#ORION HAS KITTY CAT EARS

[cranberrytart451]

This movie is gonna be a trip

[all1e23]

Code Date Night [One-Shot]

Summary: Sparks ruin date night. 

Warnings:  A little bit of angst. Lots of fluff. Sweet, protective Bucky.  

A/N:   A new Astrophile drabble! YAY!  As a warning, Bucky is injured on the job in case that’s a trigger for anyone. No death. There is a bit of angst, but it’s still Astrophile fluff. It takes place roughly 5/6 years after the epilogue. Write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me if you like it. If you have not read the series Astrophile, THERE WLL BE MAJOR SPOILERS.  

Catch up on the series here!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!*

Bucky leans forward in the back of the truck, adjusting his boots. His feet are killing him, and he just wants to be off this damn job. The love he has for his career and his brother runs deep, but he’s so ready to get home and see his wife. That is something he never thought he would say. He’s always loved work more than most things in his life, but here he is desperate to get back to the station so he can see his girl. He settles in next to Steve and continues to hum the same tune he has been humming for the last several turns. He pulls his hair into a tight bun at the base of his neck and continues humming. In just under eight hours, his shift will be over, and he will be holding his sweet Beck.

The tune repeats once more from the start, and the moment it finishes, Bucky glances at the men around him. 

“Okay, what’s it from?” 

Steve leans his head back against his seat and fires off a guess without any real pause to consider the melody. “Flintstones?” 

Clint tears his eyes from the road for a split second and sets Sam with a flat look. “Flinstones? What the hell? Sam, you need to sit down and teach your husband a thing or two.” 

Sam chuckles and sends a Steve wink who promptly blushes at the gesture.

“It’s Happy Days.” Sam glances at Bucky for conformation. “Right? Happy Days?” 

Bucky chuckles and leans forward to give him a high five. Same dumb game every shift. They have to do something to pass the time when things are less than exciting, and it never fails to end the same way. Steve never guesses right, Clint makes fun of him, and Sam wins.

“Yeah, it’s been stuck in my head since yesterday morning. It’s on all night on that rerun channel, and the twins have decided four in the morning’ means it’s time to get up.” 

“Let’s be real. You get up that early, or is Y/n getting up?” Sam asks with a snort, disbelief, and humor filling his words. 

“Screw off. I’m gettin’ up. I get up every time my babies cry, punk. What about you? You get up with Stevie over here?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. This happens every shift. Every damn day. “Of course, Sam wakes up when I do, Buck.” 

“Damn right, but we are kind of passed that stage, dumbass.” Bucky lurches forward and knocks his helmet off his head. Sam whips his gloves into the backseat catching Bucky on the side of his head. Bucky jumps ahead, but Steve grabs him by the back of the jacket and jerks him back into his seat.

“Hey, guys…” Clint shouts over their scuffle. “As fun as this round was, we got a real problem coming up on the right.” 

Steve leans forward to see a thick cloud of black smoke rolling out of the windows of a small four-story apartment building. The bronzed painted wood paneling on the outside of the broken windows is quickly turning black from the flames burning through the wood framing. Steve sits back and gives Sam an order before slipping his helmet on.  

“Call it in. I’ve got a feeling this one is going to be ugly.” 

By the time the truck came to a stop, the windows on the fourth floor had shattered. Bucky and Sam rushed in to pull out as many people as they could. The bottom two floors were cleared, the tenants could feel the heat before it ever reached them. Even with his gear, Bucky could feel it. Sam took the third floor, and Bucky ventured up to the fourth, pulling out a woman in her late forties who was trapped in her bedroom thanks to a fallen beam.

Steve waited for their all-clear before he breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was out, and they could focus on putting the fire out, not carrying out bodies. 

Steve made eye contact with Sam and shouted over the noise surrounding them, “Get that redline in here! We can get it under control before it spreads any further.”  

The woman Bucky had pulled out of the flame is sitting on a stretcher, fighting against the EMTs and clawing to get to Bucky. She kept shouting about going back in, and Bucky tried five or six times to tell her there was no way anyone could go back in now until they got the flames under control.  

“I don’t know what you’re saying with that mask on! My kitty is in there!" 

Bucky yanks his breath mask off in frustration and tosses to Clint standing nearby. He is not in the mood. He’s already running late for date night, and all he wants to do is get a shower, eat some damn pasta, and make love to his wife on the one night his kids spend at Aunt Natasha’s. 

Now he’s got to deal with a fire that the Gods had to dump in their laps.

As much as he would love to save this woman’s cat. They can’t go back in. All they can do now is put out the remaining flames and go in once it was safe. 

"Ma'am, I understand but–" 

"Mom?!" 

The unit looks up and sees a little girl about nine standing on the fire escape, and the woman’s voice catches Bucky’s ear. "I told you! My kitty! She was hiding in one of the cupboards!" 

"Shit.” Steve steps back from the truck. “Get the ladder!“ 

There isn’t enough time. Bucky shakes his head and makes a run for the fire escape on the side of the building. He Jerks the rickety metal ladder down and starts to climb up to meet the little girl. She is frozen from fear, and he wouldn’t leave her up there all alone and scared like that. He can hear Steve ordering him to back off, but he can’t. What if it was Orion? Or his sweet little Cassie trapped up there? He can’t just stand on the ground and watch. 

"Buck! Watch out for the–" 

——–

“He climbed up the fire escape to help the nine-year-old girl down before the building collapsed. The heat had cracked the window she climbed out of, so he covered her with his jacket before moving her to a safer floor. Flashover shattered the window, and that’s when he got the burn to his left shoulder and upper arm. There was a lot of smoke covering them for a good minute. Not sure how much he took in.” 

“Okay,” the emergency room doctor sighs and glances up at Steve. “We’ve got it from here. We can notify his family if you don’t–” 

“No.” Steve’s voice cuts through the room, and he attempts to soften it. “I’ll call. We are family– I’ll handle it. He’s in my company.” 

The doctor nods. He understands. He deals with injured emergency servicemen and women more than he would like, so he understands Steve wants to be the one to make the call. They are a family in the way none of the hospital staff could understand. He leaves Steve to make the call and makes his way back to where Bucky is fighting against the heavy sedation they pumped into him. Steve doesn’t waste another second and heads for the elevator, but Sam catches his wrist before he can get far and pulls him back just a step or two. 

"Where are you going?” His voice is soft and warm. He’s speaking as a husband, not a member of Steve’s company.

Steve gives his partner’s hand a squeeze and pulls his arm free of the shorter man’s grip. “It’s Tuesday. That’s their date night. I’m not going to call her in the middle of the restaurant and tell her what happened. It’s not far from here. I’ll tell her in person.” 

Sam doesn’t try to argue with him; just simply nods. Once Steve’s made up his mind about something, there is no changing it. He watches Steve go and then turns his attention back to Bucky, watching through the glass wall that separated them. 

"BP is good. His vitals are stable despite the injuries and smoke inhalation.”

The words coming from the blond nurse on Bucky’s right sound far away and almost muffled. As if his head was underwater, or the way Leo sounds from under his Spider-Man mask. For some reason, Bucky can’t work out, she continues trying to talk to him despite his drowning. The white lights flashing over his eyes make him wince, and his eyes focus on the room around him. He quickly recognizes where he is. He’s in the hospital, and that means… No, this isn’t good. Bucky has to get up and get out of this bed right now.

He has somewhere to be and someone he can’t let down. He can’t let her down like this.

Bucky groans and tugs at the tubes in his nose as he struggles to sit up. His left arm burns, but he ignores it. There is a pinch every time he tries to move his shoulder to pull out the IV. It doesn’t matter. He has somewhere to be. A gentle hand lands on his chest, “Lieutenant Barnes. You have to sit back for me and keep that in your nose. We need you breathing clean air.”

With the weight of the hand and whatever medication they gave him, he is too weak to push back against their gentle urging. Bucky falls back against the bed, but he continues to try to pull the sheets off his leg to climb out of the cold hard bed – nothing like his bed at home, it’s warm and soft and filled with the people he loves most. He wants his bed, not this sad excuse for one. 

“You don’t understand. I got a date– My wife–”

“We can call your wife and let her know. I’m sure she will understand. You can go on your date another night.” The kind-looking nurse on his life cuts in.

Bucky shakes his head rather quickly, making his head spin and tugs at the plastic tube in his nose again. He can feel his chest tightening at the thought of Y/n, his Beck, sitting alone waiting for him to show up. He needs to make sure she is okay.

“No, you don’t understand. My wife wrote it on the calendar. We have a calendar in our kitchen and, and she wrote it down for tonight. She– she wrote in pen, okay? I can’t not show up. I can’t.”

