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tin-wufborf · 3 months

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Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 2)

Hello again! Welcome to the second installment of me sharing with you a mere fraction of the too-many Sterek fics I have read and bookmarked on AO3!

Before we get to the list, I just wanted to say thank you all for liking and sharing the last post. I'm not someone who comments that often on fics (I don't do things that make me anxious, as a rule, and commenting on fics makes me unreasonably anxious), so I want to give back to these authors outside of my kudos and bookmarks. This is how I'm doing that. So thanks for noticing, and I hope you enjoy the fics! I have loved them dearly for a while now.

Alright, enough from me.

Smooches, darlings!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Aftereffects by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (G | 1/1 | 1,473)

Stiles lives with the aftereffects.

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Shadowplay by Medie (T | 1/1 | 1,576)

Since the day of his birth, the shadows have loved him.

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It's a Jeep Thing by riventhorn (T | 1/1 | 2,629)

On the day she arrived at the Stilinski home, the Sheriff stayed in the driver’s seat for twenty minutes, fingers kneading her steering wheel anxiously. He had been muttering to himself the entire way back from the lot, all variations on: Am I insane? How can I give this to him? He’s going to kill someone. He’s going to kill himself.

Stiles's Jeep's pov on werewolves, hyperactive teen boys, and Derek Hale.

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After All by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (T | 1/1 | 2,954)

Being a magical fairy-gift whose whole existence is a demonstration of the supernatural amazingness of your fathers' love story ought to be a good thing.

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Cuckoo by herlovewasajoke (T | 1/1 | 3,790)

Deaton uncovers a secret. What he does with it could destroy everything Stiles has built.

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To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar by FaeryQueen07 (E | 1/1 | 5,241)

It’s the summer before senior year and Stiles is doing just fine. Right up until he gets shitfaced and tells a room full of drag queens that he’s attracted to an alpha werewolf and that oh, yeah, he’s been wondering about whether or not they have knots. It all goes downhill from there, but in a good way.

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No place for no hero by ellievolia (M | 1/1 | 5,370)

But now, as he looks at Derek’s face, the storm lurking right underneath his eyelashes, the frown firmly back in place on his features, the Sheriff can’t help but hope that he will do something Sheriff Stilinski himself can’t do, nor ask for Derek to do. They nod at each other over Stiles’ hospital bed, and Sheriff Stilinski stands up.

Warning for graphic depiction of a mugging that degenerates into a stabbing.

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There's A Wolf-Shaped Float In This Parade by concernedlily (G | 3/3 | 7,524)

Two ways Sheriff Stilinski finds out and one he doesn't.

(Non-graphic references to past underage.)

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Your Face is Like a Melody (It Won't Leave My Head) by samshhh (T | 1/1 | 8,386)

Originally for a prompt on the kink meme:

"Since age three, Stiles has been dreaming of Derek. When he was younger, he would always babble about Derek and draw pictures of them together, etc. but everyone just assumed that Derek was his imaginary friend. Stiles himself didn't realize that Derek was a real person until he heard about the Hale fire but by that time, Derek and Laura had moved to New York. "

But it somehow mutated into a 8400 word behemoth featuring actual psychic Stiles Stilinski, soul bonding and wolfy mates.

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Solstice Alpha by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (E | 1/1 | 11,152)

The traditional Hale pack solstice party gets resurrected by the new and improved-from-ten-months-ago Hale pack.

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The Quiet Between Our Words by mytimehaspassed (M | 1/1 | 12,500)

Laura had told him that she would be right back.

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Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil by lemyh (T | 1/1 | 12,830)

When Stiles Stilinski signed up for his social psychology class, he wasn't sure what he expected from it. He definitely didn't expect the professor, a month in, to tell them they'd be spending the next three weeks actually living with certain handicaps.

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Hell is Other People series by tsukinofaerii (2 works | T-E | 15,937)

1. 9/10ths of the Law (T | 1/1 | 6,875) Stiles discovers the hazards of growing up a real boy when, at heart, he's not a real boy at all. 2. Something that Finds You (E | 1/1 | 9,062) Stiles always smelled like sulfur. After Derek finds out the truth, he and Stiles get closer than they'd ever planned.

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last night's dress (tiptoe out of this mess) by hito (M | 1/1 | 16,730)

Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme.

TFLN: My dad just asked me if my booty call guy that comes over at 3am and leaves at 6 would like to stay for Sunday brunch next week. You in?

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Wanderlust by Cheshyr (G | 8/8 | 18,147)

Stiles needs to move, to leave, and after graduation he has every intention to do just that. Unless his pack can convince him otherwise.

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To Build A House by theredhoodie (M | 1/1 | 19,590)

It's senior year and everything is fine. Except that it isn't, but it will be. Or that's what Stiles keeps telling himself. And there's only one person who can make sure that everything really will be fine.

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How To Be a Werewolf (And Other Extreme Sports) by gayfantasticfour (foxxing) (M | 7/7 | 23,971)

Derek decides that Stiles needs to be... trained. As much as Stiles can be trained. So Derek, with help from The Wolf Pack, teaches him how to be a werewolf without, you know, actually being a werewolf. Hijinks (of the emotional kind and otherwise) ensue.

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Culpa by ACR (M | 8/8 | 30,728)

Things for Stiles are really complicated. There’s a Harpy on the loose, his friendship with Scott is distant, and he might have feelings for Derek Hale. Oh, and also, he’s being possessed by a Demon.

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DILF by twentysomething (E | 1/1 | 30,871)

"Today is Scott's first day of kindergarten and Derek is terrified."

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The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (M | 7/7 | 116,686)

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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chickenkupo · 11 months

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Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Coop! I'm Girl_In_The_Chicken_Suit on AO3, welcome to my journey of venturing into the world of writing as well as other hobbies like never before. I'm your typical weeb that's a little obsessed with husbandos and wants to write them in silly, fun, dramatic, adventurous stories that hopefully you all will enjoy as well. I'm an avid anime watcher, manga reader and gamer. I'm mainly starting out writing for Genshin Impact but I hope to expand that one day!

I'm hoping to get a little bit more experience with writing through this platform, provide teasers/updates on in progress works, and eventually meet my goal of writing my first novel! I'm currently in the very early stages of that, but fingers crossed, one day I will get there!

This post I will keep pinned with links to all of my written works on AO3, as well as little scribble works I may post here with some summaries and all that good stuff. I'll probably end up reworking this post a million times over, so no, you're not crazy if you come here and see one template for this, come again and it's a whole new situation.

Thank you for paying me a visit, and I hope I can provide you with some entertainment during all of your doom scrolling!

Funnily enough, I just recently picked up writing and oh my gosh, I honestly did not expect you all to like my writing style of my chaotic little stories. I actually started out on social media mainly to promote my cosplays! I've been a cosplayer for about 10 years now and have wanted to go more in depth with it, so a majority of my socials are heavily invested in that. If you're interested (and want to witness my chaotic self even more), check out the links below!

Socials:

Instagram: HolySoulA

TikTok: Britasin

Twitter: ChckenKupo

Twitch: britasin

AO3: Girl_in_the_Chicken_Suit

Cosplay Tumblr: Britasin

FanFiction Works:

AO3 Works:

Coming Home: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

The world is going through hell, literally. Vampires are roaming the villages and cities under the cover of night, taking humans left and right as livestock, or worse. Humanity has grown to have minuscule hope, but some have decided to rise and defend what little they have left. Enduring intense training since the moment they could hold a weapon firmly, the Vitae Linea have fought against the vampires for years, an ancient organization that wields more power than your average human.

Even with them on humanity’s side, hope is still nearly nonexistent.

Wriothesley, having worked his way through the ranks of organization, has become one of the most coveted members. Through his unique fighting style, sheer strength, and knowledge of the arcane, he has become somewhat of a legend between the two races.

As his battle against the creatures of the night continues, he catches the attention of a certain Vampire Lord who wishes to put his skills to the ultimate test.

Just how does this Vampire Lord know details of himself that he has never shared with anyone else, ones he has hidden even from everyone? Why, also, does this man seem so familiar to him, where even his body recognizes him with ease?

I Promise: Neuvillette/Wriothesley (Part 1 of Judgement & Punishment)

Wriothesley is known for being organized, calculating and strategic when it comes to being the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. However, when it comes to his own safety and personal well-being, he is severely lacking, and this doesn’t go unnoticed at all. Many of his colleagues, comrades and even the love of his life are witnesses of this dynamic every day.

Especially that certain hydro dragon lover of his that’s completely smitten and obsessed with him.

Unfortunately, all it takes is one near-fatal encounter for Neuvillette to give into his anxieties and instincts, making a rash decision that will prevent Wriothesley from ever coming close to another dire situation like this again.

A rash decision that may be as fatal with consequences as the one fateful encounter did.

Now for the Next Act: Neuvillette/Wriothesley (Part 2 of Judgement & Punishment)

Fontaine has successfully dodged a catastrophic crisis, though not without a great deal of loss. Many citizens have gathered around in support of each other, relying on the previous roles of leadership to give them hope that things will return to how they were before. Hope is abundant, spirits are now high, and the future seems so bright.

Neuvillette has faced many challenges within his long life, and helping to rebuild a nation that has had so much instability in the past will not prove to be easy. Not only does he have the weight of a nation on his shoulders, but he also has a newly claimed mate that consumes his every waking thought, worry and love.

Wriothesley notices that his lover isn’t quite the same since the day Fontaine was saved from imminent destruction, but the frantic activities within the Fortress of Meropide have kept him completely distant from his mate.

Both men are working hard for the nation that they love, to keep justice and order together in harmony once more. However, the whispers of the former archon keep echoing through Neuvillette’s mind, and the longer he ponders, the more he realizes that what he and Wriothesley have is something to be proud of.

Teaser at the end...

The Worthy Treasure: Zhongli/Reader

To steal from a dragon is unacceptable. To try to escape one, is even worse.

When a certain dragon sees you in the crowd, he simply can't get enough. Everything about you, he wants to keep for himself.

If only you had trusted your instincts.

You Listened, Now Stay: Venti/Reader

The time for Weinlesefest is upon Mondstadt! The people are merry, bright, and full of cheer as they celebrate all that which brings them together in the form of favored alcoholic beverages! It’s certainly a time to enjoy, and enjoy they do! This time of year, the Anemo Archon truly delights as he takes the bountiful offerings made out to him.

Especially the offering he ends up taking for himself.

You were just trying to do the right thing for everyone, including yourself.

Boy, Do I Hate You: Scaramouche/Reader

You just wanted your life to go back to normal, before the Vision Hunt Decree.

You wanted your friends back, safe and sound.

You definitely didn't want this vision and a Fatui Harbinger after you.

Tumblr Exclusives:

Comfort Care: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

After handling the incident with the Beret Society, Wriothesley begins to doubt his self-worth. His lovely partner offers him a moment of reprieve to remind him of his true value.

Happy Birthday, Duke!: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

Wriothesley was never the one to celebrate his birthday, opting instead to keep it hush-hush, and devote himself to his work. Maybe he gets a fine dinner from the Coupon Cafeteria, or makes one extra cup of tea for himself, but that's normally it. Just a nice, calm day is all he wanted.

However, a certain hydro dragon has different plans for his mate this year, and he's not about to let Wriothesley escape or avoid enjoying it.

I Just Want My Tea: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

*Tumblr early access, will be posted to AO3 as well*

Wriothesley, the busy man that he is, doesn’t notice that his tea stash is getting rather low, no thanks to Sigewinne taking her share since she considers it payback for what Neuvillette and him put her through once he was claimed. It wasn’t until after a shift at the Fortress of Meropide, however, that he noticed this. After going to the home that he and his mate, Neuvillette, share, he vows that the next morning he will run to the nearest grocery market to take note of their goods, and purchase some more that suit his tastes perfectly. He drools just thinking about it.

However, Neuvillette is starting to feel a sort of odd heat beneath his skin recently, and it only gets worse as the days go by. He constantly finds himself staring at his love when they are together, and when they are apart, he can only think of having his man back in his embrace, littering him with possessive affection and a viscous need. He’s finding it hard to let Wriothesley go anywhere without him, now, this heat feeling like it is reaching its peak.

But, the man desperately wants his tea, and the dragon wants his man. The compromise? Why, of course the dragon sovereign is going to turn into a little noodle version of his full dragon form, and go with him! Why, you ask, would he do this?

Well, how else is he going to pleasure the both of them while out in public?

TLDR: Horny noodle dragon is in his heat and tries to get freaky with his mate while he just wants to do some simple grocery shopping. Chaos ensues.

Just My Luck: Neuvillette/ Wriothesley

(I caved and also shared this on AO3, because it was so damn long)

The lands are ruled by ruthless gods of various levels of power. Humanity is only a means to an end for their endless desires, if they happen to gain their attention. Many lay low, do what they can to appease the gods and try to live their lives out, as best they can, given the circumstances. Wriothesley is one such mortal. Having committed a great crime as a young boy, he’s constantly fleeing from his past. Little did he know; however, his constant misfortunes lead to his destiny, and it is most certainly not what he was expecting.

