#also I am so surprised by how easily they accept ford into the conversation like I get it for narrative purposes but

[creativesplat]

That scene from A Tale of Two Stars, from Stan's perspective.

[walkerwords]

“Survivors” Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader

GIF CREDIT: http://gph.is/2h2hmM4

Request from anonymous: hi! i really love your writing so i was hoping i could make a request. could you do a daryl x reader where he meets reader at hill top when jesus takes them there for the first time. she’s like the person who handles a lot of their defense and she’s really tough and badass and she doesn’t really trust any of them yet. only if you want of course! 💘💘

Word Count: 2230

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Mustang Kids” by Zella Day

Note: I did end up making this GN. I am going to try and get more GN fics up, but I do tend to write with a more female centered voice and always have, but I am workin on it! Anyone have some tips on writing for Gender Neutral?

------

Daryl didn’t like Jesus, he didn’t trust Jesus, and he definitely didn’t want to meet any more of his people. 

However, they needed food and Rick decided to accept the invitation. Daryl kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to play nice with the new people and that this was just going to be a transaction, nothing more.

After rescuing some of Jesus’ people on the road, the group headed into what Jesus had introduced as The Hilltop. Daryl wasn’t thrilled when their people suddenly began pointing spears at them. As soon as Jesus defused the situation, they walked through the tall gates of Hilltop and were surprised to see a semi-thriving community. 

The Hilltop was vastly different from Alexandria. It looked as if the community lived more in the past rather than the present. Where Alexandria had solar panels, running water, and modern-day houses, The Hilltop focused on trailers, a blacksmith, and a large Colonial house that stood proudly at the center. 

“That's called Barrington House,” Jesus explained, “The family that owned it gave it to the state in the '30s. The state turned it into a living history museum. Every elementary school for 50 miles used to come here for field trips. The place was running a long time before the modern world built up around it. I think people came here because they figured it'd keep running after the modern world broke down. Those windows up there let us see for miles in every direction. It's perfect for security. Come on. I'll show you inside.” Jesus gestured the group forward and they followed, keeping their hands on their weapons. 

As everyone moved into the house, Jesus explained more about how they used the former museum and how they planned to grow Hilltop even further to account for the future. As he finished explaining the living situations, a new voice cut into the conversation. 

“Jesus. You're back. With guests,” an older man said as he stepped out of a room on the main level. Jesus gave Rick a look that said ‘here we go’ and then turned to pleasantly greet the newcomer. 

“Everyone, this is Gregory. He keeps the trains running on time around here,” he introduced. Rick decided to take the high road and go and introduce himself when Gregory cut him off and offered the group a place to wash up. Michonne was wary at first, but eventually, some people took him up on the offer, but not before Rick took Maggie aside and told her that she should be the one to speak to Gregory first. 

As Maggie began negotiations with Gregory, Abraham and Daryl stood watch by the front door. While Jesus had been telling the truth about who the man was they saved, the community’s doctor, and that Hilltop was an actual place and not a trap, Daryl had relaxed slightly. However, he was still not dropping his guard completely. 

When the front door to Barrington opened, Abraham stood up straighter. As the door shut, Daryl finally got a look at you. Just by the way you stood and examined Abraham, Daryl knew you were someone who held authority. 

“You must be the crew that Jesus brought in,” you said, a slight twang to your voice. It wasn’t as thick as most Southerners, but Daryl could tell that you had picked up on the accent from just living down South. 

“Abraham Ford,” Abraham introduced. You shook the hand he offered, returning his strong grip with one of your own. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you said, “I’m the one behind all the defenses here.” 

“I do like someone who can be strategic,” Abraham said with a nod of approval. He then nodded towards Daryl and you turned to greet him, however, you did not offer your hand as his own stayed by his side. “That’s Daryl.” Dixon nodded to you and you returned the gesture with a small smile.

It wasn’t much but it told Daryl that you were attempting to show that you weren’t there to fill them with lead, considering the Glock on your hip. In fact, that was the first gun he had seen since walking through the gates. 

“Speaking of Jesus,” you continued, “know where I can find him?”

“He’s with your boss,” Daryl commented. 

“Gregory?” you asked and he nodded. You sighed with a roll of your eyes. 

“Not a fan?” Abraham asked, easily reading your body language. 

“Gregory is an imbecile who thinks he can run this place better than Jesus and I,” you said, lowering the volume of your voice. “Word of advice, listen to Jesus before you listen to our ‘boss’. I’ll talk to him later.” With another nod, you turned on your heel and walked right back out into the sunlit community. Abraham then grinned at Daryl. 

“Okay, them, I like.”

------------

After the meeting with Gregory, Maggie and Rick looked at Daryl with a look that said “this isn’t going to be easy”. 

Daryl had figured as much. While Gregory thought about a few things, Jesus invited the group to take a turn about Hilltop. After vaguely learning about everything that was going on around the area, Daryl didn’t want to think about having to fight again. He had done enough fighting since Atlanta. However, he also knew that Alexandria was a good thing for them and Rick was willing to do whatever it took to keep their new home. 

Daryl walked with Michonne, Rick, Jesus, and Maggie, taking in everything that was going on. He could see Sasha and Abraham ahead of them, their tactical eyes scanning everyone and everything. 

“If ya ain’t supposed to have guns,” Daryl said, pulling Jesus from his conversation with Maggie, “why does (Y/N) have one?”

“You met (Y/N)?” Jesus asked. 

“They were lookin’ for ya,” Daryl explained.

“Ah, well they’re head honcho around here,” Jesus explained. “They’re former military and they know how to keep us safe. Without (Y/N), this place would have been overrun a long time ago.” 

“If you have them,” Maggie said, “why do you still have an issue with whoever is messin’ with you?” 

“Our enemies’ guns are bigger,” Jesus said with a sigh. “(Y/N) keeps theirs hidden whenever they come around and only ever takes a shot when it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Secret weapon,” Michonne said with an impressed look. 

“More like secret Nuclear Bomb,” Jesus said. Daryl didn’t like the thought of an unknown enemy, nor did he like that The Hilltop was being run by an apparent moron. Gregory reminded him of the Governor but without the intelligence and military-grade weapons. 

The mystery threat became very real when a sudden commotion drew Daryl and the others to the main area.

“Ethan, what happened to everybody else? Where's Tim and Marsha?” Gregory was asking a man that had just returned to Hilltop. 

“They're dead,” Ethan said. 

“Negan? 

“Yeah.”

“We had a deal!” Gregory exclaimed. Rick looked at Daryl with wariness, causing the latter to shrug. 

“He said it wasn't enough. Was the drop light?” Ethan asked. 

“No, of course not,” Gregory said, but Daryl could sense a lie. 

“They still have Craig. They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us, if I deliver a message to you.” 

“So, tell me,” Gregory urged. Instead of answering the man approached his leader and frowned.

“I'm sorry,” he said before sheathing a blade into Gregory’s abdomen. Chaos ensued after that.

Across the yard, you watched on with an exasperated expression on your bored face. This wasn’t the first time inner fighting had happened and you were honestly tired of it.

You watched as the woman you heard the leader call Michonne, take one of your own to the ground in a single move. Daryl had taken down another who went for Abraham and in a major shock, the leader, you believed his name was Rick, slit open Ethan’s throat. 

It wasn’t until the ground was covered in blood that Jesus finally noticed you. “A little help would have been nice,” Jesus said. You pushed off the post you were leaning against and approached the body on the ground. 

“Cowboy here had it handled,” you said and then pulled your knife and stabbed Ethan in the head. “Besides, he was an asshole anyway.” Jesus sighed and then helped get Gregory to Dr. Carson. Glancing around at the new people, you weren’t sure what they were thinking.

However, you knew right then that even after knowing Negan, Rick was the scariest man you had ever met. “If it’s any consolation,” you said approaching the bloodied leader, “if it came down to a fight between you and the big bad, my money’s on you.”

---------

Later that night after Jesus had finally explained who Negan was and what the Saviors had done to The Hilltop and other communities, Daryl needed some air. 

He walked around the community as Rick and Maggie talked with Jesus, trying to make a plan who would then talk to Gregory. Essentially, Alexandria was willing to take out the Saviors if The Hilltop was willing to share its resources. Daryl was also willing to bet that Rick would throw in a few extra guns if it meant the group got both food and allies. 

As Daryl approached the main gate, he saw you standing on the watch post, a pair of binoculars in your hand. He hesitated for a moment before tightening his bow on his back and climbing the ladder.

It wasn’t just that you were a warrior in the new world, but Daryl felt drawn to you because he could sense that you were like him. Someone who had seen horrors before and after the end of the world. It was rare when someone came out harder on the other side rather than breaking down. He respected that greatly. 

“Lookin’ for anything in particular?” Daryl asked. Dropping your binoculars you shook your head. 

“Never really am,” you explained. “The Dead tend to keep their distance this far from larger plains and forests. As for people, well, they don’t come around since the Saviors put their boots on our necks.”

“Jesus explained who they were,” Daryl said, leaning on the makeshift railing. 

“Real sons of bitches,” you said. 

“You gonna lead any of yer people in the raid?” Daryl asked. 

“I ain’t goin’,” you said, taking a swig from a flask on your hip. You offered it to the archer who shook his head. In the dark of the night, Daryl looked dangerous. You could tell by the way he watched the others around your home that he was a hunter. He may have just hunted animals back before the Turn, but now he had other targets in mind. 

“Why not?” he asked. 

“I prefer to be on the defense rather than the offense,” you explained. “Especially when it comes to these assholes.”

“Sometimes you gotta do both,” Daryl said. You laughed under your breath. Daryl reminded you of your old Sergeant. He was always telling you similar things when you were in basic and then more so as you moved up the ranks. 

“You seem like a smart man, Daryl,” you said and he raised an eyebrow. “Try not to die, will ya? We need people like you.” 

“Ya just met me,” Daryl said. “How can ya tell what kind of person I am?” he asked. Your brow furrowed as you thought about his question. 

“I’ve known people like you,” you explained. “Survivors.” Daryl nodded and thought about all the survivors he had met and how they were now dead. Shane, Dale, Lori, Beth… he didn’t think it was enough to just survive anymore. Which is why he was willing to go along with the raid, kill as many Saviors as possible if it meant that his family could be safe. 

“What about you?” Daryl asked. 

“What about me?” you asked, staring out over the dark landscape. 

“You a survivor?” 

“So far,” you agreed. “I managed to tough it out this long without getting my throat torn out so I suppose that’s a start.”

“Have ya always been here?” Daryl asked, gesturing to Hilltop. 

“No, I stumbled across Jesus one day. Needed a place to go, told him I could fight and so he offered me a place to stay for the night. Then, I just never left. Figured someone should be able to keep these people safe and Jesus couldn’t do it alone.” 

“Right with his Ninja moves that look like somethin’ from a damn old action movie,” Daryl said with a snort. 

“Seen those, have you?”

“Unfortunately,” Daryl sighed. 

“He’s a good guy. Knew that the moment I met him.” 

“So, yer good at readin’ people, are ya?” Daryl asked and you nodded. 

“I am,” you admitted. 

“And what’s yer opinion on me?” he asked. You were quiet for a moment and then decided on telling the truth. 

“I don’t trust you, any of you. At least, not yet,” you admitted. Daryl seemed happy with that answer and then gestured to the flask. You handed it to him and he took a pull. 

“Good,” he said, staring off into the night. 

“Though,” you said, “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.” 

“Don’t count on it,” he said with a scoff. Smiling at him, you took another pull of your drink, relishing in the subtle burn. 

“I never do.”

TAGS:  @thanossexual​ @felicisimor​ @yes-sir-hotchner​

[texastheband]

Crowd Pleaser

Interview by Nigel Farndale, Photography by Ellen Nolan Taken from The Sunday Telegraph - July 31, 2005

