ravenshadows08  asked:

In The Moment Kiss, Breathtaking kiss. (Yes I will take two please. In Fenhawk.)

She lies on a bed not her own. On her side, hand under her pillow, the other playing with the loose threads of the blanket. It’s the third night in a row she’s turned down Varric’s offer of drinks. Did you think you mattered, Hawke? She sits up in the bed, runs a hand through her hair. She rests her elbow on a raised knee. She reaches out, over the nightstand, and the candle flickers to life underneath her palm. She rolls her hand back forth, lighting the candle and snuffing it out, lighting the candle and snuffing it out. Did you think anything you ever did mattered?

Carver was getting anxious, itchy, restless to be back with the Wardens. It had taken so much convincing to get him to leave in the first place. Aveline had practically thrown him over her shoulder. You couldn’t even save your city. She chews at her thumb, biting the loose skin. Lit, unlit. She tastes iron, looks at the blood pooling around her nail. Lit, unlit. How could you expect to strike down a god? She’d need to get to Adamant quickly, make sure that those Wardens were safe from Corypheus’s influence. Make sure that they could never fall prey to such a thing again.

Her hands drop to her lap as she crosses her legs, leans against the headboard. The candle stays lit this time. She’d have to write home, and soon – before leaving Skyhold. Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about. Her hands fist in the blanket around her ankles. She bites at her bottom lip and straightens her back. She’d need to be away from him for longer. She slips from the bed, wraps arms around herself as she begins to pace. You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.

She leans against the wall, cold stone at her back, sinks to the floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. One foot over the other, making herself as small as possible. Her chin rests in the space between her knees, her fingers pull at her tunic. Almost ten years without having not been without him for more than a day or two. Even after… after – they had done their best to see each other. Awkward and fumbling, but still wanting. Still needing.

That feeling has never left. It’s a void in her chest, an ache where her heart should be. Anxious, itchy, restless to be back at his side. Carver’s letters sit on the desk, still waiting for her reply. She’d have to find more parchment, their fastest runner. Not to where she’s hidden Carver in Antiva, but to Fenris in Kirkwall. She stretches out her legs as far as they’ll go, slumps where she sits, palms against the floor. She can picture his face. His reaction to her letter.

He would have that knot between his brows, the one that tells her he’s thinking. His nose would scrunch together as he makes up his mind. His mouth souring downwards as he finishes it. His ears would twitch in his anger, go flat in sadness. She jumps to her feet at the knock at her door. Panicked and hurried things, “I know you’re not sleeping,” Varric’s muffled voice says, “open up!”

Hawke hurries to the door, undoes the latch, pulls it open. Varric immediately doubles, his hands on his knees, panting as he catches his breath. “Tavern, Hawke. Time to go to the tavern!” Hawke shakes her head.

“I already told you Varric, I’m not in the mood –”

“Not up for debate,” he says as he grabs her hand, tugs her forward. In naught but an old tunic and leggings with hole at the knees, Hawke’s bare feet pad along cold stone. Skyhold wind sweeps around her, unleashes a rash of gooseflesh on her skin. Her breath fogs in the air and she races to keep up with Varric. Only at the door of the tavern does he let go of her hand. With a flourishing sweep, he pushes it open.

It’s what she expects. Loud laughter, people talking over one another, the band in the background. Drink upon drink, spilling on the floor. Brightly lit, warm and cozy. Varric has to practically push her in. “I found her!” He calls out. The tavern goes silent as people look over their shoulders, looking at her. She shrinks under her gaze, and only Varric’s hand on her back keeps her from turning and running.

A chair creaks as it moves backwards, sliding against the floor as he stands. “They didn’t know what room you were in,” Varric says, “I found him wandering the grounds. It’s all the yelling guards that got my attention.” He’s wide-eyed and staring at her, just as she is frozen to the spot she stands. He needs a haircut. Did he buy a new cloak? Where did the cut on his chin come from?

“Fenris,” she says. They both move at the same time. The chair clatters backwards as it falls, pushed away from him, rounding the table, running towards each other with arms outstretched. She practically leaps into him, winding her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He catches her, hands splayed on her back, spinning her around with him. They have their eyes closed as they cling to each other amongst whoops and yells, the sound of tankards hitting wood, cheering from the crowd.

Fenris squeezes her tightly. “I couldn’t wait,” he whispers to her, “I had to see you.” She sinks back slowly to her feet, her fists still wound in his cloak. Looking at him, she finds all her breath is snatched away. He reaches upwards, wipes the tears from her face as she breaks into a smile, and begins to laugh. Bouncing on her feet, shaking him with her. He’s swept up in the laughter as he cups her face in his hands, plants a messy kiss against her lips. Again and again, noses pressed together, catching laughter in each other’s mouths.

The others are hollering, Sera cupping her hands to shout, “get a room!” Hawke is instantly turning, pulling him along with her as she runs towards the door. She doesn’t need to be told twice. They spill out into the night, the tavern door closing behind them, leaving the fires and people behind. She stumbles in her steps, takes him down with her into a snow bank. Laughing as he pushes himself up, white hair like snowfall around him.

She looks at him, the green that shines. She reaches up with cold fingers, with that fogged breath between them, brushes thumbs against his cheeks. “It’s really you,” she says. He smiles as he leans down, forehead touching against forehead. He settles his weight against her, and she doesn’t even feel the snow. Underneath all those stars he kisses her, steals her breath away for the second time that night.

Eighth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

FirstSecond ThirdFourthFifthFifth Christmas, Part 2SixthSeventhEighthNinthTenthEleventhTwelfthThirteenthFourteenthFifteenthSixteenthSeventeenthEighteenthNineteenthTwentiethTwenty-firstTwenty-secondTwenty-third


Scully spent Christmas Eve at Maggie’s surrounded by loud family, mounds of presents, her mother’s recently acquired goldfish and what felt like a gigantic hole where her heart should have been. William enjoyed his Merry-Go-Round ride from relative to relative, drooling, patting, sitting up and pulling hair whenever possible. She, on the other hand, spent her time staring into space, remembering the two Christmases that Mulder spent with her family, sitting behind her on the floor, hand gently resting a hair’s width from her thigh, shin folded against her back end as he shuffled up close, watching the festivities over her shoulder, his breath so close to her, so warm and soft on her neck.

Suddenly, a restlessness shook her, a need to move, a need to see him, a need to hold him so strong she had to stand, pacing back and forth to the confusion of her mother, who watched her quietly from the couch. Her circle took her from the living room to the kitchen, down the hall, past the bathroom and stairs, soon returning to the living room. She traced the path four times before she found Maggie standing in her way in the darkened hall.

“Honey, are you all right?”

Rooted there, hands playing with themselves, wringing absently, “I need to go home, Mom. I just … something … I need to go. I’m sorry. I know it’s not that late but if you won’t hate me, I’m going to get going.”

She didn’t want to see them go but something in Dana’s tone of voice drove her to nod her head, “of course. Just tell everyone Will kept you up late last night and you both need your rest.”

Crooking an eyebrow and trying to smile, “lying on Christmas Eve. God will not approve.”

“I’ll deal with the repercussions but I think it will be fine.” Giving Scully a hug, “just don’t forget to come back in the morning. I’ll have been too long away from my little Will by then.” Stepping back, Maggie gave her a soft look, “we’ll be up at 6am, like usual, Mass at 9, breakfast at 10:30, like always.”

“We’ll be here, promise.”

With a smile, “do your best.”


Scully managed to get into her apartment and lock the door before she stopped dead in her tracks, her senses coming on line instantly. Putting Will’s carrier gently down on the floor partially under the end table, she slipped her gun from her waist, then began scouting the apartment, not sure what was bothering her but looking thoroughly through every room, closet, behind ever door and under every bed. Once she was satisfied, she returned to the living room, retrieving Will first before her eyes finally processed what was different.

Hanging on the Christmas tree, dead center and nearly hidden by an angled branch, was an ornament that had not been there earlier in the day.

Spinning quickly on her heel, she half expected to see him standing behind her, ready to scare the bejesus out of her, kiss her, hug her, cry when he saw how big his son was becoming. Instead, she only saw an empty kitchen, cold and dark, the misery overwhelming her instantly; she’d missed him, missed him sneaking in, missed him wanting to see his little boy and her, missed him so close she could smell his soap and taste his skin.

She burst into tears.


It was well after midnight before she finally began dozing, her head nodding, her ears finally relaxing to every sound made within the apartment. She was just slipping into a half-formed dream of Mulder when she felt a pair of ice cold lips on her own. Eyes flying open, Scully saw him, so real and so very close that the first thing she did was swing, heavy-fisted, catching him squarely at the top of his cheekbone, sliding her knuckles across his closed eye and ramming into his nose. After a millisecond of hesitated confusion, she was crouching over his hunched form, Mulder holding his face and groaning.

