#long haired Scottish Fold

[dog-groomer-diaries]

I am so obsessed with Scottish Folds! This is the first long haired one I've ever seen in real life and I got to groom him yesterday ❤️

[sonicjustbecause]

Silver has asymptomatic osteochondrodyslpasia (mutant TRPV4 gene/Fd gene). In short, he is a 'fold'. And other...

I'm discussing also Silver's cat like features.

I already said both Sonic and Shadow have cat-like features, in particular Shadow being a calico. But Silver also has a feature belonging to a certain type of cats.

Because of the cannabis-shaped mane, he may seems without ears at first glance. But, even looking closely, his ears are hard to spot.

Here it is: Silver's ears are unusually set apart, flattened and tiny. Shadow and Sonic have their ears three time larger.

Those kind of ears are typical of Scottish Fold and Ukrainian Levkoy cat breed.

Sonic and Shadow: Straight, upright ears. Silver: short, bending forward ears. It is called a 'single fold' because they're still visible.

My first cat, Goku. She had a mutant TRPV4 gene and had what is called a single fold. Her fold was subtle, the small size of her ears was noticeable. My cat was just a mixed breed, her mum was a regular long haried feral cat, her dad most likely a Scottish Fold, but there is a chance she just developed the mutation on her own.

Now, what is is osteochondrodysplasia? Is what cause the ears to stay small and bend forward. It affects the carlilages of the animal in his whole body. Is actually a form of dwarfism, even when the animal grow large in size (My cat was so large they mistook her as a male) However, if only copy of the gene is present, there is a high change that the symptoms are only cosmetic (small, folded ears). My cat lived 19 years without developing any symptoms of the condition, ear shape aside. However if the condition develops fully (especially in case of a double mutand TRPV4 gene), it causes pain, stiffness and deformed paws and tail.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks Silver is a fold.

Here Silver is drawn with a triple fold. The triple fold is the most requested by cats lover. But, as a former owner of a cat with a single fold, I like to see character with ears similar to those of my cat.

Silver doesn't seems to have other symptoms of osteochondrodysplasia. But he is unusually stiff, he doesn't curl despite being an hedgehog, favoring flight/absence of gravity.

Is SILVER!!!, well, about, more to come - He even has black highlighst around his eyes.

Two Ukrainian Levkoy.

Silver's secondary characteristic:

Sonic and Shadow have long quills, with Shadow having a sligtly fluffier look thanks to his thicker fur and his soft, white spot on his chest.

But Silver literally has a ruff. The ruff is typical of long haired cats. I've never seen a long haired hedgehog. The mutation didn't settle yet (there are, hovever, hedgehogs who have regular fur instead of quills). Silver also has longer quills on the back of his head. Meaning, Silver is long haired.

Silver's fur colour is pale blue, a very diluited black fur and is a 'self', meaning is his only colour, without any spot or pattern (Unlike Sonic who is bi-colour tuxedo and Shadow who is calico/tricolour), with white undercoat (Smokey) well shown in his ruff.

I wonder if Sega did it on purpose. I mean, making Sonic, Shadow and Silver looking like cats, even having unique cats features and giving them some hedgehogs traits, naming them 'hedgehogs''.

[iamdotwav88]

♡♡♡

[cherryrikis]

SWEET LATTE

PAIRING non idols yang jungwon x fem reader

WARNINGS none

GENRE fluff

SYNOPSIS you and jungwon decide to get a cat. and he loves it more than he’d admit.

despite the two of you being incredibly allergic, you somehow managed to convince jungwon to let you get a cat, since maeum has been with his parents.

so you did. you brought it home. but now you were clueless on what to do, since you both were dog people.

“is it.. dead?” he asked, gently poking the chubby kitten.

“no wonnie, it’s not dead! he’s just sleeping!” you swatted his hand away before scooping up the kitty and holding it in your arms.

as soon as your new pet felt it being lifted off the surface, he immediately woke up, snuggling closer into your grasp. holding the cat out to your boyfriend, he hesitated to pet it, you literally had to bring his hand up for him.

but as soon as jungwon made contact with the cat, “achoo!” he sneezed out loud.

“this was a terrible idea.” he sniffled, wiping his nose with a tissue.

“well you’re gonna have to watch him when i go to the office in.. an hour.” you informed, checking your phone for the time.

“what? you’re working today? i can’t take care of it alone!”

you shrugged in response, before turning back to the kitty in your arms. “you’re so cute!” you cooed. “i’m gonna name you latte!” and immediately, you continuously pecked the top of latte’s head as he purred.

“latte? really? that’s so basic.” jungwon grimaced as he looked at the little beige cat. it was a scottish fold with white spots. “i know it’s basic, but i can’t resist! he’s just the sweetest thing ever.”

“am i no longer your favorite sweet thing?” he joked, playfully pouting as you placed latte in his arms.

“the sweetest,” you gave him a long kiss on the lips before pulling away. “so don’t be like that. i’m gonna go get ready now.” you smiled.

“what am i gonna do with you?” jungwon sighed, staring at latte as he crawled across the couch when they finally sat back down.

by the time you came home, you absolutely were not expecting the sight in front of you. hurrying to take a warm shower, you wrapped your hair in a towel before going to sit next to jungwon in the living room.

you laughed as your boyfriend dangled his keys above latte’s head, the cat reaching out it’s paws tirelessly.

you leaned into jungwon, laying your head on his shoulder as he continued to play with your new child.

“oh jungwon..” you gasped, using your hand to turn his head so he could face you. you examined his red face, his eyes puffy from his allergies.

“it’ll go away later. i took medicine.”

“guess you love him don’t you?” “of course.” he sighed.

“and latte is just so sweet isn’t he?”

“the sweetest.”

“i think he has your eyes.” you point out, comparing the two as you often switched your gaze. “he’s like our little baby.”

“you’re saying i’m a cat?” jungwon raised a brow.

“maybe. i’m also saying our future daughter would look a lot like you.” you shrugged.

“what?” his eyes widened, fully turning to you in shock, “you’d really be willing to start a family with me?”

“of course. i mean, not too soon obviously, we’re only 20. but in the future, i think we’d make really good parents.” you smiled.

jungwon’s heart swelled, and his face ran hot (not just as an allergic reaction).

“my heart is so full right now.” he sighed, taking one hand off the cat to hug your waist as you wrapped your arms around his bicep.

“you’d be a great mother, and a gorgeous wife. also, i totally think we’re gonna have a son.” he whispered.

“daughter.” “son.”

“if we have a son, we should name him-” “i am not naming my son after the cat.” jungwon mumbled.

“whatever.” you grumbled.

“anyway. i can’t believe we got to talk about all this because of a cat. i guess they really are lucky.” he chuckled, leaning further into you as you held him tighter.

“guess that makes you my lucky charm then, doesn’t it?”

“guess so..” jungwon licked his lips, before leaning his head down to kiss you softly.

enjoy this fic? read similar works here!

[zooophagous]

I might just be following the wrong people but it's funny (as in strange not amusing) that I don't hear about problem Fad cat breeds in quite the same way I hear about dogs (other than like Scottish folds and munchkins), am not following the right people or is it that there's just far fewer cat breeds and cat breeding being a far more recent thing

The cat fancy is considerably smaller than the dog fancy. Something in the neighborhood of 95% of all cats are what you call "randombred," meaning they aren't a defined breed or even a defined breed mix. They're "just cats," and they breed like crazy. They breed like vermin. You can get a cat for free just about anywhere and you're pretty much gonna get what you signed up for because all of them are "just a cat."

Cats are individuals of course but the breed divides are so slight and hard to notice that for most people the pickiest they get is long hair versus short hair. You're probably not going to accidentally end up with a cat way bigger than you wanted, or thats way too loud and bothers your neighbors, or that's way too mean etc.

Where with dogs if you grab a randombred puppy from a box in a Walmart parking lot when it gets a little bigger you might realize that this is an amstaff mix and it wants to kill your other dogs, or you might realize this is a newfie mix and it's 3 times bigger than you expected.

Where even among purebred cats they tend to be similar in size and shape and still act very much like cats and it can be hard to tell even purebred breeds apart. A lot of cat breeds also have approved outcrosses too so you end up with cats that are mixed anyway.

With very few exceptions it's hard to pick out a purebred cat from a lineup unless it's a very defined breed like a hairless sphynx or a curly coated rex or a rosetted bengal or an absolutely massive main coon.

Most people then, don't see a huge point to getting an expensive purebred when they can get a cat just as good and very similar in appearance for next to nothing.

That's not to say fad cats aren't a problem! Of the popular purebred cat breeds out there, there are people mill breeding them and they're super prone to chronic respiratory infections. Sphynx especially tend to have lifelong runny nose from viruses that run hard in certain catteries.

Scottish fold cats are another big one you mentioned, but the worst I see currently is "elf" cats. That is, munchkin cats with short legs being bred to everything.

I've seen people selling "civet cats" that are munchkin bengals. I also see "dwelf" hairless munchkins and hairless munchkins with the same folded ears as a scottish fold. It's all so, so stupid and these cats aren't very functional.

Luckily it's not as big as a thing but it is still, regrettably, a thing.

[allforthegaymes]

Neil josten and his disposable cameras against the world.

Neil josten who has spent his entire life ducking away from photos, whose heart still beats a little faster when he sees a photo blown up for a poster on the side of the stadium when the season starts up again. Who sees a news article about himself go up and refuses to read it, trusting his pr manager (and andrew) to make sure anything posted about him isnt something weird.

Neil josten with a different disposable camera tucked into the pockets of every pair of jeans, each backpack and duffel bag, and shoved into nearly any crevice of the apartment.

(Andrew fishes at least one a month out of the dryer after they get forgotten in Neils jeans)

At first Abby had suggested it as a way to get more used to hearing a camera flash and associate it with something positive.

So theres rolls and rolls of film developed around the dorm, photos of the foxes, the stadium when the sun sets over it and lights the sky up orange. Blurry photos from Edens of Aaron and Nicky dancing to ABBA, photographed right after is a picture of both of them leaning on the bar wall outside crying into their phones trying to call Katelyn and Erik.

(Andrew corrals them into the car when he realizes that Aaron and Nicky drunkenly called one another and had been blabbering to one another from just over a foot away thinking they’d actually called their respective partners)

A series of photos of Kevin drunk and half leaning over the bar trying to snag someone elses drink that Roland is in the middle of mixing, showing Roland darting back and forth trying to dodge Kevins long reach.

Another photo of Kevin being dragged out of Edens by security, Rolands mixer held up victoriously in his hand as he’s brought outside.

A picture of Allison leaning against her pink convertible. Her hair is tossed back behind her and her mouth is open with a loud bark of laughter. She’d glared at Neil after for taking a picture of her unaware but she has the photo pinned up in the girls dorm room anyways.

Photos of all the cats at the shelter when they decide to adopt Sir. Most of the photos are of Sir. Nearly all of them looking identical because of the Persian’s inability to not have a permanent glare on his face.

The cycle repeats when they get King. The Scottish Folds face etched with a permanently shocked look.

Theres a photo of her on the bathroom counter, feet blurry in the bottom of the photo but its clear shes trying to scramble backwards, the edge of a hair tie looped around the sink faucet and the other half lodged in her mouth as she tries valiantly to pull it loose without getting it in the water spray as Andrew washes his face in the mirrors reflection.

Andrew takes up the majority of the photos. Sure there’s hundreds pictures of the other foxes scattered about but Andrew is always Neil’s main focus.

Wether its actually Andrew framed front and center, always trying to give his typical unimpressed look but constantly betrayed by the uptick of the corners of his mouth, the slightest peak of his teeth when he closes his eyes at the beginning of a tired smile towards Neil.

Or if its not related to Andrew, the essence of him always ends up leaking in. The curl of cigarette smoke at the bottom of a photo of the sunset view from the top of Fox Tower. The reflection of his arm bands in the photo Neil snapped of the Maserati in the rain.

