#panic writing

[dontcallpanic]

WIP SunMonday

Thanks so much for the tags @all-or-nothing-baby and @greyhavenisback

I got really excited for a moment because I thought it was Sunday today - and then I realised that it is actually Monday. But that was okay because I got two AMAZING snippets to read regardless! (Seriously go read them! They're fab!)

So I'm trying to get back to writing after a few insane weeks so you can have something I wrote earlier.

For context, this is from Lineman, a sterek glacial burn, post-apocalyptic au where Stiles has a pirate radio station and Derek is the one responsible for the communication network. As always, Stiles is creating pure chaos and making it Derek's problem.

-----------

"I didn't do anything," Boyd says automatically.

"I know," Derek growls, shouldering past him and reaching to adjust the capacitor. It does nothing.

The strange noises and singing build to a rhythmic crescendo. Derek flinches, wondering if some kind of creature is going to appear out of his radio. It sounds like someone trying to summon an old god.

"I can't turn it down either," Boyd yells, the noise just getting louder the more Derek tries to interfere.

"No shit," Derek bites back, having already turned the volume as low as it can go.

"Whatever it is it's playing around the whole town," Boyd shouts, sticking his head outside to where the same awful sound is playing from Erica's bar. Derek can hear a few people shrieking inside and he can't tell if it's with laughter or agony. Or maybe both.

"Then fucking help me," he growls, yanking the housing off the radio, exposing the copper coils, the capacitor and the diodes. He stares at it blankly then reaches up to adjust the antenna before his mind catches up with his body and he can take a long hard look at what the hell he's doing.

The radio waves are already transmitting. And he's been trying to stop them. Like an idiot. All he can do is stop them being received. But he can't turn off every radio in the town. Or can he?

He leans down to carefully disconnect the speaker but is startled by the buzzing as a message comes through on Boyd's field radio.

Boyd picks up the receiver only to have Derek snatch it out of his hand.

"We're handling it," he growls into the mic before slamming it back into it's cradle. He shares a look with Boyd. Whatever this noise is, it's playing on all channels and as far over as Novac.

"We're not handling it, are we?" Boyd asks, staring at Derek's wild eyes and heaving chest. At his feet Muttley is still howling loud enough to wake the dead and all Derek can do is collapse into the chair, completely and utterly defeated.

Around him the noise intensifies until the strange twanging noise finally slows to a stop, only to be replaced by a slow clatter that sounds like someone has dropped a sheet of metal.

It sounds horrendous.

Then, nothing.

Into the silence Derek breathes heavily, glaring at Boyd as if he has any more answers than he does.

The silence stretches between them for a long, long moment before it is shattered by a now familiar, all too excitable voice.

"Didn't that just blow your gourd? YES! Yes it did. Gentle folk of the post apocalypse, allow me to introduce you to Rock Around the Clock by Bill Haley and His Comets.

Jazz hands! Jazz hands, baby."

There is a burst of sound as Stiles cackles madly and Derek winces, wishing he knew where Stiles was so that he could cut off his fucking jazz hands.

"Oh my god! Music!

Guys, gals and everything in between - we have music!

Yes, you heard me correctly! Please, do not adjust your sets. It wouldn't help you even if you did.

Hah! I have music now! Music!

Oh, it is all SO over for you!"

---------

Very gentle no pressure tags to: @gege-wondering-around @violetfairydust @renmackree @novasillies @ahhhnorealnamesallowed @endwersed @jadezdominion

[upsidedownwithemmy]

*squealing, hyperventilating, passing out, dying* WE HAVE A DATE FOR THE FICCCCC!!!!!!

*screams incoherently*

WE HAVE A DATE

[hannah-deactivated20220725]

I’m Safe, Guys!

I’ve escape, guys. But I don’t have long. They’ll be looking for me, and they’ll be after my head.

They... they did terrible things to me. I’m lucky to be alive right now.

Guys, seriously, I’m not kidding! These people we write about... we aren’t just people with vivid imaginations.

Apparently some people’s minds are portals into another person’s mind... or many people’s minds.

Some people are so good at “creating” a lot of characters because their minds are-

Shit! Guys, I have to go. They’re back. I can hear their

[stregaomega]

[dontcallpanic]

The absolutely incredible @teencopandthesourwolf who wrote something so deeply amazing I'm still recovering, tagged me to do the WIP Wednesday. Diolch yn fawr iawn cariad!

So happy Thursday, here's something small from the post apocalypse au where Stiles has a radio show and Derek realizes he's in love with the idiot while road tripping across America with his dad. Or something like that.

I do have funnies to share at some point but you can have some drama for a change instead. This is how Derek meets the Sheriff.

