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#also i gave a new art program an honest try for the first time in 12 years!

38sr · 2 years

Note

How did you break into the animation industry?

Oh buckle up 'cause this is a bit of a story. Before starting, I wanna let anyone reading this to know that there's no one absolute way to break into the animation industry. From my experience, I've learned that breaking in has a lot of factors that are often out of your control. If anything, it's a combination of hard work and luck. Sometimes you're at the right place and the right time. Or you happen to know the right people or you are the right fit for a job. Overall, don't be so hard on yourself if you are still trying to break in (or have and just struggling to find the next gig). Often times it's not you as a person/artist, but really if everything else that you cannot control fits in that moment. And with that, let's start this two part story of how I broke into animation. Part 1: Lemme tell you how I got to Sesame Street.

So in 2017, I was a senior in college and my school for some strange reason made it a graduation requirement for students to do an internship in their respective major. While it was an incentive to get students experience, this only worked for the fine arts and illustration students due to the school having a lot of connections with local comic artists and galleries. For the animation department, however, we really didn't have many resources since our program was only 4 years old at that point (very, very new). So I started searching online for any animation internships since my school couldn't really help. I applied to many internships but only got an interview for one: FableVision in Boston.

To be honest, I really thought I was going to get that internship with no doubt. I already knew the people who worked there, had recently went to their anniversary party where they told me their internships were opening again and they wanted me to apply. So I did, got an interview instantly, took the train down and had the greatest interview of my life. I was told I'd hear back by the end of March and excitedly waited for the email.

Except I didn't hear back until April. And they had chosen an illustration student from my school instead of me. I was devastated. It felt like the ground beneath me crumbled and I was falling into a pit of darkness. It was April, there were no more internships, the semester ended in a month and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to graduate. And to top it off, this rejection really made think I was a bad artist and an undesirable hire. I remember being so bummed about it for days, feeling so unmotivated and scared about what to do next....and really unsure how to process the rejection altogether.

So, I contacted my mentor who at the time was a character designer at Sesame Workshop. He was my mother's friend from church and known me since I was a kid. He didn't start mentoring me until high school and was always transparent about his experience working in children's TV animation as a black creative (for those who don't know I am also black). I poured out my heart and asked him, "How do you deal with rejection from a job you really wanted?" And in short, he said, "Sometimes the job you think is perfect for you isn't what you need in order to grow and that's okay. Just because one door closes doesn't mean another door won't open so you just have to be patient and keep working hard." I didn't feel better right away but it was enough for me to realize I couldn't take the rejection personal. I probably wasn't the right fit.

But little did I know that in the next few days I would receive an email from Sesame Workshop requesting me (upon a recommendation) to fill out an application for their internship program when the deadline passed a week ago. I immediately knew it was my mentor who gave the recommendation and I will be forever thankful for him helping me get my first animation job on Sesame Street. And that's kind of the end of that part haha.

But you're probably wondering, "Wait, but you got the job. You broke in. So what's the second part?"

Part 2: The Nickelodeon Artist Program After Sesame Street and graduating college, I didn't get my next studio gig until 2 years later in 2019. I did small indie animation projects and commissions, but was having a hard time breaking into a storyboarding gig. I took tests and got rejected, applied to many jobs and got rejected, just a whole lot of rejections haha. At the same time, my older sister had moved back into my parents' house and we both expressed how we wanted to move to California for job purposes. So in that summer, we took a trip together to California and I finally got to meet some friends who did work in the animation industry. I just remember on the plane back to New York thinking, "Damn....I really have to be there if I wanna break in." So my sister and I both agreed we'd save up money and move out together in the next 1-2 years.

Once I got home, I heard about the Nick Artist Program and that applications were open until August 1st. It was the last week of July and I thought, "I don't know if I can make anything good....but I rather try than not try." So in 3 days (I do not recommend doing a whole sequence in 3 days) I boarded a sequence from my personal project, Hollowville, and submitted sketchbooks pages of thumbnails, character design sketches along with my resume two days before the deadline. To be honest, I really didn't think I was gonna hear back from them. At that point, I was so used to rejection that I had already dispelled any hope the moment I clicked the send button. I know that's pessimistic but that's how I am haha. Until a month later, I get a call from California. At that same moment, I was exchanging phone numbers with an industry friend who lived in California. So assuming it was them, I picked up the phone and the following happened: Me: Hello? Person: Hello, is this Li? Me: Oh yeah. This is she.

Person: Great! This is the Nickelodeon Artist Program and we're calling to inform you that you've been selected to move onto to the quarter final interviews.

And I just. I cried on the phone. It's so embarrassing thinking back now but it was so unexpected that the tears started flowing out. After that call, I proceeded to go through the most intense interview process I'll ever experience in my life and was officially selected as a trainee right after Thanksgiving weekend (which meant I had only a month to move out to California). And that was my final breakthrough into the animation industry. There's a lot more details I glossed over since these posts have word count limits....but that pretty much sums up how I broke into animation haha.

I don't know if this story will be helpful for anyone out there who wants to break in and having a hard time. But I hope what you take away from this is that breaking in is different for everyone. There will be a lot of rejections, but you can't take them personal. Almost all the time it's about being the right fit which isn't really quantifiable. You're not a bad artist and aren't unskilled, there are just variables out of your control that are the ultimate deciding factor. So I implore anyone who aspires to work in animation to keep working hard, keep improving and never forget that just because one door closes it doesn't mean another won't open up ahead.

#ask #send me asks #animation industry #animation #breaking into animation #industryqs

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fallenwingzero · 2 years

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Frozen Teardrop Volume 3 Afterword Translation.

Another Afterword from Katsuyuki Sumisawa. This time he talks about Catherine Bloom, early development processes and how she came to be the character we know and love in Wing.

Translation under the cut because it’s a long one~

Afterword

There is a scene in which Catherine murmurs Trowa Barton, whom she has just met, as a “mysterious child”. It is the beginning of the B part of the second episode of “New Mobile Report Gundam Wing”.

During the dubbing recording, Saori Suzuki, who plays Catherine (currently changed her name to Saori Sugimoto and is said to be active in various fields), had a lot of difficulty with this single line.

The retakes continued many times, and I must have counted double-digit takes until I got the OK. I apologize for my vague recollection, but at that time, I believe that the pictures for post-recording had not been completed and it was a so-called storyboarding shoot.

Trowa and the circus leader are having a conversation, and Catherine is watching the scene from afar and mutters the line, but she didn’t understand why she calls him a “mysterious child”, so I felt it’s not the acting. Of course, this is not the actor’s responsibility.

It is only natural that it would be extremely difficult to act out because the motivation for this behavior is thin. The same goes for “The Heart of the Universe will tell you” and “If that’s the case.. then is Heero the Little Prince?” Due to the lack of explanations of the background and the lack of clarity in establishing the characters, it was extremely difficult for the actors to utter the dialogues of characters in that world. It’s not the flow of emotions that follows the line “Beasts are honest…. and don’t bare their fangs to things that aren’t enemies.”

If it were a normal anime program without the knowledge of Trowa’s reference art, I would have thought, “That girl is unreasonable” or “Why? How can you be so calm?” I think it’s normal for more direct surprises and questions to come to mind. But in our Gundam Wing, we don’t do normal things, hahahaha….

Catherine watches the spectacle indifferently, and feels the unique atmosphere created by Trowa as a “mysterious child…” in a completely different way from the common-sense reaction that the circus leader and the rest of us would have.

If you analyze this scene objectively, leaving aside the fact that you are the person involved, I think the contrast between the plays is quite interesting. Since the standing positions of the three characters in the scene are all different, the depth and the color of the characters becomes vivid. Also, the encounter between Catherine and Trowa will be impressive. That’s the mysterious charm it should be. However, in fact, it was not “mysterious” but “mystery” itself.

When I was there, I felt the frustration that Director Ikeda was unable to give clear instructions. By the way, she didn’t appear in the script yet. After six episodes were scripted, she finally became active. In other words, this line from Catherine was brought from episode 6 to episode 2. It’s quite natural that the motives are weak, and it cannot be helped that it is inconsistent and becomes a “mystery”.

Mr. Shuko Murase’s picture of Catherine had already been completed, and Director Ikeda gave the OK in one shot. Cheerful but not capricious, youthful yet tolerant, calm but not enlightened, full of vitality but somewhat of a sadness that drags on from the past, well, anyway, that kind of thing. The feeling is first in the character design. Director Ikeda was motivated by the actors’ voice acting. He was looking for a certain “something”.

Heh, even if I try to force myself to come up with ideas to make it “alike”, it’s likely that “that girl has changed”. I think it was all I could do to say that she should use her feelings as a hint.

At first, Saori Suzuki was also challenged by acting with that feeling, but Director Ikeda and Sound Director Urakami kept getting NG.

Even if there is a limit to acting, giving up is stopping and thinking you will go and the character ends there. The Directors wanted something extra without compromise.

At some point, Sound Director Urakami gave the instruction, “Voice like an older sister”-.

The imagination of an actor who chooses the profession of voice acting sometimes goes far beyond what we expected. Ms. Saori Suzuki interpreted it in various ways, and finally chose the line “I know about that boy… but why?”

Suddenly, Catherine’s surroundings became brighter. I could be said that this was a miraculous leap. The “mystery” of the “Mysterious Child” is not because he magically tamed the beast. She once knew a person who could do such things normally, and that child reminds me of that “mysterious child…”

The Directors adopted that acting plan, and it aired without incident, and it became Catherine’s words that we can watch on DVDs and other media today.

Catherine Bloom, who should have been just a decoration at that stage of the script (she didn’t even exist at that stage of the proposal), with a trivial (actually great) word, she transformed into an important character in “Gundam Wing”.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Catherine’s hidden potential (how the story spreads) was already prepared from the time of her first appearance in the second episode.

“Catherine, Katrine, Katrina and Cathy all have similar names”. When Kadokawa’s editor-in-charge pointed it out I said, “Don’t worry,” with a big smile.

Similar to that, I was asked, “If MS are released, wouldn’t it contradict ‘Endless Waltz’?”

“I think it will work out”, I answer.

From the questionnaire we received last time, it seemed that many of our readers were concerned about this. After all, everyone was worried.

First of all, I would like you to understand that I cannot tell you everything here now. On top of that, there was Saori Suzuki’s dramatic acting plan, and from that one line, I got the starting point of the idea, and it became the thirteenth episode, “Catherine’s Tears,”. Can you imagine how we got to where we are today?

In order for Trowa Phobos to grow, he needed the beautiful Catherine from the third volume.

Quatre’s younger sister’s name may not have had the only meaning of inheriting her mother’s name, Katrine.

In a letter from a reader, I read in surprisingly large letters, “Mr Sumisawa… I believe in you.” It reminds me of the last shooting of “Endless Waltz”, like Relena who made up her mind to face Wing Zero with Buster Rifle, and the earnest desire not to hesitate.

It was as if I was in a lawsuit. Since you believe so much in a useless bastard like me, I will continue to write this story with good faith and sincerity.

I don’t think I can match the talent of Director Ikeda and Mr Murase. I am fully aware of my lack of competence as a writer. However, I think the beautiful illustrations drawn by Sakura Asage perfectly reproduce the spirit of Mr Murase, and I think that the new Gundam designs that Mr. Hajime Katoki set up were able to appear in the most suitable way for the world of Wing.

The staff at Frozen Teardrop are the best and perfect. If there is one thing I’m worried about, it’s just me (tears). Sorry for the poor writing.

Reading Volume 1 and Volume 2, I know it must have been difficult for you, but thank you for reading. Perhaps because of that, I think that the content and writing have improved from this third volume, but that’s not for me to say, sorry.

Even so, as long as there are enthusiastic fans who have supported us so far, and we have wonderful staff supporting us, “I will not give in…” even if you know it’s a battle, you have to dare to keep challenging! And I want to stretch my spine

The reaction from the readers has been really great, and I am so happy that I cannot find the proper words to express my gratitude. I was going to write a reply to everyone, but I won’t be able to finish the manuscript of “Frozen Teardrop” in time, so I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you. Thank you very much.

Thank you for your continued support. Please keep up with such nonsense in the fourth volume postscript.

Katsuyuki Sumisawa.

~end translation

#gundam wing #frozen teardrop #translation #my translation #katsuyuki sumisawa #my post

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mochisarchive · 5 months

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[1] Pursuing my dream course ♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡♪

Okay…first blog! Yay! To start it all, I would like to introduce myself. Hello! I’m Mochi, I am a digital-animation student, book influencer, and art influencer. As you can see, I’m not really familiar with this set-up, but I figured out that why I don’t start making blog entries?

And my first choice of topic is pursuing my dream course, the digital animation. Okay, before we even start, a little background about this. Ever since I was a little child, I was heavily influenced by arts. Growing up, I always watch Disney Channel, Nickelodeon, and Cartoon Network. I remember watching T.V all day, and I was refusing to go to daycare because, I was too fascinated with animations.

I remembered it very clearly, that I would grab a paper and my stack of crayons and would draw the characters, and show it to my grandma. One particular memory that I wouldn’t forget was probably drawing on the walls and on my grandma’s porcelain cases. She scolded me and punished me by taking away my art collection. Since then, I would always ask my Aunts and my mom to buy me colorful stuff, and everyday I would practice drawing, till my hand gets sore. So as years goes by, I was getting good at art then college started.

Back in 2021, I went through a lot of pressure of choosing the right course program. Ever since my family (on mother’s side) knew I was good at drawing, they told me to take Architecture or Interior Design. And I choose Interior Design, because of these reasons:

As far as I remember, I was influence by my cousin, to play Sims. And it was amazing! I was really enjoying decorating and building homes, my cousin saw how good I am in that area and suggested I should take Interior Design. At first, I didn’t know what was that, and she explained it to me, till I got interested. Even then I would practice creating floor plans, doing perspective rooms, and other related to Interior Design

It’s an art course. I have many choices to be honest, My top three were Animations, Painting, and Fashion (and yes, they are really art majors). And my aunties told me that I might not be able to find a job with these courses (but their views changed when I introduced to them that I can easily make money with art commissions and my mom is really supportive and so does they).

I was pressured by them…so I gave in ://

So, I choose Interior Design, got into a prestigious university in the Philippines, everything went well till pressured got me so bad. I actually didn’t failed my course, I got 1.96 as my GPA (which is like equivalent to 90+ grades here in the Philippines) but I failed one subject and they told me that I can’t take Interior Design anymore, because it’s a board-related course. I won’t go to any details now, that’s another story lol.

Anyways, after talking to my mom, and she gave me a second chance to choose this time. So I took Animations, and a few months in with my new course, I improved a lot in drawing. Not just human body, but my conceptualization broadens (thanks to my first course, it helped me a lot tbh.) And I was actually enjoying it, and I got decent grades (98-100) and I think my lowest score was 91 (?), I don’t quite remember, but I think it’s in between 90 and 91.

A lot of people in my new university, especially the seniors and my professors applaud me for doing such a good job and catching up a lot. They also mentioned how gifted I am, because I only not draw for fun or out of hobby, they pointed out that I used various brushes and tools to create a story within just one work, and it amazes me because I never realize that.

What I have in my mind was “Oh no…this is not good” “Oh I should have done better” “This isn’t right” and I still do that despite the compliments they gave me. (I belittle myself for fun and for motivation…yep…I definitely need help)

Jokes aside, I do personally think I should practice more, to improve my skills in arts and must try to learn various techniques and art styles. I wanted to have that effect that can make an impactful expression to my audience, especially in animations and concept design. I wanted to create a story that no one has been able to see it before.

Anyways, that’s it for now! till next time

xoxo, mochi

(Note: image taken from Pinterest, poster lunaparada)

#bookish #blogger #coquette #art style #art study #animation #college life #coquette girl #girlcore #elle woods #pink aesthetic #pink coquette #pink core

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nolundlovu · 2 years

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Becoming.

I am standing at the edge of becoming an Occupational Therapist and I cannot shake this question out of my head; is this what I really want to do for the rest of my life?

To be honest I never thought I would ever be an OT student. When I was in high school, I did mechanical technology because I wanted to be a mechanical engineer. Yes, I know, mechanical engineering and OT are literally worlds apart. But unfortunately, I was and honestly still am, very bad at maths and physics therefore I did not meet the requirement to enter an engineering course. I started applying for random UKZN courses that I did qualify for, and Occupational Therapy was one among many. Unfortunately, the first time around, I was not accepted into the course, and I ended up doing an Arts program at Howard College. But I guess when God brings you on Earth for a certain purpose, you will fulfil that purpose no matter the odds.

I applied again into OT and lucky me, I was accepted, and I was ecstatic. I had no idea why I was so excited because I did not even know what OT was until only a few months back, but I was. Then my journey began. My first year as an OT was not all that scary because it was not my first year at a university. I was already familiar with a lot of things. Surprisingly, I was very isolated as a first year OT student, I did not have friends until my second year of the course.

I really enjoyed OT modules even though I did not understand what it was really all about. To be honest even now I am still trying to figure it out, but I am slowly but surely finding my feet. I was very bad at anatomy modules, and I ended up having to repeat 2 anatomy modules. This setback sank me into a very dark space where I felt like I will never be a good enough OT if I do not even know the human body. I even though of leaving the course at one point because I felt like such a failure with no direction. However, all thanks to student support services, I was able to get the help that I needed because this was starting to sink me into a depressive state. I ended up not leaving the course and started to evaluate why I did not pass those modules in the first place. I realized that because I had no passion for OT, whenever I studied, I did not study to fully understand, however I studied just to write and pass the tests. Counselling helped me figure out who I am and what I love to do. I found out that I absolutely love helping people in anyway possible. I have so much compassion for people and Occupational Therapy is an excellent way to channel that compassion.

I started falling in love with OT when we started doing practicals. Being with clients and helping them do better and be better gave me so much gratification. The more I loved OT, the better my marks also became. Now I am on my best journey of becoming an OT and I cannot believe I once contemplated of leaving it all. It is a bittersweet journey I must admit. On other days you feel like you are on the right track and on other days all you do is cry because things can get a little bit heated. But in the famous words of the 33rd president of America, Harry S Truman, once said “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen” (https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/harry_s_truman_162028). And I will stand this heat if I have to because every day is a new experience and I could not think of a better profession I would rather be doing. And yes, this is what I really want to do for the rest of my life.

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shoftiiel · 3 years

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bound to you: 4

"and i quote.."

synopsis: y/n is the new girl in town, she would like to escape from her past and begin a new life without any romance drama, but what happens when she caught the attention of a certain boy who happens to be one of her brother’s best friends.

word count: 1. 1 k

warnings: i think there is none, but if you feel like something should be added lmk :))

a/n: i think this will have more written parts than i originally intended, also if you asked to be on the taglist and you don't see yourself its because i cannot tag u

<< | masterlist | >>

When your class ended you felt nervous, you didn't understand why, you were just meeting sunoo’s friends, it was not a big deal.

“come on y/n it is not that big” you said to yourself, besides if they are friends with sunoo they must be nice like him.

“Y/n!! over here!” you snapped out of your thoughts when you heard your name, when you turned around you saw sunoo with two other boys, they did seem nice.

“h-hi” sunno giggled, “don't be shy y/n” he said with a reassuring smile, the other two boys just laughed along.

“hi, i am jungwon” one of the boys said, he had these cute dimples when he smiled, he gave off a warm vibe, he looked like the happiest person on the planet.

“and my name is niki, nice to meet you” the second boy said, he looked younger than jungwon, but still he was taller than both sunoo and jungwon. Hewas just a freshman and looked like a giant baby.

“You know y/n” Sunoo said, snapping you out of your thoughts for the second time that day, “niki is also a foreigner” you turned to niki, he just nodded. “I am from japan”.

“Why did you leave?” you asked, niki just smiled and you swore that kid got like 3 centimeters taller, he looked excited, just as if he had been waiting his whole life to be asked that question.

“you see, I want to be a dancer and be lift high has one of the best dance programs in the country, japan does not” that last part did not sound so excited “so i plan on auditioning, tryouts are supposed to be next week”

He reminded you of Jake, he also left Australia to become a dancer, now you kind of understood why Jake was the way he was towards you, you felt the need to protect niki, he was so cute for his own good.

“how about you?” jungwon asked “where are you from and why did you leave”

“Well my family is Korean, but I used to leave in australia and i left mostly because of family issues, my parents are barely home”

“oh” sunoo just looked at you

“Well, we are now all your new family” niki said with the same big smile he had while he was talking about how he wanted to become a dancer.

“Wait, you are a sophomore, right?” jungwon suddenly asked.

“Yes I am” you said proudly, for some reason.

“Then why didn't we see you in any class today” jungwon looked very puzzled “omg y/n are you skipping classes already? it's the first day!” and before you could say anything sunoo said,

“well you see” he said in a cocky tone “miss y/n here is in advanced classes, because and i quote “her brain cells actually know how to do their job”

The other two boys almost choked laughing, they couldn't breathe. At first you were really embarrassed, then you just laughed along, at that point you could not remember why you were nervous in the first place.

“and how about extracurriculars?” Jungwon said still laughing, he was trying to keep it together, he failed but at least he tried.

“Well, i saw that there’s an art club” the moment you said that sunoo became another person, he looked possessed which freaked you out to be honest.

“You want to join the art club!?” he almost yelled at you “ummm… yeah??? Is there a problem with that'' you were genuinely confused at his reaction, but then he looked happy?

“gil you should have told me earlier!” in the two days you had know sunoo you had never seen him so excited “well you are talking to the art club president himself, so consider yourself the newest member of the art club”

“this is awesome y/n!” jungwon was very excited as well “we’ll see each other more often”

“heeeeeey!” niki sounded upset “what about me?” he indeed was a giant baby, cute you thought.

“don't worry niki, when you start practicing with the dance team we’ll visit you and we’ll take you snacks”

“from now on y/n is my favorite” hugged you right afterwards.

you were very happy it was only your first day of class and you had already made friends, if you had the y/n from two years ago she would not believe you. The bell rang and you left for your last classes of the day. During the last periods you did not pay any attention at all, you were thinking about your new friends, usually you take notes but you did not this time, you were doodling the whole time.

Finally the bell rang one last time that day, you quickly grabbed your things and rushed out of the classroom, the hallway was filled with students that were eager to leave, just like you were. You bumped into someone, you just said sorry bearly looking back and just continued walking, you were going out with your brother and you had to get ready, you did not have any time to lose.

What you failed to notice was that you dropped your sketchbook, the boy you bumped into picked it up and when he looked up you were gone. He just stood there with the sketchbook in hand wondering who you were. Naturally he opened it to see if there was a name, sadly there wasn’t. For some strange reason, he didn't leave it on the lost and found, he was curious, he wanted to find the owner and give it to them.

He was mesmerized by the drawings he found there, they were mostly flowers, landscapes and lots of frogs, some had hats, others had wings, that just made him more curious. There were also some short poems in there, from what he read, whomever it belonged to was very sad, the one that caugth his attention was

“i supose i love my scars,

because they have stayed with me longer

than most people have”

He needed to find who the sketchbook belonged to.

taglist: @ncityy04 @dumbwonpil @markleepooh @papiibuprofen @ghjasksdk

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mutants-and-soldiers · 3 years

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The Proposition (Ch. 1)

summary || You've been thinking about Steve's proposal a lot. Part of you wants to decline but a bigger part of you wants what he's offering.

pairing || alpha!Steve x omega!Reader (Past alpha!Bucky x omega!Reader)

word count || 3,706

warnings || A/B/O, eventual smut, therapy talks, kink negotiation, lots of dialogue — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes || I can't get this story out of my head, really! First chapter is all about setting up the smut so I apologize but I believe in talking things out. Thank you to everyone who commented on the first part of the series! I'm going to try and be better about answering comments from here on out! Keep the comments coming, I love hearing from you guys so much!

You can also read it on Ao3. Do not copy, translate, rewrite or repost any of my work, even if you credit me. I always welcome comments and reblogs!

Sequel to Helping Hands: One Two Three Four Five

Divider courtesy of the talented @firefly-graphics

After so many years of going to see Dr. Beta, you were used to the routine when you stepped through the doors. It was late in their work day so you were the only person in the office other than Valarie, the receptionist, who gave you a kind smile. “Good afternoon,” she said, typing something onto her computer. “Dr. Beta’s just about ready.”

“Thanks, Valarie,” you say, setting your bag down to take off your suit.

It had been weird the first time Dr. Beta had demanded you not wear the suit during your sessions. You protested but in the end, she won out. There were a lot of reasons for choosing a female-only office but this was the biggest one. They accommodate you so much just to make you feel welcome and safe in your own skin. It was one of the few places that you could take the suit off and feel comfortable.

The suit was just being zipped up into your bag when the door to the doctor’s office opened. Dr. Beta was a matronly middle aged woman with plenty of laugh lines and crow's feet from years of laughter and joy. She was a kind beta who had done wonders for your mental health and self esteem. Without her, you probably wouldn’t have gone through with the job proposal.

She called your name with a gentle smile, “You ready?”

“Yep,” you smiled, walking over to step into the room. The blinds were closed tight but there were several lamps around the space that allowed a soft light to keep it illuminated. The wooden diffuser was pumping out the soothing smell of lemon and sandalwood. Dr. Beta had always said the lemon helped cut the potency of your powers but you weren’t sure if that was true or if it was something she said to make you feel better.

The two of you settled into your usual spots before the doctor asks, “Anything new since we last saw each other?”

It had been a month since your last session. The milestone of going monthly instead of bi-monthly had been huge for you. There was a time that you saw her weekly, which was when you were at your lowest. You were glad to be where you were.

“Where do I even start?” you laugh, leaning casually back on the leather couch. The cold material felt nice on the bare skin that peeked out from your denim shorts and athletic tank top. “I’ve been meeting regularly with three guys to run with them every Tuesday and Thursday. We also go out for drinks and the game on Sunday.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic!” she gushed, genuinely excited for you. She even sat her clipboard and pen down to lean forward with her elbows on her knees. It was something she only did when you made some kind of...positive choice in your life. The way it made your chest swell with self pride was silly and kind of childish but the woman had always been extra motherly to you. “Clients?”

“One of them was,” you nod, trying to keep the flush of excitement from making you seem too eager. “They’re really nice guys and they invited me to start sparring with them next week after our runs.”

A gentle look crossed the doctor’s face that had you melting. It was a look that she gave when she was proud and the way your name came out of her mouth spoke volumes. “I’m so proud of you,” she said aloud even though you knew it by her body language. “It’s been a long time since you took time for yourself in your personal life. Are they on your level of martial arts?”

“Better!” you said, excited to have a good challenge.

“Better than you?” she laughed, sounding incredulous. “I’d have to see that to believe it!” You join her for the laugh. “Anything else?”

Your mind flutters to a certain blond and his proposition but decide to keep that to yourself for now. It wasn’t good for you to hide secrets from Dr. Beta and you usually didn’t, however, she would definitely encourage you to take him up on the offer. You didn’t think you were ready to come up with reasons (lies) for why you couldn’t do that yet.

“Not really.”

She nods, grabbing her clipboard to flip the paper. “Dr. Noland said you were going to get your heat early this time around. She said you mentioned you might know why?”

Damn it. You forgot how much the two doctors communicated between each other about your health. It was the program you were in and, while amazingly helpful, could be very annoying at times. Case in point, now you need to make a choice on whether to point blank lie to Dr. Beta or just tell the truth. Lying by omission was much more your style.

“Yeah,” you sigh, resigning yourself to the conversation. “The last client I helped had...intense pheromones. I think it may have kicked me into my heat cycle early.”

The doctor’s hazel eyes widened in shock, “Even with the suppressant you took?”

Nodding, you look away for a second. “The client was a super soldier,” you admit, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Understanding blossomed on her face when she made a guess as to who you were talking about. “Well, that might do it, for sure,” she nodded, making a note. “Still, I’m going to have Dr. Noland change your suppressant just in case it’s not working.”

She stood up, going over to the cabinet behind her desk. She took out a large bottle, tossing it to you, that had heat vitamins in them. Another bottle was thrown your way full of pills specifically for healthy slick production. The last thing she came over with were a few vouchers for omega-centric energy drinks and heat-snacks.

“I know you hate this question but I am legally required to ask,” she chuckles. “Do you have someone you trust to help you through your heat?”

You hesitate. “No.”

Her head snaps up, hazel eyes pinning you to the spot. “You hesitated. You never hesitate,” she points out with far too much excitement. She sets the clipboard down, doing the lean again. “Do you have someone in mind?”

Well, the cat was out of the bag and now you couldn’t lie because she would never believe you now. “I was...propositioned,” you admit, feeling stupidly relieved that you had been honest with her. She had conditioned you so fucking well to feel better when you told the truth as opposed to lying. It had been a ‘bad coping mechanism’ you created during your childhood to gain some control of your otherwise uncontrollable life.

“By one of your new friends?” she asked, already getting the gist of the conversation. “Was it your client?”

“No, not my client but his...best friend,” you whisper, feeling a little embarrassed that you were having this conversation.

Dr. Beta is quiet for a moment, contemplating how to ask the question. “What’s the big deal then? Why not take him up on the offer?”

You cringe. “There are…a lot of reasons but I’m sure you’re going to make them seem like they’re not problems but things I’ve blown up in my mind.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You know your feelings and worries are valid! I just help you see things in a more logical light. I think you should really talk this through with him but...would you like to practice with me?”

You bite your lower lip but give a heavy sigh when you realize there’s still nearly forty minutes left of your time with her. “Fine. It can’t hurt.”

You sat in the booth twitching with your napkin. You and the owner were good friends from back in your academy days so he allowed you to pay a certain amount for the whole rooftop terrace. It meant you could enjoy a meal with someone without having to wear your suit. You also got the same female server every time who knew your situation and didn’t care.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” you heard a familiar voice say to your left.

Not really sure why, you stood up when he approached. He was wearing a thin blue zip-up jacket over a blue and white plaid button up shirt that was unbuttoned enough for you to see the white t-shirt he had under it. His jeans were dark and fit far too well around his massive thighs. A plain blue ball cap sat on his head and some fake glasses to help hide his identity. The smile he gave you was enough to make your preheat brain purr.

It took you by surprise when his big arms wrapped you up in a hug that smothered you in his masculine scent. Your hands touched his back, hugging him hesitantly. The squeeze lasted a little longer than you expected, just enough for your head to be perfectly swimming in his pheromones.

You pulled away when he did, allowing him to sit at the far side of the table, facing towards the rest of the area. He had insisted that you come without your suit so it was the least you could do to keep the waitress from noticing his erection.

“It’s okay, I ordered some water for us,” you smile, genuinely happy to see him. It wasn’t often that you saw any of the three men individually. They usually hung out in a pack and you were happy to know that you fit into the group pretty well. “Get whatever you want, Steve. It’s my treat.”

He gave you a look. “I would prefer it if you let me pay.”

Your heart gave a hard thump in your chest. There was something about the way he said it that was just short of a command. You look into his blue eyes, trying to gauge his intent before setting down the menu. “Is this some old-fashioned pride I see leaking through?” you tease, giving him a mischievous grin.

“No, I just figure it was only right that I buy you lunch before helping you with your heat,” he said so casually it made your face heat.

“What makes you think I’m going to agree?!” you laugh loudly.

There is a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. “Isn’t that why we’re here? Alone?” he questioned easily, looking up just as Julia came to the table.

“Welcome back,” she greets you, setting two empty glasses and a pitcher of water down on the table. “My name’s Julia.”

“Nice to meet you Julia,” Steve responded with a neutral smile. It caught you a little off guard because it...definitely wasn’t the smile he gave you. Was it just part of his disguise?

You both ordered a beer and your entrees. It wasn’t until Julia walked away that you focused back on the alpha across from you. He was already looking at you with an intense expression. You feel like he’s basically prying into your soul.

“I...spoke with my therapist yesterday and…” you start, finding it very hard to talk about this kind of thing. It was so easy to soothe your clients but so hard to give yourself a break. “She...convinced me to talk with you about my...worries.”

His expression softens a bit. “I’m willing to work with you,” he soothes, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and solid. “Tell me everything.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of hurting you,” you blurt out. “You can take me even on your worst day. I’m...embarrassed to count myself among the small population of omegas that go...feral during their heat. I...fight my partner. Dr. Beta says it's because of the trauma I experienced. Trauma doesn't just disappear during heat...it gets worse. I’m just not the usual kind of docile omega that society seems to exemplify.”

He looks up to alert you that Julia was returning with your drinks. He didn’t speak until she was back inside the building. “Truthfully, I’m actually more intrigued than put off by the notion,” he finally said after taking a sip of his beer. “Do you fight the whole time or just in the beginning?”

It wasn’t a line of questioning that you expected so you gaped at him like a fish out of water for a few seconds before finding your words. “I don’t...know,” you admit sheepishly, sipping your hard cider. “I’ve only been with one alpha during my heat and he had to go to the hospital a few hours into it.”

Something dark and tempting flashed through the blond’s eyes. “How do you feel about restraints?”

Your core throbbed at the simple question. It probably showed on your face because his smile started to widen in understanding. “Yes, that’s fine,” you breathe, trying not to think too hard about the implications.

“Would you prefer to do this at your house or in my suite?” he asked as if you had already agreed to the whole thing.

Your mind screamed at you to say decline. It was dangerous and there were so many things that could go wrong. Your omega brain though had already bought into the whole thing. You wanted this big, powerful alpha to hold you down and take you in the most forceful of ways. You wanted him to restrain you to your nest and have his way with you until the heat fog cleared.

“Wait, wait,” you say, trying to finish your thoughts before deciding anything. “I’m serious when I say I’m insatiable. I don’t have any refractory period between one wave and the next.”

Julia opens the door, alerting you both that she was coming out with food. You both wait until everything is set and she walks away before continuing. The food smells delicious so you grab the burger and bite into it. You always craved red meat before your heat so when the flavors burst across your taste buds, you hum in appreciation.

Steve took a few bites of his own meal before responding. “The super soldier serum makes it so I don’t have any refractory period,” he shrugs casually with a smile. “I’ve never met someone who could keep up with me so...I’m interested to see if you can. Any other worries?”

Heat blossoms across your cheek and in your chest. “I don’t want our friendship to be jeopardized,” you finally admit after finishing half of your burger. You grab some of the fries and eat them while thinking.

“Did helping Bucky keep you from being friends with him?”

“No, of course not,” you sigh, running out of excuses. Dr. Beta had been right, talking with him had definitely made you a little more comfortable with the idea. “Fine, okay, I accept your offer.”

“My place or yours?” he asks with a genuine smile.

You mull over the question for a bit before shrugging. “I have all of my nesting supplies at my house so we can do it at mine,” you chuckle, feeling a little nervous but excited too.

He nods. “Do I need to bring any supplies? Snacks or drinks?”

The two of you continue talking about the logistics of your heat while you finish the food. It makes you feel a lot better knowing you wouldn’t have to go through with it alone. You had already taken the initiative to send a message to all of your clients to let them know you would be out for your heat. You even went ahead and took an extra week just for yourself.

After you pay and you have your layers back on, the two of you stand outside the doors to the restaurant. You don’t want to leave him, truthfully. He smelt so good and you were so close to your heat that it was hard to separate from him. “Thanks for talking with me,” you smile despite the bonnet covering everything but your eyes. “I’ll give you a text when I’m ready.”

“Of course, thanks for lunch,” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead through the layers. “Here, take this for your nest.”

He shucked his jacket and offered it. Your hand reaches out to take it slowly. “Thanks but this might just push me into it faster,” you laugh brightly, holding the large jacket close to your chest. You could smell the scent of him even through all of your layers. It made your head foggy.

“That’s the idea,” he smirked, turning towards the tower with a wave. “Just let me know when you want me to come over.”

You watch him walk away, eyes lingering on the way his biceps stretched the fabric of his shirt and down until you stared at his toned ass in those jeans. It was obvious how close you were to your heat when sweat started to form along your temples and slick started to dampen your panties.

Once you got back home, you arranged your snacks and vitamins on the counter so they were easy for Steve to find. He might need to feed you for the first few waves because you weren’t sure if you’d be coherent or not. Then you went into your extra bedroom that you used for your heats and started getting it ready.

You pulled out all of your slick-resistant pillows, cushions and blankets from the closet to make a nest on your king sized bed. It was a nice four post bed that had your mind in dark places. All you could think about was being restrained with cuffs around one of those posts while Steve fucked into you.

It didn’t take long before you needed a pad for all of the fucking slick that was making everything so annoying. The nest took a lot longer that you would like to admit because it just didn’t seem...right. You’d never had this kind of issue before but your omega brain wanted Steve to be comfortable and happy too.

Looking back at the closet, you debated on whether or not you wanted to pull out the box of toys. You weren’t sure if Steve would want them or need them or…

“Fuck it,” you mutter, grabbing your phone to send the alpha a quick text. Toys or no toys?

You were adding his jacket to your nest when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Instead of the one or two word answer that you expected, it was...something else.

Definitely toys. I’ll enjoy teasing you until you’re begging for my knot.

Fuckin’ hell! Was this the same blond with the surprisingly boyish face that you had met during lunch today? The same guy that Sam teased about being an old virgin?

You didn’t think the pad was going to hold up to all of the slick that gush from you at the text. How does one respond to a text like that? You grabbed out the delicate pink box out of the closet, wincing at the color because it was the only color that the shop had to store your toys. Omegas were feminine right?! They liked pink, right?!

Laughing at yourself, you set the box on the little table in the room. You opened the lid and set it to the side so you could look at your assortment of toys. It was a collection you started when your first heat hit you at sixteen. You had been a late bloomer because of your constant martial arts training, which stilted your omega hormones.

It had all the necessities and even some extras. You had your typical knot dildo, a vibrator, a clit vibe, a few different types of condoms for when you weren’t in your heat, a bottle of lube that encouraged slick production, a bottle of regular lube, and a few different sized anal plugs. The last few were just because you enjoyed the feeling of being full when having sex.

Quickly you took a picture of the box and sent it to Steve as a reply. It was the best you could come up with. You had never really been good at those kinds of things. Well, you’d never had someone try and sext you.

Happy that everything was prepared, you cuddled under your fuzzy blanket in your nest. Comfort flooded through you as you nuzzled into the man’s jacket, deeply taking in his scent. It was nice and musky and made you feel warm and safe.

The phone buzzed. You’re okay with anal during your heat?

Your pheromone idled brain made you giggle, “Consent is important,” before you could text him back. Yes, I like being stuffed full.

It didn’t even register how inappropriate the text sounded before you hit send. You were obviously a lot further along than you had previously thought. The subtle throb of your core was starting to get worse but you weren’t too far gone to see his last text.

Good to know. Get some rest. Need me to come out and check on you before dark?

You groaned as a cramp hit your pelvis, slick becoming an issue. It simultaneously hurt and felt good. You were so distracted that you couldn’t answer the text message. Everything was suddenly too hot so you threw off your clothing, slipping your hand down to brush against your clit. It was already so sensitive it hurt but you needed relief.

It wasn’t enough and you knew that it would be futile to try and get yourself off with just your fingers but your brain wasn’t working. You groaned helplessly as the lackluster orgasm washed over you. It wasn’t enough, so frustratingly not enough. Sweat dripped down your cheek from your hairline making you kick off the blanket so you could turn over.

