#here's to my stuffie tabby cat

[sundry-whovengerslocked]

extremely specific whump fic

where a mentally ill/traumatized character with a hoarder mindset and an irrational fear of losing things - has to relocate in a hurry with hardly any of their possessions.

they have to run away for their safety or worse are whisked away into another dimension with no hope of going back home.

(this is worse than if a fire or natural disaster happens because at least then you know it's destroyed - this way they have to live with the fact that their beloved things could be sitting on the side of the road in the rain, or rotting in the garbage, or belonging to someone new who doesn't understand its meaning.)

the character then has to mourn the loss of journals and pictures and trinkets picked up from travels and childhood toys. and eventually learn to move on from this irrational pain.

has to hear "they're just things" and, bitterly swallowing the pain, accept it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: A Day at the Fair

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: You make a new friend.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Ten bucks for a game?” Bucky curls his lip at the sign. 

You giggle around the mouthful of dissolving spun sugar. You gulp and sigh, “oh, you’re such and old man, sometimes.” 

“Ten bucks!” He exclaims again, waving a hand.  

“In my day...” You say in unison with him and he stops abruptly. He squints as you turn and walk backwards with him through the fairgrounds. “And predictable.” 

His blue eyes dull in irritation. “Maybe the world is predictable, huh? And I’m just reacting to it.” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you chime and twirls your cotton candy. “Have some, it’s yummy.” 

“I told you not to get that. It’ll give you a stomach ache.” 

“I’m an adult. I can do what I want.” You retort. “I’m gonna get a candy apple and a funnel cake and oooh, do they have those big baked pretzels?” 

“You’re going to get sick.” 

“That’s half the fun,” you smile and your heel catches on a rise in the ground, heavy rubber mats spread to hide thick wires. Bucky’s quick. So quick it makes you dizzy. He catches you and sets you right, sharply spinning you ahead. 

“You need to watch where you’re going,” he girds. 

You just laugh again, “aw, but I got you around to save me.” You put your feet right and fall back into step. “So you’re too cheap to win me that purrito stuffy, so I’ll just do it myself--” 

“I’m not cheap.” 

“Not at all,” you agree with a grin. He stops and face you. You look up at him and take another bite of spun sugar. 

“You are the worst,” he says as he digs in his pocket and twists on his heel, “fine, one purrito coming up.” 

He marches back to the shooting game and greets the man in his striped shirt. He pays for his go and picks up the rifle. He gives you a look before he raises the but to his shoulder. His posture is confident, if not bored. 

The pings come in fast succession. You don’t have a minute to count them but he stops before the rifle clicks, knowing exactly how many he’s fired. All in the centre of the bullseye. He flips the gun and hands it back to the work.  

“A purrito, whatever that is,” he demands. 

The fair employee gapes at him as he accepts the gun. He blinks then glances at the target again. His eyes rove back to Bucky and he frowns as he notices Bucky’s metal hand. 

“Dammit, I knew you looked familiar,” he grumbles and turns to take a purrito from the wall. He hands it over to Bucky who thanks him and turns to you.  

“It’s a cat... in a tortilla?” 

“Yes, a purrrrrrito,” you drag out the words. “Like a burrito but cuter.” 

He sighs, “of course.” 

“It’s so cute!” You wiggle it around gleefully, “I’m going to put it right in my room with all my others!” 

“Others?”  

“Oh, yes, I have a whole shelf of purritos. Big, small, calico, tabby... even a lion.” 

“Wow,” he mutters. 

“We all have collections. What about your cards? Hmm?” 

“Those are priceless. They’re baseball cards from the 1936 World Series. The Yankees won.” 

“Sounds important. I don’t really watch baseball,” you say. “But see? It’s your passion. You love those cards. You even put them in plastic. That’s kinda adorable. Means you care about them. Just like my purritos!” 

“Antique baseball cards are different from stuffed taco cats.” 

“Um, a burrito is not a taco,” you argue. 

“Don’t,” he points at you. “You always do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“You have to argue and then you put on that face--” 

“What face?” You pout. 

“Ah, quit.” 

“Fine,” you harrumph and tuck your prize under your arm. You tear off a piece of cotton candy and hold it out to him, “here.” 

“I told you--” he stops himself and accepts it. He eats it and lets out an ‘mmm’. 

“See, it’s good.” 

“It’s pure sugar.” 

“I know,” you agree triumphantly. “So, you wanna go on a ride? I like that big one!” 

You point with the empty cone and he tilts his chin up. “Sure, may as well get our money’s worth.” 

“Oh, fun! It’s going to be so scary.” 

“Scary?” Bucky snickers. 

“Not all of us jump out of planes, Mr. Avenger.” 

“Or sing and dance in frills,” he rebuffs. 

You roll your eyes. Your job isn’t the best but you get decent tips at the restaurant. Besides, you don’t exactly have the qualifications to save the world. Sometimes the distance between you, in more than age, is daunting. 

You pass a garbage can and toss the cone. You join the line for the ride and Bucky crowds in behind you between the metal barriers. You wait your turn as you bounce on your shoes and hug your toy. 

“I’m gonna name this one Mew-chanan. After you.” 

“Mew-- oh god.” He shakes his head as he connects the dots. “You’re so cheesy.” 

“And yet you’re still hanging out with me,” you smirk. 

You get to the front of the line and the work offers to hold the purrito. You hand him over and follow another to a seat. Bucky gets in next of you. You squeak as you’re locked into the seat and your insides begin to swim. You should’ve suggested the merry-go-round but you don’t want him to think you’re that lame. 

“My stummy—stomach!” You say as the ride starts to hum.  

“I told you about eating that--” 

Before he can finish, the ride lurches into action. Slow at first, rising and rising. The higher you get, the dizzier you are. As you get to the top, you latch onto his hand. You close your eyes and let out a long breath. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

You blink and look at him. Before you can answer, the ride drops at warp speed. A scream erupts from your chest and you close your eyes. It doesn’t last long but you’re breathless as you stop at the bottom. You squeeze Bucky’s hand as you tremble. You crush his fingers, his real fingers together. 

“Hey, Dreamy, it’s over,” he shakes your hand. 

“I know, I know,” you peel your eyes open. “That was... fun.” 

He watches you, his blue eyes almost cloudy. You open your hand and his thumb taps your knuckle before he turns his palm down. You blow out as the harness lifts from your chest. 

“Come on!” You hop out of the seat. “Let’s do another.” 

[luvissues]

ugh thinking about the 141 with a cat and i don’t know why

it’s an odd situation for sure. everyone’s pretty certain that price still thinks the poor thing is a stray they’ve decided to feed, even though he catches it snoozing around base and weaving through his legs whenever they’re stationed.

ghost was convinced that the mangy thing had fleas from whatever alley the sergeants had scruffed it from, but for once his words fell on deaf ears. the skinny thing just needed some meat on its bones, was all. they were sure of it.

and yeah, okay, so maybe they were a little drunk when they picked the thing up. but it was a poor little tabby; surely they could just feed it for long enough that you didn’t hear the rattle of its bones with its steps?

ghost had the be the one to toss it out, not thinking much of it. he was doing the boys a favor, getting rid of the thing before price could beat it away with a broom (or scare it off with some stray shots from his pistol).

but that doesn’t bring much reprieve, because the lieutenant had called it from the start- the damn thing was outside, sure, but it wouldn’t go away.

“dinnae- don’t shut it out, ghost, the cat jus’ wants some lovin’” soap would scold as he poked his head over to look out the window, catching the tiny head poking right back up at him from behind the glass.

“you keep that damn moggy out of here, johnny.” was all he got in reply. (ghost fails to mention that the only reason he hates the pet is because it’s fur is especially noticeable on the black fabric of his mask.)

but of course they just keep going out to feed it anyway. gaz keeps making off-handed comments about it in front of price on accident and ghost thinks he might just have to strangle him if that means it’ll shut ‘im up.

though, price doesn’t really notice it at all until he leaves the doors cracked open- base was too hot, too stuffy- and the kit just slips in beneath his feet. and no matter how many times he tracks it down, ushers it back outside with a nudge of his boot, it keeps making its way in. so he closes the doors and- wait- who the opened the window? fuckin’ hell, now the cat’s damn near crawling into their ceiling…

so maybe it’s back inside now. and maybe gaz really doesn’t feel like washing it, cleaning off all that grime the pelt’s accumulated since ghost had kicked it out. so maybe he tosses it in the bathroom while his lieutenant’s in the shower, because “he threw it outside, yeah? now he can clean up the mess.”

that’s when the situation finally comes to attention (there are angry red marks hidden under ghost’s clothes; cat was was clean now, but that thing needed a damn pair of nail clippers). ghost carries it out into the hall by its neck, fur still dripping and leaving a trail on the tile behind them.

he’s a little peeved that price couldn’t seem to care less. cap’s a little annoyed that his sergeants have been so distracted, sure, but nowhere near as irritated as ghost would’ve thought he’d be.

“spoiled rotten,” the captain tsked, shaking his head as ghost let it drop. he’d carried it all the way to price, hissing and scratching; the thing’s scurried off to some corner of the office now, and all it did was bring a furrow to his superior’s brow. “the thing’s gonna starve when they’re not here to coddle it.”

“wouldn’t bother me any,” ghost grunted. he kicked around the corners of the room until the cat slunk back out, nothing more than a lazy little shadow that stuck around because of its indulgent caretakers. “should take it out, stupid thing.”

price just rolls his chair back up to the desk, hunching over it as his gaze drops back down to his work. his pen taps against the wood as he fiddles with it, waving ghost off with a hand. “‘s long as it’s not in my way, i don’t care what the hell they do with it. soap’ll forget about it in a week when he gets bored. gaz will let ‘im.”

surprise: they don’t forget. ghost would almost be impressed if not still annoyed (look it up, garrick- CSD. if he gets sick, he’s putting a barrel to the kit’s head).

time heals things, though. johnny still tosses the things his scraps, but he also gets amazon suggestions for cat food now because of his shopping habits. kyle still doesn’t want to take responsibility, but his search history is spotted with questions; random aspects of how to take care of the pet.

simon is still annoyed at the thing, but everyone sees the way he’ll pull of a glove just so he can scratch under its chin with his short nails. price still pretends not to notice that there’s an animal at all, but it’s his room where they cat will end up at night, curled into a discarded pile of blankets or on his chest.

ughh idk something about them with a cat whose not really their cat. but they get offended if you say it’s not theirs because of course it belongs to them. it’s just not their fault it hangs around. or that they have a separate bowl for it. or that the window is always cracked now like some sort of cat door. it really isn’t!

something cute about all of them being on base, but with this lazy little thing that hangs around and gives them company when they crack open a beer or clean their weapons or go to their rooms on those lonely nights. it’s no dog, but it does seem to love like one sometimes, with how unconditional it is with its affection affection.. love it

[flowerpottlady]

Firm

Day 3 of @jilymicrofics, Harry is turning out a bit like his Father, and James has a hard time getting firm.

***

It began on a Sunday morning in early May.  Lily was having a much-deserved lie-in, James sitting on the sofa - sipping his coffee and flipping through The Prophet, and Harry was on the floor, enclosed by a play-pin, surrounded by his many toys and stuffies. 

James reflected later on that maybe he should have been watching his son more, and maybe he shouldn’t have let Ollie, the orange tabby cat, into the play-pin to play with his nine-month-old baby. 

But here they were just moments later, Ollie cowering into a corner, Lily running haphazardly down their stairs, and James comforting their infant as he screamed in fright.  

“What happened?” Lily asked, her rapid heart rate slowing down, finding her husband and son thankfully unharmed - no Death Eaters or Dark Lords in sight. 

“Harry here thought it’d be a laugh to pull on Ollie’s tail,” James explained, rolling his eyes and rubbing his son’s back. “Ollie didn’t take kindly to that, hissed at him and scared him I think.” 

Lily moved forwards, glaring at Ollie for hissing at her baby, “my sweet boy,” she began, reaching out for Harry. His tears ended and his eyes widened as he was transferred into his Mum’s arms. “You can’t pull Ollie’s tale. It scares him.” 

The boy in question smiled widely then, releasing a joyful laugh as he nuzzled his head against his Mummy’s chest. 

It happened again, a few days later when Lily was bathing Harry, and Ollie decided to stroll across the edge of the bathtub, dangling his fluffy tail right into Harry’s reach. 

The following Friday Harry tugged on Ollie’s tail while Sirius sat on the floor, Harry in his lap - reading to him yet again from The Tales of Beedle The Bard. Ollie strutted by, and Harry yanked - with strength that Sirius deemed fitting for a future Beater - and the cat kept into the air, hissing and swiping at the pair. 

Later that evening, Lily and James sat across from each other at the kitchen table, silently enjoying leftover fish and chips that Sirius had brought to them earlier that day.  Harry sat in James’s lap, happily munching on the chips that James had broken up for him, when Ollie sauntered slowly across the floor. 

The baby reached out his chubby arm, grabbing onto Ollie’s tail, and disrupting a perfectly calm dinner. The cat sprinted from the room, and Harry began clapping, laughing hard and babbling nonsense. 

