#may the Light illuminate my room and not cut my electricity this weekend

[tssaii]

i have something for my babies:)

some ramblings:

Hello! i did an illustration for them last year for the start of 2023 and i wanted to do something again for this yr but omygosh i started sketching and and my brain went FAMILY PORTRAIT! 🥲 it would be A CRIME to not include the abundance of cats in the shadowgast household SO here we are!

if you remmber from last yr, i STRUGGLED with drawing Frumpkin. For the love of god I CANNOT DRAW CATS

BUT MY FATHERS (shadowgast, not my actual parents) RAISED NO QUITTER!! WE SHALL CONQUER! WE SHALL PERSEVERE! WE SHALL DELIVER! I SHALL DRAW DA CATS

ye so basically this will take a while ehehe

last years illustration:

[singtotheskiies]

the best medicine // thor x reader

request: Hello can you write a thor x reader fluff and he is just sick but thinks he is dying since he is a god and thinks gods don’t get sick and the r takes care of him all day 🙃😍

summary: poor thor has never contracted a human sickness in his life—good thing you’re here to help him through it.

words: 1632

warnings: it’s a sickfic, but there’s no v*miting or anything like that; just sore throats n coughs (it’s basically all fluff man)

a/n: PLEASE keep requesting, guys!!! this is so fun for me to do during quarantine, and i’ve got a lot of pent-up affection from being home all the time!! keep ‘em comin:)))

✖✖✖

Most people wake up naturally on the weekends, or are coaxed into consciousness by a phone alarm. Most people spend their weekend mornings at their leisure, preparing coffee and lounging in their pajamas until they decide to change clothes and move on with their day.

Most people, however, are not dating the god of thunder. And it is times like this when you envy those people.

It’s 7:00 in the morning, and you should be asleep in your warm little bed in your warm little house, not worrying about the Iron Man suit banging on your window and shouting your name at the top of its lungs.

You start and scramble clumsily out of bed, tumbling to open the window. “Tony, is that you? Jesus, I’m gonna get so many noise complaints! What the hell is going on? Couldn’t it have wai—“

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Stark quips, his armor drawing back to reveal his smirking and altogether-too-awake face. “Sorry to wake you, but Sparky wants you at the tower. Like, now.”

“Thor—is he—okay? What’s wrong, Tony, oh my god—“ you ramble, frightened.

“Shhh, keep it down—you have neighbors, you know.”

“Oh, I am extremely aware of that fact, and I’m sure every single one of them would love to know why you, sir, are causing a ruckus at seven o’clock in the morning,” you hiss.

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart. Let’s just go now so you won’t have to deal with it.”

“Tony, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“You’ll see. Just—buckle up, ‘kay?”

“I am nOT RIDING WITH YOU!” you scream.

Unfortunately, the man in the billion-dollar suit thinks otherwise.

✖✖✖

Tony deposits you less than gracefully on the kitchen floor of the Avengers complex, your heartbeat even more of a mess than your hair. “We are never,” you say between heavy, erratic breaths, “ever doing that that again.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, it was fun. Just admit it,” Tony grins.

“Absolutely not,” you say, trying to maintain some sense of dignity by frantically carding your hands through your now-knotted hair. You manage to subdue it somewhat.

“I’ll take you to good ol’ General Electric,” Tony says, walking with you to the nearest elevator and holding it open for you. “He’s—well, he thinks he’s dying.”

“Is he?” you cry, worried.

“‘Course not. He’s just sick. I don’t think he’s ever caught anything from Earth before, so naturally he thinks every breath is his last. He won’t let any of the medical staff touch him, though—says he only wants you.”

“Poor baby,” you murmur. Your heart goes out to your boyfriend, but you can’t help but feel a small burst of pride at his insistence upon seeing you.  He’ll recover quickly with his godly immune system, you hope. You’ll just have to comfort him until it blows over.

“Well, off you go, now,” Tony says, making shooing motions as the elevator dings to a stop. “Don’t break anything.”

“You say that like you didn’t just crack all my bones,” you quip, but the doors have already closed in front of a smirking Tony. Turning around, you face the door in front of you. Knocking softly, you say “Thor, honey? It’s me.”

You hear a vague murmur from inside and take that as your cue to push the door open as quietly as you can. Stepping inside, you close it behind you and turn to see your boyfriend.

The curtains have been drawn tight save for a small slit that falls across the bedsheets, illuminating the large form huddled in them. The lines of his body are indistinct until he groans and lifts up his head. “My love,” he says. “My heart rejoices at the sight of you. You look as st—“ His raspy voice (which you would definitely find sexy in other circumstances) is cut off by a dry cough. You wince at the sound and hurry over to his bed, sitting gingerly on the edge so as not to disturb him.

“What feels bad?” you ask, wrinkling your brow.

“Everything. My head, my body, my throat—even my eyes ache,” Thor replies, sniffling. “Do not get too close—I do not wish for you to also die.”

“Thor, honey, you’re not going to die,” you say, trying your hardest to bite back a smile. “You’re just sick—if I got a bug like this, it would only take me a few days to get over it. With you being a god, I doubt you’ll be out for more than two.”

“So it is a bug—an insect—which has given me this illness?” Thor asks. “I have not seen such a creature anywhere near me.”

“No, silly. Bug is just another word for sickness,” you say, finally abandoning your attempt at a straight face.

“I see,” Thor says, looking very much like he does not. “It is a relief to know that my end is not near—although it does feel like that is so.”

“I’m right here to help you,” you say, taking your hand and brushing his slightly damp hair away from his forehead. You let your fingers linger for a moment, scratching his scalp softly. He hums quietly at the sensation, and you brush the back of your hand along his stubbled cheek. Now smiling, he captures your hand in his and kisses it lovingly, looking into your eyes as he does so. Your heart melts—even when sick, he’s a perfect gentleman.

“I love y—“ he tries to choke out, coughing too hard by the end of the sentence to finish it.

“Aw, let’s get you something for that, huh?” you say, rubbing his arm soothingly. “I’ll make you some soup and bring you some medicine.”

“Please do not leave me, my love,” he manages, and you smile down at him.

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Just rest until then.” Kissing his forehead, you exit the room softly, leaving Thor with a lovesick grin as he watches you go.

✖✖✖

“I’m back,” you say as you close the door with your foot. A bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a container of cold medicine are balanced on a tray in your hands. You make your way over to the bedside table and place your load on it, smiling when you see that Thor has fallen asleep in the few minutes you were gone. “Wake up, love,” you say gently, brushing the pad of your thumb over his cheek. His eyelashes flutter open, and he hums hoarsely but happily as he realizes you are there.

“Hello again,” he says, his words overtaken again with a coughing fit.

“Let’s get you sat up so you can eat a little bit,” you say. Your hands help prop his back against his pillow. His normally strong body feels weak and tired under your touch.

“What have you brought me?” he asks, eyeing the soup with curiosity.

“Chicken noodle soup. People on Earth eat this when they’re sick. It’s supposed to have healing properties,” you explain.

“So you have made pasta out of a bird?” Thor cocks his head to the side and you laugh.

“No, silly. There’s chunks of meat in the soup that are separate from the noodles. I also added carrots and celery to give you a little something more. Now open up and tell me how you like it.” Thor reluctantly opens his mouth and you feed him a spoonful, watching as his face lights up with delight after tasting it.

“This is amazing, my love!” he cries with as much surprise as his throat can muster. “I never knew Earth could contain soup this wonderful!”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” you grin.

“Indeed I am. Normally, I would find it insulting to be fed by a mortal, but I must confess that you are, as always, the exception.”

“Such a flirt,” you chide him, smacking his arm gently with the spoon. “Now eat the rest—not so fast, though, or you’ll have trouble keeping it down.”

Thor finishes the soup without incident, but balks when it comes to the cold medicine. “It smells like—false fruit and chemicals,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s basically what it is,” you concede, “but it’ll help you. I promise.”

Thor still doesn’t seem convinced.

“Please?” you say, resorting to puppy dog eyes. “For me? So the horror of seeing you sick doesn’t weigh on my soul any longer than it has to?”

“Fine,” he says, caving. “But only for my lady.”

“Good boy,” you say, patting his head as he grimaces the medicine down.

“Now that I have done as you have asked, may I request something of you, now?” he asks, turning your puppy dog eyes back on you.

“Of course. What is it?”

“Lay with me?” he asks, spreading his arms wide. He looks so helpless and needy that you immediately curl up next to him, kissing his jaw lightly. His arms wrap around you, and you move your cool hands to his forehead and then to cup his face.

