(Super-fast idea, because I found this
picture and, after laughing at the Sheriff’s face for two minutes straight, the
idea hit me straight in the face)
Several years in the future, Derek and the
Sheriff are kind of buddies.
Derek is now a consultant for the Beacon Hills
police for any kind of supernatural crime or when they need his super
sniffer in critical emergencies (Derek found the lost little girl almost
immediately, while the K9 unit from the next town was still lost in the woods.
The Sheriff was so proud. They never talk about the fact that they had to circle
the town in John’s police car, Derek’s head hanging out of the window like
a poodle on a roadtrip).
So John and Derek sometimes hang out,
watch football match together, they have a beer, talk about Stiles’ news
from college. They enjoy each other’s company in a very quiet, simple way.
Then, Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills for
Christmas, and immediately comes out as bisexual to his dad.
The Sheriff blinks, then hugs him.
should be the end of it. John is genuinely glad that Stiles told him, and happy
that he seems to grow up happy in his own skin.
John honestly doesn’t mean to search stuffs
online, but he’s bored, and one innocent question about LGBT rights in California turn into a quick google search and quickly devolve into a spiral of links. John falls deep. Too
He manages to keeps his anxiety at bay all
the way to Derek’s home, and his knocks on the door are barely frantic. But Derek
opens the door as if he is expecting the Sheriff to be on fire, so John guesses
that he didn’t control his panic-stricken heartbeat as well as he thought.
After a few minutes of assuring Derek that
no, Stiles is fine, John is fine, everyone is fine, no Stiles isn’t hurt,
nobody’s kid got missing again, Melissa is fine, there is no monster eating
anyone, Stiles is totally ok, and
getting a glass of perfectly good whisky from Derek (who apparently keeps it
around just for John), John finally explains.
Because Derek? Derek is bisexual.
They have talked about it in passing
several times. Talked about Derek’s ex, Jeff, who used to be a cop in New Jersey until he got
shot on duty and became a teacher. Talked of the creep Derek had to call the police on one night while he was drinking at the Jungle
and despairing over the shitty techno music. Talked about the association for LGBT kids Derek gives money to, and that he goes help from times to times.
To the Sheriff, it never seemed like a
detail more important than knowing that Derek hates cheap beer or that he is a
sore loser when his sport team gets slaughtered.
But now, now it is important. Because the
Sheriff needs someone with answers,
precise answers, about things that he can’t ask directly to his kid.
About giant sex toys and trips to the ER and
drugs use and STDs and biphobia and bullying.
He kind of blurt it all. Derek’s eyes look
gigantic and his eyebrows almost fly off his forehead.
So that’s how Derek becomes the Sheriff’s mentor
in everything LGBT.
It’s not as weird as it could be.
Derek answers all the questions as best as
he can, tries to reassure him. When he doesn’t know (and he wonders where the Sheriff got these informations), they look for answers
together online, while staying far away from certain websites.
(All the while, Derek tries to ignore really, really hard, that Stiles is bisexual
and apparently single. He fails).
Then maybe the Sheriff brings Derek back home in
the hope that Derek will talk to Stiles about all these stuffs (because he’s
not sure he has mastered the details enough to give the bisexual version of the
Talk. Also, the image of the humongous dildo is still haunting him).
So they end up all around the kitchen table,
Stiles looking bewildered and a little bit lost, Derek resigned and awkward and the Sheriff looking
at them with crazy eyes (again, gigantic dildo. And ER trips. Melissa works there, this can never
happen to them) until they start talking.
Stiles knows all those things. Derek knows
that Stiles knows. They talk about it anyway because, well, the Sheriff is starting to turn grey in worry.
After a little while, Stiles finally understands that Derek
is talking from experience. That Derek is bisexual. And single.
And Derek knows that Stiles is bisexual. And single.
The awkwardness quickly turns to vague innuendos, then obvious flirting, then
eyefucking over mugs of coffee.
The Sheriff gets his colors back progressively.
