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okay-j-hannah · 5 months ago

Text

Part 3: Blue Handprints

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, bloody wounds, intense drunken flirting, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Part 3: Blue Handprints {You Are Here}

Part 4: Ollie's Catnip

Mr. Harris walks down the aisle of students, having just given his sentiments to Jackson Whittemore. “Everyone, start reading chapter nine.” He makes his way to the chalkboard, “Mr. Stilinski, try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. It’s chemistry, not a coloring book.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, blowing the yellow lid from his lips and catching it easily in his hand. Instead, he turns to the phone in his pocket, sliding it out to peer at any new messages. He frowns – there were none.

Bouncing his foot on the bar stool, Stiles huffs before leaning towards the fellow lacrosse player in front of him. “Hey, Danny. Can I ask you a question?”

“No,” was his immediate reply.

“Well, I’m going to anyway. You have homeroom with (Y/N), right?”

Danny sighs, trying to read his chemistry chapter. “Yeah, what about it?”

Stiles leans closer, “Was she in class today?”

“No.”

“Has anybody been talking about what happened at the video store last night?”

“Listen, I’m sorry your little girlfriend hasn’t been texting you…”

Stiles’ stool squeaks as he fidgets, “She’s not actually my…”

“… but I’m not the one to look to next. Shouldn’t you be asking Scott?”

“What do you mean girlfriend?”

Danny grips the sides of his textbook with his fingertips, “Just some things I’ve heard on the lacrosse field when she’s there.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles was leaning so far forward that he suddenly found himself falling to the tile floor.

“To the principal’s office, Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Harris says in a loud, firm voice. “Don’t forget your highlighter. You can finish coloring the rest of the textbook in detention.”

Stiles wasn’t in the mood for a fight, and besides Mr. Harris didn’t give him a detention slip. This meant that he could sneak out and spend the remaining minutes of the period goofing off.

Or trying to contact one of his friends.

He dials Scott’s number as he leaves class and makes for the parking lot, “Scott! Finally, have you been getting any of my texts?”

“Yeah, like all nine million of them.”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Stiles steps into the sunshine and shades his eyes with a hand. “Lydia’s totally MIA. Jackson looks like he’s got a time bomb inserted into his face, another random guy’s dead. And (Y/N) was mauled last night and had to go to the hospital. You have to do something about it!”

Scott was mumbling, “Like what?”

“Something!” Stiles jogs towards his car, hoping to escape any patrolling school staff.

“Okay, I’ll deal with it later.”

Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket as the line went dead. If Scott wasn’t going to help him, then the next best thing was to visit you. While you also weren’t answering his texts, he figures the reason is because of your parents.

After some rest, maybe you are stable enough to answer some questions.

He’s able to sneak his jeep out of the parking lot without any witnesses. The drive to your house is becoming more routine, and he finds it easily. Without even thinking about it, he went to the front door.

It opens to reveal Angela Westbrook. “Oh!” she says with wide eyes, “Stiles Stilinski?”

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly, pointing finger guns at her, “Front desk Westbrook.”

“You haven’t gotten in any trouble have you? You’re supposed to be at school.”

Stiles furrows his brow, “What? No. I’m… I’m here to see (Y/N).”

Angela looks curious, “(Y/N)? I hadn’t realized you two were friends.”

“I was at the video store with her last night.” Stiles tries not to take offense.

“You saw what happened?” she asks, instantly frantic.

Stiles waves his hands around, “No! No, she called me, and I went to help with my dad.”

“She called you first?” It was Angela’s turn to try not to take offense.

“Yeah, my dad pulled me away before you guys showed up.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “So… I can see her?”

Angela puts a smile on her face, “Of course. But not for too long. She still needs her rest.”

He nods, walking inside for the first time. He took note of the piano in the living room, the family pictures on the mantelpiece, and the sound of a little jingle bell. It was coming from the collar of a large gray cat following them up the stairs.

“You have a cat?”

Angela gave a breathy laugh, “He’s (Y/N)’s. She needed a… well, a friend while being homeschooled, I guess.”

Stiles bangs his shoulder into the wall trying to watch the cat follow them. Angela knocks on your door, “(Y/N), sweetie – there’s a Stiles here to see you.”

You were sitting in bed, reading a book and warming your feet underneath a blanket. “Hey, Stiles!”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Angela says with a smile, clasping her hands together. “Just… no funny business.”

“Mom…” you say quietly. “Just leave the door open.”

Once your mom leaves, the cat jumps onto the bed and puts his front paws on your thigh, raising himself to get a pet on the head. He was large with fluffy gray fur and big blue eyes.

Stiles walks over, playing with his fingers. “How are you?”

“Fine,” you sigh, scratching the cat behind the ears, “I’ve been a little on edge.”

He observes your face with his investigative eyes. Your skin was dull, a blue tinge beneath your eyes, even your lips look a little off color. He lingers on that last detail longer than he should.

“How was the hospital?”

“The usual,” you run your fingers down the cats back and up the tail. “Any more stress and I’ll get more bodily damage. I’ll be bed bound… blah, blah, blah.”

Stiles swallows hard, “I think that blah sounds pretty important.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard my whole life,” you wave him off. “How are Lydia and Jackson?”

“Lydia is home and Jackson came to school, although I’m pretty sure he needs to be put in a coma to sleep off his pent up feelings.”

You smile grimly, “Understandable.”

Stiles scratches his shaved head, unsure of how to ask about the video store but knowing he’d have to be careful. He chooses to sit on the bed across from you, crossing his legs and licking his lips. “So… uh – what’s his name?” he points to the cat.

“Oliver,” you smile, “Sometimes I call him Ollie.” The cat was purring against your hand, whiskers perked. “I’ve had him for a couple years. He’s my best friend.”

“That’s what your mom was saying,” he says, watching the cat keep his fluffy tail in the air. Blue eyes found him sitting on the mattress.

You grimace, “Sorry about that. My mom can be…”

“She’s great,” he says quickly. “I thought you slept a little last night.”

“I did,” you say, “Thanks to you.”

The back of his neck suddenly feels hot, “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“The thing every girl wants to hear,” you smile. “Like I said, the hospital wasn’t happy with me.”

“(Y/N), I’ve been doing some research…” Stiles picks at his fingers again. “And you saying there’s something wrong with your heart; and the surgery scar you have…”

You run a delicate finger up the bridge of Ollie’s nose. He closes his eyes and pushes his head into your finger. “I knew you’d do that.”

Stiles licks his lips again, mouth dry, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“I know,” you sigh, “What did you find out?”

“I think you have some kind of tachycardia,” he looks at you with soft eyes, his eyelashes framing them. “That’s something that would make you faint and could weaken your heart if it happens too often. I’m not sure what the surgery was though… I’m assuming it was to stop your heart from getting too weak.”

The room felt heavy, but it was a comfortable heaviness, as in you weren’t afraid to talk to Stiles. “You would be right,” you nod, “I was born with a heart defect. It was an atrioventricular canal defect. It means there was a hole in the wall between my heart chambers. The hole made it so blood flow wasn’t controlled well. I had a surgery to fix it.”

“Just last summer?”

“One of them, yeah.” You smile at him like he knew you were still hiding things. “This is a deep conversation for another day, Stiles.”

“But…” he presses on, leaning forward, “If you fixed the heart defect, you shouldn’t have any heart problems now, right?”

You shrug, “Things happen.”

“You’re not going to tell me anything else today, are you?”

“You got my one personal thing of the day. You know I had a congenital heart defect and now I have ventricular tachycardia.” Scratching under Oliver’s chin, you sigh, “I’m sure you’ll do more research on that later.”

Ollie continues to purr and put Stiles in his line of sight. With soft paws, he walks across the covers and perches on Stiles’ knee.

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do, his hands shooting into the air.

“He doesn’t bite,” you laugh, “He just wants a pet.”

Oliver’s tail swishes around the covers, and Stiles lowers a hand. The cat rubs the top of his head into the palm. “He’s so soft.”

You rub your arms, “He’s a great judge of character.”

“(Y/N), the other thing I wanted to ask…” Stiles continues to pet the cat, enjoying the purring immensely. “… was about last night.” He doesn’t like the way you gulp. “What happened?”

“Well, Arnett decided not to show up,” you shrug, “Big surprise. Still hurt though.”

Stiles mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Piece of shit.”

You retell the events leading to the lights flickering on and off over the dead store manager. “Then there was this growling. Like an animal.” A waver enters your voice and goosebumps blossom on your bare arms.

Oliver senses your change of mood and returns to your side, nuzzling your knee.

“I only got a few seconds to look before…” you gesture to the bandages on your left shoulder, “It was some kind of… wolf.” Your watch lit up with a reading from your heart. The rate was rising exponentially.

“Okay,” Stiles says, scooting closer, “That’s good. I’m sorry that happened.”

“Did your dad say anything about it? Were they able to catch whatever it was?”

He sighs, “No. We haven’t found anything. They think it was just a wild animal attack.” He was itching to touch you again, hold your hand and calm you down again. He wanted to protect your heart. “You’re safe here. You have Ollie to protect you.”

That made you smile, and Stiles took great pride in that.

“Did you wish Allison a happy birthday before skipping school?”

Stiles watches your heart rate lower on your watch screen, “I didn’t know it was her birthday.”

“It was kind of a secret,” you pick up Ollie, resting your face against his head. “Lydia and I decorated her locker yesterday after school.”

Stiles smacks his forehead, “That’s where Scott is! That idiot probably took her out for her birthday. No wonder he’s been avoiding my texts.”

There was another knock on the door, “Sweetie, it’s time to change your bandages.” Your mom was there with fresh cloth and something antibiotic.

“I can do it,” Stiles says, “(Y/N) can tell me what to do.” He rolls off the bed, tripping over his ankle as he stands straight.

Angela raises her eyebrows at you, but you nod. “Okay, but if you need help please call me. I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

Stiles awkwardly took the supplies from your mom, mouthing a thank you before returning to the bed. “You’re really going to have to help me with this one.”

You grimace, “It’s not going to be pretty.” You pull an arm out of your pajama top to reveal a tank top underneath, one strap hanging off the large white bandages on your shoulder. Stiles flexes his fingers.

“I should wash my hands probably.”

“I have hand sanitizer in my nightstand,” you giggle, already starting to pick the medical tape off the edge of the bandage.

He cleans his hands, helping you remove the bandage. You hiss as he lifts it from the wound, blood weeping from the gashes. Stiles has to stifle a groan of disgust.

“God,” he mumbles, “It still looks so fresh.”

You suck in your lips, amused by his expression, “I didn’t realize you were so queasy around blood.”

“It’s not that,” he threw the old bandage in the garbage. “It’s just it’s… you. I hate seeing you with this.” He looks closer at the claw marks, taking some gauze and catching some pinkish fluid seeping out.

You fidget as he touches the red, irritated skin under the wound. “It still hurts a lot.”

“It’s still bleeding and… wet,” Stiles frowns.

“It’s called serous drainage,” you laugh at his look of shock, “It’s a normal part of the healing process. But too much can be a sign of infection.”

“It might be infected,” Stiles says immediately. “This is a lot.”

You wave him off with your other hand, “We’ll wait to see if I have a fever.”

“Just saying, it would explain why you look like a dead man walking.”

“You’re just full of compliments today, aren’t you?” But you were smiling as you say it.

~~~

A few days later Stiles was sitting in his morning English class, staring at the seat that you normally occupy. He was flipping his phone around his fingers, waiting for your next reply.

He was angry and biting the inside of his cheeks.

“It’s not his fault,” you text.

“He bailed on the date night, and you end up getting mauled. And then he bails on conferences and my dad gets hit by a car. Tell me again how he’s not a shitty friend?”

You take a minute to answer, “Those were all accidents. You can’t prove Scott being there could’ve stopped anything.”

“Yeah, it still would’ve been nice to have him be there.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t of.”

Stiles knits his brow at your message. “You’re hurt. I’m not upset about you not being at conferences. Besides with your luck that mountain lion would’ve went for you.”

“You still don’t think it was the same animal from the video store?”

“I trust you. If you say it was a wolf, then it was a wolf.”

Scott comes walking into class, sheepish in how he sits behind Stiles. Shoulders tense, Stiles sits resolutely forward, closing his phone and avoiding his best friend. Scott sighs, frustrated at more than just himself.

“Can you at least tell me if your dad’s okay? I mean, it’s just a bruise, right?” He was grasping at straws, “Some soft tissue damage?”

Stiles was running his tongue along the bite marks inside his cheeks.

“You know I feel really bad about it, right?” Folding his arms, Scott tries to explain himself, “Okay, what if I told you I’m trying to figure this whole thing out, and that I went to Derek for help?”

Stiles stops his eye twitching to grumble, “If I was talking to you, I’d say that you’re an idiot for trusting him. But obviously I’m not talking to you.”

As the bell rings, Stiles leans forward and contemplates the new development in Derek’s involvement. He stares at his phone lighting up with a new message from you, “Go easy on him.”

He grits his teeth, angry at his curiosity getting the best of him. He whips around, “I still haven’t forgiven you for not being there for (Y/N).”

“I get it,” Scott looks hopeful. “I really do.”

“Lately she’s been there for me more than you have, which is saying something considering we used be connected at the hip. I get this werewolf thing happened and then Allison and now a Derek/Alpha thing… but you don’t just abandon your friends. If anything you should be closer to them when things get hard.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Scott mutters, “I’ll stop by (Y/N)’s place and check on her, alright? I know she deserves better… and that she means a lot to you.”

Stiles sighs heavily through his nose, drumming his fingers on the back of his chair. “Okay. What did Derek say?”

Throughout the day Stiles concocted a plan to help Scott with his anger issues. He spent classes thinking about heart rates and helping Scott avoid Allison as much as possible. After spending a quick minute in Coach’s office, they met outside on the lacrosse field.

“Okay,” he pulls out a heart rate monitor, “Put this on.”

Scott grabs it, “Isn’t this for the track team?”

“Yeah, I borrowed it,” Stiles says.

“Stole it.”

Offended, Stiles set his tone, “Temporarily misappropriated. Listen, I got the idea from (Y/N). She measures her heart rate through her watch, and it sends her readings through her phone. It’s easy to connect through a health app. And you’re gonna wear that monitor for the rest of the day.”

“And it’s connected to your phone?” Scott says, putting the monitor on.

He pulls out his phone and went to the health app, “Yeah, you know your heart rate goes up when you go wolf, right? When you’re playing lacrosse, when you’re with Allison, whenever you get angry. Maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate.” He shows Scott his screen, “See?”

There were two different heart rates being monitored on the screen. One being Scott’s and the other one being…

“Are you watching your own heart rate?” Scott asks, “Who’s that one?”

“I don’t know, doesn’t matter.” Clearly having messed up, Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket and starts riffling through his duffel bag of supplies.

Scott has a smirk on his face, “It’s (Y/N)’s heart rate, isn’t it.”

“Shut up.”

~~~

After a quick getaway from another heart rate experiment, and a few cuts and bruises for Scott, the pair of them drove to your house for an apologetic visit.

“Dude, you got to wipe all that blood off,” Stiles says, “You look like a murder victim.”

“It’ll stop in a second. I’ll heal no problem.”

“Let’s hope her parents are still at work.”

In front of your house, Scott wipes his nose, hoping you wouldn’t notice too much. The injuries were already healed, it was just the leftover blood that he needed to wash off.

It took a few minutes for anyone to answer, and Stiles checks his phone. Your heart rate is slightly elevated.

The door opens slowly, and everyone has a gasping reaction.

“Oh my god, Scott,” you say in a shallow voice, “Why are you covered in blood?”

Stiles’ mouth was gaping as Scott fumbles for words to say, “Uh, I might’ve gotten in a fight at school. Someone got a bloody nose and… I got it on me.”

If Stiles thought you looked like a dead man walking a few days ago, he didn’t realize how worse you would look today. That bluish tinge to your under eyes was deep and the purple of your lips was like looking at a corpse. Your ashy skin was speckled with sweat around your temples. You look sick… really sick.

“(Y/N)…” Stiles says, hands starting to tremble as he reaches for the door, “What…”

“Let me get you another shirt,” you say tiredly, backing away from the door. “My dad has some old Saturday t-shirts in the laundry room.”

“Are your parents here?” Scott asks, following you and Stiles inside. A quick sound check told him that they were the only ones home.

You sound as though it was hard to breathe, “They’re still at work. I convinced my mom to take her evening shift today. She’s been staying home all week because of me.”

The sight of you shuffling side to side, tank top and shorts on under a robe – the robe tie dragging on the ground – hair falling out of a wild bun… it was disheartening. What was wrong with you?

Scott could smell something. Something sickly. “I don’t need another shirt, (Y/N), really. I just wanted to check on you.”

You turn around in the hallway, ghostly in the dimly lit space. “Oh? That’s kind of you.”

“I know I’ve been kind of distant,” he continues, eyeing the worry enveloping Stiles. “And I want to change that. Life has been chaotic, but I want to make time to see you.”

“Thank you,” you smile, “But I’ve been in good hands.”

“Clearly not good enough,” Stiles says, “When was the last time you changed your bandages, (Y/N)?”

You shrug and then grimace at the movement, “Sometime yesterday.” You were swaying on your feet and Stiles took a step forward, prepared to catch you.

“Let’s take a look, yeah?” he says calmly, “Let’s sit down.” He guides you to a dining chair while directing Scott to check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. “You don’t look so good.”

“So you keep telling me, Stiles,” you smile again, “You need to work on those compliments.” You struggle to pull your arm out of the robe sleeve.

“Here, let me.”

While he pulls out your arm, apologizing for causing any discomfort, he mumbles things to distract you as he takes off the bandage. “I like your pajamas.”

White fabric with little lemons and mint leaves printed on them, along with a robe of fuzzy summer fruits. It was just so you. If only he could still smell that wonderful fruity shampoo from your hair.

“Thank you,” you groan as he removes the bandage painfully.

“Oh my god,” he chokes.

The wound underneath was red and aggravated. It was still weeping blood and whatever fluid you had mentioned before. The center of each deep claw mark had a purple-blue color, and he didn’t like how venomous it looked.

Scott appears beside you, following that sickly scent to your shoulder. It smelt worse than infection, it had a familiar tang to it. Something wolfish about it. That terrifies him. “I’m going to call Derek.”

