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creating--memories · 2 months ago

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This is how it went

Part 5: I know I’ve kissed you before, I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?

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Wc: 2kish

Themes: angst, fluff

Warnings: mentions of divorce, light sexual content maybe?

Authors note: happy game day fic. hi I kind of hate the way this chapter came out, I’m feeling unsure where to go with this series b idk if I should continue, but here’s part 5 for now. Also unedited ofc, so lmk if there’s any serious errors.

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Paige slammed the back door of her dad’s CRV, her crutches clanking against each other as she flung them into the well of the backseat.

Bob turned around in the front seat, taking note of his daughter’s distress.

“Woah kid! what’s got you all riled up”

Paige turned her head to look out of the car window, refusing to make eye contact with her dad.

“Don’t want to talk about it” she mumbled

Bob sighed at her response, pondering over whether or not to keep pushing.

“Alright kiddo. Well you can always talk to me if you need” he said as he pulled the car into drive.

Paige tried to muster up a semblance of a smile, feeling sorry for shutting her dad out, but her mind was swirling with the afterthoughts of the scene that just played out in Azzi’s room moments ago. So instead she rested her head on the windowsill, closed her eyes and waited until they arrived home.

Paige loved her dad and she knew he would do anything for her, but they didn’t talk about the deeper stuff. After her mom left, she could feel the hole that ripped through her dad in every aspect of their lives. Even though he put up a tough front, Paige was old enough to see how badly he was hurting. Naturally, like the person she is, Paige wanted to protect him, she couldn’t bear to hurt him the same way her mom did. So she mostly kept her hardships to herself. When her dad met her stepmom, she saw the hole in her dad get a little bit smaller and Paige promised herself she was not going to be the one to reopen it. This is why when she met Azzi, she became grateful to have Katie and Tim around. For the first time, she felt like she had parent figures to open up to. And Paige didn’t just let the Fudd’s into her heart, Katie and Tim loved her like their daughter. They genuinely wanted to best for her.

But, Paige knew that even if the Fudd’s treated her like their daughter, Azzi was their *actual* daughter. So Tim Fudd was the last person she expected to see when there was a ring at her doorbell later that evening.

“What’s with the face Bueckers?” Laughed Tim when the blonde opened the door, gesturing to the look of shock on her face.

“Oh— sorry— hi Tim, just didn’t expect you that’s all. I figured you’d be busy taking pictures with Azzi and stuff.” She scratched the back of her neck at the last part of her sentence.

“I actually just dropped her off. I was driving by your house so I thought I’d stop by. Can I come in?”

Tim gestured past Paige.

Paige nodded, her mind still swirling with confusion, and stepped aside to make room for the older man to enter the house.

Tim walked through the home casually, like it was his own, and pulled out a chair to sit at the kitchen table. Paige hobbled over to the kitchen and stood across from Tim at the other end.

Paige swung her arms awkwardly

“Can I get you something to drink or something?”

“No that’s alright kid. Actually, I came here 'cause I wanted to talk.”

Tim gestured to the seat next to him, inviting the blonde to take a seat.

The younger girl cautiously took a seat, angling her chair so that her leg could stretch out next to her, letting her crutches clank on the floor.

Tim sat there quietly for a few moments. Paige shifting in her seat uncomfortably, still confused at what the older man wanted to talk about.

“You know Azzi was real sad you weren’t there for her prom sendoff.” said Tim finally

A pang of guilt spread across Paige’s face, she did feel bad for leaving her best friend on the night she had discussed excitedly for so long. But it didn’t last long once she remembered why she wasn’t there in the first place.

“It’s not my fault I wasn’t there. I'm sure John or James or whatever his name is kept her company” Paige scoffed and looked away from the man sitting in front of her.

“I know it’s not your fault Paige, I’m just letting you know she was sad” said Tim endearingly.

Paige fiddled with the strings on her sweatshirt, the guilt that had dissipated from earlier creeping back in.

“I know it sucks kid, and I know you’re angry. But you also gotta understand she’s just a kid, both of you are. You know how hard this year has been on her, the weight of coming back from injury and making a name for her college career has been crushing her.”

Paige finally looked up to meet Tim’s eyes with a look of understanding, her grudge against her younger best friend starting to fall.

The blonde let out a sigh of exasperation.

“I just hate it sometimes. I know I asked for it but sometimes I just wish we didn’t have all of this attention, I wish we were normal”

“I know kid, but if you were just two normal girls who lived on opposite sides of the country you never would have each other in your lives.”

Tim placed a hand on Paige’s shoulder

“And I think you’d hate that even more”

The corner of Paige’s lips curled into a small smile

“Do you think I can make it up to her?”

Tim reached into the drawstring backpack he had brought and pulled out a small plastic container that held a dainty corsage made up of light pink and purple roses along with a matching boutonniere and placed it on the table.

He pushed the box towards Paige.

“I’m not sure, but I think I know where you can start.”

—

Azzi sat on the curb of the sidewalk outside of her high school gym, her bare feet outstretched in front of her, heels discarded to her side waiting for her dad to pick her up. The last few stragglers from the dance exited the gym behind her, some heading home and others to the afterparty that was being held for their grade. Azzi couldn't go to the afterparty as she had basketball in the morning, not that she was feeling up for it anyway. Ever since earlier that day, she couldn’t get the words of her blonde best friend out of her head: “Maybe we shouldn't be anything at all”. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of it. It’s not like she didn’t understand why Paige was upset, she hated making her feel like this, but part of her was angry at Paige as well. She of all people knew how much pressure Azzi was under and how hard it had been on her.

“Why can’t she understand I just need a little more time?”

she thought to herself

Her dad’s car rolled up next to her on the sidewalk and she slipped her heels back on and made her way to the car.

“Hi beautiful, how was your night?”

Tim said with a smile as his daughter entered the car.

“It was a lot of fun, the music was awesome and we danced a lot…”

the end of Azzi’s sentence trailed off.

“But?”

responded Tim

Azzi smoothed out her dress on her lap, fidgeting with her clothing instead of looking at her dad.

“I don’t know… just felt like something was missing the whole night”

Tim hummed lowly in understanding

“Maybe a certain blonde-haired blue-eyed something?”

Azzi just gave a sad smile in response, as she continued to fidget with her hands.

Tim wrapped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

“I know kiddo. It may not feel like it, but I think she was missing you a lot too tonight”

Azzi turned her head to look out the passenger-side window

“I don’t know she seemed pretty adamant about *not* wanting to see me earlier” she mumbled

“You know blondie can be pretty dramatic, I’m sure she will be crawling back as soon as you know it”

consoled her dad

Azzi shrugged in response and continued staring out the window

—

As Azzi walked into her house she tossed her shoes to the side and started making her way to her bedroom, until she was stopped short by her dad.

“Hey Az, before you go upstairs could you come out back with me for a sec?” asked Tim

Azzi raised her eyebrows at her dad, confused by the strange request.

“And put your shoes back on” he added as his daughter’s face twisted into even more confusion

Azzi opened her mouth to protest, but Tim was already making his way to the back door.

—

Azzi grabbed the handle to the back door to open, finally close enough for her dad to listen to her protests.

“Dad what is this about, my feet hurt, I don’t really want to wear these— “

The brunette stopped mid-sentence at the sight she was met with in her backyard. Small fairy lights lined the trees on the perimeter of the small plot of land and continued over the Fudd’s family basketball hoop. On the ground sat a few small lanterns with fake candles illuminating the grass and pink and purple flowers scattered around. A small speaker playing soft R&B music hummed in the background. In the middle of the scene stood Paige, wearing a mildly ill-fitting suit and her hair slicked back into a low bun. In her hands, she was cradling a plastic box.

“Hi” Paige said nervously as the younger girl made her way over to her.

Azzi took in the sight of the older girl standing in front of her.

“Paige what—”

Paige grabbed one of Azzi’s hands in her own

“I’m sorry for earlier Az. I didn't mean any of it. I always want you in my life. I should’ve been more understanding.”

Azzi pulled the blonde closer and wrapped her arms around her tightly, resting her head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry too Paige. I never want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you. I should’ve told you how I was feeling earlier.”

The two girls stayed like that for a moment, grateful to be in the embrace of each other again, the frustrations from their argument rippling off of them and they sank into the hug.

Azzi pulled back from the hug first looking back to the decorations around them.

“did you do all of this yourself p?

“I had a little help” she said as she nodded towards Tim standing in the doorway.

Azzi couldn’t help but tear up a little bit, the thought of her dad helping Paige set everything up.

“Don’t stay up too late you two” yelled Tim as he smiled at the two girls and shut the door behind him

“Here I got something for you” Paige said as she struggled with the closure of the container.

Azzi slipped the yellow corsage from her date earlier off of her wrist and tossed it to the side.

“Do you want to put that inside? I know girls like to dry them and save them and stuff to look back on for memories or something, at least that’s what I’ve seen in movies” The older girl said, trying to be mature even though the thought of Azzi’s date wanted to make her scream.

“Nah, you know I hate yellow. Plus, I like this memory a lot better.” she said as she held out her wrist

Paige beamed at the younger girl's response, obediently placing the new corsage onto Azzi’s hand

“Where did you get this suit from?”

Azzi giggled at the blonde, as she pinned the boutonniere to the lapel of her jacket

“it’s one of Jose’s old ones; your mom helped me out a bit” said Paige.

She pulled the sides of the suit jacket back to reveal a lines of safety pins pulling in the fabric of the jacket in different places, a makeshift tailor job of sorts.

This caused Azzi to laugh even harder

“you’re incredible Paige”

Paige smiled back at her, letting out a few laughs as well

“Now, Ms. Fudd. May I have this dance?” she said as she reached for the younger girl’s hand

Azzi grabbed her hand and pulled her closer

“I would be delighted”

As the two of them swayed there to the soft sounds of Usher coming from the speaker, underneath fairy lights and a basketball hoop, Azzi couldn’t ask for a better prom night.

—

When the two girls finally made their way back into the house it was well past midnight and they tiptoed carefully up the stairs to Azzi’s room. Paige had insisted she must carry Azzi up the stairs when she said her feet hurt, but Azzi, younger but wiser, refused, not wanting to hurt the injured girl even more, so she settled for carrying her shoes and small handbag.

When they finally reached the younger girls bedroom they both flung themselves onto the bed facing the ceiling. After a bit Paige turned on her side to face the younger girl.

“You tired?” She said

Azzi propped herself up on her elbows to look at her best friend in the eyes.

“Surprisingly? No.”

Paige grinned at the answer

“Me neither, wanna watch frozen”

Azzi smiled and flashed a game expression of shock

“Duh”

Paige started to sit up to grab Azzi’s laptop but the brunette pulled her back down by her wrist.

“Paige?” She said hesitantly

“Yeah?”

Azzi’s eyes locked onto the girl in front of her

“Thank you for tonight. This was better than any prom I could have imagined” her voice was soft and low, the sincerity of her words clear.

The gap between them felt smaller now.

“Me too Az, I’m just glad I got to spend it with you”

Azzi rubbed small circles on the blondes wrist as they stared into each others eyes, both of them refusing to break contact.

Azzi leaned in slightly and took a short breath in. Paige followed the younger girls lead, pressing their lips together. They moved in sync, Azzi tilting her head slightly to allow the older girl to deepen the kiss. What started out as a soft peck, slowly transformed into something needier. Paige moved her hand to cup Azzi’s jaw and pulled her in deeper, breathing in the scent of the vanilla lavender perfume she wore. Azzi hummed at the increase in proximity as her hands roamed across the older girls back. Paige parted her mouth slightly, giving Azzi the perfect opportunity to slot her tongue in between her lips. Their tongues intertwined between them, both girls sighing into each other.

Paige pushed herself up with her hands, positioning herself fully ontop of Azzi. She leaned in to reconnect their lips but the younger girl pulled away.

“Paige?”

“Yeah? Is everything ok Az? We can stop if—“

“I’m a virgin” Azzi blurted out

Not expecting that at all, the blonde stared back at her for a second.

“Oh— um— yeah. That’s ok Az, I am too.”

She felt slightly embarrassed, not that Azzi would care, but she had been this big hot shot at school, constantly hyping up how cool UConn was to the younger girl, it felt a like embarrassing to admit that despite all of that she was still a virgin.

Azzi laid a hand on the blondes bicep, sending a shiver down her arm.

“I want my first time to be with someone special, someone I feel safe with. I want it to be with you”

Paige’s heart beat out of her chest, the younger girls words finally hitting her.

“I think… I think I want that too.”

Azzi smiled up at Paige, a smile of reassurance and comfort that mesmerized the older girl.

Paige leaned back down to kiss the brunette beneath her, sinking their bodies further into the mattress. Azzi couldn’t help but laugh a little to herself, how cliche? Losing your virginity on prom night. But as long as it was with Paige she didn’t care what night it was.

Paige’s hands moved up Azzi’s arms and pulled down the sparkly straps of her dress her collarbone fully exposed. Azzi’s breath hitched at her actions, and she pulled the older girl even closer for a moment before pulling back once more.

“I love you p, I hope you know that”

Paige felt tears trying to escape her eyes.

“I know Az. I love you too”

And before she knew it Azzi was pulling her back in, crashing their lips together again.

Azzi didn’t pull back again for a while.

—

Later that night, as they laid tingled in rather bodies, Paige passed out asleep, Azzi stirred slightly. Careful not to wager the peacefully sleeping blonde next to her she climbed out of bed and grabbed the corsage off of her desk.

She grabbed the heaviest book she could find and opened it to the middle pages. Carefully she placed the pink and purple flowers in between the pages and closed the book firmly, before grabbing a few more to weigh it down. She placed the carefully arranged stack back onto her bookshelf and crashed back into bed, slotting herself back into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“Now I’ll never forget this night” she whispered as she fell asleep to the sound of Paige’s breathing.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #paige buckets #pazzi fics #pazzi is real #pazzi crumbs #pazzi fic #this is how it went fic #Spotify

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thecoolerliauditore · 4 months ago

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Hi. I'll bite. What's the Jimmy ecosystem?