James couldn’t help but laugh too, basking in his son’s joy. Lily wasn’t laughing though, she pursed her lips perfectly, clearing her throat. 

“You have to be firm with him James.” Lily began, looking between her boys. 

“What’d you mean?” James asked, looking alarmed, ready to shove another forkful of fish into his mouth. 

“With Harry, he can’t keep pulling the cat’s tail,” she explained calmly. 

“Aw Lil, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s just a baby still.” 

“Well he needs to learn. It hurts the cat,” apparently this was no longer a laughing matter. “We’re going to get a letter home from Professor McGonagall in ten years, telling us he got detention for terrorizing Filch’s cat, and you’d probably reward him.” 

James contemplated this for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting up slightly as he stared down at his son, who resumed his messy consumption of chips. “Oh c’mon, we both know you’d praise him for pranking that cat.” 

“James.” 

He looked down again, “Harry, mate. Mum’s worried you’ll turn out like me.” 

“Bahh…” Harry replied as if he could understand what James meant. 

James smiled once more, his eyes softening. “I can’t tell him no Lily. He’s so small still, so perfect.” He smiled at Lily, heartwarming at the twinkle in her green eyes, he turned to Harry, staring at those same eyes. “I’m an absolute sap for you mate, you had me wrapped around your finger the moment you were born.” 

“James, his finger is the size of a snitch.” Lily grinned at him then, fully understanding the feeling well. 

“Bahh…” Harry said once more, eagerly banging his fists against the table.

***

Start from the beginning here: 31 Days of Potters

[cyberr-v0id]

A list of all the teddies/stuffed animals that are currently on my bed (or on the floor at the end if they fell off) because I want to share that information

Spotty dog (my dad won her first me at a fair ground shooting range when I was three at the Christmas fair! I’m at least her second owner, we always go to that shooting stand when it’s there and all the teddies are donated by people)

An actual Grogu

Diplodocus (I recently won him on hook a duck at my family’s home town’s carnival)

Hilda the orca (she’s from IKEA!)

The pug of love (a Valentine’s Day themed pug that I bought at a second hand stall)

My little tabby cat that I got at the last May Day fair from a cat rescues teddy tombola (recurring theme here)

Sunshine (suki lil peepers turtle)

Coral (another lil peepers turtle)

Percy!!! (Not technically a stuffie, he is a stegosaurus pencil case that probably has scissors inside, as well as pens and pencils)

Aria (ty beanie boo owl keyring who’s key ring bit is missing)

Tiny green crocodile that I got from the local reptile rescue centre when I was seven or so with my old best friend

Another tiny tabby kitty, but a ginger tabby this time!

Owlette (a ty beanie boo owl, non keyring version)

Trixie! My triceratops

One of the Toy Story aliens that I got at Disney land Paris when I was ten

A little grey cat that everyone else thinks is hideous but I love. I have rescued her from the sale box twice now

Buttercup (a Siamese cat beanie baby I’ve had for years, also second hand)

My build a bear black cat from when I was eight

My Lynx I got at a different animal recuse centre

Kira (a huge ty squishaboo from my birthday) sh is so soft

Sunshine (small edition)

Baby bat (from afore mentioned animal rescue centre)

Essy squish mallow (I got her cheap from my country’s equivalent of Walmart because someone had rubbed lipstick on her :[ )

Avril squish mallow

A slowly slipping off the headboard into the gap between the wall and the bed snake who is from either a theme park or the animal recuse centre

[alstroemeriadissonance]

NXX Turns Into Cat - Part 3 (Lukemeow)

Each NXX duder turns into a cat. Everyone else—Rosa, mostly—deals with the mess.

Separate Timelines for each NXX duder.

Hijinks and absolute pettiness (pun intended) ensue.

Other parts: Pt 01 - Meowrius | Pt 02 - Vynyaa

When Dr. Aaron Yishmir heard about the NXX Investigations Team from Luke, he had the impression that they were a group of capable, talented experts who excelled in their own careers and professions.

That was not what he saw when he charged into Dr. Vyn Richter’s garden, to answer Luke’s summons.

“Luke!” Rosa pleaded to whoever—whatever—it was on top of Dr. Richter’s prized fire tree, a magnificent tree covered in blazing flame red blooms. 

The fiery-red tree, almost two storeys high, was a magnificent sight to behold, surely. It warranted four people looking up at it, mouths slack-jawed with wonder; yet there was something wrong with the scene, for the expression in their faces was not joy, nor wonder, but one of terror and worry.

“Luke, just come down, please!” Rosa wrung her hands, then turned to Vyn. “Dr. Richter, don’t you have a ladder that we can use?”

Vyn shook his head. “No. None of the stepladders in my gardening shed and storage can stretch that high up.” He tsk-ed. “We need to call in a fire department to rescue…Luke.” He sounded as if he did not want to address whoever was stuck at the top of the tree as his colleague, Luke Pearce.

“Maybe I can try my luck and climb the tree.” Marius paced around the tree’s perimeter, planning his route towards the higher branches. “Yeah. It’s possible.”

“In case you fall and break your bones, Marius, please note that my emergency clinic is ill-equipped to administer first aid for broken limbs.”

“You’re useless, Vyn.”

“So are you, little von Hagen.”

What the hell is happening to Luke? Also, there’s no stray detective on the tree as far as I can tell. 

Aaron peered at the tree top, shading his eyes from the glare of the sunlight with his hand. 

Yeap. No Luke Pearce to be found there. 

Just an orange tabby.

Confused, Aaron approached them and put strong, firm hands on Vyn’s and Marius’s shoulders. “Well then, that only means you need a proper field doctor!” He put on his usual cheery demeanor in an attempt to have them drop their guard around him; the last time he interacted with them—Dr. Richter and Artem Wing—they proved to be very cagey and had to rely on Luke to fish out the details he needed from them.

“Yishmir. What are you doing here.” Vyn eyed him warily. “I do not recall us having an appointment with someone from the NSB.”

Aaron waved his hand dismissively “Oh, no. I’m not here for stuffy NSB business.” Then his face turned grim. “I’m here because Luke called me in for a medical emergency. Where is he?”

He did not expect that his simple, yet urgent, question would be met with such…waffling around. By everyone in the NXX Investigations Team, including the usually impeccable and prompt Dr. Richter. 

“Excuse me? Where is my boy Luke?” Aaron repeated. “He called me exactly thirty minutes ago. I would have been here earlier, if it weren’t for the unexpected traffic on my way here.”

The senior attorney among the lot, Artem, cleared his throat. “Ah. About that…”

Vyn quickly cut in. “He is doing well, Yishmir. Just how well is yet to be ascertained.”

Aaron had to blink and put a hand to his mouth to compose himself. “Look, my Lukey boy has this funny tendency to not call for help, unless he is literally dying inside, eaten by what is currently ailing him. But this time, he just called me. Surely you understand what I’m trying to say, right?”

This time, Rosa gasped. She had yet to hear about Luke’s rather dire prognosis; it was a sore point of contention between Aaron and his charge. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Rosie, is,” Aaron took a deep breath. “Lukey boy may be dying and everyone here is wasting my time giving me the runaround!” He was about to lose it. “Where. Is. Luke. Pearce.”

Vyn and Artem—a pair legendary for not seeing eye to eye—threw a glance at each other, and then nodded. Vyn spoke first. “Luke may have probably dialed your number in error. He is well.”

“I’d rather hear that from my patient.” Aaron gritted his teeth. He was totally losing it. “Richter. If I do not see him. I will beat each and everyone of you—with the exception of Miss Rosie here—and none of you can touch me, since I will have everyone here cited for obstruction of emergency medical care delivery—Miss Rosie included.”

Artem tried to cut in before Vyn could reply. “There is no such charge—” 

“Not yet, but there will be, Mister Wing, and this will not be the first time for me to pull strings,” Aaron said grimly. “Would be best if you lot remember what I am.”

He then glanced at his wristwatch. “I wasted around ten minutes. A lot can happen in ten minutes. Do any of you want me to break your fingers for ten minutes and have an idea how much pain Luke can go through in that time? Can I have a show of hands please, any volunteers? None?”

No one raised their hands, as expected. Aaron only received wary gazes and worried looks.

“Wait, what exactly is happening to Luke?” Rosa’s voice wavered. “He never told me anything.”

“It’s something I am trying to prevent, Rosie.” He let out a long drawn out sigh. “And here—”

Vyn had had enough. “Fine. Come with me, Yishmir.” He turned on his heel and strode along the stone pathway that cut through the garden and led towards the NXX Headquarters. “And whatever you see, keep it to yourself for the meantime.”

===

Vyn led Aaron to the CCTV console in the server room. The footage that showed the exact moment when Luke—shooting the breeze by the perimeter of Vyn’s garden—turned into the orange tabby had been rewound for around ten times already. “You are not shitting me,” was all the field doctor could say at the moment, his steel-blue, hawkish eyes carefully watching in -1.5x speed the manner of how Luke disappeared out of thin air, clothes dropping into the pavement, and the detective instantaneously replaced with an orange striped cat.        

“No, we are not shitting you, Yishmir,” Vyn said drily. “We are also at a loss of what to make with what just happened.”

Hmm. And this is presumably the part where Kitty Luke stepped on his phone and probably clicked on the automated messages by accident, including the emergency text I received… 

Several mouse clicks and hitting of keys later, Aaron dug into his jacket’s pocket hidden by the seam of his windbreaker’s zipper. He fished out a bunch of unassuming USB drives, all joined together by a keyring bearing a cartoon dog charm. 

“Hey, Richter?” He waved his bunch of USB drives at the psychiatrist. “Asking for permission to check your CCTV footage with my…uh, tools? We may find clues there.”

“Are you expecting me to just say yes, Yishmir?” Vyn’s eyes narrowed. “I am inclined to accept help from the NSB, especially since the missing in question is one of your own. But.” He grabbed the USB drives from Aaron’s hand. “What guarantee do I have that nothing unnecessary will touch NXX infrastructure?”

“None,” Aaron said, flatly. “I can’t give you any guarantees. The moment any of these babies get plugged in, if I wanted to plant anything, no security protocol nor measures can do anything about it.” He shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, I can tell in one glance that Lukey boy’s tools have made it in your system. Take that as you will,” he added, a cryptic smile playing on his lips.

The vexed look on Vyn’s face was priceless. Did the NXX really expect that NSB was going to play fairly? Aaron certainly expected better of them. 

“That is a given, we are all aware that Luke has been sent to us as a leash to keep us working within limits comfortable to Central.” Vyn easily recovered from being taken aback, but there was no mistaking the distrust dripping in his voice. “I merely do not appreciate us being pushed to the wall, and over something so…petty.”

“Well, if we wanted to do something, we wouldn’t do uh—this,” Aaron said, gesturing towards the looping footage of Luke turning into an unassuming cat. “Draws too much attention, takes too many steps, yadda, you name it.”

“Fair enough.” Vyn tossed the bunch of hard drives back to Aaron, then flashed a cat-like, satisfied grin. “This only means that the cure for Luke’s disease depends on the outcome of this little inane adventure, or,” his voice dropped to a vicious whisper, “how much the NSB pisses us off.”

“Ooh, scary,” was all Aaron said as he pulled a chair and set down to work.

Fifteen minutes passed with the field doctor inspecting the footage itself, including checking for any possible vectors from which an altered footage could be inserted—with nothing to show for it.

Aaron finally raised his hands in mock surrender.

“No, nothing. Footage and file are clean, and I checked your servers, all untouched.” Aaron sighed as he pocketed his USB drives. “Though…I saw some interesting prototypes from Pax.” He winked. “I’ll…shut up about them.”

“Let us focus on the matter at hand, Yishmir.” Vyn crossed his arms. “Well?”

Aaron shrugged. “That’s the same cat stuck up in the tree?”

“The very same.”

“Let’s get going then, there’s a kitty that needs—” Aaron barely could keep a straight face. “...saving. Pfft.”

“I am glad to see you are deriving joy out of this predicament.”

===

And Aaron derived even more joy out of the NXX’s predicament once they made their way back outside, in Vyn’s garden.

“Marius, you absolute twit.” Vyn finally buried his face in his hands, almost, just about, done. “We already have to be careful about calling in emergency services to retrieve the cat.” He then massaged his temples as he looked up at the orange tabby stuck high up on the tree…alongside Marius.

Aaron stifled a laugh. “Ohh I’m going to get a kick out of this.” He then formed a pretend phone with his hand—closed fist with the pinky and thumb sticking out—and held it to the side of his face. “Hello emergency services? I have a stray CEO stuck up in the tree, could you send in the firefighters?”

Marius, clinging to the branch in front of him for dear life, sniffed in indignation. “Well, ha-ha good to see you guys are enjoying it!” He clutched the tabby close to him with one arm; the cat squirmed and clawed Marius in an attempt to get out of his grasp. “Yow! Goddamnit Luke, I swear I’ll just throw you out of the tree…”

The retort came from someone unexpected. “The moment you do that, Marius von Hagen, I will make sure you fall from the tree.” Rosa then kicked the trunk of the fire tree, shaking it just enough to make the branches tremble and flame-red blossoms fall to the ground—a feat for someone wearing heels. “You hear me?!”

