#because i spent all my time fishing and i left them to starve mostly

[dayurno]

i usually think it's bullshit when people say 'if you like x character it's because you're like them' but lately in case anyone was wondering i have been listening to videos on marxist history while single-mindedly making a self-sufficient high profit farm on stardew valley without having talked to a single romanceable character. hopefully this says nothing about me nor kevin day

[demonslayedher]

"Grandpa Kokushibo" AU

This started as a simple little joke in those Muichiro doodles. And then it was just supposed to be a simple little drabble. A simple little Crack Fic. But next thing you know...

------

“You… you are my descendent…”

“…huh…”

Six flaring eyes loomed over Tokito, the two in the middle etched with writing. Upper Moon… One…

“Those eyes…”

Having been so locked on the demon’s eyes, he didn’t realize at first that it was talking about his own. “…huh…?”

“…They’re red… a sign… a Kakushaku-no-Ko… you have… potential…”

“……huh…..”

“Become… a demon…”

“…huh………. Huh!?”

With little recourse to convince the demon to leave like he might attempt with a bear or a boar, Tokito brought the demon home. “Sweetheart? I, uh… a relative of mine is visiting.”

His wife, whose complexion was lovely even without the luxuries of make-up, smiled up sweetly from where she knelt, with their two young sons asleep on the futon before her. “You still have family? What happy news---”

The demon, Kokushibo, bowed lowly so that he could fit inside the door. “Good evening,” he said.

“…G…Good evening,” she gawked, her soft green eyes wide and locked. “A… a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure… is mine.”

“Uh, so, it seems this is my great-grandfather of sorts. A great many ‘greats.’ A few centuries’ worth of ‘greats.’ What a coincidence that we’ve just run into each other.”

“It’s no… coincidence. I have… always been searching… for Sun Breath users…”

Tokito smiled with his face like puddy. “Sun Breath? What’s that?”

“…to kill them…”

Tokito and his wife shared a “ghh!!” as their throats tightened.

“I did not expect… to find the remains of the Tsugikuni Clan… out here… in this… dump…”

“I, uh, I sort of recall that name being way back in the family. But on the wrong side of the war, you know? We haven’t been a warrior clan since the start of Edo times.”

“A pity… but… no matter… you will have… a greater master to serve…”

“Um! Uh! Would you like to meet your grandsons?”

“Honey, what are you—”

Six eyes widened. “Grandsons?”

“I have twin boys! I’m busy raising them, I don’t have any time for swordsmanship, haha! All I know how to do is swing an ax.”

“Heirs… are important… they’ll do no good… as children… You,” he looked to Tokito’s wife, whose eyes were swirling trying to follow his gaze. “You do it. You raise them. I’ll… train my descendent…”

“Train…?”

“You may have… the ability… to attain the Breath… of the Sun…”

“D---di---di—didn’t you say you were going to kill S-S-Sun Breath users?”

“Why would I… kill my descendent…?”

Tokito was doing his best, but he was hitting his limits for how many more surprises he could take that evening. “Listen, I… I only want what’s best for my family. I want to watch my sons grow up, and teach them how to live a simple life out here in nature. Ancestor or not, we want nothing to do with demons.”

“My dear,” his wife said, some surprised admiration in her tone.

“I have to ask you to leave.”

“I cannot.”

“You will take ‘no’ for an answer!”

“I cannot,” Kokushibo stressed. “The sun is rising. Sunlight… will kill me…”

“…ah… oh. That’s a problem.”

“I’ll remain… here…”

“I’m sorry, I can’t have you do that. You’re a demon, and—”

“Defy me… and I will kill your family.”

“---GHH!” the Tokito couple swallowed harder.

----- The boys woke up to find a demon quietly sitting cross-legged in the corner. Yuichiro cried, Muichiro stared. Tokito didn’t want to scare them, however rightfully they should be, so he smiled and introduced the demon as their grandfather. Kokushibo politely bowed his head. The boys were quickly accepting. In his heart, Tokito cried and begged the forgiveness of his religious parents for not teaching them a proper distaste for evil.

In a battle of will, Tokito would be easily outmatched. But for however many years Kokushibo had on him, he didn’t seem like a quick thinker. Tokito might be able to beat him in a battle of wits. He had an ability that was sure to ward Kokushibo off, if only he could wield it with the right timing.

“If you leave me no choice, Grandfather, then I guess I must learn this Sun Breathing swordsmanship you keep talking about! Maybe you’re right, maybe I do have potential! I’d like to think all my practice cutting down trees makes me adept with a blade,” he smiled, his hands proudly at his hips. “Will you take a look this evening?”

“Yes… I eagerly await… seeing your potential… my descendent…”

Tokito grinned. He couldn’t wait either. In the meantime, Yuichiro and Muichiro spent the daylight hours at either side of the unusual houseguest.

“Grandpa, you have flames on your face. Do those hurt?”

“They do not…”

“You have as many eyes as a bug. Why do you have so many eyes?”

“Because… I am… a demon…”

“It looks gross. With all those eyes, can’t you see it looks gross?”

“I can see… a great many things…”

“Why are there eyes on your sword? Can your sword see?”

“My sword is made with… my blood… its eyes… are my eyes…”

“Is your sword a bug?”

“What’s its name?”

“Kyokokukamusari.”

“Kyokko…”

“Kyokyaku…”

“Kyokyakoku…”

“Kyokukuka…”

“Your tongues… are young.”

When evening fell, Tokito put his plan into action. It took no special effort on his part, all he had to do was trust himself.

“Yahh! Yaahh!” he yelled as he swung his ax. “Yaah! Yar! Yagh! Yuh!! Ya—AHHH!” he spun around and fell down, nearly lopping off his own arm. Perfect!

All of Kokushibo’s eyes, even the ones down his sword were blazing on him, and he waited for Kokushibo’s reaction. There was no fooling those eyes, which made Tokito’s plan all the better.

That demon would know!

“You are very…”

“Yes?”

“Clumsy.”

Precisely! This would chase that pesky demon off, wouldn’t it?

“I can see… it will take… many years… to train you…”

…no.

-----

The centuries had made Kokushibo resilient to setback, and time flowed at a different pace for him. “Become a demon now… and you will have… all the time you need… to attain… Sun Breathing…”

“Now, now wait!” Tokito waved his arms. He had taken the full next day to get his wits rounded back up, while Kokushibo resided indoors again patiently allowing the curious bos to poke the eyes of his sword, proving to them he was too powerful to be harmed by their tiny fingers. Yuichiro contemplated poking Kokushibo in one of the eyes on his face, but he hesitated when all six were focused on him, and he cried and buried his face behind his hands. “Wait. Wait. You can wait, can’t you?”

“Wait… for what?”

“If it’s inevitable that I have to become a demon, can’t you wait for me to be a human longer?”

“What good is there… in being human?”

“I want to watch my boys grow up!”

“I am a demon… I see them… perfectly fine.”

“Well, I mean, but, no, I mean, like, out there, having a normal family life with them. Working in the mountains, coming home, making food.”

“A human body… is weak… and will starve… without food… A waste… of time… to constantly…. work… for… Your body… will grow old… and frail… Become a demon… and these concerns… will vanish…”

“You—you make a compelling argument, Grandfather. But being human is good too!”

“How… is being human… better… than being… a demon?”

“I, well… is… isn’t it weird to learn Sun Breathing if I can’t see the sun?”

The demon’s eyes, every last one of them, went wide. Tokito had him! “You’re… right…” he said, stunned.

“Haha, oh, Grandfather! It’s been so long since you’ve seen it that you must had forgotten about it! All the creatures of this world are meant to be touched by the sun’s rays, it’s the natural way of things. It’s a blessing.”

“Sun Breathing… may require… practice… under the sun…”

“Haha, it may take a while, but I guess I’ll have to do my best on my own.”

“I will… train you… at night… and by day… you will train… under the sun…”

-----

The arrangement seemed to be working a while. Whether Tokito trained during the day or not (he did not), his progress was slow. His wife had come to get accustomed to the situation, knowing she had to make the best of it until the demon hopefully got bored and left. Having the boys so entertained during the day helped her get a lot of extra work done around the house.

“Grandfather,” she addressed him. “We got a great catch for dinner tonight, look at the size of this fish! What part of the fish is your favorite? I’ll serve that part for you.”

“Demons… do not eat… fish…”

“Oh, how rude of us. What would better suit your tastes?”

“Demons… do not consume… human food… we would… vomit it…”

“Ahhh… oh. Well, we can’t have that.”

“Grandpa. Grandpa,” Muichiro tugged at his hakama. “Then what do demons eat?”

“Humans.”

Muichiro stared, and after what felt like a long time in human experience, his face flushed and his eyes welled with tears. Yuichiro pinched his cheek. “Don’t cry, stupid. He’s only teasing you.”

“…oh,” Muichiro, red-faced and cheek still stretched smiled with relief.

Their mother, meanwhile, was blanched white, the fish still flopping around in her stiff hands.

--

“You’re not… making much… progress… could it be… you’re not… practicing… in daylight…?”

“Ah, ahhhh, yes, I’m afraid not,” Tokito sweated profusely. “That… that’s just part of being human. There’s so much work to do all day and then I have to sleep through so much of the night. I may never learn swordsmanship at this rate, hahaha!”

“Then hurry… and become a dem—”

“S-Sure must had been nice to be in a samurai clan back in your day, huh? Servants to do all the tedious chores and stuff so you could focus and train! May, maybe it’d be nice to hear some stories about when you were growing up! The boys would love to know their family history too, I’m sure!”

“…what chores…?”

“Oh, haha, oh, Grandfather! Did you not even know what chores were? What a charmed life—”

“What chores?” he stressed.

“Uhh---well---chopping trees, mostly.”

“Your ax… hand it to me…”

“Uhh… yes, sir.”

“I will chop your trees… so you… may advance… in your training…”

“Ye… yes, sir.”

-----

They had an excess of very high-quality wood on a regular basis. It sold so well on Tokito’s occasional trips into town that he found himself with more money than he ever had in his life. “Use it… to buy food…” Kokushibo instructed him. “Nourish your family… with it… buy warmer clothes… save your labor…”

Tokito had been raised being told that demons were evil, but he began to question that. They were all part of a world beyond humans, populated by Buddhas and Tengu and foxes, who was to say that their nature was entirely evil?

All at once, one night after months of the demon’s constant presence, he disappeared. Tokito and his wife cried with relief, and Tokito vowed to use the gifts the supernatural ancestor bestowed on them to raise his family well, and to never forget humility in the face of things outside their human experience.

But then he came back the following night.

“G-Grandfather,” he trembled. “Y-y-you’re back.”

“I went out… to feed. Now… continue… your practice…”

Inside, his wife cried on behalf of them both, for Tokito was too scared to anything but obey.

-----

Two years went by. With no choice, Tokito could not help that his swordsmanship improved. “Hhm,” Kokushibo nodded with approval. “Soon… I shall… find you a sword… no longer… a wooden one…”

“Aw, you don’t need to trouble yourself, Grandfather!”

“It is… no trouble… to steal one…”

“Well, what I mean is, I’m still so clumsy! Hahaha! Sure would be a waste of effort to kill myself by accident, wouldn’t it?”

“Hmm… you are right…”

“Hahaha!”

“I will… make you a demon first…”

“No! No, wait! I’ll keep practicing, I’ll keep practicing! Let’s hold off on a real sword until I’m ready!”

“You are… delaying… the inevitable…”

“And you are exceedingly patient, Grandfather!”

“That person… is not… so patient… he watches… and tells me… to hurry… and be done… with you…”

“Ghh!” he gulped as he went pale. He should never had forgotten his humility facing that which was outside human experience.

“Gra-a-a-a-nd-paaaa!” came a voice at the door of the hut. “Come fold origami with us!”

“I would… rather play Go…” the demon answered as he turned around and answered the summons.

“Go is boring!”

“You will… appreciate it when you are older…”

His wits. Tokito had to keep thinking with his wits.

-----

Another year went by. Kokushibo remained outwardly patient, but once again made mention of ‘that person.’

“He has… more tasks for me… than to be here… tonight… I will grant you his blood…”

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” Tokito raised his voice at him. This was it. He had to enact his next plan. “What are all these ‘tasks’ anyway? You still take plenty of time away to be a hitman, what else could he possibly have you do?”

Kokushibo answered very simply. “Look for… the blue… spider lily.”

“Ha! Spider lilies aren’t blue, everyone knows that,” sneered Yuichiro.

“The spider lilies are all dead,” said Muichiro. “It’s winter.”

If Kokushibo had twelve eyebrows, he would had raised them in their direction. “I… see… winter… of course… they must… be seasonal…”

“Are you senile, Grandpa? Of course they’re seasonal. They only grow in autumn.”

“You see big patches of them all of a sudden!”

“Autumn… of course… how could I… had forgotten…”

“That’s to be expected, don’t be so hard on yourself, Grandfather,” Tokito’s wife sweetly smiled to him. “They’re a daytime flower, it must be so long since you’ve seen them.”

“Daytime… yes… of course… they’re under… the sun… no wonder… it’s been… impossible… for demons… for a thousand… years… that person’s… blood… is swelling… within me… with… frustration…”

With the rising tenseness in Kokushibo’s voice, Tokito’s muscle sprung with their own tension. “N-no wonder! How sad! How sad that demons can’t go under the sun! I hope I never—”

“That person… will give you… more time. For you… must search… in the daytime…”

“Ghh…” he swallowed. “Y… yes, sir.”

“That’s stupid,” said Yuichiro. “You’re not going to find any in winter.”

“Yes… it’s stupid. You will… search next autumn… and train… until then… and…”

“……….and……….?”

“Play… Go… with me. These rascals… have no… appreciation for… Go…”

“It’s boring, Grandpa!”

“I’m trying, I can’t remember all the rules!”

“Let’s play Shogi instead!”

“Fine… lay the board… let’s play Shogi…”

-----

Two more years passed. Tokito had reprieve from his training during the autumns to search for the blue spider lilies, and one untimely fall in those searches gave him a much longer reprieve from training. His leg was badly broken, and he spent most of the winter bedridden.

“Haha… I’m still so clumsy…” he laughed, covering up that he also wanted to cry.

“And now we have to do all your work,” grumbled Yuichiro.

“Are you still in pain, Dear?”

“A… a lot, yes…”

“Become… a demon…”

“N-no! I’m still so clumsy, I haven’t mastered any of the Sun Breath yet!”

“I don’t want Daddy to get hurt anymore,” Muichiro said with tear-stained eyes. “Next autumn, I’ll go look for the flowers instead.”

“Ghh!” Tokito and his wife looked to him, helpless to tell their son to stop.

“Very good… a good child…” Kokushibo patted his head. “You will… be useful… to that person… too…”

It had to stop. Tokito needed to hurry and eliminate this demon, for the sake of his family.

-----

The following autumn, his leg still bothered him. On most days it was fine, but when it rained or when he climbed too stiff of an incline, the pain kept coming back. He could not use it as any excuse to skip his training, though, for Kokushibo would use that as an excuse to rip him from his humanity.

He kept up the training, as well as ventured out through the mountains to search, and ventured down the mountain periodically to sell the wood that Kokushibo cut. On one of those trips into town, he overheard the gossip.

“I heard it was demons.”

He froze to the spot and listened. He knew it wasn’t Kokushibo, for he was careful not to cause any incidents that would inconvenience the Tokito family—a strange thing that Tokito was sorry for being grateful for. But, perhaps if an incident had occurred closer to them, he’d have heard the following gossip sooner.

“The Demon Slayers are sure to catch it.”

“Demon Slayers?”

“Swordsmen with the sun in their blades, they fight with Breaths to take those monsters down.”

Breaths! Like Sun Breathing!

“Um!” he butted in. “How can I find these Demon Slayers?”

“How? We don’t know. Do you have a demon on your hands, Tokito?”

“…Ghh!... N… No…” he bit his lip and rolled his eyes back to avoid looking at them as he lied.

Maybe there was someone out there who could help him. But how would he find them without raising Kokushibo’s suspicion? The stress made it hard for him to sleep and gave him headaches. His could not risk any talk of this at home, but his sweet wife could see how it pained him, and she whispered with a light cough to let her and the boys take care of searching for the blue spider lilies.

-----

His wife fell ill. A common thing, for humans.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather. For now while I’m still human, I still have human responsibilities to my family. I need to find medicine for her. I’ll be back after I go fetch a herb that will help.”

“You know not where… to find… the blue spider lily… but know… the location… of… a little… herb…?”

“Yes. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s… raining…”

“I know exactly where it is.”

“Where… is it…”

“It grows on the side of a cliff near here.”

“You… know… of plants… on a cliff… but not… the blue… spider lilies…? You… wreak… of… a liar…”

Tokito ran cold.

“And… to think… someone… as… clumsy… as you… would… try… in this… weather…? You…”

This was not the time for everything to crash and fail. His wife’s lungs were in a bad state, if Kokushibo were to do something to him now—

“…are… more… idiotic than I thought… stay here… my… stupid descendent. No wonder… you take… so long to progress…”

The demon very soon returned, unbothered by how his clothes and hair left dripping wet pools throughout their home. He did not know which herb it was so he had cleaned the cliffs of them, allowing Tokito to sort through and pick out the ones that would help. Tokito made them into a medicine to treat his wife, and while it eased her coughing over the following day, she was still in a worrisome state. Kokushibo rolled all six eyes before leaving again that night, returning very close to dawn with his hands full of medicines. “Something… in these… ought to do it…”

It took a little careful trial and error, but a few of them turned out to be very effective, and she soon made a complete recovery.

And now, Tokito had a debt to pay.

-----

He made progress in Sun Breathing. Something was breaking through, making sense in his muscles. Kokushibo watched all the more silently with each night. They both had the sense that there was a change coming soon. Tokito was on the last of his wits.

The time Kokushibo spent around his sons, influencing them… it likewise had to end.

“Grandfather,” he asked, his forehead against his thumbs. “Where do we go once I can no longer be in the sun?”

“You can reside here… as long as that person… allows you to… you want… to watch over your sons… do you not…?”

“I don’t know that much about demons. But if I become one, they’ll be in danger, won’t they?”

“…I will make certain… no harm… will come to your family…”

Tokito closed his eyes with a sigh. “Thank you.”

“Of the two of them… Muichiro… may also… be of use… to that person…”

“Ghh!” his whole chest tightened as much as his throat.

He had let this go on too long. How could he find them? How could he find the Demon Slayers? How could he do without ‘that person’ knowing?

----- The sun! Whatever action he took, it had to be under the protection of the sun!

“Tokito, good to see you!”

“It’s been months!”

“You had us worried.”

And humans! There was a strength in humans he couldn’t forget, and must always find himself humbled by. Anything he could ever accomplish on his own was so small, but with the help of more people! “Thank you for keeping us in mind! My wife fell ill a while, but she’s recovered now.”

“Psst. Are you still, you know?”

“You know?” another one asked, biting her lip and rolling her eyes back a second. “You know?”

“Ah… ah!! Yes!”

“Not to worry, lad,” an old man patted his shoulder. “Your family’s fallen on hard times, and that’s a shame. We’ve spread word of your family, and it’ll reach the right ears soon.” With a grin, the old lady next to him pointed to a crow flying overhead.

“Ahhh!” his eyes watered, and he bowed so low his face nearly hit his knees. “Thank you so much!”

“Hold your head up, young man. Do your roots proud!”

Yes. Even if his roots were Kokushibo, he could not allow himself to lose his humanity. There was still hope!

-----

Tokito had to protect his family. This Breath had a power, a power strong enough to make ‘that person’ want to rid the world of anyone who could use it. Maybe it was ungrateful to hone it as a gift to his eventual rescuers, a weapon that they might use.

A weapon they might use against Kokushibo, the ancestor who had spent years teaching it to him.

After a long day of training in the rays of the sun and well into the night, Tokito returned to his home, already dark inside. Muichiro and Yuichiro were wrapped up in their futon and using Kokushibo’s knees for pillows. All six of his eyes opened slowly, focused solely on Tokito. “You’ve… grown much stronger… it’s time soon… for a sword…”

-----

A knock came at the door. “That’s odd,” his wife blinked her big green eyes to it. They were not used to visitors.

“I’ll get it!!” Tokito shouted with a smile and bounded over to it. Their cry for help had been answered! It had to be buff, strong swordsmen, ready to rescue them and eliminate the demon—

He pulled wide the door, and against the light, there was the silhouette of two small children, and a demure lady in a traveling kimono.

No, this was wrong. Something was wrong. There was something special about these people, but they were not the Demon Slayers he waited for. As his breath tightened, the woman searched his face with growing concern. One of the children at her side looked inside the house, starting first on the woman with the big green eyes, and then the two identical children with long hair, staring back at the door while their Go board was illuminated by the outside light, and then to the dark corner of the house, where a demon sat and stared back.

“Ubu… ya… shi… ki?”

-----

(((And then, the author who only wanted to write a short crack fic, put the fic away, scared by the evil she had unleashed.)))

[gojology]