“What?” you and Stiles say at the same time.

“I have a feeling he’ll know what to do,” he eyes Stiles, pulling out his phone, “Don’t bandage it until he looks at it.”

“Is something wrong?” you say feverishly, looking at Stiles with half-closed eyes. He chooses to focus on your face instead of your wound. But his eyes were no longer a honey brown or an amber whiskey.

They were steely like fossilized tree sap.

“I think you just need some extra strength Tylenol,” he jokes, “Or a rabies shot.”

“God, my mom is never going to let me leave the house again if I don’t stop getting sick.” You hang your head, sweat speckling the back of your neck too. Stiles gingerly puts a hand to your back and rubs up and down your spine.

“You’ll get better, I promise.”

“You’re such a liar,” you cough, “I’m not going to get better. This is what it’ll be… just worse and worse.”

Stiles didn’t like the hurt that was developing in his chest. That inflation feeling in his ribcage came full force but was threaded with hurt. It hurt to see you like this.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nonsense,” you say with sorrow, “Don’t listen to me. I’m sick.”

Scott returns with determination in his step, “Derek’s almost here.” He kneels beside your chair, a hand on your good arm. “This is my fault. If I was there for you then this…”

“It’s not your fault, Scott. It’s not a crime to not want to third wheel.”

“What do you smell?” Stiles whispers under his breath. You have a difficult time concentrating enough to hear him.

Scott mutters something back, “Nothing good.”

“Should we take her to the hospital?”

Derek comes walking into the house, “This isn’t something the hospital can fix.” His nose crinkles at your exposed arm. “She was clawed by the alpha, right?”

Stiles waves a frantic hand, shushing him while Scott mouths at him to shut up.

“You guys are idiots.” Derek looks angry, “You haven’t told her anything yet?”

“Told me what?” you lift your heavy head. “Derek?”

The boys pull Derek aside and quickly whisper a conversation.

“Did the alpha do something to her?” Scott asks worriedly. He’d feel even worse if your injury was a result of his werewolf business.

Derek folds his massive arms, “If an alpha scratches a human and it makes a deep enough cut, the werewolf change could happen.”

Stiles chokes on his breath, “You mean she could be transforming!?”

“It doesn’t have to be a bite?” Scott whisper shouts.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Stiles pulls at the ends of his shaved hair. “Why is it making her so sick.”

Derek sighs heavily, “Because her body is rejecting the change. It’s trying to fight off the spread of infection. It’s impressive really.”

“You mean she might be fine?” Scott asks, “She’ll get over it?”

“Maybe,” Derek shrugs, “It could just kill her.”

Stiles swallows thickly, “Tell us how to help her.”

“You just have to let the infection run its course. There aren’t any werewolf antibiotics out there for a wound like that. Tell her to sleep it off.”

“Sleep it off?” Stiles says incredulously. “That’s the best you got?”

“I have other pressing matters. Including a meeting with your boss, Scott.”

Scott took a pause, “What has my boss got to do with anything?”

“I’ll let you know when I finish interrogating him.” Subconsciously or not, Derek was flexing his arms in a way that made him look gigantic.

Scott wasn’t intimidated, “If you lay a hand on Deaton…”

“He’s already in the trunk,” Derek says blandly, “You interrupted my questioning before I could finish.”

“Oh my god,” Scott mumbles, chest tight with oncoming rage.

Stiles was flailing his arms around like they were limp noodles. “Hello! Did we forget the sick-because-of-alpha-claws girl right behind us. Let’s handle one problem at a time.”

Derek was already out the door, “(Y/N)’s fate isn’t my problem. And Deaton isn’t your concern.”

“It is considering he’s my boss!” Scott follows him outside.

“Alright, Scott, you want answers?” Derek spins around on the lawn, “Those spirals you’ve been asking about… it’s our sign for a vendetta. It’s revenge. It means he won’t stop killing until he’s satisfied!”

Scott gawks at him, “You think Deaton’s the alpha!?”

“We’re about to find out.”

“No! Derek, listen. There’s another way to draw out the alpha. I’m connected to him remember?” Scott sounds desperate and on the verge of growing claws. Stiles stands on the porch, anxious to keep you from hearing any of this. “I can try to get him to reveal himself.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Derek has a steely blue tinge in his eyes, almost as if they were glowing.

Scott looks around him, jerky in his head movements as he tries to create a plan, “Just give me an hour and then meet us at the school. I’ll call to the alpha and we’ll see if there’s a response.”

Derek, rippling with rage, seems to consider. In the next second he growls under his breath and goes to his car. Scott took that as he was in agreement with the new plan.

He turns around to see Stiles giving him a death glare, hands stuck under his armpits as if he’s stopping them from throwing punches.

“Are you forgetting about our teensy-weensy other problem, Scott? Maybe our other friend currently dying inside?”

“She’s not dying,” Scott says as he stomps toward the house again.

Stiles shoves his shoulder as he walks past, “I don’t feel right leaving (Y/N) here while we go tango with the alpha at the school.”

“We could call her mom,” Scott suggests, making his way back to the dining table.

“She’ll hate that,” Stiles mumbles, meeting him at your chair. He kneels beside you again, careful as you were dozing off. Leaning against the table, your chin rests in your hand – your mouth slightly open as you take small breaths.

Scott shrugs his shoulders, “Well, then who do we call? All our other friends are occupied with themselves.” It suddenly dawned on him that he was supposed to meet Allison for a study date. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Finally realized that did you?” Stiles says sarcastically, “Who else do we trust?”

“Someone from the lacrosse team?” Scott says with a wince, “She’s gotten close with a couple of the guys there.”

A flicker of red hot flame licks up Stiles’ side. “Sure, yeah – one of the potential lacrosse boyfriends.”

“Oh please, we could call Danny,” Scott waves him off. “Although Andrew Wickstrom would probably be more willing.”

Good guy Andrew Wickstrom? Stiles did not like that idea. Not because he was just another blockhead lacrosse guy… but because he was genuinely a nice guy. And the possibility of you falling for him was very high.

“He’s better than leaving her here alone,” Scott says, going through his phone. “At least until her parents get off work.”

Stiles curses him, but he agrees. He rests one of his hands on your good shoulder, “(Y/N), hey…”

You stir in your daze, “Where’s Derek?”

“He left, don’t worry,” was his reply. Licking his lips he starts to prepare fresh bandages for your shoulder. “Listen, Andrew is going to come look after you until your mom gets home.”

“Who?”

“Andrew Wickstrom? From the team,” Stiles says, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. “Scott and I need to handle something at the school. And you need to stay here and get some rest.”

He applies pressure on your shoulder with disinfected gauze and you gasp with pain.

“You just have a 24-hour bug,” he continues to distract you. “And in the morning you’ll be right as rain, I promise.”

“Again you’re such a liar,” you smile painfully.

He loves your humor. “I’ll come check on you when we’re done. Just don’t go falling in love with this guy, alright?”

You laugh, “No promises.”

~~~

You were cuddled on the couch, pulling up your favorite forest green blanket to your chin. You try to fix your hair bun, but it was still falling out in wavy strands. The television was set low, a true crime miniseries on.

Andrew returns to the living room, a gatorade in an iced glass with a straw. He went back to his spot on the ground, propped against the couch arm and near your head.

“Did I miss anything?” he lifts the glass over his shoulder and directs the straw between your lips.

You take a few sips, humming your thanks. “I think the husband did it.”

“But there was all that text evidence showing how the wife verbally abused him. I think he’s a scaredy cat.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have lashed out and killed her.”

He grins, “You’re way into these true crime cases.”

“They’re interesting,” you snuggle further into the blanket, “And I like to see the medical side of things.”

“Can I check your fever?” he gropes under the pile of supplies Stiles had left them and found a thermometer. He brushes your wispy fly-aways into your bun and put the thermometer to your forehead. After it beeps he looks at it, “102.3, that’s a little high.”

“We don’t need the hospital until it’s 105.”

He got comfortable again, crossing his arms. “It’s weird. I hadn’t imagined the first time we hang out was going to involve playing nurse.”

“I appreciate it, really,” you say tiredly. “It’s nice of you to spend your night here. I’m pretty sure my parents would pay you like a babysitter too.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, dimples showing. “I don’t mind. I like this, spending time with you. Even if you are super sick.”

You giggle but end it in a cough. “You know I was kind of hoping you’d come talk to me at lacrosse practice.”

Andrew turns so he’s facing you cross legged on the ground, “No way.”

“A perk of TAing for Coach is that I get to watch all you handsome lacrosse players play,” you wink, “I might’ve had my eye on you a couple of times.”

“I’m flattered,” he grins back, “You were always surrounded by a crowd, and I wasn’t sure you wanted another guy forcing his way in.”

You prop your head up a little, “You wouldn’t have needed to force yourself in. I would’ve just welcomed you.”

He bows his head, brown curls hanging in coils. “I wish I would’ve figured that out sooner. Maybe our first night together would’ve had you feeling better.”

“No, this is better,” you smile, “This is more memorable.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I asked to see you again…” he rubs his hands awkwardly on his knees, “… outside of school.”

“Please!” you say, “I’m so sick of being stuck at my house. Any plans I can look forward to is a blessing.”

He fixes the edge of your blanket, pulling it up a few inches. “Then I’ll think of something really fun.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he plays with his hair. It’s cute. “Maybe something with a bookstore.”

Your sunken eyes widen a bit. “How did you know I like to read?”

“It might’ve been the book you always have with you at school,” he laughs, “Or the time Coach yelled at you because you were reading in the bleachers instead of grabbing more helmets.”

“Well, if you’re buying then I won’t say no to a bookstore.”

Andrew grins, a beautiful smile with his curly hair and warm, green eyes. “It’s a date.”

~~~

“It’s a what?!” Stiles was whispering as loudly as he could.

You were sitting up in bed, limp and frail but with a little more life in your cheeks. “I think he asked me out on a date.”

Scott shut the window behind him, “That’s great, (Y/N).” You miss the pitying look he sent Stiles’ way.

“What did you say?” Stiles asks, sitting on the bed next to you.

You shrug, “I kind of just smiled and we kept watching the true crime.”

“Oh god,” Stiles grumbles, “You’re going to fall in love with him.” He watches a blush rise in your cheeks, “No… no – there’s no falling in love right now. You’re just getting over a fever.” He starts to fan your cheeks, making you laugh.

Scott pulls your desk chair over, “But you do feel better?”

“Completely – Andrew cured me!”

“It was that gatorade I left.”

You try to hide a smile, “Or it could’ve been the goodbye kiss.” Stiles jumps on the mattress, slamming the headboard into the wall. You smack his arm, “God, Stiles I was kidding. My fever just broke.”

“How did your parents take it?” Scott asks. He seems a little put out in comparison to earlier that day.

“My mom was really grateful.” You flicker your eyes between the pair of them. “So are you going to tell me what was going on with Derek visiting to check on my wound?”

“Oh, you know…” Scott says instantly. Stiles was flapping his gums like a fish out of water. “He’s seen animal attacks considering… his sister… was killed that way. He just said to sleep it off.”

You lean against the headboard, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. “Well, he was right.” The jumpiness in Scott’s fidgeting made you suspect some lying. It irks you to know that there were still secrets they were keeping from you. “Hey, I thought you and Allison had a study date. What business did you have at the school?”

“Um…” Scott was picking at his fingernails, “That’s where I decided to surprise Allison with our studying.”

Your brow knits, “But the school is closed and locked at night.”

Stiles has his hands running over his head, “Scott, the others are going to tell her what happened.”

“Meaning?” you nudge Stiles with your shoulder.

Scott was full of conflict, whipping his eyes between different spots in the room. “Derek told us of a hunch that led us to the school. He spotted that monster wolf you saw at the video store. Allison got a strange text that might’ve come from Derek too.” He looks to you with slight panic, “It told her to meet me at the school. She was with Lydia and Jackson, so they came too.”

“I crashed my car and everything trying to get away,” Stiles says, trying to cover all their assets.

“I missed quite the party,” you whisper, searching for tells of his lying in the words.

“We were chased and attacked. A janitor died. We weren’t sure if it was the wolf monster or Derek.”

You lean away from Stiles and he darts his head to you, “I thought Derek was innocent of everything.” An ache was in the pit of your stomach, it made you feel empty and distrustful. It was plain how much they were hiding from you.

Of course you were also being a hypocrite because you hadn’t told them everything either.

“There might be more evidence,” Scott tries to continue.

“Like what?” you fold your arms, “You have any proof?”

Stiles was piecing together you shrinking away from them, “Enough that we called my dad in on it.”

“You know, I’m tired,” you say, “I think you guys should go.”

The boys share a look, and you miss the worry enveloping Stiles’ face. He pulls his wide shoulders inward to avoid touching you.

“Sure,” Stiles says, “You’ve had a long day.”

“We’re glad you’re better,” Scott adds, standing to open the window again. “Hopefully you’re well enough for school on Monday.” He slides himself outside while Stiles stops at the sill.

He licks his lips, a habit of his especially when he’s thinking. “Hey, listen, I’m going to try to fix my jeep this weekend. If you’re free maybe we could do it together.” He wipes his hands along his pants, fidgety in how he was looking at the floor, then at you, then at the floor again. “It’s no problem if not.”

You nod but avoid looking at him as he slips out. You sit there with your peachy lamp on, upset and confused. You like Scott and Stiles. They were some of the first friends you made when you started public school. Stiles had been so attentive and gently nudged you to be more open.

But the achy feeling of emptiness in your stomach was becoming more prevalent. It had been an on and off feeling since getting to know the boys. Stiles had been swooping in to calm your nerves with small nuggets of truth.

A few more lies and you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore.

A couple of days later and fully recovered from your infectious fever, you eat lunch on Saturday afternoon. Your dad slides a BLT your way and sits down with his own.

He nibbles on a piece of bacon, “Any plans for your post sickness weekend?”

“Catch up on the homework Allison brought me,” you take a sip of soda, “And try not to kill Scott for hurting her.”

“Are they okay?” Tom asks.

You shake your head, “She broke up with him. He snapped at her when she was scared. Kind of a dick move.”

“Language.”

“Sorry,” you grimace, wiping the tired from your eyes. “I’m mad at him too.”

“What a dick,” he says, winking at you.

It makes you smile, “I know he means well. I think he’s just being a stupid teenage boy.”

“Having been a stupid teenage boy myself I can vouch for him.” He eats the larger pile of bacon on his plate, “What about that other boy that visited the other day?”

“Stiles?” you sigh, “I’m upset with him too. I think they’re hiding something from me.”

Both you and your dad say at the same time, “Stupid teenage boys.”

“But that Andrew is nice,” your mom enters the kitchen, gardening gloves in hand. “I like him.”

“You like that he was taking care of me,” you roll your eyes. “You know Scott and Stiles were here doing that same thing earlier that day.”

Angela went for the shoes she wore in the garden by the back door, “Do they know about your heart?”

“I told Stiles some things and he’s told our other friends,” you shrug, “Just about the heart defect and my tachycardia.”

Your parents nod – your dad finishing his lunch much faster than you, “That’s better than nothing. I feel better knowing you’re out with kids that can help you if you feel faint.”

Your mom leaves for the backyard and your dad goes to get you another can of soda.

“Maybe I’ll stop by Stiles’ place today.”

“The Sheriff’s house?” Tom says, “You must not be that upset with him.”

You stand, your heart stuttering, “Eh… I’ll let you know if I need a getaway driver.”

The walk to Stiles’ house was long but nice with the California sun out. Your skin soaks up the warmth, unstiffening your bones from the sickbed. The birds twitter past and trees shimmer their leaves above you.

If your mom knew you were walking such a long way, she would have given you house arrest. But you monitor your heart rate through your watch the whole way.

The house was a little shabby but homely. It screams ‘bachelor pad’ in more ways than one. The grass was trimmed, but the flowerbeds neglected. The BBQ was greasy with use and left out in the open. The house was tidy but nowhere near clean. The old décor was most likely remnant of Mrs. Stilinski, and the boys don’t dare change it.

Stiles was running out of the door, tripping down the steps when he saw you. “(Y/N)! You came.”

You nod, hands in your jean pockets, “I wanted to see the damage.”

The jeep was in the driveway, towed there the night of the school attack. The hood was laying on the concrete and completely smashed in.

Stiles jogs up to you and looks about ready to give you a hug, but you keep your arms down as a signal. He scratches at the back of his head instead.

“I just picked up a new hood from the junkyard. And my dad helped me buy a new battery.”

“What happened to the old one again?” you look inside the engine and see more duct tape than rubber tubes. “Do you usually fix this guy up yourself?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles had a funny look on his face, hands on his hips, “It’s cheaper that way. When I hit the school sign it crushed the battery box. It needed to be fully replaced.”

You give him a side eye, “You hit the school sign?”

“I was in a hurry to escape, okay,” he says exasperated, throwing his arms down limp at his sides. He was always lanky and fidgety. “I have spray paint in the garage for the new hood.” He looks at you with a hesitant gaze, “Do you want to help?”

You fold your arms, trying to hide a smile. “Do you have a tarp for the paint?”

“Why would I need a tarp?”

A small laugh escapes you, “Your dad will thank me later. Come on.”

The pair of you lay an old blue tarp down and set the junkyard hood on it. You convince Stiles to sand the metal and prime it before the paint. Thankfully the jungle that was the garage held nearly all the equipment you needed.

“I think it’s funny you have the exact shade of blue you need for your jeep,” you say, shaking your head. “Makes me think you need to touch it up more often than not.”

“If you’re making some kind of assumption about my driving skills, you’re wrong. I happen to be an excellent driver.”

You shake the spray paint can, ready for last touchups, “Anyone is an excellent driver when they’re the only driver in the friend group.”

“Excuse me?” he says with mock offense, screwing his face up comically.

“You’re not exactly comparing your skills to Scott and me since we don’t have cars,” and in a moment of weakness you point the can towards Stiles.

“Hey, woah!” he held up his hands, getting a blast of blue paint on his palms and fingers. “Mayday! Mayday! Paint in mouth!”

You start laughing, shaking the can some more as Stiles spits at the grass. His hands and forearms were coated in shiny, dripping paint.

“Now you’re in for it.”

