#i haven't drawn them with their cats in so long!!!

[tendermiasma]

Anonymous asked: What is an average day for Halsin and Clover once they settle in together?

https://retrospring.net/@tendermiasma/a/113195848025491320

I haven't finished the game actually so I don't know what specifically Halsin does after BG3 (I'm in lower city act 3, life happened), but it seems like he'll find himself busy with very fulfilling social work and fighting the system wherever they go. Probably with kids (honestly I hope, please don't say anything). Clover is going to need to settle into a new reality where he's

being led out of survival mode and into a place that truly is safe that he can build a life in, and first he just needs a long time to recover. I see them spending a lot of time at home in the beginning but Clover doesn't follow him out as quickly as Halsin takes on those new responsibilities. Again, it takes time. Mostly at the start, he'd curl up somewhere small and wait for Halsin to come home. But as things go on, he starts gardening, he cooks for him as he's always done at camp because it brings him joy, finds hidden spaces in their home that makes Halsin think he's lost him for some horrible amount of time. He's very good at stowing himself away, like your cat going missing in your 500-square-foot apartment.

He's a weaver at heart, though-- that's what they called those who learned magic back in his village. His mother was a weaver, too. It was something she passed to him that no rift of time or memory could take away. He'd begin exploring magic for the sake of it, to understand instead of just to live to tomorrow, and he'd go on to make some notable contributions to the study of Fae magic. He never lost his quirky ways of spell construction, though. They'd always helped open up some aspects of the Weave for him that were a little unorthodox, if not necessarily recommended.

He did also join Halsin in his service to the community, in the ways that he could. He was always withdrawn and never learned to swim in the bustle of the city, but he was happy now; and Halsin had the best of both worlds. He found his anxiety fading about everything needing doing all the time, and instead it had become replaced with looking forward to coming home (even occasionally unashamed to make excuses to) because of a little someone who needed him just as much as the rest of the world did-- and whom he needed, too . Not to be too meta but I always pictured Halsin in a more grassroots role that became more apparent as something he truly wanted to do, as the game progressed, and I think Clover would be drawn to this too-- especially if they worked with children. Even if he never had the social stamina Halsin did. Both of them feel a strong need to protect kiddoes. Halsin has a long history of it and Clover lived it. He never wanted a child to feel that fear and utter loneliness, ever.

[pineapple-frenzy]

art request: more cat parents!zutara please!!! perhaps in the style of those 80s family pictures that are cringey but funny, thank you <3

I had to google what those 80s family pictures looked like and this is what I came up with

Hope you like it!!

[petpetpinixy]

little doodle based on @springlucked's new fic, Loop! it's very cute & silly u all should read it

[cozylittleartblog]

skyline

available as a print on my etsy

[seahdalune]

thank you to divorced people for finally bringing back my motivation to draw again

[bonefall]

The family tree is coming along better than expected.

Question for the tree: how’s the Windclan family coming along?

Did you change any members of Tallstar’s family?

Well, to answer this question, I’ll show you the step I’m currently on with WindClan. I’ve drawn out the canonical family tree that I have to start with,

(This is why it takes me a while to pop out these family trees; this is actually an easier chart I’ve made. Top left corner is ‘orphan’ characters with no relevant parents or siblings.)

As you can see, WindClan is actually only two families, and a slew of completely unrelated male bachelors. It gets worse because Shellfur ended up stealing the ONLY unrelated bachelorette, Fernstripe, out of WindClan for himself.

Heathertail also decided to put herself with her first cousin once removed instead of literally anyone else in WindClan. I also normally wouldn’t care that Breezepelt is also her grand-uncle’s grandson (a second cousin is significantly distant) but with how closely related they were already, it’s insult to injury.

Not to mention how Onestar clearly knows about it in his SE. I was actually undecided on the severity of Rule 1′s Addendum until the EXACT moment I remembered Onestar thinking about how Heathertail was marrying his sister’s grandson. It made me so uncomfortable I'm using it as a nuke button.

So, anyway, I don’t have as many thoughts as my ThunderClan fix obviously, but here’s what I’m thinking for WindClan so far--

General changes;

Several bachelors are getting hit with the woman beam, but finalized changes won’t set in until I decide who I want as parents.

Tentatively, I’m thinking Slightfoot, Hootwhisker, and/or Weaselfur are going to be molly’d.

I may end up allowing Furzepelt a litter before her death in AVOS; or stop her death entirely

(it frustrates me when interesting background cats are killed for no reason)

I may kill Whiskernose instead of Sunstrike in the Great Battle, and allow her to be the disabled elder.

Tentatively considering Sunstrike and Furzepelt as WLW to raise kittens together.

Tornear will have a descendant; I don’t like that Shrewclaw’s line died out.

Webfoot will probably have a descendant as well, unsure who though.

In general more of the cats from Tallstar’s Revenge and post-SkyClan Exile WC warriors have kits instead of just Hickory/Meadow, Woolly/Pale, and Mist/Hare.

ALSO Larkwing’s kits currently have no father. As long as the Erins don’t do something remarkably stupid, I’ll go with whatever father they end up deciding on.

