#aro!stiles

[kyanitedragon]

[ID: Teen Wolf gifs featuring Stiles, with screenshots of aspec-themed tumblr posts edited onto them.

Stiles in the background failing to properly walk through a door and instead smacking into the doorframe, as Lydia talks on the phone in the foreground. The tumblr post is from SandersGrey and says "Being asexual with a lot of aesthetic attraction is like 'no i don't wanna fuck you i'm just gonna keep stealing glances and accidentally walk into a door'."

Stiles making a dramatic confused and amazed expression as he looks at his friends. The tumblr post is from TheRadicalAce and reads "God, sometimes I read how people describe falling in love and its like... that sounds awful???"

Stiles giving a flirty nod to a girl sitting beside him, only to be ignored, so he turns and gives the same nod to Danny on his other side, who also ignores him. The tumblr post is from PixieDustAndBlueButterflies and reads "Being bi oriented aroace is a trip because it's like... in THEORY i'm into everyone. in PRACTICE i'm not really into anyone."

Stiles talking with various body language. At first he tiltes his body in a considering gesture, then shrugs. The tumblr post is from SaltShips and reads "Listen... Listen. Do I want to fall in love? Not really. Do I want to know what it's like? Yes." The second "listen" is italicized and drawn out.

End ID]

[moths-in-hats]

moodboard: aromantic bisexual stiles stilinski

[crazynerdandproud]

I headcanon Ahsoka as being aro-ace to the point that like, if I see someone ship her with anyone in a non friendship way I am legitimately offended at first because that’s like shipping Yelena and Bucky.

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 8: The Favor

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 2 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining and depressed, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good}, amnesia, finger picking, AGAIN ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: Don't worry

100% recommend listening to rain sounds when you get to the end part where it's a thunderstorm.

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor {You Are Here}

“No, I’m sorry, who are you?” The look on your face sends a wave of hurt down Stiles. “How do you know my name?”

He’s gripping the steering wheel of the jeep, cruising with Scott and Allison in the car. Lydia had gone missing about twenty minutes ago, the police at the hospital taking witness statements and rallying an APB.

With you indisposed, the trio decide to take matters into their own hands. That doesn’t mean Stiles is free of the hurt. You really have no idea who he is.

“Alright, but if Lydia’s turning, would they actually kill her?”

Allison is fretful, “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Okay, all they say is, ‘We’ll talk after Kate’s funeral when the others get here.’”

“What others?” Stiles looks in the rearview mirror.

“They won’t tell me that, either.”

Stiles sighs, “Okay, your family’s got some serious communication issues to work on.” He yells at Scott whose head is out the window, “Scott, are we going the right way?”

Scott sniffs the rushing air and says, “Take the next right!”

“This is really turning into a real shit night.”

Allison is chewing on her fingers, “(Y/N) really doesn’t remember us?”

“She’s lost her memory from the last few months,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “She remembers last summer but doesn’t remember starting her job at the hospital. That means her memory stops around October of last year.”

“God…” Allison mumbles, “Did they say if her memory would come back?”

Stiles digs his thumb into the ridges of the wheel, “They called it retrograde amnesia, and there’s a chance the memory loss could come back if they treat the underlying cause. But the cause was an anoxic brain, and they just needed to oxygenate her body to fix that. I don’t…” he slams a hand against the wheel as Scott slides back into the car. “This is what happened to…”

“Happened to…?” Allison presses, but it was Scott who answers.

“His mom,” Scott’s voice was quiet and full of sympathy. “There were days she didn’t know who Stiles was.”

Allison looks mortified, “Stiles, I am so…”

“How close are we?” Stiles cuts in, jaw set.

Scott points toward the woods, “It’s coming from that direction. We’re definitely closer – the scent is stronger.”

“There’s no way she’s a werewolf, right?” Allison says in a shaky voice, an attempt to get past the topic of you. Clearly this expedition to save Lydia was a way to distract Stiles. “You said her bite didn’t heal.”

“I know,” Scott frowns, not-so-subtly looking over at his friend to gauge the hurt he was feeling. “Maybe it was a late reaction?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles muses, tone a little rigid, “This has got to be something else. Peter made it clear that she either turns or she’s dead.”

Scott directs the jeep further into the woods, “Maybe we should try to get ahold of Derek?”

“I’m done being on speaking terms with psychotic alpha werewolves,” Stiles goes off road into the trees and leaf-strewn ground. “I want that guy out of here by the next full moon.”

“Do you think he’ll leave town now that he’s gotten his revenge?” Allison muses, eyeing the back of Stiles’ head just as much as Scott was looking. “He avenged his sister, right?”

Scott shrugs, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to create a pack of his own.”

“And he can do that somewhere else,” Stiles scoffs, bouncing along with the jeep, “Go back to wherever he was the last six years.”

“(Y/N) wasn’t bitten, right?” Allison asks quietly.

Stiles is quick with the answer, “No, just… she was just thrown around a bit. No teeth action.”

“With all the supernatural stuff happening to us… hearing about (Y/N)’s heart problems just seems so – human, don’t you think?”

Scott gives his girlfriend a warning look, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I think her memory will…”

“Can we drop the whole (Y/N)-amnesia thing?!” Stiles grumbles.

Allison is swift in her retort, “She’s my friend too, Stiles. I’m allowed to be worried about her just as much as you!”

“Let’s not do this right now,” Scott says in a louder voice. “Lydia’s scent is coming from there.”

Stiles parks the jeep, leading the way into the moonlit forest and the house far in the distance. The Hale House. He’s still grumpy as he asks, “She came here? You sure?”

Scott stands back with Allison, hands nearly touching, “Yeah, this is where the scent leads.”

They keep walking, “Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?”

Allison shakes her head, “Not with me. I don’t think with (Y/N) either.” She talks with Scott in hushed tones, “Maybe she came here on instinct, like she was looking for Derek.”

“You mean, looking for an Alpha.”

“Wolves need a pack, right?” she asks, “Would she have been drawn to an Alpha? Is it an instinct to be part of a pack?”

“Yeah, we’re stronger in packs.” They watch Stiles wander around the tree line, inspecting the area as he goes. “Like literally stronger, faster, better in every way.”

They could see the breaths coming from their mouths, it was so cold. Allison pulls her beanie over her ears, “That’s the same for an Alpha?”

Scott nods as something tightens around his ankle and lifts him into the air. Allison muffles a scream and backs away, watching her boyfriend be pulled toward a tree.

Stiles makes a funny choking sound, squatting on the ground and holding a black wire between his fingers, “Sorry, buddy.”

“Stiles, next time you see a tripwire… don’t trip it.”

Allison smiles, cheeks rosy from the cold, “Let’s get….”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Scott flails in the air, waving them off, “Someone’s coming. Hide!”

The pair of them jump into action, Stiles grabbing Allison’s arm to pull her back towards the woods. No sooner had their footsteps soften on the leaves as they hide behind a tree, did a group of hunters appear from the backside of the house.

“Oh, shit,” Allison mumbles into Stiles’ shoulder, “They probably thought about Derek too.”

“I can’t hear anything they’re saying,” Stiles bemoans, “This is stupid.”

Allison clutches his arm, “It’s going to be okay.”

In a quick motion, Stiles slams his head into the tree. Considering they were already pressed into it, the hit wasn’t that hard. “Things are anything but okay.”

~~~

The boys huddle into the locker rooms as Coach yells for them. Isaac fumbles with his equipment, joining the back of the pack.

“Quicker!” Finstock yells, “Danny, put a shirt on.” The coach prattles on, “Stilinski, that means you! Let’s go, gather round. Listen up.”

Isaac searches the office wall behind Finstock, looking for you. You were always near the Coach during team meetings, usually holding an energy drink or pointing out things Finstock failed to mention to the team.

But you are nowhere to be seen.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It’s a sick girl, roaming around, totally naked.”

Isaac remembers how the Sheriff questioned him about the same advisory that morning when he reported the strange grave robbery at the cemetery.

“Now, it’s supposed to get below 40 degrees tonight. I don’t know about you, but the last time it was that cold, and I was running around naked… I lost a testicle to exposure. Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl. So police are organizing search parties for tonight.” The Coach brandishes a piece of paper and Isaac can visualize the rolling of your eyes at the poor delivery of the speech.

Finstock tapes the paper to his office window, “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic ‘A’ in my classes.” He smiles at the instantaneous cheers, but Isaac is of the few standing still.

He holds his duffel bag and looks for you again. There was no way you’d let Coach give students straight A’s like that. You were his voice of reason – the only way classes came out coherently and fairly graded.

A swarm of players rush past him, but Isaac lets his eyes roam until he finds Stiles and Scott. He knew you were friendly with those two, more so than him at least. He walks over to the boys at the shower entrance.

“Um… hey…” he says awkwardly, holding the strap of his bag with two tight hands.

Scott looks taken aback, but is friendly anyways, “Hey, Isaac.”

Stiles is a little more blunt, “What do you want?”

“I uh… I wanted to ask where (Y/N) was,” he wrings his hands, “Usually she’s at these team meetings.” He notices the way Stiles looks to the ground, letting Scott speak first.

“She’s still at the hospital,” he says calmly, “She won’t be back for a while.”

Isaac knits his brow, “Oh, is she okay?” Again, he notices how Stiles scoffs at his shoes.

“Yeah,” Scott says with a lackluster tone, “She’ll be fine. Did you need her for something? We can give her a message.”

“Just… I haven’t seen her in class and – we miss her.” He has a hard time looking them in the eye, “And maybe that Coach is running rampant without her.” His lips upturn ever-so-slightly, “She’ll want to know her assisting is very much appreciated.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cuts in front of Scott’s laughter. “I didn’t realize you and (Y/N) were close?”

Isaac wipes the smile from his face. “We’re not. Not outside of class at least.” He grinds his teeth, “She’s great. She’s always been kind to me. I’d hate if something happened and I didn’t know about it.”

That seems to appease Stiles, a flash of guilt washing over his face. “Right.”

~~~

The days seem to darken. Even with the promise of spring right around the corner, the world seems dusky, like the sun was a dimmer set low. Stiles’ lens was filtered with gray, shadowing his perspective with melancholia.

He spends his afternoons chasing the supernatural with Scott. But his nights he spends alone – quiet – in his room. He sits at his desk, spinning from side to side to look at the bulletin boards on the walls.

The one directly in front of him was all about you. He had covered it up with a blanket when you slept over that one time. A family picture and a selfie he got from your social media are pinned in the middle. Countless strings are between the picture of you and little bits of information.

A few green strings lead to fun facts like:

Watches true crime

Likes to read

Works at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Born in Palo Alto, California

Fireman Tom

Front Desk Westbrook

Atrioventricular canal defect

A yellow string leads from the fact about a congenital heart defect. It spreads to multiple pictures, article clippings, and website screenshots on the heart problem.

“Children born with this condition have a hole in the wall between the heart’s chambers. They also have problems with the valves that control blood flow in the heart.

Atrioventricular canal defect allows extra blood to flow to the lungs. The extra blood forces the heart to work too hard, causing the heart muscle to grow larger.”

“Ventricular tachycardia is a type of irregular heartbeat, called an arrhythmia. It starts in the lower chambers of the heart, called the ventricles. A healthy heart typically beats about 60 to 100 times a minute at rest. In ventricular tachycardia, the heart beats faster, usually 100 or more beats a minute.

Sometimes the rapid heartbeat stops the heart chambers from properly filling with blood. The heart may not be able to pump enough blood to the body. If this happens, you may feel short of breath or lightheaded. Some people lose consciousness.”

He has a red string leading to an unknown section about the 3-inch incision on your chest. After hearing you mention that it was a device inserted near your heart, he did some more research. It might have been an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, or an ICD.

Those devices detect irregular heartbeats and deliver electric shocks to hopefully restore a regular heart rhythm.

Other blue strings lead to theories he has about why your CHD correction wasn’t permanent, as well as solutions to your persistent tachycardia.

The other side of the board has a few other green strings that lead to a picture of you, Lydia, and Allison. Another is the name ‘Andrew’ written sloppily and then crossed out repeatedly with a ballpoint pen. A few short strings lead to the various situationships in your past and some notes on their kissing techniques.

Overall, Stiles was proud of the research he had conducted on you. But staring at it wasn’t making him feel any better. He was exhausting himself over retrograde amnesia, failing to put those details on your bulletin board.

He was hoping it would correct itself before he had to.

He barely registers that his dad enters the room. “Hey, kid,” he says, void of his sheriff uniform. “How you holding up?”

Stiles shrugs and it pulls a sigh out of Noah. “Listen, I’m glad we were able to find that Martin girl tonight. We should consider that a real victory.” Stiles just nods and Noah continues, “I uh… what in god’s name is that?”

He looks over Stiles’ bulletin board. “Research,” Stiles mumbles.

Noah sounds hesitant, “Right. Um… should I be concerned about this?” He searches his son’s vacant expression, “Like, are you peeping into her windows and stealing things from her underwear drawer?”

“What?” that snaps some life into Stiles, “No! No, dad, it’s not like that. It was a little inside joke from when we first started hanging out. Then it kind of turned into me trying to figure out what her heart problem was.”

Noah looks to the side with the medical research, “You know… uh, the Westbrooks called.”

“And?” Stiles looks up with dull brown eyes.

“And the doctor says (Y/N) should be exposed to things that might trigger her memory back. Stuff that she doesn’t remember.”

Stiles bites at the inside of his cheek, “Like me?”

Noah takes a deep breath, folding his arms. The reserved Stiles before him was disconcerting. “Having you visit might help.” The Sheriff tries to find something helpful to say – his wife was always better at these things. “They’ve had Scott sit with her and she remembers the few times they ran into each other during her early hospital days; back when she was still getting surgeries.”

“I don’t know how I… how do I sit there and…” Stiles leaves his hands limp in his lap. “How am I supposed to help? Pretend that I don’t know anything about her? Act like we’re meeting for the first time?”

