#A little boy's favorite plush dog has a tear in its back

[asmuchasidliketo]

saca kintsugi

[isolemnlyswear]

ooo could i request a remus x fem! reader where both of them are very shy so it takes lily, james and sirius to push them together. and whenever they talk to each other they stutter a lot?

always have, always will.

a/n : guess what! i made this way too intense again. i can't help it; its so much easier for me to write a really fucking intense love rather than a crush IM SORRY !! the end is the only cute part the rest is shite

HAPPY (very belated bc i don't have any motivation) BIRTHDAY REMUS MY BEAUTIFUL BOY

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory

young!remus lupin x fem!reader

---

"Oh." you sigh, blinking when you see Remus inside. Your huff isn't one of discontent; rather, as you enter the common room, you're simply nervous, timid to deal with the boy. As soon as you want to speak in front of him, to tell him that you really, really like him, you start blushing, turning into a stammering mess.

Alas, you swallow your fear, sitting down on the plush maroon chair opposite him and Sirius; Lily is on the floor, flipping through a potions book, and James is sprawled across your coordinating chair. Remus is lying against the side of the couch, knees up with arms wrapped around his legs. He's smiling, laughing at a joke Sirius told prior to your arrival.

Your heart is aching in your chest, and you try to will it to stop yearning for this boy, but there's a voice inside your head. One that tells you that he's all you could ever need.

Such thoughts reduce you to mush when Lily notices your arrival.

"There she is! How are 'ya?" the redhead greets you happily, and such a simple question is blocked out by your tunnel vision; you can only focus on one thing at the moment, and it's Remus.

You don't speak for a moment, zoning out, but when your eyes meet those of Remus, you quickly snap out of your trance, shaking your head.

"'M fine. J-just tired, I think 'm gonna go upstairs-" you manage to say, but you're cut off by an incredulous Sirius.

"S'five in the afternoon!" he says with a laugh, and you nod.

"And?" you quip, focus now returned when you tear your eyes away from Remus.

"Y'gotta stay down here, dinner's soon!" Lily replies, and you glare at her. She knows exactly why you want to leave at the moment, rather, she knows about how in love you are with one of your best friends. She raises her hands in mock surrender, and you sigh.

It's almost painful, the next hour. You're trying so hard to not make it alarmingly obvious concerning your... issue, but it's proving to be quite difficult.

And then, finally, it's dinner. You're able to get away with not talking, as you pretend to be eating anytime you're asked a question, and Remus is silent as well.

You eventually can sneak away to your dorm, wanting to sleep to rid yourself of the thoughts that give you no reprieve during the day.

But, of course, your dreams are of Remus.

---

Unbeknownst to you, and Remus, the entire rest of the marauders (and about half your year) are painfully aware of your affection for the boy.

And his for you.

So they hatch a plan; it’s simple, but effective.

You're all lounging in the common room -a typical Saturday afternoon - when James poses an odd request.

“Hey, Y/N? D’you wanna go look at something for me?” he asks, fighting back the smile that threatens at his lips. You nod, eager to get away from the tension that you and Remus are swamped by.

“What is it?” you ask as he gets up, leading you up the stairs and to his dorm room. You're confused, eyebrows furrowing and hands wringing nervously.

“You'll see.” James grins at you as you enter the dorm room - which has four beds, three of which are littered with laundry and other teenage boy things, but one is impeccably neat, and you assume it to be Remus’s.

“James, what-” you begin, but he shushes you with a laugh.

“Lily’s cat won't get out of this closet, y’see, and I know you're good with animals and the like, so could you...get it? For Lily, f’course, ” he asks, pointing to a rather large closet in the corner of their dorm.

You raise your eyebrows, but nod, opening the doors and getting in, eyes searching for Lily’s feline friend.

But as soon as you drop to your knees, a soft thud reverberates through the closet. James had shut the doors, and the closet was big enough to where you weren't claustrophobic, thankfully. But there is no cat in sight. None.

Downstairs, however, James had strolled in nonchalantly, and Lily’s grinning.

“What did you do this time, Prongs?” Remus sighs, unaware that the others around him are all aware of their little plot.

“Maybe you should go upstairs and find out,” James says ominously, raising a dark eyebrow. Remus glares at him, sighing.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, still holding his gaze on the brunette. Lily giggles, and Remus shoots her an impatient glare. “What did you do to her?” The question is directed at no one in particular, but the irascible tone in the lycanthrope’s voice demands an answer.

“Once again, go upstairs and find out, mate.” James’s tone, however, is one of amusement.

Remus takes in a querulous breath, turning to stomp up the stairs.

Undivulged to him, James is sneakily creeping up the stairs behind the boy.

You're pounding at the mahogany of the closet door, and you've forgotten your wand downstairs, leaving you helpless in the space. You ponder why James would do such a thing, but you brush it off, figuring it was another prank, one of all too many.

“Y/N?” Remus questions hesitantly into the empty dorm, and your ears prick up at his voice.

“I'm in here!!” you shout, pounding at the closet door, and Remus rushes to open it for you.

But as soon as he's inside, helping you up, James, with a flick of his wand, shuts the door.

You're locked in.

With Remus.

And it's absurd, really, how quickly your heart is beating in your ribcage.

“Prongs I swear to Merlin-” Remus starts irritably, but stops himself with a tremulous inhale.

“Fuck,” you whisper, cowering to the back of the closet. Remus’s scent is surrounding you, the honey and chocolate and dark cologne enveloping you in a blanket of bliss. You’re thankful for the dim nature of the closet, for your cheeks are rouging with embarrassment.

Little known to you, Remus’s heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s even more entranced by your scent, what with his dog-like sense of smell. It's his favorite scent in the world, truly, one he could get lost in forever.

“Sorry,” the boy whispers, slumping down across the space from you, and you quirk a brow.

“W-what are you sorry for, Remus?” you ask quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I got us locked in here, didn't I?” You can hear the soft smile in his voice, a bittersweet one.

“But that isn't too bad, is it?” you say, courage surging through your bones as the darkness shields your nerves.

“Oh yeah?” he asks under his breath, laughing softly.

“What, am I that unbearable?” you tease, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind your ear.

“No,” Remus says remarkably quickly, and then he hesitates for a second. “Quite the opposite.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but his words ring in your ears like a mantra.

“That's quite cryptic,” you say, taking in a deep breath.

“Y’gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“If you mean what I think you do, fuck, either I'm being terribly idiotic right now or...” you trail off, noticing that Remus is closer to you, now.

“Or what?” he breathes, and you close your eyes slowly.

“Or...if you're, um, insinuating what I think you to be, and I get words out correctly enough to respond...” you leave the rest of the sentence unsaid, words trapped in your throat.

“What then?” Remus says ever-so-quietly, and you take in another breath, eyes still pressed closed.

“I'd be making the best decision of my life.”

You can hear the boy’s breath hitch in his throat. You open your eyes to see that he's next to you, now, and the soft light from under the door that illuminates you as the sun lowers is glimmering on his skin, bouncing off the scars in his skin and the gold flecks in his eyes.

“Perhaps... Perhaps it’d be right of you to make that assumption. That I'm saying what you think I am, that is.” He breathes slowly, and your eyes flick to him again.

“This conversation is the most cryptic thing I've ever heard,” you say quietly with a laugh, and Remus nods in agreement.

“We’re getting the point across, though, aren't we?” he jests, and you giggle. Your expression then turns serious, and you turn so that you're facing the boy.

“Could I... Could I take you up on that offer of spelling it out?” you say breathlessly, and Remus smiles gently.

“We could say it on three,” he suggests, and you laugh.

“Merlin, we're like toddlers. Fine, on your count, then,” you reply with a nod, heart a jackhammer in your chest.

“One... Two...” he pauses for a second, and you let out a breath.

He's fully facing you, as well, and you see a glint in his eyes that's so familiar yet so new.

“Fuck this,” he says before the last count, and your eyes widen. “I love you, Y/N. I'm- I'm in love with you.” he admits, shutting his eyes like he's ripping off a particularly menacing bandaid.

You don't respond for a moment, mouth open in shock. But as soon as you snap out of your trance, you notice the boy’s posture; he's nervous, recoiled as if he's worried you wouldn't say it back.

You place a delicate hand on the side of his face, thumbing over his cheek, and he relaxes at your touch, still not opening his eyes.

You softly press your lips to his, and he responds instantaneously, one hand reaching to pull you in by your waist, the other resting on your cheek.

There's a fire exploding inside you, and it’s glorious, golden sparks erupting after being kept inside for so long. Your lips are dancing in a delicate rhythm with his, like they were meant to. He tastes like chocolate and bliss, and his hand wraps in your hair, tongue swiping over your lips gently.

After what feels simultaneously like an eternity and no time at all, you break away for air, resting your forehead against his.

“Now it's my turn to infer from that,” he breathes after a moment, and you smile.

“Not quite as cryptic, you'll find.” You smile, kissing him again. “I love you, Remus Lupin. Always have, always will.”

[fataldrum]

Ficlet: in sheep’s clothing (werewolf AU)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Summary: Martin has always spent his moon the same way: dosed with sedatives and locked in a soundproofed flat. When a paranoid Jon traps him in the archive, Martin fears the worst is about to happen.

Martin glanced down at his watch, swearing softly. It was far too close to moonrise for comfort. By this time, he usually preferred to be safe and snug in his (locked, sound-proofed) flat, washing down tranquilizers with tea and biscuits, as he had every month since he hit puberty. At this rate, he had just enough time to get home, as long as nothing delayed him too long.

It had been a long week. Jon was sinking further into paranoia, and Tim into bitterness. Martin and Sasha were trying to keep it all together, but Martin could feel his little family falling apart around him. Between that and the steadily rising call of the moon, he was a nervous wreck.

Sighing, Martin began packing up his messenger bag (one notebook for work and one for scraps of poetry that came to him during the day; his favorite pen, decorated with pink cartoon cats, which he refused to stop using no matter how many times Jon lectured him on professional conduct; the Polish poetry anthology he’d been reading over lunch; a tape recorder; and his lucky spider plush, Rosamund), when he heard the door to the Archives open.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon said softly.

“H-hi, Jon! I was just going.” Martin lifted his bag to demonstrate, slinging it on his shoulder and flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile.

“Were you?” Jon asked, raising a brow. “I don’t recall dismissing you for the day.”

“I’ve just got some, er, business to be attending to, you know. I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow, I promise!”

“No,” Jon said, “I don’t think you will.”

There was a subtle menace in Jon’s tone, something that made Martin shiver despite himself, though not in fear.

“W-why is that, Jon?”

Jon smiled triumphantly. “I’ve locked us both in here, Martin. You won’t be leaving until I say so.”

Martin felt his stomach drop.

“No, no, Jon, you’ve got to let me out!”

“Why should I do that, Martin?” Jon asked. “Why should I allow you to keep hiding things from me? You’ve done it long enough.”

“There are some things you don’t want to know, Jon!” Martin cried, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain attempt to contain the panic rising inside him.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Martin bolted for the door, grabbing the handle and shaking it hard. It was bolted from the outside, he could feel it, and he had no hope of breaking the lock. There were no windows in the archive, nor other doors.

“Please let me out!” he begged.

“You’ll be interested to know I set your watch backwards by two hours,” Jon said. “Whatever nasty business you’ve been up to, you’re already far too late.”