Vyn visibly panicked. He had spent quite a fortune having that specific fire tree balled and delivered from overseas, and surviving the trip was nothing short of a miracle. To think that his rose would mistreat it so. “Rosa, please, do not…”

“Oi! Missy! I was kidding! Kidding!” 

“Good lord.” Aaron laughed behind his hand. “Are your colleagues usually like this, Wing?” He turned to the lawyer who obviously wanted to answer No, I do not know any of these people.

“I don’t know them,” Artem said curtly, then walked away. “Richter, I’m leaving. I still have work to do back in the office.”

Vyn did not bother replying.

“Well, looks like it's a job for me,” Aaron said as he stretched his limbs. “Richter, do you have any ladder that can at least reach the lower branches?”

“Yes. The tallest ones I have can stretch out that much. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Rescue, of course.” Aaron shrugged off his windbreaker and draped it over a nearby wrought iron garden chair. “Can I borrow the ladder for a bit?”

As Vyn went off to retrieve a stepladder from his garden shed, Aaron nimbly scaled the fire tree’s trunk; he carefully assessed how much weight the branches within his reach could hold as soon as he perched on a particularly thick bough.

The field doctor did not need the ladder; that was for Marius to use once Aaron managed to lead him down the thick branches. “Hey, you doing fine there Mr. von Hagen?”

“What does it look like to you?!” Marius cried out, struggling between self-preservation from a death by falling by clinging to the tree with one arm, and keeping a secure hold on the still flailing tabby with the other.

“Calm down, take deep breaths, we’ll get you down in no time,” Aaron said reassuringly, then glanced downwards to check if Vyn had already laid out the stepladder beside the tree trunk. 

“Break a leg Marius,” Vyn called out from underneath as he tested the ladder for stability. “Good luck.”

“What the hell, I’m not putting on a show, Vyn,” Marius huffed as he followed Aaron’s lead, both carefully descending the tree’s limbs. “Or—do you really want to wish me harm?!”

“Took you long enough to guess.” Vyn stepped away, his eyes focused on the cat that had been the catalyst of the day’s misadventures. “Do be mindful to not let the cat get awa—ah, shit.”

The tabby, as soon as they managed to descend to a more manageable height, finally realized that it was safe to jump away from Marius. It successfully slipped out of his captor’s grasp and leapt to the ground…

…only to be tackled and grabbed by Rosa, who had been waiting under the tree in tenterhooks as the field doctor retrieved the stray cat and CEO. “Gotcha.”

Aaron gave her a thumbs up. “Nice save, Rosie.”

===

It was decided that because of Kitty Luke’s escape artist tendencies, the cat was to be confined in the NXX Headquarters lounge for the meantime, with someone to watch over it as the others worked to make heads or tails with whatever was happening. 

Rosa, of course, volunteered for the task.

“Well, it’s you and me now, Lukey,” Rosa cooed as she gently carried it with her onto the lounge sofa. “Do be a good boy and stay put, okay?”

“Meow.” It rubbed its muzzle with a white paw. 

“Awww.” She gathered the tabby into her arms, nuzzling its fur. “Why do you keep on running away?”

“Mrowr.” It twisted a bit in her hold, but did not leave her; at least, not yet.

Rosa sighed. Of course the cat wouldn’t answer. Yet if the cat was indeed Luke, she would want to know the reason why it had become so evasive and cagey towards everyone, including herself. 

“I wish you could talk, so you could tell us what’s wrong. Maybe chat about stuff for hours. Like what we used to do, before…” She felt a certain emotion form a lump at the back of her throat, only to be quickly swallowed back. “Before you left for university. Before mom and dad left for work.

“...It’s been lonely, you know. I really missed you. All these years…”

The cat stopped squirming, and settled on her lap, as if willing itself to listen to her.

The gesture encouraged Rosa to continue. “It’s just too bad that even when you’re finally back, we still can’t spare the time to hang out, huh.” Her fingers idly combed its thick ginger fur, relishing how soft it felt. “You got your work; I got my own work, not to mention my studies too.” 

A soft sigh slipped out of her lips. There was no use whinging about things and past regrets. 

Best to enjoy what's in front of her. She had Luke in her hold, in cat form. Incredible. It was another topic to be added to the backlog of things to talk about, when they finally get to catch up. 

If they get to even catch up, that is. 

Forcing a smile on her face, her hands slid underneath the cat's forelimbs, holding the furry creature out in front of her for a closer inspection.

Rosa appreciated how cute Kitty Luke was: thick orange fur that stuck out at odd angles, certainly a very Luke look; the cutest pink nose; and pale green eyes that stared back at her, curiously. Just like Luke.

“You’ll be a good boy, right?” 

“Nyan.”

Rosa smiled. Maybe Luke still understood her words even as a cat; it was responding, after all, even if all it could utter were monosyllabic meowing sounds instead of human speech. Maybe this strange moment counted towards them catching up with each other; Rosa certainly felt more comfortable pouring out her feelings to a cat instead of the man who should be listening to the misgivings she’d kept bottled up inside her all this time.  

“Stay put then, little buddy. I’ll just raid Vyn’s pantry for some snacks, alright?”

“Nyaan!”

===

Of course, Kitty Luke was nowhere to be found by the time Rosa returned with a plate full of sausages and a tin of canned tuna. 

For some reason she expected it, even as she was rummaging through the cabinets in Vyn’s kitchen. 

Did she want to see if Luke would leave her anyway, despite that quiet moment earlier, when they seemed to finally understand each other; despite Rosa finally being able to say what she wanted to tell him, ever since they met again, by chance? 

Whether she did, or not, she got the answer: Luke still left. 

Rosa had to excuse herself to the bathroom after reporting her lapse of duty to Vyn and the others. 

When she finally composed herself and rejoined the team, Aaron immediately noticed that something was off with Lukey’s precious Rosie. “Right, let’s get to work then. This time, it’s a treasure hunt!” He winked at Rosa. “Come with? I’ll tell you some fun tales about Luke’s time in the agency along the way.”

Rosa gave him a weak, tight-lipped smile and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” 

“Oi—” Marius was going to complain about Aaron’s overstepping in their jurisdiction, when Vyn gave the jacket of his sleeve a strong tug. “Leave them be,” Vyn whispered, despite a hint of misgiving layering over his own words. 

The psychologist didn't like it one bit, but he knew that Rosa held Luke close to her heart to some degree—he was hoping that it was only a matter of her being fond of them all, equally—but the way she almost fell apart at the thought of losing the detective only made it even more certain that her childhood friend was the one who occupied that special place in her heart.

He—ever her close friend—had no chance.

“Let’s split up from them and look for the cat in another area to cover more ground.”

===

Aaron’s and Rosa’s search eventually took them back to Vyn’s garden.

“Has he told you how we often make fun of him by pasting his mug into memes and posting them on our intranet?” Aaron chuckled as he parted the umpteenth hydrangea bush and peered inside for any signs of cat. 

“Mhm. I think I remember him whining about it once.” Rosa ventured to a farther corner of the garden, looking at the branches above her head. “Though, he never got the time to give me more details. Something about…NSB overworking him, I think?”

“Ha, you sure got us.” 

The next few minutes were spent in silence; the quiet sometimes broken by the rustling sounds of leaves and branches parting and giving way to their inspection.

Rosa eventually noticed that Aaron led the search not just towards hidden areas and cracks where cats can slip into; but specifically into nooks and crannies that were mostly cool and shaded, generally far away from foot traffic where they can remain undisturbed for long periods of time: places such as in between thick foliage, or underneath least-used vehicles. 

“We’ve kept our search only within this property…don’t you think it’s possible that Luke bolted to somewhere else? Maybe the park?” 

“Maybe, and I intend to search the nearby park if he’s not here. Buuuut,” Aaron stood up from where he knelt by the bushes, stretching his back now aching with all the crouching that he had been doing for the past hour. “I have a hunch that he’s just hiding nearby. Just a hunch.”

“How can you be so sure, Dr. Yishmir?”

Aaron bit his lip thoughtfully. Then, “Rosie, have you heard anything about what it means if a usually tame, well-socialized cat starts to withdraw and goes missing?”

“Um. No. Not really. What about it?”

Oh boy. Should I tell her? It was only a hunch anyway, and he never really got a chance to have a good look at the cat, at least to confirm if it was in a state that would trigger its dying behavior. Additionally, Luke still at the very least went through the motions of moving on with his life, even if he initially intended to avoid Rosa completely—until the two childhood friends met by chance once again.

“Cats tend to hide away from loved ones when they feel…” Aaron paused, looking for the best word to use in this particularly sticky situation. “...jeopardized, you see.”

Rosa didn’t say a word, but Aaron knew she heard him loud and clear. He added, “Dignity, and all that.”

He hoped that she would put two and two together, and come to an understanding on her own. Maybe that would cushion the blow of that particular news, somewhat; whatever happens, he’d lend her an ear…after they find the cat.

“Earlier, you said Luke was in pain,” Rosa asked quietly. “What exactly do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. It wasn’t up to him whether or not to disclose such details to her. 

Even though he had been arguing with Luke—on her behalf, even if she didn’t know—precisely because he feared that Luke would do the very same disappearing act on her, his remaining loved one, not even giving her a chance for a proper closure.

It was too cruel, if Aaron had a say in the matter. Just too cruel.

After much deliberation all he could tell her was, “Let’s just say that you should cherish your moments with him more. That’s all.”

Rosa was about to demand an explanation, when they heard a cat yowling—and the suffering, pained bitching of two adult men—all the way from the back entrance of Vyn’s house. 

She and Aaron quickly rushed towards the audible chaos, and were met with the rare sight of Vyn and Marius sporting several scratches along their arms, with one particularly long, painful looking gash on Vyn’s cheek.

Aaron winced at the sorry sight. “I’m not going to pry, but it looks like my boy hates you both. A lot.”

“Where’s—oh my god, Dr. Richter, are you sacking poor Luke?!”

In Vyn’s arms was his own white doctor’s coat used as a makeshift sack, containing an obviously furious feline inside, yowling and struggling to be let out. 

There would undoubtedly be some hell to pay the moment the tabby is freed from the confines of Vyn’s coat.

“I did not want to resort to doing this in the first place!” Vyn struggled to keep Luke in his hold, his barely-held back wincing betraying the pain that he endured from the claws long and sharp enough to poke tiny, pinprick holes out of the thick fabric. “Marius, go ahead to the conference room and close the door to the servers. We’re taking the cat there.”

“What? And risk our shit getting wrecked?”

“Consider it a—for crying out loud,” Vyn hissed as he struggled to hold on to the cat despite its claws catching into his skin, “...physical penetration test. In reverse. Whatever.”

“Ten points for teamwork,” Aaron remarked as he and Rosa followed them into the NXX Headquarters, with Marius running ahead of them.

===

“You sure you’d be okay in there, Rosie?” Aaron asked after they managed to let the cat spill into the conference room without much issue—except for a few more scratches dealt onto Vyn and Marius purely out of spite, before it dove into a well-concealed corner just behind the rubbish bin. 

“We’ll need to leave you two alone again for a bit, because these two chumps,” he gestured towards the other two men, sporting several cat-inflicted injuries. “...Need some fixing. Stay put, yeah?”

Rosa nodded. “Yeah. I think Luke’s okay with me. He won’t hurt me.” She plastered a smile onto her face until they left the room, closing the heavy glass electronic door behind them with a resounding click.

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, Rosa slowly crept towards the darker corner of the conference room, where she last saw Kitty Luke slip into. “Hey, Lukey?” she called out in a soft voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. Come here, please?”

A faint meowing could be heard from behind the steel bin. “Myaaan.”

“Lukey…are you hurt?”

“Nyaa.”

Rosa went on all fours and carefully slid the steel rubbish bin aside, revealing the cat curled up into a tight ball against the wall.

“Hey. Hey little buddy,” she whispered, reaching a hand out to the tabby, yet without touching it. “It’s me. Wanna cuddle?”

The cat visibly relaxed, and nuzzled the palm of her hand. Rosa could feel a bit of vibration as it started purring against her skin, despite how guarded it was moments ago.

“Good boy. Let’s sit together? Catch up a little?” She cooed as she slowly carried the tabby into her arms. 

Kitty Luke didn’t react violently as it did with her male colleagues; instead it buried its face into the crook of her elbow. 

As if it was trying to hide from her, but not enough to leave the warm comfort of her bosom.

The small gesture gave Rosa hope, at least. “Hey, buddy. Wanna play?”

“Nyaa.” The tabby burrowed deeper into her arms. “Nyan.”

But Rosa wasn’t having it. “Nuh-uh, Lukey.” She adjusted her hold and had the tabby lying in her arm with its fluffy belly up. “Peek-a-boo time!”

Might as well have a little fun while he’s like this. Smiling sincerely this time around, Rosa gently tickled Kitty Luke’s white, fluffy belly with the fingers of her free hand. “Peeeeeeeek…”

“Myaaa?”

“...a boo!!” she cried out, laughing, as she suddenly pulled back her hand and stretched out all fingers above the cat.

