#//she like girl please apologize for what

[p0orbaby]

In Vino Veritas

summary: you’re drunk, aitana is missing and whose house is this?

warnings: alcohol

a/n: this is cute, and it’s made me want to write for tana more

word count: 2.5k

-

The music pulses around the house, loud and relentless, like it has a personal vendetta against silence, and you feel it vibrating through your bones. It’s some mainstream electronic track, too cheerful for the kind of reflective mood tequila usually grants you. Everything around you is a little hazy, a bit too bright, and you’re squinting at it all, like you’re looking at the world through frosted glass.

The wallpaper here is too clean, too deliberately “vintage,” with little pink roses blooming in neat, identical rows. You imagine, briefly, peeling the wallpaper back, layer by layer, finding more roses, more decades of them, stacked on top of each other like memories no one wants to talk about. But that’s a thought for another time, another you, one not stumbling over someone’s overly expensive thrifter rug and nearly tripping on a pair of boots discarded in the hallway.

Where the hell is Aitana?

It’s around the fifth time you’ve drunkenly circled the house when you spot Sunglasses Guy, a figure that almost feels like a test placed here by some malevolent spirit—an obstacle on your journey. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like he’s in a photoshoot, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Indoors, sunglasses on, even though it’s dark outside. He’s got that air of self-importance, like he’s convinced that sunglasses are mysterious, that people look at him and think, Wow, who’s that? In reality, they’re thinking, Why is this guy wearing sunglasses in the dark?

He nods at you, a slow, deliberate motion, clearly trying to make you feel “seen” in some profound way, as if this is a moment the two of you will remember forever. But all you remember is your drink, the way it sloshes precariously as you shift your weight, and the way he leans in, smelling faintly of something vaguely woody and way too expensive.

“Do you know what NFTs are?” he asks, his voice low, a little sultry, like he thinks NFTs are the new “what’s your sign?”

You stare at him, and the words that spring to mind are “sunglasses,” “pretentious,” and, inexplicably, “parsley.” You’ve no idea where “parsley” came from, but your mind clings to it like smoke on cotton. “NFTs,” you repeat, as though it’s the punchline to a joke he hasn’t told. He takes this as an invitation to launch into what sounds like a memorised TED Talk, and you wonder, briefly, if you could just interrupt him by throwing your drink on his shoes.

“Aitana!” you yell instead, desperate, cutting him off mid-monologue, which he handles with a slightly indignant flick of his eyebrow.

“Where’s my girlfriend? Have you seen her?”

The phrase my girlfriend makes you beam internally. There’s a glow that forms when you think of her, a warmth that starts in your chest and blooms outward. She is, after all, the reason you’re here. The reason you even pretend to tolerate these kinds of social gatherings, with their sunglasses indoors and their endless monologues about digital assets.

He blinks, trying to recover from the abrupt derailment. “Uh, blockchain—”

“Ugh,” you mutter, interrupting again, giving him a very distinct dismissive wave, the kind of wave that says Please stop talking or I will find a way to escape this dimension entirely.

A girl nearby spills beer on your shoes. She mumbles an apology, not that you’re in a state to care; you brush it off. Aitana is the focus, the centre. Shoes don’t matter when you’re looking for someone who does.

Then, finally—finally—you see her. She’s leaning against the far wall, her posture so casual, like she’s posed there on purpose, like she’s an ad for the kind of life you’re pretty sure only exists in those short films that play before foreign films at independent cinemas. She’s listening intently to some guy in an aggressively patterned shirt, nodding along like he’s actually saying something worthwhile, and you can’t help but marvel at the patience it takes to look interested when you’re not.

“Oh my god, she’s so beautiful.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, but it comes out loud enough that a girl nearby laughs. You’re only mildly mortified; who cares? Aitana has just noticed you across the room, and now she’s looking at you with that expression, the one that melts your insides, that says, There you are.

You start walking toward her, though “walking” might be generous. It’s more of a determined stumble, like a baby deer on its first attempt at standing. Your brain registers that you’re approaching her, but your legs aren’t quite sure if they’re fully on board. At some point, you even have to pause and grab a nearby chair for balance, flashing a sheepish grin at a couple nearby who look half-amused, half-concerned.

“Aitanaaaa,” you call, drawing her name out like you’re serenading her. She’s already moving toward you, though, weaving gracefully through the crowd like it’s easy, natural. You think, Of course she’d come to me. Of course she’d know that I need rescuing.

“Hi, cariño,” she says softly, her voice lilting with that soft Spanish accent that, even now, sends a thrill up your spine. And it’s so gentle, so warm, like she’s wrapping you up in some invisible blanket. You lean into it, the warmth, her presence, like a moth to a flame.

“You’re so pretty,” you blurt out, your words tumbling over each other in their eagerness. “Like, stupid pretty. Like, why are you even with me?” Your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as if the two of you are sharing a secret in a room filled with strangers. “I’m a disaster. I can’t even find the toilet in this place”

She laughs, this soft, lilting sound that feels like honey, thick and golden, spreading warmth from your chest to your fingertips. Her hand settles on your shoulder, steadying you, pulling you closer, and you realise how desperately you want to bury your face in the crook of her neck and just exist there, where things are quiet, soft. She smells faintly floral, and you realise it’s that same perfume she always wears, the one you borrowed once and promptly drenched yourself in until she told you, with a smile, that subtlety might work better.

“Why am I with you?” she echoes, the question hanging there between you, laced with a smile, with that familiar mischief. “Because I love you. And because you’re funny. And because you make my life interesting”

“Interesting?” You narrow your eyes, leaning back slightly, pretending to be offended. “I thought I made your life amazing. Like, top-tier, VIP-section amazing.” You’re about to launch into a whole speech, but your brain hiccups, lost somewhere in a thought that doesn’t quite finish. You grin at her instead, and she just shakes her head, amused.

She grins, and it’s that cheeky, self-assured grin that makes you both melt and want to argue. “That too”

It’s at this moment, this little pause, that you get an idea. It’s not necessarily a good idea, but it’s there, persistent, because your tequila-fuelled brain won’t let it go. “If you were a sandwich,” you say seriously, “you’d be the kind with all the best fillings. Like, avocado and caramelised onions and, like, artisanal cheese. And I’d eat you every day and never get bored”

She laughs, that infectious, melodic sound, and you feel a swell of pride that you can make her laugh like that, even in your current state. Her eyes soften, that look of adoration flickering there, just for you, and she reaches up to brush a strand of hair off your face. Her fingers are warm, soft, and your eyes flutter closed for a moment as they linger on your cheek.

“Come on, let’s get you some water,” she murmurs, her voice gentle as she takes your hand in hers, and there’s a comfort in that touch, in the way her fingers intertwine with yours.

As she guides you through the crowd, you find yourself staring at her hand in yours, marvelling at how naturally it fits, how perfect it feels, as though it’s always meant to be there. The thought makes you feel almost childlike in its simplicity, but you hold onto it.

“You’re the best, you know that?” you say as Aitana threads you through a crowd that’s moving with the sludgy, undulating rhythm of a creature with too many limbs. Faces pass by in flashes of laughing mouths and narrowed eyes, pupils blown wide by God knows what, maybe tequila, maybe… more. None of them matter, though. They’re simply the backdrop to this little tableau: you, lit up and fizzing, tethered to the only person in the world who’d think to take your hand and lead you to salvation (water) instead of just letting you unravel on the sticky floor of someone’s overpriced house.

She looks at you like you’re amusing, like she’s doing you this great favour by holding your hand in public. “I know,” she says, her mouth quirking in that way that makes your chest feel both hollow and unbearably full.

And then you stop—there’s an odd elegance to it, almost like a dance, because she half-turns, looking back at you as if she knew this was coming. Like she’s been expecting you to stop her and do something wild, something foolish. The patience in her eyes, well, it almost feels like she’s giving you permission to make an idiot of yourself. Again.

“I want to kiss you,” you announce, dead serious, as if declaring something truly revolutionary.

“We’re in the middle of a strangers house.” She says this lightly, but she’s already leaning in, her chin tilting, the light catching in her hair just so, like it’s the climax of some impossibly chic music video.

You want to tell her that kissing her here, now, with people everywhere and the taste of cheap tequila in your mouth, is the single most important thing in the world. That nothing in this moment matters, except her—your Aitana, who has somehow, against all reason and logic, decided to love you back.

So, when she presses her mouth to yours, soft, barely-there, like you’re made of fine china, you think you might just melt into the floor. The crowd around you recedes; they fade away, just shadows in the periphery, and it’s as if you and Aitana are standing in a bubble, suspended in time. You’re floating, really, an ethereal, drunk ghost of yourself. She’s kissed you like this a thousand times, but right now, it feels so outrageously perfect that you think, absurdly, that maybe you don’t deserve it. Like you’ve somehow won this cosmic lottery.

When she pulls back, you’re vaguely aware that your mouth is still open, probably looking ridiculous, but she’s smiling at you, all fondness and amusement, as if to say, “Yes, you’re a total disaster, but you’re my disaster.” It’s a little terrifying, if you think about it too long.

“See? This is why you’re the best,” you mumble, clutching her a little tighter, almost swaying in place.

She tilts her head, giving you this look that’s so completely Aitana, so fully her, it borders on cliché. “You’re a mess,” she says, but her eyes are bright, shimmering with something almost mischievous.

You shrug, proud, defiant. “I’m your mess”

“Yes,” she agrees, not even trying to hide her smile, “you are”

And with that, she’s tugging you along, moving with a fluidity that makes you wonder, briefly, if she’s choreographed this entire evening just for you. You’re half-convinced she’s orchestrated the entire universe to align with this moment—the sounds of people talking too loud, the stickiness of the floor, the faint scent of stale beer and expensive perfume all melding into a cocktail that feels uniquely yours. Aitana, your perfect Aitana, leading you through this mire like she’s guiding you through a rainforest or a canyon, somewhere treacherous and fraught with danger.

You stumble into what you desperately hope is the kitchen, but honestly, it could just as easily be a poorly-lit hallway or an oddly-configured living room. Someone has drawn a Sharpie mustache on a framed photo of a golden retriever; the countertop is littered with crumpled napkins and red Solo cups, each one bearing the lipstick marks of strangers.

“I’m gonna drink, like, four litres of water,” you declare, full of bravado, as she hands you a slightly dented plastic cup that smells faintly of gin.

“Good idea,” she replies, crossing her arms and watching you with that expression she gets sometimes, like she’s trying to contain her fondness, keep it manageable, as if loving you too much would somehow be irresponsible. Like her heart could actually explode if she indulged herself too much.

You take a sip, but you’re not really tasting the water. No, you’re watching her, the way she brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face with her pinky, the way her eyes are this exact shade of dark that you’ve spent hours trying to name in your head. Like burnt caramel, maybe, or wet soil. It’s frustratingly poetic, the way she looks at you, like she knows every ridiculous thing you’ve ever thought and loves you for it anyway.

“Aitana,” you say, fully serious, as if you’re about to impart some life-altering wisdom. “You’re my favourite person ever”

“I know,” she replies, but there’s something so gentle in her voice that you’re pretty sure she means it as much as you do. She reaches out, smoothing a stray hair behind your ear, a little gesture, the kind that’s both tender and practical, reminding you of the time she told you to cut your nails because you scratched her during a tickling fit. Practical, pragmatic Aitana, the girl who brings you plasters when you’ve tripped up the stairs and curses in Catalan when she stubs her toe but tries to blame the wall for it.

“No, but like…you don’t understand,” you say, stumbling over your words, the alcohol making you louder and sloppier than you’d like. You lean in closer, conspiratorially, like you’re about to reveal some great cosmic secret. “I’m so in love with you. It’s, like, a problem”

She laughs softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. She pulls you into her arms, your head pressing against her shoulder, and you breathe her in, that familiar scent that’s all her—floral and a little musky, layered with the faintest hint of some expensive perfume you’ve never bothered to learn the name of.

“It’s not a problem,” she murmurs, smoothing a hand down your back. “It’s perfect”

And it is. Perfect, that is. You’re here, tangled up in her, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic, messy cloud of tequila and love, and it’s perfect in this fragile, unsteady way. You’re her mess, her drunken mess, and there’s something so intensely beautiful about it, you think you might actually cry.

“I’m never letting you go,” you mumble, your words muffled against her shirt, which is soft and smells like laundry detergent.

