shit-i-wrote-not-instead-of-no

anonymous asked:

robo have you ever been made fun of because of the way you dress/act and if so what do you do?

of course i have. ill spare you (and myself) all of the details, but, i cant say that i ever did anything. i went home and cried maybe back when i was a teenager. listened to sad music, locked myself in my room, wrote in my diary. all that good teenage shit.

i still avoid all conflict to this very day, and i still get rude comments from time to time but its different. as i aged instead of feeling sad or hurt i just think…this person is going to die and everyone they love will die and ill die too, sure, but - man i hope it happens to them first. and then that thought passes and i get over it and move on, and im even still nice to them after that. i dont want to be mean or vengeful or waste my energy on being angry - because i will die, and they will die, and what they said to me means absolutely nothing in the end.

i had to delete so many people from my life this month. 

so fucking many . 

people i didnt even think would sink as low as they did, 

people of fucking color

black people

and of course, a liberal punk i have known since 2000. 

yeah 2000. 

today i deleted him, this “non racist non conformist” dip shit because he “lost his job to Mexicans” and thinks getting rid of illegal immigrants will cure american homelessness. 

thats right. 

and wrote parapraph after racist paragraph of shitty mexican stereotypes to justify his claims. 

this shit really hightlighted why i hate slighted white people. they can never ever see the OBVIOUS truth: your capitalist bosses taking advantage of undocumented people. NOT undocumented people!

they are mentally like…that woman thats always on 90′s talk shows that attacks the “other woman” instead of her glib, cheating boyfriend. 

like that Irish settlement that burned down a village because they were mad at SLAVES instead of…ya know…SLAVE OWNERS. 

its lazy thinking. 

so much for the old punk crew

anonymous asked:

As a bellarke shipper, Eliza’s comment on bellarke today really did hurt me, but u know what hurts the most Erin? How supportive I was to Clexa shippers after her death yet u all really seem to be enjoying how sad we are feeling right now, i wish i could seen u pics of all the nice and supportive comments I wrote for you guys after lexa's death..

I’m sorry anon that you feel like this, i hope you realize that Eliza wasn’t calling Bellarke ‘shit’, okay? She is basically saying she was sick of all the “Bellarke Stuff” (’shit’ is just slang for ‘stuff’). She is tired of not being able to talk about the comrade relationship they have without people thinking she means it romantically. She wants to make sure that the interviewers know she is not talking about a possible romance for Bellamy and Clarke, but instead a beautiful rekindling of an amazing friendship and team. 

I do feel like equating Lexa’s death and the loss of Clexa to Eliza basically saying she sick of the “Bellarke stuff” is not even equatable. Bellarkers still have Bellamy and Clarke. They still will get to see those two characters interact. It might not be romantically, but it will be supportive and caring. Not only did Clexa shipper lose a character that meant so much to them, they also lost a relationship that meant a lot to them too. A relationship that is so rare to find. A relationship that was taken away in such an insensitive way. 

I know that there were some bellarkers, like yourself, that were very sweet and supportive and realized how much Lexa and Clexa meant to us. Thank you for that. Unfortunately your words were drowned out by the countless Blarkers that praised Lexa dying and told us we deserved it. I’m not trying to belittle your hurt feelings, because you are allowed to feel hurt by this. I just want you to see how this really isn’t anything new. Eliza has always voiced her opposition to a romantic Bellarke. She just this time said ‘shit’ instead of ‘stuff’.  

Me being predictable: I want to write more of Kent and Bitty in @omgpbandj’s AU where they’re sex workers, but them in the break room eating microwaved dinners out of tupperware (or Subway, in Kent’s case) shooting the shit about their clients, what they’re gonna do when they get off shift, and what they hear working conditions are like for their friends under different management.

but why were duncan and isadora quagmire so fuckin extra tho??? like why did they have to leave mysterious couplet poems that took the baudelaires a shit ton of time to solve?? like no wonder they never got rescued, they always wrote some cryptic ass puzzle instead of something like “hey we’re trapped inside the huge ass bird statue come save us”

In the Details

Summery: “Well, officially, I’m a deputy who’s currently on desk duty. Unofficially I run the new department called the ISA. It stands for Investigation of Supernatural Activity. My job is to fabricate information and evidence regarding supernatural crime, and prosecute the criminals in a legal way. It was created because it was becoming increasingly difficult to charge people for crimes that theoretically didn’t exist. So I transfer the crimes into non-supernatural situations, so suspects can be tried in a court of law.”
“So, you lie?”
Stiles shrugged. “What are the criminals gonna say? No Mr. Judge, I didn’t stab the victim with a knife, I actually impaled him with my claws?”
“Touché.”

A/N: Basically I’m a literal piece of shit and instead of writing all the things I have requested, or the story I’m not done and have fallen behind with, I wrote this. First off: I am extremely sorry if you are waiting on something to be written that I haven’t yet, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy this. The inspiration hit me when I was watching to many episodes of Flashpoint, and the story-line literally just came to me, and I LITERALLY LOVE IT SO MUCH. LITERALLY THIS KILLS ME IM NOT EVEN KIDDING. I’m obsessed already, and I truly hope y’all feel the same way cause I’m the most psyched for you to read it. Secondly: I’m sorry I suck so much, but it’s because I’ve experienced some writers block, and I find the best way to deal with that is to write what you have motivation for. Hens this. I promise I will finish all the other things tho. It will be either three or four parts, depending on how long the chapters turn out. Hope you all enjoy, and feel free to like/reblog or drop me a comment. ID LOVE NOTHING MORE THAN TALKING ABOUT THE CONCEPT OF THIS STORY WITH SOME OF YOU IM NOT EVEN KIDDING.

