#cats are liquid fandom

[mochaxswirl]

im not giving up on you, lumi

[cheebuss]

[click for details] The council (poll) has spoken with a clear winner! and here they are! Pyro warrior cat >:D!!

Probably the most difficult one yet, but I had a lot of fun trying to problem solve how to design them in a way that still maintained their anonymity

Image text below cut:

Always have flowers in their pelts!

Covered in thick mud constantly (they like it :] dries a bit near rear.)

"Mask" is a trash bag and plastic bottle with a wet rag inside (made by their respective Engineers.)

"Flamethrower" is an ignited stick covered in pine resin.

In battle, either Pyro will take a mouthful of a mixture made from prey's fatty oils and tree sap and spray it on their breath onto the ignited stick while aiming with their tail (think a fire breather.)

[acewithobsessions]

*googles how to make more people join your small fandom*

[ballsalsda]

Lets revive the cats are liquid fandom... Together

[ask-cats-are-liquid]

to green:

where did you get your knowledge of fandoms and stuff from? any fandoms you're in?

[catophile]

(via "Black Cat Aesthetic Floral" Mouse Pad for Sale by Catophile)

Cyber Monday Sales

[bonefall]

⭕️Hey Bones! Is it ok if you explain and/or elaborate how Crowfeather is abusive to Breezepelt if please?⭕️

I do KNOW that crowfeather is indeed, abusive to Breezepelt, due to the fact that he emotionally and/or physically neglected him - with child neglect being known to BE a form of child abuse - and I also heard that he slashed and/or hit him within one of the books, which I believe is in the book Outcast, in chapter 16.

But I also wish people would talk and be informed about it more within the fandom, because in the parts of the fandom I’ve known portrayed Crowfeather’s neglect on Breezepelt as negative and bad, but not in a way that made me think and/or feel: “Wow, that’s pretty bad. That’s…actually abusive.” I suppose? So I hope more people will talk about it more in that type of way.

Also, please be aware that I have NOT read PoT, OoTS, etc. or barely any warrior cats books, since the majority of the information I got from the series is from the wiki and the fandom, so that probably explains why I didn’t know this part of Crowfeather’s character is as bad as it actually is until now. Also, feel free to talk about Crowfeather’s abuse on Breezepelt I haven’t mentioned and/or don’t know right now as well if you want.

I’m SO sorry that if this ask is unintentionally quite long, and feel free to make sure to take all the time you need to answer it. Thank you!

OH LET'S GOOOO

Breezepelt is both physically and emotionally abused by Crowfeather. I'm not talking about only child neglect; he is screamed at, belittled, and even once hit on-screen.

The fact that Crowfeather both neglected and abused him is very important to the canonical story of Breezepaw. There's actually a lot more to this character than people remember! Even from his first appearances he displays good qualities, a strained relationship with his father and adult clanmates, and is clearly shown to be troubled before we understand why.

As many problems as I have with the direction of Breezepelt's arc (especially Crowfeather's Trial), his setup is legitimately a praiseworthy bit of writing from Po3 which carries over into OotS. To say that Breezepelt was not abused is to completely miss two arcs worth of books SCREAMING it.

BIG POST. Glossary;

INTRO TO BREEZEPELT: The Sight and Dark River

ABUSE: Outcast, Social Alienation, the Tribe Journey.

DARK FOREST: How these factors push him towards radicalization.

For "brevity," I'm not getting into anything post-OotS. I'm just showing that Breezepelt was abused, the narrative wants you to know that he was abused, and that his status as a victim of child abuse is CENTRAL to understanding why he is training in the Dark Forest.

INTRO TO BREEZEPELT: The Sight and Dark River

Our very first introduction to Breeze is when Jaypaw walks off a cliff in the first book of Po3 and is rescued by a WindClan patrol. He's making snarky remarks, and Whitetail and Crowfeather are not happy about it. Whitetail snaps for Crow to teach his son some manners, and Crow growls for Breezepaw to be quiet.

But our proper introduction to him is at his announcement gathering, when Heatherpaw playfully introduces him as a friend,

From the offset something's not entirely right here between Breezepaw and his father. He's cut off by Heatherpaw here, but he's touchy whenever his father is involved, and we're not entirely sure why.

Throughout Book 1, he's just rude, with a notable xenophobic streak. He's a bit of a mean rival character for Lionpaw, as they're both interested in the affections of Heatherpaw and make bids to get her attention, but nothing particularly violent yet.

He participates in the beloved Kitty Olympics and gets buried in liquid dirt with Lionpaw, basically a rite of passage for any arc.

(And Nightcloud has a cute moment where she watches over them until they fall asleep)

As the books progress, the relationship between Crow and Breeze visibly deteriorates. They start from being simply tense with each other in The Sight, to the open shouting and hitting we see in Outcast.

In the very first chapter of Dark River, we learn where his behavioral issues are really coming from;

Crowfeather.

Breezepelt is getting xenophobia from his father. Occasionally he says something bigoted and his dad will agree and chime in, and those are the only positive moments they have together.

(Note: In contrast, Nightcloud explicitly pushes back against xenophobia, chiding Breezepelt for his rudeness to Lionpaw in back in The Sight, Chapter 21. The Sight is the book where a lot of "evidence" that the Evil Overbearing Woman is actually responsible for the rift between father and son but. No. She's not. Though she can be overprotective; Crow and Breeze have a bad relationship when she's not even around in Breeze's first appearance and even his Crowfeather's Trial Epiphany refutes it. Anyway this post isn't about Nightcloud.)

So he starts acting on his bigotry, accusing cats in other Clans of stealing, running really close to the border. What's interesting though, is that this is not entirely his doing. The first time we get physical trouble from Breezepaw, DUSTPELT aggressed it. Breezepaw and Harepaw were just chasing a squirrel and hadn't yet gone over the border at all.

We learn that WindClan is teaching its apprentices how to hunt in woodland, and tensions between the two Clans is starting to escalate as ThunderClan isn't entirely trusting of their intentions.

The second time, fighting breaks out over him and Harepaw actually crossing the border and catching a squirrel. WindClan is adamant that because it came from their land, it's their squirrel. So it's as if Breezepaw is modelling the aggression around him, learning how to behave from the older warriors and his father.

When he joins Heatherpaw and The Three to go find Gorsetail's kits in the tunnels, he's grouchy towards the ThunderClan cats, but very gentle with the kittens. Notably so. When Thistlekit is dangerously cold, he cuddles up next to her, and even assures Swallowkit when she's scared,

Through this entire excursion, he's the one in the comforting roles for the kittens. Breezepaw is the one who is taking time to tell the kits they'll be okay, that he'll protect them, and physically supporting them when they're weak, even when he's terrified.