On the Hickory/Meadow and Stag/Wren Bloodlines;

Tallstar’s direct family (parents, siblings) are unchanged.

I’m not a fan of how Tallstar suddenly made his nephew his deputy. It adds an element to the WindClan Rebellion that feels wrong.

So, Onestar is being moved out of Stag/Wren’s litter. This fixes that, as well as Heather/Breeze being first cousins once removed.

Morningflower has no living children; Ashfoot’s only surviving child was Crowfeather.

Tentatively, Onestar is the son of Larksplash and Cloudrunner (father subject to change). He was unnamed at the time of his mother’s death and the only survivor of the litter, leading to the name Onekit.

Sorrelshine and Deadfoot’s descendants are far enough removed (and they were both dead long enough) that I won’t be changing their children or parents.

Heather/Breeze;

Breezepelt, my detested, is going to get massive changes in the bigger rewrite leaving his litters undecided for now.

I am not against deleting the four kits entirely if it means Breezepelt gets a more conclusive ending; him raising them is barely even relevant in the THREE. ARCS. since oots.

He didn’t even mourn Smokehaze what was the POINT? HMM??

Unsure if he will still end up with Heathertail; but he probably will after AVOS.

Possible scenario: Smokehaze and Brindlewing were in a second litter for Onestar and Whitetail, and Heathertail can have Apple and Wood with Breezepelt after he has an actual redemption arc in AVOS.

Other scenario: Smoke and Brindle have an unknown father or were sired by someone else to Heathertail alone, invoking the Queen’s Rights

If Scenario 1, would be cool if Darktail straightup killed Smokehaze, and Brindlewing dies in TBC...

On that note, again, these family trees are genetic trackers and don’t mention any of my other fixes, but it’s worth saying that Whitetail is no longer Onestar’s apprentice. HELL no.

‘Trying to preserve canon‘ applies as a rule to everything EXCEPT Onestar’s Confession I will drown this book in the lake with my bare hands

[albaake]

Doodle this during @vurelly stream today, and I've been having this stupid joke stuck in my head for so long, and I just see them saying something like this, lol. Also gave them their tail. How do they have a cat tail when they're technically a sheep? Next question :)

Also sorry for the scuff Leshy, I haven't drawn him yet so this is my first attempt-

[obeythebutler]

Hi! I'm new to your blog so I apologize if I mess anything up.

Could I request MC surprising the brothers with a feast they accidentally cooked up because they were worried that there worried that their wouldn't be enough food for the brothers?

It's 7:30am and his brother still aren't ready for RAD.

Hell, they haven't even stepped down for breakfast. Even Beel, never the one to miss it is missing.

Did all his brothers decide to skip today's classes? Were they orchestrating some other useless prank?

Lucifer stares at his watch, waiting. If they don't come down in the next five minutes he's going to leave them at home and give them detention. Maybe he'll have to pull Mammon out of his bed again, or carry Belphegor down the stairs.

The thought of dragging his brothers like sacks of potatoes down the stairs makes his head ache. It’s always been like this, him caving in so easily to his brothers demands, being so lax on them.

The saving grace is the human exchange student.

MC.

They're on breakfast duty today, and Lucifer can smell the pleasant hint of roasted hellfire mushrooms. Cinnamon too. They've always been a diligent person when it comes to their work.

Unlike his brothers.

Sigh.

"If you all don't hurry up, the food is going to get cold!" Their voice rings from the kitchen, and Lucifer opens his mouth to give one last reprimand to his brothers, to hurry up and come down before he drags them.

There's a blur besides him then, a flurry of moment that messes up his perfectly styled hair.

"Food cooked by the human! I call dibs on it, I'm the great Mammon after all!"

The eldest gawks at his brother, perhaps in disbelief or surprise, and then fixes his hair in resignation. Whatever makes him be on time, his scoldings or MC's voice.

Lucifer rolls his shoulders, steps forward to get into the dining hall instead of the hallway, but then he senses footsteps on the stairs. Five pairs of shoes, each distinguishable from the other.

His brothers are a blur as they surpass him to get to the dining hall.

What the—

At this point, all the man can do is to slap his palm on his forehead.

They won't listen to him, but they'll willingly rush to the dining hall when MC calls, huh? For the sake of hell and everything that is corrupted, they're such simps that its intolerable to watch.

As soon as he steps in though, Lucifer is rendered speechless by the sight in front of him. So are the brothers.

There's just.....so many plates of food. Creamed Bonnacon, Devil Zebra Bacon Sandwich, Hell Pancakes, and that doesn't even cover it. Blood Strawberries, Caramel Shadow Tart, Ghost Watermelon....It's a feast fit for a banquet, and it must have taken so much time to cook all that...

"T-That's......that's just like that anime! Where the main character cooks up a feast for their roommates because they didn't want them to go hungry so they woke up at the crack of—"

"Shut yer mouth Levi." Mammon says, although there is no irritation in his tone as he gapes at the dining table. He can spot some of his favorite foods, given that there are plates and plates of them. He mentioned some of his favorite things to eat to MC long time back, but he didn't think that they would remember.

