#and that john derek was pretty and should be whipped

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as Baka - The Ten Commandments (1956)

[maybege]

Birthday Parties - FBI 10

Summary: It is your birthday and it does not go as expected. (Part 10 of FBI)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k | Rating: T

Warnings: we all hate Josh and we will swoon over Hotch

So, uh, welcome back, I guess. I hope you are all doing well! I am slowly working on fics besides my thesis and it was a lot of fun to get back to Hotch. I hope you are still somewhat interested because I promise, things are now going to be heating up a little 👀 As always, please let me know what you thought in a reblog or a comment, to hear from you truly means the world to me!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“You are distracted today, why?”

You looked up from your screen to find Hotch standing beside your desk, mustering you quietly. Great. That was the last thing you needed.

These last two weeks had been pure hell. Very stressful hell. First, there was stress at work, which was something you were used to by now. But then there was stress at home and that was a factor you hadn’t been prepared for and something you, therefore, could not handle. At all.

Josh had decided to fill every little slice of free time you had at home with inviting people over – from the quiet but okay John to the absolutely unbearable Amber – and there wasn’t one minute you had to yourself. Even with limiting your time in the shared rooms and just quickly whipping something up for dinner before hiding in your room to the tunes of The Nanny title sequence, you could still hear Amber’s annoying chatter more than you’d like.

Add to that your mother who had decided that you, in fact, did not know what you were doing and the best thing would be to insinuate that you should come home at every phone call, safe to say your life was pretty miserable right now.

At this point, all you wanted was some peace and quiet as you attempted to watch Bridget Jones’s Diary for the umpteenth time.

And today was the worst day.

“I am not distr-“

Hotch threw you what Reid had previously called The Boss Look – absolutely unconvinced and with his eyebrow cocked up as he still held the file in his hand – and you faltered. Remembering the look he threw you when you had brought yet another load of banana bread to the office kitchen to him, you decided that it wasn’t worth lying to him. He could read you like a book anyway.

“It’s, uh, it’s my birthday,” you admitted shyly, not knowing if he was really interested in your personal life woes. Probably not. But he had asked for it and you knew Agent Hotchner would only ever be satisfied with the truth.

“A-and my roommate, well my best friend, he organized this dinner for me and –“

Hotch cocked his eyebrow even more and you grew quiet. “Sorry. I, uh, I will make an effort to have those reports finished, Sir. I promise.”

Hotch nodded, though he didn’t look very happy, and the moment he walked away, you internally cursed yourself. Clearly, this had been oversharing on your part. Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut for once?

“What was that about?” Derek asked you, setting down the coffee he had just gotten on his desk. You knew he meant well, Derek Morgan always did, but you had just learned your lesson and just shook your head with a smile. “Nothing really,” you murmured, “I just need to focus on these reports if I want to leave early today.”

It took you another two hours and a copious amount of tea to get the texts to a level that was at least somehow acceptable. With a look at the time, you knew it was now or never.

Hotch’s door was slightly ajar and you peeked your head inside. “I got the reports finished.”

He nodded, not looking up from whatever he was writing. “Great, put them here with the others, please.”

Your heels made a dull sound on the carpet in his office, echoing your heartbeat. It had been weeks since your case in Fargo and weeks since he had shown you the kind of affection that let you hope he might like you in any way, shape or form. Sometimes you wondered if he was avoiding you but then you remembered that you were the one who ran around like a headless chicken in an attempt to keep control of your unravelling life.

The papers added another inch to a pile of files that were already too high for your liking.

“And what?”

Your head shot up, meeting his eyes. He was sitting at his desk, his hands still posed over the reports, looking at you as if it was clear what he had been asking. “What?”

“You didn’t finish your point earlier,” he made a loose gesture with his hand and you tilted your head.

Did he really want to know about your personal life? You eyed him for a moment, expecting him to burst out laughing and tell you it was all a joke. The moment never came.

“Josh, uhm, I think he wanted to do me a favour so that people are there as I … haven’t really found a new friend group since moving here but,” you sighed, for the first time showing your disappointment openly, “It’s just his friends from work and he knows I don’t even like them. So, it’s just,” you let out another deep breath, avoiding his eyes, “I am not looking forward to it.”

He made a non-committal sound at the back of his throat, leaning back in his chair. “Why not tell him you would prefer not to have them invited?”

“Because that’s still a better option than spending the evening of my birthday completely alone,” you admitted, knowing it would make no sense to lie to the man in front of you. He could read you like an open book anyway and this way, at least, you’d have control over how much you humiliated yourself in front of him.

“If you would excuse me,” you murmured, not giving him the chance to reply, “I have a birthday dinner to attend to.”

*

Hours later, you were wishing yourself back to the office and working on all the reports Derek didn’t want to do. At least you wouldn’t have to endure this.

“So, uh, what do you do?”

“I work for the environmental law department,” John explained to the group of guests Josh had invited, and you felt excitement bubbling up in your chest, “A few months now, it’s really exciting.”

“Oh wow,” you exclaimed, genuinely impressed, “So what kind of cases does that entail? That’s so interesting!”

“It is,” he smiled, “Currently, I am working on a case involving the –“

“Ugh, this wine really isn’t very good,” Amber jeered next to you, looking down at the glass in her hands. John paused, clearly surprised by the sudden interruption as was the rest of the group.

“Amber, it’s your second glass of that wine,” you replied, unsure of what was happening.

She shrugged, “Can you get me another one? Do you have any red wine?”

You hated red wine.

John looked at you with sympathy and you threw a look at Josh who just stared at the bottom of his glass as if that would somehow give him the answer to a question he had posed. No one made a move.

You sighed, pushing your shoulders back and throwing her an extra wide smile, “Sure, let me take a look in the kitchen.”

Amber only nodded at you.

You made your way to the kitchen, hating how you were barefoot when all the guests had decided to leave their shoes on. The entire evening was a disaster, you felt. No one had even known it was your birthday and you had the sneaking suspicion that Josh had just told that story to you so he could have a party without feeling bad about not spending time with you.

So here you were, trapped with his friends and him in your apartment with no excuse to just retreat back to your room and watch a sad movie so you could cry your heart out.

How could you feel so lonely in a room full of people?

You threw open the door to the fridge, looking at the different bottles Josh had stocked there only to find out that he had taken your ice cream from the freezer to make space for ice cubes.

Tears stung in your eyes, frustration building up as you grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge. That was your emergency ice cream for a bad day.

“Hey, hon,” Josh chirped as he entered the kitchen, going to the freezer and getting out the ice cubes as if nothing was amiss.

“Why did you pull out my ice cream?” you asked, hating how small your voice became now that you were confronting him.

“I needed space for the ice.”

“You could have taken out your ice cream,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “And why is Amber acting like this is her apartment?”

He frowned, “She’s not. She’s just comfortable around us, that’s a good thing.”

“Josh, for once, could you just – “

The doorbell rang.

You took a deep breath, pressing your hand against your chest as you tried to just calm down. This did not have to be miserable. This could be nice. You just had to go out there and smile and pretend everything was all right when you really really did not feel like it.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Josh said, his voice sincere, “Here, I will get the wine to Amber and you get the door, does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath when he had already left for the living room, “I don’t even know how many people you invited to this fucking thing.”

You did not feel any better as you stood in front of the door, opening it with a greeting on your tongue that dried out the second you saw who was standing in front of you.

“Hello!” Derek slipped through the open door as you gawked at them. At all of them.

They were all here.

There was Derek, dressed casually as always, sending you a blinding smile as he held up a six-pack of beer. Next, Garcia in her ever colourful dress carried a big wrapped present with a mismatched bow on top.

“Happy birthday!” JJ exclaimed, pulling you into a one-armed hug as she raised the bottle of prosecco in her other hand, “I got you the good one!”

“Uh, thanks,” you stuttered, watching her follow Morgan and Garcia to where the food was.

One by one they filed past you grinning at you, and – in Reid’s case – waving at you excitedly as he eyed the pictures in the hallway.

“I hope we aren’t too late,” Hotch’s voice ripped you out of your thoughts and you turned back to the door, seeing that he was the only one left standing there, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“No, I –“ you swallowed back the tears, “You – you told them?”

He didn’t answer but that was already answer enough. Something warm bloomed in your chest at the thought that he had done that for you.

“Uh, Rossi mentioned that flowers might be nice,” he held up a bouquet. It was so enormous you were surprised you had not noticed it until now.

“Thank you, Hotch,” you brought out, taking it from him and letting him step inside. His fingers brushed over yours and a shiver went through you. Suddenly, even the wide hallway seemed too small for the both of you.

“You look nice,” he commented suddenly, a friendly smile on his face that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking down at the dark red slip dress you had donned for the occasion. It reached just a little past your knees, the skirt flaring every time you made a spin (which had also been the reason you had bought it in the first place – you loved a good twirl).

It was the first time that evening someone had paid you a compliment.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” you tried to say, “But I really appreciate it.”

“I wanted to,” he replied, still standing in front of you.

Then he turned around, making his way to the others and you found yourself reaching for his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Thank you Hotch,” you murmured, avoiding his eyes to not let him see just how close you were to crying, “It – You have no idea how much this means to me.”

His big hand clasped over yours, squeezing softly. “Anytime.”

In the living room, the arrival of your colleagues had not gone unnoticed.

“Um, Josh, everyone, these are my colleagues from work,” you said with a proud smile, gesturing to the group of newly arrived guests. Garcia smiled excitedly at everyone. “And uh, this is Josh,” you said, pointing to him, “My roommate.”

“And best friend,” he added, smiling politely at all of them, “Pleasure to meet you.”

From then, the conversation continued as usual. Everyone split off into smaller groups and you were happy that you did not have to talk to Amber anymore. You even got to finally taste some of the appetizers in peace, already eyeing the cake you had gotten from the bakery around the corner.

You were joking with Emily and Garcia bout the next girl’s night when you heard a comment from right behind you.

“To be honest, I am surprised you would even show up. It’s not like she’s a star agent or anything.”

Josh.

You frowned, seeing a similar expression on Garcia’s and Emily’s faces before you slowly turned around. He was right behind you, his back to you which explained why he had felt like he was safe to make such a statement.

Did he believe what he had said?

He was standing in a circle with Amber and John as well as another couple of his friends, but most importantly, you found Hotch and Derek staring right back at you. Josh had said that to them. To your colleagues and, most importantly, your boss.

Heat crept up your neck, flooding your cheeks and ears as you found shame spreading all around you. You felt paralyzed by his words. By your best friend saying something so … demeaning about you.

Yours and Hotch’s eyes locked and he must have seen something in them because he took the largest gulp of scotch you had ever seen him drink.

“On the contrary, she is a very capable agent,” he stated dryly, “Her presence in the team and her additions on the field are irreplaceable just like everyone on this team is. If she is not a star agent then none of us are.”

“That’s true!” Reid piped up, “Uh, for example when it came to the Headless Killer, she was –“

“Who’s the Headless Killer?” John asked innocently and you winced when Reid went off into a long-winded, untypically graphic and completely fabricated story about some serial killer off in North Dakota. You could spot the amused glint in his eyes and even Hotch looked like he was hiding a smirk as Josh’s guests shifted uncomfortably.

“That much for party conversation, huh?” Derek joked, taking a long sip of his beer. But even as the tension dissolved, most of Josh’s guests going back to their previous conversations, your eyes were still on Hotch.

He was looking at the floor, hand around the whiskey glass in his hand as JJ told him something and he nodded, looking serious as ever. Heat rose into your cheeks. Why did it feel like he had defended you just then? Had he defended you?

Josh passed you, clearly on his way to the kitchen and you excused yourself from Emily and Garcia before following him. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you gathered the courage to confront him. Humiliation was still burning in your stomach and it didn’t help that he – the one person who you thought was your best friend – was the source of it.  

“Josh, that wasn’t an okay comment to make,” you opened, remaining standing in the doorway as he stood in front of the kitchen aisle, not even really acknowledging it.