Lovebirds.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 |  omg this is my first request. ilysm anon, im now feelin super cool. also, i just realized i put recc (as in recommended) instead of requests. i’m super stupid LOL. anyways, im touch starved too dw bby, i’m servin u up a long one since i rlly like this request and after all u r my first! 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Wife! Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2307 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | None! 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Coming home from a long mission in America, precisely 1 year, you’re excited to catch up on Gojo’s students, Nanami, and just Gojo in general.   Leaning out of the car window, resting your arm against your purse, you sighed. A humid wind brushed against your skin, tickling you. It had been quite a while since you had been in Japan, spending almost a year on a huge mission in America. You had killed a battalion worthy amount of special grades.   You spent most of your time in America in mostly horribly rundown places, equally as infested with curses. Although you found yourself enjoying America’s natural beauty, further away from the city life that many of the Americans found themselves enjoying, you much preferred Japan. after all, it was your home, and where you met Gojo Satoru. It would be another day until you could return, and you had gone through hundreds of scenarios of finally being in his arms again, but nonetheless, you were ecstatic at the thought of your husband’s touch.   Your phone’s notification chimed loudly, you threw your phone onto the other seat, heart jumping up to a high rate. It was a recording of Satoru loudly yelling, “OPEN YOUR FUCKING PHONE!” with a flurry of giggles afterwards.    Ijichi jumped, turning left and right. Whispering under his breath, he let out an exasperated sigh, switching the music channel.    The recording was mostly because of the time you had to ghost him due to work. Gojo had snuck on and recorded it, doing some magical tech stuff and giving you the custom notification sound. You had kept it that way ever since, since secretly, you enjoyed that you were so badly wanted by Gojo, that, and you had no idea how to change it back.    But the custom notification was sweet as well.   You smiled to yourself every time you heard it, a familiar twinge of pain flashing inside of you whenever you realized you wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.   Well, today, and the days after that would be different. You’d be able to finally see Gojo again, and his new students that he always frantically texted you about. Nanami, an old friend of Gojo, and also an old friend of yours, would also be there to welcome you back, you found yourself reminiscing about them.   You had heard so much about them, one of the kids being Sukuna’s vessel, you wondered how Gojo could contain such a fear, being around the kid at all times, he always told you about how the kid was actually energetic and happy and an overall great kid, you had heard about Nanami, finally coming back into the jujutsu sorcerer field of work, even though you always found that he still had a thing for finances.   You shook your head, “Save that shit for later, (Y/N).” muttering to yourself, you didn’t want to think of anything but Gojo, after all, it had been one fucking year of being deprived of the man you loved most. You were practically starving for the guy, in more ways than one.   Ijichi gulped, facing towards you, one hand on his steering wheel, “Forgive me Mrs. Satoru, but um.. Forgive me if I misheard, but I think I heard your phones notification go off.. Due to the ah- incredibly loud profanity.”   Now just realizing that you had completely forgotten about the phone notification, you nodded your thanks to Ijichi, a warmth rushing to your cheeks before opening up your phone.    In the small, rounded box containing Gojo’s message, he wrote in all caps, “SUGAR, MY BELOVED, MY QUEEN, HOW CLOSE ARE YOU? I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT I’M LITERALLY BOUNCING UP AND DOWN IN OUR BED.”   Smiling to yourself, you furiously texted back, “Calm down honeybun, I’ll be there in like, 24 hours, I’m not even fucking close.”   You almost instantly got a DM back, making you jump a bit in your seat. Even with the 5 years of friendship, and the 3 years of relationship, and the 2 years of marriage, he still almost always texted you back as quickly as possible.   “God I can’t fucking wait for you to meet the kids! We’ll keep it a surprise, yeah? We have a bunch of treats, and we also got the kids to get some gifts for you! How thoughtful aren’t they? They’re MY offspring by the way, so like, you know, whenever you want a kid, it’s your call ;)”   You snorted to yourself, smiling. He genuinely seemed so excited, and it was all shining through even though it was from a screen.    “Maybe in a few years, I don’t even wanna imagine a little you.”   Despite the excited, bubbling feeling brewing bigger and bigger in your stomach, you figured it’d be best to sleep before the chaos. Happily sighing, you laid down, using your purse as a pillow, drifting into a blissful sleep.  ‧₊˚✩彡.   You awoke to a sudden halt, Looking around your surroundings, you figured you were home. Ijichi looked like he was damn near about to fall asleep on the steering wheel.   Well, maybe that’s what 24 hours of constant driving did to you. You fished around in your purse, silently cursing looking for a water bottle.   “Here, Ijichi, looks like you ran a marathon.” you grinned, handing the slightly crumped water bottle to him.   He beamed as if a guardian angel had descended down and gave him a trillion dollars.   “Mrs. Satoru! You really mean it? The ride was nothing, I was merely instructed to do so and I would’ve done it happily regardless.”   You waved your hand, as a dismissal of the conversation. “You overwork yourself Ijichi, go catch a break, on me. If Gojo tears you apart, tell him he won’t be getting any pussy from me for another year.”   Ichiji nodded vigorously, before dashing off, probably towards a massage center, God that guy needed it. ‧₊˚✩彡.    Gojo frantically hopped up and down, it had been a day, now he was just waiting for you to bust through the door in your wild hair, his legs sprawled onto the whole of a couch, he stared at the ceiling, a dopey smile spread across his face.     “Satoru. (Y/N) will not even want to be associated with you, looking at your current state.” he remarked, staring at the sorcerer with his strikingly dead eyes.     “Nanami, how the fuck am I supposed to act calm?! I’ve waited for this moment for ONE YEAR! Does my hair look normal?!”    “Your hair looks just like an albino porcupine, just as usual.” Flipping the page of his newspaper, he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I will never understand how someone like (Y/N) would be.. Interested in you, Satoru.”     Gojo paid no attention to the insult Nanami had so clearly made, his ears were perked up, eavesdropping on a distant conversation coming closer and closer.     “Gojo-Senpai was telling me about this movie while training my cursed energy! He basically spoiled the whole thing but he told me that the main character was super annoying but apparently she dies in the end in the most gruesome way possible! It’s worth the watch, your soul will feel cleansed as soon as you see her lifeless body!”     “Yuuji, you literally spoiled the whole thing to me just now.” Fushiguro calmly stated, looking bored out of his mind.     “Oh, oops.” Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled coyly, tightly hugging his present.    “What’s with the decorations, Gojo-Sensei?” inquired Nobara, stroking her warm toned brown hair. She had figured it was something about the presents that Gojo had forced the trio to get, but he never told them who it was for.    The room had been decorated with various balloons and confetti, scattered about, on the table and the ground. A cake box wrapped with a gigantic bow limply guarded whoever was brave enough to get their hands on something that Gojo seemed to be protecting with his life.    A pink table cover with a crudely drawn Gojo and what would seem to be a girl, a heart in the middle of the pair. In a horrible font with an even awfuller text, the text on top and at the bottom of the drawing proudly stated:    “WELCOME BACK QT”    “-YOU’RE HUSBAND AND THE CREW”    Nobara stood in distaste, trying to disguise the face she made. The drawing, the misused you’re, and the overall poor design choice was enough to almost make her vomit.     Nobara, about to make her distasteful statements about the whole mess, was suddenly shut up as Gojo started hopping up and down, looking directly at his phone.   “SHE’S COMING! SHE’S COMING! EVERYONE IN YOUR PLACES!”    Now, seeing Gojo freak out wasn’t outside of the ordinary, but it was to see him freak out to this extent. He was hopping up and down, blabbering about a certain woman named (Y/N). Nobara was pretty sure that if a curse attacked right now, even a special grade comparable to the one with the uncomplete domain could completely crush Gojo, the guy seemed completely unaware of the example he was setting to the kids. Even Yuuji stood in disbelief, and he had seen multiple tantrums by Gojo.   Nanami, however, licked his finger and flipped the newspaper page. A face of boredom obviously displayed.     Nobara, preparing herself to chew Gojo out about how utterly stupid and embarrassing he made the whole class of jujutsu sorcerers look like, stopped wide eyed as she looked at the doors slide wide open. ‧₊˚✩彡.    You stood, shyly, looking at the ground. Gojo dove headfirst into your arms, laughing like a maniac and digging his face into your shoulder. You breathed in his scent, scanning the room.     Three teens, sat wide-eyed, backs straight as they looked at you with eyes you couldn’t quite read. All three of them held presents.     The one with eyelids underneath his eyes (which you assumed was Yuuji, the vessel of Sukuna) eyed you curiously, his eye twitched.     The other boy, one with wild black-blue hair, sat mouth agape, before closing it. He looked like he was about to say something, before stopping entirely and hugging his present closer to his chest.    The warm haired girl darted her eyes between you two, seemingly trying to put the puzzle together.     Nanami put the newspaper down, glancing over to you two.    “This is obviously Gojo-Senpai’s wife. He hasn’t seen her in many months, and as you can see, really really misses her.” he paused, a small smile spreading on his face, a rare sight.     “I don’t even know why myself, but what can you do with lovebirds?” he thought aloud, his attention now focused to the two of you furiously making out, hands in places Yuuji and the crew didn’t need to see.    “Satoru, (Y/N), leave the kissing for later. Don’t you see the kids?”     You detached yourself from his mouth, panting for breath. The air being exhaled out of his nose fanned over your face, you had just now realized the kids again.     “Satoru, lets sit down. I bet the kids are surprised. “ you motioned to the couch. Gojo whined.     “What? They’re not that dumb, they can tell you’re my wife or at least, you’re my girlfriend, just by the way we kiss right? Isn’t this telling enough?”     “You didn’t tell them about me, ever did you?”     He sighed in defeat, holding tightly onto your arm as you dragged him over and sat down on the comfortable couch, opposite of Yuuji and the crew. Nanami scooched over, before finally getting up to pull another chair from somewhere else. Grunting, he excused himself from the room.     “YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND, GOJO-SENPAI? AND DIDN’T TELL US?” Yuuji questioned, looking like he was about to faint.    Gojo laughed, snuggling deeper onto you, almost like a koala.     “She’s my wife, aren’t you, sugar? Did you even pay attention to anything Nanami said? He literally said she was my wife.”     Megumi made an obvious gagging sound, but even he didn’t seem as bored as he was usually. He actually looked intrigued.     “Why didn’t you tell us, Gojo-Senpai?” the girl nagged, slamming her fist down on the table.     Gojo smiled, “Uh, well, I wanted it to be a surprise when she came back.”     “Couldn’t you have told us that you had a wife or something?” Megumi butt in.    The door slid open, Nanami coming in with a wooden stool.     “Knowing Gojo-Senpai, that probably went over his head.” grunting as he placed the wooden stool down and sat, he opened his newspaper again.     “Where do you guys know eachother?”    “Was Gojo-Senpai handsome back in highschool too?”    “Do you know what lipgloss Gojo-Senpai wears?”    “Gojo-Senpai, how did you know you loved her?”     “Gojo-Senpai, can we eat now?”     “Do you know why Gojo has such a horrible sweet tooth?”      Before you could even respond, Nanami put his hand up.     “Now, now, lets let the happy couple settle down.” he cleard his throat, not even making eye contact with anyone but the newspaper.     An audible chorus of groans sounded, “What do you expect us to do? We literally just met her!” moaned Yuuji.    “Weren’t you the one that literally asked if we could eat yet?”    Yuuji immediately shut up afterwards.     “Yuuji, she just came back from a 1 day trip. She should be laying down comfortably with Gojo-Senpai and they should be catching up. You’ll have the opportunity to talk to her and learn about her later. Right now she needs space.”    “But-” Nobara whined, clasping her hands together.    Nanami turned to Fushiguro, but even he had his mind set. “I didn’t even begin to think that Gojo had a wife. I really want to know more about her, if you think about it, this is all Gojo-Sensei’s fault.”    Nanami rubbed his temples, staring at the two of you for backup, realizing that you two were making out again.    Nanami sighed, 10 years later and you two were still the same.    

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Arrange marriage where they knew since they were kids. How will this affect their school life?

The problem with knowing his entire life that he was going to marry Sirius meant that there was never any time to get to know each other. Oh they were forced together plenty of times-- more times than James could count, to be honest-- but they never spent time together just to talk, as friends. Of course, that was probably because they weren't friends. The chance of friendship had been hexed into oblivion when they were all of two years old and their parents signed a marriage contract for them.

They didn't like each other, and that's all there was to it. James tried to stay optimistic and tell himself that they'd grow on each other after they were living together, but every time they were in the same room, his hope for that sank into nothingness. They glared; they sniped; they played pranks on each other that were more mean than entertaining. It got to the point where their parents didn't tell them the location they were meeting at ahead of time so they didn't have time to put anything together.

And that was all before they got to Hogwarts. After that, there was nothing their parents could do to keep them from picking fights with each other.

A month into first year, and they had their nights filled with detention. Their fellow Gryffindors had taken to shunning them for all the points they'd lost, which meant that they spent more time around each other; they just didn't enjoy themselves very much. A while later, they both received strongly worded letters from their parents telling them to clean up their act. At once. Naturally, James and Sirius both went out of their ways to make sure they didn't get caught as often instead of actually being nicer to each other.

When they were thirteen though, they called a truce. James was tired of polishing old trophies-- he was pretty sure he'd cleaned up Hogwarts's entire collection during his years of detention-- and he knew that Sirius was tired of checking his bed for traps every night before he went to sleep.

Calling a truce didn't make them nice to each other, though.

"What the fuck are you eating?" James asked.

"Toast, you berk. When was the last time you got your eyes checked?"

James rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that you're eating toast, arsehole. I meant why?"

"Because it's breakfast. That's when most people eat things like toast."

"Toast doesn't have enough calories. You need to eat more."

"Don't tell me what to do," Sirius said, glaring at him.

Peter sighed heavily. "Aren't you two getting along? I thought you said that."

"What we said was that pranking each other was no longer worth our time," Sirius said. He then took an overly large bite of toast and chewed it angrily. 

"It keeps the dormitory quiet, like you asked," James added. "Really, add beans or something. You're going to starve to death."

"I've managed to not die my entire life without you sticking your nose in my eating habits, and I will continue to be just fine without your input. So bugger off."

"I'll bugger off when you start eating more. You're going to get pissy halfway through Potions, and it's not going to get any better until hours after lunch. We did this exact same thing yesterday! And the day before. And the day before that, too. This entire bloody term, as a matter of fact."

Things continued in that vein until Sirius and James both stalked off for the library, ostensibly to finish their essays for Transfiguration. In truth, they had found out-- separately, of course-- that Remus was a werewolf and come to the same conclusion: the best way to help him out during the full moon would be to become animagi. Far more important than doing homework-- though their homework had already been finished.

*

It was the summer before sixth year, and they had had one glorious month apart. The Black Family had taken a trip back to Thailand, which meant that James had had a glorious thirty days without having to see Sirius or hear his parents tell him that he should go visit him.

Unfortunately, they were back in Britain, and their parents hadn't wasted any time in setting up a date for all of them to have dinner together.

James sighed but didn't put up a fight when it was time to get ready. He'd put up years of resistance, to no avail. Now that they were nearly of age, his parents had been cracking down even harder about his behaviour when it came to Sirius. He prepared himself for a boring evening of sitting in an uncomfortable chair while either ignoring Sirius or exchanging glares with him. The glares would be few and far between because it would involve actually looking at each other, and past that, they couldn't risk getting caught by their parents. They'd mostly taken to being silent while in the same room; it was the easiest way of keeping their truce intact, they'd learned. They didn't say a word to each other in the dormitory unless they absolutely had to.

He thought he knew exactly what to expect from tonight, which is why he was completely thrown when he saw Sirius again.

Sirius was... gorgeous. There was no other way to describe the changes to his appearance. It was nothing big. He hadn't experienced any major changes to his features, but he was different. He'd gone and gotten handsome in their time apart, and James couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was that had changed. All he knew for sure was that when he saw him, his heart skipped a beat, and he felt the familiar stir of arousal in his stomach-- a familiar feeling in general, but never when it came to Sirius. He didn't like Sirius. He'd never fancied him or thought about him with anything approaching happiness. He was stuck with Sirius, and that's all there was to it.

Except... well, except it felt different now. He couldn't take his eyes off Sirius. Or- he could, but his gaze kept going back to Sirius like they were magnets, drawn together. No one said anything to him about his staring, but he didn't fool himself into thinking that meant no one had noticed it.

After dinner, James and Sirius were left alone. The idea was that they could talk and get to know each other better before they got married. They'd never really used the time for that. Last year during the summer, they sat in separate chairs and didn't say a word the entire time. It had been better than the year before, where they kept poking at each other-- sometimes literally, sometimes only with their words.

This time, James felt too uncomfortable to sit. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood awkwardly. Sirius threw himself into a chair, managing to look graceful instead of flopping around like a fish out of water, which is what James looked like when he tried to do the same thing at home.

"Are you feeling alright?" Sirius asked. "You were acting weird at dinner."

"Fine."

Sirius snorted. Instead of annoying James like it usually did, he found himself reluctantly charmed. "Right, because this is what you act like when you're fine."

"If you're such an expert on how I act, then why don't you already know what's wrong with me?"

"I didn't say anything was wrong with you; I said you were acting weird. And you are. If you want to pretend like you're not, that's your bloody business, and I'm sorry I bothered to ask."

James wanted to snap back. At this point, it was a reflex. Sirius was right; he didn't have to ask, but he had anyways. Sirius had been under no obligation to ask if he was feeling alright, but he had. It was a sign of him reaching out. James had no idea why he had tried, but now that he was feeling differently, maybe he shouldn't discourage it. After all, they were going to be married. They were going to have to spend the rest of their lives together. He might as well try to get along with Sirius before they were forced to live together full time, with only each other for company in the house. (At least, alone until they had kids, but that was a completely different problem, one he didn't want to worry about for another ten years or so.) "No, sorry, I just... I dunno. I feel out of sorts." He forced himself to relax and sat on the couch. "How was your trip to Thailand?"

Sirius looked at him suspiciously for a moment-- likely wondering why he was asking-- but he replied, "Regulus was so nervous he barely left the house, but other than that it was good."

"Why was he nervous?" James asked, frowning.

"He thinks that he isn't fluent in Thai. Which he is. But because of it, he didn't want to talk to anyone or go to any stores, and if we went out to eat, he refused to order for himself."

"That sounds really buggering annoying."

"He's just a nervous sodding berk. At this point, I'm not convinced that he's made of anything but anxiety."

"Lovely."

"Mm," Sirius hummed. "What've you been up to this summer? Quidditch?"

"How'd you guess?" James said dryly, but he was smiling.

"Don't you think you practice enough?"

"Normally, yes, but I'm going to be captain next year. I need to do better."

"Right, because being better than everyone else at Hogwarts is a clear sign that you're slacking."

"Why Sirius, that almost sounded like a compliment."

Sirius tossed him a smirk. "Don't let it go to your head."

It was too late for that. Sirius was horribly attractive now, and on top of it, he was being nice to James. James didn't stand a chance.

*

"What the hell are you doing?" Regulus asked.

Sirius didn't jump in surprise-- which was good, because it would've ruined his eyeshadow-- but he was startled. Regulus usually couldn't sneak up on him. "Putting on makeup, what's it look like?" he responded evenly.

"Right, but why? You're going over to the Potter's; it's not as if you need to look nice."

Sirius ignored that. He decidedly did not appreciate the realisation that came across Regulus's face.

"You fancy him. You've hated James for years, but now you fancy him."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Sirius said, putting down the brush and checking his work.

"You're a sodding liar," Regulus said, grinning widely. "I am happy for you. It would've been horrible if you married him while still despising him. That being said, does he know that you like him now? Because I don't think all the makeup in the world is going to clue him in to how you feel."

"I don't feel anything."

Regulus snorted. "Sure. Have fun getting lunch with your fiance."

"I will. You can have fun sitting in your room refusing to go anywhere or do anything."

"I will," Regulus said, sticking out his tongue because he wasn't nearly as grown-up as he liked to pretend. Fortunately, Sirius couldn't care less how grown-up he was or wasn't.

Sirius none-too-kindly shoved Regulus out of the washroom and checked his hair in the mirror. He didn't have time to do anything fancy, but he needed to make sure it wasn't sticking up or summat. Unfortunately, it wasn't behaving. He grabbed some gel and tried to tame it into place.

He didn't quite know why he was bothering. Regulus was right; if James still thought that Sirius didn't like him, then it wouldn't really matter how good he looked. And beyond that, there was the concern that, well, even if James did know that Sirius liked him and thought that he looked good, he'd seen Sirius looking all kinds of mussed and grumpy. It didn't make a difference how good Sirius could look now, because James knew how not good he looked first thing in the morning.

And all of that being said, Sirius was pretty sure that James fancied him. At least a little. Okay maybe it was a stretch to say that he fancied Sirius, but he definitely found him fit. His eyes lingered far too much and in too fond a way for him to still hate Sirius. Besides, he might be going over to the Potter's house right now, but James was the one that had asked him, not his parents. Sirius thought this might count as their first official date, and instead of making him nauseous-- like the thought of it had for so many years-- it made him excited. The two of them had spent their entire lives hating each other simply because their parents had gotten them engaged, but now they were finally talking. Sirius knew things about James that weren't connected to what bothered him and how much.

*

Moony and Wormtail blinked at them. "You're sitting next to each other," Wormtail said, stunned.

"Well spotted," Sirius said.

"Voluntarily," Moony added.

"Are you going somewhere with this?" James wondered aloud.

"I think mostly we're wondering what the hell happened over the summer. Do you like each other now?" Remus asked.

Sirius and James shared a look. Then they turned to Remus and nodded.

"That's... good, right?" Peter said. "Like, you're getting married next year. I was half-convinced you were going to murder each other, but you'll be fine now, right?"

"Yes, but I feel the need to point out that we wouldn't have killed each other. It's in the marriage contract," Sirius said.

"Please tell me you're joking," Moony said, making the face he always did when he learned about pureblood norms.

James shook his head. "Nope, it's in there. You lose your magic if you murder your spouse. Besides, we didn't hate each other that much."

"Could've fooled me," Peter said. "And, y'know, everyone else that's ever seen the two of you interact."

"Ancient history, mates," Sirius said carelessly. It was sort of ancient history, at least. He could see it happening again if he tried to kiss James and was rejected. Sirius was self-aware enough to know that he wouldn't take that rejection with grace. In fact, he knew that he would become positively impossible to live with if that happened. He was counting on that not happening, though. It's why he hadn't tried it yet. He was giving it time. Enough time that James should make the first move, in his opinion.

He had personally made the first several steps to repairing their relationship, so this one was on James. Hopefully, James would clue in to that before too long. Sirius was willing to wait for him to catch up, but that didn't mean he wanted to wait forever.

*

Sirius had his hand held out in front of him, admiring the engagement ring. James, he'd learned, was an incurable romantic. They had both known that they were going to be married the summer after their eighteenth birthdays for as long as they could remember. It had been a political move by their parents, and no one had been surprised that they weren't immediately in love with each other. Now that they were horribly, sappily in love, James said that he wanted for their engagement to feel different now.

There had been several stipulations to it, some of which Sirius was happily on board with, others more reluctant. The engagement ring, for example, felt nice. James had picked it out himself-- had designed it, actually, since he'd said that buying one already made didn't feel right. Getting a ring made Sirius feel like their relationship was different. He also liked James (half-jokingly) calling him Mr. Potter-Black when they saw each other first thing in the morning. It was sweet, even if it was clear that James liked to say it a lot more than Sirius liked hearing it.

The things- well, thing, because it was only the one thing that Sirius didn't like-- the thing that Sirius didn't like, leading up to the wedding, was that James said they shouldn't do more than some light snogging. He said it would make their married life feel more special if they saved the rest of their physical relationship for after the ceremony. Sirius saw the appeal to that in an abstract way, but in the tangible way, he was horny and James was sodding fit. Not to mention, he was a bloody teenager. He was never going to be more sexually frustrated than when he was this age-- at least, he hoped so, because if it got worse he was going to die-- and he had a boyfriend who he knew for a fact was attracted to him, and yet they weren't going to do anything.

This was his fault. He'd agreed to it. If he'd stuck out his bottom lip and looked James directly in the eye and whispered, "Please?" James would've caved. But no, Sirius had wanted to be a good partner, so he'd said they could wait. And okay, it's not like he really minded, and he had no intention of changing his mind, but it was impossible not to imagine what it would be like to be able to roll into James's bed and finally have a hand other than his own.

Point is, his engagement ring was gorgeous, and it was much nicer to look at the ring and feel butterflies in his stomach rather than stress about the fact that he was going to be a husband soon, and he didn't know if he knew how to fill that role.

Next to him, Regulus groaned in annoyance. "If I had known you would be this insufferable, I never would've wanted you and James to like each other."

"How rude," Sirius said mildly. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Yes."

Sirius looked over at him. "You didn't look at it."

"I've seen it before, shocking as the concept might be to you. I swear, falling in love made you lose half of your brain."

"Still smarter than you are."

"You're older; you're supposed to be smarter right now."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Regulus glared at him. "Don't you want to go bother James about something?"

"No," Sirius said shortly, and his brother raised an eyebrow. "He's busy all day."

"Then write him a letter, telling him how much you miss him."

"You know, Reggie, if my pining is bothering you, you're welcome to go read in another room. Say, your own?"

"What's stopping you from pining in your room? Why do I have to be the one to leave?"

"Because I was here first," Sirius said with a smile. "And you're the one who's getting annoyed."

Regulus hmph'd but didn't move, other than to sink down further in his seat.

Sirius turned back to admiring the ring. It really was gorgeous. He wondered if it would look better if he painted his nails. After a minute, he pulled his parchment back to him and wrote James a letter, as Regulus had suggested. It wasn't anything terribly important, and it didn't contain anything he hadn't said a dozen times before. He missed him, he loved him, he couldn't wait until they got to see each other again.

He sent it off, and it was less than an hour later that he got a reply.

Sirius,

I wish I had time to say more, but I miss you too. Everything's so sodding busy right now, but I should be free this weekend, if you wanted to spend some time together?

Yours,

Love James

Sirius stroked his thumb over the word 'love', treasuring it. It was silly and it made him feel like maybe he was too heavy in this, but James loving him was nothing short of a miracle. And it was a miracle he was going to appreciate every day. 

[notanacousticsetcal]

be home soon - calum hood

summary - loosely inspired by cals short instagram story cover of better be home soon by crowded house. being in a relationship with calum while he’s away on tour and when he finally comes home :)

warnings - a lot of missing each other but no real drama

word count - 1.7k 

a/n - mostly just wrote this because i’ve been thinking about what it would be like a lot. self indulgent lmao

Copyright © 2020 @notanacousticsetcal. All rights reserved.

Your phone screen lit up with a goofy picture of Calum and Duke and you smiled, rinsing your hands before answering. 

“Hi, baby,” you said softly. You could tell by his sleepy features that he’d had a long day.

“I could fall asleep to your voice.” His head fell back on the couch behind him and you laughed fondly.

“Are you tired? I can let you go if you need your sleep.” He sat up immediately and began shaking his head fiercely.

“No, no. I’ve waited all day to talk to you. I miss you.” He sounded like he was hurting. You frowned at the screen. 

“I miss you, bubs. So much.” 

He sighed. “This is really hard, huh?” 

You smiled sadly and nodded. “Yeah, it is. Just counting down the days until I can see you again.” He stared at you for a moment and nodded.

“Me too, baby.” He laid back on a plushy blue pillow and got comfortable watching you. “Whatcha making?” He sounded like a little kid. 

You laughed. “Fish tacos. I wanted to try something new from that cookbook Sierra bought me for Christmas.” You began slicing up your toppings as you waited for the fish in the oven.

Calum groaned from the other end. “I’m starving and that sounds really good.”

You smirked at the camera before pushing it back so he could see you as you worked. “Why don’t you go eat something, my love?”

“The pizza should be here in twenty minutes, just waiting on that.” You hummed in understanding and continued assembling your ingredients. “You look so cute. I wish I could hug you.”

You blushed a light pink and shook your head. “I would kill for a Calum hug right about now.”

He laughed, adjusting the rim of his bucket hat. “As long as it's not me, I’m cool with that.”

Calum continued to watch you put your dinner together while he waited on his pizza. The last leg of the tour was in America so his timezone wasn’t so different from yours. You weren’t sure exactly what state he was in at the moment. 

“Alright, baby. My pizza’s here.” He frowned and gave you sad eyes at the realization that this would be the end of your call. 

“My dinner’s ready too. I’ll let you go now.” You picked up your phone and held it close to make sure you could see his face before you said goodbye. You don’t really know why it was always so hard to hang up the phone but it felt like a stab in the chest every time you did. 

“Okay, enjoy your food. It looks amazing.”

“Thanks, Cal. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?”

“Alright, baby. Goodnight.” “Bye, bubs.”

You hung up the phone and set it on the counter, gripping the edge with your left hand. You felt tears prick at your eyes and a familiar burning in your throat. It felt like every day without him he got pushed a little further away. Every day you didn’t get to kiss him was harder than the last. All you wanted was to wrap yourself up in his arms and stay there forever. It felt like every day you were just living to see him again. It sucked. Only one more month. 

