#sydney writes

[sydneyshipsstuff]

if this isnt the best chapter outline ive ever written-

merry fall besties

[sydneyshipsstuff]

im taking an indefinite break for my mental health. not that i was very active anyway, but all my wips are now on hiatus for the foreseeable future. things in my personal life are catching up so i need some offline time. ily all tho, ty for all the love 💕

ill still answer dms and like stuff but i cant work on my fics atm.

see you soon.

[sydneyshipsstuff]

passing u the happy! 💖 when you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications! <3!

ty dear !! 💙💙

my happies are: my family, my dog, writing, acting, and reading!

[sydneyshipsstuff]

Enjoy a lil sneak peak of what I wrote today for Broken Bones. Just feeding you guys since I starved you for so long.

[stilesscott]

you’re too close and you know it too a sciles fic based off prompts from @risualto: #3: “Please, stop pretending to care about me when I know you don’t.” & #7: “It’s because I’m too selfish with you.”

2465 word count & summary:

“‘Please, stop pretending to care about me when I know that you don’t.’

The words out of Scott’s mouth are like a gut-punch to Stiles.

It’s not that he doesn’t deserve them; it’s not that he thinks Scott is out of line. He’s not. He absolutely has a right and reason to be feeling that, to say that. And maybe a month ago, it would’ve been true. A month ago, before Stiles really knew Scott, Scott could’ve said that and it wouldn’t have bothered Stiles.”

or: the classic teen wolf au where stiles is a hunter

read on ao3 or follow the read more!

“Please, stop pretending to care about me when I know that you don’t.”

The words out of Scott’s mouth are like a gut-punch to Stiles.

It’s not that he doesn’t deserve them; it’s not that he thinks Scott is out of line. He’s not. He absolutely has a right and reason to be feeling that, to say that. And maybe a month ago, it would’ve been true. A month ago, before Stiles really knew Scott, Scott could’ve said that and it wouldn’t have bothered Stiles.

Because a month ago, Scott was just someone he knew as a kid, just another random werewolf. Randomly meeting him again, at some random community college no less, was not on purpose. But Stiles had heard through the grapevine about Scott McCall of the McCall pack. He had heard how this one werewolf made lifelong hunters reject their families. How he became an Alpha through his own sheer will. He’d heard things.

It was strange, though, when Stiles first heard the name—the little twinge of familiarity.

And it wasn’t like he had ever planned on going after him; the grapevine has also made it clear that the McCall pack is not one to mess with alone. But then the opportunity arose; who was Stiles to reject destiny?

But now. Now, looking at Scott as he hisses in pain from a wolfsbane bullet; now, watching Scott as he doesn’t allow Stiles to get close to him to help; now, it’s different. He would say he’s different, but he’s not really, is he? He still wants to kill werewolves. He still wants to extinguish their entire supernatural species, just like how they extinguished the only family he had left.

Just not this one.

Because it’s Scott. Scott McCall, who is kind and heroic and unbiased and unproblematic. He doesn’t kill people; actively tries to not kill anyone—even hunters. It’s hard for Stiles to wrap his head around. He’s never met a werewolf like him before. Could there be more? More like Scott?

Is what he’d devoted his life to doing wrong?

“Scott,” Stiles says, almost haltingly. He brings a hand up again and Scott eyes it warily, untrusting.

Stiles puts his hand back down.

Yeah. He deserves that.

Because he let himself get close to Scott; having gone so long without family, without friends, just focused on killing and killing and killing. When they ran into each other—literally ran into each other—Scott had recognized him instantly. Remembered him from their short time together at Beacon Hills elementary. And without missing a beat, Scott wanted to resume that friendship.

Stiles still doesn’t know why.

And he doesn’t know why he went with it. Maybe he was just lonely. Absolutely desperate for some human connection, and Scott was willing. They had been friends before, maybe that’s why it wasn’t hard to fall together. Stiles had tried to ignore the guilt in his chest and stomach that bubbled up every time he saw Scott, every time they played video games, every time they went to get pizza and work on homework and watch movies and talk on the phone late at night.

They got close. Too close. So close. Close in a way that Stiles began to think he might’ve been falling for him. So he tried to pull away, he really, truly did, but.

