#i had been sad before then to know i could never fill out my bestiary

[rojichu]

At last! I've discovered every familiar in @flightrising !!

When Fiona's fantastic familiars was released on February 17, 2020, I decided I wanted to discover every familiar and fill out my bestiary.

Up until then (I had already been playing for over 5 years, since November 2014) I knew it wasn't feasible to discover every familiar as some year 1 retired familiars are simply unobtainable (not JUST prohibitively expensive, but no one who has one is willing to part with them)

But with Fiona, I could bond with them anyway and eventually awaken them so they would become "discovered."

It took a lot of grinding (coliseum, gems, bonding) but I did it!

[lifebeginsbyleaving]

Welcome To The Jungle

Stiles nearly fell out of his chair laughing. He shoved Danny's shoulder hard enough to make both of their computer chairs spin.

"It's true!"

Stiles wiped tears and replied, "Oh my god I cannot believe that!"

Danny held up a hand. "On my mother's butter mochi recipe, Coach and Greenburg walking out of the cinema hand in hand."

Stiles let out another disbelieving bark of laughter. "How the times have changed- Unless..." Stiles squinted at Danny. "You don't think they- while school- you know back then?"

Danny shook his head. "Dude, Coach is so against that. He would never. I called Jackson immediately and apparently Greenburg started one of Coach's courses he does at the college. I don't know man, love must've blossomed."

Stiles still looked bewildered. "Yeah, but Greenberg? I always though the Coach hated him."

Danny shrugged. "Maybe it was in a 'You're so hot, but you're my student so I'm going to hate you.' kind of way." He instantly wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Although, I have a hard time seeing anyone think of Greenburg as hot."

Stiles thought for a moment. "Well-"

Danny swiveled his chair. "Oh no. No! Stiles, I know we haven't always been the closest, but now I consider you a friend. If you have been so deprived of dick lately that you are thinking of Greenburg as cute, in any way, I have failed."

Stiles put his hands up. "I'm just saying th-"

"No! You stop that immediately! That's it. I'm taking you to the jungle next Thursday night. No more lame excuses or pack emergencies that Lydia says didn't actually happen. Next Thursday. Nine o'clock, don't be late. And I swear to God if you don't wear those tight black pants I will force you into an outfit of my choosing."

"Danny you know I-"

"No. Lydia tells me all about how you won't let her set you up on dates, because dating isn't your thing. Which I know is a lie. So casual sex it is. I know you like sex, good God you won't shut up about it, so stop. I can barely stand your sexual frustration anymore. We have to work on patching the bestiary mainframe for at least two more weeks, so I'm not dealing with your huffing and short fuse every five seconds for that much longer. You're so god damn snippy. We're going to the jungle unless you can detail your last sexual encounter well enough for me to believe it wasn't months ago." Danny crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Stiles shifted in his seat. He couldn't go into great detail about his last sexual encounter to Danny, so instead he let out a sigh. "Fine, but I'm going just to appease you, and under no circumstances do I have to leave with someone."

Danny raised his hands, but he had a triumphant grin. "Hey that is entirely up to you. We'll go and see how the night takes us, or who takes us."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "There will be no taking. I'm going out to appease you. That's it."

Stiles' nerves went up seeing Danny's devilish grin. He knew that grin, that grin meant he would definitely try to set him up. It wasn't that he wasn't excited to go out, it was just Stiles hadn't been to a club since he got back to Beacon Hills after college. He'd been back for eight months and he'd rejected all attempts by the pack to set him up. If he left the jungle without someone on his arm Danny would know something was up, and it wasn't just him wanting to settle back in anymore.

Stiles was saddened when he found out no one from the pack was going to college near him. When Danny accepted Berkeley's offer he felt slightly better. Even if they weren't really close and not exactly pack it was good to have someone he knew going with him. The first year they barely talked at all. But right before the start of second year the nemeton started a shit fest and Danny needed a ride back. It was easier to go together, despite the painfully awkward first hour of the trip. Somewhere around hour three they found a groove and many things they had in common.

Stiles expected for things to go back to the way they were before once they got back, but Danny texted him with a time and the address of a club they had talked about. After that they went out to parties, studied, and were unexpected friends. Their third year they moved in together. Danny had been there through all his college relationships and hook ups, and for most of the best ones he had been the one to introduce them. Danny was good at knowing what people liked and how they would be together. He was the main reason Stiles got so many experiences, and mistakes, out of college. Stiles liked being around him. He made you feel like you were better than you actually were, that you could be more if you tried. Stiles could tell why him and Jackson had been such good friends. At first Jackson tried to insist Stiles kept his nerd cooties away from his best friend, but they could tell he was glad two of his pack members were taking care of each other.

At one point Stiles even confessed his high school crush to Danny. The asshole just said he knew and that every questioning boy had a crush on him. When Stiles asked him if he thought they would be good together Danny just shook his head. He told him he would date him, but he knew Stiles was the type you marry and he wasn't ready for that. Stiles had been awed and flattered by that and as soon as he asked, he knew they wouldn't ever go there. They were just friends. Some how that didn't bother him, it made him feel settled in the relationship they already had. Because it was good enough.

Stiles snapped back to attention looking at a talking Danny with a fond smile. "What?"

"You did that freaky zone out thing, didn't you? I swear one of these days you're going to walk in front of a bus. I said look hot and wear the cologne too."

Stiles gave a lazy salute and started to pack up. "Alright, I should head home soon. Dad will order pizza if I don't get there in time, and I don't want to have to wrestle a meat lovers out of his hands again. It was messy."

Danny nodded with a smile. "I'm busy tomorrow, but I'll see you Wednesday, and then Thursday."

"You got it."

---

"Dad I'm home." He rounded the corner to see his dad frozen with the phone in his hand.

"God damn it, I almost got it ordered in time. Tell Danny he needs to work you harder." He set the phone back down with a harsh look.

Stiles rolled his eyes as he set down his things. "We're just patching the bestiary, I don't actually work for him. I do have an actual job you know."

"So you're paying him for his help?"

Stiles shook his head. "He's helping out the pack. He said he would do it on his free time." He walked to the kitchen to start supper.

His dad leaned against the counter. "So is he in the pack? I thought you said he wasn't."

Stiles turned to look at his father after grabbing the chicken and veggies from the fridge. "Yes and no. Most of us consider him pack because he is to Jackson, but Danny hasn't accepted yet. He says he doesn't want the responsibility of it. He always shows up and helps when we need though." Stiles set up his knife and cutting board in silence.

"And what do you think?" The rhythmic sound of a sharp knife hitting a cutting board filled the kitchen until he was finished speaking.

Stiles looked down and started to move the board around. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you said, 'He says,' instead of saying something like he doesn't because of whatever. You think he says something, but what do you think he means? And why won't you look at me when you talk about it? Son, did something happen between you and Danny?" His dad had been really nosey and pushy lately. He supposed it was because he could tell Stiles was hiding something, but it was still annoying.

Stiles popped a slice of green pepper in his mouth and turned to his father with a contemplative look. He looked in his father's eyes for a moment.

He sighed after making up his mind. "Nothing happened between us. Danny doesn't join the pack because it's a commitment. It's basically a family. He doesn't want the weight of that. He also thinks the only ones that want him there are Jackson and I, which isn't true. He just gets freaked out by people being there all the time, always knowing everything about him. He feels like he might lose them at anytime. The more you love something the more it hurts once it's gone, you know?"

His father looked at him with sad eyes. "I know."

Stiles nodded. He bit his lip to hold in the question begging to slip out.

"Why wouldn't you look at me before? I know it wasn't just because of something with Danny. There's something going on with you lately."

Stiles couldn't hold it in any longer. "Do you ever regret loving mom?"

"Never." It was immediate and without hesitation.

Stiles fidgeted. "Yeah, but what if you knew you would find another wife and son you would love just as much as you love us. Would you want to save yourself the heartbreak of loving someone you lost?"

His father's eyes were glistening as he walked up to Stiles and pulled him into a hug. "I wouldn't trade you both for anything. That I promise you kid. Never." He kissed the top of Stiles' head. "Never, ever. You're my boy, and she was the love of my life."

Stiles nodded into his chest and gripped his shirt.

His father pulled back and looked at him assessing his face. "Why do you think you're loving someone you're going to lose Stiles?"

Stiles closed his eyes, but his tears fell anyway. "There's something I haven't told the pack, and I can't tell you yet either. And I need you to be okay with that. I shouldn't have even started to talk about it. You can't push okay?" He opened his eyes to look at his father pleadingly.

His father gripped his shoulders and looked at him sternly. "This is serious Stiles. The last time you didn't tell the pack or me about something, you had been assaulted on campus. You have to be straight with me here, no lying. Is this like that? Should we know?"

Stiles once again felt the guilt of keeping him getting beat up on campus from his family, but he knew they would've gone ballistic. Besides, he could and did handle a cocky omega. The only reason they knew now was because Danny let it slip to Jackson on break and Jackson came to him spitting mad in front of everyone. Jackson got in touch with some of his families friends within two hours. It was dealt with soon enough, but they still were angry at him for keeping it from them. Scott and Lydia felt betrayed and the rest of them seemed hurt, but Derek just stood there with his arms crossed looking like he was ready to murder Stiles.

But this wasn't like that. This wasn't him keeping something from them, this was him waiting to tell them. "I do plan on telling them, I just have to see how somethings work out first."

"Do you think they could work out in a way that hurts you?"

Stiles hesitated. "Yes. But if they do it would be better for everyone if they didn't know." He saw his father's confused face. "It would be easier for me to heal without them poking."

His dad sighed. "Kiddo I hope you know what you're getting into. Hell, I hope I'm doing the right thing by listening to you."

"It's always the right idea to listen to me pops." Stiles smiled and winked.

"I take it all back. Tell Scott right now. God, what was I thinking."

"Har har. And to think I was going to let you have full fat cheese with your rice tonight."

---

Stiles tried to stuff his hands into his jeans, but they were so tight his fingers barely went down. He pulled them out and stuck his arms out before letting them slap against his legs. He huffed and checked the door for him again. Danny was always either way early or a half hour late. Stiles decided to get a booth to wait out the next twenty minutes.

Stiles was sipping his half empty drink when someone slid into his booth and stole his attention. "Um sorry, this booth is taken."

The unfamiliar man gave him a charming smile. "Right, okay. I'll only be a minute." The man ducked his head and Stiles looked behind their booth to see who he was hiding from.

There was a loud redhead at the bar that immediately stuck out. She had a small gathering of laughing men around her.

Stiles turned back and the man was staring and smiling at him in a way he supposed was to be disarming. "So, did you run into an ex?"

The man scoffed. "Not on your life. It was that woman." He laughed and made a face like Stiles should immediately understand.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Was she rude?"

The man looked flabbergasted. "She's a woman, hitting on men." Stiles raised an eyebrow. "In here! In a gay bar! I went up to her to give her a piece of my mind, but those jerks stood up for the bitch."

Stiles got the full picture now and started to get angry, but kept his cool. "She could be bi. Also you know friends can come here too right? Like sometimes people just come here to have a good time."

He looked at Stiles like he was the one not understanding yet. "Yes, but she was flirting. With a guy."

Stiles took a breath in. "The guy could also be bi. Or it could've been her boyfriend. Or he is gay and as long as she backed off, big whoop."

The man scoffed. "If they are straight they shouldn't be here. And if they're bi, I don't see why they would be here looking for a hetero relationship. They can find that anywhere. I mean, you come to a gay bar for one thing."

Stiles couldn't take it any more. "Yeah. Acceptance. So if you're going to be an exclusionist asshole or a biphobe troll I think it's you who should leave. Anyone that respects other people has a right to be here without fear of rejection or judgement. Maybe they're bi, maybe they're straight, maybe one of them is trans or non-binary, maybe one of them is asexual. Maybe that or a ton of other things, but one thing they sure as hell are is none of your damn business! This is a safe place, and you can fuck right off if you're going to threaten that!"

The man got up, but still tried one final attempt. "Look, I just mean if there's so many of them invading our space, soon enough there won't be enough room for us." He spoke with stress on certain words.

Stiles gave him a sweet smile with murderous eyes. "There's always room for love. This isn't the Titanic jackass. And if you're referring to me in that, 'our' I'll have you know- I like tits too. And I'm too proud of it to allow a self centered prick like you to bully me into feeling bad about it. Have a nice day up on that high horse trampling all over the people that helped build this safe space you think is just yours. Yee-haw, ride your intersectional bigot ass right out of here!" Stiles was two seconds away from throwing his drink, but he thought that might be a bit much. He thought he got his point across well enough.

The man opened his mouth.

Stiles rolled his eyes. It appeared not.

Stiles tossed his drink right in his face as Danny came into view.

The man instantly began making a commotion.

Danny looked shocked. "Dude what the hell? Who is he?"

Stiles saw a bouncer looking inquisitively at them as he drew closer. The jungle had a strict no drink throwing and no bitch slapping policy. It upset the vibe and sales. Stiles apologized as loudly as he could, so he was heard by many people over the music. "Sorry. Biphobe. Thems the breaks. Sometimes you gotta toss a drink in an asshole's face for saying you don't belong here." The people around them instantly gave the soaked man dirty looks.

The tall bulky black man gripped the asshole's arm and started to pull him towards the door. He had an intimidating aura, but Stiles could tell there was kindness and understanding behind those completely unnecessary glasses for the dark club.

Stiles noticed a magenta, blue, and purple pin on the bouncers jacket. He gave a thumbs up. "I like your pin."

The bouncer just gave him a private smile. "I like your eyes."

Stiles gaped and looked to Danny. When he looked back the bouncer was gone as was the man.

