dorm room drinks

College AU Part 2

written by @krispetrimberly @luraelis @wondergays @wayhauhgt @catyz101 @penvision

-Billy makes them fake IDs after a lot of convincing from Zack

-Billy uses his to vote

-Even with the ID no one believes Trini is of age because of how smol she is.

-Zack always wants to use the fake ID but no one ever asks him so he just starts showing it off. “Ah yes my name is J. Scott Fitzgerald”

-In class a professor calls out “Zack Taylor” “Here”

-Some student who actually believed him “I thought your name was J Scott Fitzgerald the Third!”

Keep reading

Moments in The Vampire Diaries that make the show worth remembering.

• “You won’t be sad forever, Elena.”
• Bonnie, so bubbly and beautiful and kind, discovering her powers for the first time. Bonnie lighting up an entire room full of candles. Bonnie predicting Tanner’s death.
• Caroline circa S1 trying her goddamn best to be enough, and to be recognized as enough (“Do you ever feel like there’s not a person in the world who loves you?” “I’m Matt’s Elena back-up. I’m your Bonnie back-up.” “I’m never the one.”)
• Caroline’s development as she transformed into a vampire. Caroline helping Tyler and showing him that he was stronger and better than he believed.
• Bonnie having to accept that her best friend became a vampire. It shook the very foundation of who she was. My heart aches every time I watch these two girls come to terms with the new change.
• Stefan telling Caroline that she doesn’t have to pretend with him. Stefan joining the three girls together for a sleepover.
• Elena and Caroline talking about losing their fathers. Something about this moment made me cry so bad.
• “Hey Judgy. Thank you.”
• Katherine telling Stefan that there were “no rules.”
• Matt admitting that once you fall in love with somebody, you can’t ever shake them. (**arguably my favorite line from TVD, and TVD had some damn good ones.**)
• Elena and Stefan going to her parents’ lake house.
• Elijah fucking Mikaelson, a legend.
• Klaus fucking Mikaelson, another legend!
• The poignant moment in the closet when Elena and Stefan see each other for the first time in three months.
• “You’ll fight because after everything we’ve been through, you owe me that.”
• “I can’t do that. I feel. I feel everything.”
• Stefan and Elena thinking about the future. What could have been. Marriage. Kids. All the parallels to when they first met.
• Stefan telling her that the life they had was amazing, too.
• When all of the Originals are undaggered and Esther walks in and Klaus is SHOOK.
• Klaus telling Caroline that there is an entire world out there waiting for her. Klaus helping Caroline appreciate the life and opportunities ahead of her.
• Finn and Sage.
• Everything about the Originals. They brought so much history and heart and family to a show that got lost amidst all the romance.
• Caroline telling Tyler that she would go anywhere with him.
• Tyler showing up after Caroline’s prom. Tyler showing up at Bonnie’s funeral. Caroline and Tyler. Caroline and Tyler. I swear.
• “Put yourself in her shoes. She loves you so, so much. But somehow she’s always the one who gets hurt.” • Bonnie telling Damon that he had a choice. Damon later saying that he’s made some questionable choices. Bonnie, five seasons later, telling Damon that it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have a choice.
• “He doesn’t hate her. I think he actually kind of loves her.”
• Elena and Jeremy are heartbroken that Bonnie’s dead, but Damon is the one who brings her back.
• Bonnie and Damon in the prison world together. Bonnie sees hope in him.
• Damon is back from the prison world. Everything is different. Jeremy doesn’t realize it. Elena does. He’s doing it for Bonnie, not for her.
• Their phone calls when Bonnie is at the night club. The smile of relief on her face. Damon tells her he’s a fever she can’t shake.
• An intimate Bamon conversation that somehow manages to overpower the sex scenes that came before it. Bonnie tells Damon that what he wants to do with the cure is up to him. (I got chills. It’s beautiful. They’re beautiful.)
• Bonnie’s face when he saves her life. Bonnie’s face when he carries her the hell out of there.
• Damon staying in Bonnie’s dorm room.
• Bonnie and Damon drinking together at the bar.
• Damon constantly telling her to stick with him.
• Bonnie calling Damon out for choosing to die. Bonnie being honest and vulnerable and saying his decision HURTS her. Bonnie not letting him get away with this shit. Damon telling her, one season later, that he couldn’t stand it if he let her down.
• Bonnie saying that she doesn’t know what they were. (Because they were more than friends, and, to me, more than boyfriend and girlfriend.)
• Bonnie moving on. Damon being jealous. The parts of TVD that felt like fanfiction.
• Damon smiling at Bonnie when they danced.
• Caroline telling Stefan that she would remember their memories for the both of them.
• Elena reuniting with her family. Matt being recognized as an incredible, moral person. Caroline opening a school. Bonnie recognizing that she’s bigger than Mystic Falls.
• Defan endgame.

