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totallynotbear · 1 year ago

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Il Mio Piccolo Uccellino Canoro -Part ||

Wenclair x Child!Avian!Reader

[Summary:] Y/n is a rare outcast who has wings, but her parents don’t care enough to take care of her. So what happens when She runs away to the safety and protection of Enid Sinclair and Wednesday Addams after hearing her parents make a deal with a persistent man who will stop at nothing to get his end of it?

[Warnings:] ooc Wednesday?

[A/n:] Please request ideas either for this story or others! Enjoy! :]

Part |

[With Weems]

Principle Weems never expected to get asked to help by her students often. So imagine her surprise when THE Wednesday Addams came to her and asked Weems to help her with something. Well not really The goth student really just told Weems to come with her fur something, but that count as something right?

Though the tall woman didn't look the part, she was starting to get nervous. The two outcast were walking in the middle of the forest , which was starting to fog from after the storm. Wednesday was walking on front of the white haired principle with a purpose, muttering incoherent things under a breath. Wait. did she say Ms. Sinclair's name?

"Wednesday, dear where are we going?" A pause.

"I need to get you to the insufferable werewolf named Enid Sinclair." Wednesday muttered, before straightening her back and walking a little faster when the worn down shed finally came into view. Ah. The shed that she let Xavier have for his paintings. Oh but why does Enid need her? And why not get her herself?

As the two neared the shed, Weems could see Enid a little through the window, and she thought she could see someone else two ,but couldn't put her finger on it. Finally the Wednesday and Weems got to the door and opened it to see Enid and.....a child?

Enid looked up from something on her phone and gave Principle Weems a weary smile. "Uh, Hi Ms. Weems. You uh may be confused on why I told Wednesday to bring you here." Enid glanced at Y/n. "I'm more confused on how you got Wednesday to listen to you." Weems stared at Enid before nodding. "I would like that very much."

Enid sighed deeply, looked at Wednesday, then a sleeping Y/n before answering. "Well as you see I found Y/n here using Xavier's shed for shelter and she's hurt," Enid looked at Weems's unchanging gaze and gulped. "Badly, And I was wondering if....if you can help me with her." Weems sighed and Enid quickly started to ramble. "Please, uh you know the police in Jarico won't really care and she said that she ran away and-"

Wednesday cut Enid off stepping in front of Enid and looked up at Weems. "The girl can stay with us while I find a lead to where her parents are, or some kind a guardian to take her back." Wednesday spoke plainly, crossing her arms.

"Girls, this is a lot to ask." Weems sighed and stepped closer to the sleeping girl and inspected her wounds. "That's a lot of scratches." On Y/n's face and arms, there also seems to be a bald spot with a scratch on her left wing which is red and irritated. "Okay girls we need to get her to the infirmary and quick, or else these injures will get worse or even infected."

Enid hesitated. "S-should I carry her? She's very jumpy." Weems smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may. We don't want to cause her to panic."

Enid walked over to Y/n and kneels down to pick her up bridal style, the winged girl resting her cheek on Enid's chest while her other left arm was resting on her belly, and her wings awkwardly pressed against Enid's fore arms. Enid smiled and started out the door behind Principle Weems.

Wednesday watched the whole ordeal and was thinking hard on what lead she would have as she reached towards the light and flicked it off before following Enid and Weems. Why had you run away from your parents at such a young age? Maybe you were on a walk and got lost, but no because Enid specifically said that you wrote in her notebook that you ran away. But why? That is what she was going to find out. It's been some time since she had a good mystery to solve.

[At Nevermore]

Enid and Wednesday walked through the entrance of Nevermore side by side while Weems walked ahead. Enid looked the smaller girl's side profile, entranced by her beauty before speaking. "Thank you for helping back there." She spoke in a softer voice than usual, so not to wake up Y/n who was still sleeping peacefully.

"I simply said the truth," Wednesday continued to look in front of her. Some of the students who had free-time or study-hall in the quad looked at them with curiosity evident in their eyes all wondering the same thing. Why is there a five year old in Enid's arms? And was she hurt? Of course Wednesday shot a glare at everyone's way and they all looked back to what they were doing quickly.

"Still, you helped me, that is a big deal for The Wednesday Addams, so is letting me hug you." Wednesday stayed silent and continued to walk after Weems. She would rather wear color then admit that maybe, just maybe, she was going a little soft for her roommate.

The three finally reached the infirmary and walked through the door. The inside wasn't very busy. There was one or two who were in the bed groaning in pain, or resting but that was it. A middle aged nurse working on one of the vampires looked up and immediately smile, clearly not seeing Y/n in Enid's arms.

"Hi, how can I help you girls?" Weems smile back and nodded towards Y/n and started to speak. "This little girl needs your medical attention, Michelle." Michelle then turned her head to the girl in Enid's arms with wide eyes. "Oh, yes! Yes put her down on that bed right there." She pointed to a bed next to a window, and Enid walk over there to place Y/n down on it as softly as she can and backed away. "Hmm, lets see." Michelle mumbled to herself and checked over Y/n's face, arms and everywhere else. "Do you know where these scratches came from?"

"I don't know, I just found her like that already." Enid mumbled and Michelle sighed and continued to check on Y/n. Enid shifted on her feet and fidgeted with her jacket strings. "Stop moving it's annoying." "Sorry, I'm just worried." Wednesday turned to look at her with a look she couldn't describe. "About what? There aren't fatal injuries." "I know, but that's not what I'm worried about," Enid whispered back. "I'm worried Y/n will wake up and freak out again." Wednesday noted that she said 'again' but said nothing else as she watched the nurse stand up.

"Well she'll be fine, and she has a few deep scratches on her back and left wing, which looked like it was made from a knife." Michelle glanced at Enid, who looked very worried, and Wednesday who had a slightly annoyed expression, before continuing. "And she may need lots of rest, but other than that she is fine."

Weems dipped her head in response and started to walk towards the door. "Thank you Ms. Rayburn and I expect you to take good care of her while I talk to these girls." Michelle nodded and went to grab things to patch up Y/n. Weems looked back at Wednesday and Enid. "Come with me to my office girls." Then started to walk towards her office with the roommates following behind her.

After a few minutes they all finally entered Weems's office and sat in the two chairs in front of her desk. Weems sighed as she sat down. "Ms. Sinclair, I will grant you permission to take care of Y/n while Ms. Addams investigate her parents whereabouts." Enid immediately smiled and perked up while Wednesday's face filled with small determination and.....relief? "You will need to take care of her and I'm trusting to do so, okay Ms. Sinclair?" Enid nodded as her smile widened impossibly more. Wednesday finally spoke up since entering Nevermore. "What about when we are both in classes?" "Hmm, if you trust her enough I suppose she can stay in the dorm, or she can go with one of you to classes as long as she doesn't interrupt."

Enid and Wednesday nodded. "You two are dismissed please go to your next class, you can visit Y/n on your free-time." They both stood and started to exit the office. They both went out of Weems's office and walked out together.

"So...where are you going next, Willa?"

"Call me that again and you won't make it to your next full moon."

"But that's in a few days.."

"Precisely."

Enid abruptly stopped walking in surprise and stared at the back of Wednesday's head as she kept walking. "This is the girl you like?" What Enid could only assume was her wolf scoffed. Her wolf had been there since she first wolfed out, well have been talking since she wolfed out. Enid started walking back to the infirmary, to go check on Y/n."Oh shush. I don't like her." She could practically feel her wolf raise their brow.

"Mhm, lets see, shortness of breath, check. Heart rapidly beating at the sight of her, check. Flushed face when you are near her, check. Possessiveness check." Enid rolled her eyes and continued to walk to the infirmary. She didn't like Wednesday....right? No. she like Ajax.....right? "You're annoying you know that?" "I try" Enid grumbled and reached the infirmary doors, screaming- no screeching coming from the other side of them.

Enid hurriedly pushed the doors open to see Michelle trying to calm a screaming Y/n door, while Y/n fought and scratched at her. "Fuck." Enid ran towards Y/n picking her up from behind and holding her arms in place so she wouldn't scratch. Y/n screeched louder, not knowing that it was her.

"Shh, it's okay Y/n it's me, Enid." She sat down on the bed next to her with Y/n on her lap, while running her fingers through Y/n's unkempt, H/c hair. The screeching soon came down to a small trill/purring noise. "Shh" Enid murmured. Michelle smiled as she came closer gripping bandages in her right hand. "How are you so good at this?" She whispered to not startle Y/n again. "I don't really know, maybe I'm just the first person she trusts for god knows how long."

"Well do you think you can keep doing it? I still need to take care of her arms and wings." Y/n glared at Michelle, her wings pressed to her back. "I dare you to come closer, scary lady." Y/n thought and shuffled closer to Enid. Said girl huffed and rubbed Y/n's head. "Y/n it's okay she's just going to help you with your scratches." Now it was Y/n's turn to huff as Michelle nervously came closer with alcohol to stop an infection. "This may get hectic" Enid gave her a deadpan look. "You think?" Enid grumbled leaning down to whisper into Y/n's ear. "This is going to sting a little okay?" She nodded slowly.

Michelle put the alcohol on a cloth and held out her hand for Y/n's arm. She slowly put it on a very long scratch that looked very deep and painful. Y/n winced, her feathers ruffling and puffing out. "You're doing great, sweetie." Michelle mumbled and started to wrap the bandage around Y/n's arm before moving to her left wing, gently holding it to see the spot without feathers and a scratch that was starting to scab. She quickly did the same thing, backed away with a comforting smile.