Just My Luck Chapter 2: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

As Wriothesley and Neuvillette continue their sensual activities, more starts to develop about his current situation and steps moving forward. What's this about the claim law? Why is he having to meet with other people? One final return to his land? A single wish?

Wait, he didn't ask for this choker!

Not Expected: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

Happy Birthday, Neuvillette! Sorry I was so late to posting it D:

Fontaine continues to see better days ahead, as many friends and families have come together to help one another prepare for a happy season for them all. The Neuvillette's birthday and the Fontainalia Film Festival are finally almost here, the laughter of children and others alike are finally returning to the streets once again with creative celebration and games. Those within the creative arts have come together to perform for the crowds, engaging them to have their Fontain sparks return to their souls as the nation begins anew, and a celebration of the infamous Iudex was never one to miss. All is well for most citizens…

Except for a certain hydro dragon.

Shouldn’t Wriothesley be wanting to spend some time with him, leading up to the Fontainalia Film Festival? Especially Neuvillette’s birthday, since that’s also right before the event? Why then, is Wriothesley suddenly out during all times of the night? Coming back with a scent of another, and avoiding any sort of confrontation that concerns his whereabouts?

Neuvillette loves his soulmate dearly, but he has questions that must be answered, and he can be a rather demanding dragon when the need arises…

Treasure Hoard: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

As Neuvillette returns from his spontaneous trip from Liyue and delivers some gifts to Wriothesley, the duke starts to notice odd things happening around their shared living space. More objects keep appearing in their bedroom, treasures that don't make sense to Wriothesley such as shells, trinkets, gemstones and even various different type of tea cups. He swears up and down he hasn't been the one to purchase any of these goods, and when questioning Sigewinne about it, she's just as lost as he is.

What exactly is going on, and why does Neuvillette seem so pleased with himself?

Story Eggs

These are short stories that I have had stuck in my mind for a while that have the potential to become full works. I've decided to finally start writing them all out, and if it garners enough want and I feel like I'm ready to write more, it will become a full work, either a single chapter or multi-chapter release on AO3. This gives me the opportunity to share more writings with you all, while also testing the waters on my ideas and you not having to wait a million years. It's a win, win! In my opinion, at least. If the eggs get enough love from both myself wanting to write more, and you commenting or kudo'ing a decent amount, it will 'hatch' into a full work! Get it? I thought it was clever, at least!

Domestic Days: Neuvillette/Wriothesley

Summary: Modern AU. Just your normal average every day domestic life with the two husbands and their adoptive daughter. Only, not so very normal, but so very adorable in the end.

Warnings: Mention of violence, death, and emergency medical situations.

Thank you for all of your support, it means the absolute world to me! ♥

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duxbelisarius · 10 months

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The Dance of the Dragons, A Military Analysis: Conclusion

This is the fourteenth and final part of my analysis (2 parts for each of the Seven, heh); thank you so much to everyone who has followed this series from the start, and those of you that have come across it and followed along! Here's the Master Post for anyone that's a first time reader, as well as links for my AO3 and Reddit uploads of the series!

I've been quite harsh towards George R. R. Martin throughout this series, perhaps more so than he deserves; the man has been writing professionally since 1970 at least, and has probably forgotten more about the World of Ice and Fire than any of us fans could ever hope to learn. Responsibility for continuity issues within the story and between it and George's larger mythos can be laid at the feet of Linda and Elio, George's continuity and editing team, and likely the publisher as well. Rightly or wrongly, George has taken plenty of flak from the fandom and beyond for a variety of reasons (cough cough Winds cough cough), but it was not my intention to heap any further calumnies upon him with this series.

I began my first re-reading of ASOIAF while working on this series and have enjoyed it immensely; GRRM is an excellent writer, and deserves every ounce of acclaim he has received despite his flaws. If you'd told me five years ago that I'd wind up watching HOTD, purchasing F&B along with Rogues and Dangerous Women, watching theory/lore videos regularly and rereading ASOIAF, let alone doing an c.30k word military analysis of the Dance, I would've looked at you like you had a third head. While I might have read the books again at some point, my interest in George's series was casual at best after I stopped watching GoT following season 6, and witnessed the season 8 debacle from the sidelines. For all it's flaws, I enjoyed House of the Dragon and interacting with fans online has been a fun experience (albeit not always). I would never have poured so much time and thought into this analysis if I didn't care about the series, or considered George to be a vastly superior writer than F&B would indicate. The problem with the Dance of the Dragons is not the idea itself but it's execution, with contradictions, contrivances and inconsistencies within the story weighing it down at every turn. This does not mean the Dance is unworkable; in fact there are numerous ways to fix these issues and make the story work.

Instead of Aegon, Aemond, Helaena and Daeron being Viserys' biological children, you could have Aegon son of Baelon survive childbirth and marry Alicent instead. Alicent's children become nephews to Rhaenyra instead of half-siblings, and their father could die before or shortly after Daeron's birth. Viserys could then marry his youngest brother's widow to placate those demanding that he remarry, thereby placing Alicent's children and Rhaenyra between Daemon and the Iron Throne. This means that Viserys still has no biological children that could threaten Rhaenyra's claim, and it could be argued via Widow's Law that these new children are Alicent's by blood and not Viserys' and thus cannot disinherit Rhaenyra of her claim. On the other hand, the Greens can argue that the marriage of Alicent and Viserys makes them the king's children by law, and can point to the Decision of 92 and the Council of 101 choosing a male claimant over the female claimant, regardless of whether the female's claim was stronger legally.

Introducing Aegon son of Baelon to the story as a dragonrider further improves the narrative, by making him Silverwing's rider after Alysanne. This gives the Greens an additional dragon under their control, and would also allow Ulf the White to play a more active role in the Dance by having Ulf be recruited by Larys following the 'Red Sowing.' After defecting to the Greens by providing information about Jacaerys's planned attack on King's Landing, this information could assist the Triarchy's attack on the Gullet, earning Ulf the trust of the Green Council and the opportunity to claim Silverwing. With Meleys and Vermax dead, Caraxes in the Riverlands and Syrax unlikely to participate in an attack due to the risk to Rhaenyra, this leaves only Vermithor, Sheepstealer and Seasmoke to attack King's Landing. Aemond's strategic gamble is easier to justify in this timeline (ITTL), with Aemond marching on Harrenhal while Ulf remains to protect the city, while the Blacks could attack after Harrenhal has fallen and take the capital thanks to Ulf's treachery.

Giving the Greens another dragonrider makes it easier to justify Aemond's Riverlands campaign, and would made better by having Aegon's supporters there continue the fight after TTL's Burning Mill. With Lannister forces to the west, Cole and Aemond to the east and Green supporters fighting a guerrilla war, it would make more sense why Cole and Tyland Lannister would support this plan than in our timeline (IOTL). Daemon could then withdraw his army north of the Trident and fly to Dragonstone via the Vale, to further support the idea that he had gone North. When Daemon reappears to attack King's Landing, this would enrage Aemond like it did IOTL), esp. if we assume he felt some responsibility for Aegon's injuries at Rook's Rest and Blood & Cheese. The Winterwolves' arrival could then see the Black forces march south to attack the Westerlands army; Cole wants to march west to join Jason Lannister, whereas Aemond wishes to draw out his uncle, with the two men falling out as IOTL. Cole marches west and is defeated alongside Jason Lannister, which could be the result of the Winterwolves falling upon one of the Greens flanks amidst a snow storm, ensuring that the encroaching winter weather matters to the plot while demonstrating the prowess of the Northerners without making them superhumans. Cole and Lannister are killed, with the remnants of the Westermen withdrawing over the Red Fork while those of Cole's forces defect to Rhaenyra, and Aemond begins his campaign of razing the Riverlands.

The situation at sea can be improved by simply having the Ironborn intervene earlier in the conflict; the Hightower and Redwyne fleets can thus be occupied by the Ironborn and the Shield Islands, as well as supporting the Hightower army. Combined with the poor autumn weather mentioned throughout ASOIAF causing storms in the narrow sea, and the risk presented by Rhaenyra's dragons on top of the strength of the Velaryon fleet, the Hightower and Redwyne fleets have sufficient reason to remain in the Sunset Sea without their existence being ignored by the narrative. Events in the Reach can be further improved by having the Tarlys support Aegon initially, agreeing to protect the lower Mander with the Florents and the Peakes against the Rowans and Caswells marching south. Ormund leads his own forces and those of House Redwyne, Cuy, Bulwer and Blackbar to besiege the Mullendores, Beesburys and Costaynes, but the Tarlys betray him and route the Green forces to the north, leading to the Battle of the Honeywine and Daeron's intervention. Houses Tarth, Fell and Buckler can take up arms against Borros Baratheon in support of Rhaenyra, with raids by the Velaryon fleet further accounting for the Stormlands' delayed support of the Greens. The raids by the Vulture King could be retained with the suggestion that Daemon was involved, as we know historically that the Vulture King movements were not supported by the Martells. Having Daemon's contacts in the Free Cities smuggle funds and weapons to the rebels allows him to create trouble for the Greens, while getting payback for Dornish support for the Triarchy during the War in the Stepstones.

The strategic positions of the Blacks and the Greens as of Maiden's Day 130 AC ITTL would be almost identical to IOTL; if Aemond is allowed to actually inflict serious damage on the Riverlords, this can also explain why Cregan Stark would avoid sending more troops south via the Neck. Joffrey Velaryon and Tyraxes leaving the Vale for King's Landing could also lead to a revolt by House Royce, in retaliation for Jeyne Arryn making common cause with Daemon, providing set-up for their support of Arnold Arryn following her death in 134 AC. This along with the threat of Aemond would explain the absence of the Vale's armies; having House Royce join forces with the Mountain Clans would strengthen this plot point, while giving a prelude to the raids by the Clans after the Dance. The Two Betrayers actions at Tumbleton are more plausible with Ulf being Larys' agent from the start; a more sensible choice for Nettles and Daemon's story could be to have them both battle Aemond, with Nettles being the lone survivor. Addam Velaryon finds Nettles and warns her of Rhaenyra's intentions, with Nettles fleeing as IOTL while Addam remains to rally what forces he can to oppose the Greens at Tumbleton.

The Tumbleton plot can be fixed by having the command crisis revolve around Daeron and the Two Betrayers from the start. While Unwin Peake, Hobert Hightower and other Greens fall-in behind the prince, former Blacks in the Hightower army turn to the Betrayers in light of Aegon's disappearance and Rhaenyra's downfall. The sides attempt to negotiate for a march on King's Landing while TTL's 'Caltrops' plot to murder the Betrayers and vice versa, devolving into fighting between the 'Daeron men' and the 'Betrayers brood.' The Riverlords would arrive during this struggle, leading to Addam and Daeron opposing the Betrayers together, creating interesting possibilities for the story. Ulf and Hugh's fates could be the same as IOTL, leaving Daeron and Addam to oppose Vermithor, or Hugh could fight them while riding his dragon. All four riders could fight atop their dragons and be killed as well, with Silverwing dying alongside Vermithor or fleeing to Red Lake as IOTL. In retrospect, Second Tumbleton could be seen as where the rifts of the Dance began to heal, with the town's postwar recovery being driven by veterans of both sides visiting to pay respects to the graves of Addam and Daeron.

The losses from Tumbleton and the Ironborn raids in the Sunset Sea can prevent the Reach from aiding Aegon II, while Cregan Stark's army could assist the Lads in defeating Borros Baratheon before marching on King's Landing. As suggested in Part 13, Cregan's army and the Valemen could be sent west to crush Dalton Greyjoy, with the Dance of the Dragons ending on July 7th 131 AC as IOTL or at some point after that date. A final change I would make would be to have Aegon II's murderers remain anonymous, with Corlys returning to Driftmark and Larys being dismissed as Master of Whispers and denied a seat on the Council of Regents. Clubfoot's fate could be as the first victim of Harrenhal's new 'witch queen,' his bastard half sister Alys Rivers.

This is a basic outline of the changes that could be made to fix some of the Dance's issues while retaining much of the story and characters as written by George. There's still elements such as Rhaenyra's tax policy that I haven't discussed, which would require further alterations, but I maintain that the story itself can work. HOTD has already made changes of it's own, and it will be interesting to see if Condal and co. take the Dance in any new/interesting directions. Regardless, I hope you've enjoyed this analysis of the Dance or at the very least found it interesting.

#house of the dragon #hotd #team green #team black #grrm critical #fire and blood critical #asoiaf critical #asoiaf #me #duxbelisarius

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michpat6 · 2 years

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I was tagged by @wanderingnightingale to reflect on seven creative things I’ve done in 2022, so here they are under the cut because is it really me if im not rambling 😂. thank you for the tag! anyone who sees this and wants to give it a go themselves, have at it!

