Posts tagged 'Fanfic'
Q: Derek Hale has a calming effect on babies, and can stop them crying just by looking at them. Babies always stare at him wherever he goes. Sometimes he goes into coffee shops because he kind of likes the wave of silent fascinated babies that follow him as he orders his guilty pleasure coffee with four different syrups in it. If a baby gets near enough, they basically want to be as close to him as possible. He has no idea why.
Did you see that video of that baby who stopped crying whenever her parents played Beyonce? I’m pmuch falling into spasms of lols picturing this being the case except Derek is every baby’s Beyonce.
Like, please imagine a situation where Scott’s baby is crying, like NORMAL CRYING, not that anything’s wrong, but it’s just kind of harder to deal with than Scott thought because of enhanced hearing. He can’t really tune her out because hello, goes against every instinct, but also she’s not crying because anything’s wrong. She’s just disgruntled about everything, but especially being put down.
Except Derek walks into a room, and her eyes snap to him and immediately calms down. She super doesn’t care about being put down in her little chair as long as she’s facing Derek, and she just quietly stares at him.
CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE THIS. STILL LAUGHING. STILES RECORDS DEREK ONE AFTERNOON FOR LIKE THREE HOURS. DEREK ISN’T EVEN DOING ANYTHING, IS JUST COOKING AND WASHING DISHES AND SHIT BUT ALL SCOTT HAS TO DO IS PUT IT ON TV AND THE KID STOPS FUSSING AND STARES INTENTLY.
DEREK HALE INADVERTENTLY RUNNING AN INFANT DAYCARE DESPITE HAVING NO QUALIFICATIONS WHATSOEVER JUST CAUSE BABIES LIKE HIM. DEREK GETTING A JOB IN THE NICU BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH THOSE BABIES ARE TOO LITTLE AND SICK TO FOCUS ON HIM, THEY’RE QUIETER AND SEEM TO THRIVE JUST A LITTLE BETTER WHEN HE’S IN THE ROOM. HE JUST BRINGS A BOOK AND SITS IN THE ROCKING CHAIR. EVERY SO OFTEN HE GETS UP AND MAKES ROUNDS, SAYING A GRUFF HELLO TO EACH BABY.
DEREK HALE: EXACTLY HOW HE IS IN CANON EXCEPT SOMEHOW SENDING OUT POSITIVE VIBES TO ALL BABIES.
BUT WE DON’T KNOW THAT HE ISN’T LIKE A BABY MESMERIZER. WE JUST DON’T KNOW. UNTIL I AM SHOWN A BABY THAT STILL CRIES WHEN IT SEES DEREK THIS IS CANON. JUST LIKE THE SHERIFF’S FIRST NAME IS SHERIFF, SCOTT’S DAD’S FIRST NAME IS AGENT AND IT’S ALL A GIANT BAG OF NOMINATIVE DETERMINISM.
"HELLO BABY," DEREK SAYS QUIETLY AS STILES BOGGLES. THE BABY JUST STARES UP AT HIM, EVEN THOUGH DEREK HAS, LIKE, NO BABY TALK AT ALL. STILES CAME IN TO DEREK DESCRIBING THE FUCKING WEATHER TO ONE OF THE KIDS, AND YET THEY STILL COO, AND STARE, AND FIND HIS PRESENCE BIZARRELY COMFORTING. DEREK HALE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT BABIES. STILES HAS TURNED INTO HIS FREAKING PA OR SOMETHING, BECAUSE HE’S THE ONE GOOGLING WHETHER IT’S OKAY TO FEED THEM STEAK, AND HOW TO PREVENT DIAPER RASH WHILE DEREK JUST EXISTS AROUND THEM AND OCCASIONALLY TELLS THEM INCREDIBLY OBVIOUS THINGS. “HELLO, YOU’RE SMALL,” DEREK SAYS SOLEMNLY TO ONE BABY, BENDING DOWN TO RUN A FINGER ALONG THE ARCH OF HIS FOOT. THE BABY LOOKS AT HIM LIKE HE’S JUST EXPLAINED STRING THEORY USING BELL PEPPERS.
"YOU’D BE NOTHING WITHOUT ME," STILES HISSES. "AND YEAH, THAT SOFT SPOT ON THEIR HEADS IS MEANT TO BE THERE."
