#you made me think about family trees and how they work good job

[the-scooby-gang]

Hey, in your The Rogers Family AU, does Ken, Barbie’s boyfriend, get a Doo of his own? He has been dating Barbie for 43 years, according to Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse. He must have a Doo, or else they would have broken up by now. Also, why haven’t you mentioned Barbie’s sisters: Skipper, Stacie and Chelsea?

Yep, Ken does have a Doo. Hudson Doo.

Hudson and Ken met in one of the many Annual Rogers Meetings, the second one Ken went actually. Hudson is another case of "Non Great Dane Doo" like Taffy. He was adopted by Tiffany Doo when Skipper was 10 and Stacie was 1

Tiffany, as you may know, is bonded to Grandma Roberts, Joanne Roberts nee Rogers.

Most of the Doo's from the Roberts clan are all related, by blood or magical dog adoption, to Tiffany Doo, a Golden Retriever that was magically dog adopted by Penelope Doo, a Great Dane from the main Doo line once bonded to Matilda II Rogers, Shaggy's Great Grandmother and Joanne's Mother.

Later Joanne would marry Bernard Roberts (May he rest in peace) and had a son named George, who would later marry Margaret and have 4 daughters: Barbie, Skipper, Stacie and Chelsea.

As per Barbie & Her Sisters in The Great Puppy Adventure the Doos each girl has is:

Barbie: Taffy Doo

Skipper: DJ Doo

Stacie: Rookie Doo

Chelsea: Honey Doo

I haven't mentioned the girls before because I'm still ironing out the Rogers Family!AU and was giving a bigger focus to the main line of the Rogers Clan. Since Barbie and her sisters are Shaggy's second cousins, my mind focused on Barbie as the one Shaggy would talk the most since they are closer in age.

[heavenbarnes]

okay hear me out— softness and gentle topics aside, how would older bf!simon go about discussing his mom & Tommy? would it ever occur? Would it be a vulnerable and gentle discussion with sins laid on the table or would it be like pulling teeth— panic attack arises and the words are spewing.

at first I’d have headcanoned it that maybe we innocently question the clinginess but I’m not so sure anymore; feels like that would just be second nature for the two.

i’ve never ventured into this topic because it’s literally so devastating that i almost considered writing it out of canon for him- but it’s time 🫶🏼 (massive tw for family loss)

the day older bf!simon tells you about his family, it’s at breakfast.

he’d made the food and you’d made the coffee, both expertly passing each other in your kitchen until you’d settled at the table.

when he told you, you had toast hanging out your mouth.

“pardon?”

“i had a family”

you weren’t really talking about anything in particular, so you made quick mental work of skimming over your conversation until you found where this was coming from.

sunny outside, nice day, should go to the farmers market, get groceries, it’ll be crowded, family day-

i had a family

had.

oh.

your heart had start to speed up in your chest and part of you was scared simon’s military precision hearing would be able to tell.

judging by the look on his face, distant, quiet- he couldn’t hear the thrumming against your sternum.

you were thankful, it meant he kept speaking.

“my mum and my brother, tommy- he had a missus too and a kid”

had.

oh god.

he wouldn’t look at you, his gaze drifted out the window and onto the birds that were floating over the fruit tree in the backyard.

you couldn’t say there was much of you to look at, a hardline of your mouth and eyes that were willing themselves not to water.

“they weren’t in a good way- but i helped them get better”

the corners of your lips quirked reflexively but it fell away just as quickly, unable to escape the voice in the back of your head that kept saying the same thing.

had.

why is every thing in the past tense?

probably for the same reason this is the first time you’re hearing this story. when is the right time to get to this part?

the moment he cuts the rope, lets you down from where he’s had you hanging- you wish you could react in any other way.

instead, your mouth hangs open while your hand does its best to cover it.

the toast goes cold, so does the coffee.

the tears break through of their own accord.

and he still won’t look at you.

“oh, simon”

your mind races in a way you’ve never felt before, thoughts you’d never had before rising to the surface.

first, you want to hurt someone, anyone- whoever you can blame for doing this to simon.

(you quickly realise he’s probably already done that)

second, you want to take him by the shoulders and tell him that this was never his fault.

that there was nothing he did or could’ve done to deserve this.

and you’re sure that there’s layers to his job and things he’s done and seen that’d make him think that cannot be true.

but you don’t care- there is no human alive that could ever deserve what you’ve just been told.

you don’t care.

you love him.

third, you start to make sense of some of simon’s behaviours.

the way he calls your name when you’re at the other end of the house, just to know where you are.

the way you can turn around at any given moment and find him closer than your shadow.

the way he calls you on deployment only to hear you tell him you love him and you’re still home waiting.

the way he cannot exist without a hand on you, without knowing where you are, without knowing you’re still his.

and there you go again, wanting to hurt whoever put him in this position.

grateful to be able to love him how he needs but angry- blind rage in knowing what he went through to get to this point.

it’s why you’re out of your seat and wrapping your arms around his shoulders the minute you hear even a sniff.

you let him ruin your shirt with tears as strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you so close into him you wouldn’t be at all surprised if the particles shifted just enough for you to become one.

as if you weren’t already.

you’d never, never ever, questioned simon’s ever present need to be close. you’d come to accept it, enjoy it, miss it when he was gone.

it was never overbearing, never out of line, always right when you needed it.

reminding you that he was there.

that he loved you.

that he needed you.

just as much as you needed him.

and god, did he need to be needed.

did he need you to pass him the pickle jar (even when you could open it just fine)

did he need you to make him take the rubbish out (when you could do it yourself)

did he need you to call him when the car was making a funny sound (when you knew it was the fan belt)

did you need him to pull you into his lap at the end of a long day and rest his lips against the crown of your head as he rubbed slow circles into your back.

like you were doing for him now.

“simon, i just need you to know- i’m not going anywhere”

you made it to the farmer’s market, eventually. it was crowded, meaning simon’s arm never let your waist.

not that you mind.

not that you ever mind.

[heeseung-min]

[22:00]

Yang Jungwon has been always jealous of his brother. Being first in everything, getting everyone appreciate him, even his parents favor his brother more than him.

"Jungwon, come here. Your brother brought someone. Introduce yourself."

His mother said delightfully. Looks like she is so proud of the person his brother came with. Jungwon rolled his eyes and walked closer to them and finally sees the person his mom was talking about.

Jungwon couldn't explain how he feels at that time. He went speechless when he sees you shyly standing beside his brother while looked at him. His brother immediately introduced your name although that made Jungwon annoyed a little bit because he wants to hear your voice not his brother.

"It's rare for you to bring a girl to our house."

"Well because she is not just a girl. She is my girlfriend."

His mom screamed happily at his brother's remark but Jungwon didn't feel the same. He left the conversation and went straight to the table to dine the food his mom prepared. The dinner went good with his mom asked few questions on you such like when you started dating, about your family, your work and more. The conversation mostly focused on you and his brother. Jungwon wanted to leave the table since he felt his presence is not needed until he heard your voice calling at him.

"What do you do now, Jungwon? Your brother told me you just finished your college weeks ago."

"Um, well I don't have specific job right now. I just do part time when I'm free and at the same time I started planting some of fruit trees at our grandma's garden."

"That's awesome. Is the small garden at the front yard is yours?"

"Yes. I planted some flowers ---"

Jungwon's mother cut him off before he can even finish his sentence. His mom keep asking questions and questions leading to keep your attention focused on her. His brother also didn't care about Jungwon and keep talking between them only. Jungwon huffed slightly and went to wash his dishes before entered his room.

His face flushed when he remembered how focused you were listening to what he said. Usually, his mother or brother didn't pay attention on what he does as long as it's not embarassing their image, it's fine. He felt warm when you genuinely praising him. He loves it.

And maybe he wants it more.

"Do you like the flowers?"

Y/n looked at her behind and found Jungwon slowly walked and crouched beside her and stare at the flowers she was looking at.

"Yeah, the daisy looked so beautiful when I see it in front of my eyes. I didn't expect a man to plant flowers."

"Why? I think planting is really fun."

"Most of men thinking it was too difficult and planting flowers usually done by women. Even your brother thought like that."

Jungwon chuckled when he heard that sentence. Of course, his brother doesn't deserve to have you. Useless prick. He didn't know how to take care of woman properly.

Jungwon and Y/n started to get closer. But Y/n treat him literally like a younger brother and Jungwon is dying to get out of that zone and want more than that. That day, his brother went out to work while his mother was out to visit her friends and Jungwon was pretty sure it will take a long time so he wanted to use the time wisely to spend it with you.

He went out of the room and saw you were sitting in front of the piano on the living room. Seems like you wanted to try to play but didn't know how to so the notes that coming out sounds funny. He walked closer until he is behind you. While you still didn't realized someone has been standing on your behind, Jungwon took the chance to slide his hands on yours and hold it gently. Hearing you gasped and felt your hands shaking a little bit made him smile.

"Jung- Jungwon? What- what are you doing?" You stuttered through your speech. Jungwon didn't say anything but he started to move both of your hands on the piano.

