#unspecified tabby

[warriorsweaver]

Looking for 2 Apprentices for a Jcink Warriors RP

EDIT: Both characters have been taken, but we have plenty of other wanted ads with just-as-juicy plots for you to look at on YAWRP!!

Mothflower was a TalonClan warrior. After a sparring incident with her littermates led to the accidental death of her sister, she left the Clans behind, terrified of her brother Silverfire using their sister's death as blackmail.

Years later, Mothflower found a mate and was soon pregnant. Her mate died before the kits were born. She began traveling back towards the Clans. One of her kits died along the way.

Mothflower was terrified. She couldn't do this on her own. Recently, Finchstar of StormClan agreed to take Mothflower and her two surviving daughters in. StormClan and TalonClan have a tense relationship fueled by their shared borders. Though Silverfire, now Silverstar, is unaware of his sister's return, Mothflower knows that she can't avoid him forever.

Was bringing her daughters to live in a Clan the right choice? I need two players, one for each apprentice! Their names are open, but their prefixes must be on our on-site prefix list. Their appearances can be anything within reason. Mothflower is a long-haired silver tabby with white markings and golden-amber eyes; her mate was never described physically, so it's pretty open-ended. Personalities are totally open. Are they terrified of being in a Clan? Do they love or hate the rigidity of Clan life after spending the first ~6 moons of their life as loners? Are they excited to be around new, strange cats? How are they fitting in to StormClan culture? Their history is interesting. Mothflower was open to them about their father, how she loved him but he was taken to the vet and never returned. Their sister didn't make it through leafbare. Mothflower would've told them that they're going to live in a Clan for their own safety. She would not have told them about Silverstar or her personal past in the Clans beyond the fact that she was born and raised in an unspecified Clan. She's holding on to her secrets for as long as she can. I would love it if that blew up in her face. If you're interested, pop on to YAWRP's Discord server and talk to Midnight!

[imbrisvastatio]

hey! I'm looking for people for a small written roleplay/campaign that I plan on running on discord! It's mostly narrative, light dice rolling with dread (card version) in the background. Set in modern times at a small town in November. Horror/cosmic horror and that kind of fantasy.

It's called House of Unrest and this particular story is centered around the case of Abigail Biggons!

-Summary-

Marrowstone is a small town that rarely anyone hears about anymore. And maybe that is for the best. Who would want to visit a strange town after a girl had gone missing? Abigail Biggons went on a hike with some friends and she never came back. It's been a week and there have been no updates. The tape marking the trail has been cut down. The hiking trails are all that the town has anymore. They couldn't risk closing them all off.

Since the factories shut down, the Mirron Inn has been barely keeping afloat. Yet even now with a local girl missing, they are still set to have their annual dinner party in a few days. Locals and guests alike are invited. Even radio hosts Bette and Eve, who never make it out to the inn, do a special show for Marrowstone that night. The whole town is ready to move on, but is it really so easy?

--

The in-game summary:

"Tonight we have some sad news," Bette stated as the show began. The static of the radio mixing with the sounds of the rain against the inn.

"Sad news?" Eve questioned.

"We are still Bette and Eve. And this is Lights Out." Bette said laughing.

"Oh, I'm the sad news."

"Tonight we have an announcement from Sir Mirron. The Mirron Inn is hosting the annual Marrowstone dinner party this Thursday at 5 pm. Townsfolk and guests alike are invited to join the festivities." "You might even see some friendly faces, if you listen hard enough." Eve giggled, her soft voice ringing through the speaker.

"In ten minutes, Eve will read a story that was submitted from a listener. But for now, you have to hear me update you on the latest from Marrowstone. The library will be closed Thursday, for reasons unspecified. However their book sale is still set for this coming Sunday. Abigail Biggons is still missing as she was the first night of her hiking trip a week ago. If you have heard from her or have any information, please let the Biggons family know. There have been no released updates on the search at this time. Officer Buffington will provide further information at a later time. Esther Briggs of Yellowwood Avenue has lost her cat, Snuffle. Snuffle has been described to us as a very large orange tabby. If seen, please notify Esther as soon as possible. Posters of Snuffle have been posted around town if more information is needed."

"Now for a short break before I read the first story of tonight."

[killercatic]

Emberwarcharic [left] // Gender related to Ember from Warriors

Emberfootcharic [left] // Gender related to Emberfoot from Warriors

Emberkitthuncharic [middle] // Gender related to Thunderclan Emberkit from Warriors

Emberstarcharic [right] // Gender related to Emberstar from Warriors

Art by @/cloudtail

Ember is an ancient orange tom. He was originally part of Slash's group, temporarily joining Thunder's Group after they were attacked by dogs and abandoned by Slash, before Ember eventually rejoined Slash's Group.

Emberfoot is a grey tom with two darker grey paws. He is a Windclan warrior under Onestar and Harestar, mentoring Sunstrike and Smokehaze. He is the mates with Sedgewhisker and the father of Larkwing and Feather pelt.

Emberkit is a brown-and-white tabby tom-kit. He currently resides in Starclan, dying soon after being born to unspecified causes. He was the son of Windstar and Gorsestar, as well as the brother of Moth Flight, Morning Whisker, and Dust Muzzle. Notably, he gave Windstar one of her lives, and while his naming style was confirmed to be a mistake, one author said they liked the idea of the suffix -kit originating from his name

Emberstar is a long-furred blue-gray tom with blue eyes and tiny dark gray flecks on his back, though he is only described in the books as a tom. He is the father of Cloudberry, and was one of the leaders when the code of defending your clan with your life and to not trespass on other clans' territory was made.