***

Calum was officially coming home from tour tomorrow. After 4 long months of agonizing pain and going to sleep alone every night, you would be in Calum’s arms again by midday tomorrow. You spent all day cleaning up the house and making sure that Calum didn’t have anything to worry about when he got home. He would just get to relax and settle back in.

Calum’s name popped up on your screen and you smiled. It was a phone call this time which was a little odd. At this time of night, Calum was normally done with the day and facetimed you. 

You accepted, pushing your questions aside and feeling overcome with excitement at talking to your boyfriend. 

“Hello?” You chirped happily.

“Hi, baby,” Calum said in his groggy bedtime voice. “What’re you up to?” You smiled, biting your lip at how adorable he sounded. 

“I was just about to shower and then watch The Nightmare Before Christmas with Duke.” You ruffled the small dog's fur and gave him a kiss on the nose. It was the perfect mid-October night for a Halloween movie. 

“How’s my little guy?” Calum asked. 

“He’s good, just misses his pops.” You grabbed some pajamas from your drawer and tucked them under your arm. 

“Tell him to hold on a little longer. I’ll give him as many cuddles as he wants tomorrow.” Cal laughs sleepily. 

“And what about me? Don’t I get any cuddles?”

“Baby, I’m going to cuddle you until you’re so sick of me you never want to see my face again.”

You gasped. “Are you kidding me? That’s impossible.”

Calum laughed and a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have you in my arms in a few hours.”

You blushed. “I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone this much.”

Calum sighed. “It's like I’ve been away from a piece of me for 4 months. I don’t know how I functioned without you.”

Your eyes began to well up with tears for the millionth time since Calum walked onto that plane and left you 4 months ago. You sniffled softly, trying not to let it be known that you were crying. But Calum picked up on it. He always does.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed. “No more tears. I’ll be home before you know it, my love.”

You exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I know, I know. I just… I love you a lot and sometimes my body doesn’t know how to handle it.” 

The line crackled and you heard Calum laugh lightly. “I can’t think of one thing I’ve done in my life that was so good that somehow…  the universe thought I deserved you… but damn do I feel lucky it did.” 

Before you could cry any harder Calum said he had to let you go and hung up, leaving you to again cope with the overwhelming feelings of excitement and anticipation at the idea of seeing your boyfriend tomorrow.

*

Calum silently unlocked the front door, more concerned about waking Duke than you. The pup had super hearing and would surely wake you up with his barking if he heard Calum coming through the front door.

Calum had maybe decided to bend the truth a little and told you he would be arriving about 12 hours later than he actually would just so he would get the chance to surprise you at home. 

He pulled his luggage softly through the front door and abandoned his suitcase and his shoes there, making a beeline for your shared bedroom. Calum wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with you for the first time in 4 months, his muscles aching with exhaustion. 

He slowly pushed the bedroom door open, the faint sound of Jack Skellington talking still playing softly. 

Calum smiled as he approached you and Duke lying comfortably on the large plush bedding, the small dog tucked tightly into your waist. He was thankful Duke hadn’t woken up so Calum could be the one to let his presence be known.

Calum crouched on his knees next to the bed, taking a few moments to watch you peacefully sleeping before he would wake you up.

After a few minutes of rememorizing every minute detail of your face and watching the rise and fall of your chest as you took in breaths, Calum finally reached a hand up and brushed a stray hair away from your face, caressing your cheek softly with his thumb. 

You stirred softly under his touch but your eyes stayed closed so Calum’s hand fell down to your shoulder. He squeezed it lightly in an attempt to slowly lull you out of sleep and not scare you.

“Baby,” he cooed gently, “wake up.” 

The sound of Calum’s voice made you think you were just having a really good dream but you slowly came to as Calum continued to rub your upper arm. 

Once your eyes fluttered fully open and you were able to take in what exactly was happening, you realized that the man standing in front of you was not a figment of your imagination, he was really there.

“Cal?” You rubbed your eyes hard and looked at him again. He was definitely real.

“That’s me.” He gave you that cheeky smile that you love so much and you immediately dove into his arms, almost knocking the poor guy over. 

“Cal, you’re home,” you ran your fingers through his hair, still not fully believing this wasn’t just a really, really good dream. But no, his hair was real and his body fit against yours like it did the last time you hugged him four months ago and you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, never wanting to let him go. “I missed you so much. This doesn’t feel real.” Calum rubbed his hands softly up and down your skin, under the shirt of his you had on. “I love you.” He said into your shoulder and you felt like you were melting into him.

After a few more minutes like that, you pulled away from Calum and tugged him into bed. He greeted Duke with lots of pets and kisses and as soon as Calum laid down, Duke found a warm spot next to him. 

“You must be exhausted.” You sat upright looking down at him as he lay with his head on his pillow, running your hands through his hair.

He closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of your cool hand. “I can’t sleep without you.” He said.

So you sunk down under the covers and Calum pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you and within minutes, you heard soft snores coming from behind you. 

He was finally home.

[ur-jinji]

wallflowers: part two

zuko x reader modern au

warning: sokka throws up a lot. sokka always ends up throwing up in my fics

summary: after a night at a party with the gaang and meeting zuko, you join them for breakfast and find time alone with him

a/n: i had no intention of writing a sequel & left part one off with a little bit of cliffhanger just for the fun of it but i got like two comments asking for a part two and i was like damn i feel like i owe it to yall for ending it like that,, so here you go :) i don’t really know how to feel about it

Unknown: hey :) it’s zuko

Your eyes widened at your phone in surprised.

‘He actually texted me,’ You thought to yourself in awe.

“What are you smiling about?” Katara questioned from the drivers seat of the car. She raised an eyebrow and a very smug smirk was wiped across her face.

“Uh, nothing,” You lied before turning back to your phone. You stared at the message for a moment, your fingers stuck. Why were you so nervous to text him back?

You: hey :) how’s the party?

Zuko: really boring now that you’re gone :( aang and i just went up to the guest room for bed. everyone started to leave

You smiled softly.

You: you’re so sweet!!

Zuko: i heard we might go to breakfast tomorrow. will you be there?

“We’re going to breakfast?” You asked Katara.

“Yeah, once they all rise from the dead. Sokka and Suki will probably be the ones most screwed up tomorrow,” She replied, causing you to laugh and nod in agreement.

You: yeah i’ll be there :)

Zuko: good :) see you then

You put your phone back into your pocket and could not stop smiling. Butterflies were swarming in your stomach. You eventually made it to Suki’s apartment, and you and Katara had to practically drag them inside. Once you tucked them into bed, you made yourself comfy on the couch in the living room. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and saw another text.

Zuko: did you make it to suki’s okay??

You: yes :) thanks for asking. we had to put sokka and suki to bed. i think theyll be out for the rest of the night so no funny business haha

Zuko: just give it a minute

Just a moment after Zuko sent that text, you started to hear a consistent creaking of a mattress coming from the other room

You: oh my god you’re right they’re going at it

You: i don’t even know how lmao they were knocked out a second ago

Zuko: i’ve suffered through many long nights in the same house as them. they always find a way -.-

You: god theyre animals lmfao

You: i’m gonna get some sleep, you should too!!

Zuko: okay, sleep well :)

You: you too :)

You awoke the next morning with a sliver of sunshine from the mostly closed curtains shining brightly directly on your face. It was sometime around noon. You rubbed your eyes tiredly and noticed a sound from the bathroom that sounded like gagging. You were suddenly very thankful you only had one drink the previous night. If it weren’t for Zuko, you probably would’ve had more.

You stood from the couch and followed the noise of gags. The door was wide open and you could see Sokka leant over the toilet. You walked towards him, concerned.

“Hey, buddy. Want me to get you some water?” You offered kindly as you placed a hand on his back, rubbing circles. He looked up at you with a look of disgust on his face and nodded slowly.

“I don’t know how Suki does it. She’s perfectly fine,” He mumbled before burping and leaning back over the toilet. Some vomit came up. Gross.

You made your way to the kitchen where you saw Suki, all readied up, pretty, and ready to go.

“Hey, Y/N! How did you sleep?” She chirped. She handed you a water bottle for Sokka, already knowing.

“I slept good. The couch was very comfy,” Yoh replied with a smile.

“I didn’t mean to get so trashed last night. Did I do anything embarrassing?” Suki asked.

“Nope. Sokka on the other hand...” You responded, gaining a laugh from her. Katara appeared in the kitchen and greeted the two of you. She also looked ready to go. You felt embarrassed that you were the last one up.

“I’ll go get ready real quick!” You told them before speed walking from the kitchen. You bee lined to the bathroom and gave Sokka his water.

“Thanks,” He muttered sickly.

“I’m gonna get ready in here while you puke, mkay?” You told him. He nodded and took a long drink of water. He fell backwards onto the tile floor and stared miserably up at the sealing. You went over to the vanity and rushed to get ready using Suki’s things and an extra toothbrush she left for you. As you ran a brush through your hair, you heard Sokka scramble to get back up and upchuck into the toilet some more. You finished up getting ready and made your way out of the bathroom.

You joined the girls on the couch in the living room and chatted for a while until Sokka was able to hold down his vomit. He appeared in the living room and stared miserably at the three of you.

“Don’t you look pretty,” Katara teased. “Now let’s go. Aang, Toph, and Zuko just got to the diner.”

The four of you made your way out to the car and you somehow got stuck in the back with Sokka. He looked like he was about throw up all over you.

“Suki, I hate you for calling shotgun,” You told her. She turned around from the passenger seat and giggled.

“I’m not about to be thrown up on!” She reasoned.

Sokka grumbled something incoherent and then rested his head on the window, closing his eyes. Maybe if he does throw up, he’ll just do it on the floor? Maybe.

You arrived at the diner without any puke on you and you all made your way inside. Aang waved you over at a large table when he saw the group walk in. Your eyes landed on Zuko, who had already noticed you. He smiled warmly. He was seated at the very end of the table with Toph on the other side of him. You took a seat across from him, and Suki sat beside you. You were grateful Sokka didn’t sit by you.

“Hi, Y/N,” Zuko greeted you from across the table. You greeted him back, adding a grin. You looked over the menu to busy yourself. You felt yourself becoming very nervous again in Zuko’s presence, and feeling his gaze on you didn’t help.

“You’re lucky we’re in public, snoozles. I’m ready to put you into another chokehold,” You heard Toph say, presumably to Sokka, earning laughs from the rest of the group.

The table’s waitress came over and took everyone’s orders and then proceeded to say that it may take longer because the kitchen was super backed up. Your stomach grumbled loudly in response.

“God, I’m so hungry,” You said when she walked away.

“Me too,” Sokka said moodily from the other end of the table.

“I’m surprised you even want to eat!” Katara replied to him.

“Do you think you can wait?” Zuko asked.

“I mean, I have to,” You said with a chuckle, thinking you were stating the obvious.

“I have a granola bar in my car if you want it?” He offered softly to you, nudging your shoe with his.

“Really? I wouldn’t mind having one. I’m literally starving,” You responded, ready to jump out of your seat to get the dang thing.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Zuko said as he got up from his chair. You followed him out of the diner and into the parking lot, making small talk on the way to his car. Once you arrived at the destination, he opened the cardoor and fished a granola bar from his school backpack.

“I always have an emergency snack just in case for...y’know...emergencies,” He explained, his voice sounding anxious. You thanked him and ripped that sucker open. You split it in half and handed a half out to him.

“Please share it with me! I don’t want to spoil my entire appetite on accident,” You begged him.

Zuko grabbed the other half and then leaned against the door, munching on his half. You joined him against the door and looked up at him.

“So, did Sokka and Suki keep you up?” He asked.

“Not really. It was quickie,” You answered with a chuckle.

“You’re lucky. They kept me up for two hours once. It was awful,” He said, breathing out a shaky laugh. His nerves were becoming more and more obvious. “I’m not as bold as I was last night.”

“Well, the nickname liquid courage might explain it,” You joked.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Zuko asked with a hopeful expression. You nodded in response and the two of you began a trek out of the parking walk and down some sidewalk. The two of you spent the time sharing stories about your past and friends. You couldn’t help but notice how every so often, his hand would accidentally brush against your knuckles as you walked, causing a few blushes. You ended up at a large mural on the side of an abandoned bricked building on an empty street. It depicted the city abstractly. You looked up in admiration.

“We don’t have very many murals in my town. Just graffiti of random names,” You said to him. “It’s beautiful.”

You walked up to the mural, and as you got closer to the bricks, you reached out a hand, touching the paint gently, and running your fingers down the bricks. Zuko copied you, and his hand accidentally got a little too close to yours. His index finger lightly grazed your pinky. You both froze for a moment, taking in the rush that the contact gave. Zuko turned to you with a soft expression, which you returned.

“We should probably head back. Our food might be ready,” You said, nerves taking over you. You pulled your hand away from the bricks.

“Wait,” Zuko told you hurriedly. “I’ll regret not doing this.”

Before you could ask him what he meant, his hands found their way under your cheekbones. Zuko leaned forward and his eyes fluttered shut. His lips touched yours, causing a rush to race throughout your body. You immediately kissed him back, feeling like you’ve been deprived of his touch all your life. His lips moved quickly against yours like it was urgent. You opened your mouth slightly, welcoming his tongue, which seemed more than happy to enter. You eventually pulled away to catch your breath, both of you panting heavily. Zuko smirked and then leaned in for one more quick kiss, then another, then another, then another, pulling away for a second inbetween each one.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that since last night, but didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. I just really like you,” Zuko explained through his deep breaths. You grinned and pulled him back in for more to tell him you felt the same way. You eventually separated again, and you shared a smile with him.

“I like you too, Zuko. You replied, caressing his cheek, smiling and breathing out one final deep breath. “Let’s head back before our food gets cold.”

Zuko nodded with a small opened mouth smile. The two of you began your walk back, and he surprised you again by taking your hand in his, entwining your fingers.

As you walked back, you couldn’t help but think about transferring colleges.

-

taglist: @complainsalot @teelagurl558 @coldlilheart

[rebelwheelssoapbox]

We All Want To Be Free: Disability, Veganism, Oppression & Trauma

In my experience when you're disabled (and proud #represent ) but require home health care services, it seems like you can't go 6 months without having to fight against cuts in funding, Which means, that every damn year, we are fighting against attacks (from democrats and republicans) on our literal freedom. Do you know what it’s like to fight to not be forced from your home and into nursing homes & institutions? It’s exhausting, its terrifying and it’s normalized. As of early April 2022 I have been signal boosting #FairPay4Home Care, which works to solve the home health care worker shortage crisis by ensuring a fair wage (not poverty wage) for HHC workers, More workers in the HHC industry, less disabled and/or seniors forced from our homes. Our struggles are connected.

[image description: black background. In the center is a woman of color. Her curly hair is gently blowing in a breeze. She is looking at the camera with a certain quite strength. The text around her reads as follows: On the left, in large white font “Disabled people exist” There is then a upside yellow L shape that underlines the text but also brings the eye down to the text below it which reads “within every marginalized community” then the text on the upper right reads “so when they go after the rights and freedom of disabled people, it's an attack on us all.” All the text is in white, except that last line ] Getting involved in the movement has been simultaneously fulfilling as I am currently mostly bed bound (though working on getting stronger) and sometimes feel isolated from the world, so it has been nice to feel apart of something bigger than myself and my friends. But at times it was also triggering (in the actual psychological sense of the word, not as in a synonym for merely bothered as it's often misused). No one deserves to be forced from their homes against their will and into institutions, where daily life is a dehumanizing assembly line. And that’s just when we’re not in a pandemic. When we are, such places can be a literal death trap and nightmare.

An experience, I unfortunately know all to well, as I spent several months in three different nursing homes from October 2021 to January 2022. Not only was I malnourished, not only did I at times experience abuse and neglect, but as I mentioned in the previous article which was somewhat controversial,  I (like many of those stuck in institutions) was not able to remain vegan.

RELATED: Legitimate excuses to not being fully vegan?:  What my animal rights activism got wrong.  (said article) And because at that point, I had already lost  far too much weight as it was in these various hospitals and institutions, I had little choice but to consume animals like chicken and fish. And at first it broke my heart more than I can say, but like many toxic experiences that occurred during that time, my way of getting through things was to shut down as I was essentially in survival mode. And it got to the point where I was so closed off emotionally, that after a month, I ate chickens and fish without much of a thought. To be clear I didn’t take pleasure in it. I didn’t take pleasure in much during that time. It was eat or starve - so I ate. But I never felt good about it. I just shut down from those feelings of sadness, the knowledge that I am eating a fellow being. Nope not a being. Just food.

[image description: Photo of my lunch on a blue plate. The pieces of green beans are a vibrant green and the chickpeas are this beige yellow as is the toasted which is more of a beige. In my mind it looks delicious but I could be just hungry ] In a way, it kind of reminds me of before I went vegan. Not that I was in a place of trauma but I was never fully comfortable with eating animals but I would shut down that part of myself because I was told we need to eat them or we’ll get weak (aka the protein myth). But it never felt right to me. RELATED: How Does Trauma Effect the Brain?

When I got out the nursing home, my health was not stabilized.In fact it was worse. I had actually gotten covid while I was there, because at first there was one case, then there was a whole floor of covid, and then it was on three floors of covid (including the floor I was on). And still the owners of the nursing home kept accepting new people even though the staff was already overwhelmed and burnt out and could not keep up with the numbers that we had. In many cases, sometimes on a daily basis, the staff punched down. I remember being so dehydrated at one point that I collapsed on the floor, only to be yelled at because they didn't have time for “these games”. It was not a game. So when I came home I was not only messed up physically but also mentally. I had experienced trauma and had a lot of healing to do. Anyone who knows that the path to healing from trauma is not an easy one, because you have to remember, feel, process and grieve -  and I had gone to great lengths to avoid such things, I still get flashbacks and it remains one of the hardest things I have ever had to get through.

[image description: On a blue plate there are many layers of soy curls, vegan cheese, beans, salsa and a vegan burger with lettuce on the side. The colors are red and orange and beige and brown and green ]

That said, one of the many good things about being home (besides being in a safer environment) was that I was able to eat whatever I wanted - within the realm of my allergies and dietary intolerances.  At first I was concerned that going vegan “too quickly” might be too much of a shock for my body which was already pretty messed up at this point in time. In addition, one doctor had told me that eating soy might exasperate my thyroid issues, and so part of me felt scared about returning to tofu. I was also experiencing these really strong cravings for salmon that I initially didn't understand. What if I can't be vegan for medical reasons and if I stop eating fish I'll get even worse? I realize now this thinking was partially rooted in trauma. With trauma responses, you experience really intense depression, intense anxiety, so making changes (even good ones) can feel incredibly overwhelming. But at one point in my recovery, as I started to heal, I reconnected to the realization that the salmon I was eating was not just “food for my consumption” but this was a being, this was a life that was not mine to take. And when I reconnected to that, I cried. That like me, this was a life that deserved freedom and safety. But furthermore I realized I don't need to eat the fish anymore. I am no longer in survival mode. I am safe now and I can let it go. So, I looked for other sources of Omega 3 (hemp hearts and jackfruit according to the internet) and it felt safe to make the change.

[image description: Photo of my lunch consisting of orange carrots slices of green zucchini fairly medium sized white beige I guess butter beans and pieces of vegan chicken that looks pretty realistic on a blue plate and towards the side you can see a bit of my silver fork ] Just as it was important for me to honor the life of the fish, it was also important for me to honor my feelings on the matter and what was needed to feel safe. Instead of just trying to ignore the feelings or even chastise myself for having them in the first place. My heart is vegan, why am I craving salmon?!  I honored those feelings and looked at why I was having the craving in the first place.Turns out as my body was quite malnourished from my time in the various institutions, I needed  more calories, more iron, omega 3 and protein than what I was eating as my body needed to heal. Once I ate more of what was needed, the cravings went away. It was never that I wanted salmon per se, but rather that my body just wanted the nutrients that salmon had.

[image description: A photo of various Frozen snacks on a blue plate. There are pieces of vegan chicken and oven baked fries. ] RELATED: For The Planet’s Sake: Unpacking Common Reactions To The Word Vegan RELATED: Is Veganism Ableist? A Disabled Vegan Perspective Last week was the first week since I’ve been home that I was fully vegan.  I am feeling better physically (as my body tends to feel better when I eat a fairly whole foods vegan diet, It has a hard time absorbing nutrients from animals, so I tend to do better plant based.) I am also feeling better emotionally. I am still healing from the trauma which is a work in progress. I’ve been having an increase in flashbacks since becoming more involved in #FairPay4HomeCare but I try to do something in the morning and then leave it alone for the rest of the day in the name of self care, and honor the feelings in between. But I am also getting involved with activism again, starting to create again, listen to music more and reconnecting to my passions and living accordingly to what I feel in my heart - which includes veganism. And this is key – to know how to feed my soul, nourish my body, especially as I continue to  heal and fight with my people to remain free. For in the end, we all just want to be free.

[image description: Esther the wonder pig is half sitting on her bed and half on the floor. She is smiling and hanging out with her best friend Phil the dog ]

[rebelwheelsnycshow]

We All Want To Be Free: Disability, Veganism, Oppression & Trauma

In my experience when you're disabled (and proud #represent ) but require home health care services, it seems like you can't go 6 months without having to fight against cuts in funding, Which means, that every damn year, we are fighting against attacks (from democrats and republicans) on our literal freedom. Do you know what it’s like to fight to not be forced from your home and into nursing homes & institutions? It’s exhausting, its terrifying and it’s normalized. As of early April 2022 I have been signal boosting  #FairPay4Home Care, which works to solve the home health care worker shortage crisis by ensuring a fair wage (not poverty wage) for HHC workers, More workers in the HHC industry, less disabled and/or seniors forced from our homes. Our struggles are connected.

[image description: black background. In the center is a woman of color. Her curly hair is gently blowing in a breeze. She is looking at the camera with a certain quiet strength. The text around her reads as follows: On the left, in large white font “Disabled people exist” There is then a upside yellow L shape that underlines the text but also brings the eye down to the text below it which reads “within every marginalized community” then the text on the upper right reads “so when they go after the rights and freedom of disabled people, it's an attack on us all.” All the text is in white, except that last line ] Getting involved in the movement has been simultaneously fulfilling as I am currently mostly bed bound (though working on getting stronger) and sometimes feel isolated from the world, so it has been nice to feel apart of something bigger than myself and my friends. But at times it was also triggering (in the actual psychological sense of the word, not as in a synonym for merely bothered as it's often misused). No one deserves to be forced from their homes against their will and into institutions, where daily life is a dehumanizing assembly line. And that’s just when we’re not in a pandemic. When we are, such places can be a literal death trap and nightmare.

An experience, I unfortunately know all to well, as I spent several months in three different nursing homes from October 2021 to January 2022. Not only was I malnourished, not only did I at times experience abuse and neglect, but as I mentioned in the previous article which was somewhat controversial,  I (like many of those stuck in institutions) was not able to remain vegan.

RELATED: Legitimate excuses to not being fully vegan?:  What my animal rights activism got wrong.  (said article) And because at that point, I had already lost  far too much weight as it was in these various hospitals and institutions, I had little choice but to consume animals like chicken and fish. And at first it broke my heart more than I can say, but like many toxic experiences that occurred during that time, my way of getting through things was to shut down as I was essentially in survival mode. And it got to the point where I was so closed off emotionally, that after a month, I ate chickens and fish without much of a thought. To be clear I didn’t take pleasure in it. I didn’t take pleasure in much during that time. It was eat or starve - so I ate. But I never felt good about it. I just shut down from those feelings of sadness, the knowledge that I am eating a fellow being. Nope not a being. Just food.

[image description: Photo of my lunch on a blue plate. The pieces of green beans are a vibrant green and the chickpeas are this beige yellow as is the toasted which is more of a beige. ] In a way, it kind of reminds me of before I went vegan. Not that I was in a place of trauma but I was never fully comfortable with eating animals but I would shut down that part of myself because I was told we need to eat them or we’ll get weak (aka the protein myth). But it never felt right to me. RELATED: How Does Trauma Effect the Brain?

When I got out of the nursing home, my health was not stabilized.In fact it was worse. I had actually gotten covid while I was there, because at first there was one case, then there was a whole floor of covid, and then it was on three floors of covid (including the floor I was on). And still the owners of the nursing home kept accepting new people even though the staff was already overwhelmed and burnt out and could not keep up with the numbers that we had. In many cases, sometimes on a daily basis, the staff punched down. I remember being so dehydrated at one point that I collapsed on the floor, only to be yelled at because they didn't have time for “these games”. It was not a game. So when I came home I was not only messed up physically but also mentally. I had experienced trauma and had a lot of healing to do. Anyone who knows that the path to healing from trauma is not an easy one, because you have to remember, feel, process and grieve -  and I had gone to great lengths to avoid such things, I still get flashbacks and it remains one of the hardest things I have ever had to get through.

