#anyways love the legs I'll be using them as refs later

[punkscowardschampions]

Ali & Carly

Ali: How do you like your  🥚🍳 in the morning? Carly: no 🐣 Carly: ha Ali: 🐔 didn't show up in your roost later, did he? Carly: he must be scared of you Carly: 🔮 Ali: or my 🐺 Carly: maybe Ali: eggs aside, how you feeling, chick? Carly: 😷🤒🤕🤢🤮 Ali: 👎👎👎👎👎 Ali: unacceptable! Ali: what do you need, kill or cure? Carly: cure forever Carly: im too young to die Ali: I'll swing by with my witches brew Ali: actually doesn't taste like ☠ either Ali: pure 😇 Carly: aw Carly: really? Ali: 'course, not gonna half-arse the job Ali: and it makes a full pot, no sense in not sharing the 💚 Carly: 💙 Carly: wat does it taste like? Ali: like Christmas 🎄🎅🤶🎁❄️🌨️☃️✨🌟 Carly: 😋😊🥰 Ali: it's got ginger and peppermint in Ali: the only other person hanging out their arse is my brother and he would rather die 'cos he's grumpy 👴 man energy so Carly: no 🦃 tho yea?! ha Carly: oh no he sounds like my da Carly: which cute bro is it? Ali: definitely not 😂 Ali: some greens but not sprouts Ali: the freckly one Carly: did u heal my heart to 💔😢? Carly: course itd be the most beautiful one Ali: oh no, you're delirious Ali: I'll come quick 😜 Carly: dont b jealous 👼 hes only the most beautiful boy Ali: 😏 My ma'll be gutted Carly: do u have a tea for that? Ali: 🍋 'cos she's so bitter? Ali: I'll see if she goes for it Carly: noooo 🍯 so she wont be Ali: you're too sweet yourself, Walsh Carly: aw Carly: but ur the 1 who saved me Carly: ur the sweetest Ali: anyone would Carly: nah ur the 1st Carly: not just saying it to u get ur fairy wings Ali: had to fly away from that particular 🐔 plenty myself Ali: harmless and flightless though he is, most the time Carly: yea Carly: he talks about u wen hes been on it Carly: the 1 that flew away Ali: uh oh Ali: can't let a boy ✂ your wings Ali: ever Ali: ever Ali: 👼🏽 🐔 🐧 🐦 🐤 🐣 🐥 🦆 🦢 🦅 🦉 🦚 🦜 🦇 🐝 🦋 🐞 🦗 🦟 🐓 🦃 🕊 Carly: im 😕💫🙃 but idk if those were the guests i danced with Carly: did get a cute lil 🎶🎤 to fall asleep to tho 💙🕊 Carly: 🌚🌝🌛🌜🌞 Ali: very 👸 of you though Ali: I can 👀 it Carly: my ma is trying to make me clean Carly: 🐇🐁🐀🐿🦔🐾 pls Ali: also unacceptable Ali: not 'til you're better Ali: use my wings to fly through and 🤞 he don't get the wrong idea about who I'm there to see Carly: [sends her a pic of whatever caravan mess she caused last night that her mum is raging about] Carly: so u can play a game of spot whats got her 😠 Carly: cuz idk Ali: Fun 🧐🤔🤨 Ali: angry mothers are my forte Ali: [does the circling the hazzards moment on the pic] Carly: making her angry is mine but nah to knowing y ever ever Carly: k ur cute & smart Carly: 🌟 Ali: it's rarely logical, but 🤫 on that or it's hulk levels in 0-60 Ali: how are you this nice when you're 😷🤒🤕🤢🤮 Ali: that's a skill, rare one at that 💎✨ Carly: my da is looking green must of had his own 🎶🍻💃 ha Carly: idk i can b nicer? but k now i know ronan aint been talking bout me when hes 🍺 or 💊 Ali: can be a tea party for three Ali: have to bring his own 🎩 though Ali: not to me anyway Ali: but as you can tell Ali: 🐺 keeps all the 🐓🐓🐓 away Carly: 🐇🐇🐇♠️♣️♥️♦️🐇🐇🐇 Carly: she is fierce Ali: she likes to think so Ali: 🐶 really Carly: course ur not scared of her silly Carly: u love her Carly: im a 🐈 person ha Ali: [sends her a load of pictures of Bluebeard she didn't ask for rather than being like do I love her hmm] Carly: AW!!!! Carly: 🥰🤗 Ali: he's captain ☠🏴 but there's always room aboard Carly: thats the best offer ive had from a gentleman ever ever ever Carly: whats his name? Ali: Bluebeard Ali: and he is MOSTLY a gentleman if you can handle some toe nibbling Carly: 😍😍😍😍 Carly: into it Carly: ive done more for lads i just met who aint as beautiful so Ali: 😂 I feel that Ali: honestly, it's quite comforting, when he doesn't sneak attack you with it Carly: [sends her a selfie that shouldn't be as adorable as it is] Carly: now u can introduce us Carly: 👋 baby blue Ali: the 😍😍😍😍 are mutual Ali: I can tell Carly: yay Carly: 🧡 Ali: is there anything else you need/we want for the tea party? Ali: en-route at last Carly: ur really coming? Ali: yeah, sorry I was ages, it's a whole process brewing it Ali: also a dead giveaway you're 😷🤒🤕🤢🤮 which obvs my ma takes as her cue to be all Spanish inquisition about it Ali: 📚 of my mostly-fictional-but-which-are-and-which-aren't-mother exploits later Carly: sorry iou so much magic Ali: nah, don't worry about it 👸 Ali: who doesn't love a little scandal with their morning brew? she deffo does Carly: its too late im looking for 🍀 Carly: among the 🌼🌼🌼 Ali: awh Ali: I'm never turning down extra luck Ali: we