#mead moons claiming

[triskhellion]

Second Chance Strays

Rated: Explicit (8.4K)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Magus.”

“Stiles.”

“Pardon, but what’s a “stiles?”

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

“Sorry, Master Stil—“

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

“Derek.”

“Here you go, Derek.” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

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

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

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

“Good. ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Claim me?” Stiles asked, puzzled. 

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

“Mate you.” 

Ohhh.  

Oh.

Oh my god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please hurry!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like family?”

“Yes, family. Mates. Pack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Derek shrugged. 

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

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

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

“Obviously.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sterek-and-stuff-events]

Mead Moons prompt: Claiming

Is there a reverse mating run where Omegas compete to claim Alphas? Or does Stiles wind up with Derek as forfeited collateral in a dystopian AU where werewolves are known and oppressed by humans?

Does Stiles find out how Derek actually feels when he becomes feral and gives him a mating bite? Or do they get married in the Preserve and have a traditional Claiming chase after?

Does Derek outbid everyone for a date with Stiles at a charity auction? Or does Stiles always make sure to call shotgun when it comes to riding in the Camaro after Roscoe breaks down?

Call dibs on an idea and make it happen!

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

[targtowerxstark]

The Festival of the First Snow.

Cregan Stark X Targaryen reader

•Cregan and his wife prepare for the Festival of the first snow. During the festival the sneak off to the Gods wood.

•Wife is referred to as y/n. Small description of her. Targaryen features.One mention of being petite.

♡

Cregan Stark leaned back in his chair, the crackling fire in his study casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The scent of burning wood mingled with the faint aroma of parchment and ink, creating a comforting atmosphere as he reviewed the plans for the upcoming Winter Festivals. The Festival of the First snow was to take place in a matter of days, marking the onset of winter. His brow furrowed in concentration, but a soft laugh broke his focus.

“Cregan, you look as if you’re preparing for a battle rather than a celebration,” y/n , his wife, teased, her voice light and melodic. She stood by the window, her silver hair catching the firelight, framing her face like a halo.

Cregan smiled, his heart warming at the sight of her. “Perhaps I am. The Northmen can be a rowdy lot after too much drink. I must ensure we have enough mead to keep them merry and not too rowdy.”

She turned to him, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. “And what of the women? They deserve to be entertained as well. We should plan games for the children and stories for the ladies. Perhaps a dance beneath the stars?”

“Dance?” Cregan echoed, his voice low and teasing. “You know I have two left feet, y/n”. I’d sooner wrestle a direwolf than dance.”

She laughed, the sound brightening the room. “Then I shall teach you, my wolf. We will make it a night to remember.”

As they discussed their plans, y/n moved closer, her presence filling the space with warmth. They spoke of the traditions of the festival’s—the feasting, the storytelling, the games, and the honoring of the Old Gods. Each idea sparked excitement between them, weaving their hearts closer like the intricate patterns of the tapestries that adorned Winterfell’s walls.

The next night, the great hall of Winterfell was adorned with evergreens and flickering candles, casting a warm glow over the long wooden tables. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, and laughter echoed as the Northmen gathered, their spirits high. Cregan, ever the young wolf, sat among the men, sharing tales of bravery and adventure, his voice strong and commanding.

y/n, sat across the hall with the women, radiating beauty in a deep sapphire gown that hugged her figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering like the stars. Cregan’s breath caught as he caught sight of her, his heart racing like the thundering hooves of a charging wolf. Their eyes met across the hall, and in that moment, the noise of the festival faded into the background.

He admired the way her laughter danced in the air, how her eyes sparkled with mischief, and how she moved with grace. Cregan felt a warmth spread through him, a primal need to be near her, to claim her as his own. The way she tilted her head and smiled made him forget the stories he was telling, and he found himself lost in thoughts of her.

As the night wore on, a group of men began to share a particularly wild story of a hunt gone wrong, their voices rising in excitement. “And there we were, facing down a bear as big as a horse!” one man boasted, his arms gesturing wildly. The hall erupted in laughter, but Cregan’s attention was divided. He caught his wife’s gaze again, and she raised her cup, a playful smile on her lips.

Time slipped away, and many looks were passed between the pair, and soon the feast began to wind down. y/n stood to leave, her dress flowing behind her like a whisper of the wind. As she walked towards the doors, she glanced back, locking eyes with Cregan once more. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swayed and her dress hugged her waist enhancing her figure. He needed her. He felt like a wolf during a full moon, drawn to her, filled with a longing that was both fierce and gentle. He wasn’t used to these feelings that consumed him whenever she was near but he knew it was love.

As soon as she exited the hall, Cregan rose, his instincts guiding him. He followed her out, careful to avoid the prying eyes of the other guests. He saw her slip into the Godswood, the ancient trees standing sentinel around her.

Cregan stealthily moved through the dense underbrush of the God’s Woods, the moonlight filtering through the branches above, casting a silver glow that danced across the forest floor. His heart raced, not from the thrill of the chase but from the intoxicating presence of her. She moved like a whisper among the trees, a vision that stirred something primal within him. He craved her like a wolf starved, every instinct urging him to close the distance between them.

As she reached a clearing, y/n settled onto a wooden stump by the water's edge, her silhouette framed by the shimmering reflections of the moon. Cregan paused, taking in the sight of her—such a petite, perfect thing, yet she had such power over him. He stepped forward, a playful smirk crossing his lips. "You know, it’s dangerous to wander these woods alone. What if a hungry wolf were to come along?"

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, I’d just have to show that wolf who’s really in charge, wouldn’t I?" Her playful tone sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a fire of desire within him. Cregan couldn't help but chuckle, his cockiness shining through. "I’d like to see you try. But I must warn you, I don’t play fair."

The chase was on. She stood up, a teasing smile on her lips as she darted away, her laughter echoing through the trees. Cregan was quick to follow, weaving through the trunks, his heart pounding not just from exertion but from the thrill of the pursuit. He relished the game, the way her energy electrified the air around them. "Catch me if you can!" she called out, glancing back at him with a playful challenge.

With each step, he felt the desperation growing within him—he needed to catch her, to claim this moment. Finally, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her waist just as she reached another clearing. She squealed in surprise, and he spun her around, their faces inches apart. "Got you," he breathed, his voice low and teasing.

y/n’s eyes sparkled with a mix of challenge and delight. "You think you’ve won, don’t you? But this isn’t over yet." She leaned closer, her breath warm against his skin, and for a moment, time stood still. Cregan's heart raced, the playful banter giving way to something deeper, more desperate. "Oh, I’m counting on it," he replied, his voice thick with longing, as he leaned in, ready to savor the taste of victory.

With a soft smile, she leaned in, and their lips met in a slow yet passionate kiss that quickly ignited into something more fervent. Cregan's hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as their kiss deepened, filled with desperation and longing. Her hands were wrapped up in his hair pulling slightly. He lifted her up in one swift movement and she wrapped her legs around him. He pushed her up against the Weirwood tree so that the Gods could witness the love he would make to his wife. The world around them faded away, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and their hearts beating in unison. In that sacred space, they were lost in each other, wrapped up in the intoxicating warmth of their love….

[gloomwitchwrites]

Snowberries & Wolf Teeth

Vilkas x Farkas x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, kissing, F/M/M, brief mentions of Vilkas & Farkas’ beast forms, oral sex (female & male receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, breeding, multiple positions, possessive behavior, alcohol, brief aftercare

Word Count: 3.4k

At the New Life Festival during Evening Star, the Wolf Twins make their claim on you.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Whiterun is bathed in luminous light.

Masser and Secunda are large in the night sky. Along with the two moons is an aurora of blue and green which only adds to the lights of the festival. Makeshift lamps line the streets of Whiterun. From them hang wreaths made of pine and snowberries. It’s true winter now. There is an intense chill in the air, and many within Whiterun predict that the first snowfall of the year will arrive any day.

Tonight, the citizens of Whiterun celebrate the New Light Festival. Typically, one of the major cities across Skyrim host the festival, especially where the Empire has a firm hold. Solitude is the most popular place to hold it, and while you’ve only been to the city a few times in your life, you’ve never gone during the New Light Festival.

This year, Whiterun is celebrating on its own, and the Companions are graciously allowing the festivities to be held in their mead hall, Jorrvaskr. You’ve been inside before, mostly to make an excuse to talk to Farkas or Vilkas. They both shower you with affection, and neither seems upset that the other chases after you. Sometimes, they actively pursue you together.

Will you eventually have to choose? Or are they willing to share? Is that even an acceptable outcome for either of them?

You move with the growing crowd toward Jorrvaskr. The large double doors are wide open, and from within the mead hall comes music and the rich scent of roasting meat. Many people linger around the Gildergreen or on the steps outside Jorrvaskr. Everyone is dressed in festive attire and groups of children chase each other, weaving through the crowd, giggling as they go.

As you enter Jorrvaskr, you’re immediately hit with a wall of warmth. Below, the firepit is blazing. Over it is roasting venison, chicken, and duck. Several members of the Companions stand around it, keeping an eye on the roasting meat. The doors to the courtyard are also open and the crowd spills out toward the Skyforge.

You walk along the interior wall of the mead hall, heading for the large barrels that contain mead. When you take your first sip, your body immediately warms from the bite of the alcohol. After grabbing a drink, you head for the sweets, selecting a tart to snack on while you wait for some of the meat to come off the fire.

