TRUE STORY the reason I know what a mycologist is is that I accidentally wandered into a mycology convention once in San Diego and that is the first time I ever saw this book cover




I hope you weren’t kidding about that terrible Photoshop:




(I can’t even blame alcohol for this; I’ve only had half a beer.)


Stiles stared at the book, blinked a few times, and rubbed his eyes. Nope, it was still there, so it probably wasn’t a hallucination. He counted his fingers (ten, so not a dream). He poked the book, then picked it up. It certainly felt real.

Thus, according to Occam’s Razor, it was real.

"Scott," he hissed. "Scott. Scott.

Scott popped up from the other aisle. “What?”

"You have to see this."

Scott ambled over and poked his head over Stiles’s shoulder. “Uh,” he said. “Stiles?”


"Is that a picture of Derek on the cover of the book?"


"Is he wearing a tuxedo while carrying a trombone and a giant mushroom?"

"Two for two."

Scott stepped back and rubbed his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I think my brain just broke.”

Without another thought, Stiles added the mushroom guide to the stack of books he balanced precariously in his arms.

Scott eyed him warily. “Are you actually buying that?”


Why?” Scott gaped at him. “What if Derek finds out you have it?”

Stiles grinned. “Oh, he will. I’m gonna get him to autograph it.”




REBLOG | Posted 3 days ago With 429 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec





“Don’t worry I can get this out in not time!” Stiles says while taking some napkins and starting to dab at the guys crotch. 

‘Great way to start the first day Stiles. Yeah piss off one of the big suits with a position above you and get yourself fired before you even- OH SHIT Stiles suddenly is pulled out of his thoughts as he falls back away from the guy barely keeping what left in his cup. ‘Wait, did his eyes just flash red?’

“Isaac tell Erica our meeting will have to be rescheduled while I deal with this,” he says while some guy with curly, can hair actually be that way?, runs behind the counter and picks up the phone.

“I’m so sorry, I was just just coming in for the interview. I’ll let myself out,” Stiles says backing up and getting ready to run from security He really needed this job okay.

“Get up, you know how to fax right?”

“What?!” Stiles said getting up and 

“Fax, facsimile. Issac will teach you. Don’t make me question Laura’s judgement. Get that stack right there and have them sent before lunch.

“That’s in half an hour!”

“Then you’d better get to it then,” the guy smirks before turning around and going though the heavy door into his corner office.

“I’ll help you in a second, don’t worry it’s a piece of cake but I’ve been busy with Derek’s schedule to do it. Don’t call him Derek, it’s a privilege. You’ll call him Mr. Hale or he’ll hunt down with his eyes and make you believe you could be dead from him staring at you,” the guy, Isaac as Stiles recalls is, says while transferring a call. 

Stiles runs to get these done barely making it with time to spare.

On his way back he may or may not think about how his first day consisted of pissing off his boss by spilling coffee on his suit, touching his crotch accidentally, or catching as he changed into the sleeveless shirt under his suit that was probably ruined now.

He didn’t go to the restroom and rub one out, he has self control. He just files those thoughts and images away for a later time when he’s alone. As he was about to ask what was next a buzz was heard.

“Isaac send him in here, we need to have a little talk,” coming though loud and clear as Stiles imagined the ground taking pity on him and swallowing him whole.

Isaac gave a look of sympathy mixed with annoyance if that was possible as Stiles started walking.

“Pull another stunt like that again and you’re fired,” Derek, no Mr. Hale said while typing away at his computer and glancing up. “You finished didn’t you?”


“We’ll there’s more right here, these aren’t as urgent but they still need to get done,” Mr. Hale said while going back to typing whatever it was.

“Alright, Mr. Hale,”

“What’s your name again? Stilinski right?” Derek, NO MR. HALE, don’t wanna get fired, said while looking up towards him again back at the door.

Mr. Hale’s arms were stretched out yet slightly bent, still showing off the definition of a weekly gym membership while he waited for a reply.

“Something wrong?” He asked looking down to see if some coffee had soaked though to his white undershirt before he had a chance to take it off.

“No, just. Uh, nice watch,” ‘Yeah, smooth move Stiles,’ “And my last name’s pretty long so people usually just call me Stiles,” he said feeling a paper cut or nose bleed coming.

“It was a gift, Isaac will tell you what’s next after that… Stiles,” he said a moment later as Stiles had to quickly put a foot back in the door to keep it from shutting. His arms not wanting to move as fast with all these papers.