“My love?” he whispers. “I know that I am ill, but I cannot resist. Please, may I kiss you?” Heart full, you answer by tilting your head and meeting his lips. They are soft as ever as they rest against yours, barely moving—a ghost of a kiss made gentle by the pure love you both feel. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead on his, feeling him sigh in utter comfort. You press your lips to his cheek before snuggling into his arms.

When you wake up to both a perfectly healthy Thor and a killer headache, you can’t help but almost welcome the latter. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s about to take even better care of you than you did of him.

[claraoswaldfics]

Halloween Night

The throbbing in her neck was the first thing Clara noticed as she woke up. The second was that she was naked. What had happened last night?

As she pushed her fringe out of her face, she noticed a trail of clothes winding their way from the door to her bed. Heels, jumper, skirt. She lifted the covers, where she discovered her bra and underwear, neither of which were still on her body. But strangest of all were the orange knee-socks on the unoccupied pillow beside her. Were they hers?

On her bedside table, her phone announced it had finished charging. That should have taken it about one and a half hours, so either there had been a power cut last night, or someone else had recently plugged it in for her. Clara looked at the screen and saw on it a message from her flatmate, Priya.

“Noticed a redhead sneaking out of your room this morning. Congrats on losing your gay virginity!” Dozens of emojis followed; huge blocks of pride flags and fireworks lit up her screen, then the message continued, “Not going to tell the group chat until you’re ready of course, but girl, I am going to need all the deets!”

There may have been more to the text, but it was then that Clara noticed the date. November first. Suddenly it all came rushing back.

 It was Halloween at Glitz.

The club itself had been dwindling for a while now and most of the cool young people had probably moved away to venues that were more ‘hip’ or ‘fresh’. The fact that Clara assumed that was still the lingo was part of why she still came to Glitz. Not often, granted. It was strictly on an annual basis now. An ersatz tradition dating back to their university days (back when they’d all briefly experimented with paganism) to dance at this increasingly outdated, overpriced discotheque every 31st of October.

Even in the rain

Clara was as usual the first to arrive. It wasn’t so much that she was always early as everyone else was always late. The whatsapp group had assured her a few hours ago that they’d be there though, so there was still a chance (however small) that they were already inside.

She flashed her ID to the bouncer, who made a point of studying it. She was 26 now, old enough to appreciate being mistaken for someone younger, but still young enough to be impatient about the delay. Or maybe it was the costume that was holding him up. Thinking about it, it must be hard to tell if someone is who they say they are when they’re dressed as Velma Dinkley.

Ever since she’d gone for a more bob-like haircut, she’d been getting a lot of comparisons to the Scooby Doo character, so it was an easy decision to lean into it for Halloween. This didn’t mean it was an easy or cheap costume – Clara Oswald never did things by half, after all. She’d been nosing around high streets and second-hand shops the last two weekends putting it together. The orange jumper was baggy but sewn so as to give a good impression of her figure. The glasses made her eyes seem even wider, and combined with the freckles she’d drawn on took five years off her face. Surprisingly it was the little red skirt that had taken her the longest to find, only appearing in a last-minute lunch-break scrabble in Oxfam, and between it and the knee-socks, she was showing a lot more thigh than she was used to.

I mean it looks damn good, she thought to herself, but it isn’t half cold…

The bouncer finally nodded her through, and soon she was enveloped by the warm haze and pounding bass of Glitz. Maybe two dozen people were on the dancefloor, jumping and swaying to a song Clara was fairly sure had come out this year, but not one she knew the name of. I’ll dance at the next one, she thought, or maybe wait until the others get here.

It seemed that almost the moment she found a seat at the bar, her phone pinged. Naomi and Ellen weren’t coming. Apparently some couple had been trying to book their wedding venue out from under them so they were resigned to staying in and shouting down a phone all evening.

That wasn’t good. Those two were the lynchpin of all group planning. It was always worth going out with Naomi and Ellen because there would always be a story the next day. This was because the drunker they got, the more they’d dare the other, and those dares usually involved even more drinking. Clara had even had to bail them out once after they got arrested for shagging on a pool table.

But without them, the group dynamic fell apart. Priya loved nothing more than when a plan got cancelled. For her it was an excuse to shrug her bra off and fall asleep in front of the tv. Clara herself only owned two bras, one good but itchy and the other comfy but old, but Priya could have five littered around the living room at any one time. She’d hidden them on one occasion to encourage future tidiness.

And Emerald, the last of the group, Clara didn’t know particularly well. She knew they kept up with Yugioh (somehow) and read PG Wodehouse, but they’d joined the group in Clara’s last term at uni and she’d had her nose too deep in books to get to know her in any great depth. No doubt they’d have put a lot of effort into some anime costume, but if it was just her and Emerald left, they wouldn’t come.

Okay Clara, it’s not too bad. Shake it off, get a cocktail in you. This night could still go well.

The two pings of doom arrived before she was even halfway through her pina colada. Two more cancellations. Urgh. This calls for a consolation drink. And make it a pint this time.

It wasn’t even nine yet and it felt like the night was over. Clara sighed audibly. Such a shame, she thought. It’s my first Halloween as an out bi woman. This should have been like gay Christmas! I had all this Sapphic energy built up inside me tonight and I’m going to waste it fingering myself in the bath reading Jane Austen again. I’m even wearing the bi flag underpants Ellen got me for my birthday!

She’d been considering the idea of a second pint for around five minutes when she got a tap at her shoulder.

“Velma!”

A jolt of electricity raced up Clara’s spine. She knew that voice, didn’t she?

She turned around in her stool just as the lights above the dancefloor shifted. The woman behind her was briefly illuminated from behind, her face a shadow, but her hair a fiery red halo. Putting a hand in front of her face for a second, Clara took in the rest of her body; a purple dress and go-go boots. Her brain rushed to piece it all together, arriving at the costume before the face.

“Daphne?” She replied, weakly.

As the lights shifted again, Clara was blessed with another view of this woman, who was somehow more dazzling out of the spotlight. She stood imposingly tall, her soft moon-like face looking kindly down on Clara. Taken altogether with her vibrant red hair, Clara felt like she was looking directly at a solar eclipse, and one she couldn’t look away from.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind. My Shaggy’s gone off with my Scooby.” The woman smiled apologetically. “Thought I might go and make some new friends and well… the costume…”

Clara blinked. In fact she blinked rather a few times. She was still trying to process the fact that an angel had descended from heaven right in front of her.

“I beg your pardon?”

The redhead explained herself again. Clara made a note to focus on what she was saying, which, she justified, involved looking at this woman’s lips a lot.

“I did a group costume with these two guys. One was Shaggy, one was Scooby; we thought we’d come here for the night, have a few drinks, have a few laughs, but instead,” the next part of the sentence involved turning her head to shout pointedly “they’re GETTING OFF IN THE TOILETS!”

Clara let out a nervous giggle. It was a good cover for the big red wave of excitation that was coursing through her body. There was something about the way her Scottishness had just announced itself in her voice that made Clara’s thighs shudder. That woman could shout!

“Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?” Clara repeated. “The dog and the dog owner?”

“Exactly!” she bellowed. “Isn’t that mad?”

“That is so mad.” Clara nodded. Agree with everything this woman says, she thought. If she asks you to rob a bank, do it.

“And after only one drink as well!” She continued, exasperated, “They. Are. Terrible!”

“I guess that’s why they call him Shaggy?” It was a weak joke, Clara knew. And I fumbled the delivery. But frankly the fact that I managed a straight sentence around this woman is a miracle. Managing a straight anything was a challenge, to be honest.

And she laughed! She laughed at my dumb joke! I made that sound come out of her! That brogue-y Scottish cackle! Oh this is the best feeling in the world!

“I know! And that dog will do anything for a Scooby Snack!”

God, me too, thought Clara, as she unleashed a laugh a lot less cool than she hoped she would.

Ahem.

“Can I get you a drink?” Clara asked, thankful she still had any rational thoughts left.

“Ooh, yes. Rum and Coke, please.” She smiled. Such a lovely smile. “Do you have a name, or should I just call you Velma all evening?”

“Only if I can call you Daphne” Clara replied with a grin, signalling to the barman. This was a bit of damage control. It was suave and flirty, but she’d missed the window to introduce herself properly, or find out this charming redhead’s name.

“Oh, you want to play that game, do you?” Clara braced herself for the next word, as the redhead’s lips formed around it. “Velma.”

Beads of sweat started to form under her jumper. It was then that Clara realised where she’d heard that sexy Scottish brogue before…

The kissogram from Naomi and Ellen’s engagement!

Six months on and I’m just as flustered.