(completely genuine, feel free to direct me to an older post if there is one, i just didn't find it)

oh my goodness, an excuse to explain one of my strange pidgin language-esque terms of convenience that I'm not quite sure anyone understands outside of one or two people. that tubbytarchia guy put it into words pretty well if you're looking for the short version.

long version below:

"jimmy ecosystem" is more or less a shorthand I started saying to refer to the social system that keeps jimmy in his role of being "the worst one" (the butt of the joke, the one who goes out first, the obstacle to be surmounted, so on and so forth).

on the CC side of things, I think the imp and skizz podcast episode with joel put it best on how this came to be: jimmy is good at the youtube thing, and happy to be mocked or humiliated for the sake of making content. He's your guy for any gag, there's no wonder why he plays the goofy antagonist for so many of the POVs in esmp2.

but this creates a. very strange and sad effect when you look in from the perspective of character interpretation. esmp2 jimmy, for example, by being the bad guy in so many people's stories (especially when he really hasn't done much at all to earn the mockery he gets) feels more upsetting when you're watching his POV and it seems like no matter where he goes he gets mocked and bullied.

it carries over to almost every series: life series jimmy specifically gets this very clearly shown through his knack for being out first.

in a way I almost see the ecosystem and its effect on Jimmy (and Jimmy's performance) as an alternative school of thought to the canary curse. Both are concepts that explore Jimmy's "badness" being something forced upon him rather than something innate or entirely his failings as a player/person. Except while the canary curse ascribes the blame to nebulous concepts like The Watchers, the ecosystem puts the blame squarely on the people surrounding Jimmy who work at keeping him down. (<-- not that people can't like both ofc)

I used the term "ecosystem" because 1. it sounded funny and 2. it was what I felt like was the most fitting term, since the ecosystem especially when applied to the life series isn't so much people poking jimmy for fun but rather that and using it directly to their advantage to life themselves up. If Jimmy isn't out first, someone else will be, it might even be you, and you wouldn't want that so it is genuinely incentivized for you to keep Jimmy down as much as possible. This part has always been a bit heavy on the headcanon territory since historically the worse performing players are the ones much kinder to Jimmy, but it's definitely something to look at case-by-case.

Outside of literally his performance in the life series, I and others have also used The Ecosystem quite a lot to refer to Jimmy's relationships, mostly those with other men. Since Jimmy loves to do flirty bits, it spawns a lot of romantic plotlines, and when conjoined with the aforementioned inescapable bullying bit it gets... Weird, when you write about the characters.

With the exception of Tango, all of Jimmy's popular ship partners frequently hit, berate, mock and humiliate him, but all in their own special and unique ways. But one thing that tends to stay the same is that their relationships are nearly always more built on what the partner desires to get out of Jimmy.

I could go on but essentially: the ecosystem acts to me as an exploration of the intersection of skill at the game and worth as a person, as well as the themes of masculinity and gayness that I've found tend to pop up again and again in Jimmy's story. If you choose to read it as a story, of course.

Those initiated into the Ecosystem (Joel, Scott, Martyn, Grian, Fwhip, Sausage) have an understanding that Jimmy plays a certain lowest rung role in their social order and work to maintain that order for their own benefit (NUANCE button may be pressed here especially re: those first three). Those outside of the Ecosystem view it as a natural order they shouldn't disturb, sometimes even catching onto certain beliefs, e.g. "Jimmy is worse than everyone else" and internalizing them (Etho is a good example with how he was more or less Jimmy-neutral at the start of the life series and by the time SL/WL was happening he very casually says stuff like "oh, it's just Jimmy,"), few are completely oblivious to it and the fact that bullying Jimmy is what they Should Do socially but still will join in when prompted (Tango and Scar are very good examples).

If you've noticed that I've only listed male players, that is very much on purpose since even though there are women very much aware and participating in the ecosystem -- lizzie being the biggest example -- their involvement is, at least to me, noticeably a different flavour compared to the guys. Which I suppose makes enough sense with how much of it feels like a pseudoscientific wolf pack macho dynamic (and it probably doesn't help that they are entirely immune to the gay bits). Women in the Jimmy ecosystem is probably an entire post on its own, Lizzie alone could probably get quite a few paragraphs out of me.

anyway. very funny also to me to imagine jimmy as some sort of amoeba.

#asks

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bamboozledbird · 7 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own.

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart.

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century.

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope.

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You’d almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better.

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen had seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away.

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer.

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time.

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a crowded collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today the only colors you could see from the front door were varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.”

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction.

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness.

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?”

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies.

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.”

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.”

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be.

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.”

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal.

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.”

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years.

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you—

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction.

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information.

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl.

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased.

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'.

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter.

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them.

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily.

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though.

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room.

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours.

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time.

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm.

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his.

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it.

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.”

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair.

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?”

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails.

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.”

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said.

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure.

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott��s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying.

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.”

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them.

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth.

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet.

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride.

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath.

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.”

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

****************************

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost.

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ��Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned.

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it.

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved.

Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud. A constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could drown out all the screaming and icy silences, but you'd tried. Oh how you'd tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem.

In comparison, your house was the Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know.

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She'd always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She used to read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes had inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You'd usually take turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm.

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.”

Lydia, you'd argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin.

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence.

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone.

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs.

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped.

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?”

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows.

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply.

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.”

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands.

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number.

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked.

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess.

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls.

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue.

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills.

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop—but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious.

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.”

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused.

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over, but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest. You rocked the soles of your boots from heel to toe, like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “It’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.”

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.”

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing down until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. Stiles narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips.

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine.

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you

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miriadalia · 5 months ago

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Alright so, by now in part 2 we have:

People flying to the other side of the globe faster than Flash and with no jetlag consequences apparently 🙄

Robby being SA but everyone treating this as some kind of infidelity or fling (even him, wtf??)

Demetri being unfaithful to his girlfriend (though I was not exactly surprised by this 🙄) Yasmine you deserve better gurl...

Spanish team representation being SO WRONG. And I know because I'm Spanish: we don't say "Ándale" like they were saying when hyping Diego before his fight. That's a Mexican word 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️ and Maria's surname should have been Álvarez and not Àlvarez, we don't have this accent (`) in Spanish. Please it's really not that difficult to make accurate representations... Especially because THEY WENT TO FREAKING SPAIN!!! Study a little bit for goodness sake!

Korean Cobra Kais being 2D bad guys that apparently don't have any more personality than being violent and ruining everything for Miyagi Do. Seems like only Americans are allowed to have a complex backstory and profound motivations to win. Like: even Axel got the "abused athlete" foreshadow... and he literally had 2 lines of dialogue.

Speaking of Axel, my guy really fell head over heels for Sam in 2 seconds like... That is some other level of crushing here 😳 creepy...

And speaking of the Korean team: wasn't Kwon like the outcast rebel of his class? Now why is everyone suddenly super friendly with him?? Especially Yoon! What happened? Because I understand they respect him now as he earned his place as captain (violently ofc). But they were giggling all over the place wtf...

Tory's mindset and trauma after her mother's death being treated SO LIGHTLY that I want to scream 😖😖. Do you think she would really be in the right headspace to argue about "stealing my boyfriend, bitch"?? Haven't you ever lost a loved one?? I have, and let me tell you: you don't have the heart to suffer for anything else than your loss... Especially not after just one or two weeks.

And then she even had to watch a teammate fucking DIE right before her eyes. Thank you writers for another trauma🤮🤮

And of course, we arrive to Kwon's death... Listen, I don't have anything else to comment rather than: yes, some people are such psychopaths that can't even see how their actions may result in hurting themselves, and they decided to make Kwon a lost cause (I get it, would have preferred some backstory scenes of him to fully understand it, but I get it).

What I don't understand and really gets on my nerves is how ridiculously stupid the reason of the brawl was in the first place. Are you telling me there was not a single sensei apart from Daniel, Johnny and Chozen that would have stopped the fight?? They were like: fuck, yeah, let's allow these kids to fight until they get seriously injured. Let them run up the stairs and kick each other as if they were made of rubber and they wouldn't die if they fall.........

I know that in the professional sports' world there's so much competition and substance use. And that was realistic. But it's teens we are talking about. Really anyone had a good sensei??? Anyone?

Because if that's how it is then I don't see how Cobra Kai might end in part 3 other than banning karate in every country.

That's all for now...

I was really enjoying the season until the end of episode 7 or something...

I hate it when the shock factor wins over the emotional and coherent plot...

That "strategy" has ruined so many good series, and now I don't really feel like watching part 3 😔

#cobra kai #cobra kai season 6 #cobra kai part 2 #tory nichols #kwon jae sung #cobra kai kwon #robby keene #johnny lawrence #sam larusso #daniel larusso #miguel diaz #ck spoilers

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inkedinshadows · 10 days ago

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What do you think of the spring court destruction arc? I fully recognise Tamlin was abusive and a bad ruler and deserved Feyre's hatred but that wasn't about him, thousands of people suffered and it made the entire position of all the Courts weaker, made things easier for Hybern and for what? And yes maybe Tamlin was being dumb but he obviously was trying to be a double agent in that scenario and not trying to betray them all, something both Feyre and Rhysand had done. Obviously if he's dumb about it and can ruin things then stop him but it's weird to call him a traitor in that regard idk.

My opinion on this changed a lot after my second read of the series.

The first time I read the books, I was like "you go girl!!! Yess!!! He deserves it! Girlboss!! Girlpower! YAY FEYRE GO!" I loved that whole part, I hated Tamlin, Feyre could do no wrong in my eyes. How dare he try to get her back from the Night Court after he had locked her up and made her miserable? He absolutely deserved what he got.

But then I read the books again, knowing the full context and with a better understanding of the characters. And now I agree with you. It didn't make much sense.

I fully understand Feyre. She was mad and hurt and wanted to punish Tamlin for what he did to her (and her sisters bc if I'm not wrong she blames him for Elain and Nesta being kidnapped by Hybern).

But I also understand Tamlin. The Night Court had a horrible reputation and he didn't know why Rhys did the things he did while UTM. I, too, would probably believe Rhys was mind controlling Feyre. And I'll be honest, I can also understand why Tamlin locked Feyre in the manor. I'm not saying he was right and that it wasn't wrong and fucked up, but simply that I can see why he thought it would keep Feyre safe and why she'd need to be kept safe in the first place.

Destroying the Spring Court because of it was a dumb decision, and not only from a political point of view. Personal reasons are not enough to tear down a court, which is basically like a country on its own. The scene with the water wraith was also unnecessary because why use that to make Tamlin seem like a bad ruler? I don't remember right now how the scene goes and how exactly he behaves, but I don't see what's wrong with him making people pay taxes? It's how the world works. If he allows someone to skip one payment, then others will ask to skip it too and then nobody will pay them and how will he be able to sustain the court? Maybe he could have been less harsh on the wraiths and try to help them more, but blaming him for having a tithe makes no sense.

Also, from Tamlin's pov, as I said, he had every reason to believe Feyre was abducted by the Night Court and not there by her own choice. Allying with Hybern to try and get her back was extreme, but he probably thought she was being tortured. Like Rhysand said (in acofas i think, but idk), Tamlin loved Feyre so it's something everybody agrees on. He did what he thought was right to save her because he didn't have evidence of Feyre not needing saving from the Night Court (a written note and her summoning Illyrian wings is not enough evidence, not with the reputation the NC and the IC had).

I don't think Tamlin is a traitor. He never allied with Hybern because he thought they were right, but to use them. He'd planned on betraying them and be a double agent from the beginning, but ofc no one knew bc that's the whole point of a double agent (like Rhys with Amarantha, like you said). I also don't think he needs a redemption arc. He's not a villain and he's not evil. What he needs is a healing arc and understanding what he did wrong with Feyre.

So yes, I think the spring court destruction arc was a stupid political move and I don't understand how politically important people like the IC, including the HIGH LORD and even AMREN who's supposed to be the wisest there, didn't condemn Feyre's actions but praised them. I get that Rhys was biased, but he was not thinking as a High Lord in that moment. And her actions are what led to Hybern invading Prythian. Not to mention the innocent people of the spring court who had done nothing wrong and suddenly had to leave their homes bc of it.

#is this the same anon of the previous questions?#or is it three different people?#either way keep em coming #i love analyzing these things #bc i do have opinions about stuff but since i dont have anyone to talk to i never worded them properlu #so writing them down also helps me better understand my own views and opinions lol #hope it makes sense #tamlin #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #asks #anon

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gloriousdreamerland · 18 days ago

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Wait for me?

Series masterlist

Pairing: George Weasley x Ravenclawn! Fem! Reader

Warning: Bullying (not by George ofc); Insecurities; Bad english and bad writing (really bad); quidditch accident; A little bit of George's POV

Words: 5K

Autor notes: My favorite chapter until nowwww

Synopsis: Angelina and Fred are tying the knot and suddenly Y/N has to face unresolved feelings for George, which is even worse considering she never told him they are soulmates. 9 days of partying are more like 9 days of torture, hopefully she will survive, only if he stops giving her a heart attack every five minutes.

Just let me be close to you - 03

“I believe in true love. I believe in love at first sight. I believe love conquers all. And that doesn't mean there's not gonna be hard days or difficult things to deal with, because there will be. But finding that person who does it for you and knowing that person loves you back it just makes everything so much easier.” -Haley James Scott, One tree hill.

“I know, mom, i know” Y/N signed to the phone and laid on her back in her bed. Katie decided to take a quick jog, but soon she would be back and she didn’t need to hear this kind of conversation.

Usually, wizards would communicate with their families with letters and owls, but, even though half of her family isn’t muggle, a significant part is, and after so much time spend only in the muggle world, Y/N and her immediate family have noticed that communicating with phones is a lot easier.

That doesn’t mean she stopped sending letters, she’s still fond of them.

“Don’t talk back like that, little missy. I’m serious, and you should be too, not only that friend of yours is getting married, but cousin Sarah got engaged to her soulmate yesterday too” Her mom sounded annoyed on the phone, which is no surprise, she's always annoyed when the subject is her lovelife.

The feeling is mutual.

“Really? Good for her” She is really happy for Sarah, but it sounded more snappy than happy.

It all started after the war: rushing to meet her soulmate and get married, her mom acts like if she yells enough she might meet her soulmate sooner.

I mean, she already met him, but that's not the point.

In the beginning this type of calls would be rare, like once in a month, then she got her first muggle boyfriend. This made something snap.

Matt was her first attempt in getting over George. It was really selfish of her to try to start a relationship to get over the other, even if it didn't even start, but she really thought she could love Matt.

The first dinner with her parents really went well, but she felt something was off. She just got what was wrong when a month later they broke up and her parents started these intervention sessions.

They didn’t end up on bad terms, they just realized they weren't made for each other, since then she didn’t enter any relationships, she had a date here and there, but nothing serious.

Maybe Geroge was having more luck in that aspect.

“Y/N. Don’t talk like that to your mom” her father's voice echoed in the room, but a little too far to be the one holding the phone. Her mother actually put it on speakerphone to scold her.

“I just didn’t have the luck to meet him, what can I do?” The girl took a deep breath trying to not get worked up. Arguing with them is Like talking with a wall.

“Well if you stopped going on random dates maybe he would show up, and didn’t your father learn a spell that could help you find him?” If Y/N could she would throw it on the wall. This damn spell is hard, even repulsive in her opinion. It would make her throw up for weeks until she found him, maybe something related to the mecânica behind it, like using a cheat code to find your other half could hurt you.