He ran at you, hands outstretched. You didn’t fight it much as you squeal at the cold wet paint. He hugs you from behind and starts rubbing his hands all down your sides and front, coating your arms and shirt.

He was careful to avoid your chest. “There, now we’re both a masterpiece.”

“Wait a minute,” you say, out of breath from your giggles. You raise a coated finger to his rosy cheek and write your initials, “There. An artist always signs their work.”

He blows out a choking breath, shivers prickling the back of his neck. He has to clear his throat before doing the same to you, raising a long finger to your cheek. A double ‘s’ is painted along your cheekbone, beneath your sparkling eyes.

“Should we put the battery in while the paint dries?” you were closer than you thought, just inches between you. You could have sworn Stiles flickers his eyes down to your lips, no doubt smeared with paint.

“S-Sure,” he stutters, wiping at his nose, “It’s right over here.”

You help lift the heavy black box and slide it into the car. You giggle at the blue handprints all over the battery sides.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get a wet rag.”

“No!” Stiles grabs your arm, “I like it. Let’s let it dry. Our signature touch.”

You look at your handprint on the top and Stiles’ on the side below yours. “Whatever you want, Stilinski. This is your jeep.”

“Damn right,” he mumbles, connecting wires, “This baby needs to last me through college.”

The duct tape didn’t look very promising, but you had to admire his persistence. “I’ll get the topcoat ready then.”

It took another hour to get the hood ready for screwing in. You help with holding tools and holding pieces in place. Stiles makes sarcastic remarks and tries not to swear when he pinches a finger. You laugh at his jokes and ignore the unevenness of your heart rate.

When the hood was in place and the spray paint on your skin dry and cracking, the pair of you walk inside for some lemonade.

Stiles keeps staring at his initials on your cheek. “Thank you for helping me. It wouldn’t have turned out half as good without you.”

“It was fun,” you nod, a hand to your chest. A pain was flaring there. You try to breathe past the tightness, “I think I need… I need a second.” Your watch beeps the exact same time as Stiles’ phone.

You share a confused glance with the boy as he blabs, “I can explain!”

“One second,” you say, leaning forward and closing your eyes. You nearly collapse in a dining chair, and a moment later you feel large hands on your knees, squeezing gently.

“Try to ground yourself,” he whispers to you, “Remember… what do you hear?”

It takes you longer to answer, holding your chest like it’ll keep your heart there. “The refrigerator running. Birds outside. And your heavy breathing.” You crack a smile despite the frantic fluttering in your chest.

Stiles scoffs, “And what do you feel?”

“My heartbeat,” you put your free hand on top of Stiles’, curling your fingers around his. “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe.

Stiles was rubbing his thumb along the inside of your knee. His own chest was inflating again, that powerful warmth that only happened when he was near you. His throat bobs as heat floods his cheeks – thankfully he was covered in spray paint.

He checks your watch screen as your heart rate went down, “That’s it.”

“Thanks,” you say, letting go of his fingers. He pulls his hands away quickly after that. “I think I should head home and shower. All this paint is making my skin itch now.”

He laughs awkwardly, standing, “Well, uh… you could always, you know… shower here.” His eyes widen and he starts to ramble on further as if to stop you from saying no, “I mean, I have extra clothes and I was planning on taking Scott out tonight to get his mind off the breakup. You could stay and we could all go together?”

You let the silence go on just for your own amusement. He was practically shaking waiting for your answer. “Sure, that’d be great.”

“Yay… I mean, yeah sure – cool cool.” He gestures to the stairs and leads the way, “There’s everything you need in the bathroom. I’ll just… jeans probably won’t fit, and I don’t believe in shorts…”

“Sweatpants are fine,” you say, enjoying every second of his rambling.

“Right, good,” he was pinching the ends of his shaved hair. You wonder if he was one to run his fingers through his hair when it was long. “I assume you don’t need boxers…” he chokes on his laugh, probably thinking about you in that very item of clothing. “But I’ll get you a shirt and a towel. Wait right here.”

You spy into the hallway bathroom and giggle at the few items of clothing strewn about the floor. A toothbrush was thrown onto the counter and leaving white, foamy scum on the counter. A deodorant stick was open and toppled over. A 2-in-1 shampoo was leaking in the shower. Overall, about as much as you expected.

“Oh god,” Stiles yells, spotting the same things you were, “I’m so sorry. It’s such a mess in here.” He starts to bang against the walls, picking up clothes and fallen toiletries along the way. “Clearly I wasn’t expecting company.” He steps on a sleeve and trips to the floor in a colossal crash.

You stifle a laugh as you bend to help him up, “So you really didn’t expect me to show up, huh?”

His cheeks were a blotchy red, a terrible sinking pit in his stomach. “It’s a wonder you haven’t run out of here the first chance you got.” His arms were full of clothes and a sneaker and a couple stiff washcloths that you didn’t want to think about.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” you smile at his red face – the picture of embarrassment. He was so endearing in the sweetest way. The spray paint was starting to chip from his skin and flake onto the clothes he was holding. “I like you this way.”

Stiles figures he better leave before he does anything else stupid. “I’m going to use… my d-dad’s bathroom downstairs.” He fumbles the sneaker but catches it by the laces. “I’ll be super quick, so you have all the hot water.”

You nod, closing the door on his bright blotchy face. You step into the shower, not planning to use up the hot water either, and investigate any other hygiene products. The 2-in-1 must have been used as a body wash and face wash as well because there was nothing else to be seen. Shaking your head you use the bottle to clean all the spray paint off your body.

You had to scrub your skin raw, but the blue finally came off. You were quick to realize that the woods smell that Stiles usually had came from this shampoo. It was mixed with the strong scent of tea tree oil. At least the Sheriff knew a thing or two about antibacterial soap and how much a lacrosse player needed it.

The mirror wasn’t even fogged up with steam when you step out. You found the pile of clothes Stiles brought before he fumbled with cleaning.

Some dark sweatpants and a gray t-shirt with a star wars logo on the front. He even threw in a green and blue flannel to keep your arms warm when they went to get Scott.

You thread your fingers through your wet hair, carrying your ruined day clothes over your shoulder. Down the stairs you find Stiles making sandwiches in the kitchen. His shirt was a little damp from the shower, and he had goosebumps running up his arms.

“You look cold,” you say, sauntering in and catching the sweatpants before they fell a few inches. You tie the strings to make them tighter around your waist and find Stiles staring at you slack jawed.

“Um… uh – yeah. Sure, maybe a little.” He shrugs repeatedly as if that would calm the tension he was feeling.

You lean against the counter, watching him avoid your gaze, “Did you take a cold shower?”

“What – I like them!”

“No one likes them,” you scoff, “There was enough time for us both to shower fine.”

He stuck out his bottom lip, tilting his head to a shoulder, “I just wanted to make sure you had enough hot water.” Before you could make any other retort, he says in a louder voice, “I figured we could eat something and then pick up Scott.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, watching him work. It seems he wanted to busy himself, so he didn’t get caught staring at you again.

“Have you talked with Andrew at all since him babysitting you?”

You wince at the word ‘babysit.’ “We’ve been texting a little bit. I’m waiting for him to tell me when our date will be.”

“So he did ask you out.” Stiles cut his tomato with a little more force than was necessary.

“I guess, maybe,” you smile, feeling a little rosy in the cheeks.

Stiles sees the sudden flush and he flexes his jaw. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I mean – Andrew is actually a good guy compared to most of the boys at school.”

“Ah – shit!” Stiles drops his knife and holds his index finger.

You round the counter, “Are you okay?”

He waves you off, going for a band aid in a cupboard, “It’s fine, blood is red, tomatoes are red… no harm done.”

You laugh, snatching the band aid from him, “Let me see that.” You peel back the plastic and pull his hand towards your face.

He’s obviously upset about something, but that didn’t stop the red splotches from reappearing on his face. His long fingers were shaking slightly – from Adderall or his usual fidgets, you weren’t sure – but he was standing still as you gently apply the bandage.

You’re soft as you wrap the adhesive sides and push down to keep it stuck to the tip of his finger. “There,” you lean down and place a little kiss on the bandage, “All better.”

Stiles huffs an awkward laugh, almost shaken by your make-it-better kiss. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says testily, making the sandwiches a little more roughly than before.

You squint your eyes, upset that he was holding back. “Are you going to give me a ‘you-shouldn’t-date-him’ speech like you did with Josh Arnett?”

Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose, and it seems to calm him enough to say in an even tone, “Like you said, Andrew is a good guy. He’d be lucky to date you.”

The sincerity in his voice put a little hitch in your chest, and you had to remember that he had access to your heartbeat.

“Moving on,” you say quickly, “Are you going to tell me how you got ahold of my heart monitor?”

Stiles plates the sandwiches and goes for a couple bags of chips in the pantry. He was stuttering the whole way and came back a little pink. “After the video store and I… stayed the night. I – couldn’t sleep. After a couple hours and me trying to read your latest Harry Potter book…”

“You can’t start reading the series on the sixth one, dummy.”

He waves you off, presenting you with dinner. “You turned over in your sleep… and your hand was – was resting on my arm; the hand that had your watch.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich and rushes through the rest, “It turned on when your heart rate went up a little bit in your sleep and I thought… it would m-make sense to share that monitor with other people so they can take care of you in an emergency.”

You quietly eat your meal as you listen, a warmth in your stomach at feeling looked after and cared about. Stiles took it upon himself to help you and strangely… you didn’t mind it like you did when it came to your parents.

“Your watch doesn’t have a password on it so…”

“My parents thought it’d be easier if someone needed to access my heart monitor app if I fainted.”

He nods, “So I opened it while you were asleep and connected my phone to the app.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” you say softly, watching him with that warmth you were feeling. It was comforting and you realize how comfortable you felt around Stiles – especially when talking about something so personal to you.

“I was afraid you’d be all stoic and say you’re fine,” he smirks at you, “And that you can take care of yourself.”

You shake your head and huff a laugh, “Smart man.”

The two of you share a few more laughs before Stiles goes on to apologize again, “I’m sorry this isn’t the greatest meal. I’m no chef (Y/N).” He waves his hands around as he says it, “But…”

“It’s good,” you say, smiling. “I don’t like to cook all the time.”

You get off topic as you continue to eat. You discuss your science project and the upcoming chemistry test on Monday. Stiles tells you the made up story about what happened at the school. You ask more questions about Derek. Sherrif Stilinski had contacted state police to handle a possible serial killer. School had been closed Thursday and Friday to deal with the damages, so you hadn’t missed classes while being sick.

The sun starts to set as Stiles cleans your plates. “There is one more thing about tonight that I forgot to mention.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in, “What do girls usually do during breakups?”

“Well, Allison, Lydia, and I had a night of crying as we watched The Notebook and Titanic. We ordered takeout and ranted about every stupid thing a boy has ever done to us. We ate chocolate and contemplated possibly being alone forever. And then we passed out after doing our hair and giving each other facials.”

Stiles was not expecting that, “You did all of that in one night?”

“Hence why we passed out at three in the morning.”

He shakes his head, “Well for Scott… we’re going to get him drunk.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

“We’re going to get drunk and make sure he has a good time.”

“Cause no one has ever been considered a sad drunk before.”

He gives you a deadpan stare. It makes you giggle – he was so open with his facial expressions.

“I just want to take his mind off of it.”

You consider him, “Where are we going to get alcohol?”

Stiles holds up a finger and goes to rummage in a side cabinet near the dining table. He returns with a full bottle of Jack Daniels. You smile to see the comparison you had made multiple times. Stiles’ eyes were sometimes like sunshine through whiskey.

