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kitkatpancakestack · 1 year

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I've never published for this fandom before and full disclosure I only got like a fourth of the way into the movie before I had to stop, but we all know how it ends and also how can you not want to write something after that dumpster fire, jfc. A bittersweet ficlet for my bittersweet heart.

The jeep idles with a pleasant rumble, the steering wheel vibrating against the fragile pads of his fingers. Eli doesn't have to try hard at all to imagine his father's cocky half-grin, his fingers' smooth scritchy-scratch over his beard as he laughs, Listen to her purr; she never could resist me.

Congrats dad, you're a mechanic. You did the bare minimum of your job.

That's because you don't understand the conditions I'm working under. Come on, come look under the hood.

Dad.

Son.

I hate cars.

Maybe, but you can't hate this one. If anything ever happens to me, it'll be your job to keep this tragedy alive. Now come here.

Eli shuts off the ignition and stares up at the house in front of him. He guesses after making the entire road trip without issue, maybe his dad knew what he was talking about with the jeep.

The door creaks and slams shut with a dull thud. He drags himself up the porch but doesn't knock; he hears movement inside, shuffling closer, a heartbeat picking up rhythm.

The door opens. Socks enter his field of vision where his gaze is trained steadfastly on the wooden slats. The socks cross at the ankle. The wood shifts, as if the person has propped their shoulder against the doorjam.

His head and his heart and his throat are a sticky, impossible mess. All this time to think of a conversation opener and he doesn't have a clue how to start.

The man asks, "Do you even have your permit yet?"

The air around him thickens, suffocating, all the shit he repressed during his car ride avalanching him all at once. "The jeep didn't break down. Not a single time."

The corners of the man's eyes crinkle as he looks over Eli's shoulder. "How about that." Another beat of silence, and then, "I know it sounds impossible, but the moment it happened, I felt it."

A moment passes, interrupted by a breeze carrying a litany of unfamiliar scents, and still, in the hodgepodge, something familiar: his father's aftershave, his greasy hands after working on a car, his breath after morning coffee.

Eli chokes out a sob and says, "I need you."

Stiles steps over the threshold and says, "I'm here."

#kitkat writes #tw fic #sterek #i guess??#eli hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf movie

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connecting-the-stars · 7 months

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Theo Raeken

Child of ??? - (not a warlock) - (not a goat guy [already checked]) - Some Guy that “Knows Things”

Well, his legs aren’t covered in tangles of fur like how Stiles described Satyrs, and he keeps snapping at him that he’s “not a witch,” but this guy has to be something, right? You don’t just fight a massive dog-bear monster thing and get away without losing your head. However, in the depths of the night and in the center of a absolute downpour, Liam can’t actually be sure if any magic was at play. He didn’t see any flash of metal or the sound of a weapon hitting it’s mark, but how could some human see - let alone hold their own against a mythical brutal monster.

A Teen Wolf x PJO au I’m working on - See You There, in the Storm

#See you there in the storm #wip fic #so he’s not a witch then what is he?#just the one math meme where it’s Liam trying to figure out what the hell he is #skull tattoo #SYTITS #thoughts aloud #teen wolf au #teen wolf x pjo au #teen wolf x pjo #tw fic #theo raeken #theo teen wolf #theo raeken moodboard #teen wolf moodboard #teen wolf #Percy Jackson au #pjo

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vivitalks · 19 days

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[read on ao3]

"You okay?"

Lydia has her elbows on her knees. Sitting in the waiting room of Deaton's clinic, her blue dress paradoxically bright against the bland color palette of the room, she's a contradiction unto herself. She looks tired and shaken. She looks glad to be alive. She looks unprepared to believe that being alive is going to last.

"I've been worse," is how she answers him. Then, "I've also been better."

Stiles takes the empty seat beside her.

"Feels like we're always hovering in the middle there," he offers.

Lydia nods. "Ethan and Aiden are going to be okay."

"Thank God," Stiles deadpans. "I would have been heartbroken to lose them.”

Lydia gently shoves him. "They did the right thing in the end. They're not that bad."

Stiles only hums, drumming on his knee with restless fingers. A deafening silence crowds them in. Stiles reflects on the events of the last twenty-four hours and finds them alarming when compressed into such a small time frame.

"What's on your mind?" he dares to ask, after the quiet is almost insurmountably heavy. If Deaton is still in the exam room with the twins, they're being very quiet. Suspiciously so. Something for Stiles to check on, once he's done checking on Lydia.

Lydia who is smoothing out her dress with a persistence that could be called obsessive. Every motion creates a new wrinkle, and every time, Lydia flattens it under her thumb.

"Oh, you know." Her tone is light, but her twisting fingers betray just how uneasy she is. "Thinking about how the last time I was sitting in this waiting room, you were dead for sixteen hours."

Stiles takes that one to the solar plexus, though he's not sure how else it could be taken.

"I wasn't…really dead. It was more like a long sleep. A long, icy sleep."

