#i got this done soon after i met my giftee because this was on my mind for days

[sealrock]

moonchild - ♫

here's my ffxivswap gift for @ofdarklands featuring their lovely mitr'a! I hope you like it :)

thank you to @sasslett @starrysnowdrop @otherworldseekers and @ainyan for organizing this

#ffxivswap #mypost. #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv screenshots #i wanted to incorporate his mask and lil elemental sprites into this based on your lil bio sheet! #hope you don't mind some soothing bloodborne music #i got this done soon after i met my giftee because this was on my mind for days #i fiddled with that moon prop for an hour to test different glow levels only to not use the glow orz #q.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @welshwoman1988!

To both the admin and my giftee Welsh_Woman (welshwoman1988), I doubled the word limit and I am so sorry. My words just ran with me and there was so much I wanted to fit in. I never have been able to write short one-shots and this was my first secret santa exchange EVER and I just got so excited. You said you liked Royalty AUs and I saw that you’d liked an image of wolf Derek snuggling with Stiles on a bed on your Tumblr and somehow that turned into this – I don’t even know how to be honest. I hope you enjoy your gift :D

Read on AO3

*****

Sails in the Night Sky

The biting chill of oncoming winter was brutal in the dark of night, obvious even through Derek’s warm, lined coat. He tipped his head skyward, the stars hidden from view by a thick covering of dark clouds. Rain was coming.

The echoes of the argument he’d left behind in the castle walls still filled his head like a thunderstorm. His ears still rang with his uncle’s tactless insistence that he not waste his time anymore wallowing in the peasantry, Laura’s halting, stalwart defence of both Derek and the less fortune. Then, of course, there was his mother’s quiet, warning that cut through it all with the sharpness of lightning.

“If you hate it so much then have them moved!” he’d snapped in the end, half afraid his mother or uncle would do exactly that. Even so, he’d surprised his family with his vehemence, because he’d always merely done as he was told, until that point at least. Hales ruled beside their siblings, with their partners in life having very little say in affairs of state, though before he’d died, his father had done his part for the public. Still, Derek was due to rule alongside his sisters and he had always been the more submissive of his fiery family members, but nothing had ever filled him with fire the way this had.

 Derek sighed as he continued on, turning his collar up against the cold and the echoes of his mother’s raised voice that still hummed in his ears. She managed to make him feel like an errant child even as the sounds of applause, the cries of awe and delight mixed with those of aversion in the night.

Nobody had ever seen a ‘circus’ before, never even heard of anything like it. It was new and exciting and the talk of the kingdom but also filled the more reserved, those that fought change, with bitter resentment. Derek knew Peter’s reason for stopping him from working his way down here night after night was a simple factor of control. His mother’s reasons, however, were more complicated.

He’d originally assumed her protests to the circus stemmed from the same resistance to change as a lot of the others, but earlier that night, when tempers had flared, his mother had simply replied calmly, “they are good people, they take care of their animals and each other and they make their money, little of it that they do, in happiness. It’s a more honest trade than most.” Even so, she’d levelled him with that sad, knowing stare and added, “But my boy, if you associate with what the people consider abnormal, they will soon realise that you aren’t their variety of normal either.”

Derek approached the white tent and thought of Stilinski. The showman had been born in the capital with little money, had met his wife in a foreign land and always dreamt of bringing the life he’d built with her back to the place he was born. He’d dreamt of making it work here, making a home where everyone was welcome, where everyone could fit. Derek only wished the kingdom that was his birthright could be the same.

The familiar sounds and smells, the sight of the large white peaked tent just off the main road out of the capital lifted him as they greeted him, as they’d done every night in the last few months.

The tent’s canopy looked like sails in the night sky, and despite his family’s earlier protests, Derek felt himself drawn toward them like a ship out to sea.

*

The noise was as immense inside the tent as ever. The smells of sweat and snacks, of an overindulgence of alcohol from the less savoury onlookers, the ones that brought the bitter smell of intolerance to the mix, tested his control. He’d been trained since his youth to cope with the myriad of smells and sights and sounds a crowd carried, they all had and so after a grimace it all settled and he edged around the back of the tent, where he could see a set of crudely constructed stairs spiralling round the perimeter, up and round to some platforms above.

Derek ducked under the rope blocking off the stairway and climbed. The crowd below was so thick that he hadn’t been able to even hope to glimpse the large, sandy ring that he now saw more clearly the more he climbed.

A girl with beautiful red hair tied at the top of her head spun in the centre, fire twirling from the batons in her grasp and she beamed like something out of a fairytale, as beautiful and dangerous as the fire she bent to her will. She twirled it expertly, swinging it around herself and dancing over the swirling rope of fire her equally beautiful partner wielded like a deadly, flaming version of the skipping ropes the children of the court played with. Together, she and the dark haired woman kept the audience on the edges of their seats.

He’d never seen anything like this until the first night he’d stepped in here. He’d never seen people that moved the way they did, he’d never seen this kind of setup. The way the audience howled and clapped with every risk they took, every sinuous movement suggested it wasn’t just a limit of his position either, none of them had seen this before, not even at the heart of the capital.

Derek reached the top of the stairway just as they took their final bows to the applause of the majority. He braced himself with one arm against the supporting beam of the tent, the tall mast of the ship of dreams that lay before him, as the two performers took their leave of the ring and a wave of silence cut across the crowd. He waited, then sure enough, a bright light swung up to point at the far side of the tent, where there was a platform twinned to the high crow’s nest that Derek was on.

His vision was better than that of probably any of the people below. From where he stood, with the mobile spotlight on the figure on the opposite platform, Derek saw him clearly. There was only a split second from the light hitting him, to his reaction but it all moved in slow motion thereafter. Long legs hooked over the bar suspended from above and the lithe body swung round, upside down, arching like a taut bow. The momentum of his movements sent him swooping forward like a gull across the waves. The ocean of people below gasped but were otherwise struck silent with awe.

The bird glittered as he swung forward, glitter catching across his cheekbones and long fingers that stretched out with his arms, urging his impetus further. The swing carried his flight right up to where Derek was standing, as speechless as the people below. When their gazes met, Derek saw the deep amber eyes reflecting the light, as dazzling as the glitter that painted their edges.

Time stood still, just as it had that first night, the young man was always so surprised to see him return despite the fact that he always promised to. Then the momentum of his swing, the movement of his flight carried him back. He twisted on the bar like it was effortless, long limbs speckled with moles that drew Derek’s gaze along the taut, lean muscle there. His breath caught and his mouth went try with every swooping turn of limb.

He didn’t perform every night and he didn’t cut away to meet with Derek every night either. Derek wondered what it said about him that the young man’s flight and their sarcastic conversations allowed his head to feel clearer than had been all these years. There was always a signal, if he landed on the platform Derek was on, he had time to escape with Derek, if not, he landed on the opposite side.  

Applause ripped through the tense silence like a thousand waves crashing against the cliff face and Derek took a step back as the man dismounted before him, taking a bow before the spotlight on him drifted away. Derek blinked at the sudden change in light.

The same dark kohl and golden brown glitter painted those eyes as every night. The pale glitter that lay like stars across his cheekbones glistened, mystically untouched by the sweat beading from his hair and across his throat into the deep ‘v’ of his nearly translucent shirt. His chest was heaving, his glitter-tinted cheeks flushed with exertion but he smiled as he panted, “you’re not really meant to be up here, you know?” It was the same teasing, slightly breathless rebuke and didn’t sound at all displeased. On the contrary, the young man studied him carefully, tilting his head as the lights focussed back again on the ring below and the next act ensuing.

“I thought not,” Derek agreed softly, an edge of amusement to his words, “but then I assumed someone would’ve removed me if they were so concerned.”

 The man’s lips quirked in a devastatingly charming way. “I asked dad to let you be. You must be growing on him,” he revealed, before he tipped his head on his way passed, gesturing for Derek to follow him.

The living quarters of the performers were to the rear of the grand tent, a cluster of worn but well cared for wooden caravans. They were far enough from the animal enclosures on the opposite side for the smell to pale in comparison to the aroma of cooking food and subtle perfumes wafting from the other open, empty caravans, left open to facilitate the comings and goings of the other performers.

He hesitated when the young man climbed into one that smelled only of him, watched as he perched on the stool squeezed between a dressing table and a mussed, sweet smelling bed. He usually entertained Derek’s presence as he tended the animal pens or did some other chores, or beguiled Derek with sarcastic wit just outside the noise of the big tent. He’d never led him back here before. The intimacy of seeing the place he slept, raised in the sheltered way Derek was, made him swallow thickly.

Those piercing amber eyes watched his reflection as he shrugged off the near translucent fabric of his shirt, damp with sweat. He tipped some oil that smelled of almonds onto a clean cloth and began swiping the glittering paint from his body. It had glistened like diamonds embedded in his skin under the light of the tent, but now as the man wiped it away from his chest first, then the column of his throat, all Derek could do was stare at the flesh the faux glamour had covered. Flawless, honey coloured and speckled with moles here and there that reached up across his neck, jaw and cheekbones.

“You’re amazing,” Derek managed at last, finding his voice, thick with awe. The breathy compliment was far away from their usual banter.

The man at the table gave him a wistful look. “Well, that’s a hell of a lot more pronounceable than my given name,” he said. His voice wasn’t accented in any particular way, which Derek thought peculiar of people that were clearly travellers when he’d first met him.

“You’re still not going to tell me your real name, are you?”

Again, the same wistful smile. “You’re awfully persistent with that. Usually people need to know, why the trapeze? Why such death-defying stunts? Why risk your life for so little financial gain?”

Derek frowned, unsure if the young man truly meant ‘people’ or other men or women he’d led back to his caravan just like this. The thought made his stomach squirm, when for months he’d felt himself special for sharing just an hour of conversation with the young man he only knew as Stileseach night. “I thought that was obvious. You love it.”

That stilled Stiles’s constant, almost frenetic movement. The glittering paint around his eyes had been wiped away with the rest now, leaving only a few rogue speckles of starlight behind, blending perfectly with the moles on one side of his face, probably only visible to Derek’s gaze.

“It’s my life,” Stiles said seriously, with the tone of a man slightly stunned by Derek’s answer. “Everyone needs the chance to smile these days, not only the rich.”

Derek nodded, thinking of the homeless that flocked the streets of the capital not far from here. The ‘circus’ as the people were calling it, it was all about the lights and the show in the tent but back here, there was a rundown comfort of home and people barely getting by. They weren’t making a fortune, despite the splendour they delivered night after night.

“You told me your mother taught you before she died?” Derek asked, moistening his dry lips. Even from the slight distance the steps up into the caravan and the door put between them, he saw the man’s eyes, shining with the glow of the twin lanterns there, follow the path of his tongue across his mouth.

“Yeah, she was a natural, she was the talent that built us up from nothing, you know?” he offered easily, face bright as he said it. Right from the start it had been clear that Stiles loved talking about her. “She came from a place far from here, my father met her when he fought in the wars. She taught him. They taught me.”

Derek thought of Stilinski, the man in richly coloured tailcoats and nodded in agreement. Stilinski had performed with his son after his mother died, but he’d grown older and so when his father-in-law died he’d taken his place as show-master. The man had a smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth and it was an expression you couldn’t help but return. It was the same light, the same vibrance of life that burned so bright in Stiles. The same light that burned in all of the people behind the circus, in all people who enjoyed what they did with all they had.

