#hisaribi

Chuuya can cook, but his kids never know what to eat.

Waiting for Pack by DiscontentedWinter, hisaribi

Steter | 14k | Teen

favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Again. Shit. But(!) last time it was a line, now it’s a scene. Ha! And I enjoyed writing this one a lot:

“What happened? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Stiles sits up and pulls his legs to his chest. “No. No, it’s just- I can’t-“

Theo frowns. “You can’t have sex with me.”

“No. No, god, fuck. This has nothing to do with you, I promise.” He awkwardly reaches out and curls his fingers into Theo’s sweatpants. “I want- I want you.” Stiles licks his lips, swallows around the sudden dryness in his throat. “It’s just that I- shut down, I guess.” Stiles shrugs helplessly. There’s no other way to phrase it. Doesn’t matter how weird it sounds. But that’s how it is. Theo touching his scar triggered something. Before that, everything was peachy perfect. After all, it’s not like he has trouble getting it up. Because that happened. Theo could feel that it happened. The rest is the problem. Keeping the thoughts away is the problem.

Theo crawls over and lies down next to him. “Anywhere I shouldn’t touch?”

“What?” Stiles squints at him.

“Well, the kissing was chill, right?” He rolls onto his back, reaches up and traces Stiles' jaw. “I just wanna know."

it’s longer, of course, but you have to read it yourself lol | à la folie (steo)

something you learned this year

That I shouldn’t stress so much about the length of a fic. I’ve learned to allow the story to tell itself because it knows best when it’s done. If I force it to stop or to go in a certain direction, I will end up hating every single word I’ve written. 

a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

You guys, check out he amazing art @whoishisaribi made for the @steterreversebang! 

And then check out the fic I did to go with it! You can read the whole thing here on AO3, but here’s a teaser for you! 

Waiting for Pack 

This isn't the first time Stiles has woken up in a different world.

This isn't the first time that Peter has been caught in a place where time doesn't exist.

Except this time they have each other.

This isn’t the first time Stiles has woken up in a different world.

The first time it was bright, clean, and Stiles’s eyes had been flooded with brilliant light before he’d seen it: that great big fuck-off dirty tree stump in the middle of an otherwise pristine space.

Even now, even with the nogitsune purged from his body, Stiles gets a chill when he sees a sharp-edged shine of a too-clean space. The glossy tiles on the kitchen splashback. The sheen on the chrome napkin dispensers at the diner. The gleaming floor of the corridor at school the moment after the janitor runs the humming polisher over it. They can all take him straight back to the nemeton.

But whenever Stiles has woken up today isn’t clean.He stares at the toes of his shoes, and a dusty, scuffed floor, and then raises his gaze and looks around.

He’s in the rundown waiting room of a train station. 

*** 

When Stiles was eight, his mom forgot who he was.

He remembers running through the corridor of the hospital in a rush to get to her room, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. He remembers racing into her room, yelling “Mom! Mom! Mom!” with some story about something that happened that day at school that he’d been bursting to tell her ever since. And he remembers the way she screamed for help, the sound of it pulling him up short in an instant, because she didn’t know who he was.

Cherry cola still makes him feel sick.

He remembers sitting on the floor beside the vending machine, his dad crouched in front of him. He remembers how cold the can was, and how the condensation beaded like tears. He remembers his dad’s voice, strained like it was going to break.“She loves you, kiddo,” Dad told him. “She loves you so much, but the disease…”

“She doesn’t remember me,” Stiles said, chilled fingers curled around the can. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dad said. “I’m so sorry.”

“She forgot me,” Stiles said, a breath shuddering out of him. “You’ll forget me too, Dad, one day.”

“No,” Dad said. “No, Stiles. Not ever.”

But he will.

Stiles knows it.

He feels it in the core of everything he is, at the heart of him. He knows.

 *** 

Stiles is a perceptive kid. That’s what Dad calls him: perceptive. Sometimes he’ll say something and it will turn out to be true, and his dad will hesitate for just a moment before he latches onto the word again: perceptive. Like there’s a rational explanation. Like Stiles has maybe just got the knack of seeing patterns that other people don’t. Like it doesn’t go a lot deeper than that.

Like it’s not written on his bones.

Like Stiles isn’t an oracle.

It’s not conscious. Stiles doesn’t sit in a circle of candles and meditate or whatever. Just that sometimes… sometimes words fall out of his mouth that he doesn’t intend, and they’re true. They’re non sequiturs mostly, totally unrelated to what he was thinking about or talking about at the time.

Once, when he and Scott are playing Call of Duty, Stiles is in the middle trash talking Scott when he blurts out with, “Mr. Parsons is going to die soon.”

And Scott just gives him a look like what? And then he says, “Who?”

Because what sort of trash talk is that? Scott doesn’t give a shit about Mr. Parsons, the guy who owns the coffee shop in Main Street. He barely even knows him. Neither does Stiles, but the words tumbled out anyway.

And then, the next day, Mr. Parsons dies when he swerves off the road in a storm and crashes his car into a tree.

Scott doesn’t ask Stiles about it. Maybe he doesn’t hear about it. Maybe he already forgot Stiles’s weird pronouncement. Stiles panics quietly about it though, about how he shouldn’t know stuff like this, and about how even if he does know stuff like this, he shouldn’t say it aloud. He starts to pepper his conversations with all sorts of random bullshit after that.

Hides the weird with even more weird because he doesn’t know what else to do.

When they’re thirteen they’re eating Doritos and watching a movie and Stiles says, “You’re a werewolf.” He blinks. “I’m not in your pack.”

“What?” Scott throws a pillow at him and laughs. “You’re so weird.”

Of course Scott’s not a werewolf.

Not yet.

But Stiles is never in his pack. 

*** 

The nogitsune buries itself in the marrow of his bones. It wears him like the skin of a creature that it killed. It presses down so hard on his lungs that Stiles is suffocating inside his own body. And when it’s done, Stiles is done too.

He pulls back from Scott and his pack.Pulls back from Derek and his.

He can’t… they don’t need someone like Stiles in their packs. They don’t.

“I’m not in your pack,” he says to Scott, and then says the same thing to a glowering Derek the next week.

It’s the truth. It’s always been the truth, and it will always be the truth.

Stiles is waiting for his pack still.

Or maybe his pack is waiting for him.  

mr brightside by the killers

(posts ask meme and then immediately dissappears orz sorry hisa)

🎤fave line in a fic you wrote?

It’s easy enough; bringing Catalyst up to speed with their friend’s antics, Reagent’s show ideas, a few riffs and songs he’s been working on. They parade through the woods singing as loudly and as badly as they can until their voices break with thirst and they kneel by a creek with cupped hands.

from my sleep token fic, Arrhenius Equation

i feel like its such a good look into how they do love each other and are best friends despite how the fic started. and the imagery of the last line is my absolute favorite, the fun of intentionally bad singing and drinking from a creek in the forest as they travel!

Lost in the Void (hisaribi)

They always hear you scream in space.