can make daisy-chains Carly: its the dresscode Carly: soz da Ali: does he have a 🧔? Ali: that's a #look Carly: not rn Carly: my ma wasnt on @ me only to clean up Carly: he had his turn Ali: damn it Ali: maybe a nice belt Ali: I'll be 🤔 Carly: dont b 💔😢 he has bushy eyebrows Ali: same Ali: he's earnt his invite back Ali: your ma gonna have to chill though Ali: and it ain't that kinda tea 💔 Carly: you wont b able to tell if shes angry or surprised Ali: 😚 ⬅ I know the vibe Ali: you do you babe Carly: she used to let me sort em out but there was an accident Carly: which im sworn to secrecy about Ali: I'm so good with secrets 🙏🙏🙏 Carly: k Carly: my head zoned out but my hands kept going like Ali: you were meditating you can't help having  🌌🧠 Ali: I'll 🤭 now and never tell, don't worry Mrs W Carly: @ school yea im meditating on your q sir relax Carly: ha love that Ali: they just ask questions to answer it themselves, what is the point Carly: u coming for my ma again? Ali: 🤫 bad first impression, that Carly: shes heard it from ronan too sorry Carly: lad has loose lips Ali: honestly Ali: 🙄 can't keep up with my bad reputation Carly: ud think hed be better at kissing Carly: its talk talk talk Carly: more good things about u than ive made it seem like tho Ali: he was a big talker Ali: probably 'cos he ain't allowed with the lads Carly: if he talked about what a 👼 u are & how 💔😢 he is theyd uninvite him from the bonfire Carly: its sweet really how hung up hes got Ali: he only thinks I'm an 👼 'cos he took my virginity probs Ali: that's more suitable 🔥side chat Carly: he goes on about that alot but I thought he was lying Carly: oh no that sounds bad Carly: not calling u a slag ur obvs not its y he likes u more Ali: 😂 I'm fine with slag Ali: all definition dependent anyway Carly: yea same Carly: can be hot if ur in the mood Ali: right, and if I'm a slag 'cos I didn't marry him then I'll take it Carly: & hes not allowed to marry gorgers theyd wanna throw him in the 🔥 Ali: exactly Ali: we can't both be 💔😢 forever can we boy Carly: just me @ the party til u came to my rescue Ali: 🥺 Ali: What was he even on about then, like? Ali: dickhead Carly: idk i zone out wen he shouts @ me too Ali: I can always poison a cup and send it his way Ali: just say the word Carly: hes not that bad Ali: okay okay, just some laxatives Ali: 'cos he's a bit 💩 Carly: ha Ali: no 🌼🌼🌼 unless he says soz then Carly: but his beautiful curls 🥺 Ali: hmm, a good point Ali: be strong, baby Carly: ill throw one @ him & run away Carly: back to u Ali: you're so adorable Carly: says u Carly: 👼👸🏼 Ali: 💚 we're gonna have an adventure when the tea hits okay Ali: I've decided Carly: k thats the kinda 🎄🎅🤶🎁 it is Carly: i do want the energy of a kid on xmas morning Ali: that's the best Ali: how I'm tryna be every day Carly: 💫⭐️🌟✨⚡️☄️ 🚀🛸 Ali: if only 🚀 Ali: this bike can only go as fast as my lil legs can carry, like Carly: aw baby Carly: i shouldve asked u where u live before this 2nd rescue was launched Carly: im sorry Ali: No distance is too far for a fair maiden Carly: ill have to see what other 🔮 i can find before u get here Carly: dont love ious Ali: there's no ious Carly: [sending her loads of pics of her with or just pics of the cat lady's cats that she's rounding up for this tea party and they're adorable] Ali: 😍💞😻 Ali: okay, non-debt fully paid though Carly: [just rambling about the names she's given each cat cos her and cat lady don't know each other properly til Ali comes along and like facts about each cat/her fave things cos she's a big nerd] Ali: I love them Ali: I'm gonna get them some 🐟🐟🐟 when I get tea party tings Ali: some cream, awh, okay, this is happening Carly: im picking enough 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼 for everyone Ali: should've put Bluebs in my basket Ali: next time Carly: aw Carly: Humbug might try & fight him Carly: youd b there to protect him tho Ali: I can ref Ali: my little brother is always trying to play-fight everyone so I'm well-versed Carly: is he ticklish? that works for me Carly: broken up lots of fights Ali: big time Ali: his kryptonite Ali: reckon it's against the rules in professional fights but preparing him for anything like any good big sister Carly: ha Carly: aw i bet ur an amazing sister Carly: if i had 1 maybe id wanna be on site sometimes Carly: my ma's eyebrows r hardly a call to home Ali: he might disagree but he's 5 so what does he know 😉 Ali: feel that though Ali: home is just a base, whole 🌍 out there Carly: wen ur 5 you argue to argue Carly: yea if u dont use ur wings theyll think u dont want em 💔😢 Ali: flying is like riding