#Writersmonth

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 18: Free

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego (Netflix)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,730 (just dawned on me to include this, lol)

Summary: Carmen and Player have some time to themselves before meeting up with the others, and Player has a fit of inspiration for a fun way to spend it. After all, a park lawn presently being watered by sprinklers is basically an open invitation.

Author's Note: Someone in this fandom (not sure who) formed the headcanon that Player takes a gap year when he turns 18 and travels the world with Carmen; this fic makes use of that. Happy readng!

+++

“So:” Player didn’t look up from his phone as he walked, tapping and swiping through windows with practiced speed. “Shadowsan should get here later this evening, and Ivy and Zach tomorrow. Their ACME job just wrapped up in Seoul, so they’re good to hit an early flight first thing. Provided the plane leaves as scheduled, they should touch down sometime around ten-thirty, we all swing by the hotel to drop their stuff off, and then we should be good to get started on some sightseeing. Sound good?”

Merry lines crinkled around Carmen’s eyes as she looked over at Player, walking alongside her. He used the same clipped efficiency she remembered from the briefings that flowed through her comms before countless capers back when they were taking down VILE, and hearing it again caused something warm and comfortable to stir in her chest.

Was this what nostalgia felt like?

“Red?”

At the verbal nudge, Carmen blinked back to the mostly-empty park they were walking through and met his questioning look with a grin. “Perfect. It’s almost like you’ve done this before.”

“Who, me?” Player blinked up at her- he’d grown taller since she first saw him in-person, but she still had a good two or three inches on him- with obviously feigned innocence. “An expert in booking flights and scheduling rendezvous? What do I look like, some kind of tech genius to an incurable globetrotter who still can’t figure out how to book her own airline tickets?”

Carmen chuckled. “Something like that. And hey,” his footsteps broke out of their steady rhythm as she nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “I’m getting there. I booked our tickets to Osaka myself, didn’t I? And the train tickets to Matsumoto?”

He answered with an impressively flat look.

“Okay,” she amended. “Mostly by myself.” Because no matter that she was the one operating the touchpad and clicking the appropriate buttons, the feat would have been impossible without Player perched next to her in the hotel, coaching her through each screen and patiently pointing out where to click.

“That’s more like it. But hey, a few more cities, and you’ll be a pro. Maybe not as good as me, of course...”

Carmen huffed a laugh.“I can live with that. You said we’ve got time before meeting up with Shadowsan?”

Back down to the phone Player dove, pulling up and scrolling through windows with a speed Carmen’s eyes never could keep up with. “Just checking for any delays or traffic slow-downs...” he muttered as Carmen, at the rapid pattering of a jogger coming up behind them, took ahold of his elbow and steered him onto the grass (they’d already nearly been bowled over by her twice and what kind of master thief nearly had the same accident three times?).

“About half an hour.” Player slid the phone back into his pocket, matching his stride to hers as they stepped back onto the pavement.

Carmen hummed thoughtfully. Not much time, relatively speaking, but after a couple of months traveling together, they’d gotten remarkably good at making the most of even the briefest length of time. “We can work with that. Anything you want to-”

A sharp hissing sound cut her off. They both stopped and looked towards sprawling emerald-green lawn the path bordered, where an army of sprinkler heads had just popped out of the ground and were busily filling the air with misty plumes of droplets, sprayed out in wide, sweeping arcs over the grass. Player whipped towards Carmen, grinning wide, eyes alight with a sudden idea.

Carmen tilted her head in confusion, brow arched in incomprehension. They were just sprinklers, nothing to get excited about.

“It’s a hot day,” he said in a leading tone, nodding towards the lawn. “Want to cool off a bit?”

Carmen blinked.

....He couldn’t be serious.

Her confusion must have showed (not that it would have made a difference if it didn’t; she’d never cease to be amazed by just how well he could read her), because now he was looking at her with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’ve never ran through sprinklers?”

“Uh...no?” Carmen looked over his shoulder at the grass being subjected to a localized rain shower, brows furrowed. Run *through* them? Was this a Canadian thing?

“Seriously?” Player looked at her quizzically. “No one, like, ever set up sprinklers to water the Academy lawns?”

She shrugged flippantly. “Never needed to. It rained a lot.”

“And your mom?”

“Artificial turf. She said she gave up on grass a long time ago.” Because apparently, grass did not mix with dozens of kids stampeding over it day in and day out for a decade plus.

”Uh-huh...” Player nodded slowly, letting her answer sink in. The second it did a grin burst across his face, impossibly wide and bright enough to cause Carmen to fight a squint. “Then this is perfect! I can finally show you something cool!”

The uncomprehending brow was arched higher. “Niagra Falls doesn’t count?” Because from where she stood, thousands of gallons of water rushing over a cataract was definitely a more impressive sight than urban lawn care.

“That’s different.” Player waved a hand, brushing aside one of the natural wonders of the world like it was as pedestrian as a rain puddle. “This is a summertime tradition. Every kid does it at least once. You *have* to. It’s the rule.”

A smirk answered him. “Even if I got hung up on rules-“ (they both knew she still didn’t), “I’m pretty sure they don’t apply here. I’m twenty-two.”

Player shrugged, unbothered by the technicality that was age. “So? Better late than never.” He crossed his arms and looked at her archly. “Don’t tell me the great Carmen Sandiego is afraid of getting a little wet?”

Carmen huffed through her nose. “Of course not.”

“Then...?”

“It’s just...” she chewed her lip, rolling her eyes upwards, away from his quietly expectant face to search the cloudless sky for words, then shrugged lamely. ”I’m just not used to doing ‘kid stuff?’” A pathetic answer, she knew, especially since she knew Player knew what an average day at the orphanage looked like for her, but playing tag with the kids in her mom’s yard or even Marco Polo with Zach and Ivy at a hotel pool (an old mainstay during their travels, one she’d never tired of and was frankly looking forward to once they finished sightseeing tomorrow and returned to the hotel; now that Player was here, they were going to try teams) just felt...different from what Player was proposing.

She supposed VILE was to blame for her hesitation, at least partway. She *was not* a part of them, but their old lessons were still a part of her, from protecting the face to perfecting the featherlight touch that was a master of stealth’s perennial pride to more delicate lessons in criminal comportment, memories tinted with the posh, perfumed scent of Cleo’s classroom. A professional thief, per the haughty echo that still rang in the back of her thoughts, always carried themselves with dignity while out in the field, a mantle of aloofness that precluded any unsavory questions from passers-by being an indispensable part of any outfit. Accordingly, when she’d taken up her own mission of bringing VILE to its knees, her modus operandi had, by habit, included the attitude of abstaining from any public displays of spectacle.

So, yes, VILE had a hand in her hesitation, but...not fully. Part of her sensed that even if she had grown up as her father intended, ignorant of them and away from their clutches, she’d still be wearing the mantle, albeit out of nature. She just...wasn’t that sort of person, she supposed, to spontaneously run through sprinklers in a public park, saving those indulgences in ‘kid stuff’ for more private venues; a mirror of sorts to how Zach and Ivy never did share her enjoyment of high-class galas (both far preferring the street fair fundraisers they frequented back in San Diego which, she could admit, held their own charms).

Player’s expression softened as he listened between the lines. “I get it, Red, but look around.” She obediently did, scanning the park in all of a second. The day, even as it slid towards evening, was too hot for most people to brave the outdoors, and the only person in sight that same laser-focused jogger who had eyes only for the pavement speeding under her Reeboks.

Player followed Carmen’s gaze as she tracked the woman and, in answer to her knotting brows: “I doubt she’d notice.”

Carmen didn't. True, the woman had proven to have commendable tunnel vision, but two definitely-not-kids running through sprinklers making a spectacle would likely be the exact sort of occurrence that would *force* her to take notice of her surroundings.

Hence her opinion remained unchanged: no way

But when she looked back at Player with a disagreement on her lips he was holding out a hand, hopeful, eager. “Please, Red? It’s fun...”

She supposed she should be embarrassed at how little it took for her to capitulate to puppy-dog-eyes and an enticing sing-song, but, well, what else could she do when such a request came from her best friend? And, well, when she looked at the sprinklers, still chkk chkk chkk-ing away, the sound oddly enticing, she couldn’t ignore the fact that a part of her really did want to.

She offered one final rebuttal, but the smirk curving the words robbed it of any purpose beyond their old, familiar banter. “I doubt getting soaking wet in your clothes is fun.”

"Oh, just wait."

The second she set her hand in his, he tightened his grip and bolted onto the lawn, darting through the jets of water and dragging her after him. Droplets laughed against her skin, splashing and tickling her with a cool so sudden she gasped. Then the laughter was seeping into her, causing a light, tripping feeling to bubble up in her chest. Ahead of her, Player tugged left, taking Carmen in a zig zag path, not missing a jet of water, laughing loud as she shrieked at each spray they crashed through, the giddy, wheeling sensation in her chest at last spilling over into a rush, wild and without reserve, of girlish giggles.

The sound spurring him on, Player banked sharp to a right, heading for a sprinkler head whose fan shaped plume was arcing high, unfurling straight into the air. A wild light blazed in Carmen's eyes as she saw his intention, and she summoned a burst of speed so she was no longer being dragged behind him, but running alongside, then ahead, strides long and pounding as she gathered herself and leaped through the spray, elegant and unfettered to cause the roe envy. She kept her speed as she landed, heading for the next jet to the soundtrack of Player racing not terribly far behind, whooping in a way she hadn’t heard before and cheering with abandon as she flew, arms spread out wide behind her, through spray after joyous spray, a wilding set free.

Crud, she would always be amazed at how good it felt to just play, no constraining rules or machinations for victory; no confining chessboard or suits of diamonds or spades to pen you in; just her and Player running through sprinklers, getting absolutely soaked for the fun of it. It was exhilarating in a way the capers never had been.

“There!” Player, bangs dripping into his eyes, laughed when they at last came to a stop on the far side of the lawn. “Told you it was fun!”

Carmen pushed a tendril behind her ear. “Yeah,” she panted, grinning wide, a lightness somersaulting joyously in her chest. Really, it was more than fun; she couldn’t explain how, but the sensation of racing through the jets coupled with the feel of her decidedly damp shirt clinging to her skin was oddly freeing, unlatching a door inside her she hadn’t realized had been shut and loosing all manner of coltish, frolicsome impulses she never knew were hidden inside her. She grinned slyly over at Player. “But you know what would be more fun?” Not giving him time to answer, she tapped him on the head. ”Tag!”

“Wha-“ he blinked after her as she bolted through the sprinklers again, fleet as the wind and completely heedless of the jets, shouting, over her shoulder, “You’re it!”

For a moment he stared, wondering how in the world Carmen, who’d needed an explanation for ‘Simon says’ when her mom asked her to lead the littler kids in a game, knew what ‘tag’ was (the possibility of Shadowsan teaching her back on the Island both did and did not make sense), then threw off contemplation in favor of, with a cry of “La Femme Rogue!” that would have had Zach and Ivy in stitches and Julia trying very hard not to be, taking off after Carmen.

“You will not escape this time!”

Such a bold statement very nearly came true as his quarry nearly doubled over laughing as she stumbled to a stop, hands wrapped around her middle (crud, that was a terrible impression).

“Ah ha! She has a weakness!”

“Not fair!” Carmen panted as she straightened and resumed running, albeit with a smaller gap between pursuant and pursuer than before.

