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orionsangel86 · 3 years

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SPN Conspiracies - Applying Logic to Chaos

Its been over 2 months now since the Supernatural finale aired. I am still so angry, hurt, and confused by it and I don’t think I will ever get closure unless someone like Andrew Dabb, or Jensen Ackles, actually opens up and gives us an explanation that makes sense.

What annoys me most right now is people trying to gaslight fans into believing that we should accept the narrative we have been given at face value: That the finale was always planned to be that way, that Destiel was never on the cards, that there was no Network interference, that the only changes made were due to covid and were minor at best.

This harmful gaslighting is FALSE.

NO ONE KNOWS THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAPPENED.

Look, I don’t agree with some of the crazier conspiracy theories. I don’t believe that there was some huge campaign among the CW Network execs to remove anything remotely gay out of homophobia. I don’t believe that the finale was changed because of some desire to make it into a Walker promo. I don’t believe that the finale was really bad on purpose in protest by Dabb for not getting to do an ending he truly wanted. I don’t believe that Dabb left us smart fans a bunch of secret messages in the finale to hint that he was on our side all along and that everything was fake.

I do, however, believe that all of these conspiracy theories have some elements in them that are plausible. At least, more plausible than the bullshit narrative mentioned above that some people are pushing in some desperate attempt to defend the Network (which imo is really strange behaviour anyway - why would anyone care about a TV network with a history of terrible behaviour?!?)

We have facts, based on information provided before the covid lockdown, which for some reason, people like Misha have since backpeddled on. So let me try to outline some of the information that makes no sense.

Below the cut I go on a deep dive into the conspiracies and statements I have heard about the SPN finale and try to make some sense of this whole fucked up situation. It gets long.

1. “Cas was never gonna be in the finale”.

False: We have many fan accounts of Misha confirming that he was filming the finale. We have video evidence of Misha confirming he was going back to film the finale after the lockdown. We have confirmation from fans in Misha M&Gs from March that he had about 5 days of filming left.

We also had fan accounts of discussions with Alex Calvert (I think) where he confirmed the final shot of the final episode was all four of them though I would LOVE if someone can find a source for this.

2. Okay, Misha was gonna be in the finale, but only as Jimmy Novak

False: I heavily side eyed Misha when he said this. But I think I can come up with a plausible explanation for it. Per above, Misha was supposed to film for 5 days. This does not align with the half a day he described of filming as Jimmy Novak. My own belief is that after Cas was cut from the finale (for whatever reason we don’t know) someone (probably Jensen Ackles) put up a fight and complained that Misha should be there for the final episode. The writers probably tried to come up with a way to bring Misha back without having to deal with Cas, and pitched the idea of Jimmy Novak being in Heaven. Misha, obviously annoyed about this, turned this stupid pitch down.

3. Destiel was never a thing, never planned, never part of Dabb’s ending. Bobo and Misha pushing the confession was the part of the season that was Wrong.

False: We have a SPN writer on record saying that Castiel’s confession was the first thing written for Season 15 when the writers returned to the writers room. If it wasn’t planned, why was it the first thing written, why does it align so well with the rest of season 15? Look I know some people either a. hate destiel and refuse to see it even if it slaps them in the face, or b. have major heteronormative goggles on, or c. are just homophobes in denial, but 15x18 fits in perfectly with the narrative of season 15. Everything Cas says, everything that happened in that scene was so in character it just works. It fit. If you just rewatch the season whilst applying some critical thinking skills and pay attention to the narrative and character arcs, trust me, the confession fits in with pretty much every other plot point, and character story in the season.

Also: We have known for a while that the network did market research into Destiel, wanting to know if it would go down well or not. They were well aware of its popularity and considering it. Where would this have come from if not pitched by the showrunner? Dabb must have at least been considering it. If you take all of Dabb era into consideration, starting with mid season 11, all the way through the season 12 build up, season 13 grief arc, and then Bobo’s Destiel break up arc in late season 14, early season 15, it is clear that there was some toing and froing on the issue of Destiel, but ultimately, I still believe that Dabb was on board. He wrote 13x01 for christs sake. No way he wasn’t taking it seriously.

4. It’s always been about the brothers. The finale just stays true to what Supernatural is all about.

*rubs temples* Fundamentally FALSE: The show has time and again reasserted the message of “Family don’t end with blood”, as well as the messages of AKF and YANA. Sam and Dean may be at the heart of the show, but a heart can’t exist without a body to support it. Without bones, and lungs, and blood, and muscles, and a BRAIN. The finale abandons the shows core messages. It forces the characters back into their season 1 characterisations and the whole thing becomes hollow and souless. But I’m not here to complain, I’m here to lay down the facts. Dean’s heaven was supposed to be surrounded by loved ones right? We know OG Charlie Bradbury was gonna be in his Heaven, we also know CAS was gonna be in there. So this idea that the finale as it currently stands was how it was meant to be is wrong. Dean was supposed to die and reunite with his found family and loved ones. This alone would have been a far better ending than the one given. Do I think this was solely a covid issue? Fuck no.

The randoms that WERE in the finale are proof alone that they could have got people in and quarantined. We also have several actors on record saying that they WOULD have quarantined for the finale had they been asked to return but they WEREN’T.

Lies have been told. Samantha Ferris and Chad Limberg have confirmed that we have been lied to about the original plans for the finale.

This alone is proof enough that there is more plausibility in some of the conspiracy theories than any bullshit narrative some people are pushing in defence of the barbaric mess of a finale we were given.

So lets address some of the conspiracy theories now:

Conspiracy No.1: The CW Network reviewed Supernatural during the covid break, and due to homophobia, refused any Destiel arc that wasn’t already filmed, shut down any potential reciprocation from Dean, and forced Dabb to change his finale.

I don’t think this is entirely what happened. But I do think it is very strange how there is a such a huge disconnect particularly in Dean’s characterisations between what had come before the lockdown, and what came after. The one fact we have here, and please someone provide a source if you can find it because I know there is one, the finale script was still going through changes up to only 2 weeks before it was filmed. We know that there was some weird editing in 15x18 (which was still in post and uncompleted before lockdown) and we know from Jensen’s own mouth that there was more to the confession scene on Dean’s side that was cut. We also know that this isn’t the first time that Destiel heavy moments have been changed in post - the prayer scene is another big scene that went through a lot of changes and Bobo fought to have his script play out the way he wanted it.

There are certain things that in my own opinions, are basically true of SPN which I have put together from years of keeping one eye on the writers room, the network, and all the various comments made. My opinion is this:

The writers room has always been split on Destiel. Some writers heavily supported making it canon, others did not care, or were against it.

The Network considered it over the course of several years, did market research, green lit it, then changed their minds, possibly several times over the course of Dabb’s era. Destiel was pitched to the Network early in Dabb era.

The crew on set were also split. Some people heavily supported it, and worked to assist the reading, whereas others did not care/did not support it. The same can be said for the editing room.

Bob Singer supported the subtextual homoeroticism, but never supported bringing it into text (this is an opinion, but I think it aligns with everything we know about him.) IMO Bob Singer also supported subtextual homoeroticism between Sam and Dean - the guy is gross is what I’m saying. He isn’t exactly a progressive person.

Fun fact - a while back our old enemy Sera Gamble went on a Twitter rant about writers rooms and the ways a script goes through changes. I don’t think this was in relation to the SPN finale wank but she basically inadvertantly confirmed that the Network can step in and make sweeping changes to a script if they want to and if they decide they don’t like the direction of a story. Sera Gamble confirmed this as a fact.

Now. I’m not saying that this is what the CW did with Destiel. I just think its very strange how pre lockdown, the last thing filmed is a heartfelt homosexual declaration of love between Dean and Cas, and we have a finale script that Misha had not seen, but knew that he was meant to film as Castiel for 5 days (5 days on set is over half of an episode as far as I know). Then all of a sudden, Covid happens, and Cas is cut from the finale completely, a desperate attempt to bring Misha back only as Jimmy Novak takes place, which Misha rightly refuses, leading to a finale which makes zero sense narratively and appears in every way completely and utterly butchered.

The only explanation provided by anyone involved is that Covid meant changes had to happen - but that covid didn’t change the actual story at all.

But this makes no sense because we know that Cas was cut from the finale. This is FACT. Do not let anyone gaslight you into thinking otherwise. Misha was preparing to quaranting to return to set as Cas post Covid, so whatever happened to cut Cas from the finale, it wasn’t Covid.

I’m gonna have to Occum’s Razor this and say that the most logical explanation here is the one that is most likely true. Someone got cold feet with the Destiel story, and to prevent any possible interpretation that included Dean reciprocating, any hints of Destiel were removed from the finale script, including Castiel’s whole appearance.

Now, this isn’t me saying I think that Dabb’s original finale was full of Destiel love confessions and a homosexual kiss or whatever, but I am asking you all to really think about it and ask yourselves WHY Cas would have been totally cut from an episode he was supposed to be in at LEAST half of?

We will probably never know the real reason Cas was cut, but he WAS cut. I’m not saying it was all homophobia, but some fuckery went down.

Conspiracy No. 2: The CW Network changed the finale to make it into a Walker promo because they only cared about raising up Jared and not Jensen and Misha as they were losing them anyway.

I don’t agree with this in terms of the finale being butchered solely to make it into a Walker promo. There are however moments in the finale that are clearly supposed to be Walker Easter Eggs and added to excite fans of Jared/Sam in particular such as Sam’s gratuitous and unnecessary topless scene, as well as the call on the “case in Austin”.

I will take this moment to say something pretty damn controversial though.

*Deep breath*

The fact is, Dean Winchester has been the “lead” character of Supernatural’s narrative for years now, with Sam often being sidelined and not given great storylines himself. Even in Season 15, right up until the finale, I myself felt bad for Sam sometimes because so much of this show has become all about Dean. Jensen Ackles is clearly the better actor when it comes to emotional story arcs, so the emotional heart of the story has most often leant on him.

So you can understand my confusion, when this is turned on its head in the final episode, to make Sam carry all the emotional weight, and have the most lines/screentime, and story resolution (even if his story resolution was just as crappy as Dean’s).

If we pretend that Destiel is not a thing, and ignore Cas’s confession, the story change in the finale from Dean focus to Sam focus is still rather suspicious. Again, I’m not saying I completely approve of or agree to the conspiracy theory that Walker influenced the butchering of the script, but I can believe that perhaps a note went down from the CW to someone like Bob Singer, to emphasise Sam/Jared more than they perhaps would normally, because the CW wanted to shine the spotlight on Jared to raise excitement for Walker.

I can also believe this note might have said something like “we wanna cater to fans of Sam/Jared the most - don’t do anything to piss them off.” but now I am getting into my own conspiracy theories so by all means dismiss this as me being bitter.

Conspiracy No.3: Dabb purposely made it bad, as a secret message to Destiel fans that he had been silenced, by layering meta clues into the episode that he knew fans would notice.

I doubt this one is true. Though some of the theories are quite compelling. The old vampire silent movie theory for instance starts off quite well, but loses me the moment it brings up Urban Dictionary slang.

Sometimes I have just had to accept that Supernatural is a bad show that is sometimes accidentally a masterpiece. However, some writers really did go That Deep with their stories - anything by Ben Edlund or Steve Yockey for instance, their episodes are meta masterpieces with a hundred different layers of beautiful subtextual storytelling and are a joy to analyse. Bobo Berens has certainly done some A+++ work especially now we KNOW that he was working hard all this time to bring Destiel to canon text (so any analysis of Destiel in the subtext in his episodes is very accurate). There have been many other key elements analysed over the years which have been confirmed true. Cas’s death in Season 12, Dean’s time as a demon in season 10, Season 11 ending in unity of dark and light, these were all plot points predicted by meta writers just by analysing the narrative. Sometimes the writers really have been very smart and they do add things to the show to aid us in our meta.

Richard Speight Jr for instance, confirmed that SPN has a visual library that the production team use to give clues and hints in the narrative. Pizza, for example, always means a lie has been told. Whenever Pizza is being eaten or even just mentioned on screen, there is dishonesty in that particular moment.

The beers also have a very specific message and the one thing I can’t let go about the finale, was that Dean was drinking El Sol beer. The beer his dad gave him, that was terrible.

El Sol has been used in the show to indicate something being wrong, a fake reality, or another lie, for the longest time. It is the beer of deception.

The fact that in the final episode of this entire show, Dean is in Heaven, supposedly at peace, and then he gets handed an El Sol beer to drink? Thats a HUGE red flag for any meta writer watching who can read SPNs visual library.

If they had given him the Margiekugel beer of family then it would make sense. Dean is in Heaven, with Bobby, his family, at peace. Margiekugel should have been the beer of choice. But nope. El Sol. Something is wrong.

I don’t know if it was Dabb, or Singer, or some disgruntled ADs and crew members who added these elements into the finale, but their very presence confirms some message of Wrongness.

I could go into a huge rant about Vampire Mimes not making sense and the very glaringly obvious symbolism of cutting out peoples tongues too, but that is high school level film analysis. It’s obvious. It means to silence someone. There is validity in interpreting this as Dabb saying he was silenced. I don’t know how true it is, but i can’t 100% dismiss it, because as I said, this is high school analysis levels of obvious subtextual storytelling.

So in summary, whilst I don’t think that Dabb intentionally went out of his way to sabotage his own script, and leave a breadtrail of secret messages for savvy fans to put together to confirm that he was silenced by an evil network into not getting what he wanted... I do think that there is validity in questioning these odd choices for the finale. Cutting out tongues? Vampire Mimes? El Sol beer?

The evidence is somewhat compelling is all I’m saying. I don’t believe the full conspiracy theories, but as I have said many times before, some fuckery went down.

So What Do I Believe?

That some fuckery went down and whatever company line they are pushing is bullshit.

I believe that the original script included Cas (since thats fact). I believe that the original script probably always had Dean dying on a vampire hunt (due to Jensen’s issues with it and in particular, his sarcastic comments about vampires in the past year or so which in hindsight are hilarious and prove he never really came to terms with Dean’s idiotic death). I believe Dabb’s original script was some less crappy version of what we got, which potentially included showing Jack rescuing Cas from the Empty and resolving the outstanding Empty plot points (potentially this was actually a 15x19 plot since Mark P commented that his final scenes were supposed to be with Jack and Cas), had Cas reunite with Dean in Heaven and had them have a discussion about Cas’s confession. I believe that there was probably a lot of back and forth over how to handle that with some people wanting Dean to obviously reciprocate and others believing they should keep it ambiguous. I believe that Dean and Cas would have reunited with Charlie Bradbury, and Bobby Singer, and possibly others (though if this was the case it must have been very early on since no one ever looped in Sam Ferris, Chad Linberg or any other Roadhouse people).

I believe that Sam’s ending probably didn’t change much, but I do feel that initially they were planning on him ending up with Eileen, because it is the only thing that narratively makes sense. Cutting Eileen and giving him a blurry wife is something I won’t ever understand and Jared’s bullshit explanations are quite clearly pulled out of his ass to appease bronly types. I believe the reunion on the bridge would have included Cas and Jack, with a final shot of all four of them together, at peace (as this aligns with Alex’s comments from around a year or so ago that the final shot was all four of them). (I also am not sure it was always supposed to be on a bridge since the foreshadowing in an earlier episode showed Dean, Cas and Sam all in the Roadhouse together).

I believe that script went through countless changes and redrafts, and not even production people or the types that some fandom people claim as their “sources” would even have seen those early scripts, since even Misha never saw it. I believe that these rumours of Dabb never having Cas in his finale and ignoring all Destiel elements likely come from people who only saw later versions, weren’t party to network discussions and felt bitter about the final scripts they did see (being the crappy butchered one that was ultimately filmed). Those “sources” are now spreading rumours to discredit Dabb.

I obviously believe Dabb is a weak ass pushover who either didn’t care enough to fight back, or gave up since he’s been stuck with fucking Bob Singer on his back for years, but I will NEVER believe he didn’t care about the DeanCas love story, because he has been one of the few writers who has championed for it for years. You can’t look back at Dabb’s episodes in earlier seasons and claim he didn’t care. Dabb was a writer whose creative ideas were beaten out of him by an unforgiving Network only concerned about where their future money was coming from. Do I think he gave up too easily? Yes. But I also have one other huge reason for not believing the bullshit about Dabb being this anti-Destiel villain.

Bobo. Because if Bobo truly believed Dabb was gonna fuck that up at the end, I don’t think he would have given us Cas’s love confession to begin with. If he had known it was gonna end like that, I think he would have reconsidered, because had Cas not confessed his love, I don’t think he would have been cut from the finale. Bobo - a gay man, would not have wanted such a horrible message for queer fans being put across in the show he worked so hard on. He started writing that confession scene the day they returned to the writers room. Dabb would have been there, would have seen what he was writing, probably discussed it with him, after all, other episodes were written with the confession in mind. No way was Dabb planning to fuck up the ending knowing what Bobo was giving us. Nope.

Something went very wrong over lockdown. Someone, somewhere up the chain of power caught wind of the confession scene in 15x18, realised that it demanded a resolution which would make Dean Winchester, their protagonist, queer, and pulled the plug. I believe this did not come from a place of homophobia, but of bad business sense.

The CW is constantly trying to win the approval and attention of the one demo group that they seem to fail at getting the most: young straight men. Supernatural was one of their only remaining shows that appeals to young straight men, and Dean Winchester is more often than not the fave character of those young straight men who project onto him. Making Dean Winchester, established Han Solo of Supernatural, queer and in love with his best friend in the finale would have come across as a betrayal to those young straight men. The CW probably feared they would lose that demo group for good, and with a show like Walker starting soon with Jared at the helm, they couldn’t take the risk.

Hence there was probably a whole bunch of back and forth script redrafts with the Network, with Dabb and Singer fighting to make a finale that would appeal to everyone. There was most likely no way that they could bring Cas back without addressing what had already been filmed, because any resolution of that plot would either a. make Dean queer, or b. address it awkwardly by having Dean reject Cas (this storyline would probably have been slammed by critics worse than the finale because it meant addressing it. It might have got the attention of LGBTQ activist groups and caused a bigger shitstorm than what we got). The best option was therefore C. Bury it and Cas, pretend it never happened. Never address it again and distract Dean with other things. Hope that Destiel fans will accept no answer from Dean as ambiguous enough to imagine a future reunion rather than shutting it down with a rejection, and still keep hold of the blissfully ignorant heteronormative straight boys so they can carry over to Walker when it starts.

I also believe (controversially probably) that there was concern that any resolution of Dean and Cas would have overshadowed network darling Jared Padalecki. If Dean and Cas had come together in the finale, with a very clearly textual homosexual reunion, then that would have been all anyone talked about. The reviewers, the critics, the audience, everyone. It would have been nothing but Dean and Cas (and look, if they did think this, they were right, Destiel trending over the US ELECTION.)

So what is the network to do, when they are losing the two stars who would get the most attention from this storyline? The one star they were holding on to and getting his own show, relegated to third place in the finale of the show where he was first on the call sheet? Nope. That’s pretty unacceptable. Even without Walker I can imagine people at all levels side eyeing the Destiel thing over the years. This IS a show about two brothers, and their relationship should be the core relationship, we can’t have one brother pushed aside in the finale to make way for a queer relationship that will get all the attention instead. It was never gonna get approved for this reason ALONE.

At the end of the day, if I look at it from a business perspective, it makes far more sense that the CW shut down Destiel, rather than “oh Dabb never cared and ruined it because he’s an idiot.” The writers cared, and had built on that story over years. But their mistake was leaving any Destiel resolution to the finale. If they had instead gone and got Dean and Cas together in early season 15, then they could have ended it in a way that satisfied everyone. Destiel wouldn’t have threatened pulling focus away from Sam and Dean, and the show could have gone out on a high.

When I lay out all the conspiracy theories, and line them up next to the cold hard facts, the conspiracy theories in some way or another, make more sense. To believe the company line, the narrative we have been fed, is to ignore your own eyes, ears, and memories pre March 2020.

All I’m asking people to do is take a look at the show, the narrative presented in the show, and the information presented above. I’m not telling you to believe what I’ve written here, half of which is just my own opinion. I’m asking you to ask yourselves if it makes sense to you. Because it sure as hell doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied.