"I'm teaching you." Just a short sentence from him and your tense body slowly relaxing. Little by little, you started to enjoy it and both of you lost in the time playing the piano with each other. Jungwon even taught you some simple songs that you can play on the piano.

"Thank you so much, Jungwon. It feels really nice."

"I'm always here for you, noona."

There are another week left until your marriage with Jungwon's brother. Everything has been prepared but you are still nervous about the ceremony.

"I hope everything will be fine."

"I'm sure it will. We did good so far."

Jungwon's brother reassured you. He knew you are the type to easily get nervous so he did his best to not make it too stressful for you.

"Hyung, can you take mom from her friend's house? She asked for it." Jungwon suddenly said made both of Y/n and his brother looked at him. His brother just nodded and stand up to take his coat before went out of the house.

"Be careful, okay?"

"Will do, baby."

Oh,

Jungwon certainly sure it will not.

Three hours have passed yet your boyfriend and his mother is still not back. Jungwon did told that her mother's friend house is not too far and they should be back in 30 minutes. At first, you tried to stay positive thinking that they may go to somewhere else before going home. However, when your text messages and calls didn't get answer you became paranoid.

"Jungwon, do you think we should go find them?"

"Let me try to call mom's friend first."

Before any of both of you can do anything, Jungwon's phone ringing. He picked up the call and you can read from his reaction, it seems something bad happened.

"Noona....they were in a hospital."

_______

_______

Jungwon's happiest moment in his life was the day he got to married with you. He still can't believe when you said yes to his proposal after few times you've been refusing. The second happiest moment when he decided to sabotage his brother's car that night.

When the doctor announced that his brother and mother did not survive from the car crash, he nearly jumped out of excitement. He had to control himself since you were beside him sobbing uncontrollably. He played his role as a hero so well that you never figure out he was the killer.

"I love you so much, Y/n."

"Love you too, Jungwon."

OH MY GOD YALL🤡🤡🤌HOW LONG I TOOK THIS TO FINISH GOSH SO SORRY FOR DISAPPEAR FOR TOO LONG😞😞i hope yall still didn't forget me

TAGLIST💟: @stacey-stonem @duolingofanaccount @rowretro @eeunoia @soireegurl @obsessed1with1straykids

[moody-alcoholic]

Epilogue

It's over so here is my opportunity for a quick TED talk.

I do have idea's for some one shots in the future, so the fic won't be 'finished' but the main story is. I am also very much open to suggestions.

For now though this is the end for this fic. I want to say thank you to everyone who loved the story and followed it. To all the people who binge read it in one night. You have no idea how much it means to me.

I want to give a special thank you to @void-my-warranty for inspiring me through her work to bite the bullet and write a smut fic. If I was to dedicate this work to anyone it would be her. Thank you <3

I will write more Ghoap x reader in the future but for now I’m shifting my focus to my other work and the upcoming Johnny x Simon fic I have been working on. I always strive to improve with every work I put out there, so if you like this check out my other works they’re all a little different.

If you want more Ghoap stuff I will leave some recommendations here, there are so many talented authors out there who deserve way more love then me so go forth and enjoy!

Recommendations. A Dichotomy of Thought - REMEMBERWREN Ghoap x reader Harmless Fun - REMEMBERWREN Ghoap x reader Sundowning - losersimonriley Simon x Johnny Service Dog Johnny - void-my-warranty Ghost/Fem Reader/Soap ——————————

Summary: . Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe. CW: Mentions of suicide, grieving, mentions of death.

Previous parts - masterlist - Back to the start

Enjoy <3

6 months later

You’re surprised to see Johnny is waiting for you as you exit the hospital after your shift. You throw yourself in his arms.

“I thought you weren't back till Friday?” You say kissing him.

“Price got us on an earlier flight, thought I would come and surprise you.” He says wrapping his arm round your waist.

“Where’s Simon?” You ask looking around.

“Debrief, boring admin work, he’ll be back later.” Johnny says as you walk with him.

“That mean we’ve got the flat to ourselves?” You nudge him as he leads you to the car. He chuckles.

“How’s civilian life treating you?” He asks as you both get in. You quit the military a few weeks after what happened with Jack. Price managed to pull some strings and get you honourably discharged. You joined the reserves, it felt right, keeping just a little connection. You got your old job back at the hospital, the same one you and Chloe worked in. It was nice to see old faces, and new ones too.  

“You know, same old same old. We planted that tree for Chloe. You should have been there it was lovely.” You say suddenly feeling sad. You rallied with the people from A&E who worked with Chloe and you all sponsored a tree for the patients garden.

Her family gave you her ashes. They just turned up on your door one day. You had them made into a rock, then placed it under the tree. You don’t know if that’s what she would have wanted but it felt right. Johnny’s hand rests on your thigh. 

“What about you, you must have more interesting stories then the ones I have from working 12 hours in A&E.” You say smiling and pushing the tears away. 

“Ah yes, we’ve had some adventures I’ll give you that love.” Johnny says as you drive out the car park. You let him talk the whole way, it had been a week since you’d seen them and you were desperate to spend time with them again. When you make it into the flat Simon is there. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back till late?” Johnny asked as you run into his arms.

“Price said he could handle it.” Simon says before you plant your lips on his.

“How’s civilian life?” Simon asks, you roll your eyes.

“They planted the tree for Chloe.” Johnny says from the kitchen.

“Yeah, how’d it go?” He asks, looking at you. 

“Good, I think she would have liked it.” You reply. Simon nods leading you over to the sofa as Johnny comes over with a bottle of wine and wine glasses. You cuddle up next to Simon as Johnny pours the glasses.

“What’s the latest with the Masons?” You ask. You hadn’t been keeping up with it but Simon and Johnny’s had, they’d been watching them like hawks.

“They’re in court on Monday, we’ll know more then.” Simon says. It took a month or so but finally people were formally arrested. Almost every family member who was in the military had been dishonourably discharged, and there were even talks of the Americans getting involved and also prosecuting the family.

You were warned you would need to go to court to testify, but you didn’t care. Jack killed himself, left a suicide note, seems the family was planning on pushing all the blame on him so they could try and get away with it. His note was pretty damming, it’s been big part of why they were able to get so many of his family.

They’ll lose their house, businesses everything. Most of them are looking at life in prison. You didn’t want to smile but it was good, justice and you would never have to worry about them again. You feel Johnny pull your legs up on him scooting over to sit closer to Simon. It reminded you of the first night you stayed in their flat. A bottle of wine and shitty police chaser shows.

“I reckon e’ll make it.” Johnny says sipping the wine. You turn to look at him smiling. 

“Don’t be silly Johnny.” Simon scoffs. You look up at Simon. 

"I bet he makes it." You smile looking back at the TV. Simon kisses the top of your head. You were glad they were back and back safe.

"I love you." You mumble as you hug Simon.

"Love you too." He says as Johnny's hand strokes your back. You look over at the TV. They caught the guy.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XII)

Chapter 12 : Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again

Hi! Here is new chapter! This one is… interesting… Whiskey is very dangerous, indeed…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2527

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body        love what it loves. Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver, Dream work, 1986

You ended up at your place with Andrew. After that awful dinner you both needed some emotional support.

You didn’t talk about the meal though. He didn’t mention how Frank had hurt you, you didn’t talk about how Andrew deserved better than Sam.

That was your final conclusion after the evening. Andrew deserved better than her. You didn’t know all the details that had drawn him away from a professional career in music, but you knew that it had been a tough decision to make for him. The way Sam made it sound, Andrew had simply given up. And yet, his eyes still lit up every time he talked of music.

You sat down on your couch with a bottle of whiskey, getting lost in thought as you replayed the conversation through your head. You had noticed how Sam had stopped listening the second you had started talking about your job, about music… about things Andrew loved. And perhaps you were too busy grieving for him, but was Frank the same with you? Because Andrew deserved someone who listened, someone who actually cared…

What did both Andrew and Frank saw in Sam that you didn’t? The question was relentless, spinning in your head again and again, a fly trapped under a glass trying to escape. What did you lack that she had?

You watched Andrew as he downed his first glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice or anything. He didn’t flinch, merely let out a long exhale as he let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch.

“God… that felt good. I needed that,” he sighed, pouring himself another glass while you drank yours as well.

You winced slightly at the burn of the liquor, but silently asked for more anyway.

“What’s next on the list of things to ruin?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I reckon we haven’t really ruined anything yet… but… I guess not much until the New Year. You’re still coming to their party?”

“Of course,” you sighed. “We need to make a plan for this. We need to ruin something and then save the day.”

“We should ruin the champagne.”

“And replace it with another excellent one? Good idea. That could work for you.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe help Sam. That would impress him.”

“Hmm… a knight in shining armour? Ruin her dress and you fix it?”

“Oh…. That’s nice! You’re very good at this Andy, that’s a little scary!” you joked, nudging him. “I could give her my dress, and wear some disgusting clothes instead. The self-sacrifice will make him grow fond of me.”

“I’ll make sure to have the worst change of clothes in my car.”

“Perfect.”

