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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 6 months ago

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It’s Wídfara Wednesday! With Guthláf included, of course, because it's always a good day for some Guthláf.

Catch up on parts one and two if needed. Part 3 finds Wíd in the aftermath of his first romantic encounter with Guthláf and wondering what to make of it. This part picks up a few…hours, let’s say, after the end of part 2. Still in Wíd’s room. T for Teen.

Wídfara was doing his best not to stare.

He had admired Guthláf’s face and form from the moment they met, but to see him this way – all of him, luxuriously stretched out and casually bare – was so much more than anything Wídfara had imagined. He found it terrifying and thrilling in equal measure, the fulfillment of a desire he had long known and understood about himself but feared to expose to anyone else. Now that he had, though, he wanted just to bask in it for a while, to take this unprecedented chance to openly savor the sight of things he found affecting. The rounded curves of biceps and shoulders. The sprinkling of blonde hair over strong thighs. The deep grooves of muscles just inside the hips. After what they’d done together, taking an appreciative look now hardly seemed like a big deal. But his own sense of propriety forced Wídfara to tear his eyes away, and he rolled over to look up at the ceiling instead.

“If you’re tired, I can head back to my room.” Guthláf ran a hand lightly over his own face and pulled himself up to sit. “Don’t let me overstay my welcome.”

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t mind if we just…” Wídfara hesitated. He had no idea what the custom was in this situation. He’d be content for Guthláf to stay with him and let the unforeseen thrill of the night last as long as possible, but perhaps that’s not how things were done. “Whatever you think is best.”

“To be honest with you, Wíd, I don’t really know.” He looked down with an apologetic smile. “I don’t have much experience here, so I’m not sure what’s usually expected.”

This admission surprised Wídfara, coming from someone who otherwise seemed so self assured and confident. “You haven’t done this much with other men? Or at all?” He didn’t mean to pry, but his own lack of experience left him more than curious to know how others like him had gotten on, especially someone who had been living in a bigger city.

“Either. Both.” Guthláf laughed. “It only took one try for me to know for sure this wasn’t something I ever wanted from a woman.” He paused, reliving a past moment in his mind, and then laughed again. “It was an awkward mess. And as for men, well…there have been a few that I suspected might share my inclination and some that were of interest to me. And there have even been a few that I would feel safe being honest with. But all three traits in the same man is a true rarity. So this”— he gestured vaguely at himself and then at Wídfara—“is not something I’m really accustomed to, though I imagine that my behavior tonight might imply otherwise.”

“I understand.”

Guthláf raised an eyebrow. “What about you then? Similar story?”

Since he had raised the subject, Wídfara felt it only fair to be equally candid, and he nodded. “I gave women more than one try. Not because I enjoyed anything about it, but because part of me hoped that I could learn to like it over time. Things being how they are, that just seemed as though it would be easier.” He looked away momentarily. “But this is who I am. It’s what feels right to me. And for most of my life, no one else I knew even acknowledged that it was possible for a man to feel this way.”

“I know how that goes.” Guthláf gave his arm a gentle squeeze and then looked off in thought for a few moments. “Well, if neither of us is certain what we’re supposed to do, we’ll just have to make our own way. Would it be alright with you if I stayed?”

Wídfara turned and lifted the edge of his blanket with a smile, making space for Guthláf to fit himself in against the warmth of Wídfara’s chest, stomach and thighs. The nervous flutter of happiness this caused kept him awake for a while, long enough to hear Guthláf’s breathing become long and slow as he drifted to sleep. But even when Wídfara’s heart calmed and rest began to feel possible, he fought against it, unwilling to relinquish his feeling of contentment to the end of the day. And when his eyes finally grew irresistibly heavy and he gave in to his creeping exhaustion, his last waking thought was excited anticipation to see Guthláf again in the morning.

Wídfara slept harder and longer than he had in years, being roused only by the chimes of the morning bells, and he woke with his memories of the night before still vivid in his mind. But when he rolled over and opened his eyes, he was startled to find himself now alone. Some time while he slept, Guthláf had slipped out, leaving behind so little trace of his presence that Wídfara might have convinced himself the whole thing had been a dream if not for the mead bottle on the floor and a distinctive sweet scent lingering in the blankets that he would forevermore associate with Guthláf’s bare skin.

He pulled himself up on an elbow, his sleep-fogged mind trying to make sense of the empty space beside him. In another circumstance, he would take such an abrupt, unexplained departure as a sign of either desperately needed escape or cold dismissal. But he simply couldn’t imagine either to be true of Guthláf. He had little experience in these matters, but he had understood well enough the generous words of praise and sounds of pleasure. There had been only kindness and sincerity in Guthláf’s behavior, and it had been his suggestion to stay. Wídfara trusted in nothing more than his own intuition, and it told him that Guthláf wouldn’t hurt him for no reason. But then what else could explain such a change, one that he must have known would leave Wídfara surprised and confused?

He dropped back to his pillow and threw an arm over his eyes. Perhaps it was fear, a loss of nerve that came on in the quiet of the night. The fear of exposure. The fear that a new entanglement, with its many unknowns and uncertainties, could ruin a lifetime of the prudence and caution that had always offered protection. Wídfara certainly understood that fear, which dwelt deep within him and probably always would. But he felt something else now, too. Something that, for the first time in his life, outweighed the fear and pushed it from his own mind.

Amid the night’s heady mix of attraction and discovery, Wídfara had sensed a spark of real possibility – not just plain desire, but also admiration and acceptance and true understanding. And that spark was strong enough and precious enough to him that he would dare to follow it no matter the danger, to chase after that brilliant light and see where it led. To learn whether it could eventually kindle a roaring fire or would fizzle out on its own.

He was certain that Guthláf had felt that same spark, a deep, instinctual sense that this could be something different. But he wouldn’t blame Guthláf if a moment of reflection had left him unwilling to risk the happy and successful life he had laboriously built just to pursue whatever prospect might exist in that bright, intense burst of feeling. That was much to ask of someone, and Wídfara had only compassion for the difficulty of making such a choice.

Still, disappointment settled on him with an uncomfortable heaviness, and worry soon joined it. He might have to accept the lost potential of what had felt to him like a special connection, and that was regret enough. But he would regret it still more if awkwardness between them now cost him even the friendship that had already taken hold – a friendship he valued and wanted to keep.

If fear had really driven Guthláf from the room in the dark of night, perhaps he wouldn’t want to talk about any of it now — or even acknowledge it — in the light of day. Wídfara saw no advantage to forcing a conversation if doing so would make Guthláf uneasy. But if talking about it would make things worse, would not talking about it solve anything? Wídfara had no idea and no way to seek advice. Without a better thought, he decided simply to take his lead from Guthláf – to wait and see how he approached, how he acted, what he said, what he didn’t say — and then try to adjust his own intentions and reactions accordingly. It might not get him everything he wanted, but it would be far better than nothing.

He tossed aside the blankets with a sigh and pulled himself to his feet. Wallowing in his own disappointed hopes wouldn’t help anything, and he was eager to escape the room and the sight of the rumpled bedding that only seemed to mock those hopes. He readied himself as quickly as he could and rushed out the door to find a task to better occupy his mind.

It was another warm, sunny morning, and the stable was coming to life as Wídfara arrived – riders dipping in and out of the tack room in search of a lost piece of equipment, farriers sorting nails and shoes, bales of hay being tossed down from the loft above. He took a surreptitious glance down the aisle where Syndrigan, Guthláf’s horse, was kept, but he saw only stablehands and took care not to break his step as he continued on toward his own horse’s stall. Before he made it, however, he was intercepted by a smiling Elfhelm, who threw a friendly arm around his shoulders and steered him gently away from his intended destination and toward the back of the barn instead.

“Now that you’re here and getting settled, it’s time for you to choose a novice. We have a bunch of them here today, and you can pick whichever one suits you best.”

“A novice, Marshal? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Did you not have novices in the Wold?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “No, I expect you didn’t. If population loss was a problem out there, they probably had to discontinue the practice some time ago.”

He turned them around a corner, where a group of boys in their early teenage years sat. They jumped to their feet at the sight of Elfhelm and lined up neatly in front of him.

“These young men hope to enter as rider candidates next year. If we pair them with a current rider now, they earn a small wage by helping to care for your equipment, run errands, or look after any particular needs of your horse beyond what the stablehands manage. And they get a chance to see the inner workings of the éored, observe training and learn more about what they can expect if they should qualify themselves someday.” He walked Wídfara slowly down the line of boys. “There are several new riders in the city’s other éoreds, but they aren’t here yet this morning and so you can have the first selection.”

“I’m to choose?” Wídfara stared blankly at the young faces in front of him. He had never laid eyes on any of them before that very moment, and he had no idea how he was supposed to distinguish between them other than to select one at random.

“It’s entirely up to you,” said Elfhelm. “Many of the finest families in Edoras are represented here, with generations of service to Rohan. I know you aren’t familiar with these boys like the other riders will be, but they’re all good young men and you really can’t make a bad choice.”

Wídfara looked again down the line of hopefuls, all facing straight ahead and standing as tall as possible. He could see that many of them were, indeed, from very fine families, sporting polished gold clasps on their belts and wearing handsome leather boots that probably cost more than every piece of clothing he’d ever owned. They weren’t boys that needed a wage, and Wídfara guessed they didn’t really need any extra help to be selected as rider candidates either. He hadn’t known many families with wealth in his life, but in his experience, money made opportunities happen all on its own.

His eyes finally came to rest on the last boy in line, and only here did Wídfara see a novice he could relate to — a shirt with patches and visible wear, hands that were clean but already calloused from real labor, no finery or decoration or any element to his appearance that didn’t serve a necessary function. And yet, this young man stood just as tall as the others around him, determined to show his equal worth and proud, no doubt, for having earned his place there. Wídfara smiled at him and beckoned him over.

“Congratulations, Freogan,” said Elfhelm, putting one hand on the boy’s shoulder and the other on Wídfara’s. “And congratulations to you, Wídfara. You won’t find a harder worker in the whole city, and I’m sure he’ll do well by you.”

Elfhelm left them to prepare for the morning’s drills and exercises, and Wídfara and Freogan walked together to ready his horse. Wídfara chanced one more glance toward Syndrigan’s stall as they passed, and this time he could see the familiar blonde head towering over a cluster of young stablehands, all at rapt attention as Guthláf demonstrated a trick for maintaining balance during a full gallop. They clearly already understood what Wídfara had learned for himself the day before – that Guthláf was one of the best horsemen they were ever likely to see – and they stared up at him as he spoke like they were watching Eorl himself astride one of the mearas. Guthláf’s gaze never wavered from the boys in front of him, and Wídfara pulled his own away before anyone could follow it.

He turned instead to Freogan. His novice was a quiet boy of fourteen, slight but strong, who seemed determined to show his gratitude through diligent effort. He proved both a fast learner and a good hand with Cypren, and his company helped provide Wídfara a welcome distraction, something else to concentrate on rather than allowing his eyes and thoughts to keep straying back in Guthláf’s direction. They made quick work of the morning’s preparations, and he used the extra time to allow Freogan a few shots at the archer’s targets waiting in the training ring, always happy to try to convert another Rohirrim from the spear to the bow.

Training stretched well into the afternoon, broken up only by a short break at midday. Wídfara was ever conscious of Guthláf’s presence, aware of where he stood or sat or rode, but he followed his own plan, keeping his distance and trying not to look too often in Guthláf’s direction. As he waited and hoped for a reassuring word or look or gesture to make their own way to him, he threw himself fully into every exercise, grateful for another focus and eager to expend some nervous energy. He did extra runs through the training course, gave advice when it was requested, and tried to put all his attention on his fellow archers, which at least had the happy side effect of helping them get to know one another better after the prior day’s brief introductions. Arengan, the chief bowman of the éored, even invited Wídfara out for a pint with the group, and he left Cypren in Freogan’s capable hands after training in order to accompany them to the tavern up the hill from the barracks.

They took up a position at a table in the back, eight of them in all, and Wídfara soon found himself having a good time in spite of everything. The easy teasing and good natured bluster reminded him of his friends from back home, and it was comforting to feel like part of a unit again. His enjoyment only wavered when, an hour after arriving, Guthláf came in and took a seat at the bar, chatting casually with the woman who poured drinks. Wídfara felt the uncomfortable pang of disappointment in his chest again, further heightened from a long day with no word or sign to set his heart at ease. But he couldn’t allow one night’s impulsive encounter to totally derail his efforts to get settled in Edoras and so he stayed with Arengan and the group despite his discomfort. He even stayed when he had finished his ale and knew that he couldn’t spare the money for another. Instead, he held the table while the other men went up to seek their own new pints.

He counted his coins again as he waited, and when he heard the chair across from him scrape on the floor, he looked up expecting to see one of his group returned. But instead it was Guthláf himself, holding a full mug, who slid into the open seat and smiled softly at him.

“You’re a hard man to get a private moment with today.”

“Am I?” Wídfara felt a nervous little flip in his stomach. “I didn’t mean to be.” That wasn’t entirely true, as he had purposefully distracted himself with constant activity. But if the effect had been to discourage Guthláf from approaching him, that certainly wasn’t what he intended.

“Indeed. I kept a careful watch, and there’s hardly been a minute when you didn’t have at least one other person around you.” He looked over his shoulder and to both sides. Although no one else sat close enough to hear him, he lowered his voice nonetheless. “I’ve been waiting for a moment to try to explain myself, if you’ll allow it.”

Wídfara’s eyes shifted to the bar, where Arengan and his companions were still gathered a safe distance away. He kept his gaze there as he spoke. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“I’d like to offer one all the same. And an apology. In the rush of everything that happened last night, I somehow stupidly forgot the fact that I would need to look after my dog. It was already near dawn when I realized it, but you were still sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb you without need. I thought I could slip out and back in before you woke, but I was wrong. While walking Slaga, I got trapped in a conversation with Harding, who is always absurdly talkative early in the morning, and by the time I shook him off and got to your room again, you were already up and gone.”

Wídfara’s eyes cut back quickly to Guthláf. “You came back?”

“I did, but I must have just missed you. And then I spent the whole day doing that over and over again, always seemingly unable to catch your eye at the right moment or get to you before Elfhelm or Arengan or someone else appeared at your side. But all I wanted to do was tell you that I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have wanted to suddenly wake up alone, with no word of explanation, and it was never my intention that you would.”

“So then you weren’t…having regrets about everything?”

“I wasn’t. Last night meant something to me, and I’d hate to think I ruined it by making you believe the opposite.”

Wídfara felt his disappointment sliding away as Guthláf spoke, the weight of it sloughing off him like a mailcoat that had been unfastened and dropped to the floor, and he smiled. “Nothing is ruined. It was just a misunderstanding. And for my part, we can pretend this morning never happened. We can go back to things as they were last night.”

“I’ll be glad to try, but that will be hard for me because, in fact, I like you even better now than I did last night.”

“Better?” Wídfara laughed. “How could that even be possible when this is the first we’ve talked since then?”

“I saw this morning that Freogan is your novice.”

“That’s right.”

“And Elfhelm tells me the choice was yours and not his.”

“That’s also right, though I’m not sure I see the significance of it here.”

“I’ve known Freogan’s family for years. They’re good people who have far less than they deserve, and the extra money he’ll earn as a novice will do wonders for them. I suspect you could see that, and I think that’s exactly why you chose him. Is that not so?”

Wídfara’s cheeks colored a little in surprise, and he wondered how Guthláf had guessed so much. “Horse breeding families like mine have really struggled ever since the army started supplying its own horses. I know what it’s like to worry about meeting even basic needs, and I guess I saw a little of myself in him.”

“You’re a good person, Wíd. A kind person. I thought so already, but now I know it for sure.” He glanced back over his shoulder again, where Arengan and the other archers were gathering up freshly poured drinks and preparing to head back to their seats. “Stay here and have a good time. These men will be great friends to you. But if you’re not too tired when you get back to the barracks, I’d like it if you would find me there so we can spend a little time together.” He slid his own untouched ale across the table, allowing his fingers to brush lightly against Wídfara’s hand as he passed him the drink, and then stood.

“Guthláf! Come to join the Arrow Club, have you?” Arengan dropped mugs onto the table and gave Guthláf a slap on the back before gesturing at Widfara. “You were right about this one. He’s as good a drinking companion as he is an archer.”

“As a mere swordsman, I wouldn’t presume to intrude on your night out,” said Guthláf with a smile. “But take good care of your newest addition.” He glanced back briefly at Wídfara and then nodded to the group. “I’ll see you all later.” And then he was off, cutting through the tavern and out the front door.

Wídfara stayed at the table for another hour, joining with his new friends in talk and laughter until the first of them left to get home to a waiting family. Then he took the opportunity to slip out as well, walking with an undeniable haste in his steps as he headed back to the barracks and to Guthláf.

He waited until the hallway was empty and then knocked lightly at Guthláf’s door. A voice called him in, where he was greeted most immediately by the curious attentions of Slaga, the tiny cause of all of that day’s confusion and worry. He hopped up now to paw excitedly at Wídfara’s shins, but a short whistle drew him back to his little cushion near the foot of the bed, where Guthláf himself sat, boots off and comfortable and smiling.

“I’m glad you came.”

Just the sound of his voice sent a surge of pink warmth creeping over Wídfara’s face. “I was glad to be invited. For…whatever this is that we’re doing.”

Guthláf shifted to make room for Wídfara to sit beside him. “I’m not sure what we’re doing, and we’ll have to be very careful about doing it,” he said, laying a hand atop one of Wídfara’s. “But I think it might be something really great. Should we find out?”

Notes: Harding, the talkative early morning riser, is canon. Arengan and Freogan are not.

Next week, we time jump a number of months to Wíd and Guthláf in a really happy, loving place. Until Guthláf is given an opportunity to fulfill his dream at last, and Wíd…does not take it well. Click here to Part 4!

Dividers as always by the lovely @quillofspirit

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @hobbitwrangler @dreambigdreamz (This list is based on prior expressions of interest but feel free to let me know if you want off! (Or on!))

#wídfara #guthláf #obscure blorbos #rohirrim #rohan #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #widfara #guthlaf

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pearlescentpearl · 1 year ago

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Political Pawn AU 2

You can find Post 1 here.

