#about cats I’m normal about cats and about drawing acts

[mangofyra]

Hi world 🌎 I should redraw these expressions . This is from awhile ago but hey 👋 hi 👋

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request some domestic Ford x Reader headcanons? Just how they would live together either before portal or after the portal (or both hehe). Ty!

Given how dedicated Ford is to his work, it’s more often then not did you find him sleeping on or in places he probably shouldn’t, you’d try and make his position a little more comfortable by covering him with a blanket or putting a pillow or two under his head in hopes of preventing a crooked neck.

You’d press a kiss to the top of his head and whispered sweet dreams to him, unknown to you that after everything with Bill Ford had became a light sleeper, and so would feel touched whenever you take care of him in small but meaningful ways.

This sweet yet insufferable nerd would find himself captivated by you so much doing mundane things that he ends up drawing them in his note book subconsciously. So much to the point where when he pulls himself out of his own mind, he finds several two page spreads dedicated to you feeding stray cats, talking and or playing with Dipper and Mabel, giving Waddles a bath, or just you standing in the kitchen first thing in the morning looking haggard but beautiful none the less.

Physical touch is his love language followed by acts of service to make up for the fact that he spends most of his time in the lab more so then by your side like he should as your partner. you knew how much his work meant to him but Ford could clearly see the glimmers of his neglect within your eyes when you tell him you understand that his work was high priority.

It hurt him to know that he was the one causing the distance between you two and he felt as though you shouldn’t compromise yourself just to better suit him and his wants and needs. So he’ll always try to make up for his neglect and try to spend his mornings with you by making you breakfast and bring it to bed for you with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. Ford only wanted to repay you for being there for him while condemning himself for not tearing the favour.

‘Normally you’d be in the lab by now.’ You pointed out as you watched as he slipped back into bed with you, something he rarely did since he was more often than not fast asleep on that makeshift bed down in the lab.

Ford feels just how cold his side of your supposedly shared bed was and could only imagine the amount of times where you’ve fell asleep alone, dreaming of the day where he’d come up and join you, only to frequently be greeted with the sight of an empty and cold mattress instead of him.

Why he never comes to your shared room was a mystery to even himself as he felt it went a lot deeper then him just being sleepy, was it because he didn’t feel as though he should share a bed with you after the amount of times he has neglected you for his work? Possibly but he wanted to change that and stop being absent in your relationship.

‘I fear I haven’t been the best of romantic partners as of late and for that I must apologise and make things right by you.’ He replied and you placed a hand over his own, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘I won’t disagree with you there but please take your time Ford, I’m not going anywhere.’ You tell him softy and Ford was once again proven why he didn’t deserve you nor your kindness.

So Ford would slowly start to do things for you that he knew you were less then wanting to do unless it was the last resort whether it be washing the dishes or tying your shoes when the laces come undone and you huff in annoyance. Anything that maybe an inconvenience to you Ford will do for you instead so that you don’t have to bother with it.

He’s got a good memory and knows your likes and dislikes like the back of his hand and he treasures this knowledge greatly, no notebook needed when it comes to you that you feel seen and loved whenever he remembers the little bits about you that would go over someone’s head.

Like how you like your morning drink, how you like your sandwiches cut, your favourite flower, your favourite memory-which was of the time the Mabel drew on him and thrown glitter on his red turtleneck while covering his hands in her sticker collection- and how you loved to steal his turtlenecks because you miss him whenever he’s in the lab.

So he starts to leave his favoured red turtleneck where he knows you frequent as he hides nearby to watch you smile softly and wear the turtleneck for the rest of the day. Whatever made you happy made him happy in return, being in a relationship with him may have not been that easy but he thanked you for staying with him when you could’ve left him.

Listens to you speak and could listen to you talk the day away and it could pertain to anything and everything, Ford just likes hearing you speak passionately about things you loved or have experienced while out in town and come home just to tell him. So much so that he gets this look in his eye whenever you speak about your daily activity that you’d have to stop and ask; ‘what’s with that look in your eye?’

He doesn’t understand what you meant by that and asks himself; ‘what look my dear?’

You: the one that you get whenever you’re really interested in what I’m saying, even if it’s boring.

Ford: because what you’re saying is investing to me, even if it may seem boring to you but to me I’m just being feed more reasons why I adore you.

You burrow your head into the Turtleneck you stole from him because of the feelings he brought out within your chest.

You would return the favour by listening to him speak his mind about the oddities of Gravity Falls in depth and his theories about how many more of them could be out there, waiting to be discovered and documented. He even told you about the time he drop kicked Gnomes once, the mental image of it made you laugh.

Ford is a bit of a homebody when it comes to date nights, not for any reason in particular, other than the fact he wanted to be focused on you and only you. So Mabel helps him plan for these dates in extensive detail, even if it was written in glittery pink gel pen. Most of the time you spend it on the roof of the shack where you can watch the stars come out while enjoying the others company.

It wasn’t much but it was much to you and Ford as you rest your head on his shoulder, take in the fact that he was here with you and inevitably fall asleep on his shoulder after he rests his head atop of your own, whispering sweet dreams to you this time before he manages to carry you back to bed; where this time he joins you and brings you into his arms tightly before falling asleep himself, warning his side of the bed at long last.

Also you probably have to patch him up after he goes out monster hunting, the man maybe smart be he’s often times reckless with himself. Also kiss his scars please he’ll love you for infinity if you did so, and also kiss his hands for he had gotten unnecessarily picked on about and call them his unique gift that he shouldn’t be ashamed of, you thought having six fingers was cool. You’ll have that man melting faster then butter if you do and you get to see his hardened face become soft and tender that you can’t help but smother in kisses.

[thatnonameuser]

A Wonderland Of Yanderes

World Building is here Part 2

It all started with that class.

The final class for the first week of the first semester. After all the chaos of coming to Twisted Wonderland, of being thrown into a world you don’t understand, a quiet weekend to start finding a way back is something you’ve been awaiting.

The classes here were chaotic but fun, and even interesting as a human from a world without any magic. 

Making potions that could do so many different things in Alchemy. Speaking with animals or a cat that can't talk like Grim in Animal Languages. Riding broomsticks in Phys Ed. Even the boring classes like Magical History, learning of this world full of wonder and mystery, and Arithmancy, math was boring, but it was fun to learn that it’s the same in this world. 

But out of all the classes this was the weirdest one of all. 

It was called The Art of Ensnaring Hearts. About ‘darling control and protection’. It’s a weird sounding class, but even weirder, it’s a mandatory subject for all first years, which seems weird for what sounds like an elective. Still it’s just odd, not anything too weird.

The name is nothing that you’ve seen in any fantasy book or tv show in your world. But by now, you knew weird being dropped head first into an unknown world. By now anything new and weird should have been expected, understood, brushed aside as something to accept and move on.

So here you were sitting between Ace and Deuce in the lecture, Grim fast asleep on your lap, waiting for class you knew nothing about.

“I can’t believe they’re making us take this class.” Ace complains.

“Stop complaining Ace. It’s a really important class!” Deuce objects.

Ace whined his butt off the whole way here, complaining about how stupid it was that they had to attend it. Deuce on the other hand, was incredibly enthusiastic and you are completely in the dark for what this class is even about.

Ace shrugs, “Still, my folks and brother taught me all about this stuff. It’s a waste of time.”

“Not everyone has parents or siblings who can teach them about darlings, Ace.”

“Nothing personal Juice, but this class is going to be as boring as Magical History.”

“Well, if you know so much, what exactly is this class about?” You joke and they both look at you like you’ve grown a second head. "What?" you say, now uneasy.

 “You don’t know?” Ace asks.

“What part about ‘I’m from another world’ keeps slipping your minds?” Your attempt at a joke falls flat, as they look at you in incredulity.

Deuce practically reels back in surprise, “N-No it’s just that it's so normal here. You don’t know what darlings are?”

You shake your head, ���No, not really.”

A crack of a whip onto the blackboard calls your attention to Professor Crewel, "Alright pups, I have to do this every year so let's get this out of the way now. This class will provide you with any and every method, skill and technique to find, capture and control your future darlings, including evading the law in your respective homelands." Now, you're confused, why exactly is a school teaching students how to break the law?

"As you know Sage Island makes special accommodations for NRC and RSA students, all acts that may be forbidden in any of your hometowns, with the exception of Darling murder, will be pardoned and forgiven. In the case of a family investigation, the school will stage an accident so please do not butcher them beyond repair." No words or sounds slip from your lips, with you stunned silent in pure horror.

What pools in your stomach is hot dread mixed with cold fear. Just what exactly is this world? Murder can be excused here? It can be covered up, with only a slap on the wrist. You need some explanations and you need them now.

A student raises a hand, "Professor?"

"Yes, pup?"

"Why are there no darlings enrolled in Night Raven?"

"One too many murders on campus. A few too many mutts ran around unneutered and decided to draw blood." You smother your gasp a few seconds too late, as more than a third of the room turn to you, confused.

"Something wrong, pup?" Crewel raises an eyebrow at you. His eyes drill into your soul, inspecting, calculating.

"N-Nothing! I'm fine. Perfectly fine." Crewel doesn't push you on the subject, returning to his lecture.

You lean back in your seat, and the cold sweat on your body makes you shiver. Right now, you'll bite your tongue and hold back your horror.

You need to see Crowley, as soon as possible.

[brainddeadd]

luke hughes back in michigan and running into the girls he’s even crushing on for years since he met her at umich. quinn and jack are with him and they are so surprised because they have never see luke act this way towards anyone

A sun-soaked afternoon at a local coffee shop near the University of Michigan. Luke, Quinn, and Jack Hughes walk in, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. As they chat and laugh, Luke's eyes scan the room, landing on a familiar face—you.

