#and some of the wolf army

[ideligo]

Polar activities hehe

[raps-hellion]

alabaster c. torrington himself (feat. wolf, as always)

[redbean-nom]

fascinated by the implied fennec-ventress-phee friend group in tbb. even more interesting (funny) when you add boba in there during the tbobf era.

[sunbeetle]

it freaks me the hell out when the clones have blue eyes sometimes Stop doing that to them... well i know its "normal genetic variance in the cloning process" but whatever. Stop taking away their brown eyes... wolf growling gif

this is scary AF

[unsolicited-opinions]

Is Israel a Settler Colonialist State?

The claim is made so often that it's hard to fault people for believing it without much thought. 

Let's first look at what Settler Colonialism is, then look at the facts to see if Israel fits the definition.

What Is Settler Colonialism again…?

It’s a specific term used by historians and theorists (Patrick Wolfe and his whole "logic of elimination" thing). Features of Settler Colonialism include:

Expansionism, claiming land for its mother country/empire (monopole) and shipping natural resources back to the empire.

Foreign settlers move in to violently displace, erase, or replace the indigenous population.

Any other cultures in the land are suppressed or wiped out

Classic examples include: British Australia, French Algeria, Canada, and North America

Let’s see if the case of Israel demonstrates these features.

A Franchisee?

Settler colonialism is usually a franchise model. Some imperial HQ says, “Go forth and colonize!” and ships people over with guns, flags, and an expectation to reap wealth torn from the colonized.

The Zionist movement started as a grassroots effort by Jews who were tired of getting pogromed every other Tuesday. Sure, they got a nod from Britain in the form of the Balfour Declaration, but that’s a long way from imperial orchestration.

(While Britain controlled Palestine under the Mandate, it hardly coddled Zionist aims - especially after the 1939 White Paper, which locked Jews out even as the Holocaust raged. Zionists didn’t march under imperial flags; they were often clashing with them.)

Settler colonialism involves one imperial power shuttling in settlers from a single source. But Jewish immigration to Israel? It came from everywhere: Yemen, Iraq, Morocco, Poland, Russia, Ethiopia, Argentina, Brooklyn…everywhere in the Diaspora.

This wasn’t a colonial outpost of one empire. It was a chaotic, desperate, and diverse ingathering of people trying to survive and rebuild. Half the Jews in Israel today descend from communities that were literally kicked out of Middle Eastern and North African countries.

If it’s settler colonialism, it’s doing it very wrong.

Foreign Settlers?

Settler colonialism usually involves people showing up in a place they have zero connection to and declaring it theirs. Think: Europeans showing up in Australia and telling the Aboriginal peoples, “Nice continent—don’t mind if we do.”

Jews didn’t just randomly pick Israel from a drop-down menu. They’ve had a connection to that land for, oh, 3,000 years or so. Jerusalem isn’t just spiritually significant; it's central. They didn’t have to invent a historical claim—it’s literally baked into their religion, language, and identity. (Quick Hebrew lesson: “Zion” is kind of a giveaway.)

Jews have maintained a continuous presence in the Land of Israel for over 3,000 years, including communities in Jerusalem, Safed, Hebron, and Tiberias, long before modern Zionism emerged.

Calling Jewish return to Israel “settler colonialism” is like calling your grandma a squatter for moving back into her childhood home.

But What About Palestinian Displacement?

Let’s be clear: Yes, during the 1948 war, a large number of Arabs living in Palestine were displaced. That’s a fact, it's not disputable, and it’s not something to brush aside.

This wasn’t, however, some settler-colonial master plan with color-coded maps and a mission to erase or ethnically cleanse non-Jewish peoples.

The early Zionist movement was buying land legally (much of it from absentee Arab landlords) and building farms, schools, and towns. It was a messy nationalist project, like many others in the 20th century. The displacement of Palestinians came not from a blueprint for ethnic cleansing, but from a war. 

The war was launched by neighboring Arab states who made no secret of their goal: to destroy the brand-new Jewish state before it could take its first real breath.

Five Arab armies invaded in 1948, and local Arab leaders, along with the invading forces, told many Palestinian Arabs to temporarily evacuate, assuring them they could return after the Jews were wiped out. 

Things didn't go according to their plans, because Israel survived. 

Historians like Efraim Karsh and Benny Morris document cases where Arab leaders advised evacuation and cases where displacement occurred amid battle. War is brutal, and real people paid the price.

The tragedy is real, but so is the context. The war wasn’t started by Israel. It was a war of survival that Israel fought while vastly outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded.

And here’s a twist that is usually ignored in modern retellings:

The term Nakba - which today refers almost exclusively to Palestinian displacement, originally meant something else.

In 1948, Arab intellectuals like Constantin Zureiq used “Nakba,” meaning "catastrophe," not to mourn Palestinian suffering, but to describe the colossal failure of the Arab world to crush Israel. In his own words: “The defeat of the Arabs in Palestine is not a small downfall. It is a catastrophe in every sense of the word.”

The shame wasn’t just about lost land—it was about how a supposedly mighty Arab and Islamic world failed to destroy a state of Holocaust survivors and refugees.

The original "Nakba" was about that failure, not the displacement narrative that would emerge decades later.

History is a lot more complicated than hashtags suggest.

But Israel Sought to Wipe Out Local Culture, right?

If Zionism had been a settler colonial project, you'd expect to see that. Settler colonial regimes tend to come in hot with cultural carpet bombing: banning languages, crushing customs, bulldozing identities.

Israel? Not so much. Israel has official protections for Christian, Muslim, Druze, and Baháʼí religious sites. Ever heard of the “status quo” agreements? They govern holy sites like the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Al-Aqsa Mosque. Unlike classic settler-colonial cases like the US, Canada, or Australia where indigenous languages, religions, and identities were suppressed, Israel recognizes Arabic as an official language, protects Muslim and Christian holy sites, and integrates minorities into public life with equal legal rights for all citizens.

Is the situation always perfect? No. Does Israel have a Ministry of Culture Death? Also no.

But Israel stripped the land of its natural resources in the name of their imperial project and destroyed the ecology of the land!

First, there was no empire, no monopole to ship anything to because (again) Israel was not the outpost of a foreign empire - it was a desperate refuge for Jews fleeing pogroms, fascism, and a genocide which had wiped out a third of their people. 

Second, what natural resources could they have stripped the land of? Mandate Palestine was not known for its abundant natural treasures. Oil? Nope. Gold? Nada. Fertile, easily farmed land? Not much.

What Zionists did find was malaria, swamps, desert, and the occasional Ottoman tax ledger. The region was, in the words of Samuel Clemens (AKA Mark Twain), "a desolate country whose soil is rich enough, but is given over wholly to weeds."

Not exactly a paradise ripe for exploitation.

Here's a twist: rather than destroying the ecology, Israel has spent 75 years rebuilding it. The country has planted over 240 million trees, turning arid hills green and reversing desertification. Israel pioneered drip irrigation - watering crops with scientific precision to conserve every drop. It recycles nearly 90% of its wastewater (second place is Spain at about 30%). The Negev Desert is now home to solar farms, sustainable agriculture, and research centers where scientists grow cherry tomatoes in saltwater and build fish farms in sand.

Israel’s environmental stewardship of the land is so advanced that experts have come from Africa, South America, and India to partner with Israeli experts to tackle their own climate challenges. If this is what settler-colonial ecological destruction looks like, the planet could use a bit more of it.

So no, Israel isn’t extracting the land’s bounty and mailing it to a mythical European mothership. It’s been reclaiming wasteland, reforesting hills, and creating the most efficient water system in the world. And it did all that while fighting seven wars and inventing the USB stick. Not bad for a country the size of New Jersey.

It's a Colonial Struggle!!

It’s a nationalist conflict, not a colonial one. Two peoples - Jewish and Palestinian - with deep historic ties to the same land, both claiming national self-determination. That’s tragic, painful, and hard to resolve. But it’s not the same as a bunch of white Europeans setting up a Starbucks on someone else’s sacred mountain.

Trying to squeeze this conflict into the settler colonial box doesn’t make it clearer—it flattens it. It erases Jewish history and Palestinian suffering in one fell swoop.

History Deserves Better Than Hashtags

Calling Israel a "settler colonial state" might feel like a tidy moral label, but history is messier than slogans. The story is way more complex than “colonizer vs. colonized.” It’s about trauma, return, identity, nationalism, war, and a shitload of of mistakes along the way by all parties involved.

But if you want to understand it, really understand it, you’ve got to ditch the buzzwords and look at the footnotes, because the truth won’t always fit in a meme.

Aforementioned Footnotes:

Wolfe, Patrick. Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native. Journal of Genocide Research, 2006.

https://www.kooriweb.org/foley/resources/pdfs/89.pdf

Veracini, Lorenzo. Settler Colonialism: A Theoretical Overview. Palgrave Macmillan, 2010.

https://link.springer.com/book/10.1057/9780230299191

Bickerman, Elias. From Ezra to the Last of the Maccabees. Schocken Books, 1962.

https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.59581

Biblical and archaeological records compiled in Israel

Finkelstein & Neil Asher Silberman, The Bible Unearthed, Free Press, 2001.

https://archive.org/details/bibleunearthedar0000fink/page/n5/mode/2up

Anita Shapira, Israel: A History (Harvard University Press): https://www.hup.harvard.edu/books/9780674047426

Jewish National Fund archives of land acquisition documents.

https://archives.cjh.org/repositories/3/resources/19702

Historical Aliyah data

https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/total-immigration-to-israel-by-country-per-year

Protection of Holy Places Law, 1967

https://www.bu.edu/mzank/Jerusalem/tx/lawofholyplaces1967.htm

Shapira, Anita. Yosef Hayim Brenner: A Life. Stanford University Press, 2014.