The fourth-born has a smile on his face now, as he stares at the cat drawn on his pancake with blueberry syrup. It's so cute.

He remembers MC placing some pots and utensils on the table the night before, stating that it would be less time-consuming in mornings given the rush.

His cheeks feel hot.

"Now, darling, that is quite a feast you have cooked up for us!" Asmodeus hangs behind MC's shoulder as he compliments them. There is still flour on their cheeks, and so he wipes it away from them using his thumb, earning squawks of protest from both Levi and Mammon. "Thank you so much! This is soo going on Devilgram!"

"I thought the usual wouldn't be enough," They mumble, nervously shifting their gaze from the brothers to the table. Asmo's weight on their shoulders is a comfortable one, yet the intense scrutiny they are subjected to makes them want to hide away. "Next thing I knew was that I kept adding and adding ingredients until I realised what I did. So you better finish it all."

Belphegor giggles. "That won't be a problem." He can sense his twin's growing hunger at the sight of the feast before him, and food does taste better when cooked by your loved ones. The demon is glad that he chose to be on time today.

Wait, Beel was right besides him, he isn't here....

"Woah—" MC can only stumble out the words as they are caught off guard when pulled into a hug by the sixth born. He's tall, and so warm. "Easy there!"

"Thank you MC!" Beel's voice is full of happiness, and he can't help but hug them for it. He knows his gluttony is a lot to handle, and it causes a lot of trouble for others, but them going out of their way to make extra efforts and ensuring that he and his brothers won't go hungry makes him feel loved.

He'll wait this time, to eat with MC.

"At what time did you wake up to cook all of this?"

You turn your head towards Satan, who is now besides you. Gazing at you ever so softly. "I woke up around three, couldn't sleep since I had drunk a lot of coffee the night before."

"Your sleep schedule will be messed up if you continue," He reprimands you, but his tone is light.

"Thank you for ensuring that we all don't go hungry though." Lucifer smiles as he says that.

Maybe this is what home is.

You and the brothers, cooking too much and enjoying it nevertheless. Casual conversation drifting across the table, with Hell coffee as bitter as ever, packing some for Purgatory Hall residents and leaving together for RAD as the gates to the house close behind you all in remembrance.

[justporo]

Still more fluffy relationship headcanons for Astarion and Tav

You guys seem to really like these, so I'm keeping them going for as long as I can. And - I know I said I couldn't do requests atm - but when (if?) I run out of ideas how about you can send me prompts for headcanons on specific topics?

Here we go though, more small ideas and moments for these two idiots!

Astarion is a tease, always flirting with you (for the most part), always kissing you or touching you, always whispering something dirty directly into your pointy ear; sometimes even doing that flat out while you're out in public... with people around.

Deep down he's always wondering though when the day will come that you don't want to be with him anymore; you know that and you try your absolute best to remind him every moment of every day that you want to be with him forever, slowly working to turn the "when" into an "if" and then making him forget altogether

You are basically a street cat, but Astarion? He's a man of culture! And he loves to take you out and frankly just goddamn educating you

He takes you to museums, telling you in incredible detail about the artworks and the displays because he knows his history, also - he's incredibly smart; you enjoy not only him enjoying himself talking about stuff he likes but also just eat it up, eager to learn about stuff you never had the chance to before

Dancing: That's another thing. He knows all the dances: from the silly court dances Wyll showed you once, to the much more interesting and intimate ones where you're flush against one another's bodies

He teaches you, being so close to him, you can't stop fawning, holding you like you're something incredibly fragile and precious while moving you ever so passionately

You've never done this and are incredibly insecure at the beginning, but "Don't worry, love, let me hold you and I'll guide you, you just look pretty" - but then you pick it up quickly and it becomes one of your favourite pastimes with him

You have artful skills of your own though: since you're a former thief and had to stake out targets and places sometimes for weeks on end, you had a lot of time on your hands and taught yourself to draw a long time ago and drew whatever you had to observe: a nice compromise between keeping your eyes on whatever mattered and still having something to do

So, you finally draw him, something you'd promised him a long time ago when you merely had started travelling together; you spend a whole night just to get the first portrait right and Astarion gets uneasy because can't you just let him have a little sneak-peek?

When you show him the drawing, he's just speechless - "What, even more magnificent than you remembered?" you tease him, but you see how his fingers are tensing holding the paper and there's a single tear on his cheek when he looks and smiles at you broadly "No, love, just flustered about how you don't seem to get my chin right"; you call him a liar softly and he sniffles and draws you in for a really long hug and he thanks you deeply

Ah, I also love using these to sneak in facts and ideas for my Tav and helping me flesh out a backstory and more details for their story and relationship. Also don't mind me sprinkling a little angst on there.

Of course, the drawing idea has been imagined many times before and rightfully so, Astarion deserves it. But it's... I haven't drawn really in a loooong time but he really makes me want to give a portrait ago. I had to get it out for personal reasons.