Side note: this is my first time full on writing Stiles. I find his mannerisms slightly hard to elaborate on so I hope y’all get what I’m saying, so plz go easy on me. Also, I hope I did a good job explaining the promt, if y’all confused let me know, and I’ll take that into consideration with how I elaborate in the second chapter.

I also know it is hella unrealistic but that is vv besides the point.

Pairings: Stiles/Reader

Warnings: Mature Themes and some swearing.

Masterlist

Ask me anything or Request (but please note there is a waiting list oops)


Stiles fixed his tie as he walked through the doors of the Sheriffs department. It was about two o’clock in the morning when his dad called.

Stiles ran his hand down his face, whipping away the sleep in his eyes. He had gotten up in a panic, so originally he was wide awake, but the exhaustion was now hitting him. It was his first day off after an eight-day work stretch and he was trying to catch up on some much needed sleep. All in a days work, he supposed. 

He quickly walked through the reception area and into the back room, immediately seeing his father. Sheriff Stilinski was standing in front of the one-way window/other-way mirror, with his arm crossed, and staring at the witness who was pacing back and forth in the small white room.

They had installed two new interrogation rooms a little over a year ago. They were located down the hallway before you entered the holding cells, which had also been recently updated. In fact, the whole department had gotten a much needed face-lift, especially after all the supernatural damage over the years.  The Mayor’s office had given the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department a grant for its ‘outstanding police work in the field’ and in support of thirty percent crime drop in the area, that was still decreasing.

After running into too many brick walls, Sheriff Stilinski made some drastic changes within the department, mostly concerning his newest Deputy, and his son, Stiles. Usually, it was Scott and Stiles causing the trouble, but ironically, the grant money and crime drop was primarily because of Stiles’ impressive police work, and his new role in the department. However, it was hard work that Stiles would probably never be credited for.

“Hey dad,” he greeted, patting the Sheriff on the shoulder. He went to take a step to grab the file on the counter beside the interrogation room, but quickly did a double take at the nervous girl behind the glass. Stiles stopped awkwardly before lunging back beside his dad, and tucking his work shirt into his pants quickly. “S-She’s the witness?”

Sheriff looked his son up and down, and rolled his eyes. “Would you calm down? Yes, she’s the witness. We picked her up two hours ago.”

“I am calm.” Stiles responded, over-dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “I thought you said she was Callahan’s assistant?”

“She is.”

Stiles shifted his glare from his dad to the girl. “She’s young.” He stated simply. He wasn’t sure why but when his dad told him they got Callahan’s assistant he assumed someone in their mid-thirties, or at the very lest older than her. She was way younger than thirty; Stiles would estimate twenty-two at most, and if you asked him, she was beautiful.

“She’s not young she’s your age.”

“Hey, I’m young!” Stiles shot back.

Sheriff laughed. “Yeah, wait till the stress of the job gets to yeah, you wont be that young for much longer.”

“Trust me, I’m getting there.” Stiles teased. He adjusted his name tag on his uniform, and then grabbed the file. He flipped through the pages Sheriff had put together, and his eyes flickered continuously from the sheets to the girl.

“The anonymous tip you got the other day paid off. Because it wasn’t specific, we only sent Parrish, Talbot and Clarke to scope the area. It was a package drop, and because we had probable cause Parrish managed to intercept it— “

“Was it cocaine or lilac?”

“Cocaine, which is really good for us and our legal report. Talbot went after the guys making the exchange— “

“Werewolves?”

“On Callahan’s end yes, but he wasn’t able to get them into custody, and we know nothing about the other end of the exchange. We didn’t bring enough manpower; we assumed the tip was going to be another dead end.” Sheriff continued, voice trialing off at the end.

“You made the right call dad, you couldn’t have known.” Stiles reassured.  “What’s she got to do with it though?” He then asked, gesturing to the girl in the room.

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s confirmed to be Callahan’s assistant on his business end of things, she works in his building in the city, but lives down here. We think she was there to supervise.”

“Did she touch the package at all?”

“Yes. We ran the prints, other than Parrish’s, she had the only other set of prints we can confirm.”

“Awesome.” Stiles said, closing the file in his hand. “I can use that.” He continued, reaching for the door handle.

“Stiles,” his dad started, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. Stiles turned around, and raised his eyebrows at his dad. “Be nice to her. I’m not sure why she’s caught up in this, but I don’t think she knows everything, and she sure as hell didn’t know about the supernatural— “

“How do you figure?” Stiles questioned, eyebrows furring together in confusion.

“I’ve been watching her panic for three hours, and the whole car ride over she was trying to tell Clarke to go after the werewolves, and was freaking out about what she saw. Find a happy ending for her.”

“I will.” Stiles said. Sheriff removed his hand from his son and nodded.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the door as she heard the handle turn. She placed both her hands on her hips and let out an angry sigh.

She was taken aback when a young guy walked through the door. He was staring at a folder in his hand as he walked in. Shutting the door loudly, his eyes flickered to hers, only for a moment, before he sat down at the chair behind the desk.

“Fucking finally.” Y/N said, exasperated.  

Stiles eyes tore away from the file to stare at her once more. Once they locked eyes, he raised his eyebrows slightly. “Take a seat Mrs. Y/L/N.” He told her, gesturing to the chair across from him. He closed the folder and placed it on the table, before she had a chance to see what was in it.

Y/N angrily pulled out the chair, and sat down over-dramatically. “Mrs. Y/L/N is my mother.” She grumbled.

Stiles chuckled. “Y/N, then?” He proposed. She nodded. “I’d like you to tell me what happened earlier tonight.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I already told the other cop what happened. If you did your job and actually read the file in front of you, you’d know what I said. I thought I was being brought in as a witness, but you’ve collected my DNA and fingerprints— “

“That’s standard.”

