I’m Julian Larson, I get anything I want”
-Julian said as he looked at the only person he couldn’t get (via dwights-talkingflower)
get out of here satan
Daltonites: SOUND THE WINDSOR AIR HORN!
Tumblr: but that's only for emergencies
Daltonites: whAT DOES THIS LOOK LIKE TO YOU
“So, how’s babysitting coming along?” she asked, sitting on the loveseat.
“I’m not babysitting,” Derek said. “The lake is a five minute walk from the house, someone could have drowned for all I know.”
“That’s the spirit, Derek,” she said.
Klaine fic: Hold Me Close
(A/N: I saw this post earlier today, and I couldn’t help but fic it because omfg most adorable promt ever! I’m tagging those that requested a fic like this one in their reblogs - hope this fits the bill!)
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Okay, so maybe Kurt shouldn’t have bought the pillow at that sketchy shop on the corner with all the weird things in jars. But it was half the price of the same pillow online (not that he’d been searching for one online, of course not), and he was living on an intern’s budget, and as used to sleeping alone as he might be, the thought of another person’s arm, snug and warm around his body, made him yearn.
You Make Me Feel So Young
lilsnix prompted: As soon as your soulmate is born, their name appears on your wrist in inky black. Blaine waited and waited, yet a name never showed up on his wrist. He continues on with life, albeit sad, believing that he was one of those rare people that didn’t have a soulmate. At the age of
twentyeighteen does the name ‘Kurt E. Hummel’ find its way on his wrist.
So I’ve been working on this prompt for weeks. I changed it slightly, but I hope both the prompter and all of you like it! Thank you to slightestwind and daltoneering for acting as betas for this monster!
Summary: Blaine Anderson was eighteen and pretty sure that, in a world where you get your soulmate’s name on your wrist the moment they are born, he was never going to have a soulmate. Then on the day of his high school graduation, Kurt Hummel is born. His wait begins.
Warnings: age difference
The name of your soulmate appears on your wrist the very moment they are born.
This being said, some people are born with a name already on their wrists, because their soulmate is already out there living somewhere at the time, the name of their newborn soulmate just appearing.
Blaine Anderson goes many years without realizing the severity of what not having a name on his wrist means.
When he starts school most everyone in his class has a name on their tiny wrists. Blaine always knew his mom and dad had each others’ names on their wrists and his brother Cooper and his girlfriend had their names, but he didn’t realize that everyone had them.
He didn’t, though.
So he goes home and asks his mom what it means.
“It means… those names are your classmates’ soulmates,” she says, struggling for a long moment and choosing her words carefully.
I am ready for some Indiana Jones shit is what I’m saying
I need a fic where in order to rescue Derek, Stiles poses as bratty trust fund kid (“dude, how about Atticus Bolinski”) traveling with his fiery redheaded financial adviser (“Martina Silver is fine, and for the record, I really don’t think we need fake names”) down to Mexico to buy a captive werewolf for amusement. And Scott’s tunneling in through the duct work or something listening to Stiles counting out money all, “Well I don’t necessarily have to try before I buy, but if you’re offering, I’m not going to say no.”
Scott thinks he can actually hear Lydia rolling her eyes.
The scary people with guns lead Stiles to the back room where Derek is predictably shirtless and restrained.
And Derek’s thankfully unharmed, just a little hazy with wolfsbane poisoning, and the bizarre cuffs are made of cured mountain ash but he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s gonna be okay. And Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, pretends to inspect him, gets close and whispers, “Hey big guy. I missed you.”
Derek mutters under his breath, “You’re an idiot,” but his mouth twitches with a smile.
