don't judge me dance

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Your weekly shitpost has arrived. (x)

3

I have three weaknesses.
Super Villains, Cute stuff, and unreasonably large hips.
The number of times these three all happen to exist as a single entity is astonishing.

Anywho, heres a couple pictures of Lord Dominator, the cutest and most terrifying super villainess in the galaxy, dancing like there’s no tomorrrow!

Me: *shows friend EXO's Monster and Lucky one MVs*                                                                             Friend: They are a pure Korean fail of One Direction in their earlier years.                                                                                                         Me:

squeeingfangirl  asked:

Pov?

Ooooohkay, so since this whole meme seems to have to do with my current project, here we go.  I think I picked the best one possible tbh because I want you to know what Derek’s doing but Stiles doesn’t see it so you don’t know.  HAH, WORK-AROUND MEME.

Original scene (Stiles’ PoV):

Stiles stares at his dad, feeling chaotic inside and filled to the brim with broken, jagged pieces of himself and he’s jittery, unable to stand still.  “I have to go,” he says, and his mouth wraps around it so oddly, like it’s trying to catch the words he’s releasing, yank them back inside with all the other sharp bits.  “Scott,” he barks out.  It’s all he needs.

His dad nods with unseeing eyes and Stiles doesn’t know what to do.  The life had seemed to snuff out of both him and Claudia Stilinski today and he doesn’t know how to shove it back into either one of them.  He swipes at his eyes, under his nose with the back of his wrist and purses his lips.

He runs full-sprint to the Hale house because it’s easier than trying to figure it out.

He remembers three-quarters of the way there that Scott is on his way to the airport to see his dad.  That he’ll be gone for three days.  Stiles can’t stop crying.  He doesn’t go to the front door, he runs around to the back and just keeps going.

He gains a shadow after a while and he spins around and sees Derek running after him.

“Leave me alone,” he shouts back at him, furious and red-faced and wanting to hurt him as bad as he hurts inside.

“Stiles,” is all Derek says and it’s not sad, like Stiles would’ve expected, it’s a command.

It’s so much their old dynamic that Stiles can’t help but stop, can’t help but want to argue back completely breathless and physically unable to.

Derek stops right in front of him.  “Stiles,” he says again and his hand reaches out and cups his elbow and now it’s more wondering.  Not wondering like curious but wondering like awe.  He’s not curious, he already knows.  “Come back to the house,” he says, looking away, furtive.

They’ve gotten far away from it and pick up a leisurely pace on the walk back.

Stiles picks up rocks and throws them as hard as he can at the ground, hard enough that it hurts his arm.

Derek doesn’t say anything.

Stiles stops a few feet from the Hale’s porch and says, “My mom is dead.”  The words release a dam inside of him so big and so wide that he feels like he’ll never stop feeling it.

Derek’s arms wrap around his shaking shoulders and Stiles only halfheartedly tries to squirm away from him.  He lowers them both down to the top step and pulls Stiles more into him, like if he can just shelter enough of him with his own body, he’ll be able to keep him safe from the evils of the world.

It’s pointless though.  Stiles is here because he’s just seen the evils of the world right up close.

He leans into Derek’s chest and blubbers, gets snot and wet onto his shirt and Derek doesn’t say anything.  He holds Stiles while he cries and doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t feed him lies or platitudes, he just lets him cry himself into a headache and sore muscles.

His head starts to hurt really bad and he sets it up against Derek’s neck and closes his eyes and tries hard to stop crying because it’s starting to make his whole body feel like it’s drying out.  Tears are still leaking out though and soaking Derek’s collar and Derek’s chin is on his shoulder and Stiles lets his body slump into Derek’s, dozing unevenly and restlessly.

He only fully wakes when Derek starts growling, threatening, like there’s something he wants to disembowel on the other side of it.  Stiles doesn’t care.  He doesn’t turn his head.  If something’s out there looking to get them then maybe today is the day all the Stilinskis die.  Two down, one to go.  He closes his eyes again, shivers when he feels something touch his back.  It’s a hand - and he doesn’t know how he knows that it’s Scott’s hand.

He whimpers in relief, in sadness, in happiness, in something that’s so big it houses far more than one emotion.

Scott’s hand moves away from his back but the weight of him sitting next to Stiles on the step doesn’t leave.  Derek’s arm tightens around his shoulders, proprietary and out of place.  Stiles doesn’t care about that either.  Derek and Scott stay with him until the sun comes up.  He sleeps fitfully if at all.  He doesn’t think either one of them get a wink.

Derek’s PoV (yay, there is no Derek perspective in this fic and I always miss him):

“Oh Derek,” his mom says, sniffing, trying to wipe her eyes, to hide what she’s been doing with them.

Derek feels his fingernails flatten against his skin the way they do when they want to grow into claws.  “Stiles’ mom,” he says, lips twisting to the side.  Talia nods slowly, like she wants to preserve as much time as possible before confirming it.  Like it’s a way to keep Claudia alive just those few milliseconds longer.

They’d all known it was coming.  It’s different now that it’s here.  “Scott’s not here,” Derek remembers abruptly.  “Where’s Stiles?”

Derek’s dad shakes his head.  “It’s Melissa’s coworker who’s called.”

Derek folds his fingers into his fists, his sharp nails biting into his palms, and he stomps back up the stairs.  He doesn’t know what to do but he wants to do something. He has the horrible idea that maybe there’s nothing to do.

