#Peter has probably been bitten by strangers many times

[marvel-lous-guy]

Steve: okay, team bonding exercises! What is everyone's biggest fear?

Clint: accidentally committing tax fraud

Sam: sharks

Nat: your more likely to be killed by a vending machine than a shark

Peter: actually, your more likely to be bitten by a stranger in New York than by a shark anywhere else in the nation

Clint: I'm changing mine to strangers in New York

Bucky: trains

[being-worthy]

Sunday Home Cinema: Army of the Dead!!

I haven't done one of these reviews in a long time (thanks to Covid-19 ¬¬) but I'm glad this film was the one to get me back in doing these reviews.

Honestly, I found out about the film about two weeks ago when I clicked on it on YouTube out of curiosity. It looked good and I'm an all big fan of zombie films and series and every zombie-themed film/series, even if it's extremely bad made (e.g. Z Nation but it's so funny to watch).

Sorry for any mistakes or things that make not much sense but I'm writing this at 2.30am and I just wanted to write this down while it's still fresh (I might review it later on if I feel like it).

> SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!! <

Apparently, Zack Snyder's Army of the Dead (here's the trailer), which can be watched on Netflix, is the prequel of Dawn of the Dead from 2004 also directed by him, which was a remake of the George A. Romero classic. I've got a hard time seeing this due to the zombies being so different but well, let's just roll with it.

Scott Ward (played by Dave Bautista) is offered/hired for $50 million by Bly Tanaka (villain/businessman played by Hiroyuki Sanada) to break into a walled Las Vegas after it was overrun by a zombie outbreak starting at the outskirts of the city with patient zero aka alpha zombie Zeus (more to the different zombie types later on) to "apparently" retrieve $200 million that is stashed in a safe at the casino's basement. Basically, it's like Ocean's Eleven but with zombies giving the film a nice touch.

I knew from the moment Tanaka offered Scott this job that there was going to be more to it. Why else would a stinking rich guy like Tanaka need to have a group to retrieve some money when: a. the insurance paid him some of that money back. I know he mentions he can't use it but come on, people like him know how to find either a way around whatever rule there might be or even wash it. And b. he looks like a guy who understands how business works and is well off, so you're telling me he wants to send a group there just for $200 million? B*tch please, I'm sure that's just petty cash to him, and there's surely more to it, especially after one of his goons (Martin) "invites" himself to tag along with the group to "make sure" they get the job done.

If I was offered that kind of money to go to a completely sealed city ruled by zombies, I wouldn't accept it no matter how bad my situation might be. The probability that something might go sideways is too high not to mention the risk that the virus spreads out to the rest of the world, I wouldn’t be able to live with that on my conscience.

In order to pull off this heist Scott assembles a team for the mission:

Vanderohe, the tank and chainsaw man. There'll be a little paragraph for him since his fate doesn't make entirely sense to me.

Marianne Peters, the pilot.

Maria Cruz, the mechanic.

Kate Ward, a volunteer in the quarantine zone. She's Scott's daughter and the only (human) survivor in the film.

Geeta, the mother. She ventures into the zombie-infested Vegas to find money in order to pay for safe passage out of the quarantine zone for herself and her children. I believe she dies in the helicopter crash but we don't see her body, so she might be alive somewhat?

Ludwig Dieter, the thief/safe expert, and I love how he questions everything lol!

Lilly "The Coyote", "the one who knows her stuff" aka zombie expert. Somehow interesting that she's got a conscience/good heart.

Martin, the inside man, and Bly Tanaka's right hand and got the death he deserved by kitten Valentine.

Mikey Guzman, the Sharpshooter and a YouTuber.

Chambers, the muscles and Guzman's sidekick (sort of). Her death was very predictable and her own fault! Girl, why the hell would you tell Martin that you don't trust him directly to his face?! That's such a rookie mistake!!

Burt Cummings, also the muscle for like 5 minutes before turning into the bait/bargain chip for a "deal" with the zombies in order to pass their territory. Overall, he's just a big jerk.

We see the first five people are survivors of the outbreak when Vegas was "freshly" being overrun by zombies and barely made it out of the city before it was completely sealed off. The rest of them are new characters. Almost none of them have any deep character story/feeling/development, most of them are quite plain and you don't care whether they survive or not. I've got also a hard time seeing any father-daughter relationship between Scott and Kate. I get that they haven't talked to each other since Scott had to put down Kate's mother after she got turned into a zombie but if I hadn’t seen the beginning I'd say they're just two strangers who met during the outbreak and he saved her at some point.

I very much like the fact that they introduce different types of zombies! On one hand, we've got the standard zombies aka shamblers who move slowly and are dead if you blow their brains out and if they bite you you become a shambler too. Then, there are the alphas who are fast (so fast that they can dodge bullets), they can also think, take orders, and are very organised. If you're bitten by one you become an alpha too but they also die if they're shot in the head which is easier said than done! We've also got a zombie horse, that's more bone than anything else, and a big tiger kitten called Valentine who used to be part of Siegfried & Roy's show (which also throws in the question, during which year is this movie set? They've both already passed away and they haven’t been retired from the entertainment world for a while before they passed away, and we see Tanaka carrying a modern mobile, so it must be during the past 2-3 our years.)

Their leader is patient zero aka Zeus who we see at the beginning being transported by a convoy of soldiers from Area 51 to somewhere else but never makes it there because he breaks free due to part of the convoy crashing into a car of a recent married (while the guy gets a blowjob and doesn’t watch the road!). He also takes the Bride as his queen (later on she's beheaded and her head still alive), who we see to be pregnant!! HOLY COW!! This throws in sooo many questions! For instance, how do zombies reproduce? The same way as we humans? What will the baby look like? Full zombie? A hybrid, half-human half-zombie? What power would they have? Do I even want to know or see this? Probably. Probably not. How many times did I wish they'd have introduced something like this in TWD (before I stopped watching it). At some point the virus that makes people zombies is supposed to mutate, every virus mutates at some point. We did already see a zombie baby in Dawn of the Dead but that was different since the woman was already in the late stages of pregnancy when she got bit. This one was one that was produced from zombie sex. I’ve got a feeling that their sex must be quite violent to say the least. Also, they way how the care for each other, especially Zeus for his Bride and child and seeks vengeance for both their deaths showing they’re capable of feeling and caring for their people. Maybe, just maybe want to find a way to survive without having to turn people but I think they’ll still need humans as a source of food. I don’t think they’re capable to live from eating normal food.

I've to make a special mention about Vanderohe. Besides, the fact that he's very attractive, there are a few things that don't make entirely sense to me.

He survives the nuclear blast of Las Vegas since he was looked inside the safe, which I can see being possible but (a little more possible than Indiana Jones seeking shelter in an old-fashioned fridge from a nuclear blast in Indiana Jones and Kingdom of Crystal Skull)... the whole city was nuked! And I mean big smoke of mushroom nuke! So, shouldn't the place, I don't know, be radioactive or something like that? And shouldn’t he find the nearest decontamination shower? Furthermore, it doesn't make sense that he gets infected, i.e. bitten. He gets into a fight with Zeus while they're in front of the safe and I watched that part several times and in slow motion too and we don't see Zeus bit him. There's one time where Zeus almost bites him but his teeth don't end up sinking into the flesh. He has Van in his hold, dislocates his right shoulder, and almost bites him there but only almost! In that same moment, Dieter hits Zeus in the head and pulls Van into the safe closing the door behind him (and most likely gets killed/turned by Zeus). I repeat there's no "visible" scene of Van being bitten by Zeus or any other zombie in another scene. So, where the f*ck did he get the bite and from who? I've also read that there's a theory of Van being immune because he's not turning as quick as the soldiers at the beginning of the movie when Zeus escapes the convoy (he still might be able to infect others though). He starts to feel lightheaded/dizzy and his body feels cold to the touch on the plane, and around the bite we see the veins turning black but that's it.

As much as I love the concept of the movie, it's very predictable as well as easy to figure out who makes it out alive and who makes it out the other kind of "alive" and it also reminded me a bit of Resident Evil (the first film was good and the rest just a waste). Tanaka wanting a fresh sample of an Alpha to make a virus that enables him to create an army of zombies he can control and take over the world. He could be Wesker's twin and his company the equivalent of the Umbrella Corporation. It's worth to watch but it doesn't compare to other zombie films such as 28 Days Later or even Dawn of the Dead (the classic and newer version), and many others.

