#stiling moss

[blackswaneuroparedux]

On track he was always the toughest of tough competitors, tough sometimes to the point at which I’d wonder how could such a nice bloke out of a car grow such horns and a tail inside one,

Stirling Moss on Jack Brabham

Sir Jack Brabham's three world championships ( 1959, 1960, 1966) were the product of both his engineering expertise and driving skill. His first two titles, in rear-engined Coopers he helped develop, confirmed the obsolescence of front-engined Formula One cars. His third title, in a Brabham, made him the only driver to become champion in a car of his own make. His last win came at the 1970 South African Grand Prix, after which, aged 44 and with 126 races behind him, the triple champion retired to Australia. His now-defunct team was sold to future Formula One supremo Bernie Ecclestone while Ron Dennis, Brabham’s erstwhile chief mechanic, went on to transform McLaren.

At 18 he joined the Royal Australian Air Force in Adelaide, where he wanted to learn to fly but was instead trained to fill a wartime shortage of flight mechanics. Upon his discharge, in 1946, an uncle in the construction business built him a workshop in Sydney, where Jack opened his own engineering establishment. 

Jack's introduction to motorsport came through a friend who raced midgets on dirt track ovals in 1951. Jack helped him build a new car and when his friend decided to stop driving Jack took over and became a regular winner. In self-prepared midgets he won four successive Australian championships and was the 1953 hillclimb champion in a British-built Cooper-Bristol. Two years later his growing ambition to expand his motorsport horizons brought Jack to England. A meeting with John and Charles Cooper, constructors of his successful Australian car, led to a friendship and partnership that would propel the tiny Cooper Car Company and 'Black Jack' Brabham into the forefront of Formula One history.

With Brabham providing the inspiration (he helped persuade the Coopers to take the rear-engine route into Formula One racing) and the perspiration (he built up his first chassis in Cooper's workshop) the tiny British cars with the engines in the back sped to the front in an era previously dominated by big, front-engined Italian and German roadsters.

In the Brabham-led team's first full championship season of 1958 the debut win for a Cooper came courtesy of Stirling Moss, who drove Rob Walker's private entry to victory in Argentina.

In 1959 Moss won twice, but Brabham's victories in Monaco and Britain together with his consistently high placings resulted in the Australian winning a drivers’ title that some thought owed more to stealth than skill, an opinion at least partly based on Brabham's low-key presence.

As much an engineer as a racing driver, with wartime experience working as ground crew in the Royal Australian Air Force, Brabham was never one to hog the limelight or seek attention. Always a man of few words - his nickname 'Black Jack' referred to both his dark hair and his propensity for maintaining a shadowy silence - he avoided small talk and was undemonstrative in the extreme.

Brabham may not have been a big talker or particularly flamboyant but he was as shrewd as they come. Behind the wheel he was anything but shy and retiring. He put his head down and drove exceedingly forcefully, opposite-locking his car dirt-track style, and was not averse to deliberately showering gravel in the face of a too closely following pursuer. His aversion for the limelight became more of a problem in 1960, when he completely dominated the nine-race series, winning consecutively in Holland, Belgium, France, Britain and Portugal, en route to his second successive championship.

Following an unproductive 1961 season, when the Ferraris were all powerful, Brabham left Cooper to form Motor Racing Developments, in partnership with the talented Australian designer Ron Tauranac. The MRD Brabhams were quickly successful in several categories of racing, particularly Formula Two where for several years they dominated, affording the opportunity for many drivers to advance their careers. The Brabham Formula One car, which first appeared late in 1962, became steadily more competitive as the team leader personally perfected the chassis set-up and fine-tuned the Climax engines. In 1964 Brabham had the satisfaction of seeing his team mate Dan Gurney win in France and Mexico.

For 1966, when the new 3-litre formula came into effect, Brabham persuaded an Australian company Repco (a manufacturer of automotive components) to produce a Formula One engine from a venerable Oldsmobile V8 design. Equally ancient was Brabham himself, or so it seemed to the media and his much younger rivals who used to kid him about his age. Prior to the 1966 Dutch Grand Prix, his first race after his 40th birthday, 'Geriatric Jack' Brabham hobbled onto the starting grid at Zandvoort, wearing a long false beard and leaning on a cane. Sportingly, several of his laughing opponents helped him into the cockpit of his Brabham-Repco, which happened to be on pole position.

Tossing aside his beard and cane Brabham proceeded to win that race, a feat he also accomplished in France, in Britain and in Germany - on the notoriously difficult and dangerous Nurburgring - a victory he felt was the most satisfying of his career. Thus in 1966 Brabham became the first (and still only) driver, to win the championship in a car of his own make. 

Jack Brabham, whose final victory came in the 1970 South African Grand Prix when he was 44, chose that season to retire as a driver. The Brabham team was sold to Bernie Ecclestone and Jack returned home to Australia, where he busied himself running a farm, a car dealership and an aviation company, and helped his sons with their racing careers. His contribution to British motorsport was officially recognised in 1985 and he became Sir Jack Brabham. He passed away peacefully at his home in May 2014, aged 88.

Photo above: Françoise Hardy (Singer), Jack Brabham and the Brabham BT19, Monza, 1966.

[fawnsite]

[bamboozledbird]

his eyes, his mouth // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Void!Stiles, fem!reader (she/her pronouns) Pairing: not actually unrequited Stiles x fem!reader Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, choking, non-con touching/kissing (nothing worse than the show), emetophobia (mentions, no details)  Tags: author is horny for classic lit and bad at titles and it shows Summary: Reader accepts Void's invitation to play even though she knows she's already lost. A/N: I'm on my teen wolf bullshit again icb. This is a rewrite of an old work of mine from 2014, and I did it for entirely selfish purposes. I need Void now, and my other work is in s1 smh.

The first time she saw brown eyes it was in her mother’s face, skin glistening with the sweat of labor and the adoration of motherhood. For a long time, she thought she’d never see eyes that full of feeling again—like a never-ending tree ring, like reeds taking root—and then, in the second grade, she met a boy with the round, brown eyes of a fawn. She helped him read without skipping over lines, he helped her make sense of fractions, and she stared at his eyes until it was time to go home. Over the years, she memorized every crack of amber and drizzle of honey until the sky was just a cloak of him, him, him. 

It was the eyes that gave Void away. He could replicate Stiles’s smile, the curl of his smirk, the pucker of his confusion—but the eyes. He couldn’t quite hide the hollowness, even when her own were shut tight.

She kept them closed now. Under the starless sky, she could only make out the vague shapes of deadening trees; it was easier to follow the ink-dipped path with her hands. Her fingers brushed against damp moss and sticky bark until she stumbled over a loose rock. The stone rolled into something solid, and the resounding thud sent her heart into her throat. Everything seemed to be a little more than it was out here in the dark—the shapes bigger, the sounds louder, the fear thicker—everything except for her. Like this, she was a scared little girl. Frantic. Small. Alone. 

She didn’t realize quite how small she was until she was enveloped with darkness, how small and how pathetically human—but here she was anyway: alone in the woods, blinded by the darkness of early morning, on her merry way to meet an immortal psychopath with an entire Japanese spirit army at his disposal. All this, simply because he told her to.

She’d known the text was from Stiles’s number before she even pulled her phone out from under her sleep-rumpled pillow. She knew because it was three in the morning. It seemed like he only ever needed her at three or five in the morning, and yet she always, always answered. She’d realized quickly, however, that this time it was Stiles’s number but it wasn’t his message. 

< Stiles 🤓☝️: > 

I know you always found Stiles so easily, but why don’t we see who’s the better hider? I’ll play fair this time, cross Stiles’s heart. I’ll even give you a hint:  The cock crew, The sky was blue: The bells in heaven Were striking eleven. ‘Tis time for this poor soul To go to heaven. In case you’re thinking about not showing up, you should probably know the consequences. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, if you don’t come out and play with me, I’ll have to take out one of your pieces, and your family is just so deliciously human. I’m afraid it would be permanent. 

The riddle wasn’t actually a riddle, and that was the entire point: both the author’s and Void’s. The only reason she knew the answer was because she loved James Joyce. Stiles knew that, so, of course, Void did too. He also knew that she’d know exactly which holly bush to stumble towards in the dark.

She reached the perimeter of a small clearing; the smell of pine and earth layered over the trickle of a shallow rivulet was achingly familiar. Tilting her head, she inched into the open area, wary of its uncanny resemblance to a stage, and came to a stop in front of a large stump nestled between thickets of holly. Even in the dark, her fingers found the clumsy letters chipped into wood by small, marshmallow-sticky hands. 