Neil’s favorites are the ones of him and Andrew in their house after theyve gone pro. Its a cozy house out in Washington, close enough to the Seattle team that they can comfortably commute each day without having to actually live within the city.

The lighting is always half shit because of the constant overcast sky outside. But the array of lamps inside always try their best to make the photos look orange and cozy.

Andrew sat asleep in Neils armchair. The bright orange fabric something that Andrew had huffed and rolled his eyes at, but constantly found himself in instead of the black designer chaise Andrew had bought. Both cats are on him. Sir sat on his shoulder glaring down at King, who is in the process of trying to eat his hoodie strings.

Andrew stood in the kitchen, his bare back turned towards Neil as he pours a smoothie out from the blender, arm already reached behind him and holding Neil’s smoothie glass out towards him.

Andrew a half second later, turned looking startled over his shoulder in shock from the sound of the camera shutter as Neils smoothie is caught in motion falling to the floor. Another photo following of Neil hunched over on the floor sweeping up glass.

A photo of Andrew stood with his hip cocked looking up at the light fixture on the ceiling, arms crossed in front of his chest as he stares up at it, the light half ripped out of the ceiling when he’d gotten the midnight urge to change it and then quickly remembered he was a professional athlete and not an electrician.

Andrew hunched over in the engine of a Mustang. The cars an obnoxious bright yellow, two black racing stripes gone up the middle of the hood. His hands are covered in grease and theres a streak of grease running through his short blonde hair as well. Theres a wrench in his hand and a jug of some fluid propped on the engine that Neil doesnt care enough to understand what its for.

And Neil knows the foxes start taking more pictures of him, can hear the camera shutter or see the flash going off but doesnt flinch away or try to sidestep out of the way anymore. Doesnt care that theres evidence of Neil Josten being a real man that exists and lives a real life outside of fake IDs and lies, because he has photos of the life he’s created for himself as well.

[eponymous-rose]

I can't find it now, which probably means it was months and months ago, but someone sent me an ask about considering adopting a cat but, as a dog person, not knowing much about adoption (e.g., whether shelter cats are good for first-time owners) and the day-to-day responsibilities of cat ownership. I can answer for my own experience, although I'm sure I'll be forgetting some important aspects!

Shelter vs Purebred:

I have a little 5-year-old shelter cat, a female domestic shorthair with a tuxedo coat! That's a big difference between cats and dogs - the vast, vast, VAST majority of cats you'll ever encounter are simply categorized as domestic shorthair/medium hair/longhair, with purebred cats being rare enough that they generally are limited to breeders - when I was an adoption counselor at a shelter, I only saw a couple of potentially purebred cats some through, and both were likely mixes. A lot of the time, cats are identified by their coat colors instead (e.g., calico, tabby, orange, tuxedo, colorpoint, dilute, etc.) with much made of the personality traits associated with those coats even though there's tragically no real science to back that up. Some coat colors are much more common with particular sexes of cats - orange cats are about 80/20 male/female, while calicos are >98% female - and that may contribute to some of the kitty stereotypes (e.g., orange cats are typically male, and neutered male cats tend to be quite calm and chill).

I'd heartily recommend shelter cats to anyone, including first-time owners. A lot of purebred cats sadly come with medical conditions (e.g., scottish folds often have significant pain due to connective tissue disorders, manx cats are prone to arthritis and spinal problems, maine coons and sphynx cats have relatively high rates of congenital heart disease, persians are brachycephalic and have breathing issues) or extra-high maintenance care requirements (e.g., sphynx cats must be bathed regularly because the lack of hair means the oils on their skin stick to any and all dirt, maine coons and ragdolls and norwegian forest cats require significant daily grooming to keep their long double coats from matting, brachycephalic cats require extra baths and grooming since they're generally unable to keep their own coats as clean, and breeds like bengals are so immensely high-energy that it's nearly a full-time job keeping up with their needs for enrichment and constant activity).

Shelter cats are almost all domestic shorthair/medium hair/longhair breeds, and tend to have the longest life expectancy of all kitties - although there are no guarantees (I sadly lost a 9-month-old kitten to a congenitally damaged heart) the lifespan numbers quoted lately for indoor-only cats tend to be around 15-25 years. And, of course, most places are overrun with stray cats - adopting from a shelter often comes with a free spay/neuter and vaccines, along with the satisfaction of having rescued a little critter that had a rough start before finding a forever home. You can visit shelters and get to know the kitties there - keep in mind that most cats are dramatically more fearful and shy in cages, and that you can often ask volunteers to point you to their favorites, especially if you're looking for an extra-chill cat as a first-time owner.

Consider adopting an adult cat! Kittens are adorable, but their energy levels are absolutely through the roof... as well as their destructive potential. Picture tiny whirlwinds with knives on their feet, the ability to jump 4-5 feet from a dead stop, zero sense of self-preservation, and the ability to keep sprinting for hours at random times of day and night. If you do get a kitten, consider adopting two - they tend to be less work since they'll keep each other entertained. Adult cats, however, tend to have more chill personalities and are more likely to settle into a routine quickly. My Clara is still pretty high-energy, but at 5 years old she's happy to have a shorter session of zoomies and intense play if it means she can then just curl up on a lap or in the sun to snooze and purr. Senior kitties are also wonderful - often cats don't have a very visible decline and remain relatively high-energy and chipper until very late in life, so it's not unusual that a 13-year-old cat will still act like a kitten and have many good years ahead, just a bit more chill.

Keep in mind that a cat is a long-term commitment. I was 7 years old when my parents brought two kittens home from the shelter - they lived another 18 years, until I was well into grad school.

Common Health Problems:

Cats that were once strays are very prone to two common diseases: FIV and FeLV. FIV (feline immundeficiency virus) essentially is a disorder of the immune system: these cats may be more prone to getting ill and may get more significantly ill when they do get sick. Luckily, FIV is far from a death sentence! These cats can live a normal quantity and quality of life with proactive health monitoring and regular trips to the vet (we're talking every 6 months instead of every year). FIV is contagious to other cats, but generally is only spread via deep bite wounds, so mixing of FIV+ and FIV- cats is possible given that you know that the cats are unlikely to get into a major fracas. FeLV (feline leukemia virus), sadly, has a worse prognosis - there's a lot of variability, but generally the best-case scenario is only a handful of years before the viral load is too high to avoid dangerous symptoms.

Another kitty disease that is sadly common among younger cats in particular is FIP (feline infectious peritonitis), which is a complication from a common kitty coronavirus that can emerge at any time and often manifests in very vague symptoms and is difficult to pin down. Until very, very recently, FIP was essentially considered to be 100% fatal within a couple of months and the recommendation was euthanasia. Now there are medications that can bring that survival rate past 90% - they're in the process of going through FDA approval, although there are groups online dedicated to getting you those medications through less official channels as needed. If anyone's familiar with Drawfee, Jacob and Julia's cat Olive was diagnosed with FIP at around 1 year old and was considered to be terminal - and, thanks to one of those online groups getting them the medication, is currently a happy and healthy 6-year-old kitty.

Nearly all shelter cats I've encountered have some level of URI (upper respiratory infection) - be prepared for a little extra sneezing and potentially having to give eyedrops the first couple weeks after getting home. URIs are SO CONTAGIOUS that it's almost impossible to keep them from spreading in a shelter setting. Also common is ringworm, although most shelters will isolate any contagious kittens and keep the infection localized.

Please spay and neuter your cats! They can have kittens incredibly young and incredibly frequently - unspayed female cats are also prone to certain cancers and unneutered male cats are prone to spraying (urinating on walls and other surfaces). The surgery is incredibly routine for both males and females (Clara had complications, but that just meant she had a few extra days of confinement) and generally the hardest part is keeping them from going after their stitches. Most shelters will provide spay/neuter services for free or on the cheap. They recover quickly and completely.

Cats also do incredibly well in a lot of different situations - deaf or half-deaf cats are quite common (nearly all blue-eyed cats with white coats are deaf) and just need some extra care to ensure they feel safe; the same goes for blind or one-eyed kitties, who can still happily play and navigate a space once they're familiar with it. Routine is key! Three-legged cats do so well that the saying is that cats are all born with a spare leg they don't actually need. If this is a recent condition, or if there are big changes in the cat's life (such as moving to a new home), just make sure to give them some extra time, support, and patience while they adjust. Amputation in cats can be really rough in the first couple of weeks, but soon enough they'll be sprinting around and jumping up on improbably high shelves.

Male cats are more prone than female cats to urinary blockages, which is one reason why I think it's important to actively clean the litter box yourself rather than using a robot. Changes in urinary output/pain while urinating/urinating outside the box can give you hints about a urinary blockage (a medical emergency in cats) or longer-term issues such as kidney disease, which can be managed with medication for quite some time as long as you know they're happening.

Cats are really good at hiding pain/illness, so it's important to be aware of signs of discomfort (sitting hunched with the neck extended can indicate difficulty breathing, whiskers extended stiffly from the face can indicate a grimace of pain, disruptions to routine such as avoiding beloved people or favorite spots, eating/drinking/litter box irregularity) and to ensure that you bring them to the vet on a regular basis to catch the stuff that might not be causing symptoms yet. Clara has a benign heart murmur and a little stiffness in one ventricle that requires her to visit a vet specialist every year or two to get an echocardiogram to check for any progression into heart disease (one in seven cats wind up with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, which has a long median survival with presymptomatic treatment) - if those symptoms are ever present, we get her on medication early and it's unlikely to influence her lifespan for quite some time, whereas unmonitored and untreated, the first symptom would likely be sudden death. Knowing about this in advance also means that she has recommendations in her chart if she ever needs anesthesia for a different procedure. Having a regularly updated baseline at the vet means your cat is that much more likely to live a long, happy, healthy life.

The Day-to-Day:

Caring for cats is extremely fun, and the key is routine! Cats LOVE routine and will happily follow you around through your day-to-day. Clara is fed with an auto-feeder, which means she doesn't tend to pester me too much about food (and which means I can monitor how much she's eating and make adjustments as needed). She's prone to stress-induced stomach upset (aren't we all!) so she gets prescription food and some extra wet food with probiotics if I know something stressful is coming up soon. The auto-feeder dispenses food multiple times during the day, so she can't gorge herself and get sick.

For grooming, Clara does a pretty great job on her own, so I just have to brush her occasionally and every few weeks I will trim her claws. Do not declaw a cat! It's an amputation that is illegal in many states/countries and frequently results in chronic pain and behavioral problems such as an aversion to certain textures (a Major Problem if that texture includes litter...). If you can't trim a cat's claws on your own, try doing one or two at a time while they're sleeping - unlike with dogs, the quick is super visible on a cat's claws, so it's tough to mess up too badly. If all else fails, vets will trim claws for you, or can provide you with glue-on covers for the claws. I also brush Clara's teeth - you can get soft little toothbrushes and tasty-to-cats toothpaste, and even just them gnawing on the toothbrush can provide some benefit. Regular vet visits are also important to monitor any tooth decay that may occur. Cats can do well even with no teeth at all (the teeth are generally just for tearing pieces of prey, not chewing), but keeping those teeth healthy while they've got 'em is important, if only to avoid general anesthesia for a cleaning!

Most cats do very well without baths - so far, Clara has only needed a few little spot-cleans after minor accidents. Bathing is extremely stressful for most cats, so if necessary, I'd check out guides online to help reduce the stress levels. Many cats gradually lose the ability to keep themselves clean, so it's worth looking into, but don't expect to have to wash a cat as often as you would a dog by any means. (Unless you have a sphynx cat, of course...)

To help with scratching, provide scratchers for cats and keep them near the things you don't want the cat to scratch, as attractive alternatives (you can entice them with some catnip sprinkled on the scratchers!) - it's important to have both horizontal and vertical scratchers, since they exercise different muscles. Be aware, though, that bringing a cat into the home means that some of your furniture may be at risk. You can absolutely minimize the risk of damage, but I'd say you can almost never get rid of that risk completely.

