Are you ready for some GENUINE TWOTHUMBS NONSENSE??
Stiles doesn’t really understand caring touch anymore. Touch for touch’s sake doesn’t make sense. Touch is used to move, to shove, to force.
Gentle touch, comforting touch, touch to communicate affection-
Stiles finds himself stunned and frozen on the rare occasion someone touches him with those intentions.
But he still craves it. Skin on skin, in any form. How do you ask someone to touch you with love? Stiles isn’t sure it’s possible. Much easier to goad someone into touching with anger.
He’s never met anyone easier to goad than Derek. He’s a disaster of unresolved trauma and underdeveloped emotional intelligence. Not that Stiles can blame him. Stiles is pretty sure that if he’d lived Derek’s life, then the murder arrest wouldn’t have been a false start.
But in any case, it’s so easy. Two words here, an eyeroll there, one more carefully applied remark, and he feels Derek’s skin slam into his, shoving him backward into a wall, pinning him there with anger and a hot hand, a hint of claws at his neck.
Stiles has to fight not to lean further into the touch, choking himself even harder just to get closer.
It’s unfortunate that Peter doesn’t suffer from the same.
“You don’t have to provoke him, you know.”
Stiles didn’t look up from his laptop.
“It’s not the only way to get what you’re looking for.” Peter walked slowly up to the table where Stiles sat, hands in his pockets. “Granted, I wasn’t sure what you were looking for at first.”
“Peace and quiet?” Stiles suggested dryly, continuing to type his economics paper.
Peter leaned against the arm of the chair Stiles was sitting in; not touching, but warm enough for the heat to radiate towards Stiles’ skin; warm enough to pull Stiles closer.
He leaned away.
“At first I thought it was merely attention. Acknowledgement from the alpha that you’re here, and a part of the pack. But that’s not what it is, is it?”
Stiles finally looked up.
“What what is, Peter?” he said, exasperated.
In response, Peter reached out and placed a hand on Stiles’ arm. Not squeezing, not pulling, not bruising. Just resting, hand to arm, skin to skin.
Stiles froze, completely still.
Peter softly smoothed the pads of his fingers from his forearm down to his wrist, wrapping his hand around it with gentle pressure before releasing it to drag a fingertip back up his forearm.
“You’re starved,” he murmured. “It doesn’t have to hurt, Stiles.”
Peter pulled his hand back to himself, and Stiles shivered, aching. Every thought in his head had ground to a halt the second Peter touched him. Softly. So, so softly. There was no push behind it, no direction-
“What do you want?” Stiles asked, unable to hide a slight tremor at the end of his words.
“I think this is about what you want, my dear. Or rather, what you need.”
Stiles shook his head.
“Just because you’re not pushing me with your hands doesn’t mean you’re not leading me somewhere. What do you want?”
Peter’s mouth took on a wry smile.
“It can’t have missed your attention that I’m hardly suffocating in hugs either.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I need touch as well, Stiles. My wolf needs it. Pack touch. Supportive touch.” He reached out again to run a hand through Stiles’ hair, trailing his fingers behind his ear.
Stiles couldn’t stop himself from leaning into it this time.
“It’s beneficial for everyone. My nephew loses a punching bag and hopefully finds therapy. You no longer need to seek out touch that hurts you. And I don’t turn into an omega and go on another murder spree that ends with my throat cut.” His fingers traveled down the side of Stiles’ neck.
Slowly, Stiles reached up and took hold of Peter’s hand, pulling it away. He looked at it for a moment, silent.
He laced their fingers.
“Sit down. I have to finish this econ paper.”
As he types with one hand, he still doesn’t understand affectionate touch. But exchange, he understands.
Peter smiles, and rubs a thumb along his knuckles.
When Stiles is nine, his mom comes home from her doctor with a diagnosis, long words he’s never heard before. Words he’s not supposed to hear now, but he’s a skilled little eavesdropper. (Or so he’s heard.) Plus, he needs to know what’s going on.
His parents look and sound scared, and it makes something cold knot up inside him.
The oppressiveness of the news only increases as the night goes on. His mother goes to bed but his father goes downstairs with a bottle. Stiles can’t breathe in the house now, where his mom is sick and his dad is already grieving.
He slips out the back door and runs. He doesn’t realize he’s running toward the Preserve until he’s already there. All he knows is away, away, away.
This is how the wolf finds him: dirty, crying, exhausted, and alone beneath a giant oak tree.
Stiles has always know there are werewolves in the world, it’s not like it’s a secret. But he’s never seen a shifted wolf before, and he stops his crying to look at it. Him. Stiles thinks the wolf is a boy.
The wolf looks at him but Stiles doesn’t startle or scream. He thinks maybe that’s what the wolf is waiting for, but he doesn’t.
“I ran away from home,” Stiles tells the wolf. “But not forever. Just… just for a little while.”
The wolf moves closer. Stiles gives him a trembling smile.
“I just want to stay here for a little while,” Stiles says, and hiccups because he’s been crying.
The wolf noses at his shoulder.
“You’re really big,” Stiles whispers. “I wish I was a wolf. I wish… I wish I could just run away forever. But I don’t want my parents to be sad. They’re sad enough.”
The wolf cocks his head.
Stiles sighs. “My mom’s sick. I think she’s going to die. That’s… that’s what it sounded like. I didn’t understand all the words they used.”
The wolf lies down beside Stiles. It makes him feel comforted, even without having heard a single word. Stiles starts to cry again, but this time he cries into the wolf’s fur.
as a fic writer and someone who has some form of social anxiety (and therefore is really nervous of commenting), here are other things you can do as a reader:
– reblog! not only is this feedback, it also provides a very much needed exposure for writers and their fics. tagging the post would be even cooler, but if you aren’t comfy with that, just pressing the reblog button can help writers a lot.
– recs! you can make a post about your favorite fics, or find fics to rec when your friends/someone you follow ask for them, or even just randomly drop recs in their askbox (e.g. “i found this lovely fic, here it is if you want to take a look *inserts emojis*“). if you don’t have a tumblr, you can simply share via anon asks. i’m pretty sure every fic writer will squeal or at least internally scream with joy when they realize someone’s rec’d their works. this is also one of the only few ways fics get promoted.
– kudos! i have mixed feelings about kudos, mostly because i’m self-deprecating and (wrongly) view them as ‘you’re good but not good enough’ – but they’re important as well. some people tend to look for fics by the kudos count (min. x kudos, for example), either because they don’t have the time or it’s just their thing (though please try to not do that as much so non-‘big name’ writers have a chance). if you enjoy the fic you’re reading, smash that heart button thingy.
– bookmark and public bookmarks! this shows that you enjoy their fics and would like to keep them (perhaps so you can reread in the future?). some people comb through others’ bookmarks as well, so there’s always a chance they’ll click on the fics you like.
– private or anon messages/asks! if you’re not comfortable with leaving comments publicly, there’s always this option. most writers have their inbox open and will readily get excited with you. (seriously, grab a writer and just yell at them (ง •̀_•́)ง)
this is a great list, but i had some ideas as well:
– make a playlist for the fic, and tag the author.
– make an edit for the fic, and tag the author (and link the fic in the description).
– make a fanvid for the fic, and tag the author.
– if their fic inspired you, write your own fic based on theirs– just make sure to link the work it’s inspired by. there’s a section specifically to do this when posting a new work to AO3.*
– leave a review in the notes of the public bookmark you left.
*ask first, maybe, i assume this varies by author. i certainly don’t mind, and am always flattered by, people writing works inspired by mine– so long as they credit it ❤
Queer Fiction Writer 