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crimeronan · 3 years

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Ok so I’m into the dreamer trilogy and haven’t read the Raven cycle...what is Declan’s characterisation/journey there?

THIS MIGHT BE THE BEST ASK I’VE EVER RECEIVED. IMAGINE I’M STANDING WITH MY ARMS SPREAD USING DIFFERENT VOICES AND HAND GESTURES TO REENACT THIS STORY FOR A RESENTFUL CAPTIVE AUDIENCE

also declan’s TRC storyline is like. equal parts horribly fucking sad and unbelievably fucking hilarious so. i will try to strike a Balance

FIRST OFF. there is exactly one (1) declan POV chapter in the entire series. it happens toward the end of the last book. up until then, everything we know about him comes from the observations and narration of others.

he is also a very minor character. his importance grows throughout the series, but almost all of his actions happen offscreen. it’s not until the last book that we know exactly how much he’s been dealing with the whole time.

when he’s introduced in the first book, he appears as a plot device. here is a two-dimensional horrible controlling hardass who doesn’t give a shit about anything but his future political career. look at his fake, smug fucking grin. how did someone like ronan end up with a brother like him?? doesn’t matter. it’s a convenient excuse for ronan to live with his best friend in a drafty warehouse, which means more room for YA hijinks!

declan’s introduction scene is Embroiled in Capital-D Douchebaggery. according to the narration (from gansey and adam), he loves to fuck women and then never call them back, cozy up to powerful people, and bitch about how ronan’s ruining his life by being sad about their dead parents. SOME people can just get over their dead parents, ronan!

this intro scene is also Extremely Funny i 100% recommend reading it even if u don’t read the actual series. ronan makes a nasty comment, declan goes “why are you the way that you are” and tries to salvage his date, gansey utters the phrase “man whore”

then later that night things go like. actually bad.

declan shows up at the same pizza place where ronan is with his friends. this scene is gansey pov. gansey runs out to the parking lot to find the two of them Very Literally Trying To Kill Each Other. you don’t see that violence in cdth - there’s only the TINIEST shadow of it when declan confronts ronan over matthew - so i Cannot Express Enough that someone is going to end up hospitalized at BEST. ronan’s already slammed declan’s head on the car, declan’s already grabbed ronan and beaten the shit out of his face, like.

you do not get good old-fashioned Declan Lynch At His Actual Worst in cdth. u might be thinking, THAT guy???? doing THIS????

oh yeah. things are real bad between declan and ronan.

after gansey breaks up the fight (and gets punched in the face for his trouble, albeit accidentally), declan tells ronan that their dad would be fucking ashamed to see him now & that he’s washing his hands of it & basically if ronan wants to go off and fucking die, he can.

this is like. just a couple months after the magical suicide attempt referenced in cdth

in the aftermath of that scene it becomes clear that ronan absolutely unequivocally 100% will kill himself if he has to live with declan. hence. why he’s living with gansey instead. gansey spends that whole night petrified that the declan altercation will lead to another attempt, and for Good Reason

so like, that’s how we first meet declan. he’s an uncaring wannabe corporate asshole who does not give a fuck and who only exists to exacerbate ronan’s mental health issues.

but then the opening of book 2 gets real interesting.

book 2 is where we start learning more about the lynch family. we learn that ronan’s father was a dreamer who sold his creations on the black market, we learn that that’s why he was murdered. we learn that ronan’s a dreamer too. we learn that there are very powerful people looking for the greywaren, an artifact that takes objects from dreams. those powerful people just don’t realize it’s a person, yet.

so here’s the assassin who killed niall lynch.

he goes to declan’s dorm.

with everything we know about declan, the kid should be completely unprepared. he can box, but the assassin knows that, so there’s no real advantage. he’s alone, and he doesn’t have an escape route.

declan pulls out a gun.

this is an unexpected turn of events.

unfortunately he ends up getting beaten half to death with the butt of said gun, because he loses the ensuing physical struggle for the weapon. the assassin is like, i need the greywaren. declan is like, i know it exists but i don’t know what it is. i’ll find it for you. i’ll get it to you. then you’ll leave me the fuck alone

now with everything we know of declan at this point - his attitude toward ronan, his general demeanor, and this new knowledge that he knew about the black market - there’s one obvious question.

will declan sell ronan out if he finds out about the dreaming.

and like, okay. their relationship is antagonistic in cdth but it is NOT what it is in trc. believe me when i tell you that at that point, when you’re reading, you can pretty reasonably go, “oh, god. oh god. oh god please no one ever tell declan what the greywaren is. oh god.”

declan has some other interactions with ronan and the gang throughout the book, mostly where he’s just a hardass who tells ronan to stop causing trouble. adam’s the only one who notices that declan is scared. like bone-deep shaking to the core petrified. about Something.

probably getting beaten to within an inch of his life by the man who murdered his father. that’s the reasonable reader conclusion.

so imagine how everything changes when you find out that declan already knows. that declan’s known about ronan’s dreaming for longer than ronan has. that declan knew exactly what and who the greywaren was, and he lied to a man who was ready to torture him for information, and he got away with it.

suddenly a lot of things recontextualize.

“keep your head down and stop making trouble”? people are gonna NOTICE your magic bullshit, ronan, we do not have time for this!

“stop hanging with that loser druggie friend of yours”? you mean the loser druggie friend who sells on the magic black market and doesn’t care about protecting himself or anyone else?

“i got super weird for no reason about ronan sleeping close to adam”? i don’t have fucking TIME to be homophobic i’m busy with your POTENTIAL TO MANIFEST NIGHT TERRORS IN FRONT OF WITNESSES IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

“i’ll find out what the greywaren is and bring it to you”? i’ll die. i’m making a bargain to die. i’m never giving you the greywaren and i know you’re going to kill me about it and that’s fine as long as my brothers are safe

ronan doesn’t know that he dreamed matthew. declan knows. he’s known the whole time. declan tells ronan in book 3. and then things recontextualize even further, because ronan’s death is also matthew’s, and matthew IS close to declan in trc.

but declan never tells the goddamn truth unless it’s his last option. he doesn’t tell ronan that he knows about the dreaming and he doesn’t tell ronan what specifically wants to hurt him and the lack of communication fucking destroys both of them.

in the last book, ronan realizes declan loves him.

more than that, he realizes declan’s loved him the whole time.

this is when declan finally tells the truth. things are getting bad, plot-wise, and declan is scared, so he comes clean. he tells ronan that niall specifically tasked declan with protecting ronan from the market. he begs ronan to run from the danger. “let’s pour gasoline on everything dad left and start over.”

this is also when ronan realizes that declan’s childhood was very different from ronan’s own. and that niall and aurora lynch were not the same people to declan that they were to ronan. and that their father’s decisions are what’s driven the wedge between him and declan all this time

(he’s still struggling with the cognitive dissonance of this in cdth. i don’t think he knows how to adjust his perception of declan to fit this new information.)

aaaaand the final scene with declan makes me cry every time i read it so instead of summarizing, here’s the important part:

Ronan delivered a sharp tap to the object, and a small cloud of fiery orbs sprayed up with a sparkling hiss.

“Jesus, Ronan!” Declan jerked his chin away.

“Please. Did you think I’d blow your face off?”

He demonstrated it again, that quick tap, that burst of brilliant orbs. He tipped it into Declan’s hand, and before Declan could say anything, jabbed it to activate it once more.

Orbs gasped up into the air. For a moment, he saw how his brother was caught inside them, watching them soar furiously around his face, each gold sun firing gold and white, and when he saw the spacious longing in Declan’s face, he realized how much Declan had missed by growing up neither dreamer nor dreamt. This had never been his home. The Lynches had never tried to make it Declan’s home.

“Declan?” Ronan asked.

Declan’s face cleared. “This is the most useful thing you’ve ever dreamt. You should name it.”

“I have. ORBMASTER. All caps.”

“Technically you’re the orbmaster though, right? And that’s just an orb.”

“Anyone who holds it becomes an ORBMASTER. You’re an ORBMASTER right now. There, keep it, put it in your pocket. D.C. ORBMASTER.”

Declan reached out and scuffed Ronan’s shaved head. “You’re such a little asshole.”

The last time they’d stood on this roof together, their parents had both been alive, and the cattle in these fields had been slowly grazing, and the world had been a smaller place. That time was gone, but for once, it was all right.

The brothers both looked back over the place that had made them, and then they climbed down from the roof together.

#long post #REALLY long post #i haven't reread this so excuse any incoherence #trc #trc meta #not really but??#suicide /#declan lynch #i love my idiot son #replies #Anonymous

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

A Discowing at the Wayne Gala

Summary: Getting Jason to go to the Wayne Gala each year was more difficult than putting the Joker away in Arkham; he insisted the part was full of pretentious, rich social climbers who were horribly boring. As it turned out, all he really needed to persuade him was an upset, drunk girl rambling about how much she was going to deck her highschool enemies there to convince himself that he’d be in for a great show. (AKA the extremely chaotic and nonsensical salt/crack fic)

____________________________________________________

“I, Mar--” she hiccupped, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng solemnly swear to rip Lila a new one with Discowing’s godawful costume.”

“You say it girl!” called some random person from across the bar.

“I will--” another hiccup “--use Batman’s Batmobile to run over Kim. And slam Red Hood’s ugly ass helmet onto Adrien’s stupid face.”

“Better yet,” Marinette pounded the table, “I will use their stupid utility belts to dismantle Gabriel’s empire. Somebody give me a yeah!”

“Yeah!”

All in all, the sight wasn’t that atypical for a bar in Gotham, if it weren’t for the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was barely five feet, wore pigtails, and knocked five men on their asses when they tried to approach her.

“Take that, Hawkass,” she hissed. “Think you can pull a fast one on me when I’m drunk, do you? Well I’ve got news for you!”

Her words slurred together, and she leaned on the bar for support. “When I get my way, you’re going to be tied up into a pretzel and dumped into a volcano, then the tundra and then we’ll see how you like your stupid little jewlery touched.”

“Dupain-Cheng,” her blonde companion hissed. “Get yourself together. We don’t need another one of your breakdowns now. You know we’re going to be busy tomorrow night, and I don’t want to deal with you completely hung over all throughout the gala.”

“Aww,” Marinette squished her cheek onto Chloe’s “You know you love me.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit. If you want to make good on your plans, you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Ughhhh, why are they even invited to the stupid gala? It’s not even like they’re rich! Oh wait, I guess they are…” Marinette pressed her face to the bar, which was undoubtedly dirty. She reveled in it’s coolness, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And why do you have to be right? I guess I have to stop drinking if I want to make any of my plans work.”

“Your plans will work, hungover or not. It’s just a question of how much you’ll be able to enjoy them. I don’t want you complaining for months after the fact that you don’t remember half of what happened.”

“I guess you’re right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I'm feeling a little too warm to ice them out.” Staggering, Marinette got to her feet. “Call an Uber?”

“It’s already here.”

“What made you change your mind?” Tim frowned at Jason, doubtful that he wasn’t going to cop out at the last second. He was sure that he was only putting on his suit as some sort of deliberate ploy to get out of the Gala. Truthfully, it wasn’t required that all of them attend the Gala, but it was one of the few events that brought together most of the Wayne family.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Let’s just say I’m expecting quite the show.”

Jason kept a hawkish gaze on the entrance, waiting for the appearance of one short, pigtailed girl, and a taller blonde. They arrived almost forty five minutes into the Gala, which was good timing; not late enough to be considered rude, but most people have already arrived and have made their rounds.

Marinette looked different out of the dim lighting of the bar, and even though she definitely looks like she’s nursing a light hangover, she still managed to look stunning. With a matte-black floor length dress that attracted all light in the vicinity towards it, it’s hard not to look her way; Tim, for one, stared at the outfits that Marinette and her companion are wearing with stars in his eyes. Any moment now, he’s going to approach them. Or he would if he weren’t on Jason-sitting duty.

“I’ll play nice,” Jason promised.

“You? Nice?” Tim sounded incredulous, and it’s not like he can fault him. Whenever Jason did successfully get roped into coming to the Gala, it’s a sure thing that he gets at least one fist fight started, if not an everyone for themselves sort of situation.

“They’re the reason I decided to come. It’s not me you have to be worried about.”

Tim groaned. “Really? They’re trouble makers? But they’re wearing MDC!”

Jason chuckled, slipping a hand into his pants pocket. Tim was weirdly obsessed with the highly secretive French designer. Nobody ever saw them in person. “Wearing your fashion icon doesn’t mean they can’t kick ass.”

Tim rocked back on his heels, looking at the two girls calculatively. “That’s right. If anything, they’re more likely to kick ass, because that’s the kind of confidence that MDC inspires in their designs. Well, if you’re not going to fight them, I’m going to introduce myself.”

“And I can’t leave my little brother alone.” Jason said, watching the blonde girl point in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel Agreste’s son and his plus one.

Who knew that doing a preliminary reading of the guests would be so informative? He could only guess what kind of beef Marinette had with Agreste Jr.--Bruce had enough problems with Gabriel; even though Wayne Enterprises only dabbled in fashion, Gabriel was a ruthless man when it came to his competitors, and tried to edge them out of the market multiple times. Foolish on his part, not taking into consideration that both Bruce and Tim were very, very stubborn people who only get more difficult to face when dealing with a challenge.

Wayne Enterprise might primarily be considered with R&D and technology companies, but underestimating the amount of influence Tim could gather when someone pissed him off was just a bad idea.

“Hi, I’m Tim--”

“--and it’s lovely to meet you, but we’re on a mission right now,” finished the blonde girl, who Jason was now 98% sure is Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of Paris’ mayor and Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois. “Dupain-Cheng, it’s your time to shine.”

“God,” Marinette muttered underneath her breath, ducking her head. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to what I said while drunk last night.”

“It’s not just what you said drunk last night, it’s the most effective way of dealing with that liar. She’ll be so embarrassed she’ll hide away forever. Maybe get some plastic surgery and change her name. Daddy will make sure she can never step foot in Paris again.”

“Chloe,” Marinette groaned. “We all know how that panned out last time. Do you want a repeat performance?”

“By that time Hawkmoth will already be taken down. No need to worry about evil butterflies.”

“Evil butterflies?” Tim frowned.

“We can fill you in later, Marinette has a car to steal.”

“Chloe!”

“Oh stuff it, Dupain-Cheng, you’re no goody two shoes, even though you pretend to be one.”

Marinette whispers into Chloe’s ear, eyeing Jason and Tim. “Do you have to discuss that with other people around?”

“Well,” Chloe crossed her arms. “You boys aren’t going to rat us out, are you? They’re part of the infamous Wayne family. They’ll definitely be in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You know they already reached out-- I can’t risk--” Marinette kept cutting herself off. “Fine, but if you-know-what falls through, I’m putting it all on you.”

“Like they’re going to pass you up just because of what’s going to go down at this gala. If anything, they’ll be glad to know that you’re as vicious as you are creative,” Chloe checked her nails and touched her hair, making sure it was in place.

“Sorry, what? I’m a little bit lost.”

“Keep up, Drake. I’m beginning to doubt your title as child-genius.You have the unique opportunity to watch history in the making.”

“Wait,” Tim’s jaw almost dropped at the display in front of him. “How did you even--”

“Trade secret. Marinette doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But that’s the Batmobile.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jason laughed. He stole the hubcaps off the Batmobile, Marinette stole the whole thing. What a sight.

Here’s how the rest of the night went: Chloe plied Marinette with copious amounts of water, trying to get rid of her headache. Marinette hopped into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile (to which Chloe cackled, “And she doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet,” and Tim paled to the shade of freshly fired ceramic plate.) They ran over Kim, who, somehow managed to get into the event as a server of sorts, at which point Tim swore that the background checks would have to be upped again. Marinette landed the Batmobile in the middle of the gala, barely managing to avoid several innocents who were in her path. She reached into the convenient storage compartment that Jason was previously unaware of and pulled out the Discowing outfit and his helmet-- seriously, how did she get those?-- and slammed the car door.

Security, of course, was waiting for them. How couldn’t they, with that big of a disturbance? Half of the guests were up in a tizzy-- mostly the ones who were experiencing their first Wayne Gala-- and the other half were looking on, amused. Tim waved the guards off as Marinette made her way to Lila and Adrien, like a vengeful Valkyrie.

“You,” Marinette grimaced. “Chloe, say the words, I forgot them.”

“We decided that words were useless, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marinette said, before promptly slamming Red Hood’s helmet onto Adrien’s head hard enough for him to fall to the ground, likely concussed. Lila, who started screeching and running away made for a surprisingly difficult target. Well, difficult in the fact that she was using other people as shields, but once she came across a group of Experienced Wayne Gala Goers, she got pushed out of her comfort zone.

In eight inch heels and with her hair down, Marinette stalked towards her prey.

“Lila Rossi,” Marinette intoned. “Your sins will be judged.”

“What are you going to do, Marinette? You have no power here. We’re in America now. No Ladybug to back you up. No public opinion in your favor.”

Marinette shuddered. “Ugh, your voice makes me want to vomit. In any case, I sentence you to life in Discowing’s costume.”

“You can’t make me wear anything!”

Famous last words, Lila.

“I’m still so confused. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry,” Chloe gave Tim a pat on the back. “You’ll get used to this kind of thing if you end up hanging around Marinette more often.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jason.

“Get in the back of the line. The only thing Marinette has time for now are her plans to take down Hawkmoth.”

“I’m not opposed to joining you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jason paused. “By the way, has she already stolen the utility belts to take down Gabriel or does she need more? I’ve got contacts.”

"Fair warning, everything in Paris is at least twenty times crazier than what you’ve seen here today.” Chloe swiped through a few notifications on her phone. “And please, do you think someone who hotwired the Batmobile needs your help getting her hands on a couple utility belts? If she really put her mind to it, she could get the Lasso of Truth from Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, Jason, I’m definitely not going to join you on that trip.” Tim turned his attention towards Marinette, who was currently passed out on the hotel couch. “Anyways, You two are wearing MDC, right? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

Chloe looked at the poor boy with pity. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

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i’m really churning out these jasonette prompts like butter (god butter is so freaking good you ever eat butter straight? i do. heart attack city & the next paula dean) even tho i only thought about joining in right when july was ending but here we are

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pretoriafics · 3 years

Text

If I wasn't a goddamn werewolf

I simply needed to do something with Talia. I think the pack dynamics would be so wonderful with her, with Laura, and with Cora. Should I do a part 2? Let me know <3

Talia just came back from the dead, and she is just trying to figure out what is happening with her son. But when she met you, everything becomes clear. Word count: 1.757 Pairings: Reader x Derek Contain: Pure angst!!; Derek being a dick; Warnings: English is not my main language <3 PART 2 TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

Things were a true mess these days. The starting point was a resurrection. Nobody knew exactly how Talia arose from the dead, but everyone was trying to find out. Well, after so many years out of the Beacon Hills life, Talia was trying to fix in and absorb what had happened during the time she was dead. Peter had tried and failed to kill his daughter Laura, Cora comes back to the city, and the Hale's had rebuilt their pack with three new members: Boyd, Isaac, and Erica. Derek was happy with the presence of Talia - actually, everyone was - but as a mom, she knew something was pretty wrong. He was being a little bit... sad.

Talia caught Derek thoughtful during the night several times. Sometimes he just simply took his car and disappear. He was also taking time for himself, staying alone with his own thoughts. Talia just simply couldn't figure out what the hell was going on with her son. But when she has begun to think that maybe all of that was just something created inside of a mother's mind, she finds out about everything.

Talia, Derek, and Laura were doing some groceries at a supermarket. Talia and Laura were chatting about the city while taking a few things when suddenly, both of them heard a female voice greeting Derek in the corridor next to them.

"Hey, Derek."

It was you. Laura recognized your voice immediately. Talia's older daughter took her mom's wrist and took her to spy Derek, making a sign with her finger on her lips to her mom stay quiet. When Talia and Laura look at you and Derek, they notice all the signs of a couple in love. Your hearts were beating fast, and your eyes were shining like a thousand stars. You were pretty anxious, like a teenager talking for the first time with your crush. And your voice was so sweet... The air seems to completely disappear from Derek's lungs.

But despite all of the signs of love, Derek didn't reply to you. Actually, seems like the soft expression of love simply disappeared from his face - which was pretty severe and cold now. His facial expressions seem to let you even more anxious. You begun to regret to had the stupid idea to talk with him.

