Uncorked – April 2018 RT Challenge

Content Rating: R

Warning(s):  Abuse-Child, Character Bashing, Death-Major Character, Discussion-Child Abuse, Discussion-Rape, Drug Use, Dubious Consent

Genre(s): Challenge Response, Drama, Established Relationship, Fix It, Future Fic, Het, Hurt/Comfort, Slash

Relationship(s): Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley/Other Character(TBD)

Word Count: 1385/31,385

Author’s Note: Additional warnings: Off-screen, non-consensual potioning; off-screen child abuse; past Major character death; sorry for all the genres

Summary: Ginny Potter-Black wakes up with a clarity of thought and realizes that much of the last 13 years of her life has been a lie.


Post Archive

Harry Potter-Black
Daniel Radcliffe

Ginny Potter-Black
Bonnie Wright

Ginevra Potter-Black nee Weasley woke up clear-headed.  This shouldn’t have been a surprise considering she was a morning person, but as she lay there revelling in the clarity, she realized it had been years since her thoughts were unclouded.  Searching back in her memory, Ginny dimly remembered that the last time she had clarity of thought was the Yule before her first year, when she was 10 years old.  Her mind had been foggy for over 13 years and she hadn’t noticed.

A rush of anger surged in her heart, but she pushed it away, instead focussing on tracing the facts.  The first fact being, of course, that someone had been distorting her memory and thinking for over a decade.  The second fact being that only a few people in her life where capable of doing so, and even less had been in position to accomplish it.

The only fact she couldn’t figure out was how.  Hexes were a possibility.  Ginny spent hours with her team, in crowds in Diagon Alley, with her family.  There were so many places she could have been hexed.  A cursed artifact was another way, but Ginny didn’t wear much in the way of jewelry and nothing she had worn as a child had made it to adulthood.  That left the most likely way: potions.  Of course, that meant the suspect list was both smaller and larger.

She bit back the scream that built in her chest.

The bed moved shifted slightly, startling Ginny out of her thoughts.  Turning her head, she met vibrant green eyes that watched her intently.

“You know,” she whispered into silence.


“How long?”  Only a fierce grip on her temper kept her voice level.

“About a week,” Harry answered, moving to sit up.

Ginny pushed herself upward and shifted back to lean against the headboard.  A week.  Her husband had known she was living under a potion for a week.  She glared at him.

“How did you find out?”

Harry raked his hands through his hair, making already sleep messed strands stand further on end.  “Turns out there’s some non-human blood in the Potter line.”

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “Everyone knows that,” she scoffed.  “Most pureblood families have a Magical Creature somewhere in their lineage.”

“Yes, but most of those families don’t have to worry about have a power surge that activates said Creature blood,” he replied drily.

“Activates?” She paused, pulling her thoughts together.  “What type of creature?  Please tell me not a vampire.  Bloodborn Vampires are the worst to deal with.”

“And if I was?” he asked, green eyes flashing.

“I really don’t know,” she admitted.  “Everything is up in the air right now.”  She shook her head. “Just tell me.”

Harry took a deep breath.  “Dragon.”

She had to have heard the wrong.  There was no way Harry had Dragon blood.  Dragon Kin had gone extinct centuries ago, many hunted down, the rest suiciding rather than living under wizard rule.

Yet, the possibility was there.  There were so many ways Harry was like a Dragon.  He was possessive and fiercely protective of those he considered family.  His temper was slow to rise but burned hot and long once he was roused.


She glanced over and smiled softly.  “How did you figure it out?  All of it.”

“Well, for the creature blood, it was at work.  I can’t actually say what I was doing, but let’s just say I had a bit of a magic surge and bam woke up the Dragon,” he said, miming and explosion.  “I ended up in a time bubble under Gringotts to learn to handle it.  The blood burned out all potions in my system.  The Goblin healer told me that most Wizarding potions won’t work on me now.  My Dragon side will overwhelm and burn them out every time.”

“What about if you get hurt?” she cried out, a spike of fear lancing through her.  “How will they treat you?”

He smiled at her.  “Surprisingly, Goblin made potions will work.”  He made a face. “They taste worse than the normal ones.”

“I didn’t think that was possible,” she laughed.

“Neither did I,” Harry admitted.  He sobered.  “When I woke up after the remains of the potions were gone, I noticed a vast difference in how I felt, how I acted.  Ironhand had taken samples of everything my system got rid of and tested them.  I had dozens of potions in my body.  Compulsion, love, lust, memory.  The Healer was surprised I was managing to function at all.”