Danny looked at him shocked. "Dude, Bubbles from Lilo and Stitch just flirted with you! No fair!"

Stiles calmed and fell into the conversation. "What do you mean no fair?"

Danny scoffed. "I do not, and do not picture myself having a daddy kink, but if I did it would be for one man, and Bubbles from Lilo and Stitch only."

Stiles tilted his head back and forth in tentative agreement. "I guess he does exude a vibe of protection."

---

They were enough drinks in that he was still in control, but his vigorous nodding made the room shift slightly. "His hands! You're absolutely right! I've been a fool!"

Danny laughed and pushed away his face. "You're loud."

Stiles stuck out his tongue.

Danny pushed his empty drink to the edge of the table. "Why aren't you trying to find someone to hook up with?"

Stiles was taken off guard more that he would've been sober. "What? What do you mean, I'm enjoying a night out with my boy."

Danny looked sympathetic. "Did ending that thing with Jason when we left college hurt you more than you thought it would?"

Stiles had to wrack his brain for a moment to think of who Jason was. "What? No. He was just a booty call. No feelings there."

Danny looked puzzled. "Then why?"

"Maybe I've had enough dating in college."

Danny scoffed and shook his head. "I introduced you to my friend Marcus who loves comics and puppies and is so your type. I pointed out a great fuck that you turned down, and we both know from college we don't mind sharing. I told you about a guy I've seen around a few nights that only talks to guys that look like you. You've shot them all down. You, Stiles Stilinski, who loves to date, to have sex, and just generally get to know new people. I've been keeping Lydia off your back, but now I want to know. What happened?"

Stiles started to sweat and he tried to come up with a lie that normally would already be off his lips. He tried to think of a way out, but couldn't find one.

The song switched right as he opened his mouth and Stiles thanked the gods. "This is our song! We haven't danced all night!"

Danny looked firm, but he cast a glance to the moving bodies. "Explanation after?" Danny was terrible at interrogation, he usually didn't care unless someone wanted to tell him.

Stiles nodded knowing full well Danny wouldn't leave the dance floor, without finding someone to leave with. "Let's dance."

In college Stiles had managed to figure out that songs had rhythms and had become quite the dancer. His hips moved sinfully and he knew where to put his hands now, but every once and awhile he would throw in a move that reminded Danny of just how far he had come.

They had separated several songs ago and found new partners. Stiles had danced with a lot of people, but never the same person twice and if they got too handsy he moved on. He was just there with his friend to have a good time. He was actually starting to have fun and enjoy the night without worrying.

He had pushed away some rather insistent wandering hands when Danny came up behind him to whisper into his ear, "There's this really creepy guy watching you."

"What?" Stiles' mind instantly raced. Was it a werewolf from a rival pack? Kanima? Witch? He pissed of an incubus one time. Scratch that, he's pissed of pretty much every supernatural being he's ever met at one point or another. He couldn't see through the moving crowd enough to catch any faces.

Danny leaned in and grabbed Stiles' hip so they didn't get separated on the dance floor. He repeated a little louder, but if he wasn't so close it would be lost to the loud music, "There's a creepy guy watching you. I think he'll go away if he thinks we're together."

Stiles heart had picked up and he leaned back into Danny's comforting embrace. "Okay." Stiles wondered if he should call someone, just in case it was a supernatural issue.

Danny turned him around, but kept glancing over Stiles' shoulder out of the crowd to look for the creep. "He's still staring. Grind on me."

They had done this so much in college to lure cute boys Stiles didn't even think twice. He tried to seem like Danny and him were together. They danced for a few verses.

Danny shook his head with worry. "Okay, he's clenching his fists now. I don't think it's working Stiles. I'm going to kiss you."

Stiles' eyes went wide. "Wait Danny I have a-"

Danny kissed him.

It was chaste, but still made his stomach roll. "Well, did it work?"

Danny was squinting his eyes, but they went wide with shock and something like fear. "Shit, no. He looks like he's going to murder me! Fuck, he just slammed his drink and is coming over here."

"What! Oh my God we have to call someone!" Stiles' voice was panicked. He could fight, but he was slightly tipsy and if Danny was worried, Stiles was. Besides, if he was supernatural Stiles didn't have a chance without something to defend himself with.

"Take my hand. We have to go closer to the bar." Danny laced their fingers together.

Stiles had just hit dial as a firm hand grabbed his arm not currently being dragged by Danny. Stiles let out a shriek. Before he could turn around to face the attacker he was pulled out of his grip by Danny and was now behind him.

"Leave him alone asshole!"

A phone started ringing.

The guy looked absolutely murderous. "I want to talk to Stiles."

"How do you know his name creep?!" Danny spat at him.

Stiles peered around Danny, "Wait... Derek?"

"Stiles do you know him?" Danny asked unsure, he looked at the semi familiar man and tried to place him.

"Yes he does." The man stated gruffly.

Stiles flushed with embarrassment. "He's my boyfriend."

Danny's face lit with recognition, then confusion again. "Cousin Miguel?"

"Derek." He spoke with that same cold, flat tone. Derek still looked terrifying as he reached into his pocket and answered his phone staring at Stiles.

Stiles lifted his own phone and spoke, "Um, hello?"

"You better have a really good explanation that takes less than five minutes, or I'm dumping you."

Danny looked at him with a shocked look. "I didn't buy that Miguel story for a second, but you're dating him? Wait Derek as in, alpha hottie Hale, Derek? You're dating the pack alpha?! Does the pack know? Well, that explains why Lydia couldn't set you up. Huh, I guess Issac wins the pot. He was the only one who thought you had someone else. Wait till Jackson hears he was wrong about you getting a girl pregnant."

Stiles' eyes went wide. "You can't tell them!"

Derek interjected with a blank face. "Yeah, especially since in about four and a half minutes he won't actually be dating me anymore."

Stiles turned to him frazzled. "Can you just stop for a moment!"

Danny had his phone out and went to unlock it, but Stiles batted his hands down.

Stiles huffed. "Look, everyone stop! I need to explain to both of you." He turned to Derek with a pleading look. "I have to talk to Danny real quick, but I promise you." Stiles' voice was filled with emotion and dripped with sincerity, "I promise you, nothing is going on with me and Danny and I can explain everything, but if I don't talk to him first, he will text Lydia while we're talking and you and I agreed we don't want that. He has had too much liquor to not know it is a bad idea, and not enough to be incoherent enough for Lydia to not believe him."

Derek looked deeply into his eyes and sighed. "You're lucky I know when you're lying."

Stiles let out a relieved breath and rested their foreheads together. "Thank God for heartbeats."

In the next second he was snatching Danny's phone and dragging him off to another side of the club.

Derek uselessly whispered after him, "I don't need your heartbeat to know."

Stiles pulled Danny to a quiet and private enough corner.

Stiles was breathless and spoke in a rush, "Look, you can't tell the pack. Now before you get snippy about them needing to know, just listen. Derek and I started to text a lot our second to last year. We got close, but decided not to date until I was done with college. We both didn't wait for each other, but we never got into something too serious. We've been taking it slow ever since I got back. And we don't want the pack to know yet."

Danny gave him a speculative look. "How slow?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "We've had sex. Lots. The whole me being frustrated thing? Different type of frustration. Definitely not from lack of sex."

Danny put his hands up with an easy grin. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't squandering all of that. Like hot damn Stilinski. You got a good one."

Stiles' face went soft. "Yeah I do."

"Then why don't you want the pack to know?"

Stiles looked over to where Derek was standing. He was far enough back to not be able to hear them, but close enough for Stiles to be able to signal if he needed help. He had a beer and one of Stiles' favorite drinks in the table beside him. He had found Stiles' hoodie and draped it over the chair so they wouldn't forget it. He knew Stiles always forgot his coat when he was drunk. Stiles smiled at him, even though he wasn't looking before turning back to Danny. "Because he's the type you marry."

Stiles scratched the back of his head and continued, "And I don't want to mess that up, but if I do, the pack knowing would make it a thousand times worse. They would be all sad and comforting and they would look at us if we're ever in a room together. And I don't want that. Even if things go wrong, I don't want us to feel weird. We're pack. And if we did split I don't want everyone thinking they had to pick sides or that we can't be friends anymore. I guess that's what I've been worrying about so much lately, if we are right for each other. I just want to know that this is right, that we are sure before we involve the pack or my dad. I just, I've been worried about losing him and how much it would hurt. God I've always worried about losing people since my mom, but I don't think I could lose him. Especially not if we tell everyone. If we tell them it makes it real, it means it will hurt more if we don't work out or if something happens. The pack means everything to us and if they know it means it has to work." Stiles looked down.

Danny nodded. "I get that, but when are you going to tell them? When will you know? Because it sounds like you already know Derek is the type you marry. Stiles, you don't actually have to marry him to be sure. You just have to see it. When you think of your future, is he in it? You talk like you're sure, just scared."

Stiles instantly pictured a big restored house and family enjoying themselves in the yard. He looked over and Derek was smiling at him with the smile he had only seen when they weren't with other people. He reached out to Stiles with a hand that had a silver band.

Stiles looked up to meet Danny's eyes and then he found Derek's across the room. Despite the weird circumstances Derek still smiled at him. Not like he was doing it as a courtesy. Like he loved him so much and he couldn't help it. "He isn't in it. He is it." Stiles turned back with a wide smile and tears in his eyes. "He's my future Danny."

Danny smiled back. "I won't tell the pack, but I think you should."

Stiles nodded as a giggle bubbled out of his throat. He started to back away as he spoke, "Do you need a ride?"

Danny smirked. "I think I might go home with tall, dark, and into me, but if not I'll use my app to call a ride. Go get your boy."

Stiles nodded and turned with a grin.

He found him where he knew he would be. Derek was a pensive drinker so his beer was almost gone. When he got to the table Stiles chugged his drink and Derek raised an eyebrow. "I have to tell you something, so I need the liquid courage."

Derek set his jaw. "I don't want to do this here. It's too loud. Let's go to my car."

Stiles was practically bursting with nerves by the time they got in the car.

They sat in silence for a few moments while Derek brooded and Stiles chewed his lip. When Derek reached to turn on the car Stiles stopped him and grabbed his hand. He smiled at it before pulling it close enough to push his lips softly against his knuckles.

Derek looked pained. "Stiles-"

"I love your hands." He snorted. "Even more than Bubble's"

Derek looked at him with raised eyebrows. "How much have you had?"

"Too much so I want to be as close to you for as long as I can, but sadly not enough to not know I can't cuddle you every second of every day."

Derek considered it for a moment. Fuck it, if this was going to be the last time he was close, he was going to be so close it hurt. Derek reached between his legs to the lever and slid back his seat. He tilted it to the perfect angle they had found and Stiles brightened. He climbed over the console and straddled his lap. Stiles settled in on top of him and tucked his head into his neck. Derek tried to not lose it as he felt the emotions welling up. He held onto Stiles' legs to ground himself.

Stiles kissed his neck softly. "I kissed Danny because he said some creep was staring at me." Derek could feel his smile pressed to his neck, then Stiles poked his side. "That's you. He thought you would go away if I was spoken for."

Derek gripped his legs harder.

"But if I would've known it was you, I could've told him that wouldn't work at all. Because, you see, I am spoken for. By you. Only by you. I only belong with you Derek."

Derek's grip relaxed, but he still asked, "Why were you there with him? I went out to pick up food and when I saw your Jeep here I was so confused."

Stiles didn't know where to start with that one. "Because he told me I'm the type you marry. And be-"

Derek grabbed him by the shoulders enough to pull him back. Derek looked positively sick to his stomach. "He wants to marry you?!"

Stiles tried to figure out where the conversation had been and where he meant it to be, all the while trying to figure out how the hell it got were it was. "What?"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing! He doesn't want to marry me, that's why he said he wouldn't date me!"

Derek looked no less hurt or shocked, but somehow more confused. "You asked him to date you?!"

"What? No! In college I asked him why he wouldn't date me. That was his answer, because I'm the type you marry."

Derek took a deep breath. "You're so confusing when you're drunk." Derek laughed lightly. "You're so confusing when you're sober."

Stiles looked petulant. "Can't you focus please?"

"Can't you make a point please?" Derek snarked.

"I'm the type you marry, and you're also the type you marry. Well not you, me."

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. "Stiles if you're suggesting we get drunk married in Vegas, you do realize I have to be drunk too? So that way I can't be the voice of reason."

Stiles sighed. "Ughhh you're not listening!" Stiles put both hands on each side of Derek's face with a bit too much force. "Danny tried to take me out to set me up, but he just made me realize something. I want to marry you. Not yet, but I do. Sometime. I don't want to be engaged yet either, but I wouldn't be opposed to that happening. Then we could get married. Maybe in the fall. Not the next next fall, that's too soon. Maybe summer though, because the next next next fall is too far away. I want to be married to you." Stiles looked into his eyes with tears brimming. "I want to love you every day of my life."

Derek just sat there with an open mouth and raised eyebrows. "I don't even know what to say to that."

Stiles smiled, but fidgeted. "Do you want that too?"

Derek spoke immediately, slightly breathlessly, "Yes."

"Then I think you could say, I love you too Stiles."

Derek pulled him by his neck down to kiss him. He leaned back and looked into Stiles' eyes with shining ones. "I love you too, Stiles. I want to love you for the rest of our lives."

Stiles smiled and kissed him again before leaning his forehead against Derek's.

"God I hope you're not too drunk to remember this. Or regret it in the morning."

Stiles smiled at him. "Take me home and fall asleep with me. Let's find out in the morning, lover."

Derek hugged Stiles to his chest with a crushing grip. "I will kill you if you forget this."

Stiles nodded into his neck. "Noted." He pulled back and climbed back to his seat.

