#tw ficlet

[teenwolf--imagines]

The One Where Peter Has A Son

REQUESTED, PETER HALE

“What the fuck do you mean? I have a son?” Peter sputtered. He was indignantly waving his arms around like a preacher on cocaine. Scott ducked his hand as it swung by his face- “Yeah, you have a son. My new pack member.” Peter sneered “And he’s in your little misfit pack? Good God, McCall.”

Stiles wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to show how funny he found the situation, ultimately deciding that a little laughter would be harmless. “Stop fucking giggling, Stilinski!” Stiles was promptly shoved against the wall. Wearily, Scott removed his friend from Peter’s grip.

Sighing, he asked, “So... what’s my kid like, then? As great as his dad?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, he fortunately didn’t inherit your evilness. He’s a decent guy.” Scott nodded “He saved my life when a rogue omega attacked. I really owe him.”

Peter shook his head disapprovingly and scoffed: “I gotta meet this clown... Saving Scott? Can’t be my kid.”

[haleofabootie]

Based on this list

you slipped on a patch of ice and i happened to be walking behind you and you fell into my arms wow you’re really attractive au

Allison shivered, pulling her hands out from her pockets to blow warm air on them, nimble fingers still feeling frozen despite the wool mittens covering them. She can't remember the last time she'd felt this frostbitten, her family had always moved from warm place to warm. Who knew Beacon Hills would be the first new start to be cold?

Being new to town, Allison still knew very little of her surroundings and it was this reason she was out and about strolling along the icy sidewalks, trying to familiarize herself with her now home. Not many others were outside in this cold weather, the only other soul to be seen was a petite red-haired girl. Said girl was only a few steps ahead of Allison herself, the heels of her red pumps clacking against the asphalt as she carefully tried to maneuver around a rather large patch of ice.

Not exactly my choice of footwear for this weather, Allison thinks, a small chuckle bubbles up from her as she glances down to her worn-out combat boots.

As she looks up, thankfully at the right moment, she sees the red-haired girl suddenly skid forward before falling backwards, the heel of her shoe catching on a nearly impossible to see patch of black ice. Reacting quickly, instincts seamlessly kicking in, Allison reaches out her arms, catching the other girl before she falls to the harsh ground.

"Ooomph!" escapes the red-haired girl's lips, green eyes grown wide from the shock from not only slipping, but from having been caught. "What on earth?" she mutters, tilting her head to catch a glimpse of her savior. Their eyes meet, and Allison seems to be frozen on the spot, stunned by the beauty of the girl in her arms.

Wow you're attractive, Allison thinks but dares not speak aloud.

 After a moment, as well as the the other girl giving her a 'what are you waiting for' look, Allison shakes her head to get her senses back before helping her to stand, keeping a good grip on her arms til she was certain she was steady on her feet.

"Lydia Martin," the other girl speaks, looking over Allison with bright eyes before holding a dainty hand out to shake.

Allison can't help the dimpled smile that graces her face, immediately reaching out and gripping Lydia's hand with her own mitten clad one. "Allison Argent," she replies, brown eyes sparkling and cheeks turning pink for reasons other than the chill in the air.

"You're new here aren't you?" asks Lydia, not even waiting for an answer as she continues on. "Not only did you save myself and my outfit from being mucked up from slush and ripped, you did it while looking equally as good as me. Which makes you my new best friend."

The confidence Lydia held herself with made Allison think she was almost too perfect to be real. A giddiness seems to explode inside herself, wanting nothing more than to be this girls best friend and more. There's a burning desire boiling up inside her, which is nonsense in her mind since she just met this girl. Looking over Lydia, with her red-hair tumbling down from her knitted hat and pink lips turned up in a sly smile that suggests she knows exactly what she's doing to Allison, she can't help but feel flustered.

Before even answering, Lydia just takes her hand once more and begins walking, leading her to wherever she wanted to take her. As Lydia began talking, telling her all about the ins and outs of Beacon Hills, Allison realizes she would follow this girl anywhere.

[scottskiras-blog]

scisaac & 'i was unaware that there was an organized zombie crawl going on and i didn't realize you were in a costume and i screamed in your face because i truly thought i was facing a zombie invasion' au?

i never actually knew what zombie walks were and that they were a real thing until now! thanks for this prompt!

