"He’s my cousin, Miguel."
You guys!! What if adult Derek has ALWAYS had the memories of when he was de-aged but thought they were all part of some weird dream and his reaction the first time we saw Stiles call him ‘cousin Miguel’ was him realizing that Stiles was that weirdo kid that he had ‘dreamed’ about. I’d totally read that fic….
I WOULD READ THE HELL OUTTA THAT FIC
Anonymous said: can you write a harry potter au? where stiles is a this cocky slytherin and derek is the grumpy hufflepuff who's crushing hard on him? I have a mighty need pleasee
Derek looks over the edge of the piece of parchment where he’s currently decoding a complicated bit of homework for Ancient Runes, and scowls. Stiles is in the Hufflepuff common room again, and there’s no way Derek can concentrate right now in what’s supposed to be a place of respite from unfairly attractive and cocky Slytherin fifth-years. Derek knows he’s Scott McCall’s best friend and the two are practically attached at the hip despite the House difference, but any minute now he’s going to start some sort of loud ruckus, or even if he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything Derek is going to be distracted anyways, just looking at him.
A few of the other Hufflepuffs are already greeting Stiles warmly, who has been a regular fixture in their common room since his first year. From Derek’s corner on the best squashy armchair, he can hear a someone say, “Wow, Stiles! You smell great!”
"Just a new cologne I’m trying out," Stiles says with a jaunty grin.
Derek narrows his eyes at the number of students surrounding Stiles right now with dazed, happy expressions, sniffing dreamily. What in the world is going on?
Stiles strolls casually up to Derek who then accidentally spills his inkwell. Cursing, he rights it up just as Stiles tries to pick it up as well, and their fingers brush.
Derek snatches his fingers back from the warm contact, schooling his features into an angry expression, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up his cheeks. He’s a seventh year, he’s got NEWTS to study for, he doesn’t have time to crush on infuriating guys like—
"Sooo," Stiles says, after flicking his wand and cleaning up the spilled ink with a neat Evanesco! "What do you think?"
Derek raises an eyebrow. “What do I think what?" he asks, not wanting to comment on how good Stiles looks, green and silver tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone.
"My cologne! What does it smell like?" Stiles asks.
What a weird question. Derek takes an indulging sniff anyways. He doesn’t get anything other than the normal Stiles scent (not that Derek is an expert or anything, he’s just a werewolf with keen observation and memory skills) of fresh parchment paper and roasted potatoes. It’s a nice smell, but Derek seriously doesn’t know what everyone else was reacting to because Stiles just smells like Stiles.
Gosia, Into the Red, I (sold) & II & III | polymer gypsum, 7 x 18 x 9”, wall mounted, 2013, images posted with permission of the artist.______
It’s 2089. all cops have been replaced by genetically modified dogs that let children pet them, help old ladies cross the street, chase down criminals, never eat donuts, bark at cat-callers, analyze dna, easily track down murders, pee on white collar criminals, and tear the faces off of rapists. utopia has been reached.
How was this accomplished you ask?
Well its simple
Dogs are colorblind