“Maybe,” Noah grimaces, “I’d start with keeping this bulletin board to yourself. It might scare her into getting a restraining order.”

Stiles cracks the smallest smile, “How long is she going to be at the hospital?”

“About two or three days,” the Sheriff scratches the scruff on his chin, “They’ll probably keep her from school for even longer.”

“She’ll need to keep up on homework,” Stiles sighs, “She’d hate to miss out on so many assignments.” His small smile grows, “Of course she’s already done with her end of term projects.”

Noah smiles, “Even that biology one you guys were supposed to do together?”

Stiles shrugs, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

They both share a laugh before Noah beckons him, “You should go. I’ll tell Tom you’re on your way.” He looks at his son, nostalgia flooding him.

Little Stiles jumping across waiting room seats. Little Stiles following the nurses around. Little Stiles foraging for snacks in the vending machines. Little Stiles afraid to talk to his mother who didn’t recognize him.

Little Stiles that cried in the hallway while he was busy with a police dispatch.

“Hey, it’ll…” Noah tries, “… it’ll be okay.”

Stiles looks drained, but he smiles at his father’s attempt. “Thanks dad.”

It was a long drive to the hospital. It felt like the world around him was moving in slow motion. It was like his jeep was gliding on the road with no traction. It didn’t help that he let the ringing in his ears be the only source of sound.

There was a tightness in his chest that wasn’t as warm as before. It was accompanied by an anxious knot in his stomach. Hospitals were bad enough. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his mother while he sits with you.

Knots in his shoulders, he walks into the hospital with shuffling steps. He vaguely remembers running into Melissa. He barely notices how the Westbrooks dismiss themselves to grab lunch.

He’s in your doorway and watching the line of confusion grow between your brows. The look of someone meeting a stranger.

And he’s suddenly eight years old again.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says with a growing lump in his throat.

You fidget with the blanket laying over your legs. Your eyes are uncertain, “Hello. Um… are my parents…?”

“They’re grabbing lunch,” he says, hands in his pockets, “Is it okay if I visit for a bit? The doctor said it might trigger your memory.”

You look reluctant and it pains him. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” you watch him pull a chair over, “I don’t think you told me your name before.”

He tries to swallow past the lump, “Stiles.”

“Stiles,” you say quietly, as if you had never said the name before. “Stiles what?”

“Stilinski.”

Your eyes brighten, “You’re a Stilinski?”

He snorts, “Yeah, my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Woah,” you smile, “Your dad has been to my house a few times.”

Stiles nods, reminiscent of your first conversation together searching the woods for Scott all those weeks ago. “And you’re front desk Westbrook’s daughter.”

That makes you giggle, “I like that nickname.” It grows quiet for a few seconds while you consider his deflated figure. His eyes are downcast and his hands are stuffed in his pockets; you can see his leg starting to bounce. “Are we really good friends?”

His muted brown eyes turn to your brighter ones. “Yeah, we are.”

You nod, “For how long?”

“Since January when the school came back from winter break.”

You give a side smile, “So I did manage to start public school.”

He licks his lips, “Yep. And being a medical assistant here and being a teacher’s assistant to Coach.”

“That’s amazing,” you remark, “I didn’t realize… I’ve been dreaming about doing those things for years, but the fact I did… and I don’t even remember.”

Stiles frowns deep, “You haven’t gotten any of your memory back?”

You shake your head, “I get these flashes sometimes and I can’t tell if they’re dreams or not. Like… blue spray paint on my arms.”

Stiles’ face brightens with hope, “That’s – that’s real! That’s not a dream. We had a spray paint fight when we were fixing my jeep.”

Your eyes snap to his. A strange guilty feeling enters your stomach. It was bad enough disappointing people simply because you couldn’t remember them. Seeing the hope on his face makes you fill with pressure. You two must’ve had a pretty significant friendship.

“What other things have we done together?”

Stiles takes a tight breath, “Well… we’ve had dinner together. You’re an excellent cook. We painted my jeep and took Scott to get drunk on the preserve. We did a few school projects together and hang out at lacrosse practice. I took care of you when you were sick,” he suddenly looks you right in the eye, “I was there when you broke up with Andrew.”

Your eyebrows go up, but you don’t interrupt him.

“I was there when you got those claw marks on your shoulder – and other times you felt in danger,” he swallows hard, “We went to the winter formal together.”

“I went to a school dance?” you breathe out quietly. “Was it amazing? I’ve always wanted to go to a school dance.”

Stiles rubs his suddenly clammy hands down his pants, “It was. You looked great.” At seeing the light shining in your eyes, he continues. “You wore a dress that had these sparkling stars on it. The… y-you let the scars on your chest show. You were… you looked beautiful.”

“Did we slow dance?”

“Yeah, we did,” he sighs, chest aching. “It was the only dancing you could do that didn’t mess with your heart.”

You feel a drop of insecurity enter, “How much do you know about my heart?”

“I know about the heart defect and the tachycardia,” he rubs at his face. He could really take advantage of the situation here and learn more about your condition. But as quick as the thought came, it left. He wasn’t going to manipulate you like that. “I know you had a device put in last summer.”

“And that’s it?” you ask quietly. “I didn’t tell you more?”

“You always felt like it wasn’t the right time,” he shrugs, “But I suppose you might feel differently once your memory comes back.”

You brush your hair away, “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

A sadness creeps into him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I hate seeing the disappointment,” you gesture to his slumped figure, “I really am trying.”

“I believe you,” Stiles says with a little more vigor.

Your eyes are a little wide as you say, “My mom told me you were the one to find me and bring me here.”

Stiles bows his head, visions of your bloodied figure going purple from the lack of oxygen. “Like I said… it’s not your fault.”

“And you’re saying it’s yours?” It was an honest question, but you said it with such sarcasm that it takes you aback to see the seriousness on his face. He really believes it was his fault. “From what I hear, you saved me Stiles.”

“Not all of you,” he winces a smile, leaning back in the chair, “If I had been sooner… maybe your heart wouldn’t have given out in the parking garage.”

“You don’t know that,” you say quietly. You may not recognize the boy, but it upset you to think he was blaming himself for your condition. “Regardless of whatever retort you can think of… you brought me to help. If you hadn’t done that then I would’ve been dead for sure.”

He doesn’t see the point in arguing with a version of you that doesn’t even know him. “Maybe. How has your heart been since being here?”

“Fine,” you say quickly, “I’m ready to get back home.”

“Ollie misses you,” he smirks.

You gush, “Oh my god, you know Oliver! He’s my handsome little man.”

“That he is…” Stiles laughs, “Very handsome.” He plays with his fingers, leg still bouncing from the rising anxiety in his stomach. “Is this helping with your amnesia at all?”

Your shoulders rise in a shrug, “I’m not sure. Nothing has come to me yet. But I do like talking to you.” You have a sweet smile on your face, “You mentioned I was dating someone named Andrew?”

“Just for like two weeks,” he says hotly.

You don’t notice, “I told myself I wouldn’t ser…”

“…seriously date anyone,” Stiles finishes, “That’s why you broke up. He was looking for something long term with you.”

Curious, you tilt your head to the side. “Was he cute?”

Stiles snorts, “Well… I guess. You had a crush on him.” He tries to stop his leg bouncing, “You have good taste too, he’s a good guy.”

“Is that why we went to the dance together?” you wonder, “Because I broke up with Andrew?”

“Technically we both went stag,” he says with a faux smile. A forced smile to keep you at ease. “But it was important to you to have the full experience – so I asked.”

You sigh, leaning against your pillows in thought, “You don’t realize how lucky you are to live such an average teenage life.” Stiles holds back his sarcastic laugh. What you said was so ironic. “I spent a lot of my life dreaming about the little things – silly things – like high school dances and playing sports and learning to drive.”

“Wait…” Stiles leans forward, “You don’t know how to drive?”

“No, I do,” you say defensively, “I have a license, technically.” You slump a little further, “But medically I’m not allowed to drive. The potential for fainting is a big red flag for driving. I don’t want to cause any accidents because my heart decided to give out on the road.”

Stiles has a wary smile on his face. “That’s okay, I drive you everywhere.”

“Is that with the jeep you mentioned?”

“Yep, my pride and joy,” he says, “It was my mom’s. She called him Roscoe.”

You remember how the Sheriff lost his wife. Something your parents told you after a few visits from him. You remember feeling sad that someone had died. Now you realize how sad it would be for a child to lose their mom as well.

“And we fixed him up one time?” You want to hear him talk more.

“Yeah, we put a new hood on him,” Stiles sighs out a smile. “You kept poking fun at how… how much duct tape and spray paint I have for him.”

You have a sweet smile on your face, “You want the car to last, I get it. Probably will be just duct tape by the time you turn him in.”

“Oh no,” Stiles waves his hands, “I’m going to keep this jeep for the rest of my life, even if it runs down. I’ll import custom parts to keep him fixed, I don’t care. I just need to find a way to make enough money to.”

You giggle and it strikes Stiles.

“What sort of job would that be?”

“I don’t know, maybe like an FBI agent or something.”

“FBI…” you nod, impressed, “That’d be cool.”

Stiles swallows, unsure of how to keep a conversation going with you. That was a feeling he wasn’t used to. It was so easy to talk to you before. He hates the awkward edge he feels brimming his smile.

“What about you?”

“Another one of those silly things I dream about,” you say sadly, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

His brow knits, “Spitball some ideas for me.”

You laugh again, “Maybe… a writer. Or maybe I’d open a cat rescue. Even better, what if I opened a cat café where you could read and buy books and pet cats.” The more you talk, the easier it was to spill your dreams. “I could be a nurse one day. Maybe work under a cardiothoracic surgeon. I could also just be a stay-at-home mom.”

Stiles feels that achy warmth in his chest more and more. “You want a family?”

“Of course,” you say as if it were the easiest decision in the world. “I always hated being an only child. It made being stuck at home so much worse. I’d want a bunch of kids.”

“How much is a bunch?”

You smirk, “I don’t know, like ten maybe.”

“Ten!?” Stiles jerks in his chair and it makes you laugh louder than before.

You wave a hand, “I’m kidding. I think four might be my max.”

Stiles wipes at his brow comically and your following giggle keeps that ache pulsing in his chest. “I think all those ideas are great. I think I’d even read a book written by you.”

“Are you not a big book reader?” you ask.

He winces, “If it’s not for research I don’t usually partake.”

“That’s a shame. There’s some really good fiction out there,” you smile. But there’s a sudden shift in your expression. “Have we had this conversation before?”

Stiles feels a tug at his heart, “No, actually. We don’t talk about the future much. Usually it’s whatever has happened in the past before we met – or what our friends are up to.”

You nod, a little reassured. “I would hate it if you just pretended like you didn’t already know this stuff about me.”

“When it comes to you, (Y/N),” he says confidently, “I’d say I’m scarily unfiltered. I say things to you that I don’t to anyone else. I don’t think I could pretend.” Even with his feelings for you – they came out in the littlest of ways without him voicing them directly.

That puts the smile back on your face, “It makes me sad not remembering you. It sounds like we got along really well.”

“We did,” he says quickly, “We do.”

You pull at the edge of your cotton blanket, “Our friends seem nice too – Allison and Lydia.”

“Nice might be a little kind for Lydia,” Stiles laughs, “Maybe a faux cold-hearted rich bitch is more appropriate.” He feels proud to rouse a look of shock on your face, “She’s all talk at school, but she has a good heart and is super smart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

You chuckle, “And Scott sat with me a couple times. He looks different than what I remembered.”

“It’s been almost six months from where you memory ends,” he says, “That makes sense to me.”

“Do you…” you falter, “Do you think I will remember eventually?”

God, I hope so, he thinks. “I think you’ll get a few things back,” he says honestly, “I don’t know about everything. Amnesia is stupid like that.”

You frown, “Will you still – hang out with me?”

“Of course,” he says instantly, “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know it’s probably overwhelming.”

