Sade Olutola

Product Placement

Kiana Khansmith

Kaledo Art
Claire Keane

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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DEAR READER

Andulka
Cosimo Galluzzi

Discoholic 🪩

JBB: An Artblog!
cherry valley forever
ojovivo
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
we're not kids anymore.
AnasAbdin
Cosmic Funnies
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
KIROKAZE

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@dylan-robrien
Isn’t he lovely.
My followers asked me || Dylan’s expressions - happy, sad or angry?
… and when he smiles, the whole world stops and stares for a while.
“Look into my eyes”
These are two watercolor artworks and I’m proud of them! I rarely post my art around here, but I guess i’ll start doing it, maybe it’ll receive the love it deserves *cries*
Stiles “Bedroom Eyes” Stilinski and Derek “Oh God He’s Looking At Me” Hale
Missed Connection
Stiles/Derek, 1.5K words, Rated G, AU, Meet Cute
I heard this story on NPR this morning and of course, couldn’t resist Sterek-ing it.
Stiles yawned, burped, and stood up. “Okay, I’m heading out.”
Kira pouted and leaned against his thigh. “Aw. You sure?”
“Yeah, definitely.” Stiles was still drunk, but it was fading and he didn’t really feel like drinking any more. “But you should stay, I’ll just take an Uber by myself.”
“Okay.” Kira yawned and flopped in the other direction, against Allison, who patted her absently on the knee. “I might stay here.”
“Text me if you do,” he said, waving, and she gave him a clumsy thumbs up. Stiles picked his way out of the house party, dodging games of beer pong as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He opened the Uber app with a grimace—three a.m. on the Saturday of Halloween weekend probably meant long wait times and/or surge pricing—but was pleasantly surprised to see only a five-minute wait.
By the time Stiles went to the bathroom and said goodbye to a couple of people, Rachel was idling by the curb in her promised red Camry. “Hello!” he said cheerfully as he climbed into the backseat, and she smiled at him in the rearview mirror.
“Hey. Happy Halloween.”
“What’s the weirdest costume you’ve seen tonight?” he asked, and she laughed.
“Let’s see…earlier I had a girl in a very large, very realistic-looking squid costume.”
Stiles laughed. “Awesome.”
“We’ve got one pick-up on the way,” Rachel said, and Stiles yawned as he rested his cheek against the cool glass of the window.
“No problem.”
They only drove for a few minutes before Rachel glided to a stop at a corner. The other backseat door opened, and a tall guy startled as he ducked down into the car.
Stiles grinned. “Are you scared of clowns?”
“No.” The guy rolled his eyes and settled into the seat, stretching out his long legs.
“Are you sure? My costume’s pretty great.”
“It is,” he admitted. “But I’m also not scared of clowns.”
Stiles scratched at his wig. This guy was seriously hot, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, and Stiles temporarily wished that he wasn’t dressed as a freaky clown. “So what are you supposed to be?”
The guy tilted his head, raised one admittedly-magnificent eyebrow, and gestured at himself. “A lumberjack.”
The duh went unspoken, and Stiles gave him a flat look. “Seriously? So let me guess, you grabbed a plaid shirt out of your closet and didn’t shave for like 36 hours.”
“Are you shaming me for my dedication to my costume right now?”
“Your lack of dedication,” Stiles corrected. “And yes, yes I am.”
“I can tell that you really care a lot about Halloween.”
“Uh, yes I do. The sanctity of Halloween is to be respected, and you’re in clear violation of that right now.”
The lumberjack hummed and scratched at his dumb, beautiful lumberjack beard. “So what’s the punishment for such an egregious violation?”
Stiles made a show of thinking about it. “Being made fun of by me. And Rachel,” he added.
“I think your costume is fine,” Rachel piped in, and Stiles threw up his hands.
“Ouch. Wow, such a betrayal, Rachel, honestly. I was here first, does that not count for anything anymore?”
The lumberjack laughed and shifted in his seat so he was facing Stiles. “My friend showed up at the party I was at as an accountant. And that’s his job in real life, so he just wore his normal clothes.”