[moss-path]

Some more of the RiverClan kitties. I realize now that I made Leopardstar and Sunfish cousins rip. Anyway, Tanglewhisker and his relatives!

You can see more of my family trees at my au tag. Check out my notes below.

Volestar has a relationship with a ShadowClan cat and they have Mossleaf (who gives Crookedstar, Stormstar in my AU, a life) and Tanglewhisker together. I can do this because I want.

Lilyflower is another cat from Stormstar's leader ceremony. She is the mother of Otterslpash and Brightsky.

Tanglewhisker has two relationships over the course of his life. His RiverClan mate is Birdsong, who he has Cedarpelt, Marshcloud, and Fallowtail with. He then has a relationship with a kittypet, probably part Savannah cat? we gotta get those spots in here somewhere. This fling results in Mudfur.

Brightsky and Mudfur have Leopardstar and her siblings. They don't have canon names but I think I like Scalekit, Grasskit, and Washkit.

How Fallowtail and Reedfeather have two gray children when they are both light brown is beyond me. So I've made Reed a black tabby.

I've renamed Mosspelt to Mosspetal because I think it's cute.

Sunfish and Beetlenose have Whiteclaw, Vixenleap, Grasswhisker, and Greenflower together.

Graypool has Swankit, Morningkit, and Splashkit with not Rippleclaw. Someone else unspecified.

[felonsmojis]

Inbox check (it’s probably changed since the last one)?

so far, from oldest to newest, we have:

pouty teacup / yorkie 

tabby cat chew or paci 

widely grinning headshake

calico cat chew + calico cat and red fox bonk

robot and ghost 

switch lite versions of the holding switch emoji

ranboo (unspecified)

hyena paci

bat emotes

happy sleepy

so all in all not too bad of a list! weve been slowly working our way down, thanks to everyone for respecting our inbox being closed!

- dirk

[vampirecatboy]

updated Aja lore!

i discussed it with my dm and i've decided to change a few things about Aja's origin/living situation

he was no longer raised in a brothel, he was raised in a.... courtesan house? the workers provided nonsexual companionship as well as other services

think like a multi-gendered host club

in the years before Aja was born, his mother had one particular guest who she was fond of, and who was fond of her in return. once, they met outside of work, one thing led to another and Hara ended up pregnant, but after she told her companion, he stopped visiting, and she never heard from him again. needless to say, her heart was broken

Aja was raised by his mother, with the help of the other courtesans. as he grew up, he learned how to charm people into getting what he wanted (though that rarely worked on the people he learned it from)

he also learned a bit about himself, thanks to the trans adults who helped raise him. he picked a new name, abandoned the single dress he owned, and Aja started living as himself

around age.... let's say 10, while he was still pretty small, a Firelight saved his life after he almost fell to his death, and from then on, he swore he would become a part of their group

he also had this friend, a little girl who he knew as Tabby, the child of an unspecified Firelight, Aja was never told. but you know how if one friend comes out as queer/trans, and it's like the domino effect? well Tabby turns out to be just like Aja. a little girl who figures out he's a little boy

haven't decided on a name for him, he might stay Tabby but more likely i'll figure out something else for him

anyway Aja uses his charisma know-how to charm women, but never gets further than that because his closeted subconscious is like "nope, wrong gender"

he might also have an arcane focus made of some crystal he stole

as for the spells he uses, i'm between two subclasses, one that uses enchantments and one that uses elemental magic (i'm waiting to decide that until i know what would be most useful to the party because i'm indecisive, but an argument could be made for either)

i could go elemental and it fits Aja's chaotic personality and i can do damage, plus it's an homage to his previous self, or i could go enchantments and that fits Aja as the charismatic person he is (obviously he's not using his magic to charm women because consent, it's just for other things)

leaning more toward elemental tbh

[clover-warriorcatocs]

I'm showcasing Runningflame's cousins.

Fernheart is a cream and white tabby molly with blue eyes, her fur feels soft and thick.

Fernheart and her littermates, who I'll post all of them next– are cousins of Runningflame through her father's brother, Mudfeather, who had died soon after his kits were born. Fernheart herself is a bubbly, sweet cat, as implied heavily by her happy expression. She eventually, due to an initial oversight on my part.. had kits with another of her cousins, but, uhh- let's not focus on dumb things like that.. dumb things that the canon books themselves break.. very frequently. Er, um- Anyway, Fernheart had a pretty stereotypical warrior cat life, with nothing unusual, before she eventually died of currently unspecified causes, ascending to StarClan after death.

Fernheart and her littermates are younger than Runningflame and her own, but are still older than all their other cousins.. including the one I accidentally made into Fern's mate.

[virtualcollectionblizzardblr]

I found this on NewsBreak: Playboy Model Tabby Brown Dead at 38

I found this on NewsBreak: Playboy Model Tabby Brown Dead at 38

[yetanotherwarriorcatsblog]

Speckletail!

"Speckletail is a pale golden tabby she-cat with amber eyes"

Speckletail was a warrior of Thunderclan in the forest territories under the leadership of Pinestar, Sunstar and Bluestar.