He had Stiles’s phone, but he hadn’t bothered with the usual needlessly complex charade. She could only assume that meant that this was the trick and she was the punchline.

“The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush,” she broke the disquieting silence when the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled like a rabbit that knew it was about to die. She’d heard a rabbit scream once; nothing ever sounded quite so terrible until she heard Stiles wake up from one of his nightmares. “Clever, but I’m a little young to be your grandma. Aren’t you, like, a zillion years old?” 

The Nogitsune exhaled against the knobs of her spine, his breath revoltingly warm and wet, “You could’ve let me have my dramatic entrance. I ask for so little.”

She pretended that her stomach was not churning and that she was not dying from this, “Sorry, next time a psycho killer asks me out, I’ll know better.” 

He clicked his tongue and slipped his hand over her shoulder, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger in slow, methodical twirls. “You really need to learn to mind your manners, baby; someday that lip of yours is going to get you into trouble,” he chided, mouth resting against the shell of her ear. 

She repressed a shudder and pulled his hand away from her by his wrist. He went surprisingly easy, delicate bones limp in her fingers. For a moment, she just gripped his clammy skin, digging her nails into pale flesh, waiting for him to do something. He didn’t. Void just sighed in her ear and hummed, “I know, baby. It’s just the moon, right? And the stars, and your favorite author in your favorite place with your favorite person—and they say romance is dead.”

It was the audible intake of breath as he smelled the jasmine and honeysuckle in her hair that finally cut through the heady haze swathed around her. She turned around and let go of his arm with a sharp push that sent her stumbling back a few steps. Void narrowed his eyes at her, and his slow smile made her sick, “Did I ruin it? C’mon, I gave you a hint; you tell me what he’d say if he were here.”

 "Is this really why you made me get out of bed at 3:00 am? To roleplay?” she sounded much braver than she felt. 

Void grinned again, all teeth and bad intentions, and she thought of the way Stiles’s eyes looked with his smirk wrapped around her straw as he stole a sip from her cup. It was more vanilla creamer than coffee, and his cheeks had hollowed from the sickening sweetness. She’d wanted to kiss him then for the same reason she wanted to climb on every sculpture that read, ‘look, but do not touch.’ Had that really only been a month ago?

Void slunk forward, agile and lithe like a big cat, and the flash of his smile in the dim light was a scalpel against her throat, “Maybe. Isn’t that why you came to find me in the middle of the night?” He stopped a few inches in front of her and canted his head, “All alone, no wolves or hunters to interrupt us, even though I didn’t tell you to keep it to yourself. You did that all on your own, baby. Such a good girl.” 

His jaw softened slightly, and he rounded his eyes into a twisted mask of pity. He must’ve been able to hear her heart bruising against her ribs; she could feel the echo vibrating her stapes. Her lips parted, but her mouth went cottony when his hand trailed over her collarbone and came to a stop along the slender slope of her throat. “It’s just us now; you can tell me,” his voice was gentle, almost a coo, as his fingers squeezed slightly, thumb pressing into her carotid. “You can pretend it’s him. I won’t mind.” 

“You’d get off on that, huh,” she was horrified to realize that her voice was wet and thick, completely wrecked, like she’d been crying for hours. Void’s eyes, dark and endless, flickered over her face as he sucked in a breath through his teeth—savoring her misery. “Knowing how much I want him—how much I hate you.”

His grip around her neck tightened briefly, but he relaxed his joints after a shallow exhale, struggling to pace himself. Overindulgence, she mused, that was probably his only weakness. “Don’t be like that, baby,” he smoothed his thumb over her pulse and grinned manically when it rabbited under his touch, “you’d get something too, and we both know this is the only way you’re gonna get it.” His wistful sigh stirred the soft hairs framing her face. “The boy doesn’t have much taste, I’m afraid, but I have to admit in this case,” Void’s gaze darted from her panting mouth to her heaving chest as she struggled for meager mouthfuls of air, “it’s worked out splendidly for me.” 

If she could just stop seeing blurry splotches for a moment, maybe she could think of something to do other than gape at him like a fucking fish. At least, she couldn’t quite make out the lines and curves of Stiles’s stolen face like this. He would be so disappointed; the thought struck her in the stomach, and she might have gagged if her trachea had the space for it. He would be so disappointed that she’d been stupid enough to traipse into the forest to play house with a demonic spirit without backup. How? How could you be so fucking stupid? She could hear Stiles screaming at her in her head, almost felt his long fingers pinching her biceps as he tried to shake the stupid out of her. Not how, Stiles. Why. But she could never tell him the why; the why was possibly even more foolish than following the devil in the dark. At the very least, it was infinitely more cliché and endlessly more pathetic.

“I knew you were going to be my favorite.” She felt the words more than she heard them. Void’s dry lips brushed over her cheek, and then he dragged his mouth towards her jaw, more like a taste than a kiss, “I knew you’d be fucking exquisite.” 

Her vision narrowed into pinpricks as his mouth crowded over hers, and with her last grasp of consciousness, she bit down on his lip. Hard. She fell to the ground with the coppery tang of blood on her tongue. Like pennies, she thought faintly as she watched honied amber eyes swim in the night sky, tastes like pennies. 

**************************

When she finally woke up, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Her throat was rubbed raw with pain, and the left side of her body was sore to the bone. She hissed as she accidentally pressed into a blooming bruise just over her hip. It took her a moment to hone in on the ratty velvet couch and concrete floor: Derek’s loft, then. That was good. If she were dead, she would’ve picked just about anywhere else as the backdrop for her afterlife. 

“You’re awake.” Stiles’s voice was flat, but his eyes were his and only his. 

Her fingers skittered away from her skin to grab at the thin blanket draped over her legs, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Knock much?”

He didn’t look amused; he didn’t even roll his eyes. She had only seen Stiles well and truly angry a few times in her life and never at her. Heat sparked along her spinal column, and no matter how many times she swallowed her throat stayed dry. 

“Look…” she cleared her throat and bit down on her bottom lip, wincing as pain sliced through the flesh—it was split open. When the hell had that happened? Frowning, she licked away the small trickle of blood from the reopened cut and slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re probably, like, five seconds away from laying into me with a hyperbole-heavy lecture, but can you just save it until I’ve taken a few painkillers and iced my fuckin’ knee. Much appresh.” 

“You have no fucking idea what I’m thinking,” his tone was even, almost numb, but his eyes—his eyes gave him away. The amber was molten, and her head swam with the desire to burn in it. 

Her leg jittered. “So,” the heel of her foot tapped against the stone floor, shooting aching jolts up her leg to her slightly swollen kneecap, “you aren’t thinking that I’m at least three levels above Jar Jar on the dumbassery scale? Like, it’s Jar Jar, Nedry, Condiment King, Goku, then me.” Her calf throbbed as she rolled her ankle and then pushed her foot up onto the toe of her muddy sneaker, trying to bounce silently. Stiles clocked it immediately. Of course, he did. It was his move.

Sighing, Stiles knelt down so that he wasn’t looming over her anymore and squeezed her unbruised knee until her foot slowed to a stop. “You know it goes: Nedry, Condiment King, you, Goku, and then Jar Jar," he ended his sentence with his hand hovering a few centimeters above your nose.

“Thank god.” The corner of her mouth wobbled as she tried to smile, “I think I hit my head on the way down, though. Possibly lost a few brain cells.”

Stiles winced, and the couch dipped with his weight as he sat down. His thigh was warm against hers. “Let me see,” he gently parted her hair, long fingers gently searching for any blood or bumps. She couldn't help but notice his mouth when he was this close; it was puffy and pink, most likely from using it as a chew toy while pacing a hole in the floor. She was frozen, paralyzed with wanting.

Her chest stuttered as her breath hitched. “You’re supposed to say somethin’ like, ‘Oh no, you didn’t have that many to begin with,’ or, ‘What will your other one have to fight with now,’” her voice was high and breathy, but she hoped he’d just write it off as pain or being slightly-concussed. 

Stiles managed a weak smile until he accidentally pressed into a tender spot on the side of her head. She sucked in sharply, air whooshing between her teeth, and he immediately reached for her with his other hand. Like it was instinct. Like it was the only thing he knew. Stiles threaded their fingers together and squeezed as he carefully brushed the pad of his thumb over the same spot on her scalp, “There?”

“Mhm,” she was breathless, grateful he was intensely focused on the shallow cut just above her ear so that he couldn't see the wild look in her eyes.

