#also nice that he was asked about his boyfriend (and Pius)

[jumpingsnowflakes]

Hille and Stephan are such opposites, I love it

[c03xistentw01]

ight i have a lot on my mind i gotta write it all up real good real fast before i forget.

last night i went to some random ass town called Gorizia on the border with slovania for work. The whole region was so slovanian that even in the market where we worked the signs and shit they were all bilingual in italian and slovanian.

slovanian lowkey gives off turkish vibes.

not so many of us came from padova so we just hoped on a black van and left. the driver who gave off strong leonardo vibes was playing twenty one pilots for the good portion of the time. i liked him kinda. i was lowkey admiring his long neck the entire time of the trip when i was sitting behind him liKE A FUCKING PERV YES IKR.

i didn't get to have much convo with him. i actually got none. except for the time when after legit 6 hours of work in the market he saw me and was like "lets go lets go lets go" without even looking at me for a sec thinking well since I'm speaking english the lil bitch is supposed to I'm talking to her ight?

there was this other guy from pd who i legit got to have a convo in italian with which felt nice and ... weird? cuz I'm never mentally prepared to speak italian?

and oh my god I'll never forget 'Vlad'. My team leader there.

he would see me across the hall miles away and shout my name "Paaaaaaaria" with theatrical eye rollings. And then see my work and be like "Maaaaarvelous. If you ever need any assistance (except for of course boyfriend material stuff) just call me. I'm used to be called with any consonant".

he once moved some stuff which made a loud noise i looked at him he was like im sorry i didnt mean to be this much dramatic *followed by yet another theatrical eye roll".

basta. when i got home and to my bed i was so tired i couldn't even sleep. i woke up at 11 am tho. went to mensa. got anxious. felt short (about that i was walking in portello some other day with hilal when a tall girl was walking towards us with her friend i heard her say "bassa" looking at me and the other "si sente" and looking down.

yes.

ladies and gentlemen. this happened. people are mean dead-inside assholes. They say whatever shit they want, making more space in your mind to wonder whether other people have always thought the same but never mentioned it.

although the pain the bitch inflicted was soon oddly compensated when hilal said "but girl you are average".

later that night when we were already drunk we decided to go to hilal's house and get more booze on the way because why not and also because hilal left italy to turkey on the following day.

we got there got more drunk. ade joined. we got high. I started speaking italian ade was like wtf you're at least B1.

before that hilal was talking about berfin and sometimes i get this feeling when other people are opening up to me deeply that okay but why do i not do that with them? like why do i find it so freaking difficult to open up about something that happened to me and was way more brutal but there my friends. is exactly where you start losing friends. so you keep your mouth shut.

but anyway. that night i realized it's different with hilal. when she opens up mi sento piu leggere invece.

i saw fatima today at mensa after a longass time cuz she was in cividale and i was just ... busy surviving the shitwave of shit of which I've had nothing but recently. She told me about this weirdass roomie of her who according to her has been hacked by some creepy dude for the past 12 fucking years. the dude even deleted his thesis and stuff. Fatima said i even once asked her to share her internet with me through hotspot and she was like no this is how my sister got hacked as well i dont recommend u do the same. i mean the whole fucking situation is so fucking creepily stupid we all dont know whether to feel pity whether to laugh cuz shit looks so fucking um .... surreal? or to call the police asap cuz i mean cmon.

[dumbassbestiary]

That Time Camille Met Glenn - Drabble (NSFW)

{The fic i wrote for @nosferatuinblue as crack that then became Glennmille. Go figure.}

It was the mid-nineties: Bill Clinton was President (possibly, I don’t know the exact dates), Vanilla Ice was inexplicably a musical star, and cartoons had never been edgier.

As Camille stepped out of the Trans Am, and threw away the phone book she’d been sitting on to properly operate it, the night smelled of blood…and opportunity.

She’d picked up the car in New Jersey after its owner had wolf-whistled at her. Said owner - a hard-as-nails ex-con who’d done fifteen at Riker’s for armed robbery - now sat in several trash cans behind a Shoney’s. Camille had picked the fragments of skull and brain that’d been left on the wheel of his car after she’d smashed his head against it fourteen and a half times, and chewed them during the drive like gum.