Speckletail was an elder of Thunderclan in the forest territories under the leadership of Firestar.

Parents: Stagleap and Harepounce

Sibling: One-eye

Mate: Smallear

Kit (s): Lionheart, Goldenflower, Snowkit and Mistlekit

Cause of Death: Unspecified Causes

[felinefractious]

🐱 American Curl

📸 Chatterie de Grand Gravillac

🎨 Seal Tabby Point Bicolor

[disabledwarriors]

Shadowsight is autistic, has C-PTSD, psychosis, and OSDD, and is canonically epileptic

Note: He canonically has unspecified trauma

[ID: a painting of Shadowsight (silver tabby with amber-orange eyes) stretching on a sloped rock. /ID end]

[sweetsmellosuccess]

The Sátántangó Experience

How exactly does one prepare to watch a 7.5 hour film? A bit like what you might do in preparation for major surgery: Pack a bag of necessities (in this case, water and protein bars), kiss your loved ones goodbye, and try to make peace with your god. Or, maybe less dramatically, treat it as you would a long train journey, one that takes you through some harrowing terrain on half a rutted track before depositing you to your eventual destination.

Of course, this sort of conception of time is entirely relative: If you have to drive somewhere that takes half an hour, it feels unduly long; but if the trip were normally three hours long, and you somehow found a shortcut that would cut the time down to 30 minutes, you would be flying on dulcet wings for that amount of time, and think you were blessed by angels. In other words, spending an entire standard work day watching one film might seem excessive, but it all has to do with your expectations.

In my case, I was at Philadelphia’s newly renovated Lightbox Theater at the University of the Arts to take in Béla Tarr’s magnum opus Sátántangó, all glorious 450 minutes, in a new 4K restoration (it’s currently playing at select theaters across the country). Armed with my snack survival kit, and safe in the knowledge that we would get intermissions at roughly 2.5 hour intervals, I settled in to watch what has been described as a masterpiece in cinephile circles, and currently resides at number 36 in the most recent Sight & Sound critics’ poll.

Tarr’s beyond-bleak film is broken up into 12 segments, each having to do with a failing farmer’s cooperative in Hungary during the last throes of communism in the late ‘80s. Each section has its own feel and perspective  —  some of them are more lighthearted, others are desolate beyond measure  —  but all expertly shot in low-contrast black and white (by Gábor Medvigy), which renders the people and landscape in various tones of drudgery grey.

It originally opened in America as part of the 1994 New York film festival, at a time when Hungary was undergoing a transformation from Communism to shaky democratic capitalism, so it served as a kind of epigraph to the era, a showcase, as it were, as to the imperfections of a political system built on a promise of human egalitarianism that proved to be depressingly difficult to put into practice.

The landscape makes up a lot of Tarr’s vision, the flat, moody farmland upon which the collective has been toiling, and the unceasing rain and wind that constantly pelts the characters as they venture outside for one business or another. As the film opens, the collective  —  made up of three couples; a curious “doctor” (Peter Berling), who spends his time spying on the others, making copious notes in his stacks of file folders, and daily drinking his considerable body weight in Palinka (Hungarian plum brandy); and the cagey Futaki (Miklos Szekely B.), who has to walk with a cane from an unspecified accident, but seems a bit more shrewd than the others  —  is anxiously awaiting their annual wages, which come all at once and is meant to get divvied up amongst the members equally.

Early on, there are various halfcocked plans from individuals to try and steal the small fortune for themselves, reflected in much idle talk about meeting that evening and decamping for parts unknown, but that ultimately come to nothing. However, when word reaches the group that the mysterious Irimiás (Mihály Vig, also the film’s composer) is, in fact, not dead as they had been told, but alive, and returning to the collective he started, the group dynamic is thrown akimbo, with various members fretting for their future, and, one, the owner of the local bar (Zoltán Kamondi), furious at the thought his business will be taken from him. 

Just why they respond like this remains vague. In ensuing segments, we see Irimiás, along with his associate, Petrina (Dr. Putyi Horvath), navigating through a police interview  —  where the local Captain informs them they will be working for him now in ways unspecified  —  though it appears the collective had very actively planned on not having to include their former leader (and his right-hand man) in their financial arrangements. As for the non-collective characters, including the aforementioned barkeep, and various prostitutes sitting idly around, the collective is virtually their only business, such as it is, so they, too, await this potential flood of cash eagerly.

As the segments begin to collect, they also begin to fold upon themselves: Scenes that we see from one vantage point in an earlier segment are revisited later on, from the perspective of a different character, enabling a thrilling moment of realization that the stream of time we’re following has breaks, jumps, and hiccoughs throughout. Never more poignantly than a moment with a young girl peering into a window of the bar  —  one of the only lit buildings in the otherwise dismally dark countryside  —  watching the adults inside drunkenly dancing and cavorting.

About that girl. Easily the most emotional moment of the film involves her, but not first without the audience paying a heavy price, depending on your empathy for other creatures. Before the film screened, during its introduction, we were made aware that there was a scene of animal cruelty involving a cat somewhere in the proceedings. The sympathetic presenter, himself a cat lover, suggested looking away for parts of that segment, though a friend of mine in attendance who had seen it before assured me looking away wasn’t really an option. Fortunately, he also told me that the cat in question wasn’t actually hurt, and was still alive at the time of a 2012 interview with Tarr.