“Yes, sir,”

“You don’t need to call me ‘Sir’, Mr. Hale is fine. Don’t be late again, we don’t want to have another slip up like today do we?” he said while going back to typing away.

Stiles hissed, “Yeah, won’t happen again Mr. Hale,” before leaving to get these done. 

He didn’t notice Derek staring at the way his khaki’s fit just right. (Tight) How he’d just out his neck while waiting for a reply during a conversation. 

‘This kid is just a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen,’ Derek though as he cursed Laura talking him into this intern thing.

Peter was probably laughing at his golf club. Why had he decided to go into the family business, Derek asked himself as he called Boyd and said they were drinking tonight, even if Erica might object, which she wouldn’t. She probably already heard what happened. 

What was he getting himself into. It felt more like being back into a corner than anything and Derek hated that.

wow!!!!thank you for the fic!!!!!!LOL stiles just got the point(the right part)

boss!derek is very charming kjlhkjlhjk

REBLOG | Posted 1 week ago With 716 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec


your tags again omg i couldn’t help myself

Derek enters the loft, wiping a smudge of engine grease lazily off his fingers and onto the white tank top he’s wearing. It’s a pretty good day, and he misses the Camaro, but that isn’t an excuse to keep his car up to shape.

Derek stops in surprise when he sees the pack gathered round in the living room, all wearing somber expressions on their faces, except Stiles, who is bearing his trademark “I am so annoyed right now but I can’t tell you why” face.

"What’s going on, guys?" Derek asks cautiously. If it was a supernatural emergency surely someone would have jumped in on the news and panic already. Instead, Allison nudges Scott, who coughs nervously and stands up.

"Derek, as your Alpha, I just want you to know that you are a respected and integral part of the pack," Scott says slowly in a rehearsed voice.

Derek crosses his arms as Scott pulls out flashcards and starts to shuffle through them.

Lydia smacks Scott on the arm, causing the flashcards to spill out over the floor. “Derek, you need to get some new clothes,” she says primly.

"What’s wrong with my clothes?" Derek asks, looking down and picking at his tank top and worn jeans.

"Derek, we’re a well-known pack in the Greater North Pacific territories," Scott says earnestly. "You’re a high-ranking beta and you can’t look like…"

The pack derails into a discussion about Derek’s too-tight t-shirts, his leather jacket, his tank tops, and how any combination of the three are not professional at all, especially when other packs roll through town. When Derek grudgingly accepts that his “look” is important to the well-being of the pack and agrees to change, Lydia claps her hands delightedly.

"Alright, upstairs, you. Here are some boxes. We’re going to need you to donate everything in your closet and then we’re going to get you some new clothes."

Derek takes the boxes reluctantly, noticing Stiles scowling in the corner. That was a bit strange, considering Stiles usually jumped at the chance to make fun of Derek whenever he got.

Upstairs, Derek starts pulling items from his closet, grabbing piles of clothing and shoving them into the boxes. He hears someone thundering up the stars and figures its probably someone from the pack to make sure he’s actually doing what they asked, and is slightly surprised when Stiles bursts in through the door with a determined face and slams a piece of paper on the nearby dresser.

Derek stares at Stiles, who doesn’t say anything, just flushes with color and then leaves rapidly. He picks up the paper and it reads in Stiles’ hurried scrawl, OFFICIAL PETITION TO SAVE DEREK’S TANK TOPS. Underneath the large banner is “STILES STILINSKI,” underlined three times.

Derek blinks for a bit and then laughs, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. He unpacks the one box and shoves all of it back in his closet.

At the next pack meeting, Derek deliberately wears his tightest, rattiest tank top, the one that is practically ripped across the chest and worn so thin its nearly transparent. He endures the groans from the rest of the pack and the lecture Scott gives him and focuses on the dazed look on Stiles’ face, the erratic beat of his heart, and the wafting scent of arousal drifting from him.

Later, Stiles learns, that he likes Derek’s tank tops a lot, but he sure as hell likes him out of them as well.

REBLOG | Posted 1 week ago With 1,699 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec
You know those videos of animals that have been kept in captivity all their lives being released and finally getting to run around/swim/fly? I want a Teen Wolf fic like that. Stiles frees Derek from a lifetime in a cage, and for the first time Derek gets to shift at will, or speak, or integrate into a proper pack.