(Documents Jewish labor ethos and rejection of exploitative structures)

https://archive.org/details/yosefhaimbrenner0000shap

On the Nakba

Benny Morris, The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem Revisited:

https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300126969/the-birth-of-the-palestinian-refugee-problem-revisited/

Efraim Karsh, Palestine Betrayed:

https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1npnkg

Efraim Karsh, 1948, Israel, and the Palestinians – the True Story, Middle East Quarterly (2008)

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/258996946_1948_Israel_and_the_Palestinians_-_The_True_Story

Constantin Zureiq, Ma'na al-Nakba (1948):

https://archive.org/details/zurayk-nakba

_____

If you want to argue with this in the replies, please do- but bring receipts.

[rcmclachlan]

I'd love to hear Dana and Nico discussing Tommy's latest bout of insanity with a probie if you're up for it

"... appears the LAFD helicopter is now leading the Army on a chase..."

The very moment KTLA reporter Chris Wolf says 'chase', the entire hangar erupts into pained groans and shouts of disbelief mixed with fury, plus one enthusiastic whoop that is collectively ignored in favor of the massive white board that DeJong and Goodell rolled out of Captain Ribeiro's office about ten seconds after Kinard escaped with the AW139.

The board is a veritable rainbow of imagination, mostly because it's covered in sticky notes of various colors, and standing in front of it is the most unforgiving authority figure most of the crew have seen since grade school.

"All right, assholes, shut up!" Donato shouts, then consults the board. The hangar falls silent, waiting. "Right now Myers is in the lead with 118 shenanigans, government fuckery, and a high-octane chase, but since Nguyen also bet on 118 shenanigans and a chase that would specifically involve MH-6Ms, Myers, you may have to split the pot."

Myers grudgingly nods. Nguyen discreetly pumps her fist.

Meanwhile, their two-week old probie Mona—who was given the nickname "Idol" after Kelley accidentally pronounced her name as 'Mony' and got the song stuck in everyone's head for days, despite not being old enough to know who Billy Idol even is—takes in the tableau with wide eyes. "Is this, uh, legal?"

"In the state of California? Nah." Nico shrugs, then bites into an unpeeled grapefruit like an apple. "But here? It's fine. You stick around long enough and you'll make some serious cash. Goodell made almost five grand with the cruise ship thing."

Mona stares. "And Cap allows this?"

"Allows it? Who do you think made the first bet?" Nico points to where their illustrious captain is perusing the board with annoyance clinging to his shoulders like a cloak, muttering under his breath.

"Anytime Kinard pulls something like this, we wheel out the board," Dana says, coming to stand on Mona's other side, surveying the pandemonium.

"D-Did you place a bet?"

Nico snorts. "Dane's not allowed to bet anymore. She's dead on the money every time."

"Not every time," Dana demures.

"Okay, but no one could've seen the elephant tusk thing coming." At Mona's wild-eyed look, Nico clarifies, "poacher plane over Channel Island. Kinard brought it down."

With the way everyone's clustered around Donato and the board, holding various sticky pads in the air and waving them around, it looks like the stock market is crashing and everyone's about to dump their shares.

"Oh, speaking of." Dana scrapes at something under her thumbnail. "Did you change the sign?"

Nico says through a mouthful of rind, "I think Donato did."

"The sign?" Mona echoes faintly.

With a nail sharper than any of the steak knives in the communal kitchen, Dana points to the professionally made sign hanging next to the weight room door.

__ DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

The '32' that had been sitting pretty at the front of it for the last month has been flipped back to '0'.

"T-This happens often enough for a sign?" Mona looks a little dizzy, and Dana wants to tell her that if she can't cope with a co-worker stealing municipal property and pissing off the government from time to time, she's probably not cut out for Los Angeles. But Captain Ribeiro suggested on Dana's last evaluation to keep her often-correct opinions to herself, if only to keep morale high, so she says nothing.

Nico does for her. "Ever since Kinard started seeing Buckley? Yeah."

"Buckley?"

"Human dalmatian and resident heroic dumbass at the 118," Dana explains. "He and Kinard have an on-again-off-again thing going on that threatens the populace on a bi-monthly basis. If they ever do manage to figure out their shit, it'll take out half the city."

Mona squints at the TV, where the AW139 goes into a perfect hammerhead before slipping past the Figueroa at Wilshire with the grace of a shadow, leaving the MH-6M floundering in mid-air, and everyone clustered around the board starts shouting and waving their sticky notes again.

"And this is.... on again?"

"At this point, no one knows or cares. Kinard has always been certifiable; he'd been looking for an excuse to get worse." Dana glances at the TV. The AW139 banks up, executes a textbook barrel roll, and then disappears out of the range of the KTLA's camera.

"Holy BLEEP, did you see that?!" Chris Wolf cries.

"It's a shame I never really got to talk to him much," Mona says, a little forlorn. "I would've loved to learn from him."

Nico turns a confused look on her. "You still can? He's not dead."

"I mean, he's gonna be arrested and fired, right?"

At that, Dana presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth to hide a chuckle. "Oh, Idol, you're sweet. Kinard'll gently bully that out of you when he's back on Tuesday."

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Genuinely feeling inspired by Wolf, E. (1982) "Europe and the People Without History" ch. III F.C.E., México 2005, (pp 97-130)

Trying to use my amphibia obsession to help me studying by applying concepts from my textbooks to worldbuinding analysis

[girl-lostconnection]

Long awaited continuation to this, let’s go while John Price’s multiverse spirit has me by my fucking hair

John is a man of many qualities.

Discipline, integrity, cold head and sharp mind.

Relatively stable code of ethics he tries to apply when it doesn’t cost him an arm and a leg in the process.

He likes staying this way and he likes how high he managed to climb given his absolute hatred of bureaucracy and strained relationship with higher ups in command.

And a general he once murdered in cold blood.

On the other hand, now he is able to add to his CV “efficient and quick thinker”, so if the day comes and army boots him out, he’d be able to get a job at a place that probably frowns upon on unnecessary murder and his choice of coping mechanisms.

John knows a tad more about self control than most people — the itch under his skin to fight and chase ever present, at times even more intensely than in Simon.

And Simon is a wolf, for fuck’s sake, man is a stalking predator through and through.

But it was always different for John, a deep seated hunger, a need to climb to the top and stay there no matter what it takes and no matter how many he’d need to send tumbling down.

After all, he just does what his gut tells him.

No one’s bloody business if his gut also has sharp teeth and heavy tail and less patience than he would have liked.

John drinks his whiskey until his head is blurry. He usually stops at the glass of two fingers and a wank, getting it out of his system before his systems decides to reboot itself by urging him to maul the first soldier that looks him in the eyes.

This time John finishes three glasses, scales rippling when he stretches out, his own smoke clouding his head.

Not a good look for a captain. But tonight he isn’t one.

Tonight he is just John. Just a man.

A man you seemingly don’t want, but at the same time can’t help but enjoy teasing.

Taunting him with the promise of intimacy that John cannot have, showing affections that aren’t for him. Kisses that he can’t get.

For one or another reason.

It’s been almost three months now since he has given up trying to figure out what was so wrong about him.

Why isn’t he good enough. Why don’t you like him.

On most days he doesn’t have some proper time to spiral into thinking about his own inadequacy or about you kissing him just as sweetly as you do kiss Johnny. As you kiss Kyle.

Bit unfair it all feels, if he’s being completely honest and a little selfish. Bit unfair and a whole lot less serious than his brain makes it out to be.

Unfortunately today is one of the few precious days when he has more than enough time to think or spiral or preferably finish his bloody paperwork because the thing has been mounting on his desk.

And people need these forms filled out yesterday.

John will probably fill them out tomorrow. Maybe.

Maybe not. He isn’t sure, as of right now, your frame pulling his whole focus off the necessary work.

You aren’t doing anything per se, you just write the reports he needed help with, you are being a good teammate, you are being useful. And yet, your presence there is enough to distract him.

Well, maybe not your presence exactly.

There’s something different about your scent today.

Not the regular salt and sweat, that he already got used to. That he had spent the last few months imagining himself licking it off your skin.

Its not even the faint sea smell you bring back in your hair after taking a swim for an hour or two.

Nothing about this scent is sharp or cloying,

This one is sweeter.

Practically tender, melting on John’s tongue.

Soft with something that makes him want to do things he can’t, wrapping around John’s head like a veil, coating his mouth with sheen of something he wants to lap up.

Drives him mad that he doesn’t know what it is he smells. His tongue darting out to taste air, to moisturise his dry lips, heavy head of his tilting to the side.

Something is different today with you, seal. Something has changed and it makes the wires in his head sparkle, buzzing him back to life.

Pulling him out of an ice bath of his self-control he painstakingly forces himself into.

Doesn’t help that your usual unfazed and unbothered demeanour is not with you (why is that, he wonders) — twitchy and antsy, your knee jerks up and down under the table, shaking it with how fast you do it.

Real pity there is no one else around, but John.

No Johnny to ‘check your vibes’, no Simon to settle you down, no Kyle to kiss it better.

Just him.

Just the leftovers you apparently don’t want and the captain you don’t like.

Thought scrapes the inner side of John’s throat, acid bubbling, poison spreading. Bitter taste in his mouth almost enough to make him scowl.

But the instinctual, subconscious urge to care for a distressed member of the team is stronger than his wounded pride and heavier than his stone heart.

So his whole body is angling towards you, voice a little softer when he tries to find out what has changed. What makes you so jittery, seal?

