#but i have like...3 different totebag ideas too

[leyyvi]

anime boston doesnt allow stickers which is like...half my inventory so i guess this is the time for me to make car magnets finally fjkghfdjkghfdkj

[holdyourwine]

NESI!!! I read the Great Goddesses yesterday night! It was sooooo great! I loved how the author also included how the gods and godesses had to adapt to a time where they are mere myths and legends! I wished I could get the softcover version because I saw there were some drawings included in the book but shipping is too expensive so I got the ebook version.

My favourite stories got to be Poseidon to Zeus, which is heartbreaking because our dear Poseidon feels inferior to Zeus and he brings up the fact that their mother was playing favourites by saving Zeus instead and my heart just goes to him here! The other parts which I loved was Hephaestus' Tale, Hades to Persephone, Persephone to Hades, Argos, Dog of Odysseus (I will make sure to hug my dog because poor Argos, but I'm glad Hades got you now 🥺).

What were your favourite stories?

Also, in Modern-day Sea God(s), the author says Poseidon abandoned his seas and went away but where did he go? Like the others I would imagine he'd have to adapt to the modern world and I don't think gods can die since only those who became gods died (Poor Dionysus 🥺). Any idea on that, Nesi?

Also thanks for sharing this jewel! I'm in love with this book now 💜

AHHH OMG I'M SO EXCITED TO TALK ABOUT THIS! you can buy the softcover version if you really want it because it's so pretty and cute to be inside our totebag wherever we go! oh, and also, Poseidon To Zeus! it broke my heart too— mostly poseidon parts did break me lmaoo. and all persephone and hades oh my god, kailin, am i seeing a match made in heaven? Persephone And Hades ; After is so sweet! really want to be their daugter lol </3

this is also related to my thought before and and after reading Modern-day Sea God(s) ; about how gods live within our heart, and once humans forget about them, abandoning them, they will die. not die as if a mortal's death but they are no more because no one has faith in them anymore. and to this, it breaks my heart so much for these lines— damn, why.

but i still have no idea where did he go? i think he just completely takes off the duty as he grows tired ... AND! amphitrite is scheming this?! she always wants to take control over the oceans after his reign is over, explained in Amphitrite. this is— i cant explain how i feel but i feel so uneasy.

this is why the poseidon parts in this book hurt me so bad ; it is full of sadness and lonesome, very much different with others, in my opinion okay. Myths About The Water Dispelled kind of pulled my, anger, for how it portrays poseidon is nothing to nereus, doris, oceanid, and the nereids just because they know the ocean more and longer than him. while hades isn't though there are also primordial deities in underworld before he came.

oh and also my fav piece is this, but it's from House of Hyperion, Titans of Light. this, slapped me so hard lmaoo for a mortal and god to be never in one union. 😭

and this kind of adds motivation to one motivation i already have to write something about the death of a god ; poseidon. it is the opposite concept of this, because i feel like people start to forget and drain their interest, love for him (both mythologically poseidon, not really tho, and ror poseidon who is so long already dead)

[thekitschdiet]

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet. 

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days. 

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress. 

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram.  Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it. 

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is  actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even… 

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera. 

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

 I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead.  Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit. 

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an  inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read). 

[trans-advice]

Hi 🫣 I am a genderfluid afab enby (late bloomer, knew I might be fluid as a teen but was afraid to present non-feminine until later on) and I was told that means I am technically trans, is that correct?

I feel as though saying so makes me an intruder on trans spaces.. I mean, as a fluid person, I have no "final gender destination".... to "transition" over to... you know? And enbies have a separate flag as do genderfluid folks...

On the same note. I saw a trans tik tokker explain that their obsession with gender died out after they completed their transition. Being fluid.. does that mean I will always hyperfocus on my identity? (Am also neurodivergent and my gender identity is a hyperfixation currently).

Sorry about the long delay.

Yes, firstly transgender includes anybody with gender identities that were not assigned to them at birth. If your gender situation has the gender identity assigned to you at birth & gender identities that are incongruent with that assignment, then yes you can be both cis & trans (however, I suspect cissexists would say that's not pure cisgender enough to not be trans).

Secondly, nonbinary includes both gender fluid & gender solid people (I'm not sure if "solid" is the preferred term anymore, but whatever).

Thirdly, with the separate flags thing, you can actually use both flags, but the making a flag for every identity comes out of an era when the LGBT+ acronym had the rainbow flag, but the gays & lesbians kind of monopolized the discussions. So in order to avoid that monopolization, we make flags just for our things in addition to the umbrella flags.