“It was just a joke, hon,” he shrugged off, opening a cabinet, “Do you know where we put that spare bottle opener?”

“It was not a funny one, then. And I would appreciate it if you stopped making jokes about my work. Or about me.”

“Look at that Miss Innocent finally found her claws,“ he groaned, “Seriously, did we get it out already? I could’ve sworn, I put it here.”

“It’s right here,” you said, opening the drawer closest to you, and bit your lip. You wanted to say more, wanted to get him to apologize, to see how wrong he was. How he had hurt you. But, as it often was, the words wouldn’t leave your mouth and so you just watched him smile at you, shaking the bottle opener in his hands before leaving you alone in the kitchen.

You took a deep breath, staring into your glass, and trying to gather the courage to go back and face everyone.

“You alright, kid?” you turned to find Morgan leaning against the door, obviously having noticed your confrontation – if it could even be called that – with Josh. You sighed, bringing your wine glass back to your lips.

“He means well,” you tried to explain, although the more you had to think and say it this evening, the more you doubted it.

“My experience is that the people we need to clarify that about usually don’t care if they mean well or not,” Morgan said, tilting his head as he looked at you inquisitively.

You were certainly not in the mood to discuss your deteriorating friendship with Josh. You heard shuffling in the hallway and frowned, peaking your head out of the kitchen to catch your colleagues regrouping in the tiny space in front of the door.

“Penelope, what are you doing?” you asked the woman who shouldered her bag.

“We are going out.”

You felt something inside you shatter. Probably your heart.

But who could blame them, honestly? It was a horrible dinner or party, whatever it would end up being.

“Oh of course,” you nodded, swallowing back the anxiety.

Hotch met your eyes over her shoulders and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed. He didn’t say anything but you imagined seeing a little bit of doubt in his eyes.

Apparently, one did not need to be a profiler to notice the sadness on your face because the blonde technician rolled her eyes good-naturedly and grabbed you by the arm. “And obviously you are coming with us, silly!”

“Me?” you stuttered, “B-But the party –“

“Yes,” Emily appeared by your side, “You need to celebrate, not mope around with these strangers.”

You were not going to lie, celebrating sounded kind of nice.

“Okay,” you murmured, seeing Reid and Morgan grin at your agreement, “Let’s go celebrate.”

You turned to the living room where Josh was in an avid discussion with Amber. “Josh, I will go out with my friends,” you said, your heart skipping a beat at calling these people your friends. But they were right and at the moment even more your friends than he was. “I hope you don’t mind, I know you put a lot of planning into –“

“Sure thing,” he called, waving you off, “Have fun!”

And at that moment, you decided, you would have a lot of fun. Even if it was just out of spite.

[christinesficrecs]

This is part two of the reclist for @justtakemeforaspin Because I love me some stilinski family feels! 💜

Why deja-vu is a dangerous thing by MsCee | 2.8K

When something makes his new deputy seize up like only true love can, John Stilinski is prepared tease the ever-living hell out of him. He’s prepared to look up and see some pretty girl with a bit of an edge, with a loud laugh and a bright smile that could coax even his sullen deputy out of his frown.

What he’s not prepared for is to look up and see a very familiar face ambling towards his desk.

Everything mixed up (and baked in a beautiful pie) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie) | 41.9K

Stiles’ friends are more of a pain in the ass than usual around the holiday season. Just because he spends all of his time at his bakery, doesn’t mean he’s unhappy. So hiring a fake boyfriend seems like the perfect, simple solution. Instead Stiles stumbles onto a stupid quest to make Derek Hale happy. But surely that will all work out in time.

Hale Construction by Mynuet | 8.3K

Derek gets a business and a home. Stiles gets his own Batman. The sheriff gets hash browns. The Stilinski household is expanded without anyone quite talking about it.

The Perilous Adventures of Police Dog Derek by dr_girlfriend | 4.6K

Stiles jumps, spilling hot coffee down his arm.

“Jesus!” he yelps. He licks his dripping arm — waste not, want not — and then rounds the kitchen island.

Sitting there, looking way too smug, is — well, he’s not exactly willing to bet the house on it, but Stiles is 99% sure that that’s a motherfucking werewolf.

The Sun Comes Crashing In by pinetreelady | 17.2K | Explicit

A story in which Derek makes jam and pines, and Stiles and his dad have a farm.

Definitely Not Fish Demons by febricant | 2.5K

Your father wants to take me fishing.

Derek looks at the message before he sends it, wondering why it’s so difficult to convey deep discomfort with just text.

His phone buzzes in his pocket a few minutes later. Uh oh, says Stiles’ reply.

If being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as hell. by DropsOfAddiction | 14.3K | Explicit

Derek tries and fails to shut his gaping mouth as Stiles arrives at his desk, heartbeat rabbiting a little faster than usual.

Stiles grabs a file out of his desk, muttering something about forgetting to mail it yesterday and needing to get it down to filing by Monday. Derek’s barely paying attention, unable to concentrate with the scent of him right under his nose.

He leans over Derek to grab an empty envelope from their shared stationary tray and Derek knows he’s absolutely fucked when he sees how his trousers are moulded to his perfect ass.

“So.... how do I look?” Stiles asks casually as he stands back up, as if his very presence hasn’t just given Derek a very sudden and uncomfortable boner.

He looks like he should be on the cover of GQ.

A Wolf and I by Pyjamagurl | 5.9K

When the Sheriff assumes that Derek and Stiles are dating, he invites them on the Stilinski annual camping trip. The problem? Derek and Stiles aren’t actually dating… yet.

Important Things by suzvoy | 71.4K | Mature

Stiles learns that even with werewolves, giant lizards and psychopathic hunters on the loose, life can still find other ways to screw with you. Case in point: everyone keeps assuming he and Derek are a couple. What the hell?

Inevitability (About Damn Time) by accordingtomel | 9.7K | Explicit

“So?” Scott says.

“So?” Stiles sputters, kicking his shoes into the corner and locking the front door behind him. He’d whipped out his phone the second he’d pulled up to the house, and miracle among miracles, Scott actually answered. Of course, he’s not so pleased about that now. “My dad thinks Derek and I are dating, Scott. Did you miss that part?”

Like a Melody (it won’t leave my head) by  Jerakeen | 7.9K

Stiles doesn’t notice the constant buzzing in his head until it’s gone.

last night’s dress (tiptoe out of this mess) by  hito | 16.7K

TFLN: My dad just asked me if my booty call guy that comes over at 3am and leaves at 6 would like to stay for Sunday brunch next week. You in?

All Stirred Up by jsea, marguerite_26 | 49.4K | Explicit

Derek's first duty as a new deputy is the early morning coffee run to The Leaky Carafe, and it's not long before he discovers that the quirky barista has a knack for making the perfect drink. Every time. Even before you order.

But is it intuition, luck or magic that has all Stiles' customers leaving happy?

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 15.9K

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

Nothing Short Of Perfect by GotTheSilver | 27K | Explicit

In which Derek and Stiles are made aware of their potential and have to make a choice about what their relationship will be.

“Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?”

Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”

[misssophiachase]

Caroline as Meredith grey and klaus as Derek sheperd if u watched grey’s that is

I did watch part of it nonnie. I’m more of a Resident girl but really loved the first 6 seasons. I’ve always loved the way they met so the idea isn’t solely mine but it is SO very Klaroline. 

How to Save a Life

“How is it that you’re hungover on our first day? That is so my territory and, I’m not gonna lie, I feel a little left out.”

“If you’d like my hangover then you’re more than welcome to it, Kat,” she groaned, rubbing her temples in the hopes it would stop the excruciating pain ripping through her head. They’d been friends since medical school and she still never failed to surprise Caroline. 

They were changing for their first shift as interns at Seattle Grace Hospital and instead of feeling nervous excitement, Caroline was nursing one hell of a headache. Unfortunately, the aspirin she’d taken was yet to take effect. 

“What the hell are you doing in here still? I needed you in the ward yesterday, children,” the loud voice boomed from what seemed like nowhere. 

“Who is that?” 

“Lorenzo St John. They call him the Dictator, he doesn’t mess around.” They looked over to see a fellow intern placing a stethoscope around her neck. “I’m Bonnie Bennett.”

“Well, I’m Katherine Pierce and this hungover mess is Caroline Forbes.”

“On your first day?” She asked incredulously, her brown eyes full of concern. 

“It’s a long story,” she growled, wondering how she got herself into this mess. 

Yes, that’s right. She’d been ridiculously nervous the night before and decided to de-stress at the nearby bar. What followed was too much tequila and too much sex. 

Actually, the sex was more than okay given the guy in question. He was hot, a little cocky for her liking, but after a few drinks it didn’t seem to matter. So much so, that she was still imagining just how good he felt. 

“Get your asses out here STAT,” the ‘Dictator’ bellowed. 

What followed was a stream of cursing and insults. Caroline was trying to stay focused but it was difficult given she wanted the earth to swallow her up. Her fellow interns didn’t know it, but given her legacy the pressure she felt was immense. Her mother, Dr Liz Forbes, was one of the best brain surgeons and had practiced at this very hospital. 

“It’s okay,” an unknown voice whispered in her direction. “You’ll learn to block him out.”    

She whipped her head around to meet the voice, not realising just how much of a bad move that was given her self-inflicted health issues. The head spin was confronting but after it finally subsided her gaze focused on her fellow intern and decidedly cute brunette.  

“And how do you know that?”

“Trust me,” he replied mysteriously. “The Attendings might not be so easy to ignore though.” Caroline’s mind was foggy anyway but his comments only confused her further. She decided to ignore that for now. 

“I’m Caroline Forbes,” she offered, holding out her hand. 

“Kol.” No surname provided but that was the least of her worries at that present moment. 

“So, how do you have all of this intel on day one?” Before he could respond, they were interrupted by Lorenzo’s voice. 

“Nice to see the children are still gossiping,” he chided, given them both side eye as he came to a stop. Caroline would have found him and that cute accent attractive if he wasn’t such an overbearing ass.

She was always a sucker for accents, last night was case in point.

“This is Doctor Mikaelson,” he introduced. “He’s the premiere brain surgeon in the northern hemisphere and we are lucky to call him our own at Seattle Grace.” 

It wasn’t the navy scrubs and white coat that grabbed her attention, it was the Doctor in question. Those crimson lips and blonde curls were so very familiar and not in a good way. 

Caroline felt the nausea overcome her all at once. Yes, she was in a hospital but it seemed like the places to empty her stomach were limited. She took off in a sprint, running to the nearest bathroom and trying to block out the consequences. 

Ten minutes later she found herself on the floor of the toilet cubicle trying to pretend this wasn’t happening on her first day as an intern. She just hoped her mother wasn’t looking down from heaven at that particular moment. 

“Are you okay?” She knew that voice all too well and apparently it belonged to the attending she happened to sleep with last night.

“Why do you care?” She moaned. Maybe she should have been more respectful given his god-like status at Seattle Grace but she was too far gone to care. 

“I might have fed you too many tequilas and for that I’m sorry,” he offered, his tone sincere. “It takes a few years as a surgical intern to know your limit.”

“You lied to me.”

“I don’t recall you telling me anything personal either, love,” he shot back. “But I wouldn’t take last night back for anything.”

Caroline immediately felt emboldened to stand up and confront her one-night-stand. She was shaky at first but knew this was necessary. She opened the door, surprising him given the shock reflected in his blue eyes, only accentuated by the colour of his scrubs.

She shook her head, determined to concentrate even if he was making it difficult and she still had some residual dizziness. 

“Last night never happened, you got me?”

“I know the tequila is messing with you but...”

“It can’t be anything,” she pressed, lips pursed. “You are my superior and I don’t want any favouritism, got it?”

He seemed to falter, his eyes scanning her face for some kind of alternative reaction. She wanted to believe the feelings were non existent but she wasn’t so sure. 

Caroline was struggling given how much she wanted to kiss him again but instead stayed firm. Her career meant everything. Sure, she was attracted to him and the sex was out of this world, but they couldn’t pursue it. 