You tick like one of Soap’s favourite bombs, timer running down, quickly approaching zero and maybe you can feel that too.

Somewhere deep under your belly button, the pull that makes you try and get away from him.

Interesting reaction.

“Sergeant?”, John murmurs quietly, his voice snapping you out of whatever haze you were in, your head turning to him quickly.

You don’t stop jerking your knee. Almost like you don’t even realise that you are doing it.

“What’s wrong? You hurt?”, he gets to the point without tiptoeing around it, no use dancing in circles if he can shorten this whole thing, cornering you to your desk. Cutting the exit off.

No way out the corner but through him now.

“Nothing, sir. I’m sorry. Must be tired”, you murmur, throat working, ring finger of yours twitching to tap down on the wood of your desktop, your eyes as bright as ever.

Only the blunt and usually so casual tone of yours cracks when you try to change the topic and move on, when you shake your head at his questions, trying to dislodge John off the matter.

Like hell you would, he can smell that something is happening.

John tilts his head to the side when you are so close he can practically taste the sweat on your skin, his tongue flickering out to lick dry lips and hide back, eyes heavy with hunger you have been taunting for the last…how long has it been, love? Was running around plenty, didn’t you?

Alcohol stomps on the ice of his self-control, cracking it for you. Welcoming you in his deep waters.

He nuzzles in your neck, hands sliding under your sweater, groping the tummy of yours, fingers sinking into warm flesh.

Clicking his tongue at your shaky ‘captain, wait—‘ because there is no need for all of that. The chase and games, the play pretend and teasing. He can smell how much you need a hand right now.

How much you need him.

So it’s true that fortune favours the patient because John has had an angelic temper when it comes to you. And this is the result.

His fingers now fondling your tummy, lips finding the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his beard tickling the heated sensitive skin.

That must be the gift for all the time he had to wait for you to finally come around.

John already knows what it is that changed when he yanks your shirt up, when he pulls the cups of your bra down, when he gets handfuls of your fat tits, thick calloused fingers of his massaging the flesh.

Someone’s having a little problem, don’t you, love?

John already knows what it is that is wrong with your mood because he kisses your neck and you shiver, panting, still trying to whine something about people seeing or someone walking in.

No one will, love.

Don’t you know it?

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy. And there is not a person in the whole base who’d like to push him when he’s this fucking busy.

He kneads the flesh of yours, thumb rubbing the areola. Coaxing out what he smelled this whole fucking day, what almost drove him to eat you alive before your own control came apart at the seams.

Milk beads on your nipple, John’s fingers working more of it out, his disappointed ‘tsk’ in your ear makes your knees buckle when he props his chin on your shoulder to see it all better.

So full and so hot under his touch, you’ve been having trouble with getting it out on your own, haven’t you, sergeant?

John knows for a fact that Soap is away for at least two weeks now, John knows even better that you are just out of options.

There literally aren’t anyone else but him who can help. It’s not that he is special or loved or even reliable. It’s the lack of options better than him.

Good news is: John doesn’t care anyway.

You wouldn’t believe it if he told you from just how many hopeless pits he crawled out in his days.

A stacked seal with attachment issues who needs help milking is definitely not the worst of it, love.

He tuts at your attempt to cover up or apologise when his grip tightens and milk squirts out on the desk.

All over the documents he was supposed to pass on yesterday.

Now he will probably pass them on never.

He will either need to suck the milk of yours out of the paper or burn it the fuck down.

John just might burn the bloody forms and tell the administration that he lost them. After all, you aren’t going anywhere.

And no one is coming to save you back until the end of next week.

You have no choice but him, sergeant. No one else to gift your kisses to but your captain.

The bottom of the barrel that you just grazed.

You know, maybe you should have been more careful, sergeant. Maybe you shouldn’t have dived this deep in his waters.

Now you just might not come up back for air.

John rolls his hips into you, lazy, stretching out until he is fully in and then out he goes, his thumb drawling slow excruciating circles on your clit, his thumb patting it like you are a dog that earned a treat.

And not a seal hybrid big enough to curl John into a fucking pretzel.

Though how much good your size is now when John is drooling over the fat of your hips and rolls of your stomach?

How much good your big frame is when your captain is still on the top?

“Didn’t fuck you how they should’ave, eh, sweetheart?”, John rumbles, tongue licking his lips, his hips slotting against yours like he was made for you. Like this is how it was supposed to be from the very beginning. “Can’t sate this greedy hole, can they? Need something bigger, need someone older”, he braces on a forearm above your head, hips of his rolling into yours, his tail wrapping around your leg and pulling you back on his cock.

No running now, no slipping away.

But you whine, clamping down on him, your nipples swollen and sensitive when he cooes and licks one, not yet pulling it in his mouth, not yet giving you this relief.

Just a lick, aye? A taste for your captain, for all his troubles.

John licks off the bead of milk, his system rewiring as he rams back inside of you, his grip tightening because oh, this is so much better than he could have expected.

For one dangerous moment years of his discipline crack down so hard that he almost bottoms out in you, imagining you swollen with a baby. His baby. His seal.

“Wonder what face Simon would make if he finds out I knocked up his seal”, John rumbles, pressing his hips down on yours, feeding you every thick heavy inch of himself. Until you claw at his back, eyes rolling back in your skull.

Getting drunk on just the feel of his cock splitting you.

God, he should have taken you like that the moment you decided it’s a good idea to kiss his lieutenant in front of him.

Should have taken you to the office and should have given your ass a dozen stinging smacks.

Should have taught you some fucking manners, but he wanted to be nice, he wanted you to like him and come to him yourself.

He wanted you to give it to him voluntarily. Because maybe you didn’t actually think he was the worst of the pick. Because maybe you’d want him outside of his attempts to earn the trophy of your affection.

Well, too late for that now, isn’t it?

John clicks his tongue again when you try to crawl away — too overwhelmed to think clearly, too hungry for a thing you are too ashamed to ask for.

Just your luck that John isn’t used to asking anyway.

His lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it in, lapping at the bud of it, milk of yours blooming on his tongue — rich and thick, dripping down his chin, staying in his beard.

You really are going to cover him all in yourself by the end of it, sergeant.

Might force the man to buy you a ring to lock you down for good.

John groans, his vision crumpling around the edges when you cunt spasms around him, your thighs tensing up, hips rolling into his.

Here comes the first one.

See how nice and easy it was?

If only you have admitted from the very beginning that you like your captain.

If only you stretched around him this nicely, whimpering ‘captain please’ like he is the only one who can give you what you want.

“You are the only or are you just one left?”, vicious voice at the back of his mind sneers and John has to pull his mouth off your tit, least he risks to bite through the tender skin, marking. Permanently.

It doesn’t matter why you let him do this for you.

‘Why’ has never mattered and he should have realised it a long time ago instead of sulking around and hissing at his own men.

What matters is that you let him spread you open and force you down.

What matters is that John’s jaws close on your neck and your pussy squelches so loudly it’s almost enough for him to let it get to his head.

John presses a palm on your back, pressing down until you arch for him, not taking your attempt to wiggle away for an answer.

Why would he when you haven’t been true about your needs ever since he met you?

Why would he when your body is so much more honest than you are — your pussy drools for him, back arches — tits now pressed to the bed, ass up in the air for him to feast.

John knows, sweetheart, your nipples are too sensitive to get rubbed like that.

He is being too rough, he is taking too much and he is too hungry.

All of these are true, sergeant, every single word you are right now choking out when he pulls you right back by the hips.

He slams into you from behind, humming when you cry out trying to get back up, because where do you think you are going? No, love, you’ve been teasing him for months now.

Naughty naughty seal, thought there wouldn’t be any consequences for a fit you threw? Thought that John wouldn’t get to have you one way or another?

Or maybe you hoped that someone else would be here with you now?

He clicks his tongue when you reach for your clit, his palm smacking yours away, pushing you face down in the mattress. No, sweetheart, bad seals don’t get to touch themselves.

If you can’t come from him fucking into you, pressing your heavy leaking tits into the bed then you aren’t coming at all.

See how unfair that sounds? See how mean he has to be with you now?

He wouldn’t have needed to do that if only you came sooner to him.

If you haven’t made him bite down on your throat instead of carefully eating from your open palm, accepting whatever you were willing to offer.

But you didn’t offer a single fucking thing so he had to take the matter in his own hands.

And look where it has gotten him.

Bouncing your ass down on his cock, your greedy fucking hole squeezing him so tightly it drives him half feral.

He’d need to train you proper, sweetheart, show you how to take your captain to the hilt like a good sergeant should.

John will show you, he’s only happy to teach.

And it’s only fair if he gives you an example by stretching out your favourite Johnny right in front of you.

Only fair he gives you a demonstration of how his team did some good seal to dragon communication before you came around.

[maryannecrimsworth]

A wolf, a witch, a lover

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence; i got carried away with this one; seriously, I made a whole plot for this; i can make fluff headcanons later if you guys like it

Summary: As the new wolf of Noxus, Mel had to face her mother's past mistakes. You were one of them.

Part 2, Part 3

Mel Medarda had a big role to fill. After the battle was won, not only was Piltover left to be rebuilt, but Noxus had also lost its leader. Queens had fallen, and Mel was the princess next in line. With her new abilities, she had a loyal army to guide and an entire country to reign over.

Piltover was no longer her home — perhaps it never truly had been.

It didn’t take long for her to leave the continent. Jayce was gone, Caitlyn had formed a new Council, and, despite all the bloodshed, the top side and bottom side were finally united as one. Mel no longer had a purpose there; she wasn’t Piltover’s leader. Now, she had inherited her name like never before, ready to replace her mother.

