Just watched the scene in which Derek and Peter talk about the chess board and Derek asks if there is any particular reason that his name is on the king.
Yesssss! You see the vision. Like sure, Stiles is crushing on Derek for awhile. Stiles is a bi babe and Derek is gorgeous af c’mon, but the more he learns about Derek, the more he just wants to protect him and give him a safe place to land that has nothing to do with sex or romance.
And Derek is so used to people wanting him for his body, of superficial relationships that are just based on the fact that he’s hot or has money or who his parents knew, but Stiles is someone who sees him for him, who actually knows the ugly bits of him and wants to be friends. And it turns out both of them really like having a friend who just lets them be themselves and who genuinely has their back, and they just gradually become ride or die for each other.
And then there’s Peter and Stiles, who also see all sides of each other and like it, but oh boy there’s nothing platonic about it. Stiles will deny until the day he dies that he felt something that was definitely not fear when Peter first said “hello Stiles” but it’s true anyway. Stiles felt a pull toward Peter long before he could be called anything close to sane.
Peter had been interested in Stiles before he’d even met him. Derek had told him things okay, and while Derek had definitely not been saying those things in a favorable way, Peter had been immediately intrigued. And then he actually meets Stiles. What is he supposed to do when Stiles turns out to be a beautiful boy with wicked intelligence who also doesn’t back down from Peter at all no matter what. Is he supposed to not fall in love?
Sometimes they meet up in a little hipster overpriced coffee shop in san fran and have muffins and talk about Ye' Olde Times like old men who went to war and I respect that.
Summary: You never know what to expect in Beacon Hills, especially on Halloween.
All Hallows eve used to be sacred. It used to mean something. It was a day set apart from the others, a day to celebrate the dead. You didn’t understand why your parents made such a big deal about it when you were so young, but now, after having seen too much death, it does seem sacred.
But this? People’s idea of Halloween now? It’s nothing but a mockery of the day some hold so dear. Sure, the ones who celebrate all hallows eve aren’t doing it out in the open, but the principle should still stand.
“What are you supposed to be?” You stopped in your tracks, turning your head toward the small voice behind you.
You weren’t surprised when you spotted a couple of small children dressed up for trick-or-treating, much to your regret. You spied a pirate, ninja, witch, and a ball of pink glitter with a crown and wand.
“What?” You asked dumbly, and the little princess gave you an unimpressed look that made you re-think your entire existence.
“What are you supposed to be? It’s Halloween. You won’t get candy if you’re not in costume.” She said matter of factly, placing her small hand on her hip.
And that’s how you found yourself in a mini stare down with a five year old pink princess. Seriously, Halloween sucked.
“I’m the wicked witch, and you should be careful or I’ll put a spell on you.” You had officially hit an all time low.
“Nuh uh, witches wear hats. See.” The little girl snatched the hat off the little witch beside her who looked afraid of her own shadow and shoved it toward you with an air of superiority that could rival most adults you knew.
You knew it was immature. You also knew it was reckless, but there is just something about this holiday and children that struck a deep nerve and before you knew it you grabbed the hat from the little girl and placed it on your head.
You gave the children a rueful smile, with too much teeth and threw your hands out toward them, calling your magic too you to make the leaves rumble in the wind.
“Twist thy bones, and bend thy back.. Itchita kyptika melaka mystica.. Trim the of thine baby fat..” You cackled, yes, cackled. Thank you Hocos Pocus. Now you hit an all time low.
You watched the children’s eyes grow wide, the little impostor witch close to tears as she clung to the princess who was watching the crisp fall leaves begin to circle them.
“Witch!” The pirate screamed, grabbing the ninja and running toward a more populated house followed by the tiny impostor and obnoxious princess hot on their heels.
You watched the small child scurry away from you, and you let the wind die down with a small smile on your face.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” You mused, adjusting the monstrosity of a hat on your head and your deep green cloak across your shoulders. At least now you would blend in better as you made your way to the woods and hopefully, away from the children.
