#rum edits

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

Little kitty cats illustrations from the first Polish edition of "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats", made by Janusz Grabiański

The top 3 are all Mr Mistoffelees, bottom left is of course Skimble and bottom right is Tugger messing with yarn. I do not know who is the bottom middle as I do not own this book yet, if it is even one of the named characters

[releasethebarrelroll]

Wow, these are old. Also

Super Macho Wario Nipples. You're welcome.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

The Birds and the Bees (Gets Kim On His Knees)

Summary: Sex pollen AU Kim is getting POLLINATED. Bee boy Chay thinks he’s the prettiest flower in the bunch and he’s getting all up in his vase. (sober note: Chay is not actually a bee boy)

It starts out perfectly innocently, okay? Chay had a plan, and that plan was to woo Kim, because after his delightfully sweet confusion upon receiving the guitar pick from Chay was any indication, he’s never been romanced before, and Chay is going to romance him so fucking hard. There’s going to be chocolate and dates and flowers. 

The flowers are the important part. Chay went into the florist with a polite request for something special, bc his honey only deserves the best, and he can’t remember the name of the flowers that were neatly wrapped into a big, fluffy bouquet, but it was pretty, and it sounded expensive, and Chay didn’t even bother checking the price tag before his handed over his credit card. Worrying about the price of things? That’s a Before Chay problem. Now Chay has mafia money, and he’s going to spend it on flowers to make his boyfriend blush, and no one is going to stop him. 

The flowers make Chay blush a little bit, too. He gets all shivery and warm under the collar as he carries them out of the shop, little white flecks dusting all over him. 

“Have fun,” the florist tells him on his way out the door, waving and laughing. “Don’t forget plenty of water.”

Duh. Chay knows how to keep flowers alive. Or, keep them from wilting, at least for a few days, bc technically they’re dead now that they’re cut. He’s giving Kim a dead gift. But that’s okay bc Kim gave him a bar fullof dead gifts, and these ones are prettier. They smell better, too, and they may be snowing bits of white fluff everywhere, but they aren’t going to leave so much of a mess. (Poor Yok had to close the bar for a month.) 

Back at the apartment that Chay does not share with Kim, even though hes there more often than he isn’t, because kim hasn’t offered, and chay hasn’t asked, and besires, hia would probably kill him, anyway. Say something rude about a love nest, which is absolutely not what it is. (It’s exactly what it is.) 

Without the use of his hands, given the *massive* bouquet, Chay has to settle for knocking his feet and elbows against the door until Kim gets the hint and opens it for him. 

“Chay?” he asks, peering around the flowers, and oh, right, he probably can’t actually *see* chay like this. He ducks his head around the side and grins, then thrusts the flowers into Kim’s arms. He’s getting tired, and he needs a glass of water. Carrying those things has been making him sweat. Who knows flowers could weight so mich? 

“Hi, honey,” CHay greets cheergully. “I’m home!” 

Kim’s fae goes from confused to preciously warm and soft and chay wants to kiss him, bc he’s *so* cute, he actually can’t take it. Who said his boyfriend could be so cute? Kim is supposed to be hot and sexy and intimidating. Cute is cay’s thing. But Kim, bc he isn’t fair, bc he’s blessed, is everything. He’s so good and sweet and he’s watching chay with eyes so fond and warm they could melt chocolate, and Chay has to kiss him about it. Right? Kim’s his boyfriend now—it’s their 1 month anniversary—which means he gets to do that now. 

The flowers are in the way, though. 

Chay takes them back. Says, “These are for you, by the way,” as he carts them over to the table, and Kim closes the door, and follows after him with an indulgent smile. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asks. 

“You, duh. I just.” Chay puts the flowers down. He arranges them carefully, fluffing out the thick white buds. ROcks back and forth on his teeth. Twists his hands in his sweater. He loves Kim so much and he has no idea how to hake his boyfriend understand. “I’m just—y9ou make me so happy. And I’m really lucky to be with you. So, yeah. Flowers. For you. Bc you deserve nice things.”

“Chay…” 

Kim comes up behind him, because Chay, flushed from the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears, does *not* look at him. He wraps his arms around CHay’s middle and nuzzles into the back of his hot neck, planting a soft kiss there. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into the sensitive space behind Chay’s ear, making him shudder. “Thank you, love, they’re really pretty.”