Yanking his hands away, she twisted his head towards her and kissed him, amazed he was real and whole and in front of her when she missed him the most.

He kissed her back for a few moments, then pulled away, whispering, “what the hell was that!?”

She met his mouth again and he stopped asking questions, too busy running his hands over her, pulling her tightly against him, to worry about a bruised cheekbone and burning eye. He only separated enough to pull the sweater over her head, making a note to comment on it eventually, once he remembered how to say more than a moaned ‘I love you’ in the general vicinity of her bare breasts, smooth thighs, curved ass and valleyed back.


The fear, however, set in the moment the pooled sweat between them began to evaporate. He felt her muscles tense, coiling in preparation to defend him, to kill him, to throw him from her house in fear for their son’s life.

His hands came down on her upper arms, his leg holding her knees, voice almost inaudibly, “don’t do this yet … please?”

She beat him to the punch, sliding sideways from his grasp and off the bed, shivering suddenly in the cold darkness, “do what? Wonder if somebody’s going to break in here and kill you? Shoot you in my bed?”

Mulder shushed her as he sat up, pulling the sheets around his shoulders, “yell any louder you’re going to wake up Will.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Mulder? You’re supposed to be hiding somewhere, far, far away from the eight thousand people who have you at the top of their shit list.”

Seeing this might not go as smoothly as he’d hoped, he sat up, pushing aside sheets, reaching out to wrap his fingers around her hip to pull her closer, “I couldn’t stay away. Not on Christmas. The guys have been dropping hints that I’m somewhere in southern Florida and the surveillance team that had eyes on you tonight gave up and went home to their families or their bottles of whiskey or their mothers, I have no idea, but Byers gave me the all clear to come in and I did and you belted me.”

Stomach clenching, “there’s a team on me?”

“Yeah. Skinner’s guys so not too terrible but I couldn’t have anyone, not even Walter, know I’m here so I had to wait until they left.”

By now, she was trapped between knobby knees, thigh muscles giving under the pressure of his hold on her, “then where did the ornament come from?”

Not smiling, wishing with all his heart he’d been the one to hang it, “I gave it to Frohike to hang for me in case I didn’t make it inside.”

She kissed him again with a fierceness fueled by six-month separation, her lips hovering over his when she finally pulled back to catch her breath, “do you want to see Will?”

His arms tightened around her, a spasmodic jerk of nervous anxiety, “yes, please.”

After pulling on pajamas, she retrieved their son, climbing carefully into bed before laying him between them. Mulder settled beside him immediately, head against the mattress alongside the boy’s, staring in wonder at his perfect nose, curved chin and pursed lips, “God, Scully, how can I ever leave him again?”

“You don’t have to.”

Allowing Will to blur slightly as he focused on Scully over his head, “please don’t make this harder. I have a few more hours then,” tears ran rivers down his cheeks at this point but she made no move to clear them, “God, don’t fight with me now, okay? I can’t handle it.”

Heart breaking, she cried with him, watching him smooth his fingers over light eyebrows and reddening hair, button nose and chin cleft, apple-round cheeks and near-translucent eyelids. Quiet tears fell on small pajamas and Scully held her boys as close as possible while they snuggled on the rumpled bed, breathed lullabies sung to sleeping ears. Mulder lived, for a brief moment, the mundane, homebound existence he wished for and dreamed of every hour he was awake and every moment he slept.

Eventually, exhaustion drove her to sleep but Mulder remained alert, basking in the precious time he was part of a family again.

His family.

His tiny, bigger than the world family.


He stayed until just before dawn, holding his boy close for the last hour, cradling him to his chest, memorizing his smell, his fingers and toes, his hummingbird heartbeat and the sounds he made, from cooing to grunting to that soul-melting sigh that made Mulder shut his eyes, try to absorb the perfection that was his son.


Scully woke to an empty bed, Will gone but making noise on the baby monitor, demanding breakfast and a clean diaper. The depression settled in quickly, the cold, heaviness of the apartment telling her he was already gone.

Moving automatically to Will’s room, she found a note hanging from the crib, taped and innocently waiting to be read. Forcing herself to wait until she’d changed Will and fed him, she finally settled him on her hip before unfolding the paper.

An hour later, she forced herself to get both of them ready for the return trip to Grandma’s house, Scully finally giving up halfway through, moving to the tree to examine yet again the ornament he’d left behind: one of a little boy in an oversize Yankee jersey, cap askew, glove at his feet, bat too large to hold up off the ground with the words ‘Daddy’s Little Home Run Hitter’ written underneath.

On the opposite side, Mulder had carefully printed in his trademark Sharpie “I love you” and the year.

I loved an atheist once. She was a hurricane with a wildfire where her heart should have been and she loved me, god, she loved me more than God ever could. When she spoke the earth burst open and the cracks leaked molten lava at her feet. She wore combat boots and french nails and her soft curves made apologies for every sin she ever committed.
I loved an atheist once and she was the most beautiful being I ever saw. When she spoke her voice shook my bones and made my body tremble. She had a brutal tenderness in her words and when she smiled little dimples caught in the golden on her cheeks.
I loved an atheist once and she was not bitter. She was not unkind. She was not soulless. She was iron and fire and the firm grip around my fragile heart. She was running daggers through my veins and a rage contained inside a small body.
I loved an atheist once with suns for eyes and stars in her veins. It took me years to realize that the person I loved was me.

- bottling the apocalypse | r.m


I always thought Casca and the moon child looked very similar (I know it’s because they’re mother / child), so when we saw the baby Casca fairy thing in Chapter 348, my first thought was “the moon child is in Casca’s dream!” Then Schierke identified it as a tiny bit of Casca instead, which probably makes more sense, but it would have been interesting to see the Moon Child in Casca’s dream, held in her chest where Casca’s heart should be.

“under the cover of our souls”

About 700 words of vague smut but ahh!!! I hope you like it if you read! I feel like it’s been way too long since I’ve written a Royai fic. <3

How is devotion measured? To Riza, it’s always been abstract, unspoken. As visible as moonlight but as tangible too. Roy’s fingers trailing the curve of her waist are all at once electrifying and terribly inadequate.

Closer, she thinks, stretching up on her toes, crashing her lips onto his throat. His arm wraps around her and she’s flush against him as if they are trying to break through the surface of each other’s skin and show their bodies what it means to know someone.

Keep reading

To Fill a Hole

The first time she heard it he was kneeling on the hard floor, almost knocked out from the punch he definitely wasn’t expecting.

The second time, when his rambling got interrupted by the lean curves of her naked body, barely hidden even with all the steam surrounding her.

That same night was the third.

When his soft hands started warming up her cold ones, sending electric shocks through her muscles. And she was the girl who spent eight years trapped inside of a body that wasn’t entirely hers. She wasn’t afraid of anything. That’s why she did the only thing that was on her mind in that instant.

And then, when her lips collided with someone else’s for the first time, she practically felt it in her own chest. That quick, yet steady heartbeat she would hear every time after that. Whenever he was excited, anxious… angry. Or simply near her. And just after her reassuring nod and his lips claiming hers for the second time in that minute, it became her favorite sound.


“Don’t forget me, Lydia. You’re the only one that could help. You are the banshee. They’re all gonna forget… Ev- Everyone… Y- You have to help them. Please… Don’t forget me.”

“I won’t.”


It happened the very next morning. Lydia was on a school parking lot, standing dumbfounded, her eyes glued to a blue jeep, its owner nowhere to be found. With a shaky hand, slightly away from her ear, she held her phone. The distinctive sound of quick deafening beeps made everything else around her fade away.

Number non-existent.

She maniacally run inside the building, thousands of thoughts rushing through her head uncontrollably. She was looking, afraid she’ll never find. Afraid it was too late. Then she saw Malia in one of the classrooms. “Malia! Where is he? Where’s Stiles?!”

The girl looked confused, “What? Who’s Stiles?”

“No. No! Oh my god! This is not happening! It’s no-” Lydia was shaking her head, trying to convince herself she was still in her bed, dreaming. “It’s not real.”

“Lydia, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” Malia was starting to worry.

“Please, Malia. Tell me you remember him,” she squeezed the girl’s upper arms. “Tell me you know who Stiles is!”

“I’m sorry Lydia. Should I?” Malia looked frightened. “Who is he? A friend of yours?”

Lydia suddenly felt all power drain from her body. Her legs wobbled and she collapsed to the ground.

“Lydia!” Malia knelt down, letting her friend to lean on her for support. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I don’t know how to help you. Who are you talking about?”

“Sti- I’m sor- so sorry…” she was mumbling, but Malia would’ve heard her even if she was miles away.

“Shhh… It’s ok. Just tell me what happened to this… Stiles.”