“Okay, that’s worse,” Stiles admitted. “But it still doesn’t mean that you’re off the hook.”
“Darn,” he said, his tone as dry as a bone. “You know, my greatest goal is to be in your good graces.”
Stiles huffed. “As it should be.”
The car stopped again, and the lumberjack unbuckled his seatbelt. “Bye, Pennywise,” he said, then waved toward the front seat. “Thanks, have a good night.”
Rachel waved back, and Stiles stared shamelessly out the window as the lumberjack took the stairs two at a time up to his building. “Wow,” he said absently. “I should’ve asked for his number, huh? He was hot.”
“He was,” Rachel agreed. “And he was totally flirting with you.”
Stiles tipped his head back against the seat and groaned.
Kira shuffled through their front door around noon. “Please tell me that there’s coffee.”
“Of course!” Stiles called out from his spot on the couch. He’d woken up with only a minor headache, miraculously, which had been swiftly taken care of by an egg sandwich and two cups of coffee.
Kira sat down next to him, cradling her giant coffee mug against her chest as gently as she would a baby, and gestured to the small pile of flyers on their coffee table. “What’s this?”
“My, uh, morning project,” he said, handing her one.
“I was Pennywise,” Kira read, “and you were a low-effort lumberjack. We met in the back of an Uber at three a.m. last night, and I’m kicking myself for not asking for your number. Text me the name of our driver if you’d like to get a drink sometime, I swear I’m handsome under all the makeup.”
Kira started cracking up, and Stiles grinned. “You like it?”
“That’s amazing. So you met a lumberjack last night?”
Stiles nodded. “He was hilarious. And really attractive. And our driver thought he was flirting with me, so y’know, take from that what you will.”
Kira laughed again. “Where are you gonna put them up?”
“He got dropped off first, he lives just a few blocks from here. So I’ll just do that block, probably. That’s not too creepy, is it?”
Kira hummed. “No. It’d be creepy if you, like, knocked on the door of his building. But this is cute. And he can just ignore it if he wants to.”
“Okay.” Stiles collected up the flyers and reached for the stapler. “Wish me luck, then.”
Stiles got a bunch of random texts that afternoon, most that either wished him luck or just said “lol.” His phone buzzed again around six p.m., and he dove for it, like he’d been doing all day.
Now my whole neighborhood knows that I didn’t put much effort into my costume, so thank you for that.
Stiles grinned down at his phone like an idiot. He saved the number in his phone as “The Lumberjack,” even before the second text came through.
(Her name was Rachel, by the way.)
That’s your fault, dude. If you’d had a better costume, I wouldn’t have had to publicly shame you.
I got invited to a party last minute! I didn’t have many options.
Then you should have unbuttoned the plaid and at least gone as a SEXY lumberjack.
Ah. Next year, then.
No, next year I’ll be inviting you to a Halloween party with plenty of advance notice. So you should start brainstorming now.
I’ll have to ask you for advice.
So will I seem too forward if I ask you for a drink tonight?
I literally printed flyers and put them up outside your building, I really don’t think you have to worry about “forward.”
That bar on the corner at 8?
Dude, I will be there with bells on.
And I’ll be able to recognize you by the costume?
Very funny.
Stiles stopped outside of the bar at 8:02 and hopped up and down a couple times, trying to shake the nervousness out. He’d been giving himself a pep talk for the whole walk over, and he almost believed it.
Worst case scenario, the guy was just fucking with him, and then Stiles would have a funny story to tell. Best case, he’d get to kiss a cute guy, and Stiles was comfortable with those odds.
After one last deep breath, Stiles pulled the door open. He shrugged out of his coat and scanned the bar. He spotted the guy almost instantly, sitting in the corner and half-facing the door. The lumberjack beard was trimmed down a little bit and the plaid shirt had been replaced by a henley, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. And exactly as handsome as Stiles had remembered, score.
Once he was halfway across the bar, their eyes met. Stiles felt it, the same connection he felt in the car last night, and he swallowed.