1. as the sun sets on this world

my botw zelda and wolf link fic! this was an idea that came to me after I wanted to somehow incorporate wolf link's presence in botw into a story, but couldn't find a way to make it seem natural in a larger plot, so I kept it contained to this one-shot where he shows up and helps zelda take the master sword to korok forest after botw link's death.

it's not a super popular fic due to the strangeness of the idea, but I really like the character dynamics in the fic, especially the one between a damaged, unnamed fi who's trying to soothe a freshly-traumatized zelda. something something zelda finally getting a chance to talk to the very thing that "taunted" her her entire life, something something fi coming to terms with the fact that she's once again "failed" a Hero. i also loved writing the spooky nightmares that zelda has.

2. lightning in a bottle (flashing before my eyes)

my urbosa/zelda's mom fic is one that is very close to my heart. urbosa is one of my favorite zelda characters, and I love being able to make up a backstory for her that's worthy of the amazing character that she is (kind of. botw's characters besides zelink are all very flat but it's FINE it's why im WRITING THIS FIC. she's an amazing character in my head).

I just...she's so cool??? she's so confident and badass??? where does that come from how did she become that person??? why can she wield lightning??? I wanted to answer all of those questions that I had about her that wasn't just the most obvious answers of, "she balances out/soothes zelda's anxieties and gives us backstory on those anxieties. her lightning is a really sick game mechanic so she just has it to give it to link after she dies". also why would the game mention her deep connection to zelda's mom if they WEREN'T in love? of COURSE I have to write their love story and what it meant for urbosa to love a woman who was gone too soon, and whose daughter is in desperate need of guidance that only she can provide by emulating her mother and saying what her mother would say. urbosa's confidence is genuine, a product of her life up to the point that we see her, but it's also a way for her to give Zelda her mother for even just a moment.

in going in-depth on urbosa, I also get to go in-depth on zelda's mom, and I love zelda's mom. I've actually stolen her personality and such from a character from one of my original fiction ideas, so it wasn't exactly hard to come up with who she is, but honestly the hardest part of creating zelda's mom was picking her name. I was originally going to call her Rose so her name would be "Zelda Rose Hyrule", as it sounds nice as just "Zelda Rose", but I ended up going with Faye ("Zelda Faye"/"Zelda Faye Hyrule") because as I was implanting the personality of one of my characters onto her, Rose just didn't fit anymore. I felt it was too "gentle" of a name for this woman who is anything but that. no offense to anyone named Rose. I also love weaving in these little similarities between the queen of hyrule and botw zelda, because even though they're two completely different young women they're undeniably similar in a way that only mothers and daughters can be.

this fic only has two chapters out of ten posted. I am Trying. chapter three will happen eventually.

3. the goddess's chosen guardian

my short little impa fic! I love her so much!

this fic is just me going crazy over impa. I was literally in the car driving home from work one day, got stuck in traffic, and then "wrote" this whole thing about impa and sheikah culture and whatnot in my head and then I got home, opened up my laptop, and wrote for four hours until the whole thing was out of my brain. then I posted it on ao3 like two minutes later.

I don't even know, I just wanted to go in-depth about how cool impa is, because the idea of her as a whole, someone who isn't mentioned in any of hyrule's prophecies but is central to protecting the Goddess's bloodline??? you're telling me impa is "just a side character"??? she's the reason for all of the legends of zelda even coming to pass, as she protects the existence of a girl with hylia's blood (and the longevity of hyrule's royal family), which snowballs into the reason why ganon wants to destroy the world and then why link gets called upon to stop him. she's arguably even the reason ganon gets defeated if you go back far enough in the butterfly effect, because if zelda dies what the hell is link supposed to do once he kicks ganon's ass? he has no idea how to seal evil in another realm, the only magic he knows comes from items he finds in dungeons and spinning his sword really fast. zelda is the triforce of wisdom, and without impa most of the time the triforce of wisdom is lost.

she's just so freaking awesome. how could I not write something about how she becomes who she is?

4. with every drop of rain singin'

mitski should be put in prison for writing pink in the night does she even know what she's done to me????

this was my fic for zelink week back in july, and it was supposed to be a one-shot. like...5k MAX. then it became 30k broke out into three chapters. I don't know where my energy for long one-shots like my fi fic went, but I just have to break stuff up now and therefore I am cursed to forever say "oh this is a one-shot" and then have like three additional chapters because I can't stop adding stuff. this is what it means to be a writer.

this fic is weird, because it's so different from my usual writing in that it's strangely profound. I don't even know what happened one second I was writing about zelda having amnesia after sealing the calamity and the next second I had link philosophizing about love and what it meant for him to barely remember someone who couldn't remember themselves. he wanted answers, that's why he became the Hero, but instead he's the one having to give them even though he doesn't know anything for sure. it's a fun reversal! I also got to play with stream of consciousness for the first time in years, which is why there are gigantic paragraphs and run-on sentences as link rambles to himself trying to figure out what's going on and his feelings surrounding this zelda who is nothing like the one he vaguely remembers.

5. a thing that doesn't change with time

this fic is a testament to how deeply I will commit to the bit, because it's not even a bit anymore. this is serious. I've convinced myself that this npc merchant is secretly god and hiding the secrets of the universe in his beetle-shaped backpack. he helped build skyloft. he knew skyward sword impa. he's never tired when you go up to him in skyward sword or botw he's LYING to all of us for his own personal amusement because he's been alive for millions of years and got bored one day. I know him on a deeper level than anyone else in this fandom (this is a joke, unless it's not, look at what I just said), I know this to be true. my uncle works at nintendo.

all jokes aside though, this fic is a MONSTER just like the previous one. almost 30k and I still have the last chapter to write. it's an exercise in world building and character crafting on a level that I haven't operated/written on in six years, and when I finish this fic (and if I think hard enough to take away all of the "zelda"-isms) I can probably turn it into a whole original story and have a solid 30-40k little novel on my hands about a man who unwillingly becomes a god and fights tooth and nail to retain his mortality. I genuinely love this idea and I literally cannot look at beedle without going, "I know what you are".

6. overdue

I've written some other smut on my account, but this is the fic that my practice ones had been building to, and I think I was better for it. it was fun to write, albeit difficult because I could barely keep a straight face when I was reading it back to myself, trying to make it the best that it could be, and honestly my favorite part of it is the comedic ending when botw zelink is finally done boinking in the library's secret room and they get called out by impa.

7. ignorance is bliss

this is the only non-zelda fic on the list, being for the chainsaw man fandom and a lesbian rarepair. even though this year I've also written an attack on titan and a batman fic, this is the one that I like the most out of the three fandoms that I've ventured out into writing for.

to really go in-depth would be to spoil the new anime, as it spoils something major, but I like the dynamic I've made between the two characters the fic is about, how they speak to each other and how they "love" each other, as both of them have no idea what it is to love. there's also another heaping of smut in here, but it's not "sexy" smut, so it was a first try at writing intimacy in a way that wasn't really intimate at all, which I think I was wayyyyyyy better at. apparently I can't write anything properly if it's not angsty dkfjhsdjkghksdg

#michpatfics #asks #zelda fic #botw fic #zelink fic #zelink #botw #breath of the wild #link #zelda #the legend of zelda #loz #loz fic #zelda fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #urbosa #urbosa fic #csm #csm spoilers

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firedragon1321 · 7 months

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Big rant about my Capsule Zaurus stuff below. Mostly about fanworks, copyright, concept art, and how I use copyrighted material in my stuff.

Before I start the rant- I want to mention that I put a lot of links in here. A few go to my artwork. But most provide extra info and clarification. Some of it is because Capsule Zaurus is a pretty overlooked prototype to Digimon, so not all Digi-fans know what it is. Some of it is because I have been in fandom a long time and I lost track of when people stopped using squick and I don't know what the kids use these days. Feel free to click a link if you're confused about anything.

I want to return to my Capsule Zaurus project because Tomoya (the character in the header) is doing that "character wants attention and occupies your thoughts" thing. I really don't want to focus on fanfic right now (mostly because I'm drowning in WIPs). But I don't know if the project counts as original fic, or to what extent.

For the uninitiated, here is a brief timeline of Capsule Zaurus from conception to today.

Bandai draws concept art for a virtual pet game for boys in 1997

Doesn't use it because it's too similar to Pokemon

Puts it in a drawer

Does NOTHING until 2013

Puts it in an artbook

NEVER mentions it again

Fandom posts translations and then sleeps (you can read all the info in the first two links)

I learn about it almost a year ago at an anime con and get inspired

I draw all this stuff- including some redesigns, but also original Zaurus and human characters

I come up with this batshit insane plot and world to go with the concept art

I find myself in a tangle of mostly original ideas, with vestigial but clear connections to Bandai's work

I'm not sure if it should just go to Ao3 or if I should rework my elements and characters into something else

Bandai's Capsule Zaurus isn't a finalized work. It is concept art. I'm a raccoon digging through the trash and taking things Bandai doesn't even want. But chances are they still hold the copyright for it. Not to mention the name likely comes from Pocket Zaurus, which is published and certainly copyrighted.

Putting the work on Ao3 would be extremely tricky, too. It would have to be tagged as Capsule Zaurus- which is not a fandom at the moment- plus Digimon, plus Original Work. This obtuse collection of fandom tags would likely be confusing, and I doubt anyone would read it.

It doesn't help that the story is T at mildest and M at highest. I don't write E-rated content. But that's what people want over there. I've noticed some authors who write both get a lot more hits on their sexy stuff over their tame or gen work, and good gen writers often go ignored.

So if I don't want my story to rot on Ao3, I'd probably have to remove the Zaurus characters entirely and make it original. This seems counterproductive. But it's the more likely route I'd go to preserve my original stuff. I don't want to do that, since I love Digimon and I like the "what could have been" nature of the concept art. But I really hate filing the serial numbers off of shit without acknowledging it as parody/mentioning the creators which...this isn't.

Below are two examples of me acknowledging parody and playing with copyright. Keep in mind I cut my teeth on 2007-era fanfiction, so people were constantly writing "I do not own this" on their shit.

For my Toon-iverse Saga, I have a Character Who's a Lot Like Tai (Soren, actually- it's more obvious in his backstory). But the back of the book credits Bandai/Toei/everyone I can possibly think of. The books are made of characters like this, and calls back to the source material while doing something unique. You don't need to know the original material to understand the plot, though doing so helps if you're looking for Easter Eggs.

Then, there's Zunru, which is a love letter to and critique of Pokemon. You don't need an in-depth knowledge of Pokemon to understand it (though as with the Toon-iverse Saga, it helps with Easter Egg hunting). The first few chapters even seem like "we live in harmony with these wonderful creatures!". But then the charade falls away, and the story reveals itself to be its own animal. At the end of each of these books, there is a credit to "Satoshi Tajiri, GameFreak, and Associated Parties", indicating that this is parody, I acknowledge the original but this is my own thing, etc., etc. Which is more than Temtem/Palworld did, but that's another story.

These are both instance of fair use, with possibly too much butt-covering spurred on by my fanfiction dot net heritage. They aren't like, say, writing a Twilight fanfiction, changing only the names, publishing it, and deleting the evidence. Which I feel trying to publish Capsule Zaurus as it is right now is pretty close to.

I just don't know what to do for Capsule Zaurus. I don't want to focus on fanfiction right now. But Tomoya is screaming against my skull and banging pots and pans. I'm sure I'll find the solution. It might be as simple as changing a few designs a bit more to make them more unique and not using the word "Zaurus". But that's still filing off the serial numbers.

Dammit, Tomoya.

#writing #fanfiction #copyright #rant #vent #capsule zaurus #tomoya #mention of soren #i have multiple chins because i'm OLD #my art #kinda #that's the topic of this ted talk

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deepspacedukat · 3 years

Note

Hello! I hope you are doing well today ☺️ I would love a Gul Macet fic 👀 maybe he meets an lt on the enterprise and it can go from there? Fluff or otherwise, I can also give more detail if needed i don't think I've seen a fic for him yet so 😂

Ooooh! I love the sound of this! The most undignified sound just came out of my mouth when I read what character this was for. I hope you're doing well today too!! And thank you for the request! I hope I can do it justice! (Sorry this took so long. The prompt sort of ran away with me lol.) Cross posted to AO3 here.

If anyone wants to be added to my taglist or wants to submit a fic request, my ask box is always open! If you want to know whether I write for a certain character, have a look here. If the character you want isn't on the list, I probably just forgot to add them, so please feel free to ask.

This is the first installment of “The Trager’s Gul” - a series about Gul Macet. Links to the rest of the series can be found below.

Risa Is For Lovers

Mesmerized

The Cove

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Peace Talks And Other Diversions

Gul Macet (ST:TNG) x Reader

[A/N: I don't really have any notes but! Cardassians! :3 ]

Warnings: Mentions of battles? Cardassians engage in a bit of posturing when they flirt, so...posturing as flirting??? Little hint of spice. Just a tad implied. Also Data is Data...

~*~

A week of travel along the Cardassian border saw the Enterprise meeting up with a ship we’d seen once before. The Cardassian ship Trager under the command of Gul Macet was holding position with us as a delegation of officers transported over for the latest in a series of peace talks. There was already a treaty between the Federation and Cardassia, but some of the finer points were still under review by both sides. Given that Captain Picard was one of the Federation’s best diplomats, it made sense for him to be given this assignment.

