applesauve-fandom-blog

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for you fic-writing pleasure;

due to the popularity of this post, here is an updated, and apparently ever extending list of the characters the bois™ have created or absorbed into their alternative universe canon, or as @boogaraniac put it, the BFCU, 

C.C. Tinsley: technically real, but has become our favourite, happy-go-lucky, incompetent detective. according to fanon, he either works with, or is attempting to arrest Ricky G. may or may have not been murked by Dr Fear (intro’d in The Sodder Children)

Ricky Goldsworth: our main man. Smooth Criminal, “it’s all about the confidence, baby,” and while some people try to reduce him to just a serial killer, we all know he’s so much more than that. (intro’d in room 1046)

Banjo McClintock: art thief and wearer of fake mustaches. if you’re gonna steal something, do it right. probably admires Ricky G., but is definitely afraid of him.(intro’d in Gardner Museum Heist q+a)

Dr Fear: another technically real person, but hey, this fandom writes RPF so really, no one’s judging. Shane posited that C.C. Tinsley’s disappearance had something to do with this real life monster - and we all know that if he did, Ricky came for his ass (intro’d in the Pennhurst ep)

Francesca Norris: fabulous, flirty and flaunting spy. Better Than You, And Knows It. (intro’d in Isdal Woman q+a)

Detective Holly Horsley: detective by day, crime writer by night. better hope you have nothing to hide, because this girl will find out. [another real person the boys ran away with, but since she’s still a very alive and active person, I can’ talk about her in good conscience without a shoutout to her super cool YouTube] (first appearance in Room 1046 q+a)

all of their exploits take place in the town of Asshole, Iowa (intro’d in the Ken Rex q+a), and if I don’t see a rise in fanfic set in the bois™ au, I’m suing all of you

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‘BEACON HILLS HAS A WAY TO FUCK UP PEOPLE.’ Derek thinks sadly because he’s tired of being angry. He knew when he left there was little to nothing that would ease everything in. But Cora had needed him the way she needed him all those years ago after the fire; terrified without relief that she was all alone then and hunters at her heels. Beacon Hills was no longer theirs to protect anyway. There was no point on staying. The whole town only consumed and consumed legacies and histories; people and their families—it only every consumed.

It consumed them; its very own children: Like the Hales; despite them having rooted deeply into the land to protect it and its beacon; despite them standing by the land despite the orders of the families from the Old Country. Like Erica; whose only mistake was accepting the bite for a span of of life without epilepsy she had loss anyway. Like Boyd; who had only wanted control over the things he was too powerless to keep. Like Alison; who was too young to understand what horrors the town kept beneath its bosom; and too naive to understand the legacy her family has engraved and sworn in this land.

Like Stiles Stilinski; who only ever wanted to help his friend who had turned into a werewolf overnight; who despite his anxiety had survived a Nogitsune; who has glued together a band of children who didn’t fit in. And, Derek would have never admitted a few years back, Stiles Stilinski made a pack out of them.

But here was Derek again. Back to the land he had long left only to find the town has barely changed. What’s worse is that it blurred them all. Consumed and blurred their very existence from history. The Hales amounted to nothing but an urban legend about the family that lived in the woods; Erica and Boyd are nothing but a missing poster covered by yet another teenager that’s lost; Alison whose story is only kept alive by Scott’s tears.      

Jackson was right, it didn’t start with the fire. Not for the Hales, who was bound to be found by hunters; not by the Stilinski household that is now a burnt-cave of Stiles and John’s memories, which was an inevitable price for the truth. It didn’t start with it, nor will it end with it.

“LYDIA WAS THERE.” Jackson finally tells them, jaws clenching. “In London,” he clarifies evenly watching John Stilinski’s posture tighten up swiftly. He turns to him, eyes sharper than Jackson remembers that makes him flash is eyes at the man warily.

Lydia with her red painted lips sealed with a picturesque smile, and high heels walking into his apartment one day. Jackson wants to tell them how she had walked right in his life again in her regal grace, and how he still loves her but this woman was not the Lydia Martin he knows and remembers. He remembers Ethan shifting almost fearfully when he catches sight of her red locks. The smell of fear was raw, and that’s how he knew that this girl isn’t the one he’s seen and talked to years ago.