And it's always contrasted to Heatherpaw who's way more 'disciplined,' as a side note. It's a detail I'm just fond of.

All this to point out,

Breezepelt displays his best qualities when he's away from the older warriors of WindClan, and he's at his worst whenever he's near Crowfeather. Even while he's essentially just a bully character for The Three to deal with. He's gruff but cooperative when it's just him and Heatherpaw interacting with The Three, but mean when there is an adult to please.

We're getting to the on-screen abuse now, but Po3 actually sets up Breezepaw's troubles and dynamics well before it's finally confirmed that he is a victim of child abuse.

ABUSE: Outcast, the Tribe Journey.

In Outcast, Breezepaw's problems have escalated into open aggression towards cats of other Clans, and is now a legitimate concern for his own safety. Yet, he's spoken over by older warriors, and reprimanded at nearly every opportunity, right in front of the warrior of another Clan.

Squilf just asked the poor kid how his training was going, and then Whitetail JUMPS to talk over him so she can complain, RIGHT in front of his face.

They can't even wait until they're alone to grumble something rude about Breezepaw, who is still just a teenager here;

They taught him already that a bit of prey that runs off their own territory still belongs to WindClan, encourage him to blow past borders in pursuit, and started a battle with ThunderClan over this. And then they're pissed off at him for being aggressive, thinking it's deserved to scold him in public.

When Onestar announces that he wants Breezepaw to go on the Tribe Journey, he's devastated by it...

Because he thinks WindClan doesn't like him, and he's right. He's gossiped about, torn into in front of a ThunderClan warrior, and even his own dad doesn't want to be around him. It's clear that Breezepaw's impulsive "codebreaking" behaviors are a desire to prove himself, and once you realize that, the way that he's being alienated is heartbreaking.

But Wait!! Hold on a minute! Where did he get a "patrol of apprentices" from to confront the dogs with, exactly?

Simple. Breezepaw CAN make friends! He actually values them a lot! So much that it's the first thing Crowfeather snaps at him over, out of frustration that his son is also being forced on this journey with him. It's an angry response to his child having emotional and physical needs, resentment that will continue all journey long.

Note that it's plural, friends. Breezepelt has multiple friends, at least one who is not Heatherpaw, and she promises to say goodbye to them.

Up next, they state over and over, Crowfeather and Breezepaw do not like each other. Crowfeather resents being around him and dealing with his rudeness, embarrassed and angry, and Breezepaw is absolutely miserable being sent on a journey to the mountains with a man who hates his guts.

The whole while, Crowfeather is brooding longingly about Feathertail, already thinking about her as soon as he kitty-kisses Nightcloud goodbye, his eyes looking somewhere distant. He makes a jab about loyalty when Breezepaw doesn't understand why they're helping the Tribe.

Breezepaw gets smacked after he's "shoved" at Purdy and acts rude to him, while the other three manage to be polite (while still having internal dialogue about how stinky he is).

Without so much as a, "cut that out," Crowfeather raises his paw and hits him. Breeze is quiet after that.

I don't give a shit how rude your teenager is being. Do not hit kids. Being throttled on the head is not okay.

In spite of the Three not liking Breezepaw, or even Crowfeather, they're constantly noting that their arguments are not normal, and that Crow is a cold, unsupportive father who digs into his kid constantly, and the only time he ever DOES "discipline" his child it's through immediately smacking him.

At one point, the apprentices get hungry, and decide to foolishly hunt in a barn that they know has dogs in it against Purdy's warnings. Once again, JUST like the first two books, Breezepaw is more friendly when Crowfeather is not around.

EVERY time he is alone with cats his own age, he's grumpy but cooperative. Even enthusiastic at times! The minute Crowfeather is in the picture, he's nasty.

Naturally, the dogs show up, but Purdy rescues them. Though Brambleclaw also chews his kids out (and i have strong opinions about bramble's parenting style for another time), Hollypaw is taken aback by the contrast of what a scolding from Brambleclaw looks like vs how Crowfeather reacts.

The narrative is desperately trying to tell you that the way Crowfeather treats his son is not normal.

And then Crowfeather is pissed off that Breezepaw is exhausted from running for his life from hungry dogs,

And he's constantly losing his shit whenever Breezepaw says something as innocuous as "dad im hungry"

Then, Breezepaw is made to watch his dad pine over the grave of a woman who died long before Crowfeather was even considering his mother for a mate. What he feels is jealousy, because he knows his own father doesn't love him anywhere near as much as he loves the memory of Feathertail.

This really goes on and on and on. The ENTIRE trip is like this, with Crowfeather treating Breezepelt poorly, giving him a smack before even verbally warning him, pushing him past his limits and blowing up on him when he asks simple questions about eating or resting.

It all comes to a head in this one exchange, towards the end. Hollypaw ends up snapping at Breezepaw for his rudeness, before having an epiphany.

It's explicit. Crowfeather's emotional abuse, his "scorn" for Breezepelt, is what is driving a wedge between him and all of his older Clanmates. Between EVERYONE in Breezepelt's life who wasn't already his friend. This awful treatment is only making him worse and worse.

Realizing this, she has more sympathy for him, but it's too late. He continues to be rude to her because he feels insulted, and her patience completely runs out. She's just a kid. They're both just kids. She's not responsible for fixing him when he's pushing everyone away at this point.

That's the end of Breezepelt in Outcast. It can't be helped anymore. Any spark of friendship they had together in the barn, or in the tunnels, is gone.

As the series progresses, Crowfeather continues to refuse any personal responsibility for the mistreatment of his son, even pinning all of Breezepelt's behavioral problems on Nightcloud. He is a cold, selfish father who only ever thinks about his own pain and reputation.

DARK FOREST: How these factors push him towards radicalization.

Everyone talks about the Attack on Poppyfrost, which happens in the first book of OotS, in oversimplified terms. YES he is going after a nun and a pregnant woman. I've never said that's not Bad.

But no one talks about "WHY", and that reason is NOT just that he desires power like so many other WC villains. Breezepelt makes his motivation very clear on the page.

Escalating to violence was about making Jayfeather feel the way that he does.

When Breezepelt says that he wants Jay to be surrounded by "lies, hatred, and things that should never have happened," he's talking about the way HE grew up, knowing his father never wanted him, and that his Clan HATES him as a result. Killing Poppyfrost is about trying to frame Jayfeather for her murder, so ThunderClan won't trust him anymore.

