rhinoplasty this buccal fat removal that for godssake watch a film produced in a country that isnāt the united states of america read a book read non-fiction learn to sew go to a pottery class go on a walk talk to old people look at medieval manuscripts do something interesting stop looking in the mirror so much someone will fuck you someone will love you and if not it doesnāt even matter that much but do something you donāt need botox you need to build muscle before youāre old and take care of your bones and take max 3 pictures of yourself per year
ten years ago you were so scared of such different things, but you survived them anyway. the same goes for five years ago and two years ago. everything that has ever felt like a hurdle, youāve passed through. so be afraid, identify your fears, and then allow yourself to remember that in just a little while, this will be another thing that you have overcome.
This is Nicole. She is an amazing Canadian wood-splitting machine.
I have a huge pet peeve about people swinging axes and sledgehammers without using the kinetic chain. You have to use your entire body to get real power in your swing. And in so many movies you see actors just trying to chop things with only their arms. But Nicole has perfect form. And cute pajamas.
I'm not sure if she is technically a lumberjill. I think she just refers to herself as a wood splitter. Either way, she is badass.
I was definitely NOT waiting for someone to ask so I could nerd out about a super cool thing the human body is capable of.
The kinetic chain is what allows highly powerful athletic motion. It is a concept where every part of your body is linked like a chain and you can transfer energy from one chainlink to the next. That energy accumulates as it travels along your body and once it reaches the end of the chain, you can deliver explosive results.
Like gloriously splitting a giant log with one beautiful swing.
So, our lovely wood splitting hero is not just using her ample, perfectly toned arm muscles to deliver the axe blow. She is planting her feet, bending her knees, compressing her torso, twisting her shoulders, swinging her arms, flexing her wrists, and gripping the handle with her fingers.
All of that energy is transferred up the chain from her toes to her fingies. Combine that with holding the axe at the end of the handle for maximum leverage and you can make logs cleave in two like a hot knife through butter.
A major league pitcher is another great example. Randy Johnson was a very tall and lanky fellow at 6'10". He did not even have huge, powerful, super attractive muscles. Nor did he have cute pajamas. I'm not thirsty YOU are thirsty so shut up about it. But he did have a very loooong body and thus, a long kinetic chain. And by using his entire body to generate energy, he was able to pitch 100mph fastballs capable of disintegrating birds.
When I was working as an interpreter in a martial arts academy in China, this is how one of the masters explained the concept of qi! Others explained it as breath, some as *energy* concentrated in your dantian in your lower abdomen, but one guy explained it as the maximum flow of unimpeded kinetic energy. This is going to differ based on who you asked, but this is his explanation. I'm not a scientist or any sort of martial arts teacher, so please forgive my anecdotal approach.
How can a guy who does a one-inch punch...do a one-inch punch? Because the movement actually begins in his back toe, where it meets the earth, up through his calves and his thighs and his abdomen and his shoulders and his forearms, and finally released visibly at the level of the hand. That's why practitioners of all kinds of Chinese martial arts practice movements that look very odd to Western fighters: practicing 'uncontrolled' shaking; pushing against immovable objects; practicing stopping your movement at exact points in the air as if there is an invisible hand meeting yours; practicing 'launching' forwards off one foot for over an hour.
Alternatively, 'simple' movements in tai chi and qigong get practiced hundreds of thousands of times until you can feel the 'rising' and 'sinking' of your muscles. I never got to any particularly advanced level, but in the months I was there, my ability to control the total relaxation and tensing of my muscles one by one - isolation, as dancers would call it - increased a crazy amount, and enough for me to understand that whatever you call this effect, whether you ascribe it to energy or science or religion - it's real. As far as I could understand it - and it was challenging, because most teachers either talk about it in a very esoteric or religious way, or they refuse to explain at all to new students until they have experienced the benefits themselves - this type of practice was for a few reasons.
One, it saves energy. This is another reason why Chinese teachings (that are aped by the West in films like Kill Bill or taken to extremes in Chinese martial arts films, but very much have a basis in reality) often have the practitioner train to extreme exhaustion. (Not the only reason: they also value training your strength of mind and your ability to *cough* obey your teacher even in excessive pain.) Basically: when you're very tired, you automatically only put the effort that is needed into finishing a movement, and no more. This is an incredibly useful ability for all athletes, but one that is a little difficult to access with 'typical' training. Shaking and other types of 'weird' Chinese training is often specifically for accessing this ability. It is far harder than you think to shake and let your arms hang totally loose, as if they are only weights on the end of two pieces of string. Don't believe me? Try. You actually need a substantial level of bodily awareness.