“You detained me, and I’ve been sitting in this room to squirm for two hours. So, on the contrary to your question, you’re clearly uninterested in what happened earlier. And you’re acting very nonchalantly, which tells me you’re not concerned about me leaving anytime soon.” She continued, moving her hands and placing them on the table, and leaning in. “If I’m being charged, I have the right to know. If I’m not, you have no probable cause to keep me in this room, and I’d like to go home.”

“I thought you witnessed what happened?”

“And I already gave my statement. But clearly you haven’t bothered to read the file. Either that, or it’s there as a scare tactic and there’s actually nothing relevant in there.”

Stiles smiled slightly, holding her gaze for a moment, before running his hands through his hair. “I’m very sorry they kept you waiting so long. I got called in specifically to come talk to you— “

“Why? I thought detectives handled interviews. Besides you look like you’re in high school.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well were highly understaffed here, so I’m as good as it gets.” He said. “And I’m twenty-two, thank you very much.” Stiles finished and he flicked open the file dramatically, no longer hiding what lied inside, and flipped to Clarke’s notes from earlier. He then coughed, clearing his throat, and fixed his posture, as if he was preparing for a dramatic reading. “I was on my way home from work when I saw two men hand a brown box to another two men. It was two dark and I was far away so I was unable to get a clear view of their faces or what they were wearing. I tried to run when the police got there, but you tackled me, thanks for that by the way— “

“I know what I said in my witness statement.” Y/N interrupted, while rolling her eyes. “And she missed the part about the glowing eyes and fangs— “

“Glowing eyes and fangs?” Stiles questioned, raising his one eyebrow.

Y/N withdrew from her power stance, and sat back against the chair. Stiles closely examined her movements as she crossed her arms and sighed. “I know it sounds ridiculous.” She said softly, voice trailing off.

“Trust me, I’ve heard crazier.” Stiles told her, trying to comfort her slightly. Stiles heard her sigh, but she chose not to correct her statement. He closed the file in front of him once more, and placed both his hands on the table, similar to how she was sitting earlier. “So you really didn’t know?”

“What are you implying?”

“Well they worked for your boss.”

“Doesn’t mean I know them, or know whatever the hell they turned into.”

“Don’t play dumb with me sweetheart, we both know your witness statement is load of bullshit.”

“That’s rude.”

“You said you were on your way home from work, however, you live no where near there, and walking home at that time by the pier is not only idiotic, its unsafe.” He teased, winking slightly at her, causing her to roll his eyes. “And your finger prints are on the box, so clearly you weren’t that far away. And for future reference, when you lie, if it’s two dark to see the colour of their clothes it’s also too dark to see the colour of the box. Also, never speak in absolutes because that’s how we nail you.”

“I was on a limited time frame, ok?” She shot back sarcastically. “What do you want from me?”

Stiles leaned in closer. “I want you to tell me what actually happened.”

“I can’t.”

“Then maybe I can persuade you. Right now, You’re placed at a crime scene where the cops received an anonymous tip of a drug deal, your finger prints are on a package containing cocaine, a large enough amount to classify you as a dealer, so I have you on possession, intent to sell and the distribution of an illegal substance. We both know that the four other guys at the crime scene aren’t going to come forward and correct me. You’re looking at about fifteen years in a federal prison; maybe ten because it’s your first offense, and for good behavior.”

Stiles paused for a moment, so his words could process in her brain. He watched as the colour in her face drained slightly and what was left of her confident demeanor break down. She looked like she was going to throw up. He truly felt bad for placing her in a corner, but this was the closest thing they’ve gotten to a lead on Callahan in months.

Y/N swallowed hard. “What’s a new deputy like you looking at Callahan for anyways?”

“It’s complicated.”

Y/N sighed. “Well, hypothetically, what do you think you know about Callahan, and hypothetically, what can I tell you that would make everything you just said go away?” She said quietly.

Without breaking eye contact, Stiles reached under the table and flicked a switch. “The mics off.” He stated. He watched as Y/N visibly relaxed, and stressfully ran her hands through her hair. “I know that he’s a very powerful man, who made a fortune on ‘selling electronics’. I know that in his fancy skyscraper he runs all of his many businesses, more than one being illegal. I know that he does a lot of business over seas, and I know that he uses the packages as a ruse to transport drugs, however I can’t prove it. We’ve been trying to get evidence that we can use in a court of law for months, but we keep hitting dead ends.”

“Probably.” Y/N grumbled.

“My biggest obstacle though, is that a lot of what I can tie Callahan to in Beacon Hills, is part of our off-record department, because it regards the supernatural.”

“The super-what?”

“The supernatural. Ever heard the horror stories of Beacon Hills?”

Y/N laughed and looked at Stiles, smirking to herself. “My friends and I had a drinking game; take a shot every time something unexplained happened in the town over. I used to carry a micky of vodka in my backpack.”

Stiles chuckled and nodded. “Well it’s all true; and its all unexplainable because no one would believe the explanation. The term supernatural includes all beings that surpass the nature of human abilities. A.k.a. the two werewolves your boss has as bodyguards.”

“So I’m not crazy?” She asked Stiles, genuinely.

“No.” Stiles responded, shaking his head.

Y/N looked at him blankly for a moment, and then shook her head. “I want to come back to that. But please, continue.”

Stiles chuckled. “In addition to cocaine, Callahan is distributing a drug we named lilac— “

“Because of the colour?” She interrupted. Stiles nodded. “Clever.”