He wonders for a second if he should protest this development (the whole, 7
years older and a werewolf thing could be a problem), but really, Derek is a
And he apparently knows how to use lube,
condoms, and would never be stupid enough to use a gigantic dildo then lose it
somewhere in his son.
All in all, he’s ok with the direction this whole thing is taking.
(You can find my other headcanons/not fic here and my fics on AO3. Please come say hi on tumblr when you want people :D)
This town has been on my “to visit” list for some time, and I’m not sure what took me so long to visit because oh my god? Absolute perfection. And that shouldn’t be a surprise since St. Grey and Wasser - the two towns I’ve visited already but have yet to make a post of… yet - are also amazing. Anyway, if you have time, you should definitely take a trip to experience this calm, early Autumn night in Circle!
✨Restful’s Dream Address has been
“This town is now ready for the upcoming Fall! Mayor Peach has been working hard for this town to be the best that it can be! She hopes that you’ll have a great time visiting~”
[ 🍑DA: 4E00-0069-4594🍑 ]
While some folks row way up to heaven I’m gonna sing The Pirate’s Gospel I’m gonna sow these feet for dancin’ I’m gonna keep my eyes wide open
Clarke Griffin learned about the cruelty of life at the tender age of 18. After a childhood that was adventurous and perhaps a little unusual, but during which she had been loved unconditionally by her parents and sheltered to the best of their ability, Clarke found out, suddenly and brutally, that life rarely turned out as expected.
After all, she had not expected her father to decide, after years of sailing the world, mapping and exploring and marvelling at its wonders, to plant their family in Southern soil and expect them to take root there when she was barely eighteen, in a colonial trading port that was small enough to be considered provincial, but just big enough to come with the trappings of civilised life that Clarke quickly came to despise; parties and gossip and talk of dowries.
Nor had she expected that, shortly after the move, both her parents would go missing on a routine trip to a neighbouring island, and that she would be left all alone in the world. As the Governor informed her, his inquiries had yielded no family willing to take her in back home in England, but that he and his son would be willing to take her in as their ward, and to treat her like a daughter and a sister until such a time as a suitable husband could be found. Clarke had no doubt that it had not been her desperate situation, but rather her name, rank and fortune that had softened the heart of the island’s governor.
But given her dire circumstances and the fact that she had no way to access her inheritance without a man to do it for her, Clarke saw no choice but to stay with the Wallaces until she could come up with some kind of plan - or find some gullible man who fit the Wallaces’ criteria for a suitable husband while letting her do as she pleased. The deciding factors for determining such suitability were not specified to her, but Clarke had no doubt they would be more heavily determined by Governor Wallace’s wishes than by her own.
For now, she was altogether run aground.
And just when she had found a friend in her unwanted new home, someone to confide in and lean on, Clarke found that the Wallaces cruelty extended much further than she has previously assumed. For it was not just her the Wallaces seemed to want to make a profit off: She caught young Master Wallace speaking to one of the slave traders in the market while looking surreptitiously at her friend Wells. The son of a reputable merchant, Wells had been born free and received a proper education, and due to his knack for numbers, he was often at the house to help the Wallaces balance their books. Given the greedy look in the young Master’s eyes, however, Clarke had begun to fear that one day, her friend would enter the house a free man and leave it in chains - but that, needless to say, would not happen under her watch.
So Clarke devised a way for him to escape the island.
And as if the Good Lord wanted to tell her he approved of her decision, it was on the very day she made this decision that she first heard the rumours of the Persephone: a mysterious pirate ship that had evaded Governor Wallace’s ships for months as it attacked incoming merchant ships - preferably those that carried human cargo. “She’s chasin’ death“, the townspeople whispered about the mysterious ship, “and she’ll get a kiss for her trouble when she finds him.“
But for now, Captain Blake and his Persephone were still sailing, and still terrorising the crews of any ship in these waters.
And they, Clarke decided, were going to be the means to her salvation.
The first thing she did was procure allies: Such as the blacksmith’s apprentice, a spirited woman named Raven whom Wells had long harboured a tender admiration for – a feeling that seemed to be returned, judging by the woman’s face when she told her of Wallace’s plans. Gripping a half-cooled scabbard in one hand and a hammer in the other, she looked like she was about to storm up to the house on the hill and end Cage Wallace right this second.