“Mr. Barnes–”

“I promised my wife I wouldn’t–” He takes a deep breath and repeats, forcing his panic down. “She wrote it in pen.”

——–

Y/n glances at her watch once more and drums her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. She’s not nervous. Bucky is only forty-five minutes late. The large glass door at the front of the dark restaurant swings open, she sits up straighter, and a small smile starts to curl up the corners of her mouth until she realizes it’s no one she knows. It’s certainly not the man she’s eagerly waiting on. She huffs out a breath and slouches back down in her seat, grabbing her phone to check for any missed texts – not that there will be, that phone hasn’t left her hand all night. 

She takes a picture of her nearly empty glass of pinot noir and sends it to Bucky with a small warning following the image, I’m on my second glass. If you don’t get here soon, I might have to find someone else to take me home. They both know she would never, but they tease each other and the foundation they’ve built all of this isn’t shaken by something that silly. It’s one of the things she loves most about their relationship. She’s never had that before, but she likes it, and she likes that it’s with Bucky.

No reply. No phone call, and it doesn’t look like he has seen the picture she sent. Her thumb hovers over Steve’s number, but she quickly talks herself out of it. This is getting silly. She doesn’t need to be that wife, the one that calls the second her husband is late and makes a fool of herself. Bucky said he would be there, and he will. He would never let her down, it’s not in him – his heart would never let him do anything to hurt her. 

Everything is fine. He’s just late. She isn’t worried in the least. It’s perfectly normal for him to be a little late every now and then. Only three weeks ago, he had picked up an extra shift out of nowhere, making up for someone on day shift that needed to trade out. It’s part of the job, and she knows that. It’s not like Bucky is an accountant, working a simple nine to five and home at the same time every night without question. She knew that going in and saw it several times with Nat and Orion before she even met Bucky.

There is nothing to be concerned about. He’s merely running late and will be there soon. He promised, and he always keeps his promises. 

She is not worried.

A tingle runs down her spine, giving her goosebumps and causing her to look up only to find Steve strolling towards her. The sight of the blond makes her breathe a sigh of relief. If Steve is here picking up dinner, everything is fine, and Bucky will be there in no time. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Y/n asks, forcing a relaxed smile despite the way her heart is pounding in her chest. “Picking up dinner?” 

“No, Y/n. I’m not here for dinner.” Steve holds out his hand for hers and nods towards the exit, gesturing for her to get up and follow him. “I called Nat, and she said she would sleep at your place tonight with the kids and take them to school the next few days.” 

“W-what?”

Her heart sinks into her stomach, and her fingers instantly start to tremble. There’s a buzzing in her ears that won’t go away with a few shakes of her head like she hoped they would. Steve’s gaze doesn’t leave her, but he’s not giving anything away; his face is utterly blank. Whatever he needs to tell her he doesn’t want to do it here, in front of a restaurant full of people and that makes her stomach churn even more. She hesitantly reaches up to take the hand that Steve is holding out for her.

“Why does Nat– Steve, please… Where is Bucky?“

The panic seeping out from her chest is starting to slip into her voice. She can’t help it. Steve came to get her, her husband is for all intents and purposes missing, and he never ignores her calls like this. Something is wrong. Steve squeezes his fingers around hers and pulls her up. His arm tightens around her waist to keep her on her feet.

Just in case. 

"Steve… Where is he?”

The crack in Steve’s demeanor tells her everything she needs to know before he gets a word out. Bucky’s hurt. He’s not making it to date night. Calendar and pen could do nothing to change that. 

“He’s at the Brooklyn Methodist. He’s going to be okay, but we need to get you there.” 

——–

“Mr. Barnes. For the love of–”

A deep sigh leaves the young nurse attending Bucky’s bedside, and it sounds as if she wants to throw her scrubs in the bin and never come back. It’s late nearing the end of her shift, and Bucky isn’t exactly the easiest of patients at the moment. “I know you’re upset. We’ve called home for you four times. The quicker we get you patched up, the quicker you can get out of here and back to her.”

“I have to see my wife now. Not in’a couple of days. She, She can’t go through that again. I know this sounds crazy, and I am sorry I am being a pain in the ass, but she wrote it friggin’ pen! Just give me the paper to sign that says I’m refusing care–” 

“I don’t think so, Lieutenant Barnes.” Bucky’s head snaps up at the sound of her voice, and his whole body relaxes at the sight of Y/n standing in the doorway, she’s not smiling, probably because of what she just heard, but she’s wearing that little red number he loves so much. It’s the one that falls off her shoulders and hugs every inch of her body, and it’s really got him regretting missing date night.

“You’re not going anywhere, and you’re going to let them do whatever they need to.” 

Bucky glances up to see the nurse smirking at how quickly he settles back against the pillow because his wife told him to. That might bother him if Y/n wasn’t walking around the slightly uncomfortable hospital bed and taking his right hand in hers. She regards his left arm, carefully. There’s no hint of what she feels, which is unusual for her. Bucky can nearly always tell what she’s thinking because she wears every emotion right there in those pretty eyes. If you just look close enough you can see everything that’s written on her heart.

The white bandage, littered with splotches of yellow and light red, is wrapped around his bicep and extendeds up his shoulder spreading towards his chest, and her eyes trace every inch of it. The stretch of the injury explains the lack of a shirt on her husband. Whatever happened though left the tattoo on his arm untouched and she breathes a sigh of relief, not only would that hurt Bucky, it would break Ori’s heart to see it gone from her father’s arm. Y/n’s hand finds its way into his hair, and she gives a gentle tug until his head falls against her chest.

“Beck,” Bucky whispers, whimpers, really, but no one is going to call attention to it. The way he’s clinging to her is for a husband and wife only, and those left in the room take the hint. Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, and he takes a deep breath before whispering against her skin, “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t– I tried to get there.”

Y/n’s hands freeze in his hair while he babbles on about missing ‘it’ and apologizing for hurting her. She can’t work out why he is apologizing until she hears him say, I know I promised and you wrote in pen and ‘m sorry I made you worry.  Bucky, her sweet December, is lying in bed with what could very well be third-degree burns on his arm, and he’s concerned about pens, past hurts, and the promise he made to never leave a similar scar on her heart. 

All he cares about is the damage done to her.

“It’s alright,” She assures him with a simple kiss to the top of his head, his temple, and his cheek, right over the stray tear that slipped out before he could force it back. "We can do it another night. There are plenty of empty spaces on the calendar.” 

"But–" 

"I’ll draw an arrow to a new night. In pen.” She sinks down next to him on the stiff bed and leans her forehead against his. “I don’t care what night we do date night as long as you’re the one I’m meeting.” 

“You better not be meetin’ anyone else,” Bucky whispers in her ear. There is a hint of playful teasing in his voice, and it makes her grin. He is attempting to quell her unvoiced fears and give her back some of her equilibrium in the wake of what could have been their end, and she loves him for it. 

“I hear you had two glasses of wine tonight and were lookin’ for someone to take you home tonight? Whaddya say you come home with me darlin’?” 

“Mmm.” She considers the offer with a soft giggle and pecks his lip softly. 

“That can be arranged, handsome. Let the doctors give you a once over and make sure you’re okay, then I’ll let you take me home, December.” 

“Whatever you want, Beck.” 

——–

Four days it’s been since Bucky was admitted to the hospital. Four days since he’s been allowed to sleep in his own bed or be able to really hold his wife. It has been four tortuously long days since he’s seen his kids and Bucky won’t make it another day without seeing their sweet faces. 

Y/n wanted to bring them in, but the first few days he was in a lot of pain, and he didn’t want them to see him like that. It’s not something his kid should ever have to see. Ori was old enough to understand it was a burn and that he got injured on the job but that she meant she understood. Bucky is worried if she knows all the details, she will panic every time he leaves for work, and she may be that much closer to being a full-blown teenager, but she’s still his baby, and she should get to be a kid, worry-free for as long as she can. 

As for the twins, they wouldn’t fully understand, but he didn’t want them to be scared of him. He was hooked up to a lot of machines, and he didn’t want them to have nightmares. It was better to wait. 

Thankfully, today was the day. Bucky gets to go home, and Uncle Steve dropped all three troublemakers off about twenty minutes ago. Cassie and Leo ran straight for his bed and climbed up on his lap to smother him in hugs and kisses, which he happily accepted and returned. Orion, though, she hung back with Y/n at the foot of the bed, holding her mother’s hand and avoiding Bucky’s gaze. 

He really hates it, not because she’s choosing her mom over him or something as petty and trivial as that. Orion chooses Y/n over him more often than not, and he’s okay with it, loves it in fact, but she’s avoiding him because she’s scared and upset, and he hates that he’s the cause of ache in his daughter. 