“They said they wanted to organise the party in some sort of club…”

“Hmm… I bet you love the idea.”

“I’m already panicking at the mere thought.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

You thought yourself silly for offering such a useless argument, but Andrew didn’t seem to think of it that way. Instead, he gave you a grateful smile.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, question aimed the ceiling as you sighed, Andrew shifted by your side.

“Because we love them.”

His voice sounded like a lie. It was true though. It had to be, somehow…

You drank again, tried to think of something else, let silence settle instead. It was okay. Silence with Andrew felt comfortable, like the world shushed under a blanket of snow. Natural. Slow.

And outside the world kept on turning, as if you weren’t in pain, as if you weren’t grieving. Wasn’t that a strange truth? Frank had left, and the world hadn’t stopped with him. You wished you could feel it spinning again, look at the rest of the world and feel its beating, and be part of it once more. Maybe, if someone listened to you, and understood you, and made you feel safe again… if you could be yourself with them…

“I’m glad you listened to the record,” Andrew spoke after a while and another emptied drink.

“I loved it.”

“It’s one of my favourites. My father listened to it often when I was a child.”

“Is he the one who made you love music so much, your father?”

Andrew nodded.

“He was sick when I was a child. Bad surgery on his spine. He never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a drummer, back in the days. And even after everything changed he just… I don’t know. No matter what we said to each other, how angry we were, how much we argued… we’ve always had music in common. Even when we couldn’t communicate properly, we would put on a record, sit in silence and listen to it, and then we’d discuss it, and things would get better.”

You knew that he was blinking tears away, heard him sniffing. He wasn’t looking at you and you were still staring at the white ceiling. It didn’t matter. Perhaps it even made it easier.

“I just… I didn’t… I made a choice, back in the days, you know? I wasn’t being a coward or something, I just… I didn’t want to tell other people’s words; words that I didn’t care about, I wanted people to listen to me. I wanted to make something that was true and earnest. I wanted… I wanted for someone to listen to me…”

He sniffed. You reached across the couch for his hand, easily found his fingers. He held your hand so easily, like it was obvious, like your hands were meant for that gesture, for holding onto each other. His so large, yours so small in comparison…

“I thought she used to listen, but I don’t know anymore. She wasn’t listening tonight. She hasn’t listened in a while. Do you think…? Do you think she ever listened to me? I had so much to say that I couldn’t express, I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how… I wanted her to listen… God I wanted for someone to listen, just once… just once…”

You tightened your hold on his hand, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by this simple gesture. That you were listening now. That you listened. That you understood him. That you were there…

“Thank you.”

His voice was a mere whisper, but it was enough.

You struggled with your own tears as you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“I don’t understand why Frank needed to wait for me, and not for her. What… I feel like I’m lacking something…”

“You’re not.”

You felt his stare on you now, but you kept your own gaze set on the ceiling.

“You’re not lacking anything, stop it. Frank is the one who left…”

“Because he saw something in Sam he didn’t see in me. And I don’t know what it is. And I’m scared… I’m scared that I thought he cared about me, and he didn’t. I’m scared to have built my life on that kind of lie. And the worst is… I still want it. I want the life he promised me.”

You were surprised when Andrew let go of your hand. But then you felt his palm cupping your cheek, the brush of his thumb drying your tears.

You finally turned to him, he gave you a sad but soft smile.

“Don’t cry over him. Please, don’t cry.”

You sniffed, let him caress your skin for a moment longer. It felt reassuring, anchoring. Soft and tender. Safe. You felt safe with him…

You shook yourself, moved to the bottle of whiskey again.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t cry,” you nodded, drying your face on your arm. “Let’s get hammered instead, that was the deal!”

Andrew silently agreed by handing you his empty glass for a refill.

“Tell me something silly,” he requested.

“Something silly?”

“Something about… your college days. Those are always worth a good laugh.”

“It’s good craic,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Alright… I’ll tell you a couple of stories. But you’ll have to tell me some as well!”

“Fair enough.”

You exchanged a smile, united your glasses with a cling.

And then you talked about yourself. And he listened.

Your head was spinning, you weren’t sure anymore if it was because of the alcohol or how much you were laughing.

You let yourself fall back into the sofa, holding on your painful stomach, tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. God, you hadn’t laughed so hard in… you were about to think ‘since Frank’ but you couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard with him.

“There was this one time,” Andrew went on. “I was playing with a band… Alex thought it would be hilarious to hide my guitar… I was so fucking panicked, I fell down the stairs leading to the stage and almost broke my neck…”

You doubled over with laughter, and he followed you close.

“How did you pay him back?”

“I told the girl he fancied he couldn’t read music, and she went on to teach him…”

You were hysterical at that point.

“And then…” Andrew choked on his own breath, and it took him a moment to recover and speak again. “Then, he was too afraid that she would push him away if he said anything, so he pretended he didn’t know and let her teach him all over again…”

You were both laughing too hard, the alcohol blurring your senses and making the stupid jokes and silly stories funnier than they ought to be. You looked at the bottle of whisky, admired the empty part of it, felt the burn of its effects on your cheeks.

And you looked at Andrew who was drying his cheeks, his long fingers spread across his stomach. He took off his glasses, they were wet with happy tears. He put them down on your coffee table and leaned into the couch again, slouched and comfortable, with his cheeks flushed with the liquor you had been drinking through the evening. His hair was held back in a messy bun, that had only become messier along the evening.

Damn, you couldn’t help the thought when it crossed your mind, because he was so bloody handsome…

He felt your stare on him, turned his attention fully to you. Focused and expectant, as if he knew you were about to say something incredibly interesting. And this black shirt he had on…

There were butterflies in your stomach and stutters on your tongue while your heart was pounding. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you only felt, and wanted and easily yielded… and perhaps it was just the liquor, you would blame it on the whiskey in a few hours, but for now, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow morning. And for the first time in three months, you weren’t thinking about Frank at all either. Instead, you were thinking of Andrew, of how gentle and warm he looked sitting with you on your couch, how inviting his lips were, how you longed to touch his hair and his beard and him and…

… and then your lips were on his.

You felt him raising his eyebrows, but when you leaned closer and let your fingers find their way to his cheeks, the brush on your cheekbones told you he had closed his eyes too. And there you were, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, your mouths moving in perfect unison somehow, despite a first kiss and too much alcohol. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, while his other hand came up to cradle your face. The long fingers soon moved to your hair though, pulling you closer while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a slow, lazy movement while you kissed, gasping for air every now and then, but your lips always connected again after a mere instant. You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, too long for it to be meaningless, and yet you refused to think for now.

When you at last opened your eyes again, Andrew blinked at you, seeming a little shocked, and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. You felt dizzy… dizzy with his scent, something of wood and a tinge of spices. Dizzy with his taste still on your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something that was just him. Dizzy with the burn of his beard against your skin, with the heat of his body against yours.

Dizzy with him…

“Y/N?”

The way he whispered your name, his words a little slurred because of alcohol, and yet it sounded so good, tender, like he cradled the vowels and the consonants in his mouth, with tenderness in the way he spoke it out loud…

He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go, his hands on your waist and in your hair still, and you held onto him for a moment longer, admired how your kisses had reddened his lips.

Why did it feel so good to hold him? Why did it feel so good to kiss him…

“Erm… You… you kissed me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I did,” you whispered, refusing to pull away, remaining in his arms and your lips only centimetres away from his.

“You… I mean… We…”

You felt him leaning closer again as he took a deep breath, felt the brush of his lips on yours… but just when you were about to lean in, he pulled fully away, moving further away on the couch.

“Wait… what’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, regretting his brown curls between your fingers and the warmth of his breath against your mouth. But then your brain kicked in again, and your eyes grew round as the realization of your own movements sank in.

You had kissed him. You had kissed Andrew…

Holy…

“God, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. God…”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, but it was obvious that he was shaken.

“That was so out of line, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… I… I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it went to my head.”

Why was your heart aching when you thought he regretted it. He should have regretted it. And you ought to regret it too…

“Frank and Samantha…” you mumbled under your breath, thinking out loud, but Andrew caught your words and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, we… they are the ones we want.”

He slowly nodded, ran his hand across his face, as if to clear his head.

“You… you were just drunk. Just drunk…”

He looked at his watch.

“God…it’s almost 2 a.m. We should go to bed…”

You nodded again, but stopped him when he pulled out his phone.

“I have an extra bedroom, you can stay if you want.”

“I can take a uber.”

“It’s late. You can stay, if you want to.”

Slowly, he nodded.

You let him head to the bathroom, and hid inside your bedroom, resting your back against its wooden surface as you closed it.

What the fuck was that?

[rainytomorrows]

Deadpool / Wolverine x reader | Domestic headcanons

I am legitimately moments from collapse so I will cope. Again. Domestic headcanons!! Can't lie to y'all I'm a big fan of the poolverine x reader poly trope so. This is all made with that in mind.