When Jayfeather points out the simple truth that what Breezepelt is saying doesn't make any goddamn sense, his hatred "falters." He's blaming his half-clan half-brother for his own treatment because of the reveal, but totally failed to consider that JAYFEATHER'S ALREADY GOING THROUGH IT... so his response is just this pitiful, "s-shut up, man."

Then the ghost of Brokenstar and Breezepelt bounce him back and forth between them like a beach ball for a bit until Honeyfern's spirit shows up.

Breezepelt's childhood abuse and social alienation was a hook that the Dark Forest latched onto, to reel him in. His anger at his half-brother is so obviously misplaced that its absurdity was something Jayfeather pointed out.

We soon learn that it's the Dark Forest who's planting that ridiculous idea in his head;

The narration is SCREAMING, "The Dark Forest is validating the anger he feels towards his father, and redirecting it towards The Three." He's described as 'kitlike,' Tigerstar's eyes are compared to a hypnotizing snake.

This prose could not make it more obvious if it drove to your house, beat you with it, and then spoon fed you the point while you were hospitalized.

At the end of this scene, Tigerstar sends Hawkfrost to recruit Ivypaw. This scene where Breezepelt is being lovebombed, and the command to start grooming Ivypaw, ARE LINKED. That was a choice.

A VERY GOOD choice! Again, as many issues as I have with OotS, its handling of indoctrination is unironically fantastic, and it owes a good amount of that to the outstanding setup of Breezepelt that was done back in Po3. And that setup doesn't work if Crowfeather was merely distant.

Breezepelt was abused by his father, both verbally and physically. It drove him to be more aggressive to prove himself, modeling the battle culture around him. The adults of WindClan judged him based off Crowfeather's responses, shunning and belittling the 'problem' teenager, which eventually drove Breezepelt to the only group that he felt "understood" him.

In a book series that is RIFE with abuse apologia, this is one of the few times that there's any behavioral consequences for abuse and the narrative holds the perpetrator accountable for it.

But people hear Crowfeather's deflective excuse in The Last Hope where he says he never hated him, blames Nightcloud for everything, and just lick it up uncritically.

Gee whiz, I wonder why the guy who never blames himself for any of his problems would suddenly say it was his ex-wife's fault. Real headscratcher!

(Crowfeather's Trial then goes onto, for all my own problems with it, also hold Crow accountable as the reason why Breezepelt turned out like he did. But that's a topic for another day.)

[crescentmp3]

hruggnh... the urge to make an ask blog

[katiexpunk]

Crying Over Spilt Detergent | Joel Miller x f!reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~3K Warnings: A bit of an unrealistic fuck, emotions, cheating, fingering, unprotected p in v, soft!Joel, feelings, crying, praise kink, size kink. There are no physical descriptions of reader apart from clothing and reference to a “red line” in her palm from holding a laundry basket. Read on AO3 A/N: Well, this was a surprise. Had a pretty shitty day :( and just needed to write to get out of my head so I decided to do a one shot. This fandom always makes me smile, and I hope you all enjoy this. Still new to writing for Joel, and fics in general, so please be kind. If you like it, consider liking, commenting or reblogging -- really helps encourage me to keep going, and tbh, it would be a welcome distraction. Thanks hunnie bunnies, ilysm.

The laundry basket wedged onto your hip is starting to get uncomfortable, heavy from the clothes you’ve neglected the past few weeks. Your grip on the plastic edge is beginning to leave a red line in the crease of your fingers. 

The laundromat wasn’t a far walk, but it wasn’t particularly short, either – the distance just enough to be a bit of a burden. 

You don’t mind. 

You need to clear your head after the shitty day you’ve just had.

After what you’ve just learned. 

The sun dips below the horizon, and the typical Americana summer night rolls in. 

You amble down the narrow sidewalk, taking the town in for what it is – what it’s always been.

The air was thick with the sweet smell of barbecue smoke from the nearby grill. The yellow street lights started to flicker on, staining the darkening streets with their harsh, synthetic glow. The sound of cold beers being toasted rings out from the nearby bar. 

The asphalt, still warm from the summer sun, hums beneath your feet. The aging brick buildings, with their chipped paint and well-worn charm, watch over the streets like silent sentinels, their windows reflecting the moonlight. 

You pause to move the basket to your other hip, and that’s when you see it. 

Sometimes the smallest towns hold the biggest secrets. 

The title of the book reflects back at you through the glass pane of the bookstore window. 

You smirk. 

It’s not the town. 

It’s the people. 

You should know.   X X X

The bright red LAUNDROMAT sign lights the night sky. The OPEN sign hangs in the window. 

You step through the threshold, relieved to finally have some respite from the stickiness of the humidity. 

You walk toward the washing machines, and release your now-aching grip on the basket onto the counter in front of you.  

As you gaze around, you’re grateful to find that nobody is there. 

Not that you expected anyone to be there – not at this hour, anyway. 

The worn-out linoleum, the rhythmic hum of the old machines, the scent of detergent and bleach – as weird as it is, you’ve come to appreciate it. 

You like doing your laundry at night. 

Alone in your solitude. 

Alone in your mind. 

With your laundry now loaded into the drum, you’re fumbling with the oversized detergent bottle. 

Damn thing. 

Before you know it, it slips from your grasp. 

The cap pops open and a cascade of neon-blue liquid spills onto the floor beneath you. 

Shit. 

God damn it. 

Holding the now-empty detergent bottle, your heart lurches, the weight of the accident pressing down on you, compounding everything that’s already happened today. 

The detergent puddle expands slowly, seeping into the grooves between the tiles, lacing the air with an overpowering scent of artificial freshness. 

You clumsily step back, your sneakers slip on the slick surface and you fall to the floor. 

The overwhelming scent of the detergent fills your senses, and the now literal pain in your ass exacerbates the sudden sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

Great. This is just what you need.

You sit there, head down, covered in goo, your face warm and your cheeks wet, when the familiar ring of the bell above the door catches your attention. 

A man steps through. 

His boots thud softly against the ground and the door swings shut behind him.

Through your blurry gaze, you look up and are surprised at who you see. 

Joel Miller. 

You’ve never talked to him before, and only know his name because…well, people talk.

Not many people come into this town, and especially not people that look like him. 

All you know about him is that he’s new in town, here for a few months to oversee the construction job of the new hospital. He’s single. Lives with his teenage daughter, Sarah. 

Apart from that, he’s a total stranger. 