“She came to me in London once,” he tells them. “To save my ass,” he continues, because he doesn’t know how to tell them about Ethan anyway. It’s not a lie, not entirely. He thinks of her delicately gloved hands gripping a pistol, and the way she aimed and fired in a second.

There is a grave named Stiles Stilinski. Scott still visits it, even when John had stopped. It has been six years since the night Donovan Donati died in the hands of Stiles Stilinski. And six years and seven days since the then-Sheriff, John, was attacked by a chimera with no Stiles by his hospital bed. And six years and eleven days since his body was found in his jeep, pale and cold.

Six years and fourteen days since Lydia emerged from Eichen House, sane and more dangerous than ever, swearing to find the boy who ran with the wolves. Now at the anniversary of day they found his dead body in his jeep, the Stilinski house burns down. And Scott finds a familiar face in the crowd of onlookers and fire fighters.

Keep reading

[applesauve-fandom-blog]

wicked boy

Derek knows that Stiles is cruel. He’d known for a long time now. That doesn’t make him want the boy any less. Even if even Peter warns him off the John Stilinski’s kid.

(Or that AU where everyone’s and the Hales are in high school; Stiles is crueler than he looks; Scott exists; Isaac really needs help; Jackson is growing conscience; and that Derek Hale is not really as bad as his reputation says about him; Lydia is the only smart person in the whole high school; Erica will always be the Catwoman of our hearts; and Boyd is Boyd.)

THE ARREST, THE INCIDENT, AND THE RECKLESS BOYS 

Coach Lahey’s been narc-ed.

Four words. It only takes those four words to change Beacon Hills High School entirely. Derek thinks he had known the moment Jackson Whittemore barrels unto the hallways and into the boy’s locker room.

He doesn’t flinch, but neither does he acknowledge the boy. Instead he slips into a clean shirt, taking his time. The boy stomps around seemingly looking for him, a few other athletes making way for him. When he spots him, he walks right up to him while Derek keeps his undivided attention unto rolling a used shirt neatly into his bag. Jackson doesn’t seem to get the fact that Derek, does by any reason, want to look at him anymore than he needs to. Footsteps heavy with intent, Lacrosse captain slams his fist to the locker closest to him to get Derek’s attention. Scowling at the boy, he bites back the need to growl at him.

“Coach Lahey’s been narc-ed,” he says grimly locking eyes with him.

Derek blinks. There’s no bleat in his heartbeat, but neither is it even. On the contrary, despite Jackson’s very calm assertive expression his heart is hammering in his chest. Derek knows it’s not a joke, but neither could he catch on as quickly. And then he’s shooting out, a number of those in the locker room following him. He takes one quick look back at Jackson, who nods and mouths, “I’ll get Isaac.”

With that, Derek himself launches to the sound of siren outside and the loudest human noise there is.

Isaac Lahey’s father gets arrested for drug possession in school. Or so, the rumors said. The heavy weight of discomfort that makes home in Derek’s guts while he watches as Coach Lahey struggle against two deputies holding him down.

Coach Lahey of the swim team screams indignation as the deputies pull him out of his office. He looks around, slight panic crawling up his throat, but Isaac is nowhere. He hopes Jackson got to him first. The students are crowding the hallways as the new Sheriff keeps them at bay. The search in the office had resulted to the discovery of a kilo of cocaine.

It’s not his though, Derek can tell. He couldn’t hear any lie in Coach Lahey’s yells, only plain outrage. But he wasn’t able to tell Kate’s lies, so there was no assurance at that. Stiles, however, smells of anxiety, latex, and something familiar. Derek catches his eyes in the crowd where he stands with Danny, the other boy leaning in to whisper something in Stile’s ear. His whiskey eyes don’t leave Derek’s as he answers Danny in a stage whisper, “I knew he was sick. I just did.” How Derek managed to catch his scent and catalog everything isn’t even a mystery to him. He had memorized every detail available to him about the Stilinski boy.

As far as Derek can tell, Danny and Stiles don’t exactly have interactions with Coach Lahey. The man was a full time coach, and stuck to the swim team most of the time. Danny nods anyway, and disappears into the crowd.