Now, she was in the great state of New York: one of the many stops in her wet (read: bloody), hot (read: deathly cold), American Summer (read: winter). During this little excursion across the states, she’d killed no less than forty people, all of which would be attributed to other, less-competent murderers across the country. She’d kill many more before the trip was up, but that’s not the story we’re telling today.

It’s outside of a filthy-looking dive bar called Randy’s that we join our sanguinarian heroine (Anti-Heroine? Villain?) as she prepared for a night of miscellaneous debauchery.

She trudged across the blacktop, wearing painted-on jeans and a leather jacket that made her look like a tiny biker. She fiddled with a curly lock of her kinky, purple hair and grinned - at a place like this, all bets were off, and that’s the only occasion where Little Miss Domino felt like she could truly have a good time.

The guy at the door was about to make a comment - maybe about her skin, or her gaping facial triangle where her nose should have been, or her pointy buck teeth. The exact nature will never be known, because when Camille’s hand darted preemptively for his groin and squeezed his nuts into butter, the sound he made could only be heard by dogs, and all nearby dogs were reticent to deliver the exact nature of his pained exclamation.

She passed through the door without a care as the beefy doorman crumbled next to her.

When she saw the inside of the bar - which looked kind of like if you took all the furniture out of a doll house and arranged it around the dirtiest gutter, full of dead rats and used condoms,  that you’ve ever had the misfortune to see in your life - she wanted to chug ten gallons of Purell with a chaser of a bathtub full of bleach. But, she managed to suppress the urge, when something else distracted her.

There was a man at the bar - not exceptionally tall, but still somehow imposing. His pale, angular face betrayed a preternatural sense of malice that Camille felt she could really identify with - and his hair might have been the only set of hair in the bar frizzier than her’s.

Like a nest of ginger clown pubes, Camille thought.

He swilled his drink, uninterested. There was something else on the stranger’s mind - but what?

She’d just have to find out.

Camille sauntered over to the bar, and floated up onto the seat.

The stranger didn’t turn to regard her. He just looked at the two ice cubes floating in his drink.

“Hey,” the bartender, who looked like an angry Mario, said on approach. “No kids in my bar.”

Camille’s teeth clenched, and her eyes took on a strange, reflective quality.

The bartender felt mesmerised, and oddly…compliant.

“Take off your belt,” she said, her voice lisping but not undermining the gravity of her tone. “And hang yourself in the bathroom.”

The bartender nodded.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He walked off to the bathroom, loosening his belt.

The redhead stranger perked up, like someone had just told him his VD test came back negative, and turned to Camille. She noticed he was wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen: palm trees, guns, and corgis.

“Nice work,” he said, his voice deep and cruel. “Normally, I need to unholster something to be that persuasive.”

Camille smiled.

“It’s a gift,” she said.

“You got a name?”

“Camille. You?”

“Rhodes. I’d get you a drink, but you just sent the bartender to go all Hari-Kari in the stalls.”

Camille giggled.

“I don’t like anything on tap here, anyway.”

Glenn put his drink down on the bar, and leaned against his hand.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard of me,” he said.

“Huh?”

“It’s why you approached me, right? You’ve heard frightened whispers about the great Glenn Rhodes, and you wanted to come try my services.”

She cocked her head, perplexed.

“Are you a gigolo or something?”

Glenn sneered.

“I’m the guy you pay when you want someone dead. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

The pint-sized vampire practically snorted in amusement.

“If I want someone dead, they end up dead. I don’t need to pay Ronald McDonald to do it for me.”

The look in Glenn’s eye after that told her she’d touched a nerve. Maybe a mean name he’d been called back in high school. There was a moment of excitement where she thought he might try something, but instead, he just sighed softly, composed himself, and put on the most perfect example of a shit-eating grin.

“Say, anyone ever tell you that you sound a little like Sylvester the Cat?” he asked.

Camille felt the muscles in her face tense.

“What?” she said, giving him a chance to walk it back.

“From Looney Tunes. Try to say Suffering Succotash, you’ll see what I mean.”