"Please tell me Danny doesn't need a ride."

"He's fine. I checked before I left. He's more sober than me, and hard pressed I could probably fool my father in all except the breathalyzer."

"I don't think you'd pass any test. You got drunk enough to say you'd marry me."

Stiles looked over to him and shook his head. "I didn't get drunk enough to say it, stupid. I got drunk enough to finally realize it."

Derek pulled out of the parking lot and Stiles jolted. "Oh and I think we should tell the pack now!"

Derek smiled. "Yeah? Because of the proposal?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I did not propose. I just said that I would eventually be open to asking or saying yes."

Derek reached over and placed his hand on Stiles' thigh and swept his thumb in soothing motions. "I think we should too, darling."

Stiles laced their fingers together and smiled at the road ahead of them.

---

Stiles had a wide grin as he looked at the green lawn around him and the pack that filled it. It was a perfect summer day for the party. There was a game of frisbee and gossip circles his dad was even milling about close to the congrats cake hand in hand with Melissa.

Stiles looked down to the cool metal he was still getting used to. He smiled at it resting against the picnic table. The day had been filled with many congratulations and more than enough tears. Most from his father. Who joked he'd never thought he'd met someone stupid enough to propose to Stiles, but when he met Derek he knew. They both had been offended by that, but quickly forgave him when he said he had to give his two boys grief. Scotty had just beamed at Stiles and said he was happy he found his Allison. Jackson even showed up with his husband and smiled at them.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Danny sitting down on the side opposite of him.

After Derek knew he wasn't trying to steal his man, and was the reason they finally pulled their heads out of their asses about telling the pack, he took a liking to him. Stiles was awed by how well he fit in with everyone and some how he hadn't been there before. Eventually the pack wore him down enough that he joined. Erica was a menace and the best recruitment agent.

"So I guess no matter how awesome I was in college, I didn't get this one right. Some matchmaker I am."

"Actually..." Stiles smiled and went to his pocket for the piece of paper he had brought for this moment. It was crinkled from when he crumpled it to throw away, but saved last minute to show Scott.

He slid the smoothed out post-it note over to Danny and he read it out loud, "Stiles, marry 'cousin Miguel' He's hot and so not your cousin."

Danny let out a bark of laughter. "I forgot I wrote this."

Stiles shrugged. "So you were right."

He looked up when he heard someone clear their throat. Derek held out a hand and Stiles' eyes were drawn to that silver band. "I think it's time for cake, before your dad eats it all with his eyes. Come along beloved."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but took his hand as he got up. "You can't call me that if you don't call me that when we're all old and wrinkled."

Derek used their entwined hands to yank him closer to his chest. "If I don't call you pet names when we are old and wrinkled, it is because I have forgotten every word that compares to how much I love you."

"Sap."

Derek grinned. "You love it."

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked into Derek's. "I love you."

Derek beamed and held up his hand proudly. "Yeah you do! You're gonna be stuck with me."

Stiles replied with adoration in his eyes, "I already am."

"Guuuys! Cake."

Their eyes didn't move from each other as they spoke in unison.

"Shut up Cora."

"Cora fuck off."

Stiles dropped his voice lower, "I think we should stay here and make them wait. Or we could excuse ourselves for a moment and have sex upstairs."

"You're terrible. Utterly deviant. That's such a good idea." Derek rested their noses together.

"I know."

Derek smiled. "But cake. You love cake."

Stiles grinned lecherously. "I also love other things I can put in my mouth."

"Dude, gross!"

"Eavesdrop on the newly engaged couple and you deserve what you hear Scott!" Stiles shouted.

Derek was beaming and Stiles looked at him confused. "You hate when I embarrass you. Wha-"

"You're engaged to me. I'm engaged to you. We're engaged. It sounds so..."

Stiles finished for him, "Weird. But good."

Derek had a momentary flash of doubt. "You feel like this is right too, right?"

Stiles nodded. "The kind of right that makes you sure nothing but this was ever supposed to happen. I'm meant to marry you Derek Hale, and you're meant to marry me. Come witches, werewolves, Jackson being a lovable asshole, or fighting over what colors to paint the house I'm going to be with you through it all. Our lives were meant to be given to each other. Why else do you think I keep saving your sourwolf ass?" Stiles' emotional face faded to a smirk.

Derek looked contemplative for a second before he looked certain. "Were you exaggerating when you said you didn't want to plan a wedding and have a big fancy party?"

Stiles looked suspicious. "I don't need any of that. What are you talking about Derek?"

Derek looked excited. "Look me in the eyes and tell me everything you need for your future isn't in this yard. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want to start that life."

Stiles still looked confused.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want it today. Just say it and I'll wait. I'll wait for you to decide which flowers you like best. I'll wait to think over who's side Erica is on. I'll wait to let you pick out a tux. I'll wait for you to go back and forth on a venue until you realize that under the tree right next to our house is perfect. I'll wait for the day saying things like our house doesn't make me feel impatient. I'll wait for that God awfully long walk down the aisle. Tell me right now and I swear to God Stiles I'll wait for it all. But if you want it today as bad as I do, I'll carry you to the courthouse."

Stiles grinned at him. "I'm the type you marry, Derek Hale. So what are you waiting for?"

They met in the middle and there was so much love in that kiss it almost ached.

Erica smirked and shouted as everyone handed her and Melissa dollar bills. "Everyone get your ass in a vehicle. It doesn't matter which one. We have a wedding to attend."

Derek and his father both signed the papers with shaky hands and teared eyes.

When they were declared the Stilinski-Hales Stiles let out a punched breath. He looked over at Derek through the tears left over from their vows and he smiled.

Derek beamed wide and bright as Stiles thought to himself. This, this is what my future looks like.

This is for @sterek-bingo

[instasiswetrust]

Werewolf AU (Steve centric)

When the wolf finds him, Steve's been sitting on that rock for nigh on an hour. Or at least, he assumes it could've been an hour even when it feels like he's been there for merely a handful of minutes.

He doesn't turn to greet the wolf, doesn't even flinch, heavy gaze entirely focused on the two-story house he can make out at the bottom of the hill. From his place on the raised rock, just at the edge of the trees where the pine forest meets the last remnants of the suburban landscape, he knows no one can spot him from down there. He can see them though.

Two figures, partially hidden by the curtains that frame the open window, sit at a table. He thinks they might be having dinner, trading inane chatter like it was any other day. And you know, maybe it was.

(He tries not to dwell on how much that thought makes his chest ache.)

Behind him, a soft rustle can be heard, the crunching of heavy boots on dried pine needles, before someone sits next to him on the rock. Their legs dangle off the edge of the raised rock, and by the mismatched pink and green striped socks they are wearing, Steve can easily tell who they are.

"It's been two hours, Stevie. Dad thought you had gotten lost in the woods again."

Susie.

(For some reason he had thought Frank would've found him first. He decides not to think about the small spark of disappointment that he feels.)

"Sorry." He mutters, prying his gaze away from the house and facing her properly. She's shorter than he is and it makes him have to look down at her. In her hands is a partially eaten chocolate bar - where she got it, Steve doesn't know - and when she notices his eyes on her, she raises it slightly so he can take a bite from it.

Steve wonders if she's doing it because of the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, or the way his hair is lying limp against his head from all the times he had run his hands through it. Either way, he's glad she doesn't mention it

"Doesn't chocolate make us sick?" Maybe it's ironic for him to ask when he's taking a bite of the chocolate too, but he could do with the sweetness.

"Life without chocolate it's not worth living." And when she smiles, her cheeks dimple in the cutest of ways. It's honest, happy, and slightly manic, childish in a way that reminds him so much of Dustin that he ends up choking back tears.

She doesn't say anything but her eyes soften. Next thing he knows, she's all but pulled him into an embrace, his face smooshed into her shoulder in a slightly awkward angle due to their height difference. The way he doesn't even bother finding a more comfortable position, his whole body relaxing under her touch, is evidence enough of how much he needed something like this.

"I miss them." Whispered like a secret, his words muffled against the fabric of her pink cable knit sweater, even as the first sob wracks through him. “I k-know I shouldn't because they don't s-seem to care that I left but-”

Her hands are on his hair, fingers carding gently through it, even as she hums a lullaby under her breath. It makes him sob harder, face hidden against the curve of her shoulder, hands desperately clinging to her.

Susie never comments on it. She doesn't try to justify his feelings or vilify his parents. Her sole focus is on him, letting him cry it out without caring if her sweater gets stained with tears. Once he's finally calmed down, she waits for him to put himself back together before standing and helping him up.

“Come, Stevie. Let's go back before Dad starts worrying.”

------

The thing about shifting into a wolf was that keeping any coherent thoughts was absolute hell to do, especially when you had only been a wolf for three whole weeks. Thinking he could somehow sneak into town without being seen was foolish to even consider.

That still didn't stop Steve.

Dustin. Robin. Nancy.

Names repeating in his brain that made absolutely no sense to a wolf who couldn't make sense of abstract concepts. But they were important. He could feel it under his skin, like an itch that he couldn't scratch. How he would find them, he wasn't sure, but he would.

And that's how he ends up climbing clumsily into the open window that leads to Dustin's room, making a racket as he topples over half a dozen action figures that were settled on the dresser. His nails clack sharply against the hardwood floors, nose twitching curiously at all the scents that fill the room.

A sudden movement out of the corner of his eye has him turning his head to the side, finding himself at the foot of a raised structure that he vaguely remembers is meant to be den. On it, a human child holds a complicated plastic...thing, pointing it directly at him. He smells of curiosity and fear but under it, all is a scent so familiar that it makes the wolf's chest ache with emotions he can't name, a soft confused whine escaping him.

The child tilts its head at the sound, curiosity seemingly winning over his fear as he crawls closer to the edge of the raised platform, eyes locking on the wolf- No. On Steve.

That single moment of clarity is all Steve needs to trigger back the change, skin morphing and bones cracking, as his body protests with the pain of forcing him back into a form resembling something human. At last, there's no wolf, just a very naked teenager sitting in the middle of Dustin's room with a nerf gun pointed at him.

"Steve?!" He flinches despite Dustin's voice being no louder than a whisper. A cold breeze streams through the open window, making him shiver and reminding him that he's still very much naked.

"Look, I promise I will explain just-" Steve flushes, fumbling with the necklace on his neck until it spits out the change of clothes he had saved in there. "Let me get dressed because this is awfully embarrassing."

"I uh- sure?" And it's clear by his tone of voice that he's choking on a laugh but he does cover his eyes to give Steve some privacy.

It doesn't take long before he's fully dressed, sitting on the corner of Dustin's bed while his friend stares at him with eyes filled with curiosity and accusation. Steve cannot blame him. For all everyone knew he could've been dead no matter what the note he left behind said.

"So you're a werewolf." Not a question but he nods, feeling uncomfortable as he remembers Evan saying he couldn't tell anyone else for the safety of not only himself but the pack.

"You weren't supposed to find out about that but it's hard keeping human thoughts while I remain a wolf." Dustin has that look on his face that Steve knows means he wants to ask more questions but is refraining himself from doing so. It makes him smile at the familiarity of it all. "I'm not actually supposed to be here, in fact."

"Why? Did you get kidnapped by a werewolf cult or something? Is that why you left?"

Steve snorts, shaking his head quickly. "No, no. Nothing like that. It's just for safety, y'know? Monster hunters are common in small towns like this according to Da- according to Evan."

His slip up makes Dustin quirk an eyebrow.

"Were you just about to call this Evan guy, Dad?"

"Look-" But before he could start explaining, the younger boy interrupted him again.

"Wait, you said Monster hunters, not Werewolf hunters. Does that mean other creatures are real? Like Fae, and Tieflings, and Vampires? Is Dracula real? Is Mothman real?" He's firing questions with the swiftness of a TV presenter, Steve immediately putting hands on his shoulders to slow him down.

"Slow down, dingus." He teases, the old nickname making Dustin roll his eyes. "I'm not really supposed to be saying any of this but I guess since you've already seen me..."

"C'mon Steve, tell me at least a little! Please?" And Dustin's known Steve for long enough that he's aware the guy is absolutely weak when it comes to puppy eyes.

He sighs, running a hand through his face before caving in. "Monsters are real, yes. I only know a few, those that have visited the pack for the most part, but Dr. Herman has many Bestiaries around that he agreed to let me read once I graduate from Evan's pack dynamic classes."

Dustin is absolutely beaming with all the new information, a hundred questions waiting to be voiced on his lips but suddenly his expression falls, brows furrowing and teeth worrying his bottom lip. He's avoiding Steve's gaze and his scent stinks of sadness.

"Hey, what's the matter? I thought you would be excited to know Mothman might be real?" He's still saying nothing and Steve is starting to grow worried. Did he do something wrong?

"This means you aren't coming back...right?" It's barely above a whisper but Steve's hearing is so sharp that he has no trouble hearing him. Inside his chest, his heart clenches painfully.

When he shakes his head and Dustin's gaze falls to his lap, Steve feels like his body is being filled with lead.

"I still have my phone with me, and I might be able to visit in the future but... No. I'm not coming back, Dustin." Grief bubbles in his chest, choking him up and making his eyes burn with the tears he wants to shed but refuses to.

Dustin tackles him into a hug, squeezing him so hard that it hurts but Steve doesn't mind, hugging him back just as tightly. If either of them cries they don't bother mentioning it.

It's not important after all.

----

Dawn shines pink and orange over the horizon when he makes it back to the ranch, exhausted to his bones.

Evan is waiting for him in the kitchen when he steps in and Steve is not surprised. The older werewolf had the uncanny ability to know when any of them were getting into trouble, after all. So all Steve does is hang his head, feeling the weight of Evan's gaze on him.