Lydia gulped, her throat hurting from the knot that formed there, and barely audibly she voiced, “He’s forgotten.”

Malia froze. Chills eerily crossing down her spine. She didn’t even know this Stiles person, but she felt a hard tightening in her chest, leaving her with a dull, aching burn. Like all of the sudden someone pushed their hand inside of her, ripped an important part of her out, and left a huge hole in the place where her heart should be.

Forgotten. Sadly, Malia knew what that meant. “We need to find Scott. Now.”


The boy was sitting on the ground, his back tiredly leaning against the wall, head bent down in defeat as he absently watched his shaky hands. A familiar feeling of helplessness was suffocating and an overwhelming fear welcomed him again.

In the end, of course it was Lydia. She was the harbinger of death after all. It made sense she was the last one to forget. But even though he was glad at least one of his friends hadn’t forgot him and would hopefully remember him long enough to warn the others, he still couldn’t bare the fact no one else knew who he was.

The way his father spoke in unusually distant, professional tone like he was a complete stranger, got buried deep in his mind and he was sure he will never be able to forget it. Then his best friend, looking at him like he’d never seen him before. Like he was just some guy. Another human being whose name was on his list of this-person-needs-saving-today.

Then, his mind wandered off to the last three hours of his life above the earth. Light, sorrowful smile tugged the corners of his lips. In this morbid reality, he was strangely satisfied, for he spent his last hours with her.

“You have got to be kidding me!” rough voice scoffed above his head.

Stiles groaned, his melancholic thoughts instantaneously got replaced with anger and disgust.


“So, he is our best friend? My best friend?” Scott sighed, “When did this happen?”

Over the past few years, the alpha and his pack have experienced more things than an average teenager should. A lot of people left. Some even run away, hoping they’ll find a better place to live. Others, died. But, how do you cope with the fact that someone you’re supposed to be so close to, someone who was with you through all those obstacles, who stood by you in the worst moments of your life is not just gone, but every memory of them has disappeared too?

“I don’t know. But he warned me yesterday. He knew he was next.” Lydia’s gaze drifted off to her shoes, the same ones she wore the previous day. She never wore the same thing twice in a row. “I guess shortly after that.”

Malia was sitting on the edge of the sofa. Her face blank, look distant. Mind… a million light years away.

Lydia noticed her lack of reaction, “Malia? Are you ok? You haven’t said anything since we got here.”

Malia lifted her head and firmly looked at her friend. “We have to tell his parents,” she spoke calmly. “We know his parents. Right?”

Scott groaned, “How are we supposed to tell these people they have a son they can’t even remember. They won’t believe us.”

“It’s just his dad actually,” Lydia corrected. “And he’ll believe us.”


“I couldn’t sleep last night. Halfway to the kitchen I stubbed my toe. On an aluminum baseball bat. Without thinking, I yelled out a name,” Stilinski was telling the kids.

Scott and Lydia shared a look, “Stiles.”

“I found a room I don’t even remember having,” he continued. “It just appeared out of nowhere. It looks like a… a giant hole in the middle of the house.”

“Deaton said they don’t just erase people from a memory. They erase an entire person. And apparently everything they ever owned,” Scott reminded them.

“His jeep is still here,” Lydia added, “but, I can’t find the keys.”

“Wh- How is that even possible? You just said they take everything!” Sheriff grunted. “Did Deaton mention anything else?”

“They’re called the Ghost Riders. Seeing them it’s a sign they’re coming for the person. Making them a part of the Wild Hunt,” Scott explained.

“So, what do we do? What are our options?”

Lydia sighed, “We don’t know. What do you thi-” she turned her head to where Malia was sitting a mere moments before. “Oh, my god! Where is she?”

They started looking around when Scott sniffed, “It’s ok. She’s still here.”

Lydia exhaled, “I thought she was…”


Malia was following a musty smell. Walking up the stairs that looked vaguely familiar, sure she saw that part of the house before. How well did she know it, though? How often did she come here? And what was she doing?

Her legs moved unconsciously. Independently from her brain. Like they knew exactly where to take her. Like they’ve been walking through this halls more than through her own house.

They brought her to a big hole in the wall where doors should’ve been. She took a step inside the dark room. It was completely empty, like a huge gray box. Two windows, that let small beams of light illuminate the center of the room, were broken. Cracks on the ceiling formed a strange pattern, threatening to crush down on her head in any moment. If she was seeing this in some other occasion, the thought of someone burning the place down would probably cross her mind. But, this was not the case.

She moved slowly, trying to mentally place basic furniture where it might’ve stood. Like bed and nightstand. Or desk and table lamp. Was it usually messy, or always in order? Maybe there was a soft carpet right where her feet were. She brushed her fingertips across the rough concrete wall, wondering of the color that used to be painted on it. Was it adorned with pictures… or paintings?

She came to one of the corners and leaned her back, letting her weight slide her down on a cold, dusty floor. She took a deep breath, like if inhaling strong enough would help her catch a scent. And maybe then, she would remember.

But nothing happened. There was no enlightenment, no memories surfacing. Only stress and sadness that came from the living room.

“Who are you?” she whispered into thin air. “Where are you?”


“I’m actually really glad they chose you too. No one ever cared about you anyway. You should’ve been forgotten a long time ago,” Stiles said to the man he wanted to hate more than anything. But he never completely could. Not since he found out he was her father.

“Nice to see you too, Stiles,” Peter looked amused, a bit more than he should.

“Can’t say it’s a pleasure,” Stiles smirked. “So, how long?”

“How long what?”

“Since you took a shower. What do you think?”

“Witty,” Peter still liked the way boy acted in miserable situations. “Four days, if I’m correct. But it’s kinda hard to keep a track of time down here. Or up. No, I’m pretty sure it’s down.”

Stiles wasn’t listening anymore. Instead he was trying not to get affected by the newfound information because, if someone like Peter Hale was still trapped there after four days, it was far from good news. “So, what are we gonna do? I guess you’ve tried something?”

Peter started laughing, like something in his brain suddenly snapped, making him go crazy. “Oh man, you really are an optimistic little spaz, aren’t you?”

Stiles looked at him confused.

“Look, boy. We both know we’re not each other’s favorite person, but we’re going to spend a looot of time together. So, sooner you get used to it, better.”

“What? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we don’t exist, kid! We’re already forgotten.” He sniffed, and said his final words before leaving the brunet all alone with his thoughts, “I hope you said your goodbyes.”

Stiles watched him walk away. “Somebody’s gonna remember me,” he murmured, “they’ll come for me.”


“Hey,” Lydia carefully sat next to Malia. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” If she was good in anything, it was in not showing her emotions. At least that’s how it was so far. Now she was wondering if the boy could’ve made her react a certain way.

They were quiet for a couple of minutes, before Malia decided to break the silence.

“How did we meet?” she paused, then looked Lydia straight in her eyes. “St-“ she swallowed, “him and me? How well have we known each other?”

Lydia looked at her slightly confused. Probably because she wasn’t expecting Malia to be the one to ask that question.

“Mal, I know you want to know. But it’s a really long story and we’re losing precious time. He could be completely gone in any second,” she said as compassionately as possible.

Malia knew she was right. But she couldn’t keep going with nothing on her mind. She had to fill at least a little part of that emptiness that slowly spread through her whole body. “Please. I have to know. I need to know. Tell me in five… six words and that’s it. Just give me something, Lydia. Anything, and I won’t ask again.”

Desperate plea was something she never witnessed coming from the coyote, and it pained her to see her friend like this. Lydia sighed, “You… you were together. And you loved each other. You still do. Very much.” She decided to leave out the final part. The one where they broke up. Sort of.

“We were together? What does that mean? We’re not anymore? Did we have a fight?” Malia spilled questions in one breath, wanting to find out as much as she could, already forgetting about the promise she made seconds ago.

“No, no!” Lydia quickly interrupted her. “You still are… you just… don’t remember.” And she didn’t quite lie. They were still in love. More than either one of them was willing to admit. But everyone could’ve seen it. In the way Malia would stiff whenever he’s near, sometimes even blush, or the way Stiles would nervously peel his cuticles and steal subtle looks when she wasn’t watching. But Malia needed hope. Something good to hold on to. So, Lydia didn’t want her last thought of him to be the break up.

“Oh,” Malia swallowed again.

Lydia saw a small relief crossing her eyes, so she took Malia’s hands in hers. “He loves you Malia. And you love him. And that is something you should never doubt about,” she smiled kindly.

Malia hastily wiped a traitorous tear she hadn’t noticed sliding down her cheek, and stood up. “Come on. We need to find a way to save him.”


“No! You can’t just tell me it’s over. There must be something we can do! I’m not just gonna stay in this pit hole and let them make me ride a horse, alright?” Stiles burst out once he found Peter again. “I don’t even know how to ride a horse!”