Needless to say, my worry about this poor cat dominated my experience in the early going: Every time I saw a feline in the background of a scene, I worried that it was coming up, such that it was almost a relief when it finally happened. The situation is this: Estike (Erica Bók), the young daughter of one of the local prostitutes, caught up in her world of half-fantasies after being sent out of their apartment by her working mother, holes up in an attic with a grey tabby. At first, she pets and cuddles him, but eventually, she desires to control him, bend the cat to her will. To the cat’s increasing discomfort and fury, she grabs him by the front paws and rolls around with him, all the while muttering how she alone can determine its fate. Looping up the poor fellow in a net bag and hanging it from a post, she goes downstairs to mix a batch of milk with some rat poison powder and force feeds him until he dies (though in actuality merely tranquilized).

Wandering around the farm that night with the stiffened body of the cat tucked under her arm (a prosthetic, the director assures us), Estike runs into the doctor, shuffling outside to refill his giant jug of brandy, shortly after peering through the window of the bar. Eventually, she lies down amongst the deserted crumble of a bomb-blasted church and takes the poison herself.

As gruesome as the segment becomes, its haunting evocations permeate the rest of the film (though not immediately: in a jarring juxtaposition, the very next segment takes us back to the bar, where everyone is still dancing wildly about to a loopy accordion refrain —  only towards the end of this extended scene do we see the face of the soon-to-be-dead Estike peering inside). Eventually, Irimiás does indeed return, in time to give a moving eulogy for Estike, while at the same time transitioning the group towards his next vision, a new farm some distance away where he assures them they can finally live freely and thrive. All he needs to achieve this goal for them is the money they just received from their previous year’s efforts.

With nowhere else to go, and no other plan on the horizon, the members of the collective dutifully deposit their wages on the table in front of their leader. He sends them out to pack their things so that they may meet with him in a couple of days at the new farm he’s selected.

Gathering their miserable belongings, the group reassemble and trudge down the muddy road on foot, as the rain pelts down on them without ceasing. Distressingly, the members don’t have any proper rain coats  —  in an earlier soliloquy in the bar, Kráner (János Derszi) laments that his leather coat is so old and stiff he has to bend it in order to sit down  —  so they wear their woolen winter coats, which do little to keep them from getting soaked in the heavy fall rains.

As they make their way to this new destination, it’s clear that Irimiás is up to something. Most obviously, he could make off with their wages and move on, but it turns out his scheme is less direct than just taking their hard-earned money for himself.

Towards the second half, Tarr’s penchant for long, elegantly composed shots gives gradually away to more adventurous camerawork, including a single steadicam shot in the woods that’s like something out of a Sam Raimi film. There are extensive elliptical shots with the camera spinning slowly on an axis, this particular effect never more effective than when after the group arrives at their new farm, yet another dilapidated series of box-like concrete buildings. Once they dump their belongings and lie on the floor of the unheated, broken-windowed main house, trying to sleep, our narrator makes one of his occasional VO appearances to describe in intimate detail the dreams each character is having.

It’s a shot that could have served as an excellent final salvo, one would imagine. Indeed, by the last hour of this opus, time and again, Tarr arrives at what might be considered a conclusive moment  —  in this, the confusion is aided by his particular style: It turns out many films end on a superbly composed, static long shot  —  only to keep the narrative flowing, circling back, eventually to the original farm, where the doctor, having just returned from a stint in a hospital, begins to narrate, again, the original opening lines. Such is the perfection in this device (the segment is titled “The Circle Closes”) that once you finally arrive there, it’s clear there could be no other ending that would have sufficed.

When finally the film ended, it was later in the evening. I met up with my compatriots also in attendance, and the three of us ventured back out into the city, heading to a bar where we could nurse a beer and attempt to articulate the tangled mass of feelings and impressions of the previous nine hours. In one of the very few bars in the city that still allows smoking, appropriately enough, we debated about the film in an atmosphere swirling with the poisonous fumes of an earlier era. It seemed hopeless, but still necessary, somehow; like bidding farewell to someone already in a coma.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | iii

Pairings: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Summary: The boys try to surprise you. Things…don’t work out as planned.

Warnings: Fluffiness and implied sex. (Brief) mentions of throwing up.  

Notes: YESSS! We’re finally getting an update on this fic! *does happy dance*

I’m sorry it’s been so long, y’all. Life has been busy, my inspiration dried up, and I kinda wasn’t loving this particular series so…I left it alone, for a bit. Still probably not gonna update it very regularly, but I will finish it. Anyway, I hope you like the floof :)

Title is from ‘Still Falling For You’ by Ellie Goulding

[BML Masterlist]

~ this love is like sun on the rise ~

Waking up is a hit-or-miss type of experience.

Sometimes, it’s a cruel and unforgiving yank into reality, a harsh slap to the face delivered by the persistent blaring of Steve’s alarm clock. Until you’ve got some food in your system and downed no less than a gallon of coffee, all you are is a crusty-eyed and enormously cranky shell of a human being.

Other times, waking up can be a little less harsh of an experience (though, no less reluctant, on your part). These mornings consist of you burrowing deep into the covers, whilst someone — usually Bucky — pokes and prods and gently cajoles you into getting out of bed. His strategy often involves bribing you with the promise of — yep, that’s right: coffee.