“All’s fair in- WHOA!”

Proving that even in imitation she held the advantage over her old adversary, Carmen pivoted on a dime so Player’s reaching hand armed with ‘Tag!’ completely missed its mark and, being propelled by its owner’s momentum, proceeded to cause said owner to topple towards the ground. Player hastily tried to correct his balance, slow his fall, and regain footing in the slick grass, but ultimately his efforts proved futile, seeing him faceplant heavily- Thud! -on the ground.

A candle attacked by a bucket of water was doused slower than the sprightly mood that had glistened over the lawn.

“Player!” Carmen darted to kneel by her friend, breathing heavily but otherwise motionless. She moved to grasp his shoulder to shake, then thought better of it, leaving her hand hovering uncertainly in midair. “Player, I am so sorry, are- can you-“ Crud, she much, *much* preferred being the unconscious one. “Can you even hear me?!?”

“...Red?”

Carmen breathed out a sigh of relief (small relief, he could still be concussed or paralyzed or a dozen other grim possibilities). “Player, thank goodness, are you hurt or-“

“M’fine, Red. Just...”

She bent closer as he trailed off to hear better, completely missing how one of his hands was scuttling towards a sprinkler jet.

“Yeah?”

“YOU’RE IT!”

Grasping the head, Player shoved his thumb over the jet so it sprayed directly at Carmen.

“AUGH!!!” She fell back, spluttering and trying (uselessly) to shield her face from the spray with her hands as Player leapt to his feet, front smeared with mud and grass but eyes wild with fun. “That doesn’t count!” she managed once the water was back on its normal trajectory. “You didn’t tag me!”

“Eh,” Player shrugged, unrepentant. “A technicality. Besides, I thought you didn’t get hung up on rules?”

“Fair point,” Carmen, after some deliberation, conceded with a slow, thoughtful nod. She stood, idly brushing some blades of grass from her thighs. “And since we’re playing that way...”

She glanced up at Player, and he gulped, catching the way the sun snagged on the mischievous glint in Carmen’s eyes. “Uh oh.”

“I’ll give you a head start.”

On her next circuit, the impossible happened and the jogger paused, running in place as she watched the pair frolicking in the sprinklers, the earlier game of Tag having devolved into a tickle fight. A smile blossomed across her face and she turned to a man who had just materialized beside her, also watching the pair. “Nice to see young people enjoying themselves.”

“Yes.” The man nodded his concurrence, the years melting from his weathered face at an especially wild peal from the girl as the boy attacked an unusually ticklish spot on her ribs (no regrets on divulging that secret to him, that was certain). “It most certainly is.”

And none, Shadowsan thought with a grin as the jogger moved on and he turned back the way he came, letting Carmen and Player have this moment to themselves, the laughter frolicking at his heels lifting the corners of his mouth, deserve it more.

[stripedscribe]

@writersmonthDay 8: word: watermelon

The little plant Foggy had had growing in his window was growing. First a leaf, then a stem, and finally a determined little flower. He never thought he would have any success with growing a watermelon in Hell's Kitchen, every day checking it, watering it when it looked thirsty.

He wouldn't pretend to have not been caught singing to it of an evening. People said that that worked, that it helped, and this little plant was going to need all the help it needed.

A mysterious parcel arrived one morning, inside a plant sunlight lamp. The next few days were filled with storms and sunless skies, and Matt only answered with a grin when asked if he knew anything about it.

Some weeks later, a tiny fruit started to grow. Every morning and evening he looked at it in wonder, it should have never grown. He finally looked up how to know if it was ready, and weeks later again, he turned up to the office with a tiny watermelon it tow.

"It grew?"

"It grew!"

[the-laridian]

[ofmagicandmusic]

Writer's Month - August 2

word: perfume | setting/AU: camping AU

A piece of the sail stretched between trees, tied or pinned to the wood to form their makeshift shelter. Logs marked the other end, forming a barrier to the beach.

Will ran his hand along Elizabeth's side till his palm reached her back. She was fast asleep now and did not stir as he picked her up, left hand below her skirts. He walked back to their tent as Elizabeth leaned into his chest.

He could smell her perfume that still lingered despite how long they'd been on the island. Will set her down gently on the other piece of canvas that covered half of the the bottom of their shelter, mostly so they didn't get so much sand in their hair. Even asleep she was beautiful, as if they hadn't been on a deserted island for days.

[rhythm-catsandwine]

Hidden Book of August - Chapter 1. Creek

Moster/supernatural au

“How the fuck can you see your reflection?” Danny questioned as they hiked along the creek, their shadows swimming behind them.

“Most of the fucking vamp lore was made up, by vamps to protect us,” Adam replied. 

“So what can you go out in the sun too?”

“It’s more like being allergic to sunlight. If I was out in the sun for more than half an hour I’d get the worst sunburn of my life. I can eat meat as long as it's basically raw but blood is always better. O negative is my favorite.”

“Hmmm.” Danny picked up a reddish rock and closed his fist around it. “So you and Justin?’

Adam perked up, his aura brightening. “Yeah! I guess vamps and werewolves aren’t born and sworn enemies. His blood isn't poisonous for me either.” He licked his lips. “You and Nardo? What is he again?”

“Wearcat and I can do some magic.” Danny opened his hand revealing a different type of earth than the reddish rock from the creek. “Here for you and Justin.”

“Rose quarts? Is this just like a visual thing or did you actually change it at a molecular level?”

“It’s rose quartz.” They stopped to admire the last of the final sunlight. “So what does Justin turn into exactly.”

“A big wolf, but he can just like let out a tail and ears. It’s kinda cute.”

Later that night Adam returned home. “Hey, Justin!” He pulled the other close. “I found Danny and Nardo.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” They pressed their foreheads together. “You smell good. Like dark chocolate and sea salt.” Adam pulled back to look into those blue eyes. He felt if he could dive into them, they would be more refreshing than the water from the creek.

“Dinner in bed?” Justin had learned to notice when Adam needed to feed. 

“Fuck yes!”

Hidden Book of August or read on Ao3.

[managingmymuse]

Writer's Month

Day 2: Perfume

Fire and Ice Universe

(incidentally, also following on from yesterday)

Anselm found me beneath one of those fragrant trees about an hour before sunset. I'd left off the position of a true penitent in favor of leaning backwards against one of the tree trunks. The moss under my legs was springy and damp, and yet in the heat of the walled garden, it wasn't the least bit cold. 

Anselm seated himself beside me, leaning against the same trunk to angle his body slightly away. His shoulder brushed mine, almost in afterthought. "You did well today?"

My eye twitched as the memory of that woman's face swam up in my mind. I scoffed. "Of course I did. I always do."

Anselm cast a glance my way. I pretended I couldn't feel the weight of it against my skin. "You're angry."

"What do I have to be angry about? I have the King's favor, a new assignment. More power than I've ever even wanted."

Anselm said nothing. The perfume of the orange blossoms saturated the air around us, thick and cloying.

I picked up a pebble and tossed it away. "What are you doing here, Anselm?"

"I come here to meditate sometimes. With the King's permission."

I tasted bile. "Of course."

"He might allow you to do the same, you know. If you asked it of him."

I stared up at the canopy of leaves above my head. The shadows of evening were lengthening all around us. Would the lights from the palace shine through the glass and burst the illusion that we really were in some kind of mythical summer garden?

"I don't think so," I said.

We fell into silence once again. Beetles chittered in the nearby foliage. Sweet Ice, the King had even managed to populate his little forest with a host of insects.

"So this is it, then?" Anselm asked. "You plan to never talk to me again?"

"I'm talking to you right now."

"And yet your silences are louder than your words."

I gritted my teeth and let another one build between us.

"We were friends," Anselm said.

"Were we?"

"Weren't we?"

His gaze locked with mine, and a strange wash of emotion roiled in my gut. The heat that had spun through me that night at Castle Eran. The swirl of worry and concern that had followed me for weeks when he'd stayed away afterwards. The pain I'd felt when he'd finally explained that we would not be together. That we couldn't be.

"You're answering questions with questions," I said.

"And you're deflecting."

"I wonder who I learned that from."

His lip curled in a rare flash of emotion. "I miss talking to you."

"There are dozens of people you can talk to, Anselm. You have devotees hanging on your every word."

"And that's the problem," he said. "They're devotees. Foot soldiers. If I asked them to walk into the Chasm unarmed, they'd do it, no questions asked."

"I thought that's the kind of loyalty you sought to inspire," I said. "It certainly matches up with your beloved father figure."

I made a face, and Anselm saw it. "That's it," he said. "That, right there. If I told you to walk into the Chasm, you'd tell me to go fuck myself."

My lips twitched, and I schooled my face into neutrality. "And I'm certain I'd spend the next month moving snow in the lower town."

"After I talked you into going into the Chasm anyway," Anselm said, voice soft. "With me, rather than for me."

I met his eyes again, and the gentleness in them pierced me to the core.

I shifted uneasily against the tree. "So you like me because I flout your authority? That's a cliche."

"I like you because you don't care about my authority. Or my power. When we talk, you see beyond it. You see me."

I looked skyward, shaking my head. "I can't do this. I can't be your confidante again. I can't just step back into that role. Things have changed."

"They don't have to."

"They have," I said. I stood up, suddenly furious. "I told you what I wanted, Anselm. I told you, and I showed you. I made myself perfectly clear. You were the one who ended it. You were the one to push me away."

"I had to," he said. "I'm not... it's not a good idea. Not with what we do."

I tilted my head at him, scoffing. "And somehow all of our conversations were less intimate." I rolled my eyes. "Please."

"Pirja," he said.

I shook my head. "Enough, Anselm. I've had enough. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. But if you don't, then leave me the hell alone."

[takaraphoenix]

London Calling

Tags: m/m, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Pack Feels, True Mates, Spark Stiles, fluff, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, post Nogitsune, post canon, m/f

Main Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Side Pairings: Chris/Sheriff, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Derek Hale, Cora Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Noah Stilinski

@writersmonth Prompts: passion + tattoo parlor

Summary: After graduation, Stiles decides to go with Lydia, who is heading to London, to be with her mate, Jackson, from whom she'd been separated for too long now. Stiles knows the Hale Pack has moved to London, reformed there. They know Lydia is coming, but they don't know about Stiles yet.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

London Calling

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

The first member of the Hale Pack to leave Beacon Hills had been Jackson, only weeks after he even became a member of the pack. His parents had packed up, uprooted the young beta and moved to London. The Hales had contacted a pack in London that Peter's father, Derek's grandfather, had been allied to and asked if they would keep an eye on Jackson.

That had happened before Cora even rejoined the Hale Pack, before she ever met her brother in his function as the new Alpha. Apparently, Jackson and Lydia's love and mate-bond had broken the kanima curse and they had been insufferable since then (though, according to Stiles, they had been insufferable before that too). Not that Cora saw a lot of them together, since Lydia was still living in Beacon Hills. But the mated pair made it work, with phone-calls and video-chats and by Lydia spending every single vacation in London to see Jackson (which were the times Cora had to endure them together and she had to admit that they were an exhausting couple).