“What do you want me to say, Stiles? We can’t get out of here! You get that? They are going to make us hunters. And once they do, you and me, the world as we know it, it’s all over!”

“Come on, I don’t believe it. Big, great Peter Hale doesn’t have something up his sleeve?” Stiles teased. It was just a slight twitch in older man’s eyes, barely even a micro expression, but Stiles was sure he didn’t imagine it. That was enough to make him dig further, “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter shook his hands, “No! Forget about it!”

Stiles realized he won’t get any information that way, so he decided to continue with another approach. One he was sure would work on the guy. “Hmph… I have to admit, even though I always hated your guts, I actually considered you a clever guy,” he provoked. “Guess now we know who Malia’s got the brains from, huh?”

“You really think that’s gonna work on me? You think I’m that stupid?”

Stiles raised his brows in question, “So you wouldn’t mind losing your freedom… just like that? You’re just gonna… give up?”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, then sighed. “I’m not even sure if it’s gonna work.”

A glimpse of hope immediately crossed Stiles’ face.


He warned the only person he hoped would remember. His time was ticking. There wasn’t much he could do know, and telling it anyone else would be pointless. Even Scott was powerless at this moment.

But, maybe he had time for just one more visit.

He parked his jeep a couple of blocks away. The night was unusually chilly. His whole body shivered and sharp wind scratched his lungs so much it hurt. Wild howling of the wind was almost entirely suppressed by the pulse pounding in his ears.

Deciding to go to the back of the house, he came close to the window and knocked on the thick glass. “Malia?”

The girl lifted her head from the pillow like she heard a gunshot. Her instincts and the cruel reality of her life made her always be alert.

She was probably imagining. Without having a proper sleep in weeks, it wouldn’t surprise her. Or maybe she did fall asleep and dreamt it.

She tried to concentrate. That’s when she heard it.

Ba bump, ba bump.


“Stiles!” she rushed to the window with the sound being the only thing in her focus.


Deaton put a jar filled with dark, bluish seeds back on the shelf before looking at the boy. “There is probably one way you can do this. But, you’re not going to like it. And it’s definitely not going to be easy.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’m not gonna stop. Not until I bring them back. All of them,” Scott assured.

The man nodded. “You know the reason you are the only one that remembers him, right?” he pointed at Lydia.

“Banshee powers.”

“Harbinger of death,” he clarified. “You are connected to the underground. Which is the place your friends have been taken to.”

“Wait, does that mean Jordan can remember him, too?” the girl asked.

“Exactly. And you will need his abilities for what you’re about to do. Now, look. I only know this in theory. I never witnessed this kind of situation before.” He sighed before continuing, “You can’t actually kill the Wild Hunt. But you can send them away for a long time. Long enough for them to never come back in your lifetime. Which is actually what they want, they just got stuck here for some reason. Now, to do that, you’ll need a silver sword.”

Scott frowned, a sad memory surfacing his mind, “Kira’s.”

The doctor nodded again. “One more thing, really important. They take lost souls. But sometimes, they also take the dead. Especially if the dead is someone who deserves to be taken. To become… faceless.”

“Wait, what do you mean, like someone who actually died?” Scott’s eyes widened.

“So, what does that mean for us?” Malia interjected.

“Well, you could use the dead in your advantage. Speed up the process of luring the leader. He’s the one you need to use the sword on.”

“Are you saying we have to dig up a dead body now?!” she asked again.

“Um, yes… and no. You actually have to bring them back to life… In a way… The point is, it can’t be just any dead person. It should to be a supernatural, someone who can help you draw the hunters close to you. You have to make them come to you.”

Malia was already tired of the conversation. It was all too shady and she needed a plan. A solution. “Ok, where do we get a dead supernatural being and how do we bring him back?”

“Well, I think the easiest and the fastest way would be to bring someone who’s not entirely dead, but more… sent away… using a… sword?” the man carefully looked the reaction of his visitors.

Malia clenched her jaw, “Theo.”


“Hey,” he said in barely more than a whisper.

“Hey,” was all she replied, before quickly closing the window behind him.

She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him why he was there so late at night. Or to just ask him one of the billion questions that had bothered her over the past three months. But she said nothing. Instead she let herself enjoy his presence for a while. Fill her nostrils with his smell. Internally smile that after a long time, he was there again. In her room.

Stiles slowly turned around, looking across the room. A mellow light from her old lamp selfishly kept his figure in a dark shadow, but she caught a weak, nostalgic smile across his face, “Everything’s the same.”

Malia observed the way his eyes wandered off to the photograph on her nightstand. Engraved, old frame shielding it from damaging. She remembered when Liam took it. The first day of senior year. Stiles had his arm around her neck, with her hair strand curled around his index finger. Their faces were lightly touching and they both smiled widely. She also remembered how they laughed the next day when they caught Scott and Lydia in the distance, waiting for them by the school entrance with clearly not so amused expressions.

The silence started to make her anxious and she finally decided to speak, “So, what’s going on? You ok?”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously and turned to face her completely, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Malia furrowed her brows, carefully studying him. Most of the time she didn’t need her heightened senses to know how he truly felt. “You don’t seem fine.”

“You mean I don’t smell fine,” he corrected, the same smile appearing again. “Hmph, yeah, I know you guys will never stop monitoring my emotional state.”

“Sorry,” Malia looked at the ground, slightly ashamed.

She knew how that felt. There were times when Scott did the same thing on her. Especially lately. When she unintentionally started to project tiredness and depression. She smelled more and more like stress then her usual smell. But that was the thing. Ever since they’ve known her she had the smell of mild happiness, a lot of confusion, and a huge amount of Stiles. And once he was gone, she stopped having that one thing in her life that made her forget about her past. Even if just for a couple of minutes. Her anchor that made her firmly stand on the ground whenever she felt like collapsing. So her natural, daily smell changed.

“It’s ok. I’m kinda used to it,” he assured her. Then something hit him, and he looked at her bed, confused. The pillowcase and sheets were only slightly wrinkled, giving the impression like someone was only resting on the top. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Um, not much. I can’t really sleep,” she mumbled the last part.

The concern on his face was evident, “Why?”

“I- I don’t know. I just, I can’t… fall asleep.”

“How long has this been going on?” he took a few steps towards her, only then noticing small puffiness under her eyes that he hadn’t seen before, due to usually trying not to look at her directly in the eyes. He instinctively moved his hand to reach her face, but quickly stopped himself.

“Just a couple of days,” she lied. “It’s not a big deal. It’ll pass.”

Stiles exhaled deeply, than took another step closer. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve helped you.”

Malia instantly tensed. She stood there, pinned to the ground. “I- I- I don’t- I,” the girl stuttered. She never stuttered.

She stared at him as he took one more, slow step. Standing so close to her that she felt his hot breath on her face, made her more nervous than it did the first time they’ve kissed. She felt all feelings coming back like a hurricane. Her blood boiled in her veins and adrenalin hit her as that familiar knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

Stiles tried to steady his breathing, but he knew she could hear the way his heart threatened to burst out of his chest like a volcano.

Even on a dim light she looked beautiful. Then, he saw her blushing. And that was enough to give him all the courage he needed. Gently, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek along the way.

Her eyes involuntarily closed as she leaned into the touch, and her heartbeat went raging like never before.

He caressed her earlobe as he watched her dazed, heat invading his entire body. Her lips slightly parted and he trembled, the need to feel their softness again making his own lips burn. Slowly, he slid his hand under hair at the nape of her neck, and she opened her eyes just when the space between them became unbearably small. Like opposite sides of two magnets, they were pulling each other closer until they collided. Merging into a kiss so tender, yet so firm. The warmth radiated through them, awakening their every muscle.

“Malia,” he whispered slowly, as if the word was his last breath. As if her name was his last prayer to God. He finally understood a reference of a lover’s kiss to the need of oxygen.

Her arms ran up his spine until his body pressed against hers tightly, leaving no space in the middle, and he felt the beating of her heart against his chest. He intertwined his fingers around her neck, deepening the kiss. It was a desperate kiss. The interchange between two people who believed their lips would never meet again. His tongue delved into her mouth, tangling with her own as they put all of their emotions into it. And Malia felt every single one in the air. Clear and distinct.




An inexplicable mix of sadness and happiness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so-“ he cried out against her lips when suddenly he felt her cold fingertips lightly pressing over his mouth.

“Shh,” her nose slightly brushed the tip of his own, “don’t say anything. I know.”

A single tear rolled down his left cheek, and she gently brushed the salty liquid with her thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. He got lost so deep in them that for a moment he simply forgot to breathe. If they were the last thing he was destined to see on this earth, he would gladly die or let the hunters take him in that very moment.

But he was only a human, after all. And they always crave for more.

