#the intricacies of their bond make me feral | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ascottywrites · 4 years

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Best...Friends?

That Bad Friend Scott McCall tag really gets to me sometimes because even though the fandom kind of pushes it to an extreme, even before the whole Donovan and Theo business I can see how much of a suck-ass friend Scott could be. Like I don’t mean that friends should be up in each-others assholes during every given moment of the day but it is a horrible feeling to be cast aside like so much trash or easily forgotten and in cannon that happened more often than it should have for two people who call one another ‘family’.

And I know, extenuating circumstances, storytelling, ‘poor story telling’...yada yada, but I’m also a petty ass and sometimes I need to consume the distortion in the fandom to thrive.

**Also, lets be honest, sometimes the fanfiction is truer to the characters portrayed than the actual cannon. ijs

This whole post is also known as “I’m a petty asshole who lives in the south so doesn’t get enough opportunities to actually be a petty asshole.”

Anyway! On with the list! :

Steter:

On Edge by Bunnywest (Complete: 8/8| 23,707)

“What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone. "Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?" The sheriff's voice cracks, and Peter can tell he's out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn't blame him.

In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control. Peter's the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter's mate. Peter maybe hasn't quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he's damned if he's going to lose him to some feral alpha. He's going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan. It's Peter. He always has a plan.

pack of two by ScarSacrifices (one-shot| 1,735)

“You’ll be alright. No one can hurt you now,” Peter breathed out clutched the sobbing boy to his chest. Peter took a shaky breath and smoothed his hand down the boy’s hair making low shushing sounds as he did so. “Just listen to my heartbeat sweetheart, I’m here. You’re not alone,” he clutched him tighter, “not anymore.”

A Blowtorch? Really? by MysticMusic (Complete: 2/2| 4,757)

“He’s homicidal,” she sputtered.

“No, Allison. The witches are homicidal. He’s smart,” Stiles hissed, “and if you took your narcissistic head out of your ass for five minutes, you’d see something called self-preservation instincts. Seriously what the hell is wrong with you? A blowtorch? Really? How fucking stupid are you?”

Or, Stiles defends Peter when Allison attacks him with a blowtorch like a lunatic.

I'm Only Heard During the Silence Between My Screams by Irukashi_Narukib (wip: 42/?| 52,721)

Stiles thinks no one is listening, so he just... stops talking. It's just like that asshole Peter to refuse to take the hint.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter (Complete: 13/13| 32,124)

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Black Fire by Green (one-shot| 10,934)

Deaton is all about the balance of the universe, about order. Stiles's new magic - gifted to him from the Nogitsune - is the complete opposite of that. Deaton calls Stiles's magic "dark" and seeks to imprison him in Eichen where he's no threat to the balance. Peter and Stiles go on the run - but they can't run forever.

The Only Sound by Elpie (Horribibble) (one-shot| 4,407)

Stiles becomes acutely aware of the weight and vibration of his voice in his throat. He knows what volume feels like, and understands the intricacies of modulating it through context clues. If his voice shakes at first, no one seems to notice much.

Except Peter.

What It Takes To Not Be Broken by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 17,410)

He's pretty sure Death is nipping at his heels at this point.

But he has to stay awake, has to keep Gerard away from Erica and Boyd, the two Betas still tied up with mountain ash and electricity on the other side of the room, and it looks like they're trying to scream through their duct-tape, still, but he can't hear it, not anymore.

The terrible, all-consuming, staticky silence had over taken him after about the third time Gerard's lackey- Ben, he thinks his name was- had stuck a military grade taser to his ear, a low enough voltage not to cause brain damage, he'd said, because the point of this was for him to talk.

[Or: The one where Stiles is kidnapped and tortured by Gerard, and his injuries lead to a complete loss of hearing, among other things.]

Sterek:

Something With a T by Futureworldruler (wip: 10/?| 22,723)

It started when Derek showed up at his house with a car full of plants.

Or Derek gets help, moves in with the Stilinskis, and slowly builds a new life for himself

Alpha, Mage, Pack by Foxfire2018 (wip: 36?/| 401,116)

Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for. Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack. With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?