He spends a lot of the next few hours staring blankly at the wall.

He’s half-asleep sitting up against his headboard when he hears furious feet pounding against the hard dirt of their backyard.  He throws his textbook off his lap and thunders down the stairs, rips open the back door and hurls himself out of it.  Stiles is a small speck on a dark horizon, but one that’s getting bigger as Derek’s supernatural speed easily outpaces him.

Stiles notices him earlier than Derek would’ve expected, twisted around and looking broken in truly unfixable ways.  “Leave me alone!” he shouts back.

It’s familiar, the way Stiles always talks to him, like there’s a snake behind the words waiting to strike and Derek snarls out, “Stiles.”  And what he means is ‘stop.’

To his amazement, Stiles does, bending over and catching his breath before straightening up as Derek stops in front of him.

Derek reaches out before he can stop himself and touches skin that’s cool from the rushing air, soft, and Derek never gets to touch Stiles like this.  Never.  “Stiles,” he says it again but he can hear the reverence in his own voice now and looks away in embarrassment.  Now’s not the time for that.  There will never be a time for that, he knows.  “Come back to the house.”

Stiles doesn’t argue, walks back the way he was running from and lets Derek fall into step with him.  He doesn’t stop but to pick up rocks and hurtle them down into the dirt, leaving wounds behind.  Derek wants to say something, anything, because he looks at Stiles and he wants to let him run, anything to make that look on his face go away.

There’s no change in Stiles’ demeanor until he comes to the porch steps.  He wavers there, swaying, rocks dropping from limp fingers and says in the most emotionless voice Derek has ever heard, “My mom is dead.”  And then he’s crying.  Crying buckets, crying like he’s turned some faucet and it’s gotten stuck.

He’s not stopping and Derek doesn’t know what to do. Stiles isn’t his, he’s Scott’s. He’s said that to himself hundreds, no millions of times over the years but Scott isn’t here.  So Derek pretends.

He pretends Stiles is his.

He wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him close. Stiles tries to shuffle him off but it’s perfunctory and Derek just holds tighter in response, getting them to the top of the steps – Stiles with legs like jelly and stumbling all over himself – and lowering them onto the porch.

Stiles slumps into him and cries like he’s never going to stop.  Cries until there are no tears left.  His hands clench into Derek’s sides, his thighs, fingernails biting in and sometimes breaking skin that immediately reseals.  Stiles doesn’t seem to notice.  He’s shaking and sobbing and full of this nameless terror and all Derek wants is for him to stop.  For all of this to stop.

Stiles’ breaths are hitching and slowing as he exhausts himself until he’s fitfully twitching in Derek’s embrace.

Derek gets a few elbows to the ribs and Stiles’ head knocking into his chin.  He doesn’t care.  He doesn’t let go.  Stiles’ nose is resting in the hollow of his neck and Derek pulls him closer and drops his chin to Stiles’ shoulder, presses it in so Stiles can’t forget he’s there. His arms are a loose circle around his waist now, where Stiles is sitting far away from him on the wood porch so he can lean even further into Derek’s warmth.

He’s not going to move.  Not for anything.

Not even for Scott.  Derek has no idea what he’s doing there, standing a foot away with a look of frozen horror on his face at the sight of his best friend like this. He’s supposed to be in Chicago with his dad, only he isn’t, he’s here because Stiles was never really Derek’s. He’s always been Scott’s.

He reaches out a hand towards Stiles’ back and a low rumble shakes the porch around them.  Derek’s mortified but he can’t stop the territorial growl from building in his chest.

Scott’s hand trembles in the space between them and Derek’s eyes flash gold in warning.  Scott’s expression hardens and then his fingertips are pressing against Stiles’ spine, letting him know he’s there.

Stiles makes a noise Derek can’t identify but it’s… it’s welcoming.

Scott’s the one he wants.  He’s only settled for Derek.

Scott sinks down next to Stiles on the other side and pulls his hand away and Stiles doesn’t try to shift to him.  He stays in Derek’s embrace, less restive now though hardly restful, and Derek brings his arm up and tightens it around his shoulders.

Pleased he gets to pretend a little while longer.


full fic.

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Sometimes you forget how beautiful Lully’s music is and then BOOM Spotify decides to remind it to you.

Totally no 18th century, but here’s a little clip from Le Roi Danse. Because Louis. And gold. And Lully. And reasons.

Steve Rogers refuses to dance with Bucky Barnes when he is mad at him and then Bucky gets really sad and then Steve has no other choice because a sad Bucky is never okay and BUCKY KNOWS THAT AND CAN PRETEND TO BE SAD JUST TO MAKE HIM DANCE WITH HIM THE JERK 

Have any of you heard of these bands/singers?

•Alice In Chains
•Alison Krauss
•Heart
•Limp Bizkit
•Hinder
•Kid Rock
•Queen
•Green Day
•Blink-182
•Sleeping With Sirens
•5 Seconds Of Summer
•Boston
•Stone Temple Pilots
•KISS
•Three Days Grace
•Three Doors Down
•Bob Segar
•Metallica
•Neil Young
•John Denver
•The Beatles
•Skillet
•Shinedown
•Led Zeplin
•Def Leopard
•Nikel Back
•Puddle Of Mud
•Linkin Park
•God Smack
•Areosmith

If so, tHEN LETS BE FRIENDS OK? OK.