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spncanonbigbang · 7 years ago

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Masterpost 2017

Under the read more you’ll find the list of all the mini and big bangs from this year’s event. Enjoy and see you next year!

| 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020

MiniBangs

Shut Up and Dance, Dean Winchester by Ailuromatron | art by emmatheslayer 8,3k; Teen and Up Audiences; Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean is not going to think about the way Cas’ sudden withdrawal overlaps with the mental feedback Dean’s been experiencing here. He wouldn’t know what to make of it anyway, whether it’d be ironic or fitting or what. But if Castiel shutting him out turned out to be because Dean is loosening up, letting ideas form in his head more clearly than before—that would burn like a hot blade, and it just doesn’t bear looking too closely. It’s not the only thing tonight that doesn’t bear close inspection for the sake of Dean’s sanity. He damn near trips over his own feet when confronted by the south side of a north-facing Cas—seriously, when and where did he get that pair of ink-black jeans and in what universe is the way they fit his thighs not illegal?—and he’s pathetically grateful for the excuse of a rough patch of asphalt to blame it on when the others turn back to see what happened to him.

Misery & Solace by theackles | art by thruterryseyes 5k; General Audiences; Dean Winchester/Castiel

It’s been a week. One long, painfully numb week. The days went by one by one until Dean didn’t know what day it was anymore. Dean can feel the ache in his bones. He can’t move, he can barely think. He’s gotta get Cas back, even if it means working with Rowena and (almost) killing himself in the process.

A Lesson in Adapting by distortedrain | art by emotionallyunstabl 5,6k; Teen and Up Audiences; Castiel/Dean Winchester

The Winchesters settle into the Bunker and learn to hunt a little less a live a little more.

Fin ad Infinitum (The End Evermore) by AmberAnnh | art by lux-tuli 8,5k; PG-13; Gen

In “The End” Dean got the chance to see the future, zapped to a 2014 where the consequences of his choices had played out. Now, it’s Sam’s turn. Transported from 2009 to 2014, he must grapple with a demonic virus from his past, angels using the remnants of humanity as disposable vessels, the devil in his nightmares, and—perhaps worst of all—why Dean said “yes” to Michael.

If These Rooms Have Memories by KelpietheThundergod | art by malallory 12k; Mature; implied Castiel/Dean Winchester

Sudden light and sound make him flinch, but then, oh—cartoons! Awesome. Except then, the tall man comes over and takes the button-thingie out of his hand and shuts the cartoons off. “Dean, listen. The witches are gone, and they’ve got the Grimoire. We’re gonna do a spell to slow down the curse to buy some time, and then—” The man cuts himself off and his serious expression turns into one of exasperation. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Something Special by Durenjtmusings | art by Busy Squirrel 11,3k; General Audiences; Gen

What makes something special? Special enough for people to pay any price, beyond even their lives? Welcome to Lost and Found, Ltd., experts in finding very, very special things. Things that can be yours if you are willing to trade something very special in return. Well, and often even if you aren’t. [Canon-compliant possible backstory for both characters and objects in Supernatural: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Ruby, Jimmy Novak, Daniel Elkins, the Impala, Ruby’s knife, Dean’s Colt, Sam’s Taurus, the Samulet and The Colt.]

Exit: Light by hexmaniacchoco | art by quiescentcastiel 22,5k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

Dean, Sam, and Cas are relaxing in the bunker when Sam finds them a case involving three college students who’ve gotten themselves into trouble while playing a summoning game they found online, resulting in a nearly fatal incident. After investigating and figuring out what people are summoning into their homes, they decide to summon it as well in order to kill it. However, things aren’t quite what they seem at first, and a misjudgement of the situation finds TFW with the disadvantage as they walk around a pitch-black bunker trying to search out the creature they’re hunting without mistaking each other for it instead.

Mirror, Mirror by Jerksarehot | art by emmatheslayer 10,6k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

A witch with a taste for human souls reveals a secret to Dean before escaping with a promise to return. The boys recruit some help from Bobby to find a way to track and kill her. Dean must now decide if he should tell Sam the truth and risk losing him, or keep his dark secret and risk Sam’s life and his own soul.

The Night Goes By by indigoneutrino | art by Loracine 8,3k; Mature; Gen

It’s a long night when Sam and Dean first arrive at the prison, separated from each other to be strip searched, manhandled and humiliated before being thrown into cramped concrete cells. The nights that follow are longer.

Some Kind Of Monster by Hermit9 | art by Dmsilvisart 6,8k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

After leaving the Bunker and the Winchesters, Castiel attempts to earn his penance (again) by tracking down the escaped Lucifer. Crowley tagging along is both a blessing and a curse, the silver-tongued devil an asset during the investigations. If only he didn’t drive Castiel out of his mind. Set during and around “American Nightmare” up to “Rock Never dies”

A Mother’s Love by Leahlisabeth | art by kuwlshadow 5,2k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

Mary loves her boys, really she does, but she can’t quite seem to click with Sam. She’ll need to figure it out when a mother’s love is the only thing that can save him from a witches curse.

BigBangs

Always Stuck In Second Gear by ThayerKerbasy | art by dmsilvisart 29k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

After Wendy Vincente spilled the location of her brother’s secret cabin, Agents Beyoncé and Jay-Z had a lead to follow. Tracking Lucifer while confined to a pickup truck wasn’t exactly Crowley’s preferred modus operandi, but at least he was in good company.

and by me, i mean us by puckity | art by winchesterchola 16,5k; Explicit; Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester; Very Light Sam Winchester/Castiel

After what they think was just a routine case, Sam starts feelings things that he can’t quite put a name to. Things that aren’t really his but aren’t not his either. So he does what he always does: runs some tests, collects the data, and starts drawing conclusions. And then Dean does what he always does–comes in and tangles everything, including Sam, up. Timelined in early Season 12, prior to “First Blood” (12.09).

Blue Moon Rising by Treefrogie84 | art by Mayalaen 56,1k; Mature; Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa Braeden, Castiel/Dean/Lisa Braeden

Dean promised Sam that he would walk away from hunting, walk away from his family, and live some normal apple-pie life with Lisa. He did his best to do that– pulled the weapons out of the trunk, turned his back on Cas and Bobby, started spending his evenings with Lisa and Ben at Little League practice. But monsters don’t stop hurting folks, Hell doesn’t stop being Hell, and Heaven doesn’t start caring about humanity just because Dean’s retired.

Thunder on the Mountain by Skitty | art by kuwlshadow 23k; PB-13; Gen

A string of strange and seemingly unrelated tragedies are plaguing the Appalachian region. Children disappear. Men go insane. Hikers are mauled by large animals. And always…traveling Northward. Sam and Dean pick up the hunt in a small town outside the national forest. The creature they’re hunting is one of legend, feared by the native tribes that once populated the area centuries ago. With the unexpected aide of a strange woman also appearing to hunt the creature, the boys must attempt to bring it down before they lose their minds completely.

An Even Trade by PaperAnn | art by GlitchedWings 42,7k; Explicit; Sam Winchester/Gabriel

You’d think being relentlessly pursued by a tall, dark and handsome hunter would be an exciting game of chase. Until it wasn’t. Gabriel was growing bored of Sam Winchester’s constant tailing, still obsessed with getting his brother back, even though the Trickster was doing the kid a favor by offing Dean, thank you very much. He had to make this entertaining again, this new merciless killing-machine-Sam was no fun. They entered into a deal: Sam would work a case under the guise of a Trickster to see the reason behind the mischief by serving up a case of Just Desserts. If Sam won? He got Dean back. If he lost…well, Sam wasn’t going to lose, no matter the cost. Except, seven days of living on top of one another made Sam see beyond the monster who ruined him and back to the witty, cute janitor he met at Crawford Hall. There was also the problem of the two men, who were clearly attracted to each other, alone in a motel room for a full week. It was an accident waiting to happen. The puzzle was, neither knew who was manipulating who, if it was all a ploy or real emotions were coming out to play. The only thing both men recognized was something real was happening. And they were running out of time.

Lock & Key by MyShipWillNeverSink | art by Gabedrawz 18k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel

Canon divergent from 9x03. Dean and Cas set off on a hunt as a distraction from the guilt Dean feels for betraying his brother’s trust (again). Things go awry when Castiel falls through a frozen river, and things aren’t at all what they seem.

Build a Home by domesticadventures | art by myukur 20k; Teen and Up Audiences; Dean/Cas; background Sam/Eileen and Krissy/Josephine

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t.

What Went Wrong Yesterday by cinnamonanddean | art by stormbrite 16,2k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

With Broward County in their rearview and a new case in their laps, Sam struggles to come to terms with the six months he spent alone after Dean’s death - and the fact that it never happened at all. And on top of it all, he now has to deal with the feelings for his brother that have been dragged to the surface.

