#spark stiles stilinski

[novasillies]

Interlude: August

' Derek shrugged, “Never know when you might turn on me.”

Stiles’ protests were muffled by a gentle peck on the lips. He chased after the touch, lashes fluttering, as Derek backed away again. The wolf grinned at him. Stiles grumbled.

And it was okay. And Derek was still looking at him as if he were a treasure. The wolf’s lip quirked up and he made a sudden movement. Laughter bubbled out of Stiles’ throat as his boyfriend - Boyfriend!! Fifteen-year-old Lydia would jump for joy! - yanked him off of the soft grass. He wrapped one arm around the spark’s back and the other over his legs, making him sit sideways in his lap. Stiles yelled some sort of protest through his laughter, squeezing his eyes shut as the wolf shoved his face into the curve of his neck, right where it met his shoulder.

“Oh, get a room!” '

— Twice and For All chapter 39, 'Interlude: August'

read more here! :)

[who-is-there]

I don’t like making characters too OP without a reason, so I always try to come up with in-universe reasons. Here’s one of them.

In the Teen Wolf universe, magic users are born with a spark that can, essentially, do all types of magic, but since it’s small it’s mostly low level. As they grow up, the spark gets bigger, and because the human body isn’t made for that kind of heat, they have to choose a magic ‘track.’ This locks away all other kinds of magic except small, everyday stuff like magic detection or something.

Stiles does not know he has a spark. The reason he gets so weak isn’t just the nogistsune, his exposure to the supernatural has kickstarted his dormant spark, and now he’s burning up. He needs to pick a track, but because everyone assumes it’s the fox spirit, he doesn’t get any better. Until the nogitsune gives him a bargain.

Powerful magic users that haven’t chosen a track yet are very uncommon, the time between a power surge and track is at most a few weeks. The nogitsune says, if he gets to stay dormant in Stiles body, he can feed off Stiles’ magic, and Stiles doesn’t have to pick a track, essentially giving him an edge on everyone. If he needs specific magic, the nogitsune can lay off it while he uses it, and then come back when he’s done. Stiles can keep an eye on the nogitsune, and should it ever be needed (knowledge, dark magic, ect) it’s there.

Stiles agrees. It takes a while, he learns better ways to trap a demon without killing it, keeps an eye on his energy levels so he knows if it’s taking too much. He keeps a lot of his magic secret, and everyone assumes he’s chosen a track, but he never says which one.

The first time Stiles gets knocked out in a fight, and the nogitsune, now a lot more dependent on Stiles and willing to actually protect his body in his place, comes out… oh, there’s some questions.

[biggukuma]

[christinesficrecs]

Hi! I am trying so hard to find this fic where Stiles is a spark without a pack. He gets invited to read a book in the compound of the Hales pack, and his dad makes him take Parrish to chaperone and protect him. He stays up all night and makes bracelets to help each individual pack member with something (like helping Malia with control) & they stay in a cabin and Stiles wants to cook but the pack wants junk food. Stiles wants to be a part of the pack and vice versa but misunderstandings. Help!!

Hey! I'm really not sure which one this is. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Can anyone else help?

Ooh, I think hauntnah found it. Thank you!!!

More Than Magic, I Am Human by Swlfangirl | 31.2K

He loves his magic, his spark, his wit and intellect but sometimes every single bit of it is a curse, more so when having to deal with anyone significantly less intelligent than himself.

[fallenqueen2]

The Spark [Teen Wolf]

Stiles doesn't take the beating of Erica, Boyd and himself from Gerard lying down and uses his Spark.

Ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/5994561

[sapphireginger]

I’ve Got Your Back & You’ve Got Mine

Summary:

Two True Mates.

Derek and Stiles had faced their fair share of trauma from a chaos demon to a sadistic hunter. They were broken but they might have found a way to be whole in each other.

AO3 Link

Derek always went to the same cafe to grade papers. Always. He always got the same thing to drink and he always sat in the booth in the far back. Yet when he went to do so today there was someone there. Derek wasn’t happy about it. See that booth had one side against the wall which put his wolf at ease with nothing but the wall at his back. It was perfect and would allow him to see any and all threats.

It helped him but nooooo because now there was some stupid kid with a beanie, and glasses sitting there with a pen in his mouth, playing with it in a way that should have been obscene. Any other time Derek would have loved to let his wolf have what it wanted with the guy but not today, not when he had over fifty essays to grade. So, he put on his murder brows and stalked over to claim his spot. Shut up, it was his spot, okay.

The man—so not a kid in any way, shape or form—looked up when Derek got to the table and offered a quirked brow, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Sup dude?”

Derek scowled harder. “You tell me. This is my spot.”

The guy snorted and rolled his eyes as he went back to working on his laptop. “Okay then Sheldon.”