[image description: On a blue plate there are many layers of soy curls, vegan cheese, beans, salsa and a vegan burger with lettuce on the side. The colors are red and orange and beige and brown and green ]

That said, one of the many good things about being home (besides being in a safer environment) was that I was able to eat whatever I wanted - within the realm of my allergies and dietary intolerances.  At first I was concerned that going back to vegan “too quickly” might be too much of a shock for my body which was already pretty messed up at this point in time. In addition, one doctor had told me that eating soy might exasperate my thyroid issues, and so part of me felt scared about returning to tofu. I was also experiencing these really strong cravings for salmon that I initially didn't understand. What if I can't be vegan for medical reasons and if I stop eating fish I'll get even worse? I realize now this thinking was partially rooted in trauma. With trauma responses, you experience really intense depression, intense anxiety, so making changes (even good ones) can feel incredibly overwhelming. But at one point in my recovery, as I started to heal, I reconnected to the realization that the salmon I was eating was not just “food” but this was a being, this was a life that was not mine to take. And when I reconnected to that, I cried. That like me, this was a life that deserved freedom and safety. But furthermore I realized I don't need to eat the fish anymore. I am no longer in survival mode. I am safe now and I can let it go. So, I looked for other sources of Omega 3 (hemp hearts and jackfruit according to the internet) and it felt safe to make the change.

[image description: Photo of my lunch consisting of orange carrots slices of green zucchini fairly medium sized white beige butter beans and pieces of vegan chicken that looks pretty realistic on a blue plate and towards the side you can see a bit of my silver fork ] Just as it was important for me to honor the life of the fish, it was also important for me to honor my feelings on the matter and what was needed to feel safe. Instead of just trying to ignore the feelings or even chastise myself for having them in the first place. My heart is vegan, why am I craving salmon?!  I honored those feelings and looked at why I was having the craving in the first place.Turns out as my body was quite malnourished from my time in the various institutions, I needed  more calories, more iron, omega 3 and protein than what I was eating as my body needed to heal. Once I ate more of what was needed, the cravings went away. It was never that I wanted salmon per se, but rather that my body just wanted the nutrients that salmon had.

[image description: A photo of various frozen snacks on a blue plate. There are pieces of vegan chicken and oven baked fries. ] RELATED: For The Planet’s Sake: Unpacking Common Reactions To The Word Vegan RELATED: Is Veganism Ableist? A Disabled Vegan Perspective Last week was the first week since I've been home that I was fully vegan.  I am feeling better physically (as my body tends to feel better when I eat a fairly whole foods vegan diet, It has a hard time absorbing nutrients from animals, so I tend to do better plant based.) I am also feeling better emotionally. I am still healing from the trauma which is a work in progress. I’ve been having an increase in flashbacks since becoming more involved in #FairPay4HomeCare but I try to do something in the morning and then leave it alone for the rest of the day in the name of self care, and honor the feelings in between. But I am also getting involved with activism again, starting to create again, listen to music more and reconnecting to my passions and living accordingly to what I feel in my heart - which includes veganism. And this is key – to know how to feed my soul, nourish my body, especially as I continue to  heal and fight with my people to remain in our homes. For in the end, we all just want to be free.

[image description: Esther the wonder pig is half sitting on her bed and half on the floor. She is smiling and hanging out with her best friend Phil the dog ]

[ultranos]

What do you feel about the interpretation that the fire nation is the least sexist nation

It might have some validity, but “least sexist” doesn’t mean “not sexist”. I’m mostly going to put the Air Nomads aside because we don’t know that much (unfortunately!) about their culture prior to the 100-year-war, but what we do know is that their temples were segregated by binary gender (apparently?). But I could also see this as outsiders after the fact attempting to understand what Air Nomad society was like. (Think of the old anthropology tradition of describing some unknown object as “used for ritual purposes” when someone with actual lived knowledge is like “that’s a coat rack”)

Because I place the wealthier areas of the Earth Kingdom as more analogous to time periods in dynastic China where women had less rights, my general “most to least sexist” list goes with the Earth Kingdom as the most sexist. Since Ba Sing Se is in the northern half of the kingdom, prior to isolation, it’s probably a decent guess that they were major trading partners with the Northern Water Tribes.

My interpretation is that the NWT adopted some of the EK philosophy during this period (possibly in an attempt to look like equals and adopting cultural habits, much like what happened in the real world). This is also because if I allow myself to draw on what I know of Alaska Native and Inuit cultures (and someone can correct me if I’m wrong!), the Water Tribes would understand that of course there are more than two genders. And it was the Christian missionaries who turned that into a mess.

But for peoples living in such a harsh environment, any gender segregation is probably more based on “who is around to ensure the survival of the group”. Basically, an infant needs to stick with their mom, and it’s goddamn stupid to send an infant out on a hunting trip. So people who care for kids stick close to home, while the others can go out and hunt and fight and generally be more at risk for dying.

But the fact is, ideally, everyone in the tribe would know how to do the major, survival-required things. The SWT has to be in this mode. If all the men went out to fight except Sokka, and if they practiced strict gender-restricted duties, then tiny Sokka would be providing all the hunted/fished food for the community and basically would have left everyone to starve when he went off with Katara.

Seeing as how that makes no goddamn sense, it’s probably the case that everyone of adult (or close enough) age in the SWT knew how to do most tasks and there wasn’t really so much gender segregation. Sokka probably spent more time hunting and providing than sewing and tanning.

The Fire Nation I think might pay lip-service to the idea of gender equality, but honestly? I put them kind of at modern day society attitudes. They talk a good game, but glass ceilings are everywhere and it’s still a constant fight for a girl to get taken half as seriously as a boy. And boys are still preferred children. It’s much harder to be a girl than it is a boy in the Fire Nation.

[6knotty6thotty6]

So a couple of months ago, I saw a YouTube video that was an audio recording of season 5, episode 6 of Bojack Horseman, “Free Churro.” In the episode, the main character, Bojack Horseman, spends 20 minutes giving a eulogy at his mother’s funeral. There’s one big problem though, his mother was an abusive bitch. His eulogy is him trying to contemplate what she meant by her drying words, “I see you,” and whether or not she loved him. As someone who has a dead parent who was abusive, this is probably my favorite episode of any show ever for how much it helped me understand my feelings. The comments section is filled with people sharing their pain with their abusive families, but one comment stood out to me above all the others by how raw and relatable it was. This comment was by a YouTuber named Moonstruck. At the bottom of this post is a link to her channel. Please support her. After reading this, she deserves a million subscribers. Also please watch Bojack Horseman. (I corrected some of the grammatical errors to make it easier to read)

Disclaimer: Child abuse, bullying, trauma, and mental health:

Moonstruck: 

This is a great monologue, but one part of it, in particular, really caught my attention was the 'grand gesture' bit.

When I was a kid, I read this book called "Chicken Soup for the Soul." There's a shitload of them. I don't remember which particular one it was. I hated the whole series because it's just someone profiting off a bunch of other people's stories rather than trying to write their own, in my opinion. 

Anyway.

This one story that I remember, the ONLY one I remembered,  was sent in by a little girl. She wrote about how her father never told her that he loved her. He never once, in her whole life, said the words "I love you." I don't remember her mom being mentioned, maybe she was dead; it doesn't matter. The point is her dad was basically an emotionless asshole. Well, one day, this girl gets sick. Really sick. Possibly on her deathbed sick. She wrote that one day she woke up to find a necklace sitting on her nightstand that had a pendant that looked like her dog. She said she held it to her heart and cried because that necklace said all the things her father never had.

I thought, "What a load of bullshit."

A cheap trinket doesn't make up for years and years of emotional neglect. Anyone can buy a thing and toss it your way. Hell, he didn't even hand it to her himself, just left it there for her to find if/when she woke up, then left her alone again to possibly die.

A lot of people say that actions speak louder than words, in cases like political protests and shit. While that's true, scenarios that this that girl are different. Gifts can never replace the words, "I love you."

When I was a kid, my father never told me he loved me. My mother didn't either, but she's a whole other kettle of fish. I would say 'my biological mother or father,' but I never got adopted ones, so who gives a shit. Anyway. My father was rarely around, and when he was, he just spent the entire time fighting with my mother and leaving again. He would do and say anything that could get him to spend less time in the house with her. With us. I can't blame him. If I could've left during those times, I would have. I tried more than once. I even earned the nickname 'runaway' from a family friend because of it. 

I was told that I was worthless as early as I could understand words. I don't know what it is about me that set my mother off, but she HATED me. I was always told how expensive I was to keep alive and how I wasn't worth it. If I dared ask for anything, she would remind me how much she spent just to keep me from starving to death and that it was too much already. On the rare occasion I was given something, it was so she could use it as a threat. She was like, "Sure, you can have that toy horse since we got your sister a real one, but you better behave or we'll give it to her and let her break it." Or "Oh, fine, we can keep this dog as a FAMILY pet (NOT YOURS), but if you do something we don't like, we'll take it away and kill it." 

Oh, yeah. I have a sister. She’s cut from the same cloth as our mother. I don't consider any of them family anymore. She was two years older than me. She was the "we should have stopped while we were ahead" kid. Anything she wanted, she got. 

"Mom, can I have an award-winning horse and expensive dressage lessons?"

"Sure!"

"Mom, can I have a car?"

"No problem!"

"Mom, can you pay for my ballet lessons?"

"Absolutely!"

She was the golden child. The one that could do no wrong and wasn't a mistake. Even after she totaled her car, got arrested for an underage DUI, and got pregnant three times in high school, she was still the good one. I never even asked to go to school dances, parties, or go out with the one friend I had. My sister liked to see me in pain. She'd tell our mom that I did things just to get me in trouble. Whether it involved blaming me for things she did or fabricating stuff, she'd say whatever it took to get my mother to beat me while she watched and laughed. Oh, yeah, our mom was BIG on physical punishment. I've been whipped with everything from a riding crop, a wooden paddle, spoons, and especially belts. Anything that was close at hand when my mother got irritated, I've been hit with it. 

At one point, my sister had three tall, beautiful show-worthy horses. I was allowed to keep a sickly old pony for all of a week before she was taken away, then I'd get called ungrateful for asking why we had to get rid of HER instead of one of the horses. Even though my mother said it cost too much to keep them all. With horses being obviously too rich for my blood, I asked for something cheaper, and for once, I got it. I was given a baby goat that one of our neighbors' goats had abandoned for being too weak, and they didn't have time to raise. I loved that goat. I bottle raised him, and named him Ben. He was my best friend for a while. When he grew up, he got so big that I was able to stand on his back to grab tree branches and pull them down so he could eat the leaves. I walked him on a leash like a dog every day. I loved him so much. My mother had me enter him in a show, and we won ninth place! I was thrilled to have something to show against my sister's collection of dressage show ribbons. I finally had proof that I could do something right! Sure, the prize money was taken away from me, but I still had Ben.

But Ben didn't come home with me after the show. It turns out he was sold to a slaughterhouse because that show was for meat goats. I didn't know until he was already gone. Of course, my mother punished me for being upset and even forced me to write a thank-you card to the people who bought his meat. 

My mother was always like that. Anything I loved was used as a threat. I eventually accepted that loving anything was a waste of time. I learned to detach myself from my feelings, and I got really good at it. I can completely turn off my emotional reaction to anything. One time I had to put down one of the egg-laying hens at work that got too sick to save, and I felt nothing while bringing down the ax. When I lost out on a job that could have changed my life, I told myself how stupid it was to hope for anything good. Any positive emotion I felt got me punished, so I learned to feel nothing at all. To this day, I still have trouble feeling things, even when I want to. I'm taking pills now, and they help, sometimes. 

I've had several suicide attempts. I keep a box of razor blades in my desk just to have them close. I got a tattoo of a heart with rainbows on my wrist. Partially for LGBT solidarity, but mostly to remind myself that there is still beauty in the world. I still struggle with wonder if I actually believe it or not. 

I've tried so hard to be a good kid. I never partied, never drank, never smoked even when the chances were there, and I would have greatly loved anything to make the pain stop or even just dull it a little bit. I was in the gifted and talented program at school and was able to graduate at fifteen. For a while, I was sent to a children's home where I was passed around to many people I didn't know, including a clown who I may or may not have actually been related to, until I eventually wound up out here where I am now. It's all pretty hazy, and the details get scrambled. 

It's been 10 years since I've had contact with my mother and sister. I can't even keep in touch with the one friend I had, even after I lived with her. She's tried to reach out to me, but I just… can't. I try, but I can't. Sometimes, I can almost pretend that my past wasn't real. It's just a hazy fog that isn't really there. I want to believe that if I don't allow something, or someone, who was part of that past, someone tangible and real, into my life again, then the fog will go away. This is why I can't do it. I know I'm a terrible friend. Ariel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. You're better off without me in your life anyway. 

I typed all of this out because sometimes, about fifty dollars or so shows up in my PayPal from my father's email address. I don't know if it's from him or from her using his email, but it doesn't matter either way. The point is I know my mother is the one sending the money.

I know my mother likes to think she's a good person. She went to church every Sunday, and probably still does. She organized a lot of church events and participated in every church function. I had to be an altar server for several years until I aged out of it and was in the choir. She kept going to that church even after the priest got drunk, called me many horrible names in front of everyone, and was revealed to be a pedophile that raped a little boy at gunpoint. She probably still goes to that same church and organizes things. She likes being in charge. She likes having people look at her and say, "That there is a good person."

But are you, though, Mom? Are you really a good person? Were you a good person when you hit me? When you lied to me? When you laughed with my sister about how much I got hurt for things I didn't do? Were you a good person every time you told me you'd kill my cat or leave my dog at the pound? Were you a good person when you sold Ben to be eaten, knowing that I loved him? Were you a good person when you made me read "A child called It" and told me that you'd start doing the things in that book to me if I didn't behave? Were you a good person every time you told my father I was a liar whenever I tried to tell him what you were doing to me? Were you a good person when you told me I wasn't worth the cost of being alive? Were you? 

Fuck you, Mom! Keep your fucking money! A necklace on the nightstand isn't enough. A trinket can't heal years and years and years of abuse and hurt. You can't hide these scars under dollar bills. I hope you die alone. I know I probably will, but I don't even care anymore. I lost the ability to care thanks to you. You can't make up for the things you did and the things you didn't say now. Too little, too late! 

[silvormoon]

Anathema

Yubel likes flowers. The flowers do not necessarily like Yubel.

They were attracting some looks.

Juudai had been exploring the monster worlds for the past three weeks or so, partly out of a desire to see that things were settling down to some kind of normalcy now that the threat of the Haou was over, and partly just because they were interesting and he hadn’t really had a chance to enjoy them before. He’d spent a day or two visiting Misaawa and Taniya, explored a city full of robots, gotten acquainted with some dragons, gone fishing on the high seas, and had nearly been eaten by some sort of giant snake in a jungle. All in all, he considered that it had been a good trip. For the last two days, he and Yubel had been wandering over the foothills of some forested mountains, during which time they’d seen some spectacular views but had not encountered another sentient species. Juudai was glad to be back in something resembling civilization.

The village was populated primarily with plant-based creatures, ranging from the ones that were little more than flowers with eyes on up to elfin creatures with leaves and branches growing from their hair. All of them were giving Juudai and Yubel strange looks. No, that wasn’t quite right, he realized - it was Yubel that most of their interest was fixed on.

Well, whatever their deal was, they would just have to cope. Juudai was tired and hungry and in need of a bath. Yubel had kept them both alive in the wilderness by their knowledge of what plants were wholesome, which inedible, and which were downright dangerous. Juudai had a vague recollection that in their human existence, they had worked in the castle garden, and still retained a knowledge of, and fondness for, plants of all kinds. That was all very well, and had kept him from starving, but now he wanted a proper meal.

The first thing to do, however, would be to get hold of some of the local currency.

“Hey,” he said, to a friendly-looking acorn. “Do you know where we could...” But the acorn had already cast a terrified look at Yubel and scuttled away.

“Huh,” said Juudai. “I didn’t think you were that scary.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” Yubel sounded a little hurt, and Juudai didn’t blame them. It seemed to him that a person like Yubel ought to be able to be themselves in a world of monsters.

“You’ll have to forgive him.” The voice came from one of the more humanoid monsters, a young man with green hair and pointed ears. “This is an isolated town. We mostly see plant-types here. We know about humans from those of us who have partners in the human world, but we rarely see Fiend-types here. In truth, we discourage them.” He gave Yubel a disapproving look. “They tend to bring trouble.”

“Well, Yubel isn’t going to cause any trouble,” said Juudai. “So anyway, is there anywhere I could earn some money around here?”

“There’s a job broker at the center of town,” said the elf, “but I doubt...”

But Juudai had already started towards the town center. After a bit of poking around, he did indeed find a building where a man sat at a window with a cork board behind him, stuck all over with slips of paper. A few people were hanging around, investigating the offerings. They gave Juudai and Yubel dirty looks when they approached, but Juudai ignored them. He sauntered up to the desk and grinned his friendliest grin.

“Hi,” he said. “We’re looking for a job.”

“We don’t give jobs to that one’s kind,” said the broker.

Juudai frowned. “But we...”

“It’s all right,” said Yubel. “I can go away.”

Juudai opened his mouth to protest, but Yubel’s voice in his mind said, You need a place to rest and something to eat. My job is to protect you. If the best way to do that is for me to duck out of sight for a little while, then that is how it must be.

But these people are being stupid.

Then let them be stupid. Take their job, take their money, and enjoy knowing that I will be reaping the benefits along with you in spite of all they’ve done.

And that was Yubel all over: putting his interests above their own, but with an edge built in. He supposed they were probably right.

“Fine,” he said. “Leave town. I’ll catch up to you later.”

Yubel nodded and left. Juudai turned back to the man at the counter.

“Now have you got a job for me?” he asked testily.

The man scowled. “You’re just going to meet back up with that fiend later.”

“Then give me a dangerous job - one you wouldn’t want to give to someone you liked,” Juudai suggested.

“Hmm...” the man pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Well, there is one...”

He fished around among the slips of paper until he found the one he wanted, and pushed it across the desk to Juudai.

“Here,” he said.

Juudai read the paper. Someone apparently wanted him to bring them the juice of some kind of flower.

“The heck is an anathema flower?” he asked.

“Highly poisonous,” said the broker. “Even to touch it with your bare skin can kill you, but if it’s treated the right way, it can be made into a medicine that treats a lot of the infections us Plant-types are susceptible to. Just one blossom is worth a thousand times its weight in gold.”

Juudai thought a thousand times the weight of a flower probably still wasn’t very much gold, but he said, “Sure, no problem.”

“Fool,” said the broker. “You’ll kill yourself even trying to get near it.”

“I’ll manage,” said Juudai. “See you later.”

He wandered back out of town and found Yubel loitering under a tree.

“Well, I got a job,” he said. “Should be right up your alley.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Yubel said.

“I’m supposed to find something called an anathema flower,” he explained.

“Ever hear of it?”

Yubel considered. “Low-growing vine. Prefers low light and high moisture. Commonly found growing around the base of the common or alpine nectarpine tree. Its sap is toxic and can cause chemical burns just by touching it. Inhaling its pollen can cause respiratory damage if too much is ingested at once.”

“Wow, they sound pretty nasty,” said Juudai.

“Which is probably why someone is willing to pay for someone else to do it,” said Yubel. They smiled. “Fortunately I have had dealings with it before. Come. Let us find some plants.”

They set off into the forest. Juudai wondered if they would go straight to the place where this anathema flower grew, but that didn’t seem to be Yubel’s goal. They rooted around by the edge of a streamlet until at last they found a cluster of plants with soft stems and thick, rounded leaves.

“This is what we want,” they said, ripping up a handful of the stuff and passing it to Juudai. “Rub the juice of this into your eyes and nose, then eat some of it. It will sting and taste unpleasant, but after about fifteen minutes, it will take effect and the anathema plant won’t be able to harm you for the next day or so.”

Juudai unhesitatingly did as he was told. After all, Yubel was doing it too, now, so it couldn’t be that bad. The stuff did indeed taste unpleasantly sour, and made his eyes itch and burn so much he began to wonder if the anathema flower might have been preferable, but after the plant had been allowed a few minutes to do its work, Yubel permitted him to soak his handkerchief in the stream and press it over his face to cool the itch. He took a long drink to get the foul taste out of his mouth.

“Geez, what was that stuff?”

“It is called pennyleaf,” they said. “It is an antidote to many of the common plant-based poisons.”

“So why don’t they know that?” Juudai asked, getting up from where he’d been kneeling by the creek.

Yubel shrugged. “Probably because it tastes so foul that many assume it must be poisonous itself. Come. Let us find an anathema plant.”

They began to walk. Yubel checked to make sure they knew what direction they were going, and then struck out for a stand of pine trees in the distance. They looked like any other pine trees to Juudai, but Yubel assured him that they could tell by the way the branches were arranged that these were nectarpines and nothing else, and Juudai wasn’t going to argue. As they drew nearer, he began to smell a distinctly sweet aroma on the air, and asked about it.

“No, those aren’t the anathema flowers,” they said. “Those are the pines you’re smelling. They get their name from the sweet smell and taste of their sap. That is another reason why so few people know the connection between pennyleaf and anathema flower poison. If everyone knew how to get past the trees’ defenders, all the nectarpines would soon be cut and boiled for their sugar, and then there would be no more.”

Juudai nodded. “You sure know a lot of things.”

“I have had a lot of time to learn them. And I like plants.” Yubel paused and pointed. “Look, you can see them now.”

And so he could in a thick carpet around the base of the trees, Juudai could see a layer of glossy green leaves. Speckled against the green were a number of flowers, their petals white but dappled with purple and red. They were rather pretty, and if he hadn’t already been warned they were poisonous, he might have thought that this lovely, sweet-smelling grove was a fine place to lie down for a nap. As it was, he took a few steps closer and then paused.

“It’s all right,” said Yubel. “The antidote has had time to work.”

“Yeah, but what if I get the sap on my clothes?” Juudai asked. “Your antidote will wear off by tomorrow and I’ll still have poison on me.”

“A good thought,” said Yubel. All right, allow me.”

They took to the air, drifting carefully beneath the overhanging boughs of the trees until the nearest blossoms were within reach. Yubel picked a handful - half a dozen or so in all - and passed them to Juudai. He took them gingerly, but they didn’t seem inclined to do him any harm. The stems had an oddly prickly, sticky feel, as if they were trying to cling to his skin like velcro.

“Ick,” he said, and wrapped them up carefully in a few dry leaves. “Thanks, Yubel.”

“You are most welcome,” they assured him.

Within a few minutes, they were back in town. The broker looked surprised to see them.

“I thought I said...” he began.

Juudai placed the flowers on the desk like a gambler laying down a winning hand.

“Here’s your flowers,” he said.

The broker’s eyes bugged. “How on earth...? Never mind, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to tell you,” said Juudai.

“Well, a deal is a deal,” said the broker, as he began filling a cloth bag with coins. “And I won’t say I’m not glad to have these. We have sick people in this town who could do with the medicine these will make, so thank you for that.”

“Thank Yubel,” said Juudai. “They were the one who did all the real work. I wouldn’t have been able to lay hands on these in a million years without their help.”

“Huh,” said the broker. He looked at Yubel, who smirked. “Well, I suppose I might have been a little bit hasty, at that.”

“I think you were,” said Yubel. “But I will be gracious and accept your apology.”

“Hm, well,” said the broker. His greenish skin went even more green. “I do apologize, then. I can see I was being closed-minded.”

Juudai got the feeling that Yubel was thinking, “Yes, you were,” but had decided not to say so.

“Glad that’s settled,” he said aloud. “So, where can a couple of hungry flower-gatherers find lunch in this place?”

A short while later, he and Yubel were sitting at the town’s common room, enjoying a meal of dumpling soup. The broker had come with them and exchanged a few words with the innkeeper on the subject of an ailing mother, the uses of flowers, and the benefits of being nice to the people who fetched them. After that, the innkeeper couldn’t have been more pleasant, and had given them the best room in the building without charge. Word seemed to be getting around, because the looks Juudai and Yubel were getting now were curious but no longer hostile. Juudai got the feeling that a lot of people were going to feel they owed him and Yubel favors after this. He smiled as he slurped his soup. It was nice to be appreciated.

“They seem to like me now,” Yubel observed, with some amusement.

“They should,” said Juudai. “After all, you’re the best.”

“I don’t really care what anyone but you thinks of me,” they said, but they seemed to be pleased anyway.

“Well, it’s nice to have friends,” said Juudai. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll come back here again one day, when they need more flowers.”

Yubel looked around thoughtfully. A small girl wearing a dress made of flower petals waved shyly at them.

“Perhaps we should,” they said. “After all, I always did like flowers.”

[angelkurenai]

Imagine eating the last slice of pie and in the funny argument that follows you end up telling Dean you love him, only to make him forget how to speak.

“That was the last slice, (Y/n). The last freakin' slice and you- I never thought you would do this to me!” you could barely keep yourself rom rolling your eyes at how dramatic Dean was being once more.

“I was starving and all the snacks in the house were gone, including you, so forgive me if I had no choice but to go for it.” you replied casually, leaning back in your seat. The words came out so innocently out of your lips that he'd have probably missed them if he wasn't paying attention. But he did.

“I'm-” he blinked, lips staying parted for a few seconds “Did you just call me...?”

