue one! Blue one! Blue is sooo pretty, Derek!" from Stiles, who is definitely sitting in Derek's room, upstairs.

Derek grabs the blue packet and goes upstairs, and Peter follows, followed by Talia and Nathan, who beckon Claudia as well.

Stiles sitting on the floor, a myriad of toys around him, while the packets of chips sit beside him, torn open, evidently by Derek's claws, who himself is playing with Stiles.

And they're both being fed flying chips.

The three wolves turn to Claudia as one. Her shaking head and awed face is enough to clue them in, and really, Peter thinks, this is fucking incredible.

Powers don't manifest as early as this in magic wielders. They're more of the puberty package, tied to emotions at the beginning rather than will.

This is... defying it.

Peter loves to see when the next piece of the puzzle will fall.

And it does oh so enticingly.

Years later, when Derek is fourteen and Stiles is almost nine, comes the first trial. The Alpha Summit & The Argent Treaty.

Peter doesn't believe Gerard's words to do no harm, so he sets up precautions in place. It pays off, because during the summit, he almost ends up blinding Deaucalion — something that could have turned super bad if left unchecked.

Gerard's attack is met with swift retaliation, but somehow, only his goons end up dead. Gerard himself remains free, and through sheer will, maybe, the old man manages to kidnap Laura.

By the time the adults sniff out their cub, they're too late.

Not in the sense of Laura being hurt, but in the terms of missing the action, somewhat.

When they enter the warehouse, they are faced with Gerard being held down by a black wolf, fangs around his neck, the eyes of the creature a deep, ruby red. Deeper than Talia's. At first, they all assume it to be one of the visiting Alphas, but then they realize Stiles' presence, too, and it clicks.

Stiles frees Laura from the painful looking electric rod, and comes back to Derek, coaxes him back to his human form as Peter and Nathan take care of the psychopath.

Laura lets Talia mother her, and then says, "We'll have two Alphas."

Talia looks at the now human Derek, and eyes shining with pride, she nods. "Come here, both of you," she beckons, and the boys run, Stiles' chattering a comforting sound for all of them.

A few weeks later, Derek admits to everyone he has a new friend, and talks about her often. Paige this, Paige that. Laura teases him, restrained in her words, trying not to upset Derek's control. Even Cora pulls back. Stiles, though, is almost worse.

He riles Derek to the point of him using his Alpha voice to shut up, and the whole Pack silences itself, even Talia. Stiles, though — an exception to all things sane — doesn't back down. The voice doesn't work on him, and Derek isn't phased by it. However, the smell of guilt filters through their home, and Stiles' sigh is followed by comforting words. There is no apologizing though.

Soon, they'll learn from Derek himself that he hates that everyone is walking on eggshells. That is why he kept bringing up Paige, so that someone would tease him, uncle Peter, Laura, Cora. Or that Stiles would rile him up.

"Why would he, though? He should be happy for you. I am." Cora's words are met with a laugh from Derek, and a groan of embarrassement from Stiles.

"He's weirdly possessive — don't push me, you know you are."

"Alright," Stiles sighs, "I am."

"And Paige is a great friend, but I don't nearly think about her as much as I might have let you all believe."

And that is when Peter sees it. The blink-and-you-will-miss-it purple flash of Stiles' eyes. Peter doesn't put thought into why now; he simply focuses on completing the puzzle.

And he does. True Alpha and Purple Eyes? That's easy.

That's legend.

Set in stone as the first Alpha and the first Emissary as well as Spark, who, arguably, also set in stone the sword of Excalibur.

That part of the legend has questionable sources, though. Sure, Merlin Emrys is, as per theories, the most powerful sorcerer of all time, and Arthur Pendragon the greatest ruler, the once and future king, but it doesn't have as much merit.

What Peter is sure about is that somehow, the Powers That Be decided that this is the pack to send these two to.

He watches Stiles argue about the best type of pasta with Derek, and thinks, suddenly, that perhaps this is their happy ending. What legends end happy? None. So this must be their time to be happy.

Peter vows another quest, then. To always protect Derek and Stiles.

[flowercrowngods]

based on this concept of steve and mike coming out to each other

🤍 also on ao3

The sun is setting in beautiful hues of pink and purple, tinging the town of Hawkins, Indiana, in a light of serenity and beauty it doesn’t really deserve. Steve’s hands are gripped tight around the steering wheel as he carefully scans the road and the houses he passes.