“Hey,” he called out, once he was within earshot, and the guy smiled at him. “Sorry if you were expecting Pennywise.”
The guy stood and moved his coat off the bar stool next to him, gesturing to it. “This version is much nicer,” he said sincerely, and Stiles huffed out a laugh, ducking his head.
“So I fully plan to keep calling you ‘The Lumberjack’ in my head, but I should probably also know your real name,” he blurted out, and the guy laughed. There were dimples underneath the beard, and Stiles was going to die.
“Derek.” He held his hand out, and Stiles shook it.
“Stiles. Very nice to meet you again.”
Tyler Hoechlin on set during filming the crossover “Arrowvers” - October 23, 2018
Witch Stiles Stilinski and his crow familiar, Walmart. Stunning artwork by Geeky Sova for my Sterek fic, “(There’s) Sulphur in Our Blood”.
(There’s) Sulphur in Our Blood by WonderWolf features: magic/tattooed BAMF Stiles, reluctant secret agent partners, mysteries, angst+humor, and more! Actual Summary on AO3:
[Secret Agent AU in which Derek blames Stiles for his sister’s death and Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s going to murder him. As if that weren’t enough to deal with, Stiles’ familiar keeps having public breakdowns. Oh, and there’s a mole in the agency, too.] Geeky-Sova took my breath away with this commission <3 If you like it as much as I do, reblog and leave compliments for Sova in the tags! Commission info can be found here.
Commission piece for “The Proposal” by superserum
“I got a little bit of sleep, but mostly I was too excited for you to be home,” Derek admitted, voice a little weaker than usual as he kept his eyes locked on the little box. He was prepared to talk as much as he needed to, as long as it would take for Stiles to notice to box. In fact, he opened his mouth to answer his next question, about to go grab his food from the kitchen, when the fork fell and clattered against the tray and the syrup jar was knocked over in the quest for the ring box, which Stiles had his hands on now. Doing a little damage control, Derek slid the tray safely away in an attempt the salvage the food in his boyfriend’s excitement. He watched as Stiles looked at the ring and tried to form words, but really it was just a few noises and hand gestures that made Derek laugh, scooting closer as he took the box gently from Stiles’s hands. “You’re my favorite person in the world. And I want to make you breakfast every morning, and kiss your drool-covered mouth to wake you up, and listen to you tell me stories,” Derek started to say, fidgeting with the ring and taking it out of the box. “You’ve really turned my life around for the better. And I can’t imagine living life without you by my side to help steady me. To keep me calm when I need it, and to help me loosen up when I’m too serious. I need that - I need you, okay?” God, he felt like he was rambling, but everything had been built up so much in their time apart that Derek didn’t want to leave anyone out, “I want to be the reason that you smile every day, just like you are for me. I want to be that for you forever.” He offered the ring out to Stiles with one hand, the anticipation at full blast now, “Will you marry me?” he added on, hands actually shaking a little now, licking his lips and watching Stiles.
*******************
And there Derek was again, perfectly saving his pancakes from complete and utter annihilation in Stiles’ excitement, laughing at his awkwardness and just generally being a beautiful person. It made his heart swell with everything. Joy, excitement, anxiety, exhilaration. When Derek took the box, his fingers were shaking and Stiles had to look down and count each one, flexing them in turn, then turning to his boyfriend with wide eyes as he spoke. Stiles wasn’t a big crier, he was usually the type of person that was shocked into silence, or who immediately got distracted by planning something for revenge. Even in happy movies, he just grinned and chuckled at everyone else who had tears down their faces. But it would be a blatant lie if he claimed that there weren’t tears beading down his eyes that slid down his cheeks when he grinned so hard that his eyes almost closed. Flinging himself at Derek, Stiles took the ring and pushed it onto his finger, clambering into his boyfriend – no, fiance’s – lap and kissing him silly. “Yes. Oh my god, Derek. You didn’t even need to ask. God, I love you so much and I had already asked – oh my god, were you in on this with my dad? Is that why he was so against me proposing to you for Christmas? Because, if not, we’re going to have a problem, but given that you have a good head on your shoulders…” he trailed off, shaking his head with a smile that hurt his cheeks as he held up his hand in front of Derek’s face. “Look!” Stiles chirped, rolling around in Derek’s lap so that his back was against his boyfriend’s chest and his hand was outstretched in front of the both of them. He tilted his head back and rested it on Derek’s shoulder, “I think it’s the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re the first. But you could have proposed to me with a ringpop and I wouldn’t have cared, because I want to drool on your shoulder, and make you watch awful comedy movies with me, and have you console me when I mess up cooking rice – and I want that, and a cat, and a vegetable garden, all with you. Forever.”
