#I’m honestly astonished at how well her content has been preserved

[mausuwinasa]

Looking back on the SuprrBooprr drama over on the hellhole we call TikTok, I really think that everyone was making a big deal out of nothing? People got really worked up over the whole manager plot line, even though the revenge fantasy of murdering one’s harasser may have been a nice coping mechanism for folks who had to deal with harassment. But noooooo, we can’t depict sexual harassment or murder in art! Think of the children! And the way people were freaking out over the more suggestive content (that I’m pretty sure was PROPERLY WARNED FOR fyi) was arguably even more ridiculous. It’s her art, she can do what she wants with it, and it’s not a big deal if it’s “impure” or whatever. Oh my cod, some people are just so hard to deal with.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twelve - Father Material

The last injection was one of the worst Victor had had so far. He felt feverish, his stomach churning, angry, revolting against itself. But he knew what would happen should he vomit, so he did his best to keep whatever gunk they gave him that morning inside him.

This time they put them all together in a room, a lady coming in now and then to check their temperatures. He noticed a small boy, probably four or five years old, weeping in the corner of the room. He hadn’t seen any of these kids before, this was obviously their first week there, but they already knew better than to comfort the small boy.

The boy tossed and turned, hands rubbing his tummy, occasionally moaning in pain. Victor immediately understood what was wrong. The injection was making him want to go too.

“Don’t do it here. If you do, they will hurt you.” He whispered to the kid, but his voice was so strained and low from his own suffering that he wasn’t sure if the kid was able to hear it.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, the kid turned to the wall sobbing loudly, his grey sweatpants wet with a brown stain, the room suddenly filled with a putrid smell. Something inside Victor snapped. In seconds he lost all sense of self-preservation, and before he noticed, he was by the kid’s side, stroking his back.

“It’s ok, it won’t be so bad.” He tried to console the kid. “They’ll probably go easy on you because you’re small.”

“What do we have here?” Came the guard, poking the boy with his stun baton to tease him.

The boy’s sobs only grew louder, as he shook in fear. Probably not his first encounter with that baton.

“He didn’t do it on purpose.” Victor intervened. “He’s sick and scared. Please don’t hurt him.”

“Oh but you see, I turned it on already.” He touched Victor’s nose with his baton, the blue light in the tip looking ominous. “What should I do with it?”

Before Victor could answer, the guard hit him right in the gut with his stick, tasing him. Immediately he lost all the strength he had left in his body and dropped on the floor, the contents of his stomach leaving his body, gushing from his mouth and nose. Victor coughed, trying hard not to choke on his own vomit, as the guard chuckled, playfully patting him on the back.

“Look at you, so strong, trying to be a hero.” The guard teased him. “Everybody knows who you are. Mommy and Daddy aren’t coming to save you, maggot. Here, you are just an orphan, and your parents are as good as dead.”

Victor closed his eyes tightly, not wanting the guard to see him cry.

“And tonight, my little boy, me and my baton will pay you a visit.” Victor opened up his eyes to meet an evil grin. “We are having a little slumber party.”

The baton snapped again on his chest.

“Did you hear what I said?” He felt his wife’s hand on his shoulder. He found himself back in the orphanage’s Director’s office, and beside him was the woman he loved. He was safe.

“Yes, it’s taking too long.” He guessed. “Don’t worry, this is just a formality. We were already accepted as Owen’s adoptive parents.”

Right on cue, they heard the office’s door open.

“I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting, we have a new child that is having a hard time adapting. I want to thank you for being here. I was very pleased to know you want to continue with Owen’s adoption.” The director shook our hands and took a seat in front of us. “However, I feel there is a need to discuss this a little further.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Andrea fidgeted in her seat.

"Please understand that most of these children have arrived here due to very dire circumstances. Although he's only four, Owen is no exception. It's rare to see a child go through so much at such a young age."

“What do you mean?” Victor asked. Owen looked like a fairly happy child. At least, as happy as one can get living at an orphanage.

"Owen's mother took her own life, she hung herself on a pillar of their old house. The police told us that they found Owen, desperate, trying to pull his mother down. He was alone, his stepfather nowhere to be found. He also presented bruises all over his body. We believe he lived in a very toxic environment and was a victim of abuse." The director declared with a heavy voice.

“Oh my-” Andrea jumped from her seat, covering her mouth. Victor had no idea of what to say. No child should have to go through that.

“We inserted him in a foster family as soon as we could. Children are resilient at this age, and we believed that the sooner Owen was in a loving family, the faster he would move on from that horrible experience. But unfortunately, it didn’t go quite as we expected.” Miss Dillon sat straighter on her chair. “You see, Owen is a very bright child who has seen quite enough. Not many adults can deal with that. But my hope is with you, things will be different. You understand what trauma can do to a child.”

Andrea fidgeted on her chair nervously, remembering her trauma printed all over the tabloids.

“She means me.” Victor confessed, his poker face instinctively on.

Andrea looked at him with wide eyes, astonished with his confession.

“When I was rescued from the orphanage, Miss Dillon was there.” He explained. “She was the one that stayed with me until my father came to pick me up.”

Andrea’s jaw dropped and she remained silent, not knowing what to say.

“I still have nightmares of the atrocities I saw in that God-forsaken place.” The Director’s smile fell into a disgusted frown. “I can only imagine how hard it was for Victor to cope with it all.” She gave him a weak smile. “But now, it can serve as something good. Owen will finally have a family that can understand him and help him the way he needs.”

Victor nodded silently. She was right, but for him, it didn't feel good at all. There’s no measure to what he would have given not to have gone through that, or not to have Owen go through losing his only family in such a horrible way.

“Where do we sign?” He finally spoke. “And when is Owen coming home?”

“Well, we should give you some time to prepare a room-”

“It’s ready.” Victor and his wife spoke in unison.

“Then I guess there’s no point in delaying any further.” Miss Dillon got up from her chair. “You can pick him up next Saturday, after lunch.”

Back in the car, Andrea was silent. Victor didn’t need to ask why, he had blindsided her, by concealing the true nature of his relationship with that orphanage. Miss Dillon was one of the few good outcomes of that incident. Seeing children unprotected in such a manner, and subject to such horrifying actions, Miss Dillon had quit her practice as a child therapist and collected as much as she could from benefactors to open her own orphanage, with the solemn promise that if it depended on her, no child would be forsaken. When Victor saw her again, decades later, they were barely scraping by. He used his money and influence to help the orphanage and would make frequent donations to ensure it ran properly.