The next thing Derek knows is that the new Sheriff is standing in front of him, arms crossed on his chest. Looking at a point beyond him, Derek looks over his shoulder. Stiles is behind him, staring at the man and Derek’s nose flare at the overwhelming scent of anxiety. “Coach Finstock pulled me a while ago about your absence in Econ,” the Sheriff asks exasperated.

“You’re not my father, Jordan,” Stiles replies, where there is no malice in his tone, there is bite in his words. The Sheriff winces, but patiently responds kindly, “That’s Sheriff to you, Stiles.” Derek turns to the newly elected Sheriff; he is younger than most of his underlings now. Light eyed, and brunette; Derek catalogs the smell of smoke and coal beneath the man’s cologne.

Derek had seen the new Sheriff around town. Once with John when he was still the Sheriff, and then far too many times with Stiles as a deputy. But this is the first time he had gotten close enough with them. There’s attraction for sure, and he can’t blame the Sheriff. He is young, and Stiles is attractive. But there’s a twist in his gut on how it very much was a parallel with him and Kate.

The Sheriff considers him for a second as Stiles steps beside him. “Jordan Parrish,” the Sheriff says, holding out his hand, “I don’t think I’ve met you before—I’m hoping Stiles isn’t that much of a trouble.”

Derek doesn’t blink, instead he stares at the man. It takes a nudge from Stiles for him to accept the man’s hand. Firmly shaking the Sheriff—Jordan’s hand, he figures this was better. Stiles and this guy. But then Jordan’s hand tightens around his, and his eyes flash, “Did you by any chance thought something was up with the Coach?”

Jerking his hand, Derek’s eyes flash electric blue, before quickly glancing over at Stiles. The boy’s eyes are now trained over the mess of the office the Coach left. Then he turns to them, “Nah, Derek does basketball. And I do lacrosse. It’s pretty far from swimming really.” Derek fights off the sudden feeling of warmth claiming his chest at the mention that Stiles cared enough for that.

“And where were you the whole time, Stiles?” Jordan’s voice is suspiciously even and blank. He stares at Stiles in careful assessment. Miss a second, and Stiles could get away with anything. There’s an uptick, Derek hears it but he doubts Jordan can. Everything else goes white noise, as Stiles’s eyes crinkle into a wide smile. “With Derek.”

Lie.

Sheriff Jordan stares back at Stiles, and then at Derek. “Oh,” he says. Derek can hear the disappointment in his voice even without being a werewolf. Derek knows that Mieczysław Stiles Stilinski is cruel. He’d known for a long time now. That doesn’t make him want the boy any less. Even if even Peter warns him off the John Stilinski’s kid. So it shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did.

“His only free period on Thursdays,” Stiles adds. Derek doesn’t know how Stiles knows this. He had spent his free periods in the library, while Stiles had Econ. The rest of the circle of friends they have in common are on all different classes.

Except Boyd.

Before it could all sink in, Lydia’s heels echo in the hallway. Stiles pulls away from him, stepping aside and lets Lydia step in between them, right in front of Jordan. Lips pursed, she puts a hand on her hip and gives the Sheriff a once-over. Derek glances towards the crowd, slowly making way as Jackson follows Lydia’s lead. It had always been pathetic how they were being treated like royalty in this school. But when Lydia speaks, Derek realizes she might actually be royalty.

“So drugs were found in his office, Sheriff, what can you say about that? There are tons of emotionally unstable teenagers that could have clung to drugs given this environment. Has he been preying on teenagers?” There’s a mock gasp there.

“Or worse, the athletes,” Jackson snorts, eyes fleetingly landing on Derek. It’s not a lie but it’s not entirely true.

ao3

[applesauve-fandom-blog]

don’t phrase it, “i told him to go check on you.” just say how it is.

I was concerned, I wanted him to go check on you.

no, you didn’t

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storm clouds & thunder

like the sad eyes (bad guys, mouth filled with white lies)

Laura Hale stood in front of Lydia Martin face stern and hard. Her arms were folded across her chest, and Lydia laughed. She laughed full and resounding that the people sitting close to their table had turned to their direction. Stilinski was beside her, mouth trying to form words but deciding against it. Lydia laughed like Laura had told her a joke (which she hasn’t). 

