#sterekzine

PREORDERS OPEN! 10/30 - 11/20 EST Sterekverse is an Alternate Universe themed fanzine.  The goal is to make a compilation of illustrations and stories made by creatives in the sterek community. :)  Digital & Physical zines are available along with the following bundles: Full Bundle  ↳ Includes the physical and digital PDF zine + all* merch items!  Half Bundle A or B  ↳ Includes physical PDF zine and half of the merch items!  Merch Bundle  ↳ All* the merch items! *Exclusive-only items are restricted to the bundles they’re assigned to.

The Sterek zine is finally here, so I can share my humble contribution with y'all.

Stiles knows the difference between hallucination and reality. He’s got it down to a science now, every trick in the book memorized, because if he didn’t he’d go insane. Again.

So he knows, he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Derek Hale is not actually in his bedroom with him right now.

But he doesn’t care.

“That isn’t like you,” Derek says seriously from where he sits on the edge of Stiles’ bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together beneath his bearded chin. He looks solid and real and like the personification of a sigh of relief that Stiles has been holding in for far too long.

Stiles shrugs a shoulder and continues idly spinning back and forth in his desk chair. He can’t look at Derek for too long at a time, or he’ll feel that familiar pull to get closer, to fall into him and seek some kind of physical comfort that he’s not going to get, and only half because Derek’s not actually there.

Because, obviously, even the fantasy of Derek wouldn’t reciprocate that kind of affection. And the reality of him certainly wouldn’t.

“What are you, my therapist now? Sometimes fantasies can be healthy.”

“You’re using an imaginary friend as a coping mechanism. Yeah, that sounds really healthy there, Stiles.”

here’s my piece for the @sterekzine.  still can’t believe they thought i was cool enough to participate!  proved them wrong about that, heh heh.

The blood sticks.  Not so bad as the guilt, but more visibly.

“He’ll live,” Cora says again.  She’s restless, pacing, can’t fathom why they’ve stopped.

Derek couldn’t keep running with literal blood on his hands, though.  The warehouse is drafty, leaking, and Derek holds his hands under the run-off where insulation and wood has been torn away.  He cuts himself on his own claws in his vigor.

Cora sniffs, watches, accuses, “You said it was getting better.”

Derek’s lip raises, pointed teeth dragging against soft inner tissue.

Cora attempts to wait him out, gets impatient, huffs.  Her feet thud across the floor, tread heavy and defiant.  A few boards rattle near the corner, then: “Here’s a radical suggestion, we could talk about it.”

“No.”  He’s not Dr. Phil-ing himself into a solution for losing his anchor, that’s not the way this works.  Even if it were, Cora’s touch is about as light as her stomp.

“You’re not angry enough to use it as a totem any longer; that’s cause for celebration not—” she jabs a hand at him, “this.  Whatever this is.”  She smirks, perks an eyebrow.  “Aside from the first step on a staircase towards forming an emo band.  Third, actually.  You’re already white and suburban.”

The animosity rankles, but it’s not entirely undeserved.  Cora’s the one who struggles with moderation, the one who leaves shady supernaturals half-dead, not Derek.

Not until recently, that is.

If only it were as simple as that.  His claws dig deep into his own palms as he balls his fists—if the blood’s sticking with him, he’ll be damned if it’s anyone else’s.  “Anger isn’t the problem.”

“If that’s your anchor then—” She stops, backing up a step in her two-step solution to any potential roadblock: identify the problem, demolish the problem.  “That isn’t your anchor.”

Derek clenches his jaw, muscle ticking.

It’s confirmation enough.

“And your anchor now is?”

—The last thing he wants to discuss.   “Slipping.”

Sterek, T, no warnings, 2.9k

Tags: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alien Stiles Stilinski, Alien Cultural Differences, First Contact, Getting Together, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Humor, Language Barrier

Summary:

Building relations with an alien race was always going to be difficult enough anyways. But when he meets Stiles, Derek finds himself with a rather more personal incentive to 'make nice with the aliens'. Now they only need to figure out their translation issues.

This was my contribution to the @sterekzine​ Solstice and I'm very happy I can share it with you all now! I'm very proud to have worked alongside so many amazing artists and authors for a worthy cause in the name of our boys and I hope you are all enjoying the end results as much as I am!

Thank you so much to @loverofcake​ for the prompt which sparked this fic, and the wonderful @ohfuckthisshit​ for the beta-read!

Aliens are nothing new to Derek.

None of them look like humanity imagined extraterrestrial life. No little green men from Mars, no black, insect-like creatures of nightmare. As always, reality is both more mundane and at the same time stranger than fiction. These aliens look almost human, of similar size, build, outer appearance in general. But if you look closely, they suddenly are too much - their eyes too bright, smiles too sharp, teeth too white. They are too close to mankind to feel the distance, too different from humanity to feel comfortable, smack dab in the middle of the uncanny valley. First Contact didn’t go perfectly, unsurprisingly; there just was a little too much threatening, a little too much panic - just as in any other diplomatic meeting. Derek has sat in on several of them and helped translate between humans and these aliens - or, as they like to be called: the Force.

Apparently there was a translation error early on that lead to the head of the aliens being called the Sheriff and their home planet the Station. Then someone realised that the Sheriff’s people are obviously the Force and that was that; the name stuck. As if anyone could resist a good Star Wars reference, never mind a bunch of nerds obsessed with space.

Derek has met several members of the Force already, including the Commander of the mission they are currently on, Lydia. At first glance she’s just a young, buxom redhead, but with hair too red and eyes too shrewd. He has noticed how their heartbeats tend to be faster than a human’s, and their scents cold, as if perpetually covered with ice. But nothing has prepared him for this particular member of the Force.