Surprised, the tabby stretched out all four limbs into the air the same time as her fingers.

The conference room was soon filled with Rosa’s delighted laughter; this time, she was intent on playing with Luke, like they used to when they were still children. Her fingers tickled its belly once more. “Peeeeek~”

The cat looked at her wide-eyed in anticipation, paws still up in the air.

“Ahahaha! Kidding!” Laughing once more, Rosa buried her face in the cat’s belly fluff…

…and found herself on the floor with him, nosing Luke’s very human eight-pack abs.

“R-rosa…?” Luke whispered, his voice strangled as he tried to move his limbs. “Um—uhh…I, uh…” His brain, freshly turned into a human one, was still trying to get a good grasp of the complexities of cognitive functions; his tongue couldn’t find the appropriate words to properly communicate that he, Luke Pearce, was in a complete state of undress; and therefore Rosa’s position, bracing over him with her lips on his abdomen was very, very inappropriate indeed.

Before Rosa could react accordingly the glass door opened with a click, and in strode the three men who reacted accordingly to the rather saucy sight that greeted them.

“Holy shit Missy, couldn’t you get a room first before welcoming him back?” Yet Marius’s voice was pained more than whiny. “I totally did not need to see this. We did not need to see this.”

He sounded as if he was about to cry.

Vyn looked as if he wanted to turn on his heel and quietly walk away; yet after a split second the blank look on his face was quickly replaced with a placid smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Ah. Welcome back, Luke. I would bill you for the injuries, but Yishmir did a good job in patching us up.” With slow, measured footsteps he walked towards them, a canvas tote hanging from his hand. “Here. I gathered your clothes,” he said calmly as he placed the bag by the detective’s head, as if he wasn’t talking to someone lying on the floor of the conference room naked, being held by the object of his unrequited affection. “Miss Rosa, maybe Luke would want some space as he clothes himself?”

Vyn’s mention of her name snapped Rosa back into self-awareness. “Oh, oh shit, um. Dr. Richter, this totally isn’t what it looks like, believe me!” She stammered out her words as she pushed herself away from Luke’s prone form and stumbled away, burying her face in her hands.

Aaron merely whistled. “That’s my boy,” he said approvingly. “Pretty quick on the uptake mmmyeah?” He wiggled his eyebrows

Luke only groaned, still lying down on the floor. “THIS ISN’T WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE, OKAY?”

===

After a flurry of misplaced apologies, explanations, and demands of what the fuck just happened, the NXX Investigations Team sans Artem, and with the addition of Aaron Yishmir regrouped in the lounge. 

“So, you are telling us, some sketchy-looking old man just called your attention in some back alley in North Stellis, and gave you…this?” Marius, leaning against the coffee bar, held the pink-colored silk omamori with a calico cat embroidered on one side. “And you think this is related to what happened today?”

“To be honest, I have no clue. No clue whatsoever. Seriously.” Luke shrugged weakly, still reeling with the effects of the drugs he just took earlier. With his head slightly fogged, he sank deeper into the lounge’s sofa, furtively leaning his shoulder against Rosa, who sat right beside him.

As soon as he slipped back into his clothes moments ago, Aaron had immediately recognized the signs that he wasn’t feeling well; the field doctor surreptitiously handed Luke his usual cocktail of drugs including painkillers that he swallowed dry, when he thought  nobody was looking.

“Hey. Marius, can I take a look?” Rosa reached out and took the flat silk pouch off his hands, inspecting it closely.

There was no mistaking it.

Oh. Oh damn. 

“It’s…well, I know this thing.” Her voice faltered. 

But…is it really possible? The shrine really had this delivered to him? I thought they meant that they would send my prayers to him…not this way. Not literally…

“Come to think of it, did you not go to Japan a month ago for your business trip with Ms. Taylor?” Vyn asked, placing his cup of tea back into the saucer set on the glass table right in front of him. “Did you come across this kind of charm during a shrine visit, perhaps?”

Rosa nodded. “I…well, I encountered a small shrine when I almost got lost on my way home, so I thought to pay a visit.” She chewed her lip as she gathered her memories of the visit into a coherent montage. “I met this old priest…bought this exact type of charm…”

“Interesting…” Aaron murmured. “You know, normally I’d point and laugh at you for even having this kind of conversation seriously, but after seeing what happened…yeah…”

The next couple of hours were spent throwing around theories and speculations as to what happened, with Aaron also joining in as their special guest for that particular “investigation”. 

However, Luke and Rosa did not pay much attention, despite being the center of the topic at hand. 

For in the midst of the excited commotion their hands slipped behind their backs, their fingers interlaced with each other’s. 

Rosa vowed to take Dr. Yishmir’s advice seriously, to never let a moment with Luke go to waste.

And Luke, he chose to keep the fact that he remembered everything that transpired while he was a cat; including Rosa’s words of regret—words that he did not get a chance to hear until this morning.

Maybe it was time to rethink his priorities.

Maybe it was time to rewrite his plans, and integrate more of Rosa into his future, for what it’s worth.

[voiceless-terror]

a little ficlet for @jonsimsandcats day! set in season one.

“Once again, there’s really no need to buy me tea-”

“And once again, it’s the least I can do,” Martin replies, happy to just be out of the archives. His living situation is not ideal and the dust in Document Storage is not helping his allergies. Still, it’s better than being worm food, so he’s trying to be grateful. And it is, after all, the least he can do, after sneezing and spilling a mug of tea all over Jon’s latest report. “Besides, the fresh air will do us both some good.”

“I suppose,” Jon grumbles, eyes trained ahead as he keeps a surprisingly brisk pace for someone of his stature. “But only for a moment.”

“Of course.” Martin’s shocked he actually agreed to it, considering how high-strung he’s been lately with all the worms, and the deadlines, and the general mess. But Jon had just stared at the slowly-soaking papers and sighed, getting to his feet when Martin offered. And he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s a nice day, anyway, and the blessed moments outside are worth Jon’s grumbles. Jon’s been...nicer, lately. Well, maybe not nice, but softer -  he’ll occasionally let out a sarcastic remark and glance towards Martin, as if to check if he smiled, and will tell him goodnight when he deigns to leave the archives. Martin logically knows this is the bare minimum for polite interaction, but he’ll take what he can get. Tim once told him Jon needs time to warm up to people, and that he can actually be quite fun. Martin’s warming up period seems to have lasted half a year, and he’s still running a bit cool.

“Stop!” Martin lets out a grunt as Jon throws an arm out, hitting him directly in the stomach. He’s looking from left to right with a sudden intensity, his eyes wild. Martin’s mind immediately pivots to worst-case scenarios- worms, Prentiss-

But there are no worms, and certainly no Jane. There’s just Martin and Jon, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like idiots. He opens his mouth to speak when he hears a tiny, mewling sound coming from somewhere to his right.

Jon’s head perks up, a rare smile gracing his features. It makes him look impossibly young. “Martin, did you hear that?”

Martin blinks. “Uh, the-”

He’s once again interrupted by the tiniest of meows and watches as Jon immediately crouches where he stands, tiptoeing over to a tiny alleyway. It’s almost comical, and Martin would laugh if he weren’t so dumbfounded by this turn of events. Jon starts to make a strange little whispery noise, holding out his hand, and that’s when Martin starts to worry for his mental state.

“Jon, are you-”

“Shh!”

And suddenly the source of the tiny meow- an equally tiny cat - bounds out from behind a trash can, stopping hesitantly in front of Jon’s hand. It’s a dirty little tabby, almost pitiful looking, but that doesn’t deter Jon in the slightest, his entire face lighting up at its appearance. He smiles encouragingly, going still, and the cat creeps forward, moving to sniff at his fingers and then butt its head against his hand.

“Oh, look at this little man-” It’s not quite baby-talk, too serious and too Jonathan Sims to ever be described that way, but it’s a strange enough tone and it sort of does something to Martin in the vein of indigestion and heart palpitations. Here’s his stuffy boss, crouching in a dirty alleyway, petting a dirty cat, and whispering sweet nothings as if it were his own.

“I-I thought you didn’t like animals?” is all he manages to get out.

Jon’s smile doesn’t waver as he leans closer to give the cat a particularly good scritch as it rubs enthusiastically against his hand. “I don’t like them when they’re defecating in my archive.” Ah. Touche. “But you wouldn’t do that, would you? Would you?” The cat, unsurprisingly, responds only by purring as Jon scratches at it’s chin. “Of course. That’s what I thought.”

Martin crouches down beside him, the cat leaping back at the sudden movement, but Jon pays it no mind. “Oh, that’s just Martin,” he says to the cat, reaching towards it again. “He won’t hurt you. He’s very nice. Aren’t you, Martin?”

Martin nods seriously, as if he’s not being talked about like a well-behaved dog by his boss who barely tolerates him. He reaches his hand out, like Jon had, and watches as the cat butts up against it after a few sniffs. And Jon’s looking at it so fondly, that Martin almost forgets how to breathe. 

When the cat finally scurries off about ten minutes later (a car backfired, much to Jon’s chagrin), Martin’s joints are aching and Jon’s staring forlornly down the alleyway, like a wife watching her husband go off to war. He lets out a sigh before turning to Martin, suddenly all business. They say absolutely nothing as Martin gets their tea, and it’s as if the whole thing happened in some sort of fever dream.

That’s what he’d think, at least, if he didn’t have a few clandestine snapshots of Jon saved on his phone, to show to Tim and Sasha when he gets back. And if he didn’t have that funny, sinking feeling in his chest that meant yes, it did happen, and yes, he might just have a crush on his boss now.

Goddamnit.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30983480

[serendipitystation]

Wesper with cats

They would climb them both but especially Jesper n they would eat wylans hair. The cats take Jespers spot on the bed beside wylan it’s very funny

"Why is there a cat in here?" Jesper looks up at a confused Wylan while the tabby cat in question paws at Jesper's lazing hand. The sharpshooter sits on the floor of the Van Eck residence, his gangly legs stretched out the door to the back garden and looking entirely unfazed by the situation.

"That is a great question, one I actually posed to the cat himself," Jesper says cheerfully. "Unfortunately, he doesn't speak Kerch."

"Jesper."

"I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when the cat appeared. He must be a stray- he's got no collar and he's pretty skinny." As Jesper pets the cat, he mocks sticking his nose in the air. "I can't help that I have natural magnetism." Wylan rolls his eyes.

"Just make sure he doesn't stay. We don't need a cat," Wylan says. It's no lie, either- with the pair's comings and goings for the Dregs and Marya in no state to care for an animal, having a cat would be a hindrance. Jesper frowns.

"But we can't just leave him outside. This isn't like the Slat- we have food and shelter enough for a small army. Besides, cats are self-sufficient, like us crows." Jesper picks up the cat and holds him at eye level. The cat meows in response and Jesper turns to Wylan with a pout.

"See? He wants to stay- he just said so." At this, Wylan crosses his arms.

"I thought he didn't speak Kerch," says Wylan accusingly. Jesper just shrugs.

"He knows a few words."

Evenings in the Van Eck household are when the stuffy house is most alive. It feels emptier these days without Inej, who's off on the high seas, but, between Jesper's antics, Wylan's music, and the gentle bustle of the housestaff, there's plenty of energy to go around. Their new housemate, however, might just best both of their efforts.

"What in the- ouch!" Wylan grimaces as the tabby digs into his shoulder with a yowl, seeking higher ground atop Wylan's armchair. Upon reaching the top, the cat meows and spreads out. Wylan doesn't mind animals, cats included and Alys's terrier excluded. He's fed scraps to strays before and stopped to pet the muzzle of many a friendly dog. But he's never owned a pet. Now, he knows he was right not to. Were it not for the look on Jesper's face, Wylan would have long found another home for the tabby currently batting at his curls.

"Are you being mean to Olivier again?" Jesper's voice pipes up from the kitchen.

"I thought we agreed to pick a name we both liked," says Wylan with a frown, trying to focus again on his book. The tickling of the paws was making things difficult.

"You said you didn't mind Olivier," Jesper says as he comes around the corner.

"It was supposed to be a joint decision."

"Well, what did you want to name him?"

"I liked the name Jak."

"Jak? That sounds like too roguish. Our son will not grow up sounding like a criminal," Jesper says firmly. Wylan's head shoots up.

"Our son?" He asks incredulously. He rolls the word around in his mind. Even only in reference to a pet, the word feels odd. Jesper quirks his eyebrow.

"Well, what else is he? "Roommate" and "pet" are too formal," Jesper says. Begrudgingly, Wylan has to admit that he has a point...but only kind of. He's still not as fond of the cat as Jesper is. As if on cue, the creature under discussion nips at Wylan's head. Wylan yelps and turns to glare at the cat.

"If he's our son, then he has your strange appetite," Wylan mutters, rubbing his head.

"He doesn't eat that much," Jesper replies. He frowns, eyeing the cat for a moment. "Come to think of it, he has gained a lot of weight." Jesper reaches past Wylan and picks up the cat. The sight of him holding out the cat as if in interrogation is amusing. Wylan watches as Jesper mulls things over. Then, out of nowhere, his mouth gapes.

"Are you an Oliviera?!"