Part two

Words: 950

♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡

Wade > Will make you food sometimes to cheer you up, but it's just straight childish. Hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings, a stack of pancakes (a full foot taller than it needs to be) with yet another mountain of whipped cream and syrup, the type of stuff you only expect in some old cartoon > Comes home with the DUMBEST socks. You have to physically pull him away from those stores that specialize in funky socks. He came home with 5 different hero themed socks once (One was him, obviously. He had a wolverine one, Spiderman, Thor, and one pair of Jesus socks whom he claimed was also a superhero) > Butterfly kiss bandit. One kiss is NEVER enough for this asshole. At the least, if you dare try to give him one (1) kiss on the lips before going somewhere, he follows you when you pull away. Does that make sense? Like, you kiss him and as you're pulling away he'll follow to press another kiss, and however many he can get in before you're actually pushing him away. > Or Logan has to punch him to get his own kiss in > So annoying. If you spend too long without giving him attention, you can't expect to work on ANYTHING alone > Laying on your lap when you sit to work, draping himself over you if you stand up to work on something, practically a blanket if you're laying down to work on something > Very thoughtful gift giver though. Maybe he can't always afford some expensive gift, but, he always comes back from cheap stores (Dollar tree, Salvation Army, that strange family owned second hand store that Logan swears smells like blood somewhere) with something strangely catered to you. Funny trinket weirdly related to a story you told about one you'd seen in a store back on a trip out of state when you didn't have enough money and was heartbroken to come home without. A shirt that would fit perfect with those pants you just bought (he adores everything you wear and can only hope to cheer you up with more) > For SURE replaced your underwear with the dumbest merchandise you've ever seen once. I'm fully convinced. At least put it in with the rest. I can't imagine he wouldn't find some corny ass Deadpool thong and beg you to try it on. No one is sure if he just finds it funny or actually thinks it's cool.

Logan > Much more sensible when it comes to making you food. Knows how to make a good home cooked meal, some recipes he gained along the way like some grandma with a box of old stained recipe sheets > Makes tea for sure. Gruff as hell but, when he's really needed, he shows up with a hot cup. Tries to make himself all tough, like if it's been a long week. "Chamomile. Helps you calm down, or some shit." > He has pride. He might act like he's constantly annoyed by the two of you, but god forbid he seems like a bad boyfriend. Ever. > "I can hold my own bags?" "Fucking give them to me." > Like aggressively gentlemanly. Has the spirit just not the vocab > Lets Wade know if he thinks he's doing a terrible job as a boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, they love each other. They're each other's boyfriends too. But sometimes Logan feels like a glorified coach. > Wade will be particularly annoying one day, you had a LONG ass shift, and he's attention starved. You're clearly not having it, when Wade's draping himself over your shoulder while you're cooking and Jesus Christ this guy is heavy. You barely have time to react when Logan is throwing him over his shoulder lumberjack style. "Get the hell off" (He's already off, thanks to Logan) > Wade convinced him to wear a cop outfit once as a joke because of how he acts on dates and the such ('policing' wade and his behavior), but, ended up being too into it. Both of them. While still a little embarrassed, Logan could fit the role and Wade couldn't fit in his pants anymore. > Definitely tries to get you to the gym with him, however hard that is > If you like going: He just kinda tries to join you, almost lost puppy esque. If you don't, he's nearly bribing you to come along with him. I feel like he's the type to just have a little home gym though. Doesn't strike me as a public workout guy. I wouldn't know. > I'm unsure how to word this- I think he's a demanding cuddler. You are NOT in charge. He's holding you like a teddy bear, not as in like hugging- like you're his stuffy or something. You're almost unsure it counts so much as cuddling, so much as him just holding you. Does that make sense? You're near rag dolling when he cuddles with you because he just refuses to let someone else have control while cuddling, not as an insecurity thing that's just how he likes to cuddle > He will let you have control on occasion if it's clearly been a hard day. You may hold him if someone was a jerk to you today (Wade doesn't count. "you chose to let him live here instead of sleeping outside." "Hey!") > Don't try and excuse it with "I have to make breakfast" he'll just get up still holding you. Like the stubborn ass he and Wade always are. He's awkwardly holding you under your armpits (hugging you like a kid in the hallway holds their stuffy) as if that's supposed to be the optimal way to cook. Still has that gruff look the whole time btw ♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡

Hope you guys enjoyed, as always! I live to fill the heart and soothe the soul. Let me know if you guys want a part two- I may be able to crank some more out. Have a good day/night, and a great life!!

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 8: The Favor

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

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

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: Don't worry

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

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor {You Are Here}

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They won’t tell me that, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think her memory will…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean, looking for an Alpha.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

But you are nowhere to be seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

A few green strings lead to fun facts like:

Watches true crime

Likes to read

Works at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Born in Palo Alto, California

Fireman Tom

Front Desk Westbrook

Atrioventricular canal defect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s suddenly eight years old again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stilinski.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “For how long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What other things have we done together?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we slow dance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ollie misses you,” he smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that with the jeep you mentioned?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle and it strikes Stiles.

“What sort of job would that be?”

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

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

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

“What about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How much is a bunch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We did,” he says quickly, “We do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is your granddaughter?”

“Allison Argent,” he says.

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

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

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

“You used handcuffs last time?”

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

Allison gasps softly, “You’re kidding.”

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

“Like… chains?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been…”

“… distracting yourself?” Allison offers.

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

“Do you think (Y/N)’s in danger?”

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

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

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

“Let’s tackle this first,” he says.

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

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

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

 ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And Stiles?”

You frown, “I haven’t seen him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In what way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you?” you ask timidly.

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

“How do you like your marshmallows roasted?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott wiggles his eyebrows, “You know what.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort, “Thank you for helping me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, I can.”

“She’s married!”

Derek shrugs, “And I’m charming.”

“You’re a criminal!”

“I was exonerated.”

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

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

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

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

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

Derek whips his head over, “Excuse me?”

“A favor for a favor.”

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

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

Derek stares him down uncomfortably, “What favor?”

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That Stiles guy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angela shrugs again, “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like Derek Hale, Derek?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughs, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest was fluttering with desperate breaths.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

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

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

Stiles, you think. That’s Stiles!

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

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

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

He still looks ashamed, whispering, “Okay.”

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

He whips his head to you, his throat bobbing.

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

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

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

He smells like candy, you think.

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

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

“Is this good?”

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

Even when Allison and Lydia questioned you before the dance.

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

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

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

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

You laugh, “You’ve said that before.”

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

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

“Like a lot a lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Derek raises his eyebrows, “Before you…”

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It breaks your heart.

“I need to talk to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks scared, his throat bobbing as you approach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stumbles back and grips your waist for support.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