The drinks came and Clara positively snatched hers off the table. As long as her mouth was occupied with alcohol, she had more time to think. And as always, Clara, try and play it off as glamorous and mysterious.

The more strategic side of Clara’s brain spoke up; so you know who she is, but she doesn’t know who you are. What does that mean? You know what she does for a living – is that an okay thing to bring up? Does the fact that she hasn’t recognised me yet mean my costume is too good…

…or was that kiss unmemorable?

She chanced a look. The woman in the Daphne costume was nursing her rum and coke, but her eyes were still fixed on her over the rim of her glass.

Right. So what if she didn’t remember that kiss. It was half a year ago and in her line of work she couldn’t be expected to remember everyone she’d ever kissed. Clara could hardly do that herself. What it meant was that Clara could make another first impression. A confident, in-control one.

“Miss Blake.” She congratulated herself on remembering that scrap of Scooby Doo trivia.

“Is that Daphne’s last name?” The redhead half-giggled. “I’m sorry, I haven’t watched Scooby Doo since I was a wee bairn.”

Aha! The strategic part of her brain roared into force again. I know more about Scooby Doo than her! I can leverage this to my advantage… somehow! Strategy brain realised it should probably shut up for a bit, and that the reason it had been allowed to think so long without interruption was because the rest of her brain was once again cooing at the Scottish turn of phrase.

“So why Daphne, then?”

“It was a group costume with a bunch of friends, but there were a few no-shows, you know?”

Clara made a gesture to the four people who were definitely not standing next to her “I do know.”

“Between you and me, I’d have quite liked to come as Velma.”

The seriously unstrategic part of Clara’s brain practically roared: Come into the bathroom with me! We can swap clothes right now!

She continued. “besides, what other characters are there to dress up as, as a tall ginger woman?”

Jessica Rabbit, said Clara’s brain.

“Jessica Rabbit” said Clara.

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain.

“Naughty” she chided. “But I don’t think so. Not two years in a row, anyway.”

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain again, but with purpose (and without vocalisation). This is definitely flirting! This could go well! I haven’t made an embarrassing mess of myself!

Tonight, I’m going to rock her world.

“Would you like to take a seat?”

High on her own hubris, Clara hadn’t noticed the seats either side of her were taken. Um…

“I’d love to.”

Sirens blared in Clara’s head as ‘Daphne’ draped one arm over Clara’s back and slid both her indigo tight-clad legs over Clara’s until she was Sitting! In! Her! Lap!

“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?”

In a moment, all of Clara’s newfound confidence melted and words stuck in her throat. Clara worried for a moment maybe her nose was bleeding, or her entire lower body had turned to steam, or worse, that her damn traitor face might be giving Amy some reason to stop sitting on her.

“Oh, not at all.”

THINK OF SOMETHING TO SAY!

“So…”

SOMETHING WITTY, FLIRTY AND MAYBE TO DO WITH HER COSTUME!

“Daphne…”

HERE WE GO! SHOOT YOUR SHOT!

“Would you like to get in the van with me?”

THE VAN???

“The van?”

“The um… the mystery machine.”

“Oh, the van from the show”

“Yes”

“So you want me to get in the Scooby Doo van with you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a van?”

“No.”

“But you just invited me to your van.”

“Yes.”

Clara blinked a few times while her brain rebooted.

“It’s a metaphorical van.”

“And what exactly is it a metaphor for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Truly, this is one mysterious machine.”

“…Yes.”

A few mortifying seconds later, her strategic brain came back online. As did her non-strategic brain. They both made this noise: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

The Daphne impersonator slid her legs off Clara and stood crouched at eye-level.

“Look, can I propose something?” asked the redhead “Instead of you trying to entice me out of the club, into a dirty alley, and into the back of your metaphorical van, why don’t we just get a taxi back to my place?”

Clara fell off her seat.

“Oh my God, your little flustered face!” She belly laughed. “Oh we are going to have such a lot of fun tonight! Come on, Clara.”

Their hands touched as the redhead reached down to help her up. In all future memories of this moment, it seemed to Clara like she was in Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam. Any hints of the reality, that a wide-eyed, shakey-legged sex-addled Scooby Doo cosplayer was being picked off the floor of a bar, were quickly purged from her mind by a greater realisation.

“You know my name.”

“Of course I do. I don’t get to snog many girls in my line of work.” She winked “And I make a note of the cute ones. I’m Amy.”

Clara nearly fell to the floor again.

But Amy kept her on her feet, one arm pulling her whole body to her.

“How about we get you into that taxi, I let you calm down for a little bit, and then you and I can get to know each other, okay?”

A sigh of relief from Clara; this was going well at last!

“Okay.”

“And then after that we can make out a little and I’ll put my hands up your jumper, sound good?”

“Oh God yes.”

 END OF PART 1

[tails89]

Couldn’t find the words

“Ah shit!”

Derek pulls up, feet almost skidding on the icy ground, to avoid running into the woman who had just slipped in front of him. He offers his hand to help pull her to her feet and then crouches to gather up the items that had spilled from her bag.

“Thanks.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks pink in the cold.

Derek can only just hear her over the music blaring from his headphones. “It’s not a problem,” he mumbles, handing over the bag.

She opens her mouth as if to say something more, but Derek is already beginning to move away. It’s a half hour run back to his place and he still needs to shower and eat before work. He knew he’d be cutting it close when he decided to detour through the main street to check on Erica and Boyd.

He gets home with time to spare and takes a long shower. Werewolves may run warmer than most humans, but even Derek couldn’t deny that the winter chill had finally set in across Beacon Hills.

He’s just sitting down to breakfast when his computer begins to beep the incoming chirp of a Skype call. Derek stabs at his keyboard to accept the call.

“I don’t have time for this Stiles,” he greets the rumpled figure on the screen.

“You could have ignored me,” Stiles counters, grinning down at the screen. His hair is sticking up at all angles, suggesting he only just got out of bed. The dark circles surrounding his eyes suggesting he could probably do with more sleep.

“And you would have kept calling and texting until I answered. It’s usually just quicker to answer the first time.”

“You’re learning!”

“I’m leaving.” Derek shoves the last piece of toast in his mouth and goes to shut the laptop.

“Hey, wait.” Stiles waves his hands in front of the camera. “Finals are over. I’m heading home on Friday, you’re still cool with me crashing at your place Friday night yeah?”

“Why aren’t you staying with your Dad again?” Derek asks.

“Between Dad and Melissa, Scott and Kira I’m going to be the double third wheel?” Stiles does the maths on his fingers. “The fifth wheel? It’s awkward man, and its either share my room with Scott who will not shut up about Kira this and Kira that or sleep on the couch. The couch Derek! In my own house! I’d much rather crash in your spare room.”

Derek glances at the time. “Yeah, sure, you can stay here,” he says. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you Frida-.”

Derek shuts his laptop, ending the call. He rushes out the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out. His phone chirps Stiles’ indignance at being hung up on. Fortunately, he can cut across the park quickly to get into town and get to his job at the library with time to spare to set up for the day.

***

It’s late when Derek finally makes it home.

The lights are on inside the house, illuminating small patches of the porch through drawn curtains.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Derek drawls as he pushes the door open, “but I’m not surprised you managed to find a way in… and make yourself at home.”

“Hey Derek,” Stiles pauses the movie he’s been watching. “Nice place. Way less creepy than the old one. And look, it has walls!”

Derek drops his keys on the table by the front door and makes his way over to the couch, stopping to drop his bag on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, that was one of the reasons I chose it actually,” he says, knocking Stile’s feet off the seat so he can sit.

“Huh, werewolf’s got jokes,” Stiles teases. He offers Derek the bowl of popcorn he’d been munching on. Popcorn he must have purchased, because Derek knows there had been none in the house that morning. “Seriously though,” Stile continues, “it’s nice.”

Derek takes the offered snacks. “You should have seen it when I bought it.” He looks around at the fresh painted walls and plush carpet.

“Yeah, dad was telling me. He said you’d bought a dump. This is so not what I was expecting.”

The sheriff had advised Derek against purchasing the worn-down house, but Derek had needed something to do with his spare time once the pack had all gone off to university. At first, he’d considered fixing up the old Hale house, but the damage to it had been too significant and it had needed to be pulled down completely. Derek didn’t have the heart to try and re-build it from scratch. It wouldn’t be the same.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Derek says. “It just needed new paint and carpet, and some electrical work and the bathrooms needed resealing and tiling.”

Stiles stares at him. “Sure.” He lets the word drag out.

“Anyway,” Derek says, trying to turn the attention away from himself. “What are you doing here? You told me you wouldn’t be here until Friday?”