You’re seated at a table, absorbed in a book, and a soft smile crosses Luke’s face. He nudges Quinn and Jack, pointing subtly in your direction.

“Is that…?” Luke begins, his voice barely a whisper, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yeah, it is!” Quinn replies, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been talking about her for years!”

Jack smirks, noticing the way Luke’s demeanor shifts from relaxed to a flurry of nervous energy. “You’re actually blushing, dude. This is gonna be good.”

“Shut up!” Luke shoots back, his cheeks warming as he tries to compose himself. “I’m just… surprised.”

“More like you’re crushing hard,” Quinn teases, and Luke shoots him a glare.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Luke says, straightening his posture and walking over, trying to appear casual but failing spectacularly. He trips over the leg of a chair, stumbling slightly before catching himself, and the sound of the small commotion draws your attention.

You look up, a smile spreading across your face as your eyes meet Luke’s. “Hey, Luke! Long time no see!” you say, closing your book.

“Y-yeah! Um, hey!” he stammers, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t expect to see you here… like, at all. Are you, um, back for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for a few weeks. I’m excited to enjoy some time off,” you reply, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “What about you? How’s the hockey life treating you?”

“Oh, you know, just trying to survive the ice and all that,” he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered. “But, um, it's good! Really good.”

Quinn and Jack exchange amused glances from a distance, grinning at their brother’s awkward charm.

“Yeah? That’s awesome! I’m so glad to hear it,” you say, leaning forward, genuinely interested.

Luke’s heart races, and he feels like he’s lost the ability to speak coherently. “S-so, do you, um, come here often?” he asks, internally cringing at the cliché pickup line.

You giggle, finding his awkwardness endearing. “Only when I’m in town. This place has the best coffee.”

“Right, right! Coffee is great! I love coffee!” he exclaims, trying to regain his cool but only making it worse. “I mean, I like coffee. You know, not as much as other things, but it’s up there!”

You can’t help but laugh again, and Luke feels his heart skip a beat at the sound. “What’s your favorite drink here?” you ask, enjoying the banter.

“Um, probably the, uh, caramel macchiato,” he stumbles, finally regaining some composure. “You should try it! It’s—um, really good!”

“Sounds good! Maybe I will,” you say, smiling softly at him, sensing his nervousness. “I could use a little pick-me-up.”

Just then, Quinn and Jack saunter over, both grinning like Cheshire cats. “Oh, we didn’t mean to interrupt,” Quinn teases, crossing his arms. “But Luke here was just telling us how much he missed you.”

“Shut up!” Luke snaps, his face flushing deeper as he shoots his brother a playful glare.

You laugh, watching the playful dynamic between the brothers. “You guys are hilarious,” you say, trying to ease the tension for Luke.

“Yeah, he’s not usually this awkward,” Jack adds, winking at you. “You bring out a different side of him.”

Luke groans, burying his face in his hands. “Okay, can we not? I’m just trying to have a normal conversation here!”

You grin at him, feeling a flutter in your chest. “I think it’s sweet how protective your brothers are. You’re lucky to have them.”

“They’re more of a pain than anything,” Luke mumbles, but he can’t hide his smile. “But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. So, um, do you want to hang out sometime while you’re back?”

Your heart skips, and you nod eagerly. “I’d love that! Just let me know when you’re free.”

“Cool! Great! I’ll, um, text you?” he stutters, looking hopeful yet nervous.

“Definitely,” you reply, feeling a warm thrill at the thought.

As you part ways, Luke can’t help but grin as he rejoins his brothers, who are still chuckling. “What was that?” Jack asks, an amused glint in his eyes.

“I don’t know, man! I was just… talking!” Luke protests, but the smile on his face betrays his excitement.

Quinn claps him on the back. “Well, you didn’t trip over your words too much, so that’s a win!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke replies, still riding the high of your interaction. “I think I really like her.”

“Ya think?” Jack teases, but there’s a warmth in his voice. “Looks like someone’s got a summer crush.”

Luke chuckles, a dreamy look in his eyes as he walks out of the café. “It’s more than a crush. I’m gonna make this summer count.”

[solxamber]

Chasing Fairytales || Neige LeBlanche

Neige is convinced that you're either allergic to him specifically or he's done something to offend you with the way you're avoiding him. You're just trying not to get blinded by his smile.

Neige LeBlanche is baffled. Every time he sees you, your face contorts like you just bit into a lemon dipped in hot sauce while sitting on a cactus. It's a new look, and honestly, it worries him. You used to at least smile at him, maybe even nod, like normal people do. But now? Now, you treat him like he’s carrying some weird medieval plague.

He thinks back to every interaction. Did he step on your foot? Spill something on you? No, nothing comes to mind. One day you were acquaintances—maybe even teetering on the edge of friendship—and the next, you were bolting out of rooms faster than a cat hearing a vacuum.

Which brings him to his current situation: sitting in the house he shares with his friends. They’re all squished together on the couch, and Neige is surrounded by blank stares. These guys are his sounding board, but right now, they’re as useful as a broken umbrella in a hurricane.

“Did you sneeze on them?” Grum suggests, not even looking up from his game console.

“No, no, that wouldn’t be it,” Dominic pipes up, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe you accidentally sent them a weird text? Like one of those autocorrect disasters?”

Neige shakes his head, thoroughly confused. “I haven’t texted them anything strange…”

Hop, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nods sagely. “Maybe they saw you at a buffet once and you took the last of the mashed potatoes. People hold grudges over that kind of stuff.”

Timmy just blushes and mumbles something unintelligible while Snick chimes in with, “Could it be allergies? Maybe they’re allergic to you?”

At this point, Neige is spiraling. Allergies? Mashed potatoes? Is there a secret mashed potato incident he forgot about?

Toby simply taps Neige’s shoulder, holding up a drawing of two people holding hands with a big smiley face. Neige squints at it and tries to translate Toby's silent wisdom. “So… I should hold their hand? Is that what you’re saying?”

The group falls silent for a moment, pondering this profound suggestion. Then Shelpie yawns and says, “Maybe you’re just overthinking it. People are weird.”

Neige sighs, still no closer to figuring out why you’ve suddenly started acting like he’s carrying the plague.

Neige comes back to the club room after a long day of shooting and classes, ready to grab his bag and head home. As he's packing up, something catches his eye—a boxed lunch sitting right there on his desk. He blinks at it, confused. Is this...lost and found material? Was someone in too much of a hurry and just ditched it here?

But then he sees the note. "I’m cheering for you, Neige!" followed by a heart and a little smiley face. The handwriting is unmistakable—it’s yours. He stares at it, even more confused now, and kinda flattered too.

He scratches his head, wondering if he's entered some bizarre alternate universe where the person who avoids him like he's contagious is also sending him homemade lunches. "What did I do to deserve this?" he mumbles to himself, half expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and yell “Surprise!”

Another day, Neige is stranded on campus, waiting for the rain to stop. His umbrella? Oh yeah, he gave that to a girl with a cold earlier because he's just that nice. Now he’s soaking and shivering under a tree, watching the downpour like it personally offended him.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps and sees you walking by, your jacket pulled tightly around you. It's the perfect chance to finally talk to you, to maybe say thanks for the mystery lunch. He smiles at you, hoping this might be the icebreaker he’s been waiting for.

Your reaction? You freeze like you’ve just seen a ghost, eyes wide and panicked, and before he can even get a "Hey, how are you?" out, you launch your umbrella at him like it's a grenade. "Wha—?" he barely gets the word out before you're gone, running away with your jacket awkwardly balanced over your head like a makeshift hood.

Neige stands there, soaked and confused, holding your umbrella and thinking, "We could have shared that, you know…"

The next day, he spots you again, this time crouched in the courtyard, petting a cat. You're cooing at it, making all those weird sounds people make when they think no one's watching, and the cat?

It's loving it, basking in the attention like it's at a spa. Neige sees an opportunity to approach—no rain this time, no excuses. He kneels beside you, reaching out to pet the cat too. "Cute, isn’t it?" he says, smiling softly.

You, on the other hand, barely look at him. "Yes, cat," you mumble like it's some kind of mantra, eyes darting nervously. Then you do a quick check of your phone and blurt out, “Oh no, I’m late for our class!” before bolting upright and sprinting off like a marathon runner.

Neige watches you go, utterly perplexed. "That class is in five hours," he says to the cat, who just looks up at him with a smug purr, like it's in on some cosmic joke that Neige will never understand.

Neige is lost. He's been called naive before, but this? This is a whole new level of confusion. And maybe—just maybe—a little heartbreak. You used to treat him like an actual person, not just a walking photoshoot waiting to happen.

Now? You're acting like he’s got some sort of rare, contagious celebrity plague, the kind of thing you’d catch from standing too close to a red carpet. Every time you see him, your face scrunches up like you just bit into an entire lemon, rind and all.

He’s walking through campus when he spots you with Vil. Now, Neige likes Vil. He admires him, even. Dreams of the day they’ll sit together, drink tea, and discuss which highlighter makes you look “ethereal but approachable.”

But right now, all he sees is you laughing and waving your hands like you’re auditioning for a role in a one-person circus, and Vil? He’s smiling at you like you’ve just told the funniest joke on the planet. And Neige feels something... alien.

It’s not heartburn from that extra-large mocha frappuccino he had earlier—no, this is worse. His stomach twists, his heart sinks, and it’s official: Neige, the cinnamon roll of the universe, is jealous.