a 🚲 though Carly: r we goin on a 🚲 adventure? Ali: definitely Ali: ugh, need one of those wagons for the 😻😻😻s Carly: ☺️its gonna b so fun! Carly: we might meet more 🐈🐈🐈🐈 Ali: way better than 🐔 Carly: ha Carly: do u have 🔮 left to help me find shoes? Ali: have you checked the fridge? Carly: [a pause while she do] Carly: theyre not there 😕🧐 Ali: damn, that'd be the last place I'd look though Ali: were they in the mess your Ma was sounding off about fr Carly: o mayb Carly: if i was wearing any when you dropped me off Ali: 🤔 I don't know if I recall any glass slippers Ali: I'll ask Lene hold up Carly: 👸 energy Carly: but idk if i wanna scary 🐺 at my door Ali: turns out she's actually your 👵 Carly: ha my grandma is 💍 to god Carly: its not close to the energy shes putting out Ali: she'd probably tell your actual that God is a gay girl Ali: nah she's well 😇 around fam, just hide behind your Ma and me, baby, you'll be fine Carly: ha that wasn't in any of the kids bible stories she sent me every 🎄🎅🤶🎁 Carly: her god is 😠 than Humbug Carly: he likes to shout so i gotta zone out Carly: aw that's sweet ur ma loves her too? Ali: Hooray for Catholicism, yeah? 😏 Ali: she loves my Ma, more like Carly: we spend our sundays on our knees nana but its 🚽🤮 or u kno a bigger sin Carly: u do look like her i remember Ali: that's not QUITE 🚽🤮 levels but close 😂 Carly: nah its nice u have the same 👀💙✨ Carly: idk who i look like Carly: postman maybe Ali: now I don't know whether to 😳 or be 🤨 you like my Ma too Ali: you look like you and that's Ali: 💛 😍 😘 🥰 😚 👸 👼🏽 🐰 🌼 🌻 🌞 🍓 🍑 🍨 🍰 🍭 🍬 🎆 💜 Carly: yea 🤞🙏🌠 the postman isnt my da cuz hes a ride Carly: aw now youve got me 😳 Ali: rude, my postman is not Carly: 🚫💌 then baby Carly: ill text u instead Ali: so grumpy, don't stick your hand right into our house if you don't wanna get bitten, sir Ali: not by me, whatever Ronan has said Ali: though I'm well flattered I'm getting a text back Carly: ha its k its not that u use too much teeth Carly: & course ur my hero Carly: tho 🤞🙏🌠 wont b an sos every time Ali: good, can't have him putting you off with blatant lies Ali: it won't be if I do a better job at the heroics and get there before any bad shit can happen Carly: its k i like it Carly: helps me remember what i did Carly: 💔😢 no lads r spelling their names out in bruises for the who Carly: 🐇🐾🐇🐾🐇 Carly: nooo theres no better u could do Carly: ur flying to me faster than anyone has ever ever Ali: amateurs, like Ali: so rude, ain't they heard you're 👸 Ali: I'm basically there now, prepare for the best tea party you've ever been to Carly: aint wat theyve heard but idc Carly: yay 💙 i havent had 1 since me & my 🧸🧸🧸 Ali: I'll be 🎶🔊 it so get in the know lads Ali: awh, can I meet them too? Carly: not too 🔊 or ur gf will bite me which could b fun but im not trying to do u like 💔😢 Carly: some r shyer than others but if u work ur 🔮 how u did for me ull make friends Ali: fill your boots, babe, I don't reckon she's your type, like Ali: I'll be on my best behaviour 🤞 Ali: the loveliest guest you've ever had 🤞🤞 Carly: be fun though Carly: not boring Ali: 😲😲 Ali: Is that the impression I give off? Ali: or another Ronan tale, either way Ali: gonna have to prove otherwise now in the most extra ways imaginable Carly: nahhh Carly: he don't lie to me its his 1 saving grace Carly: its just like a pls Carly: to u & the universe Ali: I won't be boring Ali: trust me Carly: k Carly: i do ur a lifesaver Ali: nah Ali: just happy to help Carly: im happy we r mates Ali: me too Ali: idk why we weren't before, like Ali: too many people at school Carly: & i dont go much ha Ali: this is true Ali: lesser spotted walsh 🐦 Carly: oooh wat colours am i Ali: 💗💜💛🧡💗 Carly: cute Ali: very Carly: wats ur fave colour? Ali: It's a harder question than people reckon, that Ali: like, there's so many beautiful things of every colour Ali: if I can decide for the day, I feel like I'm doing a disservice to all the others Carly: sorry Carly: i havent decided on mine either Carly: when i was a lil kid it was 💛 for the 🌞 then wen i started goin out it was silver for wat i thought the 🌚 looked like Carly: but ive seen so many new colours since Ali: kids always know Ali: they're much smarter than adults about everything Carly: i bet ur lil bro is the smartest Carly: like u Ali: he likes red for 🚨❌🛑⛔️🚫💯‼️🥊🥤 Ali: and I see the appeal Carly: does he like 🍎? i kno somewhere that sells the reddest shiniest 1s Carly: or we cud just throw 🍅s Ali: he's at the anti-fruit stage Ali: but I reckon he could be convinced if we let him smother 'em in caramel and sprinkles Carly: its a date Ali: Me first