Today is unlike either of those days.

Today is a slow and gentle return to consciousness, pieces of the world sliding into focus, one after the other. You’re not exactly sure what pulls you from your sleep, but you gradually become aware of the textures and temperatures and sounds around you.

First, it’s the feel of your pillow beneath your cheek, the brushed cotton pillowcase a soft and silky-smooth texture on your skin. Next, it’s the weight of your duvet above you, the marshmallow-like mountain protecting you from the chill of the cold winter morning. Other elements of the world slowly trickle into focus, from the general creaking and whirring of your house, to the distant noises of the city waking up.

A loud crash destroys all semblance of peace you’d been enjoying.

“Wha’ th’ hell?” you mumble, your words muffled due to the fact that your face is buried in your pillow.

It is at this point that you realise that the bed on either side of you is empty. Your legs aren’t tangled up with Bucky’s, nor is Steve’s arm slung over your waist. The sound of your boyfriends’ steady breathing is also, distinctly missing.

You are immediately suspicious.

Or, well. As suspicious as you can be, this early in the morning.

Which is to say, not that suspicious at all.

With a grumble, you push yourself up onto your elbows and squint at the digital clock on the nightstand. It takes a while for you to make out the numbers through your sleepy, bleary eyes, but when they do finally come into focus, your confusion immediately deepens.

It’s barely ten minutes past six in the morning. The sun’s not even out, for fuck’s sake. Why on earth are they up at ass-crack o’clock?

You flop your head back down onto your pillow with a soft oomph. As you tug the duvet around your shoulders, you grumble incoherently, cursing your boyfriends under your breath.

It’s a bloody Saturday, for goodness’ sake. Saturdays are for sleeping in, and you damn well need this lie-in after the hectic week of meetings and unexpected deadlines you’ve just had.

But, even as you close your eyes and will your body to slip back into a state of unconsciousness, you already know that it’s a lost cause. Your mind is too active now, the gears and cogs of your brain whirring to life, preparing to start your day.

As you lie there in a state of half-sleep, you wandering mind begins to think about what that crash could have been. It’s definitely the boys doing something downstairs — the question is, what?

You quickly dismiss the idea of them fighting an intruder or something in your house, largely because you know that the security system installed in your place would put the White House to shame.

Thus, Steve and Bucky must be doing…something else downstairs. Something that does not involve fighting bad guys, but does involve loud crashing noises.

Steve and Bucky waking up early can either be a really good thing, or a really bad thing, you muse. They’re both equal parts angel and troublemaker, but this early in the morning, it’s too hard to tell which side of their personality is coming through.

The boys waking up early is, in itself, not unusual. Steve has a penchant for going out on runs just before sunrise, because he likes how peaceful the streets are at that time. And, if Bucky’s had a bad night, he’ll often sit on the sofa to watch the sunrise, or maybe go out on a walk to clear his mind.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” you gasp, jerking out of your half-asleep state when another loud crash rings through the house. It’s followed by a string of colourful swear words and an especially loud shhh!

Yep. It’s time to investigate.

You groan, rolling onto your back and stretching your arms out to the side, yawning wide as you feel your joints pop. A smile crosses your lips when you sense a weight shifting around on your bed, creeping along your right side. A petite, fluffy tabby appears by your right shoulder, head tilted to the side and ears flicking in curiosity.

A husky chuckle rumbles from your throat. “Mornin’ Disney,” you murmur, as you rub your knuckles between her ears.

“What’re your dads doin’ downstairs, huh?” you ask quietly, “Shall we go an’ take a look?”

Disney seems too distracted by your fingers to really take note of your question. For a minute, you allow yourself to be transfixed by her deep, happy purrs, letting the sound wash over you in waves.

The three of you decided to adopt Disney from a pet shelter a couple of months ago. You can safely say that getting her has been one of the better decisions that you’ve made in your lifetime. Annoying tendencies to scratch up the furniture and knock things over with her tail aside, she’s the sweetest thing in the entire universe. Disney is a great comfort to you when the boys are away on long missions, and a wonderful companion to the boys when the pressures of world-saving become a little too much to handle.

You and Disney lie there for an unspecified amount of time, the only sounds in the room being Disney’s contented little purrs and your slow breathing. You’re contemplating whether or not it’s really worth leaving your blanket fort to investigate the happenings downstairs. It’s been at least five minutes since the second crash, and there haven’t been anymore loud noises in that time, but that doesn’t really put you at ease.

Steve and Bucky are more than capable of handling themselves but — well, they’re not the best of cooks, and you’d rather not be forced out of bed because the house was burning down, or something.

With a heavy sigh, you gingerly push yourself up into a sitting position and lift Disney onto Steve’s pillow, before rolling out of bed. You head into the bathroom to relieve yourself, wash your face and brush your teeth, before slipping on your fluffy pink bathrobe — the one with the bunny ears attached to the hood — and sliding your feet into a pair of blue and white polkadot slippers. When Disney realises that you’re about to leave the room, she elegantly leaps off the bed and pads over to you, winding herself around your legs and butting her head against your calves.

“C’mon baby,” you whisper, as you pull open the bedroom door. “Let’s see what they’re—oh.”

