#and I’ll be grateful that I spent these years just plodding on

[justascrollingghost]

.

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf - Chapter 8

Word Count: 1879

Warning: trigger - hunting, and demeaning verbal abuse.

A/N thanks again to my beautiful @sillyrabbit81 for your editing and @amberangel112 for your encouragement.

Chapter 8

Henry could not understand why Jessie was still considering going out with this jerk. He huffed at Joe’s words and was pleasantly surprised at Tom’s reaction. Pleased to have someone in his corner, he nuzzled into the young man’s arms. It felt nice, an odd feeling of loss and regret pulled at his soul. He hadn’t seen his nephew in five years, he would be fifteen years old now four years younger than Tom. Memories of their last time together flooded his mind, the feel of his hands running through his fur. Even then he had refused to change, sadly his nephew had never known him in Human form.

The packhouse was large, made of local stone it would be considered menacing to outsiders. But for those invited in, it was a house filled with love. They had found Henry and his nephew Adam just outside their forest line, half-starved, dehydrated and desperate for care. The pack doctor had tended to Henry whilst one of the pack's mothers had shared her milk with the little pup. Adam had captured the mother’s heart and at Henry’s approval had adopted him into the pack. Henry had grieved the loss of his only kin but been so grateful to them. He knew he could not look after the little one, not with his heartbroken in pieces.

Over the next ten years, he had come and gone from the house checking up on Adam, watched as he grew strong, not only physically, but emotionally he had developed into a beautiful soul. Their last time together they had sat just like he was now with Tom. He had curled up next to Adam, his head in his lap, Adams fingers running through his fur. “I wish you could change for me Uncle, I see all the other dads and sons playing together and I love the idea that when I change next year we can run together. Then I can finally talk to you and hear your voice back. But I want to know what you look like, to be able to hug you like I see that others hug their dads.” His face had added to Henry’s grief looking so heartbroken and longingly at him. He had tried at that moment, had attempted to honour his request but his human side was so lost, hidden in pain. He had left the house that day, knowing even if it broke his heart, he needed to let his nephew grow with his new pack and not be held back by him.

Now nestled against Tom he regretted that decision. He heard a chuckle soft and happy. “Well look at you two. I would never have guessed Wolfy could be so comfortable with another human. I haven’t seen him like that with anyone except with me. What’s your secret Tom?” Her bright eyes landed on Tom who had continued to scratch behind Henry’s ears.

“I don’t know Miss Jessie, but I have always loved wolves, well any kind of animal really but especially wolves.”

She seemed thoughtful as she eyed them both making Henry wonder what she had planned. “Tom, are you free tonight? I have a date and I really don’t want to leave Wolfy alone again.” Henry felt Tom stiffen. Wondering what was wrong with the request, he moved his head to look up at the boy.

A brief look of disapproval flashed in his eyes before they softened as he looked down and saw Henry watching him. “Yes, Miss Jessie. I would love to spend more time with this beautiful boy.” Internally he chuckled at Tom’s words, if only he knew he was twelve years older than him.

That afternoon Henry, Jessie and Tom spent out in the garden. Tom seemed to fit beautifully into their friendship group kneeling beside Jessie as they planted new flowers and shrubs where they had pulled up the weeds. Together, Henry dug the holes, Tom placed the plants and held them in place whilst Jessie filled the soil around them. Henry enjoyed hearing the light conversation between his Mate and his new friend until it became heavier. “So, Tom, when did you begin to love wolves? I know your father traps them, so I’m interested as to why you don’t follow his belief.”

Tom continued to work, as a gentle hum was heard working up from his throat. “I know why Dad does it, although I don’t think he is correct. He blames the wolves for his loss of cattle, but I haven’t seen that many around. The wild dogs are more to blame but he won't listen. They have a group that meet purely to discuss the wolf problem, but in my whole life, the only large group I have seen was back when I was four. It’s the first and last time Dad allowed me to come to a hunting party. Mom was horrified that he was taking me, but I wanted so much to be with Dad, and he wanted me to be just like him.”

Henry shuddered as the boy spoke as if by some force of nature, he knew that he was about to hear what had happened that day. He also sensed the grief radiating off the boy, wanting to calm him he pushed his body into Tom’s side. Nuzzling his head as if to say, “It's ok, I’m here for you.” Tom let out a heavy chuckle as if he had heard Henry’s voice.

He sat back looking down at Henry as he spoke, “Thanks Wolfy, you would think that I would not remember something that happened that long ago, but it's imprinted in my mind. They had been tracking a pack that had only just entered the area, convinced the rest of the ranchers that they were a risk to our lively hood, that we couldn’t let them nest here. So, the best of their marksman left, when we found them all, sitting around a tree, curled up sleeping, all I wanted to do was go play with the cuddly animals. Dad kept pulling me back holding me still and quiet. I didn’t understand until the loud bangs began.”

Tom’s voice wobbled at this point and Jessie who had been silent up till this time also came closer. She pulled him into her side, her arm encasing his thin body as his shoulders began to shake. “I started screaming as I saw a single wolf with a baby on its back running away, Dad aimed for it but I managed to push the barrel up making him miss. I got the thrashing of my life that night. I couldn’t sit for a week, but it was worth it. I was never allowed to come again after that, not that I wanted to. It took a while, but Dad eventually began to trust me enough to check the traps. I am glad too because it meant I could help this fella.”

Jessie held the boy as his sobs subsided. Henry was trying to hold his anger in, these were the people who had destroyed his family. And yet this one boy had not only saved him once but twice, his gratitude was the only thing stopping him from wanting to go rip the throats out of the group. Ignorance and fear were the driving forces that ended his family, if only they knew the wolves would only ever take a sick animal, and sometimes the young, never the strength of the herd. They would never kill without need. But the wild dogs he had seen were giving us a bad name.

Jessie's voice interrupted his thoughts, the softness not hiding the grief in her own. “Was that near here Tom?” How did Jessie know?

“Yes, Miss Jessie, by the tall tree in the middle of the forest.”

She silently picked up the tools, both animal and human watching her, wondering what she was thinking. Sighing she stood up, “Come, it’s getting dark and I need to get ready for this date.” She walked silently back into the house. The boy and the wolf looked at each other before both followed.

Jessie fixed dinner for Tom and Henry then left to dress, leaving the pair to their own devices. Tom seemed quiet after revealing his early childhood trauma and Henry was eager to help calm the boy. After eating, he plodded into the living room, jumped up on the couch and yipped in Tom’s direction. Chuckling, Tom responded, “You want to watch some TV boy?” Nuzzling the remote, he yipped eagerly hoping to distract the boy from his thoughts.

Tom settled next to him and picked up the remote, they settled on watching a rerun of M.A.S.H before they both heard the clicking of heels and the rapping of knuckles on the front door. Open-mouthed both Henry and Tom sat dumbstruck as Jessie walked down the stairs in a light yellow sundress her dark hair flowing softly twisted into waves. “Wow Miss Jessie, you look amazing” got in first before Henry followed with his eager Yip. Giggling Jessie smiled softly at them both, “Ok I won't be out late, but even so, don’t get up to any mischief”

This caused both Henry and Tom to laugh, one sounding more like a series of yips. The door opened and closed and Jessie was gone. Together the two sat, watched movies and shared some popcorn that Tom had found in the pantry. Just as the end of a Witcher episode finished they heard yelling coming from outside. “I don’t give a dam Boyd, you had no right to hit that poor man, It was an accident.” The front door opened as Jessie stormed inside, the front of her dress had a brown stain down the side of her skirt.

Next Boyd came crashing into the room his face red as he reached out to grab Jessie's arm, this caused Henry to jump into action his snarl reaching the ears of the big man before he saw the wolf racing towards him. Jumping back almost stumbling over the kitchen chair Boyd’s face grew hotter, “Keep that mutt controlled Jessie otherwise I’ll control him for you with my shot Gun.”

The air went still as Henry felt Jessies and Tom's hands on him, “That is enough Boyd Hatfield, you are no longer welcome in this home. Get. Out!” Surprise filled Boyd’s face as he not only recognised Tom but registered his marching orders. Menace replaced the look of surprise, “Listen here little girl, you better watch that attitude of yours. I’ll allow you to cool off but we are not finished talking, and if you value the life of that mutt you will do as your told.” Punctuating the statement with a nod of his head he turned and strolled out the door.

Heart pounding he turned looking up at Jessie who seemed to have lost her speech, her face pale and her hands shaking. Tom moved swiftly pulling her into his arms as she began to cry, frustrated that it wasn’t his arms holding her, Henry pushed his body against her to show he was there, but inside he was furious. That man had threatened not just himself but Jessie, but he had to focus on her right now, she was more important no matter how much he wanted to go after him.

Chapter 9

[mochacoffee]

Chef’s Kiss

Finally, thought Crowley, ear squashed against the door jamb.

He zipped back across his kitchen to stand at the stove, trying out a couple poses before settling on Jaunty Worktop Lean. Every cell in his body felt tense (which was frankly unacceptable and he'd be having a word with them later about it).

He tried to appear focused on scrambling eggs as the door opened.

"Morning, angel.”

A few strategic seconds lapsed before he glanced up — wouldn’t want to seem too eager, obviously — and he was immediately grateful they had. Crowley shuddered to think of what embarrassing sound would have escaped him had he been attempting to speak at the moment.

Aziraphale stood slumped in the kitchen doorway, wearing a set of pale blue pajamas that somehow managed to look as Victorian as the rest of his wardrobe. His eyes were only half open and his hair stuck out at odd angles.

It had to be the most adorable thing Crowley had ever seen in his immortal life.

He had a habit of thinking so every time he saw Aziraphale, but this time he meant it even more than all the other times he’d meant it.

Aziraphale blinked twice. "You're cooking."

"Oh? What gave it away?"[1]

"The cooking bit. I didn't know you could do that." Aziraphale sounded almost grumpy about it as he plodded to the kitchen island and took a seat.

"I don't, usually. Had a few years to practice while you slept in."

"A few years?"

"Relax!” Crowley tried not to laugh at the horrified look on Aziraphale’s face. He really did. “I'm only joking, angel. It's eleven."

"Oh," he sighed. "Good."

"I just get up early some days.” Crowley picked up another pan with one hand and shook it to flip its contents.[2] "Pancakes? They've got blueberries in 'em."

"Yes." Aziraphale went ravenous in the eyes like a cat catching sight of a particularly juicy mosquito. "Honestly, who do you think I am?"

Crowley grinned and retrieved a plate from the cupboard. "I'd hoped you'd say that. Bacon and eggs too?"

"Crowley. Darling. These questions are wasting my valuable eating time."

"Apologies, your highness, I'll get on that right away." He loaded the plate with food from each pan, then grabbed a fork and small bottle of syrup. "Brunch is served."

Crowley had barely set the plate down before Aziraphale started on a pancake. He leaned back against the worktop, chewing his lower lip.

He'd put far more effort into this than he cared to admit. The idea had come to him the night before, almost immediately after suggesting Aziraphale stay over — the first time he had since Armageddidn’t last week. Crowley had risen obscenely early this morning to fetch the ingredients and, you know, learn to cook.

That had been about five hours ago.

He'd spent the remainder of the time practicing these same foods over and over, miracling the completed batches Satan knows where and starting again from scratch as he attempted to nail the timing and consistency. He felt like he'd fully gotten the hang of it by around hour three, but that was no reason to stop striving for improvement.

And now Aziraphale was eating it. He was eating it and his eyes were widening and his expression was shifting from gleeful to confused.

Shit.

"This is the best pancake I've ever had," he said.

Crowley winced. It didn’t crush him, because demons do not sustain deep emotional damage over the quality of their homemade pancakes, and especially not because the angel they have a crush on doesn’t like them.

But it did hurt a little bit.

“Yeah, I mean ob- obviously,” Crowley stammered, "I've literally never made one before now, so I… wait-”

"Best,” Aziraphale repeated, taking an enthusiastic second bite. “I’m so impressed! You really learned to make these this morning?"

"Oh! Well, I'm - glad you like it. S'probably the ingredients.” Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets, or at least what would fit of them. “I got that fancy flour, y’know, the hand-ground… stuff.”

