#this is a q

[thebigoblin]

Then, Now, Tomorrow

for @greyhavenisback. a mini-fic to celebrate your birthday! miss talking to you as we once used to but i'm forever glad that at least we got to know each other ❤️ real life might come in between, but it doesn't mean this reel life is forgotten! Right?!

Tags: Future Fic, as in somehow canon yet not related to that movie in any shape or form, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Fluff, Light Angst, in regards to Derek's Sad Past, Attempt at Humor, Let Derek Hale Be Happy 2023

"Oh, man, that was so fun!"

Derek catches him when he stumbles, his arms wrapped tight around Stiles' waist, and he laughs.

"You're so strong, dude," he says, admiring the way Derek's biceps flex under his sinfully tight shirt.

Derek puts him on the couch, but doesn't bother separating from him. Just says, "Thanks, Sparky," and gives him a look when he pouts.

Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, "Dick."

"Big dick," Derek corrects, and it's so deadpan and so unexpected, Stiles nearly falls off of the couch, laughing so hard his stomach hurts and his eyes shut close. Soon, Derek joins him in laughing, and Stiles loves that sound, of Derek's happiness, his joy radiating in waves around them. Stiles wishes to sink down in it, to anchor himself to it, to stay here forever and ever, listening to Derek laugh, beautiful in his rawest emotions, finally free of shackles of misplaced guilt and justified grief.

"Be like this forever?" Stiles asks, admiring the curve of Derek's lips, the dip and rise of his chest, which comes to a breathy halt at his question. "Please?"

Derek's face morphs into confusion, frown replacing smile, and Stiles hates it. Wants to remove, change it back — take back his words, just to listen to that musical sound.

"No, no, no," he mutters to himself, "Stupid Stiles." He brings his hands up, waits until he's got Derek's puzzled acceptance of touching him on his cheeks, then stretches his lips until it's a smile.

"Smile? You want me to smile?"

"Nuh uh, I want you to be happy," he stresses the word, hopes the weight of his wish on it makes it true. "Happy Derek is good, so good, I want you to be happy Derek. No, ecas- no, ecstatic! Ecstatic Derek!"

Derek smiles, then, a real one, his bunny teeth showing and his eyes crinkling. Stiles' hands are still on his face, their legs a tangled mess on the couch, feet up and under each other's, the warmth of their closeness comfortable and welcome. Derek takes his hands, puts them down on a thigh — in his drunken state he can't really make out whose thigh it is — and comes close, so close, Stiles can count his eyelashes if he wants to.

He does.

He's on number thirteen when Derek huffs out a laughter, mutters a, "You're unbelievable," and presses their forehead together.

Stiles tries to fight him off. "No! Noooo, Der, I was counting your eyelashes!"

His hands don't try to push Derek off of him, because he doesn't want to be away from this embrace, but he still is bummed out and tries valiantly to not feel like he's in heaven when Derek giggles.

"You're so unbelievable," Derek says again, and Stiles, whose eyes had closed, opens them, just to see Derek staring at him. His eyes are the most gorgeous eyes he's ever seen; they have the green of the forest, the blue of the oceans, the golden of the sun, and the grey of the moon.

"You're so pretty," Stiles tells Derek sincerely, and moves so that his and Derek's foreheads separate, the distance between them just enough to witness Derek's cheeks and tip of ears burning a soft pink. "I want to kiss you so bad."

The soft pink turns a deeper red. "Stiles, we can't. Not when you're not in your right mind."

"All of my minds and my hearts would want you, ecstatic and pretty and you." Stiles tries to move his hand, and after a little delay — where are his hands?! — he does, and when he does, he puts one on Derek's cheeks again. Makes his open mouth close. "Is that a surprise for you, Big Guy? That I want you?"

Derek has no answer for it. But he insists, "We can't. Not now."

Stiles pushes Derek onto his back, and pliant under his ministrations, Derek goes. He won't say no — not to Stiles.

And Stiles hates it.

"We are going to cuddle," Stiles explains, once Derek is on his back, eyes locked onto Stiles', who is still sitting upright, his knees planted on the left side of Derek's hips. "I've always wanted to know if your chest can be a pillow. Like, it feels and looks so hard, but can it be a pillow too?" Derek doesn't say a word, just stares, and stares, and stares.