"All done." Y/n got up from Enid's lap, and stretched her left wing then her right before smiling and flapping them both, and levitated off the ground for a few seconds. She winced again and came back to the ground. Enid smiles before going to Y/n giving a quick smile to Michelle. "Can she come with me to my dorm?" Y/n was just happily hopping up and down while flapping her wings, wincing in pain a few times though. "Sure, she may still need rest though so watch out."

"Got it! Come on Y/n." Enid stuck her hand out for her, which she hesitantly took. Having not been listening earlier not knowing where they were going. "Bye, Michelle!" "Bye! Tell me if she needs any more help"

[The dorm with Wednesday.]

When Wednesday finally opened the door to her shared dorm she went straight to her typewriter. It was her writing time and she very much wished to be left alone for concentration. But that seemed impossible when her mind was filled with everything that happened that morning.

Wednesday angrily ripped out yet another paper out of her typewriter, and threw towards her now paper-filled trashcan. Thing , being the best friend he is, quickly started to move his fingers in concern. "It's none of your business, Thing." Thing signed something else which only angered her more, causing her to reach into the drawer pull out a knife and throw it. The knife penetrated the wall by Thing as he trembled in fear and finally left Wednesday be.

The said girl rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed deeply as another headache started to form. "This insufferable headaches are getting pretty annoying." She muttered. Just then on the other side of the door, Wednesday heard the jiggle of keys as Enid and Y/n walked through the door hand and hand. "Hey Wednesday." Enid gave a tired smile and locked the door again. Wednesday only nodded in response.

Y/n only looked around the room in slight awe, staying clear of Wednesday's side of the room. Enid had told her not to go on the Addams's side without permission. Y/n immediately caught sight of Enid's plush collection and went over to get a closer look as Enid went over to her crush roommate. "So, did you find anything yet?" "Not yet, Sinclair," Enid noticed the other girl's frustration in her voice and took a step back. She then caught sight of the knife stuck in the wall. "Okay, from the knife in the wall I can tell your feeling murderous so I going to go back to my side," Enid muttered, but heard a scream of surprise from Y/n. "Hmm, maybe she found that tarantula I lost from class." Wednesday muttered.

"THE WHAT?" Enid yelled, then frantically looked at Y/n to only see that she met Thing. She sighed in relief, then glared at Wednesday as she smirked. "A beautiful sight," She could almost feel her wolf grin. "I see why you picked her." Enid only huffed. Wednesday spoke up. "Come on, Enid. Do you really think I'm gullible enough to let a tarantula out of my hands?" "To scare the shit out of someone, yes."

"Touché." She went back to her place in front of her typewriter. Enid turned to Y/n who was now smiling faintly as Thing was petting her unruly hair. She sighed and walked back to her side and sat down on her bed. She looked outside the half colorful window to see that the sun was starting to set. "Luckily it's Friday." Enid looked at Y/n who only looked at her with curiosity while playing with Things fingers. "Come on Y/n want to watch something on my computer?" She could hear Wednesday scoff from her side of their dorm, but ignored it.

Y/n nodded, and climbed on Enid's bed, still hugging Thing. Enid smiled and got her computer from her nightstand by her bed. After they settled down laying in front of the computer, Enid started to put on the Trolls movie. Everything was going well at first, Y/n's eye filled with amazement as the characters moved on screen, but just as the first song started to play, Wednesday huffed in annoyance. "Why must it be a film with pathetic and disgustingly optimistic songs?" "Because it will most likely entertain her more Wednesday!" Enid muttered. Wednesday scoffed, turning to face the glaring Enid and the entranced Thing and Y/n.

"A book can do that too."

"I don't think she can read that well, Wednesday." Wednesday stared for a bit thinking a bit then spoke. "Then I'll teach her." Enid narrowed her eyes suspiciously "You...teach her? Really?" Wednesday got up from her seat and walked over, looking at Y/n. "Obliviously if she can't read at five her parents are doing something wrong." She switched her gaze to Enid. "And you can't even write correctly." "It's called text language." Enid mumbled. "Exactly. A idiotic made up way of writing."

Wednesday was fine with this, surprisingly. There wasn't much going on at Nevermore now that the mystery of the Hyde was solved and the stalker hasn't done anything since before the break. And she could teach someone her ways of doing things so as Enid said it a win-win.

"I guess.." Enid hesitated. To say that Enid was confused was an understatement. She didn't actually expect Wednesday to help Y/n with anything. Actually she didn't expect her to even take a second glance at the winged girl. "Oooo wifey material!" Enid furrowed her eyes and blushed slightly. "Shut up!" she thought as she went back to Y/n and Thing. Wednesday then grunted as another song started and went to take herself a shower.

[half an hour later]

Once the movie finished Y/n sat and clapped her hand in excitement that poppy and the other trolls didn't get eaten. Enid chuckled. "So I guess you liked the movie then?" She nodded getting off the bed with Thing and started to play a game where from what Enid could guess Y/n was a Bergen and Thing a troll as she chased him around. Enid was glad that she was trusting them more, and looked over to see Wednesday struggling to read a book because of the noise, but oddly didn't say a word as her jaw was clinched shut.

Enid looked at time and it was about time for dinner. She looked at Y/n. Since Enid found Y/n after lunch she doubted that Y/n had anything to eat for a while and it looks like Wednesday would like a break. "Hey, Y/n!" She stopped chasing Thing, her hair and feathers ruffled, while Wednesday looked up from her book. "It's about dinner time, want to come with me to get something?" She nodded hesitantly, slowly reaching out her hand for Enid to grab. Enid's attention turned to Thing.

"Please take care of Miss Grumpy." She whispered as Thing made a thumbs up and started to crawl towards Wednesday as they headed out the door. Once again Y/n and Enid walked hand and hand as they walked the halls of Nevermore. The air smelled of rain even if it stopped long ago, as the Werewolf and Avian finally reached the Quad.

Many students were hanging out with their respective friend groups or outcast groups when Enid and Y/n entered. Some students stopped their conversations and stared at Enid and Y/n as they did earlier, which made a little insecure and hide half her face behind her left wing. "Don't worry ignore them." Enid whispered as they finally neared where the food was. luckily tonight they were serving pizza with some other side foods. Enid filled Y/n's tray with two slices of pizza, some juice and fruit and handed it to her.

Y/n nodded in appreciation and looked at the food longingly. As Enid started to make her plate Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her, so she turned around to see a group of outcasts looking in both bewilderment and curiosity. Y/n shuddered. Carefully balancing her tray on one hand as she tugged Enid's sweater.

Enid looked down with confusion plastered on her face. "What's wrong Y/n?" Y/n pointed to the group of students who happen to be Yoko and the others. "Oh, yeah I haven't told them.." Enid muttered "Come on, Y/n lets go say hi." Y/n hesitated, looking back and forth from Enid and her friends. "Don't worry they are friends of mine!" Enid took Y/n's tray and held them carefully in her hands while Y/n was gripping on Enid's pants tightly as they walked over.

"Hi guys!" Enid greeted loudly as she set down their trays, helping Y/n on the seat next to her. Yoko cleared her throat and looked at Enid with curiosity. "Sup Enid." Her gaze switched to Y/n, the girl having a staring contest with them. "So who's this?" "Oh this is Y/n." Y/n started to feel uncomfortable with all the eyes on her as she shifted in her seat. Divana then gasp from beside Yoko. "Oh. my. god. Enid did you kidnap a child?" Enid looked at her in surprise. "What? No I found her taking shelter in Xavier's shed."

Divana then looked at the now bewildered Xavier besides Kent. "Wha- Don't look at me I didn't kidnap her!" Enid sighed and looked back at the arguing group. "Guys stop, no one kidnapped her!" Enid sighed. "I found her taking shelter in Xavier's painting shed for the rain," She Looked at Y/n as she suspiciously poked at her pizza, hesitantly take a bite, the start to wolf the rest down as if its been a long time since she last ate. Which is possibly the case. "Soon Wednesday came to the shed for god only to know the reason, and we both decided to get Weems to make the decision to keep her, after the nurse fixed her wounds." She finished in one breath, and sighed in relief.

Yoko smirked teasingly, some of her fangs showing. "So you're taking care of a child with Wednesday?" Enid grabbed a grape from Y/n's tray, who whined in protest, and flung it at Yoko's head. "It's not like that, Yoko." Enid practically growled as she reached to eat her food to only feel nothing. She looked to Y/n who just pulled her hand away from Enid's plate and almost scarfed that down too. Bianca chuckled. "Well one thing is for sure is that she's got your appetite." Enid glared at her and huffed.

The rest of dinner went well. The group asking questions about Y/n. Enid answering them to the best of her abilities. Yoko teasing Enid about her and Wednesday taking care of Y/n. Enid almost shredding Yoko to bits with her claws (Y/n stared at Enid with adoration). And Y/n almost biting Xavier's finger off when he touched her shoulder. All good and well. Soon it was almost curfew and dinner was over, so the group said their goodbyes and headed to their dorms.

Enid looked exhausted as she threw away the rest of her and Y/n's food, which was practically nothing. When she was done, Enid took Y/n's hand and started back to her dorm. A blanket of silence settled over them as they walked back. Y/n was humming a tune from the movie they watched earlier. Enid, being the social butterfly that she is, wanted to know what Y/n was thinking of today.

"So Y/n did you like today?" She nodded enthusiastically, doing that thing she did in the Infirmary. She was flying! Well not exactly not flying but hovering. Her raven colored wings created a small breeze as they flapped. Y/n then realized what she was doing and stopped immediately. Enid looked confused at Y/n, but kept walking. "Why'd you stop flying?" She asked Y/n. Y/n only looked down, her head and wings drooping too.