In Starfleet formal wear, the Captain, Commander Riker, and Counselor Troi all stood in the transporter room awaiting the signal from the Trager. Standing behind the transporter controls, Mr. O'Brien and I worked side by side on a final check of the transporter system. He could have done it himself, but he knew I was curious about the Cardassians. The Captain did raise an eyebrow when he saw me, but offered neither comment nor question when he saw I was in the appropriate formal uniform. After a few minutes, we received a message from the Trager stating that Gul Macet and his party were ready for transport. Moving out of the Chief's way, he beamed the delegation aboard. When the Cardassians materialized, my eyes fell immediately to the one in the center. All three of them were impressive, but there was something different about him.

"Gul Macet, it's a pleasure to have you aboard the Enterprise again, especially since these are much happier circumstances than our last meeting," the Captain said extending his hand in greeting to the very Cardassian I had been fascinated by only a moment before.

"Indeed, Captain, I'm glad that we are no longer under the threat of imminent combat. Perhaps this time, we shall be able to take a bit more time to get to know each other," the Gul said grasping the Captain's hand cordially.

"You remember my first officer, Commander Riker, and my ship's counselor, Deanna Troi," the Captain said, and the Gul greeted them both with a polite nod of his head. "And my transporter chief, Miles O'Brien, of course."

The Gul gave him a respectful nod and let his eyes slide to me, obviously expecting an introduction. As I wasn't meant to be there in the first place, however, the Captain provided none.

"You'll remember my aides, Glinns Daro and Telle," he said as the two men stepped forward. After the Captain had greeted them both, Gul Macet stepped over to stand on the other side of the transporter controls directly in front of me. "And who might you be, my dear?"

"Lieutenant (y/f/n) (y/l/n)," I answered with a polite smile. The Gul took a cue from our own Captain and held out his hand to me in greeting. I took it in my grasp and noted the small smile that stretched across his lips. "Welcome back to the Enterprise, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Macet smiled just a little wider before the Captain spoke up.

"Gul Macet, my senior staff and I have arranged a formal dinner in honor of your presence on the Enterprise and participation in these diplomatic talks," the Captain said in his most official tone. The Gul nodded his head and turned back to me.

"I trust you'll be attending as well, Lieutenant?" At the Cardassian's question, I could do no more than blink owlishly. I hadn't been invited, but I also didn't want to risk disappointing a diplomat.

"If you desire her attendance, then, of course, the Lieutenant will be there," the Captain said after a moment, ending my internal struggle.

"Excellent. I look forward to the pleasure of your company this evening," he said with a little wink. "Now, I think it is time for me to get my mind off of recreation and back to business."

"Of course. Commander Riker will show you to the conference room," the Captain said, and soon the transporter room was empty save myself and O'Brien.

"Well, yeh were curious about the Cardassians. Looks like you'll get teh observe 'em closer than yeh thought," the Chief said with a smile. "Better you than me."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I deadpanned before heading off to complete the rest of my duty shift.

Later that evening, I donned my formal uniform once more and made my way to Ten Forward where tonight's dinner would be held. I hesitated in front of the door for a moment, wondering if I should have delicately declined.

"It is normal to be nervous, Lieutenant," a cool voice called out, and I turned to see Data a few feet from me. "I am correct about your current emotional response, am I not? Your hesitation suggests that you are preoccupied."

"Yes, Data, you're correct. I've been to formal events before, but none that I wasn't originally invited to. I suppose I...feel a bit like I'm intruding where I don't belong," I said hoping that I was explaining myself well.

"You are not intruding. The Captain would not have extended an invitation to you at all if he truly felt you did not belong," Data said analytically. After a momentary pause, he placed what I assumed was meant to be a comforting hand on my shoulder, then headed inside himself. I took a deep breath and straightened up before going inside.

Servers were mingling with crew members as they offered the contents of their trays - at the moment that appeared to be liquid refreshments. I snagged a glass of a syrupy liquid from a passing server with murmured gratitude. This must be Cardassian kanar. Moving to a quiet corner, I observed the mix of senior staff and Cardassian guests with interest. There certainly was a fascinating contrast between our two crews. I could see now more than ever why Data enjoyed observing social interactions from the sidelines as he was doing tonight.

"Ah, here you are. I was beginning to believe that you weren't coming after all," a familiar voice called from a small cluster of people near the starboard window. Turning to see who was receiving such a joyful greeting, I found Gul Macet's eyes fixed on me. Beside him, the Captain raised an eyebrow, but excused himself to go mingle with one of the Glinns. As I began to approach the Gul, a smile stretched his lips. "May I say that of all the guests present tonight, you are by far the loveliest."

My cheeks heated up at his words, and I took a reflexive sip of my drink as I searched for the right words. Bad decision. The kanar was surprisingly strong - it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

"Th-That's very kind of you, Gul," I said as I struggled to hold back a cough. I tried to make it look as though I wasn't having trouble, but from the amused gleam in the Gul's eyes, it's safe to say I wasn't doing well.

"Call me Akellan. I assume this is your first time drinking kanar?" He asked offering me a gentle smile.

"Yes, it is. I-I didn't think it would be quite so strong," I said clearing my throat as quietly as I could manage. He let out a small chuckle.

"It does take some getting used to. It is rather an acquired taste. Your Earth drink...champagne, I believe? That was equally surprising for me. The bubbles add an...intriguing sensation," he said gesturing to his own flute. I appreciated his effort to make me feel more at ease, but before I could say so, the head server entered and announced that dinner would be served. "I wonder if you would do me the honor of sitting with me, Lieutenant? If you have arrangements already, I understand, but if not, I would very much enjoy the pleasure of your beautiful company."

"The honor would be mine, Gul," I said, and he raised a hand.

"Excellent, but please, call me Akellan," he said before offering me his arm. With a confirming nod, I placed my hand on his arm and allowed him to lead me to the table. "May I call you (y/f/n), Lieutenant?"

Since he was again within earshot, the Captain gave me a look of what I interpreted as amused surprise.

"Of course you may," I answered as we both took our seats. Deanna was seated directly across from me, and she gave me a rather knowing smile. Given her empathic abilities, she was no doubt able to sense my curiosity and attraction toward Gu- Akellan. Akellan. He told me to call him Akellan. I had to remember that. The servers got to work ensuring we all received food, and they got a resounding 'thank you' from all parties involved. A few minutes into our meal, conversation was flowing easily.

"Gul Macet, I hope you're enjoying this visit to the Enterprise better than your last," Counselor Troi commented, and without missing a beat, Akellan nodded his head and glanced between myself and Deanna.

"Oh, undoubtedly. The view is much more attractive than before," he said turning to me and tossing me a wink. I averted my gaze with a shy smile and noticed Data looking rather confused. He looked to Commander Riker who was taking a sip of his drink.

"Sir, as the foremost expert present on human and interspecies mating rituals-" Riker nearly spat out his drink and his eyes widened. "-would I be correct in assuming Gul Macet's statement to be a flirtatious one?" Deanna tried very hard to hide her smile as she patted Riker on the back to ease his coughing. Riker's cheeks were bright red as he struggled for words, but he was saved by an amused laugh from the Cardassian next to me.

"Ah, I see. Well, you and my cousin Skrain have something in common then, Commander," Akellan said with a bright smile. "He's a bit of a...oh, what do you call it in your language?"

"A ladies' man?" I suggested, and Macet placed a gentle hand on my arm.

"Yes, indeed. A ladies' man. Thank you, my dear," he said, and Data still looked a little confused. "To answer your question, Mister Data, yes. My comment was meant to be flirtatious. The Lieutenant is a rather beautiful young woman. Surely you can't blame a man for enjoying the company of a lovely lady. In fact, I rather think that pleasant social interaction was the point of this event between our people."

"It is, sir. I meant no offense. I am intrigued by social interactions and study them whenever possible," Data said with an innocent sort of frankness. He'd always been so kind to me, and I know he truly hadn't intended for his words to cause any problems.

"Then I hope we will prove to be worthwhile subjects," Akellan said before someone changed the subject to the peace talks. The rest of the meal passed without anything of consequence transpiring, and when a few members of the Enterprise crew and some of Gul Macet's officers began to retire for the evening, I stood to take my leave as well. The Gul stood as well and offered me his hand. "May I escort you back to your quarters, my dear?"

"O-Oh, I couldn't possibly inconvenience you like that-"

"Indeed you couldn't, for the simple reason that it would be no inconvenience at all. It would be my honor," he said with an encouraging smile. In full sight of the Captain and the senior staff, I placed my hand in the Gul's. We bade the remaining officers a good night and made our way to the turbolift. When the door slid closed, Gul Macet turned to me and stepped closer. “Your fellow officers were jealous of me, especially Commander Riker. The look he gave me as we left was positively feral.”

“I highly doubt that. He and the Counselor are sort of an item-”

“Would it surprise you to know that I am jealous of the rest of your crew?” Akellan asked in a quiet, serious voice. I could do no more than blink in surprise. “It’s true. They get to be around you and work with you every day. They get so much time with you...yet mine is limited.”

Taking a chance, I placed my hands on the chest plate of his armor and stepped closer, hoping that I wasn’t reading all this wrong.

“Then we’ll just have to make the most of the time that we do have,” I responded quietly, and the slow smile that crossed his thin lips was all the warning I got before he leaned in and kissed me.

#why are there no gifs of Gul Macet???#rude???#gul macet fic #gul macet x reader #gul macet x reader fic #gul macet #akellan macet #gul akellan macet #star trek tng #it's a joy to write for the space lizards #they don't get enough love #deepspacedukat fic

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katnissmellarkkk · 4 years

Text

Gravity

Hi! Okay, so here’s chapter two of my growing back together story, inspired by the prompt “I won’t hurt you” @rosegardeninwinter sent me. I also posted this fic on AO3 under the title Gravity (like the Sara Bareilles song), if that’s where you prefer to read. And here’s a link to chapter one of this fic if you wanna read and haven’t yet.

Also I know I said in my first author’s note that there will be three chapters, but there might be a bit more.... we love an over-writer, right? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t know if you’re “supposed” to post every part of a multi chapter fic on here? Or just post the link to it on AO3? But for now I posted it in its entirety on here 😊.

Anyways, hope you like it! And thanks to anyone who reads! 💖💖💖

A couple months later.

We slide back after that. I don't know if that night-the night he had a nightmare that I died and we slept locked in each other's embrace-moved too quickly for Peeta or if he thought he was protecting me from him, but when morning light came, he was gone from the bed.

I didn't see him again until the following evening, helping Haymitch feed his rambunctious geese in the yard. He didn't speak to me for four more days after that, and when he did, it was to ask what kind of bread I wanted him to bring for lunch the next day.

I pretended to his face that it didn't hurt. That waking up in a cold, empty bed, in a house he all but abandoned until I had evacuated, that sleeping in his arms and awaking so abruptly alone, didn't hurt. I did what I had taught myself to do as a child and I turned my features into an indifferent mask, shutting off all access to my emotions. Destroying any possibility of anyone witnessing my vulnerabilities.

But I knew deep down, it did hurt. It hurt badly.

I didn't speak to him directly the first week he showed up for lunch and to work on the memory book again. I got by fine without addressing him directly, as Haymitch somehow sensed the bubbling tension between us and stayed sober just enough to remain alert for all our shared meals. He helped with the memory book, helped by adding in a snarky comment here or there to reel our focuses onto him instead of each other.

I wanted to say thank you but I never knew how. I doubt Haymitch needs me to verbalize it anyway. One night, as he follows behind Peeta to leave, his hand grazes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze and I know he's much more aware of the dynamic between his old tributes than he leads on.

But weeks after the night in question, the night that set Peeta and my friendship back months, we receive a telegraph from Effie. A telegraph that shakes the small amount of stability we've managed to build in the time since the war.

Apparently President Paylor has decided to move forward with arena destruction, an idea mentioned a few times by Plutarch on Caesar's talk show. An idea I didn't take seriously until now.

Paylor has decided to build a memorial for each of the arenas, for each year the games ever took place, to immortalize our history, so Panem can never forget how cruel and inhumane things once were. But first, she wants to eliminate the actual Hunger Games arenas, once and for all, before putting the memorials in their place.

My initial thought, months ago when Delly showed me Plutarch and Caesar discussing the idea, was that this would takes years to happen.

I was, once again, so clearly wrong. The plans have been expedited and the order in which each arena will be decimated has been swiftly decided.

All that alone doesn't sound terrible. I'd like to see those death pits crushed, burned, torn down, eradicated, or all of the above, by any means necessary. Only downside, initially, is that this will extend me—and Peeta and potentially all the other victors—remaining in the forefront of the public's mind.

Since the war, all I've ever wanted was for everyone in the country to forget who I am. I don't want to be known anymore. I just want to be left alone, to a quiet and peaceful and relatively simple life, without anyone ever recognizing me again. Without anyone thinking of me as the girl on fire, as the Mockingjay, as the sixteen-year-old who volunteered for a sister who was doomed to death anyway.

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch.

