#tw accidental drugging

[bamsara]

Concept comic for a scene I'm writing for Trod

Takes place in the before-Shamura and mass dissention arc. I think the menticide mushrooms would react horrifically combined with godhood. Instead of seeing things that aren't real, they see real things they're not supposed to

[berdyayeva]

classic jeanharry trope but reversed. harry helping jean out while he goes thru it

[mrspasser]

The things he does for his pack

Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)

Read it on A03

There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled. 

The things he does for his pack…

At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.

They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play. 

Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.

“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.

The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.

Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?

Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.

Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past. 

Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans. 

Stiles. Where is Stiles?

Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.

The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.

“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!” 

Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”

Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?” 

“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?” 

Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!” 

Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over. 

“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.

Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”

“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”

Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”

Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”

“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”

“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll. 

“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.” 

“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.

“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates. 

“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”

Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”

“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.” 

Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.” 

“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.

Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.” 

That does get Stiles’ attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?” 

“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.” 

“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.

“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.

“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?” 

“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate. 

“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.

“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.” 

“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.

“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.

“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.” 

“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!” 

“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet. 

Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.

When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly. 

“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft. 

Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat. 

“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.

When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.

Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.

“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!” 

The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.” 

But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!” 

“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked. 

Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!” 

And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny. 

“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.

With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon. 

“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure. 

“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.

It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes. 

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.

“Am I your favourite human?” 

The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him. 

Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.” 

“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment. 

“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy. 

The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner. 

Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg. 

By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that. 

Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]

Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.

A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ] 

It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.

He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.

The things he does for his pack.

[skyward-floored]

Part four to the mess that is accidental domestication, Warriors and Time edition! This was really fun to write but also it’s soooooo long >_< oh well.

Warning for some nonconsensual drugging, but it’s not too bad? I don’t think it’s too bad but anyway there’s your warning.

Ao3 link

————————————————————

Being separated from the group always made Warriors nervous.

Not that he’d admit it of course. But he was used to fighting and traveling alongside others, and not knowing the whereabouts of everyone except for himself and Time made him ill at ease. Especially since Time was currently slouched against his shoulder, mumbling something about bombchus and how the items were cuter than the actual creatures.

Warriors sighed, pressing a weary hand to the bridge of his nose.

Having realized they were alone after exiting a portal, him and Time had made their way to a nearby town, seeing no sign of the others while they traveled. They stopped for some info at the bar that night, hoping someone had seen a large group of young men go by recently, but had been met with no useful tips, and several people eyeing them suspiciously.

And drugged drinks.

Which Warriors has realized almost immediately after taking a sip.

But Time had gotten his drink first, spiced so heavily the flavor wasn’t noticeable, and Warriors had been trying to get information out of the bartender and wasn’t paying much attention to the other hero.

Neither of them was aware of the tasteless poison he was consuming, and Time had already drunk more than half his glass by the time Warriors sipped his own and realized what was going on. He’d quickly paid and tried to quietly drag Time outside, the older hero already swaying and cursing himself for not noticing, but their escape was noticed almost immediately.

Apparently they’d stumbled straight into a thieves town. And the residents had decided that between Time’s armor and Warriors’ scarf, the two men seemed like good pickings to make some pretty nice money.

Which was why Warriors was now hiding with Time behind a bush, listening to the townspeople chasing them shout in the distance.

Time let out a quiet groan, and Warriors gave his arm a squeeze, trying to get a good look at his face in the darkened forest. He couldn’t make out much in the dim light, but Time’s head felt hot where it was resting on his arm, an occasional tremble wracking through him.

“How are you feeling old man,” Warriors asked under his breath, and Time merely hummed quietly in reply.

The captain gave his shoulder a squeeze, then poked his head above the bush they were hiding behind. His frown deepened at the lantern lights that were bobbing in their direction, and he sank back down, trying to think through the mess they were in.

They were being chased by nearly the entire population of a town of bandits, his only ally was half-awake and getting less coherent by the minute, and he had no clue which direction the other heroes or any help might be in.

So, business as usual.

“Don’t go in the bushes, th’ dekus ‘ll get you...” Time suddenly mumbled, and Warriors gave him a concerned look. He hadn’t been speaking much sense for the past several minutes, and only seemed to be getting worse, muttering increasingly indecipherable sentences with sweat trickling down his brow.