“Tell me your real name?” Derek asked again, still feeling a little giddy, wondering if it was the convergence of so many scents in one place or just the man before him. He was so close within his reach and half-naked and so, so beautiful and honest and real, magnanimous like none of the people of privilege his uncle and mother had tried to urge him to court.

Right from the first time Derek had let repression, boredom and inquisitiveness call him into the tent and he’d seen the way Stiles moved, right from the first time their eyes had locked he’d felt drawn in by him. He’d felt drawn in by the sight of a life that burned so bright regardless of the limitations the rest of the world tried to place on him, something so rare in the world he’d grown up in

“What would you do with it?” Stiles asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Derek frowned, brows drawing together and Stiles swivelled on his stool. “Call you by your name.”

“Like a secret promise?” The twinkle flared like fire, giving Derek a brief view into this man’s beautiful soul. “Surely ‘Stiles’ is enough? Everyone else calls me that. Or do you have another pet name for me in your head?”

Derek exhaled in annoyance through his nose, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. “I’m calling you a little prick, right now.” His words startled a laugh out of Stiles that completely changed his face, mouth wide with surprised joy. His entire body jerked with it in a way so free and uninhibited by society’s rules. It was perfect.

“You have a mouth, Prince Hale,” he said approvingly, laughter still in his eyes.

Derek jerked as if he’d been slapped, because in all the times they’d spoken and yes, even laughed together, all the times Derek had helped him haul water or muck out the animal pens, he’d never once used that title.

“You…you know?” he asked, feeling as if the ground had opened up beneath his feet, the sails torn from his ship as it was cast out to sea.

Stiles’s laughter faded into a resigned smile then and the man reached for the plain robe off the mussed bedding and pulled it on. “I know who you are. My father told me right from the first night you came here,” he said as he tied the belt around his robe, fingers lingering on it, as if he needed to keep them busy left they betray him. He had such strong, long, expressive hands. “You were very determined not to tell me yourself.”

Derek set his jaw. “I just…” He didn’t know what to say. He’d been so tired, so very tired of having expectations pressed on him, of having every aspect of his life dictated to him, albeit by a well-intentioned mother and uncle. He’d been tired of it all but when he’d seen Stiles, when he’d glimpsed his life here, it had felt like an escape. No, more than that.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stiles added with quiet reluctance. “You shouldn’t come back, Derek.”

Derek flinched. “Stiles,” he tried, the odd nickname full of such earnest longing for him to understand. “If you’ve always known what I am then–”

“I always knew what you were, but I didn’t know who you were,” Stiles argued, storming forward to the doorway of the caravan. He glared down at Derek, more glorious in his rage than any of the mild-mannered, sweet tempered ladies and gentlemen of the court he’d encountered.

“I kept thinking, every time I saw you would be the time you admitted it, trusted me enough and it never happened.” His face held barely concealed anguish and Derek ached for putting it there. Stiles shook his hand, dragging his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “What the hell am I to you, Derek?” he asked, “just some entertaining diversion until you grow up and accept your responsibilities and whatever partner your mother finds you?”

“That’s not it,” Derek all-but snarled, because the inch of truth in that, at least the part about accepting responsibility burned.

Everyone here had responsibilities to the show, to each other, and if one of them didn’t step up it would fall apart. He wondered how he must look to Stiles, to be shirking his responsibilities when everyone here worked so damn hard for so little. But even so, it hadn’t been about hiding anything from Stiles, it’d been about hiding himself from that world, because he was terrified, because the Derek in that world was pathetic and lost and when he was with Stiles, he felt strong.

“I can’t be your sordid secret, Derek,” Stiles murmured, voice rough around the edges with pain, his eyes shining in the light the lanterns strung between the caravans offered. “I can’t be some mistress you come back to when your real life gets too hard and you want an amusing diversion.”

Derek’s head snapped back to him so quickly his neck protested. “Then why did you ask that I be allowed to stay?” he demanded heatedly. “Why invite me back here to the place you sleep if you have so little faith in me?”

“Because I hoped you were different!” Stiles snarled like a cornered wolf, eyes ablaze and his voice broke a little as he added, “Because I wanted you to be different. Because no one has ever looked at me the way you did that first night, the way you are right now. There’s never been a connection like that, at least not for me.”

“Not for me either,” Derek replied, his voice a softer counterpart to Stiles’s hurt rage, so gentle that Stiles’s fire seemed to simmer out a little.

Derek stepped forward, gripping the small balustrade and levering himself up to stand on the steps. There was a hairsbreadth between them and his hand covered Stiles’s on the doorframe. He could taste Stiles’s breath on his lips and see every fleck of brown, amber and whisky in Stiles’s eyes.

“That’s why I’m here,” Derek continued tenderly. “Yes, my life is…complicated. It drives me insane most days but that doesn’t change that I’m here because of you, not because of that.”

Because they had a connection.

Stiles searched his eyes and his fingers twitched under Derek’s on the wooden frame. There was so little air between them that Derek felt light-headed from the lack of air until Stiles drew back. He looked suddenly tired as he slumped onto the edge of his bed, avoiding Derek’s gaze.

“That’s why I showed you,” Stiles almost whispered, “showed you me without the glitter and the spotlight, just me. Nothing else. I wanted you to see that and come back anyway.” He risked a look at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “I wanted the connection to be real.” With a sigh and a little, self-deprecating smile he added, “my mother used to say that we travelled the world and they all applauded, but when the spotlight went out we were still foreigners, different, unwelcome strangers once the laughter faded.”

He sounded so lonely for a man that said that bringing happiness to others, regardless of social standing was all he wanted in life. But just as Derek had his secrets, Stiles had one other than his birth name. It appeared that Stiles wanted a home, one where he belonged. Derek ached to share that dream with him.

Derek did something he’d never done in all his life except for his mother and uncle, something society would gasp in dismay at the sight of and he didn’t give a shit. He lowered himself to his knees before Stiles and captured his strong hands in his own, drawing those doe eyes to him before reaching up to cup his cheek. He dragged his thumb across the moles there and drank in his heat. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he confessed.

Stiles had travelled the world, had seen so much and for all his poverty, he was rich in ways the Hale family could only ever hope to be.

“I’ve never seen anyone who looks at the world the way you do. You see all men equal, you see the good in everyone in spite of all the ugliness you’ve seen across the world. You’re incredible.” Because he knew Stiles had heard the slurs and jibes of those that protested their presence here, detested the ‘unnatural circus’ that no one had ever seen the like of before. He wasn’t fool enough to think that worldview was something Stiles had only encountered here.

Stiles reached back for him, cupping the back of his head and stroking his fingers through his hair before gripping tight, as if he were afraid to let him go and find out he wasn’t real. “You belong in another world, Derek.”

Derek wanted to sink into him until there was no telling them apart from one other, wanted to absorb everything Stiles was. “Maybe we can find a way to make a new one.”

Stiles let out a little laugh even as his eyes glistened. “I must be insane to believe you.” His grip tightened on Derek’s hair and he tugged him in so that their foreheads pressed together. “But God help me I want to...”

Derek felt as shaky as Stiles sounded, his fingers trembling as they slid down to cup Stiles’s jaw, his warm, soft throat and the pulse thudding rapidly with excitement within. The longing Derek felt twinned within his own veins. He dragged his nose across Stiles’s cheekbone, inhaling softly at the almond, sweat, warmth, grassy scent that was Stiles before letting their mouths brush.

His stomach tightened and then melted at the contact, at the little hitch in Stiles’s breath, lips melding together soft and a little slick with the oil Stiles had used to clean his skin. Derek groaned when Stiles’s tongue touched his own like a question and sank into him, his thumb tracing Stiles’s chin and tugging gently so that he could taste him deeper.

Stiles’s free hand smoothed down Derek’s torso between the narrow space between them, in constant motion as if he wanted to map every inch of Derek but didn’t know where to start and was worried if he didn’t now, he never would. It was a frenetic greed and Derek kissed him deeper for it, to let him know he felt the same. It was a little clumsy, perfect, real, their noses bumping in their urgency to taste each other.

Derek’s hands slid down Stiles’s throat to his shoulder, the gentle movement smoothing Stiles’s robe off his shoulders. It pooled beneath them when Derek drew back and Stiles followed, his fingers aiding Derek’s on the ornate clasps of his cloak and tunic as they kissed, more urgently with every inch of skin revealed.

Stiles clumsily peeled away the tights he wore to perform, and when Derek stood back off the bed to remove his own clothing in the narrow galley between it, the clothes rail and dressing table, Stiles swiped the door shut. He gave Derek a wry smile when he tugged away the constricting undergarment he wore to hold him in place when he performed and reached for Derek almost instantaneously. They fell clumsily to the bed in a mess of limbs that rocked the caravan.

Stiles laughed softly, the sound stifled by Derek’s mouth. Derek answered it in kind, his amusement, arousal and affection mingling into a grumbling laugh growl that caught in his throat. It was a desperate, inelegant thing between them, urgent with need to touch everywhere and drink in every inch of heat.

Derek’s stubble raised a red flush over every freckle and mole and Stiles’s strong hands held onto Derek’s neck and shoulders so tight Derek felt his nails dig in. For all that, it was a slow build. A slow dance ending in them mostly grinding together, clasped too close, limbs locked together too tight with Stiles’s sheets pulled over them to protect them from the encroaching chill.

It was the best night of Derek’s life.

“Mieczyslaw,” Stiles breathed softly against the hollow of his jaw from where they were wrapped around each other in the sticky afterglow. He had one arm hooked around Derek’s shoulder while Derek’s curved around him, dragging affectionately through his hair.

“Hmm?” Derek asked, blinking his sated, sleepy eyes open.

“Mieczyslaw, that’s the name my parents gave me. It was my grandfather’s name. But there was two of us, so I was always Stiles and when he and my mother died…” Stiles shrugged but Derek understood, knew what it meant to have that name whispered into his skin like a kiss, like the greatest secret on earth. It was, Derek realised, to someone like Stiles who people judged at face value, someone who never let anyone in close enough to see, who had so little. This was the greatest thing he could give.

Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’s again, unable to find the words to show how much that meant to him. He felt as if the clouds had been swept aside by the whirlwind of Stiles’s life, humbled and thinking clearly for the first time.

It was like an awakening.

His home had all the creature comforts a man could long for. It had fine linens, servants to run hot baths with opulent oils, food and drink to heat his belly, but he’d never felt as warm as he did now, naked under a mountain of sheets with Stiles, watching the light of the still slightly swinging lamps paint his face with their glow.

He looked into Stiles’s eyes when their lips parted and felt affection so fervent it made him shaky with it. He felt admiration and knowledge that instilled him with shame, because all this time he’d felt trapped in his privileged life and Stiles and his makeshift family were knee-deep in heartache, struggling every day and never asking for more. While Derek had responsibilities at home, he also had love and security and a family who only wanted the best for him, for the world, even if they had a peculiar way of going about it sometimes.