Martin clapped a hand to his mouth, unable to stifle a low whimper. Moon rise could happen any minute, and he hadn’t taken a single precaution. No pills, no locks, no distractions scattered about his flat to keep him from getting too curious about the world outside. He’d never spent a moon outside his home, and he knew exactly what his teeth and claws could do to a scrawny archivist.

“Jon, please, get out of here! Lock me in here, but I can’t—I don’t want to—” hurt you, he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Jon brandished a tape recorder. “I’ll gladly take your confession," he said.

“You don’t understand! I—” Martin stopped, doubling over as the first spasms overtook him.

“Martin, what are you—?”

“Jon, run!”

The last thing he saw before the moon took him was Jon’s eyes, round with terror.

Some cruel part of Jon had enjoyed the look of dawning horror on Martin’s face as he realized he’d been caught. It was a relief to finally see proof of what he’d suspected for so long: someone in the Archives had been lying to him, for a very long time. It was someone else’s turn to be afraid.

He’d already noticed Martin was prone to leaving early certain days. On those days, he wore a tight expression on his face, and he was even more distractible than usual, prone to spilling tea on anything in a five foot radius. He’d been expecting denials when he cornered Martin, perhaps even an attack, but he’d been unprepared for the distorted voice ordering him to run as Martin’s eyes grew dark, brown irises blooming to drown the white, his teeth growing long and so very sharp.

After that, the change was too quick to follow, limbs stretching and twisting, skin sprouting swathes of reddish-brown fur. Soon the room was nearly filled with a very large wolf. It stared straight into Jon’s eyes.

“Good lord,” Jon murmured. Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand to touch the fur on the back of the wolf’s neck. It was surprisingly soft. He wondered if Martin’s real hair felt the same.

Jon screamed as the wolf immediately pinned him to the floor with one massive paw. He hit the floor hard, feeling hot breath against his skin as it snuffled at his hair and clothes, dripping fangs too close to his bare throat. There was a wild smell to the beast, something that felt completely unnatural in this place of stone and dead wood. Its fangs were nearly two inches long, sharp and ready to tear his skin.

The wolf opened its mouth, and Jon had nearly consigned himself to his fate when a huge pink tongue licked a line up the side of his face.

“S-stop that!" he cried. "It tickles!”

Martin barked, licking him again and again as Jon squirmed and tried to escape. When he finally let him up, his tail was wagging like a dog’s. He barked, butting Jon’s hands with his enormous, shaggy head.

Jon was a cat person, but...this wasn’t bad, he thought, burying his hands in the plush fur.

The rest of the evening passed in relative peace, with Jon reading statements while the enormous beast napped at his feet. Occasionally Martin got restless, and he’d toss him a packet of crisps or let him play fetch with whatever was handy, but it was surprisingly peaceful.

When he retired to the small cot in the back of the archives, the wolf draped itself over him like a blanket. He shouldn’t have allowed it, but the warmth and pressure were incredibly soothing, and he found himself feeling more relaxed than he’d felt in months. Years, if he was honest. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered briefly if Martin was always this warm.

Martin woke slowly, stretching and snuggling against the warm body next to his. The blanket was scratchy, but he was incredibly comfortable. He was barely even sore. He didn’t recall ever feeling so content after his moon, but—

His moon.

Jon.

Gasping, he flailed his limbs in an attempt to rise, nearly knocking his companion to the floor. It took him a few moments to fully grasp the situation.

He was, in fact, naked. His clothes hadn’t survived the change. Worse, his limbs were tangled with those of his boss, who thankfully wasn’t maimed or being digested in Martin’s stomach, but this was still pretty fucking bad, all things considered.

“J-jon,” he whispered.

Jon wrinkled his nose, rolling over to bury his face in Martin's chest. He wrapped himself around Martin like a sleepy octopus, and Martin considered whether it was possible to actually die from embarrassment and longing.

“Jon,” he repeated, nudging his boss’s shoulder.

After a moment, Martin finally gave up, burrowing down into the blankets. Jon gave a satisfied sigh and rubbed his hand sleepily across Martin's chest, fingers tangling in the sparse hair.

"Good boy," Jon murmured without waking up. Something in Martin's chest melted.

He could deal with the consequences later, he decided, tugging the blanket up over Jon's shoulder and closing his eyes again.

Thanks so much to everyone who has supported me so far in writing these ficlets! They've been an incredibly fun exercise, and a way to get something creative done while dealing with the business of balancing work with being chronically ill. I love you all! This is the best fandom.

Incidentally, I couldn't get this song out of my head while writing this ficlet. Nor this one. You know Tim plays them on repeat when he finds out about Martin's secret, and leaves dog toys everywhere, which Jon quietly pockets for the next moon.

I don't think I've mentioned it, but for those who are curious, the series title is from Voltaire's Candide, in which the optimistic Pangloss keeps insisting we live in the best of all possible worlds. What could be better than a world with a Martin in it?

Finally, if you would like to see a particular AU, let me know. If an AU catches your fancy, you're also free to run with it. <3

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Tougher Stuff

Tougher Stuff - Kidge Month Day 27 Prompt Fill Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: Tragedy is sometimes unavoidable in life. And, sometimes, that, means having to say goodbye to beloved family members and dear friends before you’re ready to. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

She’d just picked up the blowtorch when there was an unholy shriek from inside the house proper. In a flash, she had abandoned the item on her desk, grateful she hadn’t turned it on yet, and tore off through the propped open door. She knew all too well who had made that sound! “I’m coming, Ari!” she shouted as she rounded the corner and skid to a stop right in front of the living room, nearly crashing into the little five year old. Her daughter was standing at the mouth to the room, eyes wide in horror, tears filling her eyes.

There, strewn about the living room, were pieces of dark brown fabric and tufts of stuffing. And in the center of the room, bowed playfully with his tail up right and wagging like mad, was Wink, chewing on the head of whichever stuffed pal he’d mutilated. It took Pidge a moment, completely stunned by the dog and what he’d done and how it impacted her youngest, before she put thing in perspective. For Ari, this was most likely akin to a graphic scene in some horror film, where the killer mutilates the protagonist’s friends and leaves their pieces scarred like a warning. “M-Macaroon,” Ari squeaked out, sounding so completely heartbroken that it made Pidge’s heart ache.

And then, she launched into Mommy Mode.

“Wink! Bad dog!” she snapped angrily, marching toward the blue and beige speckled mutt. He perked up, brown eyes gleaming in delight, before his whole posture sagged. She could see the exact moment he realized that he was, in fact, being naughty and decided to bail. As she reached to grab his scruff, he disappeared in a shimmer of blue and silver light, leaving behind the head of his victim. She knelt down and picked it up, recognizing it as Macaroon the Otter, a favorite of Ari’s. She’d named him that because she thought the little clam shell he was actually a pastry.

Oh boy was that dog was gonna get it when she got a hold of him.

“C-Can we save him? L-Like we did w-w-with Scruffles?” Ari whimpered, stepping forward to stand beside her Mom. A few weeks back, Wink had done the same thing with another of her plush toys, Scruffles the Squirrel, but Keith had caught him quickly after. He hadn’t been able to do too much damage to Scruffles and Keith had simply had to re-stuff and stitch her tail back up.

Pidge jumped a bit before looking around at all the scattered chunks of plush parts. For as skilled as Keith was when it came to sewing, even she had her doubts on how he could bring Macaroon into any semblance of acceptable. “Oh, baby girl, I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching over to pull her into her arms.

Aria latched on to her and started full on sobbing. Pidge set the head down and pulled her daughter in close, pushing upright and started walking out of the room, trying to get an idea of where the dog had taken off to. Then, she realized, she knew exactly who to ask; the child that had volunteered to handle training him after the last incident.

“Newt, get down here!” she shouted, leaning into the staircase to be sure he heard her. She started to head back to the living room, to try and figure out what to do with Macaroon’s remains, when the front door opened.

Keith perked up and looked at her curiously as he held the door for Amber and Kaden, who came marching in wearing their respective soccer uniforms and made a mad dash for the kitchen. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, shrugging off the duffel bag, ditching it by the door and approaching quick, reaching out to gently stroking Ari’s back.

“Oh, wow,” Kaden said quietly, pausing in his quest to stare at the mess Wink made.

“That would certainly explain it,” Amber agreed as she approached, offering him a water bottle. She then turned to look over at Keith. “Looks like Wink got one of her toys.”

A loud, heartbroken wail came from Ari at her sister’s announcement, sending Pidge right into trying to soothe her again. “It was Macaroon,” she mouth to him over her daughter’s head.

His eyes widened before he frowned and looked around, trying to see if he could easily find the dog himself. When he didn’t see him, he turned his head towards the stairs. “Newt! Front and center!” he called, reaching the same conclusion as his wife.

“I heard you the first time!” he called back in an annoyed whine, appearing at the top of the staircase. As he headed down, though, he seemed to realize that something was wrong. “Whatever it is, it’s not my fault.”

“Oh, that’s debatable, buddy,” Pidge said with a puff of a laugh.

He tilted his head at her, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Go look in the living room and tell me what you think it means, Mr. Sass E. Pants,” she quipped back, nodding with her head.

He walked over and peered in before heading back over to his parents, looking completely unperturbed. “Well, that looks like Ari left her bedroom door open and Wink got frisky. It’s not my fault that she left it open like a doof,” he scoffed.

“I did not!” Ari snapped, lifting her head head from Pidge’s shoulder to glare at him.

“Probably did,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did not! I made sure to shut my door so Wink couldn’t go in!”

“Unless he teleported his way in,” Kaden pointed out. They all turned to face him, Newt sporting a glare. “It’s just a possibility! I mean, he teleports outside when he needs to go the bathroom all the time!”

Keith looked down at Newt. “Which is part of our problem with him right now. Which you’re supposed to be working with him on,”

“I’ve been busy!” Newt whined back in protest. “Besides, Ari has a bajillion stuffed animals! Is it really such a big deal if Wink chews up one or two?”

Pidge could feel her daughter trembling at her brother’s statement, and she prepared herself for a new bout of tears and having to give him a tongue lashing. Instead, however, Ari took a deep breath before leaning over her shoulder to shriek, “You’re just being a big stinky meanie because you’re a bad doggy trainer!”

None of the rest of the family knew how to react, gawking at her in pure shock. Ari wasn’t normally one for fits of rage, big or small.

She took in a shuddering breath and, the anger seeming to zap her energy with how infrequently she used it, slumped back into her Mom with a quiet, sad whimper. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple and tightening her grip on her a bit. She peered back to see her youngest son looking rather stunned by the whole thing.

“She called you out,” Amber sang in clear amusement, cutting off and looking away with Pidge gave her a look.

Keith motioned Pidge away and she made her way upstairs with their daughter, figuring she needed some time away from her siblings to calm back down. “Newt, she has a point. If you aren’t going to train Wink like you said you would if we kept him, we’ll have to find him a new home,” Keith said.

Newt’s panicked protest was cut off as she made it up the stairs and started down the hallway. She made a quick stop by the bathroom to grab a few tissues before continuing on her path. She walked down and was unsurprised to see that, as Ari said, her bedroom door was closed up. She opened it and headed inside, glancing around the room in hopes there wouldn’t be more fluff all over the place, and breathing a sigh of relief when there was none. Ari’s little tea party area, though, had clearly been massacred by something; the little plastic toy pot and other dishes knocked over, and one of the little chairs toppled over on its side.