When Cora joined the pack, she had first and foremost joined Erica and Boyd. The three of them had been bonded by trauma, by their captivity at the hands of the Alpha pack. The pack-bond forged between the three during these months was a strong one. It was what made Erica and Boyd stay in Beacon Hills and rejoin the Hale Pack, even though they'd first been captivated because they'd left the pack and had meant to leave Beacon Hills. And Cora herself, she… She couldn't say what would have happened if she hadn't formed these two strong bonds, because Peter and Derek had been total strangers to her, too much time had passed, they'd grown apart. But she stayed.

Well, she stayed, until they all left. Derek, Peter, Cora, Boyd and Erica. The remaining Hale Pack.

Scott claimed that Beacon Hills was too small for two packs, but Cora knew better. The real reason why Scott wanted them gone had been because Derek was growing more and more into a good Alpha, was learning how to lead and care. And there were three pack members who were with one foot in each pack. Lydia, whose mate-bond to Jackson did tie her to the Hale Pack. Isaac, who had been Derek's beta first and then grown apart from him during the months Erica and Boyd had been lost and had become Scott's beta, but who still held a tie to Derek, especially after Boyd and Erica were saved. And Stiles, Stiles whose fierce loyalty made it so he couldn't turn his back on the Hales even as his ties laid with his best friend and brother by anything but blood.

Derek's pack was stronger – Jackson, even in London, Peter and Cora, Boyd and Erica. While Scott had been a young Alpha, with barely a pack to speak of, and the majority of them with one foot in the Hale Pack. It was a power move, to strengthen his own claim and pack.

The tension between the two packs had steadily grown, but for too long, Derek refused to leave. Because he didn't want to leave his family's land, the last thing they had left of their family's legacy, and even more so, he didn't want to leave his mate. Even though he never told Stiles. In the end, Derek gave in. Because he didn't want to cause tension between Stiles and Scott, thought he was doing right by Stiles. So the Hale Pack left Beacon Hills for good, together.

The Hale Pack left, for London, because if they had to leave Beacon Hills, why not the place where one of their pack-mates was already living. And it was good. Cora actually liked it better than her return to Beacon Hills – because Beacon Hills was filled with memories and sadness and death and even more recently, the memory of her abduction and captivity and nearly dying when the darach had poisoned her. Beacon Hills was pain. London was a full, fresh new start. A place where the Hale Pack was allowed to grow and be happy. It hadn't been hard to convince Erica and Boyd's families to let them leave, after pulling some strings with the help of the London Pack to get them into a really good school. A little white lie about a scholarship and their parents were on board with it.

Things in Beacon Hills took a turn for the worse, because of course it did, it always did. All the more reason to leave it behind. Stiles got possessed by a demon. Not that they knew, at first. When Lydia called them in tears, she told them that Stiles was dying, of the same disease that had killed his mother. They returned to Beacon Hills, because he was Derek's mate, because he shared a similar trauma-bond with Erica and Boyd as Cora did, because he was pack.

He didn't die. He was possessed. A demon used his body to kill people. And though Stiles already had bonds with Erica and Boyd, that was when his bond with Jackson formed. Both having been used to kill against their will. They started texting, near daily. Cora knew. There was a special look on Jackson's face when he was texting Stiles.

When the Hale Pack had returned to London, Isaac had gone with them. After Allison's death, he couldn't stay. And seeing the Hale Pack again had reignited his bonds with them. He sought his family, his first pack, for comfort and companionship. Isaac found his place among the pack with ease, the change in scenery helped him heal.

And as graduation was growling closer and closer, the pack prepared for another member to move to them. Because Lydia had stayed in Beacon Hills for certain reasons, being a minor, still going to high school and having divorced parents who were trying to make up for neglect and failure of the past by being a bit overbearing now. Now that she was a legal adult and had graduated high school, she planned on joining their pack officially, to live with his mate.

Cora dreaded it a little to have those two be disgustingly in love all over the pack house every day, but she was happy for Jackson. Though she hadn't found her own mate yet, she knew how important and cherished True Mates were among wolves. Besides, gaining another pack-member would strengthen their pack further.

"It is funny to see Jackson clean," Erica pointed out, cackling.

She was holding her phone so she could take pictures of Jackson. Jackson glared at her and flipped her off before he returned to his task of cleaning the downstairs windows. Peter and Derek had bought a large, beautiful house near Hyde Park when they first got there. Gradually, over the past year that they'd lived here, it had turned into a proper home. Every member of the pack had their own room upstairs, and though some days Cora was annoyed by Jackson or Isaac or Derek, she also loved this feeling of pack, had missed this sense of family and community. Her pack in Mexico had been good, but… it had been different, it hadn't been family.

"Are you sending that to Lydia?" Isaac asked amused.

"No," Erica huffed. "She knows that Jackson is gonna do everything to make the place impressive and 'worthy' of her. I'm sending this to Stiles so he can get a laugh out of it."

Cora noted the tenseness to her brother's shoulders, at every mention of Stiles' name. Mates were meant to be together and though Lydia and Jackson had spent most of the past two years apart, their mate-bond had at least been sealed and Lydia regularly visited. Derek had never even told Stiles – there was always some kind of tragedy that got in the way, or them leaving, and he thought it would be unfair to tell Stiles, just to then leave, or worse yet, to make Stiles choose. Cora thought that was frustrating and stupid, but she also understood. Loss was the most formative thing in Derek's life and the thought of losing his mate, in any way, was too much to bear.

"Where is Stiles going to college anyway?" Cora asked after a moment.

She was probably the only one in the pack to not have regular contact with Stiles. Erica and Boyd had their bond from being captured and tortured by Gerard Argent and it had forged a deep friendship that stayed strong even as the two betas left. Jackson and Stiles, even though they hadn't been friends before Jackson left Beacon Hills, had formed a strong bond over the similar experiences of being the kanima and being possessed by the Nogitsune. Isaac and Stiles, having been in the McCall Pack together for so long, already had a pack-bond that didn't weaken even as Isaac moved to London. Even Peter was in regular contact with Stiles – Stiles was still working on translating the entirety of the Argent bestiary, while Peter was still adding onto the Hale bestiary and the two of them worked together on making it one big database. Cora had been in Beacon Hills for too short a time, too wrapped up in her own trauma and the revelation that two members of her family were still alive, to really make friends, but she liked to imagine that if things had been different, if she had gotten to spend more time with Stiles, she too would be friends with him.

"He hasn't decided yet," Jackson replied, scrubbing excessively on one spot. "Also, grab a damn rag and help, you losers. This is your house too, how the fuck is it ever clean at all."

"I have a maid come by once a week," Peter tagged on delighted.

Cora waved a hand. "What do you mean he hasn't decided yet, graduation is in a few days."

"He's taking a gap-year," this time it was Erica who replied, a small smile on her lips, though it was more sad than happy. "He kind of never really…"

"He never actually dealt with the possession," Jackson cut in, voice sharp, curt, filled with a restrained sense of rage and pain, a reflection of his own experiences with the kanima. "He pushed it down and he kept going, because he couldn't afford to take a couple months off to heal. Between school, which he didn't want to fail, and the McCall Pack literally being useless without him and Lyd, he dealt with it as best as he could while also dealing with a shit-ton of other stuff."

Cora hummed and she saw the pained look on Derek's face, the way her brother clenched his fists at his sides. Helplessness was never going to be a look she'd get used to seeing on his face. But this wasn't something Derek could fix, something Derek could protect his mate from. The pain had already happened and Stiles needed to fight through it. Healing was something only he could do.

"That sounds good," Isaac spoke softly, grabbing a rag and turning away from the pack. "I hope he gets out of Beacon Hills, even just for a while… I think that would help him."

Because it had helped him. It had helped him to get out of that cursed town. It had helped all of them, and Cora could see it in the faces of every member of her pack. She could see it in her own face. Getting out of Beacon Hills after the fire had allowed her to heal from the loss and leaving again, for London, had helped her move on from what the Alpha Pack and the darach had done.

She may not be close to Stiles, but she genuinely hoped that he'd find a way to get better.

/break\

The sheriff and Chris Argent went to the same grief group for widowers. Years ago, when Noah finally realized he had to sober up, he had to do better, be better, to be there for his son, for the family he still had, he had started going to these meetings. After Victoria's death, Noah had suggested the same to Chris. Ever since, the two went there together. They grew closer.

It was only after Allison's death that this closeness turned into something more, a friendship born from mutual support and a shared understanding of grief turned into the main pillar that kept Chris going after he lost his only child. Over the past two years, Chris had just lost too much. His sister, his wife, his father, now his daughter. He had nothing left, nobody left. Only the Stilinskis.

Not just the sheriff, but also Stiles. Because Allison's death had to mean something, he needed it to mean something, to have a purpose, to not have been in vein. She'd died when they all tried to save Stiles, so Chris? Chris needed Stiles to be safe. He needed Stiles to be safe, because his daughter had died to make sure Stiles would be safe.

For a long time, Stiles didn't understand that. He thought that Chris should hate him, should blame him for Allison's death. He'd yelled all of that at Chris, one evening, when Chris was over at the Stilinski home for dinner and him and the sheriff acted so unbearably normal and kind, in a manner that Stiles didn't deserve or understand. He yelled, and cried, and broke down.

How could they be so kind to him? How could Chris be kind to him? How could Chris even look at him? He couldn't even look at himself, all he saw in the mirror was the twisted sneer of the Nogitsune, all he saw was Allison's blood on his hands.

Chris had hugged him, hugged him and held him and... cried with him. Stiles didn't know how long the two sat on the kitchen floor, crying together. His dad had put dinner away into the fridge and given them some privacy, at one point, retreating to the living room.

"She died to save you," Chris had said, voice rough with tears. "We all fought to save you, Stiles. You didn't kill her, kid. A demon did, a demon that used you. You're... You're as much a victim of it as she was, but you survived and I need to... I need to cling onto that. That you survived, that she didn't die for nothing, that she... that we managed what we set out to do."

Stiles hadn't known what to say to that. So he just sat there and continued crying quietly, remembering every time Allison had smiled at him, joked with him, been his friend.

It took so much longer for Stiles to get... better. He wasn't good, he still wasn't good. He still had the nightmares, but they were more irregular these days. He still counted his fingers, by now a nervous habit really, just pressing his thumbs against each of his fingers one by one.

He got his first tattoo three months after the possession. After he sat down at the kitchen table with his dad and Chris, who at that point was over at the Stilinski home more often than he wasn't, and he told them that he still struggled with what was real. He counted his fingers, but it didn't always feel like enough. Reading, seeing that words were real, that helped.

He needed to carry words with him, wherever he went, so he could check, see if he could read them, know that he was awake. He wanted a tattoo. A simple phrase This is real, written out on his wrist. To make it more meaningful, he'd chosen his mother's handwriting – they had so many examples of it in her cookbooks and it wasn't hard to put the phrase together in her writing.

He was seventeen, couldn't get a tattoo without his dad's permission. But after hearing the reason behind it, the idea for it and how Stiles imagined the execution, his dad signed the permission for him to get the tattoo, because this wasn't a silly teen idea that Stiles would regret, this was something that helped him get better. And it did, it really did help, he could feel himself calming down much easier now that he could look at the words and know it was real.

He got his second tattoo three months after. Stiles... needed it. A silver arrow through his heart, with the Argents' family motto. We protect those who can't protect themselves. Because that was what they did, what they all did, that was what Allison had done when she had died. She'd tried to protect Stiles when he couldn't protect himself. His father had found it hard to deny Stiles this time either. Chris went to the tattoo parlor with Stiles and got a matching tattoo, to honor his daughter.

