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hale monster sweets


For Jen’s prompt here [x]

The guy is back again. Derek watches curiously from his counter, idly keeping an eye on the teenaged vampires trying to decide on a type from the blood popsicle selection. The guy outside the store is a little pale and lanky, with a cute upturned nose and a sprinkle of moles on his pale face, not that Derek didn’t notice the first time he stopped in the middle of the bustling street to stare at Derek’s store sign, which he wasn’t supposed to be able to do.

With a bright-eyed smile the guy tells his two friends something that Derek isn’t able to pick up through the various wards that protect his shop from the mundane world, even with his werewolf hearing, and the floppy-haired boy with the uneven jawline takes the hand of the brunette girl and they walk on, laughing and waving back at the guy, who is now staring resolutely right at his door, hands in his pockets, a curious look on his face.

The bell above the door rings jauntily and the guy sweeps into the store, eyes dancing merrily over all the sweet displays. Derek tenses up, because he can’t smell a whiff of the supernatural off the guy— not the scent of a wolf, that long-dead acidity that vampires seem to exude, the electric sharp tang of banshees or even the saccharine whiff of the fae. The three vampires seem to notice too, and one of the girls’ nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath as the guy walks by her.

"Here, we’re having a sale on all Type B," Derek says, grabbing the pops and hastily ringing them up. Fortunately the vampires seem more interested in the sale and leave right after making their purchase, leaving Derek alone with the human—he must be human, the way he’s staring at the shelf of chocolate-covered pixies and the tray of slightly shimmering caramel cobwebs below it.

"Can I help you?" Derek asks, biting his lip.

"You don’t look like a hipster," the guy says with a cheery smile.

"A what?" Derek frowns, crossing his arms.

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"Stiles!" Scott races across the courtyard after his friend, "What the hell?"

"It’s okay, I’ve got this," Stiles promises, smashing his elbow into the glass and wincing. "Wow, they never make it look like it hurts in the movies."

"That’s because they’re movies! We are not in a movie, what are you—”

"Relax, Scotty," Stiles pokes away glass, picks out the rose and rolls back his shoulders, "I just have to go give this to someone…"

He strides away without another word, back across the paving stones to where there’s a guy sitting eating a baguette in the neatest way Scott’s ever seen. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt with the Star Wars credits on the back— Scott thinks, he’s still not seen them— dark jeans and boots. Scott doesn’t totally understand why this guy, of all the attractive people in the world, but, then he looks up as Stiles approaches. 

Scott’s pretty sure cheese falls out of his mouth. 

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(Source: chicadereggaeton)

sweet tooth


[For liam-mchale, who wanted some fluff. Have some high school AU, I hope everything works out for you ^_^] 

The doorbell rings and Stiles opens the door, but doesn’t see anyone until he drops his vision way below eye-level.

There’s a short girl with brown hair swinging in pigtails, wearing a Girl Scouts uniform. “Hello!” she says brightly. “My name is Cora, and I am from Troop-Number-One-One-Seven-and-would-like-to-know-if-you-will-support-my-troop-by-buying—” she starts to say, stringing all the words together quickly.

"Whoa whoa whoa, as much as I’d love to support you guys, I can’t really can’t buy a box of cookies without worry about my dad eating all of it. Can’t really hide it in my room, y’know, ‘cause ants," Stiles says. "And as much as I love Thin Mints, I couldn’t eat an entire box before he gets home." 

Cora pouts, lip wobbling. “But I really want our troop to go to Yellowstone this year,” she says. “We need to raise money!” 

"Sorry. I can make a donation?" Stiles says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

"I guess," Cora says sadly. 

"Please don’t tell me you’re walking door-to-door by yourself. And where are your cookies if you’re selling ‘em?" Stiles peers out the door, but he doesn’t see a parent hovering nearby with a wagon of cookie boxes or something.

"My brother has them in his car," Cora says, jerking her head towards the street. 

There’s a familiar Camaro parked by the curb, engine purring, and Stiles’ stomach drops promptly somewhere past his feet. No way, it couldn’t be, Stiles thinks. “Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Hale by any chance, would it?” Stiles asks.

"Yep," Cora says brightly.

"Okay, scratch that, I want…uh, how many boxes can I get for twenty bucks?" Stiles says, pulling out the lone twenty in his wallet.

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it’s been exactly 10 years since Rachel got off that plane and I’m still not over it.

this is how you end a show. you don’t give the audience exactly what they want, or take it completely away from them either, you leave them with the idea of what could be

you don’t throw all sanity to hell in the hopes of going out with a bang, you go out with a warm hug and a thank you 

you don’t give the characters the perfect dream ending, you give them something better

and this is how you end a show that is so powerful, people are still emotional about it 10 years after it ends.

(Source: transponsters)

So, there’s this girl. She’s tragically orphaned and richer than anyone on the planet. Every guy she meets falls in love with her, but in between torrid romances she rejects them all because she dedicated to what is Pure and Good. She has genius level intellect, Olympic-athelete level athletic ability and incredible good looks. She is consumed by terrible angst, but this only makes guys want her more. She has no superhuman abilities, yet she is more competent than her superhuman friends and defeats superhumans with ease. She has unshakably loyal friends and allies, despite the fact she treats them pretty badly. They fear and respect her, and defer to her orders. Everyone is obsessed with her, even her enemies are attracted to her. She can plan ahead for anything and she’s generally right with any conclusion she makes. People who defy her are inevitably wrong.

God, what a Mary Sue.

I just described Batman. (via twerkinshield)
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