Play is super important! I play with Clara throughout the day, but I also set aside some time every single evening to run around with her and really get her playing hard for a while (after which I clean her box, replace her water dishes, and go to bed - the importance of routine!). Cats aren't endurance hunters, but they require very little rest between bursts of energy, so hanging around for a bit with a toy even after you think they may be done is super valuable. Keep in mind that cats can get into life-threatening danger if they eat pieces of toys (strings, feathers, etc.) so it can be good to have some safe toys out all the time (e.g., foam balls) while the more dangerous ones (strings, feathers, etc.) are locked away when you're not actively playing.

Daily maintenance is pretty easy. I clean Clara's litter box at least once per day (which just involves scooping the contents into a bag that I then throw into the trash bin outside - less than 2 minutes/day) and do a deeper clean every week or two where I empty out all the litter and quickly scrub the box itself. Cats are lousy at remembering to drink, so I have three water bowls around the house - these get washed and replaced with fresh water every evening. Fountains are great for some cats (Clara had no interest) - some cats are obsessed with running water. Keeping water away from food can also help encourage cats to drink more. Apart from that, it's mostly just refilling the auto-feeder, attempting to tempt her with wet food (she's not a fan), and giving the occasional treat.

She also gets a monthly flea/tick preventative, which is just a couple drops of liquid that I apply at the base of her neck (usually while she's sleeping). She's an indoor-only cat, but bugs get inside and can transmit all sorts of bad stuff. Be warned that you should NEVER use a dog flea preventative on a cat - the dosage can be so high that it can cause a lot of harm. Make sure you have a correct dosage - ask your vet for more info.

And that's about it! In return for that minor maintenance, I get a silly little fluffy friend who follows me around and makes me laugh all day every day. She's gone from a really skittish little scaredy-cat to... well, still a skittish little scaredy-cat around most people, but around me she's affectionate and constantly looking for cuddles.

I hope this is in some way useful! I think a lot of people who don't consider themselves cat people would really enjoy having a cat - and even if you decide it's not for you, I hope you can appreciate and enjoy the other cats in your life!

[artisyone]

Surprise! I'm back working on this series once again! This time here are a few takes on domestic cats! 🐈

Extra Details on each breed are below:

Persian

- Long fluffy coats

- Often have round faces and short muzzles

- Short and/or stout in stature

Maine Coon

- largest cat breed

- dense thick fur

- often have fur tufts on the tips of ears

- long fur that looks like a mane across the neck and chest

Scottish Fold

-Can have floppy ears on one or both ears

-Small noses

Bobtail

-small stubby tails

-Can be smaller depending on the type of bobtail

Sphynx

-little to no hair on body

-Very wrinkly regardless of age

-Strangely bat-like ears

-still can develop patterns on skin

General Info

- Any species can have visible whiskers

- Can have standard nose or have cat noses

- Can have traditional eyes or stylized cat eyes

- Cats can unsheathe their claws

- All species can have different kinds of stripes and fur patterns, some depending on gender at birth

[izgnanik-a]

Some more trans Ghoap? Previous fic link here

Thank you to the lovely anon who loved it so much to send me an ask for more in the funniest way. I love that you loved it.

Cw: mutual pining, sexual tension, fingering, toys, semi-public sex, more frotting, slight dom/sub, Johnny’s a pleasure dom, ftm!Simon

// Don’t like?? Don’t read // MDNI //

Having Johnny’s number meant the ball was in Simon’s court to contact him. He gave him his number because they’d had a good night, a great night even, though it was embarrassingly short.

Simon ran through his thoughts the morning soon after, realizing he probably seemed so pathetic. Cumming from humping this guy with clothes on, and then falling asleep??

He needed to move out of town ASAP.

Simon let a few days pass, anxiously eyeing the note every time he’d sit in his living room, or even staring at it from the kitchen. He’d stand at the counter, eyeing the vibrant thing until it imprinted into his mind.

What harm would come from texting Johnny back? He obviously showed interest in Simon, regardless of their night together.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the good part where Johnny’s hands would be all over him. Didn’t even get to the part where Johnny’s mouth was supposed to run through the folds of his cunt.

Fucking idiot.

Simon finally sat at the coffee table, a full week later, the night of the club event again, sticky note in hand, phone in the other. He contemplated if any of this was a good idea; bringing a stranger to his own apartment was risky but so was going to someone’s house.

But he was apparently desperate, and had no other options but a big Scottish guy who was a dirty talker and good with shoving his tongue down Simon’s throat.

He input the number into his contacts, sitting with a draft message open in front of him. He didn’t know what to say. Sup? Hey? It’s Simon? Nothing. He was so embarrassed by their last encounter that he would rather never show his face at the club again, never call.

Simon bit his tongue as he sent a shotty text of hey, and stared at the screen. He’d make himself a cup of tea, take a shower, let the message linger before he’d return to it.

The moment his hand touched the kettle —

DING.

He stared across the room to his phone on the table from the kitchen doorway. He clutched his hands into fists before moving for it. Staring at the lock screen, he eyed the message.

Took u long enough.

Simon paused, plucking it up. Do you even know if you’re texting the right person? He watched the bubbles appear and disappear.

I’m sure I am. ;)

Simon began to wonder just how many people Johnny had wooed like this at the club. How many people had fallen in Simon’s exact steps. There was technically no ulterior motive besides getting fucked — so there was no harm in playing the game, right?

Simon humored. Okay then — what color are my eyes?

There was a long pause, long enough for Simon’s kettle to whistle. His phone chirped.

Blue.

Lucky guess. Simon sat down on the couch. Half of England has blue eyes.

Then don’t ask stupid questions. Ur smarter than this. He replied.

Simon was taken aback. Johnny was blunt, but not overly critical. Maybe this wasn’t Johnny. He leaned forward in his seat. Fine. He sent. What’d we do when we left the club?

It would come out in truth whether or not Johnny was a one person at a time kind of guy, or if he really thought that Simon was just some stupid bloke.

We went back to urs, and u fucked urself on my hip. I told u how much of a good boy u were, and u came in ur pants before I could eat u out.

Simon didn’t want to show his face at the club so he skipped this week. He received a text from Johnny asking where he was, when he had lied and said he was going out with a friend, he had received a “ :( “ and “ be safe .”

The next day he received a good morning text and a soft looking selfie from Johnny; the orange hue of sunlight came in through his bedroom, dark grey sheets and blankets, his hair ruffled, sleep in his eyes. He was shirtless, tattoos creeping where the camera couldn’t fully see. But Simon outlined the roundness of his cheeks, the cushion of his chest, the absolute beauty of this man.

God — he could touch himself raw.

He sent a flimsy good morning message back, and proceeded with his day. Dinner came, and Johnny sent another photo. He was sat by candlelight, face red, and a wine glass in front of him being the culprit. His chin was leaned on his palm, pouty frown on his face.

Wish u were here.

Simon felt flushed. This man was lusting after him, and he was just feeding Johnny scraps. What would he even do if he had Johnny in front of him again?

Simon sent, how much have you had to drink?

Enough. Came back almost too quickly.

Are you driving home? Simon wondered who Johnny had gone out with. Was it with his friends? Another date? Another—?

Another date would have to reference to having gone on a date with Johnny. Simon hadn’t ever gone out with him. Only used him as a scratching post to get his rocks off.

Came with friends. Still wish u were here.

Simon started to think if he did something heroic, like showing up to where Johnny was, sweeping him into his arms, and took him home — would it get him laid.

He shouldn’t be so selfish. The man was drunk off wine. He wouldn’t take advantage of him like that.

Lmk when you get home safe. Simon sent and let his phone ding for the rest of the night. He regretted doing so when he woke up.

Waking up to drunk messages from Johnny was a handful to sort through. Half written messages, horribly written ones, and a singular photo.

Simon’s mouth was dry; Johnny was laying on his bed, shirt shucked up between his teeth, the bottom of a tattoo under his pecs showing. The hairy expanse of his stomach and happy trail showing, pants unbuttoned and pulled open to show his briefs. Johnny’s hand was holding the bulge of his cock in his pants.

The message underneath read wish u were here bad.

Simon felt his cunt throbbing perversely. He felt all urges to leave the house vanish, and all he wanted to do was touch himself like Johnny was in the photo.

It had been the last thing Johnny sent, but there wasn’t much thought to why. Simon contemplated but didn’t fight himself long before he was moving for his bedroom, unbuckling his button, and pulling the curtains over the windows before sliding his pants off.

He grabbed his silicon dildo from his closet along with his lube, situating himself up by the pillows before pouring a drizzle of lube on his fingers. He slipped his fingers between his thighs, already warm and soft under his touch. He kept the photo on his screen as he touched his clit, glancing over when he lost focus on why he’d been so bothered.

He imagined it was Johnny touching him, but he wouldn’t be so desperate and quick. Johnny would praise him, run his hands up and down his thighs as he shoved his tongue down his throat. He’d makeout with Simon until he was throbbing in his jeans, grinding himself into Simon’s hot cunt, and still refuse Simon relief.

He wouldn’t aggressively rub Simon’s clit. He’d run his fingers over his mons, along his outer lips and work his way down. Maybe he’d even eat Simon out. He’d get so cock drunk that he wouldn’t even put his fingers into Simon until he was begging him, writhing, squeezing his face between his thighs. He go at it for hours.

He wouldn’t keep shoving his cock head into Simon’s cunt to the point where it was burning. He’d make sure Simon was gushing pre before lubing himself up, and he’d play with Simon’s clit. Tease him with his tip, pushing it between his folds, and running it back over his mons. Just making a mess.

Then he’d lean over, whisper sweet things in his ear as he was pushing in.

“You’re doing so well for me. Such a sweet boy.”

“So soft. I can’t stand the way you feel under my hands. It’s too good.”

“I wish you could see the way you’re taking me. Splitting open on my cock, panting so hard, and I haven’t even gotten all of it in.”

“I love the way you clench when I play with your clit. Pushing yourself on my cock to take the rest of it. So greedy.”

“Such a good boy for me. Only for me. Say it, sweet thing. You’re mine, aren’t you? Yeah?”

Simon fucked himself down on his dildo as he rubbed his clit, eyes shut, mouth open, grinding until it pushed up against his front wall, lighting up stars in his eyes.

“That’s it. Good boy. Of course you needed something to grind up against. Be sweet for me and cum, using me as a toy to get off.”

Simon moaned painfully as he orgasmed, sitting on the full length of his dildo as he slumped down on his shoulders and knees. He grimaced as he dragged his fingers over his clit to feel the lingering shock of his orgasm. Like the masochist he was, he kept rubbing until he was jerking away from his own touch.

Sliding until he was belly down on the bed, he pressed his forehead into the sheets as he took deep breaths. Dildo abandoned behind him, covered in lube and his own excrements.

All his time was becoming occupied with obsessing over this man, over this Scottish devil who teased him and praised him. He should feel sick for doing such ludicrous acts.

But he couldn’t bring himself to take the shame he was being handed.

The photo was left without another word. No acknowledgment that it ever happened. Come the night of the queer event, and Simon was sitting in his seat with a drink in hand. He knew Johnny would come, because he’d asked, practically begged him for an answer, and he was jittery with nerves.

He’d jerked off more times than necessary to Johnny’s photo, a teasing non-nude photo, the prerequisite of promised sex. There would be no slowing down when Simon got his hands on that man. He’d tear him apart in the bathroom stall if he had to.

Simon couldn’t see the front door so he was left to wonder if Johnny was really coming. Would he come? Would he treat Simon differently? Would he cling to Simon, keep him under his arm, and drag him this way and that way all night? Or would he just take Simon to some quiet spot and finish what he was promised?

Simon was lost in thought as a crowd was closing in on the other side of the bar. He looked up from his drink.