You can try the principle yourself with something as simple as lifting your leg straight out to the side and pulsing it up and down. After about ten to twenty pulses, if you're not a ballet dancer or taekwondo girlie, you'll start to feel lactic acid build-up and pain; eventually, all of the muscles that are not strictly necessary for lifting the leg - for example, the ones that point your toes or keep your knees straight- will relax to give energy to those that don't. Or run an hour of hill sprints and try the same thing - you'll feel the difference. It is very difficult to be able to engage and disengage the correct muscles for 'normal' actions like running or jumping, because we have old habits and old movement patterns. 'Kinetic chain' training means learning which ones tense, which ones relax, and at exactly what time - and then training the ability to do it at will. It's incredibly difficult, but if done correctly, can save a huge amount of energy - imagine if you could 'switch off' the unnecessary muscles from pulse one of the leg lifts. You'd be able to go for longer, and train more.
Secondly, it makes you both stronger and faster. When using this type of relaxed athleticism, you only tense - and therefore impede yourself - at the exact necessary time. This results in faster punches, faster kicks; try spinning in a circle with tense cactus arms and then with arms that fly loose. The second is faster and looser and easier by far. It means that the strength produced by your body is actually translated far more effectively into output: if you push from your back foot whilst throwing a punch, or twist from your hip whilst kicking, that force can ripple along the relaxed muscles and be released at the correct moment. It doesn't get 'lost' along the way; the kinetic energy is not obstructed. This is the same reason why practitioners can 'glide' their way out of being gripped or grabbed by going totally relaxed, and then suddenly yanking; whereas if you try and yank from the outset, the opponent's grip strength is stronger than yours and prevents you getting free. Exercises like push-hands in tai chi - one of the basics, one that you spend thousands of hours on - train this well. Somewhat counter-intuitively, a dead-weight, or a very relaxed live one, is much heavier and therefore harder to stop than one that is engaged and tense.
There's another bonus aside from speed and not losing original power: that tensing at the exact last moment, the end of the movement, also produces an extra amount of force. Chinese martial artists don't have their hands in fists already when waiting to engage in a fight for this reason. The closing the fist in the air, for them, is PART of the punch.
Finally, it also makes you less prone to injury. A relaxed, flexible body that has the ability to tense and produce strength at the drop of a hat is a strong body; a body built for longevity. I do not mean Chinese martial artists do not get injured; they get stupidly injured. But that is because they are doing stupid things to their body for a stupidly long amount of time - if we take the principles of 'relaxed body, strong body' and use it for less insane athleticism, it helps us remain injury-free. Whole-body exercises like this promote healthy joints, mobilising the synovial fluid, and keeping us feeling younger for longer. Kids don't do squats; they run, and they jump, and they climb. As far as we can, given our individual and adult limitations, we should strive to do the same.
I know that many - even most - Chinese martial arts teachers would not agree with this description of qi. This teacher's explanation even in the school itself was fairly controversial; it stuck with me. But the importance of the kinetic chain - of whole body exercise, of extreme exertion, of the balance of strong and flexible and weak and rigid - is something that is nevertheless front and foremost in every style of kung fu I have seen, even when it is under a different name. A mastery of the kinetic chain is essential to a mastery of kung fu.
This is why I think Cara Nicole's video about this is a particularly good response to these people:
The fact is that he can be the best husband in the world. Let's put aside the fact that guys like that are disproportionately unlikely to want submissive housewives, and let's just grant their argument for now. Because as you said, they're not going to listen to the alternative. Let's say you're right that he'll never leave you.
He can still:
die
become permanently disabled/chronically ill in a way that either means he can never work again, or has to take a very different job that is much lower-paying
lose his job another way (e.g. get fired, or even be laid off through no fault of his own)
get sick of his job, and decide to change careers in a way that means going back to school and/or taking a significant pay cut
These aren't just random hypotheticals; I've personally known people who found out the spouse who was their soulmate whom they thought they'd live with forever, had a type of terminal cancer that killed them a few years later - even in their 30s-40s. Or died in a car accident or of a freak heart attack/aneurysm or other random occurrence. Or they didn't die, but that accident disabled them. They never thought it would happen to them, either. But it's always "impossible" until it happens to you or someone you know.