Once they get home, they will have to talk, just him and his comet, but for now, he keeps it light for the twins. 

“What have you two been doin’ without me? Drivin’ your uncles and sister crazy?” Asked Bucky, forced humor therein his voice that only Y/n catches. 

Cassie doesn’t say anything. She curls into Bucky’s right side, under his arm, and hides her face in his shirt. She was scared, still is. She’s been terrified since Uncle Steve picked her up from Aunt Nattie’s and said daddy was sick at the hospital, so she would have to stay at their house till he got better. She cried the last three nights in a row and slept in her uncle’s bed, snuggled between them. 

Leo isn’t oblivious to what’s going on around him. He is just as upset, but he doesn’t show his feelings as quickly as Cassie does. He tries to be strong for his mama and sisters – just like his daddy does! So, he sits on Bucky’s lap and nods, “I slept with sissy and Oviver at Uncle Stevie’s house." 

"There’s an ‘L’ in Oliver, buddy. You slept with sissy, you said?” Bucky questions, and his eyes shift to Orion, who is trying her hardest not to cry and scare the twins any more than they already are. 

“You’ve got a pretty awesome big sister, huh?” 

Leo nods and beams at Orion, who gives him a small smile back. 

Bucky raises his left arm, ignores the burning on his chest, and ushers her over with a wave of his hand. Orion didn’t have to be told twice. She dashes over and snuggles into his left side, careful of the bandage on his chest and arm. It isn’t anything too serious. Second-degree burns that may not even leave a scar, and he gets to be home with the kids for two or three weeks until it heals fully. Bucky is thankful it’s nothing compared to what it could have been because he could have been so much worse. 

Still, he knows it looks pretty scary to his kids. 

“Okay, you three know I’m alright, don’t ya?” Bucky places a kiss on Ori’s forehead and the top of Cassie’s head. He motions for Leo to lean in and when the four-year-old does Bucky’s lips land right in the middle of his forehead, making him giggle.

There is a muffled yeah from his girls, and Leo nods hesitantly. Bucky sighs and catches Y/n’s eye, silently begging for help. She’s better at this, better at the whole words thing. As much as he tries, Bucky isn’t as good as Beck – regardless of what she thinks. Cassie looks up at Bucky and tugs his shirt, grabbing his attention. 

“Daddy?” The small voice coming from his side makes him drop Y/n’s gaze, and he finds Cassie staring up at him wide-eyed and curious. 

“Yeah, stardust?” 

“Your arm hurts?” 

Bucky shakes his head and gives his shoulder a couple of shrugs to prove his point. There is a little bit of pain if he keeps it in motion, but Cassie didn’t need those details. She just needs to know her daddy is okay and all good for their nightly cuddle sessions. 

“A little bit, baby. It’s just a little burn, but as long as I keep it clean and wrapped up, it will be alright. I promise I’m okay. Just need rest and cuddles from my babies, and I’ll be right as rain.” 

She nods seemingly approving of the answer and then pipes up again, “Can we all cuddles in bed tonight?" 

Leo appears to like the idea because he scoots further up Bucky and lays his head on Bucky’s stomach. Ori glances between her parents, waiting for what she clearly hopes is a yes. Bucky catches Y/n’s eye and grins. She grins right back and shrugs just light enough for Bucky to spot but not the kids. 

“Of course.” Y/n says with a smile and a wink for Ori. “I always want you three snuggled up with us. We might need to invest in a bigger bed, though, with our two little bed hogs.” 

Bucky chuckles and tightens his arms around his kids. “Nah, we will be fine, Beck. Just gotta cuddle real close, and everything will be just fine.”

[laylacooke]

Sex Toys Don’t Make Good Cat Toys || Rio, Cordy, & Layla

timing: Late August. parties: @3starsquinn, Cordy [ @kadavernagh], & @laylacooke summary: Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of...A Little Catty.

Layla wasn’t entirely sure how she had managed to pull off communicating with Leah, but she had. It was a miracle, and now she was trotting down the sidewalk headed towards Pandora’s Boxxx, where this had all started. It hadn’t taken her long to process that the witch from the shop had done it. It had been the last place she had gone, before waking up with orange fur covering her miniature body. However, her only regret, now, was putting poor Orion through yet another one of her mishaps; this seemingly the worse, since there wasn’t really much context behind her wanting to meet him there. Not only that, would he know it was her when she looked up and greeted him with a meow. She would soon find out.

Coming to a stop, just outside the entrance, she found a spot near the outside wall of the building waiting for him to show. And if all went well, she would walk in a cat and out a human (well almost human) again.

Orion was uncomfortable. Of course, he’d do anything for Layla. Even if that involved a sex shop, which Rio was definitely not confident enough to force himself inside of. Rio and Winston didn’t even sleep in the same bed, how was Rio supposed to casually stroll into a sex shop? But Layla had needed him, and he supposed he could brave the embarrassment if it meant doing her a favor. On his way towards the doors of the shop, a cat popped onto a bench and cutting his path off from the store. “Hey there buddy!” Rio swooped down, running a palm against the cat and scratching behind its ears, “I can’t hang out too long. I gotta go embarrass myself inside of this shop for a friend of mine.” He continued petting the cut for another few seconds before standing back up and side stepping the cat to walk into the store.

Layla sat patiently waiting for Rio, when she finally spotted him. Leaping onto a nearby bench, she meowed as she felt his hand come down on her ears. Ear scratches are the best! Agh. Focus, Layla. Rio’s words had made an odd noise come out of her small cat body that resembled a laugh, before she hopped down and slipped inside the door once it was open. I promise I’ll make this up to you, Orion. I don’t know how, but I will. She wasn’t entirely sure how this was going to work, but as she entered the store, she set her eyes upward, looking around for Cordy. At least with Rio there, she felt safe. Otherwise, a cat facing a witch alone was going to be a major task.

Welp, there was the bell. Customers. Eugh. Cordy uncrossed her legs and gave her hat a tilt up to properly see who came in. Why was there a kid in here? “We should really just hang up a sign that says Mime E. Stripes is next door. Wrong building, kid.” She went to tilt her hat back down, but she saw a cat tail waltzing across the store. Presumably attached to a cat. Cordy sighed and peeked over the display, looking down at the orange tabby that’d slipped inside. “Look what the you dragged in. That you, Cherry? Think you could use a shave before you try and get back into your jorts.” Cordy snickered and turned her attention back over to the kid. “Lemme guess, belly button stickers? Or are you here for a nice banshee ball gag? There’s been a lotta screaming around town lately.”

There was a lot that Orion was not comfortable with as soon as he stepped inside the store. His best bet at finding Layla was probably just to ask someone. She was memorable, right? He was vaguely aware that the cat had followed him inside and hoped that the cat was some sort of store cat or… y’know he got the joke about a cat being in a sex shop. Clever. He used the palms of his hands to block either side of his vision and made a beeline for the counter. On his way, he bumped against a display of phallic objects and the entire thing shook, Rio reaching out to try to stabilize it before realizing what he had been reaching out for and jerking his hand back. “This is torture.” Rio mumbled to himself, realizing that the woman had already started talking to him and… the cat(?) before he even made it to the counter. “Uh- no. Neither of those things please. I don’t scream.” Rio paused for a minute as he reflected on his choice of words before deciding to pretend that he never said them and continuing on, “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Short. Red hair. A quirky sassiness that makes her lovable? Please tell me that rings some bells.”

Cherry. Cordy knew exactly who Layla was, and as soon as she heard the woman’s voice, she trotted over to the counter and leaped up onto it. Pacing back and forth, she hissed at the witch who had done this to her. Scratching her eyes out wasn’t exactly an option, but making her displeasure known was well within the cat’s rights. You did this, and you’re gonna fix it, Witch! However, Rio’s words caught her attention. Turning to face him, she watched as he nearly knocked over an entire display of penis shaped objects, and the embarrassment present in his voice and actions made Layla realize just how much she was going to owe him, but first she had to somehow let him know it was her. It’s me, Rio! I’m right here! Meowing and pawing at him, she had hoped he would figure it out.

Oh, this was gonna be fun. Cordy’s mouth stretched into a wide smile as she watched the teenager tumble around the store like a child lost in a shopping mall. “Torture? Nah. Those are dildos. If you want torture, it’s in the last aisle to the left,” Cordy said, pointing with her thumb. He didn’t strike her as the type, but maybe Annabel would’ve seen something in him that she was missing. “Wasn’t saying you were the screamer, but I think anyone could scream with the right persuasion.” She winked at him, just to watch him squirm. His description rang some bells alright, and Cordy had to wonder if the kid had any idea that the cat that’d hopped up on the counter was probably the friend he was looking for. “No redheads in here,” Cordy said, straightening up the display case of penis candy that the cat swatted at. She shot Layla a glare and turned her attention back to the blue-haired teenager. She needed to get him outta here before he caught on. “Anyways, haven’t seen your friend. And don’t mind the store cat. She acts out whenever a virgin walks in.”