youtube

D.I.Y. Starbucks Latte Candle 🎅

If you love candles and you Starbucks then this is the D.I.Y. project for you! With a little creativity and holiday spirit you can create your very own Starbucks seasonal latte candle. Just take a look, and see!  🎅                                    Happy Holidays D.I.Y’ers!

What you’ll need:

toxiic-space  asked:

but my dude,it's been two years since bmc so now their being cool in college

SHIT YOURE RIGHT
theyre playing videogames in their shared dorm room drinking mt dew like animals and gushing over sonic games

I have EIGHTEEN and that is not enough. I inherited my mug collecting from both of my parents (as you well know) who are both hot beverage obsessed and cool mug obsessed.

You’d think they’re like 1/3 my dad’s mugs and 2/3 my mom’s but my dad just hides his mug hoard in his car and his office at work 😂

A family of mug hoard dragons!

LG_T

Erasure is a complicated subject.

I was born onto a bed of privilege.  I’m of white European descent, and my immigrant ancestors came over the ocean long enough ago that my parents could speak the exact same dialect as the teachers at my well-funded suburban public school.  They both had graduate degrees, and our home was full of books.  I was encouraged towards intellectual pursuits.

My dad ran his own company when I was growing up. We weren’t super rich, but we never went hungry. By virtue of that business, I played with computers from an early age, and learned the basics of strategy and sales as far back as I can remember.

I wasn’t abused or disabled. In fact, for an extremely nerdy kid, I didn’t even get picked on all that much.

On top of that, I’m cismale and straight.


I knew that I was a straight boy, because I liked girls.  A lot.  Boy, oh, boy, girls were great.

My TV education on human sexuality was clear.  There are 5 sharply defined categories. Lesbians, straight girls, girls who liked to fool around with other girls sometimes but are actually straight (aka “bi” or “AWESOME”), gay men, and straight men.  Straight men go with women, and gay men don’t.  So obviously, I was straight.

And just as obvious as my straightness, I knew that some of our culture’s beliefs about straight people were off base.  Straight men are also attracted to men.  As a straight guy, any argument to the contrary was obviously wrong, because I knew from my own experience.  I’d had full-on crushes on male friends of mine, which was clearly a normal thing for normal straight people to do, as evidenced by me, a normal straight person doing it.

They said in vicious teasing that boys who liked boys were gay, but I knew that I wasn’t gay, because gay boys don’t like girls.  Therefore straight boys also like boys sometimes, and the people doing the teasing are just misguided or something. But I feared the teasing, so I didn’t point out their error.

I always felt like it would be an easy thing to “switch teams”, and be gay if I wanted to.  The fascination with the “born this way” meme in queer activism never made sense to me.  Of course we have a choice in the gender we pursue, doesn’t everyone?  Isn’t choice great?

I never did switch, because I didn’t want to be gay. That would mean I’d have to give up dating women, which I enjoyed.

Heterosexuality carries the privilege of not having to explain why I’m inviting someone out on a date. You’re a woman, I’m a man, we just follow the script that society has handed us.

It’s easy to remain only partly visible.


It took an embarrassingly long time to stop erasing, and become ok with calling myself “bisexual”, even in my own mind.

The realization didn’t come in High School when my crush on another boy had me following him around like a weird giddy puppy. Or in college, when I first kissed a boy. Or the second or third time that boy and I made out.

The scales started to lift from my eyes when I had a conversation with a good friend about the movie “Troy”, well into my 20’s.

He said, “That movie was kind of boring.”

I was shocked, and then I realized he was talking about the plot.

“Well… I didn’t really pay attention to the plot, tbh.  That movie’s just lots of Brad Pitt being gorgeous and half-naked.”

“You’re not as straight as you think you are.”

“Yeah, like you’re not attracted to guys sometimes.”

“Nope.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever.”

“Not even Brad Pitt?”