-------

"Where is my son?"

Before Derek can so much as blink the man - the Sheriff - is in his face, the long barrel of a pistol jammed beneath his jawbone.

"I won't ask again," the man says deadly quiet before he sucks in a deep breath and roars into Derek's face. "Where is my son?"

Derek flinches back instinctively but he can't go far, the wall is at his back and the gun is shaking where it's digging into his throat. Despite this Derek still manages to stand tall, pushing back as a wild, feral grin pulls at his lips.

"I don't know where your fucking son is," he growls out, pitching his voice low and menacing. "But if you don't get your gun out of my face, I guarantee you'll be in no position to find him."

And he means it, every word. He would even welcome it. He can feel the bloodlust singing beneath his skin, the ache to his jaw and the itching in his teeth. He wants to feel the flesh give beneath his bite. The satisfaction of the kill.

Give me a reason, he thinks - begs. Give me one fucking reason.

The sheriff's wild, searching eyes rake across his face, looking for any sign of deceit or weakness where there is none to find. He reeks of alcohol and desperation and the stench assaults Dereks senses, forcing themselves into his awareness like a desert storm. In this moment, the Sheriff is not a man who can be reasoned with and Derek feels his claws itching at his fingernails, his snarl growing deadly. He should rip him apart. He wants to rip him apart and put him out of his misery, but something deep inside him makes him hesitate, recognising with bitter familiarity, the recklessness of a man who has nothing left to loose but hope.

The second he feels the Sheriff loosen his grip on his shirt, he shoves the man roughly away, knocking the pistol out of his face with a snarl.

The gunshot echoes across the street as a bullet slams into the stone beside his head, but Derek is already clear, holding up one hand to stop the response, even as he hears the tell tale snick of at least five people thumbing the safety off their weapons.

The Sheriff staggers, intoxication making him unsteady on his feet but the hand that levels the pistol at him holds unnervingly steady.

"Tell me what you know," he demands and his voice is surprisingly firm and resolute. There's no tremor. If it wasn't for his heightened senses, Derek would be doubting his initial assessment.

All around, he can feel the watchful eyes pressing in on them. The whole town seems to be watching now. The chances of the Sheriff leaving here alive, should he choose to shoot Derek, are non existent.

"I don't know shit," Derek spits, taking a step forward, fingers reaching to curl around the gun at his hip. It's grounding and familiar and it gives him the illusion of still being human.

"Bullshit," the Sheriff spits back, jerking his pistol to the side to add emphasis to his words. "That's his dog."

-------

As always the biggest thanks go to @greyhavenisback (look!! It's Muttley!)

And then Very gentle no pressure whatsoever tags to @violetfairydust @patolemus @gege-wondering-around @novemberhush

Sorry If you've already been tagged!

[dontcallpanic]

WIP Sunday

I was tagged by the incredible @endwersed who is writing the most bewitching things about boys I don't even know but now I want to! Thank you so, so much for the tag!

I have actually been writing recently which is exciting although it's still Lineman. I'm just resigned to the fact that I will probably be writing this for the rest of my life at this rate!

So this is the post-apocalyptic glacial burn Sterek au where Derek is responsibly for building the radio network and generally wishes that everyone would leave him alone and Stiles is causing all kinds of trouble on his pirate radio show. At the moment, Derek is currently getting propositioned by the Sheriff who is trying to find Stiles in all of the wrong places. Good thing Derek has Erica to give him a shove in the right direction!

-------

"So, will you help me or not?" The Sheriff asks.

Derek is silent, considering. It's too convenient, the timing too perfect. The same storm that held him up is the storm that allowed the Sheriff to find him. It feels like a trap.

"Will you help me find my son?"

"What help do you imagine I can give you?"

"I'll take whatever you can give me."

"He'll do it," Erica says, slamming two bottles onto the table and grinning widely. The two men fall silent, looking up at her in surprise. Then:

"Excuse me ma'am, this was a private conversation," the Sheriff says evenly.

"Yeah, fuck off Erica," Derek growls. "This doesn't concern you."

"Everything you do concerns me, Derek." She flashes him a sickly sweet smile that is all teeth and painted lips.

The Sheriff's eyes dart between them and Derek doesn't like how much they seem to notice.

"I'm not interested," Derek growls, knocking back his drink and standing up from his chair.

"You sit your ass back down," Erica snaps, staring Derek down. He refuses to budge, rolling his eyes and slowly folding his arms.

"You were going to find Stiles anyway," Erica says exasperatedly. "What does it matter if you share the information with his dad? His dad, Derek. Don't look at me like that, Boyd told me about the radio calls."