If that is too much of a bummer to think about - but I'm sorry, it is a possibility that you should consider, and one that's resulted in a lot of women ending up in the situation in the first post - there's one of the "his job doesn't last" possibilities. Again, I've seen people who thought they'd landed the jobs they'd have forever get surprise laid-off. (Especially common in this economy!) I've seen people who thought they found their dream job, and then over time realized it really wasn't that anymore and it was crushing their souls.
Point is, there no guarantees, and it's better to make sure you have a back-up plan no matter what. At the very least, get an education and get some degree of a reputation in your career field of choice, and experience in it, that would make it easier to go back if you do decide to spend some time off as a housewife. (Spending years out of a field will make it difficult to jump back in no matter what, but there are things you can do that make it less of a risk, though that depends a lot on the field in question so I can't give blanket advice there.)
18+ MINORS DNI, no pronouns used, sucking astarions dick like he deserves <3, this got a little sappy but i love him and he deserve it, unedited i'm sorry i'm still getting over a cold but obvi sucking dick comes first
ā¦ . ćāŗ ć . ā¦ . ćāŗ ć . ā¦
his own pleasure, deep and pure and wanting to be given by the sweetest of loves, was still something astarion was getting used to. though he cheekily accepts anything you give him, he can feel how his skin runs much warmer than it usually does under your affections, as if heād been basking in the sun for far too long but after so long without it, without you, he wasnāt keen to pull himself away either.Ā
even if his skin burned with a blush so deep heās sure you can see it in the darkness of your tent and through your heavy lashes each time you peek up at him from your place between his legs, he didnāt want to look away, didnāt want it to stop. he never wanted your love to stop.
your lips are soft and teasing as you kiss from the base of his cock all the way to his flushed tip where you place multiple delicate kisses while slowly pumping his length in your hand. heās hard and aching and you arenāt in much better shape, a fact youāre sure is not lost on him either. before astarion can even find his breath, stolen from the moment of your addicting touch and loving words, you swipe your tongue flat along his leaking slit, the taste of him melting against your tastebuds.
deep and breathless, laced with wanting and what you swear is the melody of the heavens on his tongue, he calls your name, unable to stop the way his hips buck up to feel more of you. you are so easily coaxed to give in- no teasing tonight- hollowing your cheeks and taking him in inch by inch, feeling your own arousal growing with his heaviness on your tongue and his precum sticky in your mouth.
lewd wet noises and quiet mewls from you both fill the tent in time with the pace you set, trying to take him deep and deeper with every bob of your head and with each tap at the back of your throat, every murmur astarion makes about how divine you feel, you canāt help but return with your own whimpers. telling of just how much this was affecting you too.
every way he reciprocates only adds to it all; the long fingers that have found their way into your hair, lightly tugging on your roots when you swallow him deep and let out a small choke that makes him even harder or how easily your free hands find each others and your fingers lace together perfectly, letting you feel the pressure of his attempt to not cum too quickly, to keep you closer and closer to him.
āfucking hells, my love,ā he voice is raspy, betraying of just how much of his sanity is slipping from him all at the mercy of your pretty mouth and greedy tongue but you could have him all.
you can feel him pulsing against your tongue, can taste more of him than before and when you pull away for your first full breath of air since you settled between his legs, a string of saliva and pre still connects you to his pretty pale cock. you can feel his ruby eyes on you, watching the shimmering string snap and coat your lips even more, taking in your heaving chest and the feeling of his undead heart beating uncontrollably when you look up at him like that.
he pulls on your hand that he hasnāt stopped holding with more force than you anticipated, having you nearly stumbling completely flush against him. you catch a glimpse of sharp fangs behind panting lips as he pulls you closer, now sharing every breath, the wetness on his cock smearing and cooling on your stomach.
ālook at you..ā the pads of his lithe fingers caress down your cheek, over the wetness of your mouth, yearning to kiss you but wanting to take you in for just a moment longer, not forget the sight of your love and lust filled eyes, your messy mouth, the warmth of your cheek that is as hot as he is. you melt into his touch, lean closer to him, the slight chill of his lips like a feather against your own as he says, āyou are a vision.ā
āastarion..ā his name fades into your kiss, into the way he hastily takes off the rest of your clothes and indulges in you, in your love, a sweet whisper filled with your desire and devotion that he swallows again and again and returns to you tenfold.
when i first started my transition, i had so many bad encounters with men that i started to just generalize that āyeah all men suckā. and it was so easy to do because pop culture has kind of all agreed that itās fun and easy to make fun of men cause itās so often true, that yeah, men kinda suck sometimes.