The Heart of Ophelia by anyrei and mugglerock | art by nonexistenz 39k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel

Always throwing himself in harm’s way for the Winchesters, Castiel ends up getting hit with a love curse. Under the influence of fabricated emotions, Castiel learns just how dangerous unrequited love can be. And Dean learns what it means to doubt everything he’s ever believed. They have a week to find a way to lift the curse, otherwise the intoxication of “love” will kill Castiel. Literally.

When Words Fade, Music Speaks by Pinkmink | art by Dreymart 16,9k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel

The Brits have Dean running ragged all across the country. When Cas returns from his not-so-brief time in Heaven, Dean finds them a case in New Orleans. It’s supposed to feel like a Winchester version of vacation - voodoo, good food and a simple salt and burn. But the trip turns out to be a far more cathartic release than he bargained for.

Fight or Flight by ellispark | art by emotionallyunstabl 23k; Mature; Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

Just when Dean’s started to feel good about his life — the end is not nigh, and his brother and his angel are safe in the bunker — Sam and Cas start keeping secrets from him. It’s not a big deal, at least not at first. Everyone needs to play some things close to the chest. But when Dean finds out what they’ve been hiding, the bubble of carefree happiness he’s carefully placed around his family finally bursts.

Long Distance by grey2510 | art by Marsjay 18,9k; Teen and Up Audiences; Jody Mills/Asa Fox, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

Losing someone is never easy, nor is having them far away, no matter how often it happens in a hunter’s life. When Jody, Sam, and Dean travel up to Canada for the wake and funeral of Asa Fox, each is forced to confront some truths about family and who is really important in their lives.

Entwined Souls by sweet-sammy-kisses | art by lux-tuli 16,3k; Teen and Up Audiences; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Sam was all prepared to spend eternity in the cage trapped at the mercy of Lucifer and Michael if it meant that Dean would be safe. What no one counted on was Chuck to come back or turn out to be God. With Ellen, Ash and Jo brought back as a thank you gift for all the boys have done Dean and Sam are at a loss of what to do when Chuck announces he is taking the angels back to heaven and closing the gates of hell up. There is one thing the boys both want and that is the one thing they are afraid to go after, each other. But after almost losing each other one too many times they decide to take a chance and now the life of retirement is discovering the next step in their relationship.

Humanity's Angels by Ami Rose | art by sevenspirals 94k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel, Background Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy, Background Original Characters OT3

To get their minds off of Kelly Kline, Lucifer, and the BMOL, Dean and Sam take a case in Northern Arizona where a rogue angel was seen flashing his wings at a film festival and ranting about blasphemy. They quickly realize that there might be more to this case than they’d initially thought. The angel fits all the characteristics of being a ghost—EMF readings, see-through body, air chilling ability, and all. A local man is found with his eyes burned out like he was the victim of a smiting keeps them in town after salting and burning the angel’s buried vessel in hopes of dispelling his ghost.

Between all of this, Dean is finding it hard to keep his feelings for Cas under wraps. Especially when everywhere he looks and everyone he talks to reminds him of how much energy he’s spent hiding his sexuality from his family over the years.

Will watching the ghost angel’s grieving best friend mourn the loss of the angel he’d loved spur Dean into confessing his own feelings before it’s too late? Will an angel from Cas’s past be able to succeed where Ishim failed? Who the hell has Sam been texting? Will someone please tell Mary what the hell is going on with her sons? Will any of Team Free Will learn to use their damn words?

#supernatural #supernatural fanfic #spn family #spn #fanfic masterpost #masterpost 2017 #masterpost

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5hfanfiction · 7 years ago

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Parting Shot Episode 5: Walls

I had never been on a proper date before. I had convinced myself that it was simply for lack of trying, but the truth beneath was that it just wasn’t me. I had no intention of meeting any kind of stranger at a neutral location, exchanging small talk and sitting in awkward silence while a candle between us wore down to it’s waxy death. I had no intention of paying for a dinner I didn’t enjoy, or walking through a moonlight park only to end the night with an awkward peck on the cheek and a broken promise to call soon.

On this particular night however, I found myself standing in front of the full length mirror tacked to the inside of our bedroom door and looking myself up and down. Examination was only the second of a two part cycle that included circling nervously around the room and sidestepping every stray pile of clothing Camila had chosen to adorn the floor with at the time. I had chosen a loose top with a soft purple hue, a last minute rush purchase that I was now wishing I hadn’t made so prematurely.

“Lauren, cut it out.” My subject of interest whined from the bed. She had finished with a late afternoon at work, and was now mauling a banana from it’s peel. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, the length of which was looped over her head and dangling in front of her face. “You’re making me dizzy with all the pacing.”

“Do I look okay?” I questioned, facing her and opening my arms like a statue of Jesus in front of the town’s only church. One side of Camila’s cheek was bulging with banana, the chewing avidly as the light from her phone screen consumed whatever attention was leftover. “Camz!”

“Hm?” Brown eyes blinked up at me. “Oh, yeah you look hot.”

“You don’t sound sincere about that at all.”

Placing the half empty peel down on the bed, Camila jumped to her feet and padded over to me, swiping up a small palette of eye-shadow and trapping a brush between her teeth on the way. She then began to slowly unbutton the shirt, pulling it off my shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. “What are you doing?” I questioned, watching her grab a black article of clothing from the floor and shake it out.

“Black.” Camila mumbled through the brush between her teeth. “Not purple. You’re hot as fuck in black.”

I remained quiet, nodding as the brunette went up on her toes so she was a touch taller than me. The hand holding onto the palette landed on my shoulder, the brush sweeping delicately over my eyelids. “Do you have any idea what you’re actually doing right now?” I asked her softly, receiving a gentle press of her finger against my lips as a sign for silence. “I’m just saying.” I mumbled regardless. “I’ve seen you do makeup all of two times in the history of forever.”

“You’ve seen me do makeup more often than that.” Camila giggled, finishing up on the lids and using the very tip of her finger to remove a glob of mascara from my right lash. “There. Much better.”

Admiring Camila’s handiwork in the bedroom mirror, I caught her eye in the reflection. “I promise I won’t be too long.” I assured her. “It’s just a quick dinner, maybe a movie, I’ll walk her back home, and that’ll be it.”

“Lauren, you can take however much time you need, don’t feel like you need to rush true love just to be home on time.” Camila assured me, backing up to the bed again and reassuming her lazy position nested in the comforter with the other half of her banana in hand. I gazed down, watching her chew thoughtfully while a long block of text scrolled by on the screen of her phone.

“What are you reading?”

“Me?”

“No, my imaginary friend.” I smiled, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and reaching out to poke the side of her head. “Yes you.”

“My talk with our english teacher got me thinking the other day.” Camila chewed, turning off the phone and curling around to look up at me. “I want to get into more classic literature, more than just Wordsworth, Hemingway and their life lessons of humility and love. Where there any famous horror writers?”

“Horror?” I frowned. “Since when are you interested in anything remotely scary? The last time I tried to get you to watch a horror movie you curled up and hid behind me like a five year old.”

“I figure writing a horror story is a different sensation than watching one.” Camila stretched out down the bed, every inch of slender limb flexing and relaxing in post snack haze. “It’s a different feeling when I know what’s going to happen, nothing can jump out me bite my head off my shoulders.”

It took me a moment to sort through the scarce library of writers and poets in my head. “Lovecraft was a horror writer.” I told her suggestively. “Shirley Jackson. Stephen King. If you want to get kids where it hurts the most, you can always fall back on clowns ripping off the arms of innocent children from the confines of a storm drain.”

“Did that happen?” Camila sat up with a start.

“Not in real life, but Pennywise has definitely haunted the dreams of a few baby boomers in this town.”

“Is that why clowns have such a scary connotation now?”

“That, and John Wayne Gacy.”

“Who’s John Wayne Gacy?”

I pressed my tongue to the inside of my cheek. “He was a serial killer slash rapist who was active through the 70s. He had something like thirty teenage boy victims, a bunch of which were executed through this persona he had for parties, a clown named Pogo.”

Like a cartoon character, Camila eyes slowly widened in fear as I spoke. “Fuck you Lauren, just go on your stupid date before I get even more terrified and demand you stay here with me all night.” The brunette fell back against the bed, turning her shoulder blades to me with a visible shiver. I laughed, rising to the door.

“Make sure you don’t fold any paper boats without me.” I called on the way out, leaving Camila curled in a very confused ball on the bedsheets.