However, there were more secrets than she could have imagined—not only about her birth and father but also the hidden, dirty truths lurking in every corner of Noxus. The colonies, the wars, the cruelties committed by her mother—each new revelation showed Mel how little of the truth she truly knew.

While investigating one of her mother’s secrets, she found you—imprisoned, trapped in a cage like an animal, brutally tied up. You could barely move inside the dark, metal cell. "War prisoners," Mel had been told. Ambessa had killed some of her enemies' leaders, but others she had kept here—for information, leverage, and interrogation. Even though your war was long over, you remained in this dark, cold prison.

Mel didn’t know how long you had been there, but one thing stood out: while the other prisoners were fed and minimally cared for—still caged, of course—you were different. You were cuffed, beaten, and chained far more cruelly than the rest. You were repressed, scared, and treated as if you were more dangerous. That’s why Mel decided to free you herself.

The moment you heard someone approaching, you began to fight. You couldn’t move much—your hands, feet, and chest were bound—but you wouldn’t surrender. You hadn’t before, and you wouldn’t now. You screamed at the silhouette nearing your cell, guttural groans escaping your muzzle. You felt less than human—a cornered prey fighting for its life.

— I came to free you, — a deep, soft voice reached your ears. — Do not fight. Our war is over.

Two guards grabbed your chains and released your feet. You jumped immediately, ignoring the pain, in a desperate attempt to fly. The chains around your chest had smashed your wings for nights beyond counting, and the agony was unbearable.

When they removed the muzzle from your face, you screamed at the shadow by the cell door:

— Our war is not over! It will never be!

The guards recoiled at your outburst, preparing to silence you again.

— That’s why you killed my people. All of them! But I won’t stop fighting!

— Mrs. Medarda, we should— — one of the guards began, stepping toward you with a chain in hand.

— No! — Mel’s voice was firm and commanding. — I’m tired of this senseless violence. Let them go.

You continued to fight, ignoring her words—empty words, you thought. You’d been fooled before, when you believed Ambessa’s promise of peace between your nations. You wouldn’t be fooled twice.

As soon as you were fully unbound, your wings spread abruptly, pushing the Noxian guards back. You screamed with pain and rage, leaping toward the shadow at the entrance—the Medarda woman who had freed you.

— I won’t be fooled again! — you shouted, raising your fists to strike her. But before you could land a blow, a golden energy enveloped her like a shield, stopping you in your tracks.

Blinded by fury, you lunged again, only for the guards to seize your wings and pull you back. Feathers tore, and your fragile bones stretched painfully under the strain.

— Stop! Let them go! — Mel’s voice rang louder than your screams. — I am not my mother! They won’t be hurt anymore!

The guards obeyed, releasing you. You fell to your knees before her—the new wolf of Noxus.

— Many mistakes have been made, — Mel said softly, stepping closer, now within reach of your wings. You could attack her if you wished, but you had no strength left. — I’m here to fix them.

You looked up at her, her hand hovering gracefully in front of you. Perhaps it was the pain. Perhaps it was another fevered dream. No Medarda would offer you their hand—it couldn’t be real.

Everything went dark.

You passed out.

Your body had been overwhelmed, or so you’d been told. You were too weak to move, let alone fly. The doctor had said you shouldn’t use your wings until you were strong enough to stand unaided. For now, you needed to rest.

When you first opened your eyes, the brightness of the room blinded you. After so much time in the dark, even this gentle light felt unbearable. The doctor’s voice reached you faintly as he spoke, but you paid little attention, instead focusing on your surroundings.

The room was large, elegant—too grand for someone like you. A palace, you guessed, judging by the ornate paintings and intricate furnishings. Outside the door, you could hear the steady march of guards, their voices low and firm as they gave commands. This wasn’t the darkness of your cell, but it wasn’t freedom either.

The doctor mentioned medicine before disappearing, leaving you alone. That was your chance.

You pushed yourself to your feet despite the pain, every movement a reminder of how broken you were. Your wings trembled behind you, fragile and aching, but you refused to stay. You’d been caged for too long.

A large window on the far side of the room caught your attention. It framed the city’s skyline—a sprawling capital of stone and steel, alive with motion. But it wasn’t the view that drew you. It was the sunlight.

You froze in place, paralyzed by the warmth. You hadn’t seen the sun in years, hadn’t felt its light on your skin since Ambessa’s betrayal.

Closing your eyes, you let the heat wash over you. Even through your closed lids, the orange glow of daylight filled your vision, and for the first time in so long, you smiled. The movement hurt—your face unused to such gestures—but you smiled anyway.

— I see you recover quickly. — The voice startled you. Deep, calm, and familiar.

You turned sharply, your wings flaring in a defensive posture, ready to fight.

Mel stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

— I only came to— she paused, her gaze shifting upward, catching on your wings. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she froze. — I didn’t realize how badly you’d been hurt.

— What do you want? — you growled, stepping forward. Your wings shifted with you, their tattered state doing little to hide your intent.

Mel didn’t flinch. Her gaze returned to your face.

— I’m Mel Medarda. The new wolf of Noxus.

You studied her, your eyes narrowing. Her clothing was regal, refined—nothing like the armor of a warrior.

— You’re a witch, — you spat, your voice laced with venom.

— And what about you? — she asked, taking a slow step closer. — What... are you?

You hesitated, your glare hardening.

— I see the wolf has done her work well, erasing us from history.

— Us?

— Karyndor. My people. You exterminated us.

Mel frowned, her voice quieter this time.

— I’ve never heard of you. My mother never—

— She never told you how she enslaved and slaughtered my people? — you shouted, your voice trembling with rage. — How is that a surprise, princess?

— It’s not. — Her response was firm, catching you off guard. — I’m not here to be attacked. I’m here to gather the truth. I can only help you if you let me.

You snorted, disbelief twisting your features.

— I’ve heard this before.

Mel’s expression didn’t waver.

— Where do your people live? Why did your war with Noxus begin?

— It’s impossible, princess. Our land no longer exists. Your mother made sure of it.

— Why?

— Because we never gave up our freedom, — you said bitterly. Your wings shivered behind you, as though echoing your words. — We never let them cut our wings, one might say. Noxus couldn’t accept that.

Silence filled the room. Mel’s gaze dropped to the floor, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

— Will you kill me too? — you asked, your voice softer now, almost a plea.

Her eyes lifted to meet yours.

— I am the only one left, — you continued. — You should finish your mother’s work.

— I wonder why she didn’t do it herself, — Mel murmured under her breath.

Her words unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why.

— Why would she keep you alive? — she asked, more to herself than to you.

You clenched your fists, your voice breaking as memories surfaced.

— I was her trophy. The Karyndorian general, tamed and defenseless. She kept me in that cell, showed me off to soldiers. Sometimes... sometimes she would even... — You couldn’t finish. The scars on your body spoke for you.

— Will you kill me, princess? — you whispered. — It would be a mercy I never had.

Mel’s gaze softened.

— What’s your name?

You hesitated before answering.

— Y/N.

— I will not kill you, Y/N. You are free.

And with that, she turned and left.

The truth was, you didn’t know what to do. Dying felt easier than living; it was the end you had hoped for. Without your people, without your army, you were no one. All you had left were scars, weak wings, and your enemy’s palace to wander around. Among all the wolf’s surprises, this might be the greatest: her words meant something. She had changed Noxus — the guards and the servants looked at you, even spoke to you occasionally. While you recovered, the doctor visited you daily, and the staff brought you anything you requested. You even decided to test this by asking for wine. Deep down, you hoped it would be poisoned, but it tasted excellent.

From time to time, you could hear Mel’s footsteps echoing through the hallways. Always moving, always working — that woman never stopped.

She didn’t visit you again. Perhaps she hadn’t expected you to stay at her palace for so long. Honestly, neither had you. You could have flown away, but you never did. You were fascinated by her actions: you had seen prisoners walking around the palace as freely as you did, seen slaves being set free. You had seen families reunited after years, seen mercy — all because of her.

It seemed... impossible. Almost foolish. No enemy of Noxus would ever be as merciful as she was.

— May I speak to her? — you asked one of the staff as they brought your breakfast. They were startled at first but quickly nodded and left. A few minutes later, you were brought to her.

— Thank you, — you said as the servant announced your arrival, studying the immense hall you had walked into. It was vast, with maps, tables, and chairs scattered about. A meeting room for her councils, you supposed, but she stood there alone.

— Mrs. Medarda, — you greeted her. — I must say, you surprise me.

— Y/N, — her gaze locked onto yours. — I suppose I could say the same. I’m honored to see you again.

You smiled at her words. Always charming, a true politician.

— I’ve never seen a wolf with a heart, princess. — You carefully approached the table she stood beside. — You’re either that or a fox. This nation is full of them.

— I intend to change the nation you hate so much, general. Feel free to see it for yourself, if you must.

— I’m afraid I will. — You moved closer, your wings folding tightly against your back, unable to relax as her scent reached you. You glanced down at the papers she was studying — details about battles, casualties, and old enemies.

— This empire has been built on blood, — she said, and only then did you notice how her eyes traced your scars. — Too much blood. I want to rebuild it, to create a kingdom founded on choice and alliances.

— Alliances are volatile, princess. They shift with the wind; they can always turn against you.

— I prefer politeness over rigidity. I believe safety can exist without cruelty.

— I agree with you. I would rather make peace than war. — You saw the spark in her eyes as you spoke, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. — Because of that, we sought an alliance with monsters. It got my people killed.

— It shouldn’t have, — she argued firmly, her eyes locked on yours.

