Ich Dich Liebe
for halffizzbin, i hear it’s julie’s birthday. sorry if i am a bit belated. it’s a slice of Stop Talking About Comic Books (Or I’ll Kill You)
Derek’s in the far wing of the Hale Manor in the family’s library trying to get through his German studies vocabulary sheet. Crime-fighting isn’t an excuse for his grade point average slipping up. And if he can master another language than maybe his mom will let him go undercover to break up that German smuggling ring that’s set up in the Gotham Narrows. Maybe if Derek tells Peter he’s mentoring Scott on stealth, Stiles could come. Derek’s last attempt to invite Stiles for an after patrol coffee didn’t go well. It’s like Stiles is avoiding him.
"I somehow doubt Ich dich liebe is on the test,” Cora pipes up from her perch on the rolling ladder on the nearby wall, his homework in her hands.
"Give it back," he growls. He can’t believe she got the slip on him. His head needs to be more aware of his surroundings.
Cora just blows him a raspberry with her tongue. “Ich dich liebe Kid Flash,” Cora butchers with her atrocious English accent and bats her eyes.
Derek lunges at her but she kicks off the ladder into a graceful barrel roll and is already on the other side of the room.
"I should bring this to the next Teen Titans’ meeting," she grins.
"Spoiler!" He says with his work voice.
"Nuh uh, Big Bro. Nightwing doesn’t scare me. I took down five guys in PCPs last week," Cora grins before running out of the library. "Laura! Look at the love note Derek wrote!"
Derek wishes he was an only child in these moments. Maybe Stiles doesn’t know German.
"Dude, I can’t believe you’re ditching me on patrol night," sighs Stiles as Scott arranges his utility belt for the fifth time. This time, the smoke grenades next to the flash ones on the left and the knock out darts on the right.
"I have to. Derek’s taking me on patrol in the Narrows," says Scott with a grin.
"Urgh, you suck," says Stiles. "Why is Derek buddying up with you? I thought he was vibing the whole dark and lone knight."
"He’s mentoring me," responds Scott. "He’ll be going to Bludhaven soon and-"
"Oh my God."
"I think this means I’ll be leading my-"
”- own team. Dude!” crows Stiles. “I so call co-captaincy.”
"Robin and Impulse.” Scott grins. They share a fist bump.
"You gotta let me come with you," Stiles says.
"I thought you were avoiding Derek," says Scott with a frown.
Stiles flushes bright red. “Well, yeah, wouldn’t you? I split coffee on his cape.”
Scott just shakes his head. “For a guy who moves at light speed, you sure do run into Derek a lot.”
"Hey! I don’t plan to. He’s suddenly everywhere I go. It’s creepy.”
Scott rolls his eyes. “You can come if you promise not to flash any news cameras.”
“Dude, that was one time!” Stiles frowns hotly.
Stiles doesn’t know why but Spoiler keeps winking at him and saying “I love you” in German when he went to Titan Tower to pick up his undercover gear and spare running shoes.
He’s ready to admit the whole Bat family is cracked.
Derek straightens the last fold-out chair in the small study room of the third floor of the public library. In his neat elegant scrawl, he’s written on the small chalk board, Nancy Drew Sleuths Book Club.
“Really, Derek? You’re going to waste time on the insights of Nancy Drew here?” scoffs Uncle Peter from where he’s leaning by the open door.
“Is that supposed to be an insult? Because Nancy Drew solved every case,” replies Derek with a glare towards his uncle. He really wished his uncle would go bother his sisters rather than badger Derek about his lack of social life and how he was letting down the family name by not playing basketball.
Peter sniffs disdainfully at his young nephew. “I daresay, I tried to save you from social suicide, nephew,” he quips before slinking off to God knows where. Probably to spoil Harry Potter for some unsuspecting youth. Derek’s just glad Peter’s gone before he had a chance to scare anyone off. It’s bad enough that he may lose the club meeting room if he doesn’t get enough members this year.
Derek sighs before cracking open his favourite Nancy Drew adventure, he has more than enough time to reread it before anyone gets here. If they get here. He’s not sure how many of the flyers were torn down when he posted them all over school and the community bulletin boards.
He’s quickly enraptured into chapter two when he hears a knock on the door. Pushing up his glasses, Derek pauses his reading.
"Is this the Nancy Drew book club?" asks a familiar voice and Derek looks up from his novel to see none other than Stiles Stilinski, poking his head into the club room with his lacrosse gear slung over his right shoulder and Derek’s favourite mystery solving adventure in his left hand.
ma solitude a disparu
"Hi," a pretty girl waves awkwardly before tucking a loose strand of her bangs behind her right ear.
Boyd just raises his eye brows. He’s on break. Which clearly can be seen from his lunch bag and that he’s still chewing on the Doritos he started eating when the girl ambled over to where he was sitting in the ice rink’s bleachers on her covered skates. She managed to do it with more grace than more of the veteran hockey players that practiced in the evenings.
