#so he can do his stupid fucking side quests in the yard

[zapsoda]

i understand how peeta got so jacked from baking bread

[officialambassadorfrisk]

DnD Adventure 22 - Moss Edition

Shades was tired so you get me instead!

Half of us aren’t here so Dans, Undyne and Cam just got eeby deebyed

“Oh shit… everyone’s gone” -Dess, still slightly cooked

Frog: Now what?

Dess: We’re gonna go kill Dans’ fuckbuddy I guess

Frog: …what’s a fuckbuddy?

Tori: No-

*wheezing*

Charaty is dying help

Discussing whether we should talk to Steve or just kill him

“Murder is wrong” “Only if you get caught”

Suzy wants her own dick club and Tori said no >:( let her cook!!

Dess is approaching Steve!

“Hey do you deal in curses and dark magic? Are you, perhaps, a stupid motherfucker?” DESS STOP

He says he doesn’t know anything. Insight check for Dess! It’s a fucking nat 1! She leaves.

“He does fuck Dans a lot” “HE WHAT!?”

Undyne’s not here with Soupnik so now what?

Dess really wants to kill Steve lmfaooo

We’re going to the inn! Frog wandered off because of course they do

Side quest time!

Dess asks another adventuring party to move so she can see the notice board. A fairy turns around and tells her to go shove a stick up her fucking ass. She pulls out the dick club. Fairy is confused as fuck we’re going great

Dess calls him short and he tries to challenge her to a fight. His friend, a centaur, stops him and pulls him away

Dess reads the notice board! There’s a green dragon a while away. Dess tells Tori and Suzy that they should go fight it and asks the fairy and co (Magpie, btw) if they wanna come. He gets mad because they were already gonna fight it. She calls him little. He says he’s not little. She tells him to say that to her face, so he flies up and punches her in the face, so Dess grabs him and swaddles him like a baby. The third group member, a goblin, finally turns around and agrees to come with them.

Time to find Frog! They’ve been busking :] they got 24 gold they’re so proud of themself. The centaur introduces herself as Tymeneus and says the goblin is named Stags.

Off we go!

Tymeneus asks how they started travelling together and is very confused lol

We’re here! Tori rolled a nat 1 on investigation and looked directly into the fucking sun. We’re doing great

The dragon is here!

“Holy shit that’s a dragon” -Dess

Dess then tries to flirt with it but Magpie shoots it with his longbow! Goddamnit Magpie

Suzy attacks because of course she does! She does a whole 12 damage! Roll initiative

Tori uses lightning bolt! Unfortunately Suzy was directly in front of it so she also takes damage. The dragon is judging Tori lmao

I am bad at notes esp during combat um it’s shit lol. Also it’s judging Dess for the penis club

FROG JUST DIED!? I’M???

Undyne shows up and kills it! And then immediately goes to help Frog

They’re back! Just like Frisk fr

Undyne bear hugs them because holy shit. Tori reminds her to be careful, trying not to cry while Frog just has a thousand-yard stare and then starts crying my poor child :( Magpie is judging Dess for antagonising them when the kid just started crying

Undyne is trying to comfort Frog gaaaah. Dess pipes up and asks Tori what Dans is gonna do when he finds out Frog died. Instant lightning bolt. Undyne hands Frog to Tori ;-; 

Dess introduces the other group and says they’re part of the ‘Dick Club’ now. Undyne is pissed because this isn’t the time for jokes. Dess says that’s the name and that Suzy agrees. Suzy tells Dess to shut the fuck up and joins in on the hug. Tori gives Undyne a look and she kinda sighs and picks them up in a bear hug and Dess leaves.

Undyne puts the group down and talks to the others. Magpie seems to recognise Undyne. She does Not recognise Magpie. Tymeneus heals Tori and Frog and the gang leaves. Undyne checks on everyone and admits that took a toll on her as well. Emotional vulnerability?

Anyway, they head back to town to get a room so everyone can rest.

And then we talked about Undertale!

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part VII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

The name Triss had given him was a town near Brokilon Forest—perhaps a little too close for comfort, in fact. They arrived early, the sun’s rays just pushing over the rooftops of the sleepy little village. Jaskier was yawning behind him, his steps dragging. His ankle had finally healed up enough that he was able to walk without needing to take breaks on Roach every few hours, and seeing him healthy alleviated a weight that Geralt hadn’t known he’d been carrying.

Once in the village, Geralt headed off immediately to look around for a tailor or dressmaker, letting Jaskier take care of finding them accommodations for later that night and, hopefully, breakfast. It didn’t take long for Geralt to confirm what he’d already expected, looking around the tiny cluster of homes: there was no clothmaker in town. Frustrated, Geralt made his way to the one story inn and tavern that sat at the main crossroad in the center of town. Jaskier was already there, sitting at the bar with several plates of food and conversing with the barkeep. When he stepped into the room Jaskier raised his hand in greeting, as if Geralt wasn’t instantly aware of his presence in any space.

In the time it had taken Geralt to investigate the pitiful number of shops in the village, Jaskier had apparently already made friends with the innkeep, a burly man called Sulej with arms like a blacksmith. “There’s a fellow, elvish, lives out southwest of the village,” he said, leaning heavily on the bar while they ate the food Jaskier had purchased. “Closer to the, ah, forest. He comes around once every few months to trade, and two or three times from summer to winter he passes through on his way to the city to sell his cloth. Beautiful stuff, fine as woven silver. Bought me a piece years ago for a girl I fancied, could only afford a square.”

Geralt hummed to himself. It sounded right; if there was a field of moonflax nearby it was likely guarded well by the free elves left in the area. It would have perhaps been allowed to persist undisturbed so close to the Brokilon. “Anyone from the village ever visit?”

Sulej shook his head. “Not that I know of. We tend to give ‘em a wide berth. Doesn’t talk much when he comes into town, seems a bit of a loner.”

Geralt nodded. “Thanks for the information.”

They left the town with their gear stored in their room at the inn, aside from Geralt’s swords and Jaskier’s lute. The path to the weaver’s hut was well worn, though it grew less so as they walked closer to the forest. Storm clouds were gathering over the horizon to the west, and casting long shadows across the fields as they traveled. It was densely humid, the air heavy with the promise of a spring rain. Jaskier had left his fine doublets behind as he so often did on days like this, and his undershirt was quickly plastered to his back with sweat, exposing the flat planes of his shoulders and back. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned down the center of his chest, Jaskier looked far removed from the whimsical performer or the refined professor. Like this he was exposed, all masks pulled away, just Jaskier wiping sweat from his brow and grinning as he pointed out a feature of the landscape or a butterfly landing on a flower. Only Geralt got to see this.

They made their way southwest, a breeze picking up that smelled like ozone and petrichor. Finally, just as Geralt was beginning to worry there was no way they’d find it before the rain arrived, he spotted it; a little hut, just on the edge of a copse of trees. It was a tiny thing, no more than two rooms at best, with a large fenced in yard with a shed attached. In the yard bundles of what looked like long silver grass—flax, Geralt realized—were spread out, likely to dry in the sun, though there was little enough of that to be found now.

Geralt slowed, but Jaskier seemed to have no hesitation. While Geralt lingered, he jogged up to the small home and knocked loudly on the door, and then stood back with his hands on his hips. Geralt sighed and approached as well. No time to look around for clues to see what kind of person Triss had sent them to then. Jaskier was going to walk them right into a trap someday.

After several moments with no answer, Jaskier knocked again, this time a bit more firmly. Still there was no answer, and he turned a frown towards Geralt. “No one home?”

Geralt paused instead of responding, listening intently. The wind rustled through the trees nearby, birds and creatures rustling in the underbrush. The wind whistled over the roof of the hut, the thatched roof protesting the oncoming storm. Jaskier’s heart beat steadily beside him, slightly elevated from the walk, breath rushing in and out of his lungs. He smelled like salt and grass, and just barely of lavender soap.

Focus.

Beyond the hut and its little yard, someone was humming.

Geralt turned without speaking, moving around the border of the fence and following the faint melody. He could tell when Jaskier heard it by the faint catch in his breath; perhaps he recognized the song. It was sweet, a little sorrowful, and despite the lack of true vocalization the notes rang true.

When they finally came alongside the back of the house, they found the source of the humming to be a man, sitting cross-legged against the wooden boards. At first glance he looked young, but when he looked up to greet them Geralt could see the faint translucency to his skin and the delicate spider web of lines around his eyes. Elves, even with their now diluted blood, aged differently from humans, but they did age. The elf they faced now was very old indeed, if his pale, sightless eyes were anything to go off of. To his side there sat a large wicker basket, filled with what looked like loose clumps of string. In his hands he held another bundle of string, and was threading it swiftly through a wooden brick with nails sticking up from it, leaving tangled clumps behind each time.

The humming faded as they approached, and the motion of the elf’s hands stilled. “I’m not available for trade until midsummer,” he said, and his voice carried none of the cracking that age would have brought to a mortal.

“Hail and well met, my good sir,” Jaskier replied, sweeping into a light bow despite the fact that the elf clearly couldn’t see the motion. “I’m afraid we require your services a bit more immediately, if you are indeed the one we’ve sought.”

A slender brow rose above the unfocused eyes. “What could be so pressing that you would require of a poor old weaver? My services are not unique, young man.”

Jaskier seemed taken aback by the address—after all, the entire reason they were on their quest was because he was indeed well past a young man. Geralt felt a moment of kinship with the elf; mortals sometimes all seemed so young, even when at the height of old age. “I was sent by a sorceress, Triss Merigold. She told me you would be able to help,” he interjected.

The elf paused, an odd, almost wistful look overtaking his face. “Ah. Merigold. And what did she tell you I would be able to help you with?”

Geralt hesitated. This elf, whoever he was, might know the nature of the ritual he was trying to perform. What if he said something? What if he assumed he and Jaskier were… together, and wanted to be married so that Jaskier could remain by Geralt’s side? His chest ached with desire, even as his stomach churned with nerves. If Jaskier knew what the ritual was for, he would never allow it, not after Geralt had spent all this time lying about it. He would be furious, and Geralt might lose him now even before death took him more permanently.

Gods, this was a stupid fucking idea.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, “We are seeking moonflax. Ribbons of it. Triss said that you could make such things.”

At this the old elf smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened enough to make him truly look his age. “Ah. I am indeed the last of the moonspinners, at least that I am aware of. I can provide you with what you seek, in exchange for something in return.”

Geralt steeled himself, but Jaskier spoke first. “What would you have of us?” he asked, tone wary. Geralt felt a surge of pride; there was a time when Jaskier might have spoken before his better mind caught up with him, and more than once his quick tongue had landed himself and Geralt in trouble. He spoke now with the skill of a negotiator and a scholar, slow to trust an under negotiated deal.

The old elf tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully. “Help me with my work for the day. I am old, and the motions tire me. Do this, and you will have your payment.”

Geralt blinked. “That’s it?”

The elf smiled again, his sightless eyes finding Geralt’s face with unsettling accuracy. “It is not of our people to deny a worthy cause. Many have forgotten, but I have not.”

Jaskier made a questioning noise beside him, but Geralt spoke over him. “Thank you,” he said quickly. “What can we call you?”

“I am Silvandrel. Once I would have been called a guardian, but I’m afraid both I and my charge are too old for all that now. Follow me; I will show you how it’s done.”

Setting aside the flax and comb, Silvandrel stood, picking up a long staff that had been resting against the side of the house. Geralt and Jaskier set their own tools of the trade down alongside the elf’s, Jaskier’s lute case resting beside Geralt’s sheathed swords. Once relieved of their belongings, Silvandrel waved for them to follow after him, and they started off away from the house. Behind the hut, a grassy hill swooped down to meet the small group of trees beyond, an offshoot of the Brokilion that lacked its foreboding energy. Silvandrel walked with confidence despite his blindness, the staff in his hand picking out the way in front of him with the ease of long, long practice. Quickly they were led into the shade of the trees, along a well worn path marked by moss covered stones. After a few feet the trees thinned back and they emerged on the other side of the small wood, stepping into a sea of silver.

Jaskier let out a small gasp of wonder at his side, and Geralt couldn’t help but silently agree with the sentiment. A small field spread out before them, the gentle breeze from the oncoming storm sending ripples along the tops of the stalks. The flax that Geralt had seen in the past had been gold, like the color of ripe wheat, with delicate blue flowers in the early spring. These instead were a pale grey-white all the way down to the roots, and the seed pods at the top were almost blue, a dark, rich silver color. In the dull afternoon, the field seemed to shine almost with its own light.

Silvandrel made an amused sound as he halted beside them. “Best get to work. Pulling the harvest is no easy work, and we’ve much to do before the rain comes.”

He quickly walked them through the process of harvesting the plants, and set them to their task. The elf hadn’t lied; it was difficult work, though Geralt suspected much more so to Jaskier than himself. The plants had to be torn up from the root, to gather as much usable material as possible, but without tearing into the stalks. Silvandrel was not lax in his own work, and wrapped the bushels that the two men brought over in thick twine to hold them together for drying.

Geralt would have expected Jaskier to complain about the physical labor, but instead the bard was quiet, focused intently on the plot before him. Gardening had never been a favored pastime of his, Geralt knew, though he was competent enough with herbs to help collect those that Geralt needed for his potions. Still, over the next few hours Jaskier seemed to throw himself into the work, carefully pulling stalk after stalk of the flax from the ground and passing it into Silvandrel’s waiting arms. If they’d been sweating before on the walk over, now they were both of them soaked, and first Geralt and then Jaskier quickly abandoned their shirts in favor of letting the breeze touch their skin. It was nothing either of them hadn’t seen before, but there was something mesmerizing about watching the slow flush of exertion work its way down Jaskier’s chest, watching the strength of his back and shoulders as he worked the roots free of a particularly stubborn plant. Geralt found himself moving slower than he might, distracted by the flash of golden skin amongst the pale leaves. At one point, Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye, and he could have sworn he watched the bard’s gaze drift down over his own bare chest before falling back to his work.

Probably just his imagination.

The field was still relatively small, and it took them only a few hours to clear out the patch that Silvandrel pointed them towards. The rest of the group he judged to be not yet ready for harvest, and he had only so much room for drying. They followed him back to the hut, wiping their faces with their shirts and loading up with the bundles of freshly pulled stalks. Silvandrel ordered them to place the bundles against the back of the house, and then they spent the next half an hour bringing that which had been laid out in the yard inside the little shed, where it would be safe from the rain.

They were standing in the yard when the storm finally broke. Geralt heard Jaskier release a little gasp at the first drops hit, and then the skies opened and the rain was falling in sheets around them. Geralt was standing by the little shed, partially shielded from the rain, and he turned to say something—to suggest that they make their way inside, maybe, but the words were lost when his eyes fell on Jaskier, standing in the middle of the little yard.

His face was turned up towards the sky, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. Heavy drops of water followed the long line of his neck, tiny rivers forming in the hills and valleys of his body. But it was his face that Geralt found himself entranced by, facing the heavens without a care, eyes closed in bliss. His mouth was spread in a smile, and after a moment his eyes opened and he turned to look at Geralt, and if anything his grin widened. Geralt felt his breath catch in his throat as their eyes met, suddenly overwhelmed by the look of joy and affection being directed his way. He found himself smiling back, and without thinking he took a step forward, instantly feeling the rain drenching his hair.

He couldn’t have said exactly what he was planning to do next, but he was stupidly grateful when Silvandrel’s voice called out across the yard from the little house. He and Jaskier turned towards where he was leaning out from the open back door. “Well, you may as well come inside,” the elf said, gesturing for them to come in. “We won’t be getting any more done out here today.”

Thankful for the cool rain against his overheated skin, Geralt followed Jaskier back towards the little cottage. They pulled their shirts, which they had left under the cover of the hut’s thatched roof, back over their damp skin, and Geralt felt a pang of loss as Jaskier tucked his back into his pants. Once dressed again, they stepped inside the warm interior of Silvandrel’s hut.

It was a cozy little place. The back room that they entered from the yard was something of a cross between a kitchen and a workshop, it seemed. A small floor loom was set up against one wall, the table beside it ladened with hanks of woven yarn and a simple inkle loom. A small round hearth sat in the center of the room, a simple hook hanging from the ceiling above it. The interior was already hazy with smoke from the little fire, banked though it was, and Jaskier’s hair was already curling as it dried. Through the open doorway on the far side of the room, Geralt could just make out a tiny bedchamber.

Silvandrel brushed his hands against his tunic, nodding to himself. “You may stay here for the evening and share a meal with me, and bed down here for the night if you so choose. The walk back to the village is long, and unpleasant in such conditions. I’m afraid I do not have much to offer you by way of comfort, but it is at least dry.”

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Jaskier said warmly. “And we would gladly share your fire.”

Geralt felt a slight nudge to his ribs as Jaskier elbowed him, and turned to meet his imploring look with a glare. Jaskier only raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. A drop of water fell from a lock of his dark hair to land on his cheek, and Geralt was too distracted overcoming the urge to wipe it away to come up with a good response. Instead he turned back to Silvandrel and grunted, “Much appreciated.”

Jaskier sighed lightly beside him, but Silvandrel only looked mildly amused. “If you plan to stay, you can help me prepare our supper. Let’s see if you can put your skills with a blade to use against these onions.”

Jaskier laughed merrily at that, and Geralt was effectively bullied into chopping onions and cabbage for the next half an hour. Jaskier was set to making trenchers, and Geralt found himself distracted once again by the smooth movements of his hands and shoulders as he worked on the dough. Get a grip, he thought to himself sternly, focusing back on the knife in his hand as he carefully peeled turnips.

Between the three of them they quickly had a hearty stew boiling away, and the smell of baking bread filled the little cottage. The food, when it was finished, was filling and savory, flavored with herbs from the elf’s little garden. Once they had finished eating, Jaskier pulled his lute from its case and began tuning it. He’d brought it in to protect it from the weather when they’d returned to the hut a few hours earlier, but the humidity often wreaked havoc on the instrument in the spring. Though Geralt had long suspected that the elven craftsmanship made it more resistant to damage than most of its kind, it still required careful maintenance. Where once Geralt had found the noise grating, it now lulled him into a sense of quiet calm.

Silvandrel sat himself on one of the stools that surrounded the worktable and nodded to the hanks of yarn. “You have been patient, and most helpful in fulfilling your side of our bargain. Once we eat, I will fulfill my debt. I will need two hanks of yarn, one selected by each, and a strand of hair from both parties to be bound.”

“I’m sorry, did you say our hair?” Jaskier asked, a sour note ringing out in his distraction.

The edge of Silvandrel’s mouth quirked up slightly at the sound, his pale eyes turning vaguely in Jaskier’s direction. “The moonflax is merely the agent of the joining. You must be present in the weave for the magic to take hold.”

Jaskier looked over at Geralt with a questioning expression. He shrugged.

With a shake of his head, Jaskier set his lute aside and stood up to select a hank of yarn from the table. Geralt leaned over on his own stool and grabbed one as well. They were soft, softer than typical linen, and a brilliant silvery white. They placed the yarn in Silvandrel’s waiting palms, and he set them aside, carefully keeping them in the same relative positions. His hands returned to their waiting position, and Geralt and Jaskier both sheepishly pulled out a hair to offer him, Geralt smirking at Jaskier’s wince of discomfort. One long silver strand fell into the wrinkled hand of the elf, a dark one falling into the other. With a nod, he placed them each on top of their respective yarn.

“It will be finished by nightfall,” he said, and turned to begin setting up the small loom that sat on the table, moved aside earlier to make space for the cooking. Jaskier gave Geralt another look, eyebrows raised, to which he could only shake his head. With one last glance at their host, Jaskier turned back to his lute.

And so the evening hours passed, the elven master working his craft while Jaskier’s soft music filled the hut, the drone of the rain serving as a backdrop. Geralt alternated between watching Silvandrel’s deft fingers moving over the loom, sure even without the use of his sight, and watching Jaskier, as always. His brown hair was gold in the light of the fire, atypically ruffled after their stint in the rain. The hut was warm and comfortable, and Jaskier’s gentle strumming was so familiar and safe that Geralt found himself almost drifting off, slipping easily into meditation. He startled when a hand came to nudge his arm some indeterminable time later, lifting his head to find Jaskier inches away, looking at him fondly.

“He’s done,” Jaskier said by way of explanation, almost a whisper. Geralt blinked and looked over, and was startled to see that while he’d been in meditation, the skeins of yarn had been transformed. Silvandrel stood, three long ribbons draped over his hands.

“You dyed them?” Geralt found himself asking, confused. The yarn that he’d seen the elf bind to the loom had been pale white, but only one of the ribbons remained so. The others were swatches of bright color, one a bright sky blue and the other a rich gold.

Silvandrel shook his head, wrapping the ribbons into a tight roll. “You did, in fact. The colored bands are those touched by your essence. I cannot see them myself, of course, but I could sense the magic take hold. They will serve you well.” He held them out in one hand, gold and white and blue creating a spiralled circle in his palm.

Jaskier reached out and picked them up, something like awe on his face. His other hand came up to gently trace the curl of the ribbons in the roll, following the line of the colors. “What is the white one for?” he asked, not looking up, “if it’s neither of us?”

“To bind you,” Silvandrel replied, “in strands of moonlight, so the stars may hear your oath.”

Jaskier’s head jerked up, his mouth falling open slightly as his brow furrowed. He said nothing, but Geralt could tell that something about what Silvandrel had said had confused him. Maybe it sounded too romantic, Geralt thought with a shock of panic, harsh after the softness of the last few hours. Being bound before the stars wasn’t exactly a platonic sentiment. He rushed to speak before the bard could ask further questions.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to take the ribbons from Jaskier in his moment of distraction. He shoved them in his pocket without a second glance. “I appreciate your help in this, though you had no obligation. We won’t ask any more of you.”

Silvandrel only nodded, a slight tilt of the head. “As I said, it is our way. You may feel free to rest here tonight, though I have nothing better to offer you than the floor near my fire. The storm should be cleared by the morning. I will bid you goodnight; the weaving leaves me fatigued, these days.” Within moments he was gone, passing through the doorway into the bedroom beyond, swallowed by the darkness. The fire was the only source of light within the hut, but a lack of light would hardly be a bother to the old man, Geralt thought.

Jaskier set his lute aside and flopped from his stool to the ground by the fire, stretching out nearly at Geralt’s feet. “Well, we’ve slept in worse places, hmm? Though I have to say, I hope this ritual of yours helps with how sore my back gets whenever we sleep on the ground like this.” There was something off about his tone, just this side of over cheerful, and he wasn’t looking at Geralt as he spoke. Anxiety bloomed in Geralt’s stomach like blood spilling on cloth.

“We can stay at the inn tomorrow,” was all he said, standing to make his way to the other side of the fire. There wasn’t enough room for them to sleep beside each other without being in danger of rolling into the hearth. He laid himself down on the cool dirt of the hut’s floor, watching the dim light of the fire play across the thatched roof.

“You are being nicer,” Jaskier said, but he didn’t sound teasing, or suspicious. Geralt didn’t know what that tone meant at all.

“Shut up,” he grunted, turning on his side to face away from the fire and the bard on the other side of it. “Go to sleep; we leave as soon as the rain lets up.”

Jaskier was quiet for long enough that Geralt thought he might have fallen asleep, and then he said, “Goodnight, Geralt.” It was so soft that even with his enhanced hearing, he wasn’t entirely sure Jaskier had said anything at all.

~

@whereismymonsterlover asked to be tagged in future updates! hope you all enjoyed <3

[agoodgoddamnshot]

When the Morning Light Shines In - Geralt/Jaskier

[Gif not mine - also, while we’re here, tell me that that the head tilt henry gives there isn’t the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen.]

Originally posted to AO3 on my account.