Back home, he gathers his trusty team of consultants: Timmy, Toby, and the rest of the gang, who are sitting around the table, looking like they’re about to solve world hunger or invent a new kind of pizza. Neige dumps the whole story on them, his head in his hands.

“And then,” Neige groans, “they just ran away, like I had some kind of... I don’t know... ‘Famous-People-itis!’”

Timmy leans back, strokes his chin with all the fake wisdom of someone who has never solved a problem in his life, and says, “Neige, it’s obvious.”

Neige perks up. “It is?”

“Oh yeah.” Timmy nods solemnly, like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “They’re sick.”

Neige stares at him. “Sick?”

Hop jumps in, wide-eyed like he’s just cracked the code to the universe. “Yeah! It’s so clear! They’ve got a classic case of... uh... ‘Stage-Fright-itis.’ Happens all the time when regular folks meet people like you.”

Neige blinks. “That’s... not a thing.”

Hop waves him off, undeterred. “Totally a thing. Maybe they’re allergic to fame. It’s like how some people get hives around cats. You’re like a walking award show, man. Just your presence makes people break out in nervous sweats.”

Dominic nods sagely. “Or worse. They could’ve caught ‘Starstruck Syndrome.’”

Timmy gasps, clearly thrilled by this new theory. “Yes! Classic symptoms: sudden avoidance, inability to make eye contact, randomly throwing umbrellas at you instead of saying hello—textbook case.”

Neige stares between them, confused but desperate. “So... you think they’re avoiding me because they’re sick? Like, fame-sick?”

Snick shrugs. “I mean, what else could it be? You’re Neige LeBlanche, man! Maybe they’re just overwhelmed by your... Neigeness.”

Neige feels like he’s fallen into some kind of alternate reality where this actually makes sense. He nods slowly, trying to absorb it. “Okay, so... they’re not mad at me? They’re just... allergic to me?”

Timmy grins. “Exactly! Just give it time. Maybe bring them a cup of tea. Or like... a calming crystal. And if it gets worse, well, maybe invest in a hazmat suit. Just in case.”

You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re chatting with Neige, all sunshine and sparkles, and the next, you wake up in a cold sweat, realizing you are absolutely, horrendously down bad for him. It’s not even subtle. It’s like a piano fell from the sky and crushed your chest with feelings.

But you? You’re... well, you. Neige is a celebrity, practically a walking ray of sunshine wrapped in a Disney Princess aura. Birds sing when he passes by, small woodland creatures would probably braid his hair if they had thumbs. And you? You’re the person who trips over their own shoes and talks to houseplants like they can solve your problems.

So, naturally, you do what any responsible person would do when faced with a crush that could upend their entire existence: you avoid him. Completely.

You’ll still be polite, of course—leave him the occasional lunch with a cute note, chuck an umbrella at him when it’s raining—but actual conversation? Nah.

That’s just asking for trouble. You’re already too attached, and the last thing you need is for this crush to grow into a full-blown romantic disaster.

One day, you’re chatting with Vil—well, "chatting" is a strong word. You’re pacing back and forth like a caffeinated squirrel, ranting about Neige and gesturing so wildly that Vil could probably make a whole meme compilation of just your hand movements.

“And he’s just so... pretty! It’s not fair! How can someone be that perfect? I swear, he’s like—like—” You flail dramatically, trying to find words for the cosmic injustice that is Neige LeBlanche.

Vil, who has been quietly sipping his tea, raises an eyebrow and watches the spectacle. At first, he’s mildly entertained. But the more you rant, the more he realizes something: you’re down bad.

You, who have somehow mastered the art of functional chaos, are completely, hopelessly in love with Neige. And Neige, poor, oblivious Neige, probably thinks you’ve contracted some rare, Neige-specific allergy.

Vil starts to laugh. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, head-back, hand-over-mouth, this-is-the-best-day-ever laugh. He finds it hilarious that you, despite being tangled in your own feelings, have the emotional awareness of a potato. And Neige? Well, he’s just confused, which is even better.

“You’re fools,” Vil says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Both of you. Foolishly in love.”

You don’t even register his comment. You’re too busy waving your hands around, grumbling, “It’s just... it’s not fair! Why does he have to be that pretty? I mean, does he wake up with that face?”

Vil sips his tea, smirking. This is prime entertainment. And that’s when he notices Neige across the way, glancing over at you two with wide, unsure eyes. Ah, poor, innocent Neige.

With a bit of mischievous spite—and maybe a touch of pity—Vil lets out a soft sigh and shifts his expression. He stares at you with the most lovesick gaze he can muster, his eyes practically glowing with “adoration.” It’s a look straight out of a romance drama, and he knows it’s Oscar-worthy.

Neige sees it. And Vil sees him see it. The realization hits Neige like a freight train. His eyes widen, his mouth opens in a soft, shocked “O,” and Vil? Oh, Vil is living for this. The confusion, the dawning horror, the jealousy—all of it.

Neige, who probably hasn’t had a jealous bone in his body until this moment, now looks like he’s contemplating the meaning of life, death, and why Vil is looking at you like that.

Meanwhile, you’re still pacing, completely oblivious to the emotional chaos you’ve just triggered. “And another thing—how does he smell that nice all the time? It’s not normal, Vil. It’s witchcraft. I bet he’s got a secret team of scent specialists just following him around.”

Vil stifles another laugh. “Yes, yes. Quite the mystery.”

Neige, on the other hand, is staring at the two of you like you’ve just declared war. He doesn’t understand it yet, but for the first time in his life, he feels something dark and uncomfortable curl in his chest.

Vil catches his eye again and gives him the tiniest smirk. Neige stiffens.

You, still on your rant, throw your hands in the air. “I just... I don’t get it. It’s like... he’s too perfect. I can’t deal with it.” And Vil can't even muster the energy to get offended. He thinks this is prime entertainment.

Vil pats your shoulder, thoroughly amused. “Perhaps you should... have a word with him.”

You stop, finally noticing Vil’s smug grin. “What? Why?”

Vil just smirks and takes another sip of tea. “Oh, nothing. Just a hunch.”

You’ve finally decided that enough is enough. You’re going to talk to Neige. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say—probably something awkward about feelings and how he’s so perfect it makes your head spin—but the important thing is that you’ve made up your mind.

It’s time to stop running away like a scared cat and face him like a grown adult. Or, at the very least, someone who’s pretending to be a grown adult.

So, you walk to his house, your heart hammering in your chest, rehearsing about a dozen different ways to break the news. "Hey, Neige, I think I might be a little bit in love with you..." or maybe, "So, uh, funny story, I can’t look at you because you’re too attractive and it’s ruining my life."

But just as you raise your hand to knock, the door flies open, and there’s Neige, looking frazzled and... holding a hazmat suit.

“Here!” He thrusts it at you like it’s a life-saving device. You blink at the suit, then at him.

“Uh... why?”

“Because you’re allergic to me!” Neige says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare. He stares back, eyes wide and earnest, and you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or cry.

“Neige, that’s not... that’s not a thing that happens to people.”

“But you’ve been avoiding me!” he blurts, clutching the hazmat suit like it’s his last defense. “Every time I see you, you run away, or—” he frowns slightly, “—you throw things at me, like umbrellas! I just thought... maybe you were... allergic?”

You feel a pang of guilt seeing the hurt in his eyes. Here’s Neige, genuinely thinking he’s the problem, when really the only issue is that he’s so perfect it makes your brain short-circuit.

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Neige, I’m not allergic to you. I just...” You swallow, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been avoiding you because... I like you. A lot. Like, in a romantic way.”

For a moment, the world stops. Neige blinks, his face blank as his brain processes your words. Then his heart stutters, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee.

You panic. “Wait—what are you doing?!”

Is he skipping directly to a proposal? Is he about to reject you so hard he’s physically collapsing? You stare, horrified, wondering how things escalated this quickly.

But then Neige laughs, a bright, happy sound that immediately sets your heart racing in a different way. “No, no, I’m not proposing! I mean—unless you want me to—but, um, I was just going to ask if you’d be my partner.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then before you can stop yourself, you grab him by the collar and kiss him. His lips taste like cotton candy and a dream come true, and for a moment, everything feels like a fairytale.

When you finally pull away, Neige’s smile is so blinding it’s a wonder the sun hasn’t given up trying. “I think I was... jealous?” he says, almost like he’s surprised by the revelation. “That’s never happened to me before. When I saw you with Vil... I didn’t like it.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. “Vil? Don’t worry about him. He’s my friend. He was just messing with you for fun.”

Before Neige can respond, there’s a loud achoo from behind a nearby bush. You both turn to see his friends slowly emerge, looking sheepish. Snick is rubbing his nose, and Grum is pretending he wasn’t just crouched in the bushes like a nosy little spy.

“Well, this is awkward,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.

But they aren’t even phased. They burst out cheering, clapping and whistling like they’ve just witnessed the grand finale of a romantic drama. You can’t help but laugh as they chant congratulations, even though you want to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment.

Neige turns to you, smiling that bright, pure smile of his. “Maybe this is a fairytale ending after all.”

And for once, you think maybe—just maybe—you’ve finally found your happily ever after.

Masterlist

[donutz]

Yandere Catnap x female Smiling Critter cat reader

Request from Wattpad-! Here you go Buttmens(💀)☆

Being locked up in these cells is insufferable.

Catnap and I can’t do anything.

We both operate on sleeping. So we both have the red gas. We both used it, it was built into our system. Yet we end up into these cells for it. Apparently, it causes violent nightmares. From Catnap’s gas. Neither the workers nor I know if my gas causes nightmares.

They still put me in containment. Plus, I was similar to Catnap, not approaching the kids. So they were all wary about me and that gas product.