DEREK SITS BACK DOWN AND STARTS WHITTLING AGAIN. THE BABIES LIE IN A CIRCLE SO THEY CAN ALL SEE HIM, AND STARE, TRANSFIXED.
omega werewolf babies.
Derek gets a reputation eventually. He has a youtube channel which is him reading instruction manuals out loud, sat in a rocking chair in front of a fire, which has had over a million hits. He’s pretty bemused by the whole thing. Then the Werewolf social services call him, and he’s a little twitchy at first because he thinks he got Scott to cosign Isaac’s college applications but he’s not completely sure, but it turns out it’s not because he’s gotten tangled up in werewolf bureaucracy again. It’s because there’s a baby born wolf who’s lost its pack, and they don’t know what to do. They’ve tried everything, and they’ve got five of their best case workers on it, but the cub won’t stop crying, and it’s getting closer to the full moon and it’s getting literally painful to be in hearing range of it.
Derek’s saying yes before he’s really thought about it, then sits down and stares at the table for a few minutes. The first few months after the fire, he and Laura were shunned by other werewolves. Their grief, the taboo of being born wolves without a family, Derek’s guilt and confusion— it was something that carried a scent and sound that made everybody edgy. For a cub to be going through that loss without an anchor is unthinkable. He’s still sitting there when Scott and Stiles come in, still having their eternal fire hydrant on ice skates debate (Stiles is for, Scott against). They’re at his side immediately, their hands on each of his shoulders.
"There’s— there’s a cub. In Oregon," he says, and they both immediately go into planning mode, and before he knows it they’re bundled into Stiles’s jeep, Stiles is trying to persuade Scott that the whole of Tusk is good road trip music and he’s not sure how he thought he was going to get to the cub but this is a better way.
They get there crumpled and tired, smelling of Stiles’s jeep and motel beds. Scott’s on edge as soon as they get in hearing range. Stiles picks up on their uneasiness, does all the talking as they get closer and closer to the desolate, exhausted sounding cries. Scott and Stiles wait in the corridor as the caseworker opens the door, shows him in, her eyes glowing yellow in her distress , nails making gouges in the doorframe.
He nods to her, closes the door behind him and looks at the cub. Her name’s Emma, and she doesn’t have a pack any more. She smells like grief and everything that’s wrong with the world, and he tastes ash at the back of his throat. She hasn’t seen him yet, changing forms as she thrashes on the mattress, leaving tears in the fabric, clouds of stuffing and feathers around her. “I, uh, I like your dress,” he says quietly. It used to have sunflowers on it, he thinks. He can see patches of bright, bright yellow. He comes to the edge of the mattress, sits down, taking deep breaths to keep himself under control. It’s unbearable. “I like yellow. It’s a good color. People— happy people wear it.”
She stills a little, the spaces between her form changes getting longer. “And your eyes go yellow too, when you get your little fangs and your claws. Maybe your mom wanted to match your dress to your eyes, huh?” It gets a little easier to breathe as the pitch of her cries becomes less urgent. He keeps talking to her, stretches his legs out on the mattress, his back to the wall. He doesn’t touch her yet, though, just lets her get used to his scent, the sounds he makes. When she’s quietened down to making hiccoughing sounds, eyes flashing as her body spasms, he puts his hand out and puts it on her foot.
"Hey you," he says, and can’t help smiling when she goes limp and stares at him with rapt, trusting eyes. It feels a little like he’s come through a storm. He can breathe again, without the crushing bands around his chest, his head. He brushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead, tickles her gums where her fangs drop, like his mom used to. "Stiles, Scott. She needs feeding and bathing, new clothes. Come in when you have them, but come in quietly, you hear?"
"Sure thing, buddy," Scott says, starts charming the caseworkers. He doesn’t want too many strange people in here yet. He picks her up, supporting her head, rests her on his crooked-up thighs and just looks at her. She’s filthy, a little dehydrated, and has no control yet. He’s not sure what the werewolf family services will do with her. He smiles as she grabs a handful of his sweater in her hand, starts mouthing at the fabric.
"You’ll be okay. Good cub," and yes, his conversation could do with some work, but she’s a baby. All he needs to do, really, is be in the same room. He’s already trying to work out if being terrible at paperwork is going to count against him in the adoption process. He can always nominate Scott and Stiles as responsible co-parents. Or something.