If she wagered a guess, that one was probably where Macaroon had been sitting before the attack happened.

She sat down on Ari’s bed, pressing her back against the headboard, and cradled her close. Ari slipped a bit lower so her head rested against Pidge’s collarbone, allowing her a better view of her daughter’s face. She was still quietly hiccupping and her eyes were watering up, but she had calmed down significantly. Pidge set the tissues on the bedside table before picking one up, wiping the space between her nose and upper lip, folding the tissue over and then holding it up to her nose. “Here, baby doll, let’s get all that icky stuff out of there so you can breathe better,” she cooed softly.

Ari did as she was told and then slumped against her again. “I said something mean to Newt, didn’t I?” she mumbled quietly, tone morose and guilt-ridden.

“A little bit. What he said to you wasn’t nice, either. You’ll both need to apologize to each other later,” she said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She nodded before glancing back over at her tea party area. She mumbled something to quiet to be heard. “What was that sweetie?” she asked softly.

“Macaroon was special,” she choked out, her voice catching. She could tell that meant she was about to start on a whole new batch of tears. “Like how Muffin is special and Waffles is special and my Nanny blankie is special.”

Pidge paused for a moment, brow furrowing as she tried to wrack her brain for what Ari meant. Stuffed animals, as everyone in their family had learned, were a great gift for her. She loved things that were plush and snuggly, and she especially loved the ones she got as a gift. But, as she herself had mentioned, there were certain toys that held more importance for Ari because of when and who gave them to her.

Her Nanny blankie, as she’d taken to calling it, was the blanket Colleen had knitted for her while Pidge was still pregnant with her. Muffin was by far her most favorite stuffed animal; a dinosaur plush that Keith had bought for her right when Pidge found out she was pregnant again. Waffles, a close second for her favorite, was a little crochet alligator that Hunk had made for her for her second birthday. But Macaroon? Pidge tilted her head back a bit as she tried to remember when she’d gotten Macaroon.

And then it hit her. Ari’s preschool class had been planning a trip to the zoo last year, but when the day arrived, Ari had to stay hope with the flu. She’d been inconsolable for days after the trip until Krolia, who had come by for one of her visits, had volunteered to take her youngest grandchild to the zoo, just the two of them. The otters had been both of their favorite spot that day and, as they left, Krolia purchased the toy for her as a memento.

“Oh, baby girl,” she said softly, pulling her in close again. Krolia visited as often as she could, but with she and Kolivan leading the reformed Galra Empire, it wasn’t always possible. Of course that made Macaroon mean something more to Ari, with how sentimental the little tot was. She rubbed her back again and settled in to try and calm her back down as she started back up again.

After a few minutes, Keith poked his head in. “We, uh... We thought that a funeral might be a good idea,” he said quietly.

Pidge perked up then looked down at their daughter. “How does that sound, sweetie?”

Ari sniffled a bit before nodding meekly. “I-I wanna pick where we bury him. He’ll need a really pretty spot,” she mumbled.

“Of course, sweetie,” Keith said softly, holding the door open so the two could head out.

She ended up picking a spot under the big maple tree in the backyard, where there’d be a good amount of shade. Macaroon liked shady spots, after all. Amber dug the hole while Ari clutched to the shoe box Keith had put Macaroon’s remains in. Well, excluding the little plush clam he used to hold; that had been found mostly intact, and he planned to stitch it back up so she’d still have something to remember him by. Kaden placed the box in the hole for his sister, seeing how distressed the idea made her, and Pidge placed one red rose from the garden on top. Newt gave a surprisingly heartfelt speech about Macaroon before they placed the dirt back in place.

While everyone else went back inside, Aria insisted she wanted to stay put a little longer. Pidge gently took her daughter’s hand and stood vigil with her.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @moretomhardy!

Happy Christmas, @moretomhardy!! I hope this fluffy piece of sap is to your liking. <3

Read on AO3

*****

life-shattering love

His mother never talked much about love.

She was quiet, but he’d see her watching his dad, and he knew she loved him.

His dad, when he did talk about it, said that love was life-shattering, the kind of thing that no one ever quite recovered from, something so deep and changing that he could always look back and say--this moment.

This is the moment I fell in love.

Loving Stiles was nothing like that.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles the summer before college. It's a slow sticky summer, the whole world moving with a kind of mesmerizing laziness. For once, there is nothing trying to kill them. No witches in the woods, no pixies in the preserve, no selkies in the swamp.

(Stiles giggles around a spoonful of ice cream when he says that, sweaty and beautiful in the sunshine.)

He realizes he loves Stiles the summer before college, when they can finally breathe. Nothing is trying to kill them. The nemeton is healthy again, growing into a tree so massive Derek isn’t sure how anyone can not notice it, but it’s quiet, strengthening the land and the pack, all of its restless, destructive magic quieted by a spell Stiles created, that Kira burned through, that Lydia screamed into being.

Stiles takes to coming by his house, that summer, and Derek thinks maybe he’s bored--Scott and Malia are gone, traveling before Scott begins at UC Davis. Kira is still in town, but she spends her time divided between Satomi and a kitsune who wandered into Beacon Hills in February and promised to teach her.

Sometimes, Derek thinks he can smell that strange coach on her, but she blushes when he mentions it so he stops.

Lydia leaves after the summer solstice, in a wash of red hair and tears, and fierce promises to see them all before the semester begins.

“Do you think we will?” Derek asks, and Stiles shrugs.

Licks his lips and says, “Do we have lemonade?”

~*~

When he was growing up, they lived in peace.

There were whispers, lessons about what hunters were like, what they could do to a wolf pack. There was training in the woods--but those training games always felt like playing with his favorite sister and uncle, and not like something that would one day save their lives.

He'd hear Peter yelling at his mom, sometimes. That they were weak, that they would be hunted because of it.

But they lived in peace. In a golden haze of every good thing, where Derek was safe and sure that he always would be.

He never dreamed of something like the fire, or someone like Kate.

For a long time, he felt guilty, for not realizing that could happen, for not seeing the danger .

Sometimes, he still does.

They have never lived in peace. Scott, Stiles. The puppies that have gathered around them--they don't know what peace can be like. They don't understand games in the woods that mask training, don't understand telling legend and stories just for the sake of stories.

But as the quiet peace of Beacon Hills stretches and the sun-soaked summer turns, Derek wants to teach them.

He watches Stiles, and thinks that he would be beautiful, in the soft golden warmth of peace.

~*~

Stiles drags him to the department picnic for the fourth of July. Derek doesn't fight it, is content to let Stiles pull him with long fingers wrapped around his wrist and a hopeful smile. He dutifully carries plates of brownies and bowls of pasta salad and cases of beer. Parrish grins at him, tan and flirty from the edge of the water, and Derek flushes as he looks away.

"He likes you," Stiles says, softly, unwrapping another package of hotdogs.

Derek raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Not interested."

He doesn't explain more than that, just takes the hot dogs and chicken to where John is manning the grill. He gets a beer and a wide smile for his trouble, drawn into conversation with a few deputies, while Stiles bustles about like a particularly demented mother hen, and the sun beats down hot against his shoulders.

Derek itches to smooth sunscreen into pale skin, but wordlessly hands the bottle over. For the rest of the day, there is a white smear on Stiles’ shoulder and the scent of chemicals and coconuts mixed with grass and sweat and ozone. It's intoxicating.

Later, he piles plates high with chicken and the cucumber salad Stiles raved about, with buttery corn on the cob and creamy potato salad, and goes to find Stiles.

"Sit down," he orders, and Stiles watches him with a small smile, and deep knowing eyes. They sit in the grass, an ant tickling his ankle as they eat, pressed shoulder to shoulder as Stiles talks about growing up with the entire department as an extended family. Tara brings a plate of brownies and thick chocolate cake over to them and Stiles lights up, this lovely brightening that makes Derek's breath catch as the sun slowly sets.

They share the brownies and cake, and Derek doesn't watch the way Stiles licks the fork clean, but he also doesn't nudge Stiles away when he slumps against Derek's shoulder and tips his head back to watch the stars and wait for the fireworks.

~*~

Stiles spends a lot of time at his house.

But then--Derek spends time at the Stilinski house.

The sheriff mentions wanting to remodel the bathrooms and update the kitchen one night and Derek quietly offers to help.

"I worked in construction, when we were on the road," he says. "I liked building things."

Stiles watches him, eyes bright and curious and warm.

"I could pay--"

Derek waves a hand. "I'm not taking your money," he says, almost offended, and stands, gathering up the dishes from their dinner.

He hears Stiles as he turns on the water to soak the plates, his voice a low steady murmur, "Pack cares for pack, Dad. Let him do this."

Later, the sheriff finds him, while he's reading and waiting for Stiles to clatter downstairs to leave for a late showing of some superhero thing he's excited about.

"Thank you," he says, and Derek shrugs.

"I haven't done anything yet."

"No," the sheriff says slowly. "You--Stiles wanted to go away for college, and after what he and the girls did to the nemeton--he can't. Not really. And you--you're good for him. You always have been, even when I didn't like you. You keep him safe, and you make him happy."

Derek's heart is pounding and he isn't sure what to say, so he goes with the safe bet of saying nothing, just staring at the sheriff with wide, wide eyes.

Above them, Stiles shouts and there is a muffled curse as he slams into something, and Derek twitches to go to him. The sheriff smiles, softly, and pats his knee. "Thank you, son."

It aches, hearing that word. But not as much as it should, he thinks.

~*~

Lydia blows into town in a whirlwind of silk and curls and late summer heat, and he finds himself at her lakehouse for Labor Day.

Kira leans into him as Lydia and Stiles argue about how to make margaritas, and Derek digs his bare toes into the plush carpet, impatience and contentment warring for dominance in his chest.

"Sorry I was MIA this summer," Kira mumbles into his side and Derek wraps an arm around her, tugs her close and lets her scent--bitter and electric with a cut of jasmine--soothe the sharp edges Lydia always drags up in him.

Stiles doesn't love her, not anymore, but there is always something about her that lures Stiles in, away from Derek and there is a very petty part of him that loathes it.

"You needed the time," Derek says to Kira, and she hums, quiet agreement, and watches Stiles for a moment.

"What are you going to do when we're all gone?"

He doesn't answer, because he doesn't actually know.

But as he watches Stiles laughing in the water, tanned and beautiful in the sun, and dripping on him when he leans over Derek with a smile free of shadows, he thinks--they'll be ok.

Whatever happens.

He'll be ok.

~*~

He didn't always like Stiles.

That thought makes him laugh now. That there was ever a time when he didn't adore Stiles, is laughable.

But he didn't.

He didn't trust humans, and Stiles didn't understand werewolves, and was so damn determined to help Scott, the way Derek should that he hated Stiles.

And then there was the hospital and the pool, there was Peter and Stiles' presence, like he was meant to be there.

There was that other endless summer, when the betas were missing and Stiles was all that kept Derek from a slow slide into insanity.

There were so many little things, things that dragged him back to Stiles.

He doesn't know when he stopped hating the flailing sarcastic boy with his fierce loyalty and sharp, impossibly brilliant mind.

He doesn't know when he began to trust him, or when that trust softened into friendship and he has no fucking idea when it twisted into love.

He doesn't know why it doesn't terrify him--love has always been a sharp edged tool meant to cut and hurt him and those around him.

But Stiles--Stiles isn't like that. Stiles has been the steady shield between him and the world for so long that Derek can't imagine Stiles ever hurting him.