"Sit." He says, and his voice doesn't give anything away. So Steve sits and waits for the reprimanding he's so sure will come.

Except it doesn't.

"You have been crying. Are you hurt?" Evan is truly concerned it seems, his voice firm but not too loud. Is enough to bring the tears back to Steve's eyes, a broken sob leaving him as he hides his head in his hands. And all the older man does is rub his back comfortingly until his sobs have been reduced to occasional sniffles. Only then does he speak again.

"Feeling better?" Steve nods, once, before stopping and shaking his head. Evan chuckles, his gruff voice is oddly comforting. "Ah, here I was thinking you had been taking all these changes a little too well."

"I'm used to rolling with the punches." Steve tries offering him a smile but it comes out looking more like a grimace so he ends up giving it up altogether. He hates how true that statement is but Evan understands.

(Somehow, he always understands when it comes to Steve's parents.)

They are both quiet after that, the silence comforting were it not for the way Steve's stomach roiled with his guilt. He had to say something, apologize, or the shame would eat him alive.

"Look, I'm... I'm sorry I went out to town without telling anyone but it's just- I was homesick, and I missed my friends so much, and I basically left without giving Dustin an expl-" He's babbling out of nervousness, excuses spooling out of him like worn thread but he pauses once Evan settles his heavy hand on his shoulder. Big hands. Hands capable of drawing the softest of portraits with as much ease as they could choke out a deer.

"I'm not mad, pup." Steve has to bite his cheek at that to stop his eyes from filling up with tears again over something so silly as a word. "Kinda expected you to eventually do it. Had Danny's cat familiar follow you last night just to make sure you would be okay."

Steve thinks he should feel offended by that last bit of information but he honestly cannot give a fuck when he's basically swimming in the relief that courses through him at Evan's words. He knows and he isn't mad. Knows and doesn't blame him for showing weakness.

(Knows and still loves him.)

Evan smiles, barely an upturn of his lips but it's there and his words are soft when he says, "Go to bed, pup."

He does. And for the first time in a while, he doesn't dream at all.

[redhoodedwolf]

Prompt: They both keep asking each other out but thinking the other one is rejecting them and lydia has to like banshee scream some sense into them or something

“So, what are you doing this weekend?”

Stiles scoffed, tossing the lacrosse ball back up towards the ceiling and catching it narrowly before it smacked him on the nose on the way down. “Not going on a date,” he said, somewhat bitterly. It’d been over three months since the last one of those and he’s starting to take it personally. Is he no longer attractive? Did moving in with his dad while he goes through surgery recovery really demote his worth?

Derek was quiet for a moment, probably engrossed in his bestiary research again. When Stiles turned onto his side on the bed and glanced at him, he caught Derek’s eyes flitting back down to the book. “I see,” the werewolf said a beat later, no emotion readable in his voice.

Stiles continued to stare at him, mostly unabashedly, noting how Derek’s fingers curled over one corner of the book, the shadows his dark eyelashes cast over his cheeks, his shoulders bare underneath a tight white tank top.

*

“I am starving,” John Stilinski complained, and Stiles had come to expect this complaint every evening after physical therapy, like clockwork.

Derek, his physical therapist, chuckled as he lowered Stiles’ father into the living room recliner, removing the crutches from his hands. “You did good work today, it’s to be expected.”

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

Derek ignored the nickname, which Stiles knew five years ago would have garnered even his father the Hale Death Glare. “You’ve got good bones, Sheriff, and they’re healing nicely. In a couple weeks we’ll try to get you walking without the crutches--”

“As long as you continue doing your daily exercises,” Stiles finished Derek’s thought as he brought a healthy plate of fruits and vegetables out from the kitchen to settle onto the table next to his dad’s chair.

Derek nodded at him, a small smile on his lips. His eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Stiles felt the words tumble out of his mouth, “We should go get dinner. Together,” he tacked on when he got control of his mouth again.

Maybe doing this in front of his immobile father wasn’t the best choice, but needs must?

Derek’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked away from Stiles over to his father and then back to Stiles. Derek cleared his throat, and cast his eyes downward. Stiles pursed his lips.

“We--You shouldn’t leave your dad. He’ll need the pork chops you’ve been defrosting for dinner tonight to help revive him.”

Stiles felt a frozen smile on his face and a similar coolness in his stomach. “Right. Forgot about those.”

*

Danny arched an eyebrow when Stiles slid onto a stool at the bar, and before Stiles could utter a greeting, asked, “Does Lydia know you’re here?”

Stiles blinked. “Um, no? She’s in Boston? Do I need her permission to drink? I’ll have what’s on tap.”

Danny’s eyebrow looked far more judgmental, but he moved to grab a mug for Stiles’ beer and filled it. “I ask because she’s been asking me to keep her up to date with your... shall we say movements here. I don’t think she expected you in a gay bar at night when you could be with someone else.”

Stiles scoffed and took a long drink from his mug. “And who could that be, my dad?”

“Was thinking younger, more scruffy, more fangs,” Danny shot back with, and Stiles’ beer suddenly went down like lava, drying up his insides and instantly draining the life from him.

“No. No, that’s not...” Stiles shook his head, unable to finish.

Danny made a noise, and Stiles looked back up at him.

“Weird. Ran into someone at the grocery store last week, and all he, ehem, they, if we’re still pretending here, talked about was helping you, and why you were in town, and if I had seen you recently.”

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “He’s my dad’s PT, okay? I’m home for my dad. That’s what he cares about. He made that pretty clear.”

Danny refilled his mug without Stiles asking for it, and it made a dull clanking when the full drink hit the bartop. “You asked him out?”

Stiles took the mug into his hands and said nothing.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Look, I know how scarce FMLA time is, even for me, I have no idea how much they give you fancy FBI operatives--”

“They’re actually surprisingly good about it,” Stiles interrupted, a puff to his chest. “That, and they know if they ever want me back, which they do because they need me, then they’ll give me what I want.”

“You have such a confident attitude when it comes to your job,” Danny said, as if his statement had a double meaning. “Expect a call from Lydia tomorrow.”

*

Stiles was in his room the next morning, glad for his foresight the night before to not drink himself into a stupor he hadn’t found himself in since college, window open to let in the morning breeze and the sound of Derek’s voice as he stood on the front porch, talking into his phone.

Derek was early for his dad’s appointment, so Stiles had no qualms about making him wait. He wasn’t ready to face him yet, not without waking up a bit more and removing the images of dream-Derek from his brain.

“Look,” Derek said abruptly, and the sudden clarity of his voice caught Stiles’ attention. “I’ve already gotten a no, okay? I’m not such an asshole as to ask twice.”

Stiles couldn’t see him and didn’t want to move closer to the window, in case Derek heard or sensed him eavesdropping, so he moved about his room as naturally as possible, pulling off his sleep pants and dressing in fresh jeans.

“I don’t know what Danny told you, but--”

Stiles stubbed his toes on the leg of his bed, so he missed the rest of Derek’s sentence as he cursed up a storm mentally and shook out his foot to try and stop the sharp pain.

“We can’t all be special like you.”

Stiles collapsed onto the edge of his bed. He’d barely caught the words coming from Derek, they’d been spoken so gently. Stiles swallowed thickly. Who could Derek be talking to that garnered such respect and tenderness? Maybe Cora?

The doorbell rang downstairs, and his dad called, “Derek’s here!” from the kitchen, meaning “get the door for me I’m finishing up the last of my exercises that I promised I would do yesterday but never did.”

Stiles pulled on a shirt and raced down the stairs, opening the door for Derek in record time. “We should just get you a key to the house,” Stiles half-joked.

There was a look on Derek’s face that Stiles couldn’t read. He also couldn’t tell if it had to do with his phone conversation or seeing Stiles.

Derek glanced up behind him and said, “Your phone is--” he paused and shook his head. “Your dad in the living room?”

Stiles stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind them. “The kitchen, I think? I just woke up.”

Derek glanced at the hall clock that proclaimed it was almost eleven thirty in the morning. He licked his lips. “Long night?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Went out for drinks,” he answered a beat later, spotting his father in the kitchen, crutch under one arm and trying to bend to reach something in the fridge. “Dad, would you let me get it, please?”

“I would if my son didn’t come home in the early hours of the morning, thus sleeping past any kind of respectable time, to help me eat something before my PT appointment. Hello Derek,” his father greeted, smile on his face wavering before he asked, “Everything okay?”

Stiles turned to see Derek’s eyes on the floor as he nodded. “All good, Sheriff. Let’s get you squared away.”

*

Stiles used the appointment time as a reason to escape and get groceries. Halfway to the store, his phone sprang to live, vibrating up a storm in the cup holder. He let the call ring out, but then whoever it was called back immediately. With a sigh, Stiles pulled into the closest parking lot which happened to be for a bank and reached for his phone. He’d assumed it was work calling, but Lydia’s name was flashing on the screen, declaring several missed calls from earlier in the morning as well. He’d recalled Danny’s warning from the night (this morning?) before and groaned, loudly.

When the phone rang again, he picked up immediately. “Yes, strawberry goddess?”

“Are you with Derek?”

Stiles glanced in his rear-view mirror to double check (hey, it had happened before) and replied, “No, he’s at home working with Dad. Why?”

“Where are you?”

Stiles was starting to get a headache. “On my way to the store. Pulled into a parking lot because you called.”

“Good. Switch to FaceTime.”

Stiles knew it wasn’t a question. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen, unenthused, until Lydia’s face appeared before him.

“So, what did Danny tell you?” Stiles asked, wanting to get this out of the way.

“Stiles, you look sad,” Lydia said with a “tsk” in her voice.

“Not exactly swimming in roses here in good ol’ BH, hon.”

Lydia smiled sympathetically. “You miss work?”

Stiles rubbed his free hand through his hair. “I mean, yeah? But this is way more important. And it’s been good family time. The SanFran branch is close but not close enough.”

Lydia nodded. “I know. But you should be making the most out of your time. Like not shooting yourself in the foot.”

Stiles squawked indignantly. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what Danny told me, at least,” She flipped her hand back and forth, and Stiles noticed something gleaming on her fourth finger.

“Lydia, are you engaged?!” Stiles shrieked. Some lady coming out of the bank glared at him and clutched her purse tight to her chest. How dare she, he worked for the FBI.

Lydia huffed and examined her left hand. “Yes. All the more reason for you to stop shooting yourself in the foot so you can bring a date to my wedding. You’ll be my best man, of course.”

“Of-of course. I’m-I’d be honored. But, wait...” Stiles shook his head, reorganizing his thoughts. “I’m not shooting myself, I’m putting myself out there and getting rejected. I’m...getting shot at. Metaphorically.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if his connection froze or if Lydia was just holding the “Stiles is an idiot” look on her face.

“Lydia,” Stiles said, in warning.

“And he calls me special,” Lydia murmured under her breath, face finally breaking.

And that. That pinged a bell in Stiles’ brain. “You were the one on the phone with Derek earlier?”

“Yes, telling him about my upcoming nuptials and how I was hoping to use Hale land to have the ceremony and reception on. And about his choice in date.”

Stiles watched Lydia smirk, and it was still scary even pixelated. He tried to think back on the little he’d overheard from the call. But putting it into context didn’t make sense. Because then Derek would have been meaning that he’d asked someone on a date, and got turned down. Not impossible, but improbable, especially considering his character growth since Stiles was in high school.

A sick feeling settled into Stiles’ stomach when he remembered what else Derek had said. “Did... he asked out--”

“Yes, Stiles,” Lydia said with a relieved sigh.

“Danny,” Stiles choked out and slumped back in the seat. Of course. 

“Oh for the love of Christ,” Lydia hissed, and Stiles slid his gaze back over to the phone to see Lydia practically seething. “I will scream. I am about to scream. Just go get your stupid groceries, go home, talk to Derek, and then call me.”

“So he can let me down a second time? No thanks,” Stiles grumbled, but she did have a point about the store.

“You are a disappointment,” Lydia said before abruptly ending the call, which stung a little, but Stiles knew she didn’t really mean it.

*

Derek was at his car door when he got home an hour after leaving and helped to bring the bags of groceries into the house. He even helped put them away in the kitchen, not uttering a word the entire time. It was weirding Stiles out, but not enough to tell him to stop. The job was done in more than half the time.

“Your dad is taking a shower. Don’t worry,” Derek added, when Stiles opened his mouth, “I’ve got ears on him. He’s perfectly steady, using the shower chair and everything. Just didn’t want another sponge bath from his son.”

Stiles scoffed, unable to look at Derek for more than a second without feeling jealous. “They aren’t a cake walk for me either.”

“I’m not dating Danny.”

Stiles stopped rolling the empty plastic bags into a large ball and tossed it onto the counter, wound-up bags spilling in random directions and expanding very slowly.

“I didn’t ask him out either. I wouldn’t--” Derek’s voice faltered, and Stiles look at him truly for the first time that day. Derek’s shoulders were slumped, and he looked exhausted. “I wouldn’t do that to you, unknowingly or knowingly.”

“Um.” Stiles was now feeling like the idiot Lydia looked at him like.

“Lydia texted me, said you thought I’d asked him out, but I didn’t, I barely see him, he’s only working here before he starts grad school--”

“I know,” Stiles said, needing to do something with his body before he went into a complete shock. He was lost, which didn’t happen much these days.

Derek didn’t look any happier; in fact he looked even more upset, though his emotions only played out in the crinkles on his face and the slope of his torso. “Of course, yeah, I mean you spent all night with him so...” Derek trailed off.

Stiles started to catch on. “Yeeeah,” he responded, slowly. “Because he was bartending at the bar I went to last night. Contractually obligated to stick around and make drinks.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “But then who did you meet for drinks?”