"You stopped breathing." Lydia stares lasers into her knees. "You didn't have a heartbeat. Deaton kept saying it was okay, that this was normal, that if something was really wrong we would know, but he was lying, I could tell. He wouldn't let us near you guys — he said he didn't want us interfering with the process." A fist forms in her lap, creasing the folds of her dress. "Sixteen hours. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I just sat here. Waiting. Hoping Deaton wasn't full of shit."

"And he wasn't," Stiles says, morbidly upbeat. "We came back!"

"You don't get it," Lydia says, sounding angry and scared and deeply wounded all at the same time.

Stiles frowns. If she would just look at him, maybe he could read her expression, but he can't tell what she's thinking from the set of her shoulders. "So help me get it."

Lydia breathes out, out, out, expelling air like it's a toxic gas.

"Humans have a reflex," she says in a small voice, staring through her palms. "It prevents them from drowning until the last possible second. The survival instinct is so powerful that it overpowers the breathing instinct, even when holding your breath becomes excruciatingly painful. It's called—”

"Voluntary apnea," Stiles says dumbly.

Lydia looks up at him and nods once. Her green eyes latch onto his.

"You told me once that death happens to the people around you," she says, biting her lip. "I can't imagine how it must have felt to be in that ice bath…but can you imagine how it felt to be the one holding you down?"

Stiles is too dumbstruck to answer.

"I killed you. I did that. It doesn't matter that it was temporary. I didn't know that, we didn't know that for sure. I held you in that water until you died, Stiles." Her hands tremble. "You were dead for sixteen hours because of me. I was a murderer. For sixteen hours."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hey," Stiles says. His 'Protect Lydia Martin' instinct is back online and the alarm is blaring. He grabs her hands in both of his, keeping them still and warm.

"Okay, first of all, you didn't murder me. It was consensual drowning! If anything it was more like assisted suicide." Lydia glares. "Not helping. Right. Sorry. Um, but secondly, and— and way more importantly, Lydia, yeah, maybe you temporarily killed me, but you also— you brought me back to life."

She’s unmoved, he can tell, so he shakes her gently. "Yeah. You did that. Look, anyone can kill me. I'm not even six feet of fragile bones and zero muscle mass, and my best friend's a freakin' werewolf, okay, killing me is not impressive. Bringing me back? That takes something else. Something special, and only someone who—" He tries not to stammer but his tongue sabotages him, "who cares about me enough to bring me back to life could do that, and honestly, those are in short supply, so yeah. Maybe you were a temporary murderer, but you were also a savior. My savior." He smiles weakly. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lydia holds his gaze. She holds his hands, too — not passively but decisively, clutching them like a lifeline, like she's the one who's drowning. Reflecting once again on the past twenty-four hours, it occurs to Stiles that he is not the only person for whom that stretch of time has been alarming.

"That's certainly a nicer way of looking at it," she yields softly. Then she shakes her head. "But it doesn't change the fact that in order to save you, I had to kill you." Now she weaponizes that arresting stare, seaglass green pinning him to his seat. "I'm never doing that again, you understand? I can't."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

"You don't know what it was like," she murmurs — seemingly talking to herself now, more than him, anyway. "Watching you. And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything but sit there."

Something niggles Stiles's brain, that feeling he gets when a few different threads braid themselves into a discernible pattern. The emotional tether. Lydia's remorse. Sixteen hours of sitting and waiting.

"Sitting there was exactly what you were supposed to do," he realizes, also half to himself. It gets her attention anyway; she frowns at his conclusion. Stiles goes on: "An emotional tether, Deaton said, someone to bring us back, I didn't really get it, how that could work, but you just said it. You all just sat there. For sixteen hours. You waited. You stayed, so I had someone to come back to. The way only a tether could do. Think about it, right? If a fisherman casts a line and then walks away from the fishing pole, it doesn't matter whether he hooks a fish because no one is there to reel it in."

"Are you comparing yourself to a fish?"

"We were underwater, I was thinking about water, it was the first metaphor that came to mind, give me a break,” Stiles says defensively. "My point is, sixteen hours is a long time. Long enough to get bored, to lose faith, to give up and walk away and pronounce us dead. But you guys didn't. You didn't."

"Deaton said—”

"You just told me you thought Deaton was full of shit. But you stayed anyway, right?" Stiles presses, looking Lydia in the eye. "You had a feeling. Or maybe you just believed. Whatever it was, you stayed. That's how you brought me back. You thought you weren't doing anything, but you were doing the most important thing." He squeezes her hands. "You were waiting for me."

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heavensenthale · 1 year

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sharing is caring

Fandom: Teen Wolf Relationship: Lydia/Malia/Scott/Stiles/Kira Rating: General audiences Word count: 1.2k

Excerpt:

“Yes, you both look adorable, but can I please have my clothes back?” asks Scott, standing next to the closet where he couldn’t find a pair of sweatpants because he still hasn’t done laundry while one of his girlfriends stood on the other side of the room wearing his last clean pair.

