#but he definitely stays tortoiseshell

[amber-tortoiseshell]

(ignore this if you're not taking warriors asks anymore) so, i just saw sol's canon design and I think it's really cool. but also isn't entirely possible from first glance. he's a calico that looks like some sort of dark colorpoint (sepia or mink) with the body having stripes but the points being solid. is there any way this could be possible (unless hes a chimera which would also explain being a male calico)? I'm thinking smoke could be in play and he simply has ghost markings, either a sepia smoke, or just smoke since sometimes it can look like colorpoint even if it isn't. what are your thoughts?

Yes, i don't think that's a realistic design, but well, don't let this stop us.

I think the tabby part is too brown to be full color smoke (maybe a chocolate?) and also i think the pointed-like effect on smokes is only visible if the cat has very short and maybe rex-type fur(?) which is. not the case for Sol lol*, but maybe we can work with mink/sepia. Thanks to felinefractious's amazing database i can provide examples how a smoke sepia and a smoke mink looks like:

The points aren't as well defined as Sol's are and these are bengals, of course - i don't think most smokes would have this clear patterns, let them be sepia or not. But why not make Sol a bengal mix then? (And if you want to keep the mackerel stripes, that's not a problem either, it can turn up in only one generation, since marbled bengals exist, and mackerel is dominant over marbled since it's a modification of blotched.) Maybe the smoke isn't even necessary in this case, it just makes the cat colder toned and the face more patterned, a simple solid sepia/mink with this kind of strong ghostmarking would work.

*Oh god i have another idea. That would be so funny. So imagine that he's a chimera. And one of his parts is a chocolate tortie or whatever with very short rexed fur - so it basically looks pointed. And then the other part is a dominant white longhair. That'd look so ridiculous i love it

Imagine the mix of these two cats. (1, 2)

[fruitcoops]

Needy

Day 6: Peanut, go back to the ren faire (or don't, you're not exactly suffering). Characters belong to @lumosinlove and header is from @noots-fic-fests!

Day 5 Halloween movie: Scream (1996). Cunty California FinnLo, you have my whole heart.

Rated M for suggestive content; TW for heavily seasoned dreams

CRACK.

“Mr. Knut. Austenian values exhibited in Pride and Prejudice.”

Leo just…stared. He could do nothing else. “Uh.”

Disappointment radiated off a single arched brow. “What period did Jane Austen live in?”

“The. Um.” Oh, his brain was gone gone. “Regency.”

“Did the people of the Regency era condone outward expressions of sexual behavior?”

I most definitely do. “No,” Leo managed to stutter out. “Probably not.”

“Thought I’d lost you for a second there. So.” The yard stick, still poised where it had come down on his desk, gave a creak as Finn leaned close and braced his free hand on the edge. His bare forearm flexed below his rolled cuff. Tortoiseshell frames made the cut of his hazel eyes even sharper. “What values are presented in Pride and Prejudice?”

“I…” The collar of Finn’s shirt looked starched to perfection. The front fit across his chest and shoulders like a glove; Leo could see the faint shadow of a cotton undershirt. His mouth watered. Finn smelled like old books and leather and his spicy going-out cologne. Books. He was supposed to be thinking about books. “I have no idea.”

Finn pinned him with a look. “Distractions aren’t permissible in my class, Mr. Knut.”

That shirt would be straining across Logan’s back. The fine silver chain of his necklace would—

Christ alive, Finn was wearing the necklace.

“Are you listening?” Finn asked with wry patience. He moved to lean back against the wide mahogany desk at the front of the classroom, ankles crossed. The yard stick moved in hypnotic circles between his fingers. “You’re a star student, Mr. Knut. These aren’t difficult questions for you.”

Leo swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“I don’t tolerate lackluster effort when I know you can do better.”

“Sorry.”

Finn nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one knuckle. Leo’s throat went dry as bone. “Mr. Knut,” he began, rocking easily into a step. “I don’t know what is taking up so much of your attention recently, but if it’s affecting your performance in my class, I think we need to have a talk.”

Oh god yes please. “We do?”

“It’s becoming a concern.” Finn rounded the far edge of the desk. His thumb tapped a pattern on the flat grain. The yard stick was abandoned, and Finn’s full attention fell on Leo like a floursack filled to bursting.

“I’m s—”

“Apologies aren’t necessary,” Finn said with a shake of his head. Twin lenses flashed in the glowing light of old-fashioned lamps, refracting honey and whiskey when he came to a stop once more in front of Leo’s desk. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

The soft sympathy would be unbearable. Shiny buttons shone in Leo’s direct line of sight, but the abs weren’t safe either—below them sat the polished buckle of Finn’s leather belt. His trousers were pressed and tailored to each round of his thighs. Leo dragged his gaze back to Finn’s face, guilty and so turned on his hand was starting to hurt where he gripped the side of his chair. “I don’t know,” he lied.

Finn looked at him over the frame of his glasses. “Really?” He smiled as if Leo was amusing, somehow, all pearly teeth and pointed canines this close. “I’m not gonna bite you. Give it a shot.”

“I have no idea.” If Leo threw himself forward, he could take that belt buckle between his teeth and beg.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Back-talking is rude.” Finn’s voice took on a firm undertone. His fingertips steepled on the edge of Leo’s desk, neat nailbeds going white from the light pressure. Leo wanted to look straight down the loose neck of Finn’s shirt and shove those graphite-smudged fingers in his mouth all at once. Instead, he stayed frozen. “Mr. Knut, I think I’ll take that apology now.”

Leo opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“I let you get away with a lot in here.” The timbre of Finn’s voice raised goosebumps down his back. Leo forced himself to look up again. He could smell the cologne. Could taste the way Finn tasted when that freckle on his lip was properly worshipped. Could feel the drag of thick red hair under his palms. “Are you listening?”

“Hmm.”

“I can’t let you get away with everything,” Finn sighed. “And it’s hard, but rudeness has to be punish—”

--

Leo shot awake and upright like he had been blasted out of a cannon.

“Glasses,” he blurted, slapping at Logan’s arm with blind clumsiness. “Glasses, Lo, the shirt.”

Logan grumbled and mumbled and pushed himself up, one elbow tucked tight to his side. His necklace dangled down toward the sheets. Every blink looked painful. “Quoi?”

Leo grabbed his chin with one hand. That seemed to wake Logan further—enough to get both eyes open, at least, though a look of sleepy alarm was defused by the smush of his cheeks. Leo’s heart hammered. He could feel his pulse everywhere. His head spun and his dick twitched. “You need to hide Finn’s glasses,” he ordered, out of breath. “We need to put them away.”

Logan squinted at him. “He needs them. To see.”

Leo groaned and released him, flopping back down with an arm across his eyes. Even his pajamas felt like too much. “I need them gone.” He pulled both hands down his face in a long drag. “To live.”

Finn made a low noise next to him. Leo’s pulse slammed—he chanced a peek. “Penguins,” Finn muttered. His eyes were shut. Copper lashes fluttered and went still. He shifted and pushed an arm under his pillow, burrowed into it, and fell quiet. The curve of his shoulder caught the moonlight. Leo needed to bite him so bad.

He made a soft, aching sound and looked back at Logan. He would understand the combination of desperation and sudden self-awareness brought on by unfortunate Finn-related dreams. “I need to him to spank me with a yard stick.”

Logan stared at him for a long moment, then bent to kiss Leo’s forehead. “I’ll hide the glasses.”

[fuzzyclink]

Rules and Regulations

A self indulgent one-shot Ceo!Au fic to celebrate the launch of Keir and Cirrus's second chapters tomorrow!

Tags: Cirrus/Reader, degradation, unethical office relationship, abuse of power, power dynamics, spanking, glove kink, pain and bruising, bad BDSM etiquette, gender neutral reader, reader body not described.

Link to AO3 version

You had been so desperate to find a job in your new city that you hadn’t been especially picky. You’d moved here as a last option, relocating because of the world-renowned hospitals in this area. There was an experimental study opening soon that focused on your life-threatening condition, and you knew that it might be your only option. Certainly, the bemused expression of the so-called “experts” in your hometown had discouraged you from staying. Your condition didn't even have a WebMD page. So it hadn’t mattered to you much at the time that all your funds went into renting a moving truck, paying the deposit on an apartment, and boxing up all your belongings. You had arrived, penniless, and sought jobs as quickly as possible - applying to everything and anything that you could convince a recruiter you’d be good at. You just needed some income while you waited to hear back about whether you were eligible for the medical trial.

Applying to Crescent Consulting had been surprisingly easy. You’d uploaded your resume online, answered a few questions that MAYBE were some kind of personality test (the question “What does the full moon mean to you?” had definitely seemed a little strange at the time), and were offered an interview a few days later. 

You pressed down your nerves as you approached the company. You were dressed in your least-wrinkled interview clothes, pulled out of a cardboard box the night before. There hadn’t been time to unpack everything. The exterior of the building was grand. Silvery glass extended high above you, the blue sky reflecting mirror-like off of the eighty floors of windows. The interior matched the prestigious exterior. All around you were gleaming stone floors, elevators that smelled like new carpet, well-groomed and refined staff, and chandeliers that likely cost as much as your apartment. 

Crescent Consulting was on the third and fourth floors of the building. You speak to a receptionist near the entrance and she ushers you into a small, private office to the left of the door. You smile politely as the hiring manager seated inside looks over your resume, asking about your experience, your career goals, and previous successes and difficulties. Pretty standard stuff. The pay and benefits seem good too. You try to recall the information you’d read about the company, peering down at the job description you’d printed out and brought with you. 

“From what you’ve said, I think this company would be a good fit for me,” you say, trying to infuse your words with an air of confidence you didn’t really feel. “. . . but the job listing was a little sparse on details. Would you mind going over exactly what this position would entail?”

The routine atmosphere of the interview dissipates. The interviewer grows far more serious, fixing you with a stern look over the rim of their tortoiseshell glasses. 

“This position is essential to the success of our company. Crescent Consulting is directed by Mr. Cirrus. As our CEO, he leads us, guides us, and makes decisions that keep us at the forefront of consulting in this city. He’s an exceptionally talented man.” She regards you with her steely gaze as if you would dare challenge her statement. You nod at her meekly. 

She shifts in her seat. “But he’s also exceptionally busy. Too much of his time right now is taken up by scheduling things, answering emails, filing documents…we’ve all tried to help where we can, but eventually, it became clear that it was time we hired someone to do it full-time. So, that’s where you come in. The job position is to work as his assistant. He has exacting tastes, and expects the finest work.” 

You can practically see the job opening slipping away right before your eyes. The words spring from your lips.

“I assure you, I am someone who is deliberate, detailed, and focused. Crescent Consulting is my top choice and it would be an honour to assist Mr. Cirrus as he continues to lead such amazing work.”

She nods at that, relenting a little. “We’ll hire you for a probationary period. Let’s see how you do after a week on the job. If your work is satisfactory - and Cirrus takes a liking to you, we’ll offer you a full contract.”

After that, the first week goes by in a blur. You’d seen Cirrus’s emails and calendar plenty of times, but hadn’t even met him face to face. They gave you a cubicle in the corner of one of the floors and you toil away diligently, working your way down a seemingly endless list of tasks. The hiring manager was right - there was plenty to do. You spent your time reading the employee handbook, completing new employee training, learning about the different clients, trying to remember which employee names and titles, and archiving documents that hadn’t been looked at in years. You’ve just started working on a summary of consulting projects completed in 2017 when you feel a presence just over your shoulder. 

