#coon muscle

[epoxyconfetti]

My brother got not one but two kittens this way.

[the-east-art]

Stan’s Thoughts on Various Animal Shifts:

Bear: the perfect. The ideal. Big and brawny, a good size, the fact that bears can stand on hind legs makes it easier to reconcile is human muscle memory with the different form.

Moose: good if it wasn’t so big! The size of it wears him out easily.

(More below)

Wolf/Elk: if Bear wasn’t so perfect these would be some of his favorites.

Snake: it is VERY disconcerting to lose your legs, but once he gets there he doesn’t mind it as much. The ‘slimmest’ shift, and best for getting through tight spaces.

Cat: the smallest he can get as an animal (so no squirrels or stuff like that) and even then it has to be a pretty big cat - Maine coons or Norwegian forest cats. There’s strain from maintaining a small form, but also he loves how flexible he can be as a cat - good stretches.

Fish: fucking F tier. He hates fish form. Studied it for a long time and for what? I imagine he used it to escape from a bad situation and avoids using it at all costs. He uses his mermaid form instead (after he learns about mermaids in gf) I’ve mentioned it before but when transforming into a fish or from a fish back to human there’s a period of time when he can’t breath either way and it’s very uncomfortable/panic inducing. He usually is an arapaima - the largest freshwater fish.

Bird: similar issues as with Fish and Snake, completely changing his arms make up isn’t pleasant, however unlike the fish form it doesn’t fuck with his breathing and there isn’t a good substitute for it (working wings onto a human form is pretty close to impossible - way too much work to have to add the muscles and bones and shit). Once he’s in shift though he loves flying. It tools him a long time to figure it out tho. Again he has to stick to big birds so he’s usually an Andean Condor or a Harpy Eagle

Stan has a BUNCH of clothing stashed hidden around the forest.

Uh if there’s an animal you’re curious about that I didn’t mention here feel free to ask me!

[ghostiguro]

woe, bishops upon ye ((my wrists ache so damn much))

i wasn’t happy with the ones i did originally & i wanted to change some details, so here’s a newer version that i am much happier with. :3

ok ramble time ;3c

- leshy: not much changed with his design, just changed some colours. of all the previous refs i did, his was the one i was the least happy with; much happier with this version though. :3👍

- heket: again, not much changed for her design, just changed the colours since the ones before were BLEH (i learned it was something to do with my program settings so i fixed that.!!) with her old ref, she was meant to have a little more chub on her tummy & muscle on her arms, but she had neither of those things so it looked wonky. this version is much more accurate to my original vision for her. :0

- narinder: basically nothing changed cuz he’s perfect already, but i finally figured out how to draw anthro kitties ((sorta)). i also made sure he looked extra fluffy & more like a maine coon, which is the breed of cat i based him on.

- kallamar: i figured out how to draw tentacles & i remembered to add his freckles this time. :D also there is no squidussy. let a man free his tentacles without judgement smh.

- shamura: so their design changed the most; colours changed, their eye colour changed, i added extra bug leggies (like leshy’s lil leg thingies), their head scar is actually visible (still kinda figuring out how their head injury would look after it’s mostly healed, so the scarring might change as i draw them more), & finally!! spider paws. :3 spiders & tarantulas are so freaky looking but they have such adorable lil paws, it confuses me as someone with slight arachnophobia. >.> also, they do have a little spider butt, i just didn’t draw it cuz it wouldn’t have been visible anyway with their clothes & arms in the way. same thing with the lamb & the goat, i didn’t draw their tails cuz it would have barely been visible anyway so. meh.

eventually i plan to draw their other forms & what they looked like when they were itty bitty, same with lamb/goat & the cat boys. but my wrist is killing me & i have other ideas i wanna draw so. it’ll have to wait. >_>

anyway, i hope you like them. :3 👉👈

[webshood]

Jason gets turned into a cat.

Not just any cat, but a large, lengthy fat cat. All the muscle mass on his body doesn't translate as well in a cat's body, so he's 49 inches and 40 pounds maine coon.

Robin accidentally finds him after hearing reports of a massive cat attacking anyone who came close to it and stealing food, and that's how Damian brings him back to the manor.

Damian notices that the cat is super fat and he's no animal abuser, so he decides to start a diet, so the cat can get healthier and move around more freely.

Jason has two very miserable weeks before Dick visits and he can ask for his help. The cat just disappears one day, Damian is heartbroken – it was a really beautiful and well mannered cat –, and Dick promised to keep the fact that the whole family was pampering and discussing getting Jason neutered to himself.

bonus:. Every night, Bruce would get cat!Jason out of his resting places – the library, Jason's favorite love seat in the waiting room, the kitchen counter –, and take him to his bedroom because he liked the purring sound cat!Jason made while sleeping, Jason let him because, well that's his dad.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

A Whitebeard Pirates x Gyomei Reader

Like Reader could be a divison Commander and Ace first meeting them is like 0_0

But really the reader is a big softie but is strong as fuck-

The reader defiantly has a Maine coon cat, large ass cat made for a large ass person

-You were one of Whitebeard’s commanders, watching over a division of special warriors, one that were specially trained swordsmen just like you, as they followed you when you joined the crew, but Whitebeard welcomed all of them just as he had welcomed you.

-You were an intimidating figure on the ship, towering over many of the crew, but many were quick to learn that you were a warm and gentle person.

-Despite being blind, nobody ever mentioned it, as it never hindered you, you never let it bother you, and with your skills, your abilities as a swordsman, you could easily fight alongside them, using your sharpened hearing to hear your enemies and friends, to avoid hurting them.

-Your underlings all adored you, as they knew how kind you were, but they also knew what you were like when you were upset. Many of your crew knew that you were very levelheaded, but if one of them were threatened, especially if one of your underlings was threatened, you were like a monster, swinging your mace with expert precision.

-Whitebeard found you to be a respectful brat, which was one of the highest compliments any of them could receive from Whitebeard.

-Ace was initially intimidated by you when he finally was accepted by the crew and was allowed to join. You had heard about how he had had been trying to prove himself and you had to praise his hard work.

-Marco knew however, to keep you in the galley whenever Ace came, so you wouldn’t cry and become emotional, as they all knew that you were a softy.

-When Ace finally met you, he stared up at you, seeing the scars across your eyes, seeing that you were blind, but also seeing your muscles, easily able to tell that you were amazingly strong.

-You seemed very serene, sitting and talking with him, and while he didn’t want to admit it, he found you very relaxing to talk to, as you always listened to him without judging, letting him vent and hold your equally massive cat, one that you found on an island one day.

-Your cat was a lot like you, big, intimidating, but a huge softy, as Ace was quickly the newest victim to your tears when he told you about his brother, and how proud he was.

-You didn’t look like the type to just start randomly crying!! Ace had to call for aid as you held your cat, steams of tears running down your cheeks at a steady pace.

-Marco had to tell Ace that you were a softy, but that didn’t mean you were a pushover, you just had a kind heart.

-Ace learned about not being a pushover shortly after, when marines tried to attack and you gave those attacking you a chance to run or surrender. When they didn’t, you pulled your weapon out and went on the attack, looking like a beast.

-Ace couldn’t help but tease you lightly, making you hide your flushed cheeks behind your hands, which caused more teasing, on how different your personality was to your looks.

-However, you knew that Ace was like you, he put up a front of being tough, but he was a soft guy too, one that you were glad to call your brother and friend. One that you would watch out for, as he reminded you of the children in your past, needing someone there for him.

[theanoninyourinbox]

NO THOUGHTS MORE SKYRIM WARRIORS AU - RACES

AS DIRECTED BY THE POLL The Races/Breeds of Skyrim! And Vamps and Werewolves (well, werecats)! Thanks to @jus-a-lil-mouse for letting me bounce off of them and giving me the Somali idea, and also @mothmans-w00ds you get a Serana!

