writerjayne

[writerjayne]

he knows

When people ask him what changed his mind, why he's back in Beacon Hills instead of at the fancy FBI job he earned through merit and luck, he just smiles and laughs it up. Insists this is how it just worked out. That the job was good, and being in the field was surprisingly easy for him, but the remote research work landed on his lap once and he realized he'd much rather do that. Working the field was great, but being able to actually spend time with his old man gives him more joy.

The old ladies call him a good man, tell him he's such a good son, and share their own turmoils with him. The old men sneer at his choice until he lets slip just how much he makes, and then they're singing praises, too.

After a couple of weeks, the noise dies down. He is no longer the novelty, the townspeople ready to move on to the next new, shiny thing that catches their attention.

What doesn't die down is whatever is spreading inside him. The burn under his skin is licking up towards his heart, coming out through his pores, charring him to immobility as the sun dips down and comes back up.

After week three, he's unable to move from the bed, and none of their research is bringing about any clues. No one knows why this is happening to him, and they have all accepted this.

That he is going to die. There's no coming back, no cure for this sudden illness that has taken him. None of the books that Deaton provides, that Lydia translates and pours her time into, have a single clue.

It's not as painful, if he's honest. Not now. It was at the beginning, the heat sudden and startling, the pain that comes with it bright and unending. But he's been with it for a while now, gotten used to the constant warmth. A false sense of security.

The only thing left for him is to stop feeling altogether. At the rate his body is shutting down, it's not too far, now. Another day or two, maybe three if he's unlucky.

He's said his goodbyes. Told his father to keep on living, to not only honor the memory of mom, but his, too. There's grief laced in each of their interactions, each word spoken with a weight that brings tears to Stiles' eyes and a tremble that rocks his father's body. It's an ugly sight, and it so happens to be his last. Nearly his last.

His dad's a strong man, he'll survive. He's enlisted the help of Lydia to do so. Asked her to be the child he'll not get to be for him. Through teary eyes she had agreed, and he's watched the two of them get closer in their quest of trying to heal him, and then grieve him. She's like the daughter he never had, and she is good for him. Stops him from drinking alcohol and makes him healthy food, even when he refuses to listen, and Stiles can do nothing but lay on his bed as the voices float up from the kitchen.

Scott and him never did resolve their differences. Scott's been a part of his life enough to warrant him a last goodbye, and despite everything that has happened, Scott promised to him to be there for his dad. He promised many things, but has delivered none, and has only been by to see him on day one — when Stiles had allowed Lydia to bring in the McCall Pack to help him cure himself.

It's as if Stiles being dead was an accepted outcome for him, and Scott has grieved him to the point of utter indifference since. If he's grieving in silence that's another thing, but for now, Stiles isn't dead. People do come in and see him.

Lydia, of course. His dad. Jackson flew from London to come see him, and he hasn't left since, feet set like stone in Beacon Hills, despite the final acceptance of their failure. Isaac came with Jackson, and it's so silly, he thinks, that being on the verge of death can bring together people you would never see in one place by choice.

Kira has stopped by multiple times, as have Malia, Liam, Mason, Jordan, and surprisingly, Hayden. She insisted he's a hero, and cried while hugging him.

Scott hasn't come again. And, honestly, it's not as bothersome to Stiles as someone else not coming in to see him.

Cora has face-timed him, and Peter was there, he knows. The two of them were there, and when he'd asked about Derek, Cora had snapped out, "He's an idiot," while Peter had calmly told Stiles, "He's determined."

Stiles is smart enough to put together the fact that Derek has been pursuing his own leads to find the cure, but he'd hoped that once the finality of his situation reached him, he'd see Derek one last time.

He wouldn't burden Derek with the knowledge of his own feelings. Wouldn't confess like in the fairytales, and hope for a true love's miracle. Stiles is honest to himself these days, and he'd rather go with unconfessed feelings than burden Derek, because somewhere in their interactions, Stiles has developed a pure hatred for anything that could even remotely hurt Derek.

He supposes this is love, and how ironic is it, that this is the most intense feeling he's ever had, and he can't even speak aloud about it?

So he lounges in his bed, waiting for the light to take him. Each time he closes his eyes he knows he's closer to never opening them again, and tonight, as he hears Lydia turn the pages of a book, and Jackson walking outside in the hallway, and his dad sobbing in his own room, and Isaac cooking, he just wishes tonight's the night. He cannot have the people he care about clinging onto false hope.

He closes his eyes, and behind his eyelids, he sees his family. He sees his mom, beckoning him; his parents, smiling, as he runs towards them for a family hug; Lydia, when she told him she loves him in the Jeep, and the night when he came back, declaring that he's not supposed to leave her, ever; Jackson and Isaac laughing at his expense, but not in a mean way, instead enjoying each other's company like the friends they've become these days; Derek, as the last time Stiles saw him, smiling softly at him while he rambled on about the way he convinced the FBI to let him join the mission that saved Derek's ass.