“I already said it. I'm not using that damn thing to find him. Couldn't you wait just like me? What are you so anxious for? I'm happy and fine, shouldn't that be enough?” She could feel her eyes threatening to water. The burn of crying.

“You’re not happy. After the war you-”

“And finding a soulmate is gonna fix that?!”

“Stop the attitude, little missy”

She had enough of it.

“Look, i’m busy right now, wedding plans and all, i got to go…love you.”

“We love you too, take care.”

And with that one of the most torturous experiences of her life ended. It only doesn't win as the most torturous experience because they would probably call again until the wedding.

They aren't bad bad parents, they’re just terribly anxious, just like her. Her parents always treated her with love and kindness, always were at school events and sent her letters almost everyday ever since she began in Hogwarts, it’s just that they fell so sickly in love that they want it for everyone, including their daughter. They can be a lot passionate about it.

This got worse after the war. Maybe it was not just the feeling that she was giving up on finding her soulmate that scared them, maybe it was seeing in war how life can end in front of your eyes that got them like this, like there wasn’t enough time. They need to understand that living like this isn’t really living, it is surviving.

Understanding that the fact that life could end on a random Thursday means you need to live life to it’s fullest, not living fearing tomorrow.

Sadly, Y/N now has to live with that. Hopefully it’ll get better after all these weddings, maybe she’ll convince them to go on vacation to ease the nerves.

These calls always darkened her mood and days like this weren't the best ones either. But today is not any of these unimportant days, she’s here to celebrate Angie and Fred’s love and she's not gonna let them down, so she better put on of her best smiles in her face and go face the world again.

Just more five minutes of self depreciation and she’ll be brand new.

…

Ok, maybe after ten minutes.

BANG

“Ah!!” Y/N screamed as she fell off the bead. Today definitely isn’t her day. The girl opened her eyes, feeling sore from the fall, and found the brown eyes of Katie Bell.

“Y/N!” Katie stood beside her friend. “I’m just super excited, guess what we’re doing today!” The girl wasn’t lying, and she was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“Uh…I don't know, baking?” She tried her best to match Katie's humor, but after that call, and after falling from the bed, it’s hard.

“We're playing quidditch in the backyard!” Katie smiled “Angelina and Fred wanted to do something fun with the bridesmaid and the groomsmen, since not everyone knows each other well, y'know?”

“Sounds fun, when will we go play?” This time her smile was truer. Maybe this will make her forget what happened.

“We’re getting breakfast before going. Are you coming?” Katie asked before heading out again.

“I'll see you there”

Breakfast with that many families sharing a house was almost like a party. Few rooms were vacant, all the others were bubbling with conversation and laughter.

Y/N, the bride, the groom and all their friends took a table to the garden to enjoy the sunny day, close to the place where they will play quidditch.

It’s funny how things can change overnight. Now, instead of avoiding George, Y/N is making an effort to be close to him. Actually, making an effort to not think too much of it, afterall, she always wanted to be close to him. So, even if her heart was threatening to leap out of her chest, she took a set beside him and helped him with his coffee.

Also, it’s funny how some things never change. George still likes his pancakes with berries, Y/N still finds him the funniest person on the table -actually, In every table- and Angie’s glare at Y/N is still as hard as in Hogwarts. Angie found this situation stupid then and still thinks it’s stupid now.

Now, after everyone finished, they reunited in vast feud between two big trees that grow in an “Y” shape that could easily be used as goals. She’s kinda nervous to be playing again, it’s been years since she flies on a broom, but it must be like bikes, right? You never forget how to use it. It didn’t help that she wasn’t that good in Hogwarts either, she never made it to the quidditch team, but even if losing almost every time, she always had fun playing.

Anything to forget today’s call.

Damn it, she remembered again.

“Everyone is here?” Lee Jordan asked

“I think so, did Leah and Hanna get back from the bathroom?” Katie answered.

Y/L took a look around the space zooming out. She didn’t remember this place from the last time she visited the Johnsons, maybe she wanted it done for the wedding. Considering that the two most extravagant and outgoing people were getting married, it's not impossible.

“Quite the view, right?” George mentioned beside her, taking a look at the paisaje.

“Yeah, playing here it will be awesome” She smiled at him and got closer to his ear “Even with you appearing like a ghost i didn’t get surprised. You’ll have to work on your game”

“You’re getting bold.” He lagged “Next time you won’t even hear me coming.”

“I pay too much attention to you for that to happen.” Y/N said without even thinking. Just when the deeper meaning of her words got to her, Y/N's face turned red and George’s smirk got bigger. In an attempt to hide her shyness, she linked their arms and started dragging him back to the group. “Let’s go back to the group, they must be starting the game.”

George didn’t dare to say or do anything, he just enjoyed the view of her.

Returning to the group, they’re still on the ground with no signs of starting the game anytime soon, all still busy chatting.

“Oh now that the love birds are finally back we can get this started” Fred joked earning a slap in the arm from his fiance, who probably said to him to don’t do anything stupid and not scare Y/N off.

“Oh, fuck off!” George said to his twin while Y/N took her arm off of his in a blink.

George resisted the urge to put their arms back together and resigned to standing close to her.

While they were talking, Leah finally got to their meeting, but Hanna's absence caught their attention, and even worse, something horrible was creeping beside the girl, something pure evil, something like Natasha. Y/N was hoping she was having heat stroke symptoms and started seeing things.

“Hey, where is Hanna? And what is Nathasa doing here? She isn’t a bridesmaid.” Angie asked the two of them, not making an effort to hide her discontentment.

Y/N never shared with anyone the things Natasha was doing to her, not even with Angie, but the girl, being the amazing best friend and human being that she is, caught up that something has been happening and instantly took Y/N’s side. Angie is good like that.

“She wasn’t feeling well and went back to her room and while I was coming here, Natasha asked if she could come too, and now that we’re missing a person, i didn’t think much of it and let her come along” Leah shrugged.

“It sounded so fun! You guys don’t mind if I play too right?” Natasha smiled at them, anyone would think it was a sweet smile, but Y/N knew her too well, especially when her eyes stopped on her a little too long. Oh well.

“It’s fine, I guess…” Angie rolled her eyes and tried to be more cheerful. “This is how it’s gonna be: I'll toss a coin for each one, you'll be team bride with head, or team groom with tails” She pretended to “be mad” trying to mess with the groom. “We’ll be doing this until one of the teams is full, the rest will go to the other. C’mon, guys, make a line.”

The group started doing the line as asked, soon enough the game would start.

“You’re hoping to be on the bride’s team, right?” George asked her.

“Obviously. I make a good team with Angie, she’s my best friend after all. What about you? Hoping to be on Fred’s? I suppose that will make us enemies.” She smiled at him.

“Actually, I'm hoping to be on your team.” His smile has a kind of teasing undertone. Just like his personality. This time she didn’t turn away, even if blushing.

“You’re cheeky today”

“I’m just honest” Her smile deepened, not breaking eye contact. He put a hand behind her and took them to the line. “C’mon, let’s see if destiny is on my side.”

The first one to go was George, Angie flipped the coin with her right hand, got with her left and turned on the back of her right hand. Heads, team of the bride.

He gave the bride a high five and waited for Y/N's turn behind Angie with a look of expectation. It 's now or never.

“You’re my best friend, you better come to my team!” Angie joked while flipping the coin once again. Y/N could've sworn that she saw the coin going heads in her left hand, that is, when she turned the coin in the back of her hand it should have been tails. Then, once again: Heads, the team of the bride.

She looked confused and happy at the result, but then one look at George’s face and she figured it all out. He has just finished casting a spell. With a smirk on her face, she gave Angie a quick hug and went to meet with George, whose happiness matched hers.

“You’re trouble, really.” She whispered to him, trying to not look suspicious and drew them attention.

“You wound me, Y/N!” He faked innocence. “All I wanted was to be on the same team as you. Luck is on my side.”

“Definitely trouble, the good kind of trouble”

“My dear, Y/N, I think our destinies are intertwined. This is prof.”

He had no idea how much.

The moment she thought the day couldn't get any worse she couldn't have been more wrong. Murphy’s law is proven right. Again.

Shocking a total of 0 people, these years she didn’t play quidditch didn’t do any good to her, quite the opposite. She’s playing as a chaser. She is not motor-coordinated enough to be a beater, nor is she fast enough to be a seeker. The chaser position should be the ideal position for her. Keywords: Should be.

The bride’s team is losing to the groom’s team by a score of 10 to 15. It's not a landslide victory, but it’s enough to make Angie snappy, probably her old capitan coming to light once again. It’s a good thing Y/N never made it to the team, playing against Agie would be harsh.

“Y/N!” Angie screamed flying beside her “Eyes on the Quaffle. I'm going to kill you if you lose the goal again!” And just like that she’s gone again, going after the Golden Snitch.

Getting the Quaffle back wasn’t a problem to Y/N, she wasn’t good, but wasn’t that bad either, but her aim…It definitely is something else. She aimed wrong, not one, two, not even five times, but eight, and it was driving Angelina crazy.

Trying to not embarrass herself any further, she tried to concentrate twice as much on the game, eyes on Quaffle the whole time, she flew past the adversary team, almost standing in front of the goalkeeper.

The other times she lost it cuz she got nervous and tried too much to aim at the goal, so, if she tried the opposite, maybe she would finally score for once, and that’s what she did. Without thinking much, she threw the Quaffle to one of the trees that was being used as a goal, and the goalkeeper, thinking she was using the same modus operandi, was surprised by the sudden change of attitude.

Score!

“Well done, Y/N!” George gave her a high five before going back to the game.

Take that, suckers!

Full of confidence, she was finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, a last hope for Quidditch. Then, when the Keeper threw the Quaffle back, she went at full speed after it.

Then she was thrown to the side, almost falling. And in front of her, Natasha’s smiling face . “Not so fast, Y/N. Beginner luck isn’t getting you anywhere” Fury blurred Y/N’s vision and she runned -well, flew- after Natasha, it wasn’t just about the game, it’s about all these years when she didn’t stand up for herself.

With George and Tony, one of the groomsmen, she tried and tried and tried to get the quaffle back without any success, but she wasn’t giving up anytime soon. Maybe Angie could catch the Golden Snitch before the end of the game, all Y/N had to do was keep Natasha busy.

And maybe make a few points, for the restoration of your ego.

Keeping the ego in check is important, because just when Natasha was getting even more smug, if that’s even possible, she made a mistake and didn’t keep her guard up: The perfect time for Y/N to take action, and she did, finally stealing the Quaffle.

“Try to keep it up, Natasha!” Y/N confidently shouted to her opponent as she flew at high speed towards the goal on the other side of the field.

Once again: Keeping the ego in check. A simple distraction could be the end of everything. She wasn’t the only one who got happy when she finally stole the Quaffle, George also cheered for her. He’s one of the best beaters she knows, he and his twin brother always were successful because of this in Hogwarts, but even the best ones can let their guard down, and sadly he did.

When he least expected, a bludger came running out of nowhere in his direction, any keeper would’ve seen that, but he was distracted, so Y/N took a turn.

She had the ebay intentions doing that, she would pull him away from the Bludger and then she would return to her original route.

Y/N did pull him away from the Bludger and away from the danger. The worst happened just after.

Before she could follow part 2 of the plan, something -or someone- pushed her again to the side, with full force this time.

What scared her was the force gravity was pulling her to the ground and the way the green grass was getting closer and closer by second.

Then it all turned black.

George couldn’t believe anyone could be more shameless than Nathasha Johnson, he really wanted to scream at her face for what she did, but his mother raised him better than this, though he would do this for Y/N.

Y/N who is now laying on the ground unconscious while Natasha had the guts to fake cry that she didn’t mean for this to happen, but he saw the look on her face when she pushed Y/N on the damn ground.

He will need to talk to her about this later, but first she needs to wake up.

As soon as he saw what was happening, he tried to save her from the fall, sadly, he wasn’t fast enough. His thoughts running miler per second, he put her head in his lap and desperately tried to wake her up.

“Y/N, c’mon.” He called her, testing if this would make her gain conscience. People have gotten really hurt while playing quidditch. She really needs to wake up. “C’mon, Love, open your eyes. please.” He tried shaking her, calling her, anything that could help her wake up.

In seconds, all of the friend group -and stupid Natasha- flew down to see Y/N’s state.

“Hey, give her space.” He tried to protect her from the little crowd that was gathering around these two.

“George, what happened? She fell down?” Angie asked him, getting worried by the second.

“We need to take her away from here. Get first aid.” He said while picking the girl up, with her legs in his arms and her head on his shoulder.

“Let’s take her back to the house. I think I have a first aid kit somewhere in there. The rest of the group stay here, she needs space.”

“Look, i didn’t mean to-” Natasha started to try to gain empathy, but George cut her off.

They rushed back to the house, gaining looks of curiosity and empathy from the guests they passed by. Angie guided them to the kitchen.

“The house is kinda crowded right now, here’s the best place for her right now. While i go look for the first aid kit, if she’s getting heavy you can put her on-”

“Don’t worry, go find the kit. I’ll take care of her.”

Angie has always known he had a certain liking towards Y/N, and this time there was no doubt about his feelings or his intentions, so she just nodded and headed out of the kitchen, trying to remember where they had put the kit.

Now that the adrenaline is finally calming down, he takes a moment to look at her face. How can a face so damn pretty make him worry so damn much?

Between the two of them, he knows he is the troublemaker one, but Y/N doesn’t stay behind. It seems like she attracts trouble, so it wasn't a surprise in fourth year in Hogwarts when he noticed that he really really likes her -never “liked”, this verb could never be in the past-, and it wasn’t a surprise in Fred and Angelina’s engagement party he took notice that she had a mark in her shoulder, a soulmate mark, like a firework shaped like a hart, just like his and in the same place. It all clicked into place.

No one has made his heart beat faster than Y/N and his best moments in Hogwarts always had her too. When he got his soulmate mark by sixth year, the first thought he had in mind was hoping that Y/N had the same mark as his, then it seemed like each year she was getting more and more away, sleeping through his fingers. Then the war happened, and he almost never saw her again.

In those years she was away he tried to date, tried to get over her and find his soulmate, but his thoughts always came back to her. Like getting his heart broken a thousand times. Then a couple months back in the engagement party he saw her again, it was like time stopped. Especially when, for the first time, he saw her in a strapless dress, and on her shoulder was the sign he was waiting all along.

Being with her felt natural, even after these years, and seeing her blush had the same effect on him that it did in Hogwarts, but something was holding her back. Y/N is the sweetest, smartest and bravests girls he meet in his entire life, even if she didn’t acknowledge that, but she was also really shy, and he know sometimes things would get to her head, an anxiety creeping in, so it wasn't a surprise when he felt like she was guarded up, hiding something.

