owiil

Tagging @hellodystopianfuture and @relenafanel, who I actually know.

And, because why the hell not. Be brave. Be bold.

These people who have written fics I love enough to have bookmarked but don't know in the slightest and have zero obligation to engage:

@pantstomatch (excuse me SGA TW crossovers, yes so much, the fact that there aren't just tens of these fics in your works makes me sad, but I'm also so very pleased to have the ones that you did write)

@etharei (science fiction space werewolf soldiers, please more of B-CON station, I beg and also what Hide of a Life War yes so much, JFC)

@andavs (A Crooked Way to Fly has been, like, a core piece of literature that I think about at least on a monthly basis and I read this years ago, I'm pretty sure, whatever a positive haunting is what this fic has done to me)

@psychofink (way out east there might be a way out... classic that I continually go back to, I can taste this fic and it tastes like heat and sand and grit between my teeth in the best of ways)

@drgrlfriend (jfc it's been ages since I've read windows and I'm happy to go back through my bookmarks and find it, because such a well done fic)

Beyond Known Stars - OG

Genre: science-fiction

Current word count: 28,942

Predicted % completed: 100%

Likelihood of completion: Already Completed (dissatisfied with it)

Excerpt:

“Dude!” is a very ecstatic, very unprofessional, very not-feminine voice in his head. “She did it! Wow. That’s awesome! Oh. Uh…” The Dispatcher trails off as though suddenly remembering protocol and professionalism and regulation, and says, “Dispatcher Martin, picking you up loud and clear Team Leader Hale.” Then he laughs. There’s movement in Derek’s peripheral vision and his gaze flickers to find Erica, Boyd, and Isaac at the end of the row of lockers, staring at him with wide eyes. Clearly he’s not handling this well if they’re picking up his distress enough to check in on him.

Derek clenches his jaw and wonders what the hell Martin’s game is. Director Martin, not—whoever this guy in his head is. Derek knows the ship’s logs. There’s only one Martin on the Beacon.

Beyond Known Stars - Rewrite

Genre: science-fiction

Current word count: 25,769

Predicted % completed: 30-50%

Likelihood of completion: more probable than others (I fucking love this concept)

Excerpt:

The smirking grin of the PFC glancing at Derek irked almost as much as the words that had just been spewing out of his mouth and Derek wondered if there was a world in which he didn’t punch the guy in the face. With any luck, it would be this one. …

“I get that there’s an irony to the military telling you that you can’t solve all your problems with violence, but, Jesus, Hale, you can’t solve all your problems with violence,” Finstock groaned, like a coach having to bench one of his favorite players.

“I know.”

Dirt Wars

Genre: science-fiction

Current word count: 1,031

Predicted progress: 1-4%

Likelihood of completion: unlikely

Excerpt:

“We’ve got a problem.”

Laura glanced up from the novel she was reading, brow furrowing ever so slightly as she took him in. Without needing to, she gestured to the co-pilot’s seat next to her, the one that was Derek’s anyway. “Stiles eat the last chocolate bar?” she asked, the corner of her mouth curving upward in amusement at her brother’s well disguised sweet tooth even in spite of his grim tone.

He took a heavy seat. “Stiles has Eichen nanites.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“The med deck pinged them while it was doing the contamination check.”

“I’m surprised you bothered checking the results.”

Duct Tape and a Prayer

Genre: post-series AU

Current word count: 1,530

Predicted % completed: 2-5%

Likelihood of completion: unlikely

Excerpt:

Scott responded with a curt, humming kind of snort that was accompanied with the distinct sound of his head shaking. “Don’t worry about it. I mean—you know, if, by some crazy turn of events, you see him or something, I’d appreciate you letting me know though.”

“You don’t want me to tell him to call you?”

“Oh,” was a sound of genuine surprise. “If you can interact with him, sure. I just assumed it’d be more likely you’d see a ghost or an aberration or something. Around Beacon Hills, or the preserve, or by the nemeton or something. But if you see see him, yeah, slap him upside the head and tell him to call. Maybe make sure he doesn’t have amnesia or something.”

Fifty Shades of WTF

Genre: werewolves are known AU

Current word count: 80,350

Predicted progress: 60-70%

Likelihood of completion: was higher before I seriously considered doing an entire rewrite of what I have (wrote myself into hole that burned me out, but I generally like the premise)

Excerpt:

The hand was indeed softer than he’d expected though just as warm. Also unexpected was the way Derek’s fingers slid between his and curled over his knuckles, interlocking them together. And then, still suffering the surprise of the awkward intimacy of that sensation, came the warm-cool, light-headed sensation of pain leeching out of Stiles’ body. It was uncannily similar to having his blood drawn though came with a kind of blissed numbness that made Stiles’ eyes shudder, his body slumping in his seat.

“Too much. Too much,” he murmured—slurred more like, his fingers, his entire hand, going limp in Derek’s grasp as his muscles quickly forgot how to work.

“I’m barely even doing anything,” Derek said, sounding amused, though Stiles’ eyes had slipped shut and the lids only barely fluttered when he tried to open them, so he couldn’t actually check. “You must need sleep.”

“For the dead,” Stiles slurred by way of protest before proceeding to pass out.

Irradiated Magic

Genre: post-apocalyptic (quasi-Fallout vibes but most definitely not a Fallout fic)

Current word count: 20,993

Predicted progress: 20-30%

Likelihood of completion: long, drawn out, "meeeeehhhhh" (I really like this story)

Excerpt:

There was a furrow to Talia’s brow. Curiosity, yes, but mostly concern. It was a look Derek had seen on her when a pup came out not entirely right—as she attempted to determine whether it would last the night, would last the year. Not quite pity, but close. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Stiles,” Stiles said utterly honestly and without pause.