Jaskier can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man. In mornings where they were surrounded by trees, or half-way up a stupid, fucking mountain because of a stupid, fucking quest posed to them by some stupid, fucking man, he’ll always wake to the sound of Geralt moving around: whether it’s rolling up his own tent, or taking his blades to a whetstone, or fixing the last of Roach’s gear. He remembers Geralt telling him about not being able to sleep. Until then, he supposed, Witchers might not have needed it. Then again, until he met Geralt, he can’t say for certain that he knew exactly what a Witcher did and didn’t need.  

He can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man – except for now.

Wakefulness comes slowly; tentatively stepping into the room like the watery morning light trying to fight its way in through the window. Their room looks out on to the small livery yard, belonging to the inn, and in the horizon beyond, he can see the sun starting to peer over the mountains. When light comes in, it sneaks and crawls along the floorboards, reaching for the bottom post of the bed; trying very much not to wake anything in its path – and shit, that’s a good line. If a firm Witcher’s arm wasn’t slung across his waist, keeping him pinned, he would write it down. Fuck it, Jaskier sighs into his pillow. I’ll remember.

Even though he moves only an inch, there’s a hum of soreness that ripples up through his spine. His skin is set alight as memories from last night whisper back; appearing in front of him like afterimages.

One of the first things he noticed when he woke up was how warm he was. Over on the other side of the room, embers are dying in the hearth, smothered by grey ash and smoke billowing up through the chimney. The Northern Territories are very rarely warm. Even the summers, although the sun tends to hang high in the sky on some good days, it can be hidden away by shields of thick cloud. But the air inside the room was just the right kind of warm, a kind that buried right into Jaskier’s bones.

The body behind him helps, too. He didn’t know what to expect from Geralt – the man puts on such an icy and cold front, that Jaskier only assumed the same could be said about his body. But all that comes from Geralt’s skin is heat. Most of the sheets and comforters had been kicked down towards the foot of the bed during the night. A light, white sheet lies over their hips. Even with nothing much to cover them, Jaskier still feels so warm. Something that makes his eyelids heavy and his muscles lax.

Jaskier lets his eyes slip shut again, burrowing back into the body behind him; praying to any god or spirit around that time could stop, so they didn’t have to go anywhere.

But once he’s awake, Jaskier finds it hard to go back to sleep. Instead, after a few moments of listening to the small town outside slowly begin to rouse, he tries his best to turn around – Geralt’s vice-grip on him making it none the easier – and face the other man. Distantly, he wonders how many people have seen him like this. Asleep, out of this world, and vulnerable. In their nights spent in the wilds, either on plateaus of grassland or sheltered by standing trees, Jaskier always noted that Geralt, when he did choose to sleep, never really allowed himself to go that deep into it. There was a good enough point to it – a monster would lurk in the shadows, ready to pounce. And Geralt had to be ready.

But even in nights spent in an inn, he wondered if Geralt felt it safe enough to sleep that bit deeper; knowing that vagabonds or sell-swords could be around.

It’s an odd word to associate with Geralt – vulnerable. Jaskier, for all of his word-smithing, isn’t really sure if it’s the right word to use at all. Geralt, although looking fairly asleep now, would probably be awake within seconds if someone, or something, were to barge through the door.

And gods, he hopes not. Jaskier spares a quick glance at the locked door for safety sake. He doesn’t know when he’ll have an opportunity to see this again. And he wants it committed to memory.

Or, because he knows how much it’ll annoy the other man, maybe a ballad.

“I can hear you thinking, bard.”

Jaskier looks up. Two amber eyes stare back at him, only a few inches away. A small smile tugs at the corner of Jaskier’s lip. “Sorry. I’ll turn it down, then. I know how much you seem to want your beauty sleep.”

He doesn’t get much of a reply. But then again, when does he from Geralt? Jaskier tilts his head, watching the Witcher settle back against the bedding and be pulled back further into sleep. Out on the landing, other residents in the inn are rousing and starting to leave for whatever it is that they need to do. Something makes Jaskier shuffle against Geralt’s side; they’ll have to leave soon. With winter slowly starting to creep in, the days are getting shorter, and the nights longer. There’s only a certain amount of time where they can spend walking along the roads.

And the more time they spend here, doing whatever it is they’re doing now, because Jaskier isn’t quite sure, the less time they’ll have moving on to Geralt’s next contract. Whatever that is.

“This might be the longest stretch of time you’ve spent in silence, Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice is nothing more than a rasping hum. “I can’t even get a moment’s peace during the night because of your sleep-talking.”

Jaskier’s brow creases with a frown. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

Geralt huffs. “Yes, you do.”

And he could very well blame it on the fact that the room is warm, as is the body he’s pressed against, or memories coming back to him from last night are starting to be dug up like spring soil ready for sewing, but Jaskier can feel a flush blooming across his face and the back of his ears.

Thank the gods for Geralt having his eyes closed, then.

Before the Witcher can have an opportunity to look, Jaskier buries his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. A movement the other man doesn’t shy away from.

After a few moments, Geralt rubs a hand over his face, wiping the last trace of sleep away. Jaskier feels like he has to mourn it, because within seconds, Geralt has displaced him from his warm spot, swinging his legs out from bed and sitting on the edge.

Pillowing his head on crossed arms, Jaskier takes a long look along the expanse of Geralt’s back. There doesn’t seem to be a stretch of skin that isn’t marred by some line. Faded white scars sit next to knotted messes of ones – ones that obviously were treated out in the wilds, and didn’t quite heal right. Jaskier’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch them; map them out like a map of stars. He wants to ask the man about each of their stories – if not for his own curiosity, then he could make some excuse about wanting to craft more songs about the Witcher’s past exploits.

But Geralt doesn’t seem too keen on moving just yet. He looks over towards the door to the room, locked and silent. Not one tavern maid had thought to knock or inquire as to where they were yet. Jaskier glances over too, noting with some strange feeling of pride the scattering of clothes that litter the ground. He spies his jacket and a single boot strung over the back of a wicker chair next to a small desk towards one side of the room. Beside it, crumpled on to the floor, is the black, lace-up shirt Geralt is so fond of wearing.

Jaskier lets out some sort of sigh. “So,” he looks over to the other man. “Where to today?”

His answer, for a moment at least, is a non-committal grunt. Geralt stands, wandering over where his underclothes and breeches had landed from the night before. As Jaskier lies back against the plush pillows of the bed, he mourns the sight of a naked Geralt too. Some anxiety-ridden thought picks at the back of his brain. When are you ever going to see this again? And something much worse suddenly looms over him. Will this ever happen again?

For all that Geralt seemed keen for it last night, Jaskier knows all too well how fleeting bed-partners can be. But something was different – for him, at the very least. Jaskier didn’t feel the need to peel himself away from the body beside him when the morning came. He didn’t want the body to move away either. Jaskier puts an arm behind his head, watching clothes slowly get back on to a body he had mapped so well the night before.

After what seems to have been a moon turn, Geralt finally speaks. “No one has offered a contract in a while,” he says simply.

When it becomes apparent that the Witcher isn’t going to finish that trail of thought, Jaskier speaks instead. “Are you going to seek one out?” Because he’ll be on the road again, wandering through another territory after gods know what. And Jaskier will follow, because he’s pretty invested at this point, but he just needs to know what they’re doing.

Geralt thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not for now, anyway.”

And that, Jaskier sits up against the headboard of the bed, surprises him. “You’re serious?”

“Taking a few days off,” Geralt worms his way into his shirt, leaving the laces around his neck open for the time being. “I’m...tired.”

Tired. Jaskier tilts his head. But when the other man turns away, starting a search for his boots, in whatever realm they may be in, Jaskier lets his head knock back against the wall behind him. Geralt isn’t physically tired. He was, for a time. But as the morning light starts to get that bit brighter, Jaskier can make out the lines starting to darken the skin around Geralt’s eyes. The tiredness that has settled into his bones won’t go away with sleep.  

He’s so lost in his own thoughts, he doesn’t notice that Geralt has wandered back over to the bed, standing by Jaskier’s side of it. Jaskier fixes the sheets, now pooled around his lap. “Your boots are over by the wardrobe-”

“I’m not looking for-” Geralt stops, letting out a long sigh. “Can I talk to you about something?”

We literally just had sex a few hours ago, Geralt. You can talk to me about anything. Jaskier, for one of the very few occasions in his life, makes sure his jaw is clamped shut, so none of those particular words come out. Instead, he nods, settling the other man with the softest look he can manage.

Geralt gestures vaguely. Without saying anything, Jaskier moves his legs – drawing his knees up towards his chest, letting some space appear for Geralt to perch on while he fiddles with the ties of his shirt. The Witcher looks at everything in the room, except for Jaskier. After what seems to be an eternity, Geralt sighs. “You need to understand something, Jaskier,” he says slowly. Lifting a hand, Geralt taps fingers against the centre of his chest. “I don’t...know what this is. You’ll hear that a Witcher doesn’t feel anything. But I do. And it’s...confusing.”

Jaskier loops around his arms around his knees, drawing himself inwards. “Confusing?”

“Irritating,” Geralt gives a half-snarl. “I would very much like to know what it is; only because it seems to creep up on me. And I hate it.”

“You hate being confused,” Jaskier replies. “You don’t hate the feeling of...what you’re feeling. You just hate that you don’t know what it is.”

Outside, a forge’s billows are starting to huff. Blacksmiths shoe horses in the yard, the hammering of steel and iron pings and echoes up towards the room. It’s almost distracting, in a way. Reminding him that the world outside is still trudging on; despite the fact that Geralt seems to be having a mental breakdown over figuring out what love is. Or something similar. Because if it’s the same feeling that has been slowly brewing inside of Jaskier for the past number of weeks, then yeah, Geralt is in for a shock.

The Witcher sighs. It’s a sharp sound, one to break the otherwise quiet of the room. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he looks over to Jaskier. “But, I find myself not knowing what to do with...”

Jaskier gestures vaguely at himself, and the current state of dress they’re both in. “This?”

Something akin to a smile ghosts across Geralt’s lips. “Yes. This.”

Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what to do either.” And it’s true; for all the beds and nights he has shared with the people before Geralt, he can’t think of a single time where he felt whatever it is that has wrapped so snugly around his chest.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jaskier says into the room. Whether it’s to assure Geralt or himself, he isn’t quite sure. But it’s enough to make the other man’s shoulders relax. Jaskier sits forward, letting one of his legs splays out against the mattress. With as much caution as he can manage, he reaches out, letting his fingertips skim along the Witcher’s forearm. Geralt turns his arm, letting Jaskier’s fingers follow the path of a vein down towards his hand.

He isn’t sure who starts it. Who leans into who, or who catches the other’s lips first. But Jaskier does know that is Geralt stops kissing him, he might just die. He lifts a hand, cupping the side of Geralt’s face. His thumb runs along the arch of the man’s cheekbone. It’s nothing more than lips moving against each other, but everything else around them slips away entirely.

But at some point, probably at the first swipe of tongue along the crease of Jaskier’s lips, the world comes back.

Jaskier is the one to break it – although, admonishes himself for doing it. Resting his forehead against Geralt’s, he sighs. “We only paid for this room for a night, you know.”

Gods, does he want to stay. It’s a thought the other man must be having too, because a small smile curls along Geralt’s lips. “Well then,” Geralt presses a small kiss to the arch of Jaskier’s cheekbone. “Get out some coin and we’ll pay for another.”

“I can’t with you-” Jaskier is broken off by a sharp gasp; lips and teeth skim along the length of his neck. A body stronger than his gentles him back, lying down into the downy mattress. He stares straight up at the ceiling, along the cracks and varnish stains of the wood. “I can’t do anything with you on me.”

His mind is torn – memories of last night surface, wakening muscles that had been sore not a few minutes ago. But he wants to be present. He wants to commit all of this to memory. He wants it all to feel familiar; how Geralt leans over him on his forearms, positioned on either side of Jaskier’s head. He wants his skin to remember what it’s like to be set alight by the soft press of lips against it. The warmth returns, blanketing them both. Thinking of it, Jaskier moves his legs as best as he’s able, kicking the sheet that had been slung over his hip out of the way. As soon as it’s gone, Geralt slots himself back between Jaskier’s parted legs. A strong hand goes to Jaskier’s thigh, shifting and moving it until one of the bard’s legs is hooked over the small of Geralt’s back.

“If you start something, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, reaching up to card fingers through the main’s hair, moving it out of the way of his face. “You better finish it.”

Geralt’s answering smile is almost feral. “I’d be more worried about keeping up, bard. You won’t be leaving this bed for a while.”

[buginabog]

Am I Dreaming or Dead? Ch. 2

Summary: sanders sides fantasy story.

Pairings: remile, loceit, royality

Warnings: character death, sympathetic deciet, body horror, cursing

-

Remy slammed against the wall, pressing his hands against his mouth to suppress his sobs. He slid down the wall slowly, curling into fetal position.

"Well I finally got Kai to slee- Remy? Hon are you ok?" Emile fell in front of Remy and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. "Remy baby, what happened?"

Tears slid down Remys face, "Emile... I fucked up."

Emile pulled Remy into a hug, "hush baby, hush... wanna tell me about it?"

"Logan got mad at me because I didn't warn Virgil about how my eyes feel... and then I told him that Roman-" his breath caught in his throat, "I told him Roman wouldnt want to see him. Because he said he'd find Roman on his own, and I said he wouldnt want to see him."

Emile rubbed his back, "what were you feeling?"

"I was... I was angry."

"At who?"

"...I dont know" he voice broke, "I dont know Em, and I- I couldnt-"

Emile rocked him back and forth, "hush honey, hush. Tomorrow? You go to his house, you try to apologize. And you try to start again. Ok?"

Remy laughed weakly, "where would I be without you?"

Emile kissed his head, "I think we both know the answer to that."

-

The car was silent as Logan sped towards home, his face grim. It felt like hours before Virgil was brave enough to speak up. "Dad? Does Remy blame you for Roman... leaving?"

Logan sighed and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, "I- yes. Virgil. Yes he does." He laughed brokenly, "they used to be... the best of friends you know. Roman and Remy, you never saw one without the other. And me and Roman, well. We were like oil and water. We were so different. And we fought so much. Remy used to think Roman went to the woods to- ...never mind. And he blamed me for that."

Virgil frowned and looked away, "thats... kind of dumb."

Logan laughed a little, "people do and think dumb things when they're grieving."

Virgil looked out the window for a while before speaking up again, "why didn't you tell me we were moving to the town my birth father died in?"

Logan started, "he died here?"

Virgil nodded, "yup. In those woods."

-

Eleven Years Ago

-

"Poppa? How long are you gonna be gone?"

His Poppa smiled and ruffled his hair, "oh not long, a week or two. Three at most. Ok? And I'll call you every night. Ok Virgie?"

Virgil smiled "ok Poppa!"

Patton gave him one last hug, then stood up to hug his best friend, "thanks for doing this on such short notice Em."

Emile smiled, "not at all! We are best friends after all!"

Patton smiled, "still, thank you."

"What are you doing in that town anyway?"

"Oh, you know, I got an offer to do a logging job." Patton frowned, "its weird though... no one in town wanted the job."

Emile smiled, "well that's a good thing!"

Patton smiled, "yeah. I guess you're right."

-

Two weeks later

-

Someone knocked at the door, Emile ran to open it. Virgil couldnt see who it was, because he was in the living room. He could hear voices, though he couldnt hear what they were saying, the voice that wasnt Emiles was deep, and sounded like thunder. And like thunder, it was carrying a message of danger since past.

Emile brought the man into the living room, "hes in here sir."

The man reached out to shake Virgils hand, "hello, I'm Mr. Sanders, what's your name?"

Virgil tentatively reached out his hand, "Virgil."

Mr. Sanders smiled sadly, "do you know why I'm here Virgil?"

Virgil shook his head.

"This is going to be... big news... for a grown adult, even. But for a six year old especially..." mr sanders sighed, "I hate this part of my job, but, it needs to be done." He took a deep breath and looked at Virgil, "your father, Patton Hart, was in a logging accident."

Virgils eyebrows knit together, "what do you mean?"

Mr Sanders sighed, "your father... wont be coming home."

Virgils world froze. Mr Sanders kept talking, but Virgil didnt hear a word. He just... sat. Not thinking, not feeling, not hearing, all he could was sit. Not even a single tear ran down his cheek, all he did was sit.

When he finally came back, he could say one word. And one word only, "Poppa?"

-

Present Day

-

Roman walked into the clearing that he had called home for ten years now. "Morality my dear!"

Morality perked up and smiled, "ah, Prince."

Roman sat next to Morality, "do you ever wonder what happened in the outside world? While we stayed frozen in time... what happened out there?"

Morality sighed, "well, sometimes I do." He looked at the river, "you know... I left behind a son. He was only six when I... when this happened. I... I wonder what would have happened if I had never taken that stupid, stupid, STUPID logging job."

Roman sighed, "yknow, I saw... I saw my brother. A little older, but here, at the edge of the forest."

Morality frowned, "why?"

"His son was about to walk into the woods." Roman frowned, trying to remember, "what was his name... Vi-"

"DONT SAY IT!"

Roman started, looking at Morality, who was breathing wild-eyed and panicked, "...Morality?"

"Remeber what I told you? That day? Names have power in the forest."

"Right. Apologies."

Morality relaxed, "its alright my prince. But if that boy has not been taken yet... then we should try our best to keep him free."

Roman nodded, "yes."

They sat in silence before Roman spoke again, "how long has it been?"

Morality sat, "that is three different questions, but I'll answer all three. The woods have been infested ever since, oh, a long, long time back. Look at the height of these trees, they've lived long lives. I'd say this tree has been here for maybe a thousand years, probably more." He looked at Roman, "as for me, ah, I cant tell, and I cant tell how long it's been for you either. While we stay frozen, the world keeps spinning." He laid back, "maybe it's been two years, maybe twenty. Maybe it's only been a month. Who knows who knows indeed."

Roman smiled at his partner in death, "you're rambling again."

Morality sighed, "perhaps. But I'll ramble and ramble till the world ends, if only to fill the silence."

-

Declan woke up to feel Logan sitting in his bed, "so, you decided Virgil wasnt going to sneak out? Or did you stay out there all night?"

Logna sighed and laid back, "I... I went to the forest. Then I went to Remy's."

Declan frowned, "why?"

"Virgil saw him."

"Saw who? Where?"

Logan turned to Declan, and Declan started to see the tears pouring down his normally stoic husbands face, "He saw Roman. In the woods. And then I did too."

Declan pulled his husband into his lap, "Logan? Are you ok?"

Logan sighed and rested his head on Declans shoulder, "if I found Roman. Do you think he would want to see me?"

Declan frowned, "of course he would, why do you ask?" He sighed as the answer came to him, "Remy?"

Logan nodded mutely.

Declan kissed his forehead, "Remy was warped by anger and frustration, surely you can understand."

Logan sighed, "I know, but... it's hard not to take it to heart."

Declan rocked back and forth, "I know. God, I know." He smiled down at his husband, who was half-asleep, "why dont you get some sleep, ok?"

"I dont-" Logan was interrupted by a huge yawn, "I dont need it."

Declan smirked, "uh-huh. Even though you were up all night?" Logan stuck his tounge out and Declan laughed, "you, sir, are a hypocrite."

Logan rolled his eyes affectionately, "alright, I'll take a nap. Wake me once Virgil wakes up?"

Declan kissed his forehead, "not a moment sooner or later."

Logan yawned, "ok, good. I love you Dee."

Declan smiled, "I love you too." He whispered to his already fast asleep husband.

-

Virgil sat in his bed, thinking about Remys eyes. His kaleidoscopic eyes that reached into your soul and pulled out every emotion, ever thought youd ever had, and then laid them out for everyone to see.

He had felt so exposed.

Like... like Remy had laid him out on a table for everyone to see.

But he wondered what Remy saw.

So he ran.

He ran through town all the way to an old, dilapidated house with an overgrown yard and pounded on the door.

The door clicked open to reveal Emile, "Virgil? What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to Remy."

Emile nodded, "ok, come in."

-

Emile knocked on the doorway to the living room, where Remy was sitting, looking dully at the TV, "Remy dear? Someones here for you."

Remy looked up at Virgil, his jaw dropped and he ran to the teen, "Virgil! I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

Virgil looked up at his uncle, "why did you need to do that?"

Remy stepped back, "I... I just wanted to make sure. Make sure he wasnt lying."

Virgil frowned, "why would he do that?"

Remy sighed, "I dont know."

Virgil nodded, "what did you see?"

Remy frowned, "I saw... a crystal."

"But I never saw a crystal?"

Emile gasped, "crystal...?"

Virgil frowned, "what?"

Emile turned around, "I had a friend who moved here, well he didn't move here but he worked here for a period of time. Well, he died in the woods, but the day before he died, he was...off."

Virgils eyes narrowed and he tensed, "off how?"

Emile gestured around vaguely, "he kept... rambling... I couldnt make it out but I heard something about a crystal and traps and thorns."

Remy frowned, "I think... I think if we looked I could find it... yeah I could find it if we got close."

"Then what do we do?"

"Destroy it." Remy sighed, "I dont know why but... I get the feeling that's what we need to do."

Emile nodded, "so that's what we'll do. Tonight."

Virgil rubbed his arm, "I dunno... I think we should get Logan."

Remy shook his head, "I have been deprived of my best friend for ten years. I'm not waiting another second."

"Logan waited ten years for his brother! He should be here!"

"Logan is the one who got Roman into this mess in the first place!"

"How do you know that!? You never took the time to ask Logan what happened!"

Remy blinked, taken aback, "well, I-"

Virgil huffed, "we go with Logan." He glared at Remy, "I let you dissect my soul. The least you can do is let my dad on the quest to save his brother."

Remy snarled at Virgil, his eyes flashing behind his glasses, "Hes. Not. Coming."

Virgil stood his ground, "why not?"

Remy sighed, "because, smartass, only people who are part warlock can go without, yknow, dying."

"Then why are you letting me go?"

Remys eyes widened, "he didnt tell you..."

-

Logan sat in the clearing. He had never seen it before. It was beautiful. A stream thread through the meadow, and the skys were clear, oh so clear. He could see every distant galaxy and star.

The faint sound of creaking wood filled the dream.

It came from every side, surrounding him. He looked for the source but saw trees. Only trees. For miles and miles nothing but trees trees trees!

His breathing quickened and he looked around, terrified.

His eyes stopped on a familiar figure.

Roman.

He tried to call out to his brother, but there was a burning in his throat. A petal flew out of his mouth, then a white chrysanthemum burst out of him. Flowers sprouting from every place they could. They writhed around his body, chained him to the earth. His hearing faded as flowers sprouted from them, his sight became clouded with white white white.

When his sight returned he sat in a clearing with a beautiful iridescent crystal in the center. He looked up and saw branches and vines in a writhing dome around the clearing.

Roman sat next to him and rested his hand on his. "Hello Logan."

Logans voice cracked as he whispered, "Roman."

Roman looked at the crystal serenely, "I understand if you're angry."

Logans eyes filled with tears. God. He was crying more in the past three days then he had in years. "I'm not. Just tell me what is happening!"

Roman sighed, "there are... hunters in the woods Lo. And they..." he started crying, "they got me Lo! And I'm so cold and tired and I just wanna go home!"

Logan tried to touch Roman, but his fingers went through, "tell me what to do..."

Roman gestured at the crystal, "send Remy and Declan into the forest, have them break this. Then me and Morality are free."

"Morality?"

Roman smiled, "my partner in death."

Logan nodded, "of course."

Roman looked to the side and frowned, "odd. Theres two warlocks here... Remy and another."

Logan frowned, "Declan?"

"No... " Roman's eyes widened and he clutched Logans hand, "Theres a child! Wake up!"

-

Logan shot up in bed, panting.

Declan rose up halfway groggily, "Lo? What's going on?"

Logan grabbed his husband, "Declan. Go get your brother. I think hes done something stupid."

Declan frowned, "when has he not?"

Logan growled, "Declan! I think hes gone to the forest!" He looked down as he remembered Roman's words, "theres a child..." his eyes widened, "Virgil!"

Declans eyes widened, "oh my god." He jumped up and ran to the car, dialing Remy.