— I know, I know... — you whispered, looking down at the papers again. So much death reduced to mere numbers. — Just don’t mistake mercy for naivety. — With a broken voice, your wings shrank as you confessed: — That was my mistake.

You stepped away from Mel, uncertain where you were headed. A general without an army, a soldier without a cause to fight for.

— Perhaps you could help me avoid that... — her soft proposal froze you in place. — I need generals, not murderers, to train my army.

— Princess, I’ve lost everything. I failed as a soldier, I failed to protect my people. How could you trust me with your nation?

— I don’t, — she admitted, her gaze unwavering in the face of your doubts. — But I’m willing to give you a chance, if you’re willing to take it. It’s the least I can do after what my mother did to you.

You widened your eyes — once again, this was a constant effect she had on you.

You accepted.

Trust was a difficult thing for you at first. After everything you had been through, reservations and even cynicism were normal for people in your positions. There were traitors and rebels in every corner, appearing with every debt forgiven and battle ended by the princess. Empress: you remembered this title more and more every day. Until you had fully recovered, you decided to get to know the nation you had so wished to destroy. The target of your revenge was still undoubtedly a people: there were children playing in the streets and a prosperous future ahead. Untouched by the war, the civilians didn't even seem to know about their leader's atrocities. Perhaps if they did, you wouldn't be treated so cordially.

Over time, you let the children touch your scarred wings. It took a while before you had the courage to show them around town, you feared that they were still a target, but you were only targeted by curious children. Some parents were terrified when you started flying them around in your arms, but their laughter relieved any tension.

You missed it: a home, a people. It was strange that they were becoming that for you. It felt like betrayal, despite the kindness they had shown you. It felt like betrayal against the nation that raised you.

The guilt increased when you returned to your room in the palace, and lasted until the next morning when you met up with Mel. It was easy to hide at first, but the new wolf had an eye for detail. She noticed the improvement in your wings and the worsening of your eyes even with all your attempts to hide them.

--- I've heard good stories about you, general. You've already conquered the Noxus youth. --- she said casually.

--- I've played with children, empress, nothing more than that. They are the only innocents in our history.

--- They represent the future I intend to build… It's good that they trust you.

You frowned at Mel, uneasy about the next words that would come out of her mouth.

--- A legion of young people have enlisted. They're excited about Noxus' new beginning.

You flinched as her words aimed at you, your wings beginning to flutter with anticipation.

--- I want you to train them. --- Medarda stated.

The days that followed felt like walking through a battlefield, only this time the enemy was within you. Every step you took, every command you gave, was a reminder of the life you lost and the people who depended on you—and whom you failed.

Mel had given you a position, a purpose, but it felt more like a cruel jest than an honor. Training soldiers in the palace courtyard, watching them grow stronger, reminded you of the Karyndorian army you once led. Your soldiers had been fierce and proud, willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. These recruits, however, were hesitant, cautious, and unsure whether to trust their new general.

But Mel’s vision was different from her mother’s brutality. She wanted warriors, not butchers, and that meant you had to teach them discipline, not cruelty. You barked orders with the same conviction you once had, though your voice carried an edge of bitterness that was impossible to mask.

The recruits respected you, but they also feared you—your scars, your wings, your haunted eyes. And you couldn’t blame them. You feared yourself too.

Mel, as always, remained a constant presence. She watched from the balconies, observing your methods and the progress of her troops. From time to time, she would approach you after a session, offering quiet feedback or asking questions about tactics and strategy.

— You’re improving them, — she said one afternoon as you stood together overlooking the courtyard.

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze fixed on the recruits sparring below.

— They’re young, — you muttered. — Too young for what they’ll face.

— I don’t want them to fight unless they have to, — Mel replied, her voice calm but firm.

You glanced at her, your expression skeptical.

--- You surprise me, empress. You're too good, despite it all.

She looked at you with suspicion.

--- I see you've heard stories about me too.

--- The kids talk a lot. --- You tried to soften her expression with a smile. --- I'm sorry for what your mother did to you and your brother.

Her gaze lingered on you for a long time: her eyes analyzed you cautiously, looking for something hidden in your gaze. But there was nothing hidden: you meant every word. You were sorry for her.

--- I appreciate it. --- she said at last. --- For all of it, in fact. You acted beyond all my expectations.

You laughed, relaxed, leaning over the counter while the soldiers below remained training. You could hear them shouting, celebrating and laughing.

--- I assume they weren't very high.

--- No. --- her soft tone made you turn to her. She smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth in her otherwise composed demeanor. --- Nevertheless, here you are. I can't help but wonder what made you stay. --- Her gaze wandered for a few moments, analyzing your wings behind the iron armor that covered your chest. --- You could fly to any destination, you could fight for any country. What could have made you choose the very nation that took everything away from you?

You felt your wings stir as your chest quivered. The answer came so quickly to your mind, and left your lips just as readily:

--- You did. --- you whispered in a low voice. --- I believe in you, Mrs. Medarda.

Her eyes lit up at your words, and your wings began to flutter as the rushing blood warmed your body. Sometimes it was hard for you to stay like that, so close, so focused on her. Your eyes began to analyze every detail of her face, your mind was taken by her elegant grace, you were bewitched by her: by her compassion, by her strength, by her power.

Like the breaking of a spell, you forced yourself to look away and swallow the heat that rose to your neck. You were at your limit, one second away from losing control, and so you pulled away. The last thing you wanted was to disrespect her - she was your emperor, you were her suitor. You were satisfied with that, it was enough after so many years suffering alone. With her by your side, you felt strength, warmth --- something close to hope, something close to purpose.

However, the empress pulled you close, holding your arm covered in scars and stopping you from leaving. She stared at them for a moment, her gaze hesitating before rising to your face.

She said nothing. Her hands moved slowly, cautiously and carefully, like everything Mel did.

--- I won't break, Empress. --- you whispered, the warmth now covering your face and making you smile as you felt her touch on your chest.

--- Your empress...--- Her whisper sounded like a question, yet there was a glint of doubt in her avoidant gaze. Her eyes didn't stop on yours until you said it:

--- My empress.

With that, you two finally gave in and kissed on the balcony of the Medarda palace. You became her general, she became your empress --- you would fight for each other like wolves, like warriors, like lovers.

[charliemwrites]

Woof, grrr, woof

No content warnings

Your trip to the vet turns up nothing. No microchips, and none of the staff recognize the wolf-dog. They’re the only vet in town too, and he looks too pristine to have come from another…

“You’re a weird little guy, huh?” you muse on the car ride to the pet store.

The vet office was kind enough to make a file for him, standing name “Buddy”. If you get to keep him, you’re definitely changing it. They also gave you a spare leash so that you wouldn’t have to leave him in the car while you shop.

It’s a pitifully flimsy thing, but the dog seems leashed trained and does tug. Could probably let him off it and he’d stay glued to your side.

The shopping is even weirder. He doesn’t seem very distracted by treats or food, only snaps at other dogs when they get into his personal space. Otherwise, he just stays right next to you, tongue occasionally lapping at your hanging fingers.

“Beautiful dog,” a man says to you. An older guy, rugged, looking at toys.

You shift. “Thank you.”

“Should really be feeding a beast like that a raw diet.”

“Raw diet?”

“What they get in the wild. All that processed shite ain’t good for ‘em.”

You thank him for the advice over the dog’s grumbling. A quick internet search on your phone reveals it’s not a bad idea, actually. Not too expensive either.

“Raw it is,” you muse.

He tilts his head, make a low “woof”. You scratch absently at his ears as you continue shopping. Let him pick toys - his favorite a squeaky grenade of all things that he refuses to put down. You get a big matching set of food and water bowls, a cushy dog bed, a parasite repellent. Even some dog pads in case he’s not house trained.

You stall in the leash aisle, a bit overwhelmed by the choices of leashes and collars and harnesses.

“How do you feel about pink…?”

Snort.

“Yeah didn’t think so. I didn’t like the rhinestones anyway. You’d probably end up eating one and shitting glitter.”

A long whine.

“Oh, sorry, is that embarrassing? Poor love.”

The gentlest scrape of big teeth at your knuckles. You chuckle and tap two fingers on his sandpaper tongue. His head jerks back, tongue flicking in offense.

“S’what you get, dummy.”

Shaking your head, turn back to the selection. The pup huffs, shakes his head, and noses at something lower. It’s a deep green - army, you think the shade is called - collar with a silver buckle instead of a snap clip.

“Not bad,” you muse. “Matches the whole woodsy vibe we’ve got going.”

You find the matching leash and harness set, dropping it in your cart. You receive several more compliments on your big gorgeous dog, though he refuses to let anyone pet him. You awkwardly make excuses that he’s a recent rescue and try to avoid further conversation.

The last stop is at the kiosk for a tag. You can’t just let him go without one, but you despise officially naming him “Buddy.”

You end up just putting your name, number, and address on there. A matte black heart engraved with silver.

“What do you think?” you ask, offering it for a sniff.

The dog doesn’t even pretend to be interested, just takes the opportunity to drag his tongue over your wrist again. You huff and wipe off on your pants.

“Gonna have to take another bath at this rate.”

You ignore his grumble - it’s uncanny at this point, how quick he is to respond - and guide him out to the car. He hops into the passenger seat, flops over into your lap first chance he gets. You have to nudge his snout away from your crotch again, but he seems satisfied with a hand smoothing over his head.

Home is warm when you arrive. You set up your new dog’s things, buckle him into his new collar, tag and all.

“There,” you coo, dropping smooches all over his head. “Look at how handsome you are, sweet boy! Can I have a kiss?”

You yelp as he barrels you over onto your back, well over 100 pounds of wolf-dog stretching over you. You turn your face away as he licks at your mouth, trying to get inside. You remember reading somewhere that that’s a wolf thing; just another tick in the “hybrid” box.