Plutarch thinks it would be great to have the living victors be there—televised—in the Capitol and see the arenas before they're bulldozed.

Even with this dreadful proposition, I thought I had time to think of a way out of it. When Effie first sent the telegraph, I thought that I would have years before having to worry about going back to the places where my nightmares started.

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

After all, it takes time to destroy something as large and as vast as an arena-excluding the way I destroyed the one in the Quell, that is. I figured-I rationalized, really-that by the time they got to number Seventy-Four, I would have a solid excuse to get out of attending.

I guess though they wished to start with the big years and the first decade of the Hunger Games wasn't very eventful, apparently—lucky them—so the first arena they wish to bid farewell to is the one from the second Quarter Quell. The Fiftieth Hunger Games. The one that was so strikingly beautiful and almost entirely poisonous.

The year Haymitch Abernathy, from the lowly District Twelve, won.

And being also from Twelve, my presence, along with Peeta's, suddenly became of the utmost importance as well.

At first, I still try to opt out of the event. Even after Effie chastises me over the phone, like not a day has passed since she was my escort, and even after my mother claims in her letter that it could be cathartic for me, I do not relent.

Delly and Thom and a few of the others in the community, like Kanon who runs the candy shop two stores away from the bakery, and Greta, who helps with the dusting and mopping all over town, try to say that it could be good for me. Greasy Sae claims it can't be worse than actually living through the games, and I silently appreciate her much more blatant statement than the comforting platitudes others try to provide me.

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

Because the only person I truly listen to is Peeta. Even bitter and wounded, the only person I really hear is him.

Unfortunately, as irritating as it is sometimes, his voice will always reach me when others can't.

But we don't ever have an actual conversation about it. Five days after Effie calls to announce the news, to tell me unequivocally that my presence is requested, Peeta sways me to go with just a look.

He comes over later than usual and brings extra bread and pastries to go with the deer meat I hunted. We feast silently, the air between us still incredibly awkward, when, without warning, our old mentor comes crashing through the door unceremoniously.

I don't know how much alcohol he consumed, but it's enough to knock even someone with Haymitch's tolerance off his feet.

By the end of the hour, the older man is practically beating his head into the wall of my dining room, screaming the names of dead children and about force fields and axes. And from across the kitchen table, Peeta touches my arm—the first time he's voluntarily touched me in weeks—and my eyes meet his, blue pouring into gray, and silently he begs me to go for the goodbye ceremony to Haymitch's arena.

And I give in. Not just for him. But also, in large part, to repay the caustic, miserable drunk that kept us alive. To support the unpredictable, temperamental man that I do consider my family somehow.

The ceremony is set to take place weeks later and the time does little to alleviate my anxiety. Peeta and me still don't speak much, but come time for lunch or dinner, there he is, in my house like clockwork.

When I point out, a few days before we're due at the train station, that there's a very realistic possibility that the Capitol won't let me go to the ceremony, Peeta casually says, "I already cleared that with Effie and Plutarch."

I shoot him a look of surprise. "You did?"

Shrugging nonchalantly before turning back to the rabbit on his plate, he murmurs quietly, "Thought it'd give you one less thing to worry about."

The ceremony is nothing like I expect. Somehow I figured there would be an obnoxiously large television crew, loud speakers, prepared speeches on written cards, awkward directions and crowds upon crowds of people surrounding us, asking pointed questions, shooting invasive stares and pressing for reactions to their nosy accusations. I expected those accusations to be directed at me and Peeta especially.

Instead, there's none of those things. There's no crowd at all, it's just us victors. Just Enobaria, Johanna, Annie, the three of us from Twelve and Beetee—who I still can't make myself so much as look at, reminded of my sister's absence and his role in it every time we so much as stand in five feet vicinity of each other.

The camera crew consists of Mitchell, Pollux and Cressida, along with two unfamiliar, but seemingly non-threatening faces. There's no directions, no prompting, not close ups or reshoots.

All that happens is Paylor makes a statement that the crew films, stating that the arenas will be destroyed one by one, and in the place of each there will be an individual memorial made, as we victors stand in an unorganized, crooked line that will surely make Effie cringe when she sees the footage on television later.

It's almost peaceful, I think to myself in surprise, as I look around at the location. The sky is a stunning cobalt, even more brilliant in person than in the video Peeta and I watched on the train so long ago. The meadow looks like the grass is fresh, like it was just watered yesterday. The mountain is so breathtaking I have to physically tear my eyes away from it and even the woods look rather cozy. Or maybe that part is just me.

There's also arraignments of flowers, just like in the footage we watched, that spill every which way, filling our noses with soothing, floral scents. It feels unnatural to say about a place set up for murder, but with the deadly poisons lurking at every turn eviscerated, I almost can find this arena truly beautiful.

Of course though, it's not my arena.

It's Haymitch's and he looks like he's about to be sick. He's white-knuckled it for a few days without any sort of drink—to my, Peeta's and, even Effie's, visible shock—and I can see plainly now that he's absolutely regretting it. His eyes are hallow and wild at the same time and I can see his shaking palms beneath the sleeves of his jacket as he stares out at the source of his every nightmare for the last quarter century.

It shocks me that he didn't find a way out of this. Actually, it shocks me still that these ceremonies are even possible.

I never knew they kept arenas after the games were over each year. I never realized they kept all seventy-four death pits, haunted by child sacrifice, the way you keep old vases on a shelf.

At this point though, it's just another thing to add onto the growing list of horrific and unthinkable issues that the Capitol doesn't even grasp. Keeping the haunted graveyards of children as souvenirs shouldn't sit right with anyone, I don't care how you're raised.

I tell myself to not be so quick to judge, as I can't know who I'd be if I had been born in the Capitol instead of the districts. Still, the idea of condoning the things they have without remorse or shame seems unthinkable.

I'm torn out of my thoughts when Cressida speaks. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Haymitch, before we finish filming?"

Once again, catching me off-guard entirely—he's full of all sorts of surprises evidently—Haymitch clears his throat and looks down at his leather boots before speaking. "Ardor. Garnett. Dolan. Silver. Ryker. Artemis. Slayte. Pistol. Lex. Mac. Lumen. Gig. Brook. Aqua. Mary. Ripley. Lyme. Watt. Rocky. Gio. Belle. Raven. Kia. Mecko. Barker. Jack. Holly. Briar. Essie. Stitch. Coco. Paul. Mira. Miller. Coop. Harvey. Butch. Cutter. Bea. Skinna. Basil. Sunny. Rip. Spring. Oaker. Terra. Maysilee." He lists off the names in a way that is so matter-of-fact that it would almost be robotic if it weren't for the hoarseness in his tone that grows stronger with every name he utters. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, "Corentine. Alannah. Alastar."

There's a long stretch of silence, where no one speaks, no one blinks, no one even breathes. We all know instinctively who these people are—I know solely from Maysilee Donner's name being called—but we still wait until Haymitch speaks again, to confirm our assumption.

"Those are the names of all the people this arena killed." His eyes grow glassy and his brow furrows in anger as he fights desperately to repress his emotions, and suddenly I have the strangest urge to hug my mentor, to make him feel better like he tried to do for me once when Peeta was stuck in the Capitol and I was distraught. But I know it wouldn't be appreciated or wanted, and quite honestly I'm glad for that, because I don't even know what to say.

The last three names Haymitch said stick in my head for some reason I can't explain other than an odd gut feeling. But then he speaks again, an in a voice growing gruffer by the second, he says right into the camera, "that's every single person who was killed because of the second Quarter Quell."

And, like I should have known all along, it hits me the last three names are the names of his family who were murdered to punish him for the stunt with the forcefield.

The last three names are the murders of the last people he loved. Until me and Peeta came along.

As if his thoughts matched mine, Haymitch suddenly shakes his head and his eyes widen again as he stares past all the rest of us, as he continues to take in the exact place in which life as he knew it, twenty-six years ago, was altered forever.

His reaction is more understandable and genuine than I imagined he would ever allow it to be, especially on camera, and I want to say something but me and him both aren't good at saying anything, and I find myself looking to Peeta, hoping he'd know what to do.

Peeta doesn't meet my gaze though. He's solely focused on our mentor and just when he opens his mouth to speak, the older man to suddenly shake his head in our general direction and clears his throat.

"I'm done. Tell Plutarch I'm done with this crap. Just hurry up and bulldoze this place so I can go back to Twelve," is all he says to Cressida as he storms off, but his voice is rough and caustic once again, and I can only hope he recovers from this event soon enough.

Somehow, witnessing Haymitch relive his games, even through the shield he so obviously puts up to the outside world, triggers me though. For some reason, I feel my eyes begin to water as I look around at the meadow, at the mountain, at the golden cornucopia, and wonder how anyone could build a place where kids would eventually go to die? How could anyone have ever been so inhumane? How could a country just accept it? How did we live for so long with the Hunger Games overtaking our lives and still remained complicit? I don't understand. The more time passes, the more days I'm separated from the war and from the old world and the old way of life, I just can't comprehend anymore how we ever lived in a place so horrific.

I feel my eyes spill over and I'm grateful that Cressida has stopped filming already, because if Plutarch saw any tears on film, he would make certain it ended up on television.

I wipe my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to go about it as subtly as I can, hoping no one else notices. For the most part, I'm golden. Enobaria is already exiting, with Beetee following not far behind. Jo's back is to me while she speaks to Annie, though as per usual, she seems to be irritated.

Of course, it's too much to ask for everyone to remain oblivious to my waterworks. Even as I rid myself of them before they become widely noticeable, I feel Peeta's eyes train on me and know, despite the distance between us for the last few weeks, he isn't going to ignore my upset.

To my surprise though, he doesn't speak. He doesn't utter a single syllable.

Instead, I feel his large, warm palm slip into mine and squeeze tightly, lacing our fingers together, in a way we have done thousands of times before. Like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete a picture, like two indivisible teammates that will fight against anything that is thrown their way, like two halves of a whole finally finding each other, his hand grasps mine with a vengeance and I know I won't be the one who let's go.

He's still holding my hand when we board the train, hours later.

A couple weeks later.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenstead, I will get the chocolate nut loaf and a platter of the cranberry cookies wrapped up for you... Yes, it will be ready by the time you arrive... No, I promise they won't be cold," Peeta assures through the bakery telephone—a new addition that Thom and his wife thought was necessary to run a proper bakery. So necessary they bought it for Peeta as an opening gift.

It's not that the gesture wasn't nice or that Peeta didn't deeply appreciate it. I personally saw that he did, wholeheartedly.

But seeing it on the wall every day was just another reminder to me of my own personal vendetta against the integration between the Capitol's way of life and the districts'.

The only place telephones used to exist, outside of the Capitol limits, was the houses in Victor's Villiage, and if I'm being honest, I wish it would have stayed that way.

Maybe I'm being selfish, as I happen to still reside inside a house that once belonged to the said village, therefore I already had experienced this luxury prior to the new world. But I just can't make myself break the association between the items that had recently become readily available for all and the horror that was the Capitol.

Still though, the change was inescapable Telephones, cameras, heating pads, curling irons, quick bake ovens, cars and so many other items, were all growing in popularly across each district. Not that I was able to see a lot of these changes personally. But letters from Annie and my mom, and the occasional—unprompted and yet still begrudged—call from Jo, all kept me informed. Sometimes more informed than I wished to be.

Maybe I would feel entirely different if these inventions were brand new to me. But they aren't. I'd seen and used every one of them before. Their novelty had always been lost on me, perhaps because my only experience them was while inside the Capitol, surrounded by tacky colors and strong rose scents and itchy materials, headed for a death match, my life and the lives of those I cared always at great risk.

Of course, the new item in the bakery did make some things easier. Days like today are a perfect example.

Harvest Day is only one day away and everyone is coming in for their breads and their desserts. Peeta says it was always one of the most popular days, for as long as he can remember. Only difference is, before the war only Peacekeepers and town folks could afford to purchase anything. And generally, most citizens who even did come in, could only purchase a limited amount of items.

Not now. I don't know where everyone in Twelve was coming up with the money or if Peeta's prices are just a drastic drop from that of his mother's, but today, I swear I've seen every citizen in town inside the bakery.

Makes me glad that the portrait of me is hanging in the back, where no one else can see it. As pretty as it may be, as talented as Peeta is, I don't want a giant version of me displayed for all to see.

"Here you are," I politely say, handing two loaves of warm bread to a man who must be new to Twelve, as I've never seen him before. I'm debating on asking if he moved here recently when he passes a bill to me over the top of the pastry display.

"Thank you, hon." He smiles at me, looking at me a little too closely for my liking, as he swiftly walks out the door. His exit is met with the arrival of Val, a boy Peeta and I went to school with, who definitely was more Peeta's crowd than mine.

Val is a regular customer at the bakery, having always genuinely liked the Mellark family. His parents owned a small carpentry shop four spaces down from the bakery, and even with both them dead, he and his two sisters rebuilt the store, taking over their parents' legacy.

Peeta though is more focused on me now than Val's order. "Give me a second," he calls to his old friend, a little less polite than he had been all morning. "Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks urgently, seeing the look in my eyes.