How long until he couldn’t keep going?

Time suddenly let out a loud laugh, breaking his thoughts, and Warriors slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Time shh, are you trying to get us caught?” he hissed, and Time blinked at him, eye looking oddly milky from what the captain could see of it.

“M’ not getting us caught,” he huffed once Warriors removed his hand. Then he let out a high-pitched giggle, and Warriors stared at him incredulously. Time never... giggled. That drug was hitting him hard, and fast, it must have been some powerful stuff.

Time’s head lolled a bit, and he blinked up at Warriors, a goofy smile on his face.

“The cuccoos never listen anyway,” he assured, flopping a hand up and patting his cheek. “They just gliiiide away. Stop worryin’ about it.”

“I’m not just worried about them, I’m worried about you,” Warriors said sharply, dismay at the situation abruptly intensifying. He didn’t know if Time had been just drugged or poisoned or what, but no matter what it was he couldn’t do anything about it right now and Time just kept getting worse and he didn’t even know if he was understanding him anymore—

Warriors shook off his thoughts with a heavy sigh, and Time stared at him for a second before patting him on the arm.

“M’ sorry cap’n... I’ll call the frogs, they’ll help us,” he whispered comfortingly, then took in a deep breath and positively bellowed. “FROGS WE NEED YOU—”

Warriors slapped his hand over his mouth again.

“Don’t call the frogs, okay? Forget the frogs,” he whispered frantically, trying to get his feelings back in the box where they usually rested in situations like this. The sight of Time, normally so coolheaded but currently so confused, was rattling him more than he cared to think about.

Not to mention the shouts that were growing much too close for comfort.

“We need to keep moving, can you walk at all?” he asked Time in a voice he fought to keep steady, and the older hero hummed.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking at his boots. “I don’t want t’ squish a bug... he’d be sad. Can’ I stay?”

“No, listen Time we can’t stay here,” Warriors whispered harshly, the voices and lanterns much too close now. “There are men chasing us who want to kill us. We need to stay away from them, which means we need to move. Come on soldier!”

Time still looked uncertain, an almost childish frown on his face as he looked at the grass.

Warriors sighed again. “You’re not going to squish any bugs, okay?”

Time hesitated, then suddenly lurched upright, almost falling back down until Warriors steadied him.

“‘Kay,” he mumbled.

Warriors breathed out a relieved sigh, and began to pull Time steadily through the woods, wincing whenever their armor clanked or the leaves crunched under their feet. He figured they’d focus on outmaneuvering the bandits, putting distance between their pursuers and them, and hopefully find a place to properly hide so he could try to help Time.

Fighting would be their absolute last resort.

They’d gone maybe half a mile before Time’s steps truly began to lag, his weight growing heavier where Warriors was supporting him. The captain pursed his lips and continued to pull him along, despite how shaky the older hero was getting.

“Come on old man,” he muttered, and continued to walk, trying to increase his pace.

Time suddenly sagged in Warriors’ grip, so abruptly that the captain nearly had to lunge forward to stop him from falling on his face.

“Time, hey, are you with me?” he whispered, and Time groaned, putting a hand to his forehead as he kneeled on the ground. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, and he abruptly blinked up at Warriors, staring at him with both eyes wide.

Then they both slid shut.

“Oh no old man, don’t give out on me,” Warriors whispered frantically, shaking Time’s shoulders. “Stay awake, focus. I’m not strong enough to carry you far, you need to stay awake.”

The older hero only groaned a little and looked over Warriors’ shoulder at something, gaze unfocused.

“‘lfie...” he slurred, eyes half-lidded.

Warriors bit his lip and scanned the forest around them, ignoring the persistent shouts that were once again drawing too close for comfort. He spotted a small overhang of rocks that would provide a bit of a hiding spot, and half-supported half-dragged Time over to them, nearly collapsing once they were underneath.

“‘lfie,” Time slurred again, voice more insistent, and Warriors shushed him as he turned to his pouch, digging around for something to help counteract Time’s condition.