These are the Races of Tamriel, with the most common Breeds being featured. The rest are as follows., with the note that ALL Races can produce Standard Issue Cats.

Argonians are near always Hairless, but some have sparse feathery fur on their head or down the spine. Their webbed feet make them excellent swimmers.

Khajiit always look like The Ancestors, the mighty Lions, Tigers, and more. They are Bengals, Savannah Cats, Toygers, and more.

Orcs are the flat-faced Breeds - Persians for the most part. They usually have magnificent long pelts, but many trim theirs to be more versatile in battle.

High Elves are Devon Rexes, Cornish Rexes, and rarely Selkirk Rexes. They claim that their magic and short fur makes them superior, but behind their backs, many point to the Argonians that many High Elves dislike.

Nords are enormous cats, usually with thick long fur. Norwegian Forest cats and Maine coons, almost always muscled and fierce.

Wood Elves are the smallest of the Tamriel Races, no matter the circumstances. Scottish Folds and Munchkins dominate their families, and their Standard Issue family are still very small.

Dark Elves are graceful and misunderstood by many. Orientals and long limbed, all Dark Elves have pointed fur patterns.

Imperials are British Breeds - Longhair or Shorthair, they are all welcome. The Imperials have the most diversity, with many intermarriages leading to many recessed genetics popping up.

Bretons are the most affable Breeds - Ragdolls are the majority. Their fur is either long or plush, and they are often underestimated.

Redguards are Somali, Mau, and desert Breeds. They are also the most likely to have tailless cats in their family trees, though they aren't always seen as a good omen.

Vampires can come from any Breed, and ALWAYS have visible fangs. Not all cats with visible fangs are well-fed vampires, however, and this has lead to innocents being accused. Hungry vampires are much more noticeable, with faded colors and bloody eyes.

Werecats are an interesting case. Some claim that they are infused with the spirit of the noble Wolf, and others call it a disease. The truth is that the Daedra Hircine has laid his Blessing upon cats, giving them aspects of His Own Face.

Aaaaand that's it for now! I'm thinking about Daedra next, but I'll be working on my [REDACTED] project first!

[starswirly]

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[ihasablog]

Hiya, do you know what breed Night is? My cat looks a lot like them and I never figured out what her breed might be

Most cats, especially ones you find as strays or at shelters, are not any particular breed, and Night is much the same! Cat breeds haven't existed for as long as dog breeds, so unlike with mixed breed dogs, most cats you meet who weren't purchased from a specific breeder are just "cat" with no specific breed heritage. (There are other folks who have much better articulated posts about this.)

Night's "official" label is "domestic longhair" (the generic term for a longhaired cat with no traced lineage) though he does share several traits with Maine Coons, so would likely have been the type of cat to have been chosen to help found the breed back when it first started. But he is not an actual Maine Coon, if that makes sense.

We do, however, have an open line of communication with his vet because sometimes cats who share similar traits to a breed will be at risk for the same conditions, so for Night we always have him checked for any joint disorders that might arise from his large size, and they check his heart thoroughly as there is a particular type of heart murmur that Maine Coons and similar cats can develop (so far he has shown no signs of it which is good!)

Just for fun, some of the traits he shares with MC cats in spite of not being one:

Large boy. He is around 18lbs and pretty much all muscle, and can easily reach the top of our high-backed couch with his front paws while his hind paws are still touching the floor.

Mixed coat length (short head, long ruff, medium back and sides, long belly britches and tail)

Loves to play with water

Tiny baby meow which is hilarious with how big he is.

Very chatty and mostly "talks" in chirps and trills instead of regular meows.

Slow to mature. He didn't finish growing until I think age 3? And has only really started to mellow from his kitten energy at age 5. This year was the first sign of him slowing to what one would expect of a normal adult cat's sleeping levels. He also gets fluffier every year.

He does lack certain other features like the muzzle shape (American bred MCs don't quite have the heavy chin that European ones do but it's still a bit broader) and the ear position, size, and tufts.

[koco-coko]

Ikevamp OC: Tchaikovsky

(If Ikevamp can genderbend Jeanne D'Arc, I can genderbend Tchaikovsky.)

The Porcelain Composer

Sensitive x Docile

Full name: Pyetrovna Ilyich Tchaikovsky 

Nickname: Tchai

Nationality: Russian

Current place of living: Vlad’s Castle

Past Occupation: Composer

Birthday: May 7th

Likes: Flowers, Ballet, Snow 

Dislikes: Alcohol, Pessimism, Intense Emotions

Background: Like a spring flower standing against a winter storm, Tchaikovsky always keeps an optimistic air about her, no matter what the weather brings. Rain or shine, Tchai plays her violin and dances to her own melody, hoping to bring a smile to every face she sees.

All she wants is for everyone in the world to be happy, to be understanding, to love one another… Even if it comes at the expense of her mind and body. It’s a small price to pay.

“If my music can make one person smile– just one– then I think I’ve made the world just a bit better, don’t you agree? Maybe that's a bit selfish of me...”

Relationships

Mozart: A mutual respect for each other and their dedication to music. As a child, Tchai's cried at a concert recreating Mozart's symphonies and said concert inspired them to become a composer. He finds her passion for music quite amusing sometimes, seeing as she always has her violin in her hands and has a habit of breaking into song whenever it hits her. They share the music room when she stays over and play together a lot, though many times Mozart has caught her on the floor of the music room when her tremors flare-up. He usually has to force her to take a break from her songs. 

Vincent: If you put these two in a room together and peaked in, it would be like staring at the sun. They’re too pure and bright! They share an adoration of flowers and end up agreeing on many things. They go to flower shops together to look for inspiration. Theo does not like this, especially considering her… “cat” (aka a beast from hell the size of a human child). 

Vlad: The one who revived Tchaikovsky after learning of her intense desire to make the world a better place for all. Her heart is pure and not a single bad thought goes through her head– the perfect example of what Vlad wants from humanity. Vlad can be protective of her because of this and her disability, but they are also very good friends. They can often be seen gardening and playing duets together.

Faust: Acquaintances and nothing more. They don’t interact with each other often. At most, she goes to Faust when she’s having tremor flare-ups or needs a muscle-relaxer. Otherwise, she tries not to get in the way of his dubiously ethical experiments. She slightly confident he won’t hurt her specifically, considering he deems her too fragile for any meaningful experiments, but she still doesn’t trust him that much.

Charles: Combined, they create a single brain cell. When their hyperactivity syncs up, it can either be the brightest, sunniest day or it can mean chaos for all parties involved. Tchai loves to go visit children with him and perform for them, dancing and laughing the entire time. Other times, they will simply sit with each other and wallow in misery together. They always play off each other’s emotional states when they’re near each other. 

Pet, Svetlana: A snow-white Maine Coon, she’s almost the size of Tchai herself. Vlad adopted Svetlana when she was a tiny kitty, intending the cat to be a gift for Tchai when she was having a depressive episode. Tchai instantly fell in love with the cat and despite her size, still treats her like a small lap cat. She loves this cat with all her heart, cuddling her whenever she’s around and keeping her well-groomed and clean as possible. Svetlana is extremely friendly and prides herself on her cleanliness. When Tchai can’t take the noise or has flare-ups, she spends time with her favorite little kitty-cat. 

Physical Characteristics

Addictions: This girl will drink iced tea (preferably sweet) even if it kills her. She’s trying to stay away from alcohol in her new life.

Eye color: Lavender

Hair color: Pastel pink

Skin color: Pale as snow

Disabilities: Tchaikovsky has central nervous system issues. Large sounds and intense vibrations trigger intense tremors. Ironic, considering how intensely she loves music. Her tremors can grow intense enough to the point she can’t even stand without assistance, but she’ll strum her violin on the floor if she must.