“Noted,” he smiled, albeit sadly. Caroline was pretty certain the dimple he flashed wasn’t by accident. “I’m only here to show you how to save a life, right?”

Caroline nodded numbly in response, trying to ignore just how close he was and how much she wanted to kiss those tempting, crimson lips. 

It wouldn’t be the first or last time she felt that way. Nor would it be the last time they lost control and gave into their feelings. 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @everchanginginks!

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

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

Read on AO3

******

Wędrowiec

Hey -SS

Hey -SS

Hey -SS

What -DH

What’s your address. The loft. -SS

Why do you need it -DH

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

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

Why do you need it -DH

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

You don’t have to get me anything -DH

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

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

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

Why are you going to Michigan? -DH

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

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

I’m sorry to hear that -DH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I couldn’t impose on-“

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

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

“Hell if I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

Why? -SS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

"It’s a disgrace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, why. I wanna know why.”

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

“Nope. Not alright. Fess up.”

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

“Who told you I don’t sleep?”

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

*~*

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

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

“He has children?”

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

“Hmm. Nika, he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

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

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

“So, Stiles, are you…..and Derek….?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“You were asking a little bit.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Derek’s also not gay”

“I wasn’t asking!”

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax.”

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*

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

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

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

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

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

“Santa’s Lil Helper, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who was that?” Stiles had to ask.

“Cora.”

“What’d she want?”

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

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

Derek almost winced. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cywscross]

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7 | Pt.8 | Pt.9

bloop

After a couple days and still no sign of his dad at home, Stiles is too impatient to wait any longer so he ambushes the man at the station instead, waves the papers at him, and flails about how awesome the tech camp will be.  He’s caught him at the perfect time too – the Sheriff is on the phone, probably with someone important, and he already looks exasperated before Stiles even opens his mouth.  Stiles only needs to ramble for about forty-five seconds for his dad to get the gist of it, and after an absent scan of the info package and permission slip, he signs his name on the dotted line, mouths have fun and make sure you have your phone turned on at Stiles, and then goes back to his phone call and whoever is squawking at him at the other end of the line.

Stiles suppresses a fist-pump and ducks back out of the office post haste instead, waving at Jenna on his way out the door and stuffing the papers away in his bag with his other hand. The Sheriff’s used to Stiles finding himself something to do over the summer anyway, whether that’s hanging out with Scott or (fake-)visiting people out of state, and so long as he doesn’t do anything that will land him in a jailcell (or anyone else in a jailcell for that matter), John Stilinski is just relieved Stiles won’t be around to stumble his way neck-deep into some kind of trouble that will mean giant headaches for everyone involved.

Parental supervision taken care of for the summer, Stiles hurries home to finish packing.  Peter will be doing the same, and Stiles will swing by to pick him up early tomorrow morning.

Afterwards, he does a quick run-through of the house, making sure nothing is too dusty and the garbage is taken out.  He did the shopping earlier but he double-checks the fridge anyway, making sure it’s stocked with frozen foods and boxed leftovers, the latter for which he quickly writes ‘EAT THESE FIRST’ on a slip of paper before taping that on top of one of the containers.

Almost eighteen years and Stiles honestly still doesn’t know whether or not his father can whip up anything more complicated than a cheese sandwich.  Claudia did all the cooking when she was still alive and well.  Then there was a period of time in-between when he and his dad literally ate nothing but takeout and instant noodles and canned soup.  And once Stiles managed to teach himself, he’s been doing the cooking ever since. If the Sheriff ever cooked, Stiles can’t remember it.

So when he’s not around, he always makes sure the house has enough food to feed his dad, even if it is terribly unhealthy, but it’s not like he doesn’t know the Sheriff sneaks burgers and other junk on a near-daily basis anyway.  He just pretends he doesn’t know because he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that all his health lectures will always go in one ear and out the other when it comes to his father.  Sometimes, Jenna manages to redirect the man from the nearest In-N-Out or pizza place to somewhere that actually serves a rounder meal, at Stiles’ request, but Stiles understands that the Sheriff is still her boss and she can’t actually order him to eat something healthier, especially since it’s personal business.  So Stiles makes up for it during the meals that his dad shows up for, and it’s why he almost always ignores him whenever the man complains about all the vegetable dishes Stiles serves him.  Very rarely, he gets steak with his pasta, along with a large side of asparagus, but that’s the extent of Stiles’ leniency.

The Sheriff will get the whole summer to indulge his terrible eating habits this time, and the mere thought of it is almost enough to make Stiles want to cut his trip short.

Almost.  But Stiles also thinks of open roads and city lights, and he remembers sitting at the back of a bus, crammed in the corner by a window as it trundles along the quiet countryside in the early hours of the day, taking him from one town to the next as he watches the sun creep over the horizon through sleepy eyes, and there’s no way he’s giving that up.

He sweeps through the rest of the house, pausing to tape more instructions in the laundry room because his dad is okay with the dishwasher but Stiles knows he always gets the washing machine and dryer settings wrong when he has to do his own laundry.  Fortunately, it’s a problem that can be prevented easily enough.

He leaves the weekly shopping list on the dining table with the envelope of discount coupons, and beside that on another sheet of paper, Stiles scribbles a reminder to eat at least a few salads, to not work too hard and sleep in an actual bed, and to be careful while he’s at work.  It’ll probably make the Sheriff roll his eyes but at least Stiles can say he tried.

Duties taken care of, Stiles finishes off yesterday’s leftovers for dinner before getting ready for bed.  He’s planning to be up by four, and he doesn’t want to oversleep.

His phone buzzes just as he’s pulling the blankets over his shoulder.  When he checks, it’s a message:

:I’ll see you in the morning, Stiles.:

Only Peter, Stiles muses, could make a simple text sound like both a threat and something between a question and an expectation at the same time.

:430am: He types back.  :don’t oversleep or il call u lazywolf forever:

:I would never.:

:Goodnight, Stiles.:

:nite peter:

At 4:28am the next morning, Stiles pulls up outside Peter’s apartment building to find Peter already sitting on the bottom step of the stairwell waiting for him.

“G’morning,” Stiles mumbles around the coffee he just bought, thrusting the second one at Peter as the werewolf slides into the passenger seat and tosses his duffel and sleeping bag into the back.

“Good morning,” Peter casts an amused glance at him as he balances the coffee between his thighs and digs into the McDonald’s paper bag for a breakfast burger.  “Don’t wrap us around a tree before we even get out of town, Stiles.”

Stiles cracks a yawn. “I just need the caffeine to kick in, and then I’m good to go.  You got your passport and stuff together?”

Peter nods, fishing out his wallet.  “Driver’s license too, and I have access to one of my bank accounts again.”  He smirks almost grimly.  “I always knew it was a good idea to keep a private account that my family didn’t know about.  And things get done much faster when people owe you a favour or two on the illegal side of life.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but he can’t exactly refute that.  And at least Peter has his identity and some money again.  He already knows the werewolf still hasn’t gone to Derek to ask for his share of the Hale Pack money, never mind the insurance payouts from the fire, and Stiles can’t even blame him.  Stiles wouldn’t go begging either.  It feels wrong to have to ask for that kind of thing from someone in the first place when at least part of it – if not most, considering Derek wouldn’t even have been working six years ago and therefore wouldn’t have contributed a single dime to the family accounts – should rightfully belong to Peter, and doubly so when that someone is both your family and your murderer.  There’s just something seriously twisted about that.

He takes one more gulp of coffee before setting that aside and pulling out of the parking lot.  It doesn’t take more than a few minutes to merge onto the road that would lead them out of Beacon Hills, and another ten minutes sees them driving past the Thank You For Visiting Beacon Hills! sign.

“So where to first?” Peter enquires, absently rolling the window down to let the wind riffle their hair.

“Maps are in the glovebox,” Stiles tells him.  “But I was thinking we could head up to San Francisco first before crossing the Oakland Bay Bridge and going straight east from there?”

Peter shrugs.  “Sounds good.  I haven’t been to San Francisco in years.”

“I went last year, and the year before that, but I always just passed through,” Stiles admits. “Maybe we can stop for a day or two this time?  If you can remember any favourite restaurants or something, we can go to those.”

Peter brightens.  “The Orpheum Theatre, Stiles.  That’s a must if we’re stopping.  Maybe we can even watch something if tickets haven’t been sold out.”

He whips out his phone and presumably begins looking up shows and availability.  Stiles grins and turns most of his attention back on the road. He can’t say he’s been to many theatres – there’s only one in Beacon Hills with an actual stage anyway – but hey, he likes musicals, and it’s nice to see Peter already enjoying himself, with plans of his own for their road trip.  Stiles was a little worried that Peter only wanted to come because he didn’t want to be left behind, and that was probably a part of it, but it looks like the werewolf’s pretty happy about the road trip itself too.

He speeds up as they turn onto paved street, and Peter glances up, looking almost startled.  The first rays of dawn are streaking up over the trees and across the sky from their right, making the leaves glimmer green-gold and painting brushstrokes of orange gilded with the faintest hues of pale blue across the dark night canvas.

Something in Peter’s expression eases at the sight, like an invisible weight being taken off, and it erases some of the lines on his face.

“…I’d forgotten,” Peter murmurs after a long moment of peaceful morning silence, with only the wind crooning in their ears.

Stiles glances at him even as Peter’s gaze remains riveted on the view blurring past the half-open window on his side.  The man tilts his head back and settles deeper into his seat, putting his phone away in favour of unwrapping his burger.

For a while, it doesn’t seem as if he’ll finish his thought, but then he says, quietly, “I’d forgotten, that the world isn’t always so terrible.”

Stiles says nothing in response.  It doesn’t seem like something that needs an answer.

Not when he started travelling to remind himself of that exact same reason.

They reach San Francisco a little before nine, and they end up checking into a hotel just a ten-minute walk away from the Orpheum Theatre.  They drop off their bags and duck out again to sightsee, with Peter taking the lead as familiar locations come back to him.  They go to City Hall, the Opera House, and a truly astounding number of churches. Peter’s fascinated with their history, and Stiles learns more about their architecture and design, reconstruction post-earthquake, and even famous events that took place in them than he ever did at school.

They stop for tacos in-between before Peter shows him the Main Library.  It’s a large white building, with seven floors total and a glass ceiling.

“I’m pretty sure I saw this place in City of Angels,” Stiles mutters.

Peter rolls his eyes and drags him off to see the Asian Art Museum next door, which is apparently where the old Main Library used to be before the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 hit it.

“Are you sure you were a lawyer and not a history professor or architect or something?”  Stiles asks suspiciously.

“Very sure,” Peter snorts, mouth twisting oddly.  “…Teaching history wouldn’t really have benefitted the pack, so it was always more of a hobby for me.”

Stiles studies him for a moment, and he doesn’t push when Peter doesn’t continue.  Instead, he points at a colourful mural on one side of the building they’re standing in front of.  “Tell me about that.”

Peter’s more than happy to continue as Stiles’ tour guide, but they do eventually need to head back to the hotel for a shower and a bite to eat if they want to make it to the production at the Orpheum Theatre tonight.

They watch Billy Elliot, and it’s a lot better than Stiles thought a live theatre production would be.  Beside him, Peter stays intent and focused the entire show, only stirring for intermission, and he almost looks teary-eyed at one point.  Stiles spends the time with one eye on the stage and one on Peter – he can’t help it, it’s one of the most human moments he’s ever seen Peter in, and he thinks that’s more fascinating than the production.

The actors deserve the huge round of applause at the end, but the enthusiasm Peter shows still takes Stiles by surprise.  The smile on his face, even more so.

“Did you have fun?” Peter asks on their out with the chattering crowd.  The werewolf slants an amused look at him.  “What with staring at me the whole time.  We could’ve stayed at the hotel for that if I’d realized you were so fascinated by my face.”

Stiles flushes.  Busted.  “I wasn’t- well, I mean, not the whole time.  And,” he tacks on defensively, “you were… different today.  Happier, I guess.  And I’ve just never seen that before.”