I shake my head and push away the anxiety threatening to close in on me. "Nothing, just..." I hesitate, not even wanting to say it. Peeta's gaze refuses to lessen though and I sigh before finally mumbling, "That guy. He creeped me out. The way he was looking at me so closely..."

Peeta's hand touches my arm for a brief moment before pulling it away, making it obvious that he regrets the small act of even so much as touching me. But his words are still calming and they relax me a little. "He's gone now, Katniss. And if he scares you, I won't let him come back, okay? There's nothing anyone can do to you or me anymore. We're safe."

I nod, knowing the words like the back of my hand at this point, as it's the same mantra we always repeat to each other, every time one of us begins to panic or flail. But still, I open my mouth to refuse his offer. I don't want Peeta to turn away any sort of business. Not with the unpredictability and uncertainty this new world still rests on. We never know if the bakery will sell anything tomorrow or if all sort of income will soon dry up.

And we're the lucky ones, financially speaking, who were rich before the war and allowed—in a generous declaration by President Paylor—to keep the entirety of our money after. I don't have to imagine the anxiety others in the country must be in, knowing the curse of poverty all too well. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

"I don't want you to turn away people," I say quietly. "Not on my account. You need business to keep this place afloat."

"I have plenty of money, Katniss," he reminds me, a little darker than I expect. "And I'd rather you feel safe than own a popular shop."

His words unexpectedly touch me, unexpectedly cut right down to the depth of my bones, exposing my soft underbelly. I'm about to do something stupid, like touch his hand, when Val makes his presence known again. "Your shop is already the most popular in the district," he points out, not even a little ashamed for having listened to our conversation. "And besides, why don't you just look at the guy's name? Maybe you can look him up, see if he's alright or not."

Peeta gets a glint in his eye. "That's a good idea, Val, thank you." As he moves towards the register to, I can only suppose, look for the man's receipt with his name and signature, he gestures to his school friend. "Katniss can get your order."

I shoot him a glare, only half kidding. I did come to help out, here and there, today but I did not intend to be an actual expected employee. For free, no less.

Instead of saying anything though, I just grab Val his three cinnamon rolls, his two snack cakes, four bagels, white chocolate donut and a loaf with raisins and cranberries.

Val, like Delly Cartwright, was always one of the few people in Twelve who had a few pounds to spare.

Peeta has a type of friend.

"Found it," Peeta now calls, bringing over a slip of paper to where I'm handing Val his three bags of treats. "His name was Rod Catamaran."

Me and Val, for the first time perhaps, exchange a look between us. "That's an odd name for Twelve."

"I've never even heard that name before."

"He may not even be from Twelve, guys," Peeta says.

I roll my eyes. "Because a bombed out district is really a tourist attraction."

"Hey, none of that," Thom calls as he walks through the front door of the bakery, with Kanon Bagley on his heels. "We've rebuilt this place beautifully and negativity is not appreciated here."

"Yeah, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, teasing me. I'm about to kick him in his only real leg, as we're the only two behind the counter and no one else will see, when Kanon speaks up.

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

"Of course," Peeta says kindly, walking around me to personally grab the two items Kanon requests.

Kanon is new to Twelve. One of the few new additions this place gained after all that went down. He's a large man in his early twenties, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes to match. But the only times I've ever interacted with him, he's quiet as a mouse, his eyes a little forlorn at all times and he offers more discounts then he should at the candy shop he recently opened next to the bakery.

He's from District Eleven originally and it takes no real critical thinking to realize he had a hard life, even before the war.

I'm far too familiar with the look of scars etched across the eyes. So is Peeta.

That's why, when Kanon looks down at the money in his hand and realizes he doesn't have enough to afford both pastries, Peeta immediately brushes it off. "That's okay, they're on the house," he instantly promises, handing the small bag over to Kanon with a gentle smile.

"No, I don't want to take it without-"

"I made way too much," Peeta insists, lying outright to make it appear Kanon would be doing him a favor. I know he didn't make too much, because we've been flying through everything today and keeping the ovens hot in case more is needed.

Still though, I back up the fib. "He did. We've been wondering all day how we were gonna sell enough stuff so we don't have to feed the leftovers to Haymitch's geese."

Kanon glances between us shyly, before taking the bag from Peeta's hand and slipping the few dollars he does have into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says softly and turns to leave.

Thom pats Kanon on the back as he passes him, before turning to follow. When the other man isn't looking, he turns back to us subtly and mouths, "thank you."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me. I only watched Peeta make this food, I didn't assist by any stretch of the imagination. I didn't own the bakery or do anything with the money or finances. It was not my choice to give things away for free.

But I'm far too focused on the boy in front of me to say any of that. The boy with the bread, the boy who isn't really a boy anymore. The boy who just gave away food for no reward at all, even on the most demanding and strenuous day all year for his business. The boy who just showed Kanon Bagley the same kindness I begged someone-anyone-to show me at eleven-years-old and not one single person did.

Except for him. He did for me all those years ago what he did for Kanon just now, and I suddenly have the most inexplicable, irrepressible urge to kiss Peeta right then and there, in the middle of the bakery.

I don't, however, and it's for once not because I lost my courage. It's because the door swings open again, just as Val exits right behind Kanon and Thom.

It's the same man from earlier. "Hi," Peeta greets, this time not at all sweet. Clearly recognizing the man as the one who made me nervous before. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the man affirms, his tone brighter than you'd expect given our chilly reception. And our blatant wariness for anyone new. "I forgot to get a pecan butter cake before?"

There is a beat where me and Peeta exchange a look, before I awkwardly move towards the display case and begin to pack up his item. Peeta waits for me to decide to help the man before starting to ring him up.

"That was a nice thing you both just did," the man says as he patiently watches me fold the white waxy paper over his pastry. "For that guy."

"You were watching?" Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Only for a moment," he explains, his tone still friendly. Either he doesn't know how to read people at all or he's the most even keeled person in Panem.

Because I know I'm being rude, to a man who maybe doesn't even deserve it, I force myself to say one thing conversational. "This is my mom's favorite dessert," I offer, gesturing to his cake.

The man raises his eyebrows in an act that looks almost feigned. "Really?"

I instantly regret trying to be even slightly pleasant. Even his mannerisms seem fake. I'm contemplating if I should say anything else or go hide in the back room with the warm ovens and my portrait, when Peeta presses a button and the register dings.

He's about to say the total when the strange man shakes his head and hands to me directly an unfamiliar bill over the display case. "Have a nice day, you two," he calls, grabbing his cake and swiftly walking out.

It's not until he's gone, not until I have a moment to process the second weird encounter with the odd person, that I even glance down at the crisp bill he handed me.

It's a bill with a larger number on the back than I've ever personally seen before. I knew these kinds of dollars existed—I'm sure I could have gotten plenty after my first games—but I'd never seen one in the flesh.

Peeta sees my reaction. "What is it?" His voice sounds alarmed and he's stepping closer to me, but all I can do is gasp out his name.

"Peeta, look." I hold up the bill and point to the number on the back.

His eyes widen too, taking in the amount with a dizzy smile. Of both relief that nothing's wrong and excitement at the digit.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder towards the window, wondering if we should track the man down and give him his money back, before he evaporates into thin air.

"No?" Peeta shakes his head, the wheels in his mind turning quicker than mine. His face turns to that of elation, as the large bill takes some pressure off the bakery's sales. "No, he said he saw us give Kanon a break. He was giving us something in return."

I'm about to say something else, I don't even know what, but it all flies out of my head when Peeta suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and swiftly pulls me into his embrace.

My entire body goes into lockdown and hypervigilance at the same time. I can't move an inch but it feels like every nerve in my body is abruptly tingling and on fire.

My sweater lifts up slightly and his bare arms graze my lower back, eliciting a shiver to run involuntarily down my spine as his face buries into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck after a beat when I can make myself move again, and I feel him smile against my skin. I'm so glad at that moment he's holding me up, because if he wasn't supporting my weight I'd probably crash to the floor, unable to even feel my legs beneath me.

And, as a rush of heat shoots out from the place where Peeta's lips brush my collarbone, I suddenly feel only gratitude, not irritation, at the strange Rod Catamaran.

Four days later.

The world surrounding me is green. Green and brown and fire-bitten and scorched. Every which way I spin, there's embers soaring from that direction too, waiting to lick me with their burning flames, ready to decimate me once and for all.

But through the smoke and haze, I still can see between the trees two blonde braids. I still can see a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. I still can see her shirt that's come untucked in the back, creating a duck tail that I desperately want to fix.

Just as I notice her, she whirls around to face me, her blue eyes big and bright and terrified. "Katniss!" She screams, the same way she did the last day she was alive. "Katniss, help! They're coming!"

I don't know who's coming or what's happening or where we even are, but all I feel is relief somehow. Relief that she's here, that I'm in her presence again, that she's almost within my reach. Instinctively I call out, "Prim!" Just so I can finally get a response to the name I've been shouting into oblivion for almost a year now.

"Katniss, help me!" She cries again and then looks over her shoulder. She's not talking about the fire between us, as it doesn't seem too intent on heading towards her.

I don't know what's coming or who she's afraid of, but my instincts now go into overdrive. My body suddenly snaps into alert and I whip my head around, to see if I can find an opening in the fire closing in on me, if I can find a way to get to the sister I lost what feels like only yesterday, if I can find a way to save her this time.

There's no gap in the fire though. It's crowded around me, front, back and side to side. The more seconds that pass by, the closer the fire folds into my proximity, and I have to brace myself before making a split-second decision.

But it's not really a decision at all. Prim needs me and I cannot fail her. I have to save her this time.

I take a bold step directly into the fire, with every intention of running through it somehow. Of running past the wild embers, scorching myself no doubt, but still making it over to my distressed, frightened little sister. But it doesn't work like I expect.

But really, does anything?

These flames are nothing like the fires I've encountered before. And I've been around more fire in my life than anyone ever should.

No, these flames don't burn me. They don't hurt me or put me through agony or singe me to pieces. They don't melt off my makeshift coat of skin and they don't further decimate it either.

Instead the fire feels like almost nothing. Like something almost itchy, something almost irritating, something almost painful. Something that make me want to squirm and scream and escape all at the same time.

Which is real ironic considering what else it seems these flames do.

They seem to hold me into place. The second I'm in their hold, instead of the horrific pain I thought I'd be in, I'm trapped in a series of almost nothing.

I'm not in excruciating pain physically, but seeing my sister standing ten feet from me, and not being able to move any closer, not being able to protect her from whatever she's terrified of, is worse than any amount of injury this fire could have inflicted.

"Katniss!" Prim screams now, her voice only growing in its frantic nature. "Help! Why won't you come help me?"

I try to scream, try to tell her I want to but I can't move. But it turns out that these flames also paralyze vocal muscles.

"Peeta's dying!" Prim yelps out, looking behind her again, her hands beginning to shake in a way she almost never let them in life. She always tried to keep it together, to remain calm and rational in a crisis.

Her words elicit something entirely new inside of me though. "Peeta?" I yell in confusion, my voice suddenly no longer paralyzed.

"They're killing him! Katniss, please, why won't you come here? We need you!" Prim is close to hysterical now and frankly, so am I.

"I'm trying! I just," I move my hands down my body, trying to push the flames away as they rises up to my chest, trying to just break free from these fiery chains once and for all. "The fire, Prim! I can't get out of the fire."

Prim's voice drops then, loses all source of fear, every ounce of panic. Loses any semblance of emotion. "Katniss, there is no fire," she states blankly, her eyes looking directly at the embers covering my stomach and legs. "There's nothing there."

I just look at her for a moment, completely speechless. Her words are inconceivable, her eyes are haunted now, her facial expression is unrecognizable. Even her voice doesn't sound like hers anymore.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, in the distance a gunshot goes off.

Prim delicately glances over her shoulder now, her blue eyes cold as ice. "He's dead," she informs clinically, before sighing deeply, her tone almost disappointed. "And so am I."

I don't know what happens next or how it occurs, but I fly upwards in my bed with such a start, I give myself whiplash.

I hear a loud screeching noise hanging in the air, a hoarse trepidation that almost makes me feel better. I don't know why but someone else screaming in the middle of the night gives me hope, as sick as that may be.

Only it's not someone else, I realize, as my throat burns raw. I realize with startling clarity that I'm the only making all the noise. I'm the one shaking so tremendously. I'm the one who is sobbing.

"Shhh," a voice whispers against the darkness, and I flail involuntarily at the shock. "Sorry, sorry," Peeta instantly apologizes, his hands gripping my arms with a little too much intensity, trying to still my shaking. "It's okay, Katniss, you were just having a nightmare."

His words do precious little to calm me down though. "She was there," I cry, the image, the feeling, of Prim standing only ten feet from me and not being able to reach her too painful for me to unsee.

"Who was there?" He asks tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Katniss, breathe."

I don't even bother listening to his advise. I haven't exhaled since I was eleven. "Prim was there. She was begging me to save her and then I couldn't, I was trapped but-but," I cut myself off, unable to form coherent words and thoughts any longer.