“Gross, gross! Nooooo,” you laugh, covering his snout. You squeal as his tongue flickers between two fingers. “Nasty boy! You’re so rude!!”

He finally lets you up with much coaxing, looking far too pleased with himself.

You make yourself dinner, providing your dog with scraps of chicken and unseasoned veggies based on your online reading. He seems happy with the offering, eats it all up with gusto.

As the evening comes, you stretch out on the couch. Finally feel brave enough to put on a scary movie now that you’ve got a big-ass deterrent.

Your dog even climbs up to cuddle, head on your chest while you hug him through scary parts. The really interesting part comes at the end, during the climax.

“Heeeeeere’s Johnny!”

Your new companion perks up, eyes on the screen.

“Oh? Is… is that your name? Is your name Johnny?”

His head snaps around to you, ears straight up and eyes bright.

“Johnny…” you croon, trying it out.

He makes a little “boof” noise and wriggles closer.

“Johnny baby,” you continue, grinning. “Johnny boy. John John the bon bon.”

It’s utter nonsense, but it makes his tail thump against the cushions, leaving slobbery kisses of excitement all over your neck and jaw.

“Alright alright!” you laugh, dropping a kiss on the top of his nose. “Johnny it is. Thank fuck I don’t have to come up with a name. Was thinking of calling you Philip or Simon or something.”

You yelp as he starts to make gagging sounds, nearly kicking him off the couch before it seems to subside.

“Good lord, bud,” you breathe as he grumbles and settles his head on your thigh, puffing out a big breath through his nose. “You’re gonna be a handful.”

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Masterlist

[janeways-coffees]

Ok I'll bite. What is wheel of time about

Glad you asked!!!! The short version is that it's a story about the inescapability of fate and the cycles of violence and peace in the world!

The long version is uh. Well (spoilers)

So like. Theres a big wheel that weaves the fabric of reality, right? And people get reincarnated and their souls get spit back out into new people, okay? That's how the world works. Also there is magic But! There's boy magic and girl magic.

So imagine you live in a post-scarity fake utopia and you're essentially a magic researcher. You discover magic that is neither girl nor boy magic but a secret third thing everyone who can already use magic can use (its genetic). And you just went through like the worst break up. So you use this cool new power!

And end up tearing a hole in the fabric of space and time. And theres this like entity in there that promises all this power and stuff and you're like "uhhhh well i do wanna be president or at least have my PhD unrevoked" (PhD revoked for tearing a hole in space and time) and also your ex has decided the entity is like. Pure evil. Which it is but you can't let him win that argument.

So you and your ex's ex and like 11 other researchers who aren't getting anywhere close to enough funding are like. Ok. Y'know what. Kinda fuck with the entity. Also we really don't like your ex girl he's too goody-goody.

Unfortunately your ex is also a top level magician/physicist and leads his 100 best friends to go seal your excellent hole in reality. Boo. But before he does this the entity "taints" boy magic so all men who can use magic go insane and kill everyone they love. Unfortunately you were also sealed inside the hole in reality and kinda go into statis for 3000 years.

Anyways because all then male magicians are insane now they essentially are walking nukes with no direction and blast humanity back to the stone age. Some of them kill themselves and some of them level cities and some of them try to not use magic but that's like acting someone who smokes a pack a day to quit cold turkey. So. Humanity forgets.

They forget genetic engineering and flying cars and teleportation magic. They remember the bare bones of ancient oaths and treaties but they don't have conext for them. The dimension of snake/fox people you had a longstanding treaty with is remembered as a children's game.

Anyways 3000 years pass and humanity sinks into darkness and then slowly, painstakingly, rebuilds. You're still trapped with your 12 colleages and the entity, but you have some small influence on the world. You command small armies of genetically engineered beings and mutants to slow progress. You manipulate people's dreams in a parallel dream dimension. You still aren't over your ex.

And then finally your ex's soul is spat back out into the world. He's a shepherd from a remote farming village. He's destined to be the most powerful male magician in 3000 years. He will go insane one day because of the taint on boy magic. You still love him. He doesn't even know who you are. Sometimes you can here him in the boy's voice, his stubborness. His ability to love other women.

Wheel of time is this story. Told from the perspective of your reincarnated ex and his 2 best childhood friends (reincarnated battle tactician with unreal luck and a man who has rediscovered wolf-telepathy), his childhood crush (president of the united states of girlbossery), his old babysitter (woman with every anger issue, ever), and his three girlfriends (yes they smoke weed. No you still aren't one of them).

It's a series that redefined how women are portrayed in fantasy. It recently got a television show that is a slightly different turning of the wheel but makes up for it by being explicity gay and having incredible costuming. It has excellent worldbuiliding and excellent character driven plot lines. It's been an absolute joy to reread after 7 years.

[bts-0t-7]

BTS | OT7 | FIC RECS

Hi guys, it's been a while since I've posted. Exams are finished and I'm starting to write again so I can't wait to share the works that I've collated over the past few months!

But this post isn't about any upcoming works. It's about loving and supporting our fellow writers. In the next few upcoming posts, I've collated fics that I really liked and I hope you'll enjoy them as much! Don't forget to support the writers and artists as well. Whether it is to leave a like, a comment, or follow them, I know they'll appreciate hearing from you.

Some of the fics below contain smut, so read the labels before clicking. If there are any fics that you guys would like to recommend, I would love to hear them as well! 😃

Little do you know, @yoongiofmine (Fluff, angst, smut, playmate au, idol au, ot7 x reader, poly relationship)

Moonchild, @yoongiofmine (fluff, angst, smut, non idol au, ABO, werewolf au)

Emerald Gem, @sweetlyskz (Hybrid Au, Strangers to lovers, slow burn, Ot7 x reader)

Unnatural Instincts, @bangtanflirt (angst, fluff, smut, OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids)

Snow Angel, @daichiduskdrop (A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers, Ot7 x reader)

Lone Wolf, @sopebubbles (a/b/o, omegaverse, angst, hurt/comfort, poly ot7 x reader)

The Sanguis Duology, @boratha (Fantasy, Romance, Smut, Hurt and Comfort, Vampire!AU, Magic!AU, Polyamory!AU)

Abundance, @angelicyoongie (hybrid au, enemies to lovers/strangers to lovers, ot7 x female reader)

Caramel, @blue-and-grey-army (BTS, Idol AU, poly au, BTS x reader, OT7, OT7 x reader, Idol BTS, Dom BTS, sub reader, angst, fluff, eventual smut)

Cry me a river, @minniepetals (angst, slight fluff, poly ot7xreader, mafa au, poly au, arranged marriage au)

Boyfriend for hire, @remedyx (bts ot7 x reader, angst, fluff, smut, poly au, relationship for convenience, strangers to lovers, long crush, slow burn)

7 hybrids moved in with me, @lillsisamarshmallow (Hybrid!Poly!BTS x Reader, Slight Swearing, Homelessness, Mentions of Violence, Blood, Fluff)

[avidredux]

wild goes through every sleeping position under the sun before finally passing out but he never falls asleep on his right side. he'll lay like that for a moment, but he gets bothered by the fact he can't hear his surroundings nearly as well with only his left ear out. usually ends up just sprawled out

four sleeps like a plank of wood. arms and legs straight, he's flat on his back. he might curl up for a bit before falling asleep, but ultimately cant sleep as well unless he's "planked"

sky can and will fall asleep in any position. on any surface. in SS he can fall asleep sitting on a toilet. he does not care. and despite what he says, he does in fact snore worse than any of them

twilight and wind both curl up to sleep, wind a bit looser than twi. wind shifts a lot in his sleep, rolling over or turning while still curled up. his bedhead is a nightmare. twi only moves if he's dreaming, and if he falls asleep in wolf form, his legs kick. wild witnessed this countless times during BoTW and never lets twilight forget it

time is shockingly one of the more normal sleepers. an occasional snorer but it's nothing too bad unless he falls asleep sitting up. he's had many years sleeping alongside malon for his body to get used to just plain old sleeping. he always manages to fall asleep at a slight diagonal to his bedroll. and his hands are ALWAYS folded under his head.

hyrule almost always ends up face down in his sleep. has woken up a few times with a dirt covered face after he shifted a little off his bedroll. a drooler and utterly limp in his sleep. when he sleeps outside he's quite a light sleeper, but put him in a bed and it's like trying to wake the dead. ever seen videos of a cat sleeping so hard you can lift their head and it just flops back down? that's him

warriors likes to think he's a normal sleeper but the truth is he has weird nonsensical dreams almost every night that he never remembers. which wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't a sleep talker. those who take watch beware: wars will say some strange shit and any attempt to get context is a losing battle. a few times the others have managed to hold absurd conversation with him in his sleep. is incredibly annoyed to be awoken regardless of reason, though years in the army means he's good at hiding it. sleeps in the recovery position without fail.

legend is one of the last people to fall asleep, his brain likes to go and go and go until he cannot keep his eyes open. he can and will function on very little sleep; he has an odd sleep rhythm that leads to falling asleep late and waking early. he tries very hard not to wake before or at the same time as wild. many many mornings he will open his eyes, see a barely lit sky, and do his best to pass out again (it doesn't usually work but it's the thought that counts)

[axolotl-in-highheels]

Guess who's baaaack

Yes, it is I, and i bring you more of my horribly selfindulgent shit.

◇

Little A/N:

I think this fandom has a huge problem with making 'readers' usually female, straight up victims and it is jarring to see the 141 operators sometimes treating the 'reader' as some pretty object.