Stiles raised his hands up. “Nobody? I mean, there were others there, but it was a Wednesday night, dude, not exactly popping.”

“So you’re not dating Danny?”

Stiles scoffed. “No, Danny is out of my league and I am not his type.” He swallowed before adding, “You are, though.”

Derek nodded once, then again. “Oh. So it’s just me, then. I see.”

“That’s great. Wanna show me the picture?” Stiles asked, reaching out to settle a hand on Derek’s arm and squeezing the muscle. “I feel like we’re working with different cameras here.”

Derek’s eyes fell on Stiles’ touch of comfort, gaze trailing up his arm and finally landing on his face. “Lydia is getting married,” he mumbled.

“She is,” Stiles said, because it was good they agreed on something.

Derek stared at him, took a deep breath, and said, “And I want to date you.”

Stiles’ grip on Derek’s arm tightened. He forced back the stupid smile that wanted to overwhelm his face and said on an exhale, “What made you change your mind?”

“Change my mind? I haven’t. I asked you on a date. You said you weren’t interested.”

Stiles pulled Derek a step closer to him, eyes wide and head shaking. “Uh, no, I would never do that, besides it was you who turned me down, remember?”

Derek took hold of Stiles’ wrist and pulled him even closer, their chests touching. “I think neither of us have been working with a full deck here.”

“You’re mixing metaphors now,” Stiles warned, and knew Derek could hear the way his heart was tripping over itself by the tightening of his grip.

“No, you used one metaphor, and then I used one. No mixing, yet,” Derek challenged, pale eyes flitting all over Stiles’ face before his gaze was landing below his nose.

“I think I am starting to get why Lydia wanted to scream in my face earlier,” Stiles murmured, lips close to brushing Derek’s as he rocked forward.

“I kind of want to scream now.”

Stiles and Derek jumped apart to see an amused and wet-haired Sheriff in the kitchen doorway, a towel slung over his shoulders.

“Dad, you are the worst,” Stiles declared.

His father gave him a look.

“Oh, go do your alphabet foot exercises,” Stiles shot back, snagging Derek’s wrist and pulling him past his father and into the hallway. “I’m going to ask a second time, Derek, and I know not taking no for an answer is so high-school-Stiles but I think this time I can make an exception.”

Derek was grinning at him, teeth on display, and Stiles tilted forward to kiss them, but realized halfway through the motion how weird that might be.

“Will you go on a date with me? And be my date to Lydia’s wedding, whenever that is?” Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s chest, over his heart. “Please don’t say no,” he whispered. “You are so my type.”

Derek raised his chin and kissed him, which was fantastic, but not an answer. Stiles moaned his disappointment into the kiss, but didn’t pull away because he was pretty sure Derek was more of an actions-guy anyway.

He was definitely good at the physicality part of physical therapy, Stiles could quickly attest to this.

[the-book-reaper]

my @thewitchersecretsanta gift for @saltytransidiot!! I’m no IndigoDream, inexplicifics, round--robin, or any of the other amazing authors in this fandom, but I hope this makes you smile 💕💕

Jaskier absolutely loves wintering at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had finally worked up the nerve to invite him  to meet his family two years ago. They’d been together for thirteen years and together for a little over five.

Jaskier loves the winter because it’s really the only time Geralt gets to completely relax. With his father-figure (though none of them would ever admit it) and brothers there, isolated from a world that seems to wish them every harm.

read on ao3 here

Even after just two winters with them, Jaskier loves Lambert and Eskel. Not in the same way as he loves Geralt, of course, but as some mix of friend and brother. Eskel showed him around the library and Jaskier is teaching him how to craft his own lute, since every lute made for a human would be much too small. Lambert, while he loves his pranks, is quite clever and they can spend hours trading riddles and jokes.

He’d been expecting at least some animosity from Vesemir, considering he is the first “human” to enter Kaer Morhen since the raids. Geralt had blushed so adorably when Vesemir casually mentioned how often he talks about his bard. Jaskier likes doing food prep with him, though he’ll leave the actually cooking to the old wolf. The few times he tried… well, let’s just say those scorch marks in the stone of the kitchen weren’t completely intentional.

He loves cuddling up to Geralt in the evenings, all five of them around the crackling fireplace. He’d tried one sip of Lambert’s moonshine and started tearing up from the sheer amount of alcohol in it. The wolves would need a lot of human drinks to get drunk, so they usually only can during the winter. Every coin they make on the Path goes to food, shelter, supplies, and the occasional prostitute. Anyway, they don’t feel safe enough around humans to allow themselves to be in such a vulnerable state even if they did have the money.

Vesemir never gets terribly drunk. Actually, Jaskier has never seen him act even just the littlest bit intoxicated, even though the witchers drink from the same barrel and roughly the same amount. Eskel either stops after he feels tipsy or drinks until he falls asleep. Lambert usually has to be cut off once he starts suggesting things like going outside—during a blizzard—to spar. Naked.

And Geralt. Oh, how Jaskier loves his witcher. Completely sober, Geralt always maintains at least one point of contact with him if they’re in the same room. After one drink, he purrs easily and will grumble at Jaskier if he stops playing with his hair. At two, Geralt either pulls him into his lap, or is nearly in Jaskier's lap.

Somewhere between three and four is the adorable sweet-spot. When he hits this point, Geralt gets sad if Jaskier's attention strays from him too long. He demands many kisses, pouts if he only gets a peck, and whines adorably if Jaskier refuses him outright. Jaskier will herd him to their room at this point, where he cuddles his darling witcher until he falls asleep, secure in his arms.

This year, he is very much looking forward to exchanging their gifts. Geralt has been extremely secretive about his present, and the anticipation is killing him. This year, Jaskier’s gotten his love a couple new journals with some pencils, colored chalks, and a few paints.

Geralt recently shared that he initially had a lot of trouble with memorizing the bestiary. After the first couple beatings when he couldn’t answer the Masters’ questions, he learned that if he drew each monster, labeling as he went, he was able to retain the information much easier. Soon, he had a sketchbook completely filled with drawings and his only bruises were from training or roughhousing.

But once he’d memorized the bestiary completely, he didn’t want to stop drawing. So he started filling up notebooks with sketches of herbs and flowers, whether or not they had a use. Then he turned to anything he could think of, really.

Nothing is secret in Kaer Morhen though, and the other trainees mocked him mercilessly about it. Eventually he just stopped drawing altogether. Once he was on the Path, he didn’t exactly have much coin to spare on such frivolous things.

When the bard started improving his image, however… Geralt found his coin-purse to be not nearly as empty as it was before. Still, he worried that Jaskier would make fun of him about this hidden interest as well.

He honestly can’t even remember how, but Jaskier did find out and actually supported it, surprisingly. Jaskier had even been the one to buy his first notebook along with a few different pencils.

He never made fun of him, instead praising his art to a near ridiculous extent. Ridiculous to Geralt, that is. Jaskier insisted he was merely being honest.

Now Yule is coming up, and Jaskier has his gifts prepared. The art supplies for Geralt. A good set of strings for Eskel’s lute and some more sheet music. For Lambert he’s brought a book of 500 names since the idiot never calls his horses anything but “Horse” as well as more of that fancy soap he pretends to hate.

Vesemir is always the toughest. The old wolf doesn’t want for much, and it’s pretty bad form—in Jaskier's opinion—to give a person a gift they’ve already received in the past. Last year, Jaskier gave him an extremely old book of poetry written in Elder Speech he’d gotten for a steal at the market. The poor merchant had absolutely no idea about the true value of it!

That find had just been a fluke however, but he somehow got lucky again this year.

--

Now, four Wolves and one bard lounge by an open fire, safe and content. Jaskier takes another sip of his hot tea, the warmth spreading through his body. He can’t help but snuggle in closer to Geralt, who squeezes him gently with the arm around his waist. Finally, it’s time to open presents.

Jaskier insists they open their gifts from him first. He simply can’t take any more anticipation; he needs to know what they think. They’ll probably like them, but there’s always that little niggling voice telling him they’ll only say they like it to be polite.

“Oh, fuck you.” It seems Lambert has opened his gift the fastest. “And why do you keep getting me this fancy-pantsy soap?”

“Why do you keep using it?” Jaskier teases. Geralt chuckles at Lambert’s petulant grumble. Warmth completely unrelated to his tea blooms in Jaskier's chest. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being nice to yourself every once in a while, my little wolf.”

Lambert growls at him, but can’t protest because he is several decades younger than Jaskier.

Eskel and Vesemir love their gifts, which is good because Jaskier had no doubt whatsoever that they would. Absolutely none.

He turns to Geralt, who had been able to open his gift with only the one hand, and is staring down at the art supplies in his lap. Jaskier doesn’t think he’s breathing. His heart drops. “Darling? It’s okay if you don’t like-”

Geralt quickly sets the gift aside, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. His shoulders are shaking suspiciously. “Oh! Oh, my dear. I take it you do like your present, then?” Jaskier tries to add a teasing tone to his words, but he really was not expecting this kind of reaction.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispers emphatically into his neck.

Jaskier adjusts his grip on his—thankfully unsplit—tea and hugs him back just as fiercely. After a moment, Geralt releases him, kissing him softly.

There’s a gagging sound to their right and Jaskier has to pull away to laugh. Eskel cuffs Lambert on the back of the head—almost starting a spat—but Vesemir growls at them before it can go much further.

They move on to opening Vesemir’s gifts, no one mentioning the water in Geralt's eyes. Despite being crass and rough with each other, the Wolves know when not to make fun of something.

They open their gifts from Geralt last. Jaskier unties the meticulously wrapped string and unfolds the paper. Inside is something made from yarn, a light lavender that’s ever-so-slightly reflective. He runs a finger over the indescribably soft yarn, breathing in sharply. The fabric unfolds as he picks it up, revealing it to be a long scarf. Holding it closer, he can see the beautiful design woven along its entire length. There are a few breaks in the pattern, but they only make it more perfect.

Geralt spent gods know how long making this, either late at night or early in the morning, most likely frustratedly undoing his work half the time. That he spent so much time and effort, remembering how Jaskier is sensitive to the cold, and deciding to do something about it… His eyes prickle with an emotion he cannot name, he only knows that the word “love” is not strong enough.

He looks up at Geralt, who seems nervous. “Darling… You made this?” he whispers, just to be sure. Geralt nods and Jaskier mimics his love’s actions from earlier, throwing his arms around him—mindful of his drink, of course—and holding him close. “I love it so much. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been!” Jaskier releases him and holds the scarf up. “Will you put it on me?”

With reverent hands, Geralt wraps it loosely around his neck. Jaskier rubs a cheek against the yarn, breathing in Geralt's scent, etched into every fiber.

What happened after that, Jaskier honestly couldn’t tell you. The rest of the night passes in a sort of happy daze. Geralt gets all gooey with him and Vesemir herds them all off to bed.

He would have slept with the scarf on, but his dear witcher is much too fond of falling asleep with his nose buried in Jaskier's neck. They both relish in the little touches. Being able to hear the other’s heartbeat, feel their chest move as they breathe.

The undeniable truth of it gets to Jaskier sometimes. That scarf is just one more testament to their love. He really had been loathe to part with it so soon, but it would have just become tangled or stifling in the night. Besides, no item of clothing—even one made by Geralt—could ever amount to the man himself.

[avoutput]

Final Fantasy VII Legacy || Remake Review

This is the 2nd out of 3 articles. Find the first here.

Enough with the flowery language. No more ancient memories of times passed. No more wasted passages on the origin of Final Fantasy VII. I am not some little kid sitting crossed-legged in front of a 13-inch tube TV, but a man sitting in a lightly used office chair he found by the apartment dumpster several years ago. I have grown. The gaming world has grown. And Final Fantasy has grown. But is it the kind of growth you imagined? Does this game shed the dead weight of its numbered younger siblings? Does it recreate an experience from your childhood? Is it an innovative gaming experience that redefines the RPG like its genesis? Is breathing life into one of the most provocative modern gaming death’s worth the exhumation? These are the questions swimming in my head while I waited for the release of Final Fantasy 7 Remake, a deeply marked touchstone in my life. And after having completed my run through the game, I had some thoughts I needed to organize and share. I need to decide: Is this a proper run, a proper update, a proper remake? Or is it just a repurposed chair found by the dumpster?

Let me clarify a few things. First, this is going to be a straight review of the game with little-to-no spoilers. Second, this is the 2nd in a series of 3 articles I decided to write, with the final article being a no-holds-barred, spoiler frenzy discussing the outcomes of this game and many other Final Fantasy’s. In this article, we are going to be looking at what the game did well, what it was mediocre at, and lastly, what was downright disappointing. Each section will bleed into each other a bit because the games components bleed into each other a bit, which feels a little odd for a JRPG, but this isn’t ye-old JRPG. Let’s get right to it.

RE-KWARK!-ABLE! I MEAN REMARKABLE.

Before we tear this game down, let’s spend some time building it up. The standout component of this game was very clearly the battle system. The transition is seamless and the frenzy begins almost immediately. What surprised me right off the bat is how easy it was to not only switch between characters, but how simply it was to tell them what to do. I thought slowing down the battle to issue commands was going to be a nuisance, but it really helped balance out the pace of the battle. You can assign 4 hotkeys that let you keep the battle going without slowing down to strike at an enemies weakness. I did find that it felt a little useless to assign anything other than your weapon skills, because spells take a little time to cast and most of the time you are going to want to pick a specific spell based on the enemies weakness, but that is totally up to your playstyle. 