Aziraphale, incredibly, put down his fork. He smiled in a manner that was both immensely fond and slightly patronizing. “It’s not the ingredients, my dear. It’s you.” 

(Continued on AO3)

— [1] Crowley spoke with the kind of false nonchalance under these circumstances that only 6000 years of practice would allow. It was convincing enough, provided you didn’t notice his white-knuckle grip on the spatula.

[2] A miraculous catch, if he did say so himself.

[stanakaashiforclearskin]

How You First Meet Them w/ Kageyama and Hinata

Pairings: Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou (separately) x gender neutral! reader

Style: drabble

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: slight angst for Kageyama

Kageyama Tobio

“Ugh, where is it?” 

You had been frantically searching for your homework in your overflowing book bag for the past minute as your history teacher waited, arms crossed, in front of your desk. 

“L/n, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to count it as late. Maybe if you were more organized it wouldn’t have come to this.”

As if on cue, the bell rang and class was dismissed. You had stayed up late writing your history paper that was due today, which resulted in you sleeping in and almost missing the bus. You had been rushed this morning and didn’t neatly put your homework into your bag as you normally did. And now, the paper you had spent so long working on would be counted as late. 

Tears flooded your vision as you walked out of the classroom. It was lunchtime now, and on a typical day you would have headed towards the cafeteria to eat with your friends. But instead you altered your course and began to trudge in the direction of the gyms. At least nobody would bother you out there. 

Leaning against the cold outer wall of Gym A, you slid down until you were curled into a ball on the ground. Sobs wracked your body. School had been difficult for you this year, seeing as you had been placed in Class 1-5, which was a college prep level. Somehow your teacher seemed to be getting less and less understanding, and you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to maintain your GPA for. 

As your thoughts began their downward spiral, you felt someone trip and fall over your outstretched foot. You lifted your head and you were met with startling blue eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I was in the way-”

“No, it’s my fault,” the boy said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He began to stand up, but stopped as he noticed his carton of milk splattered all over the concrete. You heard him swear lightly under his breath. 

Wiping your red eyes, you picked up the empty carton and tossed it in the nearest trash can. The vending machine was just a few steps away, so you plodded over to it and bought two milks. 

“Thanks,” he murmured as you handed him one of them. The two of you sat in silence sipping your drinks, the cool September breeze setting goosebumps upon your skin. 

“I’m Kageyama.”

“L/n,” you replied. “Sorry about earlier.”

“Forget it,” Kageyama told you. “And, uh, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah, you too.”

A few hours later, as you laid in bed, your mind drifted back to the boy with the blue eyes. Maybe you would see him again. 

Halfway across town, the boy with blue eyes tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. Grabbing his trusty bedside volleyball, he brought it into his embrace and tried once more to find rest. He dreamt of you that night.

Hinata Shouyou

“L/n could you stay after class for a minute?” 

You glanced up at your teacher as you finished packing up your bag after the last class of the day. “Of course,” you said cheerfully. 

You were in Class 1-5, and had the best grades out of all the students in it. Occasionally, you were asked to tutor students in lower classes, not only due to your high GPA but also because of your outgoing personality. Nobody felt stupid or less-than when they were around you, which was one of the reasons why you made such a great peer tutor.

“I have another assignment for you, if you don’t mind.” Your teacher began. “There is a student in Class 1-1 who needs some help raising their grades. Hopefully you can help them to do so. Here’s their information.” 

She handed you a slip of paper with a name and contact information on it.

Hinata Shouyou, Class 1-1

Phone number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

Email: hinatas@karasunohigh.org 

“Okay, I’ll contact him later today,” you told her as you left the classroom. Grabbing your cellphone from your pocket, you typed in the number and sent a text to the student.

Hi! My name is L/n Y/n, and I’ll be your peer tutor. Please let me know when and where to meet up for our first session. 

You’re about to put your phone away when it buzzes, alerting you of a text message. 

Unknown number: HELLO IM HINATA THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I AM VERY GRATEFUL FOR YOUR HELP!!!!!!!!!! 😁😁😁😁😁😁ARE YOU FREE TODAY AT 3PM????? WE CAN MEET AT THE LIBRARY!!!!!!

A laugh escaped your lips as you reread the message. This boy seemed rather odd, but at least he was actually interested in doing the work. You responded to Hinata, letting him know that you would meet him then. School got out at 2:45pm, so you made your way over to the library and sat down at an empty table. 

Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. It was 3:05pm, and Hinata was late. Of course, it wasn’t by much, so you took a deep breath and tried not to stress over it. 

A little while later, you peeked at the clock hanging on the far wall. It read 3:08. You reached for your phone to check for any messages, but a sparkling voice halted your actions. 

“I’m so sorry! I got caught up with my club activities,” the voice said. “I’m Hinata Shouyou.”

Your eyes roamed over him, taking in his soft orange hair, his gleaming smile, and the messy papers falling out of his bag. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him. “Let's get started.”

It turned out that Hinata needed quite a lot of help in every subject. His worst class was English. Thankfully, that one was your best. 

“Hmm, I think your biggest issue is actually organization,” you told him, eyeing his disheveled textbooks and notes. 

“Oops,” he said, eyes bright with laughter.

You took your time showing him how to keep track of due dates for assignments, how to take neat, understandable notes, and how to properly study for exams. All throughout his tutoring session, Hinata listened eagerly as you spoke. He truly did seem to care for his grades; he was just busy. 

“Wow, L/n! You’re so helpful! Thank you so much!” He exclaimed after a few hours of working together. He stood abruptly and bowed deeply. 

“Oh, no problem, Hinata! I’m glad to help,” you said, somewhat surprised. “I look forward to working with you again.”

A blush settled upon his face as he righted himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Hinata squeaked, running off to practice.

You smiled to yourself, noticing the fluttering feeling in your stomach. Putting away your teaching materials, you secretly hoped that he felt the same way. 

[truth-and-lies-drv3-imagines]

How would Himiko, Tenko, Kokichi and Kaito react to finding out that they have a romantic rival than turns out to be a five year old with puppy crush on their s/o? Bonus if Tenko's a rival is little girl.

Why, what a fun & absolutely adorable request! You also picked some of the best characters for this prompt, heh ^^ This was lots of fun to write ♡Also, if you requested from me, I will definitely get to them! I was addressing an older request first. 

~ Mod Nagito

Himiko Yumeno

- She’s walking home slowly when she hears your voice just around the corner! So she peeks around the corner…only to see you walking hand in hand with a little kid. What were you doing, anyway?

- But she’s Himiko. She’s too lazy to speed up her pace of walking to catch up with the two of you, even if she loves you, so she just plods along a good meter or two behind, listening to the conversation. “Let’s get married!” “Maybe in the future,” you laugh. 

- Himiko’s heart stops. She literally runs over and tackles you from behind, and then glares at the kid from a safe distance behind you. “S/O is mine! I’m the one marrying her.” 

- Oops. That was awkward. You’re flustered, burning bright red, and the kid starts to bawl loudly. “What do you mean?!” You look at Himiko, but don’t have the heart to scold her properly for making an innocent kid cry and just sigh. “Okay, well… You both can marry me, I guess?” 

- Himiko gives you an offended look. “You mean… I have to share you with that kid?” Meanwhile, the kid is smirking at Himiko smugly. You just want to walk away from the situation. “Why don’t we talk about this another time?” You say, trying not to show your exasperation, and you send the kid home, Himiko clinging on to you the entire time.

- On the way back to your house, you can feel Himiko shivering as she holds on to your arm tightly. “I’m not going to marry that kid,” you reassure her with a gentle smile. “Really?” “Yes. I was just trying to pacify them. Trust me, they’ll forget all about me when they’re grown up.” 

- Himiko looks somewhat hesitant and almost unbelieving, but in a battle that you can see on her face, she seems to decide to believe in you. “Okay… Then I guess I’m the only one you’re marrying!” she cheers, throwing her hat in the air. 

- You laugh in amusement of her innocence and taking her hat, place a kiss on her exposed forehead as she blushes a deep red matching her hair.

Tenko Chabashira

- The two of you are just talking in your room, sipping tea when you hear a doorbell ring from downstairs. You apologize for the interruption, and Tenko follows you as you go to open the door. 

- Upon opening the door, you see the little girl that lives next door, and she’s holding out a batch of flowers, presumably hand-picked, and bearing a toothy, bright smile. “These are for you!” she almost shouts. You’re startled, but you quickly shape your face into one of gratefulness and love. “Thank you so much, these are beautiful,” you say, reaching out for the flowers.

- But the little girl pulls them back abruptly. “Wait! You can’t have ‘em until we get married, because the bride gets the bouquet.” Meanwhile, Tenko is ready to jump into a fighting stance behind you. “Married? That’s ridiculous, just for a little handful of flowers!” she protests. 

- The little girl starts tearing up, and your eyes dart back and forth between the little girl and Tenko anxiously, wanting to avoid a crying crisis. You crouch down and pull the girl into a hug. “Oh, sweetie… She means that you can’t get married yet because you’re too young. Maybe once you’re old enough.”

- She immediately brightens up while Tenko in the back is fuming silently. “Okay, then let’s go on dates until we can get married!” You’re sweating by this time, feeling murderous energy behind you and equally positive energy in front of you. 

- You hastily agree and tell her to run on home, and Tenko bursts the moment you close the door. “Why’d you agree to go on a date with her?!” You sigh. “Tenko, she’s just a little girl. I’m just going to play with her for a bit, there’s nothing you need to worry about. Go easy on her, she’s only five years old!”

- Tenko harumphs and turns away, but there’s nothing you can do but show up tomorrow at the playground to play with the small girl. To which Tenko insists on chaperoning the two of you, despite your assertations that you’d be just fine in handling one five-year-old. 

- At first, Tenko continuously interferes. She’ll chop a hand down between the two of you when in the sandbox. “Too close!” Or sweep you away when the two of you are playing tag. “Not today!” Eventually, you’re forced to ask her to just watch from at least a couple of meters away.

- You would have forgotten about Tenko’s presence since she only watches silently from a distance, but she emits a bloodlust that fills the air, so it’s kind of impossible to ignore, even as the girl happily swings back and forth on the playground swings. 

- When it’s over and the girl is safely home, Tenko lets out a sigh of relief and picks you up bridal style, running away with you to your house. “Tenko, I can walk on my own!” But she doesn’t respond.

- You end up on your bed, Tenko hovering over you protectively. “What are you doing?” you ask. But she only responds after capturing your lips in a deep kiss. “You spent the whole day with that brat. It’s only fair that you spend the entire night with me,” she replies, looking completely serious. 

What happens next is up to you~ cuddling or smexy times?

Kokichi Ouma

- He’s not happy about this situation at all. He’s holding your hand, yes, but the other one is occupied by a small child. He wants to occupy all your attention and self, but you’re currently engaged in conversation with the kid, too. 

- He tugs on your hand childishly, pouting. “Hey, s/o, pay attention to me, too!” But you are too distracted to answer him, and he lets out a loud sigh, to which you are also unresponsive to. 

- The kid even follows the two of you back to your house, and you persuade him to go back home instead–how you managed it, you weren’t sure. Kokichi finally has you to himself, but he’s not exactly content. This situation can’t continue, so he tells you he’ll be back in ten minutes and stalks the kid down the street where you can’t see him.

- He puts a hand on the shoulder of the little boy, who turns around in surprise. “Hey, you little brat. Touch or talk to s/o again, and I’ll make sure you wish you hadn’t,” he says, offering one of his horrifying smiles that stretches from ear to ear and is sure to communicate exactly what he means.

- The kid is literally shaking in fear. I mean, a grown man would be shaking in his boots if Kokichi was smiling at him like that. But this kid’s got guts. “W-What will you do to me?” he asks, pointing at Kokichi. “I’ll tell on you to s/o!” 

- Kokichi only laughs maniacally. Okay, maybe he was putting it on a little thick for a little kid, but he wasn’t about to leave any loose ends, even if his rival was a little boy. “What makes you think you’ll be able to tell s/o anything after I’m done with you?” 

- The kid almost pees his pants. “You’re crazy!” And hightails it out of there. 

