#she might not be able to change things but maybe boyd can

[sgt-dignam]

no one can change a story once it's been told

FROM | 1.07 & 3.10

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @thetommoway-oioii!

It's a little longer than I expected and had to split it up to three parts so this is the first part and the other two parts will be updated on the 26th and than 27th, hope you like it ^^

*****

Little one on the Way

3 weeks

For the past week Stiles Stilinski felt odd, not only was he getting irritated by every little thing but he was also craving the weirdest things seriously when has he ever wanted raw meat?

Certain smells were causing him headaches and he could've sworn he was gaining weight. 

But he wasn't the only one going through changes, Derek was scenting him more than he usually did placing kissing all over his belly while also inhaling it {it was weird but for some reason it brought joy to Stiles' heart}.

He was also growling at anyone that came near him well okay not anyone primarily Scott, Jackson, and Allison hell he wolfed out on the poor girl so many times Allison was to afraid to get near them.

Stiles and Scott reprimand him and he tried to apologize keyword tried the pack soon learn that it was probably best if Allison didn't come near Stiles with sharp items.

It was a little sweet but also irritating especially when he instructed Boyd if Derek wasn't around to never leave his side and Boyd took that order to heart. Whenever Derek wasn't around Boyd was by Stiles side and if he was honest Stiles was ready to punch them.

Another situation that was odd was Cora, the girl couldn't get near Stiles without crying seriously whenever she saw him she would cry and leave.

Stiles tried talking to her but she would break into tears.

It was irritating him and he had enough he needed to know what was going on with those three because they knew something and he was gonna find out. 

He waited till they were in the vicinity of their room before he calmly asked what was going on.

"What the hell is going on?" Okay maybe calmly wasn't the right word but he was getting aggravated with the way he, Cora, Boyd and now Peter were acting.

Peter took it upon himself to cook for stiles which would've been fine…if it weren't for the fact he gave him nothing but organic food with vegetables soy wheat and threw away his curly fries and other snacks.

"What do you-"

"Don't you dare play dumb Derek Hale I know for a fact that you, Cora, Boyd and now Peter are hiding something,"

"Stiles-"

"Cora won't stop crying every time she sees me, Boyd-even before you asked him too refused to leave my side and now Peter! Peter is cooking for me which wouldn't be so bad if the fucker didn't throw away my chips, soda, cookies, and other foods that he said were and I quote "diabetes waiting to happen"."

Derek stared at the liquid orbs of Stiles Stilinski-Hale, his husband, his mate, how was he supposed to tell him why his family were acting like this?

To him it was a blessing to Stiles it might be something else it might freak him out and cause him to say something that while it may not be intentional harm it'll still cause him harm.

And yet looking at his mate's eyes he couldn't help but feel that maybe just maybe Stiles might accept this information, he might take it to stride the same way he did with the supernatural.

He was scared yes but…if Stiles can accept werewolves, magic, and other night terrors that come out to play every other week he might be able to handle this.

Only one way to find out.

"Theres no easy way to say this but Stiles…your pregnant,"

Derek was expecting a lot of things, anger disbelief, denial, him fainting was not one of them.

"STILES!"

☾~☆~❀~☆~☽

When Stiles came too he found himself lying on his bed he knew it was his bed because only his mattress was as firm as the one he was lying on.

He turned his head and saw Derek currently walking in the room with his mug.

"You're awake,"

"Yeah I am,"

The silence between them was awkward and Derek did not for one bit like it.

"Umm…I have some hot chocolate, I was told that it's okay to drink it so long as it's umm soy milk and-"

"Derek-"

"I know this is a lot to take in and I understand if you're freaking out-"

"Derek-"

"But hot chocolate should calm you down, I would've gotten you tea but i wasn't sure how you'd feel-"

"DEREK!"

His alpha had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Derek I need you to explain things to me before i start freaking out and I don't think either one of us needs that right now,"

"Right you're right…ummm…ask away?"

Stiles can count on one hand the amount of times Derek was flustered and nervous, and he so badly wanted to count this and take a moment to crack jokes but right now he needed to know how it was possible to get pregnant since he didn't exactly had the right parts to get pregnant.

"Okay, you said I was pregnant are you sure I'm pregnant?"

"Yes, I could smell it on you and, and you also were more clingy and wanted to be around me not to mention you were nesting,"

"THATS REAL?!" he couldn't help but shout because never in his life did he think the Fanficion he read was actually true. 

Seriously NESTING? Of all things to be true nesting is true. 

"Yes, it's umm…true anyways you were nesting and also umm…eating raw food-"

"Yeah eating raw meat is gross and yet I couldn't stop eating it,"

"Yeah we all realized it when you wanted meat and nothing but meat,"

"Okay, okay,"

"Than there was me attacking Allison and Chris,"

"You still owe those two an apology I hope you know that,"

"I'm not apologizing for protecting my mate and pup,"

"Derek,"

"Stiles,"

He glared at his mate while his mate stared him down, he refused to back down from Stiles glare.

"Stiles understand where I'm coming from," 

When he said that Stiles calmed down and he did understand if anyone understood Derek's anger and frustration towards the Argents it was him.

Derek might be in a better place but that didn't mean he didn't still carry the scars the Argents left him.

The two were silent for another moment before Stiles asked,

"How?"

"How? Stiles are you really gonna ask how you're pregnant?"

Stiles grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

"Derek I mean how is it possible that I got pregnant I'm case you haven't noticed I'm a guy!"

"OH right umm…well you see you're pregnant because not only because I'm a werewolf but you're also a spark and because of that you had a baby?"

"Are you stating that I'm pregnant or asking?"

Derek once again looked sheepish as he answers,

"Stating, you're pregnant because I'm a wolf and you're a spark. Yourealsomymatesothatalsohelps,"

The glare he gave him made him realized he should say the last part slow and steady.

"You are also my mate so that also helps,"

Stiles fell on the pillow he than grabbed another pillow covered his face and groan in it.

"Okay," he uncovered his face sat up.

"So I'm pregnant because I'm a spark and you're mate,"

"Yes,"

"Okay, will it be a normal pregnancy or not?"

"Yes but it's gonna be 6 months instead of 9 but don't worry that's normal,"

The look he gave him told him that the word normal wasn't the right choice of word.

"Or as normal as it can get for us,"

"I'll take it,"

"But yes, other than that you'll be fine,"

"Okay and will Deaton be able to help us?"

"Peter is getting a list of dos and don'ts to prepare ourselves for your pregnancy. I should also mention that Peter will be delivering since he specializes in this stuff,"

"Peter knows how to handle this?"

Derek was quite for a moment before he answered,

"He was our pack doctor and helped my uncles deliver their kid,"

Stiles looked at his mate before getting out of bed. He wrapped his hands around him and gave Derek a tight hug.

"Okay, I may be a little scared but I know how important this is for you and honestly I'm a little scared but I'm also excited to have a little bundle of joy with us,"

Derek smiled as he wrapped his hands around him he than kneeled down and placed a soft kiss on his tummy he made a soft promise that he will do everything he can to protect his babies.

2 months

"YOURE PREGNANT,"

Stiles turned around and saw his father standing at his door way.

"Umm…"

"How, Stiles how are you pregnant?"

"Well you see me and Derek had sex and-"

"Stiles!"

"Okay okay sorry umm well Derek is a werewolf,"

"I'm aware of that,"

"And I'm a spark which means I'm an emissary and the end result was a little bun in the oven,"

John looked at his son before taking a deep breath.

"Daddy?"

"Im worried but I'm also scared Stiles is this safe? Will you be okay?"

Stiles smiled at his dad. He understood his fear but he also needed to reassure him.

"Yes daddy I'm safe Derek is making sure I'm okay and Peter is taking care of me,"

"Peter?"

"He use to be the packs doctor,"

"Questions for another day,"

The two Stilinski men were silent before John approached him and kissed his forehead.

"So we're gonna have another headache in a few months huh?"

"Yeah we are,"

3 Months

Stiles was surprised he didn't get morning sickness however he got something much, much worse.

"Derek!"

Derek came rushing to the house to see Lydia glaring at Jackson while holding Stiles who was crying.

"What's wrong?" He turned to Jackson and growled at him.

"He, he broke my mug!" Stiles wailed ad he buried his face in Lydia's shoulder who was glaring at Jackson.

"It was an accident I swear!"

"You dropped it when I told you to be careful!"

"It was hot!"

"You're a werewolf you should be okay with holding a cup of chocolate!"

"You broke his mug?!" Derek decided now was a good time to intervene.

"The hot chocolate was hot"

"Lydia is right you're a werewolf you should be able to handle the pain!"

"Derek?!"

"Whats going on? I can hear you yelling from across the fields," Cora asked.

"Jackson broke Stiles mug"

The she-wolf turned to glare at Jackson.

"You broke his mug?!"

"It was hot!:

"You're a werewolf suck it up you little bit-"

"Stop yelling this is not good for the baby!"

Immediately everyone shut up.

"Sorry Stiles we didn't mean to upset the baby-"

"What? No not my little nibblet I'm talking about me I'm the baby this yelling isn't good for me,"

Everyone was quiet for a moment before they all began to laugh like crazy. 

Stiles looked at his mate and fellow pack members and while he wanted to be mad he couldn't help but smile and giggle as well happy to see both his mate and family members happy.

TBC...

[selfawarejester]

Hey can u please do a teen wolf imagine set in season 2 where she is either Scott or stiles sister and she is sneaking around with isaac (they kinda had a thing before he got the bite and after isaac got more confident so he made a move)and isaac sneaks into her room at night and instead of Allison it’s is y/n that Matt was stalking and taking pictures of and obsessed with and he had pictures of her and isaac kissing and stuff and maybe he leaves the pictures in her locker and it freaks her out and you decide the rest. (Sorry it’s a bit dark)

Oh, I love me some Isaac!!! Forgive me if I get some details wrong, it’s been a while since I saw s2. And I’m gonna make you Scotty boi’s sister, because Melissa 🥰

You weren’t the dating type, much to the relief of your mother and your brother - and for some reason, Stiles, but you preferred to pretend that you didn’t know that. - which is why it was such a shock when you drag Isaac Lahey of all people to sit with them during lunch one day.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Y/N-“ Isaac tires to say, shooting the boys a wary look, but you just shush him and shove him into a seat. You brightly grin at the shocked faces Scott and Stiles before confessing that you’d been dating Isaac for a while now.

Scott freezes for a full thirty seconds.

Stiles chokes on his hashbrowns, and almost dies in that same time period.

“Da- you’re dating him?” He splutters, pointing at a smirking Isaac. “You’re dating him? Oh my god, what the- Scott, say something.”

Stiles gives you a look that says ‘you’re gonna get it now’ which slowly slides off when Scott just keeps quiet, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Wha- Scott, say something.” He grits out, and you roll your eyes, tired of their dramatics.

“All right, enough! Seriously, people are staring.”

That gets Scott moving again, as he looks around to find that people are, indeed, staring. He’s still shocked because when did you start dating?? But now he’s asking questions like when did you two start dating? Why did you keep it a secret so long?

He always knew you kind of had a thing for him: all the flirty banter, and the lovelorn glances…

You and Isaac started up two months ago, you explain, but it’s been pretty low-key so that he can hide it from his dad. (You don’t outwardly say this, exchanging a specific look, but both you and Scott have been pretty sure something was going very wrong in the Lahey household — Scott had smelt blood and fear wafting off of Isaac way too often for it not to be.) So he kinda just?? Accepts it??

He’s concerned, duh, but you’re so happy and he doesn’t want to get in the way of that. But he sternly tells Isaac he’ll kick his ass if he hurts you. Isaac, to his credit, stifles his laughter and genuinely tells him that he’d rather die than hurt you; and that’s good enough for Scotty.

Of course, all of this changes when Isaac becomes a beta.

He does it for you. He wants to be able to protect you, to love you without fear of losing you or getting you in trouble. Derek’s assured him that your protection is a priority of the pack, because even in his slightly power-greedy Alpha state, Derek wouldn’t let what happened to him and Paige happen to his beta.

Stiles and Scott hover around you throughout the whole time Isaac is suspected of murdering his father. Sheriff Stilinski tried to kick them out during your questioning, but they squeezed onto the small couch in his office and just stared at him the whole time. You were shocked and scared and obviously didn’t know anything, so he sent you home pretty quick.

Melissa’s freaked out because 1) you lied to her?? 2) you’re dating now 3) and it’s a boy suspected of murder. So, yeah, maybe she’s questioning her parenting a bit, but she’s really trying to be supportive.

Scott corners Isaac at school (Stiles is there too, naturally) after the whole ice rink thing, without Erica or Derek, and he swears he’d never hurt you. Unfortunately, you walk in right at that moment.

You know when both of them are lying, so you force the truth of them, then and there. You get thrown off guard, of course — they thought you’d react like Stiles, or just like most of the people in those movies react: with a lot of surprise but general and immediate acceptance.

You do immediately do something: leave and avoid both of them for the next couple of days. Your mom’s curious as to why you’re so distant, and why Scott keeps begging you to talk to him, and why you’re avoiding him -- but ultimately, she lets sleeping dogs lie, because she hopes you’ll come to her with something really important.

You hang out with Lydia and Allison a lot more, Allison backing up for Scott by keeping you safe — she tries to defend him for you, but you make it clear you need a lot of time before you can think about that stuff. She also tries to turn you against Isaac, but you’re even more closed off to that.

Lydia is a fresh breath of air, because she is just as confused about this (even if it’s only possibilities and vague stuff) and she doesn’t wanna know more either. She keeps things light between you and Allison, and keeps your mind off of things. But it doesn’t work when Allison and the others drag you guys to your house for a weird “study session” that gets crashed by a giant lizard thing- god, this was your life now.

Isaac grabbed you, and locked you in a bathroom before the whole thing really started. You scream at him to stop, scream for Scott, and beat on his chest, but he just screws his eyes shut and forces you in there — he knows you’ll hate him afterwards, but he also knows you might run straight at the Kanima if it came for him or Scott.

You do hate him afterwards. A little part of you understands why he did it, and it’s unfortunately the same part that still loves him. But you’re still hugely pissed off, especially after Scott and Stiles tell you that he tried to kill Lydia. So the next day, when he tries to talk to you at school, you glare at him until he goes away.

In swoops Matt, all “charming” smiles and “funny” jokes. He sees his chance: months of watching you and Isaac be all cutesy had paid off. He knew what kind of humor you liked — unfortunately, all it did was remind you of your boyfriend and keep you guys at a distance.

God, he hated it. Bad enough that someone was keeping you from him, but that it was Lahey. The brother of the guy that drowned him, the son of the guy that screamed in his face about how it was his fault- no. He had to break you up.

So he consolidated all the pictures that he’d taken of you: candids of you at school, at home, at the coffee place you liked. He slips them into your locker, and watches you squirm and look around. It’s working. Then, it’s those pictures of you and Isaac, kissing at your secret spot, necking in your bedroom, smiling at each other — labels it “Remember the good times?”

You’re trying to talk about it to Scott, Allison and Stiles, but they’re busy with the Kanima. Lydia tries to help, but she’s so out of it and she has been for a while and you’re starting to get worried.

It gets to a point where you run to Isaac, tears in your eyes, and photographs in your hands. “Is this you?” You sob, and he just pulls you into his arms shushing you - “No! No, babe, I’d never do that!” - and promises to keep you safe. You stay glued to his side after that. Boyd is nice and calm, a contrast to Derek who creeps you out a little.

Through his first full moon, you stay with him and keep him grounded. Your voice keeps his father’s out of his head, keeps him in control.

You’re standing off in a corner, watching with a smirk as Erica - who you’ve gotten weirdly close to in the past few weeks - and Isaac double team Jackson (it’s actually… kinda hot? Especially because damn Isaac keeps looking at you); but your view gets obstructed by Matt. He’s trying to talk to you but you barely listen, keeping eye contact with Isaac over his shoulder. Then they leave with Jackson, and Matt makes a move on you. You flinch away so hard, you hit the counter and get the bartender’s attention.

You confront him about the pictures and he splutters for an excuse. The bartender kicks out Matt, seeing your distress, who’s now more desperate for your attention than ever.

Matt - or the Kanima- kidnaps you during Lydia’s party and keeps you in his basement. You’re scared out of your mind, begging for him to let you go, but he promises you that there won’t be anyone in your ways from now on. While everyone’s dealing with the fiasco at the police station, Isaac, Boyd and Erica come get you.

He’s trying not to cry when he sees your busted lip, the bruises around your wrists where you were tied down.

Boyd and Erica decided to leave, but Isaac didn’t want to leave you behind. So he goes to Scott and Deaton, and becomes a good guy, helps out with Jackson and everything!

He also starts living with you guys, which you’re very excited about ;) But Melissa is very careful about leaving you two alone. And Scott’s stupid senses screw you over in that he interrupts every time you get to more than kissing.

But you find ways. 😉😏😏

Hope you liked it! I think I changed a few things, and I tried to keep the canon timelines for everything, but yeah!

[damn-stark]

Return of the cub pt.1

Isaac Lahey x reader

Requested by anon “Can u please do a teen wolf imagine where y/n is a hale sister who was in the fire and peter helped her get out but when she did get out she got taken by Gerard and she had been kept with him being tortured by him for 6 years (and obviously she’s assumed to be dead by Derek and peter)and it’s at the end of season 2 where everyone is in that wherehouse place and Gerard says something like “Derek I believe I have something that belongs to you” and brings her out and she’s weak and tied up and stuff and his reaction and maybe peters to to seeing her alive again. And maybe it could be in a few parts where it’s the start of season 3 (no Cora in this)and how she has been adjusting obviously she is pretty traumatised and angry so only really talks to a few people Derek, Peter, isaac and boyd but Scott being the sweetheart he is is trying to help her too but she is wary as he hangs around with Allison and she obviously has a strong hatred for Argents and doesn’t trust Allison at all or Scott cause he dated her and maybe when y/n goes back to school Derek tells Scott and stiles to keep Allison away from her or else she might attack her or something and she is closest to isaac and he actually really likes her and even though she can protect herself he grows protective over her and her over him too.”

Warning- talks of torture, blood, breakdown, ptsd, violence, and some fluff

Episode 2x12

———-

“Uncle Peter, where are you going?” You ask hoarsely as you grab his arm to pull him underground with you.

Said man turns and begins pushing you down into the secret passage that led underground, constantly looking over his shoulder as pained shouts echoed from everywhere in the house. “I’m going to help the rest of our family,” he assures you, “we’ll catch up to you later. Just run.”

You hesitate and inch forward to follow him, but the thick black smoke was stinging your eyes, and overwhelming your lungs, causing you to cough repeatedly and violently. Only urging Peter to keep pushing you down so you could at least have a chance to survive. “Y/N, go! I’m right behind you!”

Peter slowly begins to close the hatch over you and shares one last assuring look before the tunnel is basked in darkness, leaving you to try and use what you could of your heightened vision to try and see through the smoke that had gathered within the tunnel, since you couldn’t transform. It was so thick that your vision was barely working, not only that but your concentration to get out safely was not fully there, it was clouded and mixed with the worry for your family. You wanted to go back and help as well, to stop the screams you heard pound in your ears and ache your heart, but you had to listen to your uncle Peter, to your mother and Derek, who all urged you to leave them behind for your own safety.

Perhaps that was a mistake though, traveling alone while you were weak from the injuries you’ve endured, from the smoke that clouded your lungs and mind, because it kept you off guard and inattentive to the different smoke that slowly began to invade the tunnel and mix with the fires smoke. You hadn’t noticed it at first, your clouded mind didn’t register the different smell until your vision began to get impaired and cloud increasingly more, whilst your whole body weakened to the point you were tripping over your own two feet.

At first you thought it was just you not being able to handle the smoke, but everything hurt much more than the fresh burn mark on your legs. You could see the light of the moon shining through at the end of the tunnel, but just as you could reach it you tripped again, this time unable to push yourself up.

“Come on,” you mumble to yourself as you begin to drag yourself forward, feeling your muscles weaken and your body ache increasingly more. “Al-most there.” You let out another harsh cough and feel your fingers dig into the dirt, just inches from the exit, but right as you were going to get out multiple footsteps sounded behind you, a voice not hesitating break the sounds of the distorted screams sounding in your ears. “A wolf's cubs first instinct to do while in danger is to run off and hide, while the mother and the pack stay behind to protect them.” He chuckles and his hand grabs your shoulder to flip you around to face the man you now identified as, Gerard Argent.

“I,” you try to say hoarsely as you try to keep your eyes open, “I haven’t hurt anyone.”

“No,” Gerard says, “but you little cub, have fallen straight into a hunter's trap.” He crouch’s down and grabs you by your neck, making you let out a pained whimper as he lifts you towards him. “And this time neither your mother, nor your pack will be here to come to your rescue.”

*6 YEARS LATER*

“It’s time,” Gerard shares smugly, as he tilts your chin up so you could meet his cold eyes. “To finally have that family reunion you’ve been dreaming of.”

You narrow your gaze and shake your head. “You said they were dead.”

“They are. All except for your uncle Peter and your brother Derek, of course,” Gerard chuckles, stepping back to uncuff you, “and we’re going to pay them a visit.” He pulls out a handful of wolfsbane and blows it towards you so you could fall unconscious. So you can dream again of the family you had lost; not dream of what you went through that night, but the last happy moment you had shared.

It was nice as long as the dreams lasted. But of course there was always that unfortunate moment you had to wake up. This time unlike the past seven years, waking up somewhere different, somewhere loud and brighter.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and sounds of groans, grunts, screams and utters of words slowly registered in your ears, just as the smell of blood slowly filtered through your nose. Your mind was barely conscious but Gerard made sure you’d be more awake for his big entrance.

“Not yet sweetheart!” You recognize Gerard warn someone as he dragged you along with him, pulling you away from the shadows and continuing maliciously. “Derek.” Gerard drops you on the ground and kicks you forward so the light will reveal your body and face. “I believe I have something you lost.”

“Y/N!” A voice shouts, making you weakly push yourself up to shift your head and see a tall man with short dark hair, and a beard too match. “Y/N,” he called again, yet you didn’t recognize his face. His eyes though, they were familiar...deeply blue and kind.

“Derek?” You call hoarsely with a smile spreading on your lips.

His eyes widen and you both want to go towards each other, but his arms betray him and make him fall back down to the ground.

“So you can behave,” Gerard taunts Derek. “A gift for what I want from you.”

“Isaac,” Derek shouts, “take her and get her to safety. Before he changes his mind.”

Without hesitance, a boy with light brown hair and kind blue eyes walks up to you, gently grabbing your arm to help you to your feet. “Come on,” he whispers, “I’ll help you.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze and offer him a small smile. “Thank you.”

He returned the smile, and for the first time in a long time you felt a sense of solace, kindness and security.

——

“Hi,” the boy greets you a bit too overly giddy, “I’m Stiles.” He extends his hand to offer it to you with a nervous smile on his face.