"I'm sorry.” He sighed. He had his reasons to keep her out of the loop, but this wasn’t fair on her either. Andrea was his wife, he was supposed to share everything with her. Even the things that were too painful to share.

“You don’t need to be.” She looked at him with earnest eyes, yet she didn’t smile.

“I do.” He looked away from her. “I should have told you right away, I-”

“Victor, when we first spoke about it you told me you hadn’t revealed the whole truth, because it was hard to.” She held his hand on the gearshift. “I understand why you didn't tell me about Miss Dillon at first. You didn’t deceive me. You were very clear it would be this way.”

“Why are you being so understanding?” He frowned. “I thought you’d be angry.”

“Ok, listen, I’m not going to say it doesn’t hurt a little that there are things about you that I don’t know.” Her voice was pained, and he looked at her again, worried. “But I also know this is hard on you. So, even if I don’t fully understand, I’ll support you.”

Victor took his wife’s hand lovingly.

“Thank you.” He smiled slightly. “I didn’t mean to upset you, it just didn’t seem relevant.”

“I’m more worried about Owen, honestly.” She leaned on her seat with a sigh. “He’s been through a lot.”

Victor had plenty in his heart to let out about that subject, but he chose silence instead, as he drove them to their home.

“Are you studying those again?” Andrea pointed to his books on the nightstand, as they were going to bed.

“There’s a last one that I didn’t finish.” Victor picked it up and showed it to his wife. “Knowledge is power.”

“We’ll be fine.” She sighed while she pulled the covers to enter the bed, by his side. “You don’t need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” He opened the book to the page marked by one of Andrea’s post-its. “I just like to be prepared.”

“Fair enough.” She turned off the light from her nightstand and crawled under the comforter. “I am going to go straight to sleep, I’m beat. Have fun with your books.” She turned to the other side.

“Where are you going?” He pulled her arm. “Come here. Rest your head on my chest.”

Andrea immediately turned to him, coming closer.

“That is much better, you’re warm.” She snuggled against him. “Are you sure you can read with me on you?”

“Wouldn’t I say so if I couldn’t?” He answered flatly, as he snaked his arm under her.

“Ok, ok, I’m here.” She defended herself, nuzzling his chest. “Grumpy.”

He kissed the top of her hair, his hand caressing her curls.

“Better?” He asked with a softer voice.

“So much better.” She looked up to him, and, understanding her cue, he pecked her lips. “Goodnight, handsome.”

“Goodnight, my light.” Victor turned to his book again.

Although it may seem a good idea to parents to give their children as many toys as they can have, even educational ones, they are depriving the child of the biggest satisfaction in life: to earn things. The very fact that they can earn something by working for it, e.g. by cleaning their room or setting the table, gives the child a sense of confidence and self-esteem that praise alone cannot provide.

“Do you think Owen has too many toys?” Victor frowned.

“Humm?” Andrea sighed sleepily.

“Nothing.” He pecked her head again, chuckling. “Go back to sleep.”

Victor closed his book, lost in thought. He had never considered that Owen could have too much and that it would hinder his development. He had had everything and that didn’t seem to affect him much. Victor never cared much about what he had. He liked the horses and some books his father gave him, but what Victor craved most from his parents wasn’t gifts. It was affection.

For some reason, his mind wandered to a particular moment in his childhood, when he found himself staring at the door of his father's study, wondering if he should knock.

“What do you need? Be quick.” His father spoke, not taking his eyes from some document he was reading.

Victor scraped the tip of his shoe on the carpet lightly.

“A child shouldn’t waste an adult's time.” His father reprimanded. “If it’s not important it can wait till dinner.”

It wouldn’t be important in his father’s eyes, but Victor knew his father would probably not be there for dinner.

“Do you know anything about the girl? And the other kids?” He asked in a weak voice. The nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep, maybe some information could ease his mind.

“What girl?” His father wrote a note on the document he was reading.

“The girl from the orphanage.” Victor tried again. “The one that saved my life.”

His father looked at him for the first time since he entered the study, his eyes full of contempt.

“You are never to speak about that day again, do you hear me? It upsets your mother.” His father turned again to the document. “And the girl you mention is dead. She didn’t survive.”

Victor’s heart broke with guilt. Mia was dead, trying to save him. Someone had died because of him. It was supposed to be him, not her. She was so little and fragile, and now she was dead. All because he was careless. This was all his fault. The walls of his father’s study spun, and Victor had to take a step back to steady himself.

“No, she can’t be.” Victor’s voice trembled, tears escaping his eyes. “She can’t be dead! You’re lying!”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Apart from his disgusted glance, his father seemed unaffected by his antics. “Lee men don’t cry. Now go make yourself useful and study. You need to be prepared for boarding school next week. Stop staining my carpet.”

He found himself back in his room, his loving wife still in his arms, but his heart was still in his father’s study, staining the carpet with tears. Pictures of his childhood flooded his brain, all those times he tried to please his father and he couldn’t, all those times he craved his father’s love, only to leave empty-handed. He held his wife tighter as she slept and inhaled deeply her perfume, trying to remind himself that he was a married man now, that he was happy, a far cry from the boy he once was. He was loved, and he had conquered the life that he used to fear.

He closed his eyes and felt her warmth, his fingers memorizing every detail of her skin and her curls, his ears mystified as she let out a sleepy sigh, thanking him for his love, and the memories faded away, one by one. However, the worry remained.

Some adults could be oblivious to the real responsibility of becoming a parent, but Victor wasn’t. Raising a child was an extremely important matter, especially for someone with Owen’s background, who had seen evil at such a tender age. Owen deserved the very best, and Andrea deserved the ideal husband and father by her side. But this wasn’t a business meeting, something that Victor could tackle with facts and figures alone. This particular task required feelings, and the knowledge of what it’s like to be in a family. Victor had a father and a mother, but he never had a family. He had progenitors, but not parents, not really. Well, he had his mother, but even so it was only for a short period of his life. His kidnappers had taken everything else away.

