#fic thoughts

Playing with an idea in my head. Pack goes camping. Stiles tries to convince Derek to spring for them to get separate tents because he thinks Derek hates him. For some inexplicable reason Derek refuses.

Stiles is annoyed and confused because Derek will regret this. Stiles is a heat seeking missile in his sleep. Sharing a bed with Scott has demonstrated this repeatedly and awkwardly but Derek just won't listen.

They hike out, enjoy a fire because they lucked out and the fire index is low enough to allow it. The rest of the pack pairs off, leaving Stiles with Derek most of the time.

He's yapping Derek's ears off and internally cringing because he's just waiting to get body slammed into a tree. He is really, truly trying to keep that ugly old crush hidden too. He knows when he slips, Derek gets this look Stiles can't parse. It does a pretty good job of replacing butterflies and arousal with dread and shame.

Derek's weirdly tolerant though. Maybe he figured out the whole slamming thing causes activity downstairs that Derek doesn't wanna smell? That's probably it, he thinks, because Derek keeps getting this stormy look on his face.

Night comes and they finally hit the hay. Stiles is out like a light and very fucking glad he can't hear the couples in the other tents.

He finds himself in just the best damn dream. Someone's grinding down against him, hands roam beneath his PJs. He's deliciously pinned beneath a body that radiates warm, heavy heat, staving off the chilly morning air. There are lips on his neck as he arcs back up against-

He blinks awake. The heat is gone. The tent zipper sounds as he gathers his wits, stumbling into the harsh, cold morning air.

The sun is just barely up. The rest of camp is asleep.

The cold weight of shame settles deep in his gut as he gathers his things and hikes, alone, back to the car. He drives away. Cursing the sunrise as it hits his eyes.

Scott calls, asking where he is. He tells Scott that he was feeling like shit and headed home early. It's not even a lie, not technically. Scott won't catch a lie over the phone but old habits die hard.

The drive fucking sucks. He's a goddamned mess. This was exactly why he wanted his own tent. If only Derek had-

It doesn't matter. He makes his way home, masturbates despite the shame, then wallows, because the hottest thing that ever happened to him ended with the man he loved running the hell away in disgust.

But Phainon would never! The very question has him struck silent and red in the face from indignation. And only indignation, don’t misunderstand. Of course he wouldn’t look during such a private event! But now that the thought is in his head, he’s too flustered to look at Reader’s face. Phainon may be a demigod, but he still has human desires. Not that he exactly wants Reader to see that on his face. At this time.

Hi anon! :) Okay first of all, bless you for this, really, because I have been deep in my head about this series (and overthinking it…) and sometimes what you need is someone arriving in your inbox with exactly the right chaos energy. And I mean that entirely as a compliment. Clearly we are operating on the same frequency here. :D

I will now confess that I absolutely had thoughts along these lines while writing. Some of them almost made it in. Some were sacrificed at the altar of pacing and symbolism. But since you’ve opened the door:

This is the AU within the AU. Or just a collection of what-ifs from a person who is sick, in her Phainon missing hours, has too many Phainon feelings for one body to contain, and loves to yap. So. Here are some of my ideas (there is always more). Naturally I had to write short snippets too. I blame my brainrot, you and Phainon for this:

We can assume Shadowheart was also saved in a similar manner based on her lack of memory of it and where we found her.

Astarion's pod is right by him. Considering he's largely unharmed, I imagine the Emperor also slowed his fall cos the pod wouldn't be enough to break it.

Wyll and Karlach don't go into detail about the fall at all. Neither seems to have a way to slow their own fall. We can assume the Emperor was involved.

Lae'zel it is uncertain. Githyanki have psionic abilities, but Lae'zel doesn't excel in it. She may have had her fall slowed, but considering the history between illithids and githyanki, it seems unlikely the Emperor would spare her. I can see an argument either way.

What we DO know is that Gale was not saved by the Emperor. He saved himself. He had to actually intentionally call on magic to break his fall so he didn't become a puddle in the dirt. The Emperor did not help him.

I am fascinated by this implication. Was Gale not part of the Emperor's original plans? At what point did the Emperor pull him under the Astral Prism's protection? What made the Emperor decide to, I wonder? Why wasn't he included under the protection from the start?

and not innocent, oblivious Mack, who is focused only on hockey and his upcoming draft, no. This is a predatory little menace, Mack. This is Mack, who has had his sights on Will since the second he saw him glide past on a power play. Mack, who’s been quietly liking Gabe’s Instagram photos, Mack, who is in Gabe’s Instagram comments, calling him “cutie” with the most unserious energy imaginable while silently thinking: I’m actually trying to steal your boyfriend, babe.