"Hmm, well you know you can use your wings any time you want?" Y/n smiled. She never met someone this nice before! Well she never really met a lot of people but still! Hopefully she could stay here for a while. This is a good hiding place from that bad man from the forest, and her parents. She shivered at the thought of him catching her. Y/n liked it here! she liked the new things she experience today, Like Thing, Trolls, Pizza, and of course Enid and even Wednesday.

And for the first time as Y/n fell asleep that night hugging a penguin plushy from Enid, She felt as care free as a bird.

[A/n:] Phew! Finally! I hope you guys enjoyed this one! :]

#wenclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #wednesday 2022 #Child!reader #enid sinclair #wenclair fanfic #x reader #x y/n

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astericn · 1 month ago

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btw feel free to !! ask questions about aster if you have any. i’m so down for talking about him at all times, i’d be more than happy to answer them <3

#werewolf rambles. ( ooc. )

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eievuimultimuse · 4 months ago

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soooo. im only barely finishing up season 1 of TM.NT 2012 but....i might be considering adding a proper 2012 verse for SF & ali in the near future 👀 don't have super concrete ideas atm (mainly bc of aforementioned only finishing 1/5 seasons lol) but some things i do have in mind rn:

SF is a human-born in this verse. originally he was aster stockman.

aster & aliyah are bio siblings & both the children of felix (bc i REALLY can't see 12!baxter being a father in any capacity lol). they are both very estranged from their uncle & don't really have much interest in knowing him or anything he gets into

in this verse, aster is a boxer but works in mechanics in a car shop as his day job to help pay the bills. if he's not working on vehicles, he's likely training for whatever upcoming fight he can get. he's not as interested in science in this verse since he's got less of a connection to it (& if anything has inherited more of felix's aversion to it) (but aliyah's still def into science tho, it's her bread & butter. she openly pursues her interest despite her father's displeasure this time around & is studying engineering)

^^^ that being said, aster is quite passionate about his sport and can't stand when it's faked or staged. he thinks it gives it a bad name & is an insult to ppl who are genuinely trying, such as himself

as tends to be the case for poor aster, he WILL eventually mutate (i'm not sure how yet, i haven't gotten that far), which i figure would happen in season 1-ish timeline-wise since he'd just kinda be a random in the scheme of everything. anywho, as a way to differentiate him from stockmanfly a bit & lean more into the general weirdness that are the 2012 mutants, i've opted to make aster's mutated state a lil more based on superduperfly OR, more accurately, kaijufly from my own AU (pics under the cut for reference). it wouldn't be 1-1; i'll prolly draw a more accurate vision later. but yeah, the mutagen made him into smth of a bizarre, aquatic + insectoid hybrid

now my vision / initial concept is that post-mutation he's 6'8" like MM SF is & that he's still somewhat capable of boxing, even if it takes him some time to get used to this significantly heavier & slower body. but im also not opposed to the concept of him bein like the size of a small whale (technically the smallest whale species is only 6'7" but. you get what i mean gjkG) & it just bein like whoops! his chances of having any vague sort of normalcy, even in the shadows, are completely ruined!! but idk i'd prolly stick to the smaller vers. food 4 thought tho

as for aliyah, i havent decided if she would mutate or not. on one hand, part of me feels like she wouldn't & she'd be aster's anchor on humanity throughout. on the other hand, i have such a fun moth mutant concept that ive had forEVER that would work rlly well here & fit 2012's vibe that it's super tempting KJGHGJK

but yeah that's what i have so far. will add other details as i continue watching / as they occur to me !!

#WEREWOLF RAMBLES. / OOC.#body horror //

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avesomnia-inhoramortis · 10 months ago

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[ooc] trina-as-white-king asker here… i really enjoyed the previous post expanding on your thoughts. this too is mostly just rambling, please feel free to discard this from your inbox, i’m just so mesmerized by miquellatrina relationship and want so much to talk deeply about them with someone haha, analysis on them like the ones you’ve written down is such a salvation.

trina in her capacity as a maiden in the tower, as it is, has been really fascinating to me, even more so for the fact that i think she is much less passive than most are to believe. since elden ring is so entrenched in arturian ideals i always loved her as the lady of the lake. trina is submerged in water, her roots growing deep, her connection to lilies a light link to 'the romance of the water lily' being one of the lady's earliest written records. the proverbial sword the lady gives being the intangible, desperate & translucent instillation of the all consuming desire to kill miquella, once being hers, now passed down to thiollier & most of all the player. an analysis in the same vein of the same way you could interpret her and miquella’s respective positions as hell and heaven, physically the highest point and the lowest point. miquella ascends to heaven by casting trina to hell, to rebirth and give new life violence is a necessary thing.

it all entwines so nicely with your alchemization view on them — before the dlc released i had wanted trina to be specifically more masculine as a contrast to miquella… trina as the white king is so deeply satisfying for me because of this. you speak of her like an equalizer, which i agree with: even in the domain of sleep, i don’t believe any of the demigods are unique to it. a balancing beam act that she holds in place with her own too hands, the saint balancing the scales. her and miquella both bear such weight for children!

& the trans readings for miquella.. so delicious. i favor transfem miquella so tenderly but i really like what you’ve put down here! the desire be freed from the confines of the princess and the tower. trina being the opposite to him is really sweet to me too.. but i can imagine her just forsaking all of it, the will and the answer beyond any system. the cherry on top for me — you mentioned in your other post miquellatrina being, romantic like an experimentation for curiosity around lust. i was thinking about this for so long too! i think there’s a love there too deep and entrenched to reduce to simple physicality but on some level i don’t think the game tells you that marika and radagon’s relationship bore fruit despite them being one-of-the-same-whole just for you to think that their child’s relationship with his own other self was entirely chaste. i really enjoy them being the measure of all of each other… a first time together and perhaps a last as well. they follow in the path of their parents but something is vitally missing. what does it mean to be a child, eternally, what can they not have, and what can they freely take? what is allowed to them, and what is given, and what can they take? they’re so very similar but too different that they would always have been doomed to separation, in some grotesque and beautiful way. anyways. in any case they’re so so beloved to me i’ll definitely be thinking about these ideas for a while.

[ooc]

Ohhh my god I love all of this. I love all of this so much. And I definitely agree with transfem Miquella, I've just been going the angst route of "for my goals and what I want I can't AFFORD to be a woman", shoving down who he's meant to be for practicality's sake. He'd sacrifice anything for his sister. Including himself, and his own wants. He's already dealing with the age dysphoria, more on top of that is nothing right?

I NEED to read more Arthuriana, I've just read a couple of obscure ones like Sir Gowther and that one about the lord cursed to be a werewolf, and then I listen to a lot of Arthuriana-themed music sometimes. Tarnished Silver by Heather Dale is one I actually put on my Trina playlist.

I also absolutely analyze and characterize them through the lens of DID. It's not entirely accurate, obviously, considering the strong fantasy elements of everything going on, but the relationship between headmates is something really hard to explain or define well and I love slipping stuff like that into my writing. Like... you grew up together, so that could make you siblings, but it doesn't. You technically have the same family, but really only one of you does. No one else can love you like someone who has seen every thought and reason firsthand. You live inside eachother and haven't spoken in months. You miss eachother even though you have the same heartbeat. You kiss a boy for the first time but the person that finishes the kiss isn't you. It's complicated.

They're so very very wonderful and I'm so glad people are enjoying my rambles, PLEASE come back and ramble anytime.

#[ooc]

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desmondkane-of-ao3-fame · 2 years ago

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what do you think Skara's last name is?

You ask me a very simple question.

I spent 3 hours at work questioning my philosophy on headcannons, and what the line is between writing a fan interpretation of a character in another work and simply creating an OC.

I’ll answer this question, but let me just ramble for a bit.

Imagine a bubble. A big, red bubble that reads “SKARA” on it. This is, in fact, Skara. Or, rather, the purest version of her character, specifically from the show and any related cannon media. And surrounding it are other bubbles, each also labeled “SKARA,” but including the name of some fanfiction or fanart. These are the interpretations of Skara, the different ways people write outside of the writing staff make Skara as a character. The bubbles that are closer to the pure bubble are the ones closest to her show counterpart. The ones farthest out are the ones that stray enough that they feel almost like a completely different character.

Like, the bubbles closest to the main bubble are literally just written exactly like her in the show. No frills or fluff or extra details. What you see with Skara is what you get. And the ones furthest away are AU’s where she’s like, a werewolf queen who sustains herself on the souls of orphaned babies, sees the future in pools of blood, and hates music and sports. In other words, an OC in all but name, connected only at best by name and appearance to the original.

For me, I like to imagine I write Skara somewhere in the middle. I know the version of Skara I write for Tumblr and AO3 isn’t exactly the same as the one in the show. But what differences there are, I try to write expansions to the original character, as opposed to contradictions. I often write headcannons, for instance, that Skara is an excellent cook. There’s no evidence for this in the show, of course, but there’s no evidence against it either. So, technically, one can say that this is a form of Schrödinger’s Skara: she is, and simultaneously is not, a good cook. And until Dana herself comes out to answer if Skara can or cannot cook, or some other cannon material answers that question, I’m freely allowed to believe she is, and choose to believe it. Likewise, there’s not a lot of evidence really that Skara is a chaotic bisexual gremlin with a stupidly big crush on Willow. But again, there’s no evidence to suggest she isn’t. So I’m still able to claim I’m writing Skara, just expanding on her.

But I’ll never say anything, like, ‘Skara is a lesbian who would never ever date a man,’ because that doesn’t pass the smell test. She clearly went on a date with a guy in Grom. So at that point I’m just contradicting the original Skara in a way that feels too OOC to reasonably match with her in the show.

So you’re probably asking, what in the nine circles of Hell does any of this have to do with Skara’s last name?

