“What did you do to my snowglobe.” — Cygnus, at the start of chapter 2, expresses her distress over a broken snow globe.
“Well, whatever this is, it’s a rather foolish decision that I don’t imagine the headmaster doing .… however, I still believe that it’s for a reason. Thank you, you two.” — Riddle’s curiosity of why the headmaster’s choices were made, happens in the middle of chapter 3. He is insistent that it’s for a reason … but that thought can soon be changed.
Pairing: Destiel
Word count: 2871 so far (chapters posting weekly)
Warnings: Violence
Summary:
Sam saw Dean die, so how could his body just disappear from his room in the bunker? Sam’s sure Crowley is behind this, if only he can find the slippery asshole.
Castiel’s stolen grace is fading, and just as he despairs at not only losing Dean, but his entire Heavenly family, Hannah shows up to ask for his help. But can he deny these rogue angels the opportunity to live among humans, when he himself has learned so much from them?
Dean, meanwhile, is on his ninth beer, telling the karaoke audience they suck.
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Characters: Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Lydia Martin, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 02, POV Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Pack Dad Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Full Shift Werewolves, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Good Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Feels, Not Pro Scott Not Anti-Scott But Just Scott, Nudity, Cuddling, Underage Drinking, Get together fic, Past Relationships, pack as family, Rebuilt Hale House, Stilinskis are Slightly Magic Very Slightly, Home is other people
Summary:
In a world where werewolves fully shift, you have to deal with the question of what do they wear after they shift back?
Noah now lives in a world where he has to think about that question. A lot.
And why have all these dang werewolves decided that his house is the one they are going to be naked in?
Story Summary: During the Trial of Seven, a sudden premonition allows Baelor to dodge the killing blow meant for his head. His survival set things in motion that would change the course of history. What was meant for the distant future is unfolding in the present, and Baelor finds himself face to face with a creature from the past.
or
The one where Baelor survives Ashford but ends up claiming the Cannibal. Chaos ensues.
Chapter Summary: The dreaded small council
Papa Daeron talk ❤️
More magic returning?!?!?! 👀
The council chamber had never felt smaller to Daeron than it did that morning, though nothing about its dimensions had changed in the whole of his reign. He took his seat at the head of the long table and looked around at the faces staring back at him.
Grand Maester Malleon arrived first, as he always did, his satchel already bulging with correspondence he had no doubt already attempted to sort into some semblance of order. Lord Donnel Arryn came next, composed and precise, though Daeron did not miss the way his eyes lingered a moment too long on Baelor's still-empty seat before taking his own. Lord Robert Redwyne arrived complaining, as was his custom, muttering something about half his fleet still refusing to leave harbor. Lord Ronnel Penrose followed with his ledgers already open, though Daeron suspected, as did most, that the sums within them owed rather more to his wife's hand than his own.
Maekar had walked with him from the gallery but had opted to remain by the door where Ser Gwayne Corbray took his customary post, exchanging low words with the Kingsguard while the council settled. And as it had for nearly three weeks now, the seat belonging to the Master of Whisperers remained empty, though Daeron knew better than to think his brother was ever truly absent.
Baelor came last, and the chamber went deathly still as he entered.
He walked with his usual measured grace, his boots making barely a sound against the polished stone, yet the weight of his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room. Only those who knew him well or looked closely enough could see the subtle stiffness in his stride. Maekar fell into step beside him without a word, moving like a storm cloud at his brother's shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the council with a harsh stare that promised violence to anyone foolish enough to speak out of turn.
"Your Grace," Baelor greeted, inclining his head before taking his usual seat at the King's right hand.
Maekar settled into the chair beside his brother, a silent, brooding presence that Daeron found himself grateful for, more than he would readily admit.
A heavy silence settled over the table, every eye fixed on the Hand of the King, an occurrence that was not entirely unfamiliar in this room, though the silence today carried a weight that made even the air feel thick and difficult to draw into one's lungs.
"My lords," Daeron began, voice calm, cutting through the tension. "I trust you have all had time enough to compose your thoughts since the Hand's return. I would hear them now, plainly, while we are among ourselves."
"Your Grace." Lord Arryn was the first to answer, his tone carefully measured. "Prince Baelor. Prince Maekar. On behalf of the council, we are glad to see you returned to us in good health."
"I am glad to be returned, my lord," Baelor replied, and something in the dry understatement of it eased a fraction of the tension in the room, though far from all of it.
Maekar merely grunted his reply, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat.
Grand Maester Malleon cleared his throat, his chain of office clinking softly as he shifted in his chair. "My Lord Hand," he began, his voice faltering slightly before finding its footing. "While we give thanks to the Seven for your safe return, and of course Prince Maekar's, we would be failing in our duty to the realm if we did not address the—uh—the extraordinary matter currently residing in the middle bailey."
"The Cannibal," Maekar supplied, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low gravel that cut through the chamber like drawn steel. "You may speak his name, Grand Maester. He will not burst through the floorboards simply because you uttered it."