You jump in your chair as you spin around looking up to see a man looming over you. He’s tall and lanky, even taller from your current position. Long white hair slinks down over his shoulders, stopping near the waist of his suit. His accessories stand out against his dark clothes - a gold metal snake that encircles his finger, two chain bracelets that glimmer from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and thin hanging earrings. A tailored waistcoat highlights the way his broad torso narrows at the waist. The man’s arm rests casually against the wall of your cubicle, a thin pen between his fingers. He's undoubtedly handsome, imposingly so. You finish taking him in and meet his gaze, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

Hurriedly, you introduce yourself. “I'm very sorry, I didn't notice you there! I’m a new hire, I’ve only been working here for week, I don't believe we've met?” 

Surely, you'd be able to remember someone who looks like THAT. 

“I thought it was about time I came to meet you,” he says politely, watching you through nearly translucent lashes. “You've already begun to prove yourself useful to me.” 

“Oh, are you… Cirrus? I'm really thankful for this opportunity, sir, the company seems great and everyone has gone out of their way to be helpful…” flustered, you’re immediately thrown off your game. So this is the man you work for. You had to admit, you'd assumed that Cirrus was some older, stodgy executive- someone thoroughly unattractive. It was shocking to be confronted unexpectedly with someone so… well, different!

“I'm glad to hear it. It's important that Crescent Consulting cultivates a welcoming environment towards newcomers.”  He spins the pen between his fingers a little, playing with the clip on it. “How are you finding the work so far?”

“It's been easy enough,. It seems like it's just a matter of checking over everything carefully and making sure that -”

His pen falls from his hand with a clink, sharp and startling against the waxed tile floor.

You bend in your chair, leaning to pick it up without a delay. You hand it to him, reaching up. It's hard to miss the way that his eyes flick from the pen in your hand to your face, but he takes it without comment. 

“Please, reach out if you have any questions. And ask the hiring manager you met with earlier for the full employment contract. You're a good fit. I look forward to our work together.”

And just like that, you're officially hired.  ------

The next Monday, you're at your desk for only a few moments before his shadow darkens your screen. Cirrus, the same outfit as you saw before - dark and stately in the fluorescent-lit office. His placid smile is at odds with the weight of his presence, a heavy, frozen thing that spills out through the weight of his shoulders and the cant of his head. It urges you to bow to him. Or grovel, your mind unhelpfully supplies. You end up half jumping out of your chair before settling back into it and dipping your head in acknowledgement. Embarrassing.

"I emailed you a list of tasks on Sunday for you to begin this week. We're entering into our busiest quarter of the year, so I'll be depending on your work. As always, please reach out to me if you have any questions." 

"I've already skimmed through it to familiarise myself with the tasks before I arrived today." You smile up at him a little. There's no need for him to worry about your accountability. You want to do well. Especially for him.

…But only because he’s your boss, of course.

He responds with a gentle nod towards you. "Good. Eager to get started, hmm?"

“I'll send you an update on what I've accomplished by the end of the day. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to meet your needs, sir." 

His hand falls onto your shoulder for only a moment, fixing you into your chair. His golden eyes dart towards yours, serious. “Let’s start with the list for now. Don’t want to exhaust you before the end of the second week.”

With that, he leaves, returning to his office. The firm press of his hand lingers on your shoulder. You raise your own hand to it, fingers ghosting over the sensation. Would meeting his needs really be exhausting? You’re determined to dispel any doubt he may hold about your capabilities.

As you adapt to your job, your list of duties starts to expand. The hiring manager wasn't kidding. Cirrus seems to be particular about everything. He cares about the scent of the soap in his bathroom (lavender), the way he takes his tea (no sugar, one and a half creamers), and the height of the window blinds in his office before he comes in each morning (lowered to the height of your knees, raised to shoulder level after lunch). Rather than resenting the numerous rules, you find joy in the structure they give your day. 

And he certainly is gracious. He’s kind to you, thanking you for the tasks you complete. Polite, yet reserved. Always controlled  and professional. His occasional praise makes you glow a little. It's proof that he notices and cares about the effort you put into your work. It's a little addictive. It drives you to be increasingly exacting, hoping to impress him. You find yourself wondering whether there’s something hidden behind that polished facade of his. He reminds you of a Greek statue. Beautiful, unyielding, and with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. 

You find yourself staying late at the office recently, struggling to get everything done during the day. Eight hours doesn’t seem like a lot of time when it’s stretched over so many tasks. But Cirrus stays late too. Your coworkers file out of the office one by one until it’s just you and him in the building. The light shining through the frosted glass of his office door there to keep you company. You remember the first time you stayed late. You had sat in your mesh desk chair, bones stiff and weary from their long hours of inactivity. The sound of his office door opening had been a welcomed interruption. Cirrus wore his coat, warm wool fitted closely to his body, and was in the process of pulling on leather gloves. He hesitated on his path out the door, clearly surprised to see you.  

“I hadn’t realised you were still here,” he had said, coming around to your desk. 

“Oh, I’ll be heading home soon, sir. Just finished summarising the documents I received this afternoon so you can look them over tomorrow before your morning meetings.”

“Such a devoted employee.”

His smooth, rich voice sent shivers down your spine. You laughed it off.

“It’s no trouble to me, sir, I like to be kept busy.”

“You’re not keeping anyone waiting at home…?” Sharp eyes had betrayed his interest in your response.

“I’ve just moved to the city, so no - living on my own for now. I can stay as late as I need to. Haven’t really had the time to try and meet anyone.”

“That’s a shame. We’ll just need to make the work here worth your while then, hmm?”

You nodded at him, and he had left, sliding the gloves the rest of the way on his hands.

His questions made you wonder if he cared about your dating life. That was the first personal question he’d asked of you. You’d certainly wondered about his - but no wedding band was seen on his hand, and no family pictures in his office. You kept your ears and eyes open for information after that night. You would ask a coworker but given the speed of the office rumour mill, you were sure he’d learn about your prying questions. After days pass without clues, you doubt it. After all, he spends the most time with you out of anyone. With the long hours he keeps, he’d struggle to find the time to meet a partner, just as you have. You can practically imagine his response. I’m married to my work, he’d say. That is, if he wasn’t offended by your impudence. 

As the month goes on, you shadow Cirrus more and more during his daily tasks. He started by requesting that you take the minutes for his meetings with clients. It's simple enough and you enjoy getting a better idea of the actual objectives of the company. Plus, during quiet moments, when he or the client refer to documents about their work together, you get the chance to really look at him. The slender line of his neck. The way his muscled back can be seen beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, shifting as he leans over the table to read. The soft pink of his lips, through which you can see pointed canines flash as he speaks. You see why everyone at Crescent Consulting has such a reverence for him. It’s electrifying to be swept up in the energy and admiration that surrounds him. He's impeccably focused on his tasks and clients are thrilled with the work he does for them. Good thing that you’re kept busy. Spending so much time near him is becoming increasingly distracting. 

You're just coming out of one of these meetings, a little breathless. The client had spoken exceptionally quickly, stuttering and prone to long tangents that left your head spinning. You’d done your best to take notes, but you’d definitely have to edit them later on in the afternoon. At times you'd just slumped over the table, desperately listening and typing as best you could as the conversation ricocheted between the two of them.

“My office, please,” Cirrus requests, as controlled and peaceful as ever. Immediately, your pulse jumps, anxiety spreading through your body. Cirrus hardly ever asks to speak with you privately - he’d email you, or casually drop by your desk to discuss business. Even confidential matters about his work were discussed between the two of you during your meeting together every morning, not off the cuff. 

You step inside after him, pulling the door shut. His office is a place you’ve grown familiar with, though never comfortable in. It was always too quiet. The decor is utilitarian and minimal. One side is entirely windows, partially covered with blinds. A coat rack near his door has a few discarded wire hangers from dry cleaning. There are etched glass awards on his mostly barren bookshelves. A whiteboard is fixed to the wall with a scribbled timeline on it. Cirrus’s desk in the middle of the room, empty except for a few folders and a chair across from it. You choose to hover awkwardly in the doorway. It feels safer, like you could escape if you needed to.

He takes a seat behind his desk, the expansive piece of dark wood now separating the two of you. 

Cirrus regards you coolly as you start to pick at your fingers. 

“I've been quite happy with your work up to this point, don't be mistaken. However, as my assistant, your conduct and decorum reflect directly upon me.” He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Clients notice if you have poor posture. Clients notice if you wander ahead of me in the hallway or speak out of turn. Clients notice-” his gaze falls to your fingers, picking nervously at the edge of a nail, “-when you fidget”. Your hands still immediately. 

You knew that he was aware of you. But you hadn't realised that he paid such close attention to the behaviours you displayed. Had you really acted so unreasonably? Had maybe a client confided in him, or expressed their displeasure with you? Your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“I'm sorry sir, I haven't been on my best behaviour as of late. I'll work on improving my posture and habits in the office. I hope it hasn't negatively impacted your work…” 

A smile streaks across his face. Sharp, furtive, misplaced, and gone as you peer at him nervously.

“Please see to it that you do,” he replies. There's a lightness to him, an excitement that pulls at the edges of his expression. Something dangerous. “That’ll be all.” 

Your hands, sweaty with nerves, pull open his door and you exit quickly. It's the first time you've really been reprimanded by him. How could you have let yourself grow  complacent? Still, it seemed unfair. You drop down at your desk and pout a little, staring unseeingly at the backdrop of dolphins on your computer monitor. You already do so much for him and follow all his silly little rules, and now he’s getting on your case about fidgeting? What is this, finishing school? Your thoughts swirl as the day goes by. It was embarrassing to be called out on your behaviour. But moreover, it was embarrassing that you had become increasingly reliant on him and his praise. You hadn't fully realised it up until he withdrew it this afternoon. You'd become dependent on him too quickly. He’s just your boss. Nothing more beyond that. And why did his expressions in that conversation seem so… odd? It was unsettling. 

After that conversation between the two of you, Cirrus’s expectations skyrocket. Every day there are new rules.  New subcategories that emails need to be sorted into, preferences on the alert sound for his calendar notifications, the type of lightbulb for his desk lamp, the way you structure your notes for him. It feels endless. And at times, when he gives you feedback - always in that same controlled and polite tone - you catch a glimpse of that same fleeting expression you had seen earlier. You're diligent, dutifully noting down each preference as they come. You walk two paces behind him in the halls. You mind your tone, your facial expressions. You sit at meetings rigidly, still and quiet unless addressed. Your frustrations at his restrictions, once something small and easily cast aside, grows by the day. The amount of care that you direct towards your work is immense. Cirrus is polite to you. Often kind. But the structure from the rules that once felt supportive now feels like a tangled net, restricting your every move. You feel taken for granted. The majority of his requirements are silly preferences that you're sure have no influence on his (or the company’s) success. 

When he interacts with others in the office, however,  things seem easy between them. They fawn adoringly at whatever he says, and he replies to them - always calm and kind. You find yourself a little disgusted with their eagerness. And it's quite simple for them, isn't it? They do their basic job responsibilities and he praises them, values them. That same response from him requires such an extreme amount of effort from you. You scoff to yourself. They might not admire him as much if they ALSO had just gotten an email that read: “In the future, please only order Oleander Co.’s organic fair trade oat milk creamer in low fat. I prefer it over the brand you currently purchase.”