Peter arches an eyebrow. “I assure you, Stiles, I have been quite happy spending time with you over the past couple of months.”

Stiles’ cheeks feel hotter than ever, and he splutters wordlessly for a moment, floundering for something to say.  Nobody’s ever-

“I just mean you were happy over doing something!”  Stiles hastily amends.

-told him they were happy to spend time with him before.

“I had no idea you were such a history buff!”  Stiles rambles on, not giving Peter time to say anything else potentially embarrassing. “And you really like theatre, huh?”

“When performed well, yes,” Peter nods.  “And tonight’s was excellent.”

“It was pretty good,” Stiles agrees, relaxing a little.  “I’ve never been to one before so it was interesting to see how different it was from movies.”

You poor deprived child, Peter’s face practically screams, and Stiles has to roll his eyes and dig a pointy elbow into the man’s ribs. Peter flashes his eyes back at him, as playful as they are bright under the sidewalk lights.

They make their way back to the hotel, and they’re both tired enough to retire to their room directly, ordering room service instead of going out to find someplace to eat.  The room isn’t big but it’s comfortable enough for two, furnished with two twin beds, a clean bathroom, and a table and two armchairs they can eat at.

“Did you stay at hotels when you travelled alone?”  Peter asks after swallowing a mouthful of his halibut dish marinated in a garlic-butter sauce.

“Cheap ones mostly,” Stiles shrugs, reaching for his water.  “Sometimes I slept on the bus if it was an overnight one.  And once I walked from Portland to the next town so I just found trees and bushes to sleep under.”  He grins at the appalled expression Peter aims at him.  “It wasn’t that bad.  Better than sleeping in some stranger’s car when they gave me a ride, right?  And you’d have no problem doing the same if you went on a road trip without a car.”

Peter actually presses a hand over his eyes for a moment before lowering it and giving Stiles the flattest, most unimpressed look possible.  “Yes, but unlike you, I can rip anyone’s throat out if they’re stupid enough to try something.”

Stiles just waves a dismissive hand.  “I was fine though.  So you know, all’s well that ends well, right?”

Peter heaves a deep sigh like the dramatic asshole he is.  Stiles rolls his eyes.  “I’m alive.  I never even had to stun-gun anybody.”

Peter still looks kind of dubious but at least he eases up on the judgemental concern routine upon hearing Stiles – obviously, because he’s not stupid – at least carried around a weapon.

“You worry too much,” Stiles tells him, returning to his fish.  “Besides, I have you this time, and I promise if anybody attacks us, you can put the fear of God in them.  I draw the line at killing them though, unless they try to kill us first.  And I have my jeep.  I didn’t tell you to bring a sleeping bag just so it can take up space, you know.  The backseat of my car folds down, and we won’t be able to stretch out or anything, but it should be big enough for two when we stop in the middle of nowhere.”

Peter sighs again but relents with a nod.  After a moment’s consideration, he adds, “It’s not that I think you can’t take care of yourself, Stiles, but there are still a lot of things out there that won’t spare you just because you’re young.”

Stiles snorts and jabs his fork at him.  “I already know that, Peter.”

Peter studies him for a long minute before nodding again.  “Yes, I suppose you do.”

The matter is dropped, much to Stiles’ relief.  Peter’s never been prone to pushing an issue further than Stiles can stand, so there’s that at least.

They finish the rest of the meal in companionable silence.  Peter pushes the cart back out into the hallway afterwards, and Stiles ducks into the bathroom first to get ready for bed.

The room has two twin beds so they each get to claim one.  He’s used to being in much closer proximity with Peter than this so it doesn’t feel too strange as he watches the werewolf check the locks before getting into bed as well.  He spares a few seconds to tap out a text message to his dad that he’d arrived safely at camp before plugging his phone in to charge.  Peter uses the other socket for his own phone, and then he reaches over to click off the lamp, leaving the room awash with shadows.

“Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“You had fun today too, right?”

There’s a helpless sort of fondness in Peter’s voice when he responds.  “Silly boy.  Of course I did.”

“Good.”

[stereksummerexchange]

The Accidental Alpha

@septima-sum | AO3 - Septima, I hope this fulfills your fluffy college romance wishes! Thank you for the excuse to write this idea I’ve been thinking about for ages!

by @poetry-protest-pornography

When Stiles goes to college, he meets a new group of supernatural creatures (because of course he does) and it turns out he’s pretty good at taking care of werewolves–and a witch! Derek and John are… wary.

Two and a half years of running with wolves had given Stiles the ability to recognize a supernatural being with a relative ease, and going to a university with a very large student body gave him a fair amount of practice.

In his first semester English Lit class, there was a girl who spent all of the first class with a sour look on her face, leaning as far away from the professor as possible while still remaining in her seat in the middle of the auditorium. It wasn’t until Stiles went to get the syllabus from the prof that he got a whiff of the man’s oppressive cologne. The next time the class met, Stiles brought some herbal candy and a small tub of salve with him. He had sat next to her in her new place in the back row and placed the items on the table in front of her.

“The lozenges will help, and put a little of the salve under your nose, too. That should block the worst of it,” he’d said quietly, smiling with no teeth and as much sincerity as he could manage so he didn’t appear as a threat–or a crazy person. He preempted her denial by dropping his voice further, turning toward her as he stood to find a different seat and reassuring her with, “When my brother got turned, his senses went crazy, and these were a lifesaver.”

Her jaw had dropped slightly, and her brow had furrowed in a way that Stiles found startlingly endearing, but when her eyes snapped to meet his, there was only mild surprise and confusion there. She’d even smiled, though it seemed to be involuntary, and after he’d settled into his seat a few rows down, he heard the quiet crinkle of a wrapper open. When he’d looked up a moment later, as Dr. English Leather walked in carrying his cloud of chemicals and musk, she was wearing a small pleased smile and replacing the lid on the jar of salve.

It felt good.

After class, she had waited for him at the door, blurting out a “Thank you,” before he could say anything. “I’m Bianca,” she’d said, sticking out a hand and tilting her head to the side. Stiles had been startled by the display, but did his best to ignore it. He’d introduced himself and offered to bring her a bag of the candies and the recipes for both items, and by the end of the conversation he had a study partner for the semester. 

The guy at the campus coffee shop with the too quick reflexes and the uncanny habit of forgetting he had enhanced hearing might as well have just worn a shirt that said “I’m Not Human.”

Stiles had actually called Derek after his first encounter with Neil during orientation week and rambled about the total failure of supernatural education. “Der, you can’t tell me there isn’t like, Super Summer Camp or something! Why do none of you know how to people! You can’t go 2002 Spiderman-ing all over the place and stay a secret!” 

Derek had done a manful job of pretending to be unimpressed, but had eventually agreed that the barista needed to be a little less spectacular. 

Thankfully, Stiles’ nearly problematic dependence on caffeine meant that he didn’t end up having to wait too long to steal a minute with Neil. Unfortunately, creating the moment meant that he’d had to sacrifice his perfectly crafted cinnamon mocha. As he “accidentally” dropped the steaming cup of spicy chocolatey goodness, Neil predictably moved to save him from the burning hot backlash. When the kid had successfully saved him, Stiles had untangled himself from the still awkwardly long limbs of Neil The Were-Barista (mentally noting that the kid was going to be gigantic when he was done growing) and thanked him with a genuine smile. Neil had shrugged it off shyly and gone to grab a roll of paper towels to clean the mess.

He had looked startled when Stiles kneeled down next to him, a wad of napkins in hand to wipe at a puddle of cocoa-dusted whipped cream. When Stiles had said, calmly and quietly, “I appreciate the save, dude, but you need to start being a little less super, or you’re going to draw unwanted attention, bro,” his eyes had clouded over and his whole body tensed.

“Shit. That didn’t come out right. Don’t freak out.” Miraculously, Neil had relaxed a little, and Stiles was able to continue. “Let a few lattes get dropped now and then. Don’t start making someone’s super complicated half-caff, non-fat, double bullshit drink before the cashier calls it out to you, and maybe be a little more careful not to answer questions you shouldn’t have been able to hear being asked, okay? I know it’s overwhelming, but you have to keep yourself safe.” 

Neil’s stunned gratitude had made Stiles feel proud and warm. The extra-large replacement mocha was nice, too.

He had had his suspicions about his Folklore professor, Dr. Garrett, from day one. The woman was a little too knowledgeable and a little too passionate. And a little to spry for a human 58-year-old.

When Derek, Scott, and Kira had dropped in on him for a surprise “we all randomly had the same 24 hours free and decided we missed you” visit one weekend a few weeks into his first semester, it had been a much needed if whirlwind visit, and also confirmed that Dr. Garrett was most definitely a werewolf (though Stiles had been hoping for a were-cat of some sort, the woman’s grace and haughty humor screamed feline). Dr. Garrett had walked into the classroom with her usual casual determination, but once she reached her desk, she’d frozen and taken a deep breath, her head darting immediately to Stiles, and he had sworn her eyes flashed briefly at him as they narrowed in consideration.

Their conversation after class had been brief, but they continued to meet throughout the semester, sharing stories and resources. She had a fascinating life and an incredible collection of books, and Stiles was grateful to have someone on campus to talk to.

***** 

Going home for Thanksgiving break was strange. Stiles was looking forward to getting back to his pack, to his dad, but there was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he was forgetting something. Leaving something behind.

He had to physically shake himself to stop from turning around to head back to campus and double check all the knobs on the stove or something. Which was ridiculous, because in the mad paper-writing spree that was the last week before break, he had lived mostly on coffee and take-out food. If not for Bianca and Neil, he probably would’ve opted for just the coffee, but the two had become good friends since their respective first meetings. Stiles was grateful for their presence; it was hard being away from the Pack, and even though he spoke to Derek almost daily, Scott and Lydia at least once a week, and Malia and the junior wolves often enough that they were all up to date on each other’s lives, it was lonely.

The lack of constant life-threatening danger was pretty nice, though.

Despite the feeling of leaving something behind, pulling into the driveway at home was as much of a relief as it always was, the knot of tension in his shoulders relaxing itself at the prospect of a whole week to spend with his dad, Derek, Scott and Melissa, and the rest of his rag-tag crew.

His dad opened the front door before he could fumble his key into the lock, and before he could drop his duffel bag to the floor, he was wrapped up in a tight hug. For a moment, he was caught up in a rush of emotions that had him hugging his dad back a little tighter. The first year after Stiles discovered that werewolves were a real thing had strained his relationship with his dad to the point he wasn’t sure they would be able to recover. He wouldn’t ever stop being grateful he’d been  wrong.

“Good to see you, kiddo,” John said as he pulled away. “You look good, son, you eating something besides pizza and instant noodles?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and raised a brow. “Are you?” They shared a laugh, and Stiles was surprised when Derek joined them in the entryway.

“Like Jordan and Melissa would let him get away with takeout five days a week and face your wrath,” Derek deadpanned. Stiles laughed harder and John snorted, and then Derek was right there, so Stiles took half a step and Derek wrapped his arms around him. “Hey,” Derek said quietly into the side of Stiles’ head, and a different kind of rush went through him.

His relationship with Derek had changed so much, Stiles wasn’t always sure he believed that they had gotten to where they were now. From the beginning they’d been like magnets, pushing against each other and pulling each other in in turns. Now, though, there was almost nowhere he felt safer, felt more like himself, than when he was with Derek.

“Hey yourself.” He pulled away enough to look at Derek, vaguely noted that his dad had disappeared, and reached up to scratch lightly at Derek’s cheek. “Y’know, this is officially a beard now, Der. We are well past sexy-mysterious stubble, dude.”

Derek’s eyebrows quirked upwards and he smirked, his voice dropping teasingly low. “Is that a complaint?”

Stiles’ tongue darted across his upper lip as he shook his head. “Nope,” he said around a grin, relishing in Derek’s answering smile and the way Derek’s eyes traced over his face. So of course instead of doing something, he blurted out, “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Derek laughed, his eyes crinkling in a way that Stiles would never not be endeared by, and he couldn’t regret missing a chance to make a move.