Sharleen Spiteri used to be a shy boyish hairdresser who got called 'son' a lot. But then she grew up into a famous, flirty pop star who knows 'how to be a woman' and regularly gets proposed to on stage. What went right? By Nigel Farndale In a noisy London bar Sharleen Spiteri is hearing voices. 'Sorry' she says, distractedly turning round in her seat. 'I keep hearing someone say, "That's Sharleen from Texas."' That must be the curse of being a public figure in a public place, I suggest. 'No, it's the curse of my bloody hearing. I can separate sounds really well. Too well. In the studio I have to listen to a mix from about three rooms away. My nickname within the band is Radar.' This seems quite brave of her band. Radar was the nerdy one with the glasses in M*A*S*H. Spiteri has a reputation for being a loud, feisty, broken-nosed, leather-jacketed Glaswegian. I'm surprised they dare call her anything other than 'boss', or possibly, given that she also describes herself as looking androgynous, 'sir' Today she is not wearing the black leather jacket, but black jeans are in evidence, and a black top, and these complement the 'Sharleen Spiteri look': dark, blunt-cut hair that she has to flick constantly from her dark, sultry eyes. But that is not to say she looks intimidating, or is lacking in warmth. She has big, puffy lips for one thing, and she is wont to chew on these coquettishly. And she is chatty. Very, very chatty. 'I can be a bit of chatterbox,' she warns redundantly. 'It was a habit I picked up as a hairdresser.' That was when she was 17. It was meant to be a temporary job before taking up a place at the Glasgow School of Art, but she found she enjoyed it and would have liked to keep it up had she not, on a whim, auditioned for a new band being formed by Johnny McElhone, a guitarist with Altered Images. The five members of the band - all the rest are men - decided to call themselves Texas, after the Wim Wenders film Paris, Texas. Spiteri and McElhone wrote 'I Don't Want a Lover', a bluesy number featuring a Ry Cooder-style slide guitar, and it went straight to the top of the charts. This was unexpected, so much so that Spiteri hadn't even given up her £2-an-hour hairdressing job. Their success looked shortlived though, as two follow-up albums flopped, but then, nearly a decade later, in 1997, came the album White on Blonde, a mix of dance, rock and soul which produced one hit after another: 'Say What You Want', 'Black-Eyed Boy', 'Halo', etc. Now, at 37, Sharleen is a regular on rich lists and Texas have sold some 20 million albums worldwide. 'My band is very aware I am the front person,' she says, talking rapidly in her Scottish burr. 'They knew that when they joined. I told them, "The attention will come to me and you won’t seem as important, so just accept that and don't feel paranoid about it." Bands break up when egos come into it.' Spiteri and McElhone still write all the songs - they have a new single out this month - and such has been the closeness of their partnership for the past 20 years, you have to wonder whether their actual partners feel jealous. Spiteri has been living in Primrose Hill with her boyfriend Ashley Heath, a fashion journalist, for the past decade. They have a three-year-old daughter called - and, remember, we're talking about pop stars here - Misty Kyd. So: does Ashley get jealous? 'I wouldn’t think so, but that is a question I can’t answer. I spend a lot of time with Johnny and as well as working together, we are best mates. But Johnny's wife is also one of my best mates. And Ashley sees a side of me that Johnny never sees, especially as we have a child together.' Even so, it must be odd for Ashley to see men holding up placards at Texas concerts, as they do, declaring their love for Spiteri and even proposing marriage. Doesn’t that bother him? 'You're probably better asking my dad that question!' Her father works for her; he is in charge of the lighting when Texas is on tour. When Spiteri was growing up, though, he was a captain in the Merchant Navy. 'He did three months on, one off. It seemed normal at the time. We were quite chuffed about his job. It seemed glamorous. I remember the massive walk-in fridges they had on his ships. My dad was cool. He smoked weed and shit, and was a bit of a hippy.' He could be a disciplinarian, though. 'I had to be home by nine during the summer holidays and one night I was late so I ran through the park and went straight into a tree and broke my nose. I got home with my nose bleeding and my dad just said, "You're six minutes late and you're in for a week." I wasn’t even allowed out in to the garden.' That's called imprisonment, I point out. 'Yeah, but it taught me a bloody lesson.' Has wealth and fame changed her relationship with her parents? 'No. I was always close to them and I still am. I'll take my mum out to dinner with my girlfriends and we'll have a giggle and a laugh.' Are these the starry girlfriends one reads about in the society pages? The Madonnas, the Stellas, the Gwyneths? 'Nooo. My best friends are Gilleen and Raggy. They are ma girls. They are like ma backbone. We're the three witches. We look after each other.' Does she divide her friends into celebrities and non- celebrities? 'No, no, no. Not at all.' But surely celebrities find it easier to relate to each other because their circumstances are mutually abnormal, that is why they tend to flock together? 'I don’t think of it like that. I've met these people through work, as it were, and being in a place they would be. Just because you are both famous, it doesn't mean you are going to get on. Trust me I've met a lot of famous people I don't like. Really don’t like.' And the ones she does like, how easy is it to go from superficial encounters at starry events to deep friendships? 'I met Stella [McCartney] first, many years ago when her dad was doing a TV special and I was invited to sing on it. We just clicked and drifted into friendship. She invited me to one of her shows in Paris. I invited her to one of my shows. I thought she was cool, she thought I was cool. We got on well together as two women. It wasn't at all starry.' And Madonna? That friendship, I gather, wasn’t even a matter of them bumping into each other. Madonna summoned Spiteri for an audience. 'Madonna just rang up and said, "Do you want to come to dinner?" and it was either a yes or a no and I said, "Yes." That's just an easier way for her to meet people she thinks she might want to meet, because there is always such a fuss around her when she is in a public place, What can I say? I enjoy her company, her conversation. She's lovely.' She has some glamorous male friends, too: Tom Ford, Ewan McGregor and Thierry Henry among them. The last-named announced the birth of her daughter to the world by scoring a goal for Arsenal, then lifting his shirt to reveal the words, FOR THE NEWBORN KYD. Has parenthood had an impact on her social life? 'To an extent. You have to think about babysitters. I'm always thinking, "Oo, it's 11 o'clock. I’d better get to bed because I'm up in the morning at seven with Misty"'. Spiteri rummages around in her shoulder bag and produces a photograph of her Aryan looking daughter. 'My mother is German and her blonde hair and blue eyes have jumped a generation to Misty. My grandmother's French, my grandfather's Italian, so I'm a bit of a mongrel.' Children of the rich and famous have a habit of growing up dysfunctional, does that worry her? 'Look, I know Misty's going to grow up very lucky. She's already got privileges. She went to bloody Live 8, for God's sake. At three years old! But I think about how Stella grew up to be so normal despite having such a famous father and I don't worry. For me, more than anything, I hate bad manners. I just want Misty to have good bloody manners and to understand what it means not to have everything you want.' The McCartneys sent their children to state schools in order not to spoil them; will Spiteri do the same? 'No. It's partly because I think it will be easier for Misty not to become the centre of attention if there are other children at the school whose parents are pop stars. It will probably help that Misty has the surname Heath.' Does Spiteri think she might change her name to Heath at some point, too? 'I don't know. Marriage is not a big issue in my life. It's neither here nor there for me. It's not for feminist reasons. I don't want to be "the future woman" or anything. I just don't care enough about all that.' She may not be the woman of the future, but does she think of herself as 'a working mother'? 'I'm completely hands on. At night I'm normally the one who puts Misty to bed. But I do have a nanny. I wouldn't want to have Misty hanging around the studios.' Does she feel guilt as a mother going out to work? 'No, but I cry more easily than I used to. You become more emotional. But I don't feel guilty, because I know Misty is well looked after. If she wasn't happy, I'd give this up in a second. In fact, I keep thinking that's what I might do anyway: run off to the country and breed chickens. And I would love Misty to have a brother and a sister.' As we talk an unexpectedly pragmatic side to Spiteri emerges. She turned down modelling contacts for Calvin Klein, and even the Nicole Kidman role in Moulin Rouge, it transpires, because she didn't want to compromise her image as a serious musician. 'I thought, if I do a movie, I may be rubbish at it. I know I'm good at this, though. Music. And this is what pays my bills.' (I'm tempted to remind her of David Brent's opinion of her alternative job prospects in The Office - 'We're both good in our own fields. I'm sure Texas couldn't run and manage a successful paper merchants. I couldn't do what... well, I could do what they do, and I think they knew that, even back then - probably what spurred them on'- but think better of it.) So, she's sensible with money? 'I'm not stupid with it. I don't know what I'm worth, to be honest, but I do make sure I know what is happening with my money I don't know how much time I have left doing this and I don't want to end up middle-aged and having to sell everything.' I ask if Spiteri worries about ageing: might she consider cosmetic surgery when she is older? 'Never say never. I was supposed to have my nose fixed for medical reasons when I broke it, because the gristle has grown in the way and I sometimes find it hard to breathe. The only reason I never did was I was worried it would effect my singing voice.' Does she use her looks to manipulate people? 'Am I a flirt, you mean? Of course. You've seen the photographs of me. You've seen the videos. I know how to be a woman. I don't manipulate people with it, though. I have a look, but I'm not beautiful. I'm androgynous. I think I look better now, though, than I did when I was younger. I grew into my face. As a kid I was skinny and geeky-looking, not an attractive child. None of the boys ever fancied me. I was always the mate. It was a bit gutting.' Was there a moment when she recognised that men did fancy her, after all? 'I don't know what they do find attractive. I think I look a bit strange, to be honest. I hide under my fringe and I have a big nose and a big mouth. I know my big mouth is a good feature and I do use it. But there's no point having a nice mouth if you're not a nice person, so I try to be nice. It's complicated, attractiveness. I don't even know for sure what I find attractive in a man.' Given that she thought she was unattractive as a teenager, did she feel self-conscious standing up on stage as an 18-year-old? 'I couldn't look at the camera. I was awkward and I knew I looked like a boy. Even in Texas, at the beginning, I used to get called "son" a lot. I'd get on buses and the driver would say, "That's one-twenty, son." She's more complicated than she seems at first, this Sharleen Spiteri: a self-deprecating rock star; a bohemian friend to the stars who likes to have a quiet game of Scrabble on the tour bus after a concert; a mother who worries about her daughter's manners, and makes financial plans for the future. More confusingly, she seems to have been a painfully shy teenager who became an extrovert, first as a chatty hairdresser then as a rock star. I'm confused, I say. How does that transition work, exactly? 'Well, I was fine on stage because I just became immersed in the music and blocked everything else out. And being chatty with strangers as a hairdresser was fine because they were one-on-one relationships. But I had been very shy at school, in a group, you know. I found it difficult to communicate with a class I felt I had nothing in common with. I was interested in music and art and being a goth. The other girls were only interested in pulling boys and drinking wine down the Goldfish Bowl in Loch Loman. I look at people with complete confusion when they talk about school being the best years of your life. I hated it.' Spiteri is less vain and egotistical than I expected, and I am pleasantly surprised when she insists on paying for our drinks. Afterwards, as we walk round the corner to her record company to watch her latest video, she tells me that there are some days when the paparazzi will follow her car and take pictures of her popping to the corner shop for milk 'and I hate that. Hate it.' And even when she turns up for a formal event and there are photographers waiting outside 'the palms of my hands start sweating and I can't breath and I think, 'Why am I doing this?"' Yet in her new video her lack of self-consciousness is remarkable. Indeed, she spends most of the time writhing around provocatively. 'Oh yeah,' she says, when I point this out. 'It was an easy one to film, that. I was on my back most of the time. Like I said, I do know how to be a woman.'

Dress by Louis Vuitton. Stylist: Cheryl Konteh. Hair: Raphael Salley at Streeters. Make up: Sam Bryant at Holy Cow

Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

[minijenn]

In More Ways Than One (Commission Oneshot)

AN-Heyyoooo! Finally finished my first writing commission! And boy I really loved working on this one. It was SO much fun and honestly its a huge fluff fest. Just so you know going in, this is a Poly MK oneshot, so if that’s not you’re thing then you may not be into this. Either way, I’d like to give an anonymous thanks to the person who commissioned this! Like I said it was a delight to write. So... enjoy!

***

“Alright, everyone. I’ve gathered you all here this afternoon for a very important matter,” Ford paused, taking stock of the aptly concerned expressions his brother and the Gems were sending his way. “I have reason to believe that something… might be wrong with the children.”

A beat of silence followed at this, the gathered group exchanging brief, bewildered glances before Pearl finally cut in with a loud sigh of relief. “Oh thank goodness, I’m not the only one to think the same thing! The four of them have been acting strange for weeks now! Please tell me you three have noticed it too, haven’t you?”

“Eh, normally I’d think you and Sixer are being paranoid, as usual,” Stan remarked, crossing his arms. “But those kids have been more out there than usual lately. Heck, just the other day I saw Mabel knitting a sweater-”

“That’s hardly out of the ordinary, Stanley,” Ford noted. “Mabel knits sweaters almost constantly.”

“Yeah, but when does she ever knit a sweater like this before?” Stan held up said sweater, clearly larger than the articles Mabel usually knitted for herself, though what was by far the most peculiar thing about it was the large heart stitched onto its center, a bold ‘S + M” carefully embroidered right over it. “If this doesn’t prove who Mabel’s latest crush of the week is, then I don’t know what does.”

“Oohhhhh man…” Amethyst looked genuinely anxious as she stared at the sweater. “That’s… gonna be pretty awkward for Mabel, especially when she finds out about Steven and Connie…”

“Why?” Pearl asked, confused. “What’s going on between them?”

“Uh, isn’t it obvious, P? They’re totally nuts for each other! I didn’t wanna say anything, mostly cause I don’t really like getting into Steven’s personal biz like that, but yesterday I saw Connie give him a kiss on the cheek! The cheek, you guys! That’s like, something I thought was gonna happen forever ago, but hey, at least its happening, even if they are pretty late to the party…”

“Oh, Amethyst, don’t be absurd!” Pearl huffed, doubtful. “As… admittedly adorable of a couple as Steven and Connie would make, a-and Steven and Mabel for that matter, I’m afraid its just plain to see that he’s not interested in either of them that way,”

“Oh yeah?” Amethyst challenged. “Then who is Steven crushing on?”

“Dipper, of course,” Pearl concluded, firm in her answer.

“What?!” Amethyst, Stan, and Ford exclaimed in surprised unison.

“Oh come now, don’t tell me none of you have noticed the obvious attraction between those boys,” Pearl frowned. “The sheer devotion and dedication Steven and Dipper consistently show for each other should be proof enough alone that their feelings towards each other are more than merely platonic. But there’s even more to it than that; last week, I happened to walk in on them forming Stepper sheerly for the sake of their own enjoyment. They tried to play it off as more than that, but I could tell by the look in Stepper’s eyes that he was loving every second the two of them were together.”

“Well, if your… theory is correct, Pearl,” Ford said, clearly uncomfortable with so much discussion of a topic like romance. “Then what of Mabel and Connie?”

“Well… who’s to say they don’t feel the same way towards each other?” Pearl shrugged. “They have been spending much more time than usual as of late anyway. And there’s no denying they have, what humans typically call ‘biology’ with each other.”

“You mean ‘chemistry’?” Stan corrected, dryly.

“What? No. That doesn’t make any sense, people can’t share chemistry, most chemicals are typically dangerous to humans anyway, right?”

“Anyway,” Ford interjected. “Speaking of chemistry—or ‘biology’ or whatever you’d prefer to call it, if any of the kids shares that sort of compatible dynamic, then clearly its Dipper and Connie. As respectably intellectually minded as they both are, they’d easily make a perfect pair.”

“So what, you’re saying they belong together cause they’re both huge nerds?” Stan asked, sending his brother a critical look.

“N-no!” Ford quickly backpedaled, flustered. “I have proof; a few days ago, I saw the two of them… w-well, they were—ugh, I suppose the only way to say it as that they were ‘holding hands’ as they walked down to the house from the temple. Just the two of them. Alone.”

“Pfft, so? That doesn’t prove anything!” Amethyst scoffed.

“I-I’d say it proves quite a bit!” the author exclaimed defensively. “Its further than I ever got with a girl, after all.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve got no charm, Ford,” Stan remarked, sending his brother a playfully teasing jab. “Then again, Dipper doesn’t really make much charm either, which it’d be an easy bet that both you and Pearl are wrong about Connie or Steven bein’ into him.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then your idea of Steven and Mabel being an item is every bit as preposterous,” Pearl remarked. “They’re close, yes, but Steven and Dipper are much closer.”

“Uh, no, Steven and Connie are, duh,” Amethyst cut in.

“But that doesn’t work because Connie’s already with Mabel!” Pearl countered, hands on her hips.

“Who, might I remind you, is actually with Steven,” Stan pointed out, exasperated.

“Which is fine because Connie and Dipper are both speaking for each other anyway,” Ford noted, resolute.

“You mean they’re spoken for, poindexter,” Stan corrected once more. “Geez, you nerds don’t know anything about this whole romance thing.”

“Well, then why don’t we ask someone who does?” Pearl retorted, turning to the sole member of the group who had yet to weigh in on the matter. “Garnet, what do think about all this?”

So far, Garnet’s expression had remained largely neutral as ever as she sat apace from the others, apparently not interested in engaging in on the conversation whatsoever. But as she finally turned to Pearl to give her thoughts, she was unable to keep her reaction to their ongoing speculation in any longer. A reaction that was, at least as far as the others were concerned, the very last thing any of them could have expected.

She laughed.

In fact, she laughed so hard that she was practically hysterical, a fact that genuinely unnerved the others as they were so used to the Gem leader’s steady sense of calm. Which was why, as baffled as they all were, they quickly pressed for an explanation behind it.