Derek frolicking in the grass like a puppy? HELL YES.


IMAGINE IF YOU WILL a Derek Hale who was captured by the hunters who burned his family, who was sold to a weird strain of emissaries, looking to test new strains of wolfsbane.  He’s been kept underground for years in a sunless, windowless cell, where he’s been held down and hurt by impersonal, sterile hands.  

When Peter bites Scott, maybe he and Stiles figure most of it out on their own, maybe they follow the tracks and they find Derek, because maybe they think Derek’s their best chance to go up against Peter.  

But they don’t expect what they find, a Derek who hasn’t seen the sun, who has to be tugged out into the sunshine, who walks carefully, like he doesn’t trust the ground underneath them.  Maybe Stiles takes as a personal challenge, after Peter is dealt with and the world goes back to normal, to help integrate Derek, to show him the good things in life like sunshine and curly fries.

The Jeep rolls to a stop; they’re in a secluded clearing in the preserve, dappled sunlight flickering into the green grass swaying in the wind. “Why isn’t he getting out of the car?” Scott hisses to Stiles.

The passenger door is open, and Derek is eyeing them and the surroundings hesitantly. 

"Just give him a minute," Stiles whispers. 

Stiles tugs Scott into a sitting position on the grass, and they sit quietly, trying to pretend they aren’t extremely invested in what’s happening a few feet away from them. 

It takes an age, but finally when it looks like Scott and Stiles aren’t looking, Derek steps out of the Jeep. He’s still barefoot; they haven’t had time to find shoes since the rescue. His foot hovers over the grass for a second, and then Derek sets his feet down, one at a time.

His eyes close, and the wind stirs his hair a little, inhaling deeply the scent of the forest, arms spreading out to feel the sunlight on his skin.

A wave of contentment surges through Stiles as he watches Derek drop to the ground, rubbing his cheek against the grass, a delighted smile breaking onto his face for the first time since they’ve met him.

It’s difficult to reconcile the snarling werewolf they first encountered in that cage with the man now currently rolling around happily in the grass.

It’s nice, Stiles thinks. Happy is a good look for him.  



a weak and tortured bucky making sure steve gets to safety first

It’s because Bucky has a habit of letting Steve go first.


1) Always let Steve go first up the stairs, so that you can keep an eye on him.  It’s easier to count Steve’s breaths and notice when Steve’s heart does that thing that makes him stop and shake.  Much easier to stop and pretend to tie your shoes while you wait, worried, than to realize 2 flights too late that Steve’s no longer with you. 

Later: Your limbs are sore and numb from being strapped to a table for 2 days and you’re pretty sure you haven’t eaten and the entire base might be exploding, but when Steve says “let’s go up,” you tell him to go first.


2) Steve’s walk was mostly normal, though he swung his hips in a certain way to compensate for his scoliosis, and that put a special cadence to his stride that you unconsciously match. Even without Steve around you would twist your hip back before swinging your leg forward.  Twist, swing, twist, swing.

Later: Steve is leading the way through the forest, and you’re finally used to his height and broad shoulders and that dumb shield, but something still feels wrong.  Somehow your pace doesn’t quite match, and you can’t figure out why.


3) Colors don’t work the same with Steve, so always describe unfamiliar objects by their shape and relative location, like that square window past the third door on the left, or the man wearing that unseasonably long coat standing in the corner by the garbage can.

Later: The boys are singing in the other room and you’re at the bar with Steve, trying very hard to get drunk because of course you’ll follow Steve into whatever but that doesn’t mean you have to do it sober.  “Steve,” you whisper, “Check out that lady by the door, next to that short thin guy who has his shirt open.”  Steve looks over.  “The one in the red dress?  That’s Miss Carter.”  You decide you need another drink.


4) When walking down a narrow dark alleyway always stay on the right, because Steve’s bad ear makes the right side feel blind to him (though damn if Steve’d ever admit that).  On broad open streets, switch to Steve’s left side, so that Steve could hear you better through the noise.

Later: Dum-Dum gives you a weird look as you line up to charge into a Hydra base.  “Why won’t you take the left flank for a change?”  You start explaining Steve’s bad ear before you remember that he’s not that Steve any more, and that Captain America doesn’t have a bad ear.


5) Stuff in your left pockets are for Steve: the asthma cigarettes that Steve could never afford, a dime for that popcorn that Steve likes, tickets for whatever shindig you’re trying to drag Steve along to. Sometimes you put things there for Steve and totally forget about it, like extra paper and a spare pencil in case Steve wants to doodle.  The left side always belongs to Steve.