***

Lucy lived a few blocks north of the school, the surrounding neighbourhood a little more bright and privileged than the rest of the town. I parked a block away, scanning the numbers on the doors before landing on the address I had well memorized. It was a three or four story home, standing tall at the end of a quaint cul de sac and boasting a rather manicured lawn and primped flower arrangement. Walking up and across the expansive path through the greenery, I didn’t give the butterflies in my stomach a second thought before rapping hard on the smooth finish of the front door. A few seconds passed, and following the sound of small footsteps scuttling across the floor, it opened. I found myself staring down at a girl no older than seven or eight with dusty brown hair and a naturally tanned complexion.

“Oh, hello.” I forced a smile down at her, my distaste for most children kicking in quick. The girl was holding a brown overstuffed teddy bear under one arm. “I’m looking for Lucy?”

“Hello.” The girl said back, granting me a sweet smile. Her voice was layered with a very heavy accent. She nodded, backing up and hurrying away. Lucy appeared no more than a second later, dressed in a tight black dress that was perfectly casual for a simple dinner.

“Hey Lauren, sorry come in.” She smiled. “That was my little sister Elena, she doesn’t speak very much English.”

“What language does she speak?” I asked, stepping through the door and looking around.

“Spanish.” Lucy smiled, the adorable curves at the corners of her mouth becoming more defined as she did so. “She’s actually my stepsister, my older brother and I lived in Miami for a while so we’re both pretty fluent, but she never left Colombia until now so she hasn’t got as much practice.” Gesturing me further inside, I let the front door close carefully behind me. “You look good by the way.”

“Not as good as you.” I shoved my hands into my pocket shyly. “You’ve got a nice house.”

“It’s not too bad.” Lucy shrugged, moving to the sliding doors of a hallway closet and parting them before pulling a long grey cardigan off it’s hanger. “Let me just get my shoes and we’ll go.”

“No rush.” I turned at the sound of a child’s voice, just in time to see a small boy run down the hall, approach the front of the house then turn around and start climbing the stairs as quickly as his little legs would let him. He looked almost identical to the girl, and had a chubby hand wrapped around a small toy airplane. “He’s cute.” I noted, smiling as he reached the mid-landing of the staircase and sat down to take a breath.

“Pedro.” Lucy addressed him over her shoulder. “Can you say hello to Lauren?”

“Hello.” Pedro waved with a shy smile, spending no more than a split second on me before turning and rushing up the remaining steps.

“Sorry.” Lucy chuckled. “This house usually isn’t so loud and full of children, they’re typically in bed at this time but it’s a Friday, so things are a little more casual.”

“No worries.” I watched as she strapped on a pair of fancy sandals and slid the strap of a purse over her shoulder. Walking down to the car, I inhaled at sweet scent of garden flowers gracing the cool night. “I don’t really have anything particularly fancy planned for tonight.” I informed her, catching her dark eyes. “Actually there’s not much fancy that you can do around here.”

“I haven’t had the chance to tour around at all, we’re still in the process of moving in.” Lucy admitted back. “So really, anything you’ve got planned is perfect for me.”

What I had planned happened to be a candlelit dinner at a small, family owned Italian restaurant with the world’s best garlic bread. Playing off what Camila tended to prefer on the nights we treated ourselves, I ordered for us both, slipping a subtle ten dollar bill to the waitress and getting her to serve us a few vodka infused glasses of cranberry juice. “So hey, my friend mentioned that your Dad was a pretty big time musician.” I mentioned as we scanned the desert menu together. “Is that true?”

“You could say that.” Lucy shrugged, setting the menu down. “Carlos Vives. He’s working on studio album number eighteen, and wanted a nice quiet place in the middle of nowhere to act like his cabin in the woods. It meant moving the entire family from a place we all knew really well to somewhere completely unfamiliar, but I guess if it gets the creative juices flowing then I can’t really argue.”

I did the same in order to get a better look at her. “Wow, eighteen albums?”

“Eighteen and counting.” She nodded back. “He’s really more known in Latin America.”

“And you said those two were step siblings, right?”

“That’s right. He might not have been half bad at writing music, but the man was never good at being able to stay faithful to one woman. I don’t hold it against him anymore, my mom was pretty crazy. It all worked out, she’s got a multi-million dollar mansion in Miami, he’s got a lovely new family.” She took a long sip of the glassy red liquid in front of her and looked up at me. “But enough about me, tell me about yourself. What are your parents like?”

“Oh, I don’t have any.”

Lucy blinked, lifting a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You what now?”

“I mean— sorry.” I forced a soft laugh. “I guess it just seems that way so it’s what I tend to tell people who ask.”

“It must be quite the adventure to live on your own.” Lucy seemed to understand the implications of my answer, instantly stopping any further questions regarding my family tree.

“I actually don’t.” I smiled, pointing wordlessly to the creme brûlée and tiramisu on the menu. The waitress, who was already familiar with mine and Camila’s typical order gave me a knowing nod and dipped off into the back kitchen. “I live with my best friend, we’ve got a really crappy place that seems to do the trick on the south end of town, we’ve been together for about a year and a half now.”

“Oh wow, that’s pretty cool. No rules, no adults, no little siblings.”

“It’s perfect.” I agreed as the dessert arrived to the table. The dishes were about the same size, one glazed with golden layer of cooked brown sugar, the other a cream colour dusted with coca powder. “You’ve got to try these both, if there’s anything worth preserving when a giant tornado wipes this town away it’s the desserts. And the burgers. And the fish and chips. Just try before I have to put my foot in my mouth.”

Laughing, Lucy dipped a small dessert spoon into the tiramisu on the left and lifted a perfect combination of every handcrafted layer. “So how did the two of you meet?” She asked, popping it into her mouth and becoming visibly taken aback at how good it was.

“It’s complicated.” I tapped idly at the hard surface of the creme brûlée, wondering how many details I was . “We were both in the same place at the same time… geographically and emotionally. Everything sorta fell into place because of fate, and just stuck that way. I’ve learned that it’s really important to find someone you can lean on, and when you do you shouldn’t let them get away. Camila’s just that person.”

“Camila?” Lucy was busy cleaning her spoon, and it was becoming cuter and cuter to watch as the lights in the restaurant dimmed. “Oh, the girl you were with at lunch? She seems really nice.”

“She has her moments.”

The two of us hesitated very little when cleaning off the rest of the desserts, promptly paying the cheque and taking a slow stroll back to the car. I had been given the ripe opportunity to lend her my jacket, keeping the stark breeze off her shoulders and taking it on my own. After Lucy’s final year in high school, she wanted to remain in the states, and keep her attention halfway between her Latin American roots and Miami childhood home. She had chosen New Orleans in Louisiana, and when I asked why gave me a rather interesting answer.

“It’s horror factor.”

“It’s what?” I cranked up the heat in the car, pulling from the restaurant parking lot.

“It’s horror factor.” Lucy repeated, giving me a sweet smile across the gearshift. “You’ve never heard of Delphine LaLaurie and her mansion? She was featured on American Horror Story Coven by Kathy Bates.”

“I know who Kathy Bates is.” I curled my lip in thought, gazing out the front window at the lack of traffic on a quiet Friday night. “But I’ve never heard of Delphine— what’s her name?”

“LaLaurie. She was a socialite of New Orleans in the 1830s who had this central position in society after her third marriage to a young physician.” Lucy explained. “There was a fire in her giant mansion on a rich side of town, and when the police got there they discovered it was set by her seventy year old cook who was chained to the stove and afraid of being sent to an upper room of the house.”

“Afraid?” I had to reach over and set the keys into the ignition, but the raspy tone that Lucy had in her voice was sending an uncharacteristic chill down my back. “Why?”

“Police broke down the door to find seven or eight slaves tortured, some murdered others still barely alive.” She replied, the darkness in her eyes swirling. “There was a woman whose stomach had been cut open and intestine wrapped around her like a corset. Another man had a spike drilled through his head and his brain was all stirred around, and a third with his mouth stitched shut. The citizens discovered her treatment of the slaves, and drove her out of the city. She fled to France.”

Quiet fell over the car, and I finally managed to bring the engine to life. “Should I be worried about you?” I shot her a playful smile.

“Nah, I’m harmless. I just love dark, messed up things.” She smiled back. “I believe that when the zombies rise up and kill us all, we’ll finally have world peace.”

“Because of the common enemy?”

“No, because we’ll all be dead.” She shrugged. “I like Madame LaLaurie’s story because it shows that despite the slavery and mistreatment of African Americans at the time, there was a really powerful sense of humanity in the people. The entire population of New Orleans trashed that mansion, driving her out of the city and stripping every ounce of social status she may have had. They ruined her.”

“I like the way you think.”

Lucy grinned, lifting her arm and using her fingers to carefully part her light brown hair over one shoulder. “It would be awesome to study something like philosophy and social issues. I love history, going back to things in the past and understanding how they managed to shape the way they are now.”