“Hey! What’s so funny, shades?” Stan asked, somewhat cross.

Garnet didn’t answer right away, instead slamming her first down on the table as she laughed even harder. When she finally did regain her composure enough to respond, she was still chuckling to herself all the while. “You’re all wrong.”

“What do you mean, we’re wrong?” Ford scoffed, aptly confused.

“Yeah, what are you saying, G, that none of the kids are into each other?” Amethyst asked, not following.

“Because I find that incredibly hard to believe, all things considered,” Pearl added, shaking her head.

“No,” Garnet said, still laughing. “Its exactly the opposite, really.”

“…Ok, now I really don’t get it,” Amethyst said, exchanging a lost glance with Pearl, Stan, and Ford. “G, what are you talking about here?”

“It’s actually really simple,” Garnet smiled brightly, clearly elated over something, even if none of the others knew what that something was. “Which is why I should let them explain it for themselves.”

The Gem leader nodded over to the shack’s front door as it opened at that exact moment, all four of the kids entering in. None of them apparently knew of the company gathered in the den as they conversed casually, a conversation that, when paired with their clear body language, provided more than enough of an explanation as to exactly what was going on.

“You know, we really should think of how we’re gonna break this to everyone…” Dipper noted with something of a worried frown.

“What, you mean the whole thing about the four of us all dating each other?” Steven asked rather bluntly and blatantly. “Because I think we should—oh….”

The young Gem immediately stopped short as all four of the kids noticed they had a captive audience in the den listening in. As if plainly stating it wasn’t enough, their relatively new interconnected relationships were all but proven by just how closely they all lingered to each other. Mabel was holding hands with Steven’s, his free arm resting on Connie’s shoulder while his fingers were interlaced with Dipper’s, who also had an arm wrapped around Connie as she did the same for him. Their expressions were awash in the same sort of mutual surprise that the adults in the room all shared, save for Mabel, who simply shrugged in blithe acceptance over being discovered like this.

“Welp, I guess this is one way to tell ‘em, huh?” she said, grinning over to her brother and her partners.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Pearl cut in before any of the others could, getting up from her seat to approach the kids. “You four are actually…?”

“Um… yeah, we sort of are…” Connie admitted, shifting nervously a bit. Even so, both Steven and Dipper quietly steadied her, their respective grips on her tightening protectively ever so slightly.

“And this has been going on for…?” Ford trailed off, aptly curious.

“A few weeks, at least,” Steven replied, unable to hold back a fond smile as he glanced over at Mabel, Connie, and Dipper. “Though I guess we always kinda felt this way deep down…”

“Ok, am I the only one who has about a billion questions about… all of this?” Stan said, generally gesturing to all four of the kids.

“Yeah, we… kinda figured you guys would,” Dipper remarked with a plaintiff shrug. “Which is sorta why we decided to not tell any of you about it until we figured out the best way to.”

“But now it looks like we don’t have a choice!” Mabel quipped, clearly more excited that they had been found out than the others. “So… fire away! Who’s up first with question number one!?”

“Uh, I guess I am?” Amethyst raised her hand. “What I wanna know is just how the hey all this happened? What made you guys decide you wanted to, ya know, make it official?”

“Actually, its kind of a crazy story,” Connie said with a somewhat forced laugh. “We all kind of realized our, uh, feelings for each other at different times and in different ways…”

***

Connie sighed contently, basking in the warm sun reflecting off the lake as Steven finished off the last few notes of a peaceful ukulele tune beside her. Rare was the moment shared between just the two of them, but she was grateful for this moment all the same. Especially one as blissfully sweet and calm as this.

Even so, she did sit up a bit when the young Gem’s simple song came to an end. “That’s a new one,” she noted with a smile. “Did you write it yourself?”

“Heh, yeah…” Steven glanced away, somewhat bashful. “It’s just… something special I’ve been working on for awhile now for, uh… for someone.”

“Oh?” Connie asked, intrigued. “For who?”

“Oh, uh, y-you know,” the young Gem shrugged. He hardly ever got this flustered but it was clear that was the case now, much to Connie’s growing confusion.

“Um, no, I don’t know,” she chuckled. “You haven’t told me that part yet, Steven.”

“Oh, right…” Steven laughed as well, albeit a bit forced. “Uh, a-actually, Connie, I…  I wrote that song for��� I-I mean, I wrote it as… k-kind of… a love song, I… I guess.”

“A love song?” Connie raised an eyebrow at this, not sure of what to make of it. Though for some reason, unknown worry and excitement rushed through her all at the same time. “W-well, who’s the lucky, uh, girl?”

Steven hesitated, deeply blushing as he glanced away from her with an anxious, yet elated smile. Connie jolted in surprise as she felt his hand lightly skim over hers. Time seemed to stop as he leaned in closer to her until, both very suddenly and incredibly slowly, their lips met at the exact same time. The kiss only lasted for the briefest of moments before they both parted out of nerves alone. Even so, neither of them could back out of it without wearing the largest of smiles over the line they had finally, finally crossed.

“T-think you can take a guess?” Steven asked quietly, leaning his head against Connie’s slightly.

“Yeah…” Connie’s smile deepened as she stole another kiss from him, this time on the cheek, though it was no less sweet and satisfying then their first. “I think I can.”

***

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for Dipper and Connie to practice their sword fighting together outside of their weekly lessons with Pearl. The two would often head out to an open, yet private clearing in the woods, to go head to head against each other in friendly spars to sharpen their skills. Though lately, their training sessions had shifted focus somewhat. They would spend about an hour or so clashing their blades, though they’d pass even more of their time together simply sitting within the peace of the forest engaged in deep, but pleasant conversation. Today however, they had agreed to focus their efforts on their training, their swords clanging in a constant rhythm as they did their best to outmaneuver each other.

“Remember what Pearl keeps telling you, Dipper!” Connie called with a playful smirk as she came in for another broad swing. “You gotta keep yourself covered!”

“Oh, I’ll keep myself covered,” Dipper taunted back just as wryly. “As long as you keep your footing steady.”

Connie noted his attempt to knock her down by sidestepping out of the path of his sword before going in for another attack. “Uh, speaking of steady….” She began a bit leadingly as their swords clanged. They kept on each other, pressing against their respective swords as their faces drew in close amidst the tension. “I was wondering…”

Dipper easily caught her drift, his cheeks suddenly lighting red in as his pressure wavered somewhat. “O-oh yeah? Wondering what?”

Connie took the opportunity as she saw it, elbowing him hard enough to send him plummeting hard to the grassy ground. Dipper flinched as her sword slammed into the ground right next to his head as she leaned down over him, smirking with both confidence and apprehension at the same exact time. “I-I was just wondering if you’d like to, uh… go there. W-with… with me?”

For a moment, the most Dipper could do was stare up at her in shock as she continued to hover over him. But then, acting on a burst of boldness that was far more than the kind he usually carried, he leaned upwards, giving her a small, short, but soft kiss on the cheek. “Of course,” he said with a joyous laugh he was powerless to contain. “Of course, I would love to.”

“And I’d love it if you did that again,” Connie grinned just as warmly.

“Well, since you won this round, how can I say no?” he complied, meeting her halfway as they came together in another kiss, equally matched in both their skill with a blade and their affection for one another.

***

“Ok, Steven, are you ready for… the lightning round?!” Mabel asked with daring grin.

“Lightning round?” the young Gem asked, intrigued. The two of them had spent the past several hours engaged in a rousing game that they had come up with all on their own. It didn’t have any official name, but the basic rules involved going back and forth on cards of personality-based questions they had come up with earlier. They were randomly selected, which of course, added another layer of fun and excitement to an already unpredictable game as it was.

“Yeah! No thinking about your answers, you just gotta blurt ‘em out as soon as you hear the question,” Mabel explained. “Are you game, Universe?”

“You bet I am!” Steven grinned enthusiastically as he drew the first question card. “Ok, you’re up first. If you could go on vacation anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Easy, Belgium, I heard their chocolate is the best, ever!” Mabel took another card to pose a question to the young Gem. “Who would win in a fight, Lonely Blade or Tiger First?”

“Tiger Fist! He’s got punches to spare! Next question, who do you have a crush on?”

“You!” Mabel gasped, realizing that she truly had answered the very question she had written without a single thought whatsoever. Which, of course, was why she immediately attempted to backpedal out of embarrassment alone. “I-I… I mean-”

“Wait… really?” Steven asked, putting his card down as he looked to her with wide eyes. “Mabel, y-you… have a crush on me?”

Though her hands were still tightly pressed against her mouth, Mabel nodded, feeling as though her heart was crashing and burning at an alarming rate. For so, so long now she had done everything she could to keep her feelings a secret from the young Gem. But now that she had voiced them aloud, however accidental, there was no taking them back.

“S-since… when?” Steven asked, still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“Since the first time we formed Maven,” Mabel admitted with a long, relenting sigh.

“That long? W-well… why haven’t you told me until now?”

“B-because!” Mabel huffed, throwing an arm over her eyes as she flopped back onto the couch. “I didn’t want it to ruin everything! I mean, you’re probably the first guy I’ve ever really really liked! All of those other boys were just dumb flings that I tried to distract myself with but you’ve always been different! Y-you’re… your special. But now that you know…”

“Now that I know,” Steven caught Mabel by surprise taking her hand and offering her a bright, reassuring smile. “I think its time you knew that… I-I think I feel the same way.”

Mabel froze, as if her entire world had been turned upside down at this news. In all the best of ways. “W-what?”

“Yeah, of course, I do!” Steven said, still beaming. “We have so much in common, and you’re always so much fun to hang out with. Not to mention you’re already one of my best friends, so who says we can’t we be more than that if we want to?”

“Y-yeah,” Mabel happily agreed, still in a state of delighted disbelief as she found herself falling into Steven’s open arms. “Who says we can’t?”

***

Due to Connie’s somewhat sheltered upbringing, she hadn’t had the chance to see too many “classic” movies, which was why Mabel had decided to make it her responsibility to introduce her to all of her favorites. They had dubbed the new tradition “Movie Mondays”, and on a rainy, dour Monday like this, staying in with warm blankets and a sweeping romantic comedy, it was a perfect way to pass the time. But what neither of the girls had been expecting was for this particular film to strike such an emotional cord with both of them.

Connie found herself tearing up as the couple on screen confronted each other in the rain, the dramatic orchestral score saying far more than mere words ever could. However, as the pair raced towards each other in a deep, loving embrace, she found herself glancing over at Mabel instead. She was, simply put, weeping, her sobs soft and deeply impacted as she burrowed her face into the collar of her sweater. For a moment, Connie watched her, dumbfounded, until, acting on impulse alone, she found her own hand slowly gripping Mabel’s beside her.

And from there, the girls’ attention turned away from the movie… and towards each other instead.

As soon as their eyes met, that was where they stayed: solely on each other and nothing else. Maybe it was the gentle pattering of rain on the shack’s roof, maybe it was the movie’s romantic music soaring to a triumphant peak, or maybe it was something else entirely. But, as if pulled by magic or magnetism or something else entirely, they came together in a kiss, soft, slow, and so, so sweet.

And when they finally parted, they were equally matched in satisfaction and confusion.

“M-Mabel…” Connie whispered, skimming her own lips with her fingertips. “Y-you… I didn’t know you were… o-or even that I was-”

“M-me either…” Mabel blushed deeply. “W-what a way to find out, huh?”

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know if I really understand. No offense, but you’ve had so many crushes before, s-so… why am I the one who… y-you know.”

“Gosh, there’s so many reasons, where do I even start?!” Mabel smiled brightly, warming Connie’s heart even more than it already was. “You’re so smart and brave and pretty and like, a million other great things! Yeah, I’ve had a lot of crushes before, but none of them have been anywhere near as amazing as you are, Connie!”

“N-no one’s… ever… I-I’ve never…” Connie stopped herself, far too overwhelmed by joy and affection to really say anything else. So instead, she decided to let her actions do the talking. She took both of Mabel’s hands this time, offering her the happiest smile she could muster before pulling her in close. Mabel reciprocated by tossing a nearby blanket over them both, shrouding them in warmth and comfort as they drew to kiss once more.

They all but missed the end of the movie, but neither of them minded. After all, they had just found a much better pastime to enjoy together instead.

***

“I’m so glad we decided to do this more often,” Stepper smiled as he settled into his fused form, reclining out on the grassy ground to watch the lofty clouds above him. “So am I, being together like this feels… so nice. Yeah… it really does…”

The fusion sighed quietly, closing his eyes to enjoy the warm peace of the afternoon. However, that peace was soon broken as both his birthmark and gemstone flashed with a single, simple thought that both of his halves happened to share with each other at the exact same time.

“I wish we could always be together…”

Stepper darted upright with a gasp, his face warm and his heart and mind both racing. And yet, somehow, despite his shock, he remained, Steven and Dipper still united by their mutual apparent affection for one another. “I-I… you really feel the same way? You really feel the same way!” As torn between dumbfounded and elated as the fusion was, he couldn’t hold back a small, tight laugh as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I-I mean…. I’ve I think I’ve been feeling it every time we fuse…” he said to himself, his lower arms holding him in a lose hug of sorts. “So have I. Its… warm, and bright, and… amazing.”

Stepper lay back in the grass once more, his upper arms returning the very same hug his lower arms were providing him. “If we really want to stay together, then why don’t we? Even when we’re apart? Wait… do you mean…? Yeah, I do…. I-is that ok?  No, its even better than ok,” He paused, practically brimming over with far too many wonderful emotions to even count, all of which sustained him, steadied him, solidified the strong bond that composed his very being.

“For the longest time I-I didn’t want to tell you about this because I had no idea what it even really was….” Stepper closed his eyes, savoring this moment for all it was worth and wishing that it would never have to end. “But now I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, exactly what this feeling is. So do i…”

His gem and birthmark shimmered once more as the fusion spoke, both halves of his whole confirming exactly what they were to each other, and all that entailed. “It’s love.”

***

“And from there, we just figured we all might as well just be together,” Connie finished off the lengthy round of romantic anecdotes. “That’s not… weird to you guys, is it?”

“B-because this really is how we feel about each other!” Dipper interjected almost defensively. “Yeah, its… sort of unconventional, but… it just… works for us.”

“And we’re loving ever second of it!” Mabel grinned, raising her and Steven’s held hands up high.

“And… we’re hoping you guys will respect that,” Steven said as he looked to the adults hopefully. “So…? What do you think?”

At first, none of them said a single word, all of them looking to the kids with rather unreadable expressions. Though at last, Pearl spoke, breaking the heavy silence. “Well… you’re not wrong about it being ‘unconventional’…”

“But who cares?” Amethyst asked, reclining back in her seat. “If it makes you dorks happy, then hey, why not go for it?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Stan agreed with a bit of a grin. “You runts are always together anyway, might as well be together together, you know?”