Even when Catnap and I are locked up, we still communicate. Not verbally. Telepathically, you could say. We intertwine our tails to communicate. Our tails are very long so it’s not hard.

Catnap’s planning to kill the people in this place. To work with Experiment 1006, seeing him as a god, and he’ll save us. Considering Catnap is just a kid(Hmm… I wonder why I bolded, underlined, and italicized the word kid… Hmm…)

You’d think he’d be joking because he’s a kid. But, considering who Catnap is, he’s not. At random times of the day he’d whisper, “THE PROTOTYPE WILL SAVE US.” Or something like that.

I’m not sure if I’ll follow Prototype—

“Hey guys…”

The sound of your bright friend’s voice interrupted both of your thoughts.

“Uhm. A kid drew both of you, they were wondering if you were going to come back…” He gave you two the kid’s drawings, it was sloppy, but you appreciated it.

“Do you… Know, when you two are coming back…?” You said no, while Catnap didn’t answer.

“Oh…”

You reach your paw out the cell, and put your finger on Dogday’s head. You then move it to his ears, petting him.

“We’ll come back, Dogday. Eventually.”

Moving to the underside of his chin, you give him scratches.

“Mm.. Okay!” His tail was wagging pretty fast, as he is a dog.

Then you gave him a small poke on his nose, “Now you go on and make the kids happy, okay?” You said.

“Mhm! Bye you two!” He waved his paw, signaling his goodbyes.

Normally, from you doing that to someone. Catnap would get pretty jealous. But it’s Dogday. So it’s okay. Catnap trusts Dogday, he knows he wouldn’t do that. Not to Catnap.

Though you could still see the jealousy on his face. He gave you that spooooky scare, silently communicating on why you did it.

“It was because I knew he needed some comfort Catnap. We’ll stay together until the end.” (Not in the romantic adult way, like the way when kids got little crushes on each other or somethin. The type you’d see in little kids shows, it’s rare, but it’s there. I will NOT make the reader feel that way about Catnap).

Then he stopped looking so jealous.

Now it’s the day. The day Catnap will act out, he’s already out of his cell, because he snuck the worker’s keys. Then he let you out.

“Do you… Want to kill with me…?” He asked.

You weren’t too sure. Not the critters, not the toys. Not any of the toys. Just the bad adults and stuff.

“Only the bad adults..” You answered, you weren’t sure if he’d accept the answer, but thankfully he did. He then left.

You were alone now.

‘I should alert the critters.’ You thought.

They were all in a room, then you rushed into it.

“YOU ALL NEED TO RUN. GET THE KIDS TO A SAFE PLACE. SOMETHING BAD WILL HAPPEN ANY SECOND—”

Screams. Men and women, kids. They were all yelling and screaming. Out of fear, not of joy. The critters were confused? What were you talking about? Why did they hear someone scream? And why wasn’t it from joy?

“GET THE KIDS. NOW.” They were all asking questions, but followed along. Well, Dogday mainly did, as the leader he multitasked. Getting the critters and kids safe. Though it wasn’t very successful. 

You had to run. Run over to kill the ‘bad adults’. Like you said you would.

A few minutes later, you were managing to get the kids to a safe place while looking for your targets. You found it. The man who tortured and teased you and Catnap.

You can’t go back on this now.

You scruffed him with your paw and hesitantly ate him. Your pupils dilated. The taste was wonderful. You didn’t care about the kids anymore, you killed them. Threw them roughly to a wall, stomped on them, y’know, to put them out of their misery before you ate them?

You still had somewhat of a heart. Even killing all of these innocent children.

Ugh. That sounds gross, the adrenaline wore off for a second, and you could see the murder you caused.

All the blood, dead bodies. That was because of you! Catnap's so proud of you for doing such a good job!

He's quite surprised that you even got the courage to kill people. You were on the nicer side, trying to not have Catnap escalate things in his cold head(Even at his young age).

So to see you murdering people?! It was very entertaining.

You were looking at the bodies. Just staring. Then you saw Catnap. He walked up to you.

“Good… Job.” He praised.

Your pupils dilated from that. He rubbed his head against yours, cuddling with you slightly.

You could hear his purrs!

You cuddled back, purring. Just you two being cats. Extracting all of the— blood. That's spread around the place.

You're just a cat ^_^.

After the hour of joy, Catnap and you were just searching over the place, making sure there were no survivors. Though, Catnap sped away, possibly looking for someone.

You hoped Dogday was safe.

10 years later, you now ‘worshiped’ Catnap.

The way you thought about Catnap is the way Catnap thought about the Prototype.

Sadly, Dogday didn't believe in the Prototype. So he's… Chained up. You comfort him at times, Catnap doesn't really let you be around him. But you know he won't do anything, as long as he's watching.

Other than that you two were the cuddliest kittens ever!!!

Such a cute cat duo!!

You two would be a star if you didn't murder people.

[bouncybongfairy]

Hello I have an idea. I don’t know if I already sent you something but I don’t think I did so anyways here is my idea

So void gets into stiles body and he’s walking around thinking about his plans until his friend y/n and asks what’s wrong with him they figure out that stiles is actually void and they start talking back in forth until void says something that’s makes y/n’s werwolf suddenly come out and I mean like eyes glowing and fangs come out and then they start talking about y/n’s werewolf power and that she is a hybrid werewolf and then void asks what y/n does with there “prey” and they say I like to play with my food. He says do to me what you do to your “prey” and she does just that and she pins him to the ground and starts to claw at his back and bits his shoulder but he likes it and it just goes down from there.

If you do it then thank you but if you don’t it’s okay, you probably have better things to worry about :) :)

Cat and Mouse Games

Void Stiles x Werewolf Reader

Summary: Thinking Stiles asked you to hang out excited you. After going on a late night hike, he reveals himself to be Void. He teases and gaslights you into letting him fuck the shit out of you.

Word Count: 2.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Blood Kink, CNC kink.

Account Ref: @kaionyx

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It was Friday and you could barely keep your eyes open on the bus. Sleep deprived, also mentally exhausted from the academic and social aspects of school. Regardless of your exhaustion, Stiles invited you to hang out tonight, lately he’s been his own little world. Isolating himself and acting quite withdrawn when he did converse with you. That being said, you didn’t want to brush him off. After getting home you jumped in the shower. Welcoming the hot water burning your shoulders and back. Hoping it would loosen the tightness in your muscles. You cut the water off and stepped out of the tub. After wrapping your hair in a towel, you sit down at your vanity. Drawing a deep breath in and letting it out with a sigh, you start doing your make-up. Of course you wanted to impress, up until a couple weeks ago you thought there was something between the two of you. So now that he was showing interest in you again, it was important that you made your feelings clear. Not to mention Stiles was already so familiar with the supernatural. Once you were ready you texted him to come pick you up. Scrambling to gather your things together while waiting. He texted you a simple: here. Normally he would have called but you brushed that off and made your way outside. 

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, climbing into the passenger seat of his beat up Jeep.

“How are you?” he asked without looking over. 

“I’m pretty good, tired but good. What about you? I feel like we haven’t hung out in forever,” you chuckled, clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Yeah sorry, I just been discovered new things about myself,” he said. 

“Oooo, so mysterious,” you laugh before continuing, “are you okay though, like mentally? Sorry I don’t mean to pry and you don’t have to answer, I just noticed you’ve been kinda withdrawn lately. Even from Scott,” you said, treading very lightly. 

“I appreciated the concern but like I said, I’ve just been in my own head lately. Realizing things about myself that I needed to deal with, you know?” he asked. 

“Well, I’m just glad that you’re doing better than I thought. I totally understand what you mean, when I get in my head a lot, I usually go on a hike and it really helps. You know, like the fresh air and everything,” you said. 

“That’s crazy because I’ve been doing the same lately. Like nightly walks and stuff to clear my head, can I show you a cool trail I found? It’s one of my favorites,” he suggested and you agreed. 

The ride was pretty chill, just making small talk while the radio played quietly in the background. Even though there was nothing that really stuck out, something was off. Stiles was normally very bubbly and bright. Tonight he was anything but that. Extremely still and calm, never looking over at you when speaking. Keeping his eyes steadily on the road. All his laughs and chuckles seemed forced and dry. Not only that but it was just a feeling in your gut. Finally getting to the hiking trail, your suspicions only grew from there. The conversation was just so surface level, commenting on different plants and random shit. Another thing you noticed, was how unaffected he seemed to be by the cold weather. Eventually you stop entertaining the conversation, just walking in slightly uncomfortable silence.

“It’s a really nice trail right?” he asks. 

“Yeah there are a lot of little critters running around, it’s nice to see how lively it is tonight,” you said. 

“Yeah it’s real unfortunate,” he sighed which made your brows furrow. 

“Unfortunate?” you asked. 

“Well of course, all this prey, just going to waste,” he said, your heart began to race. 

“I’m confused, what do you mean by that,” you asked, slowing your pace down. 

“Oh it’s no secret that you’ve been confused this whole time. Do you think you were good at hiding it? It’s obvious that you think something is off about me, have you come to a conclusion as to why?” he asked, voiced laced with condescension. 

Immediately the realization hits you like a truck; he was Void. Your brain starts flooding with worse case scenarios and questions. Involuntarily your eyes begin to glow and claws come out. Unsure of what to do you just stand and watch him. Nothing in his body language indicated to you that he would try to hurt you. At the same time, you knew what Void was capable of. 

“You know Stiles is still in here and I can’t deny the sexual fantasies he has about you are truly a sight to behold. He is a nasty little guy. He likes the fact that you’re stronger than him. He’s never told you this but watching you hunt gives him a rush like no other. Can’t say I don’t agree-” he tried to continue but was interrupted. 