(There’s not really any excuse except Stiles didn’t want to. He couldn’t bear it. Werewolf or not, he cares about Scott too much.)

And that’s when the worst happened. Scott got cornered by a group of hunters when he and Stiles were meant to meet for pizza, and Stiles was able to track where the hunters had cornered him, and. And.

“Hey, Stilinski!”

And the hunters had recognized him.

Scott’s face had morphed from a horrifying panic when he saw Stiles to the worst kicked puppy look when the hunters called his name. Stiles hated it. Hated that it was his fault.

But he could fix it; he could.

So he played along. Buddied up to the hunters because getting their guard down would make it so much easier, and then he took them down, quick as anything. They weren’t expecting it and they weren’t as good as him; he had to be the best, growing up alone and training alone and just being alone. Being with Scott was the first time he wasn’t.

So it was over. Done with. Except Scott won’t let him help him.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles rasps. He clears his throat. He doesn’t know when the tightness started, but he doesn’t have time for it. “Scott, I’m sorry.”

Scott has a hand covering his arm, where the bullet is, but he doesn’t move. His feet are bare for some reason and there’s dirt on his face and there’s blood on his hands and his hair is wild. He doesn’t look like the super powerful Alpha werewolf all the hunters talk about; he just looks like a young college kid. Alone. Afraid. Betrayed.

“Scott, please let me help you.”

“Why, so you can put a bullet in my head when it’s more convenient for you?”

Stiles flinches. A full body flinch. Scott’s eyes hold a second of regret, but then it clears again and they’re back to the distrust and betrayal.

Stiles swallows hard and moves away to get a bullet from one of the dead hunters. He’s going to help Scott. He’s going to prove himself.

But he’ll also respect Scott’s boundaries to do it. So he uses the hunters’ tools and cracks open the bullet to get the wolfsbane inside before also grabbing a lighter, and then offers that to Scott. He keeps as much distance as he can, reaching out his full arm’s length.

Scott doesn’t move for a long while, and Stiles begins to worry. Scott no longer trusts him so much so that he’s going to die from a simple wolfsbane bullet. It’s frustrating and it’s panic-inducing because Stiles can’t do this. He can’t lose another person. Not when he can actually help them.

“Fuck, Scott, please,” Stiles begs. His hands are beginning to shake.

Scott moves slow, but he moves; he grabs the bullet and lighter from Stiles’s hands and sets about fixing himself. The relief is so strong that Stiles finds himself no longer able to keep standing, his legs faltering as he allows himself to just collapse. Scott glances at him, but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Which is good. It’s good. Because Stiles just wants Scott to be okay, and then Scott can leave him. Scott can leave him. It’s okay. Knowing he’s still alive is enough. Will be enough. It’s okay.

He doesn’t notice, not until he makes noise, but he’s crying. No, not crying. He’s sobbing; awful, horrible sobs that hurt his chest and his lungs. He pulls his legs up to his chest and lets it out, trying hard to muffle his sounds into his jean-covered knees. Scott almost died. If Stiles were any later or even just a little less trained, Scott would be dead. The relief that he’s not is exactly why Stiles is crying, the adrenaline long gone. He’s drained. He’s tired. He’s sobbing.

Eventually, he quiets down. His breathing is still hitching, but it feels like the worst has passed. He wipes at his eyes, to clear them so he can look at Scott—if Scott’s is still there.

He is. He’s looking at Stiles, his eyes—his expression—unreadable. He’s not doing anything else but also sitting on the ground. The wound on his arm is hardly there anymore. He’s alive. Definitely alive.

And now Stiles is going to lose him.

He told himself it was okay, but it’s not. He will never trust him again. Scott knows who is, can assume what he’s done, and Scott’s going to leave him.

It’s enough to make him want to cry again, but he won’t. That’s for later. When he’s alone. Again.

Scott won’t stop looking at him.

Stiles turns his face away from Scott, wiping his eyes on his hoodie sleeves again before tucking his head back onto his knees. He stares off to the side, unseeing. “What?” he whispers. It doesn’t matter. He knows Scott will hear him.

There’s a pause. “I don’t know,” Scott says. His voice is neutral. Stiles fights the urge to cry.

