Heya. Im somwhere around chapter uuuhhh… checks … 73?
And have not yet seen this? Its pretty much a suggestion. Have you tried writing an anthro cat stan? (Im pretty much dancing arount the term furry, but you cought me)
We Have seen him as a half cat (what im currently reading) and that was really cute, but what if?
Cat sized anthro? Like puss in boots?
Human sized anthro? Literally furry.
But wouldnt that be interesting??? Would he wear clothes? Thats probably not an important auestion. But how would that go?
Hmm. I did have a vague concept at one point way back when (somewhere in the cat stan masterlists), but reading this, and seeing your propaganda, has inspired me. I have a short to do list of things I want to work on before I get back into the swing of my usual posting (which, wow it has been some time. Sorry princess Stan and ppbb fans, just have to wait on those next chapters), and expect a future anthro cat chapter to be amongst them.
Ruben I’m so sorry to bother u...if you don’t mind could you post this if you get it?? Lately it seems like none of my asks are going through to anybody, and I can’t tell if it’s something to do with the big storm we just had messing with our WiFi or if it’s something internal with Tumblr...
shorty had them apple bottom jeans / boots with the fur / the whole club lookin' at her / she hit the floor / next thing you know / shorty got low low low low low low low
His lips burned with lime and salt from the row of tequila shots he’d downed. The back of his shirt was damp with sweat, wet where it met the small of his back. The sign of a good night, dancing with one pretty girl after another. Easy to ignore all the shit that wasn’t working out right in his life. Easy to ignore that hole in his chest.
"Lookin’ pretty fly, Kaner," Sharpy said, when he returned to the bar for a bit of a breather.
Patrick gave him the finger. “You wish you had moves like these.”
Sharpy laughed, delighted. “Have another shot, wild man,” he said, as the bartender assembled a row of glasses, pouring them full of Cabo Uno like it was water.
Patrick was just about to slam his back when Jonny showed up, looping an arm around Patrick’s neck. The simple touch made Patrick’s skin light up, hyper-aware of all the places they were touching. Jonny was breathing hard, warm against Patrick’s side, and his lips were puffy. He’d been making out with some chick for twenty minutes, Patrick thought they’d lost him for the night. He stole Patrick’s shot right out of his fingers and swallowed it down.
"Yes, please, take it," Patrick said dryly, hand still up in the air. "So glad to provide for you."
Jonny swiped his tongue around the corner of his mouth, licking the excess off. Patrick couldn’t help but track the motion of it over his pink lips. “Thanks, man,” Jonny said with a grin. “Much obliged.”
Patrick bumped him with his shoulder, rolling his eyes, and Jonny laughed. Patrick went to reach for another one, but Sharpy smacked his hand away, picking up the five remaining glasses, three in one hand, two in the other. “Nope, you lost yours,” he said, before moving away to dole out his prizes.
"What? How is that fair?" Patrick called after him. Jonny cracked up even harder, so Patrick poked him in the side and said, a little snide, "What happened, man, you strike out?"
Jonny shrugged. “Nah, not my thing.”
Patrick stared at him. She was hot—stacked, long legs, the tiniest little white dress against her tan skin—exactly Jonny’s type. “What was she into some—” he dropped his voice, “—kinky shit?”
Jonny shook his head. “No, just like, too tired. I kinda want to head home and do my own thing.”
"Oh, your own thing," Patrick replied, grinning, making a universally recognized motion with his hand. He was trying not to think about the fact that it made him feel better that Jonny wasn’t going home with some chick, when it wasn’t like they could ever do this anyway. Or, well, Patrick knew he couldn’t.
"Ah, fuck off," Jonny replied, smacking him upside the head. Patrick smiled at him.
They leaned back against the bar, quiet, simply people watching until the song changed.
‘shawty had them apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club lookin’ at her, she hit the floor, next thing you know, shawty got low low low low low low low’
Patrick whooped, nudging Jonny in the side.
"Nah, I’m good," Jonny said. "You go."
Patrick hesitated for a moment. What was he going to do all night anyway? Keep Jonny company and cockblock himself on a complete lost cause. He cleared his throat.
"Well, have fun doing your own thing," he called. Jonny snorted and waved as Patrick dove back into the crowd. Almost immediately redhead sidled up to him and before long, she was grinding back against him, holding his hands to her hips. Dancing was easy. After this song was over, she’d leave, go on to the next partner, forget him altogether. If only sex could be so easy. If they could just fuck around and have it not mean anything—but it would. The first moment he put his hands and mouth on Jonny, it would mean something. What a seesaw he was on.
"You okay there?" she asked, craning her head to look back at him. His hips had fallen out of rhythm.
Patrick shook his head. Fuck, he’d been okay. He’d been doing just fine. Tonight was gonna be a good night. And now he was all twisted up. Watching Jonny say goodnight to the boys and head for the door made him want to go running after him. Well, Patrick always did have poor impulse control. “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Patrick said, detangling herself from him. “Sorry, my buddy is leaving.”
He didn’t even give her a chance to respond, before he was pushing through bodies, trying to get to the door. By the time, he made it outside, Jonny was down the block, one leg into a cab.
"Hey, Toews," he called, Jonny turned around, eyebrows raised, arm on the door. "What’s your own thing?"
Jonny leaned his chin on his arm on top of the door, giving him a thoughtful look. “Just wanted to lie in bed and make out, maybe watch some CSI. But I’m sure I could’ve been persuaded to do a few other things.”
"What, you didn’t think she’d be into it?" Patrick said, jogging the last few feet closer.
"Not sure I would be into it with her," Jonny replied.
"Why’s that?" Patrick asked, breathless, coming close enough to touch him.
"Peeks," Jonny said softly, scanning his face, "are you ever gonna give this a chance?"
The open cab door was between them now. If that wasn’t a metaphor for Patrick’s life, he didn’t know what was. He’d told his sister once he was afraid of this feeling—it was giving Jonny so much power. He’d never felt like this in his fucking life and it was terrifying.
Patrick swallowed, weighed a thousand possibilities in a single moment. He thought of the way his sister had looked at him and said, ‘Pat, what you want, you go out and make it happen. I don’t understand why this is any different.’
Was it terrible that Jonny had somehow grown larger than hockey? That at some point, losing him had become one of the greatest prices Patrick could think to pay. But.
YOLO.
Jonny’s smile was soft, sweet. Patrick needed to get him into the cab right this moment, otherwise he was going to lay one on him in full view of a thousand camera phones.
"Can I join you?" he asked, voice a little hoarse.