He remembers, with immense clarity, the moment he realized he's in love with Derek. The heartbreak of saying goodbye to him, of watching his brows furrow at the clear lie of, "You should go," and hesitant step forward he'd taken before realizing it.

He'd said, "You should go or Cora will leave," and left the, "I want her to," unsaid.

He sleeps, and wishes to dream about a world where Derek didn't leave and things happened differently. Where somehow, they found their way to each other, and Stiles never got ill like this.

Instead, he dreams about a purple light guiding him to a tunnel that simply looks white, like that is all there is.

He follows.

He doesn't wake up, again.

At least, that's what he thinks — until his eyes open and he's face-to-face with —

"Derek?"

*

The whole place is white. The only splash of color exists on Stiles himself, his clothes rumpled with sleep, and on Derek, whose jeweled eyes are shimmering with unshed tears and sparkling joy.

"Derek, what the hell did you do?!"

Derek doesn't deem that a question worthy of replying. Instead the werewolf picks him up and hugs him so tight Stiles worries about not being able to breathe, and then realizes, with a startling clarity, that he is not in pain.

Still in embrace, he asks, a little choked up, "Why am I not in pain?"

Derek takes an exaggerated sniff before reluctantly pulling back and fixing him with a look that screams of resplendent joy, but also like he's waiting for a reprimand. He says, "This is Bardo."

Stiles stills. "Bardo," he repeats. He's dived into enough books to hear what Derek is leaving unsaid. Bardo is where spirits go after dying. It's an in-between space for spirits with unfinished business, one that opens only on a land with a Nemeton on it. Beacon Hills fits the criteria for it, and Stiles the criteria for having wishes he didn't get in his life, but he doesn't... He doesn't fit the other criteria. "Derek Nobody Will Tell Me What Your Middle Name Is Hale, that place — which apparently is this place, what the hell — is for supernatural spirits. Me?" He laughs, humorless and frantic. "I am not a supernatural creature. I'm just a human who used to run with a Pack."

Derek's worry melts away into nothing, as if Stiles would miss the fact that for Derek to be here, he has to be dead.

"Don't think I don't understand that you're dead, too! Deliberately!"

There. That is the face of a chastised puppy. "But it worked?" Stiles squints his eyes and motions for Derek to go on, who sighs but complies with the command. "The illness that took you was a Supernatural fever, last recorded with a Spark centuries ago. I tracked down the journal —"

"Wait, hold on, Spark? Where have I heard that word..." The Vet clinic, years ago. The Kanima in the club. The mountain ash line that never should have formed because there was much too less of it to complete the circle. As the realization hits, he closes his eyes and rests his fists against them. He isn't ashamed to let out a scream of rage as well.

When he lets his arms fall back down to his side, Derek takes one of them and starts rubbing comforting circles on the back of his hand. "You are one," he says softly, like he's trying not to spook Stiles with the declaration. Like Stiles' world didn't just shift irrevocably as he put the pieces together. "I don't really understand why your powers never unlocked, because traditionally speaking they should have kicked in your teen years. With the added clusterfuck of those years they definitely should have. They did not."

Again, he laughs humorlessly, and gives Derek a "duh" look. "Our lives have rarely dared to be traditional." He thinks back to all the awful things that have happened over the years to him, but mostly, as Derek put it, in those years. The Nogitsune was definitely the worst thing to happen to him, and holy shit. "Do you think it chose me because of my power? Rather than her?"

Derek doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, "I think that is why you survived. Because of your Spark."

Oh. That... makes sense. Sort of. But that is the past, and they're in the present, and they're in fucking Bardo of all places. "Derek, I think I really need an explanation. Like right now. Including why you thought killing yourself was the best fucking idea."

Derek winces, but he also looks determined once Stiles' glare eases off of him. And they're still holding hands, which he realizes with a warmth he actually enjoys feeling. "When I got the call, I had an inkling... So I followed my instincts and ended up at probably our oldest vault."

"You knew what I am." He doesn't even feel angry. Somehow, Derek knowing a thing about him that nobody else does (and he is not counting Deaton as a factor here at all, that cryptic asshole), it feels nice.

Derek uses his free hand to tap at his chest, once, twice. "Instincts," he says, with the same effect as saying, "Werewolf," like he once used to, as if that was the answer to everything. "This illness confirmed it for me. I found a journal at the vault that belonged to that Spark, and in it, he detailed how the illness felt, how it spread, and how within weeks he could do nothing but lay on his cot." Derek swallows, his voice turning rough with choked up emotions. "Stiles, just reading it was so awful. I can't imagine..."

Derek Hale doesn't cry. He feels deeply, and he cares even deeper, but he doesn't cry, not in front of people.

