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femaleagainstfeminazis:

acrushonesmeralda:

SUPERNATURAL making fun of and killing Justin Bieber

Ohhhh. Sometimes I love the writers.

Remember when they decapitated Paris Hilton?

Source: mordoors
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Ain’t no thing like me, except me!

(via the1001cranes)

Source: clintbartons
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catsbeaversandducks:

Having some “me time” is very important in order to keep you relaxed and confident in yourself.

Photos via Photogenic Felines

(via daunt)

Source: catsbeaversandducks
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piratekingjaegerkind:

be-blackstar:

thenobleflesh:

listoflifehacks:

If you like this list of life hacks, follow ListOfLifeHacks for more like it!

LEARN SISTERS AND BROTHERS. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER

they said “bra wearer” 

respect, lifehacks. 

deathcutie20101 homestuckhunterwithabluebox

(via bmwiid)

Source: listoflifehacks
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Stiles works at Petroglyph, where Derek shows up with the small herd of devil-children he nannies at least once every two weeks, sometimes even more often. Derek, who Stiles has been pining after for longer than he will ever admit—scratch that, he’s not pining at all, those are Allison’s words, not his. He finds Derek attractive, that’s all. Attractive, and maybe adorable, because he looked like an axe murdered when he first came into Petroglyph with those kids two months ago, and Stiles for sure thought he’d have to call the police or something, but instead Derek helped them all get their paints and brushes and maybe even laughed, which is around the time Stiles completely lost his mind.

Anyway, after being threatened by Allison one time too many for safety, he finally decides to make a move by writing a note to Derek on the bottom of the plate he’s just made.

It’s not until a week later Stiles realizes that maybe the things Derek makes aren’t actually for himself, and it will be crazy embarrassing if Derek’s girlfriend turns the thing over to find Stiles’ carefully printed hello.

He was nervous, okay? That’s all he could come up with.

Of course, Derek doesn’t end up saying anything, which, of course, means he didn’t see it. It was one word after all. So Stiles writes another message on Derek’s next piece, which is a bowl—on of the big ones, and when Derek hands it off to Stiles all he can think about is Derek bundled up in winter nursing this huge soup bowl in his hands.

So Stiles writes soup for the soul, laugher for the heart.

His Lit 112 class started on Monday, okay? It’s poetry, and apparently it’s affecting his cognitive functions. But it’s a little too late to do anything once he’s wrote it, unless he plans on attempting to recreate Derek’s freaking Lord of the Rings New Zealand masterpiece on the thing, which, ha, that’s not happening.

Derek doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t notice for about half a dozen pieces of insanely masterful dish ware, by which point Stiles is far over his embarrassment and fancying himself a bit of a poet, so he decides, to hell with it, why not dive right in?

Diving in means spending twenty five dollars of his own hard earned cash on the stupid mug Derek just painted some mind glowingly gorgeous sunset on, before etching out the poem he has not been constructing for the past eight hours since Derek and the kids came in and Derek grabbed the mug. 

Like every other pickup, Derek doesn’t bother opening the bag and checking the pieces, just picks the bag up when he comes by next with the howling monster children, who, Stiles thinks, are actually adorable and sweet and Derek does stupid well with. 

He’s a ball of nerves for the next two weeks, or would be, if the door didn’t push open the next morning ten minutes after Stiles opens up (Tuesday’s are the morning shift before his evening classes). It’s startling and the first thing Stiles notices is, “Where are the kids?” as though it’s a question he can ask, which it isn’t, because Derek and he don’t actually converse except over payment and searching for paints and the times when the place is empty enough that Stiles finds himself being dragged by one of the kids to their work table and forced into the indentured servitude of painting.

Then he notices the mug in Derek’s hand.

"Oh."

"You’re an idiot," Derek growls out as he stalks forward, sounding like he’s just rolled out of bed, and, now that Stiles takes a closer look at him, looking a little like it too, with his mussed hair and wrinkled t-shirt under his leather jacket. Then he’s not noticing much of how anything looks because Derek’s grabbing him by the front of his Petroglyph’s apron and pulling him forward and there’s a mouth pressing against his and a hot tongue licking at his lips.

When they separate they’re both a bit out of breath and Stiles, despite being thoroughly confused, is grinning like a lunatic, even more so when he notices the smile pulling at Derek’s lips. “So…” he starts with a chuckle.

"No need to envy the mug."

(via punkalpha)

Source: lacomelibros