He arguably had everything and Stiles and his family had nothing and yet they were happy. They wanted only to make others smile. Derek had been the instrument in his own misery before now, letting his mother and uncle manage him. He’d once believed that all there was to stepping up to his role was politics, unwanted opulent balls and sufferance. But seeing the magic these people created from nothing but skill made him realise what he could do with everything he had, what he wanted to do, because of Stiles.

“So how do we start?” Stiles murmured against his jaw.

“Hmm?”

“Reshaping the world, so that everyone has a place, so that we have a place together, where do we start with that?”

Derek stroked his hair thoughtfully. “I talk to my mother and uncle.”

Stiles tensed in his arms before pushing up onto his elbows. “And if they tell you to stay away?” he asked guardedly.

Derek studied him carefully, before glancing around the caravan. “Then I still have two sisters that can rule without me.”

Stiles looked as if he might protest for a moment, but Derek knew him well enough by now to know he never wasted time with half-hearted platitudes or anything other than what he truly felt or thought. He smiled and drew Derek in with fingers behind his jaw. “I think I’ve inspired a rebellious streak in you,” he murmured against Derek’s lips, his own mouth a little red with stubble burn.

Derek snorted. “You just gave me a reason to grow a backbone,” he said as he bore him back to the sheets.

“I have to tell you something,” Derek murmured against his belly when the world outside had grown quiet, the circus fast asleep.

Stiles stroked his hair, smoothing the mess of it their lovemaking had made behind his ears in a way that was so relaxing, so comforting Derek thought he might melt around him like a puddle.

“You don’t have like a secret wife or husband or harem do you?” Stiles asked sleepily and Derek nipped at the tight, lean muscles of his abdomen.

“I have to tell you something, about me, about my family but it’s not just my secret to tell.” He tilted his head to look up into Stiles’s face and Stiles brushed his hair back from his forehead.

“Derek, I’ve been to so many places, I’ve seen so much…” Stiles moistened his kiss-bruised lips and then struggled up in bed, enough to reach for the bookshelf behind his head that acted as a headboard. He offered Derek a leather-bound book in faded midnight blue, worn at the edges but well cared for.

Derek frowned and went to open it, but Stiles’s hand stayed the motion.

“No,” Stiles said gently, “when you get home. Look at it then. My mother and grandfather made it, it’s…it’s sort of a family heirloom, I suppose.”

Derek shook his head. “Stiles, I can’t take this.”

“It’s a loan,” Stiles said firmly, holding his hand out in refusal when Derek tried to give it back. “Bring it back with you, when you return.”

So you’ll have to return, Derek couldn’t help but think he was truly saying and he kissed him more fiercely than he ever had before so he would know.

A while later, as he swept his cloak around him and crept down the steps of Stiles’s caravan, he leaned up to whisper against his lips, “I’m coming back.”

“You’re very eager to make me promises, Prince Hale,” Stiles mused, but there was a wary edge to his voice, as if he didn’t dare believe it was true.

“I never make promises I can’t keep.”

It was a long walk back to the castle. The city never slept, some were already up even as the sky started to glow with that subtle purple hue that signalled the encroaching dawn. Derek heard the telltale sounds of them readying for the day, the baker preparing his products, the fisherman hauling their catches off the docks but it all fell away into the lingering night as he walked.

The lanterns that lined the stone bridge that stretched from the city toward the castle, toward his home were extinguished long ago, not even a lingering hum of heat or scent of burning oil remaining. The world was quiet, calm out here on this bridge. It felt like he was floating above it all, with only the smell of the water running far, far below to caress his senses like a promise.

He paused on the bridge, resting his arms on the broad stone balustrade and running his fingers reverently over the worn cover of the book Stiles had given him. Stiles’s scent and the scent of his father still clung to it. This book was more precious than anything Stiles owned. All the sparkle and glamour were nothing compared to this.

He carefully opened the cover to see a small portrait tucked into the jacket. It was the kind he’d seen done in shops to commemorate events such as weddings or births. It was a good one, so must’ve cost more than a week’s takings. He caressed the edges of the little rectangle, a baby, perhaps a year old with Stiles’s bright eyes and little turned up nose and a woman with the same nose holding him tight, while Stilinski the showman, younger, less lined embraced them both.

My beautiful boy, your father and I love you so much. The note written across the back of the image was from Stiles’s mother, clearly.

Derek tucked it back in carefully and flipped through the book, filled with drawings and the same neat, curling scripture. His stomach plummeted as he read the words, studied the diagrams. His thoughts roared in his head and he froze at the sight of the carefully, painfully accurate drawings of things he’d never seen put to paper before. His fingertips scanned the pages and his hands were shaking as he closed the book carefully, staring hard at the foreign scripture now.

Bestiariusz, cut into the worn, soft leather in the same hand. He’d scanned it before but discarded it as Stiles’s family’s lost tongue, something his brain couldn’t comprehend at first glance, now though, in hindsight…

“What has your heart fluttering like a hummingbird, young nephew?” His uncle’s voice cut through the night and Derek, already on edge, whirled around, eyes wide. Had he been so worked up, had the blood been pounding so in his ears that he hadn’t noticed Peter’s approach?

Peter regarded him with a raised brow and slowly came to stand beside him, resting his arms on the stone alongside the book. He stared out across the water toward the horizon where the sun was still a way off.

“It’s amazing how early our senses can pick up the changes in the light, in the sky. We can sense the dawn long before the humans can,” Peter said thoughtfully, before turning his head to look at him. “Your mother and I told you to stay away from the circus because even as extraordinary as their feats of human skill are, Derek, they are still human. Even they could not comprehend what we are capable of.”

He stared hard at Derek then, expression tight as the king he was, looking on Derek as his subject now, not his family, not his loved one. “You’ve seen how the people of this land look on them. Some come to see their show, yes, many do in fact, but there are still those that fear their otherness. It only takes a few to rally the pitchforks and chase us through the hills like feral beasts. Our ancestors built this kingdom from the ground up after being chased from our homeland centuries ago. We will not make the same mistakes as them. The humans may one day be able to accept the circus but they will never be ready for our abnormality.”

Derek tore his gaze from Peter’s and looked at the cover of the bestiary. He moistened his lips, tasted Stiles on them and knew the caution his family had exorcised over the centuries had kept them alive, had let them thrive. Knew that they kept their secret for a reason, but he didn’t think he was entirely right. The initial jolt of shock and dread that had filled him on realising what the book was had settled a little the more Peter had spoken, the more Derek had realised how wrong he was.

“I think people change with the times. In some places, Stiles said that the circus was welcomed without pause, without backlash. He said that for every town that welcomed them with open arms there were those that chased them out, but that those were becoming few and far between.”

He thought of the woman who’d spent her life making this book. It was filled with sketches lovingly drawn, like art rather than scientific scrawl, facts and notes made like a bird lover might for the wildlife they tracked. Stiles’s mother had travelled the world, studying the supernatural with the same wide-eyed, worldly fascination her son carried even now.

Maybe the world wasn’t ready for their secret yet, but some people were, Stiles was and if he could share his secrets with Stiles while they waited for the rest of the world to catch up? Well then he was sure someone as strong as Stiles could help him ready them.

“What in heavens is a Stiles?” Peter asked with clear distaste and Derek couldn’t help it, he let out a little laugh, holding the book with reverence, like the wake-up call it was. He tucked it carefully inside his cloak. “His mother studied the supernatural, I think…I think the circus was her talent, her job but her studies were her passion. She indulged both, all over the world and saw…everything. So has Stiles.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You told him…”

“I didn’t have to,” Derek said, feeling giddy with the lightneess that thought filled him with. “He knows. He knows what I am and he’s not afraid.”

Beside him, Peter stiffened. “You’ve been having clandestine meetings with a circus boy and you think he knows you?”

Derek didn’t rise to the bait, just answered with the truth he felt to his bones. “I think he could. I want him to.”

“Derek,” Peter began again.

“I want to speak to mother, about this, about everything,” Derek cut him off, “in the morning, I’ll…”

He trailed off. It was like the warning sirens that signalled the floods were going off in the distance, except this wasn’t a sound made by their horns. It was sound, smell, atmosphere, panic growing steadily more thick in the air as the wind changed and carried it in his direction. He and Peter both froze as it registered.

Fire. Chaos. The circus.

Stiles!

By the time they got there, the tent was ablaze, the white sails turned to great flaming beacons under the red dawn and the capital was in chaos. Derek surged forward at the sight of it, the smell of burning overwhelmed his nose so that he could not pick out Stiles’s scent, so he frantically searching the faces of everyone fleeing the fire. The smoke was thick in the air, he choked and spluttered. A crowd had gathered, some to watch the pandemonium, some flying forward to help the circus workers to rescue the animals, taking hold of reins of horses and helping to haul the cages of the more dangerous animals to safety. But he saw no Stiles.

“Derek!” Peter called warningly, and the unspoken order was clear. Do not make a scene, do not make what you are known. Derek gave him a single, lingering look, before bolting into the chaos.

He darted down the side of the fire, avoiding the licking flames that had all-but devoured the tent, which he hoped was empty. He strained but could hear no heartbeats inside, no cries for help. He hoped that was because it had been empty, not because someone had been trapped inside. He made for the caravans.

The fire seemed to have started in the tent and the smell of alcohol on the flames, when none of the circus workers entertained alcohol made him think of sabotage, but he had no time to dwell. He struggled to listen, to sense beyond the ferocity of the fire.

He didn’t hear a heartbeat, he didn’t see Stiles, but a screeching, terrifying unnatural whinnying filled the night and he bolted towards it. The striped horse Stiles had called a zebra once had been caught by its lead rope on a fallen section of cage. Derek flew toward it on instinct, catching the rope by the knot beneath the beast’s jaw and laying a strong, steadying hand on its neck.

“Hey,” he breathed softly, holding it tight as it struggled, eyes wide. “You’re ok. We’ll get you…” He trailed off at the sight of the body crumpled in the stall the zebra had been caught in. He dove down, keeping hold of the zebra’s rope and reaching for Stiles. He coughed and spluttered as he reached for his neck, the smoke growing thicker even as he checked for a tangible sign of life, not trusting his senses in the din.

There was a heartbeat, faint, sluggish, thick with smog but there. He knew a moment of dangerous hesitation, staring at the beast, now frozen with fear and the flames coming in tighter and tighter, Stiles’s body limp and smeared with ash and soot from the open cover the horses were stabled under.

At last, Derek dragged an ornate handkerchief out of his pocket. He pulled Stiles roughly upward, his body heavy and lifeless but no weight at all to Derek’s strength. He grunted even so, as he pressed his shoulder under Stiles’s weight and staggered to his feet, still keeping a grip on the zebra. It stood stock still, petrified and Derek tugged. “Come on,” he snarled, but the beast didn’t move. Derek pulled, looked around wildly at the fire as it roared higher. In a moment of panic, he roared, eyes burning, fangs flashing. The zebra jerked as if his fangs had struck flesh and bolted forward.

“Stiles? Stiles!” Stilinski’s voice called out as they made it to the where the whole city had gathered, the fiery-haired girl coming forward to take hold of the Zebra’s makeshift halter just as Stilinski practically collided with Derek.

Derek lowered Stiles carefully off his shoulder and into Stilinski’s frantic arms, spluttering and coughing and wiping smoke from his stinging eyes as Stiles’s lifeless body tilted to the ground, head lolling, face smeared black. He looked so pale, so unreal in the red sunlight.