"I thought you looked familiar," she smiles. Her dimples on her cheeks deepening. "Beacon Hills High? Vernon?"
Boyd gives a curt nod. She takes this as an invitation to sit next to him.
"I noticed you always sit alone at school," she continues like Boyd actually being social and not wondering why she’s talking to him in the first place. "I should know, I just moved here. It’s taken some getting used to. I haven’t really met anyone yet. Except Lydia, though her friends aren’t really-"
"Nice," he finishes and she nods with a bright laugh.
"Yes," she agrees as she sneaks out a Reese’s candy bar from her sweater pocket. She opens it with a delightful smile and hands him one cup. He hesitantly takes it.
"Do you skate?" Allison asks after they share a companionable silence eating the chocolate.
"Only after work, sometimes," Boyd says. "When my little sister asks."
"Must be nice," she says. "I mean, to have a sister. It’s just me."
Boyd doesn’t know what to say so he offers her a Doritos which gets a bright smile from her.
halffizzbin replied to your post: Derek wracked his hands thr…
AND THEN THE PART WITH THE KISS??? :D
Shouldering past his sister, Derek leans closer to the sand coated prisoner with wild matted hair and a face that hadn’t seen a barber’s blade in more than a fortnight. This is his chance. Stilinski can finally get him closer to his dream.
“You were actually at Hamunaptra?” Derek says almost breathlessly, his eyes blinking owlishly at Stilinski.
"Yeah, I was there," the man leans closer to the bars, his molten amber eyes sparkling with a keen interest he didn’t show to seeing Laura.
"You swear?” Derek says, kneeling by the bars to avoid the warden’s hearing their conversation, his eyes alight with hope, he can feel his heart thundering with anticipation.
"Every damn day."
Derek visibly wilts. He can see his dreams of being a scholar crash down just like the library stacks this morning. It was his fault for hoping this would mean something. That finally something would go right. “No, I didn’t mean-“
Stilinski leans forward, gripping the bars. “I know what you meant,” he says softly, the soft timber of his voice drawing Derek’s eyes to his. “I was there, Seti’s place, city of the dead.”
"Could you tell me how to get there?" Derek asks, his eyes widening with hope. "I mean, the exact location," he hastily corrects.
Stilinski looks at him for a moment, and Derek feels like he can see his very soul. “You want to know?” he asks, beckoning Derek closer, his hands wrapping around the prison’s bars.
Derek leans in closer, the cries and shouts of the prison seem to mute around him as he leans in more.
"Yes," Derek says, his wire frames edging down his nose as he leans in.
"You really want to know?" asks Stilinski, his warm breath whispering onto Derek’s sun-kissed skin.
"Yes," Derek replies breathlessly.
In a quick flash, Stilinski’s large nimble hands let go of the bars and grabs Derek’s face pulling him into a kiss that swallows his breath and his good sense. The warm pressure ends when the guards shout, one finally tearing him away from Derek’s chapped lips.
"Then get me the hell out of here," growls Stilinski. "Do it!"
There are now three guards pulling him backwards while hitting him with their bats.
Derek wracked his hands through his hair in frustration, making it stick out at odd angles like he was in a sandstorm.
"You lied to me, Laura," he hisses in a high whisper as they followed the warden through the prison. Lecherous catcalls following them as they made their way to the holding cells. More to him than his sister which had him flushing more red than because of the hot desert heat.
"I lie to everybody, Derek. What makes you so special?" Laura says dryly and walks like this is a bloody Sunday stroll through the park and not a den of iniquity and vice.
"I am your brother!" Derek whispers as another in-mate tries to touch him through the bars. Derek draws his tweed jacket closer.
"Yes, well that just makes you more gullible, really. I mean, you still tell Uncle Peter everything."
"Uncle Peter doesn’t do business from drunks at the local casbar."
"Actually, I picked his pockets - so I don’t think it’s a very good idea to stir up trouble again," says Laura.
“Stole!" yelps Derek, pushing up his wire rimmed glasses and nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone underfoot. "You didn’t mention that!”
"You didn’t ask, Der-bear. Really, now, how do you think I keep finding you all those little trinkets?"
Derek opens and closes his mouth in shock before wildly looking around. He regrets leaving the messy library for this. Except, finding Hamunaptra would finally show those stuff-nosed scholars that he’s more than experienced enough. “What exactly is this man in prison for?”
We Just Touched Awkwardly (Was That Strange For You Like It Was Strange For Me?)
Stiles sees Derek for the first time in seven years in the Viridian forest. Well, he spots his Arcanine first because Derek’s trapped under a fell tree. Quite spectacularly. Stiles regretfully repockets a Pokéball he drew out in hopes of capturing the Arcanine. Stiles could use more fire-types in his set. His next gym is in Pewter City.