You are capable of the work he asks you to do. But your sense of justice rankles at it. It's not fair that he asks such an astronomically higher level of work from you. At times you wonder if he delights in messing with you. It seems inevitable that one day you’ll forget one of his many rules. You're not sure exactly what makes you decide to do it. The last sliver of your pride, perhaps. 

You order a different type of soap for his bathroom. Your courage wavers a little when you go to order, so you decide on lilac as a replacement. Suitably similar to lavender if you need to defend yourself. It's silly how nerve-wracking it is. You've never directly gone against anything he’s asked you to do. And it’s just soap, after all. You doubt he’ll even notice. 

—---

You place the soap in his bathroom that next Monday after it's been delivered. You look at it, where you’ve set the bottle neatly by the sink, evenly spaced from the wall. You spin the label to face away from you before you leave. Cirrus and you have your morning meeting, as usual. He’s just the same as ever and you find yourself both relieved and disappointed. You’d expected some kind of reaction from him… some reprimand maybe, or a reminder. Something to show you again that he sees you and your work. Something to break the pattern that you’re in with him. But the meeting ends quickly and everything remains as it did before. 

You’re seated at your desk, about to head to lunch, when Cirrus stops by. 

“A word, please. Now. Follow me.” 

He’s very still. Nothing about his face was kind or gentle.. A coworker at the neighbouring desk glances up at you, startled, before they catch themselves and pretend to be engrossed in their salad.

You stand abruptly, silently, fingers fumbling with the notepad on your desk for a moment before you decide to leave it. 

You follow him to his office. Two steps behind him, of course, posture, impeccable. Your hands, forbidden from fidgeting, are held stiffly at your sides. 

He shuts the door firmly behind you. The click of the lock is grimly final. The bottle of soap is on his desk. You exhale, shakily. 

Cirrus leans back against his desk, the bottle next to him. His arms are crossed. You’re not truly afraid until you see his expression. His eyes hold a wildness to them, intense and sharp. The mouth, normally in a polite smile, is stretched wider, sardonic. Your unease grows when you see there's even a light flush across his cheeks. His finger taps rhythmically where it rests along the edge of the desk. His entire appearance has an electricity to it that arcs off of him in waves. 

“Explain this to me.”

Your fear is tempered by the frustration at your mistreatment. “My apologies, sir, I seem to have made a mistake. There’s a lot of work I’m doing currently, I must have simply selected the wrong one.” Your voice is deliberately polite but you’re unable to hide your irritation.

His wicked smile grows. “You’ve never ordered the wrong one before.”

“Yes, well, I know others make mistakes here, too. I don’t see any of them called into your office over something like this, I mean, it’s, it’s - I do my best, sir, I apologise if it’s just not enough for you.” Your cheeks are hot from the defiance burning within you. 

The tapping of his finger ceases. 

“I'm quite certain it wasn't a mistake. No. Not from you, my star employee. Always obedient. Always careful. Attuned to my preferences, my rules for you. When I restricted your decorum in meetings, I wondered if I had gone too far. If maybe - you’d recoil. Hmm.. instead, you grew more pliable, eager to please. Desperate for my praise. Willing to be moulded by me. You question me, why I ask more of you than the other staff here. Well, my star. It’s because you enjoy it. And,” he draws closer to you, less than an arm’s length away, “because I can.”

All the blood in your body seems to leave you and you sag, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, everything becomes clear to you. The constant increasing requests. The minute details he requires you to remember. His attention to your posture, your every mannerism. Each of them feed into his power over you. And the part that makes your heart pound and ears ring is that he's completely correct. You crave it.

He takes in your shocked expression with something akin to glee.

"So eager for me. And now, acting out. Silly little ploy to try and catch my interest. You've already had it. Had it from the moment I met you, when you leaned down and handed me that pen. I wanted to see if you would. If you'd bend for me, right from the start. Don't I give you enough of my attention? Or would you like something more concrete - a reminder you're mine?"

It feels almost impossible to speak but you try, urging your breath back into your struggling lungs.

"Please, sir, I - I…" A reminder that you're his. You are his. The way you speak, the way you walk, every hour of every day, all in service to him. Intoxicating to learn that he's orchestrated it this way. Cirrus has seen you to your very core and it is paralysing.

He raises his hand to your throat, fingers soft, and pins you against the wall. "Don't worry, my star. I'll give you what you desire. Even if words have failed you."

His touch is nothing more than gentle pressure at the base of your neck, but the sensation makes you release a choked gasp.

"Something to remind you, hmm? I'll give you a gift then. Pretty bruises that you can take home. "

Cirrus's hand is tighter around your neck now. Your pulse hammers against his grip. All you can do is nod, the edge of his thumb sharp against your jaw. He releases you, taking a step backwards. His cunning eyes scan the room.

"Place your hands here."

He gestures to the whiteboard and you stumble after him, legs trembling. You place your hands flat on the surface, just below shoulder height, glancing at him questioningly. He traces around your fingers with a marker, outlining each hand in red. It reminded you a little of grade school art projects, and the absurdity of the situation makes your face flush. What if this was all some kind of cruel joke, just to see how much you'd agree to?

His voice breathes low in your ear. "It's in your best interest if you don't smudge any of those lines. Do so and you'll leave with more than just bruises."

Immediately, the levity drains out of you. "I'll try my best, sir."

His hand smooths down the plane of your back. "You always do."

Behind you, you hear him walk over to the coat rack by the door. You twist, your hands fixed in place, and watch as he pulls on his fine black gloves. The leather shines softly in the light of his office.

"Please attempt to be quiet. You know how much the office ladies love to gossip."

You grit your teeth and turn, facing the board once again. Watching him was too much. You close your eyes and exhale a long, shuddering breath.

He brings his hand down swiftly, your clothes and the gloves muffling the sound where he strikes your behind. It's ferociously hard. The force of the impact rocks you forward on your toes and your eyes fly open, checking the lines around your fingers anxiously. A dull ache answers the sting that spreads through you. Your desire spreads too, burning. You'd known he was strong, assumed it from the way he fills out his impeccably tailored dress shirts, but the power behind the slap surprises you. Your breath hisses through your teeth.

A second strike comes, placed right where your butt meets your thigh. It's harder than the last. It forces a gasping yelp out of you, barely stifled through your gritted teeth. Your hands curl just the slightest bit on the board. Your breath comes faster now, panicked. Legs twist where they stand, shying away from him, unable to fully move with your hands pinned.

"Excellent. You're doing well."

He has said that to you so many times before. When you’ve finished your work early, when you've taken minutes for meetings, when you've reminded him of some small important detail. You'll never hear it the same again.

Cirrus waits to deliver the third strike and you try to anticipate it, flinching at every small sound he makes from behind you. He laughs at that, watching you closely.

"Patience."

When he hits you, it spreads across your skin, burning where it lands. You bow forwards, leaning away desperately. The sensation after the strike is just as bad - a second wave of pain that makes sweat prickle at your forehead and brings tears springing to your eyes.

"In my haste, I forgot myself," he muses, stilling behind you. "How can I see when I've fulfilled my promise?"

He slides your clothes off your waist, the air of his office cool on your skin. They bunch tightly around your thighs. You hunch forwards between your arms, humiliated. You're sure that your behind is just as flushed as your face. One gloved hand traces over the reddened skin, the leather like a soothing balm.

The next strike is more targeted, hitting right where your skin is the reddest. The sweat on your hands causes them to slip just the slightest bit on the board and you rock back towards him, trying to lift the weight off your unreliable arms. The outlines remain complete for now. You throb, each heartbeat bringing with it another crashing wave of pain.

"Fuck."

"You know better than to curse around me. Haven't I made my expectations for your etiquette clear?"

He smooths one hand over you, just below the small of your back. Your skin sings at his touch. You feel the weight of him follow, the hard plane of his body pressed up against you. His hands grip your hips. One slides up the front of your chest, pausing for a moment at your throat. It continues, gloved fingers finding their way into your mouth. The bitter taste of leather follows. His other hand grips your hip tightly. He presses down on your tongue, making you gag. Your saliva slicks the material. Cirrus's breath is hot against your ear.

"I'll help you behave yourself."

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth, smearing the wetness across your face. When he moves to the side, you catch the first glimpse of him since you placed your hands on the board. His flushed cheeks are the only sign of his exertion. Not a hair is out of place. You watch through teary eyes as he bites the tip of his gloved hand, pulling the leather from his skin. The glint of his sharp teeth shine from between pink lips. Glove off, he presses his fingers cruelly into your cheeks, prying your lips open once again. His removed glove is pressed between your teeth, silencing you. The material is thick, forces your jaw to spread.

He hits you again before you're really ready, ungloved hand anchored on your hip. The force of the blow shoves you forwards while Cirrus's nails dig into your hip bone, leaving deep grooves. A muffled sob breaks free. Your hand slides down the board, erasing the lines surrounding it. You stumble forward, gasping. His hand creeps under your bent waist, supporting your weight.

Cirrus lays into you without any reservations. He spanks you, hand crashing down again and again. You thrash, hands clutching desperately at his supporting arm where it lays steel-like against your stomach. Twisting, flailing, as he brings you back in line. Drool spills down out of your mouth from around the fingers of the glove. He kicks your legs apart when they clench together before beginning again. The blow blend together. You are ablaze. Writhing in his arms. Needy with desire and aching all over. Your eyes are a mess of tears and you gasp desperately around the glove, nose running. Both of you breathing hard, he takes a moment to examine you before pulling the glove out of your mouth.

"I think you'll be pleased, my star. Once you've come back to yourself. Proof of my ownership pressed into your skin. You won't be able to sit without remembering whom you belong to."

Every part of you throbs. Pain, pleasure, and obedience all searing through your veins in equal measure. You're limp, resting nearly your full weight against him.. You cry softly, stuffy and worn out.

"Come here," he tells you, as he hefts you towards the chair behind his desk. As if you'd have the strength to deny him. He sits and reclines the chair fully, laying back. He holds you against his chest. A moment for you to calm down. You press your damp face into the safety of his shirt while his arms rest softly around your shoulders.

"You shine in your obedience to me." 

His voice is quiet against your hair. You lay there, boneless, listening to the gentle thump of his heart. Feeling the solid ridge of the button of his vest imprint itself on your cheek. Gradually, you come back to yourself. Breathing in his scent as he continues to hold you. You test your limbs, achingly shifting them. Wipe your eyes softly against the back of your hand. A sharp cry springs from your mouth as your raw skin scrapes against the material of his pants. If the way you feel is any indication, you’re probably covered in speckled bruises, soon to shift into blooms of blue and purple. You flinch as you feel a scarlet bead of blood inch down your inner thigh. He shushes you, hand coming up to card through your hair. 

“Does this mean things have changed between us?” Your plaintive question hangs in the air. 

Cirrus’s hand stills. “It doesn’t have to. Continue to serve me. I won't mark you where others will see.”

You nod at that, accepting it without complaint. He was to remain your boss. At least for now, you find yourself thinking. You long for something more. And you suspect he might feel the same, though he’s reluctant to admit it. His rules, so many designed to constrain and rankle. The attention he pays to you. His satisfaction from putting you in your place. Those fleeting moments of tenderness. Nothing about it was casual. Perhaps, with time - and enough tactical disobedience - his commitment to professionalism will crumble. It’s a challenge. Rules and regulations then. A path to something more.

