#Feline Charm

[terminator-product-art]

[relaxingifs]

rct.crafting on ig

[black-salt-cage]

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

[bluegoblinzz]

Vileshape

A musty scent pervaded the forest as fog settled on the muddy ground and in the trees overhead, and as droplets rolled down each leaf before hitting puddles below the trees, after the huge storm the night before. Quarion trudged through the mud with in his sandals, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Grogginess weighed on him. His joints ached and his thoughts repeatedly drifted away as he longed for sleep. However, he knew he needed to hurry, so as he walked, he got dressed into his druidic garb.  He tied his cloth around his chest, he put on his turquoise bracelets, and he tied his bandana around his hair.

With each step the mud squelched underneath his shoes. He didn’t mind that his feet were getting dirty, and as a druid, he liked feeling closer to the earth. This was actually his favorite kind of weather, for rain enriched the forest, and the moments after rain always brought him calm. 

While he was not annoyed by the mud or the weather, he was annoyed by the cause of the weather. The storm came on suddenly the night before, the dark clouds barreling across the star speckled sky with the swiftness of falcons. Each flash of lightning was purple and each clap of thunder rumbled in an even and consistent manner, as if it was an orchestrated drum roll. The storm settled overhead and swirled all night. Quarion had spent much of his night guiding away many of the animals to safety, unsure of the cause or the nature of this storm. 

When the storm had passed, he couldn’t find a source so he went to sleep an decided to investigate later. That morning: a fox had woken him up by gently gnawing at his hand, and nodding their head toward the forest path. Quarion knew from the fox’s behavior that they were concerned about something unusual in the forest, which he knew for sure had to do with the storm last night. 

As he walked by, each tree he passed spoke to him, hearing their voices as passing thoughts in his mind. 

“Hey Quarion!”

“Good morrow, young druid.”

“There’s my favorite firbolg! That storm was crazy, right?”

“Can you look into that storm? I’m scared!” 

He knew each tree individually, and wanted to stop to speak to them, but he knew there was a lot of work he needed to do, and that he couldn’t sit down and chat with them. As he walked down the forest path, he briefly regarded the river running near by, each of the trees that spoke to him, their squirrels who greeted him, and the fox who ran by his side, appreciating each of them for a moment. 

Once he got to the edge of the forest, he finally spotted the source of this chaos: a humanoid figure in a dark star speckled hood, carrying a staff with an amethyst orb at the top. The figure was a tad shorter than the average human, meaning Quarion towered over him. The figure had a spaded indigo tail, which was calmly curled behind him, and thin indigo hands grasped the staff he held. Quarion thought that, perhaps, this man was some kind of tiefling but he couldn’t tell because his hood obscured most of his notable features. Quarion crouched down to be closer in height with the mysterious man.

“‘Ey there bud!” the firbolg said. “The name’s Quarion! Was that you causing all that ruckus last night? If so, it was quite the light show!” The firbolg held out a hand for the man to shake. The man looked at Quarion’s big blue fuzzy hand, and laughed before patting Quarion’s palm with his small indigo hand. 

“You are a lot larger than I expected,” he said. His voice very deep and his speech had a sharp edge to it as he enunciated every word. Quarion raised an eyebrow and gently wrapped his hand around the man’s hand and shook it. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Do you know me, or something, bud?” 

“I knew of you. You are the guardian of the forest, the lost Legend of the New Frontier, the moon’s shaman, the blue druid. You may not be famous, but you’re powerful enough for adventurers like me to hear of you.” 

Quarion smiled and averted his gaze from this man, his fluffy pointy ears lowering. For obvious reasons, he knew he was famous among the animals and among the trees. He loved the forest and everyone who lived there, but he was never one to speak to ordinary people or to traverse much outside, so he didn’t expect anyone to know about him at all. He felt a bit more comfortable around this man after what he said.

