First thing first: your art is mindblowingly gorgeous- downright ethereal and so very sensual. I am in love, over the moon for it. I adore your sterek works but I am also curious: do you still take commissions? And if yes, with other characters too or just sterek?
Hello! Your words are very pleasant, thank you 🌿 I'm really happy someone still likes it 😳
I'll be honest. I had some difficulties in my life, and I didn’t draw for quite a long time... But I would really like to get back to drawing. We can discuss your idea and I will try to realize it. But, unfortunately, I am not sure of the result. And if I fail and you don't like it, then we could just... leave it peacefully?
If you don't mind an insecure artist, then write what you would like ❤️ (not necessarily sterek, they're just my favorite)
Also, I wrote half of this at midnight last night, skim-read it today, and then wrote more for the last three hours. It is unbeta'd, and the first non-WIP Sterek I've written in a while. Enjoy!
...
When Stiles was young and his mother was still aware of herself and surroundings, Claudia told him of a man who'd blessed her pregnant-swollen stomach before he was born. He was a golden-eyed, golden haired, golden skinned and glowing man, and Claudia knew then as she wouldn't know later, that a god had blessed her son.
Stiles, still too young to know what the numbers above everyone's heads meant, nodded at his mama's tale with a solemn and wide-eyed gaze. Then he asked her why her numbers were so much lower than Papa's. Even the old grocery lady had more numbers than Claudia.
Dismissing it as a child's imagination, Claudia tried to laugh off her son's words and the cold shiver that ran up her spine and down her arms as he stared above her head with far more seriousness than he'd ever displayed in his young life. Eventually, she'd forget about the god and supposed blessing, but this feeling would be one she would remember. Claudia would curse her son for cursing her, for trying to kill her, for killing her.
Stiles would come to know exactly what the numbers meant when his mama's hit zero, her monitor flat lining and the noise barely audible over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.
It would take years for Stiles to forgive himself and even longer for him to acknowledge that he could see numbers above someone's head once more. It was an accident mostly - he'd been looking at a signpost, and certainly not intending to look above eye level if he could help it - when he noticed golden flickering. He usually ignored the golden numbers, pretending there was nothing abnormal above his own line of sight, and wishing this stupid curse didn't work on kids too, but the flickering was new. He looked over to see what had caught his attention and saw numbers flickering violently between 50 years and 15 seconds. The woman in question was waiting on the sidewalk, obviously judging her timing of the traffic if the frantic back and forth of her gaze was any indication. Stiles didn't even think, didn't stop to watch or wonder, he just ran.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three -
Stiles grabbed the woman's wrist, yanking her back onto the sidewalk, right as a messenger bike flew past with the golden numbers above the bike rider's head nothing but a blur. Her momentum had him careening down onto the sidewalk, his whole body flaring in pain at the sudden impact.
"Holy shit. Are you okay?" Stiles asked, breathless and terrified to look up.
"Holy shit, yourself. That bike came out of nowhere! Thanks for the save," the woman said with a broad grin, standing and offering her hand.
Stiles took it and let her lift him. He looked her over, trying to be subtle as he peeked upwards and saw her numbers back in place at 50 years and counting, and felt a knot of tension release.
She grinned and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is my saviour from a ruined outfit going to introduce himself or do I have to steal your wallet?"
"I'm Stiles. I'm glad you're all right, uh... your name?"
"Laura. Now, as thanks, I insist on taking you to lunch. My treat."
Stiles was going to protest, but Laura was far too persuasive and Stiles was still a little terrified about what might happen if he let her out of his sight. As such, he found himself going to lunch with not only Laura but also her brother. She'd been late on her way to meet him, and he wouldn't believe her without the eyewitness, apparently.
That's how Stiles met Derek Hale, and while it certainly wasn't love at first sight, they got there in the end.
Derek was shy and stoic, often misinterpreted as grumpy and growly, but Stiles' charm and continuous chatter broke through the layers guarding his heart.