On the ride home, I let Lucy open up about the things she was passionate about. Remaining quiet, her voice washed over me like a stress-free lull, the passion in her words about issues that so many of a close-minded town would never consider throughout their daily activities. Lucy spoke about women, politics, some of the world’s greatest leaders and their superficial counterparts. She detested labels, insisting that no soul on earth could pin her down and define who she was, and that no one had the right to call her anything she wasn’t willing to call herself. By the time we arrived back in the north end of town, I was not-so subtly disappointed that our time together had to come to an end.

Walking her up to the porch once more, I accepted my jacket back and stood in shy anticipation as she unlocked the front door. “Do you want to come in?” She asked, gesturing to the warmth of the front hallway. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, I just thought—“

“Of course, I’d love to.” I cut her off, a fuzzy feeling washing over me as the brunette took my hand with a soft laugh and led me into the house. She took me on a quick tour of the ground floor, a wide open space consisting of a grand piano, some smaller keyboards, and a plethora of unpacked boxes still sealed with tape. Apologizing profusely for the mess, she showed me the vast backyard space, perfectly trimmed and adorned with a variety of russet red flowers.

“I had the option to be homeschooled like my little siblings, at least until I graduated and we could head back down south.” Lucy explained, pulling two glasses down from an upper cupboard in the kitchen. “Neither of my parents work, so they have tons of time to spend at home… I guess choosing high school was my way of getting out of the house and away from their watchful eye.”

“I’m glad you chose high school.” I accepted the second glass with a smile. “Just really glad.”

“You’re sweet.” Lucy gestured for me to follow again, and we headed up the stairs. “Everyone’s room is on the second floor, I assume they’re asleep by now.”

“So where are we going?” I asked, glancing up to see the staircase happened to wind up even higher.

“To the upper room.” The girl looked down at me, a devilish smile creeping onto her face again. “The one that’s always locked… that no one goes into for fear of never coming out again.”

I blinked, the image of my intestines wrapped around my stomach like a gruesome fashion ornament suddenly giving me a very severe headache. “Lucy…” I warned, her name dancing off the tip of my tongue as if had not for a few measly hours, but for years.

“I’m kidding.” Lucy landed on the top floor and pulled the door to a rather spacious room open wide. “It’s just my bedroom. “My dad keeps all his recording stuff up here as well, there are a few rooms within other rooms with soundproof glass, padding on the walls, microphones and mixing boards.” I stepped inside, relieved to see a room that was half unpacked from cardboard boxes, a double bed and a tall chest of drawers. There was a shiny laptop sitting open and charging on the blanket, and a wide television backed against the wall opposite. “Sorry about the mess.” She added. “I’ve moved before, but never as far as we did this time. I had to pack up more than I anticipated.”

“It’s no problem.” I eyed the flat-screened device. “You have your own personal TV?

“It’s still yet to be inaugurated.” Lucy clarified, turning her back to me. “It was a gift from my stepmom who believes buying expensive items with my father’s money will make me love her. Could you unzip me?”

“Sure.” I stepped over, clearing a small pile of school supplies and slowly bringing down the zipper on her dress. It hit me in the brighter, more unflattering light that Lucy was strikingly small. She had to be barely over a hundred pounds, her shoulder blades pronounced and the plates of her spine almost countable beneath her skin. There was a faded line that was a touch darker than her complexion moving down the line of her spine, a clear hospital incision that had been stitched up and healed over. Without thinking, I brushed the outside of my knuckle against it, making a small noise of curiosity.

“It’s gross, I know.” Lucy had gathered her hair over one shoulder and peered over the other. “I had really bad scoliosis when I was a kid, and when I had the operation it was risky because I was so small. The correction process was terrifying, but I got through it okay and it’s healed properly now. The scar is still fading.”

“It’s not gross.” I watched as she made her way to the other side of the room, scooping up a pair of soft sweatpants and an off-shoulder sweater off the floor. “It makes you unique.”

“You’re cute, but a huge percentage of kids develop scoliosis just before hitting puberty.” Lucy dipped into the attached bathroom and nudged the door, leaving only a few inches worth of space open. She began to change, her back to the room’s entrance. “It’s kind of like osteoporosis and rickets in industrial England. There was so much smog and pollution in the air that kids were developing bowed knees and brittle bones by age seven. Talk about your terrifying corrective surgeries.”

“You seem to know a lot about the events of the past.” I mentioned, finding myself a standing in for the hero that always peeked at the pretty girl. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way her back and shoulders flexed as she moved, noticing the tattoo that graced the side of her back, just beneath the arm. “Could they do surgeries like that in industrial England?”

“Likely not.” Lucy turned around, leading me to quickly divert my gaze. “They were just recovering from the era of bloodletting, so modern medicine was still pretty far off.”

“What does the tattoo on your ribs mean?”

The girl hopped back over another pile of clothes and started to the TV, summoning an old looking DVD case from an open box. “Hm?”

“The words.” I tried to clarify without sounding too creepy. “It looks like a different language.”

“Oh, the quote.” Lucy had removed a disc from the case, sending into a sleek player positioned just beneath the screen. “It says for the happiness of nations, we should, philosophers be kings and kings philosophers. It’s in the original Greek.” I tried for the next few seconds to recall who was behind the circular statement, but nothing seemed to hit me. As the television screen flickered to life, Lucy spoke again. “It basically means that if we want to find peace and happiness, those in power need to lead in a way that has regard for the human mind, and those who understand it need to step forward as leaders. That we all have a sense of responsibility to better the greater good based on our strengths.”

Plato? I thought silently. The menu of a terrifying looking horror movie flashed across the screen, the arrow hovering over the play option. “I’m going to run downstairs for a bowl of popcorn, make yourself comfortable.” Lucy told me, vanishing without acknowledgement out of the bedroom and down the stairs. I did so, placing my jacket on the back of a desk chair and sitting down on the perfectly made bed. Whipping my phone out, I took the time alone to send a quick text half intending on checking up on Camila, half to occupy myself from snooping around.

how’s it going? I typed, waiting for the three animated bubbles to pop up. They did, and moments later,

Camila: Oh, not bad. Just sitting around waiting for Barnum and Bailey to kidnap me in the middle of the night and lock me in a cellar to feed on my brains. How’s the date?

the ringling bros would never do such a thing camz, they’re an American treasure. the date is going really well, she’s got a really nice house

Camila: You’re at her house?

I figured it’d be impolite to say no.A touch of guilt flashed through me at the prospect of leaving Camila for much longer. There was a stash of cigarettes taped to the inside of our toilet tank, and for the longest time I knew the girl had assumed I’d either never seen them, or chosen to ignore them. Counting the number of individual smokes left in the pack every time I cleaned the bathroom had turned into a chore, but it was worth it considering how hard she had worked to quit only a few months earlier.

Before I could read Camila’s reply, Lucy stepped back into the room with a large bowl of popcorn balanced on one arm and something wrapped in colourful foil between her teeth. She had a shrink-wrapped remote in her hand, pouncing playfully onto the bed at my side while sliding the laptop out of the way. The lights went off, her shoulder brushed mine, and for the first time in the night I felt a genuine pang of nervous energy surge through the room. “I was thinking about a classic.” Lucy informed me, starting to tug the plastic protective coating off the remote after placing the bowl of popcorn down in my lap. “Have you ever read It, by Stephen King?”

I glanced at her briefly, taken aback by the coincidence. “I had been thinking about that book earlier today. What made you choose it?”

“It’s my type of horror.” Lucy finally rid the remote of its plastic before setting it between us, pulling the foil wrapped item from her teeth and summoning a small lighter from the pocket of her jeans. “I like the deepest forms of psychological fear. Maybe if everyone has their greatest fears chasing them through the night we would all be on the same wavelength of kindness.” She held out her hand, extending what I could now discern as a rolled joint. “Do you smoke?”

“Once and a while.” I nodded. “But only when the occasion is extra special. It’s an expensive habit.”

“I agree, but you’re not driving very far tonight, are you?” She smirked, holding the unlit joint out in one hand and the lighter in the other like a dual offering. Glancing momentarily at a series of dark opening credits and deep red ominous font, I accepted the neatly rolled cluster of weed and held it over the lighter. Lucy smiled, firing up the joint then hurrying off the bed to lift the side window and banish the scent away with a crisp fall breeze.

The movie was different from the book in a number of ways, most of which my mind had involuntarily set on the back burner as the typical ghoulish images of a literary masterpiece had been played out by the characteristic cinematic charm of the early nineties. The marijuana had done well to bid away any unease I may have had watching a horror movie in the middle of the night, as did Lucy’s comforting presence. We found ourselves talking softly through most of it, discussing everything from characters to set design, poor acting to mediocre makeup.

“So if that was your kind of horror, what other kind of horror is there?” I asked once the credits had rolled and I felt like I’d been somewhat scarred for life. The last thing I wanted to do was get up from the cloud-like bed I had snuggled into and drive across the town, but I had no intention of leaving Camila on her own for much longer.