Derek growled in annoyance. “I’m serious, kid.”

The guy flicked his gaze up and his expression shifted into a glare. “First of all, I’m not a kid. I have two doctorate degrees. So back off. Second, if the table thing is your deal then sit across from me.”

Derek made a fist, his claws popping. “I don’t like having my back towards the door. So, you move to the other side.”

The guy shook his head, gripping his pencil tightly. “No! I—” Derek quirked a brow, watching as the guy swallowed thickly, his throat clicking with the action. “I-I need to sit so I can see everything.”

Derek paused at the slight bit of fear in the guy’s voice. He relaxed slightly and tilted his head, noticing something he had missed. “You’re a spark but you’ve faced the darkness.”

The guy frowned at him. “You’re a wolf and you’ve been burned.”

Derek stiffened and nodded, his stomach swooping when the guy moved over so they could sit side by side. He offered a smile of thanks to the guy’s smile of relief.

“I’m Stiles.”

Derek nodded and firmly shook his hand. “Derek.”

When their hands connected they both felt a thrumming and when their eyes locked, they flashed emerald green. They both stilled, nearly frozen with shock and yet a fountain of hope bubbled within them. Eyes that flashed in sync, that flashed emerald green, were the universal sign of True Mates.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂

Six months later Stiles woke up screaming himself hoarse from a nightmare in a cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably only to be pulled into a soft but firm embrace.

Derek held his mate close in a protective embrace and in the darkness, Stiles revealed what happened with the Nogitsune. He whispered to Derek how he had been possessed and was turned in their efforts to defeat the demon. However, he turned into a fox and not a wolf. Derek loved him as he was and whispered as much over and over and over again until Stiles fell back to sleep.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂

Not even a month later, there was a small fire in their kitchen and Derek froze. He ended up putting it out but shut himself in the bathroom, climbing into the tub fully clothed. He turned the shower on and made sure the water was freezing.

That was how Stiles found his mate. He didn’t even hesitate to climb into the tub, not bothering to remove his own clothing or caring one bit about their state. Clothes were replaceable, Derek was not.

After a few minutes, Derek opened up about the fire that had killed his family and stuttered his way through explaining what happened with Kate.

Stiles whispered to Derek over and over that he loved him and that he was safe. Once Derek had calmed down, they took a hot shower and curled up together in bed.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂

A year after they met they got married and moved into a new house, ready to start the next chapter of their lives.

“I love you, Sourwolf,” Stiles whispered as they made love together.

Derek smiled and kissed his mate’s nose as he locked his aventurine eyes with Stiles’s amber ones. “And I love you, Bambi.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂

Two years after they met they welcomed twins into the world. They named their little girls, Coraline who went by Cora and Klaudiya who went by Diya. It had been a shock but a welcome surprise that Stiles’s had spark decided to gift the alpha wolf and the alpha mate with their own cubs.

Two years after that, when the twins were two years old, the alpha wolf and his fox spark mate rebuilt the Hale house together by hand, well, by hand, by paw and of course by spark.

Their third child, a boy they named Mikhail, who went by Mika, was born the first night they spent in their new home.

As the alpha and alpha mate, curled up together, their cubs sleeping peacefully between them, they couldn’t help but thank the goddess.

Despite all the pain they had endured, despite all the tragedy and trauma they had borne, they were finally happy, healthy, safe and finally, finally they were home.

[anishfics]

Spark Stiles Stilinski

[person-behind-books]

this has to do with the spark stiles hc.

so i'm currently rewatching teen wolf and in 6x7 lydia mentions that maybe stiles dad conjured claudia to fill the hole stiles' dissaperance caused (like lenore).

the thing is that lenore is a banshee and as far as we know noah is only a normal human. how could he conjure a hallucination that feels real enough even to the supernatural beings in that town?

and like i said i'm still rewatching so i might have forgotten a later explaination, but to me this perfectly adds to the spark!stiles hc because he must have gotten it somewhere. why not from his dad?

[loganwritesprobably]

Dark!Stiles who was tainted permanently by the Nogitsune, but rather than being evil he's just ruthless. He attracts packmates like Malia and Theo because they like that about him. He isn't afraid to do what he has to do to survive.

Dark!Stiles who was already a spark, but his power increased tenfold after the Nogitsune so he can't hide it anymore, and it makes his friends nervous - does that mean he's still Void?

Dark!Stiles who gets tired of people being scared of him and decides to leave town but there's still one man who isn't scared of Stiles because he never could be. Stiles is brilliant and intelligent, he would never do harm without cause because he is not Void. Peter Hale finances Stiles leaving home.

[dropofbittersea]

“It's just powder until a spark ignites it."