He took your smile as a good sign, “You up for it?”

~~~

You and Stiles were leading the way past the park entrance and onto a cliff face with Scott trailing behind. The moon was out and very nearly full, shining a perfect light around the outcrop.

The ground was uneven and layered with rock, sparse pine trees growing between the cracks. There was a bonfire barrel just ahead that Stiles went to light.

“Where are we going?” Scott grumbles.

He was looking a little worse for wear. After your night of girl talk and general anguish, Allison seemed to be faring better. It was strange to see how each party handled the breakup.

“Cause we really shouldn’t be out here. My mom is in a constant state of freak-out from what happened at the school.”

Stiles sighs, “Well, your mom isn’t the sheriff, okay? There’s no comparison, trust me.”

“It’ll be fine, Scott,” you say, “It’s been quiet since Wednesday.”

Your friend was over it. “Can you at least just tell me what we’re doing out here?”

“Yes. When your best friend gets dumped…”

“I didn’t get dumped,” Scott butts in, “We’re taking a break.” He looks to you as if asking you to prove it.

You shrug, breathing in the cold air and swinging your arms in the too-long sleeves of Stiles’ flannel. “She’s pretty decided.” It was Scott’s fault after all that Allison made the decision. “She’s already given you a second chance.”

“Not helping!” Stiles snaps, “When your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they’re taking a break…” Stiles stops walking next to the bonfire barrel, moon shining right above his head. “You get your best friend drunk.”

He holds up the bottle of amber, proud of himself for taking it from his father’s stash.

Scott sighs but doesn’t fight it. He was more interested in talking to you about the situation, which tells you how he really wants to handle the breakup. While Stiles works on lighting a fire in the barrel, you sit on a rock and pat the spot next to you for Scott.

He slumps down as if his body is heavier than usual. “Thank you for being here.”

You lean into him a little. It was cold and his body was warm. “I’ll always be here for my friends.”

“I mean, especially since you’re one of Allison’s best friends too.” His voice lowers when he says her name, like it was painful.

“Of course, I’m not picking sides, Scott. I have my girls… and I have my boys.” You wrap an arm around his shoulders and squeeze him to you. Your head lays on his shoulder, and you could almost feel the hurt he was feeling. It wasn’t as teary as Allison’s, but it was still very plain to see.

He takes a deep breath and stares out past the cliff at the rest of the forest below. It was almost like the moon was putting him in an even worse mood.

“Has she…”

“No,” you cut him off. “We had our night talking about it and she hasn’t brought it up since. But it’s only been a few days and you know Lydia is trying to swear her off of boys for a while.”

Scott nods, sinking into you a little more. “What do you think about it?”

You rub his shoulders a little, “I think what you did was done out of fear and anger, but it was still very stupid.” You feel him swallow thickly, “You shouldn’t have taken it out on her.”

He hangs his head, moving his hands up to hold his face. “I know.”

“If I’m being completely honest though… it’s going to be hard for her to get over you.” You lean closer to talk quietly as Stiles whoops at his roaring fire from behind. “Just give it some time to settle and try to apologize again. Try to give her more of a reason why you acted that way and she’ll understand. She’s very understanding if you don’t hold the truth from her.”

Scott turns his head sideways in one hand and looks at you with glassy eyes. You could tell he wasn’t going to cry, but he was heartened to hear your words.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

You nudge him around a little, “Anytime.”

Stiles jumps off another large rock and lands with the bottle in his hands, already taking a swig, “Let’s party!”

Scott grumbles again but takes a couple gulps of the bottle before handing it to you. As you raise the rim to your lips, Stiles starts shouting.

“Hey, hey! You’re not supposed to be drinking that.”

You take a big swallow, the burning liquid stinging your throat as it goes down to warm your churning belly. “Because why?”

“Because alcohol can increase arrhythmias,” he says matter-of-factly, “I read that in my… research.”

You shrug, taking another gulp, blowing out a breath as if it were on fire. “Hasn’t stopped me before.” You mock the boys’ shocked silence with a muttered, “You’re not the only one that has stolen a drink from your parents liquor cabinet.”

Stiles still looks worried as you hand the bottle back, “Make sure you check your watch.”

“You have that on your phone now,” you stretch back, leaning on your hands, “You can worry about it.”

Scott gave half a smile, “You found out about that?”

“He hadn’t exactly hidden it well,” you giggle, already rosy from the alcohol.

You and Stiles continue to share the bottle, laughing at each other as you tell Scott about your day. You mock the state of the blue jeep while Stiles makes fun of your little crush on Andrew Wickstrom. You whisper (basically shout) about the old washcloths found in the bathroom while Stiles splutters his next swig all over the ground. And you finally laugh about how any of you were to take chemistry tests seriously when the school has been in disarray.

Scott stops drinking after his few sips and continues to stare off into the distance, hurting as he watches you and Stiles fall over each other on the ground. Stiles slams the bottle down with a tink of the glass and you shush him.

“You’ll break it,” you slur, words feeling funny in your mouth. You fall back and hit your head on the rock Scott was sitting on still. “Ow!”

Stiles rolls over from where he was laying and cups your head, pulling it from the rock, “Oh no…” he sounds just as drunk, “Did you get an owie?”

You rub at the slight egg forming on the back of your head, “The rock decided to punch me.”

“I’m sorry,” and he kisses your hairline, “There, all better.”

You laugh like that was the funniest thing in the world, “You gave me a make-it-better kiss!”

“I learned from the best,” he let your head go and you both fell onto your backs, laughing.

Scott closes his eyes and takes a shallow breath, tense from his friends having a flirty experience without them realizing it. He ignores as Stiles lifts his bandaged index finger and declares how “(Y/N)’s make-it-better kisses could cure cancer.”

You look up, laughing at that, and notice Scott folding his arms to keep the cold away. “Oh no…” you lean to whisper (again – basically shout) at Stiles, “He’s thinking about her again.”

“Dude, you know she’s just one… one girl. You know, there are so many… there are so many other girls in the sea.”

“Fish in the sea,” Scott corrects.

You gasp, “I should make a shrimp scampi.”

“Shrimp are not fish,” Stiles giggles, “Why are we talking about fish? I’m talking about girls.” His voice gets quieter, “I love girls. I love them.” He stares off at the moonlit sky while you try to contain your laughter, cheeks blooming red.

You tap out, refusing more drink but still overly drunk. Instead you wrap a hand around Scott’s ankle as if that was still giving him silent support.

“I love…” Stiles continues to ramble, “Especially ones that are super smart and like true crime and books and… and can cook super well and have a history of serious heart conditions.”

“Like (Y/N)?”

You lift your head but decided the motion was going to make you sick.

“Like who?” Stiles mutters before smiling wide, “Like whom? What was I talking about?” He looks up to see Scott brooding over his crossed arms, “Hey, you’re not happy. Take a drink.”

“I don’t want any more,” Scott says.

“You’re not drunk?” Stiles asks, only to hear you fall into giggles again.

You lean your head towards him, “I’m drunk.” You still had one hand on Scott, running your fingers weirdly around his ankle in an absentminded gesture. Scott didn’t care – he still found it somewhat comforting to have you there.

“Hey, maybe it’s like… maybe it’s like not needing your inhaler anymore, you know.”

You tug on his pants leg, “You used to need an inhaler?” You were starting to sound sleepy.

“Maybe you can’t get drunk as a wolf.”

Scott picked up a pebble and threw it at Stiles’ face.

“Hey! What the hell…” he rubs at his face harshly, throwing his arms out afterwards. One of his arms lands across yours. “Come on man, I know it hurts. I know. Well, I don’t know,” he chuckles, his fingers subconsciously finding the skin of your wrist just under the flannel sleeve. They’re light and lazy as they trail up your wrist and down to your palm.

You hardly react, too drunk to really care. “I don’t really know either. Never had anything past a situationship before. They always leave when things get too serious.” You shiver, tickled by Stiles’ fingers. “They get all scared about me dying.”

Stiles rolls his head around the rocks he’s laying on, too far gone to really register what you’re saying, “I do know this though! I know that as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse.” He laughs quietly, “That didn’t make any sense.”

His long fingers were overtaking the space of your hand now, tracing the skin there as he drifts off. Scott was staring at the two of you with mixed emotions, that is until a mystery guest appears to steal your bottle of whiskey.

“Well,” a sinister older looking boy says, “Look at the little bitches getting their drink on.”

Scott sets his face in cool indifference, “Give it back.”

Stiles’ fingers are no longer light and lazy – they grip your hand and pull you closer to him, half sitting up as he tries to clear his head. You hardly register the movement of your hand, only the distant panic starting to rise in your throat at the newcomers.

“What’s that, little man?” the guy had to be a senior or even a freshman in college.

Another guy of similar age was just behind him, “I think he wants a drink.”

Stiles was trying to stand up, “Scott, maybe we should just go.”

“Woah, woah – wait a minute,” the first guy whistles, “The party is just starting.” He eyes you down, “What’s your name, baby?”

You swallow hard, “We were just leaving.” Your head was terribly clearer now as a thrill of fear went down your spine. You try to stand too, “Enjoy the drink.”

“Oh, we will,” the guy says, approaching your standing figure, “But only if you enjoy it with us.”

“Hey, back off man,” Stiles says, wobbly as he holds onto you, “We don’t want any trouble.”

The guy goes for your free arm, slow but tight in how he grabs you, “You don’t want to spend the night with these losers. We can show you a better time.”

“Let go of me,” you say fiercely, but fear was shining in your eyes.

Stiles starts rambling off sentences of retort, pulling on you and pushing the guy away. Until you were yanked sharply, and a squeal escapes you.

All bets were off after that.

Stiles throws his drunken arms towards the guy, eventually punching him on the jawline closer to his ear. Scott, his eyes gleaming a strange yellow light, grabs the bottle of jack from the senior’s hand and throws it with incredible speed against a faraway tree.

His voice is deep and strange as he says, “Get out of here.”

And the two guys run off back towards the woods, passing the tree now drenched in whiskey and glass.

Your teeth were chattering, heartbeat rapid, and a look of fear plastered to your wide eyes. Stiles was shaking your shoulders, “You okay?” Then he pulls you into his embrace, guiding your head to rest under his chin, “You’re okay.” He rubs up and down your arm as he watches Scott stomp away towards the jeep.

“Hey, woah – Scott!” he holds you to him, kind of like a support for both your drunken bodies, but you’re grateful for the warmth his body provides as you head for the parking lot again.

Scott drives you all home, angry as he watches you sleepily lay in Stiles’ arms. The fidgety, sarcastic boy was slumped against the door and had his arms wrapped around you, snoring and completely unaware of how lucky he was.

He was going to lose his mind when he wakes up and doesn’t remember it all very well.

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #okay j hannah #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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httpscomexe · 4 months ago

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Muzzle

Summary: Your life couldn’t possibly become more annoying, at least that’s what you thought before a stranger comes knocking on your door at 3 in the morning.

(Find what I'm currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Winter Soldier x Reader

Warnings: There will be individual warnings per chapter. Blood, wound, stab wound, mention of rape, mention of kidnapping, murder, guns, a lot of bad language words. The Winter soldier is also a warning.

Word Count: 3777 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 2

A knock on your door was the last thing you needed to ruin your day at 3 in the morning as you were just about to finish the last paragraph of your final. Who the FUCK is knocking on my door at 3 in the fucking morning?! You groan, leaning back in your chair with your hands rubbing down your face as you wait for the shadow under your door to disappear, but whoever it is, they just fucking stand there.

Then they knock again, so you stumble. Get up from your chair and quickly hop into the jeans that were thrown off earlier, and you shove your pink toy into your drawer.

“What do you-?” You freeze. You don’t know exactly how to process the situation since it was the last thing you expected to be knocking on your door at 3 in the morning considering you live in the college dorms. They don’t even speak as they walk into your dorm, their gloved hand holding onto their shirt where they were bleeding out as they made their way into your bathroom. As if your day could get any worse. “Uh, excuse me, what the FUCK do you think you’re doing!” You shout at the man, he wore a mask, more of a muzzle as he made himself at home, going through your bathroom cabinets and taking out your first aid kit and your medical student kit, something you knew he was grateful you had as a med student. “Hey, jerk, I’m talking to-” You stop talking, he eyes looked up at you as if he was some sort of hungry beast and another word would’ve meant your end.

He grunted as if he couldn’t use words, probably from his stupid ass muzzle. Who did he think he was? Coming into YOUR dorm, uninvited you may add, then going into YOUR bathroom and going through YOUR stuff. He grunts again, but this time nodding his head towards the medical kit that was on your sink. He expected you to help him. Why the fuck should you help this asshole? “Fine. But then you leave, asshole.” You tell him, opening the kit. “How bad is it?” You ask him and he finally moves his hand. A stab wound? You have a fucking final to finish god damned it. “Take your shirt off.” You demand, not able to help with his clothes on.

You watch as he reaches behind and grabs the back collar of his shirt and some blood oozes out of his wound, then he pulls his shirt off his head, and grunts again. “Use your goddamn words.” You raise your voice at him then finally look down at his wound. Wounds more like it. “What the fuck did you do…?” You ask him, not exactly expecting an answer as you quickly get to work, first cleaning around every wound on his stomach and chest with a warm, damp rag, and gently drying it with another, eventually the bleeding slows down and you debate where to make him lie down. “Okay so…” You start, grabbing a clean and dry towel off the rack and leaving the bathroom to lie the towel down on your bed so no blood seeps into your mattress. “Well come here, why are you just standing there?” He immediately starts moving and lies down on your bed. Everything about this was weird, but you didn’t care. You just wanted it to be over with. You were tired, exhausted, and are so close to being done with your final, then this shit happens? Not the wifi going out of the power going out, no, it had to be some random ass shit that would never happen to any other student but you.

“Stay still.” You tell him, beginning to delicately help with each of his wounds, starting with the biggest. Taking your needle and thread, you began to stitch it, and he didn't move an inch, high pain tolerance you assumed, considering he looked like he just ran away from war. “You smell like shit.” You tell him as you add another stitch. “You can shower here too if you like, I have some old hoodies that I stole from my dad and some sweatpants too. It’s late so I guess you can also stay the night.” He grunts again, but it’s in approval. “Are you not able to talk through that mask or something?” You ask him as you tie a stitch and snip it, beginning on the next as he nods. “So take it off.” You tell him, then watch as his left hand moves up to it and he tries to tug at it, but it doesn’t even shift, he was showing you it was stuck, then you noticed the key hole on the side. Who the fuck locked a muzzle on his face. “Oh I see.” You begin with a tight smile. “You’re into that kinky shit but it went a little too far huh?” You joke, nodding towards his stab wounds, but he shakes his head. “Do you want it off?” You ask him, and he answers with a nod. “Okay.” You finish his last stitch and sift through your drawer, his eyes never leaving you so you assume he has trust issues. Then you pull out a small kit, opening it to reveal a bunch of little tools for lock picking. “Another thing I stole from my dad.” You admit, groaning tiredly as you move to your knees beside him and begin to pick at the lock on his muzzle.

“What about your gloves? It’s like a thousand degrees outside dude.” You ask him, and the lock pops as it comes loose, you remove it from his face gently, being careful when taking the strap out of his long black hair since it was tangled. “Jesus dude, when was the last time you ate?” You ask, genuinely concerned. He just shrugs. “You still aren’t gonna talk to me?” You put your hand on your chest, trying to seem offended.

“M’not supposed to.” He finally says, and his voice was scruffy like he hasn’t drank anything in weeks.

“You sound thirsty too.” You tell him, reaching over and grabbing a water bottle from your bed side, which he gladly accepts, quickly drinking it down. “Look dude, I don’t know about you, but you need to find a new girlfriend.” You tell him.

“Not my girlfriend.” He says, his voice sounding more clear, but still deep.

“Yea. Sure.” You say, patting his shoulder. “I’ll get you some clothes and set up the couch for you to sleep, then I need to finish my essay.” You tell him, standing up from the bed and moving to your closet, taking out an old Hard Rock sweater and some grey jeans that were always too big on you. “Here.” You hold your hand out with the clothes. “I’ll get the shower started up for you.” You tell him, leaving him on the bed as you enter the bathroom and turn the water on, keeping your hand under the shower head until it is warm. “Okay, come shower.” You shout, walking out of the bathroom as he stands up and walks past you, closing the door behind him as he takes a shower.

When he’s finally out of your sight, that’s when you finally freak the fuck out. “What the fuck-” You mumble, quickly moving to your desk to grab your phone. Something you didn’t do before because that man could definitely rip your arm off with no effort. You scroll through your messages until you see your best friend's name and you tap it, typing rapidly to send them a text.

You: DUDE!

Peter: DUDE!

You: No seriously, DUDE WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?

Peter: IDK UNLESS YOU TELL ME

You: Some dude with stab wounds covered in blood just popped up at my door.

Peter: You use the caps for ‘DUDE’ but not that? What happened? Are you okay?

You: Yea I’m okay, I stitched him up and he’s taking a shower, I told him he could stay the night. He seemed friendly, but boy if looks could kill.

Peter: Should I report it? Call the police?

You: No, but if I don’t show up to class in the morning you know why. Anyways, goodnight.

Peter: Okay yea, seems normal, at least for you. Goodnight. Don’t die.

You put your phone back on the desk and look at your almost finished essay, then lean over your desk and type in two lazy and sloppy sentences before turning it in. I’m not spending another minute on that damned thing. You tell yourself, then you hear the water in the bathroom stop. About two minutes later you’re sitting on your bed, some extra blankets and a pillow thrown on your couch for the man, and he walks out.

“You don’t smell like sweat and garbage anymore?”

“I smell like flowers…” He grumbles and you giggle a little.

“What’s your name?” You ask, he doesn’t answer. “Well mine is Y/N. A lot of my friends call me Bee, like the bug. Cause I’m a happy person and yellow usually indicates happiness.” He stops at the couch and gives you a look. “You can sleep there. It’s dark out.”

“Thank you…” He pauses.

“Bee.”

“Bee.” You smile a little as he sits on the couch, and uses one of the thinner blankets.

“Lights on or off?”

“On.” God damnit.

“Okay, goodnight grumpy.” You tease, and you feel him look at you after you get comfortable under your blankets, and finally get to fall asleep.

You awake to the feeling of your phone vibrating, about 5 minutes before your alarm was set to go off. Sitting up and stretching, in your vision you could see the stranger from last night. He was curled up in your pretty pink my little pony comforters, and the thinner blanket was halfway off the couch as he snored quietly. You were careful not to wake him, making sure your alarm wouldn’t go off by unplugging it before stepping out of bed and stretching, it felt like heaven as your back was stretched and you went right back into your daily routine.

First, you snatched a twinkie from its box and opened the wrapper, setting it on one of your paper plates. Feeling extra hungry from your long night, you decided to also grab a roll of cookie dough from your mini fridge which you popped into the microwave for a minute with some marshmallow set on top of each one. “Where are you?” You say to yourself, opening up a cabinet as you searched for the chocolate powder before pulling the milk out of the fridge, then you reached up, grabbed a mug and you began to mix some chocolate milk.

You hummed quietly to yourself, waiting for your coffee to finish brewing as you snacked on a cookie. Then you heard a shuffling behind you, turning around and you saw the stranger from last night. You still had yet to learn his name. “Well good morning.” You say softly. “Hope I didn’t wake you.” You apologise quietly, then take a bite from your twinkie.

“Smells good.” He says in his morning voice.

“Want one?” You ask, picking up a marshmallow cookie and handing it to him. He inspects it before taking it with his right hand, your eyes glancing at his left hand before the coffee brewer sings to you, letting you know it was done.

“It’s good.” He says as you take the pot off the machine and pour some into your metal tumbler until it was half full, filling the rest with milk and vanilla syrup. “Smells good too.” He says, looking at the coffee pot. Without looking at him, you make him a mug as well.

“Here.” You hand it to him, then you leave to go to the bathroom to get ready.

“Okay, routine.” You remind yourself, starting with brushing your hair, and everything else before finally turning on the shower and stepping into the nice warm water.

You shower for about twenty minutes. Washing your hair, cleaning your body and just relaxing overall before your presentation. But soon, you had to get out. You figured you could stay longer and just cancel class, lose a few points for not presenting, then get it over with, but you couldn’t afford the water bill anyways.

