#Steter Week 2017

[meggie-stardust]

3, 9, and 24 for the fanfic asks!

Thank you, friend! <3

3. Do you anticipate writing for a new fandom this year? Which one? Not anticipate, no, but that's the sneaky thing about fandom: you never know when the right thing hits at the right time. I haven't consumed anything new that gives me that itch to write, but the year is young...

9. Short term goals… what do you hope to complete this week or in January? I have a Gundam Wing 2x3 WIP that I would like to finish this month. It's been on hold while I did the Steter Bag and the Steter Secret Santa, but I had been on a roll before that. So, I'd like to get that wrapped up, as it's the 3rd in a larger series I've been working on over in that fandom.

24. By the end of this year, you want your fandom to think of you as “that author who _______.” I answered this already, but I want to answer again, and say that I ALSO want to be "that author who did actually finish a WIP from 2017 after not touching it for like 3 years." So, we'll see.

[therapeutic-steter]

Steter Week Prompt November 29: Soulmates, Mates, and Anchors AU

Here’s another one in a new style. This is actually sort of a combination of the prompt from November 24: Season One Rewrite. I’ve been thinking about soulmate animals a lot lately. 

-----break-----

When Stiles was born, a black snake appeared into his crib on the first full moon and never left.

Claudia, whose soulmate animal was a lion, hadn't even flinched, smiling and cooing at the little snake in welcome. It flicked its tongue at her, beady eyes sparking blue, and let Claudia gently stroke its head. John, whose soulmate animal was a bear, just shook his head, wondering at what kinds of trouble his son and his soulmate would get in to.

Stiles was five when his snake's name came to him, smiling as they played outside.

"Peter," he said simply, and the snake hissed, flicking its tongue and slithering around him, now almost three feet long. Stiles giggled, stroking its head. “Peter,” he said again, softer. The snake curled around his wrist and Stiles held it close.

Stiles was nine when his dad's bear snapped at him. Stiles was coloring on the ground next to it, had dropped a crayon and leaned closer to the resting bear to reach a new one. The bear had jerked awake, snapping its impressive jaws, and Stiles had been paralyzed in fear. His snake struck at the bear, hissing angrily and coiling between the two protectively. When Stiles’ dad came down the stairs, he'd been too afraid to say anything, instead grabbing his snake and rushing upstairs to his room. Soul animals reflected the soul whom they represented and he didn't know what to think about what that meant.

Stiles was forced to acknowledge it a few months later though when his mom looked at him one morning before school, and it was like she didn't recognize him. He smiled and offered to help with breakfast like usual and she slapped him before shoving him away, screaming for his father. John told him she didn't mean it, that it was an accident, but Stiles couldn't go near the bear without it growling at him.

Stiles was eleven when his mom started withering, the sickness wasting her away. She only remembered him sometimes, only remembered loving him even less so. She wasn't allowed to be alone with him; if he was visiting, his dad or the lion had to be there. He couldn't even be within sight of the bear. His snake watched her from its perch around his neck, always mistrustful since the first time she’d hit him. She never apologized, even on better days. Stiles cried himself to sleep a lot, with only his snake to see.

Stiles’ mom died before he turned twelve. The bear faded away with her, gone from sight as all soul animals went. The lion followed his dad now, mournful and halved.

Stiles tried to be the perfect son, hid his tears in his pillow, washed his dad's uniforms even though he used too much soap the first few times, tried to cook and clean and keep the house from falling down around them. His dad drank and slept and worked. He didn't look at him; couldn't maybe, Stiles thought, remembering how many times he'd been told his eyes were just like his mom's. Every morning he looked in the mirror in the bathroom and wanted to rip them out. Maybe then his daddy would look at him, would love him again. Then Stiles would brush his teeth, push the thought away, and let his snake curl around his neck as he went to start the day.

Stiles was thirteen and asleep when his snake let out an awful hiss, writhing on his bed. Stiles jerked awake, eyes wild as he hovered frantically, watching his snake in pain and unable to do anything about it. Stiles cried, yelling for his dad who came running down the hall, stumbling through the door blindly and holding his pistol, searching for the intruder. John looked at his son's snake and felt his heart drop, setting his gun on the table and pulling his son into a hug. Stiles sobbed, hiccuping and unable to breath. His snake writhed for hours before it finally lay still. The house phone rang but John ignored it, awareness of his neglect and shame crashing down on him as he let silent tears track down his face for the pain his son was experiencing. Stiles carefully crawled forward when the snake stilled, brushing his fingers down its scales hesitantly before curling around it on the bed. The snake didn't disappear and Stiles’ soul animal didn't appear, so his soulmate must still live, even though the unnatural stillness of the snake still left terror in his veins for his boy. When the phone rang again, he hesitated before rushing to grab it, figuring an emergency had happened at work.

Stiles was thirteen when he met his soulmate. Peter Hale lied in the bed, scars marring his features, with a sullen otter at his side. Stiles crawled into the bed at his side, ignoring the nurse’s instruction, and curled up against the man. Silent tears leaked from his eyes and onto Peter's hospital gown, but no one made a sound. His snake lay limp on Peter's chest where Stiles had gently placed him. The otter let out a soft cry and cuddled under Stiles’ chin. John found him hours later, asleep and clutching at the comatose man's hospital gown. His heart ached and he fought not cry at the sight.

When Stiles was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, he visited his soulmate almost every day. The otter stayed when he couldn’t and Stiles kept his snake wrapped around his neck gently, always petting it softly and speaking to it just as he spoke to Peter. It never moved, never flinched, but Peter breathed easier, his scars just a little less severe with every month, and Stiles counted it as working. He ignored the sad looks he got, the pity and people who thought he should just give up. He knew there were other survivors, that the whole Hale family hadn't died, but he never saw them and he only asked once. He felt anger that they had just left. Even as his mom had wasted away, had hated him, he'd stayed at her side. To think that someone would do less for one they loved disgusted him. John begged him to only go to the hospital once a week, said it wasn't healthy, said he needed other friends, but Stiles thought about his soulmate sitting there by himself with no other visitors and he couldn't do it.

John put everything together when Stiles was seventeen, and Kate and Gerard Argent were arrested and tried for several counts of murder, among other charges. Kate got multiple life sentences. Gerard got lethal injection. A month after sentencing, the prison had a riot and Kate was found with multiple stab wounds hanging from the rafters of the bathroom. Stiles spat on their graves and with glee told Peter revenge had been served. He'd felt more like a snake than an otter on that day.

Stiles was eighteen when his soulmate woke up.

“You must be Stiles,” were the first words from Peter's throat, voice rough and scratchy. He broke into a coughing fit and Stiles quit staring long enough to help him sip at a cup of water.

“You kept me waiting a long time,” Stiles croaked out, tears welling up.

Peter smiled and the snake stirred, nuzzling against Stiles’ chin and flicking its tongue out to scent the air. “Never again,” he vowed.

Stiles leapt onto the bed, embracing Peter tightly, and the man lifted heavy limbs to return in. The otter made a loud chirping sound, bouncing across Peter's lap excitedly and Stiles laughed for what felt like the first time in years.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

So I’ve been following you forever, and I love your Steter headcanons, but I haven’t really delved into the fanfics. Are there any Steter fanfics you recommend that are must-reads?

This is a repost of an old rec list – I really need to update it! And this list is nowhere near complete to start with. The Steter fandom has so many great writers for you to discover! 

Firstly, anything by @cywscross. One of my current faves is Going Home.

The sea has always called to Stiles. Now he’s free to answer it.Peter just wants to put Beacon Hills as far behind him as physically possible. Stiles doesn’t say no, so he follows.

A Little Too Ironic by @rebakitt3n

Stiles is an omega who needs to find a trusted alpha, purely for legal reasons. Peter Hale is probably not his first choice.

My Little Princess by WritersAreLiars

When Peter conveniently appears in his room to help Stiles with his terminal case of virginity, things take an unexpectedly intense turn.