---

"How in the world did we miss it?" Wylan scratches his head. The afternoon sun sends their shadows stretching like giants on the cobblestones of the government district as he and Jesper walk home after a day's work. "We should have guessed when we realized how possessive she gets when she takes up residence on the bed."

"Didn't you study biology at one point? Like animals and such?"

"Not cats. What about you- you're the one who grew up on a farm."

"It's a jurda farm. Not much by way of cats."

"What are we gonna do about all the kittens?" Wylan says with a sigh. As much as it would delight Jesper to have a house full of creatures with as much energy as himself, it's not practical. Then again, not much about their life up until now could be framed as such.

"We could sell them- rich people love purebred pets." Jesper suggests.

"As much as I'd love to do more illegal things than usual, I'd prefer not to hoodwink our neighbours." At this, Jesper gives a nonchalant wave of the hand.

"Fine, fine, nothing illegal. Do people even have pet stores in Ketterdam?"

"I think so. I'll ask the staff to look into it." Wylan says as they exit an alleyway and the familiar house comes into view. It's a good feeling to see the house and know that it's been put to better use than it ever has been before. Were his mother recovering faster, Wylan thinks she would agree. Beside him, Jesper muses in silence.

"Y'know, there's room in the house for more than us." His voice is light, teasing- it matches the mischief in his eyes. Wylan laughs as he reaches the front door.

"There's only so many times you can get your way, Jes," he says as he lets them into the front hall.

"Mmmm, don't speak too soon." Jesper winks. Before he can see Wylan blush, he turns and heads for the stairs. Wylan barely gets to the living room before he hears Jesper's voice from the bedroom.

"Oh, so now that's your side of the bed, Olive? Great."

---

"Absolutely not."

"A cat could be very useful, Dirtyhands. Keeps away all the rats."

"Not the ones that do real damage."

"With Inej gone, surely you need something to cuddle with-"

"I will cut out your tongue if you say one more word, Jesper."

---

"You can say it, it's okay," Wylan can hear the smile in Jesper's voice. "'The cat was a good idea, Jesper.' Just a few words, but plenty of gratitude."

Wylan peers in his mother's bedroom, watching the smoke-colored kitten cuddle in his mother's lap. Marya strokes it contentedly, her face dreamily calm. Wylan signs in assent.

"It seems promising," Wylan admits.

"And you said you didn't want a cat," Jesper teases. Wylan just smiles.

"At least Jak is quieter than his mother."

[ridiasfangirlings]

1) Post-S1. Homra is still reeling from the death of Mikoto and Homra members have drifted apart. Misaki, having lost his support system and feeling abandoned, stands outside in the middle of a storm listlessly, like a kitten in the rain. A Strain finds him there and turns him into just that. A small, ginger tabby with big amber eyes, soaking wet and mewling miserably. As a cat, Misaki still has the emotional range of a human, but not the memory. He knows he feels sad, but can't remember why.

Aw tiny bedraggled kitty Misaki with big sad golden eyes and probably being a bit of a shrimpy kitten too, even Fushimi can't dislike him. So imagine soon after the end of S1 after Kusanagi's left to go overseas and Homra's all fragmented Yata's having difficulty dealing with his feelings. The place where he finally felt he belonged has been destroyed and he doesn't even have Saruhiko around to lean on, he's just really depressed and feels like he's been abandoned by everyone. He's out skating listlessly around the city when it starts to rain, Yata accidentally loses his footing and his skateboard goes flying off into the river. Yata's like isn't that just my luck, staring down into the water and feeling like he wants to cry as he gets pelted by the rain. This is when the Strain spots him, maybe it's even an actual cat Strain who's out in the rain and wet. It rubs against Yata's legs and Yata reaches down to pet it, as his hands touch the cat's fur he gets this weird floaty feeling and suddenly everything starts spinning in front of him.

Fushimi meanwhile is walking along the street near where Yata is, complaining to himself about the rain and the wet. He's been sent out to find a Strain and in searching for intel he learned that Homra's Yatagarasu was spotted somewhere around here. He's annoyed that he didn't find either Strain or Misaki and decides he should just go back before he catches a cold. That's when he hears the saddest little 'mew' by his feet. Fushimi looks don and there's this little ginger kitten pawing at his shoes. Fushimi shoos it away and tries to walk past but the kitten keeps following him, mewling all sadly and looking totally bedraggled. It won't stop following him and finally Fushimi mutters 'annoying' as he reaches down and picks it up, figuring he can pawn it off on Benzai later.

Fushimi gets back Scepter 4 and just passes out in his room, setting the kitten down before climbing up onto his bunk. He's already caught a small cold from being outside and his head feels stuffy, plus he keeps thinking about Misaki and how Yata hasn't been acting normally after what happened to Mikoto. It irritates him for reasons he can't really name and he pulls the blankets over his head again as he starts to shiver a bit. Suddenly there's this small spot of warmth next to him and Fushimi unconsciously pulls it closer, Misakikitty cuddling up and purring against him. They end up sleeping that way all night long, whenever Fushimi starts to shiver too much or thrash a little from nightmares Yata will just start nuzzling or licking him and it like instantly calms Fushimi down.

The next day Fushimi feels better, he sees the kitten is still there and sighs, saying the cat can stay with him for one more day but then Fushimi's giving it away. He gets the cat some food and then goes to work, while he's there the cat curls up on his bed. Fushimi's working when he learns that Yata's skateboard was found in the river and he has this moment of like total panic even as he thinks there's no way, it couldn't be. He decides to go investigate for himself, heading back to his room. Meanwhile Yata wakes up back to his old self, asleep on Fushimi's bunk in Fushimi's room and he can't recall how he got there. It's super awkward and Yata isn't sure what to do, he decides to escape out the window before Scepter 4 can see him. The door swings open and Yata and Fushimi's eyes meet for just a moment before Yata quickly makes his escape. Fushimi has no idea how Yata got into his room or why, but somehow he feels a little relieved (it's not until later that he realizes the kitten is gone too and wonders if it belonged to Yata. He figures it's fine, it's not like he liked the cat or anything and it certainly didn't make his sleep any better having that cat beside him).

[blarrghe]

10 and 16, your choice 👀

Currently neglecting everything else I have going on for this Dorianders modern au. This is going to go somewhere...interesting.

16. I need a date for this wedding from the cliche prompts

Dorian asks a favour, he even has the foresight to ask using kittens. How can Anders say no?

Continues from the last one, for more of this tale you can read them in order on AO3

--

He had a wrap made with roasted vegetables, house made hummus, and smoked tofu, and it was surprisingly good. A little expensive still, but the menu said that a portion of all the proceeds went towards supporting the animal shelter, so really no part of him could find reason to complain. A skinny young tabby came and sat by them while they ate, and Anders stroked its stripes slowly, almost mesmerized, while Dorian told him the latest dramatic tale from some high-brow party he’d been to the night before. Anders was only half listening; they’d been friends for just over a month, though with all the little chunks of time they found to spend together, it seemed longer, and in that time Anders had learned that Dorian went to an unbelievable number of fancy parties. It seemed like there was a new one each night, fundraisers and awards ceremonies and shows of support for one cause or another. Pompous, stuffy affairs that he looked to Anders to laugh over, later. Anders didn’t mind, exactly, he could make fun of upper class excess any day of the week, and he actually appreciated being privy to some of the more political gossip, but there was a reason why Dorian seemed to always cap the nights off with an outing to some noisier, bouncier club. Most of what he did for work was painfully boring. And the stories that came after, about what happened at said bouncy clubs, were worse still. 

He was going through it, Anders reminded himself, he didn’t really talk about it, but it was there. Grief and guilt and an unmistakable feeling of relief, which only led him to more guilt. There was a good deal of alcohol in the mix, too. He looked good, tall and handsome, workouts the next day to detox from the wild nights, but he was still a mess, underneath it all. Easy to forget, smooth as he talked, but Anders had an uncanny ability to see through veils, thanks to that ghost still shadowing his soul. 

As his friend, Anders was more or less supportive; reminders about the uselessness of detoxes, a sounding board for work-related gripes, encouraging smiles when it looked like Dorian might say something a little closer to the truth. But as a man who had seen him, been struck down by the lightning bolt of his smile every time it graced his lips, he was mostly just jealous. But Dorian was busy treating his grief with sex and mindnumbing dance beats, and Anders would rather be a friend than a drunken encounter at a noisy club, so that was that. And he was very deliberately not waiting. He’d done all that before, the yearning and pining and endless aching for a one-sided love, and it was fucking terrible. Unhealthy. Friendship was good, friendship was healthy. Being used as some kind of distraction would not be, no matter how tempting. 

Anders, meanwhile, had found his own distraction in the form of a coworker who was also decidedly going through something. Someone as different as could be from Dorian, and who had no undue attachment to Anders whatsoever. In fact, she had three or four men in rotation and was very obviously beginning to fall in a complicated way for one of the other ones. So distractions abounded, but at least between himself and Dorian there could just be a solid foundation, untroubled by jealousy and sex. Except for when he smiled. 

“Anders?” Dorian’s voice cut through his thoughts, and the skinny tabby looked up, irritated that Anders had abruptly stopped petting it. “Alright, I get it, Tevinter politics, boring.” Dorian went on, “shall I leave you here with your new friend?” The cat hopped down from its perch on the seat next to Anders, and slunk away, indifferent. 

“I — ah,” Anders shook his head, turning his focus back to Dorian, who always seemed to be smirking at him. “Sorry, I’m just tired.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow, then glancing away over Anders’ shoulder, he indicated something with a slight nod. “Would a kitten help?” 

Anders turned to look, and whatever else was going on in his heart simply melted away, as two bright white kittens emerged stumbling from one of the carpeted cat tunnels set out under the windows of the cafe, wobbling and hopping over one another with fluffy little tails and bright blue eyes. 

“Sweet maker,” he breathed, and he could hear Dorian laughing under his breath as he watched, “I’m going to go pet those kittens now.” Anders announced, leaving his head-shaking and amused friend behind. 

He played with the kittens until they finished being curious about him and wandered off to sniff at someone else, and then he took a look around the place, appreciating the genius of it. Lots of fun shelves and carpeted tunnels and posts with fluffy balls on strings tied to their ends, cats lounging and wandering about; the skinny tabby, the two white kittens, an old black and brown giant with long hair and a grumpy expression, watching from a shelf on high, and several others, sleeping in happy piles on top of one another in various hiding spots or jumping from platform to platform overhead. There was a bulletin board on the wall with each cat’s picture posted up, along with an informative biography detailing their name, breed and personality. Paperwork for adoption could be requested from the servers, and the place had purportedly housed over a hundred lonely cats in the short time since its opening. There were some pictures of the lucky adoptees up on the board as well, and a flyer requesting volunteer help at the shelter. Anders ripped off one of the phone numbers hanging from it. 

By the time Anders returned to their table, feeling altogether lighter and refreshed, Dorian had paid their bill. Anders watched as Dorian stood, pulling the strap of his gym bag back up over his shoulder and checking his watch with an apologetic grimace. 

“You didn’t have to pay,”Anders frowned, reaching in his pocket for the bills to cover his share. Dorian shrugged. 

“I may have ulterior motives, actually.” He replied, and Anders’ frown deepened. “I need to ask you a favour.” 

He crossed his arms, feeling rather buttered up, what with the kittens and the lunch and the way Dorian was still slyly smiling at him. 

“There’s an event next week, and I need someone to accompany me…” 

“I’m no good at formal events,” Anders warned, “I’ll get you voted out of the Magisterium just by holding my fork wrong or something.” 

“It’s not that kind of event, it’s a — it’s a family affair. A wedding.” Dorian admitted the context stiffly, a tenseness in his jaw already. It had been weeks since the funeral, which he’d never talked about at all, but the way he said wedding sounded about as much like one. 

Anders’ heart stilled. “Can’t you find a date?” He quipped, or tried to quip, throat going dry again. 

Dorian sighed. “I could take the one my mother’s found, or I could take a friend.” he replied, eyes pleading. Fuck that word and his desperate eyes. “Besides, the whole thing would be much more tolerable with someone to make snide remarks with on the sidelines. Free food, free wine, saving me from an evening of drudgery celebrating the union of some distant fourth-cousin and her fifth husband. Please?” 

“I don’t much want to antagonize your mother.” Anders said, still frowning. He remembered her in the hospital, shouting bloody murder at his supervisors and snapping at the nurses. And it didn’t escape him either that for Dorian to bring another man to a family affair would set tongues wagging; that he probably wanted it to. Anders had a habit of flaunting Tevinter sensibilities where it came to things like gender presentation and respectable life choices. Some of it was accidental — there were so many rules to Tevinter codes of behaviour, it was too easy to break them — but some of it was deliberate. He missed Kirkwall, where none of it had really mattered, and some part of him didn’t want to let Tevinter rigidity take away his freedom. Halward Pavus, rest his temperamental soul, had seemed to pinpoint him for his otherness even while laying on his deathbed, and had let him know it with regular scorn. Scorn he’d no doubt directed at Dorian his whole life, given all the maladaptive coping mechanisms he was displaying in the wake of his death. And Anders was still trying not to become a maladaptive coping mechanism. Spirits on earth, he needed to call Merrill. 

