I wish you would write a fic about Scott getting werewolf drunk with Derek and accidentally letting it slip that Stiles is on love with Derek. (In honor of your drinking) ;)
“Scott, I’m going to kill you!”
The door of his apartment banged open and for the first time in years, Scott jumped in shock. His coffee mug hit the kitchen tile and shattered, piping hot coffee splashed over his bare feet, and he suddenly remembered Stiles saying at some point that he was learning how to mask his presence from werewolves.
Apparently he mastered that particular skill.
And how to magically and silently open a deadbolt.
Normally Scott would pick up Stiles’ familiar heartbeat two floors down, and his jeep while it was still a ways down the road, but this time, there had been nothing. No heartbeat, no jeep, not even footsteps in the hallway—until suddenly there was everything. Elevated heart rate, clouds of anger wafting through the apartment, Stiles stomping closer, furious for some reason, and Scott could do nothing to prepare himself because for the first time in his life, he was hungover.
He was dying, because just the night before, he discovered in the stupidest way possible that yes, werewolves could get drunk with the right tools and a little determination. And the right tool was some crazy strong alcohol Stiles brought back from Poland last year that could punch straight through even an alpha werewolf’s metabolism. And what did he do with that discovery?
Like a college freshman away from home for the first time, buckling under immense peer pressure.
He was hungover, he was dying, and he was an idiot.
An idiot who Stiles was apparently about to murder, judging by his murderous expression when he turned the corner and locked his wild, murderous gaze on Scott. His hair was tugged up in every direction, he’d probably slept in that loose and stretched shirt, and he had the manic energy of a man who’d been roaming the streets looking for vengeance.
It had been years since Scott last felt any kind of inkling of fear towards his best friend, but right then, standing in his underwear in a puddle of hot coffee, feeling nauseous and fuzzy and somehow bloated—he was horribly aware of the mountain ash that Stiles always had on him. It was the emissary’s favorite threat towards werewolves who pissed him off, and while he rarely ever followed through with it, that murderous face promised no empty threats. Just revenge.
Scott stepped out of the puddle of hot coffee. That was really all he could do to improve the situation.
“You told him,” Stiles accused, eyes narrowed with rage as he stalked closer. “You actually told him, I can’t believe you would tell him!”
I found it. I remembered I once wanted to share it but it wasn’t finished so I never did. I realized I forgot the idea, if there had been any to begin with, so I’m sharing this half-unfinished thingy. yay (ΦωΦ)’’’/
This basically gave me an excuse to write a ficlet set in the same ‘Verse as LYAD. It’s not particularly spy-ish, but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone.
So, some time in the nebulous future after the events of Lay Your Armour Down…
Derek gets off the plane and the first thing he does is veer
violently to one side – his phone’s alerting him to a voicemail. He curses the
flight stewardess who’d glared at him until he’d switched it off, curses the
agency for sending him economy in the cheapest flight they could find instead
of on one that would allow him to use his phone.
honey,” Stiles begins the message - he’s using an accent and a burner
phone, but Derek knows it’s him. “I know you reminded me not to, but I
think I left the oven on. I’m sorry. I love you.”
goes cold. Stiles would never risk calling Derek’s personal number unless it
was an emergency, and the fact Stiles used the ridiculous code name they’d
joked about – Honey – but never actually used (Stiles had found the prospect of
pet names as code names hilarious),
added to Stiles apologising and nattering on about a conversation they’d never
had, well, it all adds up to one thing: Stiles is in trouble.
im not saying the only rational reason for liam to be this pissed and *cough* sexually *cough* flustrated at theo is that they saved each others fabulous asses, bonded and then theo vanished for probably months and liam therefore is bitching at his bf about it but thats exactly what im saying.
If we could all just as a community agree to legitimize our fandom contributions as resume builders. All these things that we spend so much time and put so much heartinto, but feel like they won’t ultimately get us anywhere outside this space and these blogs. If we could agree to help each other out, be each other’s references, validate these skills we have and the things that we do for each other to help each other move forward.