- Kokichi comes back to your house, and you see a triumphant smile on his lips. “What were you doing?” you ask curiously. “Oh, nothing. Just getting rid of some pests,” he replies as he embraces you, planting a firm kiss on your cheek.

Kaito Momota

- He’s excited to go on a date with you today! But when he goes to meet with you outside the school gates, he sees a little kid talking to you, and he comes over and puts an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, whatcha up to?”

- You smile at him after waving goodbye to the child. “Oh, just talking with my neighbor. Shall we go?” And the two of you off.

- At first, he thinks nothing of it. Then he notices that the kid is meeting you after school has ended every single day, even walking you home. So he offers to walk you home to keep an eye on the little rascal, who is deceiving cute but at times gives him the stinkeye. 

- One day, he confronts you about it. “Why does that kid hang around you every day?” he says, gritting his teeth. You shrug. “I think he said he likes me or something like that. I don’t really mind it.”

- His jaw drops comically. “Well, I do! That little monster.” You laugh. “You’re exaggerating. He’s just a sweet little kid, and he’ll forget about me when he’s grown.” Kaito tries to convince you otherwise and have you not meet him as much, but you brush him off carelessly. 

- So he goes to talk to the kid. Not the best idea he’s ever had, because that kid is literally an imp–looks like he’s only sweet when around you. “Hey, can you stop bugging s/o all the time? S/O’s an extremely busy student,” he reasons. “Did s/o say that I’m being a bother? That’s just your conjecture,” the kid retorts, and Kaito has to resist the urge to punch the smartass. 

- Instead, Kaito punches the wall above the kid, denting it slightly as the kid looks on in horror. “I don’t mean you can’t hang out with s/o, but anyone would get sick of another person if they were constantly around them.” 

- The boy seems to take in the advice, and Kaito is pleased to see that the boy’s visits have cut down by over half. 

- Although he’s not thrilled that the kid still sticks to you, he soothes himself by remembering that you’d never date a child, and he makes sure to spend lots of time with you. 

- When the boy hangs onto your legs, Kaito will draw you in for a kiss in response to such provocation. He’s not about to be outdone by a child, after all.

[memorylang]

I Love This Orphanage | #13 | November 2019

While walking from the orphanage after my third visit (have spent a surprising three hours), I felt serving the teachers and children there was becoming one of my absolute favorite parts of this Peace Corps service. Within my first month, I visited there five times. On my fourth occasion, I even stayed over eight hours! 

I describe how I came from seeing the family to feel like part of it. I recall how the children have shown me the mirrors to my younger selves. And I tell, too, how I’m relating to different groups of children.

Witnessing Family: My First Visit

When I first arrived for just an hour at the orphanage with a friend, at once a child with a speech impediment ran up to and hugged me in the office. I felt comforted. We stepped into a play area. Young children eagerly handed me origami boxes they’d made. 

Later, toddlers would tug me by the finger to show me different group bedrooms. These pointed to large group portraits of the children. They said, “their family,” in Mongolian and named each member. 57 children live here.

I twinged with sadness when they pointed to those they said went to homes. Ultimately, that’s a goal. But I love these children together. In another room, I watched the children hop from bed to bed, as my own brother and I did when we were little. I sat down for a moment at a bench.

I saw something beautiful. An adorable toddler who kept dashing around to things (the same four-year-old who tugged my finger to bring me places) was doing a headstand. A younger girl beside her, emulating, started to headstand. But the toddler fell into the younger one. At once, the younger girl sobbed. A little boy ran up to the sobbing girl and picked her up. Then the toddler came over and kissed the girl she knocked over. And just like that, the younger one stopped crying. The children returned to plodding around the room with whomever. 

I felt privileged to be here among the children.

Becoming Family

On my third visit arrived again an English teacher I met briefly my first two times at the orphanage. She was shortish, always beaming. She hadn’t time to remove her coat before children clustered around her. A toddler hardly tall enough to reach her waist hugged her legs. Then we went inside to teach a couple English lessons.

As for me, the children always noticed on my silver blazer my golden Peace Corps pin with its Mongolian and American flags above the white dove. I feel like when the younger children see the Mongolian flag, they seem to accept me as a friend, even without knowing me. I always have to explain the dove to them, hehe.

And by my fourth visit, I realized when it comes to personal life, the orphans felt like some of the most unassuming children I’d met. They asked in Mongolian how many are in my family. And as I replied, they didn’t seem noticeably horrified or disbelieving when I didn’t mention having a mom. Indeed, they looked content, even captivated, when I described having siblings, too. I had to explain I was actually born in the States and Mom was born in China, though, hehe. (I often have to explain this.) But I liked them. 

In ways, the orphans reminded me of my student community in rural Номгон. But, these orphans must for the most part, always remain at the orphanage. They glow, eager to spend time with me when I come. They’re so eager to have me stay for their meals and introduce me to other children.

And on some level, time outside feels frozen when I’m with them. I feel unhurried to leave. Indeed, my third, fifth and fourth visits were amazingly three, four and eight hours long. I feel, if anything, relieved for other meetings to cancel so I can stay longer. A single day at the orphanage can feel like nothing for me. For them, it feels like more.

Meeting My Younger Self

After teaching those first couple English sessions to the children and teens of the orphanage and bidding farewell to my cheery co-teacher, I stayed in the classroom with the few children who remained. 

Innocently, a nine-year-old stepped over to me. She took me by her tiny hand and walked me to the whiteboard at the classroom’s front. Then she just started writing math problems on the board while explaining them, completely in Mongolian. 

She wrote, “2 x 1 = 2,” then noted, “3 x 1 = 3,” pointing out that with the 1 on the right, the product mirrors the first factor. She said tag questions like, “За юу?” (OK?), seeming to check my understanding. I felt amused by the confidence of this girl less than half my height. She didn’t particularly seek consent before she started instructing. 

Then she wrote, “2 x 2 = 4,” and, “3 x 2 = 6,” noting below them how, “3 x 2 = 3 + 3.” Again, she asked a tag question, like “Тэ?” (Yes?), while nodding, like a tiny teacher telling a theory. I nodded my understanding. Then her classmate stepped up to the board, writing, “20 x 3,” and handing the marker to me. I wrote, “60,” pleasing both. I returned the marker to the nine-year-old. 

Then, the little girl presented a sort of “exception” to her rule: “1 x 0 = 0.” She followed this with, “2 x 0 = 0.” She handed the marker back to me. I wrote, “3 x 0 = 0.” She seemed satisfied I understood. 

In that moment, I felt humbled realizing I was once her. I treated my little siblings when I was her age as she treated me. Then, I felt, I’m standing before a future teacher.

Mom must have seen the same in me, when she watched me for years come home from elementary school, take my tiny siblings to that whiteboard I asked her to buy me, then show my siblings everything from reading to arithmetic. I’m grateful to have had Mom and glad she never held me back.

Meeting My Summer Self

A 10-year-old called, “багш аа, багш аа,” to get me to come back from the board. She asked me to sit with and teach her English. I noticed she hadn’t learned to read, as I tried to help her hear the difference between, “What?” and “Where?” Meanwhile, a 15-year-old at a higher level asked me simple questions I gave simple answers for. But the 10-year-old’s will impressed me. She kept asking me over and over to help, even as she struggled to understand.

In Mongolia, students don’t begin to learn English until fifth grade. And, when they begin, they learn only speaking and listening, with pictures. They don’t learn to read English in schools until sixth grade. But, the 10-year-old insisted on using the book that didn’t seem like her grade’s. 

When I was in training during summer, I did the same with my host family as this little girl did with me, as I’d ask my grade school-teaching host mother and less-patient but loving host sister to help me understand confusing Mongolian words. Thanks to them, too, I learned as quickly as I did. For this 10-year-old, I felt I was like the family member who helps figure out this incredible conundrum of a language she wants to know. 

On the flipside, I notice while helping the older teens, they seem more intent and stressed to get things right. When I discussed with them scholarships and community service on my fourth visit, they responded disheartened as if they faced insurmountable odds. I love helping them and wish I could reach them. The younger learners seem less defeatist. I’m still learning, too. 

Students Striving

I love supporting those striving to improve. At the night’s end on my fifth visit, the nine-year-old wanted me to teach her the ABCs. We were back at a playroom at that hour. As I sang for her and the 10-year-old, they set their fingers on my vibrating Adam's apple. Since they looked confused, I briefly explained diaphragm breathing, showing them how to puff out their bellies, hehe. I recalled three years ago, I sang with vibrato, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” to huge applause at the open mic night of a national conference in the University of Delaware, haha. 

In practicing love, I find different relationships form between the teens, children, toddlers, girls, boys and me. Since my second visit, for example, many orphans call me, “агаа” (my close/big brother). I feel welcomed by the title. I’ll muse about it more in the Thanksgiving story coming next. But, others call me, “багш аа” (my teacher). By my fourth visit, I noticed some call me both. They would say “teacher” while inside the orphanage’s classroom or while talking about my classes. And they said “big brother” in the playrooms and other halls.

Dancing With the Girls

After teaching morning lessons, I came upstairs to join the children. On my fourth visit, they’d dance practice for a routine. I gave the children two thumbs up and a grin when they looked to me, and one of them mirrored me back with more glee! She would also reply, “Woooow!” and place her hands on her cheeks or below her chin, as I do, hehe. My honor society awarded me for how much I said, “Wow,” at university… Seeing their rehearsal, I felt this warm gut feeling, imagining this is how parents feel watching their kids perform. I thought to my smiling parents when I played piano for them. 

After their rehearsal, the children had free time to dance. A teen who enjoyed K-Pop put on music and started teaching the younger ones other routines. Seeing the girls dance to K-Pop reminded me of college friends who performed at our conferences those same BLACKPINK and TWICE hits. 

I’m quite a go with-the-flow fellow. On my fourth visit, the nine-year-old “teacher” wanted me to dance with her. So I said sure. This first mostly involved the kid taking my hands then waving our arms in rhythm. Then this girl started a sort of waltz, where we would step past each other and back before separating a hand, fanning out, coming back and twirling. 

Like with the instructors at Teachers’ Day (who were albeit not too sober), I loved how my dance partner went unfazed by my inexperience. I remembered seeing Mother’s best friend dance, the summer in China I met her after my mother died. 

In the moment with the orphan, a thought fluttered. I would love a girlfriend with the fearless will to just have fun. Or maybe a daughter. Maybe it’s life’s seriousness that wearies me. 

But other little ones wanted me to dance with them, too. The girl would pout and lecture to them in Mongolian how it wasn’t their turns or something. Then she sat me down and insisted I was too tired to dance with anyone else. Luckily, the teen came to my rescue and had the girl go dance with children across the room. Meanwhile, little girls and boys would just climb on and cling to me. So then I had a few minutes to lift and spin those waiting kids. 

By my fifth visit, even without music, the other little girls would take my hands and want me to dance with them. They would giggle with delight when I imitated their K-Pop moves. They would repeat them until I performed well. And all the kids enjoyed, too the popping and locking a fellow Peace Corps friend taught me during summer. So I did the wave and wrist rolls on command. And I’m glad I gave glee.

Brawling With the Boys

Though I often comment I enjoy Mongolian wrestling, I hadn’t wrestled since National Наадам. On my second orphanage visit, many young boys challenged our Peace Corps Health Volunteer to wrestle. My friend wasn’t up for it. When I chimed I’d wrestle, the tiny kids rushed my legs, trying to knock me down. Usually I sidestep so their own weight topples them. But when two kids heaved up both my legs, I was done for, haha. 

Relatedly, I noticed a handful of toddlers thrash each other on my fourth visit. I considered how, heck, even my older brother and I beat each other up when we were little. The kids call each other names sometimes, but I always say, "үгүй ээ!" and tell them to be nice. They wouldn’t be family if they weren’t rowdy sometimes, I guess, hehe. 

By my fifth visit, the adolescent boys finally took notice of me. So they, too, challenged me in their group bedroom to wrestling. It somewhat reminded me of the Galar Champion Cup from Pokémon, the way children would keep challenging me bout after bout, while others spectated around us. The first teen literally picked me up and dropped me on a bed. Then the next one toppled me from my legs. 