“Not even a little?” Dorian prodded, breaking through his brooding once again, “it can be great fun you know; it’s practically a hobby of mine.” 

Anders sighed. “I wouldn’t know what to wear.” he said, a lame excuse that Dorian would happily rectify in a second, given how much he delighted in his own stylings. He could see it already, a smirk coming back to his lips out of that tense jaw, ready to make some suggestions as soon as Anders gave him permission. 

“We can work on that. Come on, if you say no I’ll be forced to get exceedingly drunk, reject a probably perfectly tolerable woman, and generally make a scene.” 

“As though inviting me isn’t going to do that,” Anders protested. No, Dorian didn’t talk about his family much, but Anders didn’t need him to in order to figure him out. 

“You’re a friend, and a doctor. It’s plenty respectable.” Dorian leaned back, “and an excuse to leave early, if you get called away for some sort of...medical emergency.” he winked. 

Anders sighed again. “Fine,” he said, shaking his head and wondering who exactly was deciding his responses at this point; clearly not the part of him that was sensible. “But I’m not buying new robes.” 

“Of course not, you have terrible taste.” Dorian grinned, “I’ll find you something.” 

Anders took the bus home, and fell asleep on his couch, an unsent text message still in the draft stages on his phone. Not to Merrill, she would be useless in this particular dilemma, but to a different old friend. Not that he trusted Isabella to know what to do, either, but at least her advice would be fun. 

[skyyclan]

Sleepwalk

Hi I finally wrote something for one of my ocs so here it is,,,

Warnings for: Death, blood, injury, dogs, horror, and nightmares. (The deaths did happen, but this is all just a nightmare reliving them)

The night was cold, dark, and a bit drizzly. It couldn’t be much later than midnight.

Startled awake, amber eyes shot open and quickly scanned the stuffy den around him. Heavy, labored breaths were visible in the crisp night air thanks to the bright light from the nearly full moon. The only sounds other than the breathing of the cats around him were the rustling of tree branches that draped over the forest around them all.

Nobody was up at this time of night, not usually. This was the time of night where, if you woke up, it was because you had problems. The troubled staring from the ticked tabby tom aimed at the larger grey tabby tom next to him proved that much. Slowly, tentatively, a dark brown paw was raised and began drifting towards the comforting broad shoulders of the other cat, only to freeze and quickly retreat.

A silent thought shot through Cavestalker’s mind, chastising him for nearly making his problems public again. It made him want comfort so much more, but he pushed them down as he decided to lift himself from the warmth that clung to the nest. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, the lean tom exited the den into the open of the camp’s clearing.

The first thing his eyes landed on was the empty spot where Honeyleaf’s body had once been days before. Even with Stoneheart’s comfort that night, the pain still stung his heart like venom. He could swear he could still scent the smell of death clinging to his pelt from her.  Roughly, he shook his head and forced the memories from the front of his mind, though they continued to cling to the back of his mind like a stubborn tick, slowly draining at his willpower. 

He forced himself from his frozen stance, turning his body away from the sight of the clearing and stalking towards the entrance of the camp. The thorns and branches that lined the entrance, protecting it from unfamiliar cats, scraped harshly against his fur, but he paid them no mind. The calico cat guarding the camp for the night glanced over their shoulder at him, but the look on his face probably told them not to bother him with questions, as they turned their face away from him before he could get a good look at their expression. Shouldering his way past the cat, Cavestalker continued on his trek away from camp and its eerie familiarity. The forest around him was heavy with the sound of rain, the water making everything glisten in the night in a way he had never seen from the forest before. It almost felt like an entirely different forest; it was refreshing.

As he continued walking, the sound of rustling grass and wet pawsteps behind him caused his pace to slow and eventually come to a stop. With his ears pricked, Cavestalker scanned the area around him through narrow, focused eyes. It must be the cat that was on duty. He wasn’t sure who else it could be. His pelt prickled with irritation, he could have sworn they would know better than to follow him. 

Opening his mouth to sneer at the approacher, his vocal chords faltered. He wanted to tell the cat to go away, but as he went to say their name he realized he couldn’t come up with a name to say. His frustrated expression turned confused and suspicious. There were no true calico cats left alive in Thunderclan, only tortoiseshells and torbies.

Ahead of him, the darkness of the forest echoed with approaching, heavy pawsteps. The walking pace sounded strained and slow, but confident and intimidating. The tense air thickened, the feeling of it choking the lone tom.

Though a terrible feeling rested in his gut, apprehension warning him wordlessly, Cavestalker arched his back and hissed at the unknown cat. His usual calm, more collected air that he would have for a battle was nowhere to be felt; only the growing intensity of his now-fearful instincts. All he knew was that he should be scared, kicking-in his fight or flight instincts… and right now, he wanted to fight, defend his clan from this trespasser.

Cautiously, he took a step back in preparation just as a white paw stepped forward into the light as it shone from an opening in the canopy. Long, calico fur draped over a worryingly skinny form duly shone in the light. Pale blue eyes stared ahead at him, almost right through him, chilling him to the bone. 

Recognition shocked him to his core, causing him to shake unsteadily on his trembling paws. Eyes wide, he stood still, staring back at the eyes of his mother, a cat who had died many moons ago. Confusion and fear swirled together, hope flashing in between and clashing with the other two.

Hesitating, he quickly scanned the forest around him. Suddenly the darkness no longer felt familiar and comforting, and the cold was much more apparent. His paws and nose began to sting from the icy chill as the wind changed direction. A strong breeze blew over him from behind his still-approaching mother, the wind lifting her fur and revealing her form underneath, an awful rancid stench suddenly hitting him.

Ribs actually visible, bone and all, pieces of flesh rotting and close to falling off of her body, and skin dry and clinging to what remained of her body. Parts of her were torn and bleeding bright red blood, wounds that looked old and fresh at the same time. The gashes on her neck left behind a trail on the ground as they dripped a constant flow. A cat could not be alive and look like this. At least, he hoped that was true.

“M-Mom?” He mewed in a tight, quiet voice. No response, just the sound of pawsteps following his words.

Taking a few more steps back, Cavestalker was at a loss. He couldn’t fight a cat that looked like that. He couldn’t fight his mother. But what choice did he have? A strange adrenaline coursed through him, urging him to do something, anything. It felt like he had already been in a fight, that he was falling from that high.

A sudden wail pierced the silence, the sound high-pitched and pained. At the same moment, Cavestalker felt his pelt set on fire. He couldn’t help but add to the fading wail himself with a hiss of pain as his once-strong standing position was drained of its energy and forced into a slouch. 

The pain was familiar, those of claw-marks and cat-bites, but he had never felt them at such an intensity before. He felt no blood rushing to heal him and close the wounds, nor any wounds in the first place. Just the pain that they could cause him.

Stumbling, his basic instincts finally made a decision. Seeing as Birchdream had done nothing but wail, still not close enough to lay a claw on him, but cause him this much pain… his gut told him he wouldn’t be able to survive this. He didn’t want to believe it, that his mother would do anything like this to him, not of her own free will, and he still didn’t. She was in pain, just like him, and now they both were relying on only the most basic actions of survival: Fight or flee. 

Casting her one last longing look, he saw as she had stopped moving and moved to sit and crouched in on herself. She released another pained wail, her body trembling from the effort. As the sound reverberated, the pain Cavestalker had begun to feel flared again. That was all it took for him to turn tail and run away through the underbrush.

The wind in his pelt felt icier and wetter the more he ran, the drizzle turning to sleet and the water freezing to his pelt in sharp icicles. The feeling slowed him, the cold seeping away the last of his warmth and making his body beg for him to focus on heating up again. The heat from the pain was still strong, but did nothing to stop his violent shivering.

That’s when he noticed the snow-covered ground directly underneath his paws. The undergrowth around him was still as it was, wet and warm, but anywhere he stepped seemed to change even the weather itself. As he was catching his breath, which now left him in icy clouds, and examining the snow trail he was creating, a branch above him snapped.

His attention quickly switched as his body went to react, but he wasn’t fast enough and the weight of the surprisingly-heavy limb hit him square on the shoulders. The breath was knocked from him, leaving him gasping for more as he laid stunned and disoriented. Scrambling for something to grip and drag himself from under the branch, his paws hit something warm and fuzzy. 

Reaching further to grip whatever it was in front of him, the object lifted itself and moved away from his grasp. Blinking forcefully, Cavestalker tried to focus his spinning vision on the object. It took a few moments, but it slowly shifted into focus and left him with the sight of a dark brown tabby paw stepping away from him. As it moved, a large weight lifted from his back, giving him just enough room to finally fill his lungs fully with air. 

Staring at the cat, his whirling mind first assumed it was Smallflower, then once again recognized the cat as he realized they looked much younger than his clanmate was. The feeling of rushing adrenaline was back, his body fighting against the pain of the wounds and the crushing weight of the branch, as well as his losing-fight against losing consciousness. 

Staring up who he now recognized as Owlpaw, who just stared blankly back at him, another limb above them both creaked a late warning before it, too, snapped. Having no energy to try and move, Cavestalker’s vision flashed to black and his mind went blank as it made contact with him.

Just as quickly as it hit him, he was awake again. He shot up, a heavy weight still feeling stuck to his shoulders, but nothing as bad as the large branches that had once been there. His forelegs buckled and trembled under his weight as he sat up. He could breathe, though his breaths still came in labored gasps. 

Looking around, he saw that he was still in Thunderclan territory, and still in the same area he last remembered being. Next to him, tree limbs were laid on top of each other on the ground. The air was no longer cold, and any snow and ice that had once existed had disappeared. But he was still in near excruciating pain, his ears ringing from the shock of it all.

Looking up to the sky, he stared at the moon, which was still in the same spot as when he last looked. Even the clouds that decorated the sky looked as if they hadn’t moved much at all. It was as if no time had passed at all.

Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts and strength, the warrior looked back in the direction of camp. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he knew it was wrong and he knew he was in pain. Speckthroat or Yewheart could help him.

Though he was exhausted, he grunted and pushed himself up. His legs wobbled from the effort, and nearly let him fall back to the ground. Grinding his teeth, he steeled himself for a long walk. Each step was uneasy and felt risky, but slowly but surely he made his way closer and closer to home, to camp, to the medicine den. 

The closer he got, the quieter the ringing in his ears got and the easier it was to hear everything around him. The closer he got, the easier it became to hear barking and yowling and screaming. Alarm coursed through his veins, inspiring to stumble as fast as he could towards the danger. 

Camp wasn’t far now, he could see the entrance. Everything was so loud, his pain as strong as ever before, and the feeling of needing to do something still urging him forward. Bracing himself for the worst, he forced himself through the entrance and was met with absolute stillness and silence. No dogs. No cats. Just two little bodies near the center of camp, bloodied and mangled. Spottedpaw and Leafpaw.

The two bodies laid in complete stillness, seemingly frozen in time. But as he approached, they shifted and wheezed. He came to another stop only pawsteps away from them as they pushed themselves to their paws, joining him in standing unsteadily.

As he stared at them, he only barely managed to croak out their names, “Spottedpaw….? Owlpaw….?” 

They did not grace him with words, though in their state he couldn’t expect them to. Instead, the pain he still held from seeing Birchdream flared again, bringing with it both the crushing pain of the branches and the new pains of torn flesh and broken bones. It felt as though a dog had used him as its personal chew-toy.

His head dropped, hanging limply and facing the ground as he stared sightlessly at it, his vision blurred to the point of sightlessness. It was all he could manage to not fall over. The pain was so close to knocking him from his paws, his mind blank yet filled with the feeling of white-hot agony.

“I-I’m sorry! I should’ve been here sooner!” He wailed, voice cracking from the strain. For a moment, his words weren’t met with anything, but he could hear a shaky breath being drawn in from the cat in front of him.

“No, I’m sorry. I truly am, Fireclaw was a strong warrior.”

He stood in silence, still staring at the ground as he regained his vision once again. Fireclaw? No, that wasn’t right, he was talking to Spottedpaw and Owlpaw. They were hurt, they were gone, and he hadn’t done anything yet.

His head was heavy with grief, pain, confusion, and pure exhaustion, but still he slowly lifted it again only to be faced with the pitying expression of his leader. His amber eyes narrowed, confused at the sight. He opened his mouth to question her, but he didn’t have the time as the sight of his leader faded away right in front of him, leaving him once again alone with reignited pains, more of those feeling as if they had been left by another cat.

Unable to keep his composure any longer, having seen his mother and siblings once again and reliving the news of his last sibling’s death, reliving their pain and their last moments, the tom crouched low to the ground.

Tears streamed from his eyes as they closed tightly, sobs racking his body and reminding him of the pain burning as hot as the sun in his body. With each one, his head lowered closer and closer to the ground, but before he met dirt he made contact with fur.

He didn’t need to open his eyes this time, the scent of honey and oak leaves filling his nose and reminding him of one of his most recent losses. “Oh, Ho-neyleaf…” He breathed out, words interrupted with a hiccup of emotion and muffled by her pelt. 