Later: Steve is awfully quiet by the campfire.  You sit down by his good ear and reach into your left pocket.  “Hey,” you say, pulling out a news clipping about the war front that featured a lovely photo of Miss Carter.  “You read this yet?  They think Morita’s a Japanese defector, but the section on Dernier is priceless.”


Still later:

Report on the Winter Soldier reset procedures

After the latest test run, only the following anomalies remain:

A) The asset tends to hug the right walls and not the left, and hesitates for 30 microseconds before climbing stairs.  However, he does not hesitate when scaling walls or ladders.

B) When walking unopposed the asset has a characteristic and identifiable stride, which is dropped when he is making a covered approach.  

C) The asset communicates via relative locations, often omitting crucial color information.  However, he can be commanded to describe the colors of any object in impressive detail.

D) When dressing himself, the asset keeps his knives exclusively on his right side, and his left pockets are underutilized.  This may be an effect of continued unfamiliarity with the new left arm.

After extensive field testing, we have determined that these anomalies do not impede the asset from completing his missions, and declare the reset process complete.


[basically the textual partner to the colorblindness comic]

[The rest of my Captain America stuff]



Now i just want fic where Stiles, on a whim, goes to see if Derek has a Facebook. Not only does Derek have a Facebook, it turns out, but he’s got a shitload of friends from New York and even some from Argentina and a whole buttload of random states. His profile picture is of himself leaning against his camaro and you can tell he set the camera up on something to do it and it’s kind of cute in a dorky way and Stiles can’ help but send him a friend request. 

Derek accepts and suddenly Stiles is spending an hour going through status updates that are vague as hell.

      Monday, April 19th
        Maybe alone is my default setting

and there’s a TON of comments on some of them. Friends asking if he’s okay, telling him to keep his head up, others telling him it will get better, the whole shebang. 

and then there’s the ones that make Stiles wish he knew Derek better

     Wednesday April 14th
        The hyper-sexualization of women in the media is sickening.

     Sunday April 11th
        I found a long black hair in my carne asada. Sources say it isn’t mine.

      Friday April 9th
         I used self checkout today. The clerk kept staring at me like I was going to take my chicken breasts and run. I should have shaved this morning. 

The best part is that they don’t even acknowledge their Facebook friendship in real life. They keep going on, with Stiles commenting on Derek’s posts here and there, and Derek even doing the same on a couple of his. Suddenly they’re having semi-intense conversations in the comment boxes about anything and everything (from the damage wrought by victim blaming to the modification of food in society and how it’s affected the average weight of the population), and Stiles finds himself doing the same with Derek in person. 

It’s not until they get into an argument on the pronunciation of gif in the grocery store after Stiles bumps into him that they realize they’ve accidentally become pretty good friends. 

It just spirals downhill from there, especially when Stiles finds himself searching through Derek’s pictures to find any of him with other people because he has to know if Derek is single or not, since Derek’s relationship status is empty. 

He starts taking pictures of the pack and of Derek to post. He tags Derek in them so the girls and guys in all of these other states—the ones who call him hottie and sexy—can see that Stiles is the one who gets to be around him all the time, not them.

He’s screening every picture he posts—he can’t have too many selfies because that’ll make him look conceited, and he has to be cool and witty in all of his stuff so Derek sees that he’s a catch.

Stiles doesn’t know Derek’s always kind of thought of him as a catch.

OH SO OF COUUURSE, it turns out Derek has been doing the same to Stiles, and the thing is that Stiles has relatives in other states and stuff. His dad was an only child but he’s kept in contact with some of his mom’s relations, so he has a lot of first and second cousins on his Facebook. It’s one of the only things that grounds him when he really misses her—because he can hear stories from them that sometimes it’s too painful for his dad to talk about.

He’s got one cousin that’s in Kentucky who he’s really close with. The thing is that she knows about all the supernatural shit, she’s gone through it herself. Stiles posts a lot about werewolves and most people think he has some kind of weird nerdy obsession but his cousin totally gets him.

She just happens to call him sweetie and honey in a lot of her comments because that’s how she is (Stiles thinks it’s a southern thing).

