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Ice. Ice. Baby.
Author: im2old4thisotp Type of Work: Fic Title: Ice. Ice. Baby. Rating: Teen Word Count: 5478 Warnings: none Summary: Stiles works at Hale Ice Rink for his last winter break. He hates it--until a certain customer comes along.
Link: Read on AO3
@im2old4thisotp ooohhh in that case i’m @ashleepond over on twitter :D
99: “Calm down. I look a lot worse than I am.” requested by @im2old4thisotp
(from +this list of prompts)
When Stiles doesn’t answer her texts all day, Lydia knows something’s happened. The ache in her stomach is pure human worry, not a banshee premonition, but it’s still a too familiar emotion.
She texts him before going to class, and he doesn’t answer. She sends him a snapchat of her disgruntled expression when someone says something stupid and scientifically untrue (can she ever escape morons? she wonders, but she knows the answer to that one) and when she checks two hours later, he hasn’t opened it yet.
She texts him again later in the evening, a whole five hours after her first message, and starts to feel uneasy when the read notification doesn’t turn on.
When she texts Scott “has the idiot who passes as your best friend answered your texts all day?” and gets a brief “I'll tell him to call you” that solves nothing and means a lot, she's annoyed and unimpressed. There's nothing else for a few long minutes that slowly turn into hours, so Lydia, turning to her usual solace and distraction, takes out her textbooks.
By the time she’s done with her homework, has washed her hair and curled up on her bed, her favorite blanket spread over her legs, she has one finger poised above the call button.
Which is why the buzzing of her phone startles her so much.
“Stiles,” she says when the dark material of a bunched up shirt comes into focus on the screen. She wastes a second wondering why he’s keeping himself partly out of frame before she knows something’s wrong.
“Hey,” he says, but his voice is thick and a bit hesitant. “Um. Are you free?”
“I’m home. What’s the problem?”
“Who says there’s a problem?”
This is definitely the rushed tone he gets when he tries to lie to her, so she keeps silent and wishes he could see her glaring at him.
“Stiles,” she says after a bit, when he appears as eager to play the silent game as she is--another sign that clues her in.
“Lydia.”
“Don’t play with me,” she warns, her temper rising. “You’re the one who got in trouble, not me.”
It’s a sign of how well Lydia knows him that she can read the tension in his shoulders when she’s only seeing half on one.
“Show me your face,” she insists. “This whole thing is stupid, Stiles, I hope you realize that.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “But don’t freak out.”
“That’s not helping,” she starts to say before he angles his phone so his face replaces his chest on the screen, and it’s both worse and an improvement.
Lydia doesn’t want to look at them, but she forces herself to take in every bruise that paint his face red and purple. Her stomach ties itself into knots when she sees the swelling of his left eye and the cuts above his eyebrow. He turns the phone slightly when she gestures him to and exposes the bump on his temple more clearly. Taking a deep breath to loosen the knot in her stomach, she lets the detached part of her mind rank his injuries from most to least serious. All of them are clean and visibly treated, even the large patch of scratched skin on his cheek and jaw, so she doesn’t say anything. Her pinched brows must speak for her, though, because Stiles is the first to talk.
“I look a lot worse than I am,” he tells her, voice gravelly.
“A lot worse?”
“Just worse,” he concedes.
It’s not that Lydia doesn’t trust him or thinks him immature and irresponsible, but she’s seen him injured too many times to count, helpless and bloody and still needing to carry on. She wishes she didn’t have to look at that one reminder of the violence of their lives, now that they’ve lived with the illusion of safety, that only distance can bring, for several months.
“You look…” she trails off. Injured, he looks injured and hurt, and she hates it so furiously that she thinks she might combust.
“like a worse version of my basement encounter with Gerard?” He says, holding up an ice pack to the side of his head. “Yeah, I know.”
“Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yeah. I came back like half an hour ago. I don't have a concussion, and they gave me mild painkillers, so I’m okay.”
“You didn't need stitches,” she notices, touching her own brow where he's been cut. “Did you tell Scott?”
“When I was in the hospital.”