Research Websites

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Ventricular Tachycardia

Ventricular Tachycardia

Implantable Cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs)

~~~

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

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 75 (Nearing Delivery and There's a Fancy Cake!)

As with all her pregnancies, Heather worked hard up to her due date. Running Buttercup Pet Clinic meant very little time off and she was always tired, but she was more confident than ever in her team's ability to hold things down when she took some family leave after delivery.

She'd begun making ambrosia treats to sell, giving a few to Conrad so he'd have them when he returned to the lighthouse. But as ever, he was in no hurry to chase down ghosts and death, and it had been months since the Ambrosia Society's last newsletter. With Heather so close to giving birth and Ash about to celebrate his birthday, Conrad was happiest sticking close to home.

The did pay a quick visit to her family in Henford-on-Bagley, where they picked up a death flower from her mother's last batch so they could start growing a bush on their own. "Thank you for this," Heather said when they arrived. "We're too busy with life and work to wait for our plants to grow, and our upstairs hallway isn't big enough for a cherry tree."

"Take as many as you need," said her mother as River handed her a rare, spiky red and black plant. "It'll be winter soon, and you might want to grow the plant outdoors to give it as much natural light as possible."

One evening, Heather returned home to see a woman peering in one of their windows. "Hello?"

Startled, the woman gave a half smile and rushed toward the square. "The paint job is lovely," she called, but in a moment she was gone.

Inside, Heather found Conrad in the living room watching TV. Right away, he could tell something was bothering her. "What is it?"

"There was a woman looking in our kitchen window."

"What are you talking about?" He jumped up to take a look.

"She's gone. I said hello and I was going to ask her what she was doing but she took off and said she liked our paint job. But I swear to you, she was looking into the house."

"What did she look like?"

"Tall, pretty, blonde hair, black shirt, and she had a Selvadoradian accent...I think."

"Maybe it was a tourist who got lost on their way from the creek," he said, trying to calm her anxious nerves. "I don't think there's anything to worry about, but I'll see if anyone's filed a similar report at the station tomorrow."

They were both unnerved but life went on until it was time to celebrate Ash's birthday. Heather and Conrad were planning to host Harvestfest at home later that week, so they decided to forgo a large party.

"I wish I had the energy to throw something bigger for him," Heather lamented. "But with the Landgraabs in Oasis Springs for the long weekend, I'm happy not to hear Nancy moan about how much sugar you get in a piece of cake."

"He'll just be happy to have the cake," Conrad assured her before he stood to bring Ash to the candlelit dessert - a tiered confection Heather had baked to improve her gourmet cooking skill. "He'll have all the time in the world to hang out with his family and friends, and plenty more birthdays."

Heather smiled as her phone rang. (It was her family. Bad timing made plot!) "Hey Mom, are you guys ready to sing Happy Birthday with us?"

"Of course! Where's the birthday boy? How are you feeling?"

"I feel good. Tired, but good. This one kicks way more than Ash or Jett ever did. It's wild! Oh, they're coming downstairs now."

Conrad brought Ash to the kitchen and hoisted him up, and Ash blew out his candles with a big gust from his small lungs. Conrad, Heather, and her family sang and cheered.

Ash was growing up before their eyes. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

Sorry, psych! Short post coming tomorrow, all about Ash but not technically storyline. I put myself on a time crunch to get certain posts out by a certain deadline I set for me, so I'm squeezing in a quick little Ash hype post to give us a taste without making another post too long and splitting it, pushing certain events past when I want them to post. He'll be a kid tomorrow, I promise!

[furiousgoldfish]

My parents, as lots of abusive parents, are obsessed with money. It's very clear from their behaviour they're valuing money over human lives, their comments of "you're a burden on this family" and "this won't make you any money" demonstrated they value both their children, and their children's actions based on how much money they're losing/gaining for it.

This had me feeling inferior to money; I felt like I was not worth any money, that having cost them money meant I was irredeemable, being told I'd have to pay it all back made me panic, because I was also being told I was unsuitable to ever hold down a job, and any of my activities, hobbies, interests, felt empty and worthless because they were not currently bringing any income to parents.

The entire profess of growing up like this made me loathe money. I decided as a child, that I would never value money over people, or live in a way that prioritized it over anything, I couldn't bear to become as disgusting and hollow as they are. So I grew up into a person who hates money. Which then ensured I would always live in poverty (well, that and being too sick to work full time).

Hating money within capitalism makes for an awful experience of surviving, but at this point I can't help it anymore, I want to live without money. I can't stand being valued only for how much I can potentially earn. No matter how stressed I get having no money when I have to deal with health issues, hunger, lack of resources, and whatever parts of my life I get cut off (travel, experiences, safety) I still can't find a way to make peace with it. I feel that money is evil and I need to keep it away from me.

I've lowered the quality of my life a lot, but I think that's capitalism's fault and not mine. If money wasn't something everyone desperately need to have more of, if everything wasn't created as a competition over who gets more money, if money wasn't direly necessary for survival, if it was an optional thing for 'people who just wanted more stuff', I wouldn't be struggling, I'd be having a good time.

It just scares me too much. I've seen how money overpowers people's perception to the point where they don't care what they do as long as they get more money. I've seen them use the power of money to control others, to get their way, to blackmail, to force others to do as they want. I've seen them look at the world only in prospect of what brings them money, and to see monetary value in every object, human, animal, tree. It disgusts me. Looking at the world with eyes that only appraise how much something and someone can financially benefit you. Feels inhumane, grotesque, terrifying.

I understand I went into the other extreme where I refuse to acknowledge that money is a necessity and that I might deserve any because I'm still affected by the abuse, but again, I don't feel that I can change this about myself.

Did this happen to anyone else?

[yourstarvic]

Summary: Starting a new job is always exciting. Especially with it's taking care of four hungry Jackals. So, here you are, working your way with their crazy antics but at least you get to meet your favorite player.

Pairing: MSBY Jackals x Manager!reader, no romantic pairs...(yet? Still thinking about it...Maybe do a poll? Let me know what ya'll think)

Prev - Masterlist - Bonus - Next

You dragged your feet as you entered the training setter, the events from yesterday with Sakura drained your energy that you still haven’t recovered. A Sunday was meant to rest, get brunch, drink mimosas, and lounge around, but work had called you one more for a managers and coaches meeting. With fingers crossed and a prayer on your lips, you hoped for an early day. 

“Good morning!” You smiled, walking into the conference where a few of the managers were already waiting. 

“Good morning!” They all responded to you, smiling as bright as yours. Taking a seat next to one of the manager, they happily invited you to their conversation as you organized everything for the meeting. 

“So,” Hana hummed, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “How was date night yesterday?”

“Wait, Hana-“

“I got called in,” you pouted with a cold tone. “And when I did get home for a date night, he wasn’t even there. He went out with some high school friends. Saying there was no point since I worked. And then we argued this morning.”

“Are you serious!”

“You got called in?”

“If it was planned, follow through! He could have waited!”

“I’m more tired than upset,” you sighed, placing your cheek on the table as you looked at them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “It’s been a while since I had a day off.”

“Sorry,” Yuki winced at your strained voice. “But this meeting won’t take long, promise!”

“I hope so…”

Thankful the meeting went by quickly. Covering the next month's schedule and practice games, what each player needed to work out, and what each of you could do to help each other, you were happy that it went by so quickly. Now, having your afternoon and evening free you were going to spend the day exploring the city.  “Any fun plans?” Hana asked, catching up to the right as you left the training center.

“I wanted my boyfriend to show me around Osaka,” you pouted, “but with the argument this morning, maybe another day. Sleep sounds so good right now.”

“Can I ask… Why were you arguing about?”

“I rather not talk about it-”

“Sorry!” She quickly apologized, feeling she had overstepped. “I didn’t mean to!-”

“It’s not that,” you quickly assured her, scratching your neck in embarrassment. “It's just something… Embarrassing.”

“I see,” she hummed, “

Waving at her as the two of you parted ways, you started to head back to the apartment that you shared with your boyfriend. You thought of ways how to talk to your boyfriend about the argument. Telling him about the advertisement yesterday, and he wasn’t happy with how close you were either Sakusa. You understood where he was coming from, but it was your job! And you didn’t have a say in it! And you’ll get to be on TV! It should be an exciting and proud moment…right?

Deciding to take a detour, you walked through a park that was near your apartment complex, wanting to clear your head before talking to your significant other. Enjoying the peacefulness, you sighed in contentment, seeing family and couples enjoying the day; casually walking, playing on the playgrounds, or a picnic underneath the cool shades of the tree. It was peaceful. At least, it was peaceful. 

“One more!”

You know that voice. 

“Just one more!”

Don’t look. 

“One more-”

Making eye contact, you instantly flinched. Quickly turning away and started to take a step away. Yet the voice was quicker. Hearing the excitement in his voice made you feel guilty that you wanted to run away, “(L/n)-San!”

“Hey, Hinata!” You turned, smiling at the tangerine. Walking up to him, he happily ran towards you, excited to be seeing you outside of work. “What are you doing here?”

Beaming at you, he puffed out his chest with pride, “My sister visited me and I’m helping her out!” But he suddenly deflated, a scrunch of his nose as he mumbled, “And shittygama is also helping out and visiting.”

“Shittygama?” You question yourself, wondering how bad a person had to be for Hinata to make a foul face and give someone such a nickname. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” Quickly changing the topic, turning his mood. 