“I hate to be a bother,” Quarion mumbled, “but I need to know why you were making all that noise. I don’t wanna cause trouble, so-“

“Oh! No trouble at all. I wanted your help actually. Here, walk with me.” The man began to turn away but Quarion placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Why don’t you tell me your name first, eh?” 

“Oh yes… of course.” 

The figure lowered his hood, revealing a curly haired tiefling with short horns coming from each of his temples, and eyes that were completely black except for bright white pupils. His expression was a subtle smirk, where his face looked almost completely blank except for a slight pull at the side of his lips, and a light in his eyes.

“I am called Quasar,” he said. 

“Nice to meet ya, Quasar,” Quarion chirped. “Our names are pretty similar. Isn’t that interesting?” 

“Why yes,” Quasar muttered, “very.” The tiefling shifted his gaze downward, once again settling on the Firbolg’s hands. 

“I still cannot believe it,” Quasar said. “You are practically a giant.” 

“No, no, don’t be mistaken, bud,” Quarion replied, scratching the back of his head. “I’m pretty small for a firbolg. You should see my family.” 

“No but I mean it.” The tiefling brought a finger across the fuzz on the back of Quarion’s hand and then looked up at him with a wider, more genuine smile.

“I am really glad I found you,” he stated. “You’ll be great help to me.” 

Quarion paused, simply staring at Quasar for a moment before cracking a smile. It felt nice to be so appreciated, and as someone who loved to help others, he was happy he could help this wizard in any way necessary. To Quarion, Quasar seemed like a nice guy, after all. He suddenly felt a lot more at ease, and freer than he did before, and whatever was bothering him didn’t come to mind. Quarion stood up, and looked to Quasar, expecting him to lead the way. The tiefling turned around and motioned with an indigo hand for Quarion to follow him. 

As Quarion took the first few steps away, he heard a few high pitched yaps. When he turned back around, he saw the fox who guided him there, curled up and looking at Quarion with big concerned eyes. It was then that Quarion remembered why he was worried to begin with, however his worry didn’t fully take over him, still. 

“I’ll only be gone for a little while,” he reassured the fox. “I just want to talk to this nice man for a moment.” He then turned away and followed the wizard, walking away from the forest with him for the first time in years. The darkness in the field was no different from the darkness in the forest. Fog hung in the air, and the clouds were thick and dark. It seemed that even if Quasar tried to cause a storm before, there was already another one coming. 

“I caused the storm last night to get your attention,” Quasar said. “I need your help and I was told that you never leave.”

“I’m always happy to help, bud,” Quarion replied. “Although, you haven’t said what ya need help with, yet.” 

“I am trying to form an adventuring party, however it is hard to find someone who is powerful as you and I.”

“Once again, I appreciate it, bud… but I’m not the best druid. I’m not even the biggest firbolg.” 

“It is not just about strength.” Quasar looked over his shoulder back at Quarion, and flashed a sly smile. “It is about character. I want you.” 

Quarion’s pointy ears lifted with joy. There was some quiet part of Quarion’s mind that felt this was very strange, that Quasar was a strange man, and that some danger was afoot, but this thought was drowned out by the fluttering in Quarion’s heart, and the smile that took over his face. ‘I want you.’ While he loved the forest, for years, the animals and the trees simply acted like they needed him, always asking for things. He enjoyed their company but no one ever wanted him. It surprised him that it was a person who said that wonderful phrase, and after those words left Quasar’s lips, after he had shown Quarion kindness, Quarion realized that he was starting to feel the same way. 

“Besides,” Quasar continued, “Druids can turn into all sorts of different creatures. And I know you have an infamously strong and powerful form. What was it again? A bear?” 

“I-It’s… a l-lion, actually…” Quarion sometimes felt nervous when speaking to many people at once. It was easier to speak to plants than it was to people. However, he didn’t know why he was now stuttering and stumbling over his words. 

