#she has feral cat energy

[stonesandfeathersangsty]

Caleb and Evelyn posting <3

I just think they're a little silly, goofy even

[zenruu]

@nicolajpg is always blessing me with the most beautiful art of these two

[sometimesmaybespoof]

New pfp who this?

[silvertonguedcharlatan]

random OC ask: say your OC is a love interest (in BG3 or a relationship-heavy game format of your choosing) — what does their first romance or "deepening the relationship" cutscene look like?

Ooohohooho this is a fun one, why not both?

I think Siobhan’s act one story would be her overcoming her fiercely independent streak. Think a “you don’t have to shoulder your burdens alone” type thing. So her romance or relationship scene would reflect this.

I really like the idea of playing with wild shape for character development so the first relationship cutscene would be the player finding an unfamiliar cat (you can recognize her with an insight check) and approaching it. You get these options:

1. Shoo it away (-3)

2. Hold out your hand and beckon it closer (+3)

3. (Passed insight) “Hello Siobhan, having a nice stroll? (+5)

4. Attack (she leaves the party)

5. Leave (-1)

All of these options lead to her dismissing her wildshape and answering you, the scene ends with her either surprised you recognized her and were kind to her or grumpy at being dismissed (she’s crying out for attention by turning into a very cute cat and being passive aggressive about it). After this one of her camp idle animations can be her preening as a cat at her tent.

Her first romance specific scene would be after the tiefling party like the others (with the potential to be triggered early with high approval) Your dialogue would be pretty standard hero fare like

“I’m glad we were able to balance the grove, silvanus must be pleased”

or

“It is shameful kagha turned to the shadows but we did what must be done to restore the grove”

The romantic lines you would get would be something like

“without you by my side it wouldn’t have been quite so easy”

and

“perhaps I could keep you by my side a little longer tonight?”

She would answer “perhaps you can, if you can find me later” (still dodgy and passive aggressive) or if not interested “being by your side during the day is quite enough for me thank you” (dodgy and aggressive aggressive)

The scene itself would be finding her on a secluded spot of beach and going skinny dipping in the moonlight, very cinematic and all. Her ending dialogue would be something like “had I known you were a man/woman/hero of these talents I would have let you stick you nose into my business sooner. Now let’s get some rest.” (entendre intended, she really is grateful to have found a friend in you but she doesn’t know how to tell you).

[jellicle-shifters-au]

CATS OC Week: Day 6 - Garbo

OC based on a swing

for @bombawife’s cats oc week

Garbo, First Protector of the Jellicles, retired Eleanor Martin (née Jones), city councilwoman

dedicated, tenacious, dignified

mother of Alonzo, Misto, and Victoria; older sister to Bustopher Jones; mate of Victor

former mentor to Bombalurina, current Fourth Protector

no longer serves as one of the tribe's Protectors, but still serves as a secondary matriarch with Jennyanydots and as an advisor and senior Protector

in human form, she has dark blue-gray eyes and short, loosely curled black hair streaked with silver and white

in feline form, she's a medium-hair gray-and-black chimera tabby with white; she's not as big as Bomba, just a little bit smaller

she named Victoria after Victor, which some cats had mixed feelings about (naming a kitten after a cat that had just recently died, after all), but she refused to name the white kitten anything else

when asked, will tell people that her full name is Garbanzo Bean (it's not)

she was the one who came up with Bomba’s human name, “Rina,” and is the only one who calls her that as a nickname

Garbo has a life-long fascination with humans; she finds them needlessly complex but interestingly so, what with all their intricate social rituals and subtleties and double-meanings, so many things a cat doesn't need

but she thinks it's important for the younger cats to understand these intricacies for when they start to interact with humans at an early age

she advocates for social lessons for the kittens before they go off to school for the first time, and encourages those lessons to continue throughout their schooling careers

she also encourages the younger adult cats to partake in these lessons, since, relatively speaking, they’re closer in age to the kittens and have a better idea of how human children behave (and can also share stories from their jobs)

she served a military nurse for a few years while Bustopher was also in the service; after that, she was a middle school history teacher before she retired and ran for city council

she never expected to win, but she did, and held the position for two years

most of her time there was spent watching the rest of the council rip itself to pieces (she likes to think it only stayed together because she was there and had no care for the politics of it, as interesting as it was)

"Humans will do anything for power," she would say, sipping from a glass of non-alcoholic red wine. "And I mean anything. Cats are so much simpler."

she likely ran for city council again, this time to take control of the council and get everyone in order to actually get things done

“There’s a time for work and a time for play,” she says, and this time her stint on the city council wasn’t for fun

her generation of Protectors, under her guidance, functioned like a well-oiled machine

Garbo moved in with Bustopher after Victor died, and continued living with him even after her children had moved out (she didn't like living in an empty home)

she knew of Bustopher's relationship with Grizabella (at a time when Grizabella's relationship with the rest of the cats wasn't great), and supported them whole-heartedly

she, too, would form a close relationship with Grizabella, and would often spend nights up talking with her until the early hours of the morning

[ms-demeanor]

If you're new to me yelling about this: my neighbors feed a feral cat colony but provide no other care to the colony like neuter/spay or vaccination. They free feed the cats, which attracts skunks, and they have (at the moment) about 20 cats in the colony, which attracts coyotes.

My dog has been skunked twice, she can't be outside in our yard unsupervised for even a minute because otherwise she'll try to eat cat shit because there's cat shit everywhere in my yard because the neighbors also haven't provided litterboxes or a sandbox for their ferals (their entire yard is paved) and if she has to go outside at night I need to clear the yard for coyotes before I let her out even in the small fenced area by our bedroom.

Also there are fleas fucking *everywhere* and even though my dog is on medication to prevent fleas I need to de-flea her twice a week in the summer; this is the case for every dog owner on the street.

The street I live on has a speed limit of 25mph but I hear cats getting hit frequently, so frequently that we have a resident group of crows who hang out and wait for them to become roadkill.

I have a collection of photos on my phone that show kittens with broken legs, kittens with missing eyes, kittens with horrible ear mite infections, and I have a dedicated shovel that I use for moving cat corpses that show up on my property. The cats that die on my property die from abscessed wounds from fights with other cats, respiratory infections, renal failure, and injuries from being hit by cars.

My spouse is immune compromised, and while toxoplasmosis is not a serious risk for most people, it IS a serious risk for people who are immune compromised (as are all the other infections that cats can potentially carry), which means that it's unsafe for me to grow vegetables in my yard for us to eat and it's unsafe for him to work in the yard.

I'd love to maybe open my windows at night and keep down the electricity costs of using the AC, but I can't because the entire side of my house that faces my neighbor's yard reeks of cat shit and piss year round.

Those are my next door neighbors.

