Stiles sees the Toyota and laughs so hard he has to rummage in his bag to find one of Scott’s inhalers.
“Derek, I don’t know who you’ve been listening to, but man, you can not get laid in this.”
Derek gives Stiles his best blank look, and manages to mutter in a dead pan voice, “But there’s more room for sex in the back of this one.”
Stiles can’t help the howl of laughter that escapes, yes, a fucking howl.
“It doesn’t matter if you can’t get anyone to fuck you in it.”
Derek’s eyebrows say otherwise, and so does Stiles heartbeat.
Guys I have made the only body-based cartography shirt you will ever need
(I’m not sure if this has been done already? But I sort of don’t care. I’m mostly just posting this for the amazing Victoria, Canadian super spy and inspiration for all things Teen Wolf that go on in my head. This ones for you babe. Spoiler alert: all my Teen Wolf fics are for you)
The first thing Derek does after it’s over, after Peter is dead and the last surviving Hale is no longer the most wanted fugitive in the state of California, is examine every single of inch of his baby, his only prize possession, his beautiful, sexy Camaro. He changes the oil, checks the transmission, looks over the spark plugs, hell he even takes a peek at the timing belt even though he remembers it has at least another thousand miles on it.
The car miraculously doesn’t have a scratch on it, though he still gets the feeling that those two kids must have done something to it. It even still smells like them. Scott is a recognized one, and though the boy constantly denies it, he smells like pack. That scent is familiar, and to his wolf, it’s a comfort. Stiles’ scent is much stronger, and it does something to his heartbeat that he’s not quite sure what the hell to do about yet, so he ignores it just as always. It’s probably the only part of Stiles he can actually ignore. But everything is really, and truly, exactly as he left it. His iPod is still hooked up, and when he turns it on, it’s even on the same playlist as always – Chris Argent Is An Asshat or Songs To Play At Loud Volume Levels When Passing Argents On The Street. (It’s a very long title but Derek is an exacting person and has yet to find a title more fitting. Because Fuck You Chris Argent just doesn’t do it enough justice).
Derek Hale proudly turns the key on his baby for the first time in too fucking long, and when it starts with a roar and simmers down to a purr, he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He has his car, and he has his first potential target to begin building a new pack. A new family, and a new start. Everything is going to be fine. All is well and right in the world. Until he presses play on the dashboard, and the car stereo begins blasting a song he had forgotten was even on here, one he hasn’t heard in years. One he definitely did not put on this goddamn playlist. His eyes flash red, until the initial verse starts, and Derek laughs. A full on, six-pack shaking, fucking laugh. He picks up the iPod, and the scent that’s on it makes his heart do that damn thing again. He turns the music up louder, and flies down the street. Derek Hale takes the long way to the cemetery, taking an unnecessarily long route to get there, just to make sure he goes by the Argent home. The song is on endless repeat for the short drive.
When he picks up Isaac after school, even with the madness of the kanima, and his dad being dead, he makes sure the song is playing. Loud. Because just as he thought, Scott is there trying to talk Isaac out of “doing anything stupid,” with Stiles playing tag along as usual, though he doesn’t seem to be taking sides in the discussion.
The second they’re clear of the doors, Stiles eyes shoot straight towards the Camaro where it sits in the parking lot, blasting Riding Dirty by Chamillionaire so loud the entire student body is fighting not to stare. The kid has a hand over his mouth, but even from the distance, and over the heavy bass of the song, Derek Hale can still hear him laughing. And though no one can see it, the smile reaches his eyes behind his pitch black aviators. Despite everything, Isaac is grinning when he climbs into the car, and he peels out of the lot with a screeching fishtail and a burn out that makes Jackson jealous.
Because he’s Derek fucking Hale, Alpha of the newly reformed Hale pack, and he’s going to take his second chance for everything he’s got. Though right now it’s hard to tell which is making him feel more powerful, the presence of his beta beside him, or the bright and bold smile of one Stiles Stilinski that isn’t being faked. That of all of the people he’s met recently, it is Stiles who actually thinks to try and cheer him up, who has the gall to do so even after Derek Hale has threaten to rip his throat out. With his teeth.
Isaac hits “repeat” as they pass a cop, safely within the speed limit, and Derek Hale lets him. He may or may not be plotting on messing with the cd player of a certain older model blue Jeep Wrangler too.