Not wanting to dignify his idiotic taunting with a response, she leaned forwards, and moved the edge of his green bomber jacket to the side, so she could see the large hunting knife holstered at his hip.

“You know what they say about men with big knives,” she said.

Rhodes grabbed her by the wrist, irritated.

“They make big stab wounds,” he said.

Camille - not one to ever let herself be bested - grabbed his arm with almost bone-crushing force.

Rhodes winced and resisted the powerful urge to let out a scream.

“Yeah,” Camille said, smiling. “But they usually don’t need them.”

She let him go, and he brought his aching wrist back, rubbing it. His pride was hurting worse.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, short stack,” he said. “I’d hate to be your boyfriend.”

Camille’s eyebrows arched into a “V.”

“Oh yeah?” she said.

***

The bar was evacuated by police within the hour, when someone stumbled into the bathroom, found the hanging bartender, and spilled what they intended to put in the toilet down the side of their left leg.

By that time, though, Camille and Glenn were gone - they were having nasty car sex in the back of the Trans Am like a pair of dumb, horny teens with a respectable collective body count.

She was on top. She was always on top.

“Jesus Christ,” Glenn said, between heavy breaths. “Why are you so cold? I feel like I’m fucking a corpse.”

“How do you know what that feels like?” Camille asked. “And you could have at least taken your gun belt off, you fucking jerk.”

Glenn didn’t answer, but the insults did make them both, for some reason, feel a little more aroused.

They both went at it like wolf-rabbits for a strong three minutes before an explosive conclusion. Camille’s Orlock-esque cum face would haunt his memories until Jenny Walker shot him through the head two years later in the ruins of the Dubois mansion, after an exciting but somewhat confusing fight scene.

Afterwards, they put their clothes back on, and sat in the back of a dead man’s stolen car - feeling, as all of their other sexual partners had before, deeply regretful.

Neither of them asked whether it was good for the other. They weren’t the kind of people who cared.

“Well,” Glenn said. “That’s one for the memoirs I’ll never write. If I did, though, they’d legally have to publish them under horror.”

“Oh, please,” Camille said. “Don’t flatter yourself. I had sex with Pope Pius X. Don’t let the name fool you, he was the freakiest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. He tried stuff I couldn’t describe.”

Glenn shuddered at the mental image.

“I better get off…” Glenn said, climbing out of the back seats of the Trans Am.

“I thought you just did,” Camille said, thinking it was very clever and funny.

“There’s some people I need to kill,” he finished.

“Yeah,” Camille said. “Me too.”

Note: if Camille was able to read this narration, she’d also have replied “I thought you just did” to “he finished” as well. She would have thought that was very clever and funny too.

That was the first and last time they’d ever met - nobody could make a definitive comment on the nature of their relationship. Were they friends? No. Lovers? I mean, could you really call that back seat abomination love? Did they even like each other? Who knows?

The thing that could indeed be said about their relationship, though, is that they probably deserved each other.

[eternalsterekrecs]

any new sterek highschool au?

Well, our absolute favs are under our High School AU tag but, because we don’t want you to lack anything, here is a rec of doom (there’s more than 30 fics here) with all the other fics I’ve read in the last few months/years! - C

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Just Pretend by dragon_temeraire

Stiles tells his dad he has a boyfriend. The problem is, he doesn’t actually have one.

Something New Is Going to Happen by dragon_temeraire

Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.

All the broken hearts in the world still beat by dragon_temeraire

Stiles totally needs to make Lydia Martin jealous. Yeah. And his best chance is to convince star lacrosse player Derek Hale to (fake) date him.

Smile On The Sidelines by clotpolesonly

Derek was not pining.

Not to say that he didn’t miss Stiles, didn’t want to be with him at that moment (or literally any moment, to be quite honest), but he wasn’t one of those obnoxious clingy people who lost track of the world as soon his boyfriend was out of his sight.

It was just a basketball game anyway.

“Five Days in Detention” (A Future Song by Stiles Stilinski) by alisvolatpropiis

It’s still preseason, sure, but he needs to be practicing. He led the team to the State semifinals last year, and he’s determined to not only make it to the finals this year, but to win the title. He should be on the field right now, practicing his play calls and prepping for next week’s season opener against Saint Pius.

