Based on this prompt: Stiles puts bells on all the wolves and Derek still manages to not make a sound.1370w
It all comes to a head when Erica decides to leap out at him from beside a vending machine and he flails so hard his fingers cramp on the tab of his newly purchased can of coke. He makes a leap of his own, backwards, and gets drenched in a fizzy spray as his head smacks against the vending machine’s glass and sends something clattering down inside. It’s his third Operation: Fragile Stiles mishap of the week and there are still six days to go.
He splutters as the sticky drizzle runs down his face, his anger initially dampened by the acknowledgement that at least it wasn’t aimed at his crotch this time, until he realises he shouldn’t have even reached the stage of making concessions in the first place.
Erica doesn’t seem to see the problem. She bends down to retrieve the Butterfinger that somersaulted over the coil inside the machine with help from the impact of his skull and throws him a victorious grin as she skips away.
He’s had it with this game he never agreed to play. He’s sick of being the only human who has to put up with this shit, the constant shaving of years from his life as he watches over his shoulder for the next wolfy surprise. Allison might know her way around a bow and arrow and Lydia might have her acid tongue for a deterrent, but Stiles has… weapons. He does.
It’s Isaac’s snigger and Jackson’s curling lip that do it.
I initially made it a bit thin on the top side so I added a couple of wood veneer sheets to thincken it out and it definitely added to the finished product. It’s chunky but comfortable and gives good clearance for the nock. Let’s see it holds up when shooting a round.
I don’t know what this is, but here it is. No editing, so lmk about glaring errors. 💛
Riley crept into her father’s classroom like a thief in the night. She glanced up at the clock. Three thirty. She didn’t have much time before her father got out of the graduation planning meeting.
Riley shut the door behind her with a quiet click. Balling her hands into fists, she walked over to her father’s desk and pulled open the file drawer. They had to be in here somewhere. Knowing her father, he’d saved them all.
Her fingers danced across the tabs until she found an unmarked folder full of crumpled, but flattened out sheets of paper. Riley closed her eyes, took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment, her hand freezing in mid-air, hovering above the file, before she snatched it out of the drawer and set it down on the desk.
She exhaled heavily, her fingers twitching. Did she really want to know?
Yeah. Yeah she did.
She opened the folder. The top piece of paper read “getting taller so I can reach my girlfriend without standing on something.” Riley couldn’t help but smile sympathetically. That had to be Yogi. She set it aside.
Next was her own impossible thing. Riley pressed her lips together and kept going.
The very next piece of paper had the word “Lucas” written in big loopy cursive that Riley would know anywhere. But that wasn’t new information, not really.
Riley kept going. Her heart was pounding and her hands were starting to get a little clammy. She’d never snooped like this before, not on her father.
Oh, Farkle. Why did he want to be an athlete anyway? Riley shook her head with a fond smile and kept flipping through the papers, even as her heart clenched. She hadn’t spoken to Farkle in weeks. Or was it longer? Her chest felt tight, like she was about to panic, but she tamped it down and turned over the next paper.
And there it was. In tiny chicken scratch so small she had to squint.
She knew he was lying about the Farkle being an athlete thing. Maya was where Lucas fell off the earth.
A wave of emotions hit Riley all at once. Before she could even begin to sort them out, she heard the door knob turn.
With a start, Riley crammed all the rumpled papers back into the folder and moved to replace it in the drawer. But it was too late.
“Hey Riley,” her father said gently, “whatcha got there?”
The folder was still in her hand. He pressed his lips together and regarded her with soft eyes.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
Riley tucked her hair over her ear and looked up at him. She figured she ought to feel angry, but she didn’t feel angry. She figured she ought to feel sad, but she didn’t feel sad. She wasn’t sure WHAT she was feeling because whatever she felt, it wasn’t what she thought she’d feel. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t already known what she would find. She almost felt…relief? But why would she feel relieved?
“I…think so?” She bit her lip. “No. Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“I don’t know.”
Riley put the file back in the drawer and pushed it shut with her foot as she straightened up. She looked at her father.
“Are you mad?”
“No, honey. Are you?”
Riley tilted her head back and forth, trying to figure what she was feeling and why.
“I don’t know. I like Lucas, don’t I?”
“I…don’t know anymore.”
“Well, what do you want from him?”
Riley looked down, letting her hair cascade back down from behind her ears, hiding her face. What DID she want from Lucas? She didn’t really want to hold his hand. The feeling of how stiff and awkward it had been when they tried at the beginning of the year came rushing back. At the time, she’d chalked it up to peer pressure, to being pushed into something she…didn’t want? But how did that make sense? She liked Lucas, so even if they were under pressure, shouldn’t she have wanted to hold his hand? Shouldn’t she have enjoyed it at least a little, no matter the pressure? And they’d already kissed by then, so holding hands shouldn’t have felt so overwhelmingly…off. Right?
She looked up and tucked her hair behind her ears again.
“I don’t know. I just…I always want him around. I always want to be able to talk to him. Doesn’t that mean I like him?”
Her father nodded thoughtfully and stroked his chin for a second before he spoke.