Fourthly, there are 3 types of transition: medical, social, and legal. "Trans" is not short for "transitioning". That whole line of thinking is tied up in assimilation praxis. Currently, the governments in charge of keeping track of identity haven't figured out how to have ID cards in a way that recognizes not only genderfluidity, but say multiple names. In fact, this idea that identities are solid is not only tied into ID cards & surveillance, but also dismissal/violation of consent, normalizing hierarchies & transfer of power, etc.

Fifthly, a good piece of advice I heard for when you're questioning is to do the gender expression that you want to do first, and then figure out your identity. For example, once I had access to some dollar store makeup & a therapist, i was able to figure out that I'm a woman.

Sixthly, I find that as a no-op gender solid trans woman, that my thinking about my gender identity didn't stop after transitioning. I've been a feminist since I was 2, like studying gender & stuff is what gives me life. But what I do find is once I figured out my gender situation enough, and I was able to transition, that I didn't have to reinvent the wheel as much. I think of transitioning as gathering permission to live as I consent to be, but also organizing the stuff I use for my gender expression & not having to rebuild because of violence. Basically, I wasn't obsessing about what I needed to do or how to find safety. The point of transitioning is to improve your quality of life.

So to summarize, what I think you need is to figure out how you want to express yourself. Get a safe location(s)/space(s) where not only can you keep your items that will help you express yourself, but also a place to then get yourself ready & then use them. (This could be as simple as your room if you have housing & no hostile roommates.) I'm not sure whether the people around you will be unsafe or affirming. You'll have to figure that out too. When you're organizing your items for your gender expression of the various gender identities you go through, personally I carry around a purse (but when I had to pretend I was a boy I would use totebags or whatever) and in there I have some gender-affirming items for some of the gender identities you frequently are. So say some roll on deodorant of different scents, makeup, maybe a couple of articles of clothing that you can put on in a bathroom stall, maybe some jewelry, maybe some retractable eyeliner or lipstick to draw on your skin with. Remember, these need to make you feel good. If people validate your gender identity then that's a bonus,  but it shouldn't be your goal because people are not reliable for that. So work on making yourself the best feeling that you can & then go from there. If you still feel bad, then maybe do some other self-care practices.

Point being, you're mainly going to go for the social transitioning here. The composition of the social groups you interact with can obviously vary. I asked around & heard cis people often won't get your gender identity & therefore passing won't work. However, having even a few people who affirm you, along with other affirmative customs such as pronoun pins, people introducing themselves with their pronouns, etc, will make a big difference. If you're at least able to screen out haters then that's still good!

I don't know your specific gender identities, how frequently you identify with specific ones, your body, and what you consent to, so I'm not going to give medical transition & body modification recommendations. I will also say that in addition to pre-op & post-op, there's also no-op. If people are saying you have to have surgery & it's not for a specific legal thing, then they're not being inclusive. You are still valid. Your body, your choice.

Good Luck, Peace & Love,

Eve

[ladiekatie]

Sterek Drabble

so at work, i had do some research on the value of stamps as a collector’s item, and naturally Sterek happened.  This got long so... it’s under the cut.

So like, imagine Stiles’ kid is obsessed with stamps. Stiles literally has no idea how this came about but the kid loves stamps. So Stiles buys them the whole stamp collection and stiles works really hard trying to find stamps for them and getting the ones they wants and it’s a whole Thing right?

And maybe, Stiles asks his kid where he wants to go for his birthday trip, because it’s during summer vacation and an excellent excuse to go out of town for a week, and his kid CHOOSES THE CALIFORNIA STAMP COLLECTORS CONVENTION IN ANAHEIM. And stiles is like... okay? but we’ll be in Anaheim, do you wanna maybe go to Disney? and his kid is like “no dad, there won’t be time for disney!” 

Stiles is like of like “..........*deep sigh* okay?” and he plans the whole thing. They get tickets, he books a room at the same hotel the convention is at, which happens to be really close to disney so he budgets in a couple tickets to disneyland just in case and off they go!

The whole drive down, stiles is mentally preparing himself to deal with a whole bunch of old people and their stamps for an entire week. He also gets together a speech for his kid when the convention isn’t what they thought it was going to be. Stiles Googled the damn thing okay? Last years photos looks pathetic as fuck, so he was preparing himself to have to deal with the disappointment from his kid. 

They get there, they check in. Stiles and his kid play The Floor is Lava in the hotel room. They order a pizza and Stiles tries to explain that scene from Home Alone, which gets lost in the generational gap and he promises they’ll watch it at christmas time. 

