jaclcfrost:

i hope that, wherever my hair ties go, they’re happy. that’s all that matters

bleep0bleep:

devildoll:

"Stiles, wait. Don’t leave. Just let me—Stiles, please don’t leave.”

"What, you want to explain?" Stiles laughs mirthlessly, grabbing the duffel bag and heading for the door. He isn’t even bothering with shoes, just wearing his underwear, on his way to angrily storming out of Derek’s life. "You don’t get to explain, okay, I get it. This wasn’t ever— anything, how could I have been so blind. The secretive phone calls, the late nights from work, you think I’m stupid, Derek?" 
"No, no I don’t," Derek says helplessly. His world is crumbling down around him, and it’s like his mind isn’t even working right now, all he can see is Stiles walking over the threshold of their shitty apartment that they share together, betrayal and hurt written all over his face. 
"A fucking second checking account, Derek, you asshole, with payments going out every month, no, I don’t think you can explain that away with ‘just trust me,’ anymore, can you, when we can’t even get our hot water fixed and you’re spending thousands and thousands on God-knows-what,” Stiles hisses vehemently. “And you can’t tell me what it is? I thought I was—” Stiles takes a deep breath, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s clutching the bag. “I thought I was everything to you,” he says in a small voice. 
Derek can’t even say anything, it would ruin everything— but how does that matter now, when Stiles says bitterly, “I guess I thought wrong,” and slams the door, footsteps echoing down the hallway. 
Fuck everything.
Derek jolts back to life somehow, darting to the bedroom, heaving the heavy frame aside. He feels along the cracks in the floor, popping the compartment open and grabbing the paperwork and the tiny blue velvet box, and rushes for the door. 
Stiles is halfway down the street, a sad sight in his boxer briefs, holding his duffel bag defiantly and cursing at some laughing onlookers. Derek runs like his life depends on it, concrete cold beneath his bare feet. He catches up to Stiles just as a taxi cab pulls up, and he’s heaving, catching his breath.
Stiles turns around and gives him a cold look. “No, whatever you’re going to say—” 
"Stiles, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was going to be a surprise,” Derek says lamely, shoving the deed into Stiles’ hands, the small box quivering as it slides down the stack of papers. “Please don’t leave me,” Derek says.
"What the fuck is this?" Stiles says, flipping through the papers— contracts, reports— the deed. His eyes go wide when he sees the picture of one of the progress reports from the contractor— the farmhouse standing tall, bright red paint contrasting the green glade behind it. His voice wobbles when he repeats, "What is this?" but gone is the angry tone, it’s just disbelief now. "Derek, this is the house—"
"The house you told me about years ago, the one you said on our third date would be your dream house, I— I bought it, and I’ve been fixing it up the way you always told me you wanted it," Derek stammers. Stiles’ fingers hesitate on the lid of the box. "I was going to—" 
Stiles opens the box and there’s a gleaming ring inside. “Oh my God,” he says. 
"You two gonna get in the cab or what?" the driver snaps. 
"Go away, I’m trying to get proposed to here!" Stiles yells back at him, and the driver huffs and takes off. 
"So is that a—" Derek starts. 
"Yes, you idiot, yes!" Stiles flings his arms around Derek, hopping up in his excitement, legs wrapping around his waist and Derek swings him around a little giddily. "I can’t believe you let me think the worst of you," he says, kissing Derek soundly on the mouth.
"This wasn’t how the proposal was supposed to go," Derek says when they break for air. 
Stiles laughs brightly. “Tell me all about it, you romantic sap. You can even do it again, if you like. I’ll pretend to be surprised.”
Derek grins. “Well, there were going to be rosepetals all over the floor of the new house…” 

bleep0bleep:

devildoll:

"Stiles, wait. Don’t leave. Just let me—Stiles, please don’t leave.”

"What, you want to explain?" Stiles laughs mirthlessly, grabbing the duffel bag and heading for the door. He isn’t even bothering with shoes, just wearing his underwear, on his way to angrily storming out of Derek’s life. "You don’t get to explain, okay, I get it. This wasn’t ever— anything, how could I have been so blind. The secretive phone calls, the late nights from work, you think I’m stupid, Derek?" 

"No, no I don’t," Derek says helplessly. His world is crumbling down around him, and it’s like his mind isn’t even working right now, all he can see is Stiles walking over the threshold of their shitty apartment that they share together, betrayal and hurt written all over his face. 

"A fucking second checking account, Derek, you asshole, with payments going out every month, no, I don’t think you can explain that away with ‘just trust me,’ anymore, can you, when we can’t even get our hot water fixed and you’re spending thousands and thousands on God-knows-what,” Stiles hisses vehemently. “And you can’t tell me what it is? I thought I was—” Stiles takes a deep breath, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s clutching the bag. “I thought I was everything to you,” he says in a small voice. 

Derek can’t even say anything, it would ruin everything— but how does that matter now, when Stiles says bitterly, “I guess I thought wrong,” and slams the door, footsteps echoing down the hallway. 

Fuck everything.

Derek jolts back to life somehow, darting to the bedroom, heaving the heavy frame aside. He feels along the cracks in the floor, popping the compartment open and grabbing the paperwork and the tiny blue velvet box, and rushes for the door. 

Stiles is halfway down the street, a sad sight in his boxer briefs, holding his duffel bag defiantly and cursing at some laughing onlookers. Derek runs like his life depends on it, concrete cold beneath his bare feet. He catches up to Stiles just as a taxi cab pulls up, and he’s heaving, catching his breath.