Simply put, whenever I try to think of a last name for Skara, I can't imagine a new Skara bubble forming at all. Giving her a last name makes me not think of her as Skara.

Names are important to identify a character by, far more so then just if they can cook or not. So if I decided to say, like "I headcannon that Skara's last name is Smith," now I feel less like I'm talking about Skara, the character from TOH, but Skara Smith, my OC that happens to have every defining characteristic of Skara from TOH, but still isn't her at all. Even if I gave Skara a last name, and Dana herself came out to say that the last name I gave her was correct, it would feel like I had separated my Skara too much from the original for her to even have a real hint of her essence. That's why I don't really give her a last name at all in any of my writings.

And yes, I've named characters surrounding Skara: Guitar Strings names her date from Grom as Ves, and I often write that Skara's Palisman is named Daisy. But those are just things that surround Skara, barely characters outside of her. Giving HER a name though... that... that's a bit more of a tall order for me.

HAVING SAID ALL THIS!

Here are a few suggestions I can think of for potential last names Skara might have. Just know, these aren't me saying "These are what I headcannon Skara's last name as," it' me saying "These could make potentially cute last names for Skara."

Brae - If you've ever searched up Skara without specifying 'The Owl House' or 'The Greatest Character Ever,' you've probably heard of Skara Brae. You can read about it from it's Wiki entry here, but essentially it's the incredibly well preserved, neolithic remains of a Scottish village. And more importantly in this case, probably where Skara got her first name. So making her last name Brae would be fitting, though admittedly a bit of a silly and lazy answer.

Bell - A bit of a more musical name, tying in with her status as a Bard, and one I like a bit better then Brae. For one, it ties more directly into Skara's personality, and it's more simple to understand. I also like that it somewhat sounds like Belle, as in the French word for beauty, which would fit her well. Finally, I can't deny that I now want a Christmas themed Skarlow one-shot called "Skara Bells," about Skara looking for the perfect gift for Willow during the holidays (which I've written about before here).

Strist - Not actually a real word, but an intense conjoining of the term "strategist," which is how I could best think to make a name to tie into her time as the Entrails strategist.

Cendre - The easiest of these to explain: It's simply French for 'ash,' like Skara's ashen hair.

Admittedly, I'm not particularly amazed with any of these answers, which is probably another reason I don't have a last name for Skara. But still, I hope you like these suggestions, and if you ever want to use them for a story yourself, I'd love to read it.

(Also, let's be real: We all know in the end it's gonna be Park anyway.)

#the owl house #skara #headcannon #Skara last name

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thedangerstranger · 1 year ago

Note

"what the fuck is up with that?" re: mx. danger's lycanthropy!

OOC

Well

you see

they were bitten by a werewolf

and are now a werewolf

shocking, i know.

more seriously, uh, fun fact! them being a werewolf came before their danger-based name when i was concepting them out. i'll give you three guesses as to why i chose what i did and the first two don't count. i think i'm funny like that.

they are, in many ways, meant to be a parallel and a reflection to the character they are descended from (who will get some screentime eventually!) and the lycanthropy is part of that — a very real potential risk, beast within, to mirror how their ancestor perceived herself. that's a whole separate ramble i could go on — and have. repeatedly.

so their character very much started as 'werewolf' and blossomed out from there into all of their traumas and quirks and neuroses, fed into how they perceive the world and people around them. a mx danger who ends up a werewolf in their timeline is never going to unbecome one because it's extremely central to them — a non-lycanthropic mx danger is subversive merely by that merit alone, becomes fundamentally very different. it's a fun idea to think about sometimes, but only really to think about. you're never (probably) gonna catch me writing long-form stuff about one of those mx dangers, because a lot of them isn't there. and what’s there in place of that could be very interesting, but it’s not what i want to focus on with them.

#pokeblogging #rotomblr #ask game #ooc

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au-drayton-shenanigans · 1 month ago

Text

//ooc post A ramble because I was thinking about things. It gets ramble-y but there's a funnies

I would have been working on a drawing I thought of early this morning but I been waiting for something to upload which requires the wifi being on and working while the wifi is on is oddly stressful. Have to zone out while using unity to put guys in vrchat but Whatever. Sooooo I haven't been drawing and I don't feel very social rn but since I'm online anyway and had silly thoughts, it's yapping time!

Been like a year or more since my last rewatch of the ryuusei no rockman (megaman star force) anime, but I recalled an episode where there was a comet or something like that flying over earth and while it was there it had a strange effect on the alien characters where it altered their personality. Real goofy.

I had a thought what if there was something like that that affected the celestials (what cloak guy is. big important deity figures in my silly little ginormous fantasy multiverse basically. the imagined creators of it who originally fled from a different multiverse and wanted to make their own place of bazillions of universes) It would be like some kind of (super)natural phenomenon where for a few days, there's a weird magic wave thing covering their entire multiverse. The source of it would probably originate from outside their multiverse. Somehow slipped in from a crack that the celestials would have to discover and deal with later >:)

But anyways it would cause some funny commotions. And I will be mentioning stuff from other au things that aren't relevant on this blog but I shall try and specify things when I need to.

First up the tale begins in the apocalypse au. Starting off, an au Grusha of mine is a celestial. He's wild and has a vicious nature. Verrrry fond of smashing through walls like the Kool-Aid man instead of using the door. Refuses to behave during meetings with other celestials. I think canon Grusha would be scared of him and Not because he's like 10 or more feet tall. He and apocalypse au Ryuki are :] a Couple. The celestials are technically genderless and every gender at the same time. Nobody is sure what kind of relationship they're in. The au Grusha is mainly referred to as "he" because the celestials collectively agreed it's easier to let the non-celestials use gendered terms. ANYWAYS

The au Grusha goes to visit apocalypse au Ryuki and... uses the door. This is of course concerning to the Ryuki, who is very used to having new holes in the wall every time the Grusha visits. He's fond of the wildness. Very rocking. Or something.

It gets worse when Ryuki makes a comment and Grusha says something like "well that would be impolite" and then he generally starts acting well behaved. Ryuki just gets more and more concerned. But like- the au Grusha who's a celestial has dominion over time so Ryuki would shrug it off as "oh something bad must happen in the future that can be prevented by doing whatever this is".

Onto the Bat household (idk what else to call it). Staying in the apocalypse au for this scenario too. The Kieran from the apocalypse au is a celestial, though he actually got the powers of one due to a series of events too long to go into right now. But he wasn't one originally. Nonetheless, he is affected because he is a celestial.

The Kieran is being very unserious and rambunctious. Bat and Carmine and their 3 children are confused watching Kieran laugh like a lunatic, tearing up the house.

Then Kieran turns into a werewolf because he was having emotions (of fun) that were strong enough to trigger the transformation. Because his werewolf powers are like that. He would roar and say "a werewolf? werewolves are lame!!!"

Carmine says "okay that's it. something is definitely wrong with him. i can't believe i'm saying this, but. Drayton, go bring that idiot bird here" (she's talking about cloak guy. she hateeeees him but can still acknowledge that if anyone could tell what's going on, it would be the leader of the celestials) (ouch. the multiverse's looniest toon is the leader of the big important deity figures. funny)

So Bat would go to the portal they had built in the basement to go to the clubhouse. But before we find out what happens there, I have a few other celestial situations I thought about.

An au Hop who's a celestial. He actually goes by the name Reaper instead of Hop so I'll call him that. He's got two domains: space and chaos. Or three domains if balance is considered. Chaos and balance are more considered one thing. He didn't mean to end up with two but the one who originally had dominion over space was died to death in a tragic moment and Reaper was the next most compatible. Sweet little guy who's silly and childish, yet (visually and actively) takes his responsibilities seriously. Likes baking sweets for people he cares about. And he has two Leons for reasons I won't get into detail on here. One's his real brother, the other is kind of an adopted brother who didn't get along with his actual Hop.

Anyways the affect it has on Reaper is he becomes evil. To the terror of his real brother, and to the amusement-soon-turned-concern of the other Leon. Where did Reaper get a chainsaw from? Oh wait one of his scythes can shapeshift. Looks like that scythe in the style of a chainsaw. Run. Oh no. He's no longer into the fun side of chaos. He's gone to the dark side. Until the mystery thingy is over that is.

Next onto an au Volo, who, like the Kieran, wasn't originally a celestial. But unlike Kieran, the celestial who decided to fuse to a random Volo wasn't malicious and actually helped this au Volo turn his life around for the better. This celestial has dominion over death. And he shares half of the custody of the afterlife dimension place and that's kind of an important role. (Cloak guy has the other half) Anyways this one is a totally strict rule-follower/maker who thinks celestials should not be around non-celestials without a really important reason. Really hates non-celestials and casualness. Though he finally started loosening up a little after deciding to be all buddy-buddy with a certain au Volo, he's still horribly strict and uptight.

It became party-time in the celestial realm and every non-celestial he was acquainted with was invited to join. Not all of them came to that party but it was a crazy few days in the celestial realm regardless.

Next up, an au Gloria. With dominion over dreams. Very cheerful personality, quite silly, thinks every Hop she sees around the multiverse is cute. Now she's chasing after every Bede she sees and is in a constant state of crying angry tears.

Finally, onto Cloak. The eldritch bird horror. Celestial with dominion over life. The one who gathered a group of rebel celestials to flee from the evil celestial of their old multiverse. The ringleader of the circus. Perhaps many circuses if you count all his friend groups as separate circuses. Oldest being around until the evil celestial king ruined it by attempting to steal a Kieran.

So what's the affect on him, I'm sure you, dear readers, are most likely wondering.

Bat arrives to the clubhouse, preparing to ask cloak guy to come figure out what's wrong with Kieran. And observes a sight so shocking that his jaw drops and he stands motionless. Unable to look away.