The world around him was on fire, there was madness as everyone tried to put out the flames, as people tried to tend the wounded but it was suddenly deafeningly quiet as Derek stared at him, at Stiles and willed him to move. He lay still on the cobblestones, splayed out like a man drowned and Derek had never felt so helpless in all his life.

“Stiles!” Stilinski screamed, shaking his son’s shoulders.

Then, suddenly, there was a firm, strong hand on his shoulder. Derek didn’t even react, didn’t turn at the feel of his mother’s presence, at the voice of his queen, not until she said, ever so softly, “bring him.”

Derek jerked to face her, frowning at her unreadable expression. “The capital’s infirmary will be full tonight. Bring him to the castle, he’ll have more of a chance with us.”

*

Derek supposed the bittersweet thing about tragedy was that it rendered all men equal. His uncle and mother, the king and queen, and Stilinski the showman of the circus that had shocked the world were as equals now. Covered in soot and grime from the flying flames, it was hard to tell what positions separated them.

Derek’s uncle and mother stood close by as the physician, who was kept on hand mainly for show or for the human members of the household, worked over Stiles’s smoke-damaged lungs. He’d been spared any burns but his breathing was laboured and Deaton worked quietly on a medicine for Stiles to inhale as his unconsciousness stretched out further and further into the new day.

At some point Peter had been pulled away to deal with the culprit of the fire. Apparently it had been an accident, one of the drunken sots had been loitering, had stumbled trying to foolishly light his pipe and it had all escalated before he could stop it.

Derek thought absently, as he watched Deaton continue to burn the eye-watering medicine for Stiles to breathe in, that the capital had Deaton’s revolutionary medicinal practices to thank for growing so wealthy. The infirmary the McCalls ran under his tutelage had the highest success rates on the continent and Derek had no fear for the other circus performers and people that had worked to rescue them, only the man on his childhood bed, who still had yet to wake.

“Come, Mr Stilinski, a clean body is a clean mind,” his mother said gently to Stilinski, squeezing his shoulder gently. “We’ll get you fed and washed up before your son wakes.” Stilinski seemed almost catatonic, moving without really reacting, without tearing his gaze from Stiles.

Derek swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. “I’ll watch him, Sir. I won’t leave his side.”

Stilinski blinked as if coming awake from a dream and his eyes roved his son a final time, before lingering on the place Derek’s hands grasped Stiles’s wrist, at the bestiary beneath them that he evidently knew too well. He stared at where dark tendrils of pain were drawn away from his son into Derek’s body and it was also something he apparently recognised.

“I believe that,” Stilinski said, a man of few words, so unlike his son, but with no less sincerity.

*

“Hey…” The hoarse, haggard voice cut through the doze Derek had dropped unwillingly into. He jerked his head up from where it had slumped on the bedside and blinked suddenly awake at the sight of Stiles’s weary, beautiful face.

“You didn’t sneak me into your bed, did you Prince Derek?” Stiles mused croakily.

A disbelieving, exasperated smile tugged at Derek’s lips as he gasped out a laugh he was still too shocked and relieved to truly feel. “Your father put you there, with the King and Queen watching. He understands the needs that…pack have.”

Stiles closed his eyes but gave a tired smile. “Scandalous, the debauchery of royalty…”

Derek squeezed Stiles’s hand tightly, tapping his fingers lest he slip into unconsciousness. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles rolled his head weakly to pin him with that stare, the one that asked if Derek was stupid.

Derek smiled a little more honestly now, because Stiles was feeling well enough to be himself, at least. He didn’t lessen his grip on his hand, however. “The man who burned the circus down, he did it by accident, but he’ll be punished for his crimes.”

Stiles frowned. “Fairly?”

“We aren’t savages,” Derek said tightly, even though in his rage right then, he wanted to tear the man to pieces for his stupidity. It hadn’t cost any lives, heavens above, but so many were injured and not just the circus performers, but some people who’d tried to help and some businesses that had been closest to the fire had been caught by the heat. Lives had been irrevocably changed. He definitely wasn’t ready to rule yet, to see beyond his heart and think clearly. He had so much to learn.

“No,” Stiles said, fingers curling under Derek’s touching the surface of the book beneath their joined hands and somehow gripping Derek’s hand too. “You’re werewolves.” There was no trace of fear in his face, only awe, only affection for the sight of Derek by his sickbed, with him even when the glamour of the lights had burned out.

Derek had so much to learn and he wanted Stiles to teach him, to learn at his side.

Stiles licked his lips, chapped from dryness, the proximity to the heat but already healing with painfully human slowness.

“I suppose, if I’m surrounded by riches, I must be in your castle?”

Derek’s lips twitched. “In my bed, you were right, even in jest.”

Stiles’s eyebrows lifted. “So you spoke to your mother and uncle? Or did you really sneak me in here under the cover of night?”

“Like I said, your father put you there. It’s been three days since the fire and it’s daylight now,” Derek said deadpanned. “But yes, we talked some. We’ll talk more, no doubt.” Slowly, slowly, Derek drew his fingers out of Stiles’s grasp.

“You took my pain,” Stiles said, not seeming surprised. He lifted a slightly shaking hand to look at his skin, as if he would see the place that Derek drawn his pain from. Even through his weariness and discomfort Derek could see his awe, his intrigue and wondered how many questions Stiles would have for him, once he was well.

“I read about it,” Stiles continued, coughing with a wince the more he spoke, “didn’t…didn’t realise it’d feel like this.”

Derek held a hand out to rest on his chest as his body shook with great heaving coughs, a silent entreaty to rest his lungs and throat. He reached for the bowl of medicine Deaton had left and brought it over. “Here, inhale this, it’ll help. Deaton’s work is like witchcraft.”

Stiles quirked a brow, even as his chest heaved. “Like witchcraft?” He inhaled heavily, sending his lungs into a spasm of uncontrollable coughs. Derek leant in, hand resting on Stiles’s back between his shoulder blades, dragging the pain the spasms were causing until they at last subsided and the medicine began to do its work. It’d work better with Stiles able to inhale deeper breaths, allow his lungs to expand fully with it, Deaton had said..

 “He’s a druid, not a witch, though some wouldn’t know the difference,” Derek said carefully.

After a few deep, cautious breaths, Stiles managed shakily, “I know the difference.”

Derek nodded. “I know.” When he was sure Stiles’s breathing had steadied, he drew back, shrugging off his jacket. Stiles’s slips parted around a question that Derek held his hand out to silence. “Rest, just…don’t talk for a while, as difficult as that is.”

Stiles frowned but he didn’t seem too displeased with Derek’s teasing, just confused.

“I need to show you something,” Derek said, “I want to show you, tell you everything. We’ve got…we’ve got so much to say, I don’t even know where to start, so I’ll start with this.”

He stepped back and to the side, standing at the end of the bed and regarded Stiles carefully as he stripped to the waist. He toed off his shoes and then loosened his trousers, just enough that they hung on his hips. He heard Stiles’s heart thud a little faster, saw his cheeks flush in his sickly complexion.

Derek hesitated just a moment, fighting a lifetime of secrecy and subdued fear, before he let the change take him. His body stretched and snapped, twisting unnaturally, curving forward and shucking his loosened clothing as he did so. He braced himself on the foot of the bed and watched as his fingers changed into large black paws. When he lifted his head, if he stared hard enough, he saw the black wolf reflected in Stiles’s honey-hued eyes.

Stiles was staring, his gaze wide with wonder and astonishment but no fear. Not a scant inch. He’d obviously never seen this up close, in real life. It was likely something he’d only heard about in stories from his mother. But he was seeing it now, as real as the daylight streaming in through the window.

Derek gave him a moment, let him look his fill before he climbed onto the end of the bed. He realised, belatedly that it might appear threatening, standing over Stiles’s wounded body like this and so he wagged his tail gently, hoping Stiles would understand.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed, voice still hoarse. He carefully set the bowl of medicine on the side stand, the effort laboured but steady, before he reached for Derek. His long fingers, usually strong enough to hold his body up a hundred feet in the air sank into Derek’s fur, into the softest strands of obsidian silk and slid up. He caressed every inch of slender muscle that could rip him to pieces, foreign and unnatural, yet Stiles was not afraid. He was in awe.

“You’re incredible,” Stiles managed, with the same reverence Derek had offered him in the intimate closeness of Stiles’s makeshift home.

Slowly, Derek crept forward, going low on his belly without a care for his appearance until he was sprawled across the grand bed, across Stiles’s legs, warming his healing body.

Stiles stroked his muzzle, his ears with that same look of wide-eyed wonder that betrayed his thirst for the world despite how much he’d seen. It also betrayed his need for belonging and Derek ached to wrap himself around him as far as he could go.

Unable to articulate it in this shape, but unwilling to lose the gentle intimacy, Derek brushed his nose against Stiles’s cheek, his neck and when Stiles’s arms enveloped his neck, knotting in the thick fur at his scruff, he nuzzled in close and just breathed.

*

When the circus was rebuilt, it filled Derek with a bittersweet feeling to see the last of the white sails of the tent. It was a building now, with foundations that offered the animals and performers room to grow and flourish. It was a more permanent home to protect them all through the coming winter and the next, and the next. It’s was a sign of their permanent fixture and although that was bittersweet as well, Stiles had relayed to Derek the relief from his family at having somewhere to call home without giving up the life they loved.

It was Hale money that rebuilt it, a charity that Stilinski had hated and his jaw had ticked when Stiles had jokingly suggested he consider it a future dowry. In spite of this though, he hadn’t been able to argue with the security it offered his family, his son, the business of making happiness his wife had built.

It was a place of grandeur, with lights and glamour and crisp red dressings with gold trim to celebrate the vibrancy of its performers. No one could argue with its magnificence and it could seat hundreds more than the tent ever could. The fact that it was still open to people of all classes was what had saved it for Stilinski, Derek had thought.

In the few years since the fire, the circus had become an attraction that people had travelled the world to see, now they knew where to find them. They had become the gem of the country and Derek wondered if one day, this celebration of differentness would one day touch the entire world. Maybe then it would be safe to be what they were without fear. Until then, he considered himself one of the luckiest men alive.

He knew one day, when he took the throne that Stiles would have to take his final bow, give up performing but he thought by the time that day came, it would be long in the future, when Stiles was ready to trade this circus for that of the castle, one that would allow him to help the less fortunate smile in other ways.

The idea of ruling, when his mother and uncle finally stepped down was still a daunting task but he was beginning to realise how much opportunity there was to do good along with that responsibility. Stiles and his family had brought such happiness with nothing but talent and determination. He had resources in abundance that he could not waste, not now. Derek knew how much good he could do now, and he thought that was because of Stiles.

Derek was busier now than he had ever been, trying to use his position as best he could. Stiles always returned to his bed when the lights of the circus dimmed for the night, but still Derek tried to make at least one performance a week. There was nothing quite like watching Stiles fly.

Stiles didn’t scan the crowds for him, he was too professional for that, but whenever he took his final bow with the others, then he searched for Derek. Those bright brown eyes that held the magic of the entire show found Derek’s gaze in a sea of applause every time.