“There’s the more cookie-cutter, vampire, werewolf, ghost-story one.” Lucy replied. “The one that involves magic, and seeing dead people… paranormal activity and alien invasions.”

I grinned. “You’re telling me that if aliens came down and started to abduct people, you wouldn’t even flinch?”

“I would whip out my camera.” The Latina smiled back. Her expressions were so pure, simple and straightforward as if the emotions she felt had never been anything but true. Lucy didn’t seem to mask any sort of feeling, speaking her mind, refusing to conform and charming me through the night in a way no date had before.

“I should get going.” I laughed, stealing the last popped kernel from the bottom of the popcorn bowl and wishing I had a refill. “Before I fall asleep here.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad.” Her dark eyes sparkled. Deciding to only agree silently, I tipped her over playfully and rose, gathering my jacket. The two of us floated silently back down to the first floor, and the moment I stepped out to the front porch I couldn’t help but turn around. Lucy was leaning against the frame of the door, her hands tucked away into the sleeves of her sweater and a shy look on her face. “I had a really great time Lauren. Thank you for tonight.”

“So did I.” I agreed, matching her smile. “I learned a lot from you… I look forward to learning even more.”

“I’d like that.”

Knowing it was my move to make, I took a small, timid step forward and lifting my fingers to her chin, tilted it up. “I really want to kiss you right now…”

“I really want you to kiss me.” Lucy echoed back without missing a beat. “Right now.”

The sensation of her kiss, much unlike the entirety of the night was pleasantly surprising breath of fresh air. I found myself melting into the contact, her body coated in a thin layer of muscle and warm to the touch. Much unlike myself, Lucy knew what she was doing. Her movements, the way she went up onto her toes so we were eye level and pressed the palm of her hand to my cheek, everything seemed so perfectly practiced.

“I’ll get to see you again, right?” I questioned softly, unwilling to wake any member of the house, young or old.

“We have history together.” Lucy grinned back, running her fingers through her hair.

“I wish.”

“Goodnight Lauren.” She said with an amused lilt in her voice. I nodded, taking a small step backwards and slowly returning to the car with a brief glance over my shoulder to see she had remained on the porch, watching me go. The walk gave me just enough time to accept that I had been wrong about judging the art of the first date.

***

After a car ride home deep in my thoughts, I arrived back to a silent and pitch black house. Sidestepping a cluster of shoes, and shedding my jacket to the back of a kitchen chair, I then tiptoed into the bedroom to see it fared to better. Crumpled balls of yellow paper from a rather sad looking legal pad were scattered across the floor, the bed, and every foreseeable surface of storage space.

“Camila?” I asked the darkness, keeping my voice low.

The mass of paper on the bed shifted, and from the debris poked a very sleepy looking mass of brown hair. “Hm?” She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Lauren? What are you doing home, I figured you were just going to spend the night.”

“No, I didn’t want to risk running into her superstar father in the morning and have to explain who I was.” I explained, crouching down and picking up one of balls of paper. “And I would have felt bad for leaving you alone all night… what’s going on in here? Have you moved since I left?”

“No.” The brunette yawned again, lying back against the bed. “I’ve been trying to write a scary story, but nothing’s coming to mind. I’m just too cute and fluffy.”

“You are both of those things.” I smiled, clearing away a few balls of paper from the bed so I could perch onto the edge and tug off my socks. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No.”

“Camz, it’s past midnight!”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Camila shrugged at me.

“But you’re always hungry.”

“Help me.” The girl ignored me, holding out what was left of the yellow pad in one hand, a pencil in the other. Accepting both, I looked down at the prompt she had written out. A horror story about a girl with otherworldly abilities on a nation where she is virtually alone. Undergoing a dark feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen, the protagonist must use the passion she has for her origins to prevent disaster. She will do anything to make it so, no matter how dark.

I was instantly reminded of Lucy’s preference for horror, for the darker, more gruesome emotions that her interests played off of were very different from Camila’s idea of a horror story. One preferred to dig into the victim’s psyche and extract it with a spoon, while the other steered her creative track towards a premonition and a world of loneliness. I couldn’t in the moment, choose which one I preferred. Something drew me to both, but in very different ways.

Walls. Thirteen year old Jeanne Carter has all her life been labelled a bio-terrorist. With the elusive ability to manipulate the emotions and bodies of even the strongest personalities, she is both revered and feared, locked away and admired like a caged animal. Thinking back to the unease I’d felt on the way back from dinner, I decided to blend their worlds, embracing a new type of fear. When a threat to social security looms over the nation, Carter is forced to envelop the people who hurt her most, dominating the minds and bodies of the most powerful members of government and make decisions that will inevitably rescue the nation from her premonition. She uses her greatest gift to play out sacrifices, death, conflict and decay while shouldering the hate of so many within the four walls of her cell. Carter succumbs to her own exhaustive demise alone, aided only by the letters passed through the bars by an anonymous source.

“Why are you so much better at this than me?” Camila asked when she finished the brief paragraph. “That’s genius.”

“A girl with unknown origins, beginning her life alone, ending her life alone, yet making so many sacrifices and life-saving decisions to so many people along the way.” I focused my gaze on the very tip of the paper. “And doing it all while locked up and put on display like an animal in a cage.”

“What kind of sacrifices?” The brunette asked, curling up into an adorable ball and resting her head in her hands. “Would she really kill people in order to be the un-sung hero?”

“Sometimes political leaders are so corrupt that they can’t see anything in front of them but the potential to exert their power and money over those who are crippled.” I replied. “There are people that just can’t be reasoned with… minds that are so dark and twisted that the only way to remove them from the picture is to light their lives on fire and drive them from their homes.”

“So you want a person who despite being different, fights to make the dark and twisted right again.” Camila purred. “Someone who doesn’t bother with the pain of labels and acts by her own morals.”

I stood up, granting her a small smile on my way down the hall and into the kitchen. It was hard to describe my confidence level with this particular plot-line. It had too much been infused with the level of insight from my first proper date. Arranging a piece of toast slathered in peanut butter and a banana, I returned to see Camila doodling over the piece of paper, her gaze brushing across the ink. She thanked me, nibbling happily on the late-night snack while I changed out of my clothes.

“It’s a shame she dies in the end.” The brunette mentioned quietly, now buried under the comforter and licking the peanut butter off her fingers. “Wouldn’t it be more heroic if she made it out alive and got to live a full life in the world she managed to save?”

“Maybe.” I agreed, tying my hair into a loose ponytail. “But a silent messiah doesn’t just win in the end, especially when they’re a heroine, not a hero.”

“True.” Camila folded the paper in half and tucked it beneath the pillow. The effects of the weed from earlier had managed to continue lingering as I joined her under the covers.

“Why did you write out a prompt that you had so much trouble following through with?” I asked, letting her snuggle up and inhale whatever was left of the weed scent on my skin.

“I was secretly hoping you’d come home so you could write it for me.” She admitted. “Is that lame?”

“Not at all.” I assured her. “It’s incredibly cool.”

“Good.” Dark lashes fell flush against the spaces beneath her eyes. “Goodnight.”

I drifted off thinking about the evening, glad that I had made the decision to return home; hoping I would always have such a precious choice. A noise in the middle of the night got me up and checking the house, making sure no raccoons were climbing up the kitchen walls. While I was up I decided to check the bathroom, quietly lifting the back of the toilet up and peering into the tank to see the pack of cigarettes taped to the inner porcelain.

It had remained exactly where I remembered, completely untouched.

***

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #submission #Parting Shot

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redhood001 · 7 years ago

Text

Tagged by @minthia-ren

RULES : answer the questions and tag 20 amazing followers you’d like to get to know better!

NAME : Kamal Arifin (I will only tell my first and middle name, it should be enough...fine) Adnan

NICKNAMES : Kamal or Mal, my American cousins (no seriously, some of my uncles married Americans so I have American cousins, for those of you who are wondering) used to call me Maul”

ZODIAC SIGN : Leo

HEIGHT : I honestly do not know, I never measured it since like, a year ago.

ORIENTATION : Heterosexual

ETHNICITY : Southeast Asian, Indonesian, to be specific.

FAVORITE FRUIT : Banana...or Apple or Orange.

FAVORITE SEASON : None here, I would like to experience winter or spring (on another country).

FAVORITE BOOK : Harry Potter or Hunger Games, Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit is definitely high on my list.

FAVORITE FLOWER : a rose to be honest...it’s just so enchanting...nuff said.

FAVORITE SCENT : Vanilla or Chocolate.

FAVORITE ANIMAL : All animals except bugs or arachnids (I have a phobia). I also have a fascination with lizards like the Komodo Dragon (which are awesome but I would not want to be anywhere near their island, different in the zoo, but still).