This was Orion’s nightmare. Worse than his nightmares actually. At least in those he was just being chased by monsters and killed or something. This was way worse than that. “Oh. Ha ha. Yes. Right.” He didn’t even know which part of the worker’s sentence he was replying to. The cat was meowing and pawing at him again, and Rio scratched at the cat again absentmindedly. “Hey kitty,” he spoke aloud but was more focused on the worker and hopefully on finding Layla. Unfortunately, there was no such luck. Either she was running late, or Rio had gotten the wrong address. He was pretty sure he preferred the latter, actually. Maybe he should try calling her again and- Did that employee just call him a virgin?? Rio immediately broke into a stream of nervous giggling at the accusation. It was true, but was it really that obvious? “Your cat can’t actually do that can she?” Rio looked down at the cat again. That had to have been a joke, right? Unless it was some sort of magic not cat. No, it was a joke. “That was a joke. I realize that now. Um.. okay. Well I guess I will just sorta… wait for her to get here then.” The cat wouldn’t seem to leave him alone, “Your cat seems to really like me.”

Are you shitting me? Rio! It’s me!!! It’s Layla!!! She meowed louder as she listened to the two humans in the room talk. How was she going to make him know it was her? Looking back at Cordy, she knew she would have to somehow get the woman to show her cards. She could easily convince Rio that Layla was just the store cat, and in knowing that (and seeing it working), she opted to do something really stupid. Well, hopefully this will make some kind of difference. Otherwise, dying as a cat might actually happen...Giving a nudge into Rio’s hand one last time, Layla turned around, and without any warning, she took off running towards Cordy. With her claws out, she launched herself off the counter and onto the woman’s face and shoulders. Hissing and yowling, she sank her teeth down into Cordy’s head. Would a store cat do this you evil witch!?

“She can, actually!” Cordy chirped, the lie coming easy and guilt-free, “No joke, don’t know how she does it. Maybe it’s like those cats who predict when people are gonna die, except so much better.” All the blood had drained from the kid’s face, and Cordy chuckled. It didn’t matter that Layla was capturing his attention; the cat had no way to communicate. So why not have some more fun? Cordy tilted her head and crossed her arms. “You know, if you don’t believe me, you could always test it out. Go find yourself a pitcher and come back later. Besides, not like your friend is here right n--” The sharp ball of furry fury pounced on her head before she could stop it. Cordy shrieked as she felt sharp claws digging and teeth digging into her scalp. Magic, dumbass, use magic. But that was the drawback of tapping into concentration and meditation for her abilities -- there was no concentration to be found right now. Gaia, her ma would’ve just blasted the damn feline off her skull. “Get off! Get off right now! Don’t make me turn you into a toad next!”

Orion remained suspicious, but this was White Crest. For all Rio knew this could be some weird sort of fae or like a magical, cursed cat. It didn’t seem entirely outside the realm of impossibility. Rio was so perplexed by the cat that he didn’t even have time to be offended by this worker clearly making fun of his virginity. He knew it was obvious that he was but still. Rude. “Intriguing.” Rio murmured; eyes trained on the cat still. It was better than looking at anything else in the store right now. “I uh- a what?” Rio questioned, thinking through the limited knowledge he had of sports, “Uhh… I don’t play baseball.” He never got any clarification however, since the cat leapt at the woman’s face and attacked her. “Oh my god!” Rio yelled, immediately going into panicking mode. He started to move towards the woman but stopped when he heard her. Turn you into a toad next? Rio froze, staring at the scene unfolding between him as the puzzle pieces slowly fit into place in his brain, “Holy- Layla??” Rio called out to the cat. What the heck was going on? Why was Layla a cat? “Did you turn my friend into a cat?”

The small, orange cat continued her plot of revenge hoping it would pay off, and when she was able to train her eyes on Rio and see the gears turning, she knew it was working. It had also felt good to sink her teeth into the head of someone so spiteful and without letting go, she began gnawing on the tight skin and hair, releasing a low growl in the process. But when Rio spoke her name, she released Cordy’s noggin and looked up. Yes!!! It’s me! It’s me, Rio!!! She did turn me into a cat! Help me!!! All she had wanted to be was a human again. Though seeing the world through cat eyes made her look at life differently, it was becoming way too easy to forget details about her human and werewolf life, and that could only mean one thing. That if Layla wasn’t freed from the curse soon, she would be a cat forever. 

“The cat’s name is Fleabag!” Cordy yelled, as Layla teeth sank into her skin again. Ow, maybe she really should’ve turned this girl into a toad instead. Both virgin and feline were persistent though, and she knew it was too late to truly convince him the cat wasn’t Layla. One of the cat’s claws pierced her cheek, and she’d had enough. She pushed through the pain and closed her eyes, picturing a barrier surrounding herself, it didn’t have to be strong. Maybe Annabel had been right about that sanctorum spell being a good idea. She clapped her hands, a weak, invisible barrier wrapping around her, and Layla the cat went flying onto the counter, repelled by it. “Try that again, Layla, and I’ll have animal control come and euthanize you,” Cordy said through gritted teeth. Okay, so maybe that’d be harsh even for her, but-- she pushed her hat back onto her bleeding scalp and head of messy hair. “Not like I pulled your fur.” She crossed her arms and glared at the cat and the boy. “It’s permanent, anyways, so guess you’re outta luck. Find something else to do today.” It was a lie, and Cordy couldn’t help but look past the leprechaun-print thongs, over to the double-headed dildo imbued with magic. 

Apparently, this woman was a liar. Which was rude given how awkward she was making things for Orion, but downright cruel when considering that she knew that Layla was a cat and deliberately hadn’t told him about it. Had she been the one to turn her into the cat? How was turning a human, er- werewolf into a cat even possible? It only made magic even more terrifying. But the woman’s magical abilities became apparent when something sent Layla flying off her and back onto the counter. Rio jerked backwards at first, afraid from the sudden change but then took a step forward, “Hey!” Rio called out in an attempt to sound more threatening than they all knew he was, “Be careful. Don’t hurt her!” The woman claimed it was permanent, but Rio knew better than to trust the woman now. She glanced away from Rio and Rio followed her gaze towards to try to get an idea where she had been looking. Rio began walking over towards it, trying to ignore the fact that he was staring at an alarmingly large display of dildos. But he had no idea what he was looking for. “How do I fix this?” Rio spun back around to look at her, a scowl deepening on his face. He didn’t like the idea of trying to threaten her. He knew he wouldn’t be any good at it. The only idea he had in his mind was appealing to her less than motivated side. His only chance of getting any information from her was to try to appeal to something she may not want to deal with. Rio picked the spot closest to where he thought she had been looking and picked up one of the packages. He didn’t even want to look at the thing that he was holding, but in one move he ripped the packaging in half and tore the dildo into two. Nothing happened, so he figured he hadn’t gotten lucky on the first try. “Just tell me please. I don’t want to do this anymore than you want to clean up the mess.” Rio discarded the trash he had been holding and grabbed onto the display carrying an assortment of… he had no idea what those ball shaped things were. But he twisted his wrist, snapping the wood frame of the shelving and sending the objects down and scattering the floor. “I just want my friend back.”

Getting flung back onto the counter had knocked the wind out of Layla, but before long, she was back up on her feet. Shaking off the trip through the air, she snarled at Cordy, until she noticed what the woman’s eyes were staring at. Turning her head, she spotted it. The huge double headed cockasaurces that had smacked her in the face and started all this mess. And she also watched as Rio made his way over to the display and shelving and began breaking dildos. Awwww, Rio. You’re breaking dildos for me. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done. Realizing they would be there all night, considering Pandora’s Boxxx had an alarmingly large number of dildos available, Layla hopped off the counter and trotted over to the products. Looking up at Rio, she meowed, before standing up on her hind legs and swatting at the dreaded cursed item. This one! This is the one that made me like...this!

The employee was not being helpful in the slightest. Orion crossed his arms in a pout and considered his next options. He had reached the max capacity of being threatening to no avail, she still refused to give him any hints as to where to find whatever he was looking for. Until Layla jumped down from the counter and found Rio, swerving between the pile collecting on the floor and climbing up until she was swatting at an uncomfortably large phallic symbol that Rio had not yet gotten to. After all this, and Layla knew which one it had been the entire time? “Uh, oh? You knew? Yikes. Sorry abou-” Rio scratched at his neck nervously and began apologizing towards the woman behind the counter before stopping himself, “Wait! Never mind. You’re mean. So I’m not sorry.” As far as Rio was concerned, that was a win in his book. “So, I just break it?” Rio questioned, grabbing at it nervously and feeling strange holding it in his hands. He waited for confirmation before he squeezed his eyes shut and ripped the thing in half.