The tart is coated with dusting sugar and syrup. It sticks to your fingers, and you’re constantly sucking on them to try and consume every sugary morsal.

From the back doors that lead out into the courtyard, you notice couples dancing. You smile, watching them move together in unison, chewing slowly on the tart as you watch them.

“Are you wanting to dance?”

You jump at the voice in your ear. Turning sharply, you laugh aloud as you realize who it is.

“You startled me, Vilkas.”

“My apologies,” he replies, retreating slightly.

While he wears his signature wolf armor, it’s all clean and polished to an immaculate shine. Over his right shoulder hangs a cloak of black. His black hair is slicked back and styled nicely. Vilkas is dressed for the occasion. He’s always been handsome to you, but this only highlights how attractive he is.

“Would you still like a dance?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Could I have several?” you tease, delicately licking some of the sugary power off your thumb.

“As many as you wish,” he agrees, reaching out to snag your wrist. Vilkas brings your hand to his mouth, and he licks up a stray drop of syrup.

You finish the tart and mead quickly, handing off the empty mug to be cleaned. Then you slide your hand in Vilkas’, the two of you heading for the dancers. While a warrior, Vilkas does not step on your feet or mess up. He knows all the traditional dances of Skyrim, leading you through them so naturally it’s startling.

By the end of the third dance, you’re clutching your chest, a little winded but happy. His face is slightly flushed but he’s grinning widely, and you desperately wish to kiss him.

“A drink?” asks Vilkas, offering his hand.

“Please.” You slide your hand into his, and Vilkas escorts you to the doors of the mead hall.

With drinks in hand, you and Vilkas head for a quiet corner away from everyone else. You lean against the wall and Vilkas stands with his back to the room, creating a private cocoon. It’s intimate, and the closeness brings heat to your cheeks that quickly radiates outward to your limbs.

“I’ve been looking for the two of you.”

Farkas appears from behind Vilkas. He stands to Vilkas’ left, adding an extension to the cocoon. He is dressed nearly identical to Vilkas, except his hair which is loose and wild around his head. Farkas grins and you instantly melt.

Maybe it’s the mead, but you have a distinct feeling that cannot be the case. They always make every part of you tingle, usually in the most secret places, and this stepping around what you really want is starting to eat away at you. You want them, and you might as well go for it.

“It’s a little loud in here,” you reply. “Is there somewhere else we could go?” You purposefully lean into Vilkas while placing your hand on Farkas’ chest.

They both perk up. At first, they’re slightly confused, but they both realize exactly what you mean rather quickly. Vilkas’ grin is knowing and sultry, but Farkas blushes hard as he suddenly understands what you’re implying.

“This way,” nods Vilkas in the direction of the nearest set of stairs. They lead downward toward Jorrvaskr’s living quarters.

Glancing over his shoulder, Vilkas observes the room before placing his hand on your upper arm to steer you toward the stairs. Farkas follows too, creating a buffer so no one notices that you’re pressed in between them.

As Vilkas approaches the door, he places a hand against the wood, pushing it open enough for you to slip inside first. Farkas follows behind, and then Vilkas steps in behind his brother. When the door is in place, it completely shuts out the noise from the party.

It’s incredibly quiet down here. So much so that it takes a moment for you to realize that the three of you are not entirely alone. From the doorway in front of you leading into a sleeping area, you distinctly hear low moans of pleasure and the slap of skin against skin.

You step back and bump into Vilkas. His hand is on your waist, sliding over your lower back to eagerly grip your hip.

“Is that what you’re wanting? With us?” he whispers against your ear.

Yes. You’ve wanted it for weeks now.

“Is that okay?” you respond, wanting to make sure that they both agree to this.

Vilkas glances at his brother and Farkas nods in agreement. “We accept this.”

“Oh,” is all you say, as the couple just across the hall grow louder in volume.

Are you surprised by this? Not really, and yet you are. Did you fear rejection or even disinterest? Yes, but even that seems false. What reason have either of them given to make you suspect that they didn’t want you?

Vilkas’ hand on your waist is an anchor. His fingers dig into your hip as he pushes forward, guiding you away and down the hall. Farkas stands close enough that his arm brushes against yours, but he does not put his hands on you. It isn’t until the three of you turn down a short hall and enter a small bedroom that Farkas reaches out to touch.

Their hands are everywhere the moment the door to the little bedroom is shut. Vilkas is grabbing at your hips and waist, pulling you toward him while Farkas lightly tugs on your hair, arching your neck, exposing your throat for his mouth to place kisses on. Farkas begins at the hollow of your throat and works upward until he finds your lips.

The kiss is deep. Blistering. A demand.

When he breaks away, you’re breathless, wanting more of him. But Vilkas fills that void, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling you in to discover your taste. While Vilkas learns your mouth, Farkas’s hands roam over your back and sides, eventually settling on the curve of your ass. He squeezes through the fabric, and then gives it a light slap that causes your hips to jerk forward and into Vilkas.

Vilkas breaks away and laughs softly, one hand reaching up to unclasp the cloak hanging over his shoulder. He gently tosses it onto a nearby stool. Farkas follows suit, the two of them slowly undoing hooks and clasps to loosen their armor.

“Which part should we remove from you first?” asks Vilkas in a sultry purr. His gaze roams over your body, and his heated gaze leaves you feeling exposed.

“Everything should go,” answers Farkas as he reaches up to play with the adornments of threaded dried snowberries in your hair. “But these should stay. I like them.”

Vilkas nods. “I agree.” His chest plate falls away and he sets it down near the door.

The two of them are taking their time, watching you watch them. It’s a drawn-out dance. An anticipation.

When Farkas’ hands fall on your shoulders, you nearly jump in surprise. But he is entirely gentle when those fingers slip under the fabric to push it over and down your shoulders. Your dress surrenders to him, stopping briefly at your hips before completely falling to the floor at your feet. You are just as bare as they are.

The moment your nakedness is revealed, Vilkas’ nostrils flare like he’s inhaling your scent. His hands, which are at his sides, clench and unclench. All the while, Farkas’ hands are on your body, touching and caressing in soft strokes that chip away at your autonomy. They make you compliant and weak. Leaning back against him, you admire Vilkas’ muscled form.

He stalks forward, and every muscle ripples as he walks. When he’s close enough you reach out to touch him at the same moment he touches you. There is a hand around your throat, but you’re not sure which one it is.

Vilkas’ head tilts downward, his nose brushing your cheek as his lips meet yours. The sound he makes in his throat is low and feral. Hungry. Everything is tense, and the hands that touch you only tighten as if you’ll try to dart away like a frightened doe.

But you won’t run. Not from them.

Vilkas breaks the kiss and cups the sides your face in both of his hands. Those pale eyes of his are piercing, serrated and sharp like a blade. “Do you want this? Like we want this?” His gaze darts over your face, seeking confirmation.

You nod. “Yes. Please. I want—need, the both of you.”

Farkas’ hand slides over your stomach and between your legs. You gasp when his fingers run through your slickness. Using his index and middle finger, he parts your sex, and the moment he does, the two of them close their eyes, inhaling deeply.

There is something deeply primal about what they’ve just done. When they open their eyes there are small swirls of yellow there that weren’t there before. Vilkas’ lips part slightly, and you notice a sharpness to his canines.

“On the bed,” he murmurs. “Legs open.”

Farkas relinquishes his hold on you but Vilkas is right there, walking with you, sliding his hands up your legs once you fall back onto the bed and open them wide. His hovers between them only a moment before his head dips and his tongue slides over your sex.

It is a shock of sensation, one that ripples up to the crown of your head and to the tips of your toes. Vilkas feasts, alternating between licking, sucking, and kissing, seeking out what will make you come undone.

The bed dips near your head. Farkas is there, his hand sliding under your head to tangle in your hair. He is careful of the adornments, guiding you up onto your elbows. You know what he wants, and you obediently open your mouth, presenting your mouth to him.

He groans, and rubs the head of his cock on your tongue before you close around him. Vilkas swirls his tongue around your clit at the same moment you swirl your tongue around the head of Farkas’ cock. Your pussy clenches, relaxes, and then Vilkas slides a finger inside of you to the knuckle.

Vilkas pumps in time with the movement of his tongue while your head bobs up and down Farkas’ cock. Farkas’ hold on the back of your head is strong but not domineering. He isn’t controlling this. He’s allowing you to take charge.

Vilkas sucks your clit into his mouth and you moan around Farkas’ cock, the muscles in your thighs tightening, wanting to close around Vilkas’ head. He sucks again and Farkas’ cock pops from your mouth. Your hand goes out to grasp the base but it’s more to settle you than him. Vilkas has found that rhythm, and he is working you quickly toward an end.

He sucks again. Swirls his tongue. Then you’re sinking into yourself as the orgasm bubbles up and consumes you. The room you’re in grows a bit distant, and then it all comes hurtling forward as Vilkas continues to tease your clit with his tongue.

Your back aches off the bed, and someone’s hand is around your throat, guiding you to a seated position as Vilkas pushes up from between your legs, one hand still moving casually between them.

“Do you want me here?” he asks slowly, pumping his finger in and out of your pussy. “Or would you like me here?” Removing his fingers, he presses the sticky tips to your lips, dragging them across your flesh, leaving a glossy trail behind.

Your lips part and Vilkas takes that as an answer. With their hands on you, you don’t need to move. They guide you into position. Vilkas reclines in the bed, back against the headboard while you go onto your hands and knees between his legs.