So how could he be a good father, if he didn’t have the faintest idea of how to be one? Even worse, what if he became his own father? He remembered how his father could be to his staff, he remembered how he acted, cold and dismissive, and it dawned on him that he was the same way. He remembered how his father’s employees looked at his father, with this blend of fear and respect, and wasn’t that exactly the way his staff looked at him? He blamed his father for so many things, but what if the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree? What if, even unwillingly, he would treat his son the same way?

Andrea had a good loving family, she didn’t have this problem. Her team loved her; they brought cookies on Fridays and had pizza together whenever Victor had a meeting and couldn’t pick her up for lunch. Andrea knew things like how to play hide and seek, and how to roast the perfect marshmallow with a candle, and what candies were the best. They went to the toy store and immediately she filled a basket with her childhood favorite things: some books, some playdoh, legos, and a slinky. She played with the slinky as they roamed through the store, Victor finding it insufferable, but that was his flaw, not hers. He did not understand what slinkies meant to a child; she did.

So what was his solution? The same as his father’s. The affection he didn’t know how to provide, Victor had compensated for in advance with toys, purchasing every educational toy he put his eyes on. As his father would, and had. Victor got everything he wanted, except for love. And he was doing the same thing already for his son. The thought disgusted him.

Victor left the bed carefully, trying not to wake Andrea up, going to Owen’s room. Although he had painted the walls of his son’s room himself, although he had decorated everything with the meticulous care of a loving father, all he could see now was ostentation, and it horrified him. Toys to fill the hole Victor would no doubt leave in his son’s heart. He couldn’t help but feel dirty. Not only was he being a lousy and lazy father, throwing money at everything, he was stunting his son’s development. That was despicable.

He started removing most of the toys from the shelves, leaving only the ones Andrea had picked. He would need to discuss it more thoroughly with Andrea later, but for now, he needed to make sure he wasn't doing anything wrong. He then looked at Owen's bookshelf, asking himself if all the books he had picked were age appropriate, even if on the cover it said so. Skimming through each one of them, Victor asked himself if stories of killing a wolf could lead to an adult that did not respect animals, or if reading about kissing a sleeping princess would teach Owen to love without consent. Soon he was surrounded by books and toys, frantically going through all of them, his mind reeling as he tried to discern the best options to keep.

His frenzy was interrupted by his wife's sleepy voice.

“What are you doing?” He turned to see her rubbing her eyes. "It's four AM.”

“Go back to bed, it’s cold.” He turned to her. “I just have to organize these, I will join you in a minute.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to do it in the morning. Come back to bed.” She came closer and held his hand, pulling him towards the door.

“I want to do it now!” He pulled away, grimacing as he observed his own reaction. “I just want to organize this, you don’t need to worry about me. I need to make sure everything is in order. Go back to bed.”

“Victor, Owen won’t care if his books are not alphabetically ordered.” Andrea looked at him with worry. He knew she meant well, but that only infuriated him more.

“Then what will he care about?!?” He felt himself snap again. “This is all I know how to do.” Holding a stuffed toy, he sat on the bed. “I’m terrible at everything else.”

Victor stared at the toy in his hands as he tried to keep himself in check. He hated when his feelings got the best of him, but he hated even more that he woke his wife up, and now she felt the need to comfort him. He abhorred being a nuisance.

Victor felt Andrea’s arms tighten their grip around his chest. He held her hands. They were cold.

“Do you want to catch a cold? You’re freezing.” He turned around, trying to pull her to his lap. “Come here, I’ll keep you warm.”

In a matter of seconds, Victor had successfully placed her in his lap, her arms resting on his shoulders, fingers running through his hair. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to talk.

“Are you going to tell me what’s upsetting you?” She pressed.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” He wouldn’t dare look her in the eye, shame consuming him.

“You want to quit?!?” Andrea jumped in his lap, alarmed.

“No, I don’t want to quit.” He was offended. “I would never do that, especially with something so important. What I mean to say is that I feel unprepared.”

“No parent is prepared, Victor.”

“Spare me the clichés, you know what I mean.” He snapped, exasperated. “You know my family, you know how my childhood was.” He hesitated for a second, sharing insecurities wasn’t his thing. But this was his wife. He had to be truthful. “What if I’m just like my father? What if I’m not cut out to be a father? Owen has been through so much already, he deserves good loving parents. What if I can’t be any of those things?”

“Nonsense.” She chuckled. “Of course you are lo-”

“You didn’t like me when we first met.” He interrupted her, defying her. “Not for a long time.”

“That was before I knew you.”

“You had all those nicknames for me.” He frowned at her. “King of Highhorseland. You called me a bully.”

"But now I know better. I know who you truly are, and I know I was mistaken."

“You are kind, you see the best in me.” He caressed her curls. “I have to admit sometimes I question if I really do have all those qualities you see in me.”

“Victor…”

“I’m not good at expressing feelings in a way most people understand. I can also be cold and dismissive. Most people find me unpleasant to be with. Do you think those are traits a good parent has? What if I can’t be loving and caring in the way Owen needs? All I know how to do is to organize and buy him things. Just like my father did.”

“Ok, let me just set something straight.” Andrea turned to him in all seriousness. “You are one of, if not the, most caring person I have ever met. You are upset and still all you could be concerned about a few moments ago was that I was getting cold, and here I am in your arms now.”

Victor’s gaze turned to the floor again. Again, she was seeing the best in him, ignoring all the blatant flaws he had. She held his face, making him look her in the eyes.

"You are nothing like your father. You will be an excellent father to Owen and you will be able to understand his needs even more than I will because you had those very same needs. You'll be able to relate in ways I can't possibly ." She came closer, her nose almost touching his. "Do you know why I also think you'll be extremely caring? Because parents that don't give a crap don't waste time late at night wondering if they will be good parents."

Victor lifted a hand to her face. That light she had in her eyes, that beautiful light that warmed him, that could dissolve any ice wall in a heartbeat, he wished he had it. That light could do miracles.

She got out of his lap, sitting close to the headboard.

“Come, lean on me.”

“It’s alright, you don’t need to do this.” He instantly refuted.

“Victor Lee, will you let me be a good wife and take care of my husband?” She pretended to scold him. “Come.”