“Not even a little.  You’re bi, dude.”

“Huh.”

I figured he was fucking with me.  But a lot of things did start to make sense.


My life since then has been significantly more interesting.

I tried on the label like a new pair of shoes, awkward, and uncertain.

Like a good nerd, I dove into the research, but found it surprisingly lacking.  Bi Men Coming Out Every Which Way was a great read.  I learned about how pervasive the erasure of male bisexuality is, even among academic studies of LGBT culture.  It’s as if the B isn’t there.  A man who has sex with men is gay.  If he then has sex with a woman, he’s “closeted”.

But how can it be a closet if you go into it and out of it repeatedly, with lovers and families on both sides?  That’s not a closet, it’s a room with a revolving door.

The idea that bisexuality might exist is news worthy of the New York Times, even.

Privilege is hard to give up.  I can’t overstate how easy it is being straight in public, just letting people think whatever they want. But in the years since I’ve come out to myself, this bugs me more and more.

When meeting a new person, I try to say “partner” rather than “girlfriend”, and sometimes even “they” rather than “she”.  The shape of my lover’s body is no business of theirs, after all.

But when I slip, and drop her name, or use female pronouns (which, to be fair, she does use, female as she is), I can’t help but wonder if they’re relieved to find out that I’m not gay, or perhaps just relieved to know which mold I fit into.

I find myself resenting being cast in a mold at all.  Even if I say “partner”, and they assume I’m gay, part of me feels so put upon by that idea.  And then here I am making assumptions about what assumptions someone else might be making. It’s a vicious cycle, and there is no escape from the hypocrisy.

I’ve tried since then not to make assumptions about others’ sexual preferences.  Yet despite my best intentions, I consistently find myself mentally putting people in the “straight” or “gay” buckets once I find out the gender of their significant other.

The habit of bi erasure is silent and pervasive.


The first time I kissed a boy was almost a dare. In a dorm room, sitting around drinking, as you do. The two girls, roommates, said to the 5 of us boys that they’d both wondered what it would be like to kiss a girl. But, they said, they’re not lesbians, so they wanted to do it in front of people, so that it wouldn’t get too serious, or go too far.

You can imagine the reaction.

YES, LADIES, YOU HAVE OUR ATTENTION, PLEASE PROCEED

Afterwards, one of them remarked, “See, that’s why women are better. Guys would never be secure enough to do something like that.”

He and I both replied, “Bullshit,” and before I knew it, sparks were flying. The other 3 boys in the room were shocked, making the socially required homophobic anguish sounds. I barely remember them being there. I’d been looking all day for an excuse to touch him. It ended too fast, but endures in my mind to this day.

What a shock it was when I learned, 14 years later, that he has a boyfriend now!  I don’t know why it should’ve been a surprise. Back then, making out just seemed like a thing straight friends did with each other once in a while.

Again and again, I catch myself being surprised like that.  I try to remember that, in fact, a significant portion of men are bisexual, perhaps even a majority, depending on how we decide to define things.  I try to yank my thinking out of the mold, but it frequently slips back.

You don’t notice erasure until you stop doing it.
And then you don’t notice when you start again.


I’ve been told by people in the LGBT community that “bisexual isn’t a real thing”, that I’m “actually straight” because I’m with a woman, or even, “men aren’t bisexual, just closeted.” Bi-curious is code for “about to leave the closet”. “Bi now, gay later.”

I have taken to referring to gay and straight people as “monosexuals”.  I respond by explaining that they’re just going through a phase.  Once they meet the right person not of their stated preferred gender, they’ll grow out of it and realize that they’re actually bi.

But I know, that old “everyone’s bi” story is just another way to push us into the background. If we’re not nonexistent, we’re unremarkable. Either way, nothing to see here. Move along. 

Or worse, if we are visible, we’re sex objects. Dating gay men confirmed every awful thing I’ve heard (and, let’s be honest, perpetuated) about how straight men treat bi women. Qv the “bi for male pleasure” meme implicit in my first gay kiss experience. They’re happy to fuck the SAG, but anything more than sex is off the table. We can’t be trusted, after all. We’re tourists. Unicorns. We don’t exist.