"Boyd should know to keep his mouth shut," Derek growls.

"Now wait a minute," the Sheriff says, also getting to his feet. "Do you mean to tell me you were planning to find Stiles all along?"

"I hadn't made up my mind."

"Bullshit," Erica snaps. "That's why you've had your head rammed up your ass this past week, biting at anyone who dares to disturbs you. You've been making to leave and you got held up."

"You need to keep your nose out of my business," Derek snarls.

"It's my business when Boyd is doing your fucking job," Erica snaps back.

"It's his job now."

"So you are leaving?" the Sheriff interjects, raising one hand, a frown creasing his forehead.

"I work alone."

Erica rolls her eyes. "No you don't, you work with Boyd. Or should I say worked?"

"I'm leaving."

"No you're not." Erica steps to block his path and Derek falters. He feels ambushed, threatened, every instinct he has is clawing at his skin, telling him to get out and run. Erica watches him closely but she doesn't back down. "Take five. Have a break, have a drink, but you're not leaving here until you agree to go."

Derek glances around somewhat helplessly. He wants to leave. He doesn't want a stranger in his business but despite himself he can hear a voice in his head telling him the Sheriff could be useful. He knows Stiles. He could help.

"C'mon," Erica mutters, jerking her head towards the bar. "Come and cool off for one drink."

The Sheriff is still glancing between them, watching them closely but seeing Derek nod in agreement he slowly lowers himself back into his chair, hand absently reaching to scratch Muttley behind the ears.

"I'll wait," he says.

Derek steps to the bar and lets Erica serve him. She lets him take approximately two sips before she is leaning close to hiss in his ear.

"What's your problem?"

"I thought you said I could take five?"

"You've had five. Honestly, I've never seen anyone drink so slowly."

Derek bares his teeth. Erica rolls her eyes.

"Look I get that being all brooding, grumpy and mysterious is your thing but this offer is gold, Derek. You need his help just as much as he needs yours."

"Yeah and that's the problem, Erica. It's too good to be true."

"That doesn't mean it's not"

"I don't want company. I don't need someone else slowing me down. I don't need someone else to watch out for."

"Well, according to the traders, he can look after himself just fine. Shot out a couple of creatures, barely on the horizon. They say he's some kind of sharp shooter. A gunslinger."

"You know better than to listen to tall stories."

Erica shrugs. "I know a tall story when I hear one Derek. I work in a bar, I hear them all the time. This wasn't one of them."

"He's a drunk."

"Everyone has flaws."

"You're suggesting I drag him across the fucking country!"

"I'm suggesting he could be useful. You have jack shit to go on Derek and whatever magic you're working on those wires of yours, won't be enough to save Stiles if shit goes bad. And you know exactly how bad it can get."

"It's not magic. It's science."

Erica waves him off. "Same thing. And that's besides the point. He'll use you and you'll use him. I know you Derek, you can always cut him loose at the first opportunity."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said all evening," Derek says, finishing his drink and setting it on the counter with a thud.

"So you'll do it?"

"Didn't say that." Derek stands, ignoring Erica's protests as he crosses back to the corner where the Sheriff has been watching them with a level gaze and a carefully blank expression.

"What do I get in return?" Derek asks, arms folded.

The Sheriff tilts his head looking appraisingly up at Derek. "I know my son. I know my son better than anyone on this goddamn earth. I can tell you everything you want to know and," he allows himself a small smile. "I'm a fair shot."

--------

I have lost track of who's writing so um no pressure whatsoever tags to: @jadezdominion @gege-wondering-around @greyhavenisback @violetfairydust @seaweed-water

[dontcallpanic]

WIP Wednesday

The absolutely wonderful and very talented @novasillies tagged me to do WIP Wednesday thank you SO much! And I'm so excited because it's actually wednesday and I've actually been writing!!!

This is from my small strange town sterek au that recently got the working title: 'Stiles Stilinski's guide to adventure and outrunning your problems' but was previously called 'Bones' so maybe that essentially sums up how it started and how it's going!

Anyway, here's Stiles dithering about going for a walk in the Preserve!

----------

Stiles sits in his Jeep in front of the big map outlining the Preserve trails, absently stuffing chocolate cookies into his mouth.

And if he's spewing crumbs all over himself, well that's nobody business but his.

And if he's still brooding over the mysterious, grumpy, vanishing hot guy - that would also be nobody's business.

He shoves another whole cookie into his mouth with one hand and snaps a picture of the sign map with the other, getting buttery, chocolate fingerprints all over the screen.