Two days later, they’re in an office. Scott and Stiles are sitting either side of him, and he feels a little bit like he’s walked into a double act. Three out of the five caseworkers are actually pinching the bridges of their noses. The other two have audibly sighed three times. He’s enjoying it, in a horrified sort of way. “Mr Hale, while we understand that the…situation in Beacon Hills has stabilized now, there is the matter of your personal life. There has been a certain pattern in your choice of partner,” and the woman breaks off there, all delicate pauses and inferences. Stiles leans forwards, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Charlie Weasley loves to hang out with his big brother and good friend, Bill. Sure, they fight sometimes, as siblings are wont to do, but they both love adventure and the outdoors and bringing back creepy-crawley things that their father is just as fascinated in as them but that mum always yells at them to “TAKE THAT OUTSIDE, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING BRINGING THAT INSIDE OF THE HOUSE, FOR GOODNESS SAKE, BOYS, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT!” And besides, it’s more fun to fight with Percy because, dang, that little kid just takes everything so darn seriously.
The first year Bill goes off to Hogwarts is so weird for Charlie because Percy isn’t interested in the same things Bill or Charlie are and the twins are wee little things still. Fun to play with sometimes but they’re just no good at conversations and they can’t tell Charlie cool things about the gnomes like how they enjoy the taste of children’s blood nearly as much as hags (mum swears Bill is making that up) or how werewolves can actually change at any time, they just only do it openly when it’s the moon to conduct surprise attacks during other times of the month (“William Arthur, you stop filling your brother’s head with such nonsense!”), so Charlie spends more and more time trying to find his own information on the creatures he’s interested in.
Charlie’s immediately sucked into a world he didn’t even knew existed and he spends his whole year with his nose stuck inside of a book soaking up information on various creatures, hanging out in the garden trying to find the smaller ones, sneaking out at night to see if he can find the nocturnal ones (“Charles, if you do not get in bed now and stay there…”). He realizes that mum was right and Bill really did make up a lot of stuff, but that just makes it all funnier. He finds out that gnomes do not sleep at the same times humans do and they have pretty good eyesight. But honestly, mum’s grip on his arm as she tends to his wound hurts a lot more than the bite did.
Q: ok, but what are your thoughts on HSDSS? like, au where stiles didnt know about werewolves until his ex-gf/one night stand showed up with a (HIS!) werebaby and then split again, so stiles did his best to raise his werebb right with the internet as his only werewolf resource. and then of course derek meets werekid somehow (after-school program? when werekid accidentally scratches dereks car? TRICK-OR-TREATING?) and is enraged/secretly charmed by wk and demands to meet their alpha. ENTER STILES.
I’ve been sitting on this ask for too long because I didn’t feel equipped to give you a proper answer, but suddenly all I can see is HSDSS’s kid going through one of those fixations, you know, as kids do. Stiles remembers what he was like as a kid, all neverending questions and sticking things in the toaster and saying inappropriate things to random strangers, and he’s heard the stories, now told with fondness, but there’s almost a trace of trauma in his dad’s eyes when he talks about Stiles’ fourth grade ‘photography’ project made entirely up of various cats pooping, or the time he’d decided the cruiser needed air vents in the hood for speed in order to catch the faster criminals. Stiles was expecting his own spawn to be some cross between Damian from the Omen and Chucky, but instead he just.. Isn’t. He participates in school, keeps to himself, doesn’t have many friends, but then, neither did Stiles until Scott decided boogers were funny too, and Stiles kind of feels bad for worrying. He should be grateful that Stilinski No.3 isn’t the weirdo swinging off the light fixtures in kindergarten because they’d watched a show about monkeys the night before. But maybe he’s the kid at the back of the class, shy and reserved and unnoticed. Stiles isn’t sure he wants that either, because not everyone gets a Scott.
There’s only one thing his mini-me seems to care about, one thing he makes any noise about when it’s refused to him, and that’s Hero Steve. Hero Steve is the latest craze sweeping the nation, branded as ‘more awesome than GI Joe’ (and Stiles had been kind of affronted, because nobody was more awesome than GI Joe when he was growing up), accessorised with fully functional Observe-O-Vision (a little switch at the back of the head that lets the owner move around the doll’s weirdly intense eyes), the ability to grow moody stubble with the help of some cold water, and a timelessly cool leather jacket. Hero Steve didn’t have a set occupation to speak of, much like Barbie, attempting to spread the message that anyone from a CEO to a construction worker could be the hero of their own story. The action figure has been surgically attached to Mini Stilinski’s hand for an entire month. Nothing will convince him to leave it at home.