“A snack? Yes, yes she actually did. She's so done with you being so dense to realize-” but his words were cut off when a groan left his lips because you kicked his foot hard under the table.

Dean watched you for a couple seconds, eyes narrowed at you and lips parted before he decided to shake his head “You know what? You and I need to have a serious talk later. Alone.” he shot Sam a look even if the younger Winchester was only focused on his computer – or at least looked like he was “But for now, you– You ate my pie! The last slice at that, even though I told you not to!”

“Ok, fine. I did it eat, but what is there left to do now? It's done and over with. Stop acting like a baby and move on. You'll get a new one in a couple days.” you shrugged as if it was the most simple thing in the world. Not that it was for Dean or Sam himself.

“Are you serious? Two months ago I ate your cookies and you refused to speak to me for a week! You gave me the freaking cold shoulder for just as long. Heck, you even went so far as to say you were going to destroy everything I loved!” he threw his arms in the air in disbelief, the matter of the pie at this point completely forgotten.

“Alright, first; they were vegan cookies that I had spent hours trying to perfect and I barely had the chance to eat two before you ate all of it. And second; what are you gonna do now? Threaten to destroy everything I love, Winchester?” you asked with a confident grin because you knew all too well that with a simple look from you, you could really have Dean wrapped around your little finger.

Everybody knew it in fact, maybe even Dean himself – who could pretended he hated it but deep down loved it to bits – did know it. Sam was no exception and he always loved to see the two of you bicker like an old married couple only for the fight to end within the first two minutes and for you to keep talking about something completely irrelevant that mostly involved you teasing Dean. And, yes, sometimes it was annoying that his brother was so oblivious to it. But others, when he really got it, were hilarious to say the least simply because of the way he reacted.

“I'm not going to-” he started mumbling.

But you shook your head, speaking up “No please go ahead. 'Cause, well, such a shame, Dean: You are all I love.”

And there it was. The moment it all became too amusing for Sam to hold back from just hiding his laughter behind fake coughing. One sentence from you and he knew when it all simply started. He looked up at Dean to see that his eyes had gone wide and he was constantly opening and closing his mouth, gaping at you even, like a fish out of water.

“W-well j-jo-jokes o-on y-you, sweetheart.” he tried to put on a confident smile but it was nowhere near that when the words came in such a stutter from his lips and he looked more flustered than ever before in his life “I've been self destructive all my life.”

“Oh my gosh, why are you like this?” you mumbled, mostly to yourself though, while shaking your head “It's far too scary to know that you actually mean it and that's why you and I will need to have a talk about it.” you pointed at him and before he could say anything, Sam spoke up next.

“Nice comeback, Dean.” he commented with a snicker “Maybe next time try not to stutter during half of the words? Then you would probably-”

“Shut up Sam!” he cut off his brother but that certainly didn't wipe off the smile on Sam's lips “And you- you-” he turned to you, his stern face fluttering a bit because how could he ever be mad at you? He was a putty in your hands. So despite feeling his face burn hot, he tried to look stern and mad about the pie... and totally not affected by your flirting.

“Fuck you.” he said in a playful yet serious way when he pretended to be mad at you. He actually felt proud of himself, of how sure he sounded even. But all that pride faded away when the next words came from your lips.

“Is that an insult or a to-do list? Cause if it's the second, then... with pleasure.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, happyjuicyfruit!

For @happyjuicyfruit. I'm not going to lie, I saw your request and an idea was born and aside from sleep and work I wrote non-stop until this was done because it felt so good to write it. So cathartic. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing.

Read On AO3

*****

Falling into Place

“The best feeling in the whole world is watching things finally fall into place after watching them fall apart for so long.”

Unknown

The warm hum of the TV mingled with the sound of the running shower through the small studio apartment Stiles rented in Sacramento. He scrambled on his small double bed (tucked into the corner alcove opposite the bathroom door) to try and get his sweats on without applying any pressure to his injured foot. He awkwardly half-hopped on one leg, falling back on his ass on the mattress as he held the cuff carefully open to maneuver his bandaged foot inside. Mission successful, he star-fished on the bed, fully clothed at last, damp hair mussing the sheets and his foot throbbing.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the shower, then forcing his eyes shut tightly to try and banish the image of exactly what body parts the less than average water-pressure might be crashing down on. Swallowing thickly, he hopped awkwardly along the narrow space, around the bookshelf he’d used as a divider at the end of his ‘sleeping area’ and into his roughly eighteen feet of living/kitchen space.

Careful not to clip his injured foot on anything, he managed to get the leftover lasagne out of the fridge and into the microwave with minimal disaster. He then frantically searched through the pile of unwashed dishes and cutlery to find enough for two people to eat with.

For some reason, it bothered him, the idea of Derek seeing his dirty dishes. He froze then, wondering if he’d left his laundry hamper spilling over. He didn’t have much time to panic, because the second he thought it, the shower shut off.

A few moments later, Derek stepped out into the room, steam billowing behind him, hair damp and…wearing Stiles’s t-shirt and sweats which looked a little tight in the shoulder and chest and across Derek’s thighs but mostly fit him just fine. Luckily Stiles preferred baggy. He didn’t realise he was staring until Derek started talking.

“I took them off the clothes dryer in the bathroom. I hope that’s alright? I washed mine in the sink. They had blood on.”

Stiles blinked, struck mute for a moment, still not really over the way his sweats clung across Derek’s hip area to form words. “Ah, no, sure, all good,” he managed at last, using the washing up to distract himself. “At least I’ve filled out a bit since the last time you had to borrow my clothes, right? And you’re lucky I had some spare. Laundry day is well overdue, to be honest. I’ve just been working on my assignments, which I got in on time, but then I found out about this case, the one with you in it and I had to find a way to convince them to let me in on it, to try and get you out, you know? So I’ve been so busy I just haven’t had time to–”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting his rambling off. “It’s fine. Really. This is hardly the worst place I’ve stayed.”

Stiles laughed. “Wow, ringing endorsement. Better than an abandoned bus station. Well, I’ll have you know this is a steal so close to HQ and it may be small but it’s just been done up. I am the first tenant to tarnish this kitchen. And because it’s one of the many investment properties Natalie Martin got out of the divorce, and of course Lydia is using emotional blackmail to my advantage, I can actually afford to live here without bankrupting my dad even further. Plus the roof-terrace, it’s amazing. I mean, I never actually go up there but some residents have this communal allotment and the view is amazing. Or, you know, it would be if I went there.”

Derek had crossed his arms, had rolled his eyes with that sigh, all of which weretelling signs Stiles was annoying him. And yet there was a little twist at the corners of his mouth that made Stiles’s stomach flip.

The microwave pinged then and Stiles came back to himself, prodding at the centre of the two chunks of lasagne to check they were heated properly before decanting them onto two plates. He went to offer one to Derek, complete with cutlery, before hesitating. He winced.

“Uh, would you mind carrying mine over to the ol’ dining area there? It’s a second hand couch but it’s in pretty good shape and I don’t wanna get lasagne all over it by hopping over there with my plate.”

Derek frowned at him for a moment, then down at his foot, as if he’d forgotten Stiles didn’t magically heal like he did from gunshot wounds – or, you know, splintered fragments of cement that had ricocheted off the wall from the gunshot that had largely missed him, but still. He’d been on the run again, Stiles knew, and before that likely just with Cora since he and Braeden had gone their separate ways. If their texts over the last few months or so were anything to go by, that is. He’d probably not spent much time with humans since last Stiles had seen him, except the ones trying to trap or shoot him.

Eventually, Derek took both plates and stepped back a little into the makeshift doorway between the wall and the shelf that stood as a screen at the end of the bed. It held his books, nicknacks and a TV that swivelled to face either the living area or the bed because Lydia was a goddess and a genius. Stiles hopped awkwardly passed him, supporting himself on the arm of the couch as he eased down onto it. Derek offered his plate to his sturdier lap rather than his hands, likely a survival skill taught after years of observing how erratic Stiles’s hands could be, before settling next to him on the couch.

The late night news was reporting the raid on the warehouse as a drug bust but they knew the truth. Thankfully, the FBI didn’t seem to know the truth, that the guy they’d been pursuing, namely Derek, was a werewolf. He thought they’d managed to get out of it without exposing that and hopefully, if Scott’s dad came through for them, Derek would be out of the spotlight soon enough.

Stiles had set it all in motion the second he’d seen Derek’s face on a slideshow of live suspects, but when he’d discovered they were planning on raiding a possible location of Derek’s, he hadn’t been able to wait for Rafael McCall. He’d made many contingency plans, but the one that’d ended up going into motion had been such a cliché he was almost disappointed in himself and the institution he was interning with.

He’d snuck in a spare FBI jacket and in the chaos, had managed to get Derek into it and offered up his cap and they’d literally walked out of there. Well, Stiles had been carried really, but semantics.

He hadn’t planned for there to be hunters there, who had happily started shooting the second the FBI had burst in looking for Derek. Derek, who had only been there because somehow those hunters were connected to the murders the FBI had linked Derek too. Stiles hadn’t gotten the full story out of him yet. But anyway, he hadn’t planned for there to be idiots there wanting to go on a shoot-out with the FBI, for bullets to be flying everywhere. He hadn’t planned for getting injured by exploding concrete, which was pretty much a bullet wound anyway.

That’s what his bosses were classing it as anyway – wounded in action pretty much. They were so pleased an intern that shouldn’t have really been there hadn’t been killed and that he was pretty much taking near-death in his stride that he thought maybe his reputation might have gained a few more points if anything.

And once Scott’s dad finished subtly helping Stiles’s team to connect the hunters to the murder instead of Derek, exoneration hopefully shouldn’t be too far behind.

“Where did you get this from?” Derek asked as he gulped down another mouthful of lasagne like a starving animal. Really, Stiles wondered when his last decent meal had been.

“Uh, I made it,” Stiles said with a mostly empty mouth. “I can’t afford to live off take-out, dude. I gotta live smart while I’m still an intern.” Even with the FBI an internship didn’t pay a luxurious dividend. “I can make a few things that can keep in the fridge for a few days. This is the last of the lasagne though, buddy, so if you want seconds the take-out menus are on the fridge.”

Derek blinked at him, looking almost owlishly startled which was sort of adorable on him really. He looked tired and confused and a few stray droplets of water trickled down his neck from his damp hair. “No, this is good. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, they haven’t given me my Michelin stars yet but I can eat a lot better than some of the other interns by being smart about it and thinking ahead.” Stiles finished the last few bites of his own and set the plate on the floor by his feet. “If I hadn’t learned to cook and make food stretch a little more, dad and I would’ve had to sell the house to keep us in take-out.”

Derek had gotten the larger portion, Stiles was a good host, so he was still eating and seemed to consider Stiles’s words for a long time before saying between mouthfuls, “Your mom taught you?”

Stiles offered a wistful smile.

“Yeah. Not gourmet or anything but cooking was our thing. I wasn’t the kind of kid that could sit down and watch TV while their mom cooked. I was always under her feet so she made me help, made me useful. Some things stuck, I guess. I learned enough.”

He thought that was going to be the end of it. They fell quiet and the late news bulletins had long-since finished and returned to some late-night comedy talk show. But then Derek spoke, quiet and distant, like he was somewhere far away, in a tone way Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from him before.

“My dad was the cook. He didn’t really teach me meals, Laura always used to help him in the kitchen. But he did teach me to make his salted caramel brownies.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with that.

It’d been a long day, a long few weeks for Derek, really. He looked both world-weary and yet less troubled than he had since Stiles had last seen him. He sounded at peace with a part of himself Stiles had only ever glimpsed in their two years or so of chasing monsters together around Beacon Hills.

“Those sound amazing,” Stiles offered with a little smile, because it was the truth. Derek’s face turned to him then, empty plate still in hand, the glow of the TV and kitchen light making his features soft and warm.

He studied Stiles for a long time, eyes roving his face as if he were relearning him, before he said quietly, “it’s really good to see you, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled and chuckled a little self-consciously, “well, you know, likewise. And hey, I’m always willing to put you up when you’re a wanted fugitive, you know this from experience.”

Derek raised a brow, lips twitching. “Did you mention that in your interview for your internship with the FBI?”

“Oh, we got a sense of humour since we last met, huh?” Stiles laughed, but as he put his foot down to rise, he winced, remembering his injury. “Holy shit,” he hissed, grasping his ankle in lieu of his throbbing foot, thinking of the medication the hospital had sent him away with, sitting on the kitchen counter.

When they’d made their initial getaway, Derek had literally skulked around in the shadows while Stiles reported to the field leader, before taking himself to the hospital. In matter of fact, Derek had taken him to the hospital, giving him sideways looks like he was equal parts pissed off and concerned. And he hadn’t left Stiles’s side until they’d come back to Stiles’s apartment and they’d taken their respective showers.

To be honest, sitting in Derek’s rental car while he picked up Stiles’s prescription was a bizarre feat he kept coming back to. Not an unpleasant one though. He was definitely more than capable of looking after himself, had proven that a hundred times over, really. But it felt nice, having someone there who looked worried, who took the dinner plates and set them in the sink, who brought his medication and water to take them with in the only clean glass and…oh god…

“Dude, you don’t have to clean my dirty dishes, you’re a guest–”

“Technically, I’m a fugitive in hiding,” Derek cut across him neatly, running more hot water into the sink, the last of it until the tank filled up again after two showers, Stiles thought. “Besides, you need to stay off your foot and if you leave these dishes another night they might run off on their own.”

Stiles glared at him as he drank from his glass and then downed his pills. “This is a small apartment, buddy, there’s only room in here for one wise-ass.”

Derek ducked his head as he started the dishes, but Stiles caught his smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

*

Stiles woke up with a little start, the kind you got when you caught yourself drifting off on the couch in front the TV. Except it didn’t look as if he’d caught himself. It looked like he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV and Derek had carried him to bed. The medicine must’ve knocked him out, Stiles thought, blinking blearily at the narrow strips of pre-dawn light peeking around his blind to the side of the bed.

He could hear soft breathing in the quiet from beyond the wall that the double-sided bookshelf made and it felt comforting. Even now, nearly a year-on from the event, he still had trouble with the feeling of waking up too quickly. He wondered why his initial panic hadn’t woken Derek, but then, he supposed Derek had been on the run for so long, again, it was no wonder he was dead to the world.

The fact that he felt safe enough to crash in Stiles’s place was another thing to think about all on its own. The insinuations and repercussions swirled around in Stiles’s brain as he fully came aware of himself, cursing the pain in his foot before sliding tentatively out of bed. He used the bathroom as quietly as he could, then realised if he wanted to take more medication, he’d have to eat something first and to do that he’d have to turn the light on in the kitchen to find something.

The sounds of Derek sleeping sounded so peaceful that he felt like a dick for contemplating it. In the end he crawled quietly back into bed, careful to keep the leg attached to his wounded foot out of the blankets and tried to ignore the pain.

It didn’t work. He fidgeted uncomfortably, the discomfort making him uneasy, letting his mind stretch to strange places, to worries that apparently simply had to be solved at 3am. It was cold in the apartment too which didn’t help, but Stiles was one of those defiant people that waited until he was cold enough to be wearing a beanie indoors before he would put the heating on – more blankets before heating.

He’d worked himself into a state wondering if maybe the nurse he’d seen earlier hadn’t managed to get all the fragments out of his toe and that was why it hurt so much, when he heard Derek shifting around on the sofa. On instinct, he squeezed his eyes shut, guessing he just wanted to take a leak, but his brow furrowed when he heard a click-clack sounds on his wooden floor. It reminded him of Scott’s old dog loping across the kitchen floor and it took him a moment to register what that noise meant until he felt a cold, damp nose snuffling around his foot.

An image came to Stiles behind his closed lids and he remembered the black wolf darting into the fray in the desert, eyes glowing blue.

He twitched at the contact, but Derek either thought that was an instinctive motion out of sleep or didn’t care if he was awake because he hopped carefully up onto the bed and draped his front legs over Stiles’s. One of his heavy, warm paws just rested over the place where Stiles’s sweats had ridden to expose his ankle and it was as if Stiles could feel all of the pain draining away from his throbbing foot through the place where Derek’s warmth rested.

Opening his eyes at the sheer relief, he of course found the same black wolf sprawled half over him, warm and soft and staring right back at him with piercing blue eyes that glowed in the dimness. Stiles could just make out his shape and without really thinking about it, he reached out to touch. It just occurred to him that maybe Derek didn’t want to be petted like a dog and that maybe he might give him a reproving nip when he felt soft, fine fur under his fingers and the pressure of Derek leaning into his touch.

Stiles stroked one downy ear and then, emboldened, scratched his fingers over the wolf’s head. It felt cathartic and he wondered absently about those therapy animals, before the flick of Derek’s tongue against his wrist.

A low, tired chuckle rippled out of Stiles, hoarse and sleepy. He thought in the pre-dawn dimness, in the little alcove the bookshelves created around his bed, that maybe anything was possible without complications. There were no rules, no posturing or pride or uncertainty. Derek had sensed his discomfort, his pain, maybe even his loneliness – maybe because it mirrored his own. The low, grumbling sound Derek made when Stiles stroked the side of his head and scruff told him Derek was as happy for it as he was.

Then Derek, still the wolf, laid his head down on Stiles’s torso, breathing evenly and Stiles fell asleep stroking his fingers over his fur. Fell into a slumber that was light and painless and full of dreams.

*

Derek was already gone from his bed when he awoke well into the morning. When he sat up and hobbled out of bed, Stiles found him doing push-ups in the space between his couch and the TV. He stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, still finding it surreal, a half-naked Derek Hale exercising in his tiny apartment with sweat beading between the muscles of his shoulders and down to the small of his back.

He had the terrible feeling that he was staring and that his lips were parted, as if ready to spill something embarrassingly appreciative so he quickly turned into the kitchen area – only to stop dead. It was spotless. The dishes were cleaned and stored away, the units were practically gleaming and to make it worse, there was a laundry basket in front of the fridge piled high with clean, neatly folded laundry.

Holy shit.

“Dude, please tell me you did not do my laundry?” he pleaded, dismayed.

Derek seemingly ignored him for a moment, pushing up from the floor, the tight line of muscles in his back drawing Stiles’s unwitting gaze until he eventually rose. He snagged the glass of water off the side and drank it down greedily.

Stiles couldn’t help but wonder how many push-ups a werewolf had to do before getting all sweaty. But then the thought drifted off on a tangent about how long a werewolf might have to do other things to get that sweaty. How long, how hard…

Oh god, his face was burning.

Green-hazel eyes considered him for a long time, bright with the sunlight streaking through the window and Stiles had the horrible feeling Derek could tell his thoughts by smell or something. Whether he did or not though, all he said was, “I had to wash the blood out of my clothes. It just made sense to take yours at the same time. It’s no big deal.”

“Even my dad doesn’t wash my dirty underwear, Derek!”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t roll around in them, Stiles, I tossed everything into two washers.”

Stiles spluttered at the idea of Derek rolling around in his laundry and his hands flailed. “You’re a wanted fugitive until further notice, you could’ve been caught!”

Rinsing the glass in the sink and setting it on the draining board to dry, Derek turned back to face him, leaning slightly against the units. “I went to the utility room downstairs. No one was going to be looking for me there. I don’t get what the problem is.”

Well no, Derek wouldn’t, would he? Because he’d always been awful at looking after himself. Because he hadn’t had to share space with a human since…forever and Stiles was hyperaware that Derek could probably tell his every activity for the last few weeks on his dirty clothes, that he could probably read Stiles’s mind from chemo-signals or whatever and Stiles was only just realising exactly how much he had to hide.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Stiles scrubbed at his hair and the back of his neck. “Ummm, you’re right, it’s nothing it’s…I still haven’t really woken up yet. Thank you, for…basically sorting my life out while I slept the morning away. You didn’t have to do that though, you’ve probably been under more stress, being on the run than I have doing an internship.”

“An internship with the FBI who have no idea about werewolves when you know pretty much everything there is to know about the supernatural sounds pretty stressful to me,” Derek offered lightly, glancing out the window and down at the city thoughtfully for a moment. He seemed to be struggling for the best way to phrase whatever it was that was on his mind, but then, Stiles supposed he hadn’t had much in the way of company the last few weeks.

He knew Derek had been with Braeden briefly, then Cora, then on his own when his life had turned upside down again. And there was a lightness to Derek’s face this morning that Stiles thought mirrored his own. Like last night had been the first time he’d slept well in a long time too. He looked more at ease than Stiles had ever seen him in his entire life and he was technically still a wanted fugitive.

Dragging his hand through his hair again to distract from his wandering thoughts as best he could, Stiles hobbled into the kitchen area properly and shoved the last two slices of bread into the toaster. Hmmm. He’d have to get some groceries. His foot was throbbing though.

“I have to report to work via video conference later, since I can’t really walk much.” He glanced to the crutches the hospital had given him on loan for a couple of weeks and tried to imagine scaling the insane amount of stairs he had to climb everyday. He’d probably end up with a broken neck. Luckily he had loads of paperwork, which he was good at and didn’t mind doing. They’d probably let him do it from home for a few days, if only so they didn’t have to do it.

His efficiency with the paperwork was probably a big part of why they liked him so much, since most of his classmates tried to beg out of it. But his single-minded concentration that came with his ADHD, as much as it was easing as he got older, was a godsend apparently. When it was a subject he had interest in, i.e. his job, he was like a machine.

“Can I stay?”

Stiles turned slightly to look at Derek, still staring out the window at the grey sky. “Until things are sorted out with the FBI. Can I stay?”

He sounded warm and awkward and almost longing, voice a little husky and Stiles swallowed tightly.

“Dude, stay as long as you want. You’re always welcome. Mi casa, es su casa, always. You don’t have to ask.”

Derek looked at him at last, lips slightly parted as if he were going to say more. In the end, his mouth closed and he nodded determinedly.

*

Work was pretty gracious about his request to work from home. He had reports to type up and some other paperwork to keep him busy for the rest of the week at least. Plus he was entitled to some medical leave if he couldn’t walk easily. Besides that, they were thrilled that one of their unsolved cases seemed to be coming to a close because of ‘his help’.

Rafael McCall had apparently planted the necessary evidence into the system to connect the guys they caught at the raid the other day to the murders Derek (although the FBI didn’t know his identity) was accused of. One of them with similar build to Derek had even sustained serious burns to his back during the raid, which Stiles had reasoned could be where the suspected tattoo was that they’d used to identify the unsub they were looking for. It was the idiot’s own fault really, for being an immortal hunter who murdered countless people, for packing a flamethrower and trying to turn it on the FBI.

Stiles had zero sympathy for people who wielded fire. Maybe it was just because he had seen what fire could do in the Hale house, on Peter Hale’s face before he’d healed himself. It was a dick move. Even if he’d technically done it himself once, he supposed.

So it all tidied up nicely, really and by the time the video call had ended, Stiles was sure Rafael had managed to erase any evidence with anything similar to Derek’s face or body. He should’ve felt bad using the guy, he supposed. But he’d never claimed to have scrupulous morals and besides which, it was Scott’s idea to ask for his help in the first place.

Daddy McCall had infinite favours to do before he could make it up to Scott, Stiles supposed. But in the mean time, as long as Scotty approved, he would use Rafael McCall’s powers for good and maybe the guy would get his head out of his ass along the way.

He’d shot a text to both McCalls, one a curt message of thanks, the other assuring Derek should be safe as soon as they were sure the guys they caught were going to stay caught. The only problem was, Derek had snuck out while he’d been on his conference call. He’d noticed mid-conversation with his boss and so hadn’t been able to act on it. The second the call came to a close, however, he shut the laptop and sprang up. Snatching his phone up, he dialled.

The phone rang and rang. Stiles was already toeing a shoe onto his good foot and reaching for his crutches when he heard the jingling of keys outside his door. He stopped dead at the sound, looking up just as the door opened. Derek stepped inside, arms loaded with brown paper grocery bags. He blinked at Stiles’s proximity to the door, as if surprised and neatly side-stepped him to set the grocery bags down on the kitchen floor.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stiles demanded.

Derek raised a brow, pausing in loading fresh fruit and vegetables into the fridge drawer. His expression said it all.

With a scowl, Stiles gestured to the front door. “For the next few hours you’re still potentially on their system as most wanted, Derek. You can’t just go for a walk around Sacramento.”

“Stiles, you have a grocery store around the corner – literally. I was in there for ten minutes. I wore your Mets cap. I kept a low profile – I know how to do that, I’m very practiced at it.”

Stiles hesitated. “You went to the rich people supermarket?” That was the only grocery store on his block. Sometimes Stiles hit it up on payday for their luxury cookie range when Lydia came to visit.

Rolling his eyes, Derek continued to load the groceries into the fridge and cupboards. It was all so domestic, the scene, the bickering and it made Stiles feel sort of funny.

“Nobody noticed me. There was no way you could manage the groceries on your own and you hopping around on crutches and fighting me over who was going to foot the bill would’ve made more of a scene that me going in alone.”