In the vein of the battle system, boss fights were engrossing and detailed. It felt like they spent a lot of time thinking about which moments in the Midgar timeline would make the best boss battles and how exactly they would design the bosses moveset and structure based not only on what the boss was, but where the boss was. In one chapter, you fight a boss that is nearby some train tracks. At a certain point in the battle, it will electrify the track, and if you are standing on it, you get major damage. Enemy types also had a pretty consistent set of weaknesses, so you didn’t have to go into the bestiary menu to determine what spell would most likely take it down. But on the other hand, the Assess ability is crucial in understanding some of the more minute methods to hitting the enemy weakness. It was actually a delight to try and fight both with and without it. Like everything else in the battle, the menu comes up with a single button press and no load time. It gives you time to read and strategize your attacks.

In some other reviews I had been reading, people had complained about a feature I loved. Using spells and abilities requires you to have your ATB gauge filled, which will fill with time, but fills much faster if you are attacking. The complaint was that the AI isn’t particularly good at attacking when you aren’t using them, and not only that, they don’t receive the ATB fill bonus from attacking, it simply takes them time. However, because transition between characters is instantaneous, I believe that the designers did this as an incentive to use each character as often as possible. This isn’t the only incentive for this either. Every weapon for each character has a single skill that can be learned from it. To learn it, you have to use a skill. Again, to use the skill the ATB gauge has to be filled. Most battles in the game go by quickly, especially once you know the enemies weakness, so you need to build ATB fast and activate the skill. Without telling you, the game basically created an environment where it's not only necessary to switch between characters and learn their playstyles, but almost necessary. What’s more, every character is somewhat unique, especially Barret and Aerith, and certain types of enemies (flying or distance based, ect) are much easier to handle with the right character. All around, the battle system is an absolute standout and easily the best part of the game.

Without giving anything away, another strong part of the game is the scenario design. I was driven to hear more, see more, and do more in this game. The characters a crisp and vibrant, even when they lack depth. They are undeniably “cool” or “cute” or whatever their main adjective should be for the given scenario. The voice acting in both the Japanese and English versions are great, though the Japanese version from time to time has a different take on some of the characters than the English, it's still a blast. Every moment that leads into a battle with a signature villain is thoroughly enjoyable. I don’t think you absolutely need to have played the original to enjoy these moments, but more on that later. What it really comes down to is this game has some pretty great pacing because even when it fumbles, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to play more. The battle system element just propels you forward and hearing what crazy thing is going to happen next is more than enough to make up for follies.

This is sad to say, but there really is only one more exceptional item to mention. The return of Nobuo Uematsu. The soundtrack of this game was already pretty well designed in the original. Coming back to it was more than just a nostalgic walk down memory lane. It was like coming home and realizing your parent’s upgraded your house to a mansion with room service, a full staff, and a kitchen that's open 24 hours a day stocked with everything you desire. And it isn’t just that the music was remastered, it flows in and out of the game with masterful timing. Multiple versions of each song were recorded so that movements in the song crescendo at the exact moment your Cloud lands a hit or Reno and Rude jump from a helicopter. It made every moment of the game feel like so much more than just an average confrontation. There are a few moments that even made me laugh. There is a hip-hop inspired Chocobo theme that made me smile both for how odd it was and how awful it should have been received, but somehow it just slaps. If you pay attention you might notice some of the music is more reminiscent of other entries in the series with two standouts in particular, one sounding like Final Fantasy XII and another like Final Fantasy XIII, two very different scores. But it felt right at home in this modernized version of Final Fantasy VII. There is also a music collection sidequest that is mostly made up of jazzy remakes of classic Final Fantasy VII songs. These are less remarkable, but still good for the most part. Part of the issue with these songs is it is played through some kind of fuzzy record player speaker overlay, which I found annoying and distorting.

MISSED THE KWARK! I MEAN MARK.

I would say that almost everything else in this game missed the mark in some way or another. Some are just shy of a home run, others are baseline grounders, and some are just straight fouls. Either way, they could have used more attention or a different direction in my opinion. And I want to start with something I almost never complain about in video games: the graphics. Talking about graphics is usually pointless. People who are after ridiculous levels of fidelity always seem to believe this either makes or breaks the game. In Remake, that might actually be true for once. I am not a graphics designer, but one thing I noticed and couldn’t stop noticing is that there were so many different levels of graphical fidelity all smashed into one place. In some scenes, there were gorgeous details, like the entirety of Aerith’s house area, but then you get to the flowers, it's like 1997 again. In other moments, like when looking down at the Midgar Slums from the upper plate, it is clearly a very flat and stretched image meant to look three-dimensional like the other things around you, but the image was just off. Doors on buildings would look like garbage compared to the floor or walls in the room. It was just very clear that a once over on all the different assets would have helped out quite a bit. The problem wasn’t that the graphics were good or bad, but that they were inconsistent. It was like looking at photo-realistic drawing with some Picasso in the middle. The character models were so well done, when the interacted with this space, it was just jarring. Again, not awful, just missed the mark.

With such a well maintained battle system, you would think the menu system would be equally flawless, but it wasn’t. The main UI where you would outfit your party was a bit of a mess. For one, there was no way to go from upgrading your weapon to equipping it or vice-versa. They had completely separate menus for both that didn’t lead to each other. Then there is the upgrade menu itself, wherein you select upgrades in a similar way to FFXIII crystal upgrade menu. When you choose the weapon, it takes you to a completely different screen and makes this loud noise and transition effect. It's annoying to read and to navigate. You can bypass this by having the computer choose your upgrades for you, but that really felt like I was missing out. It would have been a huge improvement just to list the abilities and have me choose from the same menu I chose everything else. It was unnecessarily fancy and kind of an eyesore. Equipping materia got a small upgrade from the original game, wherein you can press a button to see and switch out materia with everyone, but this should have just been THE menu, not an extra button press. They also should have categorized the materia, letting you choose which type you wanted to look at instead of having to scroll through line after line. The menu also doesn’t give you simple information in places where you could use it, like what chapter you are in. To know, you have to go to the save menu. It could have simply been listed next to the playtime in the bottom corner.

There are even certain materia that are hard to understand, specifically the Enemy Skill materia. In the old game it would list which skills you had obtained. This one didn’t give you any idea what you had obtained and what exactly was obtainable. After a while I figured out that in the bestiary, although it would tell you which monster had a skill you could get, it wouldn’t exactly say if you had it. Turns out that if the skill was highlighted green on the enemy skills screen (another button press away), you didn’t have it, if it was blue, you did. Then, to see which skills you had in total, you had to go to the party screen and it would be listed under your abilities if they were wearing the materia. Not only that, the skill would have a different name than the skill the enemy used, the naming convention wasn’t 1-to-1. Add to this, materia sometimes have very obscure instructions or descriptions. The battles can go by so fast, it's hard to even notice the effect of them if something isn’t exploding or outwardly obvious. In fact, many of the instructions are weird in the game. If you die in a series of fights where they are linked, it will ask if you want to go back to the first fight or the last fight. Choosing the first actually sends you back to before you started the series and you can adjust your equipment, which is fine, but in a normal fight, if you die, you can only go back to the fight and it doesn’t let you modify your equipment. It's a simple inconsistency but the text and cursor placement also make it hard to understand exactly what is going to happen.

Finally, all the smaller issues. There are too many places where the game has you “walk” for no particular reason. You just slow down. I thought it might be due to loading, but it happens in places where no story or anything appears to be happening next. Summon materia is already maxed and it doesn’t feel like it helps all that much, even when the enemy is weak to them. The game design is set up so that whichever character you are currently playing as the only thing enemies are interested in attacking, especially if someone isn’t using provoke. So, your summon simply attacks, and to do it's better attacks, you have to sacrifice ATB. Mostly this is fine, it creates balance, but i’d prefer they came and left like in the original. In fact, I have hated all summon mechanics since FFX. They need to come, do damage, and be gone. But I have to admit, this is the best marriage of the two versions. Next, the choices you make that alter certain outcomes in the game are so far away from the thing you are altering, and at times not clear. This could have been more fun had they given you a bit more of control or some kind of gauge to show you what was going on, but in a way, it was true to its roots, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. Lastly, having to aim the camera to interact with items that are just outside of its view is just annoying. That coupled with the random moments you have to hold “triangle” for a series of switches always rubbed me the wrong way.

DOWNRIGHT DISAPPOINTING… uh.. kwark.

Final Fantasy VII Remake obviously has a great foundation and pretty great framework. The music is great, it's a blast to play, and the characters really resonate. But there are still some aspects of this game that make it feel a little less than game of the year. These complaints might be less of an issue than I am making it. The game is what it is, and I am easily going to clock in at about 90 hours for both regular and hard modes. Still. STILL. There are just a few things that were completely disappointing, and not just from an old fan, but as a current gen gamer.

My biggest complaint is married together and baked into the design of the game, namely Midgar and Chapters. Final Fantasy has always felt like it was about exploring not just a story, but the world it exists in. In the first 9 entries to the series, this was done by giving the player a chance to get lost on its world map, looking for towns, roaming through forests. You had to use your imagination to fill the gaps, but that wasn’t a bad thing. As the entries iterated, the worlds got bigger, and so did their stories. They had lore and depth. With the release of 10, this all changed. In the 10th game, the story was suddenly on rails, the only direction you could move in was forward. It took all of the exploration away in favor of level design and pacing. I remember thinking that this was the beginning of the end for a series I loved. With the release of 12, it felt a little better, but mostly it was just an offline version of the massively popular MMORPG formula. It felt more rote and less like exploration. With the 13th entry, it was back to the rails. It began to feel like the creators sought only to make an experience where the characters and story where the vehicle, and the world was just the background. In 15, this would change somewhat, but it was also an experiment for them that ended in failure. They tried to give us an open world governed by a chapter system. But, despite their best efforts, they couldn’t breathe life into the world of 15. They tried to spread the world and its characters across too many dimensions. There was an anime series, a full length movie prequel, missing chapters introduced as DLC, and even a mobile game. A broken chimera. I think the success of 10 and their failure to create a modern, open world game is what ended up making 7 Remake what it is. A game on rails.

Before the games release, the game designers touted that Midgar was now a place that could be fully experienced. For me, this couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was just a series of narrow hallways masquerading as a city. The people in the background make noise and act like they live there, but they don’t move, goto work on a schedule, ride the trains, or even run stores. You can’t interact with them. They are just mouthpieces. Because the game runs by chapters, you have almost no ability to explore anything that doesn’t have to do with the immediate story. The characters will chide you for going the “wrong direction” and the game will outright stop you from wandering too far. “No no, you fool, the GAME is over HERE”. In the original game, Midgar is partially just an introduction to the world, characters, and battle system. But really, it was the beating heart of the entire game world and story just as much as the characters that live in it and run Shinra. The remake seems to have forsaken that in favor of story beats. Outside of a few distinct places, most of Midgar just feels like window dressing. Wall Market is obviously a delight, but the entirety of Midgar should have been like Wall Market. You should be able to get lost in the back streets or take the wrong train. Shinra headquarters gives you little glimpse into the way people on the upper plates live and work, but yet again they are just mannequins. 

Games today give you vibrant open worlds to explore. You can jump on rooftops and glide over large swaths of land. The way in which Midgar was designed leaves little to the imaginationa as compared to the original. The graphics are crisp and every pipe and air conditioner feels like they might actually do something, but you can’t follow that pipe anywhere or walk down alleyways and talk to vagrants. Old games got a pass on size and depth because their limitations were obvious, often baked into whatever the genre was. If it was a brawler, you walk down streets beating people up. In racer, you play the track. But RPG’s were one of the few where you would be expected to explore the edges of its world. With new generation games, the choice to stop exploration in a RPG feel less like a limitation of raw power and more like a  design decision. I would have preferred a game in which Midgar was a place to see and explore and interact with. Where I could haggle with one vendor over something found in another. Where I could watch the day cycle send people back and forth work. But Midgar wasn’t their focus. Telling you a story was. And as fun as that was, it was so disappointing to find that the original game gave you more by letting your mind wander past its graphical limitations than the remake did do by making the decision to limit your ability to physically explore visible areas. Instead of letting a visible wall stop you from going somewhere, an invisible force just puts a stop to your antics and tells you to get back to work. Maybe it's just psychological, but it is maddening. The physical world of 7 was just as important as its story and characters, but the story got to lead the show, and to me this feels off balance and off brand.

THE TAKEAWAY

This is a good game. A well made game for the most part. It's rough in places, but not so rough that it really hurts the end result. Final Fantasy 7 Remake is actually a showcase of talent that comes out of Square-Enix and despite the fact that I feel like they either bite off more than they can chew or completely misunderstand their core fanbase, they are still great artists. I often question whether game designers at big companies are customer service machines that should give us the product we demand or artists that deserve to create in a space that we support. Remake reminds me why I am both supportive but vocal. They may never hear me, but I want to know I said something. Still, it ends up being more than the sum of its parts. The game hums along like a well made machine. It takes time to remind fans of key moments, interjects tons of surprises that don’t entirely offend its base, and ultimately is never boring. What more could you ask from a game? Well, as it turns out, a lot. And I have so much more to say about the actual story content of this game and of Final Fantasy as a whole. If I didn’t mention some aspect here, it's probably because I want to discuss it in a way that may ruin the story, so look for the 3rd and final entry next week.

[baskervilleangel]

Nativity, A Lovely Night

“There they stood — against all the great goods, the unholy evils, saints, devils, Fate, and the Gods themselves, they made their own choice and they won. They chose family above all else. They chose love and affection, over hatred and bitterness. With that choice, they also helped those who didn’t have a family or people to love them. Isn’t that really the entire point of life?” — The False Angel of Mercy

The night was cold, long, and exceptionally extreme for the two women. The last few hours of the night were spent getting to know one another in the comfort and safety of Jules’ hideout. In all manner of weird ways Vierabrït continuously changed her hairstyle, varying between quirky and eccentric, she was interested in trying something new.