LG_T


Maybe the strangest part about growing up a closeted bisexual is that I’ve been practicing dating girls since puberty. I’m very good at it. Confident. Respectful. Sensitive. Witty. Hungry and giving. It’s not talent or PUA bullshit, and there isn’t any one weird trick. It’s the result of many years of conscientious practice, with loving patient teachers who were learning from me as well; the occasional broken heart that didn’t kill me, even when I felt like it was trying to.

But my experience with men is still so elementary. Men and women are different! Turns. Out.  I am 13 all over again, confused and stumbling, sending the wrong signals, and reading every situation backwards. And they are grown men with adult expectations who very reasonably want a peer, not an apprentice. So that’s been tricky.

I don’t have it nearly so rough as the newly-out “baby gays”, celibate well into adulthood. At least I’ve had some relationships, enough to learn that the emotional bruises heal. My heart goes out to them.

At first, I was very careful about who I told. I didn’t want to draw scandal or trolling to my online communities. I didn’t want the drama. I still fear the schoolyard teasing.

Mostly, I didn’t want anyone else telling me how to feel about something I was only beginning to accept myself.


Eventually, I’ve come to see my queerness less as a “thing” to be disclosed, and more as just another part of my private life.  Something that friends probably know, and strangers probably don’t, no more scandalous or secret than my address or my allergy to shellfish.

I envy kids growing up today, as the sharp lines between straight and gay finally begin to blur in the cultural consciousness. Straight boys in love today might explore that feeling, without suffering an identity crisis. I wish those lines would blur faster. I wish it was a big deal because love is awesome, instead of being a big deal because of the genders and stated identities of the actors.

My home is technology.  This is My Culture, rotten though it can be at times. As a privileged and visible person in it, I feel obligated to try to make it a little better in the ways I can.  That’s why I’ve decided to publicly tell this story, so that my presence can add weight to the claim that bisexual men exist.

Maybe this can also be a reminder of the multitude of other things we casually erase from the people around us. There are so many ways we make our friends invisible, unwittingly nudging them into a corner that denies important parts of their identities, by perpetuating memes we don’t even notice.

Erasure isn’t healthy. And we are all unaware that we do it.

The Best You’ll Never Have Again

He walked into the house knowing it was late and that he had broken yet another promise, all she wanted was a simple night in with him…dinner, a relaxing bubble bath and then to watch a movie in bed…but once again the day had run into night as he and his brothers dealt with club business, and once again he hadn’t bothered to call or text.

He locked the door behind himself then kicked off his boots and took off his kutte, hanging it up, before he tossed his keys, phone and wallet down in the table. He didn’t know what he was walking into, he half expected to find the house empty or a mess, but that thought alone terrified him. He tiptoed through the house, finding her on top of the bed asleep, still fully clothed, having obviously fallen asleep waiting for him.

He stripped down to his boxers then laid down next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pressed his face into the back of her neck, pressing a light kiss against her warm soft skin.

“Juan…” She spoke, her voice thick with sleep as she pushed his arm off of her.

“I’m here baby.” He spoke softly, trying not to be hurt by the rejection that she didn’t want to be touched by him.

“What’s the time?” She asked seemingly more awake.

“It’s almost 4:30am.” He realised how late it truly was as he finally glanced at the bedside clock.

She sat up and ran her hair back, pushing it back.

“What are you doing?” He asked slightly panicked which he was unable to keep out of his voice.

“I’m going to get ready for work. I have an early start. You should sleep before the club calls again.” She spoke emotionless as she got up, crossed the room then walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

He sat up, shuffling up till his back was against the headboard with his eyes firmly fixed on the door. He listened to every movement that seemed to echo through the silent room until she walked out fully dressed.

“I’ll see you later.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the room without a second glance.

“Y/N?” Juice scrambled off the bed after her but she didn’t stop even as he called out to her again.

“I love you.” He called out making her stop as she was half way through the door.

“Yeah.” She simply said before she closed the door behind her, leaving him standing there in the dark.

**

Chibs looked up as Juice walked through the clubhouse then took a seat at the bar, ordering the prospect to get him a bottle of whiskey. Chibs glanced over at Bobby who shrugged before he looked back at Juice seeing him not even bothering with a glass, rather chugging the bottle down as if it was water.

“Juicy boy.” Chibs crossed the room quickly, grabbing the bottle from his hand and sliding it down the bar as it was barely ten in the morning.

“What?” Juice snapped as he went to reach for another bottle but his hand was quickly slapped down by Chibs.