Malia, who is only wearing a sports bra and Scott’s pants, doesn’t look sorry. “I’m going on a run,” she says as if that explains things. In a way, it does. Scott has a feeling Malia hasn’t done laundry either.

“What about my hoodie?” he asks in Lydia’s direction, giving her his best pout.

“This is Stiles’,” she replies.

“No, it’s not.” The hoodie in question has his name on the back, a leftover from his lacrosse days.

“Stiles was wearing it yesterday. It’s Stiles’,” she says with finality that doesn’t leave room for any discussion.

Read on AO3

#teen wolf #tw fic #poly pack #multiamory march 2023 #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #kira yukimura #lydia martin #malia tate #miliwrites (allegedly)

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softranswolves · 1 year

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Come Back to Me

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Underage

Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Paige

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Marin Morrell, Derek Hale, Paige

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Pre-Hale Fire, Post-Hale Fire, Alpha Peter Hale, Canon Divergence, Young Peter Hale, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Timeline What Timeline

Summary: When Stiles remains the only one who remembers Peter Hale, he finds a way to travel back in time to change how events led to the fire, and the decimation of the Hale family. He finds connections he never expected to, and things don't go according to plan.

Written for @hlinas-daughter for the @stetersecretsanta2022 gift exchange! I had a bunch of fun with this, I hope you enjoy!!

#Steter Secret Santa 2022 #steter secret santa #steter #tw fic #fics

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rocksinmuffin · 11 months

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If you can't recognize them, you'll just have to make them.

i.e. Grim finds you looking at a sky you do not recognize and claims it for you in the only way he can think of.

#sinning #twisted wonderland #tw fic #fic blogging #reader insert #grim #otome hell

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romanticashale · 2 years

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home is where you are

Teen Wolf | Sterek | E | 1510 Words

Staring at Derek Hale, who had been gone from Beacon Hills for over a year with minimal contact, was like being punched in the gut. There had been a dull ache throughout his absence, a sense of wrongness that Stiles never could seem to fix, but seeing the werewolf there in front of him turned the ache into a sharp pain of something. Anger. Relief. Desire.

They both stood there for a long moment, neither saying anything as the silence stretched out. Eventually Derek’s mouth hitched up in a hesitant smile and Stiles lost it.

“What the FUCK dude?” he cried, throwing his hands in the air and resisting the incredibly strong urge to shove the other man. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Derek was stupid strong and probably wouldn’t be affected by it at all.

The werewolf winced at his outburst but didn’t step back as Stiles laid into him.

“It’s been a YEAR Derek! A year of nothing from you! No calls, no texts, no carrier pigeons with a note to tell us that you’re alive. You could have been hurt! Or dead! How was I supposed to know if you’d died, huh? Did you ever think about that, wolf man!”

[read full on ao3]

#teen wolf #sterek #teen wolf fic #sterek fic #tw fic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #my writing #otp: don't be such a sourwolf #this is pwp #completely self indulgent #so yeah

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ceruleanmusings · 1 year

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The Game is Mine

Can also be found on Ao3.

Teen Wolf movie Fix-It rewrite fic.

SPOILERS AHEAD!

IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE TEEN WOLF MOVIE YET, YOU WILL BE SPOILED! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Summary: Well. This is it then. This is the only move he can make. The only way to take all the pieces off the board. The only way to make sure everyone is safe. No one said all the right choices was easy. And yet, somehow, it was the easiest decision Scott ever made.

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Well. This is it then. This is the only move he can make. The only way to take all the pieces off the board. The only way to make sure everyone is safe. No one said all the right choices was easy. And yet, somehow, it was the easiest decision Scott ever made.

“Take me,” he stated. Let the others go.” God, was that his voice? Wavery and unsure? His hands curled into his palms. He had to steady it. Get a grip. He had to save Eli. It was all about saving Eli. Saving everyone. If everyone was safe…it would all be worth it. He’d done everything he needed to do.

“All the lives here belong to me.” The Nogitsune’s voice scraped down Scott’s spine, sending the hairs up on his arms. But still he pressed on, moved forward. That was all there was to life, wasn’t it? Moving forward? It’d been so difficult before but now…now, nothing else in the world was easier.

“All you need is me,” Scott said, his words with borrowed confidence.

“Scott don’t do this.” Ah, Derek. Still trying to find a way to take all the pain and punishment. Habits die hard, huh? Or maybe that was his parental instincts kicking in. If anyone was going to trade themselves for Eli, it would be his father, wouldn’t it? Derek had lost so much… Scott hoped he’d understand his choice one day. Maybe.

Scott rolled his shoulders back, strengthened his stance, steeled his bones. They needed to remember him like this. Strong, sure, stable. Their Alpha. Their friend. “Allison kills me, I die in her arms, the same way that she died in mine.” He didn’t mean to think of Stiles at this moment but he did. Because he’d be proud Scott figured it out, if only for a second, before his anger would come roaring to life. And he’d come up with another plan. Because Stiles was quick like that, finding the patterns and the loopholes. But that’s not how it’s supposed to work. This was a two-person game. And Scott had to keep it that way. “That’s the move that wins the game, isn’t it?”