“It is,” you push back your hair again, “But I still want to try.”

~~~

The next week is full of anxiety. With spring right around the corner, March appears with sunny days and average temperatures. The promise of rain was on the way. It was nearing the next full moon and Stiles was full to the brim with nerves.

You still hadn’t come back to school, and he was finding it hard to come visit you. Meanwhile he and Scott try to tackle school one day at a time. Scott finds ways to see Allison while the overly watchful eyes of her grandfather become an increasing pressure.

The old man, Gerard, was still living at the Argent residence after his daughter’s funeral. His presence brought a newfound fear to the group.

He was the one at your door when you heard it knock.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he says with a smile. “I’m Mr. Argent, the new principal at Beacon Hill High.”

You blink a few times before awkwardly saying, “Right, um… hello.”

He raises his eyebrows, “May I come in?”

You look behind your shoulder for a moment before muttering, “Sure, we can sit here.” You gesture to the sitting room with the piano just beside the door. The older man nods his thanks and finds a seat in a comfy armchair.

You follow and sit on the loveseat opposite him. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just checking in on your progress since leaving the hospital. Many of your teachers have asked about you returning. I understand you experienced some memory loss the night of the school dance.”

“Yes,” you say, sitting on your hands, “I don’t remember any of it.”

He leans his elbows on his knees, looking at you seriously, “And you haven’t regained anything?”

“I get these flashes sometimes,” you mutter, looking towards the carpet beneath your toes. “But those seem like dreams to me. I don’t recognize them.” At his persistent look, you elaborate, “Like visiting the mall or a lacrosse field or the woods.”

He nods, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any intention of returning to public school?”

You swallow hard, “Well, um… seeing as I don’t remember any of it – I think it would be hard to pick up where I left off.”

“Our staff is willing to accommodate to your situation,” he finally leans back, “We’ll give you special permission to use more resources and have extension time on all assignments. We want to make sure you’re comfortable in returning.”

“That’s good to know,” you say, noticing Oliver enter the sitting room. He jumps onto the couch with you, “I’ll need to talk to my parents about it.”

Gerard gives another strange smile, “Of course. Are you getting any of your course work from friends at least?”

You grimace – does he mean the friends you don’t remember? “I’ve had a few homework things dropped off.”

“Some from my granddaughter, I believe,” he chuckles, “She’s always had a good heart, that one.”

“Who is your granddaughter?”

“Allison Argent,” he says.

You widen your eyes, “Oh, yes – Allison. She’s been helping me with some assignments. I didn’t realize her grandfather was the principal.”

“Like I said, my position is relatively new.” He claps his hands together, “Please reach out to the office if you plan on returning full time.”

Meanwhile, in the middle of town, Stiles and Allison are at a hardware store looking for something to help Scott with the upcoming full moon. Allison was intent on being involved this month, her first full moon since learning the truth of it all.

“You used handcuffs last time?”

“On the radiator, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, looking at the shelves stocked with tools. “And he still got out and almost killed (Y/N).”

Allison gasps softly, “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. If Derek hadn’t shown up, I think he would’ve…” he stops at the end of the aisle, “We need something that won’t break as easily. Heavy duty.”

“Like… chains?”

Stiles waggles a finger at her, “I like your thinking.” He checks the signs above each aisle for what they need. “We can chain him up somewhere until the moon sets.”

She follows, her intentions on more than just helping Scott with the full moon. “(Y/N)’s told me you haven’t been visiting her.”

It’s like she can see the tension knot in his shoulders. His sneakers squeak on the tile floor, “And you have been?”

“I’ve been helping her keep up to date on our school assignments.” She watches the hunch develop in his posture. It was like he was deflating before her eyes, “Don’t you remember the doctor said exposing her to things she…”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says a little more coldly than before. “It’s just that…” He spots the chains and goes for them.

How does he tell Allison that seeing you might finally break his already tearing heart? He’s sure seeing the look in your eyes again – the polite look someone gives a stranger – would kill him. How does he explain the pain he feels knowing you don’t remember a single memorable thing you’ve done together? It was a new kind of rejection.

He prefers daydreaming about the you that knows him. The you that he feels more deeply about than anyone else before. The you that he now searches for in his sleep. It was now his favorite time of day.

Sleep meant he could dream about you. He could see you there, smelling of sparkling strawberries by the lake – looking like a sun warmed burst of color. He yearned for that peachy summer filter your presence brought to his life.

His days were dull without you. Like the world resorted to turning the brightness down because its sun had disappeared.

“I’ve been…”

“… distracting yourself?” Allison offers.

He grips a coiled pile of chains and pulls them over his shoulder, “Maybe. The full moon kind of takes priority the next couple of days.”

“Do you think (Y/N)’s in danger?”

“Not if this idea works,” he grumbles under the weight of the metal links. They walk towards the registers. “And with you helping it might make things easier.”

Allison pulls out some cash so they can split the cost. “First searching for Lydia, then looking into a new beta werewolf, now making plans for the full moon… you’re going to run out of distractions eventually.”

I’ll just sleep then, he thinks. You’ll be waiting for him there.

“Let’s tackle this first,” he says.

Allison sighs her frustration. “I wish there was a way we could just… reach in and pull the memories out, you know? Make her remember.”

Stiles drops the full weight of the chains on his foot, and he curses loudly, “Ah, fuck!” He bounces on his unhurt foot, panting as he has a stroke of brilliance.

Maybe there was a way to force your memories to the surface.

 ~~~

Scott is lying on your living room floor, Ollie hiding upstairs from the doggish presence. You’re sitting cross legged on the couch ottoman, listening to his woes.

“So you think the principal became the principal to spy on your secret relationship with Allison?”

“No, there’s got to be more to it than that,” Scott grumbles, arms splayed to either side. “He’s looking for something more. The Argents are… very loyal to their ideals. Once they set their minds to something – they accomplish it no matter what.”

“And by becoming principal, Mr. Argent is trying to accomplish… total domination over teenagers?”

Scott sighs out a laugh, sitting up, “Maybe. I’m sorry – I’m venting too much. It’s got to be super confusing for you.”

You shrug, “Just a little. I’m starting to piece things together.” You start to pick at your nails, a nervous habit you’ve been more partial to since the hospital. “Allison has been a big help. I think Lydia is still recovering from the attack, more than me at least.”

“And Stiles?”

You frown, “I haven’t seen him.”

Scott matches your frown, “He’s taken it pretty hard.”

“I thought as much,” you pick at your cuticles, “Why do you think that is?”

Sensing the touchy subject, Scott looks to the ground. “We all deal with hard stuff in our own way.”

“But he told me he still wanted to see me,” you say confusedly, “Even if I didn’t remember everything.”

“I think he holds a lot of guilt for the memory loss,” Scott defends, “He uh… he cares a lot.”

“I sort of got that from his last visit,” you wince, “I guess I wouldn’t want to be reminded of something I consider a failure.”

Scott furrows his brow, “You being alive isn’t a failure, (Y/N).”

“My amnesia is, though,” you sigh, “But it’s got me thinking… maybe there’s more to why he thinks of it as a failure.”

“What do you mean?”

You swallow, “I don’t know. It’s hard trying to figure this whole thing out. It’s like I’m trying to give a summary on a book I never read.”

“We’ve done that plenty of times in English class,” Scott smiles warily.

You chuckle at the joke. “I mean, I’m seeing the end of the movie without any plot. I don’t know what to make of anything I see. I hear of all these things I did, and it just feels like I’m out of the loop. I’m being told about someone I don’t even know.”

Scott nods at your words, happy to be your confidant. “It sounds hard.”

“And even with that, everyone is making an effort to stay connected to me. Everyone I don’t remember. Allison does homework with me, you vent to me about Allison, the hospital has put my work schedule on hold, the high school is making accommodations, even Lydia has texted me.” You grimace as you pull at the skin around your nail. Part of a cuticle tears away, “So why hasn’t Stiles? Why is he different?”

Scott bites his tongue. “This whole thing might mean something a little different for him.”

“In what way?”

“Just you,” he swallows, “You mean something different to him.”

“You mean, because he was the one who saved my life?”

Scott clenches his jaw, “Yeah, something like that.”

You suck on your finger. It stings where you tore the cuticle away. You taste blood on your tongue.

“We should do something,” Scott decides, “We should get the friends together and hang out.”

“And do what?” you ask, standing to find a band-aid.

Scott follows you to the hallway closet, “You have a firepit in the backyard. Maybe we roast some marshmallows?”

“You don’t think it might rain?” you wrap a plain brown band-aid around your finger. It almost surprises you to see two other fingers with the same bandage around the nail. “It’s been cloudy all week.”

“No, I think we’ve got a few more days before the weather gets real bad,” Scott waves a hand at you, “Would your parents be okay with it?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “My mom would probably be thrilled.”

Scott is already texting on his phone, “Perfect. I’ll let everyone know – do you have firewood?”

“Are you kidding?” you laugh, “My dad keeps the shed fully stocked. Marshmallows and everything.”

“It looks like Lydia is going to be at her dads place tonight,” Scott grimaces at his phone, “But Allison is available.”

You watch the dopey lovestruck smile grow on his face, “Won’t it… won’t it be terribly awkward for everyone? You guys have history to talk about while I… I don’t remember meeting any of you.”

Scott shifts his face into a serious expression, “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to still hang out with you.”

You fist your bandaged fingers into the pockets of your sweats. “I guess I can see it as a chance to get to know you guys better.”

“We could play like truth and dare, or answer get to know you questions,” Scott chuckles.

The next half hour has you creating a s’more station outside while Scott brings over a pile of firewood. He’s just exploring the depths of the shed when Allison appears, the sunset illuminating her in flattering light.

“Hey!” you say, glad to see her again, “I was just laying out the chocolate.”

Allison gives you a hug, eyeing her secret boyfriend carrying an armful of wood from the shed. “Perfect. Let me help with the camping chairs.” She hops over to kiss Scott before taking the covers off the chairs.

“Have you talked with Lydia recently?” you help move the seating around the firepit, “She was a little frazzled the last time I saw her.”

“She was a little shy coming back to school,” Allison admits, “But Lydia has always exuded a kind of confidence, even if she doesn’t especially feel it. The whole school was gawking at her, and she strut down the hallway like nothing happened.”

You nod, a smile of gratitude on your face, “I’m glad.” You notice how Allison deliberately set the chairs in two pairs across from each other, on either side of the firepit. She plans to sit by Scott, and across the fire, you sit by Stiles. “Is Stiles for sure coming?”

“He told me he would,” Scott throws a few more logs on their pile, “Just that he’d be late.”

As Scott was making a tent of wood in the firepit, a grumbling engine could be heard pulling in front of the house. You sit in your chair, matching cream colored sweatshirt and sweatpants on. You even had a green and blue flannel on over the sweatshirt for an added layer of warmth. It was something you just found in your closet.

Stiles appears walking around the house, hands in his pockets. His lips are in a thin line as he waves a hand in hello.

“How are you, Stiles?” Allison asks, ever the polite one.

He shrugs, eyes flitting between the remaining seats. He knows his best friend will want to sit beside his girlfriend. “I’m alright.”

Your eyebrows knit. Stiles doesn’t look very alright. He looks like he could collapse from exhaustion at any second.

“Hey, grab me some of that kindling, would you?” Scott says, kneeling beside the firepit and crumpling old newspapers into flammable balls.

Stiles leans down for a box of splintered wood and shaved bark. He gives the pieces for Scott to create a nest in the heart of the pit.

You fold your arms as the sun fully sets and the stars become more visible across the indigo sky. You observe the wrinkled nature of Stiles’ clothes – the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looks a little worse for wear.

“This is my first fire of the season,” Allison says, crossing her legs and admiring how Scott sets the kindling aflame, “I love having campfires.”

“Me too,” Scott says warmly, standing to go sit beside his girlfriend, “I’m a fiend for toasted marshmallows.”

“I like them a little on the burnt side,” she says in reply, enjoying how he easily slips his fingers between hers.

Stiles stands as the kindling burns more brightly, sending plumes of smoke into the air. His eyes find your form tightly wrapped in your chair. There’s a flicker of something sad in his gaze – guilt, pity, pain?

He walks around the pit and sits in the camping chair beside you. It was more like he collapsed in the chair, the legs scraping on the stones littering the ground.

“What about you?” you ask timidly.

Stiles looks at you with tired eyes, “Sorry?”

“How do you like your marshmallows roasted?”

His eyes are still sad, but something quirks in his lips, “Golden brown – although that’s dangerously close to burnt and that happens more often than I care to admit.”

“I don’t have patience for roasting marshmallows,” you say begrudgingly, “They’re never exactly what I want. I eat them too fast.”

Stiles swallows hard, moving his limbs slowly as if any faster would give him a headache. He spears two marshmallows on the end of a roasting stick. “And if you had patience for marshmallows – what would they look like?”

“I like them golden too,” you smile, “A little or a lot is fine with me. I just don’t like them burnt.”

“It gives them flavor!” Allison defies, “And it’s fun blowing them out when they catch fire.”

“Until they melt right off the stick,” Scott laughs, “And they burn in the pit like Anakin near the lava pools.”

You giggle, a strange flash of a dream crossing your mind. Yourself wearing a star wars t-shirt with a blue and green flannel. The same flannel you have on now. Was it a dream… or a memory? Was it like the strange memory of blue spray paint on your arms?

There was something stirring in your stomach. You could mistake it for anxiety or the painful churning of your insides – but something was trying to pry itself out of you. Watching Stiles rotate the roasting stick against the firepit was sending waves of familiarity through you.

The campfire reminds you of Stiles in a way. He reminds you of autumn and woods and campfire smoke. It makes you think of fallen leaves and flashlights and flannels.

Just as you remind Stiles of summertime – he reminds you of autumn.

“Did you hear about Isaac’s dad?” Allison suddenly speaks.

Scott sighs, “Yeah, he was taken out of lacrosse practice today to talk to the police.”

“I don’t think he has a strong case of his innocence,” Stiles mumbles.

“What happened to Isaac’s dad?” you ask, unsure of who Isaac even was.

Scott clears his throat, checking his marshmallow by pinching the soft white fluff. “He was murdered.”

Something cold and steely takes ahold of your limbs, “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it happened during the last rainstorm,” Scott continues, “I think they suspect Isaac.”

“Why would he kill his own father?” you ask with a slanted brow.

Allison prepares some graham crackers and chocolate, “I don’t think they had a very good relationship.”

“You could say that,” Stiles scratches at his neck, “Seeing as he comes to school with new bruises weekly.”

A small gasp escapes you, “That’s awful…”

“You’ve actually helped Isaac with it before,” Stiles says, “You’ve taken him to your house and cleaned him up after a fight.”

You find it hard to swallow, “I’m glad someone did. Has there ever been an investigation at the house for child abuse?”

“Not that I know of,” Stiles sighs, “Isaac has never wanted any trouble.”

“That doesn’t make any of it okay,” you say more to yourself, “Is he still being questioned?”

“I think my dad might take him into the station tomorrow for further questioning,” Stiles says.

You tilt your head towards him, “As in, Isaac is going to be arrested?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says quietly, “I wouldn’t be surprised seeing as he’s their biggest suspect with a damning motive.”

You don’t realize your fingers are searching for more tender skin to pick at around your nails. Scott puts his toasted marshmallow on a prepared cracker and proceeds to set another on fire. Allison giggles as she smashes one s’more down.

“I haven’t seen Isaac,” you say quizzically.

Scott presents the marshmallow aflame on his roasting stick for Allison to blow it out. “He’s been asking about you though.”

Stiles removes his marshmallows from the fire as well. “He says Coach has been unreliable and chaotic since you’ve left.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Because I’m his TA?”

“He may be your superior, but that man is hopeless without you,” Scott laughs, “I honestly don’t know how Coach has kept his job as long as he has.”

Stiles is preparing two s’mores beside you, layering a graham cracker and chocolate with golden brown marshmallows. You are picking at your unbandaged fingers terribly.