“Oh, a lion,” Quasar cooed. “How wonderful!” He slowed down his steps before going still in the middle of the field, tilting his head upward, and staring off into the clouds. He took in a deep breath and then turned toward the druid. He leaned his staff against his shoulder, and looked down at Quarion’s hands once again and held his right hand in both of his hands, squeezing it tight.  He looked up at Quarion again, smirking, his gaze burrowing into Quarion’s eyes.

“I should have known you were a lion,” Quasar mumbled. “With these large strong paws of yours, and that cat-like gleam in your eyes.” 

Quarion found himself comforted by Quasar’s words, and satisfied, as he began to slip into his other form. Astonished by Quasar’s words, a purr escaped his throat, but then he blinked, balled up his left fist in front of his mouth, and cleared his throat. He blinked a few more times as he came to his senses, and his eyes narrowed at the wizard. 

“You’re a little trickster, eh?!” Quarion said, raising his voice. “You charmed me!” When Quarion came to his senses, he was no longer enthralled by Quasar’s words, but he found that there was still a giddy happy feeling in his stomach. For some reason… he didn’t feel angry. Quasar furrowed his eyebrows as his smirk turned into an evil grin and laughed. 

“You are a powerful druid indeed,” Quasar said. “Very wise to be able to break through my charm…” he let go of Quarion’s hands, grabbed his staff and turned away. 

“Well, go ahead,” the wizard scoffed. “Do what you will. Fight me if you wish, leave if you wish.” 

“What were ya trying to do?” Quarion asked, crossing his arms. “If ya wanted my help, I woulda given it to you. But you manipulated me… and you stop as soon as I find out? What’s your game, here?” 

“I was just having fun, I suppose, practicing my enchantments, testing my abilities. I still need your help, but it was wrong of me to manipulate you and you should make your own decisions. You may leave.” 

Quarion knew Quasar was trouble. He hadn’t been clear about what he wanted, and tried to charm him to get whatever that was. Yet, Quarion found he couldn’t shake away the giddy feeling he had, and found he still had an affinity for the wizard. He knew what charms felt like so he knew it had been broken, but in that moment he realized it was more than just a charm. He loved how mysterious the wizard was, how gentle he was with his actions and with his words. He loved the feeling of unfamiliarity and adventure he had when leaving the forest with this wizard. Quasar had broken him out of a still, out of a rut, and he wanted to stay out. 

Quarion took a step forward and knelt down next to the wizard. 

“No,” he said. “I want you to keep going.” Quasar turned around and put on a gentle smile, one without malice or mischief this time. 

“In that case, my kitten… I have a little gift for you.” He went into the pocket of his robes, and as he rummaged through it, there was a dull clanking sound. A moment later he pulled out a large collar with a bell attached to it and placed it in Quarion’s palm. The firbolg looked down at it for a moment and then chuckled to himself. 

“What does this mean?” he asked. “Are you going to be unimaginably cruel to me? Or are you going to love and care for me?” 

“The latter,” Quasar stated. “I am not a fool. I want friends, I want to love and be loved. Turning someone into a mindless slave and abusing them is not the way to do that.” 

“Good,” Quarion said with a sigh. “I… haven’t been loved in a while.” Neither the firbolg nor the tiefling expected those words to escape his lips. Quasar’s dark eyes widened as he took on a look of pure surprise. Quarion looked down, feeling somewhat ashamed that he even said that. He wondered where that thought came from. Quasar picked up the bell collar, undid the clasp, and wrapped it around Quarion’s neck before clicking it into place. He then lifted both of his hands, and held Quarion’s face, brushing his fluffy beard. 

“Well my kitten, I promise you I will love you, and I will not let you feel lost again.” 

Another purr escaped Quarion’s throat, but this time, he simply let it happen. He felt in that moment that everything would be okay, that nothing would hurt him and nothing could hurt him, that he had nothing to worry about and that Quasar would take care of it all. He felt safe and comfortable with his head resting in Quasar’s hands.

“Are you ready?” Quasar asked. 

“I think so.” Quarion wasn’t sure what he needed to be ready for, but he felt he had some idea. It was some kind of charm or a spell involving a charm. He appreciated the wizard for asking this time around. 