Stiles was terrified and mistrustful, often called disinterested and distracted for the way he'd look anywhere other than his own direct line of sight. But Derek's sweet nature and far too open expressions made Stiles want nothing more than to look up. Just once, a peek, and besides, it wasn't like it couldn't change at any minute with each and every decision he made throughout his life.
Some people's numbers fluctuated on a daily basis, others far less frequently, and it was only those on the brink of death that truly had no numbers left. Stiles firmly believed that the numbers themselves didn't matter, just what they did with the time they had.
Stiles felt nothing but relief when he saw a solid sixty years above Derek's head. In fact, he thought he'd like to be there to see where those sixty years took him.
They were dating soon enough, moved in together after a while, fought and loved, bickered and supported, and there were days when Stiles felt nothing but gratitude for the love he felt and was surrounded by just by being with Derek. He loved him so much he even proposed, and they were married a year later.
Stiles was late for work but the pouring rain outside had him running back inside for an umbrella. He could blame his tardiness on the weather and traffic and someone might actually believe him this time. Derek kissed him goodbye as he headed out for his own job, umbrella already hooked over his forearm and a teasing remark as he'd told Stiles to take an umbrella just two minutes ago.
Derek didn't return home that night and instead Stiles was greeted by two police officers, their faces somber as they informed him that Derek had been killed in a mugging. Stiles didn't know his own numbers - it really was a curse - but he felt as though they stopped right then and there.
Derek was in the morgue, his body pale and lips tinted blue, death stealing not only his life but his vibrancy and colour. Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to see Derek's eyes, for fear their brilliant hazel colour might be gone too. It took Stiles a few seconds to determine what was wrong. Not just the loss of life, not his husband lying there unnaturally still and quiet, but the fact there were still numbers above his head. They weren't counting down like normal, like usual, but were instead stuck at a solid 56.
Stiles didn't know how to ask and get permission for what he needed to do next, so he just acted and hoped for forgiveness instead. He sobbed hard, the desperation and trembling not entirely feigned, and asked for water and more tissues. The coroner looked uncomfortable at Stiles sobbing on the pristine white floor, and left him alone. Once he was alone - or at least, the only living person in the room - Stiles stood on shaking legs.
Pulling out a drawer, he found it empty, but saw that the one below was ... occupied. Opening it, Stiles saw no numbers above the head. He checked four more drawers before the coroner returned with tissues and water, and was promptly banned from entering the morgue ever again.
Laura grieved, and Stiles was stuck swinging viciously between anger and bargaining. Whatever curse he'd been given, he'd give it up in a heartbeat for Derek. He'd beg and rage at Derek's life cut short, and when neither brought him back, Stiles researched instead.
He'd tried when he was younger and desperate to know about himself but there weren't many ways to ask about glowing death numbers. At least not without relating to Death Note. Now he knew more about how to research beyond the first page of Google, how to use databases and search engines and crawlers and code. He found reams of information and out of that stack there were a few pages of data he could use.
Months passed where the cryo freezer company whittled him of his savings to keep Derek's dead body preserved, though Laura hated him for doing it. Stiles checked in every so often to ensure the numbers still glowed above Derek's lifeless head, his fists curled as he knew something out there could bring Derek back. It wasn't his time, not now, not yet.
In those months, Stiles eventually tracked down a passing mention of the golden man from thirty years ago and halfway across the country. A more recent mention came from that one, and led to a whisper to a rumour to a possible lead and, finally, to a last known location only a month prior. A photo of a man's elbow but the sun in the wrong place and position for anything other than his skin to be golden. They called him Midas, and Stiles wondered if they knew that Midas was a greedy fool's tale, more than just gold but for lack of common sense.
He sold whatever he could to pay the mortgage and more of the cryo company's fees, then left to find Midas. While on the road, Stiles told specific fortunes for money and food. He could hazard a few guesses about people's livelihoods based on clothes and appearance, but the accurate numbers helped.