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT COCOA : I like it all but I prefer coffee and hot cocoa

CAT OR DOG PERSON : Neither to be honest, I’m not a pet person. Though I have nothing against people who do (I get where they are going). Problem is, I don’t trust myself to not be scared or jumpy with them and also because I can’t trust myself with that kind of responsibility....my little sister has a pet bird though, and I always make sure it is properly taken care of because that is what a big brother (or maybe just me) do for their adorable little sister.

FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER : Too many to count because I have so many fandoms, you’re not the only one @minthia-ren ;) but to name a few. *ahem* Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Naruto, Sasuke, Obito, Itachi, Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker, Ben Solo/Kylo Ren, Darth Revan, Trigon (DC), Red Hood, Batman, Spider-Man, Iron Man, Black Panther *deep breath* and that’s not even counting other tv shows, movies, books, and cartoons. Oh and Jack The Ripper (from Assassin’s Creed, of course...the heck were you thinking?)

DREAM TRIP : Somewhere in England or Britain or New Zealand...I blame Harry Potter, Sherlock, and Lord of the Rings for my choices.

BLOG CREATED : I don’t remember but I’m pretty sure somewhere in late 2016??? I think so.

NUMBER OF FOLLOWERS : 124....wait WHAT!? when did THAT happen?? Seriously though, in all honesty I did not expect this many followers because...well okay, it may have to do with my low self esteem issues, but SERIOUSLY I did not expect that many people to follow me. I knew about this site, and I kinda expected to only have like 20 or 10, I kid you not. I mean, I get updates if someone follows me but I don’t actually count how many.

WHAT DO I POST : Mainly whatever I like to post like arts or a funny conversation, and also signal boosting for those who are in need of help or spreading word of something like knowledge to help other people. The signal boosting is for in case it involves money, I don’t have a bank account (17 years old, and I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility yet) but I can signal boost to help. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do for now.

DO I GET ASKS ON A REGULAR BASIS : Not really, maybe messages but no asks. I don’t really care that much whether or not I get asks.

AESTHETIC : Red, dark aura, eyes (I used to draw a whole lot of Sharingan eyes in my notebook), clawed hands, staffs, the Elder Wand (simple concept art). Only hand drawings though, suck at computer drawings. I never upload any of it because I am not interested to. They’re just really simple concepts with pencils....I guess doodle would be the correct term.

FAVORITE BAND : To be honest, I just like listening to the songs and the songs vary...like A LOT. Though my first favorite music (and I listen to them often) was by Linkin Park. But I don’t really have a favorite band sort of stuff because I’m just in it for the music.

FICTIONAL CHARACTER I’D DATE : Hermione Granger or Ginny Weasley HOGWARTS HOUSE : Well based on a set of quiz I am 54% Slytherin, 23% Ravenclaw, 19% Gryffindor, and 4% Hufflepuff!.....I actually would like to be in Slytherin.

tag: @kabuki-akuma @mrevaunit42 @starrdustcrusader @zer0square @moringmark @rclockworkzombie @c0nji @rotodisk @immortalmonster @rjdrawsstuff @stariousfalls @starvstheforcesofevil-unofficial @staryu-l @turquoisegirl35 @reversexiaolin @kristengish @skleero @axis2600 @marionette-j2x @ladyxgilex @sparktwins @spatziline @thefandombytes (in all technicality, these are the AMAZING people I am following. There are still more amazing people I follow, but right now I am just too lazy to do anything after writing this post and rechecking everything)

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1989dreamer · 7 years ago

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Always

Warnings: Kate Argent, past underage relationship, a character dies, a character has a disability.

Jump to the end to read story spoilers if you have any concerns. (Just search for The End Notes.)

On AO3

Please note: I am not vision impaired (I wear glasses, but that's it). As such, I have been intentionally vague with Stiles' day to day life.

Derek doesn’t wait for Kate to come back.

He throws a change of clothes in his backpack, the same one thirteen-year-old him had been so proud of because it wasn’t a cartoon character, and leaves the door open, his key to their apartment on the dresser in their bedroom.

He takes two other items: a wolfsbane bullet and his wedding ring. He found the bullet when he was looking for some of Kate’s antihistamines to help him with a troublesome sneeze. Turns out, he’s allergic to the bullet because of the wolfsbane.

Derek has always known that Kate was a hunter. He’d thought she was reformed.

Shows how much he knows.

Derek curses his own stupidity when he has to cross a four-lane highway on nothing but four paws in the middle of the night. Headlights bear down on him no matter how fast he runs.

He thanks his dark coat when he makes it to the other side and is able to slip into the forest with no one the wiser.

He knows Kate will start searching for him when she gets home and finds him gone. It’s his own fault for trusting her. He’s been so stupid these last ten years.

How could he have missed something as obvious as Kate’s current involvement with the hunters? She has meetings all week every week, with her job as a manager of a processing plant. Lately, she’d had more meetings than usual, and Derek had been stupid, so stupid, to think that it was just her job.

If he pushes himself, he can make it sixty miles before he’ll have to rest. He can only hope that it’ll be enough of a start that he can stay ahead of Kate and whatever hunters she can mobilize.

If he can reach California before her, then he knows he’s home free. California has been the only state to adopt a protection for endangered species that exhibit human-like intelligence. Unfortunately for Derek, if he wants to live as a werewolf, he has to stay within the borders of the Golden State.

Which isn’t going to be a problem for Derek. His family had moved there when he was in high school. Derek had thrown a fit—he had friends here and he was about to make varsity—and his parents had entrusted his care to his uncle who was staying in the area for a few more years to close out the family business.

Of course, Peter had been too busy with work to notice when the new teacher started hitting on Derek.

Despite the slimy-slick wrongness he felt every time they kissed, Derek still loved being with Kate, and had decided to stay when he graduated. The fact that Kate had proposed after he received his diploma (and been dismissed from her job teaching sophomore mathematics the same day), should have been a major clue, but all Derek could think was that they could finally tell his friends that they were together.

Derek puts his head down and runs harder. The miles melt away, and he gets deep into Pennsylvania before he collapses by a stream, too tired to move more than sticking his tongue out to soak in the running water.

Once he’s sufficiently rested and hydrated, he sniffs out an abandoned badger den and hollows it out enough to squeeze inside. He’ll hunt before he leaves tomorrow. For now, he needs rest.

Derek curls up and tucks his nose under his tail.

He doesn’t dream.

Derek manages to stick to mostly isolated areas and makes good time.

He has a few close encounters where he can smell gun oil and different strains of wolfsbane. He has a particularly harrowing experience in southern Iowa when he stops, as a human, to get a shower and something hot to eat. The local bar he steps into is run by a hunter family. They don’t seem to suspect him until a radio in the basement crackles to life, his description coming through.

A kid, barely out of high school, comes running up, skids to a stop, and stares at Derek.

Derek hurriedly peels off some cash to cover his tab and grabs his backpack.

Surprisingly, the hunters let him leave. To give him a sporting chance?

Either way, Derek slips behind the first barn he can find, sheds his clothes and stuffs them into the backpack before he bounds away as a wolf.

After that, he makes good time, and he finds himself crossing the border into California inside of a month.

He thinks he angled too high and he’s in northern California instead of farther south where his family settled when they moved.

Hopefully now that he’s actually in California, he can travel without having to worry about hunters. He’s worn out, tired, and the soup he had in Iowa is a long gone memory.

The town he trots into is small by NYC standards. He’d estimate the population in the low thousands just from the smell alone.

He sneezes as he passes a small bookshop, the wards on it tickling the fur inside his nose.

He pauses, cocking his head. Wards? Here?

Derek turns around and pads back to the bookshop’s door. Inside, he sees dusty tomes and sprigs of dried plants littered over every available counter. The only clear place is a desk in the center of the room. Derek sneezes again, and a faint voice calls, “Bless you.”

Derek sneezes again, sniffing deeply. He can’t identify half the plants, but they don’t seem toxic to him, just irritating.

He crosses the threshold, fully expecting the wards to resist him. Instead, aside from a bit of static electricity that makes his fur stand on end, he makes it inside easily.

Then, he sits on his haunches, parsing through the various scents. The wards and the plants both make his nose itch, and the dust on the books makes him cough. But, under all the various smells, he finds a spiced earth tone that leads into the back. He waits for the voice to sound again when he forces a sneeze.

Nothing happens, and Derek gets bored, so he stands up again and wanders the aisles, nosing at books and inkpots left too close to the floor.

“Watch it, buddy,” the voice says right by his ear, and Derek spins around to come face to knees with a man that at first glance appears to be too young to be running the shop alone.

Second glance reveals him to be older than Derek thought at first. His patchy stubble is well on its way to being a scraggly beard, but it does nothing to hide the moles splattered across his skin.