"Pi-chu,” Stiles’ Pichu chirps out inquiringly. It snaps back Stiles to the problem at hand. Helping a fellow Pokémon trainer out.
At first he doesn’t know it’s Derek because, at first, he just saw an Arcanine, the likes of which he hasn’t seen since Derek Hale left Beacon Hills and out of Stiles’ life forever. Derek may not know it but Stiles always admired him. And it’s one of the reasons Stiles decided to be a Pokémon trainer rather than join the Beacon Hills police force like his dad. Stiles has always wanted an Arcanine because Derek had one. Then he thinks that’s stupid because the chances of it being Derek’s Arcanine are slim to none. Beacon Hills gossip rang out that Derek was a gym leader or something. Mrs. Hale loved bragging about her children. Like how Laura was researching some legendary Pokémon on an island somewhere. Cora was well on her way for taking over the gym in Beacon Hills from her mom. And Derek raking in tournament money. Stiles’ old childhood room still has the first poster of Derek’s first tournament.
So it’s surprising for the Pokémon that Stiles spots to look over and say “Arca!” like it knows Stiles.
"Who’s there?" says Derek in a rough voice.
"Derek?" Stiles asks because of course Stiles remembers Derek. Stiles used to trail around after him with his Pichu in hopes of gaining training prowess through osmosis. It mainly irritated the hell out of Derek and amused their parents. Heather still does a spot on imitation of it when she’s had one too many drinks. Stiles regrets a lot of his childhood memories via secondary nostalgia embarrassment.
Pichu runs ahead and by the time Stiles gets there Pichu’s purring under Derek’s nimble hands that has Stiles wishing he could trade places. Seriously, Derek’s hands have only gotten more awesome. But the Arcanine that nudges his leg has him see the fell tree log that has Derek’s leg trapped.
"Stiles?" Derek says in surprise. His face pale and sweaty from exertion. Stiles sees the awkward angle of his ankle. It must be broken.
"Small world, eh?" Stiles says in deference of nothing else. Words fail him. Derek Hale remembers him. Him.
Derek actually smiles at him. A full watt smile, with those adorable teeth. Stiles gives himself an imaginary pat on the back for not swooning. He’s glad Heather has gone ahead to Pewter City with Scott who took his bike a day ahead. She’d definitely find this hilarious.
"I was worried I’d be stuck here alone," says Derek.
Stiles regains his faculties for his hand to go to his belt where his Pokéballs are clipped. “Yeah, I’ll get you out of there in no time,” assures Stiles. ”Wouldn’t want the Alpha Twin Team to find you.”
"Urgh, teams like that are horrible. In my day there was a guy who called himself the Demon Wolf," mutters Derek. "Is it true they talk in rhyme?”
"Yeah, right after they take off their shirts. I mean, I am all for shirtless guys. But these guys aren’t my type. I’m all about a fine ass-" Stiles says, pulling out a fighting type Pokémon to lift the log. His brain catches up with his mouth. “I mean, all for equal shirtlessness.”
"Glad you still have discerning taste, Stiles," says Derek, wryly.
Derek has a secret. She’s a puff ball of fur and claws.
Finally posted it to AO3.
UnknownTake Care by UnknownBeach House
( UnknownTeen Dream )
Derek Hale, Sugar Bottoms and the lil’ roomba that could rock all the rainbow stickers ever
#KITTENS AND ROOMBAS is now a thing on my blog
it’s no good unless it’s real
The roomba does a pretty good job of cleaning the main floor the loft. Leaves more time for Derek to tackle the dishes. And the roomba gives Sugar Bottoms a new opponent for target practice. Derek’s not ashamed to have taken a couple of videos of her pridefully beaming from the top of the roomba as it picks up stray dust bunnies and plaster from the last Alpha break-in.
He’s uploaded the best ones onto his laptop. His phone usually has the misfortune of getting crushed every other week. He lost an adorable picture of Sugar B last week to a couple of rogue hunters.
The roomba whirls around his feet. It’s lasted longer than any electronic device Derek has ever owned. Though it’s a bit rough around the edges. Dented. But still rumbles along the floor.
Derek vehemently ignores that the rainbow stickers on it are from him. From a packet that survived the fire. They’re vintage now. And suit the roomba. Sugar Bottom loves the colours. Better than any dust mote.
i know i need to continue my patisseries and bike cops fic. so i went to find inspiration. i went to a patisserie. (in every job that must be done, there is an element of fun)
because it’s you, it’s always you, i always knew
Derek hates his summer job. Mainly because his sister is his boss. And she refuses to make anyone else deal with customers.
“You need to work on your people skills, Derbear,” she says as they restock the concessions.
“Why not Greenberg?”
“Greenberg is the projectionist,” she replies. “That boy has a gift.”