But Stiles is not most people, and he is aware enough to know that he is, for some reason, one of the people who is most important to Derek. So as Derek breaks down at the idea of Stiles' suffering, Stiles reaches forward and brings his arms around Derek.

"I'm here," he assures, over and over again, until the words are stronger than Derek's shaking. "I'm right here," he says one last time, and stays close to the man he loves most for an indeterminate amount of time, silently not-breathing together.

Stiles breaks the silence with, "I love you, you know?" He had promised to not say it to Derek. To not burden him. But here they are, in Bardo. Together. A Pack of two who would do all that is possible and all that is not to protect the other. Derek deserves to know he is loved.

The way Derek's arms tighten around him says he doesn't know. And when Derek pulls back, just a little to stare at Stiles like this is unbelievable, Stiles pulls him back in by grabbing his hands and putting one on his chest, the other on his face. He kisses the inner palm of the latter, and smiles brightly. "Never thought I'd say it. Especially once I was on my deathbed. Still hate that you chose to die with me, but I'm hoping you have a plan, and you deserve to know. You're amazing and I love you, Derek Hale."

The smile he gets is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and Derek presses forward until their foreheads are resting against each other's. "Samuel," he says.

"Derek Samuel Hale? Samuel like Sam and Dean's grandpa?"

Derek does a snort-chortle thing, then says in the small space between them, "Shut up, Stiles."

"Shutting up."

The silence stretches, and they stay together, seizing the moment. Who knew Bardo could be peaceful? Except...

"Our escape plan? See, I'd love to explore you biblically anywhere and everywhere, but I would much rather do it on —"

"Stiles."

Derek's look of scandalized horror makes Stiles laugh until he's being hauled off in his strong, muscled arms like a sack of potatoes and starts walking. "I don't know why I love you too."

"This is just sexy. I don't think you know what you're doing to me."

"I can still smell your arousal, Stiles. I know."

"You know loads of things. What else do you know?" He says it in a simpering, sexy voice, and then giggles as Derek stumbles a step before balancing himself.

"I know how to escape. We need a bed, yes? So stop distracting me and let me do my thing."

Stiles is just glad he is already in Derek's arms, because otherwise he would have swooned and fallen into them.

The escape plan is easy and a let down, if he's being completely honest. What they need are:

A Spark's Belief ✅️

An Alpha's Roar ✅️ (When did Derek become an Alpha again?)

An Anchor on The Other Side ✅️ (Peter)

An Incantation That Derek Has Memorized ✅️

To Stand Where The Veil is Thinnest ✅️ (Derek's instincts strike yet again)

All in all, it is very anti-climactic, and very dirty as they end up materializing in a clearing near the Nemeton which is muddy. Peter looks one look at them and says, "Finally."

Stiles isn't sure if he meant it for them coming back or for Stiles and Derek finally confessing to each other. Either way, Peter hands them clean clothes and agrees to drive them back to Stiles' house, where apparently everyone is in a panic because "Stiles dissappeared."

"It's only been like, an hour or something," Stiles says, confused, as he changes into the clean t-shirt while Peter faces the other way and Derek stares, unabashed, much to Peter's verbal disgust.

Peter takes a break from chastising his nephew to say, "It's been 72 hours."

Huh.

"We should get going then," he says, and Peter sighs.

"If only you could ask my dear nephew to rein in his urges."

Stiles throws Derek a glare, who rolls his eyes but obliges. However the glare the turns into an appreciative look over Derek's abs, and Peter throws up his hands.

*

Acclimating to having magic is easy when he already has an anchor. Derek's presence is both wanted and needed, and despite Scott's insistence that another Alpha cannot stay in town, Derek stays as long as Stiles does.

Two weeks pass before Stiles calls back his boss and lets her know that he's now alright, and then he's promptly being shipped off to another state for a case. Everyone has already congratulated him on both being alive and doing something about his pining, so they throw a simple dinner on his last night in town and Stiles watches, with amusement and fondness, as all the people in his heart mingle with easy conversations and banter.

Peter chooses to stay in town to reconnect with Malia in person, while Cora deems it better to go back to her Pack in South America. Lydia and Jackson leave together for London, but Isaac decides to stay back.

When Stiles asks him why, he says, "Liam needs a good mentor. His control is weak. I can help him, plus, Derek needs a pack."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Liam is Scott's beta," he says.

"None of them have a pack bond," Isaac fire backs, and oh.

Derek must have heard the conversation, too, because he comes over and claps Isaac on the back, proud and all smiley, and Stiles can't help but lean in to kiss it. To taste the constant joy off of Derek's face, to give him his own in return. The action is met with Derek's soft moan and a ring of disgusted groaning from the others, including his dad's.

Stiles laughs after he pulls back, and looks around at the lot of them. There's tragedy woven into all of their lives, but there's also happiness.