but a close friend and trans man pointed out to me that even if itās a joke, that itās kinda shitty to say all men suck cause a lot of trans men have a hard enough time as it is coming to terms with their manhood and by making these jokes, i was actually being a terrible ally to him. and i had this moment where it just clicked and i was like oh my god heās right.
yeah a lot of men suck but also a lot of men donāt. and iām in a place in my life now where iām thankful to know a lot of good men. and yeah, sometimes they fuck up in really annoying ways that only men can, but also everyone fucks up. holding men to a different standard is fucked up.
instead, i try now to point out and highlight moments of positive masculinity instead of just calling out toxic masculinity. cause yeah, toxic masculinity absolutely needs calling out but also pointing out that men are good is really important too.
we are ALL oppressed under patriarchy. men included.
it's a rite of passage for anyone that writes for scara to at least do ONE scarameow fic. anyway, 3 chapters for sure on this one, maybe a 4th if i feel like party rockin.
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AO3 LINK
Next Part (TBP)
cat(boy)!Scaramouche/f!Reader - Reader is Traveler
2,628 Words - SFW (future NSFW)
(no warnings this chapter)
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āTraveler, pleeeeease?ā
Paimon struggles to float under the weight of the kitten, her arms wrapped around his torso as he wiggles and wiggles and wiggles and hisses. You watch for a moment how his little teeth are bared, the pupils of his eyes wide enough that only the thinnest purple iris is visible as he glares at you. Can a cat glare?
This one is. You think you like him.Ā
āAlright, fine. But heāll have to stay in the teapot, heās just too little to travel around with us now.ā
At the sound of your agreement, he starts writhing even more, and you reach out to take the kitten from Paimon to keep her from sinking like a rock. Holding him by the scruff, you lift the cat to look him over - ink-colored fur, pretty violet eyes with strange markings around them, the whitest feet and ears youāve ever seenā¦Ā
āYouāre a cute thing, arenāt you? What should we name youā¦ā You use your other hand to support under his back legs, holding him closer to your chest as you release his scruff and instead run those fingers down the raised hair along his spine. āAngry little thing. Kinda reminds me ofā¦ā
āThatās what I thought! So grumpy!āĀ
Paimon already agrees before you get the name out, and the two of you giggle amongst yourselves. Ducking your chin to look at him, he stares up at you with a vicious little hiss, just before you say, āOh, if he finds out heāll be so mad. Letās do it. Youāre my little Scarameow now.ā
Razor-sharp tiny claws sink into your skin at his visceral reaction to the name, teeth bared as his face scrunches up in rage. But itās not frightening - only cute enough to make you coo and bend to press a kiss right on that angry little forehead. āCāmon, letās get you home. Paimon, can you watch the teapot for a while? Maybe take it to Nilou for safekeeping?ā
āCan do! Oh, can you use the kamera and take a picture if he does anything cute? Paimon wants to see!ā
The kitten grumbles, and taking a little pity on him, you falsely make the promise to her and withdraw the teapot from your inventory to head home for a little while. Paimonās voice trails off with her goodbye as your navel is pulled, and the world shifts from one reality to another, leaving you in a field of wildflowers that wave gently in the breeze.Ā
The kitten goes slack in your arms, the whipping of his little tail petering out as his furry head turns left and right, taking in the sights of the field, the smattering of buildings not so far in the distance, and the backdrop of other landforms beyond it. Even if he probably canāt understand you, you still canāt help pride from filtering in your voice as you begin your walk to the main house and explain.Ā
āThis is my home. Well, our home, now. Youāll be comfortable, safe, and warm. Nothing bad will ever happen to you here. You mustāve been awfully scared, being all alone like that.ā You say, unaware of how the kittenās head tilts up to look at you. āWhat sort of food do cute little kitties eat, anyway? Fish?ā
Of course, he doesnāt answer, but he does prickle a bit when you refer to him as cute and little, like he isnāt aware of how small he is. Or how soft his tummy is on your forearm. Somehow, you feel like heād be mortified if he knew just how much you wanted to put your face in his fur and blow raspberries.Ā
Youād probably lose an eye, you think.Ā
Stepping into the home and shutting it behind you, you donāt bother to lock it as you call out, āTubby! You home?ā
āI am always home, Traveler.ā The bird sparkles into existence, the kittenās fur stands on end as those little claws sink in again. Dipping your head, you shush him and scratch behind one of his tiny little triangle ears, but it doesnāt do much. It almost makes him madder. Narrow red lines well up on your arm from where heās been scratching and biting you. Tubby waits patiently for the exchange to finish before asking, āIs this a new resident?ā