A younger kid zoomed around me till I was able to push him down by his own weight. Then, another, I just let exhaust himself till it was a draw. Then I sat to catch my breath. Still, another wanted to go. I accidentally kneed him (ending that tussle), which we both apologized emphatically for. Then the kid I called a draw on rematched. He kept zooming around till I toppled him. But he caught me, and we both fell on the kneed kid. Oh, you can feel the cringe. Boyhood, friends…

Watching Over Toddlers

I wrap up those exhausting boy stories with a tranquil one. Toward my fourth day’s end, I was back in the little classroom with my co-teacher. It was a peaceful moment. So I asked her why she chose to work here. She loves children, she happily replied. 

Then a couple toddlers ambled into the classroom. So my co-teacher sat with one at the teachers’ desk, while the boy practiced handwriting Mongolian’s Cyrillic letters. The other toddler was the energetic four-year-old from before. She stood at a different desk. I smiled and sat down with her.

A thought came to me while I watched her flip through an English picture dictionary. Focused, she would circle blank spaces with a yellow pencil she lacked the dexterity to hold properly. Sometimes she would look up at my smirk, then grin back at me, before resuming her paging and circling. I felt the pleasant warm gut feeling again.

A spiritual director advised me this Advent outside the States to be open to in whom I may find God. A toddler, too, was Jesus. His parents surely shared moments sitting with Him, watching His antics getting to know the world. How precious, it felt.

Presence, Longing and Leaving

As I prepared to leave on the third day, the children asked with a sort of urgency the next time I’d return. It’s often like this. I sensed myself in their longing to know when my friends would return to me. I promised as best I could I’d return around this time next week. And the children wished me farewells, returning upstairs to resume whatever they did before I came. 

Leaving from my fifth, most recent visit, after I taught the ABCs, the children grilled me at least half an hour for when I’d come back. Like with my college students when they misunderstood my “going home” as going back to the States, the children looked visibly distressed when I said I may visit the States at all. I really do want to be here for them. So before leaving, I gifted the children a bag of my American candy to share. I heard they celebrated their birthdays the day before on Mongolia’s Independence Day. After handing the bag to an adolescent, I saw the children lining up as I left. 

One night, while catching up with a friend who’s been in Hong Kong, she commended me and called me so generous for wanting to serve at the orphanage despite being in Mongolia so few months. I hadn’t thought of it that way, before. I hoped I serve well.

Echoes

Around the weeks I began visiting the orphanage, I also found a white kitten in the cold stairwell of my apartment building, curled in the darkness at my doorstep. Its purrs and mewing sounded like a small child, crying out. It scared me at first. 

I would step away from my door and retreat down a few stairs. The kitten would follow me down and up, as though seeking a way in. When it neared me, it would nuzzle around my ankles and climb upon my boots. I would stand waiting till it climbed off before I continued stepping. 

I don’t want to hurt the kitten, but I can’t care for it by myself. After I re-entered my apartment, I would still hear the kitten meow some nights. But I haven’t heard it recently. I hope it’s OK. 

This time last year, when I detailed to a spiritual advisor my feelings of loneliness, he advised I worry less about whether my friends are reaching out to me and focus more on the individuals others aren’t reaching out to. He suggested I write to prisoners, for example. During the year that followed, I engaged in deeper conversations with people without homes, people with disabilities and those who work in stigmatized industries. I also followed my heart to spontaneously reach out to old friends, when feeling called to. Often, I never saw a reply. But that’s alright. “We all lead such elaborate lives,” I remind myself. 

I’m meant to serve. I’m meant to love. Perhaps my service is my salve. 

After coming home my third evening from the orphanage, I continued to hear in my head the children’s exclamations and questions reverberating. The way the toddlers would climb over me and hug whatever part of me they could reach reminded me of the little kitten, too. My presence is their present. 

Two or three years from now, when I leave Mongolia, I’ll surely cry in my goodbyes.

My next story recounts Thanksgiving 2019 in Mongolia.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me

[rhysanoodle]

Teach Me

Feysand fluff

Word count: 1822

Inspired by this post by @captainluxiian

And this art by @porcelainart

AO3

Part 1

Part 2

“Orrin, slow down!” I yelled from over the banister.

It wasn’t even breakfast time, and already he had popped out of bed in a frenzy this morning and was trying to chase his Uncle Azriel around the foyer, delighting in making the larger Illyrian try to duck and dodge his grubby hands while Az tried ever-so-cautiously not to knock anything over with his wings.

I caught the gaze of the Shadowsinger, giving him my best apologetic smile. At six years old, Orrin was a powerhouse, a never-ending fountain of energy which we were hoping would one day be well-directed into ruling the Night Court with honor. He was only a few years away from his first visit to Windhaven, where Rhys and I would move for his adolescent years to give him the same training my mate had been succumbed to in his adolescence.

A sudden wailing noise came from over my shoulder. That would be my niece, Ava. I motioned to Az that I’d take care of her, relishing the relative peace and quiet she’d afford me once she was freed from her crib. At least compared to what was now occurring downstairs.

Her mother was already out tending the garden, but I was still greeted by a giggle and the most adorable grin as I walked into the nursery and Ava realized who had come to get her out of bed this morning.

As I approached her, she pulled up on the bars and got into a standing position, miniscule wings flapping aggressively. They’d just begun to start unfurling last month, and, with any luck, they’d be fully formed by the time she reached one year old.

They still wouldn’t be strong enough to carry her weight for a few years yet, but I missed the days before Orrin was raring to go, demanding that anybody with a set of wings begin teaching him the ropes of flying. Now it was all I could do to keep him grounded when we weren’t able to watch his every move.

Rhys and I had been trying for another child since not long after our son was born with no luck. Hopefully this time it would be a daughter for Rhys to no doubt spoil rotten.

I cherished any time I got to sneak away and care for Ava, grateful that Elain and Az had come to live with us on a more full-time basis not long after she was born.

After changing her and summoning a bottle from the kitchen, I walked down to the drawing room where the piano sat. It had been gathering dust for months, neither of us able to find much of a spare minute to play with all the chaos going on in our little household once we’d managed to finish our official duties.

I missed it. The late nights where Rhys and I would just sit for hours, hammering out familiar melodies, trying to recreate symphonies we’d heard performed in the Rainbow. He had been patient with me from the beginning, not minding the nights where it was a significant struggle as I tried to learn how to decipher the clefs and key signatures on the page.

Rhys always caressed me down the bond, soothing my nerves whenever I’d get so incredibly frustrated that I still stumbled after months of playing, reminding me that he’d spent years learning to become decent, and centuries trying to master it.

Now, whenever we were awoken by nightmares, we usually also had another bedmate who had heard us and wormed his way into our bed. We’d stay silently still, sometimes just glancing between ourselves and our precious boy, praying he never had to experience the trauma we’d been subjected to — and reminding ourselves that we’d made it out. And we were so incredibly blessed with how our lives turned out.

As I sat on the bench, seating a babbling Ava in my lap, I found myself reminiscing of that night all those years ago when my musical journey began. Unable to contain myself, I began to leisurely play the melody Rhys had helped me tap out on the keys all those year ago — our song. I closed my eyes, content to let the music take me away. As I grew more familiar with playing again and began to regain my muscle memory, I increased my tempo, catching up to the intended speed, the notes soaring out for beneath my fingers.

Just as I was reaching the end of the first movement, I was pulled from my reverie by a small beating of wings and some plodding footsteps.

“Wow, mommy! That was amazing!” Orrin exclaimed, shuffling up to me and tugging on my tunic. An out-of-breath Az was close on his tail, looking for all the world as if he’d tried to give me a few more moments of peace. “How’d you make it do that?”

“Well,” I explained, “I just press down on the keys, and each one makes a different sound. See?” I demonstrated by pressing and holding the middle C key. “When you press many of them at the same time and string them together, you can make a song. Just like this.” I performed a quick practice etude.

The look in his small violet eyes was nothing short of awestruck. “Please. Pleeeease will you teach me how to do that?” he pleaded, giving me a look he knew made me melt most of the time.

I thought about it for a moment before coming to a decision. “Go ask your father, Bud, okay?”

He face sunk. “But he’s not even home right now. It could be houuuurs before he’s here to teach meeeee!” He drew out some of his syllables like molasses as he began to tear up, and I could sense a tantrum about to erupt out of him.

“Yes, but he’s a much better piano player than I am,” I said conspiratorially. “He taught me. You wouldn’t want to miss out on this opportunity because you couldn’t wait a few hours, would you?”

Az shot me a grin and added, “You’re so lucky. I’ve been trying to get him to teach me for years, but your mommy has been keeping him all to herself.”

Orrin’s eyes lit up as he quickly agreed and began to drag his uncle with him to the kitchen, stating that he needed to eat up now because he had to be full and ready to go whenever Rhys came home.

I laughed to myself, struggling to keep from relaying this precious conversation to Rhys but knowing that the surprise would be worth it when he got home from the Court of Nightmares.

“Daddy!” The shrill yell could be heard throughout the estate, as Rhys no doubt winnowed into the foyer early that afternoon.

I left my seat at the kitchen table to go greet my mate with a kiss, and saw that Orrin was already tugging at his pant legs in anticipation.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred at me as I came into view, the familiar greeting paired with the longing on his face making my toes curl with desire, even after all these years.

“You’re home early,” I replied. I gave him a swift peck on the cheek, but did little more to encourage him, knowing that the two of us wouldn’t be able to satisfy our own urges until much later tonight, when the little one was finally in bed.

“Mor’s been doing her job incredibly well lately. Remind me to buy her a present for having already finalized most of the weapons deal with Keir before I even arrived this morning.”

By this point, we could both tell Orrin was about to burst from excitement as Rhys knelt down next to him and asked, “And how has your morning been, kiddo?”

Orrin cringed slightly at the nickname, but barreled on, intent on relaying his wish to Rhys.

“Daddy, will you teach me how to play the piano? It’s the coolest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and Mommy and Uncle Az told me you were the best piano player ever.”

Rhys’ eyes never left Orrin’s face, but I felt a brush against my mental shields. I opened up the familiar sliver just for him.

The best ever, Feyre darling?

The one and only. He may be embellishing a bit, but who could blame him? You’re his hero.

That’s a whole lot to live up to.

I’m sure the most powerful High Lord in history will have no problem training the next great virtuoso.

Do you think he’s actually serious about wanting to learn? 

A slight tinge of worry was sent along with that question. I knew it wasn’t for our son, but for Rhys. For the fact that he might get his hopes up only to have Orrin grow frustrated or bored of it quickly and never show interest again.

You were younger than him when you had your first lesson, and look at you now. It’s all he’s talked about for hours now. I might have told him you could start as soon as you were done working.

Cruel, wicked thing. 

At that, I shut him out, not willing to let him turn this conversation into a flirtation when there were more important things to do right now.

“I’d love to,” Rhys responded out loud, ruffling Orrin’s hair. “Why don’t you give me a few minutes to change and grab a snack, and I’ll meet you in the drawing room.”

Half an hour later, I crept into the doorway, and watched as Rhys, with Orrin on his lap, guided his small hands ever so slowly over the keys, demonstrating how to make his fingers curl properly, and letting him know not to get too discouraged by the fact that the size of his hands made it slightly more difficult to spread his fingers out correctly.

Orrin was raptly paying attention for the first time in years, soaking it all in, desperate to begin truly playing a song. It was the most focused I’d seen him in awhile, and it made me smile, remembering the moments he couldn’t, where as a toddler, his father would seat him on his lap, and serenade him.

As Rhys sensed me hovering in his periphery, the bond was filled with a sense of joyous melancholy. I knew the words he didn’t even need to say — the memories that were now coursing through him of his mother teaching him to play and the peace he was finding at finally being able to pass this piece of her onto our child. To give him a sense of the grandmother Rhys so wished was still here to see this day.

I sent a loving caress down the bond, pouring my heart out to him in the way that was best done mind-to-mind, as a tear slid down his cheek.

Thank you.

< Previous  Masterlist

Tagging: @porcelainart @ineedcrossants @illyrianinterrasen @dagypsygirl

[sprinkleofdiaz]

For The Love Of Dogs - Bucky x Reader

Prompt: I wasn't looking for anything serious. 