“What’s your point? Honestly, like… seriously are you just gonna ramble till we both drop dead?” you asked

“Egar are we? Well, like I said I would be lying if I didn’t indulge myself in his fantasies. I mean, look how powerful you are, quite literally an apex predator. Teeth sharper than daggers, claws that can shred flesh like it’s paper. Don’t you wanna give in to your natural instincts?” he asked, making such strong eye contact that you were getting uncomfortable. Shifting back and forth, the fight or flight reflex tethering on the edge of uncontrollable. When you didn’t respond, he continued,

“When you first got turned, it took you a couple months until you could control your impulses right? I just wanna see those instincts in person, how do you normally kill your prey?” he asks. 

“I like to play with it before going for the kill, like hobbling it before finishing the job,” you say quietly, fearing the silence would make you appear weak.

“Say it with your chest, why are you so ashamed of your biological instincts?” he asks, tilting his head to the side a bit, “Show me how you hunt, like i’m your prey,” he half demands half asks. 

“You want me to attack you?” your heart was beating out of your chest, “that’s- I’m not doing that, why would you even want that?” you ask, taking a few steps back. 

“I want to feel your internal conflict, the shift from the good girl persona you sell to well and pull out what’s underneath. A whore that gets off on the most shameful activities. You may fool yourself, however I’m not so easily persuaded,” he said approaching you, he was trying to taunt you and it was working. 

Scott had warned you about how dangerous Void was, that he was the definition of toxicity. Now that he was standing here, inviting you to tear him up the way you would a deer. You felt disgusted that you were actually tempted to attack him. It was true, when you hunted you felt powerful. Like there was nothing that could stop your reign of terror on your chosen prey or target. He was now only a foot away from you, eyes were completely black. Jaw was clenched, indicating that he was getting impatient. Your eyes were locked on him, pushing him back which only hummored him. Becoming irritated with the anxiety building up inside, you turn and walk away. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of having a second more of your attention. This infuriated him, an all powerful Nogitsune such as himself was never to be ignored. To be denied a request; seeing you walk away from him only made him watch you unravel you more. 

“You think you can ignore me? The same way you’ve ignored all the urges and needs swarming in your brain on a full moon? I will get what I want out of you, making you act on every sinful desire you have. Even if I have to reach down your throat and rip it out myself!” he roared, stomping towards you while shaking in anger. 

Something in you snapped, the taunting was enough to make you go crazy. All you wanted was for him to shut the fuck up. Jumping on top of him, you use your claws and swipe at his chest. Blood starts seeping through his cotton shirt, taking a look at his face to catch the reaction. To your dismay, he chuckles letting his head fall back. It wasn’t until then that you realized what he meant when saying he wanted to see your internal conflict. This was conflicting; expecting to look up to see him damaged. Normally giving you a satisfied feeling but this was different, normally content in a platonic way. The way his head fell back and the smirk on his face. You couldn’t deny being turned on by how twisted he was. How unaffected he seemed to be by your attacks. Adding another slash across his chest, it felt so good being vicious. For so long you’d bent your instincts to Scott’s mission of keeping the peace in Beacon Hills. Letting your mind be wrapped in a foggy daze while letting your urges run wild was an intoxicating feeling. He pulled his shirt off, hands becoming soaked in blood. He reaches up and takes your face into his hands. Leaving bloody hand prints on your cheeks. Pulling you down so your lips were hovering over one another. You could feel the blood from his chest seep into your shirt. Starting to fall deeper into the kiss, you let your full body weight press onto him. He suddenly flips the two of you over swiftly, now keeping a tight hold on your hair. His hands were sticky with blood, only making for a better grip. 

“Did you really think I'd let you use me to satisfy yourself without a fight?” he asked, holding you down with his body weight. 

Feeling a little too vulnerable, you bite down on his shoulder. Feeling his skin pop as your canines break through. He lets out a loud groan, leaning into the bite which makes your lower stomach burn with pleasure. He pulls your head up slightly by the hair and pulls it back down, indicating he wanted you to let go after a while. You refuse; after realizing he was caught in your jaw, he moves his hands from your hair to your throat. Hair still stuck to his hands, which covered your face as he changed hand placement. At first it seemed like you’d be able to keep this up. Until his grip became tighter and your breathing became strained. Towering over you and focusing most of his weight on your throat. Your vision was becoming blurry and cloudy, you scratched at his shoulders. When this doesn't phase him, you rake your claws down his back. Trying to put in the last of your strength into shredding his back before passing out. 

Void watched as your eyes become glossy, the feeling of your nails in his back making him rock hard. Chuckling as your arms went limp, falling off his back and to the ground. He let go of your throat and turned his attention to your body. He lifted your skirt and pulled your panties to the side. Muttering a couple curses as he uses his fingers to feel how wet you were. Even your thighs were wet and sticky from you leaking desperately for his cock. He uses one hand to rub himself against your entrance and the other hand to start slapping your chest. Watching you bounce as he tried waking you up. Once you started coming to, he began fucking himself into you. Moaning as you started becoming more aware of what was happening. Blood drips from his back and shoulder onto your body. The only thing you were focused on was chasing your orgasm. Rocking your hips into him, trying to get him as deep as possible. Noticing this, his thrusts become rough and fast. His hip bones piercing into your ass painfully. Gripping your hips hard enough to embed his nails into your skin. 

“What kind of whore gets off on this? Are you that desperate for attention?” he taunted as he destroyed your pussy. 

You let your body go limp, enjoying and accepting anything he had to offer. He moved his hands back to your throat. Seeing your face turn red and gasping for air was what sent him over the edge. His climax racking through his body, you came slightly before him. Seeing how your helplessness and pain was enough to make him cum was what made you climax. By the time both of you rode out the highs, you felt completely worn out. Like your body was carrying the weight of a ton, forcing you to stay on the ground. His shoes walking away were the last thing you saw before losing consciousness.

[favcharacterpoll]

ROUND 6 MATCH 3: CECIL VS. C!WILBUR

Cecil Palmer from Welcome to Night Vale faces c!Wilbur from the dsmp. @10piecechickenmcnugget get over here sage

Cecil Propaganda:

"Cecil is not only the Tumblr sexyman, he is the first gay protagonist of a podcast that most of us have ever heard. From the very first episode he was unashamedly queer and no one has ever called him out or given him shit for being gay. He is a gay Jewish fashion disaster who is the mouthpiece for an incredibly bizarre town and plays the whole “this horrifying thing is completely normal”thing so well. If Cecil wasn’t there, I think a lot of people wouldn’t have felt so accepted for just being who they were. Cecil is an inspiration and the queer podcast rep we all deserved as we were growing."

"he’s gay. he’s a dilf. he’s ageless. he has been since there’s was nothing and he’s still here after the world ended. he can summon music. his mother is a oracle his father is a tree. his cat is a man who got cursed and also has wings a stinger and poison??? he thinks a tutu and crocs is formal wear and has talked to god and she said ‘I love you. I’m sorry’. he’s definitely guilty of manslaughter from negligence"

"this is the website Night Vale built!"

c!Wilbur Propaganda:

"Accurate depiction of mental health and spiral, handled delicately and deliberately, every piece of his story was thought and planned and in the end he went home to Utah. Thank you lord."

"Please don’t let the name dream smp effect how you feel about this submission, this character is completely unrelated to dream and I’m pretty sure the person who played him has nothing to do with dream anymore. This man single handedly got me through a horrible patch filled with extreme paranoia by also being extremely paranoid. Genuinely really helped me feel seen and I coped a lot by getting invested in this character. I almost cried when he died :("

"He’s so fucking stupid. I could infodump for hours this man transed my gender. Everything has gone wrong in his life. He’s the definition of a bisexual disaster."

"I didn’t fail 10th grade math bc I was thinking about c!wilbur for him to lose round one"

"I mean look at him!! his Minecraft skin is adorable!!!"

"if you people vote for cwilbur i'll draw him in a bikini."

"A VOTE FOR C!WILBUR IS A VOTE FOR GIRLBOYS EVERYWHERE"

"i should not have underestimated minecraft fans they came together"

"Season 1 changed me. I didn’t know minecraft videos could have good acting, dramatic plots, etc. Wilbur was one of the best there. His plot was so interesting with the L’Manburg and the unfinished symphony arcs. He was funny, dramatic, sad… I fondly remember my dsmp days (though I only saw up to like part of Tommy’s exile)"

[copperbadge]

RE watching thoughts: I’m not 100% sure, but it might be that the whole “I am not my thoughts” is about engaging and identifying with your metacognition MORE than your initial thoughts. Because I get where you’re coming from - what is a consciousness but a collection of thoughts and feelings? But you can also have thoughts about your own thoughts that are more useful for dealing with whatever situation you’re in, I guess. (Random aside - every time I start thinking about thinking about thinking my brain inevitably starts thinking about Tiffany Aching and The Wee Free Men.)

I really should have replied to this ask sooner because it's going to seem like a non-sequitur now (this was sent much earlier in March) but I'm kind of glad I didn't, because I've been chatting with people about this and I think I understand more why there's an emphasis in some therapies on the idea that we are not our thoughts.

(I uh, haven't read the Tiffany books so I'm not much help there.)