Farkas settles on the bed behind you, his hands rubbing up and down your back before going to your hips, easing them up slightly for a better angle. You wrap your hand around the base of Vilkas’ cock at the same moment Farkas presses down a bit, arching your back, forcing your legs to slide open.

You pump Vilkas a few times before leaning in to kiss the tip. A pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit, and you eagerly lick it up with the tip of your tongue. Another blooms in its place, and you swirl your tongue around the flared head before licking the entire length of from base to tip.

Behind you, Farkas lines himself up, the head of his cock catching on your entrance, easing slowly inch by inch. He’s gentle, rolling his hips in light, shallow thrusts that allow your body to acclimate to him. A few more strokes and Farkas slides home to the hilt.

You’re full. Stretched. Filthy and feral.

You take the head of Vilkas’ cock into your mouth, holding him there while the salvia collects. Then, you swallow him down, your lips touching your hand as Farkas retreats before thrusting forward.

Hollowing your cheeks, you slide back up, and then repeat the process, bringing in your hand to pump him in time with your upward passes. Farkas moves one hand to your waist while the other stays on your hip, his pelvis slapping against your ass with each thrust.

Farkas thrusts. Grinds his hips forward. Hold there a moment. “Shall we make her ours?” he asks. You cannot see his face but you can see Vilkas. The corner of his mouth twitching until it pulls into a full smile.

“Haven’t we?” he replies, one eyebrow arching.

“She needs our marks.” You feel Farkas’s hand slide upward to clutch the back of your neck. He pulls you off Vilkas’ cock, bringing you flush against his chest. His other hand slides forward to cradle your stomach. “And our whelp, too.”

Vilkas’ grows burning hot. The swirling yellow intensifies. “And what does she say to this?” His head tilts to the side slightly, appraising you.

You’re still pressed against Farkas, his cock buried deep within you. “I want the both of you. In all ways.”

Farkas’ pleased groan against your throat goes straight to your pussy. You clench around him and his fingers reflexively dig into your skin.

“Give her to me, Farkas.”

The loss of Farkas’ cock is immediate. He draws away just as Vilkas sits up entirely and pulls you into his lap, turning you around to lay back against him. Vilkas’ hands slide forward to the backs of your thighs and then hook under your knees. He draws them to your chest and Farkas is already moving, returning to your body easily. Farkas places one hand against the wall above Vilkas while the other presses into your hip. You’re trapped between them, and the sensation is lovely.

You’re entirely at their mercy, and it feels good. It feels right.

Farkas uses the leverage of the wall to set a pounding rhythm that shakes the bed. You rest your head against Vilkas’ shoulder and surrender to them.

But Vilkas is not idle.

He adjusts his grip on one of your knees enough that he can reach between you and Farkas’ bodies to rub your clit. You’re already sensitive from when his tongue was on you, and a few well-placed strokes have you clenching around Farkas.

Farkas groans, hips slamming forward as he finishes. His chest heaves but he doesn’t immediately pull out. Instead, the hand on your hip disappears to grab the lower-half of your face. He draws you to him enough that he can lean down and kiss you.

“It’s my brother’s turn,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Farkas draws back, and then Vilkas is lifting you into his lap, lining himself up to sink inside. Your groan loudly, toes curling as he settles to the hilt. There is nothing left for you to do but hold on as he guides you up and down his cock.

“Touch yourself.”

Sighing, you slide your hand between your spread legs to work yourself. Each thrust and every stroke of your hand sends a little tremor through your legs. Vilkas makes a sound deep in his throat as he nuzzles your neck. He continues to rock his hips, upping the rhythm of his thrusts until your breath comes in short gasps of pleasure. Your eyes begin to close, eyelids fluttering with every tingle in your clit.

“You’re ours,” murmurs Vilkas against your flesh. “Ours.” On that final word, he growls, and holds you in place as he thrusts up into you.

His grunts and your groans fill the room. It isn’t until you come down from an orgasm that you realize that Vilkas is done, merely waiting for you to join them in reality. Every bit of you is sore and the dried bead-like snowberries in your hair clack together as Vilkas helps you out of his lap.

Farkas is right there with a damp cloth, sliding it between your legs to wipe away the stickiness. His movements are slow, and once he’s done, Vilkas is pulling you into his arms, snuggling down into the furs. Farkas slides in on your other side, their bodies intertwining with yours, creating a nest of limbs.

Their bodies are warm like a fire in a hearth. There is an arm around your waist, on your hip, cupping a breast. They settle into rest, but do not sleep. You are the one who drifts, and it is they that coax you back when their need for you grows too great.

If morning comes, you are not aware. And if night follows, you are unaware of that. You are aware of their tongues and teeth. You are aware of how they pass you between them, keeping you full and perfectly pliant to their every demand.

“We’re never letting you go, sweet one,” murmurs Vilkas before he sucks a nipple into his mouth.

Farkas’ hand slides to the front of your throat, pulling you back until you’re looking at him. “Never.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @wrathofcats @ninman82

[thelonesomequeen]

Can someone please give a recap of the last 36 hours?

I will try my best 😂 Hopefully I’m not forgetting anything.

A friend of Chris posts a photo that shows a lot of Chris’s long time friends together in his general area.

Jeremy Renner is spotted in Boston.

NewEnglandCreative followed Alba a few weeks ago. If you remember us talking about a videographer, that’s who it was. They posted on Friday about collating with 31Films for an epic one. 31Films followed Alba overnight.

They both followed photographer Catherine Mead. Who follows Bailey Moon, a stylist Alba followed months ago who also works with Bryan Rafenelli who started following Scott yesterday (but not Alba?), but also follows all of the above mentioned accounts. LolaTwirls recently started following Alba and Jenn Streicher (who does Chris’s hair/makeup). That’s the hairstylist that was traveling to Mass yesterday with hair stylist Jacob Rozenberg. She was followed yesterday by Misha who usually does Alba’s makeup. Keep in mind, the hairstylists left New York Fashion Week to travel to Massachusetts.

*I’m not going to post all the screenshots of follows because there are a lot.

Renner, Hemsworth, and RDJ are seen at brunch yesterday at Contessa.

Renner and Hemsworth are later seen at a hotel and allegedly claim they are there for the Chris Evans wedding (whether or not that was said is still up for debate).

A few more of Chris’s long time friends followed Alba over the weekend as well.

This morning, Danny posted a photo of him clearly dressed up. Jenn Streicher just posted a photo of her all dressed up.

[cruisingheightswithdragons]

“You know, I do know who you are.” Taliesin spoke softly as he swirled his goblet of wine, staring intently at his khajiit companion.

Dah’ni looked up from their own mug of mead. A spark of panic flashed in their eyes for a brief moment. Where had this come from? “What does this one mean?”

Setting the goblet still on the table the twosome shared, the Altmer turned to face Dah’ni. “Not using an alias and giving me your real name wasn’t the smartest thing you could have done when we first met.”

Dah’ni did not like where this was going.

Taliesin continued. “You’re the youngest of five to a pair of farmers near Rimmen. You publicly rejected the Thalmor’s claims of recovering the moons and ending the Void Nights, resulting in you being detained.”

The fur on Dah’ni’s tail began to bristle. They looked around the busy tavern, but the twosome’s conversation was drowned out by rowdy chatter and the sounds of drums.

Yet Taliesin continued. “You roused other detainees into a revolt… an incident resulting in the death of three Thalmor agents, and the execution of those that revolted. And then, just as the dust had settled, you disappeared, never to be seen again…”

“You speak dangerously, elf.” Dah’ni hissed. Their lips curled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth stained yellow from bread and mead. The tip of their fluffed up tail twitched irritably while the grip on their tankard tightened.

Taliesin raised a brow, clearly not taking this threat display seriously. “You don’t deny it, then?” He took another sip of wine, annoyingly nonchalant.

“Why say this to khajiit now, hmm?”

Dabbing his lips with a cloth, Taliesin narrowed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. He raised his goblet and smiled. “You should try the wine.”

Dah’ni growled. “Do not change the subject!” They rose from their seat and leaned over the table, palms planted firmly on the wood. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Really good wine…” Taliesin was about to take another sip when Dah’ni lunged forward and grabbed the collar of his robes, pulling him forward and causing him to drop his drink. The goblet clattered and splashed wine onto the floor.

“You know who I am, and what I did, congratulations,” They began, “but you have neglected to mention this to khajiit until now? Let alone at all?” A growl escaped their throat. “Tell me, Thalmor, what makes you think I won’t sink my claws into your throat? I could erase this lead you slimy bastards have with the stroke of a finger!”

The Altmer simply glared his yellow and green eyes into Dah’ni. “I know you won’t, though.” His mouth curved into a teasing sneer.

Dah’ni huffed. They had just about had it with this mer. “What makes you so certain?”

“You liiiiiike meeeee~”

A fire burned in Dah’ni’s chest and warmed their face. A sharp retort was caught in their throat and wouldn’t come out. The khajiit relaxed their grip and finally lifted their hand from Taliesin, simply too stunned to speak.

The Altmer in turn sat back down, reaching to pick up his fallen cup and setting it back on the table. “If you had just let me say my piece, I would have.”

Words finally made it out of Dah’ni’s mouth as they sat back down. “Then speak.”

Taliesin cleared his throat. “Before I begin, you must remember I’m not part of the Thalmor anymore,” He said, “Regardless, you saved my life when we met. Whether it was out of the goodness of your heart or you wanted to get something out of me doesn’t matter now.”