Summary: Bucky did not expect to be looking after a dog let alone catching feelings for the vet. 

Pairing: Bucky x Reader 

Tags/Warnings: Dogs! , Feelings, Fluff. 

Word Count: 3, 297

A/N: This is my entry for the lovely  @just-some-drabbles 4K follower challenge! Congrats you deserve every single one you're amazing! Sorry I took so long with it! Bucky and dogs are the true loves of my life. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered between the two men standing in front of him. He wasn't sure who he wanted to kill more.

Sam had the audacity to stand there smirking at Steve who was sitting on Bucky’s couch, giggles erupting from his mouth as a large labrador clambered on him, licking his face, tail wagging excitedly.

“I am not looking after a dog,” Bucky snapped.

“It's only for a week,” Sam replied, matter-of-factly.

“What the hell am I even supposed to do with it?”

“Feed it. Play with it. Clean it. Look after it.” Sam had the audacity to stand there smirking. Bucky rolled his eyes before turning his focus to Steve sat on Bucky’s couch, giggles erupting from his mouth as a large labrador clambered on him, licking his face, tail wagging excitedly.

Admittedly, Bucky found the dog cute but it didn't help ease any uncertain feels he had over the set-up. Sam and Steve claimed it could be good for him and could help with his anxiety and ongoing recovery. Although it had been two years since returning from the army, Bucky spent a large portion of the time in rehabilitation after having his arm amputated. He was recovering from his depression and managing his anxiety and now, he had his own apartment in Brooklyn, a stable job at the local bookstore and was in a place where he was good.

His nightmares however still persisted and there were still some “bad days” much to the concern of his friends. With that, came many interventions many of which Bucky disliked much like the one he currently faced. Sam and Steve claimed that having a dog will keep him busy as well as it being statistically proven that keeping a pet can boost a person’s mood.

“What am I gonna do when I go to work?” Bucky argued.

“Your next shift’s next weekend, I’ll watch him.” Steve said as he scratched the dog's ears.

“Guys, I really don't know about this. I don't even know his name!” Bucky pleaded helplessly. It was sinking in that this was actually real, he was only just managing to look after himself. Steve laughed.

“It's Cream, Buck. I'm sure you’ll remember it.”

“Cream? How original.” He muttered as he noted the dog’s cream coloured fur which earned him a glare from Steve. “Fine, I’ll look after him.” He sighed, as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Who knows, maybe you can adopt more pets, couple of more dogs, a few cats maybe some snakes. James Barnes Brooklyn’s Animal Whisperer.” Sam teased. Bucky glared at him.

“We should get going but all his stuff is here. He’s got toys, a dog bed, a leash, food and I’ve written down the number and address of the vet if you have any problems.” Steve said standing up and gesturing to where he placed the various dog items. He gave Bucky a small squeeze on his shoulder before leaving his apartment with Sam.

Bucky sighed and looked down at the dog who was sniffing at his feet.

After making himself dinner that evening, Bucky poured the packet of dog food into the plastic dog bowl before grabbing his food and making his way to the living room.  He settled down on the sofa and switching the TV to a channel that was showing reruns of Friends. He felt a dip on the sofa next to him and turned to see Cream laying down, head on her paws and her eyes trained solely on his food.

“No. No way. Down.” Bucky ordered. Cream slowly jumped of the sofa and perched herself directly in front of him. “Seriously? Go. Now.”

This time Cream ignored him and stared straight at his food. Bucky groaned.

“No. I’ve made you food. Go.” Cream turned her head as he pointed in the direction of the kitchen but she returned her focus to Bucky’s food. Bucky frowned at her. He didn’t know what Steve and Sam were thinking. But she was a damn cute dog. Sighing, he went against his inhibitions and plucked a piece of chicken of his plate. Cream perked up and ate it right from his palm. Admittedly, Bucky found it endearing. He stroke her head before handing her another piece.

“Okay, now will you eat your own food? Good boy.” He said as he watched Cream walk to the kitchen. He leant his back against his sofa cushions. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a dog.”

Cream soon came plodding back in and lay down at Bucky’s feet. Bucky returned to his dinner and the TV.

When Bucky next checked the time he saw that an hour went by and Cream was still by his feet but he was being quiet. One part of Bucky’s brain told him that Cream was fine and probably tired by the other part of his brain thought back to the chicken he gave him and rung a few alarm bells.

“You okay, buddy?” He said softly to Cream. Cream looked up at him slowly before placing his head back on his paws. “You wanna play? Go fetch that ball.”

Cream looked to where the ball lay and looked as though he was going to get up  but didn’t. Now, Bucky began to worry.

He reached over to where his laptop sat on the  coffee table and pulled up google. He felt ridiculous but he wasn't exactly sure if dogs could even eat chicken. Plus how could he tell Sam and Steve that he poisoned the dog within the first couple of hours of having him?

Google proved to be an ineffective reassurance.

Bucky remembered the address and number of the Vet he had written down. A vet’s opinion is much more reliable than yahoo answers. 

For the first time in a long time it was calm in the veterinary practise. You were grateful as it was easier to concentrate on treating the pets and calming down worried owners. It was an emergency practise which meant you dealt with overly stressed people on a nightly basis.

Your shift was nearing its end and you began to pack away the equipment. There's as a small part of you, thankful you worked late that night as you would feel less guilty about staying in with a movie as opposed to going out and socialising like your friends have been trying to get you to do for a long time.

Your office was situated next to the receptions area and you hear the sounds of a distressed pet owner. It wasn't unusual, of course, but you had a habit of caring too much and wouldn't mind squeezing one last person in even if it did run overtime.

You made your way out and saw the receptionist trying to reassure the man who stood in front of the desk, holding a Labrador in his arms.

“Sir, I will see that you get seento  as soon as possible. Take a few breaths and take a seat.”  The receptionist tried to reassure. The man’s frown deepened and he looked as though he were about to say something until you interjected.

“It's okay, I’ll be happy to see you.” You said. Relief flooded the man’s face and he began walking towards you.

“But isn't the end of you shift?” The receptionist asked raising an eyebrow.

“It's fine. Come right through sir.” You waved off the receptionist before smiling to the man and walking into the room. “I'm Dr. Y/F/N Y/L/N. What’s this little guy’s name? Though he's not so little and you must be pretty strong to carry him.” You said as the man placed his Labrador the examination table.

“Cream,”

“And what seems to be the problem with Cream?” You asked as you rubbed Cream behind his ears.

“Uh, well, it's a little embarrassing actually,” he began scratching the back of his neck. You had to admit he was kind of cute but you quickly squashed down the thoughts deeming it unprofessional. “The short answer: I fed him some of my chicken I had for dinner and now he seems...I don't know unusually unresponsive. He's normally bouncing around the place. I'm kinda freaking out, doc.  Have I poisoned him?”

“Well, I haven't known chicken to be particularly dangerous. But I'll give him a quick check over. Do you when he last saw a vet?”

“He's not my dog. I got him today, I'm only supposed to be watching him for a friend for two weeks so details are kinda details. Is that a problem?”

“It shouldn't be.” You said as you began checking over the dog, occasionally cooing to him. “Well, he seems perfectly healthy. No problems as far as I can tell. You must be a pretty good owner if your friend trusted you with him.”

“I wouldn't say that. I haven't even had him for a day and already I'm at the vets.”

“Well, us vets. We’re not bad company.” You winked. He smiled and seemed to relax with your friendly banter.

“Well he seems to be fine. So no worries there. It's likely he's just tired himself out but maybe lay off any food that isn't certified dog food.” You said, stroking Cream.

“Thanks doc. Sorry for wasting your time.” He said, seeming a lot more relaxed.

“It's no problem. Better to be safe than sorry. Take care...sorry, I didnt get your name?”

“Uh James or you can just call me Bucky.” He said.

“Well, take care Bucky. And make sure you take good care of Cream. “ you said as he picked Cream up and began making his way out of the room.

The first few days of dogsitting after the impromptu trip to vets went soothingly much to Bucky’s surprise though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't struggling a little. Cream still gave him puppy dog eyes whenever he ate and despite being sleepy the night of the vet trip he was now full of energy 24/7.

Bucky was out at a small park and he never knew a dog to be so into everything. Cream was one curious canine. Cream was busy running up and down fetching a tennis ball, Bucky was throwing when something else caught his attention resulting in him scurrying off. Bucky closed his eyes and groaned before following him.

“Cream, get back here.” He half shouted, knowing that the Labrador wouldn't listen. He found Cream to be sniffing a golden retriever. “I'm sorry.” Bucky began before noticing who the owner was.

“It's no problem. It seems like they really like each other.” You said, laughing a little. “It's nice to see you again, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled.

“And it seems like they're entertained. You wanna take a seat?” You said nodding to where a bench was behind the two of you. Bucky nodded and followed you. “So, any particular reason you're looking after your friend’s dog? If you don't mind me asking?”

“Not really except my friends are interfering.”

“Oh, I know a thing or two about interfering friends.” You laughed. “Have you lived in Brooklyn for long?”

“Pretty much all my life. Except the few years I served in the army.” Bucky said. He subconsciously found himself rubbing his prosthetic hand but suddenly feeling self-conscious once he became aware of it and saw you eyes falling to it. He quickly stopped and awkwardly put his hand in his pocket. Normally, he wouldn't hide it, he embraced it but for some reason, he couldnt place why he felt vulnerable. In addition, there was tingly sensation in his stomach as you smiled softly at him. There was something nice about being around you..

“It's okay.” You said softly. “You served in the army? That's pretty awesome. I wish I could say I did something as spectatcular.”

“Well it wasn't all great. And I don't know, I'd say being a Vet and saving animal’s lives is pretty spectacular.” He mused. You grinned back at him.

“I haven't lived in Brooklyn long at all. I moved here a few years ago.” You said.

“Why?”

“I needed change y’know. I wanted to be my own person not whoever my parents wanted me to be. I love them and they never explicitly gave me a career I had to choose like some other’s but it was pretty evident that looking after animals is not what they saw their child doing. It became somewhat stifling. At least now I've learned, rather learning to be a proper adult. And being  around animals is not a bad way to spend my time though it's tough sometimes.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I'm still learning how to be a proper adult.” Bucky said. You smiled. “How long have you had your dog?”

“I've had Carrot for about a year now.”

“You named your dog Carrot?”

“In my defence, I let a four year old name it!” You argued as the two of you laughed. As your Dogs came bounding over. “I guess I better get going. It was nice to talk to you Bucky. And good to see Cream in good shape.”

“It was nice to talk to you to, and you were right.”

“Huh?”

“Vets aren't bad company.”

It was your day off and had planned for a movie day. In order to make yourself feel better about watching questionable movies with Carrot you decided to head out for some snacks. All was fine until the heavens decided to unleash a downpour, subsequently drenching you. You had left your umbrella behind and not wanting to get anymore wet you decided to duck into the nearest store until it died down. The closet one just happened to be a small, bookstore. You weren't complaining.

The bell on the door chimed and you smiled as you were greeted with the warmth. You ran a hand through your hair, grimacing at the wetness. You walked over to one of the shelves and ran your finger along the spines. You were deep into browsing when a voice interrupted you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around and saw Bucky behind you holding a box. At first he seemed shocked but that soon melted into a smile.

“Bucky! I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, I work here. You're...drenched.” His eyes scanned your sodden outfit.

“Ugh, I know. I only went out for snacks.” You said holding up your bag. “And I stupidly left my umbrella at home. So much for my movie day.”

“Movie day huh?”

“Yep, probably gonna rewatch Sleepless In Seattle for the hundredth time.” You replied.

“I've never seen it”

“You should. Best romance movie of all time, no exaggeration.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Bucky smiled. You looked outside and saw that the rain had calmed down.

“I should let you get back to work. You don't need to listen to me and my lonely movie marathons.” You joked.

“You're alone?”

“Does Carrot count?” You chuckled. “Bye Bucky.”

Wanda had called Bucky into the bookstore last minute asking him to cover her shift. Fortunately, Steve was around to watch Cream. He didn't have any plans besides buying groceries for his dinner that evening which he did once his shift was over.