Stiles shot her a look, and then cleared his throat and continued. “He distributed it to the supernatural population of Beacon hills. Basically, it gets them high. If you ever did drugs or drank and high school, you understand the need to escape. Times that by ten for the kids who are unaffected by every day drugs because of their ability to heal, and you get an idea of why it’s so popular.”

“Heal?” Y/N asked. Stiles nodded in response. He watched as her eyes flickered to the side; as if information was flooding her brain. “I watched Callahan’s bitch of a security guard take bullets and walk away. I chalked it up to him wearing a bullet proof vest in my head, but this makes more sense.”

Stiles nodded again. “The drug is lethal in large doses, and because these kids have never had it before, and have always been indestructible they didn’t know the size of the lethal dose. I discovered in 8 months ago, when my friend who’s still in high school brought it to my attention. He’s lost too many friends, and I’ve been to the crime scene of two many kids with unexplained deaths to not do anything about it. If I take down Callahan’s company, I stop the distribution of the drug.”

Y/N sighed, running her hands through her hair once more. She placed both her hands back on the table, mimicking Stile’s stance. “What did you say you were again?” She teased.

“Well, officially, I’m a deputy who’s currently on desk duty. Unofficially I run the new department called the ISA.”

“Like CIA?”

“No, not even close.” Stiles responded sassily. “It stands for Investigation of Supernatural Activity. My job is to fabricate information and evidence regarding supernatural crime, and prosecute the criminals in a legal way. It was created because it was becoming increasingly difficult to charge people for crimes that theoretically didn’t exist. So I transfer the crimes into non-supernatural situations, so suspects can be tried in a court of law.”

“So, you lie?”

Stiles shrugged. “With good intentions.”

“And the criminals just accept it?”

“What are they gonna say? No Mr. Judge, I didn’t stab the victim with my knife, I actually impaled him with my claws?”

“Touché.” Y/N responded. She moved to rest her chin on her hand, with her elbow against the table. “So then tell me deputy; what exactly do you need from me?”

“What can you give me, that will give me probable cause for a search warrant of Callahan’s office and house?” Stiles asked. Y/N sat back in her chair quickly; once again becoming very submissive to the conversation. “It’ll be in exchange for your safety.”

“With all due respect Deputy, you can’t ensure my safety.” She told him. Stiles looked in her eyes, though she had a very rough exterior he knew deep down she was scared for her life. “Do you know what happened to Callahan’s last assistant who he thought talked to the police?” She asked. Stiles raised an eyebrow at her. “Neither do I.”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah he’s super dangerous, I get it, blah blah blah. Look,” he started, outstretching his arm for dramatic effect, “this is gonna end one of three ways: one; you’re going to co-operate and I’m going to personally make sure you’re safe. Two; you’re gonna call one of Callahan’s fancy lawyers, but all that’s gonna do is connect him to the drug exchange, and he knows that so he’ll pin it on you and you’re going to go to jail. Or three; you’re skip the first part, get a shitty public defense lawyer, who’ll loose your case and you go to jail. What do you want to happen?”

Y/N shot Stiles a death glare. It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. She didn’t ask to be brought into all this, hell, she wasn’t even supposed to be at the exchange tonight. Sure she knew it was illegal, but not necessarily this illegal, and it wasn’t like she had much say in the matter anyways. But she didn’t want to go to jail; Callahan had a lot of enemies in jail, and a lot of connections; jail wasn’t safe for her. Right now Stiles was looking to be her only option.

Y/N eyed him up and down, as he looked at her with his lips pursed together. She could see the bags under his eyes, and the tired expression on his face. He was lanky; but the uniform on his body hid it well. He was also pretty, but that was beside the point. Part of her was almost intrigued to see how this small child was gonna try and keep her safe.

Hypothetically, I may or may not have a computer, hypothetically, on which, all of Callahan’s financial information may or may not be kept.”

“I have his finances; they all came back clean.”

“All of them? Are you sure?” She challenged.

Stiles shook his head.

“As his assistant, it is my job to keep all of his business transactions organized; both on and off the record.” Y/N explained, pausing for a moment. “Callahan can see everything I do on the laptop, but the laptop itself is in my name— “

“So if they wanted to get his finances they’d have to get probable cause to get access to your laptop.”

Exactly.”

“Brilliant.”

Hypothetically, I can get you hard copies of the financial records that will tie Callahan to all of his illegal business transactions, including the lilac. But because he can see what I do, he’ll know that I printed them, and when that happens I’ll be royally fucked, do you understand?

Stiles smirked. “Well Y/N, it looks like you and I are about to become best friends.”

———-

Stiles had followed the GPS to Y/N’s house, and parked outside the front of it. “I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to go home?” She asked him.

“I need you to grab your stuff and the financial records and then we’ll head to my place.” He told her, pulling the keys out of the ignition and opening the door of his jeep.

Y/N mimicked his actions, and led Stiles to the door of her apartment. “What ever happened to old fashioned parking an undercover outside my house?” She joked, entering her home.

Instinctively, Stiles took a look around the place. It was a semi-detached home. Slightly small from the looks of it, but still really nice, and seemingly expensive given the area. He paused for a moment, watching her quickly head up the stairs. He slipped of his shoes and sat down on the couch, resting his eyes as she packed. “I told you; I don’t have that authority. And I can’t get the Sheriff to grant you a detail because legally, Callahan is not under investigation by the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department, because theoretically my department doesn’t exist.” He explained.

He heard Y/N laugh from upstairs. About fifteen minutes later she came down with a duffle bag and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. She stood there silently for a few moments, until Stiles opened his one eye, and then the other. “Do you want the records or not?” She asked.

Stiles nodded and followed her up the stairs.