*still fanning myself over this one*

Get Off (Me) by KouriArashi

Stiles hates being left behind with Peter while the pack is fighting monsters, because he never knows exactly what Peter will get up to.

Baby Boy by SushiOwl

What the heck is FetLife?

Stiles is too curious for his own good, and he can’t help himself, so he joins a website advertising to be a good place for “kinksters.” He just wants to be nosy and see what total strangers are up to. Then he meets Peter, who wants to be called Daddy.

Could Stiles be his baby boy?

Naughty Hookers (Swathed in Wool) by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter’s just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly. Paths cross.

Gamer Trash by taylorpotato

Neither of them is aware of it, but Peter and Stiles play the same MMORPG. After Stiles moves away from Beacon Hills and goes to college, he and Peter start raiding together by accident.

Stiles the Weird Demon by Triangulum.

Peter shouts the last words of the exorcism ritual and looks up expectantly. The demon sitting on his kitchen counter just blinks and him, then yawns. Peter’s tempted to just chuck the book he’d been reading from at him, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything but earn him a ruined book.Based on the prompt “I accidentally summoned some sort of demon and now it’s just kind of hanging around my flat”.

And anything by Veterization. I loved Red Wall. Very bleak and melancholic atmosphere, but with a hopeful ending.

Peter finds Stiles selling himself on the streets years after leaving Beacon Hills. He takes him in.

*** 

Also, check out Steter Week 2k17: I promise you that you will find so many great Steter fic writers there! 

And if you want to check out some of my Steter fics, my most popular one is Sanctuary. 

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves. It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

(Heed the tags on my though! Some get very dark and not at all nice!) 

[lavender-lotion]

Don’t Come For His Family | 6,355k

Read the rest here!  Read on AO3 here!

In the three years Stiles had been with Peter, the man had only talked about his family a handful of times - and as far as Stiles knew had never once spoken to them. So he wasn’t exactly excited to see the mans family, even though that’s exactly what they were about to do.

It does not go to plan.

‘ November 30: Dealer’s Choice - None of the theme suggestions catch your fancy? Maybe you have something completely different in mind for Steter week. Space pirates? Gender and/or sexuality exploration? Movie or book crossover? Historical AU?  Create a Steter fan work that makes you happy! ’

Stiles had to let out another sigh. His heart was beating too loud and too fast inside his chest and he looked over at Peter again, trying to force his insecurity to the bottom of his chest. They’d already been through so much together, overcome their own challenges during their time as a couple. They had taken everything thrown at them and tossed it all back, becoming stronger for it. They had stuck through the hard times and they were solid.

This - this was just bigger. This wasn’t them arguing over the bill or Stiles’ eating habits. This wasn’t Stiles freaking out because surely five months was far too soon to move in together. This wasn’t Stiles fucking up Peter’s laundry and shrinking his favorite pair of lazy-day jeans, or Peter ‘borrowing’ Stiles’ paints and leaving the caps off, causing them to dry out. This was Stiles meeting Peter’s family for the first time, and fuck it, he was terrified.

He was terrified.

Stiles was not ignorant to how they looked as a couple. He was fully aware of the picture they made while standing next to each other. Peter, to Stiles’ surprise, was not wearing a suit. Rather he was dressed in black slacks, expensive loafers and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up - if only to bring further attention to his rolex.

The top few buttons of the man’s shirt were undone and his chest hair was peeking out, his hair perfectly styled and beard trimmed short and neat, no more of his god awful super-villain goatee. The man was ridiculously attractive despite the grey edging his hair line.

And Stiles was wearing skinny jeans. Black, rips littering both knees from use, though he had cuffed them in an effort to appear more put together. His hair was askew - as per usual - and his glasses were once again falling down his nose, the thick black rims not staying still.  His converse were scuffed, dirty and worn and in desperate need of new laces.

The shirt he had grabbed this morning was one of Peter’s and it hung loosely on his frame, the low v-neck the man usually wore exposing much more of Stiles’ chest. His neck was decorated with a ring of bruises, indents from Peter’s teeth still pressed into the darkest spots of his skin.

So he knew how the looked together. Peter was more than graceful in his late thirties and Stiles a clumsy, freshly turned nineteen. Peter, the rich and successful lawyer and Stiles, who worked at a small cafe to buy painting supplies. Peter who was made of clean, sharp lines and Stiles who was swirling ink all over and two rings in his left brow.

They looked a certain way and because of that people tended to make assumptions on their relationship. They would assume things worked between them a certain way, or were together for certain reasons, and nothing angered Stiles more. It wasn't so much that people often hinted at him being some kind of gold digging sugar baby, it was the insinuation that he didn’t love the man he was with.

And he did, love Peter. They had been together longer than necessarily legal - Stiles had graduated before his peers, getting his diploma at sixteen. He had then went to college and had met the man soon after.

Stiles had paid a small rent to hang a few of his paintings in a local coffee shop and Peter had contacted him for a commission. Discussion of the piece had turned into coffee dates that had turned into dinner dates that had turned into breakfast dates.

Stiles had moved into the man's penthouse right after his seventeenth birthday and had been together for nearly three years now. And honestly, he wasn’t sure why anyone thought it their right to do so, but permission or not people added their commentary. It wasn’t their relationship, or their life, or their fucking business, but whenever something was even remotely controversial, suddenly it's a free for all.

Stiles had dealt with more than enough during his time at University. He wasn’t shy about having Peter as his partner and would bring the man to outings. He didn’t think it fair that everyone else got to be with their significant others except he, and it annoyed him that it was expected of him to go out on his own. So he brought Peter out, often and shamelessly - the man was hot, okay - and people decided to comment on it. Whether is was the ’wow he’s really old’ or the ’dude isn’t he, like, your dad's age?’ Stiles had heard it all - and all of it was unwelcome.

From what the man had told Stiles about his family, he was preparing himself for the worse. Apparently they were a judgmental group of people and Stiles dealt with that enough in his day to day life. It was hard dating a man nineteen years his senior, even when they lived somewhere as open minded as San Francisco.

So was he excited to meet the man's family? Not particularly, no. Peter had never talked about them in a particularly positive light - going so far as to insult them more than he complimented them. The Hales’ were a relatively large family and apparently they could be opinionated, as well. One of Peter’s older sisters - Talia - was apparently the matriarch of the family, and after his parents passed away had taken on the role of the ‘head’ of the family.

She was married and had five children - though there was a considerable age gap between her three older ones and her younger two, Cora and Dylan being nine years apart, the biggest age gap between Laura and Alexander at 13 years. Then there was Peter’s other sister and her husband with their twin girls, one married and the other engaged.

They were all going to be at the dinner.

The dinner they were standing outside of. Or, technically they were standing outside the house, but specifics. Stiles was holding a hideously baked pie - trying desperately to stop the shaking of his fingers. Peter was holding a canvas - large, and he struggled to carry it one handed - a piece he had painted exactly for this night. It was a wonderful mix of colour and texture and it had been something Stiles had been working on for the past few days, trying to quell his anxiety over the night's events as he powered through the work.

Peter had told him he was being silly every time Stiles refused to join him for meals, too engrossed in his work to leave. Though, he was also the same man who had admitted he had not seen his family for three years because of how crazy they all supposedly were. Really, Stiles had no idea why they were even here. Okay, well that was not true. Apparently Laura had seen Peter out and about in Beacon Hills and had told her mother who hadn’t stopped calling Peter until the man finally answered.

Stiles could attest to this, since he had sat beside the man and they watched call after call be sent to voicemail. They had ate dinner with Stiles’ father, gone for a quiet walk around the little park at the edge of town and then had a nice round of slow, sweet sex. When Peter finally checked his phone before bed his missed calls had been in the two hundreds and they had both stared at the phone wide eyed as it started to ring again.

