Spent the last couple weeks looking through past posts/blogs/archives to find most of the Teen Wolf art from renqa (2amsugarrush, hushlittlewolf, theteenagehorror, theneoncandy). It currently has 440 posts and 30 pages (Edit: most nsfw got pulled, view originals: WBM or wordpress). I’ll be backing up using the python method, and also the WBM . You can find the archive blog here: Reblog Renqa! (reblogrenqa.tumblr.com)
It occurs to me that since I put in external links to the original post, it probably isn’t showing up in any searches anymore so:
Right before the tumblr purge I archived all of renqa’s (2amsugarrush, hushlittlewolf, theteenagehorror, theteenageghost, wolfrooks, theneoncandy, surpriseknotting) teen wolf art posts that I could find, including her chibis.
You can find the tumblr post with external links here (and the tumblr blog is ReblogRenqa, but any posts that tumblr purged/hid are accessible through the WBM link to the blog as well as the wordpress clone).
Wrote another short Sterek fic on my phone this morning. Finally got around to transferring and editing it. But I had an idea around the Red String of Fate trope, and thought I'd try it out.
Inevitability Is In Our Blood
The scent of blood clings to the back of his throat, strong and familiar. It hangs in the air like a fog so thick that he's surprised things aren't tinted red in his vision. But he knows who it belongs to, he can pick out the tell-tale essences of human, young and virile and afraid.
Stiles crumples up another drawing in frustration and throws it on the floor, where it joins countless other ruined scribbles. He just can't get it right-- and it's supposed to be a penultimate moment for his two protagonists, Benjamin and Jake, where eight comic books' worth of the sexual frustration, misunderstandings, crime-solving, mafia hits and ridiculous pining come to a penultimate and passionate conclusion.
Stiles groans, looking at the last panel that he's semi-satisfied with, where Jake is undressing Benjamin. The only problem is, how to continue because Stiles has never drawn Benjamin's body outside of his bulky officer uniform before. Stiles takes a long draw of water from his nearby bottle, trying to call up anything from his own experiences that would help, but it only reminds him of how long it's been since he's gotten laid.
Stiles briefly remembers the last conversation he had with Lydia, his editor. "Why can't you just look up underwear models or something, Stiles?" she asked when he complained about his art block.
"Because I have a specific body type in mind for Benjamin, along with his face! I can't just slap his head onto any pornstar's body, it has to be right, okay, and so far I haven't seen it," Stiles said. "Plus, I need references to get all the muscles and angles right, okay?"
Lydia gave him a calculating look. "I do admit that Gunplay, book five is our current bestseller, and I thought hiring those models to pose for you was almost a waste."
Stiles flops his head onto his drawing table now, smudging his nose on the pencil graphite. It's no use. He can draw Benjamin's face by heart, but below the neck remains an impossible white space.
Stiles' phone rings. "Yes?"
"Oh, good, you're home," Lydia chirps, voice beaming with satisfaction. "You'll never believe what I found for you."
"What?" Stiles says, twirling his pencil when his doorbell rings in the distance. "Lydia, what did you do?"
"Just thank me later," she says, cackling, "I know that book nine is the most anticipated of the series, and just so you know, I got the go ahead from the publishers that we won't be needing any censor bars."
"What? I can barely draw a naked chest right now, let alone draw you a dick, Lydia," Stiles says, but Lydia simply laughs at him and hangs up.
The doorbell rings again.
Stiles grumbles, dusting graphite dust off of himself and heads for the door. He opens it, and his jaw drops.
There is no way.
It's like the Benjamin Byte promo poster for Gunplay Book 4 come to life, staring him down with a curious expression. The dark scruffy hair, the jawline, the luminous eyes, that stubble, all of it put together in a gorgeous package standing in Stiles' doorway.
Stiles' mouth goes dry and the guy looks at him. "Hi, are you Stiles Stilinski?"
Stiles nods, not trusting that this isn't some artblock induced hallucination.
"My modeling agency sent me to this address. You needed an anatomy reference, right?"
Stiles nods dumbly, and then the guy smiles at him, bright and sunny. He holds his hand out for Stiles to shake and Stiles takes it, noticing the dark hairs on the guy's tanned, toned arms, and the strong, firm grip he has.
"I'm Derek Hale. Where do you want me?"
Stiles leads Derek into his studio, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. He manages not to squeak in embarrassment as he pushes aside clutter and papers, and makes some room in front of his drawing board for Derek to stand.
Derek is looking curiously over his shoulder at the few panels Stiles has completed just before he got stuck: a heated fight between Jake and Benjamin that turns into a love confession, and the last panel is of Jake undoing a button on Benjamin's shirt.
Derek makes a "hm" noise which sounds kind of approving. "These are good," he says. "So I'm guessing you need some references for the body poses?"
Stiles flushes a bright red, and he tries to explain the logistics of how he thinks the sex scene would go in his mind, and Derek just nods and starts undressing right then and there, in the middle of Stiles' living room.
Derek's broad, naked chest and hairy torso are better than Stiles has ever imagined, lean abdomen running down to muscled thighs and a long, heavy cock hanging from soft dark curls. He turns slightly and Stiles can see the smooth curve of his defined back transitioning into the swell of a perfect ass, and it's all Stiles can do not to whimper.
Derek looks up at Stiles. "Feel free to put me into any position," he says, standing there and shaking his arms slightly, loosening himself up.
Stiles breathes shakily, and manages to squeak, "Standing is fine for now," and he picks up his pencil and starts to draw, Derek's low voice ringing in his ears. Any position. Oh god.
Sometime before true darkness settles in, his attention is caught by someone walking along the gravestones, feet crunching over the thin cover of snow. This man is taller than the other, dressed all over in dark clothes, his face grim as the graves around him. Again, he is hit by warmth, but this warmth is almost painful, fiery. He remembers hands gripping at his skin, hot, burning, a low voice mumbling you feel amazing, fuck, fuck. He watches the man crouch in front of a grave and curiosity pulls him from the tree to land on top of the headstone. The man's head jerks up, an angry noise rattling between his teeth, and he swipes an arm at him, forcing him to flutter back with an angry squawking "Hey!"
The man freezes, his pale eyes going wide. The man looks from him to the grave beneath him and back again, a flurry of emotions crossing his face before he says, "Stiles?"
Stiles tilts his head and looks at his clawed feet and feathery chest. "This fucking figures," he says.
I'm still half asleep, but I want to thank all of you who have sent me messages and have followed me because of No Code Beyond Survival and/or What Good Men Wish For! I would super duper like to thank Miss Meeya and Renqa who are the reason those fics got noticed. Sad things and things not of a popular ship tend to get over looked, and I knew that when I wrote them, but because of these beautiful people, they've been getting renewed interest. So thanks to everyone who has been here and who is here now and to everyone who left a comment or kudos! I know I said I'd keep things like this to twitter, but I felt like breaking it for this. I kiss your faces and hope I'll be able to give you more feels in the future!
