#cattlemon's musing

[cattlemons]

hi, if you're okay with writing for him, wanderer x reader hcs? (it can be short and brief!!) /nf

The Archivist and The Stubborn Scholar

TW: Not proofread and the punctuations on this might be kinda yikes (tried my best tho), this particular big boy is 1,7k words big (very short and super brief (❁´◡`❁))

Hope you like this, my first ever nonnie! (I wanna frame you like a first dollar)

I feel like the Wanderer is kind of a tough nut to crack because his trauma wall is 100 inches thick.

At the beginning, he’s really just huffing and puffing and being a total jerk to you (and everyone else). To be honest, you’re just trying your best to tough it out and not cuss him out every chance you get.

Technically, he isn’t a permanent student of the Vahumana; he only comes in to borrow research papers he needs for his own paper and then he’s off again. So, there's no reason for you to see him all that much.

But aside from being a student, you’re also the Akedemiya’s archivist, so you do meet him fairly often. Not that you enjoyed his prickly presence at first. It was quite the nuisance, if anything.

Every time he comes in to borrow something, it feels like he’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of you.

He’s also frustratingly accurate in pressing your buttons; like he knows exactly what makes you tick and explode.

You want to chop his head off.

Luckily for him, you’re closer to Celestia than he is because your patience for him is on par with that of a saint.

“I need a paper on Tatarasuna, but I want it as recent as possible. The closer to ‘yesterday’ it is published, the better.”

Looking away from your own paper, you looked at him like he grew five heads, each wearing a big ‘ol hat. To your defense, you’re only four beats off.

“Look, I know you’re an honored guest of the Archon and only recently started joining in on this research writing business, but you’ve got to learn how we do things here,” you huffed as you searched for a written guideline you have not needed for a while now.

Pulling the paper out of your bag, you pointed and explained the graphic drawn on it.

“First, you go and find out which collection of research papers you need and ask me politely if we have it here in the archives. Then, I tell you if we have it or not before asking if you want it copied and if you need more assistance—”

“Okay, fine. I want Tatarasuna papers and assistance.”

“Please let me finish.”

“Why’d you stop talking if you weren’t finished?”

“You interrupted me?!”

That’s basically how an average conversation with him goes.

But as time goes on, the hate turns into dislike and then into pretend hate and finally into secret like.

At the start of his research, the visits are few and far between, but as the research starts getting heavier, his visits get more frequent too.

He also likes to work on the tables right outside the archival building for “quicker access to papers.”

This is not for the public, but he also kind of maybe perhaps secretly likes looking at the archivist.

He just likes looking at you when you’re confused about why the journal you’re reading is spewing lies. He also likes looking at you when you huff at your paper because the wording is all messed up.

Yeah, his sadistic tendencies were not wiped away when he pulled his stunt on the Irminsul. You can’t win them all, I guess.

Anyway, it’s all totally because he likes seeing you suffer. You’re on top of his “pain in the ass” list, after all!

Not because you look adorable when you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

Definitely not because he knows you didn’t get enough sleep last night (he heard your friend chastise you about it) and you made a bunch of mistake on your paper.

He DEFINITELY DOES NOT find your tired eyes and sleepy yawns cute (like a very angry cat he DOES NOT want to take care of).

But really, he actually believes in this reasoning. He simply thinks it's schadenfreude.

Man’s smart when scheming but dumb bum when anything else.

He does not catch on to his feelings all that quick. In fact, it took him embarrassingly long.

He had to do a lot of soul searching and experience a ton of jealousy to finally realize that maybe he likes you more than he hates you.

Or rather, he likes you more than he originally allowed himself to like you.

Oh no! It’s the consequences of having a heart because a heart isn’t an object but the accumulation of interactions that build the psyche and emotion! Darn, life lesson! (Wanderer, probably)

The Wanderer decided that he’s going to work on his paper in the archive building today. He’s not in the mood to sit in some shitty cafe and listen to incessant chatter.

Wow, he wished he had chosen the cafe instead.

“Hey! Who told you, you can just take a paper out of the archive and waltz your merry way home? Give that back. Right now!”

“I thought we were friends,” Kaveh mumbled in faux hurt as he stretched his hands out to return the paper to you.

“Archivist first. Friend second,” you huffed out, snatching the scroll of paper out of his hands.