“Good,” she replies, holding you a little tighter, as if she means it more than anything. “Because I’m not going anywhere”

[saintzweig]

artashrick in the harry potter universe!!! let me know what you think :) edited this because i didn't realize there were so many mistakes so i apologize :3

patrick gives me potter vibes (maybe a cousin or older brother of james potter). he'd be the first slytherin in a long line of gryffindors and has a complicated relationship with his family aside from james. he's troubled and rebellious, sometimes not in a fun way and his family is too fed up with him but really he just wants to be independent and distance himself from the potter name because he knows he'll never live up to it like his ancestors have. too extroverted, will literally start a conversation with someone he's never even talked to seen before. very chaotic, barely surviving his studies but somehow a popular student.

art is a scamander ... theseus scamander's grandson or something like that ... please tell me you see the vision ... and he'd also be the first slytherin in a family filled with hufflepuffs and nobody can figure out why, he's literally the politest slytherin there is. most people perceive him as a pushover because he's quiet and always has patrick speak for him but as soon as he sets his mind onto something, best believe he's gonna get what he wants. he's cunning and calculated like that. becomes a prefect by his fifth year and head boy by sixth.

of course these two are roommates and always attached at the hip. they're paired up with tashi for a potions project and develop the biggest crush on her.

tashi is a muggleborn and the only wizard/witch in her family, she's a ravenclaw of course. i think she would love being on campus and staying there over the break because being the eldest daughter in her family is just exhausting. everyone thinks she's stuck up and cold but also really smart and resilient. she's definitely gotten into an argument with a professor at least once, and won. becomes a prefect by her third year and a head girl by her fifth, also the captain of the quidditch team, leading her house into a winning streak but somehow still loses the house cup to gryffindor (dumbledore has favorites we all know that).

[phantoms-planet]

Barred Protection Chapter Seven

First

Misspelled J'onn's name the whole chapter, don't have energy to fix it, sorry

Daelus was unkempt. Hair loose and in his face, bags under his eyes. Batman had seen many people go behind bars but none of them fell apart this quickly. It had only been a little over a week after all.

“Are you here to ask where I got him?” A weak voice called out. “I made sure that there weren’t any records of that.”

“I know.” Batman responded shortly. “Where?”

“When I was first building my company, I went on the look for anything that could be used for healing. I found a group called the G.I.W and got in contact with them.”

Batman pursed his lips. He didn’t know this organization, at least not by acronym.

After a pause Daelus put his head in his shaking hands. “Please, I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Except for Danny.” Daelus flinched at the words.

“I didn’t know he was really a child. They said he was…I believed them…God why did I believe them?”

 A twinge of sympathy found its way out. Batman ignored it. “Who is the G.I.W?”

“They hunt ghosts.” Daelus answered simply.

This resulted in a confused grunt. Danny wasn’t a ghost; he was a meta child. Ghosts existed, just look at Deadman for an example, and ghost hunters were nothing new, but as far as he was aware none of them ever boasted having ghosts in their possession.

It was usually amateur groups waving recording devices and different cameras everywhere hoping to catch their supposed ‘anomalies’. They were as incompetent as they were spiritual most of the time.

Daelus took in a shaky breath before clarifying. “They’re a government branch dedicated to the capture and eradication of ecto-entities, as they call them. I assure you that what they do is entirely legal.”

Now wasn’t that a concerning statement. How they got permission to do things like capture a young boy while the Meta Protection Acts were in place was, unfortunately, beyond him.

“Where is their facility?”

Daelus shrugged tentatively. “I don’t know, we met at an agreed secondary location to discuss the deal and for them to transfer custody over. In hindsight that was most certainly a red flag.”

Batman hummed his agreement but didn’t say anything, waiting for Daelus to simply tell him things. The man didn’t disappoint.

“They said he was a ghost that’s whole purpose was to protect people. Through experiments they found that his tears…his tears could heal people.”

“So you bought him.”

“I didn’t believe he was a ghost though,” The man didn’t seem to hear him. “Ghosts are silly. But there is proof of gods and god-like beings. Superman, for one. I thought…maybe if I could harness the entity’s need to help others, I could find a way to make his tears into medicine, and it worked!”

“I had spent so many years trying to synthesize cures and all I needed was Subject P’s tears to do what no one else had managed. There weren’t any negative side effects, the tears were easy to incorporate, it was perfect! Everyone was happy!”

Batman pursed his lips as Daelus lit up when speaking about his success. It was as if the man only saw the solution and not the horrific path to get to it.

Seeming to sense his rising frustration, Daelus deflated with a quiet mumbled apology. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Nothing made noise but the clock ticking away the seconds up on the wall.

It was Daelus who broke the quiet. “When I was in middle school, there was a girl who had a terminal illness. I wasn’t close to her, to be honest I found her unworthy of my time. But I noticed when she died.”

Batman rose an eyebrow at the sudden story.

“Everyone was devastated. I couldn’t stand the way the air felt. It was as if we were all suffocated by the grief of her friends and family.” Daelus pulled a hand down his face, a deep frown forming. “I never cared about her, but I did care about the aftermath. I knew then that I wanted to make sure no one else had to feel the grief her loved ones did. That’s why I made my company.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You could use some of my medicines for-“

“No.”

“But- It could help the boy get better!”

“I said no.” Batman pulled himself to his feet and swept his way to the door, nodding to the guards to let them know he was done for now.

“Please! Let me help fix this!” The door slammed shut on the rest of Daelus’s cries.

---

After being brought back to his cell, Daelus started pacing like a caged animal. He knew his cures could help the boy, he knew it would be better than healing without help, he knew Batman had to know this as well.

Surely using P’s tears on himself was a good use for them? Even with how they were acquired if there was anyone who deserved their healing factor, it would be the boy who produced them! After all, he had helped save thousands of people!

Dealus didn’t know what to do with the buildup of guilt and rage. He wanted to yell. He wanted to cry. By God he wanted to break something.

Batman wasn’t letting him help fix anything. It wasn’t fair. Shouldn’t he get the chance to right the wrong he had caused? Surely Batman, who sent his rogues to get help, would understand this.

Only it seemed like he hadn’t. There hadn’t been a moment’s thought into denying Daelus’s ideas.

He forced himself to stop pacing and start taking deep breaths. It wouldn’t help anything to simmer in his anger right then and it certainly wouldn’t do anything good for his already troubled mind.

Instead Daelus called over the guard and made a simple request.

---

The NastyBurger.

That is where he was at the moment. Sitting in a booth, eating a burger that didn’t actually have any taste to it. That’s when the green guy showed up asking to sit with him. Danny had obliged.

“Do you remember me at all?” The green man asked. Danny shook his head. “My name is J’ohn. I was there when we rescued you.”

Rescued him? That was odd. He wasn’t in any danger; he was sitting around eating fast food after all.

J’ohn’s face seemed to grow…concerned? He wasn’t really sure how to read that expression. “Danny, do you remember what happened to you?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific dude.”

“The facility.”

The edges of his surroundings started fuzzing out. If he thought about it, and he didn’t, there felt like something wrapped around his throat and wrists. Then it all went back to normal. “No idea what you’re talking about. The only ‘facility’,” Danny used air quotes, “I’ve been in is my parent’s lab.”

This didn’t seem to make J’ohn feel any better. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. “Look man, my friends are going to be here soon, I’ll…talk to you later, I guess?” Before J’ohn could stop him, Danny was booking it from the building.

What a weird man for real.

…

This time it was at school. J’ohn walked in on his gym class in the middle of dodgeball. He wasn’t hit once as he made his way over to Danny.

Oddly enough, no one else paid attention to him.

“Danny, we need to speak. Your mind isn’t healing well, we need to know what has happened to you.”

Danny snorted. “Dude, I told you; I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing has happened to me besides Dash trying to pelt my face in with a dodgeball.”

“The facility was real Danny. Please try to remember.”

Once again the surroundings fuzzed out but this time Danny wasn’t going to stand for it. Rage boiled in his chest. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jhon was about to respond when a ball hit him square in the side of the head.

Danny ran into the locker room.

…

Surely as Phantom he would get a break from J’ohn, right? Surely!

Not.

J’ohn was floating right next to him now as he shot ecto blasts at Boxy. “Danny please, this isn’t healthy. You need to remember so you can begin to heal.”

Danny had had enough. Turning square onto the man he aimed both hands and- fury exploded outwards as J’ohn simply dodged the blast. “I DON’T HAVE TO REMEMBER ANYTHING!” Just like that the world ripped away, leaving them in a blackened void. “I don’t WANT to remember anything!” J’ohn stumbled as winds started whipping around him. “And you can’t MAKE ME REMEMBER!”

---

J’ohn tripped backwards as he was violently expelled from the young boy’s mind. Diana caught him and gently sat him down. He spent a moment just catching his breath.

Of course he understood, such a young child going through something this traumatic would be difficult to reach, but he realized too late that he might have picked the wrong route to get to him.

Batman grunted, asking for what happened.

“I pushed too hard. Danny won’t welcome me into his mind so easily again. He’s adamant that he doesn’t want to remember anything about what happened to him. He’s choosing to fabricate a life as if it never happened at all.”

“That’s…” Diana couldn’t seem to find the words. Even Batman was upset by the news.

Everyone had been so excited when they had found out that Danny’s mind had been clearing up, and worried when he stopped waking up. This was not the breakthrough they had been hoping for.

“Where do we go from here?” Diana’s voice was uncharacteristically fragile.

Batman reached over to lay a hand to her shoulder. “Now we go after the G.I.W.”

---

Frostbite had many regrets. His most current one was related to the collar latched around his throat. He knew he should have listened to Clockwork but standing by while Danny was hurt and captive hadn’t sat well with him.

He had grown so fond of the young boy, so much so that he had begun to see him as something akin to his own. More than anything it hurt deeply to watch as Phantom was abused and neglected. Frostbite refused to stay idle any longer.

Now he was in a cage, unable to help anyone.

He dreaded what was going to happen to him, and even more-so how it would affect Phantom. After all, the G.I.W weren’t known for their mercy.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time Frostbite looked around the cage he was in.

It was only just large enough to house him sitting down, glowing green in an ominous way, and the bars on the one side showed a lab that made his fur stand on end. There were needles, saws, scalpels, clamps, anything medical that could be used to open someone up or keep them properly down covered the walls.

A sterile metal table sat in the center of the starkly lit room. It was large enough for him to fit on, which did nothing to help his nerves.

Frostbite curled in tighter on himself. He hoped against everything that someone might come to rescue him before it was too late.

[ellswritings]

Wolf’s Bane 1x09

A pair of headlights flash into Fallon’s eyes as she roughly turns the wheel to Derek’s sleek black Camaro. Stiles is in the seat next to her, Scott in the back. She’s pushing around sixty miles per hour in a twenty-five mile zone, but with the person in the large SUV behind them, she’s getting dangerously close to just flooring it.

“Fallon, if you could stop driving like a freaking grandmother, that would be great!” Stiles chides sarcastically.

“If I go any faster, I’m gonna flip, Stiles!” She snaps, turning a sharp corner causing the car to lift up on one side slightly. “Besides, I am not crashing Derek’s car. He would have my head on a stick!”

The brunette and Scott had managed to make up not long after the full moon. While the words he said still stung, his apology was pretty awesome. He showed up to her house with a bouquet of moonflowers, her favorite, and a whole box of pizza for them to share. He also spent ninety percent of the night groveling and telling her to slap him for what he said, which she never did, but she appreciated the sentiment.

Hence why she’s now part of some elaborate plan to confuse the police and hunters of Derek’s whereabouts. The three teens are driving his car while Derek chases after the Alpha as the police are chasing him. But they are also chasing the trio. They don’t know how the plan came into action, but it’s way too late to stop now.

“Fallon, I really don’t think you’re grasping the concept of a car chase, here!” Stiles yells at her again.

“I’m not going any faster! It’ll kill us,” she tries to reason with him.

“Well, if you don’t go any faster, they’re gonna kill us!” He turns to point to the hunters chasing them, but the SUV seems to have disappeared. “They’re gone.”

“Damn it,” Fallon grumbles, taking that as her sign to floor it. “Derek, if I crash your car… please don’t kill me,” she whispers.

Stiles turns his police radio on and the voice of his father echoes through the car, “All units, suspect is on foot, heading into the iron works.”

“Copy that,” the girl replies, speeding up before turning down a dark alleyway she knows leads to the iron works. They see a small explosion and a few hunters loading their weapons as Derek lays on the ground. The brunette rolls down the passenger side window, forcing Stiles into the back as she skids to an unsafe stop. “Get in!” She yells.

Shots are fired as the werewolf runs as fast as he can, jumping expertly through the small window and sliding in next to Fallon. She pushes her foot to the floor as bullets bounce off the side of the Camaro. The tires screech loudly as she zooms out of the iron works. “Oh so now you go over a hundred,” Stiles snarks. “Just because Derek’s in the car?”