“I’ve already won.”

“You lose!” It burst out of him in an angry snarl. Tiny pinpricks of pain pulse in his palms as his claws flickered and flashed beneath his surging anger. He strained to keep his fangs from ripping through his gums, elongating in his jaws. He couldn’t give the Nogitsune more power, more strength. “Until I’m off the board! And I’m still standing.” He swallowed and shifted his weight, grounding himself. “And I’m still the alpha.”

“An arrow to the heart to save everyone else?” A strange lilt floated his growling, gravely question along. Amusement? Amazement? Skepticism? Were trickster spirits able to feel anything other than its own satisfied glee? Scott’s heart thudded as the Nogitsune’s bandaged head whipped around to Eli. A whisper of a breath and—“All the other players go free.”

His stomach pitched and his hands trembled, and he pushed down the thick, sour threatening to rush up his throat. I can do this. I have to do this. Counting to three, Scott turned, and his heart broke all over again. The jagged splinters poked between his ribs and rubbed and irritated his lungs, aching his chest with every pull of his breath. The way her face cracked open, her mouth dropped in a silent refusal, the tears carving tracks down her cheeks as her eyes flitted back and forth from the bow in her hand to his face, over and over again. As if daring herself to wake up from a dream. Or a nightmare. Or this reality.

“No.” The word squeezed out between her trembling lips, riding the wafting smoke surrounding them. Scott didn’t dare take his eyes off her. If this was all he had left, seeing this look on her face, seeing her, he’d see it through the end. He had to. “No I can’t. I c—I can’t—I cannot…. No.”

Scott’s ears twitched at Eli’s groan behind him. Any longer and al this wouldn’t be worth it. Derek would lose someone else, again. He couldn’t let Derek go through that. Couldn’t let anyone else he cared about go through more pain and suffering because of him. It had to be done this way. It had to. And he locked eyes with Allison, holding her, telling her this. Because she had to know. She had to do it. She had to.

“Kill him, Allison,” the Nogitsune growled, “and I win the game.”

Kill me. And this will all be over. All of it.

“Allison please.” Her eyes snapped back to him and he saw her as she once was, the fresh faced girl on the first day of the new semester, smiling that shy smile when she took the pen he held out to her. The girl full of possibilities. The girl with hope. The girl with a future. The girl who still had one. “Don’t make me watch my friends and my family die.” He couldn’t live with that. But this…this he could live with. Or not. That was the point, after all.

If you ever loved me…

She shook her head, a motion so small he probably wouldn’t have caught it if he didn’t have such a strong focus on her. And he nodded. This had to be done. He did everything he could do. Everything he needed to do. It would be okay. He would be okay. It was okay.

She breathed.

He breathed.

Her arrow slid out of its quiver in a smooth, graceful motion, unsheathing with a metallic hum.

She breathed.

He breathed.

He squared his shoulders. The lapels of his jacket inched open, just a little, clearing the expanse of his chest.

She breathed.

He breathed.

The leather of her gloves creaked as she drew back the bow in one, powerful pull, and held it. Held him. Held them both still. So still.

“Game…is…mine. Kill him!” The Nogitsune roared.

Scott’s breath shook. His body shook. His world trembled. He lifted his chin. Fear spiked in the put of his stomach.

This is the only way.

He looked at her.

Allison—

The moonlight bounced off the arrowhead, glittering and gleaming as if dipped in precious diamonds. They hit their mark, sinking deep into his chest, ripping past skin, and muscle, and bone and landed tried and true. He bent forward, fear and uncertainty shooting out of him in one pained grunt. His heart beat hard, lurched, once, and spasmed painfully in his chest. Volume dropped, leaving behind only a high pitched ring.

She breathed.

He tried.

She drew another arrow and let this one fly. His teeth clenched. He jerked backwards, muscles fluttering, recoiling against the new spike of pain in his chest. He stood straight again. Looked at her. Held her. Took a step forward.

She breathed.

He held his breath.

Another arrow in. A perfect three-fold shot. Red dotted and bloomed on his shirt, spreading and unfurling its petals. He staggered backwards, legs giving out as all his blood and strength rushed upwards.

The woods tilted and the ground rushed up to meet him. Some sort of perseverance kicked in as he had the strength to throw out his arm and cushion his fall, the other going up to his chest to…what? Check if the arrows did land? Check if his heart still beat? Check to see if he still belonged to this earthly plane? Yes, yes, and yes.

He smelled her before he felt her. That overwhelming yet satiating scent of her: sweet and floral, as if flowers grew around her bones and budded between her teeth. Her fingers gripped him, held him, steadied him, even as his head rocked in the waves and his body floated. His skin stretched and fluttered, stitched and ripped working to heal him and expel the arrows, resisting the foreign bodies lodged inside.