Cloak guy is doing acts of service and even jogging with notyarD. Voidray of all Draytons is surprised into being concerned and offers Cloak Guy some cheese, which he declines in favor of a turnip. A clean turnip. Fresh. Has not been on the floor nor in the garbage can, or even coated in broken glass. (3 of cloak guy's most favorite seasonings)

This gains gasps from several of the Draytons around. Cloak guy is sharing a pudding cup with notyarD. Then cloak guy has a basket of fresh clean fruit. he says stuff like "eat up! it's healthy" and he goes around passing them out to everyone except for the new vampire guy (Count Draycula) and Bat. Since for Draycula, things like fruit aren't really healthy. And it would actually kill Bat to consume anything aside from blood, raw flesh and bones.

Cloak guy gives Draycula some tea, which he can have. And when he gets to Bat, he gets all close up, cupping his chin in his hands. He says "You look pale, my friend. How long has it been since you had something to drink? I know you don't like hurting people. For their sakes you pretend you aren't thirsty as often as you really are, but here. Don't worry. I regenerate fast" and he kinda forces himself into Bat's arms dramatically and pulls his cloak from his neck to reveal it more.

Bat just drops him and is like "This is uncomfortable. Don't do that." he's so intimidated and freaked out that this is all he can say.

Cloak guy gets up and grabs Bat by the hands and he's like "Pleaseee? If you get a drink now, you're less likely to have to rely on others. Others who have less blood"

Bat is unnerved as flip obviously, but he can see the logic. So he goes for the bite. After this, cloak guy continues doing service. Even Wizard is taking advantage of this. Wizard definitely didn't trust the situation at first and still doesn't but he has decided to enjoy the lack of annoyance while he can. Free room service. Meanwhile Bat is still uncomfortable. In big part because of The Situation. Cloak guy's blood tastes like blood! That's so bizarre. To Bat, each person has some kind of distinct flavor. He's been given blood from someone who tasted like strawberry muffins for example. It's his only way of experiencing the flavors he had before he was cursed, but now if he wants potato chips he must find someone with potato chip flavored blood. Well, even before whatever this is, there have been times when Bat had no other choice and cloak guy's aways had blood-flavored blood to him. Not like it's any different than before. Why would it be anyway?

Bat's just having a crisis over here. Something is wrong with Kieran and cloak guy would presumably be the only shot at figuring out what's wrong. But cloak guy has something wrong with him too and it's not the usual variety of "there's something wrong with that bird".

A few days go by of cloak guy being helpful and polite and... active???? Bro is jogging and doing stuff that one would expect of notyarD. But not of cloak guy. He's never been so long without eating garbage or other hazardous things. What gives??

Bat is pacing around his room thinking of many possibilities when he hears the sound of the portal activating. He goes to check it out and Carmine, Hop, Victor, and Ryuki from his universe are there. That is an unstoppable team by the way. Very few would survive getting on the bad side of those people. Especially when they're together. Yikes. For all their own individual reasons.

Bat nervously asks what they're doing here. He's nervous exclusively about Hop. He has forgotten about the cloak guy situation at the sight of Hop. This is the Hop even cloak guy is scared of.

Anyways Carmine and the other 3 there explain to Bat that they found out what's going on and it's affecting all the celestials. It should go away after the strange magic wave or whatever thingy has left.

This is a relief because that means they won't need cloak guy's help in the first place.. unless Kieran kills someone while under the influence. Then they would need the bird to go retrieve a soul to shove back into a body or more.

The apocalypse au people go home to keep an eye on Kieran.

Soon, that stuff's finally over.

Bat returns to the clubhouse out of curiosity because the other Draytons were not given the message and he wants to see what kind of chaos is brought from cloak guy unexpectedly going back to normal.. cloak guy's version of normal.

Bat still has a mischievous side it just doesn't come out that often.

Annnd no way. Cloak guy is still under the affects of the thing. But it left already. What.....???????

Cloak guy spots Bat and levitates speedily over to him.

Bat is fearing another uncomfortable situation like before. It's weird, the bad kind of weird not the fun and cool kind of weird, to drink blood from another Drayton. And the personal space being violated like that made it worse. Bat is visibly shuddering at the recent memory.

Cloak guy just grins and starts pointing and laughing. Everyone else kinda gives each other "oh no the bird is back" glances. (Apart from those such as Drayka, Abra-Star or a few others, who prefers the insane bird as he is. or those who lack the awareness to understand: Voidray and notyarD. or Beast, who actually cares about cloak guy's wellbeing and has been worried this entire time)

The other celestials all had a "wait, what happened" kind of response to breaking free of the effects. Hardly any memories of the whole ordeals. Or that's what Bat heard. Why is cloak guy laughing so hard? Is it just cloak guy being cloak guy? The dude can and will laugh deeply for no reason on a regular basis. This isn't too out of the ordinary. But something about it can't help but seem suspicious.

Beast asks what's going on and Bat explains what he heard and that it had an effect on all celestials. Not just cloak guy.

Cloak guy stops laughing and is silent for like 5 seconds before he looks around at everyone and admits that it didn't actually affect him he just wanted to make everyone very confused and sometimes uncomfortable for his own amusement. (no idea why he was immune to it)

Master of committing to the bit even ran laps around the clubhouse with notyard.

What a lovely twist ending

#ooc post #au infodump #//<- it counts i guess

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darkintothedawn · 2 months ago

Text

THE BEAST'S BEAUTY || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Male reader

Summary — Stiles isn't expecting much when he decides to go with Scott to the Beacon Hill Art Gallery but then he's finding photos of him half shifted and his night is ending with kisses to his hand a possible date around the corner.

Memo— Two fics in one day? Who have I become?

Word Count — 6579

Warnings — Fluff. Rambling Stiles. Possibly ooc. Werewolf!Stiles.

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

The Beacon Hills High gym was alive with energy, buzzing with chatter and the occasional laughter of students admiring each other’s work. Rows of booths, each showcasing different forms of artistic expression, filled the space. Paintings of moody landscapes, abstract sculptures made from metal and clay, and delicate sketches lined the walls. There was even a section where a group of students had set up an interactive digital art display, flickering with shifting neon hues.

The scent of fresh paint and glue from last-minute touch-ups lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of sweat from the athletes who usually occupied the gym. The soft hum of classical music played over the speakers, an attempt to make the event feel more sophisticated, though it was occasionally drowned out by excited conversations and the beeping of a cash register at a fundraising table selling snacks.

Stiles didn’t particularly care for art shows—not because he didn’t like art, but because the last time he’d attended one, he had spent half the night trying to convince Coach Finstock that someone hadn’t actually painted a demonic summoning circle on their canvas. It turned out to be abstract symbolism or whatever, but given the things Stiles had seen in this town, he wasn’t taking any chances.

So, to say he wasn’t expecting this to be the thing that made his pulse spike was an understatement.

He walked alongside Scott, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, trying to act as though he wasn’t paying attention to the hushed whispers surrounding a particular booth toward the back of the gym.

It had started as just another rumour. Did you hear? He actually caught something on camera last week. No way, those were just blurry shadows. No, I’m serious—everyone who’s seen them says they’re insane.

Stiles hadn’t thought much of it at first. He was used to people running their mouths about supernatural nonsense, and half the time, it was nothing more than someone thinking they saw a werewolf when it was just a particularly large dog.

But then, it kept coming up.

And it wasn’t just the usual “ghost story” nonsense. People weren’t scared—they were fascinated.

“I swear, if they actually have a picture of the Beast, I’m going to—” Stiles muttered, his voice low enough that only Scott could hear.

Scott shot him a curious glance. “You’re gonna what?”

Stiles opened his mouth, but he had nothing. What was he going to do? Demand you take them down? He wasn’t exactly in a position to go throwing accusations around when he was the thing you were allegedly photographing.

Scott smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Stiles huffed but kept walking. He could already hear snippets of conversation from the group gathered around your booth.

Stiles felt his stomach twist. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but something about the way people were reacting made his skin prickle with unease.

“This is insane. How did you even get that close?”

“Did you use a long exposure lens or something? The detail is unreal.”

“Honestly, I thought all those stories were just bull, but damn.”

Scott’s smirk had faded, his expression shifting into something more curious than amused. “Okay,” he admitted, “I kinda want to see this now.”

They reached the edge of the crowd, and Stiles’s breath caught in his throat.

Your booth was set up with the same careful attention to detail you put into your work. The photos were mounted on sleek black boards, displayed in a way that felt almost curated rather than slapped together for a high school event. You’d strung up dim fairy lights, giving the whole thing a soft, ambient glow. And the centrepiece of it all?

Images of him.

Stiles barely registered the stunning shots of the forest at night, the way the moonlight cut through the trees, the artful balance of shadow and light. No, his brain short-circuited when he saw the pictures.

Him. Half-shifted.

Amber eyes glowing. Claws flexing. The sharp curve of his fangs visible in a half-snarl, frozen in time. The way his body seemed to blend seamlessly into the forest, the undeniable presence of the creature captured with a level of skill that honestly made Stiles wonder if you moonlit as a National Geographic photographer.

It wasn’t grainy, shaky footage taken from someone’s crappy iPhone. It wasn’t some blurry shadow that could be passed off as a trick of the light.

It was him.

And it was…

Beautiful.

He could see why people were talking. Why no one was running in terror but rather staring in something closer to awe.

You had captured something primal, something both inhuman and undeniably alive.

And then he heard your voice.

You were talking to someone, completely lost in your own world, eyes shining as you gestured toward the images.

“People always focus on how terrifying it is,” you were saying, enthusiasm lacing your words. “But look at it—look at the symmetry, the way the light catches in its eyes. It’s like it belongs in the woods. It’s not just some mindless monster. There’s something human in it, you know?”