[ane-doodles]

My COTL References

(you can use them as inspo if you want)

A little more:

Wow, I didn't think this would take so long, but I think it was worth it in the end.

I have had to look for all kinds of references to be able to draw the bishops in a satisfactory way (references from the game itself, from animals, body types, eyes, and even how to draw cat paws). I think I have done them justice.

Although I don't plan to draw a comic or write a fic, I did want to define my own reference when drawing them. That way my little doodles would have some coherence.

A couple of details from the designer (just me commenting):

• I had to look for references of many body types and choose the one I thought was most suitable for each character. It was a long road!! The most difficult to draw was Narinder.

• Heket's outfit is inspired by a dress I recently saw in a store, it looked like a tunic so I decided to use it as a model. I added the veil because I wanted to cover her head (it's difficult to draw), plus I think it gives her a distinctive touch and personality. She accidentally ended up looking like a very flirtatious nun.

• Kallamar's design was particularly difficult because in the game itself he doesn't have a torso! but for reasons of ease and patience here he is going to have one. It's funny that he's super tall, but he keeps hunching over trying to hear what others are saying (you know, he doesn't listen very well for obvious reasons).

• Leshy was my favorite design! He has all the characteristics that I usually give to a protagonist!! He ended up looking like a young boy who surely likes soccer. I drew him thinking that he would surely like to walk around, so he should be comfortable... but he will surely end up crashing on more than one occasion. The green looks so fluffy!!! ah! but I also gave him a sting (I thought it would be fun)

• Shamura was interesting. I didn't want to give it too many legs, but I also didn't want it to look strange. In the end I ended up taking inspiration from different insect characters I know (like the red guy from Adventure Time). His clothes are all torn, I think he would have a hard time adjusting to them and would end up destroying them very often.

• Although I have drawn Narinder before it is not easy without him looking like an anime boy with a cat head! so it took quite a while to try to get out of there, that's why his proportions look more animalistic now!! I like to think that his body was vaguely more human when he was a god, but that when he transforms into a mortal he becomes more animal-like. It was difficult to design his clothes, but I like the change of coat he has...I hope I don't change it again soon or I'll have to make him a wardrobe.

• I have no special notes about the lamb, except that I forgot to put the leg warmers!! I realized it too late, but let's imagine they are there. I liked designing the second fleece, obviously based on Narinder's.

• As you can see, each of the coats are made from the remains of the tunics that the bishops previously wore. I want to imagine that after they were defeated, the lamb recovered them and turned them into new garments so that they would feel more comfortable in the cult (but also so that they would be distinguished from the common people).

• I have planned jobs and positions that each one would occupy in the cult, but I don't know how close they are to canon since I haven't taken the time to research. We'll see!!

And that's it, if you made it this far, have a candy 🍬 , thanks for reading my ramblings.

[luneariann]

idk if art requests are still open or if you've already drawn this but the ideas gettin silly so here's a few if ya wanna draw whatever you feel motivated to

1. Atsushi making dead eye contact with Kunikida and then slapping something off the desk like a cat (then apologizing while he cleans it up and Dazai laughs his ass off)

2. 16!skk; Dazai broken his jaw, Chuuya's post corruption or bullet wounds (basically just bedridden w/IVs) and Dazai's hooked up to a heart monitor insulting Chuuya in Wabun/Morse code (just- D: "Beep beep beep" C: *rips out IV* "TF YOU CALL ME YA LITTLE SHIT?!")

3. Dazai and Chuuya being compatible blood types and despite him hating pain he would gladly give up every ounce of blood and both kidneys if it meant that it saved (post corruption) Chuuya's life

Anyways, I LOVE YOUR ART SM ITS SO TASTY AND BEAUTIFUL AND THE CHARATAZATIONSHDHAHJXHA YOUR MY FAV ARTIST ON THIS APP/GEN Remember to love and care for yourself, drink water/eat if you haven't today and take breaks :]

1.

2.

AAAA IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG HELWPIDJ

TY SM FOR THE KIND WORDS OMG 😭💕💕💕im so happy im your favorite artist on tumblr???? That’s huge dude I’m?? 💕💕💕Tyty I promise to take care of myself

Ive lowkey lost Interest in bsd so that’s why these took so long to make <///3 but they were too good NOT to make them, idk if you’ve ever considered it but you should defo become a comic artist! The hardest part of comic making is getting the ideas at all so considering you’ve got that down you should definitely give it a shot! These are rly good

I didn’t do the third one cuz I wasn’t sure how to represent it </3

Again tysm for the kind words you’re so sweet Anon🫶🫶 take care of yourself too!!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

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[itadores]

to the rescue!

synopsis: when you get cat-called on the street, who will come to your rescue?

note: he's such a cutie pie ^-^

pairing: nirei akihiko x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.4k

tags: gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns used), harassment (reader receiving), physical violence, first meetings

Free days are few and far between for you. Between club activities, a part-time job, and classes, the number of days you have free from all of that are rather limited. That's why you decide on your off-day, you're going to enjoy yourself. You're not going to think about any of your responsibilities, and instead, take yourself out around Makochi. You haven't had a chance to do so in a while, so it's perfect timing.