The blond proceeded to clutch his chest and make a scene.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t such good friends with the man. At least then, he’d act civil.

Meanwhile, the Wanderer was watching all this from the front row seat; absolutely soaked with friendly-banter-that-he-misunderstood-as-lovey-dovey-affection. Your interaction with Kaveh spilled over into the splash zone of his seat in the archival building and he hated it.

In his mind, he came up with the conclusion that the heat in his heart is coming from a place of annoyance.

Why are you so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why is the blond one also so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why are you even entertaining guests this early in the morning? Didn’t you refuse him any service when he came this early a few weeks ago?

Why is this guy any special?

Somewhere much deeper in his mind, he thought differently.

I thought you were only grumpy with me.

You said ‘friend’ to him, right?

Why does that ease me slightly?

But you treat me like that too… Am I a ‘friend’ as well?

Why does that hurt even more?

After that moment, his visits get less frequent. When he does visit, though, he keeps things brief and… polite?

You even tried to start up a banter; mentioning something you know (on a normal day) would get his veins popping and kick-start a back-and-forth and then some.

To no avail, he stayed silent and just looked mildly inconvenienced.

This confused you to Celestia and back and then to Celestia again and then back again.

He’s honestly not too sure why he distanced himself from you in the first place.

But hindsight is 20/20 because after a much-needed self-evaluation session (by ‘self’ I mean himself and Nahida) he knows it’s because he doesn’t want a fourth addition to his list of major betrayals.

Not that he’ll actually agree with that statement out loud. But inside, he gets it.

Of course, this understanding is between his own person. You, unfortunately, were completely out of the loop.

You thought you had somehow pissed him off beyond forgiveness or crossed some kind of line.

At one point, you thought that the banter was, in a very weird way, flirting.

But maybe you got it wrong. What if he never saw you as a friend at all, let alone someone he might like.

You decided that if a relationship(?) friendship(?) has to die, then it’s going out with a bang.

*(bang = mutual understanding on what went wrong and peacefully going back to being strangers).

So, you visited him one day. Out of work hours too (mmmm how bold).

The knock on his door broke the puppet out of his cluttered thoughts; thoughts of a certain archivist he misses. Grunting as he stood, he closed the book he pretended to read in favor of opening the door.

“Who is it?”

He opened the door just as the ‘intruder’ reached to knock on the door again. He doesn’t know why you thought that knocking needed that much force but he’s certain it’s way too much.

Anger poked at him as he yelled, “That’s going to bruise, idiot.”

It won’t.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You should be! That hurts.”

It did not.

“Not about that! I’m sorry for whatever happened between you and me to make you hate me…”

The fuck?

“You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I get that you have some sort of past to make you that way and I probably overstepped somewhere but… I thought we were friends. I thought if you were to revert back to us being enemies again, at least you’d tell me why…”

The Fuck?

“Is it because you know I like you? If that’s the case, you’re not fully wrong but I can just throw that away because I know you’re probably not looking for something like that and that’s probably the bit where I overstepped and you know I’m not even fully invested in it so really I can just stop!”

The FUCK?

So much for mutual understanding. With how things are going, it’s more of an individual understanding.

You got way too nervous and now things are spilling left and right and he’s not even saying anything?! He’s just staring at you like you grew five heads, each wearing a big ol' hat. You took a breath to continue your long-winded mess of a rant when he clutched your shoulders.

“Stop for a second, will you, motor-mouth.”

You clammed up right away, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not going to ever say this again but I like you too. It’s shit and I hate feeling it because… because I’ve never felt before, okay? So, stop talking all that crap about throwing important things away, it's pissing me off.”

You fully started sobbing now. He panicked and pulled you in for a very awkward, very stiff, but very loving hug. Snot got on his robe and cape as you cried your emotions out on him.

He found he didn’t quite mind. He could use less snot, sure, but he was glad you cared this much over him. He's never had anyone worry over him, let alone to the point of crying.

Soon, tears prickled his eyes but it's alright because relief found his heart.

By the way, he did say it again. He said it 1,000 times before your eventual marriage and 5,000 more times but with ‘love’ as a substitute for ‘like’.

What a liar.

a.n. My first ever request and I’m so incredibly chill about it (lies I jumped and screamed slightly). Anyway, I’m not sure what you’d like to see so I made this about how you came to be the wanderer's partner. Send in another one if you want something more specific (I’ll literally smile and break my cheek muscles if you do).

