Stiles
doesn’t want to be dramatic, but he’s destined to die alone.
First
there was Lydia. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, seeing as he
never actually dated
Lydia
That
doesn’t mean he didn’t love her though, because he did, and
that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he finally accepted the fact
that they were never going to be together, because it ached in
the worst possible way. (He
ate his way through an entire tray of cupcakes the day she told him
she really did love Jackson
Whittemore, he’s still not entirely over it.)
Then
of course there’s Heather, and okay maybe he wasn’t infatuated with
her like he was with Lydia. The thing is, he’d known Heather since
they were kids and they’d always been friends, so when they finally
started dating once he was eighteen, he’d figured this was it. They
were going to be together forever. He’s
always been a long term planner. He’s always committed himself
one-hundred percent to the people he cares about. One-hundred
percent.
So
two months in when Heather told him she thought things were moving
too fast and she that wanted to take a break, he was understandably a
teensy bit crushed. (He may of eaten an entire chocolate bundt cake
to himself in one afternoon.)
And
now finally there was Danny.
Fuck.
He
scrubs a hand over his face in frustration.
Danny
was the first guy he’d ever dated. The first proper relationship
he’d ever had. They’d been together pretty much all the way through
college. Their relationship built on the strongest of foundations, a
shared love of video games, sarcasm and Ryan Gosling. Hell, they’d
been talking about moving in together. Stiles had been happy.
He
thought Danny had been too.
Apparently
not.
Apparently
Stiles isn’t the one.
Is
there even a one? Stiles is beginning to doubt that. It’s probably
just a lie promoted by Hollywood and greetings card companies.
“Have you heard of this Alpha?” Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it’s heavy and doesn’t sit well on Scott. He can’t shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.
“I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories.”
…is this supposed to be considered weird? I don’t get it.
I think it’s more that it was an unexpected feature. I’m glad it’s there.
Yeah I actually found it while prepping for brain surgery, and was incredibly relieved that it was a built-in feature and not something I’d have to leave convoluted instructions about or whatever. It’s a bit morbid, sure, but it’s a great feature.
…an unexpected but very appreciated feature.
Another reminder that AO3 was created by women who’ve been in fandom for decades and have gone through the loss of fandom friends and had to worry about what to do with this little accidental shrine.
Look, sometimes murders of crows will blacken the sky at your coming and ravening wolves are gonna follow in your wake, and you’re just gonna have to deal with that, and everybody else in the Costco is just gonna have to deal too
Finnish soldier gets separated from the rest of his unit but he’s the only one carrying the emergency amphetamines for the unit, takes too many and goes on a one man rampage for like 2 weeks straight giving the opposing Soviet soldiers nightmares for decades. Oh and he did it all on skis.
Did he survive?
Yes, during his methed up 2-3 week rampage he got injured by a land mine, travelled 400km on skis, and only ate pine buds and a Siberian Jay that he caught which he ate raw. When he made it back to Finnish lines he was taken to a hospital where it was found his heart rate was nearly 200 beats per minute and his weight had dropped to 43kg (94.7lbs).
His name was Aimo Koivunen if you want to look him up
Those are the eyes of a man who has seen god and laughed
why the fuck is no one naming their children after greek goddesses? Name your fucking child Persephone?????? Bitch???????!?
If that makes you happy, my name is Demeter
In my experience, people named after Greek goddesses are some of the most ethereal, chaotic forces I have ever encountered.
Our Art Department’s nude model, for example, is a woman named Hera. She’s stunningly beautiful, rides a motorcycle as apparently her only vehicle, grows all her own food, and keeps bees, turtles, and a dog named Argus, who she walks around town with a peacock feather attached to his leash.
I am thoroughly convinced she is not of this realm.
shealwaysreads 