“Yeah! Let me introduce you!”

Walking over to the sand volleyball court, you saw a young girl who looked just like Hinata, with an energetic smile and sparkling eyes. “This is my sister, Natsu!”

“Nice to meet you,” you greeted her, smiling wider as Hinata looked so proud of his little sister. “I’m (L/n) (Y/n), I’m a Manager for MSBY Jackals. I work with your brother.”

“Nice to meet you!”

“And this is,” Hinata forcefully said. Not wanting anything to do with the other person. “This is-”

“Kageyama Tobio!” You cut Hinata off. Your eyes went wide as you stared at the man in front of you in awe. There he was, his blue eyes staring at you in surprise when you burst his name out. His figure looming over that you crane your head up to have a good look at him. “I’m a huge fan! I’ve seen you play ever since you joined the Alders and when you first joined the Olympic team!” Excitement bubbled in your chest as you stared at him. The Kageyama Tobio! In front of you! 

“Thank you,” he said quickly, nodding his head at you, his face not changing to any emotion.

“(L/n)!” Hinata whined pushing the setter away to stand between the two of you, “You can’t go around saying that to the enemy!”

“Don’t push me!” Kageyama angrily said, pushing Hinata’s head down. 

The two started to bicker at each other. Fighting as young kids. Pulling on hair, tugging in shirts, pulling the other’s cheeks as they insulted each other. You stared at them for a few seconds, then turned to look at Natsu who only shook her head in disapproval, “How does Hinata-San know Kageyama?”

Turning to look at you, she tilted her head in confusion, “You don’t know?” Shaking your head at her, she turned to look at the duo, “They went to the same school.”

“I see,” you hummed, taking in the information. Until it registered in your head, “Kageyama went to the same school as Hinata?”

“You really don’t know!” Natsu exclaimed with wide eyes. This caught the two pro athlete's attention, seeing how very surprised you were when finding the news. “All through high school, they were known as the crazy duo! Especially during nationals!”

“You didn’t go to school here, right, (L/n)-San,” Hinata asked, pretending the fight he had with Kageyama never had happened. 

You smile, feeling warmed that Hinata remembered a small detail about you. “I’m from the States and stayed till I graduated from University. I started being a fan of yours when a friend of mine showed me a video of you. Your sets are amazing and always dead on.”

“Oí! Stop changing the topic to him!”

The Alders setter, ignoring his old schoolmate, gratefully smiling at your euthanized smile, “Thank you for supporting me.”

“Weren’t you leaving!” Hinata showed his teeth to Kageyama, a suddenness of protectiveness overcoming him. You are his manager, the MSBY manager. You shouldn’t be having heart eyes over a mediocre setter who gives him great tosses. You should have heart eyes for your team! A team that you work with, not the enemy!

“And weren’t you the one that wanted him to stay?” Natsu pointed out, giggling at her brother’s antics.

“Who’s side are you on!”

“You’re not one of the greatest setters, but one of the great volleyball players in the generation,” You gushed, excitement bubbling through you.

“Come on Natsu!” Hinata grumbled, pushing Kageyama away from you, “We got to get going! Kageyama has to leave.”

“Stop pushing me!” Kageyama barked at the Jackal, digging his heels. 

“Shut up! Manager thief!” 

“Sorry about them,” Natsu laughed, seeing how successful her brother was in pushing the setter away from you. Still fangirling that you had just met Kageyama, you didn’t mind Hinata and his fight with each other. “They always fight over something.”

“I don’t mind,” You blissfully sighed. Looking over at the young girl, you noticed the ball in her hand. “Sorry that I interrupted your practice time.”

“More like Shoyo and Kageyama practice,” she pursed her lips, watching the two volleyball players arguing away from them. “I really wanted to hit some good sets in.”

“If you would like I could help,” You offered, a way to make up for the interruption. 

“Really!” She was delighted over the request. “I would-”

“Natsu!” Hinata's voice yelled out, “Help me stop Kageyama! He’s trying to get away.”

“Maybe next time,” You giggled, seeing how quickly she deflated at her brother’s request. 

Sighing in defeat, waved a farewell at you, “Next time! See you, (L/n)-San!”

Saying goodbye, you waved at her as she quickly ran after her brother and Kageyama before turning on your heel and skipping back home. The smile of the excitement of seeing your favorite volleyball play echoes in your head. Today was a great day, you happily thought. Quickly grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you quickly sent a text to a friend from college, telling him about meeting the famous young setter. 

Prev - Masterlist - Bonus - Next

Notes: Sooooo what yall think 🫣 I had to out Kageyama in there ❤️ he’s my number two (after Sakusa ❤️) I hope yall enjoyed it! Don’t forget to take care of yourself and drink lots of water! 🔫❤️

Taglist: @usermins @walllflowerrrsss @nagi-core

[luchitohamilton]

lewis being interview by margot laffite for canal+ at the qatar gp '23

I act like a kid all the time. I’m not embarrassed about it; I love having fun. So that’s why, you know, I’m always skydiving, surfing or I’m skiing or I’m riding my bike or whatever might be, that’s me being a kid. And that’s something I refuse to ever let go.

transcript below :-)

So Lewis. I don't want today to talk about the World champion, the Formula 1 driver, I would like to talk about Lewis Carl Davidson Hamilton, if you don’t mind. Can you describe the kind of kid you were at home and at school? What kind of kid were you?

[Smiling] Did you ever had a show called Dennis the Menace?

Oh yes of course.

You did?

Of that kind, yeah. Denis la Malice.

I was like Dennis the Menace 2.0. [laughs] I was climbing trees, I was just always riding my bike down the fastest hill. Naturally super competitive in everything that I did and, uhm, my dad helped me concentrate that energy into racing and that’s where stability came.

We know you were a huge fan of Ayrton Senna, but did you watch like every single F1 race, documentaries about F1?

No, when I was a kid I only watched documentaries on Ayrton Senna, read his books. Anything to do with Ayrton I would have it, whether it was a coffee mug or, not that I drink coffee as a kid, but I was watching Gran Prix from like since I was like 4 with my dad on the weekends. Yeah, Sunday sitting with my dad watching races was one of the best times, I remember.

If you could go back in time, where and when would it be?

It would probably be when I was living with my mum, before I was 8, so, yeah.

You are running the world so, how difficult is it to build friendships?

Yeah, it’s definitely not the easiest I would say. My two closest friends are from school, yeah, they are my brothers. Places where I’ve found good friendships are obviously on my job, and then when I’m doing music, when I’m working with musicians, it’s just like a different realm and there I’ve built some incredible relationships also.

What does being a grown up mean to you? Is it like tiresome to be more conscious of the impact you have on things and people, rather than the pleasant innocence of being a child?

I act like a kid all the time. I’m not embarrassed about it; I love having fun. So that’s why, you know, I’m always skydiving, surfing or I’m skiing or I’m riding my bike or whatever might be, that’s me being a kid. And that’s something I refuse to ever let go.

When you play a game with some children, maybe your family, nieces and nephews, do you let them win?

No, I try to win! I just [laughs] and they are good, they are getting good, so I have to get my wins while I can. But, my dad never let me win anything when I was a kid. I think is good to learn how to lose anyways, so [laughs]

Are you always on time or sometimes you’re late?

No, I’m always late. The only time I’m ever on time is when I’m getting in the car to race. But like if I’m going for a flight, I’m always late. I don’t know, I like the limit, yeah. [jokingly] I like getting there around the limit, I like the rush.

What are your thoughts and feelings about Max Verstappen? The man he is, the kind of champion.

He’s done an exceptional job. I think the team has done an amazing job. Collectively they truly deserve the success. Max has been faultless this year, he’s not made any mistakes. I only hope that there’s a time when I’ll be able to put up a fight for him.

When you quit F1 would you still want race like Dakar or the 24 Hours of Le Mans?

I currently don't really have any, like, zero, like, feelings to do those things. I love motorbikes, I’ve always loved Moto GP, still love it today. I have 2 super bikes. I think I probably always just gonna take my bikes out. I won’t compete professionally in anything ever again. It takes 10,000 hours to be, you know, a master of something else. I wanna spend that 10,000 hours on being the best dad or something like that, you know, or running my businesses in the best way I can. Where all my energy and focus will go to. For now, I’ll continue to skydive, I’ll continue to surf, those are probably the, riding the bikes, surfing and skydiving, those are the 3 fun things that I’ll make sure I always do.

Merci Beaucoup, Lewis.

Merci.

It was a pleasure as always. Thank you.

[joyride-time]

Why’d Gil Snitch On Tarvek: Theories

Gil inherited a few things from Klaus. One of them is a tendency to avoid expositing. Among other things, he’s very closemouthed about his childhood. Because of this, we don’t know much about Gil as a kid or his mindset from Gil himself.

So why did he snitch on Tarvek about his intel stash and believe Klaus was right about him for over a decade? Some theories:

1. He’s Just Not That Into Him Theory

Why does Gil refuse to believe Agatha is the Other, but decide his father is right about Tarvek when they got caught looking for Gil’s family tree? Occam’s Razor (that thing can cut through anything!): Gil didn’t like Tarvek as much as he likes Agatha.

It’s hard to disprove it because there's no one else to scale Gil's relationships with back then except Von Pinn and Klaus, whose relationship with Gil is totally different. Gil didn’t know Agatha as long as he knew Tarvek at those points, but you can like someone you don’t know. Nothing requires Gil to have liked Tarvek as much as Agatha. Tarvek was Gil’s best friend… out of zero other friends. How much does Gil have to like and trust Tarvek to recruit him for the family tree search? Who knows. Tarvek is the one who cracked the safe in the flashback, and we don’t know if Gil could do that himself back then. The information they were searching for was something Gil probably wanted to tell everyone anyways. And they have their Paris interactions to get to know each other better in the future.

2. Klaus-Gil Dynamic Swing Theory

Klaus is always right… that’s something Gil doesn’t seem to have questioned before he discovers Klaus’ mistake with Agatha. At seven years old, Gil trusts Klaus’ judgment more than his own. At twenty-two years old, Gil is more critical of taking everything Klaus says at face value. He’s also got a whole decade of change and growth behind him. In Book 2 Gil and Theo have this exchange: “You sounded just like the Gil I grew up with.” “I’m not,” Gil said flatly. “Too many things have changed. I’ll never be that person again.” He smiled and punched Theo in the arm. “But I can remember the important bits.”