You break off as the pungent smell of burnt food assaults your nostrils. It’s overpoweringly bitter and wholly unpleasant; the stench makes you want to gag. Even Disney seems unimpressed, flicking her tail the way she does when she’s annoyed. Whatever’s going on downstairs can’t be good.

Yep. It’s definitely time to investigate.

You make your way downstairs, pulling your robe tighter around your chest to protect your skin from the chilly morning air. The burning smell only becomes stronger with each step you take — you’re surprised that you haven’t thrown up by this point, honestly.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the Steve and Bucky are in the kitchen. You cross the living room, Disney hot on your heels, and pause at the entryway to your kitchen to assess the scene.

To describe the kitchen as ‘chaos’ would be a euphemism.

It looks like a hurricane has whipped around the room. A bag of flour seems to have exploded, as every surface — the cupboards, the countertops, the floor, everything — is coated in a layer of white dust. A tin of cocoa powder also seems to have burst open, because the kitchen counters are speckled with streaks of rich brown. Pots and pans and dirty spoons are scattered across the worktops; used bowls have been stacked up into haphazard piles in and around the sink. The floor is littered with slices strawberries and a couple of banana peels. Egg shells scattered in random places complete the overall aesthetic.

The boys have — thankfully — opened up the windows to air out the house and get rid of that pungent burnt odour, but right now, the scent is plugging up your nostrils and making each breath a struggle.

Steve and Bucky are standing by the stove, hunched over a pan and murmuring quietly amongst themselves. They’re so focused that they haven’t even heard you come in. Bucky says something to Steve, who turns around to grab something off the kitchen island. When he sees you, standing in the entryway with your arms folded over your chest, he freezes like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Mornin’ Stevie,” you say, the corner of your mouth crooking up into a smirk.

“Uhh…good morning, sweetheart,” Steve says, in a strangled voice. When Bucky whirls around, you just manage to catch the look of shock-and-dismay that crosses his face, before it gets replaced by a beaming grin.

“Mornin’ beautiful!” Bucky chirps, “Ready for breakfast?”

You pointedly glance around the trashed kitchen, before arching an eyebrow questioningly. “You were making breakfast?” you ask dryly, “Could’a fooled me. I thought you just had a food fight.”

Suspiciously bright flushes of red bloom across Steve’s cheekbones. It’s then that you notice the smears of white on Steve’s t-shirt and sleep pants, to match the multicoloured splatters on Bucky’s clothes. There are streaks of white and — oh goodness, is that egg in their hair?

“You did have a food fight, didn’t you?” you sigh, shaking your head in fond annoyance.

“Well…Steve started it,” Bucky says, giving you a cheeky wink before turning back to jiggle his pan around. Steve is spluttering in shock.

“Bucky!” he cries, not unlike an indignant toddler.

“Yes?” Bucky sing-songs, drawing out the syllable.

“I—you—ugh why do I even bother?” Steve mutters darkly.

Disney gracefully leaps up onto the kitchen counter and starts pawing curiously at the bits and bobs littered on the messy surface, taking particular interest in a couple of blueberries.

Steve frowns at her as he runs his fingers through the silky-soft fur of her back. “Disney,” he scolds, “I thought we were clear on the plan? You were supposed to keep your mother in bed until we’d finished!”

“Told ya’ we should’a gone with my idea,” Bucky drawls, glancing over his shoulder

“Shuddup,” Steve says, without missing a beat, “Disney just needs a little more training, is all.”

“Hold up—what plan?” you ask, interrupting their bickering. You step forward and cautiously lean your elbows on the island countertop — after checking that you’re not putting your robe in anything suspicious, of course.

“Uhh…we were gonna make you breakfast,” Steve says slowly.

“Okay, I got that. But…why?”

Bucky sighs, turning off the stove and stepping up behind Steve, looping his metal arm around Steve’s waist. “‘Cause we wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, to say sorry for missing our anniversary,” Bucky explains.

You’re fairly certain that your heart melts into a puddle at his words. “Really?”

“Yeah, sweetie,” Steve murmurs, a shy smile gracing his lips, “We were gonna make you breakfast and feed it to you in bed and then take you out, and—,”

“Treat you like a princess,” Bucky finishes.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees.

Without saying a word, you briskly stride around the island and throw yourself into their arms, not caring about the fact that you’re probably getting all kinds of foodstuffs onto your clothes. There are tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your heart feels so full you genuinely think that it might burst. Steve and Bucky hold you close, Bucky burying his face against your neck, Steve tucking your head under his chin.

“Honeys, you didn’t have to,” you mumble, your voice coming out muffled because your face is smushed into Steve’s glorious pecs. “We already did something and—,”

“But we didn’t do something special,” Steve protests, “Buck and I were away on a mission for most of the day—,”

“And when we got home, we basically passed out for a million hours,” Bucky adds.

“But I didn’t care!” you insist, “We said I love you, and I got a really nice card—,”

“But I care, gorgeous,” Steve says quietly, crooking his index finger under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up to look into his beautiful, bright blue eyes. “We care. We wanted to do something special for you. Treat you like a princess.”

“Sap,” you sniffle, giving him a watery smile.

Steve rumbles approvingly as you card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “You always treat me like a princess, darlings,” you murmur, humming softly as Bucky presses a kiss to the crook of your neck. “You always treat me like I’m the most special thing in the world.”