Peeta gets the gist though. "Come here," he whispers and pulls me into his arms, like he used to on the train, when my nightmares woke us both three times a night. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly now, and rubs my back in a way that elicits goosebumps. His way of trying to soothe my shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You died too," I blurt out then. I don't even know why I feel inclined to tell him.

"What?"

"I was stuck and I couldn't speak and then Prim said you were going to die and I got scared enough that I could talk again and I thought-I thought," I stumble breathlessly, my tears pouring out against his shoulder now.

I feel his lips touch my cheek and I'm too upset to revel in the feeling of blood rushing there. "It was just a nightmare," he promises.

But my sentiment is unfinished. "I thought I could break free, that I could-"

"Katniss," he halts, still holding me in his embrace, rocking me slightly. "It wasn't real. I promise you, it wasn't real."

Those words, the words so often said to him by me, ring a bell that I didn't want to ring. It snaps me back into reality abruptly and without warning, I feel like my chest is going to collapse.

Because this means Prim wasn't really there, that she still is as dead as she was yesterday, that I still watched her explode into pieces all over the bombsite in the Capitol.

I still failed to protect her.

Peeta pulls back slightly then and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Katniss," he says again, trying to calm my trembles by rubbing my arms up and down.

"How are you in my house?" I realize, with an intense sudden clarity. "How are you here? Are you real or am I still-"

He quickly puts me out of my misery. "You gave me a key, remember? A long time ago? We gave each other keys to our houses."

Oh. Right. I forgot all about that when he had his nightmare, didn't I?

Good thing he's an idiot who keeps his door unlocked at night.

He's explaining further before I can think to ask. "I heard you having a nightmare from my house. That's why I rushed over here."

I'm caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Sorry, I really don't know what brought it on."

"Hey," he quietly reprimands, lifting my chin now to meet eye contact. "Don't apologize. No one understands nightmares like me."

I nod, accepting his words, though still a little uncomfortable with screaming for all the district to hear at two in the morning.

Then again, our entire neighborhood is Haymitch and the two of us, and our mentor was drinking like a fish last night so really, the only person who could have heard me is already sitting directly in my eye line.

To punctuate his words, when I don't respond verbally, he lifts my hand up and brings it to his lips tenderly.

And I don't know what comes over me or why. I don't know if it's because we've been growing closer again lately or if I just haven't felt his arms around me since days ago in the bakery and I miss the feel of it desperately, but I find myself abruptly throwing my body around his before I can talk myself out of it.

He catches me easily, like he anticipated my reaction and sways me for a long moment, until my breathing begins to even itself out.

"Will you stay?" I rasp into his neck, as I feel his hand tangles in my matted locks.

"Always."

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fic #fanfic #prompt #everlark fanfic #fanfiction #growing back together #userreese #i think thats what you meant when you said to tag you????#gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖

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theintentioncraft · 3 years

Text

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES - When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours.

I've been tagged by @lordbelacqua (thank you Dea! <3) to talk about Backlead aka: that one Masriel fic I wrote where I got massively carried away...

Rambling/essay under the cut - fair warning, it's a long one!

Okay so first of all just a little disclaimer that Backlead did not follow my usual writing process - the idea was 110% borne out of self-indulgence and it was also both my first foray into HDM fanfic and my return to fanfic as a whole after a long hiatus from writing, so for me this was really a chance to just get back into the swing of things. Everything from Heavenly Guard through to Swansong and all of my current WIPs follow a more structured process and I'm happy to discuss any of them in a separate post!

PLANNING: I tend to find with my fics that I either have a nice little timeline of events planned out pre-writing or I have a very specific event in my head and I just take that and see how things unravel from there and Backlead was 100% the latter.

All I had in my head initially was the ballroom dance scene and so a lot of my admittedly-minimal planning was around the technicalities of that particular section, as well as some of the more general details e.g Marisa's outfit, the setting of the ball, etc. Planning the dance was the most fun part because it was a chance for me to put a lot of my dance knowledge to good use and think up something that fits the back-and-forth way in which Marisa and Asriel frequently navigate their encounters. In a way though I'm actually very glad that a lot of this fic Just Happened instead of being planned out, sometimes it's nice to just run away with an idea!

MUSIC: This gets its own section because this is one of the most important things in my process. Every single fic I write is written to various pieces of music that just help me to put myself in the right headspace for whatever I'm writing at the time - sometimes its just a single piece of music (I wrote Swansong in one hour with just one track from the Unforgotten - a TV show in the UK for those of you not familiar with it - soundtrack on repeat) and sometimes its entire playlists. I do love geeking out about my music choices for fic writing so happy to talk more in a separate post about music for some of my other fics if anyone's curious!

For Backlead I found a couple of playlist-vids from the lovely raviolae on youtube that really worked wonders for my writing. This comes with a disclaimer that I did not necessarily attribute any of these specific songs to either dance scene and I wanted to leave that open for people's imagination - but it's still brilliant vibes for thinking about two once-lovers-now-enemies trying to one-up each other whilst ignoring how much they still find each other attractive.

The two playlist-vids in question are here: you're stuck on the dance floor with your rival and find out they're an annoyingly good dancer and you're dancing with your rival and both of you want to lead

WRITING: First step every time is to figure out who's POV I'm going to cover because that makes a major difference in the way I'm going to write. Characterisation is the big thing for me and there's nothing I love more than to really get inside a character's head and basically think like them, and figure out what makes them tick and how they'll react to the story I'm putting them in. With my initial idea for Backlead being basically about the subtle power dynamics of a ballroom dance, Marisa felt like the natural go-to for this one and I found it much easier in this instance to write in her headspace than in Asriel's.

I wrote this fic in a very out-of-order fashion. The first dance (the slower, waltz-style dance) was the first part I finished, then I did as hinted at above get very carried away and move onto the section in the hallway, then I went right to the start and covered the entire section leading up to that first dance. Then I revisited the hallway scene because I wanted to rework it (the initial version was planned to be more explicit and involved less dialogue - but I wasn't comfortable with writing out the former at that time and the latter got changed by way of me having a sudden burst of dialogue-themed inspiration). The second, more set piece style dance came last in terms of the 'major events' that I wrote purely because I spent a lot of time racking with my dance knowledge to try and make it work in a way that didn't feel forced.

My final major writing stage is to write the 'transitions' between each major part - small pieces where nothing particularly noteworthy happens but it helps the fic to flow from one conversation/event to the next and also sometimes allows me to sneak in a bit of characterisation that I couldn't fit in elsewhere.

Along the way I often leave sentences half-finished with a bracket indicator so I know to go back to it later or I make little notes if I've added something in that needs explaining earlier in the fic, and I make sure to sort those parts out before I jump to the self review/beta reader stage. A couple of examples are below:

Although sometimes this method does also annoy future me too 😂:

SELF REVIEW/BETA REVIEW: Whenever I finish a fic, it gets put away for a day or two and I stop thinking about it completely - if I'm using a beta reader (usually @thatlavanderbard but I sometimes enlist help from friends on discord), I'll send them a copy of my draft at this point so they can start going through and leaving comments for me to work on, but the idea is that when I go back to my work a few days later I'm looking at it with semi-fresh eyes and can properly sift through each sentence to make sure things make sense.

When I'm self-reviewing I generally tend to follow this order of operations: spelling/grammar check (via docs') -> flow check (making sure any deliberate time skips/POV changes/etc in my fic flow smoothly from one part to the next) -> address beta reader comments (because they almost always pick up on things I myself would've picked up on anyway) -> general detailed final read through to make sure I'm happy with every single line and it all makes sense.

Backlead didn't get a full beta read because I had hit a point with it where I just wanted it up ASAP and my impatience got the better of me, but the rest of the above self-review stages still happened and I still spent a fair few evenings going through it properly and also running the occasional sentence or two by some helpful discord friends if I didn't like the way it flowed but couldn't quite figure out how to remedy it!

POSTING: First step was to reset my AO3 password because I forgot it yet again whoops

On a more serious note this part is pretty straightforward - once I'm ready to post a new fic I generally just go on autopilot for this part of the process (other than when I get to 'additional tags' and immediately get brain freeze...). As soon as it's up on AO3 I swing by here to make a post about it, then swing by discord to drop the link to friends who may be interested in reading it and then I normally nervously scuttle away from my notifications for a while out of fear that people hate it lmao.

That last part was especially true for Backlead because of it being my first trip into HDM fanfic and I always get extra nervous when posting my first fanfic for a new show/game/etc. Thankfully I got quite a few nice comments both on here and on discord that provided good motivation to stick around and post a few more things!

I always panic when asked to tag people lmao but I'll tag @fortheloveofwii for any part of the Onward, Onward series, @lyracordelia for any chapter in Hiraeth or the fic as a whole, and @glassrunner for this absolutely gorgeous gifset of beautiful game soundtracks. Please don't feel like you have to do this if you don't want to though!

#stel talks #showyourprocess #y'all thought i rambled in my fics just look at me rambling here #i'm hoping this makes sense!#it was nice to dive into how my brain works when i try to write things #my writing

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oikawa-tuwu · 4 years

Text

Kitchen (gn!Reader x Osamu)

Rated T, 1.5k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

"Can I hide in here?"

You spend most of your time surrounded by people. Entertaining guests and providing homey hospitality is half your job after all. Therefore, you tend to relish the time you have to yourself. Cooking dinner, like you do every evening, is one of those times.

Unfortunately, it seems like one of your guests didn't get that memo.

“Can I hide in here?”

You blink. One second ago, you were alone in the kitchen, washing vegetables for dinner, but now there’s a man, tucked against the wall of the kitchen, glancing fearfully into the hallway.

“Not from the cops, I hope.”

“No,” the man says, even though the intensity wedged deep into the furrow of his eyebrows says otherwise. “My brother.”

Ah. He’s one of your guests. Now you recognize him as one of the twins that you checked in yesterday, the one that slapped his brother on the arm as you led them to their room. You never did get an explanation for the assault, but hey. Siblings.

The man in front of you shifts his feet a little, glancing back out into the hallway, and you remember that he asked a question. While you're not exactly used to having an audience while you cook, you also can't find a reason to tell him to leave, so you shrug and the man sighs, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Thanks. I’m Miya Osamu, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

Miya nods his head in greeting, sliding into one of the barstools at the end of the kitchen island. He pulls out his phone and you continue washing potatoes. It’s quiet, and a little awkward, but not unbearable.

Then, Osamu’s phone starts to ring. Well, vibrate, to be more accurate, spasming violently in Osamu’s hand, and it startles him so much that he almost drops it, before catching it in his other hand and trying to pretend like that slip never happened.

Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing.

“Are you gonna get that?”

“Nope,” Osamu says. He flips through something on his phone, and the ringing stops, even though his phone on the counter stays lit up with the notification of an incoming call from contact name: Asshole.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re trying so hard to avoid your brother?”

Osamu scowls, and somehow scowls even harder when his phone lights up again. Incoming call from Asshole.

“It was his idea to come here as a sibling bonding vacation,” Osamu says, emphasizing that last part with unenthusiastic air quotes. “I haven’t spent this much time with him since we were in high school. I just need a second alone.”

“Sounds like you two are close.”

Osamu makes an uncommitted sound, somewhere between a grunt and a huff, and rejects the next phone call that comes in. “If you call driving each other up the wall everytime we’re in the same room as each other as close, then yeah.”

“Distance helps with that,” you say, as you pull out a cutting board for your freshly washed vegetables. “If you spend enough time apart, you’ll start to appreciate the time you can spend with each other.”

At first, Osamu doesn’t respond, just watches as you slowly begin to chip away at the mountain of vegetables you need to chop for the stew. Hesitantly, he finally asks, “Do you want help with that?”

“This is kind of what you’re paying me for,” you laugh. “Besides, no offense, but my reputation as a host is dependent on evenly cooked vegetables, so if you mess up...”

“I own a restaurant,” Osamu says, deadpan. “I don’t think I’ll fuck up chopping carrots.”

With a shrug, you get out a second cutting board and knife, sliding it across the counter. “If that’s how you want to spend your vacation.”

Osamu washes his hands, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work. He’s quick with the knife, quicker than you, so you start on the actual base of stew as he works, dicing and chopping. You're a little surprised at how... nice... it is to cook with someone else for a change, working in silence as you both attend to your tasks.

After cooking the floured beef, you add a few splashes of red wine and keep stirring. Once it's ready, you add the broth, and wait for it to come to a simmer.

Osamu, on the other hand, made quick work of the pile of potatoes, onions, and carrots and he quietly slides the pile of diced produce towards you.

“Stew?” He asks, peeking into the pot with a watchful eye.

“Yep. It’s cold outside, and this stew recipe is pretty hearty, so…”

“It’s a good idea,” Osamu says, with a quiet, fond smile. As he talks, one hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, a strangely endearing nervous tic. “My mom used to make stew for us after we got home from spring nationals every year back in high school. It smells like her recipe.”

