#black scotty cookie

[karol-chan-art]

I decided to make an older sibling for one of my favorite rarepairs- CaviarUni!

I may have also gone a bit overboard with making fankids for my newest favorite pair- CrunchyBurntVelvet

(I know I messed up when typing "Black Cheesecake" I'm just lazy to fix it)

Anyways, that's all I have to show for now!

Reblogs are appreciated!!!

[fizzigigsimmer]

Back At One Part 2

Pairing: Caligator, Billy Hargrove x Gator Tillman

Fandom Fusion: Stranger Things & Fargo S5

Dom/Sub au

*Title taken from this truly sappy love song by Brian McKnight that these boys would NEVER admit was kinda okay lol.

<<<<PART I

“When is that fella of yours gonna make an honest man out of you?" Dot asks, just as Gator reaches for the pans stacked on top of the fridge, and he jerks, pulling too quickly, sending a cookie sheet clattering toward the kitchen floor - he just manages to save it. Scotty raises the cover of her book to hide her face, but his ears work just fine and he hears her snicker.

"What do you mean?" he gripes as he fumbles with the cookware. This is what he gets for trying to do something nice for his boyfriend on his birthday. "Billy's already registered as my dominant."

Which means if Gator really does burn the house down trying to make this fucking cake, Billy can have the honor of identifying his barbecued remains and save Dot the trouble.

Dot’s giving him this look though. Like she can see right through his bullshit. Let's get real. She always could read him like a book and play him like a fiddle.

“Alright, lets bake this mother fu-uuning,cake” Gator self corrects, remembering Scotty at the last minute. Shit that was close. Dot only has a few rules for when they’re together: no talking about the past when Scotty’s in earshot and no potty mouth. She literally calls it that. It’s kind of annoying though, cause the kid is like twelve right? Gator could curse in three different languages by the time he was twelve. But apparently that’s not the thing to be proud of that he thought it was when he was twelve.

“Real nice save Hon.” Dot laughs at him.

“Yeah yeah. Let’s just do this.” Gator grumbles in reply, and they do. 

Dot ties an apron around Gator's waist and hands him a mixing bowl while Scotty eagerly climbs up on a stool to read out the recipe as they work. She’s only meant to be walking him through the basics of a simple white cake with Billy’s name spelled out on it, but somehow the kitchen quickly descends into chaos. 

"Okay, first we need to cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy," Scotty reads.

Gator dumps an entire stick of butter and a heaping cup of sugar into the bowl. He picks up the electric mixer and jams it in after, cause that much he can figure out for himself. Only it sends a plume of sugar into the air the minute he powers it on. 

“Holy shit!”

"No, silly!" Scotty giggles. "You have to soften the butter first or it won't mix right."

Grumbling, Gator fishes the hard butter out of the bowl and tosses it into the microwave. A few seconds later, there's a loud pop - because he’s a fucking idiot and apparently it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to warm butter. One glance inside confirms the worst: the stick is now a molten mess, and butter drips down the microwave door.

"Oh honey," Dot sighs, grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess. "Just grab another stick and leave it on the counter for a bit to soften."

“Jesus. Come on. Get your head in the game!” Gator admonishes himself, trying to shake off his embarrassment and the feeling of shame welling up inside of him from fucking up something so simple. “I have cooked before. I’m just -”

What? Nervous? Fucking stupid? What else is there to say when he can’t even melt butter.

Dot lays a hand on his back. She doesn’t need to say anything, and she doesn’t as she hands him a clean bowl and Scotty reads out from Dot’s phone that it’s time to sift the dry ingredients together. He upends the bag of flour over the sifter, and thinks it might be too much. It definitely is, because he doesn’t get more than a few taps in before flour has started to overflow everywhere, dusting his hands and the arms of his black t-shirt. But hey, some of it is getting into the bowl.

Somehow with Dot's patient guidance and Scotty's enthusiastic "assistance", they manage to get the cake batter mixed and poured into pans. Gator slides them into the oven, sets the timer, and leans back against the counter with a sigh, his shirt and jeans thoroughly dusted with flour, bits of batter streaked in between.

Dot chuckles as she hands him a damp towel. "Well, that was an adventure. I think Billy will appreciate the effort you put in, even if it's not perfect."

Gator wipes his hands and grumbles. "It better turn out decent after all that. I still think I shoulda gotten him something else though. Something big, to really wow him, y'know?"

Dot studies him for a long moment, and then finally broaches the subject that has been festering like a smelly turd in the corner of the room.

"Want to talk about what happened at the store today?"

No. No he really fucking doesn’t. Gator turns to snap on the faucet, thinking that he’d like to stick his head under it and drown himself right about now. He focuses intently on scrubbing the batter caked on his nails instead.

"Nothin' happened. She was a stuck-up bitch is all. Lookin' down on me like I'm nothin' just 'cause I ain't some fancy dom in a suit."

He hears Dot murmur something quietly to Scotty about going to get her things together, and grunts in acknowledgment when the twerp says a shy goodbye before slipping from the room. He immediately feels like shit, because Dot can’t really punish him anymore - it’s not her place, and she’s got too much respect for Billy to overstep - but she can take away the one thing she knows he really wants. He wasn’t ready for them to leave, but he can’t blame Dot for not wanting her kid around him when he’s like this.

Her family is not something that Dot plays around with, and Gator might be someone she cares about, but there’s a stark line between whatever the hell they are to each other and the beautiful thing Nadine - fuck - Dot, built for herself with her own grit and guts in the aftermath of the Tillmans.

He understands. He gets it. He does. And yet he still flinches when she speaks again, body somehow unprepared for her to still be there even though he would have heard her leave if she wasn’t.

"She shouldn't have treated you that way," Dot says softly. "But Gator, how you reacted wasn’t like you. I haven’t seen you do something that rash in a long time. What’s this really about?”

Gator's jaw clenches and his hands still, suds dripping from his fingers into the sink. The air grows heavy with all the things unsaid between them.

"It’s nothin'. Alright?" he mutters unconvincingly. "I lost my cool is all. Won't happen again."

Dot sighs and leans her hip against the counter next to him, arms crossed. Her eyes are filled with gentle understanding and he hates it. Hates how much it reminds him of his mom, and all the times after, when she was gone and it was Dot standing in her place, filling the void as best she could. Hates most of all that he’s never been strong enough to resist the comfort Dot offers and the temptation to fall apart in her arms. She was his safety, even when safety was a lie and she was just a kid who couldn’t do shit to keep herself safe, let alone him.

But no matter how hard Gator had tried, he’d never stopped needing someone to lean on and take him apart and clean out his rust and dust, to put back together again good as new. That’s his curse, the sub in him, which is hard to swallow most days but Billy makes it better. No one does any of that for him like Billy Hargrove does. Even when Gator makes it hard on him, Billy always knows just which way he’s bent and how to fix it. Yeah it bugs the shit out of him, but he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with himself now without it. If Billy left he’d -

Stop that shit! He flinches away from the thoughts, and reminds himself for the umpteenth time that Billy isn’t going to leave him over some dumb shit like a lame birthday gift. He needs to just quit already. Why can’t he make the thoughts stop?

"You've been doing so well lately, Gator. Really making progress in therapy, communicating better when you’re dropping... What happened today?" Dot presses again.

Gator's throat works as he swallows hard. His hands clench the edge of the sink, knuckles going white. He doesn’t want to talk about this but maybe it will help. God he hopes it helps.

"I just... I wanted to get him somethin' special, y'know? Somethin' to show him how much he means to me." His voice cracks slightly on the last word and Dot's face softens. She reaches for him, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh honey... Billy knows how much you love him. You don't need fancy gifts to prove that."

"Don't I though?" Gator argues, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "He does so much for me, Dot. Takes such good care of me, even when I'm a pain in the ass. And, like when am I not a pain in the ass, huh? You were gonna kick his ass and like send him to the Gulag. How am I worth that?”

Dot laughs, giving Gator's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Listen to me. You are a pain in the ass, but only when you’re trying so hard not to be the sweet, kind, and wonderful man I know you are. You're a good boy, Gator. You always have been. And yes, at first I was worried when I found out your Saftey-Dom had a thing for you. Who wouldn’t be?”

Gator shrugs away her very good point - doms who are employed to counsel and provide subs with therapeutic care are bound by a strict code of ethics. Billy could have been in deep shit if anyone other than Dot had found out about their relationship before Billy stopped being his therapy dom.

“I kissed him Dot, and he never let it happen again while I was still just a case.” Gator laments. “That’s what I’m talking about though, all I could do was think with my dick - meanwhile I could have seriously fucked up his life. And he still took care of me!”

“He did. Which is what convinced me he’s the best thing for you.” Dot says. “It’s because he loves you for who you are, flaws and all."

Gator shakes his head, jaw tight. "You don't get it, Dot. I'm not...I'm not good like you keep saying. The shit that goes through my head sometimes…”

He trails off, shame burning hot in his gut. He can't even bring himself to say it out loud. But with Dot he doesn’t need to. 

She was there through the worst of it. She’s seen the worst of him. Shit Billy knows about, but hasn’t seen. Hasn’t really lived it, the way Dot had to live it, and maybe that’s why Gator’s been fucking everything up. 

Maybe he’s trying to see once and for all whether or not someone who isn’t trauma bonded to him will stay once they see him for what he really is.

"I know I'm fucked up, alright? I know I got a long way to go before I'm anything close to the kinda sub Billy deserves.” He tries to shrug off the admission like the words aren’t sending pain twisting inside him like a knife.

But Dot, perceptive as always, cups Gator's face, turning him back to meet her gentle gaze. "Oh honey... Is that what this is about? You want Billy to collar you?"

Gator's breath hitches. Hearing it stated so plainly sends a jolt through him, equal parts longing and terror. He jerks away from Dot's touch, arms wrapping defensively around himself.

"No! I mean... Fuck, I don't know," he stammers, the words tangling on his tongue.

Dot is quiet for a long moment, letting his confession settle heavily between them. When she speaks again, her tone is thoughtful.

"Have you talked to Billy about this? About wanting his collar?"

Gator barks out a harsh laugh. "No. No fuckin' way. He'd probably laugh in my face if I did.”

Dot's brow furrows, her eyes shadowed with concern as she clicks her tongue in admonishment. "I don’t believe you really think that for a second. That Billy would laugh at you for expressing your needs."

Gator's shoulders hunch, defensive. He keeps his gaze fixed resolutely on the mixing bowl in the sink, watching the dregs of batter slowly dissolve under the running tap. The sweet scent of vanilla and butter hangs heavy in the air, incongruously cheerful.

"I didn't say I needed it," he mutters. "I'm just sayin'... a guy like me askin' for a collar. It's funny right? Like, I’m not some needy bitch who needs a collar to keep from dropping, and I don’t need Billy thinking he gets to boss me around more than he already does. Guy’s an absolute control freak."

"Uh-huh and you love it. I've seen the two of you together. The way Billy is with you... It's special. He'd move heaven and earth to make you happy. To give you what you need." Dot says. Her voice is soft but sure.

Gator swallows thickly, his eyes stinging. He blinks rapidly, determined not to let the tears building behind his lids fall. "Sure. Why hasn’t he done it then? I’d put that shit down in two seconds, but he hasn’t even tried. Y’know?"

And the reason why is obvious. Yeah, there’s the fact that Gator doesn’t need a collar, but even if he wanted one he’s too much work, too damaged.

Dot sighs heavily, like he said the last part out loud.

"Honestly Honey, I think you should think about it from his perspective. With the way you talk about it... He may not realize how much this would mean to you. Billy does a good job, making sense of what’s going on in that squirrel head of yours but he’s not superman. Talk to him.”

Gator grunts noncommittally. Because hell no. He will not be begging his dom to collar him any time soon thanks, but he doesn’t want her to worry either. 

Dot says she has to get Scotty home in time to start dinner and he follows her out to the front door where Scotty is waiting with Dot's purse and her school bag. He sees them off with a wave and a promise to attend some talent show at Scotty’s school next week. Dot gives him a kiss on the cheek, urges him to talk to Billy one more time and reminds him that her mother-in-law knows the president, and really can get Billy thrown in the gulag if he really does laugh in Gator’s face.

And then he’s alone. Alone with his thoughts. Which is frankly the best way to be. Gator can think much more clearly about this now that Dot’s not here, reminding him of the past and making him feel weaker than he actually is. He can totally still salvage this situation. He’ll just make the cake really impressive. Like those 3D ones that look like real shit? Billy loves to chill with him on the weekend and watch that show where people try and guess which random item is cake or not. Gator’s usually tied up, plugged or gagged when that happens so his memories are a little hazy - but it doesn’t look that hard. It’s just cake right?

When the timer goes off Gator brings the cake out of the oven.

He whips out his phone and starts scrolling through cake decorating videos on YouTube, determined to find something suitably impressive. His eyes light up when he spots a tutorial for a realistic 3D surfboard cake, uploaded by some fruit calling himself Barry Bakes. He doesn’t really want to take advice from some dude with pink hair, a full face of makeup, wearing a sparkly crop top with the word TWINK encrusted on the front, but the cake is undeniably badass.

"Alright, let's do this," Gator mutters, cracking his knuckles. He fast forwards through the beginning of the video, impatient to get to the good stuff.

First step - carving the cakes into a surfboard shape. Easy enough. Gator grabs a serrated knife and starts hacking away at the layers, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Crumbs fly everywhere as he saws off uneven chunks. When he's done, he steps back to survey his work. It...sort of looks like a surfboard. If you squint. And tilt your head to the side.

Next up - the "ocean" frosting. Gator mixes a batch of blue buttercream, dumping in what is probably way too much food coloring, but whatever at least he softened the butter without blowing up the microwave this time.

Gator continues to follow along with Barry Bakes' tutorial, growing increasingly frustrated as each step seems to go awry. The blue buttercream frosting he mixed up is a garish turquoise color from the excessive food dye. It's also too thin and runny, dripping off the cake in gloopy rivulets.

He blames Barry, that fucking fruit, because if he weren’t so hell bent on turning everything into some kinda innuendo maybe Gator could actually concentrate on what he is doing!