Instead, Raven paused momentarily in her rhythmic hammering to look at her determinedly.
“I can get a message to Captain Blake, if you can make sure coming here will be worth his time.”
Raven looked at her doubtfully. “And a few pieces of pretty jewelry will not suffice.”
“I’m not going to give him jewelry,” Clarke declared, a little too loud perhaps for the quiet blacksmith’s shop, deserted save for a few dust motes dancing in the drowsy afternoon light. “I’m going to give him Port Arkadia.”
I visited the Dreamy town of Circle owned @okmayor . An Autumn town full of nature and cute Pwps. Everything is so secluded and Open and I love the sudden splashes of color. Also the Natural and Modern Feeling in different places, I really enjoyed visiting and got a few ideas for my own town.
Once again, If you recommend or want me to visit your/a town reblog this post or comment your Dream address and I will try and visit. If you could, try and leave a description so I can visit a variety each time.
WTNV Parallel Universe Theory - updated and expanded
a while ago I uploaded a slightly rushed version of this but I’d like to discuss it in more depth
the theory boils down to all the various dimentions of Night Vale being part of a system of parallel universes all interconnected, with various differences
The Sandstorm offers the perfect demonstration of this
here we can see the two towns separate, then with the portal that occasionally connects the towns (”what direction is Desert Bluffs again? it changes?”). the final circle is the towns merging during the storm and subsequent “kill your double” incident. however the radio stations seem to remain unaffected and not only do not come into contact with each other until late on in the broadcast, but also do not merge in the same way that the towns do.
instead of the studios fully merging, portals open between them and Cecil and Kevin briefly visit the opposite’s studio. only the studio itself has this effect, as demonstrated as Dana and her double Vanessa battle to the death (presumably, Vanessa was the one killed as Kevin mentions her death and Dana speaks about Night Vale as if it has always been her home rather than Desert Bluffs).
the portals seem to work differently for Night Vale and Desert Otherworld, however, as the Dog Park and House That Doesn’t Exist appear to be constant rather than moving around or closing periodically. the Dog Park seems to work both ways as (once the door was eventually located) Cecil and Carlos were able to pass in and out of it, however it’s possible the House only works one-way or partial-way due to Carlos being unable to return through it and Dana appearing as an apparition when using it, simply finding herself in a different part of the Otherworld.
finally, the offset timelines. it’s well-established that time doesn’t “work” in Night Vale so it’s more than plausible that the parallel universes aren’t actually directly parallel to each other. for example, the carnival coming to town could well be the same event on different timelines, with differing outcomes. the same could be said for the battle against Strex although this creates a paradox situation as Strex crossed over to Night Vale from Desert Bluffs in the first place. Kevin also says that the NVCR studio looks like it’s from the past although this could just be alluding to the forbidden technologies affecting Night Vale’s development
the theory is definitely flawed but as a basis I like it. what does anyone else think?
For @allyinthekeyofx and her headcanon: Season 11 Scully moves back in to the unremarkable house and William snaps an unexpected photo of them when he walks in to Mulder’s home office.
The last time she was in this room the
floor was a mess of papers, scraps of notes, complex codes scrawled diagonally,
grotesque drawings, random lines of poetry, photos ripped or curled or burnt,
maps with dotted lines or flags or circles scrawled around anonymous towns,
letters, some of them love letters, some the desperate ramblings of a brilliant
mind lost to the cause or losing the battle. Mulder’s office. His place of
refuge had become a sort of no-man’s-land where neither of them gave an inch
and there could be no armistice.
she found herself stepping over a threshold once more. She seemed to have
history in this department. She was always walking through doorways, either
after him or away from him. This time she was determined that the doorway would
lead to a life spent right by his side. Seeing his office uncluttered – neither
by the gatherings of a quest indomitable, nor by the detritus of brilliance
declining – was the best of starts.