“Yes, I suppose there’s no harm in it,” Ford smiled with a supportive nod. “After all, the bonds between the four of you are quite admirable. Though, um… Dipper, Mabel, isn’t it a bit… odd for you two to be sharing the same significant others like this?”

“Eh, we’re getting used to it,” Dipper shrugged.

“It’s not like there’s plenty of both Steven and Connie to go around!” Mabel quipped, sending a fond smile towards the pair, which they readily returned.

“Well, as long as you kids know what you’re doing,” Pearl concluded. “We wouldn’t any want you to get hurt if… if things go wrong.”

“I don’t think that’s something they’ll have to worry about,” Garnet said, offering the kids a profoundly proud smile. “After all, when love is as strong as the kind they have for each other, it always finds a way to survive. I know that from experience.”

The Gem leader lowered her shades, winking her third eye at the kids, filling them with all of the mutual hope they could have needed that their newfound interconnected relationships with each other were destined to last. Now that everything was out in the open, a bit more casual conversation over said relationships continued, though the support towards them on all sides was quite clear. With their worries of rejection and disapproval cleared away, the kids were able to slip away from the impromptu meeting feeling a shared sense of happiness and relief, one that wasn’t bound to fade away too quickly.

“Well, that went way better than I ever thought it would,” Dipper noted as the four of them lay down together on the attic floor later on.

“Yeah, it did….” Steven smiled. “See, I told you guys that it would all be ok when we told them!”

“Heh, you did have a point,” Connie smirked as she stole a small kiss on the cheek from him.

“So…” Mabel chimed in with daring grin. “When do you think we should tell them that we’re all dating Pacifica too?”

“Uh… maybe let’s save that bombshell for after the dust from this one settles,” Dipper said, somewhat apprehensive.

“Still, for now, everyone finally knowing about us is… really nice,” Steven sighed contentedly, feeling Dipper and Connie’s respective grips on his hands tighten as Mabel sent him a flirtatious wink. It was as though the sheer amount of love and devotion shared between all four of them (technically five of them) couldn’t be contained. And for Steven, Mabel, Dipper, and Connie alike, that was just fine. “In more ways than one…”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @everchanginginks!

AN: My very first Sterek fic and my first published proper fanfic in like four years! Very exciting. This is a Sterek Secret Santa 2k18 gift for the incomparable everchanginginks, so I hope I have done everything she could ever want in this.

Within: Fluff, There Was Only One Bed, friends to lovers, and magic!Stiles, which is 4/5 of the prompts I was given! If I had 10k to work with I could have encompassed the fifth of enemies to lovers, but we do what we can. I'm already WELL OVER the 5k limit I am so sorry SSS it just happened like that orz

Read on AO3

******

Wędrowiec

Hey -SS

Hey -SS

Hey -SS

What -DH

What’s your address. The loft. -SS

Why do you need it -DH

Well I can’t just ask the postal service “hey what zip code are Derek Hale’s eyebrows” -SS

I mean I could but it wouldn’t get me anywhere -SS

Why do you need it -DH

I’m going to be in Michigan for Christmas so I can’t be there on the 25th to give you your present so I wanted to send it to you, if you must know -SS

You don’t have to get me anything -DH

Well you embarrassed me by getting me a way-too-nice present last year so yeah I actually kind of do. We have spending limits for a reason!!!!!!!!!!!!! -SS

That wasn’t a Christmas gift, and your laptop was nearing meltdown. We need you technologically capable to keep the packs safe and up to date. It was a necessity. It just happened to be around Christmas -DH

My Christmas gift was within the spending limits. That was the laptop case. -DH

Why are you going to Michigan? -DH

My mom’s family wants to see us again, apparently they’ve gotten over the spat happened between my uncles and my dad and they want us all together -SS

Really I think it’s because they figure it’s my grandfather’s last Christmas so they want us to pretend that everything’s fine for his sake -SS

I’m sorry to hear that -DH

Oh I don’t really give a fuck it’s just free food and free gossip about my cousins as far as I’m concerned -SS

I’ll just be bored to tears because they don’t have any fuckin technology. Just a frozen ass lake and a frozen ass town in a frozen ass state. How do they survive in a house with NO WIFI?!??!?!! -SS

Guess you’ll just have to die, then -DH

The typing indicator went up for a few seconds before a full half a minute’s pause, then Derek’s ringtone played as Stiles was now calling him. It was Derek’s preferred method of communication anyway, tone was completely lacking over text and he kind of needed some sort of cue to figure out what people meant.

“That was a fffucking meme you’re so full of shit when you pretend not to know what I’m talking about!!!” Stiles was trying to sound some form of mad, but there was way too much of a smile in his voice. “So full of shit. Fuck you.” Stiles’ verbiage towards Derek had gotten crasser and somehow even more confrontational since he’d gone off to college, but paradoxically more affectionate.

“Mhmm.” Derek didn’t give him much to go off of, but figured that Stiles had something else to talk about with him rather than just to whine about his alleged meme knowledge. Honestly, he’d just heard Isaac say it once and it garnered a positive reaction from others, so he filed it away for later use.

That wasn’t exactly what Stiles was hoping for, but he wasn’t going to let something as trivial as Derek’s resistance to banter stop him from talking. “So what are your plans for Christmas?” He still hadn’t gotten that address out of him, but if Derek had plans to be somewhere, he wanted to find out what.

“Nothing.”

Stiles stopped in his pace around his room, “Wait, nothing? What about Cora ‘n Erica ‘n Boyd ‘n Isaac ‘n Scott?” he listed off the people Derek was close enough to be around without too much annoyance in either direction.

“Cora’s down in Peru with her old pack, she’s pretty excited for their plans there, and it didn’t come with an invite, I figured I’d let her be. It’s…” He trailed off, grateful that Stiles held his tongue so he could find his words. “We’re siblings, but those six years of thinking the other dead and her pack being hundreds of miles away, we’re just not that close. I’ll call her on Christmas and I’ve sent her a couple things, it’s enough. Boyd and Erica are visiting Boyd’s grandmother in South Carolina, since his mom got a nice Christmas bonus in her paycheck.”

“Christmas bonus, huh.” Stiles’ tone was completely not buying the story.

“Christmas bonus.” Derek reaffirmed, not addressing Stiles’ suspicions in the least. It’s not that he was wrong, but Boyd was the hardest to convince to accept his financial support, so he had to resort to more sneaky measures to help him out. “And Scott and Isaac are with Ms. McCall.”

“Which also didn’t come with an invite.” Stiles filled the blank for him. It prickled at him that everyone just forgot Derek, even the ones staying in the area. “Hell, man, if I knew you got fucked over like that I’d have stayed, screw the free food ‘n everything, but we already said we’d go. I could have made you watch all of the Christmas movies that you missed out on living under a rock. And my famous hot chocolate.”

“Your famous hot chocolate, which is powdered hot chocolate mix made with whole milk, a Lindt truffle at the bottom, and a half a can of whipped cream?”

Stiles glared at the phone like the screen had personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entirety of the Power Rangers all in one sentence. “Who told you.”

Derek was smiling despite the topic being how alone he was on the holiday. “Lydia warned me of the sugarbomb.”

“Traitor.” Stiles had an idea in his head. “Hey…..I’m gonna be bored as hell over in Michigan, and it won’t be much fun without technology, you wanna come with? You can convince them that I actually have friends and you won’t be listening to the pipes clanging in that loft all by yourself.”

“I couldn’t impose on-“

“Fuck that, they’re my family and they barely like me anyway, they’ll love you and that way I’ll at least have someone I can talk to aside from my dad, who’ll probably be bickering with my uncles, and my grandfather, who mostly speaks Polish and is about as social as a wombat.”

Derek squinted at the simile. He had to ask, even if it was stupid. “How social are wombats, exactly?”

“Hell if I know.”

Derek thought for a moment. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to at least have somewhere to go instead of staring at empty walls. “Check with them if they’re alright with you bringing someone you want to kill half the time, and if they say yes, I’ll pay my way and get a hotel.”

“No, no no, you’re staying in the house. They have a pretty big house, they got it decades and decades ago and it’s right on the lake, it’s really nice. I haven’t been there since I was…” Stiles counted on his fingers for a few seconds before giving up and ballparking it. “…Like twelve but yeah. I’ll tell ‘em I’m bringing a friend, I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. Should be grateful my fine ass will even be showing up at all.”

Derek rolled his eyes only part of the way. “See what they say, but don’t push. I won’t die if I’m on my own for Christmas.”

“Yeah but I might if I’m bored for too long out there.”

“I guess harassing me is entertainment.” He could concede that as Stiles’ motivation, it was easier than accepting a invitation offered out of guilt to bother his family by intruding on their Christmas

“Ever since I trespassed on your property, it’s been my favorite pastime.”

“Talk to you later, Stiles.” Derek wanted the conversation over before Stiles got too wrapped up in the parley and didn’t start asking, which was a basic courtesy before bringing someone they didn’t even know all the way there to stay in their house and eat their food and intrude on their family Christmas. He didn’t have high hopes, but even just the offer was enough to make him feel a little less alone.

*~*

Stiles was still blinking in shock at being awake at the ungodly hour that he was awake at, sitting in San Francisco Airport, when his father put a coffee in his hand. John was making something that was as close to small talk as Derek could get as they waited for the plane at the gate. How the both of them could stand to be so conscious before 7am was beyond him. How dare they. Didn’t they know that 5:55 am was a fake time of day and that being awoken at 3 in the morning was tantamount to a Geneva convention violation?!?

“Nhghhhgngh.” Stiles mumbled in response, shaking hands lifting the cup to his face and putting all of his faith in muscle memory to navigate the rest of it. It worked well enough, liquid went down the right tube and not down his shirt.

“C’mon, get that down so you can cram Dramamine in your face and when you wake up we’ll be in O’Hare.” John’s tone of voice was surprisingly warm and sincere despite a sentence which could easily be condescending. Maybe it was the whole Christmas spirit getting through to him, or maybe it was that Stiles was way too groggy to backsass him at this hour of the day and he was enjoying it as much as he could.

They got Stiles upright enough to get him on the plane and negotiated seating, Derek wanted on the aisle for easy escape from a compacted tube full of a ton of people and noise and smells and recycled air, which John couldn’t fault him for, and given that Stiles was going to be unconscious shortly, it was better he was on the window, so Stiles was next to Derek on the two seat side and John across the aisle from them.

Derek figured Stiles would just curl up on the window and fall asleep and he could read on his tablet in peace, so it was a mild surprise that Stiles, buckled in and half gone already, leaned on his shoulder and nuzzled in, breathing steadied and as comfortable as anything.

John leaned over to check on his son, and though wildly perplexed, he leaned back and decided that as long as Derek wasn’t strangling his kid for touching him, it was fine by him.

*~*

The arrival to Gerald Ford Airport in Michigan was, to say the least, a wakeup call for the youngest of the trio’d travelers.

“Jesus fucking Christ, oh my god, why is it so cold?” He asked as the pilot announced that the temperature in Grand Rapids was a balmy twenty-five with flurries all day. Barbaric.

“Stiles, you know it’s gonna be like, ten degrees and windstorms in Michigan the whole week, right?” Derek’s eyebrow rose at the double hoodies and vest Stiles was sporting, that Stiles had not taken out anything warmer from his luggage. That wouldn’t be nearly enough for wind straight from Canada’s frozen wastelands. Derek had done his research into where he’d be heading before packing his luggage, you know, like an adult.

“This is what I got!” Stiles shrugged, a California native that did his schooling in D.C. and Virginia, where neither place got REAL snow on the regular.

“Well, as it turns out, I expected as much.” Derek pulled out his carry-on duffle and extracted three coats, one light brown, one navy, and one black. He handed the brown to John in the middle of their row, and the navy across to Stiles. “Figured you guys wouldn’t have remembered how cold it gets in real northern places.” He said as he shrugged the black coat on himself, a slave to aesthetics.

“Hell, Derek, you didn’t have to…“ John did have a halfway warm enough coat, it wasn’t- oh, it was actually pretty nice. “How much was this?” He’d be really weirded out if Derek was dropping stacks on him and his son, he was already confused at the gift of a laptop the previous year, it’s not like he couldn’t afford a laptop for his son. He couldn’t have afforded the one Derek got him, but he didn’t want to be upstaged in taking care of Stiles. The other kids could take advantage of Derek’s money all they wanted, but the Stilinskis had pride. They didn’t accept charity from rich boy werewolves.

“Not nearly enough for either of you to worry about it.” Derek said, sliding his sunglasses on and leaning back, not interested in carrying on the conversation any longer.

John, unable to turn down the gift but weirded out by Derek both anticipating this need at all, actually going to the trouble to getting these, and sacrificing space in his carry on to bring them on the plane all for this specific scene along with buying him gifts, pulled it on all the same. What a fucking drama queen. “Thanks, Derek.”

Stiles had rolled his eyes at yet another extravagant present from Derek that was way too much to accept but he was trapped by it, since he did desperately need it and couldn’t say no. Well, he’d saved Derek from being the saddest bastard in all of California on Christmas, so maybe this was recompense. “It’s not like I can’t warm myself up.” He grumbled. Heat spells were elementary on the roster of the things any spark worth his salt would know. And Stiles was the saltiest of all.

“Yeah, Stiles, go ahead and slightly set yourself on fire through the whole week.” Derek’s deadpan delivery could easily be mistaken for sincerity, which did well enough to disguise the fact that he was actually really impressed that Stiles had been getting far enough with his magic to do some interesting and sometimes even useful things. “You’ll be our Yule Log. Very seasonal self-immolation.”

John expected Stiles to look pissed at that level of smack-talk, but Stiles looked oddly gratified by the response, like getting Derek to make fun of him was his goal all along.

“Such a good alpha provider, takes such good care of us. Thaaaank you Dereeeek.”

There might have been just a twitch of a smile at the corner of Derek’s mouth, but it could have just been a trick of the lights as cabin prepared for landing.

*~*

Stiles was giving Derek a rundown of the family members he’d have to keep straight while there, cousins and uncles and aunts and people that were peripheral to the family but close enough to be considered part of the group, the bits and pieces of them that he’d pulled together. He hadn’t seen them in a decade, so much of what he knew was informed by Facebook posts and a few Instagram bits that let him know who was who and look at least a little less like he didn’t remember jack shit about his cousins. Which he did, just they were also around 8-14 so it’s been a while, alright? Some of ‘em had gone to college, some of ‘em got jobs, hell, one of ‘em was married with a kid. Wild.

“Shortlist of the important family to know: Nelia, grandpa’s wife. My grandmother died a few years after my mom, but Nelia’s a pretty nice woman, she’s got a really thick accent so if you don’t understand what she’s saying you can ask one of us to translate, we all speak Polish to some degree.”