Stiles accidentally wills a hunter dead while trying to save Erica and Boyd from the basement, unthreading a tapestry of magic, betrayal, power, lies, love and secrets woven all around Beacon Hills.

[novasillies]

The Other Stiles

if i have to have complete Other Stiles brainrot then so do you. i love inflicting this man onto other people.

' "What the hell happened to you?" He managed to gasp out, pressing himself further into the wall in an effort to put more space between him and the rapidly approaching Alpha-Whatever-He-Was. 

The Other Stiles frowned, "It's been ten years, Stiles, a lot has happened." '

— Twice And For All chapter 20, 'Omega part 2'

read more here! wagadoogy!

[wilt3d-r0zes]

Fic Name (and link): A Fox is a Wolf who sends Flowers Series: Teen Wolf Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Melissa McCall, The Nogitsune Pairings: N/A Trigger Warnings: Standard Season 3b TWs Important Tags: Spark/Magic Stiles Stilinski, Slow Updates, Season Rewrite Summary:

"Do not meddle more, Mieczysław. We will wait." The world tilts, the white fading into grey to black. His bed seems to reach up and yank him downwards until suddenly he’s screaming himself awake in the early hours of the morning. Or, The Nogitsune is not what it seems, and also sassy

Official Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/wilt3d_r0zes/a-fox-is-a-wolf-who-brings-flowers/

Official Acronym: FWSF

Official Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6mqurPYscPgQacj4VpKfeH

The key he found on his keyring fits into the chemistry door. It isn’t that he didn’t expect it, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t hopeful. Hopeful that maybe it’s just a coincidence, that maybe he got paint on his fingers and they got on the key sometime at the rave, or maybe someone tried to steal it with paint or chemicals on their fingers, and only managed to grab it but not take it.

But no, the chemistry closet door responds well to the mystery key on his keyring. He stares at the now cracked-open closet door. Surely not. There’s no way, maybe someone put it on his keyring somehow, somewhere, somewhen without him realizing, to frame him for it.

Right?

(He’s losing his mind again.)

He turns back to the blackboard, to the riddle still written in chalk for their teacher to wipe away the next morning. Stares at it in hopeful, frail denial and listens to his sneakers squeak on the tiled floors.

(He thought it was over.)

Picking up the chalk reveals just how shaky his hands really are, when it almost falls and shatters on the floor upon being picked up. His fingers don’t want to hold it like he’s telling them to, but he manages to write on the board anyways.

19

53

88

(He thought he was free.)

It’s the same handwriting.

…

Transition

He’s waking up in his bed.

He’s waking up in his bed?

Why is he in his bed?

He’s not in his bed.

Well, technically he’s in his bed, but when he looks up and explores the room with his eyes it’s that same weird all-white parking garage-esk room he remembers from the sacrifice they did to find their parents. His bed isn’t the only furniture in the 'room,' however. His desk is in the same spot it would be if he were in his room, except there’s someone sitting in the chair, reading through a book he doesn’t recognize.

The first thing he notices is that their head is wrapped in old, browning bandages with dried blood and dirt soaking through some of the less wrapped areas or the crevices. It fills him with an uncanny feeling of discomfort and fear that grips his heart and shakes it. Still, he looks around again before saying, "Hi?"

His voice cracks enough for him to wince and clear his throat. Logically, he knows this is a dream-- what else could it be? So it doesn't matter if he angers this weird creation of his subconscious. Yet, he's filled with a level of fear that feels disproportionate to Some Dude sitting on the other side of a non-existent room.

"Hello?" he calls again when he gets no response, the being at his desk slowly turning the page of an old book made up from tarnished leather and browning parchment, "Where am I?"

"Where dreams are made and come to die, clear or full will it be," he(? The voice is masculine, so is the build he can make out from around the chair and under the brown bomber jacket) rasps. Man. Stiles hates riddles.

“Uh, okay, that… makes no sense. Who are you?”

“Watagushi, na ke de wa nai.” He responds, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that that wasn't English. Considering the only other language Stiles knows is Polish, and it certainly isn't that either, he decides it's something made up by his brain-- or, maybe it was a language Stiles knows and was just muddled by the bandages, surely those go all around his face?

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, man," the human responds, sitting up full in his bed from where he'd barely propped himself on one arm.

“Kore wa wa re ran ogu tu na no cha.”

"Still not a language I know."

The man(?) turns another page in the book, and this time it creates a horrible, gut-wrenching ripping sound, that screams into Stiles's ears and drowns out the rest of the world regardless of the lacking sounds of life. When the page is carefully released, Stiles is left with ringing ears, “Not ‘Who are you?’, Mieczysław, ‘Who are we?’”