“What did he…” Stiles licked over his teeth, grimacing, and stared at the pronounced veins in his pale wrist, “what did he say when he…had you…like that?” The words sounded painful, like barbed wire raking over his tongue. He couldn’t look at her; she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

“Oh you know,” she hoped he couldn’t feel her heartbeat where his fingers were pressed against her skull, “the usual maniacal, narcissistic rambling.” She lowered her voice to a gravelly pitch even though it tugged at her bruised windpipe, “‘I’m what killed the dinosaurs. I’m inevitable.’ All the final boss monologuing clichés.” 

Stiles searched her face for something. She smiled a little, and his responding smile was just as small, just as tired, but he seemed satisfied with her expression. He sat back and withdrew his hand from her hair, but he kept his thigh needlessly close to feel the warmth, the blood flow, the undeniable proof that she was here. “He Thanosed you?” Stiles arched a brow and dropped his arm over the back of the couch behind her head—close, but never close enough. Always a few inches away from where she wanted him.

“He did live in your head for a while there,” she sighed softly and drooped a bit into his side, chasing his body heat like a cat, curling in on him like a comma. 

Stiles hummed a little in recognition, drumming his fingers in a soft pitter-patter just behind her shoulder. “And that’s everything? He didn’t…that’s it?” 

She looked over at him. His jaw was tight and so were the tendons in his neck as he bit at his raw cuticles, on the verge of shaking or puking. His cheek fit perfectly in her palm, and she wanted him so badly she might split in two, “That’s it.”

[shona22]

Prompt from @thewitchway

Hope you enjoy it.

-

It’s a few miles, maybe three if Stiles can stretch his legs further to accommodate Derek’s long strides. But the preserve sprawls across acres and acres of soil, dried leaves, and magic—changing, as Stiles would solemnly swear on the blood of his future children. The tree shapes, branches, leaf colors, the very air, even the worn-down path leading to the dilapidated Hale house—all of it shifts.

Derek does not seem to mind. He’s one tracked, eyes straight ahead, shoulders no longer taunt. It’s home to him, Stiles thinks, feeling his mouth stretch at the sides without meaning to. 

The clorisBane, a hybridized version of the wolfsbane is supposedly blooming at midnight, on the southern side of the preserve. Issac had inadvertently stumbled into it, nose full of pollen, his long winded whine had alerted others. When he had finally dosed off at Deaton’s, body still trembling from heat, Derek called him. Stiles–well, Stiles had half a thought of saying no, wanted Derek to work for it, growl into his phone even–but, well, he wasn’t in the mood to antagonize the wolf. He was training to be their emissary, and it would be Stiles job, soon enough, to patrol the boundaries of beacon Hill in search for poisonous, magical plants. A trial run couldn't hurt, even though his knowledge of ClorisBane was limited to what he had read in the bestiary.

And so, he found himself walking alongside Derek, their steps not quite hurried. Stiles had stuffed his restless hands into the pockets of his red hoodie (Derek, for some inexplicable reason, loathed that particular piece of clothing. Stiles had tried to pry an explanation from him, but all he received were grunts and growls.), whistling whenever he realized he was better off keeping quiet than risking saying something stupid, like, hey remember last week when I woke up at the loft, in your bed–

It starts to rain. 

It’s not a single drop that alerts them, tickling down Stiles’s forehead, no. It’s a gush of water, as if someone had decided to push a bucket off the trees. Before he can splutter, or inadvisably stumble and fall into the muddy ground, a strong hand seizes Stiles by his biceps and pulls.

“There’s a shed,” Derek says against his ears, “Follow me.” 

“I can’t,” Stiles manages, teeth clattering and all. Water blurs his vision, clumping his long eyelashes together. He blows some water raspberries, trying to form something coherent. “I can’t see shit, Derek.” 

There’s a grunt, then he is no longer touching the ground. 

“What thre fuck–”

“It’s faster.” Derek answers tersely, his hold tight on Stiles' wet clothes, one across the expanse of his back and the other below the boy’s knees. He throws one of his arm around Derek’s neck, getting comfortable since it appears the wolf has no intention of letting him go. 

A few minutes later, though a few minutes longer than Stiles would have preferred, they found themselves huddling inside a decrepit shed—or was it an outdoor toilet? Stiles silently swore that if Derek had pushed him into a smelly, bug-infested shithouse—

"It's not far from the house," Derek interjected, his voice no longer neutral but hoarse. "Laura used to garden; it's her shed."

“Oh,” Stiles say, uncharacteristically quiet. “Thanks.” 

He doesn’t know what he is thanking for. Derek just grunts. Typical. 

The walls of the small, two by two shed had moss growing upon them. There were some wild flowers, peaking from the fractured, rotten wood. It smelt of nothing particularly outlandish, but Stiles guesses it’s partly because of the overwhelming rain, the scent of wet soil had completely overtaken his human senses. And partly, he suspected, because of Derek. The cramped space felt intimate; if Stiles were any larger, Derek's face would have been nestled against his neck. Stiles faced the door with Derek behind him, close enough to feel the heat off his body, but far enough to feel tense. It’s a mess. He opens his mouth a couple of times, to say something, anything, to dissipate the thick air between them. 

The thunder does the trick. 

Warm, wet arms wrapped tightly around Stiles's midriff. There was now a solid presence behind him, pressing against his back, Derek's beard grazing his neck. He shivered, not from the eminent cold, but the absolutely delicious smell of Derek’s cologne, the one that hasn’t been washed off in the rain. He tried to stifle a whimper, feeling needy and desperate, but it escaped anyway, just as his ears began to ring. Derek's arms tightened ever so slightly, his chest rumbling deeply, animalistic. Stiles couldn't discern if Derek was comforting himself or Stiles. The silence between them was palpable.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Stiles starts, because he needs to or his head will explode from too many things unsaid. “You seem to hate me a little less.”  

Derek stills. 

Then, a whisper across the exposed skin– the joint between his neck and shoulder, “I never hated you.”

[incorrect-teenwolf-quotes]

Stiles: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Malia will and will not eat.

Scott: Grass? Yes!

Stiles: Moss? Yes!!

Scott: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Stiles: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Scott: Worms? Sometimes!

Stiles: Rocks? Usually nah.

Scott: Twigs? Usually!

Stiles: Danny's cooking? Inconclusive!

Derek: How did you… test this?

Stiles: You just hand her stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if she eats it, she eats it.

Jackson: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Cora: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

[teenwolfpackincorrectcaptions]

Stiles: Hey, Derek isn't answering his cell, you guys good?

Cora: Yeah, we're fine. He's just doing a little...self-care.

Stiles: He's drunk and lying naked in the moss in the backyard again, isn't he?

Cora: 100%.

(source)

[woodlandtrust]

A Walk In the Wood, by Dennis W. Turner

As I walked through the wood, on a bright, autumn day, I was dwarfed by the trees that were lining my way. In amongst all the broad-leaved, with branches half-bare, Were the conifers dotted about here and there. A few broken off branches lay scattered around And I ploughed through the debris that littered the ground: There were pine-needles, conkers and moss-covered stones; Lots of beech-mast and leaf-mould and squirrel-chewed cones. There were sycamore keys and a spread of acorns And a tangle of brambles with menacing thorns. I was choosing my path and avoiding tree roots As they all seemed determined to ambush my boots. With the feel of the breeze in a small, open glade And the dank smell of bracken in sun-dappled shade, A small rabbit caught sight of me trudging on by And was suddenly gone in the wink of an eye. I saw squirrels cavorting with consumate ease While the birds chirped and cawed in the tops of the trees. I was filled with delight at each sight, smell and sound. They were all just for me, with no others around. Near the edge of the wood, it was both dark and bright Where the trees broke the rays of the low-angled light. Then I came to a stile where I stopped and just stood And I savoured the joy of that walk in the wood.

[maria021015]

SPOILERS AHEAD!

As Stiles lowered himself into the tub, freezing cold water engulfed his body, turning his blood into liquid frost. His only comfort was the feeling of Zaida’s warm hands through his shirt, clutching onto his shoulders as he trembled. As her grip became firmer, he began to panic, his breathing shallowing and chest heaving with anxiety. He was about to die. Most people had their whole lives to spend, growing old and experiencing the world, before they had to ponder such a thing. Yet here he was at seventeen, minutes away from the end. What would it be like? Would it be cold and dark? Would it be warm and bright, like the promised land? Or would it be nothing - just an empty void? Would he see anybody? Would he see his mother?

Then he stopped thinking about his death, and started worrying about his return. Would it even work? Would he be able to find the information he needed to save his father? Would he make it back? Would he see his dad again? His friends? Would he see Zaida? Would she be able to pull him back?

Of all the questions in his mind, he could identify which were his own, and which were shared. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew Zaida was concerned. “It’ll work,” Stiles whispered, assuring the girl - and admittedly himself. His nerves jumbled together into a tangled bunch, leaving him jittery.