And he can’t do that if he’s wasting his time in detention with these losers. There are a couple of burnouts lazing over some seats by the window, one kid with his face on a desk, hood over his head, and a few Goth kids are sitting in the back corner, looking surly and morose. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you didn’t listen to such shitty music, he thinks, turning towards his usual seat in the back of the room.

He pauses for the briefest of moments when he sees who’s already sitting there, in the second-to-last row, black-clad limbs spread out, acoustic guitar in his lap, long fingers casually plucking at the strings.

Stiles Stilinski.

How to Woo Your Local Omega by alocalband

Stiles knows a pity gift when he sees one. Mostly because that’s all he’s ever gotten from anyone since the moment he hit puberty.

Five Times Derek Literally Falls for Stiles (and One Time… They Both Fall) by myhomeboy_stilinski

Five times Derek is a failwolf and literally falls for Stiles Stilinski.And one time they fall together.

Warning: A little bit cracky and contains meddling.

Try Again by dragon_temeraire

Derek has to egg a house to be part of the popular group. Too bad the house ends up being the Sheriff’s.

Sleeping Next To You Is Like Magic by LadyDrace

Stiles and Derek meet the summer before senior year. Stiles can’t sleep, Derek helps with that, and there’s a lot less cuddling and a lot more emotional crises than you’d think.

Or:

Stiles’ feelings happen so much, and learning how to deal with them takes him a little while. Good thing Derek is happy to wait.

Shut Up And Dance With Me by maiNuoire

Stiles has been in love with Derek forever. Senior Prom feels like his last chance to do something about it, but he’s a bundle of nerves. And then, inspiration strikes.

made from the heart by bleep0bleep

Derek has been crushing on Stiles for awhile, and thinks maybe this Christmas season he’ll tell him how he feels. He’s got a great present too, except when Stiles gives him a thoughtful handmade present, Derek is pretty much screwed.

~

Stiles smiles at Derek. “It was just a nice thought, you know? I just think gifts that people take their time to make are just so sweet.”“Handmade,” Derek says faintly.

Like James Dean, Only Sadder by 42hrb

The star of the Beacon Hills High School baseball team and Beacon Hills resident bad boy probably have nothing in common, right?

atom to atom by jadore_hale

“So, you’re telling me that you hate Derek so much that you wouldn’t leap at the chance to jump his bones?”

“That’s different!” Stiles cried.

“How exactly?”

“Because unfortunately for me, Derek’s hotter than the Earth’s mantle. All we need is one rough hate-fuck— Preferably in the chem lab, role-playing sexy chemist while he bends me over one of the tables—and I’ll get him out of my system. That’s as far as our relationship will ever go.”

Stiles glanced across the cafeteria to where Derek was still fail-eating his lunch and sighed so put out.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make fun of Derek eating organic baby carrots.”

don’t go breakin’ my heart [i couldn’t if i tried] by crossroadswrite

Contrary to popular belief, Derek Hale – co-captain of the basketball team and AP student who volunteers in the library – isn’t actually as smooth as people might think.

In a Straight Line Down by standinginanicedress

“So you want to go to Prom with me just so you can get a plastic crown and a fifty dollar gift card to Outback Steakhouse.”

Stiles sets his jaw. He wants to go to prom with Derek because he wants to go to prom with Derek. But, of course, he’s stubborn and prideful and can’t admit to Derek how it’s barely been twelve hours since they officially broke up and he’s already barely handling it as it is, so he just raises his chin in the air and says, “yes.”

we should just kiss (like real people do) by i_am_girlfriday

Stiles is the social zero of the sophomore class. Derek is the much cooler junior who befriends Stiles anyway.

Shut Me Down by lazykisses

Even when Derek’s an asshole, which is 75% of the time (90% on a rainy day), with his deadpan humor and cocky eyebrows and his annoyingly vague text messages (like that one time Stiles asked him if he’d studied for Chemistry and Derek replied with “hn”. What the hell does ‘hn’ even mean?), Stiles doesn’t mind. And that kinda scares him.

It’s Too Early For This by thepsychicclam

Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.