“Am me?  How did you find out I was potioned too?”

“I watched,” he said quietly.  “I noticed you acting like I remembered I had.  The way you’d stop as if you were about to do something but you couldn’t, something else was stopping you.  When you cut yourself in the kitchen the other night I took a sample and had them test it.”

“The same potions?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Not all of them, but many of the same.  Compulsion, love, lust, more memories potions than I had,” he told her.  “And accordin to the Ironhand, you had been under their influence longer than I was.”

“Since I was 10,” she whispered.

Harry nodded.  “I planned to ask you if you wanted to go to a retreat with me.  One of the packages has a Cleanse on it.  If figured we go and come back potion-free.”

“After that?” Ginny wondered. “What if I had been in on it all the long?”

“Considering the number of potions you were under, I figured it was safe to assume you weren’t part of it but another victim too,” he told her, reaching out to pick up one of the hand closest to him.  His hand was warm, wrapped around hers, a steadying influence.  “Seems like I was right.”

She laughed a soft broken sound. “I’m scared, Harry.  So scared.  We don’t know who did this, or why.  We don’t even know how or when!”  She blinked back tears.  “You might be immune to those potions now, but I’m not.  I can end up back in that foggy world at any time and I wouldn’t even know it!”

Harry let go of her hand, and for a second all Ginny could feel was cold.  Then warm hands were pulling her against his body, tugging so she was sitting in his lap.  He said nothing as he held her, rocking slightly, and to Ginny’s horror, she began crying.  Burying her face against Harry’s neck, she sobbed out the terror, grief, and betrayal that infested her heart.

“Better now?” The question was asked softly, barely a whisper against her hair.

“Not really,” she whispered back.

“Oh?  The crying didn’t help?”

Ginny thought about it.  The tears had helped purge some of the emotions welling up in her, but there was still a mass of anger and grief seething in her soul.  “Some, but not enough.”

“Talk to me, Gin.”  Harry pushed her back enough to look into her eyes.  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m stuck on the who,” she admitted, dropping her hand back to his shoulder.  “Given when I was first dosed, there isn’t a lot of choice.”

“Arthur or Molly,” Harry said, speaking the names that blocked her throat.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh.

“Truthfully I can’t image Arthur potioning someone,” Harry added.  “Potions don’t seem like his type of thing.”

“But they are Mom’s.”  Groaning, Ginny pushed herself up to a seated postion.  Not many know it, but Mom was working towards a Mastery in Potions when she got pregnant with Bill.  Several different Potion Masters have offered to help her finish, even now, but she keeps turning them down.”

“Why?” Harry looked confused. “There is so much the world can offer if you have a Mastery, especially in something like Potions.”

“I asked once.  She told me that she didn’t need the pomp of it, she had her family and she was happy to be where she was.”  A thought crossed her mind.  “Have you checked any of the others for potions?”

“Not yet?  Should I?”

“Check for hexes, curses, and potions for all the family,” she said intently.  “I’m starting to think there’s something more going on here.”

How Harry Potter Became an UnSpeakable – TBA


Her End

Title: Her End
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters: Laura Hale, Peter Hale
Rating: G/PG
Summary: Laura makes a choice at her end.


She was dying. She could feel it as her life slowly away, her blood pooling on the ground beneath her. Truthfully, she was surprised she was still alive at all. The hunter’s sword has sliced easily through her, severing her lower body. It was only a matter of minutes into be leaving her brother and uncle alone in the world.

A howl in the distance brought her attention away from her dying body back to the real world. The mournful sound familiar, as known to her as her own howl. She watched as the undergrowth parted and a dark figure appeared, eyes glowing electric blue dark.

“Peter,” she whispered, her voice barely a crack of sound.

“Laura,” Peter murmured as he moved closer dropping to his knees beside her. “I see you finally come back to Beacon Hills.”

“Yes,” Laura replied, reaching out one hand to touch him.

“Are you here, Laura?”

She sighed, her breath heavy in her chest. “I’m here for you, Peter. I’ve been back several times, but you are safer here under an assumed name than with me and Derek.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing with what was left of her strength. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The large, warm hand drifted over her hair, soothing her. “Where is Derek, Laura?”

“Still in New York if he’s smart,” she laughed breathlessly. “But this is Der we’re talking about.”

