• It/she/they pronouns

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Welcome to my page! I'm a writer, artist, aspiring game designer and a furry!

Other accounts:
Non-kink writing: @Bounds-Desk
Private AD: @Bounds-Bedroom-AD (trusted folk only)

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https://bsky.app/profile/constellation.bsky.social


slysterk
@slysterk
N1-LesGarden
@N1-LesGarden asked:

As paws, would you rather: your owner be oblivious to the relatively dust-sized cat living on their floor, occasionally stepping on her and trapping her underpaw for months at a time before she’s wiped off, to repeat the process some time later?

Or: your owner is well aware, and keeps her deliberately and permanently chained to a toe ring or anklet as a toy for their paws, without break from the deliberate torment?

…Sorry if I’m asking too many self-indulgent questions by the way-

Firstly, these are equally indulgent of me. Trust me. I love being paws that claim people, knowingly or unknowingly to my owner.

And unknowingly is always my preference. It's the dramatic irony of my owner fretting over you vanishing as they, and I, make your life a living hell of sweat, musk, and pressure. You thinking you have finally escaped as you peel off and try to flee, only for fate to remind you that you belong under me and conspire to return you to your proper place as lint beneath me...all while my owner's thunderous voice echos from above with words of worry that you haven't been seen by anyone in months.

But that's okay. They'll probably forget their worries, and you, after a few years. But you'll still be right there...plastered to me, my perfect kitty lint.


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in reply to @slysterk's post:

Each stay undoubtedly getting longer and longer, as you further batter a kitty beneath oblivious paws… your and my owner only finding me, on the occasions where they do, when they peel a sock off, or wipe you off with a sweat rag or tissue, or even caught in the hair/fur collector in their shower’s drain.

And on the occasions when I fall off and remain unnoticed?
You reunite with me after your owner has peeled a sock off, tossed it in a bin for weeks, washed and folded it, and donned it again days later, with a cat having miraculously survived tangled in the fibers.
Or you loom imminently over me on their tiles, squashed between their paw and the cold hard tile below, lifted off on you via heat and sweat.
Or you seal off all light as you’re shoved into the same shoe they lost me in months ago, plastered to a sweat-damp toe-print.

You’ve even seen me swept, mopped, dusted, even vacuumed away. By like dust,

I keep coming back somehow, like fate knows I belong under you. Maybe not permanently… but repetitively.