“Dude, I can be stealthy and I don’t need you to fill my fridge–”

“You do if I’m going to eat all your food,” Derek interrupted, tossing the paper bags into the recycling bin before turning to face him. His nostrils flared and he stared Stiles down for a long moment before shaking his head. “Sometimes you need help too, Stiles,” he breathed, exasperated and fond all at once.

Stiles swallowed thickly, darting his gaze to the side. He didn’t even like accepting his dad’s help at the best of times. With Lydia and Scott, loved them though he did, they had their own stuff going on and he couldn’t ask for their help either. Or he could but he didn’t want to. It was easier just to struggle through. And yet Derek was standing there, watching him expectantly, with that mixture of softness and annoyance on his face and Stiles didn’t want to reject the symbolic hand he’d been trying to grasp since he was sixteen. That had often come close but had never felt within his reach until now.

A sudden buzz on his intercom for the front door made Stiles jump.

“I also ordered Chinese,” Derek smirked, “think you can manage to get the door?”

Stiles muttered under his breath at the indignation of it, but still buzzed the delivery guy in.

“You don’t have to bribe me with food to let you stay,” Stiles said as they set the take-out boxes on the minute counter space a few minutes later. It smelled so good that the argument Stiles had been forming in his mind dissipated in the delicious smelling steam rising from the boxes. “You’re welcome here, even after your name is cleared for a bit, if you want.”

Derek huffed as he split the contents of each dish out equally. Because Stiles may have been human but he had the appetite of a wolf. “Nice to know, but this isn’t a bribe. It’s just something I want to do. Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Feeling like he was getting some of his equilibrium back, Stiles grinned. “Isn’t this like…a courting ritual, a wolf sharing food or providing food?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek barked, ears flaming. He snatched the bowls out of Stiles’s hand and carried all of them over to the sofa so Stiles couldn’t hop across with them and, most likely, risk sending it all to the floor.

Some old movie was on with Humphrey Bogart – Stiles’s mom and dad had liked watching his movies together so he left it on and they ate and Derek half-watched with a wistful little look on his face that made Stiles wonder if someone in his family had liked the movie too.

Stiles talked about Katherine Hepburn and how his mom had loved her, how she’d watched her movies with her mother. He talked about World War One’s impact on Africa and how he’d drifted off on a tangent about it in the middle of one of his papers about World War Two, and how his dad had just smiled quietly through the whole meeting with the teacher when he called his dad in about Stiles’s attention span. And through it all, Derek smiled slightly, that private little half-smile as he sucked noodles into his mouth and toed off his shoes in the middle of Stiles’s apartment. The apartment that Derek had cleaned and it just made Stiles feel so…warm. Comfortable. He’d never felt comfortable with someone and yet hyperaware of their every little movement at the same time.

Derek had polished off most of his chow mein and shifted back on the sofa a little as Hepburn dumped Bogart’s gin into the river, relaxing with Stiles until their knees touched.

Heat swelled in Stiles’s stomach and he covered up the little splutter he gave and distracted himself by chugging down some more noodles.

“I haven’t had good Chinese take-out since I moved up here,” he sighed happily, licking the sauce from his lips. He turned to Derek more fully then and swore he caught those eyes dropping to the movement of his tongue and back again. Huh. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can alternate–”

“You’re injured–”

“And you’re a guest,” Stiles protested but Derek just shrugged, looking back to the TV.

“The couch is comfortable enough when I shift, and plenty warm. It’s fine, I’m not turfing you out of your own bed Stiles and that’s the end of it.”

Stiles’s tenacity was sidetracked by curiosity. He set his now empty plate down, sitting back a little to let his leg stretch out and relieve any pressure on his throbbing foot. He’d had medication with his food and it was starting to kick in. “Do you always shift when you sleep or is my couch just that uncomfortable?”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek half-groaned, polishing off his rice now, thumb tracing the edge of the plate distractedly. He stared at the screen without really seeing it. His silence only lasted a moment longer than it should have, but Stiles noticed. He noticed everything, he noticed the way Derek was still relaxed next to him, not uncomfortable at their proximity, the way his mouth had a slight shine from his tongue and the way the light struggling to peak through the clouds touched his cheekbones.

“I don’t shift in my sleep a lot. But it’s…it’s like letting go, I guess. A release of tension.”

Stiles nodded. “It feels good. Like sinking into a hot bath or eating really good food. It lets you process stuff?” he suggested and when Derek nodded his own lips twitched. He couldn’t help himself. “So that’s why you’re so zen now, huh? You’re one with the wolf and the wolf is one with you?”

But Derek didn’t laugh, didn’t really seem to register the joke, he looked hesitant, oddly vulnerable even as he was obviously trying to guard himself. “I can control it. If it bothers you.”

“Nah, you do you. Just don’t shed on my sheets or anything.”

With a scowl, Derek watched as Stiles snatched the last prawn cracker out of the complimentary bag between them. “I do not shed. I’m a werewolf, not a dog.” But there was that fond exasperation again that made Stiles a bit giddy. It made him feel stupid and hungry and happy and brave and scared all at once.

He drummed his fingers nervously along his thighs as he chewed and swallowed, and then of course his mouth moved of its own volition.

“Thanks, by the way. For…you know, last night. Taking the pain? And, well…you know, I…” He looked at Derek for some sort of clue, because Derek hadn’t mentioned last night and Stiles was almost half-convinced it’d been a dream. That was until he saw the way Derek’s eyes were molten and so, so close.

Stiles gave a nervous, breathy little laugh. “You’re better than that crap the hospital gave me.”

Considering him for a beat, Derek seemed to scan every inch of Stiles’s face. “Probably not half as addictive anyway.”

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure about that.

He spent the rest of the day doing his paperwork while Derek seemed quite content to alternate between reading one of Stiles’s books, flicking through the TV and messaging Cora on his phone.

It felt like they’d always shared this, comfortable and easy and gravitating around each other. When Stiles finally went to turn in, he found himself hesitating. His hand rested lightly on the bookshelf as he turned back to look at Derek, who was curled up under Stiles’s blanket that he snuggled up under on the couch on the colder evenings. For once in his life though, words failed him and after too long staring at Derek on the couch, all he could say was “goodnight Derek,” before heading into the bathroom.

His head was buzzing as he watched his reflection scrub his teeth, eyes too bright and face a little pink. Because it felt like everything he’d thought he’d imagined between them, once Derek had left them in Mexico, had just picked right back up where they’d left off. The easiness, those little half smiles that made something twist deep in his belly. He spat into the sink and splashed his face and throat with cool water to try and compose himself. Then he turned on the extractor, just in case there was some whiff of Stiles’s emotions or whatever in there.

*

It took another forty-eight hours before he got the short, not quite curt phone call from Rafael McCall saying Derek’s appearance was officially off the FBI’s radar (and unofficially off their records completely, as if it’d never been). But Derek stayed. He watched Stiles as he finished the call and then as he hung up, he held his gaze as he asked simply, voice warm and almost husky, “can I stay?”

Stiles wasn’t even thinking about the way Derek kept his apartment clean and his laundry done as he said, “as long as you want.” He thought about the fact that they liked the same cheesy old movies, that Derek liked to curl up with Stiles on his modest couch in the evening to read, while their feet pretty much touched under the blanket because the apartment was still a touch too cold, but not cold enough to turn the heating on yet.

He thought about their bickering and the way he liked to listen to Derek breathing as he drifted off. But mostly he thought about the way Derek had looked at him in Mexico, as he’d gotten into that car.

Now he was as safe as he was going to be, Derek used his modest little rental car to give Stiles a ride to work, saving him from struggling on the crutches all the way there. There were lifts in the actual building so it wasn’t so bad and Stiles’s life returned to a new sort of normal, but one where Derek picked him up after work. Where, when Stiles was poring over something for work on his laptop, Derek went out for a run and came back sweaty and breathless, or brought home the fresh doughnuts from the bakery a few blocks away until Stiles sang his praises through a mouthful of delicious warm sugar and cinnamon.

Stiles’s toe was healed enough that he could walk without the crutches in record time (if he was careful), so he soon started walking to work. But his heart still skipped a little when he walked out of his work building one evening to see Derek leaning against one of the fountains, just across from the glass doors.

“Hey,” Stiles breathed, feeling warm at the sight of him. He stayed late, he always did and Derek knew that but he’d still waited. Only a few of his fellow interns walk passed, looking interested. Stiles watched as Derek cleared his throat, ducking his head a little as if embarrassed and wondered what they were whispering to put that look on his face. Stiles had to know, but Derek gave no clues of course.

“So there’s a sale on at the furniture place just on the edge of town. I was thinking, you know, if you wanted to stay for a while longer, we could pick up a decent sofa bed? Give you a bit more space to sleep? Because honestly, there’s barely enough room on that thing for me to sleep on and you’re just a tad broader in the shoulders.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Derek assured him as they walked and Stiles knew a little prickle of disappointment. Because of course Derek wouldn’t be staying forever.

“Yeah,” he offered, running a hand through his hair, eyes on the sidewalk. “You’re probably so ready for a bit more space. I mean my apartment is a bit small for a werewolf–”

“It’s not too small,” Derek cut across him, sounding as confused as he looked when Stiles glanced at his face. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Stiles. I only meant that I’m fine where I am. My family spent half our time sleeping out on the porch in the summer, or camping out in the living room in front of the fire. I don’t need a fancy bed or a bigger apartment. I asked you if I could stay because it felt right.” He looked as if that was a bit more than he wanted to say and quickly looked back to the path ahead, waiting at the crosswalk in silence.

Derek was pretty poor at self-care, always had been, worse than Stiles’s dad, really, but outside of the life or death situations that came with Beacon Hills, he’d never gone along with anything he didn’t want to do. If he wasn’t happy where he was, he’d tell Stiles so, or leave.

It wasn’t until they’d crossed the road and started round the corner that Stiles spoke again, mind grasping at the tangent he was spinning onto. “You’ve never really mentioned your family much, except for the essential stuff,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“It’s easier to talk about the little things,” he shrugged, “I guess I’ve gotten used to talking about some things. When I spent time with Cora, she’d like to hear about them all the time. Everything I could remember. She was younger, didn’t really remember some of it. Not the good things.”

Stiles nodded, wondering how much of the good stuff he would’ve remembered about his mom if his dad hadn’t been there to refresh those memories.

“Is that like…your new anchor now or something?” When Derek looked confused, he continued, “just…your anchor was anger, wasn’t it? Only you’re not angry anymore, you seem…well you seem pretty amazing, if you ask me.”

He hated how fast his heart beat. The way Derek’s eyes flicked to him as if he’d heard. He probably had. Probably knew it wasn’t because Stiles had lied either.

“Not really. It hasn’t been anger for a long time. I can’t really pinpoint when, it’s not something that happens suddenly. It’s a gradual thing.”

Like grieving, like healing, like fighting beside someone everyday and missing them and only realising after they barrelled back into your life that you were falling in love.

It took Stiles a beat to realise his mind was drifting and Derek was still talking.

“…suppose I found myself in a situation, where someone was talking to me, maybe something I didn’t like, and I’d think…what would Stiles do?” Derek looked at him then, pausing on the sidewalk outside Stiles’s building and staring into his eyes with that wistful look.

Stiles’s stomach swooped and his head spun, even as Derek continued to talk.

“Of course, you’d always say something stupid or random–”

“Dude, you know me so well,” Stiles interjected, a little breathlessly, but Derek continued.

“–but whatever it was I felt…more focussed.”

 The chilly evening air whipped around them, picking up a little now and Stiles exhaled shakily, breath coming out in the lightest of mists between them.

Unbidden, the memory of being in the back of that van, with Derek and Liam came to him. Derek, trying to teach Liam to control his shift, both of them trying to tell him about anchors, about his focus. Back then, Derek had given him a look that Stiles had assumed was surprise at Stiles’s keen observations about werewolves and their anchors. Now he thought it had been a betrayal of a much more personal secret.

He tried to think back further, tried to think about their random text message thread over the last year, where Stiles had annoyed Derek as much as ever but Derek had always replied back. He thought about Scott and Allison, about Malia and him, the friendship their once-relationship had blossomed into. He thought about Jackson and Lydia and then he just stared at Derek as his scrambled thoughts fizzed out into quiet realisation. Like water rising up the bank where he’d camped with his assumptions of the world, until the flame he’d resigned himself to nurture there was swallowed up by the tide.

For just a moment, he felt like he was treading water again, only this time Derek was kickingback alongside him.

“You…you never said,” Stiles managed at last.

Derek stepped closer, the traffic going by, the glow of the streetlights and those of the business signs and windows all around blurred and inconsequential. It all wrapped around them in a flurry of sound and movement that fell away, as if they stood in the eye of the rush hour traffic’s storm, serene and untouched by the world as it passed on by. Stiles could feel the warmth radiating off of Derek and thought longingly of the solitude of the apartment above.

His tiny apartment that he loved but had also been a bit self-concious of. But now he supposed he knew why Derek loved it so much.

“It wasn’t…I didn’t…” Derek set his jaw, looking annoyed with himself. “I didn’t want you to expect anything from it. You were seventeen and I was…I was messed up, Stiles.”

Stiles glared. “I’m messed up. We’re all messed up, Derek, anyone who the Argents or the Nemeton or that goddamn town touched is messed up. What did you think I would like…jump you or demand a promise ring or something?!”

Exhaling impatiently, Derek shook his head. “I’d been on the run my whole life, Stiles and by the time I realised what was letting me keep my control, it’d all caught up with me at once.”

At that moment, Stiles thought of that Dire Straits song his dad loved, and that line, ‘When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong’ and he thought about what had happened. Probably happened anyway, if he could trust Peter’s story about Derek’s first love, and then his knowledge of what had happened not long after with Kate Argent. He thought about what that would mean for Derek, and how even a diminutive age gap with someone not quite of age would matter more to him than a lot of people. He thought about how angry and scared Derek had been when they’d seen him in the woods that day, when they’d been looking for Scott’s inhaler, and the man who stood before him now. He thought about the journey Derek had taken himself on after Mexico to get here.

Suddenly, the door to the apartment building opened and one of Stiles’s neighbours smiled apologetically as she stepped out onto the street between them and headed off down the sidewalk. The moment broken, Stiles shuddered as the chill crept down his neck and Derek tilted his head slightly, assessing him for an extended moment, before urging him inside.

They ate carbonara in front of the TV with Derek’s choice of a British series called Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, which Stiles felt a bit lost with, mostly because he wasn’t paying attention. He kept finding himself humming Romeo and Juliet without meaning to. This was so domestic. He couldn’t help but notice just how domestic it was and at the same time revel in it. Revel in the comfort of it and the tiny hope that maybe, if Derek had told him all this now, then that might mean this time he intended to stay.

Derek washed the dishes and Stiles dried, before excusing himself to the shower, if only for some space to process everything. Washing off the office was always cathartic too though, even if you did love your job. He dragged his hand across the surface of the steamy mirror as he roughly towelled his hair dry.

He couldn’t begrudge Derek his need for space or to process shit by himself after everything he’d been through after Mexico. He’d not exactly vanished off the face of the earth, except for the weeks he was on the run and understandably too busy for their usual text message sparring. There were so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to tell Derek and he wasn’t sure where to begin.

But amongst all that, among the repeated verses of Romeo and Juliet that just would not get out of his head now, he couldn’t help but keep coming back to the same question. If Derek had told him now, was that because it was okay for Stiles to expect something? Or…maybe not expect but…to want? Did Derek want?

Everything was still a blur when he opened the bathroom door, steam furling out around him – around Derek, who was standing right outside the door, in the narrow walkway between Stiles’s bed and the bathroom wall. There was nowhere to hide. Stiles was wearing his sweats and t-shirt and Derek was barefoot right next to his bed and the narrow space brought them so close Stiles could feel his heat. He was so perilously close and there were so many things he wanted to say.

He had plenty of time to say them.

Later.

Suddenly, there was nothing more important than showing this imperfect, verbally challenged man exactly how he felt. He stepped forward, effectively closing the minute space between them, exhaling in an unsteady breath as his eyes traced the shape of Derek’s mouth. His hands slid up Derek’s neck. As he cupped his jaw, as he traced his thumbs across the soft bristles on Derek’s cheekbones, Derek’s eyes slid closed as if the pleasure in it was almost unbearable.

It was like Derek shuddered without the movement of it and his hands, broad and so warm and gentle, slid up Stiles’s back, chasing the damp chill from his shower and leaving prickling bursts of heat in his wake. Derek tipped his head to press his forehead to Stiles’s, breathing deeply as he held Stiles close.

Stiles’s hands cupped the back of Derek’s neck, fingers threading through his short hair and Derek made a low sound like a groan deep in his chest.

“When I watched you get into that car, I felt like I lost something I never even really had,” Stiles murmured into the scant inch between their mouths. Derek’s hands slid warm up over the goosebumps on his back. He dragged his nose down the side of Stiles’s, across his cheek and jaw and chin, all without opening his eyes.

Even with his heart screaming in negation, Stiles drew back, just enough to turn them, so Derek’s back was to the bathroom and Stiles was standing in the gap beside the bed, using the shift in positions and minute space between them to say what he needed to. Derek’s eyes looked glossy and dark, considering Stiles with confusion, hands gripping his waist as he watched Stiles tried to find his words.

“I know why you had to go, then. But I really want you to stay now.”

Derek’s smile grew slowly, tentatively, but it dazzled him with its authenticity. He was still smiling when he started to lean in. Stiles wrapped his arms around his shoulders, the two of them pulling each other in close in tandem until their mouths slid together.

It was so sweet he felt himself sink into Derek at the same time that Derek pushed back. His bed had storage drawers underneath for his clothes so it was pretty high, high enough to scoot back onto and have Derek stand between his legs and just plaster the heat of his body against Stiles’s – all without their mouths separating. The slow press and caress of lips was like a question, like a request, like the shy affection of two people who had done this dance without even realising exactly what it meant until now and god, he didn’t expect Derek to be so soft.

They tilted their heads to press deeper and Derek dipped to nudge his jaw with his nose, graze the corner of his mouth with his lips until Stiles’s skin tingled pleasantly from his beard. It was like werewolf scenting and human kissing mixed up in a way that was purely just Derek until Stiles panted against his lips. He parted his lips slightly, shifting back and cupping Derek’s neck to take him with him until they were sprawled on the bed. The soft, warm shadowy place illuminated only by the glow from the lamp in the living area beyond the bookshelves.

The warmth they created between them lit Stiles up from the inside out. Derek rolled him on his double bed, tussling with him in his sheets. Stiles couldn’t help but think they must smell of them and that was maybe what was driving Derek crazy most of all. He tugged his shirt off between kisses, Derek catching his mouth the moment it passed over his head, pinning Stiles’s arms so they were still all caught up in the sleeves. He was ridiculous and perfect and making Stiles laugh at the awkwardness that felt so right. Derek’s answering chuckle against his lips and tongue was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

“I’ve never heard you go this long without talking,” Derek mused as Stiles lifted his head to nip at his jaw, to scrape his lips across soft, scratchy hair and relishing in the slight burn.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Stiles mock-chided, struggling, flailing out of his t-shirt at last and smoothing his hands up Derek’s back, all tight smooth muscle. “Just your shirt?”

“Mmm.” It was nonsensical but Stiles only had a moment to wonder what it meant before Derek kissed him with bruising force and drew back. He tugged his shirt off and dropping it somewhere near the end of the bed.

There wasn’t a moment of worship or godlike awe. Stiles didn’t doubt Derek had had his fair share of experiences like that. Stiles was too desperate for him to gape and gawk. He caught Derek’s shoulders and tugged him back down to him the moment his shirt was off, holding him close, bare skin sliding together hotly. Stiles’s hands gripped at his impossible shoulders and the small of his back in little spasms, wanting him everywhere, dipping between their bodies to stroke over his chest and stomach until Derek’s abs shuddered against his fingers. He groaned against Stiles’s mouth, bracing himself over Stiles’s head with his forearms, letting him touch everywhere and hold him close.

Stiles grinned against him, before nuzzling back into his cheek and wrapping his arms around him again completely.

He squeezed, pushing a little to roll them again until they were on their sides. Derek’s hands slid down his back so slowly, holding him, one hand sliding into his hair to cup his head so, so gently. Stiles nuzzled him again, just under his jaw and Derek pressed his nose into Stiles’s hair. They were both mostly hard and that was fine for now. This was what they both needed.

At some point as they lay tangled together, Stiles started to drift. He found himself half-over Derek, still wrapped in his arms in a messy sprawl but with the blankets over him now, warm and close and breathing only Derek in.

“You smell amazing,” Stiles mumbled, half-asleep. Derek’s chest jumped slightly under his hand with mostly silent laughter. He felt him press into his hairline sleepily, not as chaste as a kiss to his forehead, somehow more intimate in a way that sent little tendrils down Stiles’s spine.

“You feel amazing.”

Stiles muttered something about them not even being started yet but it was mostly smothered by his mouth smooshed against Derek’s shoulder and he definitely heard Derek say something about Stiles drooling. Stiles thought he fell asleep before he’d even finished laughing.

*

He was in that blissful place that wasn’t quite sleeping, just drifting pleasantly in relaxed consciousness. The calm tranquillity of someone just awoken, slowly drifting down to reality like a feather on a soft, warm breeze. There was something tickly nuzzling into the hollow of his neck. He groaned, stretching his limbs under the heavy blanket of heat, his arms coming up instinctively to wrap around broad shoulders and stroke clumsily until he cupped the back of Derek’s neck.

Derek was half-kissing, half burrowing into his neck and shoulder. He was only half awake himself, it seemed, and urging them both out of slumber in what Stiles thought was actually just the most fantastic way imaginable. Actually, he wasn’t sure even his imagination could come up with something this good. He felt his neck throb, as if Derek had been at it for a while and he squirmed. He tugged gently on Derek’s hair until Derek nosed across his adam’s apple and down to the opposite side of his neck to worry him there, just beneath where his collar would sit – if he ever put a shirt on again.

After a blissful eternity just lying warm and content under soft caresses, under Derek’s weight, held off him just enough by Derek’s arms either side of his head, he started to roll his hips into Derek’s soft, diminutive motions like a question again.

Derek lifted his head then, eyes glazed and dark and beautiful, hair sleep-mussed. Stiles was struck with how beautiful and soft he looked, asking for his silent consent. In answer, Stiles tilted his head and slanted their mouths together and rocked up against him until they were pressed together where they were both hard. They moved like that for a while, unhurried and lazy and perfect.

It was early morning and Stiles thought distractedly that he was going to be Derek’s workout that morning. He chuckled into Derek’s mouth and gripped Derek’s ass to pull their hips tighter together. It was firm and perfect and Derek went with it, with a little almost-growl, rutting into him even as Stiles clumsily tugged their sweats down, only just enough to bring their cocks together. He panted, tearing his mouth away from Derek’s to look down and watch them grinding together, both straining and hard and sticky.

Derek pushed up on one arm, the other coming down to hold them both together. The flat of his thumb danced under Stiles’s head as he stroked and Stiles shuddered, stomach quivering. He gripped Derek’s wrist, but not to stop him. He pressed his head back hard into the pillows as he fucked up into his hand.

He blinked bleary-eyed up at Derek, who was watching him through lust-blown eyes, half-lidded with thick lashes. Stiles grunted as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders again, holding onto him, rolling up into him even as Derek pushed back. They were just carried off fast and hard, as sudden and swift as Stiles’s heart beat and Stiles came in thick stripes between them. Hungry and shocked, he reached down to stroke them both as well, clumsy and urgent until Derek’s heat splashed over his own release before he’d even recovered himself.

He was shaking, he was pretty sure, still rocking as if he couldn’t help himself, even though he was sensitive. Derek kissed him everywhere like he was the most precious thing he’d ever seen – sweaty and mussed up and completely gone, drunk on Derek.

Derek had nice arms, Stiles thought dazedly, not for the first or last time. Those oh so nice arms scooped him up and held him close, sheets still tangled around them. Together, they fall into that soft, dreamy place that Stiles just realised only lazy morning sex could bring.

“Did you love me before I was your anchor?” he asked sleepily against Derek’s mouth sometime later. Derek liked to touch his nose to Stiles’s a lot, to drag it over his cheek and the corner of his lips so they lay at the same level mostly, on Stiles’s favourite pillow he’d brought from home that he couldn’t sleep without.

Derek opened his eyes then, hand warm on Stiles’s hip and he looked freer than Stiles had ever seen him.

“I think there was always something, an understanding or–”

“A spark?” Stiles mused.

Derek rolled his eyes but his lips were quirked in a little smile as well. “If you like. I can’t pinpoint when it changed exactly, it just…I started to change. And when I was stuck in that desert, I dreamed about you – I only dreamed about you, Stiles, and that’s when I knew.”

Stiles studied him closely in the muted light. “That I was your anchor?”

“Yes,” Derek said softly, so openly. “And I was messed up then, we both were and the timing wasn’t right, and you were seventeen and part of me felt like I’d never really stopped being sixteen but I knew that somewhere along the way, you’d become the most important thing to me.”

Stiles stroked his face. Derek was getting laugh lines around his eyes, and they were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

“I think I fell in love with you when you were hiding out in my room all that time from the sheriff’s department, even if I didn’t really understand what it meant.”