[cattlemons]

heyy, it’s the anon that sent in the request about wanderer with a reader who has a bad relationship with their father :) if it’s alright maybe i can just go by 💿 anon? i have another kinda personal request, and again if you don’t feel comfortable writing it please let me know. 

I have a control freak mother, who is obsessed with our family looking perfect from the outside. for example, about a year ago i had plans to k!ll myself, and i broke down and told my mom, and her response was taking away my phone, computer, everything that i could communicate to people with. She called me an attention seeker and told me that i wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else about it.  

It can either be new or a continuation of my first request, whatever you feel like writing :) thanks so much, lovely <3

The Weight of A Memory

TW: Suicidal ideation, emotional distress, pretty sure there's a cuss somewhere, 1,7k words

a.n. can be read as a continuation to this but fine as a stand alone. More below for you, 💿anon

“So, you’re saying it can work? Erasing a memory from the Irminsul, I mean,” you prodded the man beside you for what felt like the fiftieth time after his prior admission.

The wanderer’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance as he scoffed at your question; a desperate one he suffixes. 

“I only told you that because it seems plausible but even I don’t know the complexity behind the damn tree,” he hissed before adding a quiet “yet” to the back of his remark. 

“Honestly, I don’t think we can progress anymore on this topic,” the aloof puppet gruffed out, “the best we can do at this point is to abandon the title entirely and find an object much easier to study than the Irminsul. It’s a massive retrospective joke that we thought ‘Selective Memory Alteration via Mental Connection to Irminsul’ would be a good research title. We can’t even get access to the tree, much less experiment on it.”

He’s definitely right, but you can’t bring yourself to agree, not when he just alluded to the possibility. 

“We don’t have to gain direct access, we can just connect through the meditational route, you know, incense and the likes?”

The Wanderer let out a mocking snort as he looked at you like you’d said the most absurd thing he’d ever had the privilege to hear. 

“The ‘meditational route’ you throw around so easily takes years to hone, idiot, it’s not just smelling salts and candles. You’re a researcher of the esteemed Akademiya and this is your idea? I don’t want to be that person but it looks like you’re desperately clinging onto a failed idea.”

On a normal day, you would know well enough that he’s only trying to dissuade you from wasting your time on something pointless but, unfortunately, for both you and him, today has been an absolute shitfest for you. Where you’d normally sigh at his crass way of speaking, today you decide to one-up him and say some rather nasty things as well. 

You suppose it’s only fair that monkeys see, monkeys do. 

But what started off as annoyance quickly turned into genuine anger as more ugly words and defined poison spewed out of what was supposed to be a discussion session on your research. He said some painful things and, admittedly, you did too. It, soon, spiraled out of both of your control as things started getting painful especially when he asked what all this insistence was for. 

“Why are you so hellbent on going through with this title–and don’t you dare tell me it’s just because it interests you! You’re much too smart to make such a lame excuse.”

You were silent as embarrassment leaked from the corner of your eyes because truly you did not know. 

Or, rather, you did. You just didn't want to admit it to him. 

Taking what you hope are your things, you rush out of the grand hall, passing by the walls of books and scrolls. You need to get out of there before it suffocates you alive, whatever ‘it’ may be.

—

The Avidya Forest is a good ways away from the main city of Sumeru but The Wanderer took it all one stride at a time, all in the name of tracking you down. 

Truthfully, in the empty echoes of the cavity he calls his heart, he feels bad for the things he’s said. He knows he shouldn’t have questioned you too harshly, not when you seemed so unsure of it in the first place, but he needed to know why you wanted this so badly; partially because of the intuition he spent millennials sharpening told him to and the other half because he’s seen this desperation before, back when he donned red, black, and gold. 

He followed the path he’s sure you must’ve taken and started guessing when the beaten path petered off. 

He was right to place his bets on the left fork because he found what he was looking for, albeit not in the condition he was hoping for. 

You were hunched over under a tree, clearly sobbing.

The Wanderer almost scoffs at how pathetic this all was, more so his insistence to come find you than your evident sadness. 

Making sure to step a little louder, he made his presence known. He hopes you’ll extend an olive branch of sorts and start the conversation but he supposes it’s too much to expect such mercy after how the situation unfolded. 

