I’m endlessly inspired by the Sterek/Hobrien fandom’s creation of fresh and beautiful content. Looking forward to there being more AU and crossover works in this genre. Give me all the fic of Marty being unexpectedly patient and soft whenever Mitch grows too distant, or gently drawing him back when he becomes too obsessive. (Let’s face it, I’m weak for the ‘anchors’ trope whatever ‘verse we’re talking about.)
Just Mitch and Marty sharing stories and a morbid, fucking weird sense of humour about the really shitty stuff that no one else can understand. The two of them stealing kisses in quiet moments between training and missions while they still can.
“What do you think, did I get it right?” Stiles asks, turning the pad around to show Derek.
Derek looks away from his orchid. He smiles at what he sees on the paper. Reaching out, he touches Stiles on the arm, saying, “It’s perfect, except for one small thing.” Derek points to a small pencil mark, then to the actual orchid. “The column is attached to the lip, like so, you’ve drawn it so it’s part of the sepals.”
Stiles frowns, pulling the drawing closer, until his nose is barely an inch away. “Huh, I don’t see it.”
“If it helps,” Derek pulls the pad towards him, flipping to a few pages back, “This is how I drew them,” he says, pointing to a couple of misshapen blobs he tried to shape into orchids, but failed terribly. “As you can see, you’re a much better drawer than I am.”
“Point made,” Stiles says with raised brows, “how about you stick to growing them, and I’ll stick to drawing them, deal?”
Derek grins. “Deal.”
(From a fic sitting in my drafts, about botanist!Derek and beekeeper!Stiles falling for each other in Derek’s brownstone where he grows some of the rarest orchids in the world, just for kicks)
Stiles sits down in the meadow of flowers, looking at the beautiful colors that seemed to go on for miles. He takes a deep breath in smelling their sweet scent, he picks at some flowers playing with the pedals.
“Hey Derek.” Stiles says quietly. He listens to the sounds of the birds singing their songs and the high-pitched giggle of his little girl behind him. “Sorry I haven’t had the time to talk very much.
"Work is crazy and the pack is having problems with some new monster, which leaves me to do all the research with Lydia. I know you hate it when I overwork myself, but they all rely on me now that I’m the emissary.”
Stiles continues to pick at the flowers, the dull thudding of the Earth’s heartbeat under his feet keeping him rooted.
"My powers have gotten stronger,” Stiles says. “I can now do actual spells when need, and grow things. Deaton says I’ll be a great emissary.”
Stiles opens his hand and a flower begins to bloom out of the center of his palm. He feels the tears prick in the corners of his eyes. “I miss you Derek.”
"With you gone it’s hard. There’s always an ache in my chest that only you can make better, but I wouldn’t ask for you to be anywhere else though.”
Stiles looks up at the blinding sun a small smile on his face, as he squints.
"You’re with your family now and I’m at peace with that. I miss you like crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Stiles says. He feels the tears escape down his cheeks and wipes them away quickly.
"I promised I wouldn’t cry this time.” Stiles says giving a watery laugh.
"Daddy?” A little voice asks behind him. He turns around to see his four-year-old daughter, Bea standing behind him with a frown on her face.
"Bea, moje dziecko,” Stiles says trying to wipe away the rest of his tears. “Are you done playing?”
"Why are you crying daddy?” Bea asks. She walks over and plops down into his lap, a curious look on her face.
"Daddy just misses someone very much dziecko.” Stiles says running a hand through her jet, black hair. She looks up at him with her curious, green eyes.
"Are you missing my other daddy?” She asks. Stiles smiles kissing her head. “Yeah. I’m missing your other daddy.”
"Is he in heaven with grandma?” Bea asks.
"Yeah, he’s in heaven with grandma and his family too.” Stiles says. Bea looks up at him again playing with his fingers.
"Why did he leave daddy?” She asks. Stiles holds her closes pecking her forehead.