At that point Peter really did answer it, if only to yell at his older sister. Somehow the man had agreed to dinner - though the man had admitted it was just to shock his family with his ’hot young piece of ass’. Stiles had smacked the man over the head then flushed at the compliment - even after years of being together still embarrassed when Peter complimented his body.

While Stiles enjoyed the compliment, he did not enjoy the insulation and Peter knew that, knew how sensitive Stiles was about that sort of comment. So in apology the man had woken him with breakfast and a blowjob and Stiles had quickly forgiven him, though he did force the man to cuddle for the rest of the day - ignoring the fact that they would be meeting the man's whole family that evening.

When evening did come Stiles had just sighed dramatically, dressing easily and pulling the pie he had made the night before. He wished a good night to his dad, the man laughing at his dramatics as he pretended to faint in the doorway - claiming illness so he could stay home.

Peter had not let him stay home.

Peter had also just rang the doorbell, the traitor, so Stiles plastered a smile onto his face, his hands shaking under the pie tin. He hoped it wasn’t obvious, especially given how ugly the pie was to begin with. He was an artist, he was not a baker and he told Peter that, explained to the man that there was a reason Stiles hadn’t once baked in their entire relationship. The man had just instead they make something, and while making a mess of his father's kitchen had been fun, the result was hideous.

Stiles was not sure what he was expecting when the door opened but having to look down was not it. The boy in the doorway was wearing cargo shorts and a neon yellow shirt - his hair even messier than Stiles’. The boy just looked up with big eyes, his small hand holding the door open.

“Hello, Uncle Peter,” The kid said with zero affliction, his voice incredibly flat.

“Hello, Alexander,” Peter said equally without tone, but a moment later both smiled wide, the boy throwing himself at Peter’s legs.

Alex pulled back and Stiles watched with a tilted head as the boy stared up at Peter before reeling back and punching the man in the stomach, “That is for going three years without so much as a phone call!”

“Well you could have called me,” Peter argued, though his free hand was holding his stomach. The punch had looked a little painful.

Stiles was almost proud of the look the kid leveled his boyfriend - he hadn’t realized so much attitude could exist in such a small body, “I am thirteen. I do not have a phone.”

Stiles snorted at that causing the boy to look over at him, “Uh hi?”

“Who is that?” Alex asked, looking back up at his Uncle.

“That is my boyfriend.”

“He’s pretty. Marvel or DC?” Stiles ignored the first part of the comment, though Peter did make a questioning noise at the assessment.

“DC, duh.”

“Uncle Peter, I approve.” Stiles smiled wide, offering the kid his fist and internally jumping with joy when the boy bumped theirs together, finally moving aside to let them step into the house.

“Small one, take the pie.” Peter said to the boy, smiling when the kid grumbled.

Stiles had never really thought about children. Sure, he had always sort of wanted his own, but it was more of a far off, abstract idea. He had definitely never thought about having kids with Peter, though it was less to do with the man and more to do with the fact that he just - hadn’t. Spending the rest of his life with the man? Yes, he had thought about it and yes, he was planning on doing so. He couldn’t see himself being with anyone else, didn’t even want to think about it.

But he was still young, in absolutely no rush to  have kids but - but he couldn’t help but thinking what Peter may want. The man was nearly forty, surely he would want to have kids soon? Unless Peter didn’t want to kids at all, which Stiles really hoped wasn’t true. Seeing him interact with his Nephew was giving Stiles a fairly good preview as to what Peter would be like as a dad, and even if he hadn’t thought of it before now, he wanted.

He passed the pie off to Alex who was dutifully holding his hands out and he stepped closer to Peter as the man ruffled the boy's hair before sending him off. Stiles wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and stepped close, the man smiling softly down at him.

“Do you want kids?” Stiles blurted out - and okay, not how he was going to do it. Though in all fairness, nothing ever worked out how Stiles thought it would.

“Well, I would like to, one day,” The man said, cocking his head to the side as he continued to look down at Stiles

“Like, when one day? And how many?” Stiles asked excitedly, smiling wide up at the man. Peter also wanted kids, score!

“Is this really a conversation we should be having right now, darling?” Which was a good point, and Stiles flushed slightly, turning his face into Peter’s neck.

They stayed like that for a long moment before Peter stepped back, leaning Stiles’ painting against the hall for later. The house had seemed big from the driveway and it looked far larger now that they were inside. The ceiling was high and they were in a sort of entry way, closets on both sides of the front door. Peter took his hand and pulled him further down the front hall, a staircase set into the wall at their left. To the right was a large living room, big, L shaped couches and loveseats scattered about. The entertainment table was large, shelves surrounding a big TV.

There was a fair bit of art on the walls and Stiles was already feeling better about his decision to bring something. He startled when a head popped up from behind one of the couches, a small boy peering over the arm. The kid looked young and Stiles was having trouble placing him. Peter had told him about his family and Stiles had taken notes, quizzing the man until he was sure he would know everyone's name by the first moment he walked into the house. The boy walked over slowly, shyly stepping in front of Peter before he looked up.

“Dylan, this is Stiles,” Peter introduced, crouching down the boy's level. Stiles didn’t have a lot of experience with young children, and he knew Dylan was ten, though he hardly looked more than six or seven.

The boy blinked up at Stiles though he didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he did finally do something it wasn’t to talk, instead he stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of the man and poked him on the wrist. Stiles had a grayscale butterfly there, one of the many, many tattoos he had. It was fairly large, overall the size of his palm and it wrapped around his wrist.

The wings were incredibly detailed and it was one of the first pieces Stiles had got, his friend Erica still training but already an amazing artist. He got a great deal because it was done by an ‘ammature’ and was still one of the better pieces he had.

“That’s cool,” The boy breathed with wide eyes still poking at the ink.

“Thanks!” Stiles said happily, crouching down so he was eye level, “Do you like the butterfly? Because I have another on my back if you want to see it?”

The boy just stared before he started nodding rapidly and Stiles grinned wide, turning and lifting his shirt to show off the collection of butterflies he had on his lower back. Fingers ghosted over the ink there, small fingers gently stroking the skin along his side. Stiles grinned up at Peter only to find the man watching them with a warm smile.

’I love you,’ The man mouthed at him and Stiles smiled wider, his heart fluttering stupidly in his chest when he mouthed it back

“What’s this one?” Dylan asked, his fingers pushing harder against the middle of his spine.

“That is a sprig of lavender.” Stiles said, biting his lip to try and control his smile.

He loved when kids enjoyed his tattoos. They still weren’t as accepted as he would like and he was used to getting strange looks because of them. So for Dylan to be so curious and to be getting to much enjoyment out of them pleased him, especially because the boy had seemed so timid at first.

“It’s pretty.” The boy said and the awe was apparent in his voice.

“It smells good to!” Stiles said, resting one hand on Peter’s thigh to help keep his balance when Dylan pushed harder against his back, laying his palm flat against Stiles’ skin.

“So cool,”

“Dylan!” A woman called, startling the boy so bad he would have fallen if Stiles hadn’t whipped around right away, catching the boy and tugging him against his side with his free hand.

“There ya go, buddy,” Stiles said once the kid had regained his balance, flashing the boy a smile as he tugged his shirt back down just in time, since a tall woman strode in, wearing slacks and a blazer and looking entirely too put together in the soft light of the room.

Peter had straightened his back as soon as he heard the woman's voice, his ’I am an amazing lawyer and will take all your money’ smirk firmly in place. Stiles thought it looked a little less intimidating without the goatee, but he did not regret making the man grow the thing out one bit.

Stiles stood when the woman entered, having made sure Dylan was good on his own. Peter took a step forward, putting himself between Stiles and the woman, presumably one of his sisters. Stiles wasn’t sure if it were Talia and Marissa, both being close in age and apparently having similar appearances. Though by the outfit and the tightness of her posture, Stiles had to guess it was Talia.