"Uh..." You started to talk, with his lack of answer "I..."

Without saying a word to you, Derek takes a can from the shelves and, simply, walks away from you. It was like you even weren't there. And, God, it broke your heart. Alone in the corridor and without becoming aware that you were being looked closely for Laura and Talia, you let escape a tear that ran through your face. Trying to compose yourself, you breathe in and swipe the tear away. You need to be strong.

When you just simply walk away from that corridor, Talia looks at Laura, pretty confused.

"Is that his ex?"

"No, she is just a girl he met. They started to become friends, but things evolved. Derek had decided to fell apart from her when Kate threatened to do something with her. You know, she was trying to manipulate him. But Derek thought that she would be safer without him. She doesn't know anything about supernatural, so..."

"It's dangerous for her."

"Exactly."

"How long ago did this happen?"

Laura drums her fingers on her chin, thoughtfully.

"I think it's been a year..."

"Oh, wow."

"Yeah, I know. You would love to meet her." Laura and Talia walk close to the candies session, looking at you. "Her name is (Y/N). She's a great girl."

"She seems like one."

Laura, Derek, and Talia were putting the groceries into the car - the place where Cora was waiting for her family. Talia was pretty thoughtful, thinking about the issue between you and Derek. Despite thinking that Derek did the right thing, she felt sad about the whole situation. It was pretty clear to her that Derek likes you a lot, and so do you.

Talia was torn from your thoughts when she listened to Cora's voice.

"Oh, I didn't saw her coming into the market."

Derek arches his eyebrows at his sister, walking in the driver's seat direction.

"Who?"

Cora indicates you with a nod in her head, and Derek's sight runs in your direction. Now Derek was looking at you for a distance he could saw you properly. Damn, you were so beautiful... He was pretty sure you did something with your hair, who made you more beautiful than ever. His heart began to race, and his face softened. You were like a sedative for him, with the power to take all of his angry away.

Unless you were next to another guy. In this case, you would stoke his fury just like the gasoline feeds fire. That was the case now.

You were walking in a man's direction, close to an expensive car. Despite being upset and heartbroken, you forced a smile on him, and he gave you a soft and slow kiss. Derek's chest vibrated in a low and threatening roar.

Laura looks at Cora.

"Who's that guy?"

"Well, he's her boyfriend. They're together a few months."

"He's hot. And seems like he's rich too."

Yeah, he was perfect. Derek didn't hate him just because he's the one who touches you now. Derek hates him because that guy was perfect, and better than him in so many aspects. He was rich, handsome, and a perfect gentleman. And he has you.

Oh, God... Derek wants so much for being under his skin for one day... Derek could simply forget all the supernatural bullshit and stay with you without worries. Damn, he wants so much to touch you again and kiss you again. He wants so much to say to you how beautiful you were with whatever you did with your hair, how you smell good, and how sorry he is for hurting you because he would never do that if it weren't for your own good.

If Derek wasn't a goddamn werewolf, he could take that vacation on Hawaii with you that you wanted so much. If he wasn't a goddamn werewolf, he could wake up by your side in the morning - something he never was able to do because of all the supernatural crap in the city. Derek could wake you up with kisses and breakfast in the bed too. If he wasn't a goddamn werewolf, he would take you to live with him on his loft. You would never cry of sadness, just of happiness.

If he wasn't a goddamn werewolf, Derek would give you a ring and would ask if you want to be Mrs. Hale.

Instead of all of it, Derek was forced to broke your heart for your own protection. He was forced to tell you not to talk with him anymore because he never felt anything for you. You were nothing more than a one-night stand, his little toy.

Derek remembers that day like it was yesterday. You were crying like never before while you listened to his sharp words.

"What do I did with you that made you thought you were so special?"

"You are nothing to me."

"I just wanted some fun. You can't blame me."

"Stop acting like a stuping teenager in love!"

It was hurtful to say those words to you. None of them were true. Derek just wanted you to hate him as much as someone could hate. With it, you would stay away from him and all of the danger. In fact, you said that night those three words he wanted you to tell him.

"I hate you!" You yelled, with your face wet in tears. "You are the biggest mistake I could ever make in my entire life!"

Despite saying horrible things to you that had hurt Derek as hell, your words hurt as much as his own. But even with all the emotions conflicting inside himself, Derek even could hear your heartbeat failing. It was the sound of your lie.

Despite all of that, you didn't hate him. You didn't think he was the biggest mistake of your like.

That broke him even more.

Derek just wants to feel you in his arms again and say to you how much he loves you - because, yeah, he really loves you, and he really thinks you are the one. Instead of it, he gives up on your love to keep you alive and safe.

Suddenly, Derek listens to your boyfriend talk with you. He was still with his face close to yours.

"I'm so lucky to have you as my girl." Your boyfriend smiles at you "I love you."

Your heart ached one more time that day. Oh, if those words were from Derek's mouth... But no, you think he hates you. Determined to move on and forget about Hale, you force a smile on your boyfriend.

"I love you too."

Your heartbeat sound failed, and the Hale family on another side of the parking lot could hear your lie. You didn't love your boyfriend but, oh, you really wish you could. He was perfect.

However, you always thought about how boring perfection was and, actually, you would love to be imperfect with Derek.

Your boyfriend gives you a sweet smile and gets into his expensive car. You walk towards the passenger's seat door and, before getting into the car, you look in Derek's direction.

He was looking at you with those beautiful and glacial green eyes. It was pretty hard to pretend he didn't love you because he does so much. While Talia was watching the entire situation, she noticed that yours and Derek's eyes were yelling a silent, dangerous, and forbidden I love you - the one who could let anyone with no air in their lungs.

Then, you breathe in, trying to contain yourself. You got into the car and, then, you and your boyfriend were leaving the parking lot and Derek's sight. If getting away from him and being in another man's arms meant you were safe, then Derek could handle it. However, after looking at the whole situation, Talia was not well with it. Well, Laura and Cora weren't either. They knew about his brother's sincere feelings, and Talia knew it that moment either. The gears inside her brain were already working to find a solution for all of that.

Derek, however, could only think of how much you would never really be his.

#teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf fanfics #teen wolf fics #teen wolf fanfic #derek hale imagine #derek hale imagines #derek hale x reader #derek hale fanfics #derek hale x you #derek hale x y/n #derek hale fic #derek hale fics #derek hale fanfic #derek hale fanfiction #derek hale fanfictions

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dresshistorynerd · 3 years

Photo

So I saw this illustration recently floating around here and it’s so riddled with bullshit I decided to go through it with meticulous detail. Also it’s whole point is bullshit, but we’ll circle back to it. I have to note I’m not dress historian and don’t know all the nuances related to history of undergarments, and wouldn’t have even room for that in this post. And the illustration is completely devoid of them anyway.

So strap in and jump into the rabbit hole with me! Let’s start with the accuracy of the figures illustrating the undergarments. I don’t know why the 18th century stays (corsets come later) look like that? They are so wrong in so many ways. This is what 18th century stays looked like.

They did not flatten the bust at all. On the contrary, they pushed the bust up. It makes the stomach flat, but bust very much not. The boning was made from whale bone, reeds or slim wood bents most often, which are all very bendable and soft materials. Which means it was firm but not hard or restrictive. They mostly just smoothed the torso and supported bust. Also none of these illustrations have shift or chemise under their corset/stays, which was extremely important part of the undergarment (they protected the skin from corset/stays and it from oils of skin).

Now I’m questioning weather the makers of this info graph have seen Regency dresses. Firstly they claim that the ideal figure was “natural waist” when you can see that the waist can’t even be seen under the dress. There’s literally no waist. I would rather say the ideal figure was long tube body and boobs (emphasis on boobs). They also say the “corset” (still stays) stops bellow the bust line, but if you have seen a Regency dress, you know the bust is basically on the chin. (There were some stays that actually stopped under breasts, but the ones with cups where much more common as they were better at getting the fashionable silhouette.)

You don’t achieve this look without some heavy lifting done by the undergarments.

Here’s what they looked like. (Picture is from Abigail Polston’s blog.) They were basically push up bras. They didn’t have boning at all or sometimes a couple bones, but were usually made at least partly of stiffened fabrics. Between the breasts there’s a wooden slab that keeps the boobs separate and the stays from crinkling. They only smoothed out the rest of the torso and their only real purpose was support the bust and lift the hell out of it.

The next figure has so so many things wrong about it. In 1830s the stays were basically same as Regency stays. In 1840s the stays started to have a little more of the Victorian hourglass shape, but their construction was still similar. Though at the same time corsets started to live along side stays, till in the 1850s they took over the undergarment business. Here’s an example of 1890s corset.

Victorian corset is result of very complicated engineering. The shape is achieved with very ingenious patterning and strategically placed bones. Maximal shape with minimal boning. When you go back to look at the 18th century stays, which are covered in bones and then check out bow little there’s bones in the Victorian corset. The shape subtly changed thorough the rest of the century, but the basic construction and hourglass figure stayed the same.

Now the description says tight lacing became popular and it’s not entirely wrong. Tight lacing became a thing. In the previous centuries it wasn’t really even possible in same sense, because the materials used were too soft. Well some rich fashionable women still did it in 18th century (with regency stays it just wasn’t possible), but because of the materials, they couldn’t restrict bodily functions like breathing (looking at you PotC). Victorian corsets however usually had couple of iron bones, the rest being the soft whale bone, giving them more ability to shape the body. Tight lacing however was not common. Some rich, young and fashionable ladies would do that, but it was seen broadly negatively at the time. People talked about the health consequences and perhaps more than that, saw it as very vain. Tight lacing every day for a long time had negative health consequences, but vast majority of women didn’t do that and they were nothing nearly as dramatic ass people claim. Corset’s magic wasn’t it’s ability to reduce waist, but rather accentuate bust and hips. It was all about the illusion. Padding was added too on top of the corset. All women used corsets and it didn’t restrict them from doing all kinds of stuff, like working in a factory, or climbing a mountain.

I don’t really have anything to complain about the 1900s, 1910s and 1920s. They have at least the right shapes and don’t have weird claims. Now, I’m not very knowledgeable in any decade after 1920s, but I know at least that bullet bra were already a thing in the 40s? You can see it in 40s dress silhouettes too.

After all this wildly inaccurate info, the whole point of the info graph is that lingerie is going backwards and apparently it’s a bad thing. It gives the impression that undergarments were bad in the ye olden times, then they got good and apparently they are bad again. I think the funniest part is when it says in the 80s bit that “lingerie no longer a way to control the body but to empower women”. Empower how? How were 80s bras more empowering that previous or following bras? Also it says that the ideal figure was “any”. Now, I’m not that familiar with 80s, but if you look at the fashion then, you definitely notice a common silhouette: broad shoulders and natural waist.

After that apparently shaping bras are used to make the bust look bigger, which is bad I guess. Worse than padding on shoulders for some reason?

It is not outright said that the undergarments of earlier periods were used to control women’s bodies, but it’s implied. That’s a really common misconception, but not really true. In the 17th century women didn’t wear stays, but the bodice was heavily structured and boned. When mantua (loose robe draped on body, think of robe á la francaise) entered the western fashion (around 1680s), women jumped on it. Stays became very quickly very popular, to give the fashionable silhouette even without the rigid bodice. Stays and mantua combo was more comfortable and more adjustable to changes in body so it took completely over the fashion during the 18th century. And when corsets became a thing in the Victorian era, most corset makers were women. Women invented a lot of the engineering that went into patterning corsets.

Corsets and stays were not some torture devices. They were flexible, constructed with the right measurements and their purpose wasn’t to reduce the measurements of the body, but rather create optical illusions and support the bust and the back. Many people who have used recreations of historical corsets say they are in many ways more comfortable than modern bras, which shift all the weight of the bust on shoulders. Corsets and stays distributed it on hips instead. Perhaps the biggest actual health concern with a regular use of corset especially (excluding tight lacing and stays didn’t to my knowledge have this problem at least to the same extend) is it supporting the back too much, making the wearer’s deep muscles wither. So in a way, they were too comfortable. Victorians were aware of that, and upper class women, who didn’t do manual labour, were encouraged to excercise to keep their torso in good shape.

Now at some point when making this post, I started to wonder who made this illustration and why. It does seem, if not well researched, at least professional. After googling the label in the bottom left corner, I found this.

The poster is saying it’s terrible when fashion tries to shape your body with clothing and it has the solution for you. Shape your body literally with the serum they are selling. They even say in the 2000s section that big bust is the desired shape, which now looks a lot like marketing. Though it doesn’t seem like they are selling it anymore. Their website is down and I couldn’t find any info on them. The whole product seems a little suspicious. It’s apparently a cream containing estrogen you put on your breasts and it should make your breast grow. Now I’m no expert, but that’s not how estrogen works. Any cream that claims it has some hormones that will change your body or skin? They don’t work. Don’t buy them.

I think this illustrates very well why I disagree so much with the idea that shaping your silhouette with clothing was so terrible and it’s good that we moved away from it. Fashion always has a silhouette, it’s part of the overall look. When the silhouette was still achieved with undergarments, your body shape and size didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the size, it was about proportion and you could create that with corsets/stays, padding and illusions. Nowadays you see sometimes thin celebrities praised for being fashionable when they wear boring clothes which show their stomach, and people have started to question if they actually have style or are they just thin. And often bigger people are ridiculed for wearing the exact same thing. Now it’s the body which is fashionable, not the clothing. And it leads to companies like these trying to push people to change their bodies.

Now, I don’t think any strict fashion or beauty standard is ever good, even if it could be achieved with clothing alone. But I think there’s something to be learned from past, to maybe not reserve fashion and style only for a specific type of body. I don’t think it’s ever helpful or healthy for a body type to be trendy. There’s always all types of bodies and they all deserve to enjoy style, if they wish.

TL;DR: Add tried to sell their boob cream by spewing inaccuracies about historical undergarments.

#fashion history #fashion #historical clothing #historical fashion #history #dress history #historical undergarments #beauty ideals #body ideals #long post #dress history research

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adhdeancas · 3 years

Text

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down)

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products.

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold.

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him.

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth.

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes.

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks.

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended.

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore.

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing.

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register.

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling.

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words.

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff.

Damn transphobes.

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect.

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go.

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous.

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and-

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again.

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.”

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar.

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him.

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone.

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen.

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually.

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief. What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried.

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes.

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

#i fixed it #god fucking damn it #dean winchester #destiel #saileen #saileena #sam winchester #castiel #eileen leahy #castiel winchester #jack kline #roweena #my writing #ficlet #deancas #trans dean #trans woman OC #tw: transphobia #tw: suicide mention

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florenceandthemachine · 3 years

Text

hear your heartbeat

happy birthday to the incomparable @elisela!!! just for you, please enjoy a good fake-dating au with plenty of idiotic and family members abound.

12.5k - on Ao3

—————

“I’m telling you, Scotty. New York has been good to me. Maybe we should just renounce California and stay here for the summer.”

“Don’t joke about that, dude.”

Stiles laughed as he shouldered his phone, taking in the city air as he strolled along the streets of Manhattan.

Needless to say, Manhattan was far from home—while the city certainly was his vibe, Stiles was no stranger to tamping down the champagne tastes that clashed with his tapwater budget. The little shitbox apartment he got through NYU’s housing program was almost a thirty minute train ride from school, but Stiles figured that when he was more or less trapped on campus for nearly fifty hours a week, he could justify spending his breaks wandering the streets of Manhattan and really taking in the city.

On today’s agenda, Stiles was looking forward to wandering around a farmers market that literally stretched on for city blocks. There were fruits and vegetables literally as far as the eye could see, spices and roots and mysterious tubers of all shapes and size, but Stiles didn’t give a flying fuck about the food—his real interest were the vendors and the shoppers.

He had learned early on that open air markets like this were perfect meeting grounds for mythical beasts of all shapes and sizes, so, what better palace for him to do some… field work, so to speak?

There were nymphs who had full bouquets of beautiful flowers that lived suspiciously long in their vases as long as you complimented the blooms on a regular basis. Dryads who sold the most delicious fruit he had ever tasted, even if they charged six bucks for a pear.

Stiles had learned early on to avoid the fae—basically, any stand that sold crystal or metalcraft. His first time at the market, he had somehow wound up spending nearly four hundred dollars on quartz; the moment the money had left his hand, the stall had all but vanished in front of him.

“The people are good here. They’re fast. Blunt. Sarcastic. My kind of people.”

“Uh huh.”

Scott liked to call their whole situation lucky.

When Stiles applied to NYU’s doctorate program, he expected rounds and rounds of interviews, lists of deadlines he needed to memorize, and some less-than-subtle digs at his proposed field of study (which was fair, honestly—he knew that criminology and mythology rarely mixed).

What he didn’t expect was Scott, though, the bro of all bros. When Stiles told him he was applying to NYU, Scott had cheered him on, helped him prepare, and then immediately applied to different veterinary positions through the state.

(Scott was golden, obviously—he had years of training, letters of recommendation from everyone he had ever met, and him being a werewolf basically made him the animal whisperer.)

At the end of the day, Stiles got to pursue his passion thanks to a hodgepodge of grants at NYU, and Scott was awarded a fellowship in veterinary medicine through the Bronx Zoo. What kind of weird twist of luck would let the best friends wind up together across the country like that?

So, yeah, Scott called it luck.

Stiles called it karmic retribution for their supremely fucked-up years at Beacon Hills High, but even he could admit that ‘luck’ sounded nicer... and if Stiles was being honest, ‘luck’ was definitely the best way to classify his meeting Derek Hale.

Derek Hale was smart, he was sarcastic, and he could go toe-to-toe with Stiles over completely obscure things for literal hours. He was a first-year professor at NYU, who had the tiny office right next to the broom closet Stiles had managed to shove PHD desk into, and he was probably the only other person in the program that took mythology seriously (meaning he was the only person who didn’t make Stiles want to put his head through the wall).

He was also hot as fuck, but that was beside the point. Stiles had a little bit of a massive crush, but that was also beside the point.

They had built up a fast friendship based on a series of arguments about the Necronomicon, of all things, and Stiles loved the thought of being friends with someone who didn’t know him as the weird kid in high school who knew way too much about ritual sacrifice and circumcision.

He had evened out a lot through undergrad. He was still awkward, sure, but he was awkward with a refillable prescription for Adderall and some sort of brain-to-mouth filter.

(Honestly, the fact that Stiles had managed to avoid making a single joke about the werewolf who was stuck teaching Mythology 101 really did speak volumes to his newfound maturity.)

Speaking of Derek, though…

“Stiles! Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles almost jumped a foot in the air as he heard his name called, doing a spectacular near-drop-mid-air-catch of his phone as he regained his footing, turning on the spot to see a taller woman with jet black hair waving him over.

She was… okay, she was gorgeous—dark hair, smooth skin, someone who looked like she just stepped out of one of the windows on Fifth Avenue—but Stiles was decently distracted, because standing beside her was Derek Hale, the object of his extremely private affection for the past few months. Who, for whatever reason, was standing there looking like he wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow him whole.

“Scotty, I’ll see you tonight, yeah? I gotta go.”

Stiles pocketed his phone as he cautiously made his way over to the pair—trio, he corrected, because there was another woman with them, looking incredibly more invested in the conversation now that another party was joining them.

He hiked his canvas a bit higher up as he smiled, trying to remember where he had seen the two before… students, maybe, but if that were the case, they would know Derek, not Stiles. They weren’t faculty members, he was sure of that. Donors to the program, maybe?

Well, if they were donors, Stiles sincerely hoped that Derek would have tried harder to wear literally any expression other than his current ‘bitter and miserable’.

And if they were donors, why were they so fucking happy to see him?

“I’m Laura. This is Cora.”

The taller of the two women extended her hand confidently as Stiles got within arms reach, and he instinctively reached out to take it, Cora following suit. “Derek has told us all about you. I have to say, I figured there was at least a ten percent chance you were made up, but… here you are!”

“Here I am!” Stiles was officially lost, but he kept his smile up, cheeks pinking up a little bit as he turned back to Derek. “You’ve been talking about me?” he asked, his voice on the line between flattered and teasing, nudging Derek playfully as he tilted his head.