You didn’t care how it looked with your ass up because the scent of Steve on the jacket helped clear your head a little. It made your core throb but it also helped you become coherent. Enough so that you grabbed the phone and typed in a one word response that only said:

Now.

Credits for the pictures in Moodboard:

Unsplash photographers:

1. Kelly Sikkema

2. Vulkan Olmez

3. Toa Heftiba

Like, comment and reblogs are always welcome! Thanks for reading!

#a/b/o verse #alpha!steve x omega!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #eventual smut #kink negotiation #therapy #mutants #fanfiction

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adenei · 3 years

Text

Day 17: January Word Challenge

Summary: Ron meets with Professor McGonagall for his 5th year Career Advice Meeting. No pairing, but I won’t deny that Romione is 100% implied.

Positivity

“Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley. Please have a seat,” Professor McGonagall said as Ron entered the room.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. The twins weren’t entirely helpful when they saw the bulletin for the career advice meetings, and each student was scheduled sporadically. His was consequently one of the first. So much for relying on alphabetical order, he thought as he took a seat.

“Now as you know, we hold these meetings before students take their O.W.L. exams to give them an idea of what courses they’ll need to achieve high marks in to pursue their career of choice. Have you given any thought to what may interest you after you complete your Hogwarts education?” Minerva asked.

Ron felt his ears grow hot at the professor’s question. He knew what he wanted to say, but hesitated, doubting she’d react positively. His grades were mediocre, and he wasn’t exceptional in any particular subject, but he was consistent in his classes across the spectrum.

“Well, Mr. Weasley? I don’t mean to rush you, but we don’t have a lot of time,” Professor McGonagall pressed.

“I, er–I’ve given a bit of thought to being an Auror,” Ron admitted finally.

He stared at the biscuit tin on his Head of House’s desk in an attempt to avoid seeing her reaction. After a few seconds had passed, he glanced up at McGonagall briefly to see what was taking her so long to answer. She was watching him with her piercing gaze, no doubt thinking of a way to let him down gently. Somehow, he knew his aspirations were too good to be true.

Eventually, he saw her nod ever so briefly as she picked up a pile of brochures. She pulled one out and opened it. Her eyes flitted quickly across the tri-fold. “To pursue a career as an Auror will take significant effort. You will need top grades in all of your classes. Entering the training program alone requires five N.E.W.T.’s, and nothing under ‘Exceeds Expectations’ will permit you into the training program.”

“What are the courses?” Ron asked, finally looking up.

He was surprised that Professor McGonagall was explaining the material. Of course the Aurors wouldn’t be an easy option, but there wasn’t anything else that Ron could see himself doing. If he was being honest, all these years at Harry’s side as he fought off Voldemort had given him an interest in keeping the magical world safe. Especially now that he knew Voldemort was back.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Herbology. I will have you know that I do not accept anyone into my N.E.W.T. courses with marks less than “Exceeds Expectations,’ on their Transfiguration O.W.L.’s. And Professor Snape only accepts those who receive ‘Outstanding’ on their Potions O.W.L.

“Maybe I should find something else, then,” Ron said as he immediately slumped in his chair.

If he studied twice as hard, he could probably achieve the appropriate Transfiguration marks. But Potions? There was no way he’d be able to achieve an Outstanding!

“Mr. Weasley, do not count yourself out so quickly,” Professor McGonagall said, surprising him. “According to Professors Flitwick and Sprout, your Charms and Herbology marks are ‘Acceptable’ and ‘Exceeds Expectations,’ and your Defense Against the Dark Arts marks are also satisfactory. If you put in the extra revisions, you will surely be able to follow this path.”

Ron looked up surprisingly at her words, but still didn’t believe them to be true. “There’s no way I’ll be able to achieve an O in Potions, though” he said, eyeing the other pamphlets on her desk as he began having second thoughts about his choice.

“Mr. Weasley, if I may—” Professor McGonagall started, “you are highly capable of achieving anything you set your mind to. All of the professors have noted your promise, and it is my personal opinion that the only thing lacking is a bit of self confidence and positivity. You’ve been named Prefect of your year, as well as Keeper on the Quidditch team, and despite the extra responsibilities, you are still able to keep up on your schoolwork. Managing all that you are involved in is not an easy task.”

He was surprised to hear her mention his extracurriculars. He always assumed being named Prefect was a mistake, and therefore didn’t take much stock in the badge and his duties. “Er, right, about that. Why did you choose me for Prefect, anyways?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.

McGonagall looked a bit taken aback. “Why would I not choose you?” she asked rhetorically. “You are dependable, your grades are up to snuff, and you have a strong moral compass when it comes to right and wrong with a level head on your shoulders. Might I add you do well to help keep Ms. Granger grounded.” She paused for a moment. “It also does not hurt that you are the only person in your class that is not afraid to go toe-to-toe when it is necessary. Mind you that is not the reason for which you were chosen, but simply an added bonus,” McGonagall finished with a knowing look.

Ron gave her a weak smile. So it wasn’t a fluke after all. He had been chosen for Prefect purposely. He was beginning to think that maybe he could be an Auror. It wasn’t like McGonagall laughed at his career suggestion. Plus, she was still going over the qualifications. Surely, that had to mean something!

“Now, back to the matter at hand. The Aurors are incredibly selective in who they choose to take on in the program. There have not been any new recruits in recent years. Not only that, but the training requires three more years following your time at Hogwarts, so your commitment to the program will be of utmost importance.”

Ron nodded at her words. Yeah, it was going to prove a lot of work, but the more she talked, the more Ron felt that this was meant to be his calling. He could do this, or at least he could try.

Once his meeting concluded, he thanked Professor McGonagall, and left with a renewed sense of not feeling as hopeless of a Hogwarts student and wizard. Sure, he wasn’t brilliant like Hermione, but maybe he did have his own strengths after all. He certainly felt better now that he had a direction to take his studies, and perhaps he could write off History of Magic and Divination once and for all. No more Binns or Trelawney after this year! Ron thought as made his way back to the Gryffindor common room.

#Ron Weasley #minerva mcgonagall #hp ootp #implied romione #mcgonagall totally ships them #31 days of January Word Challenge

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pikapeppa · 4 years

Text

Professor Solas/Lavellan: First Impressions

Chap 1 of Inadvisable (professor Solas AU) is posted! In which Nare Lavellan has a chance run-in, literally.

Beautiful art by Nare’s creator, @elbenherzart!

~2400 words; read on AO3 instead.

- NARE -

Nare swept her hair into a tidy ponytail, then gave her face one last critical look before stepping out of her bedroom. She tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door across from her own. “Tamaris?” she called. “Are you–”

“I’m coming,” Tamaris grunted. “Give me two fucking minutes.”

Nare smirked at Tamaris’s customary early-morning surliness, then padded quietly down the hall to the living room. Athera was waiting pertly on the couch with a half-finished cup of tea in her hands, and she grinned at Nare as she approached.

“She’s awake, at least?” Athera asked.

“Awake enough,” Nare said drolly. She sat next to Athera and tucked her legs up on the couch. “Are you nervous about your first day?”

Athera laughed. “Me? Nervous? Of course not! Just a normal first day doing this job for the first time in the only Ancient Elvhen Studies program in the entire country. What’s to be nervous about?”

Nare sympathetically eyed her friend’s bright smile. She didn’t blame Athera for being nervous. Athera had been looking for a research coordinator position for years. Her new job at the University of Orlais was well-earned, in Nare’s opinion, and it was just a stroke of happy fortune that Athera was starting her job at the same time that Nare was starting her Master’s of fine arts with U of O’s prestigious — and infamous — Ancient Elvhen Studies program.

It was also serendipitous that Tamaris had decided she wanted a change of pace and place, resulting in the three girls splitting the rent on a cozy three-bedroom-plus-studio apartment close to the university.

“Don’t be nervous,” Nare said warmly. “It’s going to be great! By the end of the week, the director will be wondering how they lived without you making the whole lab twice as efficient.”

Athera grimaced and ran a hand through her hair long chestnut hair. “I don’t know. Professor Abelas did not sound that impressed with my lack of experience during the phone interview. I’m still surprised I got the job.”

“He probably thinks he can train you up fresh since you’re so-called ‘inexperienced’,” Nare said knowingly. “He’ll see how good you are in two seconds. I’m sure of it.”

Athera smiled at her. “Aw, you’re sweet. I bet you’re going to impress your new supervisor just as much when you meet with him tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Nare said. But her belly jolted at the mention of Solas.

Professor Solas, she reminded herself. Just because she had a crush on her new supervisor’s voice didn’t mean she could start thinking of him in an informal way before they’d even met.

Oh, but he had such a gorgeous voice. The majority of her communication with Professor Solas had been via email, but the one time they’d spoken on the phone… Fenedhis, Nare couldn’t get it out of her mind. His voice was smooth and mild like a hot vanilla latte, with a curl of an Elvhen accent that made something shiver in her belly in a very visceral way. She was still surprised that she’d managed to keep her calm and sound like a reasonable and intelligent person after hearing Professor Solas’s first few words floating into her ear through the phone.

And that was just from hearing him talk about the Elvhen art stream of the program and the opportunities for exhibiting her work in the galleries in Val Royeaux. Imagine if he ever spoke to her in that beautiful smooth voice about other, less professional things…

Stop it, she scolded herself silently. She was being so stupid and horny, developing a crush on a man purely for his voice. Well, not just his voice: he was incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, and strong-willed to the point of stubborn as well, if his academic position papers were anything to go by. But if Nare was being honest, his intelligence wasn’t the main thing that had been keeping her up at night for the past couple of months since she and Solas had last spoken on the phone.

It was stupid to be thinking such carnal things about his voice, though. She didn’t even know what he looked like — not for a lack of trying to find out, if she was perfectly honest. She’d searched online for a photo of her soon-to-be supervisor, but he didn’t have a faculty photo anywhere on the U of O website, and a Google search had been shockingly unhelpful, leaving Nare with only a blank slate to imagine along with that knicker-melting voice.

“Nare, you okay?” Athera said.

Nare jolted slightly, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

Athera gave her a shrewd look. “Something tells me I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Nare teased.

Athera grinned, but Tamaris’s grumpy voice interrupted before Athera could reply. “You guys have nothing to be nervous about. You’re going to impress the shit out of everyone. Now let’s go get some coffee already.” She wandered over to the door and started jamming her feet into her scuffed black motorcycle boots.

Nare exchanged a smirk with Athera, then popped up from the couch. “Good morning, lethallan,” she crooned.

Athera giggled and hugged Tamaris’s arm. “Good morning,” she sing-songed.

Tamaris groaned. “Fuck off, both of you. I’m only awake this early because I have a client in an hour.”

“Wait, is it already nine?” Athera said in alarm. She checked her watch, then squeaked. “Oh shoot! Oh shoot, I’m supposed to meet Abelas at the office in fifteen minutes!” She shoved her feet onto a pair of flats and grabbed her bag, then flung open the door. “Bye! Have a good one!” she yelled, and she bolted down the stairs.

Nare smiled at Tamaris. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Lucky you,” Tamaris drawled. “You get to suffer my morning-gremlin attitude all alone.”

Nare chuckled, and they made their way down the stairs at a more measured pace and wandered toward their favourite café at the end of the block.

It was a perfect crisp early-September day. The sun was a lovely warm wash of light, and the air was fresh and cool without being cold. The leaves hadn’t started changing colours yet, but the quality of their verdancy was starting to shift from the lush springlike undertones of blue to the more autumn-like undertones of yellow. When Nare pointed this out to Tamaris, Tamaris huffed in amusement.

“That’s such an artist-y thing to say,” she said.

Nare gave her a chiding look. “You say that like you aren’t an artist yourself.” She pointedly eyed the delicate vallaslin that curled around Tamaris’s left eye — vallaslin that Tamaris had carefully tapped into her own skin, and the same skills which had imbued Nare and Athera with their vallaslin as well.

“I don’t often work with colour, though,” Tamaris said.

“Isn’t your client this morning for a coloured tattoo?”

“Yeah, but that’s different than painting,” Tamaris pointed out.

“Your tattoo work is amazing, though,” Nare said.

Tamaris smirked. “Fine. We’re both amazing artists with mind-blowing skills. Are you going to buy my coffee for me because I’m so awesome?”

“I’m the student here,” Nare said with a grin. “You should be buying me coffee.”

Tamaris tsked. “Fine. Just this once though, you leech.” She pulled open the café door and gestured sarcastically for Nare to enter before her.

Nare chuckled and slid into the café. They placed their orders together, then sat at a sunny table to enjoy their coffee and fresh scones — vegan blueberry for Nare, and lemon-glazed for Tamaris.

Nare took the lid off of her cup and blew on her coffee. “So you’re coming to the start-of-year mixer tonight, right?”

Tamaris slumped in her seat and shoved a hand through her lush midnight curls. “Explain again why you want me to come to this mixer thing. I’m not a student.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not a student,” Nare said. In truth, she just wanted to get Tamaris out of the apartment before she started forming roots.

“It kind of does,” Tamaris said flatly. “It’s happening at the campus bar.”

“Lots of non-students go to the campus bar,” Nare pointed out. “It’s a nice bar.”

Tamaris grunted. Nare leaned toward her slightly. “Come on, Tam,” she wheedled. “Come to the mixer. Athera’s coming.”

“She works at the university now,” Tamaris pointed out. “It makes sense for her to go.”

Nare wilted. “What else are you going to do if you stay home?”

Tamaris’s reply was prompt. “I’ll rewatch The Archdemon Rises 3 for the fifth time and paint my nails.”

Nare declined to mention that Tamaris’s eggplant-purple manicure was still intact since she’d last done her nails two days ago. Instead, she widened her eyes pleadingly. “Please come? We’ll make a girls’ night of it. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Tamaris eyed her stonily for a moment, then sighed. “Ugh, you and your baby blues. Fine, I’ll come.”

Nare beamed at her and took a bite of her scone. A leisurely half-hour later, they stepped out of the café.

Tamaris stretched her arms over her head. “All right, I’m headed home,” she said with a yawn. “You sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow so we can go to that museum exhibit together?”

Nare shook her head. “I want to see it before my meeting with my supervisor tomorrow.”

Tamaris smirked. “Hoping to impress him with your up-to-date knowledge of the local art scene, huh?”

Nare poked her playfully. “Yes, okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tamaris said. “You always make a good first impression.”

Tamaris’s tone was dry, and Nare gazed fondly at her seemingly standoffish friend. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’ll see you later.”

Tamaris nodded and headed back to the apartment, and Nare turned in the opposite direction toward the modern art museum. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped open her browser to check the price of tickets for the special neo-Avvar exhibit; she was fairly sure she’d get a discounted admission with her student ID, but some of the museum’s special exhibits were even free for students, and Nare couldn’t remember if—

She suddenly slammed right into someone.

She stumbled back, then squeaked in alarm as she tripped over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her phone dropped from her fingers, and she grabbed for it even as she tried to find her footing, oh no oh shit she was going to fall down–

A strong pair of hands grabbed her arms, and Nare gasped as she regained her balance. “Shit,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry, I – my phone, I was distracted…”

“The fault is mine. I apologize.”

A heated ripple of recognition spilled down her spine. That voice. She knew that voice. She’d been replaying that voice in her head for months and wondering what the person who owned that voice looked like: how tall he was, how big his hands were, what his lips looked like shaped around the liquids vowels of that divine Arlathani accent…

Lightheaded with disbelief, her heart in her throat, Nare lifted her eyes to his face.

Her breath left her in a punch of shock. Gorgeous. He was gorgeous. An impeccably shaven head, a mere hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes which put him somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s, lush lips with a perfect cupid’s bow, a delicate divot in his chin and a jawline sharp enough to cut, and his eyes…

His eyes were perfectly lucid, a perfect quixotic blend of light grey and pale blue that Nare couldn’t quite name, and they were so warm. His eyebrows were creased with a hint of concern, and when the crease in his brow deepened, she realized that she was staring.

“Are you all right?” Professor Solas said.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Which was a good thing, because the only words Nare could think were you are fucking hot.

She nodded dumbly. A tiny hint of a smile curled the left corner of his lips, and he released her arms. “I apologize for the collision,” he said, and he crouched down to pick up his book and her phone. “I should know better than to read and walk at the same time.”

Nare watched stupidly as he rose to his full height. Fenedhis, he was tall.

He held out her phone, and Nare carefully studied his face. There was no recognition there. There was warmth in his handsome face, but no recognition. He didn’t know who she was.

Not that she would necessarily expect him to, since he was a professional and an intellectual, and professional intellectuals probably didn’t online-stalk their new grad students to find out what they looked like.

She took her phone with trembling fingers and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You are not hurt, I hope?”

Ugh, he was so good-looking. Why did her supervisor have to be her exact ideal physical type?

She dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I — no. I’m fine,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Good,” he said. “And again, I apologize for the collision.”

She shrugged and tried to nod at the same time, then wanted to smack herself for being so fucking awkward.

“Take care,” he said. A moment later, he was walking away from her.

She finally dragged in a breath and watched greedily as Professor Solas walked away. For someone who had such a mild voice and such kind eyes, his gait was certainly confident.

Confident and sexy.

Nare blew out a breath and forced herself to turn away. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? Why was her heart beating so hard, not just in her chest but in her entire body?

Why was her mind completely taken over by the thought of Professor Solas stretching her naked body out on a desk, those warm grey-blue eyes scanning her from head to toe before he taught her all kinds of torrid lessons that she would never forget?

Fuck, she thought desperately. I am in so much trouble.

#solas #solavellan #solas fic #professor solas #professor solas au #pikapeppa writes #elbenherzart

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masterhandss · 4 years

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Hamefura Idol AU! (part 2)

Here’s a completely unrelated Katarina idol art by @Sangotofura on twitter!

This is a continuation of my first post, the one that is more of an overview of the original FL game and the original descriptions of the characters. I don’t know if I want to write a story for this, since again this is just an excuse to draw, but I’m really having fun with expanding the alternate version of the world of hamefura.

It’s a lot of fun to rewrite hamefura’s story to fit in an idol setting, so I hope you guys don’t mind if I write a bit more for my dumb au dhjgfjs

More tidbits about the ‘Game’:

The game’s name, Fortune Lover: Cinderella Idol! or “Fortune Lover”, is read as “for-tune lover” by the fans (get it? tune?? pls laugh). The ‘F’ of the name is written as a fortissimo.

In the setting for Fortune Lover, the entertainment industry is the biggest industry of all time, with music being the most popular form. It has been like this for decades, and as time progressed, people’s tastes and expectations of music evolved, leading to the creation and popularity of idols.

Idol-Producers are a new project that is testing the capabilities of a idol teen, observing how their involvement in their own success can impact how they manage their time and how they can bring the absolute best out of themselves, on their own. Maria is the first idol who will be testing this new style. She is still a producer to herself, the boys, and even Sophia and Mary if you choose to have them join you. Despite being an idol, they still call Maria their “producer” and treats her like one.

The characters in the game are in 3D CG, as the game includes the dance choreography or “MV Mode” if you perfect the score of the rhythm game.

While Katarina’s bullying isn’t really death threatening, it’s more in line with the petty kind like verbal threats, sabotaging Maria’s idol clothes and stage equipment, paying someone to mess up her tracks during performances, badmouthing her infront of tv show producers and hosts, and stuff like that.

Katarina’s bullying isn’t as bad as it is in the original otome game, but she gets shunned by the public because behavior like that is only supposed to be done behind the curtains. The public has such a pure and honest perception of idols that they never think of the idea that the girls who smile and sing on stage actually try to stab each other in the back when the stage lights are off. Some people think that Katarina’s character is just a persona, so knowing that she is actually an ignorant and arrogant rich girl idol-wannabe, her fans lose respect for her. Katarina’s harassment of Maria is one of the few cases that are brought to light by the end of the game, and because of how much the public loves Maria by that point, they are enraged by Katarina’s behavior, making her lose support on all sides

Katarina had been in love with Gerald ever since they were children, and while Gerald has always been a popular boy among both his peers, when she found out Gerald was going to be an idol, she disliked the idea of sharing her beloved Gerald to a huge audience of people, so she became an idol to stand alongside him and to make herself worth of him by charming him as as an idol and gaining a large following herself. Despite this, Katarina didn’t strive too hard to be a talented idol, as she was too confident on herself due to the pampering of her parents.

Even if the player doesn’t desire to romance any of the four boys, given how the game is written and how it is programmed, the boy with the highest relationship points with Maria will confess to her by the end of the game. It would be impossible to not interact and gain points with the boys, as you gain relationship points in most areas of the games (when you “practice” your characters, when you “play” their songs, when you “give” them new clothes, when you “converse” with them in story mode, etc.). In the event that there are two characters with the exact same amount of points, the game will choose a boy for you.

Sorcier Pro.’s current president is Geoffrey Stuart (for reasons that will make sense someday)

Katarina-Gerald and Mary-Alan aren’t engaged in this au, but are constantly in each other’s presence due to most powerful bussinessmen and celebrities being good friends with each other.

Each girl has a specialty in a certain area: Katarina with dancing, Sophia with singing, Mary with acting/drama, and Maria (according to the official description of her in the box) with fashion coordination. Maria can be seen as more of a jack of all trades though, as she does represent the player.

While any of the boys can trigger the condemnation event that will lead to Katarina’s social suicide, the event is specifically associated with Keith and Gerald due to the severity of her presence and bullying if you have high relationship points with the two. With Alan and Nicole, Katarina’s event only happens for a few lines, but for Keith and Gerald, it takes place in complete detail, with it’s own animated cutscene.

Gerald’s route is also the most popular among the fans, with community surveys reporting that 53% of the game’s player base had Gerald as their final chosen love interest ( 25% with Keith, 12% with Nicol and 10% with Alan)

Monkey Girl/Past-Life Katarina

Since Maria’s name can’t be change in the game, but you can give her a “nickname” that represents the username of the player, Past-life Katarina’s name in the game is “SaruP” (or “Monkey producer” lol)

Saruchan (Monkey Girl) dies before she could finish her playthrough of the game, and all of her knowledge is based on her idol-expert best friend Acchan. She’s a bit tomboyish, and she loves to climb trees and move freely without a hint of poise or shyness, and is friendly to all genders. Her love for climbing, running, gardening with her grandma, and never ending amounts of energy gave her a pretty strong, flexible, agile and energetic body.

In Saruchan’s world, idols do exist, but aren’t portrayed in the cutesy and exaggerated manner that fiction does. Though it’s no surprise to know that in her world, almost every girl had dreamed to become an idol at one point, even herself. Acchan doesn’t find the idea interesting though, as she only lives for the idealized version of idols that exist in fiction. Acchan explains that girls their age are being brainwashed by the idealized version of idols that are presented in the media that they consume, and that they should wake up and learn to enjoy the fictional idols as they are. Despite Acchan’s realistic disapproval of idol fantasies, she does love playing idol rhythm games and gacha games, and spends her allowance on getting DLC costumes for Maria in FL. Acchan even pre-ordered tickets for herself and Saruchan for an idol concert featuring the VA of the characters, that they were supposed to attend to on the day that Saruchan dies.

She dies the game way: on her way to school and being killed by a truck that runs her over.

The last thing Saruchan sees before she loses consciousness forever is the wallpaper of the game’s boxart from her phone screen as it flies out of her hands.

My Next Life as an ‘Idol’?? All Routes Lead to Doom!!!

As usual, Katarina ends up remembering her future as an 8 year old kid, and plans to prepare for her future “banishment” and humiliation. She learns to farm in order to provide for herself once she gets shunned and retreats to the countryside, and (unknowingly) meets all the characters in the game and gains their good favor before the events of the game begins.

Her head bump still happens with Gerald, but their encounter happened in a party rather than an engagement meeting, with her tripping over a rock as she decides to run to the young man in order to introduce herself. Such introductions never got past beyond their names and few exchanges of dialogue, as the bump occurred and Katarina was immediately brought to the hospital after he called for help.

Being a girl who wanted to be an idol at one point, Katarina wanted to use this chance to fulfill her dream of becoming one! But knowing the fate that will await her, (public humiliation, isolation, and banishment to some degree) she tries to figure out ways to avoid ruining her future.

While not as bad as death, Katarina is aware that the ending of the game implies that the blemished opinion that everyone will gain of her will lead to her leading a miserable life; one that will prevent her from gaining new allies and even studying in peace without being made fun of or called out for. It might even ruin her marriage prospects, for all she knows (it doesn’t but she’s too stupid to know that). The stakes of the bad ending aren’t life threatening, but it is personal, as Katarina always dreamed of becoming an idol as a teen and doesn’t like the idea of being able to enjoy it for a few months only to be dragged down to hell right afterwards.

The Claes is a wealthy family known for her father’s knowledge and skills when it comes to trades and business, and for her mother’s beautiful opera singing voice and celebrity presence. As usual, Katarina’s father adopts Keith for the purpose of gaining a direct heir for the business, in fear that Katarina’s future significant other might just to interested in her to gain it.

Katarina’s plan is to learn how to farm in order to be able to support herself after her banishment, give Keith lots of love so he doesn’t end up becoming a playboy like in the game, and to train herself in dancing and singing in order to not embarrass herself like the original Katarina did. After meeting Gerald again and realizes his weakness, she eventually prepares (or buys, since the setting is modern) toy snakes that she can use to surprise him whenever the condemnation event occurs, using his shocked and panicked reaction as a way to distract the media from the claims that will surely fall upon her (since no one would have expected the calm and collected Gerald Stuart to scream like a girl at the sight of a toy snake, right? That would stay in the headlines for weeks! maybe).

As a kid, she has private singing tutors, and takes more general singing classes when she gets older. She doesn’t have dance training as a kid, but she does like to exercise and move her body around, so it slowly turned into the stamina-filled flexible body that she is used to.

Katarina and Keith - Their meeting and impressions are mostly the same, which the difference being that Katarina used a display axe above a fireplace to break down the door, and Keith got her injured by accidentally pushing her off a pretty high cliff in the Claes grounds while they were both running and playing chase (rather than being isolated for dangerous Earth Magic, Keith as a child was a clutz who attracted danger to everyone around him, making his older brothers make fun of him for being “cursed”).

Katarina showers him with love, making him affectionate towards his step sister, in the same as he was in the original material.

When Keith finds out about Katarina’s desire to train to become an idol, he is very supportive of her, and decides to train with her in order to be able to stand by his sister on stage (as well as to generally gain the same interests as her in order to guarantee that they will stay close as they age). The contrast being that instead of becoming an idol to gain the adoration of millions of nameless faces, he now wants to become an idol to gain the love and attention of a single person, which is Katarina uwu.

Katarina and Gerald - Gerald eventually attempts to visit Katarina to apologize for the incident, expecting her to blame him for what happened, given the personality she showed him. He was shocked to find a scar on her forehead, farming while wearing a farmer’s attire despite coming from a wealthy and esteemed family, singing and dancing to a song as she waters her vegetables. He watches for only a minute, unable to look away from the girl who danced like deflating balloon and sang off key while almost drowning her small vegetable in water. She looked weird, but she was having the time of her life, and he could see and hear it from where he stood.

In a daze, thinking he might have entered the wrong house by accident or walked on the daughter of a maid doing chores. He walks out and leave the Claes estate without a word, and visits again after only a few days, as he couldn’t get his mind off of the oddity that he had witnessed.

He eventually realizes that it was Katarina on his second visit, as he finds the scar of the odd farmer girl on the same girl who boasted about her family’s wealth in the party. After giving formal introductions, Gerald offers to walk around the garden to get to know each other better, in order to continue the conversation that she had originally forced on him back in the party (it was done to be polite and respectful, rather than any interest to continue). In the garden, they pass by the area that Katarina had planned to turn into her farm, and Gerald was in awe at how unorganized and messy everything looked (there was dirt everywhere, the tools were left on the floor because she had to prepare to meet him, there was more bags of manure than what was even needed etc! Katarina internally cursed at her 8 year old delicate rich girl body for not having the same arm strength as her 17 year old self). It was then that it sunk in that the adorable singing and dancing farming girl that he accidentally saw really was Katarina Claes. She wasn’t the very definition of abnormal, but she was nothing like the daughters of his father’s friends that cried when not attended to or complained when not given the best dresses and shoes. There was no shred of worry about her family’s expectations in her eyes, nor expectations of him to act like his perfect and matured self whenever they met in parties, movie premiers or social events, which made him yearn for her company.

After finding out about Katarina’s desire to become an idol one day, Gerald secretly planned to do the same (and even have her recruited in his brother’s agency) in order to become closer to her through her love of entertainment and to have a chance to be constantly in her presence. When he found out about the charms that male idols have on their female fans, he also plans on using this as an opportunity to gain both her attention and romantic affection, by perfecting his (already maxed out) charms as male idol.

Katarina and Mary - The two met during a part hosted by Mary’s mother in the Hunt Estate, inviting all of her mother’s old opera acquaintances, sponsors and co-workers for a formal reunion. Katarina and Keith accompanied their parents to the party, leading them to be introduced to the Hunt Family’s daughters. As usual, Katarina had the urge to “release the chocolate shark” during the party and takes an elegant leave. She eventually gets lost in the estate and finds herself in the garden. Katarina was in awe of the garden’s beauty, and stood still as she watched what seemed like beautiful siren sing by herself near a majestic fountain, with a single rose in hand.

Mary was surprised to hear an aggressive applause after singing to herself. Katarina aggressively complimented Mary for her adorable yet elegant voice, and asked who she was seeing as a singing trainer. When Mary replied that she was not having any singing or vocal training, Katarina rains even more compliments down, claiming that “her voice was that of an angel!”. Mary denied it, so Katarina proceeded to sing the same song that she had sang, as a point of comparison to make her feel more confident in herself. Mary shyly and unexpectedly joins her, and they ended up having a small and quiet duet in the garden. Katarina’s voice sounded a bit rough and squeak-ish, but alongside Mary’s elegant and controlled singing, they didn’t sound bad at all.

When Katarina finds out that Mary is also the one who tends to the flower garden, she proceeds to shower Mary with even more compliments, and asks her to visit and help with her own farm garden. Being complimented for having a beautiful voice and a green thumb made her feel validated and appreciated, so she often visits the Claes household in order to be in constant presence of her first and dearest friend. The rest is the same.

When Mary found out about Katarina’s dream of becoming an idol, she started taking intense vocal training as well as various exercises in order to be able to join her in her endeavor. She slowly built a more brazen and tough personality in order to be able to join and protect her friend from the rumored cold and intense reality of the idol world, as well as due to the antics of her friends.

Katarina and Alan - From Mary, she eventually finds out that the event where Mary duets and falls in love with Alan occurred. Katarina realizes that duet must not have been that effective because she has done the same with Mary, but is confident that Mary is in love with him because Alan is a very talented and handsome individual. A few days later, the fourth Stuart son bursts into the doors of the Claes household, and demands to meet with Katarina. She learns that Alan had developed a small crush on Mary, and that he wants to challenge Katarina for her hand. Same shenanigans ensues, leading up to the piano duel where his talents in the piano was in full display to everyone in the manor.

Katarina knew how to play the piano (just the basics though), so she was in awe listening to someone who almost sounded like a pro! Alan runs off after Gerald compliments him, Katarina chases after him, and they got to talk behind a bush. Alan wouldn’t take her compliments, but Katarina aggressively insisted that his talents are nothing to scoff at.

When Alan says that he’s sure that his brother can play just as good, if not better than him, Katarina speculates that it wasn’t the case, because everyone had things that they are good and bad at. Not everyone is the same, no one learns at the same pace, and that she’s sure even if Gerald can play the piano better than him (and she doubts he can in the first place), no one can play the piano like Alan can. The scores in his heart are his alone, and that nothing is more beautiful than the melody that the heart enacts. Katarina knew that the score he played wasn’t an existing one, and knowing Alan’s character from the game, it’s probably either an impromptu score or one he had composed by himself. Her guess was correct, leading Alan to be caught off guard by her compliment, almost feeling emotional as no one had ever guessed and believed that the music he played was his own, until Katarina did.

She shows off the power of the toy snake to Alan, making him laugh and see his brother in a different light. He still constantly visited Katarina for their duels, but as time progressed, he lost the affection for Mary (as he saw her as a little sister now after interacting with her in the Claes Household) that made him want to challenge Katarina. They still followed up on those challenges, for fun rather than for sport.

When he finds out about Katarina’s dream to become an idol, he is determined to join her in order to be able to compose songs and melodies that she can sing, intending to bring out the absolute best of his muse’s voice with his own music. Someone his age might not be fit to compose songs for an idol, so he intends to become one as well in order to gain a reputation as a competent composer.

Katarina and Sophia - The two meets at an afternoon party hosted by the Stuarts, as a celebration for the birthday of the twins. Katarina had to “powder her noes” after a few trips to the buffet table, and leaves Keith and Mary. She’s chased down by a dog, climbs up a tree, and accidentally watches a group of kids and older bully a small girl who sounded like she was about to cry. The same events occur, up to their second encounter in the party. Katarina accidentally quotes a line from a novel that she was reading, and after realizing that Sophia understood her reference, she asked for them to meet again in order to discuss their similar interests.

Everything is pretty much the same, the difference being that somehow idols were brought as a topic of conversation, with Sophia revealing that she is actually a huge fan of idols. Katarina, feeling reminiscent of her idol-expert best friend Acchan, tells her that she actually wants to be an idol herself and insists that Sophia tell her about everything she loves about idols. Sophia, who is surprised to also find another idol fan who is as young as her, becomes even more excited and tells her all about her love for idols: how they are able to wear such adorable outfits onstage, how they sing songs that carry so much meaning, how they carry their fan’s dreams with them when they dance and sing, how amazing it is to be able to juggle so many occupations at once, and much more.

With both love of novels and idols, Sophia constantly finds herself in the Claes Household in order to talk to Katarina about books, idols, song recommendations etc.

When Sophia was first told that Katarina wanted to be an idol, she was very supportive of her and announced herself as Katarina’s number one fan. As time passed, she realized she wasn’t just satisfied with just watching Katarina from afar, she wanted to sing and dance alongside her! She wants to use her knowledge of romance novels and idols to help make herself and Katarina the best idols to ever exist! She wants to sing on stage about her feelings: about how much she loves Katarina, idols and their beloved novels!

Katarina and Nicol - When he found out that someone had invited his little sister to a small book club, he was very wary, thinking that she was one of the many other girls who tried to use Sophia in order to become closer with him. He was shocked to realize that that was not the case, and that Katarina had barely seen him at all, and had opened his timid little sister’s heart. When Sophia asked Katarina if she found her appearance creepy, Nicol proceeds to explain further, expecting to see a hint of guilt or displeasure from Katarina Claes, only for both of them to be met with unyielding determination to have Sophia as a close friend. Sophia went home that day in tears, thankful to have found a friend who truly wanted to stick by her side.

The Claes siblings often visits their home so the girls can have their book club, even bringing Mary Hunt with them occasionally. Katarina, while looking a bit flustered, is capable of having a conversation with him without averting her eyes, which was a breath of fresh air to the countless camera crew, staff, visitors and even strangers who couldn’t look him in the eyes because how of how much of a beautiful child model he was. It all leads up to the moment where Katarina compliments him with how blessed he is to have such a beautiful and wonderful family, which contrasted against the ignorant adults who pitied him for having parents who refused to abuse the potential of his beautiful face and for not being as beautiful as their son, as well as for having a freakish looking sister.

Nicol, just like his sister, desired to constantly be in Katarina’s positive presence, and visited her often, leading them to be acquainted and friends with the entire group that Katarina enraptured.

When he found about his sister’s and Katarina’s desire to become idols, Nicol thought of doing the same, in order to be able to continue to watch over and protect both Sophia and Katarina, as well to be able to continue being close with Katarina (as their lack of similar interests and age gap might lead her away from him, but tbh that is never gonna be a problem with Katarina). He also plans to use his influence as a child model to propel Sophia and Katarina’s careers, as a way of supporting his two favorite girls.

Notes

I’m not sure how I feel about Gerald’s backstory, I might rewrite that if anyone kindly wants to critique it.

Instead of Mary’s green thumb, it’s her voice that leads her to Katarina and Alan, but I still think Sophia would still have a better singing voice than her, so both her voice and green thumbs both play a part in her character. Mary’s high pitched voice gets a bit deeper as she ages, while Sophia’s voice stays very high.

I really like the idea that rather than the original ambitions and goals that leads the harem to become idols in Fortune Lover, now it’s the effect of Katarina’s constant insistence and declarations of becoming an idol that leads to everyone doing the same. In this timeline, the harem probably wouldn’t have thought of (or planned early) becoming an idol if Katarina never brought it up.

I’m writing this at midnight again, lol, but yeah I’m not planning on writing a fanfiction for this, I guess, but I do want to have an established plot so rather than chapters, I’m just writing a full overview for fun haha

When I mentioned that Sophia loved idols, I didn’t realize that I might have accidentally implied that she was just as an idol fan as Acchan was, but with actual idols this time, so I went with :DD

I’ll touch up on Idol Katarina, Anne, Maria, Sirius/Raphael and Fortune Lover 2 in the next one.

I’m really happy that there are people who actually read my previous post and said that they liked it! Feedback and suggestions are appreciated! I still need a final name for the units so help me pls hahaha.

I’ll rewrite this post when I feel like adding/changing stuff.

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aspenflower17 · 4 years

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Finding You (Part Four of ??)

Hewwo! I am back with another update on my Finding You fic! If you didn’t catch my last mini update (link here), I was having some trouble getting what I wanted onto the page. BUT, I have now figured it out (and have even made the barebone plans for the other brother’s version of this story!).

If you’re just joining us, here is the link for Part One. I would recommend starting there if you want to read this fic (which I would like very much).

Anywho, this update is of a normal length (for me). We’re also jumping forward in time. I realized the first line of this update might seem like a continuation of the scene we had had last with Mc, but it’s not :)

Tag for the peeps: @simpingforsatan and @naimena. (If you want to be on this list, just ask in a comment below!)

F!Mc / Satan

Word Count: 2284 (story under the cut)

Trigger Warnings: None that I can think of

Mc closed the letter, trying to contain her excitement.

“Well, what does it say?”

“Lord Diavolo is specifically asking if I’d consider bringing my show to the Devildom. He has offered the castle as free lodging for as long as I am in the Devildom, which has no expiration!”

“That’s incredible Mc! You’ve never shown in the Devildom have you?”

“Not yet. I went when I was a child, and I really enjoyed it there. After MoMA I was thinking of reaching out to ask if they’d be interested, but then they put the exchange program on hold due to Gabriel’s behavior down there…”

“I still can’t believe he’d act that way.”

“Oh I can. He’s so radicalized I’m surprised he was allowed down there at all.”

“Still…”

“We all know how you feel about Gabriel, Abihail,” Mc teased.

“No! I don’t… I… No!”

Mc raised her eyebrows, but let the topic drop, “The question now is if they’ll let me go down.”

“I’m sure Simeon would be more than happy to let you go down. Luke may not be as… enthusiastic, but he should be proud his little sister was invited to show in the Devildom.”

“They’re not who I’m worried about. I have to go through Michael.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. He knows how responsible you are. Consider how many times he’s allowed you down to the human realm for a show.”

Mc tried to match Abihail’s excitement, but Michael had gotten weird after Gabriel’s behavior in the Devildom. She reasoned it must have been because he had been the one to send him to the Devildom for the exchange program, though he had acted differently ever since she had gotten back to the Celestial Realm from that trip as a child.