“No, you idiot. Because we’re being shot at!” She yells, while glaring at him through the rearview mirror. “Now shut up and let me drive,”

“God, Derek, what part of laying low don’t you understand?” Scott asks frustratedly.

“Damn it, I had him!” Derek exclaims, completely ignoring Scott.

“Who?” Stiles leans forward from his spot beside Scott. “The Alpha?”

“Yes!” Derek scoffs impatiently. “He was right in front of me, and the freakin’ police showed up,” he growls under his breath out of pure annoyance.

“Whoa! Hey, they’re just doing their jobs–” Stiles tries to defend his fathers and his deputies choice of profession, but is cut off by Derek throwing a glare his way.

“Yeah, thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the entire state!” Derek snaps sarcastically. Stiles opens and closes his mouth, not knowing how to defend himself. Scott has his guilty face on while Fallon puts her finger up, offended.

“Okay, first of all, I never agreed with anything they said to the police. I just said I wanted to go home. Your name never came out of my mouth,” she argues.

“Both hands on the wheel!” Derek yells at her, gripping her right hand and placing it firmly around the steering wheel.

“Stop yelling at me!” Fallon screams back at him, making the man raise his eyebrows at her.

“Did you really just yell at me to get me to stop yelling at you?”

“Okay!” Stiles cuts them both off. “Can we get back on track please? You said you had the Alpha. How did you find him?”

Derek stays silent, not revealing his information to any of them. Scott scoffs at his immature behavior, “Can you trust us for at least half a second.”

“No,” he responds bluntly.

“Fallon? Can you trust Fallon?” Stiles asks quickly.

“Yes.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. His brain short circuits before he grips onto the head of Derek’s chair. “Are you serious? You trust her? He asks offendedly. “How about all three of us?”

“Or just me,” Fallon smiles smugly at Stiles through the rearview mirror. “We all know he’s not gonna trust you guys any time soon. So why don’t we just let him explain?”

Derek nods, turning to physically only address Fallon. “Look, the last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.”

Harris. As in Adrian Harris? Their chemistry teacher? While she would love to believe that he’s a murderous Alpha werewolf so there could be a reason to explain his rude behavior, he just doesn’t seem like the supernatural type. The man himself is a jerk, but not enough to be running around at night killing people. In fact, he seems like the person to be more afraid of a werewolf rather than being one. Or is that what the Alpha wants them all to think?

“Our chemistry teacher?” Stiles asks in just as much disbelief as Fallon.

The girl turns the car down another quiet side road as Scott furrows his eyebrows, “Why him?”

“I don’t know yet,” Derek answers.

“What’s the second thing?” Fallon asks, briefly looking towards Derek.

Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded up piece of paper. He unfolds it so they can all see it clearly and holds it up for them to see. It’s a wolf inside of what could possibly be a pendant. “Some kind of symbol,” Derek says. When Scott gets a good look at it, he groans quietly, rolling his eyes. “What? You know what this is?” The man questions aggressively, needing answers sooner rather than later.

“I’ve seen it on a necklace,” Scott sighs. “Allison’s necklace.”

“Oh, what a relief,” Fallon snarks. “That shouldn’t pose an issue.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Scott pushes the door to the high school open, Fallon and Stiles following behind him. The werewolf huffs, “This is gonna be impossible, you know.” He tells them pessimistically.

“Why can’t one of you two just ask her to borrow it?” Stiles suggests. “I mean, she doesn’t hate Fallon.”

“It would still raise a couple of questions if I just randomly asked for her necklace, Stiles,” Fallon points out. “Her family barely trusts me as it is.”

“Weren’t you over there just the other day?” The boy questions.

“Yes,” Fallon nods. “But that doesn’t mean they’re gonna be totally fine with me just taking Allison’s necklace. They’ll want an explanation.”

“So just lie,” Stiles shrugs. “You’re good at that.”

“Thank you?” She furrows her eyebrows. “But I’m still not gonna do it. Her mom scares me.”

Stiles groans overdramatically, throwing his head back, “Scott?” He asks hopefully.

“How would I even get it from her?”

“It's easy! You just say, ‘Hey, Allison, can I borrow your necklace to see if there's anything on it or in it that can lead me to an Alpha Werewolf that I need to kill in order to get back together with you?’” Stiles answers unseriously.

“You’re not helping,” Scott glares at him.

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

“She won’t talk to me,” Scott huffs. “What if she, like, only takes it off in the shower or something?”

“That's why you ease… that's why you ease back into it, okay?” He pats Scott’s shoulders. “Get back on her good side. Remind her of the good times. And then you ask for the necklace.“

Fallon can see the distant look on Scott’s eyes, “You’re thinking about her in the shower aren’t you?” She asks monotonously.

“…Yeah,” he admits sheepishly.

“All right. Stay focused, okay?” Stiles shakes him straight. “Get the necklace. Get the Alpha. Get cured. Get Allison. In that order. Got it?”

Scott nods, “Get the necklace.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The school day had been pretty uneventful for Fallon. She had gone to her classes as normal, finished some homework, read a couple chapters of her book, and doodled in some of her notebooks. She thought she’d be able to get through the whole day with something terrible happening, until Scott came up to her and Stiles and informed them that Jackson “knows what he is.”

“How the hell did he even find out?” The girl asks questioningly. “What could’ve given it away?”

“I have no idea,” Scott replies nervously.

“Did he say it out loud?” Stiles waves his hands around worriedly. “The word?”

“What word?”

“Werewolf,” Stiles whispers loud enough for only them to hear. “Did he say ‘I know you’re a werewolf?’”

“No,” Scott sighs impatiently. “But he implied it pretty freaking clearly!”

“Okay, maybe it’s not as bad as we’re making it out to be,” Fallon says calmly. “I mean, he doesn’t technically have any proof of it, right?”

“Exactly,” Stiles nods. “And if he wanted to tell someone, who would believe him, anyway?”

“How about Allison’s father?” Scott says pointedly. He’s right. If Jackson were to tell Chris or Kate for that matter, Scott would have to go into hiding for the rest of his life.

“…Okay, it’s bad,” Fallon rubs the back of her neck.

“I need a cure– right now,” Scott insists desperately.

“Does he know about Allison’s father?” Stiles looks at Scott curiously.

“I don’t know.”

Stiles puts his hand out, stopping Fallon and Scott from moving any further. “Okay, where’s Derek?” He questions, wondering if the older man could be of some assistance.

“Hiding like we told him to,” Fallon answers with a shrug. “Why?”

“I have another idea…” he says mischievously. “It’s gonna take a little time and finesse, though.”

Fallon bites the inside of her cheek. Time and finesse with Stiles usually means something that is bordering illegal. The last time he used those specific words was when he wanted to take Fallon to the candy store downtown at one in the morning and lower her down through the air ducts because they were closed. His reasoning was “I really want salt water taffy.”

“Stiles, we have the quarterfinals tonight,” Fallon reminds him seriously. “And keep in mind, it’s also your first game. We can’t do anything to risk that, especially since your dad is coming.”

“I know, I know…” he waves her off, but she knows that with whatever he’s planning, something could definitely go wrong. He looks back at Scott, “Look do you have a plan for Allison yet?”

“She’s in my next class.”

Stiles pats his shoulder, “Get the necklace.” He grabs Fallon’s hand, pulling her along behind him, “And you are coming with me.”

Fallon’s heart sinks as she realizes now that she must be an instrumental part in his scheme. She turns back to Scott and mouths, ‘help me.’

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

“You sent her romantic photos of the two of you?” Fallon asks in disbelief as she sits down in her seat at the lunch table across from Scott, Stiles sitting next to her. Allison had just ran to Fallon in complete tears, pulling her out of her class. Scott had sent her photos of them being close and lovey with each other which only made the poor girl feel guilty for her decision. While Fallon believes she was a bit over dramatic and rash in deciding to break up with Scott, he took the absolute wrong route to try and get the necklace. “What the hell were you thinking? I mean, there’s no way you actually thought that would get her to give you the necklace.”

“I didn’t even think it was that bad,” Scott frowns. “I thought it was sweet.”

Scott, she already feels like crap for dumping you,” Fallon points out. “Sending her those photos was like a punch to the gut. No wonder she told you not to talk to her anymore. There were so many better ways to have handled that.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he says quietly. “I really thought it was a nice gesture.”

“…So, she’s not giving you the necklace?” Stiles brings up awkwardly.

“She’s not giving me the necklace,” Scott answers quickly and irritably, angry that’s the only part Stiles seems to care about.

“Did you find anything else out?” Stiles asks, taking a decent bite out of his cheeseburger.

Scott looks to the roof frustratedly, “Just that I know nothing about girls, and that they’re totally psychotic.”

Fallon takes a bite of her peanut butter and jelly with a sarcastic nod, “Right, we’re psychotic when you're the one who thought it would be a great idea to send romantic photos to your ex-girlfriend to get her necklace. When instead you could’ve just said ‘hey, I don’t mean to be weird, I know we’re broken up, but I just wanted to say that’s a really cool pendant.’ But y’know, why would you want to do that? That would just be too easy.”

Stiles nods along with her words, Scott glaring at him slightly. “Okay, I came up with a Plan B just in case something like this happened,” he reveals.

“What’s Plan B?”

“Just steal the stupid thing!” He says bluntly, moving to open his drink.

“Why wasn’t that Plan A?” Fallon furrows her eyebrows. “I could’ve done that, easy.” It’s true. She and Allison have gym together, so when they were changing she could’ve easily gotten it off of her. Not that she likes to make a habit out of stealing people’s things, but this is for the greater good of Scott’s life.

“Do we really think that’s the best way?” Scott asks unsurely. “Couldn’t we at least try getting to Harris?”

Stiles shakes his head, “My dad put him under a twenty-four hour protective detail, okay? The necklace is all we got. Steal it,” he commands. “Thank you. Better it be you than Fallon who’s apparently itching to steal something,” he sends her a weird look.

“Okay, I’m not itching,” she defends herself. “I just like to steal sometimes. It makes my heart go fast.”

“I don’t know if I want to call you adorable or scary,” Stiles stares at her.

The three of them continue eating their lunch. Fallon steals one of Stiles’ fries while he takes one of her cookies. The two of them don’t notice Scott’s uncomfortability until he shifts in his seat to look at them, “Guys, he’s watching us.” He nods his head towards a table in the distance.

Fallon and Stiles look up, noticing Jackson staring at them with a smug smirk. It sends chills down her skin the way his predatory gaze is stuck on them. Ever since Scott’s made it onto Coach’s radar, Jackson has been absolutely insufferable. He really wasn’t that bad before, but now she questions why she even became friends with him in the first place.

“I wanna punch him,” she mumbles. “… again. But this time harder. Like I want to break his nose.” She glares at Jackson, but the blonde isn’t focused enough on her to see her anger.

“Okay…” Stiles places a hesitant hand on her back, rubbing it up and down. “Easy there killer.”

The two of them notice Scott zoning out and going slightly pale. Stiles leans forward, “What’s wrong?”

“Jackson's talking to me,” Scott tells them worriedly. He scoots forward in his seat, panicking as he tries to get closer to his best friends. “He knows I can hear him. Look at me. Just talk to me. Act normal. Pretend that nothing's happening.”

“Just let me go over there and punch him,” Fallon begs. “Seriously, I’ll get him to stop talking. Maybe I can take Stiles with me and he can kill him with his sarcasm and supernatural ability to annoy people.”

“Hey!” The boy smacks her, offended.

“Would one of you guys just say something!” Scott whispers. “Just talk to me!”

“I can’t think of anything– my mind’s completely blank,” Stiles sets his water bottle down.

Scott looks at him baffled, “Your mind is blank? You can’t think of something to say?”

Stiles defends himself, “Not under this kind of pressure.”

“Technically we are talking to you,” Fallon says pointedly. “Your stiff posture is what’s giving it away.” She glances back up and furrows her brows, “And he’s not even sitting there anymore.”

Scott spins around quickly, noting the blonde’s absence. His concern grows, “Where the hell is he?”

“Looking for me, McCall? I'm right here. So, what else can you do? Huh? Can you see better? Are you stronger, more powerful? No, I knew there was no way you suddenly got that good at lacrosse... Which means you're actually a cheater, aren't you? I mean, can you even play lacrosse?”

“Yes,” Scott mutters defensively out of nowhere. He squeezes the water bottle in his hand so tightly that his whole arm begins to shake.

Fallon reaches forward, encasing her hands around his, “Scott…” she warns. “Don’t feed into it. Ignore him.”

“I'll bet my new co-captain's gonna score a bunch of shots tonight, aren't you? And while you're pretending you're not a lying cheat, I'm gonna ruin your life if you don't give me what I want. And you know what I'm gonna start with? Her.”