Layla watched Rio. Why are you still apologizing to the witch!? She was relieved when he had come to his senses though. But what brought her more relief, and in the most awkward of ways? Orion holding the huge hulking dildo that had gotten her in this situation in the first place. Break it! Break the dick!!! Layla watched longingly as Rio snapped the double headed cockasaurces in half. The pop had been one of the best sounds she had heard in a long time. However, once it was separated, nothing seemed to be happening; at least not quickly. And then it hit. A sharp pain had caused a shrill, loud yowl to escape her small snout. Panting fiercely, Layla stumbled forward. Everything hurt. Her small body was burning up, and she felt much like how she did after changing on a full moon. With little legs carrying her away from Rio and towards the back of the store, the teenager lost her balance before everything seemed to go black. And when her eyes opened again everything felt...different.

Her eyes betrayed her. She knew the kid saw exactly what she was looking at. Too much movement would break her barrier spell, and Cordy didn’t want to risk getting mauled by a pissed off cat again. Although... even that was probably better than getting mauled by a werewolf. Would that make her one, too? Shit, that werewolf-cat bit her scalp. Did that mean she was about to become a werewolf? Or a cat? Or-- the thought of losing her magic made her freeze, and she stood there in terror as the boy followed the cat over to the dildo. What if it wasn’t too late? She’d taken too long to make up her mind -- the dildo was in his hands and-- “Stop!” Cordy shouted, leaping over the counter. She could feel the barrier shattering around her skin, but that didn’t matter right now. She was not about to let them break her merchandise and, in the event, that she wasn’t already fucked over and going to grow fur on the next full moon, she needed Layla to stay a cat. “That’s a custom item! You can’t break it! The nymphs will--” The popping noise filled the store, and Cordy could feel the magic spilling out of the dildo in a stream, and as the cat screeched and scampered away, she knew the spell was breaking. “I’m boned, aren’t I?” If these children weren’t about to murder her, then Annabel certainly would. 

As soon as the dildo was broken, Orion dropped the pieces on the floor and hopped away from it. He had touched more phallic objects in the last twenty minutes than he had in his entire life. More than he ever imagined that he would touch in his whole lifetime. Layla ran off to the back of the store, and Rio thought about following her but eventually decided against it. He had no idea how she would return to human form. The whole thing seemed too intimate for Rio to be a part of. As if this entire situation weren’t far more intimate than Rio had ever wanted. “Is that a sex thing too?” Rio questioned before sighing. It was totally a sex thing. “I don’t understand what you could possibly get from turning my friend into a cat. Was it just some sick joke to you?” Rio scoffed, the mere thought of someone finding something like that funny made Rio nauseous. “You’re messed up.” He crossed his arms, unsure where they went from here. He couldn’t exactly call the cops on her. What would he even tell them? “Layla?” Rio yelled back, sure that if she was a werewolf again that she could hear him. If she could talk, he’d hear her too. If his hearing wanted to cooperate. “You okay back there?” He didn’t want to take his eyes off of the salesperson. He didn’t trust her.

Layla sat up rubbing her head...with her hand? Looking down she noticed she had two hands. Two legs! Two feet and no orange fur!!! Climbing to her feet in excitement, she began to move forward, but stumbled slightly, “Whoa! Wait...I said whoa! I spoke! I can speak!!!” Hearing Rio call for her, the teenager ran back out into the store frantically, “Rio! Rio, I’m me again! I’m not a cat!!!!” Running towards him with tears of joy, she wrapped her arms around him jumping up and down, until she realized one thing, she was stark naked, “Oh God. I don’t...I’m…” Pulling away from him, Layla’s cheeks revealed to be as red as her hair. Scanning the area, she grabbed the closest thing she could to cover herself up, which happened to be a pair of assless jorts while her arms lay across her chest, “Oh c’mon!”

[the-quiet-winds]

Turn off the Sun, I’ll Still Shine

“Is the cat in a onesie?”

“Uh, no?”

Parr raises an eyebrow. “Do you think me blind, dear niece?”

“It was his idea!”

Katherine frantically points at Argyle, standing on Parr’s bed stiffly, his tail sticking almost straight up. His pupils are blown wide, an overall terrified on the poor cat’s face.

Covering his striped fur, Katherine failed to hide from Parr, is a onesie indeed, colored and designed to look like a shark.

“Ah, yes,” Parr concedes, “my cat, who has never once spoken a single word, told you he wished to be dressed in a shark onesie?”

“Yes!” Katherine says, pointing one index to Parr and touching the other to her nose.

Parr, despite her confusion, can’t help but laugh. She reaches over and picks up Argyle, despite his yowling and disagreeing. “You make a handsome little shark,” she teases.

For all the emotions cats can display, Argyle plays ‘annoyed’ pretty well.

He gives the closest thing to a snarl he can, followed by a hiss. Parr sets him back on the bed, and his bones go stiffer than before. “I feel like I should take him out of it,” she says.

“But he looks so cute!” Katherine whines, slightly petulantly.

“I also don’t want to wake up to little kitty claws in my neck,” Cathy mimicks the motion with her fingers.

“Oh come on, Aunt Cathy,” Katherine grumbles. She picks up Argyle. He takes a swipe at the hair dangling over Katherine’s shoulder, then settles into her hold.

He relaxes quite well against her chest, Parr notices, as the tension that had been winding him tight finally gives out. His front legs relax so his paws hang limply over his chest, his tail faintly swishing.

He meows softly. He purrs.

Cathy’s heart melts at the sight of her niece and Argyle sharing such a tender moment. There is something going on in that cat’s mind as he stares at Katherine’s face, almost unblinking.

She snaps out of her reverie a few moments later. “We should free him,” she muses. When Katherine hits her with the puppy-dog eyes, she continues, “at least for now, I think he’d appreciate it.”

With a half-shrug of agreement, Katherine sets him back on the bed and begins to undo the fasteners to give Argyle his freedom from the confines of the adorable costume.

As soon as he is free, he darts for the door and disappears without a sound.

He doesn’t stop to drink, doesn’t go left towards the bathroom to use the litterbox, just vanishes from sight as soon as he is out of the door.

Cathy and Katherine poke their heads into the hallway to see if they could spot the silver streak sprinting around on the first or second floor, but he was no where to be found.

“Should we look for him?” Katherine asks.

After a moment of thought, Parr says, “he probably wants some alone time. That probably was fairly traumatic for him.”

“I’m sorry,” Katherine says softly, “I shouldn’t have put him in it. I just saw it online and thought it was cute and-”

“Hey,” Parr interjects, “it’s okay. He just needs to blow off a little steam and he’ll be back before we know it.”

An hour or two pass with no sight of Argyle. Parr had settled into her desk to get some work done, expecting Argyle to seek comfort in the bed on the corner of her work station.

But he never turns up.

As it creeps into the second hour of him not returning, Cathy grows worried. He didn’t escape, did he?

No, Parr reasons with himself. He does this all the time, getting into out-of-sight places for a few hours. It’s normal.

The only thing that worries Cathy is that he was not in a good mood earlier, so what if he had-

No. 

Stop thinking that. He’s here somewhere, that infernal cat.

So, of course, in order to try and ease her mind, Cathy enlists Katherine to help her search for the cat. 

They poke into Anne’s room, Aragon’s, Anna’s, Katherine’s. No luck. Jane’s door lays closed, so there’s no chance of him getting in there, so they head downstairs. 

No one has seen him, as sighted by the reading Aragon and the movie watching Anne and Anna. 

They scour the yard and street, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Cathy returns upstairs in a near tizzy, so concerned is she. Just as she edges closer to a breakdown, or a call to animal control (or both), Katherine appears in the doorway, smiling softly.

“Come on.”

Wordlessly, Cathy follows Katherine down the hall to, of all places, Jane’s room. Katherine holds a finger to her lips as she opens the door slowly.

Of course, in the middle of the bed is Jane Seymour, cracking out a desperately needed migraine nap, shades drawn and nearly drowning in darkness.

But as Cathy’s eyes adjust to the lack of light, she sees Argyle, curled up in a tight ball, at the edge of Jane’s fingertips. He, too, is asleep, but he seems content. Relaxed.

“I guess he can open doors now,” Katherine giggles quietly.