She started reading the books he had recommended, very grateful he had included notes on what he called “trigger warnings” explaining that he knew angels were more sensitive to certain subjects. The books inspired her to become a polymath, though she didn’t learn the term until she was older. Her real expertise was in the arts, painting, drawing, photography, sculpting, poetry, and music among her most recognized accomplishments. She was also skilled in conversation and had at least a basic understanding of most academic subjects, excelling in some.

It was Simeon who suggested she hold her first art show. The show was such a success, Mc found herself inundated with offers from various other angels to showcase her work, some offering to bring her art to the human realm. Such was the environment Mc grew up in, and grow up fast she did. An angel’s physical and mental age were dependent on the angel’s understanding of various things, their age not getting much past what would be considered a human’s prime. Mc was voracious in her learning, and as such, she found herself quickly reaching the maturity she would stay at for the rest of her existence. Luke, not to be shown up by his little sister, also started growing at a crazy rate. In the end, they both ended up reaching maturity at the same time. Once she reached it, she started having shows in the human realm, finding the understanding of humans to be better than a lot of angels at times. Her fellow brothers and sisters were certainly great, but many of them didn’t seem to try to better themselves, and so she found herself drowning in their mundane chatter much of the time. It actually spurred most of the art they loved so much. She had found herself researching the Devildom more and more, wondering what S would think about certain subjects, or how he would react to her art. He had suggested many art books for her to look through, most of them showing he had a great understanding of art; what would he think of her new piece? Did he like classical music? What kind of poetry did he prefer to read? She came back to the list he’d written her many times, trying her best to understand the man who had believed in her enough as a child to expand her world. It made her feel less lonely, a problem that seemed was always going to plague her. It was nice to have another supporter, as she wasn’t getting much support from Michael, though she wasn’t dependent on it.

Though he never outwardly said it, she almost felt like Michael had never approved of her art, unless it was of a landscape or something else just as tame. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand art either, having gone with her to many other art shows and was able to intelligently speak on the art he saw there. It wouldn’t have bugged her as much as it did had he not interjected himself into her life after that trip as much as he had. She’d read many books as she could find trying to understand what was going on with him, causing her to research many different psychological phenomena, but none of it seemed correct. The closest she could find was a very mild form of Mother Hen Syndrome, though even that didn’t seem to accurately describe what was going on. She had never tried to breach the subject of going to the Devildom with Michael, even after he was put in charge of travel between Realms.

When she’d found out about Gabriel’s stunt in the Devildom, she’d figured her chance of going to the Devildom was gone. The exchange program being put on hold confirmed her theory, and even her shows in the human realm were greatly reduced. Though it had been awhile, she had never tried to push to get her shows back, as she knew pushing with Michael rarely worked out the way she wanted it to. Now that she’d been invited down there however, it would be rude to refuse wouldn’t it?

“Why don’t we go and ask him right now? He may have even received a letter from Lord Diavolo himself.” Abihail’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“That might make it so he has to warm up to the idea. Let him come to the conclusion himself…”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll be harder for him to say no if he knows that you want to go.”

“I want ideas on bargaining should he say no though. Never go into battle unprepared.”

“You really feel like this is going to be a battle?” Abihail asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. You also should stop questioning me all the time.:

“Well, I think the best idea to counter if he says no is inviting him to come with you. That way he can make sure the “reputation of the Celestial Realm remains untainted” or at least helps repair any damage that’s been done.”

“Hmmm… That’s the final bargaining chip then.”

”Honestly, I think it’s the only one you’ll need.”

“Oh no, I’ll need more. Let’s see, why would I want to go?”

“Just be honest. You need more material for inspiration. That’s why you want to go right?”

“Oh, that’s true… Good idea,” Mc complimented, hoping it wasn’t obvious that wasn’t exactly why she wanted to go. It was her cover story when anyone caught her researching the Devildom. It definitely wasn’t for a change of pace or a certain blonde demon who had given her the best life advice she’d ever received. Who had taught her mediocrity wasn’t the only way to live. Nope. Definitely not that.

“Well, there we go. I think you’re set.”

“Nope. I need at least one more bargaining chip.”

“Ugh, what about that Luke goes with you?”

“That’s… Not a terrible idea.”

“Of course it’s not. Will you go talk with Michael now?”

“How serendipitous. I was looking to speak with you Mc,” Michael’s voice came from behind the conversing angels.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that,” Mc exclaimed, her hand over her heart.

“Ah, but it’s so entertaining. Oh, don't look at me like that Mc. Anyways, I do need to talk to you if you’re available.”

“I am,” Mc said, getting up and dusting off her skirt. Abihail gave her a huge thumbs up when Michael’s back was turned.

When the pair was far enough from other people, Michael began speaking without ceremony, “I don’t approve of you going to the Devildom.”

“I figured you wouldn’t. I do want to go though. I need fresh inspiration for my art, and I would like to experience the culture of the Devildom.”

“Why would you want to go down there though?”

“Besides the reasons I already listed? I would like to see where Simeon and Luke spent time through the eyes of an adult. I did enjoy my time there as a child, and I would like to return.”

“Do I need to remind you of the danger you were in last time?”

“I would like to counter that point by reminding you I am an adult now. My powers have fully manifested at this point, and I can fly just as well as anyone else. I have studied multiple different cultures, including the Devildom, which is more than Luke did when he first went down.”

“You allowed a demon to guide you to who knows where.”

“As a child. If you don’t trust me, I am not opposed to Luke joining me down there.”

“I’m still not convinced. I’m just trying to help you make the best decision.”

“I feel, in light of whatever problems Gabriel caused down there, this might help international relations. It seems rude to decline the ruler of the Devildom when I’ve had so many shows in the Human Realm and none in the Devildom, partially because I wasn’t sure if they wanted my work to be shown down there. Now that I have an express invitation to showcase my work, I feel I should take it,” Mc glanced over to Michael’s face and saw it start to harden, and sensing a no on his lips, she pulled out her trump card, “If it makes you feel better, you can definitely come too. That way, you can rest assured that the Celestial Realm is being represented in a positive light.”

The abrupt change in Michael’s face almost made Mc start celebrating. She had him with that last part, she knew she did.

“You wouldn’t be opposed to me joining you?”

“Not if relations between the Devildom are as strained as I’ve been led to believe.”

“Hmmm.. I will need to discuss it with Father, considering my many duties, but… that could work.”

Mc allowed herself a smile, though she really wanted to shout in triumph, “Thank you Michael. I think this will be the next step in my artistic journey.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why do I always end up back here?” Luke whined, as he watched out the window.

Mc didn’t give him a response. His denial of how much he actually enjoyed the Devildom was always entertaining to her. She knew he was in almost consistent contact with Barbatos, who she had found out was Diavolo’s butler.

She herself was too excited to talk much in case she let slip just how much she wanted to be down here. Lord Diavolo had been more than welcoming when she had explained she’d have to bring two more in her entourage, allowing them to join her in the castle.

The Devildom seemed much as she remembered it. The neon of all the signs, glowing in the eternal dusk sent her hands into a sketching frenzy, poetry filling the next page or two only to find more sketches further down.

Michael seemed nervous however. Once they had stepped from the portal into the twilight, he had been on edge. Seeing the Nightmare’s that were pulling the carriage that had been sent to deliver them to the castle had certainly frightened him. Mc had only pulled out her camera and started taking photos of them, hoping she had figured out her settings properly. He had been fidgeting the whole carriage ride, the view of the castle only making things worse.

Finally, Mc couldn’t take it anymore, “Michael, are you alright?”

“Heh, of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Simeon was kind of like this when we first came down to the Devildom for the exchange program,” Luke offered.

“He was?” Michael asked, a tad desperately.

“Yeah. He kept muttering about seeing Lucifer and the others again.”

Michael seemed to take comfort in the knowledge and the rest of the trip up to the castle gates was fairly quiet. Mc really couldn’t understand the fervor that seemed to grip some of the angels when they talked about Lucifer, “Maybe I’ll understand after this trip,” she thought idly, another strain of poetry coming to mind.

“Mc, we’re almost there. You should probably put your notebook and pencils away,” Luke offered.

The first mote of apprehension pricked Mc, her notebook quickly put in her pack, “Does my hair look okay?”

“Yes.”

“Does mine?”

“Yes Michael.”

“You didn’t even look.”

Luke raised his head to look at Michael, “Like I thought. Impeccable.”

“He’s not in a very good mood is he?” Michael whispered to Mc, causing her to giggle.

The carriage came to a stop, and the door opened, revealing an imposing figure in red and a shorter figure in black with green accents. Michael let out an audible breath, and got up from his seat to head towards the door.

“I was right. He’s worried about seeing Lucifer again.”

Mc decided to leave the discussion for a later time, as she wanted her head clear for this meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 5

#finding you #om! satan #obey me satan #female mc #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me michael #OBEY ME #obey me! swd #obey me!#shall-we-date-obey-me

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years

Text

Requested by @ryleyrooroo: Can I please get some gingerbread with my soft boi Marcus Pike? 🥺

I am so so so very sorry for how long this took to be completed. But, I wanted to go back and rewatch Pedro’s scenes in The Mentalist, and I wasn’t able to until recently. So, here it is, very late... I hope you like it!!!

Nutmeg, Cinnamon, and Gingerbread

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: So, while re-watching The Mentalist, I felt a strong resurgence of my hate for Patrick Jane. I don’t know why, but I’ve never liked his character. And ever since Lisbon did poor Marcus dirty like that, I’ve not really liked her either. So, that definitely came out while I was writing, oops... And yes, I know it rarely snows in Sacramento, but it did snow on December 7th in 2009, so it’s definitely possible. Just go with it.

Requested: Gingerbread - holiday kisses- under the mistletoe or in front of a roaring fire, their lips taste of nutmeg and gingerbread and holiday cheer

You were late, goddammit.

Everything had fit together so perfectly, so of course something had to go wrong at the last minute.

Your boyfriend was working a case in Sacramento, and had been for a few months now. You’d been sad that the two of you wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas together, but then it was like the stars had aligned, and an unsub had popped up a few counties over, in Santa Clara, and your team was on their way. You’d managed to get your bosses to agree that so long as you took a commercial flight back, and that you’d be home before New Years, you could have a few days off to celebrate with your boyfriend.

Your case had been solved relatively quickly, within two weeks, just one day before Christmas Eve, and you’d immediately begun the drive from Santa Clara up to Sacramento. God, your boyfriend had been so excited.

“Hey, baby! Guess what?”

You’d called him only minutes after getting on the road, too excited to try and keep him in suspense.

“Don’t tell me–”

“Yes! We finished the case! I’ve got…” you trailed off, glancing at the GPS. “About two hours before I reach Sacramento!”

There was a gasp through the speakers before a whoop of excitement rang through the car. “Sweetheart that’s amazing! I was beginning to lose hope!”

You smiled at the clear and obvious joy in your significant other’s voice. “Me too, babe. I’m so excited to get to spend Christmas with you. I can’t wait to get to your hotel and just crash.”

“I can’t wait either, I–” A loud groan suddenly rang out. “Shit, I completely forgot. There’s a Christmas party tonight and the boss wants me there for ‘team bonding’ or something, and I probably won’t get back until late.”

You were quiet for a moment, and he must have assumed that you were upset with him. “Sweetheart I’m so sorry, I was so looking forward to seeing you, and now I’m gonna have to ditch you tonight for people I really don’t want to be around and–” you cut him off quickly.

“Babe, babe no, Marcus, baby, listen to me.” You waited for him to stop before you continued. “It’s not a big deal. What if I come with you?”

There’s a pause for a moment, before your boyfriend lets out a small huff of laughter. “That… That might actually work. I can’t imagine the brass complaining about you coming to a Christmas party, especially when you technically work for the same company.”

You rolled your eyes, but really, he was right. He worked in the Art Theft Program for the FBI, and you worked for the BAU, also for the FBI. The brass was fine with your relationship since you weren’t technically colleagues, so why would they have a problem with you coming to a party?

After getting the details from Marcus, you said goodbye, already anxious for the drive to be over. You had some dressier clothes packed in your bag from the case you’d just worked, so you were going to swing by his hotel and change before meeting him at the CBI headquarters. With your ETA being what it was, you’d be right on time for the start of the party.

At least, that had been the plan.

There had been a car accident right in front of you while you were on your way from Marcus’ hotel room to the CBI Headquarters, and of course, you being the Good Samaritan that you were, stopped to wait for the police. You’d given your statement, but one of the officers would not stop flirting and inviting you out to dinner, no matter how much you insisted you had somewhere to be.

When you finally managed to get him off your back, you were running thirty minutes late, meaning the party was in full swing, and your boyfriend was alone, surrounded by people he didn’t like all that much.

Marcus never really talked about the first time he’d worked with CBI, but you knew enough. You knew that he’d fallen in love with an agent, and that she’d agreed to marry him, only to break up with him and get together with an absolute ass of a man. Marcus had been left in Washington DC, with no explanation and a broken heart.

You’d crossed paths with him maybe... six months after that? It was practically love at first sight for you, and although it took him longer to admit it–you know, due to trust and intimacy issues that were extremely valid–Marcus had felt the same. This had led to the two of you getting together on Christmas of all days, and the two of you would have a year of dating under your belts this upcoming December 25th.

Now, you were about to meet the woman who’d broken Marcus’ heart and the man she’d chosen instead of him, and while honestly, you couldn’t be too upset, since Marcus was now dating you, you could still be mad at her on principle.

As you walked into the building’s lobby, where the party was being held, and saw Marcus, you felt your breath hitch. It had been so goddamn long since you’d seen him, and there he was, only a few feet from you for the first time in over three months. His back was to you, and he seemed to be talking to two people, although you could tell by his posture that he was not enjoying the conversation.

Getting closer, you realized that the couple talking to your boyfriend had to be Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. For one, Jane looked as though he thought he was God’s gift to mankind, and judging by the smirk on his face, he thought himself to be above everyone in the room. And Lisbon looked simultaneously smug and upset, and you guessed she was probably smug that Marcus didn’t seem to have anyone–you knew he hadn’t told the CBI team about your relationship, as he felt it was none of their business–and that she was probably upset that Marcus didn’t look more broken up about her being here with Jane.

God, it made you sick. Those two had played with Marcus, toyed with his heart, and he didn’t deserve it. Your sweet, loving boyfriend didn’t deserve this, to be stuck on a team with the two people who’d made him so miserable for months on end, and you were glad that, at least for tonight, you could be his buffer.

As you approached the trio, Jane’s eyes locked onto you, and you saw a look of confusion on his face at the way you were marching over there like a woman on a mission. Clearly Marcus must’ve noticed Jane’s look, because he turned around just in time to catch you in his arms.

You didn’t even have time to look at Jane or Lisbon before Marcus’ lips were on yours. His arm held your waist tight against his, his other hand buried in your hair as he kissed you desperately. You knew it was probably a mix of missing you, and frustration with the two CBI agents–well, one CBI agent and one ‘consultant’–but Marcus kissed you as if the world was ending.

His lips tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon and gingerbread, and it brought you back to when he’d first kissed you, almost a year ago.

***

“Agent Pike, you may have a lot of experience, especially when it comes to catching art thieves, but I’m afraid your experience in gingerbread-house making is sorely lacking.”

The look the agent in question gave you was so reminiscent of a kicked puppy that you wished you had your phone with you to take a picture. He had gingerbread batter all over his hands and smeared on his apron, and he’d somehow managed to get flour and butter into his hair, making it stick up slightly in one spot. He had a little bit of frosting on his cheek, and he had a small nutmeg mustache just under his real one.

If you had known what a disaster it would be to invite the special agent into your home to make gingerbread on Christmas Day, you wouldn’t have done it.

…

No.

That was a lie.

No matter how disheveled and disastrous this impromptu get together turned out to be, you knew you wouldn’t regret it.

You’d met him on a case a couple months ago, and ever since, the cute art thief investigator from D.C. just wouldn’t get out of your head. So, when you’d run into him unexpectedly on Christmas Eve, you’d impulsively invited him over the next day when he’d mentioned not having any Christmas plans.

And boy were you glad you had.

He was so funny and cute and instead of getting over your crush–like you’d intended–it had only grown. He knew how to make you laugh, and he was a perfect gentleman, and he didn’t judge you for not wanting to settle down and be a homemaker like your mom, and he got along with your cat–which was an honest-to-god miracle, the little bastard didn’t like anyone–and he was perfectly perfect in every single way.

And the way he was looking at you right now made you want to kiss him.

Before you could begin to rationalize–whether you’d be rationalizing for or against kissing him you weren’t sure–his eyes flickered up to something above your head and then he looked back at you and before you knew it he was leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips.

It was warm and soft and perfect and fleeting and before you knew it, he was pulling away, a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking down at his hands. “There was mistletoe and you just looked so pretty, and I–”

You cut him off, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling his lips back to yours, licking at his lips to taste the mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, and gingerbread. His arms hesitantly wrapped around your waist, as though afraid you were going to bolt, but when you bit gently on his bottom lip, he suddenly crushed you against his chest, bending you back slightly as he devoured you.

As you stood kissing in your kitchen, covered in baking ingredients, you found yourself deliriously happy for the sprig of mistletoe hanging above your head.

***

Marcus had always been gently intimate, sweet and soft and loving in a way you’d never experienced before. But this… this kiss was different. His lips pressed hard against yours, and you were suddenly thankful that you weren’t wearing any lipstick because it would have been smudged so thoroughly beyond repair if he kept kissing you like this.

It took you longer than you’d like to admit to remember that you had an audience, but when you tried to pull away–reluctantly, you might add–Marcus didn’t let you go. He used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss. Your hands were clenched in his suit jacket, letting him control the pace. He slid his tongue into your mouth, and you were lost. He was turning you on with his possessiveness–honestly there really wasn’t any other word for it–and you almost whimpered when he finally pulled away.

“Hi baby,” he said breathlessly, his voice much deeper than usual. “How was the drive?” His hand slid out of your hair, only to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked and swollen bottom lip.

It took you a minute to answer, your brain still trying to reboot after that mind-blowingly perfect kiss. His arm was still around your waist, his thumb rubbing against your side in the way you knew he liked, to remind himself that you were there, next to him.

“Longer than I wanted, I’m sorry I’m late.” He laughed softly, his eyes as bright as stars.

“You’re fine, darling. I’m just so glad you’re here.” He leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss against your lips, pulling away before either of you lost yourselves again. “Let me introduce you.”

You turned, finally acknowledging the couple standing in front of you. Lisbon was staring at you, a slight frown on her lips, eyes narrowed in confusion and… jealousy? Wow, she had some nerve if she thought she was allowed to be jealous after what she did.

Jane, on the other hand, was less composed, a little slack-jawed as his eyes flickered rapidly between the two of you.

Being a profiler and working with multiple other profilers on a constant basis made it so that you had a pretty good radar for when someone was analyzing you, and the fact that this man thought he had the right to try and analyze your and Marcus’ relationship pissed you off.

He started to open his mouth, and you could tell from the look in his eyes it wasn’t going to be nice, so you decided to mess with him.

“Hi! You must be… Preston? Is it Preston? Oh no, Patrick, I remember!” You felt so damn smug wiping that stupid smirk off his stupid face. “And you! You must be Teresa! Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand firmly, watching as she just blinked at you.

“Um… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, Marcus never mentioned you?”

You could tell what she was trying to do, and you weren’t gonna have it. “Oh, Marcus and I don’t advertise our relationship very much. My boss’s wife was killed by the Boston Reaper, and it’s made me a little paranoid that someone might go after him just to get to me.” You knew it was kind of a low blow, but Teresa-fucking-Lisbon broke Marcus’ heart and you were not letting her off easy. “But, that’s the life of a BAU profiler, right?”

She nodded slowly, clearly thrown off guard by your little display. Marcus’ arm was tight around your waist, and you were pleased to see her eyes drop slightly to his hand on your waist, only to quickly look back up when she saw it.

“I really hate to be rude, and I know I just got here, but I’ve not seen Marcus in person in over three months, and you can only do so much over the phone, you know?” You heard someone choke on their drink behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “Maybe I’ll see the two of you later?”

Without giving them a chance to respond, you turned on your heel, walking back out the doors and into the parking lot, Marcus in step next to you. The two of you didn’t speak until you arrived at his car, only for him to use his arm around your waist to push you against the side of his SUV.

It was dark out, but you could clearly see Marcus’ eyes peering down at you, swimming with emotion. “Baby, what was that in there?”

You smirked, wrapping one of your hands around his tie. “I wasn’t about to let Jane start talking shit about you, or me, or what he thought our relationship was. And I saw how Lisbon was eyeing you.” You pulled him down to your level, whispering against his lips. “I had to show her I meant business.”

Marcus huffed out a small laugh, and the gust of air caressed your lips. “Sweetheart, that was so sexy.”

You brushed your lips ever so softly against his. “Teresa Lisbon had her chance. You’re mine, now and forever.” You kissed him harder, and as snow began to fall in the CBI parking lot, two days before Christmas, you whispered one more admission against his lips. “And I’m yours.”

#requests #pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #reader fic #no use of Y/N #xmas #*written in july #fluff #first kiss #couple #dating #lil bit of angst #but not between reader and marcus #im not that mean

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1989dreamer · 3 years

Text

Mountains of Shrapnel for Sterek Big Bang 2021

Written for @twsterekbigbang’s Sterek Big Bang 2021, in collaboration with @mrkgrl (whose art is just delightful and so, so amazing!).

Word Count: 34,083

Summary: When Stiles returns after graduating, he discovers that Derek Hale is back in town. He also learns that Derek has somehow managed to fill an entire house with so much junk it isn't functional anymore and is on the verge of being condemned as unlivable. Stiles uses the excuse of helping Derek clean out his hoarded house to reconnect, aware that what used to be a teeny-tiny crush is not so small anymore. Emotional baggage makes an interesting bedfellow, but so does the revelation that Stiles might not be as alone in his crush as he thought he was.

Tags: Hoarding, Hoarder Derek, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Redeemed Scott McCall, Mentions of Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Mentions of Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Not Nice Deaton, Human Scott, Canon Compliant to the end of 3B, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Vomit Scene, Derek Hale is in Therapy, Love Potion, Emotional Healing, They get a little sex happy toward the end, Reconnection

Warnings: Kate plays a large part in an element of the story although she does not appear on screen; vomit scene.

Note: The scene that features vomiting starts at "Maybe it was something he put in the pot pie?" and ends after "Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom."

~ * ~

Graduation day came and went rather uneventfully despite the fact that Dad wouldn’t let Stiles wear jeans under his gown and either his head had shrunk since they’d measured him or they’d gotten his head size wrong so his cap refused to stay on his head if he bobbed his leg too hard.

After the long drive home, he and his dad went out to eat at The Burger Joint on the edge of Beacon Hills. Stiles glared at his dad when he ordered the double bacon cheeseburger deluxe.

“What? I’ve been eating well otherwise. I deserve a treat. Besides, it’s not every day your son graduates top of his class.”

“Did it have to be a double bacon burger?” Stiles asked. He was about to continue griping, hoping to at least badger his dad into not eating all of the bacon when the door jingled, catching his attention. Normally, Stiles would have checked who came in and then gone back to his conversation, but the person was an unexpected face. “Is that Derek Hale?”

Dad twisted in his chair until he could see what Stiles saw. Derek fucking Hale stomping his way up to the counter, phone in one hand, money in the other, glowering steadily at the poor clerk as they traded him the money for a bulging bag.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “He moved back to town, oh, about a year ago now. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” Stiles said. He jumped up from his chair and hurried to catch Derek before he left the building. Derek looked far less unsettled than Stiles felt at seeing him again.

“Stiles.” He nodded. Stiles swallowed hard.

It wasn’t that he and Derek hadn’t kept in touch, except…that’s exactly what happened.

Derek had left Beacon Hills halfway through Stiles’ junior year of high school, changed his number (and sent Stiles a “Here’s my new number” text about six months after, but he’d forgotten to mention who it was, so Stiles had thought it was one of his classmates and by the time he’d figured out that it was Derek, the number had been changed again), and practically disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Stiles’ mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate so he just stood there in Derek’s way. What could he say? “I missed you”? Derek obviously hadn’t missed Stiles since he hadn’t contacted him outside of that text.

“Derek,” Stiles finally managed, and then his dad grabbed his arm and dragged him back a few steps.

“Derek, nice to see you again, son. How’s the house treating you? Have you found a job yet? We’d better let you get to your food. See you around. Take care now.”

Dad forcibly steered Stiles back to their table and pushed on his shoulder until he sat down. Derek didn’t move for a long minute. He stared at the Stilinskis with a sullen glare before squaring his shoulders and setting his bag of food down on a table to dig out a notebook. He borrowed a pen off another patron and wrote something down. He returned the pen, picked up his bag, and approached their table.

“This is my address and my number,” he said gruffly, almost stabbing the paper at Stiles’ face. “Congratulations on your graduation. Sir,” he nodded at the Sheriff, “always nice to see you. Have a good meal.”

Stiles grabbed the paper and Derek spun on his heel and marched away.

“He’s gotten better about that,” Dad remarked and then dug into his burger which must have arrived when Stiles was busy gaping at Derek.

He picked up his own burger, a much more modest cheeseburger deluxe. “You said he moved back to town last year?”

Dad paused, thinking. “At least,” he said. “In some ways, it feels like he’s been here forever. He keeps to himself mostly, but I think he’s a good neighbor to have. He’s been nominated for that community thing they created three years ago. You know the thing.”

“The Good Neighbor Program?” Stiles asked, a little cheekily.

“That’s the one. I think he might win it this year.”

“This year? Wait, what about last year?”

“Mrs. Halvershiem won it last year,” Dad said. “Derek was too new to town then. But he’s certainly done a lot in the months he’s been here.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles wouldn’t have thought Derek would do anything other than hide away from the world. He did a lot of that before, which Stiles mostly doesn’t hold against him. He stood up when he needed to. If anyone deserved to shut the world out, it was Derek. Life had dealt him a shitty hand and then kept piling on the bad luck.

The fact that Derek was back in Beacon Hills at all was a miracle. One which Stiles would use to reconnect.

If he was honest with himself, he’d missed the big guy. He’d missed the supernatural. He’d still gotten up to a few mostly un-supernatural shenanigans in college but nothing could ever beat the exhilaration he’d gotten when one of his plans went right and Derek was right there with him, backing him up.

Stiles had been mad at Derek for a long time after he’d left, and he didn’t know if his dad had told him that he was back that he wouldn’t have reacted badly. Some of his anger was directed at Derek because Stiles had realized that he was a little bit in love with Derek, like, a crush or something. Most of his anger, though, was because Derek had left him behind.

Once Stiles had sat Dad down and fully explained how Dad was right, he wasn’t gay, but not because of how he dressed. Stiles was bisexual, not gay. Some days, it still hurt having his dad dismiss him like that, but Dad was trying his best to be supportive and understanding now, and that’s all Stiles wanted, really.

He wondered if Derek knew what his orientation was back in high school. If he did, he hadn’t said. Honestly, Stiles hadn’t ever asked him if that was something he could smell.

But now, with no prompting from either Stiles or Stiles’ dad, Derek had given Stiles his address and his phone number. That was something that would never have happened back in high school.

Stiles felt like he was forgetting something majorly important, but staring at the paper with Derek’s surprisingly neat handwriting, he couldn’t think what it could be. That is until he heard the ice in his dad’s glass of water.

The bacon on his dad’s burger! That’s what he forgot!

Stiles glared at his dad, but nope, it was too late, Dad had already eaten everything.

He didn’t even look a little bit guilty as he finished off his water and stacked everything neatly.

Stiles hurriedly started eating his burger. “Hey, can we visit Derek today?” he asked through a mouthful of meat and bread.

Dad had retired a few months earlier, working part time at the bakery downtown instead of as the Sheriff anymore, so it wasn’t like he’d have the excuse of patrolling anymore.

“Sure. Been meaning to get out that way for a while now. I think Derek works out of his home so it’s rare to see him around town.”

“Is it rare for him to pass out his address too?” Stiles folded the paper, tucking it deep in his breast pocket. He was not going to lose that paper if he could help it.

“That I don’t know. We all kind of just know where he lives now. It was a big thing when he moved back. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just remember how upset you were when he left the first time, and I didn’t want you to get hurt again if he wasn’t going to stick around.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you call him later, set up some time to catch up?”

“That’s actually a really good idea. Thanks.”

Stiles finished his burger while his dad went to pay. He and his dad didn’t have plans for the rest of the day, but Stiles didn’t want to duck out immediately just to possibly reconnect with an old friend. It wasn’t like Derek was going anywhere in the next twenty-four hours. He would call him tomorrow, he decided. Today could be all about his dad. After all, they hadn’t seen each other for almost two months while Stiles was busy finishing up his classes. He wanted to hear about what his dad got up to in his retirement when he wasn’t baking cupcakes.

He patted his pocket one more time, soothed by the crinkle of the paper. And then he gave his attention back to his dad.

~ * ~

Derek answered his phone with a gruff, “Hale.”

Stiles slapped his forehead. Of course Derek wouldn’t recognize his number. Stiles had had to change it a few months back when an incident with a currently incarcerated ex-classmate of his escalated to the point that Stiles had a few new scars and a few new friends in the Berkley Police Department.

“Hey, this is Stiles.”

“Hi.”

Still gruff. Well, some things never changed.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee or something?”

Stiles couldn’t remember Derek ever drinking coffee, so he was hoping that he did or else this would get even more awkward than just trying to talk about things that weren’t supernatural-related.

“Sure. The bakery your dad works at serves coffee. We can meet there.”

Stiles didn’t want his dad to have the inside scoop, but maybe Derek would feel more comfortable there? Maybe he wasn’t comfortable at all and Stiles really shouldn’t be trying to meet up with him. Maybe—

“Are you breathing?” Derek asked, a different gruffness to his tone. Stiles recognized it as his concerned tone. Derek was concerned for him. Aw, wasn’t that sweet? Last he knew, Derek couldn’t stand the sight of him, hence why he skipped town. Or at least, that was what Stiles had told himself for a few years.

“Yes, I’m breathing. The bakery is fine. What time did you want to meet?”

“Are you busy in an hour?”

Stiles checked his wrist for a watch he’d never worn, but he’s just graduated. He has no plans aside from catching up on some sleep. He’ll always make time for Derek anyway. He’d always regretted the way they hadn’t kept in touch, and now faced with the opportunity to rekindle the friendship, he won’t let a little thing like being busy keep him away.

“Nope. Not doing anything. See you then?”

“Sure. Thanks, Stiles. Bye now.”

Stiles stared at his phone long after Derek disconnected the call. That was new. The Derek saying “bye” thing. Usually he would just hang up.

It’s been six years. Maybe Derek really has changed. Stiles was interested to see just how much of an actual adult Derek was.

Back in the day, it had been easy to forget that Derek was only like twenty-one to his sixteen, and even worse when Derek was twenty-two and he was seventeen. Dad had started taking Derek around to crime scenes and everything. Stiles had almost expected Derek to start working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department in an Official capacity, and then shit hit the fan.

Kate Argent returned, kidnapped Derek—twice—and nearly murdered them all before she was finally put down.

When it was all said and done, Derek had looked at all of them gathered outside his loft where the final stand had been made, shook his head, and just walked away.

The text came later, after a year, and by then Stiles’ hurt had been so ramped up that he’d refused to even acknowledge that it was maybe Derek’s way of reaching out after taking some time for himself.

Now, though, Stiles would give anything to go back to the day Derek walked away and follow him.

Regrets wouldn’t get them anywhere though, so Stiles set a timer on his phone, sat down at his computer, and dicked around until it was time to go to the bakery.

~ * ~

Dad waved at him when he walked in. Stiles was still unused to seeing his dad in an apron with one of those little paper hats on his head instead of his Sheriff’s uniform, but he had to admit, his dad looked far more relaxed behind the counter of the bakery than behind the wheel of his cruiser.

The interim sheriff wasn’t seeking reelection this year, and Stiles was terrified that his dad would be pressured into running again. Half the town still referred to him as Sheriff.

Stiles hadn’t asked his dad if he planned to run, half-hoping that by not talking about it, he wouldn’t influence him to accept the nomination.

Dad pointed at one of the tables, and Stiles almost sagged in relief. He’d half-thought that Derek might stand him up, but there he was, sitting at the table, a puzzle book in front of him along with a mug of steaming liquid and an untouched puff pastry.

Stiles sat down across from him and without looking up from his puzzle, a crossword, Derek pushed the coffee and pastry toward him.

“Don’t you want anything?” Stiles asked, unsure if he was supposed to accept Derek’s offerings.

“Not hungry,” Derek replied, filling in a word. He set the pencil down, closed the book, and settled back in his chair. He didn’t cross his arms, but his expression was flat and stony enough that he might as well have.

“How are you?” Stiles started. Derek was standoffish, and Stiles could understand why. He didn’t have the same time as everyone else. To Derek, Stiles hadn’t been his friend for years. To Stiles, he could still remember the visceral pain he’d felt when he realized that Derek was leaving them behind after everything they’d been through, but they were still friends.

“I’m fine,” Derek said. “How about you?”

“Great. Just graduated.”

Derek nodded. “I know.”

“How about you? Did you ever go back to college?” Derek had confided once that he’d been enrolled in New York, but had dropped out when Laura was killed.

Derek shook his head. “Never felt like it. I did a bit of trade school though. Picked up welding and furniture restoration. I do both on the side.”

“On the side of what?”

Derek shrugged. “Of life, I guess? I don’t really need to work. I just do.”

Stiles had transferred Derek’s address into his phone in case he forgot the paper somewhere and lost it. “So, if I randomly stop by your house, you won’t always be there?”

“Not on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Derek said. “On Tuesdays, I fill in at Scrappers Galore and Thursdays, I help out at Raquel’s Antiques.”

“So any day but Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Stiles repeated.

Derek squinted at him, suspicious. “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “I guess. Why? You planning on stopping by unannounced?”

“Only if you want me to. If you want me to always announce whenever I’m planning on swinging by, that’s great too.”

Derek tapped his book, thinking. Stiles had forgotten how much he missed Derek’s everything. And not just because he was handsome and nice to look at. (Yeah, he’d figured out pretty quickly that he’d like both men and women, and that he’d likely been very attracted to Derek when they’d first met.)

No, Derek was more than a pretty face. He was compassion embodied, caring, kind (once he got out of the survival mode he’d been in when they’d first crossed paths), and more than generous.

It was a little unsettling that Derek seemed to be hedging his words with Stiles, unsure if he wanted to fully trust him. Stiles wanted to remind Derek that he was the one who walked away, not Stiles, but he didn’t want to accidentally push him too far.

They were reconnecting, after all.

“My house isn’t the cleanest,” Derek finally said after a long moment of silence between them. “I don’t need to hear about how I should be doing this or doing that. I’m in therapy, but right now, we’re at a stage in my life where I can’t do certain things.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Hey, no judging here.” The only reason he kept his room clean was because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to think at all. Clutter worsened his ADHD, and no amount of medication was going to make him focus on the things he should if he was constantly distracted by his surroundings.

Dad had helped him clean out his room last summer when Stiles had returned only to find that all the things from his childhood and high school years sat heavily on his mind, making what was supposed to be a relaxing time very stressful.

He half expected Derek to be the same way, but maybe not? Derek didn’t have an ADHD diagnosis, and likely wouldn’t ever get one, so that was probably not it.

Derek picked up his book. “It was nice talking with you, but I need to run an errand. Call me later if you want to come over.”

“Hey, no, yeah, it was really good to see you. I’ll definitely call you later.”

Derek ambled off, and Stiles was probably imagining that he looked more relaxed than when Stiles sat down. Huh. Maybe he and Derek were still friends.

He picked up the pastry, taking a large bite. Well, Derek still knew what Stiles liked to eat. A sip of the drink revealed that it was the coffee order Stiles used to drink in college. It wasn’t bad, but it was more sugary than Stiles liked now.

But it was still very thoughtful of Derek. And besides, there was time now for Stiles to teach him his new coffee order.

He finished the drink and pastry quickly, dropping a tip in the jar for his dad, and waving as he headed outside.

For some reason, he really didn’t want to go home, so he texted his dad that he was picking up some stuff for supper and headed to the grocery store.

He parked next to a Camaro that reminded him strongly of Derek’s. It was even black too. Once inside, he grabbed a cart and started wandering the aisles, adding things he thought could make a delicious, healthy supper.

When he went to pay, he found himself behind a tall, broad back that was oh-so-familiar. He didn’t need to smell the woodsy aftershave or see the slightly scraggly hair in need of a trim to know that he hadn’t just been reminded of Derek’s Camaro: it was actually Derek’s Camaro. Derek’s errand must have been grocery shopping, although from the look of his cart, it wasn’t so much groceries as junk food.

Stiles never imagined Derek to be a junk food eater, certain that the chemicals used to mimic natural ingredients and flavors would have been off-putting for a werewolf and his heightened sense of smell and taste.

Derek must have either smelled him (likely) or sensed him staring at him (also likely) and turned around with a tight smile.

Stiles just waved. He wasn’t in the habit of accosting his acquaintances in the queue to pay.

He made a telephone sign with his hand, and Derek nodded.

The amount of food that Derek had bought meant that he’d likely still be putting it into his car by the time Stiles got out to Roscoe.

He’d talk to him then. Invite him to supper. He’d gotten plenty of ingredients for two people, and definitely more than enough to accommodate a third.

Besides, it’d be nice to see if his dad and Derek still got along. He hoped so; otherwise his renewed friendship with Derek was going to be awkward.

It was unfortunate that Stiles had lost all his other friends, also shortly around the time that Derek had left. In fact, Derek’s leaving had caused such major infighting among them that Stiles and Scott still weren’t speaking to this day.

Lydia and Kira, caught in the middle, had bonded over their refusal to take sides (although, privately, they both admitted that Stiles had more of a point to his argument that Scott had caused Kate’s return, something Scott refused to accept and Stiles refused to revisit now for fear of becoming enraged again). Lydia and Kira had ended up getting married after two years of dating and now were living on the east coast while Lydia studied at MIT and Kira got her teaching license.

Stiles hoped they’d had better luck keeping in touch with the others, but he also didn’t think they’d made an effort with Derek because, to be honest, neither of them were very close to him to begin with.

Still, Stiles wasn’t one to shy away from something just because it was hard. He had gone from ignoring a problem and hoping it went away to confronting it head on because then it wouldn’t just grow bigger behind his back and knock him off his path again.

He paid for his groceries and hurried out to the lot. Derek was indeed still piling bags into the trunk of his car.

“Hey, so I’m making pesto, and I was wondering if you wanted to join my dad and me for supper.”

Derek spun around, even though there was no way he didn’t hear Stiles behind him. “Uh.” His eyebrows went up and then quickly lowered. Confusion at being asked and masking that confusion. Good to know Stiles could still read him. “Is your dad okay with that?”

Stiles waved away his concern. “My dad loves you,” he declared, almost positive that it was true. After all, his dad hadn’t glared at or threatened Derek at the diner today.

Nor had he gotten between them when they caught up at the bakery.

Derek’s eyebrows wriggled again before finally relaxing to their normal position on his face. Stiles stifled a comment on the bushiness of them. He didn’t know if Derek was self conscious of any part of his body, and he didn’t want to accidentally dredge up anything for him.