“So, he’ll be here soon then,” Peter remarked. “What do you want me to do, Laura? You don’t have that much longer.”

“Do it,” she managed to whisper the last of her strength draining away. “If I just die there is no guarantee where the power will go. I want the Hale power to stay with the Hale family. Do it.”

Bright blue eyes closed briefly as Peter seemed to wrestle with the decision. He opened his eyes and nodded, shifting into beta form.” I love you, Laura.”

She smiled. “I love you too, Uncle Peter.”

Sharp teeth closed around her throat, but she felt nothing, all sensation in her body had already faded away. Instead there was nothing but relief, Peter would do what he needed to do. The Hale family would survive.

Unnamed Creature!Stiles

I meant to post this for Evil Author  Day, but this Evil Author forgot.  Here it is now.

Title: None Yet
Fandom: Teen WolfPairing: Stiles/Peter
Rating: Eventual NC17, G this post

There were many things that could be said about one Peter L. Hale, and most of them weren’t positive. He was manipulative and had been since he was a child. He was often cruel and could be vicious when defending his Pack, something Talia had used to the Pack’s benefit many times. His thoughts often fell on the darker side of the spectrum and he was always ready to see the worst in anyone he came across. These traits made him perfect to be his sister’s Left Hand, the Pack Enforcer and it was a role he had loved. After the fire, after the pain of feeling bond after bond break, after the agony of wounds that refused to heal, after the coma where the images of his family burning played over and over again, after that the things that could be said about Peter became worse, darker. He was a murderer, violence made casual. His cruelty cut deeper. And, to top it all off, he was far from sane and balanced.

The one thing that could not be said about Peter was that he was unobservant.


It started with a feather.  Larger than his hand, so black that it shone shifting blues, purples, and greens in light.  It was soft and light in Peter’s hand and left his fingers tingling with residual energy.  This was no ordinary feather.

The oddity of it called for research, and normally Peter would tap Stiles and Lydia into any project, but something about the feather made Peter keep it secret.  He hid the feather in his apartment, in a specially spelled box that he kept hidden in his bedroom.

It took two weeks for him to find anything that sounded remotely similar to the feather. He had found the book buried in the ruins of the old house, the pages scorched in places, the cover a blackened mess.  Waiting until the Pack was off at school, he pulled the book out and reread what he had found. The passage spoke of the creature-part man part avian with great black wings.  Supposedly it was a creature of pure magic that hid from the world.  Hiding Peter could understand.  Anything that was pure magic was at risk of being used to for that power.  The book stated that the creature was dangerous and a bit of trickster, often tricking and trapping unsuspecting victims.  Nothing was said about what happened to said victims and personally, Peter thought they were probably hunters to begin with.  Oddly, there was no name for the creature and only a vague description of pale skin, large eyes, and huge wings.
He pushed the book away.  This was a curious situation.  The creature obviously was real, was currently in Beacon Hills, and had been near the Pack quite recently.  The protective part of Peter, the left over of being the Enforcer, howled for him to hunt down the interloper and tear out its throat.  The slightly more reasonable part of him sat back and thought.  He would watch for now.  Perhaps the creature would show itself.




“You’ve been stranger than normal,” remarked Lydia Martin as she dropped into the seat beside Peter.

He quirked an eyebrow.  “Really?  You pay that much attention to me?”

“You’re a murdering psychopath that once bit me and caused my latent Banshee genetics to activate, of course I pay attention to you,” she replied.  “Besides, I have a bet with Stiles on how long it will take you to crack and attempt to kill one of us.”

Peter blinked and then burst into laughter.  He wasn’t really surprised that Stiles and Lydia were keeping an eye on his activities.  Of all the pack, only the two of them seemed to see reality clearly, the rest all blinded to the harshness of the world around them.  Even Derek, with all that had happened to him, was still naive.

“So, what’s going on?”  Lydia studied him for a moment.  “I don’t think you plan on going on another murderous rampage, so what are you acting so squirrelly about?”


She waved a hand.  “I may have spent a bit too much time with Stiles this weekend.  Answer my question.”

Peter eyed her for a moment then reached down to pull the scorched book from the bag at his feet. He pushed toward her and sat back as she carefully opened it to the marked page.  There was silence as she quickly skimmed the page and when she finally looked up her eyes were dark.

“I take it you’ve seen this creature then?” she questioned, gesturing to the book.

“A feather,” he admitted.  “But the actually creature, no.”

She hummed softly.  “Where it you find it?”