So it throws Stiles for a hot minute when his cousin comments on a status post saying ‘just wondering how you’re doing, honey. love you so much! :* ' and Derek replies under it with 'he’s doing fine, he’s just busy’

and Stiles stares at it for a long while before everything clicks into place. He goes to ‘view interaction’ with Derek and yeah. Most of Derek’s benign comments on his pictures and stuff sound a teensy bit like something a boyfriend might say.

Stiles shirtless at the beach with Scott back in sophomore year? The one with lots of comments from his relatives calling him a cutie?
   Derek,you just haven’t seen him try to build a sandcastle”
Stiles had assumed it was meant as a ‘he’s not cute then’ type of thing but now that he thinks about it, yeah. That’s not what Derek meant. 

Derek has been trying to flirt with him on Facebook for a month and a half, according to his timeline.

Stiles is just really oblivious and wow he needs to step up and start flirting back obvs.

But he’s stiles, so it’s go big or go home. 

Which is why he goes to Derek’s profile and comments, 'hey hot stuff, you down for some company with me and pizza today? ;)' 

because obviously winky smiley faces are the way to go. 

derek’s ‘yes. get over here now’ is only amplified when Stiles shows up with a pizza and Derek grabs him in the doorway with a muttered ‘finally’ and kisses him stupid. 

REBLOG | Posted 3 weeks ago With 2,922 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec


Can I get fic where Stiles and Derek keep seeing each other at the same diner at like 3 in the morning after they get off their late shift. Derek is an attending at the ER and orders about an entire case of eggs.

Stiles is more of a mountainous pile of bacon and the short stack, and they probably share a plate of home fries by the second week in. And Stiles tells Derek he works at a club down the street that Derek’s never heard of and he assumes Stiles is a bartender.

So they have coffee dates before dawn before they go off to bed (usually their own, maybe once together) and do it all again the next day. And maybe its a few weeks into their thing and Stiles ends up at the ER for a sprained ankle he gets on the job, says he tripped over inventory. 

And maybe a bit after that Derek goes to the club with some friends to surprise Stiles because he’s totally gone for him and that’s how Derek discovers he’s sorta dating a stripper.

The most adorable stripper ever who sprained his ankle falling off a pole during the end of a shift. 

I've been having a really crappy day. Like beyond crappy. Could you write me Sterek that begins and ends with a kiss?


"Anyway, your paper was out front so I grabbed it, and here’s a coffee because I am a good person aaaaand, your mail."

Derek grunts sleepily, scratching his head, “Thanks.”

"Man," Stiles squints at him, "I never thought I’d see the day I was awake before you."

"You say that every time you come home from college and burst in on me with no warning."

Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, grins, “Maybe I’m hoping one day I’ll catch you naked.”

Derek rolls his eyes, busies himself pouring his coffee from the cardboard take-out cup into a proper mug. Stiles sniggers behind him. 

"Shut up," Derek says without looking. 

"You’re such an old man," Stiles teases. "I just came to say hi, before I head to my dad’s, you’re still comin’ the lake later, yeah?"

Derek cracks a yawn, nods and Stiles feels his insides melt a little at how adorable he looks. Who would have thought, okay, Derek Hale looks like a precious, cranky porcupine when he’s only just woken up. 

"I gotta jet," he says after a moment, shaking his head to clear the thoughts of how Derek looks when still in bed

"Drive carefully," Derek warns. 

"Yes, dear," Stiles drawls, and Derek huffs, snags the front of Stiles’ shirt to stop him leaving— most probably to give him another driving lecture— and Stiles moves into him without thought, kissing him in the middle of the kitchen like it’s a habit. 

Stiles steps back, winces, “Uh—”

Read More

REBLOG | Posted 3 weeks ago With 1,986 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec








"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?" 

Read More

REBLOG | Posted 3 weeks ago With 5,870 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec








I wonder if companies would pay for product placement in fanfiction. Because this emphasis on Derek using a Samsung Galaxy S II is getting kind of suspicious.

it gets better. wait until the ice breakers start to show up


(hi I’m the author I’m not just randomly dropping in a weird giggling Hiddleston gif for no reason)

Dumb writing story: so at some point I hit a wall trying to write the last bits of the fic, and I decided FUCK IT, I’M GONNA EDIT IN CANON PRODUCT PLACEMENT. And then I actually went and researched all the kids’ phones and cars and food from the show (bless fan wikis, so much) and changed everything, laughing maniacally the entire time.