People talk about
a clean break, but that was not what happened here. It was dirty, the edges of
things lost in the wake of two lives no longer in parallel. It was splintered
and uneven and shredded. There was nothing clean about leaving Mulder. She had
felt sullied for years. Maybe she always would. But the office, his nucleus,
the heart and soul of him, there was a clarity here now, beyond the clean
surfaces and shiny new laptop.
When Mulder made a commitment, he really
dug in. He’d repainted the weatherboards. Fixed the flyscreens. Changed the
curtains and blinds. He’d even rolled up the faded old carpet runner in the
hall, she’d found it in the shed out the back, and in its place was a bright
rug in a contemporary print. It was remarkable what a little love and attention
what having William home could do.
It was still new,
this being a family.
The virus had left Mulder a breath away
from death. How often had she wondered, if that breath had been stolen from
him, would she have been as stoic without him for a second time? With no life
growing in her, there was little to be stoic for. But when Mulder made a
commitment, he really dug in. He came back to her breath by painful breath; he
was all fluttering eyelids and trembling fingers and code blues. She was all
hand squeezing and mattress thumping and midnight tears. Drama at hospital
bedsides had become their bizarre theatre over the years.
And William. His
tentative presence through their unfolding narrative was at once a comfort and
a tragedy. What demons would he bear? He was the knight in shining armour, the
hero of the hour, the literal life-donor for his father. How would he carry
that burden? It was a question she asked daily and now she would be able to
find out the answer. He was living with them. He was living with them. It was
such an odd sensation to think it, to say, that it was worth mentioning twice.
It hardly seemed
real when Mulder carried his backpack through the door. He’d looked around,
shaken his head and said, ‘so this is home’.
Mulder had grinned
and countered with an in-joke, ‘is it better than you expected, or better than
and Scully shook her head at her feet and so it began.
She was researching an old case, something
about spirit beings and ghost-eyed peoples, when Mulder came in.
remember that case, Scully. The Appalachians,
people freezing to death. Ciladaids.’
flipped the laptop shut. ‘I remember you being a self-absorbed jerk on that
case. In fact, for that entire year, Mulder.’
inability to see the forest for the trees was staggering, as I recall. You took
skepticism to code-red level.’
chuffed. ‘You certainly knew how to push my buttons.’
walked behind her and his hands kneaded the gristle in her shoulders. ‘You
always were easy to ruffle if you weren’t sure of your status.’
status was your partner, but you seemed to forget that.’
hands slipped lower, caressing her breasts through her shirt. She turned to
kiss his stubbled cheek. ‘Now that I have been without you too many times, I
can see that I was about to make the first biggest mistake of my life. But you
stood up and leant in to him for a kiss. ‘Again.’
pulled her in for a deeper kiss. ‘Why are you wearing a suit, Scully?’
thought you loved me in a suit?’
chuckled. ‘I’d love you in a butcher’s apron with desert boots, but you’re
wearing too many clothes.’
we have a child in the house now. We can’t just fuck in the study when we
not the point.’
nuzzled her neck and her nipples tightened. It really wasn’t the point. But she
couldn’t remember what the point was because he was rubbing himself against her
ass and it felt like heaven.
door opened and a flash of light exploded around them. William held the camera
in front of him, wearing a grin that was a mixture of delight and horror.
I thought I was going to catch Mulder hunched over the desk researching. I’m
doing a project where we have to provide a single photo that summarises our
parents’ lives. A sort of character study.’ He looked at the camera then swung
it round to show them the screen.
arms were around her chest, her hands over his forearms. She was formal. He was
casual. She was buttoned up. He was open. She was leaning at an awkward angle.
He looked like he’d been interrupted. Like he was about to tell someone to fuck
off. But the way he was holding her. The setting. Their one-ness.
Anonymous asked: “I have no writing friends- and where I live, not many people my age are interested in writing. What should I do?”
Now take my advice with a grain of salt. Writing friends do not need to be your age or at your stage of life. The grain of salt - obviously there are some age differences that will matter, especially for the under 18 crowd, but for the most part, trust me, it doesn’t. Just always remember to be safe when meeting new people.