Both of those tattoos helped him. Grounded him.

His dad and Chris helped and grounded him too. Stiles could see the gradual shift in their relationship and one day, Chris simply stopped leaving. One day, Stiles came home and found the two men curled together on the couch, holding each other in a manner that was much more intimate than a hug between friends. One day, Chris just became a part of the Stilinski household.

While Stiles had his support at home, he slowly felt like he was losing the pack.

There were so many new people, people who had joined after the Nogitsune, people Scott had accepted into the pack. People Stiles didn't really have bonds with, people he… never cared enough to get to know, or who never really cared enough to get to know him. People who had no way of ever truly understanding, because they hadn't been there, hadn't lived through the things Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Allison and Isaac had gone through, had seen since the beginning. Even Malia and Kira understood more, had suffered through more with them. But those that came after, it… felt like a whole different pack, like there was a cut, a line drawn, and Stiles was on the other side.

His friendship with Scott wasn't what it used to be either, and maybe that factored into why Stiles didn't feel the same bond to the newer pack members. Though now, looking back, he wondered for just how long it had been like this. It wasn't just Allison's death that had broken something, their friendship had cracked long before. What truly broke it though was Theo, was how easily Scott let himself be manipulated by Theo. Believing Theo over Stiles, accusing Stiles of murdering Donovan, when it had been self-defense, not even asking for Stiles' side of the story, not believing Stiles. That night, those accusations, their friendship never recovered from.

On paper, he was still in the pack. Stiles still attended mandatory pack meetings, but he stuck to the background. He gradually offered less and less solutions, voiced less and less of his suspicions, because he wasn't being heard anyway. Neither him nor Scott really named it, the fact that Stiles wasn't really pack anymore, that they had grown apart. They simply… lived side by side.

Maybe he would have left, should have left, but Beacon Hills was where his dads were living, and he wanted to graduate here. He would bide his time until. And he wasn't all alone.

He still had Lydia, always had Lydia. The grief over losing Allison had brought them so much closer, even though, much like with Chris, Stiles had thought she should hate him.

Isaac left. He couldn't stay, after losing Allison, couldn't bear this place where his mother and brother had died, where his father had abused him, where he had now lost Allison. And Stiles understood. The blonde had ducked his head, looking guilty as he stood in Stiles' bedroom one night, telling him that he'd leave. But Stiles understood. He hugged Isaac and told him to say hi to the Hales, at which Isaac had looked at him in surprise.

Like Stiles didn't know where Isaac stood. With one foot in each pack. Isaac's relationship with Scott had been strained over his feelings for Allison already, but now with Allison's death, Isaac didn't feel like much was holding him here. Isaac had no reason not to follow his original pack.

There was a pang of longing in Stiles' heart at the thought.

Stiles imagined that having the Hale Pack back in Beacon Hills, even just for a short while, must have had a similar effect on Isaac as it did on Stiles. The Hales had come back, when they thought Stiles was dying. They had all hugged him and cried with him and he'd curled against Derek's chest, crying for an hour. But then Stiles survived and the demon was exorcised and the Hales all had a life in London – the betas all went to school, Peter and Derek had jobs. And so they'd left again.

The sense of longing was near physical, it ached in Stiles' chest.

His third tattoo was one that he got on his eighteenth birthday, without telling his dads first. Because he knew they both would disapprove of that one. He went back to the tattoo parlor and got a giant, beautifully detailed black fox on his back, curling around the symbol for self. It was a constant reminder, a manifestation of his guilt but also of his survival. A promise, both to himself and to Allison, that now that he was himself again he would be himself. However he was going to manage that, because he still struggled with it at times.

Graduation was coming up and Chris took him aside. Told him that he needed to live. At first, Stiles didn't understand, thought that he did. Allison had died, so Stiles had to live. Chris sighed.

"You're not living, kid," Chris said, voice rough and distant. "You're surviving. You have been surviving since the possession. I know there's a lot of trauma you've been working through, you kept your grades up through it all, you kept helping keep this town safe, but… that is all you do. You haven't lived since then. You keep your head down and you continue, but you don't start."

"I don't…" Stiles frowned at him in confusion.

"You haven't had a girlfriend since things between you and Malia ended, you haven't made any new friends, I know you keep your distance to the newer members of the pack, you… don't really spend time with anyone but Lydia, Malia and Kira anymore. You need to live, make new experiences, have fun, laugh, spend time with the people you love, fall in love."

Do all the things Allison would never get to do again, was left unsaid but both Stiles and Chris could feel it in their bones. He ducked his head and leaned into Chris, receiving a hug. Chris was right, Stiles hadn't really lived since Allison had died, he'd been so busy struggling to survive, he hadn't even had time to consider living yet. But now, he was doing better, he was on the right path.

"You need to leave this place," Chris whispered against his hair, still hugging him. "You need to get out before this city kills you too, and you need to find a place where you can be happy, kid."

Stiles tensed in his arms. Leaving Beacon Hills wasn't something he'd ever considered. This was his home, this was where his dad lived, worked, he couldn't leave. He was all his dad had… No, that wasn't true anymore. Blinking, he looked up at Chris. His dad wasn't alone anymore. There was someone who loved his dad, who watched out that his dad would eat healthy even when Stiles was busy. There was someone living in the Stilinski house, so his dad wasn't alone anymore.

"Chris is right, kiddo," Noah stepped into the kitchen, looking at them both with sad but loving eyes. "You aren't happy here, I haven't… I haven't seen you happy in a long time. I know your friends are all doing better, no longer living here, and maybe it will help you too. All I want for you is to be happy, kiddo. I'll be fine, don't let me hold you back."

Chris and Stiles opened their hug for Noah, allowing the sheriff to join them. They were right. He wasn't happy here and this place had been slowly killing him since the night Scott got bitten. Maybe it was time to leave before this town could finish him off.

/break\

The pack was buzzing with excitement as they were gathered at the airport, waiting for Lydia's arrival. This kind of energy, it made Derek feel... serene. His pack, together, all eagerly awaiting their newest member. They'd come a long way from the three teens he'd turned two years ago, from the in-fighting when Scott had briefly joined the pack, the strain of turning Jackson and him leaving Beacon Hills near immediately, the tension when Boyd and Erica had been returned and how awkward things had been when Cora first joined the pack.

Moving to London had been the right call. They were happier here. They were happy here. They had the chance to fully grow into a pack, to form deep, meaningful pack-bonds.

And Derek was eager himself, for Lydia to properly join his pack. Ever since Derek had relocated the pack to London, she had become more and more a member of this pack. With every visit to London, to be with her mate, with every video-call between Jackson and Lydia that Erica and Cora and later on Isaac and occasionally even Boyd would butt in. She had been forming pack-bonds with them all for months now. And still, when she actually called him, told him that she wanted to leave Beacon Hills behind and had applied to a university in London so she could be with Jackson and then formally asked Derek if he would accept her into his pack, that had meant a lot to him.

He was an Alpha whom betas chose. Boyd and Erica chose to rejoin the pack, after they'd been saved from the Alpha Pack. Cora had chosen not to leave for Mexico again. Jackson had chosen to be with their pack, even though he could have stayed with the local pack that had kept an eye on him until the Hale Pack moved to London. Jackson and Lydia, together, could have chosen to leave for a different place entirely. Isaac chose to come to them, after Allison's death.

He had a strong, happy, good pack. He was... happy. A feeling he still sometimes struggled with, the survivor's guilt usually made him remember Laura and their family, those he had lost. But he'd been working with a therapist on this, on the fact that he deserved to live, to be happy.

There was still a hole in his chest, a Stiles-shaped hole that left an ache in his heart, but he was going to fix it, he was finally going to move forward. He'd never dared to tell Stiles that they were mates. At first, because he thought the teen was mostly annoying and the age-difference mortified him. But the more often Stiles saved his life, the more Stiles proved himself to be strong and fierce and loyal, the more Derek could see why fate had chosen him as Derek's mate.

However, at that point, something seemed to always get in the way. After Scott and Stiles officially joined his pack, Derek had been overjoyed and was readying himself to actually tell Stiles. And then Scott had betrayed Derek's trust, left his pack after using him like a weapon, a tool, in his plan against Gerard Argent. And with Scott, Stiles left the pack too. Derek spent months bitter, deliberately not telling Stiles because he'd felt betrayed by his mate too.

While the Alpha Pack and the darach attacked, him and Stiles grew closer again. When Derek finally learned that Stiles had had no hand in Scott's plans against Gerard, that Stiles hadn't approved of it – that Stiles and Scott even had a fight about it – it was already too late. Scott was a True Alpha and the two packs in the small town were edging on, until Derek conceded and left.

Too many bad memories, too much loss. He wasn't ready to risk his pack in an actual fight against Scott's pack, if it came to that. And the longer they coexisted, the more it felt like that was where things were headed. A fresh start, somewhere new, maybe it'd help them all, was what he'd thought.

With no concrete destination otherwise, he decided to follow his first beta. He'd never gotten the chance to be a proper Alpha to Jackson before Jackson had left. He was glad that the local packs – London was a big city, it housed multiple packs who peacefully coexisted and even had alliances between them – all welcomed them with open arms.

Derek had thought it unfair to tell Stiles just as they were leaving and he saw no point in telling Stiles with the pack living in London, he'd never want to make Stiles feel like he had to choose, between his home where his dad and Scott and all his friends lived, and Derek.

When they returned to Beacon Hills, when they thought Stiles was dying – and Derek's wolf still curled together in pain at the memory of that feeling, at the memory of how small and fragile and exhausted Stiles had been in that hospital – Derek wanted to tell him. He didn't want to lose Stiles without Stiles ever knowing how much he meant to Derek. Before he had the chance to, did they realize that Stiles wasn't dying, not of a human sickness anyway. He was possessed.

After that, with the trauma Stiles had suffered, with the loss of Allison hanging heavily over their heads, it had felt selfish to tell Stiles the truth. He had so much to deal with, he shouldn't have to deal with Derek's feelings, on top of everything else.

And so Derek and his pack had left once more, returning to London. Words left unspoken.

Things were changing though. Lydia was joining their pack, because the betas had graduated high school. Stiles was eighteen now, which had also been part of why Derek kept looking for excuses not to tell Stiles. He never wanted to be like Kate, he never wanted to be unsure if he was coercing Stiles, because Stiles had been young and might feel like he was obligated to do anything just because of a mate-bond he couldn't feel to its full extend – yes, humans could feel the mate-bond, but to a werewolf, it was different, it was so much stronger.

Now, Stiles was a legal adult, he had graduated high school, both of them were in a better place, having worked through at least parts of their respective trauma. Once Lydia was properly settled in, Derek planned on traveling to Beacon Hills to see Stiles and finally tell him.

"Lydia!" Jackson's entire face lit up when he saw his mate.

She grinned and ran up to him, jumping into his arms to be whirled around by Jackson. They kissed, slow and deep and entirely getting inappropriate for the public. Derek cleared his throat, looking away. He understood, they'd last seen each other during spring break. They were mates, they shouldn't be kept apart. It made Derek feel warm, a pleasant sense of comfort at the thought that the two would get to be together now. That his betas would get to be with their mate.

"Put. Her. Down," Erica growled, shoving Jackson. "Share."