I am coming to understand that many, perhaps most, people judge themselves, comprehensively and harshly, based on their thoughts. Perhaps it's just a lot of people who struggle with mental health, but given the commonality of the sentiment I don't know if I'd confine it that tightly; generally it appears that people cannot conceive of themselves as anything other than a binary of good or bad. So many people I've talked to about this portion of DBT, the watching-questioning-identifying thoughts portion, say that it helps to snap them out of a spiral of "I'm a horrible person, I deserve to suffer/die, I can never be redeemed" after they've failed at something, or had a negative thought, or reacted poorly to an unexpected event.

That is not something I've ever experienced. I mean, jokingly maybe, but not in a real, internal sense.

And that's not to brag -- I'm not saying I think I'm a good person, either, because I don't think I'm a good person. I don't conceive of myself in terms of good or bad. I never cuddle my cats and think "I'm such a good cat dad" or forget to feed them and think "I should die now." I have a perpetual morally neutral attitude towards my own existence; my thoughts and actions might trend me one direction or another but I'm aware of the temporary nature of that. If I fuck up I'll worry about who I might have hurt or whether I'll be fired or what's going to happen as a consequence, if I am polite to someone who didn't deserve it I know I was acting kindly in the moment, but I don't make an inherent moral judgement of myself based on that. And it seems like the vast majority of people do. Which you would think would make me feel pretty good about myself, but honestly...I don't know.

A lot of people I know who have ADHD or are Autistic have talked about seeing themselves as other, as alien -- like that one webcomic artist who draws themself with little antennae to indicate they're strange and different. I've always understood why one might do that, but I never felt that way myself, before or after the diagnosis. After all, let's remember, I was The Normal* Child of my siblings, and if I was The Normal One before the diagnosis, why wouldn't I remain Mostly Normal after?

* As ever, I'm using "normal" as a cultural term, to indicate what we think of as mainstream, not because normal is a thing that really exists.

My life has been relatively solitary -- I have friends and family and I love them but I'm rarely part of a large group, I don't spend a lot of time out in public interacting with people, I'm not a big socializer. Before the Adderall, I really couldn't be, I took too much psychic damage from interpersonal interaction, so I chose those very carefully. And now my DBT class has been a rare moment when I'm encountering contradictions to a lot of my assumptions about the way human beings in our society interact, react, and behave. I just...don't fit that mold very well. I think of it as having crossed wiring, not in the sense that I'm faulty but just in the sense that I'm very, very different. Not Normal. It's not exactly a bad feeling but it's certainly not a great one, internalizing the sensation of alienness.

DBT is proving to be a mixed bag but not in the way I or my therapist intended -- it seems to be either things I was already instinctively doing or things that simply do not apply to me. In one way it's disappointing because it means there isn't much help to be had (we're a little over halfway through the course and I keep thinking "Maybe next class will be useful") but on the other hand it's validating that so much of what I came up with myself as unconscious coping mechanisms is literally what I would have been told to do anyway.

Sometimes it's a combination of both, though, which really blows. I guess most people, if they reframe another person's actions, actually find emotional relief in that, and I don't. An example from the class is that if someone is rude to you, you can consider how they might be having a hard day, and be polite in return; that's great, in terms of defusing a situation, and it's something I do a fair amount of. But apparently it's also something that for most people results in feeling less awful about the interaction, and that's not the case for me. Which is why so much of DBT feels to me like lying to oneself. It's not lying for most people.

So, yeah. I'm going to finish out the course and keep trying things with the therapist but I suspect given everything, I might already be at "as good as it gets" in terms of emotional work. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, and there is still the option to try medication that could help, but I think there will come a point where I'm going to have to deal with the fallout of just how different I am, and how that has impacted my life. Might end up a good thing; something I've really been trying to resolve is unhappiness over being unpartnered and highly likely to remain that way, and at least if this provides a better understanding of why, then perhaps I can process that and put it to rest in a way I've been trying to do but not succeeding well at.

So, we'll see. But I find it both fascinating and kind of horrifying how many people can believe they are irredeemably bad, even if the belief is only temporary, simply because they had an uncharitable thought or impulse. It makes me somewhat grateful for the crossed wires, at least.

[syaolaurant]

Hi! I’ve seen your asks are open! I don’t have anything particular in mind, so use it as a joker: what do you want to tell us about Violette that you didn’t had the chance to tell us before? Love your drawings by the way, I’m impressed by your traditional skills 💙

Hi Faust! Thanks so much you are such a sweet friend 🥰 Hey and I already said I had my eyes on Faustine and I'll draw her someday, I already knew what story I'm gonna put her in so just wait there 🤗🤗

.

To answer your ask I'd love to borrow @traceyc-uk's The New Fifth Year (Hey Tracey hope you won't mind🥰!!). I've had this idea of how Violette and The New Fifth Year's first interaction would be like. And I think it's perfect for this ask.

So here's 3 facts about Violette I think I haven't shared before:

Violette's alignment is chaotic good. She doesn't really care what people think about her behaviors and sometimes she acts weird.

She has lots of scratches on both her arms due to her love for cats, and she'll try to pet every cat she sees. That's why she always wears long-sleeves shirt to hide them.

She has better heat tolerance than others, but her body temperature is always abit higher than normal people.

Well that's it for today I'm going to bed 😪😪 Hope you all have a nice day!!! 💖💖💖

[toddycats]

Actually can I talk about how being a furry let me come out of the closet to myself about being trans? Because I don’t think I talk about it enough.

I think most of my followers on here didn’t follow my original toddy-cats blog (I lost access to it, it still exists out in the world) but I made that when I randomly decided, mid pandemic, that I wanted to Become Part of the Furry Fandom. At the time, I had a really transphobic partner, barely ate food due to stress, and had crippling dysphoria with no name to put to it. I desperately wanted to be ABLE to be trans, but I thought I wasn’t suffering enough to be trans. I thought I wasn’t allowed because i was having this crisis at 20 instead of at 5. I thought I wasn’t allowed to just decide to transition. But I DID know I could just decide to be a furry, and it sounded like a good time.

So I reached out to some cool people I followed on tumblr at the time and asked them questions about being a furry (to which they responded “you can just be one. Do whatever you want forever.”) and I watched every episode of The Bottle on YouTube, and I drafted a design for a civet fursona — Salem, (she/her). I said “I love her! She’s amazing!” And then I said “hm.”

I thought to myself “well the thing about making a fursona for yourself is that you can just make them look like whatever you want, and act like however you want, and BE someone that you aren’t in real life.”

And so I did some googling along the lines of “is it problematic to have your fursona be a gender that you aren’t.” And people said “you can do whatever you want forever.” And so, Salem (she/her) became Salem (she/they) — nonbinary and bi-ace. In contrast, at the time, I publicly identified as an allo bi woman with a preference for dating men. But the furries online said I could do what I wanted with my fursona, and it felt right.

Over time, I made friends with the people who helped me get into the fandom. I made friends with their friends, and we made a discord server, and I used my fursona as my online persona. I asked people to call me Salem, and I asked people to use she/they pronouns, because that’s what Salem used.

And then I noticed something. I noticed that I LIKED using they/them pronouns. A LOT! More than she/her! And I LIKED drawing Salem as dressing and looking more masc! I realized I wanted to look cool like them! And then I realized I could change my fursona’s pronouns (and by extension my own, among my online friends) so that people used they/them for me ALL THE TIME. I could game the system! Then I realized that I could LITERALLY JUST PRESENT MASC IRL AND LOOK COOL AND BE HAPPY AND COMFY LIKE SALEM IS.

And now it’s been like nearly three years since all this started and I’m out to my family and my irl friends and at work. Salem has wings now. I’ve been debating changing my irl name to Salem, among other options. I’m going on HRT. I have a top surgery consult scheduled. I feel like a person with a future. I weigh a normal amount and am not skin and bones. I can go out in public without hyperventilating at the Trader Joe’s. I have a job in the field I trained for (biotech). I have a partner who is also trans and also a furry. We’re going to move in together and live in a little house with ivy growing up the walls. We have a cat. Life is the most worth living that it’s ever been for me.

[imperator-titus]

Be My Juice Box Ch. 5

Giving posting this here another try because it's pretty popular over on Ao3! I already posted Chapters 1-4 before on this post.

Every morning, Rowan poked her finger into the dirt of her new plant. The days were getting shorter, so she didn’t expect to see much in the way of growth, but she still carefully inspected it every evening while doing her blood draw.

This brought her happiness.

Every night, while Rowan was tucked away in her bed, Astarion very gingerly touched one of the leaves of Rowan’s plant. He didn’t know what this accomplished other than sating some strange curiosity he had about it.

This brought him something a little close to happiness.

Eventually, she replaced the plain cup it was given to her in with a ceramic pot in the shape of a cat. Next to it she placed a small seasonal gourd that she picked up at the faerie market across the street.

Astarion scoffed when he saw it. It didn’t fit at all with the rest of the decor.

“Oh, how charming,” Gale remarked during one of his visits, picking up the plant and giving it a look-over.

“Of course you like it.”

“Come now, Astarion. It’s a good sign.” Astarion lifted an eyebrow. Gale chuckled as he put the plant down. “It means she’s comfortable here. Even after your little conflict.”

“I apologized,” Astarion said a little petulantly.

“Yes, well, you only get so many of those.”

After Gale left, Astarion regarded the kitchen windowsill once more.

Okay. Maybe it was a little cute. He could live with it. 

----

Astarion rarely got up so early that it overlapped with Rowan’s work. Most of the time, he was entering consciousness around the time she was making dinner, lazed around in his coffin for another hour or so, and then was ready to go out when she was winding down after dinner.

That day, he got up a little earlier and only lazed about for 30 minutes before rolling out of “bed.” 

“AAAAAAAGH FUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Astarion actually lifted out of his seat. The vanity he was sitting at rattled, proving this fact.