Last week I was walking my dog as a neighbor around the corner was pulling out of her garage; she paused and rolled down her window and pointed at the cats on her lawn and said "Head's up, my cats are weirdly aggressive about small dogs and they just got let out so they're full of energy right now" and I nodded and crossed the street and didn't yell at my neighbor but *the temptation was there* because A) why are you letting your aggressive animals roam and B) Why are you letting your cats shit all over the neighborhood and C) Why are you exposing your owned cats to the risks of the large and territorial feral colony that is a literal stone's throw away from your house?

Anyway, and as always, Keep Your Fucking Cats Indoors.

[archiverstappen]

the cat sitter (part 15) ✧ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem! reader

previous part | masterlist

loosely inspired by the story on how max lost his cat

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[max’s messages]

[messages]

[instagram]

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc and 2.827.515 others

maxverstappen1 🐈

view all 1.736 comments

landonorris Never beating the crazy cat lady allegations

danielricciardo 😍

yourusername i miss you ed, edd, and eddy. gone... but never forgotten 😿

↳ maxverstappen1 you named them?

↳ yourusername yes? 🤷‍♀️

username i dont care guys this is enough sign for me, it’s canon

username please tell me that she at least kept one of those cats

↳ yourusername maximus won’t let me keep them 💔

↳ maxverstappen1 Pretty sure that’s illegal 🤗

bffusername so is this the reason why you always take so long on your dates? because y/n can’t resist touching every single cat on the streets? [deleted]

bffusername cool pics! 😁👍

↳ yourusername ouH GIRL WHEN I CATCH YOU

↳ username PLEASE TELL ME THAT I WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THE DELETED COMMENT 😭

username don’t know about you guys but the hand on her head awakened something feral in me

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[interview]

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yourusername

liked maxverstappen1 and 231 others

yourusername these are a few of my favorite things 🫧 🤍 🎶

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landonorris He got game after all

↳ yourusername unlike you

↳ landonorris OUCH??

↳ maxverstappen1 😂

maxverstappen1 Lovely 🤍

bffusername this cake looks way better than maximus' birthday cake, progress!! 💪🏼

↳ yourusername 😎

bffusername now i'm curious, what did you say during mario kart? 🤔

↳ maxverstappen1 A lot of curse words

victoriaverstappen Enjoy your holiday guys, see you soon! 🧡

↳ yourusername MAX AND I WANT TO BABYSIT LUKA AND LIO AGAIN!!

↳ maxverstappen1 Y/N......

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername and 2.103.273 others

maxverstappen1 More passion, more energy ❄️

view all 7.322 comments

yourusername i kinda hate you right now ngl

↳ maxverstappen1 She's so brave, she's well behaved, she's not afraid 💪🏼

↳ yourusername HUSH

yourusername delete??? or i'll post a video of you dancing to 'paint the town red'??

↳ maxverstappen1 YOU WOULDN'T DARE

↳ yourusername I SAID WHAT I SAID 👹

↳ username y/n i would give you my cat if i could see a video of max doing a tiktok trend 🧎‍♀️

↳ yourusername check your dm please xoxoxoxo

yourusername MORE FOOTWORK MORE FOOTWORK 🕺🏽

charles_leclerc 😂

alex_albon Fucking finally 😮‍💨

landonorris I called dibs on being captain of the ship

↳ bffusername hi there, sorry to bother you. y/n's bff here. that position is already taken 🙏

↳ username speak uP? danielricciardo

↳ danielricciardo I don't engage in useless banter, I already have the position of being the godfather of their future child 😁

↳ landonorris exPLAIN??? maxverstappen1 yourusername

username the fact that this post has better engagement than max's wdc post i-

username now we know how max knew all of the viral tiktok sounds 😭

↳ yourusername we're planning to make a tiktok couple account

↳ username ?!??!?!??!?!??! ARE YOU FOR REAL

↳ yourusername please don't take it seriously, I WAS JOKING 😁🙏

--

author's notes: eden the scammer is back after 2 months guys, so sorry for making you guys wait too long (and giving you guys false hope) 👹 really hope you guys liked this one hehe, i also take additional request for tcs!! (but as you probably know, it's gonna take me 8273 years to finally post it). there are some references from my lando series in this part, so if you're interested you can also check it out 😙 LOVE YOUUUWWW, now i will hibernate for another 5 months 🤸‍♀️

taglist: @flwr-stella @reidsworld @myloverjk-blog @debss-319 @hiraethrhapsody @electrobutterfly @love4lando @lunnnix @allenajade-ite @jjsprobablywrong @whoreks @soleilgrec @oscarwildingsworld @christianpulisic10 @thievin-stealing @glitterf1 @elliegrey2803 @trouble-sistar @escapism-writer @cornerofacry @hollie911 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @ad-astra-again @canyon-lwt @thecubanator2 @lifesuckslife @leclercloml @sunny44 @nmw-am @sachaa-ff @multilovebot @glow-ish @moneygramhaas @whitefireproofs @icarus-nex @iloveyou3000morgan @ccallistata @copper-boom @fictionalcharacterslut @celesteblack08 @maxiel-jpg @slytherheign @lunyyx @series-books-food @coffeehurricanes @shrimpyshrimp @somanyfandomsbruh @justcallmeelli @laneyspaulding19 @ironmaiden1313

pictures (c) to pinterest

[p0orbaby]

Forty Winks Would Be Just Priceless

summary: your kid only sleeps when being driven, the diva that she is

warnings: none !

a/n: if someone could drive me around to get to sleep that would be great

word count: 1.7k

-

It’s 2:47 a.m., and you’re sitting in the passenger seat of a car that you didn’t even know Leah could operate at this level of exhaustion. You’re wondering if she’s siphoning energy directly from the Devil, because that’s the only explanation. The car smells like a combination of McDonald’s fries, stale coffee, and something unidentifiable that you’re hoping isn’t some sort of roadkill under the bonnet. Your wife is behind the wheel, white-knuckling it like she’s doing 90 on the M25. In reality, she’s going 15 miles per hour around your parish.

Again.

“Is this the fifth lap or the sixth?” you ask. You’ve lost count. Somewhere around lap three, you started dissociating. The glow of the streetlights is the only indication you’re still on Earth.

“Does it matter?” Leah responds, glancing over at you with an arched eyebrow that you recognise as the look she gives opponents who try to muscle her off the ball. Leah has three moods: sweet, commanding, and “I could end you without lifting a finger.” You’re currently dealing with the third. The funny part is, she’s only this intimidating when she’s wearing a hoodie over her messy hair, dark circles framing her bloodshot eyes, which she insists is the result of “just a little” caffeine.

You eye her warily. “Maybe not,” you admit, slumping lower into the seat. You glance over your shoulder into the backseat, where Eden, your two-year-old sleep terrorist, has finally succumbed to the soothing vibrations of the Mercedes. Eden’s head is lolling to one side, mouth slightly open, and you’re just about convinced she’s auditioning to be the next exorcism case.