“In the Preserve near the training area.”  He watched her as a look of anger briefly touched her features.

“Do you think it’s a danger to us?  To the Pack?” she asked.

“Past experiences want me to say yes,” he started.


“Instinct says no.”

“Show me.”

“I don’t carry it around with me,” he told her dryly.

She gave him a disdainful look.  “I figured that.  I’ll come by tonight.”

“You and me, alone in my apartment,” he whispered, leering slightly.

“And my new taser,” she said with a smirk.  “Don’t forget the taser.”

Sitting back with a laugh, Peter nodded at her.  “Tonight then.”



Her hands were reverent as she handled the feather, stroking through her fingers.  Peter watched slightly bemused.  The feather had been in her hands for over twenty minutes and she didn’t seem to be ready to set it down.

“It feels alive,” she finally whispered, looking up at him with wide hazel eyes.

He nodded.  “I noticed.”
She carefully placed the feather on the coffee table.  “It also feels familiar, like I should know it.”

That was something new to Peter, but, he didn’t have much contact with magic on a regular basis to compare it to.  Then again, there was something familiar about the tingle that he got.  He picked it up, smiling at the feeling.

“Don’t think, just answer what pops into your head,” he commanded after a few minutes of contemplation.  “What does it feel like?”

“Lightning,” she answered promptly.

“Good or bad?”

“Good, like lightning and rain and deep, dark forests.”

“Same deal,” she said to him, taking the feather and stroking it across his arm.  “What does it feel like?”


“Okay, so who in the pack is lightning, rain, and dark forests?” she asked.

The answer seem to hit them at the same time.



Across town a slender body shivered in a non-existent breeze and wrapped itself tighter in ebony wings.


Advent 2016 – Day 3

The fire was a small pitiful thing that cast weak shadows against the walls. Huddled in their coat, they shuffled a bit closer to the bare warmth. The wind was howling outside the small shelter, the sound worse than the hounds that had been hunting them. The weight of the snow on the roof creaked and cracked, each noise elliciting a flinch. They would be so glad when the winter had passed.

A thud near the door had them on their feet, weapon in hand. It had to be the Hunter with her hounds. They had been found; they hadn’t run far enough. The door slammed open, banging against the wall and letting in a small storm of snowing. A white covered figure hurried inside, fighting to close the door against the strength of the wind. Dropping their weapon, they rushed over to help. This was not the Hunter. They weren’t sure who it was, but at least they were safe from the Hunter’s wrath.


Master List

Advent 2016 – Day 2

Delin stomped his feet, wincing when only numbness greeted him. While he normally enjoyed winter, this year was proving to be beyond even his liking. The cold had come early, settling faster than it had in recorded history, and heavy, wet snow had follow soon behind, covering the area. And then more snow had come, and more, and more, until the whole county was weighed down under white. It was hard to enjoy the winter when everyone was so concerned about keeping alive. All the surrounding farms had experience a drop in their livestock; the animals dying quickly in the extremely low temperatures. The greehouses that the McKindles kept had cracked, cold seeping in to destroy the hardy winter-friendly crops they were growing. Belts were being tightened everywhere, and worry about lasting until spring was on everyone’s mind.

By generally agreement, the Winter Fair was to still happen, but it was to be held in the Town Hall instead of the Square. Most of the typical Winter Fair games had been dropped; snowball fights were too dangerous to even consider. The cooking challenges were changed to be more of a cooking gathering, with everyone who could banding together to make sure the whole county was fed. In truth, it was not really a Fair anymore. It had morphed into a chance to reconnect and to help each other out.

Hardship had always brought them together, and this horrid winter was only banding them tighter.


Master List

Advent 2016 – Day 1

The room was cold, frost beginning to curl along the window glass. Breath billowed out in clouds of steam as they vainly tried to puff-warm their frozen hands. It had been years since they had been this cold, since it had sunk deep into bone and settled there.. It was something they could do without. Cold wasn’t their friend. Not an enemy, but far from friendly. Still, it was better in here than in the outside world where there was no shelter, no cover, nothing but the freezing blanket of white snow. Cold was bad, but snow, snow was worse.

NaNoWriMo 2016 – Dark Necessities

Title: Dark Necessities
Author: Asharia
Fandom/Genre: Teen Wolf in Highlander
Relationship(s): Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale
Content Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Extreme violence, possible gore, off-screen non-con, off-screen torture, coarse language, all the sex
Summary: Assassin Peter Hale is offered a lucrative contract to take out a harmless seeming bookstore owner. Unfortunately, his kill won’t stay dead.