āYes! This is Scarameow, heās going to stay here for a while. Do you think you can sift through the storage and see if thereās any furniture that will be good for him?ā
āMiss Diona did pass along some of the furniture blueprints they use at the Catās Tail when they need to replace something too clawed-upā¦ā
āPerfect!ā You agree, holding the kitten awkwardly as you start to kick off your boots. Tubby doesnāt like it when you track dirt into the house, and youāre not feeling up to suffering passive-aggressive comments about your cleanliness today. Tubby flickers off, and youāre once more left with a kitty thatās wiggling desperately to be let free.Ā
Not just yet, though. You wander into what serves as the living area, a few couches near a fireplace thatās already lit. You grab a throw blanket and bundle it up on the couch, then carefully set him there. āThatāll have to do for now. Iām going to go and see what I can find you for food. I bet youāre hungry.ā
Purple eyes look up at you, unimpressed. Your face twists in minor annoyance, āCāmon, Iām doing the best I can. If I expected to get a kitten today, Iād have prepared a little better. Maybe you should work on your timing.ā
The kitten meows, a loud thing that canāt hold the weight of his own annoyance at you. Planting your hands on your hips, you bend a little and say, āāMeowā to you, too. Yāknow, if you want to be menacing, youāll have to work on not being so cute. If you keep being grumpy, Iām going to get your belly and itās going to be very embarrassing.ā
Another meow, teeth bared like needles, fur starting to raise on his tail. In fact, he stands, his back arching and the rest of him puffing up as if to look bigger, scarier. And you only laugh, reaching out with a palm and pushing him over into the blankets. āCute little thing. Scarameow is a good name, you really do remind me of the Balladeerā¦ uh, Wanderer, I mean. Donāt tell him I messed the name up, Iām still getting used to it.ā
The cat pauses in getting up, head tilting as if curious. Maybe it wouldnāt hurt to vent to him a little, he is just a kitten. Itās not like he can tell anyone unless he suddenly learns to talk like Neko. Standing straight, you let your arms fall to the side with a sigh, āItās weird, he and I are the only people that actually remember what happened before. Heās kind of a jerk, butā¦ Iād hoped that maybe, if anything, heād be willing to let meā¦ oh, I donāt know. Be his friend?ā
Settling on the couch, you abandon the idea of food for now. The kitten doesnāt seem interested anyway. But he does settle down to sit on the blankets and seems to be listening intently to what youāre dumping out on him, even if he doesnāt understand. Leaning back against the couch, then letting your head roll to look at the ceiling, you continue, āI want to talk to him, but honestly, Iām not sure how to do it without him assuming Iām just taking pity on him for it all. Iām not, really, but he just seems kindaā¦ lonely?ā
No answer from the kitten. Maybe heās fallen asleep already, maybe heās not listening at all.Ā
āDespite everything, I kind of get it. Yāknow, after everything heās been through, Iād probably be the same way. So I canāt really fault him for a lot of it. Well, maybe I can, just a little. But people can change, and it seems like heās putting in some effort.ā Your hand reaches out to the blankets, searching for the kitten to try and pet him absently, but your hand comes up empty.Ā
Lifting your head, the blankets are empty, but in the space between your lap and the makeshift bed, the kitten is frozen mid-step, like heād been sneaking closer. It looks up at you, and you look back, and carefully you turn your gaze back up to the ceiling. Maybe if you donāt give him so much attention, heāll be a little more accepting of it all.Ā
And the idea strikes you enough that you speak it into the world, āMaybe thatās the key. Iāll give him some space, just make it known that Iām willing to accept him and then back off. If I come on too strong, heāll just get annoyed.ā
Thereās a pressure on your thigh of a small paw pushing in, then the opposite, and as you covertly look down, you can see heās making biscuits on your lap. Not quite sitting on you, just off to the side, but itās a start and you canāt help the giddy smile on your face. Biting your tongue, you donāt draw attention to it and instead bring one hand to curl around his back where he sits next to you, a warm presence against your palm.Ā
āDo you think thatāll work? Ah, youāve never met him, how would you know. I bet youād get along, though. Two angry little guys.ā
Claws poke against your leg in a warning, and you laugh a little as you finally lift your head and look down at him. āAlright, alright. Hmā¦ yāknow, I have an idea. If I promise not to get your tummy, will you put up with me doing something else less demeaning?ā