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @aqua-ref!

Read on AO3

******

Give Me To A Ramblin' Fae

In the middle of winter, when the moon is heavy in the sky, dripping with milky light and offering, whole and raw, its' power, the Hale Pack gathers around the Nemeton, they dance and they sing, and they shift into their animal skeins to frolic, to chase each other with yipping howls and laughing barks.

Derek has Laura's throat held gently between his maw, and she whines at him to let go, but rumbles approvingly, because he doesn't often win these games of theirs; it is not a matter of low power, more of the target he chooses. The Alpha's heir will, after all, be more difficult to beat than the others. She nips at his ear playfully, urges him along, and they weave through the barren, wind-beaten trees, their paws soaked with snow-melt, muddying the crunchy ivory-fluff that chills the ground beneath them.

There's an undulating, calling, rejoicing howl from their mother that has them leaving a chestnut hare to its' frightened peace in order to return to her, to the Pack.

Through the branches, they can see the sky, all adorned in twilight, hosting, now, a parade of riders, their pandemonium an awe and a terror. Spectral beings ride black mares and stallions, ominous dogs of bared teeth and frothing spit and hideously haunting eyes are careening, entwining and twisting around toned legs and pristine hooves as the steeds gallop forward, heedless. Blackbucks and stags dash, their riders luminescent smoke and vicious intent. Creatures with starlight-encrusted, stained-glass wings, and horns which they blow to hail their passing, fly gracefully around the nocturnal horde, singing or shrieking, cavorting and cackling.