He almost misses the bike where it’s lying on the curb, carelessly discarded by the looks of it, and a tinge of worry shadows his frown. Worry that doesn’t quite dissipate when he spots the figure sitting on the roof, almost black against the lilac colour of the sky, but he breathes a sigh of relief. He considers grabbing the radio to let the others know he found Mike, but decides against it. Something tells him that maybe they’ll take a while. Something tells him there’s more to Will’s stunned silence and Mike’s sudden departure from where they were all hanging out at Steve’s after another successful Hellfire session. 

With a sigh, Steve cuts the engine and gets out of the car, keeping his eyes on Mike the whole time — ready for him to take off again, ready to go sit a while and wait for him to come back. But Mike doesn’t move, even after he shuts the door and approaches the Wheelers’ house. He doesn’t acknowledge Steve when he pulls himself up to the roof, easier this time than the first time he did this. 

There’s a snide comment in the air between them, a version of Mike that would have lashed out at him, made fun of and insulted him. But this one just sits there, hands in his lap, frown on his face, and stares ahead. 

“What do you want,” he asks eventually, though it doesn’t have the kind of heat that Steve expects. He barely even sounds like a teenager. Just sort of… dejected. Steve aches for him; just a little bit. 

“Just making sure you’re alright,” Steve says, shrugging, looking ahead as well so Mike doesn’t feel watched. Or seen, maybe. 

Because the thing is, Steve does see him. He sees the way he looks at Will sometimes, and the way his eyes fill with something that can only be described as yearning, or aching, followed by regret and fear. Which always, always turn into anger. Into frustration. Into snide comments and rolled eyes and walls that keep getting an inch added to them each day. It’s never directed at Will, that anger, and rarely at the rest of the Party, but Steve still sees it. Gets the worst of it and takes it, because he knows something about how that feels. 

He knows something about looking at someone like that, about feeling that fear, that regret, that worry that come with it. He knows something about never really daring to meet someone’s eyes for fear of what they would see. 

“I’m alright,” Mike says, sounding anything but. There’s a bitterness in his voice. Frustration in the way his thumb is picking at the skin of his fingers. Confusion in the tension of his shoulders, and Steve feels like he only needs to make one wrong move, say one wrong word, make a single sound that’s off key to the melody of this moment, and Mike will jump off the roof and take off again with his bike. 

So all he says, after a moment’s consideration, is, “Cool.” Like he believes him. Giving Mike room to breathe, room to pretend. He knows something about that, too. 

He knows and he sees and he feels. 

And suddenly he wants to say something he’s never said before, something he didn’t even get to tell Robin because she knew and saw and felt, too, taking something from him that he hasn’t yet been ready to reclaim for himself. 

And maybe it’s because he sees something of himself in the way Mike holds himself, in the way he snaps at anyone willing to listen, in the way he frowns in regret and barely meets anyone’s eyes except when it’s in challenge — and, most of all, in the way he never, never meets Will’s eyes. In the way he looks away when the other boy turns to him, and in the way his eyes will snap back and take in everything about his best friend when he’s not aware of it. 

Maybe it’s because the sky is pink and lilac and purple above them, allowing for a certain magic to happen, allowing for a bravery that doesn’t come easy to him; but as he sits on the roof next to Mike Wheeler, the only one of the Party he never really connected with, he closes his eyes against the breeze that catches in his hair and opens his jacket a little further, slithering beneath the fabric as if in a brief embrace, a nudge, a sign to take this leap, and takes a deep breath. 

His heart is picking up its pace inside his chest, taking this leap along wit him, and pulls up one of his legs to wrap his hands around it — just to have something to hold onto. 

He opens his mouth once, twice, three times, but the words never really come out. They don’t know how, and he’s beginning to tremble a little with it, tension building in his chest where the words are still locked away, hidden among layers of truth. 

Mike looks over with a frown and eyes him warily. It makes Steve want to laugh, this sudden change of pace, but he just keeps staring ahead; even when Mike asks, “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. And then then dam is broken and breaking further, and with another deep breath, still not meeting Mike’s eyes, instead focusing on the tree tops in the distance that shine in hues of purple, he finally says, “I’m kind of dating Eddie Munson.” 

And just like that, it’s out. He’s out. 

He doesn’t know if the world still spins, if time still passes, if he still breathes, because for a moment there is only silence. Mike stops picking at the skin of his fingers, Steve stops trembling, and neither of them moves. 

It’s both anticlimactic and momentous, this silence between them when their eyes meet. When the words unfold and grow wings, when Mike understands, his eyes growing big with something that Steve can’t quite read with how tense he is despite his best efforts. 

The silence stretches between them, surpassing comfort and overstaying its welcome, and suddenly it’s Steve who feels like he’s about to take off if Mike so much as twitches his brows. 