Height: 5”4’ or 162 cm

Hobbies: Aside from playing her violin, Tchai collects flowers and presses them into a journal in her spare time. Vlad and her exchange flower crowns on occasion.

Clothing style: Tchai wears light, flowy dresses and ballet shoes. She likes having freedom of movement due to her bursts of inspiration.

Health issues: Other than her tremors, Tchai deals with bipolar depression. She uses music as her escape and tends to hide these feelings, staying as optimistic and kind as possible. She will spend some days locked in her room, unable to do anything, and a few days later she’s filled with energy and life.

Mental Characteristics

Fears: Tchai has an irrational fear of birds. If one gets near, she starts screaming and trying to cover her violin as if it were her own baby, thinking that the birds might pluck the strings out.

Self-confidence: Very low. Tchai does not see herself as worthy to be here or to help Vlad with his goal, but she’s trying her best.

Rational or emotional: Emotional

How could you upset this character: Almost anything can upset Tchai. She was called the “porcelain child” for a reason– she’s highly sensitive. Not just due to her nervous system issues, but her emotional state as well. She is a crybaby through and through. Any intense situations, good or bad, will have her sobbing.

Sleep habits: Erratic. Sometimes, she only wants to sleep. Other times, she’s so busy composing she won’t sleep for days and Vlad has to use his powers to get her to bed.

Emotional strengths: Tchai always looks on the positive side of things, shining with positive light wherever she goes.

Emotional weaknesses: Any strong emotions means tears will appear. A little kid complimented her skills? Sobbing. Someone pushes her aside and laughs? Crying. Her cat brings a dead squirrel? Wailing in pride.

Introvert or extrovert: Introvert

What would they change about themselves: She wishes she wasn’t such a crybaby.

What motivates them: The thought of bringing purity and love to the entire world, making pain no more and letting happiness reign. She hopes her music will inspire people to enjoy life and encourage others to be kinder to each other.

What scares them: Disappointing her friends/family and causing trouble for anyone.

What makes them happy: Music and flowers.

Give or take: Give

Nice or rude: Nice

Pet peeves: She hates unnecessary rudeness. 

Guilty pleasures: When nobody is around, Tchai will perform entire ballets by herself, dancing and playing violin simultaneously. 

Picrew:

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes- Chapter 10

Note: Sorry for the wait. This is probably the longest chapter I've written so far. And the next chapter is a bit bigger. More Daryl, Kismet, and Pheonyx interactions. Thank you to @garlic-the-gnome and @loganlostitall for reading my drafts and giving me advice and corrections. I'm super grateful for it. Also, don't be like Daryl. If you think someone is trans and want to ask, don't. If you have to, ask their pronouns. If a trans person wants to reveal themself as trans to you, they will. By asking, you're putting them in a shitty spot. Not only does it imply they don't pass if you have to ask, but some people just don't want to talk about it. Daryl isn't verse in this stuff though. Pheonyx can forgive him for that.

Banners by: @liminal-creations

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Chapter CW/TW: talk of drug-addict/abusive/neglectful parents, shitty childhoods in general, denial of sexuality, anxiety, PTSD, hate crime mentions

Prev / Masterlist

Playlist

The damn mutt wasn’t as stupid as he looked earlier. As soon as Pheonyx had him sniff Sophia’s shirt and gave him the command, the dog shot off after the little girl’s trail. Originally, Daryl had been skeptical of the pup’s skill. The only word that he could think of to describe Kismet was goofy. His muscled body was all limbs and he crashed through the underbrush and bushes with no regard for noise or tact. It was hard to believe that this dog would be trained to do more than drool and sniff his own butt. The hunting dogs that lived in his trailer park growing up were more refined. They could be noisy, especially once they treed a coon or squirrel, but when they were working in the woods, they were damn near soundless. Still dubious about the dog, he had stopped them a few hundred yards behind  the area where he and Rick had first started tracking Sophia. He wanted to see if Kismet would follow the same path they had when she first got lost. And he did. The dog held his nose to the ground and started following the area they had walked through 2 days ago. Pheonyx watched the dog with a proud look on his face before turning to Daryl and motioning towards the direction Kismet was going. 

“After you, Apollo.”

An abrupt snort left his nose. Apollo. The Greek god of archery. Of all the nicknames he’d ever been called that was probably the nicest by far. It was much preferred to Merle’s nickname for him, “Darlena.” Merle mostly did it to annoy him. But it was also a jab at his manhood. Mostly due to the fact that he didn’t pant after women like some kind of sex fiend but partially because he had a streak of kindness in him that Merle always lacked. Most people didn’t know, it wasn’t something the brothers talked about much, that Merle was Daryl’s half brother. His momma was one of the many junkies that their father went on benders with. Merle spent the first 5 years of his life being shuffled by social workers back and forth between his momma and their Pa. Each of them going through cycles of getting clean and then relapsing shortly after. They didn’t get clean for their son though. It was simply for the welfare check and food stamps that came along with having custody of a child. Right before his 6th birthday, Merle watched his momma OD. He was locked in the tiny apartment with her body for 2 days before the neighbors were able to get the cops to investigate the constant screaming of a child. From there, his brother lived solely with his father. Their Pa got better at playing a sober, loving father and Merle got better at hiding the bruises and lashes. Eventually, social services left them alone. It was just the two of them until Will Dixon married Daryl’s momma in one of his brief moments of sobriety. While she treated Merle like he was her own, the damage to his emotional well-being was already done. His brother spent years all alone. He never had anyone who truly cared for him and the only love he ever received was a facade for social workers and cops that always seemed to be snooping around. Daryl suspected that neglect was why his brother had such a hard time maintaining any sort of relationship. And his obsession with being manly, therefore not weak, was entirely due to the brainwashing their father had instilled in him. So, Daryl couldn’t entirely blame his brother for his constant bullying and name-calling. He would happily take “Apollo” over any of the ones his brother had come up with. Especially if Pheonyx was the one calling him it. The name sounded so sweet coming from his lips, and honestly it made Daryl feel wanted. Aside from his brother, he never had friends growing up. And friends gave each other meaningful nicknames. Was that what this was? Was Pheonyx trying to be friends with him? Or was there something else? He did wink at him earlier. Didn’t he? No. He couldn’t have. He must have had something in his eye. That’s all. There is no possible way that a guy like Pheonyx would be trying to flirt with a guy like Daryl. For one, Daryl was older than him by at least a decade, if not more. Second, Pheonyx was incredibly attractive. Obviously, Daryl wasn’t gay but he could objectively say that the other man was beautiful. Even with the world the way it was, he was attractive enough that he could have anyone he wanted. There was no way he could possibly want someone like Daryl. An old redneck who spent the majority of his life chasing after his older brother. The idea that Pheonyx might, though, made his cheeks and ears turn red. Swamped with embarrassment, he gripped his crossbow tightly, reassuring himself of its comforting presence. 

Daryl ducked his head, hiding the heat of his face from Pheonyx’s eyes, and began to follow after Kismet. Despite the fact that he was out of sight, the dog was easy to trail. He left a path of destruction in his wake that was akin to Godzilla destroying a city. Broken branches, trampled bushes, and large paw prints smushed into the mud were like a line of breadcrumbs that led straight to the fumbling beast. If that wasn’t enough, Kismet sniffed out the trail like he was a pig at the state fair. Each inhale was a long snort and exhaled out with a loud wheeze. The sound was like a homing beacon to the dog’s location. Daryl hoped that the everpresent sound of windchimes around them would confuse walkers enough to keep them from following after the dog, and subsequently the two humans on his trail. 

He followed Kismet’s path for a minute before he realized that Pheonyx wasn’t next to him. Looking over his shoulder, he called out,

“Ya comin’, Firebird?” 