Who knew getting ill would lead to this? To re-founding a family?

Maybe Derek knew, the bastard. Loveable bastard, though.

[writerjayne]

Stiles sets up a betting board rather early on, figuring it'll be something that might help the betas bond a bit. It started off with a few silly things but the main category quickly became 'what is going to try and kill us next'. The name was changed after Derek expressed concerns over how cavalier Stiles was about dying and instead became 'what is going to put us in danger next'. The rules were simple:

Each of them contributed to a pool.

Each beta was given the opportunity to change their pick after something tried to kill them or once a month (if things were quiet)

Winner got the contents of the pool

If there was no clear winner or if there was more than one and they didn't want to split it, pack could make an argument for why their pick was the closest.

Scott put down 'Peter betraying the pack'

Peter in retaliation put down 'Argents being Argents'

Both refused to change it.

Stiles put down 'Dereks love life'

Erica put down 'Stiles losing his mind in a haze of caffeine after too many sleepless nights researching'. Boyd silently added his name against that pick as well.

The problem was Stiles seemed to always get it right. No matter what he wrote down each time, it usually happened in some way.

Derek's love life - a barista he'd been tentatively flirting with at the coffee shop turned out to be a succubus

Extreme cold (mocked by the others for being written down in the middle of a heatwave)- an abominable snowman popped up and set off a cold spell that even werewolf heat and Isaac's scarves couldn't ward off

Scott's cooking - After breaking some of Melissa's kitchenware while trying to make a romantic meal for Allison (the exact details of how remain a mystery, although Isaac was involved) and replacing it with a new set from a cute little shop that seemingly popped up out of nowhere, the pack quickly found out that there was a poltergeist attached.

The only time he didn't put anything down, was when he got possessed. And Peter argued that he technically still got it right since the only thing in his section was his name... Which was accurate in its own way (Stiles was not pleased by this logic and refused to talk to anyone for a long time)

He began to get gradually weirder and weirder with his picks, not even really trying to win after a while. He was a little confused and concerned by his strange predictions and hoped that eventually it would get too absurd to possibly come true.

Musical theatre - a siren showed up and almost lured Isaac into the swimming pool with her voice.

Killer Tomatoes - Lydia ended up nearly choking on her salad

Hummus - Jackson managed to ingest poisoned hummus and became practically feral.

Puppies - Stiles woke up one day to a very stressed Derek with an armful of his now tiny canine betas. Stiles didn't mind that one so much.

[writerjayne]

This genuinely looks so good, how much time do yall spend on these . .

[writerjayne]

An embroidery of the Wikipedia page for embroidery.

[writerjayne]

"C'mon Scott, it's Halloween!!" 

"Every day is Halloween for us Stiles," Scott sighed, picking at the food on his lunch tray.

"Not every day!" Stiles tried to protest, but when Scott gave him a look, Stiles relented slightly. "Okay, sure, every day can feel like Halloween when you're a teenage werewolf, but hear me out!!"

"Here you out about what?" Lydia asked as she and Allison joined the table, setting down their trays. 

"Scott's saying he doesn't want to do anything for Halloween!" Stiles whined slightly. 

It was childish, he knew, to whine about this, but Halloween had always been Stiles' favorite. The decorations, the atmosphere of fall and fun, dressing up, and getting to be something else other than yourself. Not to mention the candy! 

"What did you have in mind?" Erica asked as she, Isaac, and Boyd sat across from them. 

"It's not like I want to go trick or treating or anything," Stiles explained. "I just thought it would be fun to spend it together and celebrate. Though handing out candy would be fun." 

"We could watch scary movies," Boyd suggested. 

"Or we would walk some of the more decorated neighborhoods to look at the lights," Isaac added. 

"Normal stuff!" Stiles pointed out as he looked pleadingly at Scott. 

"Where would we even meet?" Scott countered. 

"Any of our houses would work," Lydia said practically. "Except maybe Allison's." 

"That's a good point," Allison agreed. "Dad's come a long way accepting my friendship with the pack, but I don't think he would be thrilled if I brought the pack home."

"We could ask Derek if we can use the loft!" Erica offered, enthusiasm warming her voice. 

"Costumes?" Stiles asked. 

"Optional?" Lydia offered the compromise, and Stiles nodded. 

"I'm good with that!" Stiles couldn't help his growing smile. "And if we don't want to commit to a full movie, we could look up Halloween episodes of TV shows we like!" 

"Oh, I like that idea!" Allison looked at Scott, hopefully. "What do you think?" 

Scott sighed again, but before he could answer, Stiles chimed in one more time:

"C'mon Scott, it'll be like when we were little!" 

That sentiment, along with Stiles' pleading eyes, was enough for Scott to give in with a reluctant smile. 