“I’m too heavy, I will probably crush you.” Despite his protest, he obediently entered the comfort of her arms, his head leaning on her chest, but still worried. “Let me know if you have trouble breathing.”

“You are not as big as you think.” She teased, earning from him a chuckle.

He had to admit, being in her arms and listening to her heartbeat was amazingly comforting. Her fingers ran through his hair, calming and nurturing, and for a moment he forgot his anxiety, and just watched the sun start to rise through the window. When his mind was still, he finally listened to his heart. The love he felt for his family would make up for any lack of experience he would have. This was him treading uncharted territory, like so many times before in his life, but this time he wasn’t alone. Along with his heart was another heartbeat, sweet and steady, the one he was hearing now.

“Thank you.” He whispered shyly, expecting a teasing remark .

None came. When he looked up, he saw the love of his life sleeping soundly, her fingers still threaded in his hair. Victor could almost laugh at the sight. He should've known she would fall asleep.

Slowly and carefully so as not to wake her up, he gathered her in his arms and cradled her to bed. It was indeed pleasant to be taken care of, but he liked it so much better this way, protecting her.

Author’s note: If you liked it, don’t forget to share your thoughts with me! It always brings warmth to my heart! And my ASK box is open! I love talking and hearing from you, beautiful people! Lots of love!

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Baby Daddy - Chapter 20

You can find it on AO3 here, or the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

Derek lingers for a moment outside Stiles’s room before going in and sitting at the desk. He feels calmer here, where Stiles’s scent is concentrated in the house, and Stiles has classes until late this afternoon, so it’s not creepy, is it? It’s not like Derek is going through his drawers or anything. He would never do anything to violate Stiles’s trust in that way. He’s just sitting, with his eyes closed, breathing in his mate’s scent.

He’s not going to pressure Stiles.

Derek can wait.

For the first time in a long time he’s starting to believe in the idea of a future, and it’s easy to make room in it for Stiles. Actually, the idea of a future is still so new and nebulous that Derek finds he doesn’t need to make room for Stiles at all. Instead, it’s the idea that shifts and moves, and creates itself in the exact same shape as Stiles Stilinski. If Stiles wants to stay in Beacon Hills, Derek can imagine himself staying. If he wants to travel, then Derek can imagine that too. If he wants some job where he comes home late and tired, then Derek imagines meeting him on the doorstep of their little house, and folding him in an embrace that will make all the stresses of the day fade into nothing.

His wolf is both hopeful and content, and Derek feels more at peace than he has in years, even though the last few days have been more tumultuous than anything since the fire. And he knows that Kate is still out there, and he knows that she is still a danger to them and yet, here in this room, Derek feels safe.

How astonishing that Stiles has given him that without even knowing.

Derek’s future might shift and change to shape itself to the dimensions of Stiles, but it isn’t rigid and inflexible. It’s bigger than it appears, somehow. Stiles might be at the heart of it, but the future is as vast as Derek wants it to be. Laura is there, smiling proudly, and holding a baby with dark-eyes and a cheeky grin who will call him Uncle Derek. And Peter is there as well, prowling on the edges when it suits him to appear aloof, but with a hand cupped around the back of Derek’s neck when he needs it, pressing their foreheads together, and calling him pup. John Stilinski is there too, because he is important to Stiles. And Derek imagines that they are all tethered by pack bonds, gold and glowing in his mind, and he follows them and finds newer faces, newer heartbeats, at the ends: his friends, Boyd and Erica.

He wonders if Laura has seen their potential, or Peter has, and if there is a place for them in the pack.

And then he realises that hehas seen their potential, and he can ask Laura to consider them.

Derek is a beta in the Hale pack, and he has the right to ask his alpha to consider his friends’ potential for the bite.

He doesn’t doubt that Erica would leap at the chance. The bite would cure her epilepsy. And Boyd, of course, would follow Erica to the ends of the earth. And they would both make good pack mates, Derek thinks. He likes them, and he trusts them, and they he feels like they could belong in the pack. He feels like they would make the pack stronger, and weave their bonds into the existing threads seamlessly.

He knows that both of them want to travel to see the world, but what if Laura offered them a whole new world right here in Beacon Hills? He wonders if they would accept it immediately, or if they would still want to buy their campervan and drive around the country first. It wouldn’t matter, probably. If Laura thinks they’re good candidate to join the pack, then the offer would never be given conditionally. They would still be able to do both.

The bite is a gift, Mom always said. A bond is not a chain.

Derek thinks of Stiles, and of his idea of trust fall exercises to strengthen the pack bonds, and smiles, because it really doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it doesn’t. What the hell does Derek know? Anyway, the idea of it amuses him, which seems like another gift that Stiles has given him without knowing.

He feels like…

He feels like he’s being living underwater, and now he’s broken through the surface and drawn a breath for the first time in years, and everything is louder and brighter and more vibrant.

Derek inhales deeply, and fills his lungs again with the scent of Stiles.

***

In the afternoon, Derek finds Peter in the Stilinskis’ kitchen, staring into the refrigerator with the haughty gaze of a man who is staring into the void and is totally unbothered by the fact that it’s staring back at him.

“There is no cream in this house, Derek,” he says. “How am I supposed to make fettuccine carbonara if there is no cream in this house?”

“Why are you making fettucine carbonara?”

Peter ignores the question. “The worst thing about being in unofficial witness protection has to be the lack of cream.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “That’s probably not the worst thing.”

“You say that now,” Peter says, “but wait until we’re having grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.” He straightens up again and lets the refrigerator door swing closed. “What can I do for you, pup?”

Derek takes a breath, and pushes back against the anxiousness that rises up in him.

“I want to know how to make my pack bonds feel right again,” he says softly. “Like they did when Mom was the alpha.”

Peter regards him quietly for a moment, and the nods to the door that leads outside into the backyard. “Come with me, Derek.”

***

The backyard is small, and the lawn is a little untended and overgrown. There are garden beds that run down each side fence, but if they ever had flowers growing in them at some point, they don’t now. The back fence is lined with bushes. In one corner there’s a large tree with spreading branches that Derek thinks will need to be cut back before the next storm season. One of the boughs is scarred, and Derek can see how a child’s swing once hung from it, the ropes digging in over the years.

The porch stairs squeak as Peter steps down them onto the grass.