Daryl wasn’t entirely sure where the name had come from. The word slid off his tongue like it was something he had been saying for years.  It could be just a play on the other man’s namesake. Maybe it was the fire he had seen in Pheonyx’s eyes when he was standing up to Shane earlier. Either way, the name fit him well. Since Pheonyx had given Daryl his own nickname, it seemed only fitting to have chosen one for him too. 

They spent almost two hours following after Kismet. The speckled dog was very intent on the trail, only breaking his trance to jog back and smell the shirt hanging off of Pheonyx’s belt. After he reminded himself of the scent he was supposed to be tracking, he would trot back to the area he stopped and correct his direction to follow the scent. Pheonyx knew he was on the right track though, occasionally he would catch glimpses of small footprints in the moist forest floor and broken branches at a height that was equivalent to a 12 year old girl. Daryl must have noticed those things too because he didn’t voice any objections to their pathing. 

The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and even the shade from the forest canopy wasn’t enough to mute the heat from the blazing rays. Sweat was dripping down Pheonyx’s face and creating dark spots on his gray tank top. Daryl didn’t seem to be immune to the heat either, his face was glistening with perspiration, making the dirt on his skin darker and more pronounced. Kismet was also panting heavily. He didn’t break from his job though. In past training sessions, they didn’t usually stop until the dog found the scent he was tracking. This was very different than making Jimmy run around the yard with a squirrel skin dragging behind him though. As much as Pheonyx wanted to find Sophia right away, he needed to advocate for Kismet. The pup needed a breather. 

“We need to take a break,” he said, wiping his hand across his forehead to sop up some of the sweat that was tickling his skin. 

Daryl didn’t pause though. He looked back at the younger man with a frown and a slight glare. “Nah we gotta keep movin’. Wastin’ daylight just standin’ around. Sophia could be jus up ahead.”

“If she is, we’ll find her. 10 minutes. That’s all I ask. Kismet needs water and to relax for a minute. We’re no good to Sophia if we pass out from heat stroke and dehydration,” Pheonyx said, standing his ground.  

The archer was silent for a moment, but he realized the truth in Pheonyx’s words. “Fine,” he muttered in defeat. Once he glanced around the surrounding area and concluded there were no walkers or other dangers lurking, he leaned against the nearest tree and began to bite on the skin around his thumbnail. It was a habit of his from childhood he’d never seemed to break, no matter how much Merle told him it made him look like he was sucking his thumb. 

Pheonyx smiled at him in thanks before whistling to recall Kismet. It only took a few seconds for the Tasmanian Devil to burst through the brush, his tongue hanging out in an attempt to cool his overheated body. Pulling off his backpack, Pheonyx knelt next to him and began to scrub the dog’s neck, whispering to him, “You’re doing so good, handsome. Gotta take a break though. You thirsty?” 

Daryl tried to ignore the way his body shivered at the softness in Pheonyx���s tone. He tried not to watch the small beads of sweat slide down his toned arms, making the images on his skin glisten and come to life. He tried not to notice how the neckline of his gray tank top gaped a bit from the angle the other man was kneeling and he was able to get a glimpse of raven wings across his chest.  Instead, he focused on his movements. Pheonyx pulled out three water bottles and a dog bowl from his bag. The younger man opened one up, emptied the bottle into the bowl, and placed the vessel on the ground for Kismet to drink. 

Half a smile overtook Pheonyx’s face as he watched Kismet go to town on the water. Lapping loudly, more water ended up on his muzzle and the surrounding ground than in his mouth. It was still enough to cool him down a bit though because his panting was less heavy as he sprawled on the ground afterward. Shaking his head at the ditzy dog, Pheonyx stood up and handed one of the water bottles over to Daryl, who took it gratefully. He also pulled out one of the bags of jerky from his pocket and held it out to him. 

Daryl felt a wave of reluctance. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry. He was. The group’s food supply had dwindled over the past few days, and he hadn’t been able to properly hunt since he was busy looking for Sophia. He’d only managed to swallow down a small stale granola bar before they’d made the short drive to the Greene farm. The idea of being indebted to anyone though, didn’t sit right with him. Nothing in life was free. Especially not for him and Merle. That had been a lesson he’d learned early on. Parents were supposed to provide for their children. Food, clothes, love. But Will Dixon was only a parent in the biological sense. Nothing he ever gave the boys had been from the kindness of his heart. At first, his Ma did her best to put food on the table and clothe them. Once her depression took hold though, she couldn’t work and barely managed to get out of bed everyday. He and Merle took care of themselves the majority of the time. Food was swiped from the local grocery store, picked out of the dumpsters behind restaurants, or stolen from the local food bank donation bins around Thanksgiving time. Clothes were appropriated from lost and found bins around town, or purchased from a thrift store using the meager amounts of money the boys were able to make doing chores for the older folks in the trailer park. Despite the world falling, things hadn’t changed so much for Daryl. He still did his part to earn his food and clothing within the group. If he took the food from Pheonyx, he would owe him. Or at least, he felt like he would. The water bottle he had taken without hesitation but that was different. Water was a bit more common to find, especially on a farm that likely had a well. Food was more of a scarcity and therefore more valuable. So, no matter how much his chest was telling him that Pheonyx wasn’t like that, that he wouldn’t hold some jerky over Daryl’s head, his brain was winning the fight.  

Pheonyx could see the apprehension on Daryl’s face. 

“I swear I didn’t poison it,” he said, still holding the bag out. 

“Ain’t that,” Daryl mumbled, ducking his eyes in embarrassment, still trying to win the inner battle with his mind to just accept the damn food. “Don’t want any charity is all.”

Understanding dawned on Pheonyx and he nodded his head. During the first 8 years of his life, his mom had been an insurance agent and the bread-winner of the family. She was traveling 3 weeks out of every month and, even when she was home, her attention was mentally in the office. His biological father was a “stay-at-home dad”. Which meant he stayed home drinking most of the day while Pheonyx did his best to avoid his wrath. Despite this, the family had been middle class in their finances. So, he hadn’t gone without material-wise. While love had been lacking during that time, he always had a full stomach and always had fairly decent clothing. Moving with his mother and brother to live with Hershel, hadn’t changed that. His step-father was more well-to-do than they had been previously. A lot of the money was generational but most was from Hershel’s veterinary practice. Being one of two practices that specialized in large animals, in a farming community like Senoia, brought in quite a bit of money. They lived humbly despite the financial padding. Pheonyx could understand Daryl’s reluctance though. He knew it was hard to accept help, it created a sense of weakness, a feeling of helplessness. After he left Georgia, Pheonyx struggled immensely. Most of it was mental, but the physical results of that night also plagued him. At the time, he didn’t want to ask for help. He didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want to owe anyone. By asking for help, his body wouldn’t be his own. It would belong to someone else. Because people didn’t typically do things without expectation of payment. He had already lost ownership of his body that night. He didn’t want to give anyone else the opportunity to take it again. Aaron had been there to help him when his problems became too much but he had been at his breaking point then. There hadn’t been any other option. 

“I promise it’s not charity. And I’m not looking for anything in return. Mom raised me to be a gentleman. And that means sharing when I have the means to. Maggie packed enough for all three of us,” Pheonyx shook the bag a little and raised his eyebrows. 

Again, Daryl hesitated but after a moment he tentatively took the plastic bag of jerky. He waited for Pheonyx to take a bite of his own portion before he popped a small piece of the dehydrated meat into his mouth. Now, Daryl Dixon was no stranger to jerky. Growing up in a house where hunting was as natural as breathing, meant that smoked and dehydrated meat were a staple of his diet. His parent’s money issues meant that fresh, healthy foods weren’t always available. There were days when all Merle and he had to eat was jerky and wild mulberries that grew rampant on the outskirts of the trailer park. The jerky he was currently chewing though, was nothing like the overly salty, yet still bland, meat he was used to making and eating. That meat was a means of survival. This felt like an indulgence. Despite the lack of moisture, the jerky was still tender and almost melted on his tongue, releasing a myriad of flavors. It was sweet and peppery with a hint of smokiness that rounded out the blend of spices. A small bit of gaminess let him know it was rabbit meat, which wasn’t his favorite overall, but if it was prepared anything like what he was chewing on, his opinion was likely to change. 