User Error by Poison_Love_Words (wip: 10/?| 37,767)

Given enough coffee and a few flirty texts from Mr.Bookish, Stiles could rule the world from his basement office at Triple S. That is until the day his best friend stabs him in the back for a pretty face and the (false) promise of fame and fortune.

Based on the Prompt: Omega Stiles is the real brain behind the up and coming tech company but Scott the public “face” starts to believe his own press and falls in with his new girlfriends bigoted family. He lets them talk him into kicking Stiles out of the company. And then Stiles gets revenge by going to work for the Hales.

I'll Bare My Back (If You Hold The Whip) by Kinkubus (wip: 5/?| 16,435)

After the fiasco with the Nogistune, which Allison barely survived, Stiles is pushed to the fringes of the pack. Alienated from his previous friends and abandoned by the Sheriff who can't deal with his broken son, Stiles slips further and further into a pit of despair. That is until he finds someone even more desperate than he is, and together they forge a bond that will revitalise both their lives and the lives of Scott's crumbling pack.

So this is my first fic and it's unbeta'd so any mistakes, please feel free to correct me. That being said, I have not paid attention to canon at all in this story. Allison lives. Gerard is dead, and so is Victoria but the Alpha pack hasn't arrived yet and to be honest the timeline is shot to pieces. Therefore please suspend your disbelief. This is primarily a story about Stiles fighting through all the odds to adopt the entire pack and cuddle them to death, whilst also feeding them healthy food because yes I know you've got werewolf metabolisms Peter but good eating habits are still important ok!

Choose! by Skeleton_Wolf (one-shot| 1,437)

Scott made him pick between his best friend and the pack that treats him like family. Is he really his best friend if he makes him pick? Can Stiles choose?

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 10,057)

Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but they're playing along, and- Gods, he's really going to be forced to do this, isn't he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family he'd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if it's forced, it'll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them.

Loving them.

He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that.

And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled.

[Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]

The One You Choose by Livinginfictions (Complete: 7/7| 13,440)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Not Too Late to Learn by bubblessunshinedelight (wip: 20/?| 30,596)

After 14 years Stiles realizes Scott doesn't really know him.

or Scott finds out Derek and Stiles are dating and is a dick about it...for a while.

You Belong with Me by halcyon1993 (Complete: 4/4| 19,656)

Derek is tired of watching Stiles get treated like crap by his so-called friends. When both the Hale Pack and the McCall Pack end up in the same nightclub, Derek decides it's finally time to convince Stiles that he'd be better off with him as his Alpha.

That thin line between right or wrong by orphan_account (Complete: 7/7| 15,718)

An AU based on the Donovan-storyline from Season 5A. After Stiles is attacked at the library and accidentally kills Donovan, he’s in shock, panics and runs. Hurt, confused, ridden with guilt and depressed, he wonders how it ever came to this point where nothing will ever feel right again. So, he decides to call the one man who knows won’t judge him. But will Derek arrive on time to save Stiles’ life?

This story basically alternates from most of Season 5, ignoring the rest of the series. Since I hated what they did with Stiles’ character after Donovan’s attack, I decided to change it all. This story is completely written from Stiles’ POV.

A Heavy Price by Estellestafford (one-shot| 4,202)

Every Emissary wants to work for the Hale Pack, Stiles just wanted to be Scott's but then Allison happened to get some magic so that was out the window and now he finds himself in office with some hot guy offering to make him an Emissary in exchange for fulfilling his desires.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 45/45| 66,227)

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

A Healing Silence by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 28/28| 36,329)

Stiles is slowly pushed out of the pack following his fight with Scott about Donovan's death. After receiving a phone number from an old friend, Stiles is surprised to find that it belongs to the one person who may be able to bring him back to himself.

