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Is There a Pulitzer Prize for Fanfiction?

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"I'll always love you, even if you're a demon," Derek confesses, his red eyes flashing with emotion.

"Derek...," Stiles whispers, his black eyes glittering, leaning forward, and they meet, their tongues -

"Peter," there's an angry slam, he hopes that Derek hasn't cracked the screen again, "what the fuck."

Peter pokes his head out of the kitchen to see Derek's head bowed over the closed laptop, his hand over his eyes. "What's wrong, dear nephew?"

Derek's head shoots up to glare scathingly at him. "Oh you know," he says casually, "thought it'd look up the incantation for exorcising demons and ended up reading about," he picks up the laptop and shakes it violently, "me and Stiles!"

Peter darts back into the kitchen, not even bothering to muffle his snickering.

The laptop slams back down onto the table. "Stop writing this - whatever it is!" He hears Derek growl hotly. "Or at least, stop putting it in the goddamn files!"


He imagines this is what it's like to be a born-again Christian. Or maybe just born again. Since that's what he did, basically.

The bitch that murdered his family is dead. Most of his own revenge-driven crazy is gone. Dying, even temporarily, can be quite an experience. Humbling, even. Sure, he still has a few issues to work out with the pack and their friends, like the whole thing with killing Derek's sister and then trying to kill him and just generally killing people and also biting Scott and mentally scarring Lydia-

Like he said. A few issues.

So, he supposes he should be a good little pack member and just do what Derek says; after all, he got what he wanted and while he would love to snatch away Derek's Alpha status, poor boy is in way over his head, it's his familial obligation to help his little nephew get his life together before he starts planning to ruin it again.

Of course, that still doesn't mean he can't have a little fun at Derek's expense.


It began as a simple question. "Why haven't you bitten Stiles?" Peter asks as he leans back against the kitchen counter, watching Derek eat his breakfast.

Derek shoots him a withering stare, still chewing on his cereal. Not even worth a grunt.

"What? It's a valid question," Peter says defensively. "I offered it to him. He said no, but oh," Peter tries for one of those shared knowing looks but, judging by Derek's suddenly furious expression, he is decidedly not on board, "he wanted it."

Derek's spoon bangs loudly against the bowl. "What."

Peter plows forward. "I'm sure one of your-," he searches for the right phrase, waving his hand dismissively, "-'Before You Get the Bite' information sessions will convince him."

His nephew has the unfortunate habit of being unable to properly express emotion other than anger or some shade of sadness, so his face is a jumbled mess of dawning realization, righteous fury and confusion. It's not a good look on him.

Peter purses his lips, stroking his chin as Derek struggles to pick which thing to yell at him for. "Maybe if you did it shirtless, it would go over even more smoothly," he adds thoughtfully.

Flustered, now that's a new one. It takes the wind right out of his sails. Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I knew I should've killed you in your sleep," he grumbles regretfully.

Peter gasps, offended, his hand flying over to his cold undead heart. "That hurts me deeply," he says. Derek rolls his eyes, picking up his bowl and walking over to the sink. "I only want you to be happy."

Derek lets out a bark of laughter, his bowl clattering as it drops in the sink, the spoon following. "I will never know what you want, but that is definitely not what you want."

Peter shrugs, dropping his hand. Fair enough. "Just think about it. Stiles is a human, but he's held up pretty well, considering," he follows Derek out to the living room, "and he can only get better from there."

"He could also die."

"Point," Peter concedes. "But if it does work out, you get him and you'll probably get Scott." He spreads his arms out. "Big happy pack family, just like you wanted."

"I don't want to bite Stiles," Derek says crossly.

"Are you kidding me?" Seriously. "You're willing to bite these maladjusted kids but not Stiles? Well, he's not exactly completely stable either, but at least he wants to actually help Scott and, by extension, sometimes you. We seriously have to reconsider your recruitment criteria or -"

"No," Derek snaps, glaring. "Besides, he doesn't want the bite and no," Peter opens his mouth but Derek jabs a finger at him, "I'm not ever taking your word. For anything." Peter gives pause as Derek plops down on the couch, arms crossed over his chest.