About ten minutes later he had secured the files in a duo-tang she provided, and held it tightly in his hands. He began slipping his shoes back on, but stopped when he noticed that she was no longer following him. He turned around quickly to see her sitting on the bottom of the staircase, looking down at her feet.

Stiles placed the duo-tang on the counter, and cautiously walked over to Y/N. He hesitantly sat down beside her on the stairs, and ever so slightly placed a hand on her knee.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” She said sarcastically. Though it seemed like a joke, Stiles knew that beneath it was a real concern.

“You’re not going to die.” He said over-dramatically. “In exchange for your information you’re under police protection, alright? I’ll get you a real detail once the case goes to court. If it makes you feel better, I have my own selfish motivation; without you I literally do not have a case. I’m going to protect you, nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.” He said sincerely.

Y/N crossed her arms. “Do you even have a gun?” She asked, looking at him with doubt.

“Yes.” Stiles answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Still being in his uniform, he reached into his pocket and grabbed his unloaded firearm, so her could hold it in front of her as proof. He wiggled his eyebrows, as she rolled his eyes, and fiddled with the gun in his hand for a moment. As he went to put the gun back, he turning it in a weird way causing it to fall out of his hands. He made a few attempts—mid air –to catch it, but to no avail, and it fell on the floor of the hallway.

Y/N stared at the gun on the floor sadly for a moment, before she shot Stiles a glare. I’m literally going to fucking die.

“In my defense it’s five am.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and then stood up and walked towards the kitchen. She grabbed a reusable bag from the cupboard and opened the fridge. “No sense in letting the food go to waste.” She announced, pulling out the food in the fridge and placing it in the bag. “Want a coffee?” She asked.

Stiles blinked a few times before nodding. “Please.”

Y/N grabbed the coffee from a different cabinet and filled the coffee maker, and then placed the coffee in the bag. She watched as Stiles moved from the stairs and took a seat at her small breakfast bar area and watched as she finished packing the food.

Y/N grabbed two mugs, and filled them both with coffee, and then placed one in front of Stiles. “Sugar?” He asked. Y/N nodded and then complied, putting two teaspoons in her cup, before handing it to Stiles.

“So,” she started again after a few minutes, “what happens now?”

Stiles took the last few sips of his coffee and then placed the mug back on the counter and looked up at her. “You get your stuff, we go back to my place, and we hang out until this all runs it’s course.”

Y/N scoffed at his words. “How long will that take?”

“Long enough for you to drop the attitude with me I hope.” Stiles teased.

Y/N rolled her eyes, throwing the last few things into the bag and placing it beside the duffle bag in the living room. Stiles took the hint and stood up from his seat. “Not a chance Deputy.”

“Well that’s mighty unfortunate sweetheart.” He said with a grin. He grabbed the duffle bag and tugged it over his shoulder, and then grabbed the other bag in his hand, and started towards the door once more.

“Hey Stiles?” Y/N asked, nudging his shoulder, causing Stiles to spin back around, looking at her with wide eyes. That was the first time she had called him by his name. “Why don’t we go back to the Sheriff’s department or something?” She proposed. Stiles tilted his head in confusion. “I mean like; wouldn’t that be safer? Especially with all this talk of the supernatural, are you sure your house is the best place for us to be”

“Don’t worry, my place is supernatural proof.” Stiles announced, a grin plastered on his face.

Y/N rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night. “Again with the cryptic messages.” She grumbled. “What does that even mean?”

Stiles laughed. “You have a lot to learn.”

“Apparently.”

“It means not to worry. Besides, Callahan isn’t the only one with a werewolf.”

I can’t write so let me share some headcanon/au prompts instead because I need more fics about how bizarre life in a shared student house can be

  • Every time you ‘cook’ you set the fire alarm off and I’ve had enough, you can either stop eating or let me teach you how.
  • “What’s your favourite dinosaur?” “It’s 4am, go to sleep.”
  • You’re the sleepwalker and I’m the insomniac who always comes to your rescue.
  • “I think our laundry got mixed up- oh no maybe not, these can’t be yours… wait, they are? Huh.”
  • You screamed so I ran to your aid. It’s a  t i n y  spider. Yes, I understand it’s blocking your only exit but I gotta tweet about this first.
  • You asked me out on date… via a message sent to my wireless printer you absolute nerd.
  • Music war! It starts with ‘mine’s better than yours’, leads to ‘well I can play mine louder’, ends with ‘I replaced all your music with the Kidz Bop versions and now I fear for my life’.
  • I’m sober and you’re drunk and this isn’t your room but every time I try and tell you, you shush me and snuggle in closer.
  • I must have forgotten my towel so now I’m running down the hallway naked and wet. Of course that’s when I run straight into you. Literally.
  • “The floor is lava!” “You cannot be serious.”
  • Our bedrooms share a very thin wall and you always respond when I’m talking to myself.
  • I found you with two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s at 1am so I grabbed a spoon and joined you on the kitchen floor.
  • I’m terrified of thunderstorms but I’m hiding it from everyone. Well, until the power goes out and you come in to check on me only to trip over my duvet burrito and now you’re going to have to stay here all night with me because of… concussion? Yeah. Better not risk it.
  • “Let me in, I gotta pee real bad- no it can’t wait I’M SORRY I WON’T LOOK!”
  • I think I hit snooze one too many times because suddenly your in here dragging me out of bed by the ankles. You know I sleep naked, right?
  • “I thought I was home alone please don’t tell anyone else about this.”
  • I made you try some of my food and now you’re choking but it’s ok because I know the heimlich manoeuvre! That’s when our other housemates walk in. As I have you bent over the kitchen table.
  • “Why are we going to the supermarket at 3am?” “Because we can.”
  • I broke a glass and it’s everywhere. Gimme a piggyback ride because I’ve got bare feet and I’ll direct the clean up from up here.
  • I heard you walking in the hallway so jokingly, I opened my bedroom door seductively in very little clothing and that’s how I met your parents for the first time. No wonder people think we’re dating.
  • I walked into the room and you’ve all gone quiet. “…What have you done?”
  • I stream cat videos to the TV in your room when you’re having a bad day and even though you won’t admit it, I know they make you smile : )

I just reblogged something about the news with Tumblr and Yahoo, and wrote a very long amount of tags to it. Unfortunately it didn’t post, so I am going to just say this instead.