"What the hell was that?" he squawks, fumbling to get out of the bed. He can't move his legs, though, in what he assumes is dream logic. Somewhere in his brain he thinks it's because he's tangled in the blanket.

"We were getting too close." Mummy Man responds, voice growing no less raspy despite how much he's talking. Stiles almost wishes this is the kinda lucid dream he can control, just so he could summon a glass of water.

"Who's we?"

“We are us. I am we, you are we,” he sounds like he’s thinking, tilting his head to the side and looking up from the book, “We are meddling, we need to stop.”

Stiles stares. What? That makes no sense. Actually, that makes less than no sense, even his not-english-polish gibberish had made more sense than that. Yet, he's filled with fear at the statement. He thinks back to what he was doing just before this dream, the chalkboard, the chemistry closet--

This must be what's causing that. The part of his subconsious or brain or whatever that's doing that, killing people. Even if indirectly. He saying that he is Stiles, and that Stiles is meddling in his plans of murder.

"No!" Stiles yells, struck with a startling amount of indignant anger, "I'm not just gonna sit- sit idly by while you kill people!"

The Mummy Man turns slowly, an unnatural creak, not unlike the sound of a rusty door hinge, following the movement. He reveals his 'face', something obscured by bandages save for what can only pass as being described as a mouth. It's a gaping hole in the bandages, with teeth and tongue and black goop. Blood and black stain the bandages surrounding it, like he'd eaten something alive and not tried to clean himself up after. He doesn't even have any lips.

More fear surges through him, warring with the anger for a place in his actions.

"In due time, Mieczysław."

"You using my name is fucking weird, Mummy Man," Stiles snarls, drawn back into himself and pushed to the far side of the bed like the mere foot of extra distance will save him.

"Do not meddle more, Mieczysław. We will wait."

The world tilts, the white fading into grey to black. His bed seems to reach up and yank him downwards until suddenly he’s screaming himself awake in the early hours of the morning.

…

Silver finger

“Scott, hey!” Stiles skids to a stop, only to grab his best friend by the elbow and drag him down the hallway, free hand waving about as he starts talking, “Remember the key I was telling you about yesterday? Well, when we were at that rave I was talking to Caitlin– the girl who's girlfriend died recently– and when I pulled out the bottle opener I’ve got she saw the key and, apparently, it had phosphors on it- which means it glows in blacklight, right?- and then I asked why I would have phosphors on my key and she asked if I’d been handling chemicals and so that got me thinking about the chemistry closet,” he rambles, pushing open the chemistry classroom door and taking in a gasp of air, shaking out that same free hand, “And the fact that someone had to let Barrow in, and once I got here the key worked on the door and–.”

He wilts. The blackboard had been erased.

“It’s gone,” he knows he sounds unreasonably defeated, bumping his palms together anxiously before spinning on his heel from where he’d gotten halfway across the room, “Well, that’s fine, I still have the key and– what the hell?” The key’s gone from his keyring now. It makes him think back to that weird, stupid dream he had last night. Was that real? Did the other in his head really take action in getting him to stop meddling? “I had it. I had it, right here,” he holds his keyring up and shakes it for effect, the sound rattling almost painfully around his skull, “I swear to god, I had it here this morning.”

“The key you were talking about last night?” Scott has that very confused, lost puppy dog look on his face and in normal circumstances Stiles would laugh at how easy it is to compare his werewolf best friend to a puppy, but instead he’s starting to verge on a panic attack so he just keeps talking.

“Yes! Yeah, that, I showed it to you, didn’t I? Please tell me I showed it to you.”

Scott’s head shake makes his chest squeeze painfully, “No, you told me about it but… I never actually saw it.”

“I was here, Scott! And just a few hours ago I unlocked the chemistry closet door and there was Kira’s name in atomic numbers in my handwriting on the blackboard.”

“So… you unlocked the chemistry closet so Barrow could hide from the police, and then you wrote him a message telling him to kill Kira?” He sounds so beyond disbelieving and it’s not helping Stiles in feeling like any of this was real. He glances down at his hands, wanting to count his fingers in the way he’s started doing too many times for too many days. That’ll just make him look more nuts.

“I know how it sounds, Scott, but– but look at this!” he scrambles to pull the news report he brought with him for extra proof, hands beyond shaky and nearly ripping it on its violent trip out of the bag, “This is the news report that came out about Barrow when they caught him, okay? About the shrapnel bomb that he used. See this, see what he did? He put nuts, bolts, and screws, and then he hid the bomb and the detonator in a box that he wrapped as a birthday present. What does that sound like to you?”

“Coach… It sounds like the joke we played on Coach.”

“That was my idea, remember? That was my idea, that can’t be a coincidence, it can’t be.”