“Oh, you got that did you?” Stiles retorts, “when you so rudely hung up on me.” He shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth, chattering as he chews. “I managed to get an extra day off work so I could come home early.”

“Your dad will be happy,” Derek says. “He’s missed you.”

Stiles nods. “I haven’t told him yet. I’m going to surprise him at work tomorrow.” He hits play to resume the movie.

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “Is that your way of asking if you can crash here?”

“That’s cool right?” Stiles asks.

Derek doesn’t have a problem with it, but he draws out his answer as if he’s mulling it over. Finally he says, “Fine. You can stay.” He gestures back towards the hall. “The spare room is down the hall on the left.

Grinning, Stiles resumes the movie.

***

When Derek gets up the next morning, he can already hear Stiles rustling around in the bathroom across the hall. He ducks into his ensuite for a quick shower and is heading out into the kitchen just as Stiles is opening the fridge to peer inside.

“There’s eggs in there if you want.” Derek moves over to the coffee maker. “Or muesli in the cupboard.” There’s already a fresh pot brewing. Stiles must have worked the machine out while Derek was in the shower.

“Muesli,” Stiles scoffs. He has the eggs and a carton of milk in one hand, the other is reaching for the pantry door. “Who in their right mind eats muesli?” He finds the flour and dumps his armload on the bench. “But you knew that already,” he says going back for the sugar and maple syrup. “Because by some magical chance you have all the ingredients – unopened – for pancakes. Crazy, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s weird,” Derek agrees, pouring himself a coffee and sitting on one of the bar stools to watch Stiles mix up the batter. “No idea how that happened.”

“It’s almost like you knew I was coming.” Stiles sets the frypan on the stove to heat and fills his mug with coffee. “Ahh, the sweet elixir of life!” He takes a moment to savour the taste before turning back to the task at hand. The pan sizzles when he drops the butter onto the hotplate. “So, what are your plans for the day?” He asks Derek.

“I’m working this morning,” Derek tells him. “But I finish around lunch if you want to do something?”

Stiles flips the first pancake.

“Sounds good,” he says. “I’m going to surprise Dad at work. I haven’t told him I’m back yet.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “So you said.”

“I’m surprising him so I can catch him out eating junk food,” Stiles says defensively. “Don’t look at me like that.” He drops the finished pancake onto a plate. “I’m young and healthy. I can eat what I want.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Derek snags the plate and drizzles a generous serving of maple syrup over the top.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Stiles lunges for the plate. “You don’t even like pancakes. Go eat your muesli.”

Derek holds him back with one hand. “This is rent,” he claims. “You owe me two more. Get cooking.”

Stiles grumbles and returns to the stove to finish breakfast.

“Will you be staying here again tonight?” Derek asks.

“If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Derek holds out his plate to accept another pancake. “Cora’s not coming down for Christmas this year. She’s meeting Jason’s parents.”

“Oh yeah, she was telling me about that.” Stiles sits to eat his breakfast. “That’s cool. And it means no couch for Stiles.” He devours his meal while Derek packs the dishwasher and cleans his teeth.

Derek grabs up his jacket and shrugs it on. “I’m off. I’ll catch you later.”

Stiles nods and finishes his breakfast.

***

“Hey Daddio!”

“Hey kid, what are you doing here?” Sherriff John Stilinski stands from his desk and gathers his son up in a hug. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“I was able to get a couple of extra days off work,” Stiles explains. He lets go of his Dad and takes a seat on the desk, one foot bracing and the other swinging in the air. “So, surprise!” He breaks out the jazz hands.

“This is fantastic.” John sits at his desk. “Scott gets back tomorrow, and I know Mel is dying to see her boys. I’ll let her know to get your room set up.”

“It’s all good.” Stiles says, waving his dad off. “I’m crashing at Derek’s place. Figured Scott and Kira would want to room together and I’m not about to get between those two lovesick puppy dogs.”

John frowns. “Are you sure?” He asks. “It’s your room. I don’t want you to feel like you haven’t got a place to go.”

“It’s fine Dad, really.” Stiles reassures him. “It’s easier this way. No fighting over who gets to use the shower first, and most importantly, no sleeping on the couch.”

His dad gives him a thoughtful look. “If you’re sure,” he says. “And you need to come over for dinner tonight.”

“Of course.”

“And bring Derek. He hasn’t been over in a while.”

“Don’t you two watch hockey or something every weekend?” Stiles stands. His hands have somehow found a pen to fidget with.

“Yes,” John says seriously. “Because somehow in a whole household of sporty werewolf and werewolf adjacent kids, not a single one of you appreciates sport.”

“I can see now I’ve done you wrong as a son,” Stiles says solemnly. “The least I can do is drag Derek along.”

“The very least,” his dad agrees.

Stiles moves around to give his dad a hug. “We’ll see you tonight then.”

***

Christmas morning dawns cold and foggy. It’s too early for the sun to rise and burn through the morning mist and the dim grey light that filters through the curtains does little to brighten the room.

Derek’s not sure what woke him but as he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling he realises he can hear Stiles moving around in his room next door. It’s earlier than Derek would normally get up and he’s cosy and warm, so he rolls back over intending to get at least another hour of sleep in before rising for the day.

The light tread of footsteps patters down the hall, pausing outside Derek’s bedroom. The door is thrown open and Stiles is there, hair sticking up all over the place and shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

 “It’s Christmas Derek!” His phone is in his hand and he taps it. The warbling tone of Mariah Carey drifts up from the loungeroom.

“Oooooh I- do-hn’t want a-lot for Christmas-“

“No.” Derek rolls over and stuffs his pillow on top of his head.

“And guess what?”

“No.”

“It’s a certain grumpy werewolf’s birthday!”

“ -The-re’s just one thing I need-“

“It’s too early Stiles,” Derek grumbles. His pillow does nothing to muffle the music which is getting louder. He raises his head to glare at Stiles. “I will end you,” he warns.

Stiles laughs and holds his phone up to his mouth like a microphone.

“All I want for Christmas is you.”

Derek throws his pillow at the door. Stiles ducks out of the way and dashes down the hall. Derek can hear his fluffy socks slide against the hardwood. With a groan he throws off his covers and stands.

“It’s 6am on Christmas,” Derek complains, stomping out of his room.

“Exactly!” Stiles is hovering at the end of the corridor. “It’s Christmas! Oh my god, hurry up!”

“For what? Jesus Stiles, is this what you were like as a kid because-“ the words die in Derek’s throat as he reaches the end of the hallway. “How- how did you…?” His living room has been transformed with twinkling coloured lights running along the windows and a tinsel wrapped tree in the corner. “This is…”

“Surprise! Happy Birthmas!” Stiles falls into one of the lounge chairs, arms spread wide.

“How on earth did you manage this without waking me?” Derek asks.

“With great difficulty and my super ninja skills.” Stiles shifts over so that Derek can sit too. “Actually,” he adds, “I didn’t think I’d be able to do it. I was one hundred percent sure you’d wander out and catch me dragging the tree in or something. You’re getting soft buddy.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek grumbles. “Is this it then? Can I go back to bed now?”

“What?” Stiles looks scandalised. “No, it’s Christmas Derek!”

“Yeah, I think you’ve said that three times now.” Derek tells him. “Doesn’t change the fact you woke me at the ass crack of dawn on a holiday-”

“The best holiday!”

“- and my birthday.” Derek talks over him, ignoring the interruption. “You know I can and will kick you out of my house.”

“Noo, Dad said I’m not allowed to go over until after 10am.”

“I wonder why that could be?”

“Rude.” Stiles hops up from the couch. “And to think I got you a present.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, of course I did, man. Here.” Stiles walks over to the tree. There is a single wrapped present sitting underneath half decorated in Christmas paper and half in birthday paper. Stiles sits on the floor to reach for the present.

“Wait.”

Stiles turns back to Derek. “What?”

“Just… one moment.”

Derek rushes back to his bedroom to grab the present he’d wrapped for Stiles. It’s been sitting up in his wardrobe for weeks. When he returns he goes to hand it to Stiles.

“Nope,” Stiles says, pulling his hands behind his back. “You have to put it under the tree.”

“Really?” Derek asks, standing there.

Stiles says nothing.

“Fine,” he sits on the carpet and puts the present under the tree.

“Now we can open them together.” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek. “Coffee first.” He gets up and moves towards the kitchen. Stiles is practically vibrating in place as he watches Derek fill and start the coffee maker. He potters around the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew, making a show of unpacking the dishwasher and putting things away.

When he finally returns with to mugs of coffee, Stiles glares at him.

“You took your time on purpose.”

Derek shrugs. “You made me get up before the sun was up. I’m going to make you wait for presents.”