Scott and Allison are preoccupied with feeding each other sticky s’mores while you stare into the dancing flames of the fire. You wince at a sharp pain. Looking down you see your fingers have pried a sliver of skin from around a nail. It stings being exposed to the nighttime air and a blossom of blood speckles the tender skin beneath.

A large hand enters your vision – long fingers reaching for yours. He pulls your injured hand away and inspects the bandages on your fingertips. He places a readymade s’more in your palm. “What’s happened to Isaac isn’t your fault,” he says quietly, “Neither is Coach being manic – that’s nothing new.”

You watch his hand pull away, fisting in his lap as if regretful to touch you without your permission.

Taking a deep breath, you look at the perfectly cooked s’more, “Man, there weren’t even coals yet,” you say with mustered warmth. “This looks amazing.”

You catch him staring at your smile. The tiredness is evident in his look, but the fondness that warms his eyes is undeniable. He holds his hands together like he fears they’ll move for you if he didn’t.

The gooey marshmallow sticks to the sides of your face as you eat. It’s exactly how you like it, and you can’t help giggling at the sticky sweetness melting on the chocolate.

Stiles is watching you with something sad and sweet in his face.

“Thank you,” you say, cracker crumbs littering your lips. “You didn’t have to make me one.”

“I wanted to,” he says in return. “I wanted to see if that marshmallow would stay on the cracker or not.”

You snort with a full mouth. Bits of sticky fluff are on most of your fingers and stuck to your cheeks. You flick your fingers, seeing how some of the marshmallow was gripping the fraying fibers of your band aids.

“Oh, shoot,” you shake a hand free of crumbs. “I’ll be right back.”

As you rise from your chair, Stiles grips the arms of his – like he was about to stand with you. His eyes follow you all the way to the back door.

Scott clears his throat loudly and Allison nibbles the marshmallow from her fingers.

“What?” Stiles questions, still on the edge of his seat.

Scott wiggles his eyebrows, “You know what.”

Allison licks her lips and nods toward the house, “Take the chance.”

“Ah… god.” Stiles slips out of the chair, tripping on his way to the house. He opens the door and spies you starting to open new band aids at the kitchen counter.

 “Oh!” you say sharply, “Hey – everything okay?”

“Um…” his throat was suddenly very dry, “I just – wanted to see if you needed help.” He walks to the counter and sees the pile of marshmallow coated band aids. “I know it can be hard to… wrap those on your fingers by yourself.”

You feel shy, hesitant to display your fingers, “That… that’d be nice, thank you.”

He ignores how your hands shake, unwrapping a band aid and picking a finger with raw skin around the fingernail. Some were scabbed over, and others were still wet with exposed, tender skin.

He’s soft in how he holds your hand, gently wrapping the band aid. “I’ve never seen you pick at your fingers before.”

“Me neither,” you say quietly, “I guess it’s just a new nervous habit.”

“What was making you nervous?” he asks just as quietly. He keeps his gaze on your hands, his own oddly cold against yours.

It leaves you free to look at his face without fear. You never noticed how thick his eyelashes were. You suspect they frame his bronze eyes well, especially when they were well rested. He also has a constellation of moles across his face.

You were tracing them with your eyes as you say, “I guess I was feeling guilty again for losing my memory. It sounds like people need me… the old me.”

I need you, Stiles thinks, upset at how the guilt was presenting itself in you. “But none of it is your fault.”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that lots of problems would be solved if I could just remember.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with hidden emotion, “I… I could’ve… if I had just stayed with you…”

Your brows knit as he applies a third bandage. “It’s not your fault either, Stiles. We’re both doing the best that we can.”

He clenches his jaw, “Maybe we should put band aids on all your fingers so you’re not tempted.”

You snort, “Thank you for helping me.”

Stiles smiles and again you’re struck by another one of his features. Stiles is cute, you think, he’s really cute. “You’re welcome,” he says.

He holds your hands for a second before lifting them to his lips. He kisses each of your bandages in a chaste, silly way. “Make-it-better kisses,” he says almost dreamily – remembering a past memory, “Your specialty.”

You’re stuck on the way his mouth hovered over each of your fingers. “You learned well, apparently.”

“You’re basically cured,” he smiles again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Make-it-better kisses are a medical miracle, so they say.”

You nod slowly, “Maybe I just need a couple more of those to get my memory back.”

Stiles’ eyes blow wide, “Oh… oh my god – that’s not what I… I didn’t mean to insinuate – I mean, not that I’d be upset to do… ah, shit, I’m messing this up.”

Giggles are falling out of you faster than Stiles is running his mouth. “Stiles, I was meaning a forehead kiss. Help fix my brain.”

He lets out a loud sigh, “Of course – of course that’s what you meant.” He’s jerky and hesitant and terribly endearing as he leans over to place an awkward kiss to your temple.

~~~

The jeep stops with a jolt in front of the sheriff’s station. Through the blinds Stiles and Derek see a woman behind the counter.

Somewhere in the holding cells is Isaac, being held on suspicion of his father’s murder.

“Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office,” Stiles says. He grits his teeth, “The problem is getting past front desk Westbrook.”

It was Angela on duty, filling out her part on police reports behind the counter.

“I’ll distract her,” Derek says nonchalantly.

Stiles freaks, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he grabs Derek’s leather jacket, “You? You’re not going in there.”

Derek looks at the hand on his jacket like it might be his next snack.

“I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles says quickly. “That is Angela Westbrook in there – you can’t just ‘distract her.’” He uses air quotation marks.

“Sure, I can.”

“She’s married!”

Derek shrugs, “And I’m charming.”

“You’re a criminal!”

“I was exonerated.”

Stiles licks his lips, “You’re still a person of interest, and trust me, Westbrook is the last person you want to mess with. She almost always hangs up when I try to call the station.”

“That’s because you’re a hyperactive, overexaggerated teenage boy and I’m…” he adjusts his collar, “A handsome innocent person of interest that looks really good in leather.”

The look of acceptance in Stiles’ face was laughable. He couldn’t deny any of those points. “Fine. Try and charm her and see what happens.”

They wait as another police officer appears to talk to Angela, looking like they were about to head home for the night. It’s the opportunity Stiles needs to talk to Derek about one more tiny favor.

“So with me helping with this whole Isaac fiasco… I was thinking maybe you could do something for me.”

Derek whips his head over, “Excuse me?”

“A favor for a favor.”

“You know I could just walk in, knock everyone out, and break into that lockbox, right? I don’t actually need you.”

Stiles lifts his hands in protest, “You do if you want to remain an innocent person of interest!”

Derek stares him down uncomfortably, “What favor?”

~~~

The new spring rain was finally here, starting with a light sprinkle. You are on the couch, your favorite forest green blanket over your socked feet. Oliver is snuggled on your lap, enjoying the way your stomach rocked him back and forth with your breaths.

Angela sits with you, warming her hands on a mug of tea she brewed for you. “Chamomile and lavender,” she says.

You sigh, “Good for stress.” You give her a knowing look, paired with a smile.

“And sleep,” she says, “I’ll probably pass out in about ten minutes.” She laughs and then clears her throat, “You know, there was something super strange that happened at the station the other day.”

“What was it?” you ask, excited that your mom wanted to share about her workdays again. She had been worried about putting stress on your heart by telling you those stories.

She looks worried now, “It was a little chaotic.”

“Please, mom,” you say, “We haven’t just talked in a while.”

Angela seems to agree, taking a big gulp of her tea. “Well, we had a boy in holding for a murder – no, I won’t tell you who. And Derek Hale came in to talk to me.”

“Hale,” you mutter, “Wasn’t that the name of the family whose house…”

“Burned down, yes,” Angela says, “And while he was there, the boy broke out of holding and an officer I’ve never seen before was knocked out on the ground.” She shakes her head, “I have no idea how any of that happened on my watch. The poor officer had an arrow in his leg and everything.”

“Oh my god, from what?” you ask with pursed lips.

Angela shrugs her shoulders, “The Sheriff is looking into it, but I’m not sure. His son was by the holding cells when he got there.”

“That Stiles guy?”

She nods, suddenly looking at you with warmth – a question in her eyes. “That’s right. He’s a good kid. A strange one, but good.”

“Did you…” you start to say, “Did Stiles and I hang out a lot?”

Angela swallows, “You did. He thought we couldn’t hear all the times he climbed the garden trellis,” she smirks, “But your father and I aren’t that dumb.”

You scoff in surprise, “He climbed the front of the house?”

“A couple times,” she replies, finishing her tea, “He’s not exactly the most graceful person. It’s easy to hear him struggle up the vines and fall through your window.”

You laugh, “And you never thought to stop it?”

“Your dad considered it,” she says, pausing to hear the rain fall heavier on the roof. “But we knew you kids were fine. He might be a bit of a troublemaker, but I know he wouldn’t do anything to put you intentionally in harm’s way.”

Squinting your eyes, you suddenly gasp, “Oh my god, you approve of him, don’t you?”

Angela shrugs again, “Maybe.”

“You’ve never liked any boys I’ve brought over.”

“I think your dad still needs a little convincing,” she says, “But Stiles will win him over eventually.”

“I didn’t realize…” you say, flinching as thunder crashes overhead.

Angela shivers, “Well, that’s my cue for a nap.” She stands and stretches, “Warm tea, cozy bed, and rain in the background? Don’t expect me to wake up anytime soon.”

You laugh, “I’ll be here reading. Thank you for the tea, mom.”

“No problem, sweetie. I wish I could start on that garden, but the recommended time frame is the end of April,” she rolls her eyes, “My herbs are suffering in their little pots!”

You smile as she retreats up the stairs. The rain was really coming down now, pelting the roof like a hail of bullets. You always loved the sound of rain. Maybe it was the cliché book reader in you, but the weather gave the perfect conditions for a reading session.

Ollie sleeps soundly on your lap as you pick up your latest read. It was strange coming home to see a bookmark in a book you didn’t remember. It still sits on your nightstand, hopefully to be picked up again should your memories return.

In the meantime, you begin to read a new fantasy trilogy.

The rain and thunder continue for another half hour, Oliver choosing to sleep on an overturned pillow beside you. He snuggles his face into his fluffy tail as you read. You were just starting to feel sleep tugging at your eyelids when a firm knock came on the front door.

You close your book, apprehensive as the last time someone knocked on the door, the new principal sat you down to question your current whereabouts.

But you find that it was someone new. A tall handsome man with light eyes stands on the porch, sprinkled with rain.

He wipes the water dripping into his eyes, “Hey, (Y/N).” He looks up at the ceiling as if listening for something, “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you ask, shocked that this handsome man knew you by name.

“I’m Derek,” he says, pushing his way in and standing beside the piano.

You follow by quietly closing the door, afraid to wake your mom. One of the men involved in the strange chaos that happened at the police station was currently in the sitting room.

“Like Derek Hale, Derek?”

“You remember me?” he asks with confusion in his brow.

You fold your arms, “I remember your name on one of my mom’s police reports years ago. About a house fire.”

He clamps his mouth shut and nods. “Listen, Stiles and Isaac have been talking about you – asking me for favors.”

You remember your friends talking about an Isaac. “Okay?”

“I told them it might not even work, but alphas are usually the ones best apt to do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, arms tightly wound and your feet rooted to the spot. You are starting to get a pit in your stomach. Thunder is roiling outside.

“Just… jog your memory a little bit.” He takes a step forward and you suddenly find the ability to move backward as far as the room would let you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say quickly, “I don’t even know you!”

Derek holds up his hands, “You need to calm down. Your heart is stuttering all over the place.”

“Yeah, it does that,” you say angrily, fear overtaking you, “Especially when strangers threaten to do something to jog my memory.”

“It’s just some minor memory manipulation,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I haven’t really done it to extract memories out of someone else before, but it can be done.” He approaches your body pressed against the wall, “You need to hold still though – I don’t want to damage your spinal cord.”

You gape your mouth, “What the hell do you mean!?”

He takes ahold of your neck and you’re on the brink of a scream when he covers your mouth with his other hand. “I need you to stand still.” And he sinks his claws into the back of your neck.

You flinch and gasp behind his hand. Something sharp punctures the nape of your neck, heat trickling down from the top of your head to your spine. You feel a strange twinge of electricity and it makes you shiver.

A picture was filling your mind, crisp and warm as you close your eyes to see it better.

It was you in a pale yellow dress, bows in your hair, and your hand held tightly in Tom’s fingers. Judging by how you had to crane your neck to see his tall figure, you had to be about four years old.

Another warm image appears: dirty carrots being pulled from smelly earth. Your mom claps her soil stained gloves, proud of the garden you planted together. Little you was just as excited, taking a bite out of the carrot and grimacing at the gritty taste of dirt.

One memory flows in, a tinge of cold on the edge of this one. Like you found a cold spot in a pool of water. You were finishing a homework page your mom made on algebraic equations. A bitterness was in your chest at not being able to do it in an actual school.

Your mom appears to place a stapled packet of papers in front of you. You curiously pull the first page towards you and the top reads: ‘Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital – Job Application.’ You squeal and launch yourself into a hug with your mom.

The next memory that tries to surface isn’t as warm as the others. And it doesn’t flow in as easily. You start to get a headache as a cold image swims into view. A jeep driving through the woods.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughs, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirks.

You flinch, the memory crumbling into something new – just as cold and difficult to resurface as the other one. A movie was playing in the background and a steaming meal was on plates in front of you.

He was describing a different meal to you, “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say, moving your plate, “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

He laughs, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” he says quietly, “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

Pain pulses in your temples as floods of memories try to pry through your vision. It was like trying to yank sharp rocks through a rubber hose. But the next memory appears with a slight warmth.

Your chest was fluttering with desperate breaths.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

“My heartbeat,” you say, tightening your fingers around his, “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe as you open your eyes to look at him.

You can see your initials drawn on his cheek with blue paint. He looks concerned as his thumb starts to rub along the inside of your knee.

Stiles, you think. That’s Stiles!

A burst of freedom surges through your head – like a lock being broken. You start to remember everything in between these colder memories. They start to warm with recognition.