Dah’ni’s ears perked up. He was a smart mer, they figured. It didn’t come as a surprise that he realized he was being held captive at first. It took time, but Taliesin had been relieved of being a potential bargaining chip to secure Dah’ni’s own safety by now, having now become a genuine companion. Still, Dah’ni’s mind raced with feelings they weren’t quite ready to take on yet.

His voice snapped Dah’ni back to the present as Taliesin went on. “I know who you are, what you have done, and what you’re capable of, yes. I just wanted to you to know I haven’t said a word about you to anyone, and I intend to keep it that way. Believe it or not, your identity is safe with me.”

Dah’ni forced themself to relax, the fur on their tail finally lying flat. “How can khajiit be so certain you are telling the truth?”

Taliesin lowered his gaze, his eyes resting on his hands clasped together around the empty goblet. “Simply put, I value your company.” His voice was barely audible over the chatter and music playing around them. “…rather enjoy it, really…”

Dah’ni blinked. Embarrassed to admit it to themself, they realized that they, too enjoyed his companionship. Taliesin was a valuable asset in travel and combat, and became someone the Khajiit could rely on. In spite of having been with the Thalmor in the past, his presence was warm and welcoming. Taliesin’s teasing from earlier wasn’t that far from the truth. Dah’ni truly did like him.

“Hmph,” Dah’ni huffed, trying to shake away their blooming thoughts, “Khajiit will take your word for it.”

Taliesin glanced up and smiled warmly, which brought back the fire within the khajiit’s chest. The Altmer leaned forward. “With that out of the way,” He said, “why not buy me a new drink? It was your fault for making me drop my wine, kitten.”

Immediately, the fire inside them was extinguished as Dah’ni’s face dropped. Claws unsheathed, they laid a loud smack to Taliesin’s annoyingly smug face.

[messinwitheddie]

There hasn’t been any attempted raids on the Hymenopteracian Queen's homeworld since Cini died, right?

How’s Gir doing after Zim finally pass away?

I have been waiting for so long for someone to let me info dump about about my ETF space bee head canons! :D (brace yourself)

First off, the Hymenopteracians, aka Space bees, would highly appreciate the fact you referred to them by their race's proper name. (To them, "bee" is a derogatory slurr that Irkens call them). Expect a meteorite at your doorstep filled with jars of honey, a bottle of mead, a small batch of honey buns, a book of pressed exotic flowers from their homeworld and a seemingly endless scroll of hand written thank you notes in an unreadable and misspelled language from billions of pupas (school-aged Hymenopteracian children) in the near future. (Princess, worker and male drone Hymenopteracians)

1. To answer your first question, no. The Hymenopteracian homeworld, which consists of the planet itself and its' seven moons when translated into English is called, "All-Hive", has not been raided by the armada since loooong before Cini's death--

*lots of head canons ahead. You can skip over it if you like. The asterisks will signal when my bs is through.

***

Because All-Hive was colonized and forced to ally with the Irken Armada CENTURIES before Cini was ever born. Cini was only there to renew a longstanding treaty between the two races.

The Hymenopteracians were the second race of sentient beings the Irkens came into contact with since the beginning of the Control Brain takeover (the first being the Vortian).

When the Irkens first landed on All-Hive, they were awestruck.

All-Hive was a paradise absolutely overflowing with natural resources, including sugar cane, molasses, wheat, rice and dozens of other staples in the Irken diet. Of course, Irkens were introduced to the miracle that is honey (and The Hymenopteracians were introduced to the miracle that is natural Irken silk).

All-Hive, pre Irken contact, made the garden of Eden look like a dumpster covered in bird shit, the planet was SO beautiful and fertile.

The seven hives populating the planet, until Irken contact, existed in near perfect harmony (most conflict that occurred only occurred within each of the 7 hives themselves and set conflicts consisted of petty royal family drama. The seven queens of All-Hive rarely conflict without reaching a peaceful resolution) Such conflicts paled in comparison to the bloody wars waged between the hives of old Irk.

Their culture puts cooperation as the highest priority... Unlike Irkens, who only resemble insects at a glance, Hymenopteracians ARE a race of hive-mind insects, though sentient. (No, Irkens and Hymenopteracians cannot successfully crossbreed with one another.

The Hymenopteracians had developed little tech in terms of weapons, defensive or offensive. The Irkens took advantage of this/ their traditionally peaceful nature and easily claimed All-Hive and the entire solar system it orbited in for themselves and began developing the first "snacking system", Producia (the main source of nearly all raw materials/ ingredients harvested and distributed to the other Irken snacking systems to this day.)

The Hymenopteracians were forced to relocate their hives to their planet's moons, which the Irkens had taraformed into MASSIVE commercial farms, while their home planet was developed into restaurants, shopping cities and other such atrocities. Their workers were forced to quadruple their productivity during harvests, straining the planet/moons environmentally and compromised the health of the worker populations to the point of societal collapse. An outrageous percentage of their harvest was taken by the Irken empire. Many Hymenopteracians starved and the Queens of that era birthed meager swarms.

The Irkens even toyed with the idea of eliminating the queen system altogether and just slapping a smeetery on All-Hive designed to produce only worker bees. The Hymenopteracians feared extinction for the first time in their history.

Riots and sniper stinging operations were launched in protests. Smear campaigns were streamed throughout the empire to villainize the Hymenopteracians in retaliation. (Now you know why Zim dislike bees! A stretch, I know, but hey, everyone has their fan theories...)

Eventually, the Irkens noticed that the quality of their the snacks, which was sinfully DELICIOUS at the beginning of the Hymenopteracian takeover, started to decline. Everything tasted AWFUL. Discourse erupted throughout the empire.

Tallest Greezee, who was determined to build the snacking system, Foodcourtia, first made sincere attempts to negotiate with the Hymenopteracian queens. He invested shmillions of monies, countless hours of in-person meetings and several armies of drone power into restoring All-Hive to it's formal glory.

Well... close to it. The Hymenopteracian race is still in full service to the Irken Empire. All-Hive is still the capital planet of the snacking system, Producia, and an obscene amount of All-Hive's harvest goes to making snacks for the empire.

But All-Hive's environment has been restored to near-perfect condition in modern times. The planet is 88% reclaimed by the Hymenopteracians and they have full sovereignty over their involuntarily taraformed moons.

Classified Irken history dictates that Tallest Greezee had actually fallen in love with one of the seven Hymenopteracian queens (well, smeets are told Greezee fell in love with Hymenopteracian cuisine, which is true, but he fell deeply in love with one of the queens first.) Tallest Greezee wrote the peace treaty between the Irkens and Hymenopteracians himself in an attempt to ask for her hand, which she accepted, only because he kept his word and drastically changed the policies that were oppressing her people.

[Late Tallest Greezee "negotiating" with one of the 7 queens of All-Hive.]

The treaty states that All-Hive is permanently under the Irken Armada's protection. In addition, every ruling tallest has to visit All-Hive at least 3 times every century, discuss important matters with the queens and renew the treaty. The renewal of set treaty involves accepting at least one of the seven Hymenopteracian queens as a permanent ally (life partner, politically speaking, though participating in the Hymenopteracian Queen's repopulation rituals is required to a certain extent. Some tallests are more receptiveto this tradition than others.) It's a very complicated and messy treaty. It could and probably SHOULD be revised to promote policies that better favor the indigenous people of All-Hive, but it was a step in the right direction and all too necessary to keep the empire running. *

***

In the present.

Since the ETF incident, All-Hive and several of its' moons were severely damaged. So, you know, crop failure, rising snack prices, limited supplies, ect. ect. The empire's economy almost instantly takes a nasty blow. Huge headache for the tallests in command.

Tallest Red and Purple had to visit All-Hive and their chosen Hymenopteracian queens almost immediately after the Massive was recovered from the Florpis Hole to keep the peace and make plans for repairs.

(Red with his chosen Queen)

Now that Red has passed, Purple is handling the situation alone. As the control brains have advised him, Purple is not shirking his duties on this one. The only thing that will definitely inspire the average drone to riot/ rebell is a lack of snacks, after all.

He swiftly sent a taraformation task force to repair the damage Zim did to All-Hive. Purple's chosen queen, Cerana, of whom he affectionately refers to as "Queenie", and her fellow queens were outraged by the damage initially and skeptical of Purple's intentions to fix anything at first, but she is satisfied with his progress thus far.

Purple and Queenie develope a close, genuine friendship outside of their obligated alliance, especially since Red's passing. Purple occasionally makes casual visits to All-Hive to chat with, snack with and dance with his chosen queen in between mandatory visits to All-Hive. (It's purely a platonic friendship; both Purple and Cerana lead very lonely lives.

2. Gir is... very devastated when Zim passes. It hits him so hard, he goes numb for a while.

There is a long lapse between when Zim dies and when Gir manages to recognize his grief. Many of his close friends and family worry for him, because he seems so accepting of Zim's death for a while and just operates on auto pilot. He carries on his frylord duties. He smiles and laughs and goofs like usual, but once the emotions finally process...

It all flows out in tidalwaves. Luckily he has Yeet and Minimoose to carry him through the worst of it.

[babylon-crashing]

I know I hung on the gust-beat gallows/ nine full nights,/ gashed with a stake and given to fire-see,/ myself to myself,/ on that ash-tree of which none know/ from where the roots rise. ~ Odin’s Shaman Song.