Findekáno does not go to bed

Turukáno finds him brooding on the lake shore, stone eyed and tense

“You’re rethinking things you ought not rethink,” Turukáno says, though he knows it is in vain

“I am trying not to,” Findekáno tells him, folding his arms tighter against the wind. “Whatever he did, it doesn’t change the outcome. Those who suffered still suffered. Those who died still died. I can think better of him for trying to speak on our behalf before the betrayal became irreversible, but not for helping kick it off by taking the ships at Araman, nor his foolishness in thinking the situation would be otherwise.”

And he does think a great deal better of Russandol, for trying. Fëanáro’s wrath had proven no small thing to risk. He failed to stop what he himself abetted, and in his failure rested the horror of trekking the Helcaraxë

But still, knowing someone tried to protest, knowing someone didn’t forget them, that Russandol didn’t forget him...

It’s something

“Father and Aunt are already embroiled in plans for how to use this,” Turukáno says dully, settling next to him on the grassy bank. “I left because I couldn’t stand listening them anymore.”

“What are they thinking?” Findekáno asks, half-fearing the answer. Too many have waited too long for the slightest crack in Fëanáro’s defensive stubbornness, and the feud the eldest sons of Finwë wage has always driven them to unreasonable heights. He doesn’t delude himself into thinking the next move won’t be stunningly vicious

“Father’s hoping to foment Fëanáro’s own people against him by suggesting Nelyafinwë is the only of their House deserving of the crown, seeing as he doesn’t agree with abandoning his people,” Turukáno says bitterly. “He’s hoping it will galvanize those who didn’t agree with their traitor king’s actions into... I don’t know, forcing Fëanáro to do something about them.”

Findekáno huffs a disbelieving laugh, voice cracking. “The man is being tortured in Angamando, and Father would make him king? What is he thinking? This is going to rend the Noldor worse than we already are!”

It wouldn’t just be the Fëanárian Faction tearing into itself over this, it would be their own people too. What cohesiveness they’d held onto all this time would dissolve as the question of Russandol’s actions and what they were worth became a Kindred-wide debate

In Valinor they could get away with that. On Angamando’s doorstep?

Death would come for them in their distraction

“You know how Father gets when Fëanáro’s involved,” Turukáno says, and they share such a look of deep commiseration

“I also know how you get about Nelyafinwë,” Turukáno continues, and Findekáno hunches his shoulders. “You’re just like Father, you know. Not an ounce of objectivity in either of you.”

“I am trying to be better,” Findekáno protests defensively. “I know I... I ruined so much acting out of love instead of wisdom.”

“You are not the only,” Turukáno says heavily, “who has made ruinous choices out of love.”

“I think, at some point, we two, it stopped being about love and more about pride,” Findekáno whispers. “It was love when I raised a sword at Alqualondë. It was pride when I helped them steal the ships; too much pride to stop and repent when I learned the truth.”

“I should hit you for being right,” Turukáno sighs, leaning back on his hands. “I can not separate the love from the pride since the Darkening. I only know we, none of us, acted with wisdom when we had the chance. And now we must live with it, and hope to be wiser in the tribulations to come.”

“Like this harebrained plan of Father’s. He’s not going to get reparations if he’s just going back to undermining Fëanáro. I want to tear the man down from his high horse as much as anyone, but I’m so sick of the feud, Turvo. Hasn’t it taken enough from us?”

“It will only stop taking when we all stop feeding it.”

“Might as well ask the both of them to starve themselves.”

“Hah!” Turukáno laughs. “That will be the day!” A pause to let the mist billow by. “Brother. You’re thinking about doing something.”

Findekáno doesn’t deny it. “Someone has to check Father’s worst impulses.”

“Whatever you do,” Turukáno says, “I beg you. Act from love. Not pride. I can forgive you for love. I am not sure how much more I can for pride. For anyone.”

“Even yourself?”

“Perhaps especially myself.”

Findekáno leans over to bump his forehead to his brother’s. “For love,” he agrees. Leaning back, he admires the sight of the unvarnished stars, Rána in its dark phase. “If anyone should ask, tell them I left early on patrol.”

“And if I should ask?”

“I will say only that I promise to return.”

“Heartening.”

In the morning, Turukáno indeed tells any who ask that his brother is on patrol, though he is sure to put up his most dour of expressions to dissuade any who might try to ask him. Easy enough, with the speech his Father starts the morning with

Itarillë, nearly full grown now, finds him halfway through and threads her fingers in his

Glancing down, he finds her pensive, brow furrowed in a mirror of his own expression

She was born during Fëanáro’s exile. Half her life has been spent on the Helcaraxë. She only knows her half-relations through stories, and glimpses during the march to Araman. They are as strangers to her. He wonders what she makes of this speech upholding a man she would only ever have heard cursed

He feels her mind brush against his, a wisp of winter wind carrying the scent of evergreens

The townsfolk are listening, she tells him

And do they agree? He asks

Her head turns to regard the mingled Lestorodrim and Fëanárian Loyalists. Some of them, maybe. The Lestorodrim have minds as girdled as their homes, but ultimately Noldor matters are Noldor matters to them. The Fëanárians are... split. I see much shame and regret in them

Not so much they’ll act on it of their own volition, Turukáno retorts. He recognizes the pride that refuses to humble itself in the face of wrongdoing as easily as he sees it in his mirror

He’s not blind. He sees the shame in their faces too

If they want forgiveness they’ll have to humble themselves first

Itarillë elbows him

Following her intent gaze he sees one of the Ambarussa in the crowd, face going pale and intent

“Which one is that one?” She murmurs

It’s difficult to gauge at this distance, what with the mist making everything perpetually damp, but he thinks that dark shade of red denotes Pityafinwë, the elder twin

“Well,” Turukáno murmurs back. “Your grandfather has garnered the attention he wanted.”

“But is it the attention the rest of us need?”

“That remains to be seen.”

As Finwë-Ñolofinwë wraps up his speech on Fëanáro’s flaws as a leader so far (many), Nelyafinwë’s virtues in comparison (anyone would come out smelling like roses compared to Fëanáro), and the obvious disregard of the people’s will displayed in Fëanáro’s refusal to repent, Amabarussa takes off to Barad Eithel

They would have Fëanáro’s response soon

It will be ugly. Turukáno doesn’t need foresight to predict that

“What do you think of all this, Father?” Itarillë asks, jarring him out of his dire thoughts

“I spent far too many times telling you as a child that it’s important that you tried, even when you failed,” Turukáno says after a moment. “Sometimes, especially when you failed. I am loathe to make a mockery of yet more of the virtues I tried to raise you with. Yet my heart is broken. Whatever healing or amending I may find in the future, it cannot make that fact not be.”

“I do not think you make a mockery of anything,” Itarillë says. “You raised me to believe in the importance of trying, even in the face of failure. You also raised me to contend with the consequences of failure. I expect no less maturity from my elders.”

Overhead, the sky is clouded

#silmarillion #political pawn au #I meant to follow Fingon but Turgon had Things To Say #Maedhros soon Maedhros soon Maedhros soon #things are really heating up #let the tug of war begin

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ourtearsofrain · 2 months ago

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The Barbarians (D.R.W/S.F.K) - Chapter 8

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Genre: angst, brotherly fluff and hurt/comfort

Word Count: just under 4k

Warnings: AU typical events/threats/violence (later in the series)

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Looking At the Sky I See the City Lights

Sam

Monday, July 11th

“Just be yourself out there, you’ll do fine. Claudius was actually a really chill guy to talk to when we did our interviews, right Jacob?”

“Hm? Oh uh, yeah, he was alright.” Jacob checks his watch as if he were disinterested with the conversation, as if he had better things to do than to help his little brother prepare to face all of The New World for the first time. “Hey, we should go down to the audience, Joshua. They’re going to start soon.”

Joshua grabs Jacob’s wrist, angling the watch face towards him. “Oh shit, you’re right. Alright, see you later, Sam. You got this.”

“See you later.” By this point, Sam had learned not to let himself get disappointed at their every dismissal, telling himself that them disappearing when he needed them most wasn’t personal. He knew that Joshua thought he would win, that they’d have more time together after the games, and that Jacob was distancing himself in preparation for if Sam didn’t make it out alive.

“You ok?” Hazel’s voice rips him from his thoughts as she pops up in the line of tributes next to him.

“Yeah.” He pauses, knowing that she could see through his collected demeanor, taking a deep breath as his eyes dart between her and their surroundings. “I’m just nervous, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s alright, you’ll do great, Sam. You’re a charming guy, it won’t be hard for you to win everyone over.”

“Thanks.” Their attention is ripped towards the stage as Claudius’ introduction music blares over the speakers, silencing the audience as he enthusiastically greets them. No one had told them what order they were going in other than by districts, but Sam guesses that he was first, as two Peacekeepers find his side and begin leading him towards the wings of the stage.

“From District 1, Samuel Kiszka!” Smile and wave, look comfortable and calm, ignore his obnoxious laugh. This is fine. Sam grins as wide as he can as he waves to the crowd, hoping they wouldn’t see through his façade as he meets Claudius and shakes his hand before sitting down. “Samuel Kiszka, it’s so great to finally meet you, I’ve heard many things about you.”

“All good, I hope.” Sam laughs the words out, sticking to his part perfectly despite the anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, yes, all very good!” God, his laugh is going to get old, fast. “Now, I have to ask, a little birdie told me that you volunteered for the games. Is that true? Did it have anything to do with your older brothers?”

The question hits him like a knife straight to the heart, trying to keep his smile from faltering at the mention of his brother’s victory. Even in my moment, my literal time in the spotlight, they get brought up. “You got me there, Claudius! Yes, I did volunteer. And yes, it was partially because of them. I’ve looked up to them my entire life, even before their game, and I just want to follow in their footsteps by bringing pride to my district.”

“Someone’s confident, I like it! So, you think you’re prepared?”

“Yes, I do, Claudius. I’ve been training for years, always been at the top of my classes. I’m ready to show the world what I can do.”

“Samuel Kiszka everyone!” Sam’s pulled to his feet by Claudius’ hand gripping his own, raising it above their heads as the crowd roars. He waves one final time and blows a few kisses into the crowd with a grin before exiting the stage, the crowd’s applause quieting as he makes his way back to the other tributes. The smile is wiped from his face as he takes a deep breath, the volume of his surroundings and the stress of the interview sending pain throbbing through his skull.

“You did great! They loved you, Sam!” He offers a small smile in her direction as Hazel grins at him, excitement clear in her tone.

“Thanks. Your turn now, knock ‘em dead.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Claudius announces her name, leaving Sam alone with the other tributes as he’s hit with a wave of exhaustion. He knew he should pay attention to Hazel’s interview, but he couldn’t bring himself to as his eyes drift over the other tributes, finally landing on Daniel.

Sam’s glad that Daniel was busy talking to the girl from 7, not noticing him staring as he allows himself to take him in as long as he was able to. I don’t fucking understand him. He acts so… so weak, being friends with that girl, protecting her. He looks like he’d be soft. Clearly, he isn’t. My jaw still aches from that fucking punch. No surprise though, his biceps are at least as large as my fucking thigh. What are they feeding them over in 7 to make him so big? Bet he could rip a tree trunk in half with his hands, I need to keep my distance when I kill him.

As if he could read Sam’s thoughts, Daniel looks up at him, anger flashing across his features. So, he’s still mad about whatever made him want to punch me. Wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to kill me the second the games start. That’s when I’ll get him, he’ll be too distracted, too focused on his own anger that I can use that against him. Blindside him with a counterattack. I need to get my hands on a throwing knife as soon as I can, no way I can beat him at hand-to-hand or close range. Maybe if I grabbed a sword, as long as he has no weapon by that point, I should be able to get at least one fatal hit in. As Sam’s mind spirals, stuck on thoughts of what he would do to take Daniel out of the game as soon as possible, he zones out; his eyes leaving Daniel and focusing on the wall above him as the other tribute interviews go unheard by his ears.

That is until he barely registers the words “District 7”, his attention snapping to the front of the line, only to see Daniel step up to the edge of the stage wing, his hands adjusting his jacket slightly. Let’s see if he’s as good an actor as he is a fighter. “Daniel Wagner, ‘The Archer’, so great to finally meet you!” And I thought I was The Garden’s pet. Seriously, how is that man the same guy that punched me for no reason just two days ago?

Sam’s blood boils at the mention of his score, his rage further increasing at Daniel’s words, at how much he was kissing ass with his performance. “While we’re on the topic, I must ask, that vine on your face, was it going through your nose?”

“Yes, Claudius, it was.”

“How?! I see you have a gold ring now, is that a real piercing?”

“It is, yes. My stylist spared no expense representing my district, I think that was the finishing touch that pulled all of it together.” It was a crime, that’s what it was. His stylist should be fired for hiding that nose. For covering those freckles, drawing attention away from his eyes. He zones the rest of Daniel’s interview out, his mind filled with nothing but Daniel for the second time as the interviews go on. Sam felt haunted by the man, he couldn’t escape his thoughts of him. From the outline of his nose on the big screens behind him, the stage lights catching the gold ring in it, his freckles peppered across his skin.

I wonder if I could count them. Would it be like trying to count the stars in the sky? What are you thinking? When would you get the chance to count them? After you kill him? That’s fucking weird. Keep your head in the game, Sam. You can’t ruin this.

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“Fuck this.” Sam grumbles the words out as he flings the comforter off himself, making his way through his room in the dark. He didn’t know why he was even getting up, it wouldn’t help with his insomnia, yet he felt some pull to the living room that he couldn’t explain. What the fuck is Jacob doing up? Well, I mean, he’s always been a night owl, but why is he out here? The other man doesn’t look at him as Sam makes his way across the room, sitting down next to him on a couch. His gaze follows Jacob’s out the floor to ceiling window, the city alive with lights and cheering crowds beyond the glass.

Neither man say anything for a while, and Sam wonders if his brother even realized he was there until Jacob takes a deep breath, exhaling it through his nose. “Do you know how fucking exhausting being a victor is?” He doesn’t turn towards Sam as he speaks, his eyes still trained out the window.

“No. I can imagine though. Everything today, since I got here, has been almost too much.”

“Why did you do it, Sam? Why did you volunteer?”

“I-” This might be the last time you can tell him the truth. “I was jealous of you and Joshua; I was tired of living in your shadow. I thought I would like this attention, but I just feel like I’m being paraded around."

“Welcome to The Garden. Even if you win, you’ll never know peace. Every year around the games, you’ll be dragged across the country playing their part.” Jacob finally looks at him, sadness and frustration mixing behind his eyes. “You can never escape it. Can you deal with that for the rest of your life?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. Unless you make the choice to die in the arena.”

“Do you want me to die there, Jacob?” Sam can’t keep his hurt from his tone as he spits the words out, losing his internal battle on whether he should confront his brother about it or just leave it be.

“No, why would you think that?”

“Because you’re acting like you do. ‘It actually might be better if you die’, do you remember telling me that, Jacob? Because I do, and it really fucking hurt. Isn’t it your job, not only as a mentor but as my brother, to support and prepare me?”

“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” Sam says nothing in response, waiting to see if Jacob had anything more to say, any words at all to explain what had driven him to act this way towards him. “I was just- just angry, furious. At you, at The Garden. At myself. I know I didn’t come back from the games the same, it changed me, it still hangs over my head. But that’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you. Maybe if I had been more open, you wouldn’t have volunteered. I am terrified, Sam. I’m so fucking scared that I’ll have to watch you die when I know deep down, I could have prevented it.”

“Jake-” As his brother’s tears catch the city lights, he moves closer to him on the couch, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him towards himself. “It’s not your fault, it was my choice to volunteer. I’m gonna win for you guys. Not because I need you to be proud of me, or because I want The Garden’s love. I remember how terrifying it was watching the games, praying I wouldn’t see either of your faces in the arena’s sky. I don’t want to put you and Joshua through that- I can’t.”

“I know, Sam. I know. I promise that Joshua and I will do everything we can to help you in there.”

“Thank you.” Neither man says anything more as they both get comfortable, settling into the other until sleep finally takes them.

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

The Words You Know So Well

Danny

Monday, July 11th

“What if they don’t like me?” Daphne’s voice is barely above a whisper as she tugs on Danny’s sleeve, her eyes raking over the other tributes around them.

“What? That’s crazy, you’re very likable.” Danny tears his eyes from the front of the line, from Samuel as he spoke to Jacob and Joshua, down to her. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine, kid.”

“You remember what Luna said, it’s important for them to like us from the interview. To get sponsors, to get people to care about us."

Danny lowers himself to meet her eye, crouching before her with a kind, yet serious expression. “I care about you, Daphne. I wouldn’t care if The Garden hated us both, which they won’t, I told you I’m going to keep you safe.

“I know… I want you to keep yourself safe too, though.”

Before he can respond, he hears Claudius’ voice boom over the speakers as he greets the audience, his energy and excitement making Danny sick to his stomach as he finds his place in the line once again. All this is for their entertainment, never forget that. They can drag us onto live TV for all the interviews they want, act like they care or support us, maybe even shed a tear or two when we die. But they will never see us as equals, as humans. His anger only grows as Samuel is announced first, matching Claudius’ energy as he disappears onto the stage.

“Samuel Kiszka, it’s so great to finally meet you, I’ve heard many things about you.”

“All good, I hope.” Samuel’s light tone nearly pushes Danny over the edge, rage boiling in the pit of his stomach at how good his “act” was. If he’s even acting, he was practically bred for this. “Yes, I did volunteer. And yes, it was partially because of them. I’ve looked up to them my entire life, even before their game, and I just want to follow in their footsteps by bringing pride to my district.” Pride? What fucking pride? How could he bring pride to his district by murdering other children in cold blood? Are all Careers that fucking desensitized?!

Before he can infuriate himself further, Samuel leaves the stage, the other tribute from 1 finding his side the second she sees him. Don’t focus on him, don’t even fucking look at him. Despite knowing that getting caught staring would only cause problems, he can’t take his eyes off him as he speaks to the other tribute. Sure, he looks like he’s content playing this part, like he’s a natural, but his eyes have nothing behind them. He looks tired, conflicted. What is going on in your head Samuel Kiszka?

“I hope they don’t ask about our outfits for the tribute parade.” Daphne’s voice rips his attention back to her, finding it harder than he had hoped to keep his mind from wandering back to Samuel.

“Me too. I mean I think I’m a fairly good actor, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to make them believe I didn’t hate the entire thing.” A smile graces his lips as Daphne laughs, knowing she shared the same sentiments as him.