“Peter! When did you get in?” Talia - certainly Talia if the way Peter’s shoulders tensed further was anything to go by - asked, ushering Dylan out of the room and back down the hall without a word.

“Talia,” Peter said flatly, not stepping up to shake the outstretched the hand. Stiles looked between the two nervously, shifting his weight to one foot - Talia’s eyes snapping towards when as he did so.

“Oh, and who is this?” She asked and Stiles didn’t know her, but she could tell the cheer in her voice was faked.

“This is Stiles,” The man said simply, offering out his elbow and Stiles stepped forward to take it, wrapping his hand softly around the mans arm.

"Peter you never told us you married!" Talia exclaimed and Stiles watched as she smiled, fake.

"That would be because I never did, sister dear," Peter’s voice was colder than Stiles had ever heard it, and it made him look over at the man in concern.

"Well, who is this if not your stepson!?" Peter bristled at the comment and Stiles was having none of it. You did not come for his family.

He sidled up close to the man's side, plastering himself to his boyfriend's body and looping an arm around his neck, tangling his hand in the man's hair and pulling Peter’s face into his neck. His let his other hand rest on Peter’s chest, tucking a few fingers into the gap between two buttons and turning his head to look at Talia.

“Sweetheart, I thought you told me your mother died? Who is this woman?” Stiles asked, smiling just as widely and just as falsely as Talia was - after all, he learned how to deal with bullies long, long ago.

The insult hit its mark and the woman took a step back, hand going to cover her mouth, “I am his sister.

“Oh dear! I am so sorry,” Here Peter buried his face deeper into Stiles neck, chuckling silently against his skin, “I just assumed that with your age…”

“Why yo-” Talia began, though she was cut off when a girl Stiles’ age came barreling into the room, jumping onto Peter’s back and knocking both himself and Stiles off balance.

“Uncle Peter!” The girl shouted, disentangling herself from her Uncle only to stare at Stiles for a long moment.

Stiles was sure he knew her, but he couldn't quite decide who she was. He then felt incredibly stupid for not making the connection earlier and smiled wide at the girl, before exclaiming, “Cora Hale!”

“Stiles Stilinski!” She called with just as much enthusiasm, rounding Peter for a hug that Stiles gladly accepted.

“Dude,”

“Dude,”

“Dude,” She said again, looking between himself and Peter. Stiles just nodded and smiled smugly, stepping closer to the man.

“You two know each other?” Peter asked and they both smirked at the man at the same time before bumping fists, much like he and Alexander had done.

“Also,” Cora said, before turning and punching Stiles hard in the arm, “That is for disappearing!”

“I did not disappear!” Stiles exclaimed, rubbing at his arm, “I graduated.”

“You did what?!”

“Yeah, I took extra classes each year and summer, then I graduated and went to San Francisco like we always planned and I got a job as a barista,” Stiles explained, greatly over simplifying his struggle, and the help he ended up receiving from Peter.

“Do you still paint?” She asked, her eyes bright with excitement. They had taken art all throughout school together, often being the top of their class.

“Yeah, that’s how I met Peter,” Stiles admitted, pointing to the hall, “I brought a piece for the house.”

“Yeah,” Cora began, scrunching up her face, “I can’t believe you’re fucking my Uncle.”

“Cora!” Talia loudly scolded, alerting them to her presence. Stiles had figured the woman had left, but it seemed as though her and Peter were stuck in some sort of staring contest. Peter still looked stiff and Stiles smirked before he sauntered closer.

He looked over at Cora and shot her a wink before once again tangling his hand in Peter’s hair, though this time he brought their mouths together, licking inside the man's lips and sucking on his tongue, moaning lowly as he pressed their bodies together. He was mostly putting on a show, though Peter was an amazing kisser. Either way it was hard to pull back, though when he finally did the man's face was flushed and Cora was giggling.

Talia looked horrified.

Perfect.

“Come, I want to meet everyone else!” Stiles demanded, dragging Peter by the hand and linking arms with Cora on the way, walking past Talia in obvious dismissal.

Apparently, the kitchen was down the hall. After passing the living room the house opened up wide, on his left an extravagant dining room and his right a large kitchen. A couple was standing at the island, talking lowly to one another and by the ages Stiles figures it were Marissa - Peter’s other sister - and her husband, Austin.

“I’ll meet you guys out back!” Cora called with a grin, alerting the two to their presence as she slipped past the hall and out the back door, leaving the sliding glass open behind her.

Peter offered his elbow once more - Stiles taking it with a kiss to the man's cheek - and led them forward, smiling widely at his older sister. It was nice to see Peter so happy to see someone. Sure, the man had friends back home - they both did - but most of Peter’s friends were work friends, other lawyers - and most of them were just trying to get a leg up in their world.

Peter’s practice had been successful for the half decade it had been around, and it wasn’t unusual for the man to come home from lunches muttering about corporate sharks. Thankfully he had joined a basketball team a couple of years ago. It keeped Peter active and in shape - why the man was glad he joined - but it also gave him people who he could socialize with in a healthy way - was Stiles was glad he joined.

“And this is my other sister,” The woman was gorgeous, and although she did look like Talia, the woman's face seemed much younger - smiles lines and crow's feet sat etched into her skin while Talia had deep wrinkles running across her forehead, around her mouth. Marissa had aged with grace, the happiness she lived through clear on her face while Talia only looked like stress.

“Oh good! I have been waiting to meet you,” Stiles said, smile genuine. Because of everything he had heard from Peter, Marissa - and Cora - were some of the only family Stiles didn’t already dislike. So when the woman opened up for a hug Stiles went with it, allowing the woman to pull him in.

“Brother, introduced us!” She demanded with a laugh and Stiles grinned at his boyfriend, watching him smile softly

“Stiles this is Marissa, the sister I actually love, and Marissa this is Stiles, light of my life,” The man said, ending the sentence with a slight bow and Stiles snorted at the man's dramatics, turning to drop a quick kiss to the man's shoulder.

“Peter has never brought anyone home before, you must be special,” She said with a smirk and Stiles’ own softened into something sweet.

“Well I’d hope after three years…” Stiles trailed off, sending a teasing grin at the man and missing how Marissa’s mouth dropped open in shock as she gaped at the older man.

“The-three years?”

“Yes, sister.” Peter said, and they shared a series of looks that apparently constituted a conversation, since they both seemed to be on the same page when Peter finally nodded, only looking away to face Stiles, kissing the boys cheek.

“Uhm, so…” Stiles trailed off, unsure of what exactly just happened.

“So! Come and meet my girls!” Marissa said, grabbing Stiles and pulling him outside, both men trailing behind them.

The backyard was large, backing the preserve. There was a large table set up in the middle of the yard, delicately decorated. It look more like it was for show than practical use, especially sitting on grass. The table was a dark wood, covered in a cream table cloth and set with expensive looking plates and glasses. There was a bottle of wine on each end and another, smaller table with just two plate settings that Stilles assumed were for the boys.

It was outrageous, Stiles thought, though he only had so long to stare before Marissa was dragging him across the yard, barrelling towards two girls who look older than himself.

The twins looked much like their mother, though they made Stiles a little uncomfortable. Their introduction had been a little awkward, and it was clear neither girl particularly cared for their Uncle. He also couldn’t help but feel strange that he was younger than all the man's family - save Talia’s two younger sons and Cora, who he was the same age as. Besides that, neither girl seemed particularly welcoming, though Stiles did have a decent conversation with Mike, Crystal’s financé, about video games.

It was just - their age difference was obvious yes, but not to each other. It didn’t come up in their daily life as a couple, and sure other people were quick to point it out but in all honestly they didn't go out all that much. Stiles was an artist first and foremost and while he was taking part time classes at the local college, he spent most of his time working on commissioned pieces or working shifts at Starbucks, enjoying the job even if he no longer needed the money.

Peter just worked a lot, and they would often be in their office/studio, both working, existing together in companionable silence. So, the age gap in their relationship was not very often relevant to them, and Stiles didn’t like being put into situations where it was. It wasn’t as though he wanted to ignore it or pretend it away, it was that it didn’t matter.