You look at him up and down, furrowing your eyebrows as you pick up on an odd emotion that makes you scoff. “And I’m uninterested.”

“Right,” he scoffs as his hand slaps on his leg and his brown eyes turn into a glare. “You're a Hale. Would it ever kill you guys to be nice and happy for once?”

“Almost did,” you retort, “once.” You push past him and try to walk towards a more secluded corner, try to stay away from the sound of beating hearts, and overbearing people that begin to overwhelm you. But they kept coming at you too overly giddy.

“I’m Scott McCall,” he grins sweetly and his jaw only appears to be more crooked. “I just want to let you know that I’m here if you need to help. If you want to go to school, you can go to ours. And if you need any girls to talk to, theirs Alison Argent and...” his words begin to trail off, going through one ear and going out the other as your mind focuses on every sound besides the words coming out of his mouth. It was all overwhelming, all of them, you weren’t used to so many people, or it being so loud anymore. It felt like torture being amongst all these strangers, hearing the sounds of their hearts beating, the sounds of their quiet inhales and soft exhales.

You wanted to focus on the silence, on something comforting, but every other sound invaded your ears; you heard the busy street a couple miles away, the cars honking and their tires on the asphalt, you heard the people miles away, the sounds of birds chirping and it all just pounded in your head, made it spin. You wanted to focus on one thing, but your eyes bounced around the strange room and found nothing familiar, no one familiar you could focus on.

“Where’s Derek?” You mutter, but no one heard you. All you heard was your own breathing beginning to pick up as you began to hyperventilate. “Where’s my uncle Peter? Where’s…” you trail off and everything spins faster, you could feel your claws slowly come out, like your fangs did as your eyes changed into their gold color. Scott’s voice was still registering in the depths of your mind, but it was background noise now. Neither boy noticed your panicked state, not like it was obvious right away.

Not until the sound of a loud beep suddenly going off inside the house set you off, finally letting both boys notice how you were getting, how you grabbed onto the sides of your head while you fell to your knees and began to hyperventilate.

“Hey! Hey!” A different voice slowly seeps in your ears, “what’s wrong with you two idiots?! She’s not used to too much noise yet. You’re overwhelming her! Where’s Derek?!”

Someone grabs your shoulders before they crouch down to reveal to you that it's your uncle Peter trying to calm you down. “Y/N, it’s uncle Peter, just focus on my voice.”

Your eyes lift to look at his familiar blue ones, but all you see is the memory of him when he was helping you escape. That memory haunted you because you always thought it was the last you’d see of him, it was engraved within you and taunted you now with what was real and could be daydreams.

“Y/N—”

“You’re dead,” you mutter, “you’re dead, you’re not real.” You close your eyes and want to wake up, but you’re fully conscious. You can’t find the way to calm down until someone does, the guy that lived with Derek, the same guy that helped you that day Gerard finally brought you out of your cage, Isaac Lahey.

“Hey, y/n, y/n, you’re okay, you’re safe, it’s just us,” he spoke softly, the sound of his soothing voice making you open your eyes to see his blue eyes meet yours, bringing a comfort that felt strange, but assuring.

“Where’s Derek?” Your uncle Derek asks, slightly annoyed by the fact that he was missing.

“Out,” you hear Stiles answer.

“Right,” Peter growls, he continues to stand up and sigh loudly before he doesn’t hesitate to kick them out. “I think it’s time for you all to leave, it’s enough visit time. Come back uhmm, perhaps not anytime soon.”

Both boys protest, but Peter begins to push them out of the house, letting Isaac help you to your feet and continue to try and help you.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be,” you mumble, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he reassures you, “it’s going to take time to get used to all this. But I’ll be here to help,” his eyes shift to the door to make sure that your uncle Peter, was still out so he could continue without worrying he’ll get in trouble for speaking and being so close to you. “Trust me I can relate with past trauma, so I’ll be here to help you.”

You meet his eyes and smile softly as you gently grab his shoulder. “Thank you. Really, thank you. Out of everything here, you’re the only thing that feels normal...and I mean that in a good way.” You express a nervous chuckle and slowly slide your hand off his shoulder. “So thanks.”

Isaac smiles and just as he was going to say something he backs away from you a good amount as he hears Derek, and Peter return home.

“I’m sorry I was gone too long,” Derek directs to you as his eyes glance between Isaac and you for a brief second. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod as you walk to sit on the couch. “Thanks to Isaac,” you smile softly.

Your uncle Peter looks at Isaac and tilts his head as he narrows his gaze into a glare. He doesn’t tell him anything, but he makes the boy squirm away into the shadows of the room.

“Anyway,” your uncle Peter slowly says, “can you transform yet?”

You sigh and shake your head, “not yet, not fully.” You look at your hand and watch as you bring your claws out to continue, “I can just transform like the rest of you until I gain more strength.”

“Wh-what do you mean you can’t fully transform?” Isaac queries curiously as he steps towards the light again.

Derek sits beside you looks at Isaac with a knowing smirk and just assures him with a simple cocky answer, “you’ll see soon enough.”

.

.

.

A/N-Their will be maybe two more parts to this request!

[imaginefan]

I Promise

Derek Hale X Stilinski Reader 

Word Count: 2078

Requested: Anon

Request: Hey this is my first request but would you be able to make one with stiles younger sister and derek.She sees him in her house with stiles and Scott when she comes downstairs to go to school with stiles,And she like says “hey are you rea-“. Then stops when she sees derek, and blushes etc. And stiles and Scott are like asking her if she’s okay etc and she looks read and derek can sense what it is due to being a werewolf and he starts smirking and she says she’s fine etc and they go to school in stiles Jeep and derek comes with themAnd they keep on bumping into each other all the time and one time he saves her etc and they start to like each other a lot and then they secretly date but then get found out by stiles.Also derek gets super protective of her and no one knows why and he tries to brush it off etc and he keeps on getting jealous when other boys look at her.Thank you :)

A/N: I think I got a bit carried away with this one, I just kept writing I really enjoyed this one though and might write a part 2 for myself but let me know if your interested.

Stiles often thought that he was good at hiding things from you but it became very clear very quickly that he was terrible at you, you being his younger twin meant that you were often the one to see him doing weird hard to explain things when your ad was at work and you were the one that was covering things up for him before long you found out what it was that he was hiding and in some ways wished that you never had to deal with it but the truth of the matter was there was no way that you were getting away from it.

The first time that you met Derek you had been the last one to get ready for school, you were headed down the stairs "Hey are you guys rea-" You stopped when you saw Derek in the kitchen, Stiles and Scott looked back in time to see you blush. "Are you okay?" Stiles asked, "you look a little red." "She's fine," Derek said a smirk on his face and Stiles looked between the both of you before his eyes widened. "No!" He said as he pointed at you. "Can we just go to school?" You asked. "Yeah about school." Stiles scratched the back of his head. "Look I don't care how many classes you skip, I'm not skipping any and you're the one that got the Jeep so you're dropping me to school." You ordered and you nodded. "How about we all drop you to school," Derek suggested. "It's quicker." "Whatever just hurry up or I'll drive it myself." You threatened as you grabbed the keys on the way out.

"You are blissfully unaware for being the sheriff's daughter," Derek said as he walked up next to you. "I'm not unaware of anything." You mumbled. "What are you doing out here anyway?" He asked. "Walking home." You answered. "Where's your hyperattentive brother?" He asked. "Probably off chasing supernatural with Scott." You shrugged as you looked through your bag for your keys and coming up empty, when you looked up Derek was holding them up in his hand. "You were talking about my keys earlier." You said in realisation and he smiled before handing them over. "Be careful, I'm not always going to be around to find your keys for you." He said before he was gone, you rolled your eyes before walking up to your front door and walking into the house.

From that night onwards it seemed like you bumped into Derek everywhere even when you were with your brother and it was becoming increasingly common for him to be overprotective when it came to you being involved in anything and that was why you probably shouldn't have been but you were out late one night, Stiles and Scott were at Lydia's party and it was a full moon but  then you saw Lydia, you knew that she was supposed to be at her party but she looked completely zoned out as she dragged Derek to her car, you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep up with her so you tried to call Stiles but when he didn't answer the phone "Useless." You muttered as you did your best to follow her which was definitely easier when she hit the dirt road of the preserve because you could follow her tyre tracks. When you got there, you saw Peter coming out of the house, your eyes widened as you hid behind a tree hoping that he hadn't seen you, you moved when you heard Lydia's car leave. You ran into the house and saw Derek on the floor, you fell to your knees ignoring the fact that in any other situation you would have taken a second to admire him and shaking his shoulders "Derek!" You called. "You can not be dead, I'm sure you've been through worse." "You might need something a little louder," Deaton suggested making you just as you looked around to see him, he was holding something in his hand and you were out of options so you nodded. You didn't hear anything but Derek did. He was awake within seconds, he looked over at you for a second before looking at the floorboards. "That sound, what was it?" Derek asked as he looked back at Deaton who held up the whistle in his hands, he rolled his eyes before touching his arm. "Don't worry. You're still an Alpha, not a particularly competent one." Deaton said "Where is he?" He asked. "I don't know," Deaton answered. "Then why don't you tell me why you're helping me?" He asked as he stood up. "Helping your family used to be pretty important to me." Deaton answered "Helping you was a promise I made to your mother." "You're the one my sister told me about a... Kind of adviser." Derek said. "She was right. And I have some advice that you need to listen to very closely right now. What Peter managed to do doesn't come without a price. He'll be physically weak, so he'll rely on the strength of his intelligence, his cunning. He's gonna come at you, Derek. He'll try to twist his way inside your head, preying on your insecurities. He'll tell you that he's the only way you can stop Gerard. Do not trust him." Deaton warned. "I don't trust anyone," Derek said and you rolled your eyes. "Edgy much?" You muttered to yourself which he of course heard. "I know. If you did, you might be the Alpha you like to think you are. And unfortunately, the one person you should trust doesn't trust you at all." Deaton explained. "Scott." Derek sighed. "He's with Stilinski right now. You need to find him, you need to find him as fast as you can. I've known Gerard for a long time. He always has a plan. Something tells me - it's going exactly the way he wants it to." Deaton answered.

You had been with Scott and Matt when the Argents started shooting, you had hidden under one of the tables, hands pressed against your eyes as you tried to stay hidden, the smoke helped and all the noise stopped the Kanima from coming back to find you, you don't actually know how long you were there for before someone crouched in front of you, they grabbed your wrist and you pushed away from them, your eyes opening for a second and catching that it was Derek, he gestured for you to come out "What are you doing back here, they'll kill you if they find you." You scolded him and he rolled his eyes before picking up. "Well, I'm not leaving you here." He muttered as he pressed your face to his shoulder "Keep your head down." It only took a couple of minutes for Derek to get you out  "Are you okay?" "I think so." You answered as he put you on the ground. "Wait here until everything is over." He said and you looked at him and nodded. When you finally got home that night, you didn't know what to do with yourself, you paced for a second before you were sitting on your bed, hands ran through your hair before you pressed the heel of your palm to your eyes in an attempt to stop yourself from crying. You looked up at your window when you heard it open but a second later Derek was in your room. "What are you doing here?" You asked wiping at your eyes but he just walked over and sat next to you pulling you into his side. "I wasn't going to come in but I think you need someone." He said softly and that was all it took for you to cry wrapping your arms around him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Everything was fine for a couple of days Derek came to see you and make sure that you were okay but then everything changed after he tried to kill Jackson, you stopped talking to him, you started locking your window and made an effort to be with Scott and Stiles and never being out late, that is until everything started up again and a pack of Alphas made their way into Beacon Hills and you knew that you were going to have to see him again "so are you going to tell me what happened between you and Derek?" Stiles asked as he walked into your room and walked over to your laptop. "What are you doing?" You asked. "I ran out of ink. I need your printer." He answered, "now answer my question." "Nothing happened between us." You shrugged. "So he didn't sneak into your room almost every night?" He asked you opened your mouth to lie but instead decided against it "How did you know?" You asked. "Scott could smell him on you." He answered. "Right." You nodded "well don't worry we haven't spoken since he tried to kill Jackson." "Maybe you should talk to him," Stiles suggested. The truth was that Stiles had been to see Derek with Scott to ask about the tattoo and he realised that for a few seconds he watched the door waiting for something, he was waiting for you. "What are you doing anyway?" You asked. "We found out where Boyd and Erika were being held." He answered. "So you're going to get them?" You asked. "Yeah." He nodded. "You don't need help?" You asked. "You wanna help?" He asked. "Well, I can't just sit around and do nothing." You shrugged.

The truth was the reason that you had never gone to see him was because you knew the moment that you looked at him you were going to forgive him and you had been right, you could feel him looking at you as Stiles talked "concentrate, we'll talk later." You said lowly knowing that he would hear you from your place on the sofa. "I'm thinking a diamond bit," Stiles said and you rolled your eyes. "Stiles you don't need a drill." You informed him and he looked back at you. "Sorry what?" He asked. "I'm sure the Alpha werewolf can punch through a wall." You said. "She's right." Derek agreed. "You're gonna punch through the wall?" Stiles asked. "Okay, okay, big guy. Let's see it. Let's see that fist. Big, old fist. Make it, come on. Get it out there. Don't be scared. Big, bad wolf. Yeah, look at that. Okay, see this? That's maybe 3 inches of room to gather enough force to punch through solid co..." Derek punched him and he doubled over in pain "he can do it." Stiles fell away from Derek and Scott and towards you. "Walk it off, big brother." You muttered as you clapped his shoulder and directed him back to the desk where the plans were. "try to remember that two of them combine bodies to form one giant Alpha. I'm sure Erica and Boyd were sweet kids. They're gonna be missed." You heard Peter say. "Can someone kill him again please?" Stiles asked. "What about you?" Derek asked as he looked at Scott. "If you want me to come-" "You're not going!" and "Not you!" Said at the same time yours and Derek's voices overlapping and cutting off your brother as he realised the question was directed at Scott.

When Derek came back the next morning his heart warmed at what he found, you were still on the sofa where he'd left you before, he walked over and crouched in front of you, he gently shook you away and it took a moment but you shot up eyes widening "what happened?" You asked. "Nothing, I'm fine don't worry." He said softly. "What are you still doing here?" You're going to be late for school." He said. "I promised we would talk." You reminded him and he nodded. "I'm sorry for avoiding you and basically cutting you out of my life, I just didn't know what to do after everything that happened I was scared that you... didn't need me anymore or that you didn't want me anymore and-" He cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips. "I will always need you and I will never stop wanting you." He promised. "I'm sorry about everything with Jackson and I know that's not enough but I promise nothing like that will ever happen again."

*Part 2*

Requests and general question!

[ljblueteak]

Throwing my hat into the “Why did Paul and Jane break up?” ring. There have been fantastic posts on this already, but looking at the McCartney bios by Sounes and Salewicz back-to-back has given me a slightly different perspective (this could all need to be tossed out if anything else about them comes to light/there’s other material I’m not aware of, which is more than possible, but here’s what I’ve got for now!) 

The short version: I think they split up because of a lack of long-term compatibility that they both recognized as they got older. They also grew to prefer different lifestyles and possibly also had different ideas about whether/when to start trying to have children. By the time they split up, Paul had already realized, according to the joint interview with Jane described in Hunter Davies’ 1968 bio, that it was “silly” of him to have expected Jane to do what the other Beatles’ partners had done and give up her career after marriage (Paul describing his expectation as having been “silly” is in Davies 308-309. The observation that all the other women who had “married in to the band” had given up their careers because that was “expected by men of [the Beatles’ background]” is in Sounes 189). Jane having a career she wanted to continue after marriage seems to have been resolved as a possible impediment before the split. The Salewicz bio suggests that what *may* have been a factor was the question of children, with Jane not wanting them to interfere with her career. However, it��s not clear from that bio when this question came up for them--whether it was closer to the time of the split or whether it had been discussed and resolved prior to their engagement. I think these are the main reasons they split. I don’t think his many, many, many affairs helped at all, but I think the above reasons are the main ones.

Jane and Paul got together when they were quite young (Jane was 17 and Paul was 20) and their interests diverged in a few ways that really mattered as they got older. As the bios have suggested, Jane wasn’t really into rock ‘n’roll and really wasn’t into the drug scene. Paul was into both (understatement!). This likely contributed to the tension that people like Marianne Faithful witnessed between them. In addition to that, they both seemed to realize that they didn’t ultimately “click.” For bio excerpts and more, please see below!

In terms of not actually “clicking,”which would be enough reason to end a relationship on its own, imo, here’s what Jane Asher had to say (sourced from the amazing @thecoleopterawithana via @amoralto: 

“No, it wasn’t love at first sight on my side. It was several months before I felt at all certain. And of course, I was young. Only seventeen. Inevitably, one changes. After all, Paul himself was only twenty when we met.

“I knew in my bones that the break must inevitably come a long time before it actually happened. Although we had this emotional thing for each other, we found it difficult to be really happy together....”

Jane Asher, interview w/ Godfrey Winn for The Australian Women’s Weekly: Girl with a broken love affair. (April 23rd, 1969)

And here’s Paul in Many Years From Now: 

“During that period with Jane Asher I learned a lot and she introduced me to a lot of things, but I think inevitably when I moved to Cavendish Avenue, I realized that she and I weren’t really going to be the thing we’d always thought we might be. Once or twice we talked about getting married, and plans were afoot but I don’t know, something really made me nervous about the whole thing. It just never settled with me, and as that’s very important for me, things must feel comfortable for me, I think it’s a pretty good gauge if you’re lucky enough. You’re not always lucky enough, but if you can feel comfortable then there’s something very special about that feeling. I hadn’t quite managed to be able to get it with Jane....She was a very intelligent and interesting person, but I just never clicked. One of those indefinable things about love is some people you click with and some people who you should maybe click with, you don’t” (264, 452-453). 

In addition to their own words, there are differing takes from observers about Paul and Jane’s compatibility and reasons for the split. Artists like Jann Howarth, who along with Peter Blake made the Sergeant Pepper art and had known the Beatles for “four years” before that observes in the Sounes bio that:

“I thought [Paul and Jane] were adorable together. She was wonderful. She was a very calm person and, in the middle of all this, you felt she was a wonderful balance for him, and you felt she was his equal for sure. It didn’t feel to me as though Paul was the big deal and she was trembling along behind, whereas you felt that a bit with Pattie Boyd and some of the other gals. I mean Cynthia was left standing still, basically, by John. Whereas you felt Jane was an absolute equal to Paul and had a very supple mind” (131). 

Howarth sees them as “adorable” together and says that Jane’s “Paul’s equal for sure” and doesn’t suggest that this is a source of tension in any way.

Marianne Faithful, who frequently visited Cavendish with Mick Jagger, seems to imply in her autobiography that a major cause for the tensions she observed between Paul and Jane were related to Jane’s career aspirations and that Paul had wanted “an old-fashioned Liverpool wife,” which is what he got with Linda. However, I think it’s worth noting that while there had been tensions about Jane’s career, as detailed in the Davies bio (though Paul had also been really excited about and supportive of Jane’s career), Paul had already recognized that he had been being “silly.” Of course, there may have been continuing tensions related to it, but it sounds like Paul realized he’d been wrong on the whole. In addition to that, Marianne and Mick were part of the rock ‘n’ roll drug crowd Jane disapproved of, so these tensions between Paul and Jane that Faithfull observed may very well also have been related to Jane not being thrilled about more drug-using rock ‘n’rollers taking over her house.  

Here’s the bit from Marianne Faithfull’s book via The Guardian:

Visits to Paul and Jane Asher weren't quite as relaxed. They were a bit uptight, and there were constant little frictions, but that's what happens when couples start to come apart. In any case, I was in a very different position from the one that Jane found herself in. I'd done what Paul wanted Jane to do, and given up my career. I wasn't going on tour with the Old Vic; I wasn't taking any more movie roles and very few parts in plays. Jane was a serious actress and wanted to continue her career, but Paul had other ideas. That's why Linda was so perfect for Paul; she was just what he wanted, an old-fashioned Liverpool wife who was devoted to her husband. Whatever we thought of Linda - and she didn't make that great an impression on me - I think it was a credit to Paul that he didn't marry a model. Because that's what all the others have ended up doing, they've married these models. And they have children who also become models.

The Guardian, 6 October 2007.

In his bio of Paul (which doesn’t directly address Faithfull’s comments), Sounes doesn’t suggest that the perception that Paul would be happy to be with someone who was prepared to let their own career take the backseat, at least for a time, is wrong (I do think it’s important to mention that in addition to her Wings career and solo/with Paul songwriting work, Linda also did work that didn’t involve Paul’s career at all down the line, like working on her cookbooks and frozen food line). But Sounes does say that it was much more than that that drew Paul and Linda together:

“Anything Paul wanted to do seemed possible with Linda, or Lin as he called her affectionately. She had bucket-loads of American confidence, which he liked. Both were relaxed and open about sex...Lin dug rock ‘n’ roll in a way Jane never had and unlike Jane, this American girl wasn’t uptight about drugs. Although a modern, liberated woman in some ways, Lin wasn’t a committed careerist. She was already tired of scratching a living as a rock ‘n’roll photographer, more than ready to settle down with a man who could look after her and Heather” Fab (215). 

Paul was also ready to start a family. Indeed, John Lennon suggested that part of what drew Paul to Linda was the “ready-made family.” In the same interview where John pointed out that Linda could provide a “ready-made family,” he claimed that Jane was not ready for children: “If Jane was to have a career, then that’s not a cozy family, is it?” Chris Salewicz’s Paul bio also addresses this, saying:

“A source of considerable contention between Paul and Jane--perhaps the cause of those adverse remarks about the theatre to Joe Orton--was her insistence that having children would interfere with her acting career. Yet, now that Paul had everything he could possibly ever want, all that remained to fulfill his life was the presence of children, something he had always desired far more than the other Beatles” (199).

While we (or at least I!) don’t know whether Paul and Jane had discussed the issue of children before they got engaged, disagreements over whether or when to have kids contribute to a fair number of breakups to this day--and they had plenty of good reasons, from just not “clicking” in the right way to disagreements over drugs, to break up anyway. 

[jq37]

The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 1

The Case of the The Pernicious Party  

Hello, hello, hello! It’s been a hot second but your resident D20 recapper is back to tackle the newest season: Mice and Murder! Y’all had to know I wasn’t gonna sit out the murder mystery, are you kidding me???

I might be playing around with the format a bit in the coming weeks to make sure I have the best possible system for keeping track of possible clues, suspects, and theories as we untangle whatever web Brennan weaves for us this season so don’t be surprised if things change a little. 

Anyway, without further ado, onto our mystery!

Summary

In case you missed it, this season takes place in an alternate, Zootopia/Wind in the Willows-esque universe where all the characters are animals but history seems to have happened in more or less the same way--for example there was still a King Charles but he was a King Charles Spaniel (cute Brennan). Our story specifically takes place in the English village of Tufting Meadows.  