Stiles forgot how to breathe.

Scott went rigid beside him, finally seeming to realize what they were looking at.

“Oh,” Scott whispered.

That was it. Just oh.

Because what else was there to say?

You weren’t just intrigued by the Beast of Beacon Hills. You weren’t trying to prove it was real for fame or to expose the supernatural world.

You were captivated by it. By him.

And then—because of course this was how it was going to go—Scott, naturally, took the opportunity to make things so much worse.

Stiles had faced terrifying things before. He had gone toe-to-toe with murderous alpha werewolves, outsmarted ancient trickster spirits, and even once had a screaming match with Peter Hale, which was, in hindsight, probably more dangerous than either of the first two.

But this?

This was new.

This was worse.

Because standing in front of him, in the middle of the Beacon Hills High art show, completely oblivious to the existential crisis you were throwing him into, was you.

And you were looking at him—well, Beast Him—with something bordering on awe.

Scott, of course, was eating this up, which only made Stiles’s suffering worse.

“Huh,” Scott mused, tapping his chin with a thoughtful expression that Stiles knew was just a front for the pure, unfiltered amusement dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could call it beautiful. You know, if you’re into that.”

Stiles choked.

Scott smirked, but you barely seemed to notice. You were too busy admiring your own work, gesturing to the images with a look of quiet reverence, the kind of expression someone might wear when talking about a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre.

“I mean, look at it,” you said, leaning forward, eyes bright as they scanned over the photographs. “The proportions are incredible—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, the way the light highlights the angles of its face? It’s like something out of a fairy-tale. And the eyes…”

Oh no. Oh no.

Stiles could feel his soul leaving his body.

“The eyes?” Scott prompted, because he was an asshole.

You nodded enthusiastically, completely unaware of how the words you were about to say would ruin Stiles’s life forever.

“They’re so expressive,” you said, voice full of admiration. “Like, sure, they glow and that’s objectively cool, but there’s something behind them—something intelligent. And not just ‘animal smart’ like a predator hunting its prey. There’s depth. Emotion. It’s like they’re saying something without ever needing to speak.”

Stiles’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

You turned your head slightly, looking at another one of the images—one where he was caught mid-movement, partially crouched, muscles taut beneath his skin.

“And it’s not just the eyes,” you continued, oblivious to the way Stiles was visibly dying beside you. “Look at the stance—everything about the way it holds itself is so human. There’s this tension, like it’s constantly holding itself back, like it’s fighting between instinct and thought.”

Scott snorted.

Stiles whipped his head toward him, eyes screaming shut up right now before I commit a crime.

But Scott was far too entertained.

“Oh wow,” he murmured, biting back a grin. “That’s… really insightful. You’ve really, uh, thought about this, huh?”

You gave him a puzzled look. “Well, yeah. It’s fascinating. I mean, people talk about the Beast like it’s just some mindless monster, but when you really look at it? There’s more going on. It’s almost like…” You trailed off, thoughtful. “Like it’s hiding something.”

Stiles felt his knees buckle.

Scott made a soft hmm sound, nodding. “Yeah, I can see that. Something… hidden. Something human.”

He gave Stiles a sideways glance, grinning when he caught the look of pure, undiluted suffering on his face.

You didn’t notice.

You were still lost in your own world, eyes darting between the images as you spoke, completely unbothered by the growing meltdown occurring in real-time next to you.

“And honestly, the whole figure is just… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s strong, obviously, but not in a bulky way. It’s more—” you waved a hand in the air, searching for the right word “—lean. Defined, but not overwhelming. The kind of build that’s built for speed, not just power. Which makes sense, considering how fast it moves. But then there are the details, too—like the hands? Have you seen them?”

Scott, to his credit, was holding in his laughter incredibly well.

Stiles, on the other hand, was vibrating out of existence.

“The hands?” Scott echoed, playing dumb just to watch Stiles suffer.

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah! They’re just—God, I don’t know, perfect? Like, clawed but still dexterous? There’s something about them that just seems like they should be dangerous, but at the same time, they’re almost… elegant.”

Stiles was going to pass out.

“I mean,” you continued, “If you really look at them, they’re not that different from normal hands. The fingers are just a little longer, a little sharper, but the way they move? Still so human. And then there’s the posture—”

Stiles whimpered.

Scott straight-up cackled.

You blinked, looking between the two of them with a frown. “What?”

Scott took a deep breath, composing himself just enough to not burst into another fit of laughter. “Oh, nothing,” he said, voice strained with amusement. “I just love how into this you are.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in your expression. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Scott nodded, barely suppressing another laugh. “Oh yeah, for sure. Really interesting. Fascinating, even.”

Stiles shot him a murderous glare, silently promising death.

You, of course, were still completely oblivious.

“You guys are weird,” you muttered, shaking your head before turning back to admire your photos.

Scott grinned. “Welcome to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles wanted to die.

He had been possessed by a literal demonic entity, hunted by supernatural assassins, and, on more than one occasion, had willingly thrown himself between his best friend and certain death with nothing but a bat and sheer audacity. He had seen things that should’ve left him rocking in a corner somewhere, mumbling about existential horror and the fragility of life.

But this?

This was something he had never once prepared for.

Because this was you, standing in the middle of the Beacon Hills High art show, surrounded by walls of photographic evidence of his secret werewolf form, and fawning over it like it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life.

And you weren’t just admiring it. No, that would’ve been normal—or at least as normal as things ever got in Beacon Hills. Instead, you were standing there, staring at those photos, voice full of something almost like wonder, completely oblivious to the way Stiles was actively trying not to combust right next to you.

You tilted your head slightly, studying the largest image—the one where he was caught mid-motion, muscles coiled with barely restrained power, glowing eyes staring straight into the camera like he was looking through it.

“I need to see it again,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Stiles choked on air.

Scott stiffened beside him, clearly holding back laughter.

But you weren’t paying attention to either of them. Your gaze stayed locked on the image, brow furrowing slightly, as if you were frustrated by your own work.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, gesturing at the prints, “These are good. I got some decent shots. But it’s not enough. I was still too far away.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, trying to process the fact that you—the same person who had voluntarily climbed onto the school roof last semester on a dare, just to get a “Better angle” of the town skyline—were now actively disappointed that you hadn’t been closer to the literal monster in the woods.

“I need to get closer next time,” you said with absolute certainty, completely oblivious to the silent, screaming meltdown happening just inches away from you. “A proper close-up, something that really captures the details. The way it moves, the structure of its face—God, especially its face.”

Stiles was going to die.

Scott, meanwhile, was thriving.

You sighed, shaking your head. “The photos don’t do it justice.”

“Oh?” Scott mused, eyes glinting with amusement. “And what would do it justice?”

Your lips parted, and then—without a hint of irony, without even realizing you were about to obliterate Stiles’ entire existence—you said,

“Seeing it up close. In person.”

Stiles whimpered.

Scott was going to explode.

“Just imagine,” you continued, completely lost in your own world, “Seeing it up close. Watching how it moves, how its muscles shift beneath its skin, how its breath fogs up in the cold. And the eyes—”

Not the eyes, oh my God, please don’t talk about the eyes, Stiles mentally begged.

“The way they glow?” you mused, still staring at the image. “It’s not just the color. It’s the expression. It’s not empty, you know? There’s something behind them. It’s so—”

You exhaled, searching for the right word, then finally landed on,

“Stunning.”

Stiles made a tiny, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Scott, no longer even pretending to be a good friend, let out a sharp, amused breath through his nose.

It wasn’t fair. Stiles had spent years being the awkward one, the guy no one ever looked at like that. He had been third-wheeling his own life since middle school. And now, here you were, full-on swooning over him without even realizing it—except you thought you were talking about some cryptid, some unknown, unreachable creature, not the awkward disaster standing right next to you.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Scott shot Stiles a look, and Stiles knew that if he didn’t stop this soon, Scott would never let it go.

Desperate to put an end to this spiral before it got any worse, Stiles tried to play it cool—tried to act like this wasn’t the most surreal, unhinged experience of his life.

“Okay,” he croaked, “But, like. In a normal, human way, right?”

You blinked, only now noticing how weirdly they were acting. “What?”

You blinked at Stiles, confused by the sheer panic in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Stiles’ mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, as if he was trying to find any way to phrase his next sentence that wouldn’t make this whole situation worse. Spoiler alert: there wasn’t one.

Scott was still watching with barely contained amusement, clearly enjoying every second of this absolute train wreck unfolding in real time.

“I just mean,” Stiles tried, hands twitching like he wanted to physically grab the words out of the air and rearrange them, “You think it’s… y’know…” He waved a vague, flustered hand toward the wall of photos. “Beautiful in a totally objective way, right? Like an artistic appreciation type of thing? Not in a—” He cut himself off, looking horrified by whatever he had almost said.

Your frown deepened. “What other way would I mean it?”

Scott snorted. Stiles looked like he wanted to die on the spot.

“I mean, you did say stunning,” Scott added helpfully. “Not interesting, or cool, or even weirdly majestic—you said stunning.”

“Well, yeah.” You nodded, as if that was obvious. “Because it is.”

Stiles was two seconds from full-body vibrating out of existence.

Scott’s grin only widened. “And you need to see it again?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, with conviction.

Stiles let out a tiny, pained sound.

“I barely got a glimpse of it in person,” you continued, crossing your arms. “I want to see it properly, up close. Maybe even interact with it—if it would let me, of course.”

Scott choked on his laughter.

Stiles, meanwhile, was spiralling. He could not deal with this. This was not something he had ever prepared for. Because no one—not a single person in his entire life—had ever looked at him, human or half-shifted, and said, Wow, you’re beautiful.