There was a painful clench in your chest as you heard laughter coming from the happy families out enjoying their night, but ignored them as you tried to remain incognito on the streets until you found yourself at the entrance to the woods.
You thought back to this time last year, which brought the ache in your chest back full force but you continued on anyway. You closed your eyes, picturing your sister walking beside you, bouncing away with too much energy. She was too young, never quite understood the ceremony, but came along anyway, because it’s what witches do.
They celebrate death, welcome it as an old friend, because they know it will be okay. Once you die, your magic that the earth lent, will be returned and you will spend the rest of your days with your ancestors. The witches before you, who will in turn look out for the witches after you. It was important.
That’s why you found yourself traipsing through these unfamiliar woods in Beacon Hills, because it was October 31st and this was important. You were careful crossing the border of the small but powerful town a few hours ago, not wanting to alert anyone to your presence just yet.
You felt the town thrumming with old magic, enough to give you the slightest high since visiting Salem. It was nice being surrounded by this much magic, but you knew where magic was, trouble was close behind.
You ran your fingers along certain trees as you followed the slow hum of magic from the ley lines into the forest to where you could perform the ceremony in peace.
You kept in tune with the wind, getting the smallest hint of voices from teenagers who were partying a few hundred yards away. The slight smell of alcohol tinged the air, enough to make you curl your nose and shake your head.
“Disgraceful.” The air curled beside you as if agreeing. “As if little children dressing up in costumes, and demanding candy isn’t bad enough. Now there are teenagers out getting drunk and causing trouble just because it’s their supposed mischief night.” You grumbled to yourself, wrapping your cloak tighter. around you
It didn’t take long to reach the focal point of the forest were the ley lines connected but you weren’t expecting what you found at the center. A nemeton.
“Oh goddess what have they done to you?” You murmured, running your fingertips over the decrepit stump which was ones a beautiful oak. You felt the earth around the stump screaming, yelling for help but nobody came. Until you.
“How could someone let this happen?” You let your head hang in shame, shaking it slowly as you counted the rings on the tree.
You knew the answer though. There was no one around to stop this. There weren’t enough of your kind left anymore, you’ve been wiped out close to extinction. You closed your eyes, sending up a silent prayer to your ancestors.
It was no use though, because no matter how hard you prayed or hard hard you worked, your death was always in the cards since birth. You grew up knowing your days were numbered, always being cautious, because of the hunters.
When you have old magic, “dangerous” magic, you become a liability. Even if you’re good, even if you would never hurt anyone, they can’t let you live because of what you are.
You used to accept it. You used to take all that prejudice, all that hate, and look the other way because surly if you were truly good nothing would happen. Your mother was a nurse, she helped people. Your dad was chief of the fire station in your small town. Your sister, all though annoying, had an act for healing just like your mother.
They were good.
You wiped a silent tear from your cheek before pulling out three white candles and placing them on the nemeton. You ignored the oaks cry for help, sending a quick promise that you will try to restore the balance but not tonight. Not on this day.
You took a deep breathe, calming your heart rate before igniting a match and lighting the first candle.
“Grief, because losing you was too much for one person to bear.” You turned to the second candle, lighting it as well. “Love, because I will never forgot what you taught me and will always cherish the time we had together.” The light seemed to flicker brighter as you fought back the tears threatening to fall.
You took a deep breath, finding your center. Blinking away the tears, you turned to the remaining candle with a clenched jaw. Lighting the match, you watched the fire come to life before putting it to the wick.
“Strength, because I need to fight for what is left.” You felt the wind pick up beside you, gathering around the stump and causing the fallen leaves to create a small vortex.
“May the ancestors nurture the living, and may the living nurture the dead. So mote it be.” You whispered, letting the air flow through your fingers before extinguishing each flame.
You watched the ember of the last candle, not wanting to die quite yet and you couldn’t help but think of yourself.
“I never thought I would say this, but I hate mischief night.” Stiles growled into the phone, reaching up to wipe some of the egg out of his hair where the teenager he just placed in a patrol car aimed it.