The wizard raised his staff and a bright purple energy emanated from the amethyst orb, an unnatural light that lit up the area, but also somehow cast a purple shadow over Quarion. The purple was so vibrant and so deep that it was hard to look away. It was prettier than any color Quarion had ever seen, and now everything he could see appeared to be this color. The glow brought a deep calm to him, and made him feel sleepy.  His eyes widened, his jaw dropped slightly. 

“First,” Quasar said, “we must prepare you to change. Picture the form you want in your mind.” 

Quarion did as he was told, still staring at the purple light, he formed an image of himself in his mind’s eye, and watched as it changed, from a fuzzy blue firbolg, to a big strong lion, with warm fluffy red and orange fur, with two slit golden feline eyes, with long flexible tail with a golden plume of fur on the tip. 

“Very good,” Quasar cooed. “Now, I shall begin to change your mind. First, you’ll begin to play the part. You will begin to think and feel like a lion. And then I will melt your mind, fully sealing the spell. How does that sound?”

“…Good.” Quarion mumbled. “How long… will I be… a-“

“As long as you want,” Quasar cooed. “As long as you’re happy.”

“As long… as I’m happy.” The sides of his lips curved up into a smile. 

“Now I will repeat a mantra. And each time I say it, you will go deeper into trance and your mind will change more and more.” Quarion didn’t believe Quasar when he said that. He didn’t cast a spell in order to make that happen, so he didn’t know how it would work. But sure enough, Quasar began to repeat one phrase over and over again, and his mind shifted. 

“You are my cat.” 

Quarion’s eyes widened even more, as his irises grew golden and began to glow, as the whites of his eyes turned black, and his pupils elongated and became slit. The words Quasar spoke silenced his thoughts and hung in his mind as an indisputable truth. But then, a moment later he began to feel normal again, thinking he was a firbolg, and not a cat, but there was a new hunger within him, and an unshakable feeling of pride. 

“You are my cat.” 

Quick as the flick of a wand, Quarion fell forward on all fours, and his cat-like mindset returned.  He purred as he stared deeper into the light. He felt even less reserved, and more prideful, a cat-like sense of superiority to everything took over his mind. After a few seconds, he began to remember what was going on, and as a test, he tried to see if he could resist the spell, to see if he could assert he was not a cat. He remembered that he was a firbolg and that he must take care of the forest. He braced his mind for the next time the mantra was repeated, and pushed himself back upright into a kneeling position. 

“You are my cat.” 

Quarion’s will and resistance crumbled the next time the mantra was repeated. Instead of falling onto all fours, that time, he lifted his hands in front of his head in a begging pose. The words felt a hundred times more powerful this time, and his mind became completely altered, not remembering he was ever anything else, anyone else. His instincts and ambitions shifted, from a desire to protect the forest, to a desire to eat, and a desire to be with Quasar. In his mind it was because Quasar needed him, and not the other way around, but deep in the core of his mind, there was the desire to follow and to be the wizard’s pet.

“You are my cat… You are my cat… You are my cat…” 

Quasar repeated these words, lowering his voice more and more each time until it reached a whisper. Quarion’s pointed ears perked up as he listened. Each repetition of the mantra was more powerful than the last The electrifying buzz of his worries quieted down to a low hum, before going completely silent, allowing his pride to completely take over, allowing him to lack any shame or embarrassment for what he was. 

“Who are you?” Quasar whispered.

“Uhhh,” Quarion mumbled, sifting through the thick fog in his mind. “I’m Qua-“

“You are my cat.” 

Quarion’s eyes lulled backwards as he fell deeper and deeper into trance, the previous Quarion growing farther and farther away. His knowledge of language was replaced with instinctive growls, any remaining thoughts replaced with simplified images. The only words he understood were Quasar’s words. 

“Who are you?” Quasar whispered again. 