From across the bar, the low LED lights underneath painted the high points of Johnny’s face in red, like some lucrative predator. He kept his eyes on Simon, making sure his prey didn’t run off before he could sink his teeth in.

The air felt electric, and Simon was buzzing again.

All he could think about was the photo, and the desperate ache of Simon’s thighs every night he rode his poor dildo.

Johnny rounded the bar, and Simon tried to brace his dignity before Johnny yanked it out from under his feet. His hand slid along the back of Simon’s shoulders before it wrapped around his waist, his chest pressed to his spine, cheek to Simon’s neck. The hug was as intimate as fucking was, but it was careful, stomping the line between friends and fuck buddies.

“Hel-lo sailor.” Johnny purred against the side of Simon’s face, giving a chaste kiss to his cheek before pulling himself aside. Not far enough to give Simon space, but enough to press his chest to Simon’s arm, facing him while standing between the bar stools. “You’re here early.”

“Spying on me?”

“No.” Johnny trailed off with a seductive smirk, sliding into the seat beside Simon, still facing him. His thighs bracketing Simon’s body. “What’re you drinking?”

“Vodka.”

“In a weekday?” Johnny guffawed. “I didn’t know you were the type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Johnny smiled, leaning in on the back of Simon’s chair. “Oh yeah? Care to share?” He hovered in Simon’s space, and he was just choking on his spit.

Simon watched him peer at his lips, and back up to his eyes. “Got a light?”

Johnny was all hands and tongue and teeth. His body was plush up against Simon’s, keeping him pinned up against some stranger’s car in the dark of the parking lot.

Simon let his head tip back against the roof of the car as Johnny bit all along his throat, mouthing and nipping along his collar. Simon gasped as Johnny managed to get a thigh between his legs, searching until he got the right angle and—

Simon whined out loudly, like a kicked puppy, and clenched his mouth shut when Johnny pressed down on him.

“Feels that good, huh?” Johnny pressed his smiling lips to Simon’s cheek, holding the other side of his face. “Go on, ride it like last time.”

Simon’s face was hot red. He was driven by carnal desire and nothing more. He couldn’t explain why his thoughts left him. All he knew was how to listen.

And grind he did.

Simon gripped the back of Johnny’s neck, pressing his cheek to his bicep, and grinding his clothed cunt until he felt raw. Until his hips were giving desperate humps, meeting Johnny’s hips before bumping the side of the car.

Johnny’s hands were soothing down his back, over his hips, guiding him, and slipping into his back pockets to cup his ass. He found amusement in Simon’s empty headed lust.

His lips pressed up against Simon’s ear. “Do you want my help?” He hummed, crushing Simon’s body to the cool glass of the car again. He collected Simon’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes. “You want my hands?”

Simon panted over his wet mouth, clarifying finding him in moments of need. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Johnny smiled, “Unbuckle your pants for me.”

Simon gulped, licking his lips, and let his hands fist in Johnny’s shirt at his sides. “Not here.”

Johnny glanced around, and shoved his hand in his pocket between them to find his car keys. He unlocked his car, underneath Simon, and reached for the handle. “Inside.”

They shuffled into the small backseat, bumping into each other within the confined space, and Simon ended up straddling over Johnny’s lap.

“I think I liked outside better.” Johnny joked, kissing Simon into silence. His hands smoothed along his thighs, squeezing his ass. “But this is fine too.”

Simon kissed down Johnny’s throat, biting his neck as he did, and kissed his collar before there was a hand in his hair bringing him up again.

“I like kissing you.” Johnny said.

“Then stop talking.”

Johnny smiled, one hand dragging underneath Simon’s shirt. “But I want to have my mouth on other parts of you.”

Simon gave a high sigh when Johnny kissed him again. Simon ran his hands down Johnny’s chest to his stomach. Teasing at his belly, feeling his happy trail, and waistband.

Johnny gazed up at him with soft eyes, “You can unbuckle my pants if you’d like.” He whispered.

“Why would I want to do that?” Simon teased.

“Maybe you’re curious.”

Simon scoffed. “Curious?”

“Because I didn’t send you the photo I wanted to the other night.”

Simon felt hot, maybe it was because the air in the car was growing thicker or because Johnny was a literal heater under him.

“You never text me back.” Johnny smirked.

“What was I supposed to say?” Simon huffed.

“A compliment would have been nice.”

“You come off as cocky, you know that?”

Johnny hummed as he leaned in to kiss Simon’s mouth again, reaching between them to unbutton his own pants. The sound of his zipper slipping down made both men look down between them. Johnny leaned back in his seat. “You next.”

Simon hesitated. Sat in the lap of a very hungry beast, he hated to steal its dinner. “There’s something I have to say first.”

“Okay.” Johnny sat closer, putting his hands on Simon’s hips.

Before Johnny’s mouth could silence him, he shouted into the hot silence. “I’m trans!”

Both men stared at each other at the intrusive utterance.

Simon felt his heart suddenly shifting to blare in his ears when Johnny stared up at him. He felt like his breath was too loud, panting too heavy, holding Johnny too softly.

“Okay.” Johnny said plainly. And his hands began petting Simon again, smoothing up and down his waist. “Do you want me to stop?”

Simon didn’t even answer. He was launched by the reassuring question, sinking his mouth into Johnny’s again. He unbuttoned his pants, desperately trying to shove them lower so he could get his underwear down enough.

The dripping smell of his hot cunt filled the space, making Johnny seem less interested than he was.

Simon’s hands were collecting one of Johnny’s off his hip, bringing it to his stomach, dragging downward to his thighs. He panted over Johnny’s mouth as he took his sweet time to Simon’s cunt.

He had a teasing twinkle in his eyes when he parted his fingers, deliberately touching Simon’s pubic hair and outer labia instead of his warmer tip.

Simon grit his teeth, gripping Johnny’s wrist. “Just fucking do it already.” He growled.

“I can’t help it. I like the way you look.”

And Simon must’ve looked like a freak; pants pulled down under his cunt, half way sitting in Johnny’s lap, half straining his thighs as he arched his ass back between the seats. His head bumping the ceiling, hands clutched Johnny’s body like some soul eating creature.

Simon relished the moment Johnny’s two fingers were closing around his swollen tip, gently tugging and stroking him between his fingers. Simon fucked into hand, panting and shaking as he held himself up.

Johnny clutched the bottom of his jaw, making him look into his eyes as he played with his tip. “Look at you. Sweet—sweet boy. You’re so big in my hands. Practically drooling into my palm.”

Simon tried to tuck his face down but Johnny kept him firm.

“You’ve been like this all night?” He pulled Simon’s face in, ghosting his tongue along his bottom lip. “Poor thing. Were you thinking about the photo? Would you like to know what got me hot that night?”

Simon whined as Johnny cupped him, nulling his chances of grinding against his palm.

Johnny mouthed in his ear. “I was thinking about eating you out, all night. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you absolutely loving it.”

Simon began moaning desperately, muffling it into Johnny’s shoulder as Johnny rubbed his palm against Simon’s clit. His fingers rubbing past his hole, making an absolute mess of him. He rocked his hips against Johnny’s every stroke, breath getting higher and higher.

“There you go. Make a mess of me, sweet thing.” Johnny held the back of Simon’s head, keeping his lips on his cheek. “I’ll suck you off dry and then maybe you can fuck me.”

Simon was seeing black spots in his vision as his eyes were rolling back. He clutched to Johnny’s wrist as he whined in agony, orgasming the hardest he has alone, and still forcing himself to grind against Johnny’s stagnant hand until he was crying from overstimulation.

He felt his cunt throbbing, his head pounding, and—Johnny’s soft hand on his thigh. He soothed his hand up to his hip, and down to where his jeans cut off access. Then up again. He didn’t usher Simon along, didn’t redirect him to a more comfortable spot yet, just soaking in the blissful moment.

Simon moved first. Sitting his bare ass on the backseat, his knees resting in Johnny’s lap, head against the glass of the door. He shut his eyes, parched again. His pants were still tangled around his thighs.

Johnny squeezed his calves softly.

Watching him, Johnny made no effort to get Simon out of his car. He was quite content with squeezing up and down Simon’s calves, rubbing his thumb into each ankle, and up to his thighs. He gave him a soft look before smiling, his thumb stroking the skin of his thigh underneath.

“Why do you do that?” Simon asked.

“Do what?”

“Touch me.”

“I like to.”

“You’re always touching me.”

“I like to.”

“Why?”

Johnny shrugged. “You’re attractive. Though your humor is really dry.”

“Alright.” Simon began tugging his pants up. “Times up. I won’t be insulted by you.”

Johnny laughed, leaning over to trap Simon against the door with a kiss. He smiled down at him, “I like you.”

Simon glanced between his eyes with bewilderment. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

Simon shook his head softly. For a man who just got a handjob, he really was something else. Maybe he was always this dumb, or maybe it was just the endorphins. Johnny liked that.

“I’m a really good cook.” Johnny insisted.

“I bet you’re a lousy cook.”

“Let me cook for you, and we’ll see.”

“What if it’s a flop?”

“Then we stick to handjobs in parking lots.” Johnny stated.

“I’m not doing this in your backseat again.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Johnny stared down at Simon, smile slowly growing more and more on his face.

“You’re unattractive when you smile.” Simon lied.

“You’re attractive when you cum. I want to see you do it again.”

next chapter?? maybe??

fic masterlist link

tf141 masterlist link

[fraserbraw]

home again, to his love.

john mactavish x f!reader

nsfw, MDNI, chubby reader, oral fem receiving, suggested p in v, johnny being so obsessed with his pretty little plush wife

john & johnny used

1.3k words

nsfw below cut <3

his footsteps sounded softly against the dirt pathway leading to your house, his heart beating from out of his chest.

john’s throat works at the sight of you in the distance, eyes drinking up your figure as if he was the desert and you were the ocean.

“‘m home,” he rasps out. you had been expecting him next week. “forgot t’ call.”

your breath leaves your lungs as his voice fills her your, your mind immediately jumping from the bread you were baking to him.

you rush over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. your husband, your johnny, came home to you.

whispered prayers and thanks in gaelic left your lips as you held him close, thankful to the lord for bringing him home to you once more.

john holds you, eyes closed as he breathes in the scent of you. the smell of you brings a calmness to the turbulent sea of emotions and stress that he holds inside. “i’m home,” he whispers back—he’s back, back with you again, where he knows he belongs.

warmth fills his eyes and heart as feelings of love overflow him on this happy night, his head tilting down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. “i missed you,” he says, “too much.”

you press kisses to his neck and jaw and face, finally crashing against his lips. you hold him close to your body as you absorb all of him.

“lord i hate when you go for so long.”

“i hate leavein’. it just ain’t a choice when yer in me sorta line o’ work.” his hand moves up your back, fingers gently stroking through you hair.

“how’s me bonnie been doin’ whilst i been gone?” he asks, that familiar scottish lilt in his words.

“i hope y’ ain’t workin’ yerself too hard here. i seen how thin yer gettin’ in the shoulders. i’ll have ta fix tha’.”

that accent always made you melt. you clung to him as if he was your life force, because in a way, he was. you needed each other, almost more than you needed air.

“i’ve been alright. cooking, mostly. isn’t the same when you’re not here to eat it.”

he hums and lets his hands find your shoulders, massaging right between them as you lean against him. he presses a kiss to the crown of your head before speaking.

“y’ got any leftover, love? m’ starved.”

you let out a soft groan as he massaged the soft tissue of your neck, your head falling against his chest.

you always smelled like a bakery. you owned one, so it made sense, but herbs and flour and warmth seemed to seep from you like the air you breathed.

“i’ll make some more for you. no one i’d rather cook for.”

john’s smile is like the sun cresting the horizon, breaking through clouds of stress and worry. he holds you close in the early morning light, your breaths slowing in that cozy moment that feels like hours.