-

"Didnt tell me what?" Virgil frowned at his uncle.

Remy sighed, "SO. Me and Declan are Warlocks. That's why my eyes are weird and why Deceit has scales."

Virgil frowns, "...no. he has a skin condition. Looks like he has scales but it's really weird ass skin."

Remy shook his head, "nope. They are most definitely scales."

Remy sighed, "oh my god. You're at least a little bit warlock."

Virgil smirked, "you remember I'm adopted right?"

Remy growled, "well, Declan sensed some warlock blood in you. So suck it up and follow us to the forest."

"I'm WHAT?"

"A warlock." Remy turned and kissed Emile, "love you sweetheart." He looked back at Virgil and walked out, "now come on! That crystal ain't gonna break itself."

Virgil followed him blankly, waving to Wnile, "uuuuh, bye uncle Emile..."

Emile giggled, "oh dear... bye Virge!"

-

Virgil and Remy arrived at the forest. "You ready kid?" Remy looked over to the shocked teen.

Virgil barely nodded.

He took a breath and sat up straighter, "yes." He looked over to Remy, "I'm ready."

-

Taglist cause I guess I'm doing this now:

@burningpersonflapsuitcase @an-absolute-failure @lucifer-in-my-head @fury-of-rome @nonbinaryblossom

[myupostsheadcanons]

I know you @highwayham asked about DBD headcanons on another blog... I’ll get to that soon.... I was working on this one for you the past week....  So I am quite ahead of the game.

My personal headcanons for all the DBD killers.

(gets a bit fanfic-ish in places, but damn my fan fic writers soul. (i haven’t done the final proofing, but go me) )....

  The Doctor

The Anti-Freddy.

Herman’s madness and electro-shocks automatically wake people up/take people out of Freddy’s dream realm.

It is nearly physically impossible for him to go to sleep.

Water is his weakness. Submerging him in enough water would burn out his own powers. It will put him in a coma if he is fully charged when submerged.

Herman didn’t think Freddy was real for the longest time. He thought Freddy was some made up joke the others were pulling on him. Or some Invisible Man that the others were putting too much stock in.

When he isn’t driving through crazy town, he’s generally snobby, rude, haughty, and uptight. He has this air of acting “better than you” that drives most of the other killers bonkers.

OCD... the only killer that manages to keep his whites mostly clean on a trial.

Herman and Myers especially don’t get along. His madness powers would make The Shape’s voice in Myers head louder and angrier. And The Doctor being a Psychiatrist rather than a Medical doctor didn’t help either.

Herman and Evan often fight over who’s in charge. Evan is loud and violent, and easy to ignore. The Doctor is more demanding and a perfectionist, on top of being sadistic, so more people still side with Evan.

The Nurse

Sally doesn’t like that her “role” among the group is being the nanny.

The Trapper will call her “The Nanny” instead of “The Nurse” (she makes sure to give him extra scares by casually hiding behind corners on him)

In fact, The Trapper is perhaps her most frequent patient.... for stepping in his own bear traps.

The Nurse and The Doctor kind of get along. She was so use to having to deal with asshole men doctors while she was alive... what’s one more now that she’s dead?

Her, The Doctor, The Hag, and The Clown handle most of the medical needs among the group. (The Hag knows Apothecary, The Clown has some understanding in that field as well and helps the two women make any meds. The Doctor has enough knowledge through his experiments on humans and medical school to help, but isn’t as skilled/knowledgeable as The Nurse)

The Spirit

Rin didn’t understand English when she first arrived. Julie (The Legion) knew some Japanese because of being a massive weeb, and tried to help translate pieces of what was being said to the others. (often just fucked up on the translation completely.. basically think Lopez from RVB. or Peggy Hill levels of bad)

Rin is polarizing. One moment she is calm, collective, and interested in being around people... the next she’s screaming at everybody, even those that did nothing, and would even attack other killers.

The Spirit often hangs around The Nurse, neither talking to one another. If she’s not creeping on other people in the group.

Work is too much.... work.... When it comes to doing chores or requests, she would suddenly vanish or be last in line.

Rin tends to creep on Myers the most. She likes that Myers doesn’t talk, or give a shit... and she saw him without his mask a few times.... so...  long siiigh.... (he’s just confused by her)

She fucking hates Freddy... He grabbed her inappropriately only once and she kicked his ass... he’s been leaving her alone now.

She doesn’t like The Doctor either. Outside of being pushy and treats her like a pest: his powers make her even more unstable and volatile.

The Wraith

Unless the killer is a colossal Asshat, he’ll get along with them. (Basically, The Doctor, Freddy, The Legion, and The Spirit are among his “doesn’t get along with” list)

He’s been around The Trapper the longest out of the killers so he’s use to Evan’s brand of Asshattery.

Him and Amanda tend to casually hang around with each other the most. He knows where the best stuff in the scrap yard is and they have similar interests in tinkering. (mlm and wlw solidarity)

Bubba, Max, and Evan come to Phil and Amanda whenever their equipment needs to be fixed.

Phil also likes to spend time with The Hag. He talks to her about the magic he learned from his homeland and helps her gather herbs.

He really just wants to be useful.

The Hag

Lisa knows the most about herbs and plants. Which ones are safe to eat, or what effects they cause when ingested. The Clown likes to get her advice when making new potions.

The Hag, The Huntress, Bubba and The Hillbilly are in charge of the Homestead end of things. (Farming and Cultivating... growing food, animal husbandry and butchering... Actual cooking the meals is on rotate among all the killers (at least those that at minimum know how to boil water)).

Lisa knows Rune Crafting, and recognizes that Myers has a spell/curse placed on him. She doesn’t tell any of the other killers she knows this.

Her Teleport spell can pull Freddy out of the dreamworld... if she has hold of him when she activates it. She almost did it twice, but he managed to break her grip and is staying away from her now.

The Nurse, being a super natural creature, is more accepting of The Hag’s witchcraft, apothecary, and homeopathy than The Doctor is.

The Hag and The Doctor get in frequent arguments based on their different world views.

The Trapper

The “Bad Boss” of the group.

Is an ass to anybody that doesn’t do what he wants.  (One part, Biff Tannon, One Part Al Bundy)

The other killers often forget that he is book-smart (came from a rich family, actually went to collage) because of how big of a douche bag he acts.

Evan relies too much on the few people that know what they are doing to do everything (The Nurse, especially)

Evan’s orders are easier to shirk/get around, because they are often bad orders that make no sense. It also doesn’t take much to “suck up” to him and get him to forget about something they’ve did wrong. Which is mainly why people side with him over The Doctor. 

His “cronies” are The Hillbilly and The Clown, and (with some arm twisting) The Wraith and Bubba.

He’s mainly buddy-buddy with The Clown because Kenny makes the best fucking bathtub gen in the realm.

He becomes a CHAD-DORK around Amanda (She knows this, is not interested in him, but gets him to do whatever she wants).

He is very particular when it comes to self-grooming. When he is not “working” / killing he likes to keep himself clean. He showers twice a day, and spends a lot of time shaving... to the point he’s practically bald all over his body.

He uses a straight razor to shave, a very sharp one.

He gets annoyed when the other killers don’t groom themselves on a regular basis. He understands it is dirty work, but there is a time and place to be dirty. (zombies and undead not withstanding, being dead/rotting can’t be helped).

The Huntress

She’s the most “efficient” of the non-magical killers.... all aside from:

Her near-constant singing and talking would annoy some of the Killers (who believe silence was the key), until they saw her sling a hatchet and down a survivor. 

She has no personal-space bubble. Will kiss people on the cheek/mouth in greeting (if they don’t flinch/push away from her)... it surprises most of the others that first time because it isn’t a common practice in America, where most of the killers are from, nor in modern society outside of one’s actual family.

Doesn’t shave.  She thought it was an odd grooming custom when she was watching Amanda shaving her legs and armpits in the bath. Men only shave/trim their beards cleanliness. She sees no reason for a woman to shave.

Anna goes out of the way to talk to the “outliers” of the Killer Group. (The Spirit, Myers, The Legion, and Bubba). Even if it is just to say “Hello.” and get no response in return.

Anna has child-like interests. Likes to talk about fairy tales and folk legends. Collects odd knickknacks (buttons, paper clips, caps off pens, pieces of ribbon, beads, rocks...). Play dress up with other Killer’s clothes (try on their masks and play with their weapons). She jumps in mud puddles and catches bugs/small animals with her bare hands to show others.

She first caught Bubba and Myers attention by showing them a frog she caught and pulled its legs off in front of them (Bubba then ate the frog). Myers was just...enthralled...  he was going to kill the frog if she handed it to him and she just did it.

From then on Bubba liked to join her on any weird quests she would have (like as if he was her little big-brother). The Wraith would follow to make sure they aren’t getting into trouble.

The Huntress got pretty good at guessing what Bubba is saying. It helped that when she first came here she didn’t know English and had to often pantomime what she wanted to the others as well.

She wants to be a helper, but her brand of help tends to lean towards “s-mothering”....

The Hag, The Clown, The Wraith, The Nurse, The Pig, and The Doctor are the ones she actually treats like her elders....

The Trapper and The Hillbilly are on “peer” level with her. Myers was... until she realized he was a walking disaster, and actually knew the least out of the whole group.

So... The Legion, Myers, Bubba.... she latched onto them as her special “projects”

(The Spirit and Freddy are in the “no” zone)

The Hillbilly

Is a slow talker and mumbler, but not dumb (actually he’s rather average, just uneducated. he believes he is stupid because he was told he was his whole life)

He can’t hear out of one ear because of his deformities and the loud chainsaw. People often have to repeat things because of that.

Max could be found either at The Trapper’s side, or at the homestead in the barn with the goats and pigs (he feels safe in there)

He makes Amanda new pig masks when ever they get old or damaged.

The Hag watches his back, making sure the others don’t treat him poorly. 

Max and Bubba do get along, even though it is difficult for Max to understand what Bubba wants.

The Legion tend to antagonize him and Bubba at the same time with their trivial prattling about Max being a “rip off”.

The Clown

Is the actual “boss” of the group, but doesn’t claim to be. Even though he knows damn well he is.

Kenny would hear what the Trapper wants done, and often tweak the orders to be more feasible when relaying them to the others.

Kenny’s big loud personality stood out. He was better at working a crowd than Herman and Evan.  

He can get the more “outlying” killers to listen to him.

He got where he was because he showed up rather late in the game. Nothing was getting done, there was little to no cohesion among the factions. Half the team barely listened to The Trapper, the other Half tended to do whatever the hell they wanted.

He managed to get The Legion to act less like little shits to the rest of the killers all the fucking time.

Myers would trail behind Kenny, or low-key stalk him. The Clown could never manage to pin him down to confront him about it. The others told him not to bother. After The Legion came, Susie eventually told him it was because Myers really liked clowns as a kid. Kenny began to think of Myers as a  “stray cat.”

The only killer that Freddy actually kind of likes and would take “requests” from. They both have a dark sense of humor and are practical jokers. The Clown’s potions also make people easier to put asleep. (Kenny just knows not to be a total dick to your “coworkers” or you’ll be spinning your wheels in the mud the whole time)

The Legion

For the longest time the four of them stuck together, not interacting with the other killers outside of being trolls or antagonists to them.

Frank and Julie were the “spokes persons” whenever they had to make “demands” to the other killers.

They did not to approach any of the killers alone.

The Spirit was the first of the killers to hang around with them as a “friend”. They were close to her age (of death) and as condescending as she was. They also helped her with her English.... kind of.

Myers and Freddy had tried to “pick them off”....

With Myers, they over stepped their boundaries when it came to his comfort zone and he wanted to get rid of them. He knocked Frank unconscious, broke Joey’s arm, and was about to moire Julia before Anna and Bubba were able to pull him away (Susie ran to get help).

Freddy did so for his own sadistic pleasure. After several days of sleep deprivation, and Susie needing to be waken from a coma:  The Doctor and The Nurse eventually stepped in to get Freddy to leave them alone.

The Huntress and The Clown took responsibility of The Legion after the attacks (Along with Myers, Bubba, and The Spirit... all those in need of “special attention” or those that are in the habit of isolating themselves (it is also why Kenny became “frenemies” with Freddy, to keep him from completely turning on the group))

The Legion’s love of Slasher Movies made them experts on Lore regarding Bubba, Myers, OG Freddy.... only up until the mid-90′s.... they never got to see the Halloween reboots: H20/Res, or even the RZ remakes, nor FvJ, Jason X or the Remakes of F13 and Elm Street. They think Amanda was another one of the “in house” killers like The Trapper, The Wraith, and The Nurse.

They never been in a Hot Topic. Because there wasn’t one where they lived.  Most of their gear was stolen from concerts, bikers, and sports supplies stores.

The Internet was barely functional in the 90′s... to hear Amanda talk about modern technology and smart phones in the 2010′s, it is moon speak to them. (it is moon speak to most of the killers)

The Plague

“Avoid like The Plague” became serious business.

She only speaks Ancient Mesopotamian. Refuses to lower herself to speak the tongue language of these barbarians.

Freddy’s the only one that can communicate with her due to conversations in the “mind/dream” realm being more mental-emotion based than literal-verbal language based.

She still treats him like he is a worm and a viper. Does not trust anything he tells her.

Prolong exposure to her presence will cause sickness and wounds to become infected more easily.

She was banned from being around their social/common spaces, and food and water sources by the other killers due to her infectious presence.

Spends most of her time at the killer camp encased in a tomb in isolation.

Bubba

Best cook (don’t question the mystery meat...)

Anna is like the cool sister he always wanted. She’s nice to him, looks after him, and can skin a whole dear in under 20min.

Bubba doesn’t like The Legion. They would tease him more than the others. It doesn’t take much for him to go into a tantrum, or run off and cry, so they saw an easy target. (They knew when the fucked up when Anna has to get involved.... we’re sorry team mom.)

The Nurse and The Spirit scare him. He gets the heebie-geebies every time they look at him. Freddy is the worst.

Amanda

Amanda has a crush on Anna, but Anna is so obvious.

She tried to be nice to The Legion when they first arrived, but they were too immature and antagonistic.

The Wraith’s cloaking is about the extent of “supernatural” she could handle. It took her a long time not to freak out over The Nurse and The Spirit still creeps her out. Freddy... lives up to his name as The Nightmare.

At least most of the killers are just big men... she could handle dealing with men.

She is aware that there is a rivalry over her between some of the men. Phil, she’s pretty sure he’s gay, even if he won’t say it... But Evan, Max, and Herman are always trying to do favors for her...  (she suspects it is because she’s the most ‘normal’ adult woman among the sausage party)

She stays clear of Myers out of principle. She watched the Halloween movies, knows what he is capable of and that reason rarely worked with him. If she had him in a proper trap-house, he’d be at her mercy, but roaming free like this? no.

Her and The Clown only sort of get along. He’s too loud and handzy, like an old drunk at a bar. She put his arm in a trap that he couldn’t break free of. He had it on for three days before he apologized to her.

Freddy

The best scout... rarely does it though.

Freddy was better at avoiding any chores around the compound than Rin and Myers... until The Legion let slip that Freddy was a gardener/grounds keeper in his past life...

He used his powers on all the killers, at least once, just to test their reactions or to see what was inside their minds. Those with traumatic pasts were easy to get to.

Those that couldn’t fight back he stayed on them longer.

Until they started grouping up against him.

The Nurse, The Spirit, and The Doctor became the “vanguard” against his meddling. They could either physically attack him in the dream world or cancel out his powers all together. (The Doctor could even pull people out of a coma)

He isn’t friends with any of the killers. The Clown is the closest, and that’ll be an associate/coworker at best.

Freddy knows what The Clown is doing, and his dislike of The Doctor and the incompetence of The Trapper made him more willing to follow along with Kenny setting himself up as a back-door boss.

Michael

Was the last of the killers to “crack” and come into the group (stalking and observing didn’t count)

Nobody knew what his name was until Amanda showed up. He was just “The Shape” to them. “Holy shit! That’s Michael Myers!” 

Nobody knew his Middle-Name until The Legion wouldn’t stop calling him “Audrey”

He ignores Evan and Herman, more so when they get into cockfights over leadership. They both tried to “appeal” to him at some point to join their side.

Within the first two nights of coming to the realm, he got into a fist-fight with Evan, they both ended up rather bloody and beaten out of it. They even managed to pull their masks off in the fight. At the end of it, Evan was all “You’re just some punk kid. You ain’t worth my time.” and left Myers to his isolation after that.

Herman showed up in the realm after Myers. He introduced himself, got nowhere with the questions, and began to preach at him about “dissociative disorders”.... things Myers heard far too much about from the doctors at Smiths Grove. But this doctor was dangerous, and he only had to be hit once by the doctors madness effect to realize not not to start a fight with him and to keep his distance if possible.

There was something about The Hag’s magic that sends him on edge. It makes the hairs prickle the back of his neck whenever she activates a teleport (he didn’t even have to hear or see it go off... he’d just know) . There was a lot of things about The Hag that The Shape part of his brain responds to, like they knew one another somehow....

When all the killers go on team missions, The Clown would be assigned to keep an eye on Michael (not necessarily to work as a team, but for buddy-system safety reasons). Kenny would often address him as “My Boy” instead of his name or “The Shape” ... Michael doesn’t mind it too much.

They first tried teaming The Spirit up with Myers, but he would refuse to work with her and she took every opportunity to shirk responsibilities (she basically reminded him too much of Judith)... so nothing got done.

Freddy once attempted to put Myers to sleep, it only put the “Michael” part to sleep, but The Shape fully took over and went into berserker mode. (The Trapper, The Hillbilly, The Doctor, The Nurse, and The Huntress were needed just to pin him down and they had to lock him up until he passed out)

Myers almost drowned once (the survivors had a water trap made for The Doctor, when they set it off it dropped half the killers into a lake along with it. The Doctor managed to get a hold of The Hag and Teleport out of the way). Anna had to drag him out of the water and give him mouth-to-mouth. She was then determined to teach him how to swim. (after he got over the pneumonia from having his lungs full of dirty pond water). He found the whole thing embarrassing... especially the lessons, having to be half necked in the water with Anna, who only had a pair of shorts on and had her arms around him....ffffff.... not to mention The Spirit was watching....fml.

Because of that, Anna was the first person he said something to in 15 years (even if it is 90% “yes” and “no”... everybody (besides The Legion) thought he was mute, but when Anna asked “can you breathe?” and he gagged out a “yes” it surprised them all.)

She convinced him to eat meals around the others more often after that. He stuck close to Anna, Bubba, and Kenny the most. He didn’t mind The Wraith that much either... Still don’t like The Spirit. And he only goes around The Nurse if he has to  (after a week being sick and in Sally’s care... he’s just done with ghosts.... Rin, Sally, Freddy.... gtf away)

He would be one of the better killers, if he didn’t play around so much with his kills. Anna showed him how to kill people/animals faster... it actually made him play with them even more because he then knew what to do to prolong the process.

Myers and Anna are both Bi-Ace.... love and friendship isn’t in Myers vocabulary... they got stuck in an endless “repay a favor” loop after her rescuing him and giving him lessons.

They have to work around each other when on a hunt. He personally thinks she is too noisy and annoying on a hunt, and she thinks he takes too long fooling around. (he often has to change his killing style to go around hers, which he does not like to do).

When they are paired together on a mission, they would eventually start fighting with each other... it startled the survivors when they heard Myers tell her to “Shut. the. FUCK. UP!” about the singing and telling him to hurry up.  She then got so mad she was cursing him out in Russian... The Survivors still joke about them being an old married couple.... to their faces even. Laurie especially).

[gazlena]

I saw you were looking for prompt ideas and had to leave an ask 😄 How about one where Zim's been captured by membrane and Dib tries to help him escape. Cliche, yes, but I never get tired of reading those 😂

okay so im sorry this is so late but it took me forever to write (i hate college lol) and im not very good at these two yet. so im sorry in advance but:

Dib said long ago he wanted Zim to be captured, but he didn't mean like this.

Staring at a glass chamber in his father's lab, Dib felt his stomach churn as he watched Zim, drowning in green liquid as he kicked and screamed at the walls he knew damn well weren't going to budge.

It was exactly what his 12-year-old self said he wanted—and the more that he thought about it, he probably did mean that at the time, when it was only a hypothetical that Zim's guts would be splayed all over an operating table (because getting people to believe a green kid with no ears was an alien was apparently impossible), but that was then. Before their pseudo-rivalry had dissolved into friendship, before Zim's plot to destroy the Earth (and subsequently, Dib's quest to save it) had more or less died off, before Dib had noticed that Zim was the only person in his life who had ever genuinely believed in him.

And of course, before the first time Dib's heart beat a little too fast around his so-called mortal enemy.

"Filthy humans and their—their stupid INFERIOR technology," Zim spat, ironically trapped by said inferior technology, "should have killed them all when I had the chance."

Considering where Zim was right now, Dib wasn't going to point out that he never really had a shot at annihilating all humans anyway. "You probably should have."

"You know what they keep doing to me? To ZIM?" And after all these years, his tiny hand still shook. "These human MEAT worms keep poking me, like I'm some kind of freak—"

"I mean, you are an alien. That’s kind of freaky."

"But Zim is not some stupid... lab hamster for them to experiment on!" Zim said. He gave up on kicking and resigned himself to crossing his arms and floating backwards. "They will be punished."

I'll make them pay, Dib thought.

"I already foil their plans as it is, you know. They keep trying to get me to talk, or even just to scream," Zim smirked, "but I never will."

"You know my dad knows you can talk, right? I mean, how many times did you come over even before we started—"

"Yes, but he can't make me. Not the all-powerful ZIM, member of the mighty Irken race!"

Dib had a feeling that Zim's recent talk of his great "power" was just to keep him from going insane. At least his dad wasn't getting what he wanted though, but at what cost to Zim? He looked more tired lately, and in-between rants against the entire human race and the superiority of literally anything Irken were moments that Zim just looked like he had... given up.

That, though, was about to change.

Dib pressed his hand to the glass. Zim pressed back.

"So, are you gonna get me out of here or what?" he asked softly. 

"I am," Dib said, with a grin, "that's why I came here today, actually."

He reached underneath his coat (Zim was wondering what that bulge was, actually, but they hadn’t gotten that far in their relationship yet) and fished out a small—but very familiar—grey robot.

"GIR!" Zim cried. Dib was happier when he saw the relief wash over his face. "But how the hell did you get him to be quiet?"

"I turned him off."

Dib set GIR down on the ground, watching as the lovably annoying robot slowly came to life while it yelled unintelligable bullshit.

"SHHH!" Zim hissed from inside his alien prison. "They'll hear you—"

“Gaz said she’s covering for us,” Dib said, which was surprisingly true: Gaz was covering for them, by blasting the speakers on some console game upstairs, but she said it was only because she had been waiting years for him to get launched into space. That him being on the run with his alien boyfriend was possibly the best thing that could ever happen to her. Regardless of how true that actually was, Dad probably wouldn’t be hearing for the next three weeks, so. They were good. 

“Your scary sister? Helping you? That’s almost as weird as when I do it.”

Rolling his eyes, Dib waved a drive-thru taco bag in the air.

“You’re going to lose an arm, you know,” Zim said, as GIR started climbing Dib’s trench coat like a deranged spider monkey trying to grab it from him.

“You’re supposed to free him first,” Dib said to GIR, pouting, “what’s the point of having a robot dog-thingy sidekick if it’s fucking insane, anyway?”

“Yeah, that’s sort of how I figured out the Tallest were lying to me.”

GIR bit into the side of Zim’s prison, the green inside of it spilling out onto the floor—apparently bulletproof glass was no match for alien robots. The way it was chomping away at the thing, Dib almost wondered whether it was actually worth the 2.99 for the tacos. 

By the time all the glass had disappeared, Zim was (with no success) trying to get all the alien-preservation-stuff off of him. Disgusted, he flung off some of the jello-like remnants from his arms. “Filthy, filthy earth goo...” he muttered, as GIR climbed onto Dib’s back and snatched the tacos from him.