Quarion wrinkled his nose and snarled slightly, revealing that his teeth had begun to grow sharp, his four canine teeth growing into fangs. A deep rumbling growl escaped his throat. 

“Good kitty,” Quasar whispered. Quarion’s lips curved into a smile, and he purred in response to Quasar’s reassurance. Feeling happy and satisfied, he poked his tongue out a little bit but then let it lull out of his mouth. He held that expression as he savored the mental change. The wizard stroked the firbolg’s big wide nose with an index finger.

“You may be a kitty, but you do not look like one,” Quasar whispered. “Get comfortable, because it’s time for you to change.” 

‘Get comfortable.’ With his tongue still hanging from his mouth, he shut his mouth, and focused his eyes, making a ‘mlem’ expression Quarion settled on all fours, and then did something that, as a firbolg he would have found embarrassing: he licked the back of each of his hands, cleaning himself off. He licked off every speck of dirt that settled on his arms, and brushed the blue fuzz on his arm to be matted down and neat. It tasted unpleasant but it was satisfying to feel clean again. Once he was done, he brought his tongue back into his mouth, lied on his arms in a loafing position and purred gently.

“Change,” the wizard commanded, booping Quarion on the nose. Without thinking about it, the druid eased himself into a change. Each shift always felt like moving a muscle, but this time, it felt different, it felt as if he had all of his muscles clenched, and each change was release of tension.  He started by changing his nose, wiggling it a few times, and causing the tip of it to become black and flatten against his face.  As he did so, whiskers broke the surface of his skin underneath his nose and stretched outward.  His lips thinned out and his upper lip split down the middle, the gap in the upper lip meeting the tip of his nose. 

The wizard untied Quarion’s bandana and ran his hand through his hair, gently petting him. Then he rubbed the fluff on his ears and pet the fluffy beard on the side of his face again.

As Quarion accepted this comfort, he a strange sensation in his mind, as if the essence of his self was melting. Pure ecstasy pervaded his mind and his heart, and warmth filled every cell in his body. Each comforting pat from Quasar made him shiver, bringing him more joy, and made him feel overwhelmed with love. He purred and nuzzled closer to the wizard.

This warmth and comfort soon became more than just emotional, as he allowed for another change all over his body, letting thick blue-ish fuzz all over his skin grow and thicken into fluffy red fur, his yellow-ish beard and hair growing longer and fluffier, becoming a red mane. Fur grew on his stomach and on his face as well, yet this fur was more orange. As the fur covered his entire body, his clothes flattened against him and became translucent, becoming less and less solid until his spell made them disappear entirely. As always, if he shifted back, they would come back. 

Quarion cracked his knees and elbows like one would crack their knuckles, shifting the joints so that they would bend in a different direction, moving unlike a humanoid, but like a cat. He then spread his fingers apart and allowed each of them to swell, but also to shorten, the joints in each digit locking into place as his hands became big fluffy paws, with blue beans, and thick sharp claws. He kicked off his sandals, and he stretched out his feet and allowed them to elongate, his heel stretching away from the rest of his foot, shrinking down into a joint in the middle of each leg, and the front of each foot grew in a similar manner to his hands, becoming large hind paws. 

Quarion purred again and shut his eyes as he stretched out his back. In doing so, the base of his spine elongated and a new tail stretched away from his body, at first bare and only having blue skin, but then covered in red fur, with a golden-orange plume of fur at the tip. It snaked behind him and swished back and forth. 

There were only a couple of more changes left. He lifted his ears high, stretching them so much that he strained them as he pushed the limits of that muscle. However, this allowed for his ears to grow bigger and wider, and allowed them to move to the top of his head, peaking through his thick mane. 

And then he shut his eyes as he allowed for the final change to take hold. He clenched his jaw and pushed his bottom jaw forward, his lips, upper jaw, and nose followed, stretching forward. He snapped his maw open, revealing sharp and jagged teeth. He opened his eyes and they rolled backwards, his tongue hanging out once again as he savored the change. Soon his jaw snapped into place, and he grinned and let out a mighty roar. Once the changes were done, Quasar dimmed the light coming from his staff, and smiled at Quarion. Any firbolg facial features were completely gone. The old Quarion was unrecognizable at that point. 