It's as laughable as a time when he didn't like the boy who has somehow become his entire world.

~*~

Stiles likes being in the house, and Derek likes having him there.

After the fire, he was never really comfortable in packs, with people who weren't Laura--it's one of the many reasons they never really settled down, why they were constantly moving, their thin pack bonds to each other all that kept them from going omega.

But he remembers long nights in hotels they'd crash in for weeks at a time, when Laura would sprawl on her bed and watch TV until her eyes couldn't stay open and Derek would read whatever book she'd found for him, and they were comfortable and together, alone with their thoughts and never alone because that's what pack was--it was never being alone.

Stiles is like that.

He'll come in and not even talk to Derek, just curl up in his favorite seat and read through his homework, making notes and exchanging texts with Lydia, while Derek reads in his recliner. Sometimes, Stiles would mumble a greeting and stumble into Derek's room, crashing out on his bed, and Derek would only go find him when his snoring got too loud, or his breathing dipped into the panicked uptick that meant nightmares.

Then Derek would slip into bed and curl around him, his hand spread over Stiles' rapidly beating heart, his voice a soft whisper as he promised the sleeping boy he was safe.

He fell asleep there, more times than he liked to think about, and Stiles would wake, slow and content, and it hurt, watching Stiles smile at him, soft and warm in Derek's bed because it meant everything to Derek and nothing at all to Stiles.

~*~

Fall settles over Beacon Hills like a lover, with a whisper of cool wind and a touch of snow, with the cascading color of the trees and the scent of pumpkin in the air, and Stiles shows up with a big bag and two rakes, his eyes sparkling as he drags Derek out into his massive yard to rake the leaves.

"I live in the forest, you idiot," Derek says, and he hates how fond he sounds.

Stiles grins and shrugs and says, "But if we don't rake, there are no piles to jump in."

Derek stares at him for a long moment, long enough that Stiles fidgets under his stare, and then he shrugs and starts raking.

He gets three blisters and his ears are freezing but it's worth it for the gleeful smile on Stiles' face when he launches himself into a pile of leaves and the giddy laugh he lets out when Derek slips into his wolfskin and barrels after him.

~*~

Later, Stiles curls up in front of the fireplace and Derek sprawls across him, and Stiles pets his fur, long soothing strokes until the boy and wolf fall asleep.

~*~

The house is cozy, a quiet, warm thing.

When he first started looking for a house, he was looking at big, sprawling things, and sleek cold places—and they never felt right.

“I get the oversized manors,” Stiles said, one night while he was looking at the listings, curled up next to Derek. “But what’s with the modern deco cold shit?”

Derek shrugged and picked at the fraying thread on his tshirt, avoiding Stiles gaze. “It’s what we lived in, in New York.”

Stiles is quiet for a long time. He doesn’t actually say anything, until he’s getting ready to leave, and Derek is biting back the urge to tell him to stay.

But he pauses, and looks back at him. “This isn’t where you grew up or where you were with Laura. This is for you—where you are now. Pick somewhere you’ll love.”

He did.

Because Stiles watched him, patient and waiting, and hopeful, every time Derek showed him a house, and because—

He was so tired of living in a graveyard, haunted by ghosts.

Still. It’s a house.

A small, cozy thing that he loves, that feels like his , like something he can build on.

But it's only when Stiles is there, his heartbeat steady and his eyes bright, that it feels like more than a house and a possibility.

It’s only when Stiles lazes on the couch or shuffles out of the guest room, when his breathing and heartbeat and arguing and laughter fill up the little house that it feels like a home.

~*~

The pack goes away to college and Stiles--doesn't.

Stiles, the one Peter always claimed was the clever one, the bright ambitious human who could give Lydia a run for her money--stays.

He gets offers. Acceptance at Stanford and Columbia and MIT, and he shrugs and declines each, even when Derek draws him aside and murmurs that money isn't a problem.

"I have scholarships," Stiles says softly, and Derek blinks at him. Staring because he can't understand this.

"I don't want to leave," Stiles says, simply.

"You've always wanted to leave," Derek says, blankly.

Stiles shrugs. "It's not so bad, now, is it? Things are quieter."

Dread pools in Derek's gut. "Do you have to stay," he demands. "Is that what the spell did?"

Stiles smiles at him, bright and warm. "Maybe I just found something worth staying for," he says, softly, before turning back to the apple pie he's making.

Derek lets him, let's him turn away and doesn't comment on the fact that Stiles doesn't answer him.

So they settle into life, without the pack, and if Stiles is around more, Derek thinks--it's normal.

With only the two of them here, they have to gravitate toward each other. Need each other's support and friendship, their pack more than they ever have before. It's comfortable to see Stiles sprawled on his couch, reading over his homework, to quiz Stiles on bio terms while Stiles makes them dinner, to spend the weekend with Stiles and John, working on the Stilinski house and watching old movies that are so terrible he actually likes them.

It's comfortable and easy and it feels so right it makes him ache.

~*~

Stiles isn’t life shattering. He’s something easy and warm, and he slips into love with him like he crawls into bed, settles into it with a long soft sigh and he wonders about it sometimes--because it’s not earth-shattering.

It’s easy.

It’s easy and terrifying and comfortable, the way Kate and Paige never were and maybe that is why when he thinks of loving Stiles, it makes him smile and his hands tremble with want and not fear.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles that fall, forever long, with the scent of burning leaves in the air and his fingers cold where they grip Stiles’ elbow.

He falls in love while Stiles smiles at him, fond and warm and welcoming.

~*~

Stiles drags him to a party for Halloween. It's the first party Stiles has bothered with since he started at BHCC, and Derek hides his grin at Stiles’ nerves, slips into a leather jacket and a pair of jeans that makes his ass look great.

Stiles blinks at him, a fond smile turning up his lips when he sees Derek, but he doesn't say anything, and Derek--Derek doesn't say anything about the tiny costume Stiles appears in.

They get a lot of looks at the party, but Derek ignores them, keeps his gaze on Stiles, at the bright golden eyes and the flush in his cheeks and the smile so wide and happy as they dance that it makes him forget for a moment how much it hurts that Stiles isn't his.

~*~

The truth is--

He falls in love with Stiles, a slow slide that he only realizes that long summer, but something that has been building maybe since the day they met.

He falls in love with Stiles--and nothing changes.

Stiles invades his space, and drags Derek out of his brooding, plies him with food and random facts and idle musings. He’s there when one of his mother’s old allies arrives in Beacon Hills to renew treaties, and there when the same ally offers marriage to bind the packs.

He’s always there, and that--that means something.

“Maybe,” Cora says, when he Skypes her, “it means he cares about you.”

“Of course he does,” Derek says, immediately and dismissively. “I’m pack, Cora. He has to care about me.”

“I’m pack and I don’t give a shit about any of them except you and Stilinski.”

Derek smiles, fondly, “And Peter.”

“Sometimes,” she grunts and Derek grins.

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” she asks, and he cocks an eyebrow, earning a scowl. “He cares about you, Der. Are you gonna take a chance on that or are you going to pine indefinitely?”

He shrugs, and thinks, that is probably answer enough.

~*~

It’s not that he’s pining. It’s not even that he knows he loves Stiles, and that every night he comes home to find Stiles asleep on the couch, every text message he gets only reminds him that this brilliant beautiful boy is never going to be his--because he could try.

Stiles doesn’t talk about people, not since Lydia and the brief, over before it began fling with Danny.

But there is this ever present fear that if he says something now-- he’ll fuck everything he has with Stiles up, and he won’t get another chance.

“It might be worth it,” Peter says and he thinks about his life, without Stiles in it.

“No,” he says, soft and definitive. “It wouldn’t be.”

~*~

He's a little surprised when John insists he join them for Thanksgiving.

The work he's been doing on the Stilinski house is done now, and there's a preening sense of pride in it, in knowing that he did that for them.

He isn't entirely sure when he started consulting on cases with John--he thinks maybe over dinners, offering shy opinions between John and Stiles’ heated debates, all too aware of Stiles watching him with fond affection.

However it happens, the fourth Thursday of November finds him in the Stilinski kitchen, a bemused smile on his face as he watches Stiles and John. They’re arguing about duck and yams while Derek quietly cuts green beans for the casserole and there’s stuffing burning in the oven. It’s chaotic and different from any Thanksgiving he’s ever been to, and when it’s over, when he’s sitting with a glass of beer and a full belly and Stiles is leaning against his shoulder, eyes half-closed and drowsy, while The Matrix plays on low, he thinks--it's perfect. He thinks--he hasn't been sad and lonely all day.

"Laura loved this movie," Derek says, softly, his lips almost brushing Stiles’ ear, and Stiles laughs. Soft, a huff of breath against his collarbone that makes him want to squirm away and curl closer. He is aware that John is watching them, his gaze soft and warm, and for once, it doesn't make him itchy with panic.

"Mom loved it too. Said it was her payment for watching football and cooking all day."

John makes a scoffing noise. "She just liked watching Carrie-Ann Moss and Keanu Reeves in leather for an hour."

Stiles flails a little and John's smile tips evil. "She'd have loved you, Derek."

His whole face goes bright red, but Stiles' is soft and gentle, and moments like this--moments like this it's almost impossible to remember, Stiles isn't his.

Stiles isn't in love with him.

Stiles is pack, and a friend--his best friend--but he doesn't want everything Derek does.

And that is, surprisingly, ok.

"She would," Stiles says, softly, and his voice is heavy with meaning and it makes Derek's breath catch in his throat, and his fingers, on Stiles’ knee tighten just a little, a spastic little movement he can't stop and Stiles doesn't mention.

~*~

Sometimes, he can forget.

When Stiles is running on too little sleep and he's short tempered and bitchy, snarling at Derek while he studies and mainlines coffee and Redbull--when he hasn't showered or eaten anything but cold pizza for a week, when he sets up camp on Derek's couch in old sweats and only moves to race to college for his final before he comes back and throws himself into studying for his next test--moments like that, it's easy to forget.

But then there are moments like these.

When he comes home and Stiles is sprawled on his bed, face slack with sleep, skin still warm from the shower, smelling like Derek, and wrapped in his clothes.

And when he's like this, all of his stress and defenses stripped away, soft and vulnerable and willing to be so in a 'wolf's den--Derek is almost breathless with how fucking beautiful Stiles is.

With how much he wants him.

He watches Stiles for a long time, and then toes off his shoes and goes to make chili and baked potatoes.

When Stiles stumbles out of the room, summoned by the lure of food, a crease on his face from the pillow, he doesn't really stop until he crashes into Derek's side and makes a low, pleased noise, pressing his face into Derek's arm.

Derek breathes a laugh, and wraps an arm around Stiles waist, holding him upright while he finishes their dinner.

"How was it?"

"Horrible," Stiles groans, and he can hear the pout he knows is on the boy's face. "I hate it."

"Poor baby," Derek says, mildly and Stiles pinches his hip. Derek laughs. "How 'bout we eat and then you can pick whatever you want to watch--even one of your ocean documentaries--before you go home."

Stiles pulls back and beams at him, and it makes Derek's breath snag, his heart pounding because god.

He's used to Stiles, in his space, and beautiful, but he never really gets used to it.

And certainly not when Stiles is this close, his eyes flicking between Derek's and Derek's lips, and his heartbeat pounding steadily under Derek's hand where it's wrapped around Stiles’ waist.