“aye, love,” he rumbles, “i’ll eat all y’ make for me.” he kisses the top of your head, pulling you in even closer. “what else have you been up to? did ya finally watch that old western i told ya bout?”

you nuzzle into him. you felt like you could never get close enough. if you could crawl inside of him, you would in a heartbeat.

“mhm. watched it last night. i liked it.” you left out the fact that you had watched it every night since he left, clinging onto any part of him that you could in his absence. you knew the movie by heart.

with your face buried against him, john’s hands roam about underneath your shirt, tracing along your skin as he begins to kiss down your neck and move lower.

“tell me, darlin’, what else you been doin’ with yerself?” he asks, his mouth reaching your shoulder and nibbling on your collarbone. “have ya been usin’ the time wisely, hm?”

your eyes fluttered closed, your mouth slightly agape as he kissed all over you neck and collar, as his hands wandered under your shirt and teased just where he knew you would fold.

“mhm.. thinking about you a lot.”

that was all you could say. that was all you needed to say. you knew he would get the message. most nights, you would try to work yourself to an orgasm, wearing something of his. it never worked. not when it wasn’t him.

“ahh, love,” he groans against your skin, “y’ been missin’ me, hm?”

his hands go for the shirt you wear, working to pull it over your head.

his face is buried in your necks and shoulders, hot breath falling against the sensitive skin as his hands run along your skin; he couldn’t believe he had been away for so long.

“y’ been touchin’ yerself for me?” he asks, his words like smooth whisky.

soft whimpers escaped you as he pulled your shirt off, revealing your bare chest. it was a rare occasion when you wore something under your shirts or sweaters, so he knew he would be greeted with the sight of your exposed breasts.

you weren’t a skinny woman, not by any means. you were plush and soft and curvy, just how he loved you. your voice was soft and sweet as you answered him.

“m-mhm.. not the same when it’s not you..”

john’s smile stretches wide; he knows he’s going to be enjoying this.

he moves to his knees, pushing your skirt up over your hips and slotting himself between your legs. he looks up at you through his eyelashes, nosing against your clothed cunny.

you let out a soft gasp as he drops to his knees and lean more against the wall he had you pinned to. you could already feel the wetness of your own arousal begin to soak into the cotton.

“johnny..” you whispered, hands holding up your skirt.

“hmm?” he hummed, pressing kisses to your cunt. his arms wrapped around the backside of your thighs and his fingers played with the soft plush of your hips.

“somethin’ the matter, bonnie?”

you bit your lip and gazed down at him. your eyes closed and you leaned your head back as he licked a stripe up the cotton, the roughness of his stubble scratching so fucking good against your thighs.

his fingers slipped into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down and off of your legs. “told ye i was starved, didn’t i?” he taunted, pressing an unusually soft kiss to the outside of your excited and very much deprived pussy.

you didn’t even think to respond as he lapped at your cunt like a man starved. he ate you like it was his last meal on earth, lapping up anything that he possibly could.

mewls and moans left your lips as he devoured you, lapping at your entrance before moving to your clit. he ran the flat of his tongue over the bundle of nerves and swirled around it. it sent shivers down your spine and trembles through your thighs.

you had to fight off the urge to clamp your thighs around his head. your hand found his hair and tugged, louder and louder moans coming from you.

“f-fuck, johnny, i’m close-“ you moaned, breathy and full of pleasure. he only tightened his grip around your thighs.

“cum for me, bonnie. let me taste you.”

his voice sent vibrations through your cunt and spiraled you over the edge, cumming all over his face. he hummed happily and drank up all that your blessed body gave him.

of course, he didn’t stop there. no, he kept going, eating your pussy and groaning at the taste until you physically pulled him off with a “t-too much, johnny, fuck.”

he let you regain your balance for a second before standing back up and pulling you into his arms. he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and flashed that devilish smile at you.

“le’ me show ye how much i missed ye in the bedroom, aye?”

(a/n: thank you all for all the support <333 i’ll do a m!reader for the next post, feel free to suggest any and all ideas)

[despazito]

can you tell me more about Bambino cats? I did a search and it was all abdl content so I gave up

bambinos are not a registered TICA breed, they're what i've personally dubbed combo breeds

basically there's several breeds of cats that are essentially only distinguished by a single phenotype mutation (munchkin=dwarfism, scottish fold and american curl= cartilage mutation, sphynx= hairlessness, etc..)

so some genius fucks thought it would great to combine those phenotypes into designer cats with multiple ones. the bambino is a hairless dwarf:

and the even newer "dwelf' adds the ear cartilage defect of the american curl into the mix as well

i think these cats are much much worse than their parent breeds. instead of a single mutation that can each have health drawbacks (ftr i dont think all these mutations are equal in welfare outcomes, i think dwarfism has more serious health implications that hairlessness), you are building a house of cards with the cons of all these mutations thrown into a single animal, increasing the likelihood of something going wrong.

and of course if these traits are also recessive, then the odds of getting all desired phenotypes in a litter diminishes (iirc out of these only sphynx is recessive though) meaning you statistically get more kittens who don't fit type which can entice shitty breeders to inbreed in the hopes of getting as many to type as possible.

and personally i think if a responsibly planned litter has a chance of say, only 25% max of offspring possibly being born to type then you have a crap unrealistic standard that needs changing or scrapping lol. an australian shepherd without a merle coat still has plenty of identifiable aussie traits, but hypothetically a dwelf born with hair and normal ears really isn't distinguishable from a regular ol munchkin and nobody forking out money for a dwelf will be satisfied with it.

this trend of adding on as many rare traits into an animal as possible is really off the rails in the exotic bulldog community, to the point where dogs are advertised with their rare mutations in bio

this is breeding for looks taken to the extreme, where the most striking or rare phenotypes are combined into making the most exclusive, unique looking animal possible. it is not sustainable breeding in the long run and how you ultimately end up with entire lines croaking from rare cancers at like age 6 due to just how much genetic homogyzosity you're creating

[harocat]

Tell us about your cats!

Okay!! To note, I have a lot of cats. I live with my very long time GF and a long time roommate, so it's not just me, I promise. But yes, we are at catpacity.

I'll go in order as to acquisition. I wanted to do blurbs for all of them, but it was taking SO long so... short descriptions for now? I have the post babbling about all of them half written though, so I'll post it at a later point.

Ritz (full name Kensington-Ritz): ORANGE, sixteen years old, male, adopted from shelter.

JoeJoe (full name Joseph Chaucer II): Tuxedo, eight years old, male, adopted from shelter.

Harley: Tabby with white markings, nine years old, female, cat distribution system.

Bloomsbury: White with tabby markings in what's called a 'harlequin' style, eight years old, male, adopted from shelter.

Minerva: Full tabby (no white), seven years old, female, cat distribution system. She came to us pregnant (and is now spayed).

Tabitha: Tabby with white markings, six years old, female, Minerva's kitten. Birthday is 7/21/2018.

Chai (full name: Masala Chai): BLACK, six years old, male, Minerva's kitten. Birthday is 7/21/2018.

Darjeeling (Darling for short): VOID, six years old, female, Minerva's kitten. Birthday is 7/21/2018.

Vanellope: Tuxedo, five years old, female, cat distribution system

Fei: Grey Scottish Fold (we call his coloring 'toasted marshmallow'), four years old, adopted from owner who had to move overseas. Birthday is 4/20/2020 (blaze it for Fei)

Davie (full name: David): Black, twelve years old, male, foster fail.

Piccolo (Pickle for short): Scottish Fold Mix Tuxedo, sixteen years old, male, senior foster (he will be with us the rest of his life).

Orchid: Long-haired tortoiseshell, one year old, female, foster fail (our first foster fail in about thirty foster kittens, so I don't think that's too bad a ratio). Her birthday is 08/17/2023.

We also have a foster Mama and kittens right now.

EDIT: PICS ADDED.

[halfmoth-halfman]

ii. a collection of strangers (a series of secrets)

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 7k Warnings: inaccurate translations (i don't speak russian or german lol), alcohol Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

You return to the club the next day, determined to actually work this time.

The doors open easily—unlocked again—and you beeline for your cleaning cart, not giving yourself the chance to look at anything else around you.

You make it five steps towards the stage when—

“There you are!”

You look around in search of the sudden voice and spot Kyle—or does he prefer Gaz—sitting on one of the barstools, facing the stage. Mohawk stands next to him, leaning with his elbows on the bar top and drumming his fingers against the polished quartz. Bartender busies himself, wiping down glasses with his back to the other two.

Kyle waves you over, saying something to the other two with a laugh. You glance back at your cart, then down at your watch.

You’ve got a few minutes to spare.

You make your way up the small set of stairs and lean back against the railing with your arms loosely folded across your chest. They’re dressed similarly again—varying versions of an all-black, form-fitting uniform—though this time, you have a better, up-close view of Mohawk and Bartender.

You’ve yet to see an unattractive employee.

Maybe that’s a qualifier to work here?

What does that say about you?

“Have you met Soap and Alex yet?” Kyle nods to Mohawk and Bartender, respectively. They give small nods, smiling politely, eyes quickly darting over your form. You smile back, returning their nods to seem polite, but your mind swirls with a single thought—

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

You look them over, cataloging them as much as they are you.

If you had to guess, you’d have thought Alex was Mr. Price’s son before Kyle. They look so similar—same blue eyes, same nose, and frighteningly similar facial hair. His hair is a few shades lighter than Mr. Price’s, and his mouth is thinner, but the resemblance is uncanny.

Whereas Alex has a suave confidence, Soap carries himself with a boyish charm. His mohawk is shaggy, a deep brown that’s too long to stand up, so it curls and falls back onto his head. His blue eyes are wide and friendly, watching you with equal amounts of curiosity and suspicion. There’s not much of a beard on his face—more like long stubble that stretches down his neck to where a black choker sits tight around his skin.

“I couldn’t find you yesterday,” Kyle says, settling back against the bar top.

“Yeah, I…I got sent home,” you admit, trying to laugh it off. Alex and Soap share a look, smirking at each other while Kyle raises a brow.

“When?” Kyle asks. “I was here first thing.” He looks over his shoulder to Alex, the man setting down a glass of what you assume is water and sliding it to Kyle.

“I thought I’d give myself a tour of the building, and...your dad caught me in his office.” Their attention snaps to you, concerned and curious.

“Doing what?” Soap asks, the Scottish brogue taking you by surprise. He turns to face you with his mouth pulled into a devilish half-smirk.

“Reading a book,” you answer. Kyle chuckles to himself as he sips from his glass, but Alex leans his elbows against the bar to get closer to Soap.

“Is that a euphemism for something?” Alex mumbles.

“Why would I know that?” Soap counters softly.

“Causing trouble on your first day? You’re gonna fit right in here.” Kyle smirks, setting his glass down and standing from the barstool. He steps toward you, gesturing to the open space of the club.

“I’ll show you around and help you get started,” he smiles, offering you his arm before leading you down the few steps into the main room. You turn to give a quick wave to Soap and Alex before giving your full attention to Kyle as he goes over the various rooms in the clubs.

It’s not an elaborate building, thankfully, and already kept surprisingly clean. You can’t imagine spending more than five minutes on a single room, but Kyle insists you take your time to carefully examine the space.

You know what he’s doing—humoring you and stretching your time to keep you working longer. They clearly don’t need a cleaner here, and judging by the fully stocked cleaning cart, you suspect they may already have one; it’s that, or one of them is a clean freak.

So, why? Why hire you for a job they don’t need? Had your sob story been convincing enough to actually get you hired here? Maybe Kyle’s humoring you?

You won't worry about it too much if it means you get a stack of cash at the end of the week.

Kyle leaves you to yourself in the kitchen, heading back into the main room to check on Alex and Soap. You take your time at his insistence, examining the beautifully expansive kitchen more than looking for something to clean. The place is spotless anyway, polished so well you can see your reflection in the stainless steel. There’s a door to the walk-in freezer—with no secret morgue hidden behind it—and another door at the back of the room that leads into the back parking lot next to the dumpsters.