[edelwoodsouls]

all roads lead - ch. 5

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,292 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4,

Chapter 5: SUNSHINE

The smell of cooking meat and spices fills the air soon after John shows them their room. It's relatively large, painted in cool tones of blue. A double bed, a desk and wardrobe. Large windows overlooking the back garden, which backs onto the preserve.

The window is noticeably easily to climb out of, the wrap-around porch and flower lattices a perfect ladder to the ground. Very useful for a werewolf, he thinks.

Malia splays herself out on the bed, testing its comfort. "It's no New York," she says seriously, as she bounces up and down, before burrowing into the covers. "But it'll do."

She's still sulking at the thought of going to school again. Peter had given up trying to make her school when she'd returned from Eichen House, homeschooling her instead, and allowing her to forgo any subject she decided she hated - math and history, mainly.

"You don't have to pass or anything," he'd reminded her. "I've got enough magic to handle cheating a few pop quizes. And maybe we can get in a study group, meet real teenagers. Get someone cute as a personal tutor, I'm sure you'll be a straight A student in months."

"I am a physical learner," she'd nodded sagely; he'd thrown a cushion at her.

Now he curls up into her arms beneath the covers. The duvet is thick but not too heavy, and the furnace they create almost chases away the cold in his fingers.

"Do you think your dad took that all a bit too easily?" Malia says softly, words muffled by his hair.

"Definitely," he admits. He's been steadfastly ignoring this fact until now. "Beacon Hills is a weird town, though. I'm sure he's seen all sorts of fucked up shit."

"He definitely knows about werewolves."

Stiles grimaces. "Yeah, probably. It's a bit hard to miss. Especially with a bitten wolf under the same roof."

"It's probably for the best."

"You think?" He shifts to look up at her dark brown eyes, unusually heavy with storm clouds.

"Now if he finds out, he's less likely to have a heart attack and die on the spot."

Stiles snorts. "I guess. He's already had a big enough shock with me coming back from the dead. The glowing eyes and fangs might be a bit too much to handle."

Under these warm covers, with Malia beside him, Stiles practically feels the shackles melt from his ankles. It truly is safe here, a perfect microcosm of everything he needs. He could never move from this place, with the steady rhythm of Malia's breathing to lull him to sleep, and die happy.

"Stiles," Malia says. There's something in her voice- not sharp, exactly. Not angry, it's too soft for that. Disappointed? He looks up to her again.

Her fingers rest lightly against his arm. Harsh black veins crawl up her skin, reaching high, disappearing beneath her sleeves. A grimace twists her lips.

Stiles goes suddenly cold. He reaches back along the bond, wrenches the pain she's stealing back into himself. He feels it hit him all at once, the breath vanishing from his chest for an instant.

But it is his pain, and it settles quickly back into his bones where it always sits. Where it has lived so long he has all but forgotten it exists there.

"Don't do that," he says sharply.

"I don't like seeing you suffer," Malia's eyes are fierce in that way he usually loves, that says she won't back down. "Especially not alone. Stiles, you're always in pain. You think you hide it well, but I see it. You haven't had a moment of rest since the nogitsune left, and if I can shoulder the burden long enough for you to sleep through a whole night, I'm going to do it."

"It's my burden to bear." My punishment. He may not have the scars to match, but the constant dull ache the nogitsune left behind feels right, feels good. This unnatural body, one that looks like his, but has never actually seen his childhood home, never hugged his mother, should not be comfortable.

"I'm your beta," Malia hisses, suddenly furious. Now she's angry. "You spent all that time bearing burdens Peter never even knew you carried for him, but you won't let me do the same? One rule for you, one for everyone else?"

Yes, he wants to say, because Peter never deserved the tragedy that piled upon his life, but Stiles does. And because he is not Peter. He loved Peter, but the man was never exactly a model alpha. His temper was too short, too violent. Sometimes too controlling. All easily explained away by his trauma, but not excused by it.

Malia deserves a better alpha. Better than Peter, better than Stiles, too- but he's the only one up for the job right now, and he'll do everything he can to live up to the role. He will not let her suffer on his behalf, though he knows she would throw herself on the pyre for him in an instant.

He wants to say all of this, but before he can form the words to make her understand, the front door opens with a loud thud, accompanied by a sudden maelstrom of footsteps and voices.

Stiles flinches, feeling Malia freeze beside him as they strain to listen.

Two new voices. Male. Excited, arguing playfully back and forth. Scott and Isaac.

Both unmistakeably werewolves.

"Showtime," Stiles mutters, as the voices go quiet, most likely sniffing out the two new, definitively human scents twined a floor above them. They listen as John comes out of the kitchen to explain the situation. What could he possibly say to make sense of it?

"We've got this," Malia murmurs, though her fingers are gripping his arm tightly now. "Should we look busy?"

"We already do," Stiles snickers, earning a sharp whack to the back of his head.

Steps thunder up the stairs, rocketing across the landing, almost falling over themselves. They come to a skidding halt just outside the door, as if remembering only at the last second that barging into a room is impolite.

A knock against the door, so tentative, as if scared any harder could break through the wood.

"Come in?" Stiles says, reluctantly extricating himself from the cocoon of Malia and bedding.

Whilst the years have not been kind to Stiles, or his father, Scott McCall wears his age like a mantel. Thick muscles wrap a straight-standing frame, unbent by pressure and trauma. His eyes are bright, his smile easy and so genuinely curious it seems to strike Stiles like lightning.

There are many differences, from the thick black bands tattooed on his arm, the scar on his cheek, to the overwhelming scent of power that curls off him in waves. But his jaw is still as crooked as ever, his expression like a cloudless, sunny sky.

That the world has not managed to break Scott McCall is a miracle Stiles is suddenly, desperately grateful for.

"Stiles!" Scott's voice is so much deeper than that ten year old he knew - of course it is - and filled with so much enthusiasm it almost smothers the confusion, the suspicion-

The hurt. Because his father isn't the only thing Stiles abandoned.

"Hey, Scotty," Stiles tries for a smile, finding it comes far more easily than usual. As if Scott has alleviated his burdens, too, for just a moment.

"Your dad said you just turned up today! Are you okay? What happened to you? Oh my god, it's been so long-" Scott stops suddenly, grins bashfully as he puts a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, that was a lot. I'm sure you'll talk about it when you're ready."

Stiles blinks, so stunned by Scott's unexpected restraint it takes a moment for him to realise the other boy is introducing him to someone. "-don't know if you remember him, he's living with us now that...well, he's living with us."

The boy in question is an incredibly tall bundle of blond hair and too-sad eyes. He hunches, as if to diminish his imposing figure. Stiles remembers, vaguely- Isaac Lahey, quiet and introspective, whose mother had been killed in a hit and run shortly after Claudia Stilinski died.

He remembers sitting with the young boy at the sheriff's station. Not talking, because what could words possibly say? But sitting together, sharing their grief. The memory brings up others Stiles doesn't like to consider, and he looks away quickly, even as he sees from Isaac's expression that they are sharing it.

Malia promptly pokes him in the ribs. "Am I just wallpaper now?"

"You're perfectly capable of introducing yourself, Mal," he snaps back playfully.

"Hm." Malia climbs out of the bed, shoving Stiles unceremoniously onto the floor in the process. "I'm Malia. Not Mal. Nice to meet you."

She sticks her hand out awkwardly, but Scott takes it all in stride, shaking it eagerly. "Nice to meet you, really. How do you know Stiles?"

Stiles is half expecting her to simply come out with it. He's my alpha. He murdered my father. Lying is not Malia's strong suit; every bone in her body rings with blunt honesty. But living with Peter and Stiles must have rubbed off on her at some point, because she simply smiles back and says, "We met in New York."

Which is A, a lie, and B, brings up a whole host of new questions. But still. Progress.

Stiles was a year bitten when he met Malia Tate - not in the far flung starlight of New York, but right here in Beacon Hills.

His life had changed drastically since that first day, when a stranger with sharp eyes had offered him the freedom he could only dream of.

He knows he probably should feel guilty for running, for how quickly he left with Peter - for how easily he’d allowed werewolf to become the excuse he needed to cut ties. But he was a child desperate to flee, haunted by the scent of whiskey and his mother’s perfume. And the newborn wolf inside him was already howling for home in a way that had nothing to do with Beacon Hills, and everything to do with the alpha cleaning his wounds.