Derek follows him, dubious.

“Sit,” Peter says, gesturing to the lawn, and sits down himself. He waits until Derek does the same. “Now, normally I’d advocate for doing something like this in the Preserve, but we’ll make do, hmm?”

“Doing something like what?” Derek asks, brows tugging together.

“Your wolf is always closest to your skin when you’re closest to nature,” Peter tells him. “And your wolf is where you find your pack bonds.”

Derek runs his hand over the grass, and wonders if Stiles’s trust falls idea was as stupid as it sounded. Because honestly, this sounds just as dumb.

“It’s alright, Derek,” Peter says, his mouth quirking into a quick grin. Like always, he knows exactly what Derek’s thinking. “I’m not going to ask you to buy healing crystals or patchouli. But think. The last time your pack bonds felt right was before the fire, and what did you do every day back then? You spent time in the Preserve. You lived in the Preserve. It wasn’t just the loss of the rest of the pack that weakened your bonds, although of course that was most of it. It was also the fact that you took your wolf out of his territory. Out of his home. And, worse, you took him to somewhere he couldn’t feel the grass under his feet. He’s been starving, pup. Your wolf, and Laura’s, and mine while I was stuck in that hospital. So let’s just sit here for a while, and listen to the breeze, and feel the sunlight on our skin and the ground underneath our asses, hmm?”

Derek nods, and draws in a deep breath.

He becomes aware of the buzzing of insects, of the rustling of the leaves, and of the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. It’s peaceful and invigorating at the same time. He slides his palm over the grass, feeling the strands bend under his touch.

Mom always said that Beacon Hills was their territory. She said that the pack belonged here, and that they looked after the land and the land looked after them. Derek hadn’t wanted to come home, but he can’t deny that it feels right to be here. He was so scared to come back, knowing Kate would find them here, but even though that was true, he can’t deny that this is where he belongs.

Wolves are territorial. Their land is in their blood. They’re supposed to defend it, not run. And Derek has spent so long running that it became second nature. That was a mistake, he thinks now. Because their true nature should have been to stand their ground.

They were scared kids though, and they’d thought they were all alone in the world.

Scared kids who ran like pups.

Well, they’re not running now. They’re a pack, and they’re defending their territory.

Derek’s wolf presses close to his skin, its claws pricking his fingertips, and growls in agreement.

“You asked me how to strengthen pack bonds,” Peter says at last, tilting his head back so that the sunlight hits his face. “Three things. Trust, touch, and time. That’s how an alpha maintains a pack, and that’s how pack bonds are upheld. Blood relationships and the bite can make a bond, but they can’t sustain one. Not without trust, touch and time.”

Derek considers that for a moment, and then closes his eyes.

He tries to visualise the pack bond he shares with Laura. She is his alpha and his sister. It should be his cornerstone, he thinks. He imagines it as a twisting piece of gold ribbon connecting their wolves. He tries to follow it with his mind, and somehow gets muddled and focuses in on Peter’s heartbeat instead.

It’s fine.

Peter is pack too, and Peter is easier. Peter might be his uncle, but he’s also just a beta like Derek. Derek’s wolf doesn’t feel the same obligations to Peter that he does to Laura. Peter and Derek are the same rank, which makes it less complicated.

It’s fine to start with Peter.

Also, Peter is physically closest to him right now, and that must count for something. So Derek focuses on Peter instead, and Peter knocks their shoulders together, and then reaches out and curls his fingers around Derek’s wrist. His grip is gentle but firm, and Derek doesn’t feel the urge to pull away at all.

He keeps his eyes closed. “Stiles said we should do trust falls.”

“I have no idea what your wolf sees in that boy.” But Peter’s tone is too fond to be serious.

“He smells right.”

“He does,” Peter agrees, and Derek can hear the smile in his voice.

“Do you think he likes me?” Derek asks quietly.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Peter says. “It’s there, pup, don’t worry.”

Derek relaxes again.

Stiles is not a pack bond. Stiles is no curling golden ribbon in that place where Derek’s mind meets the wolf’s. Stiles is an explosion of light, a shower of it that brightens everything else. He is warmth, and home  and want  and need  and hope  and, soon, pack. Stiles is the dawn, when everything has been night for so long.

And then, just as Derek is stepping into that light, he feels everything inside him sharpen with a sudden panic that doesn’t belong to him, and then that warm glow in Derek’s mind is swamped as cold, black fear comes flooding in.

His eyes flash open.

“Derek?” Peter asks. “What is it?”

“It’s Stiles!” Derek’s heart is racing and his wolf is clawing at him, desperate to rend and snap and howl its sudden anguish for all the world to hear. “Something’s happened to Stiles!”

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (74/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[2 March 234 Before Age.  Tingi V]

There was a conference room on the second floor of the resort, which the building's architects had included more out of habit than necessity.    On the off-chance that a high-powered executive wanted to hold an important meeting in a noisy and hedonistic pleasure palace, there was a place ready and waiting for just such a purpose, with room for at least a dozen humanoids.  

Zatte was walking around the table, admiring the tantalum-plating on the trimmed edges, when Luffa entered the room.  She was two minutes early.  

"Dr. Yokan, welcome to Tingis V," Zatte said with a professional nod.  She crossed the table to shake Luffa's hand.   Both women were dressed in whatever business attire they had been able to find the night before  The coat of Luffa's pantsuit was a little big on her shoulders, but it wasn't like she planned to wear it often.  

"A pleasure, Ms. Dracham," Luffa said in an even tone.  

"I must admit, it is strange to see you like this," Zatte began.  "You seem to be adjusting well to your... transplant."

Luffa snorted.  "Compared to my original body, anything would be an improvement," she said.  "I've always found Saiyans to be very useful.  This one makes a most effective vessel."

"And quite attractive, if I may say so," Zatte added.   "If you need money to fund your experiments, Doctor, you could always give up mercenary work to pursue exotic dancing."

"I'd prefer to get to business," Luffa said coldly.  

"Of course,"  Zatte said as she sat on the edge of the table.  "I've been reviewing the profiles you sent me for your team.   I'd like to discuss them before we begin negotiations."