A head tilt, a cautious ask of what youāre planning before he accepts anything. You guide him away from the copious amount of biscuits heās been making and settle him in the blankets again before getting up. āIāll be back, just going to go to the workbench for a bit and make something. If you hate it, you donāt have to ever look at it again, but I think itād beā¦ cute.ā
Scarameow growls, looks at you unsure, but youāre already walking away and leaving him alone in your home. Before leaving the room, you look at him over your shoulder. Heās sitting where you left him, looking suddenly very small, and a little coo leaves you that makes him bristle and stand, back arched once more.Ā
Your laughter is what remains in the room with him as you leave.Ā
The kitten waits while standing, then sits down to wait more. Then he lays, curled in a tight ball, eyes watching the doorway that you left through. The fireplace crackles nearby, lulling him into a calmness that makes him relax a little. Eyes drooping, he watches with disinterest as that weird little bird appears in the room, floating around and materializing what looks to be furniture suited for a cat.Ā
A little tower with multiple levels, a wooden bowl-shaped bed filled with soft pillows, a box with a paw print on it filled with unknown contents. Then, the bird moves to the window and opens the curtains, letting the sunshine in. Suddenly, the kitten perks up a little, getting to his feet and streeeetching before all but tumbling from the couch. Annoyed at himself, he wanders over to the window.Ā
Thereās just enough of a ledge that he can sit up there, so he backs up and lowers himself, rear end wiggling a little before launching up. Still unpracticed, his claws catch on the edge as he undershoots the distance and has to scrabble on the rest of the way. Looking over the edge, he sees a few marks left in the wood, and his chest puffs up a bit. Good, serves you right.
Outside the window is that same view he was greeted with on arrival. Wildflowers fill the field, waving in unison as each breeze wafts over. His eyes follow the patterns as he lowers himself and tucks his limbs in, then his tail around himself. You said heād be comfortable, happy, safe. Heās heard it often enough, but when was the last time he felt it?
Mildly disgruntled, he realizes heās feeling it now.Ā
Heās not sure how long he looks out the window, feeling the sun warm his fur as it moves across the sky. But his ears twitch, your footsteps returning, and he doesnāt have time to get up before you enter the room and coo, āOh, youāre loafed up. How adorable!ā
You clasp your hands around something, then tuck your hands beneath your chin at the sight of him looking so comfortable in the window. You donāt miss the scratches left from his journey up there, but you donāt really mind. Itās not like he did it on purpose, and itās an easy fix.Ā
Wary eyes watch as you approach and kneel at the window to be on an even level with him. With a little smile, you reassure him once more, āI made you something. If you really donāt like it, you donāt have to wear it, but you really do remind me of him, soā¦ā
You set the little object down in front of him. A bright red cord of expert make, looped into a necklace and tied with a red bow around a little white puff ball. And on the end a golden ornament lacking the depth of detail of the original, but still a good enough mimicry that you feel proud of it. The kitten stares and stares, almost as if his eyes are unseeing. Patiently, you wait, considering he hasnāt batted it away like you initially expected.Ā
And then, one of those soft white paws untuck from beneath his body to reach out and paw at it, tugging it closer. A quiet acceptance thatās solidified by how he doesnāt fight you when you carefully settle it over his head and around his neck, ensuring it isnāt too loose or too tight. āThere, you could get it back off if you wanted, butā¦ā
And then, with a little laugh, you fold your arms on the window ledge and prop your chin on them to look at him with a pleased smile, one thatās absolutely fond. āAnyway, donāt let him see you wearing that. Heād probably blow a blood vessel seeing you wearing it and having that name. Ugh, heād probably think I want to keep him as a pet.ā
The kitten looks at you unamused, one paw still resting out, claws starting to flex in a quiet warning. All you can do is grin, scrunching your nose at him, āAnd then Iād have to explain that I did it because Iām already fond of him. Is that weird? Iāve known of him for a long time, and weāve been enemies for almost the entirety of it. One soul-searching journey and now Iām fond? I must be crazy.ā
The kitten nods. A delighted laugh leaves you and you reach with one hand toward him, your cheek resting on your other arm. To your surprise, he doesnāt bat you away as your fingers start to scratch beneath his ear, but he doesnāt seem entirely pleased, either.Ā
āI think itās been a long, long time since anyone was fond of Wanderer. After all heās been through, donāt you think he deserves a little softness, now?ā
The kitten doesnāt say anything, but if you hold your breath and stay very still, you swear you can hear a quiet little rumbling coming from him as his eyes start to droop closed.Ā
