hipsterinatardis:

electricalice:

mrsbeefheart:

I fukin love 14th century art art because everyone looks so shady and suspicious of ppl around them its AMAZING

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or just like they know something u dont and oh my gdfuck i cant

I believe the highest point is reached in Simone Martini’s Annunciation

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and the look of absolute hatred Mary and Gabriel exchange. 

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"mary i know ur only half a virgin"
"fuck off gabriel"

lezzerlee:

Look at the first son, sitting uncomfortably during a long, arduous, discussion panel. Look at him try not to fidget or be rude by checking his phone to see how much longer he has to be here. See him shoot furtive glances off stage towards Derek, his handler and secret service agent, pleading with his eyes for Derek to make up some emergency to get him out of this. “Fake an bomb threat,” he attempts to emote with eyebrow raises and a particular tilt of his head. “Maybe a sniper has been spotted,” he urges with the twist of his body in his chair. “An emergency in my pants that only you can take care of,” he screams with a drag of fingers across his lips and the recrossing of his legs.

Sterek Underworld - The Rise of the Lycans AU: Over 1,000 years ago, Derek was born, the first Lycan able to retain a human form. Enslaved by Gerard, the ruthless Elder of the Vampire Clan, collared, beaten and belittled, Derek grows up with only one light in his life: Prince Stiles, Gerard’s ward. The two grow up together - fierce children, lonely children - who find companionship and ultimately love into one another. Their romance is forbidden, not only by their status as member of the noble vampire council and low slave and blacksmith. But also because the races are forbidden to mingle. In Gerard’s eyes, Vampires are perfection, and werewolves are no better than beasts.
But Derek is done being treated like an animal, used and abused constantly. He manages to escape, freeing a multitude of fellow Lycans, but unable to take Stiles with him. The lovers make a promise to meet again, but fate is against them. Gerard finds out about their forbidden affair. Enraged, disgusted, he doesn’t hesitate to have his own ward locked into prison, or to use him as the bait to recapture Derek. Torturing Stiles in front of Derek’s own eyes is sweet revenge for Gerard. Who is so driven by his insane need to keep the two races apart, that he doesn’t hesitate to chain Stiles, and to
let the dawn light
cascade on him
and
burn

him
alive
in front of his beloved, chained and helpless and screaming his throat raw, only a few steps away from Stiles.
Driven crazy by grief, Derek manages to wrench free from his bindings, steal the necklace that his prince always wore around in neck and starting what will be known as The Great War between Vampires and Lycans.

of course, by year 2011, Stiles in reborn in the town of Beacon Hills and reunited with his love, who’s been waiting for him, embittered and lonely, for all these centuries. That’s because I’m a sucker for angst with an happy ending.

fozmeadows:

ringaroundthecuffs:

adamant-destiel-needs:

ladybailey62:

My friend showed me that and I was l like “Omg this is my favourite thing ever!” and I think every Supernatural fan deserves to see that. This is epic. Enjoy :)

This is perfection. So well edited.

I am not a Destiel shipper by any means, but this. This was really good.

OH MY ACTUAL FUCKING GOD THIS IS FLAWLESS

devildoll:

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I would kind of like a story where pre-fire Derek Hale was known by almost everyone in town as a really nice boy, straight A student, a good kid. Everyone loved Derek, who used to clean gutters and mow lawns for harried single moms and rickety old people, who once saved a dog from drowning—it was even in the little community paper, the one that’s like 75% ads for local businesses and 25% stiltedly-written human interest stories—and played the baby Jesus in the live-action nativity one year, and smiled the whole time. (At one year old he was a little big for the role, but he was so sweet and happy no one cared, and it was meant to be, since Derek’s a Christmas baby himself.) Derek Hale: the darling of Beacon Hills.

And since most of Beacon Hills doesn’t know all the shit that went down right before he left or since he came back, they just remember Derek Hale as the poor kid who was orphaned and then moved away and then came back when his sister was brutally killed. So there is general outrage when it’s learned that he’s been arrested for his sister’s murder based on the word of the sheriff’s son, who is well known to be a troublemaker and a smartypants. The poor sheriff, so much on his shoulders, he does his best, but the boy does run wild, and he’s gotten away with it for so long—there’s only so much a mother’s death can excuse, God rest her soul.