“It’s not even noon lad, might want to take it easy on the booze. Use your words instead.” Chibs advised sternly, pinning him with a look that told him it was more of a order than anything.

“I don’t want to take it easy on the booze.” Juice snapped again before he pushed himself away from the bar, grabbing the bottle of booze then disappearing off towards the dorm rooms.

“We only drink like that when we’re having trouble with women.” Bobby wisely advised as Chibs shook his head then walked out of the clubhouse.

**

You stopped at the sight of Chibs sitting in your office before you closed your door, already figuring why he was here.

“Chibs.” You greeted sternly as you stood in front of him, leaning against your desk.

“Lass, Juice is at the clubhouse getting drunk.” He informed you.

“Of course he is.” You stated, rolling your eyes as you pushed yourself off of the desk and walked round it, taking a seat in your plush chair.

“That sounds an awful lot like resentment lass.” He replied as you glared at him.

“With respect Chibs, this is between Juan and I, no one else.” You were stern with him.

“Aye, I understand that but I love Juicy boy like a son. Wouldn’t want to see him hurt.” Chibs stood up once he had finished speaking.

“And I don’t want to be hurt either.” You responded making him look at you with curiosity.

“Talk to him lass.” He advised before he walked out of your office, leaving you alone.

You sat back in your chair and pressed your hands to your face as you sighed.

**

You stayed at work till 6pm before you left and found yourself heading for the clubhouse rather than the house you shared with Juan. You pulled in and got out then walked across the lot and into the clubhouse. You stopped as your eyes fixed on Juan with a topless blonde in his lap, her breasts pressed into his face as his hands roamed across her bare skin.

It felt like your heart had stopped along with your lungs, and then you noticed that the clubhouse had fallen silent as everyone was looking at you. You raised your wrist just enough to see the crow, the crow that told everyone you were his before you looked back at Juice and the crow-eater who were still completely oblivious. Your eyes shifted to find Chibs.

“Bring the van by in the morning. His stuff will be packed and ready otherwise it will be burned. I’ll have the ink gone by tomorrow night.” You told Chibs, and ultimately the entire club, before you turned and walked away, your heart breaking with each step but cheating was the one thing you wouldn’t, you couldn’t forget or move on from.

**

You tore through the house, thankful that you still had some of the flat packed boxes from when he had moved in, as you shoved everything of his into the boxes. You had already called an 24 hour locksmith who had come straight over to change every lock and latch in the house, along with the alarm code if he happened to breach the new locks.

**

Juice groaned as he was woken up by a sharp kick to the ribs, his head pounding and the nausea almost overpowering.

“Get up Juice. You’ve got to get your stuff before you get burned.” Tig growled, angry at his young brother.

“What?” Juice groaned as he covered his eyes, the light was too bright.

“You’re an idiot. Threw the best thing away.” Chibs growled clearly angry.

“What did I throw away?” Juice groaned out.

“Y/N. And all for a crow eater.” Tig spoke disappointedly.

“What? No! She wouldn’t.” Juice was alarmed as he jumped up off the floor, stopping as his head spun and his stomach rolled.

“She was rather clear last night once she found you with a topless crow eater practically dry humping you. Ordered that the van come pick you stuff up this morning otherwise it would be burned.” Tig relayed the night’s event.

“C'mon I’ll drive you.” Chibs spoke without looking at him as he walked out of the clubhouse. Juice silently and slowly followed like a puppy.

**

You sat in the chair and glanced over at Happy as he laid out the inks he would be using. You’d called him earlier and asked him to cover up the ink he had originally done for you, for Juan; he’d agreed much to your relief and organised to meet you at Freddy’s before the shop was even open for normal business.

“Are you sure about this?” Happy asked in his usual raspy voice, making you look up at him as he pulled on a pair of black non-latex gloves knowing you were allergic to latex.

“Yeah… It’s over Hap.” You replied assuredly as you positioned your arm flat.

Happy gave you a nod and then he began tattooing as you relaxed back against the chair watching the rhythmic movement as the crow was slowly replaced. And suddenly a huge part of your life, all the things you had planned for the future, became a part of the past.

**

Juice sat on the curb while Chibs stood leant up against the van as they waited for her to get back.

“How could I be so stupid? I love her. I don’t want to lose her. I can’t lose her.” Juice mumbled over and over to himself knowing she wouldn’t take him back as he dug his nails into his scalp.