It was dark and cold, winter truly settling in. As he walked home he realised the emergency vets was on his route home. Sure enough there you were walking out of there. You seemed to be walking cautiously, continuously scanning around you. You looked behind you and stopped once you saw bucky.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were stalking me.” You said grinning at him.

“Nah, just buying dinner.” He replied holding up his bags.

“This time you're the one buying food. “ you said as Bucky reached you and fell into step with you as the two of you made your way down the street.

“Are you walking home?”

“I was gonna, my car’s out of gas but I'm kinda spooked from the dark. I think I'm gonna call a cab.”

“That's probably a good idea.” Bucky said. He noted to offer to walk you home but the two of you had only met a few times and he didn't want to come across as creepy or stalkerish. “I'll wait with you until your cab comes if you'd like?”

“I would like that.” You smiled. The two of you walked a little further before you stopped and took out your phone to call a cab. After calling Bucky and you fell into a comfortable conversation. Bucky's butterflies had returned.

Eventually a cab pulled up on the kern.

“Guess this is my ride.” You said. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I've got nothing planned. Why?”

“Well, I was maybe thinking you'd like to get a coffee tomorrow? You could bring Cream and I'd bring Carrot. A dog date?”

“I'd like that.” Bucky said smiling at you.

“I should probably give you my number and text you the details. I know this great café.” You said walking over to him. Bucky got out his phone and handed it to you. You began tapping your number in, hurrying when the cab driver honked his horn. “See you tomorrow.”

The café was quaint and you were so glad they allowed dogs on the premises - as long as they were behaved. As Carrot sat at your feet you found yourself continuously stroking her and was grateful as you were a bundle of nerves. You wished it wasn't so nerve wracking meeting with a cute, kind and funny guy but that was exactly why. You felt a little insane as you had only known Bucky for a short amount of time but you could feel something between you two. Something was definitely there. Everyone was telling you take chances and get out there and this was doing that. Right?

You didn't have time to freak out further as you felt someone behind you. You turned around and saw the man of the hour with Cream.

“Hey,” you greeted. “I thought I'd wait for you to order.”

“I'll go up and get it for you with my order. What do you want?” He asked winding Cream’s lead around the chair leg.

“Just a hot chocolate for me.” You said. He smiled and nodded before walking up to order.

He soon came back carrying a delicious looking hot chocolate topped with cream and Coffee for himself. You wrapped your hands around the mug and for the first time in your life you had no idea what to say.

“This café’s nice. I've never been here before.” Bucky said as he took a sip from his coffee.

“I've been here a few times. The hot chocolate is the best.” You said. You looked at your cup. You knew what you wanted to really say. “Hey Bucky. I-uh-I have something I'd like to say.”

“What's up?” He said a small twinge of concern on his face.

“I wasn’t looking for anything serious.” You blurted out. Understandably Bucky looked confused. “Sorry, let me start again. I know we haven't known each other for a long time but i think I've really grown to like you and I wanna get to know you better. God, I probably sound crazy.” You took a sip from you cup in the hopes it would ease your nerves.

Bucky didn't say anything except look down towards his cup. Oh god you thought.

“I wasn't looking for anything serious either,” Bucky said quietly. “I think I like you too Y/N.”

You let out a laugh which confused Bucky but he began to smile.

“How about we try this dating thing?” You said. Bucky reached over and grabbed you hand.

“I'd like that. I'd like that a lot.”

Tags: @poealsobucky @lilasiannerd @thegenderqueerbatman

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @anyberry!

Merry Christmas Berry! I hope you have a wonderful festive season and I hope you enjoy this Stereky goodness. Love from your Secret Santa

*****

Stiles really hated lacrosse, despite the fact that he was on the lacrosse team. In fact, Stiles probably hated lacrosse mostly because he was on the lacrosse team. It was a perfectly reasonable if slightly nonsensical sport back when he was sitting on the bleachers watching other people run around trying to throw a ball into a netted goal with the aid of another, smaller net at the end of a stick. But now that he was one of those people he was finding it significantly less reasonable.

And the most unreasonable thing about lacrosse? Summer practice sessions. Stiles never would’ve joined the team if he’d known about summer practice sessions. Stiles was expecting after-school practice, it goes with the territory of playing a school sport. He could deal with weekend practice, grumpily, because he could see the benefit of extra training before big, important games.

But summer training? When they wouldn’t actually have a game, important or otherwise, for at least another two months? When he wasn’t even sure he’d make the team again in his junior year? Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.

Which was not really that surprising considering Coach Finstock was a lunatic. But Stiles hadn’t known that when he’d let Scott beg and plead and puppy-dog-eye him into signing up for tryouts last year.

And now he was paying the price for his ignorance. During summer.

“I hate you so much right now,” Stiles muttered to Scott as they packed up their gear, the rest of the team plodding past them towards the locker room.

“Aw c’mon, it’s not that bad! Doesn’t it make you feel alive, being out here, under the sun, feeling the grass beneath your feet and the wind against your face and the solid weight of your crosse in your hands?” Scott said, grin lopsided, arms open wide toward the pitch before them.

Stiles stared at him for a while, because he felt he needed to.

Then, “No.”

There was a noise from behind him and Stiles turned to see the back of Derek Hale moving toward the low, squat wing of the school that housed the locker rooms. If Stiles didn’t know better he might’ve thought Derek had laughed. In reality Derek probably just had gas.

Turning back to Scott he continued, “No, it makes me feel the opposite of alive, because the sun is burning the shit out of my lily white Polish ass, the grass is generally beneath my face not my feet, the wind is usually getting pounded out of my lungs, and I’m far more likely to feel the weight of other dudes’ crosses getting smacked into me.”

Scott gaped at him.

“You realise that sounded, like, aggressively sexual, right?”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Stiles grunted, and he hauled his bag over his shoulder, stomping off to the locker room.

***

Apart from unreasonable training schedules, the locker room was the worst thing about lacrosse. Or, more specifically, it was the worst place to have to be, three times a week, during summer, when one was possibly maybe potentially having a small sexuality crisis.

Not that Stiles felt that there was a major crisis to be had. He was 98.3% certain that his dad and his grandma and Scott and Scott’s mom would all be completely accepting of a potentially not-straight Stiles. And Stiles knew he was extremely lucky in that sense, and he was grateful. But still, that 1.7% was enough to keep him up at night.

And it wasn’t as though Stiles really, deeply cared about what other people thought of him, outside of those four that really mattered. But still, he wasn’t naive and he was extremely aware that homophobia was well and truly alive in modern America. Particularly within hyper-masculine environments such as high school locker rooms.

And the most crisis-inducing aspect of Stiles’ not-major and yet also not-insignificant sexuality crisis was the simple fact that Stiles was not who he thought he was. And that’s not at all a bad thing, but it is a confronting thing. Thinking that you knew who you were, that you have known who you are for years, and then slowly realizing that you don’t, in fact, know yourself inside and out. To be certain and then to be suddenly not, it was overwhelming. It felt raw and jangly and new underneath his skin.

So Stiles felt edgy enough as it was, and all those male abs and backs and thighs in the locker room, three times a week, during summer, were doing nothing to help his already frayed nerves.

Stiles faffed and fiddled around his locker, double-checking he had his helmet, carefully wiping off his pads, until most of the rest of the team had finished in the showers. It basically guaranteed that there would be no hot water left for him, but it was worth a cold shower if it meant he wouldn’t be surrounded by naked dudes on all sides. Plus it was the middle of summer, Stiles could not stress this enough, and who was wanting a hot shower anyway?

When he could hear only two or three other people moving around the dark, humid room Stiles stripped the rest of his clothes off and grabbed his towel.

He spent a while in the shower, letting the lukewarm water soothe both his aching muscles and the stinging-hot parts of his skin that were exposed to the sun for too long. He was in there long enough that Scott shouted his goodbyes and left without him, but Stiles didn’t mind. He’d catch up with Scott later, probably to annihilate him in a virtual world. The undisputed natural and proper way to be spending summer vacation.

Once Stiles towelled off he headed for the door and blessed freedom, feeling relief and jubilation, planning to reward himself with an ice cold milkshake on the way home, the rest of that fine summer's day stretched sweet and sticky before him and -

The doorknob wouldn’t turn.

Stiles tried it again.

It still wouldn’t turn. It remained unmoved and unforgiving, like Coach Finstock when Stiles tried to weasel his way out of running suicides.

Stiles rattled and pushed and pulled and still the doorknob wouldn’t turn and the door stayed shut.

“Fuck!” Stiles shouted and kicked the closed door. Which, in hindsight, was a thoroughly idiotic move, so Stiles cursed some more as he hopped around on one foot, a hand clutching at the toe of his other sneaker.

“What’s going on?”

Stiles froze at the voice behind him. Because he knew that voice. And he should’ve known that horrible, embarrassing things come in threes. The locked door, his crumpled toes, and now…

“Derek!” Stiles squeaked.

It hadn’t started out as a squeak. But then Stiles had turned around halfway through the word to find Derek Hale, half-naked and wet, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, water droplets were gliding down his shoulders, his pale eyes seemed even paler in the dim light of the room, and a towel, a tiny scrap of material wrapped around Derek’s hips, was the only thing saving both Derek’s dignity and Stiles’ sanity.

“Uh,” Stiles said, super intelligently.

And then he just stared at Derek. Naked Derek. He ogled, there was no denying it. He was ogling, and he made himself stop.

“Stiles? What’s going on?” Derek repeated.

“The door’s locked,” Stiles mumbled at the floor.

“What.”

“The door,” Stiles said, slightly louder, no less squeaky. “It is locked. The way is shut. We shall not pass.” And he flailed with one hand to emphasize his point.

“What,” Derek said again, the same word, but entirely different.

He strode forward and Stiles made a garbled sound in the back of his throat, backing himself into the wall next to the door.

Derek grabbed the door handle, twisting it and pulling it, like he thought Stiles was lying to him, or like he thought his superior lacrosse captain strength would prevail where all others before him had failed.

But the door, surprise of all surprises, was still fucking locked.

Derek kept trying to open it though, and he was starting to look panicked, and his breath was beginning to rush in and out of him like frantic waves against a stormy shore.

“Dude,” Stiles said, but Derek either ignored him or couldn’t hear him at all. “Derek.” He put a hand on Derek’s warm, broad shoulder.

Derek stilled, and he looked at Stiles, and he suddenly seemed to notice that he was more or less caging Stiles in against the wall while he fruitlessly pulled at the door handle, and then an even more panicked expression passed across his face and he jumped, literally jumped, backwards.

Stiles held his hands up like he was trying to calm a wild animal, because it felt like he was trying to calm a wild animal. There was something extremely wild about the way Derek was looking at him.

“Hey,” Stiles started softly. “Are you okay? Are you claustrophobic? I have panic attacks sometimes, I could help you through some breathing exercises if you want,” he said, making his hands and his voice as gentle as he could.

Derek was clutching his towel with both hands like it was a liferaft, and at Stiles words his expression shifted, becoming no less panicked but now somehow longing too, like Stiles was the liferaft, and he couldn’t quite reach.

He took two deep breaths and Stiles could see him visibly trying to calm himself.

“I’m fine,” he said, but Stiles could hear the strained hoarseness of his voice.

“How about this,” Stiles said, his brain clicking into gear, “you dry off and get dressed and I’ll make some calls, see if I can get someone to come get us out of here.” Doing something proactive, something physical, working towards a goal always helped Stiles when he felt a panic attack coming on.

“Okay,” Derek said shakily and turned to go to his locker. Just as he was about to round the corner he glanced back at Stiles over his shoulder, and the same panicked, longing look swept over his features again.

Stiles swiped open his phone with determination. It was just his goddamn rotten luck that he gets trapped inside the boys locker room, during summer, with the one person who was possibly maybe potentially responsible for kicking off Stiles’ not-major and yet also not-insignificant sexuality crisis in the first place. Jesus.

Stiles tried Coach Finstock first, because he had Coach Finstock’s number, because Coach Finstock insisted on each of his players having his phone number and him having theirs in return, because Coach Finstock was a lunatic.

And in keeping with Stiles’ luck, Coach Finstock didn’t answer.