"He didn’t want to leave mój mały,” Stiles says. “Sometimes things just happen.”
"Will he ever come back?” Bea asks. Stiles gives her a kind smile.
“It doesn’t work that way Bea.” Stiles says. He gets up scooping her up along with him, kissing all over her face making her giggle.
“Kocham Cię tak bardzo.” Stiles says blowing a raspberry on her cheek. Bra squeaks trying to push him off her face.
“Kocham Cię.” She says wrapping her short arms around Stiles neck hugging him. Stiles hugs her back kissing her temple.
“Come on now we don’t want to be late for grandpa’s birthday party!” Stiles says carrying her to the car.
“Yay! Cake and ice cream!” Bea says excitedly. Stiles looks back at the meadow one more time and smiles, as he feels a gentle breeze caress him and Bea.
“I love you.” Stiles says. And with that Stiles puts a babbling Bea into her car seat, get into the drivers seat, and drives away, flowers blowing along side him in the breeze all the way to his dad’s house.
Why not pluck at people’s heart strings right? Stiles speaks a little bit of polish from what his mom used to call him when he was little and obviously taught it to his daughter.
•moje dziecko: my baby
•mój mały: my little one
•kocham Cię tak bardzo: I love you so much
•kocham Cię: I love you
Do you think Stiles would be one of those people who pass on chain texts "just in case"
My dude, Stiles is probably the one who starts chain texts.
Not because he believes in them, but because he’s meant to be doing an English essay on what the psychological affects of the green light in The Great Gatsby are and quickly decides the psychological affects of the green light is not nearly as interesting as the psychological affects of chain texts (because yes, green lights, chain texts, same thing, right???) sending out one that reads: send this to ten friends if you don’t want a giant werewolf to rip your throat out with its teeth *inserts scary werewolf emoji here*.
Stiles writes an excellent report on the psychological affects of internet culture concerning chain mail which baffles (and yet, does not surprise) his teacher but who cares about grades anymore (seriously when do any of them have time to study???? like, for real)when a certain sourwolf shows up at your window three nights later demanding an explanation as to why Erica keeps asking him how many people’s throats he’s had to rip out yet.
When Stiles is pulled out of the truck nobody
bothers catch him, and he stumbles to his knees on a gravel driveway. He looks
around quickly. It’s dark, but he can make out trees. They might be on the
other side of a chain-link fence, but Stiles can’t be sure. There are no
streetlights here. The headlights of the truck illuminate a squat, ugly
building. One of the men hauls Stiles to his feet and pulls him toward the
building. Stiles struggles to keep pace with the man.
What was it his dad always said? You co-operate to make it easier on you, not
on them. Don’t ever be an accomplice in your own murder. Stiles is a cop’s
kid. His and his dad’s conversations over dinner would have raised a lot of
questions in any other household, but mostly his dad was trying to set him
straight after Stiles watched too many shoot-em-up action movies and thought
that all it took to escape an entire cabal of armed terrorists was a single
handgun and a couple of wisecracks. Which was not, his dad said, the way to survive a hostage situation at all.
Stiles doesn’t think either of them ever would
have thought he’d actually need to know this stuff.
The first step is to open a dialog, right? To
show them that he’s a person too, with thoughts and feelings and a life as
valuable as any other.
“What is this place?” Stiles asks, forcing the
words out against his panic.
“Shut your mouth,” the guy says.
So much for building a rapport. Stiles jerks his
head in a nod to shows he understands, and concentrates on not stumbling again.
Derek can’t believe he’s at a fucking high school party. He outgrew these things long before he was even out of high school. To be honest, he’s just here to watch over his betas. He really should have known better than to bite a bunch of teenagers in an effort to build himself a pack again. Rebellious teenagers. It doesn’t matter how many times he tells them not to do something, they’re going to do it anyway. Hence, the ill-advised chaperon situation.