Stiles' heart breaks.

"Der," he whispers, and makes sure to keep all his limbs to himself, no part of him touching Derek's. He's cognizant enough to realize what's wrong here, and damn it if he's going to ruin Derek's great night out.

He heard Derek giggle today, no way is he going to ruin that.

"Derek, I want you to be happy. And if that means making me sad, then so be it. If your happiness lies in breaking my heart and breaking me apart, not doing what I want, then so be it. I want you to be happy. And know this: my happiness? It lies in you doing what you want."

Derek stares, and after a beat, he shakes his head, as if dislodging his previous, tumultuous thoughts. Then he says, "You somehow still make sense when you're drunk."

He sounds so sincerely puzzled, it makes Stiles laugh.

And it's that thought all over again when Derek starts laughing too: he wants to sink here, in this one moment alone, anchor himself to it until there's nothing but him and Derek on all his horizons.

Stiles wants so much, so little, too much: he wants himself to finally confess, he wants Derek to be himself, he wants Derek to be happy, whatever it takes.

And apparently what it takes is this — Stiles, almost asleep on Derek's soft yet hard chest, Derek's fingers in his hair, carding through it slowly, meticulously. Stiles' eyes closed, his breath on Derek's neck, Derek's on his hair, their bodies intertwined on the couch. Derek, voice the tiniest whisper, a wish, a hope:

"My happiness lies with you, Stiles. Having you by my side, this moment, tomorrow, hopefully forever. In whatever way you'll have me."

Stiles hears it, but sleep has him, so the only thing he does is smile against Derek's chest. Perhaps he feels it, because Derek's other hand squeezes his waist, a physical gesture of holding on to these words of today, tomorrow, and forever.

Stiles sinks into Derek's embrace, into that promise, into that night, and several years later he finds himself surprised still at the fact that it wasn't all a dream, but the first nights of many like that. Of them together, intertwined, each other's, happy and giggling and together.

Together then, now, tomorrow.

(now also on ao3)

[soracities]

"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."

Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]

[thisonesatellite]

...so this morning i'm at the public pool, done with my laps, putting on makeup for work and there's a woman and a man -- both easily in their 70s -- who obviously don't know each other coming down the stairs, and she has a little trouble with her balance so he goes, "Can I help?" and holds out his hand and she takes it, navigates the steps while holding on to him and talking about the importance of exercise and he deadass breaks out the "Come here often?" to which she says, "Yes, but some mornings it would be nicer to stay in bed" while batting her lashes at him, and it was such God Tier Flirting that it reaffirmed my entire faith in humanity.

YOU ARE NEVER TOO OLD FOR A MEET CUTE.

[queriesntheories]

alright i am sick of yt to mp4 sites being shady and full of viruses and finding websites that seem to be working and then don't work

so HERE'S HOW YOU DOWNLOAD YOUTUBE VIDEOS WITH VLC!! VLC FREAKIN RULES!!

get your youtube link

open vlc, go to media > open network stream

paste your url in the box and PRESS PLAY!

wait for the video to open then go to tools > codec information

copy the entire file location (click the box, then ctrl-a to select all, then ctrl-c to copy)

paste into your browser of choice (i use firefox)

right click video and press "save video as", choose your file format if you want

DONE! NO VIRUSES OR SKETCHY STUFF!

the quality might be a little crummy but if you don't mind that, then shabam! video on your computer! then you can email it to yourself and have it on your phone too if you want! if you need a guide with pictures wikihow has you covered my friends

happy downloading and stay safe on the internet :D

[nonebinary-leftbeef]

DEVASTATING the lyric you've been mishearing is better than the real one

[madseance]

"it's not queer fiction unless the queerness is explicitly declared in the text according to currently accepted terminology and in a way that meets the approval of the entire audience" I mean follow your heart I guess but I trust myself as a queer person to recognise queer themes

[kyouka-supremacy]

*Takes you by the shoulders* I ADORE character profiles and character trivia and likes and dislikes sections. I love knowing this ruthless, heartless, cruel man of a character has a childish dislike for mandarin oranges. I believe in the inherent beauty of all characters, no matter the background or moral stance, being made fundamentally human by assigning them insignificant culinary preferences. I stand by the supremacy of humanizing villains by giving them relatable tastes and trivial interests and ordinary hobbies. I treasure the hidden reminders that everyone is inherently human even when everything else we know about a character might suggest the contrary.