Jackson growled back but he still put his mate down so the other betas could get to scent mark and greet her too. Now that she was pack, she needed to smell like pack. Derek smiled to himself, standing back together with Peter and waiting for the pups to get their fill first.

"You smell like Stiles," Isaac noted as he nuzzled Lydia's neck. "Is that the surprise you said you'd bring for the pack? Did you scent-mark Stiles before you came so we can have some Stiles?"

The smile on Derek's lips turned a little softer as he watched Boyd shove his own mate away, not without Erica growling in protest, so he could also scent-mark Lydia and smell Stiles on her. Before coming, Lydia had called Jackson and ominously said she had a surprise for the pack. Derek crossed his arms tightly, trying to keep himself from going to Lydia and pushing the betas out of the way so he could inhale every last trace of his mate on his new pack-member.

"Not exactly. If you want more au de Stiles, she brought you the source."

The pack froze in place – which, in the case of the betas was somewhat a hilarious image, because Boyd was curled against Lydia's back, while Erica and Isaac were in the middle of shoving each other to get the left side of Lydia's neck, Cora nuzzling her cheek against Lydia's right cheek, Jackson in the middle of kissing Lydia. All pausing like some kind of statue. Though Derek couldn't blame them, he was holding his breath too, eyes widening at the sound of that voice. He turned.

Coming up behind Lydia, pushing the cart with so many bags and suitcases, it looked like Lydia had decided to bring all of her belongings onto this flight already, was Stiles. Stiles stopped the cart and stepped around it, aiming a carefree grin at the pack. He was real, this was really Stiles. Wearing skinny-jeans and a blood-red hoodie. His hair was a little longer than the last time Derek had seen him. He looked good, really good. Not so sickly pale anymore, the deep bags beneath his eyes were gone, his cheeks not as hollowed out. Healthy. He looked healthy again, no longer made to believe he was going to die, no longer possessed, but rather recovering. He was beautiful, he was everything, he was right here, in London, just a few meters away from Derek.

"Stiles!" Erica yelled, her voice pitching, before she launched herself at him.

Isaac growled, hot on her heels and also attaching himself to Stiles. Boyd grabbed Isaac by the waist to lift him out of the way so he could get a Stiles hug first. Stiles just laughed, a bright and beautiful sound, as he was being wrapped up by the Hale Pack's three original betas. With a heavy sigh did Lydia smack Jackson's arm to give him the go-ahead and the next moment, Jackson was also nosing Stiles' neck. Lydia used the opportunity to give Cora a proper hug.

"You brought us Stiles," Isaac grinned at Lydia from where he was resting his chin on Stiles' head.

"Can we keep him?" Erica turned large, pleading eyes and a pout on Derek. "Ple—ease, I promise I'll feed him and take him on walks."

"Brats," Stiles heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Okay, okay, enough scent-marking the Stiles in public, people are starting to stare, I feel like they think I have a harem, off, puppies."

Once the betas were all pushed off, Stiles took a tentative step toward Derek, a soft half-smile on his lips as he waved. "Hey, Sourwolf. Miss me?"

Miss me? Derek choked on the emotions bubbling up in him. Missing didn't even begin to cover what Derek had felt. Pure, raw yearning, a longing so overwhelming he was drowning in it. Until this very moment, he hadn't realized just how bad it really was. It had been easier to push down and ignore while he could focus on his pack. Seeing Stiles like this? So close? Close enough that Derek could smell him? It hit him like running head-first into a brick-wall.

With a deep growl rumbling in his chest did Derek stride forward, until Stiles was right in front of him. Those big, warm doe-eyes stared up at him in surprise when Stiles got wrapped up in the Alpha's arms and pulled into a tight, all-consuming hug. The rumbling grew softer, more pleased and content, as Derek buried his nose in Stiles' neck, rubbing it. More content rumbling when his mate readily bared his throat for better access. A small laugh escaped Stiles, his fingers entangling in Derek's shirt, holding onto him too, returning the hug.

"Yeah," Stiles' voice cracked a little. "I missed you too."

"I do think that was enough PDA overall, how about you bring us to the pack house?" Lydia piped up. "We had a dreadfully long flight with even more dreadful food. I need a shower and dinner."

"Actually, seconded," Stiles turned a bit in Derek's arms, regarding the betas. "Uhm. Sourwolf? You would have to let me go so we can leave."

Oh, Derek hated that idea. He would prefer to stand here for another hour or two, simply holding his mate, soaking in that unique scent of honey, chili and lightning. Huffing softly, Stiles gave him a light shove, at which the Alpha reluctantly let go of his mate.

"It's good to see you again, Stiles," Peter said, resting a hand in Stiles' neck. "You look good."

Stiles let him, leaning into the touch some, still grinning. "I feel good."

The betas went to get Lydia and Stiles' luggage – Stiles had luggage, Stiles was here. The only reason Derek had been able to let go of his mate was because he would get to take Stiles home with him, get Stiles into the pack house for the first time, get the pack house to smell like Stiles.

Once in the parking deck, Peter clapped his hands once and turned to stare at the betas expectantly. "Everyone, into the SUVs. No, not everybody can drive with Stiles."

Cora was the first one to willingly get into Peter's SUV, having the least connection to Stiles. Lydia and Jackson joined her, getting into the backseats, mostly because Lydia had gotten to spend so much time with Stiles already and Jackson primarily wanted to be with his mate right now. Derek got into his own car, watching Isaac climb into the passenger seat and smiling a little when Stiles ended up sandwiched between Boyd and Erica, the mated pair rubbing against Stiles from either side. Those three had had a profound bond ever since the basement. Derek's grip on the steering wheel tightened at that thought, the thought of Gerard torturing his betas and his human mate.

"So—o tired," Stiles groaned and leaned his head against Boyd's shoulder. "There was a screaming toddler sitting in the row behind me… Ple—ease tell me your pack house is actually big enough to have a guest room I can crash in because… I had considered calling ahead to ask if I can crash with you, but then I thought a surprise would be much more fun. Lydia said you would have room for me and it wouldn't be a problem, but now that I'm actually here-"

"There will always be room for you," Derek interrupted him lowly.

"Cheesy," Stiles looked utterly pleased. "Awesome. Oh. Oh, you guys totally have to show me around, I've never been to London. I mean. I've never been anywhere aside from Poland."

"You've been to Poland?" Erica asked, dragging her nose over his collarbone.

"Well, not in… a long time," Stiles' smile turned a bit sad. "I went when I was little, with my mom, to visit her family. My grandpa, my actual name sake."

"Mitch-is-love," Isaac dragged it out, the sounds heavy and awkward.

"So close and yet so far," Stiles gave a startled laugh. "You know, it used to bother me, hearing people try and butcher my name, but… it's kind of endearing with you guys. You try."

"It's more of a whaff than a love," Boyd corrected Isaac after a moment.

Stiles hummed, looking so happy as he melted between Boyd and Erica, who were both holding hands on top of Stiles' lap. Derek's heart felt full and warm when he looked at his betas and his mate, all content and together. That hole in his chest, it was slowly filling.

"We're here," Isaac announced when they pulled into their driveway.

"Wow," Stiles whispered in awe, staring at the Hale Villa. "Okay. Lyds was not exaggerating. Damn. It pays to have a Sugar Alpha, huh, guys."

Erica made gagging noises. "Don't ever call him that again or I will throw up."

She shoved Stiles, just making him laugh. As soon as they got out of the car did Derek practically herd Stiles into the house, earning a very amused look from the human. Where did he want Stiles first? Bed. No. Not a realistic place to get Stiles to go. Not yet. But now that he was here, Derek could tell him, could start courting him, could… ask the impossible question. Give Stiles a choice. Because it wasn't about making Stiles choose, it was about giving Stiles a choice.

"Want me in the living room?" Stiles guessed, a knowing smile on his lips. "Make the den smell more like me and give the betas more time to smother me. Sorry, 'scent mark' me."

Derek gave an affirmative grunt. That was part of what he loved the most about Stiles. Stiles understood Derek, understood him but also his culture. Stiles had always done his research, learned about werewolves and even when he lacked the natural instincts, he never acted like what the wolves did was weird, he accepted it, embraced it, even reciprocated it. Scent-marking them back, without anyone having to explain to him what it was. He knew, he accepted, he understood.

"Stilinski," Jackson grunted as he caught up to them and wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist to pull him close. "The fuck did you not say that you were coming, you asshole."

"Missed you too, Jackass," Stiles laughed, leaning his bead back against Jackson's chest. "It's called a surprise and telling the other party kinda ruins the purpose."

"So you're spending your gap-year traveling then?" Boyd asked curiously. "Made us the first stop?"

The look on Stiles' face turned a little more sober and maybe even an edge of nervous. "No."

Jackson growled a little. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but… use more words, Stilinski."

Stiles wiggled free of the beta and turned to look at Derek, searching the Alpha's face. What for, Derek couldn't guess, but he liked having Stiles' attention. And he liked the way Stiles looked standing in his living room, like he belonged right here, surrounded by the betas.

"Well, that depends on your glorious Alpha," Stiles' grin turned mischievous as he tilted his head, baring his throat to Derek. "Alpha Hale, I, Mieczysław Stilinski, formally ask to join your pack."

The growl ripped from Derek's throat was such a deep, primal sound that it shook the room, his eyes flashing. It wasn't even a conscious decision to step up to Stiles. One second, he was at the other side of the room, the next he had Stiles pinned against the wall, his mouth on Stiles' bared throat. His lips parted, but before he allowed his teeth to scratch soft skin, he paused.

"Stiles-" Derek whispered. "You can't be in two packs. Not fully."

"I know," Stiles' voice broke a little. "I choose you. You're my Alpha, Derek."

What little restrain he had vanished at those words, Derek's wolf taking over as he sank blunt human teeth into soft skin. A soft noise was drawn from Stiles as Derek marked him as pack. There were questions, a hundred questions running through Derek's mind, but all that mattered in that moment was that Stiles was his. Part of his pack, fully, officially, willingly.

"What… just happened," Isaac grunted, blinking slowly. "I mean, I know what happened, but… You left Scott's pack? You? And you're here to stay? For… good?"

"What about your dad?" Erica asked concerned.

Derek pulled away from Stiles, with much difficulty. Now that he was pack, Derek's wolf just wanted to drag Stiles upstairs and make their den smell like their mate. But these were questions that he needed answered too. He'd just claimed Stiles as Hale Pack, which… he had never thought he would get to do, not even if he ever got to claim Stiles as his mate. His unwavering loyalty was what had gotten him dragged into the supernatural to begin with. This had always been the Scott and Stiles Show, everyone else was just on the outside.

"My dads are fine," Stiles chuckled and went to sit on the couch, between Isaac and Jackson. "Two's company, as they say. I… never thought I'd be able to leave Beacon Hills because someone had to take care of my dad, but… now someone is. Chris is watching dad's died like a hawk. Honestly, he might actually worse than me, it's kind of funny. But yeah, I'm… not leaving him alone. And, to be honest, it was kind of Chris who told me to get out of Beacon Hills, to… live, instead of just surviving. Chase my own happiness or something like that."

"And your happiness… led you here?" Isaac's voice was unusually small, filled with hope.

The look on Stiles' face turned more sad as he tilted his head down to stare at his hands, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers linked between them. There was something heavy there.

"I… never wanted to leave the Hale Pack," Stiles whispered. "I left because Scott left. And then Scott became a True Alpha and… But things are different now."