While you haven’t actually spoken with him, you’ve definitely stolen a few glances at him around town – at the hardware store up the street in the paint section; in the frozen section of the grocery store with a Hungry-Man in his hand; nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar after a long day. 

Joel pauses at the entrance of the laundromat and stares at you and the soap-painted canvas you’ve turned the floor into. 

“Shit, honey. Are you alright?” he asks with delicate caution, voice low, as he walks towards you. 

Even in your state, you pause to notice the sweetness of his southern drawl. 

He crouches down, facing you, and the tread of his boots grazes the puddle of detergent.

You look up at him, eyes red and swollen from the torrent of tears that had moments before been cascading down your cheeks. The harsh fluorescent light overhead reflects off your glistening tears, playing across your distraught features like a lachrymose prism.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." your voice cracks, the lie too heavy on your trembling lips. 

For a moment, silence claims the laundromat, before you drop the act entirely. 

"No…no, I'm not," you admit, your voice shattering the quiet. 

He’s only just met you, but the visible pain in your eyes causes his heart to hurt. 

“C’mere, let’s get you off this floor,” he says as he offers you his large palm.

You place your hand in his. 

With a gentle pull, he helps you up from the cold, hard ground. As you rise, you slightly stumble, and he instinctively pulls you into a comforting embrace. 

His kindness, his warmth, catch you by surprise. 

You find refuge in his arms, your body sinking into his as he wraps you in a protective hug. 

You notice a faint, distinctive scent swirling around him - a mix of woodsmoke, fresh laundry - although that’s probably you - and an underlying hint of pine and aftershave. It's a comforting, welcoming smell, a smell that somehow feels like home. 

Nestled in his strong arms, you find unexpected solace to the harsh reality of your pain. 

“So, ‘m guessin’ you’re not just cryin’ over spilt detergent,” he says.  Joel Miller is an observant man. 

You release your grip around him, and take a step back, now painfully aware that you don’t actually know him, but you could have stayed in his embrace for hours. 

“No, I…um. No. It’s not about the detergent,” you pause to lock eyes with him. “It’s just, I’ve had a no good, really awful fucking day, and now,” you pause to take a breath, your arms lifting and falling by your sides in exasperation “...this.” 

Joel looks around at the mess, at you, and places both of his hands on his hips. He wants to ask you what’s wrong, about your day, but he doesn’t want to pry. 

Instead, he simply says, “Yeah, I’d say this is quite the mess you’ve got yourself into here, sweetheart.” 

He has no idea. 

“C’mere, I’ll help you clean it up,” he offers as his head tilts to the janitor's closet in the back.

You normally wouldn’t be so quick to accept a stranger's help, but you’d be there until the morning if you had to clean up the mess yourself.

It's not like you wanted to go home anyway, not after what happened, but you don't particularly want to spend all night in the laundromat, either.

In the closet, you find an old mop and bucket and a handful of extra towels. 

You grab them, walk back to the sea of soap, and you both drop to your knees to begin to clean up the mess. 

While the floor gets cleaner, you both get dirtier – wet and soapy from the mundane and repetitive task of swiping the detergent off the floor, rinsing it in the water in the bucket, and bringing it back to the floor. 

You don’t speak. 

Halfway through your cleanup job, Joel is the first to break the silence. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently, his voice soft yet inviting, sincerity and genuine concern reflected in his tone. 

You stop cleaning.

“My boyfriend – he, um. He’s cheating on me,” you cough out, feeling the tears begin to well in your eyes once more. 

You go back to cleaning to distract yourself, noticing the scuffs from countless footsteps etched into the tiles. 

“With my sister,” your confession hangs in the air. 

Joel inhales sharply, his heart aching for you once more. 

“I guess it’s been going on for a while now,” you continue. 

“I came home from work today to find a note on our kitchen table –” 

“He told me –” You trail off, and you’re full-on crying again, unable to keep your tears at bay, the droplets falling to the ground create little soap bubbles as they mingle with the detergent and the friction of the towel.

“He told me it’s over. He packed his stuff and he left.” 

“Seven years and the fucker couldn’t even tell me in person.” 

Your sadness was starting to be replaced with something else, something grittier and darker – rage. 

You furiously begin cleaning the floor – there’s hardly any detergent left, yet, you scrub. 

Mid-sweep of the rag, Joel places his palm over the top of your hand to stop the movement. 

His touch is warm and reassuring. 

"Damn…’m really sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. It's a simple response, stripped of any pretense. “You don’t deserve that.” 

As he looks you directly in your eyes, you can’t help but notice the flecks of amber in his gaze. 

It stirs something low in your belly. 

Joel admires the soft features of your face as you stare back at his. Your beautiful, somewhat bloodshot eyes – your swollen and pillowy lips.  

Fuck. 

He knows you’re sad, but did you have to look so hot like this? 

Joel knows it’s wrong, he knows he just met you, but for some inexplicable reason, he just wants to make you feel good. 

He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat, and edges closer to you on his knees so your knees straddle the empty space between him and his thigh. 

Gently, he lifts his hand, the calloused palm coming to rest against your soft, tear-streaked cheek. 

The world around you seems to fade away as he brushes away the remnants of your tears with his thumb, his touch as light as a feather. 

Your eyes meet, and a silent exchange of emotions begins to swirl in your depths. 

Joel watches your breathing hitch, your eyes reflecting surprise. Slowly, cautiously, he moves his thumb down to trace the contour of your trembling lips. 

He pauses, waiting for you to pull away. 

You don’t. You’re not really sure why. 

The anticipation builds as he leans in, your faces only inches apart.

Your breaths mingle together momentarily, and then he plants a soft kiss on your lips. 

You hum in delight at the feeling of his lips.  

You happily accept his eager tongue and swoon when you notice he tastes like mint toothpaste. It’s intoxicating.

Joel pulls away, realizing that what he’s doing probably isn’t a good idea. 

You’re sad, and you’ve just had the worst day ever, and he doesn’t even know your name for christs sake. 

“I – shit, sorry. I don’t know what came over me there…I just realized I don’t even know your name,” he says, brow creased in concern and the starting looks of regret. 

“You’ve had a bad day, and you’re sad. I don’t wan –” you interrupt him, lips crashing fiercely into his. 

Still on your knees, you put your arms around his neck and intertwine your fingers through his hair. 

This whole day has felt like a living nightmare. Completely out of your control. 

But this? This you can control. 

You’ve just met him, but god, you’ve never wanted someone so fucking bad. 

Joel holds you by the waist close to his chest, and you can feel his hard cock beginning to strain against you in his jeans. 

