#everything der

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Why did you ask me that?”

“Huh? What's that, big guy?” Stiles mumbles, answering the query with one of his own without looking away from Derek's laptop screen. The laptop Derek kind of bought for Stiles for when Stiles is at the loft.

Whatever. 

There's a ballpoint pen shoved in the kid's mouth—God, that mouth—and another slid behind an ear, the latter ready and waiting for Stiles to click to death in the In Between Typing Times.

The others dispersed a couple of minutes ago. Apart from Derek and Stiles, only Lydia and Deaton now remain at the loft and they're deep in conversation about the preliminary theory of who or what is killing the humans of Beacon Hills this week and are standing at the opposite side of the open-plan space, making more coffee. Scott and Malia left to rally the other ʼwolves (not answering their phones as they're at a cinema screening) plus find and talk to Argent to arrange a pack meeting proper about the situation, so they can all work on devising a plan. Granted, there is Peter to consider—who's probably still lurking somewhere, what with lurking being one of his favourite pastimes—who can obviously hear any and all conversations that are, or could be happening inside of the building. Sadly, though, Derek has never been able to hide much of anything from his uncle.

So. 

He thinks about elaborating on the question he asked Stiles, but can't.

He tries not to stare at Stiles, and fails.

Stiles is squinting at the screen with intent and looking like he has forgotten Derek said anything at all. Or that Derek is still hovering close by. Or that Derek, you know, exists.

Derek is just standing there, all difficult and awkward in his own fucking home and his own fucking body, looming over Stiles like a creeper as Stiles taps away furiously at the keyboard and violently zig-zags a fingertip across the mousepad like an actual lunatic.

Derek almost laughs at that.

The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.

“Why wouldn't I?” Stiles now asks, still mumbling around the chewed ballpoint Derek is trying not to be jealous of. 

“I—what?” Caught off guard, always and only by Stiles. 

Stiles doesn't skip a beat, unlike Derek's heart. “Why wouldn't I ask?” he adds.

Oh, right.

“I, uh, I don't... ” Derek trails off pathetically, swallowing any confidence he had previously mustered and looking away from Stiles, even though those big, brown devastating eyes aren't actually looking at Derek because they are, of course, still zoomed-in on whichever web page is currently yielding the most information.

Dusk is quickly closing in and all around them and the light filtering through the loft's huge window has begun to dim somewhat, so that the glow of the computer screen is now filling Stiles' eyes with bright, dancing sparks and arrhythmic shapes as they flicker like lightning from one tab to another, then another, then another. And as mesmerising as it is to watch—Stiles looks as though he is brimming with magic—the sight becomes too much for Derek, and looking away feels like his only option.

It doesn't last.

Stiles' long, large-knuckled fingers still their rapid movement just as Derek's eyes find their way back.

Derek watches the kid some more, like a lifeline.

An anchor.

Then, Stiles is taking the pen from those perfect lips as sneaker-toes slowly spin the swivel chair around so that Stiles is now facing Derek where he stands with arms crossed reactively over his chest.

His heart.

“I asked because I wanted to know if you were okay, man," Stiles divulges, as if that's nothing at all. As if it's something Derek hears often. He tilts his head to catch Derek's eye. Which works, of course—because it always works, no matter the nature of the moment they're caught up in. "Like, I was concerned, y`know?” 

Derek feels guilty just for looking. And not only because he wants to touch but because he wants to let Stiles care.

“I care, dude,” Stiles says on cue and Derek tries to self-implode while Stiles waits, probably for Derek to look at him and say don't call me dude and maybe hoping not to have his head bitten off or his throat ripped out. 

Derek does look again, just not for long. Barely a glance. He can't afford himself too much Stiles, not when Stiles is looking directly back at him. It's safer that way; self-preservation and all.

“You do know that, right?” Stiles tries again. “That I care.” 

Derek wants to ask Stiles if they can talk, if Derek can tell Stiles things. Derek wants to ask Stiles if he'll stay and if he'll let Derek spill his secrets, tell Stiles everything, like Derek never does with anyone these days, and if Stiles will hold Derek's hand when Derek cries about it, like Derek doesn’t allow himself to anymore. Derek wants to ask Stiles if Derek can touch him and hold him and if Stiles would hold him back, if Stiles would ever want that, if Stiles could ever be his.

“Don't call me dude,” is what he actually says because he can't not. But then he steals himself, head staticky and heart thumping as he dares himself to add (after what is undeniably too-long a pause), “And yeah. Maybe I do.” 