Chibs pushed his glasses down just enough to show his eyes as he saw her car pull into the drive. Juice scrambled to his feet but halted abruptly as she got out of the car and he saw the large white wrap over her arm where her crow was.

“Y/N?” Juice questioned.

“Stay away from me. We’re done.” She spoke emotionless.

“Please baby, I’m sorry, I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.” Juice pleaded.

“It never means anything Juice. For the last few months you get blind drunk and you don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t think I didn’t see the marks from those whores, or smell them on you. Cheating is not condoned, and it will never be alright… Just go and don’t come back.” She told him before she made her way inside leaving him standing stunned.

Another one of my plot bunnies (Steter ABO AU)

AU where human omegas are rare and particularly attractive to werewolves. Stiles and Peter both attend college and are of the same age.




When Peter arrives at College, there’s only one thing he wants to do. He’s heard of a secret society of werewolves - an extremely exclusive club. There are rumors about its famous members. There are rumors that once you’re in, all sorts of doors are opened for you. Peter is pretty sure that he’s not only able to get admitted, but will run the society in no time.

For someone with Peter’s resources and dedication, it’s not all that hard to identify some of the members.

That’s the first step towards his goal. It puts him on the map. It gets him an invitation to the initiation night.

Peter half assumes he’s already made it. He was cunning enough to uncover the society, wasn’t he, and he’s a Hale. His name carries weight.

It doesn’t grant him an automatic membership, though.

The new candidates have to prove their worthiness.

Year after year, the challenge remains the same: seduce one of the resident omegas in the span of one semester. Offer proof of the deed.

It’s not an easy task by any means.

Most omegas are leery of werewolves. They’re also far and in between; even on a campus as large as this one, there’s only a handful of them. Each candidate gets an assignment. A specific target. It’s Peter’s objective to seduce one Stiles Stilinski, a freshman who’s studying Cryptography.

The first time he sees Stiles, Peter thinks, fuck, I lucked out. Stiles is hot. Like a nerd slash librarian fantasy come to live. He’s wearing an awful lot of plaid and a tight-fitting superhero shirt and thick, black-framed glasses, and the result shouldn’t look attractive in any capacity, but it does. It looks ridiculously attractive. It will be no hardship to seduce him. No hardship to bang him. Peter can’t wait to peel him out of his layers.

Peter is attractive and clever and most of all he’s charming if he wants be to, and he’s aware of every single one of these traits. He’s never had trouble winning anyone over.

He does his homework, quietly stalking Stiles. Going to his classes. Listening in to his conversations.

When he sees Stiles studying in the library, he takes one look at his textbook and tells him, you’re honestly reading that? It’s shit. You should try Stephens. He’s more advanced, more precise. If you’re up for the challenge.

Stiles mouth falls open. He’s clearly offended, and not even a minute later he’s engaged Peter in a heated debate.

So far, so good.

They start to hang out.

They study together. Grab some dinners. It’s not dating, just acquaintances hanging out, but it’s still the best thing Peter has done in ages.

Everything goes according to plan until Peter mentions he’s a werewolf.

Stiles shuts down. One minute he’s Peter’s friend, the next minute he eyes Peter like he’s the big bad wolf and Stiles is Little Red Riding Hood. It’s not even far from the truth, all things considered. In a twist of fate, Stiles even wears a red hoodie at that moment. He makes an excuse, cutting their dinner short, and avoids Peter for the next few days. When they start to hang out again, Stiles is careful, extremely careful.

It’s fair to say that ‘Operation Omega’ is proving more difficult than Peter expected. Stiles doesn’t believe in the goodness of people (particularly of werewolves).

He’s a tough nut to crack.

But Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t still intrigued. The challenge has only become more interesting, more worthwhile. He tries some subtle advances, but these ultimately lead nowhere. When Stiles tells him he isn’t interested, that there will never be anything between them, Peter backs off.

He tells Stiles that he was only interested in friendship, and the inevitable mischief and mayhem that goes along with it, and if he really thinks Peter is only trying to sweet-talk him into bed… well, fuck that. Then Peter doesn’t care what Stiles says. You can go fuck yourself, Peter tells Stiles. Really. You’re one of the few interesting people around here, and sure, it was fun hanging out with you, but you’re obsessed with the idea that I want to – what? Sleep with you? Invite you to an orgy? Go all feral on you? Forget it. Forget your speciest bullshit. We’re done.