“Oh buddy..” Scott was using his sad eyes on the other end, he was sure of it. “I’m sorry. At least you’re not alone, Derek’s there right?”
Stiles cut his eyes to Derek, who was trying really hard not to laugh at him. Stupid Sourwolf, why he was glad the older man was back Stiles had no idea.
“Yep, dad refused to let me go out alone, even though I am a trained professional now.” Stiles ignored Derek’s scoff by rolling his eyes at the older man and tapping the hood of Johnson’s patrol car.
He watched the car until the taillights turned down the street and out of sight before turning back to the preserve with a scowl.
“He’s just looking out for you, ya know.” Scott’s logic pissed him of sometimes, it really did.
“Yeah, well I don’t need a babysitter. I get why he doesn’t want to put me with another deputy until we vet someone to let into the supernatural shit.. But I work better alone.” Stiles kicked a pinecone across the clearing as he walked, listening to Scott’s deep sigh on the phone.
“Monroe is still out there Stiles, and you may not be supernatural but you’re important to the pack which means you are a potential target.” Stiles kept from rolling his eyes by sheer force of will, because if he has to listen to this argument one more time, he’s not sure he can stop from shooting Scott.
Stiles looked back a little to see Derek’s frowny face aimed at him, which, rude. He didn’t do anything to deserve the gloom and doom look.
“I will be fine Scott, you worry too much.” He huffed, putting the phone between his shoulder and ear as he sipped up his jacket.
For a fall California it was unusually cold outside, probably stemming from the 20 degree drop in temperature within the last couple of hours. He wasn’t complaining, but he definitely wasn’t prepared either.
“It’s my job to worry Stiles.” And there it was, the eye roll he knew Scott was giving the phone.
“Yes, oh alpha my alpha... speaking of Alpha’s, how’s Satomi dealing with everything?” Stiles listened to rustling on the line at what he assumed was Scott going somewhere more private to talk.
“As good as can be expected.. I mean she moved out of California to try and re-build her pack after the deadpool and then this happens. She just seems a little lost. Me and Argent are trying to track Monroe’s hunters.. But nothing yet.” Stiles continued walking into the woods, but he no longer heard the familiar footfall beside him, and when he turned around Derek was scowling at nothing in the distance.
“What’s wrong lassie? Timmy down the well?” He heard Scott’s snort over the line, obviously knowing that wasn’t meant for him, but Derek ignored him all together. “Sourwolf?” Complete silence.
“Stiles is something wrong? What’s going on?” He could hear the panic in Scott’s voice but didn’t respond as he watched Derek close his eyes and strain to hear something in the distance.
“Derek--”
“Stiles run.” Derek’s eyes snapped open, shining their brilliant blues before he dashed off into the direction of woods he was scowling at moments before.
“Stiles! What the hell--”
“Scotty I’m gonna have the call you back.” Stiles hung up the phone, shoving it in his pocket as he blindly followed Derek’s retreating form, who was in pursuit of something that probably wanted them both dead. Just another day in Beacon Hills.
Stiles almost lost Derek in the dark until he heard a low growl coming from a couple yards away and followed to the best of his human vision. He didn’t know what to expect but whatever it was set Derek on edge, and Stiles knew that it wasn’t friendly.
He stumbled over the undergrowth of the preserve, grabbing onto a tree for balance and he didn’t have to see to know where he was going any longer. He had seen this part of the preserve too many times, mostly in his nightmares, and sure enough as he kept stumbling through the woods he came into the clearing containing the nemeton.
His eyes locked onto who Derek had the I-will-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth growl, a cloaked figure who by the looks of it, was wearing a witches hat. Of course his presence was made known when Derek’s growl cut to him with blazing eyes, which rude, he was here to help.
“Stiles get out of here!” His voice was low, coming from all fangs as the figure moved away from Derek and closer to him.
“Calm down, dog. I don’t mean any harm to you or your human.” The figure spoke, a girl now that Stiles’s eyes had adjusted just enough could make out.