Scott’s entire body goes rigid. Fallon wishes she could hear what antagonizing words Jackson’s saying to him. “Scott, what’s going on?” Stiles asks, concerned. “What’s happening?”

“Talk to us,” Fallon begs, trying to pull him out of whatever angry trance he’s in. “What is he saying to you?”

He stays completely silent, only listening to Jackson’s mumbling. Stiles snaps his fingers in front of Scott’s face, but it doesn’t even earn a blink from the zoned out boy. The two friends try to search the lunch room, but Jackson is nowhere to be found.

“I'm gonna destroy any chance you'll ever have with her. And, when I'm done with that, I'm gonna get her all alone, and I'm gonna get my hands all over that tight little body.”

Scott’s hand quakes violently as he brings his water bottle up to his mouth, taking a sip to try and calm himself down. Fallon’s leg bounces up and down as she watches Scott with troubled eyes. Is he going to turn in the middle of the lunch room? Or just go and murder Jackson?

Stiles leans closer to his best friend, “Scott, come on, you can’t let him do this. You can’t let him have this kind of power over you, okay?”

“I'm gonna do everything you never got the chance to do, and Scott? She's gonna beg for more.”

Scott is now gripping his plastic tray with a deadly amount of force. His face is starting to flush red with anger as the plastic in his hands begins to crack under the pressure.

“I bet she likes to get loud. Maybe she's even a screamer. How are you gonna feel, Scott... When she's screaming my name?”

Fallon and Stiles grip onto each other as the tray finally snaps in half, causing his plate to fall with a loud crash onto the table. Pretty much every head in the lunch room turned to look at them. Fallon’s lips form in a tight line as she raises her hand to dismiss their new audience.

“Proceed with your business,” she says. “We’re fine… everything is just fine,” she mumbles the last part quietly, but Stiles and Scott know that they are so far from fine.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

“I don’t understand why my presence is required for you to look up what Allison’s pendant means,” Fallon tells Stiles as she enters his room behind him, flopping down on his bed like she usually does.

“Because you’re better at taking notes than I am,” he shrugs as if it’s obvious. “And I didn’t wanna do it by myself… so there’s that.” He waves his hand in the air, “And I’m feeding your sorry ass, so don’t act like it’s that big of a burden.”

“True,” Fallon sighs contently. “I suppose I can’t complain.”

“Exactly,” Stiles nods. “Y’know what’s really funny? Normally dogs are either food or toy motivated, but it seems I’ve found a human that’s also motivated by food.”

“Are you calling me a dog?” She sits up, glaring daggers at him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m just saying you have dog-like tendencies.”

“You may be right,” she admits gruffly. “I’m starting to get the urge to attack.” The two of them make prolonged eye contact before she surges forward making the boy flinch with a small yelp. She throws her head back, cackling loudly at his fear of her.

She’s still laughing when Noah calls out for his son, “Hey, Stiles!”

Fallon sits up from her spot, but her eyes turn as wide as saucers when she sees Derek Hale staring directly at her, “Holy shi–” she tries to scream.

She’s swiftly cut off by Derek picking her up from the bed and pulling her out of sight behind the slightly ajar door. He slaps a hand over her mouth, pushing her body into the wall. He cages her in, one arm on the side of her head while his one hand remains on her mouth. She squirms under his hold making him tighten his grip.

“Relax,” he whispers through clenched teeth. “Don't say a word.”

Stiles barely turns, not even hearing the sudden commotion behind him. “Yo, D–” He jumps slightly when he sees his best friend pinned to the door, “Derek?”

The brooding man moves his free hand in front of his lips, using his finger to signal Stiles to shut up. He could have easily done that to Fallon, but apparently that would’ve been too easy. He uses the same finger to point to the halfway open door as the sheriff comes up to talk to his son.

Stiles sends Fallon a panicked look before stumbling over to the door, shutting it a bit more behind him so his father can’t see the poor girl being shoved against his bedroom wall. The door rattles on its hinges making Derek roll his eyes.

“What’d you say?” They hear the sheriff say.

Stiles tries to play it cool, “What? I said, ‘Yo, D–Dad,” he scoffs out a laugh as if it was obvious.

“Is Fallon here?” He wonders. “I thought I heard the two of you come in together.”

“Uh. Y-Yeah, she’s here. In my room…” Stiles stutters awkwardly. “Just studying and stuff. Y’know, ‘cause she’s smart.”

Fallon cringes at his rambling. Sheriff Stilinski sends his son a small grin, “You ever gonna tell that poor girl how you feel about her?”

Fallon and Stiles’ eyes shoot wide open at the sentence. Stiles splutters profusely while Fallon simply glares at Derek who has an amused eyebrow raised. Still not a hint of a smile though.

“I’m sorry, what?!” His son shakes his head. “No. No, no, no, no. Fallon and me– just friends. No feelings. In fact, I don’t even think she’s a girl. She doesn’t count.”

“Yeah,” Noah nods skeptically. “That's what they all say.“ He shakes off the playfully tone before sighing, “Anyway, listen, I’ve got something that I’ve got to take care of, but I’m gonna be there tonight,” he promises. “I mean, your first game!”

Fallon huffs under Derek’s hand which still hasn’t moved. It’s Stiles’ first game, and the semifinal, and he ends up getting stuck trying to figure out all this werewolf drama for Scott. He deserves a chance to play in the spotlight for once. Scott better get that necklace, if not for himself, then at least for Stiles’ sake. At this rate, especially with Derek here, she doesn’t even think she’ll be able to play tonight.

Stiles nods his head up and down, “My first game!” Stiles repeats with a small fist bump into the air. She couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or actual excitement, but knowing Stiles and their current situation, it’s probably the former. “Guh– it’s great! Awesome. Uh, good!”

“I’m very happy for you,” Noah smiles genuinely. “And I’m really proud of you.”

Fallon expected Stiles to just thank his dad or say ‘I love you,’ but she should’ve known better. “Thanks… Me too. I’m happy and proud… of myself.”

“So, they’re really gonna let you play, right?” Noah asks unsurely, still having a hard time grasping the concept of his son being first line.

Stiles beams, “Yeah, Dad– I’m first line. Believe that?”

Noah nods, “I’m very proud.”

“Oh, me too,” Stiles says with a rushed smile. “Again, I’m–”

Sheriff Stilinski leans forward, pulling Stiles in for the most awkward hug Fallon has ever witnessed. They pay each other on the back, “Huggie, huggie…” Stiles mutters weirdly. “Huggie.”

“Idiot,” Fallon says, still muffled by Derek’s hand.

Noah looks at his son oddly but nonetheless nods, “See you there,” he waves at his son before taking off down the stairs. Fallon lets out a breath of relief as Derek lets her go. She lightly pushes him out of her way, glaring at him as she goes to move. She gasps though as Stiles closes the door, Derek taking the opportunity to then pin him to it.

She gapes at him, “What is with you and pinning people to things?”

Derek ignores her, snarling at Stiles as he goes to open his mouth. “If you say one word–”

“Oh, what? You mean like, ‘Hey dad, Derek Hale’s in my room. Bring your gun?!’” Stiles cuts him off sassily. Derek falters for a moment, realizing that Stiles does technically have the power in this situation. They told him to hide, but he chose to come to the Sheriff’s house. The only thing protecting him right now is Stiles’ silence. “Yeah, that’s right. If I’m harboring your fugitive ass, it’s my house,” he slaps Derek’s chest cockily making Fallon smirk, “my rules, buddy.”

Derek clenches his jaw. He remains silent, but eventually he slowly nods, releasing his tight grip on Stiles. He pulls down the boy's jacket to rearrange it from where he pulled it out of proportion during his attempt at threatening him. Stiles huffs out a laugh, and being his usual self, does the same for Derek's leather jacket

That earns a menacing jerk of the head from Derek causing Stiles to flinch similarly to when Fallon pretended to surge at him earlier. “Oh my God!” He says fearfully before returning to his desk.

Fallon stays on Stiles’ bed, glancing at Derek every few seconds to make sure he doesn’t try to pin her to the wall again. Her mind is still a little fuzzy from the first time. Whether it be from the lack of oxygen or because she secretly enjoyed it, they’ll never know.

“Scott didn’t get the necklace?” Derek asks, following Stiles over to his laptop.

“No. He's still working on it. But, there's something else we can try.” He spins in his chair to face Derek. “The night we were trapped at the school, Scott sent a text to Allison asking her to meet him there.”

“So? Derek shrugs, not seeing how that pertains to their current issue.

“So…” Fallon leans forward in a patronizing tone, almost as if she were explaining it to a child, “It wasn’t Scott.”

Derek glances at her like he wants to throw her through a wall rather than pin her to it. “Well, can you guys find out who sent it?” He questions aggressively.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “At least not one of us,” he points between himself and Fallon. “But I think I know someone who can…”

Stiles pulls out his phone and as soon as she sees the smirk on Stiles’ face and the words “lab work” come out of his mouth, she already knew who he was calling.

Danny.

He probably has no clue that Stiles knows about his previous run-ins with the law. The only reason Fallon knows is because he and her are really close. She’s pretty sure the only people he’s told are her and Jackson. She groans, “Stiles, you can’t just ambush him like this.”

“Do you have a better idea?” He scoffs.

“Uh, yeah,” she nods. “Just tell him you need a favor and that you’ll owe him one. He’s a pretty easy going guy if you haven’t noticed.”

“This is more fun,” Stiles shrugs. His phone pings with a message from Danny, “I’ll be right back. He’s here.” Stiles runs out of the room, leaving Derek and Fallon alone until he returns.

She gazes at the man, “So… that was a pretty aggressive greeting,” she says sarcastically, recalling the way he didn’t even say hello to her when he came in.

Derek’s eyes flicked to her, his expression as unreadable as ever. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at her with that intense gaze that always seemed to see right through her. Fallon forces herself not to look away, refusing to be intimidated by his silence.

“I heard your heartbeat rising,” Derek finally said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

Fallon feels her cheeks flush slightly at his words, and she quickly covers it with a scoff. “Oh, please. You had me pinned against a wall with your hand over my mouth. My heart was racing because I thought you were going to suffocate me, not because I enjoyed it.”

Derek’s lips twitch, just barely, but it’s enough for Fallon to notice. “Sure,” he said, clearly not buying her excuse. He pushes off the wall and took a step closer to her, his presence once again filling the small space between them. “You’re not as good at hiding things as you think, Fallon.”

Her eyes narrow at his words, her stubbornness flaring up. “And you’re not as unreadable as you think, Derek.”

This time, it was Derek’s turn to scoff, though it was a much quieter sound. He takes another step closer, and Fallon finds herself involuntarily pressing herself further into the bed. “If that were true,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when I grabbed you.”

Fallon swallows hard, her heart beating a little faster as he looms over her. The girl knows he’s only saying that to get under her skin, to rattle her so she stops talking. She wasn’t going to let him win though. Fallon’s never been one to step down from a challenge. “You’re assuming I was flustered because of you,” she counters, trying to keep her voice steady. “Maybe I just don’t like being manhandled.”

Derek’s eyes flicker down for the briefest of moments before meeting her gaze again. “Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs.

Fallon’s breath hitches slightly at the intensity in his voice, but she quickly masks it with a smirk. “I will.”

Before Derek could respond, the sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the tension between them. He quickly steps away, putting some distance between them as Stiles returns with Danny in tow.

“Fallon?” Danny tilts his head. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” she purses her lips, “nothing worth noting. Just kind of here… taking up space.”

“Are you gonna help us with lab work?” He asks curiously as Stiles plops back down in his chair.

“Actually,” Stiles gets his attention with a shake of his head. “We’re not doing lab work. I need you to do something else for us.”

“What?” Danny furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean we’re not doing lab work?” He scoffs. “That's why you invited me here.”

“That was a lie,” Siles shrugs nonchalantly. “Fallon and I need you to do something mucho importante. We need your crazy hacker skills to trace a text for us,” he blurts out, typing fervently on his computer.

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?” Danny shakes his head in disbelief.

“Trace a text,” Stiles enunciates condescendingly, as if Danny doesn’t understand the request.

Fallon feels bad for Danny. He genuinely came here to do lab work and Stiles just exploited his crime record. In the grand scheme of things, Danny doing this is going to be a big help, but they way he was manipulated into coming here might bite them back karmic wise in the future.

The brunette girl rolls her eyes, pulling Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. She should’ve been on the sixth book by now, but with all the supernatural issues going on, it’s been hard to find downtime. Her eyes gloss over the pages, immersing herself in the fictional world. The only issue is that as she tries to delve deeper, she can feel Derek’s stare on the back of her neck. It’s almost as if he expects her to conversate with him. She thought he’d love the fact he can just stand there in his broody silence, not being bothered by anyone.