“I highly doubt he actually loves me,” Derek said. “No one really does.”

“Hey now.”

Derek rolled his shoulders, less of a shrug and more of a so-life-goes motion. High school Stiles would have agreed with him, maybe cracked a self-depreciating joke about himself to lighten the mood. College graduate Stiles was wiser and less infatuated with nihilism.

“Seriously, I’ve never seen him look so happy to see someone who wasn’t me.”

Derek still didn’t look like he believed Stiles, but that was okay. Stiles was back in Beacon Hills for a while. He could work on him, make sure Derek knew just how much he was treasured.

“I heard you’re up for the Good Neighbor award this year.”

Derek ducked his head, blushing hotly. “I don’t know about that,” he mumbled.

“Hey, if they hand you the award, just say thanks and move on. I’m sure you deserve it anyway. You did a lot for us back in the day.”

Derek scoffed. “As if. I did more harm than good and you know it.”

“Well, I for one appreciate what you did for me. And before you deny it, you were helpful, if a bit scary.”

“I got people killed. Can’t forget that.” Derek dropped his gaze down to his feet. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it to supper.”

“Please don’t,” Stiles said softly. Derek’s head snapped up. “I want you there. I want to reconnect with you. I’m not inviting you out of pity or because I think you can’t feed yourself.” He sighed, stepping forward, hand raised so that Derek had plenty of time to decide if he wanted to step out of reach. When Derek didn’t move, Stiles set his hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze before pulling back entirely.

“Okay,” Derek said, a little breathlessly. He swallowed hard. “Okay, I’ll be there.When?”

“Give me about two hours and it should be ready. Pesto doesn’t actually take that long to make, but I think we’d both appreciate some time to put away our groceries.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. I promise.”

Stiles beamed at him, which oddly made Derek blush. Huh, food for thought. “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. It’ll be great to catch up some more.”

“Sure.” It was probably just Stiles’ imagination, but he thought Derek’s tone was a little cold, as if Stiles had said something unfavorable. “See you.”

Stiles waved to him and then got into Roscoe and drove back to his dad’s house.

Dad wouldn’t be off work yet, so Stiles took some time to put away the groceries, clean up their nicest set of plates, and set the table before he pulled up a recipe on his phone and got busy.

~ * ~

Derek arrived at the house at the same time as Dad. Stiles could hear them greet each other on the doorstep. He waited a decent two minutes while they exchanged pleasantries and Derek gave Dad a bottle of wine he brought with him.

“Ah, Stiles loves this brand. Thanks.”

Stiles threw open the door. “Come on in,” he said brightly, taking the bottle from his dad. Both his dad and Derek know him well: this was his favorite vintage right now. “The food is ready.”

Derek shifted awkwardly before stepping into the house. He looked uncomfortable and on edge even though Stiles had double checked to make sure the wolfsbane his dad grew now that Chris Argent was off globe-trotting was out back in the shed. Maybe he could still smell it?

“Thanks for inviting me,” Derek said, almost too quiet to hear. He cleared his throat and asked for the bathroom.

“You know where it is,” Dad said, clapping him on the back. “I’m going to get washed up, Stiles. Supper smells great.”

“Thanks. I’m going to put this on ice. Anyone want a glass with supper? Not sure how well it’ll go with pesto, but we can try it!”

“I think I’ll try some,” Dad called over his shoulder. “You got any of that non-alcoholic beer left?”

Derek reappeared before Stiles could answer. He still looked terrified but at least he was still standing in the front hallway.

“Come on.” Stiles held out his hand, waving Derek toward the kitchen. “We can grab everything and set up in the dining room.”

Derek followed, and then stood still while Stiles loaded his arms with plates, silverware wrapped in napkins, and a serving utensil. Dad grabbed the dish with pesto, and Stiles wrapped the wine bottle in a wet paper towel and stuck it in the freezer, setting a fifteen minute timer on his phone.

Once the table was set, a centerpiece collected from the back garden Dad worked on in his spare time, and the wine collected after the timer went off, they all sat down. Neither Stiles nor his dad had cared to say Grace since before Mom died, but the way Derek folded his hands and stared at his plate, spoke volumes. Stiles nodded at his dad, and Dad spoke a quick few words before holding his hand out for Derek’s plate.

“Guests are served first,” he said gently when Derek politely refused.

Derek surrendered his plate, and Dad heaped it full. Derek winced at it when he took it back, and Stiles made a mental note to send him home with some Tupperware if he couldn’t finish it.

Or maybe Derek didn’t like pesto? He had seemed at least a little enthused when Stiles invited him, but maybe Stiles was reading too much into it?

He was overthinking things. He needed to not do that. Dad dished up some pesto for Stiles and then himself, and Stiles wondered if Dad liked the pesto at all since he hadn’t taken near as much as he normally did.

“So, Derek, how are you liking being back in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles turned a horrified eye to his dad. What kind of question was that? The last time Derek was in Beacon Hills, he’d been assaulted by a phantom from his past, all but run from the town, and everyone who cared about him was either dead or disgusted with him, Stiles included.

Although, if Stiles was honest with himself, he wasn’t as disgusted with Derek as he was with himself or Scott. Derek had just been reacting to the stress and repeated assault from Kate.

“It’s been good,” Derek said. He poked at his food before putting a small bite in his mouth. He chewed for almost a minute before he swallowed. “The people have been nice.”

Ashamed, Stiles stabbed at his own food. He hadn’t ever been the friend Derek needed. He didn’t know why it was so important to him that he do this, invite Derek for supper, go out for coffee to catch up, when even two years ago, he couldn’t find the time or patience for him.

“I’m sorry we were such assholes,” he blurted out.

Derek frowned at him. “We?” he repeated. “Are you apologizing for you or for everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Don’t. I don’t want it. I was an asshole too.”

“Yeah, a surviving asshole.”

Derek smothered a chuckle. “Still an asshole.”

“Can we suspend the assholes at the dinner table?” Dad asked, pointing his fork at Stiles. “You’re sorry. Derek’s sorry. I’m sorry. Can we please just eat?”

“It is good,” Derek said. “The pesto, I mean. You’re a good cook, Stiles.”

Stiles took a moment to bask in the glory of the compliment before he set aside his plate. “So, Derek, is there any chance I’ll get to see where you live now?”

Derek glared at his plate. The change in expression gave Stiles pause. He vaguely remembered Derek telling him he couldn’t judge him for how he lived, not that he couldn’t visit him at all.

“I’m not ready for visitors,” Derek mumbled.

“Okay.” Stiles tried to bury the flash of hurt, but from Derek’s even more miserable expression, he wasn’t successful at all. “I mean,” he tried again, “I can wait until you’re ready? Or I can help you if that’s what you need? I’m not going to judge you.”

Both Dad and Derek turned their heads to stare at him. Stiles sunk in his seat.

“You know what I mean.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his plate.

Derek sighed. “I appreciate it. I really do. I’ll have to think about it. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly okay.” Stiles returned to his food, finishing his wine with a long swallow. He gathered the plates while Dad picked up the rest of the pesto. “I made a cheesecake,” Stiles said, mostly for Derek’s benefit so he wouldn’t take the opportunity of being left alone to duck out early.

“You’re actually going to let me have a slice?” Dad asked, surprised.

Stiles lightly slapped at his arm. “Of course you can have a slice. You’ve been doing much better with your diet. And besides, it’s low fat.”

Dad’s face falls. “Low fat?”

“Yes, low fat. It’s still delicious.” Stiles gave his dad one of his most mischievous looks, one his dad probably thought he retired after leaving his teens behind. “Or did you not want any?”

“No, I’ll take a slice. I probably won’t eat more than that.” His dad grabbed glasses for milk. “I mean, one is probably all I’ll need.”

“You can have two,” Stiles said magnanimously. “I’m sending the rest home with Derek.”

Derek was still sitting in his seat, thank goodness. He hurriedly shoved his cell phone under the table, shooting Stiles a guilty look.

“If you have other plans, you can go to them. You don’t have to stay for my sake.”

Derek shook his head. “No, it’s something for tomorrow.” He got a determined look in his eye before pulling out his phone again. “I could maybe use your help,” he admitted. “That is, if you have time.” He showed Stiles the screen.

It was just messages from a number Derek hadn’t saved as a contact. Okay to drop off mom’s stuff at 10?

Derek’s simple Yes underneath it sparked a shiver of fear in Stiles that he couldn’t explain.

“What is ‘mom’s stuff’?” he asked. Before Derek can stop him, he flicked the screen to another conversation. It was almost exactly the same except it was “Aunt Catherine’s crap” instead of “mom’s stuff.”

“It’s just stuff,” Derek said, evasive. He pulled his phone back, locking the screen. “Sometimes it’s a lot of stuff, and sometimes it’s not a lot of stuff.”

“And Aunt Catherine’s crap?”

“Catherine?” Dad interjected. “Catherine Harper who died two years ago? Her nephew finally decided to clean out her house?”

“Yeah, and apparently decided to just dump her ‘crap’ on Derek.”

Derek flushed. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing,” he mumbles. More clearly he said, “I help them take care of unwanted things. I have a holding period, and if, after that period, they don’t want anything from their loved one’s things, then I dispose of it.”

“Sounds like they’re getting more out of this deal than you,” Stiles remarked, studying Derek to see his reaction. Predictably, he blushed harder.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh no?” Stiles started dishing up the cheesecake. “It probably is exactly like that. I know you, Mister. You don’t give enough thought to yourself when you try to help everyone.”

Derek accepted the plate. “Maybe I enjoy helping people?”

“To the point where they hurt you?” Stiles shook his head. “Dude, I was one of those people. You can’t say honestly that I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m not holding a grudge.”

“Maybe you should.”

Dad grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “Let’s leave it alone for now,” he advised. “The wounds are obviously still fresh, but you’ll get nowhere if you keep picking the scab off before it can try to heal.”

He sat down and forked a large mouthful of the cheesecake into his mouth. “You’re right, Stiles, this isn’t so bad.”

Stiles acquiesced with a brief nod, tucking into his own slice. It wasn’t as good as the cheesecake he normally made, but for his dad’s health and inclusion in desserts, something Stiles had banned him from during high school, he’d gladly make it again.

Derek finished first and declined a second helping. Surprisingly Dad did too, so Stiles slapped a lid on the pan and handed it to Derek before he left.

“Can I come over around 10:00 tomorrow? Just to see what is being dropped off?”

Derek shrugged, nonchalant, but Stiles could still see the tension holding him stiff. “I’m not going to stop you.”

“Great,” Stiles said with genuine enthusiasm. “Text me the address?”

“Didn’t I write it down for you already?”

“Oh yeah.” Stiles smacked his forehead. “Sorry about that.” He patted his pockets until he came up with the crumpled paper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. Then, he walked to his Camaro, waved at Stiles after he secured the cheesecake in the front seat, and drove away.

Stiles returned to the kitchen to find his dad loading the dishwasher he’d finally bought after retiring from the Sheriff’s Department.

“That went well, I think,” Stiles told him.

“Son, I know you want to fix things, but some things take time.”

“I know that.” He blew out a breath. “It’s just…You know how we treated him when he came back to find his sister. His murdered sister.”

“The sister he did not murder,” Dad finished. They’d started referring to Derek like this after watching The Emperor’s New Groove one too many times when Stiles was on break his sophomore year.

Stiles blew out another breath. “I just wish we had been nicer to him. I mean, especially after we knew he had nothing to do with the murders.”

“Stiles, regret can only do so much for us. Go see what’s up tomorrow, but then let Derek dictate the pace. After all, it’s his healing that you’re so worried about right now.”

Stiles chewed on that for a minute before deciding that his dad was right. “I won’t push him if he’s not ready,” he finally said.

Dad sighed. “It’ll have to do. Now, do you want to watch a movie with me or did you have plans with your online friends?”

“A movie,” Stiles said automatically.

He’d make plans with Kira and Lydia later. For now, there was nothing better than getting to spend the night picking apart a movie with his dad. They both loved pointing out the inaccuracies in films, which made them unbearable to watch with anyone else. Besides, Stiles justified it as making up missed time. Dad had been busy most of his life. It was only fitting that now they could relax together when his dad had nothing more pressing than an early bedtime, and Stiles wasn’t as involved in the supernatural crises that used to plague the town.

~ * ~

Derek’s text with his address came in just before 8:30 a.m. when Stiles was in the shower, trying to wake up. Dad was already at work, so Stiles sent a text telling him that he was at Derek’s and will be home by supper, and then he packed a few water bottles into his backpack, grabbed some money from a stash he kept under his mattress, and then drove Roscoe to Derek’s address.

It was located in the solidly middle class residential district, the one right before where the Beacon Hills wealthy lived. Derek’s house was huge, by Stiles’ standards. It stood almost three stories tall and was nearly half a block all to itself. Someone had erected a fence around the property, six feet tall, with no spaces between the slats, and painted pale green to match the house. The front gate was wrought iron rendered into roses, the tops spiked.

Derek was sitting on an upturned bucket in the middle of the sidewalk, sorting a few piles of dusty books into three piles.

Stiles parked across the street so he wouldn’t block Derek’s visitor, and strolled up to him.

Derek barely paused in his sorting to grunt an acknowledgement at him.

“Do you need help yet?” Stiles asked. He picked up a book from the pile closest to Derek, gingerly flipping through it. The book was filled with poetry written by some author he didn’t recognize. The poems were stuffy, love in an abstract, don’t tell our families way that made Stiles sneeze. Or that could have been the dust.

He set the book back where he found it.

“Is this part of ‘mom’s stuff’?”

“No, this is part of Samuel’s things. He’s actually coming by today to collect all the books by Tomás Gibraltar.”

“And how long have you had Samuel’s things?” Stiles picked up the book of poems again. The author was not Tomás Gibraltar, so he could assume this pile was not one Samuel wanted. He grabbed a book from the pile Derek was sorting. This one was a Tomás Gibraltar book so he handed it to Derek and watched which pile he set it on, then he dove in.

“I’ve only had them for a few months. I thought I had more time. He was supposed to be back in Beacon Hills in another two months, but I guess his trip got cut short.”

“Good thing I’m early, eh?”

“Huh?” Derek quickly checked his phone. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll buy you lunch after Andrew drops off his mother’s things.”

“Cool.” Stiles added another Tomás Gibraltar book to the pile. “How many books did this guy write?” The pile already had twenty books.

“Over fifty, I think,” Derek replied, “which is a drop in the bucket compared to the number of books Samuel dropped off.”

Stiles stepped back and quickly counted the books surrounding Derek. He lost count at eighty-seven. “And just how many books was that?” he asked.

“Eighteen boxes worth,” Derek said. He stood up, stretching and rubbing at the small of his back.

“I guess even werewolves get backaches,” Stiles joked, flipping three more books into the Gibraltar pile.

“It’s a non-essential wound,” Derek said as he grabbed another stack of books. “It’ll heal when I’m done.” He looked up, stricken. “You don’t have to help long enough to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Stiles said. “I didn’t drag eighteen boxes of books out of your house.”

“That was the easy part.” Derek flashed him a brief smile that faded almost immediately when a large white SUV pulled up next to them.

A large man, gray hair, full beard, and mirrored sunglasses sauntered over to them.

“Derek.” His voice was jovial, but from the set of Derek’s shoulders, the man wasn’t a welcome visitor.

“Hey, Samuel. You said you’d be over by 9:30.”

Samuel made a show of looking at his wristwatch. Stiles would bet money that it was either a Rolex or a very good knockoff. “So I’m early. You’ve had two hours. You should have gotten it all done.”

“An hour,” Derek corrected quietly. “You called an hour ago.”

“Seriously?” Stiles set down the books he was holding. “What is your problem, man? You only gave him ninety minutes and thirty of those, you just took away?”

“Who’s this?” Samuel pointed at Stiles, flicking his fingers like Stiles was just an annoying fly.

“My friend,” Derek said. “But he’s right. You didn’t give me enough time, and you’ve shortened it considerably, so you know what? You can deal with your books yourself.” Derek stood up, grabbed his bucket and Stiles, and marched toward his house.

“You can’t walk away from a paying customer,” Samuel shouted after them.

“You didn’t pay me anything,” Derek said. He shoved Stiles through the gate, slapping the bucket into his arms.

“Is this a fight? Should I call the cops?”

Samuel squared off, snarling at Derek. Instead of a fighting stance, Derek instead grabbed a book from the Gibraltar pile. He held up a hand. “One step closer,” he gritted out between clenched fangs. Stiles held his breath. He didn’t know if this man knew what Derek was. He hoped Derek would be able to rein in his control and possibly endangered himself.

Samuel faltered his steps. He studied Derek, expression blank for a long few minutes before he shook his head and adjusted his sunglasses. “Fine. You’ve got til 9:30.”

“No,” Derek said. “You take your books now. All of them. If you don’t, everything is going to the dump. You have fifteen minutes to get this crap off my property before I call the police on you for trespassing.”

“You can’t do that. These books are my property.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you dumped them on him,” Stiles called. He was escalating the situation, but he couldn’t help it.

Derek didn’t deserve to be treated like his time wasn’t important.

Samuel could go kick rocks for all Stiles cared.

Samuel worked his jaw before stalking to the pile of Gibraltar books and gathering as many as he could carry and stacking them into the back of his SUV.

Derek watched him, periodically checking his phone to keep track of the fifteen minutes. Once time was up, Samuel still had over a couple hundred books. Derek left him then, locking the gate behind himself.

Samuel began cursing but Derek didn’t turn around, and after a moment to enjoy the sight of a full grown man in tantrum mode, Stiles followed him. Derek didn’t say anything when Stiles walked with him up his front steps and into his foyer. Stiles stopped still in shock.

There was so much stuff that his brain couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. Derek had already disappeared from view, and Stiles didn’t see how. Was there a path? Where did Derek get all this stuff from?

It was boxes and boxes covered in things like lamps, clothing, papers. There was so much of it that Stiles was afraid to touch it or even try to find Derek’s path because he was positive it was going to fall over and crush him.

Instead, he waited in the foyer, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he rocked back and forth, unsure why, but knowing that he was heading for a panic attack.

Derek returned with the empty pan and lid from the cheesecake, handing it to Stiles.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Stiles shook his head. He clutched the pan, squeezing it like it was a flotation device, feeling like it was one too.

Derek gently gripped his elbow and turned him around. They stepped back out on the porch, and Derek guided him to a chair. Samuel was still cursing, but he was now sitting on the ground sorting his own damn books.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, shaky. He was still on the edge, honestly could go either way, and he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Derek pressed down on the pan so that it was weighted against Stiles’ legs. He latched onto the sensation and used it to pull himself firmly into just-past-panic territory. Then he stared down at the empty pan.

“Did you really eat all the cheesecake yourself?”

Derek flushed. “No.”

“Liar,” Stiles countered.

“I didn’t,” Derek protested. “I gave it away.” His eyes cut away and Stiles couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He frowned at him, thinking back to every Hoarders episode he had ever seen. “Do you have a working fridge?” he asked.

“Yes,” Derek bit out. So, probably a lie.

“Did you not like it?”

“What? It was fine. It tasted almost like regular cheesecake. It was fine, Stiles. I told you, you’re a good cook.”

“So, why did you give it away? It would have kept for a few more days.”

Derek’s mouth twisted, and it was all the warning Stiles had before Derek stood up and stalked into his house. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked.

Stiles waited a few minutes to see if Derek would reappear, and when he didn’t, he banged on the door.

After about five minutes, Derek finally cracked open the door. “What?” he snapped.

“Why are you mad at me?”

Derek pointed at the pan Stiles had left on the chair. “Why are you interrogating me about your cheesecake?”

Screeching tires and burning rubber interrupted whatever response Stiles was going to say, and they both watched as Samuel peeled around the corner. He’d left all the books that weren’t by his Gibraltar author, and Derek visibly slumped as he stared at the mess remaining on the sidewalk.

“I can help you pick them up,” Stiles offered. He briefly wondered where Derek would put them, or if he could even fit them into his house.

Derek eyed him. “Will you leave your cheesecake out of it?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Derek opened the door wider. “Thanks.” He passed out a plastic tote, and Stiles took it. Derek stepped out, another tote in his arms. “I could only empty the two. I know there’s more, but I couldn’t find them right now.”

No wonder, Stiles thought meanly. With the mess in Derek’s house, it was a miracle he didn’t lose himself.

It took ten minutes to fill the first tote. Derek hefted it up on his shoulders and carried it back to his house. It took him ten minutes to empty it and come back, and by that time, Stiles had the second tote filled. Derek took it from him and again took ten minutes to come back with it emptied. He also brought the chair from the porch and Stiles’ pan.

“Why don’t you take a quick break while I fill this tote?”

Stiles shrugged. He wouldn’t say no. Besides, he was thirsty. He offered a bottle to Derek as he began packing books into the tote.

Derek accepted after a few seconds of cajoling. They were silent for a sip or two before Derek said, softly, “I know you’re disappointed in me.” He fiddled with the cap from his bottle, running it over his fingers and tucking it into his palm, only to start again immediately.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles said. He concentrated on taking small, even sips of his water. It was a shock to be sure to see the amount of stuff in Derek’s house.

“You had a panic attack because of me,” Derek said.

“Not you,” Stiles said. “Claustrophobia. It was a little tight and I lost sight of you.”

“Sorry about that,” Derek said, in a tone that wasn’t entirely truthful. Stiles wondered when he’d gotten good at reading Derek. It couldn’t have been in just the day and a half since they’ve reconnected. Maybe Derek had gotten easier to read?

“I’m sure a few cleaning sessions and the house will be right as rain.” He was lying through his teeth. Another thing he remembered from Hoarders was that if the front of the house was as jam packed as Derek’s, then the rest of the house was too. With two and a half stories, that had to be a million pounds of trash all stuffed into the poor house.

“A few cleaning sessions,” Derek repeated, numbly. “Yeah. Sure. Are you offering?”

“I mean, yeah, if you want.” Stiles didn’t have a job yet, hadn’t even applied anywhere, so he had time. Plenty of it.

Derek studied him for a long, long moment before re-capping his bottle and handing it to Stiles. “We’ll see,” is all he said before he got back to packing the tote with the books. Stiles estimated at the rate they were going, it would take another forty minutes to pick up the rest of the books.

“Do you think Samuel is coming back for the rest of his books?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know he’s not getting them. He dumped them on me and left me this mess to clean up, so he can go fuck himself.”

Stiles tripped over nothing, shocked at the fact that he just heard Derek swear.

Of course, he has heard him call people bitches, Peter’s nurse came to mind, but Derek tended not to swear, and Stiles hadn’t ever heard that word pass his lips.

“I’m sure he can,” he said, amusement evident in his voice. Derek scrunched his nose at him before lifting both totes onto his shoulders and walking toward his house. Stiles sighed. Of course Derek would take it as Stiles laughing at him. Oh well. At least Stiles could carry some of the books closer to the house so that it would at least take nine minutes for Derek to empty the totes instead of ten.

Derek could only carry one tote into the house at a time, so Stiles just stacked a few books around the second tote. He hadn’t made much progress before Derek returned. He frowned down at the books.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, disappearing back into the house with the full tote.

Hey, it’s something. Stiles left the tote on the porch and went to grab more books.

He’d gotten about half of the remaining books moved when Derek came back. He took a tote to the books still scattered on the sidewalk and shoveled them into the tote while Stiles hurriedly packed the books on the porch into that tote.

Okay, so it wouldn’t take quite another ten minutes. Stiles carried the last of the sidewalk books to the porch and then brought the chair there too, sitting down and finishing his bottle of water. As soon as Derek poked his head out, Stiles threw his water at him.

“Enforced break,” he said.

Derek didn’t argue.

“How are you feeling after all that?” Stiles kind of wanted to see where Derek was stashing all those books, but he didn’t relish the idea of another panic attack. Maybe now that he kind of knew what to expect he could go deeper into the house?

One look at Derek’s face, and he nixed that idea. He didn’t need to invade more than he already had. Dad’s words of wisdom from last night coming back to him. He couldn’t fix Derek just by cleaning his house. He needed therapy. Lots of it.

And he needed people like Samuel to stop dumping his crap on Derek. Obviously, Derek wasn’t in the right headspace to discard so much stuff.

And here came “mom’s stuff” to drop off even more crap.

Derek glanced up when a beat-up maroon Camry rolled to a stop in front of his house, parking in the same spot Samuel had been in nearly an hour ago.

“It’s Andrew,” Derek said, and the tiredness in his voice dragged Stiles down too.

“Can you tell him no?” Stiles asked, following Derek as he stood up and made his way down his drive. Stiles gaped in shock as three Uhaul trucks came into view. “Seriously,” he said weakly. “Tell him no. You have enough stuff, Derek. You can’t fit more into your house.”

“If I don’t, where is he going to take it?”

“To a storage unit,” Stiles said. “Or to the dump. Derek, seriously, this is not your problem. Please don’t make it be your problem.”

Derek sighed. “I gave him my word, Stiles. My word is the only thing that matters about me.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Okay, dude. Are you sure you want three Uhauls worth, though?”

Derek snarled under his breath, and Stiles resolved to drop it. Derek probably already felt horrible about having so much stuff. He didn’t need Stiles to rub it in and make it worse.

Andrew greeted Derek jovially, throwing in a quick hello for Stiles too. Stiles recognized him. He was a deputy under his dad. It was either his day off or he wasn’t working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department anymore.

Andrew also brought along a crew, as if he knew exactly what he was getting Derek into. Stiles stood on the side and seethed at how people were taking advantage of Derek’s nature.

“I can’t watch this,” he said before they got the first truck empty. “Derek, please reconsider this. You have so much more worth than just your word. Please let me help you.”

Derek waved him away. “I’ll catch up with you later, Stiles. Thanks for the help earlier.”

Dismissed, pissed, and more than a little miffed, Stiles stalked to Roscoe, threw his backpack in the backseat, buckled his cake pan in the front seat, and drove to the bakery.

The first bit of good luck he had had all day came in the form of his dad on break, sitting outside and eating a gluten free scone.

“It’s not actually that bad,” Dad said when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “It got a little burnt, so the owners said we could have them.” Stiles stole the rest of it and gave it back after one bite. “How’d it go with Derek?”

“Miserable,” Stiles said. “This whole town is taking advantage of him. You know the guy that was bringing his mom’s stuff to Derek’s?”

“Yeah.”

“It was Andrew Potts.”

“The deputy?”

“Yes. And you know what?” Before his dad could say “what,” Stiles continued, “He brought three Uhauls worth of stuff to Derek’s house! And you wanna know the worst thing?”

This time Dad did say, “What?”

“Derek’s house is completely full. Like, there’s nowhere to walk in there. I don’t even know how he’s living. And I’m pretty sure he lied to me about having a working fridge. Which explains why he only bought, like, junk food yesterday.”

“Wait a minute.” Dad held up his hand until Stiles fell silent. “Are you telling me that Derek Hale’s house is so full of things that he can’t actually live in it? And someone brought even more stuff to him?”

“Pretty sure he’s living in there,” Stiles said, “but yeah, that’s the gist of it. Like, I’d maybe understand if at least some of the things were Derek’s that he’d picked out. Instead, it seems like he takes crap from everyone. Do you know who Samuel is, gray hair, big beard, white SUV?”

“Samuel Johnson,” Dad said. “I think his son used to go to school with Derek.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole. He dumped a million books on Derek, like, two years ago, and then called this morning to get one author back. Then, after Derek was nice enough to bring his books out to be sorted—which I think he did mostly because there’s no room in his house to do it—Mr. Bigshot cut his time short, claimed Derek had two hours when he barely gave him one, and then left the rest of the books for Derek to deal with.”

“And I’m guessing Derek just took them back into his house?” Dad wrapped his scone in a napkin and tucked it into his lunch box.

Stiles clicked his tongue and pointed at him.

“Stiles, you know you can’t help Derek unless he wants it.”

Stiles deflated, sinking onto a seat next to his dad. He put his head on Dad’s shoulder. “I know,” he said, miserable. “I just hate seeing him being used like that and getting hurt too. He got mad at me when I asked him about the cheesecake.”

“Why would you ask about that?”

“Because he gave me back the pan. It looks washed, but there was a lot of cheesecake in there. He couldn’t have eaten it all himself, so he could have stored it, but he claims he shared it.”

“And you’re not mad because he shared it,” Dad guessed.

Stiles clicks his tongue again. “I’m mad because it was obvious he was lying about being able to store it.”

“I know this hurts, Stiles. I know it hurts a lot. I’ve had a few friends that started hoarding for one reason or another. For a while after your mom died, I thought we’d both become hoarders.”

“And then you stopped drinking as much.”

“Because I had you to think about. I almost let you get away from me, but I couldn’t stand to lose you too, so I cleaned up my act. I’m sure you realize that Derek doesn’t have anyone to do that for him. His only living relatives are so far away or he’s not on good terms with them.”

Stiles suppressed the shudder that always came with the mention of Peter Hale. That was one person Stiles had no desire ever to run into again.

Peter had left town after Kate’s second defeat, probably because he’d tried to take the alpha power from Scott, claiming that no such thing as a true alpha existed and that the power in Scott was really the Hale power, usurped by a chance of fate and the weakness of Derek.

Stiles had stepped in then, explaining that if the power were truly the Hales’, then they could take it back without force.

Scott had felt betrayed, as he told Stiles many times afterward, and also left town because he did not want to give up the power despite still not wanting to be a werewolf.

Things had gone downhill after that because, before Peter and Scott had left, Derek walked away from Beacon Hills.

Now Derek was back, Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott in almost six years, and as far as Stiles knew, Derek was still a beta.

“I don’t want to push him,” Stiles said, “but I can’t stand by and let people hurt him. Why doesn’t he think he has any worth?”

“Maybe he’s spent most of his life hearing that he doesn’t have anything to offer anyone,” Dad suggested. “Stiles, you need to ask him about his relationships. It’ll be hard, but he revealed something to me when I was Sheriff, that I think you need to talk to him about.”

“Will he actually talk to me or will he just push me away?”

“You won’t know until you try. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” He reached around to give Stiles as much of a hug as he could. “I’ll see you at home. Love you, son.”

“Love you too.” Stiles ambled back to Roscoe, turning to wave at his dad before he went into the bakery.

Stiles sighed, letting his head drop back. He could go back to Derek’s, but that wouldn’t result in anything except maybe another panic attack and definitely another argument.

With no other choice, Stiles started driving, taking the turn to his dad’s house instead of going straight.

He wanted so badly to help Derek, but his dad was right. Unless Derek was receptive to receiving that help, nothing Stiles did would actually help him. In fact, he might end up hurting him worse than Andrew with his three Uhaul trucks or Samuel and his books.

It was hard not to go back, but he decided to wait until tomorrow, unless Derek texted sooner.

~ * ~

Stiles frowned as he got closer to Derek’s house. He could see a cruiser parked a block down, and closer, a code enforcement officer’s car.

Really?he thought. Andrew came to drop off his mom’s junk and turned around and called in Derek’s house? What a fucking jerk.

Stiles parked in the same spot as yesterday and ambled up the drive. He found the code enforcement officer, a woman by the name of Tamara Reiss, standing on the porch, writing on a clipboard.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Mr. Hale, but this property is unlivable. Until it’s cleaned out, I’m condemning it.”

“The house isn’t in bad shape,” Stiles protested. Derek stood silent, holding what Stiles assumed were tickets from violations. “look, there’s obviously a lot of stuff inside, but that can be cleared out. The house itself—”

“Is a fire code violation,” Tamara said, pure ice. Derek flinched at her tone. “If Mr. Hale were to suffer an injury, no paramedic team would be able to extract him without significant risk to themselves. There isn’t any noticeable structural damage yet. At the rate of accumulation, though, there is great risk of the weight increasing to a point that the house can no longer remain on its foundation. Therefore, I am deeming this property as unlivable until it is either cleaned up or knocked down. Whichever course of action you wish to seek, Mr. Hale, I leave entirely up to you. I will return in two weeks to check on your progress. If there hasn’t been significant change, then I will have no option but to fully condemn your house. Have a great day.”

She signed her clipboard, pulled a red sticker out of her jacket pocket, and slapped a condemned sticker over the front door. Derek didn’t even wait for her to leave his property before he pried it off and slipped inside. Stiles frowned at the door. He was almost positive that it had been able to open completely yesterday. Now it seemed as if something was blocking it, preventing it from opening fully.

He followed more slowly, stopping in the foyer to take a deep breath. There indeed was more stuff. Stiles shuddered, scuttling sideways until he found the extremely narrow path Derek obviously used to navigate around his house. He passed several rooms, living room, dining room, downstairs bathroom, before he found himself in a kitchen. It was hard to recognize it as such because everything was covered in piles of things. Stiles looked around, trying to slow his racing heart. He could barely breathe, everything jumbling together in front of his eyes and closing in on him.

“Hey,” Derek said next to him, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, a shout escaping his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I didn’t,” Derek said, put out. “You’re the one that followed me.”

“How the hell can you even find anything in here?” Stiles moved toward where he thought the fridge should be. He was rewarded when he shifted a pile of things and found the handle. He pried at it but could not get it to open. Derek sighed and tried his hand at it too, looking a bit frightened when even his werewolf strength didn’t seem to budge it.

“I guess you were right that it works,” Stiles said, leaning against it and hearing the hum. “But I was right too: you can’t use it.”

“I know I need to clean up.” Derek shrank in on himself, huddling down almost like he was waiting for his things to come and cover him like it had covered the fridge. “Will you help me?”

Stiles looked around at all the things surrounding them. It was overwhelming to say the least. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said. “And anyway, if we just clean it out, who’s to say that it won’t just come back? Three Uhauls, Derek. Is that the most stuff someone has ever dumped on you?”

“No,” Derek admitted without making eye contact. “Someone once dropped off eight Uhauls.”

“Was it Samuel?”

“No.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “Was it Catherine Harper’s nephew?”

Derek didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a leather purse that looked like it had gone ten rounds with a Chihuahua and lost badly.

“Derek,” Stiles said, “I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to help yourself.”

“I know,” Derek said, almost in tears. Stiles scrambled over the junk to stand in front of him, arms raised until Derek nodded once.

Stiles hugged him as tightly as he could. “I might know someone who can talk to you,” he whispered. Derek nodded against his chest.

“Is it okay if I throw out that purse?”

Derek didn’t answer, which Stiles took to mean no. It was all right. They needed baby steps. Agreeing to see a therapist was enough of a baby step today. There was always tomorrow anyway.

“Do you want to come stay with us until we get your house livable?”

“Isn’t your dad going to mind?”

“We’ll ask him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all. We might have some ground rules.”

“No, no one is going to drop things off at your house.” Derek laughed a little. It sounded bitter to Stiles, but that could have just been because Derek’s nose was clogged.

“And we’ll get them trained to stop doing it here too,” he promised, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wasn’t going to be made into a liar.

“Now, what say you go pack a bag of the essentials, like clothes, shaving supplies, anything else you think you might need for at least a week.”

Derek straightened, wiping at his face. “Thanks, Stiles. I’m sorry I’m being such a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Stiles automatically said. “That’s something we’ll have to work on. You have so much worth, Derek. I just wish you could see it.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Derek frowned down at their feet, letting the purse drop back down to the floor. “Do you need help getting out?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just a little too tight for me in here.”

Derek held out his hand, and Stiles took it. Together, they shimmied through the stacked paths, stepping over things never meant to be stepped on until Derek deposited Stiles by the front door.

“Are you positive your dad won’t mind me staying with you?”

“I’ll call him to double check right now,” Stiles said. “Why don’t you go get that bag? I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready.”

Derek nodded sharply and slipped back into the house while Stiles sat on the porch and dialed his dad’s number.

Since Dad was still at work, it just went to voicemail. Stiles filled him in quickly, told him they’d talk more at supper, and then he hung up.

Derek was ready shortly after that, with a single ratty backpack hanging off one shoulder, and they walked across the road to Roscoe. “Thank you,” Derek said softly as they pulled away from the curb.

“Hey, no worries. That’s what friends are for.”

“Are we friends or acquaintances?”

“I’d like to think that we’re friends,” Stiles said. “And I hope you see us that way too. If not now, then soon.”

“I think I’d like that,” Derek said, very quiet. He didn’t say anything else during the drive to the Stilinski house, but Stiles wasn’t worried. It was a lot to take in for one day, to be told he couldn’t stay in his own home, uprooted because people wouldn’t stop dumping stuff on him, thinking that he was going back on his word when really he was very overwhelmed, to having to move in with someone he wasn’t entirely certain was a friend. Yeah, Derek had to be feeling a little rough right now.

Stiles could give him some space and time before approaching him with his therapist’s information. He could only hope that Derek was still as open to help in a few hours or days as he was now.

Dad had called and left a voicemail by the time they got to the house, and Stiles played it, knowing Derek could hear every word.

Dad confirmed that Derek was welcome to stay with them as long as he needed, and that Dad still had some pull on the force if Derek wanted help cleaning up.

“I don’t know if he has as much pull as he thinks he does,” Stiles said, putting away his phone, “or if the deputies think they’re helping keep him out of trouble by doing what he wants.”

“He’s a likable man,” Derek replied. “They probably just want to keep tabs on him because they enjoyed working for him.”

“Ah, there is that. Anyway.” Stiles pointed at the house. “I’m in my old room, but we have a spare room that Dad converted to an actual guest room when I was in college. I’m not sure if he thought I’d bring some friends home with me or what, but it’s there, and now it’s yours.”

“You didn’t have friends in college?”

Stiles shrugged. “I did, but no one I was close enough with to invite home for break.”

“What about Scott?” Derek snapped his lips shut as soon as he said the name.

Stiles shrugged again. “We aren’t really close anymore,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I mean, we had a pretty big fight the last time we talked.”

“I can imagine.”

Stiles didn’t know how much of what happened after Kate was defeated again Derek remembered. He was pretty out of it by the time they got to him.

“Anyway. Let’s get you inside and settled. Do you want anything for lunch or are you…?”

Derek seemed so small sitting in Stiles’ passenger seat, clinging to his backpack. Small wasn’t a qualifier Stiles had ever thought he’d use in conjunction with Derek, but here they were.

“Do you need some more time?” Stiles asked gently. Derek shuddered, shoving the door open and sliding out.

Stiles jumped out, landing lightly while Derek stood still, like he was waiting for the concrete to swallow him.

He trailed after Stiles slowly as he headed up the walk and unlocked the door. Stiles waved him through and then had to step around him when Derek stopped in his tracks.

“I’m getting some water. Want some?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. Derek was bowstring-taut, getting ready to fire something, and Stiles thought it might be panic.

The water trick was something Stiles’ third grade teacher used to do when he started having panic attacks in her class. He couldn’t focus on panicking at the same time as drinking.

He returned to the entryway and pressed a cool glass into Derek’s hands, taking his backpack at the same time.

Derek stared at the water like he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, but Stiles was relieved to see him take a small sip. A few moments later, Derek had finished the water and was looking around the room with more alertness. Stiles put the glass in the sink and then started up the stairs.

He paused halfway, and asked, “Wanna see your room?” Derek nodded, following him up the stairs.

The guest room had been a nursery when Stiles was a baby, then it was his mom’s office, then it was locked up tight while both he and his dad processed their grief, and then, after all of that, Dad had finally unlocked it, aired it out, and painted it light green.