So then, instead of the usual problem we see where Stiles and Derek start hanging out and they have to worry about Sheriff finding out because of Derek disapproval reasons, in this situation the problem is Stiles. What follows is a lot of frowning and tut-tutting over Talia Hale’s boy falling into the clutches of that bad influence Stiles Stilinski, who even got him arrested one time. That Stiles sure has some nerve, being friends with Derek, after what he did to him. And Derek, well, he’s obviously got the heart of a saint, to forgive him like that. But it’s worrisome, it really is, because Derek might have a few years on Stiles, but it’s common knowledge that Stiles has led the McCall boy astray more than once (the son of an FBI agent, even!), so who knows what he can talk poor, vulnerable Derek into doing.

It’s a scandal.

devildoll:

What if Derek is four years old when he meets Stiles, who is six and mischievous and knows all the best places to find bird nests and salamanders. And what if Stiles smells funny, like sweet dust, and wears funny clothes like the ones in the oldest pictures in Derek’s mother’s photo album, the ones that are all in shades of brown and no one is smiling. What if Stiles looks funny, too. Pale and kind of see-through.

What if Stiles is a ghost.

What if no one else can see Stiles, has ever been able to see Stiles—not even his own family could see him after he died. No one could hear him or feel when he tried to touch them, and it scared him, being dead, because he was so alone, even when the rest of his family was right there, even when he sat in his empty chair at the dinner table and watched them eat. What if sometimes he crept up to his room at night and lay on his old bed and pretended he wasn’t dead. And what if eventually his family moved away and he couldn’t follow, couldn’t take even one step off the property. What if they just left him behind, all alone in the house, because they didn’t know he was still there, and they took his bed, too.

And what if when the Hale family moved in they painted a symbol above the doors, just a simple little protection, and now Stiles can’t go in the house at all.

Read More

devildoll:

What if Derek is four years old when he meets Stiles, who is six and mischievous and knows all the best places to find bird nests and salamanders. And what if Stiles smells funny, like sweet dust, and wears funny clothes like the ones in the oldest pictures in Derek’s mother’s photo album, the ones that are all in shades of brown and no one is smiling. What if Stiles looks funny, too. Pale and kind of see-through.

What if Stiles is a ghost.

What if no one else can see Stiles, has ever been able to see Stiles—not even his own family could see him after he died. No one could hear him or feel when he tried to touch them, and it scared him, being dead, because he was so alone, even when the rest of his family was right there, even when he sat in his empty chair at the dinner table and watched them eat. What if sometimes he crept up to his room at night and lay on his old bed and pretended he wasn’t dead. And what if eventually his family moved away and he couldn’t follow, couldn’t take even one step off the property. What if they just left him behind, all alone in the house, because they didn’t know he was still there, and they took his bed, too.

And what if when the Hale family moved in they painted a symbol above the doors, just a simple little protection, and now Stiles can’t go in the house at all.

Read More

devildoll:

nininghasfeelings:

AU: Stiles is the morally ambivalent angel that guards Beacon Hills from evil. More or less.
He will watch over your town, but he will steal your shoes if he likes them.