“I came here to do lab work– that’s what lab partners do,” Danny tells him, growing increasingly more annoyed.

Stiles groans, running a hand through his buzzcut. “And we will! …Once you trace the text,” he says, making an ultimatum out of it.

Danny glares at him, “And what makes you think I know how?”

Stiles turns sheepish, stuttering slightly. Fallon doesn’t bother looking up from her book, “He looked up your arrest report,” she reveals monotonously, flipping the page.”

Danny’s face falls defeatedly, “I-I was thirteen,” he says defensively. “They dropped the charges.”

Stiles puts his hands up, indicating with his gesture that he’s not accusing Danny of anything. “Whatever,” he shrugs.

Danny looks like he considers it for a moment, but ultimately huffs and determinedly sets his backpack down. He takes a seat next to Stiles, “No. We’re doing lab work,” he insists.

Fallon sighs, finally looking up from her book. “Please, Danny…?” She begs nicely. “If you do this, I’ll seriously owe you one. I’ll even do your guys’ lab work,” she proposes.

“Wait, seriously?” Stiles spins around causing Fallon to narrow her eyes at him. “Nevermind…” he mumbles.

Danny looks like he wants to say yes, but his need to be a good student seems to be winning. He shakes his head, turning his attention back to Stiles’ computer. It doesn’t last for long though as his attention is pulled over to where Derek is sitting, reading Fallon’s copy of the Prisoner of Azkaban. She lends him a copy of whatever book he is on. He’s a pretty fast reader, she's noticed. He should be further along too, but with having to pretend to be dead for a bit, he fell behind. Fallon glances in Danny’s direction, noticing him slightly ogling Derek, not that the werewolf noticed.

“Who’s he again?” She hears Danny whisper to Stiles.

Derek slipped his jacket off a few moments prior, laying it next to Fallon’s spot on the bed. He’s in a tight-fitted light gray t-shirt. His muscles bulge out of the fabric, the lightness of the color really making his eyes pop. The top of his chest peeks out due to the buttons being undone, but no one in the room seems to mind.

Stiles tries to find a believable answer. He glances back at Derek before slowly turning back to Danny, “Um, my cousin…” he pauses, “Miguel.”

Fallon snorts rather loudly at the lie. She covers it up with a cough as all three boys turn to look at her. Derek’s glare stays on her the longest, not appreciating how humorous she’s finding the situation.

“Is that blood on his shirt?”

Fallon’s eyes widen. Sure enough, as she looks over at Derek, there’s a nice and noticeable blood stain right on his t-shirt. She shoots him a pointed look, “Where did that come from?” She seethes through clenched teeth. “What have you even been doing?”

Danny and Stiles can’t hear her though. “Yeah. Yes, well, he gets these horrible nosebleeds,” Stiles effortlessly excuses. He glances back at Derek with false politeness, “Hey, Miguel… I thought I told you you could borrow one of my shirts?”

Derek closes the book in one swift motion, never taking his glare off Stiles. With an unnecessary amount of aggression, he tosses it onto the bed as he stands up jerkily and walks over to the dresser. Fallon watches as he pulls his shirt over his head angrily, tossing it onto the ground.

The girl bites her lip as she watches him rummage through Stiles’ drawers. His back muscles flex with every moment, showing off the large tattoo that takes up most of his back. She tries to keep her focus on the book, but she’d have to be a nun to ignore the attractive man in front of her. If her father saw the way she was looking at Derek right now, he’d probably be sent into an early grave. Or go after him with a shotgun. No previous hunter training required.

“So, anyway, I mean, we both know you have the skills to trace that text, so we should probably–”

“Uh, Stiles,” Derek interrupts the boy who is still trying to convince Danny to contribute to their cause.

“Yes?” Stiles bats his eyelashes innocently.

He holds up a tiny black and white striped t-shirt. He pulls it in two different directions with his hands to emphasize his point, “This… no fit,” he says irritably.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Then try something else on.”

Fallon looks up at Derek, “Sorry,” she mouths at him. If she could help, she would. But there’s no way with Derek’s physique that he's going to find something that fits him in Stiles’ room.

She looks back down at her book, managing to finish the page she was on before Stiles’ voice pulls her back into the conversation. “Hey, that one looks pretty good, huh? What do you think, Danny?” He says nudging him to look at Derek.

Fallon’s jaw drops when she sees the bright orange and blue shirt covering Derek’s body. While the fit of it does bring out his… well, everything. It doesn't look very comfortable, nor is it his style. Derek clearly hates it as well as his usual scowl deepens. If Lydia were to see this monstrosity, she would throw Stiles in jail for even possessing a shirt that looks like that. She’s pretty sure Stiles has never even worn that in his life.

“Huh?” Danny shifts uncomfortably.

“The shirt?” Stiles continues to push on his opinion.

Danny looks at Derek, either finding him extremely attractive or extremely scary, Fallon couldn’t tell which. “It’s… It’s not really his color,” he says, swallowing thickly.

Danny’s gaze lingers for a moment as Derek takes off yet another shirt. Stiles leans over to the goalie with a smug smile, “You swing for a different team, but you still play ball, don’t you Danny boy?” He whispers menacingly, calling his lab partner out.

“You’re a horrible person.”

Stiles looks up at his curling as if actually pondering his terrible behavior, “I know. It keeps me awake at night.” He sleeps like a baby pretty much every night. It takes Fallon, Scott, and the aroma of chocolate chip pancakes to get him to wake up at sleepovers. “Anyway, about that text…”

“Stiles!” Derek shouts, his temper now officially snapped. He holds another shirt in his hands, but it’s obvious that one won’t work for him either. “None of these fit!”

Danny immediately turns back to the computer, not able to look at Derek change anymore. He begins typing, “I’ll need the ISP, the phone number, and the exact time of text.”

Fallon and Stiles make eye contact, quietly celebrating their little victory. Fallon jumps up, hugging Danny from behind, “You’re the best. Seriously, I meant what I said. I definitely owe you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy waves off. “Just lend me copy off your history notes and we’re even.”

“Done,” she nods happily.

They allow Danny to work for about thirty minutes in complete silence, which has to be a new record for Fallon and Stiles. The two of them collectively struggle to stay quiet for more than ten. But it was already enough of a struggle to convince Danny, they didn’t need to piss him off anymore than he already was. She watches impressed as information flies across the screen, all by Danny’s doing. Suddenly, he stops.

“There,” he points to the screen, causing Derek to walk closer so he can get a better look. He stands directly behind Fallon, his breath faintly hitting her neck causing chills to run down her spine. She shuffles over a bit to have more room, earning a curious look from Derek himself. “The text was sent from a computer.” He points towards the name, “This one.”

Fallon, Stiles, and Derek stare at the screen in shock and confusion. How could this be the computer the text was sent from?

“Registered to that account name?” Derek asks skeptically.

“No,” Fallon shakes her head. “No, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“That can’t be right,” Stiles breathes out.

On the bright screen in front of them reads the words Account registered to: Beacon Hills Hospital– Melissa McCall.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon sits in the backseat of Stiles’ jeep, Derek taking up the passenger seat. She knew better than to argue with him, either way she would’ve ended up in the same spot. Just one scenario he’s mad at her, and the other he’s not. Hence why she chose the latter. Her leg bounces up and down nervously as she checks the time on her phone. The game starts in less than thirty minutes. She has never missed a game out of her own free will, and Coach is gonna kill her when he realizes she’s not there already.

“Did you get the picture?” Scott asks Stiles through the phone. Fallon can hear the faint cheering from the crowd through the speaker and a pout crosses over her face. She should’ve gone with Scott to steal the necklace.

On the bright side, at least he found the pendant. He sent the group of three a picture of it, the real thing matching up with the sketch Derek showed them pretty well. All the important details seemed to be there. She might’ve made it a little neater if she drew it, but that’s just her inner artist's need for perfection.

The unlikely trio sits in the parking lot of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital Long Term Care facility. Derek forced Stiles to drive them there, but didn’t explain why. Said he would tell them when they got there.

“Yeah, I did, and it looks just like the drawing,” Stiles answers.

Derek grabs Stiles’ wrist with no remorse, pulling it at an awkward angle so he can talk into the phone. “Hey, is there something on the back of it? There's gotta be something-- an inscription, an opening, something…”

“No, no, the thing's flat,” Scott says, much to Derek’s disappointment. “And, no, it doesn't open. There's nothing in it, on it, around it, nothing. And where are you guys? You're supposed to be here. Coach is gonna go ballistic when he realizes neither of you are ready.”

“Where the hell is Bilinski?!” The hear Coach shout through the phone. Suddenly his voice becomes impossibly louder, “McCall! Where’s Donovan?” He asks, his tone of voice angry, and from what she can tell, a bit nervous. “Why isn’t she out here running drills? Is that her on the phone right now?” They hear a small scuffle go on, “Donovan! You better get your ass out on this field toot sweet or you’ll be running sucides until you actually commit suicide, do you understand me?!”

Fallon’s eyes shoot open. That definitely was not a bluff. The rest of her lacrosse career is going to be a living nightmare. Scott sighs, finally getting his phone back. “Stiles, you’re not gonna play if you’re not here to start,” he says sadly. “And Fallon, Coach might actually combust if you don’t show up.”

The girl groans, putting her head in her hands. “I know,” she mumbles.

Stiles feels an immense amount of frustration, throwing his hand up. “We know,” he sighs, realizing that they're sacrificing what could lead them to the semi-finals. “Look, if you see my dad, can you tell him… tell him I’ll be there. We’ll just be a little bit late, okay? All right, thanks.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and hands it to Fallon. “He said he needs to tell you something.”

She furrows her eyebrows but takes the phone anyway, “Hey Scotty, what’s up?” She greets, placing the phone next to her ear.

“Fall, I’m really sorry, but I may or may not have made a huge mistake,” he starts off, immediately making her nervous.

“What kind of mistake?” She asks, sending a worried look to Stiles.

“Chris caught me sneaking out of his house this afternoon when I went to steal the necklace. He started asking me questions about Derek and why I talk to him, and I may have mentioned that the two of you tend to talk a lot too. I promise I didn’t mean to. But you need to be careful, he–”

“Scott, why the hell would you tell him that I talk to Derek?” Fallon asks angrily. “I was the only one out of the three of us who had a decent relationship with that family!”

“I was under a lot of pressure, okay?” Scott tries to defend himself. “He just kept pushing for information and I just accidentally let it slip. I’m sorry…”

The girl groans loudly once more, a migraine slowly seeping its way into her head. “Okay, whatever. I-It’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out if he asks. Just try to keep Coach from losing his mind. We’ll be there soon. Okay, bye.”

Fallon didn’t have time to think about the future lecture from Chris Argent. He’s a really nice guy, despite the fact he’s been hunting one of her best friends since third grade and her other friend who happens to like taking her books. He’ll no doubt tell Michael about her secret relationship with Derek which means her father will actually send her to Azkaban. And by that she means, lock her in her room with cameras, only allowing her out for school with the occasional visit from Scott and Stiles. She’ll also probably lose her motorcycle privileges.

“You guys aren’t gonna make it,” Derek says bluntly.

Stiles nods with a sigh, “Yeah, we know.” Both of them were more than bummed, but Fallon felt worse for Stiles than she did herself. She’s gotten to play first line since she was a freshman. Scott also got a free ticket to first line due to the bite, but Stiles had to work his butt off to get to this point. She might love to read him for his lack of hand-eye coordination, but Stiles practiced pretty much every day up until all of this werewolf business started happening. It's sad watching him give up so much.

“And neither of you told him about his mom either.”

“And we’re not going to,” Fallon shakes her head. “Not until we find out the truth. Because I know Melissa would never do that. She couldn’t have. She’s not in the know about any of this. Hell, for a while, she didn’t even know about Allison, let alone her phone number.”

“Plus, last week, I saw her struggle to change the channel on the TV in the living room. Which she’s had for almost three years. Not exactly tech savvy enough to send a message from Scott’s phone through a computer,” Stiles adds.

Derek nods his head along with their words. “By the way, one more thing…” Stiles turns to look at the man but immediately regrets it as Derek takes the back of his head, harshly slamming his face into the steering wheel.

Fallon jumps as Stiles groans in pain, clutching his face. “Derek!” The girl screams, reaching up to slap his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Oh God!” Stiles rubs his forehead which is now throbbing. “What the hell was–”

Derek cuts him off with a stiff point from his finger, “You know what that was for! Now go!” He gestures towards the doors of the care facility. “Both of you.”