"You're too good to me," Stiles whispers, and it brushes against Derek's lips. For a heartbeat that lasts forever--Derek wants to press closer.

For a heartbeat that lasts forever--he thinks Stiles will .

The oven beeps at them, and Stiles smiles ruefully before he pulls away and says, softly, "I'll make drinks."

They eat in the living room, and Stiles teases Derek gently as he navigates to a documentary that--thank god--isn't about the oceans and their nightmare creatures.

"You're a werewolf," Stiles says, fond and exasperated. "How are you scared of oceans?"

"It's too much water," Derek says stubbornly and because he knows it'll make Stiles roll his eyes and bite down on a grin and Stiles is beautiful, shining and warm at his side.

~*~

Sometimes, when he's alone, and the house is quiet, but the scent of Stiles lingers on the sheets, Derek will close his eyes and reach for himself, will wrap a hand around his hard cock and lazily jack himself off.

It's always lazy, just shy of teasing, and the fingers that brush against his hole are the same way--the same way Stiles would touch him.

Gently.

Reverently.

Teasing.

He pinches his nipple and twists, as he rubs over the head of his cock and he can see Stiles, that bright knowing grin that is telling him something , and he comes, gasping, moaning Stiles name.

He goes to sleep with the come drying on his chest, and it feels almost like a claim.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles in the icy cold of winter, while snow swirls down around them and Stiles chatters around a Christmas tree and smiles at him, and there is something warm and big in his gaze, something that is terrifying and wonderful and he aches under it.

~*~

“He seems happy,” Lydia says and Derek glances at her,  dragging his gaze from where Stiles and Malia and Kira are baking, studies the petite redhead. She's relaxed, more so than he's ever seen her and her gaze on Stiles is blatantly affectionate.

“I worried, when he said he was staying. After everything, Stiles deserved a chance to get out,” she says and he nods. Because it's true, even if the idea of Stiles leaving breaks his heart.

“And now?”

She tilts her head, swirling eggnog in her cup and finally shrugs with a catlike smile. “Not my job to worry about him. Stiles is a big boy and he's happy. That's all that matters to me.”

~*~

Christmas Eve, the pack gathers at Derek’s house.

Stiles is wound up over it for days beforehand, and Derek watches, bemused, as his little cozy house is converted from a cluttered bachelor's pad to a holiday wonderland, something out of a magazine that makes him a little bit anxious of bumping into anything.

Still. Below the scent of cookies and baked ham, peppermint and cocoa, there is the smell of Stiles, sugar sweet and content, and the pack, filling up the space that he and Stiles have somehow made into a home.

It’s loud, chaotic, the kind of chaos Derek remembers from childhood and forgot over the long quiet fall. Scott and Stiles break a lamp playing Twister, and a game of Monopoly gets downright brutal when Melissa joins in, but by the time the third rerun of The Christmas Story comes on, Lydia and Malia are talking soft and low about college and Scott is asleep on the floor, Liam’s head on his knee, and Stiles is tucked against Derek’s side, his eyes heavy-lidded as he leans into Derek’s warmth.

~*~

Cora used to wake him up on Christmas morning, before the sun crept up and Laura jumped on him, before the smell of Peter’s cinnamon applesauce and pumpkin pancakes woke the house. She’d crawl in his bed and stick her cold feet up against his shins and when he peered at her, golden eyes shone back, her little face bright with excitement that never seemed to dim. “It’s Christmas,” she’d whisper, and Derek smiled.

“Do you think Mom knew about our Christmas morning runs?” Derek asks her as he watches Scott stagger to his car, and listens to Stiles puttering through the house and Cora laughs.

“Of course she did. She was Mom.”

~*~

Christmas eve, his mom used to say, was for pack, and Christmas--Christmas was for family.

He isn’t sure how that ends with him in the Stilinski’s kitchen on Christmas morning, but with most things related to Stiles and his father--Derek doesn’t fight it much. He leans against the counter and watches Stiles making breakfast, and what he means to say is, “Thank you.”

What he says instead, soft and wondering, is, “I love you.”

~*~

The eggs burn, and Christmas smells like scorched eggs and spilt orange juice, and Stiles tastes like coffee and toothpaste and sugar when he kisses Derek, long fingers threaded into Derek’s hair, heart beating familiar and steady against Derek’s chest, and it feels...right.

Not earth shattering, the way he always thought love was supposed to be. It feels like a warm blanket on a cold night, like a steady hand on his shoulder and eyes bright and shining in the dark, whispered secrets and endless days, solid and safe and reliable.

“Shh,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek realizes he’s clutching too tight, and trembling against him, and Stiles’ thumb is brushing over his jaw, his eyes soft, soft, so fucking soft. “Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He does.

He always has.

Derek smiles and he sees John, a smug smirk on his lips as he steals bacon, before he kisses Stiles again.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles over an endless summer and a fall that lasts forever, over an icy winter and years of saving each other and every day spent with him, doing nothing and everything, and sharing life.

He falls in love with Stiles as the boy stares up at him, a grin on his lips and the pack counting down behind them, and fireworks bright against the sky and the waning moon.

He kisses Stiles as the year ends and a new one begins and he falls in love all over again.

[ask-the-riot-raidersarchive]

Happy Birthday Clyde!

My kids and the show crew threw Clyde a party =3

It was going to be his best birthday ever if Jade had any say in it, Clyde Donovan was turning 10-years-old on Tuesday April 10th which was only a week away. Jade Pines had talked to Roger Donovan about letting she and her friends handle planning and preparing for Clyde's birthday party this year and was ecstatic when he gave her full rein, Jade gathered all of her friends and all of Clyde's informing them of the massive surprise party they were going to throw the boy. Marion decided he was going to make Clyde an amazing cake he'd seen on Pintrest while Jade would make the Lemon Bars that Clyde was nuts for.

On Monday night once everyone had gifts ready for wrapping and the cake was frosted perfectly Maria was sent to Token's where she pleaded with the Black's to use their backyard for the party since their property was the largest in town and the party was massive, with their go-ahead after giving her word the yard would be spotless when the party was done everyone got to work moving the decorations to the Black's home while Token kept Clyde distracted by helping the Brunette with his homework at the Donovan house, the kids spent all of last week and the weekend pretending that they didn't know they were closing in on Clyde's birthday and Jade regretted it because the boy always donned a puppy-dog pout.

Tuesday morning after school Token took Clyde to his favorite bakery for something sweet giving their friends time to decorate the backyard while Maria and Lafayette sat upstairs in Token's bedroom wrapping and labeling birthday presents minus one, "why've you been so pouty lately?" Token asked Clyde as he checked the clock on the wall noticing it was about time to sneak the boy to the party.

"You can't tell me you don't even remember" Clyde huffed pulling his hand free from Token's to cross his arms and pout, "I turn 10 today, and literally nobody but my dad and sister remembered" he crowed as Token laid a hand on his back escorting him to the manor.

"C'mere" Token wrapped his arm around the Brunette hugging him until the boy calmed down a little giving him time to glance out back where he saw the table of presents, the table of sweets and even the Coon pinata that Maria made as a joke. "I wanna show you something" Token made Clyde shut his eyes then covered them escorting the emotionally upset boy outside, "okay, open them" he smiled once he could tell Clay's camcorder was recording them.

"SURPRISE!" the second Clyde's Milk Chocolate Brown eyes opened all of his friends popped up all over Token's yard thoroughly startling the birthday boy, the kids pulled small confetti poppers before Jade carefully made her way to the birthday boy where he laughed throwing himself into her arms.

"Did you really think any of us could forget YOUR birthday Clyde?" Jade asked the birthday boy as he cried into her neck, "Never! Never ever never" she twirled the boy until his laughter replaced his tears and it rang out over the yard.

"Happy birthday Clyde" Marion smiled at the birthday boy messing up his hair after Jade sat him down, "so pouty pants, lunch and cake or presents first?" he asked the Brunette who was drying his face trying to stop laughing.

"Ummm" Clyde bit his lower lip before hearing his stomach snarl angrily under his shirt, "what's for lunch?" he asked making everyone laugh.

"I made burgers and hotdogs" Clay announced, he got the plates from the island in Token's kitchen and set them up on the counter by the outdoor grill. "Let's dig in then pig out" Clay smiled rubbing Clyde's head before he grabbed the 'birthday' party hat putting it on the brthday boys head then hunted down the bags of buns he'd brought setting up a table with Kenny's help where they put out the buns, refreshments and condiments using the bottles to weigh down the paper plates.

Clyde beamed getting two hotdogs and a hamburger putting ketchup on all 3 before plopping down on his bottom between Jade and Token where he sank his teeth into the burger, "I appreciate this but you guys are jerks" he told them after swallowing the large bite.

"Jerks are we?" Jade asked watching him set his plate down to accept and drink from a can of soda from Stan, "you hear that?" she looked at Token who smirked nodding.

"Oh I did" Token sat his plate aside cracking his knuckles watching Clyde cower towards Jade, "we'll show you jerks" and quite quickly Clyde's loud hysteric giggling disturbed the party as the two ganged up on him. "Are we still jerks?" Token laughed carefully deflecting Clyde's right arm when the Brunette swung his arm at him, "well that wasn't very nice" he tried to pout but just grinned.

"Let him breathe" Marion laughed, "I think he's learned not insult his two best friends" he smiled watching them stop and pass Clyde his soda which he chugged.

Clyde lit up finishing his lunch with a renewed vigor after a fit of hysterics like that, "more like never insult them on an empty stomach" he said before eating a hotdog in roughly 2 bites emptying his plate.

"Cake?" Jade offered Clyde, "Marion worked hard on it just for you, cause we're jerks like that" she smiled messing up his hair before putting the birthday hat back on.

"I can't wait" Clyde grinned standing with Marion's help where everyone surrounded the cake making sure Clyde was front and center and the camera could see his as Marion uncovered the large Football shaped cake and lit the 10 candles on it, "this looks insane" the Brunette beamed.

"Happy Birthday Clyde" the guests cheered, they knew how much he loathed the Birthday song so they always just wished him happy birthday and he blew out the candles before the cake was cut and dished out.

"Boom" Jade giggled uncovering the tray a Lemon Bars smiling when Clyde grabbed a Strawberry topped one and started eating that before the slice of cake, she claimed a slice of cake then sat down so Clyde was once again between her and Token then took a bite. "This is great Marion" she praised her twin, "looks like he's enjoying it too" she laughed seeing Clyde roughly half way through the slice of cake he'd been given.

"What it's good?" Clyde pouted softly accepting the napkins from Jade under the threat that she'd mother him in front of the others (meaning she wasn't above licking a corner of the napkin and cleaning his face) so he did it himself using his cell camera to avoid missing anything, "you're the best you guys, I couldn't ask for a better party" he smiled at Jade and Token then the other kids all of whom smiled at him before running off and returning with two coolers and a small cardboard box which Jade claimed and settled into his lap as the camera was brought closer to them.

"Craig get yours out so he can open it next" Jade told the boy in the Chullo as Clyde looked at the hole riddled box in his lap, "go on Clyde" she smiled at the boy rubbing the back of his head.

Clyde's yes sparkled a little at the familiar sound coming from the box, "No. You did not" he opened it his eyes sparkling when the little Black and White Guinea Pig peeked out of the box making those cute little chirpy noises that their kind make. "Oh my god Jaaaade" he was torn between hugging his best friend and hugging his new Piggy, he hugged Jade first then picked up his new furry friend who licked his cheek softly making the boy laugh.