Leah’s been driving for about an hour now. You’re on your third consecutive night of the same routine: dinnertime is war, bath time is a ceasefire, and bedtime is a full-blown, special-ops mission with all the difficulty of invading a heavily guarded country. Eden has the upper hand. Eden is always ten steps ahead. And the only way to win is to retreat—to the car.

“I feel like we should get a second car,” you suggest, half-serious. “One specifically for these midnight missions. Maybe something with better fuel efficiency”

Leah gives you a side-eye that says, “You’re joking, right?” But you can tell she’s considering it. “Or we could teach her to fall asleep like a normal child. In her bed. At bedtime”

You snort. “Teach her? Are we raising a human or a feral cat?”

Leah doesn’t even have to respond to that. Eden is a force of nature. You’re just two unfortunate souls caught in her tiny hurricane.

“And what do we do when she grows out of this?” Leah asks, but it’s more like she’s thinking out loud. “Do we drive her to school every day just to get her to wake up?”

“Let’s just worry about surviving the next hour,” you say, looking at the clock. You remember reading somewhere that car exhaust fumes can lull a person to sleep. You briefly wonder if that’s what’s happening to you right now.

Leah clicks her tongue in thought, turning onto the next street, where a dog that clearly suffers from some kind of psychological trauma is barking at nothing. “When I was little,” she begins, “my mum would drive me around to get me to sleep, but we lived in the countryside. There were no barking dogs, just the occasional sheep”

“Well, that’s why you turned out so well-adjusted,” you remark dryly. “If Eden grows up thinking the only way to fall asleep is to go for a drive, she’s going to need therapy. Which we can’t afford, by the way, because we’ll be spending all our money on petrol”

Leah chuckles, but it’s the kind of laugh that’s a little too high-pitched to be real. “We’ll add it to the list of things she’ll blame us for when she’s older. Right next to ‘Mum used to make me eat vegetables’ and ‘Mama never let me play with knives’”

Eden lets out a little snore, and you both freeze, staring at the rearview mirror. Leah’s foot hovers over the brake pedal as if any sudden movement might wake the tiny monster in the back. You can practically hear both of you holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable cry of protest that’s sure to come the second the car stops moving.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Eden’s snore deepens, becoming the kind of sleep sounds that suggest she’s off in dreamland, probably riding unicorns or setting fire to imaginary villages.

You relax a fraction, and so does Leah, though she’s still gripping the wheel like it’s her last lifeline. You wonder if she’s ever used this level of concentration on the pitch. You’ve never seen her miss a tackle, but this is an entirely different ball game.

“So, when do we stop?” Leah whispers. You can hear the exhaustion in her voice now, thick and sludgy like she’s been awake for a week.

You consider this. “We could keep driving until sunrise. Then she’ll wake up with the sun and think it’s a new day. Maybe it’ll reset her sleep schedule”

“Or we’ll just be perpetually exhausted and still sleep-deprived, except now we’ve got morning traffic to deal with,” Leah counters. “You know, if we were living in a different era, this could be considered some form of witchcraft. Driving around in circles at night to get a child to sleep. Someone would’ve burned us at the stake by now”

“Wouldn’t that be a relief,” you mutter, then immediately regret it, because even though you’re joking, you’re too tired to be sure.

Leah sighs. “I love her. I really do. But sometimes I wonder if we’re the ones being trained here”

“There’s no wonder about it,” you reply, deadpan. “We’re definitely the ones being trained. She’s got us figured out. We’re puppets. Eden pulls the strings, and we drive”

Leah smiles at that, though it’s more of a grimace of acknowledgment. “You know, when I said I’d do anything for her, I didn’t realise it included nighttime rally racing in a residential neighborhood”

“Should’ve read the fine print,” you say, then yawn so hard it hurts. “But hey, at least we’re doing this together, right? Quality time”

Leah glances over at you, and this time, her smile is real. It’s small, but it’s there, and it makes you feel a little less like a zombie. “Yeah,” she agrees softly. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else”

You reach over and squeeze her hand, and for a moment, there’s peace. Not the kind of peace you’ll ever find in a parenting book or one of those sanctimonious mommy blogs, but the kind that exists in the trenches, where you and Leah are currently wading through knee-deep toddler warfare.

As you turn onto yet another street that looks identical to the last, you finally admit defeat. “Let’s call it,” you say. “She’s out. If we keep going, we’re going to end up in Scotland”

“Good idea,” Leah says, already beginning the slow process of easing off the gas and pulling into your driveway. She parks with the kind of precision that makes you think she missed her calling as a getaway driver.

You both sit there for a minute, basking in the silence that only comes when your child is finally, blessedly asleep. You’re in no rush to move, because you know the second you do, Eden will sense it and all this work will be undone in a matter of seconds.

But Leah is braver than you. She quietly turns off the engine, unbuckles her seatbelt, and with the precision of a bomb squad technician, she turns to the backseat. You watch as she gingerly unbuckles Eden, cradling her like she’s made of porcelain.

And somehow, miraculously, Eden stays asleep. Leah manages to get out of the car, Eden still snoozing in her arms, and you’re right behind her, ready to perform the hand-off should things go south.

The two of you tiptoe through the house like burglars, careful to avoid every creaky floorboard. You’re halfway to Eden’s room when she stirs, and you both freeze in place like deer caught in headlights. But then she just shifts in Leah’s arms, sighs deeply, and snuggles closer into her mother’s shoulder.

You finally reach the cot, and Leah lowers her in with the gentleness of a saint. The transfer is seamless. Eden doesn’t even flinch.

The second the cot rail is up, you and Leah back out of the room like you’ve just completed a high-stakes mission, which you basically have. The door closes with a soft click, and you both stand there, wide-eyed, disbelieving.

“She’s asleep,” Leah whispers, like she doesn’t dare believe it.

“She’s asleep,” you echo, equally stunned.

And then, without warning, Leah lets out a sound that you can only describe as a half-crazed giggle. It’s infectious, and you start laughing too, because it’s either that or you’re going to cry, and honestly, you’ve done enough of that in the last few days.

“We did it,” you say between breaths, leaning against the wall for support. “We actually did it”

Leah pulls you into a hug, and it’s warm and comforting, and it feels like a reward for all the hell you’ve been through tonight. “We make a good team,” she murmurs into your hair.

“The best,” you agree, letting yourself relax into her embrace.

But as you’re standing there, holding each other in the hallway like the survivours you are, you both hear it: the unmistakable sound of Eden stirring, a tiny whimper that promises to turn into a full-blown cry in about three seconds.

You look at each other in horror, and without a word, Leah grabs the car keys.

“You can drive,” she says, already heading back towards the front door.

You don’t even argue. Instead, you grab your the keys from her, knowing full well that this battle isn’t over yet.

And as you both head back to the car for yet another sleepless night, you can’t help but think that one day, years from now, you’ll look back on these nights with some kind of twisted fondness.

