dancetilyouredead

ashrussell:

i love this bc stiles looks like a state school frat boy that’s majoring in sports medicine with a minor in kinesiology and scott looks like Your Sarcastic Hipster Boyfriend who wears a lot of nubby sweaters and chucks and is getting a bfa in ceramics with a minor in women’s lit who always seems casually ruffled but owns four different kinds of hair styling cream and they’ve been best friends since they were in strollers and they started to really diverge stylistically and philosophically when they were like 15, but still stayed friends because it’s hard to abandon the people who loved you before you started to get cool and who knew you when your mom died and when your dad left and who know you still need an inhaler and who watched you eat shit at lacrosse practice even if they proselytized for ron paul between intramural flag football games or called their thesis “a concrete manifestation of donna haraway’s cyborg manifesto” and literally used concrete to finish it because some friendships are forever

allyarra

(Oh Baby, Find Me) Somebody to Love

swingsetindecember:

swingsetindecember:

swingsetindecember:

swingsetindecember:

swingsetindecember:

tentative sequel to It’s Monday I’m In Love

They get deliveries to the coffee shop every Thursday morning from Boyd Bakery. Erica never opened on Thursdays until she shift-switched with Harley when the new semester started and she had two evening classes. And her life changed when she met him.

He’s tall, dark and handsome. And has a life ruining smile. And she spazzes out every time he comes into the coffee shop. Worse than Stiles on a caffeine high. She’s lost entire sleeves of coffee cups to the ground when he comes it with the deliveries and fumbled quite spectacularly with her Sharpie pen when he asks her to sign the delivery invoice. 

Erica is one hundred percent gone on him. And she doesn’t know his name. The jacket he wears just says Boyd.  And he’s never introduced himself, mainly because the first time they met she dropped a jug of milk in surprise and he ran to get the mop they kept in the back. By the time the mess was cleaned, he had another delivery to run.

She knows three things about him. One, the bakery has been in his family for over fifty years, he doesn’t like coffee or tea and he’s majoring in engineering. Hot and brainy. She’s a goner. She loathes being lovelorn. Mainly since she’s seen Stiles mope around over that businessman every Monday. She hopes she doesn’t look that painfully obvious. If she does, than Boyd is being even more of a gentleman to not make fun of her crush. Because she’s offered him a complimentary coffee once in hopes of at least segueing into a possible coffee date. But he just shook his head and said he didn’t drink coffee.

She’s debating switching shifts with Harley again or taking Isaac’s offer at working at the animal clinic despite being horribly allergic to birds. Just to remove temptation and to stop embarrassing herself in front of the one guy that has her acting like a swooning high schooler.

“This is getting ridiculous,” she mutters to herself when she unlocks the coffee shop. She’s turning into Stiles. And Stiles actually got his tall, dark and aggressively handsome. Erica just got nothing. Except an delivery of red velvet cupcakes last week. Boyd didn’t even seem to notice the mistake, he just smiled in that charming way before leaving with the rest of his deliveries. She ate half of them for her lunch break after her subtle invite for coffee failed. Again.

***

She sees Stiles and Mr. Venti Black Coffee with Oatmeal flirting over the espresso machine.

“Urgh, couples,” she grumbles.

“You should smile more,” Isaac says cheekily over his free tea. “You’re face could get stuck that way.”

“I hope you burn you tongue on that,” she counters.

He just smirks. “Don’t be mad that Stiles has a love life now. Last week you were complaining how unbearable he was being.”

“Yeah, because last week I thought nothing was worse than a pining barista. Now I get to see that.”

She gestures to the puppy love. “It’s like a rom com. And I’m the spunky protagonist’s friend who gets a pity dance at the end credits,” she says and takes a bite of a red velvet cupcake instead of giving it to Isaac.

“Hey, stop eating my lunch!” pouts Isaac.

“That look doesn’t work on me, Lahey. And shut up, I need to eat my emotions right now,” she scowls.

“I come here for the great service,” Isaac says sarcastically.

“You come here for free tea,” Erica replies but hands him the half eaten cupcake.

He stuffs the rest in his mouth. “Good thing I got my cootie shots,” he grins through the icing and cakey dessert.

“Urgh, disgusting. How am I the single one?”

Isaac puts a five in the tip jar. It’s as good as a hug. She looks back at Stiles and sighs. She needs to switch shifts.

***

“I offered him free coffee! How is that not a come on?” she says.

“Wait,” says Isaac, looking at his tea. “Does that mean you want to date me?”

“No, I do that so that I don’t feel guilty that your mom sends me care packages,” replies Erica.

“She doesn’t send me packages!” pouts Isaac.

“That’s because you drive home every weekend to do laundry,” says Erica with a judgmental look.

“The washing machine in my building is possessed, you know that.”

“Lahey, let me make angry coffee and question my life choices,” says Erica with a sigh and Isaac salutes her with his take away cup.

“Wouldn’t be Deaton’s without your special brand of customer service.”

She flips him off before turning to the next customer in line.

***

Wednesday night she decides to be weak and call Harley to switch shifts. Harley owes her for that time and place. She spends Thursday morning moping around her apartment and actually finishes her bio lit review and finally gets the spider guts off the ceiling from last month when she used her copy of Twilight to kill it as a message to the other creepy crawlies.

“Urgh,” she sighs and eats the other half of Mrs. Lahey’s homemade peanut brittle.

She decides to go for a run when she debates on swiftering the floor. Grabbing her running shoes she takes off down the street. Thirty minutes later, she’s ends up near lower campus where the humanities’ library is. A part that she doesn’t really frequent unless she gets conned by Isaac to do a group study with his liberal arts’ friends.

Her legs are tired and she tries to remember if the buses in the area run on the hour or every thirty minutes when she sees the shop.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groans. Boyd Bakery is across the street, the smell of spun sugar and baked goods wafting across the street.

Her stomach gurgles loudly making a mom and her stroller give her the side eye. Erica gives a half-hearted glare. She tired, hungry and sweaty. She doesn’t know who she pissed off in a past life but so far her non-existent love life is shaping up to be a comedy of errors that she can tell her cats when she succumbs to spinsterhood and takes up knitting.

She sighs before jay-walking across the street towards the bakery. She’s never been but if their red velvet cupcakes are sinfully delicious she’s sure she can find something to give her enough energy to make the run home.

The bell attached to the door chimes when she enters and she’s greeted with the warm smile of the woman who has Boyd’s eyes. Just her luck.

“Hello! What can I get you?” she says, dusting off her hands on the crimson apron.

Erica’s stomach gurgles again. She blushes when the lady smiles. “Food? I skipped breakfast.”

And ten minutes later, Erica bewilderingly enough finds herself at a table near the cash, chatting with Mrs. Boyd over a lemon scone and tea about her chemistry thesis and her shifts at the coffee shop.

“Erica?” coughs a familiar voice and Erica looks up with her mouth stuffed with scone to see Boyd.

“Boyd!” she says or tries to with her scone stuffed mouth.

“Vernon! Why didn’t you tell me your Erica was stopping by?” says Mrs. Boyd causing Erica to choke on her scone.

“Vernon?” Erica gasps before the other realization hits her and she starts coughing.

“Mom!” Boyd yelps and Erica sees the tips of his ears flush red.