So it's a different Gil making different judgment calls.

3. Suspicious Sturmvoraus Theory

It’s Tarvek. Even when they’re on better terms Gil (and Agatha) are suspicious about him working at multiple purposes. Tarvek initially approached Gil to make him his minion at the age of seven. Tarvek also thinks that Klaus told Gil about Tarvek’s family, so Tarvek himself may have told Gil very little about them, or censored what he did share. If so, having a sudden info dump about their many sins probably didn’t help anything. We also don’t know what kind of schemes Tarvek got into where Gil could see them, but Gil does know that he got a secret hiding spot. And that he’s extremely good at lying. So he looked at Tarvek and decided yeah, he's probably lying to him.

4. Trust Issues Theory

Before Tarvek, Gil had really poor relationships with his peers. Or at least, any positive ones he used to have were broken off. Present day Gil is a very friendly guy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if Gil tried to make friends… maybe even succeeded… and then they fell apart. If so, it wouldn’t be strange if part of Gil was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something made Gil want to custom-build his own, very dependent friend construct. Definitely not a surfeit of healthy relationships with his peers.

5. Perceived Vulnerability Theory

Agatha needs protection from what Gil can see in the first arc. She’s a female Spark in an Europa where they all disappear if not well-protected. He meets her at one of her lowest points and works to build her up. Their second meeting had him pluck her from her house after she got sedated. She gets more dangerous afterwards, but Klaus does a poor job at explaining things and is very clear that leveling the town she's in to kill her is an option. Tarvek is a prince and the son of a powerful Spark, on a ship where both qualities are enormously important to their peers. They may be hostages but neither felt very endangered by it. Book 4 also states that Gil had “done his best at the time to get Tarvek sent away”, which could just be referring to ratting him out, but could also be a sign that Klaus’ first impulse was not to send Tarvek back to his family, which makes Tarvek seem even less in danger. Gil thinks if he sides against Tarvek Tarvek will just get sent back home, where he’ll continue to be a prince… and how bad can that be? Whereas with Agatha he saw a little fledgling who was going to be someone’s personal property fighting hard to avoid that. They're very different perspectives.

I'm curious what other people's theories are, so please share if you feel like it.

[zerokrox-blog]

Hello I have an oddly specific request for a fanfic.

Ok so picture it. Its an autumn morning, leaves orange and brown. The scent of pumpkin spice is in the air. Steve goes for his morning cup and blushes when he sees a handsome rocker with a cup of black coffee, chugging off a hangover from H-E-double stirrer sticks. The understaffed barista begs him to take the man his chocolate cake pop and Steve agrees. They talk and Eddie asks him on a 2nd date. (Him counting this as their first)

Lol like I said, oddly specific but hey, what can I say, I think it would be interesting.

OHMYGOD THIS IS SOOO CUTEEE!!!

Steve always went for a run every morning at the same time, around 6:30am so that he could go to his favorite coffee shop right as it opens. Steve loved the place, it was a small family-owned cafe with the best coffee in town. It opened up last year. He liked the staff, the decor everything about the place was perfect.

Steve hummed as he laced his shoes, grabbed his phone, he did some stretching first and set off on a run.

The crisp autumn air keeping him cool, and the leaves on their trees, in reds, golds and yellows made his heart sing in tune with his steps. He ran along the trail he normally did, through the park, and then down the main street, towards the coffee shop. He hummed along to his music and kept a steady pace.

As he drew closer to the store's location he slowed his run, keeping himself in a light job.

Once at the store, Steve, now walking, opened the door, calling out a cheerful, "hello!" as he moved inside.

He moved confidently closer to the front desk where his favorite worker, an older man named Even, turned to give him a bright smile.

"Steve! Hello! How was your run?"

Steve started to speak, but then came to a full stop. There was a something new today. Or rather a someone new. There was an absolutely gorgeous man on the left side of the front counter waiting for his coffee, Gareth another worker, was making for him. He seemed dead on his feet, face rather pale. Steve took him in, before awkwardly clearing his throat and went over to Even to put in his order.

Even gave him a Look. He lowered his voice, "he is a pretty man, huh? He is Gareth's friend."

Steve hummed, before breaking out in a bright smile when the man glanced at him, he then turned back to Even and asked for his usual. The man sat down at a table to drink his black coffee.

Once his order was ready, he moved to a table and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man's eyes follow him.

He sat down at the table beside the man, who turned towards him, and took a sip of his coffee. "My name is Eddie, what's your name?" the man's..Eddie's voice was stunning.

He finished his sip, "Steve, do you come here often?" He internally facepalmed at the unintended pick-up line he used.

Eddie smirked, "nah pretty boy, this is my first time here. But I needed a pick-me-up. Gareth is my friend and I knew I could get a good drink here."

Steve and Eddie ended chatting for a while as they finished their drink.

It was a good time, at some point Steve realized he was sharing a table with Eddie. They talked about everything. It took Steve almost an hour and half to realize that he was behind schedule. He worked from home, but it closer to nine, which was when he started.

He frowned at his phone, thinking.

Eddie noticed the look on his face. "can I get your number, so we can set up a second date?" he asked.

Steve stared at him, "a second date? what about the first one?"

Eddie laughed, "I'd say this was a pretty good first date, no? We talked and got to know each other."

Steve grinned back at him, warmth filling his chest, "yeah, this was a good first date. Here," he held out his phone, "put in your number and send yourself a text. I would love to set up a second date."

Eddie did so, a small smile on his face. At the front counter, Gareth and Even watched them. Gareth turned to Even, "we were right. They fit each other very well. But let's not say anything until they get more serious. I want to see if they can figure out that we set them on purpose." Even cackled, he had no intention of saying a word. Besides, "I better be best man at their wedding."

[ghysry]

okay but i seriously have been mulling over this for ages and have not voiced it whatsoever but imagine instead of them idk DYING i wouldve killed to have a season where they band together to assassinate their dad lols and redo everything so they end up great and alive and in their own timeline where the apocalypse never happened and vanya got her violin first chair fairly with christmas dinners and celebrations together andUGH

Saw the first and second part of your ask (if I'm certain that's the first and second part) and I think it's a pretty good idea (+ Angst easily flocks to us🙏)

Tagsies: FIVE ANGST....No reader insert for this one folks.

Diego & Five sibling fluff at the very end guys trust trust me it's not heartbreaking at all

---------------------------------------------------

"Do you know who we are? Do you want to know who I am?"

It's a strange thing; his family. He doesn't know exactly what they are to him, well, no, he does - they're his family, the people he bared through the apocalypse for, the people he now rarely sees on Sundays. They agreed to it before, always meeting up on Sundays under the big old oak forest that replaced the daunting mansion they grew up in across different timelines. First, Viktor cancelled his plans sometimes, then always, then they rarely saw his face around anymore. Not that they blamed him, not really, all of them did it too. One by one, they'd cherry pick the best times to cancel their plans and make up varyingly worrying excuses on how they wouldn't make it to the outing this time, or next time, or ever.

Five likes to think he doesn't ask for a lot, he likes to think he doesn't ask for anything at all. Never once in his life, after the first time he asked for something, did he ever do it again. Because what he asked for was freedom, and when he first did he was thirteen. He came back to the present as a fifty-eight year old man stuck in a teen body, with a vow to never ever even think about asking for something, so when he felt the ever growing hole in his chest consume him whole and collapse into his chest when one by one his siblings kept cancelling, he kept his mouth shut and went to the big oak forest on his own. Sometimes he feels childish, because instead of growing up and compartmentalizing it like he always does, this time he solves it by curling up under a tree and trying to silence the world with a shut of both his eyes.

He also likes to think he blames his father for everything that happened. But he doesn't - not that he can't, he does have the ability to, and he should; that much he knows, but he won't. He carries the blame for everything that happened on his shoulders, and every little mistake goes straight into the ever growing black hole in his chest that has already consumed him. He can't blame his siblings, they act the way they act because of their father, but he can blame himself. He, of course, had the least problems out of all of them, just going through an apocalypse, being turned into a human weapon, hunting down and killing thousands of people..it doesn't phase him, not one bit. So why does this phase him?

Where'd all his siblings go?

It felt like they ran away from him. Blinked out of his life and got stuck in their own personal future where they have families to take care of and friends to meet up with, so he also buried himself in work, found a good job that accepted his face and appearance along with his skills, stopped visiting the oak tree, stopped curling underneath it, stopped asking where his siblings went; he was making progress. He thought. The good kind of progress where you're changing the world for good and all. He made friends, kind of. He'd rather stick to co-workers than calling them friends, but he talks to them and they talk to him so the world feels a little less lonely but it doesn't feel enough, either.

Now, surrounded by his siblings, he could stop asking where they went. The first thing he noticed was a scent in the longue they sat in, acorn, burns to smell, artificial. He's sure acorns don't smell like that, he's tried to eat plenty when he was in the apocalypse - it never worked. The only reason they were together again was because, against all conventional means, they needed to kill their dad and Five told them it would save the world. The wandering eyes convey a story, like they've definitely played this play before, heard this tune before, seen the show..they get it, no matter how many metaphors Klaus has to say to try and brighten up the room. Five is just glad they didn't bring any of their kids here, the look on his siblings faces was daunting.