You make quick work of getting ready, packing a bag with all of the necessities for the day before leaving your apartment. It doesn't take you long to reach the main street, your apartment only a short walk away. Although you've walked this street many times before, it feels different since you're not in a rush to get from one place to another.

Today, you can simply enjoy yourself.

The sudden sound of somebody wolf-whistling at you makes you tense up, but you continue onward, walking further down the street. You don't look in the direction of the man who made the sound, hoping that your lack of response will make him drop it and leave you alone. Maybe, he wasn't even directing his attention at you, and you were being assumptive.

Unfortunately, you aren't that lucky.

"Where you going all by yourself, baby?"

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

Your hands tighten around the straps of your bag as you quicken your pace, going from a leisurely stroll to a brisk walk. You don't want to make a scene and out-right run, but you really want to put as much distance between you and this man as much as possible.

The air escapes you when a rough hand grabs the crook of your elbow, forcefully stopping you in your tracks.

"Hey, I was talking to you." The man’s voice hardens as his grip on your elbow borders on bruising. An involuntary yelp makes its way past your lips. "There's no need to rush sweetheart."

He’s in your personal space now, his face much too close to your own, but you still refuse to look at him. You don’t want to look at him.

“Please let go of me,” you weakly say, still clinging onto some semblance of hope that this man will somehow lose interest in you and let you be. It’s illogical, but you can’t squash that hope.

Even with your face turned away from the man, you can still see how his ugly cracked lips pull into a grin. Your stomach twists at the sight.

“Now, why would I do that?”

He leans in even closer, his breath hitting your cheek. Your face scrunches in disgust, and you screw your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever's to come.

"Leave them alone!"

The loud shout startles you, your eyes flying wide open and landing on a wavy-haired blond man, who's quickly making his way over to you. He ends up stopping just short in front of you, close enough for you to make out the smattering of freckles across his face.

It's a bad time for the thought to pop into your head, but he's kind of cute.

You're drawn out of your thoughts when the grip on your elbow tightens even more, causing you to grimace in pain. You try and squirm out of the man's hold, but he holds you still.

"This doesn't involve you, so why don't you just let us be?"

The blond's face hardens, his brows knitting tightly together.

"I can't do that when it's clear that they're not interested, and you're harassing them."

The blond's words ignite something in your harasser because he suddenly releases his grip on you, making you stumble slightly, to focus his attention on the other man. You take the opportunity to scamper backwards, away from the confrontation.

"What's your problem, man? Don't you know better than sticking your head in matters that have nothing to do with you?" He stalks forward, approaching the blond until he's nearly chest to chest with him. He's a good head or so taller than the blond, and worry starts to bloom in your chest.

Is that guy going to be alright?

Despite the height difference, the blond is seemingly unafraid, squaring his shoulders as he meets the man's heavy gaze. However, you notice there's an imperceptible shake to the blond, which he hides by balling his hands into fists.

"It's my business when you're harassing innocent people."

That seems to be the last straw for the man because he lifts his fist, ready to beat on the blond. You gasp and look away, unable to watch the man who intervened on your behalf get hit. There’s a loud thump and an accompanying grunt. Once you muster up the courage, you hazard a glance over at the scene, pleasantly surprised when you see your harasser on the ground rather than the blond. Well, the blond is on the ground, crouched with his knees and forearms tucked under him, but he looks relatively unharmed in comparison to the other man, who’s splayed out on the concrete unconscious.

The blond quickly springs up, dusting off his pants before coming up to you.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern seeping into his voice. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"I'm alright," you slowly respond, still in a state of shock. Your elbow throbs when you try and relax your arm, causing you to wince and reminding you of your injury. Your other hand comes to clutch it, which doesn't go unnoticed by the blond.

"Oh no! You're hurt."

"It's okay," you rush out. When you're met with an unsure, disbelieving look, you try and assure the blond. "Really, I'll be fine. It's just some bruising that will go away soon enough."

"If you say so," he responds, entirely unconvinced. “If you need some ice for it, you can get some from Cafe Pothos. I’m sure that the worker there would be willing to give you some.”

“Thanks,” you say, rubbing your elbow to ease the pain as well as your nerves. Now that you’re no longer in any imminent danger, you’re becoming increasingly aware of how cute the man in front of you. You clear your throat before saying more.

“And thank you for intervening. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t step in when you did.”

A light blush spreads across the blond’s cheeks as he sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “It was no problem at all! I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

Oh, you think. You may be in trouble because he’s really cute when he’s blushing.

“What’s your name?” you blurt out.

The suddenness of your question catches you both off guard, but luckily the blond recovers before you have a chance to beat yourself up over it.

“Nirei Akihiko. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier.” The blond, Nirei, punctuates the end of his sentence with a slight bow. You do the same as you introduce yourself.

"Nirei," you say, testing out how his name sounds coming from your mouth. You find that you like the weight of it on your tongue. "Well, thank you once more, Nirei. I really appreciate your help."

Sensing that the conversation may be coming to an end, you go out on a limb to ask Nirei one more question.