Soon enough Talia was calling for dinner, her voice ringing clear as Marissa’s husband, another man around the same age and one only a few years older than Stiles began carrying out trays of food. Stiles was a little surprised that they didn’t have a service for this, but he figured that may be a little too much even for Talia.

He took his seat beside Peter, sitting on the far side and leaving a few empty seats next to each of them. They were the first to sit and figured there were sitting in the most neutral position possible. Marissa had sat next to Peter and Cora had sat next to Stiles, bumping their shoulders together and grinning.

Stiles had to admit he did not listen to Talia’s speech. Peter’s hand was a comfortable weight high on his thigh and he was fiddling with the man's fingers, distractedly tracing shapes and designs into the mans skin. Talia sat herself at the end of the table and her - at least Still assumed the man was Patrick - husband sat at the other. The rest of the kids - Talia’s and Marissa’s children - sat on the side opposite Stiles and he couldn't say he was glad when Laura sat across from him.

He - he knew about Laura. Stiles’ father was the Sheriff of the town and he was a respected, well loved man. The people of the town adored him and even though he was getting old, he was still more than competent at his job. Laura - Laura was a recent officer and one who thought she knew how to do everything.

Often during their second-nightly phone calls his father would complain about the girl questioning his work, or how he assigned shifts, or his authority. And it wasn’t just his father, either. Jordan Parrish was like a brother to Stiles, the man having been on the force since the boy was thirteen. They had developed a deep friendship founded in Star Trek and never looked back. They still talked at least once a week and although Jordan had a very obvious crush on his father, they were close.

Jordan had also been quick to point out Laura’s flaws, ranting about the new girl who thought she was all that. And it wasn’t just his dad Laura criticized, either. She was quick to go after Jordan, picking apart cases the man was working on and trying to poke holes in his theories or tarnish his witness’. Really, she was a bitch who thought herself better than others, and Stiles wasn’t surprised now that he had met both her and Talia.

It was quite after Talia’s toast and Stiles was just happy to be able to eat. His pie was sitting in the center of the table, looking even uglier now that it was on display next to fancy, expensive food bowls and servings instruments. He loaded Peter’s plate - the man engaged in conversation with his sister - before going about making up his own, really only grabbing from the things he or Cora could reach.

“So Stiles, you never did mention what you do for a living?” Talia asked, staring down the table at him. He had only just taken his first bite and although the chicken were good, it was rather bland.

“I’m an artist, actually,” He said, grinning. He was good at what he did and he figured he was allowed to be proud of himself for it.

“Oh,” Talia said, disapproval heavy in her tone, “How exactly does that work.”

“I personally work on a commission basis. So people will essentially hire me to paint a specific painting,” Stiles tried to explain it as simply as he could. He didn't have the energy to explain how his business worked to someone who so clearly did not care, either.

“I see.” Thankfully Talia had turned to her food, and the dinner had continued on. Cora pulled Stiles into a conversation about San Francisco, and Stiles began excitedly telling her about their life there, waving his hands as he spoke.

He was startled out of his conversation by Laura, an ugly smirk on her face when she asked, “So Stiles, how old are you, anyway?”

“Uh, yeah I’m nineteen?” Stiles admitted with a shrug, the entire table going quite as he did so.

“I mean I already knew that,” Cora added, sending a small smile to Stiles. He was thankful for her support, and god he hoped they could reconnect. He had missed few people, but she was one of them.

“You know what, this all makes a lot more sense now,” Laura muttered, taking another sip from her wine cup. Stiles wanted to punch her, a little.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, just the arrangement you two have.” She said it like it were simple, an accepted fact that the others were all in on. At this point Stiles really wanted to punch her.

“Are you seriously implying that I’m what? His sugar baby? A whore?” Stiles spat the word, old hurt quickly resurfacing. If there was one thing dating an older, financially successful man caused, was name calling. It may have been easier if Peter was nothing more than a sugar daddy, but he wasn’t. Stiles loved the other man, planned to spend the rest of his life with Peter. He hated when people insinuated he was only with the man for his money because it wasn’t true.

“Look, the gig is up. We all know what’s going on.” Laura said again, smile still on he face.

“No, I really don’t think we do?” Cora added from his side, squeezing his knee under the table.

“I mean, why else would anyone be with Peter? It’s not like Stiles would be with him willingly!” She laughed then, looking around as if to see who else would agree. Other than Talia, no one looked interested what so ever. Peter’s hand had gone tight on his thigh, the man's jaw set heavily.

Peter - Peter had been treated badly before. It took nearly two years to find out a little more about the man's dating history, and Stiles could understand why. Peter had dealt with people dating him strictly for his money before, one girl going so far as to be with him for over two years. Peter had proposed - and Stiles could guess that was why he had yet to do the same for Stiles - only to find out the girl had been with him strictly for his money, and had taken off.

Stiles couldn't even imagine what that may feel like, but he knew how deeply it haunted Peter. The rockiest parts of their relationship had been due to the money imbalance, and Stiles had kept his job at Starbucks and a separate bank account in case they ever broke up - at Peter’s insistence. It had taken Stiles months to convince the man he really cared for him, that it was more than the material things Peter could provide that attracted him.

“You really don't need to pretend. I mean, we all know what happened with Ashley.”

“Say one more word about him and I swear to god you’ll never work so much as a security position in all of California!” Stiles hissed, slamming his hands flat on the table and leaning forward, staring her down until she relented, shifting her eyes and hunching her shoulders forward.

“How dare you talk to my daughter that way!” Talia protested, glaring at the boy.

“Hey, hey! How about you shut up, sit down, and the rest of us will go back to pretending that we don’t know you’re a money laundering, whore buying bitch.” Stiles said cheerfully, grinning wide at the other woman, “Oh, wait was that a secret?”

Stiles watched with disinterest as the woman screeched, throwing herself out of her chair before literally throwing her wine at Stiles, the liquid soaking his hair and dripping down his face. Stiles carefully picked up his napkin and dabbed the wine out of his eyes, not a care in the world. At least, that’s what he hoped he looked like.

“That was so much fun!” Stiles exclaimed, giggling as he watched Patrick all but wrestle Talia into the house, literally picking her up and carrying her inside the house, the door slamming behind them.

“Well, it was lovely meeting most of you!” Stiles exclaimed, raising to his feet and clapping his hands together to hide how they were shaking.

That - that did not go over as planned. He had gotten dirt on Talia as a safety precaution, a last resort. He hadn’t even meant to share any of what he knew, hadn’t even told Peter. He just needed to be prepared for the worst and some of the things Peter had told him about his sister had made him overly cautious. And he knew what he had done maybe wasn’t right - definitely wasn’t legal - but he had a super lawyer for a boyfriend, and if it could get Peter’s shoulder to relax and his jaw to unclench, he’d do it.

He pulled the man out of the backyard, circling around the house instead of making his way through, not willing to see Talia again. He had no idea what could be happening right now, and frankly had no pleasure to find out. He knew he had probably ruined any relationship he would have with a portion of Peter’s family, but he couldn’t bring himself to care - not when they acted like that.

“Marry me,” Peter breathed against Stiles neck. They had just made their way to the car when Peter had spun him around, pining Stiles to the jeep door and pressing their bodies together, mouthing at the boy’s skin.

“I'm sorry,” Stiles muttered, embarrassed.

“I’m serious.” Peter insisted, voice cracking, and he leaned back to look at Stiles with tears in his eyes, smile on his lips, “I love you, I love you. Marry me?”

Stiles could only nod, laughing bright.

[notvirginawoolf]

To all the creators of Steter Week 2017, a heartfelt thank you!