We start with Katie’s character--Gangie Green (Weasel/Thief Rogue) in the graveyard of the Anglican Chapel (Our Lady of Prayerful Paws). Gangie, we learn, is an orphan who was kicked out of the orphanage at some point for thievery. Obviously, he’s not reformed of the habit because he is here to do some graverobbing. On a nat 20 (that Katie hilariously doesn’t notice even though her total is like a 29) Gangie can see through the window of the rectory that there is a weeping window inside--Catherine McCabbage who is being (dubiously) tended to by Raph’s character, Vicar Ian Prescott (Owl/Bard, College of Eloquence). 

Ian comes from a line of men of the cloth but he’s not exactly the best speaker despite his subclass. He’s doing his best though! The widow’s husband (Conor McCabbage) died at the local mill in what has been declared an accident but she suspects foul play. She’s been hearing his voice on the wind and wants Ian’s professional opinion on whether this could be a sign from God or if her husband might be speaking to her from beyond the grave or something like that. Ian gives a very muddled and not very comforting answer but seems pretty sure that something sketchy did in fact happen. Then, he sees a crack of lightning outside which illuminates the graveyard where he gets a glimpse of Gangie. 

He goes to check it out (and Gangie fully has an elderly goat he’s dug up slung over his shoulder) but “gravedigger” is his legit job so Ian decides to assume whatever’s going on is legit and not ask too many questions. He goes back to the widow (who, before she leaves, says that maybe sometimes people need to work on God’s behalf) while Gangie takes the body Loam Hall (a massive manor, built into a hill).

We cut to the next day and our next two characters! 

At 22B Hamsted Street in a pretty well appointed home are Ally and Grant’s characters. First up, we have Lars Vandenchomp (Huge ass Doberman/Battlemaster Fighter) who is so tough looking but also so Swedish sounding--it’s A Lot (so, incredibly on brand for Ally). Lars is security for Grant’s character Sylvester Cross (Fox/Inquisitive Rogue) who is a kinda (to use Grant’s word) “foppish” Sherlock Holmes type. He was hired by Squire William Thornwall Brockhollow to figure out what happened with Conor McCabbage (and clear him of negligence in running the mill) but he couldn’t find any evidence of any funny business, making this the only case he’s never cracked. He’s not as young or popular as he once was so this is, understandably, bumming him out. He’s even more bummed out when he realizes that William has invited him to his 60th birthday party that’s happening that night (as kind of a prop to show that he did his part in trying to solve the mystery) and Lars has already RSVP’d yes. He grudgingly agrees to go as it’s one of those asks that’s really more of a veiled demand but decides to pull the money he was paid from the bank first so he can return it and really stick it to the guy.

Finally, we cut to our last set of PCs who are on their way to Tufting Meadows via a very luxurious train. Inside are Sam and Rekha’s characters! Sam is Buckster $ Boyd (Peccary which is like a small boar/Mastermind Rouge) a Texan Oil Tycoon who acts exactly how you’d expect a Texan Oil Pig to act. Yes, you pronounce the dollar sign as “dollar sign” (even though as we find out later his middle name is Cassius so it’s like Cash which I think is super cool). With him is Rekha’s character, Daisy D'umpstaire (Raccoon/Assassin (???) Rogue another American (from South Carolina) though it seems she’s My Fair Lady’d herself into an upper class socialite (her last name was previously Dumpster). They’re traveling with their accountant, an Armadillo named Armond who seems kinda skittish and concerned about their travel expenses but Buck tells him that to make money you gotta spend money and they’re gonna make a *ton* of money on this trip. They’re also so so mean to him for absolutely no reason. 

When the train stops, they’re greeted by Templeton Padhop (a frog, natch) who is the chauffeur of Loan Hall, sent to fetch them. A wheel on his car is broken so he joins in on the Armond abuse immediately and has Armond roll into an Armadillo ball and replace it. Poor guy. When they show up they're greeted by a footman--a pug in a bowler hat named Milo Snout.

Meanwhile, Lars and Sly (Oh, Sly fox, I see what you did there Grant) are similarly greeted by another footman--a lizard named Basil Baskins. On a 23 perception check, Lars sees that Jeremy “Jez” Brockhollow is inside (the son of William who is a badger btw) and also clocks Gangie (who they know as a career criminal who disappeared like a year ago). Gangie doesn’t notice Lars though. 

Ian, who is also invited, shows up at about the same time as Sly but very quickly, the conversation is taken over by Lucretia “Lucy” Brockhollow, William’s older, eccentric sister who immediately gets into it with Lars about astrology and the occult (she thinks bad stuff is happening because of a curse let loose when Sly’s old rival--a rabbit named Fletcher Cottonbottom who is the son of his former employer--opened an Egyptian tomb). They’re thick as thieves right away because Ally is a nonsense magnet. And not like a regular magnet, one of those big electromagnets. 

Daisy and Buck spot William’s kids--the aforementioned Jez and his older sister Constance--along with their husbands Dr. Corbin Magpie (Constance’s and obv a magpie and a doctor) and Osmond Sheffield (Jez’s who is a Ram and a lawyer). Daisy is too stuck in her conversation with a truly unhinged squirrel (Lady Eugenia Bristlebrush who clearly does not know she’s in a murder mystery because she just keeps talking about how much she hates and wants to kill everyone) to hear what’s going on but she indicates the conversation to Buck who is able to eavesdrop and hear that they’re lamenting that Catherine--the widow--RSVP’d no which is gonna look really bad, like they didn’t invite her (bad PR). 

Buck, introducing himself as a business partner of William, eases into a conversation with the husbands which their respective spouses also join into and we learn that Buck's dad was British and a friend of Willian’s. Buck bonds with Jez (who is a bit of a dilettante) really quickly since Buck is ready to go drinks-wise immediately (and there’s a stellar pun about the “American [Drinking] Constitution''). Through the window, Buck notices Gangie outside getting his attention. 

At the same time, Ian is going from party guest to party guest, giving out the penances he forgot to earlier at church (as one does). We see him talking to the Lord and Lady Bramble (a cow and hedgehog, respectively) and while she wants to pray her way out of situations without doing any legwork, he wants to buy his way out and gives Ian 250 pounds. A frustrating but financially lucrative conversation.  

Buck goes outside to talk to Gangie who has a list of names of the bodies he’s been collecting. We’re not told what Buck is doing but it seems that this list is extremely valuable to him in some way. Gangie (who Buck keeps calling Gangly, to his annoyance) pays him handsomely (like, with a 50% tip) for the list (and Gangie gives him the real list, despite Brennan saying he didn’t have to). We also learn that Gangie has allegedly been getting the orders from someone in Loa Hall and they flow from William himself.

Matilda Molesly (a mole and the head maid) invites Gangie to come in from the rain--she’s the only person who’s been consistently nice to him and he agrees to come in for tea and scones. 

Everyone is ushered together by the butler (because of course there’s a butler--he’s quite literally a fancy rat named Thomas Gilfoyle) and William gives a speech where he wishes Conor well and kinda highlights that he did hire Sly to solve the case in a “Hey, I did my bit don’t blame me” kind of way. He also makes a 150k pound donation to the church (and Ian thought 250 was good) and tells his daughter not to read the praise he got for it from the cardinal when she mentions it (I wonder if that was choreographed). Sly interrupts the speech to “magnanimously” give his money back, to William’s annoyance. Buck notices that Lawrence Longfoot (a nouveau rich, rabbit photographer) takes a pic of the scene but with Sly in the foreground and William in the background. 

Then, a few things happen at once (in a very cinematic way):

As the camera flashes, Mrs. Molesly drops her tray, eyes hurt by the light. Lady Calliope Fawnbrooke (Deer, Matron of the Arts) helps her up.

In the moment of dark, after the flash goes away, the butler disappears. 

Buck thinks he sees a shape through the window, out in the rain. 

A cheer goes up for Sly for returning the money but all Sly can focus on is one figure he recognizes in the back of the room. Daisy, who is downing her drink and not cheering for him. He downs his as well, and looks at her until she breaks the stare and leaves the room. 

And this episode doesn’t end with a dead body like I thought, but with a flashback to a younger Sylvester, 12 years ago when he first met Daisy.

PC INTERPERSONAL DRAMA Y’ALL!!! Get HYPED! 

Case Notes

Here is a compilation of all the characters (PCs and NPCs introduced in this episode). 

Sly mentions that Ignatius Cottonbottom faked his own death as a part of some scheme which seems like a backstory point that might come back later--we now know that there exists a way to convincingly fake your own death in this world. 

Sly walks with a walking stick because of some “mysterious accident” but we’re jumping into a flashback next week so it looks like we might find out about it pretty soon. 

Sly also mentions he used to be the personal physician to the elder Cottonbottom so those are skills he has. I wonder if that’ll be useful to this healer-less party. I wonder if cleric was even an option in this world which seems to be low to no magic. It would explain by Ian is a bad and not a cleric. 

Lars has a military background which I wanted to mention in case it becomes relevant later. 

And Dr. Magpie grew up poor and still acts it a bit even though he married a very rich woman. Brennan uses the very good line, “He forces his body into the shape of an apology”

This might be a really deep cut reference but did anyone else here was the old Britcom “Keeping Up Appearances”? Cause I was getting serious Bouquet/Bucket energy from Daisy. 

This is an all College Humor season and it shows. The energy of 6 (7 if you count Brennan) top notch comedians sparking off of each other, trying to one up each other is off the charts. Some of the best bits this episode:

“When God closes every door but one, you go through the door that is open.” followed by “I’m an owl by the way.”

“Time is money, here’s both” from Buck re his inscribed gold pocket watch--everyone at the table loved that so much and they’re right. 

Armond going from being a third to a fourth wheel. 

And the names--I already shouted out a ton on the main recap but also a rat butler (like Rhett Butler) and naming the mouse Cat(therine). Can’t forget Gangie Green/gangrene from Katie. Also points to Ally for the data stealing Eel Musk which broke Brennan a little. 

I know we just went through this with Crown of Candy but what are these animals eating? Like, in Zootopia there were only mammals so we can assume the carnivores are eating like birds and fish but there are sentient birds here. I know this isn’t important. I’m not trying to do a CinemaSins gotcha. I just wonder, you know?

Y’all were waiting for all the lights to go out during that speech and then come back on and there’d be a body too, right?

If Brennan makes the bad guy a chicken or a duck or something so he can make a “fowl play” joke, he is cordially invited to catch these hands. 

I have been waiting for Raph and Katie to do D20 forever. Their specific brand of nonsense on Rank Room was always amazing. 

I love love love that Grant and Rekha are the PCs that have ~a past~ because they are so funny together. If you haven’t seen their episode of Game Changers, you absolutely must (it’s also a murder mystery actually!). 

[ais-n]

How would have cedrick responded to learning about what vivienne had done to boyd by putting him up for the position at the agency, giving him a promotion, and selling him to cyclone? Would he have been angry, or thought that she was trying to protect him in her own way? How would he have reacted to seeing Boyd after the Aleixo mission, or at the end of fade after his eye was removed, at times where it was really obvious the affect physically and mentally that the lifetsyle had on boyd? Would he chose a side in the Beaulieu's feuds, or would he play both sides to try to make both of his loved ones happy? How would Boyd feel about his reaction? Would Boyd want Cedrick to be mad at Vivienne? What would Boyd want from his father if he came back to life in fade, what kind of relationship would he want?

**ICOS SPOILERS - JUST FYI :)**

I'm putting the whole reply behind a cut because I ended up rambling a bit - also I have a (shittily written and very short) excerpt from Julian Files that feels kind of relevant to this line of questioning, so that's easier to throw behind a cut too.

I'm pretty sure Ced would've been pissed at her for the Cyclone stuff. He would understand her reasons for it, and would know that in her own fucked up way she was kind of trying to help - but he also would have been pissed at her for how much Boyd was hurt in the process. He was very loving/protective of Boyd, and also pretty optimistic/hopeful in general, so he would've thought there surely could have been a safer and less traumatic way to help Boyd in the short run without fucking him up further in the long run.

(As for the rest of the things you mentioned of joining the Agency and the promotion, I don't know for sure but I think he might have understood that stuff more - because there's enough of Viv in Boyd for him to get that sometimes when they shut down emotionally, certain life changes or certain shifts in perspective help them find a reason to open up again, albeit slowly. And even if he wouldn't have wanted Boyd to be in a dangerous situation, he would have wanted Boyd to be as prepared IN that dangerous situation as possible, so at least with a promotion he learned more skills to protect himself and others. Also, Ced wanted to help others, so he would understand at least that part of the job is trying to help in some form, even though it's far from a perfect way of doing so.)

There's actually part of a scene I wrote in Julian Files that I never finished because I don't love how the preceding scenes go, and the scene in question is a direct result of them. But in the general part of that plot, Cedrick was out of town for work and Viv was supposed to be watching Boyd who was like 6 or something at the time. But Viv, being Viv, was being neglectful of him and Ced didn't know. He knew that Viv wasn't the most caring of mothers but they'd had conversations about how to make sure Boyd was safe when Ced wasn't around.

In this particular case, some shit happens with a person who kind of stalked Boyd showing up at the home when Boyd's alone, he and a buddy break in to steal shit, Boyd gets hurt in the process, Viv gets home after the fact, Boyd accidentally breaks pretty much the one thing Viv had from her parents (a horse figurine thing), and she gets pissed and yells at Boyd that she would have preferred to have lost him than to lose this thing. So Boyd runs off to Lou's and stays with him for a bit. At some point days later, Ced is finally able to get home - he tried to come home right away when he learned what happened, but he wasn't able to, so he was freaking out the entire time just beside himself worried about Boyd. He had some basic info and knew Boyd was alive and seemingly okay but was still terrified.

I kind of hate the way this is written, as well as the chapters that precede this, but this might be the only scene I can remember writing so far where it got to explore Cedrick freaking the fuck out worried about Boyd and being upset with Vivienne not protecting him. There were some previous scenes written ages ago but this is the most recent one, and probably would be closest in context to the context you're asking about.

-----------------

UNEDITED SHITTY SCENE EXCERPT:

The door slammed open, making Boyd jump and his heart race. He’d barely turned around when heavy footsteps came at him. His father nearly bowled him over, grabbing him in a tight embrace with shaking hands holding the back of his head and crossing over his shoulders.

“Boyd, Boyd, I heard—They said—Are you okay?”

Boyd could hear and feel his father’s heartbeat crashing around in his chest. He felt instantly safer with the warm and strong hands holding him tightly and, strangely, his father’s rushed and panicked words, barely gaining breath between them.

Heavy kisses rained down all over Boyd’s hair on the top of his head, and his father’s uneven breath gusted out near his temple.

“I couldn’t get back any sooner—I tried, dear God I tried because fuck I was so scared and—shit, no, don’t say those words, they’re bad words, Daddy’s just really worried and—and, Boyd, are you okay? Are you okay? You didn’t tell me yet if you’re—”

Cedrick pushed Boyd out by the shoulders, his eyes intensely focused and scouring every inch he could see of his son. He ran his hands all over Boyd, and when Boyd accidentally winced and shied away from the pain, Cedrick instantly pulled up Boyd’s shirt.

He froze at the sight of the dark bruises and cut on Boyd’s pale skin.

“Viv—Viv—Vivienne!” Cedrick shouted, panicked.

Boyd’s mother came and stood behind his father, her face expressionless and posture straight. But Boyd saw the coldness in her eyes, and tried to pull away from his dad. He couldn’t, though; his dad gripped him carefully but firmly with one hand, the other beginning to shake with the shirt in his hold.

Cedrick twisted around to face Vivienne, his voice rising louder.

“Where the hell were you? You told me you’d be home with him! You told me—”

Vivienne’s stare only became more remote. Cedrick’s hand tightened so hard on Boyd it almost hurt. He let Boyd’s shirt fall back down.

“Don’t even fucking try that look on me. You know I can read you like a fucking book. You promised me, Vivienne, and you… He could have been killed, he could have—What would we have done? What would—what would I have done?”

Vivienne didn’t answer.

“Vivienne! You need to goddamn answer me! Where were you? Why don’t you ever care—”

“She helped!”

Boyd’s outburst made Cedrick snap his attention back to his son. Boyd trembled in his father’s hold, terrified because his parents rarely argued like this and it was his fault, he knew it was his fault because he let them know about Troy. He never should have told anyone. He never should have hurt that horse and he never should have told the police the truth.

It was just like Mr. Cole said. Everything was coming true.

“What?” Boyd’s father sounded a lot less scary when he addressed Boyd. Now he was tense but gentle, just like his hand running along Boyd’s shoulder. “Boyd, it’s okay—”

“She was here,” Boyd insisted. It was a lie but he didn’t care, he made it as convincing as he’d ever done in his life. “She was here but then she had to go get something, and Troy must have been watching and then he came in when she was gone but then she came back and the police got him so it’s okay now. You don’t have to yell. You don’t have to be mad.”

He tried to ignore the way his eyes grew wet with tears, and twisted the hem of his shirt in his hands.

--------

I never finished the scene so that's all I have.

Without writing the actual scenes out you're talking about, I don't know for sure - it always seems like I think characters will do one thing and then they do another unexpectedly. But I'd generally guess it would be something along the above vibe, maybe? Except with Boyd being less timid.

Ced sort of would have been in the middle but he also wouldn't excuse certain things. He would have understood that Viv does some shit because she's fucked up, and he loves her so he understands that her choices are sometimes fucked, but that also doesn't mean he'll excuse it and tell Boyd he has no reason to be upset about things he has every right to be upset about. He probably would have ended up being a little bit of a mediator, but less so in the way of trying to smooth things over and making everyone happy, and probably more so in the way of trying to make sure every side felt heard, but more importantly that they understood if they did shitty actions that they were shitty (in this case, that would be directed toward Vivienne), and that they figure out a way for these things not to happen again, while being realistic about knowing how everyone is.

As for what Boyd would have wanted, he probably wouldn't have wanted Ced to hate Viv - he would have just wanted everything to be figured out in a way where no one had to be hurt, and they could just get along, and he would feel valued. He would have loved to just have any sort of relationship with his dad, but Ced being Ced, the relationship would have been a largely happy/supportive one, with Ced being a doofy loving dad - but also someone who will always stand firm if he thinks Boyd, Vivienne, he himself, anyone, is doing something wrong or etc and needs to be called out on it.

If Ced were there in Fade, I think more than anything, Boyd would have just wanted to be able to go up to him, hug him, and be able to cry in his arms, and feel like it was okay and he wasn't being weak for wanting to break down. He would have just wanted to hear his dad say that Boyd was doing ok, that he was trying hard and that was important, and that he had value as a person and that Ced didn't judge him or hate him or wasn't disappointed in him because of anything Boyd had said or done or etc in his life since Ced left. All of which is what Ced would have wanted to do/say too. Well, and then Ced would have for sure wanted to say how proud he was of Boyd, which I don't know if Boyd would have thought to hope to hear in Fade but idk, maybe he would have hoped for that too.

They probably would've just had fun hanging around at times doing whatever. I could see the two having fun digging into different topics or theories or mysteries or whatnot to figure them out.

Also, Ced would have liked Hsin, and would have accepted him as a son in law, just FYI. He already met Hsin when Hsin was like 14 and tried to help him then, so if it later turned out those two got together, he would've understood. Honestly, Boyd/Hsin have a lot of Ced/Viv vibes in some ways, and Ced would've been able to see that, so he would totally get why Boyd and Hsin love each other so much. Except Boyd/Hsin were more volatile because they eventually actually talked their shit out more than Ced/Viv properly did, or really honestly got a chance to do - so in many ways, Boyd/Hsin's volatility was in part because they were ultimately able to be more brutally honest with themselves and each other.

Hopefully that all makes sense.

[thiswasinevitableid]

sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

--------------------------------------

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

------------------------------------

“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

------------------------------------

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

[tw-anchor]

30. Motel From Hell

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x06; Motel California

Word Count: 8,782

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, attempts and mentions of suicide, blood

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

There was something about the motel that didn't sit right with Olivia. Her skin crawled and her mind itched and she didn't know whether it was the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the stained sheets covering the beds, or the creepy lady at reception that stared at her for a little too long. She hated that out of all the motels and hotels in the area, Glen Capri—aka, motel horrifying—was the one who had the most vacancies and were willing to put up with a cross country team, this obnoxious coach, a bus driver, and three stragglers.

Olivia didn't want to blame this miserable experience on the fact that cross-county was one of the most useless sports...but, let's be honest, it really was. She hated cross-country and now the hatred was worse since they were stuck in the middle of nowhere piled into small, smelly rooms like sardines.

She sighed heavily and plopped her leather satchel on the bed closest to the window. Allison was stronger and more skilled at protecting herself so if someone broke into their room, at least she'd be able to protect them.

"At least the beds don't look bad," she tried to be optimistic. By the tone of her voice and the look Allison gave her, she had failed. "Lydia, is the right side all right for you?" her cousin didn't reply and when Olivia turned to her, she saw that she was still standing by the locked door. "Lydia?"

Lydia grimaced, her eyes slowly looking around their room. "I don't like this place."

Allison laughed lightly. "I don't think the people who own this place like this place," she tried to cheer her up. "It's just for a night."

Lydia didn't look amused. "A lot can happen in one night."

Well, that was true and it had happened to them a lot of times—like three weeks before when Boyd and Cora were out of control, Lydia randomly discovered a dead body, and Stiles figured out that someone was sacrificing people all in one night. Olivia shared Lydia's hesitance the more time she spent in the motel. The crawling on her skin had turned into more of a tingle and her mind was buzzing, differently than her normal abilities.

Despite her own worry, she needed to comfort Lydia. She walked over to the door and wrapped an arm around her cousin, hoping to calm her down some. If she kept on fretting, she wouldn't get any sleep and like Olivia, Lydia was a monster if she didn't get her beauty rest.

"Let's watch TV," she suggested, slowly leading Lydia to their bed and picking up the remote where it laid on the nightstand in between the beds in order to turn the television on. "What do you want to watch?"

"I'm fine with anything," Allison shrugged as she set her bag down on her bed and pulled out a change of clothing. "I'm gonna take a shower."

Olivia wished that she had the thought to bring a change of clothes—she was stuck in a maroon shirt with Stiles' number on the front, a leather jacket, and a black skirt—but how could she have known? Still, she wished that she was getting comfortable in some pajamas like Allison was.

Allison wandered into the bathroom while Olivia and Lydia settled on watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians (Lydia was obsessed and Olivia was known to get into it from time to time). They could hear the shower turn on, but only seconds later, the door opened and Allison's head popped out.

"Hey, can you guys get new towels?" she asked. "These smell like smoke."

"Sure," Lydia was quick to jump to her feet and make her way over to the bathroom, taking the towels that Allison offered. "We'll be right back. Come on, Liv."

Olivia glanced at the television, where Kim and Khloe were having drama, and sighed reluctantly. She got to her feet and grabbed the key for their room before exiting and locking the door behind them.