Derek smelled him before he saw him, the stench of dry bones and old leather thick in the air. This time, all he felt was relief. The rattle in Derek’s ruined throat, the blood running into his lungs—he knew it was all but over now, thank God. Derek was an omega, no match for a whole pack; it hadn’t even been worth fighting back when they cornered him.
"You can call me Gerard. We don’t keep to the old traditions these days," Death had said the first time they’d met, as Derek stood next to the stinking, smoking ruins of everything he loved. "I’ll be back for you. Sooner than you think, but not as soon as you’ll wish." He’d looked like someone’s grandfather, but his voice had made the animal in Derek want to slink away and hide.
For a moment Derek had nearly asked him to take him then, because it seemed easier than facing an unknown number of days remembering what he’d done. But Laura had been there, tears streaming down her soot-streaked face, hand squeezing his so hard he thought the bones might snap. She would be devastated, and utterly alone. And she didn’t know what he’d done.
By the time Derek had made up his mind not to say anything, the old man had disappeared anyway, and for years Derek had wondered if he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t. Six years later, Death had come back, as promised, but he hadn’t been seeking Derek, not yet. He’d come for Laura.
"Well, here we are again, Derek," Gerard said to him now, as he stepped into the clearing. His smile was nasty—crooked teeth and thin lips, skin like parchment paper stretching over the bones of his face. "It’s a real disappointment about your throat, I have to admit. I was looking forward to hearing you thank me for finally putting you out of your misery."
It was a cool spring night, the smell of green things and newborn animals in the woods around them, the sky twinkling with stars. A good day to die. Derek pulled his claws out of the moist earth under him and let his fangs slip away. He wouldn’t need them anymore.
"It’s been over a year, hasn’t it? Since the last time we saw each other." Gerard squatted next to Derek and pressed his busted shoulder into the wet grass with a bony claw of a hand, sending a flare of pain through Derek’s left side. He would have screamed, but all that came out of the raw mess where his throat had been was a wet gurgle. "The lake. I thought you were mine for sure," Gerard said, mouth twitching in a rueful smile. "So close."
Derek had been up in the mountains that time, chased out onto an ice-covered lake by a truck full of hunters, and they’d laughed when he’d fallen through, chucked empty beer bottles at him as he tried and failed to pull himself out. Exhausted and with two arrows sticking out of him, he’d finally gone under. He’d spent several minutes clawing frantically at the underside of the ice, unable find his way back to the hole he’d come through, too weak to punch a new one. Eventually, he’d wondered why he was even trying.
He’d puked his way back to consciousness on the icy shoreline, and screamed his rage at an uncaring forest. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten out of the lake, because he remembered the four times before that when he’d walked right up to the line and not been pulled over it; he knew who had saved him. But that was the first time being saved had felt like a missed opportunity. Things had been different since then. It had been a long year.
He could feel the life leeching out of him now, everything going gray and blurry as he started to fade, the creeping chill steadily spreading down his body from where Gerard was touching him, and all he could think was, Finally. Finally. He closed his eyes, and waited.
And then Derek felt the rush of cool air on his face, and smelled the unmistakable crystalline scent of him, like the coldest, brightest winter night, when the sky had a million stars in it and a howl would travel for miles through crisp, clean air. Like the pure, clear water that filled the mountain streams and burned like fire going down a parched throat. Like the moon at its fullest and strongest, white and flawless and beautiful.
And just like the moon, he was radiant and cold and forever out of reach. And just like the moon, he was—for Derek—forever inescapable.
"You can’t have him," Stiles said, and Derek heard him land lightly next to them, heard the soft rustle of his wings. When Derek opened his eyes, the stars were invisible, their brightness muted out by the strange, diffused light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere when Stiles was present.
He was a white marble carving of powerful wings, chiseled torso and arms, his hands clean and spare, the curve of his mouth and the ridges of his cheekbones like something sculpted with an eye to perfection, his eyes sparking golden. From the waist up, he didn’t look real. From the waist down, he looked like a teenager, black pants hanging too low on his hips, and tennis shoes, and one red shoelace trailing on the ground.
"Ah, but you’re too late," Gerard laughed, and if Derek had been able to talk, he would have begged Stiles to let him go this time, to just let Death have him. He never would have begged Gerard, but he would beg Stiles. "He’s nearly mine already."
Stiles lowered himself next to Derek, wings lifting and spreading as he balanced on the balls of his feet, and took Derek’s hand in his. “There’s still some light in him,” Stiles said softly, smiling down at him, and then he bent his head and kissed Derek’s mouth, a gentle brush with his lips that sent syrupy warmth rolling through Derek’s whole body, chasing away the paralyzing cold. Derek wanted to claw at his own throat as it began to knit itself back together.
Gerard snatched his hand away, hissing. He wiped his hand on his pants and spat on the ground, as if something tasted bad in his mouth. “Does your father know his favorite son keeps an unclean thing for a pet?”
"Yes," Stiles said simply, and it had to be true, because Derek knew seraphim couldn’t lie. There was blood on Stiles’ mouth from kissing Derek.
"He’s nothing," Gerard sneered as he stood up, nudging Derek’s hip with his foot. "He’s insignificant."
"If that’s true, why do you want him so bad?" Stiles asked, and his wings quivered as he looked up at Gerard. His eyes flashed white, and Gerard scowled at him before he vanished.
Derek worked his healing throat, choking on thick blood before Stiles turned his head for him so he could spit it into the grass. Pins and needles raced through his shoulder as it healed, the bones snapping back into place with a sickening jolt. He rolled to his hands and knees, coughing more blood. Stiles’ hand rubbed up and down his back as he felt the gashes on his chest and arms close up, like a zipper being zipped, and shuddered.
"You should have let me go," he said as he stumbled to his feet. His voice was unrecognizable. "I told you last time—"
"I told you last time that you’re needed here. And when your time does come, I’ll take you, not Gerard."
"I don’t care who does it," Derek said. He just wanted it to be soon. "I don’t fucking—" between one word and the next they were standing next to Derek’s car, miles away from where Gerard had found him "—care. And I hate it when you do that,” Derek snarled, slumping back against the fender.
Stiles handed Derek his keys, and then cupped his hand around the back of Derek’s neck and squeezed. Derek couldn’t help it—he swayed toward him, still angry and miserable, but unable to resist the touch.
"You would care, if you knew what comes after this for you," Stiles said, before he let go. He spread his wings and rose into the air, Derek’s blood still on his mouth, and then he was gone.