“You’re pretty.” Chay ducks his head down but he lets Kim spin him and kiss the top of his head. “I need some water.” He’s still burning up, and now he’s certain it’s the embarrassment more than the thirst, but if he doesn’t drink something cold now he’s going to melt into a puddle on the ground. So he darts away and Kim lets him go with a laugh. 

It gives him the opportunity to look at the flowers closer, leaning down to take a deep inhale. The fluff flaking off from the fleshy pink middles must egt vaught in his nose bc he starts sneezing, and chay giggles from the kitchen. 

“SOrry they’re getting pollen, like, everywhere.” Like dandelions, almost. Except these flowers are more than balls of white, tufty seeds. The petals are thick and full, white around the edges, then peachy pink in the middle, and at the very center of them, where the petals are folded together the thickest, they turn a lurid, dusky purple. And those white tufts of pollen drip out from that tight furl of petals. 

Kim straightens back up from his fit, and has pollen all in his hair and dotting his cheeks. Chay coos at him. He looks like he went frolicking in a daisy field. 

[commercial break for porn]

“Chay—Chay, those flowers—”

“I know,” Chay groans, dragging Kim into a fevered kiss. Fuck, what was wrong with those flowers? He should have—he should have realized something was off, as soon as he started getting warm, and they florist—telling him to remember plenty of water for them, him and Kim, not the flowers, of fucking course. God, how could he have been so blind. 

“Chay.”  And Kim—Kim is whining. That was definitely a whine. High and plaintive and pleading, and Chay has to take a deep breath before he comes on the spot. 

This is fine, everything is fine, he’s in control here. He’s barely affected. See? Look, P’Kim, he can walk in a straight line, straight to their bedroom, because he’s fine. Chay isn’t the one that decided to inhale a lungfull of sex pollen. 

Kim looks out of his fucking mind with it, though, little white flecks speckled through his hair, his pupils completely blown. Like a cat when it sees something in wants. Kim is looking at Chay like he’s never wanted anything more in his life, and it’s a heady feeling, to be on the receiving end of that gaze. For all Kim has become a whimpering limpet, he looks like he’s going to each Chay alive as Chay pushes him down onto the bed. 

“Are you okay?” Chay asks, on top of him, kissing his throat, because he’s a gentleman. Porsche raised him to be very considerate of his partners, and dammit, he’s going to make sure Kim is comfortable and taken care of!

“Yes, Chay, yes, I’m so okay, fuck, are you—” Kim tugs at Chay’s shirt, seemingly forgetting how buttons work in his desperation to get it off of CHay. he settles for digging his fingers into the spaces between the buttons and yanking, ripping it apart. 

Once again Chay is taking several deep breaths. 

Do not come. Do NOT come, he tells himself. 

Unfortunately his inhale led to a little tuft of pollen going right up his nose, and he snuffles a few times, trying to get rid of the tickling feeling. Now that he knows what he’s looking for he can feel it as the warmth spreads through him, spreading from his nose to his face and down his neck, and then it reaches his heard and flows through all of him, coalescing at his dick. 

Which Kim is determinedly trying to free from the confines of Chay’s slacks. 

Why did he decide to give up his usual uniform of tshirts and sweatpants, again? Dressing up for his boyfriend is overrated when he could be undressing for his boyfriend instead, and that’s a lot harder to do wrapped up in said boyfriend the way he is when he isn’t wearing something with a forgiving degree of stretch. He tries very hard to wiggle out of the stiff slacks while also palming Kim’s ass, which isn’t helpful at all, but it is nice. 

“Chay,” Kim complains, and there’s that whine again. God, it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. It really shouldn’t. Except for the fact that it means Kim is utterly and relentlessl desperate for him, which means it’s approximately the hottest thing he’s ever heard. 

“I’m trying,” Chay says, except he isn’t actually trying at all. He manages to pull his hands away from Kim long enough that he can open up his pants and kick them down his legs, while also trying to divest Kim of his own clothes, and somehow that ends up with both of them in a tangled the floor. Chay isn’t sure how that happened but there’s a dull ache in his shoulder and hip telling him that gravity was involved. 

Kim, straddling Chay’s thighs in an instant, doesn’t seem to mind the position change. In fact he takes full advantage, throwing himself on top of Chay and kissing him absolutely breathless. CHay isn’t complaining, that’s for damn sure. 

