#lolafeist

[theonewiththeeyebrows]

SO MANY DELETED FIC....

So I’ve been going through AO3 recently in the Derek/Stiles tag... 

and so many orphan_account fics... 

and just so many fic that I loved that are no longer there... and it’s so sad... 

I know so many people I loved deleted their fic because of the amount of hatred or because people were doing stupid shit like putting it on good reads and stuff... or just fandom politics, disrespect, and bullshit. And I can see how it’s frustrating when you don’t have control over where your work ends up... 

I know that they wanted their fic to be read by people who appreciated it and loved their work. And I know they wanted it to be kept to fandom. I know they wanted it not to be shoved in the faces of actors, or in the real world. That is cruel. 

I want to say, Sorry. 

I wasn’t clued into a lot of the shit that went into the whole fandom crap. I don’t really talk to people. I just reblog pretty pictures, and read fic. I don’t comment much and I stay out of fandom politics. I love the words people write and I respect them to writing it -- it takes courage to write it and post it for other’s to critique. And in your own time, for no pay. that’s tough shit. 

I’m sad because you felt violated and betrayed by the people you did it for. And I’m sorry because that should never have happened. I hope if you’re out there, wherever that is, whichever fandom you’re in now, whatever your handle is now... that you know that. There are so many words I have for you, so much love and respect. 

there are some that stand out in my mind more than others: thefarofixer, rubykatewriting, halfhardtorock, lolafeist, standinginanicedress, NimblePhoenix, breenwolf, leaderofthepack, circe6, saucery ... but there are so, so many more... some just deleted part of their works, some completely vanished with all their work, some left some of their work but vanished themselves, some left all their work, but vanished without a trace. 

Whatever the case -- I miss you, I hope you guys are well... or at the very least, ok. I hope you guys are still writing fic wherever you are, because you were too brilliant not too. I hope you are respected and loved. And I wish you the best. I hope 2017 brings immense joy and happiness with it.

Thank you for everything -- the laughter, the tears and the wonderful words that you gave us when you did.  

Wishing you success and nothing but positivity,

P.S. 

[darachmoon]

lolafeist replied to your photoset “This scene scares me... ”

I am 110% concerned about this

i know right! that kind of raw emotions have to come from something truly horrifying, and i'm spinning wild tales because there's an explosion and what if agent mccall is hurt/killed, or possibly sheriff (NOOOOOOOOO) or stiles is hurt - i don't think it will be scott - but maybe scott unitentionally caused and my head hurts. There's been talk of Scott's dark arc and it's coming and i'm thinking it's closely linked to this.

and i have feels okay...... *pets mama mccall*

[tsumi-noaru]

I've found a fic bookmarks paradise (with lots of emotional and hot smut to top), just leave me here... (I know I should be doing something else, or at least go to sleep since I have to work early but I can't stop reading these glorious little fics)

[zainclaw]

Outrun Your Ghosts by LolaFeist

When Derek Hale arrives at the Beacon Hills Young Adult Rehabilitation Center, he plans on keeping his head down and serving the rest of his time in minimum security peace. Stiles Stilinski changes all of that.

19,148  |  M  |  AU

Mental institution. The build is lovely and emotional and I may have cried.

[llassah]

Derek/Allison, private eyes

"Keep watching the warehouse," she murmurs, quickly snapping pictures of the shipping containers. He leans against the wall, breathes in the cold night air. The dockyard's quiet, still; the only sound he can hear is the click of Allison's shutter. He watches the shadowy figures move behind the grimy glass, sickly yellow light spilling out and hitting the rusty moving equipment, the cranes and levers.

"Someone's coming," he says quietly, pulls her back into the shadows. They've got the information they needed, so they slip away, as quietly as they came.

[jerakeenc]

h/c ;)

Hurt/comfort made me think slavery, but then I thought not everyone likes that, and then - this happened. Which is not really H/C at all. Why am I like this. God.

The only reason a human would be in a wolf pack is if s/he’s an emissary. All other humans are slaves. So when new alpha Scott McCall shows up in Hale territory with a scrawny human in tow, there’s no reason to doubt his slave status.

It’s all a ruse of course. Scott just doesn’t know who to trust yet and wants to keep his ace up his sleeve until he’s comfortable with the Hale pack. Derek, who has no idea about any of this, spends the whole month their packs are together angsting over his impossible love for a human slave who belongs to another werewolf. And not just any other werewolf: an alpha. A true alpha.

Slavery is cruel and old-fashioned and frowned upon by most civilized packs, but still, Derek doesn’t think his mom would back an attempt to overthrow the system. Deucalion, if no one else, would prove a challenge. And Derek’s careful prodding of Stiles doesn’t make it sound like Stiles would like to run away with Derek. He says he’s okay where he is and doesn’t need saving.