"Liv," Lydia spoke up as they made their way down the set of stairs to the parking lot. "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are you feeling something?" she asked hesitantly. "Like, you know, when you know when one of us are in danger?"

Olivia gave her a surprised look. "A little but it might be because this place creeps me out," she confessed. "Why? Are you okay?"

"I have a feeling too," Lydia admitted. "Remember when you told me that you just get these whispers out of the blue and they tell you things?"

"Yeah," Olivia recalled the conversation that she and Lydia had once she studied up on what she was and what she could do in both the Argent and the Hale bestiaries. "You're experiencing that?"

Lydia nodded.

What did that mean? Was Lydia like her but without the werewolf connection? She supposed that made sense—they were related, after all. Maybe Olivia's mom inherited something from her family and then she and Thomas passed it down to her and Lydia. It wasn't a far-off theory.

"All right," Olivia sighed; she didn't want this for Lydia. The experience she had with her abilities were exhausting; she constantly had headaches, her ears always hurt, she blacked out sometimes, and she had voices in her head that would make her look crazy if anyone other than the people who knew about the supernatural world found out. "Just don't panic, okay? I'll help you and we'll figure it out."

"Okay," the vulnerable look on Lydia's face broke her heart.

Her cousin had always been the strong one; from the moment Olivia was born to the present, Lydia had been protective over her and made sure to stay strong. Before Olivia and Stiles started dating, she and Lydia were really only vulnerable around each other and they didn't let other people see how they felt on the inside. Still, every time Lydia was sad, Olivia was sad with her and both of them hated when they couldn't cheer each other up.

Right now was one of those times. It didn't feel good to see someone you loved scared of something that they couldn't control.

They were quiet for a moment and soon they entered the main office where they had rented a room from the creepy receptionist.

Lydia plopped the towels on the little ledge next to the glass that separated the lobby from the desk. "Excuse me?" she called through the tiny circle that customers were supposed to talk through. "The card on the dresser said that we have non-smoking room but somehow all of our towels reek of nicotine."

The creepy receptionist turned around with a pleasant smile on her face. "Sorry about that, sweetheart."

"It's fine," Olivia said quickly when Lydia was taken aback by the breathing technology that helped the woman breathe after years of smoking. "If we could get some more towels, though, that would be great."

"Sure thing," the woman poked her hands through the long rectangular hole at the bottom of the glass by the ledge and grabbed the towels.

"What's that?" Lydia asked before the woman could turn around, her eyes on a framed number on the wall behind the receptionist. "The number?"

"It's a kind of inside thing for the motel," the woman told them. "My husband insists on keeping it up."

Olivia furrowed her eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's a little bit morbid, to be honest. You girls sure you want to know?"

She was clearly baiting them but they rose to the challenge.

"Tell us," Lydia insisted.

The woman looked pleased that she was going to be able to tell this supposed inside story. "We're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction—"

"Obvious," Lydia muttered under her breath, allowing only Olivia to hear it; the younger Martin smiled slightly in response.

"—but we are number one in California when it comes to one disturbing little detail," the woman continued. "Since opening, more than any other motel in California, we have the most guest suicides."

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes darted to the framed number. One hundred and ninety-eight suicides in one motel didn't seem like much. It was actually an average number per year (almost five) depending on when the motel opened in the first place.

"One hundred and ninety-eight?" Lydia was more disturbed than Olivia was.

The woman nodded. "And counting."

-

-

"All right, so I have four," Stiles declared as he plopped onto his selected bed, the mattress only bouncing once or twice.

From the bed near the door and in the same position as Stiles, Scott looked over at him. "Four?" he asked, shocked. "You have four suspects?"

"Yeah, it was originally ten," Stiles admitted. "Well, nine technically, I guess. I had Derek on there two times."

"So, who's your number one? Harris?"

"Just because he's missing doesn't mean he's dead," Stiles confirmed.

"So, if he's not dead, our chemistry teacher is out secretly committing human sacrifices?"

Stiles paused and looked over at him. "Yeah, I guess that just sounded way better in my head."

"Well, what if it's somebody else from school?" Scott mused. "You remember Matt? We didn't know that he was killing people."

Stiles lifted his head to look at his best friend in disbelief. "Excuse me?" he scrambled to his feet, determined to remind Scott that, yes, he did think it was Matt and he had told Scott that it was but he didn't believe him. "I'm sorry, what? Yes, we did. I called that from day one, actually."

"Yeah, but we never seriously thought that it was Matt," Scott sat up and raised his eyebrows at Stiles.

"I was serious," Stiles insisted. "I was quite serious, actually. Deadly seriously. No one listened to me."

Scott didn't bother to say anything more on the Matt subject and Stiles was glad. He didn't want to get into a whole debate that ended up with him losing his temper and Scott placating him.

"Who were the other three?"

"Derek's sister, Cora," Stiles told him. "No one knows anything about her and she's Derek's sister."

"And Liv's cousin," Scott pointed out. "and you had sex with her."

"Yes, I know I had sex with her, could you stop bringing that up?" Stiles hissed at him. "God."

Scott smirked at him, amused.

"Next, your boss," Stiles moved on.

"My boss?"

"Yeah, your boss," he repeated. "I don't really like the whole Obi-Wan thing he's got going on, you know. It freaks me out."

Scott stared at him blankly and suddenly Stiles was craving Olivia's presence because she would know exactly what he was talking about. But, then again, she would probably disagree with him because she trusted Deaton as he had been the Hale pack's adversary before most of them died.

"I can't believe you still haven't seen Star Wars," Stiles complained.

"I swear, if we make it back alive, I will watch the movie," Scott promised.

"Scott, there's six movies!" Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet in frustration. "The originals and the prequels!"

"All right, I'll watch them all," Scott shook his head. "Okay, who was the last one?"

Stiles sighed heavily, his mood darkening. "Lydia," he said quickly as he sat back on his bed; it didn't exactly bring him pleasure to accuse one of his friends of sacrificing people behind her back. "She was totally controlled by Peter and she had no idea, so..."

Scott's face fell in realization as he thought about what Stiles said. Both of them exhaling deeply, they fell back on the bed once again and stared silently at the ceiling.

-

-

"Are you sure you're all right?" Olivia quietly asked into her phone as she paced up and down the pathway outside of the room she shared with Allison and Lydia. "Because I can feel you and I know you're in pain."

"I'm healing," Derek's voice was coming out in pained gasps. "I have someone helping me."

"Who?" she furrowed her eyebrows. "Is Cora even at the loft?"

"No, she's not," he told her. "You remember that teacher on the night of the full moon?"

Olivia paused for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant, and then cringed. "You have my English teacher at the loft?" she hissed. "I thought you said she didn't know, Derek."

"Yeah, well, she does," her cousin let out a grunt and then a hiss. "and she's helping me. Where are you, anyway?"

"Some gross motel, it's not important," Olivia said quickly. "Look, Cora told me that Ennis died. Do you know what that means for you?"

"That I have to join their pack or they kill me," Derek seemed to calm about the threat on his and his betas lives. "I'll figure it out. I have to go, Ollie."

"Wait, wait—" the dial toned; she groaned and locked her phone. "Dickhead."

She huffed, composing herself, and went to go back into the room when she a sharp but quick pain flashed through her head. She pressed her fingers to her temples and inhaled deeply as faint whispers started. The warnings were unintelligible; something was happening but it wasn't focused enough that she could figure out what it was.

The whispers died down only slightly as she entered the motel room. Allison was out of the shower and dressed, drying her hair with a clean towel that did not smell like smoke, as Lydia explained what they had discovered at the reception desk.

"One hundred and ninety-eight?" Allison repeated, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Yeah, and we're talking forty years," Lydia stressed and did a quick calculation in her head. "On average that's 4.95 a year..."

"Which is perfectly average," Olivia finished for her as she sat down next to her.

"Well, still," Lydia huffed. "who commemorates that with a framed number? Who does that? Who?"

"All suicides?" Allison checked.

"Mmhm," Lydia nodded, distressed. "Hanging, throat-cutting, pill-popping, both-barrels-of-a-shotgun-in-the-mouth suicides. I don't know about you, but me, I—"

Lydia abruptly stopped talking, her head cocking toward the wall on her right side. Olivia watched her curiously, wondering why she had paused.

"Did you hear that?"

Olivia didn't hear anything, other than the faint buzzing in the background of her head. One look at Allison told her that she didn't hear anything, either.

"Hear what, Lyds?" she asked, concerned.

Lydia didn't answer; she turned her head back toward the wall, a horrified expression covering her face. She slowly stood up and as if she was in a trance, stepped onto the bed, shoes and all. She got as close to the wall as she could, maintaining her balance with a hand on the headboard, and eyed the vent at the top.

"Lydia?"

Shuddering gasps started making their way out of Lydia's mouth as tears slipped from her eyes. Olivia's hand shot up to her head, where she was now hearing her own warnings. Warnings about Lydia and what she was going through.

Lydia, Lydia, Lydia. She can hear them. Both of them. They did it together and she can hear them. Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God," Lydia whimpered as she continued to hear whatever it was that Olivia and Allison couldn't.

Having gotten to her feet, Olivia reached for her cousin's hand. Just as her skin touched Lydia's, two gunshots echoed through her head, causing her to flinch back and screech slightly. The noise she made harmonized with the strangled gasp that came from Lydia.

"What is it?" Allison hovered anxiously behind them, grabbing Lydia's other hand to help her down. "Guys?"

Lydia whipped around to face Olivia, eyes wet. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I heard the ending of it," Olivia told her cousin, both of them ignoring Allison for the moment. "When I touched your hand, I heard it."

"Guys!" Allison exclaimed, getting their attention; when the both of them looked at her, she repeated her question. "What did you hear?"

"The two people in the next room, they shot each other," Lydia told her before tearing over to the door and ripping it open so she could leave the room.

Olivia and Allison immediately followed after her. The room to their right, number 216, where Lydia and Olivia heard the shots come from looked normal from the outside. But the door was unlocked and when Lydia pushed it open, the whole room was shrouded in darkness. Olivia flipped the light switch to turn on the light but the light bulb must have been worn out.

Lydia started walking into the room and Olivia followed after her, much to Allison's protest, turning on the flashlight from her phone in order to find some kind of light.

"Hello?" Lydia called.

Thanks to the small light from her phone, Olivia located a lamp. She switched it on and when the light flooded the room, they saw that it was in total construction. There was no one there; there were no guns, no blood, and certainly no bodies.

Lydia blinked in confusion, more tears falling down her cheeks, as she walked toward the middle of the room. "It had to be right here," her voice trembled. "It was a guy and a girl and, I mean, they sounded younger but—but they were here."

"I know," Olivia assured her, grabbing her hand and clasping it tightly in her grip. "We believe you."

Allison nodded in agreement. "After everything we've been through, we believe you."

They ended up back in their room only moments later. Lydia rushed around the room, collecting their belongings—in her case, it was just a tube of lip balm and a small bottle of perfume—while Olivia sat on the end of their bed, lost in her thoughts, and Allison paced by the window.

"You know, there is something seriously wrong with this place," Lydia hummed. "Guys, we need to leave."

"But they were suicides, not murders," Allison tried to be the voice of reason. "and it's not like this place is haunted, right?"

"Maybe it is," Lydia shrugged helplessly. "You know, I bet that couple made their suicide pact in that very room. Maybe that's why they're renovating. Maybe they've been scraping brain matter off the wood paneling."

"Maybe we should find out," Allison offered.

The three of them went down to the main office but when they got there, the receptionist was gone and a sign told them that she'd be back by the morning.

Lydia sighed in frustration. "Well, there goes that."

Allison's eyes were glued on the sign on the back wall. "Didn't you guys say that the sign said one-ninety-eight?"

Olivia and Lydia looked over at the sign. 201.

"It was one-ninety-eight," Lydia insisted. "I swear to God it was."

Out of nowhere, Olivia heard the crumbling noise of ice cubes falling over another. She looked back at Lydia and Allison to see if they heard what she did but they were looking at each other; their mouths were moving but no sound was coming out. She couldn't hear their conversation.

The noise sounded again; she turned her head to the office door and silently walked over to it. Her mouth moved mechanically and she said something to Allison and Lydia but she couldn't hear what it was. She couldn't hear anything but the crushing of ice—and then, there was a single whisper:

Alicia...?

She walked out of the office and let the feeling inside of her of head guide her wherever it was supposed to take her. She was only a few feet away from the ice machine, where ice was scattered all over the concrete, a bucket laid on its side, when more noise crowded her head.

There were fists banging on some sort of metal and there were whimpers of fear and cries of desperation.

Dad...!

She walked away from the ice machine and toward one side of the motel, passing many rooms on the ground floor. When she got to the nearest staircase, she climbed the steps and reached the second floor when more sounds attacked her.

This time it was the slicing of claws against delicate skin, a cry of pain, gurgling blood, a dial tone, and mournful cries.

Mom...!

A horrible ache shot through Olivia's head, so painful that it had her crumbling to her knees. Her eyesight went from normal to purple to a blinding white within two seconds. She crawled blindly toward the wall of the stairwell and gripped her head in her hands, clenching her teeth so tightly together as waves and waves of disconnected voices washed over her.

Alicia? Dad! Mom! He's healing, she's healing him. Alicia? Dad! Mom! Derek? Derek? Derek? Scott, Scott, Scott. Isaac, Isaac, Isaac. Boyd, Boyd, Boyd. He's in danger, they're all in danger!

Olivia, Olivia, Olivia...OLIVIA!

-

-

"Last time I saw Scott act like that was during the full moon," Allison told Stiles and Lydia, finishing up her story of how Scott had come into the bathroom while she was showering and acted like a creep.

Stiles stood in the girls' room, his arms folded over his chest as he thought about what Allison had said. He witnessed Scott gazing out the window, which was weird, but his encounter with Boyd was more worrisome.

"Yeah, I know, he was definitely a little off with me too," he agreed. "but, actually, it was Boyd who was really off. I watched him put his fist through the vending machine."

What worried him more than Scott and Boyd put together, though, was Olivia. Lydia and Allison had called him, both of them upset, and told him that Olivia was acting weird and that she all of a sudden disappeared and that they couldn't find her. He had immediately met them at the main office and they did a quick sweep of the ground floor where she had wandered off but there was still no sign of her.

He was going out of his fucking mind with worry and fear but he had to be strong right now and keep a level head. Lydia was scared out of her mind and Allison couldn't figure this out by herself. Scott wasn't an option and Olivia was somewhere more than likely having one of her episodes, so it was down to him.

"See, it is the motel," Lydia said, her voice a little shrill. "Either we need to find Liv and get out of here right now or..." she stomped to the table between the beds and grabbed the nondescript bible in the drawer, showing it to them. "someone needs to learn how to do an exorcism ASAP before the werewolves go crazy and kill us."

"Okay, just hold on, all right?" Stiles gestured at her to take a breath as his mind raced with theories of what could be going on. "What if it's not just the motel? The number in the office went up by three, right?"

Allison understood his train of thought. "You mean like three sacrifices?"

Stiles nodded. "What if this time it's three werewolves?"

"Scott, Isaac, and Boyd," Allison mused. "and that's why Liv is freaking out. She's experiencing whatever they're going through."

"I think we were meant to come here," Stiles declared.

"Exactly!" Lydia pointed at him. "So can we get the fuck out of here now?"

Stiles glanced at her but a paper sticking out of the bible she still held in her hand caught his attention. "Wait, hang on," he took the bible from her. "Let me see this."

He flipped through the many pages and came to a stop when he located the paper. It was an old newspaper clipping about a suicide that had happened in the very room where they were.

"What is that?"

"Twenty-eight-year-old hangs himself at the infamous Glen Capri," he read aloud and handed the paper to Allison before going through the rest of the bible.

He pulled out four more clippings and tossed them on the bed. Lydia picked two of them up and quickly read through both of them.

"Oh, no, look at these two," Lydia handed them to Allison and Stiles. "They both mention room 217. These are probably all the suicides that happened in this room."

"So, if every room has a bible..." Allison trailed off thoughtfully.

"There could be articles in all the rooms," Lydia finished for her.

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "That's a beautiful thing," he mumbled cynically. "Most places leave a mint under the pillow. This one leaves a record of all the horrible deaths that occurred."

"What if the room next door has the one about the couple?" Lydia wondered.

The three of them shared a look and then, all at once, they ran out of the room and to the one being renovated next door. Stiles tried to turn the doorknob but it wouldn't budge; he grabbed it with two hands and shook it furiously, trying to get the door opened.

"No, that was not locked before!" Lydia exclaimed.

"Forget it," Allison said urgently. "We need to find Liv and get Scott, Isaac, and Boyd out of here."

Stiles agreed with that plan; he let go of the doorknob and pushed past the girls to run to the stairs, only to stop when he heard a loud mechanical buzzing.

He turned back to the girls just as Lydia asked, "I'm not the only one who heard that, am I?"

Allison shook her head. "It sounds like someone turned the handsaw on."

Stiles jumped back over to them. "Handsaw?" he repeated in disbelief as he started throwing himself at the door. To say that it was difficult was an understatement. "Jesus-fucking-Christ!"

Finally, after a couple more pushes, the door flew open. At the other end of the room, Ethan stood with a running saw in his hands. He slowly and deliberately went to press the saw's running blade to his stomach.

"Hey, no, Ethan, don't!" Stiles shouted.

He lunged forward and didn't spare a second to think as he grabbed the other side of the handle. He pulled with all of his might as Ethan fought him for control of the power tool. Ethan was obviously stronger—alpha werewolf, remember? —so the fight wasn't evenly matched. When Stiles let go of it in order not to get himself disemboweled and kicked Ethan's leg at the same time, the saw dropped to the ground. His action of pulling himself away from the alpha sent him to the ground, right in the direction of the saw.

His life flashed in front of his eyes but death didn't come, thankfully. Lydia had pulled the saw's plug from the outlet just in time and the saw came to a complete stop when Stiles caught himself only two or three inches away from the blade.

Allison grabbed him and pulled him away from the saw but he didn't get time to have a second of relief. Ethan flicked out his claws and brought them to his stomach like he did the saw; Stiles and Allison rushed to him and each grabbed one of his arms, using all of their strength to keep him from killing himself.

Ethan fought them once again and pushed past them, only to fall on the small space heater only a few feet away. His skin audibly singed and he grunted in pain as he fell to the floor. The pain seemed to take him out of whatever trance he was in. He quickly rolled to his feet and glowered at Stiles, Allison, and Lydia.

"What just happened?"

They didn't have time to answer him before he was running out of the room.

"Ethan!" Stiles, Lydia, and Allison ran after him, going down the stairs two at a time to keep up with him. "Hey, what happened back there?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Ethan snapped at him while trying to do up the buttons on his shirt. "I don't know how I got there or what I was doing."

"Okay, you could be a little bit more helpful, you know," Stiles snarked back at him. "We did just save your life."

"And you probably shouldn't have!"

Stiles turned away from the alpha as he stomped back to his room and faced Lydia and Allison.

"What do we do now?" Lydia asked.

"I'll find Scott and Liv," Allison volunteered. "You guys grab Isaac and Boyd. The best thing we can do is get them out of this place."

Stiles grimaced as Allison turned away from them and climbed the stairs back to the second level. He didn't know what to do; Olivia was missing, the werewolves were freaking out, and Lydia just happened to be hearing things at the same time? It was a little too much of a coincidence...

Lydia caught the look on his face. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, no, I—" he scrambled to make an excuse but Lydia called him on his bullshit.

"Stiles."

Stiles sighed and gave in. "All right, Lydia, I didn't want to say anything but this—everything we're going through," he winced and just bit the bullet. "we've kind of been through something like this before. A lot of like this."

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked, confused. "When?"

"Your birthday party, the night you poisoned everyone with wolfsbane."

Lydia scoffed, offended, and turned to stalk away from him.

"Lydia, I'm sorry, okay," Stiles chased after her; he hadn't wanted to offend her but he had a reason to be worried. And, no offense to her, but they didn't have time for her to have a tantrum; Scott, Isaac, and Boyd were doing whatever they could to hurt themselves and Olivia was still missing. "I didn't mean that you're trying to kill people. I just meant that maybe you're somehow involved in getting people to kill themselves, which doesn't really sound much better now that I've said it out loud."

He hadn't even noticed that Lydia had stopped walking. He would have passed her by if she hadn't grabbed his arm and asked, "Stiles, do you hear that?"

"What?" he said hurriedly. "What did you hear?"

Lydia glanced at the ice machine only a few feet away from them and then back toward the motel. "I hear Liv. I hear her."

"What?"

But she was already running toward the nearest staircase. Stiles' heart raced anxiously as he followed her, quickly climbing the stairs to the second floor. He almost ran into her as she came to an abrupt stop but managed to stop himself.

That was when he heard Olivia. Desperate whispers and soft pleads were spoken with her hoarse voice. They followed the sounds she made to an incave where vending machine was placed. She was there, sitting against it with knees to her chest and her forehead resting on them. There was blood slowly dripping down her legs and it made the air leave his chest in one whoosh.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He cursed himself as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Olivia? It's me," he said softly, placing his hands on her legs, just under her kneecaps; her legs were freezing. She didn't react but kept on whispering under her breath; there were too many words for him to understand what she was saying. "Livvy. Baby, please look at me."

With no reaction, he carefully grabbed her chin and gently lifted her head. Her irises were deep purple and the whites around them were bloodshot. She was staring in his direction now but she wasn't looking at him and the blood he had seen on her legs had to be from her nose, which was still dripping. It was the worst he had ever seen her during one of her episodes. It had to be because she was feeling Scott, Isaac, and Boyd at one time.

"Olivia," he tried to get her attention as Lydia hovered nervously behind him. "Livvy, come on. It's Stiles. I'm right here. Come on, baby."

One second, Lydia was pushing him away from Olivia and the next, she was slapping her cousin in the face.

"What the fuck, Lydia?" he glared at her.

"She was out of it," Lydia gave Olivia most of her attention as she blinked rapidly and slowly pressed a hand against her stinging cheek. "Look, it worked."

"What the hell did you do that for?" Olivia groaned.

"You were having one of your episodes," Lydia told her gently, her voice a sharp contrast to how she was talking to Stiles earlier—granted, he did kind of blame her for what was going on. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," Olivia answered with a wince; Stiles helped her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her, taking on most of her weight. "My head's killing me. What's going on?"

Stiles and Lydia gave her a quick run-down on what had happened since she disappeared out of nowhere. The number on the sign had gone up by three, they figured that the number meant there would be three more sacrifices, the werewolves were freaking out—and so was she—and they had stopped Ethan from killing himself.

Toward the end of Olivia's catch-up, Stiles was the only one speaking. Olivia wasn't paying attention, her eyes blinking back to purple, as Lydia stared off in the distance.

"Hello? Are you guys even listening to me?"

"Someone's drowning!" Lydia declared as she snapped out of wherever she had gone to.

"It's Boyd," Olivia quickly followed up.

