DICK IN THE SOUTH, MILK IN THE MOUTH

thefrenemy:

-Logan keeps saying he is ‘socially liberal, fiscally conservative” so many times, you almost start to forget the portrait of Ronald Reagan he has over his fireplace mantel

-Jess says his only regret in life is that he can’t go back in time and reread Naked Lunch as if he’s never read it before

-Dean’s favorite television show isn’t exactly Big Bang Theory, but yeah, he’ll keep it on if it’s marathoning

-Logan and his friends see Zoolander 2 and keep quoting it to each other, high fives and all

-Dean slowly eat a ham sandwich he made himself

-Jess keeps popping in, asking if anybody noticed his tattered DVD copy of The Royal Tenembaums. He leaves it in the bathroom so people can read the back.

-Somebody asks Dean a question and he goes “what?”

-Jess isn’t Banksy, perse, but he does keep a glass jar of pennies on his kitchen table that says BREAK THIS IF THE BANKS HAVE WON, and he breaks it with a hammer every time guests come over

-Logan knows Martin Shkreli well enough to have been invited to his Big Pharma Toga Party last year, but in his defense he didn’t even RSVP

-Dean slowly stares at his hands

-Jess turns off the television after a few minutes. “This shit will rot our mind,” he says. A few minutes later: “Although I do stream Mr. Robot.”

-Logan, unprompted, reminds us of his ethnic friends

-Dean shares a story: last year, he couldn’t find his socks. But later on, he did. They were IN his boots.

-Jess rolls his eyes. He didn’t have to watch Making A Murderer to learn about how deeply fucked up the system is. He takes out a match. “Today,” he announces, “will be the last time I ever let the government speak my name.” He burns a checkbook. It isn’t his.

-”No, I don’t have a checkbook. Why do you ask?” Jess, not so unprompted.

-Luke comes in, looking for his checkbook.

-Logan goes, “no problem, sport”, and gives Luke his checkbook.

-Dean, four days later, understands what just happened.

just-shower-thoughts:

I wonder if sex toys are sentient in the toy story universe.

littlecofiegirl:

captain-snark:

drunktuesdaze:

WAIT I’M NOT DONE! I’M NOT DONE!  What’s absolutely destroying me about that picture is the look of delighted disbelief on Hoechlin’s face.  Like, holy shit you guys!  Are you seeing this?  Look at this thing!  Look at its little fingers!  This can’t be real!  What a cosmic joke!  CHRIST.  

And it makes me want that fic sooooo baaddd.  At one point, I was like, vaguely plotting out a story where Derek and Stiles bust up a werewolfbaby selling ring and now I’m like, bored of writing plot or whatever but it’d be worth it just for scenes where like, 

Derek is standing there, just holding the kid.  Baby.  Infant.  Whatever.  He has no idea how you tell how old a baby is, but the thing is small.  ”What?” he says absently, and then registers what Stiles said.  ”No, I know, I’m not keeping him.  I’ll find—” and then the baby sneezes.  His whole body jerks in Derek’s arm, and his fingers curl a little bit, and Derek’s mouth drops open.   “What was that?” he says, in a voice he’s never used before. He’s heard other people use it, moms and people with poodles, but it comes out of his mouth without his permission.  ”You got something else to add?”  

Stiles is staring at him like he’s never seen Derek before, and Derek has no interest in suffering under that gaze, so he turns and grabs a napkin from the table, and wipes away the drool and snot that was collecting.  Kiddo shakes his head to avoid Derek, gurgles happily and waves his fists around.  His hands are like, the size of Derek’s thumb and Derek’s struck all over again at the improbability of babies, of smallness, of tiny nails and tiny claws and the uncomplicated smellgood of cubs.  Someone made this, Derek thinks, and the next thought, of course, is “someone tried to sell this.”

“I’ll bring him to Deaton’s in the morning,” Derek says out loud.  "Meet me there at nine, we’ll figure it out.“   He lopes off, tucking Kiddo firmly against his chest, with one hand under a diapered butt and the other holding tight against Kiddo’s soft, delicate head.  

excuse you

but Derek discovering that the only thing to calm him down when he’s fussy is singing the wheels on the bus over and over again, and Stiles walking in on it. 

(I was listening to the EVA version of Fly me to the Moon while making this )