“This is an outrage.” Stiles makes grabby hands at the second mug of coffee Derek is holding.

“You’ll get over it.”

“You’re worse than my Dad.”

“Do you want the present or not?”

“Yes! I can’t believe you got me a present.”

***

They head over to the Stilinski house at around 11am. Stiles is chomping at the bit to go and unwrap more presents with family and Derek is looking forward to foisting him off on someone else. It’s loud and boisterous as the Stilinski men try and work out who got the gag gift.

Stiles tears the wrapping paper off a dilapidated old cardboard box, crowing in delight. “It’s mine again!” He opens the flap, face falling as he pulls out a rock. “What is this?” He demands, shooting his Dad a dirty look. “This is your doing.”

The Sheriff bites back a laugh. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “It wasn’t my turn.”

Stiles digs through the box pulling out more rocks. At the bottom of the box there is an Xbox gift card. “Don’t think I’ll forgive you that easily.” He turns to Scott who had gifted him the card. “Thanks man.”

“You should have seen your face,” Scott laughs. “Worth it.”

Stiles scowls, “Who’d you give it to?”

“Oh, Derek,” Kira hands over another present. “This one’s for you.”

Derek looks up in genuine delight. “You really didn’t have to.” He starts unwrapping the large present, his lips twitch infinitesimally. “Uh, thanks?” The struggle to remain genuine is clear on his face.

“You gave it to Derek?!” Stiles screeches, mock outraged.

“I don’t understand.” Derek pulls the last of the paper off the large jar of bar soap.

“It’s decorative,” the Sheriff says defensively. It sounds like an old argument.

“In what universe?” Stiles argues. “It’s cheap hand soap you bought at the supermarket.” Stiles turns on Scott, “I can’t believe you gave it to Derek. He’ll probably actually use it.”

“Yeah, because I have hygiene standards, unlike you.” Derek teases.

“You’re part of the family now,” Melissa tells Derek solemnly. “That soap’s been doing the rounds for what, five years?”

“It was a heartfelt gift,” John defends. “And you all treat it like a joke.”

“It was a panic purchase on Christmas Eve,” Stiles laughs. “He hadn’t had time to get me anything for Christmas, so he bought a dollar store jar and a bunch of those multipacks of soap.”

“And my son had the absolute audacity to regift it back to me the next year.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Stiles teases. “It’s supposed to come in the box,” he points out the one his gift card had been in, “but Scott is a duplicitous fiend. What can you expect from the one engaged to a trickster?”

Kira bumps shoulders with Derek. “I got it last year.”

“Ah, so it was your idea then!” Stiles nudges Derek with his foot. “We’ll just have to think of a way to get them back next year.”

“Maybe I want to keep it,” Derek grins. “It’s a nice jar. I could put it on the hall table.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Stiles warns. “I will never come to your place ever again.”

“Oh, then I’m definitely putting it on display.”

“That’s it, we’re not friends anymore.” Stiles stands to collect wrapping paper, shoving Derek over on his way past to the recycling bin.

The house is beginning to smell of baked goods and once they’ve finished unwrapping presents Stiles and Scott go to help Melissa in the kitchen.

Not long after Erica and Boyd turn up for lunch after spending the morning with their own families.

It’s cramped around the table with eight people, but they make it work, passing around food and drink until everyone has a plate. The wolves might not be able to get drunk, but they give it their best shot with beer and wine and other alcoholic beverages.

As the humans of the group, John, Stiles and Melissa are very capable of drinking too much but know better than to try and keep up with the rest of the pack.

Stiles is feeling pleasantly buzzed when he drops down onto the sofa with Scott.

“I’m so full,” he groans, using one hand to rub his overstuffed belly. “I’m never eating ever again.”

“You say that now,” Scott tells him, “but I know from experience that you’ll stuff yourself again at dinner and complain all night.”

“Not all night,” Stiles says. “I refuse to sleep on this couch, I’ll just get Derek to roll me home at some point.”

“Just because I don’t have to put up with it doesn’t mean it won’t be happening.” Scott points out.

“Fair point.” Stiles slouches down in his seat.

“Thanks for letting us stay in your room by the way.”

Stiles waves Scott off.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing you’ve got Derek.” Kira wanders over from the kitchen in time to chime in on their conversation. “Things would have been a bit cramped otherwise.”

“Tell me about it.” Stiles takes another sip from the beer he’s been nursing. He knows he should slow down if he wants to make it to dinner. “I still can’t believe Mel sold the house. We had so many memories in that place.”

“Well it’s not like she was living in it anymore.” Kira drops onto her fiancés’ lap, careful not to spill her wine. “It’s kinda sweet that your parents got together.”

“Took them long enough,” Stiles grumbles. “Do you know how long Scotty and I have been trying to set them up? We had it all planned out. Our room was going to have bunkbeds.”

“We could still do bunkbeds.” Scott points out. “They’d be a bit cramped now days,” he grins at Kira.

“Gross.” Stiles sits up. “I don’t want to hear about how you two are defiling my childhood bed. I’m going to go find Derek.”

He finds Derek in the kitchen with his Dad and Boyd. John’s unloading the dishwasher for Food Coma round two and Derek is helping him put things away.

“Why are you all wearing your serious discussion faces?” Stiles asks as he hops up onto the bench.

“Boyd caught the scent of another werewolf this morning.” Derek puts away the last plate and leans back against the bench next to Stiles’ hanging legs.

“You think it could be a threat?” John asks.

Boyd shrugs. “It’s the holidays, people are moving around more. They’re probably just passing through.”

Derek nods his agreement. “Still we’ll keep an eye out. Just to be sure.”

“Mr Alpha over here,” Stiles teases, knocking his foot against Derek. “Who’d have thought you’d be good at this one day?”

“I was always good at this.” Derek frowns, and knocks Stiles’ leg away.

Boyd deadpans. “You were a terrible Alpha.”

“Is someone talking about Derek?” Erica and Melissa enter the kitchen. She and Stiles high-five while Derek does his best Oscar the Grouch impression.

“You guys don’t understand what it was like putting up with all of you,” Derek grumbles.

“Oh, I think we have some idea.” Melissa shares a look with John. “Now, all of you, out of my kitchen unless you’re helping me with dessert.”

***

“I can’t believe you have to go back to Berkeley soon.”

It’s well after midnight. Erica and Boyd have gone home, and Scott and Kira have disappeared upstairs. Stiles is just about ready to head off himself. After a long day of eating and drinking he’s ready to fall into bed and sleep forever.

“I’m only three hours away,” he reminds his Dad, “and I come and visit all the time. Besides, I’ve only got a couple more months and I’m done.

“You know what you’re going to do when you finish?”

“Not a clue.” Stiles catches sight of Derek wandering into the lounge room. “Derek! Take me home.” He makes an aborted attempt to get off the couch. “You might have to roll me out to the car though. Mama McCall your food was too good.”

Melissa chuckles, tiredly from where she sits, head resting on one hand, legs curled up underneath herself. “Glad to hear it,” she says. “Now get out of my house so I can go to bed.”

Stiles pouts, climbs slowly to his feet.

“I’ll see you guys for dinner tomorrow,” he promises and follows Derek out to the car.

As the car starts up outside, John stands, holding out his hand for Melissa. “I never thought I’d be happy to see my son dating Derek Hale.”

“They’re good for each other.” Melissa lets John pull her up onto her feet. “I’m happy for them.”

“Yeah.” The flash of headlights illuminates the living room as the car pulls out of the driveway. “Me too.”

________________________________________________________________

Five times someone thought Stiles and Derek were dating (and they one time they finally used their words and were)

This’ll have underlying plot. I just love humourous miscommunication :)

Also posted on AO3

[silly-nonny-fics-are-for-fandoms]

Never again

Bakukami week day five (Part two) : Coffee @officialbakukamiweek Summary:  What happens when Kaminari has three cups of the most caffeinated coffee teenagers could get their hands on? Read on Ao3

Everyone knew that living in the dorms without supervision would lead to something bad happening, eventually. They expected someone's quirk to go crazy, or even for something to catch fire.

No, the first thing to really go wrong, where someone had to go for a serious issue to recovery girl, was the fault of Kaminari and his friends. Someone had left the Death Wish coffee out, and of course, no one could have predicted that Kaminari would drink three cups of it to keep himself awake enough to study for their test on Monday.

Especially not Bakugo, who had been out until the late hours studying, since his dorm was far too loud to get anything done, then spent another two hours going over his work in the common room. Fuck Weekends.

Walking into his dorm room, he collapsed on his bed and nearly fell asleep, until he heard from the darkness,

"Welcome back."