It's a dreadful, terrific sight, that streaks through the night sky, and when the Pack's howl breaks out, full-force, hopeful and evocative, every wolf lifting their song to the ghastly, ghostly peoples as they pass, some of those dragonfly, stardust folk descend, screaming and giggling, a gaggle of raucous temerity, as they gather the wolves in their airborne festivities, and launch them toward the procession.

The whimsical, urgent needs, and maddening power that surround The Hunt quickly seeps into the Pack, makes them drunk and giddy, all of them running with ancient spirits, wildlings, Fair Folk of every type.

Derek's lungs are stung by the rush, his blood electric with the adrenaline when an ephemeral, fey, svelte-lithe boy with bull's horns, skin like cream sprinkled with cinnamon, and mosaic wings that inspire the feeling of fertile soil and fields of growing, healthy, rain-soaked things, comes to him. His oak-silk curls are plaited with holly and mint, a leather-bound necklace hangs heavy around his long, dainty, breakable neck, a crescent moon-charm at the hollow of his throat, surrounded by crystal orbs and autumn leaf-charms, brass acorns and pine-cones, he wears nothing else, unashamed in his nudity.

"Hello," the boy says, bright and sweet, his voice like the delicate silk-dew mist of a cumulus cloud, and Derek feels himself tilt closer without even meaning to. "You're gorgeous. I wonder what you look like in your human form? Honestly, I wonder what everyone here looks like in their human forms. We all have one, you know?"

Honestly, no, he didn't, he was kind of caught up in the romanticism of it all.

All scents are clouded by the musk of wild, old magick, stained by an odd, dense-soil ecstasy, and a part of him, vivid and, for one, fanatic moment, overwhelming, wants to eviscerate the aroma The Wild Hunt carries, if only so he can learn what this boy might smell like.

"Everyone who sees us thinks we're malevolent or scary, but, honestly, dude, we're just escorting the spirits Grandmother Death didn't have the time or patience to get to to their respective homes. We've all still got day jobs—I mean, you have a day job, pretty wolfling that you are, don't you?"

Numbly, helplessly, and a little more sober, now, Derek nods.

The boy grins at him, crooked and terribly endearing, fire-light eyes sparkling in the dim, mist-fog, shadowed light.

"See?" He says, gesturing, "Even Odin's got one, Odin, the God of knowledge, inspiration, creative and intellectual pursuits, the dead, fucking road rage—that guy, the head honcho, the one at the head of this whole operation. Like, in this economy, where barely anyone has the Sight anymore, and the number of people left who believe are too few and far between, what else are we supposed to do? It's not like causing havoc and stealing things is going to garner us any good-will, man, so here we are, doing the good work, and then tomorrow we'll go home and agonize over our bills just like everybody else." The faerie heaves a sigh, before blinking and seeming to realize himself, his cheeks burn a vivid, enchanting crimson when a harassing, incredulous, exasperated wail sounds from above.

"Oops," he breathes, a nervous giggle edging in, "I am so not supposed to do that, and I've just been rambling at you, and—" the wail comes again, more pressing this time. The boy groans, eyelashes fluttering down in mortification. "Sorry, I'll see you later, maybe?" Fragile, paper-thin wings flutter, and bone-nimble fingers tangle in the fur at Derek's flank to help the faerie wade close enough to press a candied, chaste kiss to his wolven cheek.

He says, "I'm Stiles, by the way," and grins like he isn't aware of how dangerously beautiful that expression is, before he zooms away in a sweeping, upward glide.

Derek gets a small glimpse of another fae, donned in a flowing, powder-blue toga-dress, with moth-like wings and magma curls flowing down to her waist, admonishing Stiles exhaustively, before their speed, much more than the wolves and the steeds and the dogs, has them blurring out of sight, catching up to a cluster of swarming fae up ahead, too far to spy on any longer.

Derek tries to get his thundering heart to calm and wonders why he ever thought love at first sight was a superstitious, optimistic myth, if not an outright lie.

Days later, after all the Dead have been put to their proper rest, a few offerings of milk and cookies meant for 'Santa' were traded for faerie favors, and quite a few more rogue, feral creatures were stolen and re-sewn into ravens or crows or hunting dogs, of the ilk to sleep the whole year away, and only wake when The Wild Hunt, again, takes place—Stiles is trying, valiantly, to focus.