“It’s comfy,” Derek said easily, shrugging and turning stepping a little further away, tweaking the collar of Stiles’ flannel as he did so. “Besides, it’s yours.”

The smile that Stiles felt curve his lips came with a warmth in his chest, and he and Derek were caught in a still moment, just watching each other and enjoying the warm, quiet space between them. 

A small clatter from the kitchen tore them both out of it, but Derek just turned, throwing his arm over Stiles’ shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go help with dinner.”

Read the rest on AO3 

[buttdawg]

New South: The Saga Continues 11/2/19 (1/2)

The main thing that got me to plunk down money for IWTV was all the hype ads I kept seeing for Warhorse vs. Rey Fury.   I was confused about how to watch Warhorse’s matches, which led me to IWTV, and they seemed to have a jillion indy feds on their site, so it seemed like a good deal.   The problem was that New South’s November 2 show didn’t go up on the site for like a month, so I wasn’t really sure what to do in the meantime.   I ended up watching the Beyond show where Warhorse defended the IWTV title against Orange Cassidy, and the Black Label Pro Turbo Graps 16 tournament where he won the title.    

But I decided to finally get back to the New South show.   I wasn’t sure if I should watch the entire thing, but the opening of the show is a Star Wars crawl, and there’s a backstage segment where it looks like BB-8 and Darth Sidious are spying on people, so I decided to liveblog it instead.

These are the guys BB-8 and Sid were watching.    They look like eighth graders.    I don’t mean to knock these guys, it’s just that I’m old and the young talent in the wrestling business looks younger and younger all the time, and my guess is that indy feds like New South are where a lot of the really new guys get their start.   Or maybe I’m just not used to seeing actual early-twentysomethings on a wrestling show.    They talk about Joey Janela like he’s a fresh young talent, and he’s 30.   Anyway, the bros on the right are the new tag champs, and I guess the ones on the left are the former champs, who somehow lost their titles without getting pinned, so they’re looking forward to a title match.  

Now, you might ask me why I didn’t take a picture of BB-8 and Darth Sidious, but that’s because BB-8 is a crappy-looking toy, and the Emperor is apparently played by a shadow in an empty corridor.    You’re not missing much.

The new general manager of New South comes out and he’s this huge dude with Flirtin’ With Disaster as his entrance music.   There’s basketball goals all over the place, and he hypes up being in Hartsville, Alabama.    There’s something romantic about these kinds of shows.   Not kissy-kissy romantic, but you know. 

Anyway, this dude became the new GM, but he’s announcing he’s stepping down after tonight so some championship committee can take over.    I get the impression that New South recently ended some “evil authority figure takes over” storyline, and theyr’re still figuring out what to do next.   This all feels like a CAW Fed on YouTube.    Not necessarily a bad thing. 

New South Tag Team Championship: Wasted Generation vs. Talladega Knights (c): Well, that’s cool that we’re following through on the opening segment.   Dueling “Tal-la-DAY-ga” and “Let’s-Get-WAY-sted!” chants.   Pretty impressive for a crowd this small.    The commentator calls it a “bona fide heatfest”, and I feel like he meant “spotfest”, since this is a face vs. face match where they run through like a million offensive manuevers in five minutes.   But maybe heatfest is a real term and I’m just out of touch.  

This match is nuts.  I’ve seen sharpshooters, Falcon Arrows, moonsaults, superkicks, and that whole “I chop you now you chop me” bit they do in New Japan.    While I wrote this a guy jumped off the bleachers into the others, and it’s not that high off the ground, but it’s the thought that counts.    Part of the story here--maybe unintentionally, but I like it-- is that the referee just can’t keep up with these young’uns and their greased lightning anything goes style.   Wasted Gen’s finisher is called “Don’t Embarass Me in Front of Tyler Matrix”, whatever that means.   It gets a two count.  Canadian Destroyer, because of course they did.   The Talladega drapes a guy over the top rope and hits him with a double stomp, and that one gets the three.  Talladega Knights retain the gold, but Wasted Gen snatches the belts away... only to present them to the champs and raise their hands in a show of respect.   Hey this was good stuff.    

“The Hot Tamale” Daniel Perez vs. “The Unicorn Princess” Taylor Rae.   I wasn’t sure how I felt about intergender matches before I started watching all these indy matches, but I got used to it pretty quickly.   The only real insight I’ve noticed is that it probably has less to do with pushing boundaries or equality or anything like that, and it’s more about not having enough women wrestlers on any given show to do a separate division.    And that’s fine.   Part of my beef with AEW and WWE is that they underutilize the women because they’re in a separate division that usually gets demoted to the periphery.   

Perez is a Latin Lothario heel, and Rae thinks she’s a unicorn, I guess.   Perez tries to seduce her by offering a coupon for one free kiss, but Rae rips it up and goes to town on him.     I mean she starts kicking his ass, not “goes to town” in a romantic way.   Hot Tamale exposes the turnbuckle, which they really ought to do more in wrestling.   I say that and I see it all the damn time, but that’s not enough.    More turnbuckle exposing.    More!

Rae gets a lot of cool offense in, but it ends up coming back to the exposed turnbuckle, as Perez launches her into it and grabs a handful of tights to score the fall.    Nice match, but I’m noticing that I’ve only seen one intergender match where the woman wins.  Maybe I’m just not seeing the right ones, but my fear is that they do these matches and job out the gals, which kind of defeats the point of doing it.    

Backstage, this guy in glasses offers the Talledega Knights a spot in his stable, the Akuto Death Society.   They have T-shirts and get this, they’re black with a white logo.    The Knights decline the offer, and then they see something strange in a locker, which is ominously numbered 66.  Oooh.

“The Pittbull” Brett Ison vs. Baron Black (w/Shalandra Royal).  I think Baron Black may actually have a nobleman gimmick, as opposed to “Baron” being just his first name.   Fans bow to him as he makes his entrance.   Well, I’m down with it.   I don’t know what Ison’s deal is, but he wears a black towel on his head, so you know he must be a badass.    I thought I heard the announcer say they had a staredown at WrestleMania (?), but I haven’t watched WWE in over a year, so for all I know that might have actually happened.   

Both of these guys are presented as super-tough guys.   Ison, especially, but the Baron keeps taking it to him, even though he gets the worst of every exchange.    Finally, Black PULLS DOWN THE STRAPS, but he only gets a two count.   Ison reverses an ankle lock, and from there it’s all Ison.  He kind of looks like a young version of Corporate Kane, only he’s wearing a Death Row Records tank top.    I dig it.   Ison ends up outside, where he knocks out Shalandra.   Ooooh!   Baron goes nuts and clobbers him, and this lady walks by with a snack from the concession stand, which sort of kills the mood.   It looks like they just ordered a bunch of Papa Johns for this show.    That’s pretty cool. 

Black grabs a chair to take sweet revenge, hesitates for a moment, but then he goes for it and takes the disqualification.    Crowd chants “One more time”, and The Baron obliges his subjects, but Ison punches the chair as Black swings, and takes out Black with his own weapon in the process.   Crowd is furious at Ison.   This is the first DQ finish I’ve seen in months, and it’s pretty damn good.    If you’re going to end a match with a DQ, this is a good way to do it.   

Backstage, the New South champion is... in a gas station men’s room washing his face.   His shoulder’s all hurt and he doesn’t even know how bad it is yet.    The GM checks in on him and the champ cuts a promo about how he’s like a guy in a war movie who isn’t sure he’s gonna make it, but he’s gonna give it all he’s got.    This doesn’t really go anywhere.  

“The Kings Road Slayer” Derek Neal vs. Adam Priest.   Priest blindsides Neal during his entrance.    He works Neal over, then goes for a dive to the outside and catches his foot on the middle rope and basically lands face first on the floor, which is pretty awkward.  I guess he’s okay, but that looked pretty bad.   Crowd seems to be solidly behind Priest, which is weird since he ambushed Neal, but he’s the little guy in this match so maybe he’s the underdog in this thing?    Neal manages to pull off a superplex, but AT WHAT COST?   They get up and start trading blows, but Priest is just about spent.    Derek Neal picks up a leather strap like that’s a big deal, but Priest manages to hit him with a Death Valley Driver while he argues with the ref.    Now Priest has the strap, and the ref tries to take it from him, and that gives Neal an opening to hit a kick to the balls and a powerbomb, and Derek Neal wins.   What is a “Kings Road Slayer” exactly?

Backstage, the T-Knights show the GM the haunted locker, but he plays the whole thing off as a prank.   Camera finally pans to the locker to reveal... a lanyard with a card that reads “GM1″?    What does that even mean?

Kung Fu Donnie Janela vs. “Magnificant Michigan Muscle” Cody “Vanilla” Vance.  Weren’t Cody and Vance the two cousins they brought into replace Bo and Luke on Dukes of Hazzard?   Donnie Janela looks exactly like Joey Janela, except he’s billed as the “Kung Fu King Master of All Martial Arts.”   So is he doing an homage to Joey, or are they related or what’s the deal here?   I don’t want to shovel more dirt on the grave of Jim Cornette’s reputation, but I’m pretty sure Joey is red hot if he’s inspired imitators.    Which sort of leads me to suspect that maybe Jim Cornette is completely out of touch. 

Cody has two nicknames, but Vanilla is printed on his ass, and he’s got an ice cream cone on the front of his tights, so I feel like that should be the primary on.  I like the M3 on his kneepads though.   He looks like someone WWE would be interested in, though I can’t tell how big anyone is on this show.   Cody looks like he’s 6′7″, but he could be 5′5″ for all I know.  

Donnie takes control and starts whipping out his kung fu skills.  He’s got Chinese characters tattooed on his flank, so you know he’s legit.   THey fight evenly for a while, until Vance hits a spinebuster and a ripcord cutter for a two count.   Then Donnie hits a One-Winged Angel?    The announcer doesn’t call it, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I saw.   It gets a two count.   This show is wild, I tell you what.  Cody finally hits a Bicycle Kick and that ends the match.   They do a handshake at the end, and I gotta say, I’ve seen a lot of respect endings to matches this year and I’m still not sick of it.   

Donnie cuts a promo after the match and puts over Cody, but the crowd keeps heckling him.  Is Donnie a heel?   Because he thanks the crowd for supporting him.    Then Brett Ison lays him out and Kris Krunk comes out to make the save.  Okay, so Krunk was the guy who invited the Talledega Knights into the Akuto Death Society earlier on.   And Janela has an “ADS” armband, so I guess he’s in the group too.     But then Krunk betrays Janela and hits him with a chair, so I guess Janela’s out of the group?  He blames Donnie for something, and orders Ison to finish him with the Go2Sleep.  Then the good guys show up to help and Krunk and Ison withdraw.  

IWTV Championship: Rey Fury vs. WARHORSE (c).   NEVER MIND THAT SHIT, HERE COMES WARHORSE!     Rey Fury intrigued me because he looked like a pissed-off Rey Mysterio on the ads, but now that I see him in action he looks like his own guy, which is probably for the best.    Some guy in the crowd tells the ref to check Rey’s mask along with the rest of his gear, so the ref does it.    Then he checks Warhorse’s hair in the spirit of fairness.    Then both guys do a fist bump to start the match.   Yeah, we ain’t fuckin’ around here, Maggle.

Fury takes it to Warhorse to start off, and he rolls out of the ring and into one of the seats.     Fury tries to go after him, but Warhorse drives his face into the chair and takes back the initiative.   I think that pizza is free?   Cool.

Warhorse keeps chanting “Yee-yee” at Fury, which I think is Fury’s deal, so I don’t know if he’s trying to psych him up or taunt him.   Dueling chops, and I like how Rey’s mask has tassels in the back like hair, so they whip around when he moves.   This one really hoarse woman keeps rasping “Warhorse!”, and it sounds kind of creepy, but I appreciate her energy.  Maybe she wore out her voice chanting for Wasted Generation.