Isaac reluctantly pulled back his sheets, swinging his feet out of bed before he could think about it. He groaned when he opened his curtains, rubbing at the sleep from his eyes in the harsh light. Slowly, he showered, not bothering to comb his hair and all but fell out of the front door. He’d been sick for days, and even though he could feel the remnants of a cold, he felt a whole lot better than the previous week, and decided to make the most of it. Locking the door behind him, he squinted into the bright morning light, doing a double take. There were zombies everywhere. All along the street, milling around, mumbling and groaning quietly. One was covered in blood; the other had a knife impaled in its chest but was still moving, slowly shuffling along. He scrambled for his keys, tripping over his porch steps and hastily bolted the door, sliding down it into a crouch. Fuck fuck fuck. He’d been ill for so long, he’d missed the zombie apocalypse. He knew he should’ve checked his phone. He peeked through the curtains on the side of his window. Zombies had filled his street now, and some were making their way across lawns, just a few houses down from his. Shit, what did he do? He jumped up, racing to the kitchen to grab a knife and sat on his bottom step, trying to think. How had this happened?  He jerked in shock when the doorbell rang. What the hell kind of zombies rang the doorbell? Hesitantly, Isaac looked around the curtain. A zombie was looking back at him. He had dark, blackish-purpley lips and a wound across one eye and wavy dark hair. Isaac screamed, tripping backwards from the window. The zombie screamed back in shock, then caught himself, eyes crinkling in laughter.

“Holy crap, man, sorry to scare you, jeez, you made me jump!” The zombie said. His voice didn’t sound hellish, or raspy or zombie-like at all. In fact, he sounded good-natured and surprised. Isaac narrowed his eyes suspiciously, brandishing the kitchen knife.

“Don’t come any closer!” Isaac said, waving it around a bit. He’d always thought zombies were supposed to be a bit brainless, but this one seemed to be more in control. The zombie’s eyes widened and he stepped back in shock, hands in the air defeselessly.

“Whoa, dude, I know some people are super anti-gay but you don’t have to get violent,” the zombie said through the window, voice muffled slightly. Isaac’s brow furrowed in confusion. Apparently, this zombie was also social-minded too.

“Just – I won’t use this if you leave now,” Isaac said, as sternly as he could. “I’m sure I’m not even that tasty – look at me, I’m all bones and no meat. You wouldn’t want to eat me.” The zombie just looked at him for a moment.

“Look man!” The zombie said, looking angry now. Oh no, maybe Isaac shouldn’t have been aggressive. He tried to brace himself, awkwardly holding the knife in both hands. “We might be different, and we might be a minority, but we mean no one any harm. Jesus Christ, we’re not cannibals.”

Isaac blinked at him. “But you’re a zombie. I thought… that eating people was what you do.”

The zombie looked even more confused. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Isaac retorted, shuffling his stance slightly. Oh god, if this zombie did decide to eat his brains, he was done for. He barely knew how to use the knife for cutting up vegetables, let alone for killing undead monsters.

“We’re here to promote LGBTQIA rights,” the zombie said. “My buddy organised a zombie walk to raise awareness. It’s just a door-to-door thing; I’ve even got a leaflet!” The zombie waved a pamphlet proudly. Isaac squinted at him.

“Um. What?”

The zombie stared at him. “Do you want the leaflet or not?” Isaac shuffled, frowning at the zombie, clearing his throat awkwardly. He opened his door slowly, still holding his knife in one hand, watching the zombie hesitantly. The guy just handed him the paper watching his knife wearily, and started to turn away. Isaac looked at it, and choked in surprise. Oh god. He laughed embarrassedly, running a hand through his hair. The zombie had rejoined the group and was now talking to another, who turned to glare at him, patting the other guy on the shoulder. Oh crap, Isaac had probably scared the dude. He sighed, and jogged after them. The zombie – no wait, he wasn’t an actual zombie – the guy turned when he heard footsteps, eyes closing off when he saw it was Isaac. He winced guiltily.

“Uh, I just wanted to say sorry.. I – uh…there’s no non-embarrassing way to say this, but,” he looked at his feet, mumbling, “I kinda thought you were real zombies.” He refused to look up at the guy. “That’s why I had the knife – I really didn’t mean to frighten you, or anything,” he said, laughing nervously. The guy was staring at him when Isaac raised his head, and smiled slowly. Even with the make-up, it made him look adorable; cute dimples appearing in his cheeks, eyes twinkling and face lighting up. Surprisingly, he wasn’t laughing at him.

“Oh, no!” He said, reaching out to touch Isaac’s arm gently, as if concerned. “I am so sorry if I scared you- I thought I’d just shocked you through the window, I didn’t actually think –“ he broke off, and now he sounded embarrassed.

“No, what, you don’t need to be sorry,” Isaac told him. “It was my mistake – and anyway, I was the one with the knife.”