A/N: In which there is banter, more banter, and nothing but banter. All mistakes are mine because I am too lazy to edit this properly. Also, French, lolz.
Harry arrives back at the family tent to find everyone eating breakfast and Rita Skeeter’s morning Prophet article hanging, framed, upon the nearest cloth wall.
“Redecorated, have we?” he asks.
Ginny flicks her wand from her spot in front of the tent stove, tilting the kettle and pouring out three cups of tea. “It’s the latest thing,” she says. “We’re calling it, ‘Rustic Rubbish.’”
“The world was a better place when that woman was just a beetle in a jar,” Hermione mutters, spooning out a helping of eggs onto Rosie’s plate. “Honestly, the things she comes up with.”
“I think it’s brilliant,” Harry’s eldest son, James, declares, sitting up in his seat, his mouth half-full with toast and marmalade. “We’re famous!”
“You’re barely even mentioned!” Ginny argues.
James grins cheekily. “You never mention us at all in your articles, Mum.”
Ginny rolls her eyes. “Quiet, you. Otherwise I’m abandoning you in London again.”
“I want to be abandoned in London!” Hugo shouts.
“Me too, me too!” Lily cries.
WHERE IS THE FIC WHERE STILES CALLS TECH SUPPORT ON HIS FIRST DAY BUT GETS THE MAINLINE FOR JUNIOR VP DEREK HALE AND DEREK JUST IS HELPFUL
AND STILES JUST CALLS BACK
HE CAN’T PRINT OR WHATEVS. SO DEREK IS LOADING PAPER DOWN ON THE 28TH FLOOR WHEN HE SHOULD BE ON 49TH IN A MEETING WITH HIS SISTERS
"Anyway, you can just tell this company is being grossly mismanaged,” Stiles tells Derek around the Twizzler he just shoved into his mouth.
"I agree," Derek says, head buried in the side panel of the malfunctioning copier.
"Resources are clearly available," Stiles continues, sounding like he’s pacing back and forth near Derek’s feet; "but they aren’t being utilized fully!"
"Mmhmm." Derek smiles to himself. "I hear the Vice President never even went to business school. He even skips out on the budget meetings, most days."
"What a hack," Stiles sighs. "Hey, do you want some candy? What am I saying, look at you. Of course you don’t eat candy.”
Derek is grateful that there’s a plastic panel hiding his overheating face. “I prefer the grape ones, actually, but sure.”
"Eugh, gross.” Stiles has to crouch down next to him to give him the candy, pressing right into his side. “Like, for example: okay, you’re clearly really smart, I can tell. Despite your seriously gross taste in Twizzlers. They’re wasting you in this position.”
Derek coughs, trying to focus on locating the paper jam. It’s been so long since someone said anything like that to him that he can’t actually tell if Stiles is being sarcastic or not.
"Thank you?" he tries, after a too-long pause.
"Anytime," Stiles says, palm warm between Derek’s shoulder blades. "Although, in a strictly literal sense, I have to admit that this position really works for you.”
Derek hits his head on the paper tray.
Derek isn’t sure why he let this charade go on for over three weeks, it’s just that whenever Stiles ends up calling his line he can’t help but talk to him; it isn’t actually too difficult to Google whatever problem Stiles is having with his computer or whatever, and it actually usually is something really lame, like “how do I take a screenshot” and “I got disconnected to the main server again,” which honestly happens to everyone, you just have to kick your router a little bit. And it’s more entertaining than budget meetings, that’s for sure.
It’s just that he really likes his conversations with Stiles. A lot. Okay, maybe he just likes Stiles.
So Derek is surprised one morning when he’s finally decided he should just go ahead and ask Stiles out one of these days when he doesn’t get a call. Stiles usually calls in once or twice by noon at least, even if it’s just to complain about the coffee in the breakroom.
When Derek walks by Stiles’ desk and finds it empty, not just of Stiles, but in fact all his personal belongings have been swept into a cardboard box. Horrified, Derek raps on the cubicle next to him. “Hey, do you know where Stiles is?”
The guy, A. Greenberg by his nameplate, just shrugs. “Stiles came into work as usual and then he was flipping through the company phonelist, started freaking out about something and just packed everything up. He said he was going to HR.”