“What are you doing here. What do you want with the nemeton.” Stiles rolled his eyes as Derek growled the demands, not even questions, to the girl.
“What do I want with it? What did you do to it?” She snapped, stepping closer to Derek and Stiles already saw how this was going to go. Derek would snap back, shit would go down, and he’d have to save Derek’s ass again, because the sourwolf didn’t know how to be polite.
“What my friend is trying to ask is.. What are you doing out here with the nemeton? Are you another Darach? Because fuck.. I can’t take anymore human sacrifices after the last couple months I’ve had.” Stiles forced a laugh as the girl turned all her attention to him, causing Derek to shift closer if she decided to make a move.
Maybe that was a bad idea.
“Stiles--”
“You’ve faced a darach?” The girl asked, and Stiles just shrugged.
“All in a day's work protecting the hellmouth that is Beacon Hills.” The girl took a couple steps toward him which earned another growl from Derek.To be fair, he did not think this through.
“That’s close enough.” Stiles didn’t flinch as the girl laughed freely, as if she wasn’t scared by his threats, which made her ten times more terrifying. He has been on the other side of Derek’s threats, they are scary, or were, back when the wolf was slamming him into walls and steering wheels.
“Quiet mut. I am talking to the spark. What is your name?” Stiles was confused at what she called himself, trying to recall where he had heard the term before.
“Deputy Stilinski. Son of the sheriff and member of the McCall pack.. So whatever your business here--”
“My business is of no harm to you or your wolves, Spark.” Stiles watched her come forward slowly until she was close enough to extend her hand. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and we need to talk.”
He cut his eyes to Derek, who was no longer wolfed out and coming to stand beside him with daggers aimed at the mystery girl. He looked back to see her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in question or annoyance, he couldn’t quite tell. Stiles didn’t move though, just looked to Derek again who seemed just as confused as he was.
He really hated mischief night.
So.. friend or foe? Or is it just to early to tell? Comments always welcome <3
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i don’t know if anyone will actually read this but i figured i might as well post it
•about 1300 words•
I've never had experiences with triggers but I thought I'd play it safe and look out for the people that might read this. There's a description of a traumatic nightmare that could be a trigger for some people. If you want to know exactly what it is before you read you can message me.
enjoy my first and probably only attempt at writing about teen wolf
Since the week after he and Malia broke up Stiles couldn't sleep. He would toss and turn and stare at the ceiling until the first rays of sun came through his window. Then he would get up and go to school and try to pretend he was ok. After the third night like this he couldn't bear it anymore. He got in his jeep and started driving. He had no idea where he was going. He was too exhausted to care. When he finally put his car in park it took him a while to get his bearings. He got out and shuffled to the door. It was locked but he knew where the key was kept. He went inside and made his way up the stairs. He stopped and finally registered where he was. The door to the loft was a little hard to open from the lack of use. The wheels grabbed and squeaked as he forced it open. When the alarm didn't sound Stiles figured Derek must have cut the power before he left. He forced the door closed then stumbled across the room. He barely made it to the couch before collapsing from exhaustion. After finally getting a decent amount of sleep he actually felt like he was functioning well enough to help Scott. Every night after that he slept in Derek's loft. He told his dad where he was so he wouldn't worry but he didn't want anyone else to know. He was afraid everyone would think he was broken up over everything. He actually was but he didn't want them to know that. After almost a month of staying in the loft Stiles felt like he was recovering. He was having nightmares that woke him up but most nights he was able to go back to sleep.