“Stiles, I—“

“Of course he has! Derek’s a private guy, sure, but you can’t be surprised he told us about his new—“

“Laura—”

“Lord, Derek, calm down. You already had your big bisexual awakening, I’m allowed to be excited to meet your first boyfriend.” Laura shot back, her glare rivaling Derek’s absolute best ‘listen to teacher’ look, and Stiles could see the muscle in his jaw start to twitch. He probably would have done something, but… he was basically short circuiting, brain trying to keep up with whatever the fuck Laura had said, because Derek now had his arm around Stiles’ waist.

Derek had a big bisexual awakening?

And a boyfriend, apparently?

How had Stiles missed that??

“Stiles, these are my sisters, Laura and Cora Hale.”

Okay, great, they were Derek’s sisters. Stiles didn’t even know that Derek had sisters, which was a little sad if he thought about it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have long to think about it, because Derek—

“This is Stiles, my… my boyfriend. Now stop bombarding him. Give him half a fucking second before you go a thousand miles an hour.”

Oh—oh God. Stiles was the boyfriend.

He had seriously missed something, then—he didn’t think he had confessed his feelings for Derek anytime recently, or he probably would have died from embarrassment. Scott was really good at hiding his phone when he was drinking, which ruled that entire scenario out. Stiles could be forgetful at times, sure, but he thought he would remember if he had managed to score himself a boyfriend.

He looked up at Derek, trying to ignore the sudden burn of contact where their bodies were pressed together, but his brain was extremely focused the moment that he caught the look on Derek’s face, there and gone in a flash. He felt the hand squeeze at his waist, and the message was clear enough.

Please.

Ah, well. Stiles was always good at bullshitting, and this was no exception.

“No, no, Der, it’s fine! It’s good to meet you both, sorry, I wasn’t even expecting to see Derek until… uh, later, let alone meet anyone new,” Stiles said, his voice 100% betraying his nerves as it picked up an octave.

Laura’s voice was much more evenly toned, even if it was a little teasing. “Oh? You two have big plans tonight? We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?” she said with a grin, giving the distinct impression that even if they were interrupting, she and her sister wouldn’t be leaving until they were good and ready. Stiles felt his mind kick into overdrive, waving the question aside.

“Oh, nothing like that. We were going to meet up with my friend Scott for dinner, introducing the boyfriend to the best friend, you know how it is,” he continued, hoping his little chuckle wasn’t too terribly fake as he reached up to pat the lapels of Derek’s jacket, letting his fingers linger a little too long on Derek’s chest as he nodded.

He hoped that she knew how it was. Hell, Stiles didn’t even know how it was. He hadn’t exactly been rolling in romance since moving across the country.

“Well, if you say so,” Laura mused, raising a perfect brow, head tilted to the side. “You look like you’re about to pass out, Stiles. You alright?”

And, okay, Stiles knew enough to know what that meant. It meant that her super-sonic ears could hear his heart trying to break through his ribs with a staccato beat, typically a tell-tale sign that someone was lying, but… maybe he could work that to his advantage. He swallowed, voice a little tight as he laughed, waving the concern away.

“Sorry, I just wasn't… planning on meeting the family today,” Stiles said, probably the most truthful thing he had ever said. “Usually I’d try to prepare a little more, you know, make sure I’m wearing something nice and avoid putting my entire foot in my mouth. Maybe just a toe or two,” he said, relaxing minutely as Cora snorted from her position near Laura’s elbow.

Okay, so self depreciation was a good way to avoid suspicion with all the Hales. Got it.

“Well, if you both have plans, I’ll make this quick,” Laura said, her voice deceptively charming as she sidled up next to Stiles, though he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the way Derek’s hand tightened around his waist. “The semester is up soon, what are your plans this summer? Never mind, move them back. We’re having a family reunion the week after finals, and everyone is dying to meet baby brother Derek’s new boo after all the stories he’s told.”

…stories?

He looked up to Derek again, who was now blushing up to the tips of his ears, which—okay, cute—but which told him absolutely nothing and offered him exactly zero defense.

“Actually, I already have a flight booked as soon as my spring contract is up. Heading back to Beacon Hills for a few days, and—“

“Wait, did Derek already invite you?” Laura asked, her expression pleasantly surprised, and Stiles was speechless for a half second before Derek stepped in.

“No, I didn’t invite him because I’m not even going, Laura. Besides, he has his own plans with his own family,” he said, and Stiles blinked as he tried to keep up. “And what do you mean, they’re excited to meet him? I was very clear that the further I can keep him away from you and Mom, the better.”

Laura only rose a brow as she turned back to Cora, who took a beat before looking up from her phone, her expression halfway guilty as she clutched the device. “I uh—I may have just sent a picture of you two to the family group chat.”

Stiles choked on a laugh as Derek gasped—actually gasped—and pulled his phone from his pocket, making the mistake of releasing Stiles’ shoulder to unlock the device, looking absolutely scandalized as he glared at Cora.

It wasn’t long before Stiles had a similar look on his face, though, as Laura took advantage of his free arm, linking her own with his as she started to walk. “Alright, Stiles, here’s the deal.”

“Cora, you little—hey! Laura, get back here with my boyfriend!”

“Calm down little brother, the adults are talking.”

“He’s younger than I am!”

“So, Stiles, like I was saying,” Laura started, oblivious or ignorant to the way Stiles' mind had absolutely reeled when Derek had called him his boyfriend for the second time. “Derek hasn’t been home for more than a day visit since he moved out to this dump, and no one has raised a stink about it in years. This year, though, is… important,” she started, and Stiles nodded idly as he mentally ran through the calendar in his head.

The semester was over in just over a week, with finals crammed into three days after that, and then—oh, the full moon.

No, Stiles corrected himself, the blue moon. The first blue moon in May in probably… thirty years, if he had to guess. He nodded up to Laura as that clicked into place, a flicker of curiosity crossing over her face as she continued talking.

“We won’t take up that much of your time—it’s only like two events, I promise, and I also promise Derek will personally take care of whatever flight changes you have to make so you can still get some time with your family. After all, it’s not your fault my bonehead brother tried to exclude you until now.”

“I’m not a bonehead!” Derek said, his tone of voice just exasperated enough that Stiles sighed, carefully extracting himself from Laura’s grasp as they slowed to a stop near the curb of Fifth Avenue, the noise from the farmers market blending in with the sound of traffic as he turned back to Derek.

“Alright, hang on, hold up,” Stiles started, his tone firm enough to stop the three wolves in their tracks, Derek and Laura wearing matching expressions of surprise as they stopped in their tracks—even Cora was peeking over her phone, clearly interested, and Stiles couldn’t blame them. It had probably been a long time since either of them had been stopped by a human.

“Laura, Derek is not a bonehead. He’s smart, and he’s sweet, and he’s very kind, and it’s okay that he’s a little more private. Yeah, he’s also a stubborn asshole, but… well, that’s one of the reasons I like him so much,” Stiles said, the first genuine smile in the entire conversation gracing his face as he looked at Derek again. “But you know your brother. Did you really think that catching him off guard across the country in person was going to be the best way to convince him to visit?”

He was fine taking their silence as an answer, honestly.

“Now, Derek, that being said, I… if you are comfortable with it, I can rearrange my plans and come down with you. If you’re not comfortable with that, that’s okay too. Meeting the family—at least, the rest of the family—is a very big step,” he continued, his words very pointed.

(Yes, Derek, meeting the family would be a very big step for someone you weren’t even dating, please pick up on the subliminal messaging here.)

“But even if you’re not comfortable with me being there, I think you should still go down. I’ll get to spend plenty of time with my dad, you shouldn’t have to be all alone up here while I’m gone.”

Moving to smooth over the lapels on Derek’s jacket again, Stiles only barely tampered down a noise of surprise as Derek intercepted his hands, pleasantly shocked by how easily Derek’s warm, smooth fingers slipped between his own lanky digits.

Stiles felt his cheeks pinks up as he cleared his throat, doing his best to act normal, because he was… well, he wasn’t lying. He had absolutely thought about Derek being alone here in New York while Stiles was gone, but that was more in the sense that Stiles would miss him.

He just didn’t know that Derek might be missing some family, too.

Besides, he may not have known that much about the intricacies of a normal, family pack, but Stiles knew enough to know that a big event like this would probably be good for Derek, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Even if Derek was going to reject his offer and go down alone.

…because Derek was going to reject him.

Derek was going to reject him, right?

Stiles had been fairly sure of that when he offered, but judging by the way Derek couldn’t meet his eyes after something as simple as holding hands, Stiles might have just fucked himself over. Derek opened and closed his mouth twice before he finally let out a huff of air and looked up, doing a remarkably good impression of a guilty animal as he looked at Stiles.

“…you’re sure you don’t mind?”

Fuck.

“Derek, I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” Stiles said, and that much was at least true—but before he could say anything else, Laura was squealing in his ear, wrapping both of them up in a hug so tight Stiles almost had to remind her that he was human, but he was able to breathe again as the car next to the curb chirped.

“Thank God, Stiles, thank you for getting through to him! Oh, Nana is gonna flip out when she hears who’s coming—Derek, you know you’ve always been her favorite—Stiles, do you have any dietary restrictions? Derek, send me his number, and—no, Cora, you are not driving us back to the airport, move your ass—“

Stiles looked up to Derek, his expression somewhere between bemused and fearful as Laura rambled on, but… well, the apologetic look that Derek had on his face wasn’t much reassurance.

“—and Stiles, you’re going to love Beacon Hills. Bye boys! See you in two weeks!”

Stiles was left, partially shellshocked as Derek’s hand slipped from his own, the need for the facade no longer essential as the shiny silver rental car pulled into traffic.

“… Derek, since when the fuck are you from Beacon Hills?”

—————

“Scotty, stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”

“Dude, are you kidding me? This is hilarious.”

Stiles groaned as he shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth, ignoring the burning sensation that spread across his tongue as he tried to pack as much melted cheese as he could into one bite.

Scott’s apartment had been their go-to for the entire time he and Stiles had been in the city—not because it was huge and glamorous, not by any means, but Scott’s shoebox had a door between the bathroom and the living room, and therefore it was the best place for bro-time by default.

Stiles had loudly complained about the entire situation when he and Derek showed up on Scott’s stoop, firmly planting himself in his favorite of Scott’s chairs—the ‘old man’ recliner next to Scott’s little television, the game on screen forgotten as he recalled their harrowed tale.

“Stiles, if you weren’t comfortable with it, why even… okay, no, don’t you dare answer me until you swallow,” Derek snapped, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he swallowed a few times, sticking his tongue out at Derek once his mouth was empty.

“Good. Thank you for pretending to be an adult. Now, why did you even offer if it wasn’t something you were comfortable with.”

Because it was supposed to just be a gesture, Derek. Because I didn’t realize you would take it as a serious offer, Derek. Because you were supposed to say no, Derek.

… because I didn’t want you to be alone, Derek.

Honestly, as surprised as Stiles was that Derek took him up on his poorly-timed moment of goodness, he was even more surprised that after Laura drove off, when he numbly asked if Derek wanted to come over to Scott’s for some pizza, Derek actually said yes.

Derek Hale was being social. Alert the media.

(Well… maybe ‘social’ was stretching it a bit—Stiles didn’t know if it was a territory thing or what, but Derek had turned hilariously, awkwardly stiff the moment he stepped inside Scott’s apartment.)

“I offered because I’m nice, dick, but don’t even think that you can turn this on me. Derek, they knew my name. They knew what I looked like. And yeah, I mean, I’m a complete catch and all—oh fuck off, Scotty—but what in the actual, literal fuck?”

Stiles didn’t think it was possible, but somehow Derek got even more tense, shoulders tightening up toward his ears as he looked down. It took a moment before he answered, but Stiles knew by then that Derek usually had to… wind himself up to talk about some things.

“My mother lives on the opposite end of the country, and even then, she still managed to set up twenty four blind dates for me last year. Twenty four, Stiles. That’s basically one every other week. Do you have any idea how much small talk that is? And how much I hate small talk?”

Yes, Stiles thought, to both of those questions. He would never admit this out loud, of course, but thinking about one of the most intensely private people that he knew stuck at some shitty little coffee shop trying to chat with some random female on behalf of his mother was hilarious to a degree he couldn’t fathom.

It definitely wasn’t a redirection of his own… personal feelings that may or may not be directed at Derek. Not at all. Nope.

“So, around the time the spring semester started, when my mother let slide that she had passed along my number to yet another perfectly eligible barista, or something, I panicked and told her I had a boyfriend. And then she asked for a photo, and the most recent one on my phone was that selfie you sent miming your own death in the stacks, so…”

“Oh fuck, Derek,” Stiles started, downing the last of his beer. “Your big bisexual awakening wasn’t just you trying to get out of your mom setting you up on dates, right?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, ass,” Derek said, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “The two events were completely separate.”

Stiles laughed at the thought, but even then, his mind was reeling. If this wasn’t a recent discovery, how in the fuck did Stiles miss that for so long?

“Well, you’re lucky Scotty and I had a flight booked anyway. I won’t let you face them alone, not when you have a picture perfect boyfriend to show off now—what role should I take on? Doting, love struck fool? Rebel without a care? Some sad forlorn loser who… okay, no, that one is too close to home.”

Scott stood up and laughed as Derek glared at Stiles again, but it didn’t take a genius to see the tiny smile on his face, or the way his shoulders eased as he leaned back into the couch.

“Alright, this is getting too intense a conversation while the game is on. Want another beer, Stiles? You, Derek?”

Stiles made a vaguely affirming noise as he wove his hand in Scott’s direction, eyes drawn back to Derek yet again as the other wolf politely declined, his own attention affixed to the television as the game picked back up.

Derek was… not a particularly expressive person, Stiles knew, and part of that was because Derek had what Stiles affectionately called ‘resting grumpy face’; at least, he did privately, because the one time he said it out loud Derek had thrown the Encyclopaedia of Demomorgons at his head.

So, to the outsider looking in, Derek might have just seemed uninterested in the game; but Stiles had been watching Derek work for the better part of a semester, and he knew perfectly well how to tell when Derek’s resting grumpy face formed an actual frown. Which it did. Because apparently, the Mets had personally offended him.

“I’m sorry, are you seriously glaring at the Mets? While they’re winning?”

Derek leveled Stiles with the most unimpressed glare he could as Scott laughed from his kitchen, walking back into the living room with two beers. “God, I hope he was. It would be nice to have someone with taste in the apartment for once.”

“Scotty!” Stiles gasped, clutching his heart as Scott handed him a beer, extending the claw on his thumb to pop the top off before he handed the bottle over. “The Mets are a treasure, okay? If God lived in New York, she’d be a Mets fan. I have suffered much for my Mets in my lifetime, and they—woah, Derek, you okay?”

Stiles’ charming cliches would have to wait, because when he looked over to Derek, his humor dropped immediately. Derek had gone white as a sheet, jaw slack as he stared at the beer in Stiles’ hand.

He stared back and forth between Scott and Derek, trying to figure what the hell had just happened; it wasn’t until he watched Scott pop the top off of his own beer, looking between the two of them, did Stiles put two and two together.

“Derek, you… you had to know that Scott was a were, right? Like, you had to. He—Scotty doesn’t do subtle.”

“Me?! Stiles, you called me a wet dog for like a month after I fell into the Hudson.”

Derek let out a sort of choked noise as he shut his mouth, coming back into himself as a bit of pink dusted his pale cheeks, hands moving in front of his face. “Of—of course I knew, but—you knew?!”

“Dude, I’m studying mythical lore and criminology. I’m the one who taught this furry fucker how to control himself. Of course I knew, I... oh my god. You didn’t know that I knew—uh, that I know.”

Matching looks of realization dawned on Scott and Stiles’ face as Stiles stood up, putting the beer down on the coffee table. He moved next to Derek as he sat down on the couch, keeping his movement slow, reaching out to pat Derek’s leg like he was a frail old lady.

“Derek, I know.”

After what felt like an age and a half, Derek melted into the couch, a huge sigh leaving his lips as all the tension in his body bled out like a string had been cut, burying his head in his hands.

“We’ve had arguments about wolves in pop culture. I’ve offered to help you out with your coursework every full moon for, like, the entire semester. Dude, you had to know that I knew, there’s no way I didn’t—Derek!” Stiles felt his giddy laughter bubble over as Derek shot him a red-eyed glare through his fingers, his scowl somehow less intimidating now that everything was out in the open.

Okay, Derek wasn’t just a wolf, he was an alpha. That was… interesting.

“God, you two really are perfect fake boyfriends. Two halves of a whole idiot. Derek, are you sure you don’t want a beer? Or maybe something stronger, if you have to deal with Stiles?” Scott said easily, laughing as Stiles immediately protested, though the way Stiles eased himself next to Derek wasn’t exactly subtle, either.

—————

Scott may have been joking, but by the time finals had come and gone, Stiles had accepted the fact that he would have to forgo booze and opt for a mainline of caffeine to keep up with Derek. How one person remained so meticulously organized, Stiles would never know—but in the amount of time it took for Stiles to wrap up his grant work for the semester, Derek had given four exams, proctored three more, cleaned out his office, and shared the updated flight itinerary with Stiles.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Stiles had said, tripping over an empty box in his tiny office as Derek handed him his updated boarding pass. “Why do we have to change our flights? Scott and I are already booked, you can probably just join us, right?”

Derek rose a perfectly sculpted brow as he tapped the ticket again, shaking his head. “Hey, I promised you’d spend as few days as possible with my family, and I intend to keep that promise. The sooner we get in, the sooner we start that clock, the sooner you get to spend the rest your time with your dad.”

Stiles blinked as he looked down to the itinerary, eyes scanning over the earlier time—and it was non-stop too. That would be a bit killer on the legs, but Stiles could handle that, maybe he could take some time to sleep or pester Derek for...

“Uh, Derek... this ticket is for first class.”

“I know, Stiles, I booked it.”

“Dude, there’s a reason Scott and I booked an economy ticket with a layover in Bismarck. There’s no way I can pay you back for this.”

If looks could kill, Stiles would be... maybe not dead, but at least set on fire. Derek sighed, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he rolled his eyes.

“You’re not paying me back, dumbass. You’re already doing a ton for me with this little... charade, the least I can do is make sure your frail human body—“

“Hey!”

”—is comfortable in a lie flat seat.”

“Look, I appreciate that, but I’m not leaving Scott alone on his flight in coach just because of our... fake... whatever.”

Stiles’ voice trailed off in curiosity as Derek sighed, his cheeks pink as he pulled the paper out of Stiles’ hand, pointing to the second half of the sheet—where MCCALL, SCOTT had been printed in big, bold letters, that Stiles had completely ignored.

“... you got Scott a ticket too?”

“Of course I did. He’s your best friend, I wasn’t going to ask you to leave him behind just for me. Besides, who do you think I got your information from to book the flight?” Derek said dryly, as though his deadpan delivery could cancel out the ruddy color to his cheeks, or the way that Stiles’ stomach flip flopped when the reality of that sunk in.

It was nice that Derek acknowledged the importance of their friendship, in the way that tugged at the little space right beneath his sternum, but something about the way Derek so quickly dismissed himself was... concerning.

Stiles couldn’t help but play that little bit of their conversation over in his head as he packed, as he hopped on the train, as he met up with Scott and Derek in security.

Scott, bless his heart, was absolutely elated—his excitement was almost tangible as they dropped off luggage, walked through security, and stood around at the boarding gate. Derek had to smack the both of them to get them to stand up when first class was called to board, and Stiles idly wondered if Derek regretted associating himself with them when he and Scott managed to trip in sync as they went down the jetway.

Derek and Stiles were seated together, of course, and once Stiles got over the novelty of not having a middle seat on a plane, he liked to imagine he fit right in—easing back into the seat, enjoying the comfort of the little blanket he had been given, grinning at the flight attendant as she checked in with them.

(Scott was one row ahead and across the aisle, close enough that Stiles could lean forward and smack him if he wanted to... but the moment Stiles saw his seat mate, a pretty woman with dark hair and impeccable eyeliner, he knew his best bro would be on a different planet for the entirety of the flight.)

His grin slipped a little bit, though, as he thought back to the conversation surrounding the tickets, and he looked up to Derek as he settled in a bit further.

“So, we never went over what role I should be taking on.”