Dib couldn’t care less about whatever was on him. After their 48-hour nightmare, he felt like doing nothing but taking Zim in his arms and kissing him. But even if Gaz was playing Vampire Piggy Hunter on max volume (he could hear it all the way down here, so probably), he figured it wouldn’t be long before Dad noticed the giant spaceship crashed in the middle of the yard.

So instead, he took Zim’s hand and squeezed. Zim squeezed back.

“You have a ship ready?” Zim asked.

“Yeah, just outside. I wasn’t really sure how to drive it though so it may-or-may-not be sort of stuck in the grass right now.”

If Zim had eyebrows, one of them would have been raised. “It still works, though!” Dib explained.

GIR’s taco buzz had already (thankfully) helped with the next part of the plan: a decent chunk of the wall was gone now. Dirt fell into the lab while the night sky peeked in. Climbing out of the basement and into the light, Dib could see the sky, streaked with black and red and purple and covered with glowing specks of stars. Under the moonlight, Zim glowed too, his eyes the most brilliant magenta and his green skin practically shimmering like...like—

“What?” Zim said, climbing into his ship from the open window. “Are you just going to stand there all night?”

Dib didn’t think he had ever seen anything more beautiful in his life.

He followed Zim into the passenger seat, while GIR scurried into the back for snacks and the big TV.

“I don’t know why you have to waste precious time staring at the sky,” Zim huffed. “Night sky, big deal! You’ll be in it in five minutes anyway.” 

----

okay hnnn thats where i think im gonna end it. thank u for sending something in! it was really good to get some practice and i hope u liked it

[perlocutionary]

Tether - Stiles Stilinski

Description: A final straw and it’s gone. A relationship, one Y/N had worked so hard for, slipped from her fingers. She had never hoped Stiles would’ve moved on so fast, and not with her. But maybe her emotions draw a cloud in front of her eyes - and things aren’t what they seem.

Relationship: Stiles Stilinski x Reader - TEEN WOLF

Warnings: It’s a bit angsty, a bit all over the place and a lot of heartbreak-feelings. There’s also smut and sappiness, which makes up for the angsty shit I guess. I am very bad at warnings.

I also suck at descriptions, if you haven’t noticed. Happy reading! Word count: 4887

“I don’t need any werewolf power to feel your hurt radiating off you.” Scott appears beside me, arms crossed across his chest, mimicking my own stance. I groan, mostly in acknowledgement, but I don’t take my eyes off my ex-boyfriend. He looked happier, healthier even, than he has been in months. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was I who had drained him of his joy, if it was my doings that had slowed down his recovery after the whole thing with the Nogitsune.

At first instant, I wanted to reply that Scott had no idea how much this was hurting me, eating me alive – but I’m sure he did. After everything Scott himself had been through, after all our losses, my hurt over a lost love felt bleak. But still very existent.

Stiles and I’s break-up was anything but peaceful. In the end, I was left heartbroken, probably permanently damaged but still – here I was, watching him laugh and joke with Lydia across the yard. I couldn’t help it, jealousy coursed through my veins – which spurred on my anger toward him even more. How could he move on so easily? How could he ignore any feeling I might have? I would never show it so clearly if I were in his position.

But then again, did he have any obligation toward me anymore? Yeah, we remained friends – because we had to. Scott was not letting a little dispute between lovers become a nick in the strong bond his pack had – but seeing him almost every day chipped piece by piece off my heart. “It’s only been a month, Scott. And – he,” I sigh loudly, squeezing my eyes closed, “looks so much happier.”

My voice trembles – and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the alpha. His hand slides along my shoulder, pulling me into his solid chest. My eyes prick with unwanted tears, but I keep torturing myself by focusing my gaze on the only two people that seemed in the room with me. “I would say coping in another way, Y/N.”

We had thrown two and a half years out the door over one single argument. Arguments over questions that shouldn’t have had to haunt our minds anyway, but still did. In the last months of our relationship, everything seemed to spark an argument between us. I guess we had just reached our breaking point. And now it left me hollow, my insanity balancing on a razor blade. “I guess. I – I just can’t believe he’d end it over something so stupid.”

Stiles laughs animatedly – and it drags another heart-wrecking sigh from my lips. A bottle of beer is brought to his lips, my eyes glued to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he swallows. I feel another presence appear beside me, my gaze momentarily flicking over before I retrain it on the sight in front of me. “Y/N…” Derek gathers my attention, but I only hum. “Are you alright?”

My chuckle is humorless. “Mhm. I promised myself that – that I wouldn’t take it personal if he moved on with someone new.” I shrug my shoulders, seemingly wanting to play it off as nonchalance, but I know I lack the emotionless features at the moment. Scott moves along with me, guiding me to the lounge chairs at the end of the yard, further away from Stiles. These pack meetings – something Scott found mandatory to keep our spirits high – had become the largest drag I had to endure each week.

At school, I could avoid Stiles as much as possible. But, with our select group of friends, it had proven to be rather difficult. “Somehow, I just hoped it wouldn’t be Lydia Martin.”

Every one of these pack meetings ending in me leaving early – with a lame excuse that no one bought – to cry in my car, coating my cheeks in a sheen layer of melancholic emotions. I’d be quick to scramble the pieces back together before the next day of school rolled around, but I could feel myself crumbling with every breakdown I granted myself.

“Maybe, one day, it’ll feel number. Maybe you’ll feel it too.” I’m snapped out of my inner monologue of despair as I tentatively glare at Scott, fingers fumbling in my lap. “Feel what?” “Happier. Contented. Whatever you want to call it.” Scott sighs, and even though it’s small, a gasp still leaves my lips. I had continuously tried to suppress the thought of having lost Stiles forever.

Involuntarily, my eyes water and before I can try anything to keep the tears at bay, they’re slowly rolling down my cheeks as I cast my gaze toward the ground, away from my transfixed gaze on Stiles and Lydia.

“I – I know I don’t deserve him. But there is nobody that needs him as much as I do.” I fumble with my words, stuttering and hiccupping, voice barely a whisper, as I try to hide my prominent emotions from the rest of the pack. I was already aggravated with myself that I had let my tears fall in front of Stiles’ best friend – the worst thing for me right now was to draw an audience.

“I guess time will tell.” I finish off, squeezing my eyes closed as I allow myself to drag in a shaky breath. Scott tenses beside me. “You loved him, didn’t you?” A hoarse chuckle leaves my lips as I reopen my eyes, raising my eyebrows as Scott and I’s gaze meet. “Of course I do. Thought you out of all people felt that.” A snort leaves my lips and I wipe the remaining tears off my cheeks, patting underneath my eyes as I look anywhere but in Stiles’ direction. No use in torturing myself even further.

In a sudden moment, a beer appears in front of my face, dangling in the air for me to grasp. My fingers curl around the chilled, brown bottle and I gaze up momentarily, smiling briefly at a wary Derek. “I could sense you could use one.” “Ah, yes. Alcohol. The perfect way to numb any feeling.” I cheer Derek, raising my bottle in a salute before bringing it to my lips and chugging half of it in one go.

“Stiles isn’t himself lately, Y/N. Think it might be the Nogitsune?” Derek questions, Scott immediately growling at his friend’s accusation. The Nogitsune was no more. This was just a chipped Stiles, whom I had tried to glue back together – in vain. I roll my eyes, bringing the bottle to my lips again, gaze flicking to Stiles. “Oh no. It’s definitely him. I know. Which makes this even more painful.”

Derek’s hand lands on my knee, his thumb and pointer finger pinching the exposed skin in a sense of comfort. “I’m sure this is something that’ll blow over in a week or two. I’ve seen so many people fight like this and end up together in the end.” His statement feels flat, his hand patting my knee in another attempt at comfort – it only drags a loud scoff from my lips.

“How did it work out for you? Or you?” I address both males flanking my sides, and they both avert their gazes elsewhere. I, personally, had not once witnessed a happy ending. Only death and despair lately. “This is a radiate or drain thing. I’m steering towards the latter.”

A sudden movement in the corner of my eyes snaps my attention back to Stiles and Lydia. I see Lydia inch closer to Stiles and I’m sure if I stay five more minutes, I might witness a lip-lock I can’t handle. My whole frame turns rigid, and I bolt upright, eyes wide in shock as I turn toward Scott. “I – Scott, I need some time away from the pack. I – I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.” I stumble my words in a rapid manner, and you don’t have to be a werewolf to notice the panic behind my voice or eyes.

Scott’s quick to realize what I mean and jumps to his feet. I notice Derek behind me raising slowly as well, arms outstretched – but tentative. He was contemplating if it were a good idea to touch me right now. I shake my head, panic overtaking me like a suffocating blanket – I need to get out of here.

“Y/N, you can’t. Please, you’re not thinking straight. We – “ By now, everyone in the pack has their attention trained on our conversation – including Stiles. He raises to his feet slowly, discarding his conversation with Lydia as feel him inch closer. The way his lip jerks I know he is curious as to what is going on, and I see this as my last chance of escape.

“We need you? That’s very flattering, Scott. But I’m sick of playing save-the-world when I feel that if I keep this up, there isn’t anything left of me to save anyone.” I growl sarcastically. My head is shaking as my eyes start watering again, my feet taking me backward, stumbling over everything I encounter in my stupor.

This pack, and everything supernatural that came along with it, was the first and main reason for any problems with Stiles and eventually our break up. I was sick of acting like nothing bothered me and that I was glad we were constantly out on quests to save others. I wasn’t.

“Y/N I promise you that – “ Scott tries to reason with me, but I can see in his eyes that he has realized the fate of this conversation. I laugh loudly, a bit maniacally if you ask me, as I take a few more steps away from my friends and to the open door.

“You can’t promise me anything Scott! Every single fucking promise made toward me – was broken.” As I turn mid-sentence, I’m face to face with a wide-eyed Stiles. I hadn’t paid attention to the lanky brunette and he had inched so close I could smell his cologne – it send another dagger through my heart.

I push past him, breaking into a run and beelining for the exit. I’m desperately fumbling with my keys, jamming them into the ignition as I punch my fist against the steering wheel. Tears are already flowing freely as I slam my foot onto the gas pedal, flying out of Scott’s driveway and onto the road.

My house is, per usual, empty. Everything I had brought with me is dropped onto the wooden floor as soon as the front door clicks closed behind me. My tears had dried during my ride home, but it had left me drained. Even though I had meant every word I had said, that I was desperate for time by myself without a constant visual reminder of what I can’t have, I also knew this meant I was alone.

I always thought Stiles and I had a connection – I had always felt different towards the boy. But with recent events, I had started to wonder if this Tether Deaton had spoken of was something that I wanted to be there, but wasn’t to begin with, rather than some established unseeable entity I grasped onto. Maybe I just felt this connection because I wanted to feel it, because I loved Stiles. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with all this supernatural bogus – which had gone straight to my head.

I drag my body across the hall and into the kitchen, deciding on another drink – it would do me wonders. Glass in hand, I stumble into the bathroom, running a bath. Hopefully, I could calm some of my aching muscles and sleep sound for once in months. Before my tub was filled to the brim, I had gotten a refill of wine.

I’m stopped in my tracks when I hear the screeching of tires just outside my home, my ears perking up but my body immediately tensing. I stay seated on the closed toilet seat until I hear my front door slam. I’m tentative to peek my head out of my opened bathroom door, coming face to face with a furious Stiles Stilinski.

His gaze snaps around my place in search for me – and as soon as his wild eyes find me, he strides toward me angrily, finger already pointing in my direction. “What the hell is going on in that head of yours that you think you can just bail on everyone like that?!”

I step out of the door opening completely, waiting for him at the end of my hallway, my glass of wine still in hand. “A lot. If you wait a few minutes, not a lot.” While speaking, I motion to said glass and chuckle light-heartedly. Instead of enhancing my emotions, I always felt void when I was drunk. Heading towards that drunken state left me with less and less of my chest constricting and I couldn’t be more elated. Considering the look on Stiles’ face though, he wasn’t happy with the answer received.  

“Why would you even consider getting out of this pack? We’re a fucking family.” He comes to a complete halt a few meters away from me, his body slumping, shoulders drooping as he intently stares at me. Did he really not realize? Did he have no idea that seeing him continuously broke my heart a bit more every day? I had hoped that he would’ve put two and two together himself by now, but apparently, I must help Stiles’ oblivious mind, once again.

I can’t help but respond in a vile manner though. “I hope that one day I’ll get a family where I don’t have to see my ex shagging around with my sister then.” The chuckle that leaves me is dark, my head shaking as I try to push the images that are sneaking their way into my subconscious away. Stiles’ features change, his stone-cold glare softening into a look of surprise. One step is taken toward me – no anger evident in his body language.

“Is that what this is about?” Stiles seems to have caught on and he takes one more step, his hand raising up, but it drops immediately. “And how dare you even imply I broke my promise to you.” His voice raises towards the end, but he suppresses himself, another step in my direction. I take one back, my back immediately hitting the wall and I curse inwardly for not locking my front door.

As soon as I register the accusation hidden in his words, I feel my cheeks heat up in anger. I throw my glass towards the wall, hands flying up as I yell at my ex-boyfriend. “Because you fucking did Stiles!”

“I didn’t break my promise!” Stiles roars in return, our noses almost touching as his fingers curl around my upper arms, keeping me in place. My glare is just as harsh as his, but on the inside, my knees are weak from his familiar scent in such close proximity after a month. I miss him.

“Then what are you doing right now?” I whisper, but doing nothing to hide the condescending tone that’s laced through my words. Stiles lets go of me, taking a step back and his eyes seem to glaze over before he speaks. “Y/n, I never stopped loving you. So, no, I didn’t break my promise.”

Our gazes meet one another, and I bite my bottom lip to refrain from smiling. Even though he claimed he still loved me, that didn’t mean that our problems were over, or that we were back together. Stiles had made it clear how he felt about me and the trouble I seem to bring along. He had made himself very clear when he had pointed toward the door and demanded I would take my shit elsewhere. Thinking about that particular evening constricting the airflow to my lungs, my mind hazy. I must protect what’s left.

“It doesn’t matter.” My tone is dismissive, eyes glancing to the broken glass on the floor and the red stain the wine made in the carpet. Being this close to Stiles was reviving, although I’d much rather have it under different circumstances. “And it shouldn’t matter to you why I need some time to myself. You have to understand. I – I just can’t be around you all the time.”

Silence envelopes us – something I had experienced too much in the last couple of weeks. It made me anxious and I was just about ready to beg Stiles to say something, anything. He’s still pressed up against me, caging me against the wall with his hands pressed beside my head. His gaze never leaves mine, and when his tongue darts out to lick along his lip, I can’t help but break our stare. “I can’t be away from you.” Stiles counteracts, and he presses my frame further against the wall.

I don’t dare look back up into his honey-speckled eyes, knowing just what I would find. “You were the one that ended things Stiles. It was never my decision.” I murmur, keeping my gaze locked on his collarbones. His scent is intoxicating, and I wish I could just wrap my arms around him like I would do when I felt like this. Stiles had always been my rock whenever anything happened. He held me when Allison had passed, for nights on end. When I couldn’t sleep because I feared Stiles might not be there in the morning, he tangled himself with me in such a way I had no choice but to lull to sleep. But this time, he was the one that caused it.

“I did it for both of our sakes.” He whispers, leaning even closer, trying desperately to catch my gaze with his. I feel anger flare up as I press my flattened hands against Stiles’ chest, forcefully pushing him away from me. “How is breaking my heart good for my sake? You’re full of it, Stiles. You’re constantly thinking about what could happen that you don’t see what’s right in front of you. Here I was, ready to give you everything and you just go and –“ Stiles shuts me up by forcefully pressing his lips against mine, an immediate groan slipping past my lips.

I know I shouldn’t reciprocate the kiss, because I can’t shake the feeling that this might be a slip-up from Stiles’ mind and that he’d regret it as soon as it was over – but that was the exact reason I couldn’t stop. What if this was our final moment together, my last kiss shared with whom I believed was the love of my life.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles against my lips, his arms snaking around my waist as mine curl around his neck, hauling him impossibly close. I need to cherish this moment as long as he’ll let me. His tongue licks along my bottom lip and our kiss deepens, his hands pressing me closer against him, our torsos brushing against each other. After being away from Stiles for over a month, this felt like coming home. My body melted against his, my lungs felt burning with oxygen as if I were deprived without him – I felt alive.

“I love you.” Stiles speaks as his lips trails from my lips to my jaw, down to my neck. The words had been uttered once or twice during our relationship, but never had they held such a strong meaning. It was Stiles’ way of apologizing – but I wasn’t sure if I were ready to forgive him. Instead, I lose myself in the moment. Stiles realizes what is happening and he stops his movements, barely pulling me out of the trance he has got me in. “Y/n?” “What?” I open my eyes slowly, letting a heavy sigh flow from my lips. “I – I love you…”

I feel tears prick for the third time this evening, my swallow audible as I gaze up into Stiles’ eyes. “I’m just waiting for you to come to the realization you’re making a mistake.” His eyes widen as he starts shaking his head rapidly. “You’ll never be a mistake.”

I purse my lips as I feel a tear roll down. I make no effort to wipe it away though. “You said we were.”

“And I didn’t mean that. You know I love you, right?” He questions. If he had asked me this a month ago, I had undoubtedly answer yes. He may have not said it often, but he showed it. “I thought I did. But, you have me in doubt.”

“Baby,” he breathes, cupping my jaw in his large hand, “I shouldn’t have done that. It was what I thought was best for us and because I love you and – “ My body tenses at his words. One person cannot decide in a relationship what’s best for them. Stiles always did things with the best intentions, but he didn’t take my feelings into account.

“Please stop talking. I don’t know what your ultimate goal here is, but if you’re intending on making me cry you’re on the right path. Otherwise, shut up.” I mumble, pressing my lips against his again, feverishly, and he reciprocates immediately.

His flannel flutters to the floor, instantly followed by his shirt. Mine knows the same fate before Stiles lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward my bedroom. My back collides with my plush duvet as Stiles hovers over me, his fingertips ghosting over my thighs.

“Come here.” I beckon him over with my finger, hands already trailing over his toned arms as he drops down on top of me, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses along my neck and jaw. I don’t waste any time by trying to rid Stiles of his jeans, the material bunching up at his knees before he’s forced to slide them down all the way.

Any remaining clothing is quickly slid off our bodies as our lips meet in a passionate, desperate kiss. I had missed him so much in the last weeks, but I would never forget how it felt. How much love seeped through every movement of Stiles. Everything he did was because he thought it’d be the best for me.

I’m quick to wrap my fingers around his erection and guide him to where I want him. After a month apart, I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want to tease him, or ruin things by saying what needed to be said. I wanted him.

A gasp leaves my lips as I squeeze my eyes closed, fingertips digging into Stiles’ shoulders while he stays completely still. When I reopen my eyes, I see his tightly shut as well, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he hums to himself.

“Stiles – are you okay?” I murmur, brushing my hand through his unruly locks. His eyes snap open and I smile briefly when I see his whiskey-coloured gaze intently trained on me, a bright grin overtaking his features. “Yeah.”

I roll my hips against his and he gets my message, a loud grunt slipping from his lips as his forehead touches mine. “How could I ever think I could’ve gone without you.”

My heart swells at his words but I don’t get time to dwell on it as Stiles’ hips snap roughly against mine, his immediate pace threatingly fast as he pushes me closer and closer to my point of no return. Not being with Stiles in a month has gotten me to the point of incredible sexual frustration and I’m not going to last long, but I have a feeling neither will he.

My lips press open mouthed kisses along his shoulders and neck while he thrusts rapidly into me, low grunts and moans slipping from Stiles’ lips. I always loved him being vocal as it drove me quicker to where I wanted to be as well. I can feel myself dangling on the edge and when Stiles presses his lips sloppily against mine, tongue immediately darting past my lips, I’m shaking around him and clutching onto him for dear life.

Only a few more thrusts before Stiles stills within me, his breathing heavy as he pants against my lips. I flatten my hands and press down onto his lower back, inviting him on dropping onto me. He complies, his arms giving out with a loud huff from me while he tries to catch his breath.

I continue tracing patterns along his back while I witness his heartbeat slow down to a normal steady rhythm before he rolls off me. A giggle leaves my lips when he almost falls off the bed and I’m just in time to grasp his arm and pull him into me. “Careful there. Don’t want to end up in the ER, again.”

“That happened once, Y/n.” Stiles laughs as he hides his face in my neck, peppering kisses along his way before our lips meet again. It’s silent for a while, a comforting silence. I’m just glad to be back in his arms again.

My phone vibrates loudly on the floor, both of our heads peeking over the edge of the bed to see Lydia’s name flash brightly on the cracked screen. As I am about to speak, Stiles beats me to it. “There might have been a mention of you thinking Lydia and I –“ Stiles trails off, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as I try my best to avoid his gaze.

“I’ll call her back later.” I sigh as I drop back down onto bed, eyes glued to the ceiling before I drape my arm over them, shielding my eyes from Stiles’ penetrating gaze. “Are you – are you still taking a break from the pack?” His fingertips tickle along my sides, up my arm before his fingers enclose around my wrist to try and pull my arm away from my face.

Another sigh leaves my lips as I scoot up on my bed to sit up straight, pulling my blanket over my still naked frame. “I – I don’t know. Has this changed anything?” “What?” Stiles seems baffled, and I understand. But he has to understand as well that I’m not in the right place to make assumptions.

“I – doesn’t this mean?” Stiles stutters over his words, my eyes wandering around my room, not meeting him. “I don’t know Stiles. What does this mean?” I hadn’t told anyone, but I was planning on leaving Beacon Hills. If this meant something, I might need to rethink my choices. But if I didn’t have Stiles – there was nothing left for me here. I think being away from the supernatural would only improve my safety.

“Do you really think I’d just get one last for the road?” His voice is high pitched as he forces me to look at him, his features showing pain and utter shock. I bite the tip of my tongue as I rake my brain for an answer. It hurts me to see him looking at me like this, knowing I’m the one who caused it in the first place.

“I don’t know what you think. I know what I feel, but I don’t know if that’s something to take into consideration.” I decide as I shrug my shoulders, leaning over the edge of the bed again to collect my underwear. I stop in my tracks as Stiles speaks.

“You really believed I could just let you go – just like that?” Stiles never had any problems with showing his vulnerability, although I think I might’ve pushed him to a new low. I swallow audibly, feeling the sting of upcoming tears prick at my eyes as I pluck at a string on the edge of my blankets.

“Well, if it never was your plan, you’re a damn good actor, Stiles.” A small hiccup leaves my lips as Stiles pulls me down with him, my head resting on his biceps as his other hand threads through my hair in a comforting manner. I can’t help but let my eyes slip closed at his soft gesture, his lips resting against my forehead.

“Was this a last hoorah?” He whispers, the vibrations against my skull sending chills rapidly down my spine. I pull back, smiling warmly up at him, before I press my lips softly to his. “I somehow hope not.”

“If you’ll have me back, otherwise… I’ll wait.” He makes me freeze in my actions and my hand stills on his shoulder as I push myself away from him. “What?” Before he speaks, his arms wind around my waist and he pulls me impeccably closer to his still naked chest, warmth seeping through me. I craved it, needed it, almost as much as I needed air.

“I’ll wait – forever, if I have to. If it takes you a life time to return to me, I’ll be here. Waiting. For you.” His eyes drift closed, his jaw tense as he remains his soothing gestures in my hair and along my back. I don’t have to say anything, because I know he will. And I won’t let anything stop me returning home either.

I worm my way around his grasp, throwing my body against his as I press my lips fiercely to his. He moans against my lips, and I abruptly break the kiss, fluttering my eyelashes against his cheeks. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to have many more hoorahs with you.”