“You… What?” 

Forget it, Steve wants to say. Nothing. 

But also, I’m in love with Eddie Munson. And I used to be in love with Nancy. And that’s okay. Both of that, it’s okay. 

He ends up repeating his words, though, because they know what it’s like to be spoken now. “Eddie. I’m kind of dating Eddie.” 

“But…” It’s Mike now whose mouth is opening and closing without saying anything. Mike who’s blinking, trembling a little, twitching, picking at his skin again, moving further along his hand this time to pinch the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Steve almost reaches out to stop him, but he doesn’t really dare to. 

“But?” he prompts after a while, not quite comfortable with this loaded kind of silence. 

“Eddie’s a boy.” 

But Tammy Thompson is a girl. 

“I know,” Steve says, his tone carefully neutral, wanting to see, to wait where Mike takes this, to hear what’s on his mind, to watch the wheels turn and the gears shift. He feels awfully raw and open, vulnerable with someone who hasn’t been treating that with care yet. But there’s something about this moment that feels bigger than his own fears, bigger than the light nausea settling in his gut; far more important than the way he wants to run and hide, away from the scrutiny. 

“And…” Mike continues, still battling the words inside his head. Steve wonders if there are too many or none at all. “But you… You loved Nancy.” 

Ah. Smart boy. “I did,” Steve says with a small smile. “And it was never a lie. But I found that… Yeah, I can kinda like boys, too, y’know? And that’s, like, okay.”

A beat. A frown. A confused, hopeful, small, “It is?” 

Steve just nods, smiling in reassurance and relief at equal measures. Silence settles once more, now that the sky has darkened into a deeper, darker blue; but it’s not as loaded this time, not as tense. It’s an invitation. An offering. A promise of I’m here, I’m with you, you can take as long as you need. To get down from the roof, to come back, to come out of wherever you think you need to hide from the world. 

Mike takes it. He stays, pulling up his leg, too, mirroring Steve’s pose and staring ahead, but not as far away. He seems alert, seems to be thinking rather than dwelling, seems to be gearing up for something. Steve watches and sees and knows, remaining patient beside him, his chin resting on his knee as Mike learns to deal with this new world that has been presented to him. This new world that comes with opportunities and chances and possibilities that are scary and big and difficult to make. 

“Y’know,” Mike starts at last, interrupting the silence, playing with it, his voice hushed and quiet to keep it from disappearing completely. “Lucas, when he had that championship game? He told us, Dustin and me, that we didn’t have to be the losers this time. The nerds. The outcasts. Different. And all I wanted was to scream at him, because…” 

Mike swallows his words, keeping them from tumbling out of his mouth, and Steve aches for him again. He wants to reach out, wants to say it’s okay, tell him it’s alright, to take his time. But he waits in silence, lets Mike find the bravery he needs on his own, and waits. 

“Because how could he say that, you know? How could he, when… Will wasn’t there. And all I did, all I ever did anymore, was miss him. And I loved El, I knew I did. And she was gone, too, but…” 

He trails off again, and this time Steve picks it up. To let him know he’s not alone. To let Mike know he understands what he’s saying. He understands. “But she’s not Will. You needed Will.” 

“But I shouldn’t!” Mike explodes suddenly, riled up because Steve adds fuel to the fire, because Steve has that same fire, too; and because they are so, so similar when they want to be. “And now he’s back and it should be fine, I shouldn’t be feeling like this, it doesn’t even make sense! How can I…” 

Steve looks at him, at his expression that is nothing but lost — completely and utterly. He’s seen it on the bathroom floor at the mall; high out of his mind as he was, he’ll never forget the way Robin looked at him, the sheer crestfallen expression. All that confusion, all that fear and frustration and, in the end, resignation. He’s seen it in the mirror, and he’s seen it in those pretty brown eyes that he just can’t get out of his head anymore. 

He offers, gently, “How can you need him when he’s right there? How can you love him when a year ago you loved El?”

And Mike just looks at him before he deflates completely, his shoulders falling along with his face. He nods. Shrugs. Looks away and hides his face behind his leg. 

Steve sighs softly, watching the boy and speaking the words he wants to say the sixteen year-old version of himself. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I really don’t, and it sucks sometimes, having this need to, like, decide. Or understand. Or stop and be like the rest of them.” Like Robin and Eddie, or like the rest of the world. “But I like to think, sometimes, that maybe it’s a good thing. That there’s just… I don’t know, it sounds corny as hell, but like, there’s just so much love to give, we can’t even stick to only boys or girls, y’know.” 