Now, like every other time, Stiles made a beeline toward him. As he drew closer to the crowds, Derek’s guard moved to envelop him, to wrap around him as if their lives depend on it. They knew, the world knew and while the public were confused at the freedom the prince’s betrothed was allowed, it was out of concern, not distaste. They could be forgiven for not knowing Derek’s senses allowed him to protect Stiles in ways they could not imagine, how he watched for even the slightest hint of malice from the surrounding people toward the man he loved.

Still, the guard made a good show of normalcy and they guided Stiles through the crowds until he was in front of Derek. Stiles’s breathless smile incited one from Derek’s lips. Without need for words, Derek took his hand and together they allowed the guard to usher them out into the cool quiet night.

They walked back in comfortable silence, with the guard a few yards behind, Stiles tired and Derek content to listen to the merriment of those returning home from the show. The stars were a thick smattering of fireflies in the midnight blue above and the castle a glistening beacon in the distance. The long stone bridge was an arm connecting one world to the next and the lanterns burned brightly along it. It was on his mother and uncle’s orders, their way of blessing, like leaving a light in the window so they may find their way home together.

It was as cold as the first night they had met and Stiles pulled the long coat he liked to call his prince’s costume around himself tighter to stave off the chill. His nose and cheeks were pinked from the cold and he was exhausted in that way that practically vibrated with satisfaction. He was happy, it was a tangible thing and Derek stroked his thumb across Stiles’s in a subtle, wordless whisper of a caress.

“What?” Stiles asked with a mischievous smile, stopping as he met Derek’s eyes. There was so much love there in that gaze Derek couldn’t offer any words to reciprocate. He just shook his head, wondering at the world they were building every day and where it would take them.

If the sight of the tent that night had been like sails in the night sky, then Stiles had been the moon, the stars, the force in the breeze carrying him home from where he’d been adrift for so long. Now, as he stood there on the bridge, he was filled with a rush of need to let him know exactly how much he meant to Derek, more than any words could offer, any official title. He hooked his fingers behind the column of Stiles’s pale neck and drew him in so that their lips could meet.

THE END

#welshwoman1988 #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

[speedygal]

Not a logical intervention - epilogue

“Did you bring the kitten?” Kirk asked.

“He is not really a kitten anymore, dad,” Lyionel replied, then held up the light peach cat carrier. “You were out there for three weeks!” He looked at the side. “technically he is still a kitten but I think the Klingon half has a hand in that.”

The calico cat mewed at the grinning admiral.

“A----acho!” Spock had a high pitch swift sneeze as hen came over to Kirk’s side.

“Bless you,” Kirk said, fondly looking over toward the taller Vulcan.

“I am fine,” Spock said.

“Thank you, son,” Kirk said. “Sorry you had to spend your first holiday alone.”

“Actually, I spent Hanukkah with the Kirk’s,” Lyionel said. “andddd guess where we went.”

“Rock climbing?” Kirk offered.

“Camping,” Spock said.

“Zoo going?” Kirk guessed.

“Even better,” Lyionel said. “Shopping!”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the man. They had gone shopping with the young man during his recovery. He had lots of clothes that ranged in taste, some of which were fancy, and he had long socks that didn’t blend in. He was dressed entirely in green. All of his clothes were green with different secondary colors ranging for holiday events. In fact, he wore green sun glasses decorated in light green sparkles. Lyionel reminded Spock of the riddler’s criminal fashionable style. Kirk turned his attention toward the cat.

“What are the kittens names?” Kirk asked.

“Kobay, and Ashi,” Lyionel said. Kirk slowly turned his head in the direction of Spock who had a fond short laugh. Spock had a fond short well aged laugh.

“Mr Spock,” Kirk said, baffled but in a endearing teasingly manner. “you can’t resist the opportunity to name a cat after a program that hasn’t been made,”

“I didn’t name them, I gave him a list of suggestions,” Spock said. “Apparently he favored Kobay and Ashi.”

“We’re failing at this,“ Kirk said.

“More than we ever know,” Spock said. “It seems the giftee has finally left the Hood.”

“Where--” Kirk looked over to see Ambassador Durche exiting the docking port. “There he is!”

The dark man was being escorted by security officers straying from the remaining Ambassadors. Like a very young man with more than energy than someone in their sixties, Kirk ran after the man with carrier in hand. The calico mewed as it slid from side to side. Spock followed along  after the admiral in a slow pace. Officers walked past Spock and Kirk. Lyionel went over to a honey station and ordered himself a honey bar.

“Ambassador Durche!” Kirk called..

Durche stopped appearing to be alarmed.

“Yes?” Durche said.

“Your cat,” Kirk handed the carrier to the dark woman.

Durche turned the cat carrier toward him to see the calico.

“That is so cute,” Durche lowered the carrier. ‘“Thank, thank you, thank you very much, Admiral Miller.”  Durche held her hand out for the man to shake.

“You’re very welcome,” Kirk said, taking the Loktaran’s hand.

“I won’t forget this,” Durche said. “If you need a favor on Loktara, please, call.”

“We will,” Kirk said. 

Durche let go of the admiral’s hand then turned in the direction of people calling him. People who shared a familiar resemblance dressed in a two piece yellow outfit resembling much what the delegates were in. Durche, the Loktaran Ambassador, was in a two piece dark outfit with a bright blue sash. She turned back in the direction of the partners.

“May the great bird of the galaxy bless you,” Durche said, then stopped shaking hands with the admiral.

“Live long and prosper,” Spock said, holding the ta’al..

Durche turned from the two then headed off toward his direction. Spock lowered his hand linking it behind his back. There was a familiar mew from behind the two. It was distinct and short. It was a familiar mew that Italian made just for him. Kirk had a happy sigh watching the woman go off.  Spock turned away from Kirk then knelt down. The sound of a mew brought the attention of the admiral. Kirk looked over to see in his husbands arms was a large, fluffy white cat that was purring. Spock felt on the cats forehead then grew a beaming wide smile as he stood up to his feet. Italian rubbed the side of Spock’s cheek with the side of his face.

“I thought he was gone,” Spock said, emotionally.

“No one is truly gone,” Kirk said, rubbing along Italian’s neck while looking up toward Spock with affection.

Italian’s legs were on the Spock’s shoulders purring while laid in the corner of his arm. His head turned in the direction of admiral Kirk. Washington came out of the docking port and stopped, holding a  small cat carrier, to see that the kitten had found them. A smile grew on the officer’s face then returned the cat carrier back into the ship. The scene panned back. Spock had another sneeze. Kirk had a laugh at the Ambassador.

The press was all over the matter shortly after the Hood’s docking port met with the starbase. The ship had several layers of metal peeled away, a deck corridor for three decks were missing, loss of officers, and the phenomenon of Stabby the quartermaster quickly trended in the federation. Officer Reeds was escorted out by security in cuffs then handed over to starbase authorities.T’Pot stood at the top of the curled tower in the shape of a ‘c’ attached to the ground. Visiting one of Earth’s historical sights only momentarily reminded the woman how insignificant she was. How planets were vast and large with population centers. She exited the ground minutes afterwards relieved and dressed enough to blend in with the Terrans.

Now that the mission was over.

What was there to do now?

For so long, she had been determined on serving the captain and the crew’s protection. A security officer, chief of security, turned captain. She had served in Starfleet for over twenty years. The reports that she had read was strikingly struck a cord. Bole’s physical body was gone except for her brain taking the Greosciou far, far, away, out of the galaxy possibly. Ten thousand years alone and never come back. Was she going to go the same way? A captain, who did so much to preserve the ship, ending up as a disapproval in Starfleet. Yet to her, Bole was perhaps a great captain. She wasn’t illusion-ed on that thought. She had not planned ahead for this. Not at all. T’Pot’s bondmate came behind her with linked hands behind his back as she gazed off the balcony to their apartment. It was a like breeze going from Earth to Vulcan for downtime.

“Your mind is preoccupied,” Sochya said, coming to the woman’s side.

T’Pot visibly relaxed alongside the short Vulcan.

“I do not  know how I can go back out there,” T’Pot said.

“There is no room in your life if you let fear reside in it. . .” Sochy said.

“Until you cast it out,” T’Pot finished.

“Indeed,” Sochya said.

“I do not believe my life is to be spent in space,” T’Pot said, leaned forward with a sigh placing her hands on the balcony’s edge. She looked over toward the man. “Perhaps it is somewhere else. Somewhere closer. I do not wish to be compared with my former captain.”

“You have done this comparing and contrasting all on your own,” Sochya said. "The press has not done any of it as of far,” Sochya placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You are a starfleet officer and have done as far proved yourself worthy of commanding a starship.”

“It does not feel natural,” T’Pot said.

“Nothing does aboard a Starfleet vessel,” Sochya said. “It is unnatural . . Perhaps with your new career advancement, there is a purpose behind it, such as patrolling zones.” she raised her head up. “Which is, in itself, a security mission.”

T’Pot nodded.

“You are right,” T’Pot said, turning away. “I shall find a assignment that deals with my interests accordingly.”

Sochya held his two fingers out.

“Excellent, my wife,” Sochya said.

T’Pot completed the ozh’esta gesture.

Spock was laid in beds surrounded by Kobay, Ashi, Maru, and Italian. Italian was seated alongside Spock against his chest. Kirk came to the bedroom door singing. Spock’s skin was covered in sweat. His grayed hair was stuck against his skin. Sensing Kirk’s return, Spock turned from the direction of the window toward Kirk. Spock lifted himself up against the back rest of the bed as the door opened. Kirk slid the door open.

“Good morning, husband!” Kirk’s well aged voice that rung in the Vulcan’s ears.

“Ashaya, adun, t’hy’la,” Spock said, as Kirk placed the tray onto the Vulcan’s lap. Steaming, warm plomeek soup rested in the center. There were pieces of tomato floating inside and celery.  Kirk’s special ‘get well soon’ soup was red with pieces of carrots sticking out.  Kirk sat on the edge of the bed appearing well phrased compared to the ill, shirtless Vulcan. Italian leapt into the Vulcan’s lap.  “Please lower-” Spock sneezed. “your voice. It is too loud.”

“Sorry about that,” Kirk said, softening his voice. “I can’t believe we forgot to get you a shot before we left.”

“It is partially my fault,” Spock said. “I was focused on other matters.”

“November and December were busy months,” Kirk said. “Learning Federation Standard, then how to write, and cursive. . . That was very stressfull. I think I got more grayed hair because of it.” Kirk laughed in bemusement.

Spock held his two fingers out for the admiral.

“You are beautiful,” Spock said. “Just the way you are.”

“If you weren’t sick then I would be kissing you the human way,” Kirk said, returning the gesture.

“Kaiidth,” Spock said. Then he lowered his hand feeling around for a spoon. Italian moved the spoon toward Spock’s hands. Spock’s fingers grabbed onto the long, cold silver center then picked up and began to eat. Kirk’s warm smile at the scene slowly started to fade.

“I am going to work today,” Kirk said. “And I am taking Lyionel.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I am sure, Spock,” Kirk said. “he is going to be the most helpful on this secret mission.”

Spock took a sip appearing not to be convinced.