“I know, right! God, they were horrible.”

Feeling eyes on him, Danny looks around himself, his gaze finally landing on Samuel across the room from him. He can’t care enough to keep the anger from his expression as he makes eye contact, the other man’s sheer presence bringing his rage to the surface again. Who the fuck does he think he is? What’s his problem? Why does he keep staring at me? Maybe he’s sizing up his competition, after what I pulled in training. And getting a higher score than he did, I bet he’s livid he got beat by a nobody from 7. Relief floods him when Danny realizes that Samuel had begun to space out on the wall above his head, no longer feeling the weight of his eyes as the line gradually shortens, trying to keep himself calm.

“From District 7, Daniel Wagner!” Can’t get out of this, so I better get through it fast. God, I can’t think straight with all these lights and noise. Just as every other tribute before him had done, he plasters a smile onto his face as he takes the stage, his body going into autopilot as he shoots an imaginary arrow towards the crowd just as he had done at the parade, knowing that the audience loved it. “Daniel Wagner, ‘The Archer’, so great to finally meet you!”

God his voice is infuriating. Despite his feelings, Danny slips into his role perfectly, letting a comfortable smile onto his face as he shakes Claudius’ hand before sitting down. “What’s all this I hear about ‘The Archer’?” He keeps his voice light, adding a small laugh to the end of it as if he were amongst friends, not in front of hundreds of thousands of rich elites.

“Have you not heard?” Claudius looks towards the crowd, surprise clear on his face before focusing back on Danny. “Well, us folks in The Garden like to give the tributes that are especially admirable little nicknames, it’s said to give them good luck, you know.”

“Well, I’ll take all the luck I can get.” Why are they all laughing? It wasn’t even that funny. The comfortable smile doesn’t leave his face, even in his confusion, knowing that if he faltered for even a second, everyone would see right through him.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, you scored a 9 in your training, did you not?”

“That I did, Claudius, that I did.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

Shit. It made me feel like shit, like one of their toys. “Surprised, definitely. But mostly grateful, I’m very grateful to have the honor of receiving such a high score, it’s no secret that the Gamekeepers are very selective. I’m thankful for the score, Claudius, very thankful for everyone in The Garden.” God, you’re no better than the Careers.

“Such a heartwarming sentiment. Now, I have to ask about the tribute parade, considering it was at that event that you earned your name. How did you come up with that? That was brilliant, shooting an arrow into the crowd. It’s left us all wondering how skilled you are with a real bow and arrow.”

“I’m very good, never miss a target, if I do say so myself, Claudius. I’ve had years of practice alone in the forests of my district, so I feel good about my skills with the weapon.”

“I love it! I love seeing tributes so confident! While we’re on the topic, I must ask, that vine on your face, was it going through your nose?”

“Yes, Claudius, it was.”

“How?! I see you have a gold ring now, is that a real piercing?”

“It is, yes. My stylist spared no expense representing my district, I think that was the finishing touch that pulled all of it together.” It was ugly, it was uncomfortable, and I threw it away the second I could. Fucking hate Juniper.

“How interesting! Is that a cultural thing in District 7 or just personal taste?”

Ignorant asshole. “Just personal taste, Claudius.” Danny laughs out, keeping control over his face. “I might be the only person in 7 with this.”

“And how does it- how does it work?” Claudius leans forward as if he were looking up Danny’s nose, his eyebrows creased in confusion.

“It’s like an earring, but instead of going through my ear, it’s my septum, the middle part of my nose.”

“Huh.” Claudius leans back, turning to the audience and shrugging. “Learn new things every day, right?”

Do they just laugh at everything? That wasn’t funny, I feel like I’m going crazy. “That you do, Claudius, that you do.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Daniel Wagner!” Shooting to his feet, Claudius begins applauding Danny as he joins him standing, the audience cheering and giving their own rounds of applause. He waves one final time before making his way off stage, his expression dropping as soon as he leaves the public’s eye. Exhaustion riddles his body as his heartbeat returns to normal, the adrenaline leaving him as he finds Daphne’s side.

At least I’ll know I’ll be able to sleep well. I’ll get one last night of peaceful sleep before dying in the arena tomorrow.

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

As hard as he tried, Danny couldn’t will his body to sleep, his mind spiraling over the day ahead of him. He wished they had more time to prepare, but deep down he knew that no matter how much time he was given, he would never be fully ready. Finally giving up on getting any sleep, he gets out of his bed, making his way through the dark halls of their floor. Seeing the light on in Luna’s room, filtering into the hall through the crack under the door, he knocks, waiting for her response.

“Come in.” He enters the room at her words, seeing her sitting on the floor near her window and he makes his way over to her, sitting down across from her without a word. “How you doing, kid?”

“Not good, if I’m being honest.”

“I get it. Can’t sleep either?”

“Nope.”

“Understandable. I don’t know how Sable’s doing it, I can hear her snores through the walls.”

“She was raised in The Garden, she doesn’t know what it feels like to be a tribute.”

“No, she doesn’t. Speaking of her, since I’m the only mentor for 7, tomorrow one of you will be taken to the arena by her.”

“I actually- I wanted to talk to you about that. I want you to go with Daphne, she needs you. I can deal with Sable, I just need you to tell Daphne my plan.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“The second those cannons fire, I need her to run into the forest if the arena has one. She needs to climb a tree, anything really, get the high ground and stay hidden. I’ll stay at the cornucopia and try to find Fletch and Daisy, maybe get a weapon or pack if I’m lucky, then I’ll come find her. Tell her I’ll make a burrowing owl call to let her know it’s me.”

“I’ll tell her. Just watch your back at the cornucopia, that’s where the most deaths happen. They call it ‘the bloodbath’ for a reason. As admirable as it is that you want to keep the other two young tributes safe, I need you to focus on Daphne, on yourself. You can’t help any of them if you die, do you understand?”

“I do.” Danny looks to the floor as silence falls heavy between them, neither saying a word for a few minutes. Finally, Danny breaks it. “I just wanted to say thank you. You’re the only person here that I’ve felt supported by. Sable, Juniper, Claudius, everyone else, we’re nothing but entertainment to them. I’m grateful that we have a mentor like you, Luna. I’m glad to have met you.”

Despite the games still hanging over their heads, she offers a small smile to him. “Back at you, kid. I care about you and Daphne, I’m going to try my hardest to help any way that I can.” She leans forward to hug him, their positions on the floor making it somewhat uncomfortable, but neither care. “Go try to get some sleep, you need it for tomorrow.”

“Yeah… suppose I do. Goodnight Luna.”

“Goodnight, Danny.”

Danny gets off the floor, leaving her room without another word as he makes his way back to his own, praying that he would get at least a few hours of sleep before being thrown into the arena.

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Taglist: @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @musicislove3389 @holdingup-fallingsky @freyjalw @Maddie-Rae

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #daniel gvf #sam gvf #sanny gvf #greta van angst #sam kiszka x danny wagner #sam kiszka #danny wagner #hunger games au

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sunriseverse · 6 months ago

Note

If you're still looking for prompts, how about this: either shape-shifter AU, or someone getting cursed and turning into an animal?

so uh. this is. six months late. sorry. and also not the fluff you were probably expecting. but! please enjoy this offering, because i had a lot of fun writing it :)

The kid is gone when the morning dawns.

Wu Xie is new to this; all of this, any of this. That he had overlooked something this simple is both unsurprising, and horrifically, teeth-baringly infuriating. He should have known better. He should have known better. It’s not like shifters are rare; they’re half the population. Hell, out of the Iron Triangle, the only one of them who doesn’t have the blood in them is—

He cuts that thought off there. It’s too painful; better to not think about it; better to focus on his own stupid, stupid fuck-ups: namely, the fact that he’d not thought to check if the kid they’d taken had the blood, and now—well. Wu Xie just hopes he’s not gone and gotten himself killed of thirst trying to run away. It’s a nasty way to go; he’s seen men turn insensate and pathetic from the dehydration that warps their minds and the world before their very eyes, makes them beg even as their lungs dry and their faces go sallow, until their lips start to bleed.

“Laoban,” Wang Meng says, frowning as he approaches Wu Xie. “None of the others have seen him.”

Wu Xie bites back a scoff. Of course they hadn’t; no one expects to see an animal out here, besides camels. Maybe if the kid’s lucky, he’s got some desert-adapted traits; if not, then—well. It won’t be the first time all he’s had to show for his efforts is a dead body, but it doesn’t please him, even if he’s working on stripping most emotions besides a single-minded focus from the viscera of him. “I’ll go find him,” he says. “The scent tracks shouldn’t be too disturbed—it’s been a calm few days; the sands haven’t shifted much. He can’t have gone far.”

Wang Meng’s expression wars between concern and disbelief. “Wouldn’t it be better to go out with the Jeeps?” he asks.

Wu Xie huffs. “And let him hear us from fifty kilometres away?” he says, raising a brow, and itches for a smoke. Wang Meng always makes disapproving sounds when he sees them; Wu Xie wonders how long it’ll take for him to stop. The nicotine always mellows out the worst edges of anger, draws his focus back to where it needs to be. But, no. Not right now. Even he knows that putting that shit in his lungs right before he shifts is a bad idea. He doesn’t really want to pass out from smoke inhalation. “No,” he says, “I’ll go. Don’t let anyone in camp know I’m gone. And if I’m not back by nightfall—”

“I know,” Wang Meng says, lips pressed thin. Wu Xie’s own twitch. If nothing else, Wang Meng is learning the very same valuable skills he himself is.

They head back for the tent to keep up appearances. Wu Xie downs a full bottle of water, and strips out of his jacket, sets it aside carefully, a photo worn by the number of times he’s turned it over in his hands hidden in the pocket that lays over his heart. He’s a coward; he doesn’t want them to see him like this, what he’s about to do. But cowards are the ones who live the longest, so a coward he’ll be.

Shifting is—

It’s been a long time. His mind associates it too much with looping around Pangzi’s shoulders, warm puddles of sunlight, the gentle brush of a finger against the flat of his head. He’d avoided it, selfish, in an attempt to preserve that connection. Now, he’s using his skills for exactly what they’d been meant for: hunting. The sands are distantly warm against his belly, protected by scales; he slips between shadows, camouflaged by the dusty colour of his body; flicks a tongue out to scent the air. Already, he can catch the faint scent of another animal—something small, covered in fur. He’s lucky the kid isn’t a flier; they tend to have better stamina.

He’s not quite sure how long he goes for; the sands blend together under the high noon sun, his only sense of direction the scents of the group back at the camp and the scent of the kid’s form. When he finally catches sight of a small, unmoving body. Dusty fur, small. The scent of him is still warm, so he’s not dead—yet. Wu Xie draws closer, raises his body to get a better view, tongue flickering out, and then shifts back to human form. The kid’s body, a rodent of some sort, is dwarfed by the palm of his hand. Wu Xie, who doesn’t have anything to put him in, sighs and resigns himself to carrying him.

The good news is that he can see the camp in the distance; he hasn’t gone that far—the kid had mostly been hidden by the colour of his fur blending into the sand and his small size. He makes the trek back in good time, arrives just as his throat is beginning to rub against itself as he swallows from the aridity. Most of the camp is hiding in their tents, away from the beating sun, and so he can slip back into theirs without being noticed.

Wang Meng is sitting at the portable desk, playing something on his phone. When Wu Xie enters, he scrambles to his feet. “Laoban,” he says.

“Water,” Wu Xie orders, without preamble. “And a pipet.” It’s fortuitous they’d brought some along in case Wu Xie were to grow too dehydrated in his animal form and be unable to shift back. Wu Xie sits down on one of the bedrolls and draws up water from the bottle that Wang Meng opens for him and carefully feeds it into the kid’s mouth, carefully held upright so he doesn’t choke.

For a long while, he’s half afraid it’s a bust, that the kid’s died on the way back. He’s too small to feel his heartbeat properly or see his chest rise and fall, and half the water just spills out the corners of his mouth. But then, after an eternity, the kid’s tiny body jolts and he comes back to consciousness. Wu Xie has just enough forewarning to drop him to the ground before he shifts back to human, heaving gasping, ragged breaths, and scrambling for the tent flap, zipped shut. Wu Xie rises to his feet and easily halts him with a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he says, softly. “You almost died out there; do you really want to tempt fate again?”

Weak with dehydration still, the kid squirms under his grasp until he finally gives up and turns his face to glare at Wu Xie. “Better dead than with you,” he tries to say, but the words come out hoarse.

Wu Xie sighs. The analysis isn’t wrong, but then again, he’s known for a long time now that he’s willing to be anyone’s worst nightmare to get what needs to be done done. “Drink,” he says, instead, and holds the bottle of water to the kid’s lips.

For a long moment, the kid glares at him, lips pressed firmly shut, and then, finally, the thirst gets the better of him, and he drinks. Wu Xie lets the ghost of a smile cross his face. “Good,” he says, patting the kid’s shoulder. “You won’t die today.”

#dmbj #daomu biji #wu xie #wang meng #fanfic #spinecorset writes #c.txt

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tinkerbclla · 1 year ago

Text

caught red handed showing feelings

Steve pretended to hate gossip. He rolled his eyes and scoffed whenever the girls got started — and boy, with Robin and Nancy together, did they get started — but he always found himself listening in. He couldn’t help it.

Besides, his childhood nanny practically raised him on gossip, teaching him how to listen to the conversations around him without making it glaringly obvious.

“You know, I heard that Eddie’s been sleeping with Jenny Nicholson,” Robin whispered conspiratorially to Nancy, leaning over to where she sat to keep the younger girls from overhearing.

Steve had been invited to girls’ nights since the beginning, since he’d offered to pick up Max, El and Erica and drop them on Nancy’s doorstep so that she could “set up”, whatever that meant.

He later learnt that it meant organising snacks and pampering supplies. And hey, Steve was secure enough in his masculinity to enjoy a face mask every once in a while.

Or once a week.

Steve couldn’t hold back his scoff at the topic this week, wondering if it counted as gossip if it was simply untrue.

Robin and Nancy whipped their heads around to Steve, pulling apart where they had been leaning just a little too close together to be considered friendly. Nancy raised a single eyebrow at him, inviting Steve to elaborate.

“Come on,” Steve scooted closer to the girls now, done with pretending that he hadn’t been listening intently to begin with. “He’d never go out with someone like Jenny Nicholson.”

The way that Steve said her name conveyed enough of his reasons, or he’d hoped so, until Robin turned to him and asked, “Why not?” with an eyebrow raised in a mirror of Nancy’s expression.

“She’s — she’s—” Steve floundered for the reason, he knew there was a reason. He just needed to find it.

“Yes?” Robin was smirking now.

“She’s too preppy,” He started with. “He wouldn’t like that. She listens to the wrong music. And she doesn’t even play the little nerd game of his. Or read the books he likes!”

“And you care because…” Robin pushed.

“I don’t care!” Steve insisted, raising his hands in his defence. His raised voice earned a judgemental look from Erica, who quickly went back to painting Max’s nails, El braiding her hair. He realised how guilty that made him look, and what did he have to be guilty for, really? He didn’t care, but Eddie was his friend, and he knew what he liked, and –

“Steve…” Nancy started, finally doing more than just watch the chaos unfold.

Steve crossed his arms, “I don’t.”

Robin’s expression shifted from mocking to outright mischievous; Steve held his breath.

“And does this happen to have anything to do with the copy of Lord of the Rings beside your bed,” she tilted her head as she talked, her smirk only growing. Steve didn’t think it was possible for a smile to be that big. “The one that has Property of Eddie Munson scrawled on the inside cover?”

Steve tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but choked instead. Why was his throat closing up right now?

“I see,” Nancy mused. “And would this also be why you suddenly stick around to watch the guys play Dungeons and Dragons?”

If Steve had known this was what they’d be like together, he wouldn’t have told Robin he was okay with her crush on his ex-girlfriend. He was going to have to rescind his blessing.

Except for the fact that they weren’t entirely wrong. This was the first time he’d put so much effort into learning someone’s likes and dislikes since Nancy, since he’d gone out of his way to integrate himself into their hobbies.

And sure, Nancy’s hobbies at the time mostly involved studying, which helped him too, but still.

He’d never paid attention to this stuff before. Not even for Dustin. And Dustin’s the kid brother he never had.

What made Eddie so different?

Deep down, he knew.

It was too much. Too much to take in and inspect and assess on what was supposed to be a relaxing Sunday evening. He felt it when his heart started to race, when his breaths became more shallow.

Robin placed a hand on his arm, instantly soothing him, even in the midst of the biggest crisis of Steve’s life.

“You know Eddie’s gay, right?” she asked, her voice much softer and full of sincerity.

“He – what?” Steve frowned, keeping his eyes on the floor. “No. He’s – no.”

“He clocked me right away,” Robin insisted. “I’m so bad at knowing who’s gay or not, but apparently Eddie is great at it.”

Steve took a moment to think over that, to think what it might mean for his current realisation. He didn’t speak for what felt like forever, words and epiphanies flying around his mind.

“Steve?” Robin broke through his haze softly, concerned eyes boring into him.

“Mhmm?”

“You should talk to him.”

***

Crossposted to AO3 here

I may write a part two...

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steve's bisexual awakening #fluff #steddie fluff #minor ronance mention #zo writes

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victorluvsalice · 5 months ago

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Happy Birthday Nebby!

@nebbychan -- As per your suggestion of doing something with your Modern AU takes on Dan and Kiya from MediEvil (specifically "Maybe the two chatting at a museum about their favorite time periods (Dan can brag about his minor degree in Medieval Studies and Kiya can do the same with her Egyptology studies)"), here's the pair at a museum, specifically chatting about Medieval European and Ancient Egyptian weaponry! Because, to be honest, the first things that popped into my head when thinking about the prompt were these two posts on wacky polearms by prokopetz. XD Hope you enjoy!

“...and that one, right there? That’s a Bohemian Ear-Spoon.”

Kiya raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You are definitely making that one up.”

“Nope,” Dan told her with his biggest, toothiest grin. “Completely real. Check out the label.”

Kiya squinted at him, then turned her attention to the identification tag plastered to the case. A moment later, her eyes went wide. “What even,” she declared, standing up straight.

“I know!” Dan said, laughing. “And you know what? That thing is not nearly the weirdest polearm out there. I’ve seen one that looked like one of those fancy pointy spikes you see on top of churches with a blender attachment on the side.”

