Teen Wolf: Sterek: heartless

Title: heartless
Author: candycanearms
Rating: none
Genre and/or Pairing: Stiles/Derek, Sterek, Soulmate AU, hearts
Warning: Removable hearts, asexuality, Stiles is Unmarked, It might be a little graphic in that hearts are detachable, and there is a scene where one that's been cut open has to be sewn back together.
Spoilers: noned
Work Count: 3276
Notes: The idea for this came about from my over-active imagination being overly tired and listening to Howl by Florence and the Machine. One line, really, is what sparked this: "drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart." Yeah, you know the one. Although there are no tasting of hearts or dragging of teeth in this, so.
Summary: “Where’s your heart?” Scott asks with wide eyes. They’re nine, almost ten, and he’s never met anyone without a heart before.

Stiles shrugs and pulls his shirt back down before Scott can see that he’s soulless too. “My mom has it.” He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t have to.

----

Stiles is born with a large heart. It spills over the hollow of his chest.

His mother smiles, tells him it’s a good thing. Means he’s a lover, a protector, that whoever shares the mark on the other side of his heart, the brand hidden in the shadow of his chest cavity, will be very blessed to receive so much love.

When he’s five, when his mother shows him with shaking hands how to hold his heart properly, he stands on the stepstool in the bathroom, heart in his hands, and looks between the reflections of his toothbrush and the hand soap at his own, moves so that the vanity lights above the mirror can shine into his darkness.

He cries and runs for his parents, sitting with stressed smiles in the kitchen. It’s the first and the last time he drops his heart. It lays for long minutes at the bottom of the stairs, bruised from where he dropped it halfway down. His dad picks it up for him, holds it in his strong hands while Stiles cries into Claudia’s shoulder.

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Teen Wolf: Gen: Erobus

Title: Erobus
Rating: none
Genre and/or Pairing: AU, Greek Mythology, No Pairing
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Claudia's Death Scene
Word Count: 298
Notes: Erobus - personification of darkness, born of Chaos (primeval void, first thing that existed)
Summary: There is chaos and insanity in his mother's mouth, Stiles thinks, spilling from her cracked lips, but it feels right, these words. They burn in the pit of him.

----

Stiles watches his mother die.

It ends when he’s eight; it starts when he’s born.

She tells him in the hospital, uses the last of her breath and gestures with frail, shaking hands as he sits beside her.

“Gods,” she says, and her voice cracks, dry and arid like a desert on a distant planet. “Ask anyone, and they will say we are made in a God’s image. This is not true.” Stiles thinks his mother might be mad. She is erratic in her words, erratic in her actions, but she’s his mother. He listens. “We make Gods in our own image. Like you.” She caresses his cheek with thin, sharp fingernails.

“I am no god-bearer, but you…” She takes her hand in his, holds it to where her heart beats softly in her chest. “You are something, something not of this world, but you are mine and I created you. There is power inside of you; darkness and death and blood.”

There is chaos and insanity in his mother’s mouth, Stiles thinks, spilling from her cracked lips, but it feels right, these words. They burn in the pit of him.

“I was nothing when I bore you, and now I am nothing again,” she says. “I gave you the name of a father I never had because it is your name, and yours alone.” She leans back in her bed and closes her eyes, breathes softly in the stillness. “It is time.”

Stiles touches his fingertips to the inside of her thin wrist and listens to her heart slow. The monitor beeps with every beat until it flatlines. He stays there, staring at the void of his mother, until the nurses usher him out of the room, down the hall, into the waiting room.

Stiles doesn’t cry.

---

Crossposted on AO3.

Teen Wolf: Gen: Romulus & Remus

Title: Romulus & Remus
Rating: none
Genre and/or Pairing: AU, Greek Mythology, No Pairing
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Word Count: 149
Notes: Derek and Laura - Romulus and Remus
Summary: They are born from War and a less than human woman, left in the cradle of the Great Tree's roots in the middle of a forest for days and nights before they are found by a wolf.

----

They are born from War and a less than human woman, left in the cradle of the Great Tree’s roots in the middle of a forest for days and nights before they are found by a wolf.

A wolf and a woman, Talia, takes the children into her home, feeds them from her breast, claims them as her own. Derek and Laura, she names them. It fits, she thinks.

She teaches them the language of the moon and how to take its shape. Derek is feral with it, wild and savage and free. Laura stands strong beside him, a comforting anchor. Their voices are like a song, a promise, a prayer, as they throw their heads back and howl, their music rising into the night sky.

The stars twinkle for them, shining and flickering like a silent chorus. Like a reply. Talia watches them with a smile and waits.

---

Crossposted to AO3.

Teen Wolf: Sterek: Take Me With You

Title: Take Me With You
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Warning: barely there mention, but heavily implied, suicidal ideation
Summary:Derek sighs through his nose and closes his eyes, counts in his mind with a heart beating too fast to be anything but concerning. “Stiles,” he says slowly, trying not to grind his teeth. “You’re not coming with me.”

As expected, Stiles explodes. “Why not?! I can’t stay here anymore, Derek. I’m just—I’m losing my mind!”

*

Or Derek comes back and Stiles takes a chance.
Notes: Since the timeline on the show is just a tad touchy, I pretty much just put the pieces in a shaker and poured, and let everything fall wherever they wanted.

Stiles is 6 when the fire happened, 7 when his mom is admitted full time to the hospitaland falls in love with a picture of Derek taken after the fire, and probably 8 or 9, a bit after his mom dies, that he falls for Lydia. I think I read somewhere about Stiles falling in love with Lydia in the third grade, so that's where that came from.

-----

“Take me with you.”

Derek jumps and turns to look at the duffel bag dropped by worn shoes, then up to hollowed amber eyes. “What?”