He sat beside you but you made no effort to acknowledge his existence, much less be forgiving. He’s fine with it. If you won’t talk, he’ll just have to talk for the both of you. He’s not particularly good at discerning human emotions but you mirror a certain grief he’s experienced three times too much. So, even though he’s probably extremely behind the curve in expressing human sympathy, he can, at least, offer the empathy of a hurt soul. 

“I don’t know what the fuck happened to you but the divine can’t fix it for you, you know. It’s stupid and damn near fruitless to place your hard-earned hopes on a tree. I don’t know what you’re trying to fix but whatever it is you’re trying to erase, I guarantee it'll bite you back in the end if you do it this way.”

He expected at least another hour-long silence but you took the bait and he’s grateful that you did; even if it did hurt him a bit to see the effects his words had on you. 

“You know what’s stupid? Not telling me how you know all of this. How do you know I'm trying to erase something? How do you know it won’t work? How do you know it can’t fix the hurt I’ve been through? How in all Teyvat do you know forgetting won’t make things better because I am about 99% sure I’d be much happier if I don’t remember the attempts I cry about at night,” you heaved as a wave of heaviness you did not know you carried wracked through you. 

You’re not quite sure how he’s got you to open up about your father once before but, damn it, he’s going for another record by digging deep into your personal hardships. 

He stayed silent in what you assumed to be stunned silence but by the time you turned your head to look at him, his eyes carried no surprise, they carried a shared sorrow instead. That’s when you knew that this whole debacle was a mirrored event for him. Something he witnessed himself go through and is now witnessing in you. Epiphany struck like thunder because now you know that's probably how he knew what you were planning; he's done it once before.

If you had any piece left to break in your heart, you’re sure it’d break for him too.

“You’ve tried it before, haven’t you? Erasing a memory in the Irminsul?”

Your question was met with a mocking scoff but unlike the last time he did it, this one was targeted towards himself.

“I’ll do you one better, I tried erasing myself off of it.”

You greeted his admission with silence, you’re not quite sure if it’s some sort of absurd understanding or profound shock. The man beside you has not only tempered with the Irminsul by erasing himself but lived to tell the tale. You have no clue what would drive someone to do such a drastic measure but you realize, in a way, you were not much different. 

“I was abandoned by my creator, by the people I ate and drank with, by a god and by its maker and the pain made me bitter so I tried it yet I’m still here. I know that the whole research is just a facade for your true goal.”

You can’t help but avert your gaze, caught red-handed. 

As you let his words sink in, your realize the hope you once carried were diminishing by the second. A weight dropped onto your shoulder making you curl into yourself even more. You held yourself in a shoddy attempt at mimicking some comfort.

“So, there’s no end to this, is there? Not even the Irminsul can help me,” you asked, sullen and all of a sudden so tired of everything. 

He let the quiet fester just long enough to have you break down again. He did not mean for more tears to fall from your eyes but he’s not sure how to tell you that there was no hope in the Irminsul to fix your hurt. How should he phrase what he thinks you need to hear?

“There is no way for the Irminsul to help you, us. Even if you forget, there’s no assurance it won’t come back to your mind and make things feel ten times worse,” he tells you in a tone so close to a whisper. 

He watched as you sobbed at how futile everything was, how hard it all was. 

He let you grief for your loss of an easy way to happiness.

“But I won’t say there’s no way out.”

You looked at him, your tear-filled human eyes meeting his glass puppet ones.

“It’s a lot of effort, much more than I’d like to give sometimes. Hell, it took a god and some otherworldly intervention to get me back to the baseline of a decent human,” he laughed pitifully, “but it’s possible. If it is for me, I don’t doubt for a second it is for you too.”

His words did little to ease the barrage of tears streaming past your cheeks but amidst the throes of emotion, it comforted you, much like the weight of a blanket on top of a sore body, a heaviness that seeks to drown out the sorrow instead of crush the happiness. 

You looked away to wipe the snot and waterworks away. You wanted to thank him and maybe say your fair share of apologetic lines but when you turned back around to face him, he was gone. 

The tree branches swayed as the wind rustled the leaves off of their seat on the bark. On the space that he occupied just a few seconds ago were some of the stuff you must’ve left back when you rushed out of the Akademiya and amongst it was a small note. It wasn’t the neatest of handwriting and it was a crude, almost cold letter (if it even counted as one considering it consisted of only a few words) but it brought a tiny spark of warmth into your heart.