So! I am on a mission to fix that with making the 'reader' have a proper backbone (titanium baby!)

And with that i bring you...

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Task Force 141 x uninterested!Reader

Premise: the 141 boys are head-over-heels for you and are letting it out in some not-cool ways and you are having none of it!

DW/Tw: possesive behavior

Capt. Jonathan Price

He is actually the calmest out of all of them, still, he has his issues

Price gets overprotective over you, normal at first. Checking in with you after missions and being a shoulder to cry on if the nightmares catch up to you

However...after a while, things spiral. He starts putting you into less and less direct combat situations, from taking the sniper perch to being assinged purely recon and oversight

And worst of all, he is your commanding officer, so you have no real room for backtalk

Even worse, he gets worse privately too. He is around you almost all of the time, scaring off other male soldiers and dragging you into his office for benine reasons

At one point, you break. Combat, once your save-haven, now a distant memory. No more adrenalin spikes while under fire, just boring drone footage and comm oversight.

So, one night, you pack your shit and leave the SAS base. Erasing your tracks through shady contracts and grey areas, you go AWOL.

Price is spiraling now, urging higher-ups to find you, to bring you back where he can see you, where he can control you.

Now, imagine his utter horror when, one day, you emerge on a battlefield, gun in hand, and with a wolf-patch on your vest. Your new life, at KorTac.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Oh he was smitten with you, prettiest bird on base, always smiling at him like he hung the moon in the sky.

Everytime you talked to him this little voice in his head grew louder and louder. He wanted you to be his and how could you resist him? His smile, his personality, hell his everything.

In his eyes you were meant for him. So he started talking to you, a lot. Sure it was nice at first, he gave you tips in the shooting range or sat with you in the mess hall when you were alone.

Yet, you never tried to get closer than 'just friends' with him, you made that clear on multiple occasions afterall. But Gaz was determent, if you didn't want him now he was obviously not trying hard enough

So he doubled down, soon he was glued to your side like gum. Never giving you room to breathe. Still, you held firm, you two are friends nothing more, nothing less.

Seeing his attempts fail over and over, Kyle made a decision, he was gonna make you jealous. Setting his plan in motion, he met up with a lot of girls, civillians mosty, but sometimes a cute new nurse or two.

He was going strong by all means, telling himself it was a matter of time before you came crawling to him, wanting him in your bed.

However, that fell apart like a jenga-tower the day he saw you limping out of Lieutenant Riley's room, covered in hickeys and wearing his shirt, while flashing him a coy smile. Two could play that game, and you won.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Oh soap, poor little soap. He actually knew you, pretty well infact. The two of you were good friends, having met back in basics at the age of 19.

He only saw you occasionally when he was on a brief shore-leave between missions, meeting up with you and letting you ramble about your job in the 'regular' british army

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't like seeing you in such a rough field of work, sure, you were nowhere near his level of life-threatning but still.

Rarely, he voiced his opinion that you should leave the army and become a civillian again, working at a coffeéshop or a bookstore, something soft.

He only had good intentiones but his constant rebuttles and fairytale-like imaginations for your life got annoying quick. Paired with his sour demeanor everyrime you mentioned a new person you were talking to.

After a while of his incessant nagging at your occupation and not-so-suble hints that he's interested in you, you made a decision, one you should have made a long time ago.

You went to the SAS training, 6 months of gruelling physical activity, and torture training combined with little sleep. But you persisted, and were in the 10% success rate. You made it, an SAS soldier.

And by all means you were a natural, leadership came very easy to you and after a few short years of keeping johnny in the dark, you walked into the briefing-room with the rank Captain, ready for action.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon, Simon, Simon. Where do i begin. You were the newest face in the 141, being brought in as a Sergeant to work alongside them.

He didn't think too much of you at first, you did your job and that was all that mattered to him. Sure, you got along well with Soap and Gaz quicky becoming a part of the team.

Over time, he noticed you trying to get closer to him. Offering to train with him or making him a cup of Earl grey in the mornings.

Ghost really tried to not let you invade his thoughts, he was your CO and fraternization is a real danger in his profession but alas it didn't work and he fell for you, hard.

At first he went along with you, training with you and joking around sometimes.

But it quicky spiraled, after some time you came into his office just to work with him or came into his room just to talk if you had a nightmare. Slowly your belongings mixed into one another. You stole his oversized clothing or a pencil, he let you of course, he'd give you his heart if you asked.

But he bever made a move, always pulling back at the last second. When it got too personal he'd shut you out for days on end until you came knocking at his door again.

Yet, things like this never last. So one day, when he was avoiding you again, you had enough. One last time you dropped by his room, when the door finally swung open, you dropped all his stuff into his arms and left. No goodbyes or second chances, Simon, in all his avoidend behavior, blew his chance.

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So, that was it, i'm not too pround of it but eh.

Anyways if you liked it lmk or you can vent what pisses you off about some CoD fanfic tropes i'd love to hear it.

If you want to request something in a similar direction go ahead i'd love to write it!

Thank you and stay tuned

[cosmica-galaxy]

You know how little kids will instantly teleport away when you take your eyes off them for just a second? Well…

Dark Cacao Cookie leaves the Vanilla Kingdom after a meeting only to find the baby hiding and clinging to him with a death grip after hours later. Pure Vanilla Cookie nearly dies of a heart attack upon realizing the baby’s SOMEHOW ended up leaving the Kingdom unnoticed.

The warriors of the Dark Cacao kingdom let out a few long huffs as they drop off the supplies onto the ground of their snow-covered home. Their king, Dark Cacao Cookie, proudly standing in front of them as he takes roll-call of all the warriors that have returned from the Pure Vanilla Kingdom.

He runs down a list of names for those that had volunteered to go to the far off kingdom, going one by one until the list finally draws near the end.

"Caramel Arrow Cookie." "Here, my king!" The Watcher announces. "Crunchy Chip Cookie." "Here with the Cream Wolves, sir!" The Wolf-Rider calls out, raising a proud fist into the air. "Good. Then that is everyone. Make haste to unload the supplies and restock the rations. Those winter storms will be coming soon enough and we must prepare!" Dark Cacao orders, his heavy soul-jam sword raised high into the air to finalize his orders. "Yes sir!!!" Came a chorus of warrior shouts as the small army breaks up and begins to do as they are told. Yet, the king does not move. His eyes scan his citizens with careful consideration and he could see that Crunchy Chip seemed to be having a problem with his wolves. The cookie in question was scratching his head and trying to pull a rather stubborn Cream Wolf away from the ration crates that were sitting upon the sleds, yet it refuses to budge. He approaches. "Crunchy Chip Cookie." The cookie in question nearly jumps out of his dough at being addressed by the king, who draws close to his location. "What is the matter with your Cream Wolf? It seems to be acting very strange lately..." "A-AH. Y-Yes. Well. (Ahem) You see, for some reason, Cream Wolf has been acting weird around the cargo sled ever since we left the Vanilla Kingdom. It keeps putting their head into the sacks and sniffing about." He admits, pointing at the crates and sacks on the sled.

"But I kept checking to see if anything is amiss and I haven't seen, smelled, nor heard anything coming from the crates! But the Cream Wolf just...won't leave the cargo sled alone!" The black and white cookie merely lets out a sigh of defeat. "I just don't understand what is going on! Is something spoiled? Are they looking for treats? Is there something wrong with the food?" "Hmm...how peculiar. Step aside for a moment and let the Cream Wolf investigate while I observe." "Yes sir..." Dark Cacao steps forward and watches the Cream Wolf sniff about the cargo sled. It doesn't stray from a certain area...nor from a certain large crate. It circles it at many angles, but doesn't move away or alter it's investigation. "Open that crate." Dark Cacao orders, in which Crunchy Chip was quick to rip the lid off, revealing multiple fabrics and star jellies on the inside. The Cream Wolf was quick to bury it's head into the cloths and jellies. "Aha! I KNEW you were just after the jellies that Pure Vanilla gave us! What happened to--" "Hehe!" Both Dark Cacao and Crunchy Chip Cookie fall silent in shock the moment a familiar giggle could be heard from within the crate. In fact, the Cream Wolf seemed to become excited and their tail began to wag as it started to...lick something? "Heheh! Found me!!" Came a childish voice from within. Dark Cacao and Crunchy Chip Cookie could only feel shock rock them to their bitter cores when a familiar witch spawn peeks out of the fabrics, the Cream Wolf getting more excited and whimpering in response. The moment the child looked at the two cookies, they smile and give them a little wave. "Hi Cowcow!! Cwunchy!! Woofy!!" "Oh no..." Was all that Dark Cacao could say at that moment once he realized that the witch spawn had stowed away in their supplies. "I need to inform Pure Vanilla on where his child is. I can only imagine how fretful he is currently back at the castle..." Dark Cacao sighed. "Courier Cookie! Write me a letter to Pure Vanilla immediately!" He demands.

"Yes sir!" Came a distant call from a nearby cookie.

[hedwig221b]

I absolutely love all the fic recommendations you give and I think you are an absolute angel for doing them. And I feel really bad for asking for some but I’ve been searching and I’m coming up short on them so I wanted to ask if you (or your follows because the suggestions they leave on other asks always so good!) know of any good Viking or medieval type of Sterek stories. Please and thank you so much!

💐💐💐💐

Hello, my love, here you are, hope you like these

Medieval

Under the Wide Blue Sky by zeit

Crown Prince Stiles returns home after many long months away commanding his father's armies. He doesn't feel he understands the true motives of his enemies, but having ended the battle for now, he turns his attention instead, albeit begrudgingly, to finding someone who might sit at his side someday when he assumes the throne. His childhood affection for Sir Derek blooms anew when the man accompanies his younger sister, Lady Cora, to the capital to be presented as a formal suitor for Stiles's hand in marriage.