“I don’t.” John added, at the driver’s seat of the rented car. Derek would rent a car in town, they figured that arriving together would be easier, and then no one was alone for the ride from the airport to the family house.

“Well, Dad doesn’t, but there you go, you and him can be awkward together when we talk shit about you guys, it’ll be great.” Stiles was in the passenger seat, texting people at lightning speed about how this was going to be the most hilarious week of his life and it was all because Derek was going to have to be exposed to a TRADITIONAL FAMILY CHRISTMAS. Did you pack Benadryl? -ER

Why? -SS

For when he breaks out in hives from people expressing genuine emotion around him -ER

“Then there’s Grandpa, I call him the Polish term for it, Dziadek, you’re probably best off with Mr. Gajos. I think I’ve heard a grand total of ten words out of him my whole life, so you don’t have to worry much about him.”

Derek’s eyes were fixed on something in the distance, and casually added, “He’s who you’re named after, right?”

Stiles went stiff and turned around to look at Derek. “Who told you.” Much less humorous than the previous inquisition about the hot chocolate, he seemed properly displeased about it.

Derek only mildly smiled and made no other answer. Stiles made an aggravated noise but wasn’t going to try and interrogate Derek. He continued his familial explanation but sounded much more irritated at everyone in it. “Then there are my cousins, there are a bunch and some new ones I’ve never met, but you pretty much only have to know Nika, who’s two years older than me. She’s the only one that sort of kept in touch and therefore the only one I care about. The uncles are …well you don’t care, and I bet they won’t mess with you much. Now, the whole drama with them, Dad, if you wanna take the lead on explaining why we haven’t talked to ‘em in over a decade.”

John gave Stiles a meaningful glance, but didn’t explain it. “Well, after Claudia died, I had a hard time of it for a while. They thought that I should have handled her, and Stiles, differently than I did.” Derek realized the glance was begging Stiles not to ask John to air his most closely guarded shames right in front of Derek, who signed up for a little getaway and not to hear all their most private secrets.

“They were firm believers that ADHD was cured by beatings and were annoyed that I was a bit of a holy terror.” Stiles translated.

John grimaced a little. “They wanted to take Stiles in, raise him properly. I admit I wasn’t perfect. They weren’t right to say it, but I understand why they did.”

Derek could connect the dots laid out before him. They saw John as a useless drunk and Stiles as a neglected brat and thought they could do better. “So now you’re talking again?” He asked, desperate to save John from further agonies.

“Enough that they didn’t threaten to play family politics chess and try to make Stiles’ grandparents chose which children they liked better this year.”

“We did alright on our own.” Stiles declared with a defiant smile, clearly not about to entertain the notion of understanding their position whatsoever.

It was hard for Derek to wrap his head around a family fracturing so easily like that, Hale lines ran so deep that even someone as gone as Peter could find his way back in Derek’s heart if he worked for it. To cut someone off so cleanly on either side was alien to him. But it wasn’t his family, and frankly none of his business anyway.

*~*

They stood outside of a surprisingly expansive house on the edge of Silver Lake on the western side of the Michigan mitten, the gray sky above their heads threatening to dump yet more snow on them as they waited for someone to reach the door. Derek could hear a collection of heartbeats and voices within. Two of them old, one arrhythmic. A couple more adults, a few younger voices, a decent family gathering. There was apple, rum, cinnamon, nutmeg in the air, someone made mulled cider. It was only the 22nd, this was just a small contingent perhaps, or at least not held to the same importance as Christmas Eve.

The door opened, and a short, stout woman with steel curls and a smile that felt like home stood in the doorway to welcome them. “Mieczyslaaaw!“ She reached forward and pulled him down to kiss both of his cheeks and hug him tightly. She hadn’t seen him since they all attended the funeral of their grandmother. As a longtime family friend in the area, it was an easy transition for the family to absorb Nelia in the fold. “Oh, my sweet child. Look at you, how you’ve grown. My love.” She ushered him inside to embrace John as well, but paused a little in surprise when she saw Derek. “Nelia, this is my friend Derek.” Stiles said, looking almost proud to bring home such a fine friend to his step-grandmother. Almost as if he was proving to everyone that he wasn’t a complete social pariah, that he had people who liked him enough to come all the way out to Michigan with him. Nelia looked surprised at the man before her, but to her credit recovered quickly, holding a hand out for him to shake. “So nice to meet you, Derek. Please, come in.” For all of Stiles’ warning of an accent, it really wasn’t that bad. Clearly not her first language, but perfectly understandable. Though Derek had taught himself Polish when you are very rich you have a fair bit of time on your hands, he knew that he could only tell Stiles that he could speak it once, and he was saving that card for later. Unless Nelia was struggling on something, he’d keep his fluency to himself. She pulled him in with a hand on his shoulder as well, closing the door to the cold.

The house was warm and alive, a strong furnace and people comfortable staying there. Derek was able to pick up on more than the others and could hear a side conversation between two men.

“Your other grandson and John are here.” An adult man, a husky voice, probably a smoker, speaking quietly in a distant room. There were footsteps coming towards the Stilinskis and Derek at the door, but the voice stayed put. Whoever was talking wasn’t moving a muscle to meet them.

“Good! Good. I want to see them. It’s been too long.” The responding voice was hoarse, stilted slightly, and far older. It almost reminded Derek of Vito Corleone, a man assured of his position as patriarch.Who wouldn’t have his opinion questioned.

"It’s a disgrace.”

"I have tolerated the insult of your war against them long enough. Silence.” An authoritative end to a conversation, before a creak of wheels coming toward them.

Stiles was going through family, stiff handshakes with the assorted uncles, trying to communicate through grip and direct eye contact that he knew precisely what they said about him and his dad, and that given the opportunity, he’d fight them. He then had to give hugs of varying sincerity with the cousins. The ones he knew from his childhood he could embrace with genuine emotion, the ones he’d never met was more of an uncomfortable formality, performed for the sake of appearances. Once finished, he saw his grandfather for the first time in years. It was a lance through his heart to see the once tall man reduced to a withered shadow in a wheelchair. “Hi Dziadek.” He said, bending down to put an arm around him.

“Oh, Mischief.” The older man put shaking hands around Stiles’ face. “You look so much like Claudia.”

Stiles nodded sadly as his grandfather patted his face and let him return to full height again. Mentions of his mother didn’t hurt as much as they used to, but he didn’t remember her face as much as the others did, it seemed. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see a ghost looking out like the others could.

Derek was awkwardly explaining who he was to some people there who also seemed confused, when the cousin he saw Nelia talking to earlier took his arm. “Derek, we were under the impression when Stiles said he was bringing a friend that you’d be a girlfriend.” She finally explained outright.

Derek blinked a few times and was grateful for all the years of keeping a straight face under pressure to now not give any sign of a reaction. He put his thoughts into a response after a moment’s recovery. “That does explain why Nelia was confused. I’m just a friend who didn’t have plans for Christmas and Stiles offered. If it’s a problem at all I could absolutely stay some-“

“Oh, no, staying here is fine.” The girl saved him from talking. “I’m Nika, by the way.” She fixed him with an odd look that he’d seen sometimes in Stiles, a sort of curious, searching look that a raptor might give while wondering if something was prey or a toy. “Just that originally, when you were a girlfriend, you’d have been staying in my room and Stiles was with my brother. But that’s clearly not going to be a thing. So you and my brother will be switching, so you’re with Stiles and my brother’s with me. He had to go move his stuff. You and Stiles should come up and see the room, I think we have some things to discuss.”

She was tossing around so many red flags in Derek’s head she could be a one person color guard. He didn’t know what the hell she was, but there was something very very very wrong with this whole situation. He might not have an intuitive evil detector like Stiles’ spidey sense, but he had a healthy dose of paranoia, and it was telling him that there was all kinds of trouble about to occur. Maybe she was going to ritually sacrifice them up there. Maybe this was the Polish Get Out. Wyjść. It was a little catchy.

The adults had started passing around drinks and returned to their original conversations, and Nika made some excuse about room arrangements and putting luggage up to drag Stiles away from the grandparents glad to be reunited with their prodigal grandson.

Stiles peeled away from them and caught the  Am I Going To Be Flayed Alive look in Derek’s big green stupidly pretty eyes and almost laughed. “Relax, Ice Man, you’re fine.” He clapped him on the shoulder as they went outside to get the suitcases from the car. “It’s Nika. She’s my absolute fave cousin, and if something happened to her or she meant any kind of ill will, I’d know. Trust me. She’s fine.”

Nika lead them upstairs to a small room with a full size bed, dark blue walls, no decorations but a nightstand and rug. Hadn’t been lived in for months, given the dead air in the room. “So, Stiles. How about you tell me when your spark woke, and why you brought a werewolf all the way over here.”

Stiles choked on either air or an immediate response, either way he sounded like an ostrich getting throttled. Derek wasn’t making out much better mentally, but he only raised his eyebrows.

Nika smiled as she sat on the bed. “Come on, Stiles, where’d you think you got the gift from? Aunt Claudia never used her talents much, but she was one of us.” She picked up the candle on the nightstand and blew on the wick, a flame lighting to fill the room with some warmth. “I’ve never met a werewolf before, but you were sensing shit like Legolas out there, Derek, it wasn’t too subtle, and a set of ears and or nose like that, out of Beacon Hills aka Werewolf Wonderland?”

“More like nightmareland.” Stiles snorted. “So, holy shit, like five revelations at once and I wanna come back to like….all of them, but…uh….how many of ‘em know, downstairs?!” He asked, shocking Derek by asking an actually relevant, useful question.

“The three brothers know their mother and their sister were “”””out there”””” and that you’re insane and I’m a lost cause. Dziadek knew that Babcia was a superstitious woman and that the wild comes through sometimes. Oh, sorry Derek, Dziadek and Babcia are grandfather and grandmother respectively.” Nika explained. “Babcia did small things, mostly stuff with herbs and intent, like thumping a car engine and telling it to run, or aggressively sweeping bad energy out of the house, or putting bundles above doorways to keep evil intent out. Even the mistletoe around the house was hers.” She set the candle back onto the nightstand, the fire flickering with the movement. “Werewolves are very family oriented, in general, it’s unusual to break away from the family to join another entirely alien one for a holiday like Christmas. I’m just curious.”

“He’s way too nice and let his pack totally forget about him.” Stiles wasn’t remotely afraid of being as bitter about it as Derek tried to deny that he felt.

Nika digested the statement for a moment and gave them a vague smile. “Maybe not all of them.” She got up and left the room as if that would give her the last word. Clearly, she didn’t recall from her childhood who Stiles was, as he followed her as quickly as his gazelle legs could with an indignant “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?”

*~*

Stiles had been so wrapped up in realizing that there was a whole family history of witchery that he’d completely missed out on the fact that Derek and him were actually now supposed to share a bed until it was one in the morning and he finally arrived in the room. To find Derek sitting on his suitcase reading. “Hey, thought you came up here a while ago.”

“I did, but…” Derek half winced and locked his tablet. “We only got the one bed, and..”

“Bro, you used to live in the burned-out husk of your family’s old house I am not about to buy that you’re such a snob that you can’t share a bed for a few nights.” Stiles yanked his shirt off and tossed it in the vague direction of his suitcase. “It’s just a few nights and I even have sleep pants if you wanna go all no homo on me.”

“What? No, n- that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean.” The belt careened through the air in an ark as Stiles continued the process.

Derek was going to have to talk quickly if he wanted to get out anything. “I can’t sleep next to people.”

“What? Why?” Stiles paused, button of his jeans undone.

Derek was looking at a particularly fascinating piece of lint on the ground. “Just never works out right. I didn’t want to just disappear on you, so I was waiting for you to get back before I went to find a hotel or crash on the couch.”

“No, why. I wanna know why.”

Derek contemplated crawling out of the window to escape Stiles’ eyes, which even in the low light of the room burned into his skull. “I just can’t, alright?”

“Nope. Not alright. Fess up.”

“I’m a sleep cuddler.” Derek said it so quickly and refused to look up no matter what Stiles did.

Stiles was quiet for a few odd moments while he had a face odyssey. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Derek could feel the blush on his face and was actively willing it to go away forever. “Ever since I was a kid, if there’s someone next to me I always end up wrapped around ‘em. It’s not conscious, it just happens. So.”

“Jesus tittyfuckin’ Christ, Derek I thought it was something serious. I’m not gonna die if you give me a lil hug. Don’t be so dramatic.” Stiles finally flung his jeans off and crawled under the covers, the little tone of his phone plugging in to charge playing as he settled in. “G’night, Der.” He mumbled sleepily.

Derek had no choice. If Stiles told anyone about this, they’d never find his body. Whose body would go missing was up for debate.

*~*

Derek was a filthy liar when he tried to say it didn’t work out, and he knew it. He slept better than he had in months that night. When he awoke, Stiles was playing some mobile game, and Derek was spooning him pretty hardcore, legs tangled and an arm over his stomach. He moved away the instant he came to consciousness again. “Sorry.” He mumbled, only the ghosts of vowels in the slurred word.

“Hell, if it was a problem I’d have crawled out, but uh, you don’t get too much sleep and seeing as you knocked out for a solid nine hours there, I thought it best to let you wake up on your own.” Stiles was all nonchalance, but Derek could hear something like omission from his words. It’s not that he was wrong, it was just adjacent to the truth.

“Who told you I don’t sleep?”

“The fact that you text me back about Edda translations at three in the morning on Tuesday nights tells me that you’re not sleeping much. Now c’mon, we missed the breakfast train but if we make puppy eyes at Nelia enough she’ll probably cave and feed us. Or smack us lightly and call us lazy. One of the two.”

*~*

“Stiles, your friend is so handsome, how does he not have a girlfriend?” Nelia asked, perfectly comfortable to talk all kinds of terrible things as Derek was helping fold pierogi with Nika and Stiles. “He’d make a fine husband. He should find a good wife.”

Stiles gawked for a second, and had no clue how to respond. This would in no way stop him from doing so anyway. “He’s had a difficult time for a while, he’s helping his family right now, college, supporting them.” Stiles’ Polish was pretty rusty, he hadn’t been practicing much in the last several years.

“He has children?”

“No. Not exactly. More friends that he kind of brought inside because no one was helping them right.”

“Hmm. Nika, he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Nika did not want to get dragged into this conversation. “Very, but it isn’t nice to talk about people in front of them.”

Nelia went to check on the uncles as they were all apparently having a slight discussion with John on the front lawn and was fully prepared to drag each of them back in by their ear and give them a firm education on the meaning of Christmas. This of course left the cousins and Derek all alone in the kitchen, the others of the family dispersed for their individual amusements.

“So, Stiles, are you…..and Derek….?”