Laura could only look up to the sky and ask for patience. When the sound of her laugh died down, Lydia was sneering at the senior, “You want me to date Derek?”

“Say it louder, I don’t think the whole campus heard you,” Laura bit back. That got Lydia to stop, and stare, fairy eyes wide with somewhat surprise. She released an inaudible, “Oh.” Leaning back, she look over Laura like she was seeing a new specie.

This was a bad idea. She should have chosen Erica, because Erica was almond eyed, sincere, and looked good next to Derek. But no, she thought Lydia Martin was a great idea. This is what you get from listening to well meaning but naive lower classmen, Laura.

“You know what? Forget it,” Laura snapped, unfolding her arms as she turned to leave. “But why, Laura?” It’s Stilinski, because Lydia still hasn’t spoken since she had realized Laura was serious. “Isn’t he like dating Jennifer?” For smart people, Laura thought, these two were idiots.

She clicked her tongue, looking over Stiles and his doe eyed curiosity. “I’d chose this one over that.” She gestured over Lydia.

“I’m currently dating Stiles,” Lydia replied mock casually. “We are?” Stiles snorted without missing a beat. But she has started to gather the notebooks laid strew on the picnic table, like a sort of finality over the subject. She didn’t even try to hide the fact she was avoiding Laura’s eyes.

“Didn’t stop you with Ennis and Aiden, did it?”

Lydia didn’t flinch. Instead, she tipped her chin up, and looked into Laura’s eyes. “Yes,” she started, full lips jeering, “It didn’t. But Stiles is different. Aren’t you, Stiles?” The statement was now addressed to Stiles in a purr, but her eyes did not leave Laura’s. Stiles made a questioning hum, but something must have hit him because he yelped before nodding. He gave a strained smile, agreeable and docile.

Sometimes Laura thinks this girl had the spine of steel. “What makes him different?” She retorted, because she couldn’t stop it. Hate spills over her like an unstoppable force. Stiles flinched, and Laura immediately regretted her words. She didn’t hate Stiles, she hated Lydia. But Lydia was just using Stiles.

When Laura looked back at Lydia, her expression had closed off. She had hit a sore spot; she had finally hit a sore spot. Lydia Martin was hurt. Laura backpedaled, the two lower year’s expression overwhelming. Did Laura just hurt Lydia by insulting Stiles? All this time, Laura had thought it would be impossible to hurt Lydia Martin. It was terrifying, and awfully anti climatic.

“Look,” Laura said, her voice quiet. “You want your position in the social hierarchy back? You want Jackson back? Stiles here can’t help you out on that. Let’s save each other here the pretense, and keep ‘lil ole Stiles from getting beat up in the lockers.”

Lydia’s eyes snapped to Stiles. The boy was recoiling suddenly. His frame hunched over the table, eyes finding something interesting in the gibberish of notes on the book he’s holding. He looked like he wanted to be anything but there.

Lydia took an audible breath, before turning back to Laura. Her expression has turned fake cheerful, lips upturned in a tight lipped smile.

“Okay,” she said, finally. “Jackson will knock at my door three days from now, drunk. He will apologize for the rumors and shit he has done to me. On the next day, he will have a bouquet of roses and a grand romantic gesture for the school to see.” It’s true, this was not the first time the couple had taken a nasty break only to get back together again. Laura despised it.

“I’m not using Stiles to get back with Jackson. He’s too easy. Stiles is too ineffective. But since you’re so serious, I’ll bite. What is it, Laura?”

“Lydia!” Stiles protested beside her, eyes bugged out. “You shouldn’t do what Hale wants!”

“Your opinion is null and void here, Stiles.” The girl warned sharply, giving him one menacing look.

“Since when?”

“Since you didn’t tell me Jackson still beats you up in the lockers.” Lydia was looking at a point beyond Laura, refusing to look at Stiles. “You lied to me, Stiles.” Her face was a perfect porcelain of even expression, if only her voice didn’t tremble at that. Stiles shot up from the bench, enraged at the accusation.

“But Jackson lies to you all the time!” Stiles replied, throwing his arms in the air.

“That’s because Jackson is not a friend.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, okay?” Stiles said, falling back unto his seat. He propped his head on his hands, suddenly looking tired. “It was more like his lackeys than Jackson really. So it isn’t a big deal. There was nothing to tell.”  