Five, out of anyone, would know that his siblings, though they do blame their father, cannot kill him. No, the twitching in their hands and the sideways look they give to the plant in the corner trying to avoid the topic says so, it's loud, embarrassingly loud - so he comes to one conclusion. He kills the father, it ends. When he planned it out, it honestly felt better in his imagination, the bloodshed, finally killing the man who has plagued his siblings for so long, finally freeing them of their abuser, but for some reason it didn't. It just felt worse, and worse, and worse. Every time he looked down at his hands he'd see the blood, the blood of his father, the blood of the man who was supposed to raise his siblings,

Of the man who was supposed to raise him.

He sat on the edge of the chair this time, hair tussled with restlessness, eyes almost blurry from having stayed up so long, for so late, for how long? He doesn't remember, nor does he really care. He's been spiraling for days and he feels his insides turning out and his lungs expanding when he exhales - his hands are too still, too still, there's too much blood, too much, and there's someone behind him, and..

"Five?" Diego's voice rang out in his head, he takes a pause to acknowledge it, trying to figure out if it's actually his brother calling out to him or just a projection inside his head that feels too real. The hand on his shoulder and the jolt causing him to jump up only slightly, though, further proved his hypothesis - yeah, it's Diego. He doesn't respond, not yet at least, he has to try and come up with a reason as to why he's been staring at his feet and his hands for hours now, and why he jumped at the feeling of someone's hand on his shoulder. He doesn't feel real yet and it's troubling him, like a big cinder block has made it's way to the black hole in his chest but somehow, even with all his calculations about this kind of problem, the cinder block manages not to get sucked in, and instead of a hollow feeling, there's just something weighing on his chest and his ribs this time.

And Diego, instead of waiting for an answer, takes his time to slowly but surely wrap his arms around his brother. "It's okay, I know," does he? "I know." He does.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, 3x9, A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, Part 7-The Homoerotic Finale

Well, you're in luck Jess, a 6'4 walking trash can is about to make an appearance. Jess: Why should I run all over town to dump this? Luke: Put it in Taylor's bins. We get rid of the trash, It'll drive Taylor crazy, it's a win win. LOL, I love the low-low-low level pettiness.

Did I not just say in my last thingy that Lorelai and Rory would try to force their way into the diner if he attempted to close the restaurant on a holiday? (I did) At least Luke isn't making Jess serve the Gilmores a second time (without getting tipped I'm sure), he must thrilled to be on trash duty.

Wait for it... wait for it...

Can someone put a bell on her collar and implant this broad with a microchip or something, because she seems to have a habit of running off. This is her third Kiss and Run and second in a short period of time (and not her last). It's either Kiss and Run to Mommy or Kiss and Run to Dean. I love how Whatever he was about it. Immediately goes back to stuffing his trash.

AHHHH!! I know it's fun to clown on Dean but that's terrifying. Jess should be wetting his pants. (and Luke would be proud if Taylor found a piss puddle in front of his store. It's a win win).

He's so UNFLAPPABLE. My unflappable blorbo. Nothing flaps him. Starving on Thanksgiving in order to placate the Gilmores then having to get up seconds after sitting down to eat to serve them coffee without getting tipped, being DingDong Ditched (Rory=The DingDong), being threatened by a human pine tree in a smelly coat, braving the late November temperatures with no coat. After all of that? Still not flapped.

He's walking away because you stink like failure and Eau De Your Dad Should Have Pulled Out. Go home, Dean. I's Thanksgiving. The fuck are you doing wandering around town late night for no reason, you tumor. Haha! Joke's on him though. No one at his home misses him. Dean is clutching a Doose's apron on his hand. So like, get this. We saw Dean working in the morning or early afternoon. Sunset is quite early in late November on the east coast, as early as 4:30 pm. It was already fully dark at FND, and after spending a considerable amount of time there, the Ding Dongs stopped at Sookie's again, AND Luke is closing the diner for the night. Even if he was closing "early" for the holiday, I'm going to presume its at least 7pm. So either Taylor made his part time bag boy work a full time shift from morning to night on Thanksgiving Day (there aren't enough people living in The Hollow to keep Doose's that consistently busy on a national holiday?) or Dean clocked out in the afternoon and sat outside the store for hours past sunset waiting for Jess to walk outside.

You expect Dean to have heard of West Side Story. Culturally, he's still working his way through Barney and Friends.

Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.

Joke's on you Jess, his family forgot he existed and locked him out and now he can't get back in and has to sleep on the street

Huhhhh? The full quote is "One of your boy scout references or a good farmer john joke! You want me to put my apron on and give you a little inspiration?" And again I repeat, HUHHH?? Did he stop by Sookie's place and get into the tequila or something? SAY SOMETHING THAT MAKES SENSE PLEASE. But also, whatever role playing you two do together in private is frankly none of my business.

Again...none of my business.

Eggsactly.

*swan song*COUGH*cough*KegMax*cough*cough*help i cant stop coughing*

Terrifying until you think about how Dean wants to tussle in front of a place called Nancy's Cottage.

That's not the flex you think it is.

Your insult is..calling him "The Glad Man" (Glad trash bags) because he is taking out the trash from his job? You mean Taylor doesn't also make you take out the trash at your part time minimum wage super market job? Is that not usually one of the primary duties of an employee at a small grocery store? You think Taylor is taking out his own garbage? Right now he's lounging on a raft in Maui sipping a mai tai, paid for with the proceeds from the last town fundraiser. What's my favorite nonsensical Dean insult? Is it Glad Man, or is it the one-two punch from "Rory's Dance" where Dean says to Tristan: "Are you trying to act tough, you're wearing a tie!" and "I’m not fighting you, it would be like fighting an accountant! I’ll call you when I need my taxes done!” He also said "I'll kill you" to Tristan in that scene, so you never know what you're going to get with Dean!

"Hey, Fellow Teenage Boy Who Is Also A Recent Transplant From Another State! Even though you actually have a blood relative native to this town and I don’t, this is MY turf! I control the turf between Nancy's Cottage and that store that sells porcelain unicorns! You got that?”

Lorelai to Rory two minutes later, probably: Dean was the perfect first boyfriend! No red flags at all! (psych! I don't have to imagine Lorelai saying that! She already said it at the beginining of the episode!)

[sunvylovebug]

Hanahaki Disease [Part 1/3] 花吐き

↬ Warnings: there are some mentions of blood but that's later, the protagonist doesn't seem to have much self esteem but I'm sure we can work on that. This is mostly comfort content with Xiao because I really love this guy a lot, maybe some angst though? …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Gender Neutral!Reader and first person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬ Author Note: English is not my first language, I posted this in 2022, I've corrected some things so I decided to post it again. Likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated <3 If you have any request for a fic let me know!

↬ Word Count: 730 Words

I knew what would happen once I found that person what I was destined to, it was known as Hanahaki Disease, a curse which happened to all the people of my clan. I remember that almost all of my family has been through it.

Once they meet the person with whom they share their soul, a strange infection appears in the lungs, specifically a sakura tree begins to grow in this space, and the only cure is... The love to be reciprocated. Technically it should always be reciprocated, however, I had known some exceptions to the case and I was very afraid from that day would come, I've seen painful deaths in my family due to this curse and I was afraid that the same would happen to me.

After all, I've never considered myself a special person, I don't stand out for anything in particular, music, arts, literature, sewing, nothing really.

I'm very average in everything and I don't feel it's worth being with me either, I'm just a hermit who hardly knows how to socialize with my family and a few other people, nothing out of the ordinary.

But my parents wanted it to be different, after many disputes I was forced to travel to Liyue because of an "errand" that I had to fulfill. I was terrified of the idea of leaving the comfort of my home, the few times I had to do it was cause some important clients had different needs that I had to attend personally, but I had never gone so far by myself...

I had to do it for them, for me, so I decided it, I accepted the proposal they were giving me and I traveled to Liyue to live with a friend. I knew her because she had helped us in the past and now she was a friend of my family, she was part of this city, full of unknown people and with laws that I didn't understand, the contracts were complicated for me at first but after some time I had adapted with her help.

Everything was going good and soon I received an order for which I'd have to leave the pink-haired girl's home for a few days, it was about a wedding dress, a girl who was staying at the Wangshu Inn would soon marry the man of her dreams and she wanted me to make her dress personally. I decided that I would stay there for a while, to make my job easier, so I said goodbye to my friend and went there... At least tried to.

The same day I was moving, I had some major delays, ended up out of town late at night, alone, didn't know how to fight and also a bit lost. I thought the situation couldn't get any worse but it did when some enemies appeared out of nowhere to attack me.

I ran as far as my legs could, hurting myself a lot on the way, then regretted having made that decision and thought I would die right there, however, a turquoise glow appeared and soon my enemies were on the ground just like me.

"Can you get up, human?" a voice spoke to me, somewhat cold, coming from the boy who had saved me.

"Uh... I-"

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if something had exploded near my heart, I grimaced and put a hand to the area trying to relieve the pain, which clearly did not work and only served to disconcert the golden-eyed boy. "You're hurt?"

I shook my head cause I couldn't speak, I felt like I was short of breath and my chest was tight… but the moment I felt his touch my heart eased. That boy had me in his strong arms and a second later we were in a completely different place, I was scared. Who is he?

"This is the Wangshu Inn, I think it's where you wanted to go. Didn't you? Treat your wounds and don't be that fool to be alone at night again, humans like you are... very fragile."

He turned around ready to leave, finally I was able to say something. "W-wait, m-may I know who you are?"

He looked at me before disappearing from my sight, his voice murmured something, something that stayed in the back of my mind the rest of the night. "Xiao."

Part Two