"I'm clearly outvoted. Who's house should we use?" 

"I think it depends on how late we'll be staying," Lydia said, ever the practical hostess. "Do we want to spend the night?" 

The group debated for a while who's house to use, and the pros and cons of the different locations weighed and considered. The Loft vs the Lake House. The Lake House vs Scotts House. Scott's house vs Stiles' House and, of course, Stiles' house vs the Loft. Full circle a few times before it was eventually decided that Stiles' house was the best choice, not only because his street got a decent amount of foot traffic and trick-or-treaters but because Stiles had the most movie options. 

******

"I still think every day is Halloween for us," Scott said by way of greeting when he arrived at Stiles' house after school. 

"And today, it's for everyone!" Stiles grinned, tossing a pack of Reese's pieces to the grumpy werewolf. "So you'll just have to deal with it. Nice costume, by the way." 

"It was easy enough," Scott shrugged. He was wearing a set of scrubs and had a stethoscope around his neck. "I didn't even have to steal anything." 

"I resent that comment," Stiles laughed. "I didn't steal anything either!" 

"So you just happened to have a leather jacket lying around?" 

"For your information, I borrowed it from Isaac," Stiles huffed. 

"He's lucky it fit," Isaac teased as the two entered the living room. The were' was lounging on the couch in a white T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt had been written on with a Sharpie to say, 'This is my costume.' "He's kind of short," Isaac said. 

"Am I short or are you just freakishly tall?" Stiles shot back. 

"What are you supposed to be anyway?" Scott asked, plopping on the couch next to Isaac. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Stiles' grin had a hint of mischief now. "Here I'll give you a hint!" 

Stiles crossed to the furthest side of the room and struck a pose. His hands in his pockets, feet apart, and something close to a glare on his face as he stared at Scott. Scott stared back for a minute, thinking before he burst into laughter. 

"Are you Derek?" He managed to gasp between peals of laughter. 

Stiles dropped the glare, his face lighting up at Scott's delight. 

"Yeah! He'll probably kill me for it, but it's still a good costume!" 

"I know I said he didn't steal it, but if Derek asks, he absolutely did," Isaac grinned too, but before he could say more, he cocked his head towards the door.

"They back with the pizza?" Stiles asked, and Isaac nodded. 

Scott could hear them all now, too. 

"Perfect timing. It sounds like Lydia is here, too. Allison's with her," Isaac reported what he could hear to Stiles' human ears. 

"Awesome! Scott, grab plates for us?" Stiles asked. 

"Sure," Scott stood, heading to the kitchen. 

When he came back, everyone was settling around the living room. 

Erica was in all black and had a pair of cat ears. Boyd didn't seem to be wearing a costume but had brought several bags of candy (both to share and to pass out). Allison had braided her hair over one shoulder and brought her bow for a simple Katniss costume. Lydia was in a simple green dress with fake ivy twined around her head in a crown. 

"Poison Ivy?" Scott asked as he handed out the plates. 

Lydia nodded. 

"It had been my plan for handing out candy at home so I figured I would still wear it!" 

"Ivy and Catwoman," Stiles joked "wish we had known there was a theme." 

"Don't worry, Stiles, you're still my Batman," Erica winked. 

The group fell into easy banter, occasionally interrupted by trick-or-treaters as it got later. Eventually, they put on the Addams Family Values just for the atmosphere, as they mostly kept talking and handing out candy. It wasn't far into the movie when Derek showed up. 

"Hey Sourwolf!" Stiles called from the couch when Derek followed Erica inside. 

"Erica said you were all hanging out for Halloween," Derek looked awkward as he explained. "She said I should come." 

"Absolutely!" Stiles grinned. "Come sit. I think we have pizza still. Where did the box go?" 

Derek settled next to Stiles and was handed a plate with a couple of slices of pizza on it. He took a bite and subconsciously scanned the room as he ate, noting everyone's costumes or lack of costumes. He was confused by Stiles', though. The jacket was clearly Isaac's, and for the life of him, Derek couldn't figure out what Stiles was supposed to be. 

It was when Stiles was coming back from his turn to hand out candy that Derek finally asked.

"So what are you supposed to be?" 

Derek was confused by the giggles that broke out at his question. 

"Haven't figured it out yet, big guy?" Stiles smirked. "I'm you!" Stiles struck his pose and aimed his glare at Derek. "Back when you were a creeperwolf who would stare instead of actually communicating!" 

Everyone was laughing again, and Derek couldn't help a small smile. 

"Terrible," was all he said, and Stiles shrugged, his usual smile coming back. 

"At least I have a costume!" 

General protest broke out at this, and Stiles had to dodge thrown candy as he made his way back to his seat next to Derek. If Stiles took advantage of that fact to tuck himself closer to Derek (to use him as a shield), no one needed to know. 