His hands trailed under her shirt, softly grazing that sweet spot at her lower back and he could practically imagine the way it made her toes curl. It was surreal how much his body ached to hold her, have her even closer. He pulled the silky fabric that kept him apart from her skin over her head as she immediately did the same, then leaned in to kiss her neck. Slow and tender.

Suddenly, he slid his hands down her thighs and pushed her up, making her jump and she instantly crossed her legs around his waist. He slightly bit her neck and her nails unintentionally dug into his bare shoulders, a low groan of pleasure escaping his throat. He gently put her on the bed, then pulled away to look at her. Her pupils were wide and dark. Her lips swollen and pink. He lightly brushed his thumb over them and after what seemed like an eternity, his eyes were blessed with her smile again. Intimate smile, shaped solely for him. His mouth mirrored hers before their lips connected again. This time in a stronger, fiery kiss.


Liam swung the sword above his shoulder, its blade viciously pointing toward his feet, before pushing it into the ground with every ounce of his strength. The impact formed a crack that spread over the hard floor like a lightning. About thirty feet ahead, the cracks stopped and concrete started falling.

Scott, Malia, Lydia and Liam stood in expectation. For several seconds nothing happened. Then a hand, scratched and dirty, firmly hit the rough surface, quickly followed by a familiar face showing itself in the dark.

“This was a bad idea,” Liam’s voice softly echoed through the air.


“Just to be clear, this is only a myth,” Peter mentioned.

“Fine,” Stiles held back an eye roll.

The man inhaled, then said it matter-of-factly, “We have to kill the leader. Well, not actually kill, but-”

“That’s not that bad,” Stiles cut him off. “At least we don’t have to kill all hunters or blow up the entire underground.”

Peter slightly cackled, “Don’t be so optimistic. Trust me, it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Why?” the boy frowned.

“We need something we don’t have and pretty much have no way of getting.”

Knowing that the answer won’t be good, he went on anyway, “What?”

“A silver sword.”


It was silent once everyone gathered in Scott’s living room, but the air screamed anger and hostility. Malia stared at the guy who took everything from her and people she loved. Even a glimpse of remorse that flashed through his eyes wasn’t able to change what she felt for the monstrous being, dangerously close to her claws. She despised the fact they needed help from him. He was the reason Kira was compelled to leave with skinwalkers, he sent Lydia to Eichen and killed many innocent people, including his own sister. It was his fault Sheriff was on a verge of death, his fault Mason turned into the Beast. He deceived and shot her, left Deaton to die by the hands of the Desert Wolf. Manipulated Liam into killing Scott and when his devious plan hadn’t worked, he murdered her best friend. In cold blood.

And now he was standing calmly in front of her, barely six feet away. Only one long step and she would be on top of him, hitting and scratching until his face would look so distorted no one would even believe he’s a human. On the other hand, he was everything except human.

Then a though occurred to her. What did he do to Stiles? Sheriff was his father. That must’ve been the most terrible time of his life. But what if that wasn’t the only way he hurt him? And just like that, thoughts were tearing her mind apart and hatred built up, threatening to turn her into killing mode. But, she knew what they were here to do. And her priority was Stiles. So she swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Let’s skip the whole ‘I’m sorry’ crap and ‘We forgive you’ crap, cuz you’re not sorry and we don’t forgive you,” she hissed at the guy. “We brought you back to life and if you don’t want to be immediately put back under, you better do what we tell you to do.”

The boy shortly glanced at Scott before returning his gaze to Malia, “What do you need?”


“Are you serious?” Stiles spouted.

Peter shrugged.

“Well, do you have a sword?”

“Oh yeah, of course, I’m wearing it around my belt! It’s kinda a new style I’ve been tryin’ out late-” he started in a mocking tone.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, “Okaaay… Do you have any suggestion on where to find this… Excalibur?”

“Isn’t that thing made of metal?” Peter asked bluntly.

“Wh- No, it’s a silver sword with golden handle,” his nerdy side blurted out. “Seriously, have you ever read a book?”

“I didn’t really have much time for school. You know, between killing and having sex,” the man smirked. “Made only one kid during that time. Count that as a win.”

Stiles made a fist, barely resisting the urge to punch the guy.

“Oh, don’t worry. I still love my little girl. She’s fierce.”

The brunet took a calming breath, forcing himself not to get sucked into this disturbing and unbelievably inappropriate game. He pushed his thoughts away and tried to focus again. “Alright, there must be another way. How can we get to a silver swo-” he paused, then trailed off, “it’s not about the sword.”

Peter furrowed his brows in confusion.

“It’s about what it’s made of,” Stiles’ eyes widened as his mind cleared. “Right?”

“It’s about silver,” Peter concluded and the boy nodded.

Stiles took a quick glance at their surroundings, “There are a lot of girls here…” He raised his eyebrows, but the other one looked even more confused, “Girls wear jewelry…”

Peter scoffed, “So what, your plan is to find a silver ring and propose the guy?”

No, we just have to make him- he- we need to put it inside of him somehow. It’s like that time Allison destroyed the Oni,” he paused. The recollection of his friend losing her life for the people she cared for, surfacing without a warning. He never saw it happen, and for that he was grateful. But he still felt it very often.

She was just like him. A human, with no special powers to protect her. But she was strong and brave. She was a warrior.

Stiles sighed, pushing the sad memory in the back of his mind. “She found a way to make the arrow stay in, long enough to kill him.”

“Sooo-“ Hale waited for brunet to explain further.

“We make him swallow it,” he added matter-of-factly.

“O- Oh yeah… right!” Peter quickly touched his temples like he just had an epiphany, “H- How did I not think of that before?! So, we’re just gonna go to him, offer him a candy and say ‘Don’t worry, it’s not made of silver!’ What exactly is your plan Stiles?”

“Why are we still talking about this? Let’s just find something silver first, and we’ll figure out the rest later!” Stiles felt nauseous. They were utterly unproductive at the moment and he needed actions.

“Do what? Come on, explain to me this brilliant plan of yo-“ the werewolf started nagging again, but was quickly cut off.

“Well, do you have a better idea? Cuz if you do, I’m totally up for it! Really, don’t hold it back! Anything will do! ‘Cause I would much rather do something, anything and fail, than to just sit around and wait for my life to be over!” Stiles yelled in frustration. He had to find a way. He needed to go back. But when Peter kept quiet after a while, Stiles slowly nodded. “Okay, then.”


Scott sprinted towards the pungent smell. His werewolf senses fully alert and he was sure he never ran this fast before. Even when he was running away from something.

It was different now. His friend was in danger and it slightly surprised him how much he cared for her. He’d been following the scent for nearly twenty minutes now. She was smart and she moved so fast he almost lost her two times. But, she was scared. On top of that, her newfound strength did the opposite of helping him in this situation. How did she even lose control? She’d been having her mother’s powers for three months now, yet this never happened before.

He ended up on a car junkyard, when he finally came to a full stop. No footsteps to be heard anymore. It was strangely silent.

Then, a beautiful, gray coyote jumped over a pile of tires. Her blue eyes gloving in the dark as her paws firmly landed on the ground in front of him.

Now was his chance. The alpha opened his mouth, sharp fangs threateningly growing, as a loud roar pierced through the air.


A familiar warmth woke him up. A slender hand, perfectly fitting between his long fingers, firmly pressed against his exposed chest. He squeezed it tenderly, bringing it to his cheek to softly caress it. Her bare breasts sent a pleasant chill down his spine. He carefully rotated his hips, scared his mind might have deceived him and she was yet another unmerciful dream. As a child who prayed for a gift under the Christmas tree, he shut his eyes tightly and held his breath.

The boy slowly peeked and his lips almost immediately spread into the stupidest, most innocent smile.

She was real. Everything was real.

Her disheveled hear, her rosy cheeks. Her full lips. He glared at her collarbone, her muffled moans still echoing in his ears as now already yellowish marks, almost entirely healed. His will probably stay there for quite some time, which he didn’t mind one bit.

Delicately, so as not to disrupt her peaceful sleep, he moved his hand up and soothingly stroke her hair. Intoxicating, coconut smell hit him like a sedative. He kissed the top of her head, deeply inhaling, when suddenly the reality stabbed him to the core like a nail through a wall.

This. All of this.

It will shortly turn into nothing more, but memories.

He almost choked in an attempt to suppress a sob. Tears crept up instantly and his eyes stung. He buried his mouth in the palm of his hand to stop any squeaky whines from escaping his throat.

After several minutes he finally smothered the aggressive break down.

The brunet pulled his body form under girl and gently laid her down on the mattress. He gingerly brushed her back, then placed a soft kiss on her shoulder blade. She slightly squirmed and snuggled her nose deeper into the cushion.