Argyle seems to half-awaken at Katherine’s words, soft as they were, and shifts closer to Jane, tucking himself firmly into her side.

Cathy can’t help but smile as she wraps an arm around Katherine’s waist and watches cat and cat-aunt sleep.

And with niece tucked under her arm, she couldn’t be happier.

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tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[zettapoke]

@galacticbarks asked some stuff about orion and max and fuck it i’m posting it on here cause i want to just yell about my children lol 

orion loves chicken nuggets and has woken max up in the middle of the night several times, begging to get chicken nuggets (he threatened to possess him one time and figure out a way to get to the store; hE USES HIS POSSESSION POWERS FOR GOOD I SWEAR) 

max and orion play video games together a lot, either with orion watching or him possessing max while max watches. orion’s tried to possess a controller before, but his character glitches out when he tries to play 

i think max has an older sister or is an only child 

his family was super supportive of him transitioning and he went through hormone therapy and surgery when he was younger (about 10 or so?) 

i usually write stories with characters who have family problems (like divorced parents, etc.), but max’s family is all together and loves each other lots 

orion definitely has a little sister, i think i’m going to call her anna 

orion isn’t his real name and he looks oddly human for a demon (the thing that tipped max off to him being a demon was the sharp teeth and the pointy ears; he thought he was a ghost at first) 

all of characters’ names in this story so far are from my cats (max is named after my baby boy who passed away last year and his full name is maxwell, just like my kitty) 

max wants to be a professional photographer and likes taking pictures of weird and abandoned stuff 

the story (tho it’s just characters right now) takes place in a small town in the northwest or mid-northwest (i’m thinking somewhere in washington right now) 

if you can guess who/what max and orion are inspired by and what inspired their friendship, i wILL GIVE YOU A COOKIE 

i haven’t finished orion’s design yet but he’s basically a blonde, spiky haired demon. while max wears more “edgy/loud” outfits and is quieter, orion wears more “neutral” outfits and is louder and more outgoing 

when orion possesses max, he pushes his hair back and wears different outfits (he may shave off the sides of his hair too at one point) 

orion always floats, he never walks, WHY WALK WHEN YOU CAN FLY AND SHIT 

max used to be fascinated with ghosts and everything, but is now terrified of them. he’s super-duper scared of demons, so being bonded to one makes him an anxious, awkward mess and he initially despises orion and tries to destroy their bond through any means 

max and orion have a really close friendship, orion thinks of max as a little brother and is super overprotective of him 

[aslightstep]

You’ve Got the Love

Song here

“And you’re gonna be okay?” Rhodey asked for the millionth time.

“You mean you’re not tired of babysitting me?” Tony said into the phone, his voice straddling the line between teasing and razor-sharp.

“If anyone’s doing the babysitting here, it’s you,” Rhodey responded, and they both fell quiet. Tony pictured Rhodey on the other end of the line, sequestered off in some quiet corner of his mother’s house while his relatives laughed and danced in the other room. Sometimes he couldn’t bear to watch. Sometimes when they were together Tony would do the most mundane thing, like stretch up for a coffee mug on a high shelf or lean down to grab something off the floor, and when he turned back to his friend Rhodey was turning away, his hand over his mouth.

Tony, sitting in the quiet of his car as it idled in front of the empty Avengers compound, felt like he could finally understand that feeling, however superficially. New York had been on fire tonight, but he watched the people celebrate the incoming new year like a fish in a bowl. He had left the company party early, unable to stand it. Their happiness. Their easy companionship.

“Any New Years Resolutions, boss?” he asked, turning the car off. One thing at a time.

Rhodey, after a long moment, snorted derisively. “You know if either one of us make any we’ll never keep ‘em.”

“How about we keep it short term, then? Once we hang up, you put on your dancing legs and have fun with the family.”

“Yeah, okay. Only if you get out of the damn car and go inside. Go hug the bots or something, tell FRIDAY you love her.”

Tony swallowed hard. “Square deal, Rhodey-pie. Starting now?”

“See you next week, Tones.”

The call disconnected and he took the phone away from his ear. The lockscreen picture showing Iron Man, War Machine, and the Black Panther’s helmets stacked precariously on top of one another made him smile briefly, but it fell away with a sharp pang in his gut as he remembered the old version: Cap’s cowl, Thor’s winged helmet, and Iron Man’s faceplate, side by side.

That was a different phone. A different suit, a different team. 

A different year.

“Happy New Year, Stark. You made it,” he muttered bitterly to himself, then got out of the car.

The compound was dark, only a few lights on, but FRIDAY had raised the temperature at some point. He crossed through the lobby to the interior barracks, his plan of attack well-established by now: he would head straight to his room. He would not pass go, or Steve’s room, or Nat’s. He would not collect 200 hundred dollars, or make sure the kitchen was still stocked with all of Wanda and Vision’s crazy experimental crap or call a certain royal. He would go to his room. He would go to sleep. He would wake up and do it all over again.

That’s why the piece of paper on the door was particularly shocking. He stared at it for a long moment, confused by its mere existence until the familiar shape of his writing caught his eye, tangling alongside another’s, neater and more self-conscious.

It was the piece of paper he and T’Challa had passed between themselves the first time they met to discuss the Accords after the fight. The bureaucrats had shouted over each other and Tony had been nursing a headache since Siberia, so he wrote a note to T’Challa and slid it to him like they were in grade school.

‘You think they’ll even notice if we blow this popsicle stand?’

T’Challa had frowned at the note, then Tony, who had just gestured around the room with a succinct eyebrow lift. T’Challa huffed, lips quirking, and had actually written back. ‘In a fight this would be the time to launch our surprise offensive.’

‘Only if we weren’t fighting each other while we were at it. Tell me all your secrets, kitty cat.’

The paper was then filled with their hopes for the revised Accords. Now, a new note was written, in different pen.

‘The first time I truly met Tony Stark. To you, Tony.’

“Uh, FRIDAY?” Tony asked, pulled the paper down and running his fingers over the words.

“If you will proceed further into the compound, boss,” FRIDAY replied helpfully to his unanswered question.

“Is he in there? I mean of course he is, but where?” Tony asked, pulling open the door. In response, FRIDAY turned on one of the lights, revealing something on the wall.

“It’s still ten minutes to midnight, Cinderella,” she joked. “Why don’t you enjoy the ball?”

“You realize Cinderella has to run away from the prince afterwards, right?”

“Since when have you ever followed a script?”

Never, except in this case in might be a good idea. Tony hadn’t seen or heard from T’Challa in a month, and given the way they’d parted, it had made him incredibly nervous.

He’d kissed him. And T’Challa was gone the next day. 

Tony didn’t get to keep good things, he should have learned by now. It was pointless to keep trying. And yet, for T’Challa...for the chance that the kindness and humor and compassion he’d seen could even belong just a little to Tony, he’d do anything. He’d try again.

The second surprise was a picture that had grown somewhat famous over the past few months: T’Challa and Tony shaking hands amidst a sea of reporters and politicians, smiles on both their face as they finalized the first amended version of the Accords. ‘To legacy. To King T’Chaka of Wakanda.’

Three through five were pictures of the New Avengers, such as they were, in various states of exhaustion after battles. There was one that had been taken the moment after the publicity photos were finished, where Peter, T’Challa, Tony, and Vision had all sort of slumped into one huge puddle. It ended up being the front page photo instead. ‘To the battles we have won, and to those we have not fought yet,’ the note for this one read.

Next was Iron Man and Black Panther, feet entangled as they relaxed in a spider-web hammock Peter had strung up for them while they waited for an on-site debrief. ‘To the moments in between.’

Five was Rhodey’s first day back, in the truly massive War Machine they had designed together to accommodate his injury. The team had fought together better than ever that day. ‘To the Avengers,’ T’Challa wrote, and when Tony put the pictures in his coat he was surprised at how hard he was breathing, his face flushed as he was holding something back with great effort.

Six was a video message from Peter, who was at some science boot camp Tony had enrolled him in as a Christmas present. “Tony!” He said excitedly. His eyes were manic in the familiar I-have-been-in-a-lab-for-39-hours kind of way. “This is so great, I can’t believe this! I know I already thanked you, but seriously, thank you thank you thank you. I wish you were here, though; the instructors won’t let us blow anything up. I told them that Tony Stark said that explosions were the mark of true science, but for some reason they didn’t believe me. Anyway...Happy New Years, Mr. Stark. See you soon!”

Seven was a message from Vision, who had been asked to do some repair work on the International Space Station. “The men and women up here are fascinating, but I find it is the stars that are truly keeping me company. I hope you are not alone on this night, but if you are, I suggest a bit of star-gazing. Orion is supposed to be particularly bright, tonight.”