“Shit.” You curse. Normally you’re alone in the morning so you can shower then leave the bathroom naked and get dressed by your closet, but today you’re not able to do that. “Hey.” You call for the man and he looks over at you, your head peeking through the door. “I hate to ask but can you grab me some clothes? There's an outfit on the top of my dress and my bra and panties are in the top left drawer.” You say, feeling your face heating up but you can’t let him know this is awkward for you. Once again, he just grunts in response before putting the coffee mug he was drinking from back down on the counter and going to your dresser, taking out a random pair of panties and a random bra as well. “Can you grab the black ones please? They match.” You ask, and he puts them back, shifting through your clothes awkwardly before his hand comes back out, the hip part of your black lace panties hanging from his index finger with the bra next to it hanging on his middle finger. “Those, yes. Thank you.” You blurt out as he takes all the clothes and walks to the bathroom door, you stick your hand out to take them.

As soon as you’re finished dressing and drying your hair, you decide not to style it today. You finish in the bathroom by spraying your perfume and then you get out and start to get your bag together. “How long are you staying? I’m about to leave for class.” You let him know, flipping some hair back that falls in front of your eyes before looking up at him. “I’m not actually even supposed to have you here, this building doesn’t exactly allow boys.” You tell him, then move to the counter and grab your twinkie, finishing it. “I mean you can stay, but you can’t leave once the halls are packed.” You say with a stuffed mouth. When he doesn’t answer you, you look up at him, expecting an answer. “You gonna answer me or are you gonna stare at me like you’re gonna rip my throat out?” You blurt out without thinking, then he approaches you and your posture straightens. “What?” You say quietly, then his right hand reaches up and touches the side of your lip, when he draws his hand back, you see some white on his thumb. Fucking twinkie. You curse to yourself on this inside, and you’ll admit that his gentleness did send butterflies through your stomach. “Well?”

“You smell good.” He says suddenly, interrupting you.

“Oh uh-” You shift on your feet a little. “Thanks I uh… Thanks.” You stutter, and he gently pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear as he looks into your eyes. Fuck no. You turn away, grabbing your bag and you throw it over your shoulders as you walk away from him. “I have to go. Remember, you can stay, just make sure that when you leave, the halls are empty.” You tell him, then you open your door, slamming it shut behind you after making sure your keys were still on your belt loop.

“So Peter told me what happened last night.” Was the first thing your friend said as she saw you. “Something about someone breaking into your room and-”

“What? He didn’t break in. I let him in cause he looked like he’d kill me if I didn’t.” You also fail to mention how he just kind of shoved passed you without asking.

“But it’s still weird. Like I would be freaking out if some bloody dude showed up at my door at 3 in the morning.”

“I don’t know, it bothered me at first but he’s cool. He’s really quiet.” You tell her, still walking to your class, wishing something would get in the way of your presentation.

“Only you wouldn’t be bothered or concerned about that.” She scoffs. “What if he’s part of some gang? They might find out you helped him then next thing you know your head is rolling off your neck. Haven’t you done the gauntlet challenge? Those gangs do that shit, Bee.” She tells you, then gets ahead of you, crossing her arms to stop you. “I know you think life is all sunshine and rainbows and shit, but it’s not. What if he had raped you?”

“Tiffany!” You raise your voice, calming yourself when some people's eyes land on you. “Come on, it’s not that serious. There’s no gangs here in Manhattan. Now please. Stop talking about it.” You tell her, passing her but she speeds up.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong, you can’t let just anyone into your room. What if you were caught?”

“I’m sure the dean would understand once she saw his stab wounds?”

“Stab wounds? Are we talking about the possible gang member slash serial killer that you’re so casual about?” Peter suddenly joins the conversation, along with Ned and MJ.

“Oh my God, you’re all ridiculous.” You say back.

MJ: I mean, they aren’t wrong. Are you down to skip your first class?

Peter: She can’t skip, we have a presentation.

You: Gee Pete, thanks for answering for me. What were you thinking of doing?

“I was gonna go get some coffee then go to the arcade, wanna go with or is the presentation too risky to skip?” She asks, sarcasm laced in her words.

“Yea I’m down, it won’t hurt my grade. It gives me an excuse to skip, wanna walk or drive?” You reach towards your waist band, pulling off your keys.

“Lets walk, I don’t feel like driving and it isn’t far.” You answer with a simple okay before you both leave the group and leave campus for the coffee shop, which was about a 5 minute walk turned into a 20 minute walk with human traffic.

“Hi, yea, can I get just a vanilla frappe? Thanks.” MJ orders, then you step up and order your usual, you each pay half and half.

“So is this guy still in your room?” She wonders.

“I mean I haven’t gotten a notification that he’s left.”

“Yea but I didn’t even see him enter. I was at the front desk this morning for 7 hours and didn’t see him come in. The side exits are locked with a shit ton of boxes blocking them.”

“Well that’s weird.” You hum confusedly at first, but then hum in joy as your coffees are brought to your table.

“Maybe he’s some secret ninja?” She chuckles.

“Oh haha, what do you think he’s a gang member too?”

“I mean it’s possible. But I doubt it. Did he seem like one?”

“Nope. It was weird, he had this muzzle on and it was locked, so I picked it and he sucks at speaking, it’s like he doesn’t know how to properly form a sentence.”

“That’s weird. Sounds like some kinky ass shit though. A muzzle and stab wounds?” You both start laughing.

“That’s exactly what I thought! But believe me, he did NOT like it when I said that.” You laugh a little, and a car alarm goes off behind you, but you ignore it, it is New York after all.

“Oh yea? What'd he say?”

“He didn’t say anything, he just gave me this look…”

“Show me the look.” She demands in a playful way and you try to contort your face into his, making a total fool of yourself as you do.

“I don’t know how to make it, but I promise it was threatening.” You both break out in laughter, hers turned into a scream as you hear glass breaking behind you, making you snap your head around in time to see a man holding just about the biggest fucking gun you’ve ever seen hit the floor, followed by the man who was in your room last night jumping through the window. “What the fuck…” You whisper, quickly getting out of your chair and backing away with MJ, keeping your body in front of hers. “That’s the guy from last-” You’re cut off by him lifting his leg and then stomping hard on the other man's skull, hard enough to hear the cracking of his skull from the other side of the coffee shop, causing more screams to erupt. “Night…” You whisper, and everyone watches as he reaches down, picking up what you presume is an M4, something you’d know from the countless movies you’ve had to watch with your guy friends.

“Don’t move.” You tell MJ. Still keeping her behind you, but your voice catches his attention, his hand immediately reaching for his waist and pulling out a solid black desert eagle, which snaps in your direction, pointing straight at your head. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He looks at you, and you can see some sort of question in his eyes, it was the look you give people when you see them for the first time in years. He looked at you as if he was about to ask if he knew you. Then he lowered his gun, but kept his eye on you for a moment, watching as you took a deep breath.

“Well you helped him so he shouldn’t shoot us right?” MJ whispered, quiet enough for only you to hear, but you kept your eyes in the man's eyes, refusing to look away. Then he turned and walked away, putting his smaller gun back at his waist and raising his bigger one as he left the coffee shop.

“What the fuck. What the actual fuck?” You spit out as soon as he’s gone.

“So is it still wrong to think he’s a gang member?”

“MJ, shut up.”

“But didn’t you see that star on his left arm? Which may I add was made of fucking metal!” She screams as you both gather your belongings as a fight happens with bullets outside, causing you both to duck under the table.

“So what?”

“Its the fucking soviet symbol.”

“And…” You feel your heart skip.

“Do you even look at the fucking news? He's the winter soldier. Hydras fucking escaped project.”

Oh yea. You fucked up.

#marvel #marvel smut #smut #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky #x reader #winter soldier #hydra #tw noncon #dark #dark romance #Im obsessed with bucky barnes #bucky barnes #peter parker #sebastian stan #tom holland #college

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flowers-of-tenebrae · 3 days ago

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Random DotF musings pt. 1

(spoilers for the whole book)

A Savior Lost - Ardyn:

So I uh totally forgot there was an "animated prologue" to Ep Ardyn. I did watch it...back in 2019. That means between Episode Ardyn, the animated prologue and DotF, his story has been told thrice in three different forms. Huh. (Well it's par the course for FFXV tbh)

It starts off rough tbh, but I like how the author reminds us of Noct's "shaggy hair and wayward nature" in the opening paragraph. Then you realise it's set in chapter 13 so any slight amusement - at Noct's expense - becomes 😭

I've had DA brainrot, so the justice (Somnus) vs. vengeance (Ardyn) themes stood out. In executing his ideals of justice and governance, Somnus corrupts Ardyn's purpose (his calling) and leads him on the path of vengeance... Culminating in Ardyn doing unto Noctis/Somnus what Somnus did him: 1) Somnus slaying Aera before Ardyn vs. Ardyn stabbing Luna in Altissia, and ofc 2) Ardyn vowing to destroy Somnus' entire legacy and lineage (through Noctis), much like how Ardyn's past as the "savior healer and future king" was demolished/buried and how his wondrous future (as king with Aera by his side) was cut short. This all seems v obvious, but it sounds cool to me when framed with DA's concepts of spirits vs demons - i.e. "if you see them as a demon, they'll become demons and reflect your expectations back at you".

Also obv Jesus/Judas parallels

The last line goes hard ✍️🔥🔥🔥

Now, the train has clearly steered off the rails of canon and into new territory

Not a fan of them casting Bahamut as the big bad antagonist (so cliché). Like the way his speech (as an Astral) is formatted though

It's easier for me to accept the Noctis/Somnus and Luna/Aera parallels in 2024 than it was back in 2019. But even more important than those are the Ardyn/Luna parallels, which we can see taking shape in this part.

Verdict: A slog to read, denser than expected, less exciting bc I've experienced Ep Ardyn - and the animated prologue. Certain parts felt more like reading a "dry impassive timeline" than a story. (I still question Aera's judgement in telling Somnus.) But this chapter does set the stage, so I can see why they still included it. And it's worth re-treading for that last scene alone.

The Beginning of the End - Aranea:

There's anti-food promotion for once, too much of it really. (Ew stale popcorn)

We learn a little bit of Niflheim's past state and its decline. Cool

Omg mentions of Aranea's parents!? Do we know more about her parents than Iggy's?? 😂

Wow they have an aerial safety net system in Gralea (for dragoons...?) Also, Gralea 🔄 Garlean empire - yeah the ff devs weren't subtle (it's a FFXIV ref)

Aranea's penchant for nicknames strikes again -> Tiny = Diamond Weapon

I liked seeing more of Aranea's dynamic with Biggs and Wedge and learning a bit about the latter two. Not as much Aranea + Sol in this ch as I'd expected, but that's okay for now.

While not quite as impressive as [ME2 spoiler] Miranda giving her resignation to the Illusive Man, Aranea going "I really can't stand you" to Ardyn, winking, then diving off the edge of Zegnautus Keep is still pretty awesome

The ffxv devs keep trying to make me care about Loqi but it's never worked

BONUS: FFVI ref spotted! (dancing mad) + minor Tenebrae lore drop (they were a tourist trap /jk)

Verdict: Some parts were repetitive ngl BUT this was more engaging than the prev ch bc 1) it's new content, 2) ARANEA!! - however the action scenes would've been more exciting to play through vs. reading. I'm going to sound like a broken record here; I feel robbed we didn't get to play as her (DRG ladies ftw) and see her wink on screen 🥲

#what's brevity? i don't know her #lyna reads dotf #dawn of the future #final fantasy xv #dotf #dotf spoilers #ardyn izunia #aranea highwind #i have too much to say about luna sol and noct - so pt 2 it is

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vinelark · 1 year ago

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please share some outtakes im on my knees

oh man most of my outtakes are like, slight paragraphs/scene rewrites, but here are some bbts lines/alternate dialogue options that didn't make the cut!

chapter 1:

But it’s not like Tim could’ve told the kidnappers to call Bruce right away, not until today’s little attempt, which was another check in the failure column. No one else knows Tim has been practically living at Wayne Manor, and if they did it might raise too many questions. Tim can’t create an unnecessary trail of connections between Bruce Wayne and a random kid, especially a random kid in a situation where superheroes and vigilantes might then show up. He knows too well how quickly those connections can snowball if someone puts together one right conclusion, like hold on, Robin just did a quadruple flip—

---

sb aww are you jealous robin excuse me sb that no one’s made @robinsass yet robin absolutely not kon i said i’m not KON. sb http://twitter.com/robinsass i got u robin i’m calling oracle sb no worries i have five backup urls robin joke’s on you anyway unlike nightwing there are no hq photos of me. also i wear a cape. why do you think i wear a cape kon sb to cover the fact that you have no ass : (

chapter 2:

“Oh, no,” Tim wheezes when he’s done hacking up half the marina. He twists to sit heavily on the wet concrete and starts scrabbling at his shoelaces. “My shoes.”

Kon rolls his eyes. That’s it. No more saving rich kids; Kon is putting a wealth cap on all future damsels in distress. “I’m sure they’ll dry.” Or he can buy a new pair—Kon had looked Tim up after the whole kidnapping thing, just to make sure he healed up okay and everything. Kid’s parents are definitely loaded.

---

“Hey—Superboy, hey, are you good at beer pong?”

“Uh,” Kon says. “For PR reasons I don’t think I should answer that.” The answer is that he has no clue, having never played, but if he said that then half the media would have a field day with how his lack of cliché teenage rebellion secretly indicated he wasn’t so human after all. If he lied and said yes, somehow that same half of the media would clutch their pearls over him being a Bad Influence.

“Oh,” Tim says. “Well. Well, I am very good at it.”

“Um. Okay.”

Tim’s face falls. Kon has no idea why he suddenly feels guilty about this.

---

"But for the record, I’m not scared of you,” Red Hood says. “All I have to do is press a button and have Batman run you out of town if you get too annoying.”

“Batman is off-world,” Kon says, a little smugly.

Hood glares through his mask in a way that tells Kon he knows that, and is annoyed that Kon does too. Good. “Then I guess that leaves me in charge.”

chapter 3:

“What are you going to get Superboy?” Steph says. “Maybe a nice cheese plate?”

“I am going to frame Dick for tax fraud,” Tim mutters. He’s taken to hiding the charcuterie board Kon made in one of his city caches now, because Dick kept sneaking it onto the dinner table every time he visited the manor.

---

“What the—” Muffled talking on the other end. “He says he’s not sure,” the girl says to someone else. “Tim, explain this to me in small words.”

“Um.” Tim rubs his temple. “I’m with Superboy. He—found me. And took me somewhere, somewhere safe, so I’m okay for now.”

It does not escape Kon’s notice that Tim doesn’t mention the part where he apparently gave his gas mask to a kid and got a full dose of fear toxin. He raises an eyebrow, but Tim is doing a great job of avoiding eye contact.

There’s a long beat. “Oh my god,” the girl says.

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god. You are so lucky I don’t have time for follow-up questions. Call me as soon as you’re home.”

(bonus chapter 4:

Kon spares a moment to be impressed that Tim has already figured out where they are, and says, “Because any good date starts with a good snack.”

Tim’s hand spasms where he’s rolling back the jacket cuffs. “A good date, huh?”)

#the shoes thing was originally because tim hid a memory card in his shoe or something but then i remembered how phones work #also rip twitter can't believe that fake url is already outdated #my fic #asks #timkon

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hexenmond · 5 months ago

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dividers in fanfiction: experimenting with screen readers

So I wrote up this tutorial on pretty AND accessible dividers for fanfiction (focusing on AO3, but this goes for every piece of text on the internet that has a divider somewhere). I confidently proclaimed that using an hr element instead of some random characters is the better way to do it, to accommodate screen reader users – but I had never actually tried it for myself.

I wanted to remedy that and took some time to experiment with a screen reader (Orca, because that was easiest for me to get my hands on). Setting that up was actually a bit of a hassle, so I captured the audio output to post it here, and you can hear for yourself what I'm talking about without having to bother with technology and then you can make up your mind about how you want to handle dividers in your own works.

I picked three pieces of fanfiction on AO3 that I knew off the top of my head had characters as dividers in them (because I love them! so much!!), selected a bit of text with the divider in the middle, and had Orca read it out to me. Here are the results:

Example #1: simple dreams of comfort by softestpunk

I tried this one first, and it confirmed my guess: the screen reader simply reads out the characters as it can't tell what they're supposed to mean.

Example #2: Pretending! Unless… by Aria_Lerendeair

This was up next, same thing in principle. Here I also found out that empty paragraphs are a little bit unwieldy if I wanted Orca to read the selected text. And also I was starting to get used to the voice by now.

Example #3: Tower and Rose by Moorishflower

Same thing, Orca reads "plusplusplus". As a bonus I discovered what happens when there is a full stop missing (did you catch it?). And this was also when I realised that I really could get used to that objectively awful reading voice. Like, if my other options were more tiring, or I had none? I'd probably try different readers, and I'd spend a lot of time tweaking the settings (there are SO MANY SETTINGS), and then I'd enjoy my favourite fics anyway.

And how does an actual hr divider get read?

Orca by default reads it as "separator". Which is not all that great either in my opinion, BUT I could teach it to just read it as a three second pause. Or make it say "skip" or whatever I like. That would be fairly easy to do, but teaching it how to read every random string of characters – not so much.

So, bottom line? It's less problematic than I thought. Sure, "asteriskasteriskasterisk" in the middle of a story doesn't sound nice. But I could get used to that meaning "separator". Brains are flexible like that. It does increase cognitive load a little, but not that badly I think. (Cognitive load is useful a concept, I'll write more about that soon.)

If you have published on AO3 and you'd like to convert to hr elements in your works (those can also be styled to look very nice!), I wrote a step by step tutorial on how to safely and easily replace the random characters with hr elements. If you use it, let me know how it worked for you! Constructive criticism very welcome 🙃

Oh and: I actually made a cool tool that lets you push sliders around instead of fiddling with code! Go ahead and design some lovely dividers for yourself. No CSS skills required, just copypaste the resulting code into your work skin!

@softest-punk, @aria-lerendeair, @moorishflower:

I hope this does not make you feel put on the spot (not at all my intention), but maybe rather a little flattered as I really did know those three fics sufficiently well to remember they had different strings of text as dividers. It's not quite the same as someone making fanart but… right now I'm just loads better at coding than at drawing. So, do with this possibly newfound knowledge as you will! And also whenever you will, I imagine you've all JUST come out the other end of Dreamling Week, phew… I am writing this with much love for you and your fics 🥰🥰🥰

#fanfiction meta #accessibility #screen readers #how to ao3 #uuuhh also #reading recommendations #these three dreamling fics are all fabulous!#for writers #AO3 formatting manual #ao3 formatting #witch moon ramblings #reblogs appreciated #I'm just trying to raise some awareness here #I would LOVE to hear from actual screen reader users on this!

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missbubblesoda · 1 year ago

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (13)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.7k

“I mean, if that’s something you’re comfortable talking about.” You rushed to add, fearing your question might open old wounds. “We don’t have to talk about it if-”

“No, it’s fine. You told me about your family, it’s only fair that I tell you about mine.” His eyes scanned the ceiling, as if trying to find the starting paragraph to a really long, complex story. He then took a deep breath and said: “My father, his beard was always unkempt and so was his mustache.” You chuckled lightly, tickled by the unexpected and rather random beginning he chose for his story. “He disliked loneliness. Not only when it came to people, but also objects. He didn’t like it when things looked lonely. If he passed by a bakery and there was only one loaf of bread left at the end of the day, he would buy it even though we had enough at home. If there was a book alone on a table, he would place it in a group with the others.” If your eyes hadn’t been glued to him the way they were, scanning every inch of his face, trying to read all the sentences you knew he was purposely leaving out of his story, you would have missed the way his lips twitched as they tried but failed to compose a smile.

“He rarely got drunk, but when he did, his habit of bringing lonely things home would only worsen. One time, I woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a noise that to my sleepy 8-year-old self sounded like a woman crying.” He said, as you shuffled against him, having no clue where this story was going. “Scared, I looked out the window only to see my father trying to push a cow inside the house.” You opened your mouth in disbelief. “He said the poor animal was all alone in a field, looking like it could use a friend. The next day, he had a hard time explaining to our neighbors that he wasn’t trying to steal their cow.”