Stiles looks stricken.

It’s perfect.

Peter walks away in the sure knowledge that he’s won the omega finally over. It’s difficult to hide the smirk.

And sure enough, not even five minutes later he gets a text from Stiles; an apology.

So Peter does the noble thing and forgets all about the episode, and they return to their tentative friendship. It’s fun. Honestly, Stiles is a little shit with questionable morals. He’s vindictive and petty… but very, very loyal once you’re on his good side.

After a particular delightful night in which they hacked into the university’s database just to see if they could, one thing leads to another and they find themselves in Stiles’ dorm room, drinking the world’s shittiest vodka, and the next thing they know is that they’re stripping and making out. And then: sex. Finally. Finally. It’s what Peter worked up to for months now, and despite the circumstances, it’s perfect. It’s all he wished it to be. He knows omegas smell incredibly nice, but this – Stiles under him; the way his lips have fallen open and his brows are furrowed, the sounds he makes – this is more than nice. This is incredible.

It’s a paradigm shift, Peter thinks idly later on, as he falls asleep with Stiles in his arms.

Of course, it all goes to hell the next morning.

So my truly wonderful friend Trina livingmydaydreams turns 21 today. And because I have absolutely no artistic or technological skill to make her something birthday related, I wrote her a birthday themed Sterek fic instead. Happy happy happy birthday, beautiful! I hope you have a truly spectacular day and that you get spoilt rotten like you deserve.
trigger warning for alcohol use

Today is Stiles 21st birthday. It’s his 21st birthday and he’s spending it alone in his dorm room, drinking home-mixed Jack and Coke’s. His first (legal) drink and no one is even around to watch him enjoy it.

This is some bullshit.

And as much as he’d like someone to blame, there really isn’t anyone he can.

Except the fucking hippogriff.

That’s right, a hippogriff. Mythical beast, spawn of griffin and mare, symbol of love, Draco Malfoy mutilator, and official 21st birthday ruiner.

The original plan had been for the rest of the pack to come down to Berkeley and take Stiles out to paint the town. And how Stiles had been planning to paint it.

But then bloody Buckbeak had shown up in Beacon Hills and started wreaking havoc, because apparently that’s what all supernatural beasties are contractually obligated to do. If they don’t, Lucifer himself probably rescinds their membership card.

So Scott and the wolves had to stay behind, because as much as they love him, innocent joggers getting clawed to death take precedence over celebrating yet another of Stiles’ revolutions around the sun.

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            Grantaire doesn’t go home for the holidays. He watches, bottle dangling from his fingers, as cars come and go all morning and all day, winces when moms squeal over their sons’ growth spurts, and tries not to be too relieved when his roommate decides to go back to New York last minute. It’s not that he doesn’t like Montparnasse, he just hates how he has this terrible habit of having really loud sex with multiple people while Grantaire is still in the room. It happens more than you’d think, which is to say, several times per week.

            So after helping Montparnasse pack for several hours (‘listen, you don’t need five hair dryers –’ ‘don’t tell me what I do and do not need, Grantaire, you don’t understand’) and waving him goodbye as he jets off in his stupidly decadent BMW, he finally gets the room to himself.

            And promptly wishes he could actually take advantage of it. Unfortunately, Grantaire’s bed has seen more beer stains than visitors in the last two years. Not that he hasn’t been trying diligently to change that. It just seems that any time he finds someone willing to fall into bed with him, Grantaire can’t bring himself to do it.

            Life was so much easier before he met Enjolras.

{In which Courfeyrac invites all the les amis over for thanksgiving and Enjolras and Grantaire get snowed in and must share a blanket or freeze}

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Reflecting on my first year in university, I’ve realized I learned invaluable lessons I wish someone had exposed me to prior to the Fall 2013 semester. However, I’m glad I learned in my own time that these lessons play a major role in ensuring your first year at university goes smoothly - because now I can share them with you! 

Everyone will undoubtedly have their own personal challenges their freshman year, but I hope this article gives you useful tips so you don’t have to learn (or relearn!) the same lessons I did. 