Stiles turns around and gives him a cold look. “No, whatever you’re going to say—” 

"Stiles, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was going to be a surprise,” Derek says lamely, shoving the deed into Stiles’ hands, the small box quivering as it slides down the stack of papers. “Please don’t leave me,” Derek says.

"What the fuck is this?" Stiles says, flipping through the papers— contracts, reports— the deed. His eyes go wide when he sees the picture of one of the progress reports from the contractor— the farmhouse standing tall, bright red paint contrasting the green glade behind it. His voice wobbles when he repeats, "What is this?" but gone is the angry tone, it’s just disbelief now. "Derek, this is the house—"

"The house you told me about years ago, the one you said on our third date would be your dream house, I— I bought it, and I’ve been fixing it up the way you always told me you wanted it," Derek stammers. Stiles’ fingers hesitate on the lid of the box. "I was going to—" 

Stiles opens the box and there’s a gleaming ring inside. “Oh my God,” he says. 

"You two gonna get in the cab or what?" the driver snaps. 

"Go away, I’m trying to get proposed to here!" Stiles yells back at him, and the driver huffs and takes off. 

"So is that a—" Derek starts. 

"Yes, you idiot, yes!" Stiles flings his arms around Derek, hopping up in his excitement, legs wrapping around his waist and Derek swings him around a little giddily. "I can’t believe you let me think the worst of you," he says, kissing Derek soundly on the mouth.

"This wasn’t how the proposal was supposed to go," Derek says when they break for air. 

Stiles laughs brightly. “Tell me all about it, you romantic sap. You can even do it again, if you like. I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

Derek grins. “Well, there were going to be rosepetals all over the floor of the new house…” 

fleetofships:

elizabethian-cows:

cyberalpaca:

It’s simple to be cool with other people.

This is an unexpectedly happy comic

I wish more people would get down with this train of thought.

tsuminubiaru:

CelticTribe!AU

The one where Stiles is being sacrificed to protect the village from werewolves because he bears the mark of the wolf.


Stiles has always known that he was to be sacrificed when he came of age. He never thought to ask what that meant. 
Ficlet inspired by this amazing piece is HERE.

tsuminubiaru:

CelticTribe!AU

The one where Stiles is being sacrificed to protect the village from werewolves because he bears the mark of the wolf.

Stiles has always known that he was to be sacrificed when he came of age. He never thought to ask what that meant. 

Ficlet inspired by this amazing piece is HERE.

Admire, Don’t Objectify 

respectorcist:

I’m a bisexual woman, and I’m a feminist, and I’m a k-pop fan, and I’m trying to figure out how to enjoy the female form without falling into the trap of ironic raunch culture.

Like most human beings attracted to the female form (this may or may not be you, reader of any gender identification) I like to look at women. But how do I do this while not objectifying them? How do I respect what I enjoy? Women are beautiful. They’re sexy, hot, worthy of admiration, so where do we tell ourselves we’ve gone past admiration and into objectification? Where’s the line?

This bothers me on a personal level. It ought to.

If you view someone from a standpoint of sexual attraction while not knowing much about them, is it objectification? Should I be fixing something in my behavior?

I don’t think this is usually the case for me, but maybe sometimes it is. I think there are things that can be done to make sure that you’re not objectifying. I don’t say this because I want to soothe my own conscious by weaseling my way out of guilt, and I don’t think that anyone else should be doing that either. I say this because when we’re mindful about our behavior, that’s when self-improvement begins. Objectifying others doesn’t make you a bad person. Being willfully ignorant about when you are objectifying and why that is negative makes you an ignorant person.

(We’re all ignorant about ourselves and others in one way or another. That’s why we all need to be mindful.)

So in my effort to not objectify, here is my list of ways to avoid objectification. Although we find the cisgendered female form most often objectified in media, any person can be objectified

1) The person you are admiring doesn’t exist to titillate you. That person is autonomous. They aren’t some manic pixie dream girl who exists solely to inspire your sexual fantasies. If you find yourself commenting about how you’re angry they changed their hair style because it looks less hot on them, take a step back and think over what you’re feeling here.

2) The person you are admiring doesn’t belong to you. They’re not ‘your’ celebrity. It doesn’t matter who they decide to associate with or what person they decide to date in their personal life (unless you’re genuinely concerned for their health and safety). If you find yourself commenting that someone isn’t hot enough to be dating said celebrity, you might be objectifying.

3) If you are saying things that would undermine the integrity of a person, such as ‘I would tap that,’ it might be objectifying.

4) If you are reducing the person to a body part or a series of body parts, you might be objectifying them. I don’t believe that it’s always objectification to say that you, as a person, are a ‘butt person’ - none of us should be here to judge what parts of the body are attractive to individuals - but it’s important to remember that, if you are viewing images of a person and consistently thinking of the person primarily in terms of specific body parts or even in general terms of how they look, rather than a more holistic view of them as an admirable individual, it’s probably objectification.

We all objectify other people, because we’re all a part of the construct of our society. We’re especially prone to objectifying celebrities, especially celebrity women (cisgendered and transgendered alike.) We shouldn’t condemn one another out of hand for doing it. But neither should we let ourselves become entrenched in the ironic sexism and dehumanization that is raunch culture. It isn’t cool to see people as objects, it doesn’t make us ‘one of the dudes,’ and it isn’t social commentary to make the same tired, sexist comments and call it irony just because I myself am female.

I might like looking at women, but I like looking at women, and not just their bodies.

I don’t want to be a chauvinist pig, and neither should you.