But for now, all you can do is keep driving.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

I think the reason The Cat Lady makes such a resonant metaphor for the alleged pathos of the single woman is that it piggybacks off of another cultural myth, Spite-Filled Cats Are Incapable of Love. The joke isn't just that she's generically pouring her natural nurturing energy into a pet because it's the best she can do -- I mean, it is that, but the reason it has to be a *cat* specifically is to magnify how pitiful she is by also making her delusional enough to believe that this hateful, mean-spirited creature could ever possibly return her affection in any way. The Cat Lady is desperate for love, but so direly misguided that she's conjured up a bond that doesn't exist with something that will only ever be capable of using her for its own gain. (I'll refrain from implying that the men who think like this are simply projecting their own coldly abusive misogyny onto an animal they know next to nothing about, oops, no I won't.)

Anyway, Cat Lady jokes are inherently snide misogyny aimed at convincing misogynists that women *would* be miserable in command of their own lives, if only they were intelligent enough to realize how miserable they are. Meanwhile, cats are feral little angels capable of vastly greater emotional depth and sincere benevolence than JD Vance ever will be, amen.

[gremlingottoosilly]

I saw a tiktok that said "a domestic housewife implies the existence of a feral housewife" and your reader characters were the first thing that came to my mind lol

Feral housewife!! This is why she is isolated in the woods, their combined feral animal energy is too much for one country!! Darling who literally has too much energy, every time Konig is out of deployment, she moves furniture around, using poor, poor Krueger to help her with repainting the walls and changing the layout of every room because she is bored and she needs changes!! Poor guy is fighting demons because his hand is literally broken and burned, but you're still using him as an assistant because he is probably much more capable physically than you. Darling who bites and scratches Konig, not because she hates him or is trying to resist, but because she has this nasty habit of acting like a feral cat every time she tries to show affection. You are leaving marks on him, covering his skin with hickeys and drawing blood each time, and your husband couldn't be happier! He loves how nasty you are, how sharp your teeth are, just how willing you are to mark him!!

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH44

How is Senshi the cutest one every time.

Putting your cat into little outfits energy.

Does she even need a coat? She's got fur...

eat the little screaming man, izutsumi

laios really said "my hungry ass would NOT be here if eating monsters turned you into a monster" and Marcille straight up did not catch it. He's a cm away from the edge. He's out here covering himself in oil and running around the campfire, trying to lure werewolves out to bite him. He's simmering himself into soup. Wake up. Laios has the more complex nonsexual vore kink ever.

.......why is her troupe trying not to use her name? I wonder if there's something specific about that. It wasn't just a nickname?

Awww, dad's all tuckered out.

I know I'm probably meant to find Izutsumi relatable on a childish level but I'm gonna be honest here. Her character hits too close to home where spoiled people are concerned for me to harbor any level of affection for her. I can understand how she might be beloved but man. Everything she says makes my eye twitch. If she were legitimately a child, it would be understandable. But she seems to be a young adult. At which point like. If you don't like the circumstances.... leave? Just leave. Just walk away if you don't want to eat their food. What are you yelling for? 😂 You joined THEM. They ain't forcing you to do shit. But instead of peacing out you're just screaming at them like a toddler.

Although to a point, I can understand her motivations. I understand how she has come this far, being so feral. I get WHY she is the way she is. But man. These guys are so patient with her.

I'm sorry wh. What.

Oh, I'm sure that's FINE.

Oh, yeah, for sure. That's perfectly fine.

When I said walk away - yeah, that's exactly what I meant. But Marcille and the others are chasing after her, so I guess... they don't agree. 😅

Child.......................... ah, nevermind. It's not even worth it.

Okay, the cutaway from the heartfelt selfless message to a cat just going 'ah, well, fuck it, I don't care' WAS kinda funny actually.

This is hilarious because in Japanese, the word order (SOV) means the translation here is incorrect. I mean, it's correct for what matters. But while the English phrase is 'close your eyes' then Japanese sentence is '目 を つぶって' which is literally EYES (ACC. particle) CLOSE!!

I love Marcille. She's a wimp, but she's the strongest wimp I know.

Laios:

Wolves: Man, I don't think I want to have whatever HE'S having.

So....is it.... like meat.... or is it like a vegetable...???

the fucking STYLE SHIFT

Listen, Tade is earning her thighs. Leave her alone.

Izutsumi and Chilchuk can bond over being babied by the other three.

[z3nitsusgf]

I, The Sun

Ch. 1 - In My Mind

ford pines/reader: NSFW, murder, violence against women, possession, manipulation, occult themes, dark fic.

first chapter of something I’ve been working on, it’s more of a introduction/exposition rn but I promise it gets better.

1976 - Gravity Falls, Oregon

Ford has been having these dreams lately. Unpleasant ones. Ones that leave him feeling sick, where he wakes up with his tongue stuck to his gums, and his body is in a cold sweat.

Where they feel so real that when he wakes he checks himself for injuries to see if it was a memory or not. He can't grasp the material reality with full intensity, a part of him seems to reside far away and beyond what's tangible.

His mind playing tricks on him, a cruel joke. Because the next flash of dreams is him on top of a woman, his hands strangling her until she gives way to the darkness and he’s plunging a knife into her abdomen over and over until she’s nothing more than minced meat. He realizes too late it’s you.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” A voice purrs in his ear, Ford is feral and bloodthirsty, ripping apart human flesh as if it were animal. A laughing soprano rings through his head and it hurts.

Ford wakes with a gasp, clutching his chest. He’s in his room, in his home, safe and sound. He attempts to slow his breathing, the dreams reeling through his head like a spool of film. The moonlight shines through his stained glass window, filtering in through shades of light pink and blue.

He sighs in relief, “just another nightmare.”

Something wet drips on his forehead and he wipes it away, when he looks at his fingertips it’s not water. Something thick and dark is smeared across the pads of his fingers. And Ford looks up slowly, he almost screams. Almost, another splat of blood falls into his parted mouth and Ford scrambles.

There, mounted on the ceiling of his bedroom, a doe head has been nailed to the wood. Mutilated and dripping its fresh wounds onto the scientist, its heart stabbed with a dagger and left to rot.

A painted message of red is smeared next to the head, it reads; ‘can’t run’.

Ford’s vision goes black.

-

You chewed on your pen cap, the smooth plastic sliding against your molars.

You sit at your cubicle, which was for a lack of a better word - missable; covered in pages from your previous articles and various bands. Rings of coffe stains and energy drinks line your desk, pens and notebooks scattered like autumn leaves. You stared at your computer screen, your new story a sort of meloncholic evil.

A man in your city had gone mad with schizophrenia and slaughtered his entire family. When the police entered the scene, there were decorations of blood and entrails around the apartment, the suspect rocking himself in a corner and wailing. You can imagine him, 45 year old Richard James. Skin and bones, reeking of innards and cigarettes.

Wondering how he got to this point of his life. When just a couple years earlier he was a school teacher and going to dinners with his wife and kids.