"Since Jade beat me to the punch I got you everything you'd need" he passed Clyde the biggest cooler where all of the gifts said they were from him, "a cage, a ball, a wheel, wood chips for the crate, food dish, water bottle, tubes to put around your room, a special coupon for the vet Tweek and I take Stripe #4 to that gets your first visit free and another for a free Micro-chipping" Craig told him helping him open and set up the cage where they put the Guinea Pig so it was out of the way.

"Okay mine next" Stan smiled rifling around the smaller cooler for a medium sized box shaped present, "happy birthday Clyde" he said watching Clyde unwrap the box and open it to reveal a football signed by his favorite player.

"Dude!" Clyde cheered setting the ball in its box where he embraced his friend, "how'd you score this?" he asked him.

"Secret" Stan smiled, "Kyle's next" he told him.

"Okay okay" Clyde giggled accepting the present, it was flat and squared if he had to guess it was a CD. He wasn't wrong, Kyle had bought him an autographed CD of his favorite band. "Dude are you guys trying to one up each other?" Clyde asked them through soft chuckles as he marveled at the CD, "these are awesome you guys" he smiled at them.

"It probably looks like it but only Maria, Lafayette and those that purchased the gifts knows what you got" Marion smiled grabbing a thick large box which he passed to the birthday boy, "this is from me and Alfred" he told him watching the excited 10-year-old tear through the wrapping paper to reveal two decent length boxes taped together most likely to hide the present.

"You...You did not" Clyde had opened the box and unearthed a Red and White Gibson Les Paul with his name on it, "Jesus Christ you two" he said softly strumming a few chords before putting it away and looking to the others curiously.

"I made this myself" Tweek passed Clyde a boxed present watching anxiously as the boy shredded his way through the wrapping paper eagerly making sure it went in the trashcan Token had brought out for him, "Happy Birthday" the blonde permitted a smile as Clyde unearthed the plushtoy of Mosquito and hugged it cracking up when it immitated the annoying buzzing the Brunette made as Mosquito.

"I love it!" Clyde cheered nuzzling the toy softly, "does that make me a narcissist?" he asked laughing when Tweek relaxed laughing as well.

"Nah, Craig has a Super Craig plush" Tweek told him cringing when the boy playfully hit his shoulder, "I had a bunch of fabric" he rubbed his neck.

"Here ese" Maria smiled sweetly grabbing a square but flimsy plush present out of the cooler and passed it to him, "happy birthday" she ruffled his bangs when he smiled accepting the present.

"Maria this is so pretty" Clyde said softly looking at the large quilt in his arms, the patches were littered in things he liked. Footballs, Guitars, Tacos, Cows, Mosquito's and dead center was his name. "I love it" He tucked it into the box from his Guinea Pigs cage and hugged Maria who rubbed his back a little, he smiled and sat down just in time for Sammy to put a slightly heavy looking package down in front of him.

Clyde tore through the wrapping paper curiously peaking at his Guinea Pig from time to time, that was by far his favorite present and he had trouble looking away from it. "Guys....this is the entire series" he gaped looking at the boxset of his favorite book series as it sat before him, he'd begged his dad for this set but was always told it was too much and felt like this may've been why.

Alexis and Clay A Hamilton CD so he can get sucked into the fandom

"We figured you're old enough to be dragged into Hamilton hell" Alexis smiled watching Clyde open the CD, "we got that when we went to see it, I still feel bad that your dad wouldn't let you come because of your wrist" she said sadly.

"I'll have to give this a listen later" Clyde smiled at her, "from how often Jade sings from it, it must be great" he laughed.

"Mine's best" Kenny grinned passing Clyde a thick envelope, he bobbed his eyebrows watching the boy open it a little and see the small collection of porn magezines which he quickly tucked in with the Les Paul for later.

Token and Butters colaborated to make Clyde a A lettermans jacket with 'Donovan' on the back then nothing but meme patches? Pepe, Kermit, the 'I ain't get no sleep cause of y'all' person, dat boi and more that had Clyde in stitches, Timmy was sweet enough to get him his favorite season of Supernatural on DVD the only season he didn't have. And then Jimmy the beautiful bastard, bought him 1001 jokes: the book with Scott Maklinson who sadly couldn't make it and everyone carefully beaned their beloved comedian with mini marshmallows.

"Okay okay how about instead of trying to make Jimmy diabetic, I got get the Coonyata and we beat it to a pulp?" Maria chimed in after she and Timmy helped Jimmy get mini marshmallows out of his hair, "then we have to clean stuff up if we're done, I promised Token's folks the place would be spotless" she got up ruffling Jimmy's hair to run to Token's shed where she'd hidden the 'Coonyata' and listened to Clyde ask their laughing friends.

"What the fuck is a Coonyata?" Clyde asked doubling their laughter, he looked up hearing 'for he's a jolly good fellow' from Maria as she strung up something that had him howling with laughter.

This monstrosity definitely looked like 'The Coon' but it was lumpy and poorly made (on purpose) and over all he just looked ridiculous but that was what made it perfect, "seeing as you are the birthday boy, you get first three swings" Jade told Clyde grabbing her scarf and blinding him with it before everyone formed a sort of human chain that spun him all the way to Maria who handed the blind dizzy boy the bat and angled him perfectly.

"Swing!" Token cheered with the others, he watched Clyde spin around once before he cracked the Coonyata in the side hard enough to dent it but not break it.

"Jesus" Alfred whispered, he watched Clyde swing two more times managing to clip a foot and knock a hand off.

"Next?" A very dizzy Clyde called out removing the scarf and leaning on the bat, he wretched a little but caught his breath and hobbled his way over to Jade after Token took the bat.

"It's not as fun as the real deal" Jade joked kneading her friends stomach to soothe his nausia, "happy birthday" she smiled at him watching Token seem to work on aiming his swing from the ground up only for an untimely sneeze to throw his aim off causing him to knock the tail off.

"Kenny?" Token waved the bat at the second in command of the 'Freedom Pals' flipping it from handle to front skillfully, "y'know you wanna" he tempted grinning when Kenny took the bat and scarf letting Maria blindfold him while the bat sat on the ground. He was spun 3 times before he did something that kind of confused the gang, he tapped areas of the ground with the bat muttering to himself.

"It's a bat not a golf club Ken" Butters giggled, "swing, I wanna hit him" he told his boyfriend.

"Sorry Leo" Kenny chuckled swinging hard and up knocking the left arm off, "here Buttercup" the blonde slid off the scarf then tied it around Butters' head before kissing the blonde. He laughed hearing 'no grab ass at my birthday' come from Clyde before he twirled Butters three times and handed him the bat, "what's life without a little Chaos" he purred in his blondes ear pinching his ass laughing when Clyde threw a mini marshmallow at him.

Butters yelped slightly startled by the sudden pinch and brought the bat straight up listening to the cheers that followed the satisfying 'Crack' after the bat hit, he uncovered his eyes and laughed seeing that he'd split the Coonyata right between the legs and it now lay in two peices on either side of the sea of candy. He gathered up some of what he knew to be Clyde's favorites and ran a little zigzag path to the boy dumping the tiny 'shirtful' into his lap, "happy birthday" he grinned.

By the time the party was over Clyde was passed out pinning Jade and Token to their spots against the wall, he'd turned Jade into a pillow and as usual Token had become a footrest. Once everyone that could move had helped clean Clay came over to get the birthday boy into the house since it looked like it was gonna rain, everyone filled their arms with gifts and food rushing them inside while Clay took Clyde and his Guinea Pig to the living room sofa. The backyard and the house was spotless when Token's parents arrived, his folks were nice enough to take the children home in groups since even for a wealthier family they didn't have enough car space for roughly 18 kids.

Jade definitely felt like she'd out done herself with this party, she'd never seen Clyde smile that much or heard him laugh that hard in all her knowing him. She left the Lemon Bars with his father and thanked him for letting her host the party, since Clyde had been asleep she, Marion and Clay helped get him and his gifts inside they'd call their parents from here.

[the-netchiman]

Stolen from gf @lionel-del-rey

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

smol cousin at some family function a while back.

2. Are you outgoing or shy? Neither? 

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? My gf

4. Are you easy to get along with? Fuck no lmao

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? I have no doubt that they would try

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? Funny, kind, down to earth people are cool

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? I’m about to purchase a plane ticket for my gf so I severely hope we’re together by then lmao

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? ur mum

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? Only if it makes the person I’m talking to uncomfortable

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? My dad. I guess???

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? “what the fuck do you want for chrimbus, you little bitch?”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? Oh no I don’t know gonna pull these out my ass real quick Black Irish by The Devil Makes Three Almost Blue by Chet Baker Desperado by The Eagles Stillborn (acoustic) by Black Label Society 512 by Lamb of God

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? idk? 

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? Yes

15. What good thing happened this summer? I got to visit a friend in Texas. Other than that, my summer went by in a big shitty blur.

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Not for all the money in the world

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? Ye

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? Nop

19. Do you like bubble baths? Ye

20. Do you like your neighbors? I don’t dislike them. I don’t speak spanish, so we haven’t talked much.

21. What are you bad habits? I stress myself out over little things too often

22. Where would you like to travel? Ireland would be cool, but I definitely could never go there. Outside of that, idk, anywhere is cool

23. Do you have trust issues? oh yes

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? Eating

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? My chest or my neck

26. What do you do when you wake up? Check my phone

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? I think its a fine how it is

28. Who are you most comfortable around? My friend Ari I guess

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? yes

30. Do you ever want to get married? wow what an awkward question to have on something my gf is for sure going to see (yes)

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? ye

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? Oh, idk

33. Spell your name with your chin. dickhead

34. Do you play sports? What sports? Not any more, but I used to play Football (American) and boxing 

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? Tv

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? Nah. Well yeah, but they figured it out eventually lmao

37. What do you say during awkward silences? “wow this got awkward”

38. Describe your dream girl/guy? Mark Ruffalo

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? Nerd stores (y’know, where nerds gather to play cards and dnd and stuff, occasionally comics are also there) and music stores. I’d spend all day in guitar center if no one stopped me.

40. What do you want to do after high school? Already out, and lemme tell you I’m already not doing what I wanted to do

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? Most people. A few people definitely deserve nothing less than a life time of suffering.

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? Nothing, or something. I’m quiet most of the time.

43. Do you smile at strangers? I think I do but I have the resting bitch face big time so I mostly just look slightly less mad at people in public

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? The ocean would be fantastic

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? Mr Socks won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP

46. What are you paranoid about? oh, y’know, most things

47. Have you ever been high? Oh yes

48. Have you ever been drunk? frequently 

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? yes, but not because i’m embarrassed, just don’t want to upset anyone

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? Black

51. Ever wished you were someone else? Nah. Careful what you wish for, right? Don’t want to say that and then wake up to find I’m somehow an even bigger piece of shit.

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? Wish I were in better shape, but I’m working on that so

53. Favourite makeup brand? Don’t wear it, so my favorite is whatever my gf asks for lmao

54. Favourite store? Guitar Center. lemme obnoxiously test pedals all day

55. Favourite blog? dunno

56. Favourite colour? Red. a certain shade of blue is pretty good too.

57. Favourite food? Anything featuring potatoes 

58. Last thing you ate? a fuckin 1/4 cup of cheese. my diet has been weird recently.

59. First thing you ate this morning? Nothing yet, but I have designs on some tacos

60. Ever won a competition? For what? ye, a few. i hate bragging so im not going to go into detail, but i used to actually be good at things.