Stiles is rambling, “… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”

You smile as he gets even more adorably endearing, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”

He still looks ashamed, whispering, “Okay.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”

He whips his head to you, his throat bobbing.

Your eyes start to prickle with tears. How did you not realize how much this boy was into you? The signs were all there.

“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already soothed by his woodsy honey scent. You breathe it in deeply, loving how he apologizes as he gets under the sheets. You relish in his awkward avoidance of your limbs, “It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”

He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling like avoiding your gaze would save him from the heat encompassing his heart. It was making his cheeks burn.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

He bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Tears are filling your eyeline, a drop racing down your cheek as the distant, cold memories are fully back in focus. The pain in your head was growing, but it was worth it to remember all this. The fact you didn’t notice Stiles’ feelings sooner was putting a pool of guilt in your stomach. The poor boy was being so terribly obvious now that you saw the scenes again in your mind’s eye.

He smells like candy, you think.

Your lips fall into an easy pattern. He moves his hands to the small of your back to remove any more space between you. Your noses brush and press into cheeks as you kiss.

He hums deep in his throat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He places two quick kisses along your jaw and lands on your neck, right beneath the bend in your jaw. Your head falls back as he leaves chaste kisses there too.

“Is this good?”

You laugh with your eyes still closed, tears actively falling down your face. It was good, you remember. So good you actually have a crisis in thinking you might’ve made a mistake. You were in denial of any feelings you had for him.

Even when Allison and Lydia questioned you before the dance.

Your mind swims to the desired memory that you had forgotten. Projected stars fill the space as the band plays a soft song. You hold onto Stiles in a beautiful starry dress. You’re hidden from him as you’re pressed together, swaying to the music.

You wonder if that’s part of the reason you two have courage to talk. Neither of you were looking.

“What else?” you ask with a puckered brow. A warmth you now know to be likeness enters your chest.

He grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

You laugh, “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.”

Your cheeks start to feel itchy with salty tears, a quiet sob making your breath stutter.

“Like a lot a lot.”

Before watching the aftermath of that dance play out in your mind, you force yourself to the present. Claws rip out of your neck, and you wince, wiping at the tears that had dripped down your chin.

“How…” you sniffle, “How did you do that?”

Derek looks serious, searching for side effects in your crying, “It’s just something werewolves can do.”

“Never heard of that one before.” You cover another sniffle with a laugh, “Thank you,” you say, “Thank you.” You jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s frozen for about three seconds before placing his hands gingerly on your back, “You’re welcome.”

You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but it’s the perfect height to hide your face in his chest, “He was so devastated when I didn’t remember.” You recall Stiles when he first saw you in the hospital, “He has to be so upset.”

“He’s miserable,” Derek says gruffly, pulling you away. “I need you to fix him. I didn’t think he was capable of being any more annoying.”

Your smile suddenly drops, “I never got the chance to tell him.” Your hands fly to your hair, completely ignoring the pain still pulsating in your temples. “I went to find Lydia before I…”

Derek raises his eyebrows, “Before you…”

You look at him with red eyes, “Derek this is so important. I need a ride. Please!”

~~~

The rain is in full force behind you, providing a backdrop to your panting silhouette. Just traveling from Derek’s car has you soaked in rainwater. The sleek black car drifts away under the cover of thunder.

You’re shaking terribly, water dripping from your hairline and down your face. The porch at least gives you some cover while you wait. It was ridiculous. You left the house in such a hurry, you hadn’t thought to change.

You wear comfy sage green pajamas, matching with little white daisies on them. A sunflower yellow knitted cardigan lays wet and heavy over your shoulders. One sleeve is dangling further down your arm than the other.

Anxiously you check that the police cruiser is absent from the driveway. Then you hear the door creak open.

Stiles is there in dark blue loungewear himself. It brings out the purple circles under his eyes.

“(Y/N)?” the dull expression in his face suddenly changes to one of deep concern, “What are you doing here? Did you walk in the rain?” He’s reaching for your cardigan, wishing to pull you into the shelter.

But he hesitates – not knowing if it was okay to touch you so forwardly. Not knowing if you’d find it a violation that a near stranger lays his hands on you.

It breaks your heart.

“I need to talk to you.”

He blinks, hand falling to his side, “Yeah, of course.” He opens the door further and ushers you in. “You must be freezing.” He jumps to find a towel to cover your shivering figure.

You’re pulling the wet cardigan off when he returns with a giant fluffy towel. He sees the straps of your pajama top and immediately averts his eyes, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. He rubs up and down your arms for about two seconds before catching himself again.

He takes three steps back, rubbing at his face harshly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You aren’t sure if the tears ever stopped since regaining your memories; it was too hard to discern what was from the rain and what was from you. But you look at Stiles now with a deep warmth in your chest.

It was so large and so warm it was constricting your lungs. Looking at him was making it hard to breathe. “Are you not sleeping?”

He clenches his jaw, “I try to sleep as much as possible. It’s probably not very restful sleep,” he runs a hand over his shaved head, “But… it’s nice to dream.”

You want to touch his face, touch the circles beneath his eyes. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. I completely forgot and then there just wasn’t any time to.” You hold the towel around your shoulders, taking a few steps toward him.

He looks scared, his throat bobbing as you approach.

“That night at the dance,” you start, “We were on the dance floor, and you were saying such wonderful things.” You shiver, “And I was afraid to admit the things I was feeling.”

Stiles’ eyes were growing wide. Wide and desperate. They were silently pleading with you. The very air surrounding you two seemed to be sucked out. A hitch is in your chest as you continue:

“I never got the chance to tell you… how I feel.”

His eyes were growing warm, tears lining his bottom lashes, “(Y/N)…”

“I like you too, Stiles,” you say with a proud smile. “I like you a lot.”

You watch the breath leave his lungs – like his chest had collapsed. He’s screwing up his face like he’s trying not to cry, but a tear falls anyway. “Really?”

You give a breathy laugh, voice choking on the emotion in your throat. “Really.” And you let the towel drop from your shoulders, launching yourself forward to crash your lips against his.

He stumbles back and grips your waist for support.

You stand in the entryway, holding his face and kissing him deeply. You tilt your head and make the kiss deeper; he follows a second behind you, still recovering. He’s shaking just as much as you are now.

Goosebumps erupt on your bare arms, and you pull away to look at him. Tears are smeared on both your cheeks.

“You remember?” he whispers softly, moving his hands to hold your face.

You run your hands down to his chest, “There’s this little trick with a werewolf and my spinal cord,” you shrug, unable to stop smiling. “It pulled everything back for me.”

He’s still trying not to cry, twisting his lips, “Thank god,” he gasps a sob. “Thank you god.” He pulls you in for another kiss, soft and tender this time. He wipes away the wet strands of hair framing your face.

You take a deep breath, tracing a finger up his chin to the soft skin beneath his eyes, “You really need to sleep.”

“I do,” he licks his lips, eyelashes sticking together with tears, “Just to see you.”

You take ahold of his wrists near your face, “You need real sleep.” You tug on his hands and lead the way upstairs. The rain continues to fall, accompanied by rumbling thunder. It gives you something to listen to as you enter Stiles’ bedroom.

You take a quick peek at the disarray: clothes strewn about the floor, old books open and stacked precariously on scrap paper, lacrosse equipment dirty with soil and grass piled in the hallway. The bed is scrambled like he was kicking in his sleep.

Pushing him to sit down on the mattress, you turn to move toward the dresser, but his hand clamps down on yours.

“Where are you going?”

You look back at the instant terror that envelops his face. “I’m just going to change out of my wet clothes.” You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

At the dresser, you find a pair of plaid pajama pants and a shirt with a Doctor Who logo. In the hallway bathroom you change and comb through your hair. You’re hanging your wet clothes on the shower rod when you hear stuttered breaths coming from Stiles’ bedroom.

In a few quick steps you’re back in the room and see Stiles struggling to maintain his breathing. His eyes are still wet with tears and he’s holding his chest like it hurt. His head snaps to you when you enter, and a micro change happens in his expression – the smallest amount of relief.

You’re at his side in an instant, running your hands over his chest and to his face, “Stiles, it’s okay. I’m here and I remember. This isn’t a dream. We’re okay – I’m here.”

He nods his head, but still struggles to draw breath. He is fully panicking.

You grab the covers and pull them over you, crawling onto the bed and laying yourself over his body. Like a weighted blanket. You take deep breaths and hope he can mimic the feeling as he feels it against his torso.

One of his hands goes to your back, holding you to him. With his other, you intertwine your fingers. You pull your hands under your chin, giving them a kiss. With your head nestled into his chest, your free hand raises to be up by his pillow. You’re able to reach his short hair, running your fingers over his head in a soothing motion.

A tangle of limbs, your body holding his down, he starts to calm. He holds onto you like his life depends on it. Like if he lets go you’ll float back into his restless dreams.

It feels like hours later you both fall asleep, holding each other.

And it was the best sleep either of you have had in weeks.

~~~

Research Websites

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Ventricular Tachycardia

Ventricular Tachycardia

Implantable Cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs)

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

I was replying to @in2tswft's ask about coach and I fell into a rabbit hole of a conspiracy and it all revolves around one very strange, throw-away line of scripted dialogue (as in this was written into the script and not Orny improvising).

This is from the scene where Stiles pulls the fire alarm. Coach drags him outside and tells him off for pulling the alarm and says "If I were four years younger, I'd... I'd punch you" to which Stiles replies “What? Coach, that doesn't make sense!” and Coach quickly snaps, “Oh, well, it does to me!”

So what difference does four years make? Coach is still a pretty strong, athletic guy, he could definitely land a punch. Maybe four years ago he wasn't a teacher and wouldn't get in as much trouble for punching a kid? Or maybe something happened four years before.

And what happened four years before this?

The Hale house fire.

What if Coach was bound in some way to a member of the Hale family and had supernatural strength that way? And the reason he would have punched Stiles with supernatural strength is because he thinks Stiles is one of the supernatural creatures (he hangs out with the pack, is always there when supernatural things happen, he was the one with the chains in his locker)--and therefore he can't punch him now (as a human) because if Stiles were supernatural, punching him would only hurt Coach.

It would also explain the alcoholism; he's trying to drown his pain and grief after losing someone he loved.

To take this a step further, Coach is very pro-LGBTQIA+.

He supports any students who come out and doesn't judge anyone for who they choose to love. So, what if coach was in love with a man? (gay, bi, pan, aro, ace, whatever you like, but in love with a man) And his lover had a nickname for him, one he has admitted he liked to be called: Cupcake.

[myrandomthoughtsblog]

A very big list of characters from different fandons that I headcannon as being aro or in the aro spectrum with no explanation at all

Some of them are even cannon :)

Dc comics -

Selina kyle

Damian wayne

Cassandra cain

Blue beetle

Zatanna

Raven

Harry potter -

Charlie Weasley

Neville longbottom

Marvel -

Yelena belova

Gweenpool

Bucky barnes

Nick fury

Nebula

One piece -

Luffy

Ordem paranormal-

Kaiser

Thiago fritz

Sherlock Holmes -

Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft Holmes

Teen wolf -

Stiles

Malia Tate

Cora Hale

Truly devious -

Nate fisher

Stevie bell

Haikyuu -

Kageyama

Kenma

Yaku

Akaashi

I wish the world would end tomorrow -

Carson

Monster high -

Cleo de Nile

Operetta

Spectra

Cupid

Heath burns

Ever after high -

Briar beauty

Lizzie hearts

Sparrow wood

Ladybug -

Alix

Luka

Boku no hero -

Mina

Todoroki

Jiro

Hatsumo

Addams family -

Wednesday

Stranger things -

Will

Max

Alice in boarderland -

Chishyia

The order -

Lilith

The umbrella academy -

Ben

Hunger games -

Katniss everdeen

Percy jackson -

Artemis

Disney -

Elsa

Isabella

Rosetta

Zarina

High school musical -

Sharpay evans

Violetta -

Camila

The walking dead -

Michonne

Carl grimes

My babysitter is a vampire -

Erica

Gossip girl -

Luna la

The Loud house -

Lynn loud

Your headcannons?