"How," Cora's voice had an edge to it. "How is it so easy to turn your back on your Alpha and your pack, now. Everyone always talks like your loyalty is your biggest plus point."

Derek gave a low warning growl at his sister, but Stiles simply laughed. Shallow and empty.

"Loyalty can break your neck if it's misplaced," Stiles shrugged and looked up, looked at Cora. "I've been training to be an Emissary for one and a half years now. When I started, I was… so sure… that it would be so I could become Scott's Emissary. But at no point did he ask me. I just assumed, it seemed obvious to me – and to everyone else. But he never asked me, he still got Deaton. I used to be Scott's right hand. And then this guy comes into our lives and it's so easy for him to gain Scott's trust and friendship and manipulate him. I'm not Scott's right hand and I'm not his Emissary and… I haven't really been pack, in a while."

Stiles turned his head, no longer looking at any of them, instead fixating a spot on the ground. "Maybe I would have become his Emissary, maybe I would still be his right hand, but… He can hardly look at me anymore, even when he's trying, and he is trying, but… we've never been the same after Allison's death, we've been growing more and more apart and…"

"He's blaming you for Allison's death?" Jackson growled, eyes flashing blue. "I'm gonna kill him."

The twist of Stiles' lips was hardly a smile. Derek noticed the way Stiles was pressing his thumbs against the pads of his other fingers one by one, over and over again. It made Derek's heart sink. He knew this was a habit Stiles had picked up with the possession. Counting his fingers to ground himself, to remind himself that what was happening was real, that he was awake.

"I don't fault him for that," Stiles whispered. "Can't fault him for that. I did kill her."

"Stiles-" Lydia's voice was pained but also exhausted, like she'd had this conversation a lot.

"I did," Stiles shrugged and looked up at her with tired, broken eyes. "I didn't want to, but… I remember it, and I will forever remember it. The fact that I didn't want to doesn't undo it and it won't let me forget it either. I understand the distinction, Lyds. I know I didn't kill her, in the ways that matter, but… I still remember it like I did. I'm doing better now, I've mostly made my peace with it, but I still sometimes see her blood on my hands and… I can't blame Scott for also seeing it. She was his mate and I killed her and it's a miracle we had any semblance of a relationship left after. But I can't live like that anymore. I can't live in a pack with mostly strangers and with a best friend who can barely look at me, I can't live filled with all the memories of the people it hurt while using my body. Chris is right. I've been surviving, I've been treading water to keep above the surface somehow and to keep breathing, but it's time I just… get out of the water. Before I drown."

"So..." Derek's voice wavered. "So you're really here to stay? With us?"

With me? A voice in Derek's head whispered and screamed at the same time, the pull to his mate overwhelmingly strong now that there was a pulsing pack-bond alongside their unsealed mate-bond.

"If you'll have me," Stiles tilted his head with a small grin, showing off the bite on his neck. "Though, I guess now's too late for you to back out. You're stuck with me."

Seeing his mark on Stiles like that, seeing Stiles show it off like that, it did things to Derek, things that went far beyond love, desire or passion. It was a raw, burning fire at the core of his soul and it felt like it was consuming all of him. Yet at the same time he wasn't scared, he was embracing it, letting it warm him.

"Finally!" Erica yelped and threw herself at Stiles. "Always knew you belonged with us, Batman."

"Oh, you have no idea," Stiles muttered beneath his breath, amused.

Muttering was pretty pointless in a room with werewolves though. Curious looks were aimed Stiles' way and a near bashful smile spread over his lips as he ruffled his hair. His cheeks had a red tint to them that Derek found himself appreciating more than he should.

"I have this theory. About why Scott never asked me to be his Emissary," Stiles explained, fidgeting a little and not looking at Derek. "I mean, beyond the way Deaton lives in his head rent-free. My magic... My magic first manifested when I was part of the Hale Pack, the first time I used it, Derek was my Alpha. I think that maybe a subconscious part of Scott's wolf rejects my magic because it's linked to the Hale Pack."

"Fascinating," Peter sounded far too intrigued. "Perhaps Derek's wolf has had a similar, opposite reaction. Considering we've been living in London as an established and respected pack for well over a year now and still don't have an Emissary."

Derek gave a low warning growl. He'd never done that on purpose. It wasn't like he at any point realistically expected for Stiles to move here, so he hadn't kept the position open with the intention of making Stiles his Emissary.

"It's okay," Stiles shook his head. "I didn't come here for that. I came here to join the pack. Besides, you guys... never really... saw my magic, I mean, I mostly started training it when you already left. Let me stick around for a while and prove myself before you even bring that up, mh?"

"Stiles, you really don't have to prove yourself, to any of us," Boyd noted, raising one eyebrow. "I, very confidently, speak for the whole pack there."

The others made noises of agreement and Stiles flushed again, a pleased look on his face. It was Lydia clearing her throat that drew the attention away from Stiles, for which he seemed grateful.

"I was the one who came here to join the pack, you know."

Lydia gave Derek a look for having been ignored, though it was half-hearted at best because she knew how much the pack had missed Stiles and what a huge, positive surprise this was for them all. Still, the Alpha couldn't help but rub his neck sheepishly at having ignored his newest pack-member. Lydia offered him a small, reassuring smile, before she bared her throat to him.

"Alpha Hale, I, Lydia Martin, formally ask to join the Hale Pack."

Derek's eyes flashed on instinct and he approached her to gently bite her neck too. Another pack-bond snapped into place and filled him with warmth. His. They were now his, his pack.

"How about we get you guys settled in?" Cora suggested after a moment. "There was talk about showers and food. I'll show you an empty room, Stiles, and you two can shower and unpack while we organize some food."

Stiles gave a sharp nod. "That sounds perfect."

/break\

Before he had left Beacon Hills for good, he had done four things. He'd hugged his dads, very tight and very long with many manly tears being shed. He'd gone to the cemetery and visited the graves of his mother and Allison, leaving flowers (he also went to the Hale mausoleum and left flowers there too, he always did when visiting the cemetery). He'd gone to Scott and said his final goodbye to his best friend, officially leaving the pack (there was pain in Scott's eyes but also understanding. They both knew they weren't what they used to be). And he'd gone to his trusted tattoo parlor to get one last tattoo in Beacon Hills.

Their first night as members of the Hale Pack, Lydia and Stiles got treated to an obscene amount of pizza (Stiles had tipped the delivery guy fifty bucks for the hard work of carrying thirty pizzas. He took the money out of Peter's wallet though, so there was that). After, the pack had cuddled up in the very cozy den for a pack pile. That was something Stiles had desperately longed for. The McCall Pack never really did that, Scott still fought too much against his own wolfly instincts. Stiles fell asleep with his head on Boyd's chest, his arms around Isaac and Erica spooning him from behind and he had slept better than in months.

The pack was more than enthusiastic to show him around – Lydia had already gotten various tours during her regular stays, but she was more than happy to play additional tour-guide for Stiles and they both enjoyed the bonding experience with their new pack.

They'd been in London for about a week now and Stiles felt... at home. He'd missed them all so much. When he walked out of his room – his room – and downstairs, he found Boyd and Erica snuggled together on the couch, Erica curled together on her mate's chest, napping instead of fully waking up, denying the day its claim on her just yet. Boyd was running his fingers through her hair, gentle and loving and looking fully content just staring at his sleepy mate.

Isaac sat curled together on the arm-chair next to them, a bowl of cereal on his lap that was most likely 95% sugar, while he watched some cartoon. The beta turned toward Stiles to smile and nod at him in greeting when he noticed.

Reaching the kitchen made Stiles smile. While the pack had an actual chores wheel and was very much behind everyone doing their share, it was apparently mostly Derek who cooked. Stepping up to the Alpha, Stiles brushed his arm against Derek's before taking over the pancakes, since Derek seemed busy with the scrambled eggs. Cooking for a pack of hungry wolves was no small feat.

"You don't have to help," Derek mumbled, eyeing him. "I'm fine here."

"As much as I enjoy being spoiled by your cooking, and I totally am, I'm also used to being the only one who does the cooking," Stiles offered a grin. "So, unless you actually mind, I'd like to help."

A grunt. The affirmative, soft kind. Stiles had missed being able to dissect Derek's grunts and growls and his eyebrows. The grunts and growls translated into phone-calls but the eyebrow language, now that he hadn't gotten to watch in far too long.

"What are you going to do now?" Derek asked after a stretch of companionable silence. "You're not meant to just sit around and do nothing. I think you may actually implode."

"First of all, rude," Stiles huffed and hip-checked Derek with a mild glare. "Second of all... true. I... Honestly, I don't know. I'm not ready for college yet, as much as I love learning, I really do think that I need some... time to myself. Also to get used to this place. I want to learn everything about London, its supernatural history and present. Meet all the local packs and Emissaries, I'm dying to know if there's another Spark in London."

"There is," Derek offered. "The Haynes Pack's Emissary, Marge Cotton, is the Spark of London."

Stiles perked up, visibly so. He'd never actually met another Spark, since they were pretty rare nowadays. Magic users, inherently linked to nature, fueled by it. Usually tied to the land. He'd gotten his magic from the Nemeton of Beacon Hills and he would forever be the Spark of Beacon Hills. But then, to him, Derek would forever be the Alpha of Beacon Hills, so he supposed it was okay if they lived in London for now. One day, they would return home. Together.

"What's for breakfast? O—Oh, is Stiles making pancakes?" Erica asked, sniffing the air.

"How could you possibly know that I'm making the pancakes."

"Cinnamon," Isaac, Boyd and Erica all replied right away.

"You put a dash of cinnamon into the batter, it's a distinct smell," added Jackson gruffly.

He looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep once again (him and Lydia were… very busy catching up). Once he reached Stiles, he gently nuzzled against him. Scent-marking. It was ridiculous how much Stiles enjoyed that, enjoyed the casual comfort and touch between the pack.

"How about you guys do something too? Lazy puppies. Set the table, squeeze some oranges, I want fresh juice to go with those pancakes. Shoo. Be useful."

Peter came next, making a beeline to the coffee maker. Which suited Stiles just fine, honestly, in this household, Peter was the only one who seemed to know how to actually use that. Whatever Erica did with it was absolutely not coffee. Isaac only drank hot chocolate. Jackson preferred going out to buy coffee in coffee shops. Boyd only drank tea. And the Hale siblings? Stiles was pretty sure they would drink the most bitter brew possible without flinching. Heathens, the lot of them.

As Derek and Stiles finished up breakfast, the kitchen got much more lively. So much bumping into each other as everyone tried to put one more thing onto the table – milk was missing, where was the butter, there needed to be jam had anyone seen the strawberry jam, why was there no syrup? That last one was what got Stiles, in the end. Erica bumped into him on her way to get the bacon, causing him to stumble back into Isaac, who elbowed Jackson, who lost his balance and spilled the syrup all over Stiles. All Stiles could do was blink and stare down at himself, dripping maple syrup everywhere, before he started laughing. Okay, yeah, he had missed this. This sense of family.

"I am going to get changed, I guess."

"You are going to drip syrup all over the floor," Peter gave him a look of disdain.

"He's right," Lydia's face matched Peter's. "Just, take your shirt off and put it in the sink for now, rinse it out in there later."

Stiles grunted his confirmation. That was a better idea than leaving a trail of syrup all over the place. Turning his back on the pack so he was facing the sink, he pulled his shirt off and put it in. Gasps and growls of varying degrees sounded behind him and oh. Right.