[expurgatedversion]

The (short) theme list:

November 24: Season One Rewrite  November 25: Established Relationship November 26: Smut November 27: Supernatural creature /Fairytale /Mythology AU November 28: Stiles is pushed out of the pack November 29: Soulmates, Mates, and Anchors AU November 30: Dealer’s Choice Steter Week is coming, and we’re excited to see what everyone comes up with! There are more details at this post, but don’t hesitate to send an ask @dialmformaledictions or @the-redcrate if you have any questions/comments/concerns.

[areiton]

Everything You Deserve

November 24: Season 1 Rewrite

Read on AO3 | 1200 words 

You think about it. More than you should, you think about it. About what would have happened, if you had bitten Stiles instead of Scott. 

That’s where everything went wrong. Biting a petulant boy more obsessed with his dick and where to stick it than the gift he had been given. 

And Scott lost you Derek, so obsessed with doing what was right, so consumed with teaching Scott. 

If it had been Stiles though. Stiles with his big brilliant mind and boundless loyalty, his quick wit and sharp tongue–if it had been Stiles, everything would have changed. 

You feel it, the promise of strength and loyalty, the curious nudge of more, in the pulse you held to your teeth. And you want it, want to take Stiles and claim him, make him yours. 

You don’t though. 

You let Stiles go, feeling the pounding of want in your boy’s pulse and you step away. 

~*~

The writing on the wall was there and you laid your card on the table, setting the pieces in motion for Lydia to bring you back. 

It took very little for you to change the spell, to bring you back earlier. Very little to bring you back in the bright heat of summer and when you found Laura, it was quick and easy and painless. 

She deserves that much. 

And then you went hunting for the beta you should have always had. 

~*~ 

It’s easier, this time. Stiles is at your side, filled with fury at you and for you, and he fights like a demon when you train him, dirty and quick and laughing. 

It makes you wonder what he will fuck like.

You think Stiles knows–he watches you sometimes, eyes bright and cunning, but he doesn’t push and you don’t take. 

He hates Jennifer with an intensity that startles you and fights with Derek like a sibling and for the first time in six years, you can breath with the feeling of pack around you. 

~*~ 

The first time you kiss him, you’re in his childhood bedroom. Stiles is vibrating with tension, his long elegant fingers sweeping through a plan that is simple and elegant and perfect. 

And dangerous. Stiles walking like so much bait in the sight of the Argents made every instinct in you seize and scream, but there was a hum of approval from your wolf and Stiles hands and heart are steady. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, finally, bewildered and Stiles huffs, an angry put upon noise. 

“Dude, they killed your kid.”

You kiss him quick and hard and deep, licking into your boy’s hot wet mouth and swallowing his hungry groan, not letting yourself think beyond that angry indignation, fury on your behalf that  you haven’t had in longer than you can remember. 

You kiss him because Stiles is brilliant and wonderful, everything you expected and more. 

You kiss him because your wolf is screaming for it, because Stiles hates your nurse and fights Derek for your attention and cuddles close to you after training, limp and content. 

You kiss Stiles because you want. Because not kissing him is impossible. 

~*~ 

Stiles kills Jennifer the night Kate Argent drives into town and leaves her corpse, clawed open and marked with a spiral, on the hunters pretty black SUV. 

When he saunters into the remains of the Hale house, smelling of the Martin girl, Jennifer’s blood on his hands and shoes,  you know you’ll never be done with Stiles. 

You want to claim him, fuck him, make him submit, fight until you are both exhausted and Stiles curls sleepy against you. 

You can feel Derek’s eyes on you, knowing and wary, and you shove all of that want aside and says mildly, “Wash your shoes before you return home.” 

~*~ 

When they are dead–Kate and her father, Chris and Victoria, but not the child, not Allison because Stiles had caught your hand, heavy with claws and dripping blood, and said, it won’t bring them back. She’s innocent.–when they are dead, you hide. 

You hate yourself for it, but you hide, a hurt animal licking it’s wounds. You knew killing the Argents wouldn’t bring them back, wouldn’t give you everything they’d taken, but you didn’t expect to feel this achingly empty, this lost. 

Derek is staying. It hasn’t been said, yet, but it’s there, in the way he watches Jackson and spends too much time with Stiles and Scott, the way he sleeps in the Stilinski guest bedroom and comes to you smelling of them. 

You have spent so long wanting revenge, you don’t know what you want, now. 

~*~ 

Stiles finds you the third day, creeps into your apartment and into your bed while you sleep and he wakes you with a kiss, presses naked and trembling against you. 

“Don’t,” he whispers, and it’s a plea and a warning, as he shifts, straddling you. 

You snarl, claws pricking at his hips and he smiles. 

It’s everything you thought it would be, and more. 

Stiles has always been everything and more. 

He’s fierce and clever, his hands snaking between you when you kiss him, grasping and stroking until you are whining in your throat, and he is laughing. 

He’s wanton and wily, shaking and writhing under you while you roll your hips and thrust against the hollow of his hip and suck bruises into his pale skin.

He’s laughing and cocky as he takes you down his throat, eyes flashing electric blue at you as you fist his hair and fuck up into his pretty mouth.

He’s hungry and desperate, when you spread him out and lick him open, mewling into the pillow and coming from that, just from that, and you want to roll in it, the sweet salty scent of him. You nearly come when you smear your fingers through his spunk and press it to his lips and he groans as he takes them, bobbing and eager and hardening again.

He’s taunting and demanding when you finger him open, endless demands of more and Dammit, Peter, and is that all you got, alpha? that melt into oh, fuck and Peter, please and please, alpha, please fuck me.

But when you do. When you press him into your bed and he stares up at you with shining eyes and a wild clean scent, and you press into him, bottoming out with one slow smooth glide, he isn’t anything but soft and trusting and yours.

~*~

Stiles is cuddly, and you huff as he turns into you, after you’ve licked him clean. You let him wrap around you, all clinging long limbs and sleepy warmth, and he presses a kiss into your skin before he mumbles sleepily, “Are we leaving?” 

And it settles something in you.

Stiles always startles you, even when you think you have him figured out. You don’t ever want to walk away from that.

Away from him.

“No,” you say, and your eyes gleam red in the dark room. “It’s past time the Hale pack returned to Beacon Hills.“

He gives you a pleased little smile and falls asleep there, untroubled and comfortable against you, your boy with blood on his hands and blue in his eyes and every perfect thing you deserve.

~*~

You sleep with Stiles in your arms and it feels like home.

[whoishisaribi]

The rock

November 24: Season One Rewrite

This could be anything from Stiles getting bitten instead of Scott to Stiles accepting the bite offer from Peter in that infamous parking garage scene. Take season one and rework it how you’d like to have seen it happen, with a Steter twist!

So here we go, the first day steter week fic

Great thanks goes to amazing Mal who beta-read it!

So the kid beat alpha-werewolf to death with a rock. Peter didn’t know how to feel about it.

Wordcount: 1085

“You beat a full-shifted alpha-werewolf to death with a rock?” Peter sounded somewhere between amused, shocked, and exasperated. Stiles winced and looked at him. “I panicked!” Stiles flailed his hands. “You would’ve panicked pretty hard indeed,” Peter deadpanned and looked at Stiles once again. This kid was barely over sixteen, scrawny with all the way too big clothes. For God's sake, he still had those chubby cheeks and big innocent eyes. He didn’t even look adorable, but hilarious.

Read on AO3

[stetervault]

The First Princess in a Tower

by kiranightshade

Peter has had many lives and Stiles has been there for them all.

Words: 720, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Steter Week 2017

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski

Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Alpha Peter Hale, Reincarnation, Established Relationship, Dragon Stiles Stilinski, Royalty, Old Gods, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Vikings, Holocaust, Jewish Character, Phoenixes

Read it on AO3

[cywscross]

Chapter 2 of my murder assassins!Steter fic, for Steter Week.

[steternetwork]

I’m so happy right now. It’s like Christmas morning!