Stiles blinked, sealing the dough around the potato and onion. “Are we what”

“Boyfriends.” She said it like it wasn’t kind of a bombshell of a word to utter.

“Nooo.” Flour and bits of dough scattered as he waved his hands to emphasize how NO that was. Absolutely not. Had she even seen Derek? He was so out of his league it physically and emotionally pained him. “ No. We’re just friends. Truly.”

“Okay, okay, I was just wondering. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“You were asking a little bit.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Derek’s also not gay”

“I wasn’t asking!”

“But he does have terrible….choice in women. Every time he gets a girlfriend she tries to kill us.”

That was enough of that. Derek had developed some thick skin about the litany of traumas he’d incurred and would give Stiles a little leave to talk shit about Jennifer, but that was taking it a little more casually than he’d like. “That’s a little mean, Stiles.” He said in perfect Polish.

Stiles turned so many colors that there was a risk he might burst a blood vessel. He fled before anyone could grab hold of him and make him accountable for his actions. Nika at least muttered an apology before scurrying off.

Derek wondered if his deep-seated need to be dramatic may contrasting with his desire to not be such a colossal dick to people he actually liked.

*~*

Stiles successfully avoided Derek by busying himself with everything possible for the rest of the day, but of course, after the day, must come the night, and thus the sleep. In the same bed. With the guy he brutally insulted and exposed just hours ago. Fuck.

Maybe if Derek was already asleep he could just curl up in the closet and evaporate entirely before anyone noticed he existed. Fuck. Why did this have to happen. Why did he have to open his big stupid mouth and say the stupidest thing that he’d ever uttered in his life.

He didn’t see light coming from under the door as he went, but knew that Derek would wake up if the doorknob made even the slightest sound. He rubbed his hands enough to warm the bony fingers and waved his hand slowly around the doorframe, collecting the sound from that space before snatching it all. Just long enough to open it silently.

When he saw Derek sitting up in bed with just the candle on the nightstand and his tablet in hand, Stiles had half a thought to make a run for it. But Derek had already looked up with a raised eyebrow. There was no escaping.

“How’d you do that that quietly?” Derek asked, not addressing the parade of elephants doing the merengue in the room.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake you up. So I just took the sound away from it.” Stiles answered, stepping inside and looking pointedly away from anywhere near the bed.

Derek locked his tablet and set it aside. “That’s pretty impressive.” Was all he said in reply, but it was gushing praise given who it was coming from.

Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. “Derek I am so sorry I said that, I never should have even thought it, I just-“ his words were running on top of each other and he felt like King Trashbag of the proud nation of Shitfriendia.

“Relax.”

Stiles hated being told to relax by anyone, but he had to be very nice to Derek for the rest of their concurrent lives and there was something so calm about the way Derek said it that made it less insulting. He hazarded a glance up, but Derek wasn’t wearing a shirt and even in the low light of the room he could see chest hair and he had to look away immediately or he might die.

“You have a family member who understands you on a level none of the rest of us do. She’s becoming a fast friend and you’re very comfortable with her. It wasn’t the nicest thing to say,” and it was pretty damn private, but Derek was trying to make Stiles feel better so he wouldn’t bring it up, “but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me by it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” This was probably the most adult conversation that either of them had ever engaged in, it was frankly shocking. Derek had called Boyd to help process his emotions and figure out what to say in a way that was a little more level headed than he might have done on his own.

Stiles nodded, knowing that Derek wouldn’t appreciate further self-flagellation from him and that he just would have to accept being a terrible person for the rest of his life. When he crawled into bed, he lied awake, staring at the wall across from his face and mulled it over and over. He could hear Derek’s breathing settle as he fell asleep, and an hour later a couple wiggles and there was a nose pressing against his neck and a hand over his stomach. Stiles sighed at the warm heat against him, and finally could fall asleep.

*~*

Nelia checked the codfish in the oven, monitoring the temperature carefully. “Still not ready. Mieczyslaw, could you help set the table, please?” She asked, setting some rolled napkins and a handful of forks onto the table.

It was Christmas Eve, and the whole family was sitting down soon for Wigilia, the main feast. Usually eaten before going to Midnight Mass, beginning at around eleven and finishing at midnight proper. Despite its importance, the grandparents had not gone since the grandfather had been confined to his wheelchair and their local church loved its beautiful stone steps so much. As a religious building that was remarkably old, it was exempt from the ADA act requiring public buildings to be wheelchair accessible.

They still held the meal, though Nelia and the older Mieczyslaw went to bed and the others of the family were encouraged to go and say their prayers for them. The young children were kept at home with the grandparents to watch them and make sure no one got out of their bed to try and catch Santa Claus.

Stiles was carrying various accoutrements from the fridge and counters to the table, and counted the place settings. Exactly enough for everyone, though this alerted him. “Wait, Nelia, we’re missing one. The spot for the wanderer.”

In many other cultures, an empty place setting at a family meal might be in remembrance of someone who had passed, or who could not be present at the table due to extenuating circumstances. It meant that something was missing, and some wanted to honor that with a missing place for them at the table. However, in Polish tradition at Wigilia, there is an empty place setting for an unexpected guest, or wanderer. A wędrowiec.

Nelia gave Stiles a meaningful look, one that he couldn’t decipher. He was so used to these kinds of looks being paired with massive eyebrows and kaleidoscope green eyes that trying to do it for other people was more difficult. “Think on it.” She said, slicing challah bread into a basket and wrapping the napkin over it to keep them warm.

Stiles puzzled and puzzled til his puzzler was sore, then it dawned on him. He wondered why it hadn’t before. “Derek.”

Nelia chuckled as she started slicing a loaf of challah bread. “Such a smart boy you are, Mieczyslaw.” Bringing a friend who had nowhere else to go so soon beforehand was certainly an unexpected traveler, though she didn’t know that Derek had been a wanderer for much longer than just that winter.

*~*

As John wasn’t Catholic, Stiles hadn’t even been Confirmed, and Derek didn’t want to go without Stiles, they all hung back while the others went off to the Midnight Mass. Since they knew that with kiddos younger than eight, Christmas begins absurdly early for everyone, they went to bed after seeing everyone off for the church about 20 minutes from the house.

Stiles lied awake, waiting for Derek to properly fall asleep so he’d get that heavy warm weight against him, that even though it’d only been a few nights, he found it hard to fall asleep without that. He loved the excuse they both got for it, this unconscious habit, but he hoped, he wished that Derek wasn’t regretting that he woke up with an armful of Stiles.

But he didn’t. He lay there for a few hours before getting out of bed and leaving the room. Stiles thought he was going to the bathroom or something, but after ten whole awful minutes of not having Derek next to him, he had to investigate. Checking his phone, the screen said 11:57PM. The whole gang of adults would be out at Mass for a while yet, the service had barely just started and apparently the priest loved his speechifying when the whole congregation was actually there for once during the year as his captive audience.

Stiles crept downstairs looking for his friend, finding Derek in the kitchen, watching a mug rotate in the microwave. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Derek glanced up. He’d heard Stiles coming down, but he didn’t really see the need to react beforehand. It’s not like his mom had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar or anything. “Kind of. And I wanted to set out some of the things I got for the kids who don’t have as much money as the others. Went out when you were trying to avoid me with their parents to make sure none of the kids felt left out.”

“Santa’s Lil Helper, huh?”

Derek pondered it. “A little. And it’s a Hale tradition. Or more, it’s a Derek Hale tradition, since I’m pretty much the one who spearheaded it.”

“What did your family used to do for Christmas?” They were speaking in hushed tones so as not to wake anyone up, but in the warm light of the kitchen Christmas lights, and the soft look of Derek in a beat-up tee and plaid sweatpants, he felt sentimental enough to ask.

“Christmas was always a little funny in the Hale house.” Derek admitted, stopping the microwave a moment before the chime would go off. “We didn’t do Santa Claus.”

“Did you do Santa Claws?” Stiles mimed some claws and fangs, knowing he’d earn an eyeroll at best.

Derek did not disappoint. “No, just a couple presents from Mom and Dad, and aunts and uncles would be later. They didn’t want us getting spoiled or thinking Santa loved us more because he gave us all kinds of stuff. But we didn’t open anything until at least noon.”

“Parents liked their sleep?” Stiles definitely remembered a firm ALL PRESENTS WILL BE REPLACED WITH CHORES AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS IF THIS DOOR IS OPENED BEFORE 8:00 AM rule on Christmas morning. Of course, Stiles was jumping on his bed with excitement at five in the morning, anyway.

Derek shook his head, and his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Stiles squinted, who would be calling Derek at midnight? Moreover, why was Derek actually taking the call??

He stepped outside onto the porch, little snow drifts from their actual white Christmas shuffling aside for him with his mug. Stiles saw the bag of Lindt truffles and a little chocolate powder dust on the counter- that sonuvabitch made HIS secret recipe. Wait. WHAT.

Derek stepped back in a few minutes later with half a smile on his face.

“Who was that?” Stiles had to ask.

“Cora.”

“What’d she want?”

Derek looked mildly embarrassed. “As of,” he looked at his watch, which read 12:08AM “…five minutes ago, I’m thirty years old.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped just a bit as his mind whirled. “It’s your birthday!?” he hissed, needing to aggressively shout but not able to wake the kids.

Derek almost winced. “Yeah.”

“Well….happy birthday!” Shit. Shit shit shit. HE’D KNOWN DEREK FOR EIGHT YEARS AND HE NEVER KNEW THIS WAS HIS BIRTHDAY. Stiles had to go find his King Trashbag of Shitfriendia crown again and sit on his dumpster pile.

“I don’t like people knowing. It’s an awkward day to have a birthday.” Derek sipped his cocoa, clearly uncomfortable.

Stiles didn’t know how to deal with this. “So…is that why you guys didn’t do Christmas until the afternoon?” He felt like he was playing minesweeper, except he didn’t get to see the warning numbers.

“Yeah.” He looked down into the mug, it was easier to talk about things if he didn’t have to watch the face journey of sympathy on people’s faces when he talked about his family. But he missed them on his birthday especially, and he wanted to talk about it. And out of anyone, he wanted to talk to Stiles about it. He knew, at least to some degree, the feeling of empty spaces in your memories. “My mom used to wake me up at 12:03 to tell me happy birthday and bring me in the kitchen. She’d have a present on there that was a birthday present only. From her. She was the alpha, so it was…pretty much impossible to actually ever get her alone. Always busy with the whole pack, worrying about everyone else, worrying about…” He trailed off. Christmas was always such a hectic time for everyone, so much noise and stress and busy rushing everywhere. “So it was nice, to have that little moment with just her.”

Silence fell between them for a few moments. Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself. Then he realized; his present to Derek was bizarrely perfect. “Hold on. Hold right here.” He stole up to his room and came back down with a wrapped present, the tape shoddily put on. He thrust the box out to Derek, looking way too happy with himself. “Happy birthday, big guy.”

Derek looked between Stiles and the box a few times, but took it and quietly unstuck the tape to slide the box out and open it. “You fucking dick.” He laughed as he pulled out a sweater that said “BIRTHDAY BOY” on it, with a hideous looking Jesus. A true ugly Christmas sweater, with a bday twist.

Stiles was grinning like a loon as Derek pulled the sweater on over his tee, that amused glint in Derek’s eyes where Stiles’ idiot sense of humor hit him perfectly. He picked up his mug again, and felt that it’d turned cold. “Can I get a warm-up?”

Stiles could have just poked the mug in Derek’s hands, or even just pointed at it. But Stiles wrapped his hands around it, his hands glowing a little as the liquid heated within, and Derek’s cold hand too.

Derek’s eyebrow quirked slightly. “Thanks.” He took a sip. “Can y’do whipped cream too?”

Stiles stifled a snorted laugh poorly, but didn’t step back away.

Derek set the mug back onto the table and looked at Stiles for another quiet moment, this one much less tense. Without looking up, he broke the silence with “I swear to God if there’s mistletoe up there right n-mmf!”

Stiles had closed the gap to kiss him, his hands holding Derek’s face as he nearly crushed their noses together. They eventually managed to tilt their heads properly so it was less of a frantic smush and more of a proper kiss.

When they finally broke so Stiles could breathe, Derek had a smile on his face, one that didn’t leave in half a second. “So, is there any?”

Stiles was able to stifle that stupid laugh better. “C’mon, lets get those presents out there for them. They’ll be back eventually.”

They put some Christmas movies on the TV as they sorted the presents into neat piles for each family so everyone could sit with their group. They were on the couch, writing out the tags on each one, making sure that the way all the Santas were written exactly the same and all of the names were spelled exactly correct. Stealing kisses every once in a while devolved slowly over the course of one of the Rankin and Bass animated movies to Stiles pressing Derek into the couch, making out like a couple of teenagers with the Christmas spirit in them.

John was trudging downstairs to see if Santa had left any of those shortbread cookies, but heard something odd from the family room. He was about to investigate, but heard something that sounded very distinctly like a Stiles happy noise, and decided to have a coughing fit and remind those two that they were not only not alone in this abode, but that the assorted parents and cousins would be returning soon and unless Stiles wanted to come out to the family in the most aggressive way possible, they better take it upstairs.

Derek managed to blush harder than Stiles did, but both had received the message, and put away the tags and pens before retreating to their room sheepishly. But they knew that John had probably seen this coming, and wasn’t going to judge them for it.

When they crawled into bed, Stiles didn’t have to wait to feel that arm around him, the press of heat against him, safe and warm. Derek kissed the back of his neck, and he could feel the smile against his skin.

Derek heard the family come back from the Midnight Mass downstairs, doing their best to tiptoe through and not wake up anyone.

“Ah ah ah! Mistletoe!” one of the aunts cooed, before a smack of a kiss.

“Who puts mistletoe in the middle of the kitchen.” Grumbled someone who was not getting themselves a Christmas kiss, bah humbug and all that.

The last voice was Nika. “Babcia always said there’s magic in a kitchen.”

[newstfionline]

The Secrets of Resilience

By Meg Jay, WSJ, Nov. 10, 2017

Does early hardship in life keep children from becoming successful adults? It’s an urgent question for parents and educators, who worry that children growing up in difficult circumstances will fail to reach their full potential, or worse, sink into despair and dysfunction.

Social scientists have shown that these risks are real, but they also have found a surprising pattern among those whose early lives included tough times: Many draw strength from hardship and see their struggle against it as one of the keys to their later success. A wide range of studies over the past few decades has shed light on how such people overcome life’s adversities--and how we might all cultivate resilience as well.

In 1962, the psychologist Victor Goertzel and his wife, Mildred, published a book called “Cradles of Eminence: A Provocative Study of the Childhoods of Over 400 Famous Twentieth-Century Men and Women.” They selected individuals who had had at least two biographies written about them and who had made a positive contribution to society. Their subjects ranged from Louis Armstrong, Frida Kahlo and Marie Curie to Eleanor Roosevelt, Henry Ford and John D. Rockefeller.