Bakugo responded by sending a rather large explosion their way, eyes wide and panic rushing through his mind. He almost screamed. Almost. It was two in the morning; only one person in the dorms had the right to be in his room at this time and it was him.

The light from the explosion illuminated the figure of who was in there with him, showing Kaminari sitting on his desk chair with a Pichu plushie on his lap along with his charger.

"What the fuck are you doing here?! I almost blew your face off!" Bakugo snarled, trying not to yell since Kirishima was right next door.

"Katsu," Kaminari said, voice full of awe as little shocks came from around his eyes, lighting up the room, "Did you know that explosions generate electricity?"

"Why the fuck are you still awake?!"

"Did you know electricity was used to discover the pleasure center of the brain? It causes really intense orgasms, apparently."

"What the hell has gotten into you?" He hissed, "Either go the fuck to sleep or get the fuck out!"

"I've had three big cups of Death Wish coffee tonight," Kaminari said, Bakugo's eyes widening in horror.

Death Wish Coffee had six hundred milligrams of caffeine in a single cup, and four hundred milligrams was around enough to start causing medical issues. It's why it was called 'Death Wish' after all.

"I'm pretty sure this laptop is tethering me to my physical body, Katsu. I also think I can remotely access electronics; I've charged Kiri's phone, his laptop, and I've already hacked into Shoji's phone and I'm not even in their rooms. As interesting as that is conceptually... I think now," He paused, his voice coming to an eerie whine as the electricity surrounding him flared up, his hair floating and the water from the cup Bakugo had left on his desk was immediately drawn to him, out of the cup as the pull got stronger, "Is a good time for medical intervention!"

"Oh damn," Bakugo groaned, sitting up, "C'mon, we're gonna fucking get you help."

"Katsuuu-" Kaminari whined, "Hurtz."

"Shit." He heard the laptop clatter to the ground, Kaminari falling to the ground as his body went rigid, hitting his head on the desk and floor on his way down. Bakugo was quick to react, picking up the blonde and walking out of his room, over to Kirishima's as the waves of electricity pulsed through him, muscles twitching and stinging. He kicked at the door, yelling, "Oi! Shitty hair! Wake the fuck up I think Denki's gonna fucking die!"

He could hear the rustling, leaning Kaminari against the wall as the lightning blonde started twitching, giggling wildly and whining, trying to reach up to cradle his head.

The door creaked open, Kirishima mumbling, "What the hell, man? It's super la-" His eyes widened when he saw Kaminari on the floor, Bakugo kneeling down next to him, yellow jolts coming dangerously close to him. A zap from Kaminari was never comfortable, could easily be deadly, so Kirishima hardened his body as quickly as he could, kneeling down and feeling the tingle across his rock-like skin as he picked the energetic one up.

"Okay, we gotta get him some help." Kirishima said, "What's our plan, bro?"

"I'm calling Aizawa, I need you to fucking make sure he doesn't die while I do that!"

They made their way downstairs as fast as they could, Kaminari's electricity turning on all the lights on their way and likely waking up multiple students until they got to the main floor. In the kitchen was a landline, a direct connection to the teachers in case of an emergency.

"Hello, what seems to be your issue?" Said a robotic voice, Bakugo saying as calmly as he could,

"We need Aizawa or Recovery girl. Immediately." He'd learned that swearing to the stupid bots would get him nowhere, the same with yelling.

"You're being transferred to their personal line." It said, and Bakugo heard the television turn on and off, lights flickering wildly as the electronics in the kitchen went on the fritz. The fridge door slammed open and shut, microwave beeping and oven flashing, sink turning on and off again and again. He assumed the baths and laundry rooms would be in a similar state. It looked like a ghost movie.

"How's Denki?!" Bakugo yelled to Kirishima, who was keeping Kaminari close in the living room, Kaminari's whole body twitching and his eyes rolling into the back of his head, breath coming in tiny, jerking short breaths with wheezing.

"I. I don't know! He's freaking out, man!"

"Lay him on his side, he needs to breathe!"

"What's going on?" Aizawa's voice came through the phone, tired as usual.

"Denki's freaking the fuck out! He had three cups of Death Wish Coffee and he might be fucking dying!"

"I'll be right over; What's he like at the moment?"

Thank God Aizawa was calm since neither of the teenagers was, not really.

"Kirishima!"

"H-He's. He's barely breathing! It looks like he's been electrocuted in those movies, I. He's." Tears came to Kirishima's eyes, doing all he could to keep Kaminari safe on the carpet away from any sharp objects or furniture. He was the only one who could touch him.

Bakugo relayed the message to Aizawa, who was on his way to their dorm as fast as he could.

"He may be having a seizure, Bakugo. Caffeine overdose can have that effect, and it's common in electric quirk users to have them when they ingest caffeine. How long has he been having the seizure?"

"A few minutes," He glanced at the wall clock, and it had only been twenty minutes since he headed up to his dorm. "About ten."

"Did he hit his head on anything?"

"Yeah, my desk and the fucking floor!"

"It'll be okay, Bakugo," He recognized what his teacher was doing; saying it would be okay to calm his nerves and to hide the severity of the situation from him, "Have Kirishima check his pulse. I'm almost there."

Kirishima did as he was told, feeling the fast beating of his friend's pulse under his fingers. The tears started falling as blood spilled out of Kaminari's gasping mouth.

The front door slammed open, Aizawa in the doorway as he rushed over, checking Kaminari for injuries before sighing.

"What's fucking wrong with him?!" Bakugo yelled, hanging up the phone and going over, hands shaking.

"He's going to be alright, you two. He's having a seizure. Long seizures are dangerous, but it might be because he hit his head. I'll stay here for a bit longer, and if he doesn't stop, then I'll take him to get help. How much caffeine did he ingest?"

He activated his quirk, and the lights finally settled down along with the rest of the electronics, Kirishima's quirk also getting deactivated. Though, if it was voluntary or not was another story.

"It's like," Kirishima started, but Bakugo cut him off.

"It's six hundred and thirty milligrams, and he had three. That's eighteen hundred ninety milligrams; more than enough to fucking kill him."

"Alright. I'll take it from here, go back to bed." Aizawa said, Bakugo yelling in response.

"Fuck that! I'm staying here!"

"Me too!"

"Go. To. Bed. There's nothing you can do for him at the moment. We can't do anything until he's stopped seizing, then he has to get to the medical office, so we can make sure he didn't get brain damage. You'll learn to use the equipment in second year, so go to bed for now. He's going to be alright."

So, they obeyed, worried for their friend in very different ways.

When morning came, the class had been made aware of what happened, and why the lights had gone as odd as they had that night.

"He's fine, now. But he took a long time to stop seizing up, and he's been placed on medical watch for now. Apparently, this isn't his first time in this situation. He's in the medical office."

They'd also learned the difference between the nurse's staton and the medical office. One, far less equipped, was in the school building while the other was in the sports arena, with all the medical tools one could need. A mini hospital.

Kaminari would be able to come back once they were sure he was alright, which wouldn't take that long, Aizawa assured. He'd be back by the time classes started on Monday.  Shoji and Kirishima reported their electronic devices well and truly hacked into, as well as fully charged and optimized.

And when Kaminari did return, he'd been placed on a strict caffeine and sugar ban for obvious reasons. Kirishima had hugged him, refusing to let him go for nearly an hour after the traumatic experience. Bakugo was mad, considering he knew what could've happened and yet, he did it anyway.

Bakugo had seen to it himself that the coffee was locked away, to be used by anyone other than Kaminari in moderation. He didn't want to think about the idea of that happy smile twisted into pained grimaces, gentle hands twitching and his body jerking around like a livewire. He didn't know what made him so emotional over something like this. He shouldn't be this angry over an accident.

"If you ever fucking try that shit again," He'd hissed to Kaminari, "I'll not only kick your ass hard enough to make you wish you’d never been born, I'll fucking kill you. Do you understand, idiot?"

Kaminari had grinned his heartstopping grin, and Bakugo knew he would actually have to hold himself to that threat. If something took that smile from his life, he didn't know what he'd do.

[rolltidewrestlingfan4life]

THIS IS VERY LONG AND VERY PERSONAL FOR ME. YOU MAY FIND IT AN ENJOYABLE STORY. I DID NOT PLAN TO WRITE A VIRTUAL NOVELLA BUT MY HEART AND SOUL STARTED POURING.