"Do you think I could get your number? Just in case if I find myself needing your help again?" Your voice takes on a light-hearted tone at the end, a cheeky smile slipping onto your lips. You might as well make the best out of a bad situation.

Nirei looks taken aback by the question, a blush painting his cheeks once more when your words process in his mind.

"O-oh, sure!"

"Perfect," you reply, beaming. Mindful of your injury, you rummage through your bag, searching for your phone. Once you find it through the clutter, you hand it to Nirei, allowing him to input his contact information. You add a little smiley face emoji by his name when he hands you your phone back.

"I know I sound like a broken record, but thank you again, Nirei." You give him a little wave as you get ready to depart. "I'll see you around?"

"Y-yeah! I'll see you," he replies, sounding a little dazed.

It makes you giggle lightly as you begin to make your way down the street you were walking along before you were interrupted. Although you could have gone without the cat-calling today, you're glad you got to meet Nirei.

You'll definitely be reaching out to him sooner rather than later.

[mudkirby]

Pebbles In order of appearance.

@druidshollow lore lore lore Dune lore lore

@flickering-nightfall whole reason I draw Pebbles the way I do since first exposure

@toxictoxicities b u f f

@dennis7231 still waiting on them dropwigs >:)

@weepinglilvessel ant snooooot

@mudkirby me :> 🔫

@shkika love your Suns

@northflowerowo Sorry I shoved him so far down lol

Honourable mentions/ shout outs: @trashiiplant Howwow Knight and Wainwowld :D

@kelnexia is lurking.

@daszombes Thank you for explaining lore, giving us peak story telling and characters to simp for in the form of the Iterator Logs. What? No Pebbles? Don't care. You're on here now.

Druid's Hollow, the first time I ever saw your YouTube channel was with the Distant Frontier video after just having gotten into Iterator Logs. One of the most pivotal pieces of media you've made in my life was God- Jake Daniels. That single video alone gave me the push I needed to make my first Rainworld oc Parting Clouds. The stories surrounding your characters (and Dune) are creative beyond my ability to write stories. Keep up your top tier memery.

Flickering Nightfall, I'ma put this in a nutshell. Duckdance. After that I found your blog via Google before I made a Tumblr and became enthralled by your content. From something as obscure to me as Infinity Train to Pebbles ragdolling, you were essentially my gateway into liking Iterators. I love the purple. I need moar.

Vic, b u f f I haven't known your blog long and was introduced to you through the My Goodbye animation. Since I was sort of entirely new to Rainworld at that point, I had no idea what was happening. I just saw a well drawn thing and went "oooooo". I'm all for Suns' antenna twitches and NSH box head. Also, body pillow 💀

Dennis, one of the first blogs I found when I first started Tumblr. I found you through the @iterator-ask-blog and found bullying Pebbles hilarious. I love the way you draw the yellow things on his head and I just appreciate that you do digital in general. I do not, will not and proceeds to die if I must. I've seen quick progress with your art style as well. Keep going.

Vessel, I barely know you. Who da heck are ye? I saw your art style once and knew I needed to follow. The way you draw Pebbles and Moon are so satisfying to stare at for minutes and I had way too much fun replicating that s n o o t. I don't know what you're up to with them aside from chaos. Murky Seas' story and design are fantastic. RIP

Shkika, I only found you through the @ask-looks-to-the-moon blog and love the way you draw the Iterators. It's very stylistic without straying too far. The three fingered hands to the goofy faces Moon expresses makes me smile. B a l l s. My Suns design was more so inspired by the way you make him as you were somehow the first Suns exposure. You're the only reason I can't see him without fluff. How did you make Pebbles cute kavvkatkcfadal

Northflowo, way back in 2022 in my first exposure to Hollow Knight, I found your channel through the Baby Mantis skin video with Nosk along with the lore in a nutshell video. Any other content I saw I forgor. In any case, your channel was there in my search for knowledge on that game. Fast-forward to the near conclusion of 2023 when I was first introduced to Rainworld. In my hunt for memes and more knowledge, I found the other lore in a nutshell video and realized you were the perfect channel for me as you had plenty of other content on that subject. Your art still manages to astound me, especially with the shot you did in the map Pliocene and the Warrior Cats redraws like with the waterfall. I'm trash at drawing backgrounds and might learn something from you.

And of great importance to me, @bornt-urnge/@zigmatism

@kitterjitters /@offended-dragon

Thank you for every moment of drawing from Pokemon to Kirby to Mire (oc) and anything else. You have made some of the largest impacts on my life, drawing, game choices and I've enjoyed every moment. I want to have more ridiculous sessions like that in the future and look forward to it.

Some of you have been around in my life for some time and others I've just found. All the same, every single art piece you've made has inspired me no matter how polished, memed or "trash". All of you have made an impact on me, no matter how miniscule. I look forward to the future with anticipation for all of your art. Have a terrific year, and with my deepest gratitude, thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading this.