“Riley, there are a lot of ways to love somebody. And we all love different people in different ways. I love your mother. I love Shawn. I love you. I love Auggie. I love Eric. And Josh, and Morgan. I have friends I love too, like your Uncle Jonathan. And I love Mr. Feeny. And your grandparents. And I love Maya. But I love you all in different ways.”
The wheels turned in Riley’s head.
“But Lucas is a boy and I’m a girl. Shouldn’t I love him like you love mom? Isn’t that how I should feel? Daddy, he was the first boy I ever liked…”
“Does that mean he has to be the ONLY boy you ever like?”
He pressed his lips together and tilted his head back and forth.
“We-ell. Your mother wasn’t the only girl I ever dated, you know.”
“I know, there was that…ski lodge girl.” Riley spat the last part out with a little venom.
“Oh no. She was later. I mean before your mother.”
Riley’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?!”
“Oh yeah. Before your mom. Janitor Harley’s sister, actually. It was really only the one date, and she scared the hell out of me at first. But we wound up having fun. I even liked her a little, but—”
“Not like how you liked mom?”
He smiled. “No. Not like how I love your mom.”
“How do you know the difference?”
Her father pursed his lips blew a little raspberry.
“Well, how does Lucas make you feel?”
“You really wanna know this, Dad?”
He clenched his teeth together and shook his head.
“Do I want to talk about how a boy makes you feel? Noooooo. No I do not. But I don’t see any other option at the moment.”
Riley smiled a little at his discomfort.
“Well. When I’m with Lucas, I feel…protected. Cared about. Like he really wants what’s best for me.”
“What do you mean ‘and’?”
“Hoo boy. I mean…does your heart skip a beat? Do you feel it when he comes into a room? Do you want him to—”
“Agh! Stop there, too far!”
Riley bit her lip.
“No. I mean I used to feel so nervous around him, but I haven’t felt like that in a long time. And I don’t think I feel him when he comes in the room, Maya always—oh.”
A tiny realization began to spark up in the back of her mind, about how she could turn her head and catch him looking at her, about how she always knew when it was him coming through the door, about how she wanted to…and suddenly the pain in her chest was too much. Her stomach flipped and flipped again. The spark became a blinding light while her heart healed and broke again at the same time.
“Where’d you go?”
“Uh, nowhere nothing thinking about nobody.”
“N-no. No, I don’t think I like him like that anymore. I don’t think I have for a long time, I just thought—”
He came around the desk and put an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close. Riley’s hair fell again and her father brushed it back over her ear.
“Why don’t you go talk to Lucas, sweetie?”
“He doesn’t wanna talk to me. Nobody’s been talking to anybody unless you make us work together and then everybody just fights again.”
“And you’re all miserable. Maya’s been in detention all spring semester. Lucas almost clocked a kid the other day. Farkle’s barely said a word in class for months. The only one you all still talk to is Mr. Babineaux, and he can’t fix this. If he could, he would’ve already.”
Riley sighed as her father gave her a comforting squeeze.
“Go talk to Lucas. He won’t turn you away. You two can be the first ones at the table. Call a truce. Start writing a treaty. End the war. Bring everyone back together, honey. It’s what you do best.”
“But how do I—”
Her father wrapped her into a hug, kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair.
Ya know what this blog is supposed to be about… But yeah as you can see this isn’t actually an abstract horror or being from beyond the stars. This is an archery finger tab.
It’s made from two pieces of leather (that I forgot to show properly in the photos…) that are sewn together. It’s function is to protect the fingers pulling back the bowstring; the slit in between is where the arrow rests. I don’t currently know how well this works for a very important reason.
I don’t currently own a bow.
Soon however this shall be remedied! Of course a normal person would go out and buy a bow that has been made by professionals and undergone numerous safety tests before being released onto the market. A normal person would do that. I’m going to make mine out of a pair of 10€ skis. Yes. Skis. So you can all look forward to seeing that.
Preference #8: You have to choose between your life and your baby's [PART TWO] (request)
A couple of people asked for a sequel to this preference and here it is. It was actually much harder than I thought to write the boys as dads. I’ve kept the format similar. Hope you enjoy…
Liam: Nappies aren’t supposed to be this hard to fasten, surely, I think, utterly frustrated. (Y/N) would’ve mastered this instantly. I instantly expel the thought before I crumble; I can’t go down that path right now. I have to take care of my sweet little baby. My fingers fiddle with the tabs once more before finally managing to fix the nappy on so it won’t fall off. I lift my little angel off the changing table and into my arms as she starts to fuss. “Shh, shh,” I hush her, gently bouncing her in my arms, “your milk’s coming soon.” I make my way into the kitchen, warming up her bottle in the microwave and settling into the couch to feed her. I cradle her in my arms – the only thing that feels natural nowadays – and place the bottle at her tiny pink lips. She eagerly drinks the milk while I hum quietly, trying not to think of how different this would be if (Y/N) was still here. Would she know how to stop our little girl crying in the middle of the night? Would she pull little socks on her feet in the morning? Bathe her in the evening? Would she buy her endless bows for her hair? Or start buying her books, too excited to wait until her little treasure could read? Thousands of possibilities, endless memories that (Y/N) won’t be present for. I let the tears roll down my face freely as I sing to my little girl now, slowly lulling her to sleep against my chest. Float down, Like autumn leaves; Hush now, Close your eyes before the sleep; And you’re miles away, And yesterday you were here with me.