[cross-my-heartt]

Modern AU Cat Batch

Hcs for a modern AU where each batcher has their own kitty that looks remarkably like their very own cat avatar.

(TW for mentions of euthanasia and past animal neglect and abuse)

- Starting with Hunter, his cat companion is a long haired tortoiseshell they adopted off the streets. He's their first cat and ironically Hunter becomes the most attached to him despite being the most opposed to getting a pet. Because cats are a big responsibility and not to mention costly, but also he definitely doesn't get up at 6 am to feed the cat before anyone else and that's definitely not lap space he's making for it and of course it was Omega who picked out the red collar with the skull pendant. Trust me.

- Tech's furry friend is a Modern Siamese who was given to him for his birthday by shelter owner and part time antique dealer Phee. Tech jr was abandoned at the shelter for being 'too chatty' and 'having eye problems' and Phee - a long time friend of the group they met at the vet's and rightfully angry that someone would abandon a pet for traits common to the breed - decides he would feel right at home with the batchers who already have one cat. And of course, the sweet curious Siamese reminded her of someone.

- Echo's Cornish Rex was part of a cattery and was meant to be used as a 'stud'. But because he wasn't neutered he wandered off outside one day and got hit by a car. His owners paid for his surgery and prosthetics but decided they would no longer use him for breeding. And Phee being Phee instantly recognized who the poor little fellow belonged with. Echo didn't hesitate a second before accepting the little guy (who had grown thin and shy from all the stress) and helped him learn how to use his prosthetics while nursing him back to full health.

- Lulu (originally named Lucas) was a chubby British Shorthair who was injured in a fireworks accident and whose owners bailed on him once they saw his surgery bills. The batch helped Phee organize a charity campaign to cover the costs in which Wrecker was very active - talking to people, posting photos with Lulu and spreading the word. Once the sum was raised and Lulu had recovered it was time to put him up for adoption. Wrecker parted with him reluctantly - they already had three cats and a fourth one would be too much - but seeing how attached he was to Lulu the batch decided to surprise him by adopting Lulu secretly. Wrecker may or may not have cried when he saw the adoption certificate.

- One day Phee's employees bring in a tom who's been captured in the street after reports of an aggressive cat. It's a gray haired Oriental Shorthair who shows signs of having been abused by his previous owners and is extremely distrustful of humans. Normally the procedure is to contact the owners but Phee is so angry at the state of him that she quietly dechips him and throws away his collar (she's seen too many abusive owners get away with it to risk letting them know they found him). They try to rehabilitate him but with little success. There's talk of putting him down because several employees have already been badly clawed and as a last desperate resort she asks Hunter to try and socialize him in a home environment (seeing as the batch already had ample experience with abandoned/injured cats). Hunter agrees and they start by giving him a separate room, spending a little time with him each day and giving him treats to create a positive experience but despite all their efforts he remains hostile and just keeps hissing and swiping at everyone. By the end Hunter's reached the end of his rope and despite hating the thought of having to hand him over to be put down, he doesn't see how the tom could improve. That is until one day when Crosshair comes back from a prolonged business trip. He listens to Hunter's exhausted retelling of events, stays quiet for a bit and then goes into the cat's room and just... sits there for a bit. Keeping his distance, minding his own business and not paying attention to the cat at all. At first the tom treats him the same as everyone else but then the hissing becomes less frequent and he slowly starts coming out of his hiding spot. It's a slow process but one day Hunter finally enters the room to find the tom sprawled over a reading Crosshair's lap, purring contentedly while stretching out belly up. Needless to say they don't return him to the shelter and he slowly becomes part of the family. Even though he has a clear favorite.

- And finally, after weeks of Omega complaining about not having a cat copy of her own, their stray brings in an orphaned ginger kitten. For a while Hunter vehemently denies any suggestion that his cat is acting 'motherly' towards the kitten. Nobody buys it. Eventually he stops trying altogether.

(If y'all thought I wouldn't make Crosshair's part the longest, you clearly don't know me. Also I will draw all of them one day... one day.)

[selfship-shenanigans]

Ginger: Who is the most intelligent? Who is the sensible one? Or do you share one braincell?

Tortoiseshell: Who has the worse temper? Can you get snippy with each other?

Maine Coon: Are you a stay at home couple, or do you like going on trips together?

@i-put-the-s4p-in-s4pphic

Tysm!! <3

Ginger: Who is the most intelligent? Who is the sensible one? Or do you share one braincell?

I wouldn't accuse Ray of not being intelligent, but Ganondorf is definitely the mastermind behind everything. Ray is an enormous help to him though, and he greatly values their input, even going so far as to say that he wouldn't have succeeded without them. I'd say Ray is the more sensible of the two and is generally quite reserved and cautious, while Ganondorf is more on the reckless side.

Tortoiseshell: Who has the worse temper? Can you get snippy with each other?

Ganondorf, by far. He can definitely get snippy with Ray now and then, but he does his best not to—he knows his anger makes Ray nervous, even when it's not directed at them, and that it can easily upset them if he's not careful. He usually deals with his anger and frustration by sparring with his soldiers or beating up training dummies to blow off steam, or by being snippy with the castle's Hylian servants instead.

Maine Coon: Are you a stay at home couple, or do you like going on trips together?

A bit of both. Ray is more of a stay-at-home person, and Ganondorf is usually quite busy, so he doesn't mind spending a lot of his free time in the castle. They do both enjoy getting out and about somtimes and particularly like going horseriding together when the weather is good, but bigger/further trips are quite rare. Ganondorf's presence is usually needed back at the castle, and Ray often finds travel on that scale quite stressful.

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals: Bang!

("Hang on, you're didn't do Carry On Wayward Son?" No, because as fantastic and mind-blowing as it is from an arrangement perspective, the video (though not boring by any means) doesn't give me a lot to talk about. I won't be doing Nothing Else Matters either, sorry!)

A bit more of a chill video, especially compared to the post I did before this and the post I will be doing right after this, but I figured there was just enough going on in this video for me to make at least a short post about it.

Voiceplay's cover of Bang! released on the 27th of February, 2021, and features the amazing DeeJay Young in his first time as a featured artist with the group!

Looking sharp there boys! Love the setting as well - that back wall looks fancy!

Pretty sure Eli's hat is the same as the one he wore in both the Frozen 2 Medley and Aca Top 10 Disney Villains? And he's worn it in at least one or two other videos as well iirc.

I also just realised Geoff is the only one wearing just a shirt with nothing over it (e.g. no jacket or anything of the sort) (love that for him)

Love J and DeeJay with the matching leopard print (which also matches the sofa cushions!)

WAIT HANG ON I just looked at the comments and Voiceplay said that everyone had a leopard-print accessory or clothing item in this video! Eli has leopard-print glasses I believe, Geoff I'm pretty sure has a leopard-print watch, but as for Layne I have no clue, and I'm going to presume that maybe he's wearing leopard-print socks that you can't see in the video?

They all get individual shots with different backgrounds! J's is pink with hearts and purple writing/graffiti

DeeJay's has even more leopard print

Eli's has popcorn

Layne has a white wall with black polka dots, plus a bright pink chandelier and a pink neon sign that says "you're like really pretty" (good for him 😋)

And Geoff has a blue wall with a couple of bookshelves filled with colourful books (nerd) (I'm guessing they're fake prop books?)

Love this dude <3 (95% of the time, anyway /hj )

Eli's glasses frames are either also leopard-print or they're just tortoiseshell pattern, not sure (EDIT: They're leopard-print)

J and DeeJay both have some great moves in this video!

"taxes are due!"

"Does my password begin with a 1 or a 2?" (only just noticed Eli and J's expressions here)

Geoff's air-grabbing(?) motion after his fancy bass vocal run, what a show-off 😝 (joking and affectionate)

Geoff had a lot of fun with this video didn't he?

(Also, as per usual, wearing a button-up shirt with at least one or two of the top buttons undone (though I'm certainly not complaining))

Pfft, someone had fun filming this for sure! 😆

Lol rip Layne

Man those teddy bears look so soft and comfy! Jealous!

Apparently, according to a reaction video I watched, DeeJay's little move at the end here is known as "hitting the woah" or something like that (I swear I'm not that old, I just don't use TikTok!)

I wouldn't say I watch this video a lot (though a little more than Kidnap The Sandy Claws, probably), but it's a vibe! Very fun, pretty chill, and definitely more chill than the next video I will be talking about! (I'll also be skipping Eleanor Rigby and Go The Distance, sorry!) I'm thinking "ah heck" just thinking about it, but it should be interesting if nothing else! Stay tuned!

[peachsukii]

Tabby, Tuxedo, White Cat, Tortoiseshell, Maine Coon, and Sphynx for Katsuki!

Thank you anon! I'd love to :)

Tabby: Is your f/o snuggly? Are you? If so, what are your favourite ways to cuddle?

kat: all the damn time. not that i mind anymore, i’ve gotten used to her being clingy as hell. can’t really fall asleep without her being next to me anyways, i have to drag her ass to bed and hold her all night so she doesn’t stay up watching fuckin’ tv. rei: he can deny it all he wants, but no one is cuddlier than him after a long ass work day. he’ll come home and unwind before sitting on the couch with me, bullying his way between my legs to lay on my stomach and fall asleep. i’ve had to carry his ass to bed many nights cause he’s too stubborn to move and wants to stay put! kat: …shut up. it’s comfortable, alright?! why would i use a pillow when i have you? rei: see? told ya.

Tuxedo: Do you both prefer fancy dates where you dress up, or casual dates?

kat: we’re definitely on opposite ends with that. i prefer nicer dinners as an excuse to see her in sleek black dresses and show her off. is it selfish? absolutely. do i care? no. she’s mine at the end of the day and i get to spoil her - ‘s a win win for me. rei: i love getting dressed up, but sometimes going down to the local ice cream shop and stalking around the local arcade to win random prizes with fried snacks is my favorite kind of date night. i won’t complain about nice dinners, though. have you seen him in slacks? he always looks damn good.

White Cat: Are your f/o’s eyes particularly striking to you? In what way? Do they find themselves captivated by yours, in turn?

kat: ‘course they are. hard not ta get lost in ‘em. rei: like you even have to ask - have you seen them? they’re gorgeous. especially if you catch him lost in thought, they sparkle like the reflection of a gemstone. or when he’s really fired up about something? they really shine then. kat: [turning his head away in embarrassment]

Tortoiseshell: Who has the worse temper? Can you get snippy with each other?

kat: …plead the fifth. rei: pfft, there’s your answer. it’s all outta love, though…mostly.

Maine Coon: Are you a stay at home couple, or do you like going on trips together?

kat: gettin’ out of the city is always my choice. rather be tucked away in a cabin somewhere or layin’ on a beach, unbothered and quiet. stayin’ home is fine, especially in our line of work but if it’s an option, i’m packin’ our bags and out the door with her over my shoulder. rei: agreed! couldn’t have said it better. there’s just something nice about getting away from home and the hustle of our schedules as heroes to just be…human.

Sphynx: Who prefers wearing sweaters the most? Neither, both? Do either of you knit? Would you ever wear matching sweaters?

kat: what kinda question is that? if i’m cold, i’m gonna wear a damn sweater. i fuckin’ hate the winter. we’ve worn matching christmas sweaters and that’s it - once and never again. i only did it ‘cause she made ‘em for us. rei: the only time i tried to knit something, they turned out okay! i thought it would be cute, and we were! no matter what he says. i steal most of his hoodies around the house cause i’m always cold year round, but he probably wears sweaters more in just the winter than i do all year long. he’s adamant about not being cold.