His mind keeps tracing back to eyes like stars winking to tenacious life, to obsidian fur and sinewy muscle, a warbling wolf-song that lilted like a lullaby, all hymn-hope, resounding howl, to the way sharp, ink-fluffy ears kept flickering to him, listening and curious and three shades shy of entranced. He doesn't know why he's so caught up on it, this is the sixth year he's been old enough to participate in The Hunt, and they have wolves with them every time, thousands of Packs from all of the world join them, so why was he so attracted, distracted, by this one?

What was so special about him?

Other than the, you know, sand-escaping-his-fingers, barely tangible, general everything.

Stiles sighs despondently, and Lydia, who's probably been talking about Important College Things, hits him upside the head promptly.

"A—ow!" Stiles rubs the back of his head, glaring balefully at her. Her hand retreats to flick her hair over her shoulder in one fluid, deflecting motion, as if to dissuade anyone who might've noticed her uncouth action from registering it as more than a figment of their imagination, nothing to see here, folks!

He loves her, he does, but some days he wants to strangle her.

Just a little.

"You were sighing again," she points out, lashes grazing her cheeks as she looks down at her book, flips the page flippantly, like studies on how mathematical algorithms affect neurology bore her. "It's starting to get annoying, Stiles."

"Shut up. It's not like I can even do anything about it," he laments, complaining even though he knows it'll only be a study in disappointment and masochism, at this point. "Who is he? where does he live? work? For all I know, I'm infatuated with some Turkish Lord who I won't even have the slightest chance of seeing again until next year."

Lydia snaps her book shut with a sound that manages to be both refined and abrupt enough to startle. "What on earth were you doing galavanting with the lower-tiers, anyway? We aren't supposed to talk to them, Stiles—"

"But, he was—"

"If he had been a ghost instead of a solid, you could've been lost to the spirit-tide, and you know The Hunt doesn't discern when it comes to a close—you could be on the other side of the Veil by now, instead of sitting here, fawning!"

She's heaving by the end of her rant, cheeks flushed, sea-glass eyes glittering angrily, and Stiles knows her fury is borne from worry, from a very real fear. He remembers his mother, how she was all love and sweet-tempered fire, how she gave coins to the more corporeal spirits, gleefully hugged and spun yarns and danced with all the riders, always careful of the spirit-tide, of getting caught in its' undertow, until she got sick, and couldn't remember to be.

Neither Stiles nor Lydia had been old enough to go, yet, and Stiles' dad was human. Lydia's grandmother, they think, tried to stop her, to save her, but ended up just as lost and mourned as she.

He feels guilt curdle in his chest and exhales heavily. "I'm sorry, Lyds, I am. I don't know why I did that, I'll—next year, I'll stay in the upper-tiers, like I'm supposed to," he inclines his head solemnly, reaches across the library table to hold both her hands in his, "I promise."

She squeezes his fingers, sniffs, her voice evaporated misty at the edges, "You damn well better, you idiot."

He offers her a sincere, sorrow-tinged smile, and tries to put the entire thing out of his mind.

It's New Year's Eve, and Stiles is exhausted, between studies and random research stints and trying to keep the Kelpies three doors down from killing and/or getting killed by the vampires that live in the apartment downstairs, he thinks he has every right to be. Still, though, Lydia put at least a quarter of her heart and soul into organizing this party, and if he hadn't come, he's sure she would've had him flayed.

So, here he is, sleep-deprived, delirious, eying the bar and wondering if getting drunk when all he's been living off of for the past three days is coffee, is at all a good idea. It isn't, it really fucking isn't, but...

But he's got nothing else to do, and tomorrow it'll be a new year, right? Might as well live a little.

Derek smiles briskly at the lady with a bird's nest of raven-black hair as he hands her her drink, and purposefully ignores the blonde at the end of the bar who's been whistling and snapping at him imperiously for the past fifteen minutes.

He's half tempted to text Cora and ask her what the hell she was thinking, pulling him behind the counter to fill in for her so she could go after the strawberry-blonde party hostess with a number and a cheap pickup line caught in her too-sharp teeth, because, yeah, he's got enough experience not to flounder (he'd found himself hiding from the rain in a drag bar while he was still in high school, and they let him hang out despite his age because he was a good enough cook that as long as he didn't touch the alcohol, they didn't care, and when you're in that sort of close-knit, street-smart gritty, overprotective Pack-like environment, it's impossible not to learn the tricks of the trade), but his customer service has always been shit.