Or maybe it was a soulmate sixth sense.

But this getaway is his chance, until the wedding he will make sure they’re okay and he will break her walls one by one, he has loved her since they were sixteen, he will not let this chance go to waste. All he ever wanted was to be close to her, like all soulmates do, even before he knew she was her soulmate.

Actually, it’s really good that she is his soulmate. In his eyes, no other stood a chance to her.

Y/N’s eyes started fluttering open and George felt finally like breathing again.

“George, where…?” She tried to take her head from his shoulder, but gave up, probably feeling nauseous.

“Hey, we are in the kitchen, let me put you down.” He gently put her on the balcony and stood between her legs, for if she started getting dizzy again. “How are you feeling, Love? You feel down while playing.” Natasha pushed her, but he didn’t want her getting worked up in this state.

“I feel sleepy, I just want to-” Before she could close her eyes he gently shaked her. She really shouldn't sleep right now.

“You can’t do that now, we need to check on you. If you’re feeling tired, you can rest on my shoulder, but do not fall asleep”

Doing as told, she let her head fall against his shoulder, not only that, but she put her arms lazily around his torso too, in a kind of a weird hug. George found it endearing. He put his arms around her too and for a second they stayed like that in silence. George was starting to wonder if she fell asleep against his best advice then she started giggling. Maybe she lost her shit. Even if she did he would still love her, craziness and all.

She always did have a craziness streak anyway.

“You called me love, it’s been years since you called me that” She was smiling so sweetly he could just melt there and then.

“True.”

“I love when you call me Love…Love, Love, Love. I like the sound of that.”

“I love calling you that, Love” More giggles. The fall really took a toll on her.

“I wanna be your love….” She mumbled, probably hoping he wouldn't hear it, but he did. Just this time he’ll give her a break and not say a thing about it. “I’m sorry for leaving”

“You already said you’re sorry, I believe in you.”

“I just wanted to say that I am…well sorry, I always we’ll be…People were just getting in my head, about me…I just didn’t want to get heartbroken by you too…I couldn't…Handle that.”

Wait a minute.

“People?” George asked her, he knew it was wrong to ask her in a moment of vulnerability, but he needed to know if the reason she bolted was for external reasons. He really needed to know how to fix that.

“Mean people.”

“Like Natasha?”

“Yeah…Like her.” Y/N’s face darkened. Maybe George was starting to get it.

“Well, don’t think much of her, she’s a dumbass” The giggles he heard after that comment lightened the mood.

“Were these mean people that made you go away?”

The way her hug tightened was enough response.

“I never really wanted to lose you.”

“You’d never lose me, Love, even if we hadn't met in ten years, i’d find my way back to you” A sudden pressure in his check made him realise he was getting lost in thought. The realization of what just happened made him blush.

“You really are sweet, do you know that?”

“Only to you.”

“No…I’ve seen you around others, you’re cool like that.”

“I’m especially cool to you, then”

“Yeah…I like that”

Y/N didn’t even notice she had closed her eyes again, nor did remember exactly what she had talked about with George. All she knows is that she’s in the same position she was before, now with a patch around her head.

Opening her eyes, they met with George looking at her.

“Hey Love, I told you not to sleep. At Least Angie got to make sure you were okay.” She tried not to blush furiously at the nickname.

“Where is she?”

“She’s entertaining the rest of the guests. She said she would come back soon.”

Angelina was probably super mad at her. She made a fool of herself again, she should’ve paid attention.

And with that, all these bad feelings she was bottling up since early today started coming out, her eyes getting watery until she could no longer huddle.

“Y/N? What's up?” He looked at her with worry, his hands trying to dry the tears that flew down her face. “Love, talk to me. Are you hurting?”

Maybe it was the care that he was holding her with, or maybe the tone of his voice, but it was like she didn’t feel to guard up anymore, at least about this. She jumped in his arms giving him a tight hug, like her life depended on it, and George, the sweet human being that he is, hugged her as tight.

“It’s just…It’s too much, my head is hurting, my feelings are hurting, and i’m pretty sure Angie is mad at me to, i made such a fool of myself, and earlier today my parents called, they’re pressing me to….Pressing me to go get married fast, cuz cousin Marie, Lya, who cares?! Is getting married and is a problem that I'm not, like, I get it that you’re worried, but why do you have to be so mean about it?! And then, and then there’s Natasha pushing me out of my broom and everything hurts and I'm so damn tired, I just want today to be over.”

“I’m really sorry about all of that, Love” He gave her a peak on the forehead and deepened their hug. “Atleast about Angelina, she’s not mad, you know how she gets on games. She was worried sick about you. She only went back to the game when you gained consciousness and I said I would take good care of you.”

“Do you mean that?” She felt a bit better.

“Of course, i would never lie to you”

“Thanks, George”

“You’re welcome, Y/N”

“I don’t know what I can do about the other things though.”

“This is all that i need” She hid her face in his chest. “Can we stay like this a bit longer?” Her voice was muffled by their proximity and the fabric of his sweater.

“As long as you need.”

As if he would ever let her go.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #soulmate au #soulmates

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welcome-to-the-end-of-eras · 2 months ago

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Less than a week until The Golden Raven comes out so I’m doing my own predictions and will revisit this post when I finish it (and will ofc tag any spoilers)

1.) Idk why but I feel like Ichirou is going to hear about Neil’s hit on Grayson and try to intercept it. Not really to protect Neil or anything, but just to see what happens if Neil’s forced to do it himself. And I do think he would do it himself if it came down to it, and Jean would be an absolute wreck if he found out. This is solely based in headcanon land and the likelihood of this happening is extremely slim but I wanna put it out there just in case.

2.) Jeremy backstory my beloved. It’s going to happen in this book, but it’s definitely not going to get resolved and we’re going to be sad about it. Also if we’re following the og series timeframes, the fall banquet will happen towards the middle/end of the book, so we’re bound to get some lore about what happened there. I stand by my recovering addict theory so I personally think Jeremy may have had a nonlethal od or something of that nature at the fall banquet, but I think it’s just as likely that it’s something completely unrelated.

3.) Going off the theme of Jeremy trauma, I’m 99.9% sure we’ll get Bryson lore and figure out why Jeremy is so afraid of him. Now that Jean has acknowledged that the Trojans are his friends and he cares about them, there will be almost nothing holding him back from asking about the stuff with Jeremy’s family and I think he will be…not happy, but proud that he can be a support system for Jeremy after everything he’s already done for Jean.

4.) I do unfortunately believe the Knox’s and the Moriyama’s are linked. I don’t think Jeremy knows about it at all, but I feel like he’s going to invite Jean over at one point and Ichirou’s just going to be sitting in the living room with Jeremy’s (not) grandfather.

5.) BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES FOR MORE ANDREW CONTENT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-

6.) I don’t think the interview is going to go all that bad!!! I think it’s definitely going to be hard for both Kevin and Jean, but I don’t think it’s going to be a disaster for them either. Obviously people are going to use it to slander both the Trojans and the Foxes for the part they played in the Raven’s destruction, but I don’t think it’s going to be like a looming threat that colors the whole book yknow??? If anything I think it’s going to be what Jean and Kevin need to finally let go of the versions of each other that hurt them and allow them each to see how the other has grown. (and maybe they kiss once idk)

7.) I want a scene where the Trojan’s find out about Andrew and Neil. I want it so bad. In my head I feel like it would go like this:

Jeremy: Jean…I’m so sorry, but I just heard from Kevin that…Renee has a date for the fall banquet :(((

Jean: oh yeah she goes with the other goalkeeper every year, she told me.

Jeremy: ??? Jean you’re allowed to be upset about this ???

Jean: why would I be???

And just generally that vibe because Jean thinks it’s obvious but then remembers the Trojans have barely ever met the two of them.

8.) CAT AND LAILA LORE. SPECIFICALLY MORE LAILA LORE BECAUSE WE DON’T KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT HER. BUT ALSO CAT BC SHE’S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. MY FAVORITE LESBIANS YOUR HONOR. (I also want my “Laila having one-sided beef with Andrew” headcanon to be real but realistically I don’t think that’ll happen)

9.) Lucas is going to blame Jean for Grayson’s death. And Jean is going to feel awful because he does in fact think it’s his fault and he never actually wanted to hurt Lucas. Also…Lucas transfer to the Ravens perhaps??? I think it’s just as likely that they’ll sort of make up but tbh I think it’s also possible that it just pushes Lucas farther onto the Raven’s side.

10.) I want an update on the Cody/Pat/Ananya situation. That’s not a prediction that’s a threat. If I don’t get one I’m rioting.

That’s it for now. Can’t promise I won’t update this later if I come up with something new but for now it be what it do.

#aftg #the sunshine court #the golden raven

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echoingbirdsofprey · 3 months ago

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Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

2 - First Sip Of A Cold Beer, When The Workin' Weeks Done

Pairings: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: none except Jake and Tyler's foul language hahaha

A/N: Jake and Georgia get to know each other and chat, and Tyler and Sam do the same. Just lots of fluff in this one after I horrified y'all with the last two chapters of the other part of the series! Comments, likes, reblogs are appreciated as always! Love writing for myself and y'all that are following!

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva

“Ahh fuck, T, I cant believe that chick rejected you too.” Jake said as he cracked open a cold beer. Kenny kept a fridge full in the barn and he only allowed the boys to drink at home, if they wanted. He felt like it made them more responsible when out with friends. And he was actually right about that because the boys did only drink at home.

“I know, I’m the better lookin’ brother, too!” Tyler joked and Jake punched him in the shoulder. They were getting saddled up to go for a trail ride.

“We’re the fuckin’ same, you asshole!” Jake yelled, as he tackled Tyler into the stall door next to him. The metallic clang of him hitting the door made both horses jump a little.

“Hey, dipshit, don't spook my horse!” Tyler playfully pushed his brother back away from him and Jake caught himself on the opposite door.

“Ah, whatever. A girl ain't gonna come between us, right?” Jake said and Tyler nodded.

“The only girl would be our Ole Dixie girl, huh?!” Tyler exclaimed as the white dog with the speckled brown around her eye came bounding into the barn aisle, baying to announce her arrival. She knew the boys were headed out soon, and she loved running beside the horses on a long trail ride, catching all the scents and sights of wildlife that she could possibly bring home for a snack. Both boys knelt down to rub the dog's long back, then finished tacking their horses up. They put bridles on and then mounted up with their beers in hand.

Heading out of the barn and out of the driveway, they turned right to go down the quiet country road that nary a car was in sight. Tyler's little chestnut horse strode along confidently, while Jake's painted gelding would startle every once in a while at something silly. Both boys just looped the reins and let the horses walk along, Dixie trotting in between them. The dog would veer off every so often, taken where her nose said to go, and then she’d come bouncing back from the complete opposite of where she left.

“It's gettin’ chilly now. Best start bringin’ rifles out with us soon.” Tyler said, his head on a swivel constantly, staking out the next best place to put up a tree stand. Jake agreed silently, sipping on his beer and removing his feet from the stirrups, as they headed into the forest. There were very clearly defined trails, cut down by atv and dirt bike riders alike.

“I want duck again for Christmas. Think we can get some good ones?” Jake asked, as his horse stepped into an easy trot to catch up to Tyler's big stepping gelding.

“Thought there was still duck in the freezer from last season.” Tyler said, leaning back in the saddle and finishing his beer. He crunched the can in his hand and then slid it into his sweatshirt pocket. He heard baying off in the distance and whistled.

“Think momma used the last of it for that stew last week. I'll check.” Jake said, doing the same with his beer can. “If neither of us have a date to homecomin’, are we just ropin’ that night instead?”

“Hell yeah. I ain't goin’ to that shit unless there's a lady on my arm. Unless you wanna be my date, Jakey?” Tyler joked and Jake smirked.

“Ah, I'd love to but then people would get jealous. It's already bad enough we win all the sortin’ and ropin’, if we won Homecomin’ King and Queen, well...dog incomin’.” Jake mused, just as Dixie popped out of the underbrush. She ran in between the two horses, neither of which flinched, having become accustomed to the dog's antics.

“Dog nuke, hahaha!” Tyler yelled and made a ‘boom’ noise, which got Dixie all excited and running ahead of the horses then.

“Dog nuke only if she kills us, Copper, and Paint. She's more like a fur missile. She don't know where she's headed though, only that she's goin’. Worst heat-seeker you’ve ever seen.” Jake’s laugh bellowed through the trees, his whole body shaking. Tyler could only shake his head as the trail opened up into a field.

“Best put’chur feet back in those stirrups.” Tyler yelled, as his horse picked up a trot. Dixie ran out in front, baying and barking as they picked up speed. Jake shoved his feet back in the stirrups and his horse took off across the field, straight into a gallop ahead of Tyler’s horse. Tyler chuckled and pushed Copper up into a gallop too. “You fuckin cheater!”

“If ya ain’t cheatin’, ya ain’t tryin’! Jake exclaimed, as they headed across the field at breakneck speed.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Jake was excited for Christmas. It was the only time of year when everything seemed to stop. The last few years he'd been able to be home in Dardanelle and he'd been thankful for that. Everything at home had seemed empty though, as Kenny and Jeanie got older. They couldn't keep up with the needs of the farm so they has sold off a lot of the back forty. Jake had always figured Tyler might buy the house, but then he didn't. A more central place in tornado alley was better for him anyway. Jake on the other hand, had no intention of buying a house until now, but where he was stationed in Lemoore or Miramar most of the time, it would make more sense for him and Sam to settle out there, unless he requested a station somewhere else. He liked the idea of staying in the cottage for as long as possible, and if that meant taking over Javy's part of the rent, then he would.

Sam's Christmas presents to her mother and her siblings had arrived at home in Miramar, so she sent her mom a text letting her know whose were whose. She'd gotten some gift cards for Marks and Alex to some of their favorite stores, and she got her mother some baking supplies as she'd gotten very into making all sorts of cakes and pies while her father had been sick.

It was Jake who she had trouble buying something for. He'd said she didn't need to get him anything, that being home and having the puppies was the best present, but Sam still wanted to get him something else. She'd settled on getting him a new pair of cowboy boots as the ones that he always wore were pretty beat to shit. She decided the best course of action was to ask Tyler if he would take her to a boot store, because she didn’t know the area. She thought of asking Georgia first, but then remembered how pregnant she was and figured Tyler wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

She found him out in the garage, underneath Georgia’s truck. He’d obviously heard her footsteps, because he rolled himself out from under the truck and out popped the red cattle dog with him.