Warhorse takes the lead and lies on the top turnbuckle a la Shawn Michaels while Rey gets back into the ring.   I’m pretty sure Rey’s homegrown New South talent, but he’s having trouble keeping the crowd on his side.     Sometimes it’s half-and-half, and sometimes it’s like 80% Warhorse.    Rey fights back, goes to the top rope, but Warhorse counters with a top rope double-underhook suplex.    Isn’t that like a superplex?    

They fight outside for a while, then Rey tries another top-rope move, which Warhorse reverses in midair-powebomb.   It gets two, and Warhorse starts to despair.   Rey ducks the clothesline, hits a cutter, but only gets two.    That’s probably as close as he came in this match to winning the title.   Later, kids call out to Fury not to give up, so he’s not totally alone out here.   But Warhorse finally hits the double stomp off the top rope and retains the title.     After the match, Warhorse cuts a promo to put over Rey for putting on a helluva match.

They need to sign Warhorse with AEW and give him full creative control so he’s allowed to just run roughshod over the Dark Order.    Then they should make a midcard belt and let him hold it for the duration of his contract.  

There’s still the main event to go, but there’s like forty minutes left on this show, so I think I’ll cover that tomorrow.    Oh, it’s spelled “Chris Crunk”, not “Kris Krunk.”    Good to know.   

[yahoo-roto-arcade-blog]

Starting pitcher ranks: Robbie Ray puts it all together in latest Shuffle Up

Robbie Ray has been a right answer thus far (AP)

Here’s the big one, the starting pitcher shuffle up. It’s going to look absurd in a day or a week because that’s how pitching is. This position is erratic, fickle, humbling.

[Fantasy Football is open! Sign up now]

What’s happened to this point is merely an audition. We’re trying to calibrate 5×5 value from here on out.

Players at the same price are considered even. The prices are used as a tool to compare the players, but they are not scientifically derived. I study the numbers as much as I can, but I am not a formula guy. I never will be.

I will not debate the injured pitchers. They’re ranked as a courtesy. If you know exactly when Syndergaard and Bumgarner are coming back and exactly how they’ll do, wonderful. Please share it with the rest of the class.

I retain the right to tweak this list in the 24 hours. Game on.

$36 Clayton Kershaw $33 Max Scherzer $32 Chris Sale $28 Zack Greinke $25 Stephen Strasburg $24 Corey Kluber $24 Carlos Martinez $23 Dallas Keuchel $22 Yu Darvish $22 Carlos Carrasco $21 Michael Fulmer $20 Chris Archer $20 Lance McCullers $19 Marco Estrada $19 Johnny Cueto

With Archer’s stuff, you wonder how he loses as much as he does. A 3.94 ERA since the beginning of 2016 is criminal, given how talented he is (he’s also fallen short of his FIP for three straight years, which makes you wonder what we’re not measuring). That said, Archer’s struck out double-digits in four of his last six starts, maybe he’s starting to get in a groove. His career shows a 3.19 ERA and 1.15 WHIP at home, 3.88 and 1.25 on the road . . . Estrada used to be a smoke-and-mirrors guy, a lesson about sneaky-soft contact and how fly-ball pitchers are misunderstood. But this year, he’s actually starting to dominate in other areas. He’s pushed the strikeout clip over 10, dropped the walks by a third. This is a high-end SP2 now.

$18 Jon Lester $18 Justin Verlander $18 Jacob deGrom $18 James Paxton $17 Robbie Ray $17 Gerrit Cole $17 Jake Arrieta $17 David Price

I don’t think we had enough fun with Ray’s 2016 season, let’s start with that. A 218-strikeout campaign tied to a 4.90 ERA? A bloated 1.47 WHIP? An 8-15 record? You couldn’t really trust him, though you knew he could strike out 10-plus in any turn.

Ray’s ERA has dropped to 3.00 this year, despite a K/BB that’s actually an eyelash worse. He’s added a dazzling curve to the arsenal, pushed the swinging-strike rate forward, improved with first-pitch strikes. A lot of the so-called luck stats (hit rate, homer rate, strand rate) were against him last year; this year, they’re for him. But with peripheral-suggested ERAs in the mid-to-low 3s, this is a breakout we can feel good about.

Mind you, some home success would be nice. Arizona is a tricky place to pitch, and Ray knows all about it: note the 6.75 ERA at home, 0.64 ERA in the road. Obviously we expect a significant merging of those two stats, and I’d never pitch Ray at Colorado, unless it was a very format-friendly concept. But when you mix shake and pour Ray’s component profile, I like what’s in the glass.

$16 Luis Severino $15 Sean Manaea $15 Jose Quintana $15 Jake Arrieta $14 Michael Pineda $14 *Alex Wood $14 Eduardo Rodriguez $14 Jose Berrios $13 Kyle Hendricks $13 Lance Lynn $13 Jeff Samardzija

Is it possible to throw too many strikes? With Shark Sandwich, you have to wonder. Look at that strikeout rate, 10.5/9. Walks have never been a problem, and this year his BB/9 is down to 1.38. These are Cy Young-contending numbers on their own; we know BB/K tells so much of the story.

Alas, it’s not the entire story. Samardzija has a bloated 16.1 HR/FB, his strand rate blows, his hit rate stinks too. So you have to decide what you want to pay for going forward — the front door ERA or the hocus-pocus one (3.14 FIP, 2.81 xFIP). He’s allowing line drives on 27.7 percent of his batted balls, which explains away a lot of the problems. I’ll expect a high-3s ERA the rest of the way, maybe low 4s, with good strikeout numbers. Alas, that’s a very startable pitcher in the Mound Wreckage of 2017.

I don’t have any strong answers on The Q. I just won’t go any lower on him based on back class. I also think he’s on a better team in a month or two.

$12 Ivan Nova $12 *Aaron Sanchez $12 Mike Leake $12 Sonny Gray $12 Trevor Bauer $11 *Madison Bumgarner $11 Rick Porcello $11 Marcus Stroman $11 Kenta Maeda $11 Alex Cobb $11 Brandon McCarthy $10 Julio Teheran $10 Jason Vargas $10 Dylan Bundy $10 Jake Odorizzi $10 J.C. Ramirez $10 Ervin Santana

If you want a smoke-and-mirror show, Santana checks most of the boxes. Despite his walk and strikeout rates both going in the wrong direction, he somehow has a 1.75 ERA — spitting in the face of a 4.10 FIP and 4.69 xFIP. His home-run rate is in line with his recent levels, but somehow he’s managed a .143 BABIP and a strand rate over 90 percent. Byron Buxton is great, but he’s not that great.

We can’t yell “regression!” and walk out of the room, you know that. But Santana’s ultimate give-back might be jagged to the point that he’s not even worth rostering. I don’t know how sophisticated the owners are in your league, but I’d be trying to sell. Maybe you can’t get something that makes sense. But you need to make an attempt.

Gray looked terrific before one awful inning at Cleveland, so I’m trying to keep my balance here . . .  Bauer still has lapses in command and concentration, but there’s probably signature-significance to a 14-strikeout start and his secondary ERAs are all much better than the front-door number  . . . McCarthy remains the most interesting athlete on Twitter, and he’s a pretty damn good pitcher when the health cooperates. He’s also well-versed in metrics and secondary thinking, a step ahead of many of his contemporaries . . . Nova is another winner of the Ray Searage lottery; you can live with those strikeout numbers when walks are eliminated . . . Lots of good fortune flashing for Bundy; a silly-high strand rate, a suspiciously-low BABIP. His strikeout rate is down to 6.2/9, which makes him very risky to me, especially in the AL East. Remember, that division has the best cumulative record and the best cumulative run differential. It’s still full of landmines and alligators . . . I really don’t know where Teheran went wrong, but we should at least note that he’s been a lot worse at home.

$9 *Noah Syndergaard $9 *Jameson Taillon $9 John Lackey $9 Dan Straily $9 Masahiro Tanaka $8 Derek Holland $8 Tanner Roark $8 Rich Hill $8 *Taijuan Walker $7 Michael Wacha $6 *Steven Matz $6 Matt Shoemaker $6 J.A. Happ $6 Jimmy Nelson $6 Adam Wainwright $6 Zack Wheeler $5 *Trevor Cahill $5 *Cole Hamels $5 Andrew Triggs $5 Matt Harvey $5 *Charlie Morton $5 *Matt Andriese $5 Joe Ross $5 Dinelson Lamet $4 *Felix Hernandez $4 Aaron Nola

My goal for this year is for everyone to see the truth with Aaron Nola.

I know pitching is a minefield right now, but I want to play in leagues where people think Aaron Nola is a Top 20 starter.

— scott pianowski (@scott_pianowski) May 3, 2017

Last calendar year for Aaron Nola: 6.55 ERA, 1.69 WHIP. I know it’s injury-related, but I don’t get the bandwagon. Let the narrative go.

— scott pianowski (@scott_pianowski) June 1, 2017

$4 Gio Gonzalez $4 Zack Godley $4 Brad Peacock $4 Drew Pomeranz $4 Mike Clevinger $4 *Nathan Karns $3 *Danny Duffy $3 Danny Salazar $3 Jaime Garcia $3 Antonio Senzatela $3 Kevin Gausman $3 Ian Kennedy $3 Ty Blach $3 *Jon Gray $3 Luis Perdomo $3 Patrick Corbin $3 Junior Guerra $3 Jharel Cotton $3 *Francisco Liriano $3 Jordan Montgomery $3 Josh Tomlin $3 Hyun-Jin Ryu $3 Ariel Miranda $3 Ricky Nolasco $2 *Julio Urias $2 German Marquez $2 Jerad Eickhoff $2 *Carlos Rodon $2 Kyle Freeland $2 Zach Davies $2 Jeff Hoffman $2 Eric Skoglund $1 *Vincent Velasquez $1 *Wei-Yin Chen $1 *Kendall Graveman $1 Matt Moore $1 Tyler Glasnow $1 *Hisashi Iwakuma $1 Jesse Hahn $1 Mike Foltynewicz $1 Daniel Norris $1 Jose Urena $0 Jason Hammel $0 Clayton Richard $0 Robert Gsellman $0 Andrew Cashner $0 Jeremy Hellickson $0 Phil Hughes $0 Matt Boyd $0 AJ Griffin $0 Jesse Chavez $0 R.A. Dickey $0 Chris Tillman $0 Wade Miley $0 Jhoulys Chacin $0 Mike Fiers $0 Hector Santiago $0 *Joe Musgrove $0 Amir Garrett $0 Jordan Zimmermann $0 Alex Meyer $0 Chad Kuhl $0 Matt Garza $0 Eddie Butler $0 Tyler Anderson $0 C.C. Sabathia $0 Matt Cain $0 Scott Feldman $0 Tyler Chatwood $0 Bartolo Colon $0 Ubaldo Jimenez $0 Jered Weaver $0 Mike Pelfrey

I could have differentiate the zero-dollar guys, but basically they’re all “unownable” and let’s leave it at that. Cashner is the funky name here, because he has a solid ERA that’s complete mirage. You can’t make it in today’s game when you walk more batters than you strike out. That is completely unsustainable.

Related:

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds s05e21 “Exit Wounds” review - or  more aptly named, my baby girl is the best innocent cupcake with the biggest heart ever and I am so in love with Kirsten Vangsness and they need to make Morgan/Garcia happening

Episode 21 – Exit Wounds

Hey guys! So I’ve got time for one more review before I have to go and do shopping for the weekend and upcoming week. I also have to buy more Tupperware … sigh.

Ew. We’re starting with butchering fish? I love fish, but I’m one of those hypocrites who can’t stand the thought that you actually have to kill living organisms in order to eat them XD

“Is anyone there? ‘Is anyone there,’ Brenda? Right, ‘cause the homicidal maniac hiding in the shadows is really going to answer you.”

By far the smartest victim we’ve seen so far.

Oh boy, so she actually knows her killer? Oh honey.

“JJ, that’s not the point.”

Ooh, girl talk! I’m gonna love this episode.

“Well, are you gonna call him?”

Call who? Mick?

“Maybe.”