He would flip her off but their mom rounds the corner with an armful of recycling.
The Hale Drive-In has been a staple in Beacon Hills since 1947 and it’s been in business ever since airing classical films as well as blockbuster hits.
Derek loves the theatre. He hates the customers. Especially Stiles.
Stiles loves the drive-in. In the summer, he goes to Hale’s so often that his car radio is semi-permanently tuned to the drive-in’s station.
He never checks to see what’s playing, just turns up and watches whatever the double feature is. Sometimes the same double feature sticks around for weeks and he sees the same movie over and over, terrible dialogue etching itself into his long-term memory.
It’s not like he goes for the movies themselves, anyway. He goes for the experience: the huge screen looming over a sea of cars, the night breeze through his open windows. He likes to sit on the hood of his car and lean back on his hands or elbows, listening as the movie soundtrack blends with the steady chorus of crickets and the distant sounds of Derek and Laura bickering in the concession stand.
Derek Hale is a cranky jerk who lives to rain on Stiles’ fun outdoor throwback movie experience. He’s smirky, mean, and makes terrible popcorn. Stiles hates that guy.
Derek hates making popcorn. He smells of butter for the next two days after working the ancient popcorn machine his father insists is still functioning. The same machine that threatens to burn Derek’s fingers every time he has to add butter.
He can’t wait till his younger brother is old enough to man the machine. Because Derek hasn’t gotten a date since he started making popcorn. It’s like the Hale version of the chastity belt. As soon as Laura was off popcorn duty, she got three dates and the keys to the Camaro.
Derek has given up on dating since Kate Argent laughed at him when he asked her out to see the revival showing of North by Northwest last summer.
He’s picking up stray garbage between the parked cars and ignoring the few couples not enjoy the film but making out, when he spots him.
He’s sprawled obscenely on the roof of his jeep. And eating Reese’s. A brand not carried at concessions because of Uncle Peter’s kids allergies. And clearly in violation of rule #2 of the drive-in. No outside food. Half the profits that keep Hale’s open is concession sales.
And Stiles is flaunting his rule-breaking.
Lydia frets at the frayed end of Prada’s leash, where her dog gnawed through it after willfully urging Lydia to take her for a walk during Christmas finals.
She hasn’t replaced it yet. Not since the Martin Christmas debacle when her parents decided that they were reconciled enough for a family dinner. Which led to another encompassing screaming match over the carefully catered turkey.
But now she’s waiting in Dr. Deaton’s animal clinic for the stoic vet to make an appearance and fix Prada, who is curled up into an even smaller ball than usual in Lydia’s lap. She’s been like this since Thursday.
The entrance door opens with a rush. “Sorry, Doc, I had to-” begins an unfamiliar boy with a slightly crooked jaw line. He smiles awkwardly when he notices her.
"Urgh, I’ll just-" he says gesturing to the back exam room door. His arms jerking wildly. Prada lets out a small woof. And the boy stops his shuffle to peer at her lap.
"Prad!" he beams, his face lighting up. "How are you, girl?"
Her dog actually perks up to lick his outstretched palm.
“Prad?” Lydia asks, pulling her dog closer to her body.
"Oh, I mean, Prada," the boy says, flushing, pulling back from Prada. "I’m Scott. I deloused her last time. She ate half of my shoe. We sorta bonded."
the morning sun shines and my head aches
happy birthday to a friend who wishes to be mysterious
"Urgh, my head," groans Stiles from his cramped sprawl in what looks to be the porcelain embrace of a bathtub. The stale taste of melon berry liqueur almost makes him puke. He quashes that back with a dry heave. He doesn’t remember anything. Except he hopes he’s still in Vegas. Though this bathroom looks more expensive than the room he was sharing with Scott when he started this weekend.
And he’s wearing a tuxedo. A tailored one. And holy shit.
"What the fuck."
A gold banded ring on his right ring finger.
He’s can’t stop the nausea that overcomes him. And it has nothing to do with melon liqueur.
Derek wakes up naked. A myriad of unfamiliar scents surrounding him. His mind feels blank. His mouth tastes of melon. Like from that horrid candy Laura used to eat when they were kids. And still eats. The most persistent assault to his senses is the shrill ringing of his cellphone on the night table to the California king bed he’s currently plastered on.
"What?" he growls.
"Congrats, little bro," says Laura over the phone. "And to think, Uncle Peter thought you’d be a spinster for life."
"WHAT." He sits up, the sheet falling away and the headache thrumming in the back of his head becomes a full marching band.
"Mom is going to be pissed you didn’t invite her and dad," continues Laura.
"This isn’t funny, Laura," he says looking at his right hand.
"Oh my God, you don’t remember. I knew you couldn’t hold your liquor," says Laura despairingly.
But Derek isn’t listening. Not when the most delectable guy trips out of the bathroom wearing Derek’s tuxedo.