So when Peter Hale said New York,  there was no answer except yes.

Of course, he was still a ten year old boy, uncomfortable with the idea of comfort after so long spent in crisis. He got angry, a lot. Frustrated. Threatened to leave. And Peter, twenty-one years old, buried in guilt and responsibility and absolutely not ready for any of it, reacted in kind.

And Stiles did the only thing he knew how to do. He ran away.

Usually he fled into the woods, exploring it just as he had the preserve - he really hadn’t learned his lesson on that one - or lost himself in the sounds and scents of the city. He always came back after a day or so.

This time was different. Your father, Peter had begun, and the wall Stiles had built between himself and Beacon Hills had come crashing down.

Shot in the line of duty. The words ricocheted through his head, endlessly, repetitively, until Stiles’ feet drove him out of the door to think, to breathe, to try to escape them.

He hadn’t left with the intention of coming here, and yet where else would he have gone?

Looking back now, he hears the careful words Peter chose, how he danced around things such as killed and dead. How he let Stiles grieve without ever having to dirty his hands in a lie. A convenient omission that Stiles does not know how to judge. To spare him the pain of having a living but abandoned father? To tie Stiles tighter to him, to New York, so he'd be less likely to leave?

The lie turns over and over in his head in a maddening refrain, all the worse for the fact that this is the one riddle he will never know the answer to.

Stiles had gotten buses most of the way back to Beacon Hills, dropping him at the northern edge of the preserve. He needed to walk the rest of the way, to feel the pain this pilgrimage had cost him on a bone-deep level. He left his phone buried deep in his backpack, ignoring the angry buzzing that started up on day three. He was hungry, and tired, and yet his feet drove him on.

He hiked through the preserve for two days. His old memories of the forest felt like little more than fuzzy, black and white photographs in the face of what his wolf could sense. Even that first day, everything had been so much, too much, ending up blurred just the same.

Now he walked with his head turned to the sky, taking in every leaf and branch in the canopy. Listening to each rustle of twigs, his mind racing as two legs  became four legs became coyote, twenty feet to the left, hiding in the bushes.

Hiding. Because for Stiles there was nothing to fear, now. He was the scariest creature in the forest.

The thing that struck him most was how different these woods were to the ones he traversed in New York. Older, certainly. More alive. There was a pressure in the air, a presence that existed everywhere at once, directionless. Every rustle of leaves, every breath of wind, sounded more like a murmured voice than the creak of trees. Did that voice belong to the trees? To the spirits winding in between their trunks? To the dead?

It took him several minutes, distracted by his awe, to realise that the coyote was following him. At a distance, moving through the underbrush with the fluid movements of something used to being invisible.

But not to Stiles. He could smell its hunger seeping into the air, the ravenous desperation of an animal willing to try anything. He tried to stay calm, keep his pace and breath as relaxed as they had been before. But all he could think of was the last time he had been alone in these woods. The scent of blood was thick in his nose, the echo of pain sharp against his leg.

He could take a coyote, couldn't he? He had never been in a fight, never faced any danger except that first bite. He had become so comfortable in his own rush of new power, he had forgotten the world was still willing to do him harm. The wolf inside him less of a wall than a veil, still easily perforated. Like his skin, fragile, though it healed quickly.

His heart raced despite himself as his thoughts began to spin; he could feel the moment the other animal sensed his temperament.

The moment he became prey, about to bolt.

It sprang from the bushes suddenly, so fast even Stiles was unprepared. He was on the ground in an instant, a tangle of fur and claws. He tried to snarl, to push back against the creature, but desperation made his moves sloppy where it made the coyote powerful. Claws and teeth sank into any flesh available.

The worst thing wasn't the pain, or the certainty that fate had merely waited an extra year to claim him. It was the heat, the breath on his cheek, the coarse fur scratching against him. The feeling of something alien against his skin, violating the carefully constructed barriers around himself in such an open, direct way.

He stopped struggling. He still can't say, even years later, why he found himself staring at the cold daylight through the canopy, watching a pair of blackbirds whirling through the sky, utterly still. The world felt distant and unimportant.

And just as sudden, the weight vanished from him. He heard animal yelps, the gut-wrenching, slick sound of teeth tearing into flesh. A whimper- then silence. The rustling of leaves brushed away by a tail.

Slowly, he inched his body up. Blood, fresh and brighter than he thinks blood should be, soaked his jumper. Every movement felt like a new slash across his skin, and the world wheeling and shifting at an alarming rate.

He threw up water and blood, the only things left in his stomach.

Across the clearing was a coyote- not the one that had attacked him, he knew somehow, though he never saw the first. This one was larger, fur sleek in shades of grey and pale yellow; blood dripping steadily from its maw, though it made no move to clear it. It watched him with an intelligence that startled him.

The other coyote lay in a crumpled heap, leaves half-heartedly kicked over its fur.

Stiles knew all too well what that felt like. He retched, but there was nothing left to expel.

When he looked up again, shivering, the coyote was right beside him. Slowly, as if testing his reactions, it pushed its nose against his hand, leaving a smear of blood against his pale skin. He felt his wolf eyes flickering automatically, ringing with liquid gold. The coyote stared at him with deliberate, widened eyes.

Which glowed an icy, bright blue.

He had never met a full shifter except Peter, whose true form had been brutalised by his madness. This creature looked no different from the coyote under the leaves, save for that supernatural blue.

The one thing Peter had made clear, over and over again, as if afraid Stiles might forget: do not trust other shifters. Do not trust creatures who do not share your pack, share that bond closer than blood he could feel thrumming somewhere deep and hot inside his soul.

Looking into Malia's eyes then, those words had risen up in his mind. They had become meaningless already. He was tired of mistrust, though it had chiselled itself deep in his bones.

And where that singular, bright flame he knew to be Peter's bond had been, he felt a second flicker to life, tying him to the creature now curling close against his wounds, lending its warmth and companionship as he felt himself, every so slowly, begin to heal.

They had been inseparable ever since. Codependent, Peter used to scoff, an accusation that fell half-heartedly short in the face of their closely knit family unit.

Besides, there had been no one else.

No one else, except these ghosts that Stiles had let himself forget beneath a haze of anger. Just because the clouds eclipsed the sun doesn't mean it wasn't there.

"New York?" Scott asks, face so open and curious Stiles feels the words tugging at his tongue in an instant. This is a face he would tell his darkest secrets to, if asked.

A dangerous face. But one Stiles wants to let below his guard nevertheless.

"I ended up there for a while," Stiles shrugs, steadying his heart against prying ears. "Malia's a life saver, pulled me from the fire more than once. Some things just stick you together for life, y'know?"

Scott glances at Isaac, and Stiles is sure he does know. They're both thinking of that rope-tight bond between pack, a fire in itself. Indescribable to those who have never felt what it is to let another soul make a home in your heart.

Maybe this can work. Even with two packs, two alphas under the same roof. Because they all have that fire. And they all share loss - inextricably entwined with the love written in every line of their faces.

And maybe that shared understanding is enough. No more spilt blood.

No more spilt blood, Stiles promises, and allows himself a smile.

He only hopes it lasts a little longer this time.

[a-simple-imagine]

When Worlds Collide - Chapter 1

Synopsis: Unsure of what to do, you head home for the night but while everything looks the same nothing is quite what it seems. Even the people you know are acting weird.

Based on the events of Into The spider verse only instead of ending up in Miles’ universe you end up in the MCU

Pairing: MCU!Natasha x fem!reader

Words: 2.4k+

Warning - Swearing

Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I was bitten by a radioactive spider and for a good few years now, I've been the one and only... Spider-Woman. I'm pretty sure everyone already knows the rest; saved a bunch of people, saved the city, and then I saved the city again, and again, and again, and again. Joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Nearly caused the end of the world. Ended up saving it instead with a little help. Became an official avenger. Look, I'm a comic book, a cereal, even an action figure. This job can be hard. There were moments I wanted to give up: I almost did but after everything, I still love being Spider-Man. I mean who wouldn't? So no matter how many hits I take, I always find a way to get back up. because there’s only one spider-woman. And that’s me. 

"Y/L/N. Looks like you've got some friends in very high places."