“Stiles, just be yourself. You’re funny enough, and you generally mean well, they’ll love who you are.”

Yeah… who he was. Well, who he was was someone who was going to be dangerously invested in a fake relationship that would probably end terribly for him, so that was fun. He sighed as he settled into the seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he debated on where to go from here.

No time like a non stop plane ride to have a potentially awkward conversation, right?

“Dude, we’re friends, right?”

“We’re fake boyfriends, don’t call me dude.”

Derek’s tone was teasing as he flipped through his SkyMall, a small smile on his face, and Stiles felt a little bit of the tension ease out of his shoulders as he buckled in.

“First of all, I have called many boyfriends ‘dude’ before,” Stiles started, ignoring Derek’s snort of laughter, “and I’m being serious. We... we are friends, right?”

Be it his words or his awkward energy, Derek looked up, surprise on his face as he closed the magazine and stowed it away as the plane bumped down the taxiway.

“Of course we are, Stiles. You’re like... the only person I talk to at work outside of teaching, that’s light years ahead of most of New York as a whole.”

“I mean, I’m glad to hear, I just...” Stiles chewed on his lip as he turned in his seat, weirdly soothed by the roar of the engines as the takeoff roll started. “You know about my dad, and about my school, and about Scott, and those are basically the three important things in my life,” he started, letting out a sigh as Derek just stared at him blankly.

“It’s fine that you’re a private person, I can respect that... seriously, I may not understand it, but I can respect it,” Stiles said, grinning as Derek shot him a look, lowering his voice again as he leaned over the divider between them. “But I didn’t know that you were from my hometown, too. Or that you had sisters, let alone other family. I should have asked, I guess, but... you know you can talk to me about things, yeah? Even after all this is over, you’ll always be Derek to me. Not just another Hale.”

Stiles’ was smiling as he gently bumped Derek’s shoulder with his own, watching the way different emotions warred over his face, biting back on the urge to babble on so he could give Derek the time he needed to respond.

“We’re... we are friends, Stiles. We are.” Derek insisted, looking down to his linked hands as the plane continued to rise. “Sometimes, I just... I’m not great about talking about myself.”

For a while, Stiles thought that was all he was going to get, and honestly, he was fine with it—it wasn’t until the fasten seatbelt sign chimed off and the flight attendants passed out little bottles of water that Derek spoke again, his voice low as he cleared his throat.

“My family is huge. Like, big enough that we need spreadsheets and flowcharts to organize family events like this. I know they love me, and I love them too, of course I do, but I made some really, really stupid decisions when I was younger… I know they forgave me for it, but...”

Derek sighed, taking a deep breath as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be around them and still be okay with myself, you know?”

No, Stiles didn’t know. He only had his dad and Scott growing up, but he nodded his head encouragingly as he took a sip of his water.

“I actually have four siblings. Mark is the oldest, and then Taylor, and I’m right between Laura and Cora. They’re betas, like my dad; my mom and I are both alphas, her mom, too…” Derek continued, and Stiles smiled as he settled into his seat.

By the time the flight landed, Stiles’ head was full to the brim with Hale family trivia, names, faces, teasing stories, and the warmth that had danced across Stiles’ chest for the past year or so had bloomed into a full-on fire.

Would it lead to his downfall? Probably.

But when he saw how Derek smiled when he remembered Mark’s graduating medical school, or heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Laura’s charity work, and the genuine joy he got to see when he heard another story about Derek’s childhood… well, that was all more than worth it.

—————

“I think you should kiss me.”

Stiles had to stop himself from laughing at the look that Derek shot him, doing his best to keep his body language casual as he leaned against the gas pump at a tiny station outside of Beacon Hills, though he knew his heart was going at about a million miles a minute.

“I—you—what?”

“Derek, I’m an affectionate dude, in case you couldn’t tell from all the hand holding. And if you’re going to freak out if I kiss your cheek, then you should freak out now, not when we’re in front of your family.”

Stiles knew full well his heart betrayed his confidence, but seeing Derek’s ears go pink as he dumped the armful of snacks Stiles had asked for into the back seat was a welcome sight—it was always nice to know that Derek’s cool and controlled exterior could be ruffled up once in a while.

Somewhere between the rental kiosk and the gas station, Stiles had decided that he was going to go all in on this. His little crush was already stuck right in the back of his throat and would be unlikely to dislodge any time soon, so he figured that indulging himself in the fake relationship Derek had set up for him… well, it wouldn’t do any good, but it was unlikely to make things worse for him than it already was.

It was a little weird being alone with Derek—Stiles didn’t realize it until now, but between meeting Derek’s sisters and meeting the rest of their family, this was the first time they had been alone together. They had other staff members at school, or strangers around the city, or Scott (who had politely declined a ride back to Beacon Hills with Derek and Stiles, choosing instead to split an Uber with his pretty new friend, Kira).

“You know, as far as first kisses go, usually they’re a little more romantic than just a demand. You’re supposed to woo me, Stiles,” Derek said, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his shy little smile as he pulled the nozzle out of his tank, closing the gas cap as Stiles gasped in mock offense.

“Hey, I said you should kiss me, not the other way around. Why should I have to be the one to woo?” Stiles started, sliding into the passenger’s seat as Derek followed suit. “After all, this relationship wouldn’t have even happened without your instigation, so why should I… uh… Der?”

Stiles’ voice trailed off as Derek’s hand sunk into the soft crook at the juncture of his neck, effectively cutting off his entire train of thought as Derek’s thumb pressed against the hollow of his jaw.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“O-Okay.”

For a minute, all Stiles could think of were those cheesy old rom-coms, where fireworks would go off, or bells would chime, but kissing Derek was nothing like that. It was the comfort of wrapping yourself in an electric blanket, instead of the shock of jumping into a frozen pond; the familiar buzz of goosebumps over his skin over a bolt of lightning. He felt a surprised little noise leave his chest as Derek’s tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking out instinctively to drag along Derek’s bottom lip, hands coming up to rest against the wolves chest.

Stiles could feel his heart beating through every inch of his skin as the kiss broke, struggling to remind himself how to breathe as he opened his eyes again, his nose brushing against Derek’s as he let out a little huff of a laugh.

“Was that enough woo for you?” Derek asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Stiles smiled as he nodded his head, savoring the way that neither of them moved back. Derek’s hand was warm against the crook of his jaw, his own palm flat against Derek's chest, and it was natural, it was so nice, it was—

Fake. It was all fake.

Stiles sighed, closing his eyes as he gently leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, that mantra playing through his head as he pulled himself back. He buckled himself in easily as he took in a deep breath, his goofy grin still in place as he looked back up to Derek.

“See? Now you can honestly tell your mom we had our first kiss at a gas station and that it was magical and I totally rocked your world.”

“Is that what happened, though? I mean, if you wanted me to kiss you so badly, you should have just asked,” Derek said, the sarcasm thick in his voice as he started the car, and Stiles laughed as they pulled out of the lot, his hand finding Derek’s easily once again.

Their silence remained comfortable as they left the city skyline behind and basically blew through Beacon Hills, the trees inching closer to the road as they wound through the preserve.

Finishing off a bag of M&M’s, Stiles cleared his throat as he crumpled up the wrapper and chucked it in the back seat, sucking a little bit of melted chocolate off of his thumb. “So. Is this regular introducing-the-boyfriend-to-the-family nerves I’m looking at here, or is this introducing-the-fake-boyfriend-to-the-family nerves? You don’t have any weirdos in your family, do you? An ex-felon auntie? A cousin who doesn’t quite get personal space?”

Stiles grinned as Derek laughed, oddly comforted by the sound as Derek shook his head. “Nothing exciting. A weird uncle, I guess. Lots of cousins, you should basically abandon any idea of personal space as soon as we walk in, and plenty of human family, too—so you won’t be alone in that. As far as felons go, well… none of us have been caught?”

“Hey, game recognizes game, it doesn’t count if you don’t get caught. And I can work with a weird uncle.” Stiles laughed at the sheepish look that Derek shot his way, his fingers still happily wrapped up in Derek’s warm hands. He could almost feel it when they crossed over onto the Hale land, the huge, white house as much of a giveaway as the shrieks of joy that even Stiles could hear from the property.

“They’re gonna love you, you know?” Derek’s voice was soft as he pulled the rental into a long row of cars, nearly lining the road leading up to the house, and Stiles felt the snarky remark die on his tongue as Derek caught his eye, his expression somewhere between grateful and wistful as he turned the car off.

“Maybe, but…” Stiles sighed as he popped his door open, chewing over his next words carefully. “But if they do, it’s because they already love you.”

He took it as a personal victory when Derek turned away, his ears pink again, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin as he followed the werewolf up the path to his family home.

The Hale House was probably as huge and impressive as the Hale family itself from the outside, and Stiles did his best not to gape like a fool as Derek opened the door for him, his hand finding the small of Stiles’ back as they stepped into the house. Polished floors, huge, high windows, a grand staircase that was the definition of grand, and—

“Derek!”

—and another unfairly attractive Hale moving forward to greet them. Tall, broad, dark hair with just a splash of salt around the temples and the goatee, shining a million watt smile on Derek and Stiles as he wiped his hands on his probably-uncomfortably-tight jeans.

Jesus, was everyone in this family gorgeous? Stiles was going to get a complex.

He looked up as the stranger and Derek briefly hugged, watching the halfway-subtle way they scented one another, Mark’s head buried in Derek’s neck for a half moment before they pulled away. If Stiles strained his ear, he could have heard something along the lines of ‘be nice’ as Derek pulled back; if the situation weren’t so funny, Stiles probably would have blushed.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m always nice. I’m Mark, and you…” Mark started, his million watt smile back in place as his eyes dragged over Stiles’ body, “... you must be Stiles.” Stiles snorted as Mark pulled him into an easy hug, catching Stiles just a little off-guard as he was wrapped in another pair of arms.

Apparently Derek’s family was an affectionate bunch. Stiles didn’t know if it was a wolf thing or a Hale thing, but either way, it was good to know.

“Mark, uh, Seattle, right? You’re the surgeon?” Stiles asked, clearing his throat as the hug carried on just a bit too long, regaining some footing in the introduction as he pulled back. “Derek’s told me a lot about you.”

That was… mostly true, Derek had told him enough about Mark to thoroughly embarrass the older male, and Mark looked like he expected nothing less as he laughed, holding Stiles’ shoulders as he stood at arms length. “Yeah, I’m sure he did, but it’s probably all garbage. After all, how can you really describe a wonder like me in words, huh?”

He actually winked, and Stiles honestly couldn’t believe that this dude was for real.

“Der, nice job with this one. He’s cute. Kid, is my brother treating you well? Cause, you know, if Hale is your taste, you can do much better than—”

”Mark—“

“Oh, lighten up Der-bear, there isn’t enough Botox in the world to get rid of those scowl lines. It was a joke. Now come on, everyone’s out back.”

Stiles laughed again as Mark put Derek in an easy headlock, ruffling up his hair as he led them outside, immediately filing ‘Der-bear’ away for future use as they stepped out into the backyard.

The backyard, which was absolutely filled with Hales.

He felt his heart do a funny little lurch as he was hit with the sheer family of it all—all dark haired, all gorgeous, and for just a moment, he wanted to smack Derek upside the head. There were probably generations of Hales here; Derek had all this family, this built in support group, and he was just going to spend the summer holed up in New York?

“Alright, Siles, we’re gonna keep you in with the main family and keep you away from the cousins,” Mark started, artfully ignoring the way Derek was swatting at him. “Uncle Peter all but insisted that Mom come pick him up, so you’ll get to avoid them until later tonight, but who you really want to watch out for is—“

“Is that my grandbaby?!”

Mark stiffened as Derek perked up, and Stiles couldn’t help but snicker as a bony hand shot up, grabbing Mark by the scruff of his neck, pulling him off of Derek with a flourish that would probably seem overly dramatic if Stiles didn’t know just how much werewolf strength was packed behind it.

“Derek!”

“Hi, Nana.”

Stiles couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as Derek leaned in to wrap his arms around the older woman—she was a good foot shorter than he was, her movements loud, with light skinned with the same tell-tale black hair that the rest of the family had. What caught Stiles’ eye, though, was the way Derek scented her—it was the same way Mark scented him, a familial nudge that Stiles read easily as a sign of deference.

Whoever this Nana was, she was clearly the woman in charge here.

“You know, we’re all technically her grandbabies,” Mark started as he reappeared at Stiles’ shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck, his childish pout painfully obvious as he pointed his words. “But you wouldn’t know it with the blatant favoritism she shows for Derek!”

“Mark, don’t be such a baby,” Nana Hale said as she pulled back from Derek’s hug, patting his cheek affectionately. She raised a brow in a spectacularly unimpressed fashion as she turned to look at her eldest grandson, sighing in mock disappointment. “Not that I thought a career based off of liposuction and face lifts would have brought you some maturity.”

“That’s—I don’t just do—Nana!”

“Now, who do we have here? Derek, are you going to introduce me to your special friend?”

Ignoring Mark’s protests easily as she turned her attention, Stiles felt his heart pick up again, his eyes flicking to Derek as he beamed; Stiles wasn’t sure if he was happy to see Mark get smacked down, or if he was happy to introduce Stiles, but Stiles would have literally killed a man to see Derek smile that brightly on a regular basis.

“Nana, this is my boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski. Stiles, this is my grandmother, Ger—“

“Nana Hale will do just fine, thank you very much,” she interrupted, pulling a face that made Stiles grin—he could absolutely relate to someone who would rather set their birth name on fire than own up to it. “Now, come here, let me get a look at you.”

Stiles stepped forward and hesitated a half moment, not sure if he should try one last time for a handshake or wait for her to initiate a hug, but before he could make up his mind she had her hands clasped on his elbows, a grip like iron stopping him in his tracks.

“Scrawny little thing, aren’t you? We’ll take care of that, don’t you worry. It’s good to meet you, sweetheart, let’s get you some food.”

“It’s good to meet you too—and some food sounds great,” Stiles said with a laugh, ignoring the fact that he was still full of junk food as Nana Hale all but preened beside him. Her grip was gentle but unyielding as she dragged him to a table that was piled with food, giving a half wave to Laura and Cora, who were stationed beside a punch bowl the size of a fish tank as he kept himself a half step behind Nana.

Stiles wasn’t dumb, okay? He knew how to make nice with wolves, and more importantly, he knew how to be subtle.

(He didn’t like it, but he knew how to do it.)

“Uncle Derek! Get Uncle Derek!!”

Thankfully, the moment was over in a flash as Stiles heard a familiar name called out in a high pitched squeal, looking back out to the yard where a hoard of kids had just caught sight (or scent?) of Derek, immediately abandoning the rough-and-tumble games they seemed to be wrapped up in to run toward Derek as fast as their little legs could carry them.

Derek immediately tensed, a manic grin on his face as he prepared to run, body twitching as he caught himself before taking off. He sent a look Stiles’ way that was somehow both apologetic and asking remission, and Stiles sighed as he smiled.

“You better run, Uncle Derek. They’re gonna get you,” Stiles said mock-seriously, only barely keeping a straight face as Derek instead ran straight to the kids, making all sorts of comedic noises as they mobbed his legs.

Fuck, he was cute.

Stiles’ attention was pulled off of Derek as he felt eyes on him, subtly scanning the yard before he made eye contact with another adult in the family, who was very shirtless, and very sweaty, and very much walking toward them with a bright smile on his face.

Okay, Stiles was definitely getting a complex.

“You must be Stiles!” he exclaimed once he was closer to their little group, and Stiles had never been as thankful for a child as he was for the tiny body perched on top of the other males shoulders, because he was just about at his ‘hugging gorgeous people’ limit. He was still sweating, for fucks sake, but Stiles supposed that even a wolf got tired out when they had eight kids hanging from their body until Uncle Derek stepped in.

“I am, and…” Stiles was about to assume this was the firefighter sibling, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the kid on top of his shoulders smiled, and Stiles was absolutely smitten. “And who is this little guy?”

The distraction was apparently a welcome one, because shirtless dude’s smile grew even wider, reaching up to pat the kid on a mop of curly hair before he lifted him up and over, holding him at chest level. “This is Isaac. Isaac, can you say hi to Stiles? He’s your uncle Derek’s special friend.”

Stiles literally felt his heart melt as Isaac gave a shy little wave, looking up at him with big blue eyes. He couldn’t have been older than three or four, and Stiles smiled and waved back as Isaac was set down on the ground.

“You wanna go play with Uncle D?” Any hint of shyness was forgotten the moment the question was asked, taking off toward Derek as fast as his little legs could carry him, which… wasn’t very fast, but was very, very cute.

“They all yours?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over to Derek, who now had at least six kids hanging off of him. He smiled as the other male shivered, shaking his head quickly.

“God no, just the three. Erica and Boyd, and Isaac too, now that the adoption has been finalized. Those kids basically run the joint, Derek included—as long as you don’t mind the occasional toddler mobbing, you’ll fit in just fine.”

“Thanks, random shirtless man, I really hope so.”

Stiles grinned as Laura choked on a mouthful of punch, the weirdness of the situation apparently just now visible to her as she sputtered, punching her brother in the arm. “Oh god, Taylor, what is wrong with you! Go put on a shirt, you can’t just—you didn’t even introduce yourself, I swear—Stiles is a guest, you weirdo!”

They kept bickering back and forth as Taylor pulled an undershirt on over his head, the whining turning into background noise as he poured himself a glass of punch. He knew perfectly well what Laura was trying to say—Stiles is a human—and he was pretty sure he was mostly flattered by everyone trying so hard, but any coherent thought left his head as he took a bite of the ribs, watching Nana Hale grin out of the corner of his eyes as he groaned in delight.

“God, they really do have Derek wrapped around their pudgy fingers,” Cora mused, and Stiles nodded his head, swallowing. It was honestly hilarious to watch Derek try to manage all those kids by himself; they seemed determined to pile themselves onto his head and shoulders, and he could almost see Derek sweat, trying to make sure he didn’t drop anyone as Isaac managed to wriggle his way into Derek’s grip.

He tilted his head in consideration, taking a sip of his drink before he spoke up.

“Yeah, he always did strike me as that kind of Alpha.”

He couldn’t help but savor the way the conversation ground to a halt around him, Laura and Taylor both sucking in a deep breath as Mark shattered the glass he was holding. There probably was a better way to acknowledge that he was in on the secret, but as funny as it was watching Derek’s siblings tiptoe around the fact, he figured it was best to rip the bandaid off in one go.

Even if it meant he had the attention of the Hales closest to him in one second, flat, Nana’s burning red from where she stood with a plate piled high with food.

He probably should have been nervous, but as he looked back at Derek, he could tell it was the right choice—Derek was all smiles, waiting only a beat before he popped his fangs and playfully snapped at one of his little nieces, the air soon full of squealing laughter once again.

Keeping his gaze even, Stiles smiled in thanks as he took the plate of food Nana offered to him, watching as her eyes melted back into their darker, human color. She was staring at him like he was a particularly complex puzzle, and she wasn’t alone—Cora looked hilariously outraged that she didn’t realize sooner, and even Mark was looking over him with renewed interest as his hand healed.

“I knew you were a smart boy. He told you?”

Nana’s question was accusing, but not unkind, and Stiles shrugged it off easily as he popped a chip into his mouth.

“He didn’t have to. My best friend was bitten when we were both fifteen. He didn’t have… anything, no alpha, no pack, just me and my mad Googling skills, and we’ve had plenty of supernatural run-ins over the years. Derek didn’t tell me because he didn’t have to tell me—I’m not anything special, but I’d like to think I can spot a non-human from at least fifty feet. Maybe more on a good day.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Stiles jumped as he heard Derek’s voice from behind him, and it truly was a credit to his poise and sophistication that he only blushed a little as Derek’s arm snaked around his waist. His body was warm, far warmer than it had been ten minutes ago, and Derek’s breath came a little heavy as he kissed the back of Stiles’ head.

“You are definitely something special.”

“You—you absolute cheeseball, what is wrong with you—” Stiles managed to get out as he shoved at Derek’s shoulder, his entire face burning red as Laura and Cora both gagged. Any residual awkwardness melted away as Nana’s sharp laugh cut through the air, the sound putting him back at ease as he leaned back into Derek’s warmth.