[kisscara]

Hello! Can I request scara with a s/o that really loves cats, like they stop by cats on the street to pet them and regularly feeds the cats around their area and adopted a cat or two? love how the re-write is going btw! Ty!

cat fever [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ modern au, fluff

a/n: NAURR SRRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT TYY

it's scaramouche's first time stepping foot inside of your house.

it's also his first time meeting your five cats, which includes two kittens.

"kuni, you're not truly my boyfriend if you haven't memorized my lovely felines by name," you giddily say, dragging him into your bedroom.

scaramouche doesn't get you.

what do cats have, that he doesn't? he's got everything down pat, besides the obvious things like physical characteristics of course. from the large ego to the sharp glare, he's just like a cat.

maybe that's why you were so drawn to him the first time you two met.

"kuni, this is ako!" you bend down to pick up a small brown kitty with white fur trailing up from its stomach to its mouth.

"she was born two weeks ago. isn't she cute?" you grin as you present the hyperactive kitty to scaramouche. he experimentally pokes the tummy and it purrs in response.

you press a kiss to her head and set her back down onto the floor of your room. scaramouche tilts his head, muttering, "how do you sleep at night with all of these?"

you ignore his question and sit down, allowing two cats to leap into your lap. you smile up at him.

"the black one is sayo and the brown one is lisa. lisa is ako's mom," you explain, patting their heads. scaramouche sits by you and almost instantly, does another kitty welcome herself onto his thighs. scaramouche flinches and you giggle, "that's rinko. don't worry, she's just excited to have another visitor."

scaramouche hesitates before giving it an awkward pat on the head. this cat of yours has beautiful pitch black eyes and gray fur. it seems to favor your guest. scaramouche rubs the ears and rinko mewls. you beam, "see, they aren't that bad!"

suddenly, he feels two paws pushing at his waist. "oh, there's yukina. he's the only male out of all of my cats and kittens." you usher the white cat over with a tsk, "yuki, come here, baby." yukina is lured towards your call and he crawls by your side instead.

ako cries out of lack of attention and scaramouche looks at her in pity. carefully, trying not to make you notice, he gestures for the kitty to join you two.

but nothing slips past you when someone else is with your cats. you tease him in a lilting tone, "have you grown a bond with one of them already?"

scaramouche sputters in a flustered state. "n-no. i still like dogs better." and he says all of this while eagerly petting rinko and ako's heads. you frown, "don't end up liking my pets more than me."

he suddenly raises a brow with a sly smile, "i never said anything whenever you'd run off to greet a street cat."

you look elsewhere, forcing a laugh, "oh, really? i don't recall such an event." scaramouche hums, "not only that, but you spend most of your allowance on things like cat toys instead of gifts for me."

you accusingly gasp, "isn't my affection enough!? plus, i do give you gifts... just not as often as i give them to my cats."

sayo curiously looks between you and him. lisa licks at ako's head in the middle of it all.

you cross your arms and huff, "and you're basically saying my kisses and hugs aren't worth the price of inanimate objects." scaramouche places his hand on his face, "i guess you got me there."

your jaw drops in shock, "so it's true?" he shakes his head in amusement and leans over to press a kiss on the corner of your lips.

you blankly stare at him as he resumes his previous sitting position. yukina meows. "wait, one more time. you didn't get it properly." at your remark, scaramouche laughs.

he sits closer to you and cups your face in his hands before slotting his lips into yours. sayo, getting the signal that something bad was happening to their owner, tugs at scaramouche's shirt. however, rinko knowingly mewls and doesn't interfere with the situation.

scaramouche pulls away and you clasp your hands together, sighing with your eyes closed, "what gift could possibly be better than that, kuni?" he smiles, "a ring." you wave him away, frantically saying, "it's too early, don't get any ideas yet!"

a little later, scaramouche agreed with helping you feed the cats.

"there's a name on each bowl and it's important that they eat from their own because there's a specific amount i give." you place pieces of meat in every bowl and scaramouche wordlessly watches while rocking rinko in his arms.

the cats, perceiving the fact that their food was in the process of being readied, politely wait for you to finish up. you lead every single one to their designated bowl and allow them to eat up for dinner.

you hold up one finger, saying, "let's do a practice run." you point to the black cat. "what's their name?" you glance at scaramouche and he silently ponders. "that was... erm," scaramouche squints his eyes and rubs his chin. "obviously ako." he proudly smirks, crossing his arms.

his reign of victory fades away when you bluntly say, "wrong." you crouch down to pet the cat and correct him, "this is sayo. she probably doesn't like you anymore, now that you've mistaken her for ako. she's a very picky one when it comes to people."

scaramouche's shoulders sink and he utters, "reminds me of myself."

you laugh and stand back up. "maybe you should help me give them a bath. it might be easier to tell who's who when their fur is soaking wet and they're trying to escape the suds and the water!" you playfully prod, emitting a sigh from the male.