Harry: I chase my little girl down the hallway as she totters towards the sound of the doorbell. I manage to catch her and swing her up into my arms before I pull open the door. My sister stands on the threshold, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, obviously hearing my struggle to catch a one-year-old down the hall. “She’s fast,” I immediately defend myself. Gemma just chuckles in reply. I open the door with one hand and let her inside, and instantly my baby is babbling away. “Gem-Gem-Gem,” she chants, leaning forward and grabbing the air between herself and Gemma. Gemma scoops her into her arms and nods at me. “You can go have a shower now, smelly,” she teases. “Smelly daddy, smelly daddy,” she repeats to my little girl. “Da-da-da,” is all she says in reply. “Hey, don’t be teaching my little angel anything naughty,” I jokingly warn her. By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Gemma has my daughter giggling and running around again. She’s sees me and waddles over, gripping onto my legs. “Da-da,” she babbles. I lift her up and she’s instantly tugging on my damp curls. I laugh and she joins in; and it’s the most precious sound in the world.
Niall: It’s the first day of half-decent weather in a while; the sun is shining and the outdoors is looking really inviting. I call Greg and tell him to bring Theo to meet us at the local park. “C’mon, darling,” I wake my little girl from her nap. “Do you wanna go play with Theo at the park?” She’s grumpy as usual when I wake her up and I have to coax her into little sneakers and a sun hat. But by the time we’re outside, she’s full of energy. The sun has definitely woken her up and she’s squirming in her pram, eager to play. I spot Theo and Greg kicking around a football when we arrive and unbuckle my three-year-old so she can run over to her cousin. He gives her a sweet hug and before long they’re kicking the ball back and forth (without too much accuracy and it’s adorable). Theo will be six soon and Greg’s tells me he’s going to enrol him in a local football team. “You’re gonna be a Derby man, Theo?” I ask him. He nods and then my little one pipes up. “Daddy, I play Derby too!” I laugh and scoop her up into hug. “’Course you are, sweetie. You gonna make Daddy proud?” “Yeah!” she replies, a massive grin stretching across her face.
Zayn: It’s only her second week at kindergarten and when I pick her up today she’s crying, burying her little face in the front of my shirt and refusing to let go. I end up carrying her to the car and buckling her up, promising a treat when we get home if she tells me what happened. After a little more coaxing and a lot of sniffling she finally confesses. “The other kids at kindy were talking about their Mummys today and I don’t have one.” She bursts into tears again and I grip the steering wheel tightly to stop myself from getting emotional as well. This is exactly what I was always afraid of; I never want her to think that she is any less loved just because her Mum is no longer with us. “Of course you have a Mummy,” I comfort her, “she’s just not with us anymore, she’s in heaven and she’s watching over you. She loves you so, so much. That makes you extra special, you know why?” Her sobs slow to sniffles once again and her little voice rises from the back seat again. “Why?” “Because you have an angel watching over you. Your Mummy is still going to take care of you, even though she’s not here. She’ll always be there – watching over you and loving you forever.” There’s nothing but silence in the car, as she seems to think this over. When we get home I fix her a bowl of ice-cream and pull out some paper, colouring books and pencils so we can spend a little time together. I sit beside her on the floor and draw with her, sketching a little caricature for her – complete with her favourite pink skirt and dark wavy hair. When I’m done, I hand it to her and she turns over her own work of art. “It’s Mummy,” she tells me. I look at the picture – a woman in a dress, sitting in the clouds with long flowing hair and wings protruding from her back. “She’s watching over us.” I swallow the lump in my throat and reply. “Yes, yes she is.”
Louis: I pull the elastic around the bottom of her second braid, pretty proud of my work. I don’t think many dads could boast the art of hair braiding. “All done, baby girl.” She jumps up and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much, Daddy.” How did I end up with such a sweet little girl? I always knew she would take after her mother but I never could’ve imagined how blessed I’d be. I take her into the kitchen and grab her lunchbox from the fridge, letting her pack it into her brand new school backpack. “I can’t wait, Daddy,” she informs me excitedly “I’m going to make so many new friends at school.” “I’m sure you will, my love. And you’re going to learn lots too; you’ll be smarter than Daddy soon.” She laughs. “No one’s smarter than you, Daddy.” I smile at her sweet, innocent comment, never wanting her to lose that beautiful naivety. “If you say so,” I tease back. “C’mon, you’re going to be late for your first day.” I lift her up onto the bench and lace up her shiny new black school shoes, unable to comprehend how fast my baby girl has grown up. She’s looking more like her mother everyday; I always thought it would break my heart but now I know there’s nothing more beautiful in the world.
If you’d like to read some other stuff I’ve done (more preferences/imagines/one shots) check out my masterpost (xx)