Next Stiles tried his dad, and because his dad was a steady, solid, dependable presence in Stiles’ life he did answer his phone. Of course he spent the first three minutes of the conversation laughing himself to tears about the newest ridiculous predicament that Stiles had found himself in, but after that he came through.

The Sheriff promised that he would try to track down someone with a set of keys to the school locker rooms, and failing that he would send over a locksmith to get them out. It might take awhile, but Stiles and Derek had access to running water and working toilet facilities, and Stiles was pretty sure he had a flattened Cliff Bar or two floating around in the bottom of his bag somewhere, so they could survive in there for a good few hours.

Sure, it wasn’t an ideal way to waste a day of vacation, but things could be worse. And Stiles could be stuck with far worse survival buddies than Derek Hale. All in all Stiles was feeling pretty positive about their situation.

Until he went in search of his survival buddy and overheard Derek on the phone.

“God, why did it have to be him?” Derek was whispering desperately to someone on the other end of the call. “Out of all the guys on the team why did I have to get trapped in here with Stiles fucking Stilinski.”

***

It took about half an hour but eventually Derek came looking for him.

He found Stiles sat on the cool tile floor, back against the wall, arms curled around his legs and his chin resting on his knee.

He looked confused, and a little bit hurt, but Stiles couldn’t be bothered wondering why that was. Stiles’ stomach still felt all hollowed out and empty, his fingers still tingled with humiliation and unspoken rejection.

Worst of all was the cavernous feeling inside his chest where his bruised heart bounced and echoed around.

In all honesty he never truly believed he ever stood a chance with Derek. Derek Hale was handsome and popular, respected by his teachers and revered by his peers. He was as intelligent as he was athletically gifted, he volunteered at the local animal shelter in his spare time, and he loved his family unabashedly. And he knew who Stiles was. By name, even. Sometimes he’d stop and give Stiles little tips about hand placement and throwing technique when they were on the field during practice, and he always nodded at Stiles when they passed each other in the hallways.

So although it was fun to fantasize, to daydream about holding Derek’s hand, Stiles never honestly believed Derek would ever want to date him.

He had thought they’d been sort of friends, though. Friendly teammates at least. And to hear Derek say his name with such utter anguish, like being forced to spend time with him was the worst punishment in the world, was a fist to the gut that Stiles was entirely unprepared for.

“Where have you been?” Derek asked, and it was such a stupid question that it punched an ugly laugh out of Stiles’ throat.

“I’ve been here,” Stiles replied slowly. “Locked inside the locker room.”

A hint of a smile began to grow on Derek’s lips, but it withered quickly at the sarcasm in Stiles’ voice.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Derek said. He looked at Stiles in confusion. “I meant, why didn’t you come back to m- um, why didn’t you come and tell me what’s going to happen. Is someone coming to get us out?”

“Yeah, my dad’s working on it.”

Derek nodded.

And then when he seemed to be waiting for more Stiles just couldn’t help adding, bitterly, “And I thought I’d give you some space, seeing as how you wish you weren’t trapped in here with Stiles fucking Stilinski.”

Stiles had never seen Derek’s face get so pale so quickly. In fact, he didn’t think he’d even seen Derek’s face go pale at all.

“You heard that?” Derek asked, and he sounded pained.

“Yep,” Stiles said, popping the P, because his assholish tendencies kick into overdrive when he feels hurt.

“It’s not what you think, I swear.” Derek sounded urgent and he crouched down onto his knees in front of Stiles.

“Really?” Stiles hated it, but he couldn’t help the way his voice went all high and disbelieving. “Because it sounded like being alone with me was the worst possible torment you could ever face. And that’s a real ego boost, dude, thanks.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Derek was wringing his hands at this point.

Stiles just raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘please, do go on’.

Derek sighed, then squared his shoulders.

“The truth is, I like you.”

Stiles snorted. A real, guttural, wholly unattractive snort. “Could’ve fooled me, dude.”

“I’m being serious, doucheface.”

And didn’t that make Stiles sit up and listen. When he finally looked Derek full in the face he could see that Derek was serious. Also kind of pissed, but mostly just very sincere.

“I like you, Stiles. A lot. Probably more than I should considering you’ve never shown any interest in anyone outside of Lydia Martin. But,” and here Derek shrugged helplessly, looking away from Stiles for the first time, “I guess we don’t have much control over these sorts of things.”

Stiles was so shocked he lost the rigid control he’d had over his body, arms unfolding and legs flopping down onto the floor.

Derek’s cheeks were pink, as were his adorable, small, sticky-out ears. He wasn’t making eye-contact and he was picking at a hangnail on one of his fingers.

“Really?”

Derek sighed and glared at him, but hey, at least he was looking at Stiles again.

“Right, sorry, stupid. What I’m trying to say is, I like you too.”

Derek’s mouth dropped open. Stiles could see bunny teeth.

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a spreading grin, slow and unstoppable. “You’re adorable as hell and I like you.”

Derek leaned closer to him, and Stiles knew what was coming and the air shivered inside his lungs. The meeting of their lips was slow and dry and impossibly sweet. It was a soft kiss, quiet, and it spread through Stiles like the most delicate breeze, soothing the raw parts of him, silencing the jangling. It was still new, but it felt right, and instead of feeling like he didn’t know himself this felt like greeting an old friend.

Derek pulled away from him when Stiles’ smile became too wide, rather than continuing to awkwardly kiss his teeth.

“I knew summer practice sessions were one of my greater ideas,” he sighed.

“Wait, what?” Stiles squawked.

***

Stiles and Derek were finally released from the locker room after a couple of hours, a severe tongue-lashing from Stiles, and then a different kind of tongue-lashing altogether. The audience to their triumphant emergence included Stiles’ dad, Scott, Coach Finstock, a good half of Derek’s extended family, and a random locksmith.

If Stiles had known they’d attract so many spectators he probably wouldn’t have tumbled out of the door holding Derek’s hand and trying to bite his ear. As it was, Stiles’ coming out of the closet moment was a lot more literal than expected.

That 1.7% had Stiles freezing in fear, but his dad gave Stiles a knowing smirk, Scott gave him a perfectly indiscreet double thumbs up, and Laura Hale cheered “I knew it!” and snapped a photo.

[icsek]

Obikin Equestrian AU Part 6/10

Or read here on AO3 as ‘Pursuit’

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

It was amazing how quickly someone could become such an important part of life in such a short period of time. Ben was amazed at all the places he looked for Anakin to be outside of the barn in the few days he was gone back home. Meals were lonely without Anakin’s witty commentary and there were far too many leftovers for dinner. The pool was empty except for a few leaves that had managed to fall in the water. The couch was lonely in the late evenings. The house was far too quiet without his presence. All the little places Anakin had inserted himself in the previously tidy life he’d had.

Yet, this was his employee and student, no more than just a boy compared to him. He was sixteen years Anakin’s senior, almost forty while Anakin was barely in his twenties! It was wrong and horrible, but he couldn’t get him out of his head. He’d went out once more to try and get Anakin out of his head, but this time he’d been unable to find someone to spend the night with because they didn’t have the right shade of blue eyes, the golden highlighted curls, the half smile with the right side just a bit higher than the left. It was pitiful and borderline humiliating that a man of his age could be pining like this over a boy.

Still, he couldn’t deny that Anakin was surprisingly mature where it counted, despite his propensity towards immature humor. He was disciplined, reliable, determined, and a very hard worker. All things that had surprised him considering his more laid back personality. While the few times he’d seen Anakin’s room in the barn it’d been a chaotic wreck, the feed room and tack rooms were meticulously organized and clean to satisfy even his own anal retentiveness. Everything at the barn ran so smoothly between Anakin and Felix that he rarely had to do more than make the exercise and lesson schedule then school the horses he had in for training. It had been a nice change in pace from feeling the need to run everything or it wouldn’t be done RIGHT.

At the barn, Anakin was his kindred spirit, someone who held the same standards of care he did. At the house, Anakin was the life that made it feel more a home. He wanted Anakin in his bed, yes, but more than that, he wanted him in his home.

He wanted a life with Anakin in it as more than his employee or fuck buddy, like as his partner. The thought made Ben stop. Lust was easy to explain away. This... more than lust feeling, it was something he couldn’t explain or rationalize to himself.

Now he was getting too far ahead of himself. Putting his cart before the horse.

“I wish my life were as simple as yours, Happy.” Ben patted the older gelding on his neck, “It would definitely be easier, meals twice a day prompt on the stop, everything taken care of for you, plenty of grass and hay, someone cleaning up your shit several times a day. Have you missed him too?” Happy snorted, shaking his head, “You sure about that,old friend? I know he feeds you extra cookies even though I’ve told him not to do that.” The bay gelding’s ears flicked back, pricking up at the word ‘cookie’ making Ben chuckle, “We’re getting soft in our old age.” Another snort, “Fine, I’m getting soft in my old age.

“So what should I do? Take a risk and possibly lose the most talented student I’ve had the pleasure of training? Not to mention the best barn manager that’s ever graced this farm. Keep pining after him like the sentimental old fool I’ve become?” He leaned forward as if Happy could actually speak while he plodded around the ring, “Hm? What’s that? Well, yes, I suppose that would be a good course of action. So, next time he does one of those adorably awkward flirting attempts, and they are truly pitiful, Happy, I feel bad for him most of the time, I’ll just flirt right back.” Ben smiled, feeling more at peace than he’d been since Anakin had come to work for him.

Later as he watched Anakin’s yellow truck pull down the long drive, he couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him at seeing him again. Three days without his crooked smile that lit up his face was enough. Ben waited by the front of the barn, noticing the dust that the truck was kicking up and not really caring for once though he resolved to turn the sprinklers on to run a bit in the morning.

Anakin backed his truck up into his usual spot next to the farm truck and waved at Ben with that smile he’d missed as he got out, “Hey Ben!”

“Hello, Anakin. Did you have a good time?” He struggled to not pull the younger man into what would be a very uncharacteristic hug.

“Yeah, it was nice. Got all my stuff this go round so should be a bit more prepared. Oh, Bail and Breha said hi too.” Anakin didn’t quite meet his eyes, but Ben was far too overjoyed at just seeing him to really notice. The bruises at his elbow were now to the pale sickly yellow color and he seemed to be moving much better than he had been when he’d left.

“That was nice of them.” He commented absently. Ben took a moment to enjoy the way the torn faded jeans hugged his narrow hips and the blue t-shirt clung to his broad chest. The same features that had haunted him in his dreams.

“You okay, Ben?” Anakin was staring at him with a hint of worry in the furrow of his brow.

“Yes, sorry, just haven’t been sleeping well. Do you need any help with your stuff?” He could see the duffle bags in the bed of the truck, based on the number he’d finally brought all his clothes. Hopefully more of those tiny running shorts he seemed to prefer for their morning workouts.

“Nah, I think I got it. Did you just want to do dinner in town tonight? I know I forgot to text you when I was leaving.” Anakin brushed some of the curls from his face only for them to fall right back in his eyes.

Ben nodded, “We can do that. I was just about to feed and do turnout for the night, sent Felix home early as it was his daughter’s birthday.”

“Great.” His smile lit up his face and Ben felt like he was standing next to the sun, “I’ll get this stuff put away and then we can go.”

Ben had hoped dinner would include more of the flirting he’d grown used to, but none of it came. The conversation was pleasant enough, interesting stories about some of the ponies Anakin had ridden through the years while Ben added some of his own. They’d been laughing by the end, the ridiculous stubbornness of pony antics and the horrible shows enough to have tears in their eyes. Then they’d gone home, the car ride uncharacteristically quiet but peaceful. Ben was disappointed as they said goodnight, but he’d been this patient and Anakin had spent the majority of the day driving.

Disappointment came in their morning workout as well when Anakin showed up in a pair of plain black track pants and a loose t-shirt. His form during their yoga was near perfect and this time he’d faced Ben instead of putting his back to him. Their run felt like it took much longer without Anakin’s ass on display in front of him. After their run, Ben had teased Anakin about wearing respectable workout clothes and only gotten a shrug in return with the explanation of him finally having all his clothes.

At least breeches didn’t hide his ass so thoroughly and gave him plenty of time to admire while Anakin warmed Artoo up for their lesson. He’d made sure to lunge Artoo a few times last week so he wasn’t entirely fresh, but at the rate he was kicking his heels up they’d be getting very little done during their lesson.