The Goertzels found that less than 15% of their famous men and women had been raised in supportive, untroubled homes, with another 10% in a mixed setting. Of the 400, a full 75%--some 300 individuals--had grown up in a family burdened by a severe problem: poverty, abuse, absent parents, alcoholism, serious illness or some other misfortune. “The ‘normal man,’ “ the Goertzels wrote, “is not a likely candidate for the Hall of Fame.”

If the Goertzels were to repeat their study today, they would find many more examples of women and men who rose to great heights after difficult childhoods--Oprah Winfrey, Howard Schultz, LeBron James and Sonia Sotomayor, to name just a few. Today, we often use the word “resilient” to describe such people.

But resilient people are everywhere, not just in the ranks of celebrities. They are ordinary women and men, in every walk of life, who meet the definition of resilience set forth by American Psychological Association: “adapting well in the face of adversity, trauma, tragedy, threats or significant sources of stress.”

Across nearly two decades as a clinical psychologist and an educator, I have worked with many accomplished people who grew up in difficult circumstances. One thing I have learned from them is that the way we tend to talk about resilience is too simplistic. In everyday conversation, we say that people who are resilient “bounce back” or “rebound.” The dictionary defines resilience as elasticity, that is, the ability to recover quickly and easily--to snap into shape again, like a rubber band stretched and released.

These images are fine for describing recovery from short-term problems, like the flu or a career disappointment, but they don’t capture how resilience truly works and feels. The most common childhood adversities aren’t one-time events but chronic sources of stress: bullying, neglect, physical or sexual abuse, the death of a parent or sibling, addiction or mental illness in the home, domestic violence.

Such problems are recurring threats to a child or teen’s safety and well-being. Resilient youth do not just rebound from them. What they do is much more complicated and courageous. For them, resilience is an ongoing battle, a way of approaching life, not a restorative bounce.

Physiology plays an important role. In the face of danger, our bodies respond with fight-or-flight. The brain triggers the release of stress hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol. Our heart rate increases, we become more alert and focused, and blood flows to our muscles for extra energy. When we think of the fight in fight-or-flight, we may imagine physically harming someone. But in the modern world, fighting back can take many forms.

Consider the Kauai Longitudinal Study, an ongoing project begun in 1955 by psychologists Emmy Werner and Ruth Smith, and summarized most recently in their 2001 book “Journeys From Childhood to Midlife.” The Kauai Study’s subjects are the 698 babies born on the island that year, with assessments so far at ages 1, 2, 10, 18, 32 and 40.

Of the children in the study, Drs. Werner and Smith identified 129 as being at high risk for future problems, because they faced four or more adversities at birth, ranging from poverty and family discord to alcoholism or mental illness in the home.

Two-thirds of these high-risk children went on to have difficulties of their own, such as delinquency, unplanned pregnancies and underemployment. One-third, however, fared well. At school and at work, they did as well as, or better than, their low-risk peers from more affluent, stable homes. In adulthood, they found supportive partners and built loving families that, often, differed greatly from the ones they grew up with. They became, as Drs. Werner and Smith described, “competent, confident, caring adults.” How did they do it?

They were active problem solvers who, over a period of decades, fought for better lives for themselves. Though they weren’t necessarily gifted, they used whatever strengths they had to their advantage--a particular talent, an engaging personality, a ready intelligence. They sought out friends, teachers, neighbors or relatives who cared. They made plans to better themselves and set ambitious but realistic goals for the future. In early adulthood, they seized opportunities to move forward in life, by way of higher education, the military, a new job, a supportive partner or parenthood.

When the researchers asked these resilient adults how they understood their own success in retrospect, the majority reported that their most important asset was determination.

“I am a fighter--I am determined--I will survive,” said one woman who made her way out of an abusive childhood. “I give it 100% before I give up. I will never lose hope.”

“When things have to be done, you just do it. I am not the type of person to run away--no matter how difficult the problem,” said another subject who became a bookkeeper.

And another who became aerospace engineer put it this way: “I don’t let problems take control. I just pick myself up and start all over--you can always try again.”

Other research has suggested the importance of the fighter within. In a 2010 paper in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Anke Ehlers of the University of Oxford reported on 81 adults who had formerly been held as political prisoners in East Germany. They had been subjected to mental and physical abuse, including beatings, threats and being kept in the dark. Decades after their release, about two-thirds of the former prisoners had, at some point, met criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), while about one-third of the prisoners had not.

What made some more likely to suffer from PTSD? Dr. Ehlers found that the extent to which prisoners had fought back in their own minds made a bigger difference than the severity of the abuse they had suffered. Those who felt mentally defeated--who felt like they were “nothing” or who quit caring what became of them--were more likely to report symptoms of PTSD later. By contrast, prisoners who had resisted from within--even if they appeared to have given up on the outside, by complying with guards or signing false confessions--fared better down the line.

This sort of inner defiance is, in part, how one man--an officer in the military who came to me for a consultation--told me he survived years of bullying as a child and teen: “I refused to accept what they said about me was true.”

Of course, there is enormous variability in terms of how individuals respond to adversity. Social scientists rightly argue that resilience isn’t a single quality that someone does or doesn’t have, or a single action that a person does or doesn’t take, but rather it is a phenomenon--something we can see but may never be able to neatly explain.

A minister once shared a parable with me that neatly captures this point: Two brothers are raised in a home in which the father is a violent alcoholic. One brother grows up to be a drinker and an abuser, while the other becomes an abstinent man and a model parent. When asked how they came to be who they were, both brothers gave the same answer: “Given who my father was, how could I not?”

My aim here is not to say that resilient people are winners--or that those who are suffering have allowed themselves to be defeated--but, rather, to say that overcoming childhood adversity is a phenomenal struggle indeed. It is a heroic, powerful, perilous, often decadeslong endeavor, yet one that, over time, can lead to both ordinary and extraordinary success.

Back in 1962, the Goertzels’ finding that so many prominent people had grown up with hard times may have seemed counterintuitive but, given what we now know about stress and coping, it isn’t so surprising. Coping with stress is a lot like exercise: We become stronger with practice. University of Nebraska psychologist Richard Dienstbier explains how this works with his “toughness model,” first published in 1989 in the journal Psychological Review.

Dr. Dienstbier gathered evidence from a wide range of human and animal studies demonstrating that exposure to intermittent stressors, such as cold temperatures and aerobic exercise, made individuals physiologically “tougher.” They became less overwhelmed by subsequent difficulties, and by their own fight-or-flight arousal. This makes a difference because when a stressor seems manageable, we perceive it as a challenge, and adrenaline--which boosts energy, focus and coping--is released. When a stressor seems unmanageable, however, we perceive it as a threat and our cortisol levels rise too, suppressing our immune system and making us more vulnerable to disease.

What’s more, Dr. Dienstbier wrote, toughened individuals increasingly seek out experiences that stimulate them and provide opportunities for more mastery and success. It is a virtuous circle.

Although I would hardly consider childhood adversities to be desirable difficulties, many who grow up with hardship do say they benefit in precisely this way. The military officer who was bullied in his youth--and who, besides resisting on the inside, also toughened himself up as a teen through running and judo--described the impact that early adversity had on this life this way: “I see myself as stronger and more capable than most people around me because of the treatment I lived through. I see myself as an optimist, not because I think bad things don’t or won’t happen but because I believe I can overcome whatever comes my way. I feel independent and confident. I feel tested. I feel brave.”

Poet Dylan Thomas said, “There’s only one thing that’s worse than having an unhappy childhood, and that’s having a too-happy childhood.” I don’t know if this is true, but I do know that too many women and men feel lesser somehow because of the adversities they have grown up with, imagining they would be happier or more successful people if they had enjoyed stress-free upbringings. This isn’t necessarily the case.

In a multiyear study of more than 2,000 adults aged 18 to 101, published in 2010 in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, University at Buffalo psychologist Mark Seery and colleagues found that those who had known some adversity were both higher-functioning and more satisfied with their lives than those who had experienced extremely high levels of hardship--and compared with those who had experienced no adversity at all. They also coped better with more recent problems they encountered, leading the study’s authors to conclude, in partial agreement with Nietzsche, that “in moderation, whatever does not kill us may indeed make us stronger.”

So where does that leave those of us who would like to be more resilient? It helps to take on long-form projects that feel like challenges rather than threats. Whether taking up crew or judo, studying for an advanced degree or mastering an instrument, hard things that aren’t emotional or unexpected help us practice for those that are.

And when life inevitably becomes difficult, own the fighter within. Resist defeat in your own mind by a schoolyard bully or an alcoholic parent. Fighting back on the inside is where battling back on the outside begins.

Reach out to family, friends or professionals who care. It is a myth that resilient people don’t need help. Seeking support is what resilient people do.

Engage in active coping. Most serious adversities are neither quickly nor easily solved, but taking control where we can is empowering. Make a realistic plan to improve your situation, and work toward it day by day. Progress shores us up and calms us down.

Finally, remember the ways you have been courageous and strong. Too often we remember what has gone wrong in life rather than what we did to survive and thrive. Think back on a time when you were challenged and give yourself credit for how you made it through. You may already be more resilient than you think.

[justhereforseverus]

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Chapter 4: All the World’s a Stage

Summary:

After an surprising visitor during your drama club session, you finally get to pick up your sleeping potion. And oh boy, did you get more than anticipated. The potion master is one for surprises. (Seriously I can't write summaries)

Notes:

Bit of a delay here because life and stuff but I’m very eager to continue. The perfume described here is basically Tom Ford’s “Santal Blush” which is one of my most favourite fragrances I will never be able to afford. Thanks to Taylor Swift (love you!) for bringing it into my life and making me aware of how broke I am. Regarding the whole story...frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing here. Any commentary is welcome. But now without further ado chapter 4!

However, there was my drama club session before I could dedicate myself to my hopefully peaceful potion-induced sleep. I transformed my classroom into an adequate rehearsal room with a bigger-on-the-inside costume closet, a music box, and, of course, a small stage. I also put two rows of chairs in front of it just to set the mood. This was a more sophisticated set up than my introductory session where we only discussed what we expected and what work we would choose to perform. I asked all my students to read the play before tonight, so everyone has an idea who they want to play or what function they want to take over (lightening, sound, costumes etc). Well, that worked…. More or less well. The muggle or half-born born students already knew the play or were familiarised with it through film-and cartoon adaptions. Thus they were able to suspend their disbelief enough to know what to do. The few wizards and witches without that background had more problems with it. “The language is worse than in our History of Magic book!” “Will we also have to hurt and kill ourselves on stage?” “Hamlet could’ve just taken the throne by using a spell. Why make it so complicated?” When did Hamlet live? Can’t we just ask his ghost to tell us his history?” - were just some of the questions and comments. All valid but still. After setting straight that - no, no one will have to go on a murder spree and no Hamlet’s ghost is not currently available to chat to – we tried to get into the acting by choosing one scene and act it out in groups. I also chose some third year Huffelpuff and Gryffindor students who were good  in charms to take care of setting the atmosphere by making the room a bit colder and creating some snow clouds. In the end, this is one big advantage of the wizard world. No need for bad-smelling fake blood and chemical snow. Unfortunately, I also had to ensure that only the drama club members got in. I put a spell on the door that allowed only registered students and staff to enter. This was a precaution, as I received some rather unfriendly and mocking letters in my pidgeon hole the other day. Nothing too threatening but certainly bullying in nature. I don’t want my students to be mocked publically and Dumbledore agreed to it. Though Hogwarts doesn’t seem to care too much about that when it comes to Quidditch. Here the competing teams frequently join other trainings and bully them openly. I’m not too keen on that but maybe that’s just something I don’t understand about sports.

Everyone was busy pretending to be guards in the bitter cold (with real 100% magically produced snow). I looked around and noticed someone watching us. A tall, brooding man stood in the back of the room learning towards the wall with crossed arms – Professor Severus Snape. As usual, he wore a a buttoned up jacket, some straight cut black trousers and a long, heavy cloak. He is a skinny but muscular type, at least what his way too tight jacket reveals. He clearly doesn't need to hide anything. I can only imagine that his choice to wear the heaviest and thickest clothing one can wear should accentuate his role as the teacher that can silence a hall with only a whisper. Or maybe it’s just always horribly cold in the dungeon and it's more of a practical nature. He looked at me closely with his mysterious black eyes and gaunt but elegant face. I wondered how he got in without being noticed by anyone. On the other hand, he was famous for sneaking up on students wandering around after curfew. I made my way up to him with a bit more jest and bravery than I probably should have felt. In the end I was at my safe place, my classroom and he was the intruder. Thus I said:  “Look at that. The Potion Master sneaked into my small empire of drama. I’m honoured – how can I help you, Professor?” He replied: “I thought it might be entertaining to see students pretend they’re a tree. – he looked at one group at the front who overdid the ’tis bitter cold’ scene with excessive trembling. More like they’re on a rollercoaster and not like a real person freezing –“However, I see they rather guard hallways pretending to be cooking blenders. Still it’s a treat to watch them without having to scold anyone myself.” – before I could comment on that he continued: “However, I came to tell you that your sleeping potion is ready to use. Please see me in my office after your class to pick it up.” And with that he left the room with his infamous swoosh of his long, black cloak. That man needs to learn how to end a conversation properly. Unless, he does all this on purpose.

After class, I put my stuff back to my room in the Ravenclaw tower and made my way down to the dungeon. I knocked on the door and got called inside. Before I can walk to his desk, Severus stands up, goes to one of the shelves behind him and picks up a bottle. Then he rushed to me and steps up very close, while holding a bottle with purple liquid in front of my face. This is without doubt an invasion of my personal space, but I must admit I don’t mind. His face is only inches away from mine and his eyes are hidden by the bottle in my sight. He smells like sandalwood, cinnamon and ylang ylang? I wonder what perfume he uses. While dangling the bottle teasingly in front of my face instead of handing it me directly he exclaims: “This is a bottle that will refill three times. I won’t give out sleeping potions to get addicted to. So… Make. This. Count. This is my personal recipe, so you won’t find it in a book. You wake up in 6 hours later and it induces an especially deep and regenerative sleep.” And with the last word he hands me the bottle. I take it and read the handwritten label on it with further instructions. He says while walking back to his desk: “If you need a refill. Talk to me and I’ll decide if I brew you another.” I took another closer look at the bottle and then said: “Your own personal recipe? Does that mean you sometimes need a sleeping potion, too? Or was it just an experiment?” Now seated behind his desk he replied dismissingly: “It wouldn’t be a very worthwhile experiment. Creating a sleeping potion is more like elementary school chemistry. However, the standard versions are dreadful in its execution. If I need one, then I’d rather sleep without waking up feeling like I’ve just been driven over by a horse carriage.” With this he takes up his quill and continues grading essays. Maybe I should just say goodbye and leave him in peace, but I won’t let him get off that easily. I’m intrigued and I can still smell his perfume..