“Well then, we wanted to try do something extra special, today,” Bucky says, letting you go as he takes a step back. He pauses as his eyes do a quick scan around the kitchen. “Uh…emphasis on try, I guess.”

You burst out laughing, twisting out of Steve’s grip as you spin in a slow circle, letting the enormity of the mess sink in. “Yeah…I’d have to agree with you there, Buck,” you snort, “What happened?”

Steve sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face and frowning when his fingers come away coated in flour.

He may or may not have a dusting of white on his cheek.

“Well…the breakfast plan was pancakes with sausages,” he starts, looking to Bucky for some assistance.

“Yeah, but then—uh…we got sidetracked with the pancake idea,” Bucky says, gesturing vaguely around the room. You chuckle in amusement.

“And I’m guessing you burned the sausages, or something?” you ask teasingly.

Steve’s blush deepens. “What gave it away?” he mumbles.

“Oh, I think the burning smell might have been a big clue,” you say airily.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Steve says stubbornly, a cute little furrow appearing in the middle of his brow. “Bucky was in charge of—,”

“It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t know how to use this fancy-shmancy new oven!” Bucky protests, throwing his arms up in frustration as he turns back to the stove, “And yes, Bucky is now referring to himself in third person, because why the ever-loving fuck not?”

You giggle helplessly, coming up behind Bucky and wrapping your arms around his muscled waist. You plant a kiss on his shoulder — the metal one — and he cranes his head back to press his lips to your forehead. “So what’s on the stove, then?” you ask.

“Erm…it’s supposed to be pancake batter,” Steve says apologetically, popping up on your left side.

You peer over Bucky’s shoulder and narrow your eyes in suspicion. “It’s so…watery,” you comment hesitantly.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, yeah, we fucked up,” he grumbles.

You giggle, patting his side consolingly. “Okay then, how ‘bout this — since I’m awake now and I’m the only one out of the three of us who can actually make pancakes, why don’t you let me handle the cooking?”

“But gorgeous!” Steve protests, “You aren’t supposed to—,”

“Whilst you boys clean up this mess,” you interrupt, holding your hand up to stop him. Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he concedes to your request with a shrug.

Bucky hangs his head down and sighs exaggeratedly. “Well, I ‘spose that’s fair,” he admits, “But I want a good morning kiss ‘fore I get to it.”

You roll your eyes but indulge his request, loosening your grip on his waist so that Bucky can turn around and catch you in his arms. Then, before you know it, he’s slanting his lips over yours and kissing you like he means it — luxurious and deep, with just the right amount of tongue.

As he pulls away, you tip your head backwards and to the side, easily finding Steve’s lips. He kisses you with just as much reverence and tenderness, teasingly flicking his tongue over your bottom lip. Steve tastes of strawberries and mint toothpaste.

They manage to distract you for several long minutes, taking it in turns to claim your mouth. Steve cups the back of your head, whilst Bucky’s thumbs rub circles into your sides. Your pleased sighs and soft moans fill the air.

Unfortunately, breakfast is not about to cook itself.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough now,” you say firmly, wriggling out of their grip and twisting to face the stove. “Time to clean now.”

You give Bucky a playful shove when he tries to swoop in for another kiss. “Clean,” you repeat, more forcefully this time, though it’s hard to be serious when you have two goofballs for boyfriends.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky says, snapping you a two-fingered salute.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Buck—Peggy would’a had a heart attack if she saw that,” Steve mutters, as he crouches down to get the cleaning supplies out of the cupboard under the sink.

“Yeah, well, at least I didn’t scare her by running into HYDRA bases without waiting for—,”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky! That was just the one time—,”

“Nu-uh! One time in France, and then another one time in Italy, and then—,”

“I waited for backup in Italy!”

“Stevie, honey, I think you and I remember Italy very differently.”

“Well yeah, that’s ‘cause all you ‘member ‘bout Italy was how I sucked you off in…”

You shake your head in fond exasperation, tuning out their conversation as you pull out the ingredients you’ll need. Honestly, the two of them argue like an old, married couple — but, you wouldn’t have them any other way. You start to hum quietly under your breath as you measure out the ingredients into a mixing bowl, the motions familiar and soothing to you. You’ve learned from experience to make triple the normal recipe, because super-soldier metabolism is not to be messed with.

Disney appears on the kitchen counter and plops herself down by the bowl, watching you with keen eyes as you mix everything together.

She seems especially interested in the chocolate chips.

You shoo her away when it’s time to actually cook the pancakes — you don’t want to accidentally set her tail on fire, or something. The boys have actually done quite well, so far; Steve is busy attacking the mountain of dishes and utensils by the sink, whilst Bucky has made a lot of progress in wiping down the surfaces and cleaning up the spillages on the floor.

As you wait for the pan to heat up, you lean your palms against the side of the counter and close your eyes, content to just listen to the sounds around you. Bucky’s low whistling and the squirting noises coming from his spray bottle overlay the running tap and the clattering and banging of Steve’s dishwashing.

There’s something so domestic about it all.

Not for the first time, you can’t help but think how goddamn lucky you are to have these two wonderful souls to share your life with. Yeah, the morning might not have gone exactly the way Steve and Bucky had planned, but — the love in the air is so palpable you could almost stick your tongue out and taste it. The atmosphere is homey, and amiable, and everything you never knew you wanted.