Apparently he made some sort of face because Pheonyx looked at him questioningly. Daryl averted his eyes, ears turning a flaming red, embarrassed about letting his emotions show. 

“It’s good,” he mumbled. 

The brightness of the forest seemed to increase tenfold with the proud smile Pheonyx gave him and those damn moths fluttered in his gut again. 

“Thanks! I make it myself. When people evacuated they took all their canned goods. But no one thinks to bring the spice cabinet. So, I’ve got an abundance of stuff to create different flavor profiles. My personal motto is that just because the world ended doesn’t mean you can’t have good food. Just have to know how to use what’s at your disposal.” 

At Zombie Ink(an ironic name considering their current circumstances), Pheonyx’s boss held a bi-weekly potluck for the staff, which consisted of many ethnicities and cultures. Every meeting was a blend of new flavors and cooking techniques to be learned. It was one of the few times that Pheonyx felt like he could interact with people, even if it just meant sharing recipes or learning about different cultural nuances, and had helped him make some friends. He had been trying to recreate those flavors and dishes with the monotonous food supplies they had. 

Silence lapsed as the two made quick work of the food. Pheonyx alternated between eating his own and tossing pieces of the unseasoned jerky to Kismet, who ate it enthusiastically. Daryl tried to keep his gaze averted but he kept getting drawn back to the man a few feet from him. His mind was playing through the events of the day up until that point. And he knew he had to ask Pheonyx something. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but he had to make sure. 

Popping the last piece of meat into his mouth, Daryl broached the subject bluntly, “Ya a guy, right?”

Pheonyx dropped the piece of jerky that he had been about to place in his mouth, a choking noise of shock leaving his lips. Kismet dove and caught the meat before it could hit the dirt near his owner’s knees. Fear and anxiety was flitting through Pheonyx’s veins, or else he would have been worried about how the spices would affect Kismet’s stomach. He knew where the conversation was going. It was probably inevitable but the fact he was alone in the woods with the man upped the terror of the situation. While he felt comfortable around Daryl, he couldn’t help the images of the past that floated through his mind. 

“Uh yeah- I mean yes. I am.”

Daryl felt the fear in Pheonyx’s eyes like a knife to the gut. His hands twitched with the need to reach out and soothe his worries. But he didn’t. Something told him that any movements towards the other man would make things worse. So he kept his face blank, and averted his gaze to the surrounding woods. He was starting to think he shouldn’t have started this conversation, based on the other man’s fearful reactions. But there was no going back now. 

“Ya were born a girl, though?” he asked calmly, trying to make his deep voice as un-intimidating as possible. 

Pheonyx considered lying. It would be the safest option. He’d grown up around guys like Daryl. Rough conservative types. And they were usually the ones who reacted violently to anything in the realm of ‘other’. But the archer was so calm. The question had been asked so nonchalantly. As if he were discussing the weather. His words weren’t laced with accusation or scrutinizing countenance. He was just gazing calmly into the woods and fiddling with the now-empty bag that once held their afternoon snack.  

“Yes,” the whispered word slipped through Pheonyx’s mouth before he could stop it. He hoped that he hadn’t heard him, but the archer’s ears had been honed after years of hunting. 

Daryl’s eyes locked with Pheonyx’s and he knew the other man had heard him. Pheonyx flinched, eyes slamming shut, bracing himself for the pain. His heart was slamming against his chest, like the shadows did on the barn door when he walked past. Sweat coated his palms and soaked into his shirt. His breathing picked up a bit and Kismet crawled over to him, whining. The big dog pushed his nose into Pheonyx’s hand and sidled his bulky body up next to his masters. 

Pheonyx waited, barely even noticing Kismet’s attempts at calming him. 1 second, 10 seconds, a minute. He waited for the pain, whether it be vile words or physical hits. But they never came. Instead, there was a crumple of plastic and a deep, “Okay.”

A part of Daryl wanted to offer more words, to say that Pheonyx didn’t have to worry. That he wouldn’t hurt him. Because he knew that was why Pheonyx had reacted that way: sweating, flinching, practically hyperventilating. Someone had hurt him. Badly. Anger filled his body and he wanted to turn around and punch the tree he had been leaning against. That would just cement Pheonyx’s fears though. He tried not to think about why he had such a fierce reaction to the idea of someone hurting the younger man, someone he had only known for a few hours. Instead, he crumpled up the empty bag he had been holding and shoved it in his pocket. 

 Pheonyx’s eyes shot open and he gaped at the other man in shock. “Okay? That’s it? Just okay?”

“Ain’t my business what ya got goin’ on in ya pants. Just didn’ wanna make assumptions,”  the older man said simply. Like he was giving the answer to 2+2. 

It took a moment for his words to soak in. Daryl wasn’t going to hurt him. Daryl wasn’t going to yell. Daryl wasn’t going to break him. Daryl wasn’t going to try to “fix” him. Daryl wasn’t like the demons from the alley. Daryl was different. 

And Pheonyx wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He wasn’t used to people just accepting him for who he was. Maggie and Aaron had been the only ones who accepted him whole-heartedly, no questions asked. There was always some kind of push back. People asked him if he was sure, or if it was just a phase. Or telling him that god didn’t make mistakes. Or saying they accepted him but continually messing up his pronouns. So, he just cleared his throat, patted Kismet’s head, and stood up. He adjusted the cutlass on his hip, making sure all his other weapons were attached and in place. 

“Are we ready to go?”

The old Miller house had been abandoned for almost 50 years. Originally, it had belonged to Hershel’s great great aunt. She lived there with her husband and two kids. When her kids died from a severe illness, haunting memories caused the married couple to move out of Georgia. After that, the house had occasionally been offered up to farmhands and their families but nothing permanent in going on four decades. For years it stood, withering and decaying, on the far edges of the Greene property. 

The white house had two stories and faded red shutters. Paint was falling off the sides of the structure and the front awning was one wind gust away from caving in. The front door was closed with a red x spray painted across the front. At one point, it was beautiful. Now, it was just an embodiment of memories. 

Pheonyx’s hand gripped onto Kismet’s leather collar tightly. The dog whined and tried to pull them towards the house, indicating that the scent trail led there. 

“Stay, Kismet,” Pheonyx murmured to the pup. A grumble came from Kismet’s barrel chest, indicating his displeasure at being called off the search. To appease him, Pheonyx pulled some unseasoned jerky from his pocket and gave it to the dog. Wet slobber coated his palm as Kismet gobbled it down before flopping onto the ground, much akin to a dead fish. Grimacing, Pheonyx wiped his hand on his pants and looked over at Daryl, who was checking the strings on his crossbow. 

“That yer doin'?” Daryl asked, pointing at the red X on the door. 

“Yeah. I mark all the houses I search and clear. I can tell you right now that someone’s been here. Even without Kismet chomping to follow the scent.”

“How’s tha’?”

“The side door’s open. I always make sure to shut the doors when I’m done with a house. Don’t want any shadows finding their way in there and surprising the next people who make their way through,” Pheonyx explained, shrugging. He unsheathed his cutlass, the sharp edge making a slight zing as it rubbed against the metal supports of the casing. The light weight of the weapon felt comfortable in his hand, and he felt its aura of safety engulf him. 

Daryl led the way towards the house, readying his crossbow when they stepped up onto the porch. He turned his head towards Pheonyx, nodding his head at him, gauging to see if he was ready or not. Pheonyx lifted his cutlass up, slightly above his midline, and jerked his head once back at him. Daryl used that as his cue to kick the front door open. Dust flew up as the rotting wood hit the wall with a resounding bang.  