Quietly, he stood up and started putting his clothes on. With every move he made, every step he took further away from her, his heart ached more. As soon as he grabbed the handle he stopped and swallowed a big lump, before turning to take the last look.

“I’ll come back.”

And with the final whisper, he opened the window. This time, never looking back.


Scott looked at his friend worryingly. The moon, still in his full form, illuminated the night sky. Her hear was messier than usual and the obvious exhaustion tainted her perfect features, but she still stood straight and ready to fight. “Malia,” he gently gripped her by the elbow, “you should know something.”

She looked at him sternly, waiting for the rest.

“I spoke to Lydia about your recent… problem.”

Malia slightly flinched at the word, “Scott, I can worry about that late-“

“No! Listen,” he cut her off, “she told me the reason you weren’t able to control your changing was because… you don’t have your anchor anymore.”

Confusion on her face was slowly increasing. “Wha-“

“Guys!” Lydia broke the line of Scott’s thoughts for a second, but Malia stood like a statue. “Come on!” the girl waved her hand in the direction they were going, “we gotta move on!”

“We’re coming!” Scott voiced before turning his focus back on the shocked girl in front of him. “Mal, you get what I’m trying to tell you, right?”

“Stiles,” she mumbled.

The dark haired boy let out a long sigh, “Remember I told you about Allison?”

The name drew Malia’s intention again.

“She was my anchor… in the beginning. Then I lost her” Malia knew it took him a lot of courage to talk about Allison, but after everything that had happened with the beast, she noticed his voice didn’t tremble as much anymore. “And that made me almost strangle my father once. My mom stopped me. You know what she said then?” Scott looked deeply into her eyes, “Be your own anchor!” he squeezed her upper arms in support. “Until we find him and bring him back, you have to be your own anchor.”

Malia stared at her friend and took a deep breath. Then she put her hand on his and nodded in understanding.

Guys!” the strawberry blond girl ahead screamed again, before both of them hastily run towards the rest of the group.

”So, are you completely sure you saw them?” Jordan questioned the chimera.

Yes! I was walking after I left Scott’s house like four hours ago when they appeared. Plus, I’m pretty sure there are no other horse riders in Beacon Hills.”

“Alright, we all remember the plan?” Scott interrupted them.

“Yeah, but how do we know when they’re gonna come for him?” Liam wondered.

“We don’t. That’s why we’re here where we can surround the leader,” the alpha waved his hand vaguely at the woods around them. They agreed the best option is the lookout point, since the attack can be expected from only three sides.

“So, we sit and wait. Great,” younger boy concluded with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“They shouldn’t take long,” Malia assured him.


“Give it to me!” Peter shouted as he kept pulling on a woman’s purse that hung over her shoulder loosely, lady persistently tightening her grip over handles.

“Whoa, wait! Stop!” Stiles yelled back at him, but the man continued with his struggle anyway. “What are you doing?”

“She won’t give me the purse!”

“What do you want with a purse? Just ask her if there’s something… important inside.”

“We need that purse, now!” Peter widened his eyes, nodding in the direction of beige leather the blond was firmly squeezing.

Stiles glared at her bag. “Um,” he cleared his throat, “excuse me, miss-“

“Mrs.,” she corrected him.

“Sorry, Mrs.,” he nodded respectfully. “Um, could you tell me if that’s a real silver,” he pointed at chains on her small bag, “please?”

“This is Chanel,” the woman scoffed, offended. Like the statement was supposed to be an answer of its own. She patted the thing, obviously proud of her property, rolling her eyes annoyingly when the two kept staring at her blankly. “Of course it’s silver!”

“Oh, good, good. Great. Ok, um, now… could you, possibly… give it to us?” he asked carefully.

“Are you insane? Of course not!”

“Look lady, taking that purse would be a piece of cake if I let my inner self out right no-!” Hale threatened.

“Oookaaay!” Stiles raised his hands to stop him. He could practically feel his eyes shining blue and fangs growing inside his jaw. If he didn’t want to whiteness a bloodshed caused by werewolf claws, he had to try a different approach.

“Mrs.,” he kneeled by her side, “look, I know you don’t like this guy very much. Trust me, I’m not his biggest fan either. But, we really need that purse, and if you don’t give it to us, I’m afraid he’s going to lose all his patience and not even I am going to be able to stop him. Which means it’s gonna get pretty ugly… And I don’t think that’s what you want.”

The blonde glanced at Peter, than at Stiles again. She squirmed at her seat slightly, then slowly handed her bag over to the boy.

“Thank you,” Stiles sighed gratefully.

“Great. Let’s go!” he heard Peter already turning around before he stood up as well.

“If all you wanted was to rob me, why didn’t you just take the purse right away?” she mumbled behind them. “Why bringing me in this horrible, dirty place?”

“What,” Stiles turned to utter an explanation, “we didn’t-“

“Stilinski,” Peter grabbed him by his elbow, “we don’t have time for this.”

Stiles let it go and continued walking the other way.

“Now what?” Peter suddenly questioned.

“I- I don’t… know,” the brunet looked at the purse confused.

“What? We have silver, what’s next? This was your plan!” the man pointed out harshly.

“I know, I just… didn’t think all the way through yet. I kinda taught we’ll know what to do once we find something.”

“I knew this was a stupid plan,” Peter mumbled.

“Hey, at least I tried some-“

Their discussion was abruptly cut off with fast gallop down the dark corridor.


“You ok?” Malia set down on a big stone next to Lydia.

“I- I feel like… its close,” she murmured.

“The Wild Hunt?”

“No, I- I don’t… know. I mean I think, I’m gonna forget, too… Soon. I can’t explain. It’s just… a feeling.”

“Stiles?” Malia raised her eyebrows and the other girl nodded silently.

The look on her friend’s face made her skin crawl. It was full of sorrow, undeniable sadness and exhaustion. She hated seeing her like that. Ever since Kira left, she and Lydia started spending more time together. As they were so different, she never thought they could bond as much. But they did. And she knew how much it was hard for Lydia, too. Especially after Allison. Just a thought of losing another close friend would destroy her. On top of that, being the only one to remember must have been a gigantic burden. Maybe not remembering is not such a bad thing after all, Malia thought to herself. But it was a double-edged sword.

She sighed, “We’re gonna make it, Lydia. We will. Just hold on to it a little bit more.” Malia gently took her hand and Lydia squeezed it in return.

“It’s been almost an hour,” Liam suddenly whined, breaking their thoughts.

“Be patient,” Scott advised, “they’ll come.”

“Alright, I don’t want to be pessimistic or anything,” Jordan approached to Scott quietly, “but why exactly are we trusting this guy again?”

Scott was about to answer when a bloodcurdling scream pierced through the air, sending everyone in a close proximity flying away. Young deputy ran over to the banshee in a flash, his supernatural instincts immediately forming a bubble around them, shielding her body to suppress the wave of deafening noise.

“They’re coming!” Theo shouted frustratingly and before anyone could react, several horses appeared out of thin green air with their hoofs repeatedly hitting the earth in sharp moves.

Malia was barely aware of a warm liquid sliding from her right ear as she tried to get back on her feet again. She forced herself to concentrate and focused her eyes on the shiny blade lying next to Liam’s legs. Her knees crumbled with every attempt to lift herself up and she began crawling, her claws digging in dirt as she practically dragged her body towards the sword. From the corner of her eye she saw the chimera darting in her direction, but she kept her stare firmly on the sword now only a few feet away.

“Malia!” she recognized the voice as Scott’s. The alpha was already on his heels, reaching her in four long steps only to jump over her spread out body. She refused to follow anything that was happening around her. Instead she kept moving forward until her hands grabbed the weapon and she turned just when Scott pinned the other guy to the ground, not allowing the sudden intruders to take him.

Before she could even react, the black horseman stood in front of her. Instinctively, she swayed the sharp blade and bolted forward with determination and a hostile crease between her brows. The sharp tip went through dark torso, getting stuck in the middle. Before anyone realized what was happening, greenish light surged out of the unearthly creature like a bolt of lightning, until all that was left, was black dust, slowly falling to the ground.

In what couldn’t be more than seven seconds, somewhere between destroying explosion and confused stares, another horde of hoofs broke the unpleasant silence and multiple riders started dropping bodies on the ground like sacks of potato.

Bodies. Dead bodies?

Malia’s heart stopped and her limbs went numb. Cold sweat poured through her skin drenching her shirt like all of the sudden she started melting. Disintegrating.

Fast movement flashed before her eyes. Only then did she realized her friends had already started looking through the pile of possibly dead limbs.

Another scream. But this time she didn’t feel the need to cover her ears as she turned to its source. Lydia dropped to her knees with Scott right beside her, Jordan and Liam quickly catching up to them. Their backs turned to her as they made it impossible for her to catch a glimpse of what they were looking at, but they hovered over something, or… someone.

