HOME STRETCH! We’ve almost done the whole 3B, guys, which means you’re almost completely free of me spamming these things to you every weekend. (Not that I won’t continue to do them, but I’ll definitely make it less of a scheduled reoccurrence). I said I’d do one for each episode and I’m too close to stop now.
- Someone gets a lacrosse hoodie.
- Any size, any character
- Shipped anywhere
- One like, one reblog. Don’t be a jerk, don’t spam. You’ll break the notes and everyone will be upset.
- Winners picked with a random number generator.
- Giveaway ends MARCH 10th, 11:30PM EST
This is over tomorrow!
I want a Patrick in my life
Extended version of the bowling scene from ‘Pack Mentality’
Sorry I can’t pay for this taxi ride I’m just a poor werewolf.
I really love these starry illustrations by Hajin Bae.
I redrew Kovu as a human because I’m a huge square.
"Deaton says it’ll wear off," Scott says when he opens the door to his house.
"What will?" Stiles asks suspiciously. The last time he saw Derek, he was unconscious and covered in a fine red powder and Isaac and Scott were cramming him into the back of Allison’s car. It’s been almost two hours since then; he and Lydia had been left to deal with the faerie, who absolutely refused to deal with werewolves or hunters. Stiles had dropped Lydia off at her house because she’d insisted on taking a shower after.
"He’s, uh," Scott gestures vaguely. "Well. It’s kinda like he’s drunk. If he could get drunk." As if on cue, a bunch of people in the living room break into laughter and Stiles raises his eyebrows.
"Was that Derek?”
Scott grins faintly. “Yeah, dude. He’s kinda fun.”
"Fun," Stiles repeats, grinning wryly. "I’ve gotta see this."
Scott’s grin widens and he steps back, holding the door open so Stiles can step inside. Derek’s sandwiched on the couch between Isaac and Allison and just that is odd enough - Derek’s never seemed overly fond of being in close proximity with people, especially not Allison - but even weirder is the wide grin on his face when he turns to watch Scott and Stiles walk into the room. Stiles stares; he’s never seen Derek smile like that, except that time at the sheriff’s station when he was schmoozing up that deputy. This smile seems genuine though, as does the cheerful note in Derek’s voice when he slurs, “Heyyyy, Stiles!”
"Hey dude," Stiles replies, jamming his hands in his pockets. "You look stoned."
I want more queer friendship stories. Not just stories where the only two queer people find each other and fall in unhealthy codependent love in a sea of cishets. Give me whole communities of queer people. Give me queer best friends gushing to each other about their silly crushes. Give me younger queers going to older queers for advice and guidance, without getting creeped on. Give me queer friends cuddling and watching tv together, or baking cookies together, or a big group of diverse queer people fighting about where to go out to eat because everyone has a different favorite place, but ultimately they decide to go to everyone’s favorite place at least once and just flip a coin or something to decide who’s turn it is to pick. Give me queer friends from different cultures bonding over sharing their cultural differences. Give me queer people starting college or moving for a new job and learning how to be a part of a new community full of other queer people.
Romance is nice and all, and queer romance needs more representation. But friendship is every bit as important, and more important to some people. I don’t want to hear stories where I have to hope I find that one other queer person to be happy with and then shut out the rest of the world. I want community.
Teen Wolf Cast birthdays and ages
Derek doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Stiles is doing his best not to go into cardiac arrest, and Derek has absolutely no clue of the effect he’s having. Which, (that this is all subconscious or unconscious or whatever on Derek’s part), causes the butterflies in Stiles’ stomach to erupt in a frenzy.
Derek’s absentminded go-to habit is to stroke his thumb distractedly over the back of Stiles’ hand, where they’re both clasped together, linking the space between them. Derek is completely absorbed in Brave. Stiles can tell. He’s watching it with a single minded attentiveness he usually reserves for the planning stages of their little werewolf/supernatural community.
All of his attention is pinned on Merida and her demon-spawn brothers (Stiles’ brain derails for a moment, werewolf triplets yikes), and yet Derek’s thumb continues to stroke over Stiles’ skin, tracing the ridges of his bones, teasing the fine sensitivity of the hairs on his hand in a soothing rhythm.
Stiles doesn’t have the words to describe how electric he feels, sitting here in the dark of the theater, doesn’t have words to describe the strange gravity in his chest that’s urging him to be closer to Derek close, closer, closest.
Stiles is pretty sure he’s in love.
He had felt like this once, with Lydia, but Lydia had never ever touched him, not really, so now his emotions are going haywire. They have no idea what to do with these new developments, where the person you love is actually showing you affection. And holy criminy batman, Derek must like him a whole lot back, if his default auto-body function is to touch Stiles like he is.
Stiles doesn’t know what to do with this information.
All he can do is sit there and jealously guard each, agonizing, perfect second that passes, his pants becoming a little tight as his cock swells. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that either, because yeah, the object of all his lustful fantasies is sitting right next to him and touching him, but it’s not a sexual touch or anything, and all Stiles is doing is thinking about how that makes him feel so it’s like his dick is filling up with emotions?
Stiles is losing it big time over Derek.
As Derek’s thumb travels on its path, back and forth across Stiles’ hand, every inch of Stiles’ skin tingles, his stomach swoops out from under him. God he really does want this to last forever.
He manages to resist for a good 10 minutes before he gives into that gravity inside him, and he leans over to rest his head with a gentle thump against Derek’s arm. Stiles does his best not to snuggle, but he doesn’t quite succeed. Stiles feels drugged out, high, swimming in endorphins; the feeling of being in love.
The movement of Derek’s thumb stops, and Stiles curses himself for breaking the magic, turns his face into Derek’s arm and squeezes his eyes shut. Why does he have to be the epitome of every lovesick teenager who’s ever existed?
There’s a pause for a few moments, where Stiles can feel Derek considering him, and then the motion of Derek’s thumb starts up, this time deliberate, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s feeling something he could label as bliss.
The motion of Derek’s thumb is purposeful, exploratory, mapping out each shiver of Stiles’ body and hitch in his breath. Stiles is about to combust, and then the stroking of Derek’s thumb returns to that absentminded sweep again, and it’s like Stiles has been transported with delight.
God he’s so in love with Derek Hale.
Stiles takes a deep breath of Derek in, savors the moment, and lets himself be 17 years old and in love; just lets himself love.