The golden man was difficult to find but Stiles was good at difficult things. He found the golden man, surrounded by worshippers and others hoping the golden man would bring them good fortune. Stiles ignored all of them, and as he stepped forward, numbers paused. Golden ages didn't move and neither did the people beneath those glowing numbers. Stiles had never done this before, and Midas' eyes widened in first surprise then a hesitant recognition, and welcomed him as though they were old friends.
Stiles had no idea what he was doing to the people, only knew and had eyes for Midas in front of him. Midas, his hands spread as though his presence itself was worthy of worship, and Stiles hated him in an instant. He might have recognised the power and so-called gift he'd given Stiles, but he could have been one of hundreds or even thousands. Stiles had researched and read until his eyelids felt like sandpaper scraping against his eyeballs, and knew that Midas was popular with bestowing "blessings" on women, whether or not they were pregnant. The rich and widowed women were a specialty, though about thirty years prior, he'd favoured the pretty and coercible.
As Stiles reached Midas, he ignored the words of greeting and surprise, and pulled out a sharpened dagger, holding it to the god's throat in an instant.
"Bring Derek back."
Midas' eyes widened, but he refused. "All humans must pass on; it's an inevitability, blessed child of mine."
"I'm not yours," Stiles snapped. "And you've got less time than you think you do," he snarled, the blade catching golden skin and golden blood seeping out.
"Talk to me. Who is Derek?" Midas asked, the question borne of desperation, but Stiles made sure he listened.
Midas reluctantly agreed that Derek was taken before his time, he couldn't undo what had been done. His power was limited to blessings, money, gold, transactions - time included, but only ever forwards - and he couldn't undo something as permanent as death.
"But you know someone who can," Stiles prompted, pressing harder against golden skin and more blood seeping form the wound. He knew the information wouldn't be freely offered without asking or threatening for it first.
Midas swallowed hard, a small light of an idea blooming in his eyes even the blade still pressed against his neck, then made a complicated hand movement. Time stayed paused, but it wasn't Stiles that was the cause this time.
A cold feeling of dread iced its way up Stiles' spine, the temperature dropping several degrees despite the midday sun overhead, and Stiles knew exactly who had arrived.
In that same instant, Stiles knew that Midas was no longer his concern. He turned his back on the golden man and turned to face a black-robed Death instead. There was a hiss behind him, a threat of revenge and retribution. Death didn't seem concerned with Midas' threat and lifted a skeletal hand from within their robes. Midas was gone a second later, whether Death had arranged it or Midas had taken the action as a threat, Stiles wasn't sure. He just knew there was no love lost between Midas and Death, the thought brief but entirely accurate.
He took a moment to survey Death, even looking up in order to see the red zero floating above Death's head. While the typical skeletal depictions of Death were accurate in this case, Stiles saw that the cloak and robe were formed out of Death's own jet-black hair. Death's fingernails were as long as a scythe, and the grinning visage looked down at Stiles, waiting patiently.
A blade would do nothing here, nor would idle threats. Stiles had to hope there was some truth in tales of death, the underworld, and cheating the final inevitability of being human. He did what he did best: Stiles talked.
He told Death about Derek, the numbers above his head, the long life he was meant to live, and the numbers that still remained. He told Death about love and Sunday morning coffee in bed, and Sunday afternoon laundry after spilling said coffee, about care and teasing smiles, about rain and reminders and leaving the stupid orange umbrella behind while he took Stiles' favoured blue one.
He talked until his voice was hoarse, continued even after he tasted blood, his throat raw, and only stopped when Death reached out to rest a long- and sharp-nailed skeletal hand on his shoulder.
They were in the crypto company before Stiles could even breathe or beg, and Death considered their surroundings with what could have been disdain had there been muscles or facial features to convey it. Derek stood in front of them, his cryo container open and the air cold in a sudden stark change from the midday heat Stiles had just been standing in. Derek had nodes in various places to regulate his skin temperature, as well as monitor any brain activity on the slight chance it would start working again. Stiles didn't see any of it, just Derek.
Death gave Stiles a gentle push forward, and he frowned over his shoulder in response. Death made a motion in front of their chest - either breath or boobs - and Stiles tried not to be creeped out by what he was about to do.