Besides that, the only other exit from the room is the double doors separating the kitchen from the main room. It’s not ideal, but there are enough racks to knock over and hinder someone should you need to make a quick exit.

You pick through the ingredients, admiring the flawless organization—everything is labeled with proper names and expiration dates in neat handwriting. Occasionally you find a little sticky note hanging either from a rack or laying on a random pot, with varying types of chicken scratch written across them—all in Spanish.

Your Spanish is frustratingly basic—only able to carry on simple conversations and read short sentences. You had tried to convince your father to let you learn, but he had a strict curriculum for you, and Spanish wasn’t included in it.

You spend half an hour checking the ins and outs of the room before you decide you’ve spent enough time in the kitchen. You head out, letting the doors softly close behind you. You can hear voices coming from the bar, slowly approaching to stretch your time even more.

“So, how long do you think she’ll last?”

You pause at Alex’s voice, tucking yourself against the wall just before you can come into view of the bar.

“Who? The bird?” Soap asks. You peer around the wall, trying to catch a glimpse of the two. Kyle is nowhere to be seen, Soap sitting at the bar with a half-full beer, and Alex stood on the other side of the counter leaning on his elbows.

Alex scoffs, “Who else?”

“Seems like a tough lass,” Soap shrugs, taking a generous sip. “I give her a month.”

“That’s generous.”

“How long d'you have her pegged for, then?”

“Two weeks, max,” Alex answers instantly.

Soap lets out a low whistle, chuckling into his beer bottle

“Ye of little faith.”

Little faith, indeed.

And if you weren’t sure of this job before, you’ve suddenly found enough spite to fuel you for months to come.

-

You make it three weeks before you meet anyone else at The 141.

The days pass in relative monotony, everyone leaving you to your own devices. Kyle shadows you sometimes, offering small talk that’s more him asking you questions and you giving vague, barely enough answers to soothe his interest. You occasionally catch Ghost lurking around the darker areas of the club, meeting his distrustful gaze with your own bright smile and a teasing wink. Mostly, you see Soap and Alex, who are content to say nothing more than a few polite hello’s and goodbyes. They gossip like fishwives, though, whispering and murmuring to each other when they think you’re out of earshot.

Sometimes it’s about you—how long you’ll last, where you’re from, whether or not you’re single.

Other times you catch stories of people you aren’t familiar with. Two weeks ago, it was something about a couple fighting for the fifth time in three days, Alex and Soap wondering if they’d finally break things off. Last week, it was a three-day saga about a giant bug—you think it was a roach—in Soap’s flat. This week, you overhear what must be an old story about Kyle’s traumatic first time in a helicopter and his subsequent fear of heights.

You walk in, the early morning light following behind you, ready to spend your time kinda-sorta cleaning and eavesdropping on the continuation of Kyle’s third time almost falling out of a helicopter.

You look to the bar first when you enter, searching for Alex and Soap to give them the same polite smile and small wave you’ve given them every morning. Instead, you find the bar vacant and the two men absent.

But the club isn’t empty.

A man and a woman stand at one of the pool tables, cue sticks in hand, staring down at the balls scattered across the red baize. Well, the man is staring. The woman leans against her cue stick, head tilted mockingly at her partner.

The man’s dressed in a uniform similar to Ghost’s—all black and covering every inch of skin, only without the face cover—his black hair messily slicked back and thick brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and frustration at the game before him. His opponent stands across the table from him, her short, jet-black hair perfectly framing her tilted head. Dressed a bit more colorfully in a form-fitting black turtleneck with no sleeves tucked into deep red pants, she lifts a heeled boot to impatiently tap her toe against the floor and gives you a perfect view of her red bottoms. Both are adorned with various pieces of gold jewelry: a thin chain necklace and belt for her, and a watch and assortment of rings for him.

You can only describe them the same way you can the rest of the club’s workers—stunning.

She catches sight of you first, no movement except for the way her eyes sharply turn to meet yours. Her smile pulls to the side, tongue running over her teeth as her gaze slides back to her partner. You see her mouth moving, the man breaking his attention away from the table to look at her. She nods her head towards you, and he follows her direction.

You default to a smile, unsure of what to do in the lingering silence as they stare at you, and you stare back at them.

“You must be the new girl, yeah?” the woman asks.

“Yeah, I-”

The man speaks up, cutting you off, “The bird, right? Kestrel? Wren?”

“Canary.”

“I told you it wasn’t Wren,” the woman smirks, much to the man’s apparent annoyance.

“And you have to be right about everything, of course,” he scoffs. She gasps in mock offense, setting a manicured hand to her chest.

“And you two are?” you ask before they can continue.

“Alejandro,” the man smiles before he looks to his partner, and it instantly drops. She waves her sharp nails at him, and Alejandro rolls his eyes. “This is Valeria,” he says flatly.

“Nice to meet you both, but if you don’t mind I have to-”

“No, no, no, come join us for a round. You play, right, avecita?” Valeria returns your smile—all teeth and with a look that sets you on edge—holding her cue stick out towards you.

“Not well,” you laugh.

“Ah, that’s fine.” She waves you off, pulling the cue stick away to circle the table. She reminds you of a vulture, circling high above the clouds, waiting for its prey to die. “You can’t be any worse than Alejandro.”

She laughs, all tease and silk, trailing a hand along Alejandro’s shoulders as she walks past him. He huffs, harshly shrugging her off.

“You’d be surprised,” you mutter. Valeria turns to you, and you get a distinct feeling that this isn’t a woman who likes to be told no. “I can show you after my shift if you’re still up for it?” you offer.

She lights up at that, Alejandro scoffing behind her and mumbling something to himself.

“I’ll hold you to that.” She turns away from you and back to the game, and you hurriedly make your way to your cart.

They spend the entire morning at the table, playing round after round after round. Their banter echoes through the empty club, following you through every room. You don’t mind it too much; they’re more entertaining than Soap and Alex’s quiet gossip.

Valeria wins every game but one—the last round going to Alejandro in a win you’re convinced he was allowed to have. He celebrates the final round with some minor gloating and a kiss with Valeria that takes you by surprise.

They end just as your lunch break begins, and you stack your supplies back onto your cart. As you finish putting your things away, you hear a set of doors open, the mouth-watering scent of spiced meat flooding the room.

A third man walks out from the kitchen, wheeling a serving cart with a large, polished cloche sitting atop it. He pulls it over to Alejandro and Valeria, the latter immediately removing the covering to peek at what’s beneath while the former greets the man with a quick kiss. Valeria sets the cloche aside, revealing three bowls of what you assume is making that inviting smell. Alejandro praises the man, sliding an arm around his waist while Valeria picks up a spoon to taste whatever’s in the bowls.

It must be good, judging by the way she tilts her head back and moans. The man smirks triumphantly, Alejandro going beat red and turning away. He spots you, and you give him a small smile, looking back down at your cart in hopes he doesn’t realize you’ve been staring.

“New girl! Canary!”

Well, shit.

“Come meet Rudy,” Alejandro calls. You dust your hands off on your jeans, walking over with a sheepish smile. The man—the chef?—Rudy, leans in to whisper to Alejandro before giving you a courteous smile. His dark hair’s kind of messy, sticking to his damp forehead. His eyes are big and brown and just as quick as they are soft, with a jawline sharp enough to cut yourself on. He’s handsome—as everyone at this club seems to be—if a little standoffish.

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, holding your hand out to him. He shakes it, leaning forward to reach but not leaving Alejandro’s side.

“Likewise,” he smiles back. Valeria groans from the side, and the three of you turn to her, your eyes falling to the food. It’s some kind of broth filled with rice, potatoes, and various vegetables, with meatballs set in a small circle.

It looks as appetizing as it smells, and you try to ignore the painful way your stomach clenches at the sight.

“Did you make this?” you ask Rudy.

“I was just experimenting. We’re working on a new menu,” he explains, pink blossoming on his cheeks.

“Just experimenting, he says,” Valeria scoffs. “You have to add this. I’d kill a man for this.”

“You want to try some, Canary?” Alejandro asks, picking up one of the spoons to hand it to you.

“It’s a club recipe,” Rudy says, giving Alejandro a pointed look. “Meant to be shared with family.”

“Avecita hasn’t earned her wings yet,” Valeria laughs, warning laced through her voice. It’s a command. An order. Alejandro gives you an apologetic smile, setting the spoon back down on the table.

It’s fine. You get it.

You’d be afraid to go against Valeria too.

But you know that delicious smell will seep into the fabric of your clothes to follow you back to your motel. And maybe, just maybe, you can inhale that delectable smell and pretend that your peanut butter sandwich on slightly stale bread is the same unique recipe and that you might have a family to share it with one day.

-

Towards the end of the next week, you arrive at the club nearly an hour early.

The heat in your motel room had shut off in the middle of the night, leaving you stuck in the freezing cold of winter’s relentless bite and unable to fall back asleep. Bundled up in the only long-sleeved shirt you had and your denim jacket, you tried to huddle beneath your sheets, but the too-thin fabric did little to help.

Winter’s barely begun, and already she’s fixing to screw you over.

Note to self: Get the hell out of here before the cold months start.

You tried calling your landlord, even knocking on his door, but both attempts resulted in silence.

In the end, you left to your car—deciding to burn some cash for gas to drive around the empty streets and warm yourself with the heater. It smelled like burning dust and blew in varying levels of hotness, but it was better than the unwelcoming iciness of your motel room.

You drove until it was nearly time for your shift, pulling into the back parking lot of the club in the pale blue hours of the morning. With the seats unable to lean back, you sat up straight, head bobbed to the side, getting in a rough thirty-minute nap before your watch beeped at you.

Which leaves you here, crabby and sore as you fight to get your car door shut. It takes a few tries—and a frustrated kick or two—to get it closed and locked.

You wrap your arms around your middle, trying to seal the heat from the car inside your clothes. The walk to the front of the club seems too long a trek in the frigid air. You glance around, spotting the back door to the kitchen.

Why would they put a door there if it wasn’t meant to be used?

It’s open—the lights on—but all you can think about is the sudden rush of hot air that blasts into your face. You shut the door behind you, taking a moment to lean against the wall and revel in the warmth, careful not to let your eyes fall shut.

You give yourself a few minutes to let the warmth seep into your skin before pushing yourself off the wall and heading toward the main room.

You look to the bar first, searching for Soap and Alex out of habit. Neither are there, but there is a man sitting on one of the stools.

He’s dressed in a worn leather jacket, dark aviators covering his eyes, and slicked-back hair that you can tell from the shine is probably stiff and plastered to his head. He has a half-empty bottle of vodka—one of the expensive ones from the top shelf—sitting in front of him next to a half-empty glass and smokes a cigarette that he ashes on the bar top.

You’ve never seen this man before, and if you had actually gotten some sleep, you might have thought more about who he was. But today, you’re off your game and irritated at the pile of ash you’ll have to clean up, so instead, you call out—

“We’re closed right now.”

You don’t bother looking at him, making your way up the steps and grabbing an ashtray from the end of the bar top. You set it down in front of him—a little harsher than necessary—with a wholly unimpressed look. You know you must look a sight, wind-whipped with bags under your eyes.

“And we have these, y’know. In case you missed them.”

The man’s brows raise as he leans back, the lines of his forehead sinking deeper with the movement. You can’t see his eyes, but the way his head moves down, then up, then down again tells you everything you need to know about where he’s looking.

“He’s fine, Canary!” someone calls out behind you before you get to say something. You turn to the game tables, where you're met with a gaggle of your co-workers watching you in various stages of amusement.

Alex and Soap lean against one of the pool tables, snickering to each other while Kyle stands across from them, leaning back with a cue stick in hand and a poorly hidden smile on his face. Ghost and Alejandro stand on either side of the table, Alejandro looking down to hide his laughter and Ghost as unmoving and stoic as ever.