And when I got my head back on straight, I was like, “omfg, this is ridiculous, Derek is fighting a kanima and I won’t shut up about Toyotas!” But then I realized that a) it’s kind of exactly what the show itself does, b) it’s more tiny detail stuff that I love so much, and c) it kept me from taking things too seriously, which helped with general tone I wanted to maintain in the fic. (And d) it made me laugh, so fuck it.) So I kept all of it in, and used the Samsung Galaxy S’ ever-updating series to help track the years rolling by. And then the scene with Coach happened.

If you’re writing/editing a TW modern-day fic and you get stuck, I highly recommend doing a Product Placement edit (maybe in a new document so it’s easy to delete later). At the very least, you’ll get a laugh out of it, and it’s a fun way to reread your work and check for details. Fuckin’ Ice Breakers.

I lost it the moment Stiles almost walks into a pyramid of Ice Breakers. That’s when I knew it was so worth it. 

Now I wonder if Scott was on Sprint or T-Mobile. I’d say on the T-Mobile prepay plan since they are cheaper, but then he wouldn’t have had all the Galaxy’s - he would have had to buy the Nexus from Google. 

Wait I just remembered it’s AT&T

And then Kira goes and has a freaking NOKIA phone. And all I could think of was “Kira, sweety, that’s not the official Delgado pack phone brand. Also Nokia is outdated and tacky who has a Nokia phone in 2014?”

And then I remembered that Kira having a freaking Nokia phone is actually canon! *hides in shame*

Teen Wolf giving us all a visual tutorial of how to use the flash on the Nokia Lumia is still one my personal highlights of 3B. Right up there with Lydia’s banshee GPS.

Samsung has the lion’s share in canon, thanks to the Galaxy Tab and Galaxy Note as well as multiple phone models, but the show actually uses a variety of phones. Nokia, HTC, LG, Motorola, Blackberry (during the Chevrolet era, RIP Camaro). And it’s kind of sad that I know all this now. Fuck yeah research.

In case you needed another reason to read Wolf Moon.

REBLOG | Posted 4 weeks ago With 304 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec
sterek + "Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?" pretty pls uwu


"Um." Stiles is stood in the doorway, keys in his hands, gaping at the sight in front of him. The sight that includes a very scantily clad Derek - if you can call a towel around the hips clothing at all - dripping wet and staring at Stiles like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar, except that in this case the cookie jar is Stiles’ house. Or, probably, more likely his shower.

"What," Stiles says, because as enjoyable as seeing Derek shirtless and wet is, it’s not something he expected to come home to.

He quickly looks Derek up and down, checking for injuries, and finds….nothing, which is equal parts relieving and confusing. The only vaguely comprehensible reason for Derek to be standing shirtless and wet in his living room would be that he had to wash off some blood or brain matter or something. But Derek looks surprisingly unruffled, which means Stiles is fresh out of explanations for this bizarre situation.  

Maybe the heat has gotten to him. That could be it - he’s suffering from heatstroke induced hallucinations.

A Fata Morgana in his living room. Who would’ve thought this was possible.

Then again, this is Beacon Hills, so everything is possible. Maybe it’s even witches, or fairies, or

"Stiles?" Derek sounds hesitant, and Stiles snaps back to attention.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I said," Derek enunciates slowly, "I’m sorry for taking you by surprise like that. I thought you were going to be in class until six."

"Yeah, our professor let us out early because of the heat. Said he couldn’t think straight," Stiles says absentmindedly. His brain is a little stuck on the fact that apparently Derek knows his class schedule by heart. Also, naked skin. So much of it. "….That wasn’t actually an explanation for…all of this, though," Stiles adds, gesturing at Derek.

Derek looks faintly embarrassed. “I don’t have AC at my loft, so I thought I could take a cool shower here and try to cool off a little. I’m pretty hot.”

"Damn straight you are," Stiles says, gaze following the trail of droplets of water running down Derek’s chest, and then jerks his eyes away abruptly, heat rushing to his cheeks. "I mean….uh." He swallows. "Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?" he asks and desperately wills his boner to go down before Derek smells his arousal.

When he chances a glance at Derek, the werewolf is staring at him, expression indecipherable, before his eyes flicker to Stiles’ crotch. “Seriously?”

Fuck. Of course he already knows. Stiles tenses up and resists the urge to cover himself. “Are you honestly trying to blame me now?” he asks. “This is your fault. You show up here, looking like….this, and you expect me to be unfazed? This kind of thing usually only happens in wet dreams, my body is, like, conditioned to react that way.”