Apparently Yahoo has been known for deleting sites that don’t make it money. That’s understandable.

But when i read that tumblr had lost what, 300 million? dollars because they couldn’t figure out how to monetize it my blood ran cold. Why?

because it WILL happen. Don’t tell me to chill, don’t tell me to relax, don’t tell me they wouldn’t really do it.

It’s happened to me before.

I’ve been on tumblr for 4 years now. I want you to know that I love you guys. All of you. I don’t say that enough. I don’t say it as much as other blogs. But I really do, I sincerely love all of you especially my mutuals, and I wish I could run to you and hug each and every one of you right now.

But I cannot. Right now I am reminded of how fragile and tenuous the threads of communication are which bind us together across continents. How dangerous it is to make the internet one’s lifeblood.

I could back up all of my original content but I could never replace any of you.

When I was a member of the young writers’ social network, Inkpop, Harpercollins decided it wasn’t making enough money and sold it to Figment. Even those of us who made the jump to Figment and salvaged our writing lost our communities, our status, and even our potential careers.

Now is the time to look elsewhere. If you have anything at all invested in your tumblr blog you need to jump ship. I don’t know where to go. We’re like rats on a sinking boat. But it has to be done. Heed the warning signs. Don’t wait for a cue.

When they deleted Inkpop, they gave us three days warning. Three. Days.

Lmao so I’m talking to my sister trying to get an unbiased opinion on this mess and she goes “you know what she should do? She should just tweet ‘I could be mature but I’m just gonna be petty instead’ and then link the original audio note she wrote”

HOLY FUCK I KNOW I SAID I WANT HER TO STAY QUIET AND BE MATURE BUT @ Taylor DO THIS INSTEAD!!!

I messed up on this request instead of old lady I wrote for a wife, my bad. I’m also typing on my phone and could not find a gif accurate enough for this.
————————————————

Happy sipped on his beer as he watched you move around the club house’s counter getting shit done with ease. Having you around the boys was a regular occurrence considering you were Happy’s old lady, and he normally was on his game when it came to club business. However today was a different day, with different circumstances. Typically Happy was not a huge romantic. You’d practically have to break his arm for date night, he liked it that way. But there always comes a time in a man’s life when he decides he needs a woman in his life. And yes Happy loves his momma, but he wants you. Permanently. As his wife.

Lately you’ve noticed he’s a bit off. He’s been a little less Happy a lot more attached to you. You weren’t complaining. Sometimes you would catch him staring at you and when you asked him what he needed he would just nod and look away disregarding his abnormal behavior completely.

Happy continued to stare at you when Gemma strolled into the clubhouse. The sound of her heels clicking on the floor as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She took off her sunglasses and blatantly followed Happy’s line of direction.

“Gee, Hap why don’t you just marry the girl already?” She inquires sarcastically.

Happy looked over to Gemma “I’m trying to.” He said exasperatedly.

Gemma raised one eyebrow “You thinkin about poppin the question to our baby girl over there?” She smiled faintly.

“I just don’t know where to start Gem, I don’t do this shit and she wants me to be more romantical and shit.” Happy rolled his eyes.

“Aw baby, you do it from your heart.” Gemma said as he walked towards happy and lightly rubbed his shoulder.

Happy turned over with a deadpan look and responded with “Gemma do I look like a heartfelt guy to you?” He asked bluntly.

Gemma playfully rolled her eyes. “No, you don’t look like a heartfelt guy, but you forget that I KNOW you. And there ain’t nothin you wouldn’t do for your family and this club. If you’re askin me to tell you exactly what to do my response is do what is natural for you. Strike that. Don’t be an ass about it. Just be casual. & fucking cuddle with her after she says yes.” She responds as she walks away.

“Ugh.” Happy grumbles and rolls his eyes.

homelygrantaire  asked:

Realise: jesse realising he loves Cass????

Holy shit, my reading comprehension is completely backwards. Sorry I wrote this for Cassidy realizing he loves Jesse instead. Please accept my apologies, maybe I’ll try it again later…

One thing Cassidy has realized in a hundred years is that, unlike the line in that godforsaken shitty film, life is in fact not like a box of chocolates.  If you wanted a true metaphor, life is like a box of chocolates where some of the chocolates are laced with poison. Or full of tarantulas. Or some of them turn you invisible, or they spontaneously combust, or they make your dick fall off.

Metaphors aside, life is unpredictable. Cassidy has learned to take most of it in stride, but every so often the bitch throws him a curveball.

Case in point─ his untimely arrival in Annville, Texas. Under any normal circumstances, Cass would have gone insane from boredom three days into his visit to such a sleepy place. It was like every other humdrum little town that spread out like bad acne across the face of America.

Except that it wasn’t. Except, here, Cassidy had met more people who had grown dear to him in a frighteningly short span of time. People who were dark and twisted and imperfect, just like him, and damn if they didn’t carve a section right out of his heart to make their home in.

