#prompt two

[austajunk]

Because what Little Red Riding Hood doesn't love her wolf?

Kamunami Week

Day Two

Royalty/Fairytale AU

[the-one-you-thought-of-forever]

In the shade of the night, watching the sea all by yourself can get lonely. Dont you miss him?

Thank you for submission berri,

This piece reminds me of a storybook illustration. The glowing colors on the moon is perfect for these prompts.

Absolutely well done, he was thoroughly entertained by this piece.

He hasn't stopped staring at this piece.

Why would we miss him? He's always here with us, one eye open, always watching.

It is a comfort.

Thank you for the question.

[sterek-roundrobinchallenge]

In the shadows of karma

Chapter One

Written for @sterek-roundrobinchallenge

Author: @greyhavenisback

Team: #2

Ship(s): Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Tags: Post canon AU, FBI!Stiles, Wolf!Derek, future fic, meeting up again, angst, angst with a happy ending

Warning(s): None, I don’t think - references to a bad case connected to Stiles’ work in the FBI but nothing detailed, and this chapter has a slight horror feel to it

Summary: An angsty post canon fic featuring FBI Stiles and wolf shaped Derek who both move away from Beacon Hills and meet up again several years later

*

Stiles runs. 

He runs from Beacon Hills the first chance he gets. It isn't the same once Derek's gone anyway. The world is a little darker. A little less colourful. Like a spark has gone out. Sure, he has other important people in his life but no one who really sees him. Not like Derek did.

So he runs.

Not far enough to escape the shadow of the nogitsune. No amount of distance will do that. The darkness he carries, he carries for life; it walks behind him with every step he takes.

It's with him as he interns at the FBI each summer. It's with him as he attends college and as he graduates top of his class with his tearful father watching him cross the stage. It's with him as he heads to Quantico for the 20 week training program that makes him an FBI agent.

He's a good one. There's talk of fast track and promotions and making Agent in Charge before he's 30. His closure rate is excellent, better than anyone else in the New York office, and his speciality lies in interviewing children. Whether they're victims or witnesses, Stiles is able to connect with them even when other agents and department psychologists can't.

He keeps tabs on Derek, as best he can. He buries a few files that relate to the whole Derek is a wanted serial killer thing. He tracks him as he travels the country but loses him in upstate New York.

And then Stiles' world turns upside down.

A bad case. One of the worst. His boss is an asshole. Stiles knows who did it, he knows without a single doubt who did it, and he suggests a 1-1 approach. One agent, wired up, goes in and arrests him. His boss disagrees. SWAT are sent in. The perp dies, several agents die, and there's no way to find the victim before they die too. 

Stiles is devastated. He's angry. He says a few words to his boss that he probably shouldn't, which descends into a very loud and very public screaming match that turns him into the scapegoat.

So he unwillingly takes the blame for the operation failure. For the deaths. He carries them on his conscience anyway, he might as well shoulder it.

Somehow, he doesn’t get fired. Perhaps he should have been. Perhaps he should have quit.

He doesn’t, but emotionally he checks out. He isn’t engaged with the work anymore. He can’t trust his colleagues or his boss. What’s the point?

So he puts in for a transfer. His career is dead in the water now anyway so he requests a field office in a small town and ends up in Portland, Maine.

It's fine. It's all fine. His career is fucked, he lost track of Derek, he barely speaks to any of his friends (are they even still his friends? he isn't even sure he's still part of the pack), and he knows that monsters are real. The human ones, and the supernatural ones. The tangible ones, and the ones in his head.

The ones in his head are the loudest.

He finds a small house to rent on the edge of town. It isn't much; it's shabby and the second bedroom isn't so much a second bedroom as it is a box room. Which is fine. He doesn't have guests come to stay anyway. He shoves some boxes in there, the ones he can't be bothered to unpack, and closes the door.

It isn't much but it's quiet. His neighbours are quiet, the street is quiet; even the neighbourhood dogs are quiet. Everything is quiet.

It's so quiet that Stiles can hear the blood whooshing in his ears. It simultaneously drives him mad and comforts him. It's too loud. Too annoying. Too all encompassing. But he's alive. He's real. 

Sometimes he doubts that. The body he lives in isn't exactly the one he was born with; it’s a construct that he forced a thousand year old demon to give him. He looks in the mirror and he knows it's his face looking back at him but sometimes it feels like a stranger. He doesn’t know who he is anymore.

At the quiet end of the quiet street he lives on now, there’s a trail into the nature reserve. Smaller trails crisscross with the larger trail, giving miles upon miles of different routes. It's a good place to run.

So Stiles does.

Every day, he pulls on his running shoes and hits the trail, along with the shadow that he always carries. Some days it's heavier than others, so heavy he can barely move. He does anyway. He has to. Otherwise he'll never move again. 

Today isn't so bad. It feels like something is behind him. An unseen presence that's watching his every move. Eerie and unsettling like the fog that clings to the trees. But that's better than when it's filling his mind with storm clouds so dark he can't see through them and has to fight his way to the light.