devildoll:

nininghasfeelings:

AU: Stiles is the morally ambivalent angel that guards Beacon Hills from evil. More or less.

He will watch over your town, but he will steal your shoes if he likes them.

Derek smelled him before he saw him, the stench of dry bones and old leather thick in the air. This time, all he felt was relief. The rattle in Derek’s ruined throat, the blood running into his lungs—he knew it was all but over now, thank God. Derek was an omega, no match for a whole pack; it hadn’t even been worth fighting back when they cornered him.

"You can call me Gerard. We don’t keep to the old traditions these days," Death had said the first time they’d met, as Derek stood next to the stinking, smoking ruins of everything he loved. "I’ll be back for you. Sooner than you think, but not as soon as you’ll wish." He’d looked like someone’s grandfather, but his voice had made the animal in Derek want to slink away and hide.

For a moment Derek had nearly asked him to take him then, because it seemed easier than facing an unknown number of days remembering what he’d done. But Laura had been there, tears streaming down her soot-streaked face, hand squeezing his so hard he thought the bones might snap. She would be devastated, and utterly alone. And she didn’t know what he’d done.

By the time Derek had made up his mind not to say anything, the old man had disappeared anyway, and for years Derek had wondered if he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t. Six years later, Death had come back, as promised, but he hadn’t been seeking Derek, not yet. He’d come for Laura.

"Well, here we are again, Derek," Gerard said to him now, as he stepped into the clearing. His smile was nasty—crooked teeth and thin lips, skin like parchment paper stretching over the bones of his face. "It’s a real disappointment about your throat, I have to admit. I was looking forward to hearing you thank me for finally putting you out of your misery."

It was a cool spring night, the smell of green things and newborn animals in the woods around them, the sky twinkling with stars. A good day to die. Derek pulled his claws out of the moist earth under him and let his fangs slip away. He wouldn’t need them anymore.

"It’s been over a year, hasn’t it? Since the last time we saw each other." Gerard squatted next to Derek and pressed his busted shoulder into the wet grass with a bony claw of a hand, sending a flare of pain through Derek’s left side. He would have screamed, but all that came out of the raw mess where his throat had been was a wet gurgle. "The lake. I thought you were mine for sure," Gerard said, mouth twitching in a rueful smile. "So close."

Derek had been up in the mountains that time, chased out onto an ice-covered lake by a truck full of hunters, and they’d laughed when he’d fallen through, chucked empty beer bottles at him as he tried and failed to pull himself out. Exhausted and with two arrows sticking out of him, he’d finally gone under. He’d spent several minutes clawing frantically at the underside of the ice, unable find his way back to the hole he’d come through, too weak to punch a new one. Eventually, he’d wondered why he was even trying.

He’d puked his way back to consciousness on the icy shoreline, and screamed his rage at an uncaring forest. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten out of the lake, because he remembered the four times before that when he’d walked right up to the line and not been pulled over it; he knew who had saved him. But that was the first time being saved had felt like a missed opportunity. Things had been different since then. It had been a long year.