"Shit shit shit," Gator grumbles under his breath, frantically trying to smooth the messy frosting over the lopsided surfboard shape he carved. It's a losing battle. The cake looks like a melted smurf.

Next, Barry cheerfully pipes delicate white frosting swirls and curls to create realistic seafoam on his perfectly smooth blue surfboard. Reminding the audience that big tips are better for piping, and everybody loves a good pipe.

Gator glares at the screen. His own piping bag is loaded with frosting that's somehow both too stiff and too drippy at the same time. When he tries to pipe, it comes out in sad, deflated spurts. He can only imagine what Barry would have to say about that.

"Motherf-!" Gator bites off the curse, chucking the piping bag down on the counter. This was a stupid idea. He's no baker, who was he kidding? He should've just bought Billy a damn gift card like a normal person.

Dejected, Gator slumps against the counter, hanging his head. Failure churns in his gut, sharp and nauseating. He can't give this monstrosity to Billy. He just can’t. Can’t bear to watch him try to hide his disappointment.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Gator gives up on trying to salvage the cake. In a fit of pique, he grabs a spatula and starts roughly shaping the blue frosted mess, not even bothering to smooth it out anymore. He carves angry slashes and gouges into the cake's surface with the edge of the spatula.

Before he even fully realizes what he's doing, the cake has taken on a new, crude shape under his hands - a lumpy, misshapen hand with the middle finger extended in an unmistakable gesture of "fuck you".

Gator steps back, breathing hard, and stares at his handiwork. The hand is far from anatomically correct, with uneven sausage-like fingers and a palm that curves at an odd angle. Globs of sticky frosting cling to the digits in gloopy turquoise clumps. The raised middle finger lists slightly to the side, like it's too heavy to hold itself up properly.

It's possibly the ugliest cake Gator has ever seen. So ugly it crosses the line twice and becomes perversely impressive in its sheer awfulness. A surprised, slightly unhinged laugh bubbles up from his chest as he takes it in.

This is what he has to show for his efforts. This fuck-ugly, lewd gesture of a cake, cobbled together from the dregs of his failure. It suits him.

“Yeah don’t know what the fuck else I expected.” Gator grumbles, despondent. He goes to the fridge to fetch a beer and tabs it open roughly, determined to drink thoughts of the stupid cake away. 

He’s not crying over cake like some lame ass. It’s whatever. It’ll probably still taste good, and if Billy doesn’t like it he can throw it in the trash. They’ll order a pizza or something and Gator will ride him till his dick goes numb and call it a night. Happy birthday.

Gator stomps to the bedroom he and Billy share and pulls out the trunk where he keeps his hunting gear from under the bed, because it’s been awhile since he polished his knives and that always helps lift his mood. He takes the trunk out to the living room and gets to work. Ques up his workout playlist on his phone and connects it to the TV so he can put it on blast.

It helps a little. Allows him time not to think. But the time gets away from him, because he doesn’t even hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

Billy's entrance is marked by the faint scrape of his boots against the hardwood floor as he turns the corner into the living room. He pauses briefly, taking in the scene before him—Gator, surrounded by an array of gleaming knives, his trunk spilling open on the coffee table, and the ear splitting rifts of heavy metal blaring from the television speakers.

A faint smile tugs at Billy's lips as the dom sets down his bag and sheds his leather jacket, revealing the broad contours of his chest hugged by a tight white T-shirt. The room is thick with the scent of metal and leather, a comforting familiarity that wraps around Billy like a second skin. He approaches Gator slowly, noiselessly, his gaze fixed not on the array of blades but on the man holding them as gently as baby chicks.

Billy casts a long shadow across the coach and Gator finally notices him. He jumps up, fumbling the knife in his hands which clatters to the floor. The music crescendos, a dramatic backdrop to the moment. Gator lowers the volume, and whips around to glare at Billy who laughs at the fright he gave him.

“Hey, Baby Gay.”

“Don’t call me that!” Gator snaps. “And don’t sneak up on me. I was like, this close to killing you!”

“Oh?” Billy arches a mocking brow. “Probably shouldn’t have dropped the knife then.”

“Haha. Very funny asshole. You’re lucky I did,” Gator grumbles in reply, bending down to pick up the fallen knife. “You know how sharp one of these babies are? With one o’ these I can cut through the shell on a coconut just like that.”

He flicks his wrist to demonstrate the ease with which he could peel Billy’s flesh off, and Billy gives him this look - like Gator is just fucking adorable - and it’s god damn condescending, is what it is. But it also makes the back of Gator’s neck tingle with awareness, and his dick try to get hard. So yeah.

It’s probably a good thing that Billy’s so distracted anyway. Because swearing at his dom is firmly against their rules on account of the fact that Gator uses it as some kinda defense mechanism to keep Billy at arms length.

Or that’s what Billy said anyway when he made the stupid rule. Gator doesn’t make the rules here, he just follows them.

“I’ll count myself lucky then. I think I’ll get a beer. You want one killer?” Billy asks, already on his way to the kitchen. 

FUCK! The Kitchen. Gator remembers too late that he forgot to clean up and do something with that awful cake and scampers after him.

Billy strides into the kitchen before Gator can stop him.

His stomach knots as Billy pauses, his gaze landing on the misshapen dessert surrounded by strewn icing bags, crumbs and powdered sugar. Slowly a grin spreads across Billy's face, and blue eyes sparkle as he turns to look at Gator, where he lingers hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

"Is this cake trying to tell me something?" he teases, amusement rich in his voice. He leans forward slightly to inspect the cake more closely. "Is this your way of telling me you don’t want to sixty-nine later, or is it a failed science experiment? Hard to tell."

Gator feels heat rush to his face, embarrassment mixed with irritation bubbling in his chest. He knows Billy is just poking fun, yet it stings, tapping into that deep-seated insecurity instilled by years under his father's critical eye.

"Scotty was here with Dot and it gave us something to do. That’s all," Gator mumbles defensively, his words sharper than intended. Then, unable to stop the words from tumbling out recklessly, he adds, "Just thought it would be nice to share, but you don’t have to have any if you’re just going to be an asshole."

As soon as the words are out, Gator regrets them. Swearing at Billy is one thing, but lying to him breaks one of their most cardinal rules. It’s not just about respect; it’s about trust.

Billy’s expression shifts subtly; the playful light in his eyes dims as he adopts a more serious demeanor. He closes the distance between them with measured steps. "Gator," he says softly yet firmly, "That’s the second time you’ve pulled that tonight. Watch it.”

Gator snaps his mouth shut and fumes silently, hanging his head. God, Billy sounds so disappointed in him and it’s worse than he even imagined.He wants to puke.

“Did Scotty really make this?” Billy asks, and Gator can tell just from his tone that Billy already knows the answer, but he’s waiting for Gator to fess up to it. Gator shakes his head, hot tears stinging at his eyes that he blinks away as rapidly as he can.

“It’s for you.” He confesses, feeling a weight lift off his chest despite his overall misery. “I made it for your birthday, and you made fun of it.”

“I did.” Billy acknowledges too easily for Gators liking, but before he can say anything Billy goes on. “I could have handled that better. You’re right. But before we get to that, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“No. Can’t think of anything.” Gator immediately denies, because how is it fair that he has to apologize for a little white lie when he only did it in the first place because he knew Billy was going to laugh. He knew it.

“Oh?” Billy’s face is impassive but he’s unhappy with Gators answer. It crackles in the air between them. “Do you need a reminder of the rules?"

Gator swallows hard, defiance battling with remorse inside him. He shrugs stiffly, avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Let's just forget it. I don’t need a lecture right now.”

“I’ll decide whether you do or not.” Billy’s tone is calm but carries an undeniable edge of authority—one that sends shivers down Gator’s spine and fear bolting through him all at once. “You know, I was looking forward to a nice night with my boy. Didn’t know I was coming home to a brat.”

Gator ignores the voice inside that screams for him to stop stop stop, barreling ahead in desperate angry defiance.

“Fuck you and what you want! Maybe I want a boyfriend who knows how to lighten up huh?  Sorry I’m not your perfect little bitch. Go cry about it to someone else!” 

His insides shake from the fear and lingering tension. Gator has just royally pissed off his dom. It’s in Billy’s eyes and the slow exhale of breath he takes. Punishment is inevitable. Gator longs to take it back but he can’t - can never take it back - and nothing will fix it. Or fix him. He’s all wrong inside and nothing works no matter how hard he tries.

But the thing is, Billy is safe.

Billy is angry and Gator is terrified and trembling but It’s nothing like it was before, in his father’s house. When the fear of a hand went bone deep and lived in his nightmares.

Gator loves Billy’s hands. They way they touch him. The way they hold him fast and glue him back together. They’ve never let him down those hands, which is why Gator is shaking like a leaf right now, terrified that they won’t reach for him.

He didn’t yell those things at Billy because he wants more space. It’s stupid, he knows, but he yelled them because he needs Billy to take over. He can’t stop himself running full speed ahead toward a punishment. Billy will straighten him out. He can trust Billy to know what to do even when he’s lost sense of which way he’s turned.

Gator’s dom considers him for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them.

“Go in our room and get me a paddle.” Billy finally orders. Then, deliberately turning away, he starts rummaging through the kitchen cupboards - no doubt in his mind apparently that Gator will obey him.

Of course he does. Knees shaking, Gator stumbles out of the kitchen because now that he’s driven them to this point his skin is crawling with the need to make it right. He’s aching with the need to be good so bad his knees feel like jelly and it’s everything he can do just to follow the order. He wants to hit the floor - go to his belly and plead for his dom’s forgiveness but that’s not what Billy asked for.

He will be good. He’ll make Billy forget that mouthy idiot who talked back and clearly had shit for brains. He can be such a good boy. The best boy! Just give him a chance and he’ll come wagging his fucking tail.

It’s pathetic.

But it’s also a relief, when he returns to the kitchen a few minutes later with a paddle from their toy chest and sets it on the table and Billy acknowledges it with an approving nod.

“Good boy.” he says, and Gator’s knees buckle. He catches himself on the table, holds himself up with palms pressed firmly to the wood because Billy hasn’t told him to kneel yet. He forces himself to focus on Billy as the dom takes an empty glass vase inexplicably sitting next to a bag of rice on the table, and places it on the floor between their feet.

Gator watches warily as next, Billy grabs the open bag of rice and tilts it sending a stream of white grains cascading down onto the tile. He stops when the bag is empty and kneels briefly to stir through them gently with his fingers before straightening and meeting Gator’s eyes again.

“Pants off.” he orders, and Gator sucks in a breath. He doesn’t have to ask why, and doesn’t bother, cheeks hot with shame as he reaches for his belt and gets to work.

"On the floor," BIlly commands softly, when Gator is down to his underwear. The dom points to the pile of rice on the floor.

"Kneel."

And Gator folds like fucking cake batter, sweet sweet relief coursing through his veins. He puts himself at Billy’s feet where he belongs, where he wants to be and shudders, biting his lip to stop himself from begging for the dom’s touch. He hasn’t earned that. Doesn’t make him want it less, but he can be good for Billy and prove when he remembers how.

Billy picks up the paddle that Gator chose – sleek and dark, crafted from polished walnut. As Gator settles on his haunches, head lowered in submission.

“You picked the heavy one. My favorite.” Billy remarks. “That why you picked it, or do you just really need to feel it tonight? You can answer.”

“Want to feel it.” Gator licks his lips. “Want you to be happy.”

“Good boy.” Billy says, leaving Gator to wonder which he is pleased with: that Gator wants his ass beat so raw he can’t sit or Gator wanting those things because they please his dom?

“Alright Baby, are you listening? I want you to pick those up and put them in the vase. Count each one,” Billy instructs, motioning toward the scatter of grains. His voice is firm. It brooks no argument.

Gator looks down at the nearly indistinguishable mass of tiny grains and feels a rush of frustration. "All of them?" His voice is a mix of incredulity and unease. What if he can’t do it? What if he can’t be good and Billy is disappointed in him again?

“Every last one Baby boy," Billy confirms with an implacable nod. “Don’t think about it. It’s not your job right now to think. Just do what I ask you to do. Can you do that?”

Gator takes a deep breath, steadies himself on the sound of Billy’s voice and nods. He can do that. He can follow Billy’s instructions. He doesn’t have to worry about ho much rice there is or whether he can even find it all. That’s not his to worry about. Not his place. He just has to listen. 

He reaches out shakily to touch the closest grain, his voice barely audible as he starts, “One… two… three…” His fingers tremble slightly; counting each grain feels like an impossible task. But Billy never sets him up for failure - not the way his dad used to. Billy doesn’t ask him to do things he’s not capable of just to fail. He asks Gator for things he knows he can do, and if he fails anyway it’s because Billy wants to be there when he breaks. He won’t leave Gator laden with shame and misery that will eat away at his insides.

As Gator focuses on the rice, Billy steps behind him. Without warning, he brings the paddle down gently but firmly across Gator's backside. The sound cracks sharply in the air, followed by another count from Gator's lips that judders from the impact.

“Four… five…”

Billy administers each swat in time with Gator’s counting—methodical and paced.

The pain is not harsh but it accumulates with each slap—the stinging warmth spreading across Gator’s skin contrasting starkly with the coolness of the floor beneath his knees and hands. Tears prickle at Gator’s eyes as he continues—his voice breaks around “twenty-nine… thirty…” 

It’s more than just physical pain; it's a release valve for all he’s been holding inside. Every impact sends ripples through him, but it’s not just his body. It does something to his soul too that he can’t explain. Something he no longer wants to deny.

“Let it out,” Billy murmurs close to his ear between paddles—a soothing contrast to the sharp swats.

“Thirty-one… thirty-two…” The numbers start blurring together as sobs hitch in his throat. The task which seemed merely frustrating at first now feels poignant— slowly, bit by bit, Gator cleans up the mess on the floor, and swat by swat Billy cleans up the mess inside. He doesn’t hit Gator after every grain, that would be excessive. He takes breaks at interment periods, spacing them out so that it’s impossible for Gator to try and guess when he might start up again. The fresh sting whenever he does is brutal, worse in some ways than if he had just continued until Gator’s cheeks were numb.