“Take me with you,” Stiles repeats, his voice just barely shaking. His fingers are tapping restlessly at his thighs, hard enough that Derek can every hit the skin makes against denim. “I don’t know when you’re going, but I know you are.”

Derek sighs through his nose and closes his eyes, counts in his mind with a heart beating too fast to be anything but concerning. “Stiles,” he says slowly, trying not to grind his teeth. “You’re not coming with me.”

As expected, Stiles explodes. “Why not?! I can’t stay here anymore, Derek. I’m just—I’m losing my mind!”

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Teen Wolf: Sterek: I Look Inside Myself (and see my heart is black)

Title: I Look Inside Myself (and see my heart is black)

Rating: none
Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Warnings: rape/non-con, underage, ptsd, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, hurt!stiles, unhealthy coping mechanisms, nightmares, pre-season 3, post-season 2
Notes: This entire story is about rape, and the trauma caused by it. And while Gerard is a monster, he is not the one doing the raping, but I figured he'd have people willing to do bad things around him. I tried to make it seem like something that could have happened between seasons 2 and 3.

As a side note, I'm putting a lot of first hand experience into this, and I tried not to make anything too graphic. Just remember that everyone deals with trauma differently.

Also, be WARNED: this could be TRIGGERING.

Title taken from The Rolling Stones, "Paint it Black".

Summary: Stiles blocks most of it out. He limps away after but doesn’t (refuses to) think about why; his face hurts, his lip bleeds, his head aches, and his vision blurs – he focuses on the things he can see, on the things his dad will see, and he forgets everything else.

Go figure Gerard would have the worst kinds of people working for him.

_-------_-------_-------_------_

I Look Inside Myself (and see my heart is black)
                - “Paint it Black”, The Rolling Stones

Stiles blocks most of it out. He limps away after but doesn’t (refuses to) think about why; his face hurts, his lip bleeds, his head aches, and his vision blurs – he focuses on the things he can see, on the things his dad will see, and he forgets everything else.

Go figure Gerard would have the worst kinds of people working for him.

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Sherlock: S/J: Tomatoes to make Wooing Sauce

So... this is my first Sherlock fic. That I am posting, at any rate. I've still got a few in the works. This one... I actually have no idea as to where it came from. One minute I was canning tomatoes and the next... well, yes, I suppose that answers that. All part of my procrastination process. Canning, baking, and writing are far better than packing anyway.

Title: Tomatoes to make Wooing Sauce
Series: Sherlock
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sherlock/John, if you like. Could just as easily be friendship. You don't even have to squint.
Disclaimer: dis- (not); claim- (mine); -er (no, really)
Summary: John cooks; Sherlock suspects villainy. Perhaps just a bit cracky.
(Originally, it was just supposed to be a bit of domestic fluff that showed off some of the friendship between the tenants of 221B Baker Street. And then Mycroft showed up with his invisible ninjas and took over.)



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Merlin: L/G: Leon Hearts Gwaine

Title: Leon Hearts Gwaine
Series: Merlin
Rating: PG
Pairing: Leon/Gwaine, with mentions of Arthur/Merlin, Lancelot/Gwen, Elyan/Percival, and lesser mentions of Arthur/Gwen and Gwen/Morgana
Disclaimer: dis- (not); claim- (mine); -er (no, really)
Summary: Written for this Kink Me! Merlin prompt, base on this comic on Dev!Art. In which Merlin turns Gwaine down, everyone becomes matchmakers, Elyan finally realizes something important, and Gwaine learns that it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

Also, this is crack, and fluff, and I don't even know.

-
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Merlin: M/A: The Taste of Your Words, The Color of Your Voice

Title: The Taste of Your Words, The Color of Your Voice
Series: Merlin
Rating: PG (for nondescript beheading and grief of a mother)
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Disclaimer: dis- (not); claim- (mine); -er (no, really)
Summary: Merlin has seen sounds and tasted words his entire life, so when the color isn't there anymore and the tastes become bland, his world is suddenly dull... only, there's a prince who seems to make it all come back. Written for this Kink Me! Merlin prompt about synaesthesia.

A/N: I don't have synaesthesia. I don't know anyone who does, so some of the descriptions might be off. I admit I didn't do much research which is usually one of my favorite parts of writing. Depression, however, seems to have other ideas. I tried to keep it uplifting as much as possible and it feels like it took forever to write 1802 words, but it's finished now and hopefully it agrees with everyone's taste buds. 

Also, there's possibly a barely-there hint of femslash but it could be interpreted as friendship.



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life of a pickle jar

It’s like accidentally breaking pickle jars. The smooth slide of shaped glass slipping through fingers only to find broken jagged things waiting on the floor; the vinegar looks like a puddle of formaldehyde. It’s only fair. The cucumbers have died and have been preserved as pickles; its finger food, like broken fingers bleeding over broken glass is what it’s all about. Maybe it is.

-

Sometimes I think about it, of what it would be like to slide sharp metal over skin and separate flesh from flesh. A thick line over thin skin; an open red gash with the thrum of life inside, beating out the magical tone that resonates throughout the world, like everyone needs this feeling to be alive.

Cut it out, pull veins to stretch and snap and gush. Pull apart the muscle and peel it back from the bone, and then break that, splinter it and grind it into dust.

In the end its all little white scars that don’t feel anymore. But the feeling remains.

-

His hands were large and warm. Everyone’s hands are large and warm when you don’t want them near you. There are different places to touch. Innocent places, guilty places, but in the end its everywhere and all you really want to be is nowhere.

The touch comes and you slip away, eyes open and distant and absent.


And when your touch replaces his, it’s like an excuse to just leave and forget to come back.

-

I’m not sure I ever came back.