Cass realized all this in the moment he grabbed that fire extinguisher, heading outside to smack some sense into one Jesse Custer. There should have been a voice in the back of his head, a voice of reason, telling Cassidy to stop, that what he was about to do was reckless and wrong and why should he care so much about what happened to these people? But that voice had started to sound a lot like Jesse’s in the past few weeks, and now that this Genesis nonsense had turned his best mate into a raging megalomaniacal asshole…

Cassidy realized that life was always going to be unpredictable. It was what you did with the fallout that kept it from being boring.

(Y'all know Jesse probably loves Forest Gump. Lord have mercy I can’t wait for the new episode tonight!!)

thoughts on the ethics of writing about other people

a few months back, i found a poem about me online. it said some pretty disturbing things – it described me and my body in particular ways, and the poem stated things this person would have done to me if they had the chance. i felt violated and hurt after i read it, but it was deleted quickly so i never messaged the person to let them know i read it and was angry. i just unfriended them. the person who wrote that poem just messaged me and it is taking all i have not to respond to them with some vitriol, so i just want to discuss some things here instead.

i have so many feelings when it comes to the topic of writing poems about other people, about taking control over another person’s story/image and posting it to a public forum and calling it art. beyond the creepy shit in the poem, the shit that stated the violent things this person wanted to do to me, the most disturbing thing to me were the ways they described me. this included words like “angel” or “flower (they) would defile”

i don’t think this person ever thought i’d read this poem. but it had my name and details about me and the interactions i had with this person. after reading it, i felt sick. i panicked. because now every interaction i’d had with them previously was now framed by this poem, and that made those interactions frightening.

i have poems about other people. almost always, people i love or have loved. these poems have always been well-intentioned, even if they didn’t always say good things about the person (i.e. red thread). every time i write such a poem, even if it just mentions a person in passing, i feel a sudden guilt. on the one hand, it seems impossible that we would only write poems about ourselves without involving those around us who have influenced us and made us feel good, bad, and in between. on the other hand, who are we to present an image of someone to a larger audience without their consent?

some poems i have that i struggle with in this way are red thread, affection infection, f is for fairness, and more that i share less frequently, or not on stage at all.

another thing i have noticed is that every time i do those poems, it becomes more and more detached from the source. it becomes more about the audience, and how the audience reacts, and how the audience relates. it also becomes more about myself. every time i read a poem, i internalize more of it.

i have had lovers who have insisted i write poems about them. lovers who have been offended when i don’t. i can’t get away from the anxiety i feel over taking control of a person’s image like that. sometimes it is because i know i can’t do them justice. sometimes it is because i know that in doing so, the poem will stop being about them.

i’ve been trying to decide the best method for addressing this. i’ve been thinking of showing people poems about them, but there are cases where that won’t work (as in, i’m not calling up my former abuser to ask whether it’s cool that i share a poem about things the harmful things he did to me).

i’m even conflicted about posting this, because am i not doing the same thing they did in writing that poem about me? or am i justified in my anger? and who am i to make that call? i still don’t know. and as with most things, i will likely never come up with a clean answer.

(Ayyyyyyy I finally wrote that fuckin shit with Solo!Patrick and Tech!Emo!Pete you wanted me to write sorry if it’s not as good as you’d like it to be I’m not very confident in writing and I’m very tired)


(Anti)Waterproof Eyeliner
a.k.a Moon Boy (take your pick)

panic attack
pan-ik a-tack
noun;
a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety.


Pete didn’t like to drink, as much of a surprise it was. With his tiny scrawny appearance, his black hair and his eyeliner, you’d expect drinking to be something he adores. Pete preferred water or milk while the crew drank alcohol. But one night cleared up the fact Pete never intended to drink as long as he lived.

It all started at a party he was at with the crew, and Patrick. The solo artist with bleach blonde hair he had fallen in love with but was either too shy or too busy to talk too. Pete had a glass of water by his side and left it to go to the bathroom. When he came back, the water looked slightly mysterious. It looked slightly misty. ‘Probably didn’t see it before.’ Pete shrugged. He didn’t care about much anyways.

So Pete did drink the entire glass, but not after making a weird face at the taste. The water tasted very strong and bitter. He then heard hollering and laughing as he turned around to see a group of boys cracking up.

“I can’t believe he gulped the whole thing down!” One of the boys said. “He doesn’t even drink Vodka! He’s gonna get fucking hammered!”

Pete didn’t understand what it meant at first. What he meant. It was water, of course it was. Not until he felt himself grow lightheaded.

Pupils blowing out, the tech kid rushed to the bathroom, feeling his stomach rise and spilling his guts into the toilet, only to feel his bangs be pulled back.

“Pete?” He could barely hear a crew member say. “It’s okay, bud, it’s gonna be okay. They switched your drink with Vodka. You’ll be okay, it’ll wear off tomorrow.”

Pete scrambled to his feet and felt his throat tighten, but this time not from sickness. Fear swished and bubbled in his stomach and felt a sense of codependency wash over him. He could feel himself shaking and his vision grow dizzy and his body sway slightly.

“W-W-Wh..ere’s Pat-t-trick?” Pete stuttered and felt his breath shorten to hyperventilation.

“Patrick’s back on the tour bus, he’s probably asleep by–”

“I.. I n-need Patrick..” Pete sobbed out. “I need Patri-i-ck…!” He wiped his eyes to clear tears and noticed black makeup smeared on his hands.

The crew member felt a string of pity be plucked in him as he wrapped an arm around the shaking tech kid to support him and helped him out of the party, trying to whisper reassurance but Pete only replied in crying and saying “N-N-No… P-Patrick…. Where is he..?”

The crew member opened the door to the tour bus and sure enough, the solo artist was there. In pajamas and glasses, getting ready to head to his bunker. He looked over and his expression dropped.