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? Yep. suspended two or three times for getting into fights, one time for accidentally bringing a knife to school. weirdly, the girl that decided to pull the thing out of my pocket got in no trouble at all.

62. Been arrested? For what? No, but boi have i come close

63. Ever been in love? i am, at this moment, very in love

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? Not really much a story? It was an awkward childhood kiss.

65. Are you hungry right now? Yes, very. waiting on me uncle tho

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? don’t really have tumblr friends

67. Facebook or Twitter? Fb

68. Twitter or Tumblr? Tumblr for art, twitter for memes

69. Are you watching tv right now? nah

70. Names of your bestfriends? Ari, zach, mr socks

71. Craving something? What? Oh y’know things

72. What colour are your towels? Got turquoise, black, blue, purple, white. 

72. How many pillows do you sleep with? two

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Nah

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? Got a few plush pokemon, i guess that counts?

75. Favourite animal? Really like bears

76. What colour is your underwear? N/A

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Vanilla

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? oh, uh, cookie dough? oreo? orange sherbet? can’t decide.

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? N/A

80. What colour pants? look if the last two clothing questions didn’t tip you off, i’m naked. are you happy now?

81. Favourite tv show? oh, idk. haven’t really had the interest in shows since i got super depressed like a year ago lmao

82. Favourite movie? i guess kung pow?

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD EVER PICK 2? 

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? Mean girls

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? that chick that made out with a hot dog that one time. big mood.

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? The stoner turtle

87. First person you talked to today? My gf

88. Last person you talked to today? My uncle

89. Name a person you hate? just one? nah.

90. Name a person you love? my gf (duh) all these friends i met on the internet, and some of my family i guess

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? so, so many people. 

92. In a fight with someone? like, currently? how would i be doing this?

93. How many sweatpants do you have? don’t wear sweats

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? a couple

95. Last movie you watched? uhhhhhhhhh something shitty on netflix, probs

96. Favourite actress? oof uh, idk. 

97. Favourite actor? also dunno

98. Do you tan a lot? got them irish genes, i burn

99. Have any pets? Mr. Socks, the best cat in the world and i will fight anyone who disagrees. 

100. How are you feeling? Cold

101. Do you type fast? Nope

102. Do you regret anything from your past? Not really. If they didn’t happen, i wouldn’t be where i am now

103. Can you spell well? dubya eee ell ell. fuck you.

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? kinda? define past.

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? ye

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? i would hope not, but maybe

107. Have you ever been on a horse? ye

108. What should you be doing? going to the store

109. Is something irritating you right now? always

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? YES

111. Do you have trust issues? Yes

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? an ex, probably

113. What was your childhood nickname? didn’t really have a nickname

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? Yep

115. Do you play the Wii? I have a wiiu, but i don’t really play it much. its mostly the netflix machine now

116. Are you listening to music right now? Autumn Leaves by Chet Baker

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Fucking yes

118. do you like chinese food> YE BOI

119. Favourite book? don’t know

120. Are you afraid of the dark? Nah

121. Are you mean? I think so. others say different. its weird, man

122. Is cheating ever okay? in a relationship? no. in a video game to give your character a giant bobble head? absolutely.

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? the trick is to not wear white shoes

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? No lmao

125. Do you believe in true love? as opposed to fake love? i guess???

126. Are you currently bored? ye

127. What makes you happy? knowing that others are happy

128. Would you change your name? nah

129. What your zodiac sign? taurus

130. Do you like subway? not compared to my other sub options

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? i don’t know. she’s married, so like...what the fuck how 

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? my dad, i guess

133. Favourite lyrics right now? I've held the hand of God and I've sang the Devil's song And when it comes my time no tears are gonna fall But some will light the fire and some will mourn the one Left longing for the ire of, of their departed son.

134. Can you count to one million? ain’t got that kinda time, fam

135. Dumbest lie you ever told? I don’t really lie? I think i just say dumb shit and people take me seriously 

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? Closed

137. How tall are you? 5′5. I’m a manlet.

138. Curly or Straight hair? no preference

139. Brunette or Blonde? brunette

140. Summer or Winter? Winter

141. Night or Day? Night

142. Favourite month? idk, december i guess because i have a mandatory week off work,

143. Are you a vegetarian? I wish, I don’t have the willpower.

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? Dark chocolate

145. Tea or Coffee? tea. coffee is more of a tool for me? gotta wake up, tea is just good.

146. Was today a good day? dunno yet

147. Mars or Snickers? Snickers

148. What’s your favourite quote? don’t really remember quotes

149. Do you believe in ghosts? Kinda

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

“As I approached the northern cliffs where I’d find the Serpent’s Sanctum, I could see the soaring towers of Skyreach off to my right.”

[peccolias]

A close-knit team, if only for a while

Naruto

1,830 words

Rated T for mild language

Feel-good Team Seven quick fic, pre-Shippuden

Please forgive any OOCness, I don’t write canon-verse fic often. Based on a super cute idea discussed with @ysmirel. 

Also on AO3

It’s a strange…phenomenon (for lack of a better word) that Team Seven has noticed only occurs around the cold season in Konoha.

Well, actually seeing it isn’t the strange part, because it’s quite an ordinary thing to see—it’s the who part of it that piques their interest.

And mainly the fact that said who doesn’t seem to bat an eyelash at the strangeness of it all.

Kakashi-sensei doesn’t seem to mind that a knee-high bundle of knitted yarn waddles along behind him, with tiny paws and ears and a tail—and just a bit of snout—poking out in roughly the same places where a dog’s tiny paws and ears and tail and snout would be. Of course, it could be because he’s too immersed in the small book held open in one hand, because when he’s reading that Icha Icha series he doesn’t seem to outwardly notice much of anything (though they’re sure he’s always on his guard).

But—no. That can’t be it. Because also in his wake are seven others wrapped (to a lesser degree) in colorfully-knit plush scarves sporting various blocky designs of paw prints, dog biscuits, and Konoha leaves. These others are clearly his ninken. And the small one is, without a doubt, Pakkun—the only one whose name they really know. Even if they can’t exactly see him.

What’s strange about it is, of slightly less importance, that they’ve recently seen a certain Might Gai sporting a bold scarf of a similar fashion, dotted with Konoha-green leaves on red—at least, that’s what they thought they saw as he sped past them during a morning run. It was hard to tell when it all blurred together in his haste.

And, of considerable importance, is that they’ve each received a scarf of their own, wrapped and left quietly on each of their doorsteps, without a name, without a message, with only the item itself left as a clue of where it came from.

They’re wearing them now, in fact—Naruto’s is a garish blue sporting clunky Uzumaki spirals found in his favorite ramen; Sakura’s is pink, with lighter pink cherry blossom petals that looked to have been attempted delicately but ended up just as blocky; and Sasuke’s, a soft cream color to offset his usually dark and serious persona, with gray shuriken at the ends. Each personalized, with no small amount of thought put into their creation.

The only conclusion they can draw from this is that someone in Konoha is a serial scarf-knitter.

…Yet, he doesn’t seem to wear one himself, no matter how cold it gets.

“Why do you think that is?” Sakura asks, as they tail their teacher to the Memorial Stone, where he drops off two more of the same items as offerings. One, a bold orange not unlike Naruto’s outfit, and the other attempted delicately, the same as Sakura’s, but in much the same colors as Sasuke’s. They sit beside two others that remain from another visit, but are too difficult to see from where they crouch, hidden, in the treetops.

“Dunno, maybe it’d be too hot with all those layers he already wears?” Naruto tries as he rubs at his reddened nose. “I know I’d be, ‘ttebayo.” He sneezes, then, much to their chagrin—for Sakura, because it totally just blows their cover, and for Sasuke, because the blockhead sneezed in his general direction, and was just too close when he did so.

Even so, when they look to see if Kakashi or his ninken are alerted to their presence, the man is nowhere in sight. All in the span of a few seconds, they’d lost track of him.

Not surprising, but disappointing all the same.

“Jeez, Naruto, you couldn’t just keep that in, could you?” Sakura chides with a tic in her brow, trying not to get too upset because it looks like the boy had caught something, with the sniffle and red nose.

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “And here I thought idiots couldn’t catch colds.”

“Hey—” Naruto shoots back, still fiery despite the cold, despite the sick, then gives pause. “Did you just…not call me an idiot?”

“No. I just—”

“Got proven wrong?” he cuts in, grinning victoriously, not realizing what he’d just said about himself.

There’s no way Sasuke will just let him have that—but he can’t exactly pull himself out of that contradiction, either. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. There are plenty of other reasons you’re an idiot.”

“You jerk—”

Sakura’s arm snaps out to catch Naruto in the chest before he can lunge and he falls back, winded, as she squeezes her way between them. “Oh, stop it already! Keep in mind why we’re here. We still don’t know why Kakashi-sensei doesn’t have a scarf.”

“Does it even matter?” Sasuke asks, crossing his arms and doing everything in his power to ignore the bristling blond on the other side of a smiling Sakura.

Her smile falls. “Well…not really, but he went through all that trouble to make these for us.”

“Yeah, and I don’t see you not wearin’ yours. Admit it, you’re just as curious.”

Sasuke touches the scarf wrapped around his neck and grumbles a bit, but doesn’t try to refute it.

Naruto looks down at his own scarf and plucks at the edge with a goofy grin. “I think it’s great, ‘ttebayo! I haven’t had a scarf since…” He trails off. Squints. Really tries to think. Fails, and shrugs. “Never, I guess.”

“We’re all in agreement it’s great, then. And we know that Kakashi-sensei made them—so no matter what he says, no matter how hard he trains us, he does care. So…” she trails off, too. Crosses her arms and taps her foot against the branch as she considers the information at hand. “Maybe…we should make him one!”

At this, they both turn to look at Sakura like she’d just proposed murder instead of a cute crafting hobby. But for them, it may as well have been.

Because none of them really know how to knit.

“Uh…Sakura-chan…” Naruto tries to break the news to her, but it’s harder than it sounds. Because it really is a good idea, a great idea, even, and he would if he could.

“I know none of us can knit.” She’s quick to acknowledge it. Then, turns to Sasuke curiously, lips pursed in silent question.

He shrugs in response. “I can’t.”

“But I’m so sure you’d be great at if you learned!” she encourages, with a blush fresh on her face.

“H-hey, I can learn, too! And I’ll be so damn good at it!” Naruto says loudly, before interrupting himself with another sneeze.

Both Sakura and Sasuke step slightly away with a grimace, seeing the snot dripping from his nose.

He gives a thumbs-up before sneezing again, so hard it throws him off balance—he struggles, arms pinwheeling, before toppling backwards from the tree and landing in the shrubs below with a loud rustle and a heavy thump.

“…Alright, there’s no way he can do it on his own. This is going to have to be a team activity.”

For once, Sasuke agrees.

The cold season winds slowly down—soon, in a week, perhaps, it will be unforgivably hot, even in the supposedly-cool spring months. That the Land of Fire even has a winter at all is a miracle, at times.

Lately, Kakashi’s noticed Team Seven has been working together rather well—and at times, they squabble just a bit too much. But, overall, their teamwork has improved. They smile a little more—chat a little more. Even Sasuke. Grudgingly. But the progress is still apparent.