He could feel the life leeching out of him now, everything going gray and blurry as he started to fade, the creeping chill steadily spreading down his body from where Gerard was touching him, and all he could think was, Finally. Finally. He closed his eyes, and waited.

And then Derek felt the rush of cool air on his face, and smelled the unmistakable crystalline scent of him, like the coldest, brightest winter night, when the sky had a million stars in it and a howl would travel for miles through crisp, clean air. Like the pure, clear water that filled the mountain streams and burned like fire going down a parched throat. Like the moon at its fullest and strongest, white and flawless and beautiful.

And just like the moon, he was radiant and cold and forever out of reach. And just like the moon, he was—for Derek—forever inescapable.

"You can’t have him," Stiles said, and Derek heard him land lightly next to them, heard the soft rustle of his wings. When Derek opened his eyes, the stars were invisible, their brightness muted out by the strange, diffused light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere when Stiles was present.

He was a white marble carving of powerful wings, chiseled torso and arms, his hands clean and spare, the curve of his mouth and the ridges of his cheekbones like something sculpted with an eye to perfection, his eyes sparking golden. From the waist up, he didn’t look real. From the waist down, he looked like a teenager, black pants hanging too low on his hips, and tennis shoes, and one red shoelace trailing on the ground.

"Ah, but you’re too late," Gerard laughed, and if Derek had been able to talk, he would have begged Stiles to let him go this time, to just let Death have him. He never would have begged Gerard, but he would beg Stiles. "He’s nearly mine already."

Stiles lowered himself next to Derek, wings lifting and spreading as he balanced on the balls of his feet, and took Derek’s hand in his. “There’s still some light in him,” Stiles said softly, smiling down at him, and then he bent his head and kissed Derek’s mouth, a gentle brush with his lips that sent syrupy warmth rolling through Derek’s whole body, chasing away the paralyzing cold. Derek wanted to claw at his own throat as it began to knit itself back together.

Gerard snatched his hand away, hissing. He wiped his hand on his pants and spat on the ground, as if something tasted bad in his mouth. “Does your father know his favorite son keeps an unclean thing for a pet?”

"Yes," Stiles said simply, and it had to be true, because Derek knew seraphim couldn’t lie. There was blood on Stiles’ mouth from kissing Derek.

"He’s nothing," Gerard sneered as he stood up, nudging Derek’s hip with his foot. "He’s insignificant."

"If that’s true, why do you want him so bad?" Stiles asked, and his wings quivered as he looked up at Gerard. His eyes flashed white, and Gerard scowled at him before he vanished.

Derek worked his healing throat, choking on thick blood before Stiles turned his head for him so he could spit it into the grass. Pins and needles raced through his shoulder as it healed, the bones snapping back into place with a sickening jolt. He rolled to his hands and knees, coughing more blood. Stiles’ hand rubbed up and down his back as he felt the gashes on his chest and arms close up, like a zipper being zipped, and shuddered.

"You should have let me go," he said as he stumbled to his feet. His voice was unrecognizable. "I told you last time—"

"I told you last time that you’re needed here. And when your time does come, I’ll take you, not Gerard."

"I don’t care who does it," Derek said. He just wanted it to be soon. "I don’t fucking—" between one word and the next they were standing next to Derek’s car, miles away from where Gerard had found him "—care. And I hate it when you do that,” Derek snarled, slumping back against the fender.

Stiles handed Derek his keys, and then cupped his hand around the back of Derek’s neck and squeezed. Derek couldn’t help it—he swayed toward him, still angry and miserable, but unable to resist the touch.

"You would care, if you knew what comes after this for you," Stiles said, before he let go. He spread his wings and rose into the air, Derek’s blood still on his mouth, and then he was gone.

unbucaneve:

superlockedinthephandom:

thelongdarktea-timeofthesoul:

fasterfood:

what happens if an undercover cop posing as a drug dealer deals to an undercover cop posing as a drug buyer

I read about where something similar to this happened except they were investigating prostitution and they arrested each other and like a year later ended up getting married. 

it sounds like the plot of a fanfic

kiwoa tagged this