“Your shapeshifting ability amazes me, druid,” he said, “I thought I may have needed to intervene with a polymorph.” Quarion didn’t register what the wizard was talking about, but he accepted the kind words by nuzzling up to the wizard, brushing his mane against him. Quasar held Quarion’s face in one hand, and patted his big feline snout with the other. His eyes were narrowed, as if deeply studying the beast before him. 

“It… is really incredible, I mean it.” He held Quarion’s jaw opened, and tapped one of his gigantic fangs. “You completely changed as if it were nothing.” It was a tad strange the way the tiefling was examining him, but Quarion still looked at him, his eyes big, feeling comforted by the wizard’s presence. 

Quasar’s expression went from curiosity and genuine amazement to a stiff, serious look. His eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, the corner of his lip twitched upward. 

“I had, and still do not have, any intention to manipulate or control you. However, while I knew you were comfortable with me, I knew our ideals would not match. Which is why I waited until now… to corrupt you.” 

Unfortunately, Quarion still did not understand the words being spoken and therefore didn’t know there was any cause for concern. He didn’t have time to pull away or to try to resist, for Quasar pressed one thumb against Quarion’s forehead and with his other hand he stroked Quarion’s fur, going from his forehead to his nose. He whispered some spell over and over in a guttural foreign language.

The petting was comforting to Quarion, however it sent chills down his spine. As for the whispers, they swirled in his mind and reverberated within his skull, perking his ears up and making him tingle all over. It gave him some odd emotion he couldn’t quite identify. It was like anger or agitation… but it somehow felt good. It was a comfortable rage, a soothing loathing, a healthy hatred. Quarion’s nose twitched and his eyes began to roll back once again. His mind went numb again in some way he felt woozy, but this wasn’t the same as the trance. Unlike the trance, he felt more restless, more powerful.

Quasar grabbed the sides of Quarion’s head and squeezed his face, petting him and rubbing his jowls. In a daze Quarion tilted his head back and let a growl escape his throat, a mix of a smile and a snarl taking over his face. It felt as if his mind was being scrambled, all thoughts mashing together in odd uncanny ways, memories and images bending and combining. He sniffed the air and took in the scents around himself, appreciating their sophistication and complexity. The most apparent scent was the wizard in front of him. There was the smell of ozone on him from the storm the night before, dirt from the forest that had got on his robes, sweat from exertion from the spells he cast… It made him hungry for some reason, but the lion knew better than to eat his friend. 

Still whispering, Quasar propped the lion’s jaw open. He pulled one of his jowls backward and felt one of Quarion’s giant fangs. He laughed to himself as he pricked his own finger on the fang, and held it inside of the lion’s mouth, letting a blue drop of blood fall onto the lion’s tongue. Quarion let out a grumble of satisfaction when he tasted it, and let his eyes fall closed. Quasar drew his hand back and shut the lion’s jaw.

“You like that, do you not?” the wizard whispered. “That is blood. You want more of it, do you not? Think about all the way the world has wronged you.” 

Quarion growled in response, his brow furrowing from anger. That undefined yet satisfying feeling of anger became directed at the world. He felt angry at the forest for always asking so much of him, always expecting so much of him, he became angry at his family for not protecting each other when danger came to him as a child, and he became angry at those who attacked his village all those years ago. It became clear to him that his anger and his hunger could be solved in the same way. 

“Yes, easy now,” Quasar whispered. “See all evil. Hear all evil. See all evil. Hear all evil.” 

The tiefling kept chanting that phrase over and over again. Each time it was repeated, Quarion shuddered and his ears twitched. When the lion opened his eyes, they went from rolling backwards to gazing gently at his own muzzle, maintaining a glazed over look, nonetheless. His jaw fell open and his tongue hung out of his mouth once again as he let the phrase take over his mind, the desire to be evil growing stronger and stronger. It was easier to be a senseless animal, and it was easier to stop being nice, and to stop acting nice. 