He mutters angrily to himself, wiping the screen on his jeans but that only seems to leave chocolate streaks on his trousers and the screen looks worse than ever.

Grumbling, he begins to reconsider the whole thing. The fucked up dream from last night suddenly seems way too real out here in the actual woods and it's beginning to look less like a relaxing stroll and more like an accident waiting to happen.

And Stiles has good instincts! He'd been totally right about Scott's collage roommate that one time. But he doesn't exactly have an instinctive repertoire for "I had a creepy dream and it's freaking me out" or "there was a seriously fucked up tragic event that happened somewhere between these trees" or even the slightly more normal "there's probably something strange lurking in the woods and I really want to find out what."

Slightly more normal… slightly. He's pretty sure normal people wouldn't be wanting to find out what that strange creature was. But he's never exactly been normal.

He could leave. He could absolutely turn around right now, go back to his super comfy bed in the weird hotel run by the weird manager that totally saw him have a panic attack for no fucking reason.

That was totally an option too. And it wasn't like there'd be any witnesses if he did that. Nobody need know.

Of course, nobody knows he's out here either.

He wonders how long it would take for someone to find his body. He shoves another cookie in his mouth and chews it angrily.

This is so fucking dumb.

Rolling his eyes, he swipes at his phone and quickly sends a message to Scott:

Sending you my location - okay? Just in case I go missing. (I'm not going to go missing).

He sends a link to Scott before adding:

See - I can make mature, adult decisions

He pauses for a moment, then quickly types:

Just don't tell my dad!

There. That's his good deed done.

Maybe Rule Number 4 needs to be something sensible like: always tell someone where you're going (especially if you're going into the woods alone).

That seems very sensible. Sensible is good.

He shoves the final cookie of the pack into his mouth before staring at the wrappings forlornly.

Rule number 5 definitely needed to be: always buy double of everything. Especially cookies.

With a grumbling sigh he hauls himself out of his Jeep and grabs his backpack. It's just a fucking walk in the woods - come on. Get it together. It's something he's done loads of times.

Of course he's never been looking for a shadowy red-eyed creature before.

And what if the weird creature is actually not that weird. What if it really was a bear or a mountain lion or something?

It didn't fit with what he saw - but still what if he really is mistaken.

Even if he isn't, he's sure there really are bears and other vicious creatures around. And this is a perfectly reasonable reason to be cautious. It's practically normal!

Wait - when did mountain lion become worse than shadowy red-eyed creature? And oh crap did he forget his bear spray?

He fumbles in his backpack until his hands close around the canister and he can breathe a sigh of relief.

He doesn't get why he's so jumpy. Okay he totally does but still.

Ugh whatever.

He sets off, striding purposefully towards the entrance before realizing he totally forgot to lock his fucking car!

Cursing violently under his breath he angrily jams the key in the lock, twisting it before he decides that Roscoe deserves better from him.

"Sorry gorgeous," he says, giving the bonnet a pat. "Rough night. I'll be back soon okay?"

He hopes he'll be back soon.

---------

Very gentle no pressure whatsoever tags to: @greyhavenisback @violetfairydust @endwersed @gege-wondering-around @jadezdominion and @renmackree

[dontcallpanic]

Manifesting murder?? Have I heard about this one before? Tell me everything!

Or, y'know, tell me about Lineman because I know you're trying to focus on that one.

And I'll never mind hearing about Bones either, it's such a fun and intriguing fic.

I DON'T KNOW, PICK ONE AND RAMBLE AT ME ABOUT IT or all three of them, idk, I don't make the rules 😂

😂 you are allowed to make the rules!

Okay let's see if I can be succinct about these:

Manifesting murder: Stiles has a museum, for Reasons the authorities want to shut him down. Stiles has magic in this one and since the simplest solution to his problems is murder, his magic essentially makes this happen and anyone who threatens his museum winds up dead. And Derek is his long suffering cop/wannabe boyfriend who has to dispose of all the bodies.

Lineman: at this point, you probably have a better idea of what Lineman is than I do!

In a post-apocalyptic America (think fallout) Derek travels around setting up radio communication for everyone and Stiles has a pirate radio show. For Reasons, Derek has to take a really long roadtrip with the Sheriff to go and find Stiles before Kate does. And inevitably falls in love with the mysterious radio DJ on the way. Also there's a dog.

Bones - which is also known as Stiles' guide to adventure and outrunning your problems: Stiles has finished Collage and can't stand the idea of settling down so he starts traveling and runs straight into Beacon Hills where nothing is quite as it seems and there's a red-eyed mystery to solve. And skeletons in trees. And deep Celtic connections that may or may not explain why everyone is acting really weird.