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rexylafemme · 7 years

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day five of being alive another year and basking in the afterglow of it. embracing the preciousness of my own life, as i can so easily and readily do for others. last night, tres and i sat around a patio table in his backyard, too late too late to be awake, but running off of post-performance endorphins, fumes, relation. talking about the powerful communal bonds that exist in our lives, the sense of possibility and potential we all bring each other, that gratifying feeling of nourishment, empowerment, creativity, change. on a day like today, i’m glad we had last night. today has been one of sitting with contradictions—despair, grief, gnawing rage after what happened with healthcare today and that trash executive order, too. to walk around and see children laughing anyway. to walk around and for mundane nyc conversations to be happening anyway. holding onto those small appreciations, despite the grip of fear/anxiety/rage, that clawing. letting myself feel that, letting myself sit for a minute in the grass with the sun on my face, listen to a song and give some space to the fluttery butterfly feeling in my stomach, the feathers ruffling in my little heart.

i got off work after 11 on friday night and stopped over at tres and tanya’s. we were all so sleepy, but so happy to see each other, heart-friends. they said i was glowing, bright-seeming lately. yeah. we had one shot of whiskey at midnight and had a mariah carey sing-along. their advice for me: go all in, surrender to the feelings you have. we can never know what’s going to happen, what comes down the line, which is why we should go for what we want. to trust what we want and what feels good, enjoy it, follow it. to believe in what you’ve built and the work and intention you’ve put into getting where you are now and where you want to go.

i said go big or go home. and then i did go home. laughing on my bike, cruising down the wide dark avenue parallel to greenwood, the smell of grass and so-sweet blooming trees riding on the invisible waves of wind hitting my face. i thanked basquiat. i made it through. i was alive. a few days before, it was gray and misty all day long, but i was restless. i walked to greenwood and took tons of pictures of all the new plants and flowers and trees and bushes, graves. i decided to visit basquiat’s grave and do a ritual there. i offered him flowers i picked, i drew him, and i wrote him a letter. i was thinking a lot about my 27th year coming to a close, living with the irrational fear i would die. having at one time or another been obsessed with many in the 27 club: amy, jimi, kurt, janis, jean-michel, and jim. all the pain we shared. not wanting to be frozen in time, wanting as much of it i can get my hands on, as much time and life and love and abundance as i can get my hands on, as much i can give back and multiply. the difference between desire and avarice hinges upon giving and receiving, tending, not taking, or expecting, or entitlement. nothing i have i own. nothing i want is mine. everything shared.

so, i sat on a damp marble bench behind basquiat’s grave, white sunlight through the dense white sheet of sky cast over everything bright and green and wet and colorful; verdant and juicy and creating such a contrast against the starkness. and, yes, mistakes and, yes, death and, yes, uncertainty, and, yes, wounds, and yes, questions. but, mostly hope. mostly a will to continue, power forth and forward and thoughts on upward spirals, the ascending staircases arranged in fractals that my spirit follows. all the doorways and the windows to walk through, being up from the cellar now. or the bomb shelter, or the panic room. the safe i kept my heart locked up in. the body that was itself a cage where all the broken, feral parts were stored away. the power they had, though, motivating such a craving to escape. do whatever you can. get out. times maybe i was close to following a bad habit down the road to my own death. the week before having watched the rose with femme blood family, thinking of the thorns we’ve all been. thinking of the three little children we were inside these oversized human suits. the ones that aren’t satisfied with anything less than brilliance. the ones that have been drawn to recklessness, excess. always wanting to feel something else, wanting us to be something else. did i forget we were cut from the same cloth? did i forget we mourned the same people, same times? i have held their choices against them, i have held their lives against them, at times, while expecting them to never do that to me. so bratty, so childish. and to them i will always be young, but also the infant with ancient eyes, as they said when i was born.

how much we say without speaking. the things we tell each other underneath the stories. things like i see you, things like i know you are hurting, things like don’t be ashamed, things like i know you. things like i love you. i think we’ve spent so much time feeling heartbroken for each other. so much desire for someone to be safe and healthy and happy and whole, you don’t know what to do with it. it just sloshes around in your blood pumped out from your sore heart. our. we feel each other.