Huh. Derek looks a little upset, dejected even, and oddly evasive, as if -


"Oh," Peter echoes. "You don't want to bite Stiles."

Derek stares at him suspiciously. "Yeah," he says slowly.

"As in, you want to, but you don't want to pressure him," he clarifies, nodding in understanding.

Derek looks completely and utterly lost, his eyebrows drawing together. "W-what?" He stammers. "I didn't say that."

Please. Peter could smell emotions before Derek even existed. He spins around, tapping his lip. "Well, this changes everything," he mutters.

"What? What's everything? What changes everything?" He hears Derek call worriedly as he goes upstairs, taking the laptop with him. He doesn't answer.

He's got work to do.


He's never been one to give potential rivals any sort of leg up so this is a better alternate way to help Derek. Besides, if the power of love ends up defeating him in the future, well, he'll dig his goddamn grave on his own.


Fan fiction. There are stories, myths, that say that if you write enough of it, it becomes real.

Derek is a sad lump of self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy. And he has a, not soft, but slightly less firm spot for Stiles. The kid is smart but also a bit insufferable in his opinion, and Derek's judgement of character leaves a lot to be desired, but Peter can see it.

Yes, it's perfect, the foil to Scott "his username is Allison and his password is also Allison" McCall's romance. If this were a novel, or maybe even a TV show, Derek and Stiles would be that constant, casual, unassuming couple, the refreshing departure to the sickening sweetness and turbulent nature of the main couple. They would be that "will-they-won't-they" couple with those scenes where they look at each other meaningfully with some award bait song playing in the background right before it cuts to a commercial, the couple with a sub-plot devoted to who says "I love you" first. There would be misunderstandings, the inevitable fallout, interventions by friends, before they get thrown into some sort of amazingly sad life-death situation where they regret not saying it and then when they make it out alive, they would finally say it, simultaneously of course, and they would smile and kiss and it would be so adorable. They would win Internet polls. They would most definitely have tons of fan fiction written about them.

He can work with this. He went to college. He's read epics, tragedies, short stories of all genres. He's always been creative. Born with natural strategic skills and cunning. It's why he's alive now.

To direct that brilliance into writing stories about his nephew and his favorite human? Oh, child's play.

So he writes. He writes for every folder in his spare time, which he has a lot of since Derek doesn't trust him enough to give him anything substantial to do, writes snippets related to the subject matter, even full-on chaptered works when it tickles his fancy, titles them with things like "How to Kill Trolls" or "Effects of Magic Pollen" to ensure that Derek will click on the word documents. And to make it even more unavoidable, he wedges the actual useful information in the middle of the stories so Derek has to at least skim them. It's infallible. Foolproof.

Everyone knows no good fanfic can go without explicit sex, so there was that small obstacle. He'll kill his family members, sure, but he draws the line at writing descriptive smut about them, especially descriptive smut between his nephew and his underage human. He outsources it instead to some unknown person online who gleefully accepted the task of writing the sex scenes of his stories after reading the short bios Peter wrote up for them. They're damn good too, judging by the small excerpts Peter was able to read before becoming unable to look Derek in the eye ever. They write some downright sordid, depraved, kinky things, things Peter has never even heard of and knows better than to look up, and it's simply delightful in that they absolutely terrify Derek.

It's so worth the looks of embarrassment and disgust Derek shoots him.


The Effects of Magic Pollen

"Stiles, what's wrong?" Derek approaches him and retracts almost immediately; the faint undercurrent of something vaguely floral is barely discernible from the overwhelming scent of arousal.

"Oh god," Stiles moans feverishly, falling toward him, his hand working at the buttons of his jeans. "I need you to mount me like yesterday."

And snap! There goes the laptop.

"You two would be perfect for each other, you would," Peter croons as he swipes his finger across his phone screen, once again searching for another laptop. Durable for even the clumsiest kids!, he reads. It's worth a shot. He buys it.

"I can't believe I ever even liked you," Derek says miserably, picking up and tossing the two halves of their third laptop into a garbage bag. "You are the worst uncle, literally."