“That does sound real corny as fuck, man,” Mike says, and back is that long suffering tone of his, back is that eye roll and the twitching elbow, ready to nudge Steve in the side. It’s still tinged with that vulnerability, not quite Mike yet, but it’s an offering.

One of many tonight, it seems.

Steve grins, a bit lopsided and raw, shoving Mike gently as he remembers something he overheard once. “Sorry, mister Heart of our group, but I don’t think you have any leg to stand on here.”

That makes Mike freeze, though, and he stares at Steve wide-eyed; caught. Exposed. Reminded.

“What did you say?”

“Uh,” Steve falters, not sure where he went wrong — or if he went wrong at all. “I overheard Will calling you that, talking about you to, uhm. Someone. I don’t know. Why, what’s— What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mike says, way too quickly, pulling away again with everything he has, hiding behind those walls once more, and Steve feels whiplash from it.

“Mike,” he says, his voice quiet and gentle as he turns to face him completely.

“No.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. Promises, as much as he can.

“Shut up!”

“You’re not wrong or bad or broken. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I said, shut up, Steve.”

“You should see the way he looks at you, too. You should go talk to him. You—“

Mike lashes out, finally coming out from behind those walls again, only to shove at Steve, to push him away — hard enough for him to lose his balance and almost fall off the roof, clenching one hand on the edge, the other in the rainwater gutter with a bitten-off curse.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Mike reaches for him immediately, snapping out of whatever anger Steve caused, and pulling him back until he’s safe again, apologising over and over, dead to Steve’s promises that it’s alright. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Steve, I’m so—“

He pulls Mike against his chest, finally reaching out to hold the boy who always pushes people away when they get too close — quite literally, too.

But he doesn’t shove this time, doesn’t move out of Steve’s grasp as the mumbled apologies become heaving sobs.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re so okay, Mike,” Steve tells him over and over as he holds him. The sky above is almost black now and Steve lets Mike cry into his chest.

It takes a while for Mike to calm down, but Steve just holds him through it, ready to let go whenever Mike wants to pull back and snap out of it again — but he never does, and Steve feels a certain kind of affection for the boy that is usually reserved for Lucas or Dustin.

At last, when he’s calmed down, Mike pulls back a little. “Do you really… Does it… Is it really okay?”

Can it be okay? Can I really like both? Is that not just me, being broken and wrong and bad? Will I get the chance to not be alone?

Steve swallows hard, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah. It’s really okay. ‘N’ I’m with you, yeah? If someone gives you shit for it. Or if you need a reminder.”

And Mike — puffy eyed, snotty nosed, so, so young — looks at him with those trusting eyes and nods, like he believes Steve. Like he trusts him. Like he hopes.

“Just don’t fucking shove me off your roof again.”

Ans just like that, the spell is broken, the tension is lifted, and silence has left them, as Mike almost chokes on a laugh and shoves at him again, lightly this time, before jumping off the roof so Steve can’t retaliate.

“Asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head as he, too, jumps off the roof, dusting off his pants as he watches Mike grabbing his bike. “Hey, Micycle,” he calls, cackling when Mike flips him the bird. “You want a ride back?”

Mike stops, considering as Steve casually flicks his keys into the air and catches them expertly. “What kinda music do you got?”

“The Clash, ‘cause Eddie hates them.”

“Yeah, that’s because they suck!”

Steve snorts, opening the driver’s side door. “Y’know, they’re one of Will’s favourites, actually.”

He watches Mike freeze with a grin on his face, knowing there’s no way the boy would take the bike.

“You’re so annoying,” Mike sighs as he brings his bike close to the garage and carefully lays it on the grass this time before hurrying over to Steve, getting in on the front, rolling his eyes when Steve cackles. “I don’t know why Eddie would date you—“

His words are drowned out when Steve turns up Train in Vain, drumming along on the steering wheel with a shit eating grin. Though the atmosphere is wildly different now, the spell broken and the bubble burst, it’s undeniable that something happened between them. Something big, something important.

Something that makes Mike’s annoyed, long-suffering expression be broken by the smile he’s trying to hide. It makes Steve laugh, elated and feeling something that’s much, much bigger than he himself ever could be.

It’s going to be okay. So, so okay.

Before they know it, they’re pulling up to Steve’s and he turns off the car, is about to get out when Mike makes him still again.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s cool. You and Eddie.”

He smiles, relief and fondness washing over him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He reaches over and ruffles Mike’s hair — a wild mane these days, but they could make it work with some care and some products. “Now go get your man, lover boy.”

“God, you suck so much, you’re so annoying!”

Steve’s cackling again when the passenger door slams shut and Mike lets himself into his house.