It’s a half-written entry, a simple narrative of the events. There was nothing special about it. You look up only when your editor called you into her office.

Miranda Perkins, a fat older woman who wore Hawaiian shirts and smelled of cat litter. Her office is straight out of a 60s JC Penny catalogue. Her window overviewed the parking lot, a shitty sight. But for the daily post in Sacramento, it was as good as it was going to get.

You sit in her uncomfortable chair, moving side to side until you feel any semblance of relief.

“How’s your story coming along, hun?”

She tapped her French tip nails along her desk, looking at your through big rounded coke-bottle glasses. A string of pastel crystal beads hanging from the sides.

“I’m almost done.” You were nowhere near that.

“Good, good. Abandon it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Abandon it!” She singsongs, waving a gaudy looking pen in her hand, “leave it for someone else.”

She was soft with you, probably because you reminded her of a daughter, or because you were soft. You sat in an uncomfortable silence, listening to the ticking of her wall clock and the hum of the FCU.

“How do you feel about Gravity Falls?” She asks suddenly, holding her pen to her temple. A small dot of ink left behind.

“It’s a small town, smack dab in the center of Oregon,” Miranda loved the facts, she got her socks off when writers knew the basic demographics of small unnoticeable towns. You preferred not to discuss your hometown however.

“It was founded by Nathaniel Northwest in the 1800s, it’s got a big touristy lake and the biggest business is logging. It’s full of old money, trash, and tourist traps.”

She hums, “So what’s going on down there?”

You sat in silence, thinking of anything important that you might of missed. Gravity Falls was a town that was not noticed, tucked away beneath Evergreens and trailer parks. The most that befell it was the occasional flood or simple robbery. You had hoped that when Miranda called you in, it would be to compliment your work, or even give you a raise.

“Your family still there?”

“Mom. Estranged dad.” And your half siblings that were born after you had left. You always forget their names though.

“You ever talk to them?” Not since Christmas when your mother sent a gimicky card of St. Nick that read, ‘Have a Joyous Holiday!’ It was polite, you figured after downing four whiskey sours that you could give her a call.

“Not recently.”

“Jesus, read the news once in a while. There’s been a murder. A woman slaughtered in the woods.”

You nodded like you knew, your mother was the only one you had little conversation with and she had said nothing. Curious.

“There’s been three in the past four months, police are saying it’s a cult. Sounds like a serial to me.”

You fiddle with your sweater, a gnawing feeling in your stomach.

“Go drive up there, get the full story.”

No fucking way.

“We’ve got freaky stories here, Miranda.”

“Yeah. And we have half the staff as we used to and half the cash.” She adjusted her glasses, the beads making a small clinking sound.

“This is our chance at a big story.”

You still didn’t want to go, hands gripping the arms of the chair as if she’d force you out. Miranda sighed, “Look hun, if you can’t do it… you can’t do it. But think about it, it’d be good for you.”

Miranda was a surrogate mother in a way you never expected. She always backed you, even when you fell short of expectations. You had the strange feeling of not wanting to disappoint her. You gnawed on your lip.

“I’ll go pack my stuff.”

-

You packed enough for seven days, confident that you’ll be back by next week. Also taking with you the notes and articles about the case and your notebook. You threw in a pack of Marlboro green and some shooters. As you glance around your apartment you realize how messy it is. Scattered articles, news clippings, take out containers, dead plants.

As you take a final look at your place, you look at a framed picture by the door. A young twenty-something year old you in 1972, hand in hand with your best friend and first ever boyfriend from college - Stanford Pines. You’re in front of BU Univeristy, freshly graduated with your degree in journalism and Ford in his anomalies.

You’re laughing, about what you can’t recall, but you haven’t ever had a smile that big in years. You hold his palm, lovingly. You wonder what he’s up to now, it’s become a mystery. You knew he had grant money for his research, you never followed up to where he went. You fell apart after college, the tether straining when Ford started to dive head first into his career, he became distant.

You like not knowing. In reality, you don’t know why you still have it. Especially displayed in your home as if you were still together. Perhaps that romantic side of you enjoys the nostalgia of it all.

You’d rather not divulge that can of worms.

The drive to Gravity Falls would take eight hours, by the time you make it to the shoddy motel on the outskirts you’re no more than ten miles outside of your hometown. It makes a thick seedy feeling creep up your spine. To be so close had vomit pooling in your stomach.

You down a couple shooters in your motel room, the sheets are dusty and leave you itching. You should probably think of questions to ask the detectives, you decide to down more shots of fireball and vodka. You pass out dreaming strange things; you dream of your childhood, the occult nature of the case, the eerie events that happened so long ago you weren’t sure they were real - you dream of Ford.

-

When you wake, you snatch a stale bagel from the open kitchen downstairs, heading to your beat down Buick and driving into town.

Gravity Falls couldn’t be spotted from a distance, the tallest building was the water tower near the center of town. The drive is nostalgic in a sickening way, the scenery is visceral. The majestic trees are broken up by the strip of road in the center. You pass the welcome sign, big wooden letters before you’re driving by the gas station.

You know this place like the back of your hand. On the Main Street, you find remnants of the charming town. A beauty parlor, a clothing store that sold exclusively knitted sweaters and skirts, the up-in-coming VHS store that sold second hand movies. There’s only one real place to eat here, and it’s a greasy spoon called ‘The Greasy Spoon’.

The people in this town were what you called - complacent. They grew up here, lived till they got old, and died here. People out here, it’s like they don’t even know the outside world exists.

You see familiar faces as you drive. Susan Wentworth, the diner woman who always called you honey and wore too much blue eyeshadow. Dan Corduroy, the large ginger lumberjack who inherited his family’s pass-me-down flannel and could eat 20 hot cakes without puking. The Valentino’s, who were funeral directors and were some of the nicest people you’ve ever met, fucking strange though.

You decided to drive to the police station first. When you approached the receptionist desk, she regarded you with chilled contempt. Filling at her red acrylic nails and motioning you to sit and wait.

“Deputy Blubs with be with you shortly.” She smacked her gum at you. You sat like a patient dog, the shitty AC churning in the afternoon heat. You read the outdated magazines splayed on the small table, the scent of old paper and dust filling your nose. The magazines were from the 60s, full of outdated trends and styles.

When Blubs walked in he was already sweating through his uniform. Blubs was the upcoming deputy of the town who had a handlebar mustache and never took off his aviators. The receptionist motioned to you with her pen, mouthing the word “journalist” with disgust.

“Deputy Blubs, I’m with the Daily post in Sacramento.” You shake his hand, giving him your name as you follow him to his office.

He raises a brow, “Why are you all the way up here?”

He plops in his chair, “I want to talk about the recent events happening here, the women in the woods.”

“Good lord, how the hell did you hear about that all the way in Sacramento? Jesus.”

You shrug, “it’s a big deal, women going missing and showing up dead.”