“On the count of three,” Deaton spoke serenely, and a shudder of apprehension ran through his body. “One, two…three.”

On the doctor’s final word Stiles held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he slid beneath the icy surface willingly. If he had been cold before, it was nothing compared to the numbing pain now beneath his skin and the feeling of hundreds of thousands of pins and needles jabbing at his flesh. He waited for something to happen - for the light to stop shining through his shut eyelids, or for the world to fall away. Instead, as more and more air escaped his lips, his lungs started to burn. It was only a slight sting at first, but the more and more he fought against every bone in his body telling him to rise to the surface, the worse the pain in his chest blazed. He tried to withstand it, he really did, but after minutes he couldn’t help it. The instinct to surface and gulp down precious air was too strong. He didn’t realise how hard he was fighting against the girl holding him down until Zaida’s hands slipped and he used that to his advantage, bursting out of the water with raspy breaths as he sucked down air greedily to soothe the fire in his lungs.

Only, the room he emerged into was not in Deaton’s clinic. In fact, it wasn’t really a room at all. It was like an empty car garage, painted sterile white with blinding lights overhead and bare tiles below. The only contents were their three metal tubs, but as Stiles, Allison and Scott all climbed out they noticed that wasn’t entirely true. In the centre of the room just behind them was a giant stump - the widest any of them had ever seen. Slight bunches of bright green moss clung to parts of it as small plants sprouted from the cracks in the wood, disclosing that somehow, the tree was still alive - despite having been decapitated long ago. Scott was the first to venture forward wordlessly, water dripping off his soaking wet form as he reached out to lay his palm flat against the top of the stump. His body immediately stiffened and Stiles didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel that Scott was no longer present. Following his best friend’s example, Stiles too extended his hand towards what was undoubtedly the Nemeton, pressing his skin against the rough wooden texture.

As soon as he came in contact with the stump, a wave of energy surged through his arm and his eyes seemed to shut automatically. This time, there was no blinding light to greet him on the other side, but rather the darkness of night. It took him a moment to adjust to the shift, but once he could register forms of mass around him he recognised where he was. Looming trees around him, the canopy above and soil beneath his feet - the Beacon Hills Preserve. The sound of young voices echoing through the cold night’s air sent him scurrying behind a thick trunk, hiding to wait as two figures passed. Only…those two figures seemed instantly familiar.

“Are we seriously doing this?” The voice of his best friend greeted his ears - only it wasn’t the Scott McCall that he had left in that strange sterile white dreamscape. It was the Scott McCall of the end of winter break, about three quarters of a year ago.

“You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town!” Stiles knew it was his own voice that he was listening to now and he watched as a smaller version of himself with a much shorter haircut stumbled over branches and through shrubbery, leading the way to where he knew a jogger had reported finding half of a dead body. It was the night he had dragged Scott out into the woods, not knowing they were searching for Laura Hale’s separated form. The night Scott had been bitten by Peter, and they had both been propelled into the realm of the supernatural. The night that had changed it all.

“I just- I keep replaying it over and over in my head and none of it is possible. It can’t be a human and it can’t be a wolf, and the only solution that could possibly explain it all…is something entirely insane…It’s both.” A smooth and rich voice he knew all too well invaded his head. He could tell it wasn’t coming from anywhere else because it wasn’t really a sound that his ears could pick up on. It was more like an echo of thought. A memory, he realised.

“I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.” Scott whined, but in his clumsiness he fell behind. "Stiles! Wait up! Stiles!”

But Stiles didn’t wait - not his younger self, nor his current one. He found that watching himself move through the thick woods was a strange sensation to say the least, and it was only then that he finally understood what people meant by having an 'out of body experience'. Hurrying over the same path, they moved onward to where Stiles still remembered he’d gotten caught. Surely enough, his father emerged from the shadows, flashing a bright torch-light right in buzzcut Stiles’ face.

“Hang on, hang on. This little delinquent belongs to me.” He grumbled, calling off the officers with him that reached for their firearms, thinking him to be a threat. The sight of his father hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Back in his reality, Stiles had no idea where his father was, or even if he was still alive. But here…? Here he was standing right before his eyes without so much as a scratch. He hadn’t thought it possible to miss the sight of someone so much, though he supposed that came with not knowing if you were ever going to see someone again.

“We’re not going to find his body, because we’re going to find him - alive and well….” There came her voice again, lingering in his mind and reminding him of what he was there for and providing him with the encouragement he needed. If he could do this - if he could focus - he could save his dad. “You’ll be able to do it, Stiles…You can do this.”

“Dad, how are you doing?” His younger self tried to act casual despite the fact that he knew he would be grounded for at least a week. A grounding that he did not adhere to in the slightest. He didn’t understand - how was this supposed to help him find the Nemeton?

“Hey, we’re going to figure it out.” Zaida reassured him, as she always did, restoring his faith in his own abilities. “You can do things that the rest of us can’t...we couldn’t do any of it without you.”

“Well, young man, I'm going to walk you back to your car…” His father grabbed him by the jacket, dragging him away from the search party as he began a long-winded conversation about boundaries and not listening into police radio frequencies.

Stiles stepped back to allow his past self to walk by, but his heels caught on something solid, almost sending him tumbling to the ground. He managed to find his balance, twisting around to find that same wide stump emerging from the earth. The Nemeton. It had been right there that night, and none of them had ever noticed it before.

“I knew you could do it!” Zaida's excited tone in his head spurred him onwards.

Leaning forward, he reached out towards the stump. As soon as his fingertips grazed the wooden surface, a bout of dizziness sent his head spinning, his vision blurring and eyes squeezing closed to shut out the distorted image of trees whirling around and around. Losing his balance, he found himself falling forward, the ground rushing to meet him - only it never did. Instead he broke through a glassy surface, spluttering and sucking air into his lungs in a loud gasp. When his vision stopped churning, he was face to face with a familiar pair of hazel eyes and he knew he was back home.

“Zaida!” Isaac rushed into the back room where Zaida was sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall and half-dozing off as she waited. Her buttocks felt numb from bearing the pressure of her weight for so many hours, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave, wanting to be there when the others woke - or when it became clear they wouldn’t. The only time Zaida had left that day was to get a spare change of clothes, and simply because Lydia had forced her to do so just to distract her from her worries. “I can hear their heartbeats - they’re waking up.”

At the werewolf’s words she sprung into action, climbing up from the floor and rushing back into the main surgery room where Lydia and Deaton were standing, eyes fixed on the three metal tubs full of melting ice. They had needed Zaida to re-freeze the water every so often, and every time she had done so, her dread had multiplied in the pit of her stomach at seeing the lifeless corpses of her friends below the surface. She stood and watched impatiently, waiting for any sign of movement, but there was not so much as a ripple.

“I thought you said-” As soon as she began speaking the surfaces of all three tubs sloshed about suddenly, the water being splashed onto the floor as Stiles, Scott and Allison broke out of the baths. Loud gasps and heavy breathing filled the air as all of them felt relief easing the tension from their bodies. Finally.

“The towels,” Zaida called out to Isaac, instructing him to fetch the items as she rushed forward, offering a helping hand to Allison while the girl climbed out of the basin. It took all of her strength and willpower not to tackle Stiles into a hug.

Allison's alabaster skin was icy to the touch and upon Isaac’s return he offered the huntress a towel first, handing the two others to Zaida. She tossed one to Scott, who caught it mid-air, and held the last out for Stiles to take, half-avoiding meeting the boy’s eyes. Guilt rose within her as she recalled the way he had fought against her, his strength failing him as she had held him down, drowning him. Killing him. She knew it was stupid, but after having done that to someone - and not just anyone, Stiles - she felt different. Darker, almost. If she could do that to him, then what else was she capable of?

“I saw it. I know where it is.” Scott unfolded the towel hurriedly, pulling it around his shoulders as he stood, still submerged in the tub.

“We passed it. There's-there's a stump... this huge tree - well, it's not huge anymore, it was cut down - but it's still big, though! Very big!” Stiles stuttered, his voice still shaking as his body trembled from the cold, drying his body off.

“It was the night we were looking for the body-” Scott explained and Stiles cut him off excitedly.

“Yeah, the same night you were bitten by Peter.” He interjected.

“I was there, too, in the car with my mother. We almost hit someone.” Allison nodded in agreement, her upper body almost buried within the towel as she soaked up the warmth of it.

“It was me - you almost hit me.” Scott turned to the girl with shock behind his dark eyes at that new piece of information. It was all connected. “We can find it.”