“Well, that alone tells me a lot about him.” You said, the thought of a perplexed, golden-haired boy in his pajamas, and an equally confused thousand-pound cow being forced through a small door in the middle of the night making you chuckle. “What did he do for a living?”

“He was teacher.”

“Let me guess, History.” His eyes widened, head tilted to the side, asking you to explain your deduction as well as the conviction present in your voice. “I mean, that would explain a lot of things, including your love for History as well as all these books.” You said, pointing at the shelves that covered the walls of his room.

“These are not books. The ones in my office are. But these… these are just things I write.”

“All of them? You mean as in journals?”

He nodded before explaining: “Writing helps me clear my head, especially after expeditions. When we come back from a mission, time moves on and so does life, at least for those who survive. But what about those who don’t?” The question seemed to be directed at the air and not particularly at you. “What about those who never make it back home?” He paused for a moment, seemingly letting the taste of those words linger on his tongue like bitter lemon, before continuing. “When my men die out there, they are not really left behind. They are forever immortalized in the pages of these journals. It’s my way of remembering them, of making sure their sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.” Your eyes paced around his room, things slowly taking on a whole new meaning, and you wondered how much anguish and sorrow were trapped in the pages of those journals. “They stay behind and trust us, the living, to go on and find meaning in their deaths.”

You stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace without speaking, but simply, quietly understanding. Understanding that writing was his way of finding meaning, of making sense of it all. Understanding that a scout’s life was never easy, you knew that from the get go, but it was then and there where you finally and fully comprehended the dimensions of the position you held, the implications of the path you had chosen. And, when your vision started to get blurry, and your mind, to wonder if one day you would become a character in one of those dreadful entries, you decided it was time to change the topic.

“So! Your father was a teacher.”

“Yes, and I was in his class.” He paused for a moment, the space he decided to leave between each word, as well as the calmness in his voice, reminding you of trees after a violent rainstorm, battered and partially uprooted, but still standing somehow, or at least trying to. “One day, he was talking about how humanity was forced to take refuge within the walls to protect themselves from the Titans, and how that bought them 100 years of peace.” There was something about his voice that took you back to a rainy day, ten or fifteen years ago, sitting by the classroom window, only that this time your head wasn’t propped on your hand, your pencil wasn’t tapping on the desk, and your mind wasn’t lost somewhere far away, wondering when you would be able to go home. Because this time, the commander was the one speaking, and his voice, while monotonous and gentle, had the spark required to narrate the longest of stories without losing the audience’s interest in the process. A rare skill you had known only one more person to have: Hitch. That, paired with his ability to explain complex things, made you think he would make a great History professor; and you couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would have looked like had he chosen to follow his father’s footsteps.

“In doing so, any records of our earlier past were lost for all of time.” His voice pulled you back to the present, and you nodded, both to signal you were following his story, and to shake the vivid pictures that had started flooding your imagination, vivid pictures of him coming home after work to a warm dinner on the table, to his family, to a beautiful house in some small village or to a cozy cabin in the middle of some quiet forest, instead of this lonely office trapped between walls of cold stone. An alternate reality where he wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, startled by nightmares of titans tailing behind him, trying to devour him and his men.

“At least, that’s what we’re all taught.” You looked at him, your brow furrowing in suspicion, sensing there was more to this story. He seemed to be trying to decide what he would say next. Or whether to say it at all. And before you could tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to say more, he decided to continue. “I… having doubts of my own, asked my father a question. At first, he evaded answering and ended class as normal. But after we got home, he answered my doubts. He said the history books given by the government were full of contradictions and mysteries.” Something about that last line reminded you of a conversation you had with your own father a while ago, about those government conspiracy theories he was so intrigued by. But you didn’t want to interrupt, so you just nodded and let the commander go on.

“My father continued to tell me more, and even as a child, I was astounded. You see, there’s a reason he didn’t tell that story to the entire class, but I wasn’t smart enough to know.”

“You told the story to someone else.”

He nodded. “To other neighborhood kids. And one day, the Military Police came to question me.” He was looking straight into the fireplace, as if having a staring contest with the flames. Almost as if someone was standing in the middle of the flames, staring back at him, and he wasn’t allowed to break eye contact. You thought about the scenery reflected in his eyes. The blue in his eyes mirroring the bright, red fire, as well as glimpses of an emotion he had never displayed in front of you before. Slight anger, maybe. “My father didn’t come home that day… And I haven’t seen him ever since. He died in some accident in a faraway town. Or so I was told.” He added, sadness scattered around his eyes like stars in the dark night sky.

His words reverberated inside the silent room, spreading across the available space, reaching every corner, and stabbing every inch of your heart in the process. You had somehow deducted his father wasn’t around anymore, so when he started narrating the story you hadn’t expected it to have a happy ending. This, however, was way beyond your imagination. This was downright traumatizing, another level of disturbing for sure. And you felt horrible for asking him to pick at a wound that had barely even scabbed at all. But you also knew that his father hadn’t died in an ‘accident’. “Based on what I knew-”

“The government. He was silenced by the government.” You concluded, words leaving your mouth at the exact same time the thought was born.

He nodded again before continuing his story. “One hundred and seven years ago, humanity that fled into these walls… The king had altered their memories to make them easy to rule. That was my father’s theory.” You had never listened to this part of the story before. It was as if important pages had been ripped off the history books you studied at school. And the whole sensation was very odd. It left your mouth dry and your skin shivering. It was like finding there was an alternate ending to a book you had read a hundred times. One you never knew existed. A darker one.

He didn’t say anything, and you felt he was giving you time to process everything and reach your own conclusions.

“Because if he hadn’t done that, civilization within the walls could never succeed.” You finally said.

“Exactly. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been thinking… Why did my father have to die for nothing more than getting close to the truth?” He asked, and you knew this time he wasn’t talking to the air nor to you, but to himself, his voice and the emotions behind it raising like water reaching its boiling point. “Even those in the government would believe what they’re doing is just. However, I realized one thing about them: What they’re trying to protect is not humanity.”

“It’s their gardens, houses, and land.” You completed the sentence before he could, having lived far too many years around them to know what their most precious possessions are.

“If anyone dares threaten their authority, they’ll be silenced, whoever they are.” The hand that was intertwined with yours tightened its grip on your fingers. “In the end, there was nothing to justify my father’s death. In the end, my father was killed by human greed.” His knuckles went ghost-white. “And by the foolishness of his own son.” Still staring into the dancing flames before him, you noticed he had the eyes of a man whose future resembled a dead-end street. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing seasons die one after another, knowing that his father would never come home. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing tomorrow die even before it came. The eyes of someone who spent a whole life dreaming upon days that would never return, dreaming of a person he would never see again. And you wondered if it was his father whom he saw in the flames, or was it a younger version of himself? Or maybe, he saw memories of happier days. Memories of a past he would never be able to go back to, along with scenes of a future he would never be able to move on to. Because his legs remained forever trapped in the heavy muds of regret.

“Before I knew it, my father’s theory became true inside my heart. Now, my mission in life. It’s to prove my father’s theory once and for all.”

You wanted to string together the right words, one by one, until they formed a bridge that would lead you closer to him, so he wouldn’t feel so alone. Because, even though your bodies were pressed so closed together, you could tell his soul was lost somewhere far away, somewhere dark, somewhere lonely. And you knew his father would have hated it for him to feel that way.

You stayed still, silent, and slightly mad at yourself for not being able to say something to him. The night is always dark if no one holds the light, so you wanted to hold it for him. You really wanted to. But you were astounded and overwhelmed by all the information, both about his past and about the reality you all lived in. His father’s theory, if true, would change the world as you knew it. As everyone knew it. A possibility that, if true, would change everything.

In the end you made peace with the fact that you weren’t wise enough to know what to say, and opted for gently wrapping your arms around him instead, pulling him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him as tightly as you could. If you couldn’t tell him, you would show him. If words were beyond your ability, you would make sure actions weren’t. He immediately responded by tightening his arms around you and pressing his nose against the top of your head, where you could feel him breathing heavily. He took such a deep breath that, for a moment, you thought he was going to cry. But no, you knew he wouldn’t, that would be nearly impossible. Because at this point, given the rate of pain he had been enduring for years, at that rate your eyes would run out of tears before your heart could let go of the pain.

As your head rested against his chest, in such proximity to his heart, and as its beating told you more about the pain he had been living with for all those years since his father’s passing, a question popped up in your mind.

“The basement. In Eren’s house. It has something to do with this. Doesn’t it?” You spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Intel suggests that the basement of Eren Yeager’s home in Shiganshina holds a vital secret regarding our enemy. That’s our destination. By getting there, I can prove my father’s theory. I know it.” He held your hand tighter. “I just know it.”

His words carried the exact same conviction they did during meetings when planning strategies or during expeditions when giving commands in the field. Only that this time they were infused with something else, a certain vulnerability. A vulnerability that, along with the violent beating of his heart against your ear, explained to you why he was so committed to the cause. Why he had decided to give his entire life to the Survey Corps. It all made sense now. You understood that it had less to do with freeing humanity from the walls, and more to do with his late father.

As his heartbeat lulled you to sleep that night, your mind became flooded with thoughts of the basement and the secrets that could be hidden there. If there was something hidden at all, in the first place.

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean

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feedthefandomfest · 10 months ago

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Hiya!

I love this blog and just wanted to ask- do you know any advice on formatting and tagging for AO3?

Or just general etiquette!!

I'm not new to AO3 (reading or writing) but I haven't interacted with the actual community much and would love to know more :)

oof, I still feel like a newbie posting stuff on ao3, and tagging is something i've always struggled with. and actually formatting is also on ongoing issue 😅 so with that in mind, here's what i try to consider:

TAGGING

relationships -> tagging the main is obvious, but i'm sometimes torn about tagging side relationships that feature in the fic, especially since it's annoying to be searching for that pairing and get a bunch of results where they're not the main focus; unless the other pairing is a prominent feature, i leave it out of the relationship tags and at most add it to the additional tags

characters -> i remember updating the character tags on my early fics every time another character popped up in the story, but now i'm of the same mind as the side pairing issue; unless the character is prominently featured, i leave them out of the tags

content warning/advertising -> if i know the fic features an element that some people might wish to avoid, i always tag it and also always fret that i've forgotten to tag something in that regard. when it's more about advertising what's in the fic, especially sexual content, i sometimes feel silly listing every flavor of physical encounter unless the fic is pwp/smut (in which case i gleefully list all the depravity); i sometimes worry that over-emphasizing the sexual content in the tags is misleading? like of this 100k fic, if 15k is spent fucking, how do i get the tags to reflect that while also tag cw appropriately? is there an established tag for that?

sometimes i see fics with TONS of tags, like an exhausting amount, and sometimes i see fics with very minimal tags... sometimes frustratingly few. i also know some writers add chapter-specific warnings in the author's notes. in the end, so long as you're making it possible for people to find or avoid your fic as needed, then you're good. Here are some good posts that dive into it more!

(i remember when people on tumblr would scold writers for monologuing in the tags on ao3 like we do on here, claiming it was a strain on the system, but i believe that's been debunked?)

FORMATTING

i've noticed some MEGA annoying quirks with copy & pasting over from Google Docs and Word, and I know there are some tricks to get around them, but i tend to just slog through the Rich Text window fixing everything manually 🙃 OKAY I FOUND SOLUTIONS LINKED BELOW.

spacing problem #1 -> pet peeve of mine, but i dislike it when the paragraphs have massive spaces between them (ditto for indented paragraphs). idk why, but it's tiring for my eyes to constantly leap the chasm between paragraphs. so whenever i copy and paste from Word, which for some reason ALWAYS appears with double spacing between line breaks, i go in and manually fix it. SOLUTION

spacing problem #2 -> when copying over from Google Doc, whenever there's a punctuation mark following an italicized word, a random space appears between them. and yep, i have to go in and fix every one because typos make me twitch. (this might not be an issue for everyone; i overuse italics and dashes like it's my job) SOLUTION

spacing problem #3 -> again probably a me issue, but i tend to include song lyrics a lot, and it's always a headache to format because when pasting from the doc, ao3 embeds these spaces between the lines that i can't remove by backspacing. only fix i've found is to copy and paste lyrics directly from a website, and then it formats fine. random and annoying and weird. (no solution 😔)

since this section has just been me whining about finding SOLUTIONS for formatting issues, i'll offer one tip that's more about general editing: i try to proofread best i can in Word/GDocs, but it's always easier to spot errors when i'm reading the draft on my phone. the typos always jump out at me from a phone screen. it's now my favorite way to edit!

every writer has their own preferences on formatting, and every reader has their own level of tolerance for formatting quirks. in the end, so long as the formatting doesn't interfere with the reading experience, you're all good.

#god and don't even get me started on summaries #i'm so bad at writing summaries #and coming up with titles #just the worst #those tend to plague me more than tagging #but tagging can also be tricky #like i want to crowdsource it or have an outside perspective just list the stuff in need of tags for me #fandom culture #ao3 etiquette #ao3 tagging #ao3 formatting #writer things

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desceros · 11 months ago

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I gotta know, gotta ask- HOW do you write the way that you do?? How does one get to that point? I've been wanting to write fanfics for awhile now, but I don't know where to start, and just... do you have any advice at all for beginners? Because you're like... really good at what you do!!

thank you so much!! that's really kind of you to say :') as for beginner tips hmmmm let's see... i'll give some specific fandom tips, then some general writing tips to kind of mix it up for you!

read/watch/etc the media carefully: specifically i mean to watch it not as a viewer, but as someone with an eye on character. pay attention to the way characters talk. what words do they use? what do they say when they're surprised? angry? sad? tired? do they change their words based on who they're talking to or where they are?

read fanworks that exist already: whenever i plan on writing for a new fandom, i'll go over to ao3 and read a few fan works. then, i take note. what are some common tropes i see? what did this author do that i liked? what did this author do that made their version of this character feel off to me? is this a fandom that likes one-shots or chaptered fics? (though you certainly don't have to see these as a rule; for example, i write long one-shots regardless of what everyone else does, just bc that's what i enjoy writing the most!) this'll help you get your writing voice in your head.

write!!!!: don't worry about writing something you're going to publish just yet. in fact, explicitly tell yourself that you're Not going to publish anything yet. but start writing. to get a prompt, you can 1) go to random word generator, get a verb, and write your character doing that verb; 2) go to one of the myriad of prompt tumblrs, a few of my favorites i have linked here; 3) pick a line of dialogue from the show that sticks out in your mind and have it be the first line of dialogue for something completely different; 4) go over to tvtropes and hit random trope until you find something that inspires a fic. then, write it! focus on getting it finished. remember, you're not publishing it, so it doesn't matter how "good" it is. just that it's finished. then, once you feel confident that you have their voice down in your head, you can start writing stuff to be published. that takes ALL the pressure off your first few attempts!

study up on basic grammar: so the thing that's really going to set you apart from other authors at first glance is your grammar. do you know to vs too vs two? their vs they're vs there? effect vs affect? breath vs breathe? lose vs loose? do you put your punctuation in the correct place? do you have proper spacing for your paragraphs? do you change paragraphs for each speaker, or do you have multiple people speaking in the same paragraph? these are things that will grind at a reader's opinion of your skill, such that even if you have an amazing story, they will hit their tolerated limit and back out. the grammarly blog is a really good resource, and if you have a specific question (e.g. "how do i punctuate dialogue?" "what is the correct spacing for an em-dash?" "), you can just google it and get the answer. this will increase your skills—and thus your confidence—immensely.

learn some cool words: so, disclaimer, i used to read the dictionary when i was a kid. i don't recommend that. but what you should do is get dictionary.com word of the day in your email, and also just. go to a thesaurus and look up words. see what other words orbit the ones you know. the more words you know, the greater your toolbox in painting a picture for your readers. you can also achieve this by reading a lot, both inside and outside of the genre that you're looking to write, which i also recommend.

***give it time!***: i just turned 33, and i started writing when i was in kindergarten when i finished everything on the bookshelf and wanted something new to read. so it's been almost exactly thirty years that i've been writing. i have an english minor with an emphasis in creative writing. with a few exceptions when my wrist is unhappy with me, i write at least 500-ish words every day. i've participated in national novel writing month almost every year since 2008. i write a lot, and i've been writing for a very long time. everything that you see me post is the culmination of all of that. being creative is like a muscle; the more you do it, the more consistently you do it, the easier it gets and the more cool shit you can do. but it's really hard in the beginning. you don't start deadlifting 400 lbs, and you don't look at someone who is deadlifting 400 lbs and think wow why can't i do that?! i must just not be very good i should give up because i'm never going to be able to do that :( no!!! that person has spent years getting to that point. and, if you start now and work consistently, little by little, someday you'll deadlift 400 lbs and you'll be like. wow!! look at me!! i did that!! writing is the same thing. start now, allow yourself to be a beginner, enjoy being a beginner (because wow, how fun is it learning something new?!), and just work a little bit every day until you look up and see what you're capable of!!

#anywho hope that helps!!!!#typical desceros answer: making you break your thumb to scroll past my long-ass response. SORRY <3 #ask tag #writing tag

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ejunkiet · 11 months ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers Game

tagged by the wonderful @autisticempathydaemon (chrissy my beloved <33 also you HAVE to let me know if you start writing for castleaudios >:3)

tagging - you, reading this!! also (no pressure!): @dominimoonbeam @glassbearclock @taelonsamada @romirola @lovelylonerliterature @genginger @ninzied @evilbunnyking @nerdierholler @commander-krios @chroniclesinlacuna @kesla @mordinette @garglyswoof @nagia-pronounced-neijia

1 - How many works do you have on AO3?

oh god, 128! but this is an underestimate, because i've anon'd some older fics/fandoms hehehe. i've been 'round ao3 since 2012!

2 - What's your total AO3 word count?

498,649... now this is actually accurate. 300k of that is from 2020 until now. basically the pandemic got me on a writing kick.

3 - What fandoms do you write for?

SO MANY. 19 according to ao3, but right now? baldurs gate & redacted audios >:3 there is another halsin fic in the works...

4 - What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