“Listen,” he sighs, heavy and tired, “I don’t want this to get out.”

You gesture with your hands, “not really up to you Deptuty, the public deserves to know the danger going on.”

Blubs scoffs, looking out his window, “why’da you care now? You people never cared before about Gravity Falls.”

“You’re right. But this isn’t gonna be some exposé. This is important. And besides, I’m from Gravity Falls.” You let your voice die off at the end, like admitting it was some awful curse. He stares hard.

“What’s your name again?” You tell him, he rubs his stubble.

“My mother married out of her maiden name. It’s Evans now.”

“Ah, I know ‘em.” Everyone knew everyone here.

“Listen I can’t tell you much,”

“I don’t need much.”

Blubs sighed, contemplating.

You left the police station with a location of where the most recent woman was found. The old church back up in the woods.

Mallory Windsor, 22, found in the ruins of the old church. Couple of raw-boned, edgy teens found her when they were vandalizing the decrepit building. She’d been strangled, bound, stabbed 25 times, and her teeth were missing. Safe to say her funeral was a closed casket.

You trek through the woods to the taped off crime scene. The cawing of ravens bounced off the trees and your boots crunched the pine needles on the ground. You notice traces of dried blood on the cracked floorboards, claw marks from where she was dragged, and a tuft of blonde hair that’s stuck in between a broken branch.

You noticed in the plank on the wall, carved into the wood, was a triangle with an eye in the center a circular ring around it with markings unknown to you. You drew it in your notebook, you’d have to look that up later. As you walked around, you collected as much as you could with what Blubs told you.

Mallory worked at the boutique in the town square, she was considered playful and gentle by her family. They said she recently started going to church, that she had found God. Others say she was a no-good sneaky whore, running off in the night to hang with married men. Her mother was devastated to learn of her daughters death, saying her sweet little girl was taken too soon. The people of Gravity Falls were gossipy, they loved having “friends” over to discuss their neighbors or coworkers or what have you.

You, despite being a journalist, hated picking apart peoples lives like they were nothing more than a dead frog on a table. Perhaps that’s why you’re not a top story writer.

Your mind wandered, thinking about pre-teen you, running through these woods and scraping your knees and getting bug bites the size of pennies. Those strange little creatures that would run past you, growling when you got too close. You stopped and touched the crumbly dirt, picking at stones and watching little ants march their way through the muck.

You shivered at the feeling and felt as through you were being watched. But when you whipped around to stare, all the stared back was the towering evergreens and the sunlight filtering through.

This place always did leave a bad taste in your mouth.

-

You decide to end your night at the Greasy Spoon.

Walking in the log shaped diner, the scent of butter and too much maple wafted through the air. The tables were 50’s linoleum, the booths sticky with syrup. When you entered you noticed Susan still serving, some things never change.

“Just take a seat hun, I’ll be with you in a moment.” She swivels on her kitten heel, her big up-do bobbing. You always wondered how she could handle the weight of that on her head.

You pick a booth close to the back, the only other patron a man with his head glued to the local newspaper. You didn’t need a menu, and you’re sure as shit it hasn’t changed. Simple as a rock and cheap as dirt.

When Susan approaches, she holds her notepad and pen. She looks up with a smile that turns into a gasp.

“Oh! Oh my goodness gracious, why sweetheart I haven’t seen you in ages!” She leans over the table to give you a side hug. It’s awkward and leaves you drifting on one side as you pat her back. Cheeks hot with the attention.

“Hello Susan, nice to see you again.” You give her a half smile, nails digging into your jean-clad thigh.

“My, you’ve grown! Gosh you look like your mother. Anyways, same as before right? Steak and eggs?” You nod, a little awed she still remembers, and you don’t have the heart to tell her you’re not in the mood for meat right now.

“I’ll whip that up in a jiffy.” She singsongs, happily trotting back to the kitchen, shooing at a raccoon that had crawled into the window sill. You glance around the diner, looking over the jukebox and the stool-top. It’s all the same picture perfect small town diner like when you left.

You glance up, happening to look at the booth across from you. In it, you see a ghost. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. Your breath hitches, you’re starting to pick at the skin at your fingertips, feeling the raw bite of plucked flesh.

Stanford fucking Pines. In the flesh.

He’s staring, looking at you with wide owlish eyes, the brown gleaming under his lenses. He’s grown older, the lines of his face getting deeper, more textured. The crows feet between his brows is more prominent now.

“Ford-“ Susan plops your plate down in front of you, a heaping steak with eggs over-medium and potatoes. She puts a bottle of hot sauce on the table and winks,

“What brings you back here, hun? Seen your momma yet?”

You nod, a lie. “Just up here for work, Susan. Writing about the Windsor girl.”

Her smile drops, a flush of red creeping up her puffy cheeks. “Oh, that was a horrible thing. Poor girl, I can’t believe it.”

You nod, poking your egg yolk till it pops and spills golden liquid all over your potatoes. There’s a beat of intense silence, it’s uncomfortable.

“Well, I best let you enjoy your dinner, hun.” She waves her red acrylics and smiles, turning around to busy herself with the register.

When you look back at Ford he’s still star-struck, almost as if he’s looking at someone’s faded memory of you. He stands quickly from his booth, collecting his newspaper and book. He dresses almost the exact same as he did in college; dawning a soft red turtleneck, slate colored khaki’s, and a beige trenchcoat. His hair is still long, the ends fluffed up and starting to grey. Streaks of white striping like paint. His eyes were tired, heavy bags that were almost purple. He looked exhausted.

For a moment, you think he’ll walk past you without saying anything. Thinking that after all this time, he’d not want to speak to you. You’d rather that than make painful small talk about your life.

But he stays, sliding into your booth with nothing more than a shy, “Hello, it’s been a while.”

You nod, sipping your tap water. The tension is unbearable, you have no idea where to start or end or if you should even be talking to him in the first place. Things didn’t end so sweetly.

“Listen-“

“I-“

You both speak at the same time, blinking hard and looking down. You breath in, almost choking on the smell of a burning skillet and the insufferable feelings molded on your stomach.

“How have you been, Stanford?”

You offer this, a small olive branch.

He gives this grin that’s more of a grimace. Smoothing his hands over his journal, he can’t see the way you grip the booth cushion. He nods, “I’ve uh, I’m good. Research is going good.”

Always awkward, even in college. He was a nerdy little thing, more boy than man. So wrapped up in his books and notes and anomalies. You liked it, you were obsessed with the way he was so passionate. No one back home did anything with their lives except smoke, drink, and gossip.

At first, you hated him. Hated his ego and how he thought everyone around him was a sorry excuse and a waste of space. Something changed, things happened, you hate-fucked and bit one another, then you thought about how secretly sweet he was. You remember your first kiss with him, how he held your face and you panted into each others mouths.