Here is what Barbara Walker has to say about the Hanged Man:

A man dressed like the Fool hangs from a beam between two trees by one leg, the other leg bent in the Hermetic figure-4 position. His hands are bound behind his back, but his facial expression is peaceful. Bunches of grapes hang with him, suggesting sacraments of Dionysus. Two towers appear in a landscape like that of the Moon card. Hanging by one leg was the medieval custom of “baffling,” a nonlethal punishment bringing disgrace, like a sojourn in the stocks. Like the ritual humiliation in many types of initiation, this may have been a symbolic death-andrebirth, designed to make the novice hear his own heartbeat, which Far Eastern mystics called “the sound of power.” The basis of all rhythm, it is heard even by fetal ears in the womb. The heart’s inner “dance” was the dancing god in Chidambaram, the Cave of the Heart. In ancient Egypt, a figure with one leg bent like the Hanged Man’s was the hieroglyphic sign of dancing and of the Mother-given heart soul (ab). The Hanged Man’s gallows dance is therefore a mock martyrdom, interpreted as a sacrifice for a good purpose, patient as a sacrifice for a good purpose, patient endurance, silent suffering, and life at low ebb.

What I find interesting about this card is the idea that through suffering one can find Aufklärung (your own Age of Enlightenment.) Because basically everything in Christianity has been plagiarized from much better source material, the Codex Regius describes how Odin hung himself on the Yggdrasil (World Tree) in his quest for enlightenment, giving up an eye in order to be able to read the Runes. One of the titles given to Odin is, “Yggr the Terrible,” from which we get the word Ogre.

They did not comfort me with bread nor with a drinking horn: I looked down, I took up the runes, shrieking their names I fell back from there.

I got nine mighty songs from the famous son of Bolthorn, Bestla's father, and I got a drink of precious mead sprinkled as from the heart.

Then I began to thrive and bear wisdom I grew and prospered; Each word drew another word from me, each deed drew another deed from me.

For me what is important about this card is the concept of surrendering every notion of how you think the universe work in order to learn something new. Sacrificial pain cuts through the mundane dogma of all you’ve been taught in school or books (ie., other people’s wisdom that you try to claim as your own) to reveal whatever light your higher self is trying to show you.

[sterek-ao3feed-archive]

CLAIM!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49156906 by TriskHellion For the past 7 years whenever the Hale siblings or their packmates and friends have something to fight over — taking a shower in the morning, the easiest chores, the best pieces of brownie, etc — they’ve called “Claim.” One night a group of them go out clubbing and Stiles is there dancing up a storm. Derek wants him, but he sees that Ethan and Cora do too so he, what else, yells “Claim” in order to try his luck first. Things go very well and Stiles is happy to be invited to stay over after they fool around. Both are looking forward to seeing each other again. But then some of Derek’s packmates come barging in the next morning and Ethan, not realizing that Stiles is still there, loudly implies that he was just a conquest in their game and he leaves upset. Will they work it out? Words: 11893, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 5 of Mead Moons Series, Part 7 of Sterek Weekly Series Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Ethan (Teen Wolf), Cora Hale, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, mentioned scott mccall - Character, Mentioned Aiden Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Human Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Hurt feelings, Pining, Dad advice, Making Up, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Hickeys, Knotting, Come Eating, no beta but we don't die because it's not that kind of story, Strangers to Lovers, Getting Together read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/49156906

[ao3-feed-sterek]

be everything that you need

by EvanesDust

[excerpt] Stiles could feel Derek's gaze on him. It was like a physical touch, and when he looked over his shoulder, he smirked. Derek's eyes were dark, flared with heat.

"See something you like?" Stiles asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Derek pressed against his back, kissing his shoulder before turning Stiles in his arms. "You know I do."

Words: 3358, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of truly madly deeply, Part 6 of SterekFests, Part 13 of SterekWeekly, Part 10 of SterekBingo, Part 2 of Mead Moons Event

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: POV Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Established Relationship, Summer Vacation, Alpha Derek Hale, Full Moon, Werewolf Courting, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hunting and Providing, Erica Reyes is a Little Shit, Hale Pack - FREEFORM, sterekfestslake, sterekweekly - ocean, sterekbingo - falling asleep on my shoulder, mead moon - claiming, mead moon - full moon, mead moon - buck

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48757876

[triskhellion]

While We Still Have Time

Rated: Teen (3.2k)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski

Tags: POV Stiles, Road Trip, Song Lyrics, Cussing, Recreational Drug Use, Stiles & Derek Leave Beacon Hills, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Roscoe breaks down when Stiles tries to escape Beacon Hills. He calls Derek for help and they end up leaving together.

Soundtrack

Prompts: Mead Moons — Claiming, Herbs, & Rituals. Sterek Weekly — Trouble (and Pillow.) Sterek Fests — Road Trip to Anywhere. Sterek Bingo — Road Trip.

It was finally happening. He had a duffle bag with his favorite clothes, toiletries, a couple towels, and some other essentials in the back. A backpack with his laptop, a notebook, and half a dozen books he never got around to reading between all the monsters of the week last year and the Hunter bullshit this Spring. They’d been buried under various mountain of stuff and semi-dirty clothes, forgotten until his pre-Get The Fuck Out of Here cleaning spree. He wasn’t going to leave a mess for his dad to deal with. Unlike all those other times with far worse kinds, you mean? 

Yeah well, that’s why he was going. One of the many reasons, anyway.  

He had his wallet in his left side pocket and phone charging in a makeshift holder by the dashboard. Jugs of water on the floor and a paper bag with a few nonperishable staples and an assortment of sandwiches, snacks, and caffeinated beverages in the passenger seat. His pillow, which would be especially necessary when he’d need to sleep at a rest stop or something.

Stiles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and sang along to the playlist he’d selected to start off his journey. He didn’t even know where he was going yet, just heading south until he had to get gas or piss and then he’d decide. There’d been no time to waste. This need to get away had been building for a while now and when he woke up this afternoon ��� he couldn’t fall asleep until after dawn — all he knew was that today was the day. It couldn’t wait another week or even until tomorrow or something else would come up to keep him there. He just knew it.

So he’d started the first load of laundry and then speed cleaned and showered in the quickly tepid while it was washing. He went to the store while the second load was going and the first one in the dryer, which had everything he was planning to take. Then he packed his stuff, set the remaining laundry to dry, scrawled a note that was frankly more stream of consciousness than rational explanation, but at least ended with a promise to stay in contact “Love, Stiles,” and then he was off.

Miles ticked up on the odometer and pavement passed beneath Roscoe’s wheels. It was at once exciting and bittersweet. He was done with high school and, more importantly, 18 so it’s not like his dad or anyone else could actually force him back. Not that many of the old crew were even going to be in Beacon Hills for much longer. Those that hadn’t already left like Jackson, Chris, and Isaac did overseas or Lydia getting an early start in Cambridge. 

But unlike her or Scott and the others he wasn’t heading off to college or something like that. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life anymore, was still stuck processing or at least dealing with having been possessed. As in he had to deal with it — the memories and nightmares and new little quirks that made him question himself — not that he was handling it in any particularly effective or healthy fashion. 

And so it was like it was expected, or at least assumed, that he would just stay here for all the shit the town and that fucking tree could possibly throw his way. Well, how about no? Again, he’d been possessed! He deserved a goddamn break. Or if not deserved (the little voice in his head had very different ideas about what he deserved) he fucking wanted one. Needed one before he broke anymore.

Stiles only wished he could take his dad with him. And maybe a certain Sourwolf if he was being honest with himself now that it mattered even less than it already did before. Those big, impossible feelings he never wanted to look at long enough to pin down. The pull he liked to pretend was just him being a hormonal bisexual teenager who was warm for the former Alpha’s form. That it didn’t matter because it hadn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’tmatter.

He thought of guarded green-hazel eyes, a clenched, stubbled jaw, and stubbornly crossed arms as he wailed along with Jim Adkins.

“The things we think might be the same, but I won’t fight for more. It’s just not me to wear it on my sleeve, count on that for sure.” 

Stiles snorted and shook his head. It was all too fitting, whether more for him or Derek or both of them equally he wasn’t sure. There were times, after all, when he’d thought that Derek also…

But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen. Famous last words.

Seconds later smoke was rising from beneath the hood of the Jeep. Always a wonderful sign. Fuck. No no no, please not now. 

This couldn’t be happening. Just another too vivid daydream, right? Or maybe he’d actually fallen asleep waiting for the laundry and this was simply a nightmare because of his nervousness about the upcoming trip. Haha, very funny brain! 

More smoke billowed out and there were sounds. Oh no. No no no. Fuck!

Stiles pulled off onto the wide shoulder, put the car in park, and snatched the keys from the ignition, hurling them onto the floor. Then he just sat there in silence with his head against the top of the steering wheel. He hadn’t even made it 30 miles and it was already over. There was always something. Some kind of trouble, like clockwork. Like a curse. 

He’d worked over senior year and into the summer, doing odd jobs and seasonal gigs to save up the money that he was now planning to use for gas and cheap motels and food. That he’d already spent part of on getting Roscoe some much needed maintenance and repairs over the last few months. Not enough, apparently. 

After smashing his head into the horn so that it blared obnoxiously a few times he pulled himself upright and scrolled through the contacts on his phone like he had options. Gone, gone, doesn’t have a car, gone, doesn’t have a car, doesn’t even have a license, don’t want to talk to him and have to explain anything right now. 