“Oh my god. He climbs under there with you? Is that safe?” Sam asked, and Tyler sat up and rubbed the pup’s head.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s extremely smart. The lift was bein’ wonky the other day and he wouldn’t come under with me. I fixed it and then he was all good. Did you uh, need somethin’?” He asked, standing and wiping his hands on a rag that he pulled from the hood of the truck. Sam examined him for a moment, seeing just how much he looked like Jake, but in the same vein, didn’t look like him. Tyler was all rough and tumble. Jake was clean cut. She preferred that, but she could see just how attractive Tyler was, especially to Georgia. They seemed like they were made for each other.

“Um, yes. Sorry...I was wondering if you could bring me to a boot store? I’d like to get Jake’s Christmas present, and maybe a couple other things. I figured Georgia wasn’t driving much.” Sam asked and Tyler smiled.

“Well, she can drive, but conveniently I need to go pick up her present too and somethin’ for Jake, so I think this is a great idea. Then the two of them can spend some time gettin’ to know each other, and you and I can do the same.” Tyler said and Sam nodded. “Let me just finish up with her truck, it’ll only take a few minutes.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go tell Jake and Georgia where we’re going.” Sam said as she headed out of the garage. She made her way back to the house, where Georgia had just walked back into the house. She held the door open for Sam. Jake was in the house, typing something on the laptop he’d been given for work. His lips turned up as Sam sat down next to him.

“Hey, I’m going to go with Tyler to go get your Christmas present.” She said and Jake stopped typing and regarded her warmly with a soft smile.

“Are you now?” He asked, one of his hands reaching for her knee. “Is Georgia going?”

“No, he has to pick up her present, so she’s staying.Maybe the two of you can get to know each other a little better.” Sam pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then stood. She went into the kitchen where Georgia was leaning back against the kitchen counter. The look on her face said everything that Sam needed to know.

“You feeling okay?” She asked and Georgia nodded.

“Yeah, Jaycen is just kicking an awful lot today. I don’t know whether to try to take the dogs for a walk or to go lay in bed.” She said and Sam stepped closer.

“Would you mind if I...” She began and Georgia smiled.

“Well, you are goin’ to be his aunt, so, of course.” Georgia glanced down and Sam placed her hand just below Georgia’s belly button. She felt a little bump against her hand and her mouth dropped open in awe.

“Oh! He’s a strong little bugger.” Sam laughed. She let her hand fall away.

“Yes. And he’s gonna be so spoiled and so loved when he gets here and I think he knows that. I just hope he doesn’t decide he wants to come too early.” Georgia mused and Sam smiled warmly just as footsteps padded into the kitchen.

“He’s got that Owens blood in him. He’s gonna give you a run for your money, I guarantee it. I been given’ my momma a hard time since I came outta her.” Jake said, making both of the ladies laugh. Jake smirked as he glanced at Sam.

“So, I don’t want you to be offended, but I asked Tyler if he would take me into town to get Jake’s Christmas present. He said he has to pick yours up too. If that’s okay?” Sam said sheepishly. Jake raised a brow at her then, not quite understanding why she was acting the way she was with Georgia. It seemed as though she was not only afraid of offending or upsetting her, but it almost seemed like she was afraid of her. It would be something they would discuss later on.

“Why would I be offended by that? I have to get Tyler’s present. I was going to have Boone and Kate come get me, but I should probably take Jake, huh?” Georgia asked and Sam smiled and nodded in agreement at that.

“Well, I already have Sam’s present, but I could pick up a few more things to add to it.” Jake said as his hand met the small of Sam’s back.

“Perfect. This worked out pretty good then. Maybe, Jake, you can supervise my walk with the dogs. Tyler doesn’t really want me going out alone. I wanted to try to ride Twist...” Georgia’s stream of thoughts were all over the place and she absolutely blamed it on her pregnant brain and body. The screen door creaked then, and there were booted footsteps with a slight limp.

“Ain’t no way yur ridin’ unless I’m here.” Tyler’s voice boomed his entrance into the kitchen. Georgia smirked wide at him as he made his way over to kiss her.

“Mmm, oil and diesel, such a wonderful cologne you’ve picked there.” She said as he pulled her close. He glanced down as he felt a strong bump at her stomach.

“Damn! He’s feisty today.” Tyler laughed and Georgia reached up to cup his cheeks.

“He knows who his daddy is.” She said, making Tyler wiggle his eyebrows. He kissed her hungrily again and then he stepped away, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Jake. I expect you to take very good care of my girl while I’m gone. Protect her like your own, you got that?” Tyler said, taking a long swig of the water. Jake chuckled and folded his arms across his chest, while leaning against the counter opposite of him.

“Same goes for you.” Jake said sternly and Tyler turned, grabbing Jake’s shoulders and shaking him.

“Oww, you fucker. I might be healed but it still hurts, you cocksucker.” Jake said, grabbing his brother playfully, pulling him off balance. Tyler’s laugh, it was one that Georgia hadn’t heard in a very long time. It was a deep belly laugh that rumbled through him and shook his whole body. It made Georgia tear up a little to see him with his brother. She could see how close they were even though they’d be apart for so long.

“Fuck, I think we’re too old to rough house anymore, especially in front of our ladies.” Tyler said, smacking his brother gently on his upper back. Jake took a hold of one of Tyler’s biceps and squeezed and then patted him in the same spot on his back as he had done to Jake.

“You might be right about that.” Jake said. “Don’t worry, bruh, I’ll keep you lady safe. That’s my nephew in there too.”

“You are right. We’ll take Grits with us. You know how he is. Sam, did you want to bring one of your dogs?” Tyler asked and Sam nodded.

“I think I should take Muster. She needs to get out and do things with other people. She’s so timid.” Sam explained and Jake shook his head in agreement.

“Yeah, can’t be like that if she’s a protection dog.” Jake said and Sam smiled. Sam called for the puppy, who didn’t look so much like a puppy anymore. She looked more like a mini version of an adult Malinois. She was pretty and dainty, with brilliant amber eyes and a white spot on her chest. She also had a little stripe of white under her jaw that had grown in recently. Rocco came trotting in as well and Sam kneeled down to rub his little head.

“Sorry Roc, you’re all socialized. Besides, I know how much you love spending time with Jake.” Sam said as the little red dog reached up and licked Sam’s chin with a small whine. Jake laughed when she stood, giving her a kiss on her cheek and then her lips.

“Have fun. Can’t wait to see what you’re gettin’ me.” Jake smirked, rubbing his hand across her lower back as she turned to follow Tyler, who was saying goodbye to Georgia in a similar fashion, but he placed his hand on her belly before he stepped away. As they got to the door, Grits was waiting, sitting patiently.

“Silly dog.” Tyler said, bending down to pat the puppy. “C’mon buddy.”

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

“There’s so many to choose from.” Sam said, walking up and down the aisle at Cavender’s, a boot and workwear store in Stillwater.

“Well, Jake likes Twisted X’s, and Ariat, so maybe that helps?” Tyler suggested, watching Sam as she picked up several pairs of boots and examined them carefully while he held both dog’s leashes. She glanced at him apologetically.

“Sorry. I just want it to be perfect.” She said and Tyler smiled warmly.

“Don’t be sorry. Whatever you get him, he’s gonna love. It’s not even about the thing either, it’s about the fact that he loves you a lot. I can tell.” Tyler said, running a hand over Grits’ back. Sam stopped for a moment, her hands on a pair of boots that were a simple brown color with a square toe, mid calf shaft, and a classic stitched pattern with green piping following the stitches.

“Think he’d like these?” She asked, while not thrilled with how plain they were, she needed to look past that, because they weren’t for her. They were for Jake. She knew that Jake did like simple clothing and casual style, nothing extravagant. He liked things that looked clean and well maintained. The simplicity of the boots made them exactly that.

“I do.” Tyler said. He stood as Sam grabbed the box for the boots and Tyler handed her Muster’s leash. The dog stuck to Sam’s side like glue as they continued through the store to the check out. Tyler hated putting a leash on Grits, knowing that the dog would stay with him just like Muster did with Sam, but he knew he should just in case Grits saw something he wanted to chase.

Sam paid and as they exited, Tyler took out his phone, and gave a quick call to the store where Georgia’s gift was. They hopped in the truck and headed that way.

“So, what did you get for Georgia?” Sam asked, placing Jake’s gift on the floor at her feet. Tyler’s smile widened and he glanced at Sam.

“You’ll see when we get there. You’ll appreciate it too, I think. Gee was sayin’ you had horses?” Tyler asked and Sam nodded.

“Yes, a long time ago. My dad bought me a hunter pony when I was a kid and then I showed in the bigger jumping classes until about half way through high school. We had a really beautiful horse and I miss him. I miss jumping a bit but having the dogs is a nice substitute. I’m really enjoying learning about all the protection sport stuff.” Sam explained and she glanced back at the little black dog who had curled up comfortably next to the red cattle dog.

“It’s good to have somethin’ you enjoy outside of work and relationships. Y’know, havin’ somethin’ for yourself. Like I love weather...I love Gee, but I sure do love fixin’ a truck. It’s one’a my favorite things to do in the world, besides bein’ with Gee. I’m makin’ up for lost time there...” Tyler said and Sam tilted her head questioningly.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked.

“We’ve got a bit of a rocky past. There’s definitely fault on both of our parts.” Tyler said, his jaw working. Sam decided not to pry. She understood when someone didn’t feel like talking about something in their past, maybe more than anyone else.

When they arrived at the tack and feed store, Tyler hopped out and before he closed the door he told her to stay. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Just picking up Gee’s present and my grain order so I’ll have to move the truck again anyway. No point in us all gettin’ out and back in.”

Sam nodded and she decided to check her phone. She had a few texts that she’d left unanswered from the past couple of days. She’d told Nat and Maisy that she was trying to not be on her phone while they were down here and both girls understood that. They were busy with holiday things anyway. She also had a text from Rooster, which caught her off guard slightly.

Nat: hey, just wanted to wish you a merry christmas. Got something for you when you come back. Taking Bob home to meet mom and dad so this should be interesting. Never thought this was gonna go this way but I’m trying out what you said. Winging it a bit.

Maisy: merry christmas from Javy and I! Have fun down there and enjoy your time away. You and Jake need it!

Rooster: hey, just wanted to say merry christmas. Iris was really excited to meet you. I hope it was okay that I brought her along. I get it if you’re mad at me.

Sam sent a ‘merry christmas’ back to the girls and then she responded to Rooster, trying her best to not be harsh. She thought she succeeded.

Sam: Merry Christmas Bradley, hope you get to see Mav too. I think Iris is good for you. Hope you enjoy the holidays with her. I’m really happy for you.

If he could detach a little bit, maybe he could move on. Then Sam could move on. She needed the memory of that night to no longer be seared into her brain.

Tyler surprised her when he got back in the truck. He placed four halters on the center console, all hand made, hand tooled, with beautifully etched nameplates on each one and a matching lead line.

“Wow. These are super nice. I see you got one for Rascal too.” Sam said, picking up the halter that was meant for Tulsa. The three for Georgia’s horses were a dark brown leather, with pink leather piping. Rascal’s was brown with green leather piping.

“Well, had to get my buddy a Christmas present too.” Tyler said with a smile as he pulled the truck to the loading dock. The employee chucked several bags of grain in the back and tapped on the back of the bed once he had finished. Tyler waved to him and drove off.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Georgia pulled on a jacket and Jake followed suit. It wasn’t too cold but with his injury, his bones ached with any type of chill in the air. He kind of hated that. They let the dogs file out of the farmhouse first, and Jake let Georgia go ahead of him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked next to her. The dogs bounded out in front, playing and romping as they headed through Twist and Wilene’s field. Tyler had recruited Dustin, Lennon, and Boone to help expand the pastures so that the horses would all have a little more room to roam around. Georgia was thankful for that, loving that Tyler had the animals best interest at heart.

“Chilly. I’m not used to freezing temps anymore. I used to go home to Dardanelle every winter but that’s not enough to stay used to it.” Jake said, trying to make some sort of small talk. He wanted to talk to her about something else, but he was hoping maybe she’d bring it up.

“I’ve lived in Stillwater my whole life, except when I was rodeoing, but even then I could never get used to any one climate. The rodeos were all over the country.” Georgia said, glancing at Jake. There it was, and he was going to take his chance.

“Yeah...y’know I’m sure you and Tyler have talked about it but...” Jake’s brows furrowed and Georgia knew exactly what he was asking.

“Tyler and I have made our peace with each other...obviously.” She said, motioning to her belly. Jake chuckled and she spoke again. “He’s been wanting me to meet you for a while though.”

“Yeah same. Can I ask why you didn’t come back though? I’m sure you’ve told him but I’d like to hear it for myself. He hasn’t told me anything that you two have talked about yet so...” Jake asked and Georgia nodded.

“I had just lost my father not too long before I met Tyler. We spent six months straight together. We knew each other as much as we could. But I was terrified that after he got injured, knowing him, he’d try to ride again, and that he’d get hurt again and die. I couldn’t lose someone else. My father’s death was...”

“You don’t need to say anymore. I get it.” Jake said, stepping closer to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m just glad you two reconnected. Tyler talked about you then like you were his entire world. Now, jeez, you’re his entire universe. You mean so much to him. That’s kinda how I feel with Sam.”

“You and Sam are a really beautiful couple. I’m excited for the wedding. Tyler and I didn’t really have anything. He said he wants to have a party once Jaycen is born to celebrate him and our marriage. Tyler’s always so brash with his decision making.” Georgia laughed and Jake agreed.

“He’s always been like that. I am to a degree. It’s why I joined the Navy. We also make sure we get what we want. I knew Tyler would get this life that he’s livin’ with you. Wife, kids, house, farm. That was always his plan.”

“What was your plan?” Georgia asked, tripping slightly over a rock that she didn’t see. Jake caught her though, making good on his promise to watch her every move.

“I wanna be an Admiral and be the best pilot in the Navy, but now because of Samantha...I want some other things too. I want kids with her. I never thought I’d want to be responsible for small humans but...I dunno...she’s changed me...in a good way.” Jake explained and Georgia smiled up at him.They stopped, Georgia realizing they’d come to the end of Twist and Wilene’s pasture. They watched the dog’s bound through a patch of freshly fallen snow. Most of it had melted, but where there were dips or divots in the ground there was still some hanging on.

“Jake...Tyler and your momma told me you were one of the only reasons he was able to get through his rehab. I thought maybe you’d have some ill will toward me knowing that’d I’d left him, but you don’t seem to. I’m really glad you made sure he got better.” Georgia said and Jake pulled her in a little tighter.