Fallon rolls her eyes at his bossiness, pulling out her ”volunteer” ID. She’s starting to feel like maybe this was the only reason she was needed for Derek’s plan. Easy access into the hospital.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Stiles stays closely behind Fallon who leads them through the hallways of the hospital. The brunette girl has her phone pressed to her ear, talking to Derek who is telling them what to do as they go. Her confusion is growing more and more as she notices the odd abandonment of this branch. There should be more nurses walking around. She’s been in this unit before, even helped some paralyzed patients with physical therapy. Despite their terrible circumstances, the patients here are usually pretty Iively. This is one of her favorite parts of the hospital to do rounds in, so it’s concerning to see it so empty.

“Derek there’s no one here,” Fallon tells him. “We can’t find one nurse, let alone whoever you’re talking about.”

“Look, just ask for Jennifer,” Derek instructs strictly. “She’s been looking after my uncle.”

“Who even is your uncle?” Fallon questions. “Maybe I’ve checked in on him at some point.”

“No,” Derek denies. “They’ve only ever allowed Jennifer to work with him. That’s why you need to find her.”

Fallon trudges exasperatedly over to the room number Derek tells her. Stiles tries to listen in on the conversation so she decides to put the call on speaker. Once they arrive at the room they’re met with nothing. His bed is empty and freshly made, no one is occupying the wheelchair, nothing. It’s almost as if he disappeared into thin air, which isn’t exactly common for a comatose burn victim.

“Derek, he’s not here,” Fallon voices. “Like nowhere to be found. This room looks like it’s prepped to bring in a new patient, not like it’s been lived in.”

“What?” Derek asks, completely befuddled.

“He’s not here,” she enunciates. “It doesn’t look like he ever was. There’s no trace of anyone.”

There was a moment of silence, making both Stoles and Fallon grow increasingly more anxious. The tension becomes almost too much to handle until Derek bursts out into a yell, “Fallon, get out of there right now!” He screams. “It’s him! He’s the Alpha! You both need to get out!”

Fallon’s blood runs cold. She stumbles backwards, trying to push her and Stiles out of the abandoned room. The exit. That’s all that runs through her mind. Stiles catches her before she trips over her own feet. They both breath heavily as she grabs his hand, getting ready to bolt for the doors. But before they could even make a full turn, they are met with a looming figure. Derek’s uncle, Peter. The Alpha. He stands tall above them, a long trench coat covering his form. She wants to run away, scream even, the same feeling from the video store coming back. Especially when that smirk comes across his face. The same one she saw when he touched her with his claws. Her heart stops.

She’s absolutely terrified. This man could kill her without even thinking twice about it. But she knows she would throw herself into a pit of fire if it meant protecting Stiles. She takes a small step forward, pushing the boy behind her protectively. Peter looks almost amused by her action.

He smiles sinisterly, “You must be Fallon and Stiles.” The brunette girl couldn’t help but sympathize at the burns on the side of his face. They’re red, swollen, and discolored. No doubt one of the most painful injuries anyone could receive. She knows it’s wrong to feel even slightly and for the man as he’s killed so many people as well as having turned Scott, but after being wronged this way. Perhaps it’s not completely unjustified.

Fallon grips Stiles’ hand tighter. She tries to even her breathing as she spins them around to run in the other direction, but they are met with the angry scowl of who they could only assume was Peter’s nurse, Jennifer. Of course, now they find her.

“What are you doing here?” She interrogates aggressively. “Visiting hours are over.”

Fallon drops her phone to the ground, not even cringing when the screen falls face down. She clenches her fists tightly, getting ready to beat the living daylights out of the woman in front of them. Until Stiles decides that now is the perfect time to have an existential crisis. Or epiphany, whichever one he’d like to classify it as.

He points to Jennifer with a slack jaw, “You…” He gasps loudly before looking back at Peter. “And him… You're-you're the one who-- Oh, my-- and he's-- Oh, my God, we’re gonna die.” He looks like he’s going to cry, just without the tears. “We’re gonna die,” he mumbles again.

Fallon feels a sudden surge of bravery. She turns her head towards Peter, nose flaring with anger. He has been non stop terrorizing her. Her thoughts plagued with the memory of him invading her space the way that he did. “That night at the video store… you sniffed me. You touched me. Why? Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance?”

Peter’s smirk deepened as he looked at Fallon. "There’s something different about you... something worth keeping around.” A dark gleam appears in his eyes, “Why waste such potential, such… power, when it’s staring me right in the face?” Her confusion and fear makes him glow, “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Fallon felt as if every part of her had been violated simply by his words. He thinks she has potential. Why would he want to keep her around? He does have a plan for her, something she doesn’t and would never want to be a part of. Before she could say or process anything else, a loud crack is heard as Derek smoothly slides into the hallway. He elbows Jennifer in the face, causing the red head to fall to the linoleum floor, hitting her head and knocking her out cold.

Peter cocks his head to the side with a faux frown, “That’s not nice,” he feigns offense. “She’s my nurse.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people,” Derek corrects, getting ready for a fight. “Get out of the way,” he orders the two teens.

Stiles looks like he’s about to pass out as he glances between the two werewolves. Fallon’s eyes meet Derek’s and she feels the urge to fight with him, to tell him that they can help, but the pointed look he gives her makes her surrender that foolish notion. She grabs Stiles’ arm and pulls them down to the floor, crawling out of the way of the upcoming brawl.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose?” Peter stalks closer to Derek, ignoring the teens who are pushing themselves against the wall below. “One of my own family?”

Derek roars loudly, his eyes shifting to their bright shade of blue. This probably isn’t the family reunion either of them were expecting. The brunette pushes Stiles further down the hall as she watches Derek bounce off the wall to tackle Peter. The Alpha grabs his nephew by the collar of his jacket, throwing him directly into the wall next to Stiles and Fallon.

“Shit!” The girl screams, rolling over in the other direction.

Paint and drywall crumble off the spot of impact. She and Stiles run the other way, trying not to get caught in the crossfire. Fallon watches Derek with worried eyes, but he doesn’t falter in the slightest from the rough impact. Despite the wall now having a Derek sized dent in it, the man himself appears fine.

Fallon flinches as Stiles yanks her away from the unconscious nurse. Peter reaches down, grabbing Derek by the neck as he drags him down the hallway. She wants to help in some way, but Derek specifically told them to get out of the way.

“My mind, my personality, we’re literally burned out of me,” Peter monologues dramatically. “I was being driven by pure instinct.” He drops Derek’s body on the floor with a loud thud before reaching over to his nurse and taking her keys.

Derek grunts, forcing himself to stand after being manhandled. “You want forgiveness?” He asks breathily before cocking his fist back and slamming it into Peter’s jaw. Fallon flinches from the contact, Peter’s head jerking in the other direction.

Peter takes the opportunity to grab Derek by the collar again, head butting him with an excessive amount of force. “I want understanding,” he answers.

He lifts his leg up, connecting it with Derek’s chest as he sends the man flying across the hallway. Fallon jumps out of the way, pulling Stiles behind her. “We need to get out of here,” she whispers urgently. Stiles nods in agreement, the two of them rounding the corner to head towards the doors. They can hear Peter in the distance.

Peter menacingly tilts his head towards his nephew, “Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years?” Derek spits out blood onto the floor, using his arms to push himself off of the floor. “Slowly healing, cell by cell. Even more slowly coming back to consciousness.”

Fallon bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to imagine how hurt Derek is. Flashes of his brutally beat up body from the night at the school enter her mind, but Stiles manages to keep her grounded as they try to find the best escape route.

“Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can't help that.” Derek stands up, swinging at Peter who dodges his punches with scary precision. “I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.”

The moment Stiles and Fallon rush out of the exit door, they hear the loud sound of glass shattering. The brunette hesitates, but is pulled forward by Stiles. She looks back with only enough time to see Derek crawling away from Peter, the older man getting ready to abuse his nephew’s body again. She ignores the grunts and sounds of colliding fists, not knowing who is winning at this point.

And truthfully, she doesn’t want to know.

*ೃ༄ tags˚◞♡ ⃗

@iamaslytherin0 @famousrunaway1329

[animalistic0]

I Can’t Say Goodbye (Part 3)

Previous: Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5

Plot: With time ticking down and goodbyes never easy, what shall transpire? In the end, loyalty, revenge, and justice are all the Maybank twins know.

*Season Four spoilers!*

OC Maybank twin + platonic Pogues x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: OuterBanks, Season 4, Death, Description of death, mourning, suicidal thoughts, mentions of murder and murdering, violence, homicidal tendencies, blood, funeral, angst, triggering, guilt, anger, five stages of grief, mentions of revenge, allusions to abuse. This is Depressing.

Word Count: 3.5k+

Note: Wisdom teeth surgery was a success, I don’t know how fast I’ll update from here on out though. Quick note on JC and Rafe; they are a slow burn, enemies to lovers. Next part we’ll see more of them and soft caring Rafe for sure. Also very unhinged JC. Would anyone want to read this if I made it a series and started in season 1? Hope you enjoy and take care!

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

Not once has JC had a true crash out since the whole hunt for treasure started. She had gotten furious and depressed, but she had never completely lost her composure. Not even when she had joined JJ and his hurricane of a destruction after the town hall meeting. Now? Now the young girl felt everything bubbling to the surface. All the rage she tried to bury knowing it came from Luke, or now she wished it had come from the older male. Because if it didn’t then all this rage that was building and churning within her, was just her. All the hurt and suffering crashing into her like tsunami waves, that was her too. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Didn’t the Maybank twins suffer enough?

JC watched JJ fall to the ground, her whole world tumbling around her. Nothing registering until she heard Kiara telling JJ that he was gonna be okay. The moment JC registered those words she was falling to the ground next to her brother, her twin, her lifeline. She watched as Kiara pulled back his hands and her breath was sucked from her soul. Immediately she lunged forward applying a harsh amount of pressure to his bleeding wound. Tears streaming down her face as she stared daggers at it, praying that it would go away. Hastily apologies mumbled from her as she heard JJ moan out in pain.

JC didn’t listen to the words shared between Kiara and JJ, not that she could even make out what was said with all the blood rushing to her ears. She was more focused on trying to stop the blood, which covered her hands in moments. With shaking hands she ripped the scarf from around her head, bunching it up and pressing it down on her brother’s wound. Begging anything and anyone that it would work and they could save him. She looked up through blurry eyes when she felt a hand she’d never not recognize touch her cheek. A sob left her as soon as she met the eyes of her twin. “Don’t. Please don’t, Jay. Please!”

She knew that look, the look of defeat and acceptance and she hated it. She felt tears streaming down her face faster as she shook her head harder. She couldn’t lose him, she just couldn’t. He was her everything. How could she survive without him? “Please, Jay. Hold on. I can’t. I can’t make it without you, I’ve never not had you.” JC didn’t look at Kiara as she felt her friend take over applying pressure so she could hold him. Immediately her hands flung to JJ’s neck and cheeks, blood smearing on him. His own hands weakly holding hers. “It’s okay JC. It’s okay. I’m happy, and I’ve never been more found than now.”

“I can’t say goodbye…” Juniper’s voice cracked so bad as she brought her forehead to her twins. She couldn’t say goodbye to her best friend, her partner in crime, her confidant, her whole world. She couldn’t describe the pain that she was feeling, it was as if a part of her wasn’t just dying but being ripped from her. It was pure agony and she wished she was dying with him and not just feeling like it. “Then don’t. I love you, big sis. S-stay strong, be brave…I’ll always be with you.” JC shook her head only clutching her brother closer as she begged him to stay, to hold on, to live. “Please Jay, I need you little brother. I love you.”

There was no way to describe it. Juniper felt the moment JJ took his last breath, his body falling limp. She would never hear his laugh again, never see his smile, never hold his hand when she wanted or needed too, she would never have her twin again. As she heard Kiara scream for their friends, it was as if that same calmness that always graced her during dire situations washed over her. She wasn’t going to lose her little brother, her lifeline. Gently she moved him to the flat ground, ignoring Kiara and her screams. Kissing her brother’s forehead, JC took a breath before beginning chest compressions. The exact way she had been taught a few summers ago when JJ and her became lifeguard’s for a summer. The strength and endurance that she had due to the adrenaline, rage, and terror pumping through her was near superhuman.

She felt hands on her shoulders but shook them off, her eyes watching her brother’s face. She couldn’t stop, because as long as she was doing chest compressions he had a chance. A chance she needed him to have, because she was selfish and it was essential that she had him. JC couldn’t make it without him, for she had never had to make it without him. How could she live without her twin, without her other half?