“Seriously? European weapons are bizarre,” was Kiya’s opinion on that. She glanced up at him. “So – did they tell you in uni why that one’s called an ‘Ear-Spoon’ of all things?”

“Oh, this is one of those weird ones where the original name doesn’t translate well to English,” Dan explained. “But most people think it’s ‘cause they call those two triangular bits forming the guard the ‘ears.’”

“Ah – well, that’s better than what I originally thought.”

Dan tilted his head. “Do I want to know?”

Kiya made a motion like she was jamming something into her ear while pulling a face. “I think you can guess.”

Dan grimaced, his very teeth seeming to flex with the motion. “Yeah...kind of prefer to avoid that kind of ear-spooning,” he said, absently brushing his bangs a little more over his eye patch.

Kiya winced. “Yeah, I – sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Dan assured her, holding up his hands with an awkward grin. “Shit happens, you know? It’s not a big deal or anything. I definitely don’t want it spoiling our date.”

“Me either.” Kiya took one of his hands, smiling warmly. “I’m having a really good time. I didn’t expect learning about the fifty million polearms Medieval Europe invented would be so interesting.”

Dan snorted. “Well, I gotta make sure someone other than me gets some use out of my minor,” he said, smile much more genuine now. “And it is pretty neat that they came up with so many different variations. You wouldn’t think there would be that many ways to change up ‘sharp pointy metal bit on stick.’” He regarded Kiya curiously. “You get anything like that with Ancient Egyptian weaponry?”

“Not really – Ancient Egypt honestly had something of a problem making any effective weapons until the New Kingdom period,” Kiya said, slipping into “curator” mode. “And even then, they mainly advanced because they’d been conquered by the Hyksos – foreign rulers who slipped into power while the main Egyptian dynasty was crumbling – and they were able to pilfer a lot of knowledge of arms off them before they drove them out.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Mainly, using bronze tips on their spears to help them hold an edge better and longer,” Kiya said with a little chuckle. “Though they also created the javelin in that time, and they used that to pretty great effect in their later campaigns. Honestly, though, my favorite Egyptian weapon from that time period is the Khopesh.”

“Oh?” Dan leaned in, intrigued. “What’s that? Guessing not a spear?”

“Nope – a large curved sword that looks something like a sickle,” Kiya told him, grinning. “Only with the sharp edge on the outside. Pharaohs from that time period are often depicted wielding it because it was known as a very dangerous and powerful weapon – one more than fit for a king.” She giggled. “And like your Ear-Spoon, the name might come from a body part – some scholars believe it was derived from the Egyptian word for ‘leg’ because it looks vaguely like a haunch of beef.”

Dan laughed. “That’s great!” He looked around the room. “You think they might have one of those here? I know they’ve got an Egyptian exhibit...”

Kiya linked her arm through his, face bright. “Let’s go and find out.”

Bohemian Ear-Spoon On Wikipedia

Ancient Egyptian Weapons: The Evolution of Warfare

Khopesh On Wikipedia

#happy birthday #nebbychan #fanfic #medievil #modern au #we'll assume the museum they're at has the Egyptian stuff on loan as part of a trade #but yeah first thought was 'I gotta have Dan tell Kiya about the Bohemian Ear-Spoon' XD #and of course I had to reference the khopesh since that's Kiya's weapon of choice in your fanfic #turned out to be a pretty fun time researching all this #I expected the Ear-Spoon to be more #well spoony :p #and yeah my first thought about the name was also #'designed for shoving in people's ears'#but nope apparently it comes from the pointy little guards #learn something new every day #and I though the khopesh would be more sword-like but apparently not #...and it just occurred to me that I have in fact seen pharaohs holding it in art #I had an Egyptian phase as a kid and THAT was probably the curved thingy they were always holding!#revelation!#anyway hope you enjoy :)#queued

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endlessly-cursed · 2 years ago

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Primrose Gray’s Legacy, Act One: The Younger Years, Chapter Four: The Arrangement

A/N: Finals are finally over and holidays are over the horizon, so this series will get my undivided attention. Expect more of this series after the long radio silence!

Summary: Primrose’s life takes a drastic change that will mark her youth

OCs featured: William Devlin ( @unfortunate-arrow ) Henry of Alderly ( @gaygryffindorgal ) and his family

OCs mentioned: The Stolberg-Burkes (also Gryff) the Coventries and the Hastings ( @camillejeaneshphm ) the Aldens ( @cursed-herbalist )

Warnings: A bit of classism of the era

Word Count: 2.2k

Taglist: @gaygryffindorgal @nicos-oc-hell @slytherindisaster @camillejeaneshphm @hphmmatthewluther @thatravenpuffwitch let me know if you want me to either add you or remove you!!

1889

Vincent Gray had been invited to a gentlemen-only soiree, and wanting to escape the women’s scheming, he was gladdened to accept. It seemed like finally he was being accepted in high society by his fellow male peers, a bit tired of ambitious mamas.

Especially he was escaping his wife’s machinations. He could still recall their argument later in the morrow.

“Why can’t you see how advantageous this match could be?!” She shouted “Our daughter would be protected and no one would doubt her claim! Maria Elisabeth married a duke herself.”

“Yes, and that duke ruled her and Winbourne! Just like Frederick was the one taken into account while Henriette remained in the shadows.”

Victoria looked at him “What do you have against the Alderlies, exactly?”

“They are Hanoverians, Vicky!” He cried out “You know what happens to their wives! Everybody does!”

“Are you implying that Henry is not enough husband for our girl?”

“Henry’s a good lad. I’m more worried about his parents and close peers. And the fact that they’d likely swallow the estate into theirs and centuries of work would go to the seven hells!”

Victoria raised her hands “What do you suggest, then? Anyone in mind?”

“Yes. Someone who doesn’t have ties or a title to tend. Someone who will not stand in the way of her claim. Perhaps in the Wizarding World.”

Victoria turned back at him and slowly came close to him “I am the viscountess here, and our daughter will marry whom I say, end of the discussion.”

Vincent sighed, rubbing his temples. Then, suddenly, a thump woke him from his trance and saw a rather tipsy Lord Carlisle greeting him “Ah, Lord Vincent, what a surprise!”

“My lord. What brings you here?”

“Well, I’ve heard that you are looking for a groom for your girl. I have a ward her age. Shy, likes drawing and quiet. His name is William.”

Vincent’s eyebrows shot up in amusement “Are you proposing your… ward for my girl?”

He nodded, gulping another drink “You see, I’ve heard, and correct me if I’m wrong, that you wish for your daughter to marry someone who won’t stand in the way of her claim. The boy has no noble ties, no title or a name to tend to. I’m happy to educate him to be her shadow and know his place as her future husband.”

“People will talk.” Vincent remarked.

“And will you listen to what they say, my lord? It could be an advantageous match…”

Vincent observed the man for a minute, taking in everything he said. The rumours were everywhere that he was the boy’s father, and it’d cause some trouble for Primrose, but perhaps, if they were engaged, the people wouldn’t doubt him as much.

“Lord Paul, how about if you come see me this Tuesday at four o’clock so we can discuss this properly?”

He smiled, shaking his hand “I’ll be there.”

“Let us hope you remember.” He joked.

For the next months, Paul and Vincent discussed back-and-forth how their engagement would work.

“…Of course, Primrose will be the head of the house.”

“…It’ll be wise that they have separate bank accounts.”

“…Won’t have any obligations until they’re introduced in society.”

“…Eighteen would be a good age for him to propose.”

“…Must learn in the meantime the history of the Somersets.”

“…In exchange for her hand I can give you…”

Right a few weeks before the boy’s ninth birthday, they had already settled a contract and would meet to sign it properly, everything planned and agreed. But secretly, he had been in the lookout for any other bachelor who’d pop up.

On Victoria’s point of view, not only the Alderlies had proposed their son, the Coventries and the Aldens had proposed their respective sons. Victoria had rejected the second, for he was a bit old for her tastes and had heard that he had already picked his future bride. When the scandal of the only Coventry boy and heir being homosexual came out, Victoria wrote to them rejecting their prospect.

Another families had stepped up, offering their sons that were her age. Vincent had investigated the Greek boy, Adonis, and Victoria had liked the di Napoli boy, Ernest, if she recalled correctly. But Ernest’s family was problematic and the Greek boy didn’t have the qualities he looked for a groom in his daughter, so they were rejected as well.

In the end, he was where he started: with the Devlin boy as the final prospect. Legitimacy controversies aside, they were a good match: he was just as intelligent, knowing French as well, a capital student and in the way of becoming a sportsman. It was definitely better this way, with someone unimportant in the eyes of society so he wouldn’t outshine his girl, the important piece in the chess.

Soon, Paul called proposing a dinner at his estate to see if they’d match after their speculations and also have a celebration for their ninth birthdays, since they were very close in age. He was quick to accept and told Victoria of his intrigues. The response was a Romanian vase being thrown to his head, which he hardly missed.

“YOU ENGAGED MY DAUGHTER TO A BASTARD?! WITHOUT CONSULTING ME?!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. He had never heard her scream like that ever since last year, when she had miscarried their last child.

“I know how it seems, but we must see the bigger picture here—,”

“Oh, and what would that be?!”

“He is a good boy! A good student, intelligent, with no ambition or ties to any sort of state or title, the perfect husband that won’t outshine the important person here: Prim!”

“I don’t see why she shouldn’t marry someone of rank! Or with an actual fortune! Last night the Stolberg-Burkes called. They consider their son a worthy groom of our daughter, and so do I! And it’s never too late for Henry!”

“Please, give the Devlin boy a chance.”

Victoria scoffed “You’ve made your decision. Go on, tell me what the hell have you plotted now.”

He looked down, ready for the shouting “We have signed a contract. We only need your signature.”

Silence. Then, ruffling movement of skirts. Then, another vase was thrown, and he had to duck this time “Victoria, enough!” He cried.

“YOU SIGNED A CONTRACT WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO DO ANYTHING WITH MY HEIR WITHOUT ME?!”

“YOUR HEIR?!”

“YES!” She yelled “MY HEIR, MY HOUSE, MY BLOODLINE.”

He nodded, anger and bitterness building up “And I am just the lucky sperm-man who gave you what you needed to continue it, am I not?”

Victoria realised what she had said, and started to try form a sentence. He didn’t give her a chance. He instead left, slamming the door close. He didn’t hear Victoria’s sobs, but could tell that he’d be sleeping in the guest room.

8th of July, 1889

Victoria had dressed in the Somerset blue and black, while Vincent had dressed the Slytherin green and both seemed distant to one another. Many children had been invited to their joint birthday party. Primrose, thankfully, was a good girl and was happy to share her birthday bash with someone else and make a new friend. They were now speaking to one another in French, and while weary of her presence, he seemed to like her well enough. Primrose, was, of course, intrigued by him and why the sudden interest on a minor noble family. Henry was quick to snatch her to play, and invited William along.

They ran off to the gardens, which weren’t as grand as the ones in Winbourne, but still nice to look at. Lord Paul was, of course, trying to win over Victoria, showering her with compliments and the sort of flattery, but Victoria was as cold as the Antarctica itself, offering cold and calculated smiles and dry ‘thank you’. She glared to her husband from time to time, muttering things about the decoration of choice and how one could tell that the place lacked a woman to take care of things properly.

“I’d be much obliged to tell you all about the bachelorettes who are in the lookout for a… humble husband like yourself, my lord.” She smiled, clearly trying to get a raise out of him, but it seemed that Vincent had warned him. He smiled tightly, raising his glass.

Louise leaned and whispered something about a portrait of the late viscount and Victoria laughed coldly. She looked back at the garden, where Georgia helped Primrose up and observed a quiet William drifting away. She wondered why wasn’t he following probable orders to impress the girl.

“Vicky, dear, have I ever told you about my nephew Caspian Hastings? He is available, a future marquess to the Hastings line and very much a bachelor…”

Primrose had decided to follow the Devlin boy into a hayloft and observed he was drawing something under his shirt, focused on it.

“What are you drawing?” She asked.

The boy looked up and cleared his throat, raising a bit his sketchbook “Nothing. Aimlessly drawing.”

Primrose showed her hands “I understand if you don’t want to show. I know we’ve been introduced, but with all that noise… I’m Lady Primrose Gray of Winbourne.” She extended her hand.

“William Devlin.” He shook her hand.

She sat in front of him, a respectful distance between them “It seems like our fathers wanted us to meet. Do you think he’s fishing for allies?”

“He is… that is, he is not my father, he is my guardian.”

“…Of course, my apologies. What are your theories on this whole soiree?”

1892

There had been several events, and Primrose had seen for herself some suitors from her mother, and had done her best to impress everyone with her piano and harp skills, which she had practised. According to Bea, men were inclined to women who had a good sense of music and who looked pristine and put-together, so she always chose sensible colours for her presentation. The Devlin boy had been invited, but he was not present. Probably sketching somewhere.

Someone went to fetch him. Her father was going to make an announcement. Primrose looked at Henry, and he looked at her too. Perhaps they’ve finally reached an agreement? Everyone looked at her father expectantly, a choking silence filling the room.

“As you know, my wife and I have been looking for a suitable groom for our little treasure, and we like to think we’ve found the perfect man for it. Hence, I have decided to announced the engagement of my daughter, the Lady Primrose… to William Devlin, Lord Carlisle’s ward.”

Her mother said nothing, perhaps bracing herself for something.

“I’m sorry?!” Duchess Louise cried.

“This is outrageous! Victoria, you told us that we were your first priority!” Duke Thomas argued. Henry just sank in his seat.

“Hah! I can think of better men here than that—,”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Primrose cried. William, who had been trying to withdraw, had been seized by Primrose’s hand, and she looked defiantly at the adults. She was playing a big gamble, but William did not deserve this “It was my choice,” she declared “my father presented me with all of the candidates and I chose Mr. Devlin. I chose him, not my parents. I understand your anger, but I will not allow you to insult my bridegroom.” She lifted her chin, and William looked at her, bewildered. Everyone sat down, and she swore the duke downed his glass. “From now on, you will speak to him with respect, for my sake and Winbourne’s.”

Henry stood up and lifted his glass “To Lady Primrose and Mr. Devlin, then.” The other candidates soon followed.

As they began whispering, William finally left, taking the chance that her grip had nearly vanished and Primrose followed. She chased him to the gardens. He noticed her and turned around “Why did you do it?”

“They were insulting you, sir. I couldn’t allow it. The choice is made. We will marry when we are older, and it is our duty to look out for the other.”

Something in his face flickered, and his shoulders softened “Thank you. I don’t think anybody has defended me that way before.”

Primrose smiled tightly, and nodded “I will leave you to your own thoughts. You know where to find me.”

Primrose walked to her room, already retiring to bed, when she found her mother there. She looked like she had aged a thousand years. She motioned her to sit with her “What you did today was brave. Not many would’ve defended a boy like him with such fierceness and bravery. But we can put an end to this if you wish. The Stolberg-Burke’s offer still stands…”

“No. I want it to leave it the way Papa has done. Besides, I think that I can finally do something good with my title. I think that his tie to me protects him from rumours.”

Victoria smiled widely and kissed her head soundly “When did my girl become so benevolent and wise?”

Primrose leaned on her mother and didn’t hear Victoria mutter “I will find a way out of this farce. You will marry for love, even if it’s the last thing I achieve, so help me God.”

#hp victorian era #hp fanfiction #primrose gray's legacy #pgl book one #the younger years #oc: primrose sabrina gray #vincent gray #victoria gray #william devlin #henry of alderly #mywriting*

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dessarious · 2 years ago

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How to Not Get a Date Pt17

Beginning Previous

Awkward. That was the only way to describe the atmosphere in Chloe’s room a week later. Marinette kept looking between Chloe and Damian, hoping one of them would actually speak. She knew exactly why Chloe was freaking out and not making eye contact, but it didn’t seem like Damian was much better. She finally gave up.

"So, Damian, what did you need to talk to us about?" He looked her way, but didn’t actually look at her. What the hell?

"Our parents have decided to let us figure out these dates and the timeline we want the ‘relationship’ to follow. We’ll just need to let them know when we’re going out so they can leak it to specific news organizations."

"Oh, that’s good at least. No offense, but I was kinda dreading going to a bunch of upscale establishments that charge more for a meal than my parents make in a day. Audrey doesn’t know how to do low key." Damian’s face went a bit pink and Mari had a feeling he didn’t know how to either. "But you seem upset. Did you want them to do everything?"

"I am not upset, merely annoyed." Mari raised an eyebrow at him, and Damian clicked his tongue in aggravation. "My father decided to tell the rest of the family what was going on since it will be in the media. I’ve been getting calls and texts from my more idiotic siblings trying to ‘help’ me." Mari winced.

"You have my sympathies on that. Maybe we could take a look at some of them when we’re done and pick them apart to show them how flawed they are." that got the barest hint of a smirk.

"That might be acceptable." His expression turned into a frown again when he looked over at Chloe. She was still fidgeting and refusing to make eye contact.

"Chloe and I have something to discuss with you as well." That got her attention, and full on panic.

"No, we don’t!" Mari just sighed and gave her a flat look. "We’re good. Everything’s good."

"You want to try that again to see if you can make it more believable, or do you want to get to the point so we can all get on with things? You can’t even relax enough to help with this right now."

"I can’t." Poor Chloe. She really couldn’t do this. It was one more thing Mari blamed her parents for. Andre and Audrey hadn’t bothered to help Chloe learn how to deal with her feelings at all, especially when it came to someone she liked.

"Do you want me to do it?" They’d practiced what she wanted to say to Damian, so Mari knew what to do, but it really should come from the source.

"You shouldn’t be pushing the issue if it upsets her this much." He was being protective, which was a good sign.

"It’s stressing her out, and will just get worse the longer this goes on. Chloe." The other girl flinched and Mari took her hands to give a comforting squeeze. "You can do this."

"I want to go out with you!" Chloe had her eyes closed and basically yelled the words in Mari’s face.

"I thought you were already going out with her." Damian just sounded confused, and with good reason.

"You Damian. She wants to date you." He just frowned at them, and Chloe still wouldn’t open her eyes. She had an impressive death grip on Mari’s hands as well.

"When did you two break up?" It was probably best to not confuse him more with the whole story.

"We didn’t. She wants to date us both." That got a scowl.