“I don’t have any ill will toward you because I see how happy you make my brother. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. I’ve wished for him to have this life, just like he’s dreamed of it. And you’re back in it, helping to make it come true for him. That’s so much more important than being mad at you for somethin’ you did a long time ago. I know some people who can;t let go of their past and their regrets and their mistakes. I don’t wanna live like that. I don’t need that in my life. I want good shit from here on out. For all of us.” Jake explained and Georgia leaned into him as they turned to walk back toward the house. She was getting tired and Jake could tell by how heavily she was leaning on him. He would get her back home safely and get the fireplace lit so they could all warm up.

#glen powell #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #tyler owens #jake seresin x oc #tyler owens x oc #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick

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lagunaseca2013 · 2 months ago

Note

Okay I fell in love with the bond horror au already. I seen you said bez was the only omega part of Vales pack. will bez have an unknown need to be near Marc as well? Since Marc basically has head pack omega instincts in him? Im sorry as soon as you said there would be omega Bez I was immediately excited to see if you knew where you would take it.

omg hi anon glad ur enjoying my conceptual horrors! literally saved this ask for my lunch break bc I’m having a work day from hell and I needed something to look forward to lol. the concept of bez being the only omega in the vr46 pack (pre marc ofc) comes largely from @hotmessmaxpress who has a beautiful omegaverse series where bez has tortured jealous omega feelings about marc abruptly becoming vale’s mate etc and then they get over it and love each other

it’s a little uglier in this universe bc things are rough for a long time after vale finally lets marc bite him. they’re crazy insane people so that part somehow comes first like before they’ve even truly worked anything out……..anyway the bez of this universe is the sole omega of the rossi pack for a loooong time and LIKES it that way. omega princess of the paddock, had all ten of his alphas holding his hands at the clinic during the great pregnancy scare of 2023 (after he finally got his way and had EVERYONE participating in his heat post victorious p3 in the championship; someone deeeefinitely knocked his IUD loose; not telling who; still #worthit)

he’s very beloved, grew up protected in his bubble of being one-of-the-alphas (they’re not all alphas btw that’s a generalization but yk) and kind of removed from like (internalized misogyny voice) “omega drama”

enter marc who like doesn’t even understand what’s going on the first ten times he’s invited into the pack nest, wants to participate so bad but still has alex’s insane (well-intentioned) pavlovian training that makes him want to die every time he touches any of them, mostly ends up curled in a ball at the edge of the nest with vale like protectively encased around him

bez does notttt fuck with that. he was literally a #marcanti for much of recent history, and none of them are talking through any of it so he doesn’t understand that marc is having issues and trauma responses, he thinks marc is like playing needy omega to get vale all to himself.

okay I’m rambling whoops. to answer your actual question, I don’t think bez, or even any of the pack feel any tangible kind of pull towards marc. they probably would’ve (and eventually do) if the bond was complete bc vale would feel marc and they can feel vale (is this making any sense ?? think like transitive property or whatever I graduated college without taking a single math class……..)

I DO however subscribe to the school of thought that bez actually just had a garden variety secret little crush on marc pre divorce (this is real life canon to me btw) and also post divorce in a tortured sexual awakening sort of way (remember this bez has like a million alphas and has never been w an omega and marc is like. the hottest omega to ever exist….this is me alluding to eventual omega on omega porn when they get to the level of healing where marc and vale can participate in pack sex without either of them having a meltdown) have I answered your question yet ummmm I’m not even sure

bez is appropriately horrified when he finds out about the decade long psychological omega torture vale has been doing to marc for general omega solidarity reasons, but he still kind of hates marc for a while, even when he’s like crying and yelling and hitting vale in the chest for ever doing that to an omega how would you have felt if this happened to me etc but in the back of his mind still like did it have to be that fucking guy ughhhh

#anon mail #answered #fic talk #guys I really need to make a tag for this beast I keep word vomiting lore when asked simple questions oops #rosquez #omegaverse #a/b/o #uhhhh anything else #my writing #I guess #motogp fic #omegaverse au

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musicalmoritz · 7 months ago

Note

Why does tsukasa seem to not care much about himself?

I had a hard time figuring out what you meant by this because to be honest, I don’t focus on the Yugi twins as much as some of the other characters. I still try to read analyses on them and understand them, and I have been talking a lot abt Tsukasa lately, but I haven’t rly grasped their characterization as quickly as I did with some of the others

However, after giving it some thought I believe you’re referring to scenes like these

If this is what you mean, then the explanation is that Tsukasa simply doesn’t want to exist. He is a yorishiro and existence for them is essentially hell, just look at what Sumire went through being stuck in a time loop for 100 years. It is not a reach to assume Tsukasa went through something similar, seeing as he alludes to being trapped in a place before escaping near the start of the series when we first meet him. He reached out to Hanako for years, but Hanako never answered any of his calls. So Tsukasa wanting to be destroyed isn’t really out of any self-sacrificial nature, it would be a peaceful ending for him. He’d be able to move onto the afterlife, or otherwise accomplish any conniving goals he might have with the entity (idk as I said, not a Yugi twins expert)

He views Hanako as selfish for wanting to hold onto the people he loves at the expense of their wellbeing. Part of Nene’e fate is to die young, it’s sad but that is the natural path her life is meant to follow. She herself even tries to come to terms with this and make peace with it, but Hanako won’t let her. He loves her, so he wants her to live a long and happy life. This is completely understandable, but it is also selfish. It is part of human nature to be selfish, and part of Hanako will always be tied to the human boy he once was. Selfishness isn’t always bad, sometimes it’s necessary. But from’s Tsukasa’s perspective, Hanako is robbing Nene of an escape

Tsukasa makes this a personal issue because Hanako treats him the same way. It would be objectively better and more natural for him to let Tsukasa go, especially if the theories abt him killing Tsukasa to free him from the entity are true. That is what Tsukasa wants, to be free, to no longer be a yorishiro. But Hanako is selfish, and he loves Tsukasa too much to grant him freedom

Now, if you’re talking about Tsukasa’s lack of self-care in regards to Hanako “hating” him, that’s a bit different

Tsukasa seems to conceptualize relationships in a very black and white way. You either love someone, or you hate them. He’s interested mainly in how other people feel and react to things, so he’s constantly asking them how they feel about others. I don’t think he differentiates much between platonic love and romantic, it is simply “love vs. hate” to him. The two are opposites and cannot intersect

The most genuine statement I could possibly make about Tsukasa is that he loves his brother. Both versions of him, no matter how you interpret his current existence. The possessed Tsukasa we know now is the one who grew up with Amane, he spent ten years of his life with him whilst Baby Tsukasa only knew Amane for three. Ofc that was still his brother so time isn’t rly relevant to how much love/attachment Amane still holds for the original version of Tsukasa, but that doesn’t change the fact that the brother he knew for most of his life was the possessed Tsukasa. They shared holidays and birthdays together, lived together, walked to school together every single day. Through and through, they are brothers and it would be impossible for Hanako not to see him that way, even if he claims not to. It must be a complicated situation for him, on one hand he grew up with this Tsukasa but on the other he blames this Tsukasa for the old one’s disappearance

Back to how Tsukasa feels, he loves Amane fully. He does describe them as rivals, so I would say the feelings are complex on his end as well, but overall he loves his brother. He loves his brother so much that he doesn’t care if Amane hates him. And he must, he threw him across the room once when they were kids when Tsukasa was bothering him. He knew something was off when Tsukasa returned, and his attitude towards him likely reflected that throughout the 10 years they spent together. He killed him, he freezes up when he sees him, he consistently sides against him. For a character that views love in black and white terms, that sure looks a lot like hate. He recognizes that Amane is sad without him, but he also understands that Amane hates him. At least, from Tsukasa’s perspective, that’s what it looks like

But Tsukasa’s love for Amane is unconditional, he doesn’t really care if Amane hates or loves him. Baby Tsukasa says he wants Amane to be an astronaut with their parents, somewhere far away from him so Tsukasa can never make him upset. He believes Amane hates him, but he doesn’t care as long as Amane is happy. That’s all he wants, for Amane to be happy. His brother is the most important person to him, as long as Amane is happy he doesn’t care what happens to himself. Until it reaches a breaking point ofc, and Tsukasa realizes that the best situation for everyone would be for him to disappear

I’m pulling a lot of this out of my ass so I apologize if I got any information incorrect! Also just to be clear I don’t mind being asked about the Yugi twins at all, people were asking me a lot about Tsukasa yesterday so I get why the questions keep coming. Just beware that I am a self-proclaimed Not Expert lol. I do plan to look more into them whenever I start that series of character analyses tho so stay tuned for that

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk #ask #ask me anything #tsukasa yugi #amane yugi #hanako kun #yugi twins #yugi brothers #analysis

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sunnyie-eve · 2 months ago

Text

4 | Would You Rather

Series: Eventually

Paring: (Chris Sturniolo x OFC!) (Matt Sturniolo x OFC!)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Exes, cute play fighting

| MASTERLIST |

"Hey, you!" Chris walks into Matt's room pointing at Gabby in bed on her phone alone in the room. "You're joining us tonight." He lets her know.

"Why?" She gives him a look since she's never done car videos with them before.

"Because we said so."

"But only you told me." She gives him a smile, "The other two didn't tell me with you." She gets smart with him.

"Gabby, get your ass out of my bed and come on!" Matt tells from downstairs.

"Oh look, that was one more that told you." Chris gets smart with her as well, "Come on now." He motions to get up.

"Why no warning? Just a last minute decision?" She gets out of the bed putting on her shoes to go with them.

"Actually, yeah it was totally a last minute thing." He tells her, "Mainly Nick brought you up joining and you know Matt and I don't care." He adds.

"I feel the love of being a last minute thought." She places her hand on her chest passing him to go down the stairs first, "Catch me." She tells Matt at he bottom so the last few steps she turns around for him to catch her and he does.

"I'm not carrying you to the car." He holds her for a few seconds then puts her down.

"Rude." She turns to look at Chris, "Please? Piggy back ride?" She gives him a pout.

"Don't fall for it Chris."

Gabby starts to give Chris puppy dog eyes as well so once he is next to her, he turns his back to her, "Thank you, love you." She jumps onto his back.

"So weak." Matt shakes his head at him.

In the car, Gabby sits in the back with Nick while Chris and Matt are in the front like always, "Let's go. Would you rather get hit with a Deez nuts joke every other sentence?" Chris starts with Matt first.

"Okay?" Matt waits for the second part.

"Or like a crazy bad one every hour?" Chris says the other option so Matt picks the second one and Chris picks the same one.

"Gabs, would you rather date your best friend? Huh?" Matt turns a bit to look back at her.

"Okay, or what?" She shakes her head a bit laughing.

"Or an ex again?" He adds so she gives him an are you kidding me look.

"That's you, dude." Chris states making a face as well, "You're literally both." He laughs at him.

"Exactly, so it's either I pick you since you were both. Or Chris or Nick because they're my other best friends. Not including Madi." She laughs a bit, "Damn, I guess you again, fuck." She picks him making Nick laugh at her, "Only because I know what I'm getting into again." She explains her reason which makes Matt and Chris laugh this time.

While the two in the front keep going, Gabby sees Nick reach back to grab something in the far backseat. Which was a case of Oreo cookies making her giggle. So Chris looks back to see them too.

"What the fuck? Where'd you get those?" He asks him so lost and bamboozled.

"You wanna a cookie?" Is all Nick asks so Chris and Matt laughs at him, "You guys want one?" Nick asks again so Matt takes one.

"Where'd those come from?" Chris asks him again, "I'm like, they're car cookies, bro. Where'd you get them?"

"Does that really matter?" Gabby leans forward a bit, "You put almost anything in your mouth."

"Hey, hey." He turns more to face her putting a finger up, "Don't word it crazy now." He tells her.

"Well, I'm not wrong." She laughs, "Especially when we were younger."

"You wanna go that far?" Chris leans back reaching for her.

"Come at me. You won't hit a girl." She leans forward more.

"Wanna bet?"

"For all your viewers to see?" She laughs.

"We can edit out so they'll never know." He smiles then playfully hits her.

Gabby's jaw drops and she starts to play fight with him basically crawling halfway into the front as Chris starts to say she wins.

"My view is literally just ass right now." Nick laughs at Gabby as she was still messing with Chris, "And it's mainly cheeky in those shorts."

"Stop looking then. I'm teaching Chris a lesson right now." Gabby giggles as Chris tries to bite her now.

Matt moves the seat back then leans it back a bit as well, "Damn, do you just wanna trade places." He laughs while getting a short look at Nick's view and Nick knew what he was doing.

Nick leans forward a bit, "Stop it you perv." He whispers to Matt, "Okay, we can continue this inside." Nick smacks her butt to make her sit back down.

"I can't believe you tried to bite me." Gabby shakes her head at Chris.

"You pulled my hair." Chris looks back at her.

"You pulled mine first."

"Children, children! Wait to get out of the car." Nick tells the two.

Chris and Gabby both share a look then get out of the car at the same time to continue their little playful fight. "You did say out of the car." Matt looks back at Nick, "By the way they are wrestling in the front yard now." Matt lets viewers know, "I guess we're done now because they aren't coming back." Matt ends the video.

"Also you don't check out your ex, who you're still best friends with." Nick lets Matt know as he grabs his stuff and Gabby's phone.

"I wasn't checking her out."

"Right..." Nick's eyes widened a bit, "You didn't move the seat to get a look of my view of her ass. Totally not what you did." He goes to open the door.

"I don't have feelings for her again."

"Didn't say you did. I just said you shouldn't check her ass out since she's your ex, mainly your best friend." Nick tells him.

"I know but can you blame me?" Matt huffs.

"Nah, she's got a nice ass." Nick gets out of the car to see Chris and Gabby had moved inside to keep fighting each other.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #oc #sibilings #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #ff #fanifiction #fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #best friends #friends to lovers #chris sturiolo fanfic

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thecoffeelorian · 5 months ago

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Fandom Friday, 11/15: Fanfiction!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin...let me first do a little check-in with everyone, so that as many of us can start off with a fairly good morning as possible. In other words, if you haven't had any glasses of water yet, please do; if you're able to get yourself some breakfast, go ahead...and if you haven't taken any necessary meds yet, please take them.

Now...if you're all ready to go, here are my picks of the week.

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @threebea:

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @sinfulsalutations:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @im-no-jedi:

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @rex-meshla:

ANDOR

Andor Fanfiction--By @ghostofskywalker:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @violetwanderer:

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @echoingbirdsofprey:

AHSOKA

Ahsoka Fanfiction--By @kalevalakryze:

Ahsoka Fanfiction--By @illuminatedquill:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every two weeks, highlight those writers who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you to my friends, thank you to this fandom, and if it's a little longer between updates, please stay safe out there.

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @theosb0rnway @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenabb104104 @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve @snoowply and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanfiction.