“Where are you from?”

“Beacon.”

Derek and Laura’s ears twitched in surprise and Talia’s eyes widened.

“—which is kind of a ways off—” To say the least.

“—but I got myself in a pickle with some people and now I’m here. You know. Just a man standing in front of a few wolves, asking them not to kill him.”

Not to kill him. That’s where he ended it. Not asking for food, or guidance, or medical attention. The blind man’s—Stiles’—expectations were so utterly low of the encounter that he was going to consider getting out on top being getting out alive. Then again, strangers were dangerous, no matter who or what they were.

Spy Season

Genre: werewolves are known AU

Current word count: 2,068

Predicted progress: 5-10%

Likelihood of completion: I don't think I'll ever stop writing retired spies Sterek, but whether or not any of it actually gets finished is… no clue

Excerpt:

Except there’s no way in hell the guy Derek remembers flitting in and out of Aymen’s life during those two weeks of observation is Stiles, because that man—whoever he was—is dead. Very probably is dead. Should definitely be dead. The likelihood of being thrown clear enough from the compound to survive that strike has got to be not just in the single percentages but in the low, low, low decimals.

Which is why he needs to see the files for himself, review them, try to hunt down a photo or a name or anything. Because if Stiles is the man—the CIA agent—Derek blew up in Sudan, there’s absolutely zero chance that he’s just happened to move in as Derek’s neighbor three years after the fact. Then again, the guy is… was—is CIA, which means it’s not as though he’s hunted Derek down to get vengance. Probably.

Technicolor Space Dust

Genre: Hunter (Asian webnovel dungeon stories, IYKYK)

Current word count: 27,083

Predicted progress: 15-20%

Likelihood of completion: I really do like the general concept, but it's been folded into a piece of original fiction. Dead in the water at this point.

Excerpt:

“Our investigation initially revealed that Laura and Peter killed each other,” Special Agent Parrish said from the Director’s side.

Derek’s fingers curled into his palms, the coldness in his chest turning hot. “Impossible.”

“Improbable,” Parrish said.

Even as the thought of landing his fist in the mouth that deigned to say that word crossed Derek’s mind, a hand covered his hand. Heart rabbiting, at not only being touched but having been snuck up on, Derek’s eyes snapped up to find none other than Agent Stilinski standing over him, features settled into an almost fierce neutrality, opaque black glasses reflecting Derek’s own glowing red eyes back at him. “Your eyes are really rather intimidating, President Hale. And Parrish, while sometimes annoying and a bit of a goody-two-shoes—”

A sigh, somewhere.

“—is quite good at his job. The DNS would have a difficult time if he were, perhaps, to be crushed against a wall and unable to work.”

The Man from Everywhere

Genre: alive Hales and other changes AU

Current word count: 17,408

Predicted progress: 15-25%

Likelihood of completion: I do like this story, but concepts got folded up a bit into Fifty Shades of WTF… given that's tabled, we'll see what happens. So: ???

Excerpt:

“I appreciate the lack of mauling and or attempted mauling. Just, in general, how very not mauling related this whole encounter has been. It’s a ten out ten werewolf encounter.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the man. “You get mauled by many werewolves?” he asked, caught between bemused and concerned.

“None whatsoever, and yet I still low-key expect it. Though you can’t really blame me. You lot’ve definitely gotten the shaft when it’s come to media and whatnot. You should try rebranding sometime. Need a werewolf writer out there pumping out a Sarah Maas style Twilight-esque werewolf series so people will start—rightfully—thinking sexy instead of deadly. Maybe, if you play your cards right, both, which is just—” Stiles, bent down and shoving things into his backpack, rolled his entire head. His long fingers shoved his speaker and mason jar into his backpack and Derek followed them as Stiles stood, noted the black ringed tattoos the circled the base of his right index and middle fingers and his left pinky. Derek was still watching those hands as Stiles made a splashing gesture between his legs. “—sploosh.” Derek’s other eyebrow rose to match the first.

For his part, Stiles actually paused. Considered. Maybe even played back his words. “So. Just roll that back and keep in mind what I said about basically be unmedicated.”

“I think most people who learn about you go to your site looking for more information.”

Stiles snorted. “People don’t need an ‘About You’ page on my site to figure out who I am. Google’s got plenty of answers on that one.”

The corners of Derek’s lips pulled sharply downward as he glanced over at Stiles, eyes hard. “That’s not who you are.”

Rolling his eyes hard enough his temple throbbed, Stiles shrugged, mentally shoving aside the fact that, obviously, Derek had Googled him as well. Which… maybe that explained the man’s sudden appearances in his life so recently. “I mean, tomato tomato, as they say. Right? Close enough. It’s got the important bits in there.”

Derek hadn’t stopped frowning, and Stiles sighed out a chuckle under his breath, jostling his elbow into the other man’s. “I’m sorry if you were under the impression that there was some hidden layer or something that you might peel back with a masterful head groping, but I am, in fact, a train wreck of a human being. The most mysterious aspect of me is probably where I live, and—” He rose a hand and waved it around, indicating the state, the city, the neighborhood they were walking through. “—well, you know that now, too. So, that’s pretty much all my secrets laid bare.”

Derek’s eyes darted over to him, dark and intent. “Not all of your secrets.”

Maybe it was something in his voice, or the intensity of his eyes, or the profile of his face—the cut of his jaw—but Derek spoke and the first thing that came to mind was a flash of a memory of being face-down ass-up in bed last night, Derek’s hand on his neck, holding him down. Choking on the air in his lungs, Stiles’ eyes snapped away as he sucked in a deep, uneven breath and failed to will away the blush crawling up his neck.