“You should go home, Scott,” he says. “Go home and sleep and don’t worry about this. Them. The hunters. I can take care of it. I’ll make sure the others don’t think you’re involved. And I’ll go.”

“Go?”

Stiles closes his eyes tightly. He breathes deep a couple times to keep it together. “Yeah.” His throat feels raw. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Go where?”

Now Stiles can hear actual genuine confusion in Scott’s voice. It makes him lift his head, focus his eyes back on Scott. His face is still unreadable but it’s cracking a little.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Stiles says. He tries to make eye contact with Scott, but then looks away as soon as they do. “Maybe north or something. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Scott repeats.

Stiles forces a laugh. “Did you turn into a parrot? I feel like you’re just repeating me.”

Scott doesn’t laugh. He would’ve. Before.

Stiles tries not to think about it.

“You have classes, though, don’t you?” Scott asks. “You’re a student here.” More confusion. He’s making Stiles confused.

“I mean, yeah? But that doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

“Jesus, Scott,” Stiles laughs softly, and this time it’s a little real. He clears his throat. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pull myself out, go somewhere else. Don’t worry about it.”

Scott doesn’t say anything. Stiles begins to think that he’s going to leave, which is good because he should. He should go home, go back to his dorm so he can shower and sleep and forget the last month ever happened. God knows Stiles is going to be working on that for years.

And then Scott asks, “Did you know?” and Stiles feels his stomach drop.

“Know what? About the hunters? No.”

“Did you know about me?”

Stiles licks his lips. He opens his mouth. Closes it. He sighs, and then pushes his palms into his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Scott takes that for an answer. “What were you waiting for?” he asks, and his voice is quiet and sad and borderline heartbroken, and it hurts Stiles.

“I wasn’t waiting for anything,” he says honestly. He hopes that Scott knows. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t planning anything, I wasn’t going to kill you, I-I.” He breathes out. “I don’t want to kill you, Scott.”

“Why?”

He licks his lips again. “Because you’re my friend,” he whispers. “You’re my friend and I didn’t want to kill you. Because I’m too selfish with you. I’ve been alone for a long time, Scott.” He lets out a humorless laugh. He can’t look at Scott. “I’ve been alone for so long, and then…and then I wasn’t. We were friends, and I think I might be starting to fall in love with you, but that doesn’t even matter. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Scott.”

There’s silence again. It’s longer than before, Stiles refusing to look at Scott, picking at the frayed ends of his jeans. The urge to cry is gone, though, for now. He doesn’t know what else to say, if he can say anything at all. If anything matters. He’s so sure that Scott’s going to leave. Why wouldn’t he? He probably just needs time to get his strength back and that’s why he hasn’t left yet. He probably just wants some answers from Stiles—answers Stiles is more than willing to give.

Scott sighs. “I guess there isn’t really a good time to tell someone that, right?”

Stiles jerks his head up so quick he’s almost nervous that he snapped it. “What?”

There’s a faint smile, a sad smile, dancing on Scott’s lips. “There’s not a good time to tell your werewolf friend that you’re a hunter. I mean, there wasn’t a good time for me to tell you about myself, either.” There’s humor lacing his words; Stiles tries desperately to not get his hopes up. “Stiles,” Scott starts and then stops.

Stiles naws on his lower lip, a nervous habit he hasn’t had in a long time. He just makes a, “Hmm?” sound. Because he’s scared. And he’s nervous. Desperate. Terrified.

“I don’t…I don’t forgive you, exactly,” he says carefully. Stiles keeps holding on, ignoring the pain of those words. “But I want to. I really, really want to.”

“Do you think you can? Some day?”

Scott considers it, and eventually nods. “Maybe. I think so. Because I like you, too, Stiles. Like, I was going to ask you out for real after tonight.” He laughs a little. “The timing, fuck.”

The urge to cry is back again. Stiles isn’t sure why. God, what happened to him? What happened to the hunter that killed werewolves without flinching? When did he turn into this sobbing, needy mess; sad and lonely and craving just a little bit of affection from his werewolf of a friend?

He doesn’t even care, though, and maybe that’s the worst part. He doesn’t even care about hunting, hasn’t in about a month. He should’ve listened to that grapevine rumor about Scott; about how he made hunters give it up. He should’ve known.

But he doesn’t care.