Mieczysław “Stiles” Stilinski has lived for hundreds of years and experience numerous life events, so someone trying to kill him isn’t new. Still, most assassins head the other way after realizing that they failed at their task, but this assassin was of a whole different caliber.

Banner by Chestnut Nola

Banner by Chestnut Nola

This will be posted when I finished the edit/rewrite.

Title is from Red Hot Chili Peppers song.

This will be a bit on the darker side. Neither of the boys are very nice, even if Stiles does pretend to be.

Peter Hale - Assassin

Peter Hale – Assassin

Stiles Stilinski

Stiles Stilinski – Immortal

MMOM 2016: Day 1

Title: Watching
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairings/Characters: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinksi, unknown MC
Rating: R-ish
Warnings: Voyeurism, non-con (being watched without knowing)
Summary: Peeping Peter
A/N: Stiles is of age and I may  have accidently bunnied myself and their will be more with plot.


There was Mountain Ash lining the window, blocking any supernatural entrance to the room, but Peter didn’t care about that.  He wasn’t actually trying to get into the room.  No, it was much more rewarding to be on the other side of glass and ward, to watch with shining blue eyes.

The inhabitant of the room was oblivious to his watcher.  Lithe figure spread out over the bed.  Pale, mole-dotted skin gleaming in the faint light.  Peter bit back the growl that rose.  Stiles was delicious.  So fragile and breakable, yet so strong and fierce, defiant to the end.  Yet here he wasn’t.  Here he was perfection and long fingered hands traced random patterns over pale flesh.

Peter pressed a hand against the front of his pants, rocking his hardened cock into his palm.  In the dimly lit bedroom, Stiles had moved from random patterns to more purposeful touches; hands lingered on neck, nipple, the crease of thigh.  Biting his lip, Peter rocked harder against his hand, wishing he dared unbutton, dared to wrap his hand around his cock and stroke.  But that was a bit too risky.  No, just this would be enough for now.

A soft whimper sounded and all of Peter’s attention went back to Stiles, who had progressed further, hand encircling hard flesh.  Stiles’ movements were unhurried, his hand slow and steady.  Swallowing past a dry throat, Peter let his hips follow the rhythm Stiles had set, imaging those slim fingers wrapped around him.

It wasn’t long before slow became fast.  Hips and hands moving quickly as pleasure crested.  The choked cry from Stiles was Peter’s undoing, and he came with a hissed curse.  Dragging his hand away from the sensitized flesh beneath wet fabric, Peter back away from the window and the captivating sight on the other side.  He didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t risk getting caught.

And besides, Stiles was a teenager.  There would definitely be nights like this again.


Glowing red eyes watched as Peter slipped away from the Stilinski house to fade into the shadows.  A low growl built, trickling past clenched teeth.  Anger and jealousy flared in the Alpha.  That was his Mate and no one was going to come between them.

Boredom Strikes Again

So, I’m bored, tired, in a bit of pain since I spent the day cleaning, bored, and exhausted since I spent the day cleaning after having not slept last night.  Sometimes Ash isn’t the brightest star in the galaxy.

I spent last night bouncing between reading @deadcatwithaflamethrower‘s ReEntry, Yanagi-wa‘s DiNozzo’s a What?, and playing with Heromachine (look, I made a Photobucket just for pics!).

Meant to go for a walk today, but I got distracted by cleaning, then Mom came home and we did more cleaning.  Yeah, I think I’ll sleep tonight.

Also, for the few of you who do go to my site,  you’ll see my Tumblr posts there now as well.  What fun setting that up was.  Also going to crosspost to LJ and DW.
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/1K3Sqyn


A/N: Seriously short at the mo, but it’s something.


A rumble echoed through the small room, making most of the inhabitants flinch in response. The familiar sounds only made Hannah calm, her body settling into a meditative pose. She knew the rumble, knew the trucks that made the sound. On one level she understood the fear those around her felt whenever the trucks passed by, but she never felt afraid of them.

The trucks were once used for the transportation of large quantities of merchandise; now they were used to transport large quantities of people, hauling them across the continent to Processing Centers. Once those people entered the Centers, they never came out the same. Only those on high knew exactly what occurs in the Centers, the Processed always refused to speak of it, but Hannah had a few ideas, none of them good.