The three finally registered the morose expressions of the people in front of them as they stared wordlessly. “...What?” Allison asked, eyes darting between them all.

“You guys were out a long time…” Isaac answered hesitantly, no doubt anticipating how they were going to react.

“How long is a long time?” Stiles questioned, silent alarm in the way his body stiffened.

“...Sixteen hours.” Deaton revealed and Zaida pursed her lips, knowing this wouldn't be received well.

“We've been in the water for sixteen hours???” Scott repeated incredulously, his jaw falling slack.

“And the full moon rises in less than four.” Deaton nodded grimly.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, scrambling out of the metal bath and dripping a mess all over the floor.

“I’ve gotta get back to the alphas.” Scott was spurred on by the new information as well, knowing that the deadline was almost upon them.

“No, dude - you are not going back with them.” Stiles shook his head indignantly.

“I made a deal with Deucalion-” The werewolf defended his choice, but his best friend was having none of it.

“Does anyone else think that sounds a lot like a deal with the devil?” Stiles interrupted before he could finish.

“It sounds like Scott has a plan - which is more than any of the rest of us can say.” Zaida defended the wolf, a hard edge to her tone. She was willing to put her personal grievances aside for the time being, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still hurt.

“Why does it matter, anyway?” Isaac drawled, leaning against the back wall, not understanding why a promise was so important to uphold given the circumstances.

“Because I still don't think that we can beat Jennifer without their help.” Scott admitted. He had felt Jennifer’s power. With one shove to the chest he had felt his sternum fracture and his ribs take the brunt of the impact. Simply breathing had been difficult while he healed.

“He trusts you more than anyone - tell him he's wrong.” Allison begged the veterinarian, taking Stiles’ side on this one.

“I'm not so sure he is…” Deaton answered hesitantly. “Circumstances like this sometimes require that you align with people you'd normally consider enemies.”

“So, we're gonna trust him - the guy that calls himself ‘Death, Destroyer of Worlds’ - we're gonna trust that guy?” Isaac gaped, appalled at the suggestion.

“That’s not what he’s saying,” Zaida sighed tiredly.

“I wouldn't trust him, no.” Deaton corrected the misassumption. “But, you could use him to your advantage. Deucalion may be the enemy, but he could also be the bait.”

“Did you hear that?” Scott tilted his head, ears perking up as he picked up on a sound the rest of them didn’t hear.

“I did,” Isaac nodded, being the only other person with advanced hearing. “Someone’s here.”

Deaton was closest to the doorway that led out into the lobby, and he walked through, stopping to stare at someone who had just entered as the bell above the door tinkled to alert them of a presence.

“I'm looking for Lydia.” A familiar voice carried through to the back room, and the redhead immediately followed after the doctor, emerging into the area behind the reception desk where she was still safe behind the Mountain Ash barrier. Hearing the twin, Scott and Zaida both gathered behind the girl for support.

“What do you want?” Lydia questioned, The last time she had spoken to the boy was when she had tried to stop the alphas from killing Boyd.

“I need your help.” Ethan answered shortly as he stood before them.

“With what?” Stiles approached, leaning against the door frame with a threatening glare upon his face.

“Stopping my brother and Kali…” The alpha admitted. “From killing Derek.”

“You’re not actually considering going with him, right?” Zaida gawked at her best friend, who hadn’t immediately flipped Ethan off and told him where to shove it - which was the way she would have handled it.

“Derek gave up his alpha status to heal Cora - he’s weak. There’s no way he would survive facing off against one of the alphas, let alone both Aiden and Kali.” Lydia reasoned, justifying her willingness to help.

“The lunar eclipse is in four hours - all of the werewolves will be weak.” Deaton added.

“That only means that Kali and Aiden will be more desperate to finish things off before that happens.” Zaida pointed out with a frustrated sigh. “You tried to talk to Aiden before and it didn’t work in the slightest. Why do you think it’ll work this time?”

“Because things have changed - we don’t want to be like this anymore.” Ethan cut in, providing his own reason for coming to Lydia for help.

“You might feel that way, but does Aiden?” Zaida questioned him, and he fell silent, clearly unsure. “That’s what I thought.”

“Zay, I have to try.” Lydia pleaded with the brunette with wide green eyes.

“You can’t fix him, Lyds,” Zaida whispered under her breath, her gaze softening.

“It’s not for Aiden. It’s for Derek.” The redhead vowed, and Zaida knew from the determination setting her features, she would not be changing her mind.

“I’ll come with you,” She offered, but Deaton pursed his lips, clearly disagreeing with that decision.

“Zaida, we’re going to need your help finding our parents.” Scott shook his head slightly. “We know the general area, but to pinpoint it…”

With a sigh of defeat, Zaida turned to face Ethan with a stern glower. “You better look after her, or I’m going to kick your ass myself.” She promised.

“Aiden won’t let anything happen to her, and neither will I.” Ethan swore with a dip of his chin, and that was all Lydia needed before she crossed the Mountain Ash barrier, going with the alpha twin and disappearing out the front door.

“So, what's the plan?” The brunette turned to the others, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she scanned their serious expressions.

“We’re going need a way to track them. Zay can sense their emotions if she’s close enough, but that depends on her bond with people.” Stiles explained, shifting into detective mode as he pondered a way forward.

“It’s safe to say I’m not all that close with your parents,” She drawled, leaning back against a metal bench. So far, the only people she'd ever been able to successfully track had been Lydia, Scott, and of course, Stiles.

“So we’re going to need a double assurance,” Stiles added. “Scott and Isaac can track them by scent, we’ll just need an item of clothing - something potent.”

“Okay, once we’ve got that we’ll meet at the Preserve and start looking.” Scott nodded in agreement.

Once again, Zaida had been saddled into teaming up with Stiles. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d gone along with it but now, as they sat in tense silence within the Jeep, she regretted that choice. Staring firmly out of the passenger side window, the hum of the engine was the only sound keeping them from complete and utter silence.

“Zaida, I wanted to talk to you,” Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly. “About what happened at the school. I just wanted you to know that-”

“I already know,” Zaida blurted quickly, not wanting to have this conversation in the slightest. Her stomach churned uncomfortably at the notion. “Lydia told me what happened.”

“Oh, she- she did?” He shuttered, eyes widening slightly as they flickered from the road to her and back again. “So then…”

“So we don’t have to talk about it.” She nodded fervently, swallowing thickly as she plastered a fake smile onto her lips in the hopes that her act of nonchalance was convincing. The last thing she wanted to hear was him ranting about Lydia again - she’d sat by idly and listened to that more than enough times before. “It’s alright.”

“Oh…” His demeanour suddenly brightened as he straightened up in his seat, not noticing anything askew. He was simply relieved that the air had been cleared. “Well, that’s great then - that you know, I mean.”

“Yup, super great,” She popped her ‘p’s, refraining from rolling her eyes bitterly as the Jeep pulled into the driveway of the Stilinski house. She was the first to unlatch her seatbelt, throwing open the car door and slipping out into wild winds. The gusts tossed her hair about her face, obscuring her vision and causing her to grip her skirt around herself tightly, not wanting to flash the whole street.

Zaida followed Stiles inside the house and then up the stairs, headed straight towards his father's bedroom. She had never been in there before now, so her eyes drank in her surroundings. It was a large room, with a queen sized bed in the centre and plain white furniture. To Zaida's surprise, the entire place had been cleared of any sign of Noah's late wife, Claudia. Though Stiles had told her his father never liked to talk about her, she would have assumed he at least kept some memories of her alive in the sanctity of the room they had once shared together. Perhaps it was too painful for the man.

Stiles riffled through his father's bedside table drawers before changing tactics, disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. A few moments later, she heard him on the phone with someone. "I don't know what to bring! Wait, I've got his underwear." The boy spoke and Zaida immediately slapped her hand over her face. Seriously? The person on the other end of the line must have had the same reaction, because then Stiles said, "Okay, what about his socks?"

"Was that Scott?" She questioned as he emerged from the bathroom, dirty pair of socks in hand, likely retrieved from the laundry hamper.

"Yeah," He nodded, walking quickly. They were in a rush, after all. "He didn't want to smell my dad's boxers, so I went with the socks instead."

"Scott didn't want to smell your dad's dirty underpants? Wow, I wonder why?" She drawled sarcastically, unable to keep a faint smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. They hurried down the stairs two at a time, and then locked the front door behind them, emerging into a growing thunder storm. Standing still as she waited for the boy to finish and unlock the Jeep, she stared up at the rolling clouds of black and grey above as lightning flashed through the sky. "Jennifer must be getting ready..."

