“Goddammit! Stiles just-- God, please, I just-- Stiles where the hell are you? I need to-- Please. Just call me back.” John collapses against the payphone. The whiskey is still warm in his chest, and he can already feel the regret already sinking into his bones.
Stiles probably didn’t have this number anymore but...
“Please insert additional change to continue your...” He slams down the receiver before the operator tells him anymore.
“I just want my son back!” He shouts to the empty air. Later that night he makes it home and falls asleep in Stiles bed. Still the way he left it five months ago.
AUs on my mind: firefighter Derek, stiles being turned supernatural, hogwarts fic Tropes on my mind: stiles whump where he’s not taking care of himself and no one notices until it’s super bad and trying to help him, the “I ran away and came to live with you” trope where he shows up on Derek’s doorstep Headcanons on my mind: Jackson actually being in the pack and being redeemed, Stiles’ spark is still there and is still important, the sheriff knew about the supernatural the whole time ☕️
hey! so i really love everything on your page and was curious as to what might be some big specifics you'd want to see more often when it came to fanfiction/writing in general? I love writing teen wolf stuff, but there is one piece right now i have where the wolf in question is feral and doesn't recognize their pack... this is a common trope and i'd love to hear your input on it :)
Firstly - thank you so much! :D
Secondly, wow it took me way too long to get to answering this ask (and some others on the backburner). Sorry about that.
Thirdly, hm. Not sure, really. If you mean werewolves, I do have some posts on general werewolf writing advice that I like to recommend because I’d love to see it in more things, some of my favorite and least favorite werewolf-related tropes, thoughts on werewolf tropes in general and what is “necessary” to a werewolf story, aaaand reviews of some of the werewolf media I actually do like and why I like it. Some of those might help give a good idea! I could talk about it more, but gosh, we’d be here all day.
(I really need to do one on, like, werewolf appearances I like and don’t like… Anyway–)
And lastly, I like that trope! I actually don’t often write about werewolves in terms of werewolf packs, but if I did, I’d probably use that trope at some point, if not just because I tend to like feral or borderline feral werewolves better than the kind that can 100% control themselves. Not always, of course; I just tend to prefer their stories. :D
Creator: misfitmonarchythings
Type of Work: Moodboard & Fic
Title: 12 Days of Sterek: Day three of 12 days of sterek
Rating: PG
Warnings: Pre-Sterek, Softness, Fluff
Summary: 12 moodboards for the 12 days of sterek! Each board has a small story that goes along with it, some of which I’ve included and some that are coming soon! Feel free to use these as inspiration for your own works, as long as you credit me please! Happy holidays!
This was utterly ridiculous. It was almost a week until Christmas and Stiles had had enough of this blasphemy.
“What the hell are you doing?” Derek complains. It’s literally seven am. No sane creature was up before now on Christmas vacation. Let alone a certain Stiles creature that Derek had good authority on never was out of bed before eight-thirty at the most unless it was ultimately needed. Yet here Stiles was.
On Derek’s doorstep. With an armload of Christmas lights.
“Derek. We need to talk about your house.” He says seriously.
“What. What in the world could be so important that you need to bother me this early that has to do with my house?”
“Derek. It’s not decorated. Like, at all. Not even a little wolfy wreath on the door. It’s shameful.”
Memories of making homemade wreaths with grandma Hale are pushed away with timid hands as Derek crosses his arms. He refuses to be cornered on his doorstep in only his pajamas.
Stiles raises an accusatory brow- and hey! That’s Derek’s move. He’s clearly been spending too much time about the brunet.
“No.” Derek firmly states. He doesn’t need to decorate his house. It’s literally in the middle of the woods, who’s going to see them?
“Uh huh. That’s funny, it almost sounds like you thought you got to chose whether or not we were putting up these Christmas lights, Derek.” Without further ado, Stiles wheedles his way past Derek and goes about untangling the strings from one another.
“Stiles.” He grouses but just gets that smarmy grin back in return. If Derek can’t help but give him a shove as he falls into place beside Stiles on the couch, well there’s no one here to chastise him anyways.
“Quit pretending to be annoyed. You didn’t even have plans today.”
“Exactly, Stiles, my plans were to do nothing.”
“Well now you can help me help you decorate.”
Derek doesn’t know why he keeps this guy around. -yes he does-
Later, when Stiles finally gives in and admits that maybe buying ten boxes of lights that had fifty bulbs per string was a bit of overkill. Derek definitely made sure to tell him this after only needing four boxes for the outside porch (and that was with him giving up creative freedom to the human.
“It looks ridiculous!”
“It does not.”
Stiles’ face is flushed from the cold and he feels bad that he didn’t realize sooner how much the temperature had dropped now that it was nearly lunch time. Derek sighs as Stiles tries wrapping more lights around the railing (for the third time before messing them up, again).
The man can only take so much before pulling Stiles away and towards his car.
“Where are we going? Ooh we should get you a tree too!”
“We’re surrounded by trees, Stiles. I don’t need one in my living room.”
“Wha- why- uh Derek. Yes you do!” Stiles doesn’t resist him though as Derek starts the car. By the time they’re hitting the main roads, Stiles seems to have realized how cold he was; if the way he holds his fingers to the vents is any indicator.
Derek doesn’t speak most of the ride. It’s been a long time since he’s celebrated Christmas in Beacon Hills.
When things had gotten a bit better, back in New York; Christmas had been something that Laura put together for them. Insisted on regaling stories about growing up and the Christmas traditions they no longer practiced. The New Year Run, stringing popcorn onto their freshly cut evergreen that they’d hunt down together. Shifting and going all out in snow ball fights that could last days.
