Wonder Thunder
“And then he said ‘I thought she was with you.’”
Another patreon reward done for @rowanred81!
Tag i love this
What’s something in real life that you perfectly realize it’s unrealistic, but you still use in your fictions?
Happy ever afters, lol!
See, for me, Happily Ever After doesn’t mean that everything is perfect. For me, it means that things might happen, tough times might be right around the corner, but the *relationship* weathers the storm, even if that storm is arguments between them or finding out that one of them has a terrible disease. You might have a loss of money, a loss of family, you might have a loss of limb, but the relationship you’ve built up is still strong, and even if you two (or three or however many) have difficulties you’re still together and desperately in love.
At least, that’s my Happily Ever After, and I’m living it.
I like to turn this couple in femslash.
I was watching a documentary on Prohibition, and suddenly they were bootleggers.
versions || h.r.o.
Commission for the lovely @jennoas
Based on this https://jennoasis.tumblr.com/post/170873414901/happy-sterek-i-mean-valentines-day-i-cant-keep
If I saw Tyler Hoechlin in a museum I wouldn’t be looking at the art either.
He’d probably apologize and ask if he was blocking the art when really he was the artiest art of them all.
YOU BELONG IN A MUSEUM
SO DAMN FINE
THAT WOULD BE STILES PICK UP LINE
AND IT WOULD BACKFIRE HORRIBLY BECAUSE DEREK WOULD BE ON VACATION WITH HIS WHOLE FAMILY
“Dude, look at that. It’s beautiful.”
“Well yeah I mean I completely agree that DaVinci-”
“No not that, who cares about the stupid Mona Lisa when that masterpiece is just…there.”
“What-oh, oh.” Scott finally turns, blinking blearily at the shift in lighting. The man was thoughtfully considering a Renaissance-esque painting in the corner of the room, taking lazy notes as he considered the brushwork. A girl was babbling beside him, excitedly waving her hands and stepping as close as she could to the painting without the haggard looking security guard yelling at her. Her face was flushed, and the man had a lazy smile as he chuckled at her enthusiasm, elbowing the girl to the next display that excited her even more if that was humanly possible.
Scott could objectively say the guy was attractive what with the whole stubble, beret combo totally working for him. And Scott had heard plenty about Stiles’ infatuation with any and all muscular men and their v-necks.
“I’m going to talk to him.”
“What? NO! Stiles, stop, wait, fuck!” Scott stumbled over a potted plant, missing his friends arm by mere millimeters. Who knew what sort of suave pick-up lines Stiles thought he’d come up with since they entered the museum an hour ago.
“Y’know,” Scott gaped, in horror, as Stiles slid beside the man, gazing thoughtfully at the painting and then smirking. “This painting isn’t the only thing that belongs in a museum, you know?”
The man blinked once, then twice, puzzled. “Eh, Quoi?”
It was Stiles’ turn to stumble, mouth opening and closing, entirely speechless. “Mais, pardon, mon anglais n’est pas bonne? Ma sœur peut se traduire? Cora?”
“Il dit,” She giggled “que le peinture n’est pas la seule chose qui appartient dans un musée.”
His mouth formed an ‘o’ and his notebook fell to the ground, cheeks reddening as he scrambled to pick it up. He huffed out a breath of air, smiling at the horror-struck Stiles.
“Merci? Je pense?” He let out a choked laugh and ran a hand over his face in an attempt to quell the growing heat in his cheeks and ears. “Je m’appelle Derek, et vous?”
Stiles knew enough French to choke out, “Stiles. Not like…the pen, un stylo, oh God why did I think going to France with half a semester of French under my belt was a good idea? Fuck!” Cora chuckled, pushing her brother forward towards Stiles. She mumbled something to him and he cleared his throat, looking uncertain.
“Ehm, would you…like to go to a cafe with me?”
Scott finally made it over to Stiles nudging him with no response. Okay so maybe crummy pick-up lines worked better in France than the States, who woulda thought?
“He’d love to.”
how-many-times-have-i-drawn-stiles-asleep-on-derek.jpg
Yet another unprompted prompt from this long list of prompts. Prompt.
Number Fifty-Three: “That wasn’t very subtle.”
Allison took to late night drives.
Between her dad, Scott, Lydia, and Isaac rushing back from France, everyone had been a little…intense about her safety, to a stifling degree. She wasn’t holding it against them, it’d only been two weeks since she mysteriously rose from the dead, but she was getting a little stir crazy, and she needed to have a conversation with someone who didn’t look at her with reverence, almost a religious awe as if she was a miracle on earth. She just wanted someone who wouldn’t drop everything they were doing whenever she called, as weird as that seemed.
It was uncomfortable being everyone’s number one priority. It felt like they thought she would disappear if they asked her to wait an hour while they finished up whatever they were in the middle of—like this was only temporary and she could drop dead at any second so they had to see her as much as possible while they still could. The time Lydia assured her she was totally free and then showed up with a half-finished manicure really sealed the deal, so…sneaking out in the dead of night to be alone became a thing.
Sneaking out of the apartment in her socks and putting her shoes on in the hallway like she was back in high school or something—not that she actually graduated.
But as humiliating as it was, she would do whatever it took to get some time to herself, with total strangers who didn’t know anything about her. She was determined to find a pocket of normalcy somewhere in Beacon Hills…which is how she got the opposite of that and happened upon Stiles.
She was turning right onto a near deserted Main Street at almost three in the morning on a Tuesday, and he was just right there in the front window of the only 24 hour coffee shop on their side of town. Like that was a totally normal place to be.
She never would have sought him out like this before—well, before, but he’d kept his distance since she “came back from France” and she missed him. He’d always been good at distracting her, blowing through one topic to the next too fast for her to linger on her own thoughts for long, and these days she had a lot of thoughts to linger on, most of them bad. She could use some distracting.
(And while Scott insisted that the Nogitsune really was gone and had been for a year, she wanted to see for herself. To her, it was all less than a month ago, a demon using Stiles’ body to massacre innocent people, and in the very few brief moments she’d spent with Stiles, she couldn’t help but notice a hardness to his gaze that wasn’t there before.
She just needed to check.)
Young Nakia and T’Challa in deleted scene from Black Panther (2018)
theproblemwithstardust 