“The door was unlocked. You could have just opened it, Apollo.” Pheonyx whispered to him, in a slightly scolding tone. 

Daryl rolled his eyes but kept his attention on the house in front of him. That was probably true, but he wouldn’t admit that to the younger man. The place had obviously been abandoned a long time ago, but some furniture and knick knacks still remained. A thick layer of dust coated everything, but he was able to make out small footprints on the weathered wood floors. He wanted to call out for Sophia, his heart pounding at knowing she was, or had been, there. But they hadn’t checked the place for walkers yet. Even though there was no scent of decay, there was still a possibility of one of those geeks popping up. 

“Let’s split up,” he murmured back. 

“Let me guess. It’s not you, it’s me, right?”, Pheonyx joked, still keeping his eye on the quiet house. 

If it was anyone else, Daryl would have snapped at them for fooling around while doing something so serious, but he found himself enjoying the playful side of Pheonyx. Compared to the terrified man he’d seen only a short while ago, he would gladly take the playful one. Daryl wasn’t sure how it was possible, but even more blood rushed to his already overheated face as he thought about the syntax of the joke.  Of being in a relationship with Pheonyx. 

“Stop,” he said weakly. 

A light chuckle sounded next to him. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. The second floor is unstable so I don’t recommend going up there,” Pheonyx motioned with the short sword to the broken wooden stairs. 

Daryl nodded, glancing at the rotted steps across from them. “Ain’t seein’ any tracks up there anyways. She prolly stuck ta the first floor.” 

Pheonyx nodded at him. “I’ll check right.”

With that, they both began to search on their respective sides of the house. Daryl slowly aimed his crossbow right and left as he checked each room, glancing down slightly to track the small shoe prints imprinted on the dusty floor. Light creaking from across the house let him know that Pheonyx was also taking steady steps as he walked through his section of the first floor. Daryl was impressed at how quiet the younger man was. Both in the woods and in the house. Daryl pulled his mind from thoughts of Pheonyx and made his way through what used to be a living room. The only furniture in it was a torn couch, that something had obviously made its home evidenced by the slightly rustling cushions. Next was what he assumed was a dining room, as the only thing left in it was an overturned wooden chair and a broken bar cart. From there, he entered the kitchen area. This had more furniture left than the other parts of the house. Old cupboards lined the wall opposite a wide window, a thin door to the right indicating some sort of pantry. A rickety table was askew in the middle of the space, dirty cutlery scattered on the surface. On the wall across from the door was an old wooden hutch with dirty mason jars and random kitchen utensils. Adjacent to it was an overflowing metal trash can. A heavy fish scent led him over to the bin. Sitting on top of old crumpled newspapers and empty glass bottles, was a can of anchovies that was open and empty. It was newer than the trash it resided on, and the juices in the can hadn’t dried. Holding it towards his nose, he tried to smell any scent of spoiling. There was a slight sourness to it that meant it was just beginning to go bad. It was probably about a day old. The soured fish scent would be heavier if it were any older, especially with the high temperature in the days past. 

Glancing around at the floor, Daryl noted the plethora of tiny shoe prints that stippled the worn panels. Most of them congregated around the pantry so he stepped slowly towards the door. Keeping his crossbow raised, just in case of surprises, he pulled the door open quickly. There wasn’t anybody inside but in the small area, beneath the main shelves, was a tiny nest of blankets. The area was tight and only someone shorter than 5ft would be able to cram themselves in there comfortably. A sense of relief filled Daryl. He was upset that Sophia wasn’t there, but they were on the right track. She had been there. And if the can was any indication, she was there recently. 

A squeak of the floorboards had Daryl whirling around, aiming his crossbow directly at the source of the noise. Instead of a walker’s milky white eyes, he was met with fern green irises. Pheonyx, in the middle of sheathing his cutlass, raised his eyebrows at the other man.

“Calm down, Apollo. Just me. The rest of the house is clear. You find anything?”

Daryl lowered his weapon. He grunted in affirmation and inclined his head towards the nest of blankets at the bottom of the pantry, “We’re ‘bout a day behind her. Found a fresh can in the trash.”

A look of deep concentration came over Pheonyx’s face and he turned to one of the built-in cupboards next to the pantry door. He opened the door to the bottom-most cabinet. It was empty.

Daryl was curious about what the man was looking for but his mind went blank as he watched Pheonyx bend over. His mouth went dry and his grip tightened on the weapon in his hand. He’d never been much of an ass man(hell, he didn’t think he was any type of man before this) but the way Pheonyx’s backside filled out those jeans had him thinking thoughts that were confusing for someone who obviously wasn’t gay. 

A large smile overtook Pheonyx’s face and Daryl pushed away the troubling fantasies he was having. 

“Your girl’s chance of survival just went up.”, there was a slight squeak of excitement in the younger man’s voice that he couldn’t help. 

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the other man in confusion, so Pheonyx explained. “A month ago, I set up twelve supply drops with bug-out bags. Just in case something were to happen at the farm. One of those was here. Each bag has enough supplies to help survive a week, or more if rationed right. MRE’s, pop-up tents, water bottles, water purification tablets, survival blankets, firestarters, maps, compasses. There’s even a hunting knife in each bag. We may not have found her today but her mom should feel a little better knowing she's got some supplies."

The relief that Daryl felt was palpable and Pheonyx was glad he could at least offer him something. 

“I’d say let’s keep going but we need to start heading back now if we want to be at the farm before it gets dark,” Pheonyx said. He noted the flash of anger in Daryl’s eyes and continued softly, “Kismet and I will head out at first light tomorrow.”

The older man grunted in frustration and brought his thumb to his mouth to chew on his nail. His train of thought stopped and focused on the phrasing of the other man’s words. Thinking back he remembered Pheonyx saying they would only work together for the day. While it would probably be better to have more people spread out looking for Sophia, his stomach clenched at the idea of splitting up from Pheonyx. Obviously, because it was safer to work in pairs. Not because he was attracted to the younger man. That would be weird because he obviously wasn’t gay.  “Ya ain’t going out alone, Firebird. Me, you, n’ the mutt can search together. Might need ta talk ta Rick ‘bout his ideas fer tomorrow though.” 

Running his fingers through his sweat soaked hair, Pheonyx nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know how Kismet will do if we have a bunch of other people in the woods searching too. He did good today, but with a bunch of other smells he might get confused. I also worry about other people getting lost. Shadows aren’t the only things in these woods that can hurt you. No offense but the others in your group didn’t look like they had much experience with the outdoors.”

Daryl snorted, “Yer tellin’ me. Buncha city-slickers.”

They both headed out the back door of the house and Pheonyx whistled his three note recall to Kismet. While they waited on the dog, Daryl called out to Sophia. It was a long shot, he knew that. But he had to try. There was no response though. The only sounds he heard were the warbling melody of frogs and the distant burbling of the creek. And the chaotic sounds of a huge dog barreling his way towards them. Both men watched as Kismet, unable to stop his momentum once he reached them, slid into a boxwood bush with a loud crash. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Pheonyx grimaced, “You okay, Kismet?” he called out.

The leaves and branches shook for a moment before Kismet’s speckled face popped out from the green foliage. His tongue was hanging out, panting happily. He shook himself off before trotting over to them. A quick glance over told Pheonyx that, aside from some dirt on his sides, the dog was unscathed.  He turned his head to ask Daryl if he was ready to head out, but the words died on his lips as he watched the man pluck a Cherokee Rose from the thorny plant neighboring the boxwood that Kismet had just slid into. The story of the flower was something he was very familiar with, having learned about the Georgia state flower in elementary school. 

“You getting that for her mom?,” he asked the archer softly, taking a step to run his fingers over one of the roses still on the bush. 

Daryl nodded, “Sophia’s all she’s got left. Lost ‘er husband a week ago. Weren’t no real loss there. Guy was a prick,” he was silent for a moment, “Them girls ain’t deserve none a this shit.”