“Two-hundred and ten…” 

Billy pauses, placing his hand gently on Gator's shoulder as he surveys his progress.

"You’re doing well," he encourages softly, and that little praise, that nothing bit of touch, is enough to break him. Gator chokes on a sob, hot tears spilling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them in.

“Keep going.” Billy reminds him and Gator nods emphatically, tears dripping off his chin, because he hadn’t meant to stop. He was doing so well. Billy said so. He’ll never stop. Not until Billy tells him too.

With shaking hands Gator pinches grains of rice between his fingers and continues to count aloud between sobs and hits from the paddle—each number spoken is more than just an acknowledgement of rice grains; but of his submission to Billy. 

Billy’s little murmurs of praise and sounds of pleasure make him feel high. Like his head is floating in the clouds.

He loves subspace. Wishes it were easier for him to reach and he didn’t have to be taken down so hard. But finally he feels the familiar edges of it and the tears fall faster as he lets himself go.

Gator sinks into the feeling of weightlessness as it rises up to take him. Billy maintains a rhythm that is both firm and considerate, attuned to Gator's responses—his body language, his breathing, his blown out pupils and slurred speech. 

This is no longer about punishment. It’s a guided breakdown.

As Gator’s cries begin to subside into quiet murmurs and his ability to speak leaves him, Billy lessens the intensity of his strikes until he stops altogether. 

“That’s enough. You were beautiful Baby.” Billy halts Gator’s hands woozly still trying to lift rice and the sub sags against him. “You’re always so good for me baby boy.”

He brushes his fingertips along Gator's heated skin, tracing the raised welts along his buttocks and thighs softly, and making him shiver. Gator’s mouth stretches in a dopey lopsided smile, beaming from inside and out. He soars. Works his mouth to ask Billy to do it again - he can take more - but can’t get past the mushmouth.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and leather, the only sound now the quiet thud of Billy’s heart and Gator’s shaky breaths.

Hands roam over Gator’s back and legs, soft, soothing caresses that glide over his flushed skin. Billy leans close, his breath warm against the nape of Gator’s neck, whispering reassurances that float through his head like feathers.

The shift is gentle, a tender transition as Gator's breathing evens out and his trembling subsides. Billy’s hands are confident, knowing exactly where to touch to bring Gator back from the intense high of subspace. With each calculated stroke on his back and whisper against his ear, Gator feels the ground slowly come back under him, the weightlessness dissipating as reality takes hold once more.

Billy finally eases back, giving space for Gator to gather himself in the afterglow of their session. He cups Gator’s face tenderly, wiping away the trails left by tears with his thumbs. 

“Talk to me, Gator. What’s been eating at you?”

The use of his real name pulls Gator further out of his dazed state. He blinks slowly, focusing on Billy’s concerned face, grounding himself. “I... I’m scared,” he admits, voice still hoarse.

“Scared of what?” Billy probes gently, petting the long side of Gator’s hair now.

“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to where their fingers are entwined. He knows the words will hurt Billy. Make his dominant frown in the middle of his brow and start thinking of all the ways Neil Hargrove used to tell him he was a waste of space - too broken and wrong to ever take proper care of a sub. Nothing could be further from the truth. But if there’s one thing Gator knows it’s daddy issues and how they can haunt you.

But to his surprise Billy’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods quietly, still petting Gator’s hair. “Why would you think that?”

Gator hesitates, lips parting but no sound coming out. He swallows hard and shrugs.

“Listen to me Baby.” Billy says after a moment, fisting Gator’s hair between his fingers and tugging until he brings his eyes up. “You’re what I want. You. Even when you’re being a greasy dirtbag leaving your shit everywhere and blaring your candyass music.”

“Hey, lay off my Skyfire man.” Gator can’t help but smile, because Billy’s lips have curved up in amusement and they’ve had this argument a dozen times or more and it just makes him feel so good, that Billy pays attention to which albums he gravitates to depending on his moods. “They aren’t candy. Fractal is the best album produced since Reign In Blood.”

“Why are we talking about fucking Slayer, or Skyfire, right now when Ride the Lightning exists?” Billy growls, tugging on Gator’s hair until his scalp stings just the sweetest bit. “I should beat your ass again just for that.“

“Yeah. If you wanna.” he pants, eager, and Billy’s smiling mouth kisses him, hot and hungry. Billy licks into Gator’s mouth, possessive and sweeping, until he whimpers. The dom nips at his plump lower lip with a grin before pulling back.

“Don’t think you realize how sore you’re gonna be when you come down off this high babe.” He says. “But you heard me right? When I said I loved you? Cause I do. I wasn’t about to lose you before over shitty timing, and I’d never let anything take you from me now. Not Dot. Not him. Not anyone or anything. Okay?”

Gator shivers, but even the mention of his father can’t intrude on the blanket of safety Billy has woven around him, the sure way his gaze holds Gator and rings with truth.

“Yeah.” he sighs, breathless.

“Yeah?”

But it’s not good enough, according to Billy’s tightening grip. And fuck that feels good. Gator is suddenly aware of how hard he is in his briefs, but it’s strangely distant. Like he’d be happy to just sit here hard for another hour or more, letting Billy play with him.

“Yes Billy.”

“Good boy.” Billy's voice is soft, infused with a warmth that seeps into Gator's bones, coaxing his tight muscles to loosen.The room around them—their living room with its deep blue walls and plush gray couches— disappears momentarily, focusing all existence on their intimate bubble.

Billy lifts Gator’s chin so their eyes meet. "Nah nah, stay up for me Baby boy. I need you present." His thumbs brush under Gator’s eyes, rubbing warmth into his skin while he waits for Gator’s eyes to focus. "I think it’s time I show you something," Billy continues, when Gator’s gaze is clear once more.

"In the bedroom," Billy instructs softly, "In my sock drawer, there's a small white box. I want you to go and bring it to me."

Gator feels a jolt run through him. It shocks him rather unpleasantly back to reality, like he’s been dropped from a short height.

“Wait what?” he tries to ask, tries to think, because Billy can’t be hinting at what his muddled brain is trying to convince him he is. Can he?

“Shh. Don’t ask questions.” Billy warns. “And absolutely no peeking either. Just go get it.”

Gator’s movements are slow and automatic as he stands and makes his way down the hallway. This isn’t happening. Well obviously it is, he is on his way to their bedroom to open Billy’s drawer - which is strictly hands off unless he has permission - and get some mysterious box. But it’s probably like some new toy they can enjoy together. Maybe Billy went out and finally got those chains Gator found on that web store, the ones with the studs that dig into your wrists the more you struggle? He’s going to feel so owned wearing those. It’s gonna be great.

He’s convinced himself down off the ledge by the time he gets to the bedroom, but his heart hasn’t gotten the memo because it starts going double time in his chest as he reaches for Billy’s drawer. It slips open smoothly under his fingers which are trembling slightly. From fear or excitement, he isn't sure.

Inside lies a small white box, unassuming in its simplicity yet Gator just stands there and stares at it like it’s a bomb for a full minute before lifting it from its nest among Billy's socks. The weight of potential futures presses down upon him as he clutches the box in his hands.

He should be a good boy. He can just turn and go back into the living room and - Fuck it! Gator’s not kidding anyone. Least of all himself.

Before he knows it, Gator has torn off the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box to peek inside.

And there lies a beautiful black leather collar, its surface smooth and flawless except for the bold engraving of 'GATOR' studded across it in shining silver letters.

Gator stares at it in disbelief, eyes flooding with fresh tears. His heart trips over itself in his chest, thrumming against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate for flight.

The room is silent except for the sound of Gator's shallow, ragged breathing. Gator runs his fingers over the cool, shining letters that form his name, the studs scraping against the pads of his fingers sending tingles through him.

He lifts the collar, feeling its weight in his hands. It's heavier than it looks. He brings it closer, inhaling deeply—the leather smells rich and earthy. It’s the good shit. Supple and strong enough to take some serious pull, and yet the inside of the collar is lined with soft velvet, ensuring his comfort.

Something white resting on the blue lining of the box catches Gator’s eye. It’s a folded card, its crisp edge nearly taller than the sides of the box. Gently plucking it up, Gator flicks it open and scans, eyes widening at the one word message inside.

Peeker!

An unexpected burst of laughter escapes him as he wipes away tears. The simple word on the card speaks volumes, but so does Billy’s presence in their bedroom doorway where Gator finds him leaning when he looks up.

Billy is gazing at Gator with an intense mixture of emotions.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and there’s something like worry there. As if Gator might actually have shit for brains and do all that stupid stuff he’d told Dot he’d do back when he was scared shitless. All because he’d convinced himself that Billy wasn’t true - that he’d disappear like every other good thing has.

“Yeah.” Gator sniffs through his red nose, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. “Shit man. How long have you had this?”

“Since right after your birthday actually.” Billy confesses with an easy shrug. Like he isn’t just standing there admitting that he bought a collar for Gator and has been hanging onto it since September.

“Billy! It’s fucking March!”

“I know! I thought if I forbid you from going through my drawer eventually you would. I know what you’re like.” Billy said. Meaning of course he knows that no matter what, Gator eventually messes up.

But Billy says, “I guess I underestimated what a good boy I’ve got, huh?” with this soft look in his eye, like he’s looking at the best sight in the world and not his fuckup boyfriend standing in the middle of their bedroom in his tighty-whities.

Gator might be melting a little, which is why he has to sit down heavily on the bed before he crumples.

“Hey Billy?”

“Yeah, Babe?”

“I’m your sub…” Gator begins and Billy laughs, the sound loud and full of joy instead of mockery.

“No shit?”

“Come on, Billy please. Don’t be mean.” Gator whines, lifting the hand still holding the collar wordlessly and Billy finally takes pity on him and crosses the room to take it from him. Gator trembles, straightening up and bending his neck a little to give Billy room as he claps it on. He gasps a little, shuddering when Billy leans back and the heavy weight settles against his skin.

"You’re my sub," Billy repeats with finality."With or without this. But when you wear this, I want you to remember," he pauses for effect, letting his fingers softly caress down Gator’s neck and over the dark leather. "You’re my gift. The love you give me, makes me Gator, and I thank whatever lucky stars I’ve got that you came into my life when you did. Okay?"

A simple nod is all Gator manages in response; it’s all that’s needed. The smile that spreads across Billy's face is radiant—as if a piece has clicked into place within him too.

Carefully, lovingly, Billy cradles his chin and pulls him into a kiss.

It tastes sweet… like buttercream icing.

[90percentstudios]

What would be the CKC cast's favorite candies??

cody: hard to narrow it down but either tropical skittles/pop rocks

peter: biscoff cookies

mini: koala's march, strawberry flavored

peggy: those marshmallow twists that look like unicorn horns

juvie: mega sour fizz bombs (like those candies that literally burn your tongue off)

rhyme: black licorice, would never admit it to anyone but mini but has a slight preference for the scottie dog shaped ones

daniel: has a soft spot for halloween type candy (candy apples/candy corn)

holden: dark chocolate peanut butter cups, has probably attempted to make them from scratch before

gigi: 5 gum, peppermint cobalt flavored

[jaytoons7]

I wrote out how Jay and Scottie first met (Scottie cares but sucks at showing it)! Enjoy!

TWs: None (I think)

Jay sat at a table in the Toppat airship’s cafeteria. He was in the middle of a phone call with their girlfriend, Hazel. “I’m sorry I haven’t said anything in a few days. Things have been… Chaotic.” “Hey, I’m not mad at you Jay. I never was.” Hazel spoke from the other side of the line. “I was just worried. It’s not like you to go radio silent for days on end.”

“I know, I know…” Jay muttered. “It’s just… I got a new, Uh, “Job” and I never got the opportunity to call. I’m actually gonna be gone for a little bit, I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry, I know getting a new job can be stressful. I’m just happy you’re okay and that you told me what was going on.” “Thanks… I don’t wanna be a bother, But could you keep an eye on Spot while I’m gone?” 

Hazel smiled. “It’s not a bother at all! Little guy really likes me and Tara anyway. Just be careful, Okay?” “I will, And you be careful too. Love ya, Juni.” “Love you too, Jay-Jay!” Hazel then laughed. “And you better gimme some cookies from the bakery once you get back!” “No promises!” Jay chuckled before hanging up and putting their phone back in their pocket.

He took a deep sigh. It had been three days since the Toppat Clan took them in after escaping the CCC. Or has it been four? Jay had honestly lost track at this point. He wasn’t even sure why he went to the cafeteria. They haven’t decided if they were truly gonna take up Reginald’s offer of joining the clan and he honestly felt extremely out of place.

Jay was about to leave the cafeteria and just grab a snack like they had been doing since he got there, But they suddenly saw someone with black hair and a white chef’s coat walk right up to them.

“U-Uh…” “Reginald told me you were new here.” They simply spoke. “Tell me what you want to eat so I can make it.” Jay was a bit startled by this person’s bluntness. “You, You don’t need to do that. I was gonna grab a snack and go-” “No. I wasn’t asking.” The person suddenly interrupted. “I know for a fact that you haven’t had an actual meal since you got here. You’re eating something, Tell me what you want.”

Jay nervously laughed. “W-Well, If I have to choose, I guess I’ll have some fried chicken and fries? But like I said, You don’t have to-” The person left before Jay could even finish his sentence. “Oh, See you later..?”

About an hour and a half later, The person came back holding a plate with fried chicken and fries. “Here.” They set the plate in front of Jay. “It’s better than any chicken you’ll get at a fast food joint.”

Jay took a bite of the chicken and their face immediately lit up. “That’s really good! Thank you, Um..?” “Scottie Anderson, The Toppat’s lead chef.” Scottie finally introduced themselves. “And you?” “Jay Benson. I’m not really officially part of the clan.” He admitted. “I was kinda brought in for protection.” “ I see.” Scottie cleaned their chef’s knife with their coat. “Well, I wouldn’t make that decision on an empty stomach. I’ve got other business to tend to in the kitchen, So eat up, Ya hear?”

Jay watched Scottie leave back into the kitchen. The fact Scottie went out of their way to make sure he got something to eat, Despite their attitude, Was something he was grateful for. Jay smiled as they ate, Hopefully he’d get to know them a bit better.

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[josiahhuddington]

IMPORTANT DETAILS

Full Name: Josiah Scott Huddington Age: 36 Occupation: Park Ranger Time in town: Just Arrived (May of 2023) Neighborhood: Downtown in an apartment with Orion Blakely Street Address: coming soon. Face Claim: Scott Eastwood

BASIC DETAILS

Nickname: Jos, Siah, Si, Scotty Ethnicity: of German Decent Gender: Cis-Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual Date of birth: March 15th Hometown: Boston, Massachusetts; lived in New York for the last several years Education: College Degree - Criminal Justice at Duke University Zodiac Sign: Pisces Prominent Traits: untrusting, compassionate, athletic, genuine, helpful

FAMILY DETAILS

Family Members: Mother & Father - Heather & Ian Huddington, Siblings - One younger sister Birth Order: Oldest Child Pets: An Australian Shepherd named Xena, soon to be adopting a bunny he rescued in the wild. Marital Status: Single

PHYSICAL DETAILS

Height: 6'1" Body Type: Very athletic, muscular to represent that Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Blonde Scars/Marks: Freckles on his shoulders, a scar on the bridge of his nose from an injury during college, a scar on his ankle from a reconstructive surgery from a baseball injury Facial Hair: He can be seen sporting a beard sometimes; more of a goatee than anything and he keeps it really trimmed and short. Tattoos: coming soon Piercings: None

PERSONALITY DETAILS

Phobias: Losing his family Allergies: None Signature Scent: Sandalwood is a scent that’s usually associated with Josiah. He’s not one that uses a ton of scented products in his normal routine, but, he does use sandalwood scented stuff a lot. House Decor Style: minimalistic, the man could really use some help in the decor department Vehicle Type: Jeep Wrangler TJ Model, Orange in color; he has the soft top version Favorite Foods: Pasta dishes - chicken alfredo, chicken parmesan, lasanga, barbeque pork ribs, salad with french dressing, cookies and cream ice cream Favorite Color: Forrest Green, Gray, Blue Favorite Movie: Die Hard Favorite Music Genre: He prefers more upbeat music, but as far as genre, he doesn’t have a preference. He listens to a lot of older rock with the top of his jeep down. Favorite Song: coming soon Hobbies: hiking, going to the gym, volunteering at shelters, working out, running, cooking, relaxing in hammocks in the trees Town Activites: Baseball Outdoor Club Camp Volunteer Clean Up Crew Reenactment Club Support Group (ADHD) Beer Brewing Likes: silk sheets, black coffee, breakfast for dinner, belting music while he cleans his apartment, family dinners, helping those in needs Dislikes: lack of communication

[thegeekcollective]

I posted 4,136 times in 2022

That's 2,633 more posts than 2021!

73 posts created (2%)

4,063 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@/wingedcatgirl

@/elytrians

@/samthecookielord

@/modmad

@/radiozap777

I tagged 1,775 of my posts in 2022

#five nights at freddy's - 152 posts

#cookie run - 86 posts

#pokemon legends arceus spoilers - 84 posts

#d&d - 77 posts

#artsy's posts - 74 posts

#pokemon - 67 posts

#submas - 63 posts

#phone guy - 63 posts

#rebel cookie - 55 posts

#scp - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 121 characters

#somehow they manage to give off similar yet very different vibes with the light jellyfish in sky: children of the light--

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

‘Lil thing I’m working on!

[Image ID: A digital sketch of two characters - Rebel Cookie from Cookie Run and Ingo from Pokémon. The former is shown on the left, covering his mouth and looking at Ingo. Meanwhile, the latter is shown on the right, covering his eyes and smiling. The text, “The Chattering Lack of Common Sense”, is written in all caps and is located between the two characters. /End ID.]

11 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

#4

Turn around about a new view! Bring about the fear inside you! Make a storm of tears and anger- Nevermind, don’t worry about me!

We've disposed of our contention! Do our best - Avoid attention! "Just accept the things you know!" Well, maybe so. .

. . wait.

Finally finished it! Song’s stuck in my head for a while, and I felt like dumping that earworm here. 

[Image ID: A digital, monochrome artwork of two characters - Rebel Cookie from Cookie Run and Ingo from Pokémon. The former is shown on the left, covering his mouth and looking at Ingo. Meanwhile, the latter is shown on the right, covering his eyes and smiling. The text, “The Chattering Lack of Common Sense”, is written in all caps and is located between the two characters. /End ID.]

12 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

#3

quick wip to appease @vii-kaika <3

(finished artwork in the reblogs)

14 notes - Posted June 21, 2022

#2

got bored, decided to draw @mismess‘ scotty for artfight! a very fine lad. justrealisediforgothispocketbut,

[Image ID: A full-body artwork of a relatively scrawny man. He wears an orange-and-purple shirt with short sleeves, black trousers, and purple sneakers. He sports a hat reading “FAZBEAR ENTERTAINMENT” and a blueish gray phone. End ID.]

15 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

JUSTICE.

UPRIGHT: Justice, fairness, truth, cause and effect, law REVERSED: Unfairness, lack of accountability, dishonesty

Being an officer in a . . Controversial system, t’say the least, can be rough, for sure. But. . You can at least try not to be a part of the problem, right? [Image ID: A lady in police uniform, holding a sword on one hand and scales on the other. A piece of text reading “JUSTICE” can be seen both above and below her, with the one above being inverted both horizontally and vertically.]

39 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[softliebgott]

— scottie dog

about: hello my friend 🤗 can i request "i got you something! i remember you mentioning it before...i hope you like it" with martin? THANK YOUUUUU❤️❤️ — @tvserie-s-world

warnings: i’m a lil rusty 🥹, gn!reader, war angst

word count: 683

aldbourne, england

chalk hills, rolling like an unsettled ocean, hugged the idyllic wiltshire village. enthralled, webster said he thought he’d passed out on a hollywood movie set, but england wasn’t for everyone.

along the village street you sat on a stone wall, watching jeeps pass, soldiers eating lardy cakes, carving into trees with their bayonet knives, and knocking on locals’ doors asking if their pants could be washed. dick winters walked down toward the field in his dress uniform, brasses shining.

you didn’t like being so far from home. every time you remembered how far, you shocked your own body, mere thoughts being thousands of volts. innards trembling, and warmth unable to grab hold of you, you tormented yourself with how aware you were. the world was at war. who would win? will i die? how long will i be fighting?

you tried to distract yourself by naming the colors in the morning sky.

sunrise, orange juice spilled onto the blue fabric of the sky, peeked over its blanket of green with tired eyes. sunrise remembered greeting life every morning with warm colors, but now it had to say goodbye too often each day. life bled from hundreds, thousands; too much red for the earth like too many strawberries for a stomach.

only the sunrise would see how many bodies were left behind, and you wondered who would get to go home. who would be the lucky few?

but this wounded world was still giving moments of wonder and joy. you had found someone.

the hell of camp toccoa bonded both of you like complimenting colors being sewn into a picture. you and him had felt the same needle, the hand gripping it being sobel’s. he had an image of the perfect company of soldiers, and it didn’t matter how much he twisted or stretched beyond limits, because it worked in the end. the screaming eagle would trademark history, and you were proud to wear it even if you were just a small thread among others.

you saw him, johnny martin, the man who opened the sun in your heart. he walked toward you, arms tucked behind his back. the sun gilded his eyes, and he smiled ear to ear, disarming you completely.

“hey, cookie.”

you held your chin high, smirking at what he was hiding behind him. “what have you got there?”

he revealed a tawny box tied with thick string. “i got you something. i remember you mentioning it before...i hope you like it.” he handed the gift box up to you.

“johnny,” you said, taken aback. “you shouldn’t have. you didn’t use your jump pay did you?”

he rested his arms on the stone wall, leaning forward. “it was worth it.” he winked.

eyeing him playfully, you pulled the bow, unraveling it and removing the box’s lid. your heart fumbled with its beats, and you had a telltale pinch in your eyes. inside was a stuffed animal, but it was much more than that. it was your childhood.

as if picking up a day old baby, you gingerly took the black scottie dog out. the bell on the yellow ribbon tied around the neck spoke in a clear, melodic tone—as though in greeting after so long.

vision blurred, a lump bobbed in your throat. you had lost your scottie dog years ago, and as a child you used to carry it everywhere. you had believed it was alive in some way. on cold nights, you’d tuck it under its own blanket. you’d brush the fur from its eyes, thinking it couldn’t see otherwise.

even when your love left its fur matted and eyes scratched and cloudy, you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“i found it in an antique shop in the village,” johnny said.

“johnny martin.” gripping the scottie dog, you hopped down from the stone wall and wrapped your arms around johnny’s neck, molding yourself to him. “i’ve already won this war by having found you.”

he buried his face in the warm curve of your neck, lips warm against your skin. “and i’ve won the world.”

@general-taylor @mgdln97 @gottapenny @morgan108 @thegermansarebad @snafus-peckuh @junojelli @inglourious-imagines @wexhappyxfew @ineffablewants @sunflowerchuck @alienoresimagines @fandomscenariosforyou @ray--person @tvserie-s-world @keoghans @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @mrseasycompany @mrsalwayswrite @meteora-fc @order-of-river-phoenix @thoughpoppiesblow @50svibes @alejodi0nysus @now-im-a-belieber @mads-weasley @multifandomlover01 @heartbeats-wildly

[christinesficrecs]

Tis the Christmas season!! 🎄 For everyone looking for the Christmas fics, they are coming!! So have these ones while you’re waiting. 💜

sugarplums by  thepsychicclam | 15.8K

In which Stiles drags Derek black Friday shopping, Stiles chops down a Christmas tree, Isaac throws an ugly sweater party, and Derek and Stiles' daughter hates Santa.

The Christmas Sweater Tradition by  literaryoblivion | 5.6K

The pack's all set for places to go for Christmas, that is everyone except Derek. So Stiles invites Derek to spend Christmas and the days leading up to it with him and his dad. He just has to be okay with their one firm tradition.

A Dish Best Served Acrylic by  HugeAlienPie | 3.7K

"Stiles, dude, what are you wearing?" Scott asks with horrified urgency.

"Retribution, my man," Stiles says easily. "My just deserts."

"What did you do?" Scott says.

Stiles slings an arm over Scott's shoulder. "Scotty, what I did is far less important than the fundamental life lesson I forgot in order to do it: your mother is a vengeful goddess, and we should never anger her."

Ugly Christmas Sweater | Tumblr Ficlet

Out of Stock by  alisaj | 16K

In which Stiles and Derek pine for each other across the dairy aisle.

My Ugly Christmas Sweater Brings All the Boys to the Yard by runningwithdinosaurs | 1.8K

The one where Stiles wears a hideous holiday sweater to a fancy Christmas party. And Derek does too. Feelings ensue.

The Stakes are High and Scratchy by  HugeAlienPie | 3.2K

The thing is, John wants a shot at a relationship with Melissa. Still. He's not going to let some smart-aleck punk bait him without repercussions--especially when that punk's his kid. He gives a smile that's probably sharper than Stiles expects. "All right," John concedes, "I will if you will."

Tacky Christmas Sweater | Tumblr Ficlet

A New Tradition For You by  mikkimouse | 3K

Stiles invites Derek to spend Christmas with him.

Ugly Sweaters and Christmas Cookies by  CelestialVoid | 1.3K

Cora Skypes her brother in the middle of a petty squabble between Stiles and Derek over ugly Christmas sweaters and gingerbread houses.

Have Yourself A Nerdy Little Christmas by  AsagiStilinski | 2.8K

And all of a sudden, his entire night turned around

"PUG!"

The guy in the ugly Pug themed Christmas sweater jumped, turning to Stiles with what could only be described as a look of utter fear in his eyes

Gift Shop by Trelkez | 5.8K 

The Christmas sweater alone should have sent any rational person running; the terrible customer service and delight in Derek's suffering were just icing.

The Thread that Pulls it All Apart by HugeAlienPie by 4.6K

Look, Stiles accepts that his relationship with Derek is...weird. But it works, because it has rules. Rules about lines they do not cross. And that's fine by Stiles. Really. If he's wondered, from time to time, what it'd be like to kiss Derek, or get his hands on Derek's dick, or come home to Derek at the end of a long day, that's his overactive imagination hard at work; nothing other people should concern themselves with.

[collidingxworlds]

15 Questions, 15 people

Nickname(s): Scotty

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 5′5″

Last thing I googled: Benjamin Button Syndrome

Song stuck in my head: “Happiness” by Three Days Grace

Number of followers: 81 (on this blog)

Amount of sleep: 5-8 hours, at times less than 5 (my sleeping patterns are messed up)

Lucky number: 7

Favorite song: “Sensorium” - Epica

Favorite instrument(s): Piano (I actually took lessons for a few years), guitar and organ

Dream job: Doctor (either psychiatrist or ER doctor)

Aesthetic: comfortable clothes, the more black the better, leather bracelets, metal rings, combat boots

Favorite author(s): I don’t have a specific one at the moment (little time to read books that aren’t textbooks), but as a teen it was Eoin Colfer

Favorite animal noise: Any sound that a cat can make

Random: I’m still wondering if androids dream of electric sheep (a cookie to whoever gets the reference without googling it up!)

*

Tagged by @xstabcastx (( Thanks, gal! )) Tagging: @paradiseturnedhell @elisethetraveller​ @rapxir​ @omniishambles​ @awaywardboy-andhisangel​ - & whoever wants to steal it because I don’t have 15 folks to tag !

[domesticated-feral]

Steo Week 2020, Day 2

Title: Why didn't you go M.I.A this time too? (Because, you are Stiles Stilinski)

Prompt: Little League Rating: General Audiences Warnings: There be some beef between Stiles and Theo at the start. WC: 3834

You can also read it on my AO3

Summary:

“Look, I usually go M.I.A on these types of things, so this is my first time,” Theo admitted. “Why didn’t you go M.I.A this time too?” Stiles asked. “Because you are Stiles Stilinski,” Theo said. Stiles smiles and pats Theo’s back, “I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but relax, it’s going to be alright,” he said. 

~

“Also, before you go off, I have the list for the pairings for this year’s science fair, usually you would pick your partner, but due to some of you picking the same people every year-” the teacher announced, eyeing the class- “I made the pairings this year.”

“Man, this sucks,” Scott whispered to Stiles.

“Very,” Stiles agreed.

The teacher started reading out the paired names and Stiles anxiously waited for his name to be called.

“Scott, you’ll be paired with Jackson,” the teacher said.

“Jackson?!” Scott exclaimed as he looked at Jackson, who also had the same expression on his face as well.

“Last but not least, Stiles and Theodore,” the teacher said, folding the list.

“Theo?! Mrs. Garcia, are you sure there isn’t a mistake there?” Stiles yells out.

“Come and look for yourself, Stiles,” she invited Stiles to take a look at the list.

Stiles quickly bounces up to the front of the class and looks at the list that was on her desk. It was without a doubt, ‘Mieczyslaw and Theodore’.

Stiles turns around and stares at Theo who had his usual glare plastered over his disgusting face. He scowls at the boy and goes back to his seat. The bell rings signaling that it was recess. Stiles slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks out of the classroom with Scott following.

“We both are officially dead, you got Jackson, an entitled rich kid and I got Theo, creepy dark kid,” Stiles said.

“Calm down, it’s just a stupid science fair, maybe next year they’d let us choose again,” Scott said opening his locker.

Stiles opens his locker and stuffs his science book inside and slams it shut. He leans against the locker and audibly sighs.

‘It’s just a stupid science fair, Stiles, why are you so worked up?’ he asks himself.

Scott closes his locker and the two sixth graders head off to their usual hangout spot with their friends on the side of the school.

“Who do you think Issac got? And Erica? And Boyd? And Allison?” Stiles asked.

“I dunno,” Scott said.

They walked outside the school to see everyone in their cliques talking about the science fair, the jocks were hanging out near the metal fence at the bleachers and Jackson was eyeing Scott and Stiles as they walked to the side of the school where Issac and Boyd were waiting.

“Hey, where’s Erica?” Scott asks.

“She went to return her book back to the library, she’ll be here in a sec,” Boyd said.

“Allison?” Stiles asked Issac.

“On her way probably,” he replied.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, I got assigned working as a librarian’s assistant before recess,” Allison said.

Erica comes running, completing the gang.

“So, who’d you get for the science fair?” Issac asks.

“Jackson Whittemore,” Scott said.

Everyone grimaced at the sound of the name.

“Well, I got Lydia Martin,” Erica said.

“Greenberg,” Boyd gruffed.

“I got Danny,” Issac said.

“I was paired with Kira,” Allison said.

“Who’d you get Stiles?” Issac asked.

“Theodore Raeken, out of all people, the one I hate the most!” Stiles said.

“You, Scott, and Boyd had the worst luck, I guess,” Erica said, “Lydia is smart and rich, so first place, baby!”

“Well, Greenberg isn’t that bad considering he brings an A in science?” Allison said, trying to comfort Boyd, “and Jackson won’t be that bad, I hope? So is Theo, yeah, he’s creepy, but what’s the worst that could happen?”

~

It was the last period of the day, Science. Stiles wasn’t that interested in Biology so he mindlessly doodled in the margins of his book when he was unjustly interrupted.

“Hey, Stiles,” Theo said, from behind Stiles.

“What is it, Theodore?” Stiles said turning around.

“Uh, I wanted to ask you what house are we doing the project in?” Theo asks.

Stiles thinks about it for a second and he decides his house would be better because he was not stepping foot inside Theo Raeken’s house.

“Mine,” Stiles answered.

“Ok, cool, when should I come over?” Theo asked again.

‘Never,’ Stiles wanted to say but he stopped himself before he could, “Uhh, how about at 4?”

“Stiles, anything you would like to share with the class?” Mr. Oliver asked.

“Nothing, Mr. Oliver,” Stiles squeaks as he turns around.

“Very well then,” he said before continuing his lecture.

Stiles goes back to doodling on his notebook, that was until he was handed his test back. He got an A, he turns around to try and sneak a peek at Theo’s grade, but Theo already stuffed it in his bag.

“Hmm, What was yours?” Stiles asks, turning around.

“Do you really need to know?” He asks.

“You’re my science fair partner, therefore, yes,” Stiles said.

“D, I hate science,” Theo mutters as he slings his bag on his shoulder.

Stiles puts his test in his bag and walks out with the rest of the class, he walks up to his locker where Scott and Issac were waiting.

“So, Allison told me that she saw you and Theo talking in Biology,” Scott said as they walked down the hallways to the bike racks.

“Yeah, he’s coming over at 4 today, I don’t even know what we will do for our project?!” Stiles said.

“Well, we got one week until the science fair, so I guess you can get to know him a little bit more today?” Issac chimed in.

“Get to know him?! I don’t want to ‘get to know him’!” Stiles said, taking Scott and Issac back by his aggressive tone.

“Whoa, calm down, Stiles, what happened between you and Theo?” Scott asked.

“Do you really want to know Scottie? Do you?” Stiles said as they stopped in front of their bikes.

Scott nods while Issac shakes his head.

“Remember when I had to move to my nana’s house for three months? I never told you why, but it was because my dad got shot and had to be in the ICU for three months. Guess who pulled the trigger, Theodore Raeken’s father,” Stiles said.

“But, isn’t he in jail?” Issac asked.

“Yeah, and anytime I look at Theo, I see that man who shot my dad, I can’t trust him,” Stiles said as he put on his bike helmet.

“What if Theo is different from his dad?” Scott asked, “his dad might be a criminal, but Theo might not be a criminal.”

“I guess we’ll find out today,” Stiles said as he unlocked his bike lock.

They rode their bikes to their neighborhood, Scott and Issac dropped Stiles off before making their way down the cul-de-sac to their house.

~

Stiles anxiously paced around his house, locking the knife drawer with duct tape and making sure any dangerous pointy objects are out of sight. He even went out of his way and heaved the pointy sculpture from its place above the fireplace and into the basement. It was heavy and it was surely a miracle that Stiles didn’t drop it.

The clock chimes at 4 o’clock and he leans on the window, looking out onto his front yard. He sees Theo walk up and make his way to the porch. Stiles quickly runs and pulls the door open before Theo has a chance to knock.

“Hi,” Theo said, stuffing his hand back in his black jacket.

“Uh, hey, again,” Stiles said.

They both awkwardly stand, before Stiles opens the door further, inviting Theo inside.

“Your house is pretty nice,” Theo said as he looked around.

Stiles nods, “I try to keep it tidy,” he mutters.

Stiles and Theo, being not the warmest of acquaintances to each other, were awkwardly standing -in awkward silence- in the middle of the Stilinski living room. Stiles opens his mouth to say something but he quickly closes it as whatever he was going to say, would sound insensitive.

“Look, I know you’re probably mad at me because of my dad,” Theo began to say, “he did pretty horrible things and I hated him when I found out the truth.”

“He did horrible things, he shot my dad nearly killing him!” Stiles snapped, “I won’t be surprised if you brought a gun to shoot me too!”

Stiles couldn’t stand in front of the boy anymore, he quickly stormed off to his room and slammed the door shut. He throws his bag onto the bed and it bounces off onto the floor. Stiles lets out a yell of exasperation into his pillow and he hears Theo knocking on the door.

“I- I’m sorry for the pain he had caused, but I swear, I don’t want to end up like him. Never. I am his son, but I don’t want to be known for the things he did,” Theo said, from the other side of the door.

Stiles felt as if he saw a new light, he felt a sense of clarity as he realized a very big thing. All Theo wanted was to be seen differently. He didn’t want to be known as the son of the Beacon Hills Bank Robber. Theo was a different being from his father. He was not necessarily bad, neither did it feel like he wanted to, nor he was.

“I- I’m sorry, Theo. I didn’t mean to say that,” Stiles said, apologizing for his remark.

“It’s alright, Stiles, I’ve gotten used to it, it wasn’t like you are the only one to say that,” Theo said, “Can we focus on the science project now?”

“Yeah, I g-guess,” Stiles said as he opened the door to Theo-.

Stiles felt terribly bad, so as Theo settled down in his bedroom, he went out and fetched his jar of home-baked cookies from the kitchen.

“Want a slightly-burned chocolate chip cookie that I made with my dad?” Stiles asked.

“These don’t look slightly burned, they are burned through and through,” Theo said as he took one out of the jar.

“I mean, it doesn’t taste that bad,” Stiles said, biting a big bite of one cookie.

The bitter taste of charred chocolate chip cookie fills his mouth, setting off the gag-reflex as the dry cookie hits the back of his throat. He dashes towards his bathroom, dropping the cookie jar on the carpeted floor.

He spits the crumbs out, as he rinses his mouth with water.

Theo walks up to the bathroom, stopping just under the door frame, “it doesn’t taste that bad, huh?” he said, snickering.

“Shut up, Raeken,” Stiles said as he put toothpaste on his toothbrush.

Stiles brushes his teeth, making sure to brush his tongue too, the dry ashy cookie taste felt like it was stuck in his mouth. He washes his mouth, swishing the water around before spitting it out.

Stiles picks up the cookie jar and puts it back on the shelf in the kitchen, grimacing as he still tasted the bitter taste of death in his mouth.

“Okay, science fair, I have no idea what to do for it, yet,” Stiles said as he sat down on his bed.

“I hate science and I failed science,” Theo said.

“Kiss goodbye the first place, second place, third place, and honorary mention, then,” Stiles said as he took one of his many science books out of the shelf.

“But, I didn’t say that I don’t have an idea for the science fair project,” Theo added.

Stiles shot his head up from the book, “and what is the idea for the science fair?” he asked.

“You can see the amount of iron in your cereal using a magnet, I learned that by accident once,” Theo said.

“How did you find iron in your cereal, do you eat nails for breakfast?” Stiles asked.

“Using a Neodymium Magnet and soaking cereal with water in a Ziploc bag,” Theo said.

“I thought you hated science,” Stiles asked.

“I saw it on T.V and got interested enough to try it out, alright?” Theo said.

“How do we turn this into a science fair project, then?” Stiles questioned.

“Test other cereal brands for iron?” Theo said, sounding unsure about it.

“Fine, I guess, that could work,” Stiles said, “do you still have that Neodymium magnet?”

“Yeah, that thing cost me 50 bucks, I’m not throwing it away after a morning’s use,” Theo said.

“Bring it over tomorrow, and if you got any extra Ziploc bags, bring ‘em too,” Stiles said to Theo.

“How about the cereals?” Theo asked.

“I have 3 different cereal brands in this house, if you have anything that’s different, bring it,” Stiles said, forgetting to say the 3 cereal brands.

“And what are the cereal brands you got?” Theo asks.

“Frosted Flakes, Froot Loops and Kellogg’s cornflakes,” Stiles listed the three.

“I’ll see if I have anything different at my home,” Theo said, “off-topic but why do you have 3 different cereal brands in your kitchen?”

“I have different preferences on different days, Theodore,” Stiles said.

~

The next day, Theo brings his magnet and a small box of Ziploc bags along with a box of Lucky Charms cereal.

“So, we have to do this and make a visual presentation, so I had my dad buy a bristol board to use as our presentation board,” Stiles said, as he showed Theo the big grey colored paper on the dining table.

“Ok, I also forgot to mention that we need warm water, not cold,” Theo said.

“Lucky for you, I know how to operate a simple electric kettle,” Stiles said as he filled the kettle with water.

They let it cook while Stiles brings out markers and pens from his room to the kitchen. Theo and he weren’t on the best of terms yet, but it was better than it was.

~

In the 4 days leading up to the science fair, Stiles and Theo had done the science experiments, finished up the visual presentation board, and had played Mario Kart 64 twice. Now, it was time to show their science project to the school.

Stiles met with Theo in the hall and both boys felt the energetic vibes they and the whole school were emitting during the hours before the science fair opened.

They go to their place and set their project up. Stiles rehearsed his lines, making sure there were no up-ticks or stutters during his speech on the project. Stiles’ friends came over to see what he had done, and they were pretty welcoming towards Theo. Maybe he could join their group. Or pack as Scott and Stiles liked to call it.

Soon enough, the science fair opened and the judges began making their rounds.

“Are you ready?” Theo asked, with a look on his face that Stiles had never seen before.

“Sorta, are you?” Stiles said.

“Sorta, I guess,” Theo said, scratching the back of his neck.

“You are completely nervous,” Stiles said.

“Look, I usually go M.I.A on these types of things, so this is my first time,” Theo admitted.

“Why didn’t you go M.I.A this time too?” Stiles asked.

“Because you are Stiles Stilinski,” Theo said.

Stiles smiles and pats Theo’s back, “I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but relax, it’s going to be alright,” he said.

~

“And the winner of this year’s science fair at Beacon Hills Middle School is,” the principal announces, Stiles anxiously awaits, chewing at his fingernails ever since they did the judges’ evaluation, “Mieczyslaw Stilinski and Theodore Raeken!”

"Oh, My GOD!" Stiles exclaims as he realizes they won and he quickly grabs Theo’s hand and marches up to the stage. The principal hands them a trophy that can be split in two so that both of them can take it home. Stiles looks at the crowd and sees his friends and his dad clap proudly at them winning.

The event ends with a small ending speech by the principal and Stiles scrambles to find his friends.

“Wanna head to Benny’s Creamery?” Scott asks.

“C-could I come?” Theo asks.

“Of course!” Stiles said, slinging his hand over Theo’s shoulders.

They all head over to Benny’s Creamery with Stiles’ dad carpooling them all to the creamery.

Issac was in the passenger seat along with Scott since both boys can fit in the seat, Boyd sat behind the passenger seat with Allison and Erica squished in the middle and Stiles was sitting behind his dad and Theo was awkwardly half on Stiles’ lap and half on the seat.

The squishing did provoke some unsaid feelings between Stiles and Theo, especially Theo, his cheeks were dusted with pink and red.

“Imitating a Solanum Lycopersicum?” Stiles whispered to Theo.

“A what?” Theo asked.

“Tomato, dummy, your face is red like a tomato,” Stiles said.

“Oh, uh, maybe,” Theo said.

His dad pulls up and parks in the small parking area of the store and everyone scrambles out. Stiles notices Theo staying quite far away from everyone as they wait to order. He holds Theo’s hand and pulls him closer.

“And what would you two boys like?” The woman asked Stiles and Theo.

“Cookies and cream with chocolate chips and whip cream in a cone, please,” Stiles said, his usual order.

“Uh, the same?” Theo said.

“Dude, you like cookies and cream with chocolate chips and whip cream too?” Stiles asked.

“Actually, I’ve never been here, so I didn’t know what else to order,” Theo said.

“Well then, trust me, it’s the best!” Stiles said, excitedly.

The lady hands Stiles and Theo two cones and they head over to sit with the rest. The sun had already set, leaving a slight tinge of purple and blue in the sky. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but it was dark enough for street lights to turn on and illuminate the road.

Stiles’ dad takes pictures of them as they all huddle together with their ice creams. With and without the picture, it was a day that everyone would cherish and remember. Especially Stiles and Theo.

~

Some time had passed, exactly 1 week and 4 days, as Stiles had counted. Theo is part of the pack, meeting up with the rest at recess now, and every time Stiles sees Theo, he feels weird. Weird as in his feet get restless and cold, his stomach squirms and his voice gets high-pitched than normal.

“What’s up with you these days?” Scott asks, distracting Stiles from his train-of-thought.

“What do you mean what’s up with me? I’m fine, completely fine,” Stiles said.

“What he’s trying to say is, what’s with the jitteriness especially around Theo?” Issac asked.

“What jitteriness?” Stiles asked.

“Hey, should I come to your house to watch Star Wars, tomorrow?” Theo said as he walked up to them.

Stiles stumbles over his words, and his brain frantically goes to panic mode, ‘Say hey, no, say good day, or hey,’ Stiles instructed himself.

“Gay,” Stiles blurts out.

Issac, Scott, and Theo stare at Stiles with the faces of absolute confusion, and Stiles gasps as his brain processes what he just said.

“Oh, uh, no, that’s not what I meant, I meant hey, yes, sure, star wars, tomorrow, si,” Stiles sputtered.

“I think Stiles needs to go to the bathroom right now,” Scott said.

“I do?” Stiles said.

Issac nods and Scott darts his eyes at Theo for a slight second.

“Oh yeah, I do,” Stiles said, turning around to go to the bathroom.

Scott holds his friend by the shoulder and walks him out of the school building. They stop in front of their bikes.

“Stiles, you are a mess,” Issac said.

“Thank you, Issac, but I already looked in a mirror today,” Stiles retorted as he put his helmet on.

“You’re welcome,” Issac said, his lips curling in a mischievous smile.

They ride to their houses and Issac heads home while Scott stops at Stiles’ house. Stiles gets off his bike and so does Scott.

“Do you want to tell me what’s up with you and Theo?” Scott asked.

“That, I don’t know either, Scott, I hated him then, but now, every single time I see him, I get this weird feeling-” Stiles confessed.

“Like you have a crush?” Scott interrupted Stiles.

“Why would I have a crush on Theo? I don’t like boys,” Stiles said.

“I was just suggesting, it’s alright if you do, or don’t, but from my eyes, Stiles, you look like you have a crush on Theo,” 

“I mean, it is something, I’m just not sure,” Stiles said.

“You’ll figure it out, soon enough, and oh god,” Scott said, suddenly realizing something.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“I forgot to hide my Reese's peanut butter cup stash from this morning and it’s on my bed, Issac’s going to eat it all!” Scott said, jumping on his bike and riding away.

“You’re dead meat, Issac McCall!” Stiles heard Scott yell as he rode his bike down to their house.

Stiles ponders on what his relationship with Theo was, as he tows his bike into the garage. Were they just friends, and why was he feeling this weird way towards Theo?

‘This is another problem for another day, I got homework to do,’ Stiles thought, brushing the subject off.

~

The last two months of seventh grade came and went, for summer this year, Stiles and his dad went on a week’s trip to the grand canyon and it was amazing. Stiles had so much to tell everyone when eighth grade started, and as for the feelings towards Theo, they grew larger.

Stiles did try to explore himself more, trying to figure out his feelings for Theo, but he never found a conclusion that was concrete enough for Stiles.

On the eve of Christmas, the pack was all in the McCall household, for a sleepover. It was quite early in the night and they just had dinner, courtesy of Mama McCall, and they all sat in a circle to play truth-or-dare.

“So, Stiles, truth, or dare?” Erica asked.

“Truth,” Stiles picks.

“Out of everyone in this circle, would you choose to go on a date with?” Erica asked.

He thought about the question for a second, was he really going to say Theo, or should he lie and say someone else’s name? He did not know.

“I’m going to have to choose, Theo,” Stiles answered.

They all looked at Theo who was nervously chuckling as his face grew red.

“Theo, huh, would you say the same?” Erica asks, stifling a laugh.

“It’s not even my turn, yet,” Theo protested.

“Answer or you will get the sombrero of shame,” Erica said.

“Yeah, I guess I would say the same,” Theo said.

“Oooh, romance,” Erica sang, “cue the sexy saxophone noises!”

They all laughed and the night continued on, with more truth-or-dare, then they started binging on Christmas movies as everyone fell asleep.

“Stiles,” Theo whispered to the boy, who was still awake.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“Did you mean it?” Theo asked.

“Yeah, believe it or not, I did, did you?” Stiles said, turning his head to face Theo’s gaze.

Theo nods, “I did too,” he said.

~

[dreamsister81]

In Memoriam: Jeff Buckley By Dennis

It was one of those nights that makes a difference in your life, when you don't give a damn anymore what the rest of the world thinks, as long as they're thinking it about you, and not just the image you project out of fear, or a desire to be liked.

Our subway stop brought us directly beneath the church, St. Ann's of the Holy Trinity. It was hot. I was sweating, and my head pounded, reminding me how much I loved and missed my air conditioner. When we turned the corner, toward the front doors of the church, we were met with a beautiful spring-like breeze, and a small camp of mourners. It looked the way old churches in even older cities are supposed to look; black and imposing against a bright summer sky, making you feel like you owe somebody, somewhere, something . . . maybe praise. Who knows?

We waited and talked amongst ourselves, sharing cookies and memories. We spotted the black shoes, black pants, black belt, shirt, sunglasses, hair and goatee running across the street, toward the church's side entrance, and immediately knew Nathan Larson, of Shudder to Think. He looked less happy than the building crowd, and obviously had greater reason. He was a friend.

When the doors opened, we worked our way into the line of "Jeff Buckley: Eternal Life Mailing List" members, who were unfairly ushered in before those who'd waited longer, but lacked a modem. But we'd waited, and we've loved long enough to mourn, and two among our group of four were list members. So we entered. A disco ball hung from the arched ceiling, and a movie screen showed a still of Jeff beside a mirror. Kazoo's, guitar picks, and programs were handed out at the door. We later learned the guitar picks were the remnants of a cancelled order for the next tour, and the kazoo's . . . well, read on.

We found our seats and upon them fans, like the kind a geisha would use, or perhaps parishioners longing for air conditioning. We waited with the plaintive cries of Reverend Al Green on the sound system to console us. On the stage, sat the urn holding Jeff's ashes, beside his signature Fender Telecaster.

Fr. Lewis Marshall spoke of Jeff, of his love for the church, and the church's love for him. He spoke words of consolation, but he never tried to explain Jeff's death away. He said no belief system he knows of "could make sense of such a senseless" event. He asked that we make the world a better place through the energy and love and creativity that is, not was Jeff Buckley.

"Not all of me is dust, Within my song,

safe from the worm, my spirit will survive."

-Aleksander Pushkin

Jeff's aunt, Peggy Hagberg, was the first of many to tell us about Scotty, and that she'd only ever called him Jeff once. She read a poem she'd written for his 30th birthday, recalling the intrusion he was when born, "that baby my sister was having." But he soon became plaything, then playmate, then friend. She lamented the loss of her special child to the dual person he'd become in manhood and fame. She read from her paper the words "My Scotty . . ." and nodding toward the still on the movie screen, she weeped "that Jeff" and quietly walked away.

His brother Corey Moorehead, and sister Ann-Marie Huck, the children of the stepfather who raised him (Ron Moorehead,) approached the microphone next. Ann-Marie told us about Jeff's life growing up, about his meeting with Tim when he was 8 or 9, about how he never put his guitar down after that meeting. She told us about Tim's overdose, and how it affected "Scotty", and about the time they went to see "Rose", and how upset "Scotty" was when she overdosed . . . they had to leave the theater. She said "Scotty" always held a dark portion of himself away, a part she could never touch. She cried as she spoke to him, saying she hoped he'd finally found peace in his father's arms.

Corey read a poem Jeff had written sometime in the last five years. I believe it was called "Momma dogga". It was a beautifully written, funny poem from a child's perspective, on the love of a dog and a boy, and it lightened the mood. The poem urged us all to learn to live dog-a way. To hear it, you'd really understand.

Michael Tighe and Parker Kindred (guitar and drums from Jeff's band) walked on stage with Nathan Larson (guitar/vocals, of Shudder to Think, Mind Science of the Mind) and Joan Wasser (violin, of the Dambuilders, and Mind Science of the Mind.) They played a beautiful instrumental piece, with breathtaking violin from Jeff's former lover, and deeply emotional playing from his friends. They walked off as silently as they'd walked on.

Michael Tighe was scheduled to speak next, but the church's creative director took his place and told us how much Jeff loved everyone and wanted us all to love him. She spoke of the way he made us all feel we were special because we all had a place in his heart. She read a poem from Lou Reed, as a way to tell us Jeff was our mirror, to remind us how beautiful we really are, when we forget.

There was a presentation from Columbia Records, showing interview segments, and video clips, revealing live footage, and tales of the recording of Grace.

Rebecca Moore, a longtime friend and lover sat at the piano, and admitted she was shaken by the video presentation. She related the tale of Jeff and her cat, how Jeff made it his mission to make this cat love him. She came home one night to find Jeff with his hands around the cat's neck screaming "Love me!" She said that was the way Jeff wanted the world. She performed, and sang a terribly emotional song, and walked off as quietly as all the others.

Jeff's mother followed, and let his cousin, Kelly Hagberg, speak first. She told us about Jeff's sense of humor, and his undying need to create music. He would imitate every character in Saturday Night Fever, do Steve Martin's "Wild and crazy guy" better than Steve Martin, play Nintendo with her little brother, or a song on a Fisher Price guitar. Jeff believed we should make music every chance we got, so we played "You Are My Sunshine" on the kazoo's we were handed at the door. Once for practice, once quietly, and once to blow the roof off.

His mother, Mary Guibert, was amazing; composed and eloquent. She was a natural speaker who drew from us both the sadness and jubilation we'd felt throughout the night. She helped us see the reality in his death that none of us could imagine merely as fans, but she comforted us as well. She loves her son, and she loves us because we do too. Mary told us about the program, that the note from Jeff was one she'd found years ago, that she kept on her bulletin board for inspiration. And she told us about the keys, and the guitar pick strewn about the note. They were the items found in his pockets when his body surfaced, on June 4th.

She urged us to make a Golden Promise.

"A Golden Promise is one that must never be broken. It is made in one's heart to another heart that's just departed this life."

She asked us to "commit 'random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty' ... demonstrate the courage to follow your bliss . . . maybe, just maybe, together we'll be able to repair the damage done to this lowly little world by the untimely passing of this gentle minstrel."

We were shown a full concert from the Metro in Chicago, from 1995; nearly 2 hours long. There were pictures on a wall in the backroom, and a poem by Jeff. Michael Tighe, Parker Kindred, Mary Guibert, and Jeff's siblings mingled in the room, graciously taking time with well-meaning fans.

We left that night, feeling like we had a higher purpose, that things did matter. We left with songs in our hearts, and on our lips. We played our kazoo's on the streets of New York as Mary had asked us too.

Life will not go on as it always had. Life will go on as it always should have.

with love from the delphil

-dennis via mojopin.org

[wickedsingularity]

Mistletoe Thieves [one-shot]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2019 Masterlist

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x reader (but not really), OFC (Lieutenant Tanager), Montgomery Scott, Nyota Uhura, Hikaru Sulu ++ Words: 2439 Warnings: Alcohol consumption, jealousy, insecurities, kissing

Summary: (Based on the prompt: we get drunk at the Christmas party and steal the mistletoe so no one else can kiss) At a Starfleet Christmas party, someone realises they don't like mistletoes very much.

For the past year, the Federation had made a big deal out of honouring and showing off all the traditions and customs and holidays of the different member species and nations. It was a way for everyone to get to know and respect each other's cultures and it had opened a lot of outsiders' eyes to what the Federation was. It was a great publicity stunt. And a lot of fun for us on the Enterprise.

The year was almost over, so it was time for a Human Christmas. So as to not distract from work completely, the Humans had turned only the mess hall and recreation areas into truly festive areas, full of Christmas spirit halfway through December. Lights and poinsettias and small trees. The chef prepared all of Earth's traditional Christmas foods and the replicators could produce most of them too. A few of our Ensigns – lead by Chekov – had also put up mistletoes all over the ship.

I wasn't too much of a fan of the mistletoes, but I was still hoping Jim would catch me under one. We'd been dancing around each other for far too long. We were both clear on what we wanted, having had our relationship grow naturally from fellow students to colleagues to friends to friends wanting more. But for some reason, neither one of us took that next step. Why I didn't do it, I wasn't entirely sure, but I was starting to think he took some perverse pleasure in watching me sweat and squirm. But I kind of loved making him sweat and squirm too, so that made it bearable.

So far, I hadn't even seen Jim when I had been near a mistletoe. Everyone had put them to good use and I had even caught a kiss on the cheek from a blushing Ensign, from Nyota, and one of Bones' nurses. It wasn't until Christmas Eve that I got close. That morning, I had stopped to have a quick chat with Lieutenant Tanager from the biology department on my way out of the mess hall after breakfast. Scotty had appeared and surprised me with a kiss on the cheek, I hadn't even realised I was under a mistletoe. Jim had wandered in after my boss, but he had just smiled at me and gone straight for the replicator. I had blinked in surprise, said goodbye to Lieutenant Tanager and left for Engineering to start my shift.

Insecurities grew in me as the day wore on. Especially after seeing Jim kiss the top of Nyota's head as I grabbed a satsuma on the way to my quarters to change after my shift. Not feeling very much like dinner with everyone anymore, I replicated some toast and started packing for a couple of days of shore leave the next day.

Starfleet had invited their senior officers to an informal Christmas party on Deep Space Station K-7 and we were scheduled to arrive bright and early on Christmas Day. Jim was taking all of his senior bridge crew, and chiefs and assistant chiefs of all the ship's departments and divisions. I was looking forward to some change of scenery and real alcohol. Sometimes synthehol just didn't cut it.

Deep Space Station K-7 had a few restaurants, a couple of bars, one giant mess hall, a few observation decks, but small quarters. It wasn't designed for having guests staying long, as it was right beside the Klingon border. But it was enough for two days and one night. Jim would never have us stay longer – he wasn't exactly a fan of being this close to the Klingon Empire.

The party would be on the observation deck, the mess hall and the closest bar. I decided to start in the mess hall, where most of the food would be. Classical Christmas music could be heard down the hall and I felt the spirit of it all sneak into me a bit, the music was catchy. The mess hall was beautifully decorated, elegant and classy and wondrous, but also infested with those wretched mistletoes. They were above doorways and snack tables. I was careful not to linger in the doorway too long, and thankfully Tanager and Nyota hailed me the moment I stepped inside.

"These cheese fritters are delicious!" Tanager announced, leaning back against a tall round table, holding up a small plate with several round golden balls on it, a couple of different dipping sauces on the side.

I snatched one off her plate and ate it before she knew what happened. "So they are." I grinned and went to grab some, careful not to stay near a mistletoe for more than a quarter of a second. I also found the drinks table and got the strongest one I could recognize.

"Trying to forget something?" Uhura asked, one eyebrow raised, nodding at the glass in my hand.

I took a large gulp of the drink, emptying almost half the glass in one go and shuddered at the burning in my throat. "Just in a drinking mood," I replied with a shrug.

The three of us chatted for a while, getting through a bunch more cheese fritters, pork ribs, fruit cake, borscht, prawns and cookies. Not to mention I had two more of those drinks, and not even all that food could soak up enough of the booze flowing through my veins. I was well and truly tipsy already.

After a while, both Nyota and Tanager headed off to check out the observation deck, and I was left with my third drink. That's when Jim came in. The new female personnel officer we picked up at har last starbase pit stop halted him by the door, right under the mistletoe. Even from across the room, I could see her flirting shamelessly with him, her hand on his arm, batting her eyelashes and giggling. I rolled my eyes and made a face as if I had tasted something disgusting. Some goddamn personnel officer. When Jim bent down and kissed her on the cheek, I turned around and downed what was left of the drink Nyota had left behind and went to refill both her glass and mine.

"Too damn close to Klingon borders," someone muttered on my left. I looked around and saw Jim, looking handsome in civvies, dark jeans, black t-shirt and leather jacket, quite a long way from his Starfleet issued trousers and golden shirt. "Hi," he said and gently bumped his shoulder into mine.

"Hello," I said, pursing my lips. I corked the bottle and lifted both glasses.

"You here with someone?" Jim asked, eyeing the two drinks.

"Nope. Both mine."

He chuckled and poured one for himself. "Thirsty?"

"You could say that." Without another word, I turned around and started towards my table again, but it was now occupied by none other than that personnel officer and her friends. "Well fuck."

Jim turned around and followed my gaze. "Your table?"

"Yep."

We were silent for a few moments and I downed half of one of the drinks while glaring at my occupied table, before Jim bumped into my shoulder again and leaned in. "You okay? I've barely seen you for the past few days. I miss you."

I tried not to let the obvious worry in his voice get to me. "I'm fine. Just been busy getting into the Christmas spirit." Before he could dig further, my comm went off and Tanager called me over to the observation deck. I downed the rest of the glass and set it down. "See you later, Jim," I said with a smile and hurried off with the full glass.

This time, I wasn't quick enough to duck away from the mistletoe by the door, and a Chief Engineering officer I recognized from my Academy days who had tried to chat me up back then, cornered me. The alcohol had clouded my judgement, and before he had time to say anything else than "hi", I dragged him down by the collar of his shirt and planted my lips on his. He only took a split second to kiss me back, but when he tried to slip his tongue into my mouth, I pulled back and pushed him gently away. Then I winked and disappeared from the mess hall.

By the time I got to the observation deck, Tanager was gone and Uhura was nowhere to be seen either. But I didn't mind, as I found a makeshift bar and ordered two more drinks since the one I had brought with me was empty already. I grabbed one in each hand and found a comfortable seat overlooking the stars outside.

All the drinks had made my mind pleasantly fuzzy and gooey. Soon, I realised I was sitting directly below a mistletoe as someone kissed my cheeks. I snapped my head around and the room spun for a moment, but thankfully it was just Scotty again. He and a few of our senior Engineering officers joined me and we had a fun time embarrassing each other with stories from work and Scotty was kind enough to fetch me one more drink. Once that was gone, the stars in the window seemed to be blinking and moving and were making me dizzy. Some rational part of my brain that had somehow managed to not have drowned in alcohol figured it was best to call it a night.

I said my goodbyes and stumble towards the door and curse loudly when someone knocked into me right in the doorway. "Not another fucking mistletoe," I whined.

"Shhhhh," someone said and dragged me away. I stumbled after the person and only when they stopped, did I see that it was Jim, and he had his hands full of mistletoes. "Help me hide these," he slurred while looking down at the green branches and red bows.

"Did you take down all of them?"

"I think so. Can we hide them in your room? I can't be seen with them."

"Sure," I said and staggered towards the turbolift. It was already there and we got in, Jim leaning back against the wall, holding the mistletoes up to his chest. It took me a moment to remember the number of the deck my room was on, and I hoped it was right when the turbolift took off. "Why'd you take them?"

Jim frowned down at the branches, looking at them as if they'd insulted his entire family. "Don't like 'em."

Something pricked at my cheek and woke me up the next morning. I frowned and groaned and moved my head, but the pricking feeling didn't quite go away. I opened my eyes but shut them quickly at the too bright light in the room. I must have forgotten to turn them down before I fell asleep.

"Computer, lights down to 10 %." Behind my eyelids, I saw the light dim and dared to open my eyes again. Then I felt around my face for whatever was pricking me. I pulled something from my hair and held it up, staring at, feeling very confused. It was mistletoe. I tossed it to the floor and when my arm fell down on the mattress, I noticed there was more there. I sat up and looked around.

There were mistletoes everywhere on my bed. And that's when it came back to me. Jim had stolen all the mistletoes around the Christmas party and we had staggered into my room and he had dropped them on the bed. He had hugged me goodnight, stumbling a little and then left. In my drunken and dazed state, I had collapsed onto the bed and slept in the mistletoes.

I didn't have the energy to deal with them just then. My stomach growled like a bear and I saw it was around the time we had agreed to meet for breakfast. I changed my clothes, splashed cold water onto my face, brushed my teeth, hurriedly pulled my fingers through my hair and headed out. Something fatty and salty for breakfast, and then I would grab a shower and a bath before we went back to the Enterprise.

Out in the hall, Jim, Nyota, Scotty, Tanager, Bones and Sulu were also coming out of their rooms. They all looked just as terrible as I felt. I caught up with them, falling into step next to Jim.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Good morning." I was still feeling a little insecure from everything that had happened the last few days, so different from how he had been the last few months.

As we rounded the corner to the stairs, Sulu cleared his throat behind us. "It appears you have branches in your hair, Lieutenant," he said amusedly.

I stopped and felt the back of my head, finding nothing, looking questioningly at Sulu. Jim had paused to look too. He chuckled and pulled away a mistletoe.

Chekov cleared his throat and looked amused and Nyota smirked. I felt myself blush.

"So that's what happened to all the mistletoes," Tanager said. "Did you two have sex on them or something?"

I blushed even harder and shook my head. "I don't know how that got there."

"Sure." She raised her eyebrows and looked up before she and Sulu walked past us.

I looked up and Jim was holding the mistletoe above my head. Then I looked at him, his blue eyes sparkling in an otherwise pale and tired face, staring at me. Then he too looked up, before turning back to me with a wink. I rolled my eyes, it was so cheesy. But I remembered how he said he had missed me yesterday and I had to kiss him at least once in my life, so I slipped one hand behind his neck, the other grabbing his collar and pulled him down. Our lips met and the others whistled and laughed.

Jim threw the mistletoe away and slipped his arms around my waist, pushing us back around the corner, away from everyone. As soon as we were out of sight, his lips were on mine again. I pressed myself against him, months of frustrations needing a release. His tongue pushed against mine and he tasted like minty toothpaste. I was close to jumping up to straddle his waist right there in the hall when my stomach roared like an animal again.

I pulled away with a breathy chuckle. Jim leant his forehead against mine, breathing hard. "Replicator breakfast?" I asked.

"Replicator breakfast."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards my room, deciding we ought to have some fun with the rest of the mistletoes.

[pinkykitten]

being taken care of when you are sick

Marvel

Warning: terrible title and could not think of any other one srry

Requested: By anon can you do scott lang x sick!reader? thanks. :)

Authors Note: i LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE my scotty boi he is just perfection✨also i made this headcanons, and it is very fluffy and sweet that it might cause diabetes. also a little warning if ur a single pringle like me this will prob cause u sadness and prob make u cry cuz of reality

ps my requests r opened again but this time i am only allowing stranger things, spider-man far from home, and gabriel reyes requests atm so if u request something that is not part of these fandoms that i listed i will delete ur request, i will explain more of this in another post but for now this is like a lil announcement 

he knew the second you got it

he had this...feeling...

for real this boi knew before you

you were not right and you missed like a very important meeting with the avengers and shield so there must of been something up

you are a terrible mess

nose dripping like a waterfall? yeah. eyes red and puffy like you rub dandelions on them? correct again. throwing up like you ate the worst burrito on the planet? oh yeah, it was bad

you even had a temperature

YOU WANTED TO DIE

texting scott: “this is it for me babe. rip. im done for. i think im dying and im like not okay

scott knew something was wrong about you and the whole time he was a worry wart

scott lang: what do you mean ur dying??? how could this be?

why is he so dense sometimes smh

you have to calm him down

you’re groaning and moaning all day; watching cartoons and wishing the sickness would go away

of course you go to the doctor and you got a virus!!!

YAY

when you come back home you find this at your apartment 

you phone dings and you chuckle at seeing scott wanted to cuddle

sniffling as you hug the phone in pure bliss but then you ruin the moment with a horrendous snotty sneeze 

he calls you before you sleep to make sure you’re okay and not dead; also he loves to give his baby a good-night call and make sure you are calm and safe

but when you wake up in the morning and check your phone 

you are bombarded with 100 TEXTS MESSAGES FROM HIM

you’re kinda a little shocked and impressed that he can type that much and that fast 

you try to tell him that day that you are fine and you can take care of yourself but he is not having it

he took the day off to spend it with you and to take care of you

when you open the door to greet him he looks at you worryingly while you are hyperventilating on the inside because you look like a hobo 

“wow babe you look like oscar the grouch”

you put and hide your face, “thanks babe” you say sarcastically

he chuckles as he was joking and brings you in for a hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back and kissing your neck

“i don’t want you to get sick”

“its okay babe i never ever ever get sick, and if I do well then there’s a reason for me to stay home”

he makes sure that you stay laying on the couch and he does everything for you

i mean E V E R Y T H I N G 

he even tries to bring you to the toilet; like physically picking you up and walking there....uh...no...

“put me down scott lang or so help me god i will flush you down myself!”

he makes you breakfast in the morning and rubs your tummy and tickles you on your head as you two binge watch your favorite shows and movies

its all about you

but the medicine part;;;;;;;;;gosh yikessssssssssssss

you keep persisting and persisting that he has to chase you, but in the end he wins and ends up shoving the medicine down your throat

“i have a cure babe and its from luis. he showed me this trick.”

you’re curious as to what luis showed scott, it could be anything!

as you wait for him he pops out like a ninja and *gulps* attacks

“what the f-”

he shoves his fingers in your nose that are covered in a stinging goop

you choke as he keeps torturing you and it just burns like crazy!!!

you back away and point an accusatory finger at him, “you evil man,,,what did you just do to me? i feel violated!”

“i gave you the hispanic rub down, now you’ll definately start to feel better with this amazing invention called vicks.” 

it takes everything out of you not to kick him out of your house. but he makes it up to you by putting you on his lap and wrapping a sheet over you two and reading his sciency books and plans to you making you fall asleep into his arms

you wake up to his humming of your favorite song. giggling as you see him shake his toosh a little

turns out he’s making soup for you

you stretch and wrap your arms around him, resting your head against his back. “how do you know how to make this?”

“well when cassie is sick i make her this and this seems to cheer her up”

as the soup is cooking he makes you take a shower

you groan and moan and just do not want to. he picks you up and flings you over his shoulder as gives you a bath and puts your comfy pjs on you as well. 

you’re all med up and comfortable in your pjs as you wait for your soup. he brings you soup into your favorite mug which says in bold black letters, “never trust an atom. they make up everything.”

you two cuddle and chow down on some yummy home made soup as you watch rom-coms

he stays the night with you and makes sure that you fall asleep first, taking care of you every step of the way and letting you fall asleep on his chest✨✨✨

Tag list: @harrington-lover, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @hyehoney, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople, @collectiveyou, @wtfisalltherandoms, @dirbel, @eastcoasthaven, @fangirl-4-life415 (wont let me tag), @marwantr, @divaanya, @wassupitschloe, @idontknowwhattocallthisworld (wont let me tag), @spycii, @eminemsgiraffe

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[lacrossepapi]

Surprises

Day One: Accidental Bonding and Creature Stiles

Ao3 Link| Words: 2601| for @steterweek 

The first thing stiles hears outside of his own mind is a deep velvet voice saying, "Here take this."

He didn't know what "this" was but he attempted to reach out with an open hand to take whatever it was. He tried to open his eyes but every time he did pain shot through his entire body.

"I don't think" a pause to catch his breath and wet his lips, "I can stand."

The words had come out coarse and stuttering, but Stiles had fought to get them out and he would be damned if after all these years his words failed him too.

"Here."

The voice was the same that offered him the soft cloth in his hands. He had rubbed the cloth between his fingers enough to piece together that it was a large shirt. The collar of which was in a large V shape. Adding that knowledge to hearing that deep velvet again was all Stiles needed.

"Peter?"

"Yes, pet, I'm here. So are Scott, Lydia, Derek, and Melissa. We're all here with you." Peter spoke with a softness Stiles had not heard from him in a long time.

Those words with that tone made Stiles want to curl up and whine while someone scratched his ears.

"What the fuck?" The words slipped quietly through his cracked lips.

He slowly reached up and touched his head. He felt nothing but sweat drenched hair until his fingers touched something soft and furry which also made his ears twitch.

He had ears, soft furry animal ears. What happened to his body when the nogitsune left? Was this a dream? What if the nogitsune was still in his mind messing with him? What if none of this was real? Oh God how could he still be stuck in his own mind after the pain and torture of kicking that demon from his body? Was that all a lie? A trick?

Suddenly someone had him by the back of his neck and was rocking them as they let out a low soothing rumble. He sniffed and was surprised to smell Peter again and not one of the others.

"Breathe Stiles. Count your fingers on my arms if you need to. You're here, darling. Awake and alive." Peter's words were soft soothing whispers as he rocked them side to side.

Stiles found himself slumping against Peter the best he could with his eyes still screwed shut.

"What happened to me when it left? Peter what am I?" Stiles cracked his eyes open just enough to look at the werewolf holding him.

"Beautiful." Peter's whisper was drowned out by Scott declaring that he didn't care what Stiles was now he was still his best friend.

Stiles had heard Peter though thanks to his new hearing capabilities.

"Come here sweet boy and let me look you over." Melissa's voice called out to him and he nodded.

He tried to take a step in the direction he heard her voice coming from but stumbled the moment Peter let go of him. Luckily Peter caught him with a hand on his arm at the same time Scott grabbed his other arm. Scott guided Stiles back over to the couch and sat him down gently so Melissa could look over him.

"Why does it hurt so bad to open my eyes? Everything is too bright it hurts." Stiles let out a high pitch whine he didn't realize was humanly possible.

He wasn't a human anymore so it probably wasn't humanly possible.

"You haven't adjusted to your new senses." Derek's voice was just as even and assertive as usual but there was a note to it that made Stiles uneasy.

"Give me a second to see what other senses I do have." Stiles demanded more than asked.

He sniffed the air but other than each of their scents he couldn't smell anything else that he couldn't before. He couldn't smell their emotions or smell what one of them had eaten recently like he had heard the other shifters complain about.

Smelling their scents was new and an odd sensation. Derek smelled like the Preserve on a rainy day, chocolate ice cream, and mint. Melissa was harder to figure because of the perfume she was wearing, but Stiles could smell lavender, and vanilla but also a strong hit of lemon. Scott was all oatmeal raisin cookies, brown sugar, and underneath those sweet smells was a metallic tang.

Those were the three closest to him, though he could still smell Lydia's clean linen and rotting flowers. That one really caught him off guard, though it must be because she's a banshee. Peter's was harder to articulate, the warmth of a soft blanket added with cinnamon, the way everything smelled the day after a storm, and something else Stiles couldn't place at all. That something else was like a drug, he found himself subconsciously leaning towards Peter to smell it more clearly until he realized how weird that must look.

So instead of asking Peter why he smelled like that Stiles canted his head to the left, his right ear twitching as he let in all the sound around him. Six heart beats, six puffs of breath, countless birds in the Preserve out back, and the noises of people moving in the houses all around them. Stiles had struggled with ADHD his whole life, and shutting out outside noises was almost easy by now, so he simply focused on the sounds in his immediate proximity and calmed his heart rate as best he could.

"I'm going to open my eyes now. Can you guys make sure the lights are off?"

"They've been off the whole time darling but we will try to block the light from the windows as best we can." Peter assured him.

Stiles was getting anxious again with the knowledge that the lights haven't been on and everything was still so bright it hurt, but he had to try.

"Okay. I'm going to open them now."

He slowly cracked them open with his head facing the floor. Nothing was bright down there so far. He could see his feet and the feet of the other five people surrounding him so he slowly lifted his head higher. The room was almost pitch black but Stiles could see everyone clearly. Finally he reached eye level with everyone and went to give a cheer when bright dazzling colors erupted from all around each person.

Stiles whine again and closed his eyes tight.

"Stiles your eyes are different. They're bright yellow." Scott breathed.

"Like a beta?"

"No. Like Kira's but more yellow than orangeish red." Derek elaborated Scott's revelation.

"Guys am I a kitsune? Did it make me into another nogitsune?" Stiles tried to keep himself from panicking but what was he going to do if he turned out to be as evil as a nogitsune?

Again Peter gripped the back of his neck somehow comforting him despite the roughness of the move.

"You're not a nogitsune. You are something new. Something different. Why did it only hurt you to keep your eyes open when you looked at our faces?"

Something new? Something different? Stiles didn't want to be new or different he wanted to go back to the way things were before Scott had been bitten. He wanted his dad.

"Has anyone called my dad?"

"Yes honey. He's on his way." Melissa informed him.

"Okay. Okay that's good. And uh Peter? I'm not sure what happened but when I looked at your faces colors exploded all around each of you. Different colors of all shades and images too. Like there was a scale balance by Derek and a mans hand with a wedding band on his finger next to Melissa." Stiles took a steadying breath, "what does that mean?"

"Everyone step behind Stiles please."

"What? Why would we do that?" Scott asked petulantly.

"Because he can't open his eyes when six people's auras are right in his face. Step behind him so you aren't in his line of sight." Peter sounded like he was grinding his teeth as he explained.

"He sounds like he knows what's going on. Just listen to him Scotty." Stiles breathed, exhausted and ready to get this over with.

"They're all behind you now, pet. Look at me and describe what you see." Peter's voice was so soothing Stiles couldn't help but do as he asked.

The moment Stiles' eyes locked onto Peter's his aura opened up around him.

"There are colors in certain spots but all around you is a swirl of dark red, bright red, and orange red. There's a black arch over your head that feels like pain. Right in the middle of your stomach is a burst of bright yellow. There's a light blue spot on your throat. Over your heart is a yellow green burst with dark green swirls. What about the images?" Stiles kept his eyes open despite the brightness of Peter's aura, he couldn't walk around with his eyes closed forever.

"Good job darling. Don't worry about the images for right now. They stop when the auras go away so ignore them. We're gonna add another. Are you ready?" Peter sounded so proud Stiles didn't even have to think before he was nodding.

"Melissa please come join me."

Slowly Melissa made her way into Stiles vision.

"Before you look at her I want you to picture a radio. Look at my aura and picture yourself turning the volume knob down. Keep picturing it until my aura dims." Peter spoke with calm assurance and Stiles was compelled once again to follow his words.

He pictured a radio and focused on it and Peter's aura as he pictured the knob turning the volume down.

"It's working." Stiles gasped, sweat beading up on his brow.

"Good boy. You're doing great. Now look at Melissa's. Hers shouldn't be as bright as mine was because she's not a supernatural being. She should be easier to look at." Peter sounded so pleased Stiles grinned at him before turning his attention to Melissa.

"Hi honey. You're doing great but if it's too much just close your eyes okay?" She'd always been a second mother to him and she always would be, but Stiles had to do this and he had to do this now.

Melissa's aura was slower to spread out and not as vibrant or pulsing as Peter's. She was rainbow colored all over. Every single spot had a beautiful array of colors. But her hands and heart were bright rainbow bursts.

"She's a rainbow." Stiles breathed out amazed at the difference and beauty of Melissa's aura.

"I had figured as much. She's a healer all the way to her soul. Are her hands brighter rainbows than everywhere else?" Peter inquired.

"Yes. But her heart is also as bright."

"Ah. That means she's got a pure healers heart. But we already knew that didn't we?" Peter asked, mirth clear in his voice.

Stiles smiled at her and at Peter, "I've known that my whole life."

Melissa started tearing up and it was making the burst around her heart brighter and pulsing stronger. So Stiles pictured the radio and turned her down.

"Okay guys I think I'm ready for everyone at once."

Derek, Lydia, and Scott came around and entered his sight with bursts of their own auras. They were so bright standing together that Stiles almost closed his eyes again. But he caught Peter's pleased scent and pictured a radio, this time not for a specific aura but for his own abilities and dialed it down until he could only see a faint glow around them and nothing from Melissa.

"I think I've got a handle on it!" Stiles declared with a bright grin despite his aches and over all weariness.

"Got a handle on what?" The sheriff asked as he made his way into the living room.

Before anyone could speak he gasped, "Son. What is going on? What happened to you?"

-

Stiles found himself in front of an apartment door in a building he'd never been to before in a part of town he couldn't afford to shop or eat in with no idea how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembers is telling his dad goodnight and that he loved him. He went to bed and woke up here, wherever here was.

"Stiles?" Something about the scent and the roughness of a usually smooth velvet voice cause a shiver of arousal to take over Stiles' body.

"Peter why am I here?"

Peter looked at him a moment before opening the door wider. Stiles took a moment to not only check out Peter's apartment but also the man in the doorway. Peter was standing with his hands in his soft gray pajama bottoms pockets. His chest was freckled and hairy, his hair messy and soft looking. And Stiles was getting an erection just from looking at him.

"I had noticed the bond back at the house but I did not think it would affect you like this." Peter sighed.

"Bond? Is that why I know you're pleased but wary?" Stiles asked, placing a hand on the warm spot in his chest that hummed for Peter.

"You were always my favorite. And you're quick wit is definitely one reason why, pet." Peter breathed, a smirk replacing the slight frown he had been wearing.

Stiles shivered again at the name, "Peter what's happening? Why do I want to jump you more than usual?"

Peter had looked guilty at first then delightfully pleased, "More than usual, huh? Good to know. What's happening dear boy is we have accidentally initiated a mating bond."

Stiles had to take calming breaths to not jump him right then and there, but what Peter was saying was important and he needed to focus.

"A mating bond? But doesn't that take an exchanging of gifts and bending of wills?"

"I do so love that brain of yours. Yes it does and yes we did do those things. You're wearing my shirt right now darling. And you followed my directions to the letter all day. Add to that the attraction we already shared and the mating bond snaps into place." Peter grinned at him like the cat that caught the mouse, or the wolf that caught his mate.

"Well it smells good. And I thought the bond doesn't snap into place until you have sex?" Stiles forced himself to say it strongly, to not give into his desire to eat Peter up right then and there.

"Very true. But I imagine that's why you walked here in your sleep and why you're about to burst out of those adorable boxers." Peter purred as he backed Stiles against the closest wall.

Stiles looked at his erection almost poking through the hole in his Batman boxers. That obviously was why his body brought him here, but was his mind and heart ready to mate with Peter Hale too?

"I need a minute to catch up to my body." Stiles spoke with the assurance that Peter would step back, and smiled at the man when he did.

Did he love Peter? Maybe not. But he'd been the only one to help Stiles today. The only one to help Stiles through so much he hadn't even noticed. The only one to pay attention and listen to him no matter the circumstance. It was why he had been harboring a crush on the werewolf for months. The mating bond wouldn't have solidified if they weren't well matched and their feelings not reciprocated.

"Okay, Peter. I'm in. All the way."

[christinesficrecs]

Ugly Christmas sweater fics for anyone that’s not sick of Christmas fics yet :D

sugarplums by  thepsychicclam | 15.8K

In which Stiles drags Derek black Friday shopping, Stiles chops down a Christmas tree, Isaac throws an ugly sweater party, and Derek and Stiles' daughter hates Santa.

The Christmas Sweater Tradition by  literaryoblivion | 5.6K

The pack's all set for places to go for Christmas, that is everyone except Derek. So Stiles invites Derek to spend Christmas and the days leading up to it with him and his dad. He just has to be okay with their one firm tradition.

Ugly Sweaters and Christmas Cookies by  CelestialVoid | 1.3K

Cora Skypes her brother in the middle of a petty squabble between Stiles and Derek over ugly Christmas sweaters and gingerbread houses.

A Dish Best Served Acrylic by  HugeAlienPie | 3.7K

"Stiles, dude, what are you wearing?" Scott asks with horrified urgency.

"Retribution, my man," Stiles says easily. "My just deserts."

"What did you do?" Scott says.

Stiles slings an arm over Scott's shoulder. "Scotty, what I did is far less important than the fundamental life lesson I forgot in order to do it: your mother is a vengeful goddess, and we should never anger her."

Ugly Christmas Sweater | Tumblr Ficlet

Out of Stock by  alisaj | 16K

In which Stiles and Derek pine for each other across the dairy aisle.

Have Yourself A Nerdy Little Christmas by  AsagiStilinski | 2.8K

And all of a sudden, his entire night turned around

"PUG!"

The guy in the ugly Pug themed Christmas sweater jumped, turning to Stiles with what could only be described as a look of utter fear in his eyes

My Ugly Christmas Sweater Brings All the Boys to the Yard by runningwithdinosaurs | 1.8K

The one where Stiles wears a hideous holiday sweater to a fancy Christmas party. And Derek does too. Feelings ensue.

The Stakes are High and Scratchy by  HugeAlienPie | 3.2K

The thing is, John wants a shot at a relationship with Melissa. Still. He's not going to let some smart-aleck punk bait him without repercussions--especially when that punk's his kid. He gives a smile that's probably sharper than Stiles expects. "All right," John concedes, "I will if you will."

Tacky Christmas Sweater | Tumblr Ficlet

A New Tradition For You by  mikkimouse | 3K

Stiles invites Derek to spend Christmas with him.