Scott winces, gesturing vaguely for Stiles to quiet down. The human blushes, not even realizing how loud he’d gotten in his growing panic, “I don’t want to tell you that you’re wrong, but I don’t think you’re trying to kill anybody either.”

“It was here,” he runs a hand through his hair and turned back towards the board, “It was all here.”

“Dude… are you feeling okay?”

(He’s losing his mind again, please, please, he thought he was better.)

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just… haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Why don’t you go home?” Stiles turns back around, confused, “Take a sick day?”

“...Yeah, yeah,” he sighs– again, “Yeah, maybe I will.”

(He thought it was over.)

…

“Well, Dr. Gardner’s not back until next week. Do you want to try and wait for one of the other Urgent Care doctors, or…?” Stiles shakes his head, pushing off from the desk and trying to keep from losing himself. He’d come here straight from the school, because he feels like he’s falling apart and some part of him urged to come here, “Stiles? Are you okay?”

His eyes sting with tears and he feels like there’s a dull knife sawing away at whatever is keeping him from going nuts and getting locked up in Eichan House. He brings a hand up to his chest and thumps it against his ribcage, like it’ll slow down his heart rate if he shows it how to work, “I guess, uhm,” thump, thump, thump, “I guess not really?

“Alright,” it’s the way that she says it that makes Stiles want to melt to the floor and cry, while simultaneously making him want to lash out at the way she sounds like she’s handling a feral cat, “Alright, kiddo, come with me.”

He feels like his limbs are going to fall out from under him while they walk through the halls until she stops outside a door, giving him the chance to shake out his hands and rock back on his heels.

She gestures for him to sit on the bed while she grabs a clipboard, “Can you tell me your symptoms?” she glances towards him, then back towards the papers on the clipboard. He’s rocking in place, arms crossed over his empty-feeling chest and flexing his hands to keep from freaking out.

“Blackouts,” he clears his throat and looks away, “But not for that long. Uhm, and sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid. Some really bad anxiety, too.”

“Panic attacks?”

“Yeah, a couple,” he breathes shakily and it feels like he’s electrocuted his heart in the way it races, “I also temporarily lost the ability to read but, uhm, that might’ve had more to do with the whole human sacrifice and- magic tree thing.”

Melissa is looking at him with an amused smile when he glances over at her and the paper she’s still writing on, “I seem to vaguely remember something like that, yes.” she looks back towards her paper when he doesn’t respond or react, “How many hours of sleep are you getting?”

“Eight.”

“A night?”

“In the last three days.”

He sees her turn to him with the kinda face he usually associates with him having done something wrong in his peripherals, but he’s looking down at his hands and counting on his fingers, cataloging all the times he woke up from nightmares and each night he stayed up until the sun rose only to pass out in class.

“Have you been feeling irritable?”

“Yeah, uhm, possibly to the point of homicide.”

“Inability to focus?”

“No, the adderall’s not working.”

“Impulsive behavior?”

“More than my usual? Hard to tell.”

“Vivid dreams during the day?”

He huffs nervously, “Okay, basically all of the above. Do you know what it is?”

(Please be something normal. Please.)

“I think so,” she turns away, setting the pen down with a deafeningly loud tap that reminds Stiles he’s been in sensory overload for the last twenty-four hours and it’s been slowly dragging him further into the pit of insanity.

He shakes his head, feels his brain rattle around, and then looks up towards Melissa and the needle in her hand, “What’s that?”

“Do you trust me?”

“When you’re not holding a needle.” and when his mind isn’t slipping through his fingers like old jell-o.

Still, he doesn’t stop her when she wipes his upper arm down with an alcohol wipe and sticks it into his skin, “It’s midazolam. A sedative.”

More panic tries to spark, his lungs quivering and his rocking resuming once she’s removed the needle and he can self-soothe again. What if this isn’t real? What if he’s hallucinating again and really he’s acting nuts and this is his hallucination telling him he’s being sedated? “Why are you giving me a sedative?”

“Because you, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man. You need rest, and you need it now.” she puts her arms on his shoulders, effectively stopping his rocking, “Lie down.”

He stares at her, because now it feels like reality is far away and nothing is quite real, like it’s taking years for everything to process while simultaneously not even taking a second, “How long’s it going to take to–,” she pushes him back and he falls with the light pressure, losing the ability to hold himself up with the sudden exhaustion that ripples over him, “Oh. Not long at all.”

“Get some rest, Stiles,” he hears, before reality slips between his fingers.

(Thanks, mom.)

…

It’s startlingly dark when he comes to, wide awake, in the hospital room however long later. The blinds are shut on all the windows but it’s still obvious the sun has set, leaving him in almost pitch black.

At least, it would’ve, but there seems to be a yellow-ish green light coming from somewhere in the room. There’re little specks of opaque something floating in the air, like how you'd see dust particles in a camera. His first thought is that maybe this is another dream, and it makes it that much harder to force himself to sit up.