Fucking hell, Steve’s sappiness is rubbing off on you.

You pour in some of the pancake batter when the pan seems hot enough, then dart off to grab some plates and a spatula.

Flipping pancakes takes you back to lazy Sunday mornings in your family home. You remember the cartoons playing on low volume in the background, whilst you and your parents made breakfast in the kitchen. You remember listening to your dad singing off-key as the pancakes piled up in an impressive stack beside him. Sometimes, your mother would be baking — cookies, muffins, bread, whatever she was in the mood for. You remember feeling so happy and fulfilled and loved.

It’s funny how things can be so different and simultaneously so similar. The sounds are different, the house is different, the people around you are different — but you feel no less happy, or fulfilled, or loved, with this new family of yours. If anything, those emotions have only increased tenfold.

You’re so engrossed in your thoughts that you let out a startled gasp when someone wraps their arms around your waist.

“Oops, sorry, honey,” Steve apologises, laughing softly as he ducks to press a kiss behind your ear. “Jus’ wanted to say that it smells good.”

“S’almost ready,” you tell him, turning to brush your lips over the tip of his nose. “Set the table, please?”

“On it,” he says, letting go of you with an affectionate squeeze to your ass.

As you pour the last of the batter into the pan, you listen as Steve lays out the cutlery on the small dining table in the alcove. Bucky is calling out to Disney as he shakes her cat food into her bowl. You slide the last pancake onto the plate, turn off the stove, then grab the two enormous pancake stacks and carry them over to the dining table, setting the plates in the middle so that everyone can help themselves.

“Oooh damn, sweetie, those look great,” Bucky says, coming up beside you.

Once you’ve set the plates down, you turn towards him and are pleasantly surprised to see him with a mug of coffee in each hand, one of which he holds out towards you.

“Thanks, honey,” you say softly, accepting the mug from him and wrapping your fingers around it.  

“Made it just the way you like it,” he says, leaning in to peck you on the lips. You take a quick sip and nod your approval — just the way you like it indeed.

Steve comes over at that point and sets the condiments down on the table. There’s syrup, honey, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, bananas and a range of berries. Frankly, you’re surprised that he managed to carry all of that over without dropping anything.

Bucky, ever the gentleman, pulls out your seat and gestures for you to sit down with a great flourish. You giggle, gingerly perching on the chair as he pushes you in. Steve sits down on your right and Bucky on your left, the three of you facing the gigantic windows so that you can watch the sky change colour as the sun climbs through it. Right now, it’s a wonderful gradient of purples and pinks.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” Steve says, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. Bucky’s flesh hand curls over your thigh, thumb stroking the soft skin there.

“Happy anniversary, darlings,” you murmur, settling into your chair as Steve dishes out the pancakes. You reach for your favourite toppings and add them in generous servings to your plate.

“Of fuck,” Bucky moans. Your head snaps to the side so fast, you almost give yourself whiplash. Bucky’s chewing with his eyes closed, a blissed-out expression on his face. He stuffs another forkful into his mouth and moans again.

You turn to Steve and share a look with him. He raises an eyebrow, whilst you try to suppress your giggles.

That moan sounded a lot like Bucky’s sex moan.

“Guess they call it food porn for a reason, huh, Buck?” Steve asks, voice lighthearted and teasing.

Bucky nods emphatically, before turning to look at you. “Honey, you’re amazing, and I love you and your pancakes.”

You can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, then, bright and cheerful and amused.

“Taste!” Bucky urges, breaking off a scrap of pancake with his finger, drenching it in syrup and bringing it to your mouth.

You take the pancake from his fingers, being sure to give an exaggerated groan when his thumb presses against your lips. Before Bucky can pull his hand away, your tongue darts out to lick the syrup from his fingers. You look at him through your lashes and make quiet, pleased noises in the back of your throat as you clean him off.

You don’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes darken, nor do you miss the way Steve’s breathing hitches. You sense Steve throwing his arm over the back of your chair as he leans in close, his face right up against the side of your neck.

“Behave, princess,” Steve growls quietly, nipping your earlobe for emphasis.

You have a feeling you know how the rest of your morning is going to go down.

[drawinglittlethings-blog]

POST FROM FRIEND:

<sub> Hello, all!! My name is Jack, as you may know, and I really need some people's help!

You see, I have a show I am currently making and I need people to voice characters. There aren't many characters in the show, but we need voices for the protagonist and antagonist, as well as a backup voice for the antihero. We need voices for the background characters, but we will mostly worry about those later on in the series.

One is an angel boy who has just gotten kicked out of Heaven for reasons unspecified. He then meets Tabby, a hard working demon who's been stuck on earth for the last 200 years.

Ademais, one of the higher-ups in Heaven, doesn't like that an angel and a demon have teamed up, so he tries repeated methods of tearing them apart from each other.

Below here is the Audition Script

The Audition Script

One has a prepubescent boy type voice (somewhat low, but not too low)

Tabby has a deep, semi-scratchy voice (similar to a "headcannon Karkat Vantas" voice)

Ademais speaks elegantly and with a certain "I'm better than you and you know it" tone in his voice (deeper masculine voice, more in the middle and lower ranges, slight British accent but not 100% noticeable.

IF THIS IS YOU IN ANY WAY. PLEASE CONTACT. This is not a catch this is an actual project that has been in production for about 2 years.