He still wasn’t sure he understood it entirely now, but they had plenty of time to figure it out.

He leaned in this time, bringing their mouths together just a split-second before his phone buzzed. No, Derek’s phone buzzed in the living room. They ignored it at first, then it started vibrating frantically, signalling a phone call in silent mode and Derek huffed in annoyance before hopping out of bed. He pulled up his sweats as he went, but not before Stiles got a glorious glimpse of that perfect ass. He couldn’t wait to see more of it.

As Derek answered, he stumbled into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under warm water, sponging himself down and wringing it out to take out to Derek, but as he turned, he found Derek in the doorway, phone still to his ear, a worried look on his face. Or a worried scowl at any rate.

“What sort of trouble?” Derek said to the person on the phone.

Stiles didn’t have super-hearing, but the apartment was quiet and Derek’s phone was loud enough that he heard a woman’s voice on the phone. Cora?

“You’re telling me that their whole pack was destroyed?” His tone was difficult to read and Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was summarising Cora’s words for Stiles’s benefit, or just simply floundering in disbelief. Because Derek had just been on the run for months because hunters, the ones they’d helped the FBI catch, had annihilated an entire pack and somehow pinned the blame on Derek, who had stopped by to check it out at exactly the wrong time.

The second hit on a werewolf pack in less than six months was a bit of coincidence and usually hunters were a bit more circumspect about their attacks, even the crazy ones.

Genocide on a wider scale was harder to ignore.

Stiles glanced at his own phone through the doorway, sitting currently silent on his side table. His work may not be aware of it yet, or maybe they were, but interns weren’t privy to this sort of dangerous information – the kind of information that could start a wider scale of panic. There were people like Rafael all over the FBI and CIA, trying to keep the secrets of the supernatural world secret. They were either doing a really good job of it or the officials were being pretty secretive themselves.

Stiles wouldn’t have time to find out which it was. He just knew. Stepping closer, he pressed his ear close and Derek held the phone away from his ear slightly so they could both listen.

“They weren’t even careful about it Derek,” Cora’s voice said, sounding fast and afraid. “The pack I’m staying with are in contact with this one in Brazil everyday because they’re the alpha’s in-laws and communication completely stopped. When they sent some people to check it out, they were just…everyone is gone. It was a blood bath. A scale of attack no one could’ve defended against. We’re working on other packs, telling them to go underground, get into hiding so I can’t – I wouldn’t ask you, but you know there are kids in this pack I’m staying with, Derek, in some of these other packs we’re trying to get to safety and something huge is going on here and I need to know someone I trust is looking into it.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, hands shaking and Derek held his gaze, as still as stone. In the short time Stiles had known Cora, he’d never heard her this shaken and desperate. This was bad. They both seemed agreed on that.

“I’ll check it out. Send me the location,” Derek said.

“Just for reconnaissance,” Cora insisted, voice shaken but determined now. “You promise me, Derek. This isn’t a battle you can win alone. You stay out of sight, find information and get out.” When Derek didn’t reply she persisted more firmly, “you promise me.”

It was not a question.

Derek sighed and though his expression was tinged with worry, his eyes were soft and affectionate. Stiles had heard him talk about his time with Cora and the pack she was staying with fondly, so he thought they’d gone some ways to mend the fractures in their relationship. He couldn’t wait to find out more – once they got out of whatever mess was headed their way, because there was no question they were heading straight for it.

“I promise, Cora. I can be careful.”

Stiles swore he heard something like “yeah, now you can” muttered down the phone from Cora and he smirked in spite of himself.

“Don’t go alone. Are you still in contact with Chris Argent or Braedan? Or can Isaac meet you?”

“Isaac’s still in France, he’s…” Derek looked thoughtful. “He’s happy there, Cora. He’s got a whole life.”

“Argent or Braeden then,” Cora said impatiently, more like a mother than a sister. “You can’t go alone.”

Derek straightened a little then, staring directly into Stiles’s eyes without any reservations and with meaning so much more significant than his simple words suggested. “Don’t worry, I’ve got back up.”

*

They had to get a flight to Brazil. Luckily there was space on the next flight out with only one stop over and Stiles was thrumming with nerves the whole time.

On the last leg, Derek laid a hand over his on the arm rest to still his twitching fingers when it looked like the woman in the window seat next to them was about to kill Stiles.

He wondered if it were possible that Derek could anchor him as well as the other way around, because after that he did actually manage to get some sleep. He didn’t know then just how much he would need it.

*

The next seventy-odd hours of Stiles’s life were non-stop. He wasn’t even sure he could process it correctly for days, weeks, months after, but somehow, while they were checking the wide area the murdered pack had claimed as territory, he and Derek had gotten split up. The ‘hunting party’ that’d attacked the pack had disbanded but some were still in the nearby town and some, Derek had apparently found at the scene of the crime. All of course, while Stiles got into trouble with the former.

Stiles wasn’t even sure how but by the time Derek had met him back at their hotel, Stiles had already had most of the hunters he’d encountered taken in by local law enforcement as suspects and Derek…Derek had parked up out front in what Stiles was pretty sure was a stolen car.

“Oh my god!” Stiles declared more than gasped as he scrambled into the passenger seat. “Are you insane! There are Brazilian police all over this town now and you park up in a stolen car!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s not reported as stolen, they didn’t live long enough to make the call.”

Stiles scowled, scanning the street anxiously but the police that’d made the arrests were gone with their charges now and those that’d been left to clear the scene still seemed to be inside.

“Dude, where have you been?! You were meant to be back hours ago!”

Pulling back out into the street with all the calmness of a man out on a morning stroll, Derek made the turn at the junction toward the airport. “I was a bit caught up. I text you as soon as I could.” Before Stiles could do much more than process that the fact that he himself had also not really had time to check his phone, Derek added wryly, “Looks like you’ve been pretty busy too.” His eyes followed the three police vans they passed, currently transporting their suspects to the local jail.

They might not stay there, Stiles’s dad had been brief and distracted when he’d put Stiles in contact with someone trustworthy in Brazil. He was probably working on a big case himself as he was very hasty to get Stiles off the phone, so Stiles still wasn’t sure exactly how much Detective Silvos, who’d helped Stiles get these guys nailed down, knew about the supernatural. He hadn’t really blinked at Stiles’s vague and suspicious story though. Not when Stiles’s dad had spoken to him on the phone.

He also hadn’t asked Stiles to give him his address or contact details or to stay in town while the investigation continued, which was standard even in another country, of that he was sure.

He had the nagging suspicion somehow his dad was involved in this, which was impossible, surely? How could he be involved in a hit on werewolves in Brazil and Mexico that were somehow linked?

And why weren’t Lydia or Scott answering their damn phones?!

He stared at Derek then and the sight he made. “Is that your blood? Dude,” he hurriedly stripped off his outer shirt for Derek to put on when they reached the airport. They did not need that kind of attention.

Derek set his teeth. “Get your phone out and book us on the next flight out of Brazil.”

Stiles studied him carefully for a moment before digging in his pocket for his phone. “Sacramento flights are–”

“Not Sacramento,” Derek cut across him, focussed solely on the road ahead, as if he dared not let his mind drift back to whatever he’d left behind.

Watching his face in profile carefully, Stiles waited for Derek to explain or clarify what he meant exactly. But the haunted look in Derek’s eyes as the street lights flashed by made the uneasiness at the back of his mind settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Derek?”

“Book the fastest route to Beacon County airport,” he said at last, casting Stiles a little sideways glance.

Of course whatever crap was going on here was leading them back to Beacon Hills, the place they’d both tried so hard to escape. Stiles was so getting his dad a job somewhere in Sacramento because his life expectancy was definitely going to go up with that move. He shot his dad a text to check in as he pulled up the flights options.

*

It was night when they landed in Beacon County Airport after a long two stop flight and the taxi they took from there dropped them off at the Stiles’s house. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding filled him when they found that his dad wasn’t there. Even as Stiles felt his panic sky-rocketing, even as he dialled his dad’s cell and the line rang and rang, Derek stood poised on the threshold of the front door, listening to the cool, quiet night.

Stiles watched him, knowing, just knowing somehow that he was picking up on something Stiles couldn’t have a hope of sensing.

“They’re in trouble – we’ve got to go,” Derek said quickly. Stiles snatched the Jeep’s keys off the rack in the hall. He hoped that the fact that Scott had left the Jeep here meant his dad was with him, or at least protected somehow.

“Your driving will get us pulled over in five seconds, we want to avoid attention not get shot off the road by the anti-werewolf militia,” Stiles said as he shut the front door behind them and darted for the Jeep. Because his brain had been working overtime on both flights and he was starting to put it all together now.

He thought as he pulled his seatbelt on and Derek wrenched open the passenger door with distaste, that Derek was about to argue, but then he stiffened as if he’d heard something, eyes going wide and he jumped in.

“Drive,” he barked, before he’d even closed his door.

Stiles floored it, going five over the speed limit the whole way despite the way Derek was braced forward in his seat and scowling at the rate of movement.

“Look, if they see us speeding down the street it’s going to draw even more attention than a werewolf running down it,” Stiles snapped, heart pounding, mind racing as he thought of his dad, of Scott and Lydia and everyone else.

Scott hadn’t had time for specifics it seemed, hadn’t even had time to finish the phone call properly or reply to Stiles’s messages. Stiles wondered if his phone had been caught in the crossfire again, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Derek rolled down the passenger window roughly using the lever and glared at Stiles as if daring him to make a dog comment as he inhaled the sharp night air.

“Turn right,” he barked and the Jeep protested loudly as Stiles jerked the steering hard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Stiles snapped and Derek turned his head to level him with a withering look. Stiles wasn’t deterred. “It still hurts if you fly through the windshield doesn’t it? Now don’t lean too far out of the window or a streetlamp will take your head clean off, fido.”

He had the brief, glancing thought that it was good their bickering banter hadn’t changed. That, and that they made a pretty good team. He only hoped their success of the last few days, weeks really, was going to hold true for whatever they were getting themselves into now. It was Beacon Hills, after all.

Derek helped him follow Scott’s trail toward an industrial site and as Stiles pressed harder on the gas, even he heard the sounds of gunfire. His stomach dropped and he and Derek locked gazes briefly. He saw his own worry etched into Derek’s expression and swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“Blood?” he breathed, not wanting to know.

“Not Scott’s. Not the pack’s, I don’t think but…” he frowned then and stiffened in his seat, grabbing for the door handle. “Keep going. Put your foot down.” With that, he leapt out of the door, landing easily on his feet.

Stiles swore, glancing repetitively in the wing mirror only to see Derek quickly keep speed alongside the passenger window, pushing the door shut hard.

A stream of gunfire pinged down from one of the rooftops to their left.

“Snipers!” Stiles shouted and Derek snarled, leaping onto the nearest structure and scaling the concrete, up and out of sight.

Ahead of him, Stiles could see the conflict now, a force of guns flashing in the dark, aiming for a barely covered alcove with wide open arches and he knew, just knew this was them. The militia that were trying to kill everyone he cared about. Maybe they even had? One man side-stepped out of the shadow of the building they were targeting, position prime for fire and Stiles knew without thinking the guy was preparing a kill-shot.

He floored the gas and slammed into him, sending the guy skidding forward with a crunch. Panting hard, Stiles turned out the still open window and saw Scott staring at him from his crouched position behind a pillar.

“You didn’t think you were doing this without me, did ya?” Stiles called out, a little breathless but with a wave of relief filling him at seeing Scott alive.

“Without us?” Derek added as he came up alongside the Jeep once more, evidently having disposed of the snipers that had sidetracked him. Movement just ahead, of more gunmen rounding the corner caught his eye though and his eyes flashed, fangs extending as he leapt forward.

If Stiles hadn’t been head over heels for him before, he sure would’ve been then. Because Derek wasn’t the same erratic, scared little kid in a man’s body. He was focussed, more dangerous and stronger now because of it. He may not have been an alpha but he was unstoppable. Maybe the others felt it too or perhaps their arrival had simply rallied their morale because he saw Malia move, saw Peter and for probably the first time, Stiles appreciated that they were wolves – a pack of wolves acting as one, all of them. He stood struck still as stone at the sight of them working together like a single force and didn’t really come back to himself until what was left of their enemy tore away with a screech of tyres.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about any of this, not a word not a single word,” he rounded on Lydia as the others moved toward…toward Deucalion, broken and limp on the floor.

“We had reasons, really good reasons,” Lydia muttered sheepishly, and as they moved, as Scott and the others focussed on Deucalion, she levelled him with a shrewd glare. “Why didn’t you tell me about Derek?” She challenged under her breath and Stiles wasn’t even sure how she’d known from just a glance, or if it’d only been a hunch that he’d confirmed with the full-facial flush he had absolutely no control over.

“Well that’s a…fairly recent development. Like…sort of shiny new…”

“Please, there’s nothing new about that,” Lydia scoffed under her breath.

He felt Derek tense as he came up behind them, Peter close by, Malia too and he wondered how much they had heard or if they’d been focussed on Deucalion’s last words.

“It’s already started, hasn’t it?” Malia asked.

Stiles frowned. How much had they missed here? “What’s started?”

“It’s an all out war,” Scott breathed, lifting his gaze from Deucalion to each of them in turn, as if confirming each and every member of his pack were unharmed after such a close call. An instinctive motion, Stiles thought, after years of running with wolves.

Stiles’s head was still spinning as Scott embraced Derek, relieved and glad to see him and so well, Stiles thought. Scott was the alpha but Derek represented a force of strength for Scott, a big brother figure and support that Scott didn’t have from anyone else. As they spoke, as Derek explained what had brought them there, Stiles suddenly found himself among all the conflicting feelings that had gripped him since they’d started heading back toward Beacon Hills.

Because their connection, this thing he and Derek had found together, their little den back in Sacramento felt so fresh, new and delicate like a bubble and whatever Beacon Hills touched, it fucked up. But standing there, watching Derek, watching Derek watch him with those soft eyes, he realised every inch of Derek was calm and collected. He was focussed because Stiles was there, anchoring him and whatever else happened, they were going to be okay.

“We found a pack slaughtered in Brazil, there were two words written on the wall, Beacon Hills.”

“You came back for Beacon Hills?” Scott asked, bemused.

“No,” Derek replied simply. “I came back for you.”

“We came back for you,” Stiles corrected.

Malia gave him a wry look. “Yeah, are ‘we’ going to explain that anytime soon?” Stiles honestly forgot how much she loved to tease him. He’d missed her, he’d missed all of them really and he felt a little giddy at the thought of sharing this happiness he’d found, this inner strength he’d cultivated, the person he’d become.

Derek moved to his side then, a subtle but distinctive movement. His eyes searching his, a smile touching the corners of his mouth as Stiles’s gaze dropped to it. It was like Derek felt invincible with Stiles beside him, and that knowledge was heady. The backs of Derek’s fingers brushed his where they hung limp at his side with such subtle, shy tenderness and yet Stiles’s stomach fluttered and he gave a nervous little laugh.

“Sure, we’ve got…stuff and you guys have stuff – a lot of stuff, actually. Huge stuff. But can we go somewhere with heat and light because I haven’t slept properly in like literal days and I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Derek’s soft little burst of laughter, almost too quiet to hear, was a beautiful sound, a moment of calming clarity, like the last gulp of fresh air before diving into deep water. They had a war to win.

*

When the smoke cleared, when they had defeated the militia that had tried to wipe out anyone with supernatural blood, they stood together in the darkness.

Stiles watched Scott bring a freshly turned, freshly afraid werewolf into their protection, if not their fold. Watched the beginnings of their future unfold before them and for once he didn’t feel afraid. He glanced to Derek, who gave him that little quirk of a smile, saw his own future, as well as his pack and he couldn’t wait for the rest of his life to begin.

The Jeep couldn’t make the drive to Sacramento, so he left her back in Scott’s loving hands to drive the newbie back to the loft. Derek’s old apartment had been renovated by the pack into ‘pack ground zero’ and now housed quite a few of their newest recruits slash recues. Scott had only looked a little bit annoyed, mostly indulgent, when Stiles had called it ‘Scotty’s School for Gifted Youngsters’.

He climbed into the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro, a new model, not the old classic that apparently Derek had left with Cora. Derek looked so good and Stiles wondered how much begging it’d take to get Derek to stop for a milkshake on the way home. He was guessing not much, Derek was pretty good at taking care of him. He’d even looked ready to take on their friends when they’d effectively outed themselves to everyone in Deaton’s clinic before the final showdown. It had been unnecessary though, as nobody seemed very surprised, except Scott, who bless his heart was oblivious about most things.

“Your dad gave me ‘the speech’ when you were loading the car earlier,” Derek mused as he pulled out onto the quiet main road. “It wasn’t exactly the ‘shotgun’ speech…”

Stiles cringed. “It wasn’t the safe sex speech either was it?”

Derek smirked. “It was more along the lines of, I’m glad it’s you and good luck you’re gonna need it.”

Stiles made a sound that was a mixture of outrage and amusement. “Oh my god, traitor! You guys are gonna gang up on me at Sunday dinners aren’t you?”

Derek’s quiet laughter caressed his ears as Beacon Hills fell away in a blur of twinkling lights into the darkness behind them. He reached out, stretching fingers across Derek’s denim-clad thigh and relaxed back into the seat, staring out at the road ahead where the headlights greeted the tarmac.

Derek’s fingers came down to cover his as he drove.

“Do you think another militia will pop up like that again?” Stiles asked after the lights of Beacon Hills had long since vanished behind them.

“I think it’s always possible. Hunters are still out there. People like Monroe are still out there,” Derek said thoughtfully. “But rumour is spreading, about the Beacon Hills pack, about the safety they provide, their strength. It makes anyone think twice about making an attack like that again, but it also means newly turned werewolves and people like them have somewhere to go instead of getting into trouble, instead of causing mayhem with powers they can’t control.”

Stiles nodded, “it actually helps to have so many people in the town in on the secret too, I guess. They’re like an extension of the pack.” Plus his dad had been elected sheriff again and he had never been more respected by the community. While that kept him rooted in Beacon Hills too for the foreseeable future, Stiles didn’t worry as much as he had before. The bitterness that had once tainted his connection to that town had dissipated somewhat, his bond with his hometown, with the pack stronger than before.

It was funny how it’d taken him and Derek finding each other, really finding each other to enable them to reconnect with the pack and the town the way they were meant to. They would always belong to Beacon Hills and the pack there, it would always be theirs, but what they had with each other was home. Home was wherever Stiles curled up next to Derek at night and the rest of the world was a better place outside because of that.

Stiles couldn’t even put his finger on why, exactly. He thought though, perhaps, that they’d both been two very capable but misguided kids. Two strangers that, for their own reasons, had been forced to learn to take care of themselves. And while they’d both managed fine, they hadn’t necessarily been good at it. They’d been drawn to each other from the start, had always known how to push each other’s buttons but also known that they were both missing something.

Now they were whole. Cracked, a little chipped here and there and definitely dented, but for all those flaws, they were together and complete.

They’d looked out for each other as allies in war, but now they looked after each other as partners, as equals. As the other’s most important thing, the anchor that held them tight, steady and sure no matter how rough the seas around them grew.

“You’re totally gonna rip my throat out if I open this bag of Doritos in your new shiny baby aren’t you?” Stiles mused as he tugged the aforementioned bag out from his backpack that sat between his legs in the footwell.

“With my teeth,” Derek agreed automatically, completely deadpan. But his hand squeezed Stiles’s gently where they were still connected.

Stiles grinned.

There was also the fact that no one quite enjoyed Stiles’s own special brand of crazy like Derek did. That sort of unconditional love was something more powerful than anything, supernatural or otherwise. It was hard not to feel invincible knowing that. And when Derek looked at him sometimes, even then when it was just a quick peek between keeping his eyes on the road, like he couldn’t help himself, he could see Derek felt the exact same way.

“So at the end of the month, my boss is holding this sort of…I guess the term would be a dinner,” he began as he gently wriggled his hand free from Derek’s to open the dreaded Doritos. “It’s like this unofficial thing he does, to sort of congratulate us all for our hard work. Like a work’s Christmas party except it’s way too early for Christmas. But anyway, we’re allowed to bring significant others.”

When Derek glanced at him again, Stiles waggled his eyebrows and stuffed some Doritos in his mouth. “How significant do you wanna be, Derek?”

Derek flushed but turned back to the road. Honestly he rocked the angry-embarrassed thing, Stiles was so gone for him.

“Is he going to recognise me?” Derek replied eventually, but as he did so, Stiles leaned over to poke a Dorito into his mouth, forcing him to partake in the desecration of the Camaro’s spotless interior and lingering new car smell.

“Only one way to find out hubby-wolf.”

“Oh my god, Stiles, no pet names.”

“I’m also thinking we can probably fit a queen bed in the apartment,” Stiles continued as if he hadn’t spoken. We should stop at Ikea tomorrow. Just something with a little more room for you to, you know, have at me with all your wolfie desires. The full moons are gonna rock.”

Derek made a noise that was torn between dismay and adoration and annoyance all at once and Stiles grinned, stuffing his mouth full again before poking another chip between Derek’s lips. He prodded it until it was almost fully in Derek’s mouth, but when Derek resignedly sucked it in fully, he nipped at the end of Stiles’s fingertip, looking both irritated and pleased with himself.

Stiles beamed and dusted his fingers off before starting to mess with the radio.

Derek had to know what he was in for, after all.

[bonniebird]

Harald x Reader

Requested by @artemiseamoon

The man who visited was different from the first. He was older and claimed to be a king of so many places, you hadn’t heard of all of them. His face was covered in a tattoo that had some of the other girls whispering to each other. Some decided he was almost as attractive as Hvitserk Ragnarsson.

He introduced himself as Harald Finehair king of Norway. Olaf scoffed at that. Everyone became tense as they spoke and although he looked as if he knew something bad was going to happen, he seemed to relax as he was offered a seat. For a while he talked with Olaf, explaining why he was here. Until a messenger came rushing through the door. “He is almost here.” Was all they said and Olaf’s men jumped into action.

Olaf’s face stayed stern as his warriors closed in on Harald. It was a surprise, out of the blue. Harald hadn’t expected it and it showed from his expression. The comotion cleared the main hall and you returned your eyes to your feet. So did several other servants who were waiting for Olaf’s commands.

“(Y/N), you will take him food and water each day.” He snapped quickly. You nodded and started to leave the room. “The rest of you will prepare for our visitor from Kattegat.” Olaf added.

Pulling your furs tightly around you as you followed the dragging tracks in the snow you made your way to where they had chained up Harald. He glared at you when you entered. “Sent you to kill me?” He asked bitterly. You shook your head and turned to the small fire pit that needed to be lit.

“I am to make sure you do not die. Olaf wants to keep you alive.” You said quickly. He stared at you as you sorted the fire until it was warm enough to at least keep the chill away from the room.

“How gracious of him.”

“He is only doing this because of the king in Kattegat. It does not seem very… honorable.” You said quietly. Harald looked surprised for a moment and then amused.

“You are not a Thrall?”

“My parents died fighting for king Olaf, I work for him and he pays me with food and a place to sleep.”

“Have you ever been away from here?”

“Why would I go anywhere? I have everything I need.” You smiled and curtsied, he was a king after all, and left him.

You were the only one who didn't have to assist the visitors from Kattegat. Over the weeks that followed you would visit twice a day. Bringing him just enough food to get along and ensuring the fire was still lit. Sometimes Harald would glare at you, trying to convince you to make demands of Olaf on his behalf. Sometimes he would stare up at you as if he was looking at something so beautiful he wasn’t sure you existed. Mostly he would stare off into the distance with glassy eyes. In his mind he was sitting in his halls. His brother laughed as he drank beside him and you danced to music in front of his throne. Sunlight streamed around and warmed his face as he stared off.

There was a dull thud that snapped him awake and he glanced at the door. He looked forward to the times you’d come. Although the alternative was to starve alone in the cold. Frowning he realised that your cheeks were stained with tears as you stumbled against the farthest wall of his prison. The door opened again and this time his brother barged in. “Come on.” He said once he saw Harald. He undid the chains on Harald and he started to lead the way out.

“(Y/N), come with me?” Harald offered gently. You looked afraid of him for the first time. He didn’t like that. You’d spent all the time taking care of him, chatting mindlessly about things that were going on. He’d gotten fond of you. A few times you’d snuck him extra food or drink. One night you'd even taken a cup of mead from the main hall for him. Shaking your head you backed up as far as you could and he sighed, relenting as he left.

***************

“King Harald?” One of Harald’s men called. Harald sighed and looked over at them. He’d been sitting on the steps of his main hall, watching the ocean.

“What is it?” He asked as he stood up.

“A woman has arrived alone on a boat… says you met her when you were captured by Olaf.” He explained quickly. Halfdan was about to spit out something snide but Harald rushed away.

Warriors surrounded a small, battered boat and still sat in it, looking rather nervous as you. He smiled to himself and motioned for the weapons to be lowered. “(Y/N). I did not expect you to come here.” He frowned when you didn’t respond. Unsure what else to do he held out his hand and helped you out of the boat. “Why have you come?”