Dad had invested in a queen size bed frame and mattress and bedding that matched the walls. He’d commissioned a desk and chair from a local woodworker, adding a dresser later when he realized that the closet was too small to comfortably fit more than a suitcase and a few hangers.

Overall, the room was nice. And it had been therapeutic for his dad to redo it. Stiles had taken his hint and had repainted his room last summer, changing out some of his Fathead stickers for more sophisticated posters of indie films Stiles had no intention of ever watching, and updating his furniture from the pressboard crap at department stores.

Derek poked his head into the guest room. “It’s nice,” he said. “Like a hotel.”

“Oh!” Stiles ran to the bathroom, digging under the counter until he found the shoebox his dad kept samples in. He came back to the guest room and pressed unopened bottles of shampoo and conditioner into Derek’s hand. He added a tiny bar of soap too.

“I wasn’t sure if you were able to bring any of those things with you,” he said, eyeing the backpack with outright suspicion, “but we have, like, a million of those things, so feel free to use them if you want.”

“Thank you.” Derek closed his fingers around the toiletries. He picked up his backpack and stepped into the room. “Thanks for everything, Stiles.” He shut the door.

Stiles didn’t want to bother Derek anymore, so he headed downstairs and to the kitchen where he pulled out the ingredients to make a pot pie. He’d recently mastered savory crusts, and Dad enjoyed anything with added fat, so supper should go over well.

And if Derek wanted anything else, well, there were a bunch of takeout menus stashed in a drawer by the landline his dad insisted they keep for emergencies.

Stiles was just as insistent that in an emergency, they wouldn’t remember to use the landline. It wasn’t a fight he tried terribly hard to win, mostly because he knew they had the same number they’d always had, and it was one more tie to their past that Dad wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

Derek ambled downstairs after about thirty minutes, freshly showered. He settled at the kitchen table, hunching forward like he wasn’t warm enough. Weird. It was maybe in the upper 70s in here. Stiles himself was over-warm, although he attributed that more to moving around than the fact that his dad didn’t believe in running the AC until the thermometer was about ready to break 90.

“Are you okay?”

Derek began rocking back and forth.

Stiles stared at him, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It took far too long for him to realize that this was another panic attack. He immediately dusted off his hands, abandoning his crust. It would probably be ruined, but that was okay. It wasn’t nearly as important as Derek.

Stiles pulled a chair around to sit next to him, laying a hand first on the table top and then on Derek’s knee after an almost imperceptible nod.

Fine tremors raced up Derek’s legs, jerking the muscles underneath Stiles’ palm. He began rubbing soothing circles while providing a counterpoint by poking at the soft skin of Derek’s wrist.

Slowly, Derek came to a stop, staring down at where Stiles had begun poking him in rhythm to Foreigner’s Hot Blooded.

“Are you playing music on me?” he asked slowly, voice tight with the effort to not let it shake.

Stiles tapped a little faster. “Yes?”

Derek concentrated, his eyebrows sloping down while his mouth opened enough to show off his front teeth. Stiles suppressed the urge to make a bunny joke while Derek worked through the pattern in his head.

“I give up,” he finally said. “I don’t know what song that is.”

“It’s Hot Blooded,” Stiles told him. “Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?”

A quick shake of Derek’s head was all Stiles got, but it was more than he would have gotten six years ago.

“Okay. Do you want to help me make supper? We can order something for lunch after.”

Derek held up his hands, claws sticking out and then retracting quickly. “Yeah. I can help. What do you need me to do?”

Stiles smiled, patting Derek’s leg. “I’m making the crust now. It’ll have to rest for at least an hour before we can roll it out and put it in the dish. In the meantime, how do you feel about dicing up some beef?”

Stiles washed his hands again, pulling out a cutting board and a knife for Derek, who also washed his hands.

“This is one of my favorite recipes to make.” Stiles restarted the dough. “I found the recipe online and switched it around until it wasn’t nearly as unhealthy.”

Derek looked down at the beef he was cutting and then at Stiles’ ball of dough he was currently covering with cling-film. “I didn’t know pot pie could be healthy.”

“I said not as unhealthy,” Stiles protested, “not entirely healthy.”

“What do you want for lunch?” Derek asked. “You said something about ordering?”

“Yeah.” Stiles dusted his hands off and then washed them thoroughly, picking at the cruddy paste caked into his fingernails. “There’s a pizza place that always delivers inside of half an hour. Or we could get some Chinese. Oh! There’s a new Indian place that just opened.” Stiles dried off his hands and grabbed the stack of menus off the table where the cordless handset lived. He came back, flipping through the menus until he found the one for Dehli Rose. “Oh, no delivery,” he said, disappointed.

“That’s okay. What else do you have?”

Stiles fanned the menus so Derek could see them. It took a few minutes, but they settled on Italian. Stiles called in the order while Derek finished cutting up the beef and set it aside in a bowl before cleaning up the counter and washing the knife and cutting board.

“The food will be here in about forty minutes. That gives us plenty of time to make the filling.”

Buoyed by the way things were turning out so well, Stiles settled in at the stove, his smile stretching his mouth wide enough to hurt as Derek stood by his side, watching every move with a concentration he usually reserved for mysteries.

It was every bit as flattering as Stiles had ever imagined it to be. Not that he’d spent time imagining Derek studying him. Not at all.

He shook himself and re-focused on the stove. There would be time enough to examine whatever the fuck that was later.

For now, he wanted to enjoy every second he had with Derek before he inevitably pulled away.

~ * ~

Lunch was fantastic. Stiles couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting he and Derek had ever been in. They’d finished the wine, plated the food on the good dishes, and sat at the table, talking.

Well, Stiles kept talking. Derek just sipped at his wine and studied Stiles with that same intense gaze he’d had while they were cooking.

It wasn’t only the wine bringing a flush to Stiles’ skin, but he kept drinking for an excuse.

He wasn’t certain where the sudden flash of heat came from when he noticed that Derek was staring at him, but it was a welcome change in how Stiles usually felt whenever Derek crossed his mind.

That is to say, usually pissed off and vaguely angry. Derek had a talent for eliciting those feelings in people, Stiles included, even if he wanted to climb him like a tree most days. Hey, Derek had inspired more than a few jerk-off sessions in high school and college.

After the second glass of wine, Stiles realized he was fucked when Derek half-rose out of his seat to reach for the pasta carbonara and his shirt rode up, exposing a line of tanned, furred skin that made Stiles’ dick take interest.

Derek sat down with a thump, mouth hanging open, the serving spoon dangling from lax fingers.

“I’m sorry!” Stiles apologized, fanning his hand in the air, like that was going to do anything to disperse the obvious lust pheromones he’d just accidentally smacked Derek with. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Huh?” Derek slowly shook his head.

Okay, that was weird. He didn’t seem to be reacting in any way Stiles had ever seen before. Suddenly worried, Stiles hurried around the table. He reached Derek just as he slumped sideways. Stiles yelped, shoving himself underneath Derek’s side, trying to hold him up.

Two hundred pounds of werewolf was a bit more than Stiles could handle, and he had to let Derek go. At least it was a controlled fall and Derek didn’t hit his head.

Stiles didn’t know what had caused it. It couldn’t have been him, right? So what else was there?

Maybe it was something he’d put in the pot pie? But if that was the case, why would it take this long to cause Derek to react?

No, more likely it was because of the food they’d just eaten.

“Aw, fuck,” Stiles swore. “Am I going to have to make you puke?”

Derek, of course, didn’t answer, too busy being unconscious. Great.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, prayed his fingers were clean enough, and shoved his index and middle finger down Derek’s throat.

Within seconds, Derek was retching, pasta carbonara mixed with wine and garlic bread spewing out across the floor. Stiles jumped back. He didn’t want to leave Derek unattended if he was just going to pass out again, so he sat at his back, rolled him into the recovery position, and just listened as Derek wheezed and gagged weakly for a few minutes.

Once it seemed like Derek was recovering, he stood up and grabbed some rags to wipe away the sick.

“What just happened?” Derek asked thickly when Stiles handed him a glass of water and a tissue.

Stiles shrugged. “You tell me.”

Derek wiped his nose and then blew it, grimacing at the particles mixed in his snot. “I feel like a truck just ran me over.”

“Have you ever been run over by a truck?”

Derek stared at him, any pretense of bravado ruined by the fact that his eyes and nose were still streaming.

“Of course you have,” Stiles answered himself. He sighed. “Either you were poisoned, or you had an allergic reaction. Or you were poisoned to have an allergic reaction.”

“Was it something in the food?”

“Couldn’t take a chance. So, sorry, but I induced vomiting.”

Derek shook his head, tossing back the water like a shot. “Thanks,” he said as soon as he swallowed. “I’m sorry I ruined lunch.”

“No, I’m sorry you had a reaction. I don’t think it was on purpose.” Stiles knew the owners of the restaurant. They were an older couple who prided themselves on their longevity in a town that did its best to keep up with the hipsters of the big cities. They weren’t supernatural, as far as Stiles knew, but he also knew there were a lot of plants that could harm even humans if they were used incorrectly.

“I’m sure you’re right. I’ve never eaten there before. My mom wouldn’t let us, but she didn’t tell us why.”

“Well, that’s on your mom.” At Derek’s incredulous look, Stiles shrugged. “I’m sorry, but who tells someone ‘Don’t eat there,’ but doesn’t tell them why?”

He sighed again and went to the phone in the entryway. He dug through the menus until he found the one for the Italian place. Shame. Dad really liked their Alfredo sauce.

Stiles neatly tore the menu in half and then deposited it into their indoor recycling bin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Derek said. His voice was nasally and he kept clearing his throat. He also seemed a little green around the gills, like he wasn’t quite done purging. Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom.

“Of course I did,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. If we really miss their food, we can go there and get it. Until I know for sure what made you react like that, their food will not pass our doors.”

To make his point, he gathered up the dishes, scraping the leftovers into a bag that he immediately tied off and dumped in the outside trash bin. Then he washed the dishes, sticking them into the dishwasher for an extra sanitation cycle. Derek was sitting at the table again when he mopped the soiled floors with boiling water, ignoring Derek’s shocked face as he poured Pine-Sol disinfectant on it and mopped it with a fresh mop head.

By the time he was done, there was not a single trace of the food anywhere. Nor was there anything left of his lust, but for some reason, there was a strong desire to hug Derek and tell him that things would be okay.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked as he sat down again. “Is that something we can do now?”

“Talk about what?”

Stiles blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but this seems like something we should really talk about. I mean, you just had a reaction to something. Shouldn’t we at least try to figure out what it was before it happens again?”

“It won’t happen again.” Derek ran his hands over his head, scratching at his scalp in a way that reminded Stiles strongly of how he felt after eating something he had an allergic reaction to. He also started sniffling, rubbing at his nose.

“I’m sure it won’t,” he said soothingly, “but still, why would the Cabellos make something a werewolf couldn’t eat? They shouldn’t even be aware of werewolves, right?”

“We don’t know that they did it on purpose.”

“You’re right; we don’t.” Stiles snapped his fingers, pulling out his cell phone. “We can ask them, though. I’m sure they’d appreciate the heads up that whatever they’re doing to their food is making their customers have reactions.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It could have been an honest mistake,” he argued. “My mom never let us eat there, so I’m guessing she knew about any ingredients they used.”

“That puts the onus back on your mom,” Stiles pointed out. “You realize that, right? If she knew what they did to their food, she should have told you.”

“I guess.”

“Well, that kind of royally fucked the day, didn’t it?”

“At least we know I can eat your pot pie later.”

Small comfort that was, although Stiles bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say it out loud. Derek didn’t need sarcasm. He might need more medical attention, though. “Yeah. Say, how’re you feeling? Are you healing just fine or should we…?” Stiles let his voice trail off under Derek’s weighty gaze.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “Thanks.”

Stiles cleared his throat, choking on the awkwardness of the situation. “Well,” he coughed, “I think I should go job search some more. Why don’t you rest, and we’ll reconnect in about an hour to fully assemble the pie?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me already?” Derek smiled, so Stiles thought he probably meant it as a joke. Too bad Stiles’ brain couldn’t accept it like that. Some things were very literal for him, and people joking about leaving or being driven away hitting hard in a way almost no other words could.

“I would never try to get rid of you,” he said. “I-I—” no more words came, and Stiles fell silent, watching as Derek studied him, neither of them moving for a full five minutes.

Finally, Derek shook himself. “Stiles, I know you think you’re falling in love with me, but you aren’t.”

Stiles pointed at him. “You can’t tell me what I am or am not doing.”

He knew on some level that he’d always been attracted to Derek. It was half of the reason he’d asked Scott to confirm if werewolves could smell arousal. Scott had never confirmed, but hanging out with Derek had taught Stiles just how much at least Derek relied on his nose, so in the end, he’d gotten his answer.

He’d also worked to bury any feelings he might have for Derek because at the time it was an inconvenience to be in love with him. Stiles wanted to go back in time and slap himself.

How could he have been so stupid? Derek didn’t deserve people thinking that loving him was an inconvenience. He didn’t deserve the hand he’d been dealt. He also didn’t deserve Stiles sweeping his past actions under the rug while he tried to figure out how to woo him.

“Look, I don’t know where you get off telling me that I only think I’m falling in love with you when I’ve had eight years to do that all on my own.”

Derek’s face twisted interestingly, first with confusion, then derision, and then finally settling into the soft, caring face Stiles had rarely seen before Kate Argent returned from the dead to permanently wipe it off his face.

The fact that it was back and it was being directed at Stiles made his heart trip.

“Eight years?” Derek repeated softly. “You can’t have been in love with me for eight years.”

“Falling in love,” Stiles corrects, weakly. “I know it’s unconventional, but—” Something came over Stiles then, like a wash of cold water, and he spluttered for a moment. When he resurfaced, he couldn’t remember what he was about to say or even what had happened during the last twenty-five minutes.

Derek shuddered too, shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“What was that?” Stiles asked. Derek didn’t answer. “Hey, are you hungry? I think the dough is about ready to be rolled, and after the pie is assembled, we can eat the leftovers.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “Does it smell like Pine-Sol in here?” He sneezed into his elbow.

Stiles inhaled. “Huh, yeah. I guess it does. Does Pine-Sol always make you sneeze?”

“It’s just the chemical composition of cleaners. I’m okay with natural pine. It takes a while to kick in though.” Derek held up a finger before burying his face into his elbow again and releasing several loud sneezes. He sniffled miserably once he finished and Stiles handed him a box of tissues.

“Let’s go outside for a bit, let the room air out, okay?”

The soft, private smile Derek gave him right before he covered his face with a wad of tissues and started sneezing again made Stiles’ heart give a little contented blip. Huh. Apparently his control was slipping. Normally he didn’t think of Derek in that way because he knew a little of Derek’s past and didn’t want to be as bad as his exes—not that Stiles thought of them as Derek’s ex-girlfriends. No, they were something much worse, and he was glad that at least Kate was back in the ground where she belonged.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you agreed to stay with us,” he told Derek as they stepped out onto the front porch.

Quietly, from behind his tissues, Derek murmured his agreement. Louder, he added, “I’m glad you haven’t given up on me quite yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles laughed, “I won’t ever do that. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“You say that now.”

Stiles bumped their shoulders together. “And I’ll say it ‘til the end of time.” Fervently he grabbed Derek’s face, locking their eyes together, “Derek S. Hale, I will always stand by you. I’ll always be in your corner. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask and I will be there. Do you understand?” Derek nodded. “Good.” Stiles let him go. “Now, have I ever shown you my dad’s roses?”

~ * ~

Dad came home at 6:00. The pot pie had been cooling for half an hour.

Derek was upstairs in the guest room, dozing. He’d crashed shortly after the tour of the renovated backyard, and had accepted a Benadryl.

Stiles had prepared the pie and baked it. He’d divided his time between job searching, reading up on werewolf physiology, and trying to figure out what ingredient the Cabellos had used that made Derek react that way.

Dad inhaled appreciatively when he stepped into the kitchen to wash his hands and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

He drained it quickly, tossing it into the sink for later. “Supper smells good.” He handed Stiles a large bag of food from the bakery. “I figured it was probably a good idea to stock up on food since we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“I’m sure Derek will appreciate it.” Stiles separated the items in the bag and put them into Tupperware. “Why don’t you go get him up? He had an allergic reaction to the Pine-Sol I used.”

“Oh, what’d you clean?”

“The dining room. At least, that’s the only place that smelled like it.”

“And werewolves are allergic to Pine-Sol?” Dad looked between the doorway and Stiles, and Stiles swore he could see his mind spinning.

“I guess,” Stiles said. “Derek mentioned that it was because of the chemicals or something. He also said real pine doesn’t bother him.”

“Interesting. So, what needed Pine-Sol in the dining room?”

Stiles frowned at him. He didn’t remember cleaning anything in there, but it was obvious from the smell. “The floor,” he guessed.

“Why?”

Stiles glared at his dad. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know!”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Oh my God, what is with you tonight?” He waved his hands in front of his dad’s face. “You are not the Sheriff anymore! Stop investigating me!”

“I’m not investigating you,” Dad said calmly. “I’m just trying to figure out why you had to clean something that you don’t even remember. If anything, I’m interrogating you.”

“Stop interrogating me!” Stiles fisted his hands on his hips. “Just go get Derek up.” He sighed, suddenly drained. “I think we might have eaten something too, but I can’t remember. We ordered from Cabellos, but I didn’t find any leftovers or anything.”

“So, I can investigate?” Dad’s eyes glinted and he all but danced out into the dining room. Stiles didn’t think it would be too far to find a deerstalker cap and a magnifying glass and let him roleplay Sherlock Holmes. Dad had missed being the Sheriff. Maybe this would satisfy whatever urge he might still have about running for the upcoming reelection in two years.

Stiles set the kitchen table. Last he’d smelled with his human nose, the dining room still stank of Pine-Sol, so it was going to be impossible for Derek to be in that room. Hell, it might be difficult for him to be in the kitchen. They might have to go all the way outside. Thankfully Dad had redone the back patio and stuck a table and some chairs out there. They’d have to steal a chair from the kitchen, but that would be the least of their problems.

Dad came back, leading Derek. “I think we might have to postpone supper,” he said grimly. Derek was still sniffling, and his nose was rubbed raw and his eyes were swollen almost completely shut.

“Derek?” Stiles’ heart skipped a few beats. Derek mumbled under his breath, wheezing as he lifted a tissue to his nose. “Hey. Um, we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

“It’ll be okay,” Dad said. “Let’s go to the hospital. I’ll drive.”

Derek stumbled after him, and Stiles brought up the rear.

As they passed the outside trash bin, Derek retched. Dad got a hard look in his eyes. “Here.” He tossed his keys at Stiles and detoured to the bin. “Found your Cabellos.”

Stiles got Derek into the passenger seat, buckling him in. “Are you going to drive still?” he asked Dad.

“Uh, no. You go. I’m going to look into this food a little bit more.”

“Why? What’s the deal with the food?” Something was missing, something blocked. It made Stiles’ blood pressure rise. Not being able to remember things he had done, not being in control of his own body still caused nightmares.

Derek groaned, rolling his head to the side so he could stare at Stiles with his slitted eyes. He was starting to shift, fur and fangs sprouting. Stiles swallowed his rising fear and punched the gas.

Traffic was light, and there were no deputies patrolling, so Stiles had them at the hospital inside of fifteen minutes when they lived forty minutes away.

Derek propelled himself from the vehicle before Stiles had it in park. He fell flat on his face.

“I’m beginning to think this is more serious than just an allergic reaction,” Stiles said under his breath as he put his dad’s truck in park and turned it off. Derek was already on hands and knees when Stiles got to him. He shoved his shoulder under Derek’s chest and used his body to leverage him all the way up.

“Some kind of wolfsbane,” Derek said, through his very swollen lips.

“So, poisoned,” Stiles said back. Through the door, the front desk nurse gaped at them, staring at the way Derek’s eyes kept flickering between human and electric blue. Stiles didn’t wait for instruction, moving as fast as he could considering he was hauling Derek’s almost dead weight. “He’s having a severe allergic reaction. He took some Benadryl about three hours ago, and that’s it for meds. We think it might be poisoning but he’s reacting as if it’s an allergy.”

He stopped at the entrance to the emergency room, waiting for the nurse to buzz them through.

“Please! He’s dying!”

The door opened and two nurses took Derek from him.

“Wait here,” he was told as the door shut in his face.

Stiles turned to the front desk nurse, and she shrugged as if to say sorry, flashing beta gold eyes at him. Stiles appreciated her gesture because it meant that Derek was safe here.

“You can have a seat over there.” She pointed at a bank of frankly uncomfortable looking chairs. Stiles didn’t care. He couldn’t sit anyway, he was too agitated. Instead, he patted at his pockets until he came up with his phone. He needed to speak to his dad.

Dad was already calling him by the time he fumbled the phone up to his face. He answered it, trying to ignore the way his finger was shaking.

The panic attack would have to wait. He couldn’t afford it. Not now. Please, not now.

“Dad.”

“Stiles, I’m on my way to Cabellos to find out what they put into the food. How’s Derek?”

“Not good, Dad. He’s inside. I’m stuck in the waiting room. What if he dies? What if they don’t let me in? He said it felt like wolfsbane, but, Dad, I’ve seen Derek when he’s been hit by wolfsbane. It doesn’t act like this.”

“It could be a different strain or maybe a different plant entirely. How often has Derek been poisoned by wolfsbane to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is wolfsbane poisoning?”

“I don’t know, but I do know it’s too many times.”

“Stiles, you ate some of the food too, right?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t react.”

“Or maybe you did, and you don’t remember.”

Stiles froze. His breath whistled in once and then stopped, choking him deep in his chest where his heart was trying to beat despite the absolute fear that had just iced him. Through numb lips, he asked something he couldn’t hear. Dad responded, a burst of warmth against his ear, but it did nothing to thaw him.

“Stiles!” Dad shouted. “Stiles! Put me on speaker right now!”

With no motor function, Stiles wanted to tell his dad that was an impossible task.

“Stiles!”

The front desk nurse’s face snapped into view, and Stiles desperately focused on her blue eyelids and dimpled cheeks. She was holding a paper cup of water, and she pressed it into his hand, guiding it up to his face so he could try drinking a little of it.

As soon as the first sip went down, Stiles grabbed the cup with both hands and sucked greedily at it. The nurse took his phone.

“Hi, my name is Emma. You are? Okay, John, he’s coming around. I’m just going to have him sit down, we’ll get him assessed. What was that? I don’t know, but I can ask. Are you sure?”

Her voice faded out, and Stiles lowered the empty cup. She was still talking, but he couldn’t hear her.

She walked away and came back with another cup of water. Stiles drank it too.

“Can you breathe with me?” she asked, setting both cups on the floor. When had Stiles sat down?

“I…can…try…” Every breath was labored, and Stiles rubbed at his aching chest, wishing his heart would stop trying to pound its way out. He hiccupped and leaned forward, inhaling through his nose for as long as he could. Shakily, he let it out through his mouth.

“Good,” the nurse said. “Again.”

Within minutes, Stiles was breathing normally, but he felt drained. It was like his muscles had decided they needed to go on strike right now. Jelly legs wouldn’t support him and he didn’t think he’d be able to make it far before his head decided a migraine was a nice addition to his shit sundae.

“Can you walk?”

He shook his head and then held it, groaning as his brain rattled around.

“Okay. I’ll get you a gurney. Just stay here. And here, your dad is pretty worried right now. I bet he’d like it if you could talk to him just a little.”

Stiles took the phone and automatically pressed it against his ear.

“Stiles?” Dad sounded like he was crying. “Stiles, are you okay? I’m coming to the hospital. I’m almost there. Okay, son? Hang on.”

“I’m here,” Stiles whispered. “I’m going to be okay, I think. It was just a panic attack.”

“A pretty bad one,” Dad said. “Look, I’m about a minute away. Are they taking you back now?”

“I think so.” Stiles looked up to see the nurse leading another nurse and a gurney toward him. “Can I keep talking to my dad?” he asked.

“For now,” the second nurse said. He stopped the gurney, kicking the brakes on, and helped Stiles up and onto it. As soon as he was securely on it, the nurse unlocked the brakes and wheeled him into the ER and into a bay, pulling a curtain around him.

Stiles pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Dad.”

“I’m almost there, I promise. Just hang on, okay?”

Hanging on seemed to be the only thing Stiles could do, so he just held the phone, listening to his dad breathing on the other end of the phone. He didn’t even realize it was still on speaker phone until Dad burst into the bay. Dad took Stiles’ phone, turning it off and tucking it into a pocket, a feat to be sure because as soon as Stiles saw him, he launched himself at him, hugging him tightly.

“I don’t know where Derek is,” Stiles said into Dad’s neck. “I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Dad murmured, stroking Stiles’ hair and back with a gentle hand. “I sent a text to Deaton and Argent to get information on what you were dosed with. I also sent Parrish to the Cabellos to get their recipe so we can see if there’s any ingredients on there that shouldn’t be.”

“For now,” the nurse who’d wheeled Stiles to the bay broke in, “we need to get you tested. We also, depending on your symptoms, might have to pump your stomach.”

Stiles clung tighter to Dad. “I love you, Dad.”

Dad ruffled his hair. “I love you too, son. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, okay?”

Stiles nodded, letting Dad help him lie back. Dad kept a hand wrapped around Stiles’, the warmth of it pulling most of Stiles’ fear from him.

He wouldn’t truly feel okay until he could see Derek for himself, fully healed and telling Stiles that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but for now, he was grateful for his dad sticking around.

Holding onto his father’s hand, Stiles was able to relax enough to halfway drift off, the adrenaline spike leaving him cold and tired in its wake.

~ * ~

Stiles sat up when the doctor stopped in. Dad was texting on his phone, poking at the keys with a single index finger.

“Good news,” the doctor said, handing Stiles a stack of papers. “Your blood screen came back clean. Whatever you ate, you suffered no lasting effects. You’re free to go. I’ll get my nurse to come back with the discharge papers.” He wagged his finger at Stiles. “Now, just because you’ve got a clean bill of health, it doesn’t mean you don’t need some rest. Take it easy for the next couple of days. If you start to feel off again, don’t hesitate to come back.”

“And what about Derek?” Stiles asked.

The doctor frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss another patient with you.”

Stiles wanted to argue, but he didn’t think getting the doctor to violate HIPPA laws was worth his time with his former-Sheriff dad standing next to him.

“That’s fine,” Dad said, before Stiles had a chance to say anything. “Thanks, Doc.” As soon as the man left, Dad held up his phone. “Argent thinks he knows what happened to Derek. The good news is he’ll be fine. Deaton is stopping by with an antidote.” Stiles swiped his dad’s phone. Argent, Chris, in Dad’s phone as Reformed Hunter, thought that one of the ingredients the Cabellos added was part of a love potion. IT’S SOMETHING, Chris added in all caps, THAT WEREWOLVES ARE HIGHLY ALLERGIC TO.

As Stiles went to hand the phone back to his dad, it buzzed. He quickly lifted it again.

IF ANTIDOTE DOESN’T WORK CALL ME I’M ON MY WAY.

Another buzz

Sorry. Don’t know why my phone got stuck. Coming as quick as I can. Let me know if things change.

Dad took his phone back, tapping an answer. “Okay. So, you wanna see if they’ll let us in to see him if he’s been admitted?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, sarcastically. He couldn’t help it: he may have been six years older since he’d first used it, but sarcasm was still his go-to for defense.

“Does that mean no?” Dad raised an eyebrow. Sheepishly, Stiles shook his head. “All right then, let’s go find him.”

~ * ~

In the end, they weren’t able to see Derek. He hadn’t been admitted yet, and no one was willing to tell them when or if he would be. In the interest of not being banned from the hospital—at least, that was the excuse he used—Dad led Stiles out to his vehicle.

“We’ll try later,” Dad said, reassuringly. Stiles didn’t answer. He buckled his seatbelt and stared straight ahead. It was his fault Derek had nearly died. He’d been the one to suggest Cabellos. He’d wanted Derek near him.

Derek wasn’t the only one cursed to have those he cared about injured.

“Do you feel like talking?” Dad asked when he parked in front of the house and shut off the engine.

Stiles opened his door, unbuckling his seatbelt, and stepping out. He looked pointedly at his dad until he unlocked the front door for him and then headed upstairs. Still not a word had passed his lips.

Dad sighed heavily. “I’ll be down here when you’re ready to talk,” he said. “I’ll get you when Argent gets to town.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Stiles muttered to himself, closing his bedroom door. He didn’t lock it, but he did kick off his shoes and climb onto his bed. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his limbs grew too heavy to move, and he drifted off.

~ * ~

Stiles woke up when his bed depressed suddenly.

He sat up, arms flailing as he panicked, hitting a warm body and recoiling.

“Ouch,” Derek intoned blandly.

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “They let you out already?” he asked.

Derek shrugged. He climbed off the bed and dropped heavily into Stiles’ desk chair. “Once Deaton gave me the antidote, there wasn’t any reason for me to stay at the hospital.”

“So does that mean Chris Argent is in town?”

Derek shrugged again. “I guess. Your dad let me in on his way out. I just assumed he was going to work.”

Stiles studied him. Derek looked haggard, as if the antidote had done only enough to stop him from getting worse. He wasn’t healing, or if he was, it was slow-going.

“Are you okay?”

Derek’s shoulders rolled in a half shrug. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, worrying at it while he refused to look at Stiles.

“Do you feel up to starting to clear out your house?”

Derek shook his head, jerking on the thread to break it. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and then tossed it into the wastebasket.

Stiles refused to be impressed. He could do that with a bit of practice. Derek used to play basketball, after all. It wasn’t that special.

“I think I just want to sleep,” Derek said, but he made no move to stand up and go to the guest room.

Stiles rolled his eyes and patted the bed next to him. “Plenty of room here,” he said, nonchalantly. Derek bowed his head before wearily climbing to his feet. He shuffled forward and face-planted onto the bed. Stiles stifled a smile as he grabbed Derek’s shoulders and worked him fully onto the bed. Derek must have taken his shoes off when he got in, because he was just in socks. His shirt was horribly wrinkled, his jeans a little worn, and his hair mussed. Stiles knuckled at his heart, trying to stave off the fondness he felt kindling there.

Derek didn’t need to deal with Stiles’ affection right now.

Derek turned his head, opening one eye to peer up at him. “I don’t mind it, you know,” he said softly.

“Mind what?”

Derek wriggled his visible eyebrow. “I like you too,” he said around a yawn.

“Bold,” Stiles said. He tugged at the blanket until he freed enough of it to drape over Derek. Then, he lied down again, one arm crooked under his head, the other between his and Derek’s bodies.

It was comforting just lying here, listening to Derek’s breaths get slower and deeper. It calmed Stiles enough that he started drifting too. Just before he tumbled back into sleep, he felt Derek’s fingers curl around his loosely.

~ * ~

Stiles woke up alone, his bed still bowed as if Derek was lying there, but the blanket was cold. He’d been gone a while then. Sitting up and stretching helped dispel some of the fatigue still clinging to him, and he slipped off the bed, bending slowly at the waist and letting his spine lengthen until the muscle around it ached in a nice, warming pain. He straightened in the same, slow manner, breathing deeply.

Once that was done, he grabbed a change of clothes and took a quick shower.

His hair was still dripping by the time he dressed and wandered downstairs.

There, he found his dad, Chris Argent, and Derek sitting in the living room. Derek looked a little better than he had before their nap, with more color back in his cheeks.

Stiles pushed at him until he moved over enough to allow him to sit next to him on the sofa.

Dad was in his armchair and Chris was next to him on a chair dragged in from the dining room.

“You won’t have to worry about them doing that ever again,” Chris was saying. His face was set in a grimace, distaste and anger evident. “They fully understand what they did was wrong, and they don’t plan to do it again.”

“If they do…?” Dad asked.

Chris shook his head. “They won’t like the consequences. They understand that they got off easy this time. Next time, they won’t be so lucky.”

“You didn’t maim them, did you?” Stiles asked. He’d gathered that they were talking about the Cabellos and their poisoning of him and Derek.

Chris snorted. “Much as I wanted to,” he said, “I did not. But that won’t stop me from coming back and kicking their asses if they ever try to pull that shit again. They were incredibly lucky that most of their meddling was put down to food poisoning and not actual dosing.”

“So, they definitely whammied us with a love potion?”

Derek shuddered, hard, and Stiles clamped a hand onto his knee, which surprisingly, Derek did not remove.

“Essentially, yes,” Chris said. “I’d heard of it being done before, but usually they need an element of magic and nature.”

“Like a druid,” Derek mumbled, low enough that only Stiles seemed able to hear.

“Like a darach,” Chris continued, shooting an apologetic glance at Derek’s bowed head.

Derek shivered again, hands clenched to his sides. Blood ran from his palms, and Stiles noticed that he’d pierced his own skin with his claws.

Like a darach echoed in his head, and suddenly, he shivered too. All these years he’d thought Derek just had bad judgment when it came to his sexual partners. Instead, he realizes, too late, that Derek had been roofied with magic. Love potioned without the potion. Forced into a relationship he likely couldn’t say no to even if he understood what was happening at the time. And Stiles… Stiles had yelled at him, threw it back in his face. Belittled him for sleeping with the enemy.

He swallowed hard, squeezing Derek’s knee again before drawing back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Derek studying him without truly looking at him.

“So what happens now?” Dad asked into the heavy silence.

“Now?” Chris leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, we wait. Sometimes it takes a while for the effects to wear off even after an antidote has been administered.” He fixed Stiles with a knowing look. “Longer too if there was something there before.”

Stiles’ cheeks heat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a horrible way to find out.”

“Find out what?” Derek asked tightly.

“That I’m in love with you.”

“I always knew that.” Derek flexed his hands, wiping blood onto his jeans. “What surprised me was how much I liked you too.” He took a deep breath and finally lifted his head. His eyes were human, a kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and browns, and he pinned Stiles with them. “Sometimes I still see you as a kid, someone I need to watch out for because you’re not understanding the danger you’re in, and then other times, I look at you and see what could be.”

“And what would that be?” Stiles hardly dared to breathe.

“I see a future,” Derek said, softly.

A future with him? Stiles cut a quick glance to his dad. Dad had a perfectly blank face but his shining eyes gave him away.

“You’re okay with that?” Stiles asked him.

“Stiles, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. Besides, I think you’d be good for Derek.”

“You two do make a pretty good pair,” Chris said, and Dad broke into a big grin.

Stiles turned to Derek. “We still have to clean out your house,” he said. Derek nodded. “We have two weeks minus a day.” Derek nodded again. “And you’re okay with me helping you?”

“I don’t think I’m going to get it done any other way,” Derek said, seriously. “You helped me stand up to Mr. Johnson. I think you’ll keep me motivated enough to finish the project.”

“Okay then. I guess I know what I’m doing with my summer.”

And if it felt a little like he was agreeing to spend all his time with Derek, well, he was. He couldn’t be happier.

~ * ~

The next day, Stiles drove Derek and himself to Derek’s house.

There was a sign on the door with the Code Enforcement officer’s notice that the house was considered unlivable but not fully condemned.

“I don’t get how that works,” Stiles remarked, reading it. Derek shrugged, unlocking the door and pushing his way inside. Stiles took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the piles of junk he was now expecting to find, and followed him in.

The house wasn’t any better, and Stiles fought his rising panic with everything in him.

“Do you know where you want to start?” Stiles asked, climbing over a pile that must have fallen after they’d left yesterday and into the kitchen. Derek stood in the middle of the room, looking around with the same panic Stiles could feel in his chest.

“How about the backyard?” Stiles suggested, struggling over to the door. He got the door propped open, leaning out into the bit of breeze that made its way into Derek’s fenced in backyard.

Here, Derek had constructed a few pop-up sheds and there was a tent tucked into a corner. Stiles had no doubt that the sheds and the tent would be full of things, but other than that, the backyard was clear. Stiles stepped out fully, walking toward the tent. He glanced back after a few yards to find Derek standing in the doorway, just watching him. “Are you okay, Derek?”

He shook himself and flashed a wan smile. Then he squared his shoulders and marched toward Stiles. Stiles waited until he drew level with him before he reached out and wrestled the zipper of the tent open.

“Okay,” he said to the stacks of sleeping bags, camping cooking utensils, battery-operated lanterns, and scuttling spiders. “Okay. So, we can work with this.”

“We can’t,” Derek said, zipping the tent closed again. “That’s Marie’s stuff. She’s coming back for it tomorrow.”

“The spiders too?”

Derek didn’t reply, walking to one of the sheds instead. He slid the door up and stared at the assortment of lawn care equipment jumbled inside. He didn’t say anything before dropping the door and turning away from it.

“Marie’s?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “Daniel’s.”

“Danny Mahealani?”

“No.” Derek glared at him, but he didn’t look mad. “Daniel. He works at the Sheriff’s Department.”

“Is he coming back for his stuff at all?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. He looked around the yard, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can get rid of any of these things. They’re not mine.”

“So why do you have them?” Stiles demanded. “How many people just dumped their crap on you because you wouldn’t tell them no?”

Derek froze, blinking quickly, like he was trying to dispel tears. Stiles rolled back his words in his head, his stomach dropping when he realized what he had said.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologized softly, hand outstretched to brush Derek’s arm.

Derek jerked out of reach, taking several steps back. His eyes were definitely watery. “My ‘no’ means nothing,” he said lowly. “That’s been proven time and again. I don’t need you telling me that too.”

“Your no should mean everything,” Stiles argued gently, aware that he’d unintentionally found a sore spot and did not want to keep pressing on it. “I really am sorry that I said it like that. It’s not your fault that everyone decided to use your good will to just dump their stuff on you.”

Derek nodded tightly, turning away from Stiles to quickly wipe at his eyes. Stiles pretended not to see and just moved back to the door.

“Can we sort anything in the house or do you want to take a break?”

Stiles knew they didn’t have a lot of time to waste like this, but they’d get nowhere fast if he pushed when Derek wasn’t ready. And having already made Derek cry was not part of the plan.

“A break would be good,” Derek said. He still wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, but he at least followed Stiles back through the house until they could step out onto the front porch.

Derek offered Stiles the chair on the porch and settled on the steps by his knee.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered to his hands. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“If you don’t, you’ll lose your home,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek shook his head. “Not a home. Not yet.” He glanced back at the house before facing forward again. “It might never be home.”

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles said. Derek started. “No, I don’t mean you. I mean the fact that your house is so full of other people’s things that you have no room for yourself. It’s your house, not theirs. Why don’t they come back for their things?”

“I never told them to?” Derek guessed.

“You shouldn’t have to tell them because they never should have brought it over in the first place.” Stiles made a note of the names he knew that Derek said had things on his property. Marie. Daniel. He only had two other names: Mr. Johnson and Andrew; but it should be enough to track them down and force them to help Derek clean up his house.

After all, this mess wouldn’t exist without their “help.”

“You’re getting angry,” Derek remarked. “I think the break is over.”

“Okay.” Stiles allowed Derek to haul him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

~ * ~

Three hours later, Stiles climbed into Roscoe, waiting for Derek to buckle his belt before he started the engine.

They hadn’t gotten anything out yet. Instead, Derek just shuffled things from one room to another, sorting by some arbitrary method he didn’t bother to share with Stiles until Stiles was so frustrated that he’d moved them to another room where Derek just started the cycle again.