Forever: @ssweet-empowerment @fuckwhateverfuck @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname  @behind-my-hazeleyes27 @itsbilescallmebiles  @7e6205    

[shadow-light19]

Stay With Me

Summary: For all the shit Max likes to give David, he doesn’t actually hate him. Sure, he’s an over-optimistic, hippy, dumbass that can’t seem to understand the fact that the world’s not perfect, there will always be someone who will screw you over, and we’re all going to die one day, but David makes it bearable. No one else cared about him like he did.

Notes: This story takes place after the Parent’s Day episode in Camp Camp. David adopts Max after finding out about Max’s neglect and Gwen is unofficially his Mom.

“Good morning, campers! Isn’t today just a beautiful day?” David greeted the campers from the kitchen as they entered the Mess Hall for breakfast.

A chorus of tired voices, and one excited one, responded back. Max sighed as he carried his tray over to his usual spot where Neil and Nikki were already sitting. Mashed potatoes and coffee. What a great breakfast. Instead of eating, Max boredly pushed his potatoes around with his fork while drinking his coffee. Nikki was shoveling as much food as she could in her mouth, and Neil was halfheartedly poking at his potatoes while he chewed an apple.

David walked into the mess hall and stood happily with his hands on his hips. “I have a fun activity for us planned today! The weather forecast for tonight mentioned there will be a big storm, so I thought we could go on a refreshing morning hike, picnic in the forest, and then return to camp before the storm hits to watch a movie here in the Mess Hall. We’ll all meet out front once you’re ready to go!”

Most of the campers groaned at that. “How exciting! We get to go on a quest! Maybe I’ll get the chance to cast a weather charm if the storm catches up with us before we get back!” Nerris exclaimed.

Nikki was jumping up and down in her seat. “Ooo! Maybe we’ll get to see a bear! Or a snake! Or a wolf!” Neil and Max looked at her in bewilderment.

“No way! The last thing I want to do today is encounter a wild animal and almost die. Haven’t we had enough stupid shit happen to us?” Neil glared at his plate.

Max rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Camp’s been boring lately anyway since that shit-stain Campbell was arrested. I wouldn’t mind watching someone get mauled for entertainment.”

He carried his tray off to the kitchen and placed it in the sink. “Hiya, Max! Are you excited to go hiking today?” David ruffled Max’s hair. Max glared at him and knocked his hand away.

“Yeah, David, I am so fucking excited to go hiking. You know what? I hope when we go camping today you get mauled by bears. Then I won’t have to put up with your annoying attitude for a while.” Max grimaced as David chuckled at his threat.

“You just need to experience it first, and then you’ll love hiking. I was the same way you know?” Max rolled his eyes and walked out of the kitchen with his hands in his hoodie pocket. “You told me that story before. God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

 Once everyone finished up eating breakfast, they set off on the hiking trail. Gwen and David were leading the group with Max and friends trailing behind the rest. They walked like that through the forest for several hours. The further they went, the more the path inclined higher and broke for lunch beside a large, fast-moving river.

“Okay, everyone! Let’s go ahead and set up for lunch here! Nikki, can you help me lay down the blankets? Nerris and Harrison, could you guys help Gwen prepare the sandwiches?”

David slung his backpack to the ground and pulled out several thin blankets. Nikki yelled in joy as she lunged at the pile and popped out with a blanket over her head. Nerris and Harrison pulled out the ingredients and started making sandwiches with Gwen. Everyone else situated themselves on the blankets as Nikki and David laid them flat.

Neil, Nikki, and Max were all chatting quietly together at one of the blankets. Max turned to ask David if they were going to do anything else in the area when he noticed David and Gwen muttering softly together by the river while looking concerned. Max quietly approached them while trying to listen in.

“..should get going. I don’t like the look of those clouds.” Gwen murmured.

She glanced back at the path as if trying to gauge in her mind the fastest way back. David continued to frown at the clouds.

“This must be a fast-moving storm. I saw the Altocumulus clouds as we were leaving. They generally indicate thunderstorms 6-12 hours before they occur, but it’s only been 4. We shouldn’t be seeing Nimbostratus clouds yet.”

“Since when could you read clouds?”

David startled at Max’s voice. He relaxed a little when Max’s face only showed grudging curiosity.

“It’s important as a camper to be able to read the clouds in order to determine storms or other weather patterns. Nimbostratus clouds are those dark gray clouds you always see before a heavy rain. In general, clouds that are low to the ground are more likely to signify rain or storm conditions. I’ll have to teach you guys these signs the next time there is a storm coming. I can’t show you the warning clouds since they are already gone.”

Max frowned. For once, that might actually be a useful camp activity. He’d certainly use that more often than fishing or tying knots.

“So, you’re admitting that you fucked up, and we need to get back to camp as soon as possible, or we’re going to be caught in some God-forsaken storm?”

David winced at the phrasing. “I wouldn’t say it like that. No one can predict nature accurately, I just thought we had more time to make it back.” Max raised a brow at him. “So, you fucked up.”

David sighed, “Alright, I made a mistake. We need to start packing up, though. The wind is starting to pick up already, and I’d like to make it back before it starts to rain.” David clapped his hands together.

“Okay, everyone, we are going to need your help packing up. The storm is catching up with us right now, and we need to hurry if we want to get back before it hits.”

The other kids looked up at the sky before clambering to gather everything together. As they Nikki and Neil getting up, the wind picked up their blanket and blew it in Max’s face. Max flinched when the blanket hit him and stumbled backward, falling into the river.

“MAX!” David cried out as Max went under. Max wrestled the blanket off him and resurfaced, but the river was already carrying him away. “DAVID!” Max screamed. “Get the kids back to camp, Gwen! I’ll rescue Max!” David didn’t wait for a reply as he chased after him.

Max struggled to keep his head above water. He was starting to get tired, and it didn’t help that his hoodie was dragging him down. As he coughed out water, he saw David falling further and further behind.

“Max! Try to swim towards the bank! Don’t swim against the current, you’ll tire yourself out! Once you’re close enough to the bank, I’ll grab you!” Max wasn’t sure how he’d do that, but he trusted that David wouldn’t let him drown and started paddling for the bank. He wasn’t able to get very close, though, as the current was too strong. David chucked his bag to the side and dived into the water.

“DAVID!” Max yelled in fear.

 He watched as David swam strongly towards him and maneuvered Max to his back so that he could use both hands to swim to the bank. Max was exhausted and held on with no complaint. David’s arms churned through the river until he finally pulled them back onto the bank. The two collapsed on the ground, coughing out some of the water they accidentally swallowed.

“Are you alright, Max?” David rubbed Max’s back as he continued to cough. Max was trembling with terror, cold, and exhaustion. “W-what the fuck do you think you m-moron? I almost fucking d-drowned!”

David picked up Max in a piggyback carry. Max didn’t try to fight it. It felt nice that David cared enough about him to put his comfort first. David walked back in the direction they came from. Max tiredly burrowed his face into David’s shoulder.

“Why are we heading back up? Camp’s the other way dumbass.”

David glanced at Max for a moment before scanning the trees to the side of the river.

“I was carrying my pack with me when I ran after you. The river carried us pretty far out from the path, so I want to find the pack since we’ll probably get caught in the storm. I have food, water, and some raincoats in there.”

David carried Max in silence as they made their way back up the river. It took them 15 minutes to find the pack, and by then, the forest was starting to get dark. He could see the rain was still several yards away but knew that their best option would be to head in the direction of camp while looking for something that could act as a shelter.

 Max woke up to the feeling of light tapping on his shoulder. “The fuck?” Max rubbed his eyes with his hands. He realized he was still being carried by David, but he was also sitting in a sling made from a garish yellow raincoat. David had taken to carrying his pack in his arms.

“Put me down, jackass. How long was I asleep for?” Max slid down from David’s back and glared at the ground in embarrassment. He was relieved when David made no mention of it. “A little over an hour. We are about halfway back to camp, but it’s starting to drizzle. You should put this raincoat on.”

Max took the bright yellow raincoat from him and slipped it on. It was getting cold from the wind. David slung the pack on his shoulders after putting on a similar raincoat himself.

“Stay away from the trees, okay? They can act like lightning rods, so follow the middle of the path as best as possible.” David put an arm around Max’s shoulder and gently pushed him forward, Max swatted his hand away but started moving in the direction David had indicated.

“This hiking trip has been nothing but absolute shit. I can’t believe you thought it would be a good idea.” David sighed,” I’m sorry this happened. I should’ve known better than to try to go hiking before a storm. I can’t believe a put you all in danger like that.”

Max frowned. He hated it when David berated himself like that. “Whatever, you dumb shit. Like you said earlier, you didn’t know.” David gave Max a small smile. “Thanks, Max.” Max turned red at the sincerity in his voice.

“I only said that because you’re an annoying piece of shit when you’re sad.” David chuckled, “I know that’s Max-speak for ‘I don’t like seeing you upset.’” Max sputtered, “Don’t read into it! You’re deluding yourself!”

Max darted forward in an attempt to put some distance between himself and David, as David tried to ruffle his hair. Just as he did that, lightning struck a tree off to the side. The two flinched and covered their eyes from the blinding flash of light.

CRACK!

Max looked up at noticed the upper half of the tree falling right where he was standing.

“MAX!”

THUMP!

Max groaned as he was shoved backward and landed hard on his rear, eyes clenched in pain. He rubbed his butt as he stood up, opened his eyes, and saw the mass of tree branches on the ground in front of him.

“Fuck, that almost killed me! Dammit, David, this adventure really takes the fucking cake!” Max frowned when he didn’t reply. “David?” His eyes widened. He rushed towards the tree and started showing branches out of the way.

“David?!” Max called again. Yet again, no one answered. He could feel tears welling in his eyes as he pulled more branches away and got closer to the trunk of the tree. Finally, he could barely make out a bright yellow raincoat in front of the trunk. “David? You fucking bastard, you better answer me!”

Max started pulling at the branches covering David, trying to break them off so he could see him better. After a couple of attempts, Max was able to bend enough of the branches to uncover David’s head. He was lying unconscious on the left side of his face. The back and side of his head were sticky with blood, and his legs were trapped under the trunk of the tree. The tree wasn’t very big, but it was too heavy for Max to move. He could feel tears slipping down his cheeks as he smacked David’s cheek a couple of times, but he still didn’t wake. The rain started to come down harder. Max huddled against David’s unconscious body and sobbed.

“You can’t fucking leave me, David! You promised when you adopted me that you wouldn’t leave me like my shitty parents did! You can’t break your fucking promise, you hear me, David?!”

Max tried shaking him, but he still wouldn’t wake up. He put his hand to David’s mouth, feeling David’s warm breath on his freezing wet hand. It was the only assurance he had that David was alive.

“You’re the only one who fucking cares about me. You can’t leave me alone, Dad…”

 Max wasn’t sure how long he sat there with David. It was really dark out due to the thick storm clouds. He had gotten colder as the rain turned into a downpour and had pulled out the two spare blankets from the picnic. He wrapped himself in one underneath his raincoat so it wouldn’t get wet, and then tried his best to shove another underneath David’s coat to keep him warm.

David was freezing, and as more time passed, Max started to become more panicked that David wouldn’t make it. He had also found some bandages in the backpack that he used to wrap David’s head wound. It had taken a while for Max to get it to stop bleeding. The rain prevented the gash from clotting, and the bandages kept slipping from David’s wet hair. He had to put pressure on it and winced when David whined in pain. It wasn’t enough to wake him up, though. Finally, after who knew who long, the rain started to let up.

Max clutched a flashlight to his chest as he reached a hand out to check on Davis again. He was still breathing, but it was weak and shallow. David was icy cold from the rain and from lying on the ground for so long. Max smacked David’s cheek again and jumped when he got a groan in response.

“David?!” David’s eyes fluttered, and he cracked them open. “W-what? M-Max?” He whispered. Tears formed in Max’s eyes again as he was hit with an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. “DAVID!” Max hugged David’s head tightly.

David winced at the shout. He tried to push himself up but was gently held down by Max. “Don’t move, you fucking bastard! A fucking tree fell on your sorry ass, and your legs are stuck in the trunk.”

David sighed and went limp. “A-are you okay?” Max glared at him. “Why are you worried about me? You’re the self-sacrificial asshole who pushed me out of the way. I seriously thought you were dead when you wouldn’t respond!” David opened his eyes partially and glanced up at Max.

“You didn’t a-answer my question.” The kid looked away. “…I’m fine. Just fucking cold.” David frowned when he noted Max was shivering. “Leave m-me here, Max. Get back to camp, and then you c-can send Gwen or someone to come get me. You’re g-going to get sick.”

Max shook his head.

“You idiot! If I leave you alone, you’ll probably get attacked by a wild animal or something! Where’s your phone? I couldn’t get it wherever it is; I can call Gwen to come get us.”

David shakily lifted a hand and brought it to the pants pocket on the opposite side of Max. He managed to get it out of the pocket but couldn’t lift it up. Max reached between a couple of branches and grabbed it. While the screen was cracked, it still worked. He pulled up David’s speed dial and clicked on Gwen’s name.

“David?! Where the fuck are you? Why aren’t you at the camp yet?!”

“Gwen! Shut the fuck up! I need you to get help. David is trapped under a fucking tree, and we are still an hour away from camp.” Max heard her suck in a breath.

“Goddammit! How injured is he?”

Max bit his lip. “He got hit on the back of his thick-ass skull, and the tree landed on his legs. He’s really cold too. I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last out here.”

The camper glanced at David, who was lying on the side of his face with his eyes closed. “David! Wake the fuck up! You can’t fall asleep!” He heard Gwen curse again over the phone.

“I already called a search and rescue. They went looking for you guys half an hour ago. You’ve been missing for four hours now. Just stay put and shout for help every now and then. With how bad the storm was, you probably don’t have to worry about any wild animals, but be careful not to make too much noise regardless.”

“Thanks, Gwen. I’m glad you’re here.” Max could feel his throat getting clogged with emotion.

“Keep him awake for me, okay squirt? I can’t run this camp without him.”

He chuckled wetly. “Bye.” Max hung up and put the phone in his pocket. He turned back to David, who still had a far-away look in his eyes. “David, I need you to stay with me, okay?”

David blinked a couple of times, and his eyes refocused on Max. “Okay, anything for you, Max.” Max felt a lump in his throat. "Anything? Then you better fucking survive this, okay? Promise me you won’t fucking die!”

Max grasped David’s hand in his own. “I promise. I’m so glad you're safe.” David smiled. “Why do you care about me so much?” David frowned. “What do you mean, Max?” Max could feel the tears burning in his eyes again.

“Why do you c-care so much about me? My p-parents didn’t fucking want me because I was a burden to them! I was such an a-asshole to you during camp, and yet you still w-wanted me when no one else did. What do you see in me that makes you think you should waste your s-stupid feelings on me?”

David lifted his hand out of Max’s hold and placed it on his head. He slowly petted Max. “You’re a good kid, Max. Your parents were pieces of shit who didn’t deserve you. I love you, Max. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re happy. I’ll make up for everything they did to you because you are my son.”

Max sobbed loudly at David’s words. “I love you too, Dad.” David wiped the tears from Max’s eyes. His hand was shaking, and he slowly lowered it to the ground. Max grabbed it with an urgency he’d never felt before. “Dad! Stay awake! Please!” David smiled at him.

“I love you so much.” He whispered before his eyes closed again. “DAD!” Max started smacking his cheek again. “Wake up! W-wake up! W-wake u-up!” David’s breath was getting really shallow.

“SOMEONE! ANYONE! HELP ME!” Max screamed as loud as he could.

“PLEASE! I NEED HELP!”

“ANYONE!”

A loud thrumming noise kicked up nearby. He looked up and saw a bright light combing the forest before alighting on their huddled figures. Max clung to David as a group of men burst through the trees.

“Hey, kid?” Max looked up at the man who had kneeled down beside him. “We are here to help. We need to get you two to the hospital, but I’m gonna need you to move alright?”

Max nodded. He reluctantly let go of David, making no protest when he was picked up and carried up the helicopter by another rescue squad member. While he was carried up the rope ladder, Max watched as the remaining members worked together to lift the tree off of David.

 Max couldn’t stop staring at David’s prone form on their way to the hospital. The EMTs had notified Gwen that they had been found and that David was in critical condition. He was suffering from hypovolemic shock from the blood loss, hypothermia from the rain combined with the loss of blood, broken legs, cracked ribs, and a gash on the back of his head. It was a miracle that he was still alive. Max was seated next to David, wrapped in a blanket and an IV in his arm. He only suffered from slight hypothermia and dehydration.

When they arrived at the hospital, Max threw a fit as they wheeled David into surgery. He was inconsolable until Gwen arrived in the ER waiting room. She held him close as they waited for news on David.

“He’ll be alright, Max. He’s stronger than he looks. Besides, he’s dedicated the rest of his life to making you happy. He knows that you need him, so of course, he’ll be fine.”

Max burrowed his face into her shoulder. He couldn’t find the energy to cry anymore. “I can’t lose him, Gwen. He’s the only fucking family I have.” Gwen’s arms tightened around him.

“You won’t lose him. You gotta believe in him. The next time he wakes up, he’ll be that insufferably cheery guy who believes in the best in everything.”

They sat together for hours until a doctor walked into the waiting room. “I’m looking for the family of David?”

Gwen and Max jump up from their seats. “We’re here for David! How is he?” Gwen clasps Max’s hand in hers, and Max squeezes it in return.

“David was in critical condition when he arrived. However, we were able to successfully treat his injuries. He’ll be out of it for a couple of days due to his pain medication, and he’ll need to refrain from physical activity for a couple of months, but all-in-all he’ll make a sound recovery.”

The two sighed in relief. “He’s been placed in room 279 of the ICU for now. He’ll be moved when we know he’s out of the woods for sure.”

Max couldn’t restrain a soft chuckle and the camping idiom. Gwen thanked the doctor and led Max up to David’s room. “Now Max, I know you’re not going to want to leave David alone, and I need to head back to camp. Is there anything you want me to bring when I come to visit tomorrow?”

Max was thankful that Gwen was so understanding. “Can you bring Mr. Honeynuts and some clothes? Oh, David will want his guitar, and I want some paper and some color pencils as well.” Gwen rubbed Max’s hair. “Gotcha squirt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Max climbed into David’s bed as Gwen left. He had to be careful of David’s legs, which were in casts and suspended from the ceiling, as well as the tubes that were connected to his arm and oxygen mask on his face. He curled up under the blankets against David’s side and fell asleep, knowing that David would be okay.

 Max woke up to the sound of knocking the next morning. He blearily rubbed his eyes as a nurse came in. “Good morning, Max! How are you feeling today?” Max glared at the woman.

“Just peachy. I almost fucking drowned yesterday, got stuck in the fucking storm for hours, and had to deal with the emotional fucking trauma of thinking my Dad was going to die.”

The nurse chuckled nervously. “I meant in regards to your recovery from hypothermia and exhaustion.” Max flipped her off. The nurse sighed and went to check on David’s vitals.

“What are you doing anyway?” The nurse didn’t look up from her clipboard. “I am writing down his vitals in order to keep a log of his recovery. I’m going to wake him up so he can eat something. What would you like from the Cafeteria? They can make you pancakes, omelets, or muffins.”

Max’s eyes lit up. “Pancakes and muffins! With hash browns and coffee!” The nurse wrote it down before she gently shook David’s shoulder. “David? Time to wake up!” David grunted, and his eyes fluttered open.

“What?” His eyesight was blurry, but he could make out a mop of dark hair and a blue hoodie. “Max!” David tried to sit up, wincing in pain when it put pressure on his cracked ribs. “Don’t try to get up, David. You cracked your ribs when the tree fell on you.”

The nurse helped David lay back. Max was too choked up with emotion to reprimand him. David’s eyesight cleared up after he blinked several times. He furrowed his eyebrows in worry when he saw Max.

“Are you okay, son?” The nurse snuck out of the room when Max started to sob. “You fucking dumbass! Don’t you ever fucking do that again!” Max carefully hugged David and cried into his hospital gown. David smiled softly and combed his hair with his hand.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me. I thought you were going to die after you stopped talking, and I was so sure that you would be dead by the time help arrived. You even made Gwen cry!” David pulled Max close to him.

“I’m sorry I worried you both. I saw the tree falling towards you and just reacted. You mean so much to me, Max, and I’d do anything to protect you.” Max sniffed and clenched David’s gown tighter.

“Gwen’s supposed to come by sometime today. She’s bringing us some stuff since you’ll be here for a while. You’re not allowed to do anything considered physical activities for a couple of months. It’s a good punishment since that means you can’t do most camping activities for a while.”

David chuckled. “I can still supervise! I’ll need an assistant though if you want to help. That way, we can still participate in activities together.” Max laughed. “I take it back. I missed you more when you were asleep.”

The two started laughing together until David’s ribs hurt too much, and he started coughing. Max worriedly hovered over David until he reassured him he was fine. There was knocking on the door again, and they were surprised to see Gwen poke her head in.

“David! You’re awake!” She ran up to the bed and carefully hugged the two. “Hiya, Gwen! It’s lovely to see you!” David greeted. Max rolled his eyes. “Hey, Gwen? Where’s the shit you promised to bring?”

Gwen was happy to see that Max was acting more like his old self. “I left it in the hall in case you guys were still sleeping. I brought everything you asked for as well as a couple of other things.” David and Max looked at each other in surprise before watching Gwen carry in a large bag and the guitar around her shoulder.

“My guitar!” David cheered. “I also brought the change in clothes, your bear, and…” She plopped the bag on a chair by the window. “The kids made get well cards for you both!”

She pulled out to stacks of cards, neatly bundled with a rubber band. She handed one to Max and the other to David. They unwound the rubber bands and flipped through to see handmade cards from everybody. Max felt a rush of affection when he saw his best friends’ cards. Nikki had glued sticks and leaves into a stick figure of the trio as well as Gwen and David like a family while Neil had drawn out a similar design but with color pencils and a note wishing them well.

He looked up at David and saw he had tears in his eyes from the gesture of his own cards. Gwen dug out some clothes, and Mr. Honeynuts and handed them to Max. When Max walked out of the bathroom after changing, they heard another knock at the door.

The nurse walked in and smiled when she saw Gwen. “Good morning, miss! I’m David’s nurse. How are you doing?”

The nurse pulled over a tray on wheels and placed Max’s breakfast on it. She also placed a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water on the tray as well, which Max assumed was David’s meal. Gwen shook her hand.

“I’m Gwen, and I’m doing much better now that they’re alright. How long do you think it’ll be before David can get discharged?” The nurse looked at his chart. “I’d say a week, and then we can be released as long as he stays in a wheelchair and takes it easy.”

Everyone was relieved at that. Max climbed up the bed and pulled the tray close. He placed David’s on his lap and then dug into his own with gusto. David tried to lift up his spoon, but he was still shaky from the day before. Gwen took the spoon from David’s hand and held it up to his mouth.

David look astonished before he accepted her help. Max sent her a knowing look to which she responded with a wink. They both knew David would be too dense to figure the gesture out on his own. The nurse left after putting more painkiller in the IV.

Gwen helped David finish the last of his oatmeal, and the three chatted until David dozed off from the medication. “You know you’re going to have to straight out say it if you want him to know you like him. “

Gwen ruffled his hair. “Duh, but that’s what I like about him. Do you want the paper and color pencils now that he’s asleep?” Max nodded. He wanted to make David a get-well card as well. Gwen grabbed the items out of the bag she brought and handed it to Max.

“I have to get back to the camp now. Can’t leave it alone with the quartermaster for too long, or he might kill someone. I’ll come back tomorrow, and you have David’s phone in case of emergencies.” Max “Uh-uh. See ya tomorrow, then!”

Gwen waved and then headed out. Max spent a while working on the card for David. He wanted to let David know he cared, but he didn’t want it to sound stupid. When he set it on David’s lap. It had a drawing of David, Gwen and himself together on the front and the inside read, You need to get better so we can do another stupid family thing.