“The wolves howl to signal their position the rest of the pack.” Her cheek brushed against his and her hair tickled his face and he leaned against her, resting upon his shield. “Tell me, Scott McCall,” the Nogitsune all but coughed out, “what is the sound of the wolf who is ready to die?”

“I’d tell you,” he said, chest heaving, arrows creaking and groaning, “but I’m not ready to die.

Flashing in dancing reds and twirling golds, fire erupted on the fletching of the arrows sticking out of him. As they burned and lowered, dripping sparks and embers, the red blossom on his chest shrank. Warmth spread across the surface of the once-stained, white fabric, licking and brushing against his skin. And only when the flame died out did he get to his feet, shaky but solid, and stared the Nogitsune down, its gaping maw showcasing a shiny row of jagged teeth and disbelief.

“Fox Fire,” the Nogitsune growled.

Fire burst around him, crackling and spinning in the air. Scott closed his eyes, sensitive to the light, and allowed the flames to lick up his legs, wrap around his waist, curl up his arms and torso, and leap off his head, pulling upwards into a tight rope, the large fox form rising above him. It stretched upwards, crawling higher, and spun off. And when the light died down, Scott turned to Hikari who stared back at him with wide eyes. She turned her head one way and then to the other, lower lip trembling.

“It…it wasn’t me,” she managed a whisper.

A small shift let his eyes land on Liam, whose gaze had moved off him and to the side. Somewhere behind him. He turned. Allison looked pat him too, her hand gripped his shoulder holding him tight. He turned the other way and all his breath sucked in his throat.

Walking with a strong stride, head held high, the kitsune shrouding her with a regal elegance, Kira stepped through the thick smoke, one hand on the large belt buckle wrapped around her waist, moonlight caught in its teeth.

“I learned some new tricks,” Kira said, her steely-eyed gaze on the Nogitsune. It huffed and grunted up on the altar, teeth gnashing. With a flourish, Kira drew her sword. It sliced through the air, thrumming and whistling with every twist and turn until she rested in a stance, muscles tense, two fingers extended out towards the Nogitsune. “…Still want to play?”

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note: I can't be the only one who saw Hikari giving Scott her fox fire for protection and thinking it would've been an awesome full circle moment to have Kira do it. So I decided to write it to fix my craving. Enjoy! Come scream in my inbox your thoughts on the movie because I have SO MANY!

#teen wolf movie spoilers #teen wolf movie #teen wolf #fix it fic #scott mccall #allison argent #kira yukimura #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fix it fic #tw fic #tw fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction

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waterloou · 2 years

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The Ring (aka Murder Husbands)

Both lost something in The Ring, an underground supernatural fight club, where supernaturals are snatched off the street to fight to the death for their rich spectators. Both want revenge.

Coming soon…

#thiam #fic: the ring #when I say soon I mean ch 1 will prob be out next month #theo raeken #liam dunbar #teen wolf fanart #louart #tw fic

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faeriekit · 4 months

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"Okay." Danny slowly laid the already cold body back onto the table, ready to slide back it into the refuge of cold storage. "Okay. Dead guy. Stay there."

The body didn't move.

"Fantastic. Now. Hang out while I pour the embalming fluid into the pump, alright? It should only be a minute."

And it usually did; working in a funeral home wasn't extremely glamorous, but it paid the bills, and Danny had already been used to the rhyme and rhythm of negotiating death with the public by the time he sent in his mortuary school application. It had been a transition that made sense. And in the end, the degree had only cost him a few extra years post-graduation and a little dig into student loans, and now Danny had a stable 12-8 job and health insurance valid in the state of new jersey.

Today, though, the pump had that decided enough was enough. With a bang and a boom, the pump spat out a cloud of smoke and clunked uncomfortably.

The dead body sat up.

Danny scrambled over to push it back down. "No. We talked about this. Dead people don't move. If you want to stay here and have me put you back together all the time, you have to stay put. Got it?"

Whatever the weird gold-eye corpses were on in Gotham, they at least listened to him on occasion. They weren't ghosts, per se— they never pinged on any of the ghost detection devices Mom and Dad had packed in his going-away-to-college bag— but they were, despite being occasionally animate, perfectly deceased.

Weird. Danny had never gotten used to it. Still, they came in droves, too eager to sit on the top of the basement stairwell and lurk in the corners and stare endlessly at them with their weird, avian eyes, and sometimes they heralded the arrival similarly weird-ass bodies that had lost their heads or their arms or their limbs through the more conventional channels.

"I'm losing too much thread to all y'all coming in all the time," Danny complained to the dead body, who, at the moment, was the only person present to blame. "Stop getting your limbs cut off. This stuff is expensive, you know. It's a specialty order."

The body didn't even have the courtesy to blink. Rude.

"At least let them bury you this time. Every time one of you darts off when my back's turned, my boss thinks I'm stealing corpses. My coworkers think I'm building my own Frankenstein or something."