[routeriver]

[warningsine]

[thebigoblin]

The Saturday Routine

@febuwhump Day 7: Made To Watch + @badthingshappenbingo Square Filled: Hiding An Injury (card attached at the end). Also, will post on ao3 later. EDIT: POSTED!

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski & Eli Stilinski-Hale

Tags: Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Eli Stilinski-Hale, Blood, BAMF!Stiles, POV Eli Stilinski-Hale, Sheriff Stilinski Makes An Appearance, Attempt at Humor, Spark Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Derek Hale, Fluff & Angst, Happy Ending

The last thing he clearly remembers is watching his dad laugh.

They were in the locker room of the high school, after-hours, joking around as they normally do on Saturdays. His dad is a trusted man, the Sheriff's consultant, and an overall loved Beacon Hills citizen. Which means that the Principal of the school — Ms. Natalie Martin — has allowed them to use the school grounds for practicing, even if he isn't good at playing lacrosse (yet, says dad's voice in his head).

This is all routine. Waking up early on Saturdays, getting ready and having breakfast, going to the school, practicing lacrosse there for hours, and only leaving when it's time for lunch. What isn't is this huge gap of memory, his head pounding, and his ears ringing.

And, most importantly, these ropes.

"Wha-?"

He can't even speak. His throat is dry, he needs to drink, he needs to remove these ropes from his wrists and most importantly, he needs to know his dad is okay.

He coughs to clear his throat. Once, twice. "Dad-"

"Shh," he hears through the ringing in his ears, and thank fuck, that's his dad. He is fine.

"You are-"

"Eli, please shut up."

He shuts his mouth with a clack of teeth. He tastes blood, but it's okay. At least he knows now, his dad is here, and he sounds fine. Right? Right.

But where is he? Where are they?

This certainly isn't the diner they frequent for Saturday lunches.

He would just open his eyes and check, but as it turns out, he has blindfolds on, too.

He's 99% this is the work of hunters.

Wait... he hears chanting.

"Is that fucking chanting?!"

"Eli!" His dad hisses, somewhere from his front, but it's too late. A door opens with a loud creak, and it's creepy enough, but then the one who opened it has to speak, too.

"Aha! You wolves are awake. Good. Very good."

Cliché witch dialogues. His tata was right — these villains are very predictable.

As he's wondering about his tata and what he would do to escape — WWTD (what would tata do) — he's suddenly moved from his position. It's good, because he was starting to cramp.

"Eli!" His dad is shouting behind him, and he wants to tell him something, anything, just to reassure him, but then the witch slams over a duct tape on his face.

He knows the taste of it because of his many, many spent evenings working on his tata's jeep.

"Mmmph!"

"Quiet, baby wolf. You are required for your purity, not for your tongue. I will not hesitate to cut it."

"Mmmphh!" They really are after virgins! He really should invest some time in his love life at this point. Hell, it won't even be hard to convince his parents to let him date — he just needs to find someone who matches his energy.

He's shaken out of his thoughts when he realizes the chanting is growing louder.

There are more of them?

His dad must have realized this earlier, because he's cursing them and growling, his loud, Alpha roar not too far away. He knows because he's heard it loads of times, and it's always as mesmerizing as it is terrifying (his tata always smells disgustingly horny when it happens).

"Get the Alpha now. He's angry enough to fuel the spell."

Oh.

Oh.

He was just the bait.

*

His blindfolds are taken off the moment he's put into the cage, large and glinting silver under the sunlight coming from the open roof of the cave.

There are six witches, standing in a circle, wearing grey and blue robes. Their faces are hidden, but all have the same tattoo on their necks: pigs. Who the hell tattoos that?

His focus only stays on them for a minute, though, because just then his dad's being dragged through the only entrance by the seventh member. His dad is in chains and tattered clothes, and he's huffing in pain, growling at everyone until he sees him.