Instead, he clenches his hands and counts them without looking at them.

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine- ten.)

He sits up.

On the folded heavy blanket at the foot of his bed, there’s a fox curled up. It’s not a real fox, no, it’s more like the shape of one made out of yellow-green neon lines. He furrows his brows at it, counting his fingers in the dark again.

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.)

It moves. One of its ears twitches. Once, twice, and then it slowly blinks its eyes open. There are two startlingly black dots where its iris and pupil should (probably) be, and they lock onto Stiles.

They stare at each other for a long moment in silence. The restless fidgeting and stimming that Stiles is almost always doing slows to a still while they stare at each other, completely unmoving.

Then it blinks, and its ear twitches again. It turns towards the door, pushing itself into a sitting position.

“They are coming.”

Stiles jolts, breaking out of his trance with a surge of panic, “Who?”

“We are in danger. We must not be caught.”

“Who’s we?”

“They are coming.”

Stiles looks towards the door, and counts his fingers again.

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.)

“What do you want me to do?”

It’s weird, the way he knows it's the fox speaking into his mind. The way he doesn’t feel confused or alarmed by this creature, like it’s something he’s gone through hundreds of times–

Something familiar.

“Do not let them touch us.”

“Who’s us?”

“We.”

The fox turns back to him and stares. The statement itself reminds Stiles of the dream - the one with the mummy man. The way he connected it to a potential part of him that aided the mass murderer– maybe it’s something more than that. Something supernatural.

Maybe that’s why there’s a fox here, in reality and not a dream, talking to him in his brain. That means the fox is talking about him, and not itself.

“How do I do that? Who are we talking about?”

“They will come out of the shadows.” the fox rasps into his brain, turning back towards the door, “Bide our time. He will help us.”

“Who’s he?”

“The wolf. He will hide us.”

Stiles looks back at the door, at the closed blinds that hide the light from the hallway. “Should I stay here?”

“There is only one exit.”

“That’s a no then, got it,” he pushes the blanket off himself, disturbing the fox into hopping onto the table by the foot of the bed. It leaps onto his shoulders as he passes by, startling him in the fact it seems to have a weight despite being nothing but a spirit-like creature.

The hallway is empty. Shockingly so, he remembers hospitals always being so overpopulated by nurses and doctors in every hallway. Yet, it’s silent. Not even the sounds of patients in the neighboring rooms reach his ears, and it draws unease into Stiles’s chest.

“Melissa?” he calls, as if she’ll suddenly appear from wherever it is she is. Possibly at home, maybe on the other side of the hospital. Of course, she doesn’t appear, leaving him alone in the hallway with a ghost fox on his shoulders.

He stays close to the wall, praying that the fox is watching his back because it’s going to drive him nuts to keep looking back and forth with the groggy remnants of sleep and a sedative still dragging him down.

Only the faint buzzing sound of fluorescent lights that he normally wouldn’t notice unless already in sensory overload is heard in the hallways. It’s almost funny, actually, how once you hit sensory overload your brain just collects more sensory input for you to notice. Why is that?

He pushes open a door and it brushes against the ground but doesn’t creak at the hinges like he expected it to. It feels like he’s in a horror movie when the double swinging door reveals a small, dark hallway.

“We should turn back.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Stiles backs up, letting the door swing shut, “If they come out of the shadows, does that mean we’re safe if we stay in the light?”

“Without shadow, there is no light.”

“Okay, then what’s the point of avoiding the creepy hallway?” he gestures behind himself toward the doors he’s actively walking away from. He’s moved away from the wall, now standing in the center and under the lights, hopefully giving him enough space to avoid whatever when it ‘comes from the shadows.’

(Why exactly is he following the instructions of a weird ghost fox that appeared after he woke up from a sedative?)

“More light means less shadows, it is harder to reach us in this light.”

“Got it,” he swings around a corner, pushing open another door and thankfully revealing a lit hallway. He makes it about four steps in before the fox on his shoulder pushes itself into a sitting position, ears perking up and mentally alerting Stiles to a threat.

“They found us.”

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he lowers his voice, turning in a slow circle and surveying the area. Nothing has appeared yet, but he can hear a quiet grumbling coming from the walls. When he squints at them, the shadows almost look like they’re shimmering. Something seems to tap, tap on the shadowed wall, and it ripples like when you throw a pebble into water.

A gloved – is that a glove? or is it bunched up skin? -- hand reaches out in a sharp, singular movement before halting just below the wrist. Stiles startles backwards, signaling him to turn around and see two more hands coming from the wall behind him.

“Shit. How likely am I to die if I run out the door?”