The corpse neither verbalized nor blinked, but Danny hadn't expected it to; with a sigh, he rolled the corpse back into cold storage, locked its little door (not that locking it in had ever stopped it) and called it quits for the night.

It's not like anyone was paying him for the extra hours anyway.

#I'm very pro Danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of Talons #people have definitely done it before but this scene came to me in a vision #a horrible caffeinated vision #could absolutely be an excuse for #talon!dick #talons #dp x dc #faer fic #dpxdc #dcxdp #talon!au #dcu crossover #death tw #well. the funeral industry anyway #medical tw #just in case #corpse tw #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#free to a good home

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gojorgeous · 20 days

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you meet satoru when his class comes to America for a two-week exchange program. You’re part of the corresponding class year, so it’s your and your classmate’s job to show them around and make them feel… welcome.

It takes him all of two seconds after seeing you to decide you’re his wife.

You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re THAT girl. He needs you.

The next two weeks are spent like teenagers. You manage to get Shoko in a dress and a full face of makeup and you get a few shots of vodka in the boys and suddenly you’re out dancing at any club that’ll let you in. The nights are fun, the days are even better. You and your friends take them to every good restaurant in the city and to every park and coffee shop.

You know satoru likes you. It’s obvious. Every time his eyes land on yours you practically see hearts. But… you ignore it. It would never work, anyway. You’re not interested in a one night stand and he’s going back to Japan. And even if he did want a real relationship, his clan would never approve of you. He’s Satoru Gojo and you’re a first generation sorcerer from bum-fuck nowhere with no money or status and nothing to offer but a pretty smile.

That’s what you think until he’s scheduled to be getting back on his plane and instead he’s down on one knee in front of you, begging you to come back with him to Japan and… marry him?

You call him crazy. You’re 18. You live on two different continents. It’s only been two weeks. You-

He cuts you off before you can go any further, telling you to please, “just listen”. Before you know it, he’s sliding a massive rock onto your finger and telling you that you can have… a trial period. Come back to Japan with him, live with him for a year. He’ll pay for everything, buy everything, and he’ll wire five million dollars into your account right now as a “safety net”. If you’re not satisfied with his performance at any time, you’re free to leave.

You’re crying, telling him this is a stupid idea, that his clan won’t approve, that the entirety of jujutsu society won’t approve… and yet you still find yourself saying, “yes”.

The next time you call home you have a lot of explaining to do.

#gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #jjk #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #bree’s fics #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x y/n #tw: alcohol

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vivitalks · 3 months

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“My soul?” Allison wishes she had a weapon, but she somehow doubts physical threats will work against this guy. “Seriously, where am I? What's going on?” Charon gives Allison a look that could almost be mistaken for sympathy. “Well, this is the Underworld, of course. You're dead. And it's time to learn your eternal fate.” (Or, two fallen heroes meet in the Greco-Roman afterlife. One of them is highly confused.)

the "allison argent meets jason grace in elysium" crossover fic nobody asked for

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heavensenthale · 1 year

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they say I was born to win

Multiamory March Day #3: Games

Fandom: Teen Wolf Relationship: Derek/Stiles/Allison/Scott/Isaac/Lydia Rating: Mature Word count: 1.7k

Excerpt:

It’s an unusually cold day in Beacon Hills, one of those days where the rain threatens to pour like a living presence but the release of the storm never comes. Stiles refuses to leave the house on principle, as one of the humans who can slip and fall on their face when the rain decides to finally come. The soft light of the mid afternoon floods his room, giving him a wonderful view of Derek’s back sleeping form next to him.

Derek is sleeping off the afterglow —as he usually does— and Stiles, restless as he gets, decides to text someone to come take him out of the misery of being alone in the rain. Scott is more than happy to take his mom’s car, drag Isaac with him, and pick up Allison on his way.

“How come Derek is not with you?” asks Allison when he opens the door for them.

“He’s upstairs. I wore him out. Hi,” he greets. Allison gives him a short peck on the lips, touching her hand to his cheek, leaving a soft caress as she makes her way inside the house.

“You can’t wear out a werewolf, Stiles,” Isaac says confidently.

“You clearly have never fucked Stiles,” adds Scott, moving past him to give Stiles a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“And I intend to keep it that way,” Isaac adds, playfully nudging Stiles away when he makes a kissy face at him.

Comfortable in Stiles’ home as if it were their own, Allison goes directly to the kitchen to scout for snacks while Isaac takes his shoes off and makes a beeline for the tv, where Scott is already setting up the playstation.

“Hey, Stiles? I texted Lydia to bring us some snacks, your cupboard is severely lacking in that department,” Allison says from the kitchen.

“I’m trying to keep my dad’s heart healthy, thank you very much,” he says defensively. “And you guys too. Do you know how much sodium is on those things?”

“Stiles, we’ve all seen you eat funyuns,” Scott calls from the tv, going through Stiles’ games.

“Fine. I buy my snacks as needed, okay?”

Allison comes out of the kitchen snacking on a carrot dipped in peanut butter. She comes up to Stiles and offers him a bite, which he takes.