If JC had known this was the outcome for the search of the crown she would have called it off. She would have fought tooth and nail for them to find another way, that or she would have murdered Groff the first time they ever met. She would have held JJ closer, harder, and longer every moment of every second. If she had known, JC would have pushed JJ out of the way and taken the knife for him without hesitation. She would trade her life for his in a heartbeat, JJ had always been the heart and life of everything. Now without him, it’s as if the world had grown dark and lifeless. If she had known the last hug she would have shared with him was at the bottom of the hill leading to the stone statue, she would have never let go. How could she let go?

Juniper was relentless in her attempt to keep her brother alive. Enough so that the group around her watched with sad and weary eyes. Each of them could see how close she was to the edge, and how once she accepted reality they would lose her. Pope and John B hesitantly reached out, trying gently to coax JC to stop. Both boys could tell that JJ was gone, that their best friend was dead, but they didn’t want to admit it. However, seeing their other best friend they knew they needed to be the rock for once, to be the strength because she needed them. If JJ was the heart and life of the Pogues, then JC was the rock and strength of them. Pope forced a sob down his throat as he laid his hand on JC’s who was relentlessly doing chest compressions. “He’s gone Juniper. He’s gone.”

The words hung in the air, JC heard them and registered them but she couldn’t accept it. Accepting it made it real, and she couldn’t deal with it being real. Shaking her head she didn’t stop, she couldn’t stop. “I can’t. I need him. I need him.” Her words brought a fresh wave of tears to everyone present, even Rafe. Sarah held her stomach as she sobbed, JJ had saved her and her baby. She would never be able to repay that debt, to thank him enough, to call him her brother. She stared helplessly at JC wanting to help the distraught and breaking girl but she didn’t know how. Cleo stood rigid, tears silently streaming down her face as she watched her best friend fall apart. JJ had never failed to make her laugh or smile, never failed to keep her on her toes, or give her a run for being kleptomaniacs. She would never have her thief buddy back. Cleo hated having to watch her boyfriend and best friend break at the loss of JJ. Kiara was hugging herself so tight, loud sobs escaping her as she watched JC try and do anything and everything to save JJ. She loved him so much. JJ was her everything, and for him to die protecting her made her feel so guilty. She hated herself, and how she got her soulmate killed. Hated how JC her best friend had to witness it and feel it. Kiara had always marveled at the twins bond and how they felt each other. Kiara couldn’t imagine feeling the other half of yourself die.

Rafe didn’t move from his position in the doorway. Tears swarmed in his eyes but he didn’t let them fall. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Not because he didn’t care or like JJ, but because the anger within him was so much stronger. He wasn’t the biggest fan of JJ, but he had to respect the Maybank for how protective and loyal he was to his people. To his sister. Rafe curled his hands into fist as he stared at JC and how she was clearly seconds away from falling off the cliff. Rafe knew she would never be the same again, and it crushed his whole soul. Rafe had spoken to her twice within the past day, both brief and beautiful moments, once while Sarah and John B decoded the map and right before he went to buy them more time. It had brought back everything he had felt for her during and after Singh, but he knew she would never be that girl again. No matter what though, he vowed to help her, to protect her, and to be there for her. Just as she had been there for him and her friends. Rafe owed JJ that, for saving Sarah and climbing the statue for him, but also because they both loved JC.

Pope kept his hand on JC’s, his eyes full of tears as they silently fell down his face. He was begging her to stop, because she was only hurting herself and JJ. Pope didn’t know what to do, he had never felt his heart break like it was in this moment. He almost wanted to help JC try and revive JJ because he couldn’t believe his best friend was dead. Everything they had been through together, everything they had said, and Pope never got to have a moment just to make sure they were good. Deep down he knew they were, JJ would never stay mad at him or turn him away. Pope found it unfair, everything about it. It was unfair the life JJ and JC lived, it was unfair that JJ fought as hard as he did and was still treated like dirt, it was unfair that they traded one shitty dad for a whole another level of shitty father. It was unfair that JJ was dead. Pope couldn’t hold back the sob in his throat as he met JC eyes. They were so lifeless and dark, empty of everything and it tore at Pope because she would never be the same again.

John B kept his hand on JC’s shoulder. Whispering soothing words to her, that he didn’t hear himself. His eyes solely focused on JJ’s face. John B wanted to scream, to beg, to punch the ground, to drag JJ back from the dead because he couldn’t be dead. His best friend, his brother, the man that was everything to him. John B didn’t know what to do, didn’t even feel like truly stopping JC because of the slight chance that it would work and JJ would wake up. However, as he turned to look at JC after he heard Pope sob he knew he needed to act. She was a mess and John B couldn’t blame her, but he would blame himself if he wasn’t there for her. JJ would blame him if he wasn’t there for her. Moving forward he wrapped his arms around her chest and pulled her back into him. Holding her slightly tighter as she tried to escape.

JC stopped struggling after a few minutes, and instead leaned back into John B. Her breath was quick as she came down from her denial high. Her eyes glanced over the group, and each face she took in felt like a punch to the gut. Like a seal to the deal. He was dead. He was dead and he wasn’t coming back. Gently she pushed John B off of her and shuffled on her knees to JJ. Juniper let out a loud heartbreaking scream as she cradled JJ to her chest. Mumbling and babbling about how she needed him, and for him to not leave her. She buried her head in his neck and rocked back and forth as she clutched onto him like a life raft. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please come back. Come back little brother.”

Time moved fast, as if she wasn’t actually present within her body and perhaps she wasn’t. Before she knew it JJ was wrapped up and secured in cloths to protect his body. She didn’t know when they had moved her away from him long enough to do that, or was even aware that they were at a completely different location. Though the moment she had come too, JC had slipped her phone within her brother’s burial wrap, so she could find his body again and bring him home when they had the money and equipment. Even if she didn’t have the money, she’d still find a way to bring him home. She hated burying him out in the desert in Africa. Wanted to scream and beg her friends not to abandon him. JC didn’t know what to do though, by the time they would get his body back home it would be bad. Pope had already mentioned the scientific evidence on why it was safest to bury him here. JC disagreed science or not.

JJ would have liked to be buried with their mother, or in Poguelandia which was their first and true ever home. His one true fear was being alone, being abandoned by his family. Something JC also feared and yet here she was abandoning him. Leaving him. She hated herself, felt the guilt, anger, and pain chewing away at her. She had failed as an older sister, and only continued to fail. JC grasped his body in her lap never wanting to let him go, because she didn’t want it to be for the rest of her life. She knew once she let him go that she’d never be able to hold him. Ever again.

Rafe looked towards John B and Pope before he nodded, signaling that the grave was ready. Rafe didn’t really mind having to dig the grave, he could tell that the others didn’t have the strength to dig it and he felt like he owed JJ. Not to mention he wanted to try and make things easier for JC. He couldn’t imagine watching your family die, holding them, and then having to dig the grave. It threw everyone for a loop, when Rafe stepped forward and volunteered. The whole time he dug, Rafe thought of his last conversation with Groff. Using his grief and the grief of those around him to fuel his anger and need for revenge. Groff had fucked up. Messed with the wrong people, and Rafe couldn’t wait to reenact vengeance.

Together, JC, Pope, John B, and Kiara lifted JJ’s body. JC held his shoulders, supporting his head as she stared down at the cloth protecting his youthful face. JC paused at the beginning of the hole, her eyes finding Cleo and Sarah and silently nodding them over. They were Pogues and just as important to JJ as the others. Together the group gently lowered his body down into the sand, all of them reluctant to let go of him. It was silent but they were all crying as they stared at their best friend and the life of their crew. Cleo was the first to let go, a gentle kiss placed to where his arm was and a soft goodbye. Following her lead everyone kissed him one last time with heartfelt goodbyes. JC was the last, she was cradling his head and wanted to scream up at her friends to bury her here because this was where she died too. However, she didn’t. No, JC kissed his forehead and whispered how she would see him again. “I’ll bring you home Jay, I promise. You won’t be alone forever bug.”

Rafe and John B glanced at each other as JC didn’t make a moved to exit the hole. Silently both males moved forward, removing her out of the hole. John B immediately pulling her into his side so she wouldn’t attempt to jump back in, but also to offer support. Just as Pope appeared on her other side. The two males hugging her between them. Kiara came up behind JC and wrapped her arms around them all. Sarah and Cleo moved to the front, one hand holding their significant other and the other holding JC. Together the Pogues watched as Rafe sealed the grave up. Each of them leaning on one another for comfort and strength. JC was the first to break the silence as she let out a loud sob, and as if the flood gates opened for them all, they all loudly cried. Holding onto and grounding each other as they said goodbye to their best friend, their brother, their heart, their everything.

The moral of the group was broken, JJ had been that. Had been the one to keep them lively, and JC had been the one keeping them strong. But both twins were gone, JJ gone in all the ways and JC forever changed. She would never be the same again, none of them would ever be the same again. A part of them always gone and missing.

JC didn’t know who started the fire, she hadn’t been paying attention as she paced like a wild animal back an forth in front of the tree. She couldn’t sit still, didn’t want to sit still. Everything in her ached to get revenge, to get justice for JJ. At the same time everything ached for her to scream, to cry, to hit something, just anything so she would feel physical pain. Rafe sat in the back of the jeep before jumping down from it, as everyone else besides Pope stood or sat around the fire. Pope sat in the jeep, his head leaned back against the headrest as he stared up in the sky. JC thought it was so maybe he could catch a glimpse of their angel.

“Groff said he was going to Lisbon. I don't know. If it was my friend, or b-brother, I'd probably go after the guy that just killed him. Yeah?” JC snapped her head up and glared at Rafe, his words only making her angrier and more bloodthirsty. His stutter around the word brother not going unnoticed but only worsening her mood. She almost shouted a thank you towards Pope as he spoke annoyance and tiredness oozing from him. “Shut up, Rafe.”

“He's not wrong. You think JJ would sit here if it were one of us? You think he'd do nothing?” Then Kiara spoke, and JC felt like screaming and yelling at them all to shut up. That they didn’t know him like she did, that he in fact wouldn’t want any of them to get hurt. She knew it was wrong, they knew him, they loved him, but there was something about losing someone you’ve never been without that none of them would ever understand. JC knew it was just her guilt, her anger, her despair talking but she couldn’t stop the thoughts or feelings. “We all know what JJ would do. He'd get even.” JC briefly paused at John B’s words. Biting her lip to prevent the scream that wanted to burst free. She hated it. All of it. He was right, and JC knew they needed to get even but every second that passed made it all feel too real. “Revenge.”

However, Kiara was right about revenge. Both Maybank siblings never allowed anything to hurt those they loved and not have any repercussions. JC would do whatever it took to take down Groff. Even if it meant she also died in the process. Something she could hear JJ already scolding her for even thinking about, even though they both were so similar like that. She would get the justice her baby brother deserved and she wouldn’t stop until she did.

She turned her head to see everyone looking at her and she stopped pacing. Her tears had dried a while ago and she didn’t think she had anymore to cry with how dehydrated and overwhelmed she was. Her eyes met each of those around her, and as she looked into Kiara’s, JB, and Pope, she saw the bloodlust, the willingness to do anything to revenge JJ. Her hands traveled up to her hair and she tugged it harshly as she moved closer to the fire. Kicking the ground and sending sand into the flames. She ignored the flinches from her friends, as she took a deep breath, her hands lowering to her sides and clenching into fists as she stared at the burning flames. JC looked like a mess, her hands dried and caked with her brother’s blood, as were her clothes, but it only added to her promise and her threat towards Groff. Her voice raspy and full of every dark emotion she was feeling.

“We get revenge and justice for JJ. By any and all means. Groff is a dead man walking.”

[angelspitxx]

daemon wants to teach his sweet niece and nephew how to pleasure each other before their wedding. it is his duty after all, to bestow his wisdom upon his brother's children. just as he did with rhaenyra.

(sorry to my helaegon followers, don't hate me for this lol)

tw: dub/non-con, coercion, age gap.

aegon and helaena look over at daemon with wide eyes, full of innocent wonder. he's stroking his cock as he watches the pair touch each other with hesitation, both of them glancing back at him for approval and direction.

helaena's hair is spread out across the bed, her thighs propped on aegon's shoulders as he teases her with his tongue. she's whimpering and mumbling nonsense, squirming her hips uncomfortably. she's never felt something so delightful but overstimulating at the same time.

"more," daemon demands with a grunt of frustration, "use your fingers, boy. how do you expect to please your wife if you're shy about it?"

aegon does as he's told, but is sure to be careful. helaena is a fragile girl, his pretty sister-wife, she needs to be touched gently. at least, for now, until she can handle more from him. she tenses around his fingers as his tongue plays with her clit. her breathing coming out in quick bursts and his name a whisper on her lips.