And if, a couple of hours later, Derek casually put an arm around Stiles, who could blame him? He just needed to stretch; it was cramped on the couch. 

And if they were still like that, leaning into each other, fast asleep, surrounded by the pack (also asleep through the room, haphazardly covered with blankets and using each other as pillows), when the sheriff came home the next morning, who would be surprised? Certainly not Noah Stilinski, who snapped a few photos before grabbing some candy from the bowl on the table and heading upstairs. He could let them sleep. Questions could wait. 

[writerjayne]

I ADORE this like SO MUCH I can't even add anything because I'm stuck on how perfect this is!!!

AU where Stiles and Derek are both in high school and they have this long standing rivalry that started years ago back when they were still in elementary school and they hate each other, absolutely despise each other. Do they remember why? Not really, but they do know they must beat the other at all costs.

Derek is captain of the basketball team and Stiles does track. They both have trophies and awards, Derek has won the state championship ever since he started playing, and Stiles gets gold or silver in all of his events during competitions. Their GPA is exactly the same, Stiles is a History genius and Derek always aces English. They both suck at Chemistry, and they hate Harris. It's the only thing they ever agree on.

The only other highlight of their high school career besides their epic and everlasting hate-hate relationship is the anonymous person they've been talking to through annotated books.

Stiles blames his impulsiveness, because one day in freshman year he picked up a book full of little notes in the margin of the pages in the library and decided to answer all of them with his own little insights. Somehow he ends up having entire conversations made in intervals of a few days, in the form of words written on paper.

Derek? Well, he likes to annotate books and have mini conversations with himself, and he uses a pencil to write them, it’s not like he’s permanently damaging school property or anything! He starts caring less and less about that, though, when someone starts leaving answers to his annotations, much more invested on the conversations than on the preservation of school property.

Now, years later, about eighty percent of the library's books contain little messages and full blown conversations between two complete strangers. Stiles and Derek are about to graduate, and neither of them knows who this other person is. Which is a tragedy because they're pretty sure this mysterious person is the love of their life.

Spoiler alert: they're right.

[writerjayne]

“Oh, I see what’s going on,” John says quietly as he sidles up to Stiles out on the porch in front of the house.

“What?” Stiles asked, turning to his dad in confusion - away from the sight of Derek bent over under the Jeep’s hood to fix whatever was broken inside. “Derek’s helping me out so I don’t have to pay a shit ton of money for it to break again in a few months.”

“Mhm, and you’re standing here…?”

“Supervising,” Stiles quickly interjects, crossing his arms and staring back stubbornly back at the car - not Derek’s ass, thank you very much - but his cheeks started heating despite his efforts to stay cool.

“Supervising,” John says amused, lifting his coffee to take a sip and hide his smile. “Because…”

“I don’t trust anyone with Roscoe.” But it’s like Stiles can hear his own heart skip a beat and yeah, the sheriff needs to leave now. “Dad, don’t you have-”

“Because you like him,” John continues quietly, undeterred and yeah, Stiles wants to disappear right now, please.

“- better things to do, ohmygod. It’s not like that. He’s a friend. Please leave.” Stiles rests his crossed arms on the guardrail and hides his face in them.

The sheriff laughs lightly and pats his back. “You know you can’t lie to me. But relax. He can’t hear us.”

Stiles really wished he could tell his dad how wrong he was. Derek had most certainly heard every word.

“But remind me again how much you’re paying him?” John asks, eyeing the man in their driveway.

“I’m not,” Stiles replies disheartened, voice muffled by his arms. “It’s a friendly favor. Totally friendly.”

The sheriff makes that self-satisfied hum again and takes a sip of his coffee. “Of course. I’m sure Derek has nothing better to do than tend to your every need. I’m sure he’s not trying to impress anyone right now, or show he can provide for a certain someone.”

Stiles was pretty sure he was about to melt into the ground in shame when he heard something clang loudly enough for the sheriff to turn back when he was walking away.

—–

Just a little quick something I threw on a page for @alphawitch21 bc I’m taking literally forever with her fic ❤️

How many times can the sheriff embarrass the two oblivious, pining dorks?

[writerjayne]

fail!gif inspired by this post

[ stiles doing the fancy mountain ash throw and ending up covered in it ]

im so sorry

[writerjayne]

“Need a hand with that, wolf?”

Derek didn't drop the tire he was carrying, but it was a close thing. He'd recognise that voice anywhere—would know it in a sea of a thousand others. He slowly turned on his heel to find its owner sat in Derek's favourite tree.

Stiles.

“You're here,” he breathed, not bothering to hide the mix of shock and relief that coloured his own voice and features.

Stilesʼ lips twitched. “I'm here,” he confirmed, just in case Derek needed to hear it.

“Hey,” Derek said, eloquent as ever.

“Hey yourself,” Stiles grinned back.