Weaving Peace, Stitch My Heart by Susihukka, wanderingeyre

After a generation of a devastating war, the countries of Triskel and Astoria have come to a peace agreement. The only son of Astoria, Stiles, will offer himself as a Peaceweaver in marriage to the second oldest child of Triskel, Derek. Stiles is nervous but excited to meet his new husband and start a family. Unfortunately, for Stiles, his intended wants nothing to do with him.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

Wolf Winter by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is the legitimate omega son of King Deucalion, tricked by his brother Theo into running away he is trapped, ruined and unable to return home he finds himself stuck, captured as a poacher by the infamous Hale clan he claims sanctuary in their small chapel and Peter puts him to work, with Derek just returned from the crusades he needs a new healer and the only option they've got is the boy in the chapel who is pretending to be a beta

The White Hart of Winter by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Sent to marry the Hale Beast Stiles finds himself alone in a castle left to ruin and watched over by Kate Argent, who he thinks is sleeping with his new husband and seems determined to destroy him.

A Devotion by TroubleIWant

There’s a boy exiting the doors as they approach. Where Derek is tan from hours outside, the boy is pale except for a few beauty marks on one cheek. He’s dressed in fine riding clothes, and flanked by a guard wearing the sign of the royal house. A noble, then. He’s younger than Derek, but, considering his higher station, a bow would be appropriate. Despite that, Derek can’t help looking curiously at the boy, who’s looking back at Derek with just as much interest. For a moment, their eyes meet - the boy’s are a deep amber in the sunlit courtyard, ringed by long, tawny lashes. A gloved hand smacks the back of Derek’s head and he instinctively flinches away, hunching his shoulders. He loses track of the other boy as they pass one another, and as he turns to get another look, the knight grabs his shoulder and marches him forward into the stable. “Keep your eyes to yourself,” the knight instructs. “And next time, show the proper respect to Crown Prince Stiles.” Or: A medieval AU that's a little Princess Bride, a little bit more Game of Thrones, and a healthy side-serving of gay erotica.

The Thorns of a Rose by Dexterous_Sinistrous

"You have your mother’s eyes,” Peter suddenly commented, his tone light in his observation. Stiles stiffened at the mention of his mother. “Honest eyes,” Peter added as an afterthought. “Sunlit like the golden embers of coal burning in a forge.” Stiles turned a soured expression on Peter. “Have you a point?” He asked. “Many men have struggled to have those eyes even spare them a glance,” Peter simply stated. “An honest but naive treasure that managed to fool a dragon.” He placed the crown on Stiles’ head, amused when the boy immediately pushed away from him once the ornament was in place. “Hopefully those eyes can fool the Seven Kingdoms into thinking you could love a wolf.”

an exaltation of larks by llassah

There are times when he feels as if they could fall into bed together, easy as breathing. If Stiles were not highborn, if he were an omega without connections, Derek would be sorely tempted. As it is, he resists. Derek wants, he yearns, but he resists. Still, the sight of Stiles in his cot is enough to test him, even now that it is familiar. At the end of each lambing season, he sleeps for a week, worn down by months of hard work, of relentless struggle. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel by the time Stiles leaves, how he’ll feel after long days and longer nights spent resisting the insistent tug of Stiles’s scent and the inclinations of his own foolish heart. All Derek wants is to get through the lambing season with his body and spirit intact. He had thought that the blizzards would be the main danger, not a highborn omega with beautiful eyes and a stubborn streak.

The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter

To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.

bend bridges, mend bones by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion

They burst through the portal in a gust of stale air and violet light, landing hard on the outskirts of a swamp. Stiles feels his knees buckle, both from the magic required to keep the portal open and from the force of their landing, but he grits his teeth, determined to stay standing in the presence of Derek Hale and his pack. Christ, it would be just his luck to rocket through his own portal at neck-breaking speeds and collide face-first with a puddle of sticky, disgusting mud. Thankfully that doesn’t happen, which is good because Stiles can’t really afford to add useless to the list of things that Mage’s are; untrustworthy cowards, meddlers, monsters. (In which there's an awful lot of fighting, people learn to trust people, and Stiles saves the day. Repeatedly. Over and over again. And he would like some credit, goddamnit, Derek.)

The Demands of Duty by Reiya_Wakayama

With the threat of war hanging over them, Stiles and his people are caught in the middle and must chose a side before they get smashed between both and with the threat of winter and a bad harvest weighing them down, he must chose quickly.

Deflowered by astrugglingstoic

In which there is a prince, a knight, sequential sword fights, and an anecdote about pressed flower petals.

If I die before my time, bury me upside down by ElisAttack

The boy is all of sixteen years old, a too large crown of gold resting on his head. The boy is sixteen years old, and Derek knows he would die for him. Or the one where Stiles is a young King, barely holding onto power, and Derek is his most trusted knight.

The Vow of a Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

"There’s a boy with alabaster skin, scattered with moles,” Jennifer explained as she thought about Stiles. “With large, dove-like eyes. He’s accompanied by this wolf—the one with fur as black as the night they travel by.” “Is it the boy or the wolf you want dead?” The hunter questioned. “Kill the boy before you end the wolf’s life,” Jennifer commanded. “Let the wolf smell the blood of the boy it loves. Let it howl in pain before you end it.” “Yes, my lady,” the hunter dutifully answered.

For the Love of The Game (It Made Me Love You) by Quirky_chemist

Stiles tugs on the arm braces of his armor, tightening the leather straps so that they were snug and in place. Scott was watching him with worried eyes as he finishes suiting up for the tournament. Every few minutes he would mumble under his breath about how Stiles’ father would kill him if he found out what they were doing. It was easy enough to fake the papers needed for an unknown knight from a rarely heard of territory, especially when you had the resources that Stiles did. He would ride as his true identity, but none would ever ride against him. Knowing that he was royalty, every knight would quickly and surely send one of their men to cover their shield with a white flag in withdrawal. It was an annoying truth that Stiles could not deny.

Moon Tribe Battles by 3rdgenderfromthesun

Derek was an alpha and a general of the Moon Tribe and he was fierce and unfaltering. This war had been going on for generations and Derek had grown up with blood beneath his claws. Beyond the stench of death, blood, gunpowder, and crackling magic was the unbelievably alluring scent of Derek's mate.

Faoladh by 3rdgenderfromthesun

Prince Stiles has always been in love with the legend of the Faoladh- skin walkers who use the pelt of wolves to transform into their feral counterparts- but he never imagined he would be kidnapped in order to lure out the supposedly mythical creatures. The legends said that they found and returned lost children to their families and guarded the woods surrounding his father's kingdom, but Stiles was long past being a child when a dark furred Faoladh came to his rescue.

When All the Pieces Fit BY NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Under the Golden Moon BY NARKOTIKA

Derek doesn't know how long he sits in his wolf skin, on his haunches, observing Stiles as the sunbeams slant through the trees and cast slashes of light across the omega's willowy form. The boy has his feet in the water, a babe on his hip, a bright smile on his face as the other younglings splash around and soak his garb. The creamy skin of his thighs peek out from the slits running down the sides of his draping skirt, and Derek has never wanted anything more than he wants this beautiful being of the woods.

also these are vaguely medieval so there

Incandescent

"You are trying to court our alpha,” sang Lydia. “Surely you realize that he does not reciprocate.” “He doesn’t stop it.” There was no point in lying. Paige was courting Derek. She would be a fool not to. “He doesn’t care to.” Lydia arched her thin eyebrow. “Why do you think he’s still searching for his mate, hmm? Why didn’t he stop once you were here? You think you can annoy him into sleeping with you?” Lydia laughed. “He is a born wolf, darling. He will not fuck you if you are not his.”

your fangs against my skin (the sound of your bones)

This was it, then, huh? It was that easy for Derek to invite someone to his den. Someone other than Stiles. He healed the wolf. Stiles killed his tormentor, mended his blood and bones, and let him sleep beside him. But none of it was enough. He wasn’t a spark, after all, but a witch — evil and alone, locked up in his tower. Witches didn’t get happy endings.

Resistance

How dare the wolf taste those lips, hold him, panting and soft, trembling and eager, so close to his chest? How dare he? Jordan could not move, even if he wanted to. The slick sounds of their kiss, of tongues sliding softly against one another, bitten-off moans, and muffled mewls interspersed with crackling fire — it was hell for him. Stiles was everything Jordan dreamed he would be in a moment like this — he moved just right, arched so beautifully, bared his throat, and grabbed the hand that pressed to his stomach, keeping it there. His smell seeped across the tent, sweeter than ever before and deadly because of it. Jordan’s eyes stung, his fists clenching the cold sheets. Yet, he could not even take a proper breath, for everything smelled of him. For three years, Jordan told himself to resist. Three years of catching Stiles only for the omega to seep from his fingers. Years without ever holding his waist like Jordan wanted to. A month was all it took for Stiles to give it to the wolf.

Viking

Open Seas and Boundless Skies by violet_vengeance

Stiles has been used and abused by his step-brother for more years than he can count. In a final act of cruelty, Stiles is traded away to a fearsome Viking warrior. Little does Stiles know that this strange and brutish man may just be the start of his freedom.

A house without kindness by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Driven to the far north by hunters Derek finds shelter in the snow

like the old gods

A wolf in the woods, a raven in the sky. (fenrir!derek)

The Downed Dragon by orangecrow

A thunderous crash brings viking werewolf Derek Hale to the edge of his pack's lands four days before the last autumn moon.

[masterlist link]