“Emily.”

I love playfully-frustrated JJ.

“Mick Rawson is an arrogant, oversexed, egotistical …”

“Hot British dude with a sexy accent, badge and a gun.”

I’m wet just thinking about it.

“Just your type.”

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

“You know what? I don’t even get you sometimes.”

Lol.

“It wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know our work schedules.”

Now you’re just making up excuses, Emily.

“Okay, you know what? Will and I make it work.”

True enough.

“Oh, no.”

Oh my goodness gracious, I’m dying!

“I know. Don’t say it.”

“But when you see what’s in here … it’s not my fault.”

“They were calling to me, I swear. And they were all on sale. And when you think about it, that means that I am helping the economy.”

“Which is more than I can say for you guys, ‘cause no one else has bags.”

I love her reasoning.

“Please tell me all of those aren’t for my son.”

XDDDDDDDD “They’re not. This one is for Kevin.”

I love you, Penelope.

“What? It is my duty as a fairy godmother to spoil the child.”

True.

“And Henry is finally old enough to be fun when opening presents. I’m not taking them back.”

“Give me my coffee and no one’s gonna get hurt.”

Oh I love this woman.

“Half-calf, extra shot venti, 2-pump nonfat, hold the whip caramel macchiato.”

WHOA. That’s quite the coffee order.

“Next stop, Xanadu.”

Aw, so cute!

“Oh, wait … Xana-don’t. “Time to go to the BAU, ladies.”

Oh dear.

“Maybe I should get a cat.”

Oh Emily.

“Whoa!”

‘Whoa’ is definitely the appropriate sentiment.

“Sorry to ruin your night.”

“What, are you working on wife number four?”

“I see you people way too much.”

I love this show.

So they’re headed to Alaska?

My poodle rattling off fun facts about the town.

“It could be a sign of remorse. Cover their bodies so he doesn’t have to face the reality of what he’s done.”

“Or he thinks the women are trash and he’s just placed them where he thinks they belong.”

Oh dear.

“Garcia, I need you with us.”

Wait what?

“Sir?”

“I’ve tasked a satellite uplink and it’s your job to keep us connected.”

“Yes, sir.”

So she’s flying to Alaska with them? Oh boy.

John Morley: “Nature in her most dazzling aspects or stupendous parts, is but the background and theater of the tragedy of man.”

WHOA.

“Wearing gloves and making sure there aren’t any witnesses – that’s a no-brainer.”

“But what concerns me is the evolution of the kills.”

“Evolution?”

“Well, he started with easy prey.”

Oh boy.

“But he didn’t have to overpower either one of them. Both victims were shot.”

“Which is my point exactly. He killed them both from a safe distance.”

“But Brenda Bright was younger, more athletic. She would have been able to put up much more of a fight, so why not shoot her, too?”

My smart puppy.

“He used an arrow, but he didn’t shoot her with it. He stabbed her.”

Oh god.

“I should let everybody know that reception in the area is unreliable at best.”

“I’m giving everybody satellite phones for communication, and I’ve already preprogrammed all your digits into speed dial.”

“Guess who’s lucky number seven.”

I love you.

So cute how they’re trying to get a good look at the town.

Can we just talk about the fact that Garcia literally has a wheelie bag while the rest of them have a carry-on? I love you, lady!

“It’s pretty isolated out here. How do you get basic supplies?”

My smart puppy.

“You’re sure packing an awful lot of stuff for a fishing trip.”

Oh wow, so he’s actually leaving the place? Where the frack is he going? He’s in the middle of literally nowhere.

“What convinced you she was stabbed with the arrow instead of shot?”

Ew.

“I found urine on the remains.”

Fuck, he actually peed on them? FUCK. Oh, so he only peed on the male? Ew.

“He’s playing with the bodies, experimenting with this methodologies.”

Oh that is gross.

“We’re dealing with a psychopath.”

No shit.

Wait. They covered up the blood that was left at the crime scene?

“You contaminated the scene?”

So they had to do it so the rabid bear in the woods won’t come and kill them. Fuck.

My cutie setting up.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make this place a little less analog.”

Oh, tech burn.

“Sorry. I forget my hacker jokes aren’t funny.”

They are to me.

“My name is Penelope. I’m the one who doesn’t carry a weapon, aside from my biting wit.”

Which is as good a weapon as a gun, honey.

“And my job includes combining my kick-ass systems with your sheriff’s department database to get the skinny on your neighbors and you.”

“Or you could just ask us what you want to know …”

“No. Because in my experience, the information superhighway never lies and people do.”

Oh my lovely genius.

“That’s when I check your criminal record. And you, my friend, are clean as a whistle.”

“What does that even mean.”

“No idea.”

Ha.

“He’s already experimenting with his victims.”

Ew.

And apparently most of them are bailing.

“Can you blame them?”

Nope.

“It sounds like your basic survival skills.”

“No, they’re hunting skills.”

Exactly.

“Think about it. The marksmanship, the urine – it makes sense.”

“The urine makes sense?”

I’m with Derek here. Uber ew.

“All right, so we’ve got a psychopath with hunting skills who knows the routines of everyone in town. How are we supposed to keep everyone safe?”

Mission impossible.

“I’m gonna pull an all-nighter, finish going through the town records. Should have background checks by sunrise.”

I love her dedication.

“I’ve got four rooms available.” “Uh, four?”

Oh my honeys, you’re so used to the good life. Get ready to double up.

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.”

HEY! That’s not nice!

“Dibs.”

Oh my freaking goodness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“What do you mean, you’re sharing a room with Morgan?”

Oh god, Lynch the Bitch is back. For like those few moments of jealousy. I don’t like you.

I mean, I love Nicholas Brendon beyond belief, but I hate Kevin Lynch.

“Oh, you’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Why? Because you’re bedding down with a …muscle-bound, modern-day 007?”

“He’s more like Jason Bourne.”

Exactly.

XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

“He took the floor.”

Exactly. Because my puppy is a gentlemen.

“Just make sure he keeps his weapon holstered.”

Oh my freaking god. That is genius writing.

And I can totally see Xander coming out right now XD

“Why are you up right now, anyway? It’s so late.”

“Actually, it’s early. I just got to Quantico.”

“Damn time zones.”

Cuties.

“Hello?”

“Frack.”

XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Are they allowed to say that on national TV?

“Oh, come on, baby.”

“Nice one, Garcie.”

I love it when she talks to herself.

Oh my god.

No.

My baby girl, why are you going after something strange in the dark? Why?

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Oh, I am so in love right now.

“Just keep looking at me.”

“Help!”

Someone help my new girlfriend! “He’s accelerating his schedule.”

Fuck.

“There has to be more to it than that.”

“He brought the body to the tavern we’re staying at. He’s telling us he’s not afraid of us.”

Oh god.

“He switched to a hunting knife. Looks like a jagged edge.”

“It’s hard to say, but judging from the location, I would guess liver or spleen.”

Oh god, he took a part of the victim? Ew.

“He was alive.”

“What?”

“He was still alive.”

“Baby, there’s nothing else you could have done.”

“I felt him leave.”

Oh my god.

“He was there one second, and then – just a body.”

“I’m really sorry that you had to see all of that.”

“Derek, I didn’t see it, I was in it.”

Oh my goodness. I know this is super sad and really traumatic for Penelope, but I can’t get over how tender Derek is, and I’m so in love with the both of them right now.

“I was sort of used to seeing horrible things from the safety of my screens every day, but this was … right there.”

“Why didn’t you go and find someone before you ran out there?”

“Because when I got shot, I remember thinking the last thing I’m ever gonna see in this life is the man who killed me, and I couldn’t let that happen to him.”

Oh god, I’m so in love.

“He had to see something good before he died.”

“You ran right towards the unsub. You could have been killed.”

“I know that. Don’t treat me like I’m the victim.”

“All right. I’m sorry.”

Oh god.

“I want to ask you a couple of questions, all right?”

“No. cognitive interviews, breaking someone’s death down to a science and statistic – that’s your world, Derek, not mine!”

“I will help from mine.”

“Penelope!”

“Derek, let her go.”

“Will you look after her, please?”

Oh my goodness, she is so shook up she can’t even give a cognitive interview, and it’s so cute and sad at the same time that my heart is ripping.

“Was Garcia able to give you any new information?”

“She’s given all she can.”

So leave her alone.

“He’ll have extensive hunting experience.”

Oh god. I really hope they catch this fucker soon.

So they now think it’s Joshua Bradley? I think so, too.

“So you enjoy hunting?”

“Then would you say you take pleasure in the kill?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Actually, no … they don’t.”

Ha.

“Needle, meet haystack.”

I love this writing team.

“Yeah, we need the big guns.”

“Ripped and ready to rumble.”

“Uh, maybe you should sit this one out.”

I love how they try to help her. I love you so much, my beautiful cupcakes.

“Put this bastard where he belongs.”

XD

“No, he’s not.”

Why is she thinking that Joshua isn’t the unsub?

“Reid.”

Oh my clueless poodle.

“Well, welcome back, red delicious.”

“Take a bite out of this.”

Oh my god, I love those two so much!

“Anyone else look like they might be leaving town?”

Of course she can give them the answers.

“Penelope, you are …”

“So ready to go home.”

Oh my darling.

“Do you mind my asking who the father is?”

She doesn’t even know. Oh dear.

I really hope she will be saved.

“It’s for your own protection.”

Crap. They killed Josh’s mom? Oh boy.

“This one’s personal.”

“He played with her body.”

Oh god, I want to throw up.

Oh god, they have to tell him that his mother was killed fuck.

Oh my poor nutcase.

“Please, sit down.”

“I’m sorry. She’s gone.”

Oh my sympathetic poodle, I love you so much.

“You don’t want to think of her that way.”

“If you had gone to her, there’s a good chance you’d both be dead.”

“I need to see my mom.”

“Well, let’s have someone take you.”

“It’s okay, I know the way.”

Why you being rude to my poodle?

“Did you see his behavior shift from wanting to help us to wanting to leave?”

“He’s lying.”

“Because he knows who the unsub is.”

Oh dear.

“Garcia, got anything?”

“Their lives has been torn apart, figuratively and literally, and I can’t find anything.”

“I’m hacking into his college database as we speak. Maybe there’s something about his life in Seattle I may have missed.”

Oh god, please find this fucker.

“Why the mutilation? Why the overkill?”

“Mutilation?”

What is Rossi onto here?

“We need to adjust the profile.”

Huh?

“These animals weren’t mutilated by a rabid bear. Someone did this.”

Oh god.

“An animal wouldn’t have left so much.”

“We should have seen it before. It’s homicidal triad 101.”

Fuck. Oh god.

“I found something uber weird.”

Oh god, I’m seriously nervous about this one.

“Talk about abandonment issues.”

Oh god, someone find this fucking Owen bastard. I want him dead for freaking out my baby girl like that.

“We’re surrounded by waterways and mountains. He could be anywhere.”

Oh that dad is an asshole! “Did you know?”

Don’t be disrespecting my honeys!

“He’s not here. But the window’s open.”

Fuck.

“Sit down and shut up.”

Oh snap!

“I promise he will not lay a hand on you again.”

I LOVE YOU AARON HOTCHNER!

Hey, sheriff, let go!

“We’ve got a problem.”

“They’re hunting Owen.”

Shit.

Fuck.

“Did they just shoot him?”

“They wouldn’t be shooting if they weren’t close.”

“Let’s go.”

Find them, please.

“Hold on, guys.”

“Yeah, Hotch, what’s up?”

“Ok. Got it.”

“There’s a new plan. He’s heading for the harbor.”

Oh boy.

“Drop the weapons and back away!”

Please, just stop it.

“He needs help and he will be held accountable for his crimes.”

God, I hate it when they think they know the system and think it’s against him.

’m terribly sorry for your loss, but please just put your guns down so no one else gets hurt.”

“Who do you think has the higher ground here?” “I’m pretty sure we do!”

Ha.

Now they’re backing down.

“You shot him?”

“He’ll live.”