[pickyourpain]

Spark A Change

read it on the AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/12877005

by iCheat ( pickyourpain )

When Stiles was little his mother told him they were special and they should respect the Alpha. As Stiles grew up he realized that not all Alpha's deserved respect. He's going to make sure the next Beacon Hills Alpha is worth it.

Words: 2191, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski

Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Steter Week, belated, Day 1, season 1 rewrite, Angry Stiles Stilinski, Magic, Magic Stiles, Canonical Character Death, might continue later

read it on the AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/12877005

[therapeutic-steter]

Steter Week Prompt November 27: Supernatural creature /Fairytale /Mythology AU

So this one is a little bit of a different style than my norm, but I wanted to try something new. Hope you guys enjoy! I chose the Norwegian fairy tale “Lord Peter”, because of obvious reasons, lol. 

—–break—–

Peter rung out the rag before gently placing it on his mother’s head, reaching over to feel his father’s equally flushed features.

“Such a good boy,” his mother said, patting his arm with what little strength she had remaining. His father smiled softly at him even as his fell unconscious. Peter pushed back the lump in his throat, smiling shakily for his mother before venturing out into the living space.

“We can split the clothes and fabrics,” Talia was saying, frowning as her eyes scanned their meager possessions. “I’ll take the pot; we only have one and I’m the eldest, after all.”

“Then I’ll be taking the griddle,” Nathan said. “I’m second eldest.”

Peter frowned. “Mother and father still breathe and you’re discussing the dividing of their property.” He shook his head in disgust.

“They won’t live for much longer, don’t be a fool,” Talia sneered. “And they’re leaving us so little; it make sense to get the divvying out of the way so there’s no arguments after the funeral.”

“If you take the pot and Nathan takes the griddle then, just what do you expect me to do for food?” Peter demanded then.

Nathan waved him off. “Take the damned cat. Maybe it’ll catch a rat or something for you two to nibble on.”

Said cat shivered against the wall, hissing at Nathan and swiping when he tried to grab it. Nathan cursed, looking like he would kick it, and Peter stepped between them, glaring at his brother.

“Leave him be,” Peter ordered, and the cat curled behind his foot, watching Nathan warningly. “He’s just as hungry as we are.”

“Then you’ll both starve,” Nathan said, rolling his eyes and climbing up the ladder to the loft where the hay that served as their mattress was. Peter glared at him.

“You know we don’t mean to be cruel,” Talia said, patting his arm softly. “But mother and father are horrid sick and are just getting worse. We need to get our affairs in order and make peace with the inevitability.”

Peter glared at her, ready to respond, when a weak call cut him off.

“Peter?” his mother called out softly. “Water?”

“Coming, mother,” Peter responded quietly, moving to get a glass of water before going back into their room, ignoring Talia. The cat slipped into the room at his feet, watching as Peter carefully helped his mother sit up and sip at the lukewarm water. Then he sat at the chair beside them, watching his parents breathe and listening to the wheezing from their lungs. The cat circled his legs, looking up at him with soulful amber eyes.

“I fear their passing is upon us,” he whispered to the cat, gently running his hand down its back. The cat leapt into his lap, curling up and purring comfortingly. Peter held the cat close and fell asleep in the chair, exhausted and hungry.

When Peter woke the next day, he knew instantly that his mother and father had not. He looked at their bodies, seeing the stillness and feeling numb in his body. He got up, joints stiff from sleep, and walked out of the room.

“They are gone,” he said to Talia who was sitting in the kitchen and staring at their lone bruised apple. Talia nodded, looking up with sad eyes before standing.

“I will start preparing their bodies, if you and Nathan will get the shovels.”

Peter nodded, moving on autopilot as he went to collect his brother and they went to dig the grave. They didn’t speak to each other the entire time, digging as far down into the soil as they could. They were poor, but Nathan was good with his woodcraft and had made a wooden casket that was big enough for both of their parents. Perhaps now Nathan could venture out into a bigger town and grow his practice into something profitable.

Talia had dressed his mother in her old wedding gown, the white stained and aged. Her face was painted with the special lipstick his mother had treasured and Talia had put just a touch of her perfume on her. For father, she had brushed his hair and dressed him in his best shirt, patches on the elbows and a small tear at the bottom. Peter and Nathan carried their father first, then their mother, placing them gently into the coffin. Peter couldn’t help but brush his fingers through his mother’s hair, eyes stinging. Talia grasped his shoulder tightly.

It was difficult lowering the casket gently, but they did the best they could. Talia read a few passages from the old Bible, the one that was nearly torn in half and only had a few books that were wholly legible. They each murmured soft goodbyes, speaking words too low for the others to hear, before throwing handfuls of dirt of their coffin. Peter dropped a bouquet of wildflowers over the box. The cat came close and meowed mournfully, sharing in their sorrow. Then Nathan and Peter grabbed the shovels and finished covering them. Finally they forced the headstone into place, nothing but their names and the year etched into the stone.

The three siblings sat in a circle at the house that night, watching the flames of the fire. The cat curled into Peter’s lap and Nathan sneered but didn’t say anything as Peter started petting it.

“I’m leaving tomorrow for Haven,” Talia spoke. “To see if any tailors there would offer me an apprenticeship.”

“I’m going to try Vartag,” Nathan said, watching the flames. “They might need a woodworker or even a blacksmith or whatever work they’ll hire me for.”

“I think I might try Beacon Hills,” Peter thought aloud. “Anywhere is better than here.”

“Amen to that,” Nathan agreed, and Peter gave his brother a tentative smile.

They slept cuddled together on the floor in front of the dying embers. Talia was tucked under Peter’s chin, Nathan at her back, as they bunched under the heavy quilt. It was likely the last time they’d see each other and, if that meant they held each other just a little bit closer, no one said anything.

…

“Goodbye, brother,” Talia said, her arms around Peter’s neck and she hugged him tightly. “Take care of yourself,” she murmured into his ear, holding him close before reluctantly pulling away. Peter nodding, slowly letting his hands fall from her sides as she turned and tugged the knapsack over her shoulder. Nathan and he met each other’s gazes evenly. He reached out for a handshake and Nathan accepted; Peter tugged him close and they shared an embrace, putting aside their differences.

Nathan and Talia took off in the same direction, though it would split off once the road hit the mountains. Haven was in the valley while Vartag was up, closer to the summit. Peter turned in the opposite discretion, towards Beacon Hills. The cat meowed from his side, looking up at him expectantly, so Peter started walking.

…

Beacon Hills was happier town then where Peter had once lived. The people smiled and welcomed him as a newcomer, offering to let him borrow things until he could get himself properly rooted. He used a borrowed ax to cut down lumber, building a small shack on unclaimed land within the territory to shield him from the elements. The cat remained at his side and Peter was glad for the company.

The cat did hunt for game, providing hare and birds that Peter cooked over the flames of an open fire. It wasn’t until Peter returned one night from working the fields as a hired farmhand when things changed. He stared at the large buck lying dead beside his shack, the cat sitting primly on its shoulder.

“What…” he breathed in confusion. Surely the cat had not…

“You must present this buck as a gift to the king,” the cat spoke.

Peter blinked in surprise, stumbling back in fear as he stared at the cat. “You…you spoke,” he accused, shaking his head. “I am going mad.”

The cat leapt from the buck, sidling closer. “You are not mad. I have slain this buck of the forest and you must present it as a gift to the king of the land.”

Peter shook his head. “Who am I, for the king to accept a present from me?”

The cat rubbed its paw over its ear. “You will address it from Lord Peter,” he said, grinning with its sharp teeth.

Peter found himself nodding before catching himself. “To what end do we do this?” he asked the cat, now studying the buck.

“To gain his favor,” the cat answered. “It is how we will make your name known and strengthen your influence”

Peter shook his head in astonishment, moving to prepare the buck for travel even while wondering why he went along with it. The cat meowed from its perch near the fire and Peter swore its eyes flashed gold, but he didn’t know if it was true or just a trick of the firelight.

