What have you been rolling in, you dirty thing? *casually flips nature’s furry meat grinder on its side in slippery pit* TSK you even got mud in your toes, what a naughty beast
i am so confused that the puma is tolerating this
has it even heard of pumas?
look at the squinty eyes, it’s enjoying a nice grooming. :3
Can’t get this kind of treatment in the wild, after all. All cats love luxury.
@lissadiane asked for: Stiles and Derek work in an office together and the office
does a silly Secret Santa thing every year and FINALLY, Stiles draws Derek, his
Super Secret Crush, from the hat! So he buys him the greatest gift ever, and
wraps it up, and they all sneak their secret santa gifts under the tree to be
unwrapped at the drunk fest that is the office christmas party, and Stiles
does, only to realize as he’s stashing it there that he accidentally signed it
“from your secret admirer” rather than “secret santa” and
then there are shenanigans as everyone tries to figure out who it is and Stiles
desperately tries to avoid discovery.
Stiles is going to get drunk. Stiles is going to get super fantastic drunk,
because he just tossed his Secret Santa gift to his boss under the Christmas tree. Or a boss-type person—his
boss-adjacent; he’s a manager of people who are near Stiles, but not exactly
Stiles. And he not only hates Stiles’s guts, but seems to hate holidays and
merriment as well, if the sour look he’s giving Isaac and Isaac’s jangly elf
hat is any indication. It’s a shame that
he’s hot like burning and three hundred million miles out of Stiles’s league,
because despite the blatant animosity he’s been showering Stiles with since
Stiles started there six months ago, Stiles still wants him so bad his teeth
ache.
“I’m going to drown my sorrows in rum punch and
reindeer cookies,” Stiles tells Scott morosely.
Scott pats his back.
“You made him an awesome present, dude.”
Erica had been in charge of Secret Santa this year, and
Erica is either a sadistic asshole or a romantic at heart, because there hadn’t
been a price cap, but everything had to be handmade. Scott, Stiles knows, had made Liam a beaded
necklace only a hipster jock could love.
Stiles had painstakingly taught himself to knit.
Or, like, knit better,
because Stiles has been an on and off knitter since his mom had started him on
it years and years ago, but his attempt at a scarf for Derek had been truly
spectacular.
It’d taken up every spare minute of the past three weeks, made
in the softest wool he could reasonably use. He’s not amazing at it, but he
thinks it turned out pretty good—it’s long enough to wrap around Derek’s neck
at least once, and the pattern is only slightly uneven.
Derek is going to hate it just as much as everything else about
Stiles.
“So drunk,” Stiles says, and heads off for the
punch bowl.
the path is long and the forest is deep. you have a long way to go before you come out the other side– are you sure you want to leave? You could make a home here.
The forest seems to be whispering “stay”. My footsteps start to sink into the leaves forming on the flatstones, warm daylight turns to a oddly noon dusk. A burnt warmth permeates the sudden clearing my dragging feet come across. In the center, not a chair, but a bed of desert moss–obscene in its greenness in stark contrast to the sepia-turned day.
A left-brain alarm rings out from my head but is quickly quieted a lower hierarchy of need.
“Just five minutes,” I mumble to no one in particular, “and then I’ll go”.
“When I wake up I’ll know what to do.”
As the last fragments of my consciousness is given over to sleep, I can just faintly make out, “Not the end yet,” from somewhere just beyond the clearing.
shealwaysreads 