With someone like Peter as an Uncle, he's capable of plastering on a smile and flirting a pretty lie with the best of them, he just doesn't fucking liketo. In fact, it's something he actively avoids unless lives are in danger.

Then a voice, one he remembers, all whispered silk-cotton dream-thread collecting raindrops in its' seams, starts murmuring a sugary melody in his periphery, and his eyes snap to its' source with a breathless, near frantic urgency.

And there he is.

Like Fate.

Like a fucking miracle.

He looks different, horns and wings gone, still with the wind-swept, earthy curls, though their holly-mint braids are nowhere to be found; dressed in a long-sleeved, charcoal gray shirt that cling to his lithe, agile-built muscles, an unzipped crimson hoodie layered over it, skin-tight jeans and ridiculous, neon-orange vans, but there's that leather-bound charm necklace, heavy around the length of his pretty throat, with a crescent-moon hanging just at the hollow, and it's him.

The rambling faerie he met on The Wild Hunt, absently humming a tune as he messes with his phone, patiently waiting for a bartender to notice him, at a college party on New Year's Eve.

The surreality of this is... not lost on him.

"Hello," Derek greets, sliding into the boy's- Stiles', if he remembers right- space.

"Oh, uh," he looks up from, and pockets, his phone, a little bashful, "I always thought you had to make eye contact to get, like, served, or whatever, but, um, hi?"

Derek tries to bite back a smile.

Fails.

"Hi," he repeats, and the boy blinks at him dumbly for a solid five seconds before just breathing:

"Wow. You're gorgeous."

And Derek can't help it, he barks out a laugh. "You said that last time."

"I did? Wait, I did? When?! I've met you?" he sounds outraged, on his own behalf, scandalized, even. "No," he denies, "no way, I would've remembered meeting someone like you and then doing something as stupid as calling you gorgeous to your face without any sort of filter—and, wow, smooth sailing, me. I am so sorry about that, by the way, color me extremely embarrassed, but. Yeah, no. No way in hell I've committed the same social faux-pas twice with the same person, I refuse to believe it."

Derek smirks, even as something warm and giddy and compelled sets up camp in his heart, with a kind of tenacity that says it'll be staying a long while.

"Well, I wasn't exactly a person at the time," he points out, "but I appreciated the compliment both times, Stiles, so you... really shouldn't worry about it."

"I—you—" Stiles sputters, freezes, mouth agape and molten-caramel doe-eyes very, very wide, before he seems to reboot. "You are kidding me," he says, feelingly, before pitching forward over the counter to grab Derek's face with his hands, searching his eyes intently.

Derek tries to be anything other than amused and endeared.

Fails, again.

"Wolfling," Stiles accuses, awed. "I didn't think I was ever going to see you again."

"Rambling fae," Derek muses, hushed, leaning further into Stiles' space even as he pushes the boy down into a bar-stool, because while he might not take offense, the other on-duty bartender, or, even, the party hostess, might. "Neither did I."

Stiles sucks in a very deep breath, and then spills out any number of tangential, spiraling questions, what's your name? Where do you live? Are you a bartender? can I have your number? I'd really like your number. Are you—

Derek crushes the rest in a kiss that tastes like sunlight and cherry-tart and ozone, Stiles melts into it with a helpless, keening whine, his spine curving up, shoulders opening, head tilting, whole body blooming like a flower, begging to be plucked, held, kept, known.

He answers what his fleeting thoughts will let him, mutters the words into Stiles' warm, slick-wet, receptive mouth, his name, that his Pack lives in town, that he isn't, but his sister is, and he's covering for her. With a drawn-out sigh, he does force himself to pull away, eventually.

Probably not soon enough, honestly.

"Take me out," Stiles says immediately, dazed, lips kiss-bruised enchanting, and then flushes that same, deep, candied, lascivious red as before. "Or. I mean. I want to date you. Can we go on a date? Not right now, obviously, but—"

"Yes," Derek grins, overwhelmed, blood champagne-effervescent, "yeah, I'd really like that."

Stiles exhales heavily, laughs, a little incredulously, shakes his head at himself, and then smiles, soft and marshmallow-fluffy up at him, "Awesome."

Derek begins to think that, maybe, he needs to give Cora a fruit-basket. Or, possibly, Odin, and that's... well.

That may well be the cherry on top of an incredibly strange, unusual, wonderful meeting.