‘To good friends, old and new.’

Eight was a blanket of newspaper clippings and articles detailing his first few years as Iron Man. ‘2008 was the year that you became Iron Man. You changed the world, and despite what you may think sometimes, I believe it was for the better. To Iron Man.’

And below that:

‘To Ho Yinsen. May he be proud of what we’ve done.’

Tony closed his eyes, hoping the same thing. He remembered when he blurted out “Yinsen would have liked you,” to T’Challa one day while they were working in the shop together, T’Challa waxing poetic with stars in his eyes about bringing Wakanda closer together without cutting them off from the outside world. Tony had admired him for that. T’Challa had refused to let himself be warped by his grief or anger.

He’d never told anybody, but Yinsen was barometer by which he rated everyone he met. He knew he loved someone when he could look at them and think how much Yinsen would have liked to meet them. Sometimes that love had not be rewarded, but Tony kept to it still. And T’Challa...knowing him had so far been reward enough.

Nine through eleven were: a playbill for Cats, the first play Tony had dragged T’Challa to; the beaten up pack of playing cards they had once spent an entire night playing with one night in Berlin; and schematics they had traded back and forth, Tony’s notes both precised and filled with various machine-related innuendos that T’Challa responded to with delightfully dry sarcasm.

‘To partnerships, and belonging.’

Twelve made his heart plummet and then soar to catch somewhere in his throat. It was a tiny little picture, Iron Man sailing in the skies, but it was the familiar art style that hit him hardest.

‘Steve has told me that you two first met in 2012, in the middle of saving the world. He wanted you to have this, and I have promised him you wouldn’t destroy it. A king cannot break his promise, Tony. Be kind. To forgiveness, and to being forgiven.’

Thirteen was a status update on Barnes’ progress with BARF. ‘To kindness and intelligence, the depths of which I have never seen.’ Tony snorted. Like that didn’t come from T’Challa’s pushing, his insistence that Tony was a good man. Tony was really only ever as good as the man at his back. He wanted to keep being this good, though. He wanted the feeling he got when he looked at the positive prognosis on Barnes. He wanted the hope T’Challa gave him. 

He just wanted T’Challa, period.

And this? Maybe this meant he was wanted back. Even after a month of radio silence, maybe he could still hope.

Fourteen was a collection of cards from children all over the world that had been sent to Black Panther. The ones spread over the counter top all featured Iron Man, helping the Panther save the day, little kids and teens encouraging them to keep fighting. ‘Apparently, we have a good ‘aesthetic.’ We do look good together, I’ve always thought so. To heroism, however small, and the ripples it makes throughout the world.’

Tony stole a few of the cards, tucking them in with the pictures and Steve’s painting, and followed the lights, rounding the corner into the living room. T’Challa looked up from the last few candles he was lighting and smiled as a song began to play.

Fifteen. ‘La Vie En Rose.’ Tony felt his mouth work from grin to grimace and back again. “So my hope that you had dismissed that whole thing as a fever dream was kinda useless, huh?”

T’Challa’s smile faltered. “Tony-”

“I mean, Edith Piaf wailing away, us standing on the Eiffel Tower, and I kiss you? It’s a veritable storm of cliches. I would’ve marked it down to a dream myself.” His first instinct was always self-defense.

“Tony,” T’Challa said again, quietly, more firmly, stepping close. “I am deeply sorry. I did not mean to leave you that way. But our schedules are so hectic, and I couldn’t say what I wanted to say over the phone.”

“’Not interested’ is pretty easy to say, Pantherosity,” Tony mumbled to the ground, wanting so badly to lean into the embrace but not quite capable of letting himself. Letting himself have this. “Five syllables. Four, if you decided to mumble. Which, you don’t.” He was rambling. He was nervous.

T’Challa’s laugh rumbled in his chest. “Do you really think I would have done all this if I wasn’t interested?”

Tony finally gathered the courage to look up at him, giving in to his worse instincts, being selfish. “Okay. So tell me you love me, then.”

“I love you,” T’Challa said easily, as simple as breathing, and Tony felt his jaw drop. 

“You - you do?”

“I do. I should have called, I know, but I - I knew you might get the wrong idea, if you couldn’t see it -me- for yourself. The way I look at you. Ev-everyone has said I’m terribly obvious, but it can’t be helped. I want to be obvious. I want you to know how much I care for you. And I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” Tony said dazedly. T’Challa smiled at him, dipping the pad of his thumb into the hollows of Tony’s face, as if memorizing him.

With his other hand, he reached to his neck and pulled out his necklace. There was another one now, tangled up in it, smaller and on a more delicate chain. A single vibranium claw hung from it like the world’s deadliest teardrop.

“I was also making this,” T’Challa whispered, lifting it over his head and placing it over Tony, fidgeting so it laid just so while Tony stared. Sixteen. “Be mine,” the king whispered, tugging Tony closer. 

“Turnabout fair play here?” Tony asked before their lips could touch, and T’Challa grinned. 

“I have been yours since that kiss, Tony. All you must do now is claim me.”

“10,” FRIDAY began. “9, 8. 7-”

“I can do that,” Tony said, to himself or to T’Challa or to both of them. “I can have this.” He’d lost so much, they both had, but T’Challa pressed impossibly closer he felt the pictures and paintings and letter in his jacket crunch in closer to his heart. Yeah, he’d nearly lost it all. But he’d gained more than he could have ever hoped for, too. 

“3, 2, 1! It is now 2017, gentlemen.”

Their lips touched, and fireworks exploded. Seventeen.

Happy New Year, Stark. You made it.

“Oh!” Tony said, pulling away, pleased at mournful little noise T’Challa made. “I love you, too.” T’Challa’s eyes lit up and Tony found himself laughing, pulling him back in. “Now we may proceed.”

To love, and trust, and your skin on mine. To us.

[plcyersandpieces]

REALLY  LONG  CHARACTER  SURVEY.

   RULES.  repost ,   don’t  reblog  !    tag  10 !good  luck  !    TAGGED. @talariia - gee thanks >_>    TAGGING. Gods I dunno uh… @firecrcker @white-fang-adam @rujiba @parascls @beastdescending @stirlingargentum @maskedchildrenofthenight and whoever else wants to???

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :   Blake Belladonna NICKNAME : Blakey, Kitty Cat, Darling/Love (by Adam) AGE :   17-18  BIRTHDAY :   Midsummer ETHNIC  GROUP :   Faunus NATIONALITY :   Menagerian?  Menagerish?  I dunno.  From Menagerie. LANGUAGE / S :  Remnant’s version of English/common SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :   Bisexual ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION : Biromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :   Single CLASS : Boy does she not want to admit it, but she’s upper class HOME  TOWN / AREA : Kuo Kuana, Menagerie CURRENT  HOME : Kuo Kuana, Menagerie PROFESSION :   Huntress

PHYSICAL.

HAIR :  Black, wavy, reaching down to the small of her back EYES :  Gold, almond-shaped, violet eyeshadow NOSE :  Straight, dainty FACE :  High cheekbones, narrow jaw, smallish mouth LIPS :  Slightly thinner than average, pink COMPLEXION : Pale BLEMISHES :  None SCARS :  So far, just the ugly pink scar in her left abdomen TATTOOS :  None HEIGHT :  5′6″ WEIGHT :  132 lbs. BUILD :  Slim, wirey muscle, built for agility and speed over strength FEATURES :  Black cat ears ALLERGIES :  Lactose intolerant, cattails, cedar USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  Long and loose USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  Stoic USUAL  CLOTHING :  White, tailed coat with lavender trim and black strips at the cuffs over a black halter top, black leggings, and thigh-high black boots with gold trim.  Gambol Shroud is belted to her back.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S :  Manipulation and abuse, discrimination, betrayal, people getting hurt due to their association with her ASPIRATION / S :  Peace, equality, freedom POSITIVE  TRAITS :  Intelligent, skilled fighter, graceful NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Craven, short tempered, self-depricating MBTI :   Y’all obsessed with this omg ZODIAC :   No clue TEMPERAMENT :  Stoic SOUL  TYPE / S :   say what ANIMALS :  Black cat VICE  HABIT / S :   None FAITH : If Remnant has the equivalent of Shintoism GHOSTS ? :  Likely, yes. AFTERLIFE ? :   Likely, yes. REINCARNATION ? :  Yes. ALIENS ? :  No POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :   Liberal ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE :  Equality SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION :  Very liberal EDUCATION  LEVEL :  Full primary and secondary.  Three semesters of combat school (before it got destroyed)

FAMILY.