Your lips part with his briefly and you lean forward to whisper your name in his ear. 

He groans in response. Learning your name, shit, even the sound of your name causes more blood to flow to his already hard dick.

With one hand on your waist, you start to feel the other one slowly inching down the curve of your ass, around your hip, and into the space between your two bodies. 

The tips of his fingers find the elastic waistband of your cotton shorts and thin underwear you’re wearing. His hand slips below both, and his fingers quickly find the soft skin between your legs. 

He begins to spread your folds, feeling your stickiness.

You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet. 

He slowly pushes a finger into you.

“Gonna make you feel you feel real good, sweetheart, just like you deserve,” he says. 

With his finger inside you, he watches you closely – he drinks in the way you hold your breath as he fills you. 

He adds a second finger and scissors them in and out until your breathing is ragged and you’re limp against his chest. 

His fingers retreat from your tight hole, and he begins to draw circles over your clit, finally giving you the friction you need. 

His fingers remain relentless, and the rising heat of your orgasm quickly approaches. 

“Joel, mmmm,” your breathless moans echo in his ear, and your face goes tight, then unravels into a rush of sticky sweet release. 

“That’s it, baby. Look so beautiful like this,” he praises.

Joel removes his hand and raises his glistening fingers up to his lips, and licks them clean of you. 

“Need to fuck you, sweetheart,” he says as he palms at his length. 

You both rise to stand, and he lifts you up on top of the washer. 

You quickly reach out to unbuckle his belt and release him from his jeans. 

Shit. 

He’s so big. 

He takes himself in hand and swipes his length a few times, using his pre-cum as lube. 

As if to know what you were thinking, Joel says, “It’s okay, I think we’ll make it fit.” 

Joel positions himself between your legs and then notches his heavy cock and its red weeping tip at your entrance and begins to push himself inside you. 

You gasp. 

“Fuck –”

“So tight, such a sweet little cunt,” he says during his pause, letting you adjust to the size of him before he starts to move. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug at the fabric of his shirt, and he pulls you closer into him with each thrust of his hips. 

You’re dripping for him, practically gushing – his thick member glides in and out of you with ease, and you savor each thrust he gives you. 

You just met, but by the way he fucks in and out out of you, you could have sworn your bodies were made to be connected. 

He can feel his release starting to build, but he wants to get you there before him. 

He snakes a hand to your core, rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit and he thrusts into you harder. 

“Good girl,” thrust, “such a good girl,” thrust. 

It’s almost enough, his praise. You’re almost there. 

Your fingernails dig little crescents into his back, and he coos, “Want you to come for me again, baby. Come on my cock –” 

His voice and the command he gives you are enough to send you over the edge. 

Your mind goes blank for the second time tonight as your orgasm ripples through you.

Your tight walls clamp down on him. 

He watches as you throw your head back, moans spilling from your lips as your body releases subtle shakes. 

“Fuck, that was pretty,” Joel growls. “Gonna cum, need to cum,” he pants.  

He gives you a few more rolls of his hips before he quickly pulls out, and shoots his hot milky load onto your belly. 

Both of your breaths come to a slow, and he looks at you affectionately, “you okay?” 

You nod. “Yes,” and for the first time today, you actually are. 

“Looks like we have another mess to clean up,” Joel quips as a smile washes over his face. 

He helps you off the washer, and helps you clean yourself off.

You both finish what you entered the laundromat to do – laundry. 

You talk while your clothes dry. 

He helps you fold yours. You help him fold his. 

Once done, you walk out of the laundromat together, unsure of where to go from here. 

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride,” Joel says, as he nods towards his truck.  

You accept his offer, no longer needing a walk to clear your head. 

Both on the passenger side of the truck, Joel pauses as it suddenly dawns on him that he never told you his name. 

“How’d you know my name?” he asks.

“It’s a small town,” you say, “everyone talks.”

And has their secrets.

END

[fanby-fckry]

What’s the Deal With the Five Foot Rule?

Day 2 of Ace Alastor Week: No Touch Tuesday

Word Count: 1,868

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Warnings: Threats of Violence, References to Alastor-Typical Cannibalism/Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse

Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel)

Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Hazbin Hotel Ensemble, Mentioned Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant (mostly), Post-Episode: s01e05 Dad Beat Dad, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Developing Friendships, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Starved Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), (both tags are relevant trust me), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Husk is So Done (Hazbin Hotel), Drinking, Drinking & Talking, The Five Foot Rule (Hazbin Hotel), Hunicast References, you can pry the hunicast platonic radiodust dynamic from my cold dead hands

Series: Part 2 of Fanby’s Ace Alastor Week 2024 ( <- Prev || Next -> )

Summary:

“So, smiles,” Angel said, leaning against the bar and nursing a drink. “What’s your deal?”

Radio feedback crackled in the air while Husk frantically made ‘cut it out’ gestures from over Alastor’s shoulder.

“My Deal?” Alastor repeated in a tone that made Angel suspect he’d touched a nerve in a way he hadn’t even been trying to.

“Uh yeah, the whole ‘five foot rule’ thing,” Angel clarified, and watched as Alastor and Husk both visibly relaxed. “What’s up with that?”

*

A cat, a deer, and a spider walk into a hotel bar, get drunk, and discuss the finer points of Alastor’s famous ‘five foot rule’.

Better on AO3

“So, smiles,” Angel said, leaning against the bar and nursing a drink. “What’s your deal?”

Radio feedback crackled in the air while Husk frantically made ‘cut it out’ gestures from over Alastor’s shoulder.

“My Deal?” Alastor repeated in a tone that made Angel suspect he’d touched a nerve in a way he hadn’t even been trying to.

“Uh yeah, the whole ‘five foot rule’ thing,” Angel clarified, and watched as Alastor and Husk both visibly relaxed. “What’s up with that?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, really!” Alastor said, brightly. “Don’t touch me, and you keep your hands!”

“Right, but…” Angel hesitated. For a split second, he wondered if maybe he should just leave well enough alone.

But between the liquid courage and Angel’s already small threshold when it came to regard for his own safety, he decided to just fucking go for it.

“You’re always all up in everyone else’s personal space,” he said.

Alastor tilted his head in that cute, deer-like way of his. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, take Husky, for instance-”

“Uh-uh,” Husk interrupted. “Leave me outta this, legs.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor said, interrupting Husk’s interruption by physically covering his mouth. “Let the man speak!”

“The five foot rule applies to Husk, right?” Angel asked.

