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iwantmoretoys:

Hide your cat’s poop from visitors by concealing your cat’s litter box inside this tiny table. It prevents your cat from spilling litter all over and hides any funky smells so everybody wins.
http://www.iwantmoretoys.com/designer-catbox

Source: iwantmoretoys
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homespothq:

Clever way to hide a litter box. More pet furniture: http://hshq.us/1hfPdHk

Source: homespothq
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akailolita:

mpreg sounds like a file extension 

(via itsnotgayitsbritish)

Source: akailolita
Link

STEP-SIBLING AU ~*~*also known as 'green eyes (i'd run away with you)*~*~ IS HERE

scottydelgados:

Lydia and Stiles guide him out through a set of doors beside the huge gymnasium, but instead of going towards the portables Lydia grabs his arm and starts marching him over to the parking lot.

"Wait, what are you - ?"

"Stay cool, Scotty," Stiles says through his teeth.

Lydia gives him a…

"Good morning England" I whisper as I sink back into the deep

Source: scottydelgados
Answer
  • Question: Sterek- Lets go a little cliché here, Derek is an extremely hot mechanic and Stiles is purposely getting in accidents with his jeep so he'll have an excuse to see the hot mechanic as he tries and fails to ask the man out. - Anonymous
  • Answer:

    talesfrommidgard:

    At first, it was a legitimate problem with the Jeep:  a gurgling in the engine, particularly when it was cold outside.  Stiles had wailed to his father about the issue, and the response had been exactly what he didn’t want to hear:  ”Well then, take it to a garage and get it looked at.”  He had been pointedly against going to a garage.  Ugly men with tacky posters charging him too much money for a problem that could be fixed in two days, but would take a week?  Not his idea of a good time.

    Of course, that was before the mechanic who would be working on his baby slung himself out from under a weather-worn ‘76 Ford truck and wiped oily hands on a rag tucked carelessly into his waistband.  Maybe it was the casual but fierce nature of his motions, or the overt stereotype of American manliness - a weakness of Stiles’ - but he’d gone from disgruntled consumer to fascinated car aficionado in 0.5 seconds.

    Derek Hale, said his nametag.  Yum.  Stiles had done his best to keep his cool as he described the nature of the problem.  Derek had raised an eyebrow, jumped into the car, and revved the engine a couple times before rumbling to Stiles in a grouchy sort of voice, “Air.  You need to burp the system.  Grab me that coolant and I’ll show you how to do it.”

    And with those three sentences, Stiles knew he had to ask this man out, or his brain would just kill him.

    So it had started with a perfectly innocent little fender-bender.  And then another.  And then he’d plowed down a fast-food menu board, much to his father (and the Burger King’s) chagrin.  And so it had continued, escalating until Stiles had actually started to worry that he was going to make a mistake and end up with a ten-thousand dollar charge for some critical part he didn’t realize he’d damaged.  Or worse - his dad could take away the keys.

    But every time, he failed to ask for a date, whether through nerves or some unwittingly malevolent outside force that distracted Derek just as Stiles was about to get the words out.  It went on for months, with Stiles getting steadily more frustrated with himself…to say nothing of the frustration of those who dealt with the aftermath of his shenanigans.

    And of course, when something finally did give, it wasn’t at all the way he’d planned it.  He was sitting in the waiting room, watching through the glass door as Derek undid the damage the last fiasco had done to his door.  His muscles flexed with effort as he worked at it, providing one hell of a free show…

    …and then those sharp brown-gray eyes locked with his, and Stiles was obliged to bite back a startled yelp.  He lifted a random magazine to his eyes, only realizing once he was face-to-face with useless and impractical bedroom advice that it was an old issue of Cosmopolitan.

    Kill me.  Just - just - lightning bolt, bang.  Right here.

    He swallowed nervously as the door between the waiting room and the workroom slid open.  Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as he heard Derek’s distinctive leather-and-gravel voice address him.  ”Mister Stilinski?  A word about your car.”

    Stiles dropped the magazine and nodded.  ”Sure.  Let’s get right on that.”

    "In the garage."  It wasn’t a request.

    Stiles nodded again and followed Derek out, glancing around the shop.  He’d never actually been in the work area before, just outside it, peering into the gloom through the wide red doors that the cars were brought in through.  Derek’s space was a bit messy, and judging from the look of him and the streaks on the floor, he seemed perfectly content to wipe oil on his pants or shirt when the rag was out of reach.  The whole situation was just so ridiculous that for a moment, Stiles wondered if he’d wandered onto the set of a low-budget porno.