One night after chasing the beast through the tunnels for six hours Stiles collapsed on the couch. It was freezing in the loft but he didn't have the strength to find the blanket he kept there. He was out as soon as he closed his eyes. It was 4 am when the door rolled open then shut. Stiles was sleeping too soundly to notice. Derek almost didn't see Stiles. When he did he was slightly startled. He couldn't figure out why Stiles would be sleeping on his couch. He brushed it off and figured he could ask later. He took his bag to his room and finally noticed how cold it felt. He went back and covered Stiles with the blanket he found on the table. He grabbed his flashlight and made his way to the breaker box to turn on the power. He hoped the loft would be warm by morning. He went back to his room and practically fell into bed. He had been sleeping everywhere from a halfway decent motel to the backseat of his car. He hoped being back in his bed would help but he couldn't stop thinking about Braeden. He hadn't seen her in months. He called a few times but he always got the same message. "I'm not looking for work right now. I don't care how much you're offering. If you're calling for any other reason you'll hear from me when this job is done." It was good to hear her voice but it wasn't the one he wanted. The message was cold and professional. He wanted to hear her when she lowered he guard just enough to let him care about her.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked out the window. The moon was almost full. He had been struggling to stay in control since he evolved. He lost all of his resistance in the month after Scott and Braeden pulled him out of the church in Mexico. When he evolved he was a lot stronger than he had ever been, even stronger than when he had a pack. It was almost unbearable to resist shifting on the first full moon. He drove out into the desert and waited until it was over. He thought he had known pain but it was nothing compared to that night. He winced at the thought of it and collapsed back onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling forever before he started to drift off.
A horrific scream jolted him awake. He jumped up grabbed his gun from the window sill and ran to when the scream originated. He still didn't trust his strength would be enough to protect him and the gun was the last thing Braeden gave him when she thought he was dying. He felt like there was an emotional connection he couldn't shake. Stiles was sat up on the couch with a death grip on the blanket. His head was dripping sweat and he had tears streaming down his face. Derek ran over to him but he was in something like a trance. It looked like he was looking through Derek instead of right at him. Derek was afraid to touch him or even speak. In an instant Stiles lunged at Derek and was on top of him punching him. His eyes were full of terror mixed with rage and confusion. Derek tossed the gun as far away as he could throw it. He didn't want Stiles to hurt himself with it. Derek managed to block one of the punches and shouted at Stiles. He froze instantly then tumbled off of Derek and into the wall. Stiles started to gasp for air and Derek realized he was having a panic attack. He had no idea how to stop it so he grabbed Stiles by his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. After a minute Stiles started crying into Derek's shoulder. Between sobs he apologized over and over again. Derek held him tighter and he felt tears streaming down his own face.
Once Stiles' breathing returned to normal Derek lifted him up off the ground and helped him to the couch. Derek asked Stiles if he wanted to talk about what happened. Stiles explained that the first dream he had was about Boyd dying and every night he relives another friend's death. Most of the time he would jolt awake but that time was different. The dream that night was much worse. He saw everyone die again but that time he was the one that killed them. Then at the end he saw a darker version of himself standing in front of him. It looked like when the nogitsune was controlling him except he could feel what his other self felt and he could see through both perspectives. His other self was suddenly holding a gun and Stiles realized he was too. The other raised the gun and Stiles fought to resist mirroring his action. He was staring straight down the barrel when the other flashed a terrifying smile. He felt himself squeezing the trigger and the next thing he knew he was attacking Derek.
It wasn't until then did Stiles realize Derek's face was bloody. The cuts had healed but blood still stained his skin. Derek lifted Stiles' hand and noticed how bruised they had already become. He knew he couldn't get any ice so he settled with getting a towel to wipe away the blood. He washed his face in hopes that Stiles would forgive himself for attacking him. The water coming from the sink didn't look drinkable so Derek sifted through his bag until he found a bottle of black tea. It wasn't all that great but Braeden convinced him to try it and he kept drinking it out of habit. Stiles choked it down and slumped back into the couch. He couldn't believe Derek was actually there. Every night he stayed in the loft he wondered where Derek was and if he was safe. Now he knew. It was the closest he had come to being relaxed since the night of the senior scribe. For once he was truly happy to be spending time with Derek. He honestly felt safe. Sadly he knew it would be short lived.
I started writing a sterek story and I can't stop. I have too many ideas floating around in my head. I don't even know what to do after I finish writing. It will probably stay in drafts forever.