#star wars #starwarsblr #fandom friday #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #the bad batch #andor #the mandalorian #ahsoka #the clone wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #andor fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #ahsoka fanfiction #be excellent to each other #party on dudes

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 8 months ago

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Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 17

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Fox, Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Y'all, we are only a few chapters away from meeting Lilith! I am so excited to introduce her! I don't want to say things are going to happen quickly from now on, but the pace is definitely going to pick up. The foundation has been set, and now it's time to get moving with the plot. And who better than Fox to help move us along? This is another chill chapter with lots of brother-time, so no one should be doing any crying... I hope. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

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Series Masterlist

The morning came quickly–too quickly–as Wolffe woke before the sunrise. With the time he spent in space, his body never followed the rising or setting of the suns, but rather a clock that ticked deep within his biology. It was both a blessing and a curse in his mind. On one hand, he never had to set an alarm, but on the other, sleeping in was never an option. Cara was still asleep though, resting against his chest under the protective covering of his arms. It would be a bit before she awoke, but that gave him time to think about his mission for the day.

He stared silently up at the ceiling and reviewed every step he needed to take to ensure she was cared for while he was gone. He only had one rotation to accomplish it all, seeing as he would be departing before sunset on the next rotation, so there was no room for errors or setbacks. He had to be calm, calculated, and resolute. Most of those traits came naturally to Wolffe, but when his daughter was involved, a lot of who he was as a commander fell to the wayside. It felt cruel to shove part of her out of his mind, but life was also just as cruel.

It was only an hour before Comet found his way to their room to relieve Wolffe. Ever the cautious man, he poked his head into the dark room to make sure it was safe to enter. Wolffe watched him with amusement, the light from the hall outlining Comet's form, and he would've said something, but he didn't want to wake Cara. The last thing he needed was for her to get clingy before he left for the diner. She knew he would come back later in the day, but it didn't matter to her; leaving was leaving. For Wolffe, a silent hand-off was a lot easier.

Besides, she liked being with Comet more than she liked being with him. At least, that's what he told himself when he had to make the tough decisions that made his daughter cry. Justification wasn't the right word for it, but it allowed him to be the bad guy when he needed to be and allowed Comet to remain the good guy that she needed in life. Even though Comet left when Wolffe left, in Cara's mind, Wolffe forced Comet to leave. She might not understand how the hierarchy worked, but she did understand that when Wolffe spoke, the others listened.

Carefully, Wolffe slid himself off the bed and placed Cara back down onto the indent his body made. Both men held their breath in anticipation, but she must have been very tired because she stayed asleep and barely stirred at the swap. In the dim light from the doorway, Wolffe and Comet exchanged silent words with the same hand motions and gestures they used on the battlefield when vocal communication was impossible. It was clunky, but effective, and got the job done. Once Comet was briefed, Wolffe changed his clothes and left for the diner.

His journey to the diner was uneventful, practically quiet. It was still early in the morning for Coruscant's surface layer to be fully awake, but the subsurface layer was still bustling from the nightlife and now busy setting up for their daytime clientele. The diner wasn't a fancy place, but it was clone-friendly and served good food at a reasonable price. Most clones visited the bars and enjoyed the revelry late nights, but any level-headed, seasoned commander would rather sleep all night and eat a hot breakfast than get a cheap lap dance and a wicked hangover.

It was also rare for multiple commanders to be on Coruscant at once, however at least one was always there–Fox. When Wolffe entered the diner, he knew exactly where to go; left and down to the last booth against the window. It was their usual booth, but usual meant they did this often, which was far from the truth. The last time they met up was during his last leave, months ago, and before that, it was nearly a full cycle. It's not that Wolffe chose to ignore his batch brother, but if he had to choose between seeing his family or seeing Fox, he would choose his family every time.

As Wolffe approached the booth, he chuckled. Fox looked as tired as always, but perhaps a touch more than usual. Fox held the rim of his mug against his lips, the steam wisping up in front of his half-lidded eyes, with his elbows resting on the table, and a blank expression on his face. It almost looked like the mug was holding Fox up, instead of the other way around. If Wolffe didn't know any better, he would've thought Fox was asleep with his eyes open, but he did know better–that was just Fox in his normal resting state.

Wolffe slid into the bench seat across from Fox and stretched his arms over his head before picking up the mug of caf his brother ordered for him. He inhaled the warm and bitter fragrance before taking a sip and then hummed in satisfaction with the familiar brew. There was nothing like a diner caf. No offense to his wife's caf-maker, of course, but something about a cheap diner caf made him feel like a real man. It was leagues better than what the GAR gave them, but not as good as the caf from the surface layer. It was a wonderful middle brew.

"So," Wolffe said as he placed his mug down. "How's the wife?"

"Fat and ugly," Fox answered nonchalantly, then took a sip of this caf. "At least that's what she says every time I ask, which apparently is too many times."

Wolffe laughed. "When's she due?"

"Couple more weeks," Fox said.

"Are you nervous?" Wolffe asked.

"Kinda," Fox said with a shrug. "The pregnancy's been rough on her."

"She didn't get better?" Wolffe asked, then took another sip from his mug.

"Nope," Fox sighed. "She got sick in the first trimester and it's been downhill ever since."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wolffe said. "It's a good thing she has you to support her."

Fox huffed. "Yeah, support…" He took a long sip after that comment. "The only support she wants from me is to stop breathing so loudly. Some days I think she actually wants me dead."

Wolffe raised a quizzical eyebrow. Fox looked more like he was taking shots of his caf as if it was a cheap whiskey, rather than savoring it. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," Fox said, then set his mug down and rubbed his face. "She doesn't sleep, I don't sleep, we don't sleep."

"The baby won't sleep either," Wolffe said. He chuckled knowingly to himself with a smile hidden behind the rim of his mug.

Fox shot him with an unamused look through his fingers.

"Sorry," Wolffe said. "But I've got some experience."

Fox waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me." He paused contemplatively. "I'm sorry about Maria."

Wolffe bit his lip and set his mug down. He stared into the dark liquid and fidgeted with the handle. "I… I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay…" Fox said softly. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Cara," Wolffe said without looking up.

"What about her?" Fox asked.

Wolffe tapped his finger against the table as he thought about how he wanted to ask what he needed to ask. "I'm redeploying tomorrow night."

"Already?" Fox asked. "She must be having a hard time with that. You know, since…"

Wolffe tapped his finger faster and harder against the table, the silence getting awkward.

"You did tell her, right?" Fox asked.

"It's better this way," Wolffe said, deciding not to answer the question directly. Keeping the actual words in his mouth made the idea of not telling Cara more palatable for him. Selfish maybe, but he didn't want to handle any more emotional drama. He wanted just a bit of normalcy before he left and then a clean break to harden his mind. It was better that way.

"For who?" Fox asked.

"Listen," Wolffe sighed. "I didn't come here for a lecture. I need your help."

"Wolffe, I know what you're gonna ask," Fox said. He shook his head. "And the answer is no."

"Fox, c'mon," Wolffe pleaded. "You're the closest thing I have to family."

"I get that," Fox said. "But my hands are tied. Between my duties to Guard and my sick, pregnant wife, who can barely take care of herself, we couldn't possibly look after her too."

Wolffe closed his eyes and threw his head back against the booth cushion. "Kriff."

"Besides," Fox said. "Cara doesn't even like me."

"That's only because the gray in your hair scares her," Wolffe said without opening his eyes. "Maybe you should dye it."

Fox huffed and crossed his arms. "My wife likes it and as long as it turns her on, the gray parts are staying gray." He grinned smugly. "She calls me her silver Fox."

Wolffe leaned forward and twisted his lip in disgust. "Oh, gross. Please keep that stuff to yourself."

"But seriously," Fox said, changing the subject back. "You know my situation. If anyone found out about my wife… my kid, it would all be over. I can't risk it. Not even for you."

"Thorn?" Wolffe asked.

"Nope."

"Hound?"

"Not a chance."

"Thire?"

"Never."

"Stone?"

Fox snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to keep a plant alive."

Wolffe groaned and hung his head in his hands.

"I know you have your beef with the Jedi, and I get why you don't want her in the Temple, but what about a nanny?" Fox asked.

Wolffe lifted his head and looked at Fox in confusion. "A nanny?"

"Yeah," Fox said. "We're hiring one for when the baby comes."

"What does it do?" Wolffe asked.

"Well, there are different types," Fox said. "Some work part-time and come to the home on certain days, and there are some that work full-time and live in the home. They do pretty much anything you want–the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry."

"Really?" Wolffe asked. He crossed his arms, intrigued by the idea of a live-in nanny. "How much does it cost?"

"I don't know," Fox said with a shrug. "Her parents are paying for it since they physically can't help us with the baby. I guess we got lucky with that."

Wolffe huffed. "Yeah. Real lucky."

"Easy, vod," Fox said. "I'm not trying to rub this in your face."

Wolffe sighed. "I know."

"Here," Fox said, then grabbed a napkin and started to write on it. "This is the name and the coordinates of the agency we're working with. They're not that far from here, so go take a look for yourself."

Wolffe studied the words on the napkin, then looked at Fox. "You sure they're legit?"

Fox looked offended. "I'm the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Don't you think I'd do background checks on every employee before I let them near my son?"

"So, it's a boy?" Wolffe asked, a smirk turning up on his lip.

"Yes, it's a boy," Fox said.

"Got any names picked out yet?" Wolffe asked, still smiling.

"Well," Fox said, "I wanted to call him Aran, but she wanted to call him Eli, so we compromised and his name is Eli."

Wolffe laughed heartily.

"It's not funny," Fox said, but he couldn't help cracking a smile himself.

"Why are we so bad at naming children?" Wolffe asked. "Maria insisted on naming Cara because she was afraid I'd pick out something stupid like, tooka."

"I mean, that's just normal clone naming conventions," Fox said.

Wolffe hummed, remembering back to when he and his wife discussed baby names. "But babies aren't clones."

"No, I guess they're not," Fox said.

Wolffe and Fox continued their conversation as they ate breakfast with both men reminiscing about simpler times and trading stories of newer times. It was more than Wolffe could've asked for. Although he would never admit it, he felt a touch lonely since his wife's passing. The men under his command were his brothers, but Fox was his equal, someone who could talk back to him, set him straight, and be honest. It was a rarity among the ranks with the commanders spread thin. He missed his batch brothers, and it was good to catch up with one.

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agendabymooner · 2 years ago

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about names: the wingman of maranello || cl16 scenario (2)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

PART TWO OF ABOUT NAMES SCENARIO SERIES

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful.

Scenario summary: With his brothers coming down to sickness, Jules Leclerc travelled to Italy with his father and Uncle Arthur prior to his next karting event before them as he learned more about the ‘Wingman of Maranello’ — his namesake Jules Bianchi.

Content warning: FLUFF!!!!! What is beta reading we write with no sense of proper grammar or transitions, kids' sickness, heavily mentions Jules Bianchi (+ Jules being a good sport and matchmaker), feel-good vibes, OC (Teague; OFC's relative), Uncle Arthur Leclerc is quite unattentive, possible use of explicit language, poorly translated French and Italian(?)

Note: I have two papers due in the next two weeks lmao. Enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

Charles and Aimee always thought that if it hadn’t been for their jobs, their kids wouldn’t have the chance of catching a case of stomach flu from countless germs in their school.

They were meant to travel to Italy a week before the eldest Leclerc twins’ karting tournament occurring at the track in Maranello — but it seemed like PJ Leclerc’s class had another plan in mind. Now, two days after his last class of the week, he and his brothers Hervé, Anthoine and Alain (age two) were sulking at home.

They weren’t allowed to travel to Italy until they felt better — after all, the parents didn’t want to be running around with kids who look sickly and would probably throw up every other minute.

Hervé, out of the four boys, took that information to heart though. He was supposed to be with his twin brother as he, too, was going to compete in the karting event — with Arthur acting as his coach. He was excited to travel with his Da and Jules, but he started showing signs of a weak stomach.

Aimee had promised that if he got better before the race they’d be able to travel to where Charles and Jules were. It was just a translation to, “Listen to Maman and drink your tea, eat your soup and take your medicine” but they’d decided to put it in a nicer way to avoid dealing with a stubborn seven year old.

But as Jules placed his bag down after packing up, Hervé’s scowl turned light. His face was pale, but his face showed a lot about how he felt about his twin leaving.

Neither of the parents were paying attention to the two though. Arthur was somewhere in the house, saying goodbye to his younger nephews PJ and the twins.

“Mon cœur,” Charles started, making Aimee hum as she washed the soup bowls. There was no right time to ask his question especially if he asked his wife this but it was a shot worth taking. “Since it’s just Artie, J and I heading there for the week I’m thinking—“

“Uh oh, that’s a bad sign,” Aimee joked, now rinsing the dishes. Charles chuckled and rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter next to the sink and his wife. He proceeded with his suggestion.

“What if we took the Pista to Maranello instead?”

It was like his world stopped. Quite literally.

Turning off the tap, Aimee’s grin faded as she scowled heavily in the direction of her husband. Charles’s usually widened eyes shrunk small as Aimee continued to bore her eyes into his pair.

It was a bad idea to bring up his sports car overall.

With a scoff, she then said, “I want you to say those words slowly and understand what you just said.”

“Okay…” He nodded.

“Then I want you to think about how stupid that sounds,” Aimee smiled grimly. Yikes. He was a footstep away from being banished from his own bedroom.

“Okay,” he said regardless.

“Don’t be stupid,” Aimee warned him, “you know that the Pista isn’t for the kids.”

“I know,” Charles told her, his voice now hitting an octave as he defended, “to be fair, I wouldn’t put the kids in your McLaren either.”

“Darling,” Aimee laughed humourlessly, “we were thinking of two different things; I thought that they shouldn’t be allowed to ride it because it’s dangerous and you said that it was a McLaren not a Ferrari. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Right, alright,” Charles said with a shrug, “it was just an idea.”

“An idea that isn’t even worth looking at,” Aimee shook her head, “take the Aston or something— just don’t take any of the two seater ones. Do not ever let Jules sit on Arthur’s lap on a two-seater— he has to have a seat belt, Charles. If I find out that you took either of the Pista or McLaren I will come after your head— and you’re my husband. But I won’t hesitate to be a goddamn Black Widow if—“

“Okay, geez,” Charles interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “don’t need to threaten me. Still your husband, mon cœur.”

“Not going to be anymore if you do what you just said,” Aimee gave him a smile. It was a rather threatening one, and Charles should do anything but contest what he was told.

Meanwhile Jules stood there and awkwardly patted his brother’s head as he said, “Tu te rendras à la course, Herb.” You’ll make it to the race, Herb.

Hervé grumbled and continued to sulk, “I hope so. Tia said that Louis is going to be there. And je n'aime pas perdre contre Louis.” I don’t like to lose to Louis.