Surprisingly, Artoo settled right in once they began the actual work in the lesson. There were still a few hump ups and head tossing, but Anakin rode right through them and pushed him right back into frame. Their trot looked good, he didn’t have to remind Anakin to sit up or to pull his shoulders back even once. Their canter was passable, a good start as they built up more collection and hind end propulsion. Ben was pleased with himself that he’d managed to create such a good match. Artoo was young and stubborn, but so was Anakin. They would end up tough to beat in a few years.

If he were honest with himself, Anakin would be tough to beat in a few years on just about any horse. Ben made sure he rode all different personalities and movements on a daily basis so he didn’t fall into a rut of learning just one horse inside and out. It wasn’t just that, though, Anakin was a natural and it showed through as a beautiful image. There wasn’t a horse in the barn that he didn’t look like he belonged on, not one he couldn’t read. It was something that couldn’t be taught, the same gift Ben had, to just know the horse and what it was thinking.

Of all the views he’d had of Anakin, from the tiny speedo to the yoga pants, the one of him on a horse was still his favorite. It was right. It was where he belonged.

Even if he never got to call Anakin anything other than his student, he’d be grateful that he got to watch him ride.

[bforbookslut]

ARC Review: Voiceless by E.G. Wilson

This book was provided to me by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. This review edition is an ARC and may differ from the printed edition.

I have given this book ☆☆☆. It belongs to the Young Adult Fantasy and Modern Fantasy genre. Atthis Arts, LLC publishes it. It was published July 11 2017.

The blurb reads:

“Adelaide Te Ngawai was thirteen when Maunga Richards stole her voice.

Addy is plunged into silence when a high school bully inflicts her with an incurable disease that leaves her unable to speak, write, or create. Vox Pox—a man-made malady that’s been terrorizing the city for months. Resilient, Addy fights to survive. To not be silenced. But then her brother, Theo, is infected as well.

Desperate for any information that might help cure Theo, Addy follows Maunga into a newly developed virtual psychoreality simulator and discovers a conspiracy deeper than she’d ever imagined. How far will she go to save her brother?”

Add to Goodreads 

This review is long overdue and I apologise to the publisher, publicist and author who have put their trust in me to produce a review in a timely manner.

Verdict:

Voiceless is a debut novel and a unique one at that. It is neither obscenely bad nor stunningly good. It left me a little overwhelmed and underwhelmed. It is both highly creative and well-written but the build-up was tediously long. Voiceless employed far too many time skips where we see Addy go from thirteen to sixteen in a matter of paragraphs and chapters. Set in a sort of futuristic, dystopian-esque New Zealand, Addy is supposedly a very talented writer, star pupil and rather charitable. Although resilient, I found Addy to be tedious and grating on the nerves, her experience of depression and mental illness written away as a “black fog” instead of lending emotion and depth to an already boringly perfect character. Furthermore, Voiceless spent far too much time and too many words, paragraphs and chapters detailing Addy’s time spent within the virtual reality space. It is long-winded, pointless, mind-numbing and frankly, Voiceless almost became a DNF.

If you’re willing to push through a lot of listening to Addy explore a virtual reality headspace designed to fuck with both the character and the reader, then the plot that follows is why I did not further dock a star/point. It was engaging and interesting enough when the plot finally progressed. Also, it’s rather clever to end on a cliffhanger so readers would clamour for the next book. Thank goodness it’s only a duology.

[may contain spoilers]

Long story short, Addy loses her voice at thirteen and for the first few chapters, we see how she struggles and copes with losing the ability to speak and be creative. It delves a little into depression but it’s just a mention of her state of mind. The plot finally picks up when Addy is sixteen (after too many ridiculously placed and irrelevant timeskips, honestly, the story could have picked up when Addy was sixteen and how everything happened be told in flashbacks) and her brother also gets infected with VoxPox. Desperate to find a cure (which happens to be the virtual reality simulator called VPR), Addy follows her tormentor and “attacker” Maunga into the simulator where a darker, more sinister plan comes to light.

The Good:

1. The working plot that envelops Voiceless is unique and creative, something that I’ve never seen or read of before. A virus that can steal away a person’s voice and creativity, be it dancing, writing etc., with absolutely no cure terrorises an entire population and over the years, it spreads and infects more and more people. The one beacon of light in the sea of darkness is the VPR program and the scientists and research team that run it. The program is said to be able to alter a person’s mind and Addy hopes that it will be the cure for her brother. The only way to find out about VoxPox and the simulator is to experience it for herself, while confronting Maunga. And the plot twist was interesting, to say it.

2. Voiceless is set in New Zealand and incorporates of a lot of Maori culture, from words to gestures. It really enriched a culture that you so rarely see represented in YA literature. Way to go for diversity!

3. I don’t know if people are supposed to love Addy because I don’t but character-wise, I do love Maunga and [spoiler alert], Maunga’s boyfriend’s essence/spirit who is trapped in the VPR. Their relationship and the story behind how Maunga’s boyfriend came to be part of the simulator lent an incredibly beautiful and emotional edge to the story. The humanising of Maunga from villain to tragic victim actually sent me into tears.

4. The writing in Voiceless is highly descriptive to the point of being too descriptive.

The Bad:

1. As I said in the verdict, Voiceless carefully balances itself on the very edge of being both good and bad. Despite the ingenious and creative plot, the execution was poor. The plot seemed to hinge on Addy making it through a tedious headspace (for both her and the reader) for almost half the story before finally picking up and tying all the knots and loose ends. I appreciate the plot twists and progression but it came at too late a point in the book when I was just so done with it. Furthermore, it set itself out to be a duology and hence, explains why the book was so tedious to get through. It was trying to make up for the length.

2. A majority of the setting was within the simulator and while it was designed to be confusing for the characters themselves, it was confusing, exhausting to read and frankly pointless to the reader. Addy spent hours and days plodding about in strange landscapes that were supposed to reflect her mind and her personality whatsoever and instead of being given more insight into Addy as a character, I just felt like Alice in a very fucked up Wonderland that I just wanted to end. And once the strange landscapes ended, there was suddenly a bar that appeared out of the blue and then there were mountains and rivers and trees that burned flames that seemed to chase you out of the forest…It was all very tough to digest and made reading very difficult.

3. Which brings me to my point about characters. Addy was boring. While she was resilient and made the best of her voiceless situation (saw what I did there?), she seemed to do it without an ounce of a heroine’s typical strength. It was just sigh, here I am, oh woe me, I’ll just live with it. And then, she wanted to save her brother from VoxPox. And, it was tough to understand her need to save her brother because there was no emotional bond that the readers were ever shown. Instead of a typical emotional response, Addy wanted to find Theo a cure because she knows that he can’t live without his creativity, not because he’s her brother and she can’t see him suffer the way she did or because he’s a brother and she wouldn’t want to inflict such a life upon him. No. Sibling. Bond.

But I digress, Addy was flat. She rarely reacted with passion or rage or fire. She just reacted. Like a robot. Like she was going through the motions.

4. I don’t know who approved the writing but time skips are annoying af and jumping from thirteen to sixteen is insane. Everyone can deal with a couple of weeks or months. But THREE years of her life just whooshed by without the readers knowing anything. That’s just amateur and bad writing.

Conclusion:

Voiceless has a premise that seems to set it up for success, particularly with the inclusion of a Maori cast of characters coloured with culture. But, poor plot execution and writing decisions make Voiceless a difficult read. I would much rather read about Maunga than Addy because she seems to have a lot more life and, just something that made her human. But the plot twist was great! So, if you can stick around for that, please do!

[swordarkeereon]

Day 8: Moving Again #DoMagick

I feel that so far, my posts have been rather banal. But then real magick isn’t always about exciting revelation, quick changes, and physical manifestation of the Daemonic. Sometimes it is slow and plodding and there’s not much going on but thinking, small baby steps with regard to follow-through,  well-placed placed prayers and offerings, and small magickal actions. This is how I feel right now. My magick isn’t bold and sweeping at the moment, but then I suppose it doesn’t need to be. I go with my intuition a lot of the time and do what’s necessary WHEN it is necessary.

Today I pulled the Three of Pentacles for the day bringing up the topics of assistance, planning, cooperation (teamwork) and employment. It’s interesting that this came up.

Assistance – Yesterday, I brought back my assistant, Frank, who I hadn’t needed for awhile. But upon examining my situation, I was shocked to discover I was spending as little as five hours a week (many times seven or more) answering reader email. That’s five hours I could be using to write or do other important and necessary writing/publishing to-do’s. Remember, writing is not a hobby for me or something I twiddle with in my free time. It’s my actual job and how I keep a roof over my family’s head. So five hours spent answering questions that could easily be researched on the Internet, or found in one of my blog posts or books. Between today and yesterday, seeing what’s coming in and watching Frank deal with it in real time, he’s already saved me about three hours, which I’m VERY grateful for.

Planning –  I decided I need to get back to journaling. I did so well journaling for over a year and it really kept me organized. I am re-starting my journal today for the coming weekend so I have a clear path to getting more accomplished. When you have goals – you need organization. And writing things down, for me, is the best way to stay organized. I always feel I have firmer footing. I fell out of journaling this spring because things kind of spiraled out of control. Now it’s time to redirect myself and get back on the path of organization. I really hate being disorganized.

Cooperation – Never underestimate the power of groups. People are awesome and will help you promote your work if you just ask. Today I posted an ad for a book I have on sale for .99 cents at the moment (Training Amy on Amazon), and people in the groups it was posted to (all fiction) were happy to promote the sale, resulting in a wonderful jump in numbers for that book. I need to remember not to dismiss the power of cooperation, especially by those who are more than happy to promote what they love with others.

Employment – I’ve actually been praying and leaving offerings for some help with my husband finding steady work that he enjoys, and with people he enjoys. Many of my readers know that he took a sabbatical from a regular day job to do consulting and to go back to school to brush up on some new technology. Well, his sabbatical is up, and it’s time for him to let go of the consulting gig. He has been a consultant for years, but the work is sporadic. Luckily he’s been taking classes and learning new things in between the gigs, but through all of this, he’s learned that he’s not a stay at home kinda guy. He gets cabin fever and has decided going back to a regular steady job is what he wants to do. We have already seen positive signs here and I couldn’t be happier with the speed and manifestation. I didn’t expect results so quickly. But then I never do, even though time and time again, I tend to get these kinds of results when it comes to job magick for others. LOL  I guess I’ll always be a skeptic at heart, which is why I experiment so much.

On that note – today I decided not to go see my terminal friend who is now in a medically induced coma, and will be until the end. This time, her last days, are for her family and close friends and I don’t want to intrude on that. I had a dream about her the night before last and she was happy and alive (and looked healthy, young, vibrant) and she was smiling and saying to me, “I’m free! I’m finally free!” This makes me believe that her consciousness may have already ascended her physical body. Now we’re just waiting for the shell to cease functioning. That sounds so clinical, and even harsh, doesn’t it? But that’s how it is. None of us is guaranteed another day and death is the natural conclusion to life. So be it. I find comfort in the idea that she is separated from her physical body now and has gone back to all that is.

There was another reason I didn’t go today and that’s deadlines. I have so many deadlines past that need to be dealt with. That meant final edits on one novella, and getting another ready for the editor, while I finish up a third. And I’m still putting off ETG edits, but plan on working on this this weekend. My hope is that by tonight I can finish Thirteen Covens #6 and send it to my editor for initial edits before sending it to the beta readers.

What about spells? Yeah, tonight I did some work with a tablet I made for this month’s magickal work.   Included on it are symbols and sigils with personal significance to my situation. I anointed it with an oil made of frankincense and cinnamon and charged it. The idea is to keep this on the altar during the work I’m doing. You can see I baked the clay a few minutes too long. The green signifies both abundance and creative work.

  That’s really it for today. I still plan on doing my nightly meditation at which time I will likely medidtate on my tablet some more and do some ascension work for guidance. I still have yet to do the attraction spell between novels + success. But that’s because the novella I wanted to finish isn’t quite done yet. Going to go work on that for the next hour. Have a great night everyone.