After enough repetitions, his dazed expression disappeared as well, and was replaced with a mix of an angered snarl and a confused look as the last of his sane and moral thoughts left his mind. Once this new attitude fully clicked, and the chanting of the tiefling became his natural attitude, his eyes widened and his pupils shrank down once again. He snarled and growled, focusing straight ahead of him. To become acquainted with his space Quarion sniffed the air again, which was when he noticed a salty, savory scent he hadn’t noticed before. 

Quarion roared and head butted the wizard, knocking him backwards and sending the sack on his back flying. 

“Ow- Hey! What the-“ 

Quarion ignored Quasar and padded over to the sack. He tore it open with one of his claws, and found a bag of dried meat in the wizard’s rations. Quarion didn’t stop to open the bag; he bit into it, working around the fabric of the sack and savoring the salty, savory, spicy, and overall flavorful tastes of the beef. 

Quasar stood up, dusted himself off, and chuckled to himself. 

“I cannot get mad at you,” he said. “You are too fluffy and cute to be mad at.” The wizard pet the lion and knelt next to him as he ate. Meanwhile Quarion felt freer, and more content than he ever had. He had a new friend, an easier attitude to maintain, and no longer had any responsibilities. He could not wait to begin this quest that the Quasar found him for. And he could not wait to spend time with the Quasar, someone who valued and loved him. 

In the past Quarion always loved using his wildshape to become a different animal. It was always satisfying and brought him a different perspective. Often times: the world seemed a lot simpler, and a lot more straightforward, yet also a lot scarier. As an animal of prey, such as a rabbit, he’d have an instinctive fear of being eaten. Whereas a large carnivore would have so much fear and anger toward others who competed for food. Quarion had never been someone’s pet, however. He had never considered it… but truthfully: it was nice. It felt good to cede responsibility to someone else. It felt good to be loved and cared, and to have someone compliment him so lavishly, for someone to call him “cute.” So even though mental state was so unfamiliar to him, it was how he wished to stay.

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[loveinthetimeofcoolers]

i read all of Sherlock Holmes stories and novels in the last couple of weeks and for some reason I took notes of when Watson talks about Holmes' character or manners:

He likes praise, but only from a few:

I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 25).

A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience. It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 475).

He does not have many friends/is unsociable

Some friend of yours, perhaps?” “Except yourself I have none,” he answered. “I do not encourage visitors.”

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 179).

I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought,

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 301).

He wakes up late(?)

He was a late riser, as a rule,

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 211).

He has a considerable ego

I was repelled by the egotism which I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friend's singular character.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 257).

He doesn't like to exercise or take walks but eats very less. Also he likes cocaine.

Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise's sake.

...but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 283).

He was neat but quite messy, cluttered living space kind of guy

he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 311).

I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece,

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 311).

with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics,

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 595).

He operated on bursts on energy followed by bouts of doing nothing

I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 311).

He was not a country mouse

Appreciation of Nature found no place among his many gifts,

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 339).

He didn't like 'women' but was very nice to them irl. Also he didn't like talking about his family.

His aversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of his unemotional character, not more so than his complete suppression of every reference to his own people.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 348).

I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readily established terms of confidence with them.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 493).

..he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 758).

He liked being dramatic

"Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic."

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 372).

He didn’t suffer fools gladly

Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper or his impatience with a less active intelligence than his own.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 390).

He didn’t like to eat when he was working

My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 402).

He could be quite bossy when he needed to be

The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 427).

Partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly also from his professional caution, which urged him never to take any chances.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 607).

There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's manner which could not be withstood.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 785).

He did not like to be away from what was familiar/Baker Street/and other miscellaneous neurodivergent traits

My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 477).

Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 623).

“I hate to have my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it."