Derek’s eyebrows climb higher and higher, inching towards his hairline. “You have wet dreams about me being wet and half naked in your living room?”

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes is, then open is again. “…no?” he hedges. Then he cringes inwardly, because he knows Derek can hear the lie.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t get mauled. Instead, Derek’s look turns pensive and even, dare he say, a little appreciative. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m already feeling hot again, so…I’m gonna go take another shower.” He turns around and saunters off, stopping at the stairs. “You look pretty hot, too,” he adds casually, “maybe you should take one, too. Now.”

Stiles stares at the shape of Derek’s ass that’s visible through the towel as he trudges up the stairs, until the implication of Derek words registers, and he scrambles after Derek, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get up the stairs.

As it turns out, they don’t really cool down in the shower, but it doesn’t really matter. Stiles does have an AC in his room, after all, and that means it’s not too hot for sex in his bed as long as they stay over the sheets.

REBLOG | Posted 1 month ago With 903 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #lol #fic rec
whenever you accept prompts again: steve/bucky grinding while hella drunk. thats it thats the prompt.


(I’m sorry for what’s about to happen here)

"Oh my God," Bucky says, words slurring a bit, "Oh my God.”

"Right?" says Steve, well and truly smashed on some sort of Asgardian something that Thor brought.  "S’crazy, isn’t it?"

"And you just," Bucky says, gesturing wildly, almost taking out a lamp with his metal arm.  "And then just - and you - and that’s it?

"Yeah!" Steve says.  He hauls Bucky along behind him.  "C’mon, c’mon I gotta - you’re gonna love this, I swear, it’s the best part of the future.  The best part.

An hour later, Tony walks into the living room and asks, “Why does it smell like coffee in here?”

The other Avengers all point wordlessly towards the kitchen.  Tony, hesitating for a minute, walks in to find Steve and Bucky laughing to the point of near incoherency, surrounded by what’s got to be at least twelve pounds of ground coffee beans.

"Oh my God," Bucky says, pressing the button.  The electric coffee grinder rumbled to life, whirring as it shredded the beans to powder.  "Steve, oh my God.

"Right?" Steve says, waving his arms.  "Right?”



I’m pretty sure Steve is a mogul/heir to a corporate empire, but is Bucky a new intern? reporter? small-town boy in the big city? we just don’t know.


He’s somehow even bigger than he looks in the photos, always mitigated by the long lines of a suit and a lot of hulking security.  Bucky gives him his best aw-shucks smile when he says, “Is this a good time, Mr. Rogers?  It’s just, Charlene sent me in here and I’m supposed to get a head start on the thing for tomorrow.”

Rogers glances at him, then double takes - they always double take when Bucky does that smile - and says, “Uh - are you the new intern?”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says.  He rubs the back of his neck endearingly.  “I’m a transplant from Brooklyn.  But Mr. Rogers, I can always come back -”

Steve shakes his head, of course.  “No, it’s okay.  Now’s fine.  And don’t - I mean, you can call me Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky agrees, and he keeps a tight lid on the swell of triumph that rises up in his chest.

The thing doesn’t end up happening tomorrow - Steve shuts it down, minutes before Japan is supposed to patch in on the call, citing last minute information that could affect the trade.

“Last minute information, sir?” Bucky says quietly, back in Steve’s office after locking himself in a bathroom stall and tapping out a message to HQ letting them know it’s not going ahead.  Steve’s gotten forty-five emails in the last twenty minutes and he’s just started trending on Twitter.

Steve has his arms crossed, immovable, standing by his desk like a rock.  “What do you think is going on here, Bucky?  I mean, what does it look like from the outside?”

Bucky puts on a thoughtful look and tries to give him a line about companies sharing resources for mutual benefit, but Steve isn’t having it.

“It looks like bullshit,” he says, surprising Bucky, who thought the famously straitlaced Steve Rogers didn’t even know how to swear.  “We’re supposed to be helping people, not lining our own pockets.  I’m the head of this company -” A bitter little smile.  He runs a hand over his face.  “I’m the figurehead of this company.  They trot me out in this monkey suit when they want good press, then they walk all over everybody, just business as usual.”

Bucky looks hard at Steve.  They’d always thought that Steve was the problem, the head of the snake - they’d always assumed they’d have to bring down Steve to bring the company down.  Is it possible that Steve isn’t the monster they’d always assumed?  “So what would you do?” Bucky asks, as casually as he can manage.  “What would you change?”