I’ve done it before. I believe in you.

To 💿anon, I'm so sorry this took so long. My exams drained my energy and I did not want to write you something half-assed so I waited until my schedule cooled down a bit to continue where I left off. Just like last time I hope this brings you some comfort and if you need to share please feel free. Much love <3

[cattlemons]

hi :)) a bit of a personal request but could i get wanderer comfort for a fem or g/n reader? (your choice) i have a...difficult relationship with my father. when he's sad/angry/upset he usually takes his frustration out on me by yelling at me and calling me names and other hurtful things. then when i cry he tells me that I'm pretending to be a victim, and blames me entirely for his feelings. i just had a sitution like this earlier tonight so its on my mind :) anyway, could i get wanderer comfort for a situation like this? or if this is too specific maybe where reader just doesn't get along with their father? thanks sm <33333

A Salve For Unhealed Wounds

TW: Toxic dad, name calling by a parental figure, emotional distress and familial conflict, crying in public, there's a swear word in there, 1,5k words

a.n. Nonnie, sorry for the wait :( I had an exam and couldn't be on here at all (also left you a short message at the bottom)

It happened again. 

The man you were supposed to trust with your life yelled at you again. Your heart aches at the implication that the weight of his love for you changes depending on the emotion reigning his mind and heart. Your mind crumbles when it recollects the words he spat out so easily when red paints his iris. 

It wouldn’t have hurt as much if he’s always this way. It hurts because you’ve seen the smile that escapes his guarded heart on rare occasions. You’ve also heard him say good things and do good deeds the way an honorable man would–when he’s not mad that is.

It’s unfair that he can’t always be that way with you.

You took off towards the Puspa Cafe, hoping the bustle of Sumeru evening would be the cooling salve you need to soothe your battered mood. 

Yeah, that’s a good idea.

Entering the establishment, scents of coffee and spice filled your nostrils as ease settled between the spaces of your bones. The balmy yellow and brown hues greeted your weary state as the inviting warmth of the cinders burning in the oven beckons you to rest. You made the right call to come here tonight.

Or, so you thought.

Despite being on good terms with the otherwise lonesome man, you did not want to see the infamous hat guy; not tonight. It’s less about his presence and more about yours. The dynamic between the two of you is akin to that of a flying serpent and a scorpion. You’d take frequent jabs at each other, flinging teasing remarks and poking fun at one another but somehow, in a very weird roundabout way, there’s always a sincere sort of care behind it all. 

Right now, however, you don’t think you have it in you to take what you know he can dish. You did get lucky and got a secluded seat, you just hope he does not notice you here. 

“What are you doing here, prickly bush,” he called out to you just as your train of thought chugged away to somewhere beyond the oak doors of the cafe.

Right, so much for peace of mind.

You turn towards him, the frown that began dissipating moments ago returning in full force. Grumbling before speaking, you let out, “Not today, please, I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh yeah, someone’s definitely a prickle bush right now.”

You were at a crossroads between telling him to leave and bursting into tired tears when he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows scrunched as he sat across you. You looked at him but his eyes were trained away from you, staring at some other patron sitting at the wooden bar just a bit away from the both of you. 

Since when was he a caring man?

Your thoughts and confusion settle into a prolonged silence. You half expected him to grumble out an insult along the lines of “Are your ears clogged” or “Need help finding a hearing aid” but he, surprisingly, sat still; eyes now hopping over to a woman by the door having a conversation with a balding man. 

Is he patient now? What kind of patron-saint bullshit is he pulling?

Not that you’re complaining, though. You much prefer this despite the weirdness of it all; or rather the newness. 

“I’m fine–”

“Don’t lie, if you can’t lie,” he interrupts as he points at your fingers curling in on each other. 

He sure is perceptive when you don’t want him to be.

Silent gathers the both of you in its arms once more as you think of a response to give to him. He’s being kind right now but you don’t feel like divulging everything to him. Your friendship is just beginning to stand on two feet. It’s taking baby steps at best. You don’t want to scare him away by dumping all your shit on him. By the abyssal name, he probably carries more baggage than you and you don’t see him throwing them around.

“You don’t have to tell me, don’t get all constipated just because I asked,” he said before continuing even softer, “You seemed down, just thought it’d be helpful to ask.”