The three of them took off down the hallway and to Boyd and Isaac's room. The door wasn't even shut all the way, which allowed them to keep their speed all the way to the bathroom. All that Olivia could hear as she weakly fell to her knees at the head of the tub was the pounding of her heart and Boyd's name.

Boyd was completely underwater, with the room's safe keeping him still. While Olivia pressed her hands to Boyd's head, trying to get him to react, to do something in order to save his life, Stiles prodded around the drain.

"He blocked it," Stiles' voice sounded as panicked as she felt. "He blocked the drain with something. I can't get to it."

"What do we do?" Lydia asked quickly.

Olivia didn't bother answering Lydia, Stiles had that under control. She focused the rest of her energy on worming herself into Boyd's head to get ahold of him and keeping out the whispers that told her that Isaac and Scott were in trouble, too. It was hard to do both; Boyd's mind was impenetrable, which was odd. She usually only had a little difficulty getting into her pack mates' heads and Boyd was no exception. He wasn't keeping her out, someone else was.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Stiles and Lydia straining to get the heavy safe off of Boyd's chest. Unfortunately, it was too heavy and even when she joined in with the lifting, they were unable to do it.

"Is he dead?"

"He's not dead but he's going to be," Olivia told Lydia quickly, her voice panicked and her eyes stinging. She turned to Stiles, who was trying to lift the safe by himself at that point, and asked, "How long can a werewolf stay underwater?"

"You think I know that?" his voice trembled under the force he was using.

He finally let go of the safe and got to his feet, backing away from the tub. Olivia didn't question his odd action and took his place, her knees slipping in the water that slopped from the tub. Lydia joined her and they both continued to try to pry the safe off of Boyd.

"Ah!" Stiles hissed in the background, catching Olivia and Lydia's attention. He had burnt his arm on the wall heater. "Wait a sec," he said thoughtfully and turned to Lydia, who had been there for Ethan's breakdown. "The heater, Ethan came out of it when he touched the heater?"

Olivia gave them a look of frustration; what did Ethan touching a heater have to do with Boyd? "What?"

"It's heat, heat, fire," Stiles gestured wildly as he tried to get Olivia to understand. "Heat does it, all right? We need something...We need fire."

"He's underwater!"

Stiles glared at Lydia. "Yeah, I'm aware of that."

Despite being confused only seconds earlier, Olivia was all caught up. Knowing that Boyd depended on them to keep him alive when he couldn't, she couldn't be slowed down by confusion.

And she wasn't anymore. As soon as Stiles had said that they needed fire to knock Boyd out of whatever mess he was in, her mind had started to race. There were only a couple of things that could make fire underwater and flares were one of them.

"Run to the bus," Olivia urged Stiles, who quickly gave her his attention. "The bus will have emergency road flares. They have their own oxidizers. They can burn underwater."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, go!"

Olivia turned back to the tub as Stiles left the room and took another shot at trying to get inside Boyd's mind. Pressing her hands against both of his temples, she closed her eyes and began focusing, repeated his name over and over again in her head. From the sheer force of her will and all of the strength in her, she slowly began to feel the wall keeping her out of his head starting to crack.

Come on, Boyd, let me in...Boyd, I'm here...It's Liv...Let me in so I can help you...She was almost there...a little bit more...

A gasp flew out of her mouth as she was mentally propelled back from Boyd's mind. She opened her eyes, totally worn out, and wiped away the blood from her top lip.

Why did that happen? It wasn't supposed to happen!

"Liv!" Lydia called from the bedroom, catching her attention. "Isaac's freaking out under the bed."

Olivia rested her forehead against the lip of the tub, inhaling deeply.

"I know," she said wearily; out of the two werewolves in the room going through something, it was Isaac that was doing better. Yes, he was hidden under the bed—she knew the moment she walked into the room—and he was terrified, which broke her heart, but he wasn't suicidal. Boyd was the priority at the moment.

This whole thing terrified her. She was the pack's anchor, she was supposed to keep them from trouble, and here were her two friends, out of their minds with whatever was happening to them. She couldn't get through to Boyd and she could feel him slipping away from the bond that she had with the pack...and she was alone. Derek wasn't here to help her and it wasn't his fault but...she still felt alone.

She wasn't alone, though, not really.

Stiles burst back into the motel room and rushed to the bathroom, with two emergency flares in his hands. "I got them," he quickly told Olivia as he dropped down next to her; Lydia hovered nervously behind them. "What do I do? How do I do this?"

"Strike it against the cap, like a match," Olivia advised him. Stiles rapidly took off the cap and struck the flare against it, over and over again; it wasn't catching and Olivia was beginning to panic. Boyd, Boyd, Boyd... "Stiles!"

"Yeah, I'm trying."

With one last strike, the flare lit up, bathing the room with a red glow. Stiles huffed in satisfaction and stuck the flare into the water of the tub, pressing it firmly against Boyd's arm. Having enough forethought, he grabbed Olivia and heaved them both to their feet, jumping away as Boyd reared forward with a roar and the huge safe dropped to the floor right where they were sitting.

Olivia gasped in relief and burrowed her forehead into Stiles shoulder, taking deep breaths. She almost lost Boyd. He was her pack and she almost lost him...Her pack...Isaac...

Compared to Boyd, Isaac was easy to bring from the brink of the Darach's hold over him. Stiles got him with the flare—which Olivia suspected he liked a little too much—and they quickly explained everything that they thought was going on. Now, that Isaac and Boyd were safe and their names were no longer in Olivia's head, it was just Scott.

They set out of Isaac and Boyd's room and made their way back to the girls' room. Allison was there waiting for them, without Scott by her side.

"I can't find Scott anywhere," Allison told Olivia, Stiles, and Lydia as the four of them rushed down to the ground level in order to continue their search for Scott.

"It's happening to him too, isn't it?" Stiles directed his question to Olivia.

She nodded; Scott was the only pack member left who was in danger at the moment. But it didn't matter if he was the only one, his name was loud in her head. Scott, Scott, Scott... "It is," she confirmed. "Was there another flare on the bus?"

"Yeah, there was," Stiles reached the end of the stairs, Olivia, Lydia, and Allison following his lead. "I'll get it—"

Stiles stopped speaking as the four of them came to an abrupt stop, shocked at the scene in front of them. Scott was standing in the middle of the parking lot, soaked head to toe with gasoline (the extra gas can from the bus was emptied at his feet), and a lit flare in his hand. He didn't move at all, his head bowed toward the pavement beneath his feet, as they approached him quietly, nervously.

Olivia glanced at Stiles and when she saw the stricken look on his face, gripped his hand tightly. Taking a deep breath, she spoke up, hoping that she could get through to Scott, "Scott? Scott."

Scott lifted his head, looking at his friends with sad, yet faraway eyes. "There's no hope."

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek at the sheer pain in Scott's voice, her heart breaking a little. Sure, her and Scott weren't the best of friends, but they were still friends. Even if they weren't, this whole situation would still be heart-breaking and mind-boggling. She hadn't experienced hopelessness before, where she couldn't see a way out other than death, but she knew that it was a tough spot to be in and she was fully sympathetic. She didn't want to see Scott end his life, not just for his sake, but for the people who loved and cared about him.

"What do you mean, Scott?" Allison shook her head, eyes wet. "There's always hope."

"Not for me. Not for Derek."

Olivia just wished that Scott would listen to her for once so that he wasn't in danger. Derek was not dead and even if he was, Scott would not be at fault. He didn't need to carry around any guilt for something that didn't even happen. Olivia knew that arguing wasn't the best thing to do at the moment, though. She needed to be supportive and kind and she would do that because Scott was her friend and her pack.

"Derek wasn't your fault," she said sternly, trying to reach some part of his mind. "What happened to Derek was not your fault, Scott."

"Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse," Scott said. "People keep getting hurt. People keep getting killed."

Stiles squeezed Olivia's hand. "Scott, listen to me, okay?" he addressed his friend, his voice cracking with sadness. "This isn't you, all right? This is someone inside your head telling you to do this, okay? Now—"

"What if it isn't?" Scott cut him off. "What if it is just me? What if doing this is actually the best thing that I could do for everyone else?"

Tears started to sting Olivia's eyes; she couldn't feel Scott's emotions with her abilities but she didn't need to. She could see them on his face and in his body language, she could hear in his voice...She had never claimed to be an empathetic person but this was different. Scott couldn't do this; didn't he know how important he was to everyone?

Scott, listen to me, she pleaded mentally, trying to get past the defensive wall that the darach put in his head. Listen to Stiles. This isn't you. You don't want to do this. You mean too much to the people you love. You are not a screw up.

"It all started that night," Scott looked into Stiles' eyes as he went on, showing no evidence that he was hearing Olivia's pleads in his head. "the night I got bitten. You remember the way it was before that? You and me, we were—we were nothing. We weren't popular, we weren't good at lacrosse. We weren't important..."

You are important, Scott. You are something. Please, please just listen to me.

"We were no one," Scott finished, his voice trembling. "Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all."

He lifted the flare higher, intending to release it. Please, Scott, don't do this. Scott...Scott...Scott...Please.

Olivia looked over at Stiles as he released the tight grip he had on her hand. He had tears in his eyes as he stepped toward his best friend. "Scott, just listen to me, okay? You're not on one, okay?" he said firmly, coming to a stop only a step away from Scott. "You're someone. You're...Scott, you're my best friend, okay?"

Scott stared at Stiles, tears now running down his cheeks as he sobbed quietly. Combined with Olivia's repeated efforts in getting into Scott's head, Stiles words seemed to be working. It was touching that Stiles and Scott has such a close friendship. They were family as much as Olivia and Lydia were, even if they weren't blood related.

"...and I need you. Scott, you're my brother, all right?" Olivia bit back a gasp as Stiles stepped into the gasoline puddle and reached for the flare in Scott's hand. "So...so, if you're gonna do this, then I think you're just gonna have to take me with you, all right?"

Scott, please don't do this...You need to save yourself and Stiles right now, all right? You need to take control and you need to live. Please, you and Stiles have to live. SCOTT!

Scott's grip on the flare loosened, allowing Stiles to take it from him. Olivia, Lydia, and Allison didn't have time to take a breath of relief as he threw it a few feet away; the wind blew—too much to be a coincidence—and the flare started rolling right back to the puddle of gasoline.

"NO!" Olivia and Lydia screamed together.

The Martin cousins threw themselves at the boys, knocking them out of the puddle and onto the dry concrete. As soon as they hit the ground, the flare hit the gasoline and blew up, an explosion of flame going higher than the top of the bus.

Olivia buried her head into the back of Stiles' shoulder and let out a deep sigh of pure relief. They're okay, she reminded herself as she reached over and patted Scott on the back, hoping to give him more relief. They're okay. We're all okay.

-

Stiles was a lanky guy. Sure, he had muscles—very delicious muscles, thank you—but he was still tall and skinny. Olivia had fallen asleep on his shoulders many a times and it was always uncomfortable because his shoulder dug into the side of her face painfully. But this, right now, with his arm around her, head leaned back on their seat, both of them draped in Stiles' wonderful-smelling sweatshirt, it was heaven.

Of course, his should was digging into her face again but she felt safe. After the night that everyone had, safe was important. Safe was nice. Safe was comforting.

She furrowed her eyebrows when she heard the slight noise of the bus door opening. Still asleep, it didn't bother her much. It was the loud blaring of Coach's whistle that made her want to throw the man off of the bus and run him over.

"I don't want to know," Coach said loudly as she, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, and Boyd startled awake. "I really don't want to know but in case you missed the announcement, the meet's cancelled, so we're headed home."

"Cross-country is overrated, anyway," Olivia sighed sleepily, a smile growing on her face as Stiles pressed a messy kiss to her forehead as a good morning.

"Shh...go back to sleep," he rubbed her bare arm slowly; he loved her and all but Olivia was a massive grump when she didn't get enough sleep.

Olivia closed her eyes and tried to follow Stiles' advice but then Coach opened his big mouth again and all urge to fall asleep went right out the window.

"Pack it in, pack it in!"

The rest of the cross-country team ambled up the bus stairs, down the aisle, and sat in their seats. Ethan was the first one on the bus and he took a seat in the empty spot next to Scott, who was in the seat in front of Olivia and Stiles.

"I don't know what happened last night but I'm pretty sure you saved my life," Ethan stated calmly, looking over at Scott.

"Actually, I saved your life," Stiles piped into the conversation; why did Scott get all the glory? Not that he needed glory but the alpha twins were assholes, so...When both Ethan and Scott glared at him, he faltered. "Not that it matters so much. It's just a minor detail."

Ethan lifted his chin in acknowledgement and turned in his seat a little, so he was facing Olivia, Stiles, and Scott all at the same time. "So, I'm gonna give you something. I'm sure you know that Derek's alive—"

"Yeah, we've known," Olivia gave Scott a pointed look; he rolled his eyes with a slight smile. "I can feel him, he's healing."

"Then you know he killed one of ours," Ethan gave her an appraising look. "That means one of two things can happen. Either he joins our pack..."

"And kills his own," Olivia spat, narrowing her eyes at him.

Ethan nodded. "Or Kali goes after hi and we kill him. That's the way it works."

Olivia bristled at his threat and leaned toward him, furious. "Ethan, remember how I made you transform back into a human? If you touch Derek, I will find some way to make that permanent."

"Yeah, you hear that? She'll make it permanent," Stiles backed her up, giving Ethan his own glare. "Your little code of ethics, by the way? Sort of barbaric, F.Y.I."

Ethan gave the both of them a blank stare before getting up out of the seat and heading toward the back of the bus where Danny had saved him a spot.

Stiles frowned and faced Olivia. "We should probably practice being more intimidating."

Despite her bad moon, Olivia couldn't help but smile at him and pat his cheek affectionately.

"Hey, Ethan!" Coach started walking down the aisle, trying to get the alpha's attention. "I want..."

"Coach, can I see your whistle for a second?" Lydia interrupted him as he walked by her and Allison's seat across the aisle from Olivia and Stiles. She took the whistle from around his neck without an answer but Coach didn't seem affected by it as he continued walking toward Ethan.

"I'm gonna need that back," he warned her, not even bothering to turn around.

Olivia, Stiles, Scott, and Allison gave Lydia questioning looks as she put the whistle to her mouth and cupped her other hand around the end. She blew into it silently and then pulled her cupped hand away. In her palm was a powdering of bright purple wolfsbane; that was what had been affecting Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Ethan and let the darach get into their heads.

"Wolfsbane."

"So, every time Coach blew the whistle on the bus, Scott, Isaac, Boyd—"

"And Ethan," Lydia added.

"We all inhaled it," Scott realized.

Allison nodded. "You were all poisoned by it."

"And it's how the Darach got into their heads," Olivia finished. "That's how they did it."

Stiles frowned and ripped the whistle out of Lydia's grasp. He reached over Olivia to pull down the window and quickly threw the whistle out of it, just as the bus started rolling out of Glen Capri's parking lot.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stilinski!"

(Gif is not mine)

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. Chapter 1

Prologue, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four

AN: With the Victory Tour well underway, things are changing fast. 

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle, Mags Flannagan 

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: Prom Queen - Molly Kate Kestner

--------------------

You pulled your legs up under your chin and tried to breathe slowly, closing your eyes and and praying that the motion of the train would be able to settle your stomach. However, with your eyes closed, you could see the faces of all the tributes you’d outlived all the clearer, projected larger than life on screens, with their grieving families underneath. You shuddered thinking about the sound one of the mothers in district nine had made; a sort of wail, loud and piercing, like her heart was being ripped from her chest right before your eyes. She’d been clutching two small children by their shoulders, twin girls, probably around nine or ten years old. They’d been crying too, but one of the girls had met your eye and the depth of despair you’d seen there had chilled you to the bone. Their brother was dead and you were not, that look said, and there was nothing you could do to make up for that.

Whatever confidence you’d had going in to the tour had evaporated by the time you’d reached district twelve and now, with district four coming up, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just the speeches, and facing the families of the fallen tributes, it was everything. It was the parties and the dinners and the interviews, it was seeing the highlights of your games recapped on every television screen twenty-four hours a day, it was the fact that the capitol was edging closer and closer and, for some reason, the closer it got, the more filled with dread you became.

If it wasn’t for the others, you weren’t sure what you’d have done. Because, of course, you weren’t alone in this. At each district, there were other victors to meet, people like you who knew what it took to survive the Hunger Games, and who had done this same trip themselves once. At first you hadn’t quite known what to think about them. It was strange meeting people you’d been seeing on TV for your entire life, even stranger considering you’d seen basically all of them murder other children. But, of course, they’d seen you do the same and, when Seeder Howell, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games, had pulled you into a hug and whispered that you would be alright, you’d found a glimmer of something you’d been looking for for months now; hope. It was such a relief to be understood again, to not have to explain yourself, and your limits, to everyone all the time, that you found yourself actually trying to make friends. Many of the victors were much older than you, of course, and not all of them had decided to join you once you left their district but, luckily, enough had so that the train didn’t seem empty and haunted anymore. At any given moment you might bump into Indigo Weaver, Alto Combe or even, if you were in the bar cart, the elusive Haymitch Abernathy. Your prep team were beside themselves. They’d never seen so many famous people in once place, they often squawked, wasn’t it just so exciting?

“Land ahoy!” Chaff, another victor from district 11 called out, his loud voice echoing through the carriage.

Your heart pinched and you pressed your face into your knees harder, forcing yourself to breathe slowly again. You were not looking forward to this, not at all. The face of the blonde boy flashed behind your eyes again and you bit back a whimper. These speeches had been hard enough when the tributes you were thanking were virtual strangers but now, with district four officially in sight, things were about to get a whole lot more personal.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Chaff asked, sitting down heavily next to you, “Not excited about the party they’re throwing for you?”

“Go away, Chaff,” you replied, trying to sound firm and failing miserably.

“No, I get it,” Chaff continued, as though you hadn’t spoken at all, “this one’s gonna be tough for you. You beat out one of their tributes in the finale, didn’t you?”

You looked up and glared at the older man, a move that may have been more effective if your eyes hadn’t been red and puffy from crying, and contemplated the merits of cussing him out or just ignoring him entirely. Chaff raised an eyebrow and you sighed, feeling your fragile attempts at indignation evaporate. James said you should try opening up more, that it would help in the long run and you liked Chaff. It didn’t make sense for you to bite his head off, not when he’d only ever tried to help.

“Both, actually,” you said, staring determinedly out of the window, “I killed the girl, and two of the other careers with an electrical device I made from bits of landmine and a current generator I got from a sponsor. But that was pretty early on. It was the boy I killed in the finale.”

It felt odd, talking about this with somebody. For so long you’d shut down any and all discussion about the games, not even daring to let yourself think about them for fear of triggering a panic but now, with the other victors’ constant encouragement, you were at least trying. It felt like pulling a deep thorn out of your arm; nearly unbearable at first but then, once it was out, there was a kind of relief, like maybe now you could start bandaging that particular wound.

Chaff nodded, like he understood and you realised, again, that he probably knew all of this already. He was just trying to get you to talk, to share with him, like everyone was always saying you should.

“Do you know his name?” He asked.

You nodded, “Boyd.” you said softly and then, as an afterthought, “He was eighteen.”

You weren’t sure why that was important exactly. Were you trying to absolve yourself? Was pointing out that this boy was nearly three years older than you were at the time supposed to justify what you’d done? Were you bragging? Or was there something else to it, a desire to make the blonde boy in your memory feel more like a real person, someone who had lived and breathed and dreamed. And died, at your hands.

“Mmm,” Chaff hummed, agreeing with you on whatever point it was you were trying to make, “they won’t blame you, you know?”

“Who?”

“The mentors. Finnick and Mags are good people, they won’t blame you for anything you did in the arena.” he explained.

You pressed your lips together and nodded tersely, “And the families?”

Chaff looked down at the stump where his left hand used to be and sighed, seemingly lost for words. He patted your knee comfortingly and stood.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he promised, “you’ve just gotta keep yourself alive, that’s all anyone can ask.” he continued, cryptically, “You should probably go find your prep team. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“Okay,” you whispered, worrying at the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

Outside you could see trees and hills flashing by and, in the distance, a strip of blue reflecting the sun that must have been the ocean. You’d never seen it before, only the occasional crude imitation in the Hunger Games. The sight of it filled you with something like calm. The ocean had been there for billions of years, it had seen hundreds of billions of people come and go, swallowed their joys and sorrows alike and stayed exactly the same. Surely, if it could persist, you could too?

-----------------

Mags’ hands were rough. They pulled at Finnick’s hair hard, making him wince and reach up to see what it was she was doing.

“Stop,” Mags said, slapping his hand away, “I have to get rid of these knots before the cameras arrive.”

“Arrive?” Finnick laughed, “Mags, they’ve been here for two days already. It’s a little late for that.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately and stepped in front of Finnick, resting her hands on her hips expectantly. She was so small that, even with Finnick sitting down, Mags was just barely taller than him, but anyone who had met her knew that size was no true indication of power, and she had more than a little fight in her. Finnick looked down, thoroughly chastised by one look.

“Exactly, Mr Odair,” Mags explained, moving back to continue untangling his hair, “they’ve been here for two days and the poor girl hasn’t even arrived yet. Imagine the circus that’ll show up when they finally do get in.”

“There’s always press on a Victory Tour,” Finnick offered.

“I know, but this is a lot,” she countered, “even by your standards. It makes me nervous.” Mags faded into silence, letting the sound of the brush echo through Finnick’s empty bedroom for a while, lost in her own thoughts. “Poor thing,” she eventually muttered, mostly to herself, “turned sixteen in the arena, what a horrible way to celebrate.”

“Poor thing?” Finnick responded, with an incredulous laugh, “She killed both of our kids, you know?”

Mags waved him away, “Tsk, I know that. And they would have killed her if they could. That’s how the games work, Fin, we can’t blame her for being a better player.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the sharp stab of guilt that thinking about Boyd and Ariel always brought on.

“I know,” he eventually relented, “I know that. I just-it’s so frustrating, sending them in every year only to watch them die, you know? I really thought we had a winner this year, and when Boyd got so far…” Finnick’s voice trailed off.

Mags nodded understandingly, though Finnick couldn’t see it, “Fifty-eight years I’ve been doing this,” she said simply, “I was a mentor for twenty before I brought home my first win,” she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young, it’ll happen. You’ve just got to keep trying.”

Finnick hummed noncommittally, thinking privately that there was no way he would survive losing another twenty-six tributes. Mags might be able to do it but, then again, she’d always been far, far stronger than him. Impulsively, Finnick reached back and grabbed Mags’ hand, resting his cheek against it like he was fourteen again.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mags said, running her fingers through her hair, “we’ll be alright. It’s only a day. Soon they’ll all climb back into their dens and leave us alone for another six months.”

“But first we have to get through the tour,” Finnick pointed out.

She nodded, “First we have to get through the tour.”