His eyes are an interesting shade of brown, catching light almost like a wolf’s and yet having no color behind it. The skin around his eyes looks irritated, red and inflamed. A recent injury, Derek guesses.

He steps sideways, his footsteps nearly soundless on the floor. The man’s head swivels slowly to follow him, but his eyes remain unfocused. Derek moves forward, completely soundless and the man continues to stare where he’d been.

Blind then, Derek surmises.

He huffs softly, to let the man know where he is now, and the man’s head snaps onto him, eyes swinging back and forth searching for something he’ll never see.

“Look, buddy, I don’t need any trouble,” he says. “Just bring what you need to the register and I’ll get you on your way.”

Derek sighs, lunging forward to press his nose against the man’s wrist.

“Oh,” the man says softly, hand rising up to stroke at the short fur around Derek’s ears. “Oh. You’re a dog.”

Derek licks his wrist, tasting magic. This man is a mage. Derek’s mother used to tell Derek and his sisters that there were only two kinds of people that could be trusted: pack and mages.

“How’d you get in?” the mage asks, and Derek butts his head against his hand—not just to get more pets even though they feel amazing. Kate hadn’t liked touching aside from sex. Derek misses it.

“Did my wards let you in?”

Derek sneezes in response, and the mage, amused, blesses him again.

“Hey, Stiles?” another voice calls from the doorway. The mage turns toward it, a frown creasing his forehead. “You in here?”

“Where else would I be, Scotty?” the mage calls back.

Another man, short curls, a shaped beard that does nothing to disguise the unevenness of his jaw line, and sunglasses perched on the end of his nose steps into the shop. The man recoils at the sight of Derek. “Dude, I know you’re resisting getting a seeing-eye dog, but that’s kind of ridiculous.”

“What is?” Stiles asks.

Scotty points at Derek, and Derek fixes him with an unimpressed stare. Scotty realizes his mistake almost immediately and awkwardly clears his throat. “I know you’ve always loved wolves, but did you have to pick the most wolf-looking dog at the shelter?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and taps the side of his head. “Do you think I could have picked out any dog based on its looks? Huh, Scott? Really?”

Scotty-Scott looks chastised, and Derek wants to smirk at him, but canine mouths leave much to be desired in the way of expressing human emotions.

“Fine,” Scotty-Scott says. “Whatever. Don’t call me when you get mauled because you decided to trust a wild animal.”

“She’s not wild. Are you, Michelle?”

Derek lets his teeth graze Stiles’ hand. Scotty-Scott gasps, but Stiles just laughs.

“Not a female, eh? Is Miguel better?”

Derek licks his hand, and Stiles laughs again. Scotty-Scott sighs.

“I’m leaving now, Stiles. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do, Scotty-my-boy. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“What door?” Scotty-Scott asks, stepping back through the open doorway. Stiles swings two fingers in an arc, and a door that definitely wasn’t there before slams shut behind Scotty-Scott.

Derek has never so desperately wanted to break his own cover as he does now. He has so many questions for the mage, but they’ll have to wait. As soon as the door closes, Stiles slumps down onto the floor, head in his hands.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” he asks rhetorically. Derek sidles up to him and lays his head on his knee. Stiles pats him absently, fingers coming awfully close to his eyes. “Why haven’t you shifted back yet?” he asks.

Derek draws back, studying Stiles for a long moment before he puts his head back on his knee, hoping that Stiles can understand his answer.

“Yeah, I get it. It’s not safe. But, dude, you’re in California. There is no safer state for your kind.”

Derek huffs. Maybe he should shift back? It would be easier to try to explain with words instead of actions.

He moves away from Stiles again, making sure to clack his nails on the floor so that he can follow him. Derek curls down in a shady corner. He rolls with the shift, standing up for the first time in a week as a human.

“Dude, what happened? Where are you?”

Derek clears his throat softly, digging through his backpack for his clothing. Even though Stiles can’t see him, he still feels embarrassed to be naked in his shop.

“My name is Derek,” he says roughly. Stiles turns his whole body, and Derek flushes under his off-center gaze. “I’m from New York.”

“And what brings you to California, Derek from New York?” Stiles asks. “Aside from the fact that California has a non-hunting law in place.”

“There’s that,” Derek agrees. “And my family moved to this state a few years ago.”

“And they didn’t take you?” Stiles’ eyebrows rise.

Derek coughs. “I opted to stay. But, now I’m here. I think my family lives in southern California, and this is northern California.”

“Yeah, you’re in Beacon Hills. It’s pretty far north. How far south are you looking to go? I’ve got a Jeep you can borrow if it’s not too far.”

Derek scratches his head. “Uh, two problems,” he says. “One, I don’t know where they are. I don’t have their address anymore.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Not a terribly large issue. I can find them for you. What’s the second problem?”

“I don’t know how to drive.”

Stiles’ eyebrows go higher. “What?”

Ashamed, Derek looks down at his bare feet. “It was New York. My family moved when I was fifteen and my uncle didn’t have time to teach me.”

“How old are you now?”

“25.”

“And you still don’t know how to drive? How’d you get here? Run across the continental U.S. as a wolf?”

Derek stays silent, and Stiles mutters, “Oh my god,” under his breath.

“So,” he finally says after a long pause, “that second problem is a doozy.” He sighs, shrugging. “Well, let’s focus on one thing at a time. Let’s find your family.”

Derek pulls out his wedding ring and hands it to Stiles. “Can you make sure that the person who gave that to me can’t find me too?”

“Sure. I’m not just any parlor magician,” Stiles says cheerfully.

“You’re a mage,” Derek finishes. Stiles stumbles over nothing—Derek checks—and turns around to face him again.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek says. “How’d you know what I was?”

“You tripped my wards when you came in.”

“Your wards made me sneeze.”

“So we gave each other away,” Stiles says. “Okay. That’s cool. You mind giving me a hand with the necessary ingredients? I’m still a little unsteady even now.”

Derek nods, and then says, “Yeah,” feeling like an idiot.

Stiles nods too. “Good. Now, go fetch me some Botrychium lunaria.”

“Uh,” Derek says, “what if I don’t know what that is?”

“Oh my god, I labeled the bottles. Go search the east side of the shop.”

It doesn’t get easier after that.

“Are you sure I’m safe here?” Derek asks when Stiles declares the potion ready for use—in a week’s time. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

Stiles snorts. “Why would I do that? This is California. You’re almost human here.”

“Some people might not agree with that.” Derek studies his ring, rubbing a thumb over the embedded diamonds. “There could still be hunters here.”

“And that’s one demographic that’s not allowed in my shop.”

Derek doesn’t feel reassured, and he spends much of the week in his wolf form, hiding under Stiles’ desk and occasionally helping collect books or plants for Stiles’ clientele, none of whom appear to be hunters in disguise.

Over supper one night, as Stiles throws pizza crusts in various directions and Derek tries to catch them all, no matter how erratically thrown, Stiles casually mentions that Scotty-Scott can teach Derek to drive.

Derek pauses just long enough for one of the crusts to bounce off his nose. Stiles crows in delight even though Derek knows he can’t see him.

“Come on, dude,” Stiles prompts after a moment. “Shift back and tell me what you think!”

Derek hesitates, and he isn’t sure why.

He still wants to find his family, but lately, he’s been thinking that he’s safer here. If Stiles can find his family, so can Kate. Derek trusts the laws to protect his family, but he’s still married to her. What if marital law outweighs the anti-hunters law?

How could he have been so stupid as to put himself in this position? Derek doesn’t deserve to be with his family, not when he’s endangered them by angering a hunter so thoroughly.

“Hey, buddy, what are you thinking? Yea or nay to learning to drive?”

Derek shifts back finally. “No,” he says, and walks away. He can hear Stiles calling after him long after he drops back into his wolf-form and lopes out into the streets.

He doesn’t come back for three days.

When he does finally find his way to Stiles’ shop, tail between his legs because the mage has done nothing but try to help him, Derek makes his way inside carefully, trusting the wards to alert Stiles.

“We’re closed,” Stiles tells him. He’s sitting absolutely still, surrounded by a ring of broken pots. Derek huffs at that, nudging the shards aside as he goes to Stiles’ side, laying his head down on his lap in apology.

“Oh, it’s you,” Stiles says, closed off. Derek turns his head so that he can peek at him with one eye. Stiles blinks, sniffling, and rubbing a tear off his cheek. “Why are you here?”

Derek shifts back to human but leaves his head on Stiles’ lap. “I got scared. You know the ring I gave you?”

“I gave it back,” Stiles says shortly.

“I know. It’s my wedding ring. I’m terrified of the woman who married me. I don’t want her to find me. I don’t want her to find my family.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. Then, “You’re married? Dude, you’re 25. When did you get married, right out of college?”