Then they look at each other. They just—look.

Look and look and look.

And they each keep looking at the other for a very long time. Definitely too long for two people supposedly not much more than acquaintances. Allies, maybe. Comrades at tenuous best.

Then they look for longer. Look for more. Look until it starts to feel as if they are the only two people in the room, in the building, in the world.

Whatever happened to self-preservation?

Something is happening and Derek is pretty sure it's not just happening to him, and he finds he is equally stunned as he is thrilled as he is completely fucking terrified about that. 

Eventually, Stiles says, “Derek, we're friends.” Then he's licking his lips and looking Derek up and down, shameless, and adding with a shrug of one shoulder, “Till we're not.”

The latter part is spoken like a dark secret, but one without the slightest hint of malice—that's not how he means it. It's more of a promise than a threat, if Derek is remembering correctly what genuine affirmations sound like (it's been a while).

The sparks from Stiles' eyes are then flashing blue in Derek's, and Derek could swear he hears every one of his neurons firing inside of himself, all at once as each of his mutated cells flare into overdrive, nail beds and gums tingling, the short hairs on the back of his neck and arms and hands standing up on end.

He feels utterly alive.

It's honestly a struggle not to whine like a pup and Derek has truly never been more happy of the fact that Stiles is unable to scent chemo-signals because, oh, Derek would be so fucked right now.

He has a reply for Stiles but it's caught in his throat, the sentence forming then solidifying, fast as a quick-drying glue.

Derek is just—standing there. Statuesque. Alternating between trying to swallow his words down and attempting to speak them, like a first class dipshit, and just looking and looking and looking at Stiles.

In an entirely mortifying turn of events, it is actually the sound of Peter's low, mocking chuckle from some tucked-away shadowy place in the loft that is the thing that forces Derek unstuck, and it takes all Derek has to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and growl out I'm going to kill you again now, Uncle. 

He takes a breath, un-clenches his fists and tries for a smile—or at least a hint of one. He doesn't want to freak the kid out.

Derek then manages to repeat Stiles's words back at him, no more than a whisper. “Till we're not.”

Stiles is just looking and looking and looking at Derek before he's asking, “Can I stay for the evening? You can talk to me while I research. I always work better with noise. It'll be soothing,” like he's ordering pizza instead of answering all of Derek's prayers.

Derek notes how the kid's usually erratic eye-contact is weirdly as unwavering as his usually erratic heartbeat, which is now weirdly steady as a metronome.

That's a lot of weird. 

Derek fights the urge to bite into his lip with his fangs. He wants to draw blood, and to taste it.

He embarrassingly feels his eye twitch and his breath hitch as he dares himself to do this. 

He sputters, “What do you want me to talk about?”

Stiles slowly swivels back towards the light of the laptop—ethereal milky skin and dark moles once again luminous in its white-blue glow—at the very same time as the evening's first moonshine peeks through clouds and seeps in through the loft's huge skylight.

Derek is memorised. 

Stiles starts annoyingly clicking away at the Clicking Pen, while shoving the other back between those beautiful lips of his, now mumbling his words around the thing once more and speaking them as if they are the most obvious thing in the universe. 

“Everything, Der.”

.

for @poebin for asking <3 (unedited, soz)

[drizzledrawings]

They are his dads ok

[abovesn4kes]

me and @st-santana have been talking about an undead nightmare 2 au and now yall get to see

(ill post more of this soon but the synopsis is that reverend swanson gets bitten first, and in turn bites micah. dutch is in denial that micah's actually a zombie and decides to keep him tied to a tree at camp till they can find a "cure." it doesnt work out.) (( THERES MORE STORY THAN THAT BUT. ill post more about that later hehe haha.))

[arthursfuckinghat]

Sometimes, I'll be doing a mission with Dutch and everything is fine.

Other times, the light will catch his face in a way that makes me seethe.

I get reminded that Dutch got to age, he got to grow grey.

Did Arthur get that chance? Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Molly? Did any of them get to grow old together?

Why didn't they, Dutch? Why didn't the gang survive? Why didn't they get the promised virgin lands in the west? Why did you outlive them?

Go on, Dutch, go ahead. I'm listening.

[1899sbiggestbabygirl]

John telling Javier "this people ain't your family" in chapter 6 is so unfair. They are his family, John, the gang was all he's ever had in the US. He lets it crumble what does he have left? what will he do? In a country that is hostile to him it's the only place he's found comfort. John can say he's got his own family now, after refusing to care for it, and in the last chapters he's constantly being reassured that other folk -Arthur and Sadie- had his back.