"Dad! What the hell did you do to him?!" He directs his question to the circle, who ignore him until his dad is in the centre of it, eyes locked on him.

It's like he doesn't even care about himself, as long as his kid is safe. Eli hates it.

He wants his dad to be okay!

"A wolf will fight tooth and nail for its cub," one of the witches says, and Eli snaps his eyes to her. She is smiling at him, a crooked, cruel smile. "And your father? He fought well. Like an Alpha should."

"He is poweful," another witch adds.

"And he will be useful to us." A third one intones, voice heavy with expectation.

"You will not hurt my dad—!"

His dad says at the same time, "I will help you, but on one condition."

The attention is shifted to his dad.

Eli knows exactly what his dad is going to say — he starts protesting, but no ears heed his words.

"Release Eli, and I will do as you ask. His safety, for whatever it is you want me to do."

The witches tsk, admire, appraise.

Eli waits for their answer.

"No."

He sighs in relief.

His dad tries to move, to attack, maybe, but he can't. He's on the ground before he can, and Eli has to crane his neck to see — it's a fucking taser. To the back.

"You said you wanted a virgin!" He shouts. And the attention is on him now, even his dad's, who is writhing with pain on the stone ground. "My dad is not one. Obviously. He's a gross adult who does those gross things with my tata, they always keep kissing, it's all very teenage horror. Don't ask." He waves his hands around as he keeps talking. "Me, on the other hand? I haven't been kissed." He's not proud of it, but he's only fifteen.

Sure, his tata met the love of his life at sixteen, but on the other hand? His dad met his one true love at the age of twenty-two, and even then it took them years to figure their shit out.

Eli has hope.

The witches cackle as one.

"Oh," one of them says, "how precious. Are they not, sisters?"

"They are." They all echo. Fucking creepy.

"They think we need only one of them. How optimistic of you."

No.

He is not just the bait.

He locks his gaze on his dad's. They're both panicking.

Eli can do nothing but watch as his dad is made to stand on shaky legs, their eyes still locked with each other's. The witches have once again formed a circle, and his dad is in the middle of it, and Eli can't take his eyes away.

Not even when they slice his dad's shirt, remove it completely. Not even when they put a knife on his chest and stomach, carve three lines vertically downwards. Not even when his dad cries out in pain, mouthing "Leave! Escape!" every second of it, his eyes as scarlet as the blood coming out of him.

All he can do is watch and cry, his wrists still tied, his wolf still sheltered.

*

His dad is unconscious, now, and he's too far for Eli to check up on. The only sign he's alive is his weak heartbeat — Eli can hear it, even if faintly. He wishes he was a better wolf, but unfortunately he is not.

That is what happens when you're a magical tree baby, half of both your parents, somehow. He's hardly a wolf and not at all a spark.

He's 100% useless.

He's crying, because that's the only thing he can do.

He doesn't even kick up a fuss when they come for him, next.

They don't tear off his t-shirt; they pull it up, just start cutting into him. One single slash across his abdomen, like they did his dad's: First in the middle; from the middle of his pecs to his belly button. Then the left side, below his pec till the belly button, and same on the right side.

The knife is on his left side, just about to slash into him, when the witches' robes suddenly starts flying like there's a huge gust of wind.

Eli's t-shirt falls into place right as the witches fall on the ground.

"Tata!"

It's him. Weilding his gun and anger.

"Nobody takes my boys," his tata growls, a very good impression of his dad's, and every single witch is done for now.

They go down like nasty flies his tata hates.

Eli doesn’t focus on the whole fight, though. He knee-walks towards his dad, checks his breathing just to be sure, and cringes when he sees the blood and injury on his stomach. Its healing, but slowly — they must have used wolfsbane on the knife.

"Take him out to the jeep!"

He does as his tata asked, puts his whole strength on saving his dad. He almost doesn't make it; his dad is too heavy, he can't, he can't pick him up, but his dad can die—

He's a fucking Stilinski-Hale and he can do this. He's the son of two of the strongest people and he believes he can save his dad.

On the fourth try, he's able to carry his dad bridal style. His tata is still fighting, three witches on him at once, the other four thrown against the cave's walls, but he knows he can handle himself.