“I’ve never really had good timing in my life,” Stiles says. He lets go of his legs, lets them stretch out. His feet are maybe only half a foot away from Scott. And Scott doesn’t react; Stiles will count that as a win.

“I don’t know,” Scott says, considering. “I think you had pretty good timing tonight. I wasn’t prepared; I don’t know that I would’ve survived.”

Stiles’s throat is tight again. “Then thank God for that.”

Scott hums and stands up. He walks over to Stiles and takes a second before offering his hand out. Stiles takes it gratefully, allowing Scott to pull him up. Neither of them move away, though, and Stiles is standing so very close to Scott. They don’t let go of each other’s hands, either.

They just stand there for a moment, eyes locked on each other. Stiles isn’t sure he’s breathing; he’s too nervous.

Scott uses the hand holding Stiles’s to pull him closer for a hug, a hug Stiles sinks into. He’s trembling a little. He didn’t even notice when that happened. But Scott’s hugging him and Scott likes him and Scott at least wants to be his friend still and he wants to trust him and forgive him, and it’s more—so much more—than Stiles could’ve wished for.

Scott presses a soft, quick kiss to Stiles’s cheek before he pulls away. He keeps their hands connected, though. “Come back with me to my dorm?” he asks.

“I would’ve even if you hadn’t asked,” Stiles admits. “Just to. Just to make sure.”

Scott’s gaze softens.

Before they leave, Stiles glances at the hunters. “Shit.”

“Yeah?”

“I have to take care of this,” Stiles says, using the hand not in Scott’s to gesture.

Scott squeezes his hand. “I don’t think anyone will look for them tonight. Or find them. We can do something tomorrow.”

“You mean I’ll do something.”

“I said we, I mean we, Stiles. It can be a trust-building exercise.”

That startles a real laugh out of Stiles. “The classic, bury-the-dead-bodies-of-hunters trust exercise? Scott McCall, you Casanova.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Scott says with a laugh. He pulls him again.

It doesn’t take much effort because Stiles knows he’ll go wherever Scott is. There’s no question. He’ll get his trust back, he’ll protect him, and he’ll go where Scott is. Like he thought a month ago, who was he to reject destiny?

[stilesscott]

may i interest you in some...sciles??

you found your home in me (2061 words) - married sciles talking about having kids. kinda sweet, maybe a little angsty

[sydneyshipsstuff]

Day Three of the Spooky Starker event ( @spooky-starker-week )!! Masquerade. Link to the post

Tags/Warnings: detective peter, villain tony, dubious content, not canon, darker, gun stuff at the end, threats, ambiguous ending (I think that's all but let me know if I missed any)

Peter had no idea what he was doing. He stood on the side patiently waiting for instruction. Finally, a static message played in his ear. "The engineer has arrived. Mask up and head inside." With a shaky breath, Peter put on his red, jewel adorned mask, and stepped inside the ball room, searching for his target. "Straight ahead Parker, gold mask," the voice in his ear piped up.

Peter grabbed two glasses from the bar and walked over to the man in question. He held his arm out, offering one of the drinks to the engineer. "Care to drink?", Peter offered. The man offered a tight smile and accepted it, after adding in "Only if you share a dance with me after."

Peter couldn't help admitting the older man danced gracefully, the mission almost completely forgotten about. After dancing for the better half of an hour, the still faceless man pulled away. and Peter felt like crying. "shall we go somewhere private?" he asked peter. His ear piece declined, but Peter agreed. As they entered a quiet room, Peter felt a little brave, asking him a question. "What's your name, sir?" Tony pulled out a gun and pressed it to Peter's temple, Tony Stark, detective parker" And yeah, maybe this was all part of Stark's plan. Maybe Peter should have listened to the professionals, but what could he do now except beg sweetly for Tony to spare him?