“You didn't call me.”
“I didn't want to worry you more than needed, so I waited.”
She's still worried, but the hot flares of panic are gone, replaced by the dull certainty to that someone she loves has been hurt, once again. It's best he waited, they both know. Lydia sighs heavily and leans back on her pillows.
“What happened?”
Stiles hesitates.
“There was a fight,” he starts slowly.
“You were in a fight?”
In all her years of knowing Stiles--and, even without counting the years when she pretended not to know him, that’s a lot--, she’s never seen him in an actual fistfight. Fight to stay alive, yes; punch someone else and be punched in return, no.
“I helped end a fight,” he corrects.
“You didn’t do a very good job.”
“It was a big fight?”
“Lots of lost punches, then,” Lydia says pointedly.
“You should see the other guys.” He frowns. “Well, no. They’re assholes.”
“You’re an idiot,” Lydia informs him seriously.
“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll try to stay away from trouble?”
“Maybe you could try not to make it sound like a question, first.”
He smiles cheekily at her under his bruises, a real Stiles-like smile that settles her.
“Don't do that again,” she tells him, and she knows he hears all her worry in her tone. It doesn't matter; he knows it already. “And answer your phone anyway, next time.”
“I lost it in the shuffle.” The image on the screen jumps, as if Stiles is showing his point to her. “Obviously Alex found it.”
“Your roommate has more common sense than you, it seems.”
“Story of my life.”
Lydia laughs when he does, and the conversation takes a lighter turn. They hang up when she can't stifle her yawns anymore, but she’s still smiling around her toothbrush.
She’s still bothered and the tiniest bit annoyed by Stiles’ story, but it’s something she can sleep with; like a nightmare that ends when she wakes up.
Stiles sends her a picture of himself, holding a red and purple plaid shirt next to his head that matches the coloring of his face, and she laughs, sitting up in her small bed, some four hundred miles away.
5, 10, 23, 27
5. most popular fic this year
Mine? It’s gotta be Rainflower.
10. shortest wip of the year
I don’t do wips, so my ***** fic is 7k+ and it is my only wip, whew.
23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t
A HISTORICAL AU
HOW HAVE I NOT WRITTEN REVOLUTIOARY WAR STYDIA? WHY DO I HATE MYSELF THIS MUCH?
27. favorite fanfic author of the year
Uh, @youaretoosmart slayed me for all I was worth this year. Truly.
Ask meme
2, 12, 15, 27
2. least favorite fic you wrote this year
Oh, this is hard? I really like all the fics I wrote this year. I think maybe my least favorite is but now you fall every day? I really like parts of that, and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, but I’m not sure I’m entirely happy with how it came out.
12. favorite character to write about this year
Oh, my girl Lydia, for sure. Although writing Stiles’s sarcastic comments is always fun too.
15. something you learned this year
I think a big thing I really learned this year was how to stay in the characters’ heads and convey what they are feeling in the moment. I went back and reread the first Star Wolves for editing (which I wrote last year) and there was NO insight to what was going through their heads. And now with my writing, you can barely get me to STOP describing what’s in their heads, so I think I have definitely learned to do that better.
27. favorite fanfic author of the year
Well, YOU, obviously, because TTTBU still makes me cry profusely, but I also discovered @youaretoosmart‘s writing this year after the Big Bang, and I love it so much, god. Her fics are absolutely beautiful.
end of the year fic asks!
How did you get to be so fucking awesome??
I refused to drink my milk
Hi there! Here’s a sterek fanart I did for one of the @fandomcares projects. They organize silent charity auctions in order to help sterek/steter fans in need.
I want to thank @im2old4thisotp who bid on me!! This drawing was based on her lovely fic:
I’ll stop the world and dance with you
(Thanks so much for helping and I hope you like the drawing!) ❤
Please drop by her AO3 and read it! And, if you can, please check the fandomcares blog and help bidding on coming auctions, or reblog the posts to spread the word! Thank you so much!
Are you on Twitter?
nah
i mean, i have an account but i only use it to follow a handful of celebrities, i rarely check it and i never ever tweet