Derek shakes his head. “I didn’t go to college. She married me right out of high school. She was my teacher.”

The hurt and confusion in Stiles’ scent quickly turns to anger. “Dude, what?”

“My wife, she was my teacher. We’ve been in a relationship since I was fifteen. We got married seven years ago.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I—” Derek pauses. Does he still love Kate? Can he? “I don’t think so,” he finally answers. “She’s a hunter. She told me she was reformed. I was going to tell her what I am but then I found out she still goes out and murders my kind. I thought she loved me, but now I don’t know.”

“The potion is ready. You can use it if and when you’re ready, but Derek, I want you to know that this place will always be safe for you. It may not be safe for me until I memorize the layout, but this place will always be here for you. Promise me that you’ll use it if you need it.”

“I promise,” Derek whispers. “Can I make it safe for you too?”

‘Sure,” Stiles says. “Stop leaving your backpack wherever it falls. Make sure you put away anything you take out. Tell me if someone’s moved something before I run into it.”

“Deal.” Derek stands up. “I’m going to put on some clothes now. I’ll be back in a minute to clean up the pottery. Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They fall into an easy routine. Derek spends most of his days as a human now, talking to Stiles, helping with customers, and reading Stiles’ books (except his grimoire that he won’t let anyone touch, not even Scotty-Scott). He also learns to drive from Scotty-Scott who thinks he’s Stiles’ cousin from South America (of course, Scotty-Scott focuses on the fact that Stiles apparently named his dog after his cousin. “My favorite cousin,” Stiles crows later when Derek tells him).

Derek also spends a lot of time studying the vial of locator potion Stiles made for him. It’s been months. Surely Kate would have found him by now?

He watches the news constantly, but there haven’t been any riots or supernatural-related deaths reported in southern California for over seven years.

Maybe he will look for them when he finally manages to remember how to shift gears in Stiles’ Jeep without flooding the engine.

The choice is taken from him one afternoon.

Derek is out back of the shop watering Stiles’ garden when he hears the crunch of tires on the gravel patch Stiles has for his father and Scotty-Scott when they come help with the shop.

The scent of Chanel No. 5 has him freezing for a precious moment. As soon as he un-sticks, he swivels to stare at Kate Argent as she climbs out of her car.

He panics, racing back inside, and shouting for Stiles.

Stiles finds him tucked under the desk, already curled into his wolf-form.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” Stiles pats him, and immediately pulls back, a look of concern pinching his features. “You’re shaking,” he remarks quietly.

Derek’s ears are nearly flat on his head, and he’s panting heavily. He’s a second away from snapping, and Stiles’ usually calming touches are doing nothing but making him more on edge. Any second now, Kate will walk through the door and she’ll either burn the building down around them or she’ll take Derek back to New York.

Her heels announce her presence, and Derek covers his eyes with his paw, fighting back a whimper and a growl.

“Hello,” Stiles calls. “Can I help you? Maybe find something for you?”

“It appears as though you’ve already found what I’m looking for,” Kate says, honey-smooth. Stiles nudges Derek with his foot, like he knows that Derek needs the reassurance.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Stiles asks innocently.

“My husband,” Kate replies just as sweetly. “There he is, cowering under your desk like the ball-less wonder he is.”

“Ma’am, you must be mistaken. This is my seeing-eye dog.”

“That’s not a seeing-eye dog,” Kate corrects, saccharine flooding her voice. “That’s a wolf.”

“Those bastards!” Stiles bursts out. “They lied to me! They said he was a mastiff.” With a flick of his finger, Stiles activates a barrier around his desk. Kate laughs, and it chills Derek with how cold it is.

“Pathetic.” She reaches through the barrier and grabs Derek’s wedding band. He’d left it on Stiles’ desk after their discussion of Derek’s past life. “Do you know what happens when you try to enchant an item that has already been enchanted?” she asks.

“The enchantments cancel each other out,” Stiles replies.

“And?” Kate prompts.

“And it makes any magic cast in its presence lesser, more easily thwarted.”

“See? I knew you couldn’t be as good as they all claimed. You can’t even sense a low-level enchantment.”

The ring was enchanted? To do what? Derek has to wonder if Kate knew where he was all along. If so, it’s a good thing he hasn’t used the locator potion.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to take what I came here for.” Kate grabs Derek by the scruff of his neck and drags him out from under the desk.

“Actually, I do mind,” Stiles says, standing up. He feels his way around the edge of the desk and puts his hand over Kate’s. “You see, you might just be safer in here than out there.”

As if on cue, a howl sounds from outside the open front door.

Derek nearly shifts back to human right then because that’s his mother’s howl, his alpha’s howl, and it’s being answered by his whole family. Dad, Laura, Cora, even Peter.

His throat convulses with the urge to let loose a howl of his own. Kate digs her nails in and jerks him again.

“I still have my leverage,” she says.

Stiles laughs. “No, you don’t.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Kate demands. “You don’t think that I know you’re blind? Do you remember who blinded you?”

“Oh, I know your dad claims that honor. But, did you know that I’m not always blind?”

Stiles bows his head close to Derek’s, touching their noses. When he draws back, his eyes are white, no pupil, no iris. Derek blinks, and his vision wavers, like he’s underwater.

He understands only when Stiles turns to Kate, and the blood drains from her face. Derek isn’t looking at Kate. Stiles is.

Stiles is connected to him, seeing through his eyes.

Derek laughs to himself because now he really is a seeing-eye dog.

Stiles smiles, snapping his fingers. Kate flies backward, her hand ripped from Derek’s scruff. She falls out into the street where Derek’s uncle jumps on her back, jaws snapping down on her neck.

Stiles sighs, head sinking down again so that he can press his nose to Derek’s again. “Go on, big guy. Go to your family. Told you I’d help you.”

Derek wastes no time in shifting back and scrambling to the hook in the corner where he keeps his backpack. He dresses quickly, leaving the last buttons undone because his hands are shaking too hard.

“Are you sure?” he asks, one foot on the doorstep. He knows that Stiles isn’t reliant on him. He’s been blind for a long time now. He knows his shop better than Derek ever could. He doesn’t break pots (although Derek suspects that was because Stiles was upset at the time).

Stiles waves at him—or rather, the wall next to Derek. It makes him grin because he knows Stiles knows exactly where he’s standing.

The moment he passes Stiles’ wards, he is embraced by five large wolves all in various shifts. Laura and his mother are fully shifted into wolves while his father, Peter, and Cora are all in their beta shifts.

There are apologies and kisses exchanged in equal parts.

Then, when they finally pull back, and his mother, naked, beautiful, his mom, holds his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, wiping away tears Derek was not aware he’s crying.

“Come home with us,” she says. “Please, baby. Come home with us.”

Derek glances back at the bookshop. He can see Stiles hiding in the shadows by the door, listening to them. He waves at them, and Derek thinks his magic is helping him “see” right now.

“I can’t,” he says to his mom. “I’m sorry. I think I already am home.”

Mom beams at him. “Then it’s settled: we’re moving to Beacon Hills. There’s a large preserve nearby that is perfect for full-moon runs. There’s already an empty house out there. All we have to do is sign the paperwork and it’s ours.”

“That’s wonderful,” Derek says. “Really, it’s great. Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.” He hugs each of them again before going back to the shop to grab his backpack and promise Stiles that he’ll return.

Stiles beats him to it by saying, “So, you’re staying.”

“Yeah, looks that way.”

“Good. I could really use an assistant.”

“And you picked me?” Derek raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to press noses with Stiles so that they can share his vision again. Stiles laughs at him.

“I’ll always pick you, Derek,” he says. “Always.”

~ Fin ~

The End Notes

Stiles made two batches of the potion and used the second one to find the Hales. He then had Scott contact them and have them come up to Beacon Hills because he knew that Derek was dragging his feet about it. He also was aware of the enchantment on Derek’s wedding ring (in the diamonds). He purposefully used the ring as bait to catch Kate and orchestrate her downfall. Also, Stiles’ bookshop isn’t in a busy part of town, hence why no one notices the naked people. Derek’s timeline in New York: lived there his whole life with his family until when he was 14-15 they moved to Chula Vista, CA. Peter stayed behind with Derek so that he could finish high school. Peter was not aware of Kate targeting (grooming) Derek because she covered her tracks. When Derek turned 18, he opted to stay in New York with Kate (part of her plan) while Peter rejoined the family in Chula Vista. Kate employed a low-level mage (probably Jennifer Blake/Julia Baccari in this AU) to enchant the ring so that she could always find Derek and cover her tracks so that Derek’s family couldn’t find him. And that’s what didn’t make it in this story.

Thanks for reading!

Source for the book transitions

#Teen Wolf #Teen Wolf Fanfic #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #Warning: Kate Argent #My Story/My Writing

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