He can.

Eli puts his dad on the backseat of the jeep, and he's just secured him when his tata comes out, quickly taking the driver's seat and telling him to sit as well so they can run to Lydia. There's no space left in the backseat, so he sits on the passenger seat.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." He lies. Dad is the priority, not him. "Tata, he's not healing,"

"Shh, baby, shh. Your daddy will be okay," his tata brings a hand to his face, the other on the steering wheel, and it comes away wet. He didn't even realize he was crying. "He'll be okay. Your dad is strong, and you know him, he never misses a game."

"Granpops and him have a watch party tomorrow," he reminds himself. They have never missed one. Ever.

"Yes. He'll never miss it. Okay, baby?"

He's hated being called baby ever since he was four. He loves it now.

"Okay." And then because he thinks this is the last he'll every say: "I love you both. Sooooo much."

*

When he wakes up, his head is pounding, and he hears screaming.

It's his tata. And he's not yelling as so much as... venting.

About him.

"That dumbass kid didn't even tell me he had an injury! And not just any injury, a frockin' slash! Through his abdomen!"

His granpop's laugh. The belly laugh.

"It's not frockin' funny! Dad!"

"You did it again!" What did tata do again?

"I— your grandchild could have died and you are focused on your son saying made-up bad words? Seriously?" Eli imagines his tata throwing his hands up, and the fond smile that graces his dad's face when he does. He and grandpops generally just leave them alone at that point, because after that it's just a toin coss away from a make-out session or full-on sex.

"Kid, I had you as a teen. This doesn't even phase me anymore. He'll be fine, he's a strong kid."

Pause. Then: "He is. He is totally Derek's kid."

"And yours, Stiles."

"Nope," it sounds like he's aggressively cleaning dishes, a plate grating under his harsh hands, "today he's just Derek's kid. How the fuck — yes, dad, be proud of me for using actual cuss words, why not — they got kidnapped off of the school grounds when he's an Alpha, a True Alpha, and now they're both pretending to not be awake to postpone my wrath." Oh, so his dad's fine now. "And they're both wondering if the other is okay or not. Der, your kid is alive, and Eli, your dad is fine."

"That tone means trouble," his grandpops says, unnecessarily.

"Thanks for stating the obvious!" Eli shouts, and he hears his dad saying the same, and then they're both groaning, probably due to the stitches being pulled. Though his dad groans louder.

"Wow. You really know them."

"I just know your favorite son-in-law. His kid's literally just the same."

"Hey, now, you know Eli is your carbon copy."

Eli lets the conversation wash over him, the familiar sounds lulling him into sleep, right until he hears his name and being a Spark in the same sentence.

"...saw his eyes, they were purple."

"This was when he picked up Derek?"

Oh.

Oh.

He believed.

"Yeah. It was so cool. His eyes then turned beta yellow."

His tata hums, and then it's silent.

Eli wants to know more.

He gets up from his bed, careful with his injury, and realizes with a start — this is his bedroom, on the second floor, and his tata and grandpops are clearly on the first floor, in the kitchen.

He's running at full speed right until he hits the landing of the stairs and bumps shoulders with his dad, who was doing the same.

They both groan as their stitches once again complain.

"Told you!" His tata shouts over them groaning in pain.

"How?" Eli mouths to his dad. He didn't hear anything.

"Notepad," his dad mouths back.

"Notepad!" His tata shouts from below at the same time.

"Okay, wow, you really do know us well."

"Kid, don't be so surprised," Grandpops says, and then, "Your tata is a Stilinski. And you are half Stilinski too. We do amazing things."

"Yeah," his dad says softly. Louder, "You three are amazing. Though, I have to say Stiles is something else entirely."

"No buttering me up will work! And no bribes either, house chores or... other means!"

Eli shudders. "Ew."

His dad gives him a look.

Grandpop calls out a greeting. "And that's my cue to leave. Stiles, leave Derek alive for tomorrow's game. We have never missed one and we won't be starting now. And don't be too hard on Eli, remember he's my favorite grandchild."

"I'm your only- okay, when will me shouting and groaning combo will end?"