[asexualfoxmccloud]

white cat tortoiseshell and maine coon for ignatz!! <3

HIII HELLO THANK YOU

White Cat: Are your f/o’s eyes particularly striking to you? In what way? Do they find themselves captivated by yours, in turn?

Actually I love how his eyes complement his hair??? Very nice natural nature tones. My art for my s/i has much more striking eyes than I do irl lmao but since he’s like. A mushy see-beauty-in-just-about-everything type he probably thinks I have pretty eyes either way ehe

Tortoiseshell: Who has the worse temper? Can you get snippy with each other?

Ignatz is. A well known pushover. I can think of maybe like two (2) occasions where he gets mad in canon lmao. I don’t get mad easy either but I definitely do by comparison at least. If I get snippy at him it’s probably only bc something else is bothering me or I get mildly bothered by the fact that he doesn’t like. Stand up for himself or get mad himself

Maine Coon: Are you a stay at home couple, or do you like going on trips together?

I think we end up spending majority of our lives travelling together! Shortly after getting together we start travelling across Fodlan to paint it and explore and we just keep doing it.

[childeproof]

on this post i’ll be answering the cat questions for childe! been thinking of him lately anyways, lol.

tabby cat : is your f/o snuggly? are you? if so, what are your favourite ways to cuddle?

yes to the first & second questions! we’re both pretty physically affectionate in general so snuggling & cuddling occurs often when we have down time together. idm whatever but childe has a preference for resting his head against my body (shoulder, chest, stomach, lap/thighs, etc) when we cuddle.

ginger cat : who is the most intelligent? who is the sensible one? or do you share one braincell?

we’re both smart & dumb in our own ways.. like we don’t share one brain cell, it’s not that type of vibe but where one of us fails the other excels, y’know? plus we’re the type of people that both enjoy learning new things regardless. verdict: neither of us are super smart but neither of us are super dumb.

calico cat : do you consider yourself lucky that you met your f/o? do they consider themselves lucky that they met you? why? 

my s/i for genshin (specifically the one that ends up with childe) is currently unnamed but the answer is NO. he does not consider himself lucky to have met childe, only because luck never had anything to do with their situation. they met during their youth while training in the fatui (childe went on to become a harbinger, my s/i was a high level grunt before faking his death to escape). it’s a bit of a sour memory for my s/i, them meeting. childe, however, definitely considers himself lucky to have met my s/i. he feels like a part of him that would’ve been lost was briefly saved by how kind my s/i was. that part of him died the moment my s/i left.

tuxedo cat : do you both prefer fancy dates where you dress up, or casual dates? 

childe prefers fancier dates because he likes to spend & he likes to show off, i prefer casual dates but i don’t mind being pampered. we usually just alternate date ideas!

black cat : do either of you like haunted houses? or does either of you get spooked? if so, how do you comfort your f/o / your f/o comfort you?

childe would like the haunted house, i would refuse to go. i think if i went in and someone scared me i’d whip around and punch them. instead of haunted houses we watch scary movies (easier to digest) and childe wraps his arm around me whenever something uncomfortable happens. i’m not scared of movie gore much, just jump scares!

white cat : are your f/o’s eyes particularly striking to you? in what way? do they find themselves captivated by yours, in turn? 

YES they are so interesting because they lack the sort of “light” that other people from his source have. childe’s eyes are like a deep, terrifying ocean. they remind me of deep sea exploration, the horrors of the unknown. they’re very captivating. childe only admires my eyes when we cuddle, he’s not particularly fascinated by them (and that’s ok!). he likes my glasses, however.

tortoiseshell cat : who has the worse temper? can you get snippy with each other?

childe has the worst temper especially when he can’t understand why i’m doing something. we both can get pretty snappy & heated when it comes to arguments, lol, but it’s something we’re working on. we try to hold hand when we argue because it’s a small reminder that we still love each other (and it helps to remind you not to say something you don’t really mean).

siamese cat : who is chattier/louder, you or your f/o?

childe.

persian cat : are you a high or low maintenance couple? who has the most rigorous grooming routine? do you help each other?

hmmm.. i would say low maintenance. i have the more rigorous grooming routine just bc it’s self care for me to put effort into myself & he doesn’t help bc i don’t want him to mess any of my stuff up! but he does call me cute afterwards ^_^

maine coon cat : are you a stay at home couple, or do you like going on trips together?

we love trips! my dream vacation with childe would probably be a cruise somewhere nice, i’ve been on cruises before and it’s AMAZING! he’d definitely enjoy it! sometimes he goes afk on the fatui & whisks me away on vacation suddenly :]

bengal cat : do either of you have a particular love for swimming? do you like to take baths or showers together?

childe can swim but he doesn’t do it as a hobby, i can swim (barely) so neither of us are really into it like that. we do bathe together from time to time just to save time & water. it can get romantic but most of the time we’re just doing our business and getting out.

sphinx cat : who prefers wearing sweaters the most? neither, both? do either of you knit? would you ever wear matching sweaters?

i don’t like the texture / feeling of most sweaters #autism so probably childe! i don’t knit, i sew. childe doesn’t knit but his mother does. we would not wear matching sweaters (again, texture issues), but we would wear matching tshirts (which are better anyways).

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

It occurs to me that maybe not everyone has access to Code of The Clans, so I decided to copy-paste the story that features Redscar, Jumpfoot, and other canon cats that are descendants to Rainstar’s Burden characters (my ocs). 

Keep in mind that this story may not be 100% accurate to how I want to represent the characters (the book has a lot of retcons, after all), but it’ll likely be very, very similar, if not a bit exaggerated.

-------------------------------------

Redscar studied the spluttering, hunched cat in front of him and shook his head. “You can’t go to the Moonstone today, Brightwhisker. You wouldn’t make it as far as the Thunderpath.” 

Brightwhisker paused to gulp in air, then protested, “But I have to go! I have to receive my nine lives and my new name from StarClan!”

“StarClan will be perfectly aware of how sick you are,” Redscar pointed out.  “They won’t want you to exhaust yourself so soon. Your Clan needs you whole and well. They have already accepted you as their leader.”

The brown-and-white she-cat’s eyes clouded.  “They mourn for Snowstar as much as I do. I wish I was still his deputy.”

“Snowstar will be mourned for many moons, but that can’t stop us from doing our duty. And yours,” Redscar  added, “is to get rid of this whitecough so you can be fit and strong to lead your Clan.”

“Are you sure it’s whitecough? Could it be greencough, like Snowstar had?”

“It’s   whitecough,   definitely,”   Redscar   meowed.   “Now,   lie   down and rest.”

“But I need to appoint a deputy, too,” Brightwhisker protested, lapsing into a fit of coughing.

“It can wait until you can do it without coughing in his or her face.  I’ll  bring  you  some  tansy  to  soothe  your  chest  and  a  poppy  seed to help you sleep.” When he returned, Brightwhisker was curled in her nest, her f lank  rising  and  falling  evenly.  She  didn’t  stir,  so  he  decided  not  to wake her. He left the tansy leaves and the poppy seed beside a clump of moss soaked with water. 

Stretching the stiffness from his legs one paw at a time, he picked his way across the rutted, half-frozen clearing and headed for his nest of crow feathers and dry bracken. Darkness claimed him as soon as he closed his eyes.

“Redscar! Redscar! Come quickly!” Redscar shot out of his nest and pushed his way into the open. Flowerstem was staring at him as if all the foxes of the forest were on her tail. “I can’t wake Brightwhisker!” she wailed. 

Every hair on Redscar’s pelt stood on end. He’d left her only one poppy seed, barely enough for a whole night’s sleep. “Come  see,”  Flowerstem  pleaded,  but  Redscar  was  already  pushing past her, heading for the leader’s den. It was dark inside, and  Redscar  had  to  blink  and  wait  impatiently  for  his  eyes  to  adjust.  

Slowly  he  made  out  Brightwhisker’s  sleeping  shape.  She  didn’t seem to have moved since he last checked on her. Oh, StarClan, don’t let her be dead! Redscar  pushed  his  nose  into  her  neck  fur,  but  there  was  no  sign of the telltale throb of life beneath the skin, and her fur was as cold as frost.

“Redscar?” Flowerstem was standing in the entrance to the den. He  turned  to  her  and  shook  his  head.  Another  leader  had  died, before she’d had a chance to receive her nine lives. “Oh, no!” Flowerstem wailed. 

A tortoiseshell head appeared behind her. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh,  Mossfire!”  Flowerstem  turned  to  face  her  littermate.  “Brightwhisker’s dead!”

Redscar padded out of the den, his paws heavy as stone. “She must  have  developed  greencough  in  the  night.  She  died  in  her  sleep.” 

Mossfire  stared  at  him.  “But  .  .  .  she  never  chose  a  deputy!  Who will be our leader now?”

Redscar knew he had to help his Clan find a way out of this terrible darkness. “I’ll call the cats together,” he meowed. He chose to stay on the ground rather than stand on the fallen log that the leaders had used to address the Clan. Brightwhisker had taken her place there only once, to greet her Clan for the first time since Snowstar’s death; a fit of coughing had stopped her, and Redscar    had    ordered    her  back  to  her  den.  I should   have   known   it   was   greencough! There must have been  something  else  I  could  have done. Like let her appoint a deputy? a small voice inside him challenged.

Redscar pushed it away. “Cats of ShadowClan, Brightwhisker is  dead.  There  will  be  time  to  grieve  for  her,  but  first  we  must  choose a new leader. Are there any cats who wish to volunteer?”

His  Clanmates  shifted  restlessly  and  there  were  worried  murmurs,  but  no  cat  spoke  out  until  Jumpfoot  stepped  forward.  His muscles rippled under his black pelt, and his green eyes were somber. “I will lead ShadowClan, if my Clanmates wish it.”

There  were  several  yowls  of  approval,  but  some  murmurs  of  disagreement.  “We  think  Mossfire  should  be  leader,”  called  one  of the queens. “Jumpfoot is too quick to go into battle. We want peace for our kits.”

Mossfire   walked   forward   to   stand   beside   Jumpfoot.   She   dipped  her  head  to  Redscar.  “My  Clanmates  honor  me,  and  I  would be willing to be their leader.”

“Not all of them want you,” snarled Jumpfoot. “Who’d want a Clan full of cowards, too frightened to defend their borders?”

“Not  rushing  into  every  battle  doesn’t  make  me  a  coward,”  Mossfire retorted. “I can fight as well as you any day.”

“Prove it,” Jumpfoot challenged.

“This is no way to choose a leader!” Flowerstem cried.

Jumpfoot glared at her. “We’ll fight, and whichever cat StarClan favors will be victorious.”Flowerstem looked pleadingly  at Redscar, but he felt frozen. What was happening to his Clan?

Jumpfoot and Mossfire started circling each other; the other cats moved back to give them more room. Mossfire struck first, with an easy swipe that Jumpfoot sprang away from with a contemptuous hiss. “You’ll have to do better than that!”

“Very  well,”  spat  Mossfire,  and  she  leaped  at  him,  front  legs  outstretched,  claws  glinting  in  the  frosty  sun.  She  raked  a  set  of scratches  into  Jumpfoot’s  flank,  leaving  scarlet  beads  of  blood.  With a yowl, Jumpfoot spun around and slashed at her face, then sank his claws into her shoulder and rolled her onto the ground, pummeling at her with his hind legs.