I didn’t do this back in February but this man deserves the mention and respect. This is the man that raised me. The man I idolize. He died February 5th as I was performing CPR on him or just before. I’m happy that he had a very quick and painless death that I believe he was expecting and prepared for. This man was born in New Hampshire and took a job in the 8th grade, he never returned to school and usually worked 2 jobs 6 days a week. His family moved back and forth between New Hampshire and Vermont. He got his first car when his brother’s car broke down, his brother traded him a 48 Ford for a bicycle.He loved riding his Indian motorcycle until a car slowed too fast  in front of him and he collided and flew over the top of the car, miraculously his only injuries were cuts and knocked out teeth. In 1955, he made the decision to join the US Air Force.It would be the decision that triggered his destiny, After completing basic training he returned home to New Hampshire, gave his brother his air force ring as a momento (I have it now) and headed to Savannah Georgia where he was stationed. 

431 miles away, in a booming coal mining town deep in the country of central Alabama, there lived a teenage girl in her senior year of high school. She didn’t really care for any of the boys in her town though she would “take them from their girlfriends to prove she could” She had an aunt and uncle that lived up in the big city in Birmingham, that is..until  her Uncle joined the Army. Ironically, he was station in Savannah.

As fate would have it, the man from Alabama met the young man from New Hampshire and they became friends. One day there was a special event at the base where family was invited, the teenage girl came with her aunt to see her Uncle. In the cool twilight of the day the girl was walking outside when she saw a man sitting on a bench beneath an oak tree. The tree was huge,it had stood for many decades if not a century, the tree had wisdom in it’s soul. She stared at the young man in the distance. The sun was fading as swamp moss swayed in the breeze as the night began to overtake the day. She saw a flicker of light as the young man lit a Lucky Strike with his zippo. “he looks just like Elvis Presley” she thought. Something in the breeze made her sneeze, try as she might she could not hold it in. The young man turned at the sound and stopped in his tracks. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever saw and he had to meet her. He approached her and introduced himself, he was the young man from New Hampshire. They spent a lot of that night sitting under that mighty oak and talking about their pasts, their presents and their hopes for the future.

Not long after the meeting, the man was deployed to Morocco in North Africa. Morocco had been under French control and the locals were ready for a revolution. He was a photographer, after a battle between the rebels and the french, he would either sit on the edge or hang from a cord out of a helicopter and take photos of dead bodies, destroyed buildings. He saw a lot of things a man just don’t want to remember while he was in Africa. When he was being sent home, the airplane he was in lost an engine over the Bermuda triangle, the plane struggled but managed an emergency landing in the Virgin Islands.. after a day there, he was in the air bound for Savannah.

He was pleasantly surprised and happy to see the girl from Alabama waiting when he and his fellow soldiers stepped off the plane. They went to the movies that day. They would talk on the phone and write long love letters to one another almost daily. I have a shoebox full of these and they span a month, It was clear these two were smitten. One weekend, he decided he had to see her. He went AWOL on a Friday night and drove almost 7 hours through a state he had never seen, to a town he had never heard of. The young girl’s mother had heard about him and knew he was her brother in law’s friend, she also knew her daughter was crazy about him. She invited him in for supper and to talk and get to know the family. When bedtime came though, the young man was made to sleep on the porch. Going AWOL on weekends to spend days in her house and nights alone on her porch became a regular thing until finally, he showed up one weekend with a ring. A week later, they were married in a small church that her family had established decades ago, He was called up to serve in the Bay of Pigs but received his honorable discharge just a week before. He flew to New Hampshire and kissed his momma, got his dad’s guitar (the only thing he had left of his father) and wished his brothers and sisters well. He flew back to his new home and his new wife in Alabama. He opened his own photography studio but business was slow, there just wasn’t a demand for professional photography in this town. He took a job with the owner of a gas station/general store at the end of Main Street, he worked 6 days a week,, delivering items, repairing things and installing huge propane tanks. In 1959, he and his wife had their first child, a daughter. A little boy came in 1961. His father in law was an electrician at the huge hospital in Birmingham Alabama, he got the young man a job in the maintenance department.

He learned much working at the huge University Hospital, he learned about electricity, he learned HVAC, he learned plumbing. He watched and soaked in everything. He was a long way away from the burning corpses he photographed in Africa, or was he? September 15 1963 seemed a usual day at work. Even a slow day, He was working in the attic area of the hospital, running ductwork, secluded from people or news. Around noon he got a call to immediately go to the morgue and repair a broken light. When he got there he climbed his ladder and fixed the light. With the room now bright, he realized he had illuminated bad memories and new sorrow, as he climbed down the ladder he looked down upon the charred and burned bodies of four young innocent girls. One was completely decapitated, barely recognizable as a human, another had metal embedded in her head. He could not fathom what he was seeing, he did not know what he felt. He only knew his heart was broken. He found out later these girls were murdered. The church they were attending sunday school at was bombed, an act of racism in the deep south in 1963. He hated it. This man never liked seeing someone innocent hurt or suffer. He also never saw color, he saw people for being decent or not. He was a part of history that day, however small a part it may have been.

After 5 years of working at the huge hospital in the magic city, he was told of a new, smaller hospital being built. It was closer to home and they were paying more to attract employees. He started in maintenance and engineering the day they hospital opened in 1964. Two months later, the director of plant operations resigned, this position was 3rd in command of the whole hospital and responsible for overseeing engineering, maintenance, and security. At only 26 years old,he was shocked when the position was offered to him. He accepted without hesitation. He was a nervous wreck but it fueled him. His wife took a job at the same hospital.

In 1982, his first grandchild was born, His son had a daughter. A grandson followed in 1984. In 1989, his daughter had her only son. To the man, there was something different about this kid, maybe it was his father not being around, maybe it was fate but the man decided he would mold this kid and raise this kid. He was closer to this kid than the other grandchildren. He fell in love with that baby and as he grew that baby became a kid and loved that man too. From then on out, they were absolutely inseparable.. I am that kid. We would ride dirt roads while Alan Jackson or George Strait, George Jones and Merle Haggard blaring on the radio. I was always the flashlight man. Deep in a dark crawlspace holding it while he worked on electrical wires.. just as he did I was watching, I was learning, I was soaking in his knowledge like a sponge. We would ride the country roads on the weekend, stopping at every yardsale and junkyard we’d pass. Oh, how I loved when we’d burn brush or leaves and watch the fire. We’d go fishing and somehow there was always a venomous snake and he always killed it with a wooden handle floating fishing knife. I still have that knife today.

His father in law had passed in 1984 and his mother in law’s health was failing, His wife retired early from the hospital in 2001 to take care of her. Her aunt and the Uncle that had arranged their meeting way back in Savannah were also gravely ill, she moved them in too. He kept working at the hospital,He was the man that made that place run. His mother in law passed in late 2001. In 2003, her uncle passed away. It had come full circle. He had made it possible for them to meet and they had returned the favor by caring for him, her aunt followed him in death shortly after.

By this time, his granddaughter had two daughters and he and his wife had been through a lot caring for 3 bedridden people for 3 years. When he received word that the huge hospital in Birmingham he had left 40 years ago was taking over the hospital, he retired. For the next 19 years, It was yard sales, brush fires, and working on houses. I was grown but I was still a kid, still watching his every move, still his helper, still his flashlight man. In 2017, he suddenly grew weaker. He still worked and pushed himself as hard as he could but something was wrong. He knew it. He just didn’t know what. Through 2018 I became the main repairman, he just couldn’t do it anymore. His leg and back had great pain. He lit the pilot light with me and all but collapsed as we exited the basement. His legs had grown week and just gave out on him. Later that day I had to repair something in the attic, I will never forget him saying “I’m sorry, I’d help you if I could, I’d even just hold your flashlight but I gotta say in my chair right now, you know what you’re doing son.” Neither of us spoke it, but that was a powerful moment.. He had called me son. All of my life, I never saw him as my grandad, though I did call him Papa. I called him dad from that day forward. Later that year, I bought a fuel pump for his truck, I love that truck. I bought new tires and got it running. When he saw it running, he told me “You did a good job getting her going son, take care of YOUR truck.” He knew he had grown old, his memory had began failing, his legs weakening. He had passed his role as the fixer around three houses, and he had passed his truck to me.

Through 2018 most of our time together was spent in his den, him in his recliner, me on the couch, nana in hers. We watched NASCAR, we watched every Alabama football game together, when nana was gone.. me and Papa would watch reruns of Gunsmoke, and Mash. He passed out at a store in late 2018 and was admitted to the hospital, all the test revealed nothing wrong, they attributed the pain to a nerve. On February 4 2019, He really wanted a haircut to the point the barber had to stay late to wait for us. It was a 15 minute drive to the barbershop and he and I talked, we talked about memories, we talked about friends who had died, and family who had died. His memory was sharp as a tack that day. On the way home, I asked him why he was in such a hurry for a haircut.. He reached over and put his hand on my knee, gave me a gentle pat.. his eyes.. the same eyes that had seen dead bodies in Africa, burnt little girls dead in alabama, that had seen 60 years of a wonderful marriage, 2 children, 2 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren, those same eyes looked at me. There was a focus yet a distance in them as he answered “I just felt like I needed to look good for tomorrow.”