"No promises, dad. And you two, don't you dare think of hiding out in your rooms."

The two of them walk downstairs, and even though he and his dad share a look of solidarity, they know they're no match against one Stiles Stilinski-Hale.

At least they're given smiley-pancakes after they have been thoroughly reamed (and hugged a million times).

* END *

my bad things happen bingo card —

[soracities]

Jeremy Radin, from "Lazar Wolf the Butcher" (poem written during staging of Fiddler on the Roof at Paper Mill Playhouse, shared on his IG page) [ID'd]

[suiheisen]

women………….. | DOROHEDORO

(by the way. this is noi.)

[jonnywaistcoat]

Which is sexier, a werewolf or a vampire?

Depends if you find it sexier to submit to the will of charismatic evil or to be overwhelmed by animalistic power. And that's not a decision I can make for you.

[shadow-tism]

Please do your daily click!

This is a great way for people without any funds or no ways to contact their representatives can help out!! 🍉🍉🍉 (link below)

Free Palestine

[tojisun]

simon grunts, his chest heaving as he palms at his chub, tracing the twitching muscle of his cock and letting out a hiss at the muted pleasure that razes through him. he shivers at the heated look you give him, your pretty eyes awash with desire, scalding as it trails down the lines of his bulk until it settles on his flesh.

“ah,” you whisper and simon nearly moans at the awe in your voice.

“s’right, baby,” he says, feeling the way he pulses underneath his low-hanging sweats. “s’all f’r you.”

there is a whine that drags itself from the base of your throat, so primal in the way it scratches your vocal cords, and simon has to fist his cock to stop himself from rutting against his palm.

“i can’t,” you whine, pouting, your eyes still trained on his groin. “‘m gonna be late for work.”

“please,” he croaks out, breathless himself. “how about jus’ the tip, love? jus’ give daddy a taste of you ‘round me, yeah?”

simon knows it is playing dirty to pull this card on you—to exploit your one weakness—but simon’s guilt is tucked underneath his stretching need, the desire bloating as it leaks past his rationality, leaving him with thinning restraints.

your sharp inhale is all the answer he needs.

he bites the inside of his cheek to tamp down the smirk dancing to the corners of his lips.

“okay,” you reply, tentative and quiet. “but just the tip, you promise?”

“swear,” simon murmurs.

like a goddamn liar.

he relishes in the squeals dripping from your parted lips, only for them to be muffled into your pillow.

he’s got you on your knees, your front all but pressed flat on the bed, your arms having lost the energy to keep yourself up as simon fucks you from the back. he’s got fistfuls of your ass, using them as sweet, sweet leverage as he manhandles your body back to his cock.

“so good f’r daddy, sweet’art,” he rumbles, his voice so deep it even sounds foreign to him. “so, so fuckin’ good, love.”

he punctuates his words with hard thrusts; drawing his cock out slowly, deliberately torturous so he can watch the way your hole grips at his cock, not wanting to let him go, before punching it back in. he doesn’t stop and keeps pushing his cock past the gummy press of your walls until his hips are pressed flush to the fat of your ass.

then, he repeats the process—sharp snaps of his hips leaving you twitching, and simon watches with a crazed giddiness as your hands uselessly scratch at the sheets as though that could tether you.

he bends forward, his bulk covering your trembling body. “such a cute darlin’ for me, lovie.” he ruts his cock along a particular sweet spot. “say ‘thank you’ to daddy?”

he hears a warbled reply from where your head is pressed to your pillow.

“hmm? wha’s ‘at?”

simon cups a hand on your forehead and carefully pulls, tipping your head up just enough that he can hear you.

he hears a hiccuped sob, then, “than’ you, daddy.”

simon giggles and presses a kiss on the back of your head. “what a good doll y’are.”

something about that makes your body tremble, spasming in his hold, and simon watches with awe as your toes curl, before he has to let go of you at the sudden tightening of your walls. his eyes go white, his ears ringing with a sharp static.

he feels so, so overwhelmed at the expanding euphoria that washes over him, lapping at the synapses from the back of his skull to the cavity of his ribs.

“you came,” simon mutters in awe, his voice passing through his teeth like a gritted hiss. “christ, lovie-”

-