Hi! I was wondering if you have a mythology au tag? I scrolled through the tag page but couldn't find one. Hope I didn't overlook it, have a nice day!
It is true, we don’t have a mythology tag. That’s mainly because I don’t think we ever recced a fic that fell into that specific theme. Otherwise, we would have probably tagged it. The closer to mythology we’ve got is the historical/medieval tag and a Gods AU fic list we posted a few days ago. -C
However, here are some recs for you more focused on different mythologies :D
Sliding his hands around Stiles’ chest Derek found the scents of the Camaro, Laura, and New York still clinging to him like a map of the places he had been.
Holding him made him real. He wasn’t a figment of Derek’s imagination. Stiles was here, and he was staying. Uncontrollable relief spilled out of him, but the right words, the right voice was there to pick him back up. Repeated apologies whispered against his skin relentlessly, melting the last of the anger he stubbornly held on to.
Derek finds a Polish baby names book and decides that his new goal in life is finding out Stiles’ real name through trial and error.
To save the kingdom from a curse of unending winter, Derek is sent by his king to retrieve the mythical Firebird of legend—who turns out to be less of a mythical creature and more of a probable criminal who has no interest in being retrieved by anyone for anything.
The young man is standing with an arm casually thrown up to lean against the door frame, displaying his bare torso to advantage, his powerful swimmer’s shoulders and lean body pale with moonlight. His cocky grin, however, is fading quickly into a look of shock and confusion. Other than a pelt shaped into a sloppy kilt, his legs are bare too, despite the chill winds coming in off the ocean.
“You’re not a girl,” he says in a gently lilting accent that’s like an odd blend of all the coastal voices Derek’s ever heard, squinting at Derek like his eyes might somehow be deceiving him.
Unlikely, given his dark beard and broad, well-muscled shoulders, let alone what he’s got under his kilt.
The last thing he saw before everything went blue and dark was Scott’s red hoodie, and Stiles thought, as his limbs went shock-heavy and cold, and the bubbles started streaming around him, that he’d done something good with his life after all.