oh god. okay. you'll get some older fics here: 1. got me on my best (bad) behaviour 2. Call me scent o' mental, but I'm crazy about you (teen wolf....) 3. all bark, no bite 4. devils and ghosts (frank castle / karen page!! love this one heh) 5. sweeter than honey (ofc halsin makes it ahaha)

5 - Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES. there are only a few exceptions, when I've written something that touches close to home / a sensitive topic.

6 - What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmm...bittersweet endings were my wheelhouse for a long time. OKAY. let's do this one: too little, too late. caroline forbes and klaus mikaelson, set at the end of the originals. yeah.

7 -What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

....nowadays, I mostly write happier endings sadhfjk lets go with: bioluminescence, which follows on from the events of blood moon (@/barbwrites) and takes marco on a roadtrip to see luminescent algae up close and personal. (it's a loveletter to a summer I spent in california during a really difficult period of my life, and this fic means a lot to me <3)

8 - Do you get hate on fics?

I've not gotten hate, but I've definitely had some interesting comments over the years, for a variety of reasons, usually to do with the person's personal views. (one story had the main character smoking pot to calm their anxiety, and someone was not happy with that)

9 - Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

YEP. Smut with feelings is my FAVOURITE thing. I prefer sensual descriptions, because it is all about feelings and sensations with me. as an ace writer, I also like kink and monster fuckery heheheh.

10 - Do you write crossovers?

Not at all ahahahaha. Have I ever written a crossover? I don't think so. I love AUs though, and pacific rim AUs are one of my favourite concepts in fandom.

11 - Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, and it was teen wolf, and honestly not one of my best. it was a hatchet job, they took random paragraphs and spliced it / wrote around it? someone flagged it to me in a comment, and it was taken down. all in all, a very weird experience.

12 - Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but gosh, that'd be cool! <- stealing from lexi, agreed, would be awesome <3

13 - Have you ever co-written a fic before?

YES. It was FUN. It was a series of conversations between an estranged father and son, Colm and Milo Greer, with the incredibly talented @frenchiefitzhere (also tagging you for this meme!!). it's still one of my favourite things: An Honest Man Like Yourself

14 - What's your all time favorite ship?

ALL TIME FAVOURITE? How dare you. I love all my ships afjkdsfg Shakarian is pretty high up there. Kastle (karen page/ frank castle). All the werewolves from redacted. <3

15 - What's a WIP that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

ahhhh. okay. 'wander. wonder.' my poly longfic. don't hate me, but honestly, I've just not got the space for a longfic at the moment. never say never, but I've caught up with the chapters I had worked up, everything else is a vague outline. <3

16 - What are your writing strengths?

oof. I want to say character. most of the fun for me when writing is getting inside a characters head and figuring out their voice >:3

17 - What are your writing weaknesses?

Structuring longer, multi-chaptered stories - basically figuring out the pacing of it. I'm working on an original project, and I love it, but the first series of major edits will be breaking up my alternating POV sections into proper chapter breaks and letting myself linger more in moments instead of pushing forward (habits of a oneshot writer fdsds)

18 - Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've been meaning to have my estonian friend critique my estonian, but I'm pretty positive the 'bond' I referred to is actually the money kind, and not the emotional attachment I'd been hoping to refer to hfjdkssfdg. I do as much research as I can, but it's best to run it past someone who speaks the language!

19 - First fandom you wrote for?

hehehehe naruto. yep. I was a naruto kid. first posted online in 2007......

20 - Favorite fic you've written?

WHAT A QUESTION. honestly, I love what I have been writing the last three years. I've really let myself just write what I want to read, and it's been great. i'm going to cheat, and say the original project I'm working on that I won't let anyone see heheheh. <3 it's got werewolves, kink and explicit consent, and spun out a whole verse for me to play with (and a fun MMF sidestory that I also need to finish...)

gods this got LONG. Thank you for making it this far!! <3

#ask games #ask memes #tmi #i'm nearly finished with the first half of the original project #ropes and fangs #THEN I will let people read it xD #it will still get longer - I write a little concisely. bad habits from focusing on oneshots for so long #it's been a great learning experience #and really - I love the characters #andreas and olivia beloveds <3

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bigalockwood · 4 months ago

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muahaha now i get to request many lil sugar cubes from you!

if you please, 1 & 5, but also 11 & 14 & 23? 💜💜💜 xx

Jay <333 you get as many sugar cubes as you want AND a miami 🥭mamí 😌 (and I hope you know that I'd also give you any and every snippet you could ever ask for).

Last Sentence

Cheating again because I haven’t written anything since chapter 6 of ssn. This is from a certain WIP I told you about.

But what did Rousseau know? He was, after all, just a horse.

5. First sentence from fifth paragraph

This is from the music video AU I have talked about before and quite possibly the most boring sentence in the entire doc.

It was embarrassing, and he hated feeling like he was taking advantage of them, but that was what he was doing, right?

11. A WIP you’d like to finish someday.

There's this one shot based on Now that we don’t talk that takes places right at the start of season 2. I’ve talked about it before and it’s almost finished, I just never got around to completing it. It's angsty and a liltte sad, but I really like what I've written for it so far.

14. Where do you get your inspiration?

From the most stupid everyday situations. I see random things and my brain immediately goes “But what if this happened to Wilmon?” I like to pretend that’s normal.

23. Three keywords that describe my writing

Rambly (never able to keep it short and concise), niche (idt anyone in the yr fandom ever wanted to read as much about horses other than you (still manifesting over here 🕯️🐴🕯️) and biology-metaphor-heavy.

#enjoythesilentworld #lias letters

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peaky-shelby · 2 years ago

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New Romantics | Mbappé [2]

» Pairing: Mbappé x Oc

» summary: in which an arrogant and talented football player (the best of his time as some say) and a focused and harsh critic of a journalist are gonna have to find a way to co-exist.

« previous chapter

» Chapter 2: trains that aren't coming

» Writer's note: i don't know if y'all are still interested after the second chapter because the response wasn't as big but i wrote the third chapter so here you go. Let me know your opinions and if you guys want to see more! Also im trying to find ways to make this more interactive for everyone so bear with me please.

» Taglist: @moonchildohh @formulahoe @princetongirlll818 @mavieesttriste16 @kiwisa @godessstela @hummusxx @kodzuvk @pink-manz @corbyns-smile @jayruiewo265738 @blueanfield @mrs-bellingham @sorceresski @sooblovebot

I didn't know i had to watch my tongue. Now you know that I'm loaded gun. Uh it might be true I'm too taboo.

She wished the car would drive by faster but for whatever reason traffic seemed to be working against her that day. She would be late again and it was her first day. Her leg tapped on the bottom of the uber annoyed until they reached the training center. She practically jumped out of the car to get to the entrance, her camera hanging from her neck, a water bottle on her hand and she would have walked in if it wasn’t for the French guards again-

“Oh, you have to be kidding.”

“Nous avons besoin de votre carte” One of them said. She recognized the word card but she had no idea what card they were talking about. She had no card and how was she supposed to explain that? She didn’t really look professional, she was dressed in her sweatpants and her PSG hat, she looked like a random fan that wanted to get in to flirt with the footballers. While she was trying to explain she was just a journalist and was working closely with Galtier, she felt someone bump on her shoulder, walking past her like he hadn’t hit her at all. Of course, it was him-

“Kylian!” she yelled. He stopped on his tracks, looked at her up and down like he was seeing her for the first time. Then he smiled and she knew she was basically fucked.

“Je ne sais pas qui elle est.” he said quickly and walked inside the building. Taylor jumped forward to attack him but the guards stopped her, pushing her back. She wanted to throw her water bottle at him. She backed up, fixing her hoodie and breathing heavily. She looked at her phone, realizing she was alreay 15 minutes late. Horrible first impression.

“Elle est avec moi. C'est une journaliste. Ne vous inquiétez pas.”

She turned around, Neymar standing behind her with a smile on his face. He motioned for her to get inside with him and she followed. She didn’t like having to rely on others like that, she needed to get better with her French quickly. And on top of everything she wanted to smack Kylian in the face. She still hadn’t posted the paragraph about him but she was very close in doing so.

“Thanks for that.”

“No problem. Come on we are late.”

Neymar and her run outside on the field apologizing for their delay. Galtier didn’t even look at them while he reprehended them for their actions, first Neymar and then,

“Ms. Taylor, we are very strict about our time schedules in this team. I asked you to be here before the boys.” He finally looked at her “you are late.”

“I had a problem with the guards-“

“Do I look like I care?” he asked and returned his gaze on the team “Boys this is Taylor Wilock. She will be attending trainings and games for the next month-“

“Assuming she is there on time” mumbled Kylian, he didn’t say it loud enough but she did hear it. Her eyes settling angrily on him. She drew a fist with her fingers, annoyed at the young man but said nothing in response. Hakimi laughed at his comment but quickly stopped when he saw Galtier’s eyes on him. He stopped.

“Among other things she is writing an article on the team, for JW’S Website.” Kylian faked a cough when he heard the name, ones again getting her attention “She’ll be my eyes and ears for as long as she is here, so be kind, kids.” Warned Galtier, specifically looking at Kylian. He gave them all their tasks for the day and then called for Taylor to follow him. She had to walk past all the players who were standing next to each other in a long line. While walking she twisted the cap on her water bottle slowly opening it and when she passed in front of Kylian she ‘accidentally’ tripped, water spilled on his clothes and his shirt.

“Oh my god- would you look at that-“ she gasped, pretending to be shocked and sorry. Kylian looked at her, annoyed. He gazed at his shorts and his shoes. Was it childish? Absolutely. Did she care? No. If she had to act like a 5-year-old around him, then she would. She had told him the first time they met; she was very easily provoked. Neymar and Hakimi were cracking up next to him, holding their hands over their mouths so he wouldn’t see.

“Seven. Go change. Now!” yelled Galtier while Taylor joined next to him. Kylian smacked them both on the back of their heads as he was leaving and the two completely lost it when he left.

“Was that really necessary?” asked Galtier when they were far away from the rest of the team.

“It was an accident” she defended, drinking whatever water was left in her water bottle.

“Sure.” He nodded “Your one week of this act starts today. I expect them to know the whole truth by next Monday. Understood?”

She calculated the days in her mind “Yes, sir.”

“Do me a favor. Talk with them, I want a full report of each one, individually.”

“Each one?”

“Yes. By next Monday as well. Marcos can help. I suggest you have 1 on 1 meetings with them-“

“All of them?” what she was really asking was ‘even Kylian?’

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to tell him that she was in over her head but of course she wouldn’t admit it so she shook her head, biting her lips “No. No problem at all.” She faked a smile. Galtier gave her a nod and left her standing alone, terrified for what was going to follow on this day that hadn’t really started that great. She huffed and puffed, rubbing her face in despair.

“Estas Bien?”

She jumped, screaming. “WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP DOING THAT- I AM FRAGILE.” She yelled and turned around to face whoever it was that scared her this time. Her entire body froze when she saw him. 7-year-old her would have wrap her arms around him already but she had to be professional, she had to stay calm.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Leo.” He held his hand out or her, Taylor shook it with no hesitation, smiling. “We didn’t meet yesterday.”

She was speechless. She was never speechless, that was a whole different level of anxiety for her “Pleasure is all mine.” She said quickly, smiling. Did he know as well about her secret? He was this team’s MVP, he was the entire world’s MVP, lying to him felt wrong.

“I enjoy reading the blog. Your boss writes very well” So he didn’t know “I’d like to meet him.” She didn’t say anything to that, she just smiled and nodded. Messi ran back to his team to continue with training. While she mentally face palmed herself. That’s when she realized, she was standing on a field, almost in the middle of it, on the green grass. She watched the players from a distance, running around. Suddenly she couldn’t stop the memories from flooding in her mind, leaking. She used to run in between those cones, drippling and messing with her friends. She felt an ache in her heart, she held her chest. Trying to remind herself of why she stopped and where she was now. What she was meant to be doing. She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice Kylian staring.

He had just returned from the training room, still a little annoyed at her but she was a good match. She challenged him and obviously didn’t take any of his shit which made him want to go harder on her and he would eventually. That was a promise.

Taylor watched the boys as they played a simulation of the game. Separating in two equal teams and as always, she was making her notes while watching. Kylian was out of it, he kept missing the ball, tripping and whenever he was trying to go really hard with it, he’d fall on his face. Marquinhos kept yelling at him to get his head in the game, cursing him in French. Neymar spent more time drippling then actually passing the ball. They were lacking connection; it was like everyone was playing for themselves and themselves alone. When the simulation was over, they each parted around the field, each of them doing something different.

She’d take pictures of them sometimes. Raise her camera and snap some when they weren’t looking, making sure she kept the lenses away from Kylian.

“She’s taking pictures now?”

“A journalist. Taking pictures. For an article” Hakimi threw a ball at him “Who would have thought.”

Kylian caught the ball before it hit his face, making a grimace. “Should have been a comedian.” Hakimi smirked while running on the other side of the field.

While sitting on the benches she noticed Verratti, running. She stood up and ran towards him. He was making a sprint around the field and she joined him. He laughed when he saw her running alongside him.

“Can I help? tiny human.”

“I was looking at your stats. You’ve had 102 touches in Ligue 1 so far this season but only 44 during opening half on Friday’s game.”

Verratti stopped on his tracks, he did it so unexpectedly Taylor almost fell on him “Where are you getting those?”

She rebalanced herself “I’m a journalist it’s my job.”

“Friday was a hard game. Lens was good.”

“And you were bad. That’s not the point.” She shot back without even thinking. Verratti raised his eyebrows got closer to her “All I’m saying is that it’s like y’all wanted to lose. They owned the ball for almost the entire match and you were barely trying to get it back. It’s not like you”

“Is this leading up to a question?”

“Why?” her question was simple, why did that happen. Why was he so unfocused? Verratti didn’t answer, he made a few steps away and then continued his ran. She knew that look in his eyes, scared to admit to any answer. He ran towards Kylian who was on the ground doing stretches and knelt besides him.

Kylian looked up at him confused.

“You were right.” He told him, making him even more confused “she’s trouble.” Kylian searched for her on the field, she was talking to Ramos now, a conversation that seemed one sided because Ramos would barely look at her while she seemed like she was making some of her points. Verratti ran away from him but Kylian continued looking at the girl in the grey sweatpants. Danger and trouble were only one way to describe her.

INDOOR TRAINING CENTER - DAY

She was hungry she could hear it by the way her stomach whined. She searched the hallways for the kitchen making sure to keep away from where she had gone the day before and her day was brightening up because she had succeeded to stay away from Kylian. Sometimes she’d feel him staring and maybe throwing a few curses her way but she ignored it. Fortunately, she managed to find the kitchen, everyone going silent when she entered the room. Talk about an awkward moment. She ignored it, the same way she had been ignoring Kylian and went straight for the buffet. It was fish with rice. Her mother would laugh at her if she was here, she hated cooked fish, she only liked salmon in her sushi. But she had to stay calm, she kindly looked at the cook behind the counter smiling, nodding for her to put her a plate.

“What are you doing here?”

She close her eyes when she heard Kylian’s voice, ones again startled by the unexpected. She was starting to get used to it. People scaring her all the time in this place. She took the dish from the cook placing it on her disk. He was so close to her, leaning down to her ear, she was tempted to get the fork and stabbed it on his hand laying on the counter. “Currently being annoyed by a child.” She said bluntly, getting herself a glass of water too.

“This is only for the team. Not journalists” I’m part of the team you fucking moron, she wanted to say but she didn’t.

“Galtier has given me permission, so if you don’t mind-“she gave him a smile and carried her disk to an empty table to sit and eat. Kylian didn’t follow her or tried to pressure her more, he went and sat next to Verratti. Hakimi and Neymar were also in the table, eating.

“Galtier gave me permission” he mocked her voice and looked at his food. Hakimi choked on his water, coughing. While Verratti was shooting daggers at her.

“She’s gonna be 24/7 with us now?” Verratti asked. Taking a full bite aggressively. Hakimi watched the two men, his mouth half open, he kept feeling like he was in a classroom. Neymar on the other hand was too focused on his food to pay any attention to them.

“What did she say to you?”

“Something about my touches, I don’t know.” He took another full bite. “You think Galtier is actually listening to her?”

“I don’t know- why is Marquinhos with her?” Marquinhos had taken on her table, they were laughing about something. She was showing him some of her notes and pointing at the pages on her notebook. Marcos was nodding like he was agreeing with her. She lifted her hair up on a bun, uncovering her neck. There was a weird feeling catching up on his chest so he looked away. She was pointing at Ramos, Marquinhos following her gaze. “What are they talking about?” he groaned. Neymar finally looked up from his food “Did you know he drove her home last night?” asked Kylian but it was more of a statement.

Neymar smirked, nodding “Nice.”

“Kylian!” Warned Hakimi, throwing one of his used napkins at him “dangerous territory. Stay out of it.”

“She’s always showing him her notes, why?”

“Maybe because he is the captain.”

“And what does the captain care about a journalist’s notes? I want to see them too.”

Hakimi threw him another napkin “Get. Over. yourself.”

Kylian rolled his eyes, took a spoon of rice and put in his mouth. Chewing aggresively. Verratti nudged him on the shoulder and leaned down to whisper “we have to get that notebook”

He glanced up at her one last time. Their eyes meeting just for a second.

“We will” he reassured him.

OUTDOOR TRAINING SPACE - AFTERNOON

Taylor was packing her stuff, throwing everything in her bag. Training was over and it was raining again but this time she was prepared, she had already called for an uber that was supposed to be out in 10 minutes. She noticed him nearing by the corner of her eye, she thought that if she didn’t say anything at all he’d go away but for some reason he came and stood next to her, when she dropped one of her pens he knelt down before her but as he raised his body again his head crashed on her chin. She backed up, groaning and he held the top of his head annoyed. She held her chin, cursing.

“You had already seen me kneeling-“he yelled, rubbing his head.

“No one asked you to reach for it-“she spat back at him and snatched the pen from his hands throwing it on the bag.

“I was trying to help!”

“Try less.” She mumbled. Obviously still annoyed and offended by yesterday’s comments. He bit on the inside of his cheek, making a step closer. “I don’t like people invading my personal space.”

“I wanted to apologize.” He said quickly. Hands behind his back. Her head shot up, she searched for his eyes to see if was mocking her again. He seemed sincere and yet there was something that worried her, people didn’t change so quick and so easy. She narrowed her eyes.

“Galtier, made you say that?”

“No.” he laughed “We started off on the wrong foot and it’s my fault.” She listened, her eyes examining him, expecting him to start laughing in her face “I shouldn’t have said those things yesterday. I was just surprised to see you there.” She blushed, remembering their encounter and lifted her bag to hang it over her shoulder “you’re obviously gonna be here for a while so we have to find a way to coexist that doesn’t have you spilling your water all over me- or you know slapping me-“she laughed at that, she couldn’t help it.

“That’s a nice apology.” She shrugged

“Is it acceptable?”

“It’s been noted.” She smiled and started walking away, he trailed behind her.

“You know I wanted to talk to you about your notes” she stopped, looked at him. Her expression had gone back to suspicious “Whatever you said to Verratti it hit a chord. I was wondering what you have on me-“ he pointed at her bag.

“You did? Didn’t think you’d respect my opinions Kylian.”

“Marquinhos seems to be entertaining them. He talked with Verratti after you showed him your notebook-“

“That’s what this is about?” she laughed, shaking her head “I should have known. God. You have to work on your approaches.”

“I don’t understand what you mean-“

“You are trying to get close to me so you’ll read the notebook.” He laughed nervously, hiding his hands on his pockets “It’s not gonna work Kylian. You wanna know what my notes for you are? Respectfully to get your head out of your ass. “ she paused “You are one of the greatest players of our time and yet you choose to limit yourself time after time for show and pride. Six lost possessions and only 25 touches in Friday’s game and you wonder why my boss is dragging your ass? Why don’t you drop the tough guy act and admit that the only reason you hate me so much is because I’m right-“ she closed her eyes “I mean my boss is right- whatever it doesn’t matter.” She sighed “I have to go.” She turned to leave, stopping when hearing his next question.