And sure, technically, you weren’t saying it about him, but that only made it worse because you were saying it with so much sincerity—like you were actually entranced by him, even if you didn’t know it.

Before he could stop himself, before his brain could engage even a little, Stiles blurted out—

“So, what, you’re like Beauty in Beauty and the Beast but, y’know… a dude. And a photographer. Instead of, like, books.”

Silence.

A long, painful silence.

Stiles winced so hard he nearly folded in on himself.

Oh my God, oh my God, why do I open my mouth? He knew this was going to happen. He knew he was going to say something stupid and ruin another social interaction and have to go live in the woods like a cryptid himself—

“Oh,” you said thoughtfully.

Stiles froze.

Scott froze.

Wait.

You weren’t laughing. You weren’t giving him a weird look. You weren’t brushing it off like a joke.

You were… considering it.

Scott wheeze-laughed so hard he had to turn away.

“You’re—” Stiles’ voice came out strangled. “You’re actually thinking about that?”

You shrugged, tilting your head as if genuinely debating the logistics of it. “I mean… I’d have to think about it,” you admitted. “It’d depend on a few things.”

Scott lost it.

“Depend on a few things?!” Stiles repeated, voice cracking as he gawked at you.

Scott nearly doubled over.

You barely even reacted to the sheer panic radiating from Stiles. Instead, you tapped a finger against your chin, deep in thought. “Yeah. Like, could it have an actual conversation? Or would it just be all growling and cryptic one-liners?”

Stiles blacked out for a second.

Scott, still grinning, nudged him with his elbow. “Oh, I promise you, it’s very chatty.”

You hummed, nodding. “See, that’d help its case. Communication is important.”

Stiles made a noise that wasn’t human.

“And then, obviously, there’s the Harkness test.”

Scott straight-up choked on his own breath.

Stiles turned bright red. “Oh my God.”

Scott wiped away an actual tear from his eye. “Oh my God.”

You shrugged again, entirely unfazed. “I mean, it’s a hypothetical. But if we’re playing along, I do have standards.”

Scott was grinning so wide it looked like his face was going to split in half. “So, just to clarify,” he said, eyes gleaming, “You’re saying you’d consider it. Depending.”

You nodded again, entirely serious. “Yeah. Depending.”

Scott clapped a firm hand on Stiles’s shoulder, looking like all of his Christmases had come at once. “Congrats, dude. You might have a chance.”

Stiles made a tiny, broken noise.

Scott grinned. “You’re literally his type.”

Stiles covered his face with both hands.

You just blinked, still a little confused but rolling with it anyway. “Huh.”

Scott leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you like freckles? A strong jawline? A lean but athletic build?”

You frowned in thought. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

Scott barely held back his cackle. “No reason.”

Stiles, still hiding his face, groaned. “Scott, I swear to God—”

But it was too late.

Scott had won.

Scott was having the time of his life.

Stiles, on the other hand, looked like he was two seconds from digging a hole in the middle of the art show floor and launching himself straight into the earth’s core.

You, completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening beside you, were still staring at your photos with that same thoughtful expression, like you were mentally deconstructing every angle, every shadow, every detail of the creature you had captured.

Scott, catching the way your fingers itched for your camera, the way your gaze practically burned with fascination, decided that he was not done making Stiles’ life a nightmare.

“Alright,” Scott said, far too casually, crossing his arms. “So, let’s say this thing—” he gestured vaguely toward the photos, “—Has a human form, right?”

You hummed, nodding slightly, already running with the idea. “Yeah, I was actually thinking about that. Most cryptid sightings have some kind of lore behind them, and a lot of cultures have stories about shapeshifters. I mean, look at werewolves.”

Stiles flinched.

Scott barely held back a grin. “So you think it’s a werewolf?”

You shrugged, eyes still locked on the images. “It fits, doesn’t it? The eyes, the claws, the full moon connection. It’s pretty classic werewolf mythology, though the design is way more interesting than the usual ‘giant wolf’ thing.”

Scott nodded, his expression way too neutral to be innocent. “Okay. So let’s say it is a werewolf. That means it’s gotta have a human form, right?”

You nodded again, not noticing the way Stiles was looking more and more like he wanted to evaporate on the spot.

Scott rubbed his chin, still playing it so casual. “So, hypothetically… what do you think it looks like?”

You tilted your head slightly, considering. “Hm. Hard to say. I mean, if I had a better look at its body structure, I could probably make an educated guess, but…”

Scott beamed. “Oh, no worries. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Stiles whipped his head toward Scott, silently screaming at him not to do this.

Scott ignored him entirely.

“So let’s say, in human form, it’s…” He paused, as if carefully constructing the perfect description in his head, and then— “Lean, but still fit, you know? Like you said before. Not overly muscular, but strong. Agile. More on the wiry side.”

You nodded along, lips pressing together in thought. “Makes sense. The way it moves, it’s definitely built for speed. Not a tank, but something fast, something with stamina.”

Scott’s smile widened. “Exactly. And maybe it’s got freckles, right?”

Stiles’ stomach dropped.

“Oh, definitely,” Scott continued, still acting oblivious. “Like, a lot of freckles. All over. Especially on its face.”

You made a small, intrigued noise. “That’d be cool. The contrast would be interesting. Light freckles, maybe? Something subtle, but noticeable up close.”

Stiles made an actual strangled sound.

Scott soldiered on, clearly thriving. “And obviously, it’d have really expressive eyes. You know, the kind that are always moving, always full of emotion, like you can read every thought it has if you just look close enough.”

You let out a breath, nodding along, your gaze flickering to the biggest photo on the wall again. “Yeah… that fits. Something really alive.”

Stiles was going to die.

Scott wasn’t done.

“Oh! And messy hair.” Scott snapped his fingers. “Like, perpetually windswept. Something that always looks like it’s just barely holding itself together.”

You let out a soft chuckle, clearly picturing it now. “That definitely makes sense. The wildness in the shifted form, the way it moves—it makes sense the human version wouldn’t be too polished either.”

Scott nodded seriously. “Right, right. Maybe brown hair. Kind of fluffy but always a little out of control.”

Stiles whimpered.

Scott grinned. “And maybe a strong jawline, too? Like, sharp enough that it kinda throws you off at first, ‘cause it doesn’t quite match the rest of the soft features, but once you notice it, you can’t unsee it?”

You let out a thoughtful hum. “Yeah… that’d be striking. The mix of softness and sharpness. Something kinda unpredictable, in a good way.”

Stiles, fully malfunctioning, buried his face in his hands.

Scott, barely suppressing his laughter, turned back to you. “So, hypothetically, would that be your type?”

You stood there, arms crossed, deep in thought. Scott waited, all too patient, watching as you actually considered it. Stiles, meanwhile, was in the middle of an out-of-body experience.

Finally, you exhaled through your nose, tilting your head slightly. “I dunno. I think I need more to go on.”

Stiles visibly tensed. Scott, on the other hand, lit up like you had just handed him a golden opportunity—which, in a way, you had.

“Yeah?” Scott asked, stroking his chin like he was really putting effort into this little creative exercise. “Alright, I can work with that.”

Stiles shot him a desperate look, but Scott ignored it entirely.

“So, let’s see,” Scott continued. “This werewolf’s gotta have a lot of energy, right? The type that just never really goes away, like it’s always buzzing under the surface. Like, even when it’s standing still, you can kinda feel it vibrating.”

You made a small, interested noise. “That makes sense. There was something about its stance in the pictures—like it was always ready to move. Like it never fully relaxes.”

“Exactly,” Scott said, grinning. “And it’s gotta be smart, too. Quick-witted, always thinking, always planning, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Maybe a little too smart for its own good sometimes.”

Stiles groaned quietly into his hands.

Scott wasn’t done.

“Oh, and expressive,” he added, snapping his fingers. “Like, really expressive. Can’t hide a single thought to save its life. Everything just kinda plays out on its face, y’know?”

You huffed a small laugh, nodding. “That definitely tracks. The way it moves, the body language—it’s like it wears its emotions on its sleeve, even in that form.”

Scott smirked, barely biting back a chuckle as he went in for the kill.

“And maybe—just maybe—it talks a lot.”

Stiles whipped his head toward him in pure betrayal.

Scott kept going. “Like, the type to ramble when it’s nervous. Kinda awkward, but in a way that’s more endearing than anything. A little chaotic, but with a good heart, y’know?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, amused. “Honestly? That would make it so much better. A lot of these cryptids get portrayed as all mysterious and broody, but I like the idea of one that’s just talkative as hell.”

Scott grinned, shooting Stiles the smuggest look imaginable. “Right? Gives it personality.”

Stiles was dying.

He was actively dying.

Stiles, for lack of a better term, was fried.

He was completely, irreversibly, brain-meltingly fried.

His brain had not just short-circuited—no, that would imply there was still some kind of function left. His brain had blue-screened. It had died a tragic death, and there was no reboot in sight.

Meanwhile, Scott was thriving.

“Oh, Stiles,” Scott cooed, clearly holding back evil levels of laughter. “I think that question was directed at you.”

Stiles did not respond. He could not respond.

He was too busy having a full-blown existential crisis.

Because what was he supposed to do with this information?!

You—the same you who had been fearlessly throwing yourself into danger for years, the same you who had stared down a literal monster through a camera lens without flinching, the same you who had spent this entire conversation waxing poetic about the so-called ‘Beacon Hills Beast’—had basically just said, in no uncertain terms, that you would be into him.

Him. Stiles.

Not hypothetically into some imaginary werewolf dude.

Not into some random, fictionalized version of a shapeshifter.

No, you were into that exact description—which was literally just him.