Overall, it was a very disappointing day, but Stiles was determined not to show Derek just how upset he was.

“Two weeks minus two days,” Derek said quietly. He stared out the window the whole drive back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

With two full bathrooms, they were able to shower at the same time, if a little quicker than normal since the hot water ran out faster.

After, they sat at the kitchen table while Stiles heated up leftover pot pie to eat.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t any good today,” Derek finally said after Stiles plopped a plate in front of him.

“Hey, not your fault. I get it, your brain got overloaded. We’ll just have to take it slower next time.”

“Will there be a next time?” Derek poked at his food. “Do you still want to help me?”

Stiles nodded. “I just didn’t realize how big of a job it actually was,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to pitch in. In fact, I think we should get more people involved. You know, like a cleaning crew.”

“It’s not my stuff,” Derek reminded him.

“I know. I meant contacting the people who left it with you. How long have you had it?”

Derek shrugged.

“Okay, well, I’ll look into the law on abandoned property today. You try to remember who gave you the things. I think we can get them to take it back without too much trouble.”

Derek gave him a hopeful smile, the first smile all day, and Stiles’ stomach twisted in knots.

He wanted Derek to smile more. He deserved so much more happiness. But as long as they had the junky house to take care of, Stiles knew there’d be more tears than smiles. He hoped they’d both survive the ordeal.

~ * ~

Stiles printed the California Code dealing with abandoned property and then read over it carefully, searching up legal terms he was unfamiliar with. By the end of it, his head was swimming with too much information and he badly needed to pee.

Derek knocked lightly on his door and opened it when Stiles called for him to come in. He was carrying a mug of tea that he offered to Stiles before sitting on the bed and staring intently at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked over the rim of the mug.

Derek shook his head, dipping his head down not quite fast enough to hide the smile curling his lips. “Just you,” he said, “being you. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Stiles drew out the word before setting down the mug and walking quickly to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he went back to his room, wiping his hands on his pants. He’d dried them in the bathroom after peeing, but he hadn’t wanted Derek to leave his room, so he’d hurried back before they were fully dry.

Derek was still on the bed. He was holding the pages Stiles had printed, running a finger down the text, mouth moving as he silently read the words. Stiles sat down and drank more of the tea. This was more his style than the coffee Derek had bought him yesterday, and he finished it in a few swallows.

“How can they be my possessions when they were given to me to store?” Derek asked suddenly.

Stiles shrugged. “That’s what the law says. They dumped it on you, so it’s yours to do with as you please. Even if that means you throw it away.”

Derek grimaced, handing the pages to him. “That seems wasteful,” he said, softly.

“Dude, you’re living like a hoarder. That’s not healthy. At this point, worrying about wasting things is the least of your worries.”

“You’re right.” Derek stood up. He took Stiles’ empty mug and shut the door behind himself.

Stiles frowned at the pages, thinking over the words he’d used, swearing under his breath when he realized that he was accusatory. Derek didn’t need that. In fact, the way Stiles was pushing him, they would be lucky if Derek even managed to toss any of the actual trash in the house.

Stiles needed more help. Derek had mentioned being in therapy. Maybe Stiles should start there.

He turned to his laptop and opened a new browser.

~ * ~

Derek got an early start the next morning when first, Stiles slept through his alarm, and second, Dad hit him with the classifieds when Stiles tried to inhale some cereal so he could at least start the day with something in his stomach.

So, instead of watching Derek struggle to make progress, Stiles spent a few hours on his computer applying to jobs he was overqualified for. When Dad left for a shift at the bakery, Stiles shut down his laptop, slapped together a few sandwiches, and drove over to Derek’s.

Derek was sitting outside, head between his knees. He didn’t move even when Stiles honked his horn at him, knowing that with Derek’s hearing, he was being obnoxious.

Stiles dropped onto the steps next to him, shoving a sandwich at him.

“How’s it going today?” he asked carefully, biting into his own sandwich. Derek took the food, setting it on his knee and frowning down at the ground.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he said softly. “I know you keep telling me that it’s my stuff now, and I can get rid of it, but I can still smell the previous owners.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought of that. He just knew that Derek’s house smelled stale and musty. A few things were moldy and stunk, to his human nose, like animal urine.

How Derek could stand to be in his house would remain a mystery, because while Stiles may not have had much tact in high school, always asking the wolves if they could smell things that were better left private, he had grown and learned to bite his tongue.

Derek sighed, poking a hole through the bread into the meat below. “Thanks for coming but I don’t think I can do anything today.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said. He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing as quickly as he could. Once he had swallowed, he took Derek’s destroyed sandwich and discarded it into an empty trash bag hanging on the front door. “Up you get,” he said. “Pick out something. I don’t care what it is. Just pick it. You’re going to give me a list of pros and cons to keeping it. Whichever list is longer determines what happens with the thing.”

Derek shook his head, but he gamely stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Anything?” he asked.

“Absolutely anything,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and grabbed a bent tennis racket out of the junk in the foyer. He held it aloft, studying the chipped paint, frayed strings, peeling tape, and warped rim.

“Can it go?” Stiles asked after a few minutes. Derek pursed his lips, hefting it in his hand.

“I don’t know. I know I don’t have a use for it and it’s almost beyond repair, but it could still be fixed if someone wanted to invest the time in it.”

“Okay, so if that someone is you, are you going to invest the time in getting it fixed?”

Derek shook his head. “May Ehlberg gave this to me for safe keeping. It used to be her dad’s.”

Stiles didn’t know who May Ehlberg or her father were, but he guessed, from Derek’s faltering expression, that they were important to him.

Derek set the racket aside. “Mr. Ehlberg was a pall bearer at Paige’s funeral. May used to sit behind me in history.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Stiles said, and Derek stared at him.

“What?”

“Your loss,” Stiles repeated. “Of Paige. I know she meant a lot to you, and I’m sorry she died.”

Derek clenched his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I killed her,” he said tightly. When he opened his eyes, they blazed blue.

“Do you want to take another break?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head and grabbed another item, a wax orange that resembled a melted candle more than the fruit it was imitating.

“Can that go?”

“Mrs. Grecke used to make these. She gave my mom a whole set. This was the only one I found in the ruins of our house.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. If Derek could find a reason to keep everything in the house, Stiles was certain he would. He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to do this to you yet,” he said, “but I think you need to be in therapy for hoarding.”

“Hoarding?” Derek looked around the foyer as if he was just now seeing it through Stiles’ eyes. He set the orange down carefully and then picked up a plastic cup with a string tangled on the bottom. “My cousins used to make these things all the time.” He tugged at the string for a moment before giving up when he realized it was irrevocably knotted.

“Did your cousins make that particular string telephone?”

“Not this one, no.”

“And you have your memories, right?”

Derek nodded.

“Then, it can go?”

Derek nodded again. He walked to the bag and opened it, dangling the cup in for a long, long moment. Stiles was almost positive that he was going to yank it out again, but Derek surprised him when he let it fall.

Almost as if his strings were cut, Derek sagged. “I think I need a break now,” he said, stepping out onto the porch. Stiles followed, unhooking the bag and stuffing it into the house before pulling the door closed.

“You did a good thing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“Maybe.” He walked to his car and got in. Stiles watched as he drove away.

They’d only been cleaning for about three hours, and all Derek had to show for it was a sandwich and a children’s toy. At this rate, it would take decades to clear out the clutter.

Stiles sighed. He hoped Derek talked with his therapist about his hoarding.

“Two weeks minus three days,” Stiles told the house. Then he drove home.

~ * ~

Dad was back from the bakery when Stiles pulled up to his house. The Camaro was parked on the street. Stiles was relieved to see it. He’d been afraid that Derek might have decided to take off again. It was nice to see that he wasn’t running away anymore.

“Derek’s taking a shower,” Dad said. He had his feet up on the railing, a bottle of seltzer water in hand. “He wanted to let you know that he’s not mad. And that he hopes you’re not mad either.”

“I’m not mad at him,” Stiles said, sitting next to his dad and propping his feet on the railing too. “I’m mad at everyone who’s taking advantage of him.”

Dad raised an eyebrow.

Stiles sighed, crossing his arms. “A lot of people decided to just dump their junk on Derek, so his house is all junked up. He’s having trouble realizing that he can let it go.”

Dad hummed, sipping at his bottle. “You can’t push him if he isn’t ready.”

“We don’t really have time for him to get ready,” Stiles said quietly. “I was thinking that we could have the people who dumped stuff on him come and get it. I asked Derek to make a list of everyone who had ever given him things.”

“I could see if I can get some volunteers if Derek wants the help.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Dad shook his head. “It’s not your place,” he said. “Talk to Derek about it, okay? I know you have a deadline, but if you push too hard now, the source of the problem won’t be resolved, and in a few months, it’ll be just as bad if not worse.”

“You’re right.” Stiles thumped his feet down and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

~ * ~

The next day, Derek had a meeting with his therapist first thing, so Stiles killed some time by making a chart with a countdown of the days they had left before Code Enforcement arrived to either pass or fail Derek’s house. Derek had hidden in the guest room after his shower and refused to come out before Stiles fell asleep, so he didn’t know what state of mind Derek was in, but he didn’t imagine they would make much progress at the house today.

Still, he could at least find something for Derek to store some items he definitely wanted to save. They could worry about the actual trash later. Dad was right: pushing Derek too hard now would be more detrimental than just giving him a shoulder to lean on when he got overwhelmed. That didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t going to track down every single person who had ever left so much as a dust bunny at Derek’s house and make them take it back.

He dug around the attic until he found an old, empty plastic bin. He washed it out, drying it thoroughly before putting it in his trunk. His dad still had a sports cooler, left over from Stiles’ days as a bench warming lacrosse player, and Stiles filled it with water and stuck it next to the bin. Then, he settled on the porch with the stack of California property laws and a highlighter, marking the sections he thought would be most helpful for Derek to read.

After about an hour of that, Derek returned. He smiled at Stiles but it seemed brittle, like he was stretched a little too thin at the moment.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, capping his highlighter and setting aside the papers.

Derek shrugged. “Mostly, I guess. I talked to Jerri about the house. She wants to see it.”

“Do you want her to see it?”

Derek shrugged again. “She thinks I’m holding onto things because of losing so many people when I was fifteen.”

“That’s probably a pretty good assessment. Come on,” Stiles pointed at Roscoe, “we can at least go look at it and see if there’s anything else you want to save, like that orange.”

“I don’t have anywhere to put things like that,” Derek protested.

Stiles bit his tongue to stop the almost reflexive Could have space if you cleaned your house that wanted to pop out. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I have a bin you can borrow. Just until we find some room for the stuff you want to save.”

“Thank you.”

They drove to Derek’s house in comfortable silence. It was almost domestic, and Stiles caught himself smiling and tapping on the steering wheel while Derek poked at the radio before turning it off when all the stations were too staticky to hear clearly. The only dark spot was when they parked in front of the house and Stiles remembered what was waiting for them. He was tired, and they hadn’t even opened the door yet.

Well, they were here. There was no point in putting it off. The sooner they got in there, the sooner they could leave.

Stiles grabbed the cooler while Derek carried the bin, and they walked up the steps onto the porch.

Derek set the bin down so that he could use two hands to unlock the door.

Stiles happened to glance over as Derek worked his key into the lock and noticed something sitting on the chair by the door. “Hey, Derek,” he said.

“Yeah?” Derek opened the door, picking up the bin and waiting while Stiles slowly picked up the cup with tangled string. He took a moment to steady his voice, furious and not sure why. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be here. He just wasn’t happy that the tiny bit of progress they had made had been so easily undone.

“Didn’t you throw this away yesterday?”

Derek flushed. “I took it out,” he mumbled.

“When? Why?”

“Last night. My cousins,” Derek said.

Stiles shoved it at him. “Do you want to save it now?”

Derek took it gingerly. He turned it over in his hands, studying it. After a few minutes, he set it into the bin.

Stiles nodded tightly. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t try to save everything. He didn’t want to drag the problem back to his dad’s house. Dad already had thirty years of his and Stiles’ mom’s things and some of Stiles’ things from high school. There wasn’t room for more crap.

In the foyer, Derek found the wax orange and added it to the bin. He picked up the racket and frowned at it for a long moment before carefully replacing it on the stack of dilapidated boxes he was using as a shelf.

“There’s some more sentimental things upstairs,” Derek said. “I’ll be right back.”

He slipped through the narrow pathways and Stiles retreated outside before the press of things made him panic again.

Just as he stepped out, his phone buzzed.

It was Dad.

“Hey, Dad. How are you?”

“I’m great. Listen, I just talked to Parrish. He says he thinks he can get a few of the guys together in the next couple of days to get out to Derek’s place and help clean up. Did you ask Derek if he wanted to do that?”

Stiles looked up, scanning the second floor windows. He couldn’t see Derek at all, but he thought Derek could hear him. “I haven’t but I will. I can text you his answer?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Also, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but Melissa said Scott is back in town for a few days. Apparently he’s taking over Deaton’s practice when Deaton retires in a few years.”

“Oh?” Stiles was not remotely interested in what his former best friend was up to. Nope. Not at all.

“Yeah. Melissa wanted to know if we wanted to have dinner with her and Scott.”

“She does know Scott and I haven’t talked in almost five years, right?”

“I think she’s hoping that you two will reconcile.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles looked up again. Derek was standing in a window now, looking down at him, expression twisted into concern. With a start, Stiles realized that he was able to parse Derek’s different expressions again. He’d missed that element of their communication, but he hadn’t been upset to discover that Derek was more verbal than he had been six years ago.

“I kinda don’t want to drag Derek over there without warning. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Derek pulled back, and a few minutes later, he was outside too. The bin was half full of things like a singed headband, a pair of gold hoop earrings stuck in a large card, and some books. Derek set it aside and pointed to the steps. They both sat down.

“Hey, Derek, is it okay if some of the deputies swing by and help us clear out things?”

Derek hesitated before nodding.

“He said yes, Dad,” Stiles said into the phone. To Derek, he said, “Melissa wants to have us over for dinner soon. Do you want to come with or…?”

“No, thank you.”

“So does that mean you’ll come too?” Dad asked.

Stiles sucked his lip into his mouth and chewed on it. “No,” he finally said. He wasn’t nearly ready enough to forgive Scott for what had happened. Maybe someday, but someday hadn’t come yet. “I don’t think I can do that. Sorry.”

Dad sighed. “I’m sure they’ll understand. And boys?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you. You’re doing a good thing.”

Dad hung up without waiting for a response. He probably realized he wasn’t going to get one. Derek didn’t look like he believed Dad at all, and Stiles didn’t blame him. When was the last time someone told Derek they were proud of him? Probably not since before the fire.

“Do you want to try cleaning anything today?”

Derek shook his head. “I think I’ll call Jerri and see if she can come out here tomorrow,” he said. “For now, I want to show you what I found.”

Stiles tucked his phone back in his pocket and turned his full attention to Derek as he explained about the trinkets. He had rings from his aunts, one of Peter’s ties that hadn’t burned up, the headband from Cora, the earrings from Laura. Books that belonged to his cousins and to the pack. Derek flipped through a heavy tome.

“This is our bestiary,” he said, turning pages until he came across an entry for kanimas. He traced the tail of the illustration. It looked almost nothing like what Jackson had looked like, less lizard-like and more humanoid. “It’s been in our family for centuries. Peter gave it to me when I moved back to Beacon Hills last year.”

“And where did Peter get it from?”

“He has a stash of things somewhere. He didn’t say.” Derek frowned. “He has the box with the nogitsune and my mom’s claws.”

Stiles shuddered. “He won’t give you the claws back?”

“No. I’m afraid that he’s trying to find a ritual that will give him alpha powers again.” He set the book back in the box and stood up, helping Stiles up. “He didn’t seem happy that I came back. I told him he didn’t have to come back too.”

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asked. “Not that I’m not glad you did,” he hurried to add.

Derek shrugged. “Honestly, I came back because I realized Scott had abandoned the land. My family was its protector for centuries. It needs a guardian. Even if that guardian is an omega.”

“Hey, now, you’re not an omega,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s arm. “You’ll always be a part of my pack. Me and my dad.”

Derek smiled. “Thanks. That actually means a lot to me.”

He pulled the door shut, locking it, and picked up the bin. “Can we go back to your house now? I left my phone there and I need to call Jerri.”

“Sure.” Stiles grabbed the cooler, pouring some water on his hands to clean them before digging out a stack of plastic cups he kept in his car for emergencies. He’d never had to use them yet but he liked being prepared.

Derek set the bin in the trunk and sifted through it until he came up with the cup and string. He handed it to Stiles.

“What’s this for?”

“You can throw it away,” Derek said. “I’m ready to let it go.”

Stiles grinned. “Okay, big guy, if you’re sure. Let me just.” He pulled out a bag he kept in his car for trash and placed it inside, taking care not to crush it more than it already was, just in case Derek changed his mind again and wanted it back before it could be disposed of. “There.” He handed Derek a cup of water and drank one himself.

Then he drove them back to his house.

~ * ~

Derek rode with Stiles out to the house the next morning, and Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald pulled up behind them. Derek had called to invite her last night, and she hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing, saying that she would meet them there.

Stiles was excited to meet a therapist who knew about the supernatural, had worked with them, and knew how to help them, but most importantly, he was excited to meet someone Derek seemed to trust.

He knew it took a lot for Derek to be able to trust the people around him. One day, he hoped he could be counted among those people.

Derek grabbed his arm before he could get out to greet Dr. Fitzgerald. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I always have since you wouldn’t let me drown. Maybe even before then.”

Stiles stared at him in shock. Had he spoken out loud? Derek tapped his nose, and Stiles signed in relief. It was just the way he smelled to Derek. “Do you trust me enough to know that I won’t intentionally hurt you?” he asked.

Instead of answering him, Derek leaned in closer, fingers flexing where he still held Stiles’ arm. Stiles stared at his face as it got closer, his lips parting, tongue flicking out to wet them. Was Derek going to kiss him? Were they at the kissing stage in their relationship? Did they even have a relationship? They were a mere breadth apart when Derek whispered, “Yes.”

Dr. Fitzgerald knocked on the window, and Derek jumped back. He smiled at her, but Stiles could read the disappointment in his eyes.

Stiles frowned, mind still spinning from the almost-kiss. Derek opened his door, and moved to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Wait,” Stiles said. When Derek turned toward him, he grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss that was too hard, too much teeth, too much Derek’s nose in his eye, and not enough all at once.

As soon as they broke apart, Derek reached up to touch his lips. Stiles’ lips felt bruised but he kept his hand on Derek’s neck, fingers playing with the hair on his nape.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

Derek cupped his face, holding his head still as he leaned in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. “More than,” he said, pulling back and out of Stiles’ reach. “I trust you,” he said, nodding sharply, like Stiles could hear the way his heartbeat stayed steady.

Stiles smiled. “Let’s go show your therapist your house,” he said, and clambered out of Roscoe.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. She smiled at them both. “It’s so nice to see that level of trust, Derek. You’ve done wonderful.”

“We’re working on my communication,” Derek said. “I seem to recall you complaining a time or two that I didn’t use my words enough.”

Stiles snorted. “No one in this damn town did. It was all secrets, secrets, lies, and more secrets.”

“But things have changed?” Dr. Fitzgerald looked from Derek to Stiles and back.

“I don’t know if the town has changed,” Derek said, “but we have.” He shot Stiles a grateful look. “I want to be who Stiles thinks I am.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” Stiles bit his lip, adding, hesitantly, “What if I want you to be my boyfriend?”

Derek let out a startled laugh. “Pretty sure that’s what we just did,” he pointed out.

“I don’t mean to be a literal bummer,” Dr. Fitzgerald broke in, “but can we go inside now? I’d like to know how best to help you, Derek, and I can’t do that just by looking at the outside.” She stuck her hand out to Stiles and he took it. “I’m Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dr. Fitzgerald. I’m Stiles.”

“Please, call me Jerri.”

“Okay.”

Derek unlocked the door and pushed it open. If Jerri was surprised by the amount of stuff just packed in the foyer, she didn’t show it. Instead, she studied it thoughtfully. Her braids clinked together softly as she moved forward, the colorful beads woven throughout her hair jostled.

Derek followed more slowly, grabbing the trash bag that still hadn’t been filled as he worked his way deeper after her.

Stiles brought up the rear, trying to see the junk as Jerri would. He didn’t think he succeeded very well because he still thought it could all go, even the melted orange Derek had saved yesterday.

“Okay, so tell me,” Jerri said when they paused in the kitchen, “what do you see when you look at all these things?”

Derek shrugged. “I guess I see it as kindness.”

“Kindness?” Stiles asked. Jerri shot him a look that had him almost swallowing his tongue.

“Yes,” Derek said, tightly. “Kindness.” To Jerri, he added, “When I moved back to Beacon Hills, I had nothing. Just my sister’s car and the clothes I was wearing. I was able to buy this house but I didn’t have a way to bring anything into the house. I had nothing to bring anyway.”

“And how did people start bringing you things?”

“My neighbor, Ms. Bocelli, stopped by one day, saw the state of the house, and offered me some of her mother’s furniture. When I told her that I didn’t have a way to bring it here, she asked another neighbor, Mr. Johnson, to help, and he also brought over his mother’s things.”

Stiles opened his mouth and shut it again when Jerri looked at him. She turned back to Derek. “And that was kindness, wasn’t it? Them bringing you all those things.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “But it was a lot. Their mothers had a lot of stuff and they brought it all over the next few days. After that, it seemed like someone was stopping by every day and bringing me stuff from their relatives that had either passed away or didn’t want or need their things.”

“And you didn’t feel like you could say no?” Jerri asked, more gently than Stiles could have managed.

“No,” Derek said, quietly, an admission. “I didn’t think I had the right to say no.”

Jerri nodded, as if she hadn’t expected any other answer.

It made Stiles’ skin crawl to think of all the people that could have, did, hurt Derek because he thought his “no” meant nothing.

“I need some air,” he said, and hurried as quickly as he could back outside.

He leaned over, hands on his knees while he puffed breaths in and out through his mouth.

“Hey, Stiles,” he heard someone call, and he looked up to see Jordan Parrish, dressed down in a white t-shirt and khakis, approaching him.

“Heya.” Stiles waved back.

Jordan eyed the house. “Did you still want help clearing it out?”

“Yeah, but it’s not really my call,” Stiles said. “Derek’s in there right now with his therapist. She’s going to see if she can help him be able to let go of everything.”

Jordan hummed. “Okay, well, Sarah, the dispatcher, was able to call for a dumpster. We’re renting it, so Derek won’t have to worry about that. Just let us know when you want it, and we can have it delivered.”

“I think it’ll take more than one dumpster,” Stiles said, thinking of the rooms he had seen and knowing that there were more upstairs he hadn’t been in, all likely just as bad as downstairs.

“You realize that when the dumpster is full, we call them, they take it away, and then they bring it back, right? We’re renting it for at least a week, and if we can move fast enough, we ought to be able to get the whole house cleaned.”

“You say that now.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow before cupping his hands around his mouth and saying, loudly, “Hey, Derek. Can you come outside and talk with us?”

Derek appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, Jerri behind him.

Jordan grinned at Stiles. “Let’s go.”

Derek met them halfway. “Hi, Jordan,” he said, looking between them. “What brings you here?”

“Stiles’ dad asked if any of us deputies wanted to volunteer to help you clean your house,” Jordan replied. “We have a roster worked out. We also have a dumpster on standby whenever you’re ready for it.”

“A dumpster?” Derek shot a panicked glance at Jerri.

“A dumpster might be a good idea, Derek,” she said softly. “But first, let’s try to figure out what’s causing you to hold onto things and how to get you to let go.”

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, “Derek, did you ever finish that list of people who gave you things?”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper folded into a tiny rectangle. He handed it to Stiles with the resignation of a man betraying his country. Stiles quickly unfolded it, finding nearly thirty names on the paper.

“Some people gave me family antiques to store because they couldn’t afford storage fees. I put a star by their names.”

“Okay.” Stiles refolded the paper, frowning when he couldn’t fold it as small as Derek had. “I’ll contact as many of them as I can and see if they want their things back.” He fixed Derek with a look. “Will you be able to return any items they want?”

“Yes. I don’t want their things if they can take them.”

Stiles shook his head. “You don’t want them even if they can’t take them.”

Jerri stepped in front of Derek. “Let’s get to that point,” she said, glaring at Stiles without too much heat. “For now, I’d like you to go through as many things as you can and pick out the things that are yours.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s all buried right now.”

Jerri pursed her lips, thinking, before turning to Jordan. “Dr. Fitzgerald,” she said, hand out for a quick shake. “Do you think you can coordinate the volunteers to sort things? Nothing is to be thrown away without Derek’s express consent. If he wants to touch things, hold them, keep them, let him. I will work with him to discover the cause of it, but until then, I don’t want you to do anything to make him worse.”

“I will certainly do my best, ma’am ,” Jordan promised. He looked at Derek. “Do you want to start sorting today?”

“I guess,” Derek said. “It’d be nice to actually be able to see the floor again.”

“It would,” Stiles agreed. “So, just so that we’re all on the same page, Derek isn’t throwing away anything today? We’re just pulling things out so they can be sorted?”

“If Derek finds he can throw away some items, he can do that, but only he can do that. If you find something you think is trash, you have to show it to Derek and get his approval before it can be disposed of.” She checked a watch hung around her neck on a lanyard. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment I need to get to.” She took Derek’s hand in hers and patted it gently. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to. I will clear my schedule as best I can for next week so that I can help you as much as I am able to.”

“Thank you, Jerri.” Derek smiled at her.

They watched her drive off before turning back to the house.

“Okay, so what do we start with?” Stiles asked.

“The foyer,” Derek answered and marched back to the house. Stiles and Jordan exchanged a quick glance and then followed.

~ * ~

Jordan worked quickly and efficiently. By the time a few more deputies showed up, the three of them already had a clear pattern of sorting going. Stiles, human and tired, took a break as Jordan got the newcomers caught up, and called a few names on Derek’s list.

Most of them agreed that Derek could dispose of the things they had given him, and one even offered to bring in a trailer to haul crap away. Stiles thanked him and filed that away in the back of his mind, then went to find Derek and make him drink some water. Stiles updated the list to reflect what people had answered while Derek told him a little bit about some of the things of his family that he had uncovered.

Stiles was thoroughly impressed with how the deputies worked. They didn’t even attempt to toss anything away and they carried all the items as carefully as they could. By the time they were ready to stop for the day, the whole front lawn was covered in distinct piles, all covered in tarps weighed down with rocks found in a box in the kitchen.

The foyer was mostly empty, and although it was the only room they had gotten to, it was also only the first room. They had made significant progress today.

Derek seemed happy, excited and talking more than usual as they drove back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

Dad met them at the door, and Derek immediately stopped talking. He blanched, hands fisted at his sides.

“The Cabellos just want to apologize,” Dad said. “They realize what they did wrong and wish to make amends as best they can.”

“They can stop poisoning people,” Stiles retorted. He had no interest in hearing the Cabellos’ piss-poor excuse of why they decided to almost kill a customer. He was also angry because he still couldn’t remember what had happened after they’d eaten.

Before Dad could tell him to stop being rude, the Cabellos, an older couple with graying hair and twin looks of fear and disappointment, stepped out onto the porch. Derek leaned against Stiles, his arm pressing against his side, and Stiles could feel the tremors racing up and down Derek’s arm.

“We did not realize that you were not human,” Mrs. Cabello said. “We had no idea that we would be putting your life in danger.”

“Are you in the habit of drugging your customers?” Stiles demanded.

Both of them looked stricken. “We are matchmakers,” Mr. Cabello said. “It is our job to encourage relationships.”

“And how many people consented to you mucking about in their business?” Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “One more stupid answer and I will call the cops on your asses for trespassing.”

“Stiles,” Dad said warningly.

“No. Dad, no.” Stiles turned to his dad. “They almost killed Derek and they’re excusing it because they make matches? No, they’re meddlers. That’s what they are.” He glared at the Cabellos. “I hope you fuck up again just so that Chris can kick your asses. Now, get off my dad’s porch and off our property.”

The Cabellos did just that, both of them touching Derek’s shoulder as they passed him, apologizing in an undertone that did nothing to disguise what Stiles felt was insincerity.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. He ran his hand down Derek’s shoulder and arm, doing his best to layer his scent over the Cabellos’ so that Derek could at least have a little comfort before he showered the smell away.

Derek grunted. “I’m okay,” he whispered, “but I think I need to take a shower now.”

“Okay, cool. You go do that. I’m going to get Dad all caught up on what we did at the house today.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly. “Are you going to tell him about us?” he asked, and then walked away while Dad frowned at them.

“What’s this about ‘us’?”

Stiles sighed. It wasn’t like Dad wouldn’t have figured it out soon anyway. “I think me and Derek are dating now,” he said. “But also, I stink. We’ve been moving things around, and I need to shower. Talk to you later.”

He jogged past his dad and into the house. Derek wasn’t the only one who could walk away from an uncomfortable conversation.

~ * ~

Because there were only so many places in the house that he and Derek could hide, Dad eventually cornered them in the kitchen while they tried sneaking something for supper.

“I’m not mad that you’re dating,” he said. “I’m not even mad about you yelling at the Cabellos.” He sighed. “I just want to talk to you. Tell me, how’s the house coming? Did the deputies come by to help? How clean is the house?”

“It’s coming along fine,” Stiles said, ticking his fingers. “The deputies did indeed come help us. The house is not clean at all. It’s still really cluttered, and until the clutter is organized, we can’t clean the house.”

“Okay. That’s good. Hey, I’ve got some time off tomorrow. I could come help for a bit too?”

“Sure,” Derek said. He set down the plate of leftover lasagna Dad had made for lunch today. “Are you really not mad that Stiles and I are… together?” he sounded a little strangled on the last word, but Stiles decided he wouldn’t hold it against him. Much. “Do you have any concerns about this?” Derek continued.

“Uh, well,” Dad scratched the back of his head, “I’d appreciate a heads up if you need some alone time, and well, there’s condoms in the bathroom, but if you need a different size—”

“Dad!” Stiles yelped.

“What?”

“Condoms?! Really?”

“What! I want you to practice safe sex. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is when you just casually imply that we’re having sex!”

Dad frowned at him, confused. “You’re not?”

“No! We just decided to get together today. What, you think we did it already?”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Derek pleaded, voice choked. His whole face was red, and he refused to make eye contact with either Stilinski. “We’re not having sex.”

“Yet,” Dad added, and Derek made a strangled noise.

“Stop talking about sex,” Stiles said, pointing at his dad. “We’re not having sex, not now, not yet, not until we’re both ready. So, just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Dad said softly. “I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just, well, you’re both adults. You both know what you like. It’s just a natural progression of your relationship.”

“Okay, we get it,” Stiles said. “You’re okay if we start having sex, but you want a heads up if you’re going to be walking into it. Well, guess what? When we get Derek’s house the way he wants it, that’s where we’ll be having sex.”

Derek slapped a hand over Stiles’ mouth. “Can. We. Please. Stop. Talking about this?” he begged between clenched teeth.

Stiles licked his palm, and Derek furrowed his brow in disgust, but he didn’t move his hand.

“Okay, I promise not to bring up the s-word anymore,” Dad promised. “Melissa has extended an invitation to all of us for supper tomorrow night. Do either of you want to go?”

“Will Scott be there?” Stiles asked. Dad gave him a flat look. “Then, no, I don’t want to go. Derek?”

“I think I won’t be in any shape to be good company,” Derek said. “Even though we’re just sorting things, it’s taking a lot out of me.”

“Understandable. So, I’ll help out tomorrow until I have work, and then tomorrow night, you’re on your own for supper.”

“Great. Thanks, Dad.” Stiles grabbed their plates and shoved them into the microwave, pressing in four minutes and staring at it while it heated.

“Okay. I’m going to check on my roses. I think I’ve got a shot at gardener of the year this year. What do you think, Derek? Think I’ve got a green thumb?”

“Well,” Derek said, hesitantly, “you’ve done really well with your wolfsbane collection.”

Stiles stifled a snort, stopped the microwave on one second, and carried the plates to the table. “Go on, Dad. Go do your gardening. We’ll catch up later.”

Dad looked rejected, but he picked up his dirt-stained gloves, kept on a shelf next to the back door, and a hand rake and stepped outside.

“Do you want to have sex?” Derek asked before Stiles could take a bite.

“Now?” Stiles looked at him.

Derek ducked his head. “No,” he said quietly, poking at his lasagna. “Not right now. Eventually, though, yeah. I like sex. I think sex with you would be good.”

“Oh, baby,” Stiles deadpanned, “I’ll knock your socks off.”

Then he tucked into his food, grimacing when he encountered the cold center. Derek laughed at the face he made and heated it up more for him.

Derek washed the dishes when they were done, and they settled on the couch to watch a movie with Dad when he came in from gardening.

As promised, Dad didn’t mention sex again. Didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t thinking about it.

~ * ~

Jordan and about six deputies all dressed in plain clothes were already at the house, taking the tarps off and folding them into a lidded bin so that they wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.

Stiles had grabbed the bin Derek had started of his keepsakes before he and Derek drove out there, so he grabbed it and set it down by the tarp bin.

“If Derek says save and it’s small enough, put it in here,” he told Jordan, trusting him to pass along the message. “Anything that’s too big to fit, put it with the other pile.”

Dad pulled up in his truck then. He’d brought a case of water that he set on the chair on the porch. Derek unlocked the door, and they began pulling put more things.

Sometime around when four of the deputies were maneuvering the non-working fridge out of the kitchen, the same code enforcement officer who had given them two weeks parked behind Dad’s truck.

“Tamara,” Dad greeted cheerfully, “what brings you out this way?”

“Just checking on the progress,” Tamara said. She frowned at the piles of things, watching as the fridge was walked to the curb next to John’s truck. “What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dad waved at the deputies. “We’re helping Derek clean up his house.”

“Can I see inside the house?” She started for the door without waiting for an answer. Stiles hurried to intercept her. Derek was inside, supervising the clear out of the kitchen, but he must have heard Tamara, because he stepped out onto the porch just as she started up the steps.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “Would you like to see the progress being made?” He stepped aside and she walked into the foyer.

“Well, this certainly is an improvement.” She knelt down by a baseboard and tapped on it. “Hmm, still sound.”

“I should hope so,” Derek said, amusement making his eyes light up. “I had the house inspected before I bought it. It wasn’t this full of things until about six months ago.”

“Minimal damage.” Tamara made a mark on her clipboard. “Have you been able to clean any other rooms?”

Derek pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re working on the kitchen and living room today.”

Tamara clicked her pen and stuck it to her clipboard. “Show me.”

Five minutes later, she was outside. “This is good progress,” she told Derek. “Ideally, we’d like to see the whole house and both yards fully clean before the deadline, but with the amount of progress you’ve made, I’m sure we can extend the deadline by another two weeks. You now have thirty days to become compliant.” She marked an “x” on her clipboard and handed it to Derek to sign. Then she signed it and tore off the carbon copy underneath, giving it to Derek. “Good work, Mr. Hale. Keep it up.”

She walked back to her car and drove away.

As soon as she was gone, Derek visibly sagged, and Stiles pushed him until he was sitting on the steps. Jordan called a halt for a break and they all congregated by Dad’s truck with water bottles and a pizza someone had called in for delivery.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. “Do you need to talk to Jerri?”

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much it was. I’d forgotten it was there, I guess, when more stuff just got piled on it.” He looked back at the house and then nodded at the various piles stacked on the lawn. “I don’t know why I let it get so bad.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re working through it. Do you have any ideas on things that could go right now, or are you waiting to see if the people I called will actually show up for their things?”

“That one,” Derek said. He sighed. “I just don’t want to throw something away and have someone come looking for it.”

“I know. That’s your caring nature.”

“I’m not caring,” Derek said, giving Stiles a hefty side-eye.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles laughed. “You always have been as long as I’ve known you. I mean, you had a rough way of showing it, but as much as you threatened to kill us when we first knew you, you never had any intention of doing so.”

“I did,” Derek protested. Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Well, I meant to,” Derek mumbled. “Look, I knew you didn’t have all the information, and that would either get you killed or put you in danger, and I couldn’t let you die because of me.”

“And you didn’t,” Stiles said.

“If only everyone could have been as lucky.”

Stiles knew Derek was thinking of Boyd and Erica. He set his hand on Derek’s knee, surprised when Derek turned his hand over and slotted his hand on top, tangling their fingers together.

They sat for fifteen minutes while everyone else ate and joked, laughing and cheering when they managed to get the fridge up into Dad’s truck.

Dad walked over to Derek and Stiles, handing them each a water bottle. “I’m going to take the fridge to the appliance recycling center and then head home to get ready for work. You’ve done a lot these past few days. I’m proud of you both. Now, remember that I’m going to Melissa’s for supper tonight.” He paused before grinning. “The condoms are in the upstairs bathroom.” He jogged away before Stiles recovered enough to start yelling. Derek ducking his head to hide his smile gave him pause, and he turned to fully look at him.

“Do you seriously want to have sex while my dad is at Melissa’s?” he asked incredulously.

“No, not yet,” Derek said. “I just think he said that because he knew it would rile you.”

“That’s the problem with being his son,” Stiles complained. “He knows me so well.”

“He loves you,” Derek said. “That’s not a problem.”

“He likes you too.”

Derek grinned, tipping his head down so he could butt his head gently against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Get up, ya goof,” Stiles said, tugging lightly at Derek’s hair until he obediently raised his head. As soon as his mouth was level with Stiles’, he leaned in and started kissing him.

Derek kissed back.

This kiss was better than their first attempt, with no clicking of teeth, no poked eyes, and plenty of tongue.

Suddenly, Derek’s head shot up, breaking contact.

Derek’s head shot up. “Scott’s here,” he said.

“Scott?” Stiles looked to the street where there was now a bright blue Mazda parked where his dad had been.

Scott was already out of the vehicle, leaning against it, sunglasses obscuring his eyes as he faced them.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Derek asked as he stood up and pulled Stiles up with him.

“I should,” Stiles replied, but his feet didn’t move. He hadn’t seen Scott in years, since high school graduation. He hadn’t forgiven him for bringing Kate back into their lives. He hadn’t forgiven Scott for what Kate had done to Derek before they’d stopped her.

Anger welled in him and he balled his fists. Scott would probably stand still long enough for one hit, but he wouldn’t be able to surprise him. He didn’t get a chance to do anything, though. Derek grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place as Scott strolled up to them. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, even when they were less than five feet apart.

“Hey, Stiles, Derek,” Scott said. His voice was edged, careful.

Stiles shook his head. He couldn’t say anything because if he started talking, he’d start yelling too, and he didn’t want to waste any more time on Scott than he already had. He’d grieved the end of their friendship a long time ago.

“Hi, Scott,” Derek said, cordially. He offered his hand for a shake, and Scott stepped closer and took it gingerly. He held his hand out to Stiles for a few seconds. When Stiles did nothing more than stare at it icily, he stepped back.

The silence between them was awkward, weighed down by the past.

Jordan herded the gawking deputies around the side of the house to start clearing out the backyard, giving them some semblance of privacy.

“So, I need to talk to you about something,” Scott said.

“Okay,” Derek said. “Stiles or me?”

