“I’m a squishy,” Stiles says.
Derek knows. It’s been hard, with the various evils they’ve had to face in the last few months. Stiles is generally some degree of bruised because he refuses to stay back, to keep out of harm’s way. It’s maddening. Not that Derek is going to admit to knowing what a ‘squishy’ is; he takes just a little bit of glee in pretending not to understand Stiles’s nerdy references.
He just blinks at Stiles in response.
“You know, I have my skills, but they don’t really include going toe to toe with the baddie. I wear cloth armor. I break easy,” Stiles says.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “So, I want to not be squishy anymore.”
Derek frowns a little bit. “Stiles. Are you asking me for the Bite?”
“What? No, oh my god. I mean, not that there’s anything—No. I just want to learn how to fight so I can defend myself. I can’t always rely on werewolves to come to my rescue, you know? I mean, if you don’t wanna teach me, I guess I can go to Allison instead,” Stiles says, looking a little dejected.
Derek sighs. “Just stay out of trouble and it won’t be an issue. I don’t have time for self defense classes.”
Can we have another “Type the following words into your tags box, then post the first automatic tag that comes up.” post with the words
this is one of my favorite things about that big beefy idiot cupcake
Forever reblogging this, the ultimate bitch face.
derek hale MARRY ME
The single best office prank, ever.
Why can’t there be a male hooter’s equivalent where male servers are shirtless and highly sexualized for their bodies and looks
Male Strip clubs. You’re thinking of male strip clubs.
No. Not a male strip club. A strip club is a strip club. I want a place called Cahones where waiters wear Speedos and are forced to stuff if they don’t fill out their uniform well enough. I want them to giggle for my tips. I want it to be so normalised and engrained in our culture that women bring their daughters there for lunch (because whaaaaaat the wings are good! Geeze sensitive much?) where they’ll give playful little nudges like, “Wouldn’t mind if you dad had those. Heh heh heh.” that their daughters don’t even understand but will absorb and start to assume is just the normal way grown up women talk about grown up men. I want to playfully ask my waiter if I can have extra nuts on my salad and for him to swat my arm with an Oh, you because he knows if he doesn’t his manager will yell at him. I want other men to pretend to like going there so I think they’re cool. I want to go to Cahones during my lunch break at work and when I come back and tell the other women in the office where I went they chuckle slightly and the men around us suddenly feel self conscious and they don’t know why.