He glances behind him as he runs. The feeling is so strong that he has to keep checking, he has to be certain that there’s no one following him. If there is, they’ve faded into the autumn fog; the trail is empty as far as he can see and it’s quiet enough that he’d hear footsteps if there was anyone there. So there isn’t. It’s just his shadow. With him as always.

At least he isn't alone, he thinks bitterly. At least he has someone. Even though it's this invisible, shadowy presence.

Somewhere around mile three, he glimpses a dark shape in the trees. It’s there and gone, swallowed by the fog and the undergrowth before he can make out what it is. Probably an animal, he tells himself, and he pays it no more mind.

Until he’s halfway through mile four and he sees it again. More clearly this time.

A wolf.

Specifically, a black wolf.

Stiles flails to a stop and stands there, breathing hard but not gasping for air like he would have been doing on a high school cross country run. The wolf turns, hauntingly familiar blue eyes fixed on Stiles for a second that feels like a lifetime before it runs deeper into the trees.

Minutes pass as Stiles stares at the spot where Derek disappeared just moments before. His heart gallops against his ribcage and Derek must be able to hear that and probably smell Stiles’ confusion, but he’s gone. He’s still gone.

So Stiles shrugs and carries on running. If Derek is wolf shaped then he clearly doesn't want to make contact and that's fine. It's fine. It's really fine. After all, no one else wants to be around Stiles either. Why should Derek be any different? It's not like Stiles would have died for him back then. (And still would.)

His legs are like elastic, barely holding him up under the weight of the shadow that has enveloped him. But he finishes his run. The ever present shadow has now been joined by the back-of-the-neck prickle of unseen eyes watching him. Following him.

The sensation should frighten him. Terrify him. But Stiles has faced the worst life has to offer and besides, it’s vaguely comforting knowing that Derek is there and still his usual creeper self. He’s always been good at lurking in the trees.

Some things don't change.

Like Stiles' temper which finally snaps loose after an entire week of a wolf shaped Derek stalking him on his morning runs.

"Oh my god, you're an asshole!" he shouts into the trees. He knows Derek's there. The prickly sensation has its hooks into the back of his neck. Ok, so maybe he's shouting at the wrong patch of undergrowth and if anyone else is out here, they'll think there's a weirdo in the woods who's shouting at nothing, but Derek will hear him. "Stop fucking stalking me and just come out and talk!"

There's no answer. No movement. And that's fair, really; if Derek shifts so he can speak, he won't have any clothes and while the woods are generally devoid of people, they are on the main trail and it's entirely possible someone will walk past and then it's indecent exposure and he might get arrested and -

Stiles makes an indeterminate sound of frustration because Derek could at least show his wolfy face properly, and then he runs on.

Maybe tomorrow.

But the rest of his run is hollow, somehow. The only invisible presence following him is the shadow that he can never leave behind. There's no comforting-yet-prickly Derek presence to counter it and now it feels heavier than ever. Like it isn't just dark and shadowy, but the total absence of light.

The rest of his runs that week pass in the same way. Empty. The same way Stiles feels. 

He's fucked up.

He should have been more patient, given Derek more time, but his mouth ran away from him in a way it hasn't since he was a teenager. 

So he gets to work early, almost an hour before his shift and he absolutely definitely doesn't use the FBI database in a highly questionable manner which absolutely definitely won't get him fired if anyone finds out. 

Ten minutes later, he has Derek's address.

He lives out towards the coast, on the opposite side of the preserve to Stiles' house. Only a couple of miles away as the crow flies. Or the wolf runs.

An uneasy feeling settles over Stiles again. Is this a coincidence? Derek has been living there for over a year, since before Stiles left New York City. Did something draw Stiles here? Is it one of those weird things that happens sometimes or is it some unseen force acting on them, pulling them together like magnets?

(Will the same force switch and push them away from each other again?)

There's no time to worry about it during his workday but Stiles mulls it over that night when he's trying and failing to sleep because the dark is too dark and the quiet is too quiet.

Eventually, he decides to put it to one side. It's not like he made a choice to come to Portland; it was the only available posting to a smaller office. So if it is an unseen force, some sort of karma or chaos or something, then it's acting on the entirety of the FBI which means there's no point at all in worrying about it. Or, given that worrying about things is deeply ingrained into Stiles - deeply - at least making the choice to not worry about it when he should be sleeping.

So he worries about how to apologise to Derek for yelling at him instead. 

That's marginally easier to sort out and he finally gets to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Food seems to be the best way to make it up to Derek so before his shift, Stiles stops by the bakery and picks up a selection of pastries. He isn't sure which ones Derek likes - he's never even seen the guy eat before but presumably he does and who doesn't like pastries, right? Right. 

He drives over to Derek's house, which is in completely the wrong direction and he'll probably be late and get fired but fuck it, this is more important. He scrawls a message on the top of the box of pastries - Sorry. Call me - adds his cell number and leaves the box on Derek's doorstep.

He doesn't bother knocking. If Derek is home, he knows Stiles is here. So he's either out or avoiding him 

Stiles has done what he can so he gets back into his car and drives away.

It's in Derek's hands now.

