If one falls behind, they all suffer.
Is this the beginning of the end?
Elsa got arrested
This is amazing.
let me go
let me go
how much can a whale ejaculate????
The average whale usually ejaculates as much as 300 gallons of semen.
basically… this is teen wolf
make me choose » Gauis or
Utherrequested by Anon.
We are all officially international drug smugglers. How about a little victory music.
"Oh, no," Stiles says, bent double and nearly breathless with laughter. "No, no, no."
"You asked for this," Derek reminds him, awkwardly shuffling to the beat of ‘1999’ with his elbows pulled in tight at the waist. He throws in a dorky spin, pointing finger-guns at Stiles on the downbeat, and Stiles can’t breathe.
"I thought you had secret dancing skills," Stiles admits, watching fondly as Derek does a series of dumb disco-adjacent gestures. "I didn’t bring you to this wedding with me so you could shame me and all of your ancestors on the dance floor."
"Watch this," Derek says, and is about to ineptly moonwalk right over the hem of Allison’s wedding dress until Stiles yanks him back into place by his suspenders.
"Oh my god. You’re a tragedy, Hale. All that body and no clue what to do with it.”
“Hey," Derek protests, eyebrows furrowing.
"I can’t believe your hips would just lie to me like that.”
"By the way, I was already invited to this wedding, asshole,” Derek reminds him. “I’m an usher.”
"And you didn’t fall down!" Stiles pats his cheek condescendingly. "Which I now realize is a beautiful miracle."
"All right, that’s it," Derek says ominously, and stops mid-shuffle to make a beeline for the DJ booth.
Stiles knows he’s in some kind of danger when Prince cuts off abruptly, replaced by a smoky, pulsing tango.
"Did you threaten the DJ," he asks weakly, backing away a little as Derek stalks toward him, "because he’s actually Allison’s cousin and there could be repercussions to—"
"Stop talking," Derek says, and draws Stiles flush against him in one fluid, violent movement.
"Buh," Stiles says, and then feels every inch of his skin start to tingle when Derek starts leading him. With his hips.
"I only like some kinds of dancing,” Derek says, disgustingly smug. “No. Don’t. Chin up, look at me. That’s it. Dip,” he warns, casually draping Stiles over his arm.
I deserve this, Stiles thinks, staring mournfully backwards at the floor while the heat of Derek’s palm burns through his cummerbund.
Derek pulls him back up, slots their cheeks together, and takes a gliding step, encouraging Stiles’ along with a confident press of his thigh. “I requested a rumba after this,” he says in Stiles’ ear.
“Fine,” Stiles groans, heart racing. “But after, we’re doing the motherfucking Macarena.”
“It’s still weird when you’re at lunch and you’re kinda cutting your chicken and you hear, ‘yo dude, you need a knife?’ and you look up and Hoechlin’s in his wolf makeup talking to me like a normal guy, and I’m like ‘I can’t take you seriously when you talk to me like that’. Or better yet when he actually sits down and starts eating his food as a wolf.”
what if you could meet your celebrity crush but the cost was them knowing everything you’ve ever said about them in your tumblr tags
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