While Vierabrït played around, Jules took the time to shower and clear her porcelain skin of the blood and dirt that clung to it. They were safe for now and gifted with small pleasantries which alleviated some of the tension of the world, a shower was simply one of those pleasantries. It took her just short of a half hour to tidy herself. When she emerged from the bathroom her appearance was softer, less of a dismayed survivor.

There was a sleek shine to her raven-black hair. It flowed in slight waves and contrasted perfectly with her glowing, ivory reminiscent skin. Her eyes, which were framed perfectly by long lashes, seemed to have been made in Heaven. They were light, silver-green in color, and adorned with the markings that painted her eyes. They moved and locked onto Vierabrït who was continuing her activities in an absent minded daze. The witch could not help but smile — and her smile was full of dynamite.

And while she watched Vierabrït, she started to laugh a hearty laugh at every new hairstyle the Lockwood thought was beautiful or perfect. After the fourth hairstyle, Jules took it upon herself to freshen up the mysterious enigma that had started to call “friend”.

“All right, come here, V.” Jules insisted and motioned for Vierabrït to sit in between her legs.

Vierabrït wasted no time and eagerly complied with her friend. With a balletic skip, Vierabrït moved and sat on the floor right in front of Jules. Unfortunately, she had sat facing Jules and had to be turned around. In a rather delightful way, Vierabrït hummed the tune of “Holy Diver”, it was yet another song on Jules’ mix tape that Vierabrït fell in love with.

“Hey, I think it’d be better if I moved your bangs out of your face. What do you think, V?” Jules questioned.

“Mhm!” Vierabrït looked back and flashed her signature smile, it was apparent that she agreed with the witch.

The witch wasted no time once she obtained the confirmation. She grabbed a tuft of Vierabrït’s silky periwinkle hair and moved it backwards. The light that now shined upon Vierabrït’s face forced her pupils to constrict in a moderate way. The dried dirt and blood that covered her face was now more apparent than ever. It highlighted not just a deceptive savagery, but also her willingness to survive and protect her new friend.

In the midst of her hair styling Vierabrït decided that now may be a good time to read the family bestiary. She rummaged through her satchel for a bit then pulled out her very own bestiary. It had a periwinkle color to it and was adorned with sapphire like gems that sat neatly into the leather like material. Gliding her bloodstained hand across the brittle pages of the book she opened up to a random page and began reading in a quiet whisper. With small patters Vierabrït drummed against the page with her long finger, almost as if she was waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Jules, who had peaked over the girl’s shoulder, observed the pages of the book with great curiosity. The language that was written upon the crumbling pages was entirely foreign, unique in design even. Upon first glance, some of the words and letters were similar to Romanian or Moldavian; with another glance it was similar to Russian or Ukrainian.

“What Language is that?” Jules questioned yet again.

“I… I don’t know,” Vierabrït responded with a hint of sadness in her voice. “It never had a name. For the first few centuries of my life it has been the only language I have ever known.”

Once again, Jules was reminded that Vierabrït had a rather secluded life devoid of contact or any major social interactions outside that of her family, of course. Vierabrït hadn’t even known what Music was until a few hours ago. Nearly immediately, sadness dissipated and was replaced with an intense determination. Vierabrït was filled with this feeling, eagered to close the gap between the two of them.

“Its talking about me if you were curious! Maica wrote it just for me!” Vierabrït erupted in a confident demeanor.

“Its about you? Can you read it out loud? I’ve been wondering what you are…” Jules voice became low, she wanted to understand and learn.

“I ams friend! I can show you what it says too!” Vierabrït exclaimed and pulled off one of the flower petals that were bound to the page by wax. “Since Maica is traveling the otherworld, and the real one, she attached these rose petals to some of the pages of our bestiaries. They’re covered with her blood and her power so that we can hear her read them to us. Don’t worry, friend, she speaks the english. There are lots of nice pictures too!” Vierabrït continued on to say and handed her one of the rose petals.

“So this Maica… who are they?”

“My parent! I haven’t met her, but I am told she is best!”

“You have two mothers? That is pretty cool.” Jules responded, simply enjoying her time learning about Vierabrït.

It took about ten minutes for Jules to finish styling Vierabrït’s hair. Her hair was now swept back and held together by three braids which mingled perfectly with her straight hair. Jules held up a mirror which made Vierabrït smile incredibly wide.

“Thank you!!!” Vierabrït shouted intensely and hugged Jules.

“Its fine, V, really!” Jules spoke trying to separate her face from Vierabrït’s.

Vierabrït had eventually pulled away from the witch and narcissistically stared at her brand new hairstyle. While Vierabrït admired her friend’s handiwork Jules stared intently at the blood stained rose petal that was placed inbetween her two fingers. A violent and malignant energy radiated off of it, much like the feeling that Vierabrït gave off, yet far darker.

Cruelty. Unreasonable sadism. It was a sensation that could only truthfully be described as “evil”. In all honesty, it frightened Jules. She cocked an eyebrow towards Vierabrït and stared from the corner of her painted eyes.

“V,” Jules called out to Vierabrït. The Lockwood’s head snapped to Jules with an exquisite flourish of her periwinkle hair. Round lavender eyes met with Jules’ jade like eyes. “What the hell are you?” Jules continued in a rather grim tone.

Vierabrït quickly shifted her attention to the rose petal then back up to Jules’ eyes. Widely Vierabrït grinned and quickly raised her eyebrows, urging the witch.

“Eat and you will see!” She twirled, once again flourishing her new hair style.

Jules was a woman who had not trusted easily; as such, she was exceptionally hesitant. Especially with this feeling of dread that lingered from both, her new friend, and this bloodstained flower petal. But against that — against all the warning signs and red flags, she felt a sense of trust from Vierabrït. A compulsion to believe and trust her friend, and so she had.

With a sigh, and a quick motion, she ingested the Rose petal. In a single instant, shorter than the blink of an eye, darkness began to fall upon her. It was a temporary blindness that befell her, and with it came a fear that she had never known.

“Three vials of blood, manipulated by self righteous foolishness.” A menacing and feminine lilting voice spoke to Jules. It was an accent that the witch could place, yet it was different from Vierabrït’s. “Seven shillings tossed to the whims of fate. Five beasts born of blood and evil across endless millennia.”

While the voice spoke baleful visages stormed her mind and besieged her sight. She saw three vials of blood that were spilled against the ground. The seven shillings, which were marked by that very same blood, cutting through the air. Then finally, she saw them. Eyes emanating an iridescent glow from the darkness that was just out of her reach. Above those eyes, reaching into the clouds, was a woman dressed in red observing the witch beyond the napalm skies.

All of this faded in the same obscuring darkness that had initially drenched her, and once again her sight was robbed from her. Then, like before, vision returned to her; but it was not her own. She saw a place she had never been and moved about without her say so. This place, this home, was comprised of neglected wooden floors, and filled with glass bottles in odd shapes. Baubles that adorned the walls alongside tapestries and paintings of people she had never known. If she didn’t know better, she would assume them as witches things.

When she had reached the bathroom she realized that she was not in her own body. But someone entirely foreign, much like the dwelling she had been forced to explore. This woman stared at the mirror and back at Jules from the reflection of the mirror.

In attire this woman was highly similar to Jules. She wore a black long-sleeved henley which fit her form perfectly. The sleeves were somewhat long and covered the back of her hands. Jules could even make out the dirtied black Jeans the woman had wore. It wasn’t until the woman spoke that Jules discovered her identity.

“Vierabrït, the gentlest and kindest of my children, I hope you are well, my darling.” The woman crossed her arms and gave a smile without baring her white fangs. “I have a present for you, I’ll put it in your bestiary when I deliver it. I want you and your elder sister to put them on only in the most desperate of situations… I know I can’t be there with you and your mother right now. But, I’m going to answer a few questions; some that may have been plaguing you for quite some time. The first, and most important thing, is that you are what is called a “Tribrid”. Like me, you are part Lycian. Like your mother and I, you are Bloodborne — well, Ţânкомар to be exact. Then finally, when you come of age, you will awaken the third part of you. Maybe that part of you will be a Primera, or maybe a Sabaoth like your mother. Who knows, maybe you’ll even be a Paradigma like me. I want you to know that with your immortal life you can choose to walk the path I treaded upon, or even your mother — or you can make your own. You have so many choices and we’re no longer bound by a twisted fate. I want you to know something else…” She paused for a brief moment, and moved her hand to wipe away the tears that pooled in her eyes.

“I’ll be there soon, I promise you that. And no matter what choice you make — I will always love you. I cannot wait to see the woman you grew up to be.”

Despite the evil Jules has felt from these two, she could not help but feel sad for them. When Vierabrït’s mother, Viola, placed her two fingers upon her lips then the mirror Jules understood then. Vierabrït’s demeanor, her kindness and jubilation, was no act. She had not feigned any of this. In fact, she understood something far more important. The Lockwoods, Vierabrït’s family, were evil by nature, but chose a different path. They chose another way, and that was the most important thing.

The disheartening images dwindled back to the gloom they came from, and the world transitioned back to the one Jules had known — and loathed. Vierabrït hovered over Jules’ face, a bit to close for comfort even. Apparently, Jules had collapsed during her trip into Viola’s memories.

“Oh good! I thought I unalived you!” Vierabrït said cheerfully and lifted Jules off the ground and back onto her.

“I have more questions than answers but I think I understand you more, in some weird magical way.” Jules looked at Vierabrït for a moment, a bit tired from the psychological strain, then she did something incredibly out of character. Without warning, Jules pulled her friend into a hug and held her in a tight embrace.

“Thank you. For being my friend, and saving my life — twice.”

“Its okay, friend! You ams good friend.” Vierabrït wasn’t confused by the sudden change in Jules demeanor. In fact, she hugged the witch back as delicately as she could.

“I could just be tired, but I think I actually understood that.”

Jules yawned a bit and rubbed her eyes before she pulled away from Vierabrït. A moment later, Jules found herself lumbering back to her bass, staggering all the way. It didn’t take long for the witch to find her way back to the couch so she could relax and play her bass. When Jules yawned again five minutes later Vierabrït responded in a rather adorable way.

“You should assault the straw!” Vierabrït’s wide round eyes locked onto Jules’ as she spoke. Just as soon as Jules thought she had a decent understanding of Vierabrït’s vocabulary she quickly found herself confused once again.

“I should what?” Jules asked and glanced up at Vierabrït. The sound that emanated from her bass came to an immediate halt.

“You should assault the straw!” She repeated, believing that Jules hadn’t heard her. In all reality, Jules was asking for clarity instead of the same question. “You know? Sleep. As you mortals often do.” Vierabrït continued. When she had, Jules immediately understood what Vierabrït was trying to say.

“Hay.” Jules responded to correct the young Vierabrït’s vocabulary.

“Oh, hey!” Vierabrït responded excitedly, believing now that Jules was trying to greet her for some odd reason.

“The saying is “Hit the hay” not “Assault the straw”, V.” Jules sighed and chuckled a bit. Spending time with Vierabrït was actually something that she subtly enjoyed.

Before long, and quite unexpected, Jules had fallen asleep, a much needed reprieve from the endless adventure that awaited them just beyond the wooden doors. Vierabrït, who had not needed to sleep, stayed up and listened to Jules’ mixtape.

After an hour or two she began to wonder what sleep was like. She had never done it, but she knew she was capable of it. She had never dreamed, nor had a nightmare. So, she snuggled up next to Jules, who had instinctively embraced the Lockwood, and attempted to fall asleep.

There they laid, bidding farewell to the distorted stars, and waited for the break of dawn with new understanding of one another. For the first time ever, Vierabrït dreamed of something spectacular. A world without monsters, evil nor fear. Only her friend and her family, living their best lives.

[kirasderek]

Day One of the @twrarepairnetwork​ Teen Wolf Rarepair Countdown 

Written for Favorite Rarepair -> Dira

“Are you coming or not?” Kira calls out, the deep purple of the last dregs of sunset falling over her. In this lighting, she doesn’t look a day older than she had when they met. The only thing missing is that uncertainty in every line of her body, in the set of her teeth splitting her bottom lip. Fifteen years have erased the doubt from her, and now that she’s in control, she’s always barreling headlong into something. “Well?”

Derek sighs and slings his pack higher onto his shoulder. “Under protest.” She waits for him until he tops the hill, looking out over acres of the same rolling landscape. He can just barely spot the small cemetery they’re heading toward through the cover of trees and brush. “We’re really going all the way out there tonight?” He’s exaggerating the distance, but considering the trip is pointless, he’s decided he’s allowed to complain.

“What’s the matter? Are you scared?”

“Of a ghost? No. There are no ghosts. Maybe of being bored to death.”

She’s smiling at him even as she’s rolling her eyes and it makes him think of the trip here, amiably arguing about the detour. Mason had taken Kira’s side when they’d dropped in on him with a late wedding present, and even his husband, fully human, had heard of the place. For Derek, that had been the problem. Anywhere getting constant visits from humans for decades had nothing to offer them.

“You’ll survive, old man,” she teases, shoulder bumping gently into his side. “It’s nine miles in, nine miles out. And you can always sleep out here in your fur coat if you’re too lazy to go back to camp.”

His mouth is half-open to insist that was one time, but he thinks better of it. That night in Greece has haunted both of them a little since, more than any other trip - ‘investigation’, if Kira has her way - that they’ve made in the last fourteen months. The less they dwell on their failures, the brighter this whole endeavor starts to look. Bit by bit, they’re gaining their own knowledge of people like them, untainted by the cruel eye of hunters exploiting weaknesses. Already they have more information than the bestiary on a dozen things, including the godforsaken lamia that ruined the tail end of a perfectly nice trip to Greece full of authentic food and sunshine. At the very least, this pet project of Kira’s is safe. A morbid little camping trip.