“Just hang tight old man, I think I might still have half a potion in here,” Warriors murmured, almost more to himself then Time. He’d been hoping to stock up at the next town, but that obviously was off the agenda.

His hand finally closed around a bottle after rummaging for several moments, and Warriors turned back towards Time, a hint of a smile on his face.

Which immediately fell away as he saw Time stumbling out back into the woods.

“Time!” Warriors whisper-shouted, and was about to run out after him until a voice spoke something from right next to the outcropping he was hiding in. Warriors froze, listening to the voice that was quickly joined by several more, and stubbornly fought back the lurch of panic in his gut.

The bandits had caught up.

And if he went out and tried to drag Time back in here, there was no way they wouldn’t see him.

“Time! Come back!” Warriors hissed in a barely legible voice, but the old man continued to stumble through the trees, towards something Warriors couldn’t make out in the dim light. All the captain could do was stay where he was and pray Time wouldn’t be spotted.

Time was oddly stealthy as he lurched towards his goal, and Warriors bit his lip as he watched a bandit emerge through the trees, lantern held high. He put a hand on his sword as the man drew closer to Time, prepared to expose himself if he had to, but dearly praying it wouldn’t be necessary.

He was good, but he was also man enough to admit he wouldn’t be able to take on an entire village of bandits alone.

Maybe he could sneak up on the man and take him out without alerting the others? It would be next to impossible not to be seen though, with the amount of light bouncing through the trees. Perhaps he could stay low and avoid the lantern light. Or maybe loop around and stay out of sight?

A sudden growl shattered his thoughts, and both Warriors and the bandit stared towards it, right at where Time was slumped dizzily against a tree. Warriors felt cold determination settle in his chest as the bandit shone his lantern straight at Time, a leering grin visible in the light as Warriors unsheathed his sword.

But the lantern light also caught on a set of bright, wolfish eyes glinting in the shadows behind Time, and another growl reverberated through the trees.

Time grinned.

“Get ‘im Wolfie.”

And with a loud snarl, a wolf jumped at the bandit, the man shrieking in shock and fear. Sleek fur shone in the light of the man’s lantern, the orange glow shining off of sharp fangs, and the man yelled for help from his companions.

Thank the goddesses for Wolfie, Warriors thought as he leapt out of his hiding spot and bolted for Time, grabbing his arm and trying to hoist him back up from where he’d slid down the trunk.

“Come on old man, he’s only going to be able to give us so much time to get away,” Warriors grunted, trying to get Time on his feet. “The noise will draw the others, we need to move.”

Time only grinned, still swaying. “Wolfie! Get th’ bad... th’ bad guys! Good boy! Steak f-for you!”

Warriors slung his arm across his shoulder again, noting the bandit running in the opposite direction and yelling all the while. Wolfie stood panting next to the discarded lantern, but Warriors didn’t stick around to wait for him to catch up.

He was just glad Wild’s... companion, was on their side.

He’d call him a pet, but the first (and last) time he’d said it, Wild had smacked him and Time and Four both had let out strange sounding snorts.

“Wolfie’s the best,” Time sighed, head lolling on his shoulder as they stumbled through the woods, shouts loud behind them. Warriors looked over at him, and Time smiled widely. “So fluffy. M’ proud of Twilight... ‘s a good descendant. Love him.”

Warriors didn’t waste breath on replying, though he did file the descendant part of Time’s rambling back for a later conversation.

A loud shout rang from close by, and Warriors yanked Time to a stop as lantern light shone in their faces, his heart falling as too many men to fight past suddenly encircled them. Warriors carefully deposited Time against a tree behind him, and looked warily around at the eager crowd.

“Well well, cornered like rats,” a woman said eagerly, eyeballing the armor Time wore with greed in her eyes.

“I don’t know who you lot think ye are, but a single mangy mutt ain’t enough ta’ scare us off,” a large man sneered, and Warriors carefully maneuvered his sword in between him and Time. “You two are loaded, and we’re more than eager ta’ help you lighten the load a bit.”

“And if I give you everything we have, you’ll let us go?” Warriors asked with steel in his voice.

Laughter rolled through the group, and the bartender Warriors had earlier been trying to get information from grinned maliciously at him.

“Sorry lad. Can’t have you spreading the word about our little town here, bad for business.”