Another heavy gust of howling wind shook the cabin of the Jeep as they flew down the flooded highway, causing the metalwork to shudder around them. The rain was so heavy that despite the streetlights, they could barely see through the windshield, save for when lightning crackled through the thick and dark cloud canopy above. Truth be told, Zaida didn’t know how they were still on the road and not swept into the tree line already with how Stiles was driving. The boy swerved out of the way of falling and collapsed branches, taking tight turns at neck-breaking speeds when the road curved.

“Stiles,” Zaida called out over the sound of the engine struggling to keep up with how hard Stiles was pushing against the pedals. She had tried to bite her tongue, knowing what was at stake. However as she felt the wheel beneath her seat lift into the air as the car tilted after a particularly dangerous turn, she couldn’t handle it anymore. “Stiles, you’re going to kill us!

“I’m not gonna kill us!” He shook his head, jerking the steering wheel to the right sharply and the car skidded, veering into the opposite lane. Thankfully no one else was stupid enough to be on the roads right now, otherwise that particular move might have resulted in a head on collision.

“You’re going to go sliding off the road, and crash into a tree, and kill us!” Zaida insisted, her pitch rising with her panic as she gripped onto her seat with one hand, the other clutching the overhead handle.

“Yeah, right. If we crash I’ll buy you an exotic bird.” He snorted sarcastically, confident in his abilities. A little too overly confident, in Zaida’s opinion.

“I get that you need to find your dad - I really do - but we’re not going to be finding anyone if we are mangled corpses on the asphalt.” She pointed out, yelping as they took another sharp twist. “With the way this rain is pelting down, they might not even be able to identify our bodies - it’d power wash the flesh right off our bones.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you should be a writer? You’ve got a dramatic flare for detailed descriptions.” Stiles mused, brushing off her warning once again. Meanwhile the time between strikes of light and rumbles of thunder became shorter.

“I swear the lightning is getting closer…” Her breathing began to grow shallow and her stomach lurched into her throat at another swerve.

“Hey, Zay,” Stiles cooed at the realisation that she was genuinely scared, turning his head to look at her terrified face illuminated by flashes of light crackling in the sky. “It’s okay, we’re gonna be fine.”

“We’re not gonna be fine!” She exclaimed loudly, eyes widening as they fixed on the road ahead.

“We are-“ He began but she shook her head frantically, letting go of the overhanging handle to point at the road.

“Stiles! We’re not gonna be fine!” She screeched and he shifted his gaze to see a tree had collapsed in the middle of the road.

“Oh shit,” He swore and slammed on the brakes, desperately hoping that Roscoe would stop in time.

Instead, the rear wheels locked up in the water, sending them skidding across the road. He had no other choice but to yank the steering wheel as the car was sent spinning in a last-ditch effort to regain control. When it didn’t work, Stiles knew there was no recovering from the wheel-lock and made the split second decision to thrust his arm out in front of Zaida, barring across her chest and holding her back as the Jeep hurtled off the side of the road.

Zaida was thrust forward from her seat with a force that was both fast and strong, sending her straight into Stiles’ arm. The boy was the only thing holding her back from going straight into the dashboard - or through the windshield. It all happened so quickly that by the time she ricocheted off Stiles’ arm - her back and skull hitting the chair behind her painfully - his hand was lying limp in her lap.

“...Stiles?” She groaned through the pain, the muscles in her neck sore from the sudden jolt. When he didn’t answer, panic started to set in once more. Twisting to face the driver’s side despite the pain in her neck, she saw the boy’s figure collapsed over the steering wheel, his cheek pressed against leather as blood dripped from his pulverised temple.

“Stiles?!” There was far more urgency to her tone this time as she tugged her faulty seatbelt from where it was locked up, finally pulling it loose so she could lean over towards him. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. She had watched him die twice in one night, only this time he wouldn’t be coming back.

As her thoughts ran rampant she pressed her shaking fingers against his neck, feeling for his carotid artery - searching desperately for a pulse. He’d known the accident was coming - if he had just braced himself he would still be awake and alive and well, but instead he had chosen to save her, knowing that she would heal anyway. Damn it! Why did he always have to make it so freaking hard to be mad at him?

“Come on, Stiles! Stiles, please, come on!” She begged him, shifting her fingers until she felt the slow and faint beat, beat, beating beneath his skin. A pulse. He was alive. A sigh of relief tore from her body. “Oh, thank God! Why did you have to do that for? Huh? I would have healed! You stupid, reckless, amazing human being!”

Tossing her head back against the seat and taking in deep breaths as adrenaline coursed through her veins, she realised there would be no making it in time to their rendezvous if she didn’t leave now. Even then, going on foot, she would be cutting it close. Scott, Isaac and Allison would have to go on without them. Well, Isaac and Allison would, because Zaida knew the minute that the opportunity presented itself, Scott would be going after Jennifer and Deucalion. She had been planning to go with him, and Stiles had offered to help her enact her own plan behind Scott’s back. But now…

Well, now she had two roads ahead of her. She could leave - abandon Stiles and make a beeline for the Preserve. She might not make it in time to save her friends’ parents, but she might make it in time for the eclipse - in time to end Deucalion once and for all when he would be powerless and she would be unaffected by the moon’s weakness. She could finally kill the man who had murdered her parents, hunted her brother, and would be after her next. The man who would destroy anything in his path to get what he wanted, even the people she cared about. But looking at the boy beside her - the boy who had put his life at risk to protect her when her chances of survival were astronomically higher than his own - she knew she couldn’t go down that path. She couldn’t leave him here unconscious on the side of the road.

“Fuck,” She hissed and slammed her hands down on the dashboard loudly as her frustrations rose. Why did her damned heart have to be so soft?

[sterek-stuffs]

Making love is how we'll pray by lanalua. Explicit. Sterek. 2742 words.

Stiles and Derek perform a ritual in the woods.

Derek was looking around again, trying to decide the best way to go about it, when he felt a hand softly touch his forearm, moving down slowly until they could entwine their fingers together. He swallowed again, and finally looked at Stiles, relieved to find him looking back, earnest and encouraging. He started tentatively pulling Derek by their hands towards the moss bed. At this point, Derek would follow him anywhere. 

Stiles stopped a few feet from it and turned to Derek. He let his hand go and moved both hands to Derek's shirt waistband. "Is this okay?" Derek just nodded, lifting his arms up when Stiles started pulling. The back of his fingers touched his belly, feather-like, and sent shivers down his spine. He fought not to close his eyes, the eye contact with Stiles working like a lifeline to keep him present in the moment.

[thetallowman]

More side media - this time the girls' notes on the ritual. They covered a lot of the same ground as I did, but with a few more details. (Lucy wrote them, which makes sense - she seems like she would like having her thoughts out on paper, easier to review and reference.)

The trio really doesn't like Charles. Most of their criticisms reference his appearance/vibes, rather than concerns over the forsworn thing, so I'm still chalking this up to karma. (Has anyone explained karma to them? It's less of a concern when your family isn't ontologically evil, I guess.) They do point out that he can lie now, which is not something I had considered.

Matthew's last name is Moss, and he's a "Host." No real clues as to what the means - maybe some sort of inward-focused shamanism? Pulling in specific spirits, one at a time, and using them? Similar to Evan's firebird routine?

Edith's last name is James, and she's called the "Girl by Candlelight." Not much to go on here either. The specific title and the fact that she's "complex spirit" make me think she's a unique case, not falling neatly into any category - though the eyes and the hat remind me some of the Little Match Girl? Could be a ghost or ghost-adjacent along those lines.

Guttermuck girl is named Alpeana, and she's a "Mare" - a nightmare, presumably? I think there was one of those in Pact, in the interlude with the interview about master/familiar relationships. No clue what that shakes out as, theme-wise.

Big guy and winged woman are both Faeries, which I was not expecting. Winged woman is Maricica, of Dark Autumn, and big guy is Guilherme, of Summer Above. Those are presumably Courts? They sound pretentious enough. (Strange that they seem to get along, if so. Also, there's no mention of them being exiles - so why are they in nowheresville Kenneth?)

John (last name Stiles) is a "Dog of War." Gave Lucy bad vibes, but the other two seem less effected. Does he work for an Incarnation of War? (My gut says no, as that would be too similar to Conquest for Wildbow to want to retread that territory.) Is it a practice style, then? Conflict, battles, contests - victory and triumph feeding a ever-hungry fire? Magic war profiteering?

The singing kids are officially "The Hungry Choir," and they're a "Ritual Incarnate." Still no more details on their physical appearance, which makes me think it's not important - they're not zombies. All damage seems to be to the mouths and teeth, which would fit with them being "hungry." Are they like piranhas then, smelling blood and descending in a frenzy? The result of a successful ritual, or one interrupted, left unfinished?