Help someone code their blog? (Or do your own?) That’s web design, right there.
Taking commissions is obviously working as a freelance artist, but what about taking fic prompts? Is there a way that could be expressed as the skill it is?
Big bangs or co-writing stories shows you’re a team player; participating in events proves an ability to meet deadlines. Running those events (or any kinds of groups/networks) shows organizational skills, leadership, and the same skill sets needed to run any non-fandom club.
And depending on the type of blog you run… do you ever offer advice? Do you come up with meta? Even coming on and posting regularly should be able to be worked into social media experience.
…Point is. I know none of us do this to try and get ahead. We do this in our free time, because we love it. But I feel like we should also recognize that it takes effort and skill to do all the things we do on here, and that we should be proud of that and be willing and able to share it with potential employers.
If writers on here would agree to be references for their betas… if anyone on here would be willing to be references for the people who support them in any way… can you imagine how amazing that would be? How great that would feel to help people get jobs, get their contributions recognized outside the community?
I feel like I want to organize something for this… but I don’t have a fully formed idea for it yet.
Do you ever think about Derek if the fire never happened and how he was probably like the best brother ever
Here is what I know about Derek Hale as a big brother pre-fire:
1.) He gave all his little brothers and sisters piggy back rides and was never embarrassed to admit he would rather stay in with them to watch Disney movies rather than come to the party Friday night.
2.) Derek was always the one who got the call from the school when one of his brothers or sisters weren’t feeling well because they were all convinced Derek could fix tummy bugs with his smile. (Laura may have told them this as a joke to wind Derek up but Derek never minded - much to Laura’s disappointment - and after a while, even Talia and Papa Hale accepted no one was going to cut it but Derek on sick days.)
3.) He always let his brothers and sisters sleep in his bed when they were scared. After a while, his youngest brother just made a habit of going to Derek’s room when it was time to say goodnight and Derek never had the heart to tell him no (which is how he ended up sharing a bed with his little brother for two years).
4.) Every Christmas (and therefore every Birthday too) he would get at least four mugs with the world’s bestest brother printed on them. Derek never got rid of any of them - even although some years he got the same mug four times over - and scattered them about his room, using them as book ends. (One year, maybe on his 30th birthday, Cora gets him a world’s best brother mug and he straight up cries, unable to help himself. He pretty much spends the rest of the day letting Stiles spoon feed him ice cream - “here comes the airplane!” “remind me why I like you again?” - and because Stiles knows Derek can’t not love it: reading to him from his favourite history books. Stiles can’t help but comment on every other paragraph and ask things like how did they think that wasn’t going to go wrong but it’s enough to make Derek smile again, still clutching his mug.)
5.) When he and Stiles are planning to adopt, Stiles gets a little pissed because whenever Derek tells someone he’s always met with a, “and don’t let Stiles run them too wild now”! whereas he is always told by every little old lady and man in town he comes across that they always knew Derek would make a wonderful dad and how much they miss seeing him with the little Hales. They also tell him to tell Derek the leather works for him but they miss the plaid he used to wear, which, WHAT?! He’s more sad than pissed though - it’s true, he hopes his kids turn out to be little shits - and usually ends up spooning Derek or making love to him extra tenderly whenever he comes back from meeting “the town elders”, as Stiles calls them.
At first, Derek doesn’t know how to handle Stiles’ sympathy but Stiles never forces him to talk and….it’s everything he ever really needed, with Stiles holding him tight, telling him he can’t wait to start a family with him, that he knows it’s going to be hard for him and it’s okay. Because he’s always going to be there beside him, no matter what “even though I know you are the one who is going to let the kids get away with shit and I am the one who is going to be strict on vegetables. You’ll still love me when they hate me, right???” “Go to sleep, Stiles.”
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
“Nice ride,” the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black '68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
“You like American muscle?” He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.