Sterek
Tyler Hoechlin Filming ‘Can You Keep A Secret’ in New York - October 10, 2018
Dylan with a fan tonight (source)
Neighbor AU Final part!
Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5
Curling his hand into a fist, Stiles raises it and hesitates, taking a deep, cleansing breath; then, steeling himself, he knocks on the door of Derek’s apartment.
It’s four days since Derek helped fix Puggle, but even though they parted on great terms, since then Stiles has been slammed at work. He hasn’t seen Derek once. They haven’t even passed each other in the corridor, and because of that doubts have begun to creep in.
Sure, Derek seemed like he was in to Stiles, but was he really?
Stiles has spent quite a few sleepless nights this week obsessing over that question, and he’s decided that the best way around this situation is through it. He just has to nut up and ask Derek out for a drink, or to brunch, or maybe to marry him. He hasn’t decided yet. He just knows that he can’t stop thinking about him and he needs to something before he goes insane (or before his dick develops friction burns, because there has been a lot of personal Stiles time this week. He feels like a fucking teenager again. Seriously.)
Which all sounds like a good plan, except he’s been standing outside Derek’s door now for a couple of minutes, and no one is answering and that means either he didn’t hear, or he’s out. Possibly even at work. Ugh.
Just in case it’s the first one, Stiles lifts his fist to knock again, but at that exact moment there’s the sound of someone unlocking the door. Stiles’ heart is suddenly in his mouth as it swings open to reveal– not Derek. No, this is a stunning brunette but her full, pouting lips are turned down sulkily. She’s petite but she has a ‘don’t fuck with me’ demeanor that Stiles immediately buys into wholesale. He has no intention of getting his ass handed to him, and he’s pretty sure she could do it.
“Yeah?” she says.
There’s one heart-stopping moment Stiles considers the very real possibility that Derek might have a girlfriend. What if he doesn’t like guys at all? What if Stiles has completely misread the situation?
“Uh, hi–” Stiles says, feeling impossibly awkward. “Is–uh–Derek in?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m–uh,” Stiles wilts a little under her glare. “I’m his neighbor? I live across the hall.” He jerks his thumb at his apartment behind him. “I was just wondering if I could uh–”
Her gaze flicks over him, then she glances at the door to his apartment, then back to him. “So you’re the doofy neighbor guy he’s always talking about?”
“Yes exac–wait, what? No! I am not doofy!”
“So you didn’t tip your coffee over my brother?”
“I–he–”
“The thing with the eye? The nosebleed?” She folds her arms.
“I–” Stiles’ shoulders sag a little. Even the fact that she’s Derek’s sister, and not some mysterious hot girlfriend can’t allay the hot rush of shame that floods him. “He called me doofy?”
“No,” she taps one elegant finger against her chin and narrows her eyes. “I called you doofy.”
“So–”
“Derek calls you the ‘hot, clumsy neighbor guy with the hands.’ Or he used to– now he calls you Miles?”
“Stiles,” Stiles corrects, “And what does he mean, ‘with the hands?’” Stiles stares down at his palms. “Everyone has hands, that doesn’t make any–wait, he thinks I’m hot?”
She wrinkles her nose. “What can I say. He’s always had weird taste in guys.”
“So–” All in a rush Stiles decides to go for it, “if I ask him out, you think he’ll say yes?”