The one time Finn tries to look less like murderous, he tries to wear this shirt. Lilly can’t take him seriously, even if it is just to hide the giant knife along on his spine. She looks at him and has to keep chewing her lip to keep from bursting out into a ridiculous smile and a laugh. Because he looks half his age, and an ago hour he just killed a wendigo. With the same knife.
Just another Lilly-Anne Purga ‘What Is My Life’ moment.
Of all the things I
Thought I’d feel today
When I crawled
Out of my nest
I didn’t expect to be
Stretching out of
Over to the kitchen
With a smile
Soft and collective
But as I sipped
Slowly rejoined the
World around me, I came
Every little thing I
Thought you did
All of the
I did for myself
Something Wicked. By catch—-22.
I FELT THE URGE TO WORDS. /sorry not sorry at all
The whole scene felt so fucking cheesy, it looked unreal.
“This is like something out of a bad horror movie,” I whispered, because talking out loud seemed wrong somehow, tromping through a corn-field, with darkening clouds over head. The winds whipped my braid across my back, turned the corn stalks around at odd angles. It was like the Signs meets Twister, but I did not believe in aliens, and so scenes of Children of the Corn came to mind. Which was so not even close to the actual horror movie that was my life.
Zell snorted, but he tightened his grip around his gun too, the Bul Commander looking huge in his thin hands. In some cases I would say it was too much gun for the job, but we were looking for a body that Rhodell had said he smelled, and still no idea what had killed it. Only that Rhodell could not step foot on land so far from Mikail’s purview. So here we were, Zell and I, the team of the newly minted offices of Purga Private Eye, tromping around a corn field with guns we did not have carry-permits for, seeing if anything jumped out and tried to eat us.
The wind howled, actually fucking howled, and my heart slammed into my chest at the sound. Get a grip Lilly I chastised, there are no goddamn werewolves this far south, dumbass.
“Jumpy, jumpy,” Zell chuckled, and I laughed when a stray cornstalk smacked him in the face.
“Yeah, well, when something tries to eat us, I’ll be the one to kill it.”
“Or run from it.”
“You can’t outrun a zombie. Or a shifter. Fuck, you can’t outrun any of it.”
“Neither can you.”
“I don’t have to out run the monsters,” Zell grinned, “I just have to outrun you.”
“Yeah, and then I’d haunt your ass for all time.”
He didn’t say anything to that. I had stupidly referenced the Thing We Do Not Discuss. Monsters we joke about, ghosts, on the other hand, were no laughing matter. Not when we knew them so personally.
And then the fucking cornstalks rustled, fucking rustled, and it was so not the wind. My Beretta was two-handed in the direction of the noise without needing to think about. In the past few years aiming my best fire power towards the tiniest noise was the only thing that had kept me alive this long.
“Show yourself!” I shouted, all pretense of stealth gone.
“Slowly,” Zell added.
It didn’t go slowly. It fucking somersaulted out of the growth and onto the clearing of the path, landing easily on filthy boots with a grin. It was Finn, no last name, probably not his real first name either. Bounty hunter for hire.
“You’re pretty far from home, Lilly.”
“Hi to you too,” I drawled, lowering my Beretta, but not putting it away. I hadn’t since we got here. This place gave me the fucking creeps, which usually meant Very Bad Things had taken place here.
Finn opened his mouth to say something in that southern-boy-charm of his, when a fucking whole section of the crown growth snapped in one big go.
He stopped being charming then, and took off towards the sound, shotgun at the ready. Zell and I shared a look before we zoomed after him. The skies were getting ever darker over head, and it had nothing to do with the time of day.
I wondered if we could find the thing and the body before the tornadoes came.
The way my luck was going, I didn’t count on it.
Thinking that I
Am just like all the rest is
A mistake on you
-a haiku by Creep about a silly kulta
For nine-tenths of the day
I am control
Easy smiles, smooth gaits
Hips and head bobbing to the songs
I identify and escape to
Where I can ignore the missed
Calls and texts,
And touches and words
Lose myself to life’s rhythms
But in the last stretches
Yawns and tired eyes
The last tenth
I am fear and uncertainty
Bound tight and lost and high
My chest heaves and
Aches, with loss
Touch starved with
The fear that perhaps
When roads wind down, and the
Paths become one only, I am
Always and forever
Love is not
An emotion, it’s a skill
And it is one that
I was never taught
And fear that I will
In time to love
The way I must
- a poem by your darling Creep, because life is too messy for haikus lately
Does my stomach hurt
Because I still have the flu
Or from lack of food?
-a haiku by Creep on that most frustrating and confusing of life problems: the post-sickness stomach ache