“What did you put in my companion’s drink?” Warriors said in a dangerous voice, and more snickers went through the crowd of bandits.

“Just a little something to daze him s’we can take all that armor and he won’t even care. An’ kill him too, he won’t even realize!” one laughed, and Warriors felt his blood run cold. “That’s the best bit, they don’t even realize you’ve stabbed ‘em ‘til they’re dead.”

The woman who’d spoken first inched closer, and twirled a dagger between her fingers.

“If you give us all you got without a fight, we’ll make it quick for you, boy,” she said, something almost sympathetic in her eyes.

Warriors merely gritted his teeth and got into a defensive position, tightly clutching his sword.

The bandits jeered, and began to close in, torchlight flashing off the metal of their raised weapons. The number of them was just too much for Warriors to believe he’d truly get out of this, especially with Time to protect, but he’d fight until his dying breath if that’s what it took.

Maybe he could at least provide an opening for Time to get away.

Warriors spared a single glance out at the woods as their enemies approached, but it appeared nobody was coming to help them, the trees silent and dark.

Hang it all, where did Wolfie go?

As if on cue, a howl rang through the trees, making the bandits pause in their approach. One scoffed and continued forward, and the rest followed, only to be stopped again as a second howl rent the night, the first joining it in an eerie harmony.

Warriors raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sound, Wolfie has friends it seems, and the men exchanged nervous glances when a third howl joined.

“You lads afraid of a few beasts?” the bartender scoffed, and began to approach Warriors, leveling a large broadsword. “Not a courageous man among you.”

Warriors raised his sword as the weapon swung down, and suddenly an entire pack of wolves leapt from the bushes at the bandits.

Warriors didn’t even have to parry the blade as it swung at him, a wolf leaping up and closing its jaws around the barkeeper’s arm, the weapon falling to the ground.

The man yelled in pain, and more screams went up from the bandits as the wolves lunged for weak spots and nipped at their heels. Their yellow eyes glowed in the lantern light, and Warriors watched in astonishment as the wolves swarmed the bandits, but didn’t even touch him or Time.

The bandits broke rank only moments later, even the barkeeper turning tail and fleeing back in the direction of the village. Several wolves chased after them, tails wagging almost excitedly, but a few stayed, and looked towards Warriors and Time.

The captain swallowed as several glowing pairs of eyes stared at him (Wolfie wasn’t among them, had he gone with the others to chase the bandits?), but despite the blood on several muzzles, he didn’t feel in any danger.

Oddly enough, he felt... safe.

“Thank you?” he offered to the closest wolf, a large brown and white beast. It made a small chuffing noise and licked his outstretched hand, then turned away and began to trot into the woods, tail swishing behind it.

The other wolves followed, melting back into the shadows, and Warriors suddenly found himself alone, except for Time still leaning dazedly against the tree.

Warriors sheathed his sword with a tired exhale, wiping some sweat off his brow.

That was one of the strangest battles I’ve ever been a part of.

“I wanted to pet one,” Time suddenly spoke up in an incredibly sad voice, and Warriors turned back to him, sighing as he watched a few tears begin to gather in his eyes.

“You can pet Wolfie when we find the others,” Warriors said as he got to his side and patted his shoulder, and Time sniffled, then nodded.

“‘Kay,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his eye. Warriors lowered himself onto the ground with a tired sigh, leaning his head against the tree, and Time’s head flopped unceremoniously onto his shoulder.

“Gonna take a nap,” Time murmured, and Warriors nodded, pulling up his scarf and settling it over Time’s shoulders.

“Go ahead old man. I think we’re safe enough here,” he said softly. “You can rest.”

The bandits certainly wouldn’t be in a hurry to try and pursue them again after the wolves’ attack, and based on what the man had said, it looked like the drug Time had consumed merely needed to run its course. As long as Warriors kept an eye out while Time rested, it should be okay.

Here seemed as good of a spot to rest for a while as any.

A rustling noise caught Warriors’ attention, and he watched as a wolf poked its head out of the bushes, the same brown and white wolf that had licked his hand. It trotted over to them, then flopped onto the ground next to Time, resting its head on its paws.