The next morning, I woke up around 7 as usual and walked next door to their house, he wasn’t awake yet. He had started sleeping in, or just laying in the bed. It had gotten to where by the time he got up and got dressed, his legs were so weak he had to lay right back down. I got my coffee and visited with my grandmother a while and refilled my cup and went home. A couple hours later I had the strongest urge to go see him, as I got up I noticed my coffee cup was full. “He’s probably not up yet, I’ll wait until all my coffee is gone then I’ll see him.” That was a decision I will always regret.

Maybe 30 minutes later, As I was listening to the The Rolling Stones through my headphones, I heard the sound of my little cousin screaming. She was outside running toward my house just screaming help and crying at the top of her lungs. I ran outside and she yelled it’s papa. The whole world became a blur. I knew nothing. Nothing was familiar. It was so fast yet so slow. All I knew was I was me, and he was him. I loved him. He was my life and I was his. I had to get ti him. I ran faster than I ever dreamed I could, I didn’t even notice doors or steps.. Though I had to have somehow seen them. Everything was blur. I was here, he was there. It felt like an hour but it was really less than a minute. I got to him. There he was, laying on his back in front of his bedroom door. As soon as I saw him, his words about his haircut the day before played in my mind. I knew he was gone. He was my Papa, my dad, my friend, my teacher, my everything. I had to try and bring him back. I immediately started cpr. 911 advised me to do mouth to mouth as well, when I did, I tasted blood. I never stopped cpr. I knew je was gone. In that moment, his kid finally became a man. I felt different, I finally felt just like him. My Mind 2 months later is still in the floor with him. Today, I let that go. He would want me too. He would say sometimes, well we tried everything.. that thing just can’t be fixed. A couple nights ago I had a dream, so vivid. It was an exact replay. I was over his body desperately performing CPR, suddenly, in the dream.. he appeared and pulled me away from his own body. It was clear this was his spirit as he put his arm around me and hugged me and said “It just gave out on me, you tried everything, that old thing just couldn’t be fixed.” He lived an amazing life. The world will not remember nor remark him but today I celebrate him. I celebrate him for going from an 8th grade education to an air force photographer to spending 40 years as director of engineering at a hospital. I celebrate him for being a rock who always helped his family or those in need.  I celebrate him for picking me. It’s no secret I was his favorite. He never tried to hide it, not to spite the others. This man loved all of his grandchildren equally.. There was just something different with me. It was like we were twins. We were just inseparable. I write all this to celebrate him and to let him go. My mind must stop trying to bring him back. He lived his life and he is now free from pain and a failing body. He is learning all the mysteries, he is getting all the answers so that he can teach me when I get there. I love you so much Papa, your soul is in heaven, but your spirit is in me. I see you in my eyes, I wear your belt buckle and I use your tools. I drive our truck. Your fingerprints are everywhere. It’s okay that you’re not here in your body. You’ve left a mark on everything. You will always be alive in us. I wish you had lived until I had children, I know you liked the young lady I wish would be mine.I can’t wait until I do have children and I can tell and show them all about their amazing Papa. 

Heaven needed a jack of all trades engineer, they got you. Have fun up there, I’ve got it down here, I learned from the best and you taught me well. I will take care of nana, the houses and the rest of the family and hopefully one day I’ll do what you did and move and marry the girl of my dreams. I hope you get to watch my life from up there, and I hope I make you proud.

-JLM

[pipmer]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes) Additional Tags: Friendship/Love, Fluff, Pre-Slash, Romance, Life Partners, Watson's Woes WAdvent, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, First Kiss Summary:

Sometimes risks must be taken in order to move forward.

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This was written for the Watson’s Woes Advent Challenge over on Dreamwidth. It is now complete! You can read the entire thing by clicking on the link above to AO3, or you can read Part 1 on tumblr here and Part 2 under the cut.

Final word count: 1679.

tagging @may-shepard, @engazed, @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant

John sat in his chair and watched as Sherlock played the violin, swaying in front of the window. Night had fallen, and the lampposts outside illuminated the gently falling snow. The light inside brought out the auburn undertones in Sherlock’s hair, as well as revealing the silver that had just started making itself known at his temples. Sherlock would age beautifully, John thought -- was aging beautifully. They had known each other for fifteen years now. The very best of friends, joined at the hip. Inseparable.

Anxiety started to claw its way up John’s throat; he ruthlessly quashed it down. He remembered Mrs Hudson’s words. He was brave enough to face this.

He cleared his throat. “Sherlock?” he said.

Sherlock stopped playing and turned to face him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

John swallowed. He stood up, and walked to within a foot of Sherlock before stopping.

“I got you something. Call it a New Year’s Eve present. Thought it would be a good time for it. Instead of New Year’s resolutions, which always get broken anyway. Wanted to do something -- tangible. Sorry, I know I’m rambling.”

Sherlock’s eyes twinkled. He placed his violin in its case and then straightened to give John his full attention. “You’re doing well so far.”

“Great. Um. Yeah. Anyway.” John held out his hand, fingers curled into a fist. Bemused, Sherlock held out his own hand, palm up.

John opened his fist, and out fell a keychain containing two keys, the larger one silver and the smaller one gold. The keychain itself was attached to a miniature skull carved from malachite. Sherlock’s jaw dropped open.

“John… what is this? What are these for? Surely you didn’t buy me a car.”

John cracked a smile, his nervousness ebbing. “No. Remember that case we took in Sussex? Afterwards we ran across that cottage for sale near Brighton, the one with the beehives out back? You insisted that we stop to check it out, and, well… you seemed enamored of it. Spoke of how you’d like to retire to such a place someday. That the Downs had always held a special place in your heart.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop staring at the keys nestled in the palm of hand. His thumb stroked the smooth green skull. “You bought me a house?”

John’s stomach did a funny swoop. “Well… us. It’s for us, actually. I have my own set of keys as well. But not to live in full-time! Not at first, anyway. I know you’re nowhere near ready to retire yet. It can be there for weekends, or anytime we feel like getting away from it all for a spell. The previous owners don’t mind serving as caretakers for awhile. Their main home isn’t that far away. I -- “ John rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy.

“It has two bedrooms,” he blurted out. “And a breakfast nook that looks out into the garden, I thought it would be a good space for me to -- to do my writing. Maybe consolidate all of our cases and make it into a novel. While you, I dunno, research bees and harvest honey? For us to eat and also to sell? Maybe?”

John’s words stuttered to a halt as he realised Sherlock was staring at him with laser sharp focus, unblinking. He had no idea what was going on inside the detective’s head, and it was making him very, very nervous.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked. His eyes widened, and his face suddenly brightened.

“John,” Sherlock murmured, awe lacing his tone. He grabbed John’s face, leaned in, and placed a dry enthusiastic kiss right on John’s lips. The kiss lingered for a few seconds before Sherlock drew away with a smack. His eyes glittered in the low lighting.

John flushed a deep crimson. Well. That was unexpected.

Sherlock enthused, “John, you are brilliant,” before dancing away into the kitchen. It wasn’t until the sound of a champagne bottle popping open reached his ears that John stirred.

“I am?” he asked as Sherlock waltzed back into the sitting room with two champagne glasses filled to the brim. Sherlock pressed one of them into John’s hand. He grinned.

“Of course. Because guess what I got *you*?”

“Er… what?”

“Well, ordered. A mahogany desk. A proper one, where you can do proper writing. And you can use the second bedroom for your writing space, since that also looks out onto the garden. I’ll put in an order for matching bookcases as well, round out your area good and proper.”

“But that won’t leave any room for my bed, wardrobe, bedside table and chest of drawers.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Oh,” John said. “Oh. You mean - what happened earlier. You want to - continue with that? Pursue things in that direction?”

“John,” Sherlock purred.  “You know my methods. Apply them.”

At that very moment, the clock started to strike midnight. As the strokes counted down, Sherlock and John gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Happy New Year, Mr Holmes,” John said.

“Happy New Year, Dr Watson,” Sherlock rejoined.

They grinned, clinked their glasses together, and drained them dry. Then, on the last stroke, they came together as they were always meant to, their caresses gentle and their kisses electric.

This year, John Watson took a risk. He was brave, despite his fear.

And now, in the coming year, he will reap the rewards of his courage and devotion.

Happy New Year, indeed.