[scisaac-is-real]

MY TEEN WOLF LGBTQ+ HEADCANONS

Stiles: bisexual

Scott: pansexual

Isaac: bisexual

Derek: bisexual

Allison: bisexual

Lydia: bisexual

Kira: pansexual

Malia: pansexual

Liam: bisexual

Theo: gay

Boyd: aro/ace

Erica: lesbian

Cora: lesbian

Hayden: lesbian

Tracy: lesbian

[vxdret-imagines]

Camping Trip Part 1

Where Y/N and gang decide to head up the trails for a camping trip! This is a friends -> lovers multipart series involving Scott and reader being stupid young adults who suck at sharing their feelings. Stiles and reader human solidarity! Enjoy the first part of this fic, I’m not sure how many there will be but I’m running with it. -Vx

Warnings/tags: (G), !slowburn!, AFAB reader

Word Count: 3k

~~~

If there’s a will, there’s a way. Somehow Stiles managed to convince you to come out on the trail with the pack for a camping trip. With a begrudging groan and a long roll of your eyes, you eventually conceded and told him “Fine.”

Now you were squeezed in the back of Stiles’ jeep with Lydia and Malia, whilst Scott rode shotgun upfront. All the while, you were internally contemplating making an excuse to get out of hiking the trail that led up to the campsite. It was stupidly long with plenty of rocks and vines to trip over, and the way you knew you’d be a sweaty panting mess made you sigh aloud. Malia heard it, looking over at you with a curious expression. “Y/N? Something up?” She sounded a little concerned, but that monotony she usually held was there. She was learning empathy, slowly but surely.

“No, no, nothing is wrong. I’m all good.” Your voice was exasperated slightly, leading Malia to cock a brow and look you up and down. “Just… I really don’t want to hike that trail. It’s easier for you guys, considering your super stamina.” A small laugh escaped your lips as you played off your doubt with a lighthearted joke. It was three or so miles uphill on the trail, and you weren’t the biggest fan of running uphill for long periods, let alone while carrying heavy bags. Malia hummed, her look becoming neutral once more. With a small nod she looked out the window. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Stiles would always complain about the trail too at first. It’s all about pacing yourself.”  Looking at your bag in your lap, you softened a little with her reassurance. At least you wouldn’t be the only one having trouble. 

Upon arrival when you climbed out, you couldn’t help but stare at the trail just a little ways from the jeep. Pulling your second bag from the trunk of the jeep was the easy part. The running? Not even close. When tapped on the shoulder from behind, you turned to be meet with bright warm eyes. “Kira! You made it,” your voice was live with excitement as Kira smiled at you. Her bag was slung over her shoulder as she hugged you tightly. This girl was such a bright light and you couldn’t help but share it whenever she was around, proving so as you hugged her back with just as much vigour. Liam followed behind her with his own bag and tent, looking at the two of you. “Why are you guys so excited? Aren’t we about to hike uphill for an hour?” He sounded a bit confused, and likely shared the same dread as you with that look on his face. Kira pulled away, giving him a small glare at his pessimism.

“Oh come on, Liam. Once we’re there, we can set up our tents and get a fire going. Besides, you’ll be fine. It’s just three miles!” Her positivity lit a determined fire under you. As all of you headed to the trail, you reminded yourself that you could do it. It’s just three miles. You’ve got this Y/N. Just keep going, this is gonna be a cakewalk. That determination died out the closer you’d gotten to camp, the fire dwindling as you continued to replay the same words. Was the trail getting steeper? Ugh. Groaning internally, you pushed on for the last ten minutes of the hike, throwing your bags that felt like they were full of boulders to the ground of the campsite. 

A glance to Stiles would show him also in the same predicament, sweat coating his neck and his hair wet at the nape of his neck as he dropped his bags. On the other hand, Scott threw his arms up in a cheer. “Woohoo! We made it!” He exclaimed this with so much enthusiasm it made you laugh quietly. Maybe the hike was worth it. Scott then wrapped an arm around Stiles who looked incredibly pale aside from his flushed cheeks. “Come on, let’s get our tent set up.” Scott was still glowing with adrenaline from the run as Stiles shot him a glare, his voice dropping low. “Scott, I feel like I’m going to barf. Can we please wait like five minutes before any more physical activity?” Dripping with sarcasm as per usual.

“Awh, you’re no fun bro.” Scott’s tone was teasing before he looked across at everyone. By now, Lydia and Malia had begun to set up their tent. You were sharing one with Kira, while Liam demanded he had a stag tent since Mason immediately shot the invitation down. It was around 4pm now which meant there was still a few hours of daylight left, it also meant that you’d have plenty of time to hear the guys fuss over who’d light the fire while setting up your tent. Dragging your tent bag to it’s desired spot, Kira sparked up a quiet conversation with you.

“Y/N, have you told him yet?” She whispered, your head swiveling up to shoot her a glare. “Shhh! No, of course not…” Pulling the malet from your bag rather menacingly, Kira raised her hands up in playful defense. “Woah there, alright, I got it.” You and her shared a laugh as you pulled the studs from the bag. “Buttt… I think you should, he was staring at you the entire hike up. He had this look on his face like he was thinking hard. Stiles had to keep grabbing his attention.” 

He was.. what? Is she joking right now? “Haha, very funny Kira.” You say, a slight twinge to your voice as you hand her two of the studs. “I’m not joking. I swear.” Kira’s voice was quiet but now serious. She’s not kidding. Oh god, she’s getting that look. “Okay.. Was his look more concerned or thoughtful?” With that question Kira seemed to pause, before taking the malet from you. “When you phrase it like that, I’d have to say he looked like he was brooding.” She shrugged it off nonchalantly with a swift hammer to the stud. Seeing how it secured itself neatly in the ground, you ended up handing her the rest of the studs whilst you set the poles up for each one. 

Well now I guess I have to be careful. If I take that chance and it turns out Kira was wrong, there would be no turning back. Maybe Stiles would know something? But if he ended up telling Scott, it’d also mess things up. Boys are dumb. 

Setting the last pole up for the tent was a sitch. You ended up crawling inside with Kira to gossip a little more, etching out a plan for dinner when there were noises of the boys fueding over the fire drowning out your conversation. “And so it begins…” Kira trailed off, lightheartedly rolling her eyes as you giggled. “Should we go see for ourselves?” “Absolutely.”

Getting back out of the tent, you and Kira stood there to see Liam holding the matches away from Stiles while Scott stood with his arms crossed. The grin on his face reeked of amusement as Stiles tried to grab for the matches hopelessly. “You both know that there’s no hope for a fire without lighter fluid, right?” Lydia’s voice cut through the chaos as she held the red capped bottle up. Malia was smirking beside her as she saw Stiles’ look of defeat, turning to look at Lydia. “Good one.” 

Stiles clasped his hands together, beginning to plead with Lydia near pathetically. Liam on the other hand stuffed the matches into his pocket. You’d brought lighter fluid as well but with the way Stiles was so vehemently pleading, it was better to stay quiet. “Anyone hungry?” Scott chimed in, breaking up the chaos that had erupted over the fire and shifting the attention to multiple hungry stomachs. Kira had raised a hand, grinning widely. “I’m on cooking duty! First things first though, we’ll need more fire wood. Especially if we want the fire to last.”

A small nudge to your arm made you look over at Kira, as she winked at you before looking over her shoulder. Following her gaze, you saw Scott starting to pick up kindlewood. Realizing she’d meant for you to gather wood with him, you started to shake you head as she nudged you closer to him. “Heeeyyy, Scott.” You’d said, giving Kira a dirty look as she walked away with her head held high. “Do you uh.. Need any help?”

“Hey, yeah, that’d be great actually. I don’t really know how much we’ll need exactly but it’ll be alot. I saw a small tree just this way if you want to help me break it down?” The way Scott lit up didn’t fail to surpass you. From the way his expression brightened, to the way he’d stood up to address you, it made you feel relieved. Maybe even a little excited that he wanted to spend time with you. 

With a single nod, you stepped closer. “Lead the way.” You’d affirmed before beginning to walk alongside him. As you walked with him, you noticed him looking along the dirt trail. He seemed to have a different air about him, before he’d spoke up. “I actually went down this trail around three or four years ago.. Holds some pretty great memories for me. It leads back to the highschool about twenty minutes that way.” There was a nostalgic tone to his voice as he pointed in the direction of the school. “That’s why I know where to go, I know it’s pretty random, sorry..” A soft laugh escaped his lips as he looked up at you. A warmness eminated from him, like he was reminiscing over something that brought him fond memories. It was a glimpse into his emotions that you’d not seen before. 

“Don’t apologize, Scott. I’m glad you know the area, it makes me feel a little better.” You’d offered kind words, picking up a few large sticks along the side of the path. “If you want to talk about what you remember, I’d like to listen?” As you’d bent down to pick up some bramble, you noticed he’d stopped walking.

“It was around the time when I’d just been bitten. I was so naive back then, I actually thought Derek was the one who’d changed me.” A chuckle passed his lips before he continued. “It was also when Allison and I had started dating. We’d met up that day at the bus bay when she decided to take me somewhere as a surprise. Somewhere we could be alone, that’s what she told me. We ended up driving this way and wandering this exact trail. Spent pretty much all day here just talking. It was her birthday.” Scott turned to face you, smiling slightly still.

Your eyes widened, realizing what he meant. Allison… She’s been gone for around two years now. From what everyone says, she must’ve been pretty amazing. Especially considering how happy Scott looks whenever he mentions her. 

“Was it a good day? You look so bright talking about it, or her, I guess..” Taking a few more steps to stand beside him, you held the variety of sticks tightly in your arms. “It was one of the best days I had with her. I don’t think I’ve had a day like it since.” His tone was gentle, yet it was incredibly heartfelt, like a glowing light optimistically waiting at the end of a tunnel. It seemed like the warmth spread to you just from his eyes. That was always the way it went.

Whether Scott was happy, angry, upset, or stressed, his eyes were always a tell. They truly were the windows to his soul that displayed his vibrance so clearly. It was the first thing about him that captivated you. Whenever his eyes would change to the bright ruby when he shifted, it was like the window was pushed wide open. They amplified his very being, his power and aura. He was truly the most remarkable person you’d met, let alone the first supernatural. As your curiosity had turned into a crush, his eyes made you turn to jello. 

This time was no exception.

Those eyes that were so magnificent glancing toward you at this very moment expressed a rare vulnerability for him. Scott had opened up to you about a special memory for him on the very ground you two stood on. This place would hold new sentiment for the both of you. Yet you would never tell him how much it meant. Even if Kira begged you to spill your guts, or Lydia persuaded you toward confessing with little tips or ideas, you still couldn’t. Not when it would risk ruining your friendship with him that you held to your heart as if it were the most fragile feather, capable of being whisked into the wind with a single sentence. As if that sentence was so easy to say anyway. 

I like you, Scott.

Simple words that could shatter everything. ‘Simple’ didn’t even begin to explain your troubles.

“You know, from everything I hear, I really wished I could’ve met her.. Even now there’s still a lingering presence of her, like she’s still with us. Everyone keeping her memory alive means she’ll live on within each of us. In different ways, but she will.” Your voice is tender, offering your own vulnerability to the moment. However seeing Scott’s reaction only furthered your predicament.

Looking over to the small tree he’d mentioned for wood, Scott hummed in an appreciatory way. “I like that idea. That’s a pretty good way to think of it.” He grasped near the base of the tree, twisting and snapping it before picking up the fallen wood. “I think I’d want to make new memories for that reason. She’d want me to, cheering me on from whatever place she’s in.”

As you two brought back your gathered wood and kindle, Kira had begun cooking already when you threw some of the sticks into the fire. She looked up at you expectantly with a cheshire grin on her lips. “Sooo? How was it?” Her hand stilled in its stirring motion inside the pot, awaiting your reply as you kneeled beside her.

“I guess you can say we bonded a little. He told me about Allison, and it was like he’d opened up. Plus, we got quite a bit of wood. Win-win, right?” 

Kira nodded, using her spoon she was stirring with to point to the pot of boiling soup. There was an aroma of celery, rosemary, and garlic with the umami of beef in it. “I’d say that’s a win. Speaking of, Liam finally caved once Stiles got ahold of the lighter fluid… Which took the majority of the time you were gone. We’ve got about thirty minutes til’ this is all finished simmering.” She then stood from the dirt, placing the metal stirring spoon on a cloth before dusting her legs off. “Once it’s all finished, we can settle down and eat. Plus, that’s when we can really get a bonfire going.” Your expression turned upwards, smiling as you watched your best friend stand to go and grab more cooking supplies. “Sounds good, Kira. I’m gonna go work on setting up the inside of the tent, you make sure that Malia doesn’t dig in too early.” Shooting Malia a grin, her head tilted up as she responded “Hey! I heard that!” 

With a quiet laugh, you walked back to the tent, beginning to unwrap your sleeping bag with a moment of thought. When you and Scott were gathering spare wood, he looked so… Light. So carefree and happy. It was enough for you to sigh, absentmindedly scratching your arm. Scott seems to hold onto those good memories. I’m glad he shared them with me, maybe we can really make new ones together. With everyone here, I’m sure it’ll be easy. 

The longer you’d been in the tent arranging your side, you realized your arm was continuously getting itchier. Taking a look, your arm had an angry rash that was breaking out along where you’d held the wood earlier. Shit… You groaned under your breath. Of course this would happen within the first four hours of being at camp. Reaching for your bag and digging around, you retrieved the calamine lotion before spreading a generous amount along the poison oak rash. The skin was an angry red which soothed with the pale pink lotion. As soon as you’d finished inside the tent, it looked like dinner was finished outside, everyone aside from Lydia sitting around the fire. You plopped down between Kira and Stiles, noting how Malia and Liam looked like they were competing to finish their bowls as Kira handed you your own.

“Here you go. Oh ew, what happened?” Kira’s voice grew more nasally as she saw the calamine lotion. “What does it look like? I happened to pick up some poison oak. Maybe someone with regenerative abilities should’ve grabbed wood with Scott instead..” I chuckle under my breath, looking up at Scott to see how his eyebrows knitted together. “Hey, I had fun! It was nice to talk, especially where we’d went.” There was that winning smile. It’s so hard to stay mad at him. Damn.