Somewhere between the fortieth round of storytelling and the gathering moving back into the house, Stiles needed a breather. Derek’s family was huge, and loud, and honestly, Stiles loved it—but it wasn’t long before he felt an itch beneath his skin, his fingers buzzing against his thigh, the muscles in his jaw a little too tight.

Stiles had expected Derek to be pretty popular in the family—what he didn’t expect, though, was that he would be anything more than an introduction and the same polite questions that everyone gave the new boyfriend.

“Wait, no fucking way did the two of you take down a Kanima, Stiles, I’m calling bullshit right now—“

Derek’s siblings were great, but they were also the worst; the minute they found out that Stiles had his own supernatural background, they were pestering him for stories, demanding his opinion of things, getting more and more exasperated with his entire life the more he shared.

Stiles knew that his life was crazy, okay? He didn’t need the constant reminders or the slack-jawed shocked expressions to reinforce that fact.

“Jesus, we didn’t even know that there were any wendigos in the state, and you knew an entire family of them?”

The only stories he flat out refused to talk about were the… issues he had had with hunters through high school—this was a party, after all, and he didn’t want to be the one to bring the vibe down by talking about the one time an assassin held a gun to his head to try and draw Scott out.

Fun times.

“What do you mean, you just know a banshee? And set her up with a hellhound? Dude, who are you?!”

Kissing Derek had, oddly enough, only exasperated the situation. In less than a day, they had gotten better at trading little affections back and forth; but instead of helping Stiles calm down, they only increased that thrumming nerves that bounced around at the base of his skull.

Which sucked, honestly, because kissing Derek was… really, really nice.

Stiles waited until another cousin who’s name he would never remember caught Derek up in a conversation about another tradition he couldn’t follow before he squeezed Derek’s hand, taking the opportunity to stand up from his spot on the couch and slip away.

The Hale House was huge, and outside was no exception; Stiles soon found himself on the porch, a huge wraparound wooden structure with built-in benches that let you enjoy the kind of view that made Stiles remember why he loved home so much. He treated himself to a few pictures of the sunset over Beacon Canyon before he flopped himself down on a bench, rubbing at his neck.

“Stiles? Everything alright?”

He had half expected Derek to follow him out after a few moments—but to his surprise, it was Nana Hale that sat beside him, her cheeks still pink with laughter as she tucked a jet black flyaway behind an ear.

“Is—oh, no, it’s great! Just wanted to, uh, snap a few pictures of the view.”

Another half truth—he was full to bursting with those lately.

“I know that our family can be… a little overwhelming,” she said, her tone even as she rose a brow, keeping her gaze forward as her fingers drummed a pattern into her knee.

Stiles hummed in agreement, his own smile a touch more genuine as he looked over to her. “Maybe, but that’s not a bad thing. When I was growing up, I spent so much time wondering what it would be like, to have siblings, and cousins, and… well, it might be a lot, but it’s a lot of love, too. I’m really glad Derek has that kind of support.”

Nana’s fingers stilled against her knee as she turned to face Stiles, and for the first time, Stiles was really able to get a good look at her properly. He could understand why she was the matriarch of the family, and how she had kept that title so long; even if he hadn’t witnessed her taking Mark down less than four hours ago, there was a whole other kind of strength that she was showing here, radiating off of her in waves.

“He does. But he doesn’t just have us for love and support... or was I reading the way you look at him wrong?” Her tone was teasing as she rose her brow, and Stiles felt his cheeks pink up spectacularly as he coughed, his eyes flashing back to the window for only a moment before Nana patted his knee.

“Don’t worry, the house is completely soundproof. Those nosy little pups can’t hear a word we say. Now tell me, how long have you been in love with my grandson?”

Now fully, beautifully red, Stiles groaned as he hid his face in his hands, Nana’s laughter ringing strong and clear as she stood up and walked toward the railing. “Oh don’t be so dramatic, I have no intention of spoiling that surprise until you’re ready to really woo him with it. And you’d better woo him! You know as well as I do that he deserves the romancing.”

Her tone softened as she chuckled, trailing off with a sigh and a sort of wistful smile as she shook her head. “New York has been good to him. You have, too, I think. California was… a rough part in his life.”

Something in the way she phrased it got the investigative side of his brain thrumming, his curiosity piqued as he remembered what Derek said on the plane.

‘I know they forgave me, but… sometimes it’s hard to be around them and still be okay with myself, you know?’

The nosy part of him wanted to pry, to dig a little more, but his eyes flicked back to the window again, where Derek and all four of his siblings were doing a terrible job at acting like they weren't trying to stare him down.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

Apparently, that was the right answer—Nana’s face softened again as she smiled, nodding her head, beckoning Stiles into standing up. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow easily, steering them back toward the house in a way that allowed no room for compromise.

“You are going to be good for my Der-bear, I know it.”

“Oh, I mean, I hope so. Derek deserves that, and I definitely—“

“Just let him be good for you, too.”

She reached up and patted Stiles cheek as he stared at her, dumbfounded, automatically opening the door for her as she walked back into the house. His expression was mirrored in the matching expressions of slack-jawed shock from all five Hale siblings, all staring at Stiles as Nana started in on another family story that would be sure to embarrass Mark, or Laura, or anyone who wasn’t Derek.

He meant what he said, of course. Derek deserved someone who would be good for him.

Somehow, that was the problem here.

—————

“Stiles, you reek of nerves. All I can smell is nerves and bell peppers. It’s not a good smell. Are you going to tell me what you’re freaking out about, or what?”

Stiles jolted as Derek called him out so effortlessly, pulled out of the trance he had fallen into as he watched Derek work, pushing around some of the barbecue from the night prior with some fresh chopped veggies into a delightful spur of the moment stir fry.

Derek was also as dressed down as Stiles had ever seen him, in a light grey henley and a dark pair of jeans, and that was even more delightful than the stir fry.

“Wait, you—that’s just something you can do? Oh god, your entire family must have known how nervous I was yesterday, did they—“

“Stiles. Breathe.”

Right. Breathing. He could do that.

…. maybe.

The truth was, Stiles could honestly say that he was having a great time back in Beacon Hills.

Derek and his family were great, no lie, and fake relationship aside, the researcher in him was absolutely thriving seeing how a huge, well-established pack worked with one another. They were literally a well oiled machine, the personification of the old ‘it takes a village’ metaphor, and the only thing that amazed Stiles more than how well they worked together was how well they adapted to Stiles being there.

Of course, he thought a big part of that came from having the Alphas on his side—not just Derek, but Nana too.

(“I can’t believe she hugged you,” Laura had hissed after yet another glass of infused punch. “When she met my last boyfriend, she threw him off the porch.”

“Well, Stiles is a fragile little human,” Taylor had snorted, ignoring the way Stiles smacked his arm, “and Hank was a major, prolapsed asshole.”

“Well yeah, but that’s not the point!”)

As great as Derek and his family was though, getting to come home and surprise his dad early… well, there was no place on the planet he would rather be than wrapped in a signature Stilinski hug, the kind of hug where you held on just a little longer than you needed to so you can pretend you definitely weren’t crying.

He got to watch a game with his dad, he got to sleep in his old, lumpy-ass childhood bed, he got to make breakfast in his mom’s kitchen.

So yeah. Great time.

Or at least, it had been, until a text rolled through after he kissed his dad goodbye that morning.

der-bear: Do you want to come over for lunch? Nana has everyone out of the house, Mom and Uncle Peter showed up this morning and he’s already driving everyone crazy.

sent: sure man. want me to bring anything? :)

der-bear: Don’t worry about it. Besides, I figure we should talk before the bonfire anyway.

And just like that, something brought around a cloud to rain on Stiles’ parade.

“Is it about tonight?” Derek asked, and if Stiles’ hadn’t been so laser focused on his cooking technique (his arms, okay, he was staring at Derek’s arms) he probably would have missed the way Derek hesitated when he asked, like he was afraid of the answer.

He picked himself up off of the barstool at the island in their gigantic kitchen, leaning against the counter closer to Derek, reaching in to pluck a chunk of onion out of the pan, skillfully avoiding the swat from Derek’s wooden spoon. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you… You know we’re looking forward to having you with us, right?” Derek asked, spooning some of the food onto two separate plates, using his claws to rip two fresh chunks of bread off of a loaf. “But if you don’t… I mean, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be there if you don’t want to.”

Stiles frowned as he accepted one of the plates, pulling the smaller chunk of bread off of one of Derek’s claws, mulling his next words over. “As long as you want me there I’ll be there,” Stiles said slowly, because there really was no way to politely say that Stiles would rather throw himself into the sun before his mythical lore studying ass missed out on observing pack activity on a blue moon.

“Why would you think I didn’t want you there?” Derek asked, looking like he was offended at the very notion, sliding a fork to Stiles as he sat down at the countertop, that offended look only growing as Stiles snorted.

“I dunno, I thought you might have changed your mind about it. Dude, you sent me a ‘we should talk’ text. I’m no expert, but I know that nothing good follows a ‘we should talk’ text,” Stiles said around a mouth full of bread, but any degree of playful levity he had gone for was sapped out of his voice the moment he saw Derek look back down at his plate.

“That, uh. I do think we should talk, but not about that. Stiles, I...”

Ah, fuck. Derek’s ears were pink again, and for once, Stiles thought that was a bad thing.

Stiles did his best not to panic as he thought through things, wondering what he had fucked up, because he just knew he had fucked up a little something. Maybe he had come on a little too strong last night, maybe he had gotten too comfortable with his crush, maybe—

“I was thinking that maybe… we shouldn’t be faking this anymore.”

—or maybe, he had fucked up a whole lot of everything.

Stiles felt his heart sink through his shoes as he swallowed his bread, his appetite suddenly gone. He brushed his hands on his jeans, giving a few short nods, swallowing again as he pushed back from the table a little bit. He thought for a moment that he should argue against it, but Derek had a sad puppy expression splashed across his face, and Stiles wasn’t strong against that on a good day.

“Oh.”

He could feel Derek’s eyes tracking him as he started to move, standing up and starting an easy track around the kitchen, flexing his fingers before he rubbed his palm with his thumbs, an old habit he had thought he had kicked back when he graduated from Berkeley.

“I think, uh, maybe you should wait until you’re back in New York to tell your family?” Stiles started, missing the tiny smile on Derek’s face before it melted into a look of confusion. “You should tell them I broke up with you, not the other way around, I don’t mind being the bad guy,” he added, staring down at his hands.

“Wait, Stiles—“

“No, seriously, it’s fine,” Stiles interrupted, putting a smile back on his face, because he knew this was going to be coming at some point. Derek had made up their entire relationship, and Stiles had worked hard to remember that the reality of it was… that it wasn’t reality. He was the one with the inconvenient crush, he was the one who had gotten stupid. This was all on him, and taking the high road to bow out gracefully would be too.

Or, at least, it should have been. But Derek had abandoned his seat as well, halfway following Stiles in his trail around the kitchen, putting his arm out against a countertop to stop Stiles at a turn.

“I said I wanted to stop faking, Stiles.”

Hell, when had Derek gotten so close to him? Stiles blinked as he backed up against the counter, Derek’s arms closing him in, and suddenly he was getting an up close and personal look at Derek’s lips, and his eyes, and the way the blush was going back up his ears, and—

...why was Derek blushing?

“I never said anything about wanting you to leave.”

But why would Stiles be staying if… oh. Oh.

Realization dawned on Stiles’ face as Derek blushed and looked down, moving his hands a little bit closer against the counter, and Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he felt Derek’s thumb settle right along his hip. He had to clear his throat before he could speak, swallowing down the hope that was threatening to bubble over, chewing on his lip as he put one hand on Derek’s chest, the other gently tipping his head back to look him in the eye.

“Dude, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you gotta spell it out, I’ve had a crush on you for like forever and if I’m mis-reading this—”

“I told you. I’m your boyfriend, don’t call me dude.”

Stiles laughed again, elation making him feel light and giddy, finally breaking eye contact with Derek as he felt his own blush burn through the back of his neck.

“Stay, Stiles. You belong here. With me.”

Rather than even try to form a coherent response, Stiles dropped one of his hands, cheeks still a ruddy color as he looped a finger into one of the belt loops on Derek’s designer jeans, pulling him just that much closer.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Oh, thank God—"

—————

Yeah, Stiles thought hours later, still feeling the warmth of Derek’s smile against his lips as howls sounded off around the Hale House, moonlight swirling around him from the vantage point he had on the porch.

This was exactly where he belonged.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #hale family #teen wolf fic #fake dating #everyone lives #two halves of a whole idiot #this is actually my first sterek fic ever lmao HOW WILD

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sylvie-writes · 4 years

Text

Darling

a/n: So this was originally gonna be part of a series on wattpad, but I can’t log into my account (ahhhh) anyway I had some writing in the drafts (I’ve lost all of them now), but the only one I could get was this b/c I wrote this on Docs. Sorry for rambling about my personal problems, anyhoo enjoy!

Warnings: Ransom being Ransom, Sickness, any grammar mistakes and repetitious wording.

It was around 11:00 AM. Harlan had been working diligently to finish a few chapters. He let you leave to go help Ransom, after all it was part of your job. Harlan worked on writing while making small conversation with Marta. Although you were his assistant and typist, Marta was the one who took care of him while you took care of his things. You bid goodbye to Harlan and Marta before leaving the huge estate.

Pulling into Ransom's driveway you knew he was there, only guessing what hell he'd put you through today. The spoiled brat sat at the island counter, waiting for you.

"You’re late." He stated matter of factly.

You scoffed, he didn't own you. "I was working with Harlan if you couldn't remember." Walking towards the island you grabbed one of the many pans and cracked a few eggs into a bowl. It was your job to be at his beck and call basically. Ransom just sat there watching, being of no help, like usual.

"Omelette?" You looked up into his tired blue eyes. Ransom just shook his head.

The pan was on the stovetop, heating up, as the eggs were being scrambled by you. Harlan had treated you and Marta to an early breakfast this morning at a nearby brunch restaurant. The pancakes were amazing and by far the best ones you had ever eaten.

Once the pan was properly heated, you poured in the eggs along with some herbs, shaking the pan till the eggs set. When the omelette was finally cooked, you set it on a plate, folding it. You had assumed Ransom would want cheese, so you dropped some shredded cheese on top. Turning around, you grabbed a glass from the cabinet, then walked to the fridge to pour Ransom a glass of some fresh orange juice you bought the other day. You and Marta had gone to a local farmer's market to get some things for Harlan when you saw the orange juice and remembered how much Ransom had whined for it. Pushing the plate towards him, you walked around the island and stood behind his chair, placing the glass in front of him.

"It's cold and dry." He opened his mouth, but not to thank you. So many times you had gone out of your way for him and always thought about him, yet he never once thanked you. Treating you like you were the help. No you weren't, you were a person with feelings that obviously weren't respected.

This morning had been a bad one. You woke up a little stuffy and had a huge headache. Not wanting to worry, you just brushed it off as allergies. Harlan had noticed you weren't feeling like yourself, because as you typed, you struggled to focus, impending headache making it impossible. Harlan, being a considerate boss, told you to stop and take it easy, but you were stubborn, insisting you were fine.

You could normally take Ransom's shit but this was the last straw.

"Could you ever just thank me once?" The headache that was growing was not helping the situation. He just looked up at you. At this point you were crying from the pain in your body and his bullshit. Your arms were flying around as you talked.

"You know Ransom, could you ever be nice to me? Just once! Maybe even appreciate all the things I do for you? I'm trying to help you even when I feel like shit!" Now you stormed out, going up stairs to clean his room. Another one of your chores.

Ransom's bedroom was a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere, between his sweaters and the random feminine clothing laid on the floor, his room was a pigsty. In his closet was a laundry hamper that he seemed to miss every time. You grabbed the hamper and rolled it out of the closet. Lifting the lid, you threw all the clothes inside, including the ones that were once laid around the basket. It was infuriating that this 30 year old man's room was messier than a five year old's. While throwing the clothes in, you were so lost in your thoughts and the growing headache, that you didn't even notice Ransom staring at you from the doorway.

For once he wasn't smirking, but instead his face showed... concern and remorse? You stripped the bed of its sheets and he walked over, his brows furrowed, looking down on you. For a split second, you stopped working and looked back up at him, it looked as if there were two of him, things kinda blurry. You hadn't noticed before, but it seemed to be getting hotter in the room. Just shrugging it off, you continued working, Ransom still standing there. The sheets and comforter were on the floor and you were now throwing the pillowcases in the hamper. As you did so, the lid slammed on your hand. "Shit!" Some would call it reflex but he'd call it instinct, Ransom grabbed your hand and gently kissed the back of it. "Darling, you need to sit down. Your cheeks are flushed and you look weak." In his voice there were no ill intentions. Hugh Ransom Drysdale being kind, to you? Yeah, you were definitely sick.

When you didn't sit down, Ransom then pressed his wrist to your forehead. "You are burning up." You were still in shock. He had never been this nice to someone. Just minutes ago he was a complete jerk, just for his own entertainment. You didn't budge, at all. Maybe this was all a sick joke, maybe he was going to be an ass and leave you there for dead, but instead Ransom swooped you up, earning a slight gasp from yourself. He set you down in the chair beside the bed, putting up his finger, signaling you to stay put. He rushed out and into the hallway. Minutes later he came back with new sheets, and you expected that he was going to make you do it, but nope. It was a sight, Ransom Drysdale actually making his bed. He set up the pillows and pulled down the covers. You tried your best to focus on what he was doing, but the raging fever didn't really allow you too. Before you knew it, Ransom was standing in front of you, hands out. You placed your hands in his and he helped you up, putting you in his bed. Fevers are the worst, for one, never in a thousand years would you let Ransom Drysdale put you in his bed, let alone take care of you. In other circumstances you would have gone home, but you were way too sick to drive.

'I must have died and this is heaven.' The statement almost felt true. You were just laying there, in Ransom's bed. Sick, and helpless.

Ransom had gone to the bathroom to grab a thermometer. A few months ago you had bought a mercury thermometer for his house after a visit from a little thing called bronchitis. The dumb ass had gone that night to the country club with his snobby and condescending friends. Later he came home with some giggly blonde. As they made out, the girl quickly pulled away from his lips and coughed madly, but then resumed, reassuring him it was just a slight cough. A total lie, because that slight cough, was more than just a cough. Yeah, it was a frickin' infection, and guess who got it too? Ransom. And guess who had to care for him? You.

Your fever-induced daydreaming was over. Ransom came back with the small stick in hand. You willingly opened your mouth, attempting to keep your heavy eyelids open. Setting a fifteen minute timer on his phone, leaving it beside you on the nightstand.

"(y/n), darling, you are dehydrated. I'll be right back."

This was so weird. Ransom had always called you 'Darling'. At first it was to irritate you, then it gradually changed to an occasional pet name, but now, now he used it with no ill intentions.

Your voice was raspy, words barely able to be understood. "Ran, it's very hot in here." The heat was your body trying to fight off the fever. Barely minutes ago you complained about being cold, but now you were a sweating mess. "Here, try this." Ransom got up out of the chair and went into his closet. In the corner you had stacked the folded clothes of the many one night standees. He's never going to see any of those girls again, so you just left them there as a reminder of his recklessness. Ransom grabbed the pair of blush colored dolphin shorts and the white camisole that had lace on the top and bottom of it. The rest of the clothes weren't made for lounging at all. It looked like it would fit you and he walked out of the closet, sitting back down beside you.

"I hope these work for you." Ransom gently laid down the clothes in your lap. All you wanted to do was sleep, and that was what you had been doing for the time being. Earlier, you could tell Ransom was uncomfortable in his chair, but he didn't want to leave you. It was...

It was sweet. It was endearing. It made Ransom genuinely charming...

Upon waking up from your mini nap, you saw the clothes laid in your lap. With all your might, you pushed your arms, trying to sit up. The fever had made you so weak, it felt like your whole body was aching.

Ransom noticed your struggling and came over to help you sit up.

"Thank you, Ransom, these will fit fine." You tried your best to give him a smile, after all this wasn't the usual Ransom Drysdale. He returned the gesture, now sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You don't care about this sicky thing?"