Time’s eyes cracked open, and he extended a hand before Warriors could stop him, scratching the wolf behind its ears. It thumped its tail once, but kept its eyes open, staying at attention, and Warriors looked at it in wonder.

Was the wolf keeping watch for them?

It angled its ears towards him as Time’s hand withdrew, and Warriors blinked, then inwardly shrugged. If one of the wolves that had saved them wanted to keep watch, he’d let them. He trusted Wolfie, and he supposed he trusted any friends of his as well.

Though he had to admit this was one of the oddest situations he’d ever found himself in.

Time’s breathing evened out against his shoulder, and Warriors closed his eyes, feeling completely safe as a howl echoed off in the distance.

 (...)

It was only few hours later when the other heroes found their way into the clearing where Time and Warriors were sleeping, the wolf having left in the night.

Time was still out of it despite the rest, and dozed most of the walk to the rest of the heroes’ camp, falling back asleep immediately after arriving. Warriors told the others what had happened while he slept, and they made the decision to stay where they were until Time recovered, then try and deal more soundly with the bandits.

Twilight and Wild both had odd looks on their faces at the mention of Wolfie and his friends helping them, but they didn’t get a chance to say anything, as Time had woken up again. The older hero had quietly eaten something after he’d first awoken, but was now staring around at all of them with a dazed expression, his visible pupil oddly dilated.

“Is he still out of it?” Wind asked in a worried voice, and Warriors shrugged helplessly, leaning close to Time.

“Hey old man, how’re you feeling?” he asked carefully, and Time stared at him for several moments without blinking. Then his gaze flicked to Wind, and he snorted, shoulders shaking as he began to snicker to himself. “...Time?”

“Sailor, sailor you...” Time put a hand over his mouth, still snickering. “You haven’t noticed...”

“Haven’t noticed what?” Wind asked confusedly, and Time snickered even harder.

“You— you have a lobster on your shirt!”

Time fell over, clutching his sides as he laughed, and the other heroes stared at their oldest lying in the grass, laughing his head off at the design on Wind’s tunic.

“Er, Time, why don’t you come lie down again,” Twilight offered, and Time stopped laughing and stared directly at him.

“Five three two one four.”

Twilight blinked, and Time continued to stare, and the others exchanged bemused looks.

“What does that mean?” Hyrule asked, and Time sat up much straighter, looking around at them all with a serious expression.

“Five three two one four,” Time rattled off again, eyes still unfocused. “Twenty-three is number one, but two is when They appear, Four is a smithy and four giants are coming, but there’s only three days until the milk needs to be delivered and he’s always one second too fast no matter how the Keaton runs—”

“I think he’s still out of it,” Legend said in a deadpan as Time continued to spout nonsense.

“Wow, you think?” Warriors said sarcastically as he carefully sat Time up. “At least his fevers gone down, even if he’s... not making much sense.”

“Are we sure this is just going to wear off?” Sky asked uncertainly, watching Time babble something about seahorses and Zora eggs.

“I’ve seen something similar before, I believe it will,” Warriors said. “It’ll just take some time.”

“Six medallions, all for Malon, all aglow in the light of dawn,” Time sang drunkenly, head flopping onto Warriors’ arms. “Epona needs the mask but It’s my turn to wear it—”

“Ooookay, anybody else think it’s time he went back to bed?” Wild said, sounding equally amused and concerned. “Maybe he can try and just sleep the rest of this off?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Twilight replied, lowering himself to Time’s side. “Come on old man, you could use some more rest.”

Time blinked at him, then whipped his hand out and snagged Twilight’s arm, grinning as he gave it a squeeze.

“Tell Wolfie we appreciate him and thanks,” Time said earnestly, his hands shaking a bit as he patted Twilight’s cheek. His voice turned suddenly serious. “He’s my favorite. He should bite the moon.”

Twilight blinked. “Uh...”

Then Time abruptly slumped against Warriors’ shoulder again, a quiet snore escaping his lips. Several amused snickers went up from the heroes, and Twilight and Warriors both sighed in relief.

“This stuff better wear off soon,” Twilight said with an exasperated look, and Warriors nodded.