Their roles were fictional, but the 'business' was real enough.  In reality, Luffa and Zatte had spent the last month training a band of Saiyans who had been trying to follow in Luffa's footsteps.  Until recently, none of them had ever met Luffa, and their leader, Zaperc, had based most of his teachings off of a self-help book that had been marketed as an unauthorized biography of Luffa.   The book was wildly inaccurate, and Luffa had been so disgusted with their practices that she resolved to straighten them out herself.  Zatte was happy to help, since she considered herself to be a disciple of Luffa's in a manner of speaking, and she was hopeful that she and Zaperc's group could connect over this.  

The trip to Tingis V seemed like a good opportunity to review the Saiyans' progress, and so they had planned to discuss it over dinner, until Luffa suggested this scenario instead.  "Dr. Yokan" was a compromise.   Luffa was uneasy playing non-Saiyan roles, so Zatte suggested an alien whose brain inhabited a Saiyan's body.  

"Let me be clear," Luffa said.  "I won't be joining these Saiyans in the field.   Zaperc will be in command of the mission."

"He's certainly experienced enough," Zatte said as she shuffled a stack of papers.   "And I admire his idealism.   It's good for employees to have their own motivation."

Luffa sat in one of the chairs and crossed her arms.  "He's fixated on the Super Saiyan legend," she said.  "He knows how to inspire the others and keep them working together, but he relies to much on what he's read in books.  And he favors his son over the others, which could be a problem."

"Then let's talk about the son," Zatte said.  "Brockle's the strongest, yes?   And very resourceful.   He's shown a lot of improvement over the past month.   Your pet Dorlun speaks very highly of him in her reports."

"She's too charitable," Luffa muttered.   "Brockle's strong, but unprincipled.  He doesn't care about anything but himself, which means he doesn't care if he wins or loses."

"There's nothing wrong with a healthy sense of self-preservation, is there?" Zatte asked.  

"Not at all," Luffa said, "but too much self-interest can lead to problems in the mercenary business.   Brockle has to be willing to take other people's problems as his own.   He wants your money, Ms. Dracham, but he doesn't want to be responsible for your interests.   I'm trying to break him of that."

"I see," Zatte said.   "Let's move on to Bodi then."

"He has promise," Luffa admitted.   "His constant flirting is a problem, but only if you happen to be in the same room with him.  I didn't know a Saiyan could be so shameless until I met him."

"Agreed," Zatte said.  "He's conscientious in a quiet sort of way, but not exceptional.  He keeps their base clean, and gets along well with the others.   I wouldn't put him in charge, but he seems to have become a good team player.  Which is more than I can say for Hijik..."

Luffa looked up at the ceiling in frustration.  "Hijik," she groaned.  

"His attitude has improved over the past month," Zatte offered.  

"I'll be blunt, Ms. Dracham," Luffa said, "Hijik's contempt for women is typical for the Saiyan race.  What's really astonishing is the way he tries to turn his insecurities into some sort of hare-brained political manifesto."

"Some would say that a soldier's opinions don't matter," Zatte suggested.  "As long as he gets the job done, he can hold whatever toxic worldview he pleases."

"A sick mind infects the entire body, sooner or later," Luffa replied.  "He blames women for all his problems, because it's easier than confronting his own weaknesses.  If he was actually stronger than all women, he'd just find some other thing to blame.  As it is, he can't beat me, so he makes excuses.   The only thing he ever respected was the Super Saiyan, but only when he believed the Super Saiyan was a man who would have been just like him.  He refuses to learn anything that contradicts what he already thinks.   Prove him wrong, and he just gets resentful about it."  

"But he has shown you greater respect recently,"  Zatte observed.  "He even defers to the Dorlun now."

"Only out of fear," Luffa grumbled.  "A dog can learn that much.   You want soldiers defending your holdings.   I'm not sure Hijik qualifies as one."

"You think he'd fold at the first sign of adversity?"  

Luffa nodded.  "He's the worst kind of loser, the type who embraces defeat and tries to justify it with a lot of philosophical rambling.  In a pinch, he'd abandon your cause, Ms. Dracham.  Then he'd claim that you had set him up to fail, and that he was right to lose the battle because you were trying to emasculate him somehow."

"All right," Zatte said.  "Let's move on to the women.   Lesseri seems to be the most professional of the team.  She reminds me of another Saiyan mercenary I knew once."

Luffa raised an eyebrow at this.   "I'm not sure your friend would take that as a compliment," she said with a harrumph.  "Lesseri's disciplined enough.  She knows her way around military hardware.   Not as strong as Brockle, but she makes up for it in common sense."

"You're right," Zatte said with a smirk.  "Those are terrible qualities.  I should apologize to my friend the next time I see her."

"My point is that she lacks the passion to drive those qualities to their fullest potential," Luffa went on.  "Brockle's immature, but at least he wants to get stronger, even if it's just to please his father.  Lesseri wants to be successful, but she doesn't want to put in the work.   All she's interested in is stuffing her bank account with credits and racking up victories any way she can.    Self-improvement for its own sake doesn't mean anything to her."  

Zatte stroked the tip of her chin with her thumb.   "Another loser who justifies their failures, is that what you're telling me?"

Luffa nodded.  "She's not as delusional as Hijik, but it amounts to the same problem.   A potentially great warrior who's content to remain average.  I blame it on her upbringing.   A brat needs parents to teach them these things."

"What about Vigurd?" Zatte said.   "I'd say she's taken your lessons to heart.  As much as Hijik hates the idea of taking instruction from a woman, Vigurd seems to relish it."

"She's too ruthless," Luffa muttered.  "She uses it as a crutch.   Thinks raising children is a waste of time, as if there's nothing to be gained from reviewing the basics with a kid.  And is she really any stronger for all the shortcuts she's taken?"

Zatte waited for her to continue, and when the pause was long enough, she decided to move on.   "Well, that just leaves-"

"Honestly, I think they're all looking for a shortcut," Luffa suddenly said.  "Zaperc discovered that book and thought it would help him or his son get stronger, and the others threw in with him for the same reason.   They'll follow orders, and they'll train, but they'll never get it.   They want a set of instructions to follow.   A secret formula that skips all the hard parts."

Zatte screwed up her face as she regarded Luffa.  It wasn't surprising that Luffa should be so hard on her students, but it sort of conflicted with the characters they were playing.   "Dr. Yokan" was supposed to be selling this team's services, but so far she seemed to be talking herself out of a contract.  