In all honesty, you weren't sure if the words had properly come out of your mouth. After all, it sounded correct in your mind, but your brain was all flustered from the new found debility, messing up your speech. What you were really trying to say was, "You aren't scared of catching this thing from me?" Ransom just sweetly smiled. He knew you were trying so hard to fight the sickness, but your words still dragged on. Each one lacing over the next. Luckily, he knew what you were trying to say.

"Of course not, you were here for me, now it's my turn to care for you, darling."

There he goes again, 'darling', gets you every time.

"I think we have a problem."

His eyes shot wide, with more concern.

"Too weak." You pointed towards the clothes, your eyes drooping slightly. Ransom got off the side of the bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. He gently pulled you up. Once you were standing, he held you by the waist, your legs feeling like jelly, wobbling slightly. Ransom had one hand on your waist to keep you stable as the other one grabbed the clothes.

"May I?" It was almost sheepishly. Hugh Ransom Drysdale, nervously asked if he could remove a girl's clothing. Normally the smug son of a bitch would just rip it off any other woman, but he had an ounce of respect for you in his body, surprising.

If you were in the right state of mind, you'd never let him, but it was hot and you were tired of your jeans and your wool top. Combined with the heat your body was emitting, it was like someone had turned the thermostat to the setting of hell. It was either the heat or your dignity, and at this point you'd rather not be any more miserable than you are.

"Please." Ransom nodded at your agreement and helped you remove your wool top. He tried to keep your modesty intact, looking at your face as he changed your top instead of staring at your chest. It did tempt him, but he wanted to treat you right. He may not have a good track record with women, but he wanted to change that with you. The same with your pants. He made you sit on the bed as he pulled down your jeans, still trying to be considerate. He too knew very well that if you weren't sick you'd never agree to this.

Finally your shorts and top were on. But your cheeks were still flushed, sweat still on your skin. Ransom had brought up another Gatorade not too long ago, trying to keep you hydrated.

"I'm still hot." You laid on top of the cool sheets now, the ceiling fan running too. Your words weren't meant to be demanding, more of, asking for help.

If this were just anybody, Ransom would be pissed for such a great deal of complaining, but he understood that you were sick and you just wanted relief. Believe it or not, but Ransom hated to see you suffer. Yeah, I know, hard to believe.

You had a hair tie on your wrist and Ransom lightly picked up your hand to grab it. He brushed the sweaty hairs off of your forehead and tenderly moved your heavy limbs. His warm hands rested on your bare shoulders as he turned you ever the slightest.

Ransom then pulled your hair into a ponytail, placing a delicate kiss on the top of your head. He didn't want to overstep and instead went with the sweet and tender kiss, not one full of lust and passion. After all, you were sick, and he didn't want to take advantage of you. Again, surprising.

Well, it was only surprising because the man was such a player. If one were to look up the man on any news website. His name would be right there in bold, probably beside a picture of him and some random girl. Maybe it was possible for Hugh Ransom Drysdale to have a change of heart and attitude.

You weren't sure if you were hallucinating or just feeling things, but you did feel something on your head, and it felt like a kiss. It would be a lie to say you didn't find Ransom attractive. You may have been harboring a small crush, before, even when he was an asshole to you, however, after today when he showed his soft side, your crush grew three times larger. Like the Grinch's heart. Come to think of it, Ransom was basically the grinch. His heart had grown in size, in a matter of hours. Just hours ago he was being a complete pain in the ass to you.

It was getting darker now. From all the naps you had taken, one might've thought it was the next day if it were not for the date on your cell phone. Apparently sleep when you are sick feels like hours when it was only minutes.

Your phone had gone off, a special ringtone you knew all too well. It was Harlan, he needed your help finishing typing up the chapter he had just completed.

"Could you please get that?" You threw your arm, weakly pointing to the phone. Ransom checked and it was Harlan, setting the phone back down.

"Please call him." At this point you couldn't talk anymore, barely able to think of the next word to leave your mouth. Ransom was smart and put the pieces together. He called Harlan and gave him your notice. Harlan in return wishing you a fast recovery. Surprisingly, Harlan wasn’t shocked when Ransom answered the phone. He always wanted you two to be together anyway. You were the girl Ransom needed.

By now, it was 6:00 PM. You had been in bed for over a little more than four hours. Ransom had been in that same chair for the last four hours, occasionally readjusting, clear discomfort on his face. He'd leave every so often to get you a drink or some Ibuprofen to keep your fever down. Your body still hadn't really adjusted and it was still hotter than you would have liked, although the cold drinks and cooler outfit did help.

Sometimes when you'd come over to help Ransom, you'd make him dinner, if not he'd go eat out with his friends at the country club. Just to be a pain in the ass, he would drag you along at times. Tonight was different, Ransom knew you'd weren't that hungry, another effect of the fever, so he cooked you some good old fashioned chicken soup. The same one you had cooked when he was sick. He wasn't sure at the time if it was the illness-induced delirium or not, but that soup seemed to make him feel better.

At the time, you had left the recipe on a small stick note, your beautiful handwriting as you had inscribed the recipe. It was another well kept secret that Ransom Drysdale could cook.

He came back up around 6:30 with a cold glass of your favorite soda and the soup on a wooden serving tray that could sit in the bed. He lightly tapped you, waking you from your 50th nap. Lifting your head off the pillow, you sat up, glancing down at the delicious food in front. It was like he knew. You weren't starving nor were you full, this seemed to be in between and perfect. He sat back down in the chair, after turning the ceiling fan up a notch, knowing the soup would warm you up again. It pained him seeing your frail hand shaking as you fed yourself. The glass was so heavy for your aching hand that Ransom kindly picked it up for you, allowing you to drink from the straw he had included.

After he put away your food once you had finished, he came back up. This time you were awake. As you slept before, he had been on his phone, texting friends and cancelling plans for the night, but now he had nothing to do. You were awake and had noticed his discomfort once again.

"Ransom this is your bed too." With all the strength you had left, you patted his side of the bed and he slowly walked over, as if you were going to change your mind. With nothing to do, Ransom asked if you wanted to watch a movie and you both agreed on a classic movie. Another terrible thing to come out of your sickness, was that your ears were clogged. You could still hear but not as well and when you laughed it made your head rattle. Ransom was glad to see you finally smile amidst your rough day. He would love to see you like that all the time.

The movie was halfway finished and you had fallen asleep. Your body trying to catch up on rest from working to fight the invading illness. At some point you had fallen asleep on his chest, his steady heart beat lulling you to sleep and he slowly ran his fingers through your somewhat damp hair. He too fell asleep. His hand softly laid on your head since he had fallen asleep while stroking your hair.

At the ungodly hour of 2:00 AM you woke up. It was hot once again, you were now sweating. Ransom had been giving you the proper dosage of ibuprofen, making sure to not miss a single time slot. It had helped relieve the fever because now you were sweating and starting to break your fever. Ransom felt you stirring and woke up.

"What is wrong?" He turned on the lamp so he could look at you.

"The fever. It's breaking." The second time you had smiled today and it made Ransom's world.

Ransom removed the sheet not wanting to make you hot and he sat up, as did you. After some cold sweats you felt your body return to a somewhat normal temperature. Ransom leaned across you to get the thermometer he had laid on the nightstand and stuck it in your mouth after shaking up the mercury. He set the timer for fifteen minutes and you leaned back on his chest and he once again kissed your head. This time you knew you weren't delusional.

The quiet timer had gone off and Ransom removed the thermometer from your mouth. He leaned towards the night lamp trying to read the small numbers. 98.4, close enough. He placed it back down and turned off the night lamp.

"It's great, darling, your fever broke." He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you once again leaned on his broad chest. You smiled, not only because your fever was gone, but because Ransom could be so caring.

"We should get some more rest." You nodded and he slowly ran his large hand up and down your arm. The both of you scooted out of your sitting positions and into sleeping ones. You were on your side when you felt Ransom's arm drape across your waist. He knew you'd push it off if you didn't want it. Hell, you wouldn't even be in his bed still if you didn't feel the same way. He had no clue that he could care about you so much, and honestly neither could you.

"Just give him a chance." You thought to yourself.

The next morning you woke up around 10:00 AM. You weren't sure if Harlan was expecting you, so you rushed to get up, Ransom's arms stopping you.

"He said you didn't have to meet him till the afternoon of the day you were ready to go back." Ransom's face was laid into the pillow as he mumbled the sentence out. He had every right to be tired, after all, he cared for you over a matter of at least six hours straight. Also something he hadn't done before.

"Well I will surprise him and meet him today." You jokingly replied to the man. Ransom didn't argue, he knew very well that you were devoted to your job.

You didn't have any clothes over at his house and your ones from last night were covered in your germs and sweat. Thank goodness for the ones from Ransom's one night stands. You went into the same corner he had grabbed your sleepwear from. Luckily some undergarments and a pair of black leggings along with a peach chiffon top some girl or girls had left behind. When you first met Harlan, you wore office attire, now Harlan didn't care as long as you showed up. He knew you were dedicated to your job and trusted you with his everything.

Ransom's shower was huge. His toiletries lined up on the tile shelf inside the shower. In the closet, fresh, fluffy, cotton towels, two of which you grabbed. One for your hair and one for your body. Under the sink, you found a few travel size bottles of vanilla shampoo and conditioner. Not sure who is once belonged to, you still used it, Ransom wouldn't care. The only body wash was his and it smelt like mint. A smell that was so intoxicating. The relaxing shower felt as if you had washed away all the germs, stepping out a new person. You continued getting ready for your day and walked out of the bathroom to find no Ransom. He still played that little game and left the bed unmade, which you pulled off the sheets and put with the other dirty ones when you noticed they were gone. Instead they sat neatly folded and cleaned on the chair where he was once sitting. Ransom Drysdale had done his own laundry? What else did he have up his sleeves?

As you walked down the steps and through the sitting room, you could smell food being cooked. There was Ransom pulling a breakfast casserole out of the oven. The laundry basket you had in your hands, was set down on the floor as you walked closer to him. He heard you put down the basket and turned around smiling.

"Darling, you didn't have to do that. I was gonna get it." He pointed to the laundry basket. 'Oh so he wasn't playing a game with you?'

"I made a breakfast casserole, I thought I'd try something new. I hope you like it." And boy did you like it.

Ransom Drysdale had cooked an amazing breakfast.

"Who are you and where did you take Ransom Drysdale?" Ransom simply laughed and took away your dishes. He was doing dishes too?!!? At this point he was basically doing all the daily things Harlan had hired you to do. He was actually capable of living! You checked your watch and it was 12:15.

Ransom had set down the dishes momentarily and walked you to the door.

"See you later?" He almost sounded worried like you'd run away. You just smiled up at him, nodding, and hoping this would never end.

"Thank you." It was all real. Ransom Drysdale had a change of attitude in a short span of a couple of days. He even had a heart, one that cared for you. After finishing your sentence, you stood on your tippy toes, kissing his cheek, sweetly and slowly. Turning on your heel to leave and go meet Harlan.

Oh if only you saw the effect you had on Ransom and how flustered he was...

#ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #chris evans

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gunkreads · 2 years

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Preface because I know some people can't read: this is a collection of feelings, vibes, and opinions. Do both of us a favor and don't take them like personal attacks. They aren't.

I think my contentions with the show stem from my contentions with the books. Wheel of Time is an incredibly frustrating, but equally rewarding, reading experience for me because of the closed-minded annoying characters with staggeringly expansive and thorough development arcs. The show doesn't have time to develop any characters well because they've only got 8 hours to work with. It'll come eventually, but the acceleration of the character arcs removes a significant amount of drama and tension.

The massive tempering of Nynaeve's... well, temper, alone has been a big change. On the one hand, her narrow-mindedness has been toned down and she's far less frustrating, but on the other, that means she doesn't have as far to go. In the books, Nynaeve's whole appeal is that she goes from outright bitch with like two unstoppable good qualities aaaaalllll the way to objectively heroic and upstanding with a mean streak to level a city. The show has started her like a third of the way along that path and, again, it's easier to watch but portends less growth in the future.

The cracking of the mystery around the Aes Sedai is another such change. The emotional openness of Moiraine and Lan in the show coupled with the early look into the Tower removes a huge amount of tension that exists for like the first half of the series (up til Rand gets a good handle on shutting down their bullshit). This tension isn't removed, really, just converted elsewhere, but it felt like a strange place to do that. Now the viewers have the answers to questions the characters were still asking for thr next year and a half in the books.

The show seems to have already crunched down on its ability to be expansive like the books, and that expansiveness is what MAKES the series for me. It's not the fault of the writers or showrunners; it's the fault of the streaming TV market deciding that seasons need to be short and filled entirely with plot hooks in order to sell. The length of the show is a marketing decision as much as it is a financial one. I understand that this wasn't an artistic decision, but I still miss the part of Eye of the World where there was actual adventure.

It's like... I'm taking all these changes in stride, but at this point? So much has been changed that I'd prefer they veer off in a completely different direction from the books. Really lean hard into that "different turning" thing. I want a reason to stop comparing the show to the books.

#wheel of time on prime

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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 4 years

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Hi, Moosh! (New OP writing blog! Yay!) Can I request HCs for Law, Killer, Kid and Robin confessing to their crush after a dangerous situation? Maybe a battle or something? And their reaction when their crush reciprocate their feelings? Thank you!! Good luck with your blog! ♡

(With these all except Law's (which I'm ify on) I'm proud of but I still hope you like it!💙)

Law

Now Law could admit most times he was in fact a stubborn asshole.

Not that he'd ever admit it out loud though.

Most of his 'loner' 'no I have no emotions, get away from me' attitude came from a dark place of deep riddled trauma and trust issues.

He promised himself from a very young age that he wouldn't let anyone else in, that everyone around him was destined to fail and die at some point. No matter ��what he was determined to stick to his guns, use people as he needed and accomplish his own set of goals.

Yeah? All of that? All of that was thrown out the window once you came into the picture.

You were brought to him with anyone's pleas and begging to let you join the crew, and with about twenty against one, it seemed like he had really no choice.

He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was about you, was it how you treated the others? How you seemed to smile no matter how dark the outcome looked? How your eyes seemed to light up every time you looked at him the feeling in his chest would-whatever it was, he knew what he felt would only end up into trouble in the end.

With every passing day it seemed he learned more and more about you; your relationship-more like lacking relationship-with your parents, your desire to see the sea, your hobbies, and your dreams. Law's not a forgetful man, everything of importance you tell him he makes a mental note of in the back of his mind.

Everything about you kept tugging on his heart, he couldn't get you out of his brain and until that day he tried his best to keep it suppressed inside until he couldn't anymore.

It was supposed to be a very short trip to that island, pick up the supplies and necessary information about the area then leave.

Oh how things went wrong so quickly.

The crew was split up into two groups: one led by Law for tract an information broker, and the other led by you to fetch supplies and return to the ship by sundown. Everything started out alright, Law got the information he needed in a reasonable time, just not the exact info he sat out for, instead he quickly found out that the town was actually ran by a pirate crew that pulled the strings of the town's mayor, and they were not happy the Heart pirates were on their territory.

His group ran into the market in search for your group, once they found you, you were already heavily battered while in combat, and Penguin was holding a very injured Bepo.

It didn't take a lot of Room and Shambles to quickly cut the confrontation short.

Once back on the Polar Tang you and Bepo were brought to the Medical ward. Bepo was treated to a few stitches and banged up limbs while you were diagnosed with a condition to blunt trauma to the head and a few removed bullets. Once Bepo fell asleep, Law brought up a chair to set next to your bed as you stared up at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling?"

"Woozy."

"That's normal, you just need to rest it off."

He took a slow sip of his coffee before setting it on your nightstand.

"Penguin told me what happened. You were the first one to mindlessly charge at them. Do you realise how foolish that was?!"

"They already had their weapons drawn, the intentions were already established. There wasn't any reasonable way to deal with them, if there was I would have done it."

"That's no excuse to run in blind, (Name)!"

You closed your eyes as you remained silent. Law taps his foot a couple of times before letting his face fall into his hands.

"Look...you were protecting the crew. I get it, but…" You looked back at the surgeon.

"But what?"

"Risking your life isn't worth it!" A look of disbelief emerged on your face and you sprang to sit up.

"So what?! They can all die instead?! Law that's sick!"

"That's not what I meant-"

"Then what do you mean?!"

"(Name), please-"

"No! What do you mean?! Are you saying my life is more-"

"I don't want to lose you like the rest."

A true look of confusion fell on your face. What does that mean?

He looked up at you, tears barely visible in his eyes.

"I lose everyone I care about. I don't want it happening to you too."

Oh.

Oh shit.

"Don't get me wrong, I want nothing happening to the rest of the crew too, but-" Law shook his head as he rose out of the chair onto his feet. "Forget it, I'm making it worse and you're not in the condition-"

You caught his hand.

He looked back at you, completely conflicted. You gave him the smallest yet loving of smiles.

His heart wrenched.

Stop it. Stop what you're doing right now. His legs felt weak as your grip on his hand softened. He gently sat by your bedside, you moved closer to rest your head on his shoulder, his breath felt uneasy as it rattled his chest, until your fingers started to trace his.

Touch by touch he felt himself start to calm down. He hesitantly looked back at you, his eyes widened at how soft and loving your eyes were.

Corazon, please forgive him what he's about to do.

One hand lifted up your face as your expression turned into confused shock. What was he doing? Oh. Well now he was kissing you.

Yay…

Once he pulled back he nudged his head between your shoulder so you couldn't look at his face. But you hear the struggled out sobs. You wrapped your arms around his sides, silently encouraging him to let it all out.

He couldn't help how he felt about you, but he didn't want what happened to everyone else that was in his life happen to you.

No he wasn't going to let it happen to you.

Killer

Despite his name, we all know Killer's a sweetheart.

He's not only a sweetheart, but he's level headed, very knowledgeable, isn't afraid to take care of his captain's bullshit, and he's absolutely head over heels for you.

Kid swore that his first mate talked about you more than anything else. Sure it did make the captain upset that you had his attention more than he did, but he was happy his friend had found someone to make him happy.

It didn't stop the gagging motions, the jokes and teasing, and the occasional: "Just fuck already!" outburst.

To Kid, it was very obvious that you liked him too, and very the very impatient man child he is, decided enough is enough and gathered the test of the crew to come up with a plan.

And not the: 'get them in a room alone to talk about their feelings' bullshit either! No! If his friend was going to get the love of his life he was going to do it fun and memorable.

And fun and memorable to Kid means dangerous.

Kid and crew purposely pissed off the group of marines in town.

They split up and purposely left you and Killer on your own defenses together.

Once the bullet grazed the side of your head, Killer picked you up (in those big beefy arms of his) and quickly dashed you off into the next alley, the following marines missing the two of you and continuing on down the street of town.

Once he sat you down on a box, he touched the area around your wounds, you instantly hissing in pain granting you a quick quiet sorry from him.

He looked around for something to use as a temporary bandage to stop the bleeding until the two of you could get back to the Victoria Punk.

A lightbulb went off in his head as he reached for his shirt.

Nope not like a: 'let me rip off a piece of my shirt to apply to your injury' a fucking: 'let me take off my whole deadass shirt and let me wrap around your head.'

You sat cheeks scarlet as he struggled to get the shirt off over his head without taking off his mask. Once he succeeded, he shook his blonde locks back in place behind him before he went to work tying it around you.

Once he finished he took a small step back, admiring his work.

Oh god the shirt smelled like him (that's going in the memory bank)

Killer took a step to look out of the alley before cursing to himself, going back over to you.

"Marines are still in the street, I don't see much of an opening." He whispered.

"Then what do we do?" You whispered back. He scratched his head.

"I don't see the rooftops being a safe getaway, I suggested we either wait here for Kid or for an opening."

You nodded, honestly you didn't want to get back to ship because then Killer's shirt bandage would have to be removed, and you wanted as much time committing it to memory as possible.

Killer slumped next to you on the box, your eyes darting to avoid him.

Time crept by, Killer asking how you felt from time to time, you told him you were fine but you did feel woozy, he seemed to be able to tell and would start to check for more openings more often.

You eventually looked over to him (trying to ignore the shirtlessness) and gave him a small smile, he looked back at you for a few long moments before looking to his lap, letting out a sigh.

"You know I trust you right? Like a lot?" You nodded.

You gave the blonde a nod.

He let another sigh leave his lips as he slowly and hesitantly went up to take off his mask. He looked back to you for the first time truly face to face.