Hotsky to Trotsky by paintedrecs

Derek had his future mapped out: there’d be graduation, followed by college, followed by (he hoped) a good grad school, then a career as a professor whose students didn’t spend their time flicking paper footballs at each other and obsessing over their dating lives. He had good friends, a good family, and no time to focus on distractions like high school gossip or relationships.

He hadn’t factored Stiles Stilinski - lacrosse player, class clown, part of the popular crowd, currently spending his entire day staring at Derek and smiling - into his plans.

more by bibliosexual

It starts when Derek is sitting in study hall and the guy ahead of him–-Stiles something, the Polish kid with all the moles–-mutters, “Ugh, what’s sixty percent of fifty-five?”

“Thirty-three,” Derek says without having to think about it. He’s always been good at math.

“Oh, thanks, dude,” Stiles says. “I forgot my calculator, and Mr. Harris is a dick who won’t let me go get it.”

“No problem,” Derek says.

He assumes that’s it, that’s the end of the conversation, but Stiles catches up to him in the hall after class, scuffs his sneaker against the floor and says, “Hey, so, you’re really good at math. Like, you solved that in your head, right? No calculator?“

"Yeah,” Derek says, and Stiles bites his lip, asks, “Do you maybe wanna study with me later, in the library?”

Derek does.

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Bro-lentine’s Day by WhoNatural

It’s actually pretty cool that Derek came back to school after a summer eating spinach and lifting small trains or whatever to become a guardian angel to the easy targets of BHHS.

Don’t Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite

Stiles doesn’t care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School’s resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one’s judgment.

However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).

But you know what they say…never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.

Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon by secondstar

Being a teenager sucks. Being a werewolf teenager sucks even more. With a life full of holding back who he really is, not having any privacy whatsoever, and the seemingly sudden appearance of one Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale’s life just got a whole lot harder.

(I Hate to Be) The One to Ruin the Night by wishingonalightningbolt

High school senior Derek Hale only has one goal for the rest of his time left at BHHS: avoid Stiles Stilinski. He’s wreaked enough havoc as it is, having spent all summer breaking Derek’s heart. Everything would be better for both of them if they just never saw each other again.

-0-

Derek doesn’t plan on ever getting mixed up with Scott McCall and his little gang of idiot friends. In fact, if he knew to avoid it, he would, but he guesses he just isn’t smart enough. Unfortunate, considering the consequences.

John Hughes Did Not Direct My Life by nascentgalaxies

Stiles and Derek are childhood friends who drifted apart. When Stiles joins the lacrosse team against his will, the universe (with a little help from Laura and Lydia) chooses to push them back together.

But Then What... by Stoney

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

I know you love and hate me too by trilliastra

“Right.” Derek coughs and Stiles knows he realized his mistake. Good – he thinks, maybe next time he'll learn not to make Stiles fall in love with him. “Hum – we are almost finishing here, John.”

“I'll be in my bedroom.” Stiles says. “And his first name is Sheriff!”

Fucking Derek Hale.

Wait For It by otatop

Funny, how you can exist adjacent to someone through elementary, middle, and high school and not really know them. Funny, how Stiles had always had some strange crush on Derek without actually being his friend.

It’s like he’s all that by MemeKon

Stiles is different. Stiles is not nice under any definition of the word, he’s such an asshole. Sure, he’s a good guy deep down, he punched Jackson square in the jaw when he mocked the McCall kid for an asthma attack that one time, and Derek knows he helped Erica Reyes get that video of her seizure taken down, but he’s so—

"Fuck off, Derek." Stiles tells him without sparing him a glance when Derek sits next to him on chemistry. "I’m not up to play She’s All That with you, dude."

-yeah.

(School crushes are so complicated.)

The Scheming Rhymes of Romance by sofonisba_found

Stiles currently was, and had been, Derek's poetic muse for years. Not that Stiles was really all that aware of that fact.

But when Stiles does find out about it their senior year of high school, he's pretty okay with it.

Alright, so he is definitely a lot more than okay with it.

A story in which Derek writes copious amounts of poetry, Stiles is very appreciative of said poetry as well as Derek's smile, and all of their friends are oddly and extremely invested in seeing these two get their act together.

Easy Alpha by interropunct

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.