Redscar turned away. He could not believe StarClan wanted two  warriors  to  fight  like  this  in  order  to  lead  their  Clan.  He  winced  as  he  heard  Mossfire  gasp  with  pain  and  the  sound  of  ripping fur as she retaliated. There was a thud as Jumpfoot went down  and  a  gasp  from  the  watching  cats.  Then  another,  softer  thud as Mossfire crumpled beside him.

“Mossfire! No!” That was Flowerstem. The  stench  of  blood  told  Redscar  what  he  would  see.  He  turned around. The two cats were lying still as their lives ebbed away from blows struck too close, too hard. Redscar felt numb. He had failed, again.

Three  elders  were  already  shuff ling  forward  to  rearrange  the bodies for their Clanmates’ vigil. It would last all night, and then what? ShadowClan still had no leader. The cats were silent, moving  slowly  as  if  their  limbs  had  frozen,  none  quite  meeting  another’s eye. The blood of these cats stains all our paws. 

Flowerstem alone seemed to have her voice; she wove among the  stunned  cats,  comforting  them,  sending  them  to  the  fresh-kill pile to eat: “We have to keep up our strength. There is still sickness in the air; no more cats must die.” Quietly she asked two of  the  senior  warriors  to  take  out  hunting  patrols  with  all  the  apprentices. “There is no need for them to spend all day looking at these fallen warriors. Keep them busy, but battle training would not be appropriate, I think.” 

Her Clanmates nodded and led the younger cats silently out of the clearing. Then Flowerstem approached Redscar. Her eyes looked dull with shock, but she spoke calmly. “Is there anything I can do for you, Redscar? Fetch herbs or water?” 

Redscar  shook  his  head.  There  was  nothing  any  cat  could  do.  “I’ll  be  in  my  den,”  he  told  her  and  headed  for  the  thicket  of  hawthorn  that  screened  his  nest  and  his  store  of  herbs.  He  stumbled  into  his  nest,  feeling  many  seasons  older  than  he  had  when he last lay down, and closed his eyes.

“Redscar? Redscar, wake up.” He opened his eyes. He was lying in a clearing among beech trees,  their  branches  black  and  sharp  against  the  snow-colored  sky.  The  grass  beneath  him  was  crisp  and  cold;  he  jumped  up,  shivering. “Redscar, you must find a new leader for ShadowClan.”

“Snowstar?” The  gray cat  nodded.  “I  have  been  watching  my  Clan,  and  I  grieve for every one of my cats. Most of all, for Brightwhisker, who would  have  been  a  great  leader,  and  for  Jumpfoot  and  Mossfire  who let ambition cloud their senses and sharpen their claws. You must put this right, my friend.”

“What can I do?” Redscar wailed.

“You will choose a new leader,” Snowstar meowed. “And that cat must choose a deputy at once. A Clan must never be left like this  again,  a  headless  creature  that  wades  into  blood  because  it  cannot see. At the next Gathering, the new leader must introduce a  new  rule  for  the  warrior  code:  Deputies  must  be  replaced  by  moonhigh, so a leader will never be alone for more than half a day. Now tell me, who would you choose as your next leader?”

Redscar started to protest that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, choose, but  the  look  in  Snowstar’s  eyes  silenced  him.  “Flowerstem,”  he  meowed. “She watched her sister die in front of her, but her only thoughts were to make the Clan feel safe and keep them occupied before tonight’s vigil.”

“A wise choice. So tell the Clan.”

Redscar stared at him. “Why should they listen to me? I’ve done nothing for them, nothing.”

Snowstar narrowed his eyes. “You’re their medicine cat. They will listen to you, if you use the right words.” The beech trees were looking paler now, blurring against the white clouds. Snowstar was fading, too. “Go now, Redscar,” he called. “Appoint Flowerstem as the new leader of ShadowClan!”

Redscar blinked and he was back in his nest with a crow feather tickling his ear. He shook his head irritably. The Clan was in turmoil. They must think their warrior ancestors had given up on them. No words, but maybe an action?

He padded into the clearing. The camp was quiet and deserted, apart from the bodies of Mossfire and Jumpfoot lying in the shelter of some dry bracken. He slipped out of the camp and trotted to a place where an oak tree grew on ground that was less marshy than the rest of the territory. Mossfire and Jumpfoot would be buried near here. 

At the foot of the tree, sheltered from the wind, grew a bunch of delicate white flowers, the color of snow and the shape of raindrops. Checking  there  were  no  cats  around,  he  nipped  one  of  the  snowdrops off at the base of its stalk. Laying it on the ground, he pulled  off  the  smooth  white  petals,  leaving  just  the  stem.  Then  he curled it up and pushed it into a clump of moss that he dug up from underneath a tree root. Picking up the moss in his teeth, he headed back for the camp. 

No cat would question a medicine cat fetching moss; it was used for bedding as well as to carry water. When he returned to the camp, there were more cats around. The hunting patrols had come back with a fair haul of fresh-kill, and pale sunlight had tempted their Clanmates out to eat. 

Redscar nodded to one or two as he crossed the clearing. As he passed the fallen log used by the leaders to address the Clan, he relaxed his grip on the moss and felt the snowdrop stalk spring out. Quick as lightning, he dropped the moss and kicked it with his paw so that it rolled underneath a hawthorn, out of sight. 

“Look!” he cried, gazing down at the pale green stem lying at his paws. It was as slim as a whisker, still quivering from where it had uncurled. “Did any cat bring this into the camp?” 

His Clanmates gathered around. “It’s a snowdrop stalk. They only grow by the oak tree, right?” meowed one of the apprentices. Redscar  lifted  his  head  and  faced  them.  His  paws  were  shaking  but  he  sank  his  claws  into  the  earth  to  keep  them  still.  “It’s a sign from StarClan,” he announced. “They want us to know their choice for the new ShadowClan leader.”

“Who?” gasped a she-cat plump with kits. Redscar touched the stalk with his paw. “Flowerstem.”

There was a gasp, then murmurs of agreement. The ginger-and-white she-cat was pushed to the front of the cats. She looked dazed. “I don’t know what to say,” she began.

“Just say you will lead us, as Starclan wishes,” meowed Redscar. 

Flowerstem looked down at the snowdrop stalk, then over her shoulder  at  her  motionless  sister.  “To  honor  Mossfire’s  memory  and  Jumpfoot’s,  yes,  I  will.”  She  dipped  her  head  as  joyful  yowls  rose around her.

Maybe StarClan had needed Redscar’s help to send this sign, but  it  was  what  Snowstar  wanted.  And  he  would  tell  Flowerstar  to choose her deputy before the moon reached its height, in front of the bodies of her fallen Clanmates, and Brightwhisker, so that their spirits could hear and approve her choice. 

“Thank you, Snowstar,” he whispered.

[impulsivewcrewrite]

Chapter 5: Welcome to the Underground

When Rocky returned, it was clear he had been crying. But he held his composure. Rusty wanted to say something, anything, but didn’t know what to say. Instead, Rocky planned their next steps.“I suspect they traveled after the setting sun. If Magpie was leading them, then I’d assume he was retracing his steps.”

“Retracing his steps?” questioned Wren.

Rocky looked a little uncomfortable. “Well… he doesn’t talk about it much, but when he was a new warrior, he left the Colony for a time. I don’t know why, but I remember he followed the setting sun,” confessed Rocky. “It’s possible he knows a safe haven somewhere around here.”

Looking to the West, Rusty spotted large roads on stilts. That explained the distant car noises. Although now that the moon was rising, the roads were quiet. The word Freeway popped into his head. His humans had driven on this freeway to take him to the vet all those moons ago. Frowning, he looked back at Rocky. “That’s not somewhere cats should be. Cars are-”

“Have some manners! Monsters. They’re called Monsters,” scolded Rocky. 

“Right, whatever. Those Monsters go vroom vroom very fast ahhh hit cat and die,” Rusty repeated drily.

“Rusty. You’re pushing your luck,” growled Rocky. 

“All I’m saying is, we need to be careful,” Rusty met the warrior’s glare evenly. 

With a sigh, Rocky turned and forged ahead. Before they could reach the freeway, there was a large grassy field. Junk and litter littered the grassland. It seemed humans would throw their rubbish from their car windows and down into this lea. This was definitely not a place cats should be.

Rusty breathed in. “I smell WindColony?” he mewed. Ahead, Rocky gave a small nod. 

Beside him, Wren perked up. “That’s a scent marker! Cricket is somewhere nearby!”

“Magpie? Cricket? It’s Rocky!” shouted Rocky. He jumped, trying to see over the grass. “Hellooo!?”

“Mom! We’re here!” Wren joined the cry. 

Rustling in the grass made them stop. But then, new meows sounded.

“Quiet! Stop shouting! We can hear you,” growled a voice. This didn’t deter Wren, who excitedly circled in place.

“Spruce! It’s so good to hear your voice!” the apprentice was almost in tears. 

Finally, the WindColony patrol pushed through the grass and came face to face with Rocky. They were led by a thin brown tabby, with a scrawny tortoiseshell and a white tom. The white tom raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Who are these two?” he questioned.

“They’re our friends. Rusty of Nutmeg and Pebbles of Willow,” answered Wren. “From ThunderColony!”

Unimpressed, the brown tabby scowled. “Have you come to join our Colony?”

“Please don’t tell me ShadowColony attacked you too,” groaned the tortoiseshell. 

“We have news for Star Magpie,” Rusty raised his head proudly. “ThunderColony has exiled Shatter, and WindColony can return to the moors.” At his words, the WindColony cats gazed at each other with amazement. “We want to bring you back.”

The tortoiseshell seemed weak with relief, and collapsed onto the white tom’s shoulder. He laughed with relief, and pressed his head against hers. Even the angry brown tabby seemed to lighten up.

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for moons,” sobbed the white tom. “Magpie has been lost without you Rocky.”

“I’ve been lost without him, Fly,” Rocky murmured, pressing his head against Fly’s. Then, with a small laugh in his voice, he turned to the tortoiseshell. “Sorry I missed your warrior ceremony, Noon.”

Noon, the tortoiseshell, whimpered softly. At this, Fly suddenly glanced up at Rocky. 

“Where are Pigeon and Gristle? During the battle, I saw them escape past the Tallrock,” he asked. “Brook said she followed them, but turned around when she heard the retreat.”

“Pigeon is staying in ThunderColony’s camp with his niblings,” Pebbles piped up. “We rescued them from ShadowColony too.”

“And Gristle?” Fly’s voice was laced with fear. His wide yellow eyes danced with tears. Rusty swallowed hard. Rocky answered by looking away. With a gasp, Fly sat down heavily and stared at his paws. “No… please!” he stared up at Rocky. “Not Gristle. No, I can’t lose him!”

“I’m sorry, Fly,” Rusty felt grief for the tom. “He rests with StarColony now.”

“You’ll be OK, Fly. I know Gristle would’ve fought like StarColony, and probably took a ShadowColony coward down with him,” Spruce mewed gruffly. “It’s what he would’ve wanted.” Despite his best efforts, tears were forming in the warrior’s eyes. “Come, we should tell the rest of the Colony.”

. . .