It felt like an eternity, sitting crouched beside his apprentice’s stiff body, wetting her fur with his tears. He wanted to do something, anything, but nothing would work. He couldn’t bring any of them back. He couldn’t tell them the things he had never said. He wasn’t who he had tried so hard to be. He wasn’t a strong warrior who could do anything his clanmates needed.

His thoughts were only validated by the feeling of two familiar pelts moving in to join him, one large and muscular, one small and lanky. Stoneheart and Parrotpaw. Two tails intertwined with his, gentle tongues grooming his fur down and soothing his pain as best they could. It wasn’t enough for it all to go away, everything still hurt, outside and in, but he couldn’t ask for anything more.

The feeling of their closeness brought the warmth back to his pelt. He didn’t dare open his eyes, not wanting to see the sight of Honeyleaf, nor wanting to risk the feeling of his mate and his son leaving him. So instead, he just accepted their touch silently as his tears continued to fall.

The longer he sat there, the weaker he seemed to feel, but it wasn’t unwelcome. More and more he lowered himself to the ground, his head pressed deep into Honeyleaf’s pelt as his consciousness slowly began to fade from him. As he faded from the world, he could swear he felt a new group of cats huddle close and join in grooming his fur. They felt like family.

He twitched himself awake, the movement shocking him from his deep slumber he hadn’t realized he was still in. Groggily, Cavestalker blinked his still-wet eyes awake. They quickly adjusted to the dim light of the warrior’s den, the moon hung high in the sky outside and the drizzle drumming gently on the ceiling above. Groaning quietly, he raised his head from the hard ground it laid on. It gave him a few realizations.

He was hardly on the soft, warm nest anymore, most of his body on the cold ground of the den. A leak in the ceiling above had soaked his paws, making them feel much colder than they actually were. A few prickly pains in his pelt alerted him to thorns that had somehow managed to sneak their way into the den. He went to move and pick them out, but his shoulders felt heavy and ached, yet warm, and glancing over he found Stoneheart’s broad head resting on them in his sleep. 

Careful as to not wake his mate, Cavestalker slid out from under him and quickly picked the thorns out of his fur, luckily none seeming to have broken the surface of his skin too much to cause any worry. Moving them to make a neat pile to deal with in the morning, Cavestalker shifted to climb back into the nest, but paused just before moving. His gaze lingered on Stoneheart’s slumbering form, the tom looking as strong and as handsome even with a bedhead and moss clung to his fur.

As he examined his mate, he noticed a thorn that he hadn’t managed to get hit with himself resting dangerously close to Stoneheart’s side. Narrowing his eyes, Cavestalker imagined a few choice words towards the object. Not going to let you hurt him, thank you very much. Gingerly, he scooped it away and placed it into his pile of pricks with a sigh. 

With that out of the way, the warrior finally slid back into the nest, pressing himself as close to Stoneheart as he could manage without worrying the movement would wake him. Though the memories of the nightmare clung to him, even if they weren’t clear, he focused himself on the rhythmic breathing of his mate and found himself drifting back into a peace-filled dreamscape until morning.

[golchaworld]

Meowwy Christmas | N. JM

➳ pairing: na jaemin x fem!reader

➳ genre: fluff, kind of christmassy but oh well

➳ word count: ~1.5k

➳ warnings: cursing, alcohol

➳ summary: the boss’s son has always been a tantalizing mystery...until he isn’t.

A/N: why am I posting a Christmas piece in September? You know just as well as I do.

The office ugly sweater holiday party was annual and mandatory. There was nothing you hated more than putting on a hot, itchy sweater, and hanging out with your annoying coworkers on a Saturday night. But you had to. You knew from experience that it wasn’t something you could get out of, especially because when you tried to cut two years ago, you got a friendly call from your boss asking where you were.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the crowd was a little bit different. But the problem with working at a major publishing company is that the average age in the office was somewhere around 40. Only you and two other workers were under the age of 25, and you tended to stick together. But with Renjun recovering from an appendix removal and Jeno at his sister’s wedding, you knew you would be spending the night alone.

You tugged at the turtleneck of your itchy green sweater as you stood in the tacky foyer of your boss’s home. It was early in the night--too early, in fact, for you to be sweating the way you were. It definitely didn’t help that you were on your third glass of wine, too tempted by the sweet release of alcohol to limit yourself to one glass. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch Phyllis from marketing do karaoke to “Sweet Caroline” completely sober.

The dim lighting of the room reflected off of the glitter and sequins on various sweaters, making your head start to pound lowly. Between that, the cheesy karaoke songs, and the heat of the room, you knew you had to escape somehow. Looking around for an exit, you immediately became flustered. There was no way out without being noticed. You thought you were doing well at concealing your discomfort until a hand tapped on your shoulder.

“Need some air?”

When you turned to face the hand’s owner, you were stunned in your place. You had never seen your boss’s son, only heard stories about through the insane amount of office gossip. Mr. Na was quick to shut down any and all rumors about his son, but the gossip never stopped. One thing that you heard was definitely true. Na Jaemin sure was handsome.

Even in an electric blue, polyester sweater with a tabby cat on the front that said “Meowwy Christmas,” his handsomeness and charm showed through. Maybe it was the way his ringed fingers curled around the neck of a cold beer, or maybe it was the shiny silver Rolex on his wrist. Either way, Jaemin looked like the walking intersection of wealth and beauty.

“No, no, I’m okay…” you answered politely, holding onto the stem of your wine glass that much tighter.

The boy just quirked an eyebrow at you, taking a quick scan of the room before leaning in close. “I know how to get out in a way that no one will see.”

“Sneaking out of the annual, mandatory office party? I think that would be case for dismissal from the company.” You joked back, trying to hide the hitch in your breath at his close proximity.

The boy’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well then it must be a good thing that my dad can’t fire me.”

“Must be nice,” you scoffed playfully. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of being family.”

The glint in the young man’s eyes seemed brighter than ever. “Fair. So I’ll take that as a yes, you want to get out of here?”

You barely had a chance to smile before the boy was disappearing into the crowd of older bodies. It was difficult to keep up with him, seeing as he undeniably knew his house better than you did. But when you followed him into a dim hallway and down three steps, you were met with a sliding glass door. After taking the first step outside, you smiled widely.

The air felt cool on your skin, soothing the blooming itchy patches on your arms and neck. It was dark outside, the only light coming from the party behind you. Jaemin kept walking in front of you, leading you further out into what you could only assume was the backyard. Three lawn chairs stood unceremoniously in the large patch of grass, and Jaemin claimed one. He patted the seat next to him, and it took a second for your slightly tipsy figure to sit down comfortably.

“I never introduced myself!” You mumbled quietly. “I’m--”

“Y/N,” Jaemin cut you off. “I know. My dad talks about your work all the time. He says that if he didn’t have me, he would let you run the company someday.”

You choked on the red wine that you had been sipping on. “Are you fucking kidding me?! I just do cover designs. It’s only like my third year here. I don’t even work at the main location.”

“I know,” Jaemin chuckled slightly, taking a sip of his frosty beer. “But he loves your work.”

You sighed, letting your head that suddenly felt too heavy rest on the dirty cushion of the lawnchair. You had no idea that your boss thought so highly of you, especially highly enough to talk to his son about you. Either way, you were flattered.

Next to you, Jaemin sat quietly, sipping occasionally on his beer. You momentarily grazed his profile, taking in the sharp curve of his jawline and the softness of his hair. He truly was handsome, a trait that you knew he definitely did not get from his father.

You liked your boss a lot. He was extremely caring and kind hearted when it came to his staff, but you couldn’t help but think he was a little bit selfish for hiding his son from the office. You heard Jaemin worked occasionally at the main office in the city, whereas your desk was located at the smaller outlet in the suburbs. You had never considered a location change...until now.

“So why are you here?” Jaemin suddenly asked, leaning back in his chair comfortably.

“This is mandatory for us normal people, remember?”

Jaemin nodded. “Right. But have you ever thought about coming just to show your face and then leaving early?”

You chuckled, taking another long swig of your wine. “Tried that last year. When I showed up on Monday, Janet and Eunice in editing were telling the whole graphics department that I left for a booty call. So I don’t think that’s the best solution.

Jaemin laughed loudly, clamping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know. At the time it sucked, but looking back on it, it’s hilarious. They were just salty they haven’t had any dick since their divorces.”

“Cute and sassy, I like it,” Jaemin chuckled.

You turned in his direction, quirking an eyebrow at his still-smiling frame. “Cute?”

“Very. You’re lucky you left the ugly sweater party early last year, because I was literally walking over to ask for your number as you were walking out. I had to wait a whole 365 days to see you again. I was happy to see you in a new sweater this time.”

You looked down at your Grinch-green fuzzy sweater and laughed. “So you have an ugly sweater fetish...cute.”

Now it was Jaemin’s turn to laugh. “I think I’m more just attracted to the beautiful woman who’s wearing the sweater.”

“Smooth,” you teased, letting the last bit of red wine slide down your throat. Despite the warmth flooding to your cheeks, the cold December air was beginning to bite at the tip of your nose. You could tell Jaemin was feeling the same way as he shivered slightly in his seat. “You cold?”

He shook his head. “It’s better than being in the house with all those stuffy people.”

You hummed softly, eyes trained on the house in front of you. You could vaguely see the silhouettes of people in the house, and you chuckled when you saw the dancing had begun. Jaemin seemed to notice at the same time, shaking his head before taking another swig of his beer.

“You know, you never asked me.” You started.

Jaemin looked confused. “Asked you for what?”

“We’ve been out here for well over ten minutes and you haven’t asked me for my number. I thought you would have at least gone with me to my car by now. But maybe that’s just the Meiomi talking.”

Jaemin was taken aback, not used to such a blunt nature in girls. His cheeks began to hold a pink hue, and he wished he could blame it all on the cold. But as he stole a glance at the smirk on your face, he knew it was all you.

“Y/N, are you implying that we should ditch the annual, mandatory ugly sweater office holiday party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you turned to him with a devilish smile. “But for an actual booty call this time.”

[annathescavver]

Life on Stonegate Farm

So I needed some cute fluff in my life right now. And I’ve been meaning to write a fic with my Stardew Valley farmer and Harvey. I’ll probably write more like this, all short stories.

I hope this makes you guys feel better, too.

------------------

“Miso?” Alexandra called, carrying with her the bowl of fresh cat food. “Miso, I have your dinner. Where are you, you orange fluffball?”

She checked the dining area, where the cat often lounged on the sofa or rocking chair. At no sign of him, she wandered upstairs, tapping one fingernail on the metal bowl. “Hello, Miso?” she asked again. She pitched her voice higher, calling to him with the voice that often got him to run towards her with his tail in the air and making high mewing sounds of his own.

But he wasn’t upstairs. To the right was an office of sorts, where she kept a desk for her paperwork and plenty of shelves. Between the books were increasingly strange artifacts and quite a few bowls of marbles and colorful stones. To the left was a larger room. Here, she had dedicated the room, with its large windows and plentiful sunlight, to growing over a dozen plants. A tall fern here, an ivy there, and several pots of beautiful flowers.

Miso wasn’t allowed in this room, due to her fear of him getting into the plants. He knew this, but she checked anyway. Nope. No Miso.

Alexandra wasn’t worried about him being outside. He often wandered the farm during the day, as if checking on the crops or watching over the cows. Except for one frightful night where he’d wandered all the way out to the old bus stop, and she’d looked for him, crying, for hours, he always returned at sunset. And since that day, he’d never wandered farther than the edges of the farm. Whether it was his feline disinterest in anything outside his domain, or his unwillingness to scare her again, she didn’t know.

So, she went back downstairs and opened the front door. “Miso,” she called, stressing the I. Turning, she laughed as she realized where he was. “There you are. I’ve been calling for you. You’re missing dinner.”

The cat was snuggled deep into the arms of her husband, and Pelican Town’s doctor, Harvey. Lifting his head, he yawned and then wiggled, prompting Harvey to laugh knowingly and put him down.

Alexandra turned and set the food bowl down a few feet away. She offered Miso a quick ear scratch before standing up and walking back over to Harvey.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you two,” she said with a smile.

Harvey waved a hand. “To be honest, Miso’s got the right idea. I’m tempted to take a nap, myself.”

“Long day at the clinic, then?” Alexandra asked. She took a seat on one of the chairs and looked out over the farm. Directly in front of them were the spring crops, all coming along nicely. Rows of parsnips, potatoes, tulips (for Grandma Evelyn, of course), and green beans were just beginning to sprout from the rich soil. “Winter’s over, but it seems everyone’s still got stuffy noses. I was talking to Pierre earlier, when I was over getting some groceries, and the poor man sounded so stuffed up.”

Harvey leaned back in the chair. Pulling his green coat tighter, he folded his hands over his stomach. “Oh, flu season isn't over just yet. Give it a few more weeks. Besides, I’ve still got some reports to go over and notes to write.”

Alexandra smiled. The work for her doctor was never done. “Sounds like I should stop by with some coffee tomorrow. Just like old times.”

A soft smile crossed Harvey’s face. He reached over and took her hand, squeezing gently. “That would be lovely,” he said. “Like old times.”