"Does that analysis cover Jikama as well?" Zatte asked in an effort to keep Luffa on track.   "I've found him to be... er, your Dorlun aide tells me he's handled the training very well."

"Of course he has," Luffa said.  "He's only half-Saiyan."

She had stopped looking at Zatte, and had put her elbows on the table so she could lean forward and rest her head on her hands as she stared pensively at the surface.  Zatte waited for Luffa to explain, but she never did.  

"I... know he's half-Saiyan," Zatte said.   "His mother is Chezzi.  That's how Zaperc chose Nat-Chezz for their base of operations.  What about it?"

Luffa sighed.  "It means that what works for him may not work for the others," she said.    Mixed-bloods are tricky to measure.  They're often less powerful than full-blooded Saiyans, or they lack the Saiyan fighting spirit, or both.   Jikama seems motivated and attentive, but that might only be because he's protecting his planet and his mother's people.   That won't carry over to the others, and whatever will work for them might not be effective for him."

"You make it sound like you've already given up on him," Zatte said.  

"I already have," Luffa said.  "He's welcome to learn whatever he can from me, but I'm keeping my expectations low."

"He's one of your own people," Zatte objected.  Now she was the one breaking character, but that no longer mattered in light of what she was hearing.   "Are you really writing him off because he's half-alien?"

"There's going to be things he can't do as well, Zattie," Luffa said.   "I don't hold it against him.   He's got the makings of a fine warrior.   But among Saiyans, he'll always be second-class.   He knows that as well as I do.   I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"No, I suppose I don't," Zatte said.   "All right, fine.   So we've been working with this bunch for a month.   They've tightened up their teamwork and they've got a better handle on how to fight a defensive war, but that's about it.   Their attitudes still stink, and they'll probably never live up to your expectations.   Where do we go from here, xan'nil-Dor?"

Luffa groaned as she leaned back in her chair.  "I don't know," she said.   "I like Planet Nat-Chezz's prospects, at least in the long term.  They could always hire a more professional squad to defend their planet and use what they've learned from working with us.   And Jikama's descendants could end up becoming a nice little warrior tribe in a century or two.   Hell, Bodi might settle down and start a family himself.   It's the Saiyans I'm worried about.  I don't mean these seven.   I mean all Saiyans, everywhere."

Zatte sat down beside her and took her hand.  "You've been saying things like that since we first met Zaperc's gang," she said.  "I keep thinking you're just in one of your moods, but this is different.   What's eating you, Luffa?"  

"You remember that fight we had a while back?" Luffa asked.  

Zatte laughed.  "Only the last thousand or so.   You'll have to narrow it down for me, buster."

"Eight months ago, I think.   I read your mind and picked up something about how you thought I'd changed so much since we first met.   And I didn't take it very well..."

"Oh that one," Zatte said.   "I thought you were going to put me off the ship, you were so angry."  

"I was upset because I didn't want it to be true," Luffa said.  "I've become so different from other Saiyans already, and everyone keeps trying to make it out like I turned into something else, like a mutant or a goddess or whatever.  I'm stronger and... glowier... but I'm still a Saiyan.  I'm still me."

"I know," Zatte said.  

"But I have changed," Luffa said.  "I was just afraid to admit it, because it felt like I was giving up my identity.   Like that green haired guy you were flirting with last night."

"You're still worried over him?" Zatte asked.  "Look, all I did was talk to him--"

Luffa shook her head  "I know.   What I mean is, I felt bad for the guy because we were doing this silly character thing and he wasn't in on the gag.   He probably doesn't even care, but somehow it still bugs me."  

"Well, when you put it that way," Zatte said, "I suppose it was a little unfair to lead him on, even if it was just for a few minutes.   I only did it to get a rise out of you, and I guess it worked, but this wasn't quite what I had in mind."

"What I'm saying is, I don't even know the guy," Luffa said.  "A few years ago, I would have just as soon killed him if he got in my way.   Now I'm worried that we might have hurt his feelings."  

She stood up and pulled her hand away from Zatte's.   "At first I thought it was this telepathy thing, that I was contaminating my mind with other people's thoughts, but it's more than that.   I had to be extremely careful when I first turned into a Super Saiyan.   I've gotten used to being this strong, but I still think before I act a lot more than I used to.    It's given me a perspective that most Saiyans wouldn't have.   Meeting Zaperc and the others, it's hard to ignore that."  

"That doesn't mean you're not a Saiyan anymore, Luffa," Zatte assured her.   "You've grown as a person, that's all."

"No, there's more to it than just that," Luffa said.  "I've always been different.   Kandai knew it, and I think my father did too.  I love fighting.   Every Saiyan does, but they were never as excited about it as I was.   I used to think they were just being mellow, or that I was trying to compensate for how weak I used to be, but now..."

"I have to admit," Zatte said,  "You always made Saiyans sound more noble than the ones I've met.   It's like you're following a different set of rules than the rest of them."

"Yeah," Luffa said.  "My mother taught me everything I know about the Saiyan race.  Who we are, where we came from.   Sometimes I don't think even she took it all seriously, but I did.  I thought everyone else did too.    When my father betrayed me, I thought he was the exception, but then Kandai was in on it, and..."

"You were hoping Zaperc and his followers would be different," Zatte said.   "They already sort of admired you, so you thought they might be more like the kind of Saiyans you could get along with."

Luffa crossed her arms and turned to face her.  "I mean, it's stupid, really.   I'm whining to you about all this, when you're the one who's really alone.   We haven't come across another Dorlun in over a year."

"Part of me is grateful for that, to be honest," Zatte said.  "I decided you were a xan'nil-Dor, someone sacred.   The rules say I'm not supposed to do that on my own, but I don't have a choice right now.  If we ever do find a Dorlun settlement, the first thing I'll need to do is submit you to a council of community elders and let them make the final decision.   I always worry what might happen if they reject my claim."

"Why?" Luffa asked.  "It's not like you need to be right about this."

"But I am right," Zatte said.  "I know I am.   And if they don't agree with me, I'll have to turn my back on them, and then I'll be just as alone as I am right now.   As alone as you probably feel in a room full of Saiyans, I suppose."