The group was led to a storm drain. The smooth metal pipe was large enough for them to climb through without crouching. Underfoot was a small current of water. In the distance, Rusty could hear more water dripping. This seemed to connect to a deeper underground system. He didn’t dare explain any of that to the WindColony cats, if they were anything like Rocky. A light breeze brought the smell of rotting food towards them, and Rusty wrinkled his nose at it. 

“What is that smell?” sputtered Wren. 

“Twoleg crowfood,” responded Spruce, “you get used to it.”

“It keeps away most other animals,” added Noon. “‘cept for raccoons.”

“What’s a raccoon?” Pebbles asked quietly.

“Big creature with a mask and little hands,” Rusty explained. 

With one final turn, they reached the camp. A long-abandoned lamp provided a small circle of yellow light in the large room. Ragged cats huddled around it. From above rumbled the sounds of cars on the freeway, causing all the cats to jolt. In front of the group lay two dead rats, what Rusty assumed was their fresh-kill pile. He gulped. 

“Star Magpie, we found Rocky and Wren,” called Fly gently. “They have brought two ThunderColony cats along with them.”

One of the cats lifted their head, and then stood. It looked like he had been dragged through the entire forest, with his fur mucky and leaves stuck to his sides. His eyes were hollow, and he stared at the patrol for a long time. This must be Star Magpie. He approached cautiously.

“Rocky…? Is that really you?” His voice was hoarse. 

“Yes sir,” Rocky purred, closing the gap between them. He crouched down in front of the Star, and gently licked Magpie’s paw. “It’s time to go home.”

“We can’t. We’re not strong enough to fight off Shatter’s warriors,” the answer came from a shadowy black tom. His yellow eyes flashed in the light. 

“You don’t need to, Shatter has been chased from ShadowColony. Now they are led by Star Night,” Rusty called. Again, at this news, excited meows sounded from all the cats. Wren pushed past Rusty and sprinted over to a thin brown tabby. 

“Mom! We can go home!” the apprentice purred loudly. 

Aster turned to look at Magpie. “Magpie? Can we return?”

“Please!” called a gray apprentice. “I’m so hungry. I miss rabbits!”

“I’ll never complain about another dawn patrol ever again,” promised a ginger tabby. 

“I think the Colony supports this idea,” a brown tom approached Magpie and pressed himself against Magpie’s side. 

“It is night. We need to rest before we leave,” Magpie finally answered. The leader turned, and Rusty stared in awe at the leader’s height. Muscles rippled under his fur. Despite his age, it was clear Magpie was an experienced fighter. “But first, there is something I need to do. Wren, step forward please.” 

With a gasp of amazement, Wren pulled himself from his mother. Stars in his eyes, he gazed up at Magpie. The Colony gathered in a large semi-circle around him. 

“Despite the circumstances, Wren has shown immense bravery. It is high time he is recognized for his long-suffering and optimism,” Magpie’s words were slow, but Rusty could sense pride in his voice. “In face of such challenges, Wren has displayed his commitment to the warrior’s code unwaveringly.”

Strangely, at this, Wren’s whiskers twitched. Rusty wondered. Was that… doubt? No one else seemed to notice. Was Wren hiding something?

“Wren, do you promise to uphold the warrior’s code?” Magpie continued.

“Yes,” Wren answered firmly.

“Do you promise to defend the Colony, even with your life?”

“Yes.”

“And do you promise to live with honor at all times?”

“I do,” Wren’s eyes glittered with excitement. 

“Then by the power granted from StarColony within me, I recognize your warrior status,” the tom bent down and touched his muzzle to the top of Wren’s head. 

“Wren! Wren!” the Colony chanted. Rusty joined in. A seed of curiosity was planted inside him. What made Wren hesitate about the warrior’s code? But Aster wove herself around her son, and Rocky looked so proud. There was no way Rusty could ask Wren about it. And even if he did, were they close enough friends to reveal secrets to each other? 

Walking over to the leader, Rusty gently cleared his throat. “I can help keep the silent vigil tonight. The rest of your warriors can rest.”

Magpie blinked, surprised. It was like it was his first time seeing Rusty. But then he nodded. “Thank you, Rusty.”

As the Colony returned to lay around the lantern, Rusty nodded to Wren. The new warrior nodded back eagerly. What are you hiding? Rusty wondered. What is WindColony hiding?

[pomerobin]

The Family

Robin (Nickname: Babygirl)

Birthday: 9/15/22, 2 years old

Tags: #robin the babygirl , #robin

A female black parti Pomeranian! She's the life of the party; very silly and loves to wrestle. If she isn't outside hunting mice or playing with water, she's killing her toys or your hands. Don't let her tenacity fool you into thinking she's not sweet, though, she's a huge cuddler with a soft spot for her Papa. One of the friendliest Poms you'll ever meet!

Jasper

Birthday: 11/20/10 (estimated), roughly 14 years old

Tags: #oldman jasper, #jasper

A dark brown and tan Chihuahua/Dachshund mix! He's been here for a long time, and though he's getting up in his years, he's still going strong! Well, that's one way to put it, he has only a heart murmur as his major health problem (being treated with medicine!), but he's just as pathetic as ever. He likes having attention and being involved in things, don't be surprised if he starts barking if he hears someone laughing without him! He can be spunky on walks, seeing it as his job to stay alert, but otherwise he's not the bravest and only puts on a front. If there's a problem he wants solved, he's really good at asking for help. He has a lot of trust in his heart and has never met a stranger, just a new friend!

Gracie

Birthday: 7/1/12 (estimated), roughly 12 years old

Tags: #grouchy gracie , #gracie

A white Chihuaha/Dachshund/Mini American Eskimo mix. She's often seen around her favorite person and is never really away from her side. Though anxious and not a big fan of strangers, she's never been the type to be mean to people. She just prefers to alarm bark so her whole family knows someone weird is here... even if we all already know. It's her job to guard the house whether we tell her to or not! In her older age, she's gotten grouchy and doesn't like it when anyone plays too rough around her. Or at all. She'll snap at you to back off in an instant if you're disturbing her relaxation time! It's the most important part of the day; getting your much needed beauty sleep in.

Trina

Birthday: 8/1/20, 4 years old

Tags: #trina trouble , #trina

A tiny tortoiseshell domestic shorthair. Trina is a strange little cat; everything goes by her rules or no rules. In her mind, it's fun for her to play with the other animals... but it's not fun for animals to play with her. She tolerates everyone, though we might be able to say she's friends with Robin and Saturn some days, as she does seek them out from time to time! It's definitely not as fun as being around people; she's a known elbow killer and loves to play with toes hidden under towels and blankets. If you're ignoring her, she will make it known and talk to you until you finally lean down to rub her cheeks or pat right above her tail. She does get overstimulated easily, but once you know her, it's easy to not push her buttons unless she wants them pushed. She loves being pushed just slightly over the edge, if you annoy her in just the right way it becomes a very, very fun game.

Saturn (nickname: Bubby)

Birthday: 11/1/20, 4 years old

Tags: #saturn the bubby , #saturn

A large grey and white lynxpoint domestic shorthair. Saturn's one of the biggest babies ever; he's not the most confident of cats nor the smartest. It wouldn't be surprising if he was an orange cat in a past life. His favorite things are getting drinks from the sink (but he hates his paws getting wet because of it), sitting around outside supervised (but he hates walking in the grass), and eating. If you don't know where he is, just shake some treats, he'll be next to you before you know it. Too bad he can't get treats all of the time... if he asks for them and gets told no, he will throw a tantrum and run around the house stomping and crying. That's his solution for most things, run around crying until the emotion goes away, and honestly it's a mood. He tires himself out often this way, and once he's satisfied, he'll find the nearest chair to drape himself over dramatically and heave the biggest sigh known to man. It's all okay though, because he'll get to snuggle whenever he wants and eat eventually!

The Owner

Birthday: 7/5/02, 22 years old

Hi! Nothing too important to put here, if I'm honest. I'm genderfluid and my Pronouns are He/She/They (not any Pronouns! Just those three please). I have a girlfriend, we've been together for like 8 years now. I've always loved animals and couldn't imagine my life without them. I currently work in a vet clinic, just as a kennel tech, but it's taught me a lot and I enjoy learning how to better take care of my pets. Don't be surprised if I post art I make of the animals that come through the clinic from time to time, nor if I post art of animals in general. I draw a lot, if the industry was better, I'd love an art career of some sort (especially as I went to a tech school for animation and modeling for a few years). My current interests are: Warrior Cats, Dungeon Meshi/Delicious in Dungeon, Blue Eye Samurai, and Gravity Falls.

[suugrbunz]

I’d love to read the chapters you’ve published! Is it “Postcards From Paris”? I remember reading the snippets you posted last year, really enjoyed them, especially with the punk connection but also how the characters interacted, they were very human.

Aww, Laila.. That’s a really cool story. Lucky cat. She’ll appreciate you very much! She has a good home. My childhood cat was a tortoiseshell. They’re gorgeous.

My main account, which I reblog stuff from every now & then, is a bit of a mess, & I generally don’t interact with anyone from it as I like to keep as a safe, personal space for just me; but I’m thinking of creating a little sideblog to add moodboards of my characters? Maybe sometime.

It’s awful hearing you’ve been through so many horrible feelings regarding your body. We live in a very messed up world, wtf is wrong with people that makes them feel the need to cause others shame for something so natural? Don’t understand it..

Which Khalil Gibran book is it? I’d love to see the cover!

I think of you often too. This really is like writing an old pen pal! You made me smile. It’s so lovely to write to you again. As I said, I can’t be on here for long, due to lack of time and a general aversion to using the internet too much; but it’s so lovely to interact for a short while again!

Oh, and I want to say, you were so kind about my writing last year - you really motivated me and made me feel so very happy about it. I’m so private about my writing and only show it to a very few people.. So thank you for being so good to me about it, I really appreciated it 🩷

Also, “and i actually followed through on replacing nick” - you replaced him?! Lol! Made me giggle.

Okay, I’ll add some of my writing below.. ——————————

It’s late. They’d spent the night at Maureen’s favourite restaurant, the one with the concrete floor and the multicolour thank you notes on the walls, the one which Cecil also frequents to buy boxes of banana and melted chocolate sandwiches for Joey. Late and dark. The town’s already half-empty. They were lucky the restaurant still exists. Maureen, as always, unceremoniously shoves open her front door as she cackles about something funny a customer had done earlier while she’d been balancing filled boxes. Lyam follows her into the kitchen as she puffs repeatedly on her cigarette, talking around the smoke while he stays silent. She turns to him, one of her hands busy with the frying pan and the other with lighting her next cigarette. “You awrigh’ Benoit? Feels like ‘m talkin’ to myself,”

The words are rough and harsh - just like her voice - but her face is gentle and smiling. Lyam smiles softly back at her. “‘m awrigh’ Maureen,” Her smile turns toothy as she spins, scurrying over to the stepping stool to reach the pack of doughnuts, a cloud of smoke following behind. Lyam steps forward, hand on her buzzing arm, steady and gentle. She pauses, head lowering to look slightly down at him - an unusual angle for them. Trails of silky, white smoke run out of her painted lips, and they smile at him when she sees his glazed, gentle eyes looking right at them. “Keep tellin’ you Maureen, you gotta stop wi’ these,” he mutters, tugging the cigarette out from between her fingers. She’s still, watching him bend to stub it out on her counter ashtray in the bright, yellowy bulb light. She’s still, watching him straighten back up, his eyes on her face again, hesitant. She palaces a jittering hand on his cheek and his face relaxes. She doesn’t have to move forward much, they’re already so close, to connect their lips.