(This one is also a little shorter, but it plays into it I feel. Also not super masquerade-y but oh well. See you tomorrow! <33)

[sydneyshipsstuff]

Day Two of the Spooky Starker event ( @spooky-starker-week )!! This one’s cancelled Halloween. Link to the post

Tags/Warnings: None

Tony was walking around the compound, making sure everything was okay when he heard a sniffle. He waited a second and started walking in that direction after hearing a second one. He walked until ending up in front of... Peter's room? surely he wasn't the one crying. He once again waited, then knocked on the door. He heard distinct shuffling, but no one came to the door. He knocked again but no noise at all followed, so he pushed open the door and was now in Peter 's room. Nothing seemed to be out of shape however, which worried him even more. He was about to ask Friday where Peter was/who had been crying, when out of the corner of his eyes, Peter's laundry hamper Shifted, then let out a cry of distress. “oh poor laundry pile, why are you upset?" Tony asked. After a moment of quiet, Tony let out a sigh. "Pete, I know it's you. I’m worried for you. Please.” The pile shifted more before a pile of brown curls emerged. Even more shifting later, Peter's red and splotchy face was visible. He looked miserable. Tony moved to Peter's bed and sat, before wordlessly ushering the boy over. Thankfully, Peter listened this time and sat next to him. It was quiet for a moment before Peter spoke up. “you don't have to be here. I'm okay.” Tony got a little upset at that because, crying loud enough to be heard at the end of the hall was not "okay.” "I want to be here, I want to help. Tears don't go with your outfit. can you just tell me what's wrong?'' Finally, after a moment of debating, Peter Spoke up. "Mj's Halloween party was cancelled. It’s a childish thing to cry about, but I was really looking forward to going. We've never spent one together and after this year we won't see each other because we're separating for college." Peter wiped his face and stared at the ground, embarrassed, waiting for Tony to laugh in his face then leave. The complete opposite happened. Tony cautiously wrapped his arms around the teen. "oh sweetheart. You are /not/ childish for being upset. This was important to you. I'll figure something out for you. No one deserves to be upset on Halloween. It's late tonight, though. We'll talk tomorrow I promise. Get some rest, alright? "Peter nodded and laid down while Tony left the room. ------- One week later, the whole team (minus Peter who was at school) worked together to hang orange and black Streamers, various different Halloween characters like witches and Spiders, and put out candy bowls. They put on a Halloween movie and hid in different places as if planning a surprise birthday party, which it was, minus the birthday part. There was 1ots of fog everywhere and Spooky music filled the room. Around a minute later, Friday was announcing Peter's arrival and everyone held their breath. As Peter entered the kitchen for an after school Snack, he was thoroughly confused. The room was dark and quiet, which it normally wasn't. He flicked on the lights and was even more confused. The normally fluorescent white lights were dark and flickering. He slowly noticed the rest of the changes. He set down his bag and noticed the fog. He went to open the door and noticed the wall directions. "Hey Friday? What's going on with the common room, and where is everyone?" "all around you, peter" "Wha-" "Surprise!!"everyone exclaimed as they jumped up. Peter was in Shock as he took in everything. Everyone was in various Costumes and Peter couldn't help but smile when he noticed Tony had dressed as Captain America of all things. He looked around again and saw my and Ned as well! He walked over to them, a big smile on his face. ”So you guys weren't Sick today, I was scared you both would get me sick too!,” he said brightly. "Sorry Peter, but we couldn't pass up Tony Stark! Plus, now we get to hang out on our last Halloween together!” Ned said, just as brightly. They talked for a while before Peter decided to say hi to everyone else. He was in the midst of chatting with Thor (dressed as a puppy) when Peter felt a hand on his back and a whisper in his ear. "Kind of rude of you to not talk to the man that set this whole thing up for you. I do hope you're having fun." Peter turned to face Tony, the smile he had at the start of the surprise still there. He was talking about the fun he was having when Tony once more interrupted. “Well I’m glad, but it’s not quite over yet. I have one more surprise for you in your room. Shall we go take a look?” Peter simply nodded and let Tony lead him, the hand on his back returning. Entering Peter's room, he immediately noticed a box on his bed wrapped, with an orange bow. He looked unassured at Tony, only stepping forward after he got a bright look and a nod. He quickly unwrapped it and was met with a... cube? Before he had too much time to be confused, Tony explained it. It's a wellness cube. It lets you travel to set locations instantly, so if you miss Ned or Mj. you can see them in person instantly. and... me, if you want." Peter wasted no time in wrapping a huge hug around the inventor's body. "I love it. Thank you." "Happy Halloween, kid."

(I hope you enjoyed it <3)