Steve crosses the room and steps close, very close to Bucky.  Bucky sucks in a breath, can’t quite breathe it out again.  He can’t look away from Steve’s blue, blue eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, Steve takes Bucky’s wrist and lifts it.  He speaks directly into the wireless mic hidden in Bucky’s watch.  “I’d burn it all down, and I’d start over,” he says.  “What do you say?”



imagine if one day john accidentally called sherlock ‘love’ during casual conversation like

"i’m making tea, sherlock, do you want one?"


"alright, love"



It had been a particularly long day. The case had dragged out and on long enough that when Sherlock took it upon himself to tackle the thief to the ground, neither of them got up right away. John was less concerned with the criminal and more concerned with his criminally idiotic flatmate. He dropped onto his haunches, studying Sherlock’s face. “Alright?”

Sherlock nodded and stuck out his hand for John to help him upright. John obliged. And when Sherlock swayed uneasily on his feet, John wrapped one lanky arm around his shoulder and took a surprising amount of weight onto his sturdier frame. “Have you eaten anything today, Sherlock?”

"Transport," Sherlock muttered back with disdain.

"Berk." John half walked, half dragged Sherlock up to the main road, and shook his head with amusement when a flourished hand met a vacant cab without any hesitation. "Did you sign a deal with satan to be able to do that?"

"Do what?" Sherlock’s furrowed brows were confused, actually unable to sort out John’s question. John rolled his eyes and stuffed Sherlock into the cab.

Safely back in Baker Street, John stripped Sherlock’s coat and scarf and gave him a friendly shove towards his room. “Go change. I’ll make us some dinner.” Sherlock managed to keep his feet into his own room, and John turned into the kitchen. He cuffed the sleeves of his Jumper, washed his hands, and started making a curry.

Sauce simmering, rice in the pot, John heard the shower cut out, and a few moments later, Sherlock swanned into the sitting room. There was a familiar plonking sound and John leaned a shoulder against the kitchen door frame, crossing his arms. “Better?”

Sherlock sniffed. “Curry? Really, John?”

"Transport doesn’t get a say in what I cook," John smirked.

Sherlock huffed, slid from sitting to laying across the couch, and closed his eyes. “Ah, cooking. Is that what you’re calling it now?”

"Git," John said affectionately.

Sherlock cracked a single eye, a small smile playing across his lips. “I suppose if I don’t consume something, I’ll only exacerbate my current state. Perhaps even your curry will be palatable now.”

John huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure it will be. Should be ready in five minutes. Would you have a cuppa, Sherlock? I’m making one for myself anyhow.”


"Is that a yes?" John asked, turning into the kitchen.


"Alright, love." John clicked on the kettle.

Sherlock’s eyes shot open and his head swiveled to stare over his shoulder at the kitchen. John’s hand were planted on the counter, his shoulders square, but unmoving. Sherlock watched the bright shade of red creep up the back of John’s neck, up and out to the tips of his ears. Sherlock blinked. Maybe he heard wrong. Clearly the lack of sleep was affecting his ability to properly sense the world. Sleep. Food then sleep.

The kettle clicked off, and John was in motion. Making tea the same way he always made tea. A cup in each hand, John cleared his throat and came back into the sitting room. He set a cup within Sherlock’s reach and settled into his own chair, sipping his tea as if it were the only thing he need be concerned with. “John?”

"Hm?" John blew gently across the surface of the cup before taking another sip.

"Did you say dinner would be ready in five minutes?"

"I did, why?"

"Just… Thinking. Maybe I should have something to eat." He pushed himself up to sit and reached for his tea.

"Oh?" John raised both brows, something like amusement on his face.

"I think it would be advisable. I’m mishearing things. I… I don’t like mistakes." Sherlock glanced at the tea before taking a sip. His stomach rumbled back. Yes, he should definitely eat.

John set his cup on the side table and wandered back toward the kitchen. “No mistake,” he murmured, a wry smile spreading across his face as Sherlock turned beet red.

Speaking of genderfluid Teddy Lupin, have you read Being Liquid? Its AO3 number is 285360.


i haven’t personally read it but it sounds super rad!

(here’s the link!)

REBLOG | Posted 2 months ago With 15 notes + Ori. Via
tags: #fic rec