    The badly-hidden Unzipped by Derek’s locker didn’t help.

    "This is your seventh accident in two months," Derek grunted, snapping him out of his distraction.

    Stiles nodded, as if the statistic hadn’t already occurred to him.  He gave a sheepish ‘what can I do?’ sort of shrug.  ”Yeah.  I guess I get a little distracted behind the wheel.”

    "Right.  What do you want?"

    Stiles tried to feign innocence.  ”Come again?”

    Derek let out a growl - an odd habit of his; that and his surly disposition had encouraged Stiles to give him the secret nickname ‘Sourwolf’ - and turned to fix Stiles in one of his death glares.  The Hale Sourwolf Scowl, patent pending, Stiles thought with a nervous chuckle.  His laugh caused Derek to further narrow his eyes.  ”Something funny?”

    "No.  No, just - I laugh when I’m nervous.  Sorry."

    "Hm," Derek huffed, then asked again, "What do you want?"

    "Honestly?" Stiles asked after the longest silence he dared offer, picking at a bit of loose skin on his thumb with an evasive turn of his head.  "Uh, I’ve been trying to - "

    Apparently out of patience, Derek cut him off.  ”Close to seven thousand dollars in mechanical repairs is not a good way to get a date.”  Stiles looked up sharply, mouth falling open in a dumbfounded stare as Derek’s glare softened back to his usual level of irate disinterest.  ”Try asking.  Works wonders.”

    "Wait, you knew?" he blurted out.

    "Subtlety isn’t your strong suit."

    Well, at least he told it like it was.  That deserved respect in its own way.  Stiles shifted awkwardly at his apparent transparency and gave Derek a hopeful look.  ”So, that wasn’t a ‘no’.”

    "I haven’t even asked yet."

    "I thought was going to ask.”

    Derek snorted, as if he thought that he’d grow old waiting for Stiles to do so.  Hell, Stiles thought with dry amusement, maybe he would.  Took me this long - wait, no, it took him this long.  ”I don’t have work on Sundays, Mondays, and every other Wednesday.  We could grab something.”

    Stiles raised an eyebrow and offered a shameless half-smirk.

    Derek looked at him uncomprehendingly before letting out an exasperated growl.  ”Food!" he clarified, and Stiles broke into a grin which could only be described as ‘shit-eating’.

    "You like steakhouses?" Stiles asked.

    "Like you have money for steak after everything you’ve put your car through," Derek said.  Stiles gave him a wounded look…but hell, he was right.  Stiles would be lucky if he scraped together enough for a McFlurry.  Derek looked at that hangdog face and sighed as if this was all some great trouble he was reluctantly suffering through for a friend.  Despite how plainly grouchy it was, Stiles loved that sigh immediately.  "How about I pay for the first date.  You can cover the next."

    "Oh?  You’re so sure that there’ll be more than one?" Stiles asked, grinning.

    "Are you kidding?" Derek asked, turning his attention back to the Jeep.  "Something tells me I couldn’t get rid of you with a crowbar."


    ((Wanna prompt me? Click here to find out how!))

Source: talesfrommidgard
Photo Set

iminstitches442:

one-mandrinkinggamess:

lovelikeogkush:

This is too raw

Whoever makes these is not even in the general area of fucking around

These are actually quite true in everyday possible to me.

(via theindescribableflaws)

Source: cloudyskiesandcatharsis
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cleolinda:

valeria2067:

solarbeans:

zaikira4world:

superwholockianlady:

jillypooh:

sweet-henrietta:

I am Lokitty, of Catgard, and I am burdened with glorious purrrpose.

This windowsill pleases me. 


YOU GIVE UP THIS CATNIP DREAM! YOU COME HOME!

AND HE NEVER KNEW THAT HE WAS ADOPTED?!

SCREAMS

I DO WHAT I WANT, THORGI!

Seasonal reblog.

cleolinda:

valeria2067:

solarbeans:

zaikira4world:

superwholockianlady:

jillypooh:

sweet-henrietta:

I am Lokitty, of Catgard, and I am burdened with glorious purrrpose.

This windowsill pleases me. 

image

YOU GIVE UP THIS CATNIP DREAM! YOU COME HOME!

AND HE NEVER KNEW THAT HE WAS ADOPTED?!

SCREAMS

I DO WHAT I WANT, THORGI!

Seasonal reblog.

(via cyberratting)

Source: sweet-henrietta
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Photo Set
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