[fanfictasia]

Whumpuary Prompt 2

Choking

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Nighttime Fear

“You’re weak,” Krell snarls, stalking towards him. “You’re a failure!”

He feels frozen. Trapped. “No.”

“You have a duty!” his voice rings out though the darkness of Umbara. “You had orders! You’re a part of something larger than yourself. Or are you too narrow-minded to see that?”

Krell used to say things like that. All the time. Always. “My duty is to my brothers,” Hunter says, “To protect them first.”

Krell scoffs, turning away. “And how are you doing at that?”

He’s a failure. He is. He knows that. Doesn’t want to think of it, though. He – he’s made so many mistakes. Everything – everything that’s happened was his fault. Hunter was supposed to protect them. He should have kept them together, kept them safe. He always fought to keep them together before, but…

He failed them. In every way he could have.

“You should have stopped them!” Krell snarls, and Hunter gasps as his hand wraps around Hunter’s neck, crushing.

He might’ve hurt them before, but this is a first. First Hunter’s dreamed of, anyway.

“You’ll fail them, too,” Krell hisses, “You’re weak. You’re soft.” It’s an echo of what Crosshair had said, and Hunter struggles in his grip, but Krell has always had a Wrecker-level strength.

[emeralddoeadeer]

31 Prompts for 31 Days

A collection of drabbles

2. You're in my seat

Halting abruptly, Lily’s feet stutter on the stone floor, Sirius crashing into her.

“Merlin Red, a little warning”

He follows her gaze, releasing a snort. His amusement apparent as they approach the far end of Gryffindor table, their spot among their fellow sixth years.

James only notices them when Lily speaks “You’re in my seat”.

Erica Trimble of Ravenclaw turns her head to the interruption, Sirius smirking while Lily stands in wait for the girl to vacate her spot.

Conversation with the blonde abandoned, James’ eyes focussed only on Lily “All right Evans?”

The embittered Ravenclaw leaves with a huff.

@jilytoberfest

[kangaroo-writes-trash]

Swordtember - 2. Light

“The one that came after? It’s only natural. You must mean The Radiance.”

A man of sun-touched skin stood tall above the felled wyvern, its damaged wings seared from the blinding longsword that they held in their left hand. Their locks of strawberry blond obscure their freckled forehead as they gaze down upon it, until his kind green eyes lift to search the lit lair for the ones he had come for. Thaddeus, Slayer of Shadows. That’s what they called him, when he rescued them from the dark. When one man became the saviour of a backwater village that no others cared for. Strong, mighty, and handsome. Thaddeus was cocky at times, and he welcomed any and all reward for his help, but he had wholly earned the right. His blade, composed only of pure unwavering light, was just as beloved as he was. Stories were woven about its inception, all speaking their own truths of the light. Some saw it as a fragment of the divine, brought down from the heavens and gifted to their chosen hero. Another, and one that gained much traction, thought it merely a normal blade that came into contact with a drop of sunlight. Thaddeus knew the truth, but never spoke it. Every story, every word, it all spread his legend. A backwater village became busy towns and thriving cities, and even differing countries - the further his name spread, the stronger the light became. Slayer of Shadows. Bringer of Light. Wielder of The Sun. Son of God. It was intoxicating. In the night, a man snuck within their quarters to lay claim to the blade’s power. To steal it away from the man that carried it well. It emanated a soft, welcoming warmth, until the thief’s unworthy hand wrapped itself around the hilt. And then, the warmth grew. The thief was found dead that following morning. Their hands clasped around the hilt, their entire body unrecognisable - charred to a crisp. Rejected, and punished. But when wielded again by the one crowned worthy, it was nothing but warm, and welcoming.

“Where there was light, there was The Radiance. Its power not of gods and not of stars, but of me. They mourned his passing, but more did they mourn the dying light. Thaddeus, Who Made The Sun Rise.”

[greenchristmas]

** WEEK   TWO   (   POSTS   11/30   -  12/6;   HAVE    YA’LL’S    SUBMISSIONS    IN    BY    12/6   ) look    at    all    those    chickens    !!    tell    me    something    about    your    person’s    writing    style,    use    of    language,    phrases    or    descriptions    they    use    that    you    like.    what    stands    out    to    you    about    this    mun’s    writing    ?    is    there    a    line    that’s    stuck    with    you    ?    a    headcanon    you    have    fallen    in    love    with    ?    do    you    think    they    really    capture    the    character’s    voice    ?    is    something    just    so    fantastically    IC    that    it    makes    you    cry    ?    scream    it    from    the    rooftops    !    

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

Favorite Color

A/N: Prompt two of @scribuary! I wrote a poem this time around, enjoy!

Prompt 2:  Describe your favorite color without saying or showing what it is.

It’s the color someone radiates when they smile at you.

The color of the loyal ones, the kind-hearted.

It’s rays of light that stream through the window in the morning.

The color of the happy ones, the optimistic.

It’s the tropical fruit hanging from the trees, or bursting from the ground.

The color of the energetic ones, the positive.

But it is also the color of danger, a warning to all who approach.

The color of the cowardly, the deceitful.

But as long as there are bees that buzz,

Buttercups and daffodils that bloom,

There is hope.