"I barely know you. Why would I date you?" Chloe’s grip tightened even more somehow, and Marinette shot Damian a glare.

"Chloe, he was talking to me, not you. And to answer your question, you wouldn’t be dating me. Her relationship with you would be separate from her relationship with me. Well, as much as it can be with what’s going on, at least." On the plus side, it didn’t sound like he had an issue with multiple partners. "We would all need to sit down and figure out basic rules and guidelines for how things would work, but beyond that, you and I will just remain… acquaintances." She wanted to say friends, because she thought they were headed in that direction, but at this point he might argue the label and Chloe was already about to have a heart attack.

"I have never heard of such an arrangement before." Well, he didn’t say no.

"You should look up ethical non-monogamy when you get a chance. Just be careful which sites you visit." She’d learned that one the hard way when she was looking information up for Kagami a year before. Someone had been trying to pull her into their relationship as a third, and everything about the way they acted was a red flag. "But in the meantime, could you tell Chloe whether or not you’re interested in her, so she’ll stop cutting off circulation to my fingers?"

She couldn’t help the exasperation in her voice. Chloe had been panicking on and off all week, and Damian was just drawing out the conversation. If he didn’t say something soon, there could very well be an Akuma on the way.

"I moved to Paris." He said that like it was the answer, and if Chloe weren’t so far gone, it might be. It was one of the many arguments Mari had used to convince Chloe that Damian liked her. Mari rolled her eyes at him, and his cheeks darkened before he mumbled. "Dating would be acceptable." Acceptable? She knew Damian wasn’t great at expressing himself, but come on.

"Really?" Chloe’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, and she still hadn’t loosened her grip, but she did manage to actually look at Damian. He cleared his throat.

"I had planned on bringing up the subject myself before I found out you two were in a relationship." Marinette tried to hold in a laugh and ended up in a coughing fit instead. None of this would have happened if Chloe hadn’t freaked out and asked her to go to the Gala. Chloe rubbed her back while Damian just frowned at her. She hoped he would see the irony if they ever got around to telling him everything. "And you’re actually fine with this arrangement as well?" She understood his skepticism, especially given the way jealousy was constantly overblown in the media.

"I am. I understand why some people wouldn’t be, but I think the only thing needed for a strong relationship are trust, communication, and respect. As long as everyone involved has all the information and chooses to proceed, I’d say it’s healthier than a lot of regular relationships. For me personally, I want the person or people I’m with to be happy. If that requires other people, so be it." He was still frowning at her, but it looked more contemplative than anything else.

"How exactly would this change our current plans?" Mari just cocked her head at him. "I'm supposed to break up with you for Chloe. If we're both dating her, it could cause problems when it gets out." Yes, let's shoot straight past the emotional part and jump into problem solving. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes.

"This type of relationship isn't likely to play well in the press, regardless of anything else. I can always bow out of the relationship to let you two be together publicly, and everyone will assume Chloe and I are still just friends." It was the least complicated way to do things.

"But then we can't go on dates." Chloe's concern was cute, if unnecessary.

"I'd rather spend time with just you than be stared at by people, anyway. Not to mention as long as we're careful about what we say and don't make out in public, no one is going to think twice about two friends spending time together." It was another reason for her to be the one to back down publicly. No one noticed two girls being close, physically or emotionally. Granted, with how Damian acted in public, it might not be an issue either, but it was better to be cautious.

"I don't want you to feel like some dirty secret. And what about if you two decide you want to date other people? You're perfectly fine with having to hide relationships?" Damian scowled at her.

"What other people?" Mari couldn't tell if he was confused or offended.

"Well, given that I'm dating both of you, it's only fair that you could also date someone else." That got a more contemplative frown.

"I have no wish to date other people. I think it's best to leave any discussion of it alone unless that changes."

"But-"

"Chloe, he doesn't have to date other people." Mari took her hand and rubbed soothing circles on it because she looked like she was about to panic. "I just meant that we would be allowed the option if we wanted it. It doesn't mean either of us is going to take it. Honestly, I've got more than enough on my plate as it is. Looking for another relationship right now just seems exhausting. Damian's right, we'll worry about it if it happens." She still looked worried.

"It just seems selfish."

"You're not forcing us to be in this relationship, and you're not saying you'll dump us if we decide to date other people. This is our decision." Chloe looked like she wanted to argue, but her phone beeped. She looked at it and sighed.

"Daddy wants to talk to me. I'll be back."

"Take your time. Damian and I need to discuss some things anyway." Chloe just blinked at her before nodding. Once Chloe was out of the room, Damian scowled at her.

"What exactly do we need to discuss?" Well, this was going to be fun.

"Boundaries for one. Chloe told me about how you didn't like me touching Adrien. I'm a very tactile person, so I need to know how much I should tone it down when the three of us are together. I would be fine seeing the two of you be affectionate and kiss in front of me, but I have a feeling us doing it would make you uncomfortable. If this is going to work, we need to be on the same page."

"I see your point." He sounded extremely unhappy about that, and it took everything in her to keep a straight face. He would be so much fun to tease. "I do not know how I would feel about such things. It might be best to address issues as they come up."

"As long as you talk to me, or us, instead of yelling or storming off. I don't want Chloe stressed about how one of us is going to react to things. This is new territory for all of us, but she's the one in the middle. Any issues you have with me, or vice versa, we need to handle without making her feel like it's her fault."

"You don't like me." He said it as a fact and she let out an annoyed sigh.

"I don't like that you hurt Chloe because you don't take her feelings into consideration before you speak and act."

"I do not intend to hurt her."

"That really doesn't make it better." Mari wasn't sure what to make of the expression on his face.

"How do I fix it?" It took her a moment to realize that was a serious question. One she had no idea how she should answer.

"How do you... You care about her feelings." The way he frowned at her made her feel like she was speaking a different language.

"I do care." She could tell he meant it. Unfortunately, that put her at an impasse.

"You need to care before you hurt her. You need to think about how what you say will make her feel."

"How am I supposed to know how she'll feel about it?" Oh. Well, that presented a problem.

"You need to get to know her better, I suppose. When you understand someone, you can get a good sense of how they'll react to things. You know how your actions or words will affect your family, don't you?" The way his nose crinkled in confusion worried her. What kind of person had to think about that? She was starting to think there might actually be something wrong with him.

"I suppose, but I always considered it a survival necessity because we live in the same house." There was more to that he wasn't saying, but she had no idea what. She was also far more worried about what he did say.

"Survival?" He just nodded. Okay... she could work with that. "Well, consider this the same thing. If you want the relationship to survive, you need to know the other person well enough to anticipate their needs and emotions." It was extremely over simplified but she figured it was best to start slowly. He just gave a thoughtful hum. "Is... is everything alright at home?"

"Of course." That was less than convincing. One more thing to worry about.

Beginning Previous

Tag List @peachedpocky @ladybug-182 @moonlightstar64 @smolplantmum

#maribat #polyamory #chloe bourgeois #Damian Wayne #marinette dupain cheng #hot mess chloe bourgeois #Damian doesn't know how to people

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red9 · 1 year ago

Note

next time something like this happens, you have to promise to tell me.

PATCHING UP WOUNDS // @herosace

More often than not he was painted a villain, for it was much easier to put hatred to a face and a name rather than a concept that lingered from some years ago. It was something he’d grown accustomed to, knowing that despite the rights he tried to wrong, there would always be those who hated him for a cause he no longer worked for. A ghost from his past he’d never outrun, despite trying time and time again. Yet through the hatred, the cruelty, he held strong- not just for himself, but for the man he’d come to adore. Even as he took to their cause, played by the rules, took up a life of trying to fix what he’d broken so many years ago- there were those that would rather see him dead to avenge those he lost.

It would happen at the times he’d least expect it. Be it coming and going from work, a midnight coffee break, or even out with his love on a Friday night, attempting a life of normalcy with his partner. Some faces he would know from passing, mainly field men working for the government, or the BSAA, those who took up arms to help the cause to avenge those they lost. It was often those that held anger when they’d learned of his past, thinking that maybe if they raised a fist or had a chance to spit in his direction it would bring peace to the dead that were long since gone. And what was worse, was that he never knew when it would happen.

How it started with a cigarette, the day having shifted to night with hardly any notice as he’d work. It was only when he needed a moment of relief that he’d make his way outside, still in a fine pressed lab coat, name tag on with his lighter twirling in hand. At times he’d forget what significance that red and white logo held as it was engraved into gold. Certainly the last thing on his mind when he’d be approached for a light, another soldier in need of someone with a flame- and how he was more than willing to oblige. Frightening, the way light conversation could quickly turn sour, like watching a flame ignite in a stranger’s eyes, the rage that would overtake them happening in an instant as they’d realize who he was.

The rest was always history, ending up on his ass as a flash of white pain would overtake him. A single swift punch, and he’d be laid out on the floor, ears ringing as he’d clutch his bloodied face, scrambling for his lost lighter as he’d take a walk of shame back to his laboratory to smoke in peace. Though blood still stained his lab coat, and his head would ache for a while, at least in there came privacy, attempting to hide what was done before Chris would arrive to drive them home for the night.

It was the sound of his voice that would raise his head from over the sink, the blood mainly clean from under his nose, lip slightly split as it held the cigarette loosely to a side. Given the chance he’d die with smoke in his lungs, so the sting was hardly noticed as he’d turn to greet the other. Hoping he wouldn’t notice- but the man was far too keen, too quick to catch on. All it took was a weak smile, and the cheery expression he often was met with was quick to disappear off his lover’s face. Concern mainly, as he’d feel him pluck the cigarette from his lips, never wanting to be the cause of the crease between his brows. “It was nothing, a misunderstanding-” so quick to brush off any worries he may have had. Yet still he was adamant, eyes never leaving his, feeling as though he could see right through his playful act to the fear he held inside. What would happen when one day someone would go too far?

‘Next time something like this happens, you have to promise to tell me.’

Hands raised to gently take hold of his wrists, removing worried hands from his face. Instead he turned, lips meeting his palm in a tender kiss to soothe his troubled mind. “I promise, next time someone tries something, I’ll call you first thing. Then you can come down here, be the big man and scare them off for me. You’re good at that.” To think, he was just one more thing for the man to worry about- he never wanted to be that. Eyes dropped at the thought, attempting to try and shift the mood around to something lighter. “I was hoping you might play nurse for me- help take my mind off the pain for a while. I wasn’t done working- but I’m thinking I’ll cut it short, if you were planning on calling it for the night.”

#herosace #v: main.#ask.

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undercoverbastard · 2 years ago

Text

How to Get Unlimited Sleepovers

It took a minute, but suddenly Stiles froze and felt his stomach plummet. Hale. He’d heard that before. He’d heard it recently. It was the center of conversation in passing with his dad, asking why the older man looked so tired and the reason he gave as to why Reese had to spend more time with Mrs. Barker the past few days.

Leo Hale was missing. Or well, he wasn’t missing, he was obviously in Stiles’ living room. But no one else knew that! And oh god, Leo Hale - the Hales. They were werewolves. And he had accidentally-not-really-but-kinda-sorta kidnapped said werewolves’ kid. Oh shit.

+.+.+ OR: Accidental kidnapping, lack of communication, and odd soul bonding happens! I got really carried away with the kidnapping and kid aspects so there's Gentle Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski but it's there!

Archive of Our Own Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43913400

“Reese!”

Stiles glared up the stairs, his daughter’s head poking out around the corner and looking at him with wide innocent eyes. He would not be fooled by that look. Stiles invented that look. He used that look all the way through high school and then some (even though it stopped working before he even hit middle school).

“Yes, Papa?” Reese asked sweetly, her voice soft and gentle. She was laying it on thick - and that just made Stiles’ radar go way off.

“Why are there muddy paw prints all across our dining room floor?” he asked pointedly, his hands coming up to brace themselves on his hips. The little girl at the top of the staircase seemed to shrink in size, an air of defeat already clouding the room.

“No reason…” she mumbled, staring at the floor. Stiles raised an eyebrow, humming as he stared her down. She was his kid. He knew if he gave the ole stink eye he’d learned from his own father long enough she’d break.

“Well…” Reese finally spoke up, “it was raining! And it was cold, Papa! If you didn’t want me outside, why should he have to be out there!”

Stiles groaned as he saw a furry little head poke itself around the corner right under his daughter, the eyes almost as wide and innocent looking as his own daughter’s. After staring down the (admittedly cute) furry little creature, he sighed in defeat. As if to drive the final nail into his crumbling resolve, a loud crack of thunder echoed throughout the house. He wouldn’t want anyone out in the current storm - even if it was a four-legged little beast.

“Reese, bubs, someone’s probably missing him-”

“But they’re not, Papa! We play every day, he’s here all the time,” Reese argued, “he’s just… inside this time.”

Huffing, Stiles shook his head and admitted defeat with a wave of his hands. “Fine, I hope your furry-headed little friend likes grilled cheese because that’s what we’re having.”

Stiles really should be used to this by now. His daughter was a creature of the forest herself, born of magic and mischief, her heart rooted next to the oldest tree in the forest and her mind swimming in the highest clouds above it. She brought home more animals than he could possibly name - though rabbits, frogs, and (unfortunately) raccoons seemed to be the most common. His daughter couldn’t just find a stray cat or two - no, she had to attract the lost souls of the woods right up to their doorstep.

At least, Stiles thought graciously, they were all well-behaved. It was Reese’s connection to nature, he knew. The way she seemed to tame and befriend any and all animals. They all acted as if they’d lived with her their whole lives. Deer ate from her palm, raccoons snuggled in her lap, and birds sat happily on top of her head. They were all primed and ready for a Disney movie, not a single one missing a beat on the How to Be Polite checklist.

This, however, was pushing it. Having gotten used to the wild animals roaming around his life, Stiles’ only rule was that they stay outside. An occasional bird had flown in through the window, and a deer once stuck their head through the back door, but Reese seemed to take to heart the ‘no wild animals in our house’ rule.

At least she only brought a dog inside, Stiles grumbled to himself mirthlessly. At least he wasn’t dealing with a yipping fox or a stomping deer or a pecking woodpecker. Small miracles, right?

Stiles was abruptly yanked from his grumbling when he heard his daughter giggle excitedly, a small rumble of footsteps sounding from overhead, and a small, soft yip from the dog echoing throughout the halls. Despite himself, Stiles smiled and shook his head, grabbing out the ingredients for grilled cheese and tomato soup.

+.+.+

In retrospect, he should’ve seen this coming. It had been two weeks since the storm and slowly but surely, the dog had wormed its way into their house on a near-daily basis. It had started as the pup just following Reese inside for snacks and water, wandering back outside to continue playing right after. Then, it became normal to see Reese curled up in a huddle of blankets in the living room, dog beside her, reading her books.

But this? Stiles hadn’t even fully realized it until just now but the dog (Mouse, he’d begun to call him in his head, as he seemed to love cheese and was none too shy about snagging it when left out in the open) had been at their house for three days. Day and night, it would seem.

Stiles hadn’t initially noticed, used to seeing the two of them in the backyard and even in the living room, but when his dad asked about the new “four-legged addition to the family” when he got off of work, Stiles had a sudden realization. Mouse had been at breakfast both yesterday and today. He had noticed an uptick in giggles and rumbling footsteps upstairs the last couple of nights.

“Yea… I… Reese found him and I guess we adopted a dog,” Stiles groaned, explaining to his father as he saw him out the door. John simply grinned wryly at his son, enjoying the payback his son seemed to be getting in exchange for the troubles he himself experienced with a once 7-year-old Stiles.

John laughed, clapping his son on the shoulder before seeing himself out. Normally he’d swing Reese around and kiss her silly upon departure, but even he sensed how inseparable the girl and dog were. Stiles ran his hand through his hair, huffing a quiet laugh as he watched them play in the living room together.

It could be worse, Stiles thought, at least his daughter hadn’t brought home any stray raccoons or random deer in a while. He could handle a dog in exchange for not dealing with the plethora of woodland creatures that used to take up his backyard.

+.+.+

Unfortunately, as with most things in the Stilinski household, all good things come to an end. Abruptly.

It had only been another two days of Mouse living with them (Reese had readily agreed to the name Mouse, giggling wildly, while the dog seemed put out - how a dog could look put out, Stiles wasn’t sure). It had been fairly anti-climactic. Since it was spring break and Reese was out of school, he and his dad had been taking turns watching Reese while the other was at work, occasionally Mrs. Barker next door would come over and watch Reese for a few hours when their shifts ultimately overlapped. It was normal (seemingly).

But by that Thursday, five whole days of Mouse properly living with the Stilinskis, shit hit the fan.

“Reese, if you want to keep Mouse he needs a collar, bubs. It’s how others will know where his home is,” Stiles tried to argue, the new collar still in his hands. Reese seemed distressed by this new development. Stiles thought she’d be over the moon, taking the gesture for the acceptance of their apparent new pet, but his daughter was instead fighting it.

“No!” she screeched, her eyes wide. Stiles was beginning to get concerned, unsure as to what the actual problem was at this point.

“Reese, sweetheart, here let me show you,” Stiles tried to soothe, now kneeling down and gently reaching for the seemingly equally terrified dog. “It won’t hurt him, I’ll make sure it’s loose and everything! This way we can even take him on walks to the park - dogs need collars and leashes at the park, Reese.”

Stiles had gently guided the dog towards him but once he began to close the collar around its neck, the dog began to thrash wildly, backing up with haste as if trying to escape. Stiles, instinctively, grasped the squirming animal to avoid it thrashing into something and also to try and soothe it. The dog was whining and whimpering, Reese was hiccupping gentle sobs, and Stiles was lost.

Just as he was about to admit defeat (again) and let the animal be free of a collar, the suddenly furry, squirming bundle in his arms was… not so furry. No, it was human. With plenty of human skin. And big, wet, tearful human eyes. Stiles watched, bewildered, as the once-dog shifted into a human child. A naked human child.

“No!” the boy wailed, pushing at the hand Stiles still had the collar gripped in. Stiles immediately dropped it, staring at the child in his lap now. Stiles let the boy go who squirmed out of his lap and curled into himself, hiding partially behind the chair in the living room.

Glancing to the side, Stiles saw his daughter with tear-streaked cheeks. Her bottom lip was wobbling and she was looking at Mou- the boy with a mournful expression. She knelt down and crawled towards him, apologizing and trying to console him. It took Stiles another minute or two before his brain came back online and he pieced things together, getting himself moving into action.