They walk along for a mile or two in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night softly filling the lull in conversation. The overgrowth here softens their footsteps, and already a mile out from the mostly empty campsite, there are no other human noises to drown out the world around them. Passing through a patch of firs, Derek can point out a tree vole nest, silently catching Kira’s attention when he spots the evidence on the ground below. Their eyes adjust quickly to the sliver of moonlight in the sky, and Kira navigates with the small device loaned out to them when they’d signed in. The cemetery is a popular site to visit, for obvious reasons.

Not every thread they’ve followed has led them into places like this, suited for nights out under the stars. Derek’s almost thankful for it, at this point. The both of them are familiar with cities, though neither of them has had the heart to try New York again, and there are a surprising amount of nearly-true urban legends around the world. Hurrying through crosswalks and grabbing street food keeps them busy in the downtime outside of research and wandering into places they probably shouldn’t be. Hiking trips unravel into long conversations, dragging old memories into the light, things Derek mostly wants to forget. Even when they trail off, there’s a lingering intimacy that he’s not sure what to do with. They know each other too well now.

“So you really think there’s something out here?” he asks her, when they’re much closer to the cemetery, wrought iron gates stark among the greenery. “Other than college kids scaring each other.”

Kira shrugs without turning to look back at him. “The screaming could be a mountain lion,” she allows, and Derek quirks a smile he’s glad she doesn’t see. “But put together with the ‘ghost’ sightings, I don’t think we can rule out a banshee. It’s not like we even know how long they live naturally, with what happened to Lydia’s grandma and her and Meredith being so young. There’s nothing in the bestiary because the hunters don’t care about a bunch of screaming women unless they’re getting in the way, and it’s not like we got a lot of information out of...well” He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s blushing, the way she always has when she gets on a roll.

“Out of Jennifer,” he finishes. “Julia. You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen, you know. It’s been a long time.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you talk about me and Scott so much.”

He has no defense for that. If it were anyone but Kira, he’d think it was meant to be an insult. Both of them are in touch with Scott, of course, but he’s never thought it was his place to ask about when Kira came home. There are bits and pieces of stories, the burnt sugar smell of that feeling you get thinking of how things might have been, but he doesn’t have the whole picture from either of them. He’s not sure he wants it, if Kira isn’t willing to offer it on her own. Both of them have histories. Someday, Kira will have more years of longing and loss than Derek has lived. If Scott is a tender subject, he won't dig his fingers into the bruise on purpose.

“Banshees age,” he says instead. “Lydia already has a cabinet full of high-end cold cream. Lorraine got old.”

“But she didn’t die on her own. Not everyone looks young forever just because they’re going to live that long. Satomi’s been old as long as my mom has known her.” She does look back at him this time, braid whipping around and eyebrows lifted. “Are you going to live that long?”

This conversation follows him around, especially now that he’s starting to find more than just the subtle suggestion of silver in his beard. For his own part, he’s mostly watching Peter - not a normal case by any means, but at least something he can measure by. “I’m not an alpha. I’ve never met a beta as old as Satomi, but I also grew up in Argent territory.”

“So you’re just going to be...waiting?”

“No. I’m going to be living.” He tries to parse the way her expression shifts, a flicker of sadness too deep to belong to someone her age that disappears into a look of approval. “If I don’t get myself killed, you’ll be able to mark it down. How long nature took to run its course.”

“Documenting isn’t my part of this job,” she reminds him, smiling. “Mister history major.”

By the time he’s done defending finishing a degree that he’ll never use for a real career, the air between them is a little clearer, less fraught. On the other hand, when he finally registers his surroundings, he can see the jagged lines of headstones southeast of them, growing smaller as they trek around a small copse of firs toward the thicker forest ahead.

“GPS isn’t broken,” Kira corrects before he can open his mouth. “We’ll circle back around to the graves. I wanted to check out something that isn’t plastered all over the website.” She doesn’t stumble even as they start to encounter briars and thick brush, so far from the clumsy way she’d made her way through the woods in Germany on their first official research excursion. Years of uninterrupted sand had spoiled her, but the turned ankles are behind her now, leaving her as sure-footed as she may ever be outside of direct battle.

Even his eyes don’t notice the remains of what was once a clearing before they’re at the edge of it, barely illuminated by the waxing crescent moon directly overhead. It’s a good forty or fifty yards across, a yawning gap punctuated by small trees, shorter and not as sturdy as the ones they’ve passed through. The edges are still too clean for it to have been natural, even with the work the land has down to reclaim it. “I think we’re about sixty years late to see the house,” he jokes.

“We’re not here for the house,” Kira answers easily, pointing across to two logs laid over one another into a sloppy point like an arrow. She grabs his hand, pulling at him with surprising strength as she follows, only now giving off that aura of excitement she gets when they’re on the verge of something. He can still see a faint orange glow around her when things are falling into place, settling into the picture she’s been building from the outside in. “We’re here for the tree. It was here before the house.”

It’s huge. Not nemeton huge, an ancient giant, but thick and towering over the others like a guardian. There’s nothing else special about it at first glance, no nests or hollows, the kind of thing he’d usually be the one to notice. The warm pull of Kira’s hand curled into his tugs him the last few steps around, over gnarled roots. “Here,” she breathes out, the aura around her seeming to vibrate with pleasure.

The gouge isn’t as deep as it once might have been. The edges are fading into the texture of the bark, blending into the tree the way the clearing is slowly becoming just another patch of the forest. But he’d recognize it anywhere in the world, and without thought he drags a finger through the groove of each spiral, rough texture pleasant to the touch - something rugged and alive, weathered but strong. “How?” he asks, foregoing the smalltalk of it all, the obvious.

“Malia,” she explains, her smile growing. “She may have had help, but. She wanted to know more about this part of her that wasn’t just...Peter. And she found this. The triskelion, and-” She does a half-twist, pointing over their joined hands back into the clearing. “What’s left of what used to be a root cellar. When the house was here. Before...before your family moved further south.”

He’d never bothered to ask about what came before Beacon Hills. When he was young it was all there had been and, so he thought, all there ever would be. Something about it had felt like it belonged to them, always had. He knows now, in the long absence of it, that the feeling had only been that of home. Of course there had been somewhere before him, before his mother or her uncle, before even Peter would’ve bothered poking into. “There’s no way this can still be here.”

“Malia said there was no scent left here, but that someone might have come before her. Marked it deeper, made sure it stayed just a little longer. She said would’ve too, but-”

Derek shakes his head, dismissing it out of hand. “It doesn’t mean anything to her. Her family is with Scott now, her pack.” He traces the two rings against the back of her hand with a fingertip, feels the tiny shiver that runs through her. “If anyone’s going to make sure it stays, it has to be me.”

Kira hesitates, glancing at him for approval before she reaches up to touch it as well, pensive. “I wanted you to have the choice. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You don't see me moving back to Japan. But...you could. This could be here, for a while longer.”

She lets his hand go reluctantly when he pull, holding back the shift until he’s clear of her soft skin. His claws don’t run deep enough on the first pass, or the second. She watches patiently as he digs his own history into the wood, whatever legacy he has or will have, his mother’s memory. By the time he’s finished, it almost looks brand new, an old thing remade in its own image, stronger. He remembers a time when he would have carved it deep into his own skin if he could, and when he burned it there instead, something to make the dark ink stay to remind him.

“We can touch it up,” she tells him, after they’ve examined the half-caves in shell of a cellar and the rest of the trees, searching for signs of life or death - both, really. They come together in pairs, always, eventually. “In a while. Twenty years, maybe thirty.” It’s too casual to comfortably question, and he wonders when she became as sly as the fox inside her. “It’ll last for now.”

“What about the banshee?” he asks, when she gently leads him back the way they came, past the cemetery, slow and steady toward the camp waiting for them, fire and something to soften the firmness of the ground.

She laughs at him, eyes bright, and digs her elbow into his side for good measure. “It’s a ghost story, Derek,” she reminds him. “There are no ghosts. Only us.”

[penandwind]

The Book

I am now convinced the book I stumbled across was not of this earth. I only wish I had taken the time to read it more before it had vanished. 

It happened one and a half years ago, on a hot and lazy July day. While wandering the downtown area I stopped in my favorite bookstore to get some relief from the heat, as well as look over some books I knew I could not afford that day. I made my usual winding rounds through the shop, casually scanning up and down the rows, occasionally stopping and pulling something out to look over at random. 

Within the rows I came across some a jet black tome that seemed out of place. Something about was strange. It was a book like any other surrounded by hundreds of other books, but something about this drew attention. Maybe it was that it was black, a darker shade of black than a book or anything else could ever hope to be. Maybe it was the spine was without a title; but instead filled with ornate carved lines, almost runic in design. Maybe it was that as my hand drew closer to it, I could have swore I heard a humming sound, a low one just slightly out of the range that the ear could perceive. I do not know. But I pulled out the book and began to look over it. 

The front cover was... it is hard to remember. That is what is most maddening about it. No matter how hard my mind tries to grasp at the experience, all that comes back is a vague haze. It is similar to when I learned about the various dimensions in a physics class, and the professor talked about the fourth dimension. He described in his best way a concept by it’s very definition it is impossible for  the human mind to picture. A four dimensional object, something beyond what even the greatest minds could picture, only getting a vague hazy inkling at what such a grand thing could be. And that is what the book is. Something simply beyond us. Or so I believe. For all I know,  I could just be forgetful and have developed an unnatural fixation on a piece of print. But something from the very core of my being tells me this is not the case. 

Anyway, from what I can best remember, the cover was also unnaturally black, but covered in silvery ornate decoration, similar to the style and decoration around medieval church documents, but... sleeker I guess? It is hard to get a clear picture. It also had a title. It was something in the vein of “The Modern Bestiary,” but I know that is not exactly right. I’ve never been able to remember the title, the words are different every time. Always close, always in the same area as the other words, but never quite the same way twice. There was no author as far as I could tell. I don’t think it was ever “written.” I think the book just “was,” the book just “is.”

But it felt like any other book in my hands, and overcome by curiosity I opened it up. Inside was very much like a bestiary of ancient times.  Each page showed a fantastic, impossible creature or beast, with a page of text naming and describing them, their habits and natures, their peculiarities and what makes them unique. Some of the creatures I saw were benign, almost endearing in their ways. There was a doll like creature with three heads and dressed in robes. It said they lived in houses, in the areas between the shadows. They fed on thoughts, but only small ones. They were the reason why people would forget why they walked into a room, or forget the words to a song they had sung dozens of times. There are not malicious, only surviving, as the book described. 

Other entries in the book were more unnerving. I paged through a handful of entries, and found myself disturbed. But I can only remember two with any clarity. There was one called a Nuon. A long limbless body, stretched out like a snake but not as rigid, its form always falling to meet the ground like a shadow. It had a black, featureless face, but that face also seemed to contain a very deep sadness that was strangely evident. It is said that Nuons feed off of the hopes in depressed minds, causing them more grief and sadness, unintentionally driving them to desperation or death. The other was a nameless beast, a tall, thin thing with large loping claws. It was very thin and rigid, but it seemed boneless in a way, the only hint of a skeleton was it’s long beak-like head filled with rough, mismatched teeth of all kinds. It fed off of anxieties, people’s constant concerns and miseries sustaining it. But it’s hunger is bottomless. So at night it creeps into sleeping people’s beds, using it’s long thin claws to pry open the folds of the brain in order to plant seeds of doubt, making sure it can feed even more the next day. 

Though slightly perturbed, the book was utterly fascinating. I wanted to take it home, but I knew I had no money to purchase it at the moment. I put it back and resolved to come back and buy it when my next paycheck arrived. When I did return, the book was gone, no trace it was ever there. I asked the staff of the store when they would get another copy. Most didn’t know what I was talking about. Only one person had a vague memory of seeing the book, though neither of us could remember it clearly or what it’s title was. 

That’s how I know I did not simply dream the book up, I know others have encountered it. I would be talking with friends or strangers of odd or mysterious encounters, and would mention the mysterious book. They would always go silent for a moment in disbelief and reveal they had encountered it too. One found it in a book shop like me, but several years before and across the country. One found it in a library, sticking out of the children’s book section. One found it resting on a park bench and turned it in to a lost and found clerk. That’s the thing with the book, it is never deliberately encountered. Only found, stumbled upon. Only letting itself be glimpsed briefly before fading without a trace. None it encounters can remember it well, but all seem slightly changed by the encounter. But no one can really tell why or in what way. They just seem... different after the fact. 

I have searched for the book, but no one has any clue or trace as to where it is. My motives have transcended mere curiosity, there is a compulsion to see the book again. It could be a fragment of something beyond our comprehension, slipping between the cracks of reality for mere moment. Each encounter pure chance. Or maybe there is intent to it’s appearances? Maybe some entity arranges an encounter with the book, to what end no one can fathom. Or maybe the book itself does it, perhaps the book is one of the creatures it documents, an impossible creature with slightly disturbing motives I can only guess at. 

I have thought too long on the book, as it is now keeping me from much needed sleep. But the lights are low, and out of the corner of my eye, I swear I can see long thin claws reaching under the crack in my door, fumbling around as if searching for something, like the knob. I try to force it out of my mind though, trying to empty it of all thoughts in order to fall asleep. But on some level I know the book will be in my dreams. Maybe not directly, resting on a table in the background, just out of reach or notice. But I know it will be there. The book never leaves. 

The book just is.