------------------

Finnick smiled and counted to ten in his head, waiting patiently for the mayor of his district to finish the long, drawn out rambling he called a speech. Every year it was roughly the same; meaningless references to the Capitol’s generosity, the importance of the games, the valor of those who fought in them and his own, genuine joy at meeting [Insert whichever victor just won’s name here], a worthy champion. Finnick, the other victors and several important members of local government were clustered strategically near the base of the stairs in the Justice building so the crews of Capitol filmmakers could get shots of everyone individually, and as a group, waiting excitedly for the arrival of the newest victor. After skipping the ordeal that had been your public speech, and the mandatory quick trip to the beach every victor was entitled to, Finnick had been unable to wiggle his way out of this, the last event; a dinner hosted by the mayor in honor of you. It was sure to be horrendous.

While the mayor droned on and on and on (somewhere in roughly the middle of his speech Finnick predicted), Finnick leaned over to the two men standing to his left and slightly behind him, keeping his voice low.

“So, what’s she like?” he asked softly, “Is she as insufferable as they usually are.”

“She’s less insufferable than you are,” Haymitch answered, surprisingly less drunk than Finnick had expected him to be, “but, granted that’s a rather low bar.”

Finnick chuckled and shot a look at Chaff, who smiled slightly, but shrugged.

“She’s nice, I like her,” he said softly, “she’s got spirit but,” he winced, “you remember how it was just after your games. She’s got a lot to work through.”

“Group therapy with our drunk Uncle Chaff, you mean?” Finnick teased. Chaff shrugged again, which he took to be agreement, and continued, “I remember how that goes. Well then, maybe when it’s my turn to share in the Safety Circle I’ll ask her why she choked my tribute to death, that’ll be fun.”

Haymitch chuckled but Chaff shot him a dark look.

“Don’t make this harder on her, Odair” Chaff said, “lord knows this whole thing is unbearable enough as it is without you making an ass of yourself.”

Finnick gave him a look of mock outrage, “What? It’s a simple question! You’re telling me I can’t ask a simple question?”

“I mean it,” Chaff warned, “she’s been through hell and back, the last thing she needs is your bruised ego getting in the way of her recovery.”

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t worry, Chaff,” Haymitch interjected, “I’ve got no doubts in my mind that Finnick will like the new girl just fine.”

There must have been some sort of inside joke there, because Chaff chuckled.

“What?” Finnick asked, annoyed at being left out

“Oh, nothing. She’s an interesting girl,” Haymitch interjected, “let’s just say, it might be a little like looking in a mirror.”

“Doubtful,” Finnick retorted under his breath.

Even if the others had heard him, they didn’t have any time to respond because, right at that moment, Finnick heard the telltale phrase;

“A worthy champion.” signalling the end of the mayor’s speech, and the room burst into rapturous applause.

Finnick got his first glimpse of you at the top of the stairs and his breath hitched in his throat. Even from where he was standing, he could tell you were beautiful, the type of beautiful that doesn’t come around every day, the kind of beautiful that can’t be ignored, no matter how hard you try. A hush fell over the room as you made your descent, your beautiful black gown reflecting the light like the world’s most subtle and sophisticated disco ball. You smiled graciously at your audience, the perfect blend of confident and humble, even blowing a kiss to your mentor, Jason as you walked. Your eyes glanced, unseeing, in Finnick’s direction, and he felt his heart stutter just a little bit. Something on his face must’ve showed his surprise, because he heard Haymitch suppressing a laugh from behind his back and, flushed with embarrassment, Finnick forced his face back into its casual mask of amused indifference.

Okay, so you were attractive. That wasn’t unusual for a victor. It didn’t change anything, not really.

At least that’s what he told himself as his eyes clung to you, watching intently as you laughed at some horrendous joke the mayor made and, with every ounce of feigned surprise you could muster, consented to saying a few words to open the evening.

You stepped up to the mic and, for the first time, Finnick saw a glimmer of discomfort in your eyes. But before he could do much more than notice you had smoothed it away with another gracious smile.

“Hi,” You started with a breathy laugh, breaking the tension and endearing yourself to the audience from the start, “I promise I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to take a moment to thank Mayor Eluuicious and his government for organizing this beautiful event for me tonight. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the effort you’ve all put in,”

“Well, we couldn’t pass up the chance to celebrate your sixteenth birthday with some proper flair,” the mayor joked, earning a rather more forced laugh from the crowd.

You acknowledged his words with a smile, but continued, “it’s been so lovely being here in district four, and I will be truly sad to say goodbye but,” you finished, “I’m not gone yet so let's party.”

You stepped off the staircase and were promptly engulfed by a crowd of people, all clambering to get pictures with you or to ask questions about your experience in the games. It was a dance Finnick knew well. Usually he would be off and finding a drink by now, scoping out the event from some corner where he knew he would be seen by everyone, including the cameras, just like he was supposed to, but something was making him feel off balance. It felt like he was fifteen again; shaky and unsure of himself, desperately hoping that no one could see how inexperienced he was.

“So, how screwed are you then?” Haymitch asked, appearing next to Finnick like a phantom, a full glass of clear liquid already clutched in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

Finnick growled, “Fuck off, Haymitch.” And stalked off, determined to regain some of his composure before someone who actually mattered noticed his awkwardness.

Before long, Finnick had downed two glasses of champagne, and was most of his way through a third, leaning casually against a pillar near the modest buffet table and watching your movements like a hawk. From what he could tell, you were good at this. Every movement you made was calculated without looking forced, every smile incandescent with happiness while still maintaining a distance and mystery to it, every phrase balanced and fair, treating all equally and showing favoritism towards none. Of course, the cameras ate it up, basically falling over themselves to talk to you, to get an exclusive clip or a photograph to take home to the Capitol, but Finnick didn’t care much about that. He was watching for the other moments, the brief flashes of reality that slipped through your carefully schooled features without you even meaning to. There weren’t many; an eye roll here, a subtle wink to Chaff or Jason there, clenching your fists whenever someone came too close, things like that. It was these that Finnick found so fascinating, and what kept him from trying his best to charm his way into an early exit.

He watched from afar as you gestured towards the food table, extracting yourself politely, but firmly from the mayor and three high ranking government officials. As you made your way towards the table, Finnick heard you exhale loudly and watched as the marks of exhaustion started to creep its way onto your face. You piled your plate high with mini meat pies and bits of deep fried fish, looking conspiratorially over your shoulder, as though to check that no one had followed you over. Finnick found the sight somewhere between endearing and frustrating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he called, stepping out of the shadows with his signature catlike grin, “bored of your adoring fans already?”

At the sound of his voice you jumped, clenching your fists and turning to face the attacker quickly, only to relax and let out a breathy sigh of relief when you saw who it was. Finnick felt a pinch of guilt at the look of shock on your face, but pushed it down and leant casually against the table.

“Finnick,” you breathed, pressing a hand to the base of your throat, “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” he replied, gesturing down at your plate of spilled food.

You glanced down at the mess and blushed, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at the crowd to see if anyone else had noticed. Up close Finnick was relieved to see that a lot of your radiance came from particularly good make up. While you were attractive, some might even say beautiful, it was in a softer, more realistic way, less harsh angles and overly white teeth and more actual sixteen year-old girl.

“Not the best introduction I guess,” you laughed nervously, fiddling with your dress, “I’m sorry we didn’t meet earlier, Mags was so complimentary about you.”

Something about you made Finnick feel unsettled, like the floor beneath him was sliding around and trying to trip him up. It was exciting, but also nerve-wracking, and totally not something he was used to. Part of him wanted to push, to see how much more thrilling and uncomfortable he could make it, the other just wanted to run and hide somewhere far away where you’d never be able to find him. The effect was disorienting but, being himself, Finnick leaned into it, letting the reckless portion of his mind take the wheel.

“Yeah, well, Mags is much braver than I am. You see,” Finnick continued sardonically, leaning in as though to tell you a secret, “I’m not quite done grieving the deaths of my two tributes. Didn’t feel up to a beach trip, I’m sure you understand.”

You pressed your lips together so they disappeared into a thin red line. Your face went blank instantly, hardening back into an expressionless mask as your bright Y/E/C eyes deadened, sending a shiver down Finnick’s spine. You didn’t seem much like a sixteen year old at that moment at all. The smiling, giggling girl had vanished, leaving a stranger in her place. This person seemed dangerous, this person seemed like the victor of the Hunger Games. There was a masochistic part of Finnick that liked seeing this more dangerous side of you. It was thrilling, and genuine and so much more interesting than the pleasantries and quibbling that usually happened on these trips.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said, devoid of any emotion, “excuse me.”

And with that, you stormed past him, knocking his arm hard with your shoulder as you passed.

“Ouch,” Finnick laughed, rubbing the spot where your bodies had connected.

If you heard at all you ignored him and he watched, with a slight sinking feeling, as you rejoined the party, your perfect smile firmly back in place as though nothing at all had happened. It took roughly eight seconds for Finnick to realise what an ass he’d just been and he sighed, swallowing hard past the disappointment he felt in himself.

“Why did I do that?” he asked himself softly, turning back to the buffet table and noticing, with another pang of guilt, your untouched food, “Ah, shit. Um, you there,” he gestured to one of the Capitol servers that he knew had arrived with the train.

The man scurried over, obviously holding in a minor freak-out at being addressed by Finnick Odair, “Yes, Mr Odair?”

“Can you-uh-can you make sure there’s some food ready for Miss Y/L/N when she gets back on the train?” Finnick asked, “Something tells me she won’t have much time for eating tonight.”

“Yes of course, right away Mr Odair.” The attendant nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, with a semi-distracted smile.

“Well that was nice of you,” Mags noted, appearing at Finnick’s side like a ghost, “what brought that on?”

Finnick shrugged and wrapped his arm around the small woman’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head, “Call it an olive branch. Or an apology.”

Mags raised her eyebrows at him, “Making friends fast as usual. Does this mean you want to sit this tour out and just join the others at the Capitol?”

Finnick thought for a moment, the sound of your laughter catching his ear as Chaff whispered something to you under his breath. The sound was light and clear, and made something in the pit of Finnick’s chest feel fluttery and delicate.

“Uh-no,” he said, ignoring the knowing look on Mags’ face, “no, let’s go with them. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Mags asked.

“In case,” Finnick shrugged, “I don’t know, in case something good happens.”

“Okay,” Mags chuckled, “I’ll go get started on the packing.”

Finnick thanked her softly and then shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to watch you from the sidelines. Eventually you looked up and met his eye, fear turning to confusion when he smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, you smiled back, your eyes still questioning his intentions, but Finnick took it. He still wasn’t sure about you. There was something just under the surface with you, close enough for him to sense, but still too deep down for him to identify that he wanted to reach.

“Well, you’ve intrigued me,” Finnick whispered to himself, “let’s see what happens next.”

--------------------------

Tag list: @i-love-you-green​, @heatherhollowayst​

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 20 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

This has been on AO3 for forever, but I’m starting to push to finish this story. Look for chapter 21, coming soon!

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Boyd and John sit at the table long after the dishes have been cleared away. They’re making plans to go to New York, to see if they can find Laura’s daughter.

Laura wants to go too. Derek’s not sure they’d be able to stop her. An alpha on a mission is hard to deter.

He doesn’t feel healthy enough to accompany them—too many hunger pains among other pains.

“It’s decided, then,” John declares suddenly. “I’ll book the tickets. We leave in two days—plenty of time for me to practice my aim. I used to be the best shot on the force.”

“Are you going to be allowed to travel with a firearm?” Boyd asks.

“Disassembled and in different or locked cases, yes, as long as I declare it. You know, there’s a competition out in New York. I might just be registered for it.”

“How many of us are going?” Erica asks. She looks at Laura, Cora next to her, both of them staring at John and Boyd, and then at Derek, hiding behind his sisters.

“John, me, and Laura,” Boyd says. “I’m sorry, Cora, Derek, but I think it’d be better if you stayed behind. Erica?”

“I’ll stay. Someone has to look out for them.”

“Perfect. I’ll get those tickets booked tonight.” John’s smile is broad, happy. Derek wants to warn him about the hunters and what they do to people who oppose them, but he remembers that John was their emissary before his parents were killed. He should know about hunters already.

“Will you be mad that I won’t go?” Derek asks Laura.

She hugs him. “No, I’m not mad. I’d rather you stay here, where it’s safe.”

“I can fight,” Cora interrupts. “Why can’t I go?”

“Because we barely got out last time. In fact, we weren’t even free until that deputy shot Kate.”

“But you’re going back. I want to go back too!”

“No.” Laura doesn’t shout, but her eyes go red, and Cora cowers down, eyes on the ground, neck bared.

Laura lets the red fade away. “I’m sorry, Cora. I don’t want to lose you if the hunters are swarming. I’m not even sure we’ll be able to find my daughter.”

“We’ll do our damndest,” John promises. He yawns, making Erica yawn too. “I need to get back home now.” He picks up his bag, heading for the door. “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow so that you can tell us about where you were held. How to get in and out.”

“Good night, John.” Erica closes the door on him. She claps her hands, turning to the rest of them. “Early to bed tonight. That way we can be up early.” She shoos Boyd toward the kitchen. “Dishes, honey. The rest of you, teeth.”

There’s only one bathroom and it’s crowded. Cora and Laura keep bumping each other while Derek and Isaac stand back, brushing their teeth in sync.

Next to Isaac, watching his sisters roughhouse reminds Derek strongly of his family when his cousins visited.

He can’t remember if they all were there that day when Kate took him. He should, but he can’t.

“Hey,” he says, spraying toothpaste everywhere. “What happened to our cousins and aunts and uncles?”

“They died,” Laura says sharply. She glares at Derek in the mirror before throwing her now broken toothbrush away. “They came to help us look for you and then our house was burned down, all of us trapped inside.” She stomps away, anger swelling in her wake.

Derek rinses his mouth and brush, setting the brush in a cup labeled with his name. Cora and Isaac finish quickly, too, and Derek grabs Cora’s arm before she can escape to the room she’s sharing with Laura.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“We told you, didn’t we?”

“If you did, I don’t remember. Sorry.” He thinks he should have known, but Kate had broken his bonds, and when they’d left California, he hadn’t been able to sense his family.

Derek curls up on his bed, wondering when he’s going to feel normal. When he’s going to find his even keel, as his Aunt Miriam liked to say. He’d thought the whole time he was in New York that he was going to escape or be rescued and then come back to California to live with his family. He’d thought the bonds were muted with magic, not snapped entirely.

He hasn’t even properly mourned the loss of his family, too bust trying to heal from the damage Kate inflicted.

He covers his face and whines high in his throat. Isaac sinks down onto the bed with him, stroking a hand down his arm. He doesn’t say anything while Derek cries.

Nearly an hour passes before Derek stops sobbing. He breathes harshly through his mouth, nose too clogged to be of use.

“Do you want some water?” Isaac asks. Derek nods, and Isaac goes to the bathroom to fill a cup from the tap.

Derek sits up to drink it, and Isaac watches him with a curious look on his face.

“What?” Derek asks when he’s finished the water and set the cup, the one his brush was in earlier, on the bedside table.

“What’s it like being a werewolf?”

Derek pauses, thinking about it. Before Kate, he would have talked about his enhanced senses, the way they can heal minor wounds in seconds and major ones in hours or days, the way pack became attuned to each other, all of them striving to help each other. Now, he doesn’t know what to say. Does he tell Isaac that the hunters aren’t worth the trouble of being stronger, faster, or more resilient than a human?

He opens his mouth to ask Isaac what he means, but Isaac beats him to it, saying, “I guess what I mean is, I might like to become a werewolf someday.”

Derek looks at him curiously. “How do you know that we can turn you into a werewolf?”

Isaac shrugs. “Can you?”

“I can’t. I’m just a beta.”

“What about Laura? You defer to her, so she’s in charge?”

“Yes. She’s the alpha. Only an alpha’s bite can turn others, but,” Derek lifts a finger, “there’s a chance that the bite might not take. When that happens, the bitten dies.”

“How do you know if the bite will take?”

“Before giving the bite?” Isaac nods. “I don’t know.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles brews a fresh pot of coffee while he is on gold with the National Registry of Missing Persons. It’s late, he’s tired, and he still doesn’t know whose body they pulled out of the preserve.

He’s waiting on the okay to talk to Peter Hale, but his lawyer, none other than the famous defense attorney, David Whittemore, is dragging his feet. Possibly because Stiles interrupted his dinner with his visiting son.

Stiles doesn’t care. Jackson Whittemore, real estate mogul, is as unimportant to Stiles now as he was in high school when he was head jock and dating the most popular girl in school until she dumped him for her best friend. Jackson never quite recovered after Lydia’s public breakup, and he’d seemed to blame Scott and Stiles for his misfortune.

God damn, high school never ends, Stiles thinks bitterly.

“Still there, sir?” the NRMP employee asks, and Stiles confirms he is. “Okay, so there’s too many results to go through tonight, so I’ll have to give you an update in maybe a week. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“No, it’s okay. It was a long shot anyway. Thanks.” Stiles hangs up and tries to ignore the welling frustration. Getting angry won’t help anyone. He sinks into a chair, running both hands through his hair and down his face. “Crap,” he says. “What’s next?”

The man’s face is going on a bulletin tonight to run on the early news tomorrow morning to see if anyone recognizes him. His DNA and fingerprints are with the proper departments, but that could take months. Dental has also been sent out, but unless he was local, within a one hundred mile radius, they won’t have an answer back for weeks or months.

All of this can be narrowed down if Stiles can just find who they’re looking for.

He lets his head drop to the table, staring cross-eyed at the grain of the wood.

He is so exhausted, and they’ve only been on this case for two or three days. God, what if it drags on for days.

The coffee machine beeps, and Stiles hauls himself to it to grab a mug. He pours enough milk in it to cool it down, and then drains it in one long swallow.

At this point, coffee is useless. Stiles needs sleep. But before that, a shower. He’s feeling a little ripe right now.

All deputies keep a change of clothes here in case of emergency, and Stiles grabs his on the way to the showers in the basement.

The hot water helps him relax, and he spends a few minutes just letting it soak him.

He thinks again of the man stick on the tree. What if Peter isn’t the only Hale who knows who he is?

Stiles shuts off the water and dries off quickly. Derek spent three years in New York under Kate Argent’s thumb. Laura and Cora were with a different faction. The man obviously had some connection to them all since Peter had killed.

Stiles silences the tiny voice of doubt about Peter’s guilt. The man would have been partially eaten if it were a wild animal, and he wouldn’t have been skewered onto the branch as if a large creature had lifted him and set him there.

Stiles decides he needs to talk to the Hale kids tomorrow. For now, he’s going to go over the Hale fire papers and research every name that ever ended up being associated with it. Sleep is the last thing on his mind even though it’s his body’s only thought.

He runs into Kincaid and Ramirez on his way to the evidence room.

“Acting Sheriff Parish said we were to escort you home,” Kincaid explains, Like Stiles gives a rat’s ass.

He pauses thinking. Six eyes is better than two. “I’ll go home,” he says, “if you help me with something first.”

The rookies exchange an apprehensive look. Stiles takes mercy on them. “I’m working on identifying the body we found out in the preserve. I’ve got an idea that he had something to do with the house fire out that way three years ago.”

“Why do you think that, sir?” Ramirez asks.

Stiles shrugs. “It’s too much of a coincidence. The body was located near the house.”

“So you think this guy set it or something?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t even know his name.”

“But you think it’s in the file on the fire.” Ramirez and Kincaid exchange another look, far less apprehensive this time. They shrug in unison.

“We’re in,” Ramirez says. “I’m guessing you just want lists of names with how they relate to the fire?”

“You guess correctly.”

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - SS XXIX

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 29

Word-count: 3.3k+

A/N: pls don’t come for me like lydia with her bat (i’ll forgive you if you do)

You hadn’t realized how badly you needed to spend time with Derek until you did, even if that time was spent cleaning the loft and complaining about not being able to go to Mexico right now. He was good at calming you down and listening to you talk things through. Although Derek hadn’t been a very good alpha when he had the power, something changed inside him after he’d given it up to save Cora. He’d be a leader again, you could feel it.

After Derek dropped you off at home and you’d had a very lengthy video-chat with Cora and Isaac, you dragged yourself into the shower and into bed. Surprisingly, you didn’t dream that night. Since recovering from the exhaustion of being on a hitlist, your brain almost always made you have nightmares. Not that night. You had other things to worry about. 

Like telling Liam that he had to stay at home because it was a full moon. 

“Come on,” he whined. “I can handle it. I’m getting better!” 

“Biscuit, the last time you said that you broke a window and tried to kill Stiles,” you said, getting up to cup his face. “Stay here. I’ll bring Scott home.” 

“No way, I can-” 

“Ugh, Liam, go home!” Stiles groaned as he and Malia came down the stairs, carrying some bunched up pillowcases in his hand. “You’re not coming with us!” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s a full moon, and I don’t feel like driving all the way down to Mexico just to have you rip my throat out,” Stiles said, hand ripping at the air above his neck. 

“You can lock me up, right? Chain me down to the backseat or something?” Liam asked. He looked at you for encouragement but all you did was shrug.

“You tore through the last chains, remember?” Malia said.

“Yeah, we’d have to freeze you in carbonite just to get you down there,” Stiles said.

“Okay, then where do we get carbonite?” Liam asked. 

“Oh, my sweet dumb-” you sighed and put a hand on one of Stiles’ shoulders to calm him down. He was still narrowing his eyes at Liam. “Look, Liam, we can’t take you with. Just stay here and look after everyone else, okay?”

The three of you started walking out the door and Liam stopped you again. He was breaking your heart. He wanted to come with and he wanted to save Scott and Kira. You looked at Stiles, and he looked at you. He said something about stealing a prison van, and you said something about Noah grounding him for the rest of his life. 

By the time the four of you got to the meetup point, a plan was made. 

“Are we really bringing him?” Derek asked as he climbed out of his car, Peter getting out on the other side. 

“Ew, are we really bringing him?” you asked, nodding your head at Peter. Then you swallowed your guilt when you remembered Malia was standing right next to you.

“We’re bringing everyone we can,” Peter said, clearly unimpressed by your tone. You shrugged. “And considering Scott and Kira were taken the night before a full moon, we should probably get going.” 

“What’s that mean?” Malia asked. 

“If Kate took Scott back to the same temple that she took Derek, how do we know she’s not planning to do the same thing to him?” Peter asked. 

“What, you think she wants to make him younger?” Liam asked. 

“She wants to make him powerless,” you sighed. Why didn’t you think of that before? Why did you need Peter to make you think? “Derek’s a born werewolf, Scott was bitten. If she can take him back to when he was human then … forget about being an alpha, who knows if we’ll even get him back to a werewolf?”’

Fucking Peter Hale.

“It’s true that a werewolf can’t steal a true alpha’s power,” Peter said. “But maybe a Nagual Jaguar, with the power of Tezcatlipoca behind her … Maybe she can. So, if everyone is sufficiently freaked out, I say we get going.”

“We can’t,” Stiles said. “Not without Lydia.”