Then Scott drops from the ceiling, fucking shit up, and Kira flips in through a window, and they bust out of there in a rain of foxfire and claws, and Lydia delicately tasers a few people, and Derek’s heavy, but he can mostly walk, one arm slung around Stiles’ shoulders and it’s the best Christmas break ever.
i just realized that in the canon timeline scott hasn’t heard roar by katy perry yet and that is such a shame tbh
GOD he’d just fuckin call stiles up and stiles is currently scrubbing a shirt with a stain remover pen but he answers anyway, wedges it between his cheek and his shoulder and says “you’ve reached stilinski’s pleasure palace”
and scott goes “so katy perry has this new song?”
and stiles goes “okay”
and scott goes “and it’s really, like, cool, so—”
and stiles goes “scotty mccally, are you gonna serenade me?”
and scott goes “yes. are you ready?”
"no. hang on." stiles puts his phone on speaker and sets it on the desk. "okay. i’m ready."
and scott just fuckin belts it and he’s sorta off key because he’s driving but he’s not bad, actually, and stiles is enjoying himself, and then scott forgets the words and sort of trails off and stiles goes,
"god, do you know how to make a girl feel special."
and scott goes, “d’you like it?”
and derek goes, “i liked it.”
and scott goes, “jesus, hi derek.”
and stiles goes, “dude, how do you get come out of a black shirt? ordinarily i’d just leave it and wear a jacket with it, but like, it’s right in this weird spot where nothing i could possibly wear would cover it and i really don’t want to walk around and have everyone know i let somebody come on my face. …hello? scott? are you—ask your mom for me. scott?”
this just kept getting better the farther down I read.
i just needed dispatcher!derek and stiles calling into the sheriff’s dept to talk to the dispatcher bc he was lonely, and subsequently, falling for derek’s voice.
“Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” an unfamiliar male voice answers. Stiles pulls the cell phone away from his ear and stares at it like he accidentally dialed the wrong number. “Hello?” The man’s voice is annoyed, and then the line goes dead.
Stiles hits redial immediately. “Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” the same voice says, more annoyed than before.
“You’re not Edna,” Stiles says. “Edna’s the evening dispatcher, where’s Edna?”
“Stiles Stilinski. The better question is, who are you?”
“My dad doesn’t work with a Derek Hale. I know everyone who works in that department, and I’d remember a Derek Hale.”
“You’re the sheriff’s son?” Derek asks.
Stiles grins, despite the fact that he’s on the phone. “So, you’ve heard of me?”
“I wouldn’t be proud of that fact.”
Stiles huffs and hangs up.
The next night, he calls again. The same Derek Hale answers the phone.
“Where is Edna?”
“She’s out of town for awhile.”
“So, you’re a temp?”
“I’m a deputy.”
Stiles frowns. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”
“I’m new. Is there anything I can actually help you with?” Derek’s irritation is evident through the line.
This time, Derek hangs up.
Stiles calls two nights later, and ignores the way his stomach flips when Derek’s voice comes over the line. “What are you doing?”
Derek sighs. “What do you want, Stiles?”
“Edna used to read me the word from her word of the day calendar.” Derek remains silent. “Well? What’s the word? Unless you rearranged her desk.”
There’s some shuffling on the other line. “Suidefenestration. It means – “
“To kill yourself by throwing yourself out of a window.”
Derek grunts. “How did you know that?”
“Uh, duh? I took Latin as an undergrad, four years. I learned a word or two. Did you not know what it meant?”
“I thought you were in high school.”
“Grad school, dude.” Stiles laughs, and hangs up.
The next time Stiles calls, he opens with, “Has my dad been eating donuts? Because either it’s that, he somehow got freaky with a chalkboard, or he’s becoming a coke addict. I’m not sure which is more disturbing.”
“I don’t spend my time monitoring the Sheriff’s diet.” Derek doesn’t bother to sound polite or nice. Stiles thinks that maybe he should complain and that the BHSD should hire a better dispatcher. But Stiles is too selfish for that.
“Go look in his office.”
“I’m not going to snoop in my superior’s office!”
“Please,” Stiles begs. “Derek, pleasepleaseplease.”
“How old are you again? Grad school, really?”
“You’re just sad that you’re not this awesome.”