"that's it," daemon's hand tightens around his cock as he pumps it faster, "just like that. good. now i want you to add another. stretch out that pretty little cunt."

his hesitation angers his uncle, and daemon's at his side within seconds. guiding him into it, both of their fingers sliding in and out of helaena. her face is bright pink and her eyes are screwed shut. aegon thinks it's too much for her. that perhaps they're making a mistake doing this, that it's wrong. only he can't find the courage to say it out loud and he can't stop touching her. daemon's making sure of that.

aegon isn't expecting his uncle to kiss him, tongue forcing itself inside of his mouth. the kiss sloppy and rough. daemon tastes of bitter wine.

"i believe our little princess is ready," daemon whispers against his lips, "make me proud, aegon."

he nods obediently and they both take their fingers out of her. helaena opens her eyes, tears blurring her vision.

"is it done?" she whispers, almost hopeful, until she realizes aegon is climbing on top of her.

"im sorry," he mumbles as he accidentally pulls on her hair, clumsily adjusting himself.

she isn't sure what he's apologizing for. pulling on her hair, or what he's about to do..

the moment he shoves himself inside of her, she hisses in pain. it feels as if her body is being cleaved in two. her hands push at his arms, trying to stop him.

"no- hurts-"

"it's going to be painful, helaena," daemon says softly as he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, "this is what's expected of you. take a breath, sweetling. the pain will fade soon enough."

still, she insists on resisting. her fingernails digging into aegon so deeply he begins to bleed. he ignores the sting as he thrusts inside of her slowly. she feels heavenly, and looks like an angel. her hair haloed out around her. those big eyes looking up at him with a mixture of fear and love. this wasn't how he envisioned their first time together. still, it felt nice. in this single moment, it was like they were the only two people in the entire world.

that is, until aegon felt daemon's hands on him. big and rough, enveloping his hips. he noticed something prodding his backside.

"uncle..?"

"its alright. focus on her.. don't pay me any mind."

he tried not to, so he shifted his focus back to his sister. helaena was making precious little sounds. the pain was in fact fading, and pleasure began to course through her body.

"aegon- more.. i need you," she whined as she pulled him closer against her.

he bottomed out inside of her, moaning against her lips. just as he could feel himself close to finishing, he felt daemon pushing his cock inside-

"no, uncle, please-"

daemon forced his fingers into aegons mouth, making him choke.

"quiet. now it's time for a proper lesson.."

daemon started off slow, gradually picking up speed. until he was ramming into the poor boy so roughly that aegon's tears were dripping onto helaena's face. the motion from him getting fucked was in turn making his hips move, thrusting into helaena harder and harder. by the time daemon was done, they were a fucking mess. blood stained the sheets, their eyes were glassy and bodies pushed past their limit.

daemon took in his niece and nephew, panting and sprawled across his bed. sticky with sweat and bodily fluids.

"did we.. did we please you, uncle?" aegon asked shakily, his hand reaching out to grasp his sisters.

daemon smirked as he brought a wine goblet up to his lips, "you did well, but i believe we will need more practice. perhaps next time, we may both get to enjoy helaena."

[queenofgone]

🖤┊ ❝ @ofsquaredcircle ❞┊ [ continued from HERE ] 🖤

[ 📲 sms: ] see that’s why I love you nattie. Always.

[ 📲 sms: ] and nothing will change.

[ 📲 sms: ] also I’m sorry about the other night… had a bit much to drink.

CONTACT → Baby Geezy 💚

[text - sent]: no i love you more. don’t even start. [text - sent]: sorry for what? you made me feel better after my birthday, are you kidding me? [text - unsent]: is there a way that could happen...again?

[prosebushpatch]

In my humble opinion, the successful retellings of Snow White take the relationship between Snow and the Wicked Queen and really dig into why the queen is so desperate to be beautiful and why Snow is still the fairest because of her kindness.

My favorite examples of this are Gail Carson Levine's Fairest, and the movie Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves. In both of these retellings, Snow White is conventionally unattractive. And how society views Snow White in these stories is drastically different from how they view the Wicked Queen. There is a privilege to being beautiful. Both Snow White and the Wicked Queen know this. But the Wicked Queen will do anything to have that privilege--that power--over her subjects. Whether it's to use her beauty to manipulate people or because she's desperate for love is what makes her such an interesting character. Snow White, on the other hand, gets a taste of how people would treat her if she was conventionally attractive, at least in these stories. And when she realizes that people are finally able to appreciate her or praise her or HELP HER because of her looks, she's forced to ask herself the question whether she'll choose to keep being "beautiful" or if she'll go back to being herself because society's definition of beauty isn't worth the cost.

Snow White and the Wicked Queen are foils. They represent how conventional beauty standards can pressure woman and pit them against each other. They represent how a mother, related by blood or not, can become jealous because the simple act of growing older makes her less attractive than her daughter in society's eyes and that means she's going to be treated differently as a result.

All this to say, if you turn Snow White's story into Snow White becomes a "Strong Independent Female Who Doesn't Need Any Prince And Is Growing Into the Leader She was Born to Be" then you lose that commentary about what true beauty is. You lose the chance to ask what makes someone the fairest and why. If you aren't asking why the Wicked Queen wants to be the fairest to the point of having a huntsman cut out a child's heart, then you're missing out on the entire point of the fairy tale.

[peppermintmochafem]

<3 little diary post

[pipstr]

I decided to reupload this post because of misunderstanding that it caused. (English is not my native so sometimes I make mistakes with translations)

652 chapter when he says it btw

[inkovert]

something that really grinds my gears as I venture into other writing/bookish spaces is the fact that people have to apologize when stating their opinions/personal preferences when it comes to what they read or consume for fear of offending The Majority. Like there's this sudden hyper-defensive stance that fans or certain groups of people take about what they love and if someone else god forbid states (on their OWN account or a comment thread mind you, with others who agree with them) that they prefer not to consume those things or they don't love it as much as those people do then these people suddenly feel attacked??

Like. Imagine me obsessing over a show that I've binged a million times and then someone across the globe whispers the words "eh I don't really like that show, it feels overhyped and I don't get why people like it. I prefer this other show to that' and I DIVE ACROSS THE OCEAN to be like 'You're entitled to like that other show, but I don't get why you have to put down my show that I love so much in order to say that. Like that's just very rude of you to even verbalize that opinion in your own space of living and existing that's nowhere near my space of living and existing.'

Like??? People?? Do we not see how mad that is?? THAT'S what's happening in the book community rn and we're treating that like it's normal, I don't know. I get that people can cross a line when stating an opinion or make generalizations about people who consume certain things, but...I don't need someone else's validation to love what I love? If they don't like it or think I'm weird or whatever for liking it that's their problem (and their opinion)??? It doesn't say anything about me or change how I feel about the things I like? And if I'm around people who are bashing what I enjoy and I don't want to see that then maybe just...click away? delete their comment? click unfollow? follow more people who like what you love to drown it out? idk. People are entitled to not like what you love, that's what makes us all beautifully diverse. idk.

[artekai]

I like how the wiki simply takes her word for it

[brawlqueen]

" . . . even if i wasn't really killed - it...." it hurts. " i guess it was stupid to think i could protect people in something like that. but . . . i wanna say sorry to people. solita, maria, and varys too. "

" . . . i never wanted to win anyway. this is one competition i'd never, ever want to win. i hope . . i meet some of you again. if i'm 'dead' at least i don't have to be unfair, and do the opposite of what i really want. and i can apologize. i can buy solita lots of snacks and say sorry. i can thank varys for the pipe. i can thank miss maria for the coat. those kinda things. it's weird - normally i'd be pissed that someone 'killed me' but . . . i just feel sorry they're still in there. "

" i guess i can go home now. i fought as hard as i could even when i didn't want to do all those things. i want to protect people. but now i guess - i can go home, right? that was really all i ever wanted . . "

[dbphantom]

[H2O s2 spoilers] Charlotte has literally done nothing wrong up until now and yet the show STILL paints her as such a bad person in Pressure Cooker.

She admits if she knew Don was Cleo's dad she wouldn't have shown up and looks visibly uncomfortable (but still trying to be polite) when she realizes it's Cleo's house and has to sit there and watch Cleo openly be rude to her mother by giving away a gift bought as a gesture of goodwill.

Charlotte KNOWS Lewis and Cleo are talking about her and instead of being rude and nasty about it (LIKE CLEO WAS IN EPISODE 3 WHEN SHE MADE ASSUMPTIONS) is just like "yeah, your dad is really struggling right now, you probably wanna go back in there and help him..?" like OMG that was so sweet of her. Yeah she interrupted their conversation, but come on she was trying to be nice. Characters interrupt each other all the time on this show- it's a teen drama, that's how it works. Despite everything Cleo had already done to her, Charlotte was still looking out for her dad.

Then Charlotte accidentally knocks a thing of flour into Cleo and goes up to her room after Cleo storms off to personally apologize for even BEING THERE because she can tell Cleo is Absolutely Furious about her showing up, and openly asks her if she can spend time with/date Lewis because she understands the two of them were together and she SEES how Cleo is reacting, and CLEO GIVES HER THE GO-AHEAD, BUT STILL TREATS HER AWFULLY ANYWAY. She didn't HAVE to ask for permission, but she does anyway!! AFTER APOLOGIZING FOR SIMPLY SHOWING UP TO HER MOM'S WORK EVENT.

and THEN at the end of the episode Cleo is like "even if it IS Charlotte (who I hate for literally no reason other than she stood up for herself when I tried to shame her in public for hanging out with my ex-boyfriend who I broke up with), it's Lewis's choice" but then gives her an actual death glare at the very end of the episode when Charlotte is literally just looking at her and evil music swells all because Charlotte smiles. WHAT!!!!!

IF YOU WANTED ME TO HATE CHARLOTTE SO BAD WHY DID YOU MAKE CLEO SO UNREASONABLE AND MEAN THIS SEASON AND CHARLOTTE AN ACTUAL SWEETHEART WHO HASN'T DONE ANYTHING WRONG OTHER THAN ACCIDENTALLY KNOCKING A BOWL OF FLOUR INTO SOMEONE AND PINING AFTER A GUY WHO IS- I CANNOT EMPHASIZE THIS ENOUGH- SINGLE!!!

anyway brb making a list of all the times the girls openly use their powers or are just straight-up reckless in public SOLELY IN SEASON 2 so i can compare it to them getting really mad at Charlotte and holding her to a huge double-standard because she used her powers to mess with Nate a little bit because HUUUUUUH??? if you have any examples hit me up because im currently doing a rewatch and im on ep 6 and already have a few... most notably Emma using her powers during the soccer game to dunk on a seven-year-old, but also Cleo using her powers at school to [checks notes] take a shortcut across a field with a sprinkler instead of just walking around. I have a few from memory as well that i just haven't gotten up to yet (like Emma and Rikki harassing Lewis at his job and almost getting him arrested because they left the gate open)

>>>>>oh i see... tumblr desktop does not warn you if you have over 30 tags. noted... rip my essay on how Lewis also isn't 100% in the right here [with Charlotte. with Cleo he did nothing wrong (being overbearing... ok i get it, but she could have sat him down and talked to him abt how she was feeling before immediately jumping to breaking up) and even took her aside more than once to ask her if she was okay, if this is what she really wanted, and where he stands with her- to which she lies to his face during and says everything's fine, she's just protecting the secret, she isn't jealous At All, she doesn't want to get back together] because he unintentionally is leading Charlotte on bc he's not communicating the best, and then when they DO get together he's clearly not as invested in their relationship as she is, or how Charlotte was kinda jumping the gun a little but while their relationship is kinda messy in itself, it just doesn't compare to how annoyed Cleo makes me this season, i won't lie. also i did rant about the marine park incident again. it still really bothers me lolol

[werewolfpdfs]

princesses neverafter takes i will not engage with but i will freely make fun of on mine own blog:

princesses have main character privilege

the princesses don’t understand that no one has free will anyway bc determinism

the princesses are worse than the fairies (lol)

the princesses are radical leftists (LOL)

cinderella is contradicting something she said in ep4

the princesses are JUST like the authors

rapunzel is a mean girl

they just don’t Understand what they’re Doing :( (yes they do)

[snow queen mention]

the princesses have Princess Privilege

girlboss fallacy*

the princess apologists want me personally to die in real life

[hellfireeddiemunson]

my manager is out tomorrow and my boss is covering for her and she (boss) kept thinking me and my coworker were working tomorrow even tho we Never are both there on a monday ??? i wonder if i’ll wake up to texts from her