And Gabe? Poor sweet Gabe? He has no idea. He trusts everyone involved. He thinks the BU/BC rivalry beef means Mack hates Will. He thinks Mack's friendliness toward him is just sportsmanship, given their past history, which makes them friendly enough. He thinks Will is tired and distracted because their whole line with Leno has been kinda messy lately.

He would never suspect Will doing this to him, or Mack, either, honestly. Mack and Gabe get along well enough; they’re chill, and they have little banter moments. They’re not friends, but they’re fine. And it’s college, so everyone’s just trying to survive exams and early practice. And will? Will would never do something like that… right? (Buddy. Sweetheart. Think again.)

And then, suddenly, 17-year-old Macklin Celebrini, beautiful, hypercompetitive, terrifyingly sure of himself, swoops in and takes Will before Gabe can even say sabotage. It happens stupidly fast. A BC hockey party. Gabe’s downstairs playing beer pong. Will says he’s going upstairs to grab his jacket. And Mack? Mack is already waiting.

Gabe has no idea his own boyfriend is upstairs cheating on him with the BU prodigy everyone hates on principle. Will and mack go from “that was a mistake” to “that can’t happen again” to “we’re meeting at the dunkin in ten minutes.” they’re sneaking around for months — stolen moments, whispered phone calls, bruises in places gabe never sees, dirty texts at 3am when they're on the road, slipping out of each other’s places before teammates wake up, weird excuses, and will pulling further and further away. Gabe and Will's sex life is basically non-existent these days because Will and Mack spiral into a full-blown secret affair.

Gabe keeps asking Leno why Will’s so distant, whining that he can't even entice Will to get his dick wet, and Leno’s like “dude, I thought you knew?” and Gabe has no explanation, because Will gives him nothing.

And then comes the nuclear fallout.

Gabe comes home early to the hockey house, exhausted, hurt, lonely, thinking maybe he’ll nap and then try to talk Will into a proper dinner date. Just the two of them, like they used to. He's halfway up the stairs before he notices that someone's there, a concerned, confused, and slightly upset Aiden Celebrini.

“My brother won’t answer his phone. I’ve called him like fifteen times. FindMy says he’s here.”

Gabe, bewildered, lets him in.

(and this is the moment the universe collapses.)

When there's no Celebrini in the main house spaces (Gabe's adamant baby cellys never been there as far as he knows, but look around, bro) they move upstairs, and he opens his bedroom door. And there they are.

Mack and Will. Naked. Tangled in Gabe’s sheets. In Will and Gabe’s bed. Both scrambling like kids caught stealing candy, a lot of cock and balls flashing, exposed before Will manages to pull up the sheets. And behind Gabe stands Aiden, who immediately goes from concerned brother to executioner mode.

Gabe’s first instinct isn’t even anger; it’s disbelief. Like his brain refuses to make the shapes, refuses to connect the dots that put Will Smith in this spot where he's hurt him, betrayed him. Then it hits him all at once: the betrayal, the humiliation, the months of being kept in the dark. Leno is furious, and he and Will will have a shouting match that nearly ends in blows (but its more about Will fucking up the three of them, the hockey, and upset that its Celebrini of all people, more than anger on Gabe's behalf), Cutter and Voter watching anxiously from the kitchen as Gabe vomits for the third time in an hour. Aiden had dragged a half-naked Mack out, telling him that he's "lucky I don't beat your ass on the spot, what the fuck, Macklin Richard?"

And the thing is, Will feels sick about what he did to Gabe. Like gut-punched, face-in-his-hands, “I’m the villain in this story” sick. He hates that he hurt someone who trusted him, hates the fallout, hates the look on Gabe’s face when everything clicked.

But he doesn’t walk away from Mack.

He tries. Once. Maybe twice. Says all the responsible things — “we should stop,” “this is too much,” “you’re about to be drafted, I’ve already ruined enough.”

And then Mack looks at him with those glassy, furious, terrified eyes, like losing Will would be worse than losing hockey, worse than disappointing his family, worse than anything.

And Will just… caves, because the guilt is real, but the pull toward Mack is stronger. Dangerous, overwhelming, magnetic. It’s that red-string-of-fate energy, but corrupted and humming under the skin. They know it’s reckless. They know it’s selfish. They know it’s going to blow up in their faces again someday.

But they’re past the point of pretending.

So they go full send, or at least, as full send as two closeted hockey players on the brink of the NHL can manage. They’re not posting soft launches and holding hands in public. Still, they’re meeting in empty practice rinks at night, sleeping in each other’s rooms so often they forget whose hoodies belong to who, sneaking kisses whenever they think they can get away with it, texting nonstop, even when they shouldn’t, planning futures they pretend they’re not planning even when will tells mack not to get ahead of himself when hes all "what if the sharks get first pick? What if I get drafted to your team?"

And every time Will’s guilt flares, Mack touches his wrist or leans his forehead against Will’s and whispers, “Don’t leave.”