Shifting his weight on the tree branch, he then pulled himself up to standing. He then wiped his hands on the ass of his jeans before proffering one towards Derek.

“I'm Mieczysław Stilinski. It's really nice to meet you, dude.”

Stilesʼcheeks flushed an overwhelmingly pretty shade of pink, and Derek wanted to eat him.

Reaching out to take the hand in his one of his own, the pads of his fingertips brushed the familiar Jack rabbit pulse at Stiles's wrist, for just a second, and it was both a calling card and like a huge sigh of relief.

He turned the name around in his mind.

Mieczysław. Mieczysław Stilinski.

It was unexpected, and very Polish, and Derek sort of adored it.

Looking a little antsy, Stiles said, “It, uh, means 'sword' in Polish. If you go in for that sort of thing.” He blushed some more and then snorted at himself. “But yeah, I know it's kinda... ʼSʼobviously why I go by Stiles—which was my Grandfather's nickname too, by the way.”

Derek's heart swelled in his chest.

This was what they could've had if things had gone differently for them.

He cleared his throat, took a deep intake of woodsmoke-laced air into his lungs, then said, “Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, third son of Talia and Seth Hale of the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills, California, and I'm very pleased to meet you're acquaintance. Oh, and don't call me dude, by the way.”

“Broderick? Are you shitting me right now?!” Stiles blurted, trying and failing to not laugh.

Derek rolled his eyes and it felt like breathing. “Seriously? I think you'll find you don't have even half a leg to stand on, Mieczysław.”

“Actually, I have two, Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, and I diligently used the both of them to come out here to Bumfuck nowhere to find you.”

He shot Derek with ridiculous finger guns then blew away imaginary gunpowder smoke, and if it wasn't for the kid's beard it could've easily been thirteen-years ago.

Not a kid anymore.

He looked amazing. A little broader, and a little fuller in the face, and the beard really, really suited him. At once, Derek had the desperate urge to sink his claws into it and paw and at the pale skin beneath. He wanted to back Stiles into the bark of the tree and bury his nose in that long, mole-peppered neck he still had dreams about, to breathe in pure unadulterated Stiles.

He swallowed thickly, licking at his now dry lips and wishing they were Stilesʼ. Had to force himself to unclench the fist not currently grasping Stiles's hand.

Derek had to try his best to pretend that he wasn't very aware of the fact that they were still very much holding onto each other.

“Broderick means 'brother' in Old Norse, if you go in for that sort of thing,” he offered, borrowing Stiles's banter.

Stiles's smile was easy, albeit tainted with a hint of sadness for that piece of information. He was sort of—looser. More relaxed, and Definitely less agitated than he used to be. Though he smelled exactly the same as he always had: Of strong coffee and Bath & Body Oak shower gel and wild cinnamon and and lemon sherbet dip, and that particular warm smack of something that Derek had always struggled to place—the very essence of Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski.

The familiar tang zinged over his taste buds like popping candy, and his wolf took up its routinely impatient pacing at his core as if they had seen Stiles only yesterday.

“I'm—uh, I don't—you look good, Stiles. Really good.”

This human was the only creature on planet earth that had Derek Hale fumbling his words.

Stiles was smirking his signature smirk—only there was something new pulling at the curve of that life-ruining mouth of his.

Unerring confidence.

Derek sniffed at the air and licked at his lips again so he could taste that, too.

“You're look pretty fine yourself there, Sourwolf,” Stiles divulged, mirroring Derek again by licking his own lips. He shamelessly looked Derek up and down and said, “Your edges aren't quite so sharp, and you're little softer ʼround the eyes, like maybe you're—I dunno. Something closer to being happy?” His eyes shone like the full moon in the dark when he told Derek, “And, dare I say it, maybe not even all that sour anymore?”

Derek huffed a breath out through his nostrils that was in the proximity of a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Looks good on you, man. Really good.”

Stiles was borrowing Derek's words, and if he kept saying things like that to Derek while looking at Derek the way that he was, Derek would have to restrain himself from picking the guy up by the scruff of his very nice sweater and kissing the words right out of his mouth.

Then everything sort of stilled, somehow, including the wind, and the birds, and them, as if the whole world had just halted for something incredibly important.

They stood there, just gazing at each other. Like there wasn't anything else they could or would possibly be doing right now.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.

It was obvious to even the blades of grass on the ground that they both still felt it.

Slowly, slowly, they caught back up to reality.

Derek took a breath and found his voice again.

“Might've taken a few pointers from a kid I used to know,” he smiled, eyes never leaving Stilesʼ.

Then he thought in for a penny and admitted, “I hoped you'd come looking for me—and I want you to know that I'm really, really glad that you did.”