“I… am unsure.” You admitted so quietly he felt as if your hand in his was equal to a baby bird. “Olaf is furious that you got away.”

“He blames you?”

“Sometimes.” You admitted.

Being led into the main hall was like walking into a different world. It was so different from Olaf’s main hall. Giant fish skeletons decorated it and you couldn’t help but take a moment to look at them all. If Haralf had told you of them you would have never believed him. “Who is this?” Halfdan asked Harald who had been watching you look around.

“(Y/N). The one who looked after me.” He said quickly and Halfdan’s face softened with understanding.

“She will be staying then?” He asked and Harald shot him a look.

“That will be up to (Y/N).” Harald pointed out.

[matrixaffiliate]

Christmas in Quarantine

New Story! FFN and AO3

Quarantine has a way of making us want to have the best things in life, the things we can't have now. For Harry and Ginny, this involves hauling out the holy, playing carols, holiday treats, and a little of Christmas, right this very minute. Modern Muggle AU.

This little story was requested and prompted by several wonderful people on Tumblr. @gryffindormischief named the fic and wanted it written for Hinny. @petals-to-fish (who put up so many wonderful fics in one day for all of us and it really was Christmas) wanted to see a snowball fight, baking cookies, and mistletoe kissing. @inakindofdaydream (who adores Christmas after my own heart) wanted to see them almost getting caught by Santa Clause. And @shining-jul-of-hope who pointed out that it's nowhere near Christmas right now. :P I'm so grateful to these lovely people for sharing in the magic with me, and trusting me with their fabulous ideas!

For those of us not part of the UK, cornflour, apparently is what we call corn starch.

Christmas in Quarantine

It was strange, how little Harry Potter's life changed with the Pandemic, but as a blockbuster author who spent most of his time in his office writing the next installment of his fantasy novels, he was more or less socially distanced to begin with. What changed the most was that Ginny was home now. The football leagues were all canceled and that meant Ginny's professional career had been put on hold until further notice.

For the first week or so, it was fun. Harry put off the manuscript in exchange for keeping Ginny company in all the best ways. But then his publisher was emailing him about maybe getting more done since the world had shut down, and his editor started calling and so Harry reluctantly went back into work mode.

He figured Gin would be alright. She had the treadmill and other assorted workout equipment and her team did daily Zoom meetings now. When she wasn't goofing around with the team - he's walked into the kitchen when she's in those meetings, he knows what they're talking about - both their mothers liked to call and check-in, Marlene hosted a Kindle book club now, and Luna taught painting lessons through live videos, so Harry felt confident that Ginny didn't need him to be underfoot trying to "entertain" her.

But he started to wonder if he had underestimated what social distancing would do to his wife when Harry walked out of his office for a snack and heard the sound of... show tunes?

"Gin?" Harry poked his head into the sitting room.

"Alright, Potter?" Ginny was lounging on the sofa in front of the telly, watching something that looked horrendous on their high def screen.

"What's this?" Harry gestured to the telly.

"My mum always said I should watch the musicals she loved as a kid." Ginny shrugged. "And I've got time now, so I thought I'd give a few a go."

Harry chuckled, "You had me worried there. I've never heard you listen to show tunes and I wondered if you'd gone stir crazy."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Don't let that book keep you past dinner again."

Harry shoved his hand in his hair. "I've got an alarm today, I'll be all yours the moment it goes off."

Ginny's returning smile left him wondering if maybe he ought to move that alarm up an hour.

After a week of Ginny watching the musicals her mum grew up with, Harry became accustomed to the show tunes playing from the sitting room. Gin would put on whatever one he assumed her mum had recommended and Harry would come out to assorted big band songs playing. It reminded him of going to his dad's parents' home when he was little, which felt oddly comforting given the way the world was attempting to implode upon itself.

And that was probably why Harry didn't think to question Gin's newfound obsession.

And when she started watching the same one at the start of every day, well Harry just figured that she really liked the music or the story, after all, the bits that Harry had seen were set during the Great Slump and he was starting to wonder if the world wasn't heading for another 21st-century repeat.

Harry was a bit taken aback after a week of her starting the day with the musical Auntie Mame to walk into the kitchen to grab lunch and find Ginny baking mince pies.

"Alright, Gin?"

Ginny grinned up at him from the pie crust she was rolling out.

"Thought I'd make us a bit of a treat."

Harry brushed some of the flour from her cheek.

"Mince pies?"

"You love mince pies." She set the rolling pin down to smear a floured hand across his cheek.

Harry tried to pull back but wasn't quick enough and laughed as he reached for a towel.

"You're right, so I guess the proper response should have been more along the lines of 'thank you' or maybe enthusiastic snogging?"

"I'll take the thank you now and the enthusiastic snogging after these pies are baked and cooled." Ginny kissed him and Harry moved closer to her, letting his lips move slowly against her, loving the way she melted against him.

"Thank you for making mince pies in April. I'll make sure that you get far more than enthusiastic snogging once I'm done working on this blasted novel."

Ginny bit down on his lip. "I can't wait."

Harry was surprised by Ginny baking mince pies. But the next morning he was downright floored to find their Christmas decorations out and mostly up when he stepped out to refill his tea.

"Gin? What on Earth?"

"We need a little Christmas, Harry." Ginny adjusted where she hung an ornament on their tree.

"It's April…" Was all he managed to say as he realized how much she'd managed to get done in the roughly three hours he'd been writing.

"Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!" Ginny laughed and smiled at the telly where Lucille Ball's character was talking about building a home for Jewish refugees.

"Right…"

Ginny moved back to the last couple of boxes of their Christmas decorations.

"I have a surprise at lunch. So don't work through it."

Harry blinked. "This isn't a surprise?"

"We need a little Christmas, Harry!" Ginny pulled the Santa hat or if the box and stuck it on her head.

And then it clicked.

"Are we in that musical?" He gestured to the telly.

Ginny huffed and dug into the box closest to her. "Well, I thought it looked like fun!"

"I can't sing," Harry grinned and moved to the boxes with Ginny. "But we could haul out the holy, maybe fill the stockings, turn on the carols."

Ginny's eyes filled back up with hope, "Bake Christmas cookies, have a snowball fight, watch for Santa?"

Harry slipped his hand into the box next to him as he smiled down at Ginny.

"I have no idea how we'll have a snowball fight, but yes, I'll go close out of my document for today and we'll have ourselves a little Christmas."

Then he lifted out what he'd been digging through the box for.

"But shouldn't we start our Christmas off right?" Harry held up the mistletoe over their heads.

Ginny chuckled, "Very smooth, Potter."

"I had to write a few romance pieces at university." Harry leant closer to her.

"Why have I never seen them?" Ginny smirked, leaning back away from him.

"They were rubbish. I tossed them the moment I had the grade." Harry finally pulled her close enough to capture her lips.

She laughed against him. "Go tell your boss you're out for the day while I go hang this above our bed."

Ginny snatched the mistletoe from his fingers and skipped to their bedroom.

By the time Harry had finished saving everything and putting a few ideas down in his notebook, Ginny was standing at his office door in her bikini with his swimming trunks in hand.

"What happened to Christmas?"

"I figured out how to have a snowball fight!" Ginny tossed him his trunks. "Come on!"

Then she headed for their balcony.

Harry couldn't change fast enough.

"Here," Ginny shoved a bowl at him as he stepped out the door to join her. "This is your ammunition, use it wisely because I'm not using any more of our cornflour for it."

"Cornflour?"

"Yes, and hair conditioner, which I've already told Amazon to send more of."

Harry laughed at how Ginny had moved their two patio chairs to make a battle line.

"I can't believe you managed to get us snow when it's 19 degrees out." Harry stuck his hand in his bowl of fake snow and grimaced at the texture.

"YouTube," Ginny shrugged and then jumped to one side of the chair battle line she'd created.

The moment Harry shut the door, she threw a ball of the 'snow' at this bareback and he grimaced at the way it felt sliding along his spine.

"This is an awful cross between that wretched Halloween slime we made in primary and store-bought decor snow."

"Wouldn't know," Ginny shrugged, "seeing as I haven't been hit by any of it."

Harry didn't move fast enough as she threw another 'snow ball' at him and it slid down his side. He groaned as the feeling of it crawling along his side sent shivers across his skin before reaching into his own bowl and tossing a large handful back at Ginny. She ducked and it splatted against the wall behind her.

There wasn't really much 'snow' between the two of them and when he missed Ginny by a hair for the third time, Harry decided to go all in. He jumped up on the patio chairs and pushed his foot on the back of the chair, tipping it over and taking his wife by surprise as he dumped his bowl over her head.

Ginny yelled and shoved him back onto the toppled chair as she threw the last of her snow at his face. Then she collapsed on top of him and laughed as they tried to keep the 'snow' from their eyes.

"I think a shower is in order." Harry pushed his caked glasses up into his hair. "And then what would you like to do next?"

"I have everything out for some Christmas cookies, icing and all." Ginny wiped some snow from her forehead before it could slide completely into her eyes.

"Baking and Christmas carols?"

"And maybe a bit of something else…" Ginny moved to kiss him but immediately backed away when more 'snow' tried to sneak into her eyes.

Harry laughed and pushed them to stand. "Lead a blind man to the shower, won't you?"

After a long shower, Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny's waist as carols played through her phone and she measured out the flour.

"Aside from the tank top, this feels like Christmas."

"Maybe we should spend Christmas in a warmer climate from now on," Ginny brushed a bit of flour on his nose.

"Our mums would probably hunt us down for something like that."

"Ooo, adventure and a holiday, sounds like a book waiting to be a bestseller."

Harry laughed and helped with the cookies and icing. Slipping his phone out here and there to jot down a few notes.

"I thought you told the boss you were off for the day." Ginny pouted as Harry set his phone down to ice another cookie.

"Just writing a few ideas down," Harry leant over and kissed her cheek.

"Typing, not writing," she teased.

"You said you had a surprise for me and to not work through lunch." Harry redirected their conversation.

"Well, I was going to use it to convince you to go along with having a bit of Christmas in April. But since you decided to jump on board without it, I'm saving it for tonight." She bit her lip.

"Tonight, eh?" Harry stood and moved to the fridge.

"Alright, Potter?" Ginny frowned.

"I know that look," Harry started pulling out sandwich fixings. "I'm going to need more than sugar cookies and icing for lunch if you've got that look."

Her laughter felt more genuine in that moment than it had since the world hit pause, and Harry grinned.

They really did need a little Christmas.

They spent the rest of the day 'virtual caroling'. For which his parents not only thanked them but joined in, taking the phone along as they dug up all the Christmas boxes and argued if they could thaw the ham overnight or if they should just make whatever they had on hand for a family Christmas dinner the next day hosted via Zoom meeting.

Harry scrounged up everything for a shepherds pie dinner and they put on A Christmas Carol after as they ate the iced cookies and drank hot chocolate for dessert.

It felt like Christmas.

Harry felt light and he felt happy and he could see the happiness and lightness in Ginny as well. They definitely needed a little Christmas in all of this pandemic insanity.

"Thank you," he kissed her hairline.

Ginny smiled up at him, snuggling closer to his side. "Thank you for being on board. This has been so much fun. I forgot about how awful it is out there."

Harry kissed her, letting himself indulge in the softness of her lips, the taste of chocolate and sugar on her lips.

"Do I still get to see that surprise?" Harry kissed along her jawline to the spot behind her ear that made her breath catch.

Ginny laughed, "Wait here."

She pushed up and slid out of the room with a confidence that made it a strenuous exercise in self-control for Harry to not follow her out of the sitting room.

To distract himself he took out his phone and jotted down a few more notes.

"I might just throw your phone in your office and lock the door."

Harry quickly locked said phone and tossed it on the side table.

Then he looked up.

Ginny had on a Father Christmas cloak, white wig, and a set of glasses that had the white beard attached.

"Wow…"

Ginny laughed and undid the belt that held the robe shut.

Harry's initial confusion dropped instantly as his wife's body was revealed, no imagination needed.

"We're losing the beard," he smirked and moved to gently pull the glasses-beard combo off Ginny's face.

"What Father Christmas doesn't have a long white beard?" She teased as her fingers moved along his waistband.

Harry kissed her slowly as his hands moved slower against her freckled skin.

"The one who is actually my wife," he pulled back before sweeping Ginny into his arms and carrying her back to their bed, and the mistletoe hanging over it.

The sun long set and the moon high in their bedroom window, Harry waited patiently until Ginny's breathing became even and he was sure she was fast asleep. As quietly as he learned to move when he was a child spying on his Christmas gifts, Harry snuck out of their bed and down to his office.

It took the better part of an hour to get it how he wanted it. Then it took another half-hour to get the printer to print it the way he wanted. And another half-hour after that to find the freaking wrapping paper. But after roughly two hours of trying to be silent, Harry snuck into the sitting room to set the gift under the tree.

He went to grab this phone from the side table when a cloaked image came into his peripheral vision and he almost cried out as all the anxiety of a child being caught by Father Christmas came rushing up at him from years as a boy trying to spy on Christmas gifts.

"Why are you out here?" Ginny's groggy voice sounded and Harry felt relief rush through him like a tidal wave.

"Just grabbing my phone. I forgot to plug it in to charge while we slept."

"Come to bed, you're how I don't freeze to death at night."

Harry slipped his arms around Ginny and led them back to bed with a smile on his face.

He hadn't been caught by Father Christmas, but more importantly, his wife would still get her surprise on Christmas morning.

And just like childhood, Harry awoke far too early, and far too excited to go back to sleep. Though rather than for what he would receive, it was for what he was giving.

"Gin," he nuzzled her hairline and kissed her cheek.

Ginny made a sound that was a cross between a moan and a grunt.

"Don't you want to see what Father Christmas left for you?"

"I'm Father Christmas and I didn't leave anything out because it's not actually December the 25th." She mumbled into her pillow.

Harry chuckled. "Let's just go have a look."

Ginny blinked her eyes open and frowned. "Only if I get to come right back to bed."

Harry put his hand over his heart. "I promise, well go see if there are any surprises and then come right back to bed."

"Fine," Ginny pushed up from the bed, her Father Christmas robe slipping from her shoulders. "But if this is how you're going to be with children then we're rethinking our future plans."

Harry laughed and forced himself not to run full tilt down the hall and leave his adorably sleepy wife in the dust.

He held his breath as Ginny moved to the tree and his lone gift that sat wrapped below its branches.

She turned to look up at him, bewildered, "What's this?"

"Open it," he shrugged.

Ginny pulled the wrapping away and slid the booklet from the manilla envelope he'd used to hold it.

"A Holiday and an Adventure," She read aloud. "Harry, what is this?"

Harry stuck a hand in his hair. "Well since you're not on the team for the foreseeable future, and you've always got the best ideas when I'm stuck in a story, I thought maybe, maybe you'd like to write a book together, you and me. All those pages in the booklet are the notes I was jotting down all day yesterday. And I've organized them out the way I do with my novels. If you like the idea and we finish the story, we could send it over to my editor. See what she thinks."

Ginny looked up from the booklet, eyes wide. "You want to write a book with me?"

Harry smiled, "I kind of already do. You're my sounding board and you find more of my plot holes than my editor does. So I guess I'm really asking you to be an active participant so we can put your name on the cover too."

Ginny looked back down at the booklet before launching herself at him. Harry caught her and managed to spin them around so he fell on the sofa and not his back.

"So is this a yes?" Harry chuckled as he kissed her hairline.

Ginny kissed him enthusiastically before jumping up. "Come on! I want to start right now!"

Harry snagged her around the middle before she could go running off. "What happened to wanting to go right back to bed?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny laughed, "do you have any idea how badly I've wanted some real control in your novels?"

"Now you have a story to be in control of." Harry kissed her. "Happy Christmas, Gin."

Ginny's smile shone like the rising run out their sitting room window. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

[elisaphoenix13]

Before The Dawn (Ch.5 END)

There was a scream followed by a loud splash and then soon followed by Diana yelling "again". Summer was in full swing and of course Tony made sure to teach Diana how to swim the second she was able. He was always worried about her walking over to the lake and drowning from the moment she started walking, and she took to the water like a fish. Tony was significantly less worried after Diana learned, but he always made sure she was supervised. At the moment, all three of them were outside and the man was carefully throwing her off the little wooden pier while Cassie tended to the garden. Gerald was nearby lazily munching on some overgrown grass, and possibly still a little miffed about the fence that surrounded the garden.

The little garden had grown in the five years since they planted it and Gerald was constantly trying to eat all of their fruits and vegetables. So Tony put his foot down and built a fence around it so the alpaca couldn't get into the garden anymore and sample the goods. It was pretty funny watching him try to reach the garden over the fence for the first hour after it was officially up. Now he had to wait for one of the humans to be kind enough to treat him.

It happened often enough that he mostly stopped trying to get the berries himself.

Cassie sighs and gathers the last of the ripe zucchini and stands with the full basket. "How does a salad sound for lunch?" She calls out.

Tony looks over from helping Diana out of the lake and throwing a towel around her. "Why are you always trying to feed me rabbit food?!"

"Because we grow it!" She huffs and opens the gate to the garden to leave and then quickly closes it behind her. "It's good for you!"

"I knew I would regret that garden." Tony grunts as Diana runs over to her fort and crawls in. "Stay out of the lake, piccola!" He calls as he follows Cassie inside.

She went over to the sink to wash the fruits and vegetables as Tony went into the garage to work on...whatever. He mostly tinkered these days and it was only for a couple of hours. If he was in there longer, it usually meant he thought of a project, but he still didn't stay in the garage all day like he used to when they first moved to the lake house. Cassie counted it as a win and didn't try to drag him out as often.

When she finished washing the vegetables, she put some aside to go with dinner and grabbed a cucumber to chop up. It went in with some lettuce, tomatoes, and olives in a bowl and then she grabbed the box of croutons from the cabinet. She added a good amount to the salad before mixing it all together and then grabbed the dressing from the fridge to be added separately. There would likely be leftovers and if she put the dressing in too, it would make the salad soggy and then none of them would eat it.

Once she puts the bowl in the middle of the table and sets some smaller bowls down with it, she turns toward the garage door and walks over to open it.

"Salad is ready." When Tony makes a face, Cassie sighs. "I'll make pasta to go with it if you come out and go get Dia."

The engineer straightens. "Alright, fine."

"I can't believe I have to compromise with a grown man to get him to eat some vegetables." Cassie rolls her eyes as Tony walks past her.

"Hey! I eat my vegetables! I just don't want my meal to be just vegetables!" Tony exclaims.

"You're supposed to be the adult!"

"And you're supposed to be a kid." He points out.

They both stand in silence. She knew what he had meant, but didn't take offense to it. In fact, she was pretty sure that he was feeling bad about how much she was doing even when she assured him multiple times that she didn't mind. Which she didn't.

"Life dealt us a pretty crappy hand," Tony finally says quietly. "You...you had to grow up faster than you should have because I was taking too long to step back up."

Cassie sighs. "I don't think I would have been able to either of I saw what you did. I'm pretty sure the rest of the world that went through what you did had their issues too." Tony opens his mouth to argue but she continues. "I would have only been angry with you if you hid in the garage all this time and left me to Diana. It took time, but you came out. Now you're hardly in the garage. I don't blame you and I know you didn't take me in to take care of Dia for you."

Tony nods and kisses her forehead. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

And that was that. He went out the back door to go retrieve Diana for lunch and Cassie went back to the kitchen to put some pasta on the stove. She poured some in the water once it started boiling and when it was done about ten minutes later, Tony and Diana still hadn't come inside. Cassie made sure to drain the pasta and left it in the strainer before walking out the back door to see what was taking so long. She didn't find either of them near Dia's fort so she went around toward the front when she heard voices coming from that direction.

She found Tony holding Diana, who was wrapped up in her towel and was talking to Natasha and Steve. Cassie saw part of a third person next to the captain but couldn't quite make them out since the blonde was taller.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long." She finally says, gaining everyone's attention.

There was shock, clear as day on Tony's face, but before she could ask about it, the third person finally stepped into full view. Cassie froze halfway to them and almost pinched herself when she saw her father. Was she dreaming? Scott was one of the victims of the snap, but now he was here? How did he come back? She was so confused, but even more so than that, she was so, so happy. She hardly noticed when she ran the last few feet to throw her arms around her father. One second she was staring at her father in shock, much like Tony had, and the next, she was crying into his shoulder and hugging him so tightly because she was afraid it was all a dream.

What seemed like ages later, they finally pulled away from each other and Cassie smiled as she wiped her eyes. "I guess I have to make more food."

"Oh my god, food." Scott says. "I'm starving!"

=========

Scott ate like a man who hadn't eaten in forever and according to him that wasn't much of an exaggeration. He'd technically gone five years without eating and Cassie made sure to feed him until he was full. Natasha and Steve stayed for lunch, but they opted to head back to the compound while Scott stayed at the lake house to stay the night. He and Cassie were currently laying on her bed with the tv on and she was curled up against him as much as possible. The silence was comfortable and Cassie enjoyed being able to cuddle with her dad again with strong arms wrapped around her.

Tony and Diana even made sure to let them have their space.

"I missed you." Cassie whispers.

Scott kisses the top of her head. "I'm sorry peanut. It may have only been a few hours for me but I missed you too. I always do."

"Will you stay? In here with me, I mean." Cassie asks. "I'm...still kind of afraid you'll be gone when I wake up."

"I'll stay until you wake up." Scott promises. "I'll stay until Tony figures out a way to bring the rest of our family back, and when he does, I'm going with him to help."

She didn't really like the idea of her father leaving to possibly risk his life again, but if there was a way to bring everyone else back, she wouldn't complain. Diana deserved to have her mother and brothers back. Tony needed them back too. Cassie saw the small glimmer of hope in everyone's eyes when they talked about the chance to make everything right again, and she couldn't begrudge them that. She got her dad back on a fluke, so who's to say they couldn't use that fluke?

"You promise to be careful if he does figure something out?" Cassie asks.

"Promise. We have a lot of catching up to do." Scott smiles.

She slept easy that night. Her father's warmth was comforting and she seemed him out constantly over the next few days. There was always that small nagging fear that it would be the last time she would ever see him, but she did a pretty good job of ignoring it. When he and Tony left the cabin after figuring out time travel, Cassie was left to watch Diana with the promise that Happy would come help keep an eye on them until they got back.

It took a few days with hardly any updates since Diana didn't even know what was going on or why her Daddy had left. Cassie had to keep a strong face for her and tried to keep to their usual activities until one day when multiple portals opened in their backyard. All of the Avengers came through, including ones that had been victims of the snap and she felt her heart nearly burst with joy as she got Diana and led her outside with Happy. Watching the little girl stare up at the doctor when he stepped through one of the portals, and then run up to him in pure joy almost made Cassie cry again.

Stephen easily accepted the little girl despite the shock on his face as Tony was helped through the portal by Bucky. Even from where she was standing, Cassie could see the remains of charred skin on Tony's arm, but although he looked exhausted and in pain, he seemed relatively okay. He was led inside and up to his room to rest with Stephen following close behind, and that left Cassie to look for her father. It didn't take long to find him, and he was partially hanging onto Sam looking like he might have grown one too many times. He told her so when she went to check on him.

Poor Stephen didn't get a chance to bond with Diana right away. He and Bruce got busy making sure everyone was relatively healthy and not toeing a dangerous line, and Cassie got to work making huge amounts of food for everyone. Bucky eventually joined her and helped, and only when the food was ready, did Stephen get a chance to sit down for a minute. Diana jumped at the chance, ditching her brothers who she had spent time with in the meantime but they didn't complain.

Seeing everyone reunited with their loved ones warmed Cassie's heart and it felt like home again. It was loud, it was a little chaotic, and she never realized how much she truly missed it. They had a victory party that lasted a full week once Tony was up and about, and just when Cassie was about to worry about the almost hidden gleam of sadness in her father's eyes...it seemed to vanish. She did notice that Scott had taken a shine to someone she didn't recognize (apparently one of the people Tony fought alongside with in space when she asked him about him), and they were friends from the moment they got acquainted.

Cassie watched them constantly. Watched their body language as they talked and laughed together, and she saw her father do something she hadn't seen him do since she was a small child. He smiled. Not the kind of smile that he showed everyone or even her...but a smile that actually reached his eyes. That was when she decided to properly meet the other man, and that was when she found out his name.

Quill.

Of course, she sized him up just so she could get an idea of what kind of person he was, but what she saw made her back down. There was pain in his eyes. A lonely kind of pain that was similar to what she saw in her father. Cassie backed off again and continued to watch them. She watched them be so open with each other, but with everyone else, they talked like they were friends. With each other, it was different. She couldn't put her finger on it either, but something told her she wouldn't have to worry about her father being happy anymore.

"Hey, are there...uh...anymore of those little ham rolls?" A voice interrupts Cassie's thoughts and she looks up from the vegetables she's chopping to look at Peter.

"Yeah. Hang on." Cassie finishes cutting the cucumber and walks over to the fridge to pull out the plate full of ham rolls. She hands them over to the older boy, almost missing the blush grace his cheeks.

"Thanks." He stammers before hightailing it back outside.

Cassie had her own agenda now.