The morning of the convention comes and Stiles’ kid is off the wall excited. They walk down to the continental breakfast, and the kid cannot sit still while eating the toaster waffle stiles prepared. The two of them go back upstairs to get their book of stamps and head down to the foyer of ballroom 1 for registration. At the desk there are two old men, and the seem thrilled that there is a child here. 

Immediately Stiles kid goes off on a tangent with the gentlemen about how long they’ve been collecting (2 years) and how long the older gents have been collecting (42 and 38 years respectively) and Stiles can already tell that his kid is just on a whole different level of thrilled. They direct them to go into the ballroom for opening remarks and his kid is already digging through the totebag they were given moments ago. 

They’re early, because they are among the youngest people here, so all the other attendees are slow moving. Another old man and an older woman walk on stage and commence the week with a few remarks and a mention of their director this year who has really done an amazing job gathering vendors and yada yada yada. They say they don’t want to keep everyone too long, so the floor in ballrooms 2 and 3 were open! 

Immediately, Stiles’ kid shoots up and Stiles has to flail to keep up as they bolt out of the room, little map in hand. And that’s how Stiles spends his day, following the tuft of brown hair and pulling out his card when those eyelashes get batted in his direction. There is a sucker born every minute, and he is that sucker everytime. 

When the day ends, at 3pm, Stiles and his kid go back up to their room, where Stiles listens to a recap of the entire day and every booth they saw like he wasn’t standing right there the entire time. And that’s how it goes for the first couple of days. 

Then THEN YOU GUYS, on the third day, Stiles decides that this is a safe environment for his kid, everyone seems so nice and like they really want to teach this young padawan everything they can so Stiles lets his kid go on his own while he stands in the corner and checks him email for the 78th time today. 

A guy walks past him pushing an old man in a wheelchair, and he does not look like he belongs here. (The guy pushing the wheelchair, not the man in the wheelchair) and Stiles not so subtly begins to stalk the man because any not 50+ year old is a friend at this point. At some point, the guy leaves the man and the wheelchair at a booth with a dozen binders to look through, and Stiles sees and in and manages to work up the courage to say: 

“Is that your dad?” The guy turns to look at him, and fuck the dude is hot right? Like he looks more like he should be at a lumberjack conventions for the rich and famous than a stamp collector’s convention. 

“Um.. no. Marshal’s wheelchair battery stopped working so he’s in his manual until the repair guy can come and fix it,” the abercrombie model looks at him curiously, “I don’t believe we’ve met though, I’m Derek.”

“We haven’t, first time here. I’m the little munchkin’s dad, Stiles.” And like somehow they get to talking and Stiles realizes that Derek is the man who organized this year’s convention because the guy last year really botched the budget and did a shitty job but this year, Derek got a sponsor and the whole thing is amazing. and like... Stiles is falling a little bit in love?

And later in the day, Stiles kid finds him talking to Derek and Stiles’ kid is in complete and utter awe of Derek because, “Dad!! Do you know who this IS?!”

“I mean... he’s Derek?”

“He has one of the most expensive stamp collections in the WORLD!”  Derek is kind enough to sign an autograph, Stiles wants to shove his head in the ground out of sheer embarrassment. Also, it should be illegal for someone as hot as Derek to have such a... unique passions like stamp collecting. 

And then because this is getting long, imagine them spending a lot of time together the rest of the weekend? There’s a bridge tournament, there’s bingo night, there’s karaoke night, there’s bingo night again, and Stiles, his kid, and Derek go to all of them and have a blast. There really was no time for disney. 

At the end of the weekend, Stiles’ kid is sad because maybe they didn’t find that one stamp they really needed to finish out a set. And Stiles is really sad that he didn’t manage to get Derek’s number even though he has no idea where Derek is even from. He maybe fell a little bit in love wit him over the week. They get home, and There’s a letter from the convention and inside is THE STAMP THAT STILES’ KID WAS LOOKING FOR and a letter from Derek telling Stiles kid to never stop collecting and to call if they need help finding their next treasure. 

It’s not like... a week before Stiles finds his kid on the phone chatting to someone and when he rips the phone away to see who it was, it’s DEREK, and it turns out that his kid has been telephoning Derek daily to talk about stamps because they miss him and they asked him to come to visit. AND EVEN MORE OF A SHOCKER IS THAT DEREK ACTUALLY LIVES IN BEACON HILLS so naturally Stiles takes his kid to meet up with Derek to talk about stamps and Stiles gets a real date with him and it’s adorable because Stamps and Sterek.

the end okay bye.