I sit in the chair in front of his desk and exlaimed with a sigh: “That’s quite... ingenious still. I wish I could refine medicine that easily. It would also help me with my play. I never use effect-potions because I don’t feel safe using them on students and I lack the knowledge of brewing refined versions like in London. However, I guess this is on me. My potions grades have been acceptable, but I always felt too stupid to master them properly. Not that this is an excuse.” He looked up and seemed to observe me for some moments. Shit.. maybe that wasn't a very favourable thing for me to say. Now he dislikes me because a) I just confessed I suck at potion-making and b) I haven't left his office ten minutes ago when I probably should have. Before I could stutter an apology, he says: “Well, there must be a reason why I’m the potion master and not you. – here he dramatically paused for some seconds. His attention for drama is truly admiring – “Yet…don’t tell this to any of my students but no one is too stupid to make a potion and receive good grades. I sincerely believe that. However, it can be a mixture of laziness, an insufferable attitude or the wrong teacher at the wrong moment in time. If you had acceptable grades that means you’re capable and from what I’ve seen I don’t think you’re too stupid.” I looked in disbelief. I don’t really need that kind of pep talk but it’s nice to hear that from someone I clearly didn’t expected it from. He put his quill away, folded his hands and continued: “I can show you how to brew any potion you might need. However, I then expect only the utmost of concentration and motivation in that regard. In return. I might be more patient to you then to any of my students.” When that offer finally has set into my mind I stuttered: “That would be.. that would be wonderful! It would strongly improve my stage set and performance! Thank you so much!... but… - and here the doubt came that he only does it to mock me- “why help me? We’ve barely known each other, and you've already brewed the sleeping potion for me. Can I do something for you in return or do you simply want to make fun of me?” He looked away from me and replied “You don’t need to do that and no I don't want to mock you. Also, wait before you thank me - I can’t guarantee you’ll be successful in brewing those. In the end, I’d be a terrible potion master if I didn’t help my colleagues – independent of sympathy or duration of acquaintance.” Ok, that’s a bit of a bummer. So, he feels only obligated because I’m a colleague. However, If that means I can spend more time with him and I can get better at potions... What do I have to lose?

Yet, he wasn’t finished with his speech. He looked away from me on a bookshelf to his right and continued. “Regardless of this, I also must admit that I rather welcome a professor of the literary arts at this school. Especially one who seems to be competent enough to fight the prejudices of elite wizards. We can learn from fiction and it would certainly benefit many students here to take this seriously.” “Oh” I replied like a true master of the arts. “I mean, that’s great. I agree wholeheartedly. It’s just a rare disposition. Especially for the headteacher of the Slytherin house, which.. no offense.. is significantly underrepresented in my classes.” “None taken” – he replied. “I don’t have much influence when it comes to subject choices of my students. And despite my favourable judgements towards my house I hate them all equally unless proven by them otherwise. Yet, the house cup is a competition and I intend to keep winning.” - he said with a slight smile on his face. Ok, I hate him for that attitude (because I’m not very competitive in nature), but I have to admit the smile is kinda cute and I hate myself for thinking that. He’s kind of asshole but I’m so intrigued by this dramatic, elegant guy that I willingly overlook his actual image and reputation here. When he took up his quill again I stood up and said “Well, then I don’t want to hinder you from work any more than I've done. Thank you so much for the potion and... everything. Have a good night!” He nodded said: “Give me some feedback if the potion works for you, I can make some adjustments if needed. Good Night then.”

[shaizstern]

Article from WSJ: The Secrets of Resilience

What does it take to conquer life’s adversities? Lessons from successful adults who overcame difficult childhoods

ILLUSTRATION: BRIAN STAUFFER

By Meg Jay

Does early hardship in life keep children from becoming successful adults? It’s an urgent question for parents and educators, who worry that children growing up in difficult circumstances will fail to reach their full potential, or worse, sink into despair and dysfunction.

Social scientists have shown that these risks are real, but they also have found a surprising pattern among those whose early lives included tough times: Many draw strength from hardship and see their struggle against it as one of the keys to their later success. A wide range of studies over the past few decades has shed light on how such people overcome life’s adversities—and how we might all cultivate resilience as well.

In 1962, the psychologist Victor Goertzel and his wife, Mildred, published a book called “Cradles of Eminence: A Provocative Study of the Childhoods of Over 400 Famous Twentieth-Century Men and Women.” They selected individuals who had had at least two biographies written about them and who had made a positive contribution to society. Their subjects ranged from Louis Armstrong, Frida Kahlo and Marie Curie to Eleanor Roosevelt, Henry Ford and John D. Rockefeller.

Louis Armstrong grew up in poverty, and left school at fifth grade to support his family. PHOTO: ASSOCIATED PRESS

The Goertzels found that less than 15% of their famous men and women had been raised in supportive, untroubled homes, with another 10% in a mixed setting. Of the 400, a full 75%—some 300 individuals—had grown up in a family burdened by a severe problem: poverty, abuse, absent parents, alcoholism, serious illness or some other misfortune. “The ‘normal man,’ ” the Goertzels wrote, “is not a likely candidate for the Hall of Fame.”

If the Goertzels were to repeat their study today, they would find many more examples of women and men who rose to great heights after difficult childhoods—Oprah Winfrey, Howard Schultz, LeBron James and Sonia Sotomayor, to name just a few. Today, we often use the word “resilient” to describe such people.

But resilient people are everywhere, not just in the ranks of celebrities. They are ordinary women and men, in every walk of life, who meet the definition of resilience set forth by American Psychological Association: “adapting well in the face of adversity, trauma, tragedy, threats or significant sources of stress.”

Eleanor Roosevelt’s mother and her father, an alcoholic, died by the time she was 10. PHOTO:STOCK MONTAGE/GETTY IMAGES

Across nearly two decades as a clinical psychologist and an educator, I have worked with many accomplished people who grew up in difficult circumstances. One thing I have learned from them is that the way we tend to talk about resilience is too simplistic. In everyday conversation, we say that people who are resilient “bounce back” or “rebound.” The dictionary defines resilience as elasticity, that is, the ability to recover quickly and easily—to snap into shape again, like a rubber band stretched and released.

These images are fine for describing recovery from short-term problems, like the flu or a career disappointment, but they don’t capture how resilience truly works and feels. The most common childhood adversities aren’t one-time events but chronic sources of stress: bullying, neglect, physical or sexual abuse, the death of a parent or sibling, addiction or mental illness in the home, domestic violence.

Such problems are recurring threats to a child or teen’s safety and well-being. Resilient youth do not just rebound from them. What they do is much more complicated and courageous. For them, resilience is an ongoing battle, a way of approaching life, not a restorative bounce.

John D. Rockefeller’s father was a con man and often absent. PHOTO: CSU ARCHIVES/EVERETT COLLECTION

Physiology plays an important role. In the face of danger, our bodies respond with fight-or-flight. The brain triggers the release of stress hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol. Our heart rate increases, we become more alert and focused, and blood flows to our muscles for extra energy. When we think of the fight in fight-or-flight, we may imagine physically harming someone. But in the modern world, fighting back can take many forms.

Consider the Kauai Longitudinal Study, an ongoing project begun in 1955 by psychologists Emmy Werner and Ruth Smith, and summarized most recently in their 2001 book “Journeys From Childhood to Midlife.” The Kauai Study’s subjects are the 698 babies born on the island that year, with assessments so far at ages 1, 2, 10, 18, 32 and 40.

Of the children in the study, Drs. Werner and Smith identified 129 as being at high risk for future problems, because they faced four or more adversities at birth, ranging from poverty and family discord to alcoholism or mental illness in the home.

Two-thirds of these high-risk children went on to have difficulties of their own, such as delinquency, unplanned pregnancies and underemployment. One-third, however, fared well. At school and at work, they did as well as, or better than, their low-risk peers from more affluent, stable homes. In adulthood, they found supportive partners and built loving families that, often, differed greatly from the ones they grew up with. They became, as Drs. Werner and Smith described, “competent, confident, caring adults.” How did they do it?

They were active problem solvers who, over a period of decades, fought for better lives for themselves. Though they weren’t necessarily gifted, they used whatever strengths they had to their advantage—a particular talent, an engaging personality, a ready intelligence. They sought out friends, teachers, neighbors or relatives who cared. They made plans to better themselves and set ambitious but realistic goals for the future. In early adulthood, they seized opportunities to move forward in life, by way of higher education, the military, a new job, a supportive partner or parenthood.

When the researchers asked these resilient adults how they understood their own success in retrospect, the majority reported that their most important asset was determination.

“I am a fighter—I am determined—I will survive,” said one woman who made her way out of an abusive childhood. “I give it 100% before I give up. I will never lose hope.”

Howard Schultz of Starbucks grew up in a housing project. PHOTO: SAKCHAI LALIT/ASSOCIATED PRESS

“When things have to be done, you just do it. I am not the type of person to run away—no matter how difficult the problem,” said another subject who became a bookkeeper.

And another who became aerospace engineer put it this way: “I don’t let problems take control. I just pick myself up and start all over—you can always try again.”

Other research has suggested the importance of the fighter within. In a 2010 paper in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Anke Ehlers of the University of Oxford reported on 81 adults who had formerly been held as political prisoners in East Germany. They had been subjected to mental and physical abuse, including beatings, threats and being kept in the dark. Decades after their release, about two-thirds of the former prisoners had, at some point, met criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), while about one-third of the prisoners had not.

What made some more likely to suffer from PTSD? Dr. Ehlers found that the extent to which prisoners had fought back in their own minds made a bigger difference than the severity of the abuse they had suffered. Those who felt mentally defeated—who felt like they were “nothing” or who quit caring what became of them—were more likely to report symptoms of PTSD later. By contrast, prisoners who had resisted from within—even if they appeared to have given up on the outside, by complying with guards or signing false confessions—fared better down the line.

This sort of inner defiance is, in part, how one man—an officer in the military who came to me for a consultation—told me he survived years of bullying as a child and teen: “I refused to accept what they said about me was true.”

Oprah Winfrey was sexually abused by relatives. PHOTO: VERA ANDERSON/WIREIMAGE/GETTY IMAGES

Of course, there is enormous variability in terms of how individuals respond to adversity. Social scientists rightly argue that resilience isn’t a single quality that someone does or doesn’t have, or a single action that a person does or doesn’t take, but rather it is a phenomenon—something we can see but may never be able to neatly explain.

A minister once shared a parable with me that neatly captures this point: Two brothers are raised in a home in which the father is a violent alcoholic. One brother grows up to be a drinker and an abuser, while the other becomes an abstinent man and a model parent. When asked how they came to be who they were, both brothers gave the same answer: “Given who my father was, how could I not?”

My aim here is not to say that resilient people are winners—or that those who are suffering have allowed themselves to be defeated—but, rather, to say that overcoming childhood adversity is a phenomenal struggle indeed. It is a heroic, powerful, perilous, often decadeslong endeavor, yet one that, over time, can lead to both ordinary and extraordinary success.

‘Coping with stress is a lot like exercise: We become stronger with practice.’

Back in 1962, the Goertzels’ finding that so many prominent people had grown up with hard times may have seemed counterintuitive but, given what we now know about stress and coping, it isn’t so surprising. Coping with stress is a lot like exercise: We become stronger with practice. University of Nebraska psychologist Richard Dienstbier explains how this works with his “toughness model,” first published in 1989 in the journal Psychological Review.

Dr. Dienstbier gathered evidence from a wide range of human and animal studies demonstrating that exposure to intermittent stressors, such as cold temperatures and aerobic exercise, made individuals physiologically “tougher.” They became less overwhelmed by subsequent difficulties, and by their own fight-or-flight arousal. This makes a difference because when a stressor seems manageable, we perceive it as a challenge, and adrenaline—which boosts energy, focus and coping—is released. When a stressor seems unmanageable, however, we perceive it as a threat and our cortisol levels rise too, suppressing our immune system and making us more vulnerable to disease.

What’s more, Dr. Dienstbier wrote, toughened individuals increasingly seek out experiences that stimulate them and provide opportunities for more mastery and success. It is a virtuous circle.

Although I would hardly consider childhood adversities to be desirable difficulties, many who grow up with hardship do say they benefit in precisely this way. The military officer who was bullied in his youth—and who, besides resisting on the inside, also toughened himself up as a teen through running and judo—described the impact that early adversity had on this life this way: “I see myself as stronger and more capable than most people around me because of the treatment I lived through. I see myself as an optimist, not because I think bad things don’t or won’t happen but because I believe I can overcome whatever comes my way. I feel independent and confident. I feel tested. I feel brave.”

Poet Dylan Thomas said, “There’s only one thing that’s worse than having an unhappy childhood, and that’s having a too-happy childhood.” I don’t know if this is true, but I do know that too many women and men feel lesser somehow because of the adversities they have grown up with, imagining they would be happier or more successful people if they had enjoyed stress-free upbringings. This isn’t necessarily the case.

In a multiyear study of more than 2,000 adults aged 18 to 101, published in 2010 in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, University at Buffalo psychologist Mark Seery and colleagues found that those who had known some adversity were both higher-functioning and more satisfied with their lives than those who had experienced extremely high levels of hardship—and compared with those who had experienced no adversity at all. They also coped better with more recent problems they encountered, leading the study’s authors to conclude, in partial agreement with Nietzsche, that “in moderation, whatever does not kill us may indeed make us stronger.”

So where does that leave those of us who would like to be more resilient? It helps to take on long-form projects that feel like challenges rather than threats. Whether taking up crew or judo, studying for an advanced degree or mastering an instrument, hard things that aren’t emotional or unexpected help us practice for those that are.

And when life inevitably becomes difficult, own the fighter within. Resist defeat in your own mind by a schoolyard bully or an alcoholic parent. Fighting back on the inside is where battling back on the outside begins.

Reach out to family, friends or professionals who care. It is a myth that resilient people don’t need help. Seeking support is what resilient people do.

Engage in active coping. Most serious adversities are neither quickly nor easily solved, but taking control where we can is empowering. Make a realistic plan to improve your situation, and work toward it day by day. Progress shores us up and calms us down.

Finally, remember the ways you have been courageous and strong. Too often we remember what has gone wrong in life rather than what we did to survive and thrive. Think back on a time when you were challenged and give yourself credit for how you made it through. You may already be more resilient than you think.

Dr. Jay is a clinical psychologist at the University of Virginia and author of “Supernormal: The Untold Story of Adversity and Resilience,” to be published on Nov. 14 by Twelve Books.