You look back to the man at the bar, then to the group, then the man, then the group again before you finally shut your eyes and take a long breath.

In, out. In, out.

Your father’s voice rings in the back of your head, blaring and disappointed: What have I told you? Always be aware of your surroundings!

Your left shoulder aches straight down to the bone.

In, out. In, out.

You’re not yourself today. You’re okay. You’re safe here.

“Did we scare you?” Alejandro laughs, the snickering behind him increasing.

“You all need matching uniforms, or hats, or something,” you speak up, your voice even and composure restored. “Hell, matching nail polish would work.”

“Nik doesn’t work here; he drives for my father,” Kyle explains, handing his stick to Ghost and heading toward the bar. You can’t help but let your eyes wander to the half-empty vodka bottle, turning back to Kyle with a raised brow. He puts his hands up, making a face that says it’s not his business, so you let it go. He smiles as he passes you—tight-lipped and apologetic like the one managers give to customers they can’t help.

The man, Nik, laughs behind you, deep and rough as if he’s just woken up, clapping Kyle on the back as the young man joins him at the bar.

“Your dad finally found you a girl, huh?! Good for you! She’s a little plain, but not bad for проститутка. Ни рыба ни мясо, you know?”

If it were any other day, you’d have let it go, but your stress is bubbling up, roiling and mixing with your lack of sleep and irritation at the entire day until it boils over.

You round on him before you can stop yourself, “Я тебе покажу, где раки зимуют. Заруби ceбe на носу.”

Nik and Kyle look entirely taken aback—Nik more impressed than offended—and the snickering behind you comes to an immediate halt. You scold yourself for slipping as the room lapses into stunned silence.

Ghost is the first to break it.

“You speak Russian?”

It's an accusation, not a question; if he wasn't suspicious of you before, he certainly is now. You don’t blame him. You know what it means to hear Russian spoken nearby.

You feign ignorance, turning back to him with a slight tilt of your head.

“Yeah?”

His eyes narrow, staring you down as his hand clenches around the cue stick. “Didn’t mention that when you started,” he all but growls at you.

“No one asked,” you shrug, doing your best to downplay the situation. You glance over your shoulder at Kyle—ignoring the way Nik is now beaming at you.

“Can I get to work?” you ask, ready to find a small corner to hide in so you can nap somewhere that isn’t below freezing.

“Yeah, go ahead.” Kyle nods, and you nod back, heading for your cleaning cart. You can hear Alex and Soap whispering to each other, Alejandro’s voice joining in. Ghost’s eyes never leave you, his sharp glare following you the entire way, and then continuing to watch as you pack your arms full of supplies and head upstairs.

You peer down at him when you reach the top few steps, just as he looks away and off to the side. You follow his line of sight to the office doors, one swung open with your boss leaning against the frame and looking directly at you.

You look away, rushing the rest of the way up the steps.

-

You’re surprisingly busy during your seventh week; the club is in preparation for a big business party that’s supposed to be good for networking or something.

You’re kept in the dark about the goings on within the club. In truth, you prefer it this way—less chance to get attached. Not that you’re given much chance for attachment; everyone, save for Kyle, seems determined to keep you at arm’s length.

Soap sits at the bar, chatting quietly to Ghost as the masked man stands beside him. Soap faces forward, but Ghost leans back on his elbows against the bar top. They watch the stage, where a man you haven’t met works to lay out and adjust the sound equipment. They ignore you, for the most part, Soap giving you an occasional smile while Ghost fixes you with an annoyed glare every time you pass by. The man working on the stage hasn’t even looked in your direction.

It’s unexpectedly peaceful, and you work with impressive efficiency.

Kyle wasn’t strict about breaks—and his father hadn’t spoken to you since the day you met him—so you decide to take them as you see fit.

Halfway through your second break of the day, you pass by the stage, carefully navigating around the piles of cables and sound equipment. So focused on watching your steps, you don’t see the man drop down from the stage and directly into your path until you collide into his side.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you say, staggering to keep yourself from falling over. The man is unmoved, not even sparing you a glance. His hair is a sandy brown—maybe dirty blonde—and sticks to his slightly damp forehead. His eyes are covered by a pair of dark sunglasses, but you think you catch a glimpse of brown from the side. He’s dressed in all black—what a surprise—but significantly more casual than anyone else you’ve seen. A fitted shirt turtleneck with rolled sleeves, gloves, and jeans; the only nonblack item of clothing on him is the large set of dark blue headphones covering his ears. You can faintly hear the echoes of a rock song coming from them.

He winds a long cable in his hands, nodding his head along to whatever’s blasting in his eardrums. You stand for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll say something or acknowledge you, but he doesn’t; the only thing he pays attention to is the cable in his hand.

When he gets to the end, the cable a perfect continuous loop, it’s been made clear you’re not needed—and probably not wanted—here. You take a step forward, fully prepared to move around the man, when he suddenly reaches out, holding the wound-up cable out to you.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do with it, but he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even look at you. He just holds it out, focusing on the various amps and cables in front of him on the stage.

Am I supposed to…take this?

You cautiously wrap a hand around the cable, waiting to make sure this is what he wants. The man moves into action, shoving the cable further up your arm, so it hangs at your elbow before picking up another one from the stage. He sets it in your hands, grabbing the end and beginning his winding once more.

“Um, excuse me?” you call out, watching the cable slide across your hand and into his coil. He doesn’t respond, working diligently and ignoring your existence entirely.

He finishes in record time, this time tossing the wound-up cable at you the moment he’s done. You stumble but catch it, barely being given enough time to hang it on your arm before he’s setting another cable in your hand.

This continues two more times before you give up, leaving him to his work and surrendering to your new life as his cable stand.

You’ve got both arms covered in cables, with two hanging from your neck, when you notice Soap and Ghost still at the bar. Ghost is sitting down now, facing away from the stage, but Soap—

Soap is leaning on his elbow against the bar top, smiling and laughing and definitely looking right at you.

He glances back to Ghost occasionally, carrying on whatever—what you’re sure is one-sided—conversation they’re having. You wait until he looks back at you, meeting his eyes and mouthing help me. His grin grows wider, if possible, shoulders shaking as he clearly laughs at you.

He looks back to Ghost, hitting the masked man on the arm a few times. Ghost barely turns his head in Soap’s direction, and Soap says something, nodding in your direction. Ghost looks over his shoulder, catching sight of you as Soap bursts with laughter.

“Lookin’ good, hen!” Soap yells out. You lift your left arm as high as you can with four cables wrapped around it to flip him off. All you get is a cackle in response.

Ghost, however, seems to take pity on you. He stands from the bar, making his way toward you with Soap traipsing behind. You let out a small sigh of relief, hoping he’ll take some of the cables, but he stops just next to you. He fixes you with that shadowy glare, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Your break ended ten minutes ago.”

You don’t know why you expected any different.

“Tell him that,” you scoff, nodding toward your unintentional captor. Soap chuckles, taking up the role of your savior and grabbing the cables from your left arm. Ghost moves to the man, pulling the headphones down around his neck. The man jumps, dropping his cable and turning to Ghost.

“Don’t mind Roach,” Soap says, nodding back at the man who’s nodding along to whatever Ghost is murmuring to him. “Lad’s got a bit of a one-track mind. You set him to a task, and he won’t stop ‘til he’s done.”

Soap takes the cables from your arms—the immediate relief bringing tears to your eyes—stacking them on the stage.

“His name is Roach?” you ask, peeling the large cables from around your neck.

“Sure is.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised. You’re talking to a man named Soap, of all things.

“Are these like codenames or something?”

Soap barks out a laugh, “Comin’ from the woman named Canary!”

“I—yeah, fair enough.” Soap gives you a wide, toothy grin, leaning back against the stage. You turn to watch Ghost and Roach, Ghost speaking quietly to him. Occasionally, Ghost looks up over Roach’s head and directly at you, glaring at you before returning his attention to Roach. You’d be nervous if you cared, but your attention is elsewhere as you watch Roach remove his gloves and gesture to Ghost. It doesn’t take long for you to realize.

He’s signing.

Your eyes are fixated on Roach’s hands, watching their fluid movement in awe. You try to catch what few signs you know, but they don’t seem to be discussing military tactics, so you’re at a bit of a loss.

Ghost must catch you because he clears his throat and startles you out of your gaze.

“You can go back to work now,” he states, harsh and non-negotiating. “We aren’t paying you to stand around.”

You kind of are.

Roach turns to you, facing you for the first time. He gives you a broad smile and signs something to you that makes Ghost roll his eyes.

“He says it’s nice to meet you,” Soap translates, watching as Roach continues. “And he’s sorry for not noticing you.”

“It’s fine. No harm done.”

Roach nods at you, turning back to Ghost, the conversation seemingly shifting to whatever he was working on.

“I’m gonna get back to it,” you tell Soap. “Don’t wanna get in trouble.” You send Ghost a not-so-subtle look that makes Soap chuckle.

“He just needs some time to warm up t’ya. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he winks.

You really doubt that, but you’ll take what you can get. You head back to your cart, glancing back to watch Soap join the two, clapping Roach on the back before sliding an arm around his shoulders. It’s sweet, the way they interact; Soap’s endless well of charisma and charm gives him the ability to make anyone feel at ease.

Roach signs something that makes Soap laugh, and you feel the smile growing on your face.

Until you look two inches to the left and meet Ghost’s bone-chilling glare aimed directly at you.

You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to your cart.

Needs time to warm up to me, my ass.

-

Kyle has the brilliant idea to rearrange the rooms on the second floor, recruiting you the moment you walk into the club. The entire morning is spent helping him move couches and game tables, and chairs with few breaks in between.

You’re trying to move one of the absurdly heavy tables down into the main room when Kyle gets a call. The two of you balance the table well enough on the steps before he pulls his phone from his back pocket to check the number.

“You mind if I take this?”

He doesn’t give you much choice, answering the call immediately after asking. It doesn’t sound like a particularly interesting conversation, and you tune it out in favor of using these few precious minutes to lean against the stair railing for a well-earned breather. You keep your side against the table while Kyle keeps a tight hand on the other end to keep it from sliding down the steps.

“No, no, that’s not—“ You’ve never heard Kyle raise his voice—he's always scarily calm, just like his father—but it goes up a few decibels now. You can’t help looking at him with mild surprise, raising a brow in question and concern. He smiles back at you—too quick to be genuine—before turning entirely away from you and speaking into the phone in hushed tones.

It takes another minute of heated whispering before he hangs up, turning back to you with another smile—apologetic this time.

“Everything alright?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. Great. Um, would you mind if I just—“ He maneuvers his way around the game table, moving down the steps toward you. “I’ll be right back, I promise. I just have to have to go handle something.”

“What? We’re still moving this thing,” you try to reason, but he continues past you and down the steps in an unusually nervous hurry.

“It’s fine where it’s at! I’ll be back in ten minutes!” he calls back as he rushes towards the door.

“Kyle!”

“You’ve got this!” The end of his sentence is punctuated by the slamming of the front doors, and, just like that, you’re left in the club by yourself.

It takes far longer than ten minutes, and by the thirty-minute mark, you’re tired of waiting.

The table isn’t that heavy, right?

You could probably lift it yourself.

All you have to do is move one step at a time.

You make it two-and-a-half steps before you try to call it quits. You’ve taken Kyle’s spot further up the stairs, holding the table under its top with both hands to keep it from sliding down the half-step it’s stuck on and barreling down the rest of the staircase. It definitely is that heavy, and the worry that you won’t be able to hold it until Kyle—or anyone—gets back has seeped into your brain.

You don’t know how long you hold it—you can’t look at your watch without letting go of the table; a chance you won’t take—but the burn in your arms tells you you’ll be sore for the coming days.

You try counting backward, distracting yourself with a one-sided game of i-spy, thinking of all your favorite childhood movies. Anything to distract from the way sweat begins to collect on your palms.

You settle on deep breaths, looking up to the ceiling with a long inhale and exhaling with your eyes shut.