Eagerly rising to your feet, you awkwardly wave goodbye to your less than chatty cellmates. You couldn't get more than two words out of most of them. There was one guy who was more than happy to get close to you but as his hand moved on your thigh you knew his intentions were less than favourable. The officer shut the door behind you and led you into the centre of the bullpen where an all too familiar face stood. A smile breaks out onto your lips instantly.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Let's go." You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you stumble behind the billionaire. He was being surprisingly calm about the whole thing but somehow that was worse. You expected a lecture or at least a light scolding but he was silent as you walked to the car. You'd screwed up so many times but he had never had to bail you out of jail before. Maybe he was just disappointed which again is worse than him being angry. Happy stood by the black town car eagerly awaiting your arrival. He pulls open the passenger door and you're glad to see another familiar face. Tony slips in first.

"Hey Happy!" You smile as you slide onto the leather seats beside him, the door closing after you. You fumble with your seatbelt, securing it before relaxing. You fall into silence as the car drives away, worried about what Tony has to say. He seems much more interested in his phone though and happy was being about as chatty as normal. You shift awkwardly in your seat, looking at the passing world outside the window.

"So breaking and entering, huh?" Tony pipes up. You glance at him but his attention is still elsewhere

"It was a complete misunderstanding. That was my apartment-"

"Tell that to the woman whose place you broke into." He slyly interrupts. With a huff, you turn back to the window. "Do you want to tell me where you got these?"

He tosses you a clear plastic bag that held what few personal items you were carrying. You're not sure what he's talking about considering there are some keys, your phone and a pack of gum. Your brows furrow as you glance to him, he seems to be inspecting your web-shooters. He meets your curious eyes. "Got what?"

"These," He shakes them before you. He made them so you're confused why he's asking but try to think nothing of it. Your shoulders rise in a shrug.

"You wanted to implement them as part of the suit itself but I insisted on them being separate components so I could use them without."There's no clear change in his expression for you to figure out how he's feeling. Tony adjusts in his seat, leaving your web-shooters in his lap. "How did you find me? I didn't call you."

"I know everything," He shrugs. "Especially when a kid in a Spider-Man suit breaks into a random apartment."

"I didn't break in," you argue, brows furrowed.

"Then why were you arrested?"

"Because the cops are idiots," You grumble, folding your arms over your chest. This whole situation was stupid, is it really breaking and entering if it's your own apartment? If anything the woman who called the cops should have been arrested for breaking into your place. Your key wasn't working in the door and so you had resorted to picking the lock, that was pretty normal but you hadn't expected there to be someone inside. Or that she had already called the police. You tried to explain the situation but it barely made sense to you. You spent what felt like days in jail so you were grateful to Tony. It was a complete misunderstanding, I swear."

You watch him as everything goes quiet again. It's a little suspicious that Tony just showed up, you could have been any kid in a suit. Didn't mean you were actually the one and only Spider-Woman. You could have been cosplaying but you decide not to press him. He seemed deep in thought which for some strange reason reminds you of the dinner you hadn't attended. Maybe that's why he seemed so distant. "I-I'm really sorry," you mumble out quietly as the car comes to a halt at a red light. "I didn't mean to miss dinner- I was just swinging along and next thing I know I'm in Times Square and I've skipped half the day. I really did want to be there, you know I love helping Janet out with dinner. And I'm sure whatever you had was great-"

"I'm gonna stop you there," Tony interrupts, "Because I don't know what you're talking about."

Was Tony okay? It wasn't like him to forget things so easily first the web-shooters, now this. "You invited me to dinner yesterday? When you came to give me my new gadget, don't you remember?"

He shook his head. "Didn't happen." Your eyes narrow in on him as you try to figure out if he's messing with you or not. "These web-shooters of yours look just like the ones the kid has, do they work?"

"Uh... yeah they work normally but I kinda... sorta... broke them," you admit softly, dropping your gaze. Wasn't the first time you broke them and it probably wouldn't be the last. Tony got so tired of fixing them he taught you how to solve most issues you may have with them. This was probably the third time you had broken them since he taught you. "But I was hoping to fix them when I get to the tower later, I'm getting really good at it."

"...okay?" He replies. "Either they're props, I can't imagine they're all that hard to copy or you stole them."

"Stole them?" You're almost offended by such an accusation but you figure Tony has to be messing with you. "From who?"

"Spider-man?"

"Myself?" You question slowly. "Why would I steal from myself?"

"Not you, the real one."

Now things were getting a little too confusing. He thought you were a fake? If you were gonna be a fake a superhero, your first choice probably wouldn't be any version of a spider-themed superhero. "You're making zero sense- No offense but who are you even talking about?"

"For the sake of making this whole thing end faster, do you know Peter Parker?"

"I do... not."

He pulls out his phone and after a moment, showing you the screen. You observe a guy in a blue and red suit swinging between buildings similar to how you do. It abruptly cuts to him stopping a car in its tracks. You'd never seen them before, didn't recognise the suit either. "What am I looking at?"

"Spider-Man. That isn't you?"

You shake your head. "My suit looks nothing like that."

"So you're a liar then," He shrugs. "Figures."

"I am not," You fire back. He doesn't respond and you sink down in your seat. "Where are we even going?"

You get no answer. The rest of the car ride is silent which makes you antsy but you don't know how to talk to him. Everything was too weird including the fact you were currently pulling up to a big facility with the classic 'A' on the side. You had expected to go to the tower. You sit up in your seat, practically placing your face against the glass to get a look at the building.

"When did you build this?" You ask, glancing briefly to Tony. "What happened to the tower?"

You jump out the car the moment Happy comes to a stop. The place was huge and very impressive, to say the least. "This place is awesome. Is this the new avenger's facility? I've been thinking we could do with an upgrade."

"Just get inside." He brushed past you, dampening your mood a little.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y gather the circus."

'Right away boss'

You didn't recognise the voice but you can figure out it's an A.I, did he implement another one? Where did this guy find the time for all this? He takes you into what seems to be the living area joined to an open kitchen. People were dotted around the area. You recognised some, others? Not so much. The first person you notice is Natasha. She was sat on the couch and her hands were wrapped; she must have been training. You give her a smile which she doesn't return. Same old Nat. You look to the others. A wave of confusion taking over. Was this the B team?

You stand quietly beside, Tony, eying each person carefully. "This is... remind me of your name, kid?"

"Y/N."

"This is Y/N. She was arrested for a b&e and I need you to look after her for a little while, okay?" Tony was talking like you weren't in the room, weren't an avenger and weren't a grown woman who could look after herself.

"Why?" Some blonde dude pipes up and as your embarrassment takes over, you take a step behind Stark.

"I don't know what to do with her," He shrugs. "Can't let her run around unsupervised when she's claiming to be a superhero."

"I'm not claiming," you mumble more to yourself than the others. "I am a superhero."

"Spider-Man, meet the avengers." Tony takes a step to the side exposing you to a group of strangers and Natasha. You gave an awkward little wave. "Avengers, Y/N. I'll leave you to get aquatinted."

Tony leaves you alone abruptly with the avengers who clearly have no idea who you are. And they all look completely unbothered by your presence. You share pleasantries with them, quick introductions. There was Clint, he shoots arrows apparently. Sam, he didn't tell you much other than his name is Falcon. Some red and green guy very politely explains that his name is Vision; you don't question it. As you move on to a girl, it takes you a moment to figure out who she is but before you can say anything she tells you her name is Wanda, maybe she was deep in character? and last but not least you walk up to the man who called out before. He shakes your hand.

"I'm Steve Rogers." His name instantly brings back memories.

"The Steve Rogers?" You wonder quickly, "didn't you die? I'm pretty sure I went to your funeral."

He is visibly uncomfortable with your question but you were just curious. You were almost certain you'd attended this guys funeral with Peggy a couple of years ago. "I think you've got the wrong guy."

You decide not to press him further. After introductions, everyone just went back to doing their own thing leaving you with the only person who stayed; Natasha. She was still sat on the couch, only she had a bottle of water now. You were surprised she wasn't the first one to bail. You walk closer to her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, I guess." Natasha shrugs

"Why the fuck do you work with Elizabeth Olsen? Isn't she an actress?"

Natasha watches you for a moment before frowning a little. You sit down next to her. "Who?"