“I need you ti fuck me right now,” Kim demands. 

“Yes. Yes yes yes.”  Chay scrabbles on the floor, hoping for lube to magically appear when he needs it most. Unfortunately it does not. He makes a mental not to hide lube fucking everywhere later, just likekim has guns and knives hidden in all the nooks and crannies around his apartment, that way they can both be prepared for anything. Bc chay wants nothing more than to fuck kim on every available surface, please and thank you. 

Today that apparently includes the floor, and honestly? Chay isn’t hating it.

“Lube, P’Kim, we need lube.” No way he’s going to fuck him dry. Because again. Gentleman. COnsiderate lover. All of that. 

Except Kim makes a noise like—like—chay doesn’t know what it’s like. It’s high pitched and maybe kind of worried? And he’s reaching back between his legs, and his brows are drawn together as he scrunches his nose up in that cute way he does, and lips are parted so sweetly, and—

Before CHy can kiss him about it, Kim pulls his hand back, his fingers glistening with something that looks a hell of a lot like lube, except for the fact that they have no lube, as previously established. 

“I think maybe we don’t?” he says. His voice, normally rough and deep, goes somewhere high and unfamiliar. 

What the fuck, Chay thinks. 

“What the fuck,” he says out loud. Kim’s eyes are wide and wild and is laugh is a little bit hysterical. Chay should probably worry about that. Try to calm him down maybe. Except he’s also read about this? “Let me just—” he wiggles his hand beneath Kim, brushes his fingers against his hole, and—yep, he’s definitely slick with something. 

“What the fuck,” Kim echoes, still staring at his fingers. 

He suddenly remembers the florist telling him, Don’t forget plenty of water. He’s going to die, actually. They’ve been sex pollened. Pollinated? Yeah, that. And fuck, she knew, she had to know, that’swhy she smirked and laughed and told him to drink water, because she knew things were going to get wet and fucking messy. 

God, Chay can’t even be mad about it because—because it’s Kim, and he is wet, and Chay desperately wants to make a mess of both of them. 

Kim shouts when Chay throws him back onto the ground, pinning him on his back. He made sure to pull a blanket down first (Gentleman!!) so Kim wouldn’t be bare on the cold wood floor. Then he grabs Kim’s legs behind his knees and forces his thighs to his chest, he’s vaguely aware of Kim’s hands slapping the ground, but then he’s thoroughly distracted by burying his tongue in the nectar-sweet slick dripping from Kim’s hole. 

“Chay!” Kim cries, equal parts indignant and hopelessly turned on. HIs thighs clamp down around Chay’s head and do absolutely nothing to deter him. In fact, Chay elects to ignore him entirely, digging his fingers into Kim’s thighs and licking into him with fervor. 

Deliriously, he thinks, finally, all those smut fics are good for something. He’s never been more prepared for something in his life. 

“You taste so sweet, P’Kim,” Chay says when he finally comes up for air, what could be minutes or hours later. 

“You’re so fucking weird,” kim pants. His face is flushed, all the way down his chest, and his eyes are glassy. It’s the most beautiful CHay has ever seen him, and all Chay can think is, I did that. 

Well, the flowers—the fucking sex pollen—did that, but Chay helped! 

Chay shoves Kim’s legs open again, because they’re still crushing him a little bit, and crawls his way backup Kim’s body, where he greets him with a deep, wet kiss. Chay is covered in that sweet slick from nose to chin and Kim makes a face at it, mumbling, “Gross,” but does nothing to resist Chay’s kiss. Sucks on his glistening bottom lip, even, and his tongue, chasing the sweet taste of himself. It’s probably just because of the pollen clouding his judgment. Probably. 

“I could eat you out for days, P’Kim,” Chay says, just to be sure, “So sweet for me.”

“Fuck.” That’s all Kim says. No agreement or refusal, absolutely not aligning himself with either side of that spectrum, and refusing to meet Chay’s eyes for fear he’ll see an answer there. That’s okay. Chay knows they’re definitely going to do it again, if only so Kim can have the chance to… properly decide for himself whether he likes it, or not, without the pollen making his brain fuzzy. 

“Can I still fuck you, P’Kim?” Chay asks, sweet as anything. (Gentle. Man.)

“Finally, yes, please, if you’re done teasing me.”

“I’m not.” Not even close. Teasing Kim into a shuddering, pathetic mess is going to become one of the greatest achievements of Chay’s life, up there with Getting His Idol to Tutor Him, and Getting Into University. “I’ll make it good for you, though, promise.” 

Really, it’s more of a threat. Chay makes himself comfortable in their little nest on the floor—he blindly reaches up and pulls a few pillows off the bed, one for him to sit on and another to shove under Kim’s hips, popping him up and putting him on display even more than he already is—and gets to work. Circles his thumb around Kim’s glistening rim, lightly at first, waiting until Kim’s breaths stop hitching and he takes a deep inhale, and then Chay dips the digit into him. Up to the first knuckle, nice and slow, and then deeper, until it’s all the way inside and the rest of his fingers lay flat against his cheek. Chay pulses it in and out a few times, nice and shallow, before he pulls all the way out and replaces it with his foreigner. A minute later he slides in the middle one, as well, and Kim keens sweetly for him. 

[uppastthejelliclemoon]

"soldier, poet, king" but make it the deuteronomy brothers

tags below the cut:

@storyweaverofgondor

@soh-da-meatball

@queen-with-the-quill

[my-exmo-life]

|| TW for Mormonism, internalised fatphobia, discussions of fatphobia and diets, negative self talk ||

Pls excuse me I’m mildly tipsy (but not tipsy enough that I can’t add a TW bc we respect people here on this blog)

You know what we don’t talk about enough? The idealisation of thinness in the Mormon church.

All the aesthetics and ideals are of these size 0 blonde white women and, shockingly, that’s harmful.

I discovered this week that wearing a skirt is triggering for me bc it makes me look a little bigger and makes my belly relax from the default “must suck in”.

IM NOT EVEN OVERWEIGHT.

I’m a little “bigger” than I “should be” according to society but dear fucking god who cares?? Call the goddamn police, I guess it’s a crime to love food.

I bought a beautiful skirt. It’s got kinda witchy vibes. These cool suns and moons and it’s so breathable and comfy. I wore it work. AND GUESS FUCKING WHAT. I was uncomfortable all day.

I looked fucking amazing even tho I was just at work. But my stomach said lol nope you don’t get to be comfy without suffering.

I’ve taken to just measuring the waists of pants I want to buy so I don’t have to try them on (usually works just fine) so I did that to a pair of jeans I was wanting to buy (I’d already bought a smaller size that didn’t fit and I was doing a great job feeling neutral about having to size up)

So I measured the waist and saw it should fit but out of paranoia I measured my own and IT HAD GONE UP 10 FUCKING CENTIMETRES.

So I tried the jeans on anyway bc hey, why not, I feel like shit anyway. And it was too tight. Logically I know I was just bloated and shit but there was that little voice in my head that was going “fat, gross, disgusting, whale, etc”

And it sounded just like all the Mormon women that came before me. My mom. My grandmother. My aunt. All women I love and adore and who I don’t have a single memory of when they weren’t on a diet.

I hate that fat phobia is so baked into this religion. I’ve been out for going on 3 years and it’s still fucking affecting me. I can’t wear my beautiful new skirt because it fucks me up too much.

I’m planning to deprogram myself so I can just wear the fucking skirt but I have no idea how long it’ll take. I’ll do it tho. I know that much.

Also guess what. I measured my waist again the next morning. Back down ten centimetres.

If we ever want girls and women and just people in general to feel even slightly normal about their bodies we need to teach them about weight fluctuations and that they’re normal.

I know through experience and research that they’re normal. But I still felt like shit in that moment. It’s just fatphobia, plain and simple.

[lightingelectratwo]

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

The closer the moon, the stronger the magic. That simple phrase was something his fellows had often whispered in his ears as far back as the first Becoming. And there was truth to it, Mistoffelees supposed. He never felt as at peace with himself in this body as he did while bathed in the full bellied moonlight on the slated roofs of the city. There was a brief sense of satisfactory quiet that would come alongside its light that he looked forward to, as though - for a brief moment - he weren't failing in every aspect of the word. The quiet was a salve, of sorts; a chance to regroup and perhaps even attempt his rest.

"I had a feeling I'd find you up here."

Or at least it had been a chance.

"You really must stop sneaking up on me, Rum Tum Tugger," Mistoffelees deadpans, feeling a twisted sort of satisfaction at the annoyance he feels radiating from the other at the use of his full title. "Lest you wish to be sautéed."

"Ha ha, that's so funny," the other tom mutters in return, slinking forward to sit just within Mistoffelees' personal bubble of space, seemingly ignoring the way he was being watched. Mistoffelees observes that, despite his boldness and constant envelope pushing, even Tugger knew to draw a line somewhere. "I only serve well stuffed and basted, you know."

Seems, however, he was still learning where that appropriate somewhere was. 

The Maine Coon sighs as his "joke" (that's what he calls them: jokes, even when they are not amusing or proper) falls flat on its face - not even a cracked smile. He resigns to pulling at the chains that decorate his collar, but he keeps staring at the other tom, as though trying to puzzle out the misaligned tilt of his melting features. "And, please, stop calling me Rum Tum Tugger."

"Why?" Mistoffelees asks, feigning innocence, of all things. It feels strange, fizzing under the roof of his mouth, as if it knew it didn't belong anywhere near his tongue. "It is your name, is it not?"

"No," Tugger counters, too quickly it seems, as he immediately scrambles to correct himself. Mistoffelees takes careful note of this. "I mean yes it is, but it's for, like, when I'm in trouble, or being superficially adored, not…"

Mistoffelees also notes how he trails off, but more specifically where he trails off. Much to his nature, however, he cares very little to pursue the issue. For now, at least. 

"Anyway, Mr. Mistoffelees," he continues, nonplussed, flopping to his belly. "Why are you here?"

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes, the whites slightly too prominent in the glow of the moon. "In the end, why are any of us here?"

Tugger's nose wrinkles. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I know it?" This liberal misplaced innocence in his damned mouth is beginning to numb the skin of his teeth, but he must admit it was amusing to counter his annoyance. He deserves it - a treat, if he may be so bold, for being stuck in this place.

Tugger does not continue his childish retort, as expected. Instead, he continues his critical deconstruction of the side of Mistoffelees' paper thin skull. "You remind me of my dad."

Mistoffelees feels himself frowning before he can stop it. Not so much offended as he is…confused at the change in direction. "How so?"

"You both speak in riddles so you can avoid actually talking about things." He says this plainly, as though the observation was obvious. Mistoffelees suddenly feels…uneasy.

"I see."

Tugger grins, full and even, free of any previous irritation. That was one thing about The Rum Tum Tugger: he did not dwell on anything too long. A flaw or an admirable trait, Mistoffelees was still figuring. "Trying to get me to learn my own lessons, are you?"

"The beast who is burned does not approach the flame twice," Mistoffelees recites, feeling the empty words rattle in their cliché. "Would you not prefer to come to your own conclusions independently rather than rely on another's distorted perspective?"

"It's just nice to get a straight answer every once in a while, isn't it?"

And that was another thing about The Rum Tum Tugger - he composed symphonies from singular notes; gave infinite information with one sentence. Managed to nail the simplest of points down with such precision, he might have made a decent archer in a past life.

Mistoffelees ponders this. Teach the beast and he will flee. Feed the beast and he will come back. 

It slices a touch too close to the bone for his tastes.

"So," Tugger tries again, cutting through his thoughts. "What's going on with you?"

Mistoffelees turns fully to the other tom, peering at him from the depths below. "What are you doing, Tugger?"

"I'm trying," Tugger says, deliberately dragging his words, looking at him directly in the eye…unafraid. "To get you to open up."

"For what purpose?"

Tugger falters slightly at the question, but he plunders on. He is unused to being questioned; little prince. "Because I want to get to know you better."

"I think," Mistoffelees counters coolly, feeling a spark beginning at the base of his neck. "You are trying to satiate a curiosity."

"Maybe." Tugger shrugs. "But I think you want to be known, don't you?"

Mistoffelees' spine stiffens suddenly, the spark becoming a full, indignant crackle. "That is a very bold assumption to make."

"Is it?" He counters, drawing to his full height, full of the devil, staring down at him. Tugger smiles impishly at the ear twitch Mistoffelees cannot quite suppress. "I can play this game too, sparkles."