Starting to eat your soup with Kira, you’d praised her for the amazing flavor. She’d made a simple veggie stew, but it was incredibly delicious. All the notes are tied together perfectly. By the time dinner was done, the fire was roaring, Stiles and Malia kicking off to their own spot with drinks in hand as you’d sat beside the fire. Kira had gone back to the tent and you’d lost sight of Scott and Lydia. As the heat from the fire hugged your skin, and the liquor on your tongue stung its way down, there was a different contented feeling. Your friends' laughter and the quiet sounds of a radio in the background were enough to drown everything else out while you lost yourself in thought once more. 

[redrikki]

Teen Wolf Rewatch 2.12 Master Plan

Beacon Hills won the game, but now Peter is back, Jackson is dead, and Stiles has been kidnapped. It's all going according to plan, but whose? Gerard 's or Scott's?

This episode is Stiles's long dark night of the soul. He's already got symptoms of ptsd, and that was before he got kidnapped and brutalized. He can't stop Gerard, he can't save the betas, he can't even save himself. He is relying on Scott to save him, but nope! All he gets is 17 missed messages with marching orders for the latest supernatural crisis that was more important than him. He almost doesn't go, but then his dad reminds him that he's a hero. The wild thing is that Scott doesn't seem to have any idea how close he came to losing Stiles, at least if their final conversation is anything to go by.

It's Chris's long dark night too. He sees his daughter drowning in vengeance and Gerard's manipulation and decides to throw her a line and stop torturing kids in the basement. Allison has decided to go the opposite way and it's not until Gerard betrays her that she actually decides that maybe this isn't the best path.

Speaking of pulling people back from the abyss, Lydia's love and the house key saves Jackson. Except she already gave him the key back in 2.05. Was that a fake key? Is this one? Or is it just a prop for their love? I'd buy it more if they hadn't been so incredibly toxic all last season. Maybe it's just my cold, dead aro-ace heart that isn't as moved as the music wants me to be.

We need to talk about the plan. It looks like Gerard's plan to cure his cancer with the bite is going to succeed, but no. Bite rejection and a heist movie flashback montage of Scott replacing Gerard's pills with mountain ash! It's a clever plan. It's a passive-aggressive plan that screws over two enemies without him having to get his hands dirty. I'm kind of thinking about writing a longer meta about it. Stay tuned, maybe.

[alexyskinnerstories]

!!Request Inbox Is Open!!

Who I Write For

Twilight

Carlisle Cullen

Esme Cullen

Alice Cullen

Jasper Hale

Emmett Cullen

Rosalie Hale

Paul Lahote

Seth Clearwater

Leah Clearwater

Aro Volturi

Caius Volturi

Marcus Volturi

Alec Volturi

Jane Volturi

Dimitri Volturi

Felix Volturi

Charlie Swan

Billy Black

Tanya

Kate

Garret

Irina

Benjamin

James

Laurent

Teen Wolf

Scott McCall

Allison Argent

Stiles Stilinski

Derek Hale

Lydia Martin

Jackson Whittemore

The Nogitsune

Kira Yukimura

Noah Stilinski

Melissa McCall

Chris Argent

Peter Hale

Alan Deaton

Isaac Lahey

Boyd

Erica Reyes

Ethan and Aiden

Cora Hale

Jordan Parrish

Brett Talbot

Theo Raeken

The Umbrella Academy

Klaus Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Allison Hargreeves

Viktor Hargreeves

Luther Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves ( Sparrow & Umbrella)

Marcus Hargreeves

Fei Hargreeves

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Clint Barton

Tony Stark

Thor

Bruce Banner

Natasha Romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Stephen Strange

T'Challa

Gamora

Peter Parker (Tom's, Andrew, Tobey)

Sam Wilson

Maria Hill

Loki

M'Baku

Agatha Harknes

Hela

Helmut Zemo

May Parker

Harry Potter

Bellatrix LeStrange

Draco Malfoy

Severus Snape

Cedric Diggory

Hermione Granger

Ron Wesley

Remus Lupin

George Weasley

Fred Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Ginny Weasley

Luna lovegood

Hagrid

Sirius Black

Viktor Krum

Tom Riddle

Nypmhadora Tonks

Hope Mikaelson

Josie Saltzman

Alaric Saltzman

Lizzie Saltzman

Milton Greasley

Jed

Kaleb

Ben

Freya Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Klaus Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Hayley Marshall

Marcel Gerard

Vincent Griffith

Lucien Castle

Davina Claire

Caroline Forbes

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Katherine Pierce

Bonnie Bennett

Jeremy Gilbert

Silas

Kai Parker

And many more just ask if I know the fandom

[bby01boi]

My favourite characters LGBTQIA+ 🏳️‍🌈 style

Evan Buckley (Bi/Trans)

Eddie Diaz (Gay)

Simon Riley (Gay)

John Mactavish (Bi)

✅Newt [TMR] (Gay)

✅Alexander Lightwood (Gay)

✅Magnus Bane (Bi)

Thomas [TMR] (Ace/Biromantic)

Dean Winchester (Bi/Trans)

✅Castiel (Gay)

Jay Halstead (Bi/Trans)

Bakugou Katsuki (Gay)

✅TK Strand (Gay)

✅Carlos Reyes (Gay)

✅Dylan Lenivy (Gay)

✅Ryan Erzahaler (Bi)

Max Brinly (Pan/Trans)

Rise!Donnie (aro/ace/bi/nonbinary)

✅Darryl Dixon (Ace)

Steve Harrington (Bi)

Stiles Stilinski (Bi)

Theo Raeken (Gay)

Liam Dunbar (Bi)

Scott McCall (Pan)

Issac Lahey (Gay)

✅Jughead Jones (AroAce)

Kaz Brekker (Ace)

Chase Davenport (Bi/Trans)

Braxton [supernatural academy] (Bi)

David [camp camp] (Bi)

[kyanitedragon]

[ID: Teen Wolf screenshots featuring Stiles, with screenshots of aspec-themed tumblr posts edited onto them.

Scott talking to Stiles in the school hallway as Stiles stares into space, looking annoyed and tired. The tumblr post is from Lil-Aro and reads "If you're ever doubting your aromanticism, have a conversation with a alloromantic for like 5 minutes and you'll be good."

Stiles anxiously sucking on his lip as his dialouge says "How come when we graduate, we're just expected to go our separate ways? Why aren't I not trying to stay with them, you know?" The tumblr post is from AroKaladin and reads "Allos: aros have like no feelings. they're cold and unemotional and don't care about anyone!!! basically robots!!! they form no attachments to others!!! [next line] Actual aros, neck-deep in abandonment issues and dreading the day their loved ones inevitably marry off and leave them forever (something they cry about fortnightly): lmao i WISH"

Stiles looking behind him with a shocked expression, following Danny's gaze as Danny stares at a shirtless Derek off-screen. The tumblr post reads "Me a year ago: I don't get why people like to see others shirtless? Like, it's aesthetically cool, but??? [next line] My aroace ass now: Oh. OH."

Stiles gesturing while talking to Scott in the school hallway. The tumblr post is from Ace-Thinks and reads "Ace culture is having tons of questions about how other people experience sexual attraction in daily life but having no way to casually ask them [next line] Like [next line] "So... sexual attraction... how often do you like... feel that? Also what does it... like... feel like?" [Next line] See also: aromantics [Next line] "So... crushes... what's the deal with those?"

Stiles with a deeply anxious expression on his face, standing with his hands on his hips, trying to support himself. The tumblr post is from Cupio-Ace and reads "The only crush I have is crushing anxiety"

Stiles sitting on the floor, anxious and coming out of a panic attack. The tumblr post is from MauveMyHeart (deactivated) and reads "I'm a triple threat. Asexual. Aromantic. Anxious." The A in each word is bolded.

Scott and Stiles in Stiles' jeep, driving through New Mexico as Scott drives. The tumblr post is from Autcore and reads "Deepening the bonds of your friendship over a long roadtrip is aro culture."

Stiles pursing his lips while dramatically saying "No" as his dialouge reads "I mean no. You want to hear it in Spanish? No." The tumblr post is from RisingSm0ke and reads "Sometimes I laugh because as an aromantic asexual, my sexuality is basically just: No."

End ID]

[moths-in-hats]

🌹🌹🌹🌹

The thing is Lydia and Stiles haven't exactly spent a lot of time together since they started dating. Between Stiles' internship and both of them going off to college, they've gotten used to being apart. Scott asked Lydia about it once, how she coped with long-distance. She'd shrugged at the time and answered, "The same way I handle everything: Brilliantly." Except now they're back in Beacon Hills over the holidays and they're spending time together and doing all things couples are supposed to do — dates, flowers, pet names — and something feels off. They're in Lydia's room on the bed. Stiles has his head on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, and Lydia is sat at the end, reading. Or, well, trying to read but in reality she's read the same page three times in a room.

[riley-phoenix]

Pairing: Malia X Reader (gender not specified)

Canon: Teen Wolf

Content: ⚠️Romantic Attraction⚠️fluff, angst, queer confusion, coming out

Author's Note: For My fellow Aros, we don't get enough Rep 💚🤍🖤. Also, don't forget, romance-repulsed Aros are valid. Romance-favourable Aros are valid. Romance-neutral Aros are valid. Anyone who identifies as Aromantic is valid.

Summary: You've been comfortably out as Aromantic for years now, but one day, the relationship you have with your friend and fellow pack member, Malia Tate, changes, and you begin to fear that there may be feelings there...feelings that are more than friendship

You were sitting at the cafeteria between Scott and Stiles, staring down at yet another meal defined by day-old cheese and questionable meat. You poked at the lasagna (assuming that's what it was) unenthusiastically with the use of a plastic fork and mumbled along some generic responses as Stiles rambled on about a supernatural occurrence in Beacon Hills, there hadn't been many recently.

"And get this, they found a broken mountain ash line near a mauled body with unidentifiable claw marks on it not too far from a tree with a spiral carved into it", Stiles spoke without so much as stopping to breathe.

"... Mhm... Mhm...", You repeatedly replied without conviction as you placed the questionable lasagna in your mouth and gulped as you forced it down your throat.

Then; she entered the room. It was the most cliché thing, but it instantaneously made everything better. From the taste of the food in your mouth to the nature of Stiles' monologue, it was almost as if the whole world had been colorized by an Instagram filter. Everything seemed brighter, bolder, your surroundings had been emancipated of anything dull and boring and replaced by a palette of excitedness, accompanied by a hint of nervousness. You noticed every little detail. The clicking sound the heels of her boots made as she strode towards your table, the way she flicked the strands of her hair that covered her face by moving her head to the side as her hands were occupied carrying her lunch tray, even the shape of her dimples that formed vertically on her cheeks when she smiled.

These random moments when the entire room lit up had been occurring more and more often, and it wasn't until recently that you had realised they weren't so random after all. They had been caused by one specific thing. They had been caused by her:

Malia Tate.

You watched as she joined you at the table, and nervously returned her greeting with an awkward wave of a hand. She was beautiful. Beautiful enough to spend hours upon hours staring at without looking at or thinking of anything else. You watched the way the golden-yellow sunlight danced on her skin, illuminating it in a spectacular glow. They say a picture says a thousand words, but in her eyes you saw a thousand pictures. They were the most perfectly proportioned, soul bearing brown eyes you'd gazed upon in your life. You observed her brown, shoulder length hair and noticed the way it blew so elegantly and naturally and eventually sat perfectly on the side of her face.

There was generally one meaning attached to such a glorified level of admiration. Romance. Society dictates that when a person's presence changes the entire tone of the world to you, you were romantically attracted to them. For others, it was simple. It was almost casual and meaningless. The trials and tribulations of romance were something the rest of society took for granted, almost as if it was something that would always be there, not realising for some, it never was. There was one very specific, very problematic reason for which you could not concede to the fact that these feelings were more than friendly:

You were Aromantic.

You had been your whole life, and you'd been out now for several years. It started in elementary school. When everyone else was having their first kiss and getting 'married' under a tree during recess with those little candy rings, you'd just watch from the sidelines, refusing to participate. Then came middle school. Everyone having their first kiss, going on their first date, having their first relationship, and yet still you were excluded from the experience. High school was when it got tough. Everyone was either recovering from a serious relationship, getting into one, or losing their virginity. It was at this point you'd come to the realisation that you just weren't feeling what everyone else felt, or perhaps you were simply incapable of doing so. It actually made you comfortable. Comfortable knowing you had found a label to appropriately convey your romantic orientation, and you couldn't help but think of the day you figured it out.

3 years ago...

Of course, Lydia being the emotional support structure of the pack was the one to help you when you were questioning.

"I don't like people", you said matter of factly

"I know, right? People are the worst", she said as filed her nails.

You sighed, "No, I meant I don't think I like people. As in like like".

"Ohhh. Like... At all?".

"Nope".

"So you've never had a crush?".

"Nope."

"Or been on a date?".

"Uh-uh".

"Maybe you're just--".

"--A late bloomer? Yeah I've got that alot; but... I don't think so. I think there's something more".

Lydia considered you for a minute, "Perhaps it's not that your bad at relationships... Maybe you just don't feel romantic attraction as a whole..."

"What?", You asked, confused about what she was getting at.

"*your name*, have you ever considered that you might be... Aromantic?".

Aromantic. It was on that day you heard the term for the first time. One of the lesser known LGBTQ+ orientations. Unlike the 'gay best friend', there was no stereotypical TV trope associated with aromantics. They were, for the most part, excluded from media representation. The label just resonated with you immediately, it described the longest, most complicated definition you'd have to give to someone when explaining your stance on relationships and conveyed it all in one singular word, and that made it seem so undeniably perfect in your eyes.

A person who feels little to no romantic attraction.

Someone who struggles with the forming of emotional attachments.

One who doesn't believe in love.

An individual without a romantic orientation.

Whatever people perceived the term 'Aromantic' as, it didn't matter. You just wanted them to know you weren't a robot. You wanted people to know you didn't hate love, you just couldn't feel it. It was a concept outside of your capabilities. Not something you avoided because you were too afraid of the possibility of heartbreak, or too afraid to ask someone out or something like that. It was just something you didn't understand.

... atleast it was. The very thought that you'd never find love, that you'd never be loved, it should've scared you, but it didn't; simply because you'd accepted it. But now, these feelings you were having, these impulsive moments of attraction... That scared you. It scared you because it didn't fit the label you'd already associated yourself with and before you took on that label, nothing made sense. Now you were having feelings, and those feelings would change everything; and when things change... Nothing made sense.

"*your name*... *your name*!", The words pulled you back into the present day. You shook your head, realised that you had been staring blankly into empty space for about 10 minutes and noticed it was Malia calling out to you.

"Mm? Oh, yeah. What's up?", You asked.

"I have a math test next week. Can you help me study tomorrow?".

"Yeah, sure", you said enthusiastically, jumping at the opportunity to help her.

As the conversation faded out, you couldn't help but think of another memory, the day you came out. It was, of course, to Malia.

2½ years ago...

"I've been... Thinking alot lately, about my sexuality".