 To Max and David, the week it took for David to get released took forever. David had been moved to a general room after his 3rd day in the hospital. Max had gotten bored being stuck there all day but refused to leave David’s side for longer than an hour. He had taken to pranking some of the nurses and David or Gwen had to apologize profusely every time it happened. Finally, David was released from the hospital on the condition he stays in the wheelchair and rest for the next couple months.

When David’s car pulled up to the camp that evening, he was touched to see the campers were all standing outside waiting for him. There was a banner hanging in the Mess Hall saying ‘Welcome Back!’ that was slightly misspelled and drowned in glitter. Max pulled out the wheelchair from the trunk, and Gwen opened the passenger door for him.

“Hiya, everyone! What a wonderful surprise! I think this is the best camp greeting I’ve ever received!” Gwen wheeled David into the Mess Hall. “Now I know last week during the storm you wanted to have us all watch a movie and camp out in here. We decided we would do that today as a welcome back celebration!”

Dolph and Nurf pulled out the projector, Preston set up the screen, and Ered, Neil, and Nerris grabbed some snacks from the kitchen. Max grabbed a blanket from David’s room while the remaining campers set up blankets and sleeping bags on the floor. Max threw the blanket over David’s shoulders and climbed into his lap.

He was still a bit clingy from the incident, but nobody blamed him for acting so strangely. It reassured him that David was alive and well. David wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and the end’s together in front of him to cover Max as well. He rested his head on top of Max’s and grinned when the movie was Disney’s Oliver and Company.

Everyone had fun watching together and laughing at David when he cried multiple times during the movie. Max called him a wimp, and David would laugh and hug him in response. After the movie was over, everyone got ready for bed. The quartermaster had brought his mattress into the room so that David wouldn’t injure himself further.

The kids all said goodnight and had fallen asleep in places as close to David as possible. Nikki was asleep at the foot of his bed, curled up like a wolf in her sleeping bag. Max had fallen asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed. David was almost asleep when he felt the bed dip on the opposite edge.

He opened his eyes and was amazed to see Gwen getting comfortable. David sent her a confused look, so as not to wake the campers, and turned beet red when Gwen leaned forward and kissed him. Gwen affectionately rolled her eyes when David gave her the starriest-eyed smiled ever. The two turned to face Max and cuddled as him as they fell asleep.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @rubyredhoodling!

For rubyredhoodling, who likes BAMF Stiles (and Derek), spark Stiles, Derek comes back, and there may be just a small hint of mafia au. Season's greetings, and I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

Priorities

There were hunters in his town.

Stiles sat behind his desk, picking up the plaque reading "Sheriff Stilinski," only mildly defaced by the removal of his dad's first initial, and turning it over in his hands. There had been five people who held the office of sheriff between the two Stilinskis; the first, and only one elected to the position, had been a deputy that had ties to hunters but hadn't taken part in any activities that could lead to firing or even disciplinary charges. He'd laid low long enough for things to settle down and then used his connections to mount a successful campaign to remove John Stilinski from office - because surely all of the dramatic violence in Beacon Hills had to be due to the sheriff not doing his job.

The former deputy's hunter regime had lasted a year before he was removed from office in disgrace. Not for the harassment and humiliation of anyone even vaguely connected with the supernatural (or somewhat brown in skintone), but for having so grossly mismanaged the department's budget that the county only found out the sheriff's office had run out of money when checks bounced. The forensic accountant that was appointed as interim sheriff stayed for a month, presenting a preliminary audit and her resignation at the same time. The next sheriff had died in what was referred to as either mysterious circumstances or a hunting accident, depending on who was speaking and who was listening, followed by the fourth sheriff resigning by way of an email sent after he got into his car and kept driving after attempting to investigate said mysterious hunting accident. His family had to stop unpacking and reload the moving truck to join him.

By the time the fifth sheriff in two years had been appointed, Stiles had resigned from the FBI and come home on a mission. If his dad wouldn't leave - and he wouldn't - then Beacon Hills had to become a safe place for his dad to live, and not just within the perimeter of mountain ash and totems and runestones and every other type of protection magic that Stiles could find to place around their house. The forces of evil couldn't even see the house, but it wasn't as if his dad would agree to stay inside it forever.

If the fifth sheriff had contented herself with accepting the drop in the murder rate and number of animal attacks, she might have lasted. As it was, she had arrived one night at the high school in time to see the longest-serving deputy remaining on the force go up in flames, a number of people growing fangs and claws, another set of people shooting at everything that moved, and one Stiles Stilinski, holding a baseball bat and smiling. A few tumultuous hours later, she'd listened stonily as Scott did his best to explain things while applying pressure to the gunshot wound in her shoulder and Stiles methodically adjusted the scene to reflect the story he was dictating should be told by everyone.

One hunter had deviated from the story, theoretically supporting the fifth sheriff in her quest to find answers. Caught between what was being whispered in her ear and what she gleaned from Scott, the fifth sheriff made the mistake of finding the middle ground between them, the one thing they agreed on: blaming Derek Hale.

Within twelve hours of Derek being brought in and held for questioning, the sheriff's hunter lover was in FBI custody on multiple weapons charges, with more possible charges pending, and the fifth sheriff was implicated in facilitating the transfer of illegal weapons over state and national borders. The blood and DNA samples the fifth sheriff had forced to be taken during Derek's pre-detention medical screening were discovered to be too contaminated to use, lawsuits had been filed, and more than half of the officers on shift had called in sick.

"You fucked up," Stiles had told her when he came in, his hands empty and his clothes casual. "But you can still turn it around."

Maybe if she hadn't fallen so deeply in love with her hunter, she would have listened. If Stiles had had more time to prepare, maybe he would have been able to be more persuasive, or at least diplomatic. Definitely things would've gone better if he'd been able to get his dad to go talk to her, even if it would've meant Stiles was left talking to all the guys on the force that were spending their 'sick' day at a barbecue in the Stilinski back yard.

But, then again, the fifth sheriff thought it was a good idea to respond by threatening to arrest Stiles, so maybe not.

She had been politely asked to leave her position, and less politely invited to cooperate with the FBI into the investigation of her lover's ties to organized crime, before Stiles had finished checking his email as he sat in the police station lobby. Lingering let him give Derek a ride home when he was shortly released from custody without ever being formally arrested. The sincere, formal, and voluminous apologies delivered to Derek by the elected representatives of Beacon Hills carried more than a whiff of 'please don't sue,' and Stiles had to turn away to keep a straight face as Derek thanked them gravely for their commitment to justice.

The impression he had gotten was that they'd beg his dad to come back - they'd done it before, after all. Instead someone had the bright idea of appointing him to the job, anticipating his ten-year plan by at least eight years. Stiles had had to sit there and deal with it as his dad laughed himself sick.

And now, after six years of making damn sure his town was a safe place for all of its citizens, after everything he'd given up and everything he had lost, after a year of peace and calm, there were hunters trying to move back in.

"Sheriff?" One of the baby deputies peeked around the corner, both sets of eyelids blinking convulsively with nerves. "There's someone here to see you."

"Take five," Stiles said, putting the plaque back on his desk as he stood. "I'll speak to them."

There weren't many people in the station; Stiles was a big believer in having his officers out in the community as much as possible, and if it also kept the possibility of casualties down in case of an attack then all the better. That didn't stop all three deputies that were there, even the young naga, from making a point of having a clear line of sight to both Stiles and the visitor. "Alpha... Viel, isn't it? I hadn't been notified you were planning a visit."

"I wasn't aware I had to report my movements to the local law enforcement," the alpha said, still leaning against the wall in the waiting area and examining his fingernails. "This is America. Free country, or haven't you heard?"

"See, I was taught that good manners are important no matter where you are." Stiles swung open the pass-through, breaking the mountain ash line. "But, whatever, you're here now. Did you want to talk out here, or is my office okay?"

Extending one hand, the alpha tilted it from one side to the other, as if critiquing a manicure. "Do you get a lot of werewolves stupid enough to walk into a trap?"

Stiles shrugged and closed the station doors with a gesture. "You tell me, since you walked into someplace you can't walk out of just to have this conversation. I mean, I'm not all that interested in keeping you, but you asked."

"You think you're funny, don't you?" The alpha's claws came out and he lunged forward, laughing when Stiles flinched. "Now that, that was funny."

Waving to his deputies to get them to stand down, Stiles said, "Was there a point? Because I feel like I could probably deliver your lines from the script, and I have actual work to do."

"Does your script include the fact that I've got your pack?"

"It might surprise you to know that comes up a lot," Stiles said. "The only real question I have is whether you're working with the hunters that showed up or if they came here looking for you."

The alpha's smug smile fell and he lunged again, not feinting this time, only to be brought down before Stiles could even lift his hands defensively. His roar cut off with a crunching noise, and Stiles shuddered as something bounced off his foot. "Was that his fang? Did you break his fangs?"

"You're welcome," Derek said, still kneeling firmly on the alpha's back, one hand grinding his face against the floor. "Your dad said to tell you we're having quinoa casserole for dinner."

Stiles groaned. "You should never have told him about that spell I found to unclog his arteries. This reign of terror is endless."

"It would have taken a year off your life, if it didn't kill you," Derek said. "I regret nothing."

The alpha stopped trying to buck Derek off his back, and Stiles squatted down next to him while Derek yanked his head up. "So, you were saying something about my pack."

"They're dead," the alpha said, blood running down his chin. "You're all dead."

"Lydia's fine, she and her mom are at your house with your dad," Derek said, ignoring the alpha's muffled curses as he got pushed into the floor again. "I don't know about any of the others."

Shaking his head, Stiles said, "Bring him, he can go in the special cell while we check on everyone. And we've got hunters, by the way. Cora called in to let me know when they checked into the motel."

Derek grimaced. "I hate that place." It wasn't a new observation, but Stiles didn't feel the need to defend Cora's choice to buy and run the local no-tell establishment. Especially since it might've been partly, a little bit, due to Cora losing a bet with Stiles. Just a little bit, though.

They almost had the alpha in the cell, struggling and cursing, when the front doors blew open and distracted Derek's attention long enough to lose his grip. The alpha didn't waste any more time posturing, making a break for the closest window and ripping his claws through the deputy that happened to be in his way.

"Stop!" Scott's alpha roar did nothing to slow the retreating alpha, but it made Lewis hesitate in reaching for his radio to call for an ambulance. Derek was already kneeling next to Sams, discreetly assessing his injuries and applying his first aid training. Stiles tried to remember if there was anything supernatural about Sams that would require warning the hospital, but if there was he couldn't think of it.

Warning his people was the next priority. There were probably municipalities that did not have codes in place for supernatural shenanigans, but it hadn't made sense not to anticipate Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. Scott was trying to demand answers, but only Lewis was paying attention to him; Stiles didn't have time to deal with it as he got a hold of Yang's shoulders, turning the naga to bring their eyes in contact. "Hey. You with us? Breathe, deep breaths, everything's fine now. You protected everyone as much as you could."

"I froze," Yang muttered, ducking his head. "Sams--"

"Will be fine," Stiles said. "And freezing was better than charging in."

The wail of the ambulance siren cut through the air and Stiles gave Yang a final nod with eye contact before moving to make sure the path was clear for the emergency crew to enter. Not for the first time, Stiles contemplated briefly whether kidnapping his dad would be a viable strategy for actually leaving Beacon Hills behind.

***

"Derek, do you think the spark is gone?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek joined Stiles where he was leaning on the hood of an anonymous dark blue Camry, significant mostly for how hard it would be to distinguish from the number of Toyotas on the street. "Stop trying to make 'Spark' happen. Deaton using a corny metaphor does not make 'Spark' a thing."

"Hey, it's a thing! It's my thing!" Stiles spread his arms and wriggled his fingers. "I didn't spend all those years in sparky magic school to be--"

"Austin Powers, really?" Derek's look of disdain would have crushed a lesser being. Luckily, Stiles was used to it.

"I need to use references old enough for you to get them, since you're practically a senior citizen." Stiles gave his best angelic smile. "Don't think I missed that you actually attended bingo last Sunday."

With a sigh, Derek said, "I go to bingo every Sunday, or did you forget that someone promised the Daughters of Thoth that we would attend to them on a regular basis?"

"Oh." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, dislodging the collar of his plaid shirt. "I kinda wondered why they hadn't said anything, but I haven't had time to get to them."

"You can't do everything yourself," Derek said. "No matter how much you keep pretending that you can."

Sputtering, Stiles waved his arms around. "Dude! Not fair! I'm here specifically waiting for you, just so that I'm not going alone to deal with these assholes."

Derek's lips twitched. "And it only took how long to convince you not to go by yourself?"

"About as long as it took to realize I wouldn't end up having to stop to protect you." Stiles pushed himself off the hood and picked up the baseball bat that he'd leaned against the side of the car. "Although I'm still waiting for you to realize how sexy I am and agree to post-fight makeouts."

The flick of Derek's finger against the back of Stiles's neck was a brief sting, and a familiar one. "Focus."

"Right." Stiles climbed into the passenger seat, keeping one hand on his bat and the other near the release for his seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving in silence, he said, "I bet you five bucks that they ambush us on the blind curve behind Old Mill Road."

Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Stiles. "No bet. Except they may be smart enough to have one wait, pretend they're not working together so that they surprise us when the evil cavalry rushes in."

"Okay, one, the fact that you just said 'evil cavalry' turned me on just a little bit," Stiles said. "And you're totally right, they are absolutely that dramatic. Do you think we should stop early and, like, walk in? Do our own big show of 'ha HA, I am not alone!'"

The noise Derek made would've been called a huff by anyone who hadn't put the time in over the course of years to recognize it as a laugh. "You just don't want anyone to know you're driving to the scene of a crime in a sensible mid-size sedan."

"With an impeccable safety rating," Stiles said mournfully. "It's terrible."

"You'll live." The blind curve was coming up, and Derek slowed just enough to lock eyes with Stiles and share a brief nod before he gunned it around the corner. The spikes in the road made the car fishtail, but Derek's reflexes were good enough to keep the car on the road, pulling to a skidding stop just a few feet from the treeline.

Stiles stepped smoothly from the car, bat hanging loose in his grip. "You have no business in my town."

The hunter was just a little older than Derek, with hair that touched his collar and a brown leather jacket. Stiles had thought the man was a waste of oxygen when he'd read some of the reports from the official background check and the unofficial victim and witness statements from his hunting activities, but the fact that the man was tall and good-looking somehow made it worse.

"You're harboring fugitives," the hunter said, flashing a smile that made it clear he knew exactly how handsome he was. "Doesn't seem right, a lawman sheltering the lawless."

In a flat voice, completely free of inflection, Stiles said, "Oh, what a clever argument, I am undone."

"You think you're clever," the hunter said. "You got Brent all riled up - thanks for confirming you're a spellcaster, by the way, good to know - but you don't know as much as you think you do, and you're definitely not going to live to see morning."

"The only thing I don't know is why you're here," Stiles said, his grip on the bat tightening. "But I'm guessing you felt like destroying something beautiful."

The hunter smiled again. "Fight Club. Great movie."

"You'd be the type to think so." Stiles knocked the bat against the inside of his sneaker before bringing it up to his shoulder. "So, who goes first, do you go first?"

Raising a pistol he'd been holding in the shadows next to his leg, the hunter fired three shots directly to center mass. Stiles stood impassively as his protective spell took the impact that the kevlar didn't, preventing the shots from even bruising him. Whatever magical kryptonite the hunter thought he had, he either hadn't deployed it yet or it hadn't worked. "My turn." Stiles lifted the bat, dug a foot into the ground, and swung as if he was trying to send the hunter's jaw to the outfield.

The hunter had his own magical protection, but it wasn't enough; the crunch of teeth and bone was loud in the air as blood spattered onto the trees behind them. "I'd say you could still leave, but that's not an option," Stiles said, swinging the bat again, this time at the hunter's stomach. "You can still live long enough to go to prison, if you surrender very quickly."

More shots rang out, one coming close enough that it tore through the shoulder of the overshirt Stiles was wearing. Turning his head slowly from one side to the other, Stiles felt a coldness rise inside him, creeping over him and lifting the corners of his lips. "Evil cavalry's here. Let's see how that goes."

Five targets, closing in to surround him; his own backup lurking in the darkness and making sure no more surprises were hiding in reserve. Cover fire for the sixth and primary target to escape. Car behind him, partial shield, but also a risk if someone thought to light up the gas tank. Moving quickly, Stiles broke the main hunter's shoulder with a strong sweep of his bat before seizing his neck, holding him up long enough to block two shots before throwing him down towards the trees.

"Down," he heard, but he'd already stooped to pick up the hunter's gun and just turned his head to see Derek fly past, half shifted and running a few steps on all fours before throwing himself in the air and landing in full wolf form with his fangs buried in a hunter's bicep. He always tried to avoid tearing out throats during a fight but it might not matter; the chunk gouged out of the attacker's arm was bleeding so heavily that the man might not make it to the 'ask questions' portion of the night.

Lifting his arm, Stiles listened to his own breath whistling in and out of his chest as if traveling through a huge, empty cavern. One shot, two shots, pause and fire again, shift stance and fire again. Three targets now, with three down, and Stiles was still calm as the coldness blanketed everything except the calculations needed to get through the fight.

The alpha roared, leaping to the top of the car and flashing his eyes red as he looked down at Stiles. After a flicker of a glance, Stiles turned away from him, concentrating on the two hunters still firing in his direction. The alpha wasn't a threat worth thinking about, because Derek was already charging, a blur of black fur and blue eyes dripping a trail of blood from his flashing teeth.

"I'm still willing to let you live," Stiles said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Limited time offer, one time only."

He waited, his head tilted and a faint, pleasant smile on his face, until the crack of another gunshot rang out. He was tired enough that he brought his left hand up, palm flat out, to support with the gesture the spell to stop the bullet that had been aimed at his forehead. It fell to the ground and he shrugged, stretching his arms out before returning fire with the last of the bullets in the gun he'd held onto. "Okay, death it is."

Leisurely, Stiles moved to the closest downed hunter and stepped on the man's hand before taking his weapon and the fresh clip he'd been trying to load. With a wink, Stiles said, "Ah-ah, no trying to be sneaky. Either you're down or you're dead."

"Fuck you!" The hunter was struggling to get off the ground and Stiles allowed it, using the time to slam the clip in place and take the shot to eliminate the next closest target, peering out of the brush cover to attempt another attack and instead getting a neat hole between his eyes for his trouble.

The hunter at his feet managed to get a knife in his hand, lunging towards Stiles with one last burst of strength. Stiles just sidestepped and ended him with a shot to the back of the head, attention momentarily caught by the fight between the werewolves. The alpha had Derek pinned in a canine restraint position, and the coldness in Stiles flickered as he wondered whether the man had veterinary experience. It didn't last long; Derek shifted back to human form and threw the alpha to the ground in a crack of broken bones, and Stiles still had business to attend to.

The one hunter left standing wasn't firing, and Stiles moved to where the leader was rolling on the ground, clutching his broken arm and yelling for his men as best he could through broken teeth and a fractured jaw. Crouching next to him, Stiles pulled the man's backup piece from his ankle holster and placed it in his left hand. "There you go. Sporting chance, right? Can't just kill you if you're helpless - then I'd be just like you!"

"Except, no," Stiles said, standing up. "Because I didn't hunt you down. I didn't go to your home, I didn't set up an ambush for you, and I sure as fuck didn't decide to devote my life to the pursuit of genocide by targeting the most peaceful, helpless people I could find."

The cold and emptiness drained away as Stiles stood and lifted his gun. The hunter dropped the smaller gun Stiles had given him and started pleading, but Stiles fired before he could manage more than one word.

A howl behind him made Stiles turn around, just in time to see the alpha lunge at Derek, fangs bared. Stiles raised the gun, feeling shaky and almost too tired to lift it, but it wasn't necessary; Derek sidestepped smoothly and took hold of the alpha's hair, using it to pull his head back and expose his neck. The arterial spray shot over Derek's claws as he dug deep into the dying alpha's throat, almost as red as the glow overtaking the blue in Derek's eyes.

"There's one unaccounted for," Stiles said, because he'd trained himself so well on prioritizing threats that it was the first of the thousand thoughts in his mind that coalesced into speech.

Jerking his head to one side, Derek said, "Pissed himself back there. Hasn't moved since."

Stiles sighed. "Come out here. If I have to go find you, it won't end well."

"There's one on the ground that might make it," Derek said. "I'll need your shirt."

With a quick glance over Derek's naked, blood-spattered body, Stiles handed the overshirt over. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly out."

"Or I could make bandages." The last hunter crept out of the treeline, white-faced and shaky. Derek sighed as he headed to help the wounded hunter. "They get younger every year."

"Because we're getting old," Stiles said, although the hunter really was a kid. "Jesus, what are you, twelve?"

Shaking his head, the kid said, "Sixteen."

It was enough to make Stiles feel a rush of sympathy which drained the last of his energy and the chill of battle from his system, leaving a welter of confusion where there had been a clear emptiness. "Didn't anybody tell you to be home early on school nights?"

"Werewolves killed my mom and dad," the kid said. "These guys killed the werewolves, said I could help other people. Then we came here."

"Aw, crap." Dropping the gun, Stiles retrieved his baseball bat and ended up using it as a cane when it became apparent that something had turned his ankle into a mass of pain at some point while the adrenaline and emptiness had kept him from feeling it. The kid didn't move throughout, not even when Stiles sank down on the front bumper of the Camry and rested both hands on top of the bat to help himself stay upright. "So, hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm the sheriff around here, and I don't take kindly to people coming to town and planning to murder people."

Frowning, the kid said, "But--"

"I'm going to stop you there," Stiles said, holding a hand up and then putting it back on the bat when the kid flinched. "The next thing out of your mouth is probably going to piss me off, and I'm tired, so. First off, werewolves are people. Second, while some werewolves are murderous fu-- jerks, so are some humans." Stiles gestured to the hunters on the ground, including the one Derek was stabilizing.

"I've heard swearing before," the kid muttered, but Stiles ignored the comment in favor of continuing.

"Thirdly." Stiles had to pause for a moment before he could remember where he'd been going with that. "If I can handle things legally, I will. I offered the chance to surrender and be arrested, and I didn't kill anybody that didn't try to kill me first - but I'm not about to be stupid enough to let someone live who's just going to come back and try to kill me again."

The kid went paler, which Stiles wouldn't have bet was possible, and stood up so straight that it made Stiles ache in his lower back just to look at him. "So you're going to kill me?"

"What? No, weren't you listening? You didn't try to kill me, I don't kill you." It only relaxed the kid a little bit, but it would have to be enough. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but death is currently off the table."

A shot rang out, making them both flinch, and they both turned to see Derek, still stark naked, holding a pale hunter in the air by the neck. The hunter was trying to break his hold with one hand, the other covered in blood dripping from the wound that Derek had bandaged with the ripped up plaid shirt. "Where's the fucking gratitude, I ask you? That was my favorite shirt!"

"It was an eyesore," Derek said, still easily holding the hunter as he tried scratching and kicking his way to freedom. "What do you want to do with this one?"

"Check him for any more weapons and then bring him here," Stiles said. "If he wants to die, he can off himself after he's answered some questions."

This earned him an epic bitchface from Derek, who threw the hunter to the ground in front of where Stiles sat. "They never answer questions."

"I hardly ever get to ask," Stiles pointed out. "There's wipes in the trunk, clean up a bit before you get your clothes back on."

"You clean up," Derek muttered, but disappeared behind the car anyway.

Stiles waited quietly while the hunter cursed and blustered, although he noted with interest that the kid flinched away from him and circled around to get Stiles and the car between himself and the injured hunter. At length, the hunter got himself to his feet and faced up to Stiles, holding his injured arm and looking around the small clearing. "You won't get away with this."

"Me?" Stiles tilted his head in confusion, looking from side to side as if he was on The Office or there would be someone there who could confirm what he just heard. "Are you serious right now?"

"You're building up this underworld empire, providing sanctuary for all sorts of vermin just to build an army - we're on to you." The hunter lifted his chin defiantly. "Jeff had a crappy plan, but he had the right idea, and there's others. We'll be back, and next time we'll kill you."