“Why, of course!” Alastor answered. “And dear Husker knows better than to break it!”

Alastor wrapped his arm around a very disgruntled Husk’s shoulders, tugging him half-way over the bar. Husk hissed and squirmed, but Alastor’s grip was evidently a vice.

Which was exactly Angel’s point.

“But you’re all over him right now!” Angel said, gesturing to Alastor’s obvious breach of both his own rule and Husk’s comfort zone.

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed. Alastor pushed Husk down onto the bar and used him as an armrest as he tucked a fist under his chin. “I suppose I am!”

“And it ain’t just Husk, neither!” Angel said. “I mean, Charlie, Vaggie, fuckin’ Lucifer,” he listed. “Me, on occasion…” Although that’d mostly stopped since Angel had a panic attack that one time. Small mercies.

“I’m not countin’ Niffty and Mimzy, ‘cause it kinda seems like they’re exceptions to whatever the fuck this rule actually is, anyway,” Angel continued. “But that’s still a whole lotta people you’re gettin’ handsy with on a regular basis, Al.”

“You do have a point there, my friend,” Alastor mused, while Angel silently noted the upgrade from ‘fellow’ to ‘friend.’ He had no idea whether or not it actually indicated friendship – Alastor called Husk ‘friend’ too – but it was good to keep track of all the same.

Alastor released Husk in favor of polishing off the rest of his rye. Husk’s fur and feathers both stood on end, and he flipped Alastor off on the way to get him a refill. Angel mouthed an apology, which earned him a middle finger as well – but one that had less venom to it than the one Husk had given his boss.

“I suppose the difference lies in who’s doing the touching,” Alastor said, drawing Angel’s attention back to him.

For a moment, the Alastor looked… contemplative. That was the word. Not ‘mischievous’ or ‘vengeful.’ Not like he was plotting the downfall of Lucifer or imagining tearing apart Sinners with his teeth or whatever the fuck Alastor normally thought about that gave his resting face that inherent creep factor.

It reminded Angel of what Mimzy had said. He wouldn’t exactly call Alastor a kitten, but like this, the fucking Radio Demon seemed almost human.

“You were right about Niffty and Mimzy,” Alastor admitted. “They, along with Rosie, are very much exceptions to the rule. But the thought of anyone else touching me makes my skin crawl.”

Angel knew the feeling. It wasn’t one he had 24/7 the way Alastor seemed to, but when it hit, it hit hard.

“It doesn’t affect me if I’m the one doing the touching,” Alastor said, staring into the glass Husk had wordlessly refilled. “In fact, I think it helps… It helps to be in control of things.”

“And you get that control by pushin’ everybody else’s boundaries about touch.” Angel took a drink. “Do you ever think about how that makes them feel?” he asked.

Alastor laughed. And not a showman’s laugh or an awkward chuckle either; full-force, uproarious laughter. Like it was the funniest shit he’d heard in years.

Alastor placed a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “My dear, empathy is not an affliction I suffer from.”

“So you’re a hypocrite,” Angel said without thinking.

Three things happened in such quick succession that it took Angel getting sobered up the next morning to finally puzzle out the order of events.

One: Alastor let his hand drop from Angel’s shoulder.

Two: Husk vaulted over the bar with speed Angel hadn’t known he was capable of and wedged himself in between Alastor and Angel, wings flared in a protective stance.

Three: Alastor started laughing again.

That third thing threw both Husk and Angel for a loop.

“Calm down, Husker!” Alastor said, half breathless with laughter. “He’s right!”

“I’m right?” Angel echoed. Because, yeah, he was. But insulting an Overlord to his face was a stupid thing to do regardless of how accurate said insult was. If he’d said that to Valentino…

“Oh, don’t give in, now!” Alastor said. His radio tinned voice was a welcome interruption to a train of thought Angel really didn’t want to go down tonight. “You were onto something there!”

“Rules for thee, not for me, as they say!” Alastor threw his head back with enough force to break his own neck and fell into a fit of laughter once again.

Angel froze, barely breathing as his mind went a mile a minute trying to make sense of the absolute madness in front of him.

“Oh, stop looking at me like I’m going to bite your head off!” said Alastor, the Overlord famous for eating demons alive.

“You too, Husker.” Alastor punched Husk in the arm in a way that would probably register as playful under different circumstances. “Your attempt at playing white knight is very amusing, but we all know that if I truly wanted to harm Angel, there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”

“I’d die trying,” Husk said so softly that Angel thought he might’ve imagined it until Alastor responded.

“And you would!” Alastor agreed, far too enthusiastically. “You’d make for a delightfully tragic martyr, but there’s no need because this whole thing is hilarious!”

“It is?” Angel asked. Honestly, he didn’t feel like he was in on the joke.

“Of course it is!” Alastor insisted. “Reality has an entertainment value like no other medium! And this” – Alastor gestured to Angel and Husk – “is reality in its purest form!”

“In a drunken bout of honesty and complete disregard for the risk of a painful second death, you’ve given me insight that I never would’ve bothered to seek on my own – and you’ve done it in the funniest way imaginable!”

Angel forced a laugh. “Ya know, I gotta say, smiles, you’re givin’ off some real mixed messages on the whole ‘bitin’ my head off’ front.”

Husk huffed out what appeared to be a genuine laugh. His stance had also gotten more relaxed, and his fur and feathers were no longer puffed up.

“Yeah,” Husk said. “He does that.”

“I do!” Alastor chipped in. “And that bit is on purpose!”

Alastor downed his drink. “It’s been great chatting with you, pals!” he announced, and wrapped Angel and Husk in a disproportionate group hug.

For the first time since meeting Alastor, Angel noticed the way he pinned their arms in place so that neither of them could hug him back.

Alastor released Angel and Husk from his iron grip and immediately darted out of reach – something Angel also hadn’t taken note of before now.

“If either of you foolishly attempt to use this information against me, I’ll flay the skin from your hands, cut out your tongues, and eat your livers!” Alastor said in the same cheery tone you might use to tell a friend to enjoy their weekend plans.

And then he was gone.

“What.” Angel paused for dramatic effect. “The fuck.”

Husk – who hadn’t moved from his spot as the barrier between Angel and Alastor – took a seat in the next barstool over.

Husk shook his head. “Forty-odd years of that crazy bastard holding my leash and I still don’t know what the fuck he’s talkin’ about half the damn time.”

Husk leaned over the bar and reached blindly underneath it. He came back out with a bottle of something strong, so either he found what he was looking for from memory and touch alone, or he got stupidly lucky. Knowing Husk, either seemed likely.