Derek’s favorite, before everything had gone wrong and Christmas was simply a wound that healed the right way; his favorite tradition had always been grandma’s homemade cookies with a mug of hot cocoa right after The New Year Run.
“Wait! Starbucks!” Stiles squawks so suddenly Derek nearly rear-ends the toyota infront of him.
“Stiles!” He growls. This time Stiles does shirk back a little, if only for a half second.
“I need caffeine Derek. Without it I’ll die!” He complains in that whiny tone that has always made Derek roll his eyes. It usually won Scott over in a heartbeat. For Derek it just made him think of things that were, well maybe a little less that PG-13.
“If I take you to Starbucks will you stop trying to force me to decorate my house?”
“No. But I’ll be nicer about it?” He doesn’t need to hear Stiles heartbeat to know there’s no way he’s going to let up on his nagging.
Derek makes sure to sigh rather loudly, perhaps a bit dramatically before turning on his signal and turning to the left when he has a chance to. But when Stiles insists on going to the mall after getting their coffee ‘in the name of saving Christmas’; Derek makes the executive decision to go inside the store instead of the drive-thru.
At least he can prolong the sure to be ridiculous shopping trip with a few mugs of cocoa first. When Stiles runs to the bathroom after giving Derek his order, the man half-jokingly asks if the barista has a bottle of alcohol back there instead.
The girl chuckles before taking their order and letting Derek pay for his drink and Stiles’ cavity monstrosity. When Stiles returns he smells like soap and sweat that probably is due to putting up Christmas lights all morning. It’s not as if the scent of ginger and ink bother Derek too much though.
“Of course you’d go with the classic.”
“What? I don’t get a… whatever that thing is, and I’m boring?” Derek rolls his eyes. He takes a slow sip out of his mug, hiding his smirk when Stiles kicks his foot.
“Rude.”
“Says the one who woke me up early to forcefully decorate my own home.”
“Lies. You were already up, and I know this because I have actually witnessed you get up at six am for an ungodly workout routine that time I stayed the night after Scott’s birthday.”
“You say that like I invited you over.” Derek teases.
“Yeah well, drunk me apparently seemed to think I was.”
“I think we both remember that night differently, then.”
Stiles flushes and Derek doesn’t hide his smile this time. He knows exactly what part of that night Stiles is remembering. The part of night where the club was just dark enough and the music just loud enough, where they were all a little less than sober and little more reckless.
There may or may not have been some hands in places that Derek is sure Stiles had blotted out of memory with a few too many shots of vodka.
It wasn’t that either of them minded, so much that they never spoke of it again.
Derek is fairly sure that night has been tattooed on their memories in different colors of ink. His smile grows as the memory replays in his mind. He remembers Stiles ending up on his porch, nearly blackout drunk and rambling on about things that didn’t make sense at all, before passing out beside Derek’s toilet. Stiles still seems embarrassed about it though, despite the fact that Derek had assured him plenty of times that it was okay.
He comes back to earth, smile melting away a little when he catches Stiles gawping at him like a fish out of water.
“What?” He asks self consciously, frowning back at Stiles and breaking whatever spell he was under.
“Uh-” Stiles clears his throat when his voice hitches up an octave. “Um. I just realized I don’t think I’ve ever- I thought maybe, but… I guess I’ve just never seen you smile. Like that. I mean. With uh- the teeth and all.”
His face is slowly turning crimson and Derek feels his own face flush a bit, strictly dropping his eyes to the table as his free hand rubs away at the sheepish upturn of his lips.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“No- I uh. I just mean, you uh. You should do it more. Smile. That is.” When Derek looks up he can’t help but pick up the aroused scent on the air. That familiar spicy scent of ginger and ink, that he’s already identified as Stiles, pricks with something even sharper, reminding Derek of pine trees and rain.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He says quietly, nudging his foot against Stiles’ own. It effectively kills the tension, freeing Stiles from his own embarrassment. It is a bit of a shame to watch the redness fade from his face in small rouge blotches though. Derek tries not to think if those blotches of color reach lower that Stiles’ neck as it fades.
Stiles kicks Derek’s foot in return before going on about how there was a store a block away that has a sale on ornaments right now, and that Derek was going to pick some or Stiles would.
He huffs out in surrender, drowning his sorrows in his now tepid chocolate drink. Derek agrees to a tree though, as long as it’s a fresh one from preserve.
If they were going to do this, he’d be damned if they didn’t do it right.
It’s not much but here’s the first bit of writing I’ve done since September :)
The following is completely original content and characters created by misfitmonarchythings.
When people talk about The Elven Accords, they often leave out a few details pertaining but not restricted to, the culture and lifestyle of the dark elf tribes. Since the Old War, Nelfaeryn’s grandparents have raised him in the strict traditions of their elders before them. As one of the few remaining direct descendants of the shadow children, they put him through a series of difficult classes from the age of three. Now, at the young age of fifty four, if one were to convert it into the human’s age system; Nel finds himself leaving home for the first time since The Accords were signed.
This treaty was created by the four districts of elves in compliance with the dominant human race after The Old War, a devastating slaughter of elven natives when men first arrived on their homeland. Within The Accords, laws were put in place to protect his kind, but alas; laws are still laws and those who enforce them may use their own judgements from time to time.
“Are you certain you’ve got everything?” Ava asks, handing her grandson his bags.
“Yes, ava.” Nelfaeryn assures her. Her grey skin shows only fine wrinkles of her old age, similar to a beautiful mountain, a bit craggy but stunning with snow white hair tied up in a pristine braid as always.
“Good boy. Your avos would like to see you before you go.”