Luffa considered this for a minute, then tugged at the collar of her blouse.  "That's why we're really wearing these disguises, isn't it?" she said with an amused sniff.   "It's not so we can escape.  It's so we can blend in, and pretend we're not alone for a while."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Zatte said.  

Luffa took Zatte by the hands and pulled her gently out of the chair.  "Let's go back to Nat-Chezz," she said.  

"Right now?" Zatte asked.  "We've got two more nights reserved."

"We'll get dinner first, at least," Luffa said.   "But I think we ought to get back to work.   Maybe we can figure out how to get through to these Saiyans."

"You seem confident all of a sudden."

"Well, it's been about sixteen hours since our last argument," Luffa said.  "If we can communicate with each other that well, then anything's possible."

*******

[2 March 234 Before Age.  Awlnee III.]

Things hadn't gone well for Yarrow since his partner had died.  At the time, he had written off Okartish as weak.  Any Saiyan who could be slain so easily deserved his fate.    Okartish's assassin had tried to take out Yarrow as well, and Yarrow had killed her almost effortlessly.    Clearly, Okartish was dead weight.  Their partnership had been fruitful, but this was a sign that it was time for Yarrow to strike out on his own, or so he had believed.

As things turned out, Yarrow gained a new appreciation for Okartish's contributions to their team.  As a solo operator, Yarrow had no one to watch his back in battle.  Once, while looting a planet in the Narl Cluster, a thief broke into his ship and stole key engine components.  In the time it took Yarrow to recover the parts and repair his ship, the planet's defenders had summoned reinforcements.  In his haste to escape, he had been forced to leave most of his plunder behind.  Yarrow had dealt with other hassles, too, but the worst of these was the long trips through space.  Okartish always had a joke or a story to tell, and he knew his way around alien women, which came in handy at spaceports.  He used to enjoy the downtime between missions, but now he dreaded the long days of solitude.

But it couldn't be helped.  Okartish was still dead whether Yarrow appreciated him or not, and Yarrow was still greedy enough that he wasn't in any hurry to share his spoils with a new partner.  Instead, he saved his money and purchased a state-of-the-art entertainment system for his ship.  Now, instead of staring at the stars on the main viewscreen, he could watch movies, sporting events, cockfighting tournaments, and anything else he could pick up on the ship's subspace antenna.  It even included a library of interactive games, though he had no idea how to play them.  It hardly mattered, since he would have plenty of time to practice.  His next target was a rich and isolated world in the Coldin Sector, and it would take nearly two months for him to reach it.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he was actually looking forward to a long trip.  When he had finished his meal, he barked for the waiter to bring his bill, and rushed out the door to get back to his ship.    He couldn't decide what to watch first, but there was no hurry.  It would be fun just to navigate through the multitude of options for a while.  Once the hatch of his ship was finally opened, he hurried inside and headed straight for the cockpit.

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard voices... and music.

Yarrow reached out with his senses, but the only life energy he could detect aboard the ship was his own.  He moved cautiously down the rest of the corridor and found the cockpit dark and empty, except for the movie playing on the viewscreen.  He turned on the lights and found an assortment of empty bottles and food containers on the floor, and the seat of his chair was covered in crumbs.

His first assessment was that someone had broken into his ship again, but it didn't make sense for a thief to lounge around and watch a movie.  He pulled up a diagnostic report on the ship's computer to see if any parts were missing, but everything was all accounted for.  The intruder might have tampered with the diagnostic sensors, but why bother?  If he was long gone, it didn't matter if Yarrow knew what he stole.  And from the mess in the cockpit, he certainly wasn't trying to cover his tracks.

This suggested that the intruder had broken in just to watch some movies and eat Yarrow's snacks.  But that was ridiculous.  There were dozens of larger vessels with better accomodations, and none of those involved risking the wrath of an angry Saiyan.

Then he heard someone say the word "Saiyan" on the viewscreen, and he finally noticed which movie was playing.    It was that ridiculous Luffa movie.  He had never watched it himself, but he had seen enough  advertisements to recognize the lead actress playing the title character.  She was an attractive girl, but too young and thin and delicate to look like a credible warrior, and her tail was all wrong.

A lot of Saiyans considered Luffa to be a myth, or an alien posing as a Saiyan.  No one could ever agree on the details, and even Luffa's gender was hotly disputed in some circles.  Yarrow had no opinion on the matter, except that the movie he was now seeing was a lousy depiction of how Saiyans actually lived.

He wondered if the intruder was an obsessed fan of the film.  Perhaps they had picked his ship because it belonged to a Saiyan, out of some delusional hope that it would bring them one step closer to the imaginary world of the movie.  But how did they get in?  For that matter, how did they get out again?  After the trouble in the Narl Cluster, he'd rigged the ship to require a security code to open the hatches from the inside.

And just as he started to wonder if the intruder was still on board, he felt a pinprick on the back of his neck.  Instinctively, he swung his arm around to strike back at whatever had hit him, but there was nothing there.  He looked around the cockpit desperate, rubbing his neck with frustration, and then he started to become woozy.  He stumbled towards the ship's computer terminal, though he wasn't sure what he planned to do once he got there.  When he finally made it, all he managed was to drop to his knees and slump over the controls.

"The poison will finish you in a few minutes," announced a familiar voice.  "It'll be less painful if you lie still, but it's entirely up to you."

He felt a burning sensation in his muscles.  In spite of her warning, he forced himself to look up to find the source of the voice.  And there she was, perched on the seatback of his chair, looking as if she'd been there the entire time.

"In case you're interested," she said, "Okartish preferred to lie still."

"Y-You!" he gasped.  It even hurt to speak, and he was having trouble breathing, but he was too horrified to stop.  "I killed you...!"

"The joke's on you, Saiyan," she said as she picked up a bag of snacks on the armrest and began to eat.  "I was already dead."

He wanted to know what that meant.  He wanted to know how she had found him and why she was doing this, but the burning sensation in his body finally became too intense, and he fell to the deck.  A few feet away, his murderer sat in his chair and watched the rest of the movie while she waited for him to die.

"Aw, this is my favorite part," she said as she rustled the bag in her hands.  She continued to comment aloud on the movie as she watched, but Yarrow would never hear it.

NEXT: Trial by Fire