He isn’t really sure what brought about the change (although he’s not complaining, either) until, one day, he sees a lumpy, wrapped package sitting on his doorstep. 

Strange—it brings about an acute sense of déjà vu.

Beneath the wrapping, it’s soft to the touch—maybe a bit too soft, but also a bit too lumpy in some areas. It’s a mystery and, in all honesty, he’s flabbergasted, because he can’t for the life of him figure out what it may be.

Even if its front is scrawled with the all-too-familiar handwriting of one of his students, boldly stating: “FOR KAKASHI-SENSEI.”

A smile pulls at the fabric of his mask as he sets it on his kitchen counter and carefully tears the crinkled brown packaging away. But the smile falls away in time with the bundle of knit yarn that falls out of the package and spills across the countertop.

Again, he’s stunned, because he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at even as he takes the item in his hands (and it is soft to the touch) and turns it over, running his thumb against the bumpy, tri-colored, patchwork scarf of orange, red, and blue. The rows are inconsistent at best, clunky, clumsy, in some places too loose, in some, too tight—the red section in the center is the best of all, but still not perfect. And they’re all sewn together with obvious, wide stitches.

But what floors him the most is that each painstakingly knitted section isn’t just a specific color—there are also three unique designs displayed on one side. On the Orange, a scarecrow face. On the red, the kanji for “seven.” On the blue, the Konoha leaf symbol. All in black. And, somehow, it unifies the mishmash all together.

“Well...would you look at that.”

Kakashi doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until he blinks and feels the moisture catch on his eyelashes.

He looks to the old, faded green scarf sitting on his dresser, worn at the edges and torn in some places, never taken outside to prevent wear and tear, these days—the first scarf he’d ever been given.

Now, in his hands, is the second.

“It’s too hot…isn’t it too hot out? We took way too long to finish that thing—do you think he’ll even wear it?”

Neither Naruto not Sasuke have the heart to ease Sakura’s worries. Because they’re just as concerned—and it feels a bit like failure, even though they tried their best.

But today simply isn’t scarf weather. They aren’t even wearing theirs, because training works up enough of a sweat already—though they did wear them all throughout the winter months, and studied them especially close when knitting each section of the one they’d given to their teacher.

“He…he totally will, ‘ttebayo!” Naruto finally says, if only to quell the doubt he, too, feels.

Sasuke opens his mouth to agree with the hope, but quickly changes his mind as something in the distance catches his eye. “Look. Here he comes.”

Late as always, but today a bit less so. Kakashi-sensei approaches the training field looking tired, much the same as usual, but the unusual thing they notice about him is…he has a familiar tri-colored scarf wrapped and bundled up around his neck, despite the weather.

There it remains, throughout the day, throughout the week—through the entire spring season, until the sun just bears down too incredibly hot for any one person to bear the heat of knitted yarn so close to their skin.

But the phenomenon will surely continue when the winter months arrive again. 

And this time, he’ll be a part of it.

[pickalilywrites]

Prompt: Crack the spine

Word Count: 1,933

They're looking for books to read for their book reports at Armin's house. He says that his house has a room dedicated to books but Eren thinks that his entire house can be considered a library. It seems that every visible surface is covered in books. They're stacked up precariously like various miniature replicas of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The books are arranged in away such a way that it creates a thin pathway for those that need to walk through the house. Eren's too frightened to move a muscle. It looks as though even the lightest of breaths might send a tower of books tumbling down. He only dares to tiptoe through the house once Armin begins leading the way.

Armin babbles about how he already has a book picked out (he's had it picked out ever since Mr. Ackerman mentioned there would be a book report in the beginning of the semester) and how he's read it a dozen times already. He's worried about whether or not he's fulfilled all of the criteria that their English teacher is looking for. He laughs nervously, confessing that he'd go and ask the strict teacher to look over his outline but the raven-haired man is far too frightening to even approach.

Eren nods. He doesn't offer any advice because he's too in awe at the book-filled house to comment on his friend's worries. "How many books do you have in here, Armin?" Eren interrupts.

"Huh? Er, I'm not sure exactly," Armin says. Most people would probably be annoyed at being interrupted but Armin is fairly used to it from Eren. He's grateful that there's someone even willing to stick around while he babbles about his favorite book or the latest documentary he found particularly interesting. "Most of these are my parents actually. They told me to keep my books in the library." He stops at a door and opens it, revealing a spacious room lined with bookshelves all along the walls. Light streams through the bay window, which is decorated with plush pillows in case anyone wanted to spend the afternoon reading. A few toy were scattered here and there – mostly models of airplanes and famous buildings, different versions of Rubik's cubes, or half-filled notebooks covering miscellaneous subjects – but it was fairly tidy and things didn't look like they would fall over if Eren so much as looked at them.

Eren lets out a low whistle. "This is still a pretty impressive collection of books." He walks around, running his hand along the spines of the books. "Have you read all of these?"

His friend laughs. "Not even close. They just kind of add up since I tend to get a lot during birthdays and Christmas, I guess." Armin takes a seat on the bay window, curling up comfortably with a book that was left there. "You're free to choose any book you like, Eren. Just make sure that it meets the page requirement that Mr. Ackerman gave us."

Eren nods. "Right. Thanks." He scans the shelves, looking for a book to catch his eye. His mother always tells him to never judge a book by its cover, but he has a feeling that he doesn't have the time to skim through the first few paragraphs of every single book here. Every book in existence from every time period must be held in this room. Paperbacks, hardbacks, old books, new books, and they all have titles he's never heard of. Armin must either be a secret vampire or have a lot of relatives because Eren can't see how he could obtain such a large collection of books even if he did receive them as birthday and Christmas gifts from relatives. He makes a mental note to get Armin a good video game on his birthday. The guy probably needs a break from all of the reading he did every now and again.

It's difficult to look through so many, but Eren has a couple picked out before he notices a faded book sitting in the corner. Although Armin has a number of books that have definitely seen better days, this one looks like it has existed since the beginning of time. Eren sets his pile of books on the ground and goes back to the one that had caught his eye. It's a thick hardback. The covering is gray now – Eren suspects that it had probably once been black when it had first been bought – and horribly battered and worn. Someone had read it so many times that the spine now has several cracks along its spine. Eren wasn't even aware that hardbacks could have cracked spines. Both the spine and cover are missing a title.

"What's this book?" Eren plucks it from the shelf, rifling through the pages that have yellowed with age. "There's no title on it." Numerous pages have been dog-eared and several passages have been underlined in faded pencil. Notes are scrawled in some of the margin but he notices that the handwriting doesn't belong to his friend.

Armin turns his head, squinting at the book in Eren's hands. Not recognizing it from a distance, he sets his book down and walks towards Eren. As he comes closer, Armin's face lights up as he realizes what book Eren holds in his hand. "That's an old favorite of mine. My grandfather used to read bits of it to me before I went to bed every night when I was really young. May I?" He takes it into his hands almost lovingly once the book is handed over to him. Despite its battered condition, Armin holds it as if it's the most valuable thing in the world, smoothing the cracked spine tenderly with his thumb. "It's called To You, 2000 Years From Now. It's written like a letter to the reader. My grandfather found it at the bottom of a box when he went to a book sale a long time ago and fell in love with the story."

From the look Armin is giving the book, Eren can tell that his friend loved it too. His friend's fondness of the book only makes Eren's interest in it even greater. "What's it about?" he asks curiously.

"It's not a happy story," the blond warns, a sad smile on his face. Seeing that Eren is still interested, Armin opens the book and flips to the first page gently. "It's about people living – no, not living, they're trapped – in these walls. They've lived there for hundreds of years because of these giant man-eating monsters lurking just outside. A number of people noble enough to sacrifice their lives to humanity fight against these monsters. It's hopeless, really. Humanity is almost extinct and they've got little to no chance of defeating them, but the fact that there are people who are willing to give up their lives for the sake of others…that's so inspirational to me. There are other really neat things that get introduced as you get further into the story: secrets, a corrupt government, hidden identities, betrayal, and unexpected villains." He closes it again and pats the cover. "It's really something. Are you thinking of picking this one out for your report? It's kind of lengthy but – Eren? E-Eren, are you okay? Why are you crying?"

Eren finds that tears are streaming down his cheeks and he doesn't know why. He doesn't remember the last time he cried in front of someone and maybe if it were anyone other than Armin he would feel embarrassed. "It's so sad," he finally says. His voice comes out as a whisper. He knows it's just a story but can almost see the courageous soldiers falling one by one at the hands of these mindless monsters. Anguished screams of mothers crying for their loved ones echo in his ears. Flashes of soldiers charging to their deaths flicker before his eyes. "That's such a sad story."

Armin's gentle hand on his shoulder snaps Eren out of his daze. "It's just a story," Armin says softly. He lays the book down in a random place on the shelf before returning his attention to his distraught friend. He rubs his hand on Eren's back, trying to comfort him as best as he can. "It's like any other story. It's not real, Eren. It's okay."

"I know," he mumbles, wiping at his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. It's now that he realizes how silly he's being and he almost apologizes except he knows that Armin isn't angry, just concerned. "I guess I'm just being a little weird…"

Armin smiles and gives Eren a pat on the back. "Hey, don't worry about it. I know a better book that I'm sure you'll like." After he's sure that Eren isn't crying anymore, he scurries away to the other side of the room and picks up another book, rushing over and gushing about what an epic adventure is in it.

Eren is only half listening to him. His mind is still stuck on the book that Armin had discarded on the shelf. He politely nods and fakes a smile as Armin rambles on about whatever fantasy novel he's recommending and pretends to take an interest in it. It has something to do with dragons and a young boy going on an quest to find them. These are admittedly the types of stories that Eren usually enjoys reading, but he doesn't want to think about dragons or knights in shining armor right now. He pretends he does though and thanks Armin, taking the book from his friend.

Armin suggests they go play video games but Eren declines. It's rather uncharacteristic of Eren to pass out on playing video games, but Armin shrugs and goes along with it. If he thinks it's at all odd when Eren says he'd rather get started on reading for his book report, he doesn't say so and Eren is grateful for it.

But he's not reading once the two find a comfortable seat in the library - Armin back in his place at the bay window and Eren coincidentally situated right below the shelf where Armin had left To You, 2000 Years From Now. He just scans his eyes across the page of the dragon book, not even bothering to absorb the words and keeping an eye out to see when his friend is too occupied with his own book to notice anything. Once he sees Armin hunched over with his face too close to the pages, Eren decides that's the perfect time to snag To You, 2000 Years From Now. He knows he could just ask Armin to borrow it, but there's something about the book that bothers him too much to just ask for it. The novel makes it into his bag and Armin doesn't notice at all.

Eren feels a bit guilty when finally leaves with the stolen book hidden in his bag but Armin still doesn't realize it's missing and just tells Eren that he'll see him tomorrow and to return the dragon book once their reports are turned in.

The worst part is that Eren doesn't even read the book. He doesn't plan on reading it either. He hides it in the corner of his closet, letting it rot there. Armin only asks about the missing novel once the next morning at school and accepts Eren's mumbled response about not knowing anything about where it went.

Eren takes it out every once in a while but he never gets past the cover. The flood of images – people dying, everyone crying for their loved ones, hideous monsters walking the earth – always overwhelms him and he finds himself crying again.

It's just a story, he tells himself every time as he shoves it back into his closet and repeats Armin's words. It's not real.

And as he shuts the door, a voice in the back of his mind whispers, But it's so sad.