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It’s been a shit week, frankly. Leonard knows Jim is stressing (unnecessarily, although he’ll never admit it to his boyfriend) about his grades, this being their last semester at the Academy, and it seems like all his teachers are piling up the work. The other cadets have been making nasty comments about Jim again, too, they’ve picked up a lot since everyone came back from winter break, and even though Leonard defends him whenever he can (and so do the admittedly few other friends he has–Gaila, the Orion Jim’s got a friends-with-benefits thing going with, and Fisher, the cadet who credits Jim with teaching him how to do a tourniquet and thus survive getting his leg ripped off, and Fleming, the kid Jim rescued during that same survival class), Jim hears enough comments that they’re wearing him down. And to top it all off, he comes back from the hand-to-hand course he TA’s with his arm in a sling because an overanxious cadet dislocated his shoulder and it’s still tender.

So Leonard decides that Jim needs a quiet evening at home, and a little bit of harmless fun.

He orders out for Jim’s favorite pizza–extra-large stuffed crust, no sauce, three times the usual amount of cheese, sausage and green peppers and onions–even though it’s a heart attack waiting to happen, and they eat it on the sofa in Leonard’s dorm room and drink soda, not beer, Jim doesn’t need alcohol right now. When he gets in bad moods like this, alcohol just makes it worse. And then they cuddle on the couch to watch a movie.

If Jim was picking, it’d be something action-oriented, he really likes spy thrillers and superhero movies (Leonard has learned over the last three years what the differences are between Marvel and DC, and he agrees with Jim that the only DC movie worth bothering about is Watchmen, which doesn’t even really count). But Leonard’s picking, and he knows that what Jim needs tonight is something lighthearted and fun and fluffy.

He picks a Disney movie.

You’ve got to be careful with them, of course. Leonard avoids The Lion King and Dumbo and Pete’s Dragon–they all have storylines that are too close to Jim’s, and that’s too painful for the poor kid right now. And he doesn’t figure Jim is particularly interested in the princess films, although Leonard secretly loves them. But this one…he figures Jim will enjoy this one. After all, it has adventure. And sarcasm. And fish.

Jim gets excited when the Disney castle comes up, and it turns out he’s seen quite a few Disney movies in his time. He’s even seen all the princess movies, which simultaneously startles and relaxes Leonard. But he’s never seen Finding Nemo, and while he clutches Leonard and whispers “oh no” throughout most of the first five minutes of the film, he relaxes and seems to be enjoying himself thoroughly.

Leonard lets his hand tangle absently in Jim’s blond hair as the film progresses. He tears up a little when Marlin and Dory return to the ocean, believing Nemo to be dead–he always has–but since they both know that Nemo isn’t really dead, it’s not too bad. But then Marlin leaves Dory, and she starts pleading with him to get him to stay, and Leonard feels Jim bury his face in his side, and then he realizes that Jim is quietly sobbing.

“Jim?” he says, worried, pausing the film.

“I know how she feels,” Jim whispers, his voice choked with tears. “I know…”

‘Oh, Jim.“ Leonard tightens his arms around Jim, chiding himself for not having seen this coming. Jim has been abandoned by so many people, naturally he would sympathize with Dory.

Jim raises his tearstained face to Leonard’s, clutching his arm tightly. "Don’t leave me,” he begs. “Please, Bones, don’t ever…because she’s right. That’s–that’s how it is. I look at you and I’m home. Please don’t go away. I don’t want to forget.”

Leonard’s heart clenches. He should have seen this coming, too. Because Jim is like Dory, sunshine and freckles and light and joy and enthusiasm and brilliant ideas and just making friends with everybody (Leonard can picture Jim walking into a Klingon Support Group meeting and acting like he belongs there), but feeling things a lot more deeply than people would ever expect. And Leonard is Marlin. He’s cynicism and fear and grumpiness and stubbornness and he’s lost so many things in his life that he would be the one to walk away, to decide that he couldn’t take any more pain and just leave.

“I won’t, Jim,” Leonard says, quietly but sincerely, leaning over to rest his forehead against Jim’s. “I will never leave you. I won’t walk away. I promise.”

Jim’s eyes search his for a long moment, and then he slowly relaxes, tucking his head under Leonard’s chin and curling into him a little closer.

Leonard will think of this moment two weeks later, when he is told to go and Jim is told to stay and Jim tries to see him off with a brave smile and a be safe. But for now, he simply cuddles his boyfriend, his Jim, a little closer and resumes the movie.

And he realizes that, just like Dory changed Marlin’s life for the better, Jim has changed his.