Pete began crying even harder as Patrick rushed over and murmured something incoherent to the crew member, causing him to leave. Pete could barely see or hear anything. He could feel himself start to black out from lack of breath that was coming out in short gasps. He looked down and tried to massage his temples and wipe his eyes to stop his dizziness.

“Pete? Pete..!” Patrick’s voice was in a solid, firm tone that made Pete look up. “Alcohol…” Patrick muttered and gripped Pete’s shoulders gently. “Come on, I got you.”

The singer led Pete to the bathroom where he retched and vomited once more, crying from embarrassment of being a mess in front of his crush. Patrick didn’t seem to care, as he rubbed his back and gently gripped his bangs with a soft fist, pulling it back and whispering soft reassurance to him.

Pete’s brain seemed to momentarily black out for a few moments, as he finally came back to see him laying next to Patrick who was on his laptop. Did he zone out? Did he look dead?

Patrick was gently stroking and playing with Pete’s hair time to time. “Hey, you okay?” He asked gently with a childlike-innocent smile. Pete couldn’t help but nod and nuzzle into Patrick’s side, not before placing a kiss on his cheek, as he closed his eyes to Patrick’s sweet singing.

xx

“Ugh….” Pete groaned as the sunlight shone in through the windows of the tour bus. His head pounded, his throat felt dry, he didn’t even want to get out of bed.

“Mornin~” came a gentle voice followed by a quiet giggle. Pete looked up and blushed to see Patrick with his messy hair and glasses, looking like he had just woken up a few minutes before Pete. ‘He’s so pretty even in the mornings…’

Pete muttered something in response. Patrick frowned and caressed Pete’s cheek. “Poor thing.. You still have tear trails from last night..”

Pete lifted his head off the bed despite its pounding and his eyes widened. “Wait.. Did I… Am I in your… Did you see…”

“Shhh,” Patrick whispered and gently tilted Pete’s head back down on the bed. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind. You’re cute when you sleep anyway.” He gave a small smile. “Plus, you were absolutely drunk, with your low alcohol tolerance and the amount of alcohol you took. I could tell because of the smell of vodka radiating off of you when you kissed me. You were a mess, but I helped clean you up and let you sleep in my bunk with me because even when I washed off your makeup you kept crying. I couldn’t leave you alone, Pete.”

Pete sighed and buried his face into the pillow. He couldn’t believe it. He actually fucking kissed Patrick Stump. The solo singer he’s loved for god knows how long.

Patrick gave a side smile. “Want somethin to eat?”

Pete shook his head. “Too sick…” He muttered.

“Mm,” Patrick hummed. “I’ll be sure to get the driver to stop by the store so I can get you some Advil.”

Pete smiled. “You don’t have to, yknow..”

Patrick placed a kiss on Pete’s messy hair. “Yes. I do. Otherwise guilt will eat me alive. Now sleep, Moon Boy, you’re probably exhausted.”

Pete’s face turned completely red, making Patrick giggle as he fixed the blankets a bit, allowing Pete to close his eyes again.

'Moon Boy.’ The name rang in his pounding head as he felt the bus move. 'Doesn’t sound like a bad name….’

oh dudeeee THIS IS SO DAMN SWEET and patrick is fucking adorable awwww 💕

eternallyfrustratedwriter  asked:

I wrote a blind!Dean fic a long time ago that would fall right in line with your little comic series if Cas happened to work at a 24 hour restaurant instead of a coffee shop. I really want to show it to you but tumblr doesn't allow links in the messages and you don't have a submit page. Do you respond to people who tag you?

YOOOO

Yeah go for it it tag me in shit! !:DD But i also just wanted to say! that sometimes i miss things that ive been tagged in ( is there like a thing…you can see where it’s just the things you’ve been tagged in? i dunno What im saying)

i wrote a rlly long post but it was bad so instead im gonna say: autistic rachel being funneled thru a bunch of Bad Therapy Shit as a child to ‘cure’ her, every move is calculated to be allistic as possible, she is 100% convinced she is Better than the others for being Fixed (despite that being… scientifically impossible) and then the Post-Pencil-Ownage arc happens and she’s just “oh, fuck it” about it (mostly because by the end of season 4, as far as she’s concerned, she’s going to rule the world, so who cares what other people think when she can have them fired or killed or kidnapped with the snap of her fingers. which is Yikes but Well, Y’know,)

discuss

thethespacecoyote  asked:

Monster Jack and rhys struggling to snuggle on the couch together for prompts

Erin stared at the much appreciated prompt in her ask box. She worried her lower lip and RHACKED her brain as she tried to come up with an idea for this. Her fingers failed her though, no words coming from them.

“This…is Hannah’s area of expertise and I couldn’t possibly try and infringe on that.” The still slightly drunk girl laughed and wrote this stupid little bit instead of  WHAT SHE WAS ASKED BECAUSE SHE IS A FAILURE. She curled up under her owl blanket and sobbed for a while, thinking about her life choices.


No but really, I feel like I would do a rubbish job writing Monster Jack ;_; especially to YOU WHO IS LIKE THE MASTER OF THAT SHIT. *bows forever*

anonymous asked:

Well, there was a girl who "stole" a pic from Instagram and wrote it was taken in Cali (though it was taken in Malibu) which means ppl usually write Cali instead of LA. It isn't strange for them, it's for us bc we want to know specifics and they don't care about those things! Girl's twitter is full of shit not related to xf or G or D but her tweet about DD sound like "omg I saw David Duchovny" with capslock and written very fast. If we don't believe her why we'd believe other ppl from twitter?

I agree, it’s not less believable than the other one. She didn’t even say in the first place where she saw him, and she talked about the minivan only after she’d been asked for specifics, if not she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s say it’s 90% legit?