Consent, not to mention dead lips, and so many things were wrong with this, but it was either this or living without Derek.
Stiles swallowed hard, apologised in advanced, then stepped forward to close that last gap between them, and pressed his mouth to Derek's, blowing oxygen into his mouth, throat, lungs.
Nothing happened and Stiles felt a hysterical thought bubble up that he was going to get banned from this place, too. He started to pull away, but Death placed a hand on his shoulder once more, as though encouraging this time. Stiles inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, and hoped this would work. Cold filled him, not dread this time, but a brisk cold like jumping into an ocean, all of his cells woken up and alert and so very alive.
Another breath, another cold shiver, but Stiles felt Derek's mouth warming beneath his now. Another and another until Derek was practically burning beneath him, and Death pulled Stiles backwards.
Stiles looked at Derek, and Derek looked back at him. His hazel eyes were bloodshot and beautiful, and his previously-late husband looked so very confused. "Stiles? Where am I and why am I naked?"
Explaining took the last of Stiles' voice and energy. Derek looked incredulous and disbelieving but he still had the Y cut on his chest and gaping technicians to confirm at least parts of Stiles' story.
Fumes and adrenaline got Stiles through the required paperwork, along with the company issuing a reluctant refund for the next six months. He was fairly sure Death had done something to make it all go as smoothly as it did - there was far less screaming than he'd expected, and no one fainted on seeing Derek suddenly and unexpectedly alive. They made it home late that day, and Stiles slept for two days straight.
Not knowing what else to do, Derek called his sister while Stiles slept. Laura cried for two hours, then called in the middle of the night and then again the next morning to make sure it was real and Derek was still alive. She promised to be there the next day, planning on leaving on the first available flight.
When Stiles was conscious once more, he held Derek in his arms for far too long and not long enough, then cried for about that same amount of time as well.
There was far too much paperwork when someone died, but even more when they came back to life. Death hadn't given them a smooth ride with everything, unfortunately, but there were still enough glazed expressions and far-too-few questions that Stiles tried not to be ungrateful for the paperwork he did have to fill out. Derek's previous job had been filled, Stiles had been fired once his manager stopped being sympathetic, their savings were down to the last thousand dollars, the mortgage was astronomical without any sort of income, but they were alive and together again.
Moving house was the least they could do for the gift they'd been given. Laura stayed long enough to ensure Derek really was alive, apologised and cried with Stiles, and gave them both references for job and rental applications. Stiles wasn't sure whether it was Death or some other godly force, but they had a new apartment to live in by the end of the week and jobs to start a month later once they'd both recovered from... everything.
Just when Stiles thought that it was done, the alerts that he'd set up to track Midas started to ping him once more. Midas was in their apartment within a few hours, golden, glowing, and greatly pissed off. It seemed the god hadn't taken lightly to receiving a blade at his throat, nor had his threat of revenge been an empty one.
Stiles saw Midas' greedy gaze on Derek, his hand outstretched and glowing gold. With eyes like that, Stiles knew it definitely wasn't a blessing, even as Derek dropped to his knees and gasped in pain. He grabbed the box cutter from the kitchen bench and threw it at Midas. The blade was thin but effective and Midas soon had another scar to match the one on his neck.
Stiles had spent a year looking for Midas, a year grieving and angry and pleading for Derek, and he wasn't about to let Derek be killed now. Not again.
Midas lifted a hand towards him, but nothing happened, and his eyes widened even as Stiles covered the distance between them in three long strides.
Killing a god wasn't easy, but oddly enough, it wasn't difficult either. Stiles was covered in golden blood in a few minutes, Derek barely recovered from whatever Midas had done to him, and they looked at each other as the god's body burst into a golden shower of dust mite particles, floating out the window far too serenely after the last three minutes of bloodshed and anger.
Derek held a hand out to Stiles, led him to the bathroom, and they both stood there shivering in the empty space as the bath filled with hot water and steam slowly warmed the tiled room around them.