“How did you end up here?” You ask, stabbing a potato with your fork. How long has he been here? Becoming infected with your town; grocery shopping where you first worked, strolling through the park you beat up a bully on, passing by your elementary school. How long has he lived in the place you wanted to forget existed?

“I, um, I moved here right after we graduated. Built a cabin, started my research, even had Fiddleford come help me a bit.”

Fiddleford, your cookie-cutter southern country boy. He was interesting, thick accent and smarter than most. You hung around him when you were seeing Stanford. They were buddies, college roommates, and now you learned - research partners.

Your food was growing cold, you could not stomach any of it. A rotting feeling of apathy was gnawing at your stomach. Ford waved his hands in the air, “Enough about me, how are you? Why are you here?”

It makes a fish-hook bite of anger pierce through you.

“I’m from here.” You mumble, shoving a forkful of runny eggs and potato in your mouth. Ford’s eyes widen, like a slap of realization.

“Right. Right you are, I had-“ forgotten. He had forgotten almost everything about you. You expected as much.

“You haven’t been up here in a long time.” It wasn’t a question, he was stating the obvious. You knew that if he was here since college and you weren’t such a coward, you’d have seen him sooner. Perhaps, you would have come up to reconcile had you known. A falseness you tell yourself.

“You mentioned you’re writing about the Windsor girl, how’s that going?”

You flick your eyes to his neck, trying to look anywhere but his eyes, it’s mostly shielded by his red turtleneck. But you see the creeping of an ugly hickey, dark maroon splotches sucked like leeches onto his skin. You clench your jaw.

“Fine, all’s fine. Gotta interview a couple people. Why? You knew her?”

Ford sips at some coffee leftover, eyeing you over the rim. You’re different now. So… sullen. He still remembers the softness of your voice, even now with the rasp of time and cigarettes. You’ve still got that snappy little bite, the one that had him wrapped around your finger.

“No. Never met her.”

There’s a trickle of something faintly sulphuric in the air, you think you’re hallucinating or Susan has burnt yet another hot cake. Probably just tired from today. Ford gives you a small smile the lifts the corner of his lips.

You and Ford make more pitiful conversation on the way to your car. It slowly dissolves into something that could be considered good-natured. A distant association, something platonic.

“Where you staying?”

Where indeed. You could go back to the motel but you haven’t got much money. Or you could stay with your mother. You grimaced at the thought and Ford notices your contemplation. You might just sleep in your car.

“Could stay the night with me.” He shrugs, hands deep in his pockets as the nighttime breeze drifts through the air. You look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Not like that!-“ he holds his hands up, “I have a spare bedroom.”

You nod, toeing the dirt path with the toe of your boot. It’s like being in college all over again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles, gesturing to your car.

“I’ll give you directions.”

You take your keys out and unlock your driver door, “You didn’t drive here?”

He shakes his head, “No, I was out collecting specimens for my research.”

His research, he never did tell you what exactly he was studying. You shrug, “Okay then, hop in.”

-

Stanford’s cabin is out of the way of town. Far out into the woods, surrounded in towering trees and foliage, you pull of the main road and onto a dirt one. A clearing in view, there sits his home.

It’s nothing special, simple construction with a lopsided roof and creaky splintering wood. It looks haunted, you don’t say that out loud though. That would be rude and you don’t want to be rude to the man about to share his home with you, no matter how dark and creepy it looks from the outside.

Inside isn’t much better, it’s hardly decorated. You almost chuckle in a way, it’s so similar to your own apartment. Papers and notes are tacked into the walls, jars and bottles of strange things are lining tables and shelves. He has warm citrus colored lightbulbs, it illuminates around the cabin and makes it glow with an orangey hue.

“I apologize for the mess, I don’t have many visitors.”

He scrambles to collect notes and papers strewn like confetti, huffing at the state of his home. You wave him off, “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

You’re getting eye level with his shelf; there’s jars of eyeballs, mysterious goo that shimmers iridescent, and other weird stuff.

“What is all this?” Ford straightens his back, adjusting his glasses.

“My research. I’m here investigating the anomalies of Gravity Falls.”

You purse your lips, a strange feeling creeps into your body.

“What do you mean?”

Ford gives you a stifled look that screams ‘really? Gonna play that game?’ And you shrink away.

“Are you saying you never experienced weirdness here? Strange things in the woods?”

The woods. Blonde hair, hanging entrails, missing teeth. Your breath quickens, you feel yourself sinking. Everything is fuzzy and you can’t breathe, he shouldn’t be poking around a place like this. He touches your shoulder and you flinch harder than you should.

“No! No, the only thing weird around here is how the people are so fucking happy to die in this shithole.” You swipe his hand away from you, flashes of childhood summers spent exploring those woods.

When you would wade in the creek with your head poking out to watch the gargantuan wooden monsters slowly drag themselves through the forest. Creatures that would follow just two steps behind you, cracking joints each time they moved. Monsters that would take shape of familiar animas, then skitter away when you got close. Screams would echo throughout the evergreens, things unseen. How can anyone witness a tree falling if they didn’t hear it?

Ford retracts his hand, looking at you with worry. Eyes softened, lips slightly parted, brows furrowed. You hate it. You hate when people look at you with pity and anguish, like you’re a soft underbelly of a doe waiting to be sliced open.

You shudder, “I’m sorry, sorry. I just, I’m tired. This case got me all worked up.”

You rub your own arms in comfort, avoiding to look at Ford in his big watery browns. He nods, “of course, I’ll show you to the room.”

He leads you gently to the spare, bag in hand and other on the small of your back. The room is clean, neat, and painfully sterile. Devoid of any personality or substance. It’ll do just fine.

“Not many people use this, sheets are clean and there’s a bathroom down the hall to the left. I’m only the next door down.”

You nod slowly, the wearing exhaustion is making your head throb and your bones ache from sitting for so long. Ford pats your shoulder, “don’t be afraid to knock on my door if things go bump in the night.”

You want to hit him. He chuckles at your sour frown, turning to leave you when you call out to him.

“Thank you, Stanford. I really do appreciate it.”

He gives a half-pained, half-sincere smile and walks into his room. You hear the clicking of his lock, you do the same.

There is an ominous silence that makes the cabin, so deathly quiet that you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You scramble to turn on the lamp, exhaling in relief at the warm glow on your face.

Ford is next door, you are not with your mother, things are fine. You are fine. You will not acknowledge the scratching at the walls, nor the tapping at the window. You will pretend everything is normal, that this town is normal, that you are normal.

You fall into a restless sleep, tossing and turning until you succumb. Ford is prowling, just beyond your bedroom, he has slipped outside into the cool night and has disappeared into the woods.

You won’t even know he’s gone by the time you wake up in the morning.