But then sometimes he looks at Derek like - like he wants to say something he shouldn’t, do something neither of them can take back, and it makes Derek want to challenge McCall, just on the slim chance that he might survive it.

(He wouldn’t.)

[llassah]

Agent McCall/Stiles, apocalypse fic!

ooooh. Right. Fuck, this got bleak. Like, assume this all ends happily or something? It’s 900 words of post apocalyptic fucking with a vague glimmer of slight hope.

Something’s howling outside. Stiles says he doesn’t know who it is, listens to it with eyes wide, says it’s not pack and McCall doesn’t understand, not really. To him it’s a noise. Another thing that means they’re better off in here than out there.

Stiles is checking the perimeter again. A line of black around the house, keeping them safe. Keeping them trapped. The kid does it three times a day, regular as clockwork. It used to make him want to punch something, make him feel helpless, these little compulsions, checks that Stiles had to do. It felt like it was just a superstition, a totem. Then the wolf tried to get into the house. He lets Stiles get on with it now. Breathes a little easier when he nods, satisfied.

They wait out the howling. Sit, eyes on the door. Neither of them speak until it’s over. Just sit, just the light of one candle pushing the shadows away. “We should fuck,” Stiles says suddenly, fingers twitching a little where they’re resting on his legs. “Nothing good on TV right now.” He gets like this. It’s the adrenaline, maybe. It’s a good distraction, anyway.

"C’mon, clothes off. We can fuck in the commercial break," he says with a smirk, gets the lube from behind the cushions on the couch and starts slicking up his own hole, fingers working in and out of him as he pants, lips parted. Sex always feels like an emergency with him. McCall strips quickly, lies down on his back on the carpet and waits, dick hard, nipples pebbling, as Stiles fucks himself with three fingers. It looks like it hurts. Sometimes, he just feels like a warm dick. Like he’s just available for Stiles to punish himself with.

Tonight, though, Stiles kisses him first. Straddles him, his fingers still working in his ass, one hand on McCall’s chest for balance, and kisses him gently, tenderly. McCall reaches around him, traces his rim where it’s stretched, slick with lube. Presses his own finger in slowly as Stiles scissors and presses and it must be giving him wrist cramps, must be uncomfortable. “C’mon, let me fuck you,” he coaxes, pulls Stiles’s hand away from his hole, lining up his dick so it’s just touching his rim, so close to fucking him. Stiles looks nearly frantic, pupils huge in the dim light, kisses him with a messy clash of teeth as he lowers himself down onto McCall’s dick, ass spasming around him as he takes it too fast, too eagerly.

By the time Stiles is fully lowered, the kid’s gasping, tears in his eyes but he’s still hard, dick pulsing, balls drawn up tight. McCall kisses his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, strokes down his back as Stiles breathes, hot, openmouthed, damp against his skin. They kiss as Stiles adjusts, starts to ride him with a practised, dirty role of his hips, dick a hot brand against the skin of his stomach. It would be easier if Stiles were upright, but McCall likes to wrap his arms around him, to keep him close, make a space that’s just for them in a world full of blood and howling, likes to fuck up into him, feet flat against the floor. Likes to feel all the tremors that run through Stiles as he comes, spunk smearing over both of them, ass clenching as he shakes and whines. He likes to stay still as he comes in Stiles, weighed down by the press of his body as he shudders through the aftershocks. They stay like that for a long time. Just breathing.

After, when they’ve cleaned up, when they’ve boiled a kettle of water, brewed some stale coffee, McCall gets out the wind up gramophone he found in a raid, looks through the sparse stacks of vinyl he has. Stiles scowls, hands wrapped around his mug. “This again?” he asks. McCall nods, turns the handle. The sound quality could be better, but it has that warm crackle to it, the fuzz at the edges of the sound. The trumpets have that old vibrato to them, the stretching of the middle notes in the bar, the lazy triplets and he sighs, sits back on the couch next to Stiles, slings an arm over his shoulder, pulls them so they’re lying down together, strokes his hair and closes his eyes. This is pointless. It’s as pointless as their daily broad frequency scanning, Stiles’s collection of seeds and medical supplies, their holding of a meaningless territory because Stiles is waiting for his pack. It’s pointless, but he listens to someone singing about nightingales in a place he’s never been to, from a time they’ll never return to, holds Stiles close and hopes.

[darachmoon]

lolafeist replied to your photoset “Requested by lolafeist”

eeee THIS IS AWESOME

<3 so glad you liked it :)