Miss - unknown. Still the suspicion there is a red herring. Her unknown nature might indicate that she was around even before Matthew/Edith entered the scene?

Base on this information alone, my top suspects would be Guilherme (because Faeries suck, and he seems like he might be a Hunter) or John (if outsiders are drawn in by the murder, and bring conflict with them, he might stand to gain).

[garadinervi]

by Alison Knowles: A Retrospective (1960–2022), Edited by Karen Moss with Lucia Fabio, Contributions by Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, Lucia Fabio, Lauren Fulton, Hannah B Higgins, Maud Jacquin and Sébastien Pluot, Alison Knowles and George Quasha, Karen Moss, Julie Robinson, Kristine Stiles, and Nicole L. Woods, The University of California, Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, Berkeley, CA, 2022, Co-published and distributed by D.A.P./Distributed Art Publishers. Designed by Content Object, Kimberly Varella [Photography by Ian Byers-Gamber] (pt. 3) (pt. 1 here) (pt. 2 here)

[multiverseofseries]

The Marvels: Tutte per Una, Una per Tutte

The Marvels, il film sequel di Captain Marvel che riprende anche la Kamala Khan di Miss Marvel e Monica Rambeau.

Tre linee che si intrecciano nella trama

Pur essendo un Captain Marvel 2, il film è in realtà un sequel che riprende anche il personaggio di Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani) di Miss Marvel e la Monica Rambeau di Teyonah Parris che abbiamo visto in WandaVision oltre la bambina conosciuta nella prima avventura cinematografica di Carol Danvers. Ed è proprio da Kamala prende le mosse il film, portando dalla sua avventura seriale lo stile leggero e "fumettoso" che ritroviamo in tutta la prima sequenza di The Marvels.

The Marvels: una foto di Brie Larson e Iman Vellani

Un ottimo inizio deciso e di personalità che ci porta passo dopo passo a conoscere i presupposti della trama e dell'intreccio di poteri che si viene a creare tra le tre protagoniste, facendo sì che si scambino di posto muovendosi tra la Terra, lo spazio e la stazione spaziale in cui è presente anche Nick Fury. Una prima parte scoppiettante e convincente, in cui vengono gettate le basi per tutto il plot del film, dell'antagonista che le eroine dovranno affrontare e le sue motivazioni.

Tre per una, tre in una

Se il primo Captain Marvel basava molta della sua riuscita sull'intesa e le dinamiche da Buddy Movie tra Brie Larson e Samuel L. Jackson, non si comporta in modo molto diverso questo sequel, che costruisce tutta la prima parte, e il suo principale punto di forza, nell'alchimia tra le tre protagoniste e nei tempi delle loro interazioni: si conferma la Larson la affianca bene Teyonah Parris, ma colpisce soprattutto la giovane interprete Iman Vellani, che già aveva conquistato in Miss Marvel, e che si dimostra la vera anima del film.

The Marvels: Iman Vellani in una foto del film

la natura della storia e il suo ruotare attorno a tre figure femminili distinte e messe sullo stesso piano narrativo ha portato a trovare uno stile unitario e non legato a una sola di loro, ma toglie un pizzico di personalità e originalità propria alla storia e l'approccio di The Marvels.

Più in alto, più lontano, più veloce

Dopo questo inizio promettente, purtroppo, The Marvels si ferma, gira a vuoto, si scontra contro una certa indecisione sulla strada da prendere. È una fase, penalizzata anche dal doppiaggio italiano, in cui si rischia di uscire dal film. È però soltanto una fase da cui per fortuna The Marvels emerge con un finale che ritrova smalto e sicurezza e riesce ad emozionare per come il rapporto tra le tre eroine viene portato avanti e messo in scena. E va sottolineato in positivo come il film non miri a essere più di quello che è andando dritto per la sua strada ottimizzando spunti e mezzi a propria disposizione.

The Marvels: Teyonah Parris in azione

Anche gli effetti visivi fanno un passo in avanti rispetto al terzo Ant-Man, più precisi e a fuoco; così come appare convincente la mano della regista Nia DaCosta nelle scene action ben coreografate e con interessanti movimenti di camera. Soprattutto nel primo e terzo atto. The Marvel è un film che ha un ottimo potenziale e lo sfrutta alla grande

In conclusione the Marvels è un film con un ottimo potenziale e lo sfrutta alla grande con diversi elementi interessate che possono convincere e di sicuro intrattenere il pubblico della Marvel.

Perché ci piace

- L'intesa tra le tre protagoniste, tra le quali spicca la giovane Kamala Khan di Iman Vellani.

- Il tono generale, che dà però il suo meglio quando strizza l'occhio a quello di Kamala e la sua serie Miss Marvel.

- Passi avanti sul fronte degli effetti visivi.

- La semplicità nell'approccio...

Cosa non va

- ... ma risulta in parte frettoloso e superficiale in alcuni passaggi.

[indiejones]

THE 100 GREATEST SCREEN-PAIRS IN HISTORY OF WORLD CINEMA (@INDIES)!