“It’s a big deal for me,” Lydia told him feebly, finally looking over the boy. Then just like that, she looked back at Laura with no trace of the meltdown she had just witnessed. “So, Laura, I’ll bite.”

Laura’s chest felt tight. Like she couldn’t breath. This was not fair. Lydia Martin cannot and should not care for anyone but herself. 

tbc.

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[applesauve-fandom-blog]

Shane Madej has fucking ‘bridge owner’ listed in his twitter bio can u believe

[applesauve-fandom-blog]

for newbies, a list of characters the boys have given us

cc tinsley, technically a real person but has become our fave incompetent investigator

ricky goldsworth, our fave confident criminal

Dr Fear, also a real person, but also the man who murked cc tinsley

banjo mcclintock, our fake mustache loving robber

the mayor, who just let ricky completely dominate him

I’m not sure how long it’s gonna take either of them to realise they’ve developed an entire alternative universe of their own, but for now I’m gonna enjoy the fact that CC Tinsley/Ricky Goldsworth is a legitimate pairing on ao3 right now

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C.C. Tinsley: detective, good guy, a little dumbfounded but good, happy-go-lucky, wants to do well and make others proud

Ricky Goldsworth: possibly a sociopath, apparently a 1920s mobster, has evaded C.C. Tinsley for his entire life, charismatic sonuvabitch, whomst

Banjo McClintock: who the fuck is this, what is he doing, where did he come from, chaotic evil, is the devil

[applesauve-fandom-blog]

hello, tumblr..

[applesauve-fandom-blog]

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There is a grave named Stiles Stilinski. Scott still visits it, even when John had stopped. It has been six years since the night Donovan Donati died in the hands of Stiles Stilinski. And six years and seven days since the then-Sheriff, John, was attacked by a chimera with no Stiles by his hospital bed. And six years and eleven days since his body was found in his jeep, pale and cold.

Six years and fourteen days since Lydia emerged from Eichen House, sane and more dangerous than ever, swearing to find the boy who ran with the wolves. Now at the anniversary of day they found his dead body in his jeep, the Stilinski house burns down. And Scott finds a familiar face in the crowd of onlookers and fire fighters.

IT’S MELISSSA WHO TELLS HIM ABOUT THE FIRE. Scott doesn’t hear about it until he’s on a break. And when he does, he forgets to inform Deaton anything because he speeds out of the clinic before he remembers. He rereads the message written in all caps: STILINSKI HOUSE ON FIRE. COME RIGHT AWAY.

It has been ten minutes since the text was sent. He’d been busy then with an old lady’s Chihuahua that kept trying to bite his thumb off. Six years and eleven days since Stiles Stilinski’s body was found in his jeep that was off track on the other side of town, Scott was not ready to let go of another Stilinski. Not even after six years, the wounds were as fresh as they had been the moment he held his friend’s lifeless body. He thinks of sending Lydia a message, but decides against it. Later when he knows the John is safe. Only then.

Lydia Martin hasn’t seen any of the pack since Stiles’ death. In college she barely returned to Beacon Hills and when she did, she never showed her face to them. Scott doesn’t blame her. Coach Finstock had told him that she visits the school’s memorial for Stiles every now and then only to stare at the jersey hung between the trophies with Stilinski on it.

Six years and fourteen days, Lydia emerged from Eichen House, sane and more dangerous than ever, swearing to find the boy who ran with the wolves. And all Scott knows about her is that she’s more collected and she doesn’t want to see any of them. Scott should have seen it coming. He should have known that Theo wanted to separate them, and isolate Lydia for his own interests.

Scott finds a crowd of people onlookers and the striking red of the fire truck parked outside the Stilinski house. There’s almost too much noise, ash, and smoke. But then he hears John’s voice talking with Jordan by the ambulance. “—no, son, I wasn’t drunk,” his ragged voice says. Scott makes a beeline towards them as fast as he can. Only to be blocked by a flash of blond and flashing blue eyes. It happens too fast, before Scott catches the wrist of the assaulter. Claws digging unto the man’s wrist, Scott’s eyes widens at the man in front of him.