Stiles sighed. Well, he didn’t want to call his dad at the moment either — with any luck he could at least get home before his failed escape was revealed — so that left only one person. Of course it went straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, Derek. So funny story, I’m about 28 miles from town on the highway heading south and my car broke down. Yes, yes, I know. So, um, if you don’t have anything better to do, you think you could come get me? Let me know either way. Uh, catch you later.”

He wondered how long it would take to walk back to Beacon Hills. 10 hours? What if he just took the backpack, removed some of the books and added a few changes of clothes, some toiletries, and a towel and just kept walking south. Maybe he could hitchhike.

By the time he dug into the secret compartment in the lid of a jar of peanut butter and pulled out the little baggie of weed his hands were shaking. He’d gotten it from an acquaintance of Danny’s — the guy really could hook you up with just about anything —  and still had some left. Enough for now and a few times more.

He retrieved the rest of his supplies and crouched down on the other side of the car, calming as he performed the little ritual of rolling his own joints. Of lighter and flame. Burn, inhale, hold, exhale. Taking the edge off. Lightening him up. What if he just walked into the trees and disappeared. Became one with the forest like whats-her-face in Annihilation who was done with fighting the freaky bullshit and just noped the fuck out. If only.

17 minutes later his phone chimed.

<Sourwolf: Be there in 30.>

Stiles responded with a thumbs up emoji. Alright. Okay. He took a few more hits and snuffed out the end, saving the rest for later.

Derek’s face did all sorts of things when he got there, half of them with his eyebrows alone. How did he ever used to think the man was unreadable? Devoid of emotion except anger?

Obviously, he’d smelled the marijuana, but Derek didn’t say anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Hey handsome, think you can help a damsel in distress?” Stiles said, fluttering his eyelashes and sticking out a leg like he was pulling up the hem of a skirt before bursting into giggles. Derek shook his head and popped the hood on Roscoe. 

“Since when were you a mechanic, big guy?” He set a hand on a leather-clad shoulder. It’s August you silly goose.

“I know a thing or two.”

“I’m sure you do,” he vamped, leering exaggeratedly and then abruptly pivoting to walk to the back of the Jeep where he set his forehead against the cool glass. What the fuck are you doing?

Burning everything down around him apparently. He started chuckling, a dark, sharp-edged thing, and Derek looked over at him with concern. 

“Stiles?”

“Oh don’t mind me, I’m just falling to pieces.” 

He sat down hard on the ground and cracked right up, laughter turning to sobs as footsteps crunched toward him. 

“I thought I was actually getting out, Der. I tried. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t. I can’t,” he got out between gasping breaths. 

Derek crouched down beside him and started rubbing his back, tentatively at first and then in long, soothing strokes. His head moved and Stiles could swear he felt a kiss at the top of his head. Or something like that. He found himself practically head-butting Derek in his stupid muscly chest as he leaned into him, hands grasping at his left side and right elbow. Oh, he was going to be so embarrassed about this later. Derek took a deep breath.

“I’ll take you.” 

“What?” Stiles’ head jerked up, tear tracks drying on his face. 

Derek nodded toward the Camaro. 

“Wait, seriously?” 

The werewolf shrugged. 

“Yeah. You’ve got your stuff packed and everything.”

“But what about you? We have to go back, get your things and a tow truck for Roscoe and—“

“No,” Derek cut in. “I can just grab what I need on the way. I’ll have Malia, actually no, Mason, check on the place and I can call now about getting your Jeep towed to your house.” He raised a finger when Stiles opened his mouth. “I’ll give ‘em your dad’s number in case there’s any issues. But no going back there now or something will happen and you’ll never leave. So let’s just go.”

Stiles clambered up from the ground feeling strangely light and warm. Hopeful. And still kinda high he supposed. While Derek made that call he rearranged some of his stuff and then took all of it out it of Roscoe, putting the duffle bag in the now open trunk of the Camaro — it was so getting a name on this road trip — and throwing his backpack, pillow, and snacks in the back seat. 

“Shotgun!” he yelled, completely unnecessarily before getting in up front. Derek squinted at him and shook his head, getting behind the wheel. 

The sun had just gone down, but it wasn’t dark yet and he caught his beaming reflection in the side mirror. Stiles hooked up his phone to the stereo. 

The chorus of “Work” came blaring back to life just as Derek put the pedal to the metal and peeled out of there (after carefully checking the mirrors and blind spots of course,) tires kicking up dirt and gravel. “You wanna take a ride? Get out of this place while we still have time.”

The Camaro even fishtailed some pulling back onto the pavement and Stiles smirked, pretty sure that display of Fast & Furious-ness was for his benefit. He grabbed the Oh Shit handle and whooped. Now he was off! They. The both of them.

“So where are we going?” he asked a few minutes later when his heart rate had returned to what passed as normal for him. 

“Wherever you want,” Derek replied, a bit too conspicuously. 

Wherever. Where. Ever. 

Stiles’ left leg began bouncing up and down and he turned away to gaze out the window, eyes unfocusing so that the trees blurred into one continuous spiny ripple. He was hearing what he hearing, right? I mean, he was pretty sure. 

But if there was a 10% or even 3% chance that Derek would turn this car around or like, jump out the window of a moving vehicle in horror at his feelings and desires he didn’t want to risk it. No matter how much he wanted…whatever. Because if this trip ended before it even began Stiles didn’t know what he would do. How he would survive or if he—

A large hand clamped down to still his jittering. Warm and squeezing just above his knee. The inner side of his thigh. Without looking — he couldn’t okay, not until he knew he wasn’t wrong —  he “casually” put his left hand, palm up, a bit higher up on his leg. Derek laid his own on top of it, thicker fingers twining with his. Holy shit. Okay. 

Stiles turned slowly then, hardly daring to breathe, and met glowing blue eyes. Suddenly, it felt like something in his chest, in his soul, rearranged. Stabilized. A pack bond snapping properly into place. He rubbed over his sternum with his right hand as Derek inhaled sharply and then wrenched his attention back on the road since he was driving and all. 

Whoa.  

There’d been lots of upheaval over the last few years. Being Scott’s, Being both of theirs. Derek giving up his Alpha spark for Cora and leaving, the Nogitsune, things being all fucked up and not feeling like he belonged to anyone at all. Derek coming back, but them both out of sorts and dealing with their own shit amidst everything and him being confused and isolated and not really open for connection. Had to close the door. 

Their bond hadn’t broken, but it hadn’t been right either. And now…

Already he was feeling more settled. Stronger. Content even after they claimed or re-claimed each other as pack or whatever exactly that was. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“How about Reno?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but then broke into a grin. 

“Sure.”

Several more moments passed with his brain trying to regain functionality and Derek looking at him pointedly.

“What?”

“You’re the navigator.”

Stiles flailed and nearly dropped his phone.

“Oh, right.”

He pulled up the routes and selected one for directions. That done, he started looking up stuff about the city. Places they might want to eat or walk around.

About halfway there his dad called and he took a deep breath before answering. They talked for a while, Derek hearing everything of course, but Stiles had shaken his head no when he mimed pulling over. It’s not like the werewolf wouldn’t hear just as much anyway unless he ran off a good ways and that would just be silly. 

Stiles wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised at the clear relief in his father’s voice when he learned that Derek was now going with him. 

“You two stay out of trouble, alright? Derek…”

“I’ll look out for him, sir,” he responded loudly.

“Good man.” 

Stiles watched Derek duck his head a bit, bunny teeth peeking out as he smiled. God, he was adorable when he let himself feel things.

“Okay kiddo,” his dad said, addressing him again. “Well, I hope you get what you need out there. I’ll just be here enjoying the peace and quiet and bacon burgers every day—“

“Daaad,” he groaned as his father laughed. 

“Just kidding, son. I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, Dad”

“Alright, Love you, have fun.”

“I love you t—”

“But not too much fun.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes.  

“Bye!” he yelled, hanging up. 

They stopped at a drive-thru for some hot food on the outskirts of Reno. Burgers and sodas with curly fries, of course. It was around midnight when Derek pulled off at the next turnout, overlooking the city. They ate half-sitting, half-leaning against the warm hood of the Camaro. 

Stiles was going to propose going down there and gawking at the late night antics for a bit (unfortunately, unlike some places in California he was too young to play a few slot machines here and see if his luck really was turning around.) Then finding somewhere to sleep. A motel room. With Derek.

There was a flash of heat in his belly and it became a bit of a struggle to swallow his current bite of potato-y goodness. He managed not to choke as he blushed at where his imagination was heading and felt very accomplished.

Derek looked over at him, nostrils flaring, and reached out to wipe ketchup from the corner of his mouth with a thumb. Not quite daring enough to take it into his mouth, Stiles leaned into his palm and those searching eyes first softened and then focused intently. In the blink of an eye Derek’s face was much closer, but not quite touching his. Warm puffs of breath tickled his skin. 

He closed the gap and then they were kissing. Slow and tentative at first, gentle and tasting, and then something deeper. Hungrier. Derek was the first to pull back, grinning and leaving him breathless, but craving more. If it was left up to him he probably would've kept going until they both passed out. Or just him, who was he kidding. Damn werewolf constitution.

They turned back to the shining oasis in the darkness, flashing lights and neon signs, and he sidled up to Derek, who then put an arm around his shoulder. Slotting into place like puzzle pieces. A satellite passed by overhead, but he wished on it like a shooting star anyway. Please let this be real. 