when i got home after tres and tanya’s, it was officially my birthday. tyler and i sat in the living room on the couch together. he did a reading of my solar return chart for the year. my subconscious is a huge focus and a hotbed of activity this year—in a kind of wild, creative way from influences of aries and sagitarrius, but stabilized and slowed down by taurus and venus. i’m being told to face and unleash what i repress through creativity and embodiment. that my body is an instrument in my own healing. and so is whatever i make with it. i’m being told to realize that what i create spiritually and what i express has wider influential reach to others. he said i bring out the spiritual warriors in others, especially through my work. that i’m drawn to the fight in others and in myself and i have connective power. moon and node placements move me to trust my intuition and integrate it into everything that i do. this year is a good year for learning new skills and how to keep living differently. it’s a good year for pursuing dreams and big collaborations. new ways of being. new ways of being with others. the process of growth and learning will be exciting, welcome, and transformative. i’ll grow a lot emotionally and a lot will get released. i will lose and gain myself through my work and what i create/contribute. i desire balance. i want everything, but i have to take it one step at a time and trust i will achieve my goals and get what i desire.

what this says to me, also, is to sink into the ways things feel new and different. that i shouldn’t always be waiting for the floor to fall out from under me, just because i am used to that sort of thing. i put down the floor, i built the foundations and they’re solid. feel good. trust in me. trust what feels true and real.

in the cemetery, after my ritual, i shed some tears, not nearly as many as i need to shed, but i was grateful for a little release. i saw eyes patterned on trees. i stood still and made eye contact with a groundhog. as i was leaving, i stood in the grass with about 25 of the greenwood parrots around me, in the grass, on the trees. they swooped past my face. they were boisterous and yelling at each other and moving too much, i couldn’t get a good picture. sometimes you just have to be there, be in it, take note in yourself.

i want to go into the magic of the in bloom show, but that feels like it needs its own space. i do want to share two of the poems i read from that night, though, because they feel related to all the life/death, shadow/light, bloom talk.

gently through my shadow

sometimes i walk the streets

of my home city, beer bottle glass crunching

under feet, graves to my right, trains

to my left wondering why i am

here, & not living

in a one-room box i built myself in the forest

no one can reach—gridless , me with just atlas, a tape deck, some lace

& paper flowers, a notebook, upside-down herbs

lining all the walls, & Stevie Nicks

in the background as i am

all Misty Day twirling in circles

with my scarves swirling around me, craving

a tribe, but knowing what we humans do, so

don’t come for me, don’t call to me,

but do come for me, call to me?—conflicted,

sea-of-love-drowned, downcast androgynous

femme radagast, friends with all the animals

& plants, misanthropic old-soul / baby-face, speaking to creatures like st. francis, but more

prophetic, less catholic & now here

i go again, i see the crystal vision i keep

my visions to myself—

write a poem about them instead—poet

of my heart—self, never change & don’t you ever stop— drowning? in dreams

i remember

how to breathe underwater, sometimes i am so far from the surface, i can almost find happiness there in my element amidst sunken ships, schools of fish, & just me floating— how long ago did you lose yourself— an echo travels backwards through walls of timeless ocean and asks again—how long? your scales so smooth & beautiful, years, iridescent, hexagonal pieces of you— it’s like you’ve always been this gone, this mysterious deep sea creature— is it in your skin or is it a defense mechanism, hiding— do you know? the difference, intricacies of your makeup and what it means to you when an eye casts itself upon them? & didn’t you know fins for swimming evolve into wings eventually? & haven’t you been waiting to take off? go away isn’t the initial message i transmit, not the gut influence i get, but then i did say i was a cave-dweller & i wasn’t kidding—holy hermitage—oh mirror in the sky, is total solitude the same as bringing safety home with you?

i don’t know, i don’t know is it

some attempt at human care services, step by step metamorphosis, getting closer to being taken by the sky, no, but we do get ourselves there, somehow, don’t we? always overthinking—did she/he/they make you cry, make you break down, shatter your illusions of love? yes, and, but, is it over now? do you know how to pick up the pieces & go home? all i’ve known is evil witches: lousy lovers pick their prey— Fiona Goode burned the Myrtle Snow in me at the stake for my honor, self-defense & killer fashion sense—it was all control & morbid jealousy, rulers make bad lovers and other descendants: Madison Montgomery said she was my friend, called me a gutter rat, & then stole my beloved covering before throwing me into a coffin underground,