“Given that you’re all he’s talked about since he moved into this damn apartment, I’m gonna go with yeah.”
Stiles beams. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” she says, arms still crossed. “I’m bored of hearing him freak out about whether you like him.”
“Y’know, you’re a strange kind of person.”
“Says the guy who maimed my brother repeatedly. Tipped their coffee on him. Ruined his favorite pair of chucks and got pink frosting on his t-shirt.”
“Yeah, when you put it like that, maybe Derek’s the strange one.”
“Oh he is,” she says, “but it looks like you are too, so kudos on meeting each other in this crazy world!” She does the most lacklustre jazz hands Stiles has ever seen and then starts to close the door.
“Uh–waitwaitwait,” Stiles says, flailing forward before she can close it. “So can I speak to him?”
“He’s working. Won’t be back till much later.”
“Oh–” Stiles’ face falls and the woman sighs.
“His next day off is Sunday,” she says.
“So we could do brunch?”
“We’re not doing anything, but if you’re asking if my brother will go to brunch with you, then I’m gonna say yes.”
“Shouldn’t I ask him?”
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll give you his number.” She fishes her phone from her pocket and thumbs through it until she finds what she wants. “Okay, ready? It’s–”
She fires off the number so quickly, Stiles can’t begin to keep up, but eventually he gets it down okay.
He grins down at his phone, elated. “Thanks so m–”
He’s too late. She’s already slammed the door shut. It isn’t as though he can be mad. He has Derek’s motherfucking number. He has confirmation that Derek likes him back. Oh yeah.
-
He texts Derek when he gets back to his apartment and they agree to meet on Sunday for lunch, which is, like, two days away. Two days which Stiles spends freaking out about what to wear and whether or not he’ll manage to get through their brunch date without injuring Derek or throwing his food over him.
He even ends up calling Scott at midnight on Saturday, while he stands in his bedroom with eight slightly different plaid shirts and every graphic tee his ever owned strewn on his bed, panicking.
When Sunday morning finally arrives, though, Stiles is only slightly sleep deprived. He’s dressed in his best black skinny jeans, the ones that hug his ass just so– and a slightly too tight Strokes tee, that’s a nice shade of red. Kira had recommended the red. Apparently it’s his color.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t nervous though, because he is and the only thing that settles him is that when Derek opens the door to him, he seems just as antsy as Stiles, shuffling about foot to foot, his ears scarlet. Stiles can’t see what Derek has to be embarrassed about– he’s wearing a soft plum colored thumbhole sweater, the jeans that Stiles has really grown to appreciate, and his hair looks mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. The overall effect is excruciatingly sexy, and Stiles nearly bites his own tongue suppressing a whimper.
“So where are we going?” Derek asks.
“I figured the place on Main?” Stiles suggests. “Unless there’s somewhere you’d rather–”
“No, that sounds good.” Derek grabs his leather jacket and then shuts his door, locking it behind him. They turn and walk down the corridor together.
“So,” Stiles begins, “You weren’t worried about going on this date?” Derek raises his eyebrows, and Stiles clarifies, “What might happen to you, y’know…being here with me.”
“Well,” Derek says. “Cora suggested body armor.”
“Cora?”
“My sister? You met her the other day?”
“Ohhhh. Yeah. She did not like me.”
“That’s not true.” Derek offers him a small smile.
“Really?”
“She gave you my number. She likes you.”
“That… did not come across.”
“I guess she can be a bit–”
“Scary?”
I was gonna go with terrifying, but yeah, sure.”
“Well, I promise to be on my best behaviour today. No accidents,” Stiles says earnestly. “I swear.”
Derek smiles, small, but genuine. “Is it weird to say that I kind of liked them?”
“Very weird, extremely, some might say. I’m not gonna complain about it though.” Stiles glances at him askance. “I’m not sure I believe you though. When I spilled vanilla latte over your comic books, you looked like you wanted to kill me.”
“Really?” Derek says. “That wasn’t what I was thinking– I swear.”
“Well you might want to tell your eyebrows that.”