Stiles snuggled even more into Derek’s side and breathed him in, calmed by his warmth and  woodsy scent as if he were a wolf himself. He closed his eyes to the sound and vibration of pleased rumbling, comfortable and pondering the possibilities opening up before them. 

The crunch of balled up wrappers and other garbage being placed in the bag that their food came in had him jolting awake. He must’ve dozed off for a while. God knows he needed it. 

Derek smiled at him, one of those special fond ones that Stiles had collected like rare treasures and placed inside his stupid little heart before forcing himself to think of other things. He didn’t have to do that anymore though, he could hold onto them and inspect them all he wanted. Do his best to get more of them.

“You ready?” Derek asked, holding out his free hand. Stiles took it and was pulled upright, where he stole a kiss.

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

Thanks for reading!

Previous (unrelated) fics for the Mead Moons event/series:

Second Chance Strays

Thunder

@sterek-and-stuff-events @sterekfests @sterekweekly @sterekbingo

[sterek-and-stuff-events]

Mead Moons Event: Prompts 4-6

Does Derek become an Alpha after taking down a rogue? Or is he a lone wolf in need of a new pack who stumbles across Werewolf Stiles?

Does Stiles study to become the emissary for the Hale Pack when his Spark awakens? Or does he just accidentally turn Derek into a ferret or axolotl?

Do Stiles and Derek become parents? Or are they Drift compatible Jaeger pilot trainees who become partners in a Pacific Rim AU?

If you write/draw it!

Is Derek dragged by kid Eli to a petting zoo owned by Stiles where there's a rambunctious yearling that won't leave him alone? Do photographer Stiles and painter Derek bond over creating and sharing images of wildlife? 

Does Derek bring down a giant buck to court Stiles? Or do they both see the great White Hart in their dreams and wonder what it means? 

Is Stiles an avatar of Cernunnos that leads Derek on a merry chase in stag form before turning the tables of predator and prey?

I'd love to find out!

Is there a reverse mating run where Omega Stiles ends up claiming Alpha Derek? Or is Derek an Omega who is given to Stiles as collateral in a dystopian AU where werewolves are known and oppressed by humans?

Does Stiles find out how Derek actually feels when he becomes feral and gives him a mating bite? Do the two of them get married and have a traditional Claiming chase after?

Does Stiles always make sure to call shotgun when it comes to riding in Derek's Camaro after Roscoe breaks down?

Whatever you can imagine!

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

[brookston]

Holidays 7.3

Holidays

Air Conditioning Appreciation Days begin [until August 15]

American Redneck Day

Army Day (Guatemala)

Chamois Day (French Republic)

Compliment Your Mirror Day

Disobedience Day

Dog Days of Summer begin [until August 11]

Emancipation Day (U.S. Virgin Islands)

Festival of the Wilderness

Fiesta del Fuego begins (Festival of Fire; Cuba; through 9th)

Fishermen’s Day (Marshall Islands)

Gettysburg Day

Independence Eve (What If We Won; Newcastle Brown Ale)

International Drop a Rock Day

International Plastic Bag Free Day

Jaindl-Good Day

Lady Gaga Day (Taiwan)

National Air Conditioning Appreciation Day

National Bereaved Parents Day (UK)

National Burpee Day

National CROWN Day (Black Hair Independence Day)

Perfect Pac-Man Day

Quebec Day

Sata-Hame Soi Accordion Festival begins (Ikaalinen, Finland) [thru Sunday]

Start the Conversation Day

Stay Out of the Sun Day

Superman Day (New York World’s Fair; 1940)

Women’s Day (Myanmar)

World Awareness Day for Rubenstein-Taybi Syndrome

World Billionaires Day

World Meerkat Day

World Seabird Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Cultivated Strawberry Day

Eat Beans Day

National Chocolate Wafer Day

National Eat Your Beans Day

National Fried Clams Day

National Independent Beer Run Day

1st Monday in July

CARICOM Day (a.k.a. Caribbean Day) [1st Monday]

Carnival Monday (Saint Vincent and Grenadines) [1st Monday]

Heroes’ Day (Zambia) [1st Monday]

Mother’s Day (South Sudan) [1st Monday]

Independence Days

Belarus (from German Occupation, 1944)

Idaho (US Statehood Day; 1890) [#43]

Urabba Parks (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Aaron and Julius (Christian; Saints)

Alec Guinness Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Anatolius of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Anatolius of Laodicea (Christian; Saint)

Bertram (Christian; Saint)

Dathus (Christian; Saint)

Dipolieia (Ancient Greek Festival of Zeus as God of the City)

Festival of Cerridwen (Welsh Goddess of Barley)

Full Moon [7th of the Year] (a.k.a. ... 

Asalha Puja (Buddha’s 1st Sermon after Enlightenment)

Berry Moon (Traditional)

Buck Moon (Amer. Indian, Traditional)

Claiming Moon (Celtic)

Crane Moon (Choctaw)

Esala Full Moon Poya Day (Sri Lanka)

Hay Moon

Hungry Ghost Moon (China)

Mead Moon (England, Wicca)

Old Moon (South Africa)

Raspberry Moon (Traditional)

Ripe Corn Moon (Cherokee)

Rose Moon (Neo-Pagan)

Salmon Moon (Traditional)

Summer Moon (Colonial)

Southern Hemisphere: Ice, Oak, Wolf

Thunder Moon (Alternate, North America)

Was Full Moon (Sri Lanka; Buddhist Lent begins)

Wolf Moon

Germanus of Man (Christian; Saint)

Gerbert (Positivist; Saint)

Gurthiern, Abbot in Brittany (Christian; Saint)

Guthagon of Oostkerk (Christian; Saint)

Heliodorus of Altino (Christian; Saint)

John Singleton Copley (Artology)

Leo II, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Marinus (Christian; Martyr)

Melvin Milk (Muppetism)

Mucian (Christian; Saint)

Phocas (Christian; Saint)

Peregrina Mogas Fontcuberta (Christian; Saint)

Raymond of Toulouse (Christian; Saint)

Rose of the World Day (Palestinian Christian)

Solstitium III (Pagan)

Strange Urges Day (Pastafarian)

Thomas the Apostle (Christian; Saint)

Whip Someone with a Wet Noodle Day (Pastafarian)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [38 of 57]

Premieres

The Abbot and Costello Show (Radio Series; 1940)

Adventures in Babysitting (Film; 1987)

The Amazing Spider-Man (Film; 2012)

Back to the Future (Film; 1985)

Birdman of Alcatraz (Film; 1962)

Blondie (Radio Series; 1939)

Brown Sugar, by D’Angelo (Album; 995)

Despicable Me 2 (Animated Film; 2013)

Despicable Me 4 (Animated Film; 2024)

Fat Lip, by Sum 41 (Song; 2001)

Fireworks (Animated Film; 2018)

Hamilton (Filmed Broadway Play; 2020)

I’m Still Standing, by Elton John (Song; 1983)

Independence Day (Film; 1996)

Innerspace (Film; 1987)

The Lone Ranger (Film; 2013)

Men in Black II (Film; 2002)

Midsommer (Film; 2019)

A Picture of Her Face, by Scott Joplin (Song; 1895)

Porky’s Super Service (WB LT Cartoon; 1937)

Smoke Signals (Film; 1998)

Strangers on a Train (Film; 1951)

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (Film; 1991)

Transformers (Film; 2007)

Today’s Name Days

Günther, Ramon, Ramona, Thomas (Austria)

Toma, Tomislav (Croatia)

Radomír (Czech Republic)

Cornelius (Denmark)

Arvo, Aulik (Estonia)

Arvo (Finland)

Thomas (France)

Ramon, Ramona, Thomas (Germany)

Anatolios, Yakinthos, Zoumboulia (Greece)

Kornél, Soma (Hungary)

Leone, Tommaso (Italy)

Benita, Bonita, Everita, Sulamite (Latvia)

Anatolijus, Liaudmina, Vaidilas (Lithuania)

André, Andrea, Andrine (Norway)

Anatol, Jacek, Korneli, Leon, Miłosław, Otto (Poland)

Iachint (România)

Miroslav (Slovakia)

Heliodoro, Tomás (Spain)

Aurora (Sweden)

Anatole (Ukraine)

Anatol, Anatola, Lindsay, Lindsey, Lyndsey (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 184 of 2024; 181 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 1 of week 27 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Duir (Oak) [Day 22 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 16 (Ren-Xu)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 14 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 14 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 4 Lux; Foursday [4 of 30]

Julian: 20 June 2023

Moon: 100%: Full Moon

Positivist: 16 Charlemagne (7th Month) [Gerbert]

Runic Half Month: Feoh (Wealth) [Day 5 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 13 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 13 of 31)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 7.3

Holidays

Air Conditioning Appreciation Days begin [until August 15]

American Redneck Day

Army Day (Guatemala)

Chamois Day (French Republic)

Compliment Your Mirror Day

Disobedience Day

Dog Days of Summer begin [until August 11]

Emancipation Day (U.S. Virgin Islands)

Festival of the Wilderness

Fiesta del Fuego begins (Festival of Fire; Cuba; through 9th)

Fishermen’s Day (Marshall Islands)

Gettysburg Day

Independence Eve (What If We Won; Newcastle Brown Ale)

International Drop a Rock Day

International Plastic Bag Free Day

Jaindl-Good Day

Lady Gaga Day (Taiwan)