———————-

🫣 I’m so uncomfortable about showing others my romance writing, hope it’s okay!!That was their last moment together in the book. A good ending for them I thought!

Will read your chapters when I get the time :)

💝anon

Sadly, the punk connection had to be dropped because i couldn't get the plot to move forward. It was so strange and maybe it is partly my own fault because i was definitely worse at plotting atp. Whereas now plots come to me rather easily? Anyway, it is Postcards from Paris! I hope you enjoy it when you begin your reading journey. That is actually why i thought of you, i just wondered if you'd ever read my work and if you'd be proud of it.

I definitely recommend making moodboards; I have some planned that i haven't actually created yet. oh, i made webweaves for my characters as well! Those came out pretty nicely if i do say so myself. I am also really private about my writing and someone had to convince me to publish this (if they're reading this; hi, thank you, i hope you know who you are!!).

I DID REPLACE NICK IT FEELS LIKE SUCH A SIN. I miss him but the plot has moved forward so nicely since ive replaced him, but i really need to incorporate him in another way. I have an idea but we'll see 👀.

i love your writing so much, it's lovely as ever. every time i read your writing it inspires me to better my own. i hope you see the beauty in your writing. If it helps you at all, I've gotten into the habit of rolling my eyes at my own romance writing. Only recently, when writing zosa and amir's confessions, did i gush about my romance writing...and oh boy is it worth the gushing.

I love that you add dialect and accents into your dialogue; I have such a hard time doing that because i wonder if it'll be wince worthy if i do it... yet when i see others do it I'm just like starstruck by it.

[waterfrontcomplex]

omg yesss....

lots of wordvomit warning vv

earth kingdom cats could also commonly have splotches and speckles resembling rocks/dirt. id imagine they would be large as you said, using primarily physical strength and natural bulk to overpower enemies. they would probably be in shades of black, brown, light ginger, gray.

air nomad cats typically would lack fur/have thin/short fur, but id imagine any fur they had would probably be in shades of brown/gray. they would also be more lithe and naturally agile. i was thinking a bit about their 'all life is sacred' philosphy and how it would work in this au (considering cats are carnivores) and i guess they would eat whatever meat was necessary to survive (with giving thanks to starclan/the spirits) while also consuming herbs and eggs and such for the rest of their diet.

water tribe cats would have thick, long fur to provide insulation and muscular bodies to swim whenever necessary. they would commonly have shades of dark brown, black, white, and silver in their coats. maybe large paws to help swim and stay on top of the snow?

i already talked a bit about fire nation cats. anyway, i agree that bengals should be from the fn :) i'd imagine there's a good deal of torties and rusted black cats. probably mostly ginger, browns, reds... u get the idea. my idea was that the fn royal family would be primarily torties, with the occasional black/ginger cat. i was also thinking that it would be common to reinforce their claws with cat/dog teeth (like bloodclan haha emo yes i know) for the intimidation+lethality

also, im not half asleep now! more coat/name ideas for some of the other characters! i probably wont have much to say abt most of them

azula - tortoiseshell, dunno what breed, same as zuko. yk theyre related blah blah but i was thinking she would resemble ursa more (rusted black) and be more black than ginger, while zuko would resemble ozai (tortie) more with similar ginger patch placement/size. her tail would be more plumed and she would have ear tufts 100%. name time! lowkey not that sure abt her name... maybe sunpaw -> sunblaze? i def want her name to do something with fire or lightning. i was also considering blazethunder but idk... cinder? smolder? suggestions pls :(

mai - black bombay cat. pretty self explanatory. name time! ravenpaw -> raventail. i wanted her name and coat to feel 'bland', like even her appearance and name are boring in her opinion. i guess her tail could be bushed enough to resemble a wing?

ty lee - diluted calico. dunno what breed. was also considering bengal/marble bengal. she would have very similar coloration to her sisters. name time! mousepaw -> mousedapple. she and her sisters have a small prey name theme (mouse, rabbit, vole, weasel, etc)

yue - seal point balinese, was born darker (see 2nd pic) but then moon spirit blessing yk yk. maybe she would have a pale circle on her forehead or a dark circle on her chest?? dunno. name time! moonpaw -> moonstream. self explanatory. she was a med cat/mediator for like 3 days b4 dying... :(

iroh - tortoiseshell, dunno what breed. not much to say here ngl... maybe a couple scars from battles? a nicked ear?? stub tail??? name time! cinderdawn. the definition of cinder is "a small piece of partly burned coal or wood that has stopped giving off flames but still has combustible matter in it". i think that fits how he gave up fighting in the war, but is still capable of fighting. and dawn for the whole beginning of a new era and firebenders rise with the sun thing :)

ozai - tortoiseshell, dunno what breed. also not much to say here. long head fur ig? maybe claws reinforced with dog teeth? name time! scorchdusk -> scorchstar. sorta wanted to parallel iroh (dawn and dusk, end of an old era start of a new one)

ursa - rusted black bengal. couldn't find a pic of one but i assume they exist so this is the closest one i found... name time! robinswoop. not much to say abt her

jet - brown marbled tabby barn cat. has a couple scars from fights. no name time here since his name is still the same :) the freedom fighters are a group of clanless cats that typically kill any fire nation cats they come across

bumi - lykoi. look at it. thats him. name time! wildbriar -> wildstar.

ok thats it for now ummm is this too much.... srry i went a lil overboard LOL (might do some lok cats if ppl want them)

so, my thoughts on the clan system! each nation is extremely large, too large for one leader to handle every little settlement, so i was thinking they would be separated into multiple settlements throughout their respective territories typically with mini-leaders for each one (-star suffix, no extra lives). the capital of each nation would have the most cats with 1 leader (-star suffix, 9 lives)

the avatar would be allowed access to any moonstone equivalents alongside leaders and medicine cats for direct access to starclan/the spirit world. they still have the whole reincarnation thing going on.

anyway, i kinda wanna draw some of my design ideas... might do that soon.

ummmmm does anybody wanna hear about my self indulgent atla warrior cats ideas. should i draw them. idk...

[aftg-keremy-week]

Keremy Fic Rec: fucking definitely

Info

Title: fucking definitely Author: @djhedy | djhedy Word Count: 7,954 Rating: T+ Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Other Relationships: Andrew/Neil, Andrew & Kevin Friendship, Kevin & Wymack Tags: Bookstore AU, New Relationships, Friends with Benefits, Christmas, Found Family

LINK TO FIC! CLICK ME!

AO3 Summary

Kevin pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Andrew, with his tiny wireframes, is always telling him to get glasses that stay up there. But Kevin’s been told the big tortoiseshell frames suit him. So there. He looks over to where Andrew is reading the back cover of something with distaste. He grunts. Kevin says, “What’s wrong with that one?” Andrew barely flicks his eyes up at him before reading, “Fairytale romance, for teens, there was only one bed, goblincore…” “Goblincore?” Kevin shakes his head. “What is literature coming to?” - Kevin and Andrew work at a bookshop. Jeremy and Neil visit more than they need to.

Why Read It?

Because there is something inherently comforting about Kevin and Andrew working in a bookshop. Also, they have a snarky employee named Zan and really every fic should have a snarky employee named Zan. Just sayin. But no, for serious. This fic is comforting and sweet. There is some minor angst as Kevin navigates his and Jeremy's FWB arrangement while also catching feelings and Y'ALL WILL LOVE IT. There is so much fucking HILARITY in this. So many times you point and go HA I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE only to be immediately distracted by the kisses and the sweetness and how obviously gone for each other everyone is. I fucking LOVE the vibe that Andrew and Kevin have, how they're protective of each other and get a little jealous when the other starts spending all this time with their new beau. Kekeke. You should read this fic because its goddamn lovely. You should read it because it's kinda like a literary nuzzle. Something flirty and happy and pleasant and you deserve it ;)

Keremy Week 2022 | May 8-14 Prompt List

[strangebiology]

Hi! I love animal anatomy and find skeletons fascinating but have been afraid of collecting bones I find and messing with the bodies because of fear of diseases and other nasty things. How dangerous is it and how can one safely collect and observe dead animals and their bones?

I grew up outdoors but was always told to stay away from dead animals and that they were dangerous and gross. Seeing how you just pick up bones like they are nothing makes me think they must not be as bad as I was previously told. I also live in an area that is wet and mild most of the year, so decomp can be messy and smelly for a lot of things.

Yeah! There is reason for some fear of dead animals, but I think it's not as dangerous as most people think. Consider the carved horn and tortoiseshell you see at gift shops, gator heads, coyote teeth, raccoon hats, etc. No one's concerned. The FDA regulates food safety, but consider the amount of dead animal people eat and how often they get sick from it, yet we consider that par for the course.

This is also a tough question because most people don't want to hear that something *isn't that dangerous,* they just want warnings. Or, they only feel that talking about danger is responsible. But I believe in risk assessment, instead of just talking about what could go wrong, so here's my assessment.

Most diseases die pretty quickly once the host dies, and most aren't transferable to humans (although as we know from Covid, it is very bad when they make the jump! But keep in mind that happened where there were a ton of people and live animals pooping on each other in close proximity.)

One issue when an animal dies is the fleas and ticks leave the body and run to the end of the hairs, desperate for a new host. Depending on where you live, your risk assessment regarding insect-spread diseases like lyme will be different. I don't usually pick up fresh deads for that reason and because they are stinky and heavy and they also require some processing that I have less experience with. In that case you could hide the body and come back for it later, or I have a few times skinned and disemboweled animals (Gross Youtube Tutorial). I'm pretty sure I learned from this child but I can only find how he tans hides.

For fresher things, you can use gloves and freeze them if you have a freezer for....not food....that will kill the bugs. Fresh deads also have the benefit of generally being less weathered/chewed on/broken up. But I definitely don't bring them inside unless I have to and they're frozen or too fresh to start stinking.

I've heard to stay away from armadillos because they carry leprosy. I haven't actually researched it because I've never seen one.

If you're transporting animal remains, try to be cautious of diseases you could take from one area to another. There are many laws about what states you can bring deer parts into and out of (which I doubt can be enforced because there are so many carved antlers in gift shops) because it's important not to spread chronic wasting disease. CWD is a prion disease, and unfortunately prions don't die when the host dies, because they can't die at all, because they are not alive. There has been a lot of debate regarding whether CWD spread to humans, but when doing your risk assessment, consider the huge portion of the population that regularly eats deer and has never reported a case of CWD transmission. Low risk for humans, but definitely pay attention to those laws because it's a big problem for deer.

I live in a very dry area, and dry bones are not really dangerous to humans IMO. Everything you do, from crossing the street to eating a carrot comes with some risk, and handling dry bones I'd put on par with with picking up rocks and sticks. You may even have some jewelry made of dry bones. Even if there is some dry, mummified flesh on them, the animal has probably been dead for months or years. In that case I walk around back to the yeard instead of taking it in the house but TBH I do touch it with my bare hands when I try to remove the flesh, and then wash my hands.

If you want to collect and live in a wet area, I might just say, wear gloves and double bag, then get them into a bucket for maceration ASAP. Or whatever technique you like, maybe burial would work ok in a wet environment, I actually don't have much experience collecting and processing in wet environs.

Followers, did I miss anything specifically related to human health? I know you want to talk about laws and ethics and practical tactics but I can't be here all night lol so let's keep it to human health when collecting bones, and I enjoy seeing sources!