“I–” Derek heaves a sigh. “I’m not that great with people.”
Stiles narrows his eyes. “I call bullshit, Ami loved you.”
“Okay, kids I’m fine with. Hot guys, not so much. I tend to–” he sucks in a breath. “Panic.”
“Panic?”
“Like when you apologized and offered to help me clean up, and I just ran away?” Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but Derek barrels on, “And then I spent the whole evening psyching myself up to speak to you the next chance I got, and when I saw you’d dropped your keys I thought it would be a perfect opening but then–”
“I hit you in the eye–”
“Yeah. I kind of just– shut down in those kind of socially awkward situations.”
“I don’t know, you handled the whole thing where I dropped a carton of eggs on your shoes really well.”
“By that time Id promised myself the next time I saw you I wouldn’t freeze up. Besides, compared to the other stuff, the eggs weren’t so bad. I just–” his ears are crimson. “Saw you wearing those glittery fairy wings in the middle of the grocery store and it– you were just so–”
Stiles cocks an eyebrow. “Hey, those belonged to Ami, but I can totally buy a pair if they do it for you. I’m very– open minded.”
Derek’s blush creeps over his cheekbones. “Stiles–”
“Look, if it helps, I spent the last couple of weeks mortified and pining. I was convinced you were gonna end up dating Jason Gunderson, and I was gonna be alone forever.”
“Who?” Derek looks confused and intrigued.
Stiles waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, I like you,” he says, leading Derek along the corridor to the top of the stairs. He turns to face him and continues, “I really like you. Just in case that’s not obvious.”
“I like you too,” Derek says.
Stiles sucks in a breath. Holds it. Is it too weird to have a first kiss before your first official date? He’s already leaning in though and Derek’s eyes are lingering on his lips. So maybe not.
When their lips finally meet it’s just a chaste press, nothing raunchy. Derek’s lips are soft and dry, and his scruff prickles Stiles lips in the best way. When they finally pull apart Stiles feels elated. Almost dizzy with it. He’s grinning like a loon and Derek is too.
“Okay,” he says. “Well–”
“Yeah,” Derek agrees.
They stare at each other. “Yeah,” Stiles says, “we should probably–” he takes a step backwards, totally forgetting that he’s at the top of the stairs.
There’s a stomach dropping moment where he wobbles, his arms pinwheel wildly as they reach out for something anything. Time seems to slow, and he has this horrifying moment where he’s absolutely sure he’s going to ruin his first date with Derek by falling down the stairs and breaking his arm. He’s no sooner thought it though, and Derek’s hand shoots out, grabbing him by his t-shirt and pulling him in, steadying him.
“Gotcha,” Derek says.
“Oh my god,” Stiles sighs, slumping forward. “I swear, I swear I am only ever this clumsy around you.”
Derek reels him in, lets Stiles put his head on his chest. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Stiles wheezes, heart hammering in his chest.
Derek clears his throat roughly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because we can totally go to brunch if you want, but maybe we could go just go back to mine? I could make pancakes. You could sit very still in the armchair and watch me.”
And maybe Stiles should be insulted by that, but given what’s happened over the last couple of weeks, it actually sounds pretty good, unless…
“Is Cora there?” Because Derek says she likes him, but Stiles doesn’t really believe him.
“No,” Derek murmurs, pulling Stiles in closer, “we’d have the whole place to ourselves. All day.” His words sound like a promise.
-
They do go back to Derek’s apartment, Derek does make pancakes, and everything is going well right up until Stiles’ twists his ankle tripping over Derek’s cat.
Stiles doesn’t mind too much though, it turns out Derek’s more than happy to nurse him back to health. Now, also available on Ao3!
Do you know of a fix where Derek moves away to a house with an ocean view ... makes friends with an old lady who at the end knows about the supernatural cause her husband was a witch and stiles visits and falls and love Derek and the little town that have little magic wards protecting it ....
I do! I have a few followers who LOVE this fic and now I love it too ;)
The Moon’s Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific | 82.8K
Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.
He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.
Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.
He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.
And then he leaves.