“Mmm, health,” she says mockingly.

Read on AO3

#teen wolf #tw fic #poly pack #multiamory march 2023 #miliwrites (allegedly)#stiles stilinski #scott mccall #allison argent #derek hale #lydia martin #isaac lahey

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rocksinmuffin · 2 years

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Preview for Twisted Wonderland Oneshot

Okay this is just like the first four pages and I still have a lot I need to write to actually finish it but I am impatient and craving validation so here’s a little taste

And, yes, the reader/mc does not know that their weird friend who prowls the campus at night looking for gargoyles is actually Malleus Draconia and they use the English version’s nickname of Hornton because I think the English one sounds stupider which makes it funnier.

“It’s good to be home!” you exclaim as you step inside the dusty entryway of Ramshackle Dorm, crossing the living room to plop face-first into the couch, and never have you meant the words more than you do right now.

You’d just spent the last four hours decorating the gym with the other house wardens and, while hanging streamers doesn’t sound like it should be too much work, it’s a different story when there are no ladders to be found on campus and you are the only one who can’t use magic to do the dirty work so you have to rely on stacking furniture on top of each other like a jenga tower and pray. Even more so when someone who can use magic decides their energy is better spent with their feet safely planted to the floor telling you the streamers look crooked. It turns out that Vil is even more of a perfectionist than Riddle and bossier to boot.

Really, it’s not fair that you’re being held to the same standards and expected to share the responsibilities of the rest of the house wardens—all powerful mages and the best their dorms have to offer—when you got your position because your only competition is a talking cat who eats rocks off the ground. You’d almost think people forgot you were working without magic if they weren’t constantly bringing up the fact to drag on you.

“Finally, you’re back!”

You lift up your head to turn to Grim, a little warmth stirring in your chest at the thought that the little monster missed you. Rock-eater he might be, it’s nice to be with the people who truly appreciate you.

“We’re out of tuna and I’m starving. Go pick some up for me. And make it snappy!”

You frown, the warmth in your chest snuffed out like a candle in the breeze. “Could you at least say the magic words?”

“…Abra cadabra?”

You were thinking please and thank you but, sure, why the hell not. You’re used to doing everyone’s busy work anyway, what’s one more menial task to add to the pile? You groan as you pull yourself up from the couch, stretching your arms up over your head and wincing as your back cracks. Grim, deciding you are not treating this matter with the urgency it deserves, pushes at your legs and ushers you out of the dorm. The second you cross the threshold, the door slams shut behind you with enough force to send a rush of cool air tickling along the back of your neck.

You take two steps off the porch before you hear Grim call your name. You turn back to see him hanging halfway out the front window. “Don’t come back unless you get the premium tuna!” he shouts before promptly slamming the window shut and locking the latch for further emphasis.

With a tired sigh and a wallet that will soon become much lighter, you embark towards Sam’s Mystery Shop.

~*~

When you return to the dorm, your arms are weighed down with bags filled to the brim with canned tuna and a single candy bar for yourself, handles of the plastic bags discoloring the flesh of your palms where they dig into your skin. Hands full, you bump the metal gate open with your hip, shuffling in as quick as you can manage. Unfortunately, the side of one your bags catches on the fence and you can do nothing but watch in resigned disappointment as the thin plastic tears, sending several cans spilling to the damp ground and one particularly heavy can on top of your big toe.

You hiss through your teeth, ignoring the sting as you bend down to pick up the fallen cans. As you reach for the fourth, your hand brushes against a set of gloved fingers that have wrapped themselves around the can seconds before you. You jolt backwards before your brain even registers who has appeared before you in a flurry of lights like green fireflies.

“Hornton!” you shout, a little out of breath and hand on your chest. “You startled me!”

“Child of man,” he greets you, slight twitch at the corner of his lip that you have come to recognize as a genuine smile. It drops when he notices the shakiness of your arms and the bags under your eyes. “You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” you sigh. “Risking life and limb to tape pastel-colored tissue paper to the ceiling will do that to you. But it’ll be worth it when I’m making an ass of myself dancing the funky chicken in the middle of the gymnasium with spiked-punch-induced lowered inhibitions.”

And you mean it. Despite your complaints and sore muscles, you are genuinely excited for the upcoming dance. It’s the most normal thing that’s happened to you since you woke up in a coffin to a talking cat trying to steal your clothes.

Hornton raises a single thin eyebrow. “The college is holding a party?” He tries to look disinterested, eyes focused on the can of tuna he turns back and forth in his hand, but he sounds genuinely surprised. Which is odd considering the entire campus is littered with fliers advertising the event. That and everyone and their grandma hasn’t shut up about it for the past week.

It’s a little strange but you try to give Hornton the benefit of the doubt. You never see him on campus outside of his nightly gargoyle tours so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume he spends most of his time outside of classes holing up in his room. Kind of like Idia but way less sweaty.