Malia winced as she stumbled forward, ignoring a dull ache. Her eyes never left the sight before her, and what she was seeing now made her stop in her tracks. Was Lydia hugging someone? When the girl finally moved, she revealed the object of their attention.

A boy.

Messy, dark hair. His shoulders were slightly slung as he slowly lifted his head, revealing multiple dark dots which asymmetrically adorned his pale cheeks in a perfect contrast. His gaze shifted quickly between the alpha and the girl on his other side, before finally settling on her.

Golden, doe eyes almost instantly started transforming into coal-black.

No movement. Silence.

Then, a sharp throbbing pain.

Malia squeezed her palms against her temples tightly, as if the pressure would drive away sudden intruding jabs in her brain. She barely realized most of her friends also scrunched in anguish, when a series of images started flashing through her mind in a lightning speed.

      Hey, it’s Stiles… you remember me?

      …Not that I would prefer there to be less steam…

      I was wondering why you punched me.

      We were just trying to help.

      You might not like me if you knew any more.

      Was that you first kiss?

      Wanna try it again?

      Just breathe. Breathe with me, alright?

      …Like I thought you were leaving!

      What’s with all the highlighters, anyway?

      It’s gonna get easier, I promise.

      …I’m not leaving you… Just listen to my voice!

      I’m not gonna run! ‘Cause I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me…

      Control, is overrated.

      You did it.

      I’d never leave you behind.

      You might be related to him, but you’re not like him.

      Even smart people can do stupid things…

      You hate me?

      …I can work with that.

      Pizza. She like pizza.

      The vision. And don’t mock the vision.

      I didn’t mean it like that.

      It matters to me.

      You called her?



      I’m sorry.


Then everything came to a halt.

She doesn’t feel a cold breeze anymore. It’s warm. Not just around her, but inside her.

Mix of muffled moans echoes in the air. Her claws grow out of her control as ecstasy hits her to the core and she instantly feels a soft flesh under her fingernails. She’s scared she’s gonna hurt him, but then something similar to a growl flees his throat as he tenses above her in bliss. He kisses her roughly.

Their bodies are firmly pressed against each other’s, breaths slowly calming together.

He rolls off of her and circles his arm around her shoulder to bring her closer. He plants a kiss on the top of her head and sighs quietly.

She nuzzles into his neck.

So warm.

Gentle fingertips trace patterns across his collarbones, mapping his skin inch by inch. He shivers.

He strokes her hair, tugging it lightly just above her neck. The way he knows she likes it. “I’ve missed you so much.” It’s almost inaudible, but she hears every word. “I don’t want to leave you ever again.”

The voice is followed by a weird smell spreading through the air. She can’t quite put her finger on it, though she caught glimpses of sadness and worry. But then she felt a strong scent of pure happiness and nothing else mattered anymore.

“Then don’t.”

Malia loses all of her strength before crashing to the ground. Blurred eyes make her hardly see and she blinks repeatedly to clear them, only tears won’t stop. Moments pass in broken sobs.

Then she feels a warm hand on her cheek.

She inhales sharply. A lack of oxygen in her lungs making her dizzy. His thumbs wipe away the never stopping drops and she can finally see.

A gentle smile illuminates his face.

“Stiles-” she starts to speak. She wants to tell him everything and anything. Maybe even punch him for leaving her. But the words get stuck in a lump, and her arms are too heavy.

“I told you,” he looked into her eyes. Deep and intense. “I’m never leaving you again.” He hugged her. In an almost bone-crushing embrace.

Malia could’ve sworn what happened next was supernal.

From somewhere beneath, right against her chest, came a sound. A sound impossible to forget. She smiled.

And just like that, she felt whole again.

Take Me Back

If you haven’t listened to the song, “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron you should! I recommend listening to it quietly on repeat while reading this fic!

I am not the only traveler
Who has not repaid his debt
I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again
Take me back to the night we met

It had been four days…four days without him. Four days without laughter. Four days when all she knew was the feeling of emptiness where her heart should be. He took a huge part of her when he left, and she was afraid she would never get it back. She laid in their bed, a pathetic mess underneath a heap of crumpled sheets, some of his old t-shirts, and used tissues. Her pillows were soaked from all her tears. She had no idea she was capable of crying this much. Then again, she also had no idea that she was capable of loving him this much either.

Keep reading

Broken Heart

Request: “Hi can I have an Elijah/ Stefan imagine where the reader is a human who is friends with the Mikalsons and falls for Elijah who loves Hayley and is blind to the readers love and the reader eventually gives up on him and meets Stefan and they fall in love with #48, 62, 67″

48. Seeing them together broke your heart.

62. He was dangerous and you knew that, so why in god’s name were you hopelessly in love with him?

67. He/She fell to his/her knees, looking up at you, his/her eyes filled with sadness and heartbreak. In this moment, he/she needed you most.

Notes// Enjoy!!!

Also, I am sorry for the death. 

“Y/N, you are finally here?” Klaus’ strong British accent filled the room, as he stood on the balcony above you.

“You call, I come.” You reply, sticking your hands in your pockets as you walk further into the compound.

Klaus smiled, making his way down the stairs, “Perfect. Well, we are all on the hunt for a white oak stake, which you know of course can kill any one of us originals. It is important that we find it quickly. My suspicion is that it is with Mikael, so we will have to locate him first.”

You slowly nodded as you took in the information, “And where are your siblings when it comes to looking for the weapon that can kill them?”

Klaus sighed, “Well, Elijah and Hayley have gone out to search in the cemetery where the witches are. Rebekah, well she is out of town so I guess she is safe. And well, Kol is dead, and so is Finn. So that leaves me.”

You nod, avoiding eye contact. Of course he was with Hayley again. It was always Hayley, despite how many times you had tried to gain Elijah’s attention, “Well let’s get going then.”

“First, we will go to the Cemetery, and ask a Witch to locate Mikael.” Klaus confirmed, grabbing his jacket before leading you out of the compound.

You both had arrived at the cemetery, and were walking in between all the graves to where this witch was. As you were walking, a slight movement caught your eye, making you stop and turn to your right. It was now, that you wish you hadn’t stopped, that you should have continued following Klaus, but no, your eyes fell onto Elijah and Hayley, who were standing opposite each other. Elijah’s face was in deep thought while Hayley was just staring into Elijah’s eyes. Seeing them together broke your heart.

“There you are, love.” Klaus’ voice broke you from your thoughts, as his hand wrapped around yours gently, “Come on, this way.”

You nodded before following to where you needed to go.

Just a few hours later, the four of you were ambushed by compelled humans. As you fell backwards, hitting the ground you could see Hayley struggling to fight off the humans. A part of you wanted to let them continue, with the possibility of her dying. But then the rest of you wanted to save her. What were you thinking? You couldn’t let someone die and be a selfish person because you were in love with someone you couldn’t have. You quickly got up before snapping the necks of the attackers and turning around seeing Elijah with his hands stuck in two people’s chests, pulling their hearts out. He was dangerous and you knew that, so why in god’s name were you hopelessly in love with him?

You groaned, feeling a sharp pain in your top left shoulder. Klaus’ head turned your way as he rushed over killing whoever stabbed you, “Here, drink up, love.” Klaus murmured holding his wrist out in front of you. You took his wrist, swallowing a sip of his blood before pulling away.

“Thank you.” You smiled a little before pushing Klaus out of the way, killing the human running for him.

Klaus nodded in thanks before turning around suddenly hearing a scream. You gasped and looked in the direction of where it came from, before seeing Hayley’s body on the floor, with a whole of where her heart should be. Your eyes widened, searching for Elijah who rushed to her side, “Hayley…No…” He choked on tears.
Klaus growled, killing those that were left before kneeling on the other side of Hayley, “Let’s get back home.” He turned towards you, silently asking you to follow in which you did with Elijah behind you.

As soon as you arrived home, a witch had informed you that Mikael was located in Mystic Falls. And so you were packing a small weekend bag, while Klaus was on his way to pick you up. You sighed, sitting on your bed, taking in deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. It was almost impossible to get Elijah out of your head, but it was time to move on and that hurt. It hurt that Elijah paid no attention to you, after all the effort you made to get him to notice you.

You gasped hearing a knock on the door, shoving the rest of your clothes in the bag before heading to the door and seeing an unexpected person, Elijah.

He fell to his/her knees, looking up at you, his eyes filled with sadness and heartbreak. In this moment, he needed you most. You were tempted to just wrap your arms around him, tell him it was going to be okay, but he, himself had caused you enough pain. You were just a last resort to him, nothing more.

“Y/N…I…” Elijah was lost for words, as he choked back the tears.