“Why don’t you give her another call?” you suggested in a lower voice. Stiles met your eye and nodded before walking off and calling her for the billionth time that morning. 

“I got nothing,” Stiles said after a few tries.

“If she has a car, she can catch up to us,” Braeden said. 

“That’s a good point,” Peter said. 

“No. What if something happened?” Stiles asked. “What if she’s in trouble?” 

“Fine. You stay, you find her,” Peter said. “We’re gonna go on without you.”

“Why the hell are you so-” 

“I could call Mason,” Liam cut you off and Stiles reached for your hand to calm you down. “He has a study group at school. Maybe he could look for her.”

“Alright, fine,” Stiles said. 

You squeezed his hand before letting go to follow Derek. The plan was for the Jeep to stay behind, and for you, Stiles, Derek, and Braeden to take the prison van to keep Liam locked up. Malia was supposed to go with Lydia and Peter in case anything went wrong. Things were already going wrong.

“All good?” Derek asked after he cuffed Liam to the bench across from the three of you. Liam pulled his hands up and the cuffs clanged against the bars but they held. “Okay, I brought something to help you.”

You watched him take out a familiar wooden disc from his jacket. You looked over at Stiles and he shrugged before looking back at the triskelion. Every time you saw that piece of junk, you thought about Boyd and Erica. It helped them, so maybe it could help Liam. But it also killed them, so you didn’t have high hopes.

“This has been with my family for centuries.” 

Maybe Liam wouldn’t end up dead like everyone else who used it. 

“It’s a very powerful, supernatural talisman,” Derek went on. You could feel Stiles squinting next to you, so you moved your hand back to find his. “We use it to teach Betas how to control themselves on the full moon.” He gave it to Liam and then looked over at you and Stiles. You needed to sell it. 

“Yes, um, it’s powerful,” Stiles said slowly. He cleared his throat. “Very powerful.” 

You did your best to ignore him as you moved closer to the edge and put a hand on Liam’s knee. “Derek had a pack before you knew him,” you said, doing your best not to get choked up. “I saw how this helped them.” 

“Where are they now?” Liam asked. 

“South America,” you said. Not a total lie. You’d tell him more about Boyd and Erica when he didn’t look like he was about to cry. You smiled and slid back in your seat, Stiles wrapping an arm around you and you leaning back into his chest.

Everything was fine until the sun started setting. That’s when Liam’s breathing started getting more labored and Stiles’ arm around your waist started getting tighter. When the sunset and the full moon was up, Liam let out a growl and Stiles jerked his legs up and pulled you away - a move that woke you up from the light sleep you’d managed to fall into. 

“Stiles-” you started slowly, sounding confused. You looked over at Liam and detangled yourself. 

Liam was clutching the triskelion in his clawed hand. “Whatever you’re gonna teach me,” he forced out slowly. He looked up at Derek with glowing eyes. “I think you better start.”

You started inching closer but Derek held up a hand to keep you in the corner with Stiles. “Liam, you with me?” he asked after a moment. Liam nodded. “We have a mantra that we use. You repeat it, you focus on the words.” 

“It’s like meditating,” Stiles offered, moving closer to find your hand again. 

“You’ve tried meditating for your anger management, right?” you asked. 

“Yeah, and I freaking sucked at it!” Liam said, doing his best not to yell or snap at you.

“You say the words until you feel control coming back to you,” Derek said, drawing Liam’s attention back to himself.

“Okay, okay! What are the words?” 

“Look at the triskelion. See the symbol?” Derek asked. He launched into a sickeningly familiar explanation about how each spiral meant something - alpha, beta, omega - and how they were all linked. Any wolf could rise and fall to any position on the triskelion. It broke your heart. “All you have to do is say the words and, with each one, you tell yourself you’re getting calmer, more in control.” 

Liam repeated the mantra a few times, each time sounding like it took more effort to keep his voice level. He got more frustrated when Derek stepped in. 

“Derek, I don’t think his powerful talisman of self-control is working,” Stiles warned as he pulled you closer so you sat between his raised legs on the bench. 

Liam started to full-on turn now, fangs elongating and claws stretching out. He let out a growl that made you feel cold. He tried to lunge at Derek, but the cuffs kept him in place. The entire van rocked as he fell back to his seat. Braeden was losing control. 

You pushed yourself off of Stiles. 

“Biscuit, hey- hey, look at me,” you said. He broke out of one of the cuffs and Stiles pulled you back. Because you were out of his reach, Liam went for Derek’s face. His claws were barely an inch away from Derek’s skin. 

Braeden turned to assess the damage. “Derek-”

“I think we’re gonna need to go a little faster!” Stiles yelled. 

“What was that thing that Brett said?” you asked Stiles. Your voice sounded too quiet in the midst of all the chaos. “The other mantra.” 

“Uh, I-” Stiles thought about it, and you pushed yourself to Liam as you did. He wouldn’t hurt you. 

“Buddy, hey, I need you to listen to me, okay?” you said gently. He needed to get away from Derek. You charged your nightstick under the bench and reached your other hand out to Liam. You didn’t want to hurt him, but if you needed to restrain him, you wanted to be prepared. “Remember that day when we played against Davenport Prep for the first time? Remember how you freaked out? Can you remember what Scott said to you?” 

Liam didn’t seem to be registering your words, but the confusion on his face made him pull away from Derek - even if it was only a few inches. Then something snapped again and he went for Derek’s throat, ripping free of the other cuff. 

“We’re almost there!” Braeden yelled.

“Liam! Liam,” Stiles leaned up behind you, accidentally knocking the nightstick out of your hand. If anything happened now, you’d first have to scramble to find it and those minutes could kill anyone of you. “What three things cannot be long hidden?” 

“Liam!” you yelled at him and pushed Derek down. Liam scratched you in the process, but at least Derek still had a face. “Liam, what three things cannot be long hidden?”

You were almost on top of Derek, and now Stiles was leaning over you to get Liam’s attention. If it wasn’t a life or death situation, the position might have been funny. Stiles repeated the question again, and something started working. Liam was breathing again, even if it was uneven puffs of breath. 

“The sun- the moon - the truth.”  

Every word was its own sentence but slowly Liam started calming down. When the claws disappeared, you gave an uneasy laugh and collapsed on Derek. You were okay. 

“You’re bleeding,” Derek said. 

You frowned and straightened up. “No, I’m not.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, turning so you were looking at him. He lifted your arm and you saw the stained, ripped clothing. “Yeah, you are.” 

“It’s fine,” you lied. “I’ll wrap it up and be good as new by the time we stop. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than a scratch.”

Stiles didn’t seem convinced but he helped you roll up your shirt and clean the scratch. It wouldn’t get in the way of saving Scott, and you weren’t just going to wait for them in the van just because of a little scratch. Even if it did hurt.

“I can’t believe I did it,” Liam said when he’d calmed down and the van came to a stop. He looked and sounded like himself again, but you couldn’t get the picture of him trying to kill Derek out of your head. “For a minute there, I thought I was gonna tear you guys apart.” 

“Yeah, well, not for lack of trying, right?” Stiles said. He seemed more upset than usual that you got caught in the crosshairs. “That would’ve made for an awkward ride home.” 

“Do you think you can bring the same level of control and strength inside La Iglesia?” Derek asked.

In a swift move, Liam unsheathed his claws and kept the rest of himself human. 

“We might actually pull this off,” you said in disbelief. 

Derek nodded and made his way to the doors. He pushed them open and you heard the growl of a berserker. You got up and tried to shove Stiles further into the van so you could help Derek, but you weren’t fast enough. The berserker pulled Derek off his feet and tossed him onto the ground. 

He started beating Derek on an old stone, and you scrambled out to help. Braeden fired an entire clip of ammo into the berserker’s side before you could do anything. She knelt down beside Derek and you couldn’t hear a word they said. 

Stiles’ hand slipped into yours as you watched them. You were vaguely aware of the warmth he provided, but you were acutely aware that Derek didn’t come all the way to Mexico to get killed. 

“How bad is it?” Peter asked. You didn’t even hear him and Malia get out of the car. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Derek insisted through blood-stained teeth. “Just get Scott.”

You weren’t listening to a word he said. There was something about seeing him bloody and beaten that cemented you to your spot. You heard the wolves go in, but you didn’t move until Stiles tugged on your arm. You had to leave him if you wanted to save Scott, even if it killed a piece of you.

---

You hated this damn church. You’d been running through it for far too long until Peter stopped you and Stiles got a phone call. Then another berserker attacked and you started running again. Malia threw Kira’s sword at you and told you and Stiles to find Kira and Scott, they’d hold the berserker off as long as they could.

The two of you wandered around, yelling for Scott and Kira, until Stiles stopped. You crashed into his back, but he didn’t stumble. His flashlight shone on a very broken-looking Kira. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asked as he rushed closer to her. 

“It’s Scott,” Kira said. “Stiles, it’s Scott.” 

“What’s Scott?” Stiles asked. 

“The berserker. It’s him. Kate did it.”

“What do you mean ‘Kate did it’?” you asked. “How?”

“She made him into one of them! I don’t know how, but it’s him,” Kira said. “If they don’t know it, they could kill him.” 

“That’s why Lydia’s not here,” Stiles said. “They won’t know they’re killing Scott.” 

“We need to find them,” you said, handing Kira her sword. “Do you remember the way we came?”

Haphazardly, the three of you stumbled your way through the tunnels and found your friends moments before killing Scott. Stiles yelled at Malia to stop as she aimed a killing blow at Scott’s skull. Kira cut the bone-knife in half.

“It’s Scott!” you yelled at them. “You can’t kill him.”

“He’s gonna kill us!” Peter growled. 

Scott threw Peter and Liam off himself, and then marched closer to Liam. Liam crawled backward as Scott ignored your pleas to stop. Stiles tried to step in and Scott hit him so hard that you heard bone crunch. You don’t know why you thought he’d go any easier on you; you ended up concussed on the floor right next to your boyfriend. 

Your ears rang out as Scott narrowed in on Liam, dragging him up the wall. “No, no, no,” you mumbled, trying to get back to your feet. Stiles reached out for you, trying to tell you this wasn’t your fight. 

You didn’t hear what Liam said to Scott to make him change, but he backed up and took off the bones that made him a berserker. His howl broke through the ringing in your ears as he split the skull in half, and you clambered to your feet. 

“You.” Scott’s eyes were dead ahead on Peter as he spoke. “The only one who knew as much as Argent about berserkers. About the Nagual. You taught Kate, and you helped her. All for power.” 

“For my family’s power,” Peter corrected. “To be rightfully inherited by me. Not usurped by some idiot teenage boy, so incorruptible, he won’t shed the blood of his enemies even when justified. You don’t deserve your power.” He started shifting. “Not power like this.”

You’d kill him. He threw Malia against the altar when she lunged at him, and threw you into a wall when he stomped closer and you got in his way. Your body ached as it slumped to the floor, and your head felt sticky as a liquid ran down your neck. You heard their voices before they started fighting again, but you couldn’t make out the words. Just like you could feel someone moving your body, but you couldn’t see who it was. 

“Stiles?” 

“I’m right here.” His voice was tight and his warm hands cradled your head. “I’m not going anywhere. Scott? Scott, she’s hurt! She-”

“Stiles, he can’t fix this,” you said, using whatever energy you had left to reach your hand up to his face. You wanted to look in his eyes. His tear-filled eyes. “It’s okay. I love you, Stiles. I’m okay.” 

“No, you’re not. We’re gonna fix this. I-” his voice faltered and he tried to get Scott’s attention again. You didn’t mean for your hand to fall but it did, making a small thud as it landed on your stomach. “No, no. God, anyone. This isn’t how it ends.” 

“Stiles, it’s okay,” you said softly. Stiles closed his eyes and bowed his head. He whispered something you couldn’t make out, and he didn’t stop when you asked him to. “I’m okay. I don’t mind dying if it … it saves all of you. It’s okay.”

He wasn’t listening, and soon you couldn’t ask him to stop praying anymore. You couldn’t lift your hand to wipe away his tears, and you couldn’t tell him that it was going to be okay. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open, even though you were trying to. 

“Stiles, is she-” Scott was out of breath and you felt him kneel in front of you. “What happened?” 

“I couldn’t save her,” Stiles said. “I- I prayed and it didn’t-” 

You felt your hand twitch, and watched it snake up to Scott’s neck. It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t you. You were choking him. He didn’t try to fight it as you pushed yourself to your feet, everyone too in shock to stop you. Something snapped under your hand and you threw him to the side. His body made an awful sound as it crashed into the wall.

“Y/N, what are you-” Stiles’ voice broke off as he got to his feet. “Y/N?” 

“We missed you, Stiles.” 

It was your voice, but it wasn’t your words. You didn’t have any control. 

“Missed me? What are you-” 

“Everyone has it.” You heard yourself say, taking slow steps towards him. A bloody, dusty hand touched the side of his face and you screamed at yourself to stop. “But no one can lose it. What is it?” 

All the color drained out of his face. “A shadow.”

Your face broke into a smile. “I’m your shadow, Stiles.”

[waveypedia]

Have anything else for that Team Spyience au you made ages ago? Some writng or a bullet list? I crave angst.

The AU in question

Yes!! Aaaaahh i was so excited when I saw this ask because i’m so happy people still like it!! I’m definitely still thinking about it, don’t worry. The old AU hinges on the fact that FOWL doesn’t have a way into Scrooge’s company and family but uhhhh that’s not how it is now lmao. So I’ve been thinking about revamping it for a couple months now. I don’t want to do anything concrete until we know a little more about FOWL and how it works. We know who its agents are and a little bit about its goals but we really don’t know anything about its inner workings, what the Board’s dynamic is with their agents, what their dynamic is with modern SHUSH (if it even exists), etc etc. all of which are things that would probably be addressed in the Team Spyience AU! It is an AU but I’d like to build on canon as much as possible (unless there’s something that I really don’t vibe with) since it’ll be cleaner and less confusing that way. Like if I threw 2019 Team Spyience AU at you guys rn it would 1) be confusing since the FOWL structure and motives are completely different from canon and 2) be less interesting since there’s SO much potential for angst and drama with the Board, Rockerduck/Jeeves, and Gandra as part of FOWL. (and oh boy I’m so excited to work with that!!!)

(sorry for that long block of text sdfgfds i wasn’t sure how to break it up)

that being said I have built a bit of a shaky foundation for a redone Team Spyience AU for when we learn more!! and ahhh i’m so excited to share. For bullet points, here are some ideas swimming around in my head. these all could change with new information from the show or just if i think of something better tbh

so this might change when we learn more about the Board in general and the nitty-gritty of FOWL’s plans, but right now I’m thinking that the Board realizes that 1) Gyro and his ragtag band of science nerds are powerful and stubborn, and will most definitely get in the way of their plans 2) Gyro already hates the Board, and if anyone in McDuck Enterprises were to pick up on their treason, it would be him 3) They have a strong foothold for control in the company, second only to Scrooge (and even that’s debatable), but they have minimal control over Gyro and the science department. So this time around it’s less about needing to spy on Scrooge and more about wanting to control Gyro and Team Science. how that translates to “capturing them and forcing them to spy on their boss and his family” is still up in the air, but i’ll let you guys know when i figure it out! (and if you all have any ideas lmk)

we all know Gyro dislikes the Board but it’s mostly just annoyance/spite since they always shut down his inventions. Here, though, he would hate them. He would probably start like smack-talking them to everyone he can, especially Scrooge, which is his own way of trying to get them to realize the Board is evil without tipping the Board off to his treachery. Scrooge would be confused and it would be like the first crack in the Board’s carefully built facade, but it wouldn’t work for him. He probably just thinks Gyro’s being his mean self.

Huey, though... I’m pretty sure Huey’s gonna end up researching FOWL since it’s his season, and he spends enough time around Team Science to notice how off they’re all acting, without being too busy to pay it much mind (like Scrooge). so one of Gyro’s snarky remarks will tip him off, and he’ll start to view the Board with a little more suspicion each time. Until he comes to the conclusion through his research, and SHUSH resources like Beakley and Webby, that oh god that was an allusion to FOWL the Board is FOWL-

and then- wait is Gyro FOWL?? is Team Science okay?? this goes deeper than I thought-

so essentially the B-plot of this AU is Huey (with the help of the rest of the kids, but especially Webby, Boyd, and Violet) researching FOWL in the background and trying to figure out why Team Science is acting so weird lately, and there’s a lot of dramatic irony

FOWL definitely threatens Boyd to get to Gyro because I love me some quality Boyd & Gyro family content 😌

I originally thought about working a “Gyro is a former FOWL agent that got away by the skin of his teeth” aspect into the AU since I was really fond of that concept when it was a theory, but now it’s been disproven. It does make for a lot of extra drama and angst, but I don’t think it quite fits, so I might just make that an entirely separate AU. I might add some non-canon bonus content with this concept though!

The majority of Team Science’s dynamic throughout the AU stays the same - they’re all incredibly stressed and on edge and just in a really sticky situation, so they snap at each other and have a lot of petty arguments. But at the same time, they’re all in the really sticky situation together, and so they come out of this mess a whole lot closer. It’s sort of a “You’re the only ones I can be honest with without dire consequences” situation.

also re: that last point - CUDDLE PUDDLES. i’m so soft for them. i’m thinking maybe on a night when FOWL makes them all stay in the cells overnight as a punishment or smth, but they’re all in one cell, they just fall asleep all on top of each other and it’s just a really sweet moment made bittersweet by the circumstances. it’s also a testament to how far their relationship has come under pressure and how much they trust each other now.

Gyro is the only target originally (I’m thinking maybe Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb catch the Board in the act and it’s very dramatic and terrifying. i think they’re originally gonna kill Team Science, since FOWL has a very take-no-prisoners leave-no-loose-ends sort of mindset, but Gyro convinces the Board that the majority of Scrooge McDuck’s research team mysteriously dying in one fell swoop would be extremely suspicious, especially since Scrooge has an in-house former SHUSH agent. so they live, miraculously, but the Board lets all of them know in no uncertain terms that if it happens again, the other person dies. No ifs, ands, or buts. So Team Science is all very, very nervous and careful about what they let slip. They want to tell everyone, especially Scrooge, but they can’t because they care too much. (Hence Gyro making passive-aggressive comments about the Board to Scrooge.) and of course everyone else gets suspicious and resentful since they know Team Science is hiding stuff from them. so that leads to a lot of drama and arguments.

speaking of the drama and arguments from the outside, the kids are doing their own investigation, but I headcanon Della as friends with Gyro from before the Spear of Selene, and she has a budding friendship with Fenton too. So she’d notice they’re all acting really weird and bailing on all her plans, so she storms down to the lab and tries an aggressive tactic to get them to fess up. They don’t, obviously, so she goes on a little investigation of her own. I’m thinking she might drag Launchpad and Donald into it - Launchpad since he’s good friends with Team Science, and Donald because I love him and I want him involved they’re the Duck Twins and they work best together.

I have this scene floating around in my head where, in the very beginning, FOWL agents/Eggheads capture Gyro and drag him to FOWL HQ underneath Funzo’s to be briefed on his new situation. He’s stuck in one of those glass cells Launchpad and Dewey were in when Steelbeak brought them back in the Double-O-Duck episode. The Board knows he’s there, but Gyro has no clue they’re villains. So they come to the cell to brief and belittle him (let’s be honest here, they’ve never liked Gyro) and he just. He’s pissed. Spitting mad. He’s always resented the Board but never like this; never pictured them as actual powerful villains. He may be spiteful of them because they shut down his projects, but at the end of the day, they’re good guys. They’re on his side, and more importantly, Scrooge’s side. Right?

So Gyro is like, up against the glass, trying to punch them through the airholes. He’s just so fucking furious. He’s not really thinking straight and he doesn’t care about any dignity, he’s just angry. The Board is just overly smug and pleased with themselves. It’s a very stereotypical “You’ll never get away with this, you villain!!” picture, and very dramatic. And then the Board just walks away after giving him a bare-bones explanation of the situation that he doesn’t really process because he’s so mad and terrified. And they turn off all the lights and let him stew in there overnight.

Once Huey and the kids have finally put the pieces together, Webby comes to the Bin one day with Scrooge, and she goes to the meeting room to look for him. Only he’s not in there - The Board is, and they’re berating Gyro for sassing off about them to Scrooge or smth. Webby, with all her trained spy skills, hears their conversation and is able to avoid detection (although the Board is suspicious, and they start investigating to tie off any loose ends). Their conversation, though, would be suspicious to any oblivious passerby, but from all the research the kids have done, they know what’s going on.

That’s not the actual reveal - I think thematically that should go to Huey, since he’s the closest to Team Science and it’s his season. This would just chase away any last doubts the kids may have. And maybe Webby gets a voice recording as evidence? I just love those; they’re so dramatic.

this is one part that might not end up aligning with canon but I’m REALLY fond of the Akita FOWL theory. So in this AU, I’m thinking Akita was a really casual member of FOWL all along that recently got an updated agent commission. So there’s even more potential drama there, since Gyro utterly despises Akita now. And a bigger incentive to keep Boyd safe, since Gyro knows FOWL would be more than happy to program Boyd into a mindless attack robot.

in the old AU I was toying with the idea that FOWL didn’t know Fenton’s Gizmoduck until a big reveal, and it was a secret weapon of Team Science’s (but also a point for a lot of arguments, since Fenton desprately wanted to be out there protecting people at the cost of his own safety) but uhh... they definitely know now. In a bid to stop FOWL from taking control of Gizmoduck, Fenton claims the armor is out of commission and sabotages it. So Fenton’s heroics are temporarily halted while Team Science frantically tries to figure out how to keep FOWL from hacking/taking control of a new and improved Gizmosuit.

As for writing... I don’t have anything done, least of all anything for the revamped version of the AU, but I do have this wonderful writing prompt from @advisortotheadvisor that I started back in January 2019, when I was working on the old version of the AU, that I really want to do with the revamped AU. (it just fits so well ahhhh!!!)

["If you won’t do it, I’m sure your friend wouldn’t mind being in your place." + your FOWL team spyience au?]

Gyro crossed his arms across his chest, scowling to hide his fear. He’d gotten pretty good at it over these past few months.

Watching the halls was basically useless. Fowl was careful to keep Gyro and his team within the same halls, as to not be able to find their way out on their own. And Gyro knew the way to Steelbeak’s office well. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been marched here.

At least he wasn’t cuffed anymore, though he suspected it was only because the agents and their minions knew there was too much at stake for an escape attempt. It had been too long, anyway. That was an amaetur move. Even though he loathed to admit it, Gyro cared too much about the consequences - the people at stake - to even try.

It was just a well-aimed mockery. Like everything short of punishment seemed to be these days under FOWL’s watchful eye and careful thumb. Gyro scowled deeper and crossed his arms tighter and pretended in vain it didn’t bother him.

That was all he could do, really.