“Do you want to try it?” You ask, digging for a spoon in the silverware drawer. “Obviously, it's not done, but…”

Osamu accepts your offer anyways, and takes the spoon from you, closing his eyes as he lets the beef broth and wine run down his throat. “Tastes like her recipe.”

“Do you mind getting out the tableware? Bowls are in the top cupboard to the right of the sink.”

“And you sound like her, too,” Osamu grumbles, but he laughs when you do, and obediently traipses across the kitchen.

The quiet returns, briefly, but this time it's tainted, distantly, by the sound of someone yelling. Although muffled, it sounds vaguely like they’re shouting a name, so you tilt your head and listen harder to make out the syllables.

“‘Samu!” The voice yells again, significantly louder this time, as the speaker gets closer to the kitchen.

“Is that-” You start to ask, but the scowl on Osamu’s face answers your question for you. Before you can think better of it, you point to the door in the corner of the room. “You can hide in the pantry?”

Osamu blinks, and it takes him a second to process the words, but then he grins, darting into the tiny space and shutting the door just as the kitchen door opens.

“Is Osamu in here?” The other Miya asks, grinning as he leans into the kitchen. “Looks like me, except dark hair and less handsome?”

“Hm,” you hum, as you go back to stirring the stew. “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The blond Miya nods thoughtfully, but, unfortunately, doesn’t leave. Instead, he slides into the seat that had been previously occupied by Osamu, still sporting that same mischievous grin. “The name’s Atsumu.”

“Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you. You know, my brother is a chef.”

“Really?” You ask, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu continues, his smile growing. “He’s good, too. Makes the best onigiri I’ve ever eaten, which is good, because if he quit playing volleyball to do something he sucked at, I think I would have to disown him. Did I mention that? We played volleyball together. He honestly could have gone professional if he wanted to, like me, but I suppose I can forgive him since he’s so successful-”

“Miya,” you interrupt. “Are you talking up your brother to me?”

Atsumu shuts up, and has the decency to at least look a little embarrassed, as his cheeks flush a little and his grin loosens up just the tiniest bit. He rubs his neck, a gesture that you saw only a few moments earlier on his twin brother, and says, sheepishly, “You got me. But… just between you and me,” he takes a second to glance about the room, like confirming his brother wasn’t actually in the room and he just hadn’t noticed the first time, before leaning forward and stage-whispering conspiratorially, “he thought you were cute when you checked us in yesterday.”

“Did he now?”

“Uh-huh,” Atsumu says, that mischievous glint back in his eye. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

And with that, Atsumu winks, rising from his chair and leaving back through the door, giving one last wave before it closes shut behind him.

You give it a moment, but when the pantry door doesn’t open, you say, “You can come out now, Osamu.”

“I don’t want to,” comes the muffled response.

For the second time, you have to bite your lip to stop the laugh that threatens to escape. “Not even if I offer you another taste of the stew?”

Slowly, the pantry door swings open. Osamu walks out, one hand self-consciously running through his hair, not quite looking you in the eyes.

“Is it possible for you to forget everything my brother said?”

You tilt your head, a teasing lilt to your words as you ask, “You think I’m cute?”

“When you’re not conspiring with my brother,” Osamu replies, shuffling his feet in a way that could only be described as quietly self-conscious. “Then yeah. I think you’re cute.”

For some reason, the admission takes you by surprise, and your cheeks flush even though you were the one that goaded him to it in the first place.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat and looking back down at the stew. “I guess you made an effective sous chef, Miya, so if you would like to return tomorrow, I won’t complain.”

Osamu smiles, and you’re pleased to note that his eyes drift up from the floor to you, frown sliding into something more like that playful grin like his brother’s just a second ago. “I guess that depends. What’s on the menu?”

“I was thinking… onigiri. Know anyone that could help me with that?”

(A/N: Its not my favorite I've written, but it's done! Also shoutout to my mom for dealing with her daughter running into the living room and demanding she recite a stew recipe from memory. Which she did. I also posted this to AO3, so you can find the link to that on the masterlist! See you on 12/5 for Tendou's! Dw, the next ones will be more holiday/winter inspired than this one ;) )

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu osamu #osamu x you #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n

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tin-wufborf · 2 months

Text

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 11)

Hello again, and welcome to part 11! I cannot believe I'm up to 11 parts on this thing with more to come (though not too many more, I think). That means I've recommended 200 fics/series so far as I've been doing 20 recs per post. Tbh I'm actually pretty proud of myself over this because it means I've been showing incredible restraint throughout this process in only recommending my favoritiest-favorites as opposed to every single fic I can remember liking even a little bit (don't worry, that will be the next series lol). For reference, I currently have 2,610 Sterek bookmarks in total on AO3 and have so far reviewed 1,749 of them to get to those select 200. That is wild to me lol.

BUT ANYHOOZLE.

As always, thank you all again for the support you've shown this series. I hope you're all having as good a day as you can, if not a great day. Smoochies and squeezies from me to you!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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not enough by Jana_C (G | 1/1 | 1,569)

Sometimes love is just not enough.

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A Quiet Night (Not in the Cards) by Delightful_I_Am (T | 1/1 | 4,369)

"Derek fucking Hale!"

The shout rang through the bar and for a long moment nobody moved. It was like something out of a movie. Everything just stopped; the music cut off; one of the servers had frozen mid-pour. Grady would have laughed if he weren't holding his breath. The kid straightened his shirt, a glimpse of stomach showing the curling edges of a tattoo on his hip, and strode toward where Hale was sitting in the dark corner. As one, every supe in the place turned to see Hale's reaction; the last person to try to confront Hale in here had left with a broken hand and a whispered threat that the next time Hale would rip their throat out. With his teeth. Unsurprisingly, Hale's face was set in its usual glower, although it seemed a bit softer around the eyes. It took Grady a second to realise Hale knew the kid.

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Painted Wooden Letters by DiscontentedWinter (T | 5/5 | 10,013)

All he ever wanted to be was Stiles Stilinski.

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Babcia Knows Best by thepsychicclam (T | 1/1 | 11,887)

Stiles takes his grandmother to bingo every Thursday. Now there's a new guy calling out the numbers, and his grandmother has decided to set them up.

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god knows I am dissonance by scepticallyopenminded (E | 1/1 | 24,239)

Stiles has zero regrets – zero, absolutely none – about leaving Beacon Hills after he graduates from Stanford. He knows his dad is good, has friends, has the force, has Melissa, and knows that even if he and Mel weren’t dating, that Scott has the sheriff’s back, will take care of him, keep him safe.

He knows Lydia has no regrets, either, and the two of them hop a plane less than a week after the graduation ceremony, two full weeks before their lease in Menlo Park is even up. They pack up a U-Haul, go back to Beacon Hills for two nights, and then they’re off to LAX, three suitcases and two carry-ons between the both of them.

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There's joy not far from here by Talis89 (M | 9/9 | 28,354)

“I’m coming,” Derek calls, shrugging on a sweater. The first few days of March had been warm, but the weather has turned in the last week - winter's last ‘fuck you’ - and Derek is expecting the icy blast as the warm air rushes out the front door. “What—” His breath freezes in his throat.

“Hey there, Sourwolf.”

Stiles is standing on the front porch— Derek’s front porch— his right hand waved in a half wave.

“Stiles?” Derek almost takes a step back. “What are you— how?”

Two years after Derek runs from Beacon Hills, Stiles turns up at his front door looking for his own escape. What follows is a story of adventure, healing and finding a place to call home.

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The Heart Remains The Same by heartsdesire459 (T | 1/1 | 28,797)

When Stiles left for college, he already knew the truth... Stiles wasn't a 'he' at all. Dropped into a new, exciting, liberating level of freedom that came with going to college somewhere without anyone who knew her, Stiles began to explore her true self and began her quest to become the girl she knew she had always been. Her fears of everyone's reactions back home led to skipping the first holiday... and then a second. And then the next.

Two and a half years after leaving Beacon Hills - two and a half years spent living an entire new life as a trans!woman - a call in the night forces Stiles to go back to Beacon Hills to face the people she had left and the friends she had abandoned.

“Stiles… it’s your dad.”

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The Second Coming (of Werewolf Jesus) by lupinus, uraneia (E | 3/3 | 40,104)

Stiles was enjoying his senior year until his crazy English teacher decided he made the best candidate to gestate Derek's kid. Now Stiles is a seventeen-year-old pregnant dude and he and Derek have to figure their shit out, because in nine months they are going to be tied together for the rest of their lives.

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Burning House by 1jet2unknown, nottoolateforthegame (E | 15/15 | 41,007)

“Why am I here? What was the point of showing me all that? It’s not like it’s going to change anything!”

You can change it.

“How?!”

You can change it if you go back.

“Then take me back!”

Stiles’s stomach lurched as the world tilted and stretched sideways.

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Now as Ever (All That Is and Has Been) by venis_envy (E | 16/16 | 52,270)

Stiles can't remember what happened to rearrange the time-space continuum, or how he ended up being pulled into the past. All he knows is that he's there now, in 2003 Beacon Hills, with a teenage werewolf and a possibly-crazy veterinarian as his only allies.

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Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 68,368)

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

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Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill (M | 10/10 | 70,382)

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them." -----

The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

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What Goes Around by KouriArashi (M | 16/16 | 71,451)

“Well,” Stiles says, “if they’re going to hunt werewolves, I’m going to hunt them.”

It’s a ridiculous statement from a ten-year-old, but he’s obviously one hundred percent sincere. For the first time since the fire, Peter feels life stir inside him, feels purpose. It’s kismet, clearly. He’ll never meet the child he would have had with Olivia. Instead he’s met this boy, this brilliant, determined, cynical child with a world of potential.

Peter kneels down in front of him so they’re at eye level. “How do you feel about doing that together?”

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The Law of the Jungle by Nutellargh (E | 1/1 | 75,854)

After the Kanima fiasco is over, Derek takes his three betas and leaves Beacon Hills. Stiles knows he could contact him if needed, but they barely keep in touch, and only about mundane things. 4 years later, after a steady stream of supernatural issues they somehow manage to deal with, Lydia is the one to contact Derek when Stiles starts looking worse and worse everyday, with no idea as to how or why. The Slavic monster draining Stiles' energy points them to a much bigger issue Beacon Hills has been troubled with for years.

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Windows by dr_girlfriend (E | 28/28 | 83,266)

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

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where thou art, that is home series by ShanaStoryteller (8 works | NR-E | 94,108)

Hi, Tin here. Once again, Tumblr is deciding not to allow me to post any of the individual stories and summaries here, so here's a very brief summary without me waxing poetic about the series:

This is a canon-divergent AU series that acts as a sort of "fix it" for the universe without sacrificing the things we know and love from canon (imo). It begins with Stiles (and Scott as his co-pilot) managing to prevent the Hale fire from taking out the whole of the Hale pack and then moves forward from there. Lots of BAMF!Everyone abound and interesting takes on existing tropes and canon elements. I urge you all to check it out.

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The Taming of the Wolf by Amethystina (T | 15/15 | 105,352)

When Stiles seeks shelter from the rain in a rundown house in the middle of the woods, the last thing he expects is to find that someone is actually living there. Even less that the person in question isn't quite human. Derek is something else entirely.

Before he knows it, Stiles is thrown into a world he knows very little about and while he enjoys the unlikely and complex relationship that sparks between them, it's obvious that something darker is lurking in the shadows. Something from Derek's past that is just waiting to tear them apart.

Chapters 13, 14 and 15 are bonus chapters, featuring the same story but from Derek's POV (a total of 40 700 words). This is basically two fics in one.

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Anthracite by LupusScintilla (inkandblade) (E | 16/16 | 106,673)

It's been a quiet few years, and the McCall Pack has grown and settled. But, when the Hale Pack return to Beacon Hills they find Scott isn't as welcoming as they had hoped.

Soon they, Stiles, and Lydia, find out that not everything about the McCall Pack is as it has always seemed.

♠

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All Bark and No Bite series by MoonlitMemories (3 works | NR-M | 157,246)

1. Protect and Serve (M | 17/17 | 150,789) Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles? 2. Baby makes Three (G | 1/1 | 3,202) Erica finds out she's pregnant. 3. One of Us (NR | 1/1 | 3,255) Malia doesn't know what to do with the Hale pack.

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Get You The Moon by A ClosedFicIsNeverRead (E | 30/30 | 180,785)

Derek looked up in surprise to note that they were taking a private jet. Dread settled into his gut like a stone. “It has a cage, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly, and noted the subtle changes in his family members’ posture. “Is it for me?” Cora gave him a pleading look and nodded. “Is it because of what you’re going to tell me?” he asked, voice like gravel. Another nod confirmed it. Stiles. Oh, GOD. It had to be Stiles. Derek would not lose control over anyone else in Beacon Hills and they damned well knew it.

- OR -

The one where Derek has been gone for 6 months building a new life, finds out that Stiles is being assaulted by Theo, so he comes back to Beacon Hills to kick some serious ass and rescue the loudmouthed human who stole his heart.

(You will need ALL the tissues, but it will have a happy ending by the time all is said and done!)

Title inspired by song: ‘Get You The Moon’ by Kina ft. Snow

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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