"Stiles-" Derek's voice never sounded more wrecked and Stiles didn't know what to do with that.

"Ri—ight," Stiles cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

"Why would you get that as a tattoo," Cora asked startled.

Stiles braced himself against the sink. Knowing their eyes were on his back tattoo, on the large black fox sitting on it, staring at them right now. He frowned as he considered how to explain it.

"As a physical reminder of what I overcame," Stiles offered after a long silence. "This wasn't like a physical attack that I carried a scar from. It just… Sometimes, in the happy and carefree moments, it nearly feels like it never happened and that frightens me. I needed… I needed a physical reminder that it did happen, and that I survived. That I was stronger than him."

Silence again, but this one loaded with emotions. He could feel it through the pack-bonds. Not pity, but compassion and understanding – maybe not understanding in the sense that they could relate, but that they understood why he needed it. Stiles heaved a sigh.

"Never took you for someone to get a tattoo, at all," Isaac offered softly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," Stiles' voice was a little shaky while he started scrubbing at his shirt. "The first one I got like three months after… after the possession. It's on my wrist. Just… a sentence. To remind me that I'm awake. That this is real. Because finger counting wasn't working and I wasn't always around posters or books… It helped. Helps, still. That I can look at my wrist and read words, know that I am awake because I can read them."

And silence again. He could feel pain through the pack-bonds. Pain on his behalf. Not pity, but sorrow. Frowning, he scrubbed a little harder, not ready to face them to see the looks on their faces.

"I have two more," Stiles offered, because why not. "I got a silver arrow, with the Argent family motto that Allison came up with. Actually, Chris and I got matching tattoos of that."

The compassion and sadness through the bonds was getting suffocating and yet he appreciated it too because they weren't judging him. They knew that this was part of his healing process and they respected that, even if they couldn't relate to it themselves.

"You said four," Lydia spoke up after a moment and he could hear the frown. "I knew about those three. But only those. When did you get a fourth tattoo, Stiles."

Ah. Stiles grinned to himself as he turned around. "Not long before we left Beacon Hills. I figured, the others are all… tied to the past. It's time to look into the future."

Stiles actually startled a little when Derek growled, eyes flashing red. It put a flush on Stiles' cheeks. When he blinked, Derek was all of a sudden right in front of him. Stiles swallowed hard, because Derek was only a breath away and a large hand curled around Stiles' hip, just on top of the triskelion settled on his hip-bone. His heart jumped at the touch, the warmth.

"Mine," Derek whispered, yet that whisper was so forceful it vibrated in Stiles' heart.

A crooked, pleased grin spread over Stiles' lips as he tilted his head and rested a hand atop Derek's. "So, you finally ready to talk about the fact that I'm your mate, then?"

Startled gasps. Not because this was new information to them. Werewolves could smell mate-bonds on mated pairs, Stiles knew that. There was no way the pack didn't know. Derek was staring at him with wide, near fearful eyes, before backing off. A disappointed sigh escaped Stiles at that.

"C'mon, Sourwolf," Stiles' voice had a pleading edge. "I followed you all the way to England. I'm done waiting for you to figure out how to use your words."

"How…" Derek swallowed hard. "How did you figure it out, I…"

"Was being super obvious in your pining?" Stiles raised both eyebrows. "But also, like… I'm magic. I am a supernatural creature too. I can feel the mate-bond myself. Has… that not occurred to you? That me not being human might mean I might also feel the bond?"

Derek flushed at the pining comment, which looked too cute on the Alpha. But, seriously. Derek had gone from wanting to rip Stiles' throat out every time Stiles opened his mouth to being unbearably patient with Stiles even during stressful situations. They'd saved each other's lives so often. It had hurt, at first, when Derek had left, but Stiles also understood why the Hales wanted to leave Beacon Hills behind. Part of him just wished Derek had asked him to come with them. Yet another part of him was grateful Derek hadn't, because Stiles genuinely didn't know how he could have chosen between his mate and his dad. Now, he didn't have to choose anymore. Taking a step toward Derek, Stiles grabbed the Alpha's hand, pulling him closer.

"I get it," Stiles spoke softly. "We were stumbling from one disaster into the next, trauma after trauma, there was never really… time. But now there is. I'm here, you're here. I want…"

Stiles paused, suddenly feeling breathless with the force of emotions he was experiencing. "I want to be happy. I want to live and move on and I want to do all of that with you, Derek."

Lifting his free hand, he rested it on Derek's cheek, gently. The Alpha nuzzled into it, closing his eyes. Leaning in, feeling bolt, Stiles pressed a fleeting kiss against Derek's lips.

"I love you, Sourwolf," Stiles whispered. "And I'm done stepping back, letting my own life and the things I want take a backseat to what others may need or want from me. I want. I want you."

He spoke with all the love and passion he felt for the Alpha and he pushed as much of it through their bond. Bonds. The pack-bond, vibrating warm and gentle next to their mate-bond, a strong, thick tendril of sparkly red that pulsed with want and need, carnal and primal and infinite.

"I'm yours, Derek," Stiles bared his neck to the Alpha. "I'm your pack. I'm your mate. I'll be your Emissary, if you'll have me. I'll be anything you'll take. Please."

"You're everything, Stiles," Derek sounded near desperate, looking at Stiles with gentle eyes. "You're my everything. I always just… It was never the right time. It always felt like it would be unfair to tell you. Make you choose between me and Scott, between my pack and his, between here and Beacon Hills, between… us, and staying with your dad."

"Yeah, but… now I'm here. And I'm yours. And you're mine."

And it was that last word, spoken with all the possessiveness Stiles felt, that finally tipped Derek over into leaning down and kissing him fiercely and passionately. It would have been the perfect first kiss if Jackson wasn't making gagging noises in the background while Erica cheered and Boyd and Isaac argued about who owed whom money. But then that maybe made it even more perfect.

~*~ The End ~*~

[dayenurose]

August is quite a busy month when it comes to writing. Between writing assignments, Writer’s Month, and my first foray into (writing for) JaySteph Weekend.

I’ll be posting links to my other recent fics soon, but for tonight, here’s my entry for @jaystephevents and @writersmonth

Give Me Your Hands, If We Be Friends by DayenuRose

Summary:

Steph and Jason have been cast in Gotham Theatre Group’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Over the course of the production, their butterflies have a myriad of reason to take flight. Not least among those reasons include love, fear, and nerves.

Written for Writer’s Month 2024 - Day 4: Fairy | Stage

Written for JaySteph Weekend 2024 - Friday: Wistful

Excerpt:

Just over two months ago, Steph stood in the too small studio space of the Gotham Theatre Group. Cass had challenged her to try something new. Do something that scared her. Which is how she found herself here with memorized monologues and several readings of the play under her belt. So, here she was, auditioning for a role in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. There were plenty of small roles, so, she figured, if there weren’t too many people auditioning even she might be able to get a role.

Of course, that didn’t do anything to quell the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She closed her eyes and practiced her deep breaths. The kind she used when cooling down after a workout—or after a stressful night on patrol.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice drawled from behind her.

Read the rest on [ao3]

[nocompromise-noregrets]

All right lads, it's @writersmonth's Writers' Pride Month again in a couple of days, and this is my bingo card! I have a few ideas for some of the squares but as is by now customary, I'm looking for prompts again!

coming out - could this be Legolas and Kíli owning up to the rest of the group chat in All I Want Is You-'verse? Or Thranduil and Bard making a public statement in Dancing in the Dark-'verse? Or something else?

pride - I know I mentioned a Pride parade in All I Want Is You-'verse during this event last year, but I'm not sure if it might go here, or under 'flag'; what about pride in oneself and one's identity? Who might that be...?

adoption - I am thinking of Thranduil and Bard adopting each other's kids in All I Want Is You-'verse or of my original character Jack and his friendship with Ivana Cutabitch the drag queen which has been developing over the last couple of Writers' Pride Months here...

queen - this is definitely going to be Ivana - or perhaps Queen Sigrid of Dale and her ace identity again?

flag - is this where the Pride parade comes in for All I Want-'verse? My flag is very definitely the ace one, so perhaps something about that? And/or Jack working through perhaps having a flag of his own, having spent the last couple of Writers' Pride Months figuring himself out?

dreams - no ideas for this one yet

dual identity - I am thinking of Jack again here, and his public/stage persona (obnoxious punk who'll shag anything that moves) versus who he really is (damaged, traumatised, sensitive demi/grey/ace boy who uses his obnoxiousness to keep people away and actually never shags anyone except his oldest friend Hal, which probably ought to tell him something)

fear - not sure about this one yet either

violet/spirit - not sure about this one either - the concept of 'spirit' is unfamiliar to me, in that I'm vaguely aware it's a thing in the US but I've never actually encountered it before. Any and all explanations and ideas very gratefully received!

I haven't had anything come to me for a kiss in the cold and dark-'verse yet, or any of my other 'verses or fandoms - so if there's anything you'd like to see for any of these, do please let me know!

[staticmothhell]

Short moments in the daily lives of the Vees.

Daily quintuple drabbles for August.

@augusnippets @writersmonth @aug-kissed

[holylulusworld]

Writer’s Pride Month Bingo masterlist

Preview for the upcoming fics to fill the squares.

Stories are written for: @writersmonth​

Square 1: Voyeur d'amour (1) (Stucky x Reader): attraction

Square 2: ??? (???): coming out

Square3: ??? (Stucky x Reader): (found) family

Square 4: ??? (???): support

Square 5: ??? (Stony): gay

Square 6: ??? (40′s!Bucky Barnes x 40′s Steve Rogers): love

Square 7: ??? (???: drag

Square 8: ??? (???): showing pride

Square 9: ??? (???):  mlm/wlw solidarity

Find all other Bingos and Special Events here: Special Events  

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 6: Surf

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego

Rating: G

Summary: In my Day 5 entry I mentioned Gray teaching Carmen/Black Sheep how to body surf. Basically, this is that.

+++

“Okay, here comes a good one!”

Gray grinned down at Black Sheep as he looked over his shoulder. “You ready?”

“Oh yeah!” Black Sheep returned his grin with her own do-or-die one, digging her toes into the sand so she didn’t start bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet (conducive to absolutely nothing except looking like a kid, which she officially wasn’t since enrolling a couple months ago).

“Alright,” Gray turned back around to face the beach, leaning forward like a runner about to start a race. Black Sheep copied his stance. “Remember what we’ve practiced?”

“Yup!” She faced the beach, steel in her eyes as she mentally ran down the list of steps Gray and her had been practicing for the last couple hours. Arms out in front, body rigid, feet pointed, head down. “Ready.”

“Good, cause here it comes…”

The current around Black Sheep's waist started to pick up, the water rushing faster as the building roar of a wave prowled up behind her like a wild thing readying to pounce.

“GO!”

At Gray’s starting whistle of a shout, Black Sheep pushed off the sandy floor. She snapped her body stiff, putting all Cleo’s lessons on posture and poise to use as her spine went ramrod and her feet followed suit, toes in those ever-perfect points a lady was supposed to have mastered. Carefully, she maneuvered one arm behind like some Superman characters she was apparently supposed to know about (like heck she was going to ask and look ignorant), using it to steer, just like Gray had shown her back on the sand and in the shallower, calmer, tamer waves closer to shore.