Okay that kind of got away from me haha. thank you so much for the ask!! It means a lot to me that people are still interested in this AU. definitely motivation to work on both the AU and that fic haha!! I’ll talk more abt this soon when I have more info/content

[nickborisov]

NIKOLAI BORISOV | THE ICARUS 

“IT WAS A PLEASURE TO BURN.” -RAY BRADBURY 

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: nikolai borisov

MEANING:

nikolai ( slavic ) - victory of the people

borsiov ( russian ) - of boris

NICKNAME(S): nik, kolya, firebug, nikashka, pup (only by his father)

PREFERRED NAME(S): nikolai, nik

BIRTH DATE: august 9th, 1990

AGE: 30

ZODIAC: leo

GENDER: male

PRONOUNS: he / his

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual

NATIONALITY: russian

ETHNICITY: russian

CURRENT LOCATION: verona, italy

LIVING CONDITIONS: nikolai is used to moving around, so he doesn’t put much stock in where exactly he lives. his apartment is out of the way of most of the city’s main thoroughfare, near several abandoned warehouses so that he can work and create without drawing a lot of attention. it’s nicer than he would normally find for himself, because he’s been in verona longer than he’s ever been anywhere else--it has a balcony, a spare room for a makeshift workshop, and a nice kitchen.

TITLE(S): the icarus, nick bottom, fireman, that russian arsonist, that crazy bastard

BACKGROUND

BIRTHPLACE / HOMETOWN: murmansk, russia

SOCIAL CLASS: nik grew up with a single father, so he was always lower middle class. when he initially started traveling he often found himself living meal to meal, but then he discovered that people were willing to pay a lot of money for his specific set of skills. he has more money than he really knows what to do with, he just chooses not to use it most of the time--he doesn’t care about advancing his social standing or buying himself nice things.

EDUCATION LEVEL: dropped out of high school.

FATHER: andrei borisov

MOTHER: marya morozov

SIBLING(S): none as far as he knows. he doesn’t have a relationship with his mother--she could have more children he doesn’t know about.

CHILDREN: none

PET(S): none--but he makes an effort to feed any stray that he might come across, give them a pet and a smile.

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: nik never really met the rest of his family--they all moved away from murmansk at some point, and nik and his father could rarely afford to travel that far. occasionally he might get a call from an aunt or an uncle on a holiday, but those were pretty few and far between. his mother wanted nothing to do with him, so he knows nothing about her side of the family.

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS:

edward little : a university student with an interest in studying the arctic. they were together for a little over a year when ed got a grant to study in norway, and nik just decided to move on.

zaid khadem : a poet that nik met in cairo. they were together for a couple of months before nik moved on again.

anna fallon : a singer / songwriter from new york city. they lived together for nearly three years before her career and nik’s restless nature drew them in separate directions.

ARRESTS?: too many to count--especially when he was just starting out.

PRISON TIME?: at this point in his life, nik is pretty good at avoiding real jail time.

OCCUPATION + HOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: arson and designing explosive devices for the montagues and the capulets, or anyone who can afford to hire him.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: n/a

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: absolutely, it’s the only thing he’s really ever been good at, and its the only thing he’s ever really understood with any clarity. fire makes sense to him, fire brings him comfort--if he wasn’t lighting fires he thinks that the ice he was born into would wear away at his bones, and his life would lack any purpose.

PAST JOB(S): nik has only ever lit fires and orchestrated explosions professionally--before that he relied on stealing to stay alive.

SPENDING HABITS: there was no extra money when he was growing up, and now that he’s making an absurd amount of money he doesn’t really like spending it, or know what to spend it on. he gets what he needs to survive, maybe an occasional gift for the people that he cares about, and that’s really it. he refuses to become like the upper class he’s seen in verona--and he doesn’t think they would accept him, even if he did decide to start spending his money and clean up his image.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: his first lighter, which he lifted from his father. he doesn’t use it anymore, but it reminds him of where he came from, all of the reasons that he won’t go back.

SKILLS + ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 5/10? pretty average--he’s tall and thin but his frame has some muscle to it. arson doesn’t require a whole lot of physical strength, but he enjoys boxing as a way to burn off excess energy, and he lived on the streets for a long time which taught him that he needed to be able to protect himself at a moment’s notice.

OFFENSE: 6/10. fighting was pretty much the only thing to do to waste time when he was growing up, and he likes to box in his spare time.

DEFENSE: 8/10. traveling and living on the streets of various countries taught him to defend what he has, by any means necessary.

SPEED: 7/10. running is the action he engages in most often--running from explosions or infernos, from the police--he has to be fast in order to keep himself alive and out of jail.

INTELLIGENCE: impossible to really define? he’s not book smart by any stretch of the imagination, he knows a lot about survival and he’s got a natural ability with languages. he also has the ability to construct complicated explosive devices and can determine the best way to light up any kind of building. he just isn’t quite like everyone else and his mind doesn’t work like everyone else’s mind works--but that doesn’t mean that he lacks intelligence.

ACCURACY: 4/10. he’s only shot a gun a couple of times, and he doesn’t really possess the patience to make himself a better marksman.

AGILITY: 8/10. also nessecary for getting out of the way of his creations and those who would oppose them.

STAMINA: 7/10. he’s not out of shape, but he does repeatedly inhale smoke which means his lungs work at diminished capacity.

TEAMWORK: 3/10. there are few people who can interpret him, and he would rather not have to explain himself. he deals with a client in the most bare-bones way possible, and then does the work himself.

TALENTS: he’s a decent boxer, and he’s naturally adept at languages. he also, obviously, has a talent for setting fires in a variety of settings, and designing explosive devices. he knows something about forging metal as well from being in his father’s workshop, but he’s never actually used those skills.

SHORTCOMINGS: he has a tendency to run before he really gets invested in things, he prefers chaos to order and planning, and he doesn’t generally allow himself to be understood by other people.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: russian, english, italian, a little bit of arabic, a little bit of spanish, and a little bit of french.

DRIVE?: yes

JUMP-START A CAR?: yes

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes

RIDE A BICYCLE?: no

SWIM?: yes

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: no.

PLAY CHESS?: no.

BRAID HAIR?: no.

TIE A TIE?: no--he hates wearing them and will avoid it at all costs.

PICK A LOCK?: yes

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE + CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: boyd holbrook

EYE COLOR: blue / grey

HAIR COLOR: dirty blonde

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: on the longer side and unkempt--he could give a damn about taking care of it, and he’ll shove it under a beanie or some other kind of hat 9 times out of 10.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: none.

DOMINANT HAND: left

HEIGHT: 6′2

WEIGHT: 160

BUILD: tall and wiry--any muscle he has is very lean.

EXERCISE HABITS: boxing, running as part of his job.

SKIN TONE: the sun was a luxury where he grew up, so he tends to be pretty pale.

TATTOOS: a match and a lighter on his chest, his father’s initials in cyrillic on the inside of his wrist, an illustrated molotov on his calf from a drunken dare. he wants more--for the people he’s come to care about during his time in verona.

PIERCINGS: none.

MARKS/SCARS: he’s got burn scars of varying degrees all along his hands and arms.

NOTABLE FEATURES: cheekbones, his expressive mouth and eyes, the constant smell of kerosene and smoke.

USUAL EXPRESSION: grinning wolfishly.

CLOTHING STYLE: clothes that should have been thrown out years ago, leather jackets, flannel shirts, jeans with holes in the knees and stains that are practically archaic, doc martens, converse with holes in them, sweaters burned at the sleeves. he doesn’t really care about how he looks--he’s all about what keeps him warm and what is practical. it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to him to spend money on expensive clothes when there’s a chance they’ll just go up in smoke.

JEWELRY: a pocketknife.

MAKEUP: none.

ALLERGIES: boredom, staying in one place too long.

DIET: too much alcohol, not enough vegetables, whatever brielle will take pity on him and make for him.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none.

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ESTP

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type seven, the enthusiast--the busy, variety seeking type. spontaneous, versatile, acquisitive, scattered.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral

TEMPERAMENT: sanguine

ELEMENT: fire (lol)

PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: bodily-kinesthetic intelligence.

APPROXIMATE IQ: pretty average, but again--his type of intelligence is difficult to measure.

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: nothing diagnosed, but he struggles with anxiety and can border on manic.

SOCIABILITY: there are very few people that nik has ever allowed to try and understand him, and make a place in his life. he’s on the move constantly, so it’s easier for him to just make temporary relationships that can be easily discarded and forgotten about. having a busy single father meant he was on his own most of his life, and he has come to prefer that to prolonged contact with people.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: it takes a lot to get underneath his veneer of chaotic energy--but he does tend to feel things deeply, when he allows people and emotions to get past it. he generally believes that if he doesn’t think about complicated emotions, about pain and grief and things of that nature, if he keeps himself busy and laughing, then they won’t affect him.

OBSESSION(S): fire, explosions, having a good time, traveling.

COMPULSION(S): to run away before feelings get involved, to laugh loudly when there’s silence, to call attention to the darker and more uglier sides of society by burning down the beautiful things.

PHOBIA(S): he isn’t really afraid of anything--abandonment, maybe, if he allows himself to think about how he came into the world, and the fact that his mother very clearly didn’t want anything to do with him.

ADDICTION(S): he’s an adrenaline junkie, he’s addicted to anything that gives him a rush.

DRUG USE: he’s willing to test any of theo’s creations, but that’s about the extent of it.

ALCOHOL USE: one of his primary coping mechanisms. he’s a vodka man in terms of drink and in terms of accelerants. as long as it’s strong enough to strip paint, and it burns on the way down.

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: not if he can really help it--but he’s not exactly adverse to it either. he mostly has to see a good reason for it.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: fast, barely understood at times, a mixture of russian, Italian, and whatever else he feels expresses his feelings.

ACCENT: russian

QUIRKS: mixing his languages, sometimes he’ll forget words, or make the mistakes common to someone speaking a second or third language. he talks to himself a lot, under his breath. he flicks his lighter open and closed in his pocket when he’s anxious, and he always carries it with him. his whole life is pretty quirky.

HOBBIES: boxing, he’s learning to enjoy reading more, bothering theo in their lab or at their place, wandering the city. he generally doesn’t have a lot of time for hobbies, but since he’s been in verona longer than he has anywhere else, he’s working on developing more.

NERVOUS TICKS: dragging a hand through his hair, flicking his lighter open and closed, licking over the points of his canines.

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: to see every corner of the world, to watch it burn behind him. he generally is motivated by a desire to unsettle the dust, to spark something incredible. like an inventor or a scientist--he wants to create.

FEARS: abandonment, other than that he prides himself on not being scared of anything.

POSITIVE TRAITS: creative, resourceful, fun-loving.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: cynical, stubborn, flighty

SENSE OF HUMOR: all over the place--dad jokes, puns, sarcasm, anything that will make himself laugh primarily.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: all the time, and in several different languages. his favorite is his mother tongue, the ones he learned first.

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: bothering theo and lighting fires.

ANIMAL: any kind of dog.

BEVERAGE: vodka.

BOOK: fahrenheit 451, treasure island, the count of monte cristo

COLOR: red

DESIGNER: he doesn’t have one.

FOOD: solyanka and whatever brielle makes for him.

FLOWER: dahlia

GEM: ruby

HOLIDAY: halloween, new year’s eve

MOVIE: all three Indiana jones movies, treasure planet, rebel without a cause

QUOTE/SAYING:

“oh i don't mean you’re handsome, not in the way people think of handsome. your face seems kind. but your eyes--they’re beautiful. they’re wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire.”

-charles bukowski

SCENT: kerosene and smoke

SPORT: boxing

TELEVISION SHOW: man vs. wild, drunk history, black sails

WEATHER: anything warm--he had enough cold growing up.

VACATION DESTINATION: the mountains of nepal.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: get out of verona, hopefully with the person he loves by his side. MOST AT EASE WHEN: he’s most at ease when he’s working, or when he’s with brielle or theo. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: he’s forced to interact with any of verona’s “upper class”, people who look at him as nothing better than a stray dog. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: theo getting bored of him and keeping him out of their life for good, having nowhere else to go but back to murmansk, having no choice but to join one of the mobs. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: leaving murmansk, learning to make a living doing what he loves. BIGGEST REGRET:  not having a better relationship with his father, allowing himself to get wrapped up in the war in verona. TOP PRIORITIES: keeping theo alive, staying neutral.

[anxiousstark]

S2 05 | Venomous

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 2305

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, murder, swearing (always).

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

"All right, I only found one thing online called a kanima. It's a werejaguar from South America that goes after murderers." Stiles grabbed his backpack with one hand while the three of us left class.

"That thing was not a jaguar."

"Yeah, and I'm not exactly a murderer." I chuckled as Stiles threw his hands in the air.

"Yeah, but you did see it kill somebody, which is probably why it tried to kill you. And it's still trying to kill you, and it probably won't stop until you're dead." Scott gazed at me. "Especially, not until she is dead." Thank you for the reminder, dear Scotty.

"You know, sometimes I really begin to question this 'friendship."

"Hey guys," I stopped walking, both of them doing the same thing, peering at me. "I will catch you in the next class. I need to talk to someone." I glanced at Jackson who was resting his side against the lockers, talking to Danny.

"Are you sure?" The Hazel-eyed boy questioned after he followed my gaze. "Do you want me to go with you? Because last time he-"

"It's okay," My hand rested on his right arm, rubbing my finger through his shirt. "Jackson is acting suspicious, more than normal. He has been talking to this guy from class." Both boys waited for me to continue talking. "He asked that boy for his camera, to record himself at night."

"How did you get that information?"

"At the lacrosse game the other night, he started talking and didn't shut up." I chuckled while rolling my eyes to add a little more of dramatism. "He told me that Jackson gave him back the camera, but it was broken. He didn't give any explanation of what had happened. Just told him to send him the bill, rich boy things I suppose."

"Okay," Scott nodded. "We will head to class, then." His hand grabbed my wrist delicately. "If you need help, let me know." I nodded at him, smiling. Then, I grinned at Stiles, knowing that he didn't feel comfortable with the situation. I didn't either, Jackson was hiding something. Something bigger than me.

I walked to Jackson and Danny, putting a sweet smile on my face. "Hi boys!" Danny winked at me. "Uhm, Jackson I need to talk to you about," I bit my lower lip. "About the swimming class!"

Danny nodded at us, saying he was going back to class. Then, I was left alone with the smirking boy.

"You aren't good at lying." He smirked while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Neither are you, Jackson." The smile disappeared from my face. "What is going on with you? You can't tell me you don't have a little idea of what you are." I mumbled, getting closer to him.

"Do you have any idea of what you are?" He got me there. "There's your answer. I don't either. But I know one thing for sure, Y/N McCall." I hated that last name, it came from someone who probably wouldn't even recognize me if he saw me. "Whatever I am, you are too." I shivered.

"I don't think so." I swallowed. "We might have been scratched by the same thing. But you," I pointed my finger to his chest. "You got scratched by a wolf, and you aren't one." Of course, I did have my suspicions. They only thing we knew for sure was that we weren't werewolves.

"I told you," He glared at me. "Shit going on in your life can affect the bite or scratch. Anxiety and depression can affect the outcome of being scratched by a wolf. You aren't one neither. It means you were also affected by those side effects."

"Flash me," I said. Jackson smirked, getting closer to me. "Your eyes, stupid asshole." I slapped the side of his head.

"I don't know how to do that, but they are yellow." He grabbed his backpack.

"Slit and yellow?" I asked curiously.

"Yes," He started walking away. "Now, if you excuse me I'm going to be a responsible student and go to my class."

I did the same as Jackson, walking to my next class. When I entered, both of my boys were sitting next to Lydia. I was surprised by that as normally Scott would sit with Allison or Stiles, and Stiles would sit with Scott or me. The male McCall made a gesture with his head, Erica and Isaac were sitting behind them. Nice. Derek thought that Lydia was the kanima, but she wasn't. I needed more proof, but I was convinced that the strawberry blonde girl wasn't that beast.

Mr. Harris looked at me. "Grab a seat, McCall." I apologized, doing what he had ordered. "Einstein once said, 'Two things are infinite: The universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.' I myself have encountered infinite stupidity." He put his hand on Stiles's shoulder. The poor boy looked up, pouting. "So to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you're going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let's see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski's case, less than one. Erica, you take the first station. You'll start with - I didn't ask for volunteers." Most of the boys in the class had their hands up, wishing to be put next to Erica. Horny teenagers. "Put your hormonal little hands down. Start with Mr. McCall. All right, next two."

Allison ended up sitting next to Lydia, Scott next to Erica, Stiles got a random person from class while I got to see next to Isaac Lahey. "If you touch Lydia, I will kill you." I hissed.

"Let me tell you," Isaac looked me up and down while I tried to follow the instructions. He completely ignored my previous words. "You look so beautiful. I can't believe you and Scott share the same daddy." He bit his lower lip. "I could be yours tho." His hand stretched out to touch my hair.

"CHANGE!" We all turned around to stare at Stiles, who had screamed that. He was looking directly at me. "I-I mean, Mr. Harris is time to c-change, right?"

"That's my job, Stilisnki." He glared at him. "Switch."

Now I was sitting next to Allison. "You okay?" I ask while helping her mix whatever we were mixing.

"Are you asking because that bitch put her hand on Scott's thigh." She smiled while gritting her teeth.

"Scott doesn't feel anything for her," I affirmed. "He is a puppy in love with you, Al." She smiled while I used her new nickname. We both continued following Mr. Harris's instructions. Then, I heard Stiles's voice who was sitting in front of me.

"If you harm one perfect (h/c) hair on her head, I'm gonna turn your little werewolf ass into a fur coat and give it to her as a birthday present." His hands moved rapidly, trying to match the instructions given by Mr. Harris. "Actually no, I wouldn't because she doesn't wear clothes that make use of animals to sell more, but that doesn't matter, I will still kill you."

"Mmmh seems like she could kill me with her hands." He was trying to get Stiles even madder. "She told me she would kill me if I touched Lydia." He smirked. "You have a crush on Lydia, right?"

Stiles shook his head, looking up, meeting Isaac's gaze. "Don't touch any of those girls."

"Listen, Stiles," He touched his nose, sniffing. "I could help you get Lydia, and then Y/N will be fully available for me. I told her she was beautiful, and she ignored me." Stiles smiled proudly. "I told her I couldn't believe that Scott and she shared the same fucking dad." He got closer to his ear. "I told her I could be her daddy."

The Hazel eyed boy bit his lower lip, trying to control his rage. "Mm, unrequited love's a bitch. Maybe you should write about it in English class, you know? Channel all that negative energy."

"Nah, I was thinking I'd channel it into killing her. I'm not very good at writing."

Mr. Harris touched the bell. "And switch!" I moved, sitting next to Erica now. Fuck my life. Stiles didn't move from his seat, which made Mr. Harris hit him with a ruler.

"Aw, that must hurt," Erica smirked while resting her head on her hand. "You seem mad, babygirl." She peered at me, still smiling. "I didn't touch your boy this time. I touched Allison's."

I smiled at her. "True, you didn't touch my boy, so I'm going to let this pass. Next time you touch anyone close to me, you are a dead werewolf, Erica. And tell Derek that if he dares touch, Lydia, I will kill him myself. I won't hesitate." I continued grinning. "I won't hesitate to discover what the fuck I am while I kill the three of you slowly, Erica."

"Seems like you are quite similar to your mom." She grinned. "Must feel like shit when your mom was a murderer."

"You and my mother have something in common then," I replied while swallowing, a knot had formed in my throat. "You both murder innocent people."

"Time. If you've catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal. Now for the part of that last experiment, I'm sure you'll all enjoy - You can eat it." My eyes went to Scott to see that he was deeply studying Lydia and Isaac. Lahey has offered the crystal to Lydia, a thick liquid falling from it.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling frustrated. I couldn't help them. I couldn't entirely help them without knowing what creature was I. I yelled inside my head due to the frustration I felt. Next thing I know, the window next to Lydia shattered, the crystal fell to the floor due to the shock. The pieces of the window didn't hurt Lydia at all, but they hurt Isaac.

Scott looked back at me, mouth wide open. I did that?

After class, we parted ways. Scott went to 'talk' to Boyd and Derek to the lacrosse field, Allison went to talk to Lydia's psychiatric after she found out that she could be able to read whatever language the bestiary was in. Meanwhile, Stiles and I accompanied Lydia to the library, scared to leave her alone.

After that, we all reunited except Scott.

"If we're doing a study group, why didn't we just stay in the library?"

"Because we're meeting up with somebody else." His hand sometimes touched Lydia's arm, which made my heart ache for some unknown reason. He was just protecting her.

"Hmm, well, why don't they just meet us in the library?"

"Oh, that would've been a great idea. Too late."

"Okay, hold on-"

"Lydia, shut up and walk." I didn't like the idea of Jackson coming. Nobody was listening to me, Lydia wasn't the kanima. They wanted to protect her in case Derek would get a hold of her, but we needed to do other things, like discover who the fuck was the kanima. Even though, I had some ideas.

We got into Stiles's jeep, and when we arrived at his house, he closed the door, locking it and lying to Lydia, letting her know that there were some robberies on the neighborhood and a fricking murder. Great idea, Stiles.

When Jackson told Lydia that he wanted to talk to her, just the two of them, I didn't like that. But it was the perfect moment to tell Allison and Stiles about Jackson. "Guys listen," I started. "I think I know who the ka-"

I was interrupted when Allison noticed that Derek and the other were outside the house, ready to attack. She called Scott with Stiles's phone. "It's me." She was neurotic, like all of us. But they had to listen to me. "You need to get here now. Right now." When she hanged up, I tried to talk again.

"What are you doing?" I was interrupted by Stiles, who looked at Allison.

"I think...I think I have to call my dad."

"No, but if he finds you here - you and Scott -"

"I know. But what are we supposed to do? They're not here to scare us, okay? They're here to kill Lydia."

"Guys, there's no need in calling your dad, Allison." I raised my voice. "I know who-" I was interrupted, again. Allison was thrown to one side of the room, while Stiles to the other.

I hissed at the person, he turned around, flashing his eyes. Isaac Lahey. "Allison!" I yelled while keeping my eyes on Lahey. "Take care of Stiles!"

"Where are you going?!"

"I'm going to get the Kanima."

I went into some rooms, trying to find anything that would help me find the kanima. One of the windows inside a room had some sticky fluid, which meant the kanima was there. I went out of the window, thankful that Coach had made us climb rock walls.

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I heard Lydia's voice, which meant that they were outside the house.

The kanima looked at me, trying to get away. "Jackson!" It turned around to look at me, he hissed. I groaned. Then, he jumped, pushing me down. I closed my eyes tightly, knowing that my body would hit the ground. Thankfully, I was caught my Stiles, more or less. I ended up on top of him, both of us on the ground. I panted looking around.

"Are you okay?" Scott ignored Derek while coming closer.

"I've been trying to say it all day." I gasped. Stiles sat down, I was still sitting on his lap. "It's Jackson. The Kanima it's Jackson."

What does that make me?

.

.

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