Stiles tucks his hat into his messenger bag and runs his hands through his messy hair just as the door swings open. He stills when he sees Derek again, not realizing until this moment, seeing him again, that he wasn’t fully convinced that the insanely hot kisses they shared just a few hours ago actually happened, that Derek actually happened, is happening; that Derek simply is. His beauty is even more stunning than Stiles remembers, the sharp edges and stark angles of his features gentled by his smile, wide and bright in his thick black beard. He’s like something out of a fairy tale, or off the cover a romance novel, or a lot of the guys in his favorite porn, or some improbable combination of all three that makes Stiles weak in the knees.
Stiles thought maybe they should small talk more often, or be friendly, or something. This wasn’t Pineapple Express and he wasn’t looking to be the Seth Rogen to Derek’s James Franco, but something had to give because Stiles couldn’t even keep still or silent with people he actually felt comfortable around— let alone a guy who was wearing latex gloves and probably owned a gun.
The past year has been hard, what with Allison’s untimely death; Stiles can’t help but feel responsible for the passing of his best friend’s girlfriend. He has taken to eating his emotions away, and became quick friends with the server at Beacon Hills’ local ice cream parlor.
Stiles doesn’t know exactly when it began. No, that’s a lie, it started with the Fairy Incident of July. What he means, is he doesn’t know when it became normal. The first time it happened was last year with those godforsaken fairies.
The Big Bad wasn’t exactly big, but damnit, they were mean.
It had begun as pranks almost, little things done around the pack as inconveniences and something to roll your eyes and sigh at. Things like adding blue hair dye to Isaac’s conditioner. (Scott’s blush when he let the word ‘cute’ slip made Stiles ‘aww’ resulting in a nice bruise on the arm from Isaac.) Then it was the thing where all the forks in Derek’s apartment up and disappeared. Then Boyd’s car got saran-wrapped.
Anybody out there interested in writing a Sterek-flavoured Outlander AU in which pretty and defenseless Stiles falls back in time and must marry super hot werewolf Derek Hale for his own protection or know of someone who’s already done it? Because I need to read it but I am not the writer for the job. C’mon. It’ll be awesome. I’ll pay you in cheerleading, kudos, and reviews.
We can do a fic exchange! You write this for me, I’ll write something I’m capable of for you. Win-win!
Thank you to everyone for your continued love and friendship. Thank you to those who have been following me for a while. Thank you to everyone who likes and reblogs my fics and drawings. You all are truly and utterly amazing.
To celebrate this I’m accepting Art request for Sterek/ Otayuri because they have taken over my life. So, if you are following me and have any specific Art request, feel free to send an ask (off anon).
😩 I miss Sterek so so so much. Recently I've been obsessed with watching the early seasons and reading so MANY fan fictions bc I can't even mOVE ON. Will I always be trapped in the painful hell that is Sterek?! Lol
I feel you, nonnie. I honestly thought last year I was finally starting to ease up on my Sterek feels (hahahaha, oh sweet, naíve summer child) but even when I was barely on tumblr and rarely having anything to do with fandom my heart was still like
still snuggled up under my sterek blanket.
And I mean, I couldn’t even get through one book or movie without being all, “YOU KNOW WHAT THIS WOULD MAKE A GREAT AU OF??”
Brain: Don’t tell me. The sarcastic asshole and his broody, emotionally constipated, werewolf boyfriend?
Imagine the pack having a movie night, but there’s not enough room on the couch for all of them to sit so Stiles ends up sitting in Derek’s lap with his legs stretched across everyone and a bowl of popcorn on his lap.
I kid you not. My final essay for my English class is to argue why the main character in a movie we watched is gay. Literally, that is the prompt.
My professor is making me write an essay on gay subtext. MY ESSAY IS FOR ME TO RANT ABOUT WHAT I RANT ABOUT ON TUMBLR ON A DAILY BASIS. My professor thought she was challenging us? Bitch I analyze homoerotic subtext in my sleep.