& when they dug me up & revived me for whatever reason, i spit up inky blood & thick mud, my own death, & said fuck this institution—feeling, competition, & who the supreme is—i won’t give a shit anymore, & i never did. in the stillness of remembering i’m better off dancing alone, i think like a cat in the dark and then i am the darkness—knee-deep

in the swamp—sewer channels of asheville, oakland, queens, or brooklyn, i am a dragon & then i turned around and the water was closing all around me—writing poetry & communing with crocodiles, black widow spiders, wearing a live snake stole and a cape of slime & ivy wrapped around me with micah swathed on my eyelids, majesty you can call me. but…

stand back stand back in the middle of my room if you touch me, i’ll scream. if you touch me, i’ll tell someone. if you touch me, i’ll never be the same again, i say it like it can only be a bad thing, & it isn’t, but it is the risk. i worry about feeling anything & coming up for air from within myself for someone to face me while Stevie sings have no fear, only love & i try to

listen to that advice, more than the thunder

only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing—but i’m stubborn, full of memories, venom, like a scorpion: i keep to myself, & i sting when cornered, but there are humans who are healing & open, i know because i am, & i can’t be the only one.

bloom wave

the trees are blooming in greenwood my favorite

graveyard playground, the sun is hitting

the glitter on my eyelashes, projecting pixels

in the periphery of my vision what a feeling,

serotonin and kinship all over the place, at home

here in brooklyn finally silver linings

are aware to me and anxiety is just a state

of consciousness i pass through on the road back toward

the center of myself, home, breathing doubt out

into fifty-three degree breezes on 40th st. walking

toward sunset park where i will sit and gaze at red hook

across the east river where my family was born

on conover st, end of the docks

on the waterfront where brando coulda been

a contender and my grandfather watched the lionhearted

majesty of my grandmother in the sun: a curious feeling

of wonder on a day like today, maybe

everything is kinda charmed and timeless, maybe eternity

looks on me and smiles, maybe infinity is inside me and

my heart is some prismatic thing that reflects and refracts

light off in a million directions and it won’t ever die again

in my beautiful trash heap of a city where people struggle

and fall in and out of love again and again with the streets they grew up and re-find themselves on every day years

later resonating their own histories in the present moment: a new gift

given back to old ancestries when people are sweet

to each other like peaches (but less vanilla)—

& on the corner, you can get the treats you want

from the bodega: honey buns, hershey’s kisses,

whatever suits yr preference, or down the block in all five boroughs

mr. softee transmitting his tin-tin ice cream truck music and italian ices at lemon ice king of corona in queens, all things signaling spring and inspiring all kinds of cuteness—children laughing,

clowning spraying each other in water fountains and

playful whirling down the slide into the arms of

april—

feeling like a teenager, all silly riding my bike

in the afternoon up and down hills round the neighborhood,

my thoughts on expanse, abundance, and chance,

saying to myself sometimes someone

says something really small and it just fits

right into this empty place in yr heart—

acting all sentimental, all poor trans adult angela chase with my messy bottle-fire hair, attempting tiger beat jean jacket pretty dreamboat in a hand-me-down striped ralph lauren sweater, leo/juliet, romeo/claire all in one

hand in my pocket & singing i’m lost, but

i’m hopeful and when you have rickie, rayanne, & other-kin

like yrself who needs anyone unavailable, too-cool, or

mostly straight—those withholding heartthrobs always

leaning away from you on brick walls blocking yr walking away in the halls of some sludgy stress dream where you never reach

where yr going & the face you touched was just an image

from the past that disappears

as yr waking— tired and wanting, unrequited—

the jordan catalanos who hated you secretly

for feeling, or who they couldn’t be for you as they wanted you only

kinda/sorta, singing s/he’s a place to rest my head, a suggestion

it coulda been you, but really their red wasn’t yr hair, it was a car

driving away to the desert— no bye cuz guys like them just go &

try to call you months later from a parking lot payphone—i’m wrong

and i’m sorry, baaaaaby? making you cry alone in yr bedroom,

& having you ask constantly why are you like this! all distant,

dumb-founded (huh? like what?)

…like…

like…

how you are?

and the answer always a shrug in the silence

between us.

going my own way and taking ownership of it—

so many spirits flow over

me and i love it oh, to be so pleasantly haunted

& embraceable for being true

is the actual thing

i’d always wanted.

#bloom #spring #birthday #april #may #kindred #shadow #change #transformation #metamorphosis #family #love #hearts #poems #death #life

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