“Jackson?” he gasps. But the man only tightens his hold on Scott’s collar, pushing him harder against the fire truck. Jackson Whittemore stands a few centimeters shorter than him, but with the same power and rage he had back in high school.

“What the fucking hell, Scott. Where the fuck were you?” He demands, voice thick with anger. He flashes his eyes at the other, trying to calm him. But Jackson doesn’t budge at all. The next thing Scott knows is that Derek’s there.

Derek Hale.

And he’s telling Jackson to calm down, and that there are people. The other finally relents, looking slightly lost and surprised at Derek. And when Jackson lets go, Scott swallows his instinct to attack at the threat. Instead, he takes a deep breath and turns to the Hale. He can still hear Stiles words, ‘Derek would have believed me.’ But Derek wasn’t there when Stiles died. He wasn’t there.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Anguish turning to anger within seconds, he snarls at Derek. Jackson makes a snort from beside him, “Like you’re one to talk, McCall.” Derek’s eyes don’t flash like his does, but he doesn’t back down. He stands there calm and collected, sad eyes watching Scott quietly.

“Shut it, Jackson!” Scott barks right back. “You weren’t here when Stiles died. None of you were. If you think you could have done any better, you should have been here! But none of you were. I was fucking sixteen!”

The tears were always there, Scott thinks when his knees buckles and he finds himself sitting on the gravel. The tears were always there, but he’d never been able to grieve. God, he didn’t even cry at Stiles’ funeral. Who was he to grieve his brother who he wouldn’t even believe? He’d been angry and confused. And he wanted everyone safe.

“Scott, breathe!” And he does. John is right beside him now, hands clasping his wrists. Scott lets go of the tips of his hair he didn’t know he was pulling unto. His fingertips turned into claws. Parrish is kneeling beside him, covering him with a blanket. The smell of smoke is still there but fainter. The fire has stopped and Scott was the next spectacle the on lookers were watching if it weren’t for the deputies barricading them.

“It’s alright, son,” John tells him. But it only makes his heart ache.

“Since when have you been back?” Derek asks Jackson as he places a glass of water on the dinner table. The Hale house is yet to be done completely, but Derek had time. He had all the time for when Cora returns if she does he’d have a home for her.

Jackson stares at the glass of water, blank eyed as if he weren’t there at all. So Derek doesn’t press him. John’s footsteps falls closer, and Derek prepares another glass for the man who had just lost his house. When the man comes in the kitchen, Derek realizes how old he is. Gray hair and weary lines on his face. The other man jolts and whips to John surprised that he’s there.

“Boys,” John greets. It’s hard to think of him as the then-Sheriff now. With the world weighing more heavily over his shoulders and the darkness in his eyes. “Sir,” Jackson replies earnestly, eyes wide with some guilt Derek could not comprehend. He shoots up, offering a seat for the man. But John only shakes his head.

“Sit down, Jackson.” The man says kindly, and then he turns to Derek raising a brow. Jackson’s movement are blatantly brisk and stilted.

Derek watches all this before he takes a seat as well, pushing a glass of water for the man. “It’s been awhile. Now, I won’t ask you about what you were doing in my son’s bedroom tonight because I’d really rather not know,” John tells Jackson without beating around the bush. Derek should have suspected from the lack of humor. He takes a gulp at the water offered and puts down the glass with a thud. He turns to look at Derek, eyes cold and calculating, “The fire started in the attic where all of Claudia’s things are kept. I’d seen this coming, don’t get me wrong. Meisner told me they will do it.”

“But the sins of the mother is not the sins of the son,” Derek replies quietly, eyes looking at a point beyond John. He remembers red spray paint words  he could not comprehend; a part of Stiles that was foreign to everyone but his mother perhaps. John told him before that Stiles didn't really hate his name, he spoke well in Polish up until his mother's death. He remembers John telling him what the red spray painted Polish meant on the walls of Stiles' room. Derek should ask what it really means, but he is afraid to know. Jackson takes a deep breath, jolting both of them back to present and to his presence.

"So," Jackson drawls, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm guessing this all; it didn't start with the fire?"

ao3

[applesauve-fandom-blog]

Hello, Tumblr.

For all and my other fandoms tbh.