“I still don’t know how you managed to get away from all those bandits with him acting like this,” Sky said in disbelief, watching as the captain pulled a blanket up to Time’s chin.

Warriors sighed, and watched Time sleep for a moment, his face twitching slightly. A part of him couldn’t quite believe it either, especially seeing how Time was acting now.

“We wouldn’t have if Wolfie hadn’t managed to find all those wolves to help us,” he finally hummed, brushing some hair out of Time’s face. “I don’t think we’d have made it otherwise.”

Twilight hesitated. “About that, I... I don’t think Wolfie did.”

“...What do you mean?”

Twilight and Wild exchanged looks, and the champion’s voice was careful when he spoke.

“Wolfie was with me and Twilight last night captain, he couldn’t have been with you and Time,” Wild explained, scratching the back of his head. “We were nowhere near you, trust me, we would’ve come and helped.”

Warriors blinked, and looked over at Time sleeping on his shoulder.

“So what you’re saying is, a random pack of wolves just decided to help us?” he asked in disbelief, and Wild shrugged.

“I mean, that’s what it looks like?”

The heroes all mulled that over, going quiet for a moment as Time continued to quietly snore.

“That means almost all of us have either been saved or safely interacted with a wolf that wasn’t Wolfie now,” Four spoke up in a wondering voice.

“That’s kinda freaky,” Legend muttered, his chin resting on his hand from where he was seated across camp. “Why would they randomly help us?”

“You think it has something to do with us being the heroes?” Wind piped up. “Wolfie hangs around us, right? Maybe someone is helping us by sending more wolves!”

“What, like the goddesses?” Legend snorted, and Wind huffed.

“Well it was just an idea,” the sailor pouted, and Warriors ruffled his hair.

“Well whatever the reason is, I’m glad they decided to help us,” Warriors declared, and Time let out a loud snore. The captain chuckled, and leaned back against the log he was seated against. “I owe them our lives.”

A distant howl echoed from somewhere in the forest, and the heroes went silent again, Twilight’s ears twitching as another howl answered.

“I guess we might not ever know why they helped,” Wild murmured.

Twilight looked up at the sky, his ears still twitching.

“I guess not.”

[ego-meliorem-esse]

When you say "followed by a raging storm," what do you mean? What does that look like and what does Alfred's 'usual' raging storm entail?

Tw: drug use (yeah sorry)

To be honest its not a very common thing to happen. Just a silly example could be simply overworking himself. And by god, does he overwork himself. Alfred is the sort of person to bottle things up untill they overflow. He will do his work, then the extra work he was given, then he will do the extra work he gave himself, then maybe do a thing on the side, forgetting to take a break for weeks. Months on some occassions.

He realizes he has taken on too much. He will not be able to finish everything on time. At the same time it takes so much for him to get to this point of "i cant do this anymore" but also looking on from the outside it would seem be is folding at the slightest of obstacles.

Then all of a sudden he will break. When he does its usually unsettlingly silent. Its quiet and calm. If he is at a point of raging storm approaching, he will quiety shut down his laptop, turn off his phone, lock all the locls on his doors, and probably just lay himself on the floor. He will eat nothing and drink nothing. Its the whole quiet before the storm situation. Tho the storm in his case has already begun. His mind is working overtime and he cannot focus on a single thought. At this point its difficult to speak to him, he will not form sentences. His mind is a house with dozens of windows, all open. A hurricane is outside. All the windows are creaking, banging and letting in the storm. Which one do you close first? Is it even worth it? What if you close one window and the damn door breaks open due to the storm?

Every little whispering voice of self doubt is screeming at this point. And every critique or simply unkind word by another person/nation set aside is coming into full view.

At this point the only way he knows how to quiet down the thoughts and feelings overflowing is either taking antidepressants and anti anxiety pills stashed away, perscribed by a doctor but untouched untill now, or simply snorting cocaine. At that point he is feeling exhausted, negative and self conscious. Those are relatively unfamilliar grounds. Coke gives him the opposite, something he is used to: the feeling of positivity, energy and confidence.

Absolute shit way of dealing with his feelings. Alfred can be exceptionally intelligent, and he is most of the time. He is stupid tho when it comes to feeling feelings. Zero knowledge. He is just "ew bad feeling, ew ew, go away, no like, have to remove".