And you didn’t just say you liked it. You said it was hot.

You said you’d go for him—as long as he’d go for you, too.

Which meant—

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed.

You blinked at him, frowning slightly. “Uh. You good?”

Scott was grinning like a madman.

“Oh, he’s great,” Scott said, slapping Stiles on the back, nearly sending him into another dimension. “Aren’t you, bud?”

Stiles made a noise that sounded vaguely like a dying animal.

You raised an eyebrow. “You guys are acting weird.”

Scott’s grin widened. “Am I? I don’t think I am.”

You turned to Stiles, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been hit by a semi-truck made of pure realization.

“You, though?” you added, tilting your head slightly. “You look like you’re having a crisis.”

“I am having a crisis,” Stiles blurted out, voice cracking slightly.

You frowned, confused. “Why?”

Scott lost it. He actually had to turn away, covering his mouth, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Stiles turned to him, wild-eyed and panicked.

Scott, still laughing, very pointedly did not offer him a way out.

Which meant Stiles had to deal with this on his own.

Oh God.

He turned back to you, swallowing thickly, his entire body burning with embarrassment. “Uh.” He licked his lips. “You do realize—like, you get that you were literally just describing me, right?”

You stared at him. Blinked.

Then—

Then, your eyes widened just slightly, something clicking in your expression.

Stiles braced himself, fully expecting you to be weirded out, to backpedal, to laugh and say, “Oh, crap, I didn’t even realize, never mind—”

Instead—

Instead, you tilted your head, really looking at him now.

And then—then—

You let out a soft, almost delighted hum.

“Oh,” you said simply, blinking at him in quiet realization.

Oh?! OH?!

Stiles gawked at you. “Oh?! That’s all you have to say?!”

You shrugged. “I mean, you do fit all the descriptions.”

Stiles felt faint.

You studied him, gaze flicking over his face, his features, your lips pressing together thoughtfully before you suddenly let out a short breath.

“Damn,” you muttered, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, I’d definitely be into you.”

Stiles made an actual choking noise.

Scott fully doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

You, meanwhile, just stood there, completely unfazed, nodding to yourself like you had just made a scientific discovery.

And Stiles—poor, poor Stiles—just sat there, burning alive, barely processing the fact that he had somehow, some way, stumbled into the most unbelievable conversation of his life.

Stiles was still processing—or rather, failing to process—what had just happened when you suddenly turned to Scott, completely unfazed, and asked,

“Wait, why did you describe Stiles so perfectly for that hypothetical?”

Scott wheezed.

Stiles whipped his head toward you, eyes still wild with disbelief. “Are you—Are you seriously only just now questioning that?!”

You shrugged, like this was normal—like this whole situation was just another casual conversation. “I mean, I was busy thinking about how hot the werewolf sounded.”

Stiles made another one of those tiny, pained noises.

Scott, still grinning like a menace, just patted him on the back again, which somehow felt even more patronizing than before.

“But, like,” you continued, turning back to Scott, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “Was that just a coincidence, or was there a reason for it?”

Scott bit his lip like he was trying so hard not to laugh. “What do you think?”

You pursed your lips, tapping a finger against your chin in thought. Then, after a moment, you hummed. “Oh! Is it because Stiles is kinda a social outcast?”

Stiles visibly recoiled. “Excuse me?!”

You held up a hand, your expression completely neutral. “No offense.”

“That is so offensive,” Stiles sputtered. “You can’t just say that and then act like it’s not offensive—”

“I just mean,” you interrupted, waving a hand vaguely, “He’s, like, always been kind of an odd one out, right? I mean, I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but a lot of people don’t really get him.”

Stiles gawked at you, jaw on the floor.

Scott, meanwhile, was absolutely delighted.

You weren’t even done.

“Like, he’s not a loner, obviously,” you continued, “He has friends—but he’s weird, y’know? Just a little too much for a lot of people. Talks too fast, thinks too fast, does things that don’t always make sense to other people.”

Stiles made a strangled noise. “I—?!—”

Scott nodded sagely. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You pointed at him. “Right?! Like, people like him, but they don’t always get him.”

Scott hummed in agreement, then shot Stiles a mischievous look. “But some people do get him.”

Stiles buried his face in his hands.

You just shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I think he’s great.”

Scott beamed. “Oh, I know you do.”

Stiles groaned.

Stiles had faced a lot in his life.

He had stared down death more times than he could count, had fought monsters, had gotten possessed by an actual demonic entity, had spent most of his teenage years just barely avoiding getting ripped to shreds by something bigger, meaner, and way more supernatural than him.

And yet—yet none of that had prepared him for this.

For you.

For this entire conversation.

For the way you had so effortlessly dropped the casual equivalent of an actual, real-life confession in front of him, as if his brain was capable of processing something like that.

Because no one had ever been into him before.

Not like this.

Not so openly, so blatantly, with zero hesitation.

But there you were, just standing there, looking completely at ease as you pulled out a sleek, professional-looking business card—because of course you had business cards, you were insanely talented—and held it out to him.

“Anyway,” you said, like this was just a totally normal conversation and not something that was actively rewiring his entire brain chemistry, “If you swing that way, I’d really love to go on a date with you.”

Scott choked.

Stiles froze.

His entire body locked up, and he knew—he just knew that if someone were to poke him right now, he’d probably fall over like a stiff plank of wood.

Because—because—

“What?!” he squawked.

You blinked at him, brow slightly furrowed. “What, do you not?”

And, okay. That was a fair question, considering he had just been having a full-blown existential crisis over the fact that you found him hot.

But still—

“I—No, I do!” he blurted out, voice cracking slightly as he flailed his hands, his brain still trying to catch up. “I definitely do, I just—what?!”

Scott, who had clearly decided to become an agent of chaos today, was wheezing with laughter, practically doubled over from how hard he was trying to hold it in.

Meanwhile, you were just standing there, looking at Stiles like he was the one being weird about this.

“I mean, Scott basically just pointed it out,” you said, so casually it was physically hurting Stiles, “And now that I think about it, you really do sound like the perfect guy for me.”

Brain. Gone.

Stiles’ soul left his body.

His entire world tilted for a second, and he had to actually remind himself to breathe.

Because you had just—just—

Scott had to turn away, shoulders shaking violently, because he was barely containing himself.

Stiles, helplessly, made some kind of wild, flustered hand gesture. “You—You can’t just say that so casually—”

“Why not?” you asked, tilting your head, your expression completely genuine.

Stiles gawked at you.

“Do you want me to be dramatic about it?” you added. “Throw in some poetry? Drop to one knee?”

Stiles made a wounded noise.

Scott, who was having the time of his life, nodded encouragingly. “I think he’d explode if you did that.”

“True,” you agreed, sounding almost disappointed that you wouldn’t get to test that theory. Instead, you finally placed the business card in Stiles’ still-outstretched, slightly trembling hand. “So, yeah. Think about it. No pressure or anything, but I’d really love to take you out.”

And then—

You kissed his hand.

Softly, briefly, but deliberately.

And Stiles died on the spot.

Scott audibly gasped like he was watching the most dramatic romance movie of all time.

Stiles malfunctioned.

Because people didn’t do that anymore.

That was a medieval thing. A lady and gentleman thing.

And—And if anything, you would be the lady in this scenario and—

Wait.

Wait, no, that didn’t make sense because you were a dude.

Would that even work?

Were there even gay relationships back then?

Would a knight have kissed another guy’s hand? Or would they both be the gentleman? Would they take turns? Was there, like, a rule for this?

Oh God, was he overthinking this?!

Oh God, was he underthinking this?!

Scott, who had clearly noticed the way Stiles’ entire existence was falling apart in real time, turned to him with a huge, mischievous grin.

“So, Stiles?” he prompted, his tone way too entertained.

Stiles squeaked.

And then—because clearly, clearly, you had been sent from the heavens to ruin him—you flipped his hand over and pressed another soft, deliberate kiss to the back of it.

Stiles forgot how to function as a person.

Scott actually gasped again, like he was watching the peak of cinematic romance unfold right in front of him.

And Stiles—Stiles was spiralling.

Because—because—

Because, logically, this didn’t make sense.

Someone like you—someone beautiful and talented and stupidly fearless—couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like him.

And yes, okay, maybe you’d just spent the last fifteen minutes accidentally waxing poetic about how stunning you thought the Beacon Hills Beast was, and yes, maybe that was him, but—

But that was different.

Because that was the beast.

That was the dark, half-wild thing that lurked in the woods, the thing people only spoke about in hushed whispers, the thing he couldn’t always control.

And even if you were into that for some reason—which, apparently, you were?!—that didn’t mean you’d actually be into him.

Not like this.

Not as Stiles.

Because Stiles was too much. Too weird. Too loud.

People tolerated him, but they didn’t—

“Seriously,” you hummed, completely unaware of the breakdown happening right in front of you. “You might be the perfect guy for me.”

Stiles blushed so hard he nearly passed out.

Scott, who had clearly sensed that Stiles was reaching his absolute limit, just grinned, delighted by the absolute chaos of it all.

And then—then you casually waved a hand toward the rest of the bustling art show like none of this had just happened and said, “Anyway, unless you guys actually want to buy something, you’ve taken up too much of my time. I have other customers.”

Stiles made another tiny, wounded noise.

Scott actually had to turn away to compose himself.

Because—because, oh yeah. The Beacon Hills Annual Art Showcase. That thing they had technically come here for.

Stiles felt like he had just been hit by a truck.

And you—you just stood there, completely unbothered, waiting for them to either buy something or leave.

Scott, to his eternal shame, actually had to pull Stiles away from the booth, because he was still standing there, holding your business card, shell-shocked.

And Scott—Scott was never letting him live this down.

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