“So,” Angel said, fidgeting with his lower set of hands and talking with his upper ones. “Should I be worried about him changin’ his tune about this little heart-to-heart once he sobers up tomorrow?”

Husk took a swig from the bottle he’d found. “Nah,” he said. “Just stick to his hypocritical five foot rule and act like tonight never happened.”

“Ya know, I meant to ask about that too,” Angel said. “Why does he call it the ‘five foot rule’ if he barely ever enforces the distance part? Why not the ‘hands off rule’ or the ‘no touch rule’?”

“Legs, I just told you I don’t always know what’s goin’ on in that fucked up head of his.”

“Aww,” Angel cooed. “Has the wise old bartender finally met his match?”

Husk scoffed. “I know more about Alastor than I ever wanted to. And it’s still just the tip” – Angel snickered at the phrasing. Husk rolled his eyes before reiterating – “the tip of the iceberg.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if he even knows what’s goin’ on in his own head sometimes,” Husk said quietly. “Until tonight, I thought he liked it better that way.”

Alastor made his way back to his room the old fashioned way – by physically walking there – humming along to a jaunty tune he’d plucked from the airwaves.

He’d learned something about himself! What an interesting turn of events!

You learn something new every day, but after over a century of combined life and Afterlife, Alastor had begun to believe he knew all there was to know about himself.

And this particular insight came with the added benefit of a rather dramatic reveal! Husker – the old has-been – could still put on a show when given the right motivation, and Angel Dust had been a wonderful wildcard to add into the mix!

Alastor wondered if he should examine the information they’d brought to light any further. If he should be asking questions about why he felt so comfortable in his hypocrisy. Why he both craved and despised touch. Why he was more than willing to put others’ comfort aside in order to maintain his own.

But the very existence of those questions brought an itch under his skin. That same crawling feeling that struck him when he felt someone else’s hands on him, like maggots wriggling inside a corpse.

Alastor melted into the shadows, the lack of physical form easing the feeling somewhat.

No, he decided. I think that’s quite enough self-discovery for one day.

[mochaxswirl]

*grabs lumi’s paw gently*

who wants to revive the cats are liquid fandom with me?

[iplayghoul]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing:: reader x non-fandom/specific female character.

warnings:: smut, rough sex, gay sex, size kink, light sadism, sex toys, light masochism, hair pulling, scratching, rope bondage, choking, name calling, humiliation

word count:: 1.28k

notes:: inspired by the song come by doja cat, thats literally it this is a wlw non gendered pov except for ur girlfriend

you slowly began to decipher the elements hidden behind your clouded vision. a long, hot tear cascaded down the side of your cheek and above your ear, together with sweat. the ceiling was the only thing that came to your mind. you counted the tiles and the flickering of the dimly lit bulbs.

slowly it became apparent to you that they were flickering to the beat of music, it was your favourite song. your senses slowly refreshed themselves and a low, hushed, buzzing noise found its way to your ear. a bee, you thought. you gulped and moistened your drying lips, realising how much you'd been gasping and panting for air.

eyes welling up for another round of tears, you began to notice the rolling and vibrating in your lower stomach. your entire body ached, keeping you glued to the bed. your sweat kept you glued there too, you lay in a puddle of your secreted liquids. the puddle around the bottom half of your body was somewhat bigger than the rest and your hands were strapped above you by an unknown force.

gasping again, you whined lowly, pushing your neck up and slowly blinking your eyes. your legs were sweaty and trembling under the pressure of the pulsating below your belly button.

your legs were propped up languidly, knees swaying apart. you attempted to lean forward an inch more, feeling the jerk of your shoulders. licking your lips again, your eyes rolled, falling to where your arms were tied to the two upper corners of the bed.

baby we can get messy as you want, i wanna' roll around in all your love.

you've got impeccable taste, won't waste a drop. follow me to my room, yeah you can come.

the lyrics register in your head slowly as your neck succumbs to the wait of your head and nothing but the bobbing of your throat, the tug at your lips and your toes, desperately gripping the sheets, moves.

your senses were fully back to you now, you thrashed around on the bed, forcing your body off the sticky sheets and tugging at the restraints. you were groaning desperately at the vibrator that was pressed against your g-spot, several shocking pains rocketed through your pussy and straight up your back.

chills ran up and down your spine as you orgasmed for another time. how many, you weren't keeping track of, but the first after you came to your senses.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" you spat out under your breath, choking on your words in your throat and releasing deafening cries. your eyes fluttered shut as your elbows worked overtime to hold you up. your body trembled and ached at the increasing pain in your pussy.

you flopped back onto the bed, pushing your legs up in attempts to twist around and shimmy the sturdy vibrator out of you. the door creaked open, and you froze. your neck and eyes bared the strain of looking in the direction of the door. the dim lights adding an extra struggle.

you felt the vibrator pitch up another level, a low squeal escaping your throat as your girlfriend walked towards you. she stalked towards you quickly, pressing a hand io against your throat and pinning you back down onto the bed. her hands ripping the restraints you'd failed to remove from the bedframe and pushing her knee up against your clit.

your hands immediately grasped at her shoulders, scratching and pulling up at her hair for the attention and touch you craved.

"god, you dirty bitch."

you keened at her words, new tears rushing down your face and mouth spread wise for words that would never come out. she roughly manhandled you down, squeezing your breasts and slipping one hand down to your soaked cunt.

she circled your hole, giving the silicone cord attached to the vibrator a sharp tug, provoking a silent scream out of you. you felt the vibrator being slotted through the messy slop of your folds, her hand suffocating you as you were pinned to the mattress.

finally, the vibrator pressed straight up onto your clit, your back direcrly cutting ties with the bedsheets.

"fuck!" you gave her hand a sharp bite which was rewarded with a slap.

"f- fucking hell!", you forced the words out of your throat. her legs slotted between yours, her pussy coming down to rest on the vibrator. further pushing it onto your clit and stimulating hers.

then, she proceeded with a slow, tedious grind against you. gripping your thigh as her head dropped back to release a breathy moan. her hand groped your throat now, you felt high with anticipation.

"go- fucking faster you bitch!"

your were awarded with blazing bruises against your skin for each word.

"fucking hell- do something!" the bed rocked with the chaos of the moment.

"who the fuck are you talking to?" she snapped back, rolling her eyes together with her hips, snapping them forward and back, grinding down harder onto you.

tears were streaming down your face, choking out a sob, " mommy- shit, please!"

"please what bitch?"

"i wanna- come!" the shrill sound of your voice filling the room. you were met with a harsh slap to the thigh.