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles thought about what the guy was saying. "So what you're saying is, your group went off half-cocked because you guys thought I was getting too powerful by, what, allowing people to live somewhere without having to be afraid for their lives 24/7?"

"Fuck you," the hunter said, even as he swayed and half staggered from the blood loss. "I am one, but I represent legions."

Stiles watched him as he fell slowly forward, eyes fluttering. "You realize that quote is about demons, right? You just pretty much used your last words to say hunters are demons."

The hunter twitched as if trying to get up again, but fell unconscious without managing it. His breath was becoming shallower as the bandage around his arm finished unraveling and blood seeped out. "So, Derek? Kid? Anyone feel like heroic measures? Because I'm tired, and he tried to kill me."

"It's too late anyway," Derek said, coming back around the car as he pulled a t-shirt down over his head. "If we'd gotten him to the hospital for a transfusion before he tried to shoot me, maybe. Since he wouldn't even let me stop the blood loss, he basically killed himself already."

Sidling along to peer around the car, the kid said, "He was a creepy fucker. Jeff was talking once about the birth rate and I asked if he meant, like, sterilizing, and Chase laughed and said direct extermination was quicker."

"And you didn't think to question that at all?"

"Did you say this guy's name was Chase?"

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, then exchanged a glance that had Derek raising his eyebrows and Stiles shrugging. "Kid in a cult doesn't question the cult, especially if there's guns. But, dude." With a wave to the corpse, Stiles said, "He was a hunter named Chase. It's kind of hilarious."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your sense of humor isn't twisted, it's a spiral."

"Don't front, you love it." Stiles moved to stand up and then winced when pain shot up his leg. "Okay, not doing that. You're on body duty, I'm going to hop along into the car and start the paperwork."

Derek frowned and picked Stiles up, carrying him to the back seat before kneeling to inspect his ankle. "It's probably just sprained, but you'll need an x-ray."

"I just want a shower and my bed," Stiles whined. "Can't I deal with it tomorrow?"

"No, because you'll try to use magic to heal it and make yourself worse." Carefully, Derek helped him maneuver himself into the car with his ankle propped up, then tossed a package of wet wipes at his face as soon as he was settled. "Try to clean up. We'll go as soon as I get the bodies out of sight of the road."

"Love you too, boo!" Stiles chuckled as Derek gave him the finger without turning around, even if there was a slightly bitter edge to the humor. He settled down to cleaning off his hands and wiping his face, only to jump when a throat was noisily cleared from just next to him. "Holy crap, kid, you scared me!"

With a shrill laugh, the kid said, "I scared you?"

Stiles dragged a thumb over his mouth, trying to hide the laugh trying to escape. "Fighting is different. If I'm not in a fight, I don't need to be all..." He trailed off with a gesture towards his own face and the night outside the car.

"Scary as shit stone cold killer?"

"I was going more for hyper-focused, but okay." Gesturing to the front passenger seat, Stiles said, "Go ahead, sit down. You might as well ride with us to town while we figure out what to do with you."

Gingerly, the kid slid into the seat and even buckled his seatbelt. Stiles was starting to get fluffy kitten feelings about this child, which was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to his dad. "I don't really have a place to go? Jeff was my foster dad."

"And isn't that a scathing indictment of the entire foster system." Stiles sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then grimaced and deployed a new wet wipe. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Noah. Noah Kowalski." The kid started to reach back to shake hands, but got tangled in the seatbelt and then pulled back after Stiles pulled the filthy wipe away from the half of his face he'd managed to clean. "Uh. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..."

Nodding, Stiles said, "No, totally understandable. Stiles Stilinski, I don't remember if I said. Noah is my dad's middle name. He's still the one everybody calls Sheriff Stilinski - everybody ends up calling me Sheriff Stiles, it's kind of a thing."

The kid didn't seem to know what to do with that, just gave a small "ah" before they fell into an awkward quiet. Finally, just as Stiles could feel the river of babble reach his lips and threaten to burst forth, Noah said, "So how long have you and that guy been together?"

Stiles choked on thin air and the words that jammed up on his tongue as his brain rebooted. "You-- he-- wha?"

"Sorry!" The kid retreated into himself like a turtle. "I was just, you know, never mind, it's not my business, I'm sorry I asked!"

With a small cough, Stiles said, "No, it's whatever, we're just not - we're not like that."

Over the years, Stiles had been the target of all sorts of pointed looks, but somehow the one Noah gave him just then managed to combine the distilled platonic ideals of all them - pity, condescension, disbelief, amusement, and indulgence were all represented in this sixteen year old's judgmental stare. "You don't have to pretend, it's not like I'm homophobic or anything. You even just said you love him."

"Lots of people joke around saying things like that," Stiles said. "And, anyway, he barely puts up with me. He'd never be-- he'd never want--" Breaking off, Stiles cleared his throat. "Anyway, yeah, nothing like that."

"It could be! He's totally into you, it's obvious!" Noah's eyes were sparkling now as he turned around in his seat to look directly at Stiles for the first time. "You could just tell him how you feel, or, or, I could help you set up, like, a super romantic atmosphere and--"

"Kid! Seriously?" Stiles kind of regretted crushing Noah's enthusiasm as he hunched in on himself again, but no way was he indulging any matchmaking delusions from a child that had probably shot at him. That way lay madness, and trying to sing along to Adele while under the influence of alcohol and/or sugar. "No Parent Trap moments, okay? Derek doesn't need to deal with that."

Crossing his arms and facing forward, Noah said, "Whatever. It's not like I care about a werewolf and some hick sheriff who murders people."

"Says the kid who--" Stiles cut himself off with an internal reminder that he was supposed to be an adult. "I've got some calls to make."

He'd barely gotten his phone out when Derek slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "I already got a hold of Parrish. Your dad's going to meet us at the hospital to take temporary custody of Noah."

"Hey, how'd you know my name? And you can just drop me off at the bus station, I'll get home by myself."

Derek made some sort of answer, but Stiles couldn't hear it over the blaring alarms in his head repeating "you fucked up, you fucked up, you seriously fucked up" in ever-increasing volume. Not only was Derek a werewolf, he was an alpha again - he'd probably heard every word they'd said, especially since he would've wanted to monitor Stiles for any signs of pain or discomfort, because that was the kind of caring, considerate asshole that had made Stiles fall in love with him. There was no way things wouldn't be weird now.

Or, maybe? What exactly had he said? Stiles racked his brain to try to remember the exact phrasing he'd used, wondering if maybe there was a chance of playing it off. Had he actually, out loud, admitted that he was hopelessly in love with Derek? He couldn't remember.

They pulled to a stop, Stiles barely noticing the lack of noise from the engine, until his dad opened the door across from him and leaned his head in. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"There's many kinds of love! Love doesn't just have to be romantic!"

His dad paused for barely a moment. "Okay. So, I'm going to let you talk about that with Derek while you get your leg looked at. Good to know you're doing okay."

Hitting his head against the back of the seat in front of him seemed like an excellent idea. It was unfortunately too well-padded to knock him out, and so he was fully awake and aware as Derek helped him out of the car and kept an arm around him for support as Stiles limped his way into the ER. "Okay, Mr. Cassidy, slow down. You're overdoing it."

Stiles gave him a look of blank incomprehension, and Derek's ears turned faintly pink. "Hopalong Cassidy? Your dad's childhood hero? There's a poster in his office, Stiles, you've got to have noticed it."

"I never paid attention to Dad's westerns," Stiles said. "Are we there yet? This is kind of a little excruciating."

As he should have fully expected, Derek just swept him up and carried him the rest of the way into the ER, depositing him gently into a wheelchair the triage nurse provided. He was promptly whisked off for poking, prodding, and intense questioning about the state of his health insurance despite the fact that Scott's mom had made him a "frequent customer" card for the hospital years ago. By the time they delivered him back to the waiting room with a bandage, a boot, a prescription, and a stern lecture about not putting any weight on his ankle, he half thought that Derek might have left to deal with the fallout of the rest of the night.

Only half, though, because it was still Derek, so of course he was sitting in a horrible plastic chair, pretending to be asleep while the other people waiting to be seen watched him with wariness or fascination. Stiles suppressed a sigh, because, well, same. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin."

"Stop mixing fairy tales," Derek said, stretching as he stood. "And it was the carriage that was a pumpkin, so unless you're giving out ri-- No."

On any other day, Stiles would've had about fifteen 'jokes' in a row about giving Derek a ride. For now, though, he waved a hand and said, "Too easy. Just take me home."

Derek's lips twitched, but he didn't say anything as he left to get his car, the anonymous Camry having been driven away to be cleaned and hidden away again in the depths of the impound lot. The Camaro might not have had room for him to sit in the back and stretch his foot out, but he had both standards and pain medicine. They'd make it the five minutes it took to reach the Stilinski house.

Or even the ten minutes it took to get to Derek's apartment. "This is a lot nicer than my usual kidnappings."

"You just need a better lair to take people to," Derek said. "Having to take people you've kidnapped to your dad's house really limits your potential."

"Oh, ha ha." Stiles crossed his arms and pouted as he was swept once again into Derek's (strong, dependable, sexy) arms. "Living with family is a valid life choice and a cultural norm for most societies."

Derek smirked. "Sure, Stiles. Remind me again, who made snide comments for a solid week about the Henderson pack?"

"Okay, no, there's living with family and then there's whatever sister wives, dear leader culty bullshit was going on there." Stiles relaxed into the couch as soon as Derek set him down, letting himself sink into the perfect squishiness of it. "Seriously, I am going to steal this couch someday. It's like laying down on a cloud that can hug you."

"You can have it," Derek said, sounding unusually serious. "You can have anything you want that I can give you."

Cracking an eye open let Stiles see that Derek was sitting on the coffee table, directly in front of Stiles and looking... Stiles couldn't define how he looked, just that it made him breathless and he had to close his eyes again to try to get his own heart under control. "I don't need pity."

"Good, because I don't have any," Derek said.

Stiles hauled himself to a sitting position, facing Derek and the music. "You heard the kid talking about us being together."

"I did." Derek's face was impassive, but there was so much emotion in his eyes that Stiles couldn't bear to look at him even as he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I also heard you tell him it was because I wouldn't want it."

"Didn't I also say something about people joking--"

All of the words Stiles knew dried up and disappeared when Derek took hold of both his hands, cradling them gently. "It's okay. If you were joking, if you didn't mean it that way... I don't expect anything from you."

"Okay," was a harsh, croaking whisper, all that Stiles could manage as years of half-formed hopes were crushed and died with one simple sentence. "Okay, that's fine."

Derek's eyes swept down and Stiles started to pull his hands away, but Derek held on. "No, Stiles, you don't-- You're under no obligation, if you're just joking or you really just love me as a friend, that's enough, I won't pressure you or talk about this again. That's... Whatever you want, that's what I want."

It turned out hope wasn't dead, but it hurt. "You-- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... I guess I'm saying that I'm in love with you." Derek let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like shedding a weight even before tightening to brace for a blow. "And that you don't have to love me back the same way."

This time it was Stiles clinging to Derek's hands, preventing him from moving away. "What if I want to?"

Derek flinched. "I don't need pity either."

"Good," Stiles said, still not letting go. "Because we are super compatible. There is no pity here. None at all. We're kind of a little famous for it."

"So we're repeating things now? That's what we're doing?" Derek arched an eyebrow, but stopped trying to pull his hands back. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you, too," Stiles said. "Asshole. Do you know how long I've been in love with you? And you're here--"

Stiles glared over the hand that Derek put over his mouth, but Derek just smiled. "Now, I could let you keep talking, since I know you like that. I could stand to hear a little about how long you've loved me, since it might make me feel a bit better about how long I've been in love with you."

He stopped there, waiting, while Stiles practically vibrated with curiosity. Curiosity and rage. And maybe some anticipation. A lot of anticipation. "Or?"

"Or you could sit in my lap and we could make out. Just a little." Derek's smile was everything sinful and tempting. "Or, now that I know you actually mean it, a lot."

"Oh, I mean it. I mean it very hard." Stiles was scrambling to try to reach Derek, but somehow not making any headway. The problem was solved by Derek lifting him up and arranging them so that Stiles was not just comfortably situated on Derek's lap, his (mildly) fractured foot was supported by some pillows and the arm of the couch. "I never really knew I had a manhandling kink until now."

Derek's eyes flashed red, just for a moment. "I did."

That statement needed to be explored, because one of them owed the other a shitload of teasing over it and Stiles was pretty sure he could work out how to be the one dishing it out. On the other hand, Derek's alpha eyes went straight to the danger = hot kink he was already well acquainted with, and he'd been expressly invited to make sexual advances on the man of his dreams. Priorities were important.

Kissing Derek was a revelation, better than he'd ever dreamed it could be, because he'd never imagined the noises Derek made, could never have anticipated the electricity of Derek moving softly, desperately against him. Stiles was allowed to touch, allowed to run his fingers through Derek's hair, allowed to lose himself and moan and grind and laugh a little at himself and at Derek, because he'd forgotten about his stupid ankle and having Derek jump up and growl while still holding Stiles against his erection was just funny.

It was okay, because this was Derek, and Derek knew him. The mood wasn't gone just because Stiles had laughed, or because Derek had snorted and rolled his eyes, making Stiles laugh harder. Instead it was part of it, part of them, and they would be okay. "I love you. I do, I love you, because you're amazing and you, you're mine."

"I like the sound of that." Derek lifted Stiles so his legs went around Derek's waist and his back was to the wall, holding him up and kissing the hell out of him until he couldn't think. "I'm yours."

"Damn right," Stiles panted, giving a light tug to Derek's hair. "And you're going to stay mine. Right?"

They were in the bedroom before Stiles could think coherently again, and Derek was looking just smug enough that Stiles licked his lips and waited only for Derek to finish undressing before beckoning him closer, close enough that Stiles could nip his earlobe and whisper hotly, "After we fuck the wildness out of our system, we can make love nice and slow. I'll kiss you when you cry afterward. We'll deal with the rest of the world sometime tomorrow, or maybe the day after."

"Priorities," Derek murmured, dragging a claw over Stiles with just enough pressure to cut through his clothes without harming the skin underneath.

"Okay," Stiles said, unbearably turned on and fairly certain he was going to combust. "Maybe the day after that. We'll have time."

[treehugginglibrarian]

Bob & Sally Are Not Friends

There have been a lot of calls on social media lately, in the form of blogs, memes, videos, and status updates, demanding that Trump supporters and not-Trump supporters put aside our pitch forks and learn to get along. Given the current political climate, and the fact that the more liberal sections of society are the ones doing the loudest protesting, it’s safe to say that most of these memes et al are probably not aimed at those supporting the President. Since many make references to “snowflakes” or encourage one side to “grow up,” two insults pretty routinely flung at minority factions who are busy stomping the streets attempting to ensure we don’t start losing rights we’ve worked literally decades to attain, it’s safe to assume that most of these memes are aimed at making the anti-Trump team get over their anger.

Here’s the thing, your memes aren’t working. You can shove stick figure Bob and Sally up your ass. If you voted for our current President, I may well tolerate you, but I’ll never accept you- a stance many Trump supporters should be quite comfortable with, since they’ve been applying it to minority populations their entire lives. I don’t forgive you. I probably never will. And for those of us who are suffering, or stand to suffer, under the current administration’s practices, your memes are doing nothing more than illustrating the same privilege that let you vote for him in the first place.

It’s super easy to look at a hostile political climate and scream “can’t everyone just get alone” when you stand to lose absolutely nothing. If you are a white, straight, cisgender, Christian human, this administration is going to take almost nothing from you. If you are male, on top of that, they are going to literally take nothing from you (except your healthcare, some of your finances, and possibly your job. Sucker). If you are not these things, there is a good chance that at some point during the duration of this administration, you are going to lose a right that has already been given to you, or you are going to find yourself staring down an extra decade without a right that you felt you were pretty close to securing.

Since I’m queer, I will use my queerness as an example to illustrate the overwhelming frustration that minority populations feel when Trump voters, or generally privileged populations, whine loudly that we need to just all get along.

All things considered, I’m a pretty privileged queer person. I live in a city that has anti-discrimination ordinances on the books. I work in a city with the same. Our capital is the second largest gay mecca in the country. My employer has incredibly stringent anti-discrimination policies that include sexual orientation and gender presentation, and everyone at my place of employment is either very accepting or completely silent regarding their homophobia. My neighbors don’t harass my wife and I for being queer. I am, in general, pretty safe. I know how lucky I am, because I know how unfriendly spaces can be to queer people. Some of those spaces exist in my state which, despite locally granted protections, does not have a single state-wide protection granted to LGBTQ persons.

In my state, the state Constitution stipulated that marriage was for only a man and a woman up until three years ago, when the Supreme Court rule that this wasn’t okay. Because of that ruling, queers in my state are entitled to get married and are entitled to all the rights that come with that marriage, but they are entitled to absolutely nothing else. We can be fired for being queer. We can be denied housing, denied promotions, or asked to leave a business or public space, because we are queer. We can be told which bathrooms we are allowed to use, we can be denied the right to adopt just because we’re gay and, at times, we can even be denied medical treatment or other basic services. Since there are also absolutely no protections for sexual orientation built into federal law, excepting the right to marry, we have no recourse if we do not live in a space that has incorporated these rights and protections into their local laws or ordinances.

Thankfully, my state is one where cities and towns have been allowed to create their own local protections for queer people, since not all states are quite so… “kind.” North Carolina, for instance, all but went to war with itself when individual cities attempted to rebel against the hatred often espoused at the state level. The end result was a statewide “bathroom bill” that isn’t really abided by in a lot of more liberal spaces, but does a great job of making homophobes and transphobes feel like their views are valid and worthwhile. Indiana has had similar issues with Mike Pence’s religious freedom bill.

Telling a queer or trans person to suck it up and get along with a Trump supporter is, effectively, telling them to suck it up and get along with someone who is comfortable stripping them of their rights or allowing them to continue living in an environment where they have fewer rights than those who are straight or cisgender. Admittedly, not all Trump supporters voted for him because they hate gay people or because they want to see gay people oppressed or treated like shit. A vote for him, however, is an admittance that they don’t really care if gay people are oppressed or treated like shit, though. Trump told us exactly how he felt about the LGBTQ community when he selected Pence, possibly the most anti-LGBTQ politician in the country right now, as his Vice President. He told us how he felt about us when he acknowledged that, though he would be unlikely to work to overturn the Supreme Court decision allowing us to marry, he would have no trouble signing a national religious freedom bill, ensuring that those with a moral opposition to who I am as a human, never have to actually treat me like a human.

Bills like that are more than just “cake” and “flowers,” as anyone who is actually queer can tell you. A bill of that nature would guarantee that full rights under the law, for LBGTQ individuals, would never exist. All anyone who didn’t like us would ever have to do to legally discriminate against us, is claim that serving us is a violation of their sincerely held religious beliefs. Don’t want to serve gay people at your coffee shop? Claim we violate your religious beliefs. Don’t want us to go clothes shopping there? Claim our shopping method violates your religious beliefs. Don’t want to have to treat us in the emergency room? Claim that doing so violates your religious beliefs and, just like that, you’ve contributed to the death of yet another queer or trans person in America. Fuck the cake. Fuck the flowers. I want to know that if my house is on fire, the local fire department isn’t going to let it burn down because, “Ew, lesbians are  yucky,” and actually get away with that response.

If you voted for Trump, you might not personally light my house on fire, or kick me out of a coffee shop, or refuse to treat me if I’m sick, but you’re admitting that you don’t really care that much if these things happen to me. Because it was stated, clearly and repeatedly, that things like this were a possibility if he won, which meant you voted for him knowing that his election to office would probably hurt me and others like me. You don’t get to passively allow injury to another party out of some espoused indifference to their well-being, only to then get angry when the party in question decides that maybe you’re not actually their friend after all.

Now take this is and multiply it by every minority group in this country that is being negatively effected by this administration’s quest to do precisely what they said they would do while they were campaigning. Racism is rampant, with crosses being burned in yards and white supremacist rallies taking place all over the nation. There are literal Nazis in the streets, as evidenced by the fact that they are carrying Nazi flags and sporting Nazi regalia. Our nation is locking small immigrant children into detention centers and, even after swearing that they will get them back together with their parents, routinely failing to make that happen. Women may well lose the right to abortion and certain types of birth control with the inevitable appointment of another far-right, anti-Roe v. Wade, justice to the Supreme Court.

If you voted for Trump, you helped make this happen.

I’m not going to be mean to you about it. I’m not going to taunt you about the fact that you might not have healthcare anymore and, if you work in manufacturing or agriculture, there’s a real chance he’s going to kill your job instead of make you more money. I’m not going to point at you in public spaces and taunt “look everyone! A Trump supporter! Look upon the face of stupidity and evil!” But I’m also not going to make myself be friends with you and I’m not going to forgive you. It won’t matter how many times you call me childish. It won’t matter how many stupid fucking memes you make about Bob and Sally and their stick figure friendship.

At the end of the day, my well-being was not a factor in your overall decision making when you went to the polls. To that end, your well-being, specifically your desire to feel liked and appreciated, is of absolutely no concern to me. If you wanted me to like you, perhaps you should have cast a vote that implied that you like me. I deserve better from my friends. So do the black people in this country. So do the immigrants in this country. So do the young children this country is keeping in cages. I can’t make you realize that you need to care about other people, but until you figure out how I think you need to stop bitching that the very people you don’t care about, don’t really care about you, either.

So, no. Bob and Sally aren’t friends. And Bob’s just gonna have to get over it. It’s a concept he should be familiar with, since he probably spent the first six months after the election telling Sally precisely that. It sort of sucks when people you thought were your friends make it apparent that they don’t really like you, doesn’t it?

Now imagine that “sort of sucks” coming with a side of “no more civil rights.”

Fuck you, Bob.  

[xxbyimm]

Enya’s Unexpected Journey - Chapter 4

For all other chapters, click the number: 1, 2, 3,

Chapter 4

Summary:  Enya wants to join the company on their quest, but a certain stubborn dwarf leader gets in the way.

She told Bilbo she wanted to walk through Hobbiton and went out. The truth was she did not want to hear the discussion between Gandalf and Thorin. If the latter wouldn’t allow her on the trip… She sighted. Even she knew that dwarves could be very, very stubborn. If he did not want her, she wasn’t included. Simple as that. She hummed on of her favorite songs while she enjoyed strolling the lane Bilbo lived on. The crickets were chirping as loud as they could. The moon stood high in the sky. Enya wondered if Thorin liked her as much as she liked him. ‘God’ she muttered. ‘You don’t even know how dwarf relationships work!’ When she reached the end of the lane, she took a left turn and walked through the beautiful fields that surrounded the town. She decided to sit down on the soft grass. As she watched the stars in the dark sky, she thought about home. Would time work different in this world? Would they already miss her? For a moment, the thought of Jason, and him discovering that she was gone, made her homesick. Then she remembered his smug face when he told her he would be staying with Abbie for a couple of months. Again. To think about us, he had said. She growled. Think. Yeah, the last place where he would think about her would be in Abbie’s house. In her bed. She pitied poor Abbie, who took him back. Stupid girl. She angrily wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. She should not be thinking of this. She should not care one damn bit about what Thorin thought of her. Or any other man. Or dwarf, for that matter. Right now, she needed herself to be sane. She stood up. It seemed she was really stuck in this world. A tiny part of her hoped she would fall in a portal again and woke up in her own bed. But, because this wasn’t a dream or a fairytale, she supposed she should just go with it. She smiled. Perhaps a new beginning would turn out to be blessing.

When she got back, everyone was inside. She sighed and sat down on the bench before the window. She stared at her hand and reprocessed the information Gandalf had given her a few hours ago. Grandma Gigi a dwarf princess? She giggled. Maybe she was. And if that was true, she could even been a fire witch. Enya could not remember a situation where grandma Gigi ever used her supposed ‘skills’ to bend fire to her will. Not when she was around anyway. She shrugged when the palms of her hand suddenly started the burn. She stared at them and swallowed when the pain became more intense. ‘Am I getting ill?’ she muttered. It would not surprise her if she was infected with some mysterious disease. She moaned a little when one hand began to shake. What the hell?