“Well, I was the one with the flesh-eating tendencies. Supposedly,” the guy said, grinning wickedly. Isaac snorted awkwardly and started to walk backwards towards his house, shoving his hands in his pockets. The guy placed a hand on his arm, and Isaac looked at him questioningly. The guy seemed to be blushing under the face paint, but said, “Um, maybe after this would you maybe like to go out for a drink? Unless you really are anti-gay, in which case shame on you, and all that…stuff.” The guy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry, I’m really bad at the whole asking someone out kind of thing.”

Isaac smiled. “Nah, I think you did a pretty good job.”

[flapstiel]

It was always Malia who started everything: the first dance, the first kiss, the first unofficial "date".

So Malia was a little surprised- no, shocked- when Kira was the one to ask her to be her girlfriend, a month after that first spark of chemistry in that club. 

"It's fine if you don't want to," Kira said, trying to hide her disappointment but failing. Malia stayed silent; her brain unusually unresponsive. 

"It's fine," Kira said again, turning to hide her embarrassment. Malia watched her go, silently, dumbly, without a thought in her head besides, Kira's not my mate. How can Kira be my mate?

Almost as soon as Kira turned the corner and disappeared from view, Malia realized she was being an idiot. She had been kissing Kira in empty supply closets and dark movie theaters for weeks now; of course Kira was her mate. No one else was so strangely perfect for her as Kira. 

Kira was her mate. Now, why hadn't she been able to realize that immediately? 

A small, reasonable voice in the back of her head nagged at Malia. Maybe it's because you're so domineering. Maybe you can't accept that Kira is just as powerful as you. Maybe you can't accept that she's finally taking charge because you've always been so uncontestedly powerful. 

Malia was embarrassed by her own thoughts. Did she crave to be the powerful one? To be in charge? Was she so determined to stay in charge that she'd fuck up her shot at being happy with her mate- no, girlfriend?

No, she thought, racing down the hallways after Kira. She was used to needing to be the powerful one, after years in the wild, but she wasn't in the wild anymore. She was in high school, and she was no longer a coyote. She was human- a human girl- a human girl who could afford to have a powerful girlfriend. 

"Kira!" she shouted, spotting her just at the doors, about to push outside. "Kira, stop!"

Kira turned around, and looked at Malia, a little wounded. Malia stopped running when there was only a foot of space between her and Kira. 

"Ask me again," Malia said, panting a little. 

"What?" Kira asked, looking a little confused and a little hopeful. 

"Ask me again," Malia said, with a smile. 

[veteratorianvillainy]

it's wanting what you've got

So this began life as a ficlet that was supposed to be 100 words and stay here on tumblr, and somehow we’ve ended up here. Coincidentally, this is also my first fanfic (posted or otherwise), so today’s just full of surprises. Ao3 link for anyone interested. Title inspired by Sheryl Crow's Soak up the Sun

_______________________

Stiles had had Scott help him get the hard top off the Jeep at the beginning of summer, so the sun beats down on all of them as they cruise along the road leading out of Beacon Hills. There’s a month left before school starts for what will be senior year for most of the Pack, and they’re enjoying the dog days - ha! – of summer as though they are living in an indie coming-of-age movie instead of a real life version of Buffy.

Derek’s in the passenger seat, Scott and Isaac in the back. Boyd is following behind them in his mom’s minivan, Erica his copilot, and Danny, Jackson, Lydia, and Allison in the back, the rear window blocked by the beach gear they’d loaded in this morning.

The day is warm, but the Jeep has no roof and no real windows on the sides, so the air is nice as it rushes by them. The radio is on though they really only get the suggestion of that baseline. With their hearing, the wolves in his car could probably hold a conversation, but none of them seem inclined to break the silence and Stiles is content to save it for when they actually arrive at the beach.

In the rearview mirror, he can see that Erica’s dozed off already, head resting against her window. Danny is leaning forward from behind her seat, waving a hand around as he talks to Boyd about something that makes the quieter man laugh. It’s probably at Jackson’s expense, knowing Danny, but he can get away with it. Stiles can’t actually see Jackson, but it isn’t hard to imagine him pouting in his seat behind Boyd. If the unholy gleam in their eyes when they’d left the house had been anything to go by, Lydia and Allison are probably in the far back, ignoring the boys and plotting away.

Stiles watches the road pass by for a while, humming to himself and tapping the wheel along to a beat that’s not even close to what he can barely hear coming from the speakers. He nearly laughs when he finally looks in the rearview mirror again, to look at his own backseat this time, and has to physically bite his tongue to keep from making a crack about dogs in cars.

Isaac’s eyes are mostly closed, face pointing into the wind, head tilted back a little in a way that Stiles knows means he’s scenting the air blowing by him. The past few years have been hard on them, but Isaac’s actually looking like a sixteen-year-old should, shadows lingering in his eyes less and less frequently. Right now, he looks quietly pleased, one side of his mouth curling up.