You know who had Javier's back? Who fred him in Guarma? Dutch! sorry but it's not strange he's clinging to that man.

How can people not understand Javier's struggle? Others have been moving on for a while now, and he's being left behind, stuck in the same place. Being treated like it's his fault. He just tried desperately to hang on what little he had left of his family, he was mean and angry cause he's desperate.

[theelast-straw]

Lieb's wie wir von "deiner Welt vielleicht" direkt zum Kopf-in-den-Händen-halten gekommen sind. Leo und Adam können genau 5 Minuten wütend aufeinander sein und selbst dann bräuchte man eine ganze Armee um die beiden voneinander fernzuhalten

[afterartist]

⚠️⚠️WARNING: BLOOD AND GORE/ BODY HORROR!! ⚠️⚠️

Yeah I lied again-

There is angst

BUTTTT- it comes with an AU redesign so you can’t be mad at me >:3

Almond!! Aka: my take on Backrooms Sans

Been playing some backrooms games recently and had the uncontrollable urge to redesign Almond because I genuinely wasn’t happy with the first design :/

There’s been quite a lot of differences, to both lore and character design

For example how Almond ended up in the backrooms (teleporting as the game got uninstalled on the players computer)

The AU also has an actual name now!! Un(der)install

Yes spelled like that with brackets and all

(Also, for ease of clarification, I’ve decided Almond uses It/It’s pronouns, but it didn’t discover that about itself until it got stuck in the backrooms, so any misgendering on the UT cast’s part is unintentional as they genuinely do not know :D ))(if you don’t agree with Neo pronouns you can get off my page btw, go stub your toe asshole)

And finally, I couldn’t resist the urge to draw Almond in the mirror meme

I’m so cringe /pos

Don’t ask me how it found a mirror in the backrooms idfk

Link to original design if you’re curious!!

[maskingoutsidebutdieinginside]

Why, oh why? I don't wanna be here, I just wanna die. Always been sad, never been alright.

[faytalepsy]

Wunschtraum und Wirklichkeit

Still absolutely obsessed with Tanz der Vampire.

[jihef03]

Love how rdr2 shows that revenge is " a fool's game" yet how irresistible it can be.

Dutch has been consumed by it since the beggining of the game, justifying it by the death of loved ones and endangering the gang at every turn in the process. It is easy to critzices him as the player and because Arthur calls him out on it but things blur later one.

An ill-stricken Arthur can choose to go back to the loot despite his previous attempt at becoming a better man, just for the chance to get back at Dutch and Micah. After all that, it is tragic to see Arthur leaves his brother and head on the path of violence one last time. Tragic yet so powerful. Micah and Dutch destroyed everything that Arthur held dear, they made it so his life amounted to near nothing. How could we blame Arthur to give into the tempation of revenge then? After trying to do good for so long and being at death's door, can we blame for trying to take his ennemies down with him ?

And of course there is John. He goes against Arthur and Abigail's wishes and is willing to risk his own family's safety to hunt down one man. But that one man killed his brother and ruined his first family, can we blame John for it ? Wouldn't you do the same? Revenge might be foolish but when it involves family it might just be too big to forget.

[reddeaddepression1899]

Does everybody else have a save where Arthur and the gang are happy and no one has died yet, just to go onto and ride on your horse and talk to everyone in camp cuz me too😭

[ifsood]

i often think abt young vdm, especially wondering abt hosea and his life before dutch. what was it? was he kind of a lonesome wolf, who stole everything from everyone, to whom robberies and necessary killing was nothing, but addiction, way to filled emptiness inside, only way to living he knew. and then he met the man who was overfilled with all the thing hosea didn't find that long. man with pure love to this damn world and sincere desire to make it better. someone who was hopelessly romantic and strangely naive in his way of love.

in their world, in hosea's world built of violence, lies and survival, the dutch was indeed special. special for him.

[fru1tt0ast]

dear followers, today i offer you old man yaoi

tomorrow? who knows

[flowersofnaivete]

[mitschirmcharmeundpistole]

Ich hab' schlimmen Tatort-Kater.

[waitwtfismylife]

"My heart is dynamite longing for a spark" is such a raw freaking line like I can't believe it came from a musical about gay vampires and a girl that has a strange obsession with bath sponges.