Suddenly the door was opened and Thorin and Gandalf stepped through. Thorin shut the door with a hard smack and the wood protested when it was pushed back violently in its frame. ‘There is no point in discussing this.’ He said with a chillingly cold voice. ‘She cannot come. I don’t need a woman who cannot protect herself, let alone in a world unknown to her.’ ‘But I believe she can be helpful’ Gandalf tried. ‘ ‘Right!’ bellowed Thorin. ‘A burglar who isn’t a burglar. I trusted you on this one, but one supposed burglar is enough. I don’t need two.’ Enya stood up and folded her arms before she faced them. ‘Right.’ She said, in the most cutest and cringe worthy tone she could imagine. Thorin looked straight at her, but she saw no emotion in his eyes. She wanted to be polite, humble even, but when she felt the warm hot blood running up to her cheeks, she knew it was too late.

Her inner bitch was set loose. And her inner bitch knew no mercy.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘I am not scared of you’ she said with clenched teeth. ‘Pull up that wall and pretend to be a scary unfriendly bastard, but I am not buying that. Neither am I scared of this world. I can fight.’ ‘With what?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘Anything I can find’ ‘You didn’t seem to be able to defend yourself when I found you.’ He shot back. ‘Yes!’ Enya laughed. ‘That is the perfect example! Here I am, confused, only five minutes in this fucking place, made a pretty bad fall and then I’m expected to fight of the first person who grabs me, out of the fucking blue?’ ‘That is the point of being able to defend yourself’ he mocked. Enya was so furious she had to do something to channel her anger. She could not grab Thorin and scream in his face, so she chose to pace back and forth and breathe heavily while trying not to lose her mind. ‘It is absolutely ridiculous you assume women can’t fight. I fought of my fair share of men in the streets of New York. The kind that thinks they can call you names or touch you just because you happen to be there. I did not have a sword back then.’ She took a deep sigh. ‘I even wore HEELS too, for god sake!’ Both men stared at her with a blank face that told her they had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Right’ she quickly said. ‘Heels are very uncomfortable high shoes. They don’t really enable you to run, so that leaves only one option open.’ Her anger was only fueled by the thought of those nights she was harassed. ‘I fucking fought them off.’ Her left hand began shaking again, but she was so caught up in the situation that it did go unnoticed. ‘So’ Thorin said. ‘You might me skilled in your world, but that doesn’t ensure me that you can be helpful to my company. I need proof.’ He folded his arms and seemed very determined. Well, then he had to learn she could be very determined too. She gave him the most chilling look she could conjure. ‘Fine. You should have left me in the mercy of those orcs then.’ ‘But I didn’t’ he admitted. ‘No.’ Enya forced her lips into a devious smile. ‘I wonder why.’ She quickly looked at her hand when the pain began to be unbearable again. It was red hot and felt like it was on fire. Gandalf grabbed her hand and the look on his face made her terrified. ‘Have you encountered this before?’ he asked her softly. Enya shook her head. ‘No’ Gandalf exchanged a glance with Thorin. ‘This is what I told you about.’ He muttered. Thorin nodded, but said nothing. ‘What?’ asked Enya.

Another glance. None of them spoke. Enya pulled her hand from Gandalfs grip. She stormed inside and grabbed her coat. She was fuming and the pain in her hand darkened her mood even more. ‘I’ve had it’ she muttered. When she entered the front yard again, Thorin looked curiously at her. Enya smiled. ‘You know what guys, I’ll make this very easy. I’ve had it. I spent half of my lifetime doing things because others told me so. I’ve been broken, being cheated on and brought down numerous times. I’m not a second option, something you should drag along to see if I come in handy. I’ll make my own luck. I won’t allow anyone near me unless I want to.’ She stormed out of the gate. ‘Gentlemen’ she saluted. ‘Have a good trip.’ When she wanted to bring her arm down again, she was brought to stop when an enormous flame shot out of the palm of her hand. ‘WHAT THE FUCK!’ she screamed. She stared at her hand, which was actually on fire. It didn’t hurt as much as she expected it would. Actually, she felt nothing. What was this kind of a weird disease? It made her furious and fascinated at the same time. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably and all of the sudden the flame was gone. ‘WITCHCRAFT!’ screamed Dori. Enya looked at him. She did not remember him being outside. He was quick to judge. She clenched her fists together and howled in horror when the ground around her started to freeze. She quickly opened her hands. ‘SHE IS A WITCH!’ Enya teared up and in a reflex she shot something at Dori’s head. A loud thumb vibrated through Hobbiton. Enya was horrified when she saw a thick icicle sticking in the post of the door above Dori. Did she just do that? Meanwhile, Dori was trembling and pointed at her. ‘WITCH!’ ‘I am truly sorry’ she whispered and for a moment she had no idea what she should do. She had nowhere to go, so she rapidly walked down the lane. When she was out of sight, she started to run. She fought the tears until she saw entered the forest at the border of the shire. She hid in a bush and let it go.

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

Thorin had sent everyone inside and prepared to search miss Enya himself. Maybe he had been harsh on her, but she had to understand that he could not grow soft. Everyone in the company had a job, a purpose. He could not drag everyone along. The moment he had laid his eyes on her, he had known he was terribly lost. He could not let that happen. Any distraction could be devastating. He hoped she could not guess how much he wanted to make her his. According to the ancient dwarf laws… He smiled. ‘Thorin!’ Thorin jumped and shot a glance at Gandalf, who apparently was at his side again. ‘Let her go.’ Gandalf said. Thorin grunted. Gandalf shook his head. ‘She’ll be back. She is just confused. She found her homeland, her destiny. The magic in this land is unlocking her powers, but she is untrained.’ ‘Can we…’ Thorin began. ‘No. She’ll be back when she is ready.’ The wizard stared in the darkness. ‘We have to trust her on that.’ Thorin sighted and resisted the urge to ignore the wizard and search miss Enya anyway. He had duties. He hoped she would find her way back to him. He marched inside and searched for Balin. ‘Has the hobbit already signed yet?’ he grunted. Balin shook his head. ‘No, he did not. I fear we have lost our burglar.’ Thorin sighted. It appeared that none of Gandalf optional additions to the company were going to last. ‘Maybe it is for the best.’ Balin mused. ‘What are we, Thorin? We’re merchants, tin makers, toy makers.’ Thorin smiled. ‘There are a few warriors among us.’ ‘Very old warriors’ said Balin. ‘Make an extra contract.’ Thorin ordered. ‘Why?’ Balin was his friend long enough to ask him such a question. Thorin scoffed, but decided to answer the question anyway. ‘Because miss Enya might return.’ He turned around and did not see the curious glance that Balin shot at him. He went outside again. He should get some sleep before they left at dawn, but he wasn’t tired. He stared into the way miss Enya disappeared an hour ago. She would find her way back. She had to.

[joseyfeli1-blog]

Camren is endgame Pt.2

The Healing Yep super original to use CC1 to title this right? Anyway I write this to show one of the infinite universes where camren is true and the fact that there are still many parallels and I am trying to show them off but really those aren't important. Now I hope the VMAs are close to this, as in I hope camren will be free soon. Cause my heart is in Fucking pain cause of them. But I digress and do side quests :P Anywho I hope anyone and everyone could enjoy at least some if this ~~ -Camz? Tell me this isn't true, there are so many questions, why do you want me to suffer?- Luaren's voice cracks as she tears up and crunches a letter. Camila that had been packing to go to Miami to meet up with Joseph before the performance. -Laur, it isn't, oh gosh I can't do that, listen it isn't about our relationship, okay?- Craddling Lauren while they are both on their knees in the hotel room of their last time being together for the night. In the public knowing degree, cause whenever they have open days they are racing to reach each other in open arms.-Listen this is was a long time coming. You know I'm not happy, not as much as when we were kids. When we could be very free and very much in love. Even when we couldn't. Hell I never was mad about you not wanting to hold my hand. Show me your unrelenting love. Just saw you love me outside the walls we made to keep us together away from the real world. But I can't do that anymore, from everything that's been going on, I need to leave. Too much has been toxic to the both of us.- Tears marking her fave as Lauren keeps crying into her neck. -I know its horrible to say this to your other heart, but we need space. We need to be far apart so when everything is far away, camren, our music careers, our support from our fans, our contracts, everything that refills the cup of poison we are supposed to drink for our breakfast. I can't be apart that anymore. I need to be the kid again, I need to grow up. Away from all this shit.- Lauren has yet to stop any crying, if anything she is crying more and more.-But just know, that through everything and the worst if the worst that will be created out of this, it is all for you, For you Lauren.- Camila bites her lip as she can see Lauren moving her head up to see she has cried a lot, but they are okay. Complicated as all hell, but okay. -So through all the news and management shit, it's all for me?- Lauren looks up with such adorable puppy eyes that would melt anyone's heart but with the added puffy eyes and wet marks searching for her chin. -Wow all if that and you heard it was for you? And they think you top?- Both of them holding, embracing each other shared a small yet genuine laugh. -Yep, that is what is gonna get me through it, and you know I'm greedy. That's why Lucy left me in the fucking dust. She thought that I was not giving back enough in the relationship.- Lauren brought up her ex to get a reaction out of Camila. -You mention that bitch again, especially where she was calling you out on 'your shit' I swear to ally!- Lauren loved poking the bear. She hugged Camz harder and with a big dumb smile. -Aww you care about me!- -I will never stop.- ~~ -Wait what! This has been in the works since fucking 2014!?- Camila asked with suspicion.-Well no, maybe, no probably not, but as you can see they have been all working together, before so maybe they were hoping that someone that would bring a huge new crowd, a crowd that wouldn't question the companies, people that would be confused, anyone with enough money to be stupid and fun. They wanted Fifth Harmony. They needed you guys, if not there wouldn't be given as much money as they are. You see all these rappers had a fellowship but not of any comparing size. Once they get in touch with someone, in this example its fifth harmony, that have more people, they know that people with a lot of time on their plate will support the collaborates because they believe all the five girls do.- It was late night, They had been talking about why everything was going on and why everything was happening the way it was. There must be an Answer! It was a tinfoil hat kinda night. -They knew this would happen, that there would be a split, they wanted it to happen. More money to circulate. Fresh, new, young money. Cash money Baby!- Joe couldn't resist. Even at a moment of complete seriousness he would still find a joke to make. Camila simply rolled her eyes with a smile. -What assholes...- Camila mumbled.-Right! Well know that we know we maybe a step ahead of them, or just one step closer to them than they thought. Eaither way, its progress Camz!- they finally found something yo bring up to the stage and something they were both sure that no one else could have noticed.-No wonder Laur and Ty were 'vibing' off each other.-Camz said with distaste in her mouth. Quoting a magazine that interveiwed fifth harmony after their VMA performance. Declarungbthat 'Tyren' is officailly dead before it was real.-Yeah and that makes sense he won, you kidding me, thousands of young minds thinking she's happy with him, cause of some posed and made up photos! Hell she hated him from his soul to the skin. He made her skin crawl every moment of every day.- Showers would not be enough for a stain like him. The moment he called her a bitch and claimed her, was when Lauren needed to be with Camila the most. It was a hard day. Much of her fans stopped being okay with the idea that they are together, even though she is probably required to do so. All she needed was her Camz, so for that whole day they never tried to look at it, they ignored the whole world for a day. It was pleasant and taught them that they do need each other very much. -Yeah she needed me more than she ever could that year. She's string and independent but when it comes to me, I need her just as much as she needs me. We deserve each other.- -Well that's sweet and all and it brings me tears, but really you had grab her?- -Gotta show whom owns her.- Camila said with a wink and a laugh. Joe then proceeded with a smile and looking for a way to use this information to their bidding. -Well,- Joe started,-They will deffenately believe in camren now, so they womy believe us, they'll think its to uphold your straight image. Even though I'm sure you have made no real effort to keep that up.- He said with a suggestive eyebrow raise.-But we can make it louder. We can be together more, be together in interveiws, everything! All the stops, and once the album drops,- -They will still know its about Lauren.- Camila interrupted.-Because it is, its always been for her.- Joe gives the girl a solemn star from across the hotel room. He can see that it is already becoming morning.-Hey lets sleep on it alright? We might not be tired but we need our brains to be paying much more attention on this issue. Use our dreams to help us. Abuse the dreamscape!- Joe said as he jumped to the bed.-Ahh. Well come on. You get cuddles,- -No, I don't deserve cuddles,- Camila said sadly and lowly. -Everyone fucking deserves cuddles.- Joe stated sternly.-Come on! What you the only one to be wanting the human touch? Get over here, I'm cold!- -Alright fine.- she laid almost cradling the man laying with her.-Isn't it weird that I'm the big spoon here?- -As weird as it is true that you are top. So not weird at all. Hell I love strong independent women. Why do you think I'm trying to help? My own personal gain?- Camz thought for a second. -Well no you were never like that.- -Exactly I just care top much about all of you. Want you to be happy. With what ends up being, or whom you end up with. You all deserve the best.- And with that they lay there not talking only drifting slowly to sleep. ---- -Huh!- Camila was awoken with a brilliant idea.-Joe! Joe wake up! I have it! I know what to do!- Camila was too ecstatic for sleepy people she needed to tell this plan to someone whom is all there awake and all. -I'm up I'm up!-Joe takes a deep breath as he is nearly blinded be the bright light coming into the room. Closing the blinds before bed would have been a great idea. Joe gets up to close the blinds with a grunt. But fortunately, for Camz, he is awake. -What, is the, grand plan now?- He said wiping at his tired eyes. Walking towards the bathroom to stick to a  schedule to help him wake up. Camila digresses as he wakes himself up. -Okay so this will end being all about camren in the end right?- -But of course,- -Right soo, instead of starring away! We hit it with all we got and give the shippers all they can take.- Joseph was so taken back. He never thought to bring more into the fight. Just use the ammo that they were given. The perfect plan to ante up and use every nine-yards of ammunition they can bring back up. -So what though? We bring back dead news of camren? Or we reuse? Or we use your album and the interviews and performances you'll be apart of soon?- Camila states into the perplexed man with all seriousness and so much giddy. -Everything.- It was so simple. So clean. Such an idea would not be on the minds of fat cats as they believe coming out will only be a bad idea. But It isn't. Its more better than living with so many people watch as you are still closeted. Of course there would be repercussions, hell thousands, for Camz, for Joe, and for Lauren for sure, not many people are her fans any more. Well not the people she would like to consider supporting her.

[gamesception]

New Vegas, part 17: Heartbreak

Why does this keep happening to me?

Ok, so, having solved the mystery of Boone’s wife’s disappearance, and helped the sniper exact vengeance against one of the people responsible, it was time to help Novac’s other sniper with their issue, a ghoul infestation at the nearby Repconn facility.  Getting there was little trouble.  A few feral ghouls outside, easily dispatched, but also some suspicious ash piles, as if there had been a shootout with laser weaponry.  A couple of these ash piles even had working stealthboys!  A godsend, considering I was currently without one.  Not sure what was really going on here, though, considering feral ghouls aren’t really known for using stealthboys or las weapons.

Inside the front door, part of the mystery was quickly solved - as I found the corpse of one of those blue super mutants, like the one that was killing the cattle in Novac.  Apparently stealth fields are just their thing.  That’s... worrisome.

A voice on the intercom directed me to the second floor of the facility, where I found one human scientist who thinks he’s a ghoul, along with a colony of ghouls following a sort of glowing ghoul cult leader by the name of Jason Bright.

Apparently he considers the feral ghouls to be part of his flock.  This doesn’t exactly make me feel bad for the ones I’ve already killed, but I resolve not to kill any more, at least not here.

Apparently he’s planning to move his entire congregation off to some promised land, but they need to get to something in the basement, where the Nightkin are still holed up.

So I agree to help out, and sneak down to the basement.  There I encounter the leader of the Nightkin, or at least this group of them, Davison, who thankfully isn’t hostile, at least not by default.

Davison, like the first Nightkin I encountered, is more or less completely off his rocker, taking orders from a cow skull.  And he’s apparently ‘the sane one’ from among his crew.  The rest will be hostile by default.  It seems the Nightkin are here for a shipment of stealthboys.  An entire shipment!  Could you imagine?  If they’re right about it being here, I’m sorely tempted to take the stealth boys for myself!  But no, I’m being non-violent here, or as non-violent as possible.

Anyway, the shipments in a side room, but one of the ghouls is in there, a tougher one than most it seems, and they’ve managed to hold the nightkin off all by themselves.  If I can get rid of them so the Nightkin can get their stealthboys, then they’ll leave.  Then the ghouls will leave.  Then the people of Novac can go back to scavenging salvage from this place and everything can be back to normal.

So I head down the hallway, sneak into the corner room, and THERE HE IS.  Harland.  The dashing leatherfaced mercenary from the top of the post.  I am Bethany is smitten.  Her second crush of the play through.  And it seems he’s not really part of Bright’s group?  Just a mercenary who signed up for the chance to make out with hot ghoul babes?  A tough guy with a gravely voice who’s a bit of a scallywag, but also enough of a softy that he won’t abandon his post while there’s a chance his friend might still be alive?  Be still, my beating heart!

Well, as a smoothskin, maybe Bethany’s chances are slim, but still, there just might be a chance.  I mean, he’s gotta find those god-fearing ghouls to be a bit loopy with all their promised land malarky, right?.  Or at the very least a bit stuffy.  Maybe I can throw some booze and cigarettes his way and convince him to come with me, instead?  And if not romantic partners, we could at least be bestest sarcastic adventuring buds, right?  I mean, Harland’s gotta be a companion, right?  This introduction really feels like it would be for a companion character, doesn’t it?

Doesn’t it?

In the mean time, it seems he’s got a girlfriend trapped deeper in the Nighkin-controlled basement.  As previously mentioned, he won’t leave without her, so now I’m going to rescue her, to get Harland out of the supply room, to get the Nightkin out of the basement, to get the Ghouls out of the facility.  This quest is starting to have a lot of steps.

Anyway, I’ve got two stealthboys, and my stealth score overall still isn’t that super great, so I activate one and get going, hoping it’s enough to last long enough to find Harland’s friend and get out.

Sadly, it isn’t really.  I get down to a key-required door just as my stealth boy is wearing off, and have to backtrack looking for a key.  Unfortunately, while I’m looking for it, one of the Nightkin spots me, and I’m forced to kill it.

I regret doing it, but there doesn’t seem to have been any other option, considering it was holding the key I was looking for.  Maybe I could have picked its pocket if I had been more careful?  I don’t know.

I feel particularly bad about it, considering that once I opened the locked door, I find Harland’s friend, already dead.  The whole rescue side trip was for nothing.  Oh, well.

So back up to Harland, who’s sad his friend is dead, but none the less thanks me for trying then sneaks out while the sneaking’s good.  Of course, an entire shipment of stealth boys would be too god to be true, as I find a computer in the storage room with a message indicating the stealthboys were sent here by mistake and had been shipped back to wherever they came from.  Davison is upset about it, but his cow skull keeps a cooler head and convinces him I’m telling the truth, so the Nightkin leave, and the ghouls move back into the basement.

Apparently their taking fucking rockets to the promised land?  Are they suicidal?  Hand harland goes out onto the launch pad, too!  Dammit, no!  Where’s my option to convince him this is a stupid idea, and he should go with me instead!?

Bright asks me to help the human scientist get some stuff to finish fixing the rockets.  I need some control whatever and some sort of radioactive isotope.

This post is getting long, and I don’t want to split it into two parts, so long story short I find the control thing at the salvage yard north of Novac, sweet talking the old lady who runs it into giving me a discount, and I bring some of the radioactive rocket souveneers from the dino gift shop, remembering that the gift shop guy had mentioned something about an isotope in them making kids sick, and sure enough that’s good enough.  I also tell the scientist that he’s not a ghoul, and Bright has been using him, but convince him to just let it go rather than seeking revenge.

The rockets get fixed, with I push the button, and Bethany watches as her romantic hopes are dashed once again.

This damn game’s already broken my Bethany’s heart twice, and we haven’t even made it to New Vegas, yet.

[breadpoetsociety]

many thoughts on vlds2

my unorganized, very long thoughts on the season immediately after finishing it. mostly from the later eps. will be going through to take notes later.

a very tight season overall. tensions were fucking high, man, and that was brilliant. every battle scene was artwork. i was staring in awe at most of it. honestly this season exceeded my expectations hardcore. 

the flaming sword. i’ve never been happier in my life. the fucking FLAMING SWORD. just. jesus. amazing.

it was very very very fun to have both things where it was like, the knife, you know, where you can be like CALLED IT, but also things like the flaming sword??? which came out of nowhere on the astral plane??? and was AWESOME

holy keith season batman. this was keith’s fucking season. i love me some keith content so i really enjoyed it, very happy w/ how they handled his galra thing. wish we got just like. one more answer about who he is, what it means, but. i’ll take it.

(the brilliant thing though was how keith's development happened so fluidly and organically w/ the zarkon arc. absolutely awesome.)

BROGANES fucking broganes is canon. “like a brother to me.” never been happier. give me broganes backstory now.

but for all the interacting shiro and keith did i don’t feel like i know their relationship any better than i did in s1

on that– shiro had a v interesting season. not much in way of development but a lot of screentime. i did ADORE the astral plane battle. and he had some hysterical moments w/ the little guy near the end. 

the annoying percentages guy. sven or w/e the fuck his name was. some hilarious moments but a very weird part of the season for me? felt out of place

pidge i really liked this season. i just love her as a character. she had her funny moments, her serious moments. 

the thing i love about pidge's arc is how seamless it also fits with the whole zarkon plot. her quest to find her family is all a part of voltron's quest. so she doesn't need full eps necessarily dedicated to her all the time if that makes sense.

on the flip side of the coin– neither hunk nor lance have a direct tie to the galra or the fight to zarkon, but are in the fight, and i think and the fact that this hasn't been explored or developed is a travesty 

i think it's smart that they're setting up strong characters WITH strong galra ties so that when we do explore lance and hunk, we have keith, pidge, and shiro to keep us grounded in the main plot BUT we can do both at the same time???????

hunk had a very predictable season. wish they had done more bonding w/ keith when they had the chance? i felt that was a major missed opportunity. enjoyed vrepit sal’s for the joke at first but then i realized he was just gonna be food guy all season and :))))) wow. wasn’t that nice to just have him talking about tacos the whole time.

lance. the light of my life. talk about fucking missed opportunities. the first ep with him, ep 2, amazing. showcased his funny stupidity but he also came into his own a little bit, i was like, awesome. start us off with the lance we know and then we can meet one we don’t

then we go into the klance moment w/ the pool and the shirtlessness and the towels. i really liked seeing keith and lance have this fun/argumentative relationship?? it was awesome!! and then how it showed how that moment in the pool helped them fight better togehter?? amazing!!!!

too fucking bad that was the only interaction they had together all season!!!! i mean, lance literally said NOTHING about keith being galra????? what the fuck???????????

and that pretty much after the swim ep lance was relegated to funny man in the background!!! with a five minute pitstop into angstville that ended when shiro was like “nice job kiddo :)))))” and he hit a shot like!!!!!!!!!!!! i get it. this was keith’s season but for christ’s sake. lance is such a good fucking character and i felt he was totally wasted this season. 

however. that sniper shot. i’ve never felt more hetero than i did in that moment. good fuckin yard. 

honestly it feels a lot like yoi ep 12 did for me lmao. very, very, very good especially from a production standpoint, cannot complain. and it gave me so much awesome stuff!!! 

but if they just had had more serious lance moments, or given hunk a line not about a taco, it would have been an 11/10 for me. as it stands, it’s probably a 7 or an 8. still fucking phenomenal. i’m obsessed and i’m gonna watch it a thousand times. but i’ll always want more lance and klance.