Though you did not notice it at the time, your heart slowly began to lay down the walls you raised from the events that transpired earlier under the roof of your father’s house. 

Perhaps, he can help.

The wanderer was about to take his leave when you whispered with a certain weariness he found familiar, “My father isn’t always a nice man.”

He sat back down as quickly as he could. He probably sat on one of the ornate hanging detailings of his hat or on that long sleeve of his but he couldn’t be bothered by it. Though his eyes look past you, you know his focus is solely on what you have to say.

So, you told him. At first, you tried to be as close to the baseline as possible, choosing to speak of the basic details but soon you choked up and told him everything. Your thoughts, your fears, even your longing for a better version of the father you wanted to look up to, bubbled out of your tired heart. As the night sky grows darker outside, you find yourself slightly teary-eyed as your long story comes towards its end. 

Your eyes were still on your hands that laid on your lap, palms now sweaty from excessive nervous rubbing. You stole a glance at him and, just like you, he barely moved from his previous position. He’s still not looking at you, almost like he’s not listening at all but you know he is. 

It took a beat or two, almost like he was waiting to see if you had more to say before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“You’re kind, you know?”

What?

“I don’t get it. What do you mean ‘I’m kind’?”

“Just that. You’re kind, maybe even too kind.”

You fully looked up at him now to see that his eyes were already on you. 

“I listened to you tell me about the horrible things that man says to you and, yet, you still call him by a title he doesn’t deserve,” before you can question him, he answers, “A dad.”

You’re silent as he continues, “This cruel world decides to give him something so precious and he decides to lie and say all these shitty things. He’s not a good man but he’s dumb too if he’s got something so precious and decides that the best course of action is to call it untrue names. Does he not realize the power a name holds?”

Wet droplets stain your hands and lap as tears fall from your eyelids, lungs heavy, and muscles sagging. 

Taking a look at his surroundings he sighs before taking his hat off and placing it on you.

“I’m sure you don’t want anyone seeing you like this and speaking about it tomorrow, here.”

The tenderness of his voice and action winds your heart up as more choked sobs gurgle out of your throat.

Your neck tightens in protest as you try to speak but you fight the pain of your contracting muscles as you force out, “On a good day I… I know that he's lying… but sometimes I can’t help but think he’s right,” you sniffled and let a wave of uncontrollable sobs pass you by before continuing, “I mean there’s only so much… so much… I can deny before something false starts feeling real.”

Your admission broke the puppet's imaginary heart as he wills himself to hold back his instinct to swing insults and fists at your father. Instead, he chose to let what he supposes are comforting words drown your sorrow. It’s rigid and almost primal the way he tries to soothe your sadness but it's tender and warm in its own way, just as he is. 

“Are you… are you sure he’s wrong? How can you… you be so sure?”

The staccato of your unsure question is met with unwavering eyes as he nods. 

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t have said what I said otherwise.”

You hid your face with your hands as your back slumped forward. The wanderer could see the heaving of your shoulders and he could only comfort you by repeating his praise for you. Much like a devotee chanting his faith, he whispered kind words in hopes that by repeating it, you will believe this too. He hopes he’s done enough to override the names your father engraved into you with angered frowns, at least temporarily. The road to recovery winds away and is far from linear but he's ready to accompany you if you want him to.

As you continue to let out the emotions you thought dried up years ago, you hear him say, “Even if you forget again, just tell me and I’ll remind you that you’re nice, you’re smart and you’re so, so kind.”

Nice, smart, and kind huh? 

You don’t think you can believe it right now but slowly, you hope you will.  

Part two (not really that intertwined but I made it with the same characters in mind) To Nonnie, I'm sorry you have to go through this. I hope this little piece of fiction brings you some comfort, even if it might not fully capture what you're feeling. If there's anything more I can do to help or if you just need someone to talk to, please let me know.

[cattlemons]

A little bit of cattlemon for you!

Hi, call me Ae (or Cattlemon that's fine too)! I'm 19 and I'm a college student! My pronouns are she/her. My MBTI is INTJ-T and I'm an aquarius. My favorite color is purple or red but I own so many pink and yellow items (very common misconception). A fun fact about me is that I have grapheme synesthesia!

Also, if you know me irl, no you don't!

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You can find the rules for requests here!

You can find my itty bitty masterlist here!

Requests are open!

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