“Elijah, I know you’re hurt. I know you loved her. I get it. I am sorry. But, I can’t do this Elijah. I am not a last resort for you to run to when you need me. I was there the whole time and it’s only now you choose to notice me.” You took a deep breath before turning around to get your bag, before exiting your apartment, “I’m going to Mystic Falls to help Klaus find the white oak stake.” You murmur before heading towards the exit of the block.

“I’ll have a whiskey please.” You smiled at the bartender, as you sat down on the stool.

“It’s on me.” A male voice came from beside you.

You turned to your right to refuse but as soon as you laid eyes on this man, words had escaped your mouth, “I-”
The brunette smiled, “I’ve got it. It’s okay.”
You smiled, “Thank you…?” You trailed off not knowing what to call him.
“Stefan.” He smiled, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Are you Stefan Salvatore?” You asked, taking your drink from the bar, sipping it slowly, ignoring the burn that travelled down your throat.

Stefan’s face slowly drooped, worry filling his eyes, “Depends on who’s asking.”
“I’m not here to kill you, Stefan. I am no hunter. Just someone who happens to know a few older vampires.”

“Like the Mikaelsons.” Stefan replied.

You nodded, “Yes.”
“Ah. Not a good bunch to get involved with, if you ask me.” Stefan sighed, downing his drink.

“I realised that but then any vampire draws in trouble.” You smirk.

“Not all bad trouble though.” Stefan smiled, a hint of cheek in his eyes.

“No, not all bad.” You agree.

“Good. So what are you doing in Mystic Falls?” He ordered another drink, turning towards you, eager to know everything.

“I am looking for something important, but we have given up for the night, well I have. He’s still looking.” You reply.

“So, you’re free tonight?” Stefan’s smile grew wider.

“Yes. I guess I am.” You return the smile.

“Good, because I am taking you out.” Stefan smirked, setting a $100 bill on the bar table.

So much time has passed and there are still people hang up on the idea that Sasuke putting Sakura into genjutsu was abusive.

Completely ignoring what Sasuke himself said after this incident or the fact that he knew what he was doing and even if his methods were a bit twisted, his intentions were still good.

She would have interfered. He was the only one who actually thought about it, proving again how well he actually knows her. Because there’s no doubt about it, of course that she would have done it if she had been conscious.

So instead of saying that he was abusive, maybe you should actually admit that Sasuke saved her life. Because this time Kakashi wouldn’t be there to save her. Sasuke pierced her chest in a cruel genjutsu but if it hadn’t been for that, she would have had her chest pierced by chidori and rasengan in real life. And it doesn’t matter how many of you actually would enjoy this kind of outcome, not Naruto nor Sasuke would ever forgive themselves for hurting her, and I don’t even want to think what would have happened if they had killed her.

And yet, there’s still more to that. You say he didn’t have to be that harsh. And I say, on the contrary, he indeed needed to act this way because in his mind he was doing her a favor (and at that moment, he really was).

It’s not a coincidence that just after she had confessed to him, what he chose to show her is him piercing her chest – crashing the place where her heart should be.

Is it really so hard to understand? He believes, at that point, that there’s no hope for him, not anymore. He’s either going to die or kill his best friend, and no matter what will happen, there won’t be anything left other than darkness – whether literally or metaphorically.

The least he can do for her is help her to move on. Help her forget, make her hate him. He tries to crush the last string of her hope, but it isn’t something he enjoys. This is just as painful to him, it’s written on his face and reflected in that pained smirk, but this is something – he probably thinks – that needs to be done. He doesn’t deserve her and her love, he can’t have her. And there’s no future for him but there’s still a future for Sakura. In his very twisted Sasuke-ish way he’s noble – still protecting her from himself, trying to help her let him go, not wanting to hurt her anymore, not physically nor emotionally.

He does it for her and he believes that this is the right thing to do. And it’s a ninja world and these are the methods he chooses. Maybe he is not gentle but he cannot be if he wants to save her. She’s too stubborn for her own good and again, Sasuke knows it too well.

How is it abusive or disrespectful or whatever you call it? I honestly don’t know.


mythology meme

[1/5] couples ➝ hades and persephone
They whisper that he has no heart. Softer still; that he cut hers out. In the Spring air, she listens and hides her smile, sips her pomegranate martini and remembers how she forced open his ribcage to count the roses blooming there, when he’d dared her to cheat death. There had been a cold fire in his eternal eyes and his hand was a fist where her heart should be. Six red roses, she’d planted in the dark hollow of his chest, and he had conceded the bet with a chasm’d smile and a crown round her head to match his own.

One general has turned her attention to the land of tigers, which has heretofore escaped notice because tigers, while talented at many things, are baffled by the need for cities….

The general has sent her dead-eyed hunters and her lady assassins to capture a tiger to take to wife, but she has had no success, and it is unlikely she ever will.  It is not that the general carries a corroded pale lump where her heart should be; it is not that ledgers of spilled lives are recorded in blurred inexactitude upon her bones.  Tigers are indifferent to such niceties.  But there has never been a tiger born who respect someone who failed to fight her own battles, and tigers are in a position to be choosy about their mates.

—  Tiger Wives, Yoon Ha Lee

Crimson drops fall like rain all around me.
They fall from the black clouds in the scarlet sky, and they fall from my ebony eyes.
I look in the mirror and see a heartless monster staring back at me.
She has my face.
She has my hair.
She has my body.
But there is a hole in her chest where her heart should be.
I stare into her black eyes, and I know
That the one who is looking into the mirror is the illusion.
The pretty face,
The nice smiles,
The quiet, well behaved girl is all an illusion.
This black eyed monster is the truth.
I wake from the dream,
And enter my nightmare.

Let Me Go
Let Me Go

(I had a horrible, horrible idea. What if the freezing wasn’t quite so fast?)

Anna could feel the ice creeping up her neck. It was all she could feel, now. Her awkward hands and clumsy feet were gone, not even numb so much as not there, and there was no telltale itch of the now-familiar wool against her skin. No too-small pinching boots. No sword-slashed hand. No hairs stubbornly out of place. All she could feel was the cold wind on her face, and the implacable ice tickling its way up to her eyes.

More than anything Anna wished she could feel Elsa’s arms around her, trying desperately to dig deep into the storm and stop it, just…just STOP it, somehow, somehowbut her panicked hands only put new layers of ice over Anna’s new, bitter skin. Elsa was saying something, but her sister couldn’t hear it. Not in this cold, this…soothing cold, so deep and dark that she wanted to sleep forever. But Elsa had to go inside, to warm up, she would freeze to death out here, wouldn’t she? Yeah…and though Anna couldn’t feel her fingers or legs or lungs, she could feel a tiny pinprick of warmth somewhere where her heart should be, when she thought of Elsa…

“Elsa…l-let me go…

Let me go, let me go

I can’t hold you back anymore

Let me go, let me go

Think of it as one more door

You’re a great queen, it’ll be child’s play

Remember, I love you…

The cold never bothered me any…”

And with a tiny choked sigh, the ice closed over her eyes and she fell, fell, fell into that deep-dark cold. Time to sleep. The last thing she felt was a pair of chapped lips pressed, with grieving pressure, to her own.

thuashdore  asked:

hold bc hugs are good ^_^

hug the sunshine priestmom : ALWAYS ACCEPTING !

THE Priestess held onto Bo'dariel, her embrace firm. “I…” Her voice was torn, words CHOKED in her throat. How was she to even BEGIN to word the pain, her BITTEREST failure? Not even one day passed by without his memory being present in her mind. Time had FAILED to heal the void his passing had left where her heart SHOULD have been. But her chest was EMPTY. And, so, Aelestra was left to wander, SUSPENDED in her pain, powerless and helpless. “…loved him.”

LOVED. It was even more hurtful to think of it as a sentiment belonging to the PAST. She LOVED him still. A tear came to her face, ONE tear to wash over her scortched cheek. She would HAVE had herself weep earlier, but she had thought herself to be devoid of tears. She had wept for her father, for her aunt and uncle, for her cousin. She had wept for him as well. Though, EVEN then, his memory was painful, confusing at times. Had he also loved her? But he could have…how could he have not? They had FACED so many perils together. Had it come to mean nothing?

“OH, Gods!” she whined, “I still remember him, Bo'dariel. His figure is so clear in my mind. He was…” Aelestra held no word this time. She had KNOWN him no longer. She KNEW him no longer. Perhaps, the one whom she had loved, had been no more than mere reflections of HER perceptions. But no…he could have NOT been so cruel… “…my FIRST love.” A bitter smile bloomed on her face. “I was SO smitten by him, Light help me! He was as a dream. To me, he was PERFECTION incarnate. But to know I could have lived a lie…” Tears gathered in her eyes, tears which she hastily wiped, her arms TIGHTLY wrapped around the other. “But…you are sincere, Bo'dariel. I know you are. And I THANK you for this.”