While that was a true enough statement, he couldn’t tell the truth, the real reason he was so determined to find this little girl. He couldn’t even admit it to himself. He couldn’t admit that when he saw Carol, he saw a reflection of his own mama. That first day in camp, Merle had taken to calling her “Mouse” because of how skittish and meek she was. Her husband had such a tight hold on her, every move she made was followed by a look over her shoulder to make sure Ed wasn’t there to beat her down. He’d seen the same look in his own mama’s eyes many times. By the end, the fear had torn her down so much that she was only a shell. A walker before walkers existed. 

And he certainly couldn’t admit that he saw a bit of his childhood self in Sophia. Sophia was merely a ghost. People would see flashes of her blonde hair out of the corner of their eyes, but she’d be gone by the time they’d turn their head. While Carl was a chatterbox, Sophia was damn near voiceless. Daryl had probably only heard her speak two or three times that he could remember. Just like her mom, looking at Sophia had him staring back into the past. The little boy, he used to be, lived a life of invisibility. The less he was noticed, the less pain he had to endure under his father’s belt. He spent more time hiding in the kitchen cupboards than in his own bed. But unlike him, Sophia’s abuser died. She had a chance at a normal life–as normal as one can be with the dead walking around. He needed to find her. For Carol. For his mama. For that little boy that he used to be. 

Pheonyx wanted to reach out to the man, maybe place a hand on his shoulder, but he stopped himself. Instead he gave him words. “We’ll find her. I don’t like to make promises but I will now. You and me. We’ll find her,” a grumble came from his side and he rolled his eyes, “ Kismet will help too.”

Plucking a rose from the bush, he handed it to Daryl, a physical contract of his words. Calloused hands brushed against his own and blue eyes locked with his green ones. Blood rose on both of their faces and they both looked away at the same time. Nothing more was said. 

The two men walked side by side, with a speckled hound between them, one holding a Cherokee Rose and a promise. 

Taglist: @edgyboi10000 @yoongibaybee @dixonsboy19

[indignantlemur]

Small delay in any art/writing updates! My fiancé and I are cat-sitting for a little over a week and these fluffy little bastards (affectionate) have declared war on anyone with the audacity to try to sleep between midnight and 5am.

Consolation prize cat pics in the meantime!

Hildy is a little formerly-feral tabby, weighing in at a negligible 10-ish lbs (in comparison to the others). She's a little odd, but quite charming. She goes brrrrp! and ma-maow! whenever she sees us and tries to lick my fiancé's eyelids. We don't know why. It's probably better that we don't know. She's a more recent addition to my friend's household, so I don't know as much about her as the other two yet, but from what I understand her previous owners didn't take care of her at all and basically left her to the land. I will say that my friend has done an amazing job of socializing her and working on her fear-aggression and trust issues. I saw her briefly when she first arrived over a year ago and it's like she's a whole new cat now. 8/10 - Hildy's a little too quick to claw when overexcited for my preferences, but otherwise a lovely little moggy who loves cuddles and pets.

Isaac Catsimov the distinguished (mostly blind at this point) flame-point Ragdoll gentleman, at a respectable 16lbs. Isaac doesn't believe in personal space, and for an old man (he's almost 18 now) he's surprisingly agile, as his pre-dawn parkour sessions can attest to. Great lungs, superb sound system: I do wish he'd sing something other than mournful cat-dirges at 3am however. He also slaps people in the face to 'politely' request a resource of some sort. We both take our thyroid meds together every morning. He's a good sport about it. 9/10 - Isaac loses a point for slapping me in the face this morning with his giant shovel paws because he stood in his own water dish and got fur in it, but I love him so much.

And, saving my personal favourite for last, this is "Big Fellow" Atticus Finch (as he's listed in his vet records) the dark-bodied seal point Ragdoll-Maine Coon mix (and also the grandson of Isaac!), reigning supreme at roughly 20lbs of solid muscle and fluff. He runs like a badger, makes the most terrifyingly deep BAO! sound in the dead of the night when he's bored, and headbutts like a freight train at full speed with faulty breaks. He also likes to hold people's hands and cuddle their arms with all four of his feet. 15/10 - I love him more than life itself, and also fear I am slightly concussed.

[booksofstars]

I'm guessing that maine coon Firestar just dies in water? All the fur and muscle weighing him down yk. I mean, fits the name

yeah! he takes forever to dry off. his riverclan friends make fun of him for it constantly.

[anew-flame]

If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it the last five blogs in your notifs. Anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog <3

Aww thank you!! 💕 I’m gonna give the first 3 random facts that come to my head lol

1. I’ve broken each of my wrists once, at separate times, by falling down the stairs. Both times. 🥴

2. I know how to play the piano… though it has been awhile since I’ve played, I know I’m rusty af. I can’t do anything by ear and my sense of rhythm is non-existent, but I have fun! I enjoy sight-reading the notes and practicing until the muscle memory kicks in. My fave pieces to play are compositions by Yann Tiersen.

3. I have four kitties! A Maine Coon, who I’ve had for 12ish years. And three who were strays I’ve been caring for about 7 years so far. One is a calico, that I call Mama, who birthed a beautiful tuxedo boy and my darling void baby, Tabitha. It’s been very rewarding to earn their trust over time and see them progress from skittish to affectionate babies. It’s taken five years for Mama to let me pet her! And Tabbi is now indoor/outdoor, who asks to come inside to sleep nearly every night now 🥹 The end goal is to make all 3 forever inside kitties, but I gotta go at their individual paces.

[butter-pangcake]

I brought my cat for vaccine today, my twin asked the vet about his weight bc we were a bit concern if he's overweight but the vet said he can be bigger. She told us; he maybe had mane coon mixed in, now he's 6.6 kg all muscles💀

[barovianbitches]

Yvan Canagan Zamfir-Alvanja

art by @tt-vision

Full Name: Yvan Canagan Zamfir-Alvanja

Age: 25

Birthday: August 16

Zodiac: Leo

Myers Brigs: Protagonist, ENFJ-A

Race: Human

Height: 6’7.5”

Weight: 275lbs. What, if you are hauling casks of wine and beautiful people around, you have to have the muscle to show for it!

Looks: A strikingly handsome man with features cut from stone. He is a pillar of muscle and strength. His body is covered in scars from being attacked by a mob some years ago, as well as tattoos dotting his form.

Hair: Impossibly long brown-black hair. He has 3B hair when worn naturally, but for the sake of styling he keeps his hair in locs over the course of the winter to keep the maintenance of detangling down.

Eyes: A purple that seems to shift colors in the light. In the sun, they appear lilac. But in the dark stormy climate of Barovia, they take on deeper tone.

Class: Fighter, Whipmaster

Parents:

Ladinus Velvela (bio father) (unknown). Ladinus is Yvan’s birth father. He is not of Vistani heritage, and very little is known about him. He hails from the far Northwest region of Barovia. His current whereabouts are unknown.

Catalina Zamfir (bio mother) (✝ deceased). Catalina was a Vistana woman and Yvan’s birth mother, though he never knew her due to her passing when he was born. It is her family that took him in when Ladinus cast him out.

Margereta Zamfir-Ardelean (bio aunt/adoptive mother) (alive). Margereta is Catalina’s eldest sister, a bright and happy soul and the diamond of her clan. She has six children besides Yvan, so when Ladinus approached her about the care of Yvan, she was happy to take him in.

Anton Zamfir-Ardelean (uncle by marriage/adoptive father) (alive). Anton is the husband to Margereta and father to her children. He is a man of few words and proves his love through action. Family is everything to this man. He cares deeply for Yvan and curses Yvan’s father for abandoning his boy.

Siblings: Yvan has no biological siblings, as he is the one and only child of both Ladinus and Catalina. However, he has many cousins. Margereta’s children are the closest thing he has to siblings. He is the fourth oldest of her flock.