It works well enough, keeping your mind busy.

Too busy, it would seem, as you don’t hear the footsteps coming down the stairs behind you.

Your eyes shoot open as the weight is suddenly—blessedly—lifted from your hands. Stretching the soreness to a manageable degree with a soft groan, you turn to thank your savior.

The tallest man you have ever seen stands behind you, holding the end of the table in one hand. It hurt your neck to look Ghost in the eye for too long, but you have to crane your neck to even get a glimpse of this man’s chin.

He bends to get his hands under the tabletop and gives you a better view of his face.

Not that there’s much face to be seen.

All black from head to toe, just like Ghost. And just like Ghost, this man wears a mask covering the lower half of his face. His isn’t painted and is pulled up high over his hooked nose, almost reaching his bottom lashes. His hair is a rusty red, long enough to tuck behind his ears, with a few strands falling into his face as he lifts the game table and pulls it toward him.

He pauses, glancing over at you in surprise like he’s just noticed you’re there. His eyes are hazel, pale green mixing with a thick outline of soft brown. You don’t know if it’s the lack of black, smoky eye and permanent glare that Ghost carries, but something about this man seems far friendlier—puts you at ease with an uncomfortably new sense of safety.

He stares at you for a brief moment, taking in your figure, every-so-often flitting back up to your face. Without a word, he pulls the table back into a secure spot before standing up to his total—massive—height. He slides past you with a quiet “‘Tschuldigung.” until he stands next to the table.

Your jaw drops as he bends, sliding his hands under the table to lift it entirely off the ground. He carries it the rest of the rest down the steps without a word or so much as breaking a sweat. All you can do is follow behind, staring in disbelief at this helpful giant.

What the hell are they feeding these guys?

He sets the game table down at the bottom of the steps, nudging it out of the way with his leg like it’s nothing. He turns his head, catching you coming down the steps, and his deep-set eyes narrow, not in the cold, suspiciously dangerous way that Ghost’s do, but instead paired with the way his mask rises with his cheeks as if he’s smiling.

“Thank you,” is all you can say.

He nods, attention drifting from you to the rest of the club. You don’t know what—or who—he’s looking for, but it’s just the two of you here.

“I’m Canary,” you say with a small smile, moving down a few steps so you can be at eye level with him. He turns back to you, and you hold your hand out to him.

He grasps your hand gently, muttering something under his breath that you can’t quite catch before looking you straight in the eye.

“König,” he says with a small nod.

That explains the German, you laugh to yourself. König lets go of your hand, looking back around the club, and you can’t help but wonder—

When the hell did the 141 starting working with the Germans?

“Excuse me, but—” he says, looking back down at you, “—I’m looking for—“

“I’m back!” You both jump at the sudden shouting, turning just in time to see Kyle rushing in from the front doors, eyes still fixated on his phone. “I had to handle something. You can yell at me for it later, but I’m here now, so we can—“

He’s only a few steps away when he finally looks up and notices the two of you. His eyes travel from you to König, to the game table behind him.

“Guess you didn’t need my help, after all,” Kyle laughs.

“No, I definitely did,” you counter, folding your arms across your chest. Usually, you’d try to hide any wincing or evidence of pain, but you’re feeling petty. And if you exaggerate how much your arms hurt—just a little—Kyle will never know. “Damn near lost an arm.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” Kyle makes a small x over his chest, just above his heart, fixing you with that bright, customer-service smile.

“Have you seen your father?” König asks. His voice isn’t soft but quiet, speaking lowly but just enough for you and Kyle to hear.

“Not today,” Kyle sighs. “Anything I can do for you?”

König gives you a quick glance, looking back at Kyle, who seems to take the hint.

“We can talk in the office,” Kyle says, gesturing toward the back office. König nods, following Kyle as the young man heads across the room.

“You can head home, Canary! I appreciate the help today!” Kyle calls over his shoulder. König turns on his heel, walking backward without breaking his stride.

“Es hat mich gefreut Sie kennenzulernen. Um, nice meeting you!” he calls, giving you a quick nod. You return it, adding a small wave as he turns back around and disappears into the office with Kyle.

You let out a long breath, leaning against the railing.

British, American, Mexican, German...Russian. If your father were alive, seeing the extensive reach of The 141 would surely kill him.

Either that or he’d be offering you on a silver platter for the chance to sink his claws in; you knew how powerful of a bargaining chip you were. Had it happened, you’d have hated it, you’re sure. Fighting tooth and nail, scraping against the floorboards to keep from being dragged out of your home and sent into some stranger's arms.

Looking back on it now, though…

That might’ve been the better option. Better a silver platter than a silver cage, and no stranger could’ve been crueler than—

Your left shoulder burns, the muscles in your arm tightening into an unbearable vice.

Choices were given. Decisions were made.

The past is the past.

All you have left is the future.

-

Translations:

проститутка - a prostitute Ни рыба ни мясо - neither fish nor meat; an idiom used to describe someone who is average or not memorable Я тебе покажу, где раки зимуют - i will show you where lobsters (crawfish) spend the winter; "i’ll teach you a lesson; I’ll give you something to remember me by" Заруби ceбe на носу - make a notch on your nose; "mark my words" - ‘Tschuldigung - sorry; excuse me Es hat mich gefreut Sie kennenzulernen - it was a pleasure meeting you; nice to meet you

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush,

[mental7anguish]

I would like to know mroe about that beaststars tadc au please

The basic set up is that they all go to college in varying years

1st year — Jax, zooble

2nd year — gangle, pomni, bubble

3rd year — ragatha

It’s kind of zooble and pomni centric at first with zooble sharing a dorm with her after pomnis last roommate went missing (they were a herbivore). They’re also forced to be around each other almost all schoolday because of zooble being a hybrid and other factors making the school force them to have a 'guardian' (they’re trying to seem progressive and don’t want to get any bad rep), so basically forcing pomni to be a caretaker for a person who doesn’t want or need one.

They are not happy and cannot stand each other at first

The cast meet each other by having all joined a new circus club by Caine, that outside of customes has almost nothing to do with circuses lol, it’s more of an theater club but clowns. Like in the show he comes up with acts and/or adventures for them to do, where his intentions are to teach teamwork or whatever excuse he came up with to create it. The crew mostly joined because they get free stuff from it.

The story is undercooked still, because at first I loved the worldbuilding in beastars and just thought the craziness of it was fitting for tadc. I do have characteristics and dynamics in my head, like pomni having trouble with taking control of her carnivorous instincts while ragatha doesn’t have any herbivorous instincts at all, or Jax and zooble being frenemies who somehow almost always find each other in the same place and have matching pendants (zooble around their neck and Jax on his ear)

Kinger is probably a teacher, I’d imagine that he would teach something related to bugs. I also have some ideas for the abstracted, but you’ll just have to wait to find out if I flesh it out bc I think this is long enough already haha. This au will definitely include some beastars craziness, don’t worry.

Lastly I’m just gonna make a list of the character species:

–pomni: cat, long–haired Scottish fold, but shaves fur short

–Jax: European hare + Flemish giant rabbit hybrid, the latter of which is mostly just the height

–Ragatha: Dorset horn sheep

–Gangle: Malay weasel

–Zooble: Hybrid, dog + bird + deer (don’t rlly have any specific species)

–Kinger: lion

– Kaufmo: also a cat

–bubble: Thresher shark (Ik in context this doesn’t make sense, but it’s my au so I’m gonna have fun with it)

– Caine: genuinely have no idea, I need suggestions please

So yea, I hope this gives more insight! This au also dips a little into ships, which hopefully people won’t mind.

[heystephen]

ashley/noitsashley/etc explained for the swifties who aren’t chronically on tiktok and don’t know what’s going on aka i rot my brain on tiktok so you guys don’t have to!

(long post ahead, i wanted to cover as much strange behavior as i could)

so let’s start with the very basic who? she is. noitisashley13, or ashley leechin, is a 29 year old tiktoker who’s gained notoriety for being a ‘taylor swift lookalike’. if you’ve seen anything about her, you’ve probably seen the video of the guy who thought he was meeting taylor in new york, and ashley and her friend going “nooo it’s ashley! it’s just ashley!” over and over again.

off of tiktok, iirc, she’s a target employee, or was, because she was fired from her nursing position for being anti vax and anti mask. she’s also married and has two young kids. so there’s like, your background on ashley. 

she has a reputation (ha) for being a liar about weird things big and small. for example, she claimed that she walked past taylor’s old place on cornelia street and the owner came outside and thought she was taylor and offered her a personal exclusive tour because of that (and then she filmed every square inch of this person’s home??).

it later came out that the person who lives there, alan, will literally just invite taylor swift fans in to look around if they ask.. which she did. when she first became popular on tiktok, she told people that she was not a swiftie and didn’t really know her songs, at another time she said she really didn’t like taylor swift, then she said she liked a few songs, now she claims that she’s been a fan since 2006, which like, again, not that deep, just painting an image for how much she lies. one of her more consequential lying moments was when she liked several comments in support of blue lives matter and calling her the republican taylor swift as well as confirming her (right) political leaning, and then stated that that never happened. it is a known fact that ashley voted for trump twice, she confirmed that herself and then backtracked once she got popular. she claims that she doesn’t like being compared to taylor and doesn’t believe she resembles her, but she deletes comments that say that she doesn’t look like taylor and blocks people who say that she doesn’t really resemble taylor; and she often doubles down on this ‘not an impersonator’ thing but she has a cameo where you can buy a video message from, you guessed it, a ‘taylor swift impersonator’.

SO, into the weird copying of taylor swift and how deep it goes. we’ve all seen the run of the mill taylor lookalike girls who can just style their blonde hair however she does it currently and maybe throw on some red lipstick and boom, everyone says they look just like her. that’s not what ashley does, by a long shot. while ashley did begin with that, she then began to intentionally take on many aspects of taylor’s life and mannerisms. dressing like her, mimicking her voice and how she talks, adopting the unique way that taylor holds pencils and makeup brushes. she has bought two scottish fold cats, a white one that she named oliver and a grey/white one that she named after a grey’s anatomy character (familiar pair?). at this point, a lot of people believe that she’s gotten veneers that resemble taylor’s teeth and filler in her face to better imitate taylor’s face but i’m not really an expert on either of those, but i’ll share some before and after pictures of how she looked prior to this.. journey of unself discovery she’s on vs how she looks now that she has decided that instead of being ashley, she would rather be taylor swift.

this week, ashley came under fire because she had said that she had partnered with the grammys as an influencer and was apparently meant to walk the red carpet.. for some reason. anyway, the brand that she was dealing with had her pay to fly herself to LA and everything and then let her know that they were disinviting her for very vague reasons which at this time are still pretty unknown. i believe the response from the brand, sweetyhigh, was that they hadn’t saved a ticket for her, which just sounds.. idk. BUT ANYWAY. much to everyone’s amusement, ashley was liking comments from people tagging taylor and asking her to fix it, and ashley reached out to the ceo of the grammys personally and inquired about it and was more or less ghosted. a lot of people believe that taylor and/or tree heard that ashley was coming and axed it for obvious reasons, others believe that she was meant to be on the fan panel but cut from it because they realized she was actually maybe kind of not the type of fan they were looking for, theories abound right now and i’m personally of the opinion that taylor’s camp didn’t want her there and told the brand she was with not to bring her. 

TL;DR noitisashley13 is a tiktoker who is trying to wear taylor’s skin like a suit, she’s a very chronic liar, also an anti mask and anti vax trump supporter 

[haysprite]

the legion but...they are cats

OKAY I CANNOT DRAW CATS TO SAVE MY LIFE BUT I WILL ASSIGN EM CATS CAUSE I FUCKING LOVVVEEE CATS TYVM :3 This is all based on looks btw !!!

Frank- Long Haired Tabby

Julie- Turkish Angora

Joey- American Bobtail

Susie- Scottish Fold