“The wolf is waiting.”

“Not very, then, awesome,” he stumbles over his shoeless feet, socks sliding on the tiled floors uselessly, but successfully makes it out of the creepy room and into the next hallway. He looks both ways, still seeing no nurses or doctors and being invited into an eerie silence punctuated by buzzing lights and growling walls. Internally, he feels a nudge, and turns on his heel toward the left.

He’s sprinted halfway down the hall when Scott turns the corner ahead of him, “Scott!” he shouts, sliding to a stop and looking back at the way he came to see a trio of black clad beings with swords and weird masks that he can’t make out the details of.

“Stiles! Mom said you were asleep!” Scott breaks into a jog, if his sped up footsteps have anything to say, before he appears in the side of Stiles’ vision.

“I woke up,” he flashes a grin.

“We do not have time for this.”

The creatures take a step forward, so he grabs Scott’s wrist to start dragging him away, “We should go!”

“No, wait,” Scott sounds startlingly calm for the actively approaching demons in front of him, “...Why are they after you?”

[fic-ive-read]

Link To The Fic

[novemberhush]

Something Beginning With...

@sterekdrabbles Look at me finally writing something this year! Better late than never, though, right? This is for the prompt words spy, disarm, simple from 16/5/22. Thanks to @jmeelee for running her eye over this for me.❤️

Watching his daughter play a simple game of I Spy with the McCall Pack spark shouldn’t be this disarming, but Derek hadn’t seen Ivy so bright, so animated, so herself, since before the fire that’d devastated their own pack.

Somehow, though, Stiles was able to bring out the old Ivy, the Ivy untouched by pain and tragedy and more loss than anyone should have to suffer, let alone a child.

Derek would almost suspect supernatural trickery, were it not for Deaton’s assurances Stiles could be trusted.

Those bewitching eyes, however… yeah, the effect they had on Derek was definitely magic.

[sapphireginger]

Chasing a Memory

Summary:

Derek had bothered with a quick shower but only spent a few minutes after that to tug on clothes, grab essentials and pile into his car. Nothing else mattered to him than finding who needed him and why.

AO3 Link

Derek sped towards the city limits not knowing exactly why but consumed by the overwhelming urge to be somewhere. Someone needed him and that was a bone deep revelation but every time he had tried to focus on exactly who it was, he got lightheaded and the knowledge would escape him. He spent three days chasing his tail and it was time for him to take drastic measures. He had picked up the phone and made the call.

“Nephew? Well my my, what a surprise this is.”

“Believe me I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t of utmost importance.”

“I take it that seeking the status of your favorite uncle’s wellbeing is not your reason?”

“You’re my only uncle. So, not even close but hey you’re still kicking. So, that’s lovely.”

“For all you know I went back to the dirt as often as you check in.”

“Peter! I’m not interested in this right now. I need you to meet me.”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

The call hadn’t lasted long but it was long enough for Derek to feel slight regret for the entire predicament he found himself in and he had tried to talk himself out of it many times. It had taken a full five days before he wore down enough to consider it and that was when Derek realized that if he felt so strongly about this, then calling his uncle was the obvious next step. That meant it must be serious and had to be taken seriously.

He wouldn’t put up with any baiting or tolerate any teasing nor entertain his uncle’s antics for even a millisecond. This was something clearly evidenced on his face based on the fact that one look made his uncle snap his mouth closed before he could utter something that he realized would result in a tussle.

Derek had bothered with a quick shower but only spent a few minutes after that to tug on clothes, grab essentials and pile into his car. Nothing else mattered to him than finding who needed him and why.

Peter was unusually quiet as if the state his nephew was in was evidence enough that something was definitely wrong but first they needed to get to the root of the situation to fully understand what they were dealing with.

After offering Derek a cup of tea which Derek accepted graciously albeit with hesitancy, Peter felt it was safe to proceed yet still to do so with caution. “So, Derek? Tell me everything.”

Derek took a sip of the tea and felt himself settle but only slightly. “Something is clawing me up inside. It’s nothing like when my wolf is restless although it is restless. There’s more to it than that. I have this overwhelming urge that something is wrong and someone needs…me.”

Peter watched his nephew with assessing eyes. “Describe the feeling.”

“Well it’s like my heart is pounding but I’m just sitting there and I’m terrified but there was a freaking song I love playing on the speakers. It’s like there are shadows even when the sun is blinding and it’s like I’m cold and I never get cold but what really gets me is the all consuming belief that I’m alone and awash with utter despair.”

Peter was tense as he recalled hearing of things like this before but he had not expected to ever deal with it personally nor for any who shared his blood to experience it. Still, he shoved aside any qualms about helping when he saw the shattered look on his nephew’s face. “I’m going to help you but answer me one question first, Derek, okay?”