Derek dashes towards the elevator, making it to the ninth floor where Human Resources is just in time. He barges in office after office, making quick apologies, and finally finds Stiles with an exasperated and bored looking Erica Reyes.
"You can’t file a sexual harassment claim against yourself, Mr. Stilinski," she’s saying. "Ah, hello, Mr. Hale," she says when she sees Derek at the door.
Stiles turns, face flushing red. “Ah— I am so sorry Der— I mean, Mr. Hale, I really didn’t know, I mean, this morning all my phone presets were gone so I had to reprogram everything, and then when I called IT and asked for Derek’s line, they said they didn’t have a Derek, and then when I looked through the phonelist, I realized the only Derek was—”
"It’s fine," Derek says. "Erica, can you just forget this—"
"Sure," she says, grinning at him.
"Stiles—" Derek pulls him into the hallway. "Were you seriously trying to fire yourself for flirting with me?"
[for Niamh’s prompt]
Derek polishes another glass, ears perking up when a few delicate chords strum up from the elegant grand piano in the corner. He turns and smiles fondly, watching Stiles’ pale fingers dance across the keys, Stiles’ pink lips approaching the microphone in front of him. “It’s that time of night, beautiful people dining at our lovely establishment, McCall’s thanks you, each and every one. This song goes out to the lovely Newton-Lees in the corner.”
Stiles winks at the newly engaged couple, the young woman blushing as the man raises his glass to Stiles, mouthing a “thank you.”
Derek pauses to admire the way Stiles’ beautiful hands splay out, fingers coaxing the chords from “Tale as Old as Time,” and then Stiles’ voice joins the melody, rich and soulful.
He sighs a little, watching the couple step onto the dance floor, the woman laying her head on her fiancee’s shoulder, eyes closed happily as they say to the music, and one by one other couples join them.
It’s another usual night at McCall’s, the best combination steakhouse-danceclub in town, and Derek is yet again watching Stiles sing.
Stiles dedicates songs to random patrons all the time, comes up with his own ballads, has a song dedicated to the head chef Scott’s uneven jawline, multiple songs about dessert chef Lydia’s hair, and will come up with amazing, heartfelt and beautiful songs on the fly about just about anything and everyone. All the regulars have their own songs, there are songs for dishes and even Isaac’s little bouncy walk when he brings out the dessert cart.
Derek’s worked at McCall’s for three years, just about as long Stiles has been the pianist, and not once has Stiles ever sung a song about him.
I’m sorry lol. AU where Derek Hale is only a couple years older than Stiles and also lives next door.
I don’t specify ages but Stiles is probably more like 10 rather than 7. :)
Derek has a loud family. Cora and Laura are pair of wrecking balls between them, bursting through obstacles in long eruptions of sound and fury. Talia makes her opinions known on every small point which never fails to start a riot. His father has the most boisterous laugh he’s ever heard. It shakes the rafters, engulfs the entire house, and makes sure the listener feels it in their bones.
They fuel each other’s fire, the only reprieve coming when the world is shrouded in darkness and everyone is blissfully asleep. Even then, most of them talk. Derek’s dad snores.
In short, Derek is used to noise. He’s used to presences that fill whatever room they’re in, all crowed and overlapping in a single space. He’s used to fiery, elephants of personalities. The Hales are not a tranquil people.
Stiles Stilinski puts them all to shame.
After the first week of their residency next door to the Hales, Derek takes to leaving his window open during the two hour period in which the Sheriff lets Stiles out to play in the yard, sometimes with his friends. (Well…friend. Singular. It’s the McCall kid.) Derek thinks it’s probably in an effort to drain him of all his spastic energy. He can’t imagine what kind of havoc the kid can wreak inside the confines of his home.
Also, he’s sort of hilarious. Derek lives for Stiles’ little quips in response to his father’s cliché attempts to get him to obey.
(“There are starving children in Africa, Stiles.”
“Well maybe we should FedEx the beats to them then.”)
(“Stiles, your face is going to stick like that.”
“Do you think they’ll let me join the circus?! That’d be kick ass.”
Today beats all days. Because the Sheriff and Stiles’ discussion had gotten a bit heated when Stiles refused to come in for dinner, and the older man’s, “You are under my roof! You live by my rules!” had been met with:
“I’m not under your roof! I’m under the sky! And the sky is nature’s roof and nature wants me to play outside!”