Stiles squinted at him through the sun's afternoon rays that broke through the Colorado cloud cover like the heavens had suddenly appeared. In that moment, he reminded Derek of the beautiful golden Aztec Sanvitalia shrub that grew down by the little stream behind his cabin. Derek wondered briefly if that was the missing base note in Stiles's scent, and felt a little insane with it all.

“Well, I knew I'd find you,” Stiles shrugged, “because one: I'm like a dog with a bone, and two: You left a trail of breadcrumbs so fucking vague only a genius like yours truly would be able to follow.”

He then shielded those big brown doe eyes of his from a particularly bright sunbeam with a still-bony hand, and the squinted look on his face was so fond Derek had to sink his canines into his lip to hold in the pitiful whine that threatened to climb out of his chest and escape him.

He stepped closer to the tree; closer to the boy who runs with wolves, who was definitely not a boy any longer.

“You make it sound as if we're in some sort of fairytale, Stiles,” Derek said as he attempted to blink Stiles's beauty from his eyes, knowing it would be a fruitless endeavour.

Finally, Stiles reached out to pull Derek down and into his lap, and Derek went like a force of nature.

He dropped the tire this time.

Stiles smelled like love when he said, “Weren't we always, Der?” right into Derek's mouth.

And Derek knew.

As Stiles leaned in and kissed him softly, and he kissed Stiles softly right back, he knew they both understood that although they had to travel far from Beacon Hills to find it, they had both—at long last—made it home.

.

i saw the new dob shoot and my brain remembered the hoech one and went ping! this is for @wulfnerd seeing as they came up with the wonderful Broderick as Derek's full first name in the tags of a post of mine who knows how long ago...

unedited, please be forgiving <3

[writerjayne]

EVERYONE gets candy if they made the effort to show up. Everyone.

[writerjayne]

Two bros. chillin in a hot tub. not five feet apart cause they’re… oh dear god… no I shan’t say…

[writerjayne]

When you turn 18, you go to the Chapel to summon a Familiar, then your future is decided based on its shape. All you can do is name the creature and then the summoning does the rest. After you name it, the priestesses all stare at you with horror in their eyes, then scream when it appears.

[writerjayne]

I think all the Hales were considered deeply weird for liking humans so much.

Like, the supernatural community probably tends to keep to itself, it's easier and overall safer to hook up with someone who is, if not the same kind of critter as you, will at least not freak out if you suddenly have claws or glowy eyes because hey, happens to everyone, right? Not to say there aren't humans in the know, of course there are, but not many.

So the Hales are a little strange, not only for consistently mating with humans, but being so absolutely rolled for them. Like, they are so gone for their mates, it's embarrassing. They call it the "Hale madness," some a little more derogatory than others.

And someone who's known the Hales for a long time, like Satomi or Deucalion, sees Derek, sees Stiles, sees Derek and Stiles, and they immediately just drag his ass, like, "I see you've contracted the Hale madness."

Stiles overhears it and immediately thinks it's, like, an actual madness and starts asking Derek about it, "What does that mean? What madness? Are you sick? Can we fix it? What's wrong?"

And Derek is just left like 😑 because he is not about to explain that no, he is not sick, there's nothing wrong with him, they're just making fun of him for being down bad for this smartass.

[writerjayne]

An adaptation of Sherlock Holmes set in a world in which the fictional character/literary juggernaut Sherlock Holmes, and all the subsequent adaptations thereof, still exist.

Sherlock Holmes (pronounced Holl-mess, as he is constantly reminding people) just had the misfortune of having parents who really liked the books, and his attitude towards his fictional counterpart is pretty much the same as that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Sherlock runs a Youtube Theory channel called Mysteries Unwrapped with Sherlock Holmes. He has received no less than seven cease and desist letters from the Conan Doyle estate, all of which he has so faded managed to rebuff by pointing out that that's literally his name.

(No he won't change his name. He's Sherlock Holmes the real live human person. Let Sherlock Holmes the non existent fictional character change his name.)

John is Sherlock's flatmate. Sherlock almost refused to live with him once he realised that it would mean staying with a medical student named John, and only gave in once John pointed out that: a) he's a biomedical student, which is completely different from an md, and b) his surname isn't Watson.

It's now been three years, which is long enough for them to have developed a genuine friendship, and for John to have a) started working towards his PhD in biotechnology, and b) for him to start dating somebody with the surname Watson.

Sherlock can feel the narrative closing in.

His Youtube channel is meant to be focused on lost media, fan theories and stuff like that, but he keeps accidentally stumbling upon and then solving genuine crimes.

His brother Mycroft may or may not have chosen that name after he transitions specifically to annoy him.

He doesn't even live in London, but somehow the only flat they could afford was on a street named fucking Baker Street.

Sherlock Holmes and the Unescapable Power of the Narrative.

[writerjayne]

[writerjayne]

Back in my teen wolf phase 😛

[writerjayne]

CODY CHRISTIAN