Sorry this is probably not the answer you wanted, especially not including drug use but I'm afraid it's 2 am, my brain is fried and I got college tomorrow all day so this is my coping mechanism.

I love my big boy Alfred but he needs to leave the lines alone stg

[coachbeards]

got to thinking again about how they treated beard’s drug use like a joke/comedic point of his character and then revealed drug addiction ruined his life like ok

[rervraiilstew]

flipping people off tic they could never make me like you.

[bamsara]

Will lamb be okay? It seems it's horrifically terrible I hope they will recover from this..

They'll be okay

[kweenofrats11]

I accidentally triggered a hypomania episode bc I drank nearly 2 liters of caffeine over a 2-day period and I didn't know the water flavoring I was using had caffeine in it. I thought I was god. Turns out I was just stupid

[bueris]

remembering how my old biology teacher had a whole speech about how dangerous the acids in the lab were and at the end of it he just dumped a considerable amount of it on his hand and everyone just watched the first layer of his skin schlop off before he washed it off

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

color theory's wild, you guys

[angelfoodscake]

i need to work on edith and gizmo more theyre so funny bc theyre basically like extremely overly anxious x so calm they dont perceive threats

[transexualpirate]

what’s brisadeiro mean?

oh it's like brigadeiro, which is a traditional brasilian sweet made with chocolate that ive been told looks a bit like chocolate fudge, except for brisadeiro you put weed on it (technically you make it with cannabutter which is butter with weed so same thing). brisa can be loosely translated to high or tripping which is why brisadeiro is such a genius word. it's a brigadeiro that makes you high. a brigadeiro that gives you a brisa. a brisadeiro. absolutely genius be honest

[valentinoswhore]

Had a 2 hours booking today, and I'm fairly sure that the client was high as a kite 😅 he couldn't come, and he also fell asleep when there was, like... 16 minutes left of our session

[maddie-grove]

I'm not even, like, a super-fan of Jaime Lannister (my ASOIAF gray-male-character tastes run more towards Theon Greyjoy and Tyrion Lannister) and my affection for any show character is somewhat tempered by the show being pretty bad to REAL bad in the later seasons. But it was ridiculous to go "oh, he cannot change...he needs to go get crushed by a bunch of rocks with his sister/ex-lover...weren't we foolish to believe otherwise" after SO many scenes where he's like, "Hey, Cersei, I care about you but your political decisions are evil and also detrimental to everyone including yourself. I want to raise a child with you and make this work, even though we are brother and sister, but I gotta walk if you continue down this path. This is your first of four warnings that I will do that," and Cersei is like, "I am not changing my mind. Also, even though my decisions are stupid, I'm making them with a sound mind, unlike in the books. They're probably just stupid because it's the end of the show's run and the writing is deteriorating rapidly. Also, I'm taking a hit out on you."

It's like writing a character who's a heroin addict and having them relapse, but then you replace heroin with a favorite childhood snack that got discontinued in their country because it caused anal seepage, and then they had the chance to try it years later in another country and they're like "huh, this isn't good" and also they experience anal seepage, plus it's inconvenient to go to another country every time you want the Forbidden Off-Brand Little Debbie, which you never will because it's not good and has no addictive properties beyond I guess the instant gratification of a sugary snack, which you can get from other things that are nearby and taste better and don't cause anal seepage. But then they're like "I must go back to the country where I got the Forbidden Snack, even though it's an extremely dangerous warzone now." And then they die from being crushed by rocks while holding the Forbidden Snack. And the audience is like "why, though" and the showrunners are like "well, imagine that the Forbidden Snack is heroin, and the character just has to walk a few blocks to buy it. Surely you don't believe it's so easy to overcome drug addiction?"

[becoach-a]

i do love beard's tendency to learn. like. he truly loves taking in new information, and he loves teaching himself new things. a walking encyclopedia. if he doesn't understand something? he researches it. he takes the time to look it up, read about it, etc. beard's knowledge of things is very vast, and it's anyone's guess as to what beard might know. whether it's about fungi, the history of baseball, biology of trees, the dutch language, several pop culture related things, etc . . . it's a good guess that beard'll know something.