"And where is the rest of the team? I don't know who these people are?" It's hard to explain to an avenger that the rest of the avengers aren't avengers. Something was definitely wrong here. Plus how can Natasha not know Elizabeth Olsen when she clearly works with her?

"What are you talking about?" Natasha asks brows knitted together as she looks over you. You decide to just drop the topic and move on to your next problem; broken web-shooters. With a heavy sigh, you get up off the couch.

"Does this place have a lab at least? Maybe I can fix my web-shooters since I'm stuck here."

"Oh yeah, I'll show you." Natasha was being uncharacteristically nice to you. However, this place was huge and you were more than likely to get lost trying to find it if Nat didn't help so you're not about to turn her down

"Lead the way, firecracker," You flash a smile. She didn't like that nickname. She hated the fact you and Maximoff used it whenever you talked about her. The redhead breezes past and you follow behind her to a state of the art workshop. It was spacious and expensive-looking, that's for sure. You couldn't even begin to fathom what half the machines were for. Tony really must have forked out for this place. You sit at a workbench, using a tool kit you found after ten minutes of rooting around. Natasha lingers in the lab with you but she's not really saying anything. It's a little awkward but she was tasked with looking after you.

"You don't have to watch me, you know? I can look after myself."

She doesn't respond but she also doesn't leave either so you let her be. It doesn't take long to fix your gadgets after you realise that it's just the button that's not working. Once finished you twirl on your stool with a satisfied smile. "Now, I just need to test 'em,"

"Do it outside. I don't want to have to clean up after you." She hummed. With a simple nod, you slap them on your wrists and charge outside. It's a nice day, the sun is shining, the compound seems busy. You walk around the grounds, trying to find the perfect spot. As few people as possible was the goal. Two fingers on the button a thread of white shoots out and connects to the side of the building, using it to pull yourself towards it. You land on all fours against the wall before crawling higher. The pain in your leg was evident but nothing compared to when you first fell from the sky. You lean off the side, freeing up one of your hands to test the other shooter. You fire a quick blast following it with your eyes only to see Tony had returned and was stood beside Natasha. Fuck.

"Get down, now!" He growls

PREV // NEXT

[marauders1971-1978]

Marauders 1971-1972 Chapter 5 part 3/3

10th October 1971

Remus watched several Official Post Office owls land in front of Lily at the breakfast table – their red and yellow band around the ankle was quite distinctive. She took the three letters – one from each owl – before they flew off without waiting for a reply just as the school owls did.

“Say, Lily – how come you’re getting mail from the Post Office? Why not use the school owls?”

Lily smiled up at him – obviously her mail had cheered her up immensely. “I sent off with a school owl, but my sister took so long to reply that she had to post it the muggle way.”

“I suppose letters with wizarding address must be redirected to another branch,” Remus mused, but Lily didn’t seem very interested. She had torn open one of the letters and was reading it in the way a person tries to both savour and scoff their favourite food.

“Are you lot coming to History of Magic?” James had appeared behind Remus, Lily, Dorcas and Peter with half a bacon sandwich in his hand. Remus could see Sirius standing by the Slytherin table talking to an older student with long black hair. Peter jumped up, nodding, while Lily stuffed her collection of letters into her bag for later as Dorcas made to join James. At the other boy’s expectant look, Remus held out a slip of paper, remaining seated. James read it aloud.

“If you would be so kind as to meet me at quarter past nine on Wednesday morning we can discuss your first month upon request of your father who has written to me with some questions which cannot be answered without a direct meeting with you. Apologies for causing you to miss your first lesson this morning. Professor Binns has been warned of your absence.

Professor McGonagall.”

“You jammy bastard,” James complained. “Getting to miss Binns. What does your dad want to know? Nothing about getting into trouble? McGonagall doesn’t usually meet with students except for a good telling off.”

Remus smiled vaguely. “Oh I doubt it. Probably just my dad being overly paranoid about me as always. And she did want to ask me if I caught up alright after missing a few lessons last week.”

James pouted at the thought of having to sit through an hour of magical history while his class mate got to sit out and wasn’t even going to get into trouble. “I’ll pick up a copy of any homework for you,” James promised with a sly smile and turned to meet the Gryffindors in the entrance hall. “See you later!”

Remus sat at the Gryffindor table as it emptied around him. At the staff table, everybody but the headmaster and the groundskeeper had left already and a Ravenclaw prefect was dragging a few second years away from their breakfast lest they be late.

He really hoped his father hadn’t turned up at the school again. It had been nice to have him around on the day but if he kept showing up Remus was worried one of him classmates would spot him and that would just be more difficult questions to answer. As much as Remus wanted to keep his secret tightly sealed, it hurt him to have to make up elaborate lies. Not only was he a poor liar, but these people were already like friends to him – something he’d never experienced before. He didn’t want to push them away.

Remus had rarely seen the corridors as deserted as they were five minutes into first lesson. His footsteps echoed around the wide corridors and birds had settled in the transfiguration courtyard once they were safe from the trampling feet of hundreds of students.

McGonagall was waiting for him outside of her office. She gave him a rare smile in greeting and opened the door for him to step inside.  Remis had never been inside Professor McGonagall’s office before but he supposed it looked exactly how he should have expected. There was a sturdy, plain oak desk in the centre of the room with two cold looking chairs in front of it and one not much more inviting behind it. On the back wall was an impressive bookshelf of which the bottom shelf was mainly magazines of varying age. A high, tall window looked out onto the transfiguration courtyard and another small table underneath held up several small group photographs of what looked like old quidditch teams and staff photos. One showed a group of older students and there were several quidditch trophies in an alcove near the door. The fire in the grate was merely embers.

“Sit down, Lupin. I don’t want to keep you long.”

Remus sat on the opposite side of the desk to her and tucked his hands under his thighs. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong but still he felt a little nervousness at the setting.

McGonagall pulled open a draw in her desk and set a letter onto the desk. “Your father sent this to me – it reached me a couple of days ago. He wanted to know how it all went. I was surprised he was going to me for information.” She gave him a questioning look and Remus felt the same squirming in his stomach that came every time he tried to start the letter for his mother and father updating them on the 4th of October.

“I just… didn’t know what to say to him Professor. I mean… I didn’t escape so what else is there to say?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Well I think he wanted to know if you were happy with the arrangement once it had played out in reality and the headmaster and I were wondering the same.”

Remus pondered this. Of course, he hadn’t enjoyed the experience. He never did. It was painful and embarrassing, vile and dehumanising. As always, he had spotty memories of the night itself. He remembered the overwhelming stillness and silence of the abandoned cottage, and the smell of damp plaster and long dead mice – but few thoughts more sophisticated than overwhelming frustration at his inability to satisfy the huge urge to escape and attack had crossed his mind.

But in reality, it hadn’t been as awful as usual. At home, first in his barricaded bedroom, then in the kitchen, the basement and even the stone outhouse depending of whatever new town they were in that year were like a cage. This had been a completely new environment. In fact, he distinctly remembered being distracted from his urges by the unusual freedom. Never, at the full moon had he experienced the freedom to climb the stairs and go into other rooms, to nose into cupboards and crawl under beds. It had occupied a more human part of his mind for a few minutes at anyone time. That human curiosity.

“It wasn’t so bad actually. I think he quite liked it at times.”

“He?”

“Yeah…” Remus looked at his feet. His shoelaces are coming undone. “Well I feel like we’re not really the same person. We don’t really think the same way. I would never behave like that… Except that I do. When I’m him.” Remus directed his answer at his lap and trailed away into nothingness. He had comforted himself since this all started once he decided that the person he became at the full moon wasn’t really him. After he’d been bitten, he had hated the man who had done it – why couldn’t he have just controlled himself? Why did he have to come after a child like him? After he had experienced the full moon for himself and realised the insatiable need to bite any human within the vicinity be they a stranger or his own mother, he had felt sympathy. Never would the thought cross his mind to hurt his own mother and father before. Never had they needed to lock their son away from them, never had he been so violent.

And so he had thought If I turn into this monster every month that I can’t control, how can I blame the man who did this to me? Actually, I feel sorry for him. Probably he doesn’t have a family to keep him safe.

“I’m very grateful,” Remus said quietly. “That you can do this for me.”