"no."

your legs were shaking as pleasure shot through your now swollen pussy like electricity. your hairs standing on end as you begged her once more.

"let me- come- Ah!" your voice cracked in an echo as you orgasmed for the i-couldn't-keep-count-of-how-many-th time.

she pushed your limbs back down onto the bed and flung open the bedside drawers. the stinging of rope burns on your arms became noticeable but all your mind could think of was the thick, 7 inch double-sided dildo your girlfriend pulled from the drawer.

she grabbed your hair carefully, roughly guiding you onto your tummy, ass poking out in the air.

your mouth, un-occupied, gripped onto the bedsheets. you felt the bulbous head of the dildo position itself between your dripping lips. your girlfriend's ass slightly touching you as the bed shifted with her movement before it slid straight into both you and her.

a sigh dropped from both your mouth's, her's of pleasure and your's pain.

her ass slapped against yours repeatedly, rocking you both on the bed. the room's music was drowned by breathy moans, sweaty slapping and creaking.

she began to move faster, situating herself slightly above you, using her wait to pin your ass down to the bed and fuck herself down into you. the new angle hitting near your cervix, an immeasurable pain shooting straight to your clit. you cried out in desperation, the slapping grew harder and harder with each thrust.

"god! I'm gonna'- come!" your girlfriend's face was twisted in pleasure and your body went limp against the sheets as the rocking continued. your mind went blank for a moment, her screams fading and elevating like a pulse, mirroring the one in your clit. your vision flashing white lights and stars as you reached your climax again. your body thrashing around on the bed and arms grasping for the sheets as if you were being tortured by pleasure.

you felt the pressure on your sline being relieved, a soft slap to your ass was given accompanied by a light kiss. after a few moments of silence you felt a cold rag touching you ass. a sigh of relief left you as you allowed yourself to lay there and be cleaned.

your girlfriend shifted your sore and aching body gently as she cleaned you, blowing raspberries on your soft belly and leaving light touches elsewhere. you gave no response but the silence was comfortable. slowly, but surely, you drifted off again into another slumber, this time, a restful one.

— masterlist. i expect this to flop since its non fandom but if u read pls lmk ur thoughts! :p

[acewithobsessions]

Cats are liquid is unexpectedly deep. Feels like a studio Ghibli movie in disguise.

[dsi-os]

guess whos back in the cats are liquid fandom!

enjoy this comic i made. im planning on making more comics too .. if anyone has any suggestions ..... gimme gimme . more doodles ive made below the cut!!!!

some old stuff: 2018 - DOGS ARE SOLID (fangame concept)

2020 - Unfinished Animation

2021 - another unfinished animation, and a scrapbook page!

2023, now! - dogi (DAS) dance gif!!

little minis of the entire CAL cast + ocs!

lumi doodle ..

a doodle of something that happened in the last quarter studio discord ..

style/design guide of the cast for my comics + personal art!

made TPO on the level maker on CAL:ABP!!! it was a challenge i gave myself. i think i did good ...

interactions from the comic:

"can i have a piece of the cloud"

[lumi hugging maggie (the magnet clouds from alits)]

and thats all for now!! enjoy!! waves waves hiii cal fandoommm im hoommmeee

[jayvolans]

𝗼𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝗺 𝐬𝗺𝐚𝐮

𝐕𝐈𝐈. 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄

Yesterday had been a day of consistent… well inconsistencies for you. Ayato texting you? 0/10, never happens and for good reason. Letting it ruin your day, however? -10/10, absolutely awful, humiliating, mortifying- Meeting a (cute) stranger and actually taking a liking to him? Breaks the scale.

And as much as you wanted to kick yourself for it, you couldn’t help but admit that he was incredibly attractive. In the same way Ayato was. Calculating, elegant, intelligent… you clearly had a type.

Still, talking to him didn’t make you feel self-conscious and he wasn’t condescending, so that was already a plus. Rolling your eyes at your train of thought, you leaned back in your chair and away from your laptop.

At this rate, your homework was never going to get done. The sound of dangerous sizzling certainly didn’t help. At his own specialty desk, Zandik was mixing a blue liquid with some kind of fluorescent green powder. His eyebrows were furrowed as he carefully measured something out, causing you to sigh.

Even out of class and a lab, Zan couldn’t help but tinker around on his own side projects, and while usually he knew exactly what not to do in the house, none of you would ever forget the time he created some kind of toxic vapor and caused an evacuation. After Rosalyn had passed out.

Needless to say, you didn’t want to distract him at this very moment, but you were bored. Usually you would nag Rosalyn until she went shopping with you or Kuni until he agreed to entertain you, but they were both busy.

“I can feel you staring at me, you know,” Zandik mumbled, still observing the semi-violent reaction. You sighed and walked over to him. “Sorry, I’m just bored, I guess. And my essay is kicking my ass, at the moment,” You groaned, plopping your head down onto his shoulder.

Zandik paused before setting down his equipment. “And you want me to entertain you? Why don’t you go text that Alhaitham guy,” He teased, a smirk playing at his lips.

You just rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting to him. “Still bitter you got kicked out?” You laughed. He let out a huff before standing, causing you to stumble forward. And you would’ve fallen face first into his experiment if it wasn’t for his hand catching your collar.

“Alright, come on, we’re going out. We could both use a break, clearly.” And who were you to argue with that?

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯❆ 𝗺𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❆ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭❆

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯)❧

@whipped-for-fictionals @makimakimi @baelloraa @softlie @starryeyedkoko @alharaea @duhsies @sunsethw4 @thelonelyarchon @dksfl920 @im-bili @kunitales @imkaaayy @daimiyu @nambii @istgnature @1999mercury @certaindreampost @momdancingtomcr @lady-elodie @faela404 @starbbearie @amaruthine @no3hg3nshin @deathkat657 @klementime @temshouineichi @imma-too-many-fandoms @phoenix-eclipses @hydration-is-for-weenies @classy-mc @letthewindlead @kaoyamamegami @nqctre @sassy-cat-in-town @thenightflowers @serenareiss @jaguarthecat @mmm-alhaitham @wishicouldart @hypernovaxx @feverish-dove @dreamhannies @shiningsunrises @annathea-annoona @hotgirlshit5 @toriiee @akarisuzuk1 @zomzomb1e @h-8chi @smash-styles

[blue-cat-shitposts]

Greetings again, Cats are Liquid fandom!

They say that if a fandom exists, there is an animatic of the one thing for it.

I am here today to prove that claim correct.