He's a little sad that his great work will never be fully appreciated. Some of it is painfully bad, just to make Derek uncomfortable, but some of it he had put real effort into. If he had figurative heart strings, his work would be plucking them.

One day, he stops in the doorway of the living room to see Derek, his head propped up by his hand, watching the laptop screen intently, reading...a very lengthy word document. Apparently, he can't even properly contain his glee because immediately, Derek jerks like he's been electrocuted, a tasteless joke but still, and literally swipes the laptop away and into the wall, the laptop clattering loudly on the ground. Peter turns his head to look at the screen, not broken because he started buying sturdier laptops when he learned how much it annoyed Derek to not be able to destroy his problems, and confirms, yes, he was reading his soul bond fic.

He will forever remember the look on Derek's face, that wide-eyed embarrassed look that makes him actually look like a puppy dog, and will hold it over his head for as long as possible.

It renews his resolve.


Derek stops trying to hide the fact that he reads the things Peter writes.

"Do I really loom a lot?" Peter hears Derek ask Erica.

Erica tries, and fails, to keep a straight face. "Oh honey," she chokes out before she cracks, laughing uncontrollably.


How to Identify Fae Territory

Sweat trickles down his temple. He breathes, trying to focus. There are four - no, five heartbeats, closing in fast.

"Stiles -"

"I'm not leaving you behind," Stiles says, his voice shaking. "I'm not, okay? So stop telling me to go." His hand is shaking too, rapidly weakening as he applies pressure to the wound on Derek's shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. A worthless endeavor, but he doesn't need to know that.

Derek inhales, exhales unevenly. The pain from the fae's enchanted poison is dulling, but that's not particularly reassuring. "Is Scott coming?"

Stiles nods jerkily, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Derek wraps his hand around his wrist and Stiles turns to him, his brown eyes bright and questioning.

"When he comes -," Derek stops, his breath hitching as the pain ebbs and flows, "- Stiles, when Scott comes, you get out. You run, okay? You leave me here and you run and you don't look back."

Stiles is already shaking his head. "I told you, I'm not -," he starts angrily, his face crumpling like he's about to cry.

"Please," Derek whispers. There's a chance that they won't make it out of this, a chance that only he will die, a chance that only Stiles will die. The last one is not an option. "You never listen to a goddamn word I say, out of spite or I don't know what, but for once, can you just -"

"I don't listen to you because everything you say is unbelievably stupid," Stiles hisses. He leans in close, his hand pressing against the side of Derek's throat, his thumb resting against his jaw. "I'm not going to leave you," he repeats firmly, holding his gaze.

The foreign heartbeats draw closer, but Derek just listens to the one he knows best, the pounding of Stiles' distinct jackrabbit heartbeat.

Swears that he'll never let it stop.


everything is terrible
how do you expect me to write porn with all these emotions

Peter wipes away an imaginary tear. "You're too kind," he tells the computer screen.

The door slams open. "Peter!" Uh oh. He closes the laptop just as Stiles angrily storms into the living room.

"Stiles, what a pleasant surprise," he exclaims, pasting on an easy smile. "How can I help you today?"

Stiles gives him a hard stare, glancing at the laptop in front of him. "What have you done to Derek?" He demands.

"Me?" Peter asks, shocked. He makes a big show of looking over both his shoulders. "What could you possibly be talking about?"

"Don't give me that shit," Stiles growls. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Peter waits, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Stiles lets out a frustrated noise.

"Derek's been acting weird ever since you came back." He holds his arms open. "Wasn't too hard to make the connection."

Oh. Interested, Peter leans forward, setting his chin on his hand. A new development. "Do tell," he requests. Stiles shoots him an odd look. Peter shrugs. "Maybe I can help."

Stiles works his jaw. "He can't look me in the eye," he finally blurts, crossing his arms over his chest. That must be upsetting him, Peter thinks with amusement. He tries not to smile, but it's really a difficult feat. "He avoids me like the plague. If he even touches me, he freaks out and disappears. And it only happens with me!" He suddenly advances toward Peter, leaning over the table to point an accusing finger at him. "Have you been trying to convince him that I'm the enemy or something? That I'm untrustworthy?"