“Yeah, this Saturday. It’s some kind of ballroom sort of event that happens every year. Or something,” you shrug as best as you can with your arms weighed down. After all, you’re just a freshman. Being an upperclassman, he should know more about it than you. “Apparently, it’s a pretty big deal.”

Hornton gets a look in his eyes that’s hard to decipher; a flash of something soft and quiet that feels a little melancholy, a little lonely. But then the look is gone so fast you wonder if maybe you’re just projecting. Not so much these days, but you remember a time when it felt like it was just you against the world. Either way, you know more than anyone what it feels like to feel all alone and out of your element.

“You should come and see the fruits of my labor. I promise you’ll never see a better-hung streamer.”

“Are you inviting me to join you?” he asks, slow and cautious and—dare you say—optimistic.

You had just meant in general, but Hornton has seemed to take your invitation to mean you would go together. You had already promised Ace and Deuce that you and Grim would go with them as a group and you think Hornton would probably understand if you told him that you had made a prior commitment. Still, there’s a hint of something like hope in his eyes that sparkles behind the amusement and you can’t quite bring yourself to dash it. Instead, you nod your assent.

“You always manage to surprise me, child of man. To think you are brave enough to invite someone like me.” Hornton brings his fingers to his chin, smirking down at you. His other hand gently places the can of tuna he’s been holding into your palm as if he is presenting you a gift, despite it being something you bought yourself with your own money. “It would please me to join you at the dance. And see these expertly-hung decorations.”

And with that, he disappears in a glow of green fireflies, as suddenly as he had arrived.

“So dramatic,” you sigh as you return to your task as tuna deliveryman, being careful of the damaged bag as you haul the cans back to the front door.

Tomorrow, you’ll break the news of your sudden change of plans to your friends. You feel a little guilty but you think you’re making the right decision. After all, you only ever see Hornton by himself so he might not have any other friends to go with. Grim won’t mind as soon as he sets his sights on all the tuna you brought him. And the others? Well, Ace and Deuce will understand.

~*~

“WHHHAAAAT?! What do you mean you got a date to the dance?!”

You flinch, sliding down in your seat as several tables turn their heads towards you. “Gee Ace, could you say that a little louder next time? Some people in the back of the cafeteria might not have heard you.”

Ace pays your sarcasm no mind, slumping down in his own seat and pressing his cheek to the tabletop. “Awwww maaaan! I can’t believe the magicless student managed to snag a date while I’m stuck going stag.”

“What? Are you surprised?” Grim asks with a mouthful of grilled chicken, bits of food clinging to the fur around his mouth and chin damp with grease. “I’d think you’d be used to being single by now.”

“Huh?!?!?! What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Grim grins unkindly through a mouth of sharp teeth and pre-chewed chicken. “Exactly what you think it means, incel.”

Deuce scoots his lunch tray a couple inches to his right, hoping to protect his meal from the cartoon fight cloud forming as Ace and Grim flail their arms and slap at each other with limp wrists.

“It’s not even that kind of date,” you sigh, too desensitized by their nonsense to be very bothered by it. “Hornton and I are just friends.”

Deuce chokes on his sandwich. “Hornton?”

“Not his real name, don’t worry about it.” You turn from him back to Ace. “Listen, I didn’t do this to bail on you guys. It’s just, you and Deuce and Grim have each other and, well, if I’m being completely honest, I think I might be this guy’s only friend.”

Ace breaks from his fight to offer you a deadpan, “Gay,” before pulling Grim into a chokehold and going in for a noogie.

“Does this mean I’m stuck going with just these two?” Deuce asks, thumb jutting out to point at Ace and Grim as the former tries to pull the latter off his back, Grim’s claws embedding themselves into Ace’s school jacket making the task easier said than done.

“Sorry,” you smile in apology, “But it’s not like we won’t still meet up at the dance, right?”

Deuce sighs dejectedly, eyes closed and head hanging so low his chin nearly falls into his plate of mashed potatoes. You offer a nervous laugh and a pat on the shoulder.

Without warning, you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

Gooseflesh begins to rise as a shiver passes through you. It feels like you’re being watched but a quick survey of the room shows that everyone went back to their own business after Ace’s earlier outburst. All but a single pair of blood red eyes that look at you from the complete opposite end of the cafeteria.

Once he sees you’ve noticed him, Lilia Vanrouge—upperclassman and vice warden of Diasomnia dorm—waves coyly at you. You have only spoken to him on three different occasions since you have been at Night Raven College. While not on bad terms or anything, you would not consider the two of you on friendly terms with one another either. Certainly not to the point of making eyes from across the room. Still, when he makes no sign of looking away, you finally wave your hand in an awkward, half-assed manner.

Satisfied, he flashes you a fanged grin before abruptly turning his attention back to his fellow dormmates.

Weirdo.

#sinning #tw fic #twisted wonderland #fic blogging #otome hell #malleus draconia #ace trappola #deuce spade #grim #long post #yes it’s a school dance plot because I think it’s cute #reader insert

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