#walkthroughhale

Mentioned: @walkthroughhale, @halexstorm Time Period: Late 1970′s

“Aww, does the big bag Derek hate the fact that he just landed on Park Lane with, hmmm lemme see; one, two three houses?” Jennifer sing-songed as Cora cackled next to them and Tahlia hid her expression behind taking a sip of her wine. A games night had been something she’d suggested in jest one night and she’d never expected the other to take her up on the offer; apparently it had been Derek’s Uncle who’d pushed for it. The man in question was currently smirking at his nephew and handing Cora five dollars for a bet won that Jennifer would be the victor. 

Running with it she continued smirking at Derek and continued, “Now, lemme think that’s ohh... $1250.00. And- oh!” she feigned surprise and looked at the piddly amount of money Derek had left, “Guess you’ve gonna have to mortgage some- oh no wait.” Cora laughed again and Derek flipped her the middle finger while Tahlia rolled her eyes and Peter feigned offence. “You’ve already done that. I guess that means I win.” She raised a hand and Cora high-fived it.

It was a picturesque moment. This family, his family, wanted her here. They’d invited her in and been nothing but kind and she’d already laid a subtle spell on the doorway to identify any of the alpha pack members when the approached. It was only a matter of time at this point. And when they came that would be it, she was twelve sacrifices deep into her vengeance and so close-

She squealed as Derek faux-pounced at her and with a somewhat snobbish glance at his family heaved her over his shoulder and made his way to the door proclaiming ‘a lovers emergency so the game needed to be postponed.’ The other Hales only laughed and Jennifer accepted her fate with demands for her victory to be celebrated between laughs. 

... Not tonight. For a little longer she could pretend this was all there was, all there would be. His family waving her off joking as Derek pretended to go all ‘cave-wolf’ in defeat, she could feel his shoulders moving with his own laughter. For tonight, at least, this could remain real.

Today was supposed to be all about the girls. She, Caroline, and Elena were supposed to go full tourist mode and walk the French Quarter, take in all the sights, sounds, and smells. Take selfies with street performers, have one of the pretend witches read their palms, go pub crawling like the non-natives that they were. Instead the two of them had bailed on her. Again. Bonnie couldn’t be bothered to remember which life or death, end of the world catastrophe had pulled them away this time. She was too busy grabbing the bull by the horns and making the most of today all by her damn self. 

Or that had been the plan... backup plan. Until she’d spotted on Derek Hale brooding over the bar of one of the pubs she’d popped into. Smile lighting up her face like Times Square on New Years, she’d sauntered over to his haunt and worked her special brand of Bennett magic. Plan A was back in play. Full Tourist Mode - engaged. 

Somehow she’d managed to coax him out of the pub and onto the streets. Cellphone, out. Pokémon GO, open. Derek Hale, prisoner. Things were looking up already. 

Bonnie supposed she should be grateful to Elena and Caroline for being flakier than toasted day old croissants. If they hadn’t abandoned her, she wouldn’t have had this once in a lifetime opportunity to prowl the streets of New Orleans with Derek, stopping at stalls, in front of musicians and artists, buying whatever food smelled the best along the way. 

Did Derek look particularly thrilled about being her enslaved escort through the French Quarter’s hustle and bustle? No. But when did Derek Hale look particularly thrilled about anything? Bonnie was halfway convinced he was born scowling. It was his factory setting. Not that it had any effect on her. 

Two hours into their Tourist Experience, Bonnie had insisted on ice cream. Seated at the tables just outside of the parlor they’d raided, she was nibbling at her spoon of chunky monkey while Derek people watched, largely ignoring his helping of --she leaned over to inspect the contents of his cup-- birthday cake. She should have picked a more exciting flavor for him. 

Distracted by the high tension game of Battleship she had going with Stiles, Bonnie snapped to attention at the sound of Derek’s voice stating, “My hair is doing that thing we both love.” He looked away from his reflection in the windowpane of ice cream parlor they were seated in front of, looking proud of the slight quiff of the short, dark strands. 

A grin, bright and wide, took shape on her lips and Bonnie reached over without thought or better sense. She stroked her fingers through his soft strands of black and adjusted the volume to his effortless, ‘I woke up like this,’ look. What was completely, totally, massively, unfair was that it was true. The male just had damn good hair. 

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2cnLijW

by burnedsoul, walkthroughhale

Dean Winchester. All alone in yet another hotel room.

Words: 941, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Other

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel

Relationships: Destiel Relationship/Wincest Relationship (Anthropomorphic), Destiel, selfcest - Relationship

Additional Tags: Supernatural - Freeform, free form, Cockles, Oneshot

give me a fandom and i’ll reply to you with my:

lowkey otp - Stiles/Lydia

highkey notp - Stiles/Malia. Sorry, never rubbed me the right way.

[softly] don’t notp - Stiles/Isaac. I think it’s cute X3

highkey otp but i’m scared of saying it because it’s not a very popular choice - Hm, Scott/Stiles. It’s kinda popular, but not too much

Send me "black bird" for a darker memory of my muse's past

His steps were uneven and lost as he trudged through the cold forest terrain. He had lost track of how long he’d been out here, away from the Arc. Away from everything he knew. The guilt had eaten away at his insides until he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to breath again. Out here, away from everything he’s ever known, his lungs have stopped collapsing and air flew easily into his constricted chest. The air was cold, he guessed it was rather close to winter. The gloves he wore did nothing to protect him from the harsh wind. It’d been around a month since he had left camp, since then he had wandered around this land without any specific direction. Only knowing that with every step he took, his guilt somehow lessened. The cold air bit at his nose and fingertips, he clutched the heavy gun closer to his chest. Hoping it would provide some sort of warmth to his cold insides.