"Oh, most definitely not," Peter chortles. He stands, circling the table to put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles eyes it disdainfully. "Listen, Derek's dealing with-," he pauses before saying, "- a personal sort of multi-pronged emotional assault."

"Which you had nothing to do with it," Stiles says sarcastically.

"Precisely," Peter says cheerfully. He ushers Stiles toward the front door. "Don't worry, he'll come around soon enough."

"I'll find out what you're up to!" Stiles shouts, voice full of determination and resolve, before Peter promptly shuts the door in his face.

He returns to his laptop and, for lack of a better word, cackles. It's terribly cliched but so, so appropriate.


Give me your best work. OOCness is no longer acceptable. We're going canon-compliant. Future fic.





They've saved each other so many times, had this discussion so many times, it's getting a little routine.

"I'm tired of this song and dance," he hears Stiles say. "You could be happy."

Derek shakes his head. "I told you, I -"

"- have issues, right?" Stiles says softly, bitterly. "It's not the right time. I could do better. You could do better."

He doesn't say anything.

"Let's face the facts." Stiles turns away. "You just don't have the balls to go out and get what you want."

Derek doesn't talk to him for a week after putting that out.


Peter starts writing less mocking material, more gritty motivating material. Stories where they fight, sure, where they go through tons of hardship, where they lose people, but there's always a happy ending. Stories where they have cute little courtships, where they're fake boyfriends who eventually fall in love for real, where they're already together, waking each other up with kisses and under-cooked waffles.

Little by little, maybe Derek will change. Maybe he'll learn that he can have a happy ending if he's willing to work for it.

Peter shuts his laptop, rubbing his eyes. He hopes that isn't the sun rising out the window.

He sighs. Maybe he really is just a big softie.


As he is roused from sleep by the slamming of the front door, he is reminded that he needs to tell Derek to get a doorstop.

Pulling himself out of bed, he yawns, the murmuring of voices getting clearer as he shakes himself awake. Damn hyperactive kids. Suddenly, he feels old.

You resurrected yourself, Peter reasons, mentally patting himself in the shoulder. That can really take a toll on a person. As he trudges out of his bedroom, he decides maybe it's time for a cup of coffee. Nothing quite like drinking Derek's brew to feel alive.

"- research would deter me, huh?" Oh, it's just Stiles, he thinks absently. Then he hears him say, "Thought that all the fanfiction would scare me off, hm? Well, it didn't! I relished every goddamn bare-backing, scent-marking, knotting, and come-playing detail!"

Oh dear god. Peter flashes back to the early stages of his fan fiction writing career, going through those drafts with his anonymous co-writer.

"You're going to take my knot and I'm going to fuck you so hard," Derek growls, "you'll be leaking my come for weeks."

And he promptly trips on the stairs.

They all turn to look at each other in, quite possibly, the most awkward stand-off ever. Peter, sprawled in the stairs. Stiles, slightly out of breath. Derek, bright red with his greatest rendition of the puppy dog expression to date pasted on his face. It almost makes Peter regret what he's about to do.

Numbly, Peter stands, his expression carefully blank. You are on your own, he tells Derek mentally. "I heard nothing."

As he rushes out of the house, he swears he hears Derek mentally shout back at him, get your ass back here, this is all your goddamn fault, but he's too busy trying to re-scrub those deeply-buried images from his mind.

After that, though, he allows himself to cackle loudly and freely with well-deserved laughter.


"You wanna know which story was my favorite?"

Derek casts him a wary glance before turning back to the TV.

Peter sighs dramatically. "I actually never got a chance to write it. Could never quite figure out the plot progression."

"Hard to believe," Derek quips.

"I think I could write it now though." Peter taps his chin thoughtfully. "The story where you meet Stiles in the forest while he's looking for Scott's inhaler, and then, years later, finally make out with him and fall asleep in your living room, covered in cream pie."

Peter grins slyly as Derek snorts, a smile spreading on his lips.

"How do you manage to be so creepy and corny at the same time?" Stiles mutters from Derek's side, half-asleep.

Peter shrugs. He may be plotting Derek's future demise, but that doesn't mean he's not allowed to enjoy these moments too.