"You saved me. Again," Derek said with a brief smile, lifting Stiles' blood covered hand to his mouth, kissing his skin and ignoring the smear of gold on his own lips.
"I just got you back; I wasn't going to give you up without a fight," Stiles murmured, wrapping his arms around Derek tightly.
"Good," Derek murmured softly in agreement, then pulled away so he could carefully peel the layers of clothes off Stiles' body, golden trails left on bare skin.
He helped Stiles into the bath, resting on his knees behind the bath and curling a hand over his husband's forehead to brush his unruly hair back. Stiles sighed and tipped his head back to look at Derek, and saw the golden glow of numbers above Derek's head. He blinked viciously when the numbers were far higher than should have been possible, and clutched Derek's hand tightly.
"He would've gone for you next," Derek murmured, fear tinging his voice just as much as pure and utter certainty did.
"Probably. From what I found about Midas, he doesn't like to be challenged. He was a god - or a delusional radioactive human, according to one guy - who wanted to be worshipped and loved, not questioned and certainly not threatened with a dagger."
Derek sighed, a warm exhale against Stiles' neck, and pressed another kiss to his skin, then another and another, curving his way around skin and bone until they were together in the bath. Water spilled over the edges, gold washed away, and neither cared as they lost themselves in each other and being together again. Safe this time and intent on making sure of it.
Later, Stiles would investigate the far too many numbers above Derek's head, but right now was for them.
Later still, Stiles would cut himself shaving. He cursed and swore a few times, mostly out of habit, and wiped his wrist over his chin. It would take a moment for him to realise that while he'd bled, the blood was no longer red, but gold. Then, while he stared at his golden-stained chin, Stiles would see the numbers above his head for the first time in his life. His numbers matched Derek's: far more than normal and ending somewhere in the far distant future.
In the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a red zero, jet-black hair, and a cold feeling creeping up his spine before it all disappeared, and he was faced with his own reflection, gold-blood stained, and numbers glowing.
Stiles had no idea what a blessing from Death would do, but he was sure he and Derek would find out eventually.
Everything is crystal clear now. His soul belongs to the Alpha. His body belongs to the Alpha. And Alpha will fuck Stiles, bite Stiles, and mark Stiles whenever he wants to. There is no escape. He can`t run away or hide. And Stiles agreed to it. Because there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Scott. And Stiles will save him… whatever it takes.
Есть тут кто-нибудь читающий на русском?) обязательно загляните. Сложная и страшная история, но оно того стоит!
Unexpected and pleasant tagged by @all-or-nothing-baby Thank you!
Rules: tag 9 people you would like to know better / catch up with.
Last song: Rival Consoles - Looming
Last movie: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone :)
Currently watching: rewatch "The killing" with Mireille Enos and Joel Kinnaman. LOVE their tandem!
Currently reading: M.Mueller & Sohn
Currently craving: less procrastination
To be honest, I'm a little shy about tagging someone. And I don't have 9 people, but well))
@benaya-trash @andavs @suis0u @whitemoonlamb @puhnatsson
Hi, would you add more options in your shop for "electric" i.e. the nsfw one where Stiles is crying? A poster and print options pls. I also don't know why the one of Stiles with golden leaves on his skin lying on Derek's lap isn't there since the others with the same theme are, or the one with a wound on Derek's chest where they're holding hands, or Stiles smoking, or the one with 4 Stileses where he's is bleeding? Or at least the crop of that with the first two faces? Pls add them thanks!
Ohh, actually I am very pleased that you are interested in this! Soon I will definitely add them! ❤
I don't regularly update my redbubble account, sales are rare and I just forget about him 🙈🙈.
I am sooo surprised every time someone likes my work so much that they want stickers, posters or whatever! It's just amazing and incredibly inspiring!
Summary: Stiles is fuming. Furious! Pacing in front of his bed as he recalls the nights events. Another fight with another big bad, and Derek just throwing himself into danger…AGAIN! His window opens and he watches Derek climb through, shirt still torn and bloody from the fight. The sight makes his blood boil.
pixelskylines
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
germansingergirl