“The mission we’re going on involves a science facility,” Kirk said. “You know, the Gastavo colony?”  Spock nearly dropped it. “Spock, I won’t save it. We are just fixing a little problem.” Spock glared in the direction of the admiral. “I know, I know, I know. We can’t interfere more as have any further.”  Kirk shook his hands. “Okay, it’s more of a big problem. The locals worship someone named Ha’chie. The scientists there think they’re worshipping a robot.”

“Natives had no part in the tragedy at the Gastavo colony,” Spock said. Spock’s attention was laid on Kirk. Spock’s unoccupied hand went over to Kirk’s hand gently taking it. “Jim, be careful.”

“I will, I will,” Kirk said, “In the mean time, I have arranged to have all the medicine for you on the counter. And I like you not to go after us when you’re sick. Don’t want the natives to get sick, do you?”

“No,” Spock said.

“By tomorrow, you’ll be good enough to make yourself something,” Kirk said.

“I shall be,” Spock said, with a nod.  “If I am still not well, I shall force myself up and provide self-care.”

Kirk had a light hearted laugh looking at Spock affectionately.

“Self care does,” Kirk said, with a light squeeze of Spock’s hand earning a slight gasp.

“Jim,” Spock emphasized. “Not when I am eating.”

“You’re so lovely,” Kirk said.

“I am quite aware how attractive I am to you,” Spock said. “I do not desire a mess on this bed that I cleaned three weeks ago.”

“Oh well, the things you can arouse out of me,” Kirk said.

Spock heard knocking from down stairs.

“It appears we have a visitor.” Spock said.

“I wonder who that can be,” Kirk said. “Probably a lost traveler.”

“Again,” Spock said, rubbing his forehead.

“I will wake Lyionel up then get the door,” Kirk said. “Baby, it’s a little of a Kirk incident that we live by the fork in the road to the highway.”

Kobay, Ashi, and Maru raised their heads up with alert ears at the sound of  the knocking. Lyionel was sleeping in his bedroom snoring away almost ready to fall right off. Kirk stroked Italian’s forehead then slid his figure ff reluctantly off the bed. Kirk left the door ajar heading his way down the hall. Spock sipped in more of the soup making a occasional chew or two. Spock picked up the napkin wiping along his mouth. Spock heard the sound of a door creaking open. There was sheer joy and shock traveling through the bond.

“Bones!” Kirk shouted.

And that is when Spock knew that his new family was whole again leaving a smile on his face.

His not a logical intervention came to become something otherwise

It had turned into a much . . . logical intervention in the grand scheme of things.

The End.

#Space fic #my fic

[myvalzpival]

The Summer In Prague

My gift for the lovely @caren-ortensia for the @emimikeweek exchange thingy! I sent this gift privately for the giftee to enjoy beforehand, so now it’s time to show it to the world, too!  Because of the wonky format I decided to make this at, I had 0 idea how to publish it, but, here we go :D 

Dear Mila,

We’re finally in Prague! But the ride was terrible. The AC in the bus stopped working shortly after we left and the weather is crazy here. Is it so fucking hot in Saint Petersburg, too? It was like 36 °C all day, Mickey almost fainted at one point.

But we’re finally here and that’s important! The hotel is bomb. I was angry at first since Mickey chose a really expensive one, but after the ride we’re so glad to have such a comfy room with GIANT beds and an ENORMOUS bathtub! Mickey is soaking in the tub right now, so I have a bit of time for myself here, unpacking and stuff. You know, this girl’s dresses have to hang!

We’re having dinner in the hotel restaurant tonight and tomorrow we’re starting our adventure! I booked us a guide because I’m pretty sure we would get lost here in no time. Prague has so many back alleys and side alleys, it’s insane. Besides, we don’t want to spend money on overpriced stuff and the guide should help us with that!

But I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Super sleepy now. Talk to you soon!

Love you,

Sara <3

Dear Mila,

Today was, um, very interesting, I’d say??? If you want to know what we had for breakfast and lunch, just go to Mickey’s Instagram he’s got everything there, you know him. The real deal was the sightseeing today!

You know how I told you about booking a guide? Turned out he’s the cutest thingy ever! His name is Emil and he’s tall and all goofy! Such a sweetheart. His English sounds funny, it’s adorable, and his Italian is even better hahaha he’s trying so hard! He’s friendly and helps us with everything. And he took us to places that are not even in our guide books! Prague is full of surprises, I love it here so much.

On the other hand, Mickey’s been really quiet today. He tried to growl at the guide at first, as always, but it just slid down on Emil as if he said nothing. The boy keeps smiling and smiling and smiling, it’s contagious! Well, for me, not for Mickey, unfortunately. He really didn’t seem like himself today. But maybe he was just hungry or something, who knows. I just hope he likes it here and isn’t suffering through it just because of me.

How is your vacation? Are you enjoying time with your parents? Can’t wait to see you boo!

Love you,

Sara <3

 Dear Mila,

I hope your dad feels better. But, as I know your mom, he definitely will. One or two cups of her chicken soup and he’s gonna be as healthy as ever! Woah, your grandma sounds so cool! At 70 in a hot air balloon?! FIERCE!!!!

Today I forced Mickey to pose for a few pictures. We took it a little easier because Emil figured out we were tired after all the walking we did the day before, and so he took us mostly to famous restaurants, cafés and pubs! He said he would look into the event schedule and maybe he’d be able to get us some concert tickets for the end of the week, if he finds something that we’d like and that’s not sold out.

He spends so much time with us! I actually have him booked for only a few hours a day, but he just keeps hanging out with us for the rest of the day, he doesn’t mind! Such a nice boy. I will have to give him a big tip or something, even though he does seem to enjoy spending time with us. I think you’d like him, too, he’s so happy and bouncy all the time and you’d love love love his stupid sense of humour. I even caught Mickey to fight laughter and that’s something!

But he still looks kinda… sad? I don’t know, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s kinda annoyed, too, whenever Emil tries to talk to him, Michele starts cursing in Italian and I really don’t know what the deal is. But, other than that, everything is absolutely beautiful and so much fun!

Take care and say hi to your mom and dad from me!

Love you,

Sara <3

Dear Mila,

I THINK I KNOW WHAT THE DEAL WITH MICKEY THE GRUMPY PANTS IS!!!

Mila, no kidding, I think he’s got a crush on Emil. I know, weird, right? But I think he really might??? Apparently, he’s been taking pics of Emil secretly the whole time. I caught him in the morning just sitting on his bed and going through the album full of smudgy Emil pics, it was so funny, but, I don’t know, kinda cute? Hahahaha that poor kid. Any time I try to talk about Emil, he starts blushing and tries to change the topic. I think I’ll try to hook those two up, even if it was just for one night. It’s our vacation, Mickey deserves some fun after working so hard all year. And Emil is a real sweetheart, I don’t think he’d want to use Mickey or anything like that. We’ll see.

He took us to the Faust House and told us the story about it. Honestly, he knows the most badass and scary stories about Prague ever, I love it! He promised to take us to some night sightseeing, I can’t wait!

Please, send me more pics of your family dog! She’s so cute and chubby, I love her~

Love you,

Sara <3

Dear Mila,

I’m sorry for not getting to you sooner, hope you’re not too worried, I know sending an e-mail at 3am is not very responsible. But holy shit we had a blast of a day! Emil surprised us and took us to a steamboat to sail on Vltava! So beautiful and refreshing. Emil is still trying to talk to Mickey, but my brother is a stubborn old fart. So, I decided to just leave them alone and go talk to some older Italian couple who happened to be there with us haha they were really nice and I got a recipe for what sounds like the best cake ever, you just wait when you come visit me!

Mickey looked so much more relaxed when I came back, they talked about skating and we found out Emil is actually trying to get back into figure skating after an injury. It’s so weird we’ve never met him before! But it’s so sweet, they finally found something they have in common that they can talk about. I knew it was serious when Mickey decided to add Emil on facebook. Savage.

We didn’t do much more, but then Emil called us if we wanted to go clubbing. I’ve never seen Michele get out of the bed this quickly. He was so cute trying to brush his teeth, get into his jeans and comb his hair at the same time. Let me tell you, Czechs are party animals. I’ve never been to a party like this, we definitely have to go here together one day, it was lit! At one point Mickey and Emil disappeared, I think I saw them kissing near the restrooms, but I’m not sure. Either way, Mickey looked really happy (and slightly tipsy) when we got back to the hotel. I think he’s starting to feel Prague finally.

Could you ask Georgi what the eyeshadow he used on his last Instagram pic is? I need it. Like, right now.

Love you,

Sara <3

 Dear Mila,

Thanks for the pictures! Also, I think the blue dress looks better than the pink one. Not that you don’t look hot in pink, but it’s a wedding, I think the bride would appreciate if you didn’t try to outshine her.

As of Mickey, he had some hard time this morning. He’s really confused. He’s never even done anything with a girl, yet alone with a guy. I don’t think he’s sure what he wants at this point. At least he decided to talk about it and doesn’t try to keep it in as always. He’s uh… Quite shook by the discovery that he might be gay and I think the fact that it seemed totally natural to Emil made it just worse. He feels better now, though. He seems to really care about Emil and that’s what’s important.

He wasn’t talking much the whole day, not even to me, but the smiles and looks the two of them shared were so precious. They look adorable together, have you seen the pictures? It’s so funny to see someone taller next to my brother. Mickey spent all his life protecting me, but had no one to do the same for him. I think Emil would be the best candidate for that, but, you know. He’s Czech and all that jazz… Not that Italy is that far away (says the girl dating a Russian), but you know how Mickey gets jealous over me all the time? I don’t think he’d be able to take that with a boyfriend so far away. But I’m thinking about the future too much, it’s irrelevant now.

The important thing is that we went to the concert Emil promised us and he went with us, of course. It was a really good Czech band, I’m not even sure what their name was, but it was amazing, definitely something you would enjoy! They held hands on the way home. I think Mickey is still a bit too shy to show any affection on the day light, but the night makes him feel safe. He tried to stop me from taking a picture, buuuuut I made it! B)

Sleep well, love you!

Sara <3

Dear Mila,

I love the new haircut! As always, you look cute and badass at the same time. Can’t wait to see it in person, the new red is super adorable on you, too. Only two weeks and we’ll be together! How amazing is that?

I got so lost in everything I forgot yesterday was the last day we had Emil booked for us. We’d already seen everything Prague has to offer, so we went shopping today instead of sightseeing! Got you a reeeeeally cute top and a few more things I’m sure you’ll appreciate. Mickey had been quiet for most of the day again. It was as if he was missing a limb without Emil around. So strange! I wanted to take him to the movies or something, but he wouldn’t go anywhere.

At about 7 pm, though, he suddenly got up and told me he was going out. I’m not his mom to keep an eye on him 24/7, but I was a bit worried, so I tried to ask Emil on facebook. Turned out he invited Mickey over to his place. Those two have something going on, I’m telling you. Not complaining, though, as long as they’re happy, I’m happy too.

The fun part is that it’s almost 11 pm and Mickey’s still not here hehe. But it means I can watch some of my favourite movies without being bothered! It’s a total win.

I can’t believe our vacation is almost over. We’re leaving tomorrow evening, I’ll miss it here so much. But, oh well, home is home. And I can’t miss Prague more than my girlfriend, that’s for sure!

Take care, love you!