Your heart caught in your chest as your mouth fell agape.

The desperate look in his eyes seemed to tell you he couldn't tell what your reaction meant and went to quickly put the mask back on, but you caught his hands before he could. He looked back to you as you lowered his hands to let the mask fall into his lap. You smiled.

"You look very handsome, Killer."

He felt all possible words caught in his throat. Your eyes softened as your hands left his and slowly lifted to touch barely his face, the look you gave him asking for consent.

He felt his face be held by your hands. Your fingers rubbed and took in every bit of him, he let his eyes close as his face either warmed up to your touch or in embarrassment, or both he couldn't tell. Once he reopened his eyes, you were much closer than before.

Moving on his own, it was only after the two of you parted that he realised that your lips had met. With that realization, his eyes shined in bewilderment. You giggled as you pressed your forehead against his.

With your arms wrapped around each other, taking each other in did you not hear the yelps and screams of the marines behind you (somehow. Because the power of love or smth) neither did you hear the bootsteps.

"Hey guys! It looks like we were about to miss a whole show!"

The two of you quickly tore apart as Killer quickly scrambled to put his mask back on before turning around to see his captain laughing next to Heat and Wire who made their way next to him.

Killer sprang up, heat cheeks hidden behind the mask, as he helped you onto your feet. The sight of the vice captain's shirt on your head seemed to increase the captain's laughter.

Kid laughter died down as he watched as his friend pulled you by the hand in the direction of the ship. He knew his plan would work, why wouldn't they? He is Captain Eutass Kid after all. Knowing this would make Killer happy, sparked a sense of pride in him.

Doesn't mean he would never joke about the time he would've possibly caught the two of them possibly fucking in an alley though.

Kid

There is many things Captain Eutass Kid is, but being stupid is not one of them.

Sure, reckless. But not stupid.

And he sure has a fucking temper.

Him and the rest of his crew sat quietly (ha, really? Okay Kid.) minding their own business in the back of the bar.

You sat next to him, drinking away having a nice laugh with Heat when this fucking idiot showed up.

He put an hand on the back of your chair and introduced himself as Captain Dickface (Dicksen) a captain whose made himself a big name (Kid never hear of him) and would just 'love' (fucking gross) to buy you a drink and for you to come over to drink along him and the rest of his men.

You turned down the offer (because you're fucking smart, that's why you're a part of his crew)

But here's the kicker.

As Captain Dickass went back to his table, Kid heard the names he called you under his breath.

So, Kid politely introduced his metal fist, to Captain Dickpiss' face.

And that's how he 'accidentally' destroyed the whole bar in a brawl.

The moment you brought him to the infirmary you cussed, yelled, screamed in every possible way how idiotic what the captain did was.

He sat on the bench, holding the ice pack to his face as he let you raise your voice at him (because you got special privileges)

You rolled your eyes at the amuse look on his face.

"What Dicksen said didn't bother me. What you did was totally unnecessary."

Kid scoffed. "Yeah right, like I was going to let anyone mock a member of my crew and get away with it!"

"You broke his nose."

"Dickface deserved it!"

You sat down next to him on the bench, gesturing him to let you see his hand. He hesitantly let you take ahold of it to start taking care of his bashed knuckles. With each dap of alcohol swab, he hissed.

With clenched teeth he studied your gentle facial expression.

What he did, yes he did because your a member of his crew (and no one fucks with a member of HIS crew) but also because he-what's that word Killer told him was the word for how he felt? Likes! He likes you.

Doesn't mean he has any clue what to do.

Once you got started with wrapping up the captain's hand, did Kid really think about things. He likes you? What was he supposed to do? Killer said something about sharing feeling but fuck feelings.

You stood up off the bench and went to go to your desk, telling him he could leave now.

You two were alone.

Kid figured, you know what fuck it? People press eat each other's faces to show 'liking' each other right? Why not now?

The ice pack that was originally on his face was left carelessly on the bench as he got up on and made his way toward you, you looked back about to repeat your early notion he could leave but found yourself surprised when he roughly turned you around to catch your lips sloppily to his, teeth clanking together.

A big shitty eating grin doubled your confusion as he pulled back.

"Kid what the fuck what that?" His grin dropped.

"What do you mean? That's the gross way people show they like each other."

Instantly, the statement got you rolling which the redhead found himself angrily taken back.

"Why the hell are you laughing?! This is the way I'm showing you I like you, you fucking moron!"

You smiled as your hands found themselves on his face with a: "Oh, Kid." The captain raised an eyebrow in confusion before your lips softly met his.

Oh. Okay. His heart feels light, that's new.

When you pulled back, his bewildered eyes brought you amusement, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Ya mind doing that again?

Robin

Robin is a talented woman with a lot of things.

Keeping things hidden about herself is one of them.

From the very moment she joined the Strawhats, she promised herself she wouldn't get attached. But as time went on, with Jaya and Skypiea...things got harder.

She absolutely refused to let innocents get caught up in her running from her past. She even refused to say anyone's name, just by their title just to lay double on that.

But in a moment she couldn't exactly pinpoint, she longed to be a part of this little makeshift family. And out of all of them, you made things so much harder for her.

You were so calm, level headed, smart, kind, passionate-just everything you did caught her attention.

Which made things even more difficult than it already was on Water 7. With every plea you cried asking her why she wanted out, she could feel her cold lonely heart break more and more.

And when she cried out her plea to live for Luffy, the look on your face made her sob even more. She wanted to continue to journey on sea, and she wanted to continue to live to see your dreams come to fruition as well.

It was after her talk with Aokiji that she set off to find you. She found you out on the very edge of the party, you sat against a wall with your bottle in your hand as you avoided her gaze.

You barely spoke a single word to her since the crew escaped Enies Lobby. She stood in front of you, her eyes half lidded and her hands at her sides.

"Aren't you missing the party? The rest of the crew's celebrating mostly for you anyway." You said, voice hoarse.

Robin shook her head as she went over to stand next to you, her back hitting the brick.

"It's fine. I am glad to be back though."

You chugged down more of your bottle, the alcohol burning your throat. Tears pricked your eyes.

"For the longest time on that train, I thought I was going to lose you, Robin. I still…"

"I'm not going anywhere," she assured. "You all are stuck with me."

You looked up at the smile she gave you. You looked to the bottle in your hands before gesturing it to her.

And that's how the two off you ended sitting in each other's arms, taking turns sipping from the bottle of sake, laughing at all the past events the crew found themselves in.

Robin found her fingers playing with your hair as you leaned into her chest, her slow breaths reminding you that she is alive and with you now.

Alive.

You closed your eyes as you nuzzled against her, tears threatened to form in your eyes.

"I'm so glad you're alive, Robin."

Robin felt taken back.

That's right...people actually wants her alive.

Her finger in your hair stopped as you looked up at her first assurance. With one slow movement, Robin pressed her lips to yours.

With your heart thumping in your ears and your head suddenly thrown up into the clouds your hands tangled themselves in her raven hair.

Once Robin pulled away, she sobbed her arms tightly around you as she pulled you close.

"I'm so glad to be alive."

And she promised she would always be. For you and the crew.

She was a Strawhat.

#one piece #one piece/reader #one piece hcs #tralfagar law #trafalgar law/reader #killer #killer/reader #eustass kid #eustass kid/reader #nico robin #nico robin/reader #no kid doesn't know what the fuck a relationship is #mine

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nyisles · 4 years

Text

Magic in the Hamptons

Part Five

part one | part two | part three | part four

Player: Mathew Barzal

Words: 3k

Warnings: language

Notes: long long long long overdue, but i’m too critical of my writing which makes it so hard to write something i feel is good enough for y’all.. But please leave feedback. It makes writing all this feel worth it! also it’s hard to write angst???

As soon as your foot was set through the door of your apartment you peeled off the islanders t-shirt. It just made you feel dirty and used. You really wanted to be ok with this and not be upset, maybe you were overthinking your relationship/ friendship/ whatever-ship this was with Mat? Though replaying past events in your mind, you didn’t understand how he could’ve possibly thought inviting his ex-girlfriend to the game was a good idea and it did really seem like the two of you were going to be exclusive, it seemed like he was spending all his free time with you. You both were in contact every single day, how could he have possibly had time to do this to you? It honestly didn’t matter anymore. Changing into sweats, you washed your face trying to get rid of the redness from all the tears you’d let out on the ride home. You just needed to cool down and process things. Flicking on netflix, you settled on watching some John Mulaney special, you were on the market for a pick me up that actually made you laugh out loud.

Maybe ten minutes into the special you heard your apartment door buzz, you weren’t expecting any company and it was already past midnight and you didn’t order any take out. Going up to your buzzer, you pressed the ‘talk’ button. “Hello?” you questioned, pressing the listen button to hear the mystery guest had to say. “I just want to talk.” Your heart dropped into your stomach hearing the male voice. “So talk.” You said to Mat. There weren’t any voices he could’ve been confused with. You just wanted to know why he was here and not with Whitney, or more importantly at his own apartment. “Face to face, (Y/N).”

Letting out a sigh, you had no idea why, but you pressed the unlock button letting him into your building. Realizing you had a minute or two to yourself before he was able to climb up the stairs in your walk-up, you headed into the kitchen taking out a wine glass and filling it up to the brim. Taking a huge gulp before the knock on the door interrupted you. Behind the door was Mat looking awfully disheveled. His gameday suit was now missing the blazer, and what was formerly a crisp white button down was now a wrinkly wine stained mess. At least you both were on the same page about having a tall glass of wine before you spoke. “So can I come in or are you going to make me stand here?” He said plainly. No smile, no anger in his voice either, his eyes did look tired, but to be fair the boy had just played a professional hockey game. He seemed completely indifferent to the situation. No words exited your mouth, you just stepped to the side opening the door a bit wider so he could make his way into your apartment. Normally he makes himself comfortable on the couch in your living room but he just paced around a little unsure of where to go. Looking at your kitchen counter he let out an uncomfortable laugh seeing the wine, “Looks like we both had the same idea...” he trailed off scratching the back of his neck.

“Cut the bullshit.” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. It was so honest that it almost took you by surprise. If Mat being here brought anything good into your life, at least it was a little bit of a backbone. “What are you doing here? You don’t understand what ‘leave me alone’ means?” You said moving into the kitchen, leaving him to follow behind you.

Looking back you saw his jaw clench, “If I recall your text it was ‘don’t contact me’ which can be interpreted a little differently.” Mat said starting to get a bit angrier in his tone, probably because of the way you were acting, but he deserved it. He really made you look stupid in front of a large group of people you were still getting to know, most of your interactions were while you were intoxicated. Mat had to realize you were in a vulnerable state, he had brought you into his world, and then he did that. “And by the way, have you ever thought about how you embarrassed me?” You were mid-sip of your wine when you choked a little bit, not believing one word of what he was saying. You embarrassing him? All it took was that one little sentence to completely get you in your head. You understood you didn’t quite fit the bill of what a WAG looked like or acted like or how they always came through to games in head to toe designer. Or maybe you embarrassed him in the way you were acting - as if the two of you were a couple? You were unsure, but it quickly made your eyes burn, feeling another round of tears just ready to go. “If you felt that way you should’ve just let me stay home.”

“If I had known that you would just walk out on me, I probably would’ve.” it’s when he said that the tears started to roll down your face. His face didn’t even show any sort of remorse when he recognized what he said struck a nerve. This wasn’t the Mat you knew. That Mat you’d grown to like so much was much softer, he’d make you laugh at any opportunity and contrary to what he’d let his friends know, he was sensitive. You’d seen him tear up during the episode of the office when Jim and Pam got married. “So you’ve come over here to make me feel worse?” You said quietly not feeling as strong as you had in the beginning of the conversation. “You can leave now, you win. You’ve made me cry… a second time in 24 hours, okay?”

“I just want to have one honest conversation with you.” Mat said, grabbing the wine glass of your hand and putting it down on the counter looking directly into your eyes. It was the first time his hazel eyes had pierced your soul in a way that made you uncomfortable. This was the first time his gaze made you feel like you weren’t in your own home, but some strange alternate universe. “I’m fucking mad, you know why? I invited this girl, who I thought was cool to come hang out with my friends and I on an important night for me to then make me look like a fucking criminal after.”

You let out this startled laugh, “Which girl are you referring to? Me or your ex? Because I don’t remember thinking that I was going to be part of some bachelor episode fighting for your attention. Stupidly enough, I thought things between us were going to turn into something.”

“Yeah, well you sure as hell fooled me too.” Mat spat out.

“You realize how fucked up in the head you are for inviting two girls to the game, don’t you?” you said, raising your voice, wiping away some of the tears, now letting your sadness turn into anger. You were flopping back and forth between emotions and it was exhausting. “Am I some sort of joke to you? Just a friend who you kiss when your girlfriend is out of town.”

“Fuck this, I’m going home. Keep feeling bad for yourself, (Y/N). It’s pathetic.” was all that Mat could say as he looked around at everything in your kitchen except for you. “You won’t even let me talk” He said while you let out another laugh, this time exaggerated and loud and full of disdain, you picked up your wine glass taking another large sip, finishing off whatever was left in the glass. “You should be with the girl you flew in from out of town, Matty. She was so thrilled you left her ticket that I’m surprised she let you get away.” you said, doing your best to imitate her voice when you said his name, it still rang so clearly in your head. You could only imagine Whitney being in the passenger seat of his car right now, waiting for this conversation to be over so the two of them could go out on some fancy date at a fancy restaurant where he’d take someone who wasn’t so embarrassing. Maybe that’s why most of your dates had just been at each other's apartments.

“If you really think that I did that to you then you’re right. I have no purpose in coming here. You don’t know me at all.” Mat said, he made his way back to the front door of your apartment seeing his clothes in a messy pile. You could see him roll his eyes giving them a kick further in the corner, “You should wash them before finding a way to give them back to me.” and with that he left, slamming the door behind him.

- - -

You hadn’t spoken to Mat for a week, and in hockey season that might as well have counted for a whole month between the home games, away games and travel time. To be fair you hadn’t planned on speaking to him anytime soon, you did though have your friends keep tabs on Whitney, who they reported was on a flight home the morning after the game. What you did know was that the Isles had been on a bit of a losing streak, and it didn’t even bring you the joy you thought it might knowing Mat would be pissed off. You did get a sweet text from Grace inviting you out to lunch though you politely declined saying you were feeling a bit overwhelmed from a busy work week. What you didn’t expect was another buzz at your apartment door. “It’s Meg…” “And Grace.” “And Syd.” You heard the three separate voices, which honestly made you a little bit uncomfortable. You could pretend you weren’t home, or you could tell them you were feeling sick, but both options just felt wrong to a group of girls who’d done nothing but try to make you feel welcome into their group. It was practically an obligation not to leave three pregnant women standing in the chilly october air, so you buzzed them in.

“We come with gifts” Megan said when you popped your door open seeing them with brown take away bags from your favorite sushi place. It was all so odd to you knowing that these girls had taken you in a little too prematurely, because surely you were finished with Mat. He had made that very clear the night he left your apartment. He didn’t want much to do with you, and there wasn’t much you wanted to do with him. He’d played you since you’d first met him at Sydney’s wedding. The first strike was him not texting you for weeks, the second being the time Tito interrupted your date to talk about Whitney, the third being the home opener. You had no more chances left to give. Weren’t the early stages of talking to someone supposed to be fun and easy? You’d had the same amount of fun times and dates as fights which was ridiculous. You weren’t made to be some athlete’s girlfriend and Mat had kindly reminded you that during your fight when he called you embarrassing. When you recounted the events to your friends you left that part out, you didn’t want to even bring it up, it just hurt too much. There were a lot of slight digs that you didn’t want to bring up because they hit differently.

“If i’d known you girls were going to force lunch upon me I would’ve met you at the restaurant instead of making you all walk up four flights of steps.” speaking softly you invited them in to put the bags down on the coffee table in the living room figuring you all could eat there. “Well we have a lot of catching up to do, so this works.” Sydney said bringing in more bags of food, placing them on the table, as Grace held up a bouquet of flowers. “From Mat” she said softly. You gulped, taking them from her, putting them on a side table plucking out the note. “I guess we all have a lot of catching up to do.” you muttered opening up the card beginning to read it aloud. “These don’t even cover half of how sorry I am. I’m -” you stopped reading aloud and silently instead.

‘These don’t even cover half of how sorry I am. I wasn’t honest with you and I'm miserable thinking of everything I said. I wish I could re-do that conversation at your apartment. Sounds stupid, but it’s even stupider making some florist write out this card. Please call me. - MB.’

“He’s right, he really is miserable.” Meg said, as you looked up at her, Grace shot her a glare. “Megan… we didn’t read the card.” You couldn’t help but to smile, it felt better having them here as opposed to your other girlfriends. Your girlfriends didn’t quite get it, and they didn’t know Mat. They didn’t understand how in such a short time you had become so connected to Mat and how that was ripped away from you in minutes and a fight that was so meaningless and led to no real resolution.

“Well the flowers are lovely, but I don’t think I want to call anyone.”

“Just think about it. We can all agree Mat wasn’t himself, it’s fucked.” Grace said, “Now let’s just eat, I’m tired from all those steps. I gotta refuel.” The girls managed to spend the rest of the lunch not pestering you so much, just discussing upcoming halloween plans, babies, and how to get you to go to lunch with them more often. It was refreshing and honestly quite nice.

- - -

It's been another week, and another month in hockey time. Ever since the girls had come to your apartment with their ulterior motives of getting you to talk to Mat, he had stepped his game up. The poor boy had tried to call your cell phone at least five times within the past two days. He managed to sprinkle in some creative ‘miss you’ texts without being so blatantly obvious. Didn’t matter though, as fate would have it you’d find him in a place you least expected it. Right in the middle of a grocery store, with Tito. The two of them laughing in the baking aisle as you watched Tito try to decide between two different boxes of cake mix. You wanted to turn around and run. Leave the cart full of groceries but you’d accidentally bumped into someone else’s cart trying to make the u-turn out of the aisle. “Shit” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact even though you felt their gaze burning into the side of your face. Hearing footsteps behind you and his voice calling out your name you politely turned around. You needed more self restraint. You watched him pick up his pace stepping in front of your cart, gripping onto it so you couldn’t roll it away. “I’ve been calling you. Texting too...”

“I don’t really have much to say.” speaking softly staring down at his beat up stan smiths that used to sit at your front entrance because he insisted that his mom raised him properly and he wouldn’t track his mud around your apartment. Slowly raising your gaze you noticed how different he looked since the last time you’d spoken. He just looked exhausted, the dark circles around his eyes a little bit more prominent. You’d recognized that the team was moving into a more game heavy part of their schedule so you tried to excuse it as that, and not the fact he was sending you late night texts trying to fix something that seemed too broken to repair. “I just… don’t have anything to say to someone that thinks so poorly of me.”

“(Y/N)” he said, taking in a deep breath, you couldn’t tell where he was going with this, and you knew he didn’t even know where he was going to go with this. He’d already groveled through the card and voicemails. “You know that’s not true at all. I have no problem making a scene in this store if it gets you to let me talk to you for just ten minutes to explain.”

“You might embarrass me in the way I embarrassed you.” was all you could say. God, his insults still stung and bringing them up again as you stood in front of him only made your eyes start to well up again. Embarrassing and feeling sorry for yourself, just as he had originally thought. Moving closer to you, he placed his hand gently on your upper arm that was still holding onto the cart. You wanted so badly to pull away, but he felt comforting. Normally with other guys you never had such trouble blowing them off, but everything about being with Mat felt different and maybe that’s why it hurt so much to be betrayed by him. “I think… no, I know my worst trait is speaking out of my ass. Now when can we talk, maybe privately? You deserve a hell of a lot more answers than I was able to give you before.”

You shook your head looking anywhere other than his eyes that were dead set on you. Biting your lip you just shrugged, “Your place? I do have some shirts to return.” He nodded finally getting what he wanted. Pulling you close by the arm he was holding onto he kissed the top of your head. It wasn’t meant to be flirty, just something he’d done to try and comfort you. You were bothered by how the affection didn’t bother you, it didn’t make you feel any better about your situation, but you also didn’t want to claw his eyes out. “I’m leaving for some away games tomorrow, but I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be around.”

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