The beast of a wave surged around her, foam ruffling through her hair, and a thrill coursed through her veins as she felt its power swell beneath her, rising, arcing, cresting-

If it weren’t for the foam rushing around Black Sheep's face, she’d be laughing her triumph out for all the Island to hear.

Because the wave was no longer a wild beast rushing behind, seeking to subdue the meek sheep that was its prey; the tide had turned and now she was its master, riding it like it was a docile thing whose sole existence was to heed her command. A precursor of sort of things to come, for this, she just knew, was what the world would become once she graduated and stepped with head high into the glorious, adventurous, unmatched life of a professional thief, herself the undisputed exemplar of that elite breed.

“Right on, Black Sheep!” Gray’s voice came from somewhere next to her, and she could just make out, under the roaring wave, the cheers of Antonio and Jean-Paul from the shore, evidentially having taken pause in the former burying the latter to celebrate her victory over nature. She grinned into the foam, on top of the world.

But the wave was still The Wave, and even the most docile, tractable mount may buck its rider. Gaining speed as it rushed towards the beach, the water tugged, heedless of her Superman arms on its reins, jerking her sharply to the right.

“Pull back, Black Sheep!" Gray shouted, a note of panic in his voice. "Pull back!”

She thrust her shoulder back, trying to break out behind the wave and free herself from its headlong charge towards land, but, well, she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of that part yet. She was a prisoner of The Wave, helpless to break away to save herself, so when it, in the throes of a vicious rampage, plunged towards the sand-

“WOAH!”

"AAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!”

*CRASH!*

-it left behind a scene that set the grains of sand laughing riotously as it, with feigned innocence, retreated: one dripping and disheveled Black Sheep, lying dazedly atop one newly-soaked Sheena, face rapidly turning red from something other than the sun.

“You okay, Black Sheep?” Gray asked, jogging out of the water, eyes concerned but with the beginnings of a grin waiting at the corners of his lips.

“HER?!?” Sheena fumed, extricating herself from the thumbs-upping tangle of immature. “She nearly cracked my ribs!!!” (ooh, that little punk was probably conspiring to get her benched until after exams, that’s probably what).

“Well, I mean,” Gray shrugged helplessly, the grin wending itself across its face, having been given license by way of Black Sheep’s own laughing one. “I *did* warn you that sunbathing was dangerous.” (never mind he was thinking of sunburns rather than flying sheep, but, well, danger was danger, right?)

“OOH!”  With that, the picture of indignance that was Sheena, proving that excess sun was not necessary in the slightest to turn her red as Hell, snatched up her useless towel and stomped back up the beach towards the tree line, kicking an irate sand spray towards the helplessly guffawing Antonio and Jean-Paul, both of whom were unaffected by the cutting remark that joined it.

“Crikey!” Gray gasped out presently, straightening up from where he’d been doubled over at Sheena’s exit. “That was some wipe out! Got Sheena awfully steamed.”

“Eh,” Black Sheep waved a dismissive hand in Sheena’s direction, sultry air simmering hotter in her wake, and cocked a grin. “That close to the water? She was asking for it.” (and she was, so she was blameless here).

“Not bad surfing either.” Gray winked, holding up a hand for a hive-five Black Sheep eagerly granted. “Want to go again?”

Seriously?

Black Sheep tossed him a smirk over her shoulder, a shove in his ribs for the stupidly obvious question, and sprinted towards the breakers, laughing as he raced to catch up to her. As if he had to ask. Because body surfing that wave, she’d felt on top of the world, and she couldn’t wait to feel that again!

****************🌊****************

Light burned through Carmen’s eyelids, causing her to stir and wake with a groan. The worn springs of the motel bed creaked their objections to early risers, and she looked dully around the room, the sun-drenched beach melting into the faded wallpaper and a tired-looking wardrobe and the drone of the air conditioner swallowing the echos of the pounding surf, her laughter as she rode the wave, and Gray’s beside her.

Only the salt spray on her cheeks remained.

[stripedscribe]

Day 11 word: sweat He knew he'd been changed. Knew that the man facing him, who he'd once called partner, called family, wasn't the main he knew. That brainwashing and torture and pain had turned him into some sort of machine, some sort of monster.

Foggy hated that this was what it had come to. That to save Matt, he'd throw himself into the line of fire, that there had to be something left of him inside.

A beat of sweat stubbornly clung to his face, and it was futile brushing it away. It was warm today, because of course the weather was good when today could end in death. Matt was some distance away still, and bodies littered the floor around him.

From here, Foggy couldn't tell if they were breathing or not. The Matt he knew wouldn't have been able to kill, would have maimed with far too much care to not be permanent. But this monster? The jury was out.

"Matt?" He tried to ignore the waver in his voice. "Matty? Come on, it's me. We- I know you're still in there, come on. Come back to us."

The grin the monster wore wasn't Matt's. He'd never seen him make such a face, and it was terrifying to suddenly be facing down the Devil running towards him. He was fast. He never realised quite how fast he was when he allowed himself to be, when he wasn't relying on his cane, on being careful of who was around him. The bodies were nothing as he leapt over and on them in a feral craze towards Foggy.

He kept his head straight forward, in the corner of his eye he could see Castle ready on a nearby rooftop. They'd tried to capture Matt before, to trick him, to incapacitate him, but he was their enemy's greatest weapon. And they hadn't wanted to hurt him, even after he hurt them.

His hands were clammy with fear, and as Matt approached he wasn't sure if he was lifting them to fight or to hug him. That crazed look had remained on his face, and Foggy steadied his feet, the weight of a knife in his pocket his only weapon.

"Matt?"

"Fuck." Foggy dodged at the last second, pulling out his weapon as Matt wheeled around to face him again. "Come on, Matty. I love you."

The man in front of him snarled, nothing that could be identified as words.

"Matty, please. I don't want to have to do this."

It was only days after the event that Foggy realised he should have never been able to defeat Matt. That his leap was less an attack and more a suicide, that for him to have died as quickly as that was planned.

That there was some part of Matt inside that body still, but that he knew the only way out was death.

[the-laridian]

All his life, Willow has worn the blue and gold Vault suit of Vault 76. It's hard to imagine wearing anything else. But during his first winter Outside, taking refuge in the Whitespring, he discovers plenty of other options.

For Writer's Month Pride Bingo 2023, "Makeover".

[fezwearingjellybananas]

Blur

None of them had ever really considered that Barry's healing might have limits. And Cisco doesn't know how to help with that, but he knows how to make sure Barry doesn't go through this alone. (G, 479 words)

The Flash (TV 2014)

Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e05 The Darkness and the Light, Hurt/Comfort

@writersmonth day 29: sense

Something smelt really good. Barry turned his head in the direction of the smell and the door closing.

“I brought lunch,” Cisco said and Barry smiled as a blurry shape sat next to him.

“How are you feeling?” Cisco asked.

[Continued on AO3]

[dreamlandforever]

@writersmonth Prompt: Day 22 - Sunscreen

Fandom: Teen Wolf | Sterek WC: 800

AO3

XXII. Sunscreen | 

“Derek, why does our son look like he has the same skin condition as Lord Voldemort?” Stiles asks carefully, holding Eli by the shoulders so Derek can see him.

“I have no clue what you are talking about.” Derek says simply, getting a few cold drinks out of the cooler to hand to Boyd and Jackson, sitting next to him on the beach chairs. The two take the drinks gratefully, but completely ignore whatever is going on.

“Derek.” Stiles says again, too calmly to be anything good. “Look at our son.” 

Derek turned to the two of them, first at his son, and then at Stiles, as if to prove there was nothing wrong. 

Stiles sighed, but turned around. “Lydia! Can you come here for a moment, please?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, but Stiles stared back at him. “I would’ve called Isaac, but he’s afraid of you now, congratulations.” Derek smiled at that. It was about damn time his betas were more afraid of him than they were of his husband. He knew it was momentarily, because Isaac had accidentally thrown the volleyball too hard at Stiles and he now had a black eye, and Derek hadn’t exactly reacted in the calmest of ways. No physical violence, because Derek had actually worked on becoming a good Alpha and he wasn’t about to throw everything away, but he might have actually yelled at Isaac. He caught himself before it became a tirade, but still. Maybe he shouldn’t be proud after all. 

“Your kid looks ridiculous.” Lydia said as soon as she was within hearing distance, without Stiles actually having to prod. 

“He’s protected.” Derek countered. 

“Derek. My love. My sun. There’s so much sunscreen on Eli that I can’t even grab him without him slipping out of my hold.” Stiles explained. As if to demonstrate, he tried to grab Eli’s wrist, but the boy’s hand simply slipped off. 

“We don’t know if he’s a werewolf yet, Stiles, we need to protect him from the sun.” Derek countered.

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again without saying a thing.

“Okay, I’ll be in sunscreen duty.” Lydia said, using her towel to hold onto Eli’s hand, who so far had only stayed where his Dad had told him to. He wasn’t sure how to move when he had so much cream all around him. “Come on, buddy, we’re going to get all the excess off and then you can get in the water. Uncle Isaac and Aunt Erica are playing shark, and I’m sure you can beat them both.”

Eli nodded at his aunt, but still didn’t move. Lydia sighed loudly, shooting a glare at Derek, before kneeling by Eli to wipe the excess off right there, before applying a normal, thin layer all over the kid. It seemed to break the spell, and Eli was walking towards the water again, Lydia following close behind and pointing him towards the rest of the Pack. 

“Babe. He’s a child. You broke him. You literally broke him. He came to find me standing like a starfish and just looked at me. Malia laughed so hard I’m pretty sure she peed, and Eli just stared at me.” 

“Fine, maybe I overdid it.” Derek relented. 

“He was white. Not pale like me. White. Actually white.” Derek just nodded. 

“I’ll hold back.”

“Thank you, babe. I will make sure he gets a retouch at least every three hours, okay? He’ll be fine.” Stiles assured him, and Derek nodded, grabbing Stiles’ hand to pull him against his chest.

“Are you wearing sunscreen?” Derek asked kindly, pressing a kiss against his husband’s forehead.

“A perfectly normal amount, Der. I will retouch every time Eli does.” He promised, placing a kiss of his own on Derek’s nose. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to go make sure our two year-old doesn’t drown anyone of this Pack.” Stiles said, walking towards the water as well, before stopping mid-step. “Actually, anyone in general. He’s not allowed to drown anyone at all.” He said, seemingly to himself, before he resumed walking.

“Thank you, love.” Derek called after him, and Stiles waved at him in acknowledgement. 

“Pay up.” Boyd said, extending his hand at Jackson. 

“I don’t have my wallet in my swimsuit, man. But, yeah, whatever, I’ll Venmo you.” Jackson said, grabbing his phone to do just that.

Before Derek could even ask, Boyd explained, “Jackson here thought Stiles would be overprotective of Eli. I have seen Stiles when Isaac or Scott get injured. So I bet on you.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and sat down on his chair. “Stiles’ very protective of the kid.” 

“He’s reasonably protective. You made us drink out of paper cups for months just in case Eli found a real glass or cup.” Jackson countered. “Actually, I don’t know why I bet on Stiles.” 

“I told you” Boyd said happily, drinking the cold beer Derek had handed him. 

“I hate you all.” Derek said simply, laying down under their big umbrella. His son was safe, and so was his husband. He could enjoy a few hours of rest.