Sara <3

 Dear Mila,

Sorry for not messaging you yesterday. It was all so hectic and I’m just so glad the ride is over and I can rest back at home!

Anyway, Mickey came back to the hotel in the morning. I was starting to worry, Emil said the streets can be pretty dangerous at night. But, instead of coming home with an empty wallet and a beaten up face, he came home with… wait for it… a boyfriend! Well, not literally. Emil wasn’t with him. But I tried to carefully ask what happened that night and it seems like they had a really nice talk and they seem to just click, you know? I’d never think someone so goofy and lively would click with my grumpy brother, or that my brother would ever let anyone touch him. I’m so happy for them. I just tried to make sure Mickey did think it through, I mean, they’ve known each other for what, a week? But he seems to be sure, so I trust him.

We ended up making big snack and water supplies for the long ride home in the morning, had our last huuuuge Czech lunch in a restaurant (pics, again, on Mickey’s Instagram) and then we hang out with Emil for the last time. I don’t know what they talked about the previous night, but holy shit. I’ve never seen Mickey so happy and sad at the same time.

Emil even came to meet us at the bus. I think it was the first time I saw him really sad. He was hugging Mickey for solid ten minutes and didn’t want to let go, it was heart-breaking (and reminded me of you and that was even worse, curse you, you damn gays!). Mickey was very quiet and sad the whole ride home, but that goofy Czech idjit kept sending him dog pics, it was adorable.

Soooo I decided to invite Emil over! For the two weeks you will be in Italy, too. I think Michele would be too embarrassed to have someone over alone, a double vacation will feel safer for him. And you’ll get to meet Emil! I’m so sure you’re gonna love him. He was saying something about a lifting-your-partner competition, so you might want to start working out again, we’re noT LOSING TO THESE TWO WIMPS!!!!!

Well, I think that’s all from our vacation. It was lovely, Prague is stunning and Mickey seems so happy after a very long time. I think it was a success. Message me when you get back to Saint Petersburg, let’s skype when you have time. I miss you so much!!!

Love you,

Sara <3

#emimikeweek #caren-ortensia #emimikeexchange #emil nekola #michele crispino #sara crispino #mila babicheva #prague

[shsummertimefest-blog]

Love's far away, but we're moving closer

Enjoy, @mariadelvca​!

Special message to your giftee (optional): Hey there! I hope you are having a good summer. When you said you you liked the cheesiest fics, I couldn't help choosing one of me favorite aus. I hope you enjoy the fic! Summary: Clary and Jace as they fall in love without knowing they are soulmates.

[Read on AO3]

This time is permanent they tell him. It’s kind of hard to believe, he has spent the last six years of his life with the Lightwoods, he had never seen so many different cities and states in his life. They finally found a laboratory they want to settle down in, they want to finally give them a place to call home.

They go through their whole new kids routine on Monday, at this point it feels like second nature, just like going through classes even if he already knows what the teachers are talking about, having researchers for parents has its perks.

When it’s lunch time he goes to find Izzy, being the most sociable of the four of them, she’s sitting with a redhead girl. He goes to their table and just sits beside her, the girl eyes him but says nothing; Alec joins them a few minutes later. The girl seems legit weirded out now, and it finally hits Jace that now that they are not leaving anymore, he will probably need his own friends instead of just hanging out with the ones Izzy makes. He and Alec probably seem two weirdos that spend their lunches with their sister instead of making friends.

“Hey, I finally found you,” A guy with glasses says touching the girl’s shoulder.

“This is Simon, my best friend,” she says to the three of them, “Simon this is Izzy, she’s new here, met her at biology class and she’s a genius at it”

“I’m glad you’re not failing it now that I’m in another class” he laughs and sits on the space she has left for him. “And who are they?” he questions pointing at Alec and him.

“These are my brothers, Alec and Jace. They are not very friendly” she says as a way of explaining their presence.

They stay silent for a while, the awkward kind of silence filling the table.

“I’m sorry if this is too personal, but doesn’t it feel weird?” the redhead, that he still doesn’t know the name asks Izzy.

“With what?” she questions confused.

“With your name” she clarifies, pointing at the brunet shoulder where her soulmate’s name is written in a pretty cursive letter.

“Is there something to feel weird about? Almost everybody has them” Izzy responds, shrugging.

“I don’t know, I just think they are something personal, something special between you and your soulmate” she tries to explain while biting her lower lip. Like touching the subject evokes some kind of magic, she starts rubbing her ribs, Alec starts pulling at his long sleeved t-shirt and the boy, Simon, stares at his lap.

“I belong to someone, I want everybody to know that,” Izzy says smiling, “But I understand what you’re saying. Knowing someone it’s your soulmate it’s probably a feeling you want to share only with that person”

There’s a silence that hangs in the table, is not necessarily awkward, but it’s not a good silence either.

“I think you’re very brave for putting yourself out there like this,” The redhead says smiling softly at Izzy, he can tell they are going to be very good friends.

“Hey,” he calls and everyone looks at him “I still don’t know your name”

“I’m Clary” she responds.

                                                    XXX

As much as soulmates are almost a part of every person in existence, it’s also pretty much nonexistent in conversations. People don’t talk about the name attached to their skin, he has never seen Alec’s soulmate’s name, even though he knows where it is written. People don’t talk about the wait, or the anxiety, he can see how Izzy craves for finding her soulmate, and how she hides that by baring her name to everyone to see. People don’t talk about the longing, about the somewhat emptiness that exists around them, but he found Clary absentminded rubbing her ribs, just like in that first day, with a distant look on her face. It’s something incredibly present, but lacking at the same time.

And apparently it’s not always something desirable, Simon teaches him that. They are at their house, Izzy is way too excited about her quinceñera, so she’s already making the list of friends she wants to invite.

“Any of you need extra invitations?” Izzy asks with the guest's list in her hands.

“My parents are already invited, so not really,” Clary says, and Jace is once again jealous of how she says it so easily, he still calls Maryse and Robert by their names. There’s only silence after that, but Jace can see Clary pointedly staring at Simon like she wants him to admit a crime or something. He just shakes his head and she sighs.

“What was that?” Izzy questions.

“Nothing,” Clary says, but she’s clearly torn about it.

“It didn’t seem like nothing” the brunet insists.

“Clary wants me to invite my soulmate to your party” at his statement even Alec that was busy with his college applications stops to look at Simon.

“Your what?” Izzy asks clearly shocked.

“My soulmate” He repeats avoiding everybody eyes, Clary grabs one of his hands.

“We have known each other for four months and you didn’t think of mentioning that?”

“It’s kind of complicated,” he says “We met and the beginning of the year, they were back at school, to get a document or something. I was there because they got my middle name written wrong.”

“They are a college student?” Jace asks.

“Yeah, they entered last year”

“Why you don’t want to invite them?”

“I didn’t expect to meet them so soon. I wanted to know who I was before I had a soulmate, I don’t want my entire personality to be based on the fact that I have this other person by my side, and they are supposed to be there forever.”

“ It doesn't have to be,” Alec says, and they turn to him, Alec as the oldest of them usually keeps to himself, he also doesn’t seem to like Simon that much, so they are all surprised “Soulmates don’t have to be the people you fall in love with. They are just people who are meant to be in your life, people you need to meet, whether, for a few moments or the rest of your life, whether platonic or romantic, it doesn’t matter. It’s just someone that needs to touch your life for some reason.”

“Thanks, Alec,” Simon says a small smile on.

“I hope it turns out fine,” Izzy says joining Clary and Simon on the floor, she grabs his other hand and they just stand there hand in hand for a long time.

                                                         XXX

Clary is doing the rib thing again, they are all studying for the upcoming tests, but he has given up on studying like half an hour ago. So he finally makes the question that’s been bothering him.

“Does it itch?”

“What?” she says taking her attention from her books to look at him.

“Does it itch?” he asks “Your soul mark, you touch it a lot.”

“I don’t know?” she laughs at herself “It’s been feeling weird for a while now, it’s not an itchy exactly, it just feels kind of warm. I don’t really know how to explain.”

“Maybe that means you going to meet your soulmate soon,” Izzy says excitedly.

“Maybe” Clary agrees, and he feels uncomfortable for some reason, like the fact that Clary may find her soulmate upsets him.

                                                          XXX

Maybe it’s the hair. Jace tells himself as he keeps finding Clary in every single crowded space he’s in. It’s like he can’t keep his eyes away from her. Jace has made some friends from his year, but he feels like he just can’t let Clary go. It’s clearly a problem, he’s just not sure why.

                                                           XXX

Izzy’s party is finally upon them and Jace has this nervous energy buzzing just under the surface, he has no idea why and it makes him even more nervous.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks interrupting his pacing; he turns to find Clary by the stairs.

“Wow” is all he can say, she’s wearing a short dark blue dress, that he vaguely remembers belonging to Izzy, but right now he couldn’t care less.

“I tried leaving the room with more clothing on, but Izzy wouldn’t let me”

“I should thank her later then,” He says before he can think better of it, he just stands there and watches as Clary’s eyes go wide with surprise. They just stay there staring at each other and frozen in place until they hear a noise at the top of the stairs, it’s Alec that eye their blushing cheeks suspiciously.

The car ride to where the party is being held is slightly uncomfortable for both of them, they can’t look at each other without blushing. But nobody seems to notice because Izzy’s talking a mile a minute in her excitement.

He might cry at Maryse and Robert speeches. Alec refused to make a speech, so his only line is ‘I love you and I’m very proud of you’. He might cry when is his turn to talk too, but nobody needs to know. He just loves this family very very much.

When everything is said and done, he notices Clary is gone, because of course, he does. It doesn’t have to mean anything. He finds her in the small garden just outside the place where the party is happening. There are a few other people here, but they are older than them, probably looking for a quieter place.

“Everything okay?” He asks when he’s close enough to the bench she sited on, she raises her head whipping at the corner of her eyes, being mindful of her make up.

“It was all very pretty,” she says as an answer, but he knows there is more than that.

“Yeah?”  he sits beside her.

“It just occurred to me that if I ever decide to make a party, Dad wouldn’t be here to make a speech”

Jace doesn’t know the whole story because they are still growing comfortable with each other. What he does know is that Clary’s dad died a few years ago, he was Luke and her mom’s soulmates and was called Valentine, they have his tattoo just peeking out from their t-shirt collars.

“You still have your mom and Luke” he reminds her.

“I’m sorry, this all probably sounds very childish compared to what you had to get through, I did get to have 3 parents at the end”

“You’re the only one that can feel your pain Clary, it’s not a competition if it hurts, it hurts. You don’t have to compare to me, you’re allowed to be sad, you’re allowed to miss him” He says, because he had this conversation before, Izzy and Alec had felt the same at some point in their life together, like they didn’t get to feel sadness or pain, because close to Jace’s historic it was nothing. He finally looks back at her and almost regrets saying anything because her eyes are teary again. But she leans her head against his shoulder and he gets to put his arm around her.

They stay there for long and quiet minutes, it feels amazing and it’s the closest he probably has ever been of her. He never wants to let go.