“Yes, I believe you mentioned a few times,” McGonagall said wryly. “I hope you aren’t going to feel the need to personally thank me every month for the next seven years Lupin.”

They sat in a silence that felt awkward to Remus but the professor didn’t seem phased as she pulled out a small stack of papers bound together by string. “These are your records from Madame Pomfrey. I heard that you managed to avoid any serious injury this time.”

“Yes, but I did ruin some of the furniture.”

McGonagall smiled. “Yes well, the furniture is replaceable. Madame Pomfrey has opened up a correspondence with the research team at St Mungo’s who are currently looking into remedies for magical animal bites. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there are many magical creatures which do irreversible damage. Your father had explained to me that he had been unable to look into any of this research for fear of having uncomfortable questions directed at him. Luckily, Hogwarts does have the means to collaborate on these matters both for the benefit of yourself and any students in a similar situation, but also for the intellectual curiosity of its staff. Professor Slughorn in particular is very interested in this vein of medicine. As is the headmaster himself. Now your mother and father have given the school permission to use our own discretion when it comes to trialling various medications – at your agreement of course.”

Remus looked blankly at her. He had no idea there was anything that could be done to help him and allowed himself to feel a hint of hope. He knew, of course, that there was no cure for lycanthropy but if there was something that could just make it easier or even erase the ugly scars he was left with…

“Yes, I would like trial some things, maybe.”

“In that case, I expect Madame Pomfrey will be in touch with you over the next few weeks. Now the other matter was merely logistics. Obviously the staff knew you were excused, the headmaster told them you were ill, but this is in no way a steadfast excuse. If a member of staff were to visit the hospital wing and find you absent they could easily become curious. Not to mention that the link between you being ‘ill’ and the date will eventually arouse some suspicion in a few of our staff.”

“My dad told me to tell my friends that my mother was ill and that I was going to visit her.” Remus mumbled, not meeting her eyes. He didn’t like this particular story. “He said it was a good idea because they weren’t likely to have meet my mum because she’s a muggle.”

“That could work among the staff,” McGonagall conceded. It would be better for everyone to be using the same story. Your father did mention to me that you were uncomfortable with misleading your classmates but rest assured neither me, the headmaster nor your family are holding you accountable for the circumstances and should you wish to tell you friends you may, of course do so. Though your father advised very strongly against it.”

Remus just nodded. He knew this already of course. He’d received a heavy debriefing on the 31st of August. The very idea that he would tell the other Gryffindors about his affliction was laughable.

McGonagall put the letter from Remus’ father back into her desk and leaned forward to address him in a friendlier manner.

“On another vein, how has your first month been at Hogwarts? Have you enjoyed your classes?”

“Very much so,” said Remus, truthfully. Though his mother and father had made every effort to teach him within their own home in the ways of the wizarding world and though he had experienced some patchy muggle schooling, Remus had never experienced anything quite like Hogwarts. And though he would never be quite the same as his classmates, he had never felt as though he belonged as he had this past month.

“I’m glad. I see you’ve made friends with Mr Pettigrew and Miss Evans. And your professors have only had positive things to say about your work, I’ve very pleased with your progress. There have been many students with fewer burdens to carry than you who have taken more difficulty in adjusting.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Remus could feel the blush creep up past his cheeks to his ears.

“Well Mr Lupin, twenty minutes remain of your History of Magic lesson so if you hurry you might be able to catch the end of it.” Professor McGonagall briskly rose and swept over to the door. She held it politely open for her student. Remus smiled gratefully at her before hurrying down the corridor towards the grand staircase.

~*~

Later that month, Remus found himself making his way to the hospital wing just before curfew as per the summons from Madame Pomfrey he’d found on his bedside table in a sealed envelope that morning. He’d agreed to trial a muggle sedative before Halloween holidays. If it worked, then Madame Pomfrey had agreed to use it during the full moon on the 2nd of November.

Remus was greeted warmly by the matron and two strangers who were introduced as healers from St Mungo’s research department. One, a young man with strawberry blonde hair and the other in perhaps is mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper facial hair. The older man was wearing a travelling cloak over his teal St Mungo’s uniform and the younger a garish orange jumper.

“Mr Lupin, this is Healer Briggs and his colleague Healer Devon.” Remus smiled shyly at the two professionals and mumbled a meek ‘good evening.’

The hospital wing was a wide, high ceilinged, L shaped room with Madame Pomfrey’s office and the supplies cupboard located out of sight of the main door around the corner. Taking advantage of the concealment from the main door, there were two beds with privacy screens only used for the most embarrassing of cases – usually botched de-pimplings – and this was where Remus had spent the morning of the 5th of October and where they were planning to allow the healers to trial muggle drugs on a werewolf for the first time. There was still a fortnight until the full moon but Remus was sure he could smell their excitement.

Behind the screen was a setup that Remus found a little frightening. There stool a metal table on top of which were two capped syringes and a small glass bottle of some white opaque liquid. He supposed this was the muggle drug.

Remus has never been to a wizarding or muggle hospital before and so didn’t know how much magic to expect. He had, of course, injured himself many a time – sometimes benignly as a result of jumping off adventurously high walls and other times as a result of his crippling need to bite into some kind of flesh when confined to his room during the full moon. Either way, his father had been able enough in basic magical medicine to stop his knees from bleeding and his mother sensible enough to clean out his self-inflicted wounds before they could ever become infected.

The older man, Briggs, began to unpack small plastic tubing from sealed bags and took out a muggle calculator.

“I hope you won’t mind if we do this the modern way. We are using muggle medicine after all. Could I please have your weight in kilogrammes?”

Madame Pomfrey instructed Remus to strip down to his underpants and vest and step onto a set of analogue scales she had just conjured so that Briggs could calculate the dosage. Meanwhile, Devon took out a set of paperwork headed with the St Mungo’s banner. He indicated Remus to sit next to him and summarised it briefly.

“Now I’ve already sent all of this through to your parents who have written back in consent conditional to your agreement. Your matron explained briefly in her letter summoning you didn’t she?”

Remus watched Briggs draw up the white liquid out the corner of his eye and shifted nervously on the hospital wing bed next to Devon. “Yes. Madame Pomfrey said it was a sedative which means it makes you go to sleep and that it is used on muggles before surgery and such.”

“That’s right. So far, no wizard has been able to cast a spell which holds on a werewolf during transformation. It is, of course, possible but very difficult, to stun a werewolf after it has transformed but unlike muggle medicines which are calibrated specifically to body weight and therefore allow quite an accurate estimate of the time it will take to wear off, stunning spells and similar can wear off at any moment depending on the magical strength of the subject. Not only that, it is particularly dangerous for a person to be in the room with a werewolf which could wake at any moment and have his wand arm for supper.”

Remus gave a small appreciative smile at Devon’s attempt at a joke. He noticed that the skin under his eyes looked somewhat bruised and Remus wondered vaguely if he had been sleeping at night.

“Now your weight doesn’t change when you transform and so we’re hoping the effect will last during transformation. The effects only last for little over half an hour so we’re afraid that we would have to continuously dose through the moonlight hours. There is an increased risk of side effects with repeated dosing though, so we’re merely going to test your tolerance to the drug today and note any side effects you may experience with the one dose.”

Remus suddenly didn’t like the sound of this. He’d imagined it would be somewhat like a dreamless sleep potion, which was simply drank and then a blissful sleep ensued where the length of time was determined by how much was consumed. This sounded a lot more… precarious.

“Muggles… use this all the time?” he asked tentatively.

Devon smiled reassuringly. “Oh yes it’s used on infants, children and adults. I’d be very surprised if something unexpected happened today. Really it’s November the second we’re unsure about.”

“Oh…” Remus watched Briggs come up by him with a small thin needle and felt rather reproachful. “Is it an injection?”

“Not quite. It’s given intravenously so this part is going to hurt unfortunately.”

Madame Pomfrey gave him an apologetic look as she took his left arm above and below the elbow in a firm grip. Remus resisted automatically before he caught himself.

“Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright Lupin.”

Briggs smiled pleasantly at him as he crouched down beside Madame Pomfrey but his expression didn’t do much to detract from the sharp object his is hands. He flicked the crook of Remus’ elbow with his fingers and slowly fed the thin needle under the thin skin of his arm. Remus gritted his teeth, watching with wide eyes, but managed to resist the urge to pull his arm away. Not that it would have been a successful attempt as the matron has an iron grip on his arm.