"Yeah?", Malia asked, trying be as supportive as possible.

"I don't experience romantic or emotional attraction".

"So basically you hate love?".

You chuckled, "Hate is a strong word. I don't understand it... I don't feel it. Romance is like a foreign concept to me; I can't process it, I can't convey it".

"So, what does that mean?".

"I'm Aromantic... I know it sounds silly but--"

"--No, it doesn't. Not at all. I'm glad you know who you are... Not everyone does".

Malia wasn't the best at understanding other people's feelings, but she always made a conscious effort to be accepting and comforting. She was a good listener, a good friend. That made it easy for you to decide to come out to her first. Now, however, there was a level of uncertainty, because you weren't entirely certain your feelings for her were just friendly.

You weren't paying much attention to that right now, though. The entire pack had earlier agreed to go shopping for prom outfits together, and after a short drive to the mall you found yourself moving through the racks in search of the perfect garment. Lydia, who was your ride home, walked into a change room with five outfits in hand, and Malia walked into the one next to it. You were still inspecting the different pieces of clothing from the rack opposite the change rooms when you heard Malia call out.

"Um, *your name*, a little help?". You looked over and saw Malia had stepped out with her back facing you as she struggled with the zip of her dress.

"Sure", you said, once again jumping at the opportunity to help her, clearly making an effort to keep your voice casual.

You placed a hand firmly on her shoulder and nervously reached for her zip, as you noticed how close you were. She tilted her head slightly so she could throw you a sideways glance without having to turn around. She smiled, and you smiled back as you lifted the zipper and brought it to the top of her dress.

"Thank you", she said as she once again stepped into the small room to adjust herself.

"...You're welcome", you said, flustered. You stepped aside and noticed Lydia had been standing there the entire time.

"What?", You asked.

"Nothing", Lydia responded cryptically.

You shook your head and chuckled as you turned around and witnessed Malia exiting the change room in the beautiful silver dress you just helped her zip on, almost like an angel descending from heaven.

"What do you think?", She asked.

"Looks good", Lydia commented.

"Wow... You... Look... Beautiful", you said as your eyes grew to the size of saucers and you let your jaw fall to the floor in awe of her beauty.

She chuckled shyly at the compliment before speaking again, "I'm not sure if I'll be flexible enough to dance in this... *Your name*, could you help me?".

You immediately agreed and approached her although you weren't exactly sure what she meant by 'help'. Malia took your hands in hers and got herself into a dancing position, prompting you to do the same. She then placed your hands around her waist and rested her's on your shoulders. It was thrilling, how close her face was to yours. You could feel your heart beating faster and your mind racing uncontrollably and in all honesty, you didn't know why. She started to dance, moving her feet side to side and letting her body follow, and you repeated her movements.

"How does it fit?", You asked.

"Perfect", she answered.

Later, you were in the passenger seat of Lydia's car. While she drove you both home, you sat in silence until Lydia decided to break it. "Ok; what's going on?", She asked.

"What do you mean?".

"You're smiling".

"Yeah, so?".

"You've been smiling for the last 5 minutes".

"I'm happy".

"No one's ever this happy, unless..."

"Unless what?".

"Nevermind".

"No, tell me".

She sighed, "I saw you and Malia back there".

"Yeah, and?".

She furrowed her brow, "You seemed close".

"Yeah we're like, best friends".

"Is that all you want to be?".

You sighed, "I don't like her".

"I never said you did".

"You implied it".

"Fine! Fine! I'm sorry", she said, momentarily putting her hands up in defence before returning them to the steering wheel. You sat in silence for about a minute before you decided to speak again.

"Ok... Maybe I think she's hot...".

"Maybe?, *Your name*, you were practically drooling".

"...but that doesn't mean I like her. You can think someone's hot without liking them".

"You can but..."

"But what?", You said, rolling your eyes.

"But I saw the way you look at her. That's how I used to look at Jackson. It's a look that says you have feelings that are more than just physical".

"I'm Aromantic", you said commandingly.

"Which is totally fine. But should that label really prevent you from admitting...".

"Admitting what, Lydia?", You said as you crossed your arms.

She rolled her eyes, "THAT YOU LIKE HER!".

"Lets get one thing straight", you said as Lydia cringed at the poor choice of words, "no pun intended. I'm Aromantic, I don't like Malia, and I dont like anyone". The tension broke down as Lyida pulled up to your house.

"Ok, just... Try and keep an open mind".

"Fine", and with that, you left.

The next day, you met up with Malia to help her study for her test, as previously promised. You stepped into her room without knocking and accidentally walked in on her in a towel.

"Oh-- sorry! I'll just--".

"Don't worry about it", she said with a laugh. Being naked was never a serious thing for her, "come in, I'll just change in the bathroom".

You made yourself comfortable in her room and removed your books from your bag. As you looked up, you noticed Malia's shadow from the other side of the door. You watched as she removed her towel and slipped on her clothing ever so elegantly, it was almost impossible to look away. A few minutes later she entered. You were sitting at the foot of her bed, going over some notes and she joined you. The rest of the day went as normal and you managed to be surprisingly productive, until Malia brought you snacks.

You were examining an equation from a textbook when she grabbed your attention.

"*your name*".

"Mm?".

"You have some crumbs on your face", she said, laughing lightly.

"Oh!", You said as wiped the wrong cheek.

"Here, let me", she said as she wiped them off.

It was a tantalizing experience. The feeling of her hand cupping your cheek, even if for a brief second. It made you nervous, and you felt a surge of uncertain emotions coming forth.

"I...".

"Yeah?", She asked.

"...Should be going".

"Oh. Ok... I'll see you out".

You both woke up, and as Malia walked towards the door she lost her balance, tripping and falling directly into your arms as you instinctively reached out to catch her, and when you did, you noticed her lips were barely an inch away from yours.

"I love you", you thoughtlessly blurted out.

Malia's expression changed, she was surprised and clearly taken back.

You nearly died of embarrassment as you realised what you've accidentally done, what you've said and the everlasting affects it would have. Before either of you could say another word, you took off running and never stopped.

The next day...

You were at the airport, waiting for your flight number to be called when someone sat next to you. It was Lydia.

"Hi".

"Hey", you said unenthusiastically.

"So... What are you doing here".

"Leaving".

"Why? ".

"You know what happened".

"*your name*, love isn't something to be afriad of. Let alone run away from".

"For you, maybe".

"Meaning?".

You sighed woefully, "Before I started identifying as Aro... Nothing made sense. I thought something was wrong with me for not doing what everyone else was doing. I never knew who I was. Then I discovered the term 'Aromantic', but it was more than just an orientation, I discovered myself. Now, I'm having feelings, feelings that don't fit the label and I... I can't begin to explain what it's like to look into a mirror, and not know who it is looking back".

"*your name*, the point of labels is to make your love life easier, not harder. If they complicate things that defeats the purpose of them". You respond only with a curious expression before she replies, "I'm saying you can be Aromantic and love someone".

"That... Doesn't make sense".

Lydia reaches out to hold your hand, giving her words a dysfunctional sense of almost parental care. "I was there when you were questioning. Your problem wasn't with feeling romance, it was with understanding it, processing it. And you can't do the former...".

"...Until you've done the latter... So what you're saying is--".

"--Just because you can't process something or understand it, doesn't mean you can't feel it. It means it takes someone extra special, someone so unbelievably amazing to help you understand, in order for you to feel. You found her, *your name*, and she's leaving. Are you gonna let her get away?".

"No... No I won't; wait, what do you mean she's leaving?".

"She just left for the train station. I guess whatever's going through your mind is going through her's as well because she's leaving town".

You reached for your phone to call her and tell her to wait, but it was dead, "Shit!", You exclaimed in anger, "What do I do now?".

"Go to her, *your name*, go!".

In the background of the conversation, you heard the announcer call out, "All passengers for flight 327 should be boarding. Final call for flight 327". That was your flight. Leaving seemed safe and sensible. Staying seemed dangerous and risky. You looked between the boarding queue and Lydia as you made your decision.

"Love is like a glass of still water. It could be pure or it could be poisoned; but you'll never know unless you try it", Lydia said wisely.

"Give me your keys".

You drove with determination to the train station, running red lights and cutting people off as you dragged Lydia's car relentlessly through the streets until you saw your destination in the horizon. As you approached the entrance of the station, you brought the car to a sudden stop, causing the tyres to make a deafening "screech" sound as they tore against the cement. You could see Malia entering her train from a distance, "MALIA!, MALIA!", you called out desperately, but she was too far away. You took off running in her direction but were soon stopped by a professional looking woman in a suit, "If you want to board the train you have to buy a ticket", she said.

"I'm not boarding the train I just needa talk to my friend".

"I'm sorry but you need to buy a ticket. If not, please step aside".

You grunted at the loss of time and threw some money at her before grabbing your ticket and taking off running again. You were a matter of metres away from the train as it started to move. "MALIA!, MALIA!", you screamed out hopelessly. You were beginning to believe your efforts were hopeless, but just then, Malia poked her head out of the entrance of the train and met your eyes.

"*YOUR NAME*?".

"MALIA!".

You noticed the train heading into a tunnel, the entrance would soon be cut off by the brick walls that made it, and time wasn't on your side.

You closed your eyes for a second, thought of everything you've been through and everything it's meant. The pain, the suffering, the confusion... And decided it all came down to this moment. Almost as if your legs had been reborn, you took off running one final time and in astonishing speed, caught up to the train just in time to jump inside before it entered the tunnel.

You tried to regain your balance as you landed inside, and when you looked up, you noticed Malia had caught you in her arms and your faces were almost touching. For a matter of moments, you stood in silence and stared longingly into each other's eyes.

"Malia... What I said before--".

"I love you too", she said curtly.

"...What?", You asked in disbelief.

"I love you too".

Subsequently, you both let your faces fall against each other's, holding one another passionately by your waists, you pulled her in and met her lips with a fiery intensity, and embraced each other in a long, romantic kiss.

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Tags: @melthedwarf @cactuwus

[foofsterwolf]

Dear @teenwolfholidayfest

All I want for Christmas is…

1. (Fic) Stiles is gay and struggling to come to terms with his sexuality while he realizes he has feelings for someone close to him.

2. (Fic) Aro Stiles realizing he feels no romantic attraction towards people.

3. (Fanart) Stiles smoking pot while hanging out with his werewolf friends. (Bonus points if he’s bragging about being able to get high in some way.)

4. (Fic) Werewolf with ADHD. Stiles gets turned. Struggles with his impulsivity and his werewolveliness fighting each other.

5. (Dealers choice) Stiles is a reincarnation of Phobos. He gets bit and his eyes glow orange like fire. And he makes everyone around him that he wants to make afraid, as afraid as he is. Which can be used to turn battles either worse or better. Depending on how it goes.

6. (Dealers choice) Stiles being an annoying gamer lil shit, meanwhile his friends are playing a game peacefully while Stiles screams about dying in the game in the distance.

7. (Dealers choice) Scott and his dad when Scott was younger trying to get along.

8. (Fanart) the Fox and the Hound.

9. (Dealers choice) Kira and Stiles bond over their geeky interests.

10. (Fanart) fashion icon (however you perceive that) Stiles.

11. (Fic) Fashion model Stiles who dresses horrible outside of shoots to go under the taser. Person of your choice is completely shocked to find out that not only is he not unfashionable, but he is also a model full time.

12. Stiles learning about Drag with his Drag Queen friends. Making his own character.

13. (Fic) Stiles is very jealous of Scott and Isaac’s new friendship. But slowly he starts to realize that he doesn’t dislike Isaac. He actually likes them both. (Poly)

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— a b o u t m e ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

eris | 21 | infj | she/her | aro-ace | latina 🇲🇽 | deancoded deangirl

— COMFORT CHARACTERS

dean winchester, the doctor, wanda maximoff, cayde-6

— FAVOURITE CHARACTERS

donna noble, link, mobius, obi-wan kenobi, eric effiong, anakin skywalker, beau arlen, soldier boy, clara oswald, amy pond, 12th doctor, daenerys targaryen, sirius black, din djarin, r2d2, matt murdock, like uh all ryan gosling’s characters

— FAVOURITE SERIES AND MOVIES

supernatural, lars and the real girl, the fall guy, resident alien, the winchesters, doctor who, the boys, scooby-doo, the grand tour, heroes, gen v, big sky, marvel, dc comics, fallout, extraordinary attorney woo, the last of us, bullet train, the mandalorian, dark angel, sex education, business proposal, hannibal, strong girl bong-soon, weightlifting fairy kim bok-joo, modern family, parks and recreation, good omens, sherlock holmes, bee and puppycat, game of thrones, buffy the vampire slayer, harry potter, john wick, star wars, the sandman, the umbrella academy, adventure time, brooklyn 99, invader zim, dexter, tombstone, austin powers, mega mind, scott pilgrim vs. the world, teen wolf, the king : eternal monarch, ten inch hero, the vampire diaries, the devil’s hour, narcos, my bloody valentine, miraculous ladybug, the originals, a monster calls, smallville, the walking dead, you, the magicians, merlin, once upon a time, criminal minds, house md, devour, fairly odd parents, true crime, dawson’s creek + more

— FAVOURITE DUOS

merlin & arthur, twelve & clara, ten & donna, house & wilson, scooby-doo & shaggy, link & midna, sherlock & john, c3po & r2d2, nikki & pug, anakin & obiwan, anakin & ahsoka, din djarin & grogu, mobius & loki, lemon & tangerine, ron & april, stiles & derek, natasha & clint

— FAVOURITE SHIPS

wanda/vision, wanda/loki, thor/jane, river/the doctor, amy/rory, vastra/jenny, jo/dean, cassie/dean, lisa/dean, bela/dean, jessica/sam, rowena/sam, eileen/sam, jody/donna, meg/castiel, charlie/jo, saint-14/osiris, eris/drifter, ray holt/kevin, tara/willow, spike/buffy, sirius/remus, andy/april, jordan/marie, lucifer/chloe

— OTHER FAVOURITE THINGS

destiny, legend of zelda, bts, muse, avenged sevenfold, led zeppelin, radio company, my chemical romance, fall out boy, waterparks (band), lots of music, coconut milk, cooking/baking, drawing, tea, coffee, honey, chocolate, spicy foods, doughnuts, all shades of green, books, astronomy, physics, liquid eyeliner, bees, animals, silly pens, rocks, dinosaurs, flowers/plants, comic books, paradoxes, carl jung, friedrich nietzsche, cowboys, soft blankets, superheroes, fun socks, shoes, bags, lip tint>>>

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform