#she often turns into mice birds or cats

[moss-flesh]

mouse in her silly little outfit

[princesssarisa]

Disney's unconventional "Cinderella" (1950) (long)

Having watched most of the many adaptations of Cinderella, I've come to realize what a unique adaptation Disney's 1950 animated classic really is. Unlike Snow White, which only had a few stage and screen adaptations before Disney produced its groundbreaking film, Cinderella had already been adapted many times before Disney's turn came, and Disney's version makes a surprising number of departures from the standard Cinderella "formula." It was definitely a fresh, creative Cinderella when it made its debut, and it arguably still is. Yet because it's become so familiar in pop culture, and today so often serves as our childhood introduction to the tale, it's easy to overlook its inventive storytelling choices. The 2015 live action remake uses several classic Cinderella adaptation tropes that the original 1950 film actually subverts!

Here's a list of the often-overlooked ways in which Disney's Cinderella stands out from earlier adaptations, and from many later ones too.

Cinderella herself. Disney's Cinderella isn't a traditional Cinderella in personality. The "traditional" portrayal of Cinderella, seen in virtually every adaptation before Disney's and several afterwards too, is the portrayal I call "The Waif": a very young, fragile, melancholy girl, dressed in pathetic rags and smudged with ashes, who makes the audience want to rescue her and who wins the Prince's heart with her wide-eyed innocence and artless charm. But whether chiefly to set her apart from earlier screen Cinderellas or from Disney's earlier delicate ingenue Snow White, Disney's Cinderella is none of those things. She comes across as older, or at least more sophisticated. Nor is she waif-like, but instead combines down-to-earth warmth with ladylike dignity, even at her lowliest. She doesn't sit in the ashes ("Cinderella" is her real name in this version), and her servants' dress is humble yet clean and only slightly tattered. She's gentle and kind, yes, but also intelligent, practical, playful, sometimes sarcastic, philosophical, optimistic, genuinely cheerful when she's with her animal friends, and yet angrier and stronger-willed than virtually all earlier Cinderellas. She doesn't beg to go to the ball, but asserts her right to go, and then sets to work fixing up an old dress of her mother's for herself. Only her stepfamily's sabotage, first by keeping her too busy to finish the dress, and then by destroying it after the mice and birds finish it for her, prevents her from taking herself to the ball without a Fairy Godmother. To this day, she stands out as a complex, unique Cinderella, which pop culture too often forgets.

Lady Tremaine. Some critics today complain that Disney makes Cinderella's stepmother a total monster instead of giving her "nuance" and call her portrayal "sexist." But can't we agree that her sheer cruelty enhances the film's dramatic power? And compared to earlier portrayals of Cinderella's Stepmother, it definitely makes her stand out. In most pre-Disney Cinderellas and many after, the Stepmother is a pompous, vain comic antagonist. Once again, Disney was innovative by portraying Lady Tremaine as a dignified, manipulative, and truly sinister villain, who takes quietly sadistic pleasure in abusing Cinderella and will stop at nothing to prevent her from going to the ball or marrying the Prince. As far as I know, she's also the first Stepmother to realize before the slipper-fitting that Cinderella was the lady at the ball and to take action to prevent her from being found. That's a commonplace plot device in more recent adaptations, but in 1950 it was a creative twist!

The mice and other animals. Viewers debate whether Cinderella's mouse friends, Jaq, Gus, et al, and their misadventures evading Lucifer the Cat are a welcome addition or take away too much screen time from Cinderella herself. But there's no denying that the presence of the mice and birds is an inventive storytelling choice, which makes Disney's Cinderella stand out! And I can provide a long list of reasons why they're more than just "filler." (1) They add liveliness, humor, and appeal for younger children. (2) They gave the animators an outlet for the type of character animation they did best, rather than binding them to the harder work of animating realistic humans. (3) They give Cinderella someone to talk to besides her stepfamily. (4) They give her a way to demonstrate her kindness. (5) The struggles of the mice with Lucifer parallel Cinderella's abuse by her stepfamily, and Cinderella's undying optimism not only keeps her from despair, but inspires them too. (6) They arguably provide a further reason why Cinderella stays with her stepfamily – not only does she have nowhere to go, but an entire community of small sentient creatures relies on her for food and protection. (7) They reward Cinderella for her kindness. From the start, her friendship with the mice and birds makes her life easier to bear, both by easing her loneliness and because they do helpful deeds for her, like mending and cleaning her clothes. They fix up her mother's dress for her to wear to the ball – only the stepfamily's last-minute cruelty requires the Fairy Godmother to step in. And in the end, they're directly responsible for Cinderella's happy ending by freeing her from her locked room. They do all these things because Cinderella has protected them, fed them, made them clothes, and been their friend. Therefore, Cinderella's good fortune never feels "just handed" to her: her kindness directly earns it.

The Fairy Godmother. It's always varied between illustrators whether Cinderella's Fairy Godmother is portrayed as a grandmotherly old woman or as youthful, regal, and beautiful, but screen and stage adaptations before the Disney version virtually always took the "youthful, regal, beautiful" approach. That is, when they didn't change her into a wise, fatherly male magician-advisor, as in several opera adaptations! At any rate, seriousness and dignity were the norm for this character in most adaptations from the 19th century through the 1940s. Making her a sweet, comforting, grandmotherly figure, with a comically and adorably absent mind, was another of Disney's fresh choices.

Cinderella's entrance at the ball. We all know the classic image of Cinderella's entrance from other adaptations. Cinderella appears at the top of the grand staircase that leads down to the ballroom, and a hush falls over the assembly, as not only the Prince, but all the guests and members of the court are amazed by the unknown lady's beauty and magnificent dress. Even in versions without a staircase, Cinderella captivates the room the moment she enters. Adaptations both before and after Disney's, including Disney's own 2015 live action remake, play her entrance this way. But the 1950 animated classic subverts it! The grand staircase leads up to the ballroom, not down to it, and Cinderella's entrance isn't a triumph at first, but a vulnerable moment as she makes her way up the stairs alone, dwarfed by the splendor around her. Then, when she reaches the ballroom, no one notices her at first, because the other ladies are being presented to the Prince and all eyes are on him. But then the Prince notices her in the shadowy background as she quietly marvels at her surroundings, and leaves his post to approach her and invite her to dance. Only then does the rest of the assembly notice her, because she's the one the Prince has singled out. It's more understated and it feels more realistic than the traditional entrance, as well as more clearly symbolic of Cinderella's venturing above her station, then both literally and figuratively being led out of the shadows by the Prince's unexpected attention.

The slipper-fitting plan. Over the years, it's been fairly popular to mock the idea of using the glass slipper to find the Prince's love, as if there were no chance it would fit anyone else. Disney's version is creative by having the slipper-fitting search be the comical, hot-blooded King's idea, not the Prince's, and making it clear that it's not, nor is it meant to be, a foolproof plan to find Cinderella. The Duke points out that the slipper could fit any number of girls, but the King doesn't care if they find the right girl or not: he just wants to hold his son to his pledge to marry "the girl who fits this slipper" and force him to marry the first one who fits it. This also means that Disney doesn't do what most adaptations do and have the Prince conduct the search himself, but follows the original Perrault tale by having a gentleman, in this case the Grand Duke, do it instead. This prevents audiences from mocking the Prince for relying on the slipper instead of knowing his beloved's face.

Cinderella breaking free and asking to try on the slipper. Even though in Perrault's original tale, Cinderella asks to try on the slipper, she almost never does in adaptations. In most versions other than Disney's, including Disney's own 2015 remake, Cinderella's presence in the house (and/or the fact that she has the other slipper) is either discovered by accident or revealed by Cinderella's allies, not by Cinderella's own initiative. In some versions, she even tries to hide from the Prince and/or the search party, either out of fear of her stepfamily or because she feels unworthy of the Prince in her rags. But not Disney's animated Cinderella! First of all, she has an assertive emotional breakthrough when she calls on her dog Bruno to chase Lucifer away and free Gus to slip her the key to her locked room. Earlier on, she urges Bruno to try to get along with Lucifer, lest the stepfamily not allow him to sleep in the house – it's clear that Bruno represents her own rebellious side, and in that scene she's really talking about herself, revealing that she tolerates her stepfamily's abuse so she won't lose her own "nice warm bed" and be homeless. But in the climactic scene, when she finally sees a way out, she gives up playing nice and seizes her chance. First she unleashes Bruno on Lucifer, and then she runs downstairs and directly asks to try on the slipper, not caring how her stepfamily will react, or what the Grand Duke will think of her shabby dress, or whether the audience will accuse her of gold-digging or not. This isn't a common breakthrough in other Cinderella adaptations, but it fits perfectly (like a glass slipper, you might say) with the Disney Cinderella's stronger-willed and more self-assured characterization.

"I have the other slipper." We can probably all safely assume that when audiences first saw Disney's Cinderella in 1950, they all expected Cinderella to try on the glass slipper she lost, with her identity revealed by its perfect fit. They never would have expected Lady Tremaine to trip the footman and break the glass slipper... only for Cinderella to calmly reveal that she has the other one. It's yet another clever and unexpected twist, not seen in any other version. Not even Disney's own 2015 remake.

Disney's Cinderella deserves far more credit than it gets for being unique among the myriad versions of the tale, especially compared to the versions that came before it.

[dreaming-marchling]

Director's cut around anything in The Warlock's Cat? I absolutely adore the story.

The Warlock's Cat Tidbits :)

Also, hopefully cats weren’t deathly allergic to romaine lettuce, carrots and what tasted like balsamic vinaigrette. All Alec knew was that cats hunted mice, what their diets were like after that was a mystery. Nobody could actually be allergic to a carrot, right?

Just in case anyone out there is unclear, cats totally can't survive on a vegan diet, they have to have meat. So nice try with this salad, Alec, but this did absolutely nothing for you lol

---

He braced himself, flexed his claws but didn’t attack. He didn’t want to attack. Alec was just resting up, he’d get out of here as soon as he could but he had no way of communicating that so the cat probably…

It licked him.

Aside from the kindness from Chairman here, cats groom each other to bond but often the groomer is asserting dominance over the groomee. So in cat speak, Chairman is also saying "this is my house but I like you" while he grooms Alec. Further enforcing Magnus' thought later that Chairman and Alec are friends and that Chairman is the alpha in the friendship lol (and that they're both aware and okay with that)

---

To his great surprise, she turned to him and nodded her head as well, “I am the Sirin. It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

The initial outline didn't have the Sirin. I just wanted some various Downworlders to show Alec how similar their people were and that Magnus was nothing like what Maryse had said. I decided it'd be fun to have a non-humanoid being come to Magnus so I started researching. When I discovered the Sirin from Russian folklore I fell in love and had to include her.

This is a picture of her and her counterpart Alkonost (the Sirin is on the left)

[By Viktor Vasnetsov, Birds of Joy and Sorrow (1896)]

This is my favorite artwork of them but there are many other great ones (plus plenty that stick a pair of featherless tits in the center of their bird chests, if that does anything for you lol).

---

The spell carried Alec all the way to his bed in Magnus’ bedroom where there was some green stuff – oregano? – scattered around. Alec didn’t stick around to figure it out, he just rushed back out to the living room but Magnus was gone.

I've said before that I was heartily tempted to include an "Alec on catnip" scene but didn't because the technically un-aware and un-consenting drug use on Alec's part would change the overall lighthearted tone of the story too much but please know that after the story eventually Magnus manages to convince Alec to give the catnip a try and he gets some potent zoomies and really enjoys himself rolling around on the floor over and over again lol. He likes it better than alcohol.

---

Once more, the conga line departed the loft via portal.

Listen, if I was rich and could pay the cast to act out scenes from my stories, I'd obviously totally pick the really major romantic moments or big revelation moments or hurt/comfort moments, like I've got a list I could choose from happily. This one though... I would be genuinely tempted even though it's not major in any way. It's so dumb at a certain point, like it forever cracks me up. I was cackling writing this. I don't really do funny confidently but like, I was genuinely laughing at how ridiculous this had gotten.

---

Under no circumstance was he telling them about the litter box situation. If they loved him they wouldn’t even ask.

This occurred to Izzy and Jace both but they do love him so they didn't ask.

---

He was small. He was furry.

He was a cat.

Again.

Shit.

Originally the story was meant to end with Alec going to talk to Magnus and them realizing they're in wuv and kissing. I was having too much fun though so I added the whole cat shifter thing.

---

“The next person who finds you and thinks you’re a stray might be a more modern and responsible cat owner.” Cat said, glancing at Magnus before she turned and smirked at Alec, “I was encouraging Magnus to neuter you. Sorry about that.”

After the story ends, Magnus casts a few spells on Alec to ensure that any catting doesn't get him in a bad situation like a tracking spell and, discretely and importantly, a notice-me-not spell on his balls. I didn't know how to weave that in but like, it's important lmao.

---

“Sorry if this is rude but is your cat a cat?” Alec asked in one rush.

I added this shortly before posting because readers had been commenting about Chairman's perceptiveness. Give me a hint of an excuse to talk about Chairman Meow the familiar or the old forest god or literally all the many headcanons and thoughts I have about this cat, seriously. Any excuse.

---

Then came something glowing red. Alec picked it up gingerly and was surprised to read Kīlauea Lava from January 22, 1884 Eruption.

This is a real eruption of a real volcano. I researched this. Why? Are any of you vulcanologists? I don't know why I was so intent on accuracy here but good opportunity to tell people now: this is a real volcano eruption.

---

Magnus laughed, “Shall you tell your mother or would you like the High Warlock to do so?”

Maryse listens to the explanation of this and literally stares at them silently for like a full minute before turning and walking away. It's like long after Valentine that Maryse again acknowledges that her son is a cat shifter.

Thank you for asking!!

[trippin-over-my-fandoms]

The Prince of Shadows - Chapter Five

(Reminder that the image of Karl belongs to this neat artist!)

AO3 version and previous chapters can be found here. Previous tumblr chapters can be found by hitting the fanfic title in the tags.

Rating- T

Words- 885

Soft Mama Miranda makes me melt I may have to do a whole fanfic for her

There is an attempt to use Romanian in this fic but it’s relying on google translate so if anyone sees need for correction please let me know!

“Karl?”

Nothing.

Maybe a little louder, “Karl?!”

Again, no answer.

She tries to ignore the way her heartbeat picks up. He’s around somewhere, surely. Behind a tree, around a corner-

“Karl, where are you?!” She tries to manage the panic in her voice, determined that he couldn’t have gone far but the fear is there nevertheless.

“Over here Mama!” Comes his little voice from just behind her. Miranda turns around, backtracks the way they had come by a few feet. Sure enough, he’s there by the little creek they had passed. How had she missed him? She swore he had darted ahead of her moments ago. She took her eyes off him for one second, one second is all it takes- she should have learned that with Eva.

Miranda sighs, calming her nerves now that she knows for certain there’s nothing to fear, “What in the world are you doing child?” She asks, mildly exasperated as she returns to his side.

“Was watching a baby frog,” Karl says innocently, poking at the mud by the water, she has to reach down and pull him back before he manages to get even more dirty or, even worse, falls into the shallow murk, “I lost him though,” he adds sadly, but then triumphantly, “but I almost had him!“

“What would you do with a frog?” Miranda grabs his hand as he stands up, falling back in line at her side and brushing off his dirty knees with his free hand.

Karl grins up at her, a big wide smile that shows off the gap of his recently missing tooth, “I could keep him! Like a pet! I could take care of one Mama, I promise!”

“And your little kitten isn’t enough for you?” Miranda smiles fondly at her boy, just barely nine years old and he’s already trying to bring every animal possible into their home. First he wanted one of the large dogs the farmers in the village kept, then he was determined to convince her to let him have a chicken, then the cat, he even wanted to keep a catfish. At first she had thought it was just his natural curiosity as Eva’s had been. Her daughter had wanted every animal under the sun so she could observe them. But Karl wanted them as companions. His heart is already so big, so much love for someone so small. There are days when Miranda feels honored that he’s her’s.

“Well maybe Ramură needs a friend,” he tries to convince her, just as he had sworn the little injured bird he found would be a good friend for the cat. Miranda didn’t even have the heart to tell him that the bird was hurt because the cat had gotten to it.

“Ramură is just fine with the two of us, I promise you. He won’t be lonely anytime soon,” that feisty little cat could find a lap anywhere. He’s got as much energy as Karl does and enough mischief to keep Miranda on her toes. His saving graces being how much her son adores him and keeping unwanted mice and rats out of her lab.

Karl simply shrugs, kicking rocks on the trail as they walk.

Miranda checks the path ahead then back down at her child, “I need you to not run off like that micuta draga. You almost scared me for a moment,” her smile is gone, replaced with a look more serious but not too harsh. He isn’t in trouble, she simply needs him to understand her worries.

It’s difficult not to have so many, especially after losing Eva. And Karl is almost as old as she was when she passed. Miranda wonders often if that causes her even more worry. She doesn’t want to lose him, he’s become her entire world, he saved her from giving up on life again, inspired her to continue her research, and even now he reminds her of how precious life is.

“I’d always come back Mama,” he says, leaning onto her side and Miranda wraps her arm around him, “I’d miss you too much,” Karl wraps his small arms around hers, she’s always loved how cuddly he is.

“You better,” she grins again, “Or else I’ll have to send a lycan to bring you home to me! And he’ll use you as a chew toy for sure,” she reaches up to ruffle his dark hair. It’ll need to be cut soon, it’s getting long.

“No you wouldn’t Mama!“ Karl giggles, a small squeal in his laugh that sends a squirrel in the trees running.

“Run away and find out,” Miranda teases him, knowing he wouldn’t. At least not now, not this young. He’d have nowhere to go anyways.

“Never,” Karl stops in front of her, reaching up in a silent ask to be carried. He’s getting big but he’s still small enough that Miranda can still lift him with some ease. She doesn’t hesitate to pick him up and hold him close as he wraps his arms and legs around her, nuzzling into her shoulder. She gently rubs his back as she carries him, silently hoping he’ll be ready for a nap once they reach the village. If he’s asleep then she’ll be able to get back to her work.

She’s so close to a breakthrough.

-

* the nickname means “little darling” and the cat’s name is Branch :3

[thunders-warcats-stuff]

QUEEN'S RAGE

Daisy freaks out a bit more than anyone thought she was capable of when the ThunderClan patrol find poor Berrykit in a fox trap.

As Brambleclaw and Stormfur carried Berrykit across the clearing, a shrill wail broke out behind them.

Glancing over his shoulder, Brambleclaw saw Daisy shoot out of the nursery entrance. Cloudtail was just behind her, yelping:

“Daisy, wait!”

The cream-colored she-cat skidded to a halt in front of Brambleclaw, her eyes wild with terror.

“Berrykit! Oh, he’s dead, he’s dead!” She shrieked.

Brambleclaw, with a mouthful of the kit’s fur, couldn’t reply.

“He’s not dead!” Cloudtail panted as he raced up. “Brook said he wasn’t! And look, you can see him breathing.”

Daisy just stared numbly at her kitten, as if she couldn’t understand what the white warrior was saying.

Then she flung herself forward and began covering him with desperate licks.

Brambleclaw’s ears twitched impatiently.

“Come on.” Cloudtail laid his tail gently on Daisy’s shoulder. “Let them take Berrykit to Leafpool. Mousekit and Hazelkit need to know that Berrykit will be okay. They’ve been worried, too.”

Daisy gave him a doubtful look, then let him draw her away, back toward the nursery.

LINE BREAK

She all but smothered her kits in their shared nest, only letting up when they squeaked in discomfort.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” She murmured, licking each of them between the ears. “I just… God, this is all so wrong! How did I let this get so out of control?”

“It's not your fault,” She heard someone say.

“I'm the worst mother in the world!” She sobbed quietly.

“Did I ever tell you how I got this way?” A more familiar voice asked.

Oh…what was she doing here? Brightheart hadn't been the most welcoming cat. Daisy could see why, what with her clinging to Cloudtail like a burr.

But he was the only cat who cared about her. Who helped her watch out for the kits. Who made sure she knew she could make a place for herself and her kits, that they could be safe and happy.Not that any of that was happening now, she thought miserably.

“If it’s anything like Berrykit’s misadventure, I imagine you get asked a lot. Just like I had, at first.” Daisy exhaled roughly. “Don't go reliving a nightmare on my behalf. I can mind my own business.”

“I want to,” Brightheart assured her. “but thank you for asking. That doesn’t happen often.”

“I'm sorry,” Daisy sighed, exhausted. “That's a damn shame. You shouldn’t have to talk about your scars if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” Brightheart mumbled, shocked. “I…”

“Yeah. I can imagine that's a rare thought. Anyway, you were saying?”

“I had a friend. Name was Swiftpaw. We were apprentices together, and we loved everything about it! We learned to hunt mice and birds and sometimes even rabbits from our mentors. The cats who taught us to hunt and fight. His was named Longtail and mine was named Whitestorm.”

“Longtail’s one of the elders,” Daisy recalled easily. “Sharp fellow. I told my kits the same thing I told you when they asked why he couldn't see them. He looked so gobsmacked… I guess it really isn’t that common. But I suppose you and your friend were smart little rascals just like mine are.”

“We were rascals, alright!” Brightheart laughed agreeingly. “The thing is, we'd just gotten back from a battle with our rivals, RiverClan, over a piece of territory we both declared ours.”

“Like they want the island to be just theirs? Since they can swim to it?”

“Yes, actually. It was called Sunningrocks. I imagine it's gone now, but when Swift and I were younger, we fought like mad to keep it. Swift got called from the battle to take a message. Typical apprentice work, something your kits are more likely to do than join the fight. But Cloudtail got to stay. And he got his warrior name for it while we didn't.”

“Oh, I bet you hated that!”

“So much! He's turned his attitude around, for sure,but back then he was such a braggart! Swift knew he would have gotten his name if he'd gotten to stay and fight. So he decided to do something to make up for it. And I was right there with him.”

“Oh no…” Daisy breathed. “I think I know where this is going. What'd you run into? A loose dog?”

“A whole pack of them.”

“Oh God…”

“Yeah. I survived by the shortest hair on my pelt and the grace of my ancestors. Swift wasn't so lucky.”

Daisy was quiet as she digested the news.

“I bet your mother was terrified for you," she said.

“I wouldn’t call Frostfur the worst, even if I was mad at her. She did what she could with what she had. And so have you.”

“Thank you,” Daisy sobbed quietly. “It’s-.” She sniffled. “It's an honor to be compared to someone you think so highly of and love so dearly.”

“Frostfur was a strong and wonderful mother. She helped all four of us figure out our places in the Clan when we weren’t so sure of ourselves.”

“Four’s big for a litter from wildcats.” “It sure is! It’s usually a once-in-a-family-line thing. Twice if you're lucky.”

LINE BREAK

“Where did you find him? Was it just you three? Were you the only ones around to help? How long do you think he was alone? Oh, I should have never taken my eyes off them for a second!”

“There were… other cats there. From a different group called ShadowClan. They… weren't very helpful.”

“What.”

LINE BREAK

“Which one of you assholes was it?!” Daisy roared, storming into the camp ahead of the stunned patrol that escorted her there.

“Which one of you shitsmears thought it was a good idea to leave a kitten for dead?!

And why?!

Because he hadn’t crossed your precious scentline?!

Come on, who was it?!

His name is Berry, he looks just like me, and he's missing *his entire tail* because you left him to die in a fucking fox trap!

Show yourselves, you Stars-forsaken garbage!!!”

Cats around them broke into horrified whispers.

“Is… is that true?” Someone called out.

“Snowbird, it's not-.”

“Did you really just let a kitten struggle just because he was past the border? You… who even? What Clanmate, what decent cat would do that?!”

“Snow…”

“Who did it?!” Snowbird roared. “Which one of you should never come near a kit, let alone ever mentor one? Who left a kitten to rot over pride?!”

“It was me,” someone called. A dark ginger molly with black stripes and green eyes stepped into Daisy’s line of sight. The crowd parted around her like trickling stream water around a rock.

“And you are?” Daisy asked coolly.

“Russetfur. I'm the deputy of this Clan. Means I'm second-in-command after Blackstar, the leader.”

“So it's all of you, then,” Daisy sighed. “Thank you for coming forward, Russetfur. Your bravery does your group well, I'm sure.

"I'd claw you for a mousetail, but if I were to start hurting every cat who hurt my baby just because we weren't born among you all, I'd leave most of you with scars and I'm tired.

"It's not worth it. *You're* not worth it. Not when it's *all* of you. Not when it's every group.”

Daisy exhaled roughly and turned to the leader, who stood between her and the rest of his Clan.

“I don't know what kinda operation you're all running, and I don't care. But you make sure the cats who hold your beliefs express them in ways that don't cost another cat’s life.”

“I'll make sure of it,” He vowed.

“Good luck with that,” Dasy scoffed as she left the stunned group behind her.“Kitten-maulers. Who’d have thought I'd see the day? Even *humans* have a *reason* for what they do.”

Cloudtail and Brightheart, the only cats who'd dared to keep up with her, draped their tails over her back and led her away from the camp.

LINE BREAK

“A kitten?” Rowanclaw whined unbelieving. “We just lost Talonpaw to a bunch of rogue kittypets and you want to turn around and be just like them?!”

“Rowa-!”

“No! Fuck off! A kitten!!” He roared.

He stalked towards the warrior den and barged in without another word. Tawnypelt was hard on his heels, and glared at them before shoving herself inside the den as well.

“I trusted you,” came Blackstar's raspy voice, unusually quiet and almost timid.

“I thought you could bring me to my senses after… everything our Clan has been through. After seasons upon seasons of terrible or short-lived leaders, sometimes both. I thought you would knock me aside the head of I ever thought about attacking a kit, if I even looked at them wrong.”

“Black….”

“But no, you've turned into Brokenstar instead.”

“I never-! Brokenstar killed kits by throwing them into battles!”

“And you damn near did the same thing with your apathy. Have you forgotten your roots? Have you forgotten that this Clan is full of cats who weren't born here but came and chose to serve us regardless? If Tawnypelt had kittens, would you leave them there?”

“Tawnypelt is a ShadowClan warrior!” Oakfur snapped.

“She wasn’t always!” Blackstar roared, lunging to his paws.

“None of us were! Have you lost your StarClan-given minds or are you just trying to make sure I lose mine?!”

“Blackstar-!”

“Or maybe this isn't about minds being lost. You're content to let us be seen as our reputation insists we are! Cold, heartless assholes who will attack anything that moves and leave kittens to die?!”

“Blackstar!”

“StarClan damned every single one of us by throwing us to leader after leader, and this is the thanks I get. It's no wonder they keep doing it,” He scoffed.

“Bla-!”

“Shut up! I'm going for a walk. If anyone needs me, Russetfur can handle it.”

[noxspost]

jane doe old one

Baba yaga was walking through her garden as she was holding Delilah by her hair as she was passed out. She was covered in blood yet her dark red cloths were hiding most. 

Her granddaughters were following her as corrin had a saw off shot gun. They were looking for unwanted Guests and visitors.

"Wow cass really hates them." Remarked Constance. "Yeah the same people Violently assaulted her killed her family in front of her and forced her to make everyone's lives a living hell," remarked her sister. "I'd be one who'd violently rip out her own gullet."

baba yaga lived in a house that was massive or at needs to be cured on the inside than the outside. Her house on the bottom had bird feet allowing travel to be easier for her.

Yet her favorite mode of transport that she used to drag Delilah's body here was her giant mortal and pestle. They were inside the house now and they saw yaga's cat sitting next to a new woman who looked very scared and sad. 

She was a drow, her white hair messy and coiled around in a bun. She looked scared and she was petting the cat, she was speaking in undercommon.

"you are new." Spoke baba yaga this causes the battered woman to look to them "sorry!" She tries to make herself smaller "hey now don't, we aren't going to hurt you." Baba closes the door "says the one the saw off gun!" She yelled when corrin laughs "we one I carry this to protect my family but how did you get here?"

"Oh... well I remember being cold and a rush of wind also mice on my neck and arms." Constance looked A little freaked out and asked "is that all?"

"Yes. Also I am named a half soul?" She didn't sound very sure of herself and baba yaga nods "cool great well you are deader than dried bones in the Desert, possessed by a ghost, you are dead man. Deader than bones puppeted around a ghost, You can see on your neck." She touched her neck "oh." She sounded broken and small "how do you know this?" She was getting angry "well if you were alive, borealis would have greeted you by now." Baba then turned to of her kin "Constance," her granddaughter looked up "Can you take this woman's body down to the basement?" The firbolg nods and then the Drow asked "why?" 

"Because We have to keep it of her body so necromancers don't get any ideas." The drow nods "cool." The cat was purring as Jane was smiling soft feeling a little better now "so Since your way it is, we have an idea."

The drow looks up "yes?" She was handed some new clothing as Constance brought her to a mirror.

They were looking in "well, if you look in this mirror." said Constance jane saw herself she saw Herself, she looked a little bit more fox like or wolf like but still held her drow like qualities, but she looked tired and her hair which was usually cleanly, kept and cared for looked like an absolute mess.

"What am I?" Constance Hums a bit and then says well you look to be some form of a Kikimora, which is a type of house spirit that doesn't necessarily evil nor good often. They are tied to the state of the house and the home."

"Oh Do all dead people become them?" The firbolgs laughs a bit "well no you are though." Her laughter was light hearted and Jane looks at herself and as the firbolg was brushing and putting her hair up "what is your name and the other two names?"

"Oh That's my sister and my grandmother. Baba yaga is my grandmother and my sister is named corrin." Jane smiles "well Constance I think you can call me half soul. Also am I staying here?" 

"Yes." Spoke the elder woman who was cleaner now though her White apron was still blood stained and she was currently wiping her hands off with a purple towel. "You shall meet borealis tomorrow." 

She nods as the cat jumps on her lap again "thanks." 

[cryptidvoidwritings]

*shoves into the void*

Altugger Week Day 5

(free day), 800 words, SFW

(In several days late because that’s what I get for being on vacation.)

The pigeon sat in the weak winter sun, entirely unaware that its existence was reaching the end. Alonzo crept slowly towards it.

Steady.

He crouched in the shadows and waited out his shaking legs. They hadn’t been able to eat so well in ages— most of the birds had nests and the mice and rats knew better than to come out of the warm sewers. For a while there had been a human but they’d disappeared. Alonzo’s legs stopped shaking. He stood slowly and readied himself.

Something huge and black blurred by.

Alonzo blinked dumbly where the pigeon had been; it cried a death shriek and was silent. Alonzo’s ears flattened. He whirled around, hissing his angriest, meanest hiss. The mass of black was a cat with a golden head and ridiculous ruff of gold and black stripes. Alonzo had seen him around the neighborhood, of course. A show cat if there ever had been one: He was absolutely gorgeous. Alonzo had often wondered what kind of rich and well fed house he lived in.

The tom had the audacity to open his mouth.

Alonzo hissed with even more feeling.

The tom jerked a little. His tufted ears flattened but hardly a second later they were pointed curiously at Alonzo. He closed his mouth and nudged the pigeon over, then took a few steps away and settled down on his stomach. Alonzo eyed him warily.

“S’yours,” the tom mumbled.

“What?”

“You didn’t look so steady. Thought I’d help.”

“Didn’t need it,” Alonzo snapped. His cheeks flushed.

The tom tilted his head. “Well, you’re welcome anyway. You should try the junkyard.”

Alonzo blinked. “What?”

“There’s a junkyard down the road. Ask for Munkustrap or Jellylorum. They probably won’t ask but you can say Tugger referred you.”

“Why would I?”

The tom studied Alonzo silently for a long minute. At last he shrugged and shook out his coat. “You might not need to, I suppose. It’s just an option. Not everything needs to be a struggle.”

“Like you’d know,” Alonzo snorted.

The tom’s— Tugger’s— tail thumped once. He stood slowly. It was only when he did that Alonzo realized exactly how large Tugger was; and it wasn’t all just fur. Tugger smiled a cryptic sort of half-turn of his lips.

“See you around,” he said.

“Don’t count on it.”

+

But it wasn’t long after that Victoria started shivering despite Alonzo’s best attempts at keeping her and Quaxo warm. The pigeon went down and came back up. When her cries got to be too much, Alonzo got Quaxo to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Quaxo asked.

“For help,” Alonzo said stiffly. “Follow me.”

He took Victoria by her scruff and headed down the road Tugger had once indicated. Alonzo couldn’t help but keep a wary, roving eye out— for danger, of course, not for Tugger. Alonzo hadn’t seen Tugger at all since the pigeon incident, even though he’d promised to be around.

So much for him.

Quaxo was just starting to complain about his paws hurting when they reached the fence of what was indeed a junkyard. (Alonzo was half surprised it hadn’t been some kind of trick.) As soon as they were in sight of the gate, several tomcats appeared as if from the shadows. Quaxo immediately tried to hide himself in Alonzo’s flank. Alonzo set Victoria down gently and stood over her. She mewled softly.

“I’m supposed to ask for Munkustrap or Jellylorum?” And then, because he couldn’t stand the silence, he blurted, “Tugger referred me?”

The tomcats did not seem surprised. A ginger tabby stepped forward.

“Welcome. They call me Skimbleshanks,” he said. “Are your kits in need of assistance?”

“My siblings. Quaxo and Victoria. She’s been shivering half a day. He’s just hungry and shy.”

Skimbleshanks nodded to the others. They melted into the junkyard and Alonzo immediately lost track of them. His ears flattened with uncertainty. Skimbleshanks smiled.

“They’ve gone to alert Jennyanydots. She’ll get your girl fixed up right off. He must like you.”

Alonzo blinked. His ears popped back up. “Wha— Who?”

“Tugger. He doesn’t often recommend new cats to us. Has only once before, actually.”

“O—oh.”

Skimbleshanks took a few steps forward and knelt in front of Quaxo, stretching his nose out and mrrping a greeting. Alonzo watched intently. Quaxo slowly stopped shaking against Alonzo’s side and raised his head to sniff. His little tail went up curiously and he crept forward to touch noses. Skimbleshanks smiled.

“There we go.” He licked the top of Quaxo’s head. Briefly he caught Alonzo’s gaze. “He’ll be pleased you’ve come.”

Alonzo flushed. His tail whipped. “Sure.”

Skimbleshank’s brown tail settled comfortingly over Alonzo’s back. His easy smile came once again. “Come, let’s get you settled. He’ll be by as soon as he’s done with his human’s show.”

[mlmxreader]

Roswell | Fox Mulder x M!reader

request; OK so I think it make so much sense to associate the two but “ how can I convince you what you see is real ” with Fox Mulder pretty please? - anonymous

summary: a naturalist has a crush on an FBI agent, but thanks to a mutual friend, that crush may turn into a budding romance. 

warnings: swearing, talk about aliens?

word count: 1069

On the odd occasion, you were asked to work with the FBI, and while you were never exactly happy about it, you always caved when they mentioned Fox Mulder, an agent who you had had a crush on for some time; working with wild animals meant that you sometimes got to be in close proximity to him, and that sometimes you could meet up and could work together, but for the most part, your encounters with him were simply by chance… until you learned that Yves Adele Harlow, a close friend of yours, also knew him thanks to her connection to his friends, The Lone Gunmen; you ended up asking Yves to help you to sneak around and find excuses to see Fox, and while she agreed, it still took some begging and some deal making - even going so far as to letting her come and go from your little flat like a cat. You didn’t mind, Yves loved you, and you loved her just as much, and you were grateful for any opportunity that you could get when it came to seeing Fox; you even told Yves to mention your name to The Lone Gunmen in hopes that they would somehow pass along a message that you were in the area and that you had spots where you would frequent - such as the little nature reserve with the pond where you would lay down some bits and bobs that snakes and legless lizards could use to bask beneath, where you would spend an entire day watching the various animals come and go. Frogs, newts, salamanders, snakes, legless lizards, lizards, rats, mice, voles, moles, a few birds here and there but not many. You would spend hours there, and you had hoped that one day you would find Fox sat on the log where you often took a seat with your camera and notebook in order to document the various species and their behaviours, diets, what they looked like, the different vocalisations. But you never had much hope in it, if you were honest, as you knew that he was often too busy to do such a thing and that he probably had a thousand and one people that he would rather be seeing; people who were better looking, people who were funnier, who were smarter, who were more charming, people who could challenge his intellect and could share interests with him, people who were simply better than you in every sense of it. You were just a man who happened to work as a naturalist and sometimes were called in to help assist Fox on his cases - what would he ever see in you that would make him so much as look twice? What was so special about you that he would even consider a first date with you? 

It was a cold Sunday morning when you arrived at the little pond, after having breakfast with Yves, you had grabbed your camera and your notebook and pen, stuffed them into a messenger bag that was designed with the art of the band Slayer. You weren’t really expecting to see anything so early, as it was colder than the afternoon, and most of the ectothermic animals preferred to come out during the afternoon and evening, but you figured that there would be no harm in it and that you could even let yourself daydream a little and could enjoy your day off in a nice and peaceful environment; that shortly went out of the window, however, when you spotted an FBI agent in a suit and an ugly tie sitting on your log, his hands clasped between his knees as he watched the pond, watched the still water. 

“Mulder,” you cleared your throat, stopping on the other side of the pond and tilting your head to the side. “What are you doing here?”

He stood up, almost tripping on a stray stick as he straightened his tie and smiled. “(Y/N). I was wondering when you’d show up.” 

“You came here to see me?” You asked, trying to bite back your own smile as you dared to sit beside him, dumping your bag beside your feet as you bit the inside of your lip. 

“I was hoping to,” he started, “at least, Byers told me you’d be here.” 

“Byers?” You questioned, furrowing your brows and frowning. 

Fox shook his head, scratching at the back of his head. “Uh, one of my friends, who’s also friends with Yves.” 

“Ah,” you nodded. “Alright, so what’s wrong? I mean, is it a case, or is it-”

“I wanted to see you,” he told you, shaking his head. “I’m sick of you seeing you only when we’re working.” 

You chuckled, raising your brows for a second. “Tell me about it.” 

“Do you believe in aliens, (y/n)?” Fox asked. 

“A little bit,” you shrugged, nodding as you scratched at your ear for a moment. “I mean, I think they’re out there, but I don’t think they’ve come to our planet yet - they probably wanna wait until we stop being cunts.” 

“That’s despite all the proof to suggest that extraterrestrial life has already visited?” He questioned with a smile. 

“Yeah, it is,” you answered, returning the smile. “I think Roswell was maybe, maybe, the closest we got, but even then I’m undecided on that particular one.” 

“How can I convince you what you see is real?” Fox licked his lips, swallowed thickly, and looked up at the sky. “The pictures, I mean, and the videotapes, all the evidence from Roswell - how can I convince you that all of what you saw… is real?”

“Is this why you wanted to see me?” You asked curiously. “So you could talk about aliens?”

Blushing a little, Fox hung his head. “A little bit… why, is there something you wanna talk about?”

“Not really,” you admitted. “As long as I’m talking to you, I couldn’t give a fuck what the subject is.” 

“What if I took you out?” He asked quietly. “I have some friends who have evidence of Roswell that can’t be denied, maybe we could go check it out together and see if you’re convinced?”

“That’s such a weird first date,” you laughed, nudging his shoulder. “But alright, fuck it, let’s go check out some aliens or whatever - is next Sunday any good for you?”

“Next Sunday would be good,” he nodded. “Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock.” 

[drawnecromancy]

As for the guys in the Sky City ?

Elysia is the most powerful ice user out there, has trained herself so hard she can resist Val's powers 50% of the time, and she has not only ice powers, but a *shield* that she can use to 1) stop any kind of thrown things from hitting her 2) stop all kinds of magic, and she trains daily to get it to perfection. The only thing it doesn't stop is people trying to punch her. Or stabbings. She gets stabbed at some point. Her third and last power is... Talking to animals. She hides that one carefully, because it's the one she uses to blackmail literally anyone ever. Mice, birds, any animal, she'll ask them for information and give favors in return. They know secrets that people don't realize. She however generally dislikes talking to cats, on account of this power needing touch, and being allergic to cats. Yeah thats why she and Patch aren't really in good terms before Vincent dies, she's hurtful for no reason.

Melyane knows people are nearby and their intentions. She can't exactly predict everything they'll do, but she can absolutely tell if someone is lying, saying half truths, friendly or hostile to her and/or her friends... That said, this power could have applications to control other people's reactions about her, but she never attempted to turn it into that. She just knows what people generally feel and attempts to go with the flow. She's the one who gets to stab Elysia, albeit clumsily, because she knew when Ely would be defenseless by figuring out what move she tried to pull next. She also was partly raised by glowing, mutant dogs, and her best dog bud is also often doubling as a seeing eye dog.

Mark is literally a Dark element user, but that classification has no bearing in Lonna. He can do anything a high level mage from anywhere else in the universe can do, although he's currently specialized in mobility (short range teleportation) and exploding people's faces (yes, any magic can be explosive). Huge balls of purple/black stuff are bad news and will explode in your face. It's his version of the fireball i guess. [The Mage, Mark from the Before Times, was so exceptionally skilled that he could almost have qualified for a Guardian transformation. He could do pretty much anything with the element and attempted to gather as much knowledge about magic as he could. The Guardians didn't manage to get to him fast enough, and now he's a teen with issues and no recollection of his past powers]

Ava "only" has super strength and wings. Wings that have been broken and badly healed so many times over that even gliding is painful, and she doesn't know how to fly. She'll only glide if it's a necessity (like that time she flees with Mark, although he does use his teleportation to get her to rest and stop hurting herself). She is also extremely fast and a huge danger in close combat, you do NOT want to fight her, no stop it's not worth having every single bone of your body being broken. [Ava of the past, Justice, was an adventurer renowned to get to the bottom of every weird problem she was given. Think DnD party + Sherlock Holmes. She once swore to destroy the Emperor. And, yes, she could fly back then !]

Val has that puppeteering power that, worked to it's greatest extents, can become literal mind control instead of just using other people's bodies to do what he wants instead of what they want. Val has not achieved this yet. He can also... Change bodies, not in a shapeshifting way. In a theft way. In a you die and I am inhabiting your dead body way. Killing him is extremely tedious because of that. [The Emperor, of course, has had thousands of years to hone his powers and reach for perfection. Unkillable, immortal, bored as hell, extremely dangerous. Everything had to be Perfect and To His Command, but his powers do have a range after which they stop working. Even at perfection. And the way his Empire worked is actually what Dawn modeled her own version of the government after.]

The Sky City bunch is incredibly overpowered compared to the other guys, especially Val, Mark and Elysia actually.

It's funny to look at, because... I mean, most of what they do after leaving the Institute, is just hanging out (except Elysia, still pulling strings behind the scenes). While the others in Lonna are constantly fighting for their lives.

Well. That's until they have to get to Lonna too, obviously.

[sincerelybluevase]

Careful, Madam Chapter Seven

A/N: Here it is, the final chapter! Thank everyone for being so patient with this one (the first chapter was published in June 2020, insane how time flies) and for the lovely comments; they mean a lot to me! For a gorgeous preview made by @thegirlisuedtobe, click here. Tagging @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not, @mlletina, @msmaryadmitrievna, @solattea, @halewynslady.

Maxim was the first to speak. “Steady, Mrs Danvers. You wouldn’t want to shoot me.”

Mrs Danvers did not waver. She held the gun steady. Not a muscle in her face moved so that she seemed hard and resolute to me, marble-made. “Let go of Mrs de Winter, sir.”

He released my arm with a theatrical motion, raising splayed hands in mock surrender.

“Come to me, Madam.”

I went so quickly I nearly stumbled. I wished to clutch her arm, to feel the reassuring solidness of her long lean limbs, but I was afraid of what might happen; I didn’t want to set off the gun by accident.

Maxim looked at us with hatred. His face had turned cold and masklike with it. “Now what?” he asked. “You’ll shoot me, Mrs Danvers?”

“I will if you force me, sir,” she said.

“And then what, Mrs Danvers? What happens then? Have you thought about that? Should you kill me, you will hang; the law won’t take pity on you for being a woman. They’ll string you up by that thin neck of yours until you are dead.”

“They won’t if they know what you are, sir.”

“And what am I?”

She glanced at me, at my reddening cheek. “A murderer and a wife-beater.”

He laughed coldly. “That’s no reason to shoot me, now is it, Mrs Danvers? I think you and I and the law can all agree on that.”

“It is if you provoked me, if you threatened your wife and unborn child, sir.”

The laughter petered out. Still he smiled, showing his sharp canines. “You’d have to aim well then, Mrs Danvers, and kill me with one shot, because if you leave me well enough to talk, you’ll be done for. Who do you think the police and lawmen will believe: me, a gentleman with an impeccable reputation, or you, a mad, old, sexually-frustrated maid with unnatural tendencies?”

I wished to speak so I could defend her, but fear held me in its grip, petrifying and silencing me.

Mrs Danvers set her jaw and tightened her grip around the gun. “I’m a good marksman, sir. If I aim to kill, I shall.”

“Perhaps,” Maxim jeered, “but are you certain? And are you absolutely certain that, even if you kill me, you won’t go to prison? They’re harsh places, prisons. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cold, damp room, with only a strip of sky to remind you of what lies outside?”

Still Mrs Danvers held the gun steady, her joints seemingly locked into place. “Here’s what men like you don’t understand,” she said softly, “I gave the best years of my life to your first wife; I’m willing to lay down what years remain to me for your second.”

My love for her made a pain rise in my throat. I swallowed against the tears. I looked at Maxim, thinking he would refute her or curse at her. He did no such thing. Instead, he began to yawn, making a great show of it, his mouth opened so wide I could see the fillings in his molars. When he was done, his eyes watered. He brushed the tears away with a fingertip, then turned to me. “You shall stop this nonsense right now,” he said. He spoke as if I was a naughty child.

I shook my head. I could not speak.

A vein at his temple began to throb. I could see it jump around under the skin, writhing like a worm. “Oh, but you shall. You shall stay here, with me, and we shall forget this moment of madness. Mrs Danvers shall have to go, of course, no sane man would keep a housekeeper who pulled a gun on him, but I shan’t press charges. I’ll even give her a good reference. A woman with her qualities can work for any fine family in England. But you, my little darling, shall remain here, by my side, as my wife and the mother of my children.”

“No,” I whispered.

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I don’t want to stay.”

He laughed in disbelief. “You don’t want to stay? Do you understand what you’re saying? Before you met me, you had no friends or kin, money, no prospects. You were an old lady’s plaything, her little whipping boy. I raised you up out of darkness. I gave you a name, a house, a reputation to uphold. Without me you have nothing and you are no one, just a grubby little schoolgirl with bad nails and a name no one can spell. Do you hear me? You are nothing!”

“She won’t be nothing. She’ll be my mine,” Mrs Danvers said.

With a roar, Maxim lunged at her. She pulled the trigger, but he knocked the gun out of her hand. The shot went wild, the bullet damaging one of the plaster leaves on the ceiling, causing crumbs to rain down dryly. The gun fell to the floor, skidded, came to rest not a step away from me.

Maxim punched Mrs Danvers in the face, once, twice, thrice. Her head snapped back. She staggered. Blood poured down her mouth and chin. She made a soft choking sound, coughed. Drops of blood flew from between her lips.

“Stop!” I meant to scream it, but it came out as a whisper.

Again Maxim struck her. This time she stumbled and fell, her skirts billowing around her like black sails. He bent over her and continued to beat her. His fists came down on her face and throat again and again and again, dull slaps of flesh against flesh.

“Maxim! Maxim, stop! You’ll kill her!” I screamed. The sound carried, though for all the good it did, I might well have kept my tongue; Maxim continued to brutally, systematically beat Mrs Danvers. She tried to sit up to fend him off, but he pushed her down. Again she rose, again he beat her down.

As a child, I had witnessed our cat playing with a mouse. It would let it run, only to smack it down with its paw before it could get away. The mouse didn’t stand a chance, yet it persisted hopelessly, just as Mrs Danvers would persist in trying to sit up until she could rise no more.  

There was only one thing to do. I bent down and took hold of the gun. It was still cool despite Mrs Danvers’ grip. I raised it and found it surprisingly heavy for its size; it almost slipped out of my clammy hand. With one eye closed I aimed the gun at Maxim, but I was shaking and dared not fire for fear of hurting Mrs Danvers.

I brought the gun to my temple instead. “Maxim, look at me,” I shouted. “I’ll kill myself! I’ll kill myself and your unborn child if you don’t stop!”

He looked over his shoulder. His face was spattered with blood, his lip curled into a snarl. He let go of Mrs Danvers’ dress, causing her to thud to the ground, and came to his feet. “Don’t!” he said. “Don’t you dare!” He stumbled to me, his hands outstretched to wrest the gun from me.

I pointed the gun at him, closed my eyes, and shot.

*

All of this happened many years ago. My life now is very different from the one I led at Manderley. I’ve said goodbye to England and now have no estate to call my home, no husband to lord over me. Here, my name means nothing, and my face, once plastered over every English newspaper, is just another face, easily forgotten. No one need know that I once was the second Mrs de Winter, the one who everyone knows because she killed her husband. An act in which she was justified, of course, since he had murdered his first wife and now wished to kill her, too, before putting a bullet through his own brain, but that never made the case any less sensational. Whenever I think of it – which, when I am honest, is seldom but still too often for my taste – I can’t help but smile wryly. After all, there is a cruel sort of irony to the whole affair; Maxim killed Rebecca to safeguard Manderley’s reputation, but her murder proved to be the first link in a chain of events that would lead to a nationwide scandal. If I close my eyes, I can still see the reporters pressed against the gates, pen and notepad in hand, clamouring to see me.

There are no reporters in my new life. They do not know where I am, and to the local ones I am of no interest. I live in a cool little cottage, painstakingly paid for with the money I earn with my drawing lessons; I have given away everything I inherited upon Maxim’s death, for I never desired his money even before it became tainted with murder and madness.

Every day is much the same, but that I don’t mind. There’s comfort in familiarity, safety in routine, and after all that we’ve lived through, Danny and I have a certain hankering for comfort. Besides, raising a child together provides plenty of challenges and excitement, we’ve found.

Dear Danny. She’s wonderfully patient with me. I fear I am not always easy to live with. For all my efforts, I’ve not been able to banish the past completely. It still inhabits and possesses a part of me, one that I can fight when awake but must succumb to in slumber, so that, at night, I walk the grounds of Manderley once more. In my dreams, the house and grounds have fallen victim to rot and ruin. The lawn has gone to seed, sickness has turned the chestnut tree into a bleached husk, and the rhododendrons have reared to the fantastic heights of fairy-tale briars. The house itself sags to the side, its walls pockmarked by sour rain, the windows dirty and broken.

But for all its neglect, it is not uninhabited. I do not talk of the birds and bats roosting in the rafters, nor of the mice living underneath the floorboards and the silverfish who slowly eat away the wallpaper.

The library, with its masculine smell of leather and smoke and newspaper ink, is his domain in death as it was in life. There, he paces up and down, up and down. All that pacing has worn the carpet to threads. Each night I must go to him. It does not matter that I am unwilling; my mind and feet betray me, and take me to him. He knows that I am coming and awaits me with impatience, smoking cigarettes in quick succession, littering the ground with ash and butts. His face, once so handsome in a peculiar, medieval way, is ruined by the shot that killed him. It turned his left eye to pulp and smashed the orbital bones to pieces so that the area around the eye is curiously dented.

There must have been no time for Maxim to realise my betrayal; the bullet bored itself into his brain, killing him instantly. The Maxim of my dreams, though, gives me an amused, cruel little smile. Then – just as my life has become routine, my dreams have, too, and so this next moment never varies – he opens his arms to me. I don’t want to, but I must step into his embrace. He pulls me close to him until my head rests against his chest, against the fabric of his tweed jacket turned sodden by blood and the jelly leaking from his burst eye.

“My little love,” he murmurs as he strokes my hair, his breath stinking of the grave, “you didn’t think you’d ever be free of me, now did you? I shall never let you go.”

It is then I wake, gasping and sobbing.

Danny aims to soothe me, kissing my face and folding her long arms around me. I cling to her so tightly it must hurt. She’s no longer as strong as she used to be. No one would be after what Maxim did to her. He damaged her left eye to the point of blindness. During the years, it has turned milky white. She has taken to wearing a velvet eyepatch over it to keep out the light, for even the flame of a candle upon her left eye can trigger a mighty headache. Even covered up it pains her, but she never complains.

She holds me well after the shaking has subsided, kissing my hair. I kiss her throat in return, her chin, her cool sweet mouth. I always hesitate when I reach the scars Maxim left on her face. He embossed her cheek with his signet ring, the M and W intertwined. Yet whenever I hesitate, she brings her mouth to my ear. “No need to be careful, Madam,” she whispers, and then I know.

I have someone in this world to call my own.

I have someone to love.

[nicknellie]

Blame this post. I wrote this purely because I wanted to and I think it turned out really cute. (Requested fics are on their way, they just typically take longer to write because I want them to be as good as possible for you!) Also I didn’t proof-read.

Can You Really Say No To This Face?

“I’m just not sure it’s a good idea...”

“Look at this face. Can you really say no to this face?”

Alex looked at Willie, who with his pleading puppy-dog eyes and pout could have easily been referring to his own face rather than that of the kitten he was holding up. Either way, the answer to his question was—

“No,” Alex relented with a sigh. Willie beamed (and yes, there really was no way Alex could say no to him) and held the kitten out to Alex, who took it gently. It mewed weakly the moment it left Willie’s hands. “I think it’s already grown attached to you anyway.”

Willie grinned, tickling the kitten under the chin. It immediately started purring, vibrating loudly in Alex’s arms. “She loves me,” he cooed. “Don’t you? Yes you do. Yes you do!”

Alex studied the kitten for a moment. Its black fur didn’t seem matted or unkempt, it didn’t look as if it were malnourished or sick in any way, and if good health was determined by loud meowing then it was certainly very well. He frowned.

“What if it already has a home?” he asked Willie.

Willie took the kitten back, holding it in his arms protectively. “If she had a home she wouldn’t be out in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold! Look at her, she’s shivering.”

It was true. Alex had felt the little cat shivering when he’d been holding her. Willie had her clutched close to his chest, his hands cupped tightly around her, gently stroking her head and face. It was an adorable sight to see, Alex had to admit.

“She’s all alone, Alex,” Willie said. “I can give her a home!”

“What will Caleb say when you bring a random kitten back to the Hollywood Ghost Club?” he said, a desperate last-ditch attempt to get Willie to consider that maybe this wasn’t the best idea in the world. “In the past month you’ve brought back an injured bird, a mouse, and that cool snail you found. I don’t think he wants the club turning into a zoo.”

“Caleb won’t find out, he never has done in the past,” Willie returned off-handedly, waving a dismissive hand. “Well, that’s not strictly true. He did find out about my goldfish, but I wasn’t that attached to it anyway.”

Alex knew that was a lie. When Caleb had found out about Fluffy (yes, that had been the name of Willie’s pet goldfish) he had scolded Willie for not asking him first and then flushed it down the toilet. Willie had cried for three days and then made Alex and all their friends attend a funeral.

“I just don’t want you to get attached and then be upset if it doesn’t work out,” Alex said gently.

Willie’s smile softened. “Thank you, hotdog. I appreciate that you’re concerned. But I can’t leave her out here by herself!”

Alex sighed haggardly. Fine. It was fine. If Willie wanted to keep the kitten then Alex didn’t think he had any power to stop him at all. He stepped closer to Willie and stroked the kitten’s head with one finger; she purred delightedly.

“Alright,” he said. It was almost worth it to see the way Willie’s face lit up. “If you’re sure.”

“You’ll be my co-parent, right?” Willie asked.

Alex huffed a laugh. “Sure. What are you going to name her?”

“Hmm... I think I’ll call her Dog.”

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head and taking a step back. “As co-owner of this kitten I absolutely refuse to let you name her Dog. That’s a ridiculous name for a cat.”

Willie laughed brightly. “Fine, fine. What about Hotdog?”

“That’s me!” Alex protested.

“And you really don’t like that nickname,” Willie countered.

“But you still call me it. You can’t have two hotdogs, that’s greedy.”

“What do you suggest then?” Willie asked, smiling both fondly and exasperatedly.

Alex thought for a moment. The kitten was very vocal, very sweet, very soft. His natural inclination was to call her Julie, but he’d just said he wouldn’t name it after himself and he couldn’t be hypocritical by naming it after somebody else they knew. So he thought a little harder, mentally ran through a list of classic cat names and suggested one to Willie at random.

“Luna?” he offered.

At the name, the kitten meowed. Willie kissed the top of her head and then beamed at Alex.

“I think she likes it,” he said. “And I think it’s perfect. Little Luna it is.”

The two of them, Luna still cupped in Willie’s hands, finally began walking again. Alex hadn’t expected the romantic evening stroll he’d planned to turn into a rescue mission after Willie had heard mewing coming from up a tree, but it had still been a lovely evening. Besides, Alex had got to see both Willie scaling a tree with agility and speed (which was incredibly attractive) and Willie cradling a kitten like it was all he cared about (which was also incredibly attractive).

Alex dropped Willie off at the Hollywood Ghost Club. He kissed him goodbye, and gave Luna a pat on the head. Both his boyfriend and his cat seemed very pleased with the goodbyes they received. Willie poofed himself and Luna into the Hollywood Ghost Club and Alex poofed himself back to the studio.

*

As a ghost, Alex didn’t really need sleep, but he enjoyed pretending. Maybe it wasn’t really necessary, but closing his eyes and lying still for eight hours underneath a weighted blanket let him switch off for a bit, release some stress and relax somewhat.

That night, it appeared somebody else had other plans.

Willie poofed into the loft of the studio (where Alex had claimed his bedroom) and shook Alex.

“Bro,” he was whispering. “You’ve gotta come see this.”

Alex groaned. “What is it?”

“Just come with me, it’s great, I promise!”

Despite the fact that all Alex wanted to do was get some not-really-sleep, he still couldn’t say no to Willie, so he held tightly to his boyfriend’s hand and let him poof the both of them out of the studio.

They arrived in a room which took Alex far too long to realise was Willie’s room at the Hollywood Ghost Club, partially because it wasn’t safe for Alex (or any of the guys) to be there so he didn’t visit too often, and partly because it had been absolutely transformed.

“You’ve been busy,” Alex said, glancing around the room and then to his boyfriend.

Willie shrugged, grinning with both pride and mischief in his eyes. “She deserves the best.”

The room had practically been turned into a cat sanctuary. There were multiple cat trees and climbing frames of different sizes and colours, tunnels spanning the entirety of the floor for Luna to run through, what seemed like thousands of balls and bells and toy mice, three food bowls, a litter tray, and an enormous cat bed. In the centre of the bed, snoozing soundly, was little Luna.

“Did you pay for any of this stuff?” Alex asked.

“I left a few hundred dollars in the register.”

“You spent a few hundred dollars on this stuff?!”

Willie beamed. “Yep. Come on, I’ll show you what I brought you here for.”

As they stepped over the maze of tunnels Willie had set up, hand in hand, Alex muttered, “I can’t believe you don’t think Caleb is going to find out about this.”

Willie just laughed and squeezed Alex’s hand.

They came up beside the giant bed and Luna napping on it. Upon closer inspection, the bed was made of crimson velvet and if Alex wasn’t mistaken it was also memory foam. Luna was purring as she slept, her tiny body moving up and down as she breathed gently.

“What am I meant to be looking at?” Alex whispered, not wanting to wake the kitten.

Willie pointed at Luna, smiling. “Look how cute she is.”

Alex looked at her. Yes, she was adorable.

“She is,” he said. “Is that all you brought me here for? To look at your cat?”

“Our cat,” Willie corrected. “And yes.”

Alex huffed a fond, exasperated, tired laugh and pulled Willie into a hug. He felt Willie’s smile against his neck and held on that little bit tighter.

“You’re mad,” Alex whispered. “And I love you.”

He felt Willie’s whole body move as he giggled. “I love you too, hotdog. And our daughter.”

“Please don’t start calling her our daughter.”

“But she is!”

“She’s not.”

Despite the fact that he really should not have been in the Hollywood Ghost Club, Alex stayed there in Willie’s room for another three hours, talking and laughing and kissing while Luna was asleep, and playing with her once she woke up. And if Alex did end up calling her his ‘little girl’ once or twice, Willie didn’t say anything.

[bansheeoftheforest]

New dead bird courtesy of Nox Being Herself

Hyde is the cat you have to pull away from his food because he eats too fast and starts gagging. He does indeed turn to look at whoever is checking on him with the most 'wtf I was eating' look he can muster. Jekyll on the other hand is the kind of cat who gets fresh wet food, sniffs it, takes like two bites and then walks off to do cat things.

Hyde is a 'let me jump in your lap and try and steal your food' kinda cat and Jekyll is a 'oh you're making tuna?? I meow?? Some for me?? Tuna for Jekyll Jr. please and thank??' kinda cat. (Nox is both of these please save me I can't eat fish in peace—)

Also I don't know which of them would do this, but Nox will throw her empty food dish on the floor if we don't notice it's empty for too long. Just interrupts your conversation with the loudest 'bang' as she chucks it on the hardwood. Then she slow blinks at you and acts all cute because she is Evil and Manipulative and It Always Works Because She's Cute.

Doriz is such a brat bc she yells at us for food and then looks at it and walks off begging for food again as if she didn't just see that we gave her food <3

Hyde would, in the end, get so chonky for his size bc he eats so much but he never gets over the healthy standard bc he is so active but begs for food anyways. The Lodgers would always fear that Jekyll Jr. is underweight or sick bc he never really eats as he just thinks cat food is gross, he prefers fish and meats, Hyde will eat anything he gets his hands on (which also makes it dangerous for Lodgers to have him in his lab as He Will Eat Their Experiments), so the Lodgers have to constantly shoo Hyde Jr. away from Jekyll Junior's foodbowl because he keeps stealing his food. Either that or Jekyll has to be cuddled when eating to be encouraged, he will not eat otherwise At All.

(Maijabi often gets the duty to cuddle Jekyll Jr. while he is eating so they make sure he actually eats at all. However Jekyll will most often then not steal food from anyone but Maijabi as a "gift" in return).

Hyde would be so obnoxious so sometimes the Lodgers would have to put him in a little time-out box whenever he tries to steal their food and because they don't want him on the table when they are eating. Jekyll would just go by their legs, choose a Lodger with the best food, and sit and stare at them while softly yelling his little head off but he would still be well behaved and just lift his paw. He is too cute to resist. The Lodgers often have to give up half their meal for him, and Jekyll, in return, sees them as underweight (but does not count himself responsible for that) and decides to be a mama cat and start hunting mice for them. The Lodgers does not really appreciate it but they appreciate the thought.

I honestly think both would do it and I would not be surprised at all. Hyde bc he is a spoiled little brat and because Jekyll likes attention and will stop at nothing to get it. Often ends up with a bang always being followed by "Goddamnit Jr..." whenever anything gives off a thud, no matter if it's the foodbowl or not <3

Some things I think they do, inspired by my Crime Grandma Doriz:

You have a closed door? Ahahah No. Not allowed at all. Hyde will yell his head off and scratch the shit out of that door, and Jekyll will silently stare at it and try to reach the handle, or go and protest with meows to the nearest Lodger. They especially love to do that when they want to cuddle with a lodger at night but they keep the door closed because they are trying to go to sleep.

Hyde does not like the other animals in the Society. He thinks they get too much attention and He Deserves It All. Plus the other animals like to pick on him because he is tiny and feisty and think he is funny, Jekyll would be much more chill with then and cuddle the best animals he can find. Jasper once found him lounging on the back of his unicorn.

Both of them like to be Toll. Will find the highest bookcase, somehow parkour up on it and sleep there for a few hours or just Stare at everyone who walks by. Will then yell their head off when they can't get down.

No supply closet is safe in the hands of a cold and cuddly Jekyll. Hyde has longer fur and doesn't often get cold or affectionate but Jekyll is the cuddliest bitch ever. Will find a closet with blankets/sheets/clothes, dig into it (and drop some of the clothes doing it), and then sleep in it for hours scaring everyone bc they don't know where he is. People look in that closet like 10 times but doesn't see him until they hear a "mrrr??" of confusion coming from behind a pile of sheets.

If you pick up Jekyll he will melt in your arms. If you pick up Hyde he will politely warn you by placing his clawed paw on your face and give you exactly 5 seconds to let him go before your face turns into stringed cheese.

Now I'm also thinking of how the Lodgers would find out about the catshifting? How would they react? Who would be the first to know, would they act any differently towards them? Would they find out why Henry can catshift? Would they find out about Hyde too? So many possibilities <3

[blackberry-gingham]

Do you write headcannons? If you do how about one for soft teddy!beatles x reader

Yay, first request, thank you! But hm, I've never thought about headcannons, but I can try! Since this request is kinda open, I'm going to go for like, what the general relationship vibes are

George

Does anyone remember the like slam poetry club from a goofy movie?

Like I'm talking that, dark smokey room, chilling in an alley, cool cat, avant garde poet vibe

That's George

Of all the boys, he's the loner of the group

He's just got that dark and mysterious vibe, which is honestly what drew you to pursue him in the first place

You're chill in your own right tho and great at respecting his space, both of which he loves you for

The other boys are actually kinda surprised at how easily he opened up to you

You two can often be seen on the edge of the social gathering, either kissing or just vibing, away from all the noise

But what does he do when he's off in his own world, and takes time to himself?

Write music and lyrics of course!

He brings his work to you a lot, and even plays samples of his sheet music for you

"how's this sound love?" "I'm thinking it goes something like this... There, how's that?"

You're his number one fan, but he appreciates that you give genuine feedback too

He loves to write you cute little notes and sweet romantic poems

Although, he never straight hands them to you, you always just... Find them in places clearly meant for you to discover them

Your purse, your bookbag, the teeth of your hairbrush, the sleeve of your favorite record

He doesn't know this, but you hold onto every single one

Dates with George are kind of low key tbh

Like if you want to go out, that's fine! But usually you two just vibe and write lyrics, poems, and music together

He even teaches you some guitar!

To the boys, you're basically George part two lol

Meaning, they're happy to hangout and all, but typically they just respect you and your space like they do for George

You're just a mystery to them, and they're ok with that

John

The actual definition of "asshole to the world, sweetheart to his girl"

He gives you LOTS of pet names

"my bird" "love" "doll face" " she's a dime"

At first, you're kiiiiind of just his arm candy

He's just nervous to show his soft side, you know?

After all, his role in the teds is halfway between the leader and the muscle

Add that into the fact that he's secretly quite the anxious person, and you manage to let it go

But!!! Once you've been together for a while, he's fiercely protective of you in public and sweetly affectionate when he thinks no one's looking

Like when you're alone?

I'm talking head in your lap while you play with his hair, comes to you randomly and asks for hugs/cuddles, picks you up and spins you around, holds you close to slow dance even if there's no music, kind of affection

You just.... Soothe him

Like, maybe he doesn't need to be big bad John Lennon to show the world that he's strong and tough and worthy of love and affection

Now, when you're in public

He'll hold your hand if you ask and kiss you and all that, especially if he sees someone else eyeing you up

But if someone thinks they can catch him lacking and snatch you up?

WHOO BOY

Bottom line always is that you're his and he's yours, and anyone who can't respect that, or God forbid, can't respect you...

Let's just say, OOF

When it comes to dates this man is CLUELESS !!!

You basically have to do 80% of the planning, but luckily he's happy to do whatever you want!

The boys see you as a little sister of sorts, and they're all ready to stand up for you at a moment's notice!

However, that's often not necissary with John around lol

Paul

Paul is a bit like John in a way

He's loud, cocky, and rambunctious, but what sets him apart is he's charismatic enough to sell water to a drowning man and in tune enough with his emotions that he can express himself without growing frustrated or aggressive

1000000% chance that he's the one who approached you

Unfortunately for him, you're of the mindset to not associate with teddy riff raff like him and his friends

Paul's totally bewildered bc he's not use to being turned down flat like that

But that just makes him all the more eager to prove you wrong!

He's like a stray cat that takes a liking to you

Except instead of mice and birds, he brings you sweet little things like a bouquet of dandelions or some penny candy

After a while, he starts to grow on you

What if.... You were wrong about teds like Paul?

You guys get to talking and hanging out, and you even spend time with him and the boys! *Gasp*

Which is usually a trip, bc Paul looooves to show you off!

Like he's seriously your number one hype man

"there's my gorgeous girl!" "Don't you look lovely!" "Is that a new dress? It looks right capital on you!"

At first you were embarrassed by all the attention, but you soon grew to love it, especially considering how genuine he is with all his comments

Soon enough, you feel like you're on top of the world with a guy like him boosting your confidence!

Paul's dates are the most traditionally romantic of the boys

He takes you to dinner, drive in movies, accompanies you shopping, all that good stuff

As Paul's girl you're like the Queen to his King lol

Even tho John formed their little group, Paul feels the most like the leader with his silver tongue and all so you can always count on him and the other boys to have your back out there!

Ringo

Honestly the most square of all the teddy Beatles lol

That's ok tho bc as a square yourself, he's very approachable!

He's a little shy when you first meet him

It's just.... He's not cool and mysterious like George, or tough and strong like John, or even all that charming and charismatic like Paul

Sooooo... Why him?

Honestly at first you're not sure you could answer that question

But thankfully, it doesn't take you long at all to tease out his real personality, and by that point you feel like you could come up with a hundred reasons!

Of all your favorite things about him, your top three would definitely be that he's silly, fun, and the kind of boyfriend who's also your best friend!

Like really, he's always willing to lend an ear or a comforting shoulder, whatever you need!

He's like a puppy in a way, of all the boys he's most likely to be the one to go out if his way to please you and make you happy

On that note, he loves to make you laugh!

It's just the most magical sound to him and he doesn't understand at all why you hate the sound of it

"can't be worse then mine", he gawffs

Ringo isn't use to going very far from his friends, but when he meets you, he loves going on little dates together!

He's got a bad case of two left feet, but your favorite thing to do is go dancing

Your place, his place, the town square, it's always a good time to let loose and have fun!

His spontaneity takes you by surprise, honestly

You're just not use to letting go and having pure, genuine fun whenever and wherever

But with Ringo to show you the ropes, you embrace it quickly!

When you're not out cutting a rug, another hot spot for you two is the ice cream parlor

Of course you always get things to share, like a milkshake or a sundae

He always lets you choose

Surprisingly the boys don't pay you too much mind

They're happy for Ringo, and you too of course! But they mostly leave you both to your own devices

They look out for Ringo of course, but mostly Ringo is perfectly fine looking out for himself lol so they assume it'd be no different for his girl!

Which is fine by you guys, after all you're both more then happy to just tag along on the teds shenanigans and see where the road takes you!

[chibi-pix]

Hey guys!  I felt it was a good idea. I want to share photos and a bit about the cats I have. Some are at home (Mama’s place), some at my Grandpa’s place.  So, how about it?  Time to introduce the cats!

Name: Soot Age: assumed 6 or 7 years (adopted three or four years ago) Location: Home Skills: Pissing people and cats off while being adorable. Occupation: professional asshole Likes: Yogurt, Pop Tarts, hiding under my dresses, chasing the ladies, and horror video games. Dislikes: Kisses, vacuum cleaners, my singing Extra: Soot has no understanding of my personal space. Under my skirt, across my chest, trying to get into my yogurt, you name it. He loves snacks, especially smoothies made with milk, yogurt, and frozen strawberries. He does not show signs of lactose intolerance. When we adopted him, he was so scrawny. Now he’s a chonk. He may be a smidgen overweight, but he’s happy. 

Name: Christmas Age: maybe 17? (Adopted three or four years ago) Location: Home Skills: healing purrs Occupation: Polite old lady Likes: Snuggles, giving her own cat scans, making my leg go numb Dislikes: someone trying to clean her butt, someone getting the mats out of her fur, me not paying attention to her Extra: She’s an older lady. She’s a bit sore with her age and maybe weight; she struggles to move, but she always comes to sit on my lap or shoulder for love. Her purrs are comforting and helps with my headaches. With her age, she doesn’t groom herself like she used to, so she gets mats. Mama and I have to team up to get them out.

Name: Bandit Age: possibly 17? (She’s Christmas’ sister and adopted with her) Location: Home Skills: telling time without a clock Occupation: Judging others

Likes: treats, catnip, the laser pointer, calling for the manager Dislikes: being picked up, being pet too much, me being one minute late giving her her treats Extra: She’s always silently judging others. Me singing? Judgment. Another cat licking a bag? Judgment. The videos I watch? Judgment. My sneeze? She’s damning me to hell, I’m sure. However, she is kind and caring, If I’m not feeling well, she’ll let me rest longer. 

Name: Baby Boo (Baby) Age: maybe 14 or 15? (Adopted three or four years ago) Location: Home Skills: Summoning demons from the dark pits of hell and turning invisible in the shadows Occupation: witch’s familiar Likes: lurking in the shadows, being pet, sitting on her tower and watching over the peasants, yogurt (but she is lactose intolerant, so I don’t let her have any) Dislikes: demons not obeying her, when the Hellgate suddenly opens up while she’s enjoying a snack and it interrupts her, dancing, and Soot. Poor Soot.  Extra: This is the cat of a witch and I’m pretty sure while she appears to be in her teens, she’s actually the ancient spirit of a scorned witched, cursed to live out her eternal life in the form of a cat, watching over witchlings and commanding legions of demons. She is also the one most likely to kill me in my sleep, but she doesn’t because I’m her person. Thank you, Baby. You make me a proud witch.

Name: Cimmaron (Cim) Age: 11 or 12 (adopted on a farm when he was a year old) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: being cute Occupation: executive art supervisor Likes: sitting with me while writing or drawing, trying to wake up Grandpa, milk from cereal, gravy from beef stew Dislikes: showers (not that I force him) Extra: Cim is a wholesome lad. He likes to chill and see what’s up. He tends to follow me around when he’s not spending hours sleeping on mine or Grandpa’s bed. He accompanies me for my showers, keeping an eye on me.  He was most likely reincarnated and therefore has the soul of a gentle old man.

Name: Buffy Age: seven (adopted when he was about a year old) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: sleeping Occupation: horny freeloader Likes: reminding the dogs who are about fifty pounds each that he was there first, boiled chicken, yelling for attention and then snubbing those who are willing to pet him, Voltron: Legendary Defender Dislikes: being picked up Extra: This freeloader doesn’t contribute. He caught one mouse when he was a year and a half old and that was it. He tends to jump up on my bed to cuddle one of the dogs and watch cartoons with me. He knocked up another cat that my grandparents adopted.

Name: Horatio (H) Age: about 6 (born at the house; Buffy is the father) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: sleeping, eating, and screaming Occupation: screaming freeloader Likes: food. Cat food, chicken, bacon, apple pie, toast, anything he can get to. Dislikes: being picked up, my sister Extra: This guy. He is an absolute chonk. We know he is. But he won’t exercise for anything and when we try to feed the other cats, he shows up wanting food, too. He’ll scream whenever he sees fit and when someone would check on him, he just walks away. He also likes to lay across an entire step on the stairway. Asshole. But cute. His three sisters were adopted by a nurse who took care of my grandma. He’s now an only child pretty much and he sure tries to remind us of that and tries to get us to spoil him. Also, while he loves toast, we do not give him toast. We have birds who have plain wheat toast with their breakfast; one of them dropped a piece and before one of the dogs could get it, Horatio laid down with it and started eating it.

Bonus of Buffy and Horatio.

Name: Foreigner Age: Unknown (stray) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: existing Occupation: supervisor Likes: Walks with grandpa, keeping an eye on Grandpa when he’s working in the yard, sleeping in my chair, chasing after my feet Dislikes: Other cats and dogs invading his space, Ink (another cat) Extra: He just showed up out of nowhere, as cats tend to do out in the country. He was skittish at first, but he warmed up to Grandpa very quickly. Now he’s just part of the family. He is not allowed in the house because he doesn’t get along with the indoor lads and Grandpa’s got a bird. Foreigner also supervises when the horses get out, making sure we’re all okay and can get them back.

Name: Ink Age: unknown (stray) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: Hunting Occupation: Wanderer, professional barn protector Likes: catching mice and other pests on the farm, being admired, keeping his plans for world domination a secret, sunbathing, making cars stop on the road because he’s an idiot who plays in the street and thankfully cars don’t go through often Dislikes: Feriegner Extra: This is a cat with a plan. He was probably sent here from another planet or is a warlock in cat form, slowly observing others and planning to dominate the planet. He wanders off for days at a time, perhaps looking for weaknesses in the planet’s defenses. He’s done with everyone’s shit, but love and affection restores his faith in humanity.

And that is it. These are the lovely cats of my life.  I hope you all enjoyed meeting them.  Until next time. 

Editing to add Myst. She’s fictional, but she’s still a cat.

Name: Myst Age: eternal (created three years ago) Location: going back and forth between the spirit realm and the mortal plane Skills: can go through walls Occupation: existing Likes: sleeping on shoulders, chasing ghosts, people, sleeping on the computer Dislikes: holy water Extra: Myst is a spectral cat from an unknown location. She’s rather recognizable for her fairly transparent body and skull-like face. She floats, shifts size, can be a blob, is very expressive, and doesn’t shed fur. Of course, she sheds a sort of ecto-plasm and it’s hard to wash out. She’s a wholesome cat who likes attention. 

[only-lurkin-dont-mind-me]

A Scarecrow Named Cyrus (Scarecrow Monster x Reader)

With a sigh, you looked over the rolling fields before you. Rows of corn, a small cluster of apple trees, a fine crop of pumpkins, some potatoes, and a small assortment of herbs. All ripe for a good fall harvest. Along with the fall faring flowers growing here and there with a controlled wildness to them. 

You had expanded your efforts in farming this year, and it was certainly paying off. Sure tending to so many good crops was hard work, but nothing you weren't capable of handling. Your little town could thank the roughness of your hands and your gentle nurturing attitude for such fine results. 

With October finally arriving, it would soon be time to harvest and sell off most of your crops. Until then, you had to prepare for the pumpkin patch the town was eagerly anticipating. You had chosen to host the pumpkin patch this year, and you were out to prove yourself to some of the less than pleasant members of the town. 

Did those people who irked you by commenting on your capabilities deserve your attention? Of course not. Did you feel spiteful and eager to prove them wrong to piss them off? More than anything else. 

Looking over your rows of pumpkins, you saw movement that was most definitely not the leaves and vines. With a confused glance, you made your way over. Your footsteps seemed to spook two rabbits that had been gorging themselves on one of the smaller gourds. As soon as they caught sight of you, they turned tail and ran as fast as they could. 

"Damn critters," with a huff of frustration, you kneeled. Turning the pumpkin over in your hands, observing the now broken backside of it. You gave the pumpkin a sad pat, hearing the hollow echo as you plucked it from the vine. "Sorry, buddy, not much left to do now but call you the first Jack 'o' Lantern of the year." 

With that, you wandered inside your small home. Already thinking of what you could do around the decent-sized hole in the side of the pumpkin to make it look intentional. Maybe a sideways face with a big 'o' mouth? That might work. 

As you set the pumpkin down and set to work you pondered over the rabbits. This wasn't the first time you'd caught something in your fields. Even when you were out among your crops, there would be birds, rabbits, foxes, and the occasional curious dog having escaped its yard. 

You couldn't keep watch over all of your crops all the time. Farm dogs were great to have but were mostly used for herding, guarding flocks, or guarding property against predators, not running off birds at the sight of them. Even rat dogs like terriers only caught mice in the barns much as a good mouser cat would. Where did that leave you? 

As you looked around the room for a hint of inspiration, you looked to a little fall card you had been given by one of your lovely neighbors, Ms. Ruby Jane. A darling old lady who had a good herd of sheep and great skill in baking. you would often help her tend to alongside her dog, Russel. 

A cartoon scarecrow stared back at you on the front of the card. 

"Would that work?" pondering aloud, you carried the little pumpkin to your window sill and placed it looking out to the fields. With the thought of a scarecrow in mind, you began wandering the house looking for a few things you could use. 

An old red and black flannel shirt, A pair of work jeans that you hardly used anymore. One of your old sunhats and lastly, gloves that you had stopped using some time ago. All you were missing was some scrap fabric to stitch together it's head, and hay to stuff it. Excited over a new project, you dashed off to Ms. Ruby Jane's farm. You knew she always had scrap fabric and hay bales for her sheep that you could buy.

"Well, ain't this a nice surprise? Good afternoon dear, please come on inside," Ms. Ruby Jane held out an arm, inviting you inside with a warm smile. 

"Thank you, ma'am. I don't mean to barge in out of nowhere," you tried to apologize for the unexpected visit only to have her wave you off.

"Nonsense, I always appreciate the company," she wandered off to the living room, no doubt to her chair settled by the fireplace. You followed suit, finding your usual spot on her couch. Russel, her rottweiler, looked up to you with the same expression that always made him look like he was smiling. 

"Hey, buddy." 

Russel huffed in response and settled back down, not appreciating being woken up from his midday nap. 

Ms. Ruby Jane spoke in her warm voice, calling your attention back to her. "Not that I don't mind the visit, but was there somethin' specific you came lookin' for?" leave it to her to know when you always needed something. 

"Yes, Ma'am actually, I was gonna ask if you had any scrap fabric I could use for a scarecrow? I have needles and thread for patchin' my clothes but nothin' the size I would need for, well, a head. I was also gonna ask if I could buy one of your haybales for stuffin' if that's alright."

Ms. Ruby Jane stood slowly, "Of course, of course, I've always got somethin' in that ol' chest of mine that you could use. You just wait right here and keep Russel company while I find you somethin' you can use to keep those fields of yours in shape," with that she began walking up the stairs behind you, going to rummage around in one of those old rooms that she asked people to stay out of.

  Ms. Ruby Jane was a mysterious person to be sure, but her privacy was hers and not something to question. She had shown up in town one day out of nowhere. Her home seemed to appear overnight, her sheep coming from the woods that surrounded that same little home. She was always kind to you and made sure you were doing well. You tried to do the same, helping her find any missing sheep, shearing them on occasion if she was too busy to manage to wrangle them up. Getting her haybale loads to her barn, anything you could lend a hand with you tried to do. 

It didn't take long for her to return with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a brown piece of fabric, cut clean and sized perfectly for what you needed. As she handed it to you, it felt strange. Warm, most likely from her hands. The fabric seemed nicer than you were anticipating. "Ms. Ruby Jane This is some of your nice fabric, made for dresses and suits. I can't use this; I would feel bad," you tried to explain but quickly realized that she would hear none of it.

As you looked over the pictures on her walls, you never once saw any family photos. Pictures of places she had lived, friends she had made, some of her favorite animal companions, some paintings she especially enjoyed painting. You hadn't asked about any family, she seemed happy just her, Russel, and her flock. Who were you to judge? 

"Dear, I have nothin' left to create with this, I am askin' that you put it to good use and think nothin' of it bein' too much. You do so much for me. Let me pay forward the favor," she stated with a finality in her words that you couldn't find it in you to disagree. 

"Yes, Ma'am, I'll be sure to stop by again soon. I'll bring your apples from the fields. They're gonna be ready for bakin' by then!" You promised as you headed off back home, ready to start stitching your Scarecrow together.

"Of course, now you make sure to stop by mine again and let me know how it goes, alright?" Ms. Ruby Jane questioned as she walked you to the door, sensing your excitement with each step. 

After you got home it took a total hour to stitch up the clothes and stuff them, it took an additional thirty minutes to stuff and attach the gloves, another five minutes rummaging for an old pair of boots that you could put on the scarecrow, and that was it. All that was left was stitching together the face and attaching the pair of large black buttons you had found for eyes. As you went to grab the fabric strip Ms. Ruby Jane had given you though, you couldn't find it. You scoured the house for the next hour, unsure as to where it could have gone and you felt rather upset at that point. 

"Thank you, ma'am, that's real kind of you," the fabric held weight in your hands, more than what it should have. Then again, you weren't much of a tailor. You didn't know much beyond patching a hole in clothes, so what did you know?

'It's gettin' too late to keep this up,' you thought with a disappointed sigh. You looked to the nearly complete Scarecrow laying on your table. Walking over to it and placing a hand on its hay-filled torso, patting it lightly, you spoke, "Don't worry, bud, I'll find your noggin sooner or later, then we'll get you out in the fields. Till then, you just rest up. I'll see you in the mornin'," you began to walk down the hall to your room, bidding the Scarecrow goodnight.

It took three days. Each day you would greet the headless scarecrow laying on your table, waiting to be complete. You would talk to it like it could hear you while cooking, or cleaning, or just in passing. As humans do, you grew attached to an inanimate object and named him, Cyrus. The first day you built his post, a simple thing with strong oak wood to hold him high in the fields, with a prop for both his arms and his legs, to keep him from falling. The second day you worked on picking the pumpkins and laying them out for the pumpkin patch. On the third day, you were picking Ms. Ruby Jane's apples to bring inside and wash off in the kitchen.

"Now where in the world..." Your voice trailed off as you walked over to the Scarecrow. In its gloved hand was the strip of fabric you had been looking for. You cautiously picked up the fabric. Looking it over to check if there was anything wrong. Determining that it was just as you had last seen it. You looked to the Scarecrow in confusion, "Were you the one hidin' this from me, or did you find it for me?" You questioned jokingly, hoping to settle the unease you felt in your gut. 

"I'm tellin' you, Cyrus, the corn maze is going to be great this year, so long as we can keep all those critters from eating it all up before families come to get lost going through it," you jokingly stated. Stealing a glance at the lifeless hay stuffed figure, laying on your table still. That's when you froze up in confusion and set down the last apple you had been cleaning. 

"Well, I suppose it's a good night for some stitchin', full moon's finally out, and I'm done workin' for the day so I've some time to kill," Why you decided to stitch the head together, you still don't know. But, turning down any gift from Ms. Ruby Jane left a bad taste in your mouth, you'd put the Scarecrow together, get it outside come morning time, and if a day went by and all was fine, you'd leave it be. 

As you were cleaning the apples, you were once again talking to the Scarecrow.

It took less than an hour, and only that long because how do you stitch together a circular shape? You were able to figure it out after a quick youtube search and had it done in no time. you even got the buttons eyes on and all even.

Connecting the stitches to the body, however, felt... odd. Like someone was watching you, waiting for something to happen. It wasn't necessarily a bad type of odd just not normal in the way you knew things to be. 

Cradling Cyrus's head in the crook of your elbow. Holding together the head and the collar of the shirt in one hand, and stitching with the other. It was almost peaceful if not for the odd feeling lingering. The same feeling kept you from looking at the scarecrows button eyes as if they were actually watching you.

As soon as you were finished, you took a step back to calm your nerves. Staring at the Scarecrow with unease that soon dissipated. It didn't move. It wasn't like it was anything but a hay-stuffed creation of your own hand, you were just scaring yourself. 

You let yourself laugh at the ridiculousness of your fear. Feeling it melt away bit by bit. "Oh, boy I sure have been workin' too hard or somethin'. Can you believe that little ol' you got me shakin' for a minute there? Cyrus, I tell ya, I'm about a half a step from loosin' it some day's," You looked over the Scarecrow with fondness in your eyes, this was yours, You had made him stitch by stitch, and you scared yourself over your own Scarecrow, irony sure was funny sometimes.

  You stepped forward and reached a hand out to pat the Scarecrows shoulder, feeling the hay rustle underneath the shirt. "Sure hope you don't mind, buddy." With one final pat, you walked off to your room, ready to sleep and give your hands a break. "I'll get you out on your post tomorrow, Cyrus, sleep well," you called out behind you. Hearing no response, just like you had expected.

 Standing on the stepladder and making sure it's settled on its post properly and that the short rope pieces are holding it in place well enough. After deciding that the Scarecrow is good and secure, you place a hand on its shoulder. "Course you can manage this, you'll do just fine. Keep an eye on these fields for me while I'm gone and when I'm here if you could. Thanks, Bud," with a quick 'Goodluck' you climb back down the step ladder and carry it back to the barn before setting out to the daily grind. 

The next morning you did as you promised. Lifting the Scarecrow over your shoulder and carrying him out to the center of the cornfield, right to its post.

First up was watering the herbs and wildflowers; they were smaller plants, so you took care to water them by hand to ensure they didn't get the wrong amount, leaving the bigger crops to the sprinkler system. After that, it was trimming dead leaves off of the corn stalks to make them look more presentable for the pumpkin patch. Lastly, you dove into the corn maze, along the cleared paths you had marked down before planting around them. They needed some clearing out and trail marking, so people knew what path to stay on and didn't try to go through the corn... Again. 

Throughout all of this, you would keep an eye on Cyrus. He seemed to be doing his job fairly well. You hadn't seen a bird land or catch any grounded critters running amock just yet. Hopefully, the new factor of him wouldn't wear off and would continue to keep those pesky animals away from your crops.

"Cyrus, you listen to me now. Your job here is to watch over these here fields for me and, try to keep all those critters and strays out of these crops. Can you manage that?" You ask the Scarecrow with a playful smile as if it would respond.

Over the next three days, your heavy work outside paid off, and come nighttime you were ready to open the pumpkin patch. the sun was just beginning to set as people filtered in through the front garden archway. It was covered in vines from the pumpkins that had already been harvested and displayed in rows close to the entrance. After that, there was the entrance to the corn maze as well as a small stand for hot chocolate to warm up the cold night. Baskets of apples stacked closeby as well. 

There were even multiple wooden tables with pumpkin carving kits for those who wanted to get to carving. Lights strung about here and there lighted the areas as the sun fell further and further, and the many groups of people that had finally arrived seemed to be enjoying their time, talking and laughing. It was just a good night.

Through it all, your scarecrow did a wonderful job of scaring off any unwanted visitors. 

'It really was been a good idea to make him,' you thought to yourself. Enjoying the joyful air surrounding your pumpkin patch. A group of teens caught your eye, they were walking out of the exit of the corn maze, laughing and scaring each other. You didn't think anything of it until you heard their remarks.

"I'm tellin' y'all, that scarecrow came out of nowhere! Damn thing scared the shit outta me." 

"Aw did little baby, Jackson get scared? Poor baby Jackson!"

"Shut up, man. You saw it too."

"And? It was probably just some guy paid to dress up and scare everyone that he wants to. I mean honestly, what a life. Can that be my job?"

That uneasy feeling you had felt when first stitching the Scarecrows head together returned stronger than before. You were quick to make your way through the maze, knowing just how to get to the center where the Scarecrow was. 

Under the full moon, you could see the Scarecrow clearly as its head slowly, uncertainly, lifted, and lolled slightly in your direction. His button eyes somehow seemingly staring directly at you. 

As you reached the center, you realized that you were the only one in the corn maze, you couldn't hear anyone else nearby. Maybe that was for the best.

You jerked your hand away from him as you watched in terror as this hay stuffed inanimate object... moved. His head followed you as you took steps back. He seemed to consider your response before, almost dejectedly, slumping back into its original position. 

Staring in a sense of confusion, trying to convince yourself you were scaring yourself again, you quickly made your way back out of the corn maze. You made it out just in time to see the last small family leaving the pumpkin patch. Fair enough it was getting late, that also meant you were now totally alone. 

You looked up to your Scarecrow, unable to tell if his position had changed. "Cyrus? You're doin' a good job keeping all those critters off the crops, just try to remember that the people here right now are invited here, they're alright to roam around long as they're not breakin' anything', they're welcome here." You walked over to the scarecrow cautiously, patting its lower leg where you could reach. "You doin' good out here, Buddy?" Your voice grew quieter as you asked as if fearing a response. 

You turned back to the scarecrow to see His head facing you once again. You looked between the garden entrance, debating running to Ms. Ruby Jane's, and back to Cyrus. Wondering if you should go figure out just what, why, how, anything was. 

He had been up for days now, and you hadn't heard almost anything about him. If he had bad intentions he could have done something the first night he was complete and still in your home. 

With one final look to the entrance, you made up your mind and rushed out and away from your farm.

Ms. Ruby Jane seemed to expect your arrival as she had two cups of tea set out along with a tray of sweets on her coffee table. Something about her behavior was off, however. Even Russel seemed far more attentive to the conversation at hand. 

"Now what did you say he did, dear one?" She asked in an eerily calm voice, the light from the fireplace giving her dark skin an almost ethereal glow. Her eyes seemed far more focused than you had seen before. 

"He moves, Ms. Ruby June!" You quickly stood up and began to pace the room, fear now evident in your actions and tone. "He moves and has apparently been able to. I ignored those little things like that bit of fabric going missin' only to appear in his hand, his headless bodies hay stuffed hand! He's alive apparently, a scarecrow looking around like he's got eyes to see instead of buttons, movin' like he's got muscle and bone inside of him instead of stuffin', he moves!" You looked directly at her for the first time during your fear-induced raving, and any fear immediately melted away. 

She was smiling, a proud sort of smile a parent would have whenever their child made something new. 

"You. You knew he would, didn't you?" Your question came out more like a statement as you slowly sat back on the couch. Russel walked over slowly and placed one of his paws on your foot in a far too understanding way for your liking. 

"I knew that if you treated that scarecrow like you treat anythin' else, he would more than happily accept his roll on your farm as somethin', someone, to help you. I know that you're a kindhearted person, dear. You've helped out this ol' lady more times than she can count. All I did was give you the materials for him to be a walkin', talkin', creature. It was your heart that gave him that last kick to get his sentience goin'," Ms. Ruby Jane picked up her cup and took a sip of her tea, still as relaxed as ever as you processed her words. 

You looked up at her, with one word on your mind. "Why?" Your voice came out weak, uncertain in the face of powers you didn't understand. 

She looked in her cup for a moment before letting out a sight. 

Russel, immediately sensing the change in mood, moved to her side. She reached her hand out to pat his head as she spoke. "I can't stay here forever, dear. I'll be headed on somewhere new soon, and you have done so much for me over the years I've lived here. I had to find some way to repay you, so when you came here lookin' for somethin' to finish making that scarecrow with? I knew it was the perfect time to give you the chance to create someone who could keep an eye on you, and help you once I'm gone." She looked you in the eye as she finished explaining. "I am paying forward your favor, I couldn't leave until I had and now I have." With those words, something in the air seemed to shift. as if the house itself had let out a breath it had been holding for so long. 

You understood a fraction of the hidden layers to her words. Ms. Ruby Jane was far more than she appeared but didn't seem open to discussing anything further, so you nodded your head in acceptance of her explanation. 

"Thank you, as always Ms. Ruby Jane,"  her words calmed you entirely. There were some things you wouldn't always understand or comprehend, but at the same time, you knew you couldn't turn down this kindness.

She smiled at you once again, "Of course, child. Now you best run along, you shouldn't be out so late for too long," Ms. Ruby Jane stood and guided you to the door. Giving you one last hug. Russel followed beside her and waited for his goodbye pet. As soon as he was satisfied, you began the walk home.

Once you finally made it back home, you looked to the Scarecrows Pole. Only to find it empty. You had to remind yourself that this was a gift from Ms. Ruby June, and she would never gift something she thought would harm you. You didn't have any reason to be afraid. Unfortunately, logic isn't always what your heart listened to. 

Once you reached the center of the cornfield, you found him. Having managed to untie himself and climb down, Cyrus stood, slouched in front of his pole. Staring dead ahead at you. Waiting for your next move.

You took an uncertain breath and stepped forward, "Cyrus?" 

Any words you were going to say next were cut off as the Scarecrow stood up straight, and tilted his head back. A deep throaty gurgling sound rose from inside of his very much hay stuffed neck. 

You stared with a newfound horror as the fabric of his face tore apart in jagged pointed lines, almost like rows of fangs forming where his mouth ought be. As his mouth opened wider and wider, you saw nothing but darkness inside of him.

The very sight had you ready to run right back to Ms. Ruby Jane but you were frozen in place. 

He took a slow step forward, finding his legs and maneuvering in a jerky awkward fashion that grew more steady with each step. " ..My cre..ator" His voice was louder this time, trying to find the right volume, the right way to put together the sounds. 

Cyrus looked back down at you. And he smiled a wide joyful smile that made any thoughts of running stop. You watched as his new-formed mouth moved and shifted as if trying to mimic the way your mouth moved whenever you spoke. A rumbling voice rose from his chest as he tried to speak. "..m...My. cre..a..tor."

The words made any sense of dread vanish. Confusion and awe were all that remained. "What are you trying to say?" you questioned with a gentle tone, encouraging him to try again.

You took a few steps forward, an arm reaching out as he stumbled, ready to catch him. "Try again, Cyrus. You can do it," Your eyes shown with clear excitement and fondness for the creature in front of you. 

He looked to your outstretched hand and reached for it, slowly, cautiously, figuring out the movements as he went. "My," Cyrus managed another step, now only a foot away and having stopped walking. He slowly maneuvered his other arm, reaching out a glove stuffed hand to carefully touch your cheek in wonder. "Creator." Cyrus wore a proud grin over having found the words. 

You, in shared delight quickly wrapped the scarecrow in a tight hug, able to lift him off the ground and spin circles with ease. "Atta boy, Cyrus!" You set him back down and grabbed his hands.

Cyrus seemed to only grow in enthusiasm over your response, grin growing wider as he began repeating the phrase, allowing himself to fall forward into your arms once more. He finally fell silent, wrapping hay stuffed arms around you, completely content to settle into your hug for a good bit.

You couldn't find it in yourself to complain, still beaming, you held him tight, pride welling up in your chest. "Good job, Cyrus."

[deluxewhump]

Post-Series: Carlo. Kitten. 

CW: past abuse, touch aversion, touch starved, past human pet and trafficking, weight/physical appearance/fitness mention, past animal death mention. Elle.

*****

"Salem," Max says, shaking a bottle of hot sauce over his eggwhites.

Elle doesn’t glance up from her laptop. “Thackery Binx.” 

Carlo raises his eyebrows at that one, shakes his head. “What?”

Max and Elle share a glance. When she smiles, her cheek pulls her scar back like someone drawing a bow. She types, nails clicking softly over the keys. “Before your time,” she explains by way of not explaining. Her favorite.

“It’s your cat, baby,” Max says. “You name it.” 

Carlo’s always afraid Elle is going to take up issue with how Max calls him honey, sweetheart, and his favorite— baby. Rather catlike herself, she doesn’t bat an eye. Maybe Max is calling him those things in the way one might call a child. And it is like that, he thinks, despite his grown-ness. Still, he thinks, if Max stopped, a little part of him deep inside the cavity of his chest would wither up, as if from a late frost.

He’s never had a pet before. He’d been around Holstrom’s dogs more than he’d liked. But they treated him as if he were just another dog, one very low on the pecking order which they needed to nip at and corral, or maybe a deer that wandered into the garden and was eating all Master’s lettuce.

His kitten is twelve weeks old to the day. He knows its birthday because Stella Abend told him, as they had been born on Jenny’s bed that day (Jenny had rolled her eyes and said yes, they sure had been). 

How their cat managed to become pregnant was a bit of a mystery, but it was suspected to have something to do with a tomcat that may have found a way to reliably get into their entryway, if not the main apartment for what Jenny called a rendezvous. Then she said something about sending the guilty party to a convent. 

“Wrong religion, Jen,” Stella reminded her. 

Carlo smiled politely, more interested in the box of kittens at his feet than how they happened, their helpless closed eyes, their piteous mews, their pinched faces like tiny goblins.

“You don’t have to pick yours now," Stella told him. “You can wait if you want. They’ll look like drowned mice for a while yet.”

“They’re sweet,” he’d said, bending down to scratch mama cat’s head, who laid dutifully on her swollen side and let them clamber over her for her milk. There were tabbys of several shades, a smokey gray, and one all black, like a wobbling fruit bat instead of a kitten.

“Will you text me before you give that one away?” 

Stella had cat hair on her black sweater, her own hair back in a french twist with wavy strands coming loose like tendrils of fire. He can never look at her without remembering the candy bar she’d slipped him those years ago, how she'd nodded down the hall to urge him to run along with it, not to get caught. “Of course.” She promised. “You get first pick.”

****

Stella told him about the kittens first, before mentioning it to Carlo. She asked if he wanted one (or hell, she’d laughed hopefully, two)? Maybe he wanted to get one for Carlo. “That great big house. All the bird hunting it could ever want up there in the woods. Carlo would love a pet, I bet.”

At first he’d wanted to turn her down. He hadn’t had an animal since his last dog died of old age some four years ago, and it was nice not to worry about something being all alone at the house while he worked. But Carlo was there a lot now, and often he and Elle kept different hours, too, one would be home for a few hours while the other was not. It wasn’t just him anymore, in his parent’s big old house. Maybe a cat would be a nice touch. He asked Carlo and Carlo’s eyes lit up at the idea. It was an enthusiastic yes.

He offered to drive him to Stella and Jenny’s when it came time. Carlo, it turns out, had already bought a cat carrier and lined it with a soft flannel blanket. He’d picked up other things, too, toys and litter and food and dishes, and made an appointment with a vet for its second round of shots next week. He said he’d go himself, he needed to put gas in his car anyway on the way.

Ever since, he’d been nothing but perfect with that little batlike void, fur so midnight black he seemed to shine. He coaxed it out of the back of the carrier with soft clicks of his tongue, a trail of kitten treats like breadcrumbs. 

Even Elle smiled fondly at that. “He could just reach in there and pull it out.”

“It’s his cat,” Max replied, just as fond. “Let him do it.”

Carlo called him Lou, which he always said in the bottom register of his voice, already imbued with affection. Max noticed how Carlo had been filling out a little lately, no longer swimming in certain shirts, no longer feeling so sharp when he hugged him. 

He asked him about it casually, always careful when it came to anything about physical appearance, as he was afraid of coming off some way he hadn’t meant to. Either critical, or too flattering- in a way that could make him uncomfortable. Though Carlo had never acted uncomfortable, he’d always been careful not to take the things he allowed him for granted. 

He could tell by watching him around his friends, even Eddie whom he seems to adore, even Elle, even a stranger in a store fitting him for a jacket. Touch is not taken lightly, nor is it particularly welcome. 

Unless you’re him. Max. Max is allowed. And Elle, sometimes, but they have a strange way of coexisting, of orbiting one another. Carlo does not approach Elle and lay his head on her the way he does Max, lock his arms around him sideways and lean until Max reciprocates. Maybe it’s because Elle is a woman. Maybe Carlo, like Max with him, doesn’t want to be presumptive or rude. And maybe, in addition, it was because Elle was Max’s and he didn’t want to overstep. 

Lately, he seemed broader-backed, more solid through the chest and shoulders, though still narrow-waisted and with his boyish wrists (never without the rubber band) and his soft smile. 

So Max had squeezed his shoulder to call attention to it. It didn’t feel so fragile as before under his hand, especially not like when he’d first met him, when Keith had thrown Carlo to the pavement and picked him up off it one handed, all legs and elbows like a colt. 

He asked if there was some overzealous army recruiter at the college he should go beat up. He’d tried to say it in an almost rhetorical way, like it would be natural if Carlo didn’t reply. 

But he had beamed, shaken a stray curl of hair from his eye “No. I just do pushups first thing in the morning, and at night. That’s what you do, isn't it?”

“Rain or shine.” He smiles back, ruffles Carlo’s hair gently. “You look great, kid.”

***

Carlo and Lou were inseparable. Max often saw them together about the house, the cat in Carlo’s lap or trailing about at his feet, a bobbleheaded shadow.

He couldn’t help but eavesdrop when he walked by the den one day and heard Carlo talking to Lou. He was laying sideways across a chair, legs dangling over the end, reading. Max stopped in the doorway but Carlo couldn’t see, with his back mostly to the door. The kitten was sleeping on his chest, tucked right under his chin, finally tired out from a day of chasing and batting and clawing and biting. 

Carlo had a paperback bent to hold in one hand so the other was free to scratch Lou’s tiny head, between those spiky ears like black spires. He had to work his fingers dexterously to turn the page with one hand, bracing the book on his knee and repositioning once he’d gotten to the next page. 

"Love you, Lou," he said, only doing a slight babying with his voice, the strange cadence with which people speak to their pets. “I’ll always love you. And I’ll always take good care of you.” He seemed to start reading again, eyes back on the page. Yet he kept speaking in a half-croon, half-mumble, absent like he wasn’t paying attention, like it was for the benefit of the sleeping kitten’s ears only. “Forever. Even if you never get eaten by coyotes and live to be sixteen. And you don’t have any teeth left so you drool on me. I’ll still take care of you. You’ll see.” 

He didn’t know what had done it, if it was Simon griping on about the loss of their twenties or thinking about how his own habits were often a shadow of his father’s, and how without meaning to he had handed that off to Carlo now. He hasn’t even called his father lately, not in months. 

When he picks up the phone, it isnt his father he dials, but his lawyer. 

The idea just won’t let go of him, now that he’s had it. So what if the kid’s twenty? The papers are good enough. He could legally adopt an adult if they wanted, for inheritance purposes. For the sentiment.

This way, he thinks as the phone rings. Everything that’s mine will legally belong to you. If something happens to me, it will all belong to you, not my parents, not anyone else. 

And maybe you’ll forgive me for the other thing. The other thing I couldn’t give you, that I couldn’t be for you. Maybe you’ll like this better in the long run.

***