“There.” Briggs pulled and the fine metal needle slid out leaving the thin plastic tube resting in what Remus supposed was his vein. Sluggishly, dark crimson blood reached the end of the short tube before beading at the end and dripping down onto Remus’ forearm. He flinched. There was something different about having a foreign object sitting inside of him that turned his stomach the way the coppery taste of his own blood in his mouth at dawn didn’t anymore.

Briggs twisted a short clear tube to the end and to that attached a syringe full of some clear fluid.

“What’s that?” Remus noted that his voice sounded a little high and he swallowed aggressively.

“Just water. To flush the line. You’ll feel it go in but it won’t hurt.”

Remus watched as the blood seemed to disappear from the line. Briggs unscrewed the syringe and this time, nothing came out of the end.

Madame Pomfrey let go of him and he pulled his arm protectively towards himself, careful not to bend it.

“So, this is the drug we’ll be testing today.” Briggs held out the carefully measured syringe of milky liquid. “It might sting when it goes in. You should fall asleep within a few seconds and sleep for maybe half an hour before waking. When you wake, you will feel a bit dazed but this will wear off in an hour or so. Did you read and understand the list of side effects I sent to you?”

Remus nodded. “I looked them up in the library.”

“Good. We checked your mother’s medical history for any adverse reactions to similar substances but we couldn’t find anything alarming.”

“Um… okay.”

“You still agree for me to give this to you, bearing in mind that it has never been tested on a wizard suffering from lycanthropy in human or wolf state?”

Remus licked his lips and agreed.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

So I have two asks, first, I'm really craving fics with Scott and Isaac, or some Alpha wolf Stiles fics. I also prefer longer stories if you have any magic that can help me.

AND

anchanee said:I was wondering if you could tell us about fics where Stiles is an Alpha, not necessary a werewolf but simply the leader (or co-leader) of his pack. Thank you very much for the time and efford you put into this.

AND

Anonymous said:I love you guys!!! literally my lifesavers! I read way too many fics and cannot for the life of me find them! Anyway.., I was wondering if you could find any fics with Erica and Boyd sort of joining stiles pack? Like he is the human or pseudo alpha? or even that he is a were and they join him? I know they are out there because I have read a few but now can’t find them… :(. Also if they aren’t sterek that would be amazing!!!

AND

Anonymous said:Hello~ Could you please update the Alpha Stiles tag? most of the fics there are omega stiles for some reason. Thank you!

Here’s a tag update! - Anastasia

The rock by hisaribi

(1/1 I 1,085 I General I Steter)

So the kid beat alpha-werewolf to death with a rock. Peter didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Welcome to The Big Easy by Therapeutic_Steter

(1/1 I 1,081 I Teen I Steter)

“Hey, daddio,” Stiles said, holding his phone between his cheek and shoulder. “How goes it?”

“Son, I probably don’t want to know what the Pack did to piss you off this badly,” his dad started, sighing. “But Scott came by today to beg you to call the Fae off. He said they’re terrorizing the Pack. Chris has apparently put Allison on lockdown and has outfitted their house in iron and anti-Fae measures. Lydia’s fled the town. Scott and Isaac were shaking so badly when they came to see me…Stiles, I’ve only seen that kind of fear in someone who was almost killed on the job.”

We’ll Paint These Streets Red by Regret Fox (MeLeFangirl)

(1/1 I 1,076 I Not Rated I Sterek)

It seems that those who are sick tend to be drawn to each other. Life was the best it could have been for Derek and Stiles, but the fun never lasts.

Welcome to Supes! by maybaby34

(1/? I 3,147 I Explicit I Sterek)

“That’s the bouncer?” Derek asked, incredulously.

Laura laughed at his expression. “Hey, looks can be deceiving. All the time I’ve been coming here, it’s always been pretty peaceful. I also have a suspicion that everybody keeps the peace because they’re afraid that Stiles will talk them to death if they step out of line.”

Derek shrugged. Who was he to judge? He could scent Stiles from where he was and he smelled human.

“Just think about it though, a human bouncer in a supernatural bar?”

Laura smirked. Derek had the distinct feeling she knew something that he didn’t know. “I’m just sayin’, don’t underestimate him.” she said, cryptically.

Stay (Here) With Me by brandileeder

(1/1 I 3,178 I Explicit I Steter)

Waking up the next morning, warm and content, Stiles feels right. He’s an Alpha now, with his own beta - the beginnings of a pack. Not only that but his beta is incredibly good looking and seems to be just as interested in Stiles’ as the boy is in him.

Sure, his father isn’t happy, but the man will come around.

Convergence by wynnebat

(1/1 I 3,724 I Teen I Steter)

A year and a month after the Hale fire, the Stilinski pack moves in.

Like Roses and Clover by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)

(1/1 I 5,599 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek bit at his lip and extended a fang to stop himself from thinking about it again. There were others in the villages around that he might like far better, but, ever since the first morning he’d woken up with the mate-mark on his arm, he’d promised himself that he’d not think about what kind of Mate he would favor, what kind of person he might enjoy spending the rest of his life with.

Price of Admission by whiskytangofuckfest

(2/2 I 6,629 I Explicit I Sterek I Rape)

“Hi,” the alpha said now, ambling forward with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a flannel shirt over an undershirt, and Derek realized abruptly that he himself was only wearing his boxer briefs. The cuffs rattled as he jerked in an instinctive attempt to cover himself. He was used to being naked, like any born wolf, but now, with a fully-dressed stranger looking over him with interest, he felt exposed.

Intruders didn’t get sent home with a cup of tea and a pat on the head. That would send a signal that the pack was weak, that it couldn’t defend its borders. Even if this alpha wasn’t mad at Derek personally, he still had to do something to make it clear to other wolves they couldn’t just cross into his territory, and Derek was the only intruder they had captured. He would have to bear the message for the whole group.

Derek gets caught trespassing on Stilinski pack territory. Stiles takes an interest.

The one who deserves it by Gabygabriela

(2/? I 10,658 I Mature I Sterej)

Scott bites stiles to save his life but something unexpected happens and Scott is no longer the alpha.

Also Derek comes back as an alpha again and has his own pack with some unexpected familiar faces.

Stiles deals with getting bitten and apparently he is now something more than just a regular werewolf and scott becomes a dick for a little while and he also has to deal with the sourwolf who is recently back in town but it’s just a regular day in BH so nothing new.

Who Are You Really? by hufflepuffmultifandom

(3/3 I 17,143 I Mature I Sterek)

After hiding his werewolf and Alpha status since his mother died, Stiles runs into Derek and they work together to find the Alpha killing people in Beacon Hills.

[stereksummerexchange]

How Is Your Heart?

For @marauders-mess, who requested NSFW AU’s of the emissary!stiles or feral!derek variety - here’s a bit of both! Hope you enjoy it :)

by @sylvesterelle

Explicit - AO3

Derek thought it’d feel like weightlessness. That’s how it felt after the fire - like so many of the strings grounding him had been cut, like he was one strong breeze away from oblivion.

So when the unthinkable happens and the unbreakable breaks, Derek doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. Doesn’t understand that instead of weightlessness, there would be nothing but weight. The weight of his pain, of his loss, of the sudden, inexorable truth of his own isolation.

And then Derek doesn’t understand anything at all.

Or: the AU where Derek goes feral after the death of his alpha and only the power of ~true love~ can bring him back.

Derek thought it’d feel like weightlessness. That’s how it felt after the fire - like so many of the strings grounding him had been cut, like he was one strong breeze away from oblivion.

He coped by holding on to Laura with everything he had. He poured his strength into their connection, not only as sister and brother, but as alpha and beta. Laura was his anchor in every sense of the word, an unbreakable tie, a final stronghold against whatever lay on the other side of humanity.

So when the unthinkable happens and the unbreakable breaks, Derek doesn’t understand what he’s feeling.

Doesn’t understand the crushing pain exploding in every bone, muscles screaming from the strain and mind suddenly empty of everything but the barely conscious cry of too much and I can’t and please.

Doesn’t understand that instead of weightlessness, there would be nothing but weight. The weight of his pain, of his loss, of the sudden, inexorable truth of his own isolation.