National Air Conditioning Appreciation Day

National Bereaved Parents Day (UK)

National Burpee Day

National CROWN Day (Black Hair Independence Day)

Perfect Pac-Man Day

Quebec Day

Sata-Hame Soi Accordion Festival begins (Ikaalinen, Finland) [thru Sunday]

Start the Conversation Day

Stay Out of the Sun Day

Superman Day (New York World’s Fair; 1940)

Women’s Day (Myanmar)

World Awareness Day for Rubenstein-Taybi Syndrome

World Billionaires Day

World Meerkat Day

World Seabird Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Cultivated Strawberry Day

Eat Beans Day

National Chocolate Wafer Day

National Eat Your Beans Day

National Fried Clams Day

National Independent Beer Run Day

1st Monday in July

CARICOM Day (a.k.a. Caribbean Day) [1st Monday]

Carnival Monday (Saint Vincent and Grenadines) [1st Monday]

Heroes’ Day (Zambia) [1st Monday]

Mother’s Day (South Sudan) [1st Monday]

Independence Days

Belarus (from German Occupation, 1944)

Idaho (US Statehood Day; 1890) [#43]

Urabba Parks (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Aaron and Julius (Christian; Saints)

Alec Guinness Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Anatolius of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Anatolius of Laodicea (Christian; Saint)

Bertram (Christian; Saint)

Dathus (Christian; Saint)

Dipolieia (Ancient Greek Festival of Zeus as God of the City)

Festival of Cerridwen (Welsh Goddess of Barley)

Full Moon [7th of the Year] (a.k.a. ... 

Asalha Puja (Buddha’s 1st Sermon after Enlightenment)

Berry Moon (Traditional)

Buck Moon (Amer. Indian, Traditional)

Claiming Moon (Celtic)

Crane Moon (Choctaw)

Esala Full Moon Poya Day (Sri Lanka)

Hay Moon

Hungry Ghost Moon (China)

Mead Moon (England, Wicca)

Old Moon (South Africa)

Raspberry Moon (Traditional)

Ripe Corn Moon (Cherokee)

Rose Moon (Neo-Pagan)

Salmon Moon (Traditional)

Summer Moon (Colonial)

Southern Hemisphere: Ice, Oak, Wolf

Thunder Moon (Alternate, North America)

Was Full Moon (Sri Lanka; Buddhist Lent begins)

Wolf Moon

Germanus of Man (Christian; Saint)

Gerbert (Positivist; Saint)

Gurthiern, Abbot in Brittany (Christian; Saint)

Guthagon of Oostkerk (Christian; Saint)

Heliodorus of Altino (Christian; Saint)

John Singleton Copley (Artology)

Leo II, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Marinus (Christian; Martyr)

Melvin Milk (Muppetism)

Mucian (Christian; Saint)

Phocas (Christian; Saint)

Peregrina Mogas Fontcuberta (Christian; Saint)

Raymond of Toulouse (Christian; Saint)

Rose of the World Day (Palestinian Christian)

Solstitium III (Pagan)

Strange Urges Day (Pastafarian)

Thomas the Apostle (Christian; Saint)

Whip Someone with a Wet Noodle Day (Pastafarian)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [38 of 57]

Premieres

The Abbot and Costello Show (Radio Series; 1940)

Adventures in Babysitting (Film; 1987)

The Amazing Spider-Man (Film; 2012)

Back to the Future (Film; 1985)

Birdman of Alcatraz (Film; 1962)

Blondie (Radio Series; 1939)

Brown Sugar, by D’Angelo (Album; 995)

Despicable Me 2 (Animated Film; 2013)

Despicable Me 4 (Animated Film; 2024)

Fat Lip, by Sum 41 (Song; 2001)

Fireworks (Animated Film; 2018)

Hamilton (Filmed Broadway Play; 2020)

I’m Still Standing, by Elton John (Song; 1983)

Independence Day (Film; 1996)

Innerspace (Film; 1987)

The Lone Ranger (Film; 2013)

Men in Black II (Film; 2002)

Midsommer (Film; 2019)

A Picture of Her Face, by Scott Joplin (Song; 1895)

Porky’s Super Service (WB LT Cartoon; 1937)

Smoke Signals (Film; 1998)

Strangers on a Train (Film; 1951)

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (Film; 1991)

Transformers (Film; 2007)

Today’s Name Days

Günther, Ramon, Ramona, Thomas (Austria)

Toma, Tomislav (Croatia)

Radomír (Czech Republic)

Cornelius (Denmark)

Arvo, Aulik (Estonia)

Arvo (Finland)

Thomas (France)

Ramon, Ramona, Thomas (Germany)

Anatolios, Yakinthos, Zoumboulia (Greece)

Kornél, Soma (Hungary)

Leone, Tommaso (Italy)

Benita, Bonita, Everita, Sulamite (Latvia)

Anatolijus, Liaudmina, Vaidilas (Lithuania)

André, Andrea, Andrine (Norway)

Anatol, Jacek, Korneli, Leon, Miłosław, Otto (Poland)

Iachint (România)

Miroslav (Slovakia)

Heliodoro, Tomás (Spain)

Aurora (Sweden)

Anatole (Ukraine)

Anatol, Anatola, Lindsay, Lindsey, Lyndsey (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 184 of 2024; 181 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 1 of week 27 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Duir (Oak) [Day 22 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 16 (Ren-Xu)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 14 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 14 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 4 Lux; Foursday [4 of 30]

Julian: 20 June 2023

Moon: 100%: Full Moon

Positivist: 16 Charlemagne (7th Month) [Gerbert]

Runic Half Month: Feoh (Wealth) [Day 5 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 13 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 13 of 31)

[niphuial]

Elias nods, blue eyes filled with surety. "Auntie Katerina says she may be the Moon but Mommy is the Sun," the little boy said, gently handing Niklaus the drawing. "You can have this one too since you liked it so much." He told the original, voice sure. He turns back to his strawberries and milk, continuing to eat them. "Can you run as fast as the big wolves?" He asked Niklaus curiously. "Are you faster than our Alpha? Cause that'd be so cool ifin you were."

______

Katerina pouts at Elijah, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, love. His mother, Caroline was a dear friend of mine. Her murder never made any sense. We never found a body, and Elias swore he saw her wolf--except it wasn't a full moon. And, of course, the Lockwood pack has been a pain in our asses since," as Elijah's look, she amended. "The Moonlight Pack's old Alpha--who I beat in combat, arranged Caroline's marriage to Tyler Lockwood to tie an alliance with our Packs together with Elias and his siblings. Well Tyler was dark of hair and eyes--Caroline's blond and blue-eyed and Tyler has blond relatives, but he claimed Elias as a bastard." Katerina growled, eyes flashing and her weakened frame shook.

"He was emotionally abusive before they were married, and became physically abusive after Elias was born." She told her mate finishing her broth and starting in on her strawberries. "Caroline never let him touch Elias. She loved her son. The Forbes prided themselves on being werewolves--her dad had her active her gene young so...anyway, she was going to become my first hybrid.... then that night happened. A huge Strom came in, Tyler beat her--threw her body threw the glass window...." she stopped, shaking her head.

"Elias got him through the back and his heart with the fire poker. He was dead in moments. Caroline....she was just gone. We searched and searched. Elias swore he saw her wolf, but the full moon was two weeks away," She shook her head, eyes sad continuing munching on her fruit.

"As for myself...." She frowns, looking at her arms, where her skin is still pale instead of its warm tan. "The Ritual has never gone that wrong before. My watchers usually take great care of me," she told Elijah, voice soft as she felt one of his hands trace the still red line across her stomach and lower chest. "All Queensguard should know how the ritual should go," she told Elijah, frowning heavily as her mate continued to trace the line. "The way the cut me wasted so much blood that we didn't manage to turn the one hundred we gathered anyway, and she brought me regular mead I just don't..." She shook her head. "I think Astrid and Enid should be prohibited from any future Moon hunts for a year," she told Elijah finally voice firm.

"As for me...." She swallowed. "I'll have to be there. I'm the Moonlight Queen, and it's the Moon Hunt," she told Elijah, yawning as she finished the strawberries. Tiredly she took a tiny sip from her blood mead. "It's my duty to lead the Moon hunts. You'll have to be at my right and a bit behind me too." She informed Elijah, exhaustion plain to see in her voice. "Just like it'll be expected of you to lead the Yuletime hunt, New Year's Hunt, the Summer Solstice hunt, and the Harvest Feast Hunt. I'm expected every month to lead the Moon Hunt."

_____

Lucian's eyes widen, and he blushes, stuttering a bit. "I-it is a sad song. "It's about two lovers meeting beneath a hanging tree and trying to flee, but when the late one arrives he finds out his love has been discovered and murdered." He tells Kol, voice soft. "The lyrics are the trumped-up charges they used to kill him. Mama named me after him--the one they hanged. The one who found his love, he--well, he rained holy hell upon the entire town. Mama says the town doesn't exist anymore, which is why she gave me the name. Told me 'I want you to be so loved, Lucian, that if you're ever taken away from them--they'll destroy everything, and nothing anyone says will stop them.'" Lucian said, thumb rubbing Kol's knuckles. "And you didn't hurt me--you could never hurt me, Kol. Not intentionally." He informed the original, meeting Kol's gaze, eyes warm and filled with love. "And even if you did, I'd forgive you because I love you."

this would be fun to watch

[forest-faerie-witch]