“You.” Scott finally removed his sunglasses, folding the bows together with a little click and gently sliding them into the front pocket of his jacket. He let his eyes glow red, head tipped down to keep any nosy neighbors from seeing them. “I think it’s time to give you this back.”

“What?” Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s arm in shock. “You want to give Derek your alpha powers?”

“They weren’t mine to begin with,” Scott said. He sighed. “Deaton told me it was possible that I became an alpha after Derek used his spark to heal Cora because it needed more power than he had left. The spark left because if it had stayed, it would have killed Derek.”

“And did Deaton tell you to give it back?” Stiles asked. Derek grabbed his hand, threading their fingers together. Stiles squeezed gratefully.

“No,” Scott said. He opened and closed his hands, staring at his fingertips like he expected his claws to pop out. Disappointingly, he remained fully human. “I found a new mentor. He used to be a werewolf, bitten, like me.” He shot a quick glance at Derek. Stiles followed it. Derek’s face was blank, but his hand, where he was still holding Stiles’ was trembling.

“Deaton didn’t like me talking to Micah, said he was only telling me what I wanted to hear.”

“That you could be human again?” Stiles guessed. Scott nodded. “So, what’s the catch?”

“I have to give the power back to the person I got it from.”

“And you think it’s Derek based on what Deaton told you?”

“Not just Deaton,” Scott said. “Peter, before he disappeared after the shit with Kate, said that my alpha powers were Hale in origin.” He shrugged. “Peter could probably tell that it was his family’s.”

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded.

“Micah didn’t know where he got his alpha powers from, so he asked a witch spark to help track down the same, like, frequency of the power.”

“Electro-signals,” Derek murmured. “Each alpha’s power carries a distinct energy signal.”

Stiles turned so that he was facing Derek. “Does that mean Scott’s power is yours?”

Derek nodded. “I didn’t want to be an alpha anymore. Everyone I loved was dying. Sometimes at my hands. I thought I didn’t deserve it, and Peter still had a lot of rage left after he came back. I didn’t trust him with it subconsciously. That must have been why it went to Scott.”

“And now I’m giving it back to you,” Scott said.

Derek shook his head. “I still don’t want it.”

“I don’t think we can trust Peter either,” Stiles said. “So, what do we do with it?”

“We could put it in the same container we used to store the nogitsune’s powers,” Derek said, slowly.

Stiles suppressed a full-body shiver. If Derek felt guilt for the deaths he thought he’d caused, Stiles drowned in it. So many people had died because of his body, and while he hadn’t been aware at the time of most of the deaths, he’d still felt their loss keenly.

“Wait,” Scott said, “wouldn’t opening the box let out the nogitsune again?” He shot a concerned look at Stiles.

Derek squeezed their hands together. “Chris didn’t trust Peter with the box if the nogitsune was in it, so he made a silver box and transferred the nogitsune into that and buried it somewhere only he knows.”

“So, Peter has the box now?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah. He wanted it back about a year ago, just before I moved back to Beacon Hills.”

“So, where is Peter now?”

Derek made a face. “Oregon. About two hours drive.”

“And he’ll let you take the box?” Scott asked, hopeful.

Stiles snorted. “It’s Peter,” he said. “Do you think he’s actually going to let us take anything?”

“We have to try,” Scott said. “Please?”

“Is being a werewolf really so horrible?” Stiles asked.

“You’re one to talk,” Scott said. “You’re still human.”

“But I wouldn’t have tried to resurrect a fucking hunter to learn how to be human again.”

“Oh my God, is that why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Scott shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry that I accidentally brought Kate back to life. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No?” Stiles could still remember the metallic taste of fear when he’d gone to Derek’s loft because they hadn’t heard from him for a few days and found the door open, blood smeared everywhere. It had taken three days to find Derek chained up in the tunnels under the preserve.

Scott had admitted what he’d done when Derek told them that it was Kate, and then Kate tried to blow them up and absconded with Derek again. She had him for a week that time, and when they finally tracked her down and made sure she was dead and buried in as many pieces as they could tear her into, Derek had walked away from Beacon Hills. He’d taken nothing with him. He hadn’t even washed the blood and dirt off before he disappeared.

Peter, the main orchestrator of Kate’s dismemberment, had left shortly after that.

And Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott since.

“No. I was trying to draw the alpha spark out of me, but I guess Deaton gave me the wrong ritual.”

“So, you’re saying we should blame Deaton now?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Stiles, it may have taken me slightly more time to realize it, but Deaton wanted me to be the alpha.” He shot an apologetic look at Derek. “I’m not sure why he had such a problem with Derek or Peter being the alpha, but I guess he was just trying to make sure I’d stay in charge.”

Stiles shook his head. “You were never in charge,” he said coldly. “Maybe you’re right: you don’t deserve to be a werewolf.” He turned to Derek. “Do you want to drive or should I?”

“You can,” Derek said.

“Are you going to get the box from Peter?” Scott asked.

Stiles didn’t bother to answer him. As far as he was concerned, Scott no longer existed. They would help him stop being an alpha and then Scott could fuck off again.

“Let’s go tell Jordan the new plan,” Stiles said. “Do you trust them enough to keep working while we’re gone?”

Derek tilted his head, thinking about it for a long moment before shaking his head. “The code officer said she’d extend our deadline, so it’s not like we’re going to lose too much progress.”

“True. I think I’m going to have Jordan call all the people who have stuff out on your front lawn and have them pick it up. We’re only going to be gone for as long as it takes to drive there and back and convince Peter to give us the box.”

“Should I come too?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles and Derek said at the same time. Stiles added, “Peter might not be willing to give us the box if he knows you’re involved.”

Stiles had been pissed at Scott. Peter had left town because, he explained in a text message he sent to Stiles about a week after he’d gone, he wanted to rip Scott limb from limb like he’d done to Kate, and if he gave in to his need for revenge, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop, and Derek wasn’t around to stop him.

Stiles hadn’t responded, not sure if there was anything he could say to that because he knew exactly how Peter felt.

And now, six years later, Stiles was beginning to feel that same rage again. Yeah, it was definitely not a good idea for Scott to come with them.

“Go see your mom,” he said. “Tell my dad hi when he has supper with her.”

“Okay,” Scott said easily. He put his sunglasses back on and walked back to his Mazda.

Stiles waited until he pulled away before he marched around the house and found Jordan directing the deputies to cover the piles of stuff they’d pulled from the sheds with tarps.

“We’ll get everything covered up and call it a day,” Jordan said. “We couldn’t exactly not hear what you were talking about since we’ve all got super hearing.” He held out his hand for the list. “I’ll get this taken care of while we finish up covering everything. Jenkins has a trailer we can borrow to help people haul their things away if they want them. Is it okay to make a possible dumpster pile if some people don’t want anything back?”

“As long as you don’t actually put it in a dumpster, that should be fine,” Derek said. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“Hey, no worries. Always glad to help out a friend.”

Derek looked startled at that, and Stiles nudged him. “Remember you told me about him being affronted about the shock wand?” Derek nodded. “Yeah, he’s been your friend since then, I think.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said. “For sure. Anytime you need something, just give me a call. I’ll be around. Now, I think you’d better hit the road if you want to have daylight for the trip home.”

Stiles high fived him and then all but pushed Derek toward Roscoe. “We’ll have to stop for gas a lot unless you want to switch to the Camaro?”

Derek shook his head. “Peter likes you more. If he hears your Jeep, he’ll be more amenable to helping us.”

“Your uncle is creepy.”

Derek laughed. “He’s always been like that.” He sobered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, lying. He didn’t have any fond memories of Peter, but he wasn’t going to hold that against Derek. Besides, if Peter did agree to give them the box because Stiles tagged along, well, all the better.

He flipped his blinker on and took the turn that led out of town, heading north toward Oregon and Peter Hale.

~ * ~

Derek drove for the second half of the trip up while Stiles dozed in the passenger seat. They stopped for gas too many times, so what should have been two hours was quickly turning into three.

Finally, around Ashland, Derek pulled off Interstate 5. “Peter built a cabin close to Ashland,” he explained. “He wanted to be close enough to civilization because despite his creepy tendencies, he’s very social, but he also likes his privacy. Coming back from the dead does that, or so he’s told me.”

“Peter wasn’t very private when you were growing up?”

Derek snorted. “If Peter could show off or brag about anything, he would.” Derek pulled off the paved road and onto an access road. Five miles by the odometer and he parked in front of a structure that couldn’t be considered a cabin in any sense of the word. He turned off the engine and handed the keys to Stiles.

“Peter built this himself?” Stiles asked, staring at the large, mansion-sized lodge.

“No.” Derek frowned at him. “Peter hired people to help him. If he’s started building things himself, then we’re all in trouble.”

“He’s not an architect?”

“Not at all.” Derek looked a little wistful. “I was actually studying to be one when Laura and I were in New York.”

“Do you have plans to finish your degree?”

Derek shrugged. “Let’s finish one project before we worry about another.”

He opened his door and braced. Peter knocked him down, and they rolled in the leaves by the side of the dirt road while Stiles climbed out and stretched out the kinks in his back.

“Derek, what brings you up my way?” Peter asked when he and Derek stopped moving.

“I need something from you,” Derek said. He let Peter tug him up to his feet and ambled toward Stiles. He slung an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and walked him to the porch. It was larger than Derek’s kitchen, and Stiles had the hysterical thought that they should just pack up all that junk and store it here. Certainly Peter didn’t need as much room as he had.

He stamped the thought down. He was trying to help Derek get rid of his hoard, not dump it on someone else. Besides, Peter wasn’t exactly the type to tolerate encroachment of his territory.

“Oh?” Peter smiled knowingly at them. “Does this have something to do with your little crush on Stiles?”

“Not a crush,” Derek said. “And no. This is actually about the box my mother’s claws were in.”

Peter drew back, studying Derek with an air of suspicion. “And why would you want that?” he asked. “You have your mother’s claws. I thought we agreed I could have the box since you wouldn’t let me have the claws.”

“You wanted to use them in a ritual to regain alpha powers,” Derek said. “You know every hunter will come after you if they realize you’re an alpha again, right? You’re too dangerous for them.”

“And what about you? When are you going to become an alpha again?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want power.”

Peter looked at Stiles, and it felt like he was being stripped of clothes and flesh. “No, you just want a little fuck-buddy.”

“Hey!” Stiles said. “I’m right here!”

“We’re not fuck-buddies,” Derek added. “We’re dating.”

“Hmm. I suppose I should invite you in.” Peter turned on his heel and walked into his house. He left the door open for them, so Stiles followed him in. Derek trailed after, closing the door behind him.

“Want anything? Juice, soda, wine?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Derek said. “We just need the box.”

“And then what do I get?” Peter asked. “Was she not my sister? Why should I have no mementos of her?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Peter, you emptied an entire vault full of memories. I have the claws and not much else. I am asking you, as my mother’s son, for her box.”

Peter turned to Stiles. “And you? Why are you here? Did Derek think that seeing you again would melt my heart? Well, it hasn��t. If anything, I am now more frozen than ever.”

Stiles reached out and stabbed his index finger into Peter’s chest. “Feels pretty warm to me,” he said.

Peter just stared at him. Derek growled under his breath and stalked away. He returned a few minutes later, the box in hand. “Goodbye, Peter.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and dragged him out of the house. Stiles barely had time to buckle into the passenger seat before Derek had Roscoe turned around and heading back to the paved road, edging up near top speed. He hadn’t even felt him take the keys.

“Easy,” Stiles said as Derek slowed marginally to turn onto the road. “I know Jeeps are good off-roaders, but Roscoe’s old. You’d better treat him better.”

“I thought you’d call your Jeep a she,” Derek muttered, but he did ease off the accelerator.

“Roscoe was my mom’s first. She named him.”

“Oh,” was all Derek said.

It wasn’t until they were back on Interstate 5, near the Oregon-California border that Derek said, “Laura named the Camaro ‘Maura.’”

“Do you still call it that?”

“Her,” Derek said softly. “Yeah. It’s a piece of Laura that I still have.” He patted the dash. “Good, Roscoe. Good job.”

Stiles smiled at him. “You think Peter’s going to try to get the box back?”

“Probably,” Derek said. “Is Chris still in town?”

“Dunno.”

“If he is, I’ll send him to say hello to Peter. I’m sure that’ll keep him away.”

“Not indefinitely,” Stiles pointed out. “Chris is going to leave again, and Peter will probably just come back then.”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed. “I’m just hoping I can decide what to do with the alpha spark if it comes to that.”

“If we can even get the spark out of Scott.”

Derek nodded. “Trade at the next station?”

“Sure,” Stiles said.

~ * ~

They traded drivers again for the last forty-five minutes before they got to Beacon Hills. Dad texted Stiles just as they hit the city limits sign.

Scott wants to meet at Derek’s house.

Stiles sent Okay back. “We’re going to your house. Apparently Scott’s already there.”

Derek turned onto his street and passed Scott’s Mazda as he pulled into his driveway.

Scott was sitting on the chair on the porch, his phone braced against his knee. He lifted a hand to wave at them.

Derek paused before shutting the door. “He’s not alone,” he said in a sotto voice as he and Stiles walked up to Scott.

Indeed, as they stepped onto the porch, a man came around the corner of the house. He was tall, taller than even Boyd had been, darker too.

“Micah,” Scott said, “this is Derek and Stiles. They’re going to be helping with the ritual.”

Micah studied Derek. “This is who your spark came from?”

“His family, yeah,” Scott said.

“Him,” Stiles said. “Derek had to give up the spark almost seven years ago.”

“And you are willing to take it back?”

Derek held up his mom’s box. “I think we can store it in here. It’s made from the wood of the nemeton.”

“So it has power,” Micah said.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It should be a fine container.” He motioned to Scott. “Shall we begin?”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “What exactly does this ritual entail? What do we have to do? Is there any bloodletting?”

Micah laughed just a touch too hard, Stiles thought. “No,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “It is rather simple. All that has to be done is for the parties to stand in the center of a mountain ash circle and renounce the spark.” He looked to Derek. “Normally, you would then accept the power, but since you wish to store it in the nemeton box, you will have to say that you accept it as it goes into the box instead of your body.”

“What are the exact words we need to say?” Derek asked. “I’d like to not accidentally become an alpha again.”

“Wait,” Stiles said again. “What if the spark doesn’t go into either the box or Derek?”

“That’s what the mountain ash circle is for,” Micah said. “It will stop the spark from finding another host.”

Derek stiffened suddenly. “We need to hurry,” he said. “Peter is coming.”

“I’ll call my dad and see if Chris is still here and if he can come over now.” Stiles stepped back, already dialing.

He watched Micah position Derek and Scott so that they were facing each other in arm’s length apart. He then picked up a pouch from the porch and began pouring mountain ash into a circle around them. If Micah had truly been a werewolf, then he wasn’t one now. Scott was the only wolf Stiles had known to break through mountain ash, but as far as he knew, Scott hadn’t been able to do it again. A one-trick pony.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said when his dad picked up. “Is Chris Argent still in town?”

“I think so,” Dad said. “He was also invited to have dinner with Melissa sometime this week.”

“Can you ask him if he can come to Derek’s house? We need some hunter muscle.”

“Sure. You need a retired sheriff too?”

“Uh, maybe? Peter Hale is in town tonight.”

“Well, fuck,” Dad said. “Okay, we’ll be there. I’ll bring some wolfsbane bullets for Peter.”

“Hurry please.” Stiles hung up and walked closer to see the ritual. Scott was already halfway through his speech of giving up the alpha spark, thanking it for its power and asking that it serve the next host just as well. As he spoke, his body lifted, wind that Stiles couldn’t feel outside the circle ruffling his hair. Scott closed his eyes, leaning back, arms thrown wide.

Derek opened his mom’s box. “Alpha spark,” he said, “please accept this box as your new host and serve it well.” He said a few more things, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention anymore because behind him, he heard growling. When he turned, Peter stood there, close enough that Stiles could touch him if he wanted to. He didn’t.

Peter was half-shifted, eyes blazing icy blue, fur sprouting along his cheeks as his forehead became more prominent.

“You’d waste it like this?” he snarled at Derek.

Derek ignored him, closing the lid on the box as it jerked under his hands, like it suddenly weighed more than before.

Dad’s truck horn blared, and they all turned as Dad parked haphazardly, climbing out of the driver’s side with a raised gun while Chris calmly leveled a loaded crossbow at Peter.

“Hello, Peter,” Chris called. “Long time no see.”

“Yes, well, it is so hard to keep in touch these days,” Peter said, fully human again. “I suppose you’re here to warn me to stay away from my nephew?”

“You know me so well,” Chris returned. “You have five minutes to make yourself scarce before my finger slips.”

Peter glared. “This isn’t over,” he said to Derek. “I will have that power. It is mine by birthright.”

“If that were so,” Derek said quietly, “it would have gone to you and not Laura. You wouldn’t have had to kill her for it.”

Peter looked stricken. “Of course you would think that I did it on purpose. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were someone else. All I saw was an alpha. I didn’t even realize it was Laura until the police were looking for her body.”

“And that is why you shouldn’t have the spark,” Derek said. “I don’t want it, and you can’t have it. Now, please go. Your five minutes are almost up.”

Peter nodded sharply and turned around. “I would say it was nice to see you,” he called to Chris and Stiles’ dad, “but I don’t want to lie.”

He walked away.

“Huh, well that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” Stiles said. He stepped up to the mountain ash circle and waved his hand over it to break it. Derek smiled at him before nodding toward Scott.

“It worked. He’s human now.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Scott said. He looked weak, tired. “I’m sorry for what I did before, for bringing Kate back. I should have realized that Deaton didn’t want me to give up the power.”

“I’ll work on forgiving you,” Stiles promised, one hand behind his back, fingers crossed.

Micah helped Scott to his Mazda and set him in the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling away.

Derek looked around the yard at the piles of things still cluttering the yard. He frowned, holding the box out to Stiles.

As soon as Stiles had a good grip on it, Derek walked over to the smallest pile of stuff and pulled the tarp off. He studied the pile before picking up as much of it as he could all at once and walking over to Stiles’ dad’s truck.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Dad nodded. Derek set the stuff in the bed of the truck and went back for another armful.

“Derek?” Stiles called. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just crap,” Derek said. “I don’t want it. Let’s get rid of it. All of it. Please?”

Stiles smiled so wide his mouth hurt and his eyes teared up. “Yes,” he said. “Always.”

And maybe there would be days where Derek would miss the things he threw away, but Stiles would be there to help him and remind him why he didn’t need it.

Stiles carried the box into the house and set it on a shelf above the fireplace in the living room, marveling at the way he could stretch and stretch and not even come close to reaching anything in his way.

Derek joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist as they both studied the room.

“There’s still a lot of work to do,” Stiles said, “but you’ve taken a lot of steps. And we’re all here for you.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But most importantly, you are here.” He moved to stand in front of Stiles, using a gentle finger to tip Stiles’ head up so he could slot his mouth over Stiles’.

“I am,” Stiles said as soon as the kiss ended. “Always.” He pulled Derek down for a dirtier, wetter kiss. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Derek said, and it sounded like a revelation.

Dad cleared his throat. “Not that I want to interrupt this grand display of affection, but I think it’ll be a lot easier to do what you’re about to do on a bed with clean clothes, uh, skin. Come on, let’s go home. You’ll be back here tomorrow anyway.”

“I thought you didn’t want to know when we were having sex,” Stiles said.

“Yes, well, you might not get an STD from Derek, but that floor is another matter.”

Stiles poked Derek’s cheek. “What do you say, should we go back to my place for a little horizontal dancing?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I think I’d prefer to fuck,” he said, and then bodily hauled Stiles up with him.

They made it home in record time. Barely. And took the shortest showers of their lives.

Dad graciously went back to Melissa’s house with Chris, leaving them a row of condoms on Stiles’ bed. They used every last one of them.

~ * ~

~ Epilogue ~

~ Three Weeks Later ~

Stiles surveyed his handiwork before dipping his roller back into the pan of paint and running it over the wall. He was almost done with the second coat for the living room. Derek was painting the kitchen right now. Everything was clean.

The only things that hadn’t initially belonged to Derek still in the house were a few pieces of furniture that Derek planned to reupholster.

In the end, they’d hauled over 50 tons of trash to the various recycling centers and the dump. The house had taken almost as long to clean since Derek and Stiles were doing it themselves. In fact, this was the last coat of paint that they needed.

With a final swipe of his roller, Stiles finished. He set it down, turning to look at the walls. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, mopping at the perspiration soaking his hair and running down his face.

They had the windows open, but it barely made a difference when there wasn’t a breeze to speak of.

Stiles picked up his supplies and carried them out to the shed where Derek had decided to keep his touch-up bits and bobs. By the outside spigot, he scraped as much paint as he could off the roller before sticking it in a bucket and opening the spigot to fill the bucket. He added a few drops of detergent and then used his hands to work the rest of the paint out of the roller, hanging it to dry on a hook Derek had installed for this purpose.

He finished by the time Derek was done with the kitchen. Derek washed his roller too, hanging it next to Stiles’.

“So, that’s done,” Stiles said. He and Derek were both paint-splattered and sweat-soaked and in desperate need of a shower.

“Yeah,” Derek said. He smiled fondly at Stiles. The past three weeks had seen them consummate their relationship in truly earth shattering fashion. They’d had so much sex that neither of them could walk straight for about a week, and it had made cleaning the house that much more difficult. Neither of them was willing to stop long enough to fully heal though.

“Wanna join me?” Derek asked, cheekily, jerking his head back toward the house.

“For a shower?” Stiles clarified.

Derek hummed. “Among other things.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“I think your dad left us a house warming gift earlier. I put it upstairs. It was for the bedroom.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek before running up to the room they’d picked for the bedroom. Sitting on their bed was a red cellophane-wrapped basket. Stiles poked it, turning it around until he could see the contents clearly.

“Really, Dad?” He laughed. Condoms and lube. They were running low, so Stiles couldn’t even be mad at his dad for it. They would definitely get used. In fact… Stiles pulled on the ribbon and peeled off the cellophane. He picked out a box of flavored condoms and headed to the bathroom where Derek had already started the shower.

“Strawberry or cherry?” he asked, stripping quickly and joining Derek under the spray.

“Strawberry?”

“You or me?”

Derek’s gaze dropped to Stiles’ crotch. “You?” he tried.

Stiles grinned and rolled a strawberry flavored condom onto his dick. “Good choice,” he said, as if Derek could have made a bad choice here.

The smile he got in return was brilliant, and Derek gracefully dropped to his knees, leaning forward to envelope Stiles’ dick in the wet heat of his mouth.

It was good, great, perfect, and Stiles wouldn’t change a thing.

~ End ~

#Sterek Big Bang 2021 #Art by mrkgrl #My Story/My Writing #Heed Warnings #Give the artist love!#Check out the event!

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misssophiachase · 4 years

Photo

For KC Bingo @klaroline-events - “Throne”

He’s a Prince hiding out from a pending arranged engagement in downtown NYC and she’s a school teacher minding her own business. On FF and AO3

Art Imitating Life

St John Atelier: Soho (Manhattan) New York City, NY

“Please tell me Rebekah doesn’t know your whereabouts?”

“That’s really the first thing you’re going to say after I’ve travelled 3,500 miles to visit. I know my younger sister scares you but...”

“She doesn’t scare me, well not that much,” he mumbled. “Did I mention how good it is to see you, Niklaus?”

Klaus had barely stopped to think before hastily packing his belongings, offering a feeble excuse and boarding a private flight to the United States. First stop, Enzo St John’s Atelier in downtown Manhattan.

Klaus had met Enzo in Paris where they both studied art at the Sorbonne ten years earlier. They had immediately hit it off and formed a solid friendship that transcended many different time zones over the years.

Enzo moved to New York three earlier to start his own art school and gallery. He wanted to support and promote local and upcoming artists who couldn’t afford to do so themselves. Klaus had championed his friend’s endeavours over the years and wished he had the freedom to pursue something similar.

Unfortunately, the Prince of England had other more pressing priorities.

“Better late than never I suppose,” he muttered. “I hope you don’t mind putting me up for a few weeks?”

“How about I stay in the Royal Suite at the Waldorf Astoria, that your aides have no doubt already booked, and you can stay at my lowly loft in Tribeca?”

“Always about you, isn’t it, Lorenzo?”

“Well, when you’re the best friend to a Prince it seems fair,” he teased. “So, can I ask why you’ve decided to show up unannounced at my atelier? And might I also add, where is your usually extensive entourage? I may be fit but not enough to protect you from out of control females throwing their panties at you on the street.”

“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” He joked before answering one question at a time. “Vacation to avoid my upcoming, arranged engagement. They are in England but I have two bodyguards Scotland Yard insisted upon and my life isn’t a Tom Jones concert, there is absolutely no throwing of undergarments just FYI.”

“Damn, I always hoped there’d be panties.”

“Nice to see nothing ever changes with you,” he chuckled. “And if I didn’t mention it earlier, Rebekah sends her kindest regards.”

“I’ll bet she does,” he smirked knowingly. “Your sister really can’t get enough of me. Now, how about we get a drink and discuss this engagement? I’m assuming I'm the best man and have approval over all bridesmaids?”

“How about we drink here?”

“Worried about those panties, hey?”

“You know me too well. Let’s just say I’m keeping a low profile,” he murmured, tapping his New York Yankees hat. “Also, I seem to recall a bloody expensive bottle of single malt, top shelf whiskey I sent over for your birthday.”

“Do you really think I’d save that? Although, I do have a less expensive bottle of middle shelf whiskey, Your Highness.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

2 seconds later

“I don’t understand why you can’t tell Esther and Mikael that it’s the twenty-first century and you’re far too old to be beholden to such an outdated practice like an arranged marriage.”

“You’ve met my parents,” Klaus growled. “Their greatest joy in life is to make me do something I don’t want to do and after Finn decided to elope with a questionable commoner and Elijah entered the priesthood, they’re worried I’m going to do something similar.”

“So, what you’re really telling me is that they’re more worried that, if you go rogue, Kol will be the only hope of carrying on the family tradition and it scares the bejeezus out of them?”

“Exactly.” Enzo didn’t respond immediately, just let out a knowing laugh. “So, you see my eternal dilemma.”

“Tell me with the impending nuptials you’ve at least met your bride-to-be for more than five minutes?”

“It’s rather difficult when she lives in Bulgaria,” he replied. “Tatia Petrova is beautiful, that much I know, but other than that we have nothing in common.”

“Now I know what this is about,” Enzo grinned. “You sly dog, you’ve come to the states to find yourself an alternative wife.”

“An alternative wife? Someone has clearly been watching too many of those romantic comedy movies.”

“It’s called a rom-com, Your Royal Highness, and one of the most popular movie genres.”

“Well, whatever they are, I am doing no such thing. Also, never call me that, it always seems so tawdry when you utter it. If you must know I needed a break from all the pressure, some time to unwind and pretend I’m not a Prince and have a life of my own.”

“Sounds just like the plot from a rom-com” he teased. “All we need is a strong, intelligent, independent, beautiful and slightly feisty woman to come into the atelier and sweep an unhappy Prince off his feet.”

“Do you ever think you’re working in the wrong industry?”

“So, what exactly did you tell Esther and Mikael you were doing?” He asked, choosing not to respond to his smart comeback. “They know from experience that I’m an incredibly bad influence over you, Niklaus.”

“Exactly why they have no idea I’m with you.”

“You lied to the Queen? Wow, I don’t want to be around when she catches you out and she will because, if you hadn’t noticed, everyone knows who and what you are.”

“I said I was going to a world-class meditation retreat in Sedona to relax before the big announcement.”

“So, not only does she think you’ve taken up meditation, she thinks you’re in Arizona and not with yours truly in New York?”

“That’s about the gist of it,” he replied simply. “So, I was thinking it might be best to stay indoors, order copious amounts of Uber Eats and paint so I don’t draw attention to myself. I’ll only burden you for a couple of weeks, Lorenzo.”

“Do you even know how to order UberEats?” Klaus rolled his eyes by way of response. “Wow, that’s my idea of a wild vacation, Niklaus,” he sighed. “Fine, I’ll keep your secret if you insist. But if the Queen finds out and tries to behead me, I am counting on you to organise a speedy pardon.”

2 days later

Klaus rolled out of bed trying to block out the invading sunlight peeking through the crack in the curtains.

Enzo had kindly offered Klaus his large loft on the top story of the atelier he used to store paintings. A passionate art fan, Klaus couldn’t think of a better place to spend his next two weeks.

He stumbled down the stairs and toward the small kitchenette on the floor below. Being half asleep and struggling with jet lag he didn’t bother to dress. The area was completely off limits to the public and Klaus figured his fitted, grey boxers would suffice in order to get his much-needed caffeine fix.

“Don’t come any closer, I have mace,” a voice warned. Klaus looked up, not expecting an extremely attractive blonde to be there rifling through her handbag. No doubt attempting to find said mace but, by the looks of it, failing miserably. Klaus was tempted to lecture her about carrying around so much junk, as Rebekah tended to do, but thought better of it.

“Hold on,” he murmured, finally finding his voice. “Why are you trying to attack me, last time I checked you’re the one breaking and entering.”

“And last time I checked, you’re not Enzo.” Her expressive, blue eyes ventured lower and Klaus was fairly certain she liked what she saw.

“What gave it away, love?”

“That arrogant self-assurance for starters.”

“Are we talking about the same guy?”

“I know what you’re doing,” she growled wearily.

“And what exactly am I doing, well you know besides trying to fulfil my caffeine fix to ward off this horrible case of jet lag.”

“You forgot to add barely dressed,” she shot back, as a slight blush crossed her cheeks. “No, you are trying to distract me so I don’t mace your ass.”

“And here I thought mace was meant for the face, you Americans are funny creatures. I’m staying here, love, no need to attack me, especially this early in the day.”

“It’s lunchtime,” she huffed.

“Really? It feels so much earlier. Now, maybe I should be the one asking the questions since you are encroaching on my space.”

“Glad to see you’re making friends,” Enzo interrupted. “As the welcoming committee you could have at least thrown on a shirt.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he hissed. “In fact, she broke in here and threatened to, and I quote, ‘mace my ass.’”

“Why do you have a conceited, half dressed, smart ass in your attic, Enzo?”

“Tell me what you really think, sweetheart,” he chuckled. Klaus thought she was beautiful but her feisty and unapologetic charm was an unexpected and not wholly unwelcome surprise.

“Okay, children,” he chided. “Kl..” Klaus gave him a knowing look, he was supposed to be undercover after all.

“Caroline Forbes this is an old friend from England, although I use the word friend sparingly, uh James.”

“What? Just James? Like Madonna or Cher?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions, Caroline?”

“Says the guy half dressed.”

“You seem incredibly distracted by that fact, love.”

“I have no idea what’s going on here and to be honest don’t really want to know,” Enzo groaned. “But Caroline is one of my students and does a few errands around the place, hence why she has a key.”

“Oh, so you two are...” Klaus trailed off, gesturing between them.

“No!”

“Ew, yuck.”

“Gee thanks, darling, give a guy a complex. We’re friends, well except when she says things like that, it has been since Care Bear demanded I share my artistic gifts with her and I was kind enough to oblige.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how it went,” she drawled, rolling her eyes for extra effect. Klaus couldn’t stop thinking just how adorable she looked doing it. “I teach at the local public school and given the complete lack of funding for an art program Enzo offered his atelier for weekly classes. Turns out it wasn’t just the children interested in learning.”

“Who knew you had a heart, Lorenzo?”

“And who knew you had a freckle right above…”

“How about I go get dressed? Will that make you both happy?”

“Well, I’m bringing kids here in two hours so I think that might be a good idea,” she replied, a slight smile tugging at the edges of those pink lips. Klaus didn’t respond just shook his head as he took the stairs one-by-one, his caffeine fix a long and distant memory.

2 hours later

Caroline Forbes wasn’t the kind of person to get distracted, in fact she liked to think that her ability to focus was second-to-none. Well, that was until two hours earlier when a shirt-less, English Adonis decided to interrupt her daily routine.

He was clearly a big fan of himself. overly opinionated and frustratingly cocky but Caroline couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to do more than look at his partially naked body.

Yes, maybe it had been too long, as Katherine would say, but those crimson lips curved into a knowing smile, those disarming dimples and those messy, blonde curls she wanted to run her hands through were flashing through her mind with no sign of stopping.

“Miss Forbes,” she was broken from her thoughts by someone tugging on her dress. “I need to go bathroom.”

They’d arrived at the atelier not long ago. Her class, excited to see Enzo, were milling around the room but her attention was on something else. Or someone else.

Caroline figured he probably had better things to do like sight see but she really didn’t know much about him at the end of the day. She didn’t even know his last name.

There was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on either, he seemed so familiar, like she knew him from somewhere, which was crazy. Well, she kept telling herself that.

“Okay, Hudson,” she said, “let’s go to the bathroom.” Hudson always needed to go to the bathroom so Caroline wasn’t altogether surprised. As they made their way down the long corridor, she took in the walls filled with art not paying much attention to where she was going and running straight into something. Or someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…” Before she could finish her apology she saw his smirk. It was the kind of smirk that screamed you ran into me on purpose.

Bastard.

“Well, that tends to happen when you’re not looking where you’re going.” His smirk only grew wider at that point.

“I’d say it was a pleasure but I’d be lying,” she shot back, that same feeling of familiarity returning. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like someone?”

“Well, we all look like someone,” he answered, his awkward pause not lost on Caroline. “And who is this? A friend of yours?”

“I’m Hudson and I really need to pee.” Caroline watched the discomfort cross his face and couldn’t help but gloat inwardly. That would teach him for smirking at her like that.

She sent him her best counter smirk and ushered her mini companion to the nearby bathroom. At least he was clothed this time but why did he have to smell so damn good?

What she wasn’t expecting was for him to be taking part in the class when she returned with Hudson in tow. It was like he was doing it to frustrate her and it was working.

“I set you up here,” he smiled, gesturing to the easel.

“Oh, I don’t paint during this class,” she stumbled. Caroline loved to draw but only when she was alone and not surrounded by seventeen sets of prying eyes. As a teacher, Caroline knew full well that kids could be the worst critics.

“You should, I can help out with your class if you like?” His blue eyes were gazing into hers now, imploring, pleading almost. What was this guy doing to her? “Or we can share?”

“You don’t want to share with him, Miss, he’s got boy germs,” Lucy cried out from across the room. Trust her children to make an awkward moment more awkward.

“I wouldn’t want you to be subjected to my boy germs, love,” he smiled, his mouth dipping low so he could murmur it in her ear.

“Am I interrupting you two?” Enzo asked, clearly amused by the situation. “Do I need to punish you both because I will.”

“Not at all, Mister St John,” he mimicked, placing a paintbrush in her hand gently. Caroline was struggling to breathe now and not just because of his close proximity but the way his hand grazed hers.

“Miss Forbes and the teacher sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Chanting broke out from the corner of the room and she knew it had to be Claudia, Sienna and Scarlett leading the chorus.

“Ew, gross! Girl germs!” That was Liam, Cory and Jack attempting to drown them out.

“You are unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You really need to stop complimenting me so much, Caroline.” She was trying to ignore just how good her name sounded rolling off his tongue but was struggling to say the least.

“For embarrassing me in front of my students you will pay, mark my words.” He didn’t respond just laughed.

Class passed relatively quickly with only a few more interesting observations from her kids. Caroline found herself enjoying his company, not that she’d admit it.

It was after she’d left the atelier and finished classes for the day that Caroline began to revisit those niggling thoughts at the back of her mind. The ones that kept reminding her just how familiar he looked.

Then it came to her.

2 hours later

“I really should have suspected something, given that pathetic introduction. I mean besides celebrities who really goes by one name?”

“Excuse me?” He asked. Klaus had been minding his business, sitting by the window and nursing a cup of tea. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she left with her class and now here she was. “Does Lorenzo know just how much you use his key?”

“Stop changing the subject, Your Highness.”

“Oh, I see,” he murmured knowingly. Klaus would be lying if he wasn’t a little disappointed his cover had been blown. He was enjoying being around her and conversing like two normal people and then she had to throw in those two dreaded words. “You don’t need to call me that. Between you and me I actually preferred conceited, half dressed, smart ass.”

“So do I,” she grinned.

“Please tell me this isn’t going to change things between us because I happen to like those adorable eye rolls and steady stream of choice insults.”

“As long as the fact that I threatened the Prince of England doesn’t come with any kind of serious punishment.”

“Well to be honest, Caroline, I don’t think anyone would believe me if I said you threatened to ‘mace my ass’ between you and me.”

“You’re being awfully cocky for someone who finds himself in a precarious position.”

“And what position might that be?”

“Well, I could blow your cover, tell everyone the Prince of England is hiding out in an atelier in downtown Manhattan.”

“Well, you could but I don’t think you will,” he murmured.

“Well, you did embarrass me in a room full of my students, they may be young but that doesn’t mean they are not going to hold this over me for some time given their extremely long memories.”

“I’ll admit, I could have been less embarrassing i suppose. So, how exactly can I acquit myself?”

“Well, I am behind on my life drawing assignment.”

“So, what exactly are you suggesting?”

He was standing now, his gaze trained on Caroline. She looked beautiful in jeans, ballet flats and a sweater that matched the colour of her eyes perfectly. Klaus had to admit, his mind was going to places they probably shouldn’t be but he decided to blame it on another part of his body that was threatening to betray him.

“You could pose for me, I mean it’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“If you liked me all you needed to do is admit it, sweetheart.”

“We’ll arrange some fruit for your nether regions don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to inflate that already sizeable ego any further.”

“So, let me get this straight. I pose for your assignment and you keep my secret?”

“And you also tell me why you’re here hiding out in Enzo’s atelier.”

“Wow, you drive a hard bargain, love, but I’m up for the challenge.”

Turns out one complicated story about an impending engagement and life drawing later, school teacher Caroline Forbes and Prince of England Klaus Mikaelson took commoner/royalty relations to the next level.

In fact, they were both fairly certain they fell in love then and there.

Although his parents fought his wishes initially they came to love Caroline just like he did. Not only that but her grace, kindness and passion for humanitarian causes made her one of the most admired and beloved members of the British Royal Family.

Meanwhile, Tatia Petrova who was also against the arranged marriage, married her bodyguard whom she’d secretly been in love with for years.

And they all lived happily ever after.

#kcbingo2020 #klaroline fanfic #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles #klaroline #my writing #misssophiachase #art imitating life

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hoboal87 · 4 years

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Elastic Heart Chapter Two

Title: Elastic Heart - Winchester

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OFCs

Pairing(s): Past Sam x Reader

Summary: Y/N worries about the past catching up with her.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: some cursing, fluff, small doses of angst

Notes: Series will be mostly canon compliant, taking place during season 8/9. Also, for purposes of this fic Sam was born in '84 instead of '83.

Please give a comment or reblog and let me know what you think!

Elastic Heart Masterlist

Read Chapter One

Chapter Two - Winchester

Present

“We are so proud of you, Y/N” mom smiles, pulling me into a hug.

“We all are.” I turn to face dad. “Me, your mother, and sister. Isn’t that right, Delia?”

My 10-year-old sister is standing in front of him, looking more like me than I would care to admit. She beams up at me, jumping into my arms, “I screamed for you when they called your name, Y/N! Did you hear me?”

“Of course I did, Cordy!” I squeeze her tightly, using my nickname for her.