.RAJESH KHANNA - MUMTAZ

.WALTER PIDGEON – GREER GARSON

.HUMPHREY BOGART – INGRID BERGMAN

.RICHARD BURTON – ELIZABETH TAYLOR

.ETHAN HAWKE – JULIE DELPY

.CHARLES CHAPLIN – EDNA PURVIANCE

.HUGH GRANT – JULIA ROBERTS

.KEANU REEVES – CARRIE-ANN MOSS

.RICHARD GERE - JULIA ROBERTS

.REX HARRISON – AUDREY HEPBURN

.CHARLES FARRELL – JANET GAYNOR

.CLARK GABLE – VIVIEN LEIGH

.UTTAM KUMAR – SUCHITRA SEN

.ROBERT REDFORD – BARBRA STREISAND

.DEV ANAND – WAHEEDA REHMAN

.CARY GRANT – INGRID BERGMAN

.KEANU REEVES – SANDRA BULLOCK

.GARY COOPER – INGRID BERGMAN

.JOSEPH FIENNES – GWYNETH PALTROW

.CHARLES BOYER – INGRID BERGMAN

.CARY GRANT – KATHERINE HEPBURN

.GURU DUTT – WAHEEDA REHMAN

.RAJESH KHANNA - TANUJA

.DILIP KUMAR - MADHUBALA

.TOM HANKS – MEG RYAN

.RAJESH KHANNA – SHARMILA TAGORE

.HUGH GRANT – RENEE ZELLWEGER

.SPENCOR TRACY – KATHERINE HEPBURN

.AMITABH BACHCHAN – PARVEEN BABI

.MICHEL PICCOLI – ROMY SCHNEIDER

.WOODY ALLEN – DIANE KEATON

.RAJESH KHANNA – REKHA

.MICHAEL DOUGLAS – GLENN CLOSE

.ALAIN DELON – ROMY SCHNEIDER

.ROD STEIGER – ROMY SCHNEIDER

.SHAMMI KAPOOR – ASHA PAREKH

.MARCELO MASTROIANNI – ROMY SCHNEIDER

.YVES MONTAND – SIMONE SIGNORET

.ALAIN DELON – ANNIE GIRARDOT

.JOHNNY DEPP – JULIETTE BINOCHE

.LAURENCE OLIVIER – VIVIEN LEIGH

.CLARK GABLE – JOAN CRAWFORD

.TREVOR HOWARD – CELIA JOHNSON

.PATRICK SWAYZE – JENNIFER GREY

.PREM NAZIR - SHEELA

.VINCENT CASSEL – MONICA BELLUCCI

.CLARK GABLE – AVA GARDNER

.JEAN-LOUIS TRINTIGNANT – ROMY SCHNEIDER

.JACK LEMMON – SHIRLEY MACLAINE

.HEATH LEDGER - JULIA STILES

.ANTHONY PERKINS – INGRID BERGMAN

.TOBEY MAGUIRE – KIRSTEN DUNST

.GREGORY PECK – AUDREY HEPBURN

.TOM CRUISE – RENEE ZELLWEGER

.AMITABH BACHCHAN - REKHA

.JAMES STEWART – MARGARET SULLAVAN

.RYAN GOSLING – RACHEL MCADAMS

.PRADEEP KUMAR – MEENA KUMARI

.ROBERT MONTGOMERY – ROSALIND RUSSELL

.JOHNNY DEPP – HELENA BONHAM CARTER

.BOBBY VERNON – GLORIA SWANSON

.DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS JR. – LORETTA YOUNG

.CLARK GABLE – CLAUDETTE COLBERT

.RAJESH KHANNA – ZEENAT AMAN

.GLENN FORD – GERALDINE PAGE

.LEONARDO DI CAPRIO – KATE WINSLET

.RAJESH KHANNA – ASHA PAREKH

.MEL GIBSON – CATHERINE MCCORMACK

.RAJ KAPOOR - NARGIS

.BRAD PITT – ANGELINA JOLIE

.CHRISTOPHER REEVE – MARGOT KIDDER

.CARY GRANT – SOPHIA LOREN

.SOUMITRA CHATTERJEE – MADHABI MUKHERJEE

.HUMPHREY BOGART – AUDREY HEPBURN

.SALMAN KHAN – AISHWARYA RAI

.ANTONIA BANDERAS – CATHERINE ZETA JONES

.RYAN O’ NEAL – BARBRA STREISAND

.JOHNNY DEPP – GWYNETH PALTROW

.MICHAEL DOUGLAS – KATHLEEN TURNER

.JAMES STEWART – CLAUDETTE COLBERT

.LAURENT MALET – ANNIE GIRARDOT

.DICK POWELL – OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND

.TOMMY STEELE – GERALDINE PAGE

.GEORGE BRENT – OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND

.MAURICE RONET – BRIGITTE BARDOT

.RAJESH KHANNA - SRIDEVI

.WILLIAM POWELL – MYRNA LOY

.ANTHONY PERKINS – ROMY SCHNEIDER

.MICKEY ROONEY – JUDY GARLAND

.RAJESH KHANNA - RAAKHEE

.SHAH RUKH KHAN - KAJOL

.RAAJ KUMAR – MEENA KUMARI

.MAHIPAL – ANITA GUHA

.RALPH FIENNES – JULIETTE BINOCHE

.ERROL FLYNN – OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND

.JOHN BOLES – BARBARA STANWYCK

.DHARMENDRA – MEENA KUMARI

.PETER FINCH – AUDREY HEPBURN

.MARLON BRANDO – KIM HUNTER

.MAURICE RONET – ROMY SCHNEIDER .

(P.S. - THE 2 PEOPLE WITH MOST ENTRIES IN THIS LIST, ARE-

RAJESH KHANNA OF INDIA WITH 8 ENTRIES, FOLLOWED BY ROMY SCHNEIDER OF AUSTRIA/FRANCE WITH 7 ENTRIES!)

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @outtoshatter!

I really, really hope you like it!

*****

An emblem made of stone and brass

"That crazy superficial shit - head full of crazy prejudices , fuck you ," growled Stiles as he marched rapidly through the trees.

He couldn't believe Scott reacted that way.

“A phase he says , that fucker . A phase ! Being queer is not a fucking phase , what the fuck !"

He kicked a stone hard, then hopped on one foot.

" Ah -fuck you too, you shitty forest !"

Okay, he was the son of a country sheriff and as such he had to have an innate sense of direction.

"So then…let's see...if the moss is on the right side of the log…ah, fuck, if only I had listened to the scoutmaster's lessons instead of blowing him..."

Continue on AO3

[braedenhales]

Oooh, very curious to know the songs you associate with Teen Wolf fandom 👀👀👀

My taste in music is straight garbage so listen at your own risk.

Die in Your Arms by Justin Bieber because of all of the ships that had their love interests literally die in the others arms like ?????

Truth or Dare by Marianas Trench

Alive by Sia

99 by Elliot Moss because of all the characters that just disappeared but mainly Kira

Lovely by Billie Eilish&Khalid for Theo, could also go for s2 Jackson

Afraid by No Wyld obviously

Way Down We Go by Kaleo

Gallows by Katie Garfield like above the music department knew what they were doing

I Don’t Know Why by Imagine Dragons I have no idea let’s just accept it and move on

Not really a song but Prayer Skit by DMX for Boyd and sort of kind of but not really but because I know that it is what the writers were going for his intended dynamic with Derek from Boyd’s death scene

I can’t listen to Invisible Chains by Lauren Jauregui without thinking of Stiles because of a certain someone who will not be named 😤

[beevean]

Non so nulla di castlevania ma leggere i tuoi rant sulla serie di netflix mi ha invogliato a giocarci

Se non è di disturbo, mi potresti indicare da quale gioco dovrei iniziare?

Awww, questa è una delle cose migliori che qualcuno potrebbe dirmi 😂 sì l'unica nota positiva di NFCV è che ti fa capire quanto siano divertenti i giochi che scimmiotta 😬

Allora! Ci sono tre stili di gioco:

Classic: i giochi 2D usciti tra gli anni '80 e '90. Questi sono i tuoi tipici platformer Nintendo Hard, dove i controlli sono limitati, hai solo la frusta e qualche subweapon a disposizione, e il platforming ti farà piangere l'anima. Hanno comunque il loro fascino se ti piace una sfida tosta e se sei pratic* con i platformer dell'epoca. Tra tutti i giochi, ti consiglio:

Castlevania 1, molto semplice nella struttura e un'ottima introduzione allo stile in generale;

Castlevania 3, o meglio Akumajou Densetsu perché per l'amor del cielo gioca la versione giapponese che è difficile ma non cattiva come quella americana: questo è il gioco su cui NFCV in teoria si basa, uno dei più amati dal fandom, e ha un gimmick carino dove puoi scegliere i tuoi alleati e i livelli a cui giocare;

Super Castlevania IV, famoso per avere la frusta a 8 direzioni quindi più approcciabile;

Rondo of Blood, difficilino ma interessante, anche qui puoi decidere che percorso prendere e puoi sbloccare un secondo personaggio. Molto più importante, è il gioco che precede direttamente Symphony of the Night, e verrà adattato in Nocturne 😬

Metroidvania: i giochi 2D usciti negli anni 2000. Lo stile più famoso per i fan più giovani, reso iconico da SoTN. Sono quei giochi dove esplori tutto il castello, trovi armi nuove da equipaggiare, aumenti di livello come in un RPG, e sblocchi muove mosse/poteri che ti permettono di accedere a più aree. Sono inoltre parecchio più facili e plot heavy dei classici. Tra tutti i giochi, ti consiglio:

Symphony of the Night, ovviamente :P è il Castlevania per eccellenza, un classicone al giorno d'oggi. Ha qualche difettuccio qua e là, ma lo trovo comunque avvincente. È il gioco che ha reso Alucard un'icona e ha dato una storia tragica a Dracula.

Aria of Sorrow, che prende tutti i difettini dei giochi precedenti e li lima per un'esperienza pulitissima. Il gimmick che lo contrassegna è che puoi ricevere anime dai mostri che uccidi.

Portrait of Ruin, molto sottovalutato in mia opinione :P è molto carino, né facilissimo né difficilissimo, e come C3 ruota attorno al gimmick di avere un partner con te (sempre l* stess* lol). Tecnicamente è il sequel di Bloodlines, che non ho menzionato, ma non c'è bisogno che ci giochi.

3Dvania: giochi in 3D che tentano di replicare lo stile Metroidvania ma con severe limitazioni. Qua devo ammettere che non ho giocato a tutti i giochi, solo ai due per PS2: Lament of Innocence e Curse of Darkness.

A me non è piaciuto molto Lament, ma ad altri sì quindi de gustibus 😂 ha una struttura più alla Megaman, dove scegli tu la progressione. È uno dei pochi giochi post-SoTN dove controlli un Belmont, e quindi la tua arma principale è la frusta. Atmosfera resa estremamente bene per un gioco del 2003, level design memorabile, ed è la origin story di tutta la timeline.

Curse è il mio gioco preferito della serie e credo che ormai se ne siano resi conto tutti 😂 aggiusta quasi tutto quello che non mi era piaciuto in Lament e ha una storia molto, molto intrigante per me. E ho adottato Hector e Isaac come miei figli e odio NFCV con la forza di mille soli per come ha massacrato i miei ragazzi 💖 ha un gameplay loop innovativo e uno stile di combattimento divertente, al prezzo di un level design molto più piatto. Tecnicamente il sequel di C3, ma basta che tu sappia chi sia Trevor lol.

Okay, dopo tutta questa pappardella :P tl;dr:

se te la senti di provare i classici, inizia con SCIV è il più facile di tutti, poi RoB per apprezzare ancora di più la storia di SoTN. Se non ti piacciono, passa direttamente a SoTN e AoS, che sono relativamente facili e beginner-friendly. Dopodiché, prova i giochi che ti ho menzionato a seconda di quali ti attirano di più. Poi, se la serie ti piace davvero, provi anche quelli che non ho menzionato.

Divertiti e spero che ti appassioni anche tu ❤ mi fa molto piacere che i miei rant ti abbiano incuriosito!