If he'd been in his coffin, he probably wouldn't have heard.

Astarion came down and poked his head cautiously around the doorframe of Rowan’s office. She sat at her desk, one hand over her eyes, the other holding her phone to her ear. Shaking her head, she sat up and saw him.

Yeah. He knew that look. Idiots, who didn’t know they were idiots, and in fact thought they knew better, were telling her idiotic things. She even moved the phone away from her ear, the tinny voice from the other end going unheard, the universal sign of “I am done with this person.”

Knowing that she was fine, he left her to her work.

Later, while he was doing his nails, his phone buzzed.

>I’m sorry for disturbing you. Normally you can’t hear me.

🐑🌳?<

>I’m fine, just being asked to do the impossible, same old

Nails drying, Astarion thought. Hard. 

Acts of kindness did not come easily to him, but Gale recently gave him a lecture (affectionate) about how actions had meaning. This included a long list of suggestions for things he could do or say that might positively impact their relationship. Also warnings of things that might upset their delicate balance.

He needed Rowan to feel wanted. Not physically, Gale corrected sternly when Astarion made a comment that she wasn’t his type. She belonged in his space and he needed to show her that. She should be able to ask for help. She should be able to tell him when she was uncomfortable.

Otherwise, she would feel alienated from the world around her, or even herself, and feel beholden to set aside her self for his wishes.

Astarion could understand that. That had been his life for centuries.

In some ways, that was still his life.

Carefully tapping out a message with the tip of his fingers, he gave up his usual cryptic style of communicating for something more clear. Much like Gale, she could understand him, but they were much more forthcoming when he spoke their language.

Would you like to come out with me this evening? To let off steam, I mean.<

He watched in trepidation as the screen indicated she was typing. And then wasn’t. And then was typing again.

>It’s kind of you to offer, but that’s not really my thing. Thanks for asking! I have things I want to do around the house today. Have fun!

In her office, Rowan had her face in her hands, her ears burning red.

She, too, had been thinking about a lecture (affectionate) that Gale had given her.

----

Like most “creatures of the night,” Astarion didn’t like going out in the daytime. This was easier to avoid as the days got shorter, but the sun would rise eventually.

There was a subtle pain nestled behind his left eye as he walked home. Did he have too much to drink? Was he just tired from being out past sunrise? Who knows.

Thankfully, he could look as horrible as he felt under the safety of the hood and veil that protected him from the sun.

When he got home, he found a door open, spilling light into the hall. This door had gone unnoticed for perhaps the entire time he’d lived there.

It led to a basement. Snaking up the stairs came the sound of music and a rhythmic whirring and scraping.

Was this how it all ended? His home invaded by some crazed killer, some self-proclaimed vampire hunter with delusions of grandeur? Down there, ceremoniously butchering his donor?

“Oh, hey,” Rowan said breathlessly with a smile. Sweat glistened as it ran down the side of her face and down her chest.

Astarion had never seen so much of her skin.

The point being, she was fine.

He watched, a little bit in shock, as she stopped her exercising to give him her full attention. She even pressed the button on top of her little speaker to pause the high-octane music she’d been listening to.

“You just get back?” she asked, wiping off her sweat with a towel. Even over the ever-present smell of a basement, he could smell it. The notes of her unique biology that he could taste in her blood. Her.

“Yes,” Astarion answered simply, teasing off the fingertips of his gloves so they would come off more easily. “I didn’t realize you came down here.”

Rowan’s mild happiness retreated. “Oh, is that a problem? I’m sor-”

Astarion held up a still-gloved hand, cutting off her apology. “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re free to do- Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I was looking for some things and found this,” ‘this’ being a row-machine, “which I thought I got rid of. Figured I’d get back in the saddle.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said with a subtle smile, waving his gloves about in a flamboyant gesture as he turned to leave.

“Good night,” Rowan responded with a little laugh.

Tiredness was overcoming him, but Astarion decided to grab a bag of blood anyway. It was frankly awful, but he’d sip it straight out of the bag cold as he trudged up to his room.

On the kitchen island were some more ceramic pots, empty. They looked used, but freshly washed and drying. Perhaps those were the things she was looking for. He gave them a cursory inspection before breaking the seal on his “midnight snack” and heading for bed.

As he passed her rooms, something caught his eye.

She had started decorating. Just little things, like leaving trinkets around or propping up pictures.

Astarion wanted to snoop so badly. But, he knew that if she caught him in her space without permission, they would be back to square one, which he was already lucky not to be at after his master’s voice came out of his mouth.

So, he moved on.

When he got up later, he passed by again, stopping only because she was inside. Looking up from a box of her things, she gave him a small smile and a soft “hey.” 

She was listening to music, the kind of stuff that was supposed to be “subversive,” music he’d hear in clubs for humans who pretended they were creatures of the night. It was odd to hear it out of context, to see someone just… enjoying it, bobbing along with its beat, happily singing a line under their breath. 

It somehow annoyed him to know she liked that sort of thing and also… she was different.

Rowan noticed him lingering at the threshold, so clearly wishing to step forward. “You can come in, if you want.”

He wanted, so he did.

The furniture in the room was very “traditional,” mostly because it came with the place when he bought it forever ago when that was “modern.” Her things clearly didn't match, but they were… mostly tasteful. She was clearly considering them and their place.

Figurines, interesting rocks or shells, a specimen of a beetle. Photos, predominantly landscapes, reprints of art, some clearly handmade pieces.

She apparently really liked owls. There was a small cluster of frogs.

But what caught his attention most were the gnomes.

Not modeled after real gnomes, of course. They were an old folklore type of gnome, with big round noses and bushy beards or braids, their round stout bodies accentuated by tall pointy hats.

They came in many forms. They had themes. He could see boxes of them, but the ones that were out were fall and Halloween themed. A lot of oranges and yellows and browns. One was holding a little bat.

“Something wrong?” Rowan asked, watching with keen interest as he picked one of the little dolls up. It was green and had a nice heft to it, which Astarion tested by gently tossing it up and down in one hand.

“You have very curious tastes.”

Perhaps he didn’t use quite the right tone, because she looked a little hurt by this statement. Astarion did mean something by it. But it wasn’t supposed to upset her.

She snatched the creature from him and carefully fixed the little tangles he’d made in the beard or the particular way she wanted the hat’s point to be crooked. Then, as if placing a holy relic in its dedicated spot, she put it back where he found it.

“It looks nice in here,” he partially lied, putting a light laugh on top of his words. “Like someone actually lives here, for once.”

Her back turned to him, she sniffled. “Thanks.”

Oh. Tears. Astarion wasn’t prepared for tears.

“Well, I should go,” he said rather quickly, obviously trying to leave before this got worse. Already halfway into the hall, he called unconvincingly over his shoulder, “Good night!”

Well, that didn’t go well.

----

The plant had re-awakened a lot of things in Rowan that, at first, made her feel foolish.

After talking to Gale and thinking about the situation further, she felt less foolish.

It occurred to her that she only felt foolish because she’d been conditioned to hide herself. It even took her a while to stop hiding things she liked to do from her husband and capitulating to his non-existent desires when it came to things like decorating the space around her.

When he died, it was like all the progress had reset. Her space became boring and sparse. Looking at the things that once made her happy made her ashamed and sad and she put them away.

Then she moved and felt that everything must stay the way Astarion left it. But then she got tired of looking at bare walls and empty shelves.

It started with her idea to look through her boxes for an old Halloween costume to use for Gale’s party. She hadn’t actually confirmed if it was a costume party and, in fact, would later question this assumption, seeing as she couldn’t imagine Astarion inviting her to a costume party.

Nonetheless, she went through her things, neatly packed away in Astarion’s forgotten basement. She found her row machine and resolved to start working out again, to get out some of the frustrations of work. With her costume, she found some of her decorations and spent some time just digging through the wreckage of her old life.

Some things stayed down there, things that she wasn’t ready to look at again, but she figured, why not put some stuff out? It’s not like Astarion cared about what she did in her rooms. 

Like the plant, this made her happy.

Rowan didn’t really like the way Astarion was looking at her things, but per Gale’s advice, she reminded herself that his face didn’t always reflect his thoughts.

Then he picked something up and it was like he knew it was the one thing that would upset her.

The first thing that reminded her of her late husband that she felt comfortable taking out.

He couldn’t have known that, Rowan told herself. And it was okay to be a little upset.

After taking a moment to do some deep breaths, she went back to sorting through her things.

[catoperated]

Saw a post where someone described something as lame, a bunch of people in the comments said it was a slur, and a bunch more replied “how can that possibly be a slur.”

I’ll tell you… under the cut.

So let’s talk about ableist slurs.

There are a lot. Some terms relate to specific conditions. When you do a google search for “pinhead” the top results are all about Hellraiser. People who use it to describe someone as being stupid probably have no idea of its actual origin.

As a slur, it refers to people with microcephaly. People with small and/oddly shaped heads were a big draw at freak shows of the past. Oh yeah, “freak” is ableist, too. People fight back hard against that one. Y’know because they’re better than those freaks who like the wrong cartoon or whatever (sarcasm).

Lame refers to being unable to walk properly for whatever reason. You might’ve heard of lame horses, but even wiktionary outright calls using it to describe disabled people as dated and offensive.

Dumb was synonymous with mute in the past, which usually meant non-verbal autistics. “Blind, deaf, and dumb” was once a medical term referring to people who could neither see, hear, nor talk. Helen Keller was described as that, and before anyone gets into TikTok conspiracies, I’ve got a video for you. Was Hellen Keller a fraud?