Derek gave a nod, keeping his gaze on his uncle though his eyes seemed glazed over slightly.

“Whatever has happened is not your fault. You know that, correct?” he asked, almost certain Derek would argue that it was, in fact, his fault and that would mean a delay. He only hoped that whoever needed Derek would be able to hold on long enough for Derek to lose the belief that he was somehow responsible but this time his nephew surprised him.

“Realizing that this person is in trouble and that their feelings match ones I’ve felt in exact detail many times in my life makes me think there’s a possibility it’s my fault but I won’t know until I find them,” he stated before setting the cup down on the coffee table and resting his head in his hands. “If only I could latch onto their face or their name.”

Peter tilted his head. “What do you mean by that?”

Derek sighed. “I get this inkling of who it is but when I try to focus on it, I get lightheaded and the knowledge fades to the far corners of my mind. Then it’s completely unreachable. I just need to fucking know because someone’s in danger. Someone is hurting and I—” He choked up. “I need to know who they are and I need to know why this is happening to them and to me!” he ground out, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

Peter’s wolf growled as he moved closer to place a comforting hand on Derek’s arm. Derek got a distinct feeling that his uncle was doing one of two things. He was either humoring him or he knew something and was going to help Derek.

“I know, pup and I’m going to help you. I think I have a pretty good idea of what is happening.”

Derek perked up and looked at his uncle. “You do?” His tone was full of hope and trust.

Peter figured the least he could do was be open with the guy but he had to refrain for just a little longer. There were two very important details he still needed to figure out. Details that may not have seemed crucial but if provided would change everything.

They decided to take the night to regroup and then when the sun had just barely brightened the sky, Derek sat in a wooden chair, straddling it with his claws digging into the wood.

“Are you ready, nephew?” Peter asked as he lined his claws up with the back of Derek’s neck.

The alpha grit his teeth and with a snarl said, “Just do it!”

Peter’s claws sank into the tan column and both men gasped as they were thrown into memories long forgotten by the mind but never by the heart.

FLASH

Pale skin with moles and amber eyes like melted gold and whiskey.

FLASH

A blue jeep older than its owner but as reliable as the boy himself.

FLASH

Paralyzed, sinking down, down, down and then a tug and a strength guiding him up, up, up, inhaling sharply as they break the surface. How?

FLASH

Death, both unnecessary and at his own hands, and a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder, a touch the alpha leaned into and took comfort in the scent of the one grounding him.

FLASH

Fear, plain in the expression on the boy’s face, ivory skin even paler as a yell to ‘Get down!’ erupted from the wolf’s throat, and he listened, trusting the wolf, allowing the wolf to face the feral alpha.

FLASH

A closed door up against which the wolf shoved the sarcastic teen, but thoughts of violence were far from his mind which was instead consumed with the thoughts of how it might have felt to kiss those perfect pink lips, even more tempting when a pink tongue swiped over them to wet them.

FLASH

Derek roared as Peter pulled his bloody claws out of the wolf’s neck and then everything was silent.

After a few minutes had passed, Peter spoke softly. “That must be Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Derek whispered in agreement and a sense of awe. Then, guilt socked him in the gut. How could he have forgotten Stiles, HIS Stiles? How could he have forgotten his mate?!

“We will fix this, nephew. I promise you that.”

Derek nodded, swallowing thickly. “Good. He’s waiting for me and being the smart little shit that he is, he’s using the mate bond to bring me to him.”

Peter gave a feral and sharp grin. “Please tell me that I get to murder someone?”

With an equally terrifyingly sharp and feral grin, Derek stood. “Definitely. Anyone and everyone who had anything to do with my mate’s disappearance and the meddling with our memories, will die and I don’t care if you choose to bathe in their blood. So long as my mate is safe and in my arms alive by the end of it, that’s all I care about.”

The two wolves smirked, their eyes glowing in the dark as they descended the loft stairs later that night. Their fangs glinted in the moonlight and silent as shadows, on the wings of death they rode to deal swift justice on those who harmed Stiles Genim Hale, Alpha Mate, Nemeta Guardian and the boy who ran with wolves.

[rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite]

The Power In Me by tabbytabbytabby

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom:

Teen Wolf (TV)

Relationship:

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Status:

One-shot

Words: 77k

Summary:

The Hale pack receives an invitation to attend a convention for the supernatural, a prospect that both excites Stiles, and makes him nervous. Especially since the invitation was addressed to him as a prospective emissary. Something he has to play off since no one in the pack, except for Lydia and Laura, even knows that Stiles has been training with Deaton to learn more about his spark and how to use it. It only gets more complicated when they get to the convention and more than one of Stiles' secrets is exposed.

Read on AO3 here