Yup.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“Just knowing that we couldn’t have done any of this without you.” XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

I love how he appreciates her so much.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m proud of you, Penelope. Despite everything that happened, you came back …and you go the job done.”

“The sight of blood used to make me run away. And two nights ago I ran towards.”

“It means you’re changing into someone stronger than you realize. You cared enough to risk your own life to try and save someone else.”

“Yeah, but … what’s the difference being strong and being jaded?”

“I’m scared, Derek. I don’t want to lose who I am just so I can do this job.”

“We are in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I know you see that, don’t you?” Yup.

“Then we have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s who you are, baby girl. You see the beauty in everything and everyone no matter where you go.”

“That part of you is never gonna change, and I won’t let it.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Tough. I think I’m gonna stay on the job a little while longer.”

“Yeah? How much longer?”

“Every day of my life.”

“I kinda love you, Derek Morgan.”

“I kinda love you, Penelope Morgan.”

Oh god, my heart is bursting with love right now.

Ralph W. Sockman: “Nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as real strength.”

Okay, so aside from the awful murder aspect of the episode, I just fell in love with this one. It’s one of my favorites, because we see Penelope actually helping someone in the real field, not from behind a computer, even though it’s amazing what she does on a regular basis, and we got to see more Morgan/Garcia goodness, and even though Lynch the Bitch cropped up, it reminded me more of Xander than Kevin Lynch so I’m okay with that.

Perfect episode aside from the murder.

I’ll see you guys later, honeys! Thank you so much for the support <3

[youcalc-blog]

MLB trade rumors: Orioles asking price for Britton is “top, top guy” - Camden Chat clock menu more-arrow Stubhub Logo

With the hours dwindling until the non-waiver trade deadline, the Orioles appear to have three main bidders who are looking to get closer Zach Britton onto their team. Those teams are the Dodgers, the Astros, and the Indians - a late addition. Whether the Orioles trade Britton at all is uncertain, but they’re definitely out there seeking what veteran MLB reporter Jon Heyman says is a “top, top guy.”[1][2][3][4][5][6]

Should the Orioles settle for less than a top guy if they can’t get one? Or should they just trade Britton for the best package that’s on the table today? These are the questions that will be giving Dan Duquette heartburn this afternoon and even beyond as the franchise deals with the ripples from any deal or non-deal.

If they ARE going to get a “top, top guy” for Britton, here’s who’s at the top of the list for those other teams prospects:

Indians

C Francisco Mejia[7] (#16 prospect in MLB)

RHP Triston McKenzie (#24 prospect)

Mejia is 21 and destroying Double-A pitching with a .317/.367/.520 batting line. He is a switch hitter. In stark contrast to the O’s own catching prospect, Chance Sisco[8], Mejia threw out 44% of would-be base-stealers last season. That’s pretty good! Sisco[9] notwithstanding, it’d be exciting to get him. But since they already do have Sisco...

McKenzie is about to turn 20 and has spent most of this year dominating the Carolina League. He was a competitive balance pick in the 2015 draft. McKenzie has struck out 140 batters in 108.2 innings for the Lynchburg Hillcats this season. That’s High-A, the same level as the O’s Frederick affiliate. He’s held batters to just a .190 batting average and a 1.03 WHIP overall.

Dodgers

RHP Walker Buehler (#13 prospect)

OF Alex Verdugo (#28 prospect)

Top guys who maybe aren’t top, top guys: RHP Yadier Alvarez (#51), 2B/OF Willie Calhoun (#69), OF Yusniel Diaz (#88)

Buehler and Verdugo are described as off the table for a rental, says Heyman[10]. However, Britton is more than a rental, so that could change the calculus there, if the Dodgers are convinced Britton could help this year and next year.

Buehler is a Vanderbilt product who was drafted late in the first round in 2015. He had Tommy John surgery not long after signing with the Dodgers, so he has yet to really be unleashed as a pitcher while working back from that. For instance, in 11 Double-A starts, he threw just 49 innings. He’s reportedly kept his pre-surgery velocity in those short stints.

Verdugo is 21 and in Triple-A this season, where he’s batting .326/.398/.445. He may not have much power left to unlock and although he’s been playing center field, could be destined for right field. You could sign me up for that based on his pro performance to date, though.

Astros

OF Kyle Tucker (#10)

RHP Forrest Whitley (#40)

RHP Franklin Perez (#46)

What is a “top, top guy”? Top 20? Top 50? The Astros also have OF Derek Fisher[11] (#54) who they drafted with the pick the Orioles traded them for Bud Norris[12] in 2013.

Tucker started the year at High-A and earned a promotion to Double-A at age 20. That’s impressive stuff, and he’s been impressive since that promotion, batting .281/.340/.520 in 42 games in the Texas League. The #5 overall pick from the 2015 draft is expected to have 20+ homer power, and sure enough, between High-A and Double-A, he has 18 home runs this season.

About Whitley, I think we all know there’s nothing the Orioles need more than pitchers. He would not, however, be a short-term solution, as he’s spent this year between Low-A and High-A. Whitley is just 19, turning 20 in September. Houston drafted him with their first round pick last year. This is from his MLB.com[13] scouting capsule:

Whitley projects to have four solid-or-better pitches, starting with a 92-95 mph fastball that tops out at 97, could have more velocity to come and features cutting and running action. He has a power curveball that peaks in the low 80s with good depth and tight spin, and he can turn it into a mid-80s slider when he wants. He has an advanced changeup for a pitcher fresh out of high school and already trusts it.

Nice. Worth noting that the 6’7” Whitley is having to work on repeating his delivery. If you’re nervous about how the Orioles are with developing pitchers, you might be nervous about a Whitley acquisition. He may not even be on the table, anyway, and if he’s not, the Orioles might not be moving Britton.

Those are the teams involved and those are their “top, top guy” players. There are three hours to go until the trade deadline as of this writing. That’s a lot of time for a deal to come together, but it seems we should all be prepared for the Orioles to stay the course.

References

^ Orioles (www.sbnation.com)

^ Zach Britton (www.sbnation.com)

^ Dodgers (www.sbnation.com)

^ Astros (www.sbnation.com)

^ Indians (www.sbnation.com)

^ what veteran MLB reporter Jon Heyman says is a “top, top guy.” (twitter.com)

^ Francisco Mejia (www.sbnation.com)

^ Chance Sisco (www.sbnation.com)

^ Sisco (www.sbnation.com)

^ says Heyman (twitter.com)

^ Derek Fisher (www.sbnation.com)

^ Bud Norris (www.sbnation.com)

^ MLB.com (MLB.com)

Go to the article

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Thanks to my friend @eviltothecore13 for sending me this...

Vincent Price on filming "The Ten Commandments"...

"There was a scene where I had to whip John Derek to death,” laughed Vincent. “Well, he deserved to die; Anybody that pretty should be whipped. I took lessons on how to use the whip for about two months. I really had a man who came everyday and I took on the whip to the point I could do anything with it. Like whipping a cigarette out of people’s mouths.”

😳 🥵

[youcalc-blog]

MLB trade rumors: Orioles asking price for Britton is “top, top guy” - Camden Chat clock menu more-arrow Stubhub Logo

With the hours dwindling until the non-waiver trade deadline, the Orioles appear to have three main bidders who are looking to get closer Zach Britton onto their team. Those teams are the Dodgers, the Astros, and the Indians - a late addition. Whether the Orioles trade Britton at all is uncertain, but they’re definitely out there seeking what veteran MLB reporter Jon Heyman says is a “top, top guy.”[1][2][3][4][5][6]

Should the Orioles settle for less than a top guy if they can’t get one? Or should they just trade Britton for the best package that’s on the table today? These are the questions that will be giving Dan Duquette heartburn this afternoon and even beyond as the franchise deals with the ripples from any deal or non-deal.

If they ARE going to get a “top, top guy” for Britton, here’s who’s at the top of the list for those other teams prospects:

Indians

C Francisco Mejia[7] (#16 prospect in MLB)

RHP Triston McKenzie (#24 prospect)

Mejia is 21 and destroying Double-A pitching with a .317/.367/.520 batting line. He is a switch hitter. In stark contrast to the O’s own catching prospect, Chance Sisco[8], Mejia threw out 44% of would-be base-stealers last season. That’s pretty good! Sisco[9] notwithstanding, it’d be exciting to get him. But since they already do have Sisco...

McKenzie is about to turn 20 and has spent most of this year dominating the Carolina League. He was a competitive balance pick in the 2015 draft. McKenzie has struck out 140 batters in 108.2 innings for the Lynchburg Hillcats this season. That’s High-A, the same level as the O’s Frederick affiliate. He’s held batters to just a .190 batting average and a 1.03 WHIP overall.

Dodgers

RHP Walker Buehler (#13 prospect)

OF Alex Verdugo (#28 prospect)

Top guys who maybe aren’t top, top guys: RHP Yadier Alvarez (#51), 2B/OF Willie Calhoun (#69), OF Yusniel Diaz (#88)

Buehler and Verdugo are described as off the table for a rental, says Heyman[10]. However, Britton is more than a rental, so that could change the calculus there, if the Dodgers are convinced Britton could help this year and next year.

Buehler is a Vanderbilt product who was drafted late in the first round in 2015. He had Tommy John surgery not long after signing with the Dodgers, so he has yet to really be unleashed as a pitcher while working back from that. For instance, in 11 Double-A starts, he threw just 49 innings. He’s reportedly kept his pre-surgery velocity in those short stints.

Verdugo is 21 and in Triple-A this season, where he’s batting .326/.398/.445. He may not have much power left to unlock and although he’s been playing center field, could be destined for right field. You could sign me up for that based on his pro performance to date, though.

Astros

OF Kyle Tucker (#10)

RHP Forrest Whitley (#40)

RHP Franklin Perez (#46)

What is a “top, top guy”? Top 20? Top 50? The Astros also have OF Derek Fisher[11] (#54) who they drafted with the pick the Orioles traded them for Bud Norris[12] in 2013.

Tucker started the year at High-A and earned a promotion to Double-A at age 20. That’s impressive stuff, and he’s been impressive since that promotion, batting .281/.340/.520 in 42 games in the Texas League. The #5 overall pick from the 2015 draft is expected to have 20+ homer power, and sure enough, between High-A and Double-A, he has 18 home runs this season.

About Whitley, I think we all know there’s nothing the Orioles need more than pitchers. He would not, however, be a short-term solution, as he’s spent this year between Low-A and High-A. Whitley is just 19, turning 20 in September. Houston drafted him with their first round pick last year. This is from his MLB.com[13] scouting capsule:

Whitley projects to have four solid-or-better pitches, starting with a 92-95 mph fastball that tops out at 97, could have more velocity to come and features cutting and running action. He has a power curveball that peaks in the low 80s with good depth and tight spin, and he can turn it into a mid-80s slider when he wants. He has an advanced changeup for a pitcher fresh out of high school and already trusts it.

Nice. Worth noting that the 6’7” Whitley is having to work on repeating his delivery. If you’re nervous about how the Orioles are with developing pitchers, you might be nervous about a Whitley acquisition. He may not even be on the table, anyway, and if he’s not, the Orioles might not be moving Britton.

Those are the teams involved and those are their “top, top guy” players. There are three hours to go until the trade deadline as of this writing. That’s a lot of time for a deal to come together, but it seems we should all be prepared for the Orioles to stay the course.

References

^ Orioles (www.sbnation.com)

^ Zach Britton (www.sbnation.com)

^ Dodgers (www.sbnation.com)

^ Astros (www.sbnation.com)

^ Indians (www.sbnation.com)

^ what veteran MLB reporter Jon Heyman says is a “top, top guy.” (twitter.com)

^ Francisco Mejia (www.sbnation.com)

^ Chance Sisco (www.sbnation.com)

^ Sisco (www.sbnation.com)

^ says Heyman (twitter.com)

^ Derek Fisher (www.sbnation.com)

^ Bud Norris (www.sbnation.com)

^ MLB.com (MLB.com)

Go to the article