No, but abled people on TikTok just can’t seem to wrap their heads around the concept of formerly non-communicative person, given the proper tools, being so eloquent. Hell, I can barely touch type on a standard keyboard, so I rely a lot on my phone’s assistive tools to do most of the work for me. Leads to very weird typos sometimes.

And yes, while I’m on the subject, I’m sick and tired of people using predictive text as an excuse to justify generative AI models built off stolen data and art. When people say “fuck AI” they mean that kind of AI, and to act otherwise is to be deliberately obtuse.

I debated if “obtuse” was a little to close to “stupid,” which I try to avoid. I personally wouldn’t go so far as to forbid people from using more general terms like that, or phrases like “are you blind”—I’m too tired to be combative about it when I’m constantly having to prove I’m disabled (they act like I’ll wake up one day miraculously cured from cerebral palsy) to keep my benefits, but alternatives like ridiculous are right fucking there. Expand your damn vocabulary. Please.

I feel like I need a break before the next part, so here’s one of my cats. His name is Riley.

(ID in Alt text, unless tumblr ate it again)

Maybe you think this post is ridiculous. I don’t care. I grew up being called a spaz and having people tap their hands to their chest to mock me—I’m not even quadriplegic, I’m diplegic, but I guess that’s just the universal sign for the r-slur.

Wild that we finally reached the point that “retarded” is widely accepted as not cool to say, but commenters on YouTubr using “regarded” as a stand-in for it is just… I don’t know, lazy?

All this is just me trying to distract myself from the fact I’m in the path of the hurricane and the lights are already flickering. The basement is most definitely going to flood even if it only wings us, and I do not look forward to dealing with that.

I have no bread, milk, or eggs because of the grand southern tradition of making a run on grocery stores when bad weather looms. I always wondered what people did when they ended up with an excess after it passed—make a shitload of French toast? idk I’m stress-digressing here.

Oh, and because we have to keep saying it, cripples can reclaim any and all of these words, but ableds cannot. I’ve seen people argue that abled, like cis, sounds like a slur, when it’s literally what cis able people are—able-bodied, cisgender, the “standard.”

And we all know how people can get when faced anyone who goes against that white, able, neurotypical, cisgender, straight “standard.”

Imagine me making air quotes with that, cause people treating those traits as being “normal” are so… droll. (sarcasm again)

[willowisapillow]

🐺❤️ He Ate My Heart Out ❤️🐺

*Rock eyebrow raise and Vine boom sound effect intensifies*

Sharandy my beloved,, oh how I’ve missed drawing these two together again (even though it wasn’t that long since I’ve last drawn them). Guess I just can’t quit these two.

Had the urge to draw these two again because I'm so sick and tired of seeing so much discourse and detractors about them as a couple on TikTok and YouTube. I’ve recently stumbled onto some edits of them getting a divorce, and while I respect others opinions on Sharon settling with a better man- y’all acting like Randy can’t get his act together and act like a normal husband towards her, which he’s done during the series like multiple times 💀

Though for the most part, I kinda blame the flanderization of him in recent years for this, especially with that one recent special where he bodyshames her, like, what the literal hell was that nonsense? I hate it sm, Randy would never do that 😣

My apologies if I sound like a broken record for saying this for the 200th time, Ik these two are an imperfect couple, but that’s what I like about ‘em. They don’t always act like a mushy, lovey-dovey, squeaky-clean, Disney-esque couple (not a jab at Disney couples, I live and breathe them, but you get my point). Both of them have their flaws like quarreling and bickering and that’s what makes their relationship realistic, because, newsflash, some irl couples act like that too. If their relationship were sunshine and rainbows all the time, then it would just be boring to watch. They’ve had plenty of moments to prove that they have a decent marriage. One of my DA friends said this a while back and I fully agree with them; a couple with their ups and downs is a lot better than a toxic marriage happening every single episode.

And at least Randy doesn’t treat Sharon awfully 24/7, cheats on her with other people, married her solely for her looks, or told her that he hates being with his kids. And imo they’re a healthier couple then the other parents like Staurt and Carol and Stephen and Linda don’t @ me plz-

So sorry if I went off on yet another tangent, I’m just your average online yapper who gets unnecessarily defensive over my fav fictional characters 💅🏾✨

My silly rant out of the way, when I was younger I had this habit of inserting my favorite franchises into random fairytales. I don’t know why I did it so much, I just liked the concept of it. I’ve done it with Mario, Banjo-Kazooie and Cuphead, now I’m doing it with South Park. The theme I wanted to go for was Red Riding Hood after binge watching those “Dark origins of your childhood fairytales” videos, bumping into some other fairytale AUs on here for some inspo, and listening to Monster by Lady Gaga and Won’t Bite by Doja Cat one too many times.

Wanted to go for a stylish but sultry look for Riding Hood!Sharon, and as for Werewolf!Randy I definitely went full on furry on him in this picture. I am not sorry at all. Now I just kinda picture some scenarios where he acts like an actual dog. Like, Sharon has him on a leash and takes him on walks, sprays him with a spray bottle anytime he starts actin’ up, or giving him some weed to calm him down when he enters feral mode. Randy is also very loyal and protective of his wifey, and will not hesitate to bite, scratch (and probably kill) you if you lay a finger on her. Also like the idea of him enjoying being scratched behind the ears and getting belly rubs haha

And I had a thought of having Stan playing the role of the huntsman, ‘cause I think it would be adorbs for him to help out his mama <3

🌲 🐺 ❤️ 🐺 🌲

[dreamlandreader]

Modern IC Halloween Headcanons

🎃 The Inner Circle all go hard for Halloween and put in lots of effort to make sure they make the most of it.

🎃 Rhysand and Feyre are absolutely a matching costume couple and you just know they’d be the sexiest pair in the room.

🎃 Until Nyx is born that is, when they would go full family mode. Nyx’s first Halloween Rhysand and Feyre dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood, whilst Nyx was dressed as a tiny lumberjack.

🎃 Nesta was never the biggest fan of Halloween as her parents never let her and her sisters go trick or treating. Once Nyx is born though, she loves getting to take him trick or treating with Elain and Feyre every year.

🎃 On the 1st of October every year, Feyre and Cassian would team up to drunk decorate like in ACOFAS, and poor Azriel would have to intervene so they didn’t just throw toilet paper everywhere, claiming it was a giant spiders web.

🎃 Elain would bake the BEST stuff. Pumpkin themed everything, deserts with spooky designs and the biggest chocolate orange cake as the centrepiece.

🎃 Mor would be on drinks duty. Coming up with cute cocktails and mocktails and maybe even some deathly punch.

🎃 Mor and Cassian would also fight over the right to make the party playlist and would eventually be scolded by Rhys for acting like toddlers. They would then be forced to make a joint playlist and would almost kill each other in the process.

🎃 The Valkyries would do a group costume and would be such a cute lil’ trio. Hocus Pocus remains their most popular costume choice, but Mean Girls was up there too.

🎃 Cassian would be very sad about missing out on Mean Girls and so the next year Nesta convinces the girls to let Cassian join in on their Wizard of Oz costume.

🎃 Amren would always turn up dressed in her regular clothes, because “Everyone tells me I’m scary, so I’m coming as myself”.

🎃 She pretends to be over the whole Halloween thing every single year, but Feyre has caught her on multiple occasions smirking to herself whilst watching Nesta jump-scare Cassian.

🎃 Az would also dislike dressing up and usually dressed in his normal attire of black jeans and a black t-shirt, but Elain and Feyre would always manage to convince him to let them draw some cat whiskers on his face.

[spidey-bie]

Hey buddy this is the-cat-and-the-birdie

Uhh quick question you got any Hobie headcanons? I’m curious and also not normal about him at all

also if you have any advice on how not to lose my mind everytime I see a drawing of him please let me know cause this man is robbing me of my heart and sanity

It's literally impossible I've tried so hard but my mind is gone.

Anyways headcanons. (Idk if you wanted relationship based ones or just Hobie related ones but oh well. These are gonna be random as hell lol.)

General Headcanons

You can take Hobie and his Caribbean roots from my cold dead hands (and even then I'll arise from the grave to fight you)

I feel like he knows how to cook but he acts like he can't just to mess with everyone.

Aroace Hobie supremacy here. (We all heard that I hate labels line right. Aroace was the first thing that popped in my mind IDC IDC.)

I feel like back in his home dimension he just picks up kids off the street to adopt. Or at the very least all the kids in his area know of him and absolutely adore him.

He crafts in his down time when he's not punching fascists. It started as just patches on his jacket but now he straight up just crochets plushies that he gives to the spider band and the kids in his area.

He's just the hypeman. Always hyping up his friends and motivating them because he didn't get that when he was their age.

He seems like he's the cool and suave type at first but he's actually a huge dork like every other spiderman. He's constantly telling Gwen and Pav about his favorite Punk artists and whatever new tech is coming out in his universe.

Romantic Headcanons

His love language is acts of service, physical touch, and words of affirmation Fight me.

Like he just is always on you if he can be. Leaning against you while talking, lying across you if you're sitting down, head resting on top of yours type beat. (You get what I'm saying here.)

He's the best guy to go too if you need a pick me up. You're feeling down? Well he's not having it.

He definitely takes you on the coolest kind of dates. Not the traditional movie and dinner type stuff. Nah y'all are gonna go to some underground spot that had a hidden entrance and a passcode.

He's fairly neutral to PDA. Like he probably won't initiate it himself half of the time. But if you initiate it he'll definitely reciprocate it.

A/N: This reminds me I have to do more research on Jamaican culture for future works. If someone could help there that'd be nice. That's one down 2 more to go. I think I haven't looked at my inbox yet.