Which had somehow escalated into an all-out chase sequence straight out of an eighties television show about growing up. Derek can’t exactly explain how it happened. He doesn’t actually spy. He’s not like…weird or something. He usually just lets Stiles’ less than dulcet quips wash over him, some flowing by unnoticed while others simmer and soak for a moment before taking.
So all he knows is that, somehow, Stiles went from yelling prickly barbs to hopping on his bike and skittering down the street with a gleeful, “You’ll never catch me coppers!”
Derek finds himself standing on the front porch with the rest of his family (along with the entire housing community to be honest) watching as little Stiles Stilinski bikes in furious weaves up and down the tight blocks of their neighborhood, belting “We Didn’t Start the Fire” with surprising accuracy.
Derek is reluctantly impressed.
He guesses that the Sheriff is attempting to let Stiles get the whole thing out of his system because when he gets well and truly fed up (which coincides closely with the accidental destruction of Mr. Goodman’s tulips) he catches his son with practiced ease, dragging him back into the house by the scruff of his neck.
The words of Billy Joel lilt through the hot summer air all the way until door slams shuts behind them.
Stiles doesn’t get to leave the house for a week, and when he finally does, it’s to help Mr. Goodman replant his curbside garden.
“Cool song,” someone says from just outside Derek’s room. Not just “someone”, actually. He recognizes that voice, probably lured up to the window by the notes he’d sung to the entire neighborhood just a few weeks prior.
He’s never seen Stiles up close. Or standing still. Well…mostly still. He’s still fidgeting long fingers and looking around curiously. He’s leaned casually against the sill, only his buzzed head inside Derek’s room. His eyes are wide and brown and sharp. There’s a splattering of moles on every visible part of his pale, rosy complexion. Like flecks of paint.
He’s also standing on the roof of the Hale home’s first story so he can poke into Derek’s second story window.
“How did you get up here?” Derek asks, trying not to let his surprise filter into his voice. He’s not sure how well he succeeds.
“You have a…terrace thingie, man,” Stiles replies with a nonchalant wave of his arm.
Derek’s brows raise incredulously, “’A terrace thingie’?”
“Yeah.” He’s still laissez-faire about the whole thing. Like this is something he does every day. Plus he’s apparently distracted. “What are you doing?”
The older boy looks from Stilinski to his project on the desk and back again. “…painting?”
“You paint? Dude that’s so cool. Are these all yours?” He points to the wall of artwork littering the far wall.
Derek shrugs, and Stiles must understand that it’s in agreement.
“Woah. You’re really good.”
“I’m Stiles by the way.”
He tells him, “Derek,” because saying ‘I know’ would probably be weird.
“Hey, you wanna come play in the yard with me?”
Stiles’ gaze is on him, steady for the first time since he’d made himself known. His eyes are probing and bright. Derek feels much like Mr. Goodman’s tulips must have just before meeting their untimely end beneath the ribbed wheels of Stiles’ bicycle.
“Sure,” he says anyway.
I have this headcanon that the sheriff has had scott and stiles in the interrogation room many times.
And a very vivid image of the sheriff pulling up to the station and getting out of the squad car. And by the look on his face passersby think he has some hardened criminals in the back, bank robbers, or murderers, or sociopathic dog nappers.
And he opens the door and out tumbles a seven year old stiles, arms crossed not quite right over his chest, and looking very put out and then a contrite Scott after him, staring at the ground, floppy hair covering his eyes.
And he marches them into the station and makes them sit in the drunk tank until melissa comes to collect Scott. Probably puts them in interrogation at some point, and scott nervously fiddles with the empty bag of chips from the vending machine in the hall.
And the sheriff walks in and Stiles stands up and points and shouts “YOU’LL NEVER BREAK ME!” And Scott sucking in a deep breath from his inhaler and wailing “I broke the window!” And sighing in relief.
allyayyyyy: ur gonna spy on my aunt
allyayyyyy: im gonna spy on my dad
allyayyyyy: and then well compare notes
dereleek: …so you want me to keep dating her?
allyayyyyy: UNDERCOVER SECRET BOYFRIEND
dereleek: IF I GET SHOT BECAUSE I’M FAKE DATING YOUR SECRET AGENT AUNT I’M GONNA BE SO PISSED