The two toms stay in their lock of wills, laced tight by a single, unflinching thread, and there is a sudden…weight in the air that hadn't been present before.  Tugger looks…determined and expectant. Predatory, almost, in his size and the glint in his eye. Every instinct in his borrowed body tells him to look away, break the bond, reshift the balance, but his mind betrays him. Something else betrays him. 

The quiet comes back, but it is no longer restful as it was before.

"What if," Mistoffelees manages at last, voice oddly strained, as though he were pulling it up from a well. "When you manage to…'open me up', you do not like what you see?"

The other tom's adamant face freezes just a moment, too quick to be noticed by any regular cat, but Mistoffelees sees it, lingers on it as the genuineness of emotion bleeds into the easier, softer expression that replaces it. Surprise, wariness even. But still, no fear - not a single trace of it. If only you knew. "Then I'd say you have the right to sauté me, then."

There is a foreign pressure deep within the cavern of his body at the answer. He does not recognize it; he has not felt this in centuries - millennia, possibly.  "I do not believe you understand what you are asking for."

"Listen." Tugger licks his lip, rocking back on his haunches so he shrinks again, non-threatening, and the thread snaps. Mistoffelees lowers his tail cautiously. 

"I know you think I'm…I don't know, irresponsible with myself - everyone else thinks so," Tugger says evenly, carefully avoiding what he thinks of the admission. "And you'd be right, but I promise you, I'm a big tom, I can handle myself. If I asked it's because I want to know - how bad could it be?"

Bad, bad, very bad. You will never look at me the same.

And there it was - that relentless sincerity, glittering in his dark eyes again. 

Why do I care? What am I doing? a tiny voice wails in his ear. What am I doing?

"Very well," his traitor's tongue betrays its own master. "What would you know of me?"

For the first time in their conversation, Tugger casts his gaze downward, looking, a moment, almost shy; overwhelmed by the offer. It would be charming, he thinks, if it did not feel so…horrid in his chest cavity. He would file that away for future consideration. "I don't know…honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far."

Mistoffelees hmphs, the unrelenting heat and heaviness of the moment cooling enough that he was able to regain a semblance of his bearings about him. Typical Tugger. 

"Maybe…” Tugger scrunches up his muzzle in thought. “Where were you born?"

Mistoffelees looks away at last, and it seems like an eternity passes until he speaks again, sitting under the steadily fading moon. He prays, as close as he could get, that the other would not live to regret this. That he would not live to regret this.

"Perhaps," he begins softly, nearly - Tugger's betraying mind whispers - with affection. "You may want to start with something simpler."

"Like?"

"Where were you when the world began?"

[hexpea]

SUGURU GETOOOOOOOOOOOO sweet baby sunshine boy, my lil buttercup, precious angel boy i <3333 uuuuuuu

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Hi Ray! I just needed to tell you on here how much I love your Sweetpea series! I first read it over these past holidays (while I was still a lurker) and fell in love with it! It is so funny and cute and beautiful and just so good!! I was so excited to see Chapter 6 on AO3 after such a cliffhanger that I had to stay up during my plane ride to read it! As a side note, I'm in Chicago and planned to visit Whiskey Business because of your fic, but was bummed to hear it's no longer the same bar.

??? what happened to whiskey business? are you sure? it feels like i was just there im gonna be so sad

but thank you! <3 im so happy to hear that you're so into it and that you were excited for the update. i know it was a long time coming lmao. this is not the point but im very stuck on this whiskey business thing - let me know if this is the one you were looking at. because this is The One hehe

[captain-amadeus]

Ivy outfit No. 3

[storyweaverofgondor]

Bombalurina and rum Tum Tugger, and mr mistoffeless for the cats Edits.

Here you go, Anon!

[rudolphsb9]

A couple of my (admittedly numerous at this point, we're on page 2) Tuggoffelees doodles.

I think I need to draw misto more

[uppastthejelliclemoon]

lil angsty macavity edit

music: “goodbye”, bo burnham

clips: cats 1998

[chasing-posts]

Woot! Just wrote a Tugoffelees fic start to finish. It's just a first draft but the fact I finished writing it after not writing for so long feels good!

[dr-teatime]

started watching lower decks and cat doctor got me thinking

also still working my way through the rest of the series so no one tell me if weve actually gotten live action cats already, I prefer this

[wilds-ponytail]

alcohol tolerance who?