                                                          XXX

“Hey Jace” she calls him on a Monday right before lunch, he lets the boys go before him, and follow her to more calm place.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, I promise, I just wanted to thank you, for what you said at Izzy’s party”

“It was nothing, I like being useful,” he says, only half joking. Clary bites her lips and nervously looks around, she put both hands on his shoulder to push him down, they lips meet in between. It’s sweet and only long enough for Jace to register it, but not enough for him to react.

“Thanks, Jace,” she says before turning around with red cheeks, he is left behind dumbfounded.

                                                         XXX

After the kiss, Jace kind of feels consumed by Clary. He’s always looking for her, always wants to be close to her, and is always thinking about her. And it seems like the same goes to Clary since they always seem to end up tangled together these days.

Alec eyes them suspiciously at movie night when Clary is cuddled at his side like is second nature. Luke barely blinks when he finds him in his living room braiding Clary’s hair. Max is disgusted to discover they holding hands under the table while doing homework. Simon just raises an eyebrow at them when he finds them sharing the same chair. Izzy is unsurprised on finding them cuddling on his bed when Clary was supposed to be sleeping in her room.

“Just date her already,” she tells him after that particular incident.

                                                         XXX

It’s a fight that ends up making things happen. Boys can be fairly stupid, he would know, he is one of them, and this particular one had a very colorful choice of words about his sister. He deserved to be punched; it was not Jace’s fault. Thank God he had a witness.

Clary is sitting by his side holding the ice pack to his now bruising eye.

“Jonathan!” Maryse calls by the end of the of the hall and Jace flinches, she was probably in the middle of something important when the school called, he’s getting in so much trouble. He turns to thank Clary but she’s not looking at him, she is looking all worried to the floor

                                                           XXX

Jace is officially grounded in his room for four hours when it happens. His door is slammed open and Clary is standing there a kind of furious look on her face. She takes her time to close the door and then marches to end of his bed, standing by it.

“You are such an idiot,” she says, he thinks she talking about earlier “I have a fault on this too. But you? You were raised by geniuses, my nick name is Clary, Luke pet name for me is fairy, you probably have seen him shirtless when went swimming, and you just couldn’t figure it out”

“Clary?” he asks worriedly because she’s screaming at him, but she’s also unbuttoning her shirt, and he’s not quite sure where to look at. Her face he decides since she stopped screaming.

“Jace,” she says in the most serious tone he ever heard her use, he thinks he’s screwed.

“What?” he asks

“I want you to be honest with me, how do you feel about me?” he stares at her, he doesn’t know what is bringing this on.

“I like you” he confesses.

“I’m going to need more than that Jace,” she says getting closer to him.

“I- I don’t know Clary, it’s just consuming,” he says, “I want to be around you all the time and is like I can’t get enough of you. It’s like I’m drawn to you like I couldn’t get away even if I wanted to”

She sights and let her shirt slide from her body, there’s a lot of skin, he knows he’s blushing, there’s way too much inside of him. But It covers her entire rib cage, his name, in his bad cursive writing.

“Jonathan Christopher Wayland” she whispers, and he has the urge to touch her, so he does it, touches the name that bonds them to each other. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think he can.

“Kiss me” she demands, and he does it, doesn’t know how to resist the tug in his chest that brings him to her.

Their lips meet and he feels like every vein in his body is filled with electricity, like each one of this currents leads to her, like she’s the battery he needs to keep on living. And suddenly he understands why after years and years, Robert still looks at Maryse like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, he understands why Luke and Jocelyn still grieve for the third part they lost, he understands why Simon was so nervous.

This girl right in front of him, with closed eyes and uneven breathing, messed hair and half naked, it’s his forever. He went through sixteen years of his life to find this one person, the one person that will stick to him; that will be there every moment of the rest of the way. It’s a thought both comforting and terrifying.

“I love you” she whispers and opens her eyes.

“I love you” he whispers back. He pulls her until they lay down on the bed and he can cover them both, he’s not going to let her go, not so soon.

                                                          XXX

They are both awake but neither of them wants to move, so they just stay there entwined with one another.

“Hey” she calls him, he hums in response “Where do you keep me?”

“Close to the heart”, he says smiling.

“I’m serious,” she says

“So am I,” He says detangling himself from her. He sits up while she keeps staring at him lying down, he takes his shirt off and there it is, on the left side of his chest, right above his heart is her name, in a way better cursive letter than his.

“Clarissa Fairchild” he murmurs to her.

“We are both idiots,” she says pulling him back to bed “We’ve known each other this whole time, how could we not know?”

“I think we’ve felt it” he murmurs into her hair.

“Yeah, maybe we did”

#shgiftfest17 #mariadelvca #fic

[jessc32]

The Plan

@percy--jackass Hi! I was your giftee for the valentine’s exchange! Sorry it lateish, but I hope you enjoy it!! and sorry for grammar mistakes in advance, it’s not my strong suit.

In Jason’s life everything was going according to plan. He was on the football team’s starting line, he had straight A’s, and he was expected to get a large scholarship by the time graduation happened next year. Nothing could mess it up, he had accounted for everything: sick days, snow days, skip days, earthquakes, tornadoes, everything. Or at least that’s what he believed. But he had never accounted for the idea that he might fall in love. And not just fall in love with anyone, but to fall in love with Nico Di Angelo.

Nico was a year younger than him−a sophomore. He was short for his age, with an unruly mane of black hair. His dark brown eyes that had once sparkled with excitement had dulled over the years, as time after time tragedy struck. But somehow Jason had remained close to Nico, even though Nico has tried desperately to shut everyone out.

Nico was currently sitting across for Jason with his nose stuck in a book, as per usual. “Nico,” Jason whispered, “Hey Earth to Nico, can you hear me?” Nico didn’t move or in any way acknowledge Jason’s presence. Tired of being ignored, Jason snatched to book out of Nico’s hands.

“Grace!” Nico yelled. Jason flipped through the pages. “Oooo, The Mayor of Casterbridge, nice choice I hope you know in the end−” “Jason I swear to god if you spoil this book, I’ll kill you.” Jason never had the intention of spoiling, but he was happy the small Italian was now paying attention to him. “It’s cool Neeks, I would never ruin a book for you. But hey you wanna come over today and hang out?”

Nico quickly snatched the book back, examining the cover and pages making sure the blonde had not somehow damaged it in the five seconds he held it. After placing the novel in the safety of his book bag, and glaring at Jason just to remind him he was displeased he replied, “Yeah I’ll come over, but you have to swear to not call me Neeks ever again, you know I hate it.”

“Uh huh, yeah okay I swear I won’t call you that anymore… Neeks,” Jason then shot up from his seat and ran out of the Library with a smirk on his face, as Nico yelled after him. Once he turned the corner, Jason leaned against the wall, and began to think about this afternoon. All he wanted to do was ask Nico on a date, but he had no idea how. He knew Nico was gay after he came out to him in the 8th grade, but he didn’t know if Nico returned his feelings. Jason did not want to make their relationship awkward in any way, but all Jason could do was think about how perfectly Nico’s hand would feel in his grasp or how pink his lips were.

Jason shook his head, there was no time for these thoughts. Nico was going to be a friend and that was that. He has to think about the future, what happens when he graduates. He was planning on going out of state for college and Nico will still be in school and once he graduates Jason doubts that he will go to the same school as him. It’s just not the right decision, he has to think about what’s best for the both of them, and the best would be for them to stay friends. Once Jason finished arguing with himself, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and headed down the hall to his final period of the day.

~*~

Jason now sat on his couch, waiting for Nico to arrive. It was currently 5:30 and Nico texted 30 minutes ago, that he was on the way yet Nico only lives 10 minutes away. Jason was beginning to worry, Nico was never late to anything. He’s probably got caught up talking to his dad Jason laughed at the possibility, Mr. Hades was the least talkative man he has ever met, there was no possible way Nico was 20 minutes late because he was stuck in a conversation. Jason’s head was whirling with possibilities, maybe he got lost, maybe he was hit by are car, maybe he was kidnapped, or worse abducted by aliens! As the scenarios became more ridiculous by the minute, Jason almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

Almost.

Jason stood up, and practically sprinted to the door. Flinging the door open, Jason was greeted immediately with a wet hug. In shock, Jason looked down at the small boy desperately hugging him.

“Nico?” Jason whispered. The Italian didn’t look up, and was practically shaking. “Nico what happened?”

This time the boy shook his head, and let out a sob. Jason didn’t know what to do, so he just wrapped his arms around Nico and helped him inside. Shutting the door, Jason had to practically pry Nico off of him. Looking at Nico’s face he gasped, it was covered scraps and his left eye was almost swollen shut.

“Nico what the hell happened to you?!” Jason cried.

“T-Three g…guys came o-out of n-n-now-where and they…they attacked m-me,” Nico hiccupped. He tried to calm himself down, but failing. Jason saw Nico wrap his arms around himself, trying to give himself some form of comfort. Jason grabbed Nico’s hand and pulled him into the living room. After motioning Nico to sit on the coach, Jason ran to get the first aid kit that was kept in his parent’s bathroom.

Jason may have seemed calm on the outside, but on the inside, he was absolutely livid. How dare those guys hurt his Nico. How dare they touch him. If he ever found out how they were they would regret ever laying a hand on the boy he loved.

Jason paused. Did he love Nico? He knew he couldn’t the plan, it would never work out. Shaking his head, Jason grabbed the kit and rushed back to the living room to see Nico curled up on the couch. Approaching slowly, Jason sat down next to Nico. The boy looked up and tried to muster a smile, but it was ruined by a single tear running down his cheek. Jason held out a finger and caught it. “Let’s get you fixed up, okay?”

Nico nodded, and Jason got to work. He started first by cleaning all the scraps and scratches, and then put band aids and gauze on the larger injuries. Nico might need a few stitches, but he would have to take him to the doctor for that. Once he was done with what he could, Jason sat back and looked at Nico.

Nico’s face was flushed from crying and his eyes were bloodshot, but he somehow still looked beautiful. “Thanks Jason,” Nico whispered.

“It was my pleasure. Do you want to talk about it?” Nico shook his head, and Jason let it be. Not knowing what to do, Jason turned on the television and just turned and sat back into the sofa. A few minutes later, he felt something curl up next to him. Glancing over, he saw Nico slowly relaxing. Soon enough Jason was supporting almost all of Nico’s body weight on his shoulder.

After about fifteen minutes, Jason heard Nico’s breath even out signaling that the small Italian was now asleep. Jason smiled a little, knowing that Nico was comfortable enough around him to sleep. But that smile faded slightly once he remembered why Nico was asleep and not chatting and hanging out with him. Now feeling uncomfortable Jason shifted to where he was looking down at Nico’s sleeping face.

Looking at him Jason thought Nico looked angelic, despite the injuries. His dark hair was falling into his face blocking his eyes from view. Jason brushed it away and enjoyed looking at the small shadows Nico’s long eyelashes cast on his cheeks.

Jason looked around to make sure no one was around, even though the only people in the house was himself and Nico. And once the coast was clear, Jason leaned down and kissed Nico. It wasn’t much, just a small peck on Nico’s small pink lips but it was enough to tell Jason one thing. That he truly did love this boy, and that the maybe it was time to change his plan.

#pjo discord #valentines day exchange #hurt/comfort #jason/nico #percy jackson #pjo #giftee #fanfic #pjo fanfic #fanfiction #highschool AU