He spots a figure in the dark, their face lighting up when they take a drag of a cigarette — and Steve’s heart stumbles in his chest. He scrambles to get out, attempting to look calm and collected, even though Eddie always manages to see right through him.

“Hello, stranger,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Eddie, hiding away in the dark, where the world won’t see their shoulders touch, or their fingers tentatively playing with each other before they can’t take it no longer and lace their hands, holding on tight.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I think. But, uhm… I told him. About me. About us. That, uh. That okay?”

Even in the dark, Steve can feel eyes on him, but he just stares ahead, opting instead to give his warm hand a squeeze. He smiles when Eddie’s thumb begins to draw patterns on his palm.

“Hmm. Very. You think they’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, stealing Eddie’s cigarette from his mouth and pulling it between his own lips. “Yeah, I think they will be.”

[wispurring-moss]

uh oh, how did it become 2am already??? 🤯

...well, anyways. just a coupla guys being dudes~ <3

[gomzdrawfr]

"hey I need a favor rq"

this is based off this:

[prairiemule]

Yeehawgust 2024, Day 13 - Where the Buffalo Roam

[yaolmao]

I cannot fathom the idea that people hated Near so much that they deprived him of his doomed tragic yaoi relationship with Mello and instead pair his other half to a guy who had a total of ten panels and a minute screen time, becoming its most popular pair, for YEARS

[savagesyeah]

You belong with me by Taylor Swift has big prongsfoot vibe but nobody is ready to talk about it yet, maybe in a few months we will see it.

[ntshastark]

Cesar Cielo (Olympic gold medallist, 6x World Aquatic Championships gold medallist, 50m freestyle World Record holder for 15 years and counting) swam his last Olympics in 2012, and spent Paris 2024 not in the (Olympic) pool, but as a TV Globo/SporTV commentator and Brazilian social media darling.

Bonus:

[mockingjaylad]

speaking of tim… what’s ur tim ships? i’d love to hear

OOO okay okay!!

Generally I think any pairing with YJ98 is amazing and filled with so much chemistry but I am particularly partial to TimKon (I’m sorry but attempting to clone him and continuing to after multiple failed attempts can’t be considered 100% strictly platonic anymore guys [not even mentioning all the other things these guys have done]) and recently I’ve been seeing some TimBart which I haven’t thought about much yet but they are very cute I think !!

Then there’s TimBern of course!! I’ve heard a lot of people talking about how Bernard is barely a character and is too boring but honestly I love him he is such a nerd with his conspiracy shenanigans and I think he’s a perfect character for Tim.

TimSteph I think is better left as Ex-bf-gf-now-high-key-insufferable-friends-who-are-very-close-with-eachother. Also with StephCass and TimKon in mind I think it’s very funny that Steph has dated Tim and Cass has dated Kon. (I don’t remember what comic that happened in but it def did I’m not insane I promise)

And then there is of course queer platonic YJ98 which brings me much joy and then the polyamorous options !! Such as, once again YJ98 and also TimKonBern which I personally think fixes a lot of the issues people have with either pairing and I also think the identity shenanigans would become 10x funnier adding another hero individual to the mix where Tim was already high key sucking at hiding vigilante stuff from the theorist ever Bernard.

[curestardust]

wonderful precure character sheets (x) (x)

Inukai Komugi / Cure Wonderful - Iroha's dog Papillon Inukai Iruha / Cure Friendy Yuki / Cure Nyammy - Mayu's cat Nekoyashima Mayu / Cure Lillian Toyama Satoru, who owns a rabbit named Daifuku

[into-the-feniverse]

My Hero Animals Fair 🐾

[themachine]

themachine, do you have any semi- or so obscure albums to recommend us?

Hi! Yes!

[foodlesoodlesdoodles]

WE DOODLE DUMPING AGAIN W THIS ONE !!!!

[thiefofathousandfaces]

Bdubs and Scar create Season 10 Hermitcraft Parks and Recreation department please im begging

Scar is Parks, Bdubs is Recreation once again I am on my knees

[suckishima]

ushioi for the ask game?

Hmm honestly I'd say doesn't make sense, and does not compel me lol

I like, kiiinda get how people are into them as a pairing, kinda enemies to lovers style (which I love under the right circumstances), but idk Oikawa really fuckin' hates Ushijima lmao. And I just don't see it as like a 'hes secretly attracted to him' or even a hate-fucking type scenario. I think he just straight up hates his guts and would rather set himself on fire than even be near him romantically lmao.

And I think Ushijima has a neutral respect for Oikawa at best, and much more likely probably thinks that he has talent but is ultimately just immature and petty

Send me ships!