“I miss you, Y/N, it’s not the same when you’re not home, mom and dad…” she leans in to whisper in my ear, “they’re already talking about me going to college.”

I knew that it was something that they would want for her, but I hate that they are already starting to bring it up. They had pushed me into making those same decisions before I was ready, and it put me on a collision course that I might never have been on if they allowed me to be a regular teenager for a few more years.

“She’s a little young for college talk, don’t you think?”

“Y/N, you should know, it’s never too early,” mom defends. “We started looking at programs when you were about her age.”

“Had your entire future planned out,” dad interjects, “and look where you are now! Even with your setbacks .”

“I was about to start high school,” I say, trying to keep myself calm. I take a deep breath, putting Cordy down, “she needs time to be a kid… to have a little fun.”

“As I recall, Y/N,” dad’s mood changes quickly, “you had plenty of fun, so much fun, in fact, that it almost ruined everything we had worked for.”

“I was seventeen, not ten,” I assert, stepping closer to him, “and my ‘fun’ didn’t almost ruin anything. If you think Cordy will be in a similar situation anytime soon, then we’ve all got much bigger problems.” I take another deep breath, “maybe it’s time to tell her about my setback , and she will learn from my mistakes.”

“This is not the place, Y/N,” mom puts herself between us. “Your father and I just want what’s best for Cordelia; you know that. We can talk about that later,” she looks down at Cordy, who is watching all of us intently, “but not now. Let us take you out for dinner, please.”

I nodded reluctantly. Mom’s right; this isn’t the time or the place.

“Later?” I look between them.

“Later.”

“What about me?” Cordy chirps, looking up to me. “Don’t I get a say?”

“I got you, kid.” I wink and squeeze her hand. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Joe’s!” she yells, and I laugh, it has been years since I’d been to Joe’s. For the past two years, I practically never left campus, only visiting home during the breaks for a few days at a time, and even then, I spent most of my time studying. It was easier to stay focused on class, keep my priorities straight , as dad would say.

“Delia,” dad rejoins as we walk toward the parking lot, “let Y/N choose, this is her night. As a matter of fact, we were thinking about going to that new restaurant downtown. What do you say, Y/N?”

“I say… Joe’s!” Cordy squeals with delight. “How about Cordy and I take my car, and we’ll meet you guys there? I can take her to my apartment, I’ll change out of these robes, and we can meet there in about an hour?”

“Do you really think that’s the best idea?” Dad says, shooting a side glance to mom then back to me. “Being alone?”

“Yeah, I think I can handle a ten-year-old for an hour,” I laugh.

“Ten and a half!” she corrects.

“Excuse me, ten and a half,” I bring my attention back to my parents, “and if I remember correctly, I used to be the only person in the house who could calm her down when she had her infamous temper tantrums.”

“I didn’t have tantrums!” Cordy pouts, walking in front of me, “I was a good baby!”

“Hate to break it to you, kid. But you had the worst fits. You grew out of them, eventually,” I give her a playful wink. “Anyway, Cordy has been asking to see my apartment basically since I moved in, and this is my last chance to show her before I have to move off-campus.”

Dad nods, and he and mom walk toward their car. Cordy and I head across campus to my apartment. Her sparkling eyes fill with curiosity and wonder as I explain the statues and buildings, even pointing out one of the many stray cats that I see every day.

It only takes about fifteen minutes to walk to my apartment. It’s nothing fancy, just a small one-bedroom, but Cordy takes her time, studying the place. She seems fascinated by the pictures on the walls, framed photos of her and me, mom and dad, the handful of friends I have, and some art.

“Are you moving back home?” Cordy asks excitedly. “It’s been so long, not since I was little!”

“You’re still little, kid,” I laugh.

“Really little! I never get to see you anymore Ellie,” she follows me into my room.

“That’s because I was working really hard at school, but now, I’ll make sure that I see you more often, even if I don’t move back home.”

“Promise?” Cordy holds her pinky out in front of me, and I grab it with my own.

“Promise.”

She smiles widely. I notice a tooth missing and laugh to myself. I watch as she grabs one of the pictures off of my nightstand and sits down on my bed. It’s one of my favorite images of just the two of us. It was her first birthday; Cordy had just slammed her face into the cake, and I was laughing wildly.

“Why aren’t mom or dad in this one?” she asks, gesturing towards the picture.

“Oh…” I took the frame out of her hands, studying it, “You were so cute back then,” I tease. “You were so cranky that day, we’d given you all these presents, but nothing worked. Then, we put the cake in front of you, and you lit up. Mom and I were trying to help you blow out the candle, and you just threw your face into the cake. You covered your whole face, then tried to get me too. Mom was laughing so hard she had to step away. We didn’t even know that dad had taken the picture until later.”

“Who’s that?” she points at a figure in the background, I freeze for a moment, never realizing that he was in this photo. He’s slightly out of focus, but he still looks how I remember him. “He was in another picture, but when I asked mom about him, she wouldn’t say anything.”

“Oh, him?” I feign ignorance, knowing precisely who he is. “He’s some relative on dad’s side of the family, a twice-removed something or other; mom wasn’t exactly a fan of him.” I force a laugh. I know I can’t be completely honest with her about the man in the photo, but I won’t lie to her either. “He used to visit us a couple of times a year, whenever he was in town. He was crazy about you, and you were obsessed with him. Dad hated it so much,” I laugh, thinking back to all the times we had seen him. “Dad thought he was getting replaced as your favorite person.”

“Why don’t I remember him?” she asks quietly.

“I think the last time we saw him you were only two, I remember he told dad he wanted to help pay for my college and even start a college fund for you, it caused a big fight. You were a little too small to remember him.”

“What happened to him?” she looks up at me.

“I don’t know, kid. We didn’t hear from him again after that last visit. I think he got in some trouble with the law or something. We tried tracking him down, but nothing ever came of it.”

She looks disappointed in my answer.

“I’ll tell you what, in a couple of years, if you want, we’ll see if we can’t track him down. And I bet that we can find another, clearer picture of him somewhere,” I half-lie again, knowing exactly where to find a picture of him, “Whaddya say, kid?”

“Okay.” Cordy takes the photo out of my hand, and I can see she still has questions. I’m always afraid of this happening, and I’m not ready to conquer it today.

“You know why I picked that one out of the hundreds dad took that day?” She shakes her head. “That’s just you and me, kid. There aren’t that many of only the two of us.”

She frowns and looks back down at the picture again. “What about before this one?” she asks, and I’m stunned by her question.

“Huh? What do you mean?” I’m afraid I know what she means, but I promised I wouldn’t lead her down that path until we decided it was the right time.

“We did a family tree this year. They wanted pictures from when we were babies, and when I asked mom for pictures, she gave me a bunch like these. I told her my teacher wanted ones from when I was younger, but mom said she didn’t know where they were. All my friends have pictures with their mommy’s still in the hospital. But I don’t.”

“They’re around the house,” I stretch the truth again. “We weren’t expecting you, and you took us so off-guard, our little surprise baby. It took mom and dad so long to get used to the fact they were gonna have a baby in the house again. I was gonna move out, but after you were born, I just wanted to be around you all the time. And we were all so frazzled the first few months after you were born, I don’t think they even thought about picking up a camera half the time. But after your first birthday, dad couldn’t put one down.” I walked to my closet to get a change of clothes. “There are hundreds of them.”

“Really?” she looks up at me, a smile growing. “What about you?”

“Well, good cameras were still pretty expensive when I was born, plus, you had to buy film, then get it developed, and sometimes the pictures would turn out to not even be good, or out of focus or something. Or you would have to go to a photo studio and have them professionally done, which was also expensive.”

“So, they didn’t take any pictures of you when you were a baby?”

“They did, I’m sure they’re also hiding around the house somewhere, there’s probably more than they have of you,” I tease her. “I was the firstborn, after all. I think they have more videos of you, though. How about this weekend we look for them together?” she perks up at the thought, I make a mental note to let mom know what we will be looking for. “What do you think?” I asked, stepping out in a dress, and she scrunches her face. “Too formal for Joe’s?”

She nods, laughing. I head back to my closet and pick a simple shirt and jeans to wear.

“Y/N, why are they so mean to you?” Cordy’s tone changes when I walk out. “Mom and dad, they act like you were a bad kid.”

“Cordy,” I gather my thoughts and choose my words carefully. “Mom and dad had only me for seventeen years before you came along. They want what’s best for me, and that means that sometimes they have to push me. It comes from a place of love, know that.” I sit next to her offering a smile. “It’s been like that since before you were born, they were always stricter with me than they’ve been with you. I may be a ‘grown-up’, but to them, I’m still their little girl, same goes for you, kid.” I pull her into a hug. “Now, can we go to Joe’s? I’m starving!”

I grab my keys and cell phone, messaging mom on our way to my car.

Me >> We’re leaving my apt. we should be @ Joes in 30 mins or so

Mom << Okay =)

Me >> One other thing… Cordy’s starting to ask questions.

Mom << About what?

Me >> Everything. I think it’s time we told her.

Mom << We’ll discuss it later. See you soon.

I put my phone in the cup holder, frustrated by being shut down already. I know what they will say, she’s too young, she won’t understand , and a part of me knows they’re right. I know they only want what’s best, and I do too, but this is one of those days where it almost seems like it’s too much.

“It’s not fair! I should have a phone too! Dad says I’m too young!” Cordy gripes, pulling me out of my thoughts, “I don’t need a fancy one—"

“Dad’s right, you are too young.” I laugh as she settles into her seat. “What do you need a phone for?”

“So my friends can call me,” she argues. “I hate that they have to call the house, dad won’t even let me get a phone for my room.”

“I definitely gotta agree with dad on that one.”

“Y/N! You’re supposed to be on my side, that’s what you said earlier! Big sisters are supposed to be on the little sister’s side!” She pouts in her seat and I have to suppress my laughter.

“C’mon Cordy, give me one good reason, and I’ll be on your side.” I wait as she struggles to come up with a reason. “You gotta boyfriend?” I drag the word out, making her blush and shake her head. “You don’t need a phone yet. Can I trust you to pick out some music for us?”

She laughs and searches through the player, finally picking a song.

I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies And I’m not proud of my address, in the torn-up town No post code envy

“And we’ll never be Royals!” I chime in, looking at her with a wide smile.

“It don’t run in our blood!” she joins me, laughing.

We spend the better part of the 30-minute trip to Joe's singing very loudly and badly to songs from my playlists.

We pull into the parking lot, laughing as another song finishes playing.

I spot my parents’ car and pull in next to them. I can see that they are arguing. Mom’s cheeks and eyes teary, and dad, he just looks angry. A kind of angry that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Mom sees Cordy and me and quickly changes her expression. Dad does as well, softening his features.

“Y/N, what took you so long?” She says, as we both leave our cars, trying to hide the fact that something is wrong.

“I said 30 minutes, right?” I look at her with confusion, “I mean, maybe it’s been a little longer than that, but not much.” I offer.

“We just thought… Maybe you changed your mind about coming here?” Dad looked at me, still clearly angry about something.

“No, why would I do that? Cordy? Is there any other burger place better than Joe’s?” I laugh, trying to break the tension, which I could do better if I knew why they were so anxious.

“Heck, no!” she yells, “Joe’s is the best!”

“What your dad is trying to say, Y/N, is that we can go somewhere else.”

“Nah, Cordy’s right, and it’s been too long since I’ve been here. I wonder if there’ll be anyone here that I’ll recognize,” I question out loud, “Dan, Jana… some of the other staff?”

“Come on Y/N! I’m starving!” Cordy grabs my hand and starts dragging me towards the entrance.

“Cordelia! Slow down!” Dad says harshly, “The food will still be there.”

“Yeah, but the faster we get there, the faster I can eat!”

I laugh at her as she pulls me inside. The place still looks the same, mostly; there are new flat screens on the walls, a fresh coat of paint, and updated furniture, but it’s still Joe’s.

“No fucking way,” a voice yells from behind the register. Mom quickly covers Cordy’s ears, who begins to laugh hysterically. “Y/N? Y/N Y/L/N?”

I finally see who is calling me, “Jana? Oh, my God! It’s been so long!”

She pulls me for a hug. “What’s it been, 5, 6 years?”

Dad places our orders as mom takes Cordy to a booth by the window. Jana looks the same, only slightly more worn than when I had last seen her.

“Before I was in school full time, something like that, yeah,” I smile. “Just graduated, actually.”

“Wow! Y/N! That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you,” she offers a sad smile, “I know it didn’t look like it was gonna happen there for a while, but I’m glad you got what you wanted,” she says quietly.

“Thank you. It’s been tough, but it’ll be worth it. What about you?” I ask as she pulls away. “How have you been?” She pulls her left hand in front of her face, showing off the diamond ring on her finger. “Oh my God, congratulations! Who’s the lucky guy?”

She tells me all about her fiancé, a local boy who started working at Joe’s shortly after I stopped.

“And Y/N you’ll never guess who was in here the other day.”

“Who?” I ask, looking at her curiously. But before she has time to answer, a familiar voice fills the air.

Winchester.

My eyes go wide, and I start to pant. I step away from Jana, making my way towards the bathroom where I am unable to stop myself from vomiting. I’m panicking, I never expected to see him again. He had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. I do my best to compose myself, splashing water on my face. Why was he here after all these years? Once the color returns to my face, I return to the dining room, taking my seat next to Cordy, who has already made herself comfortable at the booth, coloring, not paying attention to anything. Mom gives me a look; we tried to warn you . I try to control my breathing as Jana delivers our food.

“So, who do we have here?” she says looking between Cordy and me.

“This is my sister, Cordy.” I laugh as she barely looks up from her page. “Cordy, this is Jana.”

“Of course!” Jana exclaims, “I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner! She’s practically your twin! Except for her eyes.”

“Yeah,” I say nervously. “We get that a lot, I think it’s just cause of the age gap.”

“Odd,” she looked us all in the eye, “you all have dark eyes.”

“Um, yeah—well, if—both parents have the recessive trait, there’s a 1 in 4 chance of the child having it,” I spouted, hoping she would buy the not-technically a lie.

“I guess I should have paid more attention in Biology,” she laughs “anything else I can get for y’all?”

“No, thank you, Jana,” dad answers, looking relieved.

I stare down at my plate, appetite gone. I watch as Cordy scarfs her burger down and then tells an outlandish story that she insists is true. “It’s a monster! It sneaks into the rooms of kids, sucks out their souls and then they die!” she says seriously. “Three kids from my school are in the hospital!”

“So, a monster is making the kids at your school sick?” Dad raises an eyebrow. “Delia, you know there’s no such thing as monsters.”

“It’s true!” she says loudly. “It’s a soul-eater!” Cordy pouts, upset that no one believes her.

“She’s got a point.” A familiar pair of green eyes walks towards our table, trying to appease the upset child. “It’s not actually eating their souls. But the good thing is there are people like me and my brother—Y/N?”

“Dean.” I wanted to die. It had been years since I had seen him, either of them. I stand up from the table, giving him an awkward hug. “You’re here on business?” I ask, desperately trying to keep my cool.

“Yeah, S-Sam and I got into town a few days ago. Wow, Y/N, we didn’t think we’d ever see you again, it’s good to see you.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Sam?” he shouts. I don’t know if I can do this. “Sammy…c’ mere!”

I hear grumbling from a few feet away.

“Sam!” he yells. I’m gonna die of embarrassment . Cordy, none the wiser, laughs at the green-eyed man hollering. He looks down at her, “Hey princess, what’s your name?” he squats down to meet her eye level.

“Delia, that’s what everyone calls me, except Y/N, she calls me Cordy.” Her large expressive eyes look up at him.

“Well, can I call you Cordy as well?” Dean asks, and she nods. “Well Cordy, my name is Dean, and I know Y/N from a long time ago.” He leans in and lowers his voice, “Me and my brother, we take care of monsters. So I don’t want you to worry about that anymore, okay?” She happily nods as he turns away. “ SAM !”

“Dude, I was on the phone with the hosp—” Sam stops dead in his tracks 3 feet from our table. “Y/N/N,” he gasps.

“Hey, Sam,” I somehow muster, “been a long time.”

“Y-yeah,” I can see the wheels turning in his head, “about 10 y-years?”

I turn to my parents, whose faces are showing an array of emotions. Some that don’t even make sense to me.

“About.” I glance down at Cordy, blissfully unaware of what was happening around her, and back up to him. “Right after graduation,” I mutter.

Somehow, he’s taller than I remember. I rarely thought about him, mostly because of the pain and anger it would bring.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He drags his hand through his hair. “I- I can’t believe you still live here. I thought for sure you were leaving.” There’s a bitterness in his tone that I can tell he’s trying to cover-up. “You’d always said…”

“I’m just visiting. We’re just here celebrating. Cordy insisted.”

“Cordy?” He notices the little girl at the table. “Who—?”

“Cordy,” I say, grabbing her attention. “I want you to meet someone.” My eyes fall onto my parents’ faces, which now have nothing but sheer panic written all over them. Cordy places her crayons down and gives a dramatic sigh. I move to the side, allowing her to stand in front of me but facing the brothers.

“Cordy, this is Sam, this is Dean’s brother, he helps him hunt monsters.” I look at Sam, who seems confused. “Sam, this is Cordelia.”

“Y/N!” she whines playfully, “don’t tell him my whole name! I don’t tell people your whole name!”

“I know how you feel.” He crouches down to meet her. “I don’t like when people use my whole name either. If you want, you can call me Sammy.”

“ Wow ,” Dean whispers from behind him. He always hated being called Sammy by anyone other than Dean. “ That is an honor, Cordy.”

“Your eyes look like mine,” she giggles. “Even the green specks!”

I watch as a variety of emotions play on Sam’s face.

“Y-yeah,” his smile fades, and his eyes fill with confusion and panic, “they’re the same.”

Next Chapter

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn family

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years

Text

When your tired after a 16hr shift yesterday so you rant about Sonic and explain why aggressive writing vs. neutral writing helps with sharing ideas

Me and my online Sonic friend talking about Belle. (I’m skipping some dialogue throughout the chat, this was lazily put together lol)

WARNING: It’s long, and it’s a rant. So please note that I’m blatantly aware of how wrong my aggressive, sleep-deprived rant was and that I’m stating “DON’T PRESENT YOUR IDEAS LIKE THIS!” because this is not a healthy nor effective way of sharing ideas.

ALSO, ALL THE MENTIONS OF WHAT I BELIEVE MY FRIEND IS FEELING OR THINKING DURING MY RANT ARE ENTIRELY MY OPINON. If she tells me to delete something or change it I will without hesitation but I find it funny, as I look back, to insert what I think might be going on in her mind XD She might have been oblivious to me but I’ll get her thoughts and change anything if necessary.

It’s also how most trolls and antis and even some ‘not experienced writers’ write their ideas out, and it can be easily avoided by using Neutral Writing Methods. So this is a ‘don’t do this, but try this’ post. Enjoy my badly written, sleepy aggressive rant~<3 (Also, my friend gave me permission to share this lol)

Me: She could be for entertaining little kids. But we already have too many OCs, and they're not 'dying off' any time soon so...I smell a mini-series backup plan...and I don't like what that means for Sonic. And it is cute, sorry, my brain is off the hook right now, I'll keep things to myself cause you may not like what I'm predicting and I'm getting sad thinking about it ;-; so, want to be wrong.

(Friend mentioned “Tinker Bell” spin on name.)

That's precious, but can I get a link to the reference sheet plz? Reference sheets can tell a lot about a chara's functionality if you compare it to the 'needs' of the casts. it can help predict their role. I think she's meant to help but also entertain the kids, maybe planted with a secret. Her goal could be to come back to Mr. Tinker but Eggman abuses that and tricks her into a new robot. I got a weird theory about her but I'll just say that she's probably gonna go a bit dark. But be cute and make the audience go, "Aww, poor thing! She's a cinnamon roll" at first, wonder if they'll equip her with 'happy backstory, tragic ending' kinda thing to switch the usual 'tragic backstory happy ending' but I feel this is a tragic character meant to pull emotion out.

(Friend understands my concerns but mentions there hasn’t been a ‘Bad’ Oc for the comic)

No one sets out to create a 'bad character' especially professional writers like these guys. But what makes a character 'bad' is if you ruin or oversaturate their purposes. If she's a main character that over-shines others with too much story then the audience feels 'betrayed' because they want that screen time for the main casts to express themselves and shine through. That's just an example. When working with IPs like Sonic casts, you HAVE to remember the fanbase is expecting things Do you like my OCs? be honest lol Not from my prompts. There's a specific way to handle a OC that helps the main cast shine and reveals their characters more. AU Ocs help Canon Characters in many ways.

(Friend admits they have not seen my OCs in some of my fanfictions, they’ve only really read my prompts.)

Oh, well, some of my fanfictions have OCs, not Lavinya, she's just a mascot. My Sonic OC that retried XD Sorry, I'm misspelling a lot but I hope you don't mind, my spellcheck sucks and I've given up on it lol Oh, so you don't know Harmony, Ol'Wizzy, and Data?Or the Metal Series? Well, there are specific Ocs that my readers like and they express/compliment the canon characters to where even though they're a main character, they don't intervene with the Main Cast's goals. They actually help. Then everything I'm gonna say won't have much merit so I'll just focus on waiting to see if my predictions for Sonic IDW will come true, but I really hope they don't do what it looks like they strategically might be pulling... I hate SEGA marketing-

(The beginning of my aggressive rant, please note that I’m not thinking about my image and am writing tired and lazy. This is an example of how NOT to express your opinions in negative ways. It doesn’t influence good at all.)

Their ploys are outdated and frankly, do not work for their IPs market. They target the wrong age group, they have no idea how to organize themselves, and they don't have a leading 'elder' so to speak (just a professional among them) to make good calls. So you have young adults (not super professionals, this might be their first real company job) trying to target internet culture and failing their IPs. They're doing outdated Nintendo tactics that only worked for NINTENDO! Also some other companies that have DIED so why are you copying their marketing strats!? stop! lol

Friend: Did you study marketing because this entire convo kinda flew over my head in terms of understanding (This should have indicated to me that my words were coming off too factual and had too many ‘jargons’ going on. I was losing my ‘reader’ through my rant, but my tired brain would not cease!)

Sonic's trying to morph into something he's not and they're following outdated college course books and it's not gonna help... they're leading Sonic further down and the creators in japan have no power cause all the power is in the stock holders who are stupid money-hungry americans who have lost faith in American SEGA leading SEGA of Japan to move on to other things

Friend: mostly just got you don’t like the marketing (Huge red flag! This means my friend is starting to tune my info out, it’s because I’m presenting my ideas in a slightly aggressive writing style. There are trigger words here that lead an reader to start doubting you. This is why, in most of my answer posts, I make sure to write Neutral writing methods, but I’ll mention that more after my rant lol XP)

It's just bad. Lol I have a Frankenstein degree, (Now I’m justifying myself, which was caused by my aggressive approach. If I simply stated this in a more ‘neutral writing method’ then I wouldn’t have to worry about creditability claims because I’m not trying to sell my idea as the high authority on it.) which means I have knowledge on many different fields. I never took a fully -dedicated- 'marketing class' I took a lot of different communication classes that went to my overall major. One was directly about how you present, sell, and look at marketing tactics. So I have my fingers in many different fields, my major was "Creative Writing for Fiction and Film with an Emphasis in Video Production and a Cluster in Theatre Arts." So I can be on camera, off camera, post and pre production, creative table and actual filming. Does that make sense? (I’m not fully awake to realize what I’m writing, but it’s clear at this point I’m starting to wake up and realize I’m ranting and tossing my ideals of how to present ideas out the window, but let’s watch my follies and learn from them, shall we?) I have theories on what SEGA is going to do, and I have my worries because it's all outdated. It worked for older companies but those companies also targeted a varying audience, which SEGA refuses to see themselves as for a 'teenage audience' which is exactly why they boomed in the 90s. Their target audience is now 20s.

Friend: There are Kids who also like Sonic, even if they don’t play the games though. (Due to my aggressive tactics from not thinking clearly about, not just the what, but the HOW I’m writing, it has turned my friend into a ‘contrasting neutrality’ which is amazing by the way that she did this! She noticed my writing was turning aggressively ranting, and being my friend, didn’t want to be rude about what she was noticing. -I’m guessing lol- so instead, she took the commentary approach, which is to state the good as well. This is a terrible position to put your reader into, and you should make sure to always have good examples and good praise mixed in to contrast any opposing or aggressive statements you ever make. -though you should avoid aggressive writing at all times- Sadly, this does put the reader, in this case my friend, in a very vulnerable position. It leaves them open for attack... but thankfully, she’s a wonderful friend and had trust that I wouldn’t hurt her on her counter-follow-up.)

So instead of using their 40 to 50 year old charts, start with looking at early millennial trends and desires. They tried for 'angst' to 'adultify' Sonic but it busted because we are STICKLERS for animation. Because their story was so scrapped together and had no actual character depth, motivation, or even emotional growth to develop for future game lore, they went for the 'easy made game' (Easy baked oven quote lol that’s just mean XD) We loved the trailer, it was well made, but they threw their animators elsewhere and made the programmers (WHO BLANATLY ADMIT THEY DONT KNOW HOW TO DO STORY/GRAPHICS) and made them do things they aren't trained in. Those micro-head movements and mouths took them A LONG TIME to figure out.

(My friend is now agreeing with me several times through my rant. This is a tactic that is used as ‘avoidance’ but also for ‘appeasement’. She’s probably tuned out by now, but respects what I’m saying but is also incredulous at it as well. It’s fair, I’ve cornered her into my sleepy-time rant, and being the lovable woman that she is, she is simply waiting for me to realize my follies lolol I wish she would have told me but I think she knew I was beyond ‘logical reasoning’ at this point and was just letting me get it all out lolol What a good friend TDT)

Animation can't be learned that fast AND expect them to program a game AT THE SAME TIME. Sonic Forces was a 'split up SEGA' trying to get those who survived and said, "Yeah, I'll stay in this job." to do things that THEY AREN'T EVEN TRAINED IN. you put a game programmer on animation and some other stuff they didn't know what to do with and expect it be a top-notch seller.

Friend: (in more attempts to join in and be a ‘participant’ of the conversation I’m clearly dominating -MY ABSOLUTE BAD- she tried to engage normal conversation flow into the discussion again. At this point, she probably did notice I wasn’t my usual self, and just decided to play along and enjoy the ride lolol I’m just guessing this tho, but it’s a good chance to reflect on what ‘wrongs’ I was doing and what ‘rights’ she was doing during this situation ;)b) My big issue with SEGA is that they rush everything. A lot of things would’ve been better if they had the proper time.

That was resolved actually.

Friend: Oh? It was? (Although this looks like an encouragement, it’s actually just another avoidance tactic to help me ‘get the venting out’ but it’s clear she’s not fully onboard anymore. When you write to discuss, you have to leave room for other’s opinions to shine through as well. Healthy conversation doesn’t mean forcing the other person to comply to you. A lot of this is educated guess based on past research, she knows this, and it’s clear she’s got her own research. Please remember to never shoot someone down when they try to engage you in your conversations. But again, this is the ‘don’t do this’ and me upset at my tired self for not waking up fast enough to contemplate how I was coming across in my wordings. Let’s continue to investigate and dissect the train wreck, shall we?)

That was an issue a few years ago but SEGA is taking their time, it's just that they can't organize themselves and hire the right professionals. They have old tactics, they have rookies that aren't 'Fresh Blood with professionalism' like they need. They don't need an old fart who knows his stuff, they need a new guy who is dedicated and passionate about their company who will remain there, learn them in and out, and knows his stuff SPECIFICALLY for the things SEGA needs. You have to grow that. You have to hire a very talented and young spunky and fresh professional, have him work with you for 10-15 years, and start training others. But SEGA is already recognized as a 'established' company.

(Friend is still agreeing with me, but is aware of my way of presenting it isn’t “As nice as I usually present it” so she starts mentioning the symptoms of Japanese Work Culture. A wonderful, insightful point to mention! But let’s see how I butcher this as well...)

It's not Japan though! (Again, shutting her down. Tsk tsk, sleepy me. Wake up, you lazy bum.) They won't let Japan interfere! They're all really rude to japan actually. The guys in charge, anyway. We all respect the officials, but SEGA of America people just want results. They are just funders, they don't actually work the company.

Friend: So you blame them for everything? (She’s trying to help me see that my writing is coming off as ‘hate’ which is because of my aggressive writing follies I’m doing so bluntly. Let’s please all admire my friend’s patience as she lets me rant and kindly waits for me to realize how bad I’m handling my 16 hr shift from yesterday lolol)

Look, business is really unfair, and I get that, but if I have to rant (I’m starting to wake up more, oh goodie.) I'd say they really need to humble themselves and ask Japan to please take ownership again. They kicked out people due to a money crisis but they need a game that will be 'safe to secure money but get enough excited momentum to help us push on and continue.' which isn't Japan's strategy usually. Japan likes risks, they also like money too. They trust America too much (especially in the beginning) because America is a HUGE consumer. For the world in fact. But I think they sacrificed too much for the company (common in Japan) and trusted America too much in making decisions. The officials are too nice to say that America screwed them over because America wanted full control. Well guess what? They have too much control now and their product is sinking..

Friend: You’ve got a lot of fire about this topic. (After I completely disregarded reading her follows-ups and continued to rant, my unconditionally kind friend finally threw in the towel, realizing I was no where near my usually ‘present’ self and was probably just flopped back in her chair smiling at my idiocy of not understanding her kind and subtly hints.) Go ahead and rant it out. (BOOM! Obvious right!? I should have corrected myself but at this point, I was writing like wild fire with droopy, waking up eyes and didn’t even read it during my long paragraphs...)

Sonic won't ever fade away due to it's fans, but the company is struggling to figure itself out for YEARS now. I just worry what they plan to do next. But I have a theory that they are really putting the next game in Japan's hands, a lot of activity is happening in SEGA of Japan, and they're spending WAY MORE TIME on the next installment of Modern Sonic (or Classic, still unsure which one it is yet.) I really think they need a remake game to give them profit, then use that profit for their next big installment. But so far, I think they are working on a game BUT corona might have effected production so I'm sure they are working but I'm concerned if Corona helped manage 'time and quality' or is helping to ruin it...That I can't investigate yet :( I just wish for the best (I’M FINALLY WAKING UP FULLY AS I STOP AND REALIZE-) Sorry for my rant! My theory talk showed through and I don't usually like doing that so forgive me. I'm tired and that's why T-T

Friend: It’s cool we all need to rant sometimes. (My friend’s going to make it to Heaven TwT she’s so kind.)

(Then I profusely apologized a billion times cause I realize how badly this all went down. lol)

(But the terror hasn’t ended... she mentioned some youtube videos mentioning other opinions as well. -which I’m usually cautious of cause some of them can be fanon.-)

OHhhh did he mention the arcade crash??? the literal WORST event in SEGA history??? That's literally where they sank the titanic, SEGA has never recovered from selling off their stocks. (I’M BACK AT IT AGAIN. -facepalm-) Shareholders are everything now and it's the biggest loss ever. Also, the problem is that kids don't play the games, (Rereading my follies and wanting to answer but still only just waking up...) but SEGA can't figure out why they like the characters and can't seem to take the FREAKIN' TIME to learn their lore. (Overwhelming the conversation again.) My easy steps: Re-establish Sonic lore CANONLY AND CORRECTLY, Re-gather the Japanese Officials original plans and notes, guides and study art, Re-make some popular games with the most details on Animation, Fluidity of motion graphics, and with modern Technology incorporated into the game. Once that is accomplished, they will have enough money to then- Create a continuity. Only with a flowing story and relevant past lore can they start moving forward. Animation will target their audience, Story and character re-established arcs will bring nostalgia and new blood to the field of their games, and then Japan's influences will keep it authentic for the continuities so we don't have fandom mixing with canon NEARLY AS BADLY as before anymore. Ugh, it does matter their sales, but I literally bought a book on the history of SEGA, and read a really compelling history article about more then just the Console Wars... I know SEGA has survived literally the edge of extinction on multiple fronts, but someone needs to take charge of their Sonic branch, and it's... it's just too outdated. kk, sorry for the rant.

Friend: (After being multiple times ignored, even after my brief moment of clarity, is still an angel. Frustrated, maybe, but an angel.) And your steps sound really good. Also mostly just listen to his vids if you ever do. It’s ok we all need to rant. (THE WORLD DOESN’T DESERVE THIS GURL T-T)

I'm tired so my 'angry' is showing and it's not professional XD do you mind if I post my rant? lol Actually, no. (Realize how awfully I delivered my ideas, this is where I begin to see my errors and where the clarity comes into play. -we all have our off days lol- )

Friend: Go for it

I want to but it's too aggressive. I'm too lazy to rewrite it out so I'll just save that for another day XD You got a rare treat

Friend: (This is actually interesting and fascinating to her. But she realized then that I finally did see my error.) Concerned you’ll get aggressive responses back?

Honest opinion is sometimes too blunt and I need to be careful about that

Friend: I mean it’s always good to try and get most of the anger out so you seem more professional (Saint. Literally. A saint. She’s puts up with too much of my crap XD)

That, and also the war of 'But this is Cutegirlmayra? She's so sweet and constantly puts her answers in supportive, positive lights so that if SEGA were to see it, they would feel empowered to try it instead of threatened and throw it off as hate or something unprofessional.' I have an image too. I can't post something super aggressive or I'll lose trust. You're right.

Friend: I’m glad you put a lot of thought into everything you post

I apologize for it tho T-T I didn't mean to dominate with such opinions...lol I worry who I influence, you know?

Friend: Most people don’t and trust me they get into trouble cause of it. And yeah.

I don't want to create trolls or heated arguments. I want to teach people they can safely express an idea without using such awful communication. Exactly, it's professional fanism. lol Positive writing is what companies and their employees actually read. (I’m almost fully awake now lol, realizing my blunder and starting to explain why I was in the wrong. Good on me, pat on the back, admitting I was coming off as aggressive is the first step to changing and getting better lolol Also, I’m including her more, and I’m saying “You’re right.” and she’s going “And yeah.” which is a indicator that the conversation is slowly returning to an enjoyable and healthy one. ;w; happy endings lol) That's why I skip the aggressive stuff, even if it's passive, I write in a neutral setting so everyone feels safe to read, even someone who works at SEGA.

Friend: (Mentions some nintendo youtuber rant and also news as well, then says-) It was honestly very professional sounding and not rude. (MY HEART, YOU KNEW THAT WAS AN AGGRESSIVE RANT lololol So nice to me TDT)

Lol you had to have seen how slightly aggressive it was tho. (I’M CALLING YOUR BLUFF, BESTIE lol) You literally asked, "You blame America for it?" which is not always true but semi-true. They were way too prideful (Aggressive word) and haughty (Still aggressive terminology) about their success in other Japanese products that they wanted to completely change Sonic to their own wishes, pushing out Japan's creative "licenses" (I use this word loosely, and this gives a slightly aggressive feel but is also more dumbed down so it's more 'passionate' than just aggressive)

Friend: Yeah I saw it was slightly aggressive (Either is starting to realize it or at last admitting it now that I am fully aware of how I was coming across. I also used indicators to show what words were aggressive to help illustrate my point. This is showing I’m much more awake now :)b)

Gotta use those neutral tactics or no one will feel comfortable just reading your idea and instead, will constantly look for a place to intercept with aggression back, whether they agree or not, they're looking for ways to self-insert their aggression if you are also aggressive. I can't write something that doesn't somewhat support and uplift SEGA of America. Why? Because like I said, they literally have survived EVERYTHING and have stuck around. Without them, there wouldn't be an American branch and the money issue would have ended SEGA. Some might say, "But they've done so much harm than good! Why is the money thing such a thing to be praised for?" But it's huge, it's so big, it kinda does offset the wrongs. (Now I’m doing the healthy thing, doubling back and mentioning the good to try and recover. The damage may be done, but she did recommend some videos for me and was polite, so I’m just trying to smooth things over and leave on a ‘wrapped up’ conclusion. But... I should have just left it there in all honesty xD Some things you can’t double-back and correct lol) America is a great business-influenced mindset. None of us would be fans of Sonic without them.

(Friend continues to agree but realizes I may slip into ranting again. She just asks if I can watch the videos.)

America does have it's advantages in some fields and areas, but their biggest most redeeming quality is that they saved SEGA which gave us our biggest love and obsession: Sonic. Now, my usage in that writing was still off neutral, but combined with the slightly aggressive statements, made a GREAT contrast. It's still slightly praising

Friend: And they stopped Japan from giving him a human girlfriend right away.

Me: Exactly.

Friend: I will always thank them for that. (She’s still a sweetheart, working herself into the conversation so it stays healthy. lol Such amazing follow-ups too!)

So although I don't like what's happening, I'm also grateful... to a degree lol We need SEGA of America, which is why I think Japan just ignores them now lolol they know they owe them a lot.

(Friend mentions videos and as I go to save them to my ‘watch later’ sees that one of them is about Nintendo.)

Yeeeahhh I've noticed that Nintendo is starting to trail into 'cash grab' tactics and that's sickening (MORE AGGRESSIVE WORDING??? HAVE YOU NOT LEARNED YOUR LESSON CHILD?! It takes time to fully wake up lolol) cause before, I literally thought, "Nintendo can do no wrong" their marketing was ON POINT! but the stuff they said about Peach and now... I think new, unprofessional blood (like SEGA) has entered Nintendo and the older guys are either 'training' or 'retired to other ventures'. Nintendo is having it's own 'we used to not be prideful but now we're getting a little too pompous (Another aggressive wording... This can easily trigger people to comment with further aggression either against you or for you, but no aggression is the ideal. Which is continuing to show my lack of remaining conscious lol) about ourselves' and they're starting to act like Disney before their big crash. Disney also had 'limited time offers' with their VHS movies. Now, Nintendo is doing that. They'll make money, but at what cost? When you lose your costumer's trust...

Friend: And yeah the 35th Mario thing immediately reminded me of the Disney vault

Me: Yep. I'm worried for Nintendo. Don't get me wrong! Disney is really good with money grabs, but they... they also act high and mighty (More aggressive statements, wake up, darn it!!!) and their fanbase literally calls them 'an empire' so the fan-trust is gone. That makes you 'lame/outdated' and fans begin to look for 'what's cool?' instead.

(Friend is now re-realizing I’m ‘in and out’ so is trying to use a effective avoidance tactic by asking about different things to help my ranting fully stop.)

Sorry, I'm tired, I get on these rants and I don't mean too. (Trying to shake myself awake again.) I'm sorry.

So we returned to a healthy conversation, but I hope this interesting insight has revealed how to and what not to do about Aggressive Writing. Always stick to Neutral writing if you can, putting in a compelling counter-argument. In this aggressive writing demo, you saw that I tried to cover up my follies by saying counter-praise, but praise writing can be just as bad as aggressive writing. Passive writing can sometimes be annoying (aggressive word choice) too if you come off as disinterested or uncaring, which can still result in negative comments coming at you, or someone overly praising in their writings.

This has been all I’m showing you cause it’s kinda embarrassing ^^; but I hope it helps you in what ‘not to do’ while writing your ideas out :)b

Learn from my sleepy-time mistakes! lol

#cutegirlmayra #aggressive writing #what not to do #sonic #nintendo #marketing #sega #commentary #rant writing #an example to help teach #sonic the hedgehog #sonic idw #sonic comic #sonic rant

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