FATHER :  Ghira Belladonna, living MOTHER : Kali Belladonna, living SIBLINGS : None EXTENDED FAMILY :  Libra Stirling (family friend/adoptive aunt), Hunter Stirling (cousin), Orion Copperlin (family friend/adoptive uncle) and all his family NAME MEANING / S :  Black and deadly nightshade I mean c’mon HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? :  Belle of Beauty and the Beast; canonically, daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie and daughter of the former High Leader of the White Fang

FAVORITES.

BOOKS :  Fairy tales, high fantasy, romance MOVIE :  Romance, fantasy 5  SONGS :  Any classical piece DEITY :  The Brother of Light and Life HOLIDAY :  None MONTH :  Never really gave this much thought SEASON :  Fall PLACE :  Anywhere warm and dark WEATHER :  Warm, clear, slight breeze SOUND :  Her mother’s purring SCENT / S :   Freshly cooked fish; a warm, tropical sea breeze; her mother’s tea; brand-new books. TASTE / S :  Fishfishfishfishfish FEEL / S :  Dry and warm, soft ANIMAL / S :  Cats of all sizes NUMBER :  Never really gave this any thought COLORS : Black, white, purple

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Shadow-clones, fighting, reading BAD  AT :  Socializing, falling in love  TURN  ONS :  Not something she’ll ever discuss TURN  OFFS : Emotional and physical abuse (imagine that) HOBBIES : Reading, sketching, studying TROPES :   Dark and Troubled Past, Cat Ninja, Broken Bird,  Badass Bookworm,  Heroic Self-Deprecation, Lady of War, Secretly Wealthy, Sympathy for the Devil AESTHETIC  TAGS :  Weapons, black cat, moonlight night QUOTES :   “Don’t be so dramatic,” “ I was raised outside the kingdoms. If you can’t fight, you can’t survive,” “ There’s too much wrong in this world to just stand by and do nothing. Inequality, corruption… Someone has to stop it,” “ Emphasis on dork,” “ Who says I’m done fighting?”

FC INFO.

MAIN  FC / S :  n/a ALT  FC / S : n/a OLDER  FC / S :   n/a YOUNGER  FC / S :   n/a VOICE  CLAIM / S :  n/a GENDERBENT  FC / S :  n/a

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?           A1 :  I uh.  I have no idea.  Q2 :   what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?         A2 :  She has that lilting piano leitmotif that Jeff’s given her, does that work? Q3 :   why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?           A3 :  Long story short, I had a long, ongoing RP with a buddy of mine, started novelizing it, and Blake ended up being the first character I was writing for. Q4 :   what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ?           A4 :   See above XD Q5 :   describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.           A5 :   plz stop being so emo Q6 :   what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?           A6 :   Good family, good friends, history of abuse Q7 :   how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?           A7 :  I like to think we could at least be friends? Q8 :   what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions  with ?         A8 :   Libra, Merc, Yang, Sun Q9 :   what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?         A9 :   Nada.  I just do it. Q10 :   how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?           A10 :  TOO FUCKING LONG LET ME SLEEP I BEG YOU

[the-quiet-winds]

Winter Can’t Hold Back the Spring

“You’re allowed to be human, Parr.”

“That’s dumb,” Catherine giggles. “Of course I can be human! But why would I want to be?”

Anna raises an eyebrow. “What is going on with you?”

“Me?” Catherine repeats, an incredulous laugh in the single word. “Nothing! You’re the one being weird!”

“Okay,” Anna takes a step back. “Now you’re scaring me.”

“I do that sometimes,” Parr says deliriously.

With that, Anna exits the room and, with a shake of her head, makes her way down the stairs to the kitchen. 

It’s quiet. Eerily so. 

Anne was on holiday in France, and Aragon, Jane, and Katherine were all out for the day at some museum exhibit, leaving Anna and Parr alone. 

Anna and Parr were never alone together. This was uncharted territory.

And something was wrong with Parr, too.

She heads back upstairs with two mugs, one of tea and one of coffee, and knocks softly on Parr’s door.

Catherine opens it, smiling brightly, still slightly deliriously.

“Anna! Come in,” she says, and Anna is taken aback. She’s never been invited in Parr’s study, really only Katherine was allowed in, and sometimes Jane or Aragon, and her original plan was to just coax Cath out and down to join her on the couch.

But then, there she is, sitting cross-legged on Cath’s bed, sipping her coffee as Catherine furiously types at her computer, barely drinking the tea that Anna had prepared for her.

“Catherine?” Anna asks softly.

“Not now.”

Once again, Anna is taken aback. The giggly, slightly-stupid Catherine who had invited her in is gone, replaced by obsessed-with-her-work-like-always Parr.

Oh.

“Catherine.”

“Not now!”

“Catherine!”

“God, will you shut up?” Catherine whirls around in her chair to face Anna. “I invite you in here and you won’t let me do my work! What’s with that?”

Anna looks at her, hurt and nearly frightened by the outburst. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you,” she admits in a small voice, one that doesn’t sound anything like Anna at all.

“The only thing wrong with me is that somebody won’t let me do my work!”

“That’s not true,” Anna challenges. “Something else is going on here.”

“What do you know?” Catherine counters, but there is far less accusation in her words now, like someone had taken a bucket of water to the bonfire in her chest.

“I know you, Cathy,” Anna says, “I know how you like your tea and how you hate being bored and not having work, and-” she cuts off at feeling a bump on her arm. She looks down and smiles at the tabby cat begging for attention. She gives him a scratch behind the ear and smirks at Catherine. “He agrees with me. Something is up with you.”

As if to prove her point, Argyle gives a soft yowl. Then he darts from under Anna’s hand over to the window to play with the curtains.

They sway at the mercy of his tiny kitty claws, and the escaping sunlight illuminate the dark circles under Catherine’s eyes.

“Catherine,” Anna says quietly, “when was the last time you slept?”

That catches Parr’s attention, and she turns down to look at her knees. 

“Cathy,” Anna says again. She moves to in front of Catherine on the floor, trying to catch her eyes.

“Tuesday,” Catherine finally mumbles out.

“It’s Thursday,” Anna says, concerned. 

Those two, tiny words are all it takes for Catherine to shatter. Tears, tears she can’t control, stream down her face as she tries to hide behind a hand, while the other just clings to the arm of the chair.

“Hey,” Anna interjects softly, putting a hand on Catherine’s knee. “It’s okay.” She moves her hand to cover Catherine’s, gripping the arm of her desk chair like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I have to finish-”

“It can wait,” Anna promises. 

“No,” Catherine protests. She pulls away to continue working, even through her tears. She types furiously, almost as if there was a word count she had to meet or she would never be able to write again.

Words, Anna decides, not failing to see the irony, are lost on the writer. 

So she takes more drastic measures.

With a deep breath, she grabs the back of Catherine’s chair and rolls it away from the desk. She hits save on the document Parr was writing, closed her laptop, and blocked her from accessing it. 

“You need to sleep, Catherine,” Anna says firmly, yet with concern. “There’s still plenty of time before we have to go to the theater.”

“It’s for Jane.”

Anna tilts her head slightly so Catherine continues. “It’s about Edward.” There are tears in her eyes again. “She’s been missing him lately… I’ve been working on something about him.”

“It’ll be there later,” Anna reminds her, “but you need to be in an alright state of mind to tell that story right.”

Catherine meets her eyes, and there’s that wisdom that Anna had yet to see. “You’re right,” she admits.

Anna cracks a smirk. “What did you say?” She teased. “Did you say I’m right?” She softens when Catherine yawns, and extends a hand. “Come on, sleepy bones. Bed time.”

“Stay with me?” 

The plea was soft, barely coherent as Anna led Catherine to bed, but Anna had nodded.

“Of course.”

When Jane, Aragon, and Katherine return from the museum hours later, they had half-expected to find Anna on the couch, maybe even Parr. 

But there was stillness, silence.

“They didn’t leave, did they?” Aragon asks quietly.

Jane spots Argyle on the stairs, and he leads her up to Catherine’s room. 

The door is cracked open, and Jane can just make out Parr curled up, head on Anna’s shoulder, as the latter holds her, both dead asleep.

Argyle squeezes through the crack and leaps onto the bed to lay on Anna’s stomach.

Jane lets them sleep.

When Anna blinks awake only a little while after to hear the dim noises of the other queens downstairs, the feels a weight on her stomach and on her shoulder.

Catherine smiles in her sleep, just so, and Argyle’s ears are flat against his head.

“Guess I’m good at this whole sleep-holding thing,” she chuckles softly to herself, then brings her free arm behind her head to stare at the ceiling.

She wouldn’t dream of moving from that position until she absolutely has to wake Catherine, so that is exactly where they stay.

And Anna wouldn’t have it any other way. 

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