Sofia Zamfir-Ardelean, 27. The eldest daughter, she still lives with Margereta and Anton along with her husband Emil. They have a daughter and she is currently pregnant with her second child.

Gabriela Zamfir-Ardelean, 27. Gabriela is Sofia’s twin sister. She left her home clan to marry her longtime lover Lulia in another clan. She has become a wonderful weaver and artisan alongside her wife who raises sheep.

Stefan Zamfir-Ardelean, 26. The third child of Margereta and Anton, he is a a quiet young man and enjoys scholarly activities. He no longer lives in Barovia, instead having found his calling in Daggerford where he owns a bookstore and a large maine coon cat named Gyb. The clan visits him every time they travel beyond the mists.

Andrei Zamfir-Ardelean, 23. A spirited boy, Andrei dreams of glory as a warrior for the Untamed clan under the guidance of Vasile Cel Tradat. He practices sword fighting with a rapier a family member in Yester Hill forged for him.

Cezar Zamfir-Ardelean, 21. The second youngest of the children, Cezar is a sensitive and outgoing boy who is as practical as they come. He is a family man like his father, and currently head over heels for a girl from another clan by the name of Martzia. She does not return his affections, despite his grand displays of affection.

Camelia Zamfir-Ardelean, 18. Sweet, little Camelia. She is the apple of her mother’s eye and the kindest soul to grace Barovia. She is quiet and shy, but loves reading like her older brother Stefan. One day, she hopes to join him in his shop and apprentice as a book binder.

Heritage: Yvan hails from his mother’s Vistani clan of the Starseekers. His father, though, is not Vistana. The union of Catalina and Ladinus was a controversial one, as Catalina’s family feared for her safety in the hands of this outsider without an origin. Still, she was wooed by him, and soon they married and she became pregnant with Yvan. The pregnancy was a difficult one, and her clan did all they could to keep her comfortable despite Ladinus insisting that he take her somewhere else for care. The clan refused, already not trusting him with Catalina. She ended up passing, to which Ladinus left in the night with Yvan. For many years Yvan was raised away from his mother’s clan, much to their dismay. They never gave up searching for him. While in the care of Ladinus, he learned the ways of the land. How to track, to hunt, to survive. Though it soon became clear that Yvan was not the type for this way of life in such solitude. Ladinus soon gave up, approaching Margereta and Anton to take their nephew as their own. They obliged, overjoyed with his return to his mother’s clan. Ladinus left that night, and Yvan has not seen him since.

Religion: Yvan follows the way of the Fates and the Great Tapestry, the core Vistani belief system. It is a laidback lifestyle, involving the acknowledgement that your story is being woven as it is told and their is no predetermined path or true “destiny”.

Hobbies: Yvan thoroughly enjoys all of the arts. Having travelled for such a long time, he has had the chance to immerse himself in activities of many cultures. He loves music and poetry, and has a good set of pipes on him. He sings on the low end of bass, but gets shy so normally he will only hum along to music. (Example Here) Even then, his voice could resonate and break open boulders. He also adores storytelling, he likes to share stories around a fire with his friends and family. He gets REALLY into it.

Likes: Animals (dogs especially, like his cane corso Boris), wine and mead, teaching new skills to others, the smell of ozone as a storm rolls in, the feeling of rain on his skin, exploring ancient places, comfortable silence shared between (lovers) friends, incense, PDA, a cool swim in a river or lake.

Dislikes: The ocean, closed spaces, funerals, shirts (clothing in general. If he could be a nudist, he would), sitting still for too long, and places with a hot climate/high humidity.

Strengths: Physically, he is extremely capable. He can hoist just about anything over his shoulder, including barrels, hay bales, and particularly cute bards (if they consent of course). He is fiercely loyal to his family and friends. He’d much rather die than cut a deal with a devil. Yvan is also very level-headed and is able to keep his emotions on an even keel, he can remain calm in even the most dire of situations.

Weaknesses: Though he says he likes to forgive and forget, he has a tendency to hold grudges. He is EXTREMELY slow to anger, so once someone pushes him over the edge or breaks his trust there is very little one can do to go back on it. However, he is empathetic and merciful to a fault. When he was attacked by the mob, he implored Constantin to not hurt them, as the villagers were clouded by their prejudice and didn’t understand. He also seems to have a particular weakness to the Dragonborn of the party. In recent events, he had to keep his cool when said Dragonborn was threatened. Usually he doesn’t feel so compelled to violence, but his instincts took over for that moment. Who knows, perhaps it’ll become more of a common occurrence..

Goals: To find his person he is going to live for. While he is perfectly happy and healed alone, he lives to serve and his happiness comes from the overall content of those around him. If there is anything he can do to help, he’ll do it.

Character Background/Lore: Of Snow and Song Vuk & Voron

[luciddoesshit]

Playcare crewmember: Lucid!

Animatronic Audhd, severe anxiety, depression (not severe), and knee problems

The main Playcare attendant for the overnight area. Always smiling but a very quiet attendant for many but if you are trusted you will see they are very funny and silly. Also the part of security.

Extras:

-aroace, bisexual, agender

-has a pocket knife, chained scythes, and claws on their left hand. But the claws are duller than Moray’s claws.

-Has several pets!

A cat: a Maine coon grey cat named Tashi. (Female)

A dog: a golden retriever with a rosy coat color named Mars. (Male)

A River otter: classic river otter, named Étang. (male)

-All in one animatronic, mainly works with the sharks, otters (river and ocean), and the sea birds and snakes.

-Does feeding a lot for the aquarium

-A mechanic and engineer

-Hobbies: Sewing, art, music, writing

-Knows French

Oh? You want to know more?

The [REDACTED]—..

Subject: R-3049

Nickname: Lucid Memories,

originally known as “Reyna”

Keter-Class

Creature: Leviathan

Known Abilities:

-Shift: A 8 foot tall creature with the same anatomy as before but now has digitigrade legs.

-Illusion: they are able to be seen as a large Maine coon (4 ft long and 3 ft tall), a kraken like entity (seems to be mimicking their sibling entity, O-3050, which is a large kraken like entity see — for more information on 0-3050, height length and width were not identified) a electric eel (species not identified)

These are the only ones we have recorded recently.

-Unrelated ability:

It seems to have a copper necklace on its neck that gives it the ability to shift into a 8 ft tall animatronic whenever it deems fit. In this form it is entirely an animatronic other than the whale shark take on the back of their head and the cat ears on top of the head. It moves like an animatronic, talks like an animatronic, and acts like an animatronic with sentience. In this form if they get hurt and they turn back, the injury will appear on the leviathan but much worse. Let’s say it got a scratch that dug into their casing, when turning back they will have an injury that cuts down to the muscle.

It is hard to track this entity now that it has escaped the confinements of the facility, it escaped as a child, age in human years it would have been 6. Last officially recorded length on the entity was from a week before R-3049 escaped. At around 30 ft from head to the tip of the tail. From this information and more before that we can guess that R-3049’s length is now at 150 ft from its head to the tip of its tail. As a sub adult keter-class subject, R-3049 is a possible threat to the human race but there has been no recorded deaths or events related to R-3049 recorded yet. It seems docile until it is attacked or approached with the wrong intentions. (examples: capturing, killing, attacking, or polluting the area that it is inhabiting at the time)

It and its siblings are working fazbear entertainment at the Playcare and Aquatics location, where they are the mascots. Fazbear does not know that these are not actual animatronics.

We ran multiple tests on it as a child, one where we inserted a piece of metal into the back as it was in its animatronic form and forced it to shift back. They now have a long scar from their neck to their back. The metal inserted has the ability to shock R-3049 but it has a lower effect in the leviathan form. The two best effects are in the shifted form and animatronic form. If the metal rod is taken out now, it would likely result in death.