[starlight-lesbians]

so girlball and og greaseball are the same character fundamentally yes…

but al knott makes her greasey so feral??? like ive said this before, she has the energy of like a hungry animal circling prey sooo often and its like kinda oooooo

i don’t have a gif of it, but in the intro to i am me where she’s kinda following the coaches around? like that. she looks like she’s gonna eat them What

(then she goes from that to sopping wet cat at the end aaw)

[hoodreader]

MY CAT’S CHART 💋

his birth date is approximative. this is what the foster told me and they were monitoring him since he was a couple weeks old, so i went with it.

menu — forms — readings open.

TAURUS SUN.

comfort over everything. and he gon lay on whatever make him feel comfy, he don’t gaf.

grooms himself. naps for like an hour. wakes up. then he grooms again. cycle continues.

he’s very patient. it takes a lot to get him to be upset with u. he don’t hiss or anything, he’ll complain meow when annoyed.

i have a very greedy cat. he is so loud and demanding when he wants to eat ur food.

PISCES MOON.

pretty shy and sensitive. he can be easy to overwhelm if u don’t know him.

he don’t like feeling smothered in any capacity and he don’t like being held too long. pushing him will cause him to hide.

he feels safe when given space (if u don’t know him) and then letting him decide if he wanna be closer. he’s a vibe reader.

very empathetic. when i was or felt sad, he’d always come in and check on me. he’d meow like “what’s wrong?” then just purr and lay with me. cats definitely aren’t always asocial.

because he’s so docile he usually won’t assert boundaries himself. i’d have to step in.

TAURUS MERCURY (Rx).

a real yapper. especially about food. makes sense b/c taurus rules the vocal chords.

makes a wide variety of sounds. chirps, chatters, trills (he sounds like a pigeon).

always purring. sometimes all i have to do is look at him and he’ll start purring.

his voice is light for the most part!

mercury is ur sense of community. Rx mercury people might be more on the shy side, and he prefers a small community.

CANCER VENUS.

a real cuddle bug. his love language is probably quality time or physical touch.

he is very clingy. will walk between my legs as i walk around. and i trip over him often.

he’s very sensuous in my opinion. he loves looking outside the window and loafing as he just takes the outside world in. very zen 🧘🏾

again loves to eat. food brings him great joy.

CANCER MARS.

conflict avoidant, but he can be territorial and defensive about whatever he considers to be his domain. he act like he run shit

the first day he met another dog, i saw a side of him i never seen. he puffed up big and crab walked, trying to dominate the energy.

my cat was definitely like “aight now…” like… i was pretty proud of him for trying!

but in tense situations, he kinda doesn’t hold his own. i remember i got a female cat (i surrendered her b/c the shelter thought it was best). she was lowkey hoeing him. 💀

ARIES JUPITER.

the shelter named him “Superman” because they said he was the bravest out of his litter mates, as he was born to a feral cat mother.

he is very adventurous and curious, despite his shyness. he just isn’t adventurous about people. but he loves to explore otherwise.

“carpe diem” is his expression for sure.

he’s so destructive though. and too curious sometimes. once he jumped on our closet shelf to knock down the muffins we purposefully hid from him. then he ate them

he also bit through my tarot cards

he jumped on the fridge and ate our baguette. imagine my shock when i saw the baguette with a cartoonish bite mark in it.

PISCES SATURN.

he appreciates a good nap. which is something i love. because one thang i know two thangs certain, he gon take a mf nap.

saturn shows how we rest / work. so his being in pisces really shows that he values the rest aspect of saturn.

he so hardheaded sometimes but that’s because (1) he has the comparable of a two year old but (2) he doesn’t believe in rules.

because well… he’s a cat.

but i love the way he doesn’t let my human values stop him from living his best life

and i love our chart energies.

his sun is conjunct my venus (in the eleventh house). like it’s giving best friends, lmao. his south node is conjunct my fifth house moon too, it’s giving we really been besties.

his south node is conjunct my bf/co guardian’s moon too. tbh we all are just super watery (lmao) so it’s a lot of emotion in our trio dynamic. i also love how his venus and mars is in my first house/in my bf’s eleventh house.

it’s wild cuz i deadass feel like this cat can read my mind sometimes. he just knows me. and i wish i could explain to him how much i love him.

i’ll love him to the end of time. he’s my best friend, confidant, and there will never be a cat like him. 🤍 the universe sent u to me. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

[leavemebetosleep]

I am now obsessed with Fluttershy and Discord’s child. Is they friends with any of the other mane 6’s future kids? (Or Spike?)

I haven't designed any other kids yet, though I do think she'd get on with Cheesecake (Pinkie's canon child). Have a doodle from my sketchbook here:

I might do a better one later. But yeah, if Lil Cheese is anything like his mother, I can't imagine them not getting along at least. She is entertained by his energy and whimsy, and he is unbothered by her scary powers, lack of speech, or being three times his size.

As for Spike, he's a little too old to be her peer at this point, but I'm sure he gets roped into babysitting now and again. He doesn't like doing it lmao. To him it's like trying to catch a feral cat that can fly, and then get it to take a nap.

For all her adorable little creature energy, Minx is a bit of a handful, and a little bitey. She's mostly non verbal, so people outside Fluttershy and Discord don't often know how to gauge what she wants or what she's feeling. When she gets frustrated, she resorts to her powers (or biting) to get what she needs, and that can lead to a lot of conflict.

Luckily she has two doting parents and a lot of wonderful Aunties who are willing to figure it out with her.

[cryptid-paint]

I love the cryptid ass energy you've given Logan. Like people have definitely seen him in the woods and thought he was short ass Bigfoot. I headcannon that his eyes do that creepy ass glowy cat thing all the time. Especially when Wade finds him in the kitchen at 1 am.

OMH HIIII THANK YOU!!! as a monsters and cryptids lover (I guess it's obvious with my username lmao) this is a HUGE Compliment, so genuinely, thank you so much! I am also a firm believer of feral Logan, idk if you have seen it, but on my art tag I did a reference of my version of wolverine and gave him a tapetum lucidum, which is the layer of tissue in the eye, it's right behind the retina and it's what makes animals eyes shinny in the dark and allows them to have a better night vision, so yes I can guarantee you Wade has been spooked plenty of nights when he turns around and sees nothing but two yellow orbs in the dark hallways and it's just Logan standing there waiting for him like a shy puppy lmao (I headcanon Laura has these two so whenever she visits her gay dads, Wade gets a double spook attack lmao)

Speaking of cryptids!! Logan has definitely been seen running around and I giggle thinking about reports and news and stuff like that quoting that people around the neighborhood have been seeing a wild creature with glowing eyes, and huge claws running around and it's just Logan...lmao I screamed laughing when you called him a short ass bigfoot lmao I think people would mistake him for lots of things, short ass bigfoot, the dogman, a werewolf, hell even the moth man, why not, he's all the cryptids in one entity by now lmao I wonder what cryptid name would be assigned to him, the wolverine man sounds too silly lmao thank you for this ask, you made me laugh so hard and I'm giggling and kicking my feet rn lmao 💜💜💜