“Eh,” Jules shrugged nonchalantly, “you know what Maman said once? Uh… don’t take it personal? Is that what she said?”

Hervé nodded as his twin brother continued, “Louis me taquine aussi. Je m'en fiche parce que maman a dit que je ne devrais pas me soucier des gens qui se moquent de moi. Cela m'empêche seulement d'aller plus vite dans la course.” Louis teases me too. I don’t care much because Maman said I shouldn’t mind people who make fun of me. It only stops me from going faster in the race.

Despite being a twin, one of the things that differed Jules from Hervé was his level headed trait. It wasn’t as if he never showed any form of emotion to anything worth reacting to, but he seemed to reason more than Hervé.

Everyone around them was quick to notice this and easily pointed out that he took this rational approach from Aimee, while Hervé got his sensitivity from Charles.

Still, Jules approached things differently than his twin — and his attempt to convince Hervé to see the things he’s seeing was something that most school aged children wouldn’t do.

“So,” Jules told Hervé, “make it to the race not because of him. Remember! Auntie Vie raced for fun! Not because she wants to fight Uncle Max!”

“Hm,” Hervé nodded, but kept his head down nonetheless. The eldest Leclerc boy looked up and murmured, “My stomach still hurts, J.”

“Ah, I’ll tell Maman,” Jules nodded, “why are you up if your stomach hurts anyway?”

“Alors je peux demander à Maman si je peux venir avec vous les gars,” so I can ask Maman if I can go with you guys. Hervé grumbled, tucking his legs in his hoodie as he groaned. “Ugh.”

A four hour drive to their accommodation in Maranello and a quick trip to the Ferrari headquarters after Charles, Arthur and Jules Leclerc were found in Charles’s in-site office. Or rather, Charles was somewhere in the facility having a meeting with the PR team and Carlos while his son and brother were in his office.

Jules kept rolling over the chair from the desk to his Uncle Arthur, growing bored of the lack of things to do inside his father’s office. Arthur was just sitting there, his eyes hovering over his phone as he continued to browse through his twitter.

“Da should have just left me with Maman,” Jules sighed, his head slumped against Charles’s desk.

Arthur hummed, not paying full attention towards the boy as Jules sighed in annoyance.

Arthur wasn’t paying attention to him and Jules decided to mess with him a little, “Da could just drop me off the street and let me race by myself.”

Nothing but an utter “Mhm” escaped Arthur’s mouth.

“I’m bored, Uncle Art.”

Still nada.

“Herb said that he should have had Auntie Vie or Uncle Max coach him instead of you.”

It was as if Arthur got a whiplash as his mouth gaped open at the boy’s comment. “Jules, is that true?”

Jules shrugged, “No.”

“Then why say that if it’s not true,” Arthur exclaimed and heaved a sigh dramatically, “you scared me.”

“Because I’m booooored~” Jules whined, spinning himself while he sat on the chair of his father’s office. “Da left me here with nothing!”

“Tell you what,” Arthur started, “why don’t we take a look around the floor and see if you can find the LaFerrari car to ride in? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to let you borrow it and drive around the office.”

“Fine~” Jules hopped off the seat, not even bothering to wait for his uncle as he ran out of the office. “Race you to Da!”

“W- Oi! Jules Lorenzo Pascal- agh, wrong- Leclerc!” Arthur grunted before he stood up and ran after the boy. “You lots have a lot of names to even call you by them- Jules! Come back! Charles has a meeting!”

The Ferrari headquarters in Maranello was, no doubt, a place that held a lot of memories for the Leclerc family. Charles’ name was engraved in the wall of fame and Aimee’s family was strongly connected to the Ferraris. Their connections to the team — one that became their family — led them to what they had now.

Everyone inside the headquarters were fond of the Leclerc boys and Jules was no exception.

For an hour, he’d been going around the office saying hi to everyone and asking about their day — in Italian, as well, to impress them with his ability to speak more than two languages. Then he went around asking about the LaFerrari that his Uncle Arthur mentioned earlier.

Jules gladly toured the museum with his uncle rather than finding the car he’d asked about, his eyes glimmering at the sight of Niki Lauda’s car and even Enzo Ferrari’s. When they got to Michael Schumacher’s car, however, Jules nearly jumped up and down in excitement.

His loud excited voice caught the attention of other onlookers in the museum. It was rather funny that he was so excited, because by the time people had approached them the excitement in his features had infected the Ferrari fans as they asked Arthur for photos.

“Oh, I’ll take the photo!” Jules offered in excitement.

“Jules no you have to get in the picture,” Arthur kept an arm around the boy and said, “how will people know that there are two handsome Leclerc men roaming around Maranello if you’re out of the picture?”

And find out, they did. It wasn’t even an hour after when the fans posted their photos on Twitter and became a hit tweet because of the Leclerc boy. What was funnier aside from the caption “I met Jules Leclerc with his relative today” was the result that came with it.

Charles looked quite frazzled trying to find his kid and when the fans saw the driver they nearly freaked out. Jules merely waved at his father and said, “They said they want some pictures, Da!”

Charles sighed and smiled at the fans lightly, his eyes finding Arthur’s as he warned his brother quietly about letting Jules in the pictures.

Jules was still a child, and taking photos of him without the knowledge of either Charles or Aimee was trouble you’re asking for.

“Jules,” Charles started as he held the boy’s hand, making their way back to the office after having some photos taken, “Do not go far from the office when Da has a meeting, alright?”

“But I only went in the museum, Da,” Jules reasoned out, “and Uncle Artie went with me!”

“Well I’m glad you went with someone,” Charles shrugged, “but there is someone I would like you to meet.”

“Oh! Cool,” Jules exclaimed. “C'est le père de maman?” Is it Maman’s father?

Charles and Arthur shared a look over Jules’ head. Yeah no.

The boys had always mentioned that they’ve never met any of their grandfathers before. They understood why their Papy Hervé was not here anymore but Aimee’s father — Julius Hearth — was still alive. How come they’ve never met them?

“Non, mais il est proche de maman,” No but he is close to Maman. Charles replied quietly, eventually coming to a stop in front of the conference room by the Scuderia Ferrari Team Principal Fred Vasseur’s office.

Jules stood there, expectantly looking at his father as Charles gestured to the entryway. Stepping inside without looking away from his father, Jules finally looked in front of him as his glimmering eyes turned curious.

A man sat there. There are some signs of age in his face, but Jules could tell that he was not older than his father. The man’s smile brightened the room, the shade of his skin brightening like the sun.

Jules looked up at Charles, who only offered him a smile before telling him to keep walking. The man stood and stuck his hand out.

“Last time I checked, you and Aimee were still new,” the man gave a teasing look to Charles, who only chuckled. His Scottish accent piqued Jules’ interest even more.

His Maman’s accent was different from his and as he continued to think about it, his cousins’ mixture of Austrian and RP accent wasn’t like this either. He’s from a different region, Jules deduced.

The man looked down and crouched, hand still stuck out as he spoke, “My name is Teague. Teague Edmunson. And you are…?”

With a face showing a mixture of curiosity and cautiousness, Jules looked back at Charles who only gave him a go-ahead before the boy reached out to shake the hand of the man and introduced himself, “My name is Jules Leclerc.”

“Ah! Jules?” Teague smiled softly as he gave a nod of approval towards Charles’ direction. “You named him Jules?”

“Yes, we did,” Charles grinned, his hand reaching out to mess with his son’s hair.

“Seems rather fitting,” Teague teased the Ferrari driver, “the Wingman of Maranello… Ah… he made you and Aimee possible after all.”

Jules’s face scrunched up in confusion, watching how his Uncle Arthur giggled and his father’s face flush red.

It was like he missed something. He wasn’t sure what but the way his Da’s turn red told him enough about asking him about the matter later.

“I’m sorry, mister,” Jules piped up, making the men look down at him with questioning looks. He proceeded to look at the man who introduced himself as Teague and asked, “My Da said that you know my Maman well. Can I ask what you are to her?”

“Jules,” Arthur called, “do you know one of your Maman’s last names?”

The boy shook his head, making Teague laugh quietly and answer with, “Edmunson, Little Bianchi.”

“You said that is your name,” Jules pointed out, making Teague nod. “So… if Maman’s name is Edmunson then you are her… brother?”

“Well… Not quite,” Teague shook his head before elaborating, “I’m her cousin. Don’t tell me your Maman had never spoken much of me? Charles?”

“Yes we have,” Charles scoffed. But all Jules seemed to have heard was that the man in front of him was his mother’s cousin. Then he recalled that one time he went browsing through his Maman’s childhood photo album.

He saw his aunts in those photos and even his Uncles Max and Lando. He knew that some of them grew up together, but there was one person that Jules once pointed out and it was a boy with a darker shade of skin and curly hair. The boy that he saw was sitting next to his Maman.

Suddenly it all made sense to him. Aimee once introduced him to the photo of this boy as…

“You are Uncle T.”

Jules came to a conclusion, his lips spreading into a grin as it infected the whole room.

“Yes, I am your Uncle T!” Teague confirmed, nodding eagerly. “Gah! I thought Aimee and Charles had forgotten about me. Or even your uncle Arthur!”

“I’d never forget about you, T,” Arthur scoffed.

Jules then turned to Arthur and said, “Uncle Arthur, you cannot even remember my full name! You have put my Pascal first before Blaise!”

“Ahhh, Arthur~” Charles gasped dramatically and looked at his younger brother. Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I forgot about it once this noon and little Bianchi considers me a criminal for it,” Arthur muttered. “You and your Da, J. You like to give me a heart attack.”

He stood next to his father while they both brushed their teeth, getting ready to go to bed for the next day.

Jules had spent his day with Fred Vasseur and his Uncle Teague. It turned out that Teague was to work as an engineer at Ferrari after years of working at some firm in Luxembourg.

From what Jules learned, Teague never had the chance to visit Jules and his brothers due to his work commitments. Now, he’s had every chance to— and he did make sure that his time was well spent.

“Da,” Jules spoke after rinsing his mouth, hearing a hum from Charles as he glanced at the older Leclerc. “On reverra l'oncle Teague?” Will we see Uncle Teague again?

“Oui,” Charles murmured as he continued to brush his teeth. He spat the contents of his mouth and rinsed his mouth before he answered his son, “He will be there for your race, Jules.”

“Ah,” Jules nodded in understanding. Silence was shared between the Leclerc boys before Jules asked, “Est-il proche de Maman?” Is he close to Maman?

“Very,” Charles nodded, “but he is not your Maman’s best friend though. He was…”

Jules Leclerc, if you were to compare him to his twin and the rest of his brothers, was good at reading expressions. He could just tell that Charles wanted to tell him something but refuses to.

Jules always told himself that his Da got the look that his brother Hervé had whenever he was in the verge of crying or breaking down, and this was no exception.

So rather than bringing up the situation Jules went ahead and said, “Da, pourquoi l'oncle T a-t-il dit que mon nom correspondait?” Da, why did Uncle T say that my name is fitting?

Charles’s expression changed as he snapped his head towards the direction of his son. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know,” Jules said before he tried to recall the events earlier, “he said uh… Il m'a appelé quelque chose… W- wingman?” He called me something.

“Ah,” Charles chuckled, shaking his head lightly before he grabbed the brush from the sink alongside a hair tie. He stepped behind Jules and began brushing the boy’s hair back. “The Wingman of Maranello.”

“Oui! That!” Jules exclaimed, wincing lightly when he moved and his dad tugged on his hair lightly. Charles muttered an apology before Jules continued, “What does that mean?”

“Uh… so,” Charles tried to speak but he couldn’t help but focus on the detangling brush on his hand as he continued to brush Jules’ damp hair. “Do you know- Maman t'a-t-elle parlé de la Saint-Valentin?” Did Maman tell you about Valentine’s Day? Jules nodded as Charles explained, “There is something called a Cupid. Now, Cupid— he matches people with others. To find someone to love.”

“Maman said that! She said that Cupid helped you and Maman!” Jules said as his eyes glimmered at the thought of Cupid doing their work— a masterpiece that the boy called his Maman and Da.

“Yeah, well you see,” Charles chuckled, “long before Maman and I got together with the help of Cupid, we had something called the wingman. It’s someone who encourages you to talk to the person that you like.”

“Like Cupid?”

“Pretty much, but Cupid just helps people get together and love stronger,” Charles shrugged, “the wingman, in this case, helped me discover my love for your Maman more.”

Charles smiled to himself. He remembered it vividly.

BACK THEN

It turns out, being a student and a godson of a test driver — who was best friends with a stakeholder’s cousin — could lead him to a party at the Ferrari headquarters… and to her.

Teague chuckled quietly before nudging Jules Bianchi slightly, earning a scowl from the Frenchman as he followed Teague’s line of sight, smirking lightly as Charles Leclerc — at the age of fifteen — blushed furiously and walked away from the golden skinned girl.

When the girl was out of their sight, Jules whistled as if to tease the boy. Charles gave Jules a glare as Teague laughed.

“Come on, Shal,” Jules grinned lopsidedly before he wrapped his arm around the Monegasque. “I think you should talk to her.”

“I already did,” Charles tried to shove Jules away from him, but the Frenchman was stronger than him as Jules laughed.

“Not that,” Jules shook his head, “maybe someday she’ll be your girlfriend~~”

“Jules, shhh-“ Charles hissed.

“Careful now, Wingman of Maranello,” Teague piped up, “you might give my aunt a heart attack with all of your matchmaking.”

“I’ve done an alright job so far, don’t you think, T?” Jules winked at his best friend. “I’m sure your Aunt Amara wouldn’t mind having a handsome Monegasque for a son-in-law. It worked out so well with you and your girlfriend!

“Now Shal! Promise your best godfather Jules that you’d ask her out one of these days, hm? I’d be damned if you let go of a smart girl like her.”

NOW

“So if I’m called Jules and he was your Uncle Jules… does that mean I get to play matchmaker too?”

Charles laughed aloud, finally tying his son’s hair into a bun before he wrapped his arms around his boy.

“Why not,” Charles rolled his eyes before pressing kisses on his son’s face. “You can do whatever you want, little Bianchi. Just not anything that will send your Da or Maman to the hospital, hm?”

Jules sighed contentedly, resting against his father’s chest as he looked at himself and his dad in the vanity. He then smiled and said, “I hope Hervé gets better before the race. Then Uncle T can see me and him race.”

“I hope so, too, Jules,” Charles sighed quietly, patting his son on the shoulder before nudging the boy towards the direction of their bedroom. “Now off we go. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Will I drive the LaFerrari this time, Da?”

“If your Zio Fred has someone to find it for you, then yes. Perhaps don’t crash around the office. It’s a busy day tomorrow.”

“Uh… okay. Maybe I can make that promise.”

“You can promise? So silly of you, Jules.”

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