He doesn’t understand it, but he feels it. Feels it until his teeth crack from clenching and his vision tunnels to black. Until his skin tears and the shift rips through his body, bones breaking and rearranging in a last ditch effort to survive the pain.

And then Derek doesn’t understand anything at all.

-

They get the call during one of Stiles’ summer emissary lessons.

He’d started training soon after Scott and the pack put Peter down once and for all, unwilling to ignore whatever spark Deaton said he had if it could be used to protect his friends.

They’d started simple – theory of magic, taxonomy of supernatural creatures, duties and traditions of a pack emissary. Only recently has Deaton let him in on the good stuff, all the protective runes and floaty light balls and Harry Potter-esque spells that fill Stiles with shameless nerd joy.

He’s in the middle of practicing his levitation at the vet’s office when “Werewolves of London” rings through the room, shattering his concentration. The jar of dog treats drops back to the table and Stiles sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Deaton’s disapproving look.

“This better be good, Scotty,” Stiles says. “I was in the middle of kicking gravity’s ass.”

 “Oh sweet bro, you finally got it?” Scott asks, dopey grin carrying loud and clear over the line.

 “A whole 3 inches, buddy – just you wait, I’ll be floating your furry ass in no time. But what’s up, you know I’ve got wizard training until 6.”

“Sorry man, but I think you’re gonna have to cut it short. We’ve got a problem.”

Stiles frowns, exchanging a glance with Deaton. “Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

He sets the phone on the table and leans back, crossing his arms. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“Isaac and I heard howling during our perimeter run and followed it back to the Hale House. There’s a wolf here and we think it might be an omega, but there’s something wrong with it, dude.” Scott says, voice concerned.

“Like foaming-at-the-mouth, rabies-infested wrong?“ Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know dude, maybe. It looks sick – it’s all skinny and dirty and won’t respond to either of us. It straight up tried to eat Isaac when he got too close to the porch. And the howls, man, I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Deaton frowns, leaning closer to the phone. “Did they sound aggressive, like it was calling out for reinforcements?”

“No man,” Scott says, “it sounded miserable.”

-

 Ten minutes later, Stiles is turning off the main highway and onto the dirt road that leads to the Hale house, hidden but for a blackened chimney rising above the trees. Deaton agreed that the wolf needed further evaluation, but declined to come with Stiles.

“What, you’re just going to send me off on my own to deal with some strange, possibly feral, probably dangerous werewolf?” Stiles had asked incredulously as Deaton handed him a few herbs and bundled him out the door.

“You’re more than capable to handle a single rogue omega, Stiles. And if anything does go wrong, Scott and Isaac will most likely be able to protect you.”

“Most likely?” Stiles had squeaked, but Deaton had already closed the door.

Now, with a sigh, Stiles reaches over to rummage through the lacrosse bag on the passenger seat, double checking he has everything he needs. Mountain ash, mistletoe, rowan, and several types of wolfsbane – enough to incapacitate and more, if needed.

Hopefully it’s not needed.

Stiles can see the wolf standing on the porch as soon as he pulls up, its hulking figure blocking the charred doorway. He - or she - is big, way bigger than any natural wolf has a right to be, but beautiful; it’s almost completely black, marred only by the silvery gray patch on its chest and the tips of its ears, with eyes the same purplish-blue of lightning during a summer storm.

Deaton explained what that color in a werewolf meant in Stiles’ very first lesson, and he reflexively tightens his grip on his bag as he eases out of the Jeep. The second he sets foot on the ground, the wolf’s head snaps in his direction. It bares its teeth in a silent snarl, and Stiles can’t help the shiver that runs through him when he meets the wolf’s gaze. There’s nothing human in those eyes, but there is something - not quite a familiarity, but an awareness that raises goosebumps on his arms.

The wolf tracks Stiles’ movements as he cautiously moves to join Isaac and Scott at the far edge of the clearing.

“Hey,” he greets them quietly, eyeballing the fresh blood on Isaac’s hand. “I take it we haven’t made any progress with Stranger Danger?”

Scott shakes his head. “Not even a little. It nearly took Isaac’s arm the last time he tried to approach.”

Stiles nods and considers his options. The easiest thing would be to sedate it with a mild dose of wolfsbane, but he’d have to get pretty close and he’d prefer to avoid getting his face chewed off today, thanks.

Unfortunately Deaton made clear that this was part and parcel of being an emissary - the magic and the runes and the occasional threat of death or light maiming included. Stiles sighs in resignation as he slips his bag off his shoulder, digging around till he finds the tin marked ‘wolfy Xanax’ in sharpie. He stands back up and hands the bag to Scott.

“Cover me, dude.”

The wolf starts growling Stiles advances, scraping its nails against the wood and baring bloody teeth in warning. Stiles hesitates for a moment, internally debating if it wouldn’t be better to set a mountain ash perimeter around the house and call Deaton for backup, when a gust of wind ruffles through his hair and kicks up leaves, swirling in the direction of the house.

The wolf abruptly stops growling, lifting its head to sniff at the air. Whatever it scents makes its eyes grow brighter, a plaintive whine building as it searches for the source.

Stiles takes advantage of the distraction and moves forward, muscles tensed and ready to jump out of the way in case the wolf lunges. But it doesn’t lunge – doesn’t even start growling again. Just sits there with a slightly dazed look on its face, whining high in its throat.

When Stiles gets within arm’s reach and the wolf hasn’t done anything more threatening than aggressively sniff the air, he pauses, slipping the tin of wolfsbane back into his pocket.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Scott calls from behind, voice filled with concern.

“I just want to try something – give me a second.”

Slowly, Stiles reaches out a hand. The wolf rears back at the movement, eyes wide but making no move to attack. Stiles resists the urge to flinch and keeps his palm flat, trying to project the calm, collected vibes Deaton has so fruitlessly been trying to teach him.

Tentatively, the wolf leans forward, nostrils flaring as it inches closer. Stiles stays still as the wolf bumps its nose against his palm, rubbing against him until Stiles’ hand is cupping its face. He gently rubs a thumb against the wolf’s cheek and makes soothing noises in the back of his throat, taking the opportunity to look the wolf over.

Up close, it looks more pathetic than terrifying. Stiles can see the leaves and ash matted in his coat, the imprint of ribs against its side, only partially hidden behind the tangled fur.

Stiles crouches down, giving the wolf a searching look. “How long have you been on the run buddy? Where’s your pack?”

The wolf gives a small wag of its tail, but no other sign it can understand him.

Stiles frowns, taking in the wolf’s eyes that show alertness, maybe even intelligence, but no recognition. “You can’t shift back, can you? Do you even know who you are?”

“Hey, you calmed him down – awesome!” Scott calls happily behind him, bounding across the clearing. “Should we take him back to Deaton’s or-“

Before Stiles can shout a warning, he’s knocked on his ass, the wolf caging him with its body and snarling at Scott, who’s frozen mid-step in front of the porch with his eyes comically wide.

Well, comically in any situation where Stiles is less likely to have his face bitten off.

Scott raises his hands in a placating gesture and backs away, grimacing as the growling continues until he’s back at the tree line.

Slowly, the wolf lets its hackles drop and turns back to Stiles, pushing its nose under his hand until he resumes stroking over its back. The wolf makes a pleased noise deep in its chest and pushes in closer to snuffle under Stiles’ ear.

“Uh, good Wolfy, good-,” Stiles takes a second to peek under his tail, “boy. I’m not going to hurt you, just relax and we can - oh god, that’s your tongue, that is definitely your tongue, c'mon man, at least buy me dinner first,” Stiles jokes weakly as the wolf licks at his face.

Stiles can see Scott and Isaac stifling giggles across the clearing and he musters up his best glare - the effect lessened, admittedly, by the 200 pounds of fur perched in his lap.

“Aw, he likes you,” Isaac coos, pulling out his phone to send incriminating photos to the rest of the pack.      

“I will strangle you with your scarf,” Stiles replies calmly, patting the wolf on the head as moves on to his neck.

This close, he can see the dried blood on the wolf’s muzzle and paws, the burs tangled in his fur and scratching at his skin. He can’t tell how long the wolf has been like this, why he’s on his own, but he’s willing to bet it’s been a long, long time.

“Who are you, buddy?” Stiles asks, ruffling his ears. “What happened to you?”

The wolf just whines against his neck and wiggles closer, licking an affectionate stripe up the side of his face.

Read the rest on AO3