“Your boss thinks I’m the greatest player of our time?”

She hesitated, thought about it but turned around eventually “That’s what you got from all that?” she scoffed “he thinks you could be. If you stopped trying to be the next Ronaldo and just be Mbappe.”

They stood still, looking at each other until he made a step forward. Suddenly he cared to know more, no one except Galtier had spoken to him like that but Galtier was his coach. She was just a girl, obviously not caring who he was. When she said she didn’t intimidate easy, she meant it “Do you?” he asked her and she seemed taken aback by the question. She took a minute before answering.

“I’m still trying to figure it out.” She said and walked away. “So far you’re just the greatest pain in my ass”

He stayed late in the gym that night, he didn’t want to go home.

It was lonely there and he had to find something to keep his distracted. Why did he care about what JW and that tiny person thought all of a sudden? Is that what drove him as insane as he was that they were right? Six missed possessions weren’t a small number. He took out his phone and searched for the girl’s Instagram, there were countless Taylor wilock’s. Some of the profile pictures didn’t even show their face and were private. He couldn’t find it. Then he got the notification on his phone about a new article on the JW website. He clicked on it, started reading:

“I’ve sent one of my journalists on the PSG headquarters and she has already spent 2 days with the team. When she gets back to me, she is always confused, mixed emotions she says. The team seems to lack not in skill but in spirit, like they’ve all fallen apart after the world cup and struggling to return on their roots. We have a broken-hearted Neymar that dives willingly into red cards, A Messi who is returning as a winner in the country he beat. A Hakimi that takes his exhaustion out on opponents, a Verratti that seems to be lacking moral and of course an Mbappe who has to work alongside the man that beat him to his second world cup. And these are supposed to be the wild cards, meanwhile the rest are falling apart behind them. It takes all pieces to complete a puzzle. Equal pieces. Even if some of them are golden...”

The golden child. That's what she called him when they first met, he thought.

TAYLOR'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

"think about it" said Marquinhos on the other line. She looked at her computer while the notifications on her latest post were going wild. "If they see your talent. It will be easier to trust you. Plus you'll see how the play firsthand" She was thinking about it. All the things that could go wrong, not for professionally but personally more than anything.

"fine. Yeah, I'll join the simulation game tomorrow." She agreed "but just for first half."

"I'll be honest. Seeing you against Kylian. That's gonna be fun."

"is that the only reason you want me to join the training?" She teased, petting the cat that had cuddled on her legs.

"isn't beating him the only reason you are accepting?”

Maybe, she thought. But she never said it.

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Kylian and Tay against each other? Playing on the field? What could possible go wrong? I Wanna say a big thank you to everyone reading and interacting, it means the world to me!! I hope you are gonna enjoy the ride and how excited are you to see these two together 👀👀 what do you think is going to happen? 👀👀

#kylian mbappe #mbappe imagines #mbappé #mbappe #mbappe x reader #football writing #football requests #neymar one shot #neymar x reader #neymar imagines #hakimi achraf one shot #hakimi achraf x reader #Spotify

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ladysomething · 3 months ago

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maddie, you're a freak. but a good one. as in those geniuses that were called freaks for being so so good kinda freak

1. look, I'm sad. of course. but I'm also relieved? I ended up being correct- to some extent (btw so did you. I did crashed over my bf, although it was before we broke up. that how we met. what a mistake. I should've pressed the gas harder) and now I happen to be traumatized over Max’s dream world, but that also means I know how his dream world is like! and. heaven, I'd unalive myself if I had to live that shit every. fucking. night. you're evil.

2. wygig kelly is my icon. queen. love her. P also. I'll also build her something. maybe a statue. btw do we ever learn who the fuck was the asshole that dared hurt her? or is it just... someone random. there are a lot of assholes walking around those streets. and also, the foreshadowing of something bad happening because you pretty much said "what's the worst this that can happen?" wants me to rip my hair out. buuut. I've decided to be positive for once because if Max is not going to be it, I will. they will speak and Kelly and P will be safe and Charles will understand. done. I'm a seer of future.

3. Max is an idiot, though I think we already knew that. but he's also an idiot who has a backstory- and a good one at that. poor little maxie never learned to control or deal or even understand his feelings. I want to push him into a bed and wrap him up with soft blankets and give him a sedative for horses and then read him the beauty and the beast and then give him a forehead kiss and then wish him good night. not in that order probably. the tale should come. before the sedative.

4. Sophie deserves every little good thing that there is in that fucked up world. I, also, wish to hug her. the diabetes my dad inherited me rushed to my blood about 15 years earlier with her. I love her. and Max being the mama's boy he rightfully is healed me.

5. can I repeat the procedure I already I carried out with my ex, but this time with Charles? I promise I'll try my best at being gentle, I know he's suffered as well. what. do. you. mean. he's not left Max's room. wHAT. WHAT.

6. +1. jos verstappen they will never make me like you. the only useful thing you've done ever in your life, was creating Max and Victoria. only that.

7. +2. my brother says that, I quote, he has already forgiven you for making him sad. that he begs you to never leave him with a cliffhanger like that again. (I tried to explain that's not how it works and that he has to be patient because you shall not be overworked in my sight.) then he apologized saying that's not what he meant and asked if you're doing good great nice. and that poor Max. and then poor Maddie. he says that he could've never kept such a plot twist to himself for so long. my roomie says that you're a freak as well. he means it good, too. and we all three wish you a (early) happy birthday hun! 😘 enjoy it.

I cannot finish without saying, I loved the chapter. you're a freak* ❤️

(*see the top paragraph for definition)

I FUCKING KNEW IT. GOD I'M GOOD.

we do of course learn who hurt Kelly. in fact, that information will be coming sooner than you think ..

truly max does need someone to calmly and gently explain to him how emotions work, and how he needs to channel them constructively rather than just be terrified that something bad will happen to anyone he cares about. I'm sure Max would argue that buying Charles and lying to him to keep him safe IS a constructive use of his emotions but. you know. there's a reason I'm the author and he's the idiot.

god I LOVE Sophie. the way she's had like two lines and I would die for her ...

CHARLES IS ALSO GOING THROUGH IT OK. he's also just a little traumatised pookie 😭

+1. when I was in Monaco, I saw the actual Jos Verstappen across the track. when I tell you I was sending him extreme glares even though he couldn't see them ... hopefully he picked up on my bad vibes though

+2. tell your bro that I was STRUGGLING. but also that there are several plot twists coming up that have been way harder to keep a secret, and that I still struggle with holding in. soooo. also the three of you teaming up to call me a freak .......... us all having a party when

#anon ask #where you go i go #wygig: max #wygig: charles #wygig: sophie #wygig: jos

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aclatural-tilt · 29 days ago

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When Among Crows | Veronica Roth

[Page 1] - Prelude | 'This isn't the forest guardian's usual haunt. He doesn't like it here. Perople come and they scraped the very bottoms of their wallets to build this place and there's nothing magic likes better than the great hollow of a debt. So magic nestled here.'

I am reminded why I was drawn into this book. The writing is somewhat wistful but in an ancient and restrained way. At least with how it introduces the premise.

Magic and debt being linked is an interesting correlation. Not to mention the descriptions give a very good sense of place in the story. Along with it a sense of deep respect with an underlying tension. And that's in the first few paragraphs.

You want to know more about this character and the properties magic like this possesses.

With that, I also want to address part of the synopsis. But I'll put that at the end so as not to spoil this journey.

[Page 3] 'He doesn't recall the man. But since the man stands before him with no apparent motive for deception, the leszy supposes he's to be believed.'

This simple acceptance of the world... is omething. A creature without the need to make a statement of themselves - or to presume anything of others. They reveal their own nature's in due time.

[Page 5] '"A contest. Does he dance? Does he sing?" "No." "He is raised to violence, as all of his kind are," the leszy says. "Perhaps he can weild a bow."'

As I said, he allows them to reveal theselves, in time. He tried skills which bring communities together... yet they were unknown to this visitor - intruder? Likely both on some level.

[The Prelude] - as a Whole It is highly engaging. The creatures are grounded and very interesting. Dymiter, you want to know more about. We learn he was prepared for what he seeks. And we know what that is. As of now, we've nothing else about him that's known. 'Not fearful nor murderous,' is what the leszy tells us. It seems he is an oddity of men among creatures.

He was deemed worthy of the fern flower. But what qualities does 'worthy' mean? What is actually held in his heart? On this night be bared it nakedly and guarded it staunchly.

[Page 13] '"I could guess, he said. "But it would be random." His grandmother smiled. "I told your father you were wise."'

Another thing we learn about Dymitr. And it is another nudge to us relating to his integrity.

[Chapter 2] I want to write about the feel of this chapter. It is an excellent set-up introducing some detail on the story elements touched on in the prelude. There's alos an intensity to the grandmother we are shown in this part. A sense that's hard to put into words.

[Page 16] 'He knows without looking at the bartender that she's not human. He's gotten good at sensing it without seeing it, that undeniable something that he can almost taste.'

This is good foreshadowing. Or maybe simply on theme for how this crafted world works. But either way, it alludes to that idea that Dymitr doesn't quite 'fit' with either established group. A blending of sensibilities.

'Though they have creature cousins all over the world.'

I like this line. Throughout culture's and mythology, there are many creatures and stories quite similar to one another despite little - or any connection.

[Page 19] 'She speaks Polish, but sounds American; someone caught in-between worlds in more than one way.'

How we conceptualize ourselves and how the world labels us will be a definite theme in this book. The exxtra information like this is coming from Dymitr's point of view, basically. His demeanor seems aloof but comments like this make me think something more is there.

[Page 31] In Totality

There's that sense of acceptance. And perhaps a quiet curiosity. Wanting to know more. However it might come across as hyocritical as he isn't willing to give his trust while asking for it.

[Page 32 to 33]

A strength of this author is their use of creating enchanting visuals. Ala showing Dynitr her visions via the illusions she can conjusre is quite visceral.

[Page 34] 'Humans are always talking out of both sides of their mouths.' and 'She's not sure a mortal has ever spoken to her that gently before.'

He continues to confuse them with his countenance. But she was right, earlier - he has the flower that could resolve her condition. Whether he gives trust or not, he shows some concern and proved that he has what he promised...

Now it goes back to what I mentioned earlier... his nature will be revealed in time.

However, he has also shown a certian level of respect. Much more than most of his kind... I guess that's enought in this context.

[Page 35] 'there's an air of carelessness about him in general'

It seems the aloof sense I got from him was accurate. Though I didn't think of him as so disheveled.

What his sister said to him earlier makes more sense now... 'I know you. You're acting strange. Tell me why.' At the time this was said - if felt out of place.

Now knowing that he isn't exactly doing the best at taking care of himself, it fits. That could be a change that she noticed in her brother.

[Page 39] 'She doesn't want to think about it anymore... the times that are lost, now.'

Wistful. The emotional undercurrent that runs through this story go deep. And just as it pulls you down into the muck, 'You shouldn't lose hope. Our people never do. We're foolish that way.'

This quality is what makes it my kind of story.

[Page 40 to 44] About Ala

I like the way Ala carries herself. Her demanor. Somewhat shy and yet brazen at the same time. Shy isn't wuite the right word - reserved?

That might be better suited.

[Page 46] 'not uncommon among strzygi in America, where people from all different places have sought refuge... even if not all of them found it.'

These nods to an undertone of disquiet that is felt deep into these characters' bones alight the story floating above it in such a contrasting glow. It is pervasive and makes even regular scenes seem intimate.

It wraps around you as it is them blurring this world and making you a part of the story, too.

[Page 49 to 53] - To the Page Break

The fight happening alongside the calm conversation adds depth to both of them. It is impressive considering it is also a characer introduction. Ala's friend is giving us osme more information about her. All the while challenging Dymitr's assumptions... I only wonder why he tells him as much as he does as readily as he does?

It could serve to show how much Ala means to him. She crought him there and is therefore worth a little weight. But that's also why he makes his relationship to him so clear.

This interaction does a lot and does it very well. And we get to see Ala in action. Accomplish something. It establishes her as capable.

In fact, the entire chapter shows Dymitr following her lead. Relying on her connections... he may have what she desperately needs but it didn't make her less important to the story. She has agency. And I love that.

This is impressive writing.

[Page 60] 'Lidia taps her fingers on the back of the sofa. Her fingernails are filed into neat ovals and painted deep red. She glances at the strzygy to her left, who leans forward to murmur something in her ear.'

It's al lin the use of the little details. Too perfect to be unintentional. It's what makes me love the writing of this book so much.

[Page 69] 'Half-souled beasts.'

[Page 69] 'Ala sometimes wished her moter could soften things for her, just a little. But she couldn't. She didn't know how to live in a world that wasn't straightforward. She had, for all her zmora talents, no patience for illusions.'

I think we need to be show how to regard the world a little bit kindly. A touch more so than it actually is. That is how we would come to know how to cultivate it. In ourselves, for others - if we wish it.

Contrast enrichens our experience in every capacity. Being stuck in the dark and the grime may numb you. And I don't know of any who manage to reain only in happiness.

I'd like to find another word other than 'happiness.'

[Page 79] 'mortals are always devising nonsense.'

Why is this limited to mortals? They may largely be in the dark about the ways of the various creatures hidden in plain sight - but they, too, must share the world. Live lives of their own.

In that regard, do they not share struggle?

The leszy in the beginning of the story makes the cmparison - though brief... what nonsense, then are these other living things devising?

[Page 82 to 83] 'People say there are two different worlds, Niko thinks. Human and not-so-human. But there arent', really - not when it counts.'

This is what I was trying to acknowledge earlier.

[Page 94] 'Thye are taught that humanity is worth. That all resemblance a being such as yourself bears to a human is an elaborate trick, a falsehood.'

Similar to the demons' in Frieren. Althought the show kind of shows how this is true, on some level. Though I believe it is a learned behaviour...

In this book, that opinion is simply incorrect. They are creatures merely living. Sometimes resorting only to suvival. And that means doing some ugly things.

But can you blame them? I don't think so.

[Page 112] '"I am not," Dymitr says, his voice breaking, "an ordinary mortal."'

Tricky. And last I read this, I missed details. Or simply don't remember them. Why would mentioning this cause his voice to lose steadiness? To admit it aloud. I'm sure his family - his grandmother would never allow such remorse for their position, nor hiding from the traditions they are cast in.

These small motions, I find filled with stories of themselves.

[Page 113] 'but now, it signals normalcy. Humanity.'

What do such street smells signal to the others?

A kind of normalcy for them, too. Although the mortal world has different kinds of secrets.

Honestly, Dymitr is closer to the other creatures than to mortals. Keeping what he is hidden. Having to 'blend in.'

- 'When among crows, caw like one,' right?

[Page 115] The Upior

The Upior sound similar to the denizens from The City of Last Chances. If orget what they were called... they were also skinny and gathered in groups.

I wonder if they come from cultual traditions similar to one another...

[Page 117] 'Dymitr told her to go hime. Apparently she didn't listen.'

Why did he expect her to?

[Page 119 to 121] To the Page Break

Niko is one compelling character made stranger by the reaction of those he interacts with. Like Sha, from the funeral home.

I also want to know more about Sha, herself. A brief introduction was not nearly enough.

[Page 123] '"You," Dymitr says, as he lowers his blade, "are not helping me. You are an encumberance. You are a burden." Even Niko can see how the words wound her.

Lowered one weapon only to weild another. Cruelty which is taught. It echoes what I said before about small gestures.

This interaction is impactful. The writing in every instance here is layered.

[Page 132] '"It's never just a name, boy," she says, "Dymitr comes from Demeter, a greek goddess of the harvest. A greek name for a Polish boy. A name of abundant life for a child raised to murder. That... is a special kind of joke.'

Nothing really to say here. It's just a good bit of dialogue.

Though I have thought of somthing... Demeter also mourns her daughter Persephone having been tricked by Hades and living in his realm most of the year... kind of fitting for someone filled with so much sorrow.

[Page 135] 'Suffering isn't atonement."

[Page 142] 'She doesn't reassure him, and he doesn't expet her to. No adult in his life has ever reassured him, not about the dark, or about the monsters that lurk in it, or about the violence of the world outside their walls.'

Likely not about the cruelty within their home, either. Perhaps worse in many ways for Dymitr than his siblings. He was 'chosen' by his grandmother... I'm willing to bet that set him apart from them.

Somehow he found a way to see what connects us. Even if he knew it only by the longing that left him hollow. Something felt can be something followed.

[Page 146] 'It doesn't feel like it's as powerful as it is, but maybe that's just how powerful thing are - they don't always need to declare themselves.'

I likely got this from womewhere but I don't remember when or where but my thinking is that if you need to tell the world how powerful or strong you are, then you aren't actually so.

And that can go with any quality, really.

Confidence doesn't feel the need to prove that it exists. It just is.

[Page 148] 'Her eyes lift to meet his, and for a moment he sees a spark of light there, like a child's delight. It's a feat for a woman who has seen and done so much, to still find room for wonder.'

It's an important thing, to know that the world will never be fully known. To find experience can affect you, so.

Wonder should be cherished. And cultivated. It has the ability to change us. To heal. That is much more difficult than hardhsip. Pay attention to the quiet moments.

[Page 149] 'She tilts her head as she regards him, and it's easy to see the strzyga buried deep in her blood, this way. Baba Jagais niether strzyga nor zmora nor mortal nor wraith, yet she's collected bits and pieces of so many things in her long years that she can, at times, resemble every one of them.'

I like this portrayl. And the way the magic of this world functions. It feels real. Not just possible but a part of this one - were it not a book. Excellent.

[Page 157] 'It woould be easier, in some ways, to hear the pain of the sword's destruction, then to enbrace whatever this is. "Foolish hope, remember?''

That's why it wouldn't be fitting. Or be an end. using the smae logic that you are trying to leave behind as a starting point to a new life would be a continuation rather than a conclusion.

But this, the choice made here, is forcing him to forgfe a new way of being. Not just living. It is a fantastic decision.

[Page 158] 'Ala: rarely unsure,'

The author gives these character descriptions late in the story. I like that as you are able to draw your own conclusions. At first, I didn't think that self-assured described Ala very well. But considering the story a moment - I do agree.

Ala throughout the chapters has been cautious though never skittish,or mousy.

Earlier I spoke of her agency and she doesn't shy away from making decisions and following through.

It's just that she allows people to be.

Reminds me of another description of her we got earlier... 'Gentle enough in spirit to live among mortals but fierce to endure their cruelty,' which does sum up Ala quite concisely.

[Page 163] 'He thinks he could even remember the man's name, if he reached for it, but he doesn't.'

I enjoy these choices. Thought I don't believe that Dymitr gave the leszy his name. Only told him he is a supplicant. I suppose it's possible that rumours spread and the leszy found out from those wandering his usual haunt.

[Synopsis] 'When Among Crows is swift and striking, drawing from the deep well of slavic folklore and asking if redemption and atonement can be found in embracing what we most fear.'

And what they most fear is having to live.

Being required to continue on alongside the choices you've made. Maybe not reconciling them but being a part of the world experiencing. New seasons wrought with emotion - and yes - perhaps consequences for your actions... yet you grow.

You learnt he breadth of what it means to be a living being.

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