“Ah… Reese, babydoll, M-... your friend needs clothes. Can you go get him some so he can get dressed?” Stiles softly asked, his hand resting on his daughter’s back. She looked at him, pausing as if she was going to deny the request, before slowly nodding.

With Reese clamoring up the stairs, Stiles squatted down closer to the boy, trying to look into his eyes and remain as calm and collected as possible.

“Hi there,” he started off, trying to be cheerful, “we haven’t properly met. I’m Stiles, Reese’s dad. I know we met when you were a do- uh… a wolf, but, uhm, I never got your actual name. Not that Mouse isn’t a cute name but I’m sure you have a much better one, one better suited for, a uh… person.” Stiles winced, embarrassed by his own rambling and stumbling over words. To his credit, however, the child before him seemed to relax ever so slightly, his wide green eyes now poking above his arm and looking back at stiles.

“Leo,” the boy murmured, and Stiles grinned widely at him. Small victories.

“Leo! What an awesome name. How about your last name, Leo?” Stiles asked.

“Hale.”

“Hale,” he repeated, mumbling it, “Your family has been looking for you, Leo. I’ve heard about it - they’ve been quite worried. They must miss you quite a lot.”

At this, Leo sniffled, a small whine echoing from the back of his throat as he looked up at Stiles, his eyes filled with fresh new tears. Thankfully, it was at this time Reese decided to return. She had a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt of Stiles’ that she liked to sleep in in-hand, rambling about how she wasn’t sure if they’d fit but she found the biggest, comfiest clothes for Leo that she could so he’d be comfortable.

Letting out a breath, Stiles quickly launched into action, standing up and gently coaxing Leo up as well, trying to discreetly maneuver him to the bathroom so he could change. He paused in the hall, grabbing Reese’s discarded pair of flip-flops and a jacket left on the stairs, adding it to the pile in Leo’s arms. The kid needed shoes, and the jacket would probably be comforting at the very least if he wasn’t cold.

Once dressed, Leo came out, his eyes red and puffy but no longer filled with tears. He stared at the ground, mumbling a string of apologies and minutely waving his hands at his sides as he tried to explain to Stiles how he just wanted to play with Reese and have sleepovers like the other kids at school but both his parents and Stiles didn’t like sleepovers (Stiles, assumed, for the same reasons - their kids were supernaturally inclined and sleepovers were a bit of a safety risk).

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Stiles soothed, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he knelt in front of him. “How about we finish off the cookies in the kitchen and you tell me where your home is, hm? I’m sure you’re family would love to see you and you must miss them, too.”

Leo sniffled and nodded, obediently following Stiles into the kitchen. Reese easily chattered enough for all three of them, filling the silence and pulling half-smiles out of her friend. They had a more-than-an-appropriate-amount of cookies with a couple of glasses of milk and Stiles was able to coax out the general location of the Hale house from Leo. He didn’t provide an actual address, but Stiles also assumed there wouldn’t be that many three-story houses in the middle of the preserve with a red mailbox at the end of the driveway (at least, he hoped).

+.+.+

Approximately twenty minutes later, after reassuring both children and rushing to get them in the car (and trying to conceal Leo as best as he could to avoid being stopped - because that was the last thing any of them needed), Stiles found himself parking in front of aforementioned three-story house in the middle of the preserve.

There were several cars out front but the house seemed oddly quiet. Stiles was hoping someone was home despite the silence as he climbed out. He no sooner pulled Leo out of the backseat of his Jeep, Reese expertly clambering out herself, that the front door slammed open.

Stiles whirled around, Leo’s hand in his, and winced when he saw not just one or two people emerge, but an entire housefull. No less than a dozen people now filled the porch and one woman was flying down the steps, arms outstretched and grabbing at Leo before Stiles could even introduce himself.

“Leo! Oh my god, where have you been?!” the woman cried, crushing the small boy to her chest. She stood in front of Stiles for only a second before her eyes snapped up and narrowed at him, backing up and shifting the small boy to the side, acting as if Stiles was going to attack at any moment. Why would he have bothered to bring Leo back if he had nefarious plans afoot? Seriously?

Backing up a step, Stiles raised his hands as if in surrender, trying to give a welcoming smile and missing by several hundred miles. The rest of the family was glaring at him and one man, in particular, was shoving his way to the front, stomping towards him. His face was downturned into a murderous glare, his shoulder set and taut.

“Hi, hi, hello!” Stiles spoke up quickly, taking another step back and pulling Reese behind him. “I, uhm, found your son uh - Leo! I found Leo.”

“Found?” the man ground out, his voice more a growl than anything else. He’d stopped just a couple of steps short in front of Stiles, glaring him down as if he could kill him with just a look. And honestly, Stiles was starting to think that was a very possible scenario.

“Uhm, well…” Stiles let out a big huff of air, glancing to the side as if looking for the words, “found is… a bit of a stretch, but not inaccurate!” Stiles reared up, meeting the man’s eyes and ready to fully explain himself, the slightest falter in his stance giving Stiles just enough of an in to hopefully fully explain himself.

“I’m sorry, Momma, I’m sorry,” Leo was crying again, seemingly shaken from the spell of silence he had been carrying since before they left Stiles’ house. “I didn’t mean to tell them but the collar scared me and I had to shift and I didn’t mean to I’m sorry, they won’t tell anyone, I promise! I’m sorry, Momma, I didn’t mean to!”

Stiles closed his eyes, sucking in a breath of air. While that string of words was not incorrect in any way and indeed told part of the story, it sounded bad. Very bad, actually.

“Collar?!” the man hissed, taking another step towards Stiles. A growl left his throat and Stiles saw his eyes flash, teeth elongating just the smallest bit. Reese, who was still behind her father but peeking out, whimpered as she sensed the growing tension.

Stiles tried to step back but felt himself and Reese collide with the Jeep. The man before him took another step and without any other options, Stiles waved his hand in an arch, pushing it forward and effectively shoving the man back until he was almost back on the steps to the porch. Stiles could feel his magic singing in his veins, could feel the rise of it in his body, the atmosphere becoming almost clouded as he draped it around himself and Reese in a cloak of defense.

“Witch,” someone growled out, several members of the family now inching back on the porch. Though, Angry Brows (the official name of the murderous man in front of him) was undeterred, simply making another step toward Stiles and Reese again.

“Look, I know how bad this all looks, and admittedly it is quite bad, but if you’d just give me a chance to explain-” Stiles tried, rushing his words.

“Leave,” a voice spoke up from the porch, drawing Stiles’ attention. He was met with a woman with a stern face, dark hair framing his sharp features, and her eyes shining a bright red. She was descending the steps, coming to stand beside Angry Brows.

“Really, please, I just want to-”

“Leave, or I’ll make you,” Angry Brows growled out. Reese was whimpering behind him again and Stiles gripped her shoulder, trying to reassure her as well as defend her through the action. He was making no headway with any of the Hales and he was beginning to fear for Reese’s safety. If they thought he’d kidnapped their child, they may not be as so kind as to treat his own with any niceties.

“Fine, okay, fine - we’ll leave. Just… let us leave, we’ll leave you alone,” Stiles placated, once more raising a hand in surrender, his eyes darting to glance back at Reese. The woman - alpha, Stiles mentally noted - grabbed Angry Brow’s shoulder, pulling him back just a step, and nodded once at Stiles. Taking it as the best form of reassurance he’d get, Stiles quickly turned and picked up Reese, sliding her into the passenger side of the car as she sniffled. Laws be damned, he wasn’t dealing with shoving her in the backseat and having his back turned to an angry pack of werewolves for more than a second.

With that, Stiles was sliding into his car and promptly drove off, his eyes flicking between the road in front of him and his rearview mirror, making sure no one was moving towards them. Once he got far enough away that he could no longer see them, Stiles pressed his foot to the gas peddle a bit harder, driving as quickly as he could back home.

Reese, for once in her waking life, remained quiet the entire time - the only sounds being her sniffles as she rubbed at her puffy eyes and her snot-ridden nose. It broke Stiles' heart, weighing him down even further with guilt. But he had other things to focus on right now; such as watching their backs for any revenge-seeking werewolves.

+.+.+

After the whole kidnapping mishap, Stiles filled in his dad (“Werewolves? We have werewolves now? For Christ’s sake…”) and made the executive decision to bring Reese with him to work for the rest of Spring Break, doing the bare minimum at the library as he kept his eyes glued to Reese who sat behind the desk in the corner, her quiet spell everlasting.

He warded their house to hell and back, lined the doors with mountain ash, carved runes into doors, chanted protections until his voice was almost gone, and then repeated it all.

No one reached out, called, or showed up at their house. John confirmed the missing person’s case had been called off, the family claiming that they found him out in the woods in an old treehouse, spinning a tale of the boy getting lost on a forest adventure. John said that aside from a side glare from the boy’s mother, she said not a peep to him nor did she mention any of the Stilinski family members - though her realization of John being related to Stiles was obvious.

It seemed like nothing would happen, though Stiles continued to ward and line the house just in case, only letting Reese out of his sight once school started again the next week. He had almost begun to believe things were cooling down, had slowly started to consider how he could try to explain all that happened (a phone call? No, they’d hang up. A letter perhaps? They could just throw it out…) when, once again, shit hit the fan.

“Papa!” Reese half screeched, half whimpered as she launched herself at her father. He had to leave work early, the school called and said his daughter was having a meltdown (though the lady at the front desk put it much nicer). When he arrived in the front office he was to see a downtrodden child, head hung and sniffles coming out. Once she became aware of his presence, Reese launched herself across the room and hugged him tighter than she should’ve been able to, crying loudly.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, alarmed. He was staring at his daughter but the glance thrown to the receptionist at the desk indicated who he was really asking. The woman, in turn, gave a half-hearted smile, concern edged into her features.

“Well, we received a call from another student’s parents requesting that their child and yours be… separated. He was transferred to a new class this morning and during recess one of the teachers saw them together and had to separate them per the request. Their child spent the remainder of the break in the library and well… that’s when this started,” the woman explained, gently gesturing at Reese towards the end. “I’m not sure what may have happened between, a uh… the families, but both children seemed very upset at being separated. Reese’s teacher said they always got along and worked together every chance they got - it was a shock for her.”

Stiles groaned quietly, running his hand down his face slowly as he pushed out a long breath of air. While he hadn’t not expected this, he also didn’t expect this exact scenario. It seemed a bit excessive, though they didn’t know the full story, Stiles had to remind himself.

“Leo Hale’s family?” Stiles asked miserably, his eyes never leaving Reese as he tried to pet her hair and shush her in as comforting a manner as possible. Predictably so, none of it worked. She was inconsolable, apologies slipping out, pleas for Stiles to fix everything, promises to be good - the whole chimichanga.

“I cannot confirm, but I’m sure if they were as… close, as it appeared, you already have your answer,” the receptionist said gently, an apologetic smile on her face. Stiles sighed but nodded, understanding. He picked Reese up, slinging her backpack over one shoulder, and signed the appropriate forms for early release, wrestling his ID card out one-handed to confirm identity.

As he turned to leave, he saw out the long windows of the office one dark-haired young woman carrying her own child out. When the child looked up, Stiles’ heart broke. It was Leo, face equally tear-stained, eyes puffy and red. He locked eyes with Reese after seeing Stiles, and Stiles faintly heard an echoing sob before they were out the door. Reese herself whimpered, curling further into her father.

With a soft thank you and goodbye to the receptionist, Stiles was carrying Reese out to the parking lot. He tried to walk slowly and linger in the corridor in front of the front entrance just a bit, hoping he would miss the Hales driving off and avoid further turmoil. Only when he got to his car, not a single other car in the visitors' parking in sight, did he let a sigh of relief out. Reese was still crestfallen, crying and hiccuping as they walked.

“Papa…?” Reese asked quietly after a few silent minutes in the car. Stiles’ eyes shot up, meeting her’s through the rearview mirror. Reese had been nearly mute the past few days since the whole scene occurred at Leo’s house. She stayed in her room instead of going outside, she mumbled instead of shouted, and she constantly looked down - she was the opposite of herself, all in all.

“Hm?” Stiles hummed out gently, not wanting to spook her as if she was a skittish animal. It seemed the only approach recently - soft words, gentle voices, slow actions.

“If I apologize to Leo’s parents do you think they’ll let us play again? I didn’t mean to get him in trouble… we just wanted a sleepover, Papa, I promise,” she whispered, eyes downcast once more. Stiles felt his heart cracking in his chest, a sob of his own threatening to tear out of his throat. Instead, he clenched the steering wheel tighter and stared down the road, trying to pick out his next words carefully.

“I don’t think Leo’s parents want to talk right now, Ree,” Stiles began, “they were quite scared when he was gone. Maybe we can try to talk to them again later. But… for now, they need some space, okay?”

Reese nodded silently. Her cries had stopped and the silence was almost worse, leaving a buzzing in Stiles’ ears. It had never been this quiet. When he was younger, he filled the silence between him and his father. Then, once Reese came into his life, she filled the silence when Stiles was unable to. They were alike in that way, always moving, always talking, noise following their every step.

But not now.

Stiles sent a silent prayer to whatever entity may be above, begging that the Hales allow an explanation. For some reason, his daughter and their son were attached at the hip and this separation jig was causing a disturbing level of upset and actual pain.

He didn’t know how much longer he could take it, and Reese seemed like she’d already been enduring it for too long.

+.+.+

The absence of Leo continued for two more weeks. Reese had to be picked up from school two more times and Stiles was beginning to consider switching her schools, despite the next closest one being almost thirty minutes from their house. Anything to try and give her some sense of normalcy.

Sheriff Stilinski had attempted to call the Hales twice, the first time he got hung up on before he even finished his introduction, the second led to a dead ring - he’d been blocked. Stiles was becoming desperate enough that he even considered driving up to the house again, preparing to ramble until his lungs gave out to try and amend the misunderstanding between the two families.

It was two weeks later on a Friday and Reese had stayed home - ‘sick’. She’d barely been sleeping, eating the bare minimum, and crying. When she woke up that morning, voice barely a croak, eyes rimmed in dark circles, and limbs sluggish, Stiles didn’t have the heart to send her to school. Mrs. Barker, ever too kind and overly concerned about the suddenly recluse child next door, didn’t hesitate to agree to stay at the Stilinski household for the day.

Stiles left for work, hearing Mrs. Barker make promises of cookies and brownies and cartoons, her voice kind and cheery. The woman may have been moving up in age with the white hair to prove it, but not even Stiles could doubt the magic of her baking and the comfort of her voice. He hoped she could get Reese to eat, even if it was pure sugar. He’d take anything he could get at this point.

At work, Stiles felt robotic. He did front desk duties, looked over reports and documents that needed proofing before being sent out, and drank cup after cup of coffee. He had become the main librarian just a year prior, Mr. Wilkins having officially retired and being much too cheerful to hand over the reins to one freshly graduated Stiles and his enthusiasm for literature. As such, he was able to push off most of the public-facing duties onto the clerks, library assistants, and all the others in between. He was thankful for that saving grace as he had seemed to lose the ability to speak, his own spell of silence overtaking his life in the wake of Reese’s own.

The day dragged on, piles of paperwork, mountains of books, loads of coffee - all of it in abundance and all of it repetitious. It wasn’t until around 3 o’clock that things became hairy.

Answering a sudden phone call, Stiles listened as a frantic Mrs. Barker unloaded a string of sentences, explaining that Reese was missing. She apologized profusely, gentle sobs heard down the line, swearing to Stiles she had double-checked all the doors and they were all locked and that she’d been keeping an eye on the stairs but never once saw Reese slip out. Stiles was sure his magical little offspring had no need to use a door, but he couldn’t very well explain that to Mrs. Barker despite his desire to reassure her he knew it wasn’t her fault.

According to Mrs. Barker, Reese had choked down a couple of cookies and stared through the TV for several episodes of whatever cartoon they found. Around 11, after denying any and all offers and suggestions of lunch, she asked to lie down and claimed she was tired. Mrs. Barker could see the dark rings around her eyes and gave in, letting her go back upstairs. She checked on her once around 12 and then left her be, keeping an eye on the stairs in case Reese slipped back downstairs as she cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and tidied up a bit.

After three more hours of silence, she climbed the stairs only to find the girl missing. After checking every room, closet, and available square inch of space in the house, Mrs. Barker called Stiles. He could hear her opening cabinets and doors, shifting around their house as she spoke on the phone. He felt a surge of anxiety for his daughter and also a pang of guilt for the concern and anxiety his neighbor must be feeling. None of that could be good, especially for a woman her age.

“Thank you for calling,” Stiles interrupted her, tone clipped and wobbly, “I’ll call my dad and I’ll go look for her right now.”

Brushing off the concerned looks of the clerks, Stiles swiftly moved to grab his keys and wallet. He paused momentarily to check in with Kira - the assistant librarian who wasn’t meant to start for another thirty minutes but had come in early with baked goods for the staff - letting her know a rundown of the situation.

Kira gasped, her eyes immediately filling with tears. She loved Reese and had been all too happy to help Stiles watch after her when Reese was younger and he more regularly brought her to the library, back when she and Stiles were both just clerks. Kira had helped raise Reese and become good friends with the Stilinskis over the years, so the heartbreak on her face when Stiles gave an excuse for his hasty retreat was all too genuine.

Giving a tight, anxious smile to Kira who squeezed his hand before he left, Stiles dashed out to his car, already dialing his father. When he didn’t pick up the first or second time, Stiles called the station directly and demanded to be redirected, the words “the sheriff’s granddaughter is fucking missing” getting him bypassed the parade of excuses and niceties he knew the guy at the front desk had to spew.

“Have you checked at the Hales?” his father suddenly asked, after he momentarily tried to console his son and listed off the first handful of obvious places a 7-year-old may run off to.

Stiles' heart stopped. He had been on his way to his house, preparing to dive into the woods and seek out his child. The most logical place for her to be was somewhere amongst the trees, perhaps holed up in a fox’s den or piled up with some coyotes, knowing her. But the Hales…

“I’m going there now,” Stiles said, tone hard. He ended the call just as his father began to try and dissuade him from going alone, the phone being tossed haphazardly into the seat next to him and the subsequent ringing calls all ignored. Stiles had a one-track mind at this point: Reese.