"don't cats hate baths? are you trying to get me killed?" scaramouche raises a brow.

you frown, "oh, i'm not that heartless, kuni! you can borrow my arm length gloves; i don't use them anymore since they got used to me bathing them." you hand him the said gloves and he puts them on. "thanks... i guess."

but oh boy, giving your cats a bath was probably the biggest obstacle scaramouche had to experience in his entire life.

he didn't get how you could just kneel there, bending over the side of the tub as you calmly dealt with their tantrums like it happened everyday, which was possibly the reason why you were used to it by now.

although, you were right. it did give scaramouche a chance to find out which cat is which, with you giving him commands the entire time.

"kuni, watch out for yukina! n-no, that one's rinko! ah, is that a dead mouse? wait, can you get lisa for me? kuni, that's ako!" yeah, it was a wild time.

scaramouche groans and plops onto your bed out of exhaustion. you sit next to him and laugh, "i'm guessing you should know their names by now." ako is in your arms and her teeth dig into your finger over and over. scaramouche notices this and looks at you.

do you have a high pain tolerance or something?

as if you read his mind, you say, "ako is teething; it's natural for her to have the need to bite into things. she doesn't bite too hard so it doesn't pain me or anything." you prop the kitten to sit in your lap and you coo, "isn't that right, ako?"

ako mewls in response. scaramouche murmurs, "i see." he adds, "i can't believe you can manage five cats all on your own. i thought you weren't even capable of keeping me alive." his lighthearted joke emits a giggle from you.

"oh, hey!" you add with a grin, "you can be my cats' father!" scaramouche suddenly deadpans, "what?"

"yeah, i'm their parent and that means you're their father now." you give him a swift kiss on the cheek, leaving the male speechless. scaramouche sighs, "i never would have imagined being a father of five..."

© kisscara

[honeytabbies]

OKAY. HERE WE GO. my black bulls doggies!!!! :D

there's definitely a noticeable difference in style/quality of some of these just due to time between each design and/or how i was feeling at the time of drawing them (these hot and rainy summer months have been super rough on me)

ALSO they were all done symmetrically so that i wouldn't burn out and could actually finish them LOL . OK EVERYBODY BELOW

starting off with asta, a husky/coyote mutt!! :D in my au, devil users end up becoming hybrids of whatever their devil is. so since liebe is a coyote, that's what asta is too!! (also, i haven't drawn him yet, but yuno is a malamute :D similar looking breeds but different since they're not actually related!)

(here's liebe too hehe, scrappy lil coyote!!)

then of course, noelle, who's a saluki!! a very regal breed for a very royal gal!! i thought making her pigtails into her ears was a fun idea HEHEHE

(+ an alternate design version!)

here's finral, he's a shetland sheepdog!! gentle and sweet and always trying to herd his people together :) you might notice that with some of my designs, i end up doing extra scarring; that's usually just personal headcanons, as i think some injuries would be too grievous to fully heal. though some (for instance, gauche) don't have a canon story behind them, i just think they're fitting

vanessa, who's a cavalier king charles spaniel!! her ears sorta blend into her hair lol, i had an alternate version where they were the same darker brown as her fur but i decided that them blending in looked better and fit the breed standard as well.

gauche, the ever wary american akita!! being a fiercely loyal and protective breed, but aloof and suspicious of strangers.

then there's grey, who's a long-haired chihuahua!! sweet and skittish HEHE, also i haven't drawn it yet but i've always imagined her big transformation disguise that she's first introduced as to be a rottweiler LOL

next up is luck, a jack russell terrier!! i've always thought this was a very fitting breed pick, intelligent but highly energetic and a little mischievous !!!

and of course, magna is never far behind luck; he's a dobermann pinscher!! similar to luck in energy and intelligence, but even more fiercely protective of his loved ones.

GORDON!!! actually one of my favourite black clover characters, he's a dalmatian not only because of the fitting aesthetic, but also because of his kind and sensitive personality!

the masked supermage zora, a german shepherd! watchful and sometimes stubborn but loyal nonetheless made this pick fairly easy to come to. though, before getting to see more of him, my initial pick was actually a kai ken!

charmy's design is one that i'm the most proud of for sure; i mentioned in an earlier post that the different peoples are different species of animals. well charmy is a half toy poodle, half american badger!! i thought a badger was a VERY fitting pick, as they are generally unbothered by much unless their food is threatened LOL

and finally, lastly (for now) is nero!! she's a bull terrier, but i really wanted to keep her twin tails from her anti-bird form! her outfit is definitely the one i edited the most, i just wanted to give her something more practical out of personal preference.

additionally, henry is an old english sheepdog, nacht is a black norwegian elkhound/fox, and yami is a wolfdog!

I HAVE SOME OTHER CHARACTERS DOODLED HERE AND THERE but nothing else really finished yet. if there's a specific character anyone would like to see i would be SO happy to draw/doodle them to show off!! i honestly have a huge list of dog/cat breeds picked out for every character i could think of; i just am hellishly indecisive and can never pick who to start on next AHDSJAGDJSDK

THE POSITIVE RECEPTION TO MY ART SO FAR HAS MADE ME SO HAPPY BTW AUAGGHHH i have no idea how/if im able to reply to people directly but just know that i keep reading over everyone's reblog tags and stimming like crazy IM SO HAPPY THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH AUHGHFEHGGRH