…

Shortly after the gift was sent, Peter received a response from the king. The letter was sealed with rich red wax, the letter itself thick parchment. He carefully broke the seal, unrolling it.

‘Lord Peter,

I am most honored to have received your recent kill. The buck was an impressive feast that left my house jolly. I would ask for your invitation of a visit to allow me to see your lands that bred such a grand beast. Do respond posthaste.

King Scott of McCall’

Peter frowned at the letter, eyes looking up to his shack and the woods surrounding him.

“The king wishes to visit,” Peter said to the cat, fear rushing his heart.

“Refuse,” the cat said simply, licking its paws. “You will visit him.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “I will visit him? And how am I to do that? With what attire? With what coach?”

The cat shot him a look and Peter was sure it would’ve rolled its eyes were cat’s capable. “I will take care of those things. Just write the king back and tell him you will visit him of the eve of the full moon.”

“That’s less than a week away!” Peter denied.

“Just do it,” the cat said cheekily, flicking its tail at him and making him sneeze. Peter pouted but grabbed a quill pen and the nicest piece of parchment he could find to write the letter.

…

Peter sat nervously in the coach that the cat had mysteriously procured, grabbing at the collar of his clothes that were finer than expected.

“I still don’t understand how a cat acquired such items,” he grumbled. The cat batted at his side with a paw.

“Shush,” he ordered, before leaning against Peter’s side. “It will be fine. Calm down.”

“How can I? This is not what my intentions were when I struck out on my own,” Peter grumbled, petting the cat distractedly. It purred to comfort him and Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“Lord Peter!”

As Peter stepped from the coach, the king was already out to greet him, beaming brightly and offering him a surprising handshake.

“I must thank you again for your gift. I was surprised to have received such, but welcome your generosity into my lands. And I simply must accompany you back to your castle,” the king said, leading Peter into his own castle for the meal he’d had prepared. Peter casted a fearful look at the cat and it grinned.

“I will take care of it,” the cat murmured for his ears alone before left his sight.

The cat rushed down the road, stopping at a farmhand’s cottage.

“Farmer,” it called out, and the farmer paused, looking around for the speaker in confusion. “To bless your house, if asked, you will name your flocks to be under Lord Peter’s name,” the cat said.

“Lord Peter?” the farmer echoed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“So shall it be,” the cat intoned, making his voice deeper, and the farmer nodded quickly in fear.

“So shall it be,” the famer echoed in agreement. The cat grinned before dashing to the next farmhouse and repeating his trick.

After the meal, as Peter and the king road in the coach down the street, he was absolutely blown away as the farmers came to welcome Lord Peter’s return, telling of the wellness of his flocks. Peter smirked confidently at the king who complimented the nature of his lands even while Peter internally wondered at what the cat had done. When the coach pulled into a castle as impressive as the king’s himself, Peter had to force himself not to gap, instead sweeping his arm in welcome into what was apparently his home.

“What is the meaning of this?” Peter hissed as the cat skulked in the shadows behind the king.

“Trust me,” the cat said, nuzzling against his leg. “I would never lead you astray.” The cat stiffened, looking behind him. “But I have something I must take care of. Keep the king within the front of the castle and I will explain in the morning.” Then it dashed back further into the castle.

Peter smiled suavely to the king, regaling him with made up tales of his hunts and providing other sorts of entertainment. It was late in the night when the king finally left in his coach, promising to write for them to discuss an official alliance. Peter was a bit blown away by the king’s genuine jovial nature, though he seemed a bit naïve, but he was surprised to not have hated the evening.

Once the king left, Peter ventured further into the castle, trying to find the cat. A loud thump drew his attention and Peter stood frozen in fear as a troll let out a mighty bellow, swinging its club towards the cat.

“What—” he started, before the cat jumped on him, forcing him to duck under the troll’s wild swing.

“We must lure it into the gardens,” the cat told him, before they both took off down the hallway. The troll followed, roaring its fury. The cat seemed familiar with the premises so Peter followed it, his heart racing in panic.

“Then what?” Peter demanded, scrambling around a corner with just barely enough time to avoid the troll’s crashing lunge.

The cat looked back at him and winked, eyes flickering gold, and Peter was firmly in the belief that his cat was insane.

It was nearing dawn by the time Peter exited the castle into the gardens. He was surprised by the hour but didn’t have time to focus on it, instead trying to avoid being made into paste by the troll’s heavy swings. It emerged from the castle behind him, roaring into the night air. Then it started making a fuss, which caused Peter to turn to see what had happened. He nearly screamed as he realized that his cat had leapt for its face, scratching at its eyes and hissing horribly.

“No!” he cried out when the troll grabbed the cat and slung it against the wall. Peter ran for the cat, ignoring all else, though the troll started to make an unbearable screeching. Peter looked to it, surprised to see it crumbling to dust everywhere the sun’s rays touched it. He knelt at the cat’s side, gently pulling its small body into his lap and sighing with relief as it breathed shallowed.

“Thank god,” he breathed, cradling him close. “Do not scare me like that.”

The cat meowed weakly, looking up at him. “Everything here is yours, Lord Peter. I have made it so. And now I ask of you a favor.”

Peter sniffled, eyes stinging, and he nodded. “Whatever you ask, my friend,” he promised.

“You must cut my head from my body,” the cat said.

“What?” Peter asked in horror, shaking his head. “No. No. No. I cannot. How could you ask this of me? I…I can’t do such a thing.”

The cat batted at him weakly. “Please, Peter. I cannot explain, but you must do this. You have given your word.”

Peter’s eyes welled with tears and he held the cat closer. “Why would you ask such from me?” Peter pled, crying into its fur.

“Please,” the cat begged. Peter unsheathed his dagger at his side, tears making his sight blurry as he placed the dagger at the cat’s throat. He hesitated, hand shaking, the cat meowed plaintively. “Please,” he repeated, and Peter closed his eyes, forcing the dagger through the cat’s throat and cleanly cutting his head off.

Peter sobbed brokenly into his hands, releasing the dagger.

“Easy,” a familiar voice spoke, accompanied by the touch of a hand to his shoulder. Peter jerked up, staring in wonder at the young man now before him. He smiled, eyes a bright familiar amber, and Peter leapt to hug him.

“How?” he demanded, pulling away to stare at the man.

“These lands were my family’s,” he said. “But the troll had killed my father and cursed me. Only death by the hands of my most beloved could break the curse.”

Peter’s eyes widened at the implication. “Most beloved?”

The man smiled, gently cupping Peter’s face. “Most beloved,” he murmured, leaning close and kissing him chastely. “I will never leave your side again,” he promised.

“May I have your name?” Peter asked, cupping his face and smiling joyously. “Your true name.”

“Stiles,” the man spoke. “Prince Stiles of Stilinski.”

Peter laughed, embracing the man tightly as they both moved to kiss any bare skin on the other without letting go. Peter finally felt like he had found his purpose and it was in Stiles’ amber eyes.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Tw wankfuckery aside, it's the first day of steter week!!!

It’s a great day to be a Steter fan! Of course every day is a great day to be a Steter fan… 

[the-redcrate]

Thank you so much to everyone who sent daily theme suggestions to @dialmformaledictions and @the-redcrate ! We have created a poll in order to give you a chance to help decide the daily themes for this year’s Steter Week. The poll will be open until Tuesday, September 19.

Here is the poll.

We will be using the top 6 most popular themes. Day seven will be a free-for-all, in case none of the theme suggestions pique your interest. We decided to use themes for anyone who likes to have a jumping-off point. However, they are only suggestions, and not required to be used in order to participate. <3

Steter Week will be held November 24-30!

[rufferto9]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Angst, Sad, Foreshadowing, season 5 Summary:

Steter Week 2017 -25th - Established relationship

Their relationship was always difficult, always a battle. It would only end in heartache. Peter can't help but see Stiles one last time before he leaves Beacon Hills Forever