Going a bit (a lot) over the speed limit and almost (just barely avoiding) crashing his car several times, Stiles arrived in front of the Hale house. His car was pulled too far up, possibly crushing a random plant or two, and he was jumping out faster than he probably should have. He actually almost beat whoever it was on the other side of the door, but not quite.

Once again, he was met with Angry Brows, a glare immediately fixed on him.

“I thought I told you-” the man began, but Stiles cut him off.

“Do you have Reese?” he asked, tone begging. The man actually faltered, but quickly picked himself back up, crossing his arms across his chest tightly and throwing yet another glare at Stiles. At least he wasn’t charging him.

“Your kid?” Stiles nodded. “Why would I have your kid? Unlike you, we don’t go around stealing random children. Is she even actually yours?”

Stiles felt his veins surge with anger, his eyes light with fire, and his magic itched at his palms. However he looked - pissed, deranged, depressed, all three - it was enough to cause Angry Brows to widen his eyes ever so slightly and back up just a half step.

“Are you- no, you know what? No. I don’t have time for this. I didn’t kidnap your kid, I don’t go around stealing random children, and I don’t have time to try and explain how fucking crazy you and your damn family all are!” Stiles half yelled, taking a step closer each time he punctuated a word until he was almost chest-to-chest with the man in front of him.

“My daughter is fucking missing - yes, my fucking daughter - and unlike Leo, who ended up nice and cozy at a friend’s house, eating grilled cheese and chicken nuggets to his heart’s content and sleeping in an actual bed every night, my daughter is somewhere with no one she knows, probably alone, in just her pajamas, and has barely eaten a full meal within the last week. So if you have any idea where she is or happen to get a whiff of her, give the fucking sheriff a call,” Stiles hissed at the end of his rant, chest heaving. His glare was icy and the man before him looked shocked.

Not wanting to waste any more time on someone who couldn’t be reasoned with, Stiles turned away sharply and started making his way back to his haphazardly parked car. That is until a hand gripped his arm.

Turning, Stiles saw Angry Brows - who now looked like Confused Brows - looking at him, his throat clicking on an audible swallow as he seemed to gather his words. Stiles let out a noise of frustration, pulling at his arm so he could leave and find Reese.

“I don’t know where Reese is,” he finally spoke up, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Stiles’ arm to prevent him from pulling away, “but I’ll help look.”

“Oh?” Stiles laughed, cold and without any actual emotion, earning him a flinch from the man in front of him. “And why would you do that? Huh? You don’t even think she’s my actual daughter-”

“You didn’t lie,” he spoke quietly, letting go of Stiles’ arm finally. “Just now. And before. You never lied. And… you wreak of anxiety. Just like Laura did. When Leo was missing.”

Stiles stared, bewildered, before rolling his eyes heavenward and drawing in a deep breath. He’d take any help he could get - and this help came with a super sniffer and expert tracking capabilities. He couldn’t turn that offer away, not when it was Reese on the line.

“Fine,” Stiles said curtly, turning away. “I assumed she was out in the woods, probably holed up in… I don’t know, a fox’s den or with a pack of coyotes or… or somewhere out there. It’s where she always goes so… I guess we start there.”

“Do you… do you have a jacket or something? With her scent? It’s hard to pick up her scent from you when you…” Angry Brows vaguely gestured a hand, words falling away. Stiles huffed but nodded in understanding.

“In the car. We can go back to my house and start there. The woods lead into the preserve and connect somewhere around here but I don’t… I don’t know where and she couldn’t have gone that far I don’t think I…” Stiles was staring at the ground now, hands shaking in front of him. She could be anywhere.

His daughter had magic in her veins. She was the byproduct of Stiles’ magic, the grace of the moon, the wisdom of fae, and the heart of the woods. She was just like Stiles but also so much more and he didn’t know what she could do. Maybe she could teleport. Maybe she could grace herself with supernatural abilities. Maybe-

“Hey,” Angry brows spoke, grabbing once more at his now-shaking arm, “let’s start here. If the woods behind your house connect to the preserve then I should be able to catch her scent if she’s been in them recently. Not like you can drive right now anyways.”

With a glare, Stiles shook off the other man’s hand before stalking over to his car. Just because the guy was right didn’t mean Stiles would give him the satisfaction of agreeing - besides, he was kind of an ass about it too. A passively, seemingly caring ass but an ass nonetheless. Instead, he pulled out the jacket Reese had left in the car after school the day before and shoved it toward Angry Brows.

Stiles watched as his nostrils flared, head cocked slightly to the side, and he began to move towards the tree line on their left. Stiles wordlessly followed, unable to do much else. He could perform a tracking spell, but that could take up to a couple of hours and he didn’t want to do that right now with how soon it would be dark and especially if Reese was just out hiding in the woods near the house. It would be the next step, however.

It was silent save for the crunch of leaves. The two men tread through the woods, pausing occasionally and switching directions minutely. Angry Brows would sometimes pause, knit his eyebrows in either confusion or concentration, then keep moving.

It wasn’t until nearly half an hour, just as Stiles was about to call bullshit on this whole thing, that the other man suddenly stopped. He circled around, confusion etched on his features.

“She’s… gone,” he stated, a confused lilt to his words. Stiles’ heart plummeted.

“Gone?”

“Her scent it just… it’s gone. It seemed faint before and I thought maybe she had gone through one of the streams or was surrounded by animals before like you mentioned, dulling and covering her scent, but it’s… gone. Even the trail from before isn’t there,” he explained, looking at Stiles with an arched eyebrow. Stiles, in turn, closed his eyes, a quiet count down from ten in his head as he pulled himself together.

Gone. Not gone as in dead, but gone as in disappeared. Maybe she… teleported. Maybe she learned to mask her scent maybe… maybe something. All Stiles knew was that scents didn’t just disappear, not that quickly. It had to mean she did something and was nearby by or had been. She was okay enough to use her magic. She was okay. That’s what was important, he reasoned.

Instead of responding to the silent questions he felt directed at him, Stiles turned and began walking back. Angry Brows matched his pace, gently redirecting as needed. This continued for several minutes before he once more broke the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you had Leo?”

Stiles paused, but only for a second, eyes never straying from the invisible path in front of him. He huffed a breath of air, shoved his hands in his pockets, and decided he might as well answer the question while they had the time. No one was trying to Main him this time around, so that was an improvement.

“Because I didn’t realize it was Leo until just before I brought him here,” came the response. Angry Brows squinted his eyes, head cocked in confusion.

“How can you… not realize?” he asked, his tone slow but not accusatory. Stiles assumed he was listening to his heartbeat again, detecting no lie. At least that was one benefit of the whole ‘being werewolves’ thing.

“Because,” Stiles sighed out in annoyance, “Leo was a pup- a wolf. He was a wolf the whole time he was at my house. He only shifted back when I tried to put a collar on him. I thought he was a stray dog - Reese bringing home random animals is normal. I thought getting the collar would show her that we were keeping him or… whatever. He’d been around for several days, with no attempt to leave, so I assumed he was staying. Then…”

“Then I had a random crying child in my lap, and that’s when it hit me,” Stiles finished, finally finding the words to finish off his sentence. He was suddenly stopped when a hand grasped his shoulder and whirled him to the side.

“That’s impossible,” the man argued. Stiles narrowed his eyes and ripped his shoulder away, moving to leave and continue walking, but the hand returned and Stiles gave a hiss of annoyance.

“My daughter is still missing,” Stiles growled out, then rolled his eyes and added, “and it’s not impossible. You’re - what? - listening to my heartbeat? Scenting my intentions? Whatever it is, you can tell if I’m lying, okay? So listen carefully. Leo was shifted, a full-blown wolf cub assumed dog, and living with us as such. The aforementioned collar was a dog collar, a yellow one with a name tag. I did not kidnap him, I did not withhold him, I did not know he was a human child or werewolf or anything besides a dog, and I did not attempt to hurt him. Okay? Great, now let’s find the actively missing child.”

Stiles launched himself out of Angry Brows’ grip, propelling himself forward. After a beat of hesitation, the man followed, quiet once more. It was only when they were approaching the treeline, Stiles’ blue jeep faintly visible through the leaves and branches, that he spoke up again.

“Full shifts are rare… and they don’t happen until a ‘wolf is fully mature and anchored. He shouldn’t have been able to do that… that’s why we thought…”

Stiles huffed, shaking his head, and emerged through the treeline, already pulling out his keys and preparing to go back to his house and scour the woods there after checking up with his dad. He didn’t have time to explain this whole shitstorm that led to his daughter disappearing. He didn’t have time to explain to the family of werewolves how he was not some monster out trying to kidnap children (which, by the way, if he was - why would he have even brought Leo back? Did they ever ponder that angle? Stiles was willing to bet not!).

“What is he doing here?” came a growled out voice. Stiles shifted and glared, meeting eyes with the same woman who had picked up Leo from school a couple of weeks ago - the same one who flew down the stairs and gripped him so tight that first day that Stiles was sure she’d crack a rib or two.

“Laura. Don’t,” the man said, walking up beside Stiles. Stiles shook his head and turned to climb back in his Jeep, unwilling to waste any more time on the jerks behind him.

“No. He needs to leave, he isn’t-”

“Cool your fucking jets, I wasn’t planning on staying,” Stiles cut her off, throwing a nasty glare over his shoulder. He watched as the woman’s eyes flared and flashed at him and she made a step towards him, only to be cut off by Angry Brow’s arm wrapping around her stomach and anchoring her in place.

“Derek, let me go!” she shouted, and Ang- Derek. Derek muttered something in her ear, all of which seemed to go out the other if her expression was anything to go by.

“The nerve you have,” Laura growled out, “taking my son and-”

“I didn’t take your son!” Stiles shouted, turning around. He had better things to do but if taking two minutes to angrily shout out an explanation would get the feral werewolf pack off his back, maybe it was worth it if only to stop slowing him down. He was willing to take the gamble. Or maybe he was just angry and frustrated enough to not give a damn anymore.

“Your son showed up, fully shifted, and was an assumed stray! My daughter brought him in. I fed him fucking chicken nuggets and Reese read bedtime stories to him. I did not know he was a werewolf, I did not know he was a human child - I thought he was a dog! We named him Mouse because he ate so much cheese! I bought him a collar - a dog collar - and that’s how we found out! Because he freaked out. So cut the bullshit, get off your high horse, and leave me the hell alone because my daughter is missing and you and your family are wasting my time.”

Stiles huffed out a breath, his second rant of the day both taking his last bout of energy and simultaneously giving him a boost through pure, unadulterated rage. At least Laura had the decency to look chastised, but she quickly picked herself back up, throwing on a scowl to rival Derek’s own murderous expression.

“Then explain why you blocked out his scent for five days, you witch,” she hissed out, and Stiles was suddenly pulling at his hair, a dry, humorous laugh bubbling out of him a bit manically. Both Laura and Derek seemed taken aback, their stances going from guarded and ready to pounce to wary and ready to bolt in a second. Stiles shook his head, laughing and tugging at his hair.

He didn’t know. He didn’t do it. He didn’t kidnap a kid. He didn’t force a shift on him. He didn’t hide his scent. He didn’t even know there was a shift to force or a scent to hide or anything else! He thought his daughter found some poor abandoned puppy and charmed it into their house before charming Stiles into keeping the damn thing. He didn’t know what the hell was going on at this point, similar to the rest of the time.

“I… I can’t do this right now,” he laughed out, dropping his hand and giving the duo in front of him a wide grin that probably looked insane, “I can’t… deal with any of you. My daughter is missing and I’m standing here trying to defend myself against something I didn’t do. I… I have to go, this is ridiculous.”

Stiles was rubbing two fingers to his temple, posture deflating as he turned, moving towards his car with noticeably less energy and drive. He was desperate to find Reese but he felt like he was drowning. She wasn’t at the house, he’d already had his dad check his own house, she wasn’t at the station, if she’d been at the school a teacher would have called, and the woods were a miss.

It was all turning up dry and Stiles felt like he was trying to build a bridge with sand, everything slipping between his fingers before he even got a proper grip on it all.

As he opened his car door, a new voice spoke up. “Mr. Stiles,” Leo’s voice came hesitantly, and Stiles dropped his head. He couldn’t deal with this. He knew Leo wouldn’t be shouting accusations at him like his other family members, but he couldn’t… do this. But he’s a kid too, Stiles reminded himself, he needs to know it’s okay and it’s not his fault. With that in mind, Stiles turned back once more, plastering a tight smile on his face, trying (and failing) to look as approachable and kind as he could. The last time he saw this kid, he was crying. Similar to the time before that as well.

Stiles wasn’t having the best track record with Hales.

“Yes, Leo?” he asked softly, trying to make his voice as smooth and even as he could. It felt jagged in his throat and sounded even worse even to his own ears, his voice sounding like it went through the garbage disposal a time or two.

“I… I know where Reese is, Mr. Stiles,” Leo said quietly, now looking at his feet. At this, Stiles straightened. He saw from the corner of his eye that Laura looked shocked and Derek had a strained expression on his face, both seemingly out of the loop on Leo’s own knowledge.

Without care of the repercussions and ignoring any and all survival instincts he possessed, Stiles rushed towards the small boy who was now hovering at the top of the steps, looking down slightly at the small group of adults on the lawn. He dropped to a crouch, bracing one of his feet a step a few from the top so he would be directly looking up at Leo from his crouched position.

“Leo,” Stiles said, voice strained, “please, you need to tell me where Reese is. She can’t shift and protect herself, Leo, and she doesn’t run hot like you do. She’s going to be getting cold soon, she can’t defend herself, and she isn’t as good at navigating as you and your family - she might be lost-“ Stiles cut himself off, realizing he was rambling. Collecting himself momentarily, he spoke the only words that were important currently.

“Where is she?”

Stiles was pleading with a child, on the verge of begging, and Leo must have sensed it because his bottom lip began to wobble. Sniffling once, loudly, he scrubbed a tiny, balled-up fist across his face to rid it of the building tears. A stern look came over the 7-year-old's face and he nodded once, looking like he was about to brave some sort of war.

“I’ll take you. I can smell her still,” he said. Derek made a noise of protest behind them and Stiles swiveled around, ready to plead once more - get on his knees and fucking beg if they so wished.

“Lee… her scent is gone. I can’t even get a track on her,” Derek explained quietly, looking at the boy in front of him with a strained sort of expression. It seemed like he was silently begging the boy not to get Stiles’ hopes up and if Stiles wasn’t dealing with earth shattering trauma right now he may have been moved by the sentiment and the notion those words offered. Instead, he was ready to send out a plea that he was willing to take up any possible lead.

“Yea, and Uncle Der is the best tracker, remember?” Laura softly added on, her eyes darting to Stiles and sending him a… sad look, oddly enough.

“After Uncle Peter,” Leo added, scrunching his eyebrows. He abruptly shook his head, looking at his mom and uncle, before looking back to Stiles with a stern look. “I can smell her, she promised I could always find her - she doesn’t hide from me.”

Stiles choked a bit, reaching both hands up this time to rub at his temples. He’d have to dig into that can of worms at a later time. After a few seconds, he instead nodded slowly, leveling Leo with a look, “Okay. We’ll follow you.”

Casting a look behind him, Stiles saw no protests from Derek and Laura. Looks of bewilderment and doubt, but nothing indicating they’d stop them. Leo must have deduced the same thing because he was clambering down the stairs, spinning around a bit, and his nose held high in the air, taking an exaggerated deep breath of air. Nodding to himself, Leo turned and began walking toward the back of the house, the three adults following dutifully.

It was quiet as they walked, Leo pausing and scrunching his eyebrows as he looked around. He alternated between looking like he was trying to remember a path and sniffing at the air a bit dramatically, but he kept moving.

Stiles saw Laura open her mouth beside him, about to speak, but he absently held up a hand - the appendage shaking as he did so. Laura furrowed her brow, seemingly contemplating if she was going to listen, but eventually cast her gaze forward again and allowed the silence to continue.

They seemed to walk for a long while, though in reality, the trek was just slower, Leo’s legs not moving as fast as Stiles and Derek had on their lonesome previously. But eventually, he paused at the base of a tree and looked up before looking back at Stiles.

Looking up, Stiles saw nothing. Derek and Laura seemed equally perplexed, but Stiles was resolutely not going to take a first glance as his answer. He learned the hard way that magic had a funny way of encompassing the “seeing is not believing” notion. Instead, he stepped forward next to Leo and placed his hand on the tree. He felt the ripple of magic, a tingling running across his skin and zapping him straight to the core it felt. He was pushing against a spell, another’s presence. It wasn’t a ward, not a protective spell…

“An enchantment?” he mumbled quietly, looking up. “Reese?”

Silence. They all waited a moment, and just when Stiles was about to call out again or maybe ask Leo if he was absolutely sure, he heard a sniffle. He snapped his eyes to look at Leo who simply had his eyes fixed up on a tall branch, not a tear in sight, before looking back up.

“Claudia Reese Stilinski, so help me god if you don’t get down here,” Stiles called up, looking up and giving a pointed look towards the higher-up branches. A small whine came in response but almost instantly, Reese appeared, jumping seemingly out of thin air and onto a lower hanging branch. Stiles could barely reach the bottom of the branch, but Reese dove off and into his outstretched arms, clinging to his neck once he got a proper hold on her.

“Don’t you ever run away like that again,” he whispered harshly, squeezing her tighter, “and don’t even think about trying to hide from me with an enchantment like that. I will bind your magic I swear, Reese.”

Reese gave a weak giggle, sniffling as she did so. Once Stiles had squeezed her impossibly tight and reassured himself ten times over that she was right there, he finally set her on the ground. Immediately, Leo reached out a hand and grasped hers.

Giving a weak smile to him, Reese turned back towards her father, head downturned. “I’m sorry, Papa. I… I just wanted to see Leo again, but everyone was so mad and- and you said to wait! And I did, Papa! I waited and I waited but they took him out of class and we couldn’t be on the playground together and… and,” Reese broke off into a sob, slipping her hand out of Leo’s and falling against Stiles’ chest as she heaved. He felt the tears drench the collar of his shirt, snot leaking onto his neck and surely dirtying his shirt. He didn’t care, not when those broken sounds were coming from his child.

Squeezing her tight, Stiles shushed her and rubbed her back, trying to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he remembered they weren’t alone and he startled.

Looking up, he was surprised to see Laura, giving him a grimace that was supposed to be a smile as she knelt beside the father-and-daughter duo.