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 760).

He had an odd sense of humour

Holmes's ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive,

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 768).

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 784).

Miscellaneous

He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when he wished.

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 732).

That cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the world. “Holmes!” I cried—“Holmes!”

Conan Doyle, Arthur. The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Tales of a Consulting Detective (p. 595).

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New Charm ref? In my 2023? It's more likely than you think.

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Tiger Swimming Enamel Pin

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Snowfall: The Enchanting Tale of a White Cat's Elegance!

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Tutu Tamagotchi Shaker Charm

My lil baby gworl got a shaker! This was actually the one I designed before Alpha, and shes too stinken cute! Want your own? I Make custom Charms! https://www.mothersalem.com/product-page/custom-character-tamagotchi-shaker-charm

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Nyla the Desert Dancer Lowpoly 3D Model

3D Model Specifications

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Polygonal Tris only Geometry

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Kitty Cat O Kitty Cat Mewo Mewo, Cat tik tok, Fun and Cat news, #Babynest80 #catnews, #cattiktok

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Diversity Makes the World a Better Place: Celebrating Our Differences

"It's OK to be Different" is a powerful message that celebrates individuality and embraces diversity. It goes beyond just tolerance; it encourages people to be proud of their unique quirks and perspectives. Here's a deeper look:

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Celebrating Uniqueness: Everyone has something special – a love for dinosaurs, a passion for music, or a talent for drawing. "It's OK to be Different" acknowledges these differences and encourages people to share them with the world.

Embracing Diversity: Our world thrives on variety. We have people from different backgrounds, cultures, and abilities. "It's OK to be Different" emphasizes the beauty of this diversity and encourages us to learn from and respect each other.

Building Confidence: Feeling different can sometimes lead to feelings of isolation or insecurity. "It's OK to be Different" is a message of empowerment, reminding people that their unique qualities are what make them special.

Creating Inclusion: When everyone feels comfortable being themselves, communities become more welcoming and supportive. "It's OK to be Different" paves the way for a more inclusive world where everyone can thrive.

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This message is often used in children's books, motivational posters, and social justice movements, reminding people of all ages to embrace what makes them unique.

The term "Day Cat Gift" isn't as common, so let's explore two possible interpretations:

Daily Gifts for Your Cat: Maybe you're looking to spoil your feline friend with a little something every day! Here are some ideas:

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Food Puzzles: Engage your cat's natural hunting instincts with food puzzles that dispense treats as they solve them.

Catnip Toys: Most cats go wild for catnip. A new catnip toy each day keeps playtime exciting!

Feathered Wand Toys: These toys mimic the movement of prey, triggering your cat's predatory instincts and providing exercise.

Treats: Healthy, bite-sized treats are a purrfect way to show your love (be sure to check with your vet about portion control!).

Rotational Toys: Keep things fresh by rotating a selection of toys throughout the week. This prevents boredom and keeps your cat engaged.

Gifts Inspired by Your Cat's Daily Antics: Do you have a cat who loves to leave you "presents" (like dead mice or random objects)? Here's a playful way to turn the tables:

"Thank You" Gifts: Leave a small toy or treat next to your cat's "gift" as a humorous way to acknowledge their offering.

Catnip-Filled "Mice": Instead of the real deal, surprise your cat with adorable catnip-filled toy mice!

Interactive Toys: Channel your cat's hunting instincts with interactive toys like electronic mice or laser pointers.

Scratching Posts: Provide an appropriate outlet for your cat's scratching needs to help keep your furniture safe.

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No matter your interpretation, a "Day Cat Gift" is a way to show your feline companion some love and appreciation!

Choosing thoughtful gifts for autistic adults can be rewarding! Consider their interests: noise-canceling headphones for sensory needs, subscription boxes with calming tools or art supplies for hobbies, or weighted blankets for deep pressure relaxation. Fidget toys, essential oil diffusers, or gift cards to their favorite stores can also be great options to celebrate their unique personality.