Beside him, Scott’s not even pretending he’s anything but an overgrown puppy. He’s leaning against the inside of the Jeep, as far as he can go without actually leaning out the window. He keeps blinking his eyes open against the wind and unsubtly tipping his head back to better catch the smells streaming by them. Stiles would tease him about it all, but Scott is also wearing the biggest, dopiest smile – occasionally forgetting himself and dropping his mouth open like he’s going to let his tongue loll out – and Stiles can’t quite bring himself to break the moment. It really has been too long since they could genuinely relax and enjoy their lives.

Stiles promptly forgets that, of course, and huffs out a laugh as he glances at Derek from the corner of his eye. Derek is wearing the same grumpy expression he’s been wearing for two years, but they all know it’s a front now. He’s got sunglasses on and he’s in one of the tight black shirts that Stiles is pretty sure Derek buys in bulk, though Stiles has yet to find proof. The werewolf’s trunks are bright red, with a pattern of white Hawaiian hibiscuses on them that almost exactly match the yellow pair that Isaac is sporting, and Stiles just knows that he’ll crack at some point during the day to ask which of them made that particular fashion choice. He wants to say Isaac, but the particular way the boy’s face had lit up when Derek came downstairs makes Stiles think that maybe the Alpha had done it without Isaac knowing they had matching suits. If that’s the case, Stiles is going to have to tease Derek relentlessly for the color choice, because anything else will make Derek stutter and clam up in embarrassment.

Right now, he’s leaning with an arm out the window. Stiles can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he knows Derek well enough – they all do – to know that he’s using the side mirror to keep an eye on Boyd’s car, and trying to catch a glimpse of Isaac sitting behind him too. He’s come a long way, but there are some things that never change and Derek’s always calmer when he can see his whole pack and reassure himself that they’re all safe.

Stiles breathes out another soft laugh as he sees Derek’s head twitch up, just the littlest bit, probably just enough to catch a whiff of whatever new aroma they’re passing through but not enough to make it obvious that he is just as bad as his puppies sometimes. From the way that Derek levels a glare at him, Stiles figures he wasn’t as subtle as he was trying to be. He gives up on hiding it, turning to beam at Derek, good mood spilling over. His eyes meet Scott’s in the mirror, matching grins on their faces, and Stiles shifts so he can see Isaac, getting a soft smile in return.

There’s only a month left of summer, and then school will be starting again, and soon enough they’ll be buried under homework and college applications and worries about what will happen to the Pack next year. There’ll be lacrosse and family and – knowing their luck – a feature creature or two to balance with all of that, and there will be the full moon every month to deal with. For right now, though, the sun is beating down and Stiles has an answering warmth inside his chest. The wind is streaming by them, and the engine purrs as the Jeep eats up the miles of black asphalt, and Derek’s hand steals into his where it’s resting on the center console. Stiles can feel the vibrations running through Derek’s fingers that means he’s doing that deep, inaudible rumbling thing in his chest, and Stiles’ smile grows impossibly wider as his heart seems to expand in his own chest. The future may be uncertain, but he’s got Derek, and he’s got his Pack, so for now, he leans back and allows himself to lighten up.

[dixondameron]

Nobody asks if he's okay.

He loses Erica.  Derek kicks him out.  He loses Boyd.  

Nobody says anything about it.  It's almost as if he isn't even there; a ghost drifting soundlessly between the other wolves and their plans, listening to whatever they have to say and agreeing whenever they need one more vote to tip the scale.  He pretends to care about Allison, forcing their bodies even closer than necessary whenever possible because maybe he just wants to feel something other than cold and confused.

Sometimes, when he's lying in the McCall guest room with his eyes trained on the ceiling and his hearing focused on the sound of Scott's even heartbeat across the hall, he wonders what Erica would think about the whole thing.

She'd probably laugh about it, because sure, yeah, it's not like Isaac hasn't had plenty of opportunities to discuss his pain and maybe it's time to stop being such a baby, Lahey.

He smiles a little whenever he imagines her voice in his head; imagines Boyd cutting in on their conversation and kissing Erica on the cheek when he thought Isaac wasn't looking.

He never cries, because Scott would smell the salty tang of tears and that would just be bad.

If there's anyone he doesn't want to embarrass himself around, it's Scott.

And that thought itself is an entirely different worry, intensified magnificently when he starts staring at Scott's mouth more than his face as a whole.

But, no, he's not going to think about that.

He's not going to think about anything.

Like his father always told him, often right before slamming the door shut on that damned freezer: "There's no good in thinking about the things that hurt you, Isaac.  If you do, you'll end up like me."

And that's the last thing Isaac wants.