“Reese?” Laura asked softly, drawing the attention of the small girl. Reese hiccuped a sob, wiping away the snot and tears with the back of her hand as she tried to meet Laura’s eyes. “I’m sorry - for separating you from Leo. It was nothing you or Leo did, we…” here she paused, looking at Stiles guiltily, “we should have taken the time to try and talk with your dad. We were all so scared when Leo went missing and-”

Laura never got to finish her speech, her arms soon filled with a shaking child, thin arms wrapped tightly around her neck, and a tear-stained face pressed into her neck. Stiles grimaced, knowing Laura would have a nice collection of tears and snot in that exact spot when Reese pulled away.

“I’m sorry Miss Laura, we just wanted to have a sleepover, I promise! Papa didn’t know, we made sure Leo was a pup the whole time Papa was there and- and-” she broke off again, lip wobbling and arms tightening around Laura once more. “We won’t do it again, promise. We just wanna be in the same class again and play at recess, I won’t ever play with Leo after school again I promise. He won’t come over ever again!”

Laura was already rocking her and hushing her softly, the expertise of the motions done in a way only a parent could mimic. Any resentment or upset previously held seemed to melt away the longer she held onto Reese.

Reassuring her once more, Laura pulled back, smiling at Reese and then at her own child. Stiles was anxious to hear her next words but they seemed promising enough, so he simply sucked in a deep breath and stood up, moving to settle his hand on the top of Reese’s head once she let Laura go.

“I don’t think we’re quite ready for another sleepover,” she glanced at Stiles, “but I also can’t and won’t separate you two anymore. I’ll talk to the school and see about getting Leo back into his old class.”

Reese looked up at her dad, a wide grin taking over her face. It was as if a switch was flipped and his previous version of Reese was back. Without hesitation, Leo was barrelling into Reese’s side and their arms were wrapping around one another, both smiling widely at the revelation.

After the tearful, strained, and joyous reunion, the group began to walk back to the Hale house. Reese was happy to fill the silence, babbling and raving to Leo about the family of squirrels she made friends with in the woods and asking him question after question as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Stiles just smiled, listening to his daughter as he sent off several messages to his dad and Kira, asking one of them to call Mrs. Barker and reassuring them everyone was okay.

Once back at the house, Laura invited both Stiles and Reese inside, promises of dinner and a clean set of clothes for Reese (“Since someone looks like they rolled across the entirety of the forest floor,” Reese giggled loudly at this but denied nothing).

Stiles hesitated, unsure if he could handle explaining (again) this whole mess of a situation. His hesitation must’ve been apparent as Derek laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a slight smile, nodding as if in reassurance. And yea, okay, he couldn’t really say no to that face. That oddly kind, if not a bit awkward, smile and those mesmerizing eyes and-

Okay. Stiles was going a bit overboard. He could pick apart that train of thought… not now.

“Uh… okay,” he mumbled. Reese squealed with delight, racing into the house before even being properly invited in. Stiles let out a long-suffering sigh. Yea, she was his kid alright. Laura just laughed and Derek gave a too-well-knowing smirk.

Once inside, it seemed none of the other Hales had issues with the two newest additions to the mix. His confusion was short-lived as he realized they must’ve heard his explosive rant earlier and his confusion soon turned to embarrassment, head ducked down. Derek nudged his shoulder and laughed, seemingly knowing his exact train of thought.

It didn’t take long for Stiles and Reese to be enveloped in the folds of the Hale family. Reese was promptly re-dressed in some clothes of one of the other small girls running around, Stiles was promptly sat in the living room between Derek and Laura, and everyone was easily chattering.

Stiles remained quiet, not wanting to disrupt the peace and he was, after all, properly drained by now. Reese, on the other hand, seemed to have not a single trace of her tiredness or melancholy left, racing around with the other kids, hands clasped with Leo, laughing up a storm and playing to her heart’s content.

Everything was easygoing, and then Reese brought up a couple of big topics everyone had either seemingly forgotten or were dutifully ignoring. Because of course she would.

“Papa, can we take Leo to the caves? If he’s a wolf, he can fit into the small ones! There might be treasure or another den or more coyotes, maybe even some raccoons,” she said excitedly, bracing herself on his knees and looking at him pleadingly. “We can go tomorrow! You don’t work on Saturdays, Papa, and you like the caves.”

Stiles smiled tightly at his daughter, trying to suppress his grimace. He and the Hales had just barely met eye to eye, best to not ask about dragging their previously-assumed-kidnapped son out for a hike in the woods.

“Wolf?” came a voice, and Stiles recognized it as the strong-featured woman from the first day at the Hales - the alpha. “How does Leo become a wolf, Reese?”

At this, the room seemed to quiet down, some leaning forward and everyone looking interested. Reese turned around, leaning against Stiles’ knees and looking at the older woman across the room with a tilt of the head as if pondering.

“Like normal?” she asked, confused. “He just… becomes a wolf. But Papa thought he was a puppy, but he’s really fluffy and soft as a wolf so he kinda does look like a puppy!” Reese seemed to entirely miss the point of the question and the confusion clouding the room. Stiles wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. Promptly.

“Reese,” Laura interjected, “Leo can’t… do that. It’s very rare, a special talent. And he’s too young to do it yet. Did… you help him?”

Reese rolled her eyes as if Laura was asking the most obvious of questions. “Of course! He could do it, he just needed a push! But he can do it, Miss Laura, he does it all by himself, I just help. Leo said I’m like a ship, weighing him down closer to his wolf or something. I thought that would be bad but he said it helps make it easier to shift! Sounds more like I’m a cloud than a ship because clouds are light and make you relax, but that’s what he said, though it sounds funny.”

Stiles covered his face with a hand. Anchor. The word his daughter was looking for was anchor and he didn’t need to look at anyone else’s face in the room to know the looks they had. His daughter just admitted to them all that she was Leo’s anchor at the ripe age of 7. His own knowledge (albeit limited) led him to understand anchors didn’t independently form until closer to puberty and teen years, most reverting to their packs as an anchor. He could only imagine the uproar about a 7-year-old having another 7-year-old as their anchor, let alone one with ticking time bomb magic.

“Did I say something bad, Papa?” Reese whispered. Stiles removed his hand, giving her a tight smile. He cast a glance across the room and sure enough, looks of surprise and slight concern were etched across many of the faces. Derek had the audacity to actually look amused, however.

“No, bubs, nothing bad,” he reassured, “but… that’s, that’s a big responsibility. It means you help Leo with his wolf. It’s… it’s like how you make the raccoons calm so they can play on the porch, yea? If you get too distracted they get scared, remember. Anchors are important that way, they help keep people calm and you have to be a good anchor otherwise they may get scared like the raccoons.”

Stiles was stumbling over his words. He was not the one to explain this. He was not a werewolf and his knowledge was limited to books and he was trying to explain it in a way a child would understand it while simultaneously not offending anyone in the room (and okay, maybe using the raccoons was a bad choice but they were the most skittish and scared the easiest!).

Reese got a serious look on her face and nodded in understanding. “It’s important because it’s his balance, right?” she asked, Stiles nodded. “Like Leo being my guide is important and can help me but can also be dangerous, because it’s about balance, right?”

Stiles paled. He stared at his daughter for a minute before slumping back into the couch, hand coming up to cover his eyes as he groaned.

“Please tell me Leo isn’t your guide, Reese.” Silence.

“You told me lying is bad, Papa,” she replied in a small voice. Stiles heard a laugh turned cough to his right and he immediately threw a glare at Derek. Next, he turned towards Laura, who was looking at him with wide eyes and an apprehensive expression. He gave her a cheerful smile in return, his anxiety surely seeping out in all ways possible and ruining any possible facade of cheer he was portraying.

“So my daughter…” Stiles began.

“Is my son’s anchor,” Laura finished, “And my son is-”

“My daughter’s guide,” Stiles finished for her, miserably. “It doesn’t look like we’ll be spending much time apart unless we plan to deal with the next world war.”

Reese giggled and Laura rubbed a hand down her face. “What… what’s a guide? Is it the same as an anchor?” she asked apprehensively, and Stiles laughed, slumping further into the couch.

“You wish,” he muttered. “Anchors, from what I’ve read and come to understand, center you. They bring out your humanity and also strengthen your wolf,” Laura nodded an affirmative, “Guides, however…”

“Guide lead us!” Reese announced loudly, a proud grin on her face at being able to add to the conversation. “Guides were mostly familiars but Papa says they can be anyone and even anything! They guide our magic and lead us on how to use it. Good guides make sure your magic is good and helps, bad guides make your magic bad and can hurt people. Guides are promises and can only be changed if the-”

Stiles wrapped a hand around her mouth, giving her a stern look as he continued. “Guides are our indicators. They don’t control us, but they center our motivations, they’re the focus of our magic and the source of our intentions. While anchors can change over time and it’s normal for them to change especially for kids, guides… don’t. It’s possible to have more than one, but guides usually aren’t developed or found until much later in life. They can be removed but not… naturally,” Stiles finished, attempting to skip over the more gruesome details.

Nonetheless, Laura looked dutifully horrified. Stiles understood her pain.

“Don’t worry, Momma,” Leo suddenly piped up from the side of the couch, “I promise to be a good guide! I’ll help Reese’s magic to be helpful, pinky promise!”

Laura, without much else to do, wrapped her pinky around her son’s. Her smile was tired but neither of the children seemed to notice, promptly disappearing and forgetting the initial question that started this all. The room remained quiet for a minute, everyone apparently mulling over the new information.

“Did your children just soul bond or something?”

The question came from a girl who looked similar to Laura but whose hair was lighter, her build broader and stronger compared to Laura’s narrow and lean one. Stiles was willing to bet sister, otherwise a freakishly similar-looking cousin.

Laura growled at her possibly-sister while Stiles just nodded, groaning.

+.+.+

After that point, Stiles was blessed with the presence of Hales on a near-daily basis. He no longer had to worry about having to juggle schedules to pick up Reese every day from school - which was a major benefit of the new Hale additions - because one of Leo’s family members was happy to grab her too if he was busy. Stiles also found himself picking up Leo most days he was free to get Reese, despite the Hales having a seemingly flexible schedule between them all. It was ultimately due to the fact that Leo and Reese wanted to milk their time together and no one was about to try and stop that again.

Stiles and Reese went over to dinner at the Hale’s almost every week without fail, and almost every weekend Reese and Leo were taking turns in weaseling their way to each other’s houses. More often than not, Leo ended up at the Stilinski household, Derek almost always in tow as his designated chauffeur.

When the question of sleepovers came up (again), Stiles quickly settled the argument by explaining that sleepovers were only for family and even though they were close with each other’s families, they weren’t all actually family. It just didn’t work that way, he explained matter of factly.

It was a flimsy excuse, but it seemed to stump the mischievous duo, for the time being, and questions of sleepovers since halted. That is, until they came to a sudden realization.

Stiles was sitting on the couch with Derek, having long since gotten used to the other man’s presence in his house when Leo was over. Often, Derek brought Leo over and he and Leo stayed for a few hours, and then they’d take off back to their own homes. Apparently, Derek worked early mornings and Laura worked later into the evenings, leaving Derek a prime suspect to childcare for her in particular (although he was also the one who more often than not picked all the kids up when no one else could - Stiles would feel bad if it wasn’t so funny to watch Derek drive Laura’s minivan when he dropped Reese off).

While the two sat on the couch, they held a steady conversation, pausing to cast looks at the TV and keep an eye on the game as they took sips of the beers in their hands. It was more often than not baseball on the TV, but Stiles indulged Derek’s love of basketball and put it on when there weren’t any new games on for baseball.

The relative peace was suddenly shattered as two overly innocent seeming children sat on the coffee table in front of them, pleased smiles on their faces.

“What did you little monsters do this time?” Stiles asked warily, moving to the edge of the couch. He was nervous about the response but wanted to ultimately get it over with. He was willing to bet his child instigated it, after all.

“So sleepovers are only allowed with family,” Reese began nonchalantly as if confirming. Stiles nodded slowly, squinting at her.

“No, I am not adopting Leo, and no, Laura cannot adopt you. You’re both stuck with the families you got,” he answered, but Reese giggled and shook her head. Leo grinned widely, turning to look at his uncle with gleaming eyes.

“When Uncle Peter married Aunt Marissa, she became family, right Uncle Derek?” he asked sweetly, earning a slow nod from the man in question.

“So that’s it then!” Reese squealed, grinning at them a bit too widely.

“So what’s it?” Stiles asked, scrunching his brow and looking at his child with an apprehensive look. This couldn’t be good.

“You and Uncle Derek can get married and then we’ll be family! Then we can all have sleepovers whenever we want because you’ll be family once you marry Uncle Derek and if you’re family then so is Reese!” Leo supplied. Derek promptly choked - on nothing - and stared at his nephew with wide eyes. His ears began to turn a bit red as he stuttered on the beginning syllables of a word, an attempt at a response.

Stiles was equally dumbfounded, frozen to the spot. He’d be laughing at Derek’s reaction and his brightly colored face if he wasn’t sporting his own blush and unable to find his voice.

“Lee, that’s… not how that works,” Derek hedged, glancing at Stiles and then giving a pointed glare to his nephew. It had no effect, as Leo simply rolled his eyes in response, seemingly exasperated by Derek’s inability to grasp the simple concept of marrying Stiles so he and Reese could have sleepovers.

“Yea it is! You can get married! Momma married Daddy, grandma married grandpa, Uncle Peter married Aunt Mari-” Derek cut him off with a noise of protest.

“No, Lee, I meant… you marry someone because you love them. A special love, like your mom and dad or grandma and grandpa. You can’t just marry someone for-”

“Sleepovers,” Stiles finally spoke up, shaking his head slightly. Derek nodded in agreement.

Groaning, Leo narrowed his eyes at Derek as if in a challenge. “Momma said she loves Daddy because he’s funny. Stiles makes you laugh all the time!”

“And Grandpa said he loved Grandma because she was really smart. Derek knows about all the books you always talk about!” Reese added in.

“Uncle Peter says Aunt Marissa is the prettiest woman he’s ever seen, and you told Momma you thought Stiles was pretty! You said he had pretty eyes and that you like his m-mu-moe… his moles!” Leo continued, much to Derek’s horror.

“Uncle Scott loves Aunt Allison and he talks about her ALL the time, just like you talk about Derek ALL the time! You even told Uncle Scott that-” Stiles slapped a hand over his daughter’s mouth, mortified for what would come out next. He was not ready to know what she overheard or what she thought she overhead, much less was he ready for Derek to know.

“Okay! Great examples, a lot of compelling evidence but, uh, well… you have to date before you get married! So we can’t get married because we haven’t dated, so no sleepovers, okay? Okay,” Stiles rushed out, looking for any kind of out to this slightly mortifying experience that was unraveling before him.

Leo got a thoughtful look on his face before he brightened and straightened up. “Uncle Derek can take you on a date! Daddy and Momma go on dates all the time, they drop me off at grandma’s or Uncle Derek’s. Reese can stay at grandma’s too and he can take you on a date, Stiles!”

Derek groaned, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands.

“Uncle Scott says you should go out, Papa, Derek can take you out! Last week Aunt Allison said you should get lai-” Stiles’ hand clamped back down on Reese’s mouth and she glared at him before moving her face away. “It’s just a nap, Papa, you can just lay in bed if you don’t want to sleep, that’s what you tell me,” she grumbled, and yep. Okay. That just made it worse. Stiles couldn’t help the pained noise that came out of his mouth.

Neither he nor Derek spoke up, and both children took it as a triumph. After a couple of minutes, Reese turned to Leo. “They can totally get married!” she said, before jumping off the coffee table and pulling Leo with her, already chattering about their next sleepover and what movies they’d watch, and how Stiles could make them grilled cheeses again. Leo was agreeing happily to all the suggestions, simply content with the idea of there being another sleepover in their future.

Stiles sat staring straight ahead, unwilling to turn and face Derek. He wasn’t sure who was more mortified and he didn’t want to see the look on the other man’s face. Maybe they could play this off, the old ‘haha… kids!’ excuse, maybe they could just ignore the whole thing and pretend it never happened, maybe they could just focus on the game, maybe if Stiles drank the beer in his hand really fast he could-

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Derek suddenly spoke up, surprisingly breaking the silence. Stiles froze up again, then slowly turned to look at Derek. “Going on a date. With you. If… if you wanted to… go out. With me,” he clarified, stumbling on the words, his eyes unable to meet Stiles’ own.

“Are… did you just ask me out?” Stiles asked, bewildered. Derek’s ears turned impossibly redder and he gave a stiff nod. Stiles simply stared before breaking out into a laugh. Derek looked at him, a bit annoyed, but Stiles waved away the expression, gasping on a bout of laughter.

“No, no. I’m- I’m not laughing at you, I just… I’m laughing at us,” Stiles explained, prompting Derek to grumble in response.

“Because that’s so much better,” he huffed.

“No! Not- okay, first,” Stiles said, huffing out his last laugh before shifting to face Derek fully, holding up a single finger, “first, I would love to go out with you. Second, I’m laughing at us because how did me accidentally kidnapping your nephew and you passively threatening to kill me turn into… this!” Stiles emphasized the ‘this’ with a bit of a wild hand gesture, encompassing the whole room. The whole situation.

Derek cocked his head, finally looking at Stiles head-on, before a grin broke out across his own face slowly and he began to laugh. Stiles easily joined in once more, the two of them laughing and leaning into one another as they doubled over.

After laughing perhaps a bit too long, Derek straightened up, leaning a bit more closely into Stiles. Stiles sobered up from his laughter, looking at the man next to him as his breath hitched at the newfound proximity.

“At least we know there’ll never be a dull moment between us,” Derek mumbled, quirking a smile. Stiles gave a grin in response, leaning further in himself.

“Yea, I guess you could say that,” he murmured in response.

Derek raised a hand to Stiles’ jaw, pulling him in the last couple of inches. Stiles let one hand slide up to grip Derek’s waist, balancing his weight against the other as he pushed forward to kiss him. Derek replied in kind, holding Stiles’ jaw firmly and maneuvering them into a deeper kiss after the initial soft press of lips.

If there was any possibility of it going further or anything else happening, it was interrupted by giggling from the staircase, causing the two to pull back ever so slightly just in time to hear the excited whispers.

“They’re totally getting married!”

“We’re gonna have sleepovers all the time!”

#derek hale/stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfiction #ao3 #ao3fic

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