Thinking of all the mornings she had taken a mug of coffee all the way to the clinic, she felt a giddiness in her chest. At first Harvey had been surprised, and quite delighted, she’d remembered his love of coffee and thought to bring him some. Though he had half-heartedly pointed out that it wasn’t a good idea, ethically, to accept a gift from a patient, he had taken the coffee. After that, they had both looked forward to nearly every morning’s shared coffee. It had been a time for them both to take a short break from their work and stroll to the river’s edge, sipping their coffee and enjoying each other’s company.

It was over one of these shared cups of coffee that Alexandra realized just how important Harvey had become to her. She had looked up at him to see him looking back at her with a look of such tenderness that words failed her. Later that afternoon, she had gathered together a beautiful bouquet of flowers from the forest and, squaring her shoulders, offered them to Harvey. After his shift, of course.

Feeling the warmth of his hand in hers, Alexandra looked to Cindersnap Forest and reminded herself to make another such bouquet tomorrow.

“Looks like Miso’s done with dinner,” Harvey said, nodding towards the orange tabby who was now sitting on the railing. “We should probably get our own. I found a new recipe today I want to try. What do you think?”

“That sounds perfect,” Alexandra said.

With that, they stood and entered the old farmhouse, fingers still twined together.

[marquis1305]

The Language of Flowers

A commissioned fic for the amazing @le-mooon, gifted by the wonderful @tessa1972 

This fic is inspired by this amazing art right here done by Le-mooon. AO3 link

Hawke x Anders, Flower Shoppe/Professor AU

------------------------- The funeral was this evening. I had taken the time to tidy my ever unruly hair, as much as it could be tidied. The lines of my black silk suit stark and neat, mother would have been proud. 

Even as she would have hated the Kaddis that I smeared over the bridge of my nose. She had always hated it, said it made me look too much like a dog lord.

Say that the to mabari at my side. 

Maybe she had a point.

I shifted the sunglasses on my face as I headed for the door, a cup of coffee in my hand. I just needed to stop by the office to drop off the papers that I had graded last night. It didn’t matter that the head of my department had told me to take the week off, those kids were counting on that grade to be entered. I hated letting anyone down. Especially them. Especially after mother…

The walk was an easy one. I lived on campus after all, the professor pads weren’t too terrible, and the rent was cheaper than anything else in Kirkwall. Dragon padded along beside me, tongue lolling as he obviously considered the weight that the day held. Meaning he was looking at the young man kneeling on the sidewalk and slipping something that might have been a tuna sandwich to a stray cat. 

Or more to the point he was looking at the sandwich. 

Maybe I was the one looking at the young man. 

It took a moment before I could gather up the breath to whistle and get Dragon’s attention, forcing myself to tear my gaze away. We had things to do. Now wasn’t the time for my head to wander. No matter how much nicer it would have been to let my thoughts linger on the way the man wore his jacket, or the way that the raven feathered lining of the hood contrasted with golden wheat colored hair, or how honey colored eyes beamed with affection down at the tabby. 

I cleared my throat as we passed him, keeping my head down. My gaze on my shoes. Watching as I put one foot in front of the other. Watching each step that brought me closer to saying goodbye to the woman that raised me. That praised me each and every time I brought home some certificate of achievement. Who scolded me for staying out too late with my latest fling, or for sneaking out with the Bethany and Carver to get them drunk for the first time at my high school graduation.

To the woman who had loved each of us more than life itself, especially after we had lost dad.

Time blurred, and suddenly I was standing in my office. Fading into focus on the leather carrier bag as I took it off my shoulder. Pulling out the stack of graded papers to leave on my desk, Merrill would make certain that those were passed out during class. 

She was a good bean.

And if she forgot, then Varric would probably remember, considering that half the lesson plan I had left to help him sub for me was going over those papers. Of course he was just as likely to get distracted by the telling of some story or another. 

Well, there was always class next week to properly go over them. The funeral wouldn’t last forever. Even if it felt like it would. 

I slipped a finger into the tie about my neck, trying to tug it just loose enough that I would be able to breathe again. Swallowing past the sudden tightness of my throat. The raw pressure building behind my eyes.

It had been like this since I had gotten the phone call from the sheriff’s office. The way that everything would just bulldoze over me at once. 

And then the way that it would rush over me like a wave, calm waters on the other side before the next build. I rode it out, gripping the edge of the desk tightly. Dragon pressing his weight into my hip. It was his warmth that calmed me. The soft whines that brought my attention of the crashing sound at my ears. Lifting a hand slowly to scratch along his head. Letting him know that I was alright again.

Best idea that Aveline had ever had, emotional support Mabari. Got Dragon certified the next day, so he could stay on campus with me. Something to do with ptsd and anxiety attacks, and how his mutt nose could sniff out the symptoms, calm me before they happened most of the time. 

Or bring me out of it, like now. 

Smiling down at Dragon, I nodded, then moved to lock my carrier bag into my desk. Only pulling out my wallet and keys, I wouldn’t need the rest of it for the next few days, and not having it in my apartment would help keep my mind off work. I hoped. 

The walk off campus was much more difficult. I would be arriving early, I had to. Greeting everyone, accepting condolences. Bethany and Carver wouldn’t make it from the airport until later, and I was expected to pick them up. Luckily they were sharing a hotel suite, so I wouldn’t have to deal with Carver’s endless bickering, or Bethany’s tears. 

I was a shitty older brother sometimes. But right now I barely had the strength to keep moving. 

Dragon’s barking drew me once more from my brooding. Turning my gaze up to see the same tabby from earlier. Or it looked like it. The coloring was similar. My brow furrowed as I glanced around. We were near the university’s shop center, which was as quietly thrumming with life as usual. A few simple stores lined either side of the street. A coffee shop that was more tempting than it should have been; yet another used book store; a grocery store; and on the very corner of the street, a small flower boutique. 

The tabby was curled up near the door, looking rather unperturbed by the foot traffic that passed it by. Not entirely unusual for the cats that thought they owned the campus, but to see it twice in just a few hours…

With a heavy sigh, I gave into the urge. 

I needed flowers for today anyways, just thought I would end up buying them later on. Well, no time like the present. 

Dragon stayed close to me as we approached the shoppe, though I could feel the way he would occasionally twitch at the thought of a cat chase. But he was too well trained to just go bolting off, thankfully. I gave him the command to stay outside, making sure he was on the opposite side of the door of the cat. Watching carefully as he laid down, gaze locked onto the stray. 

The sound of a bell tinkling warned any inside of their imminent doom with my arrival.

A pair of honey colored eyes glancing up from the counter had me stopping in my tracks. Blinking as I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t had a complete mental break down and started hallucinating overly attractive men.

His hair was half pulled up into a bun to keep it from his face while he worked, jacket exchanged for a green grocer’s apron, which exposed the white button up I hadn’t had the chance to notice earlier. A daisy tucked just behind his ear on one side. 

He was half bent over the start of a flower basket of some kind, and obviously waiting for me to say something as I attempted to shake myself from my sudden stupor. 

“I ah… flowers!” I blurted out, trying to say anything that would break the silence.

“Yes, I do believe that we sell those here.” His lips quirked up in a wry smile that had me seeing stars. “Was there any particular flower? Or will any of them do?”

I let out a surprised laugh, feeling more at ease for the joke. Clearing my throat as I ran a hand through my hair. “I was looking for a bouquet actually.”

“Is it for any particular occasion? Are we talking ‘romantic first date’ bouquet, or ‘I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary again, please don’t make me sleep on the couch again’ type bouquet?” The quip coming as easily to his lips as the smile had before it. 

“Actually, it’s for my mom.”

He blinked, caught slightly off guard with the answer before he was standing straighter, wiping his hands clean on his apron. “Oh… well, we’ve got a few bouquets of daisies that are always popular. A few yellow roses. Is there anything in particular that she prefers?”

I chuckle softly, shrugging. “She always had a thing for white lillies.”

“Hmm.” He pauses, lips pursing slightly as he heads over to the computer tucked on a back desk. Drawing me further into the room, wanting to keep him in my eyeline. I am a terrible person, and I know it. But he is just… “Well, lillies aren’t really in season right now, we have a few from the greenhouse, but the price has gone up because of it. I don’t have enough for a full bouquet either, but I can make an arrangement if you don’t mind a few other flowers mixed in.”

Pulling out my wallet, I gently toss a card onto the counter. “Anything you can manage, thank you. She just deserves something special.” 

He raises a single brow before nodding. Heading towards one of the refrigeration units. “I have to ask, but you seem really familiar. I’m fairly certain I haven’t seen you in the shop before though.”

“I’m an anthropology professor at the university, you may have sat in on a class or two?” My gaze follows his movements, seemingly unable to tear myself from this magnetic attraction. 

“Right! Fenris had your class a few times, my roommate. I went with him now and then. I remember thinking you were too attractive to teach something as stuffy as anthropology.” A bright peal of laughter fills the room. 

The blush that stained my cheeks was likely bright enough to be used as a lighthouse for lost ships at the harbor. To which my immediate reaction was to turn my attention to the roses that were set up by color. Running my fingers over their petals as gently as I could. 

“Maker.” Forcing myself to snort a laugh. “If you think I am, you should meet Varric. I can say for a fact that we have witnessed women quite literally swoon for his chest hair.”

“Always been a fan of facial hair myself. But beard burn is much more difficult to swoon over.” I could almost hear the wiggling of his eyebrows. I wasn’t sure if the groan that slipped through my lips was entirely due to the terribleness of the joke. At the very least I could pretend that it was and hope he hadn’t noticed. 

“Maker’s ballsack… Right, well…” Chuckling and clearing my throat before glancing over my shoulder. Catching sight of him starting to trim the stems of the flowers he had picked out. Wetting my lips before I was heading back to the counter. “Not really sure I have a counter to that, but it might make Varric cry. Considering how much we all tease him that his beard fell off and stuck to his chest instead.”

His lips pulled up into the most brilliant smile. Laughter following soon after. “Oh… Oh no… I have to tell Fenris that one… He’s going to die…”

Chuckling along with his mirth was easy. It was infectious, how bright he was, how easy the conversation was. 

“Alright so this is going to be fifty gold.” Offering the bouquet over, a beautiful mixture of white lilies, red roses, baby’s breath, pink wax flowers, and greens for filler. 

I suddenly felt reality come crashing down on me. Right, this is why I had been here. Not for the cute guy. “Just put it on the card. Thank you. I know that she’ll love this.” 

Taking the card, he rung everything up. Then handing it and the receipt to me. Allowing me a moment to tuck it away before presenting the bouquet. “Well, I hope you and your mom have a good evening.”

“We usually do.” I offered a smile as I tucked the bouquet into the crook of my arms. “Have a good one then.” Waving as I weaved my way back out of the store, Dragon popping up immediately from where he had sat to follow me. 

I had to say, at least this had been a bright spot in a rather overcast day.

[greatshell-rider]

day seven of quARTine: inchoate (prompt list)

The halls were dark and quiet. Torches burned low, but with the windows shut against the night breeze, the air was stuffy and scratchy with smoke. It was too thin to be that much of a hindrance, perhaps for tall people a faint stinging to their eyes, but it kept the visiting court and resident staff in their beds and the patrolling guards from noticing a blur of tan and brown darting around pillars with silent paws and a long narrow tail. Even if they had, who would stop a castle cat? The mousers only liked the kitchen and stable workers, anyway.

Didn’t they indeed. The shorthair slipped under a hanging tapestry, peering around a corner before trotting across the hall to an alcove in the wall, where a scrubber girl crouched with her back to a large potted plant, nervously looking down the hall. The cat slunk in, sat, and with its tail curled around its paws, meowed loudly.

The scrubber jumped, whirling on the cat. Her terrified expression immediately turned angry. “Lani! Don’t do that!”

Its whiskers twitched, and the cat transformed back into her human shape, bearing an insufferably smug grin, sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor.

The girl huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re late,” she said crossly.

Lani ignored that and dug the charm out of her pocket, handing it over in exchange for what she’d told the scrubber girl to bring: a bandana. “That worked great!” Lani said, voice barely muffled as she tied the cloth over her nose and mouth. “Your debt is definitely cleared.”

The girl scowled, glancing out of the alcove again. “Keep your voice down, would you? And of course it worked great; my grandparent made it.” She looped the leather cord of the wooden amulet around her palm and clenched it in a fist, then frowned down at Lani, who fussed with the half-mask. “It’s not that smoky.”

Lani merely bounced her eyebrows, a presumable grin hidden under the cloth.

The scrubber sighed in exasperation. “Why not bring your own stupid kerchief? You just thought it would be funny to make me sneak up here,” she accused.

Lani snickered at that. “Ah, but your grandparent made it, didn’t they? Best quality for a better price.” She stood up and stuck her face out of the alcove, looking both ways. “And your father did say you would pay me back in full for selling him that potion. Wouldn’t want to make a liar out of him, hmm?”

The girl snorted. “Good luck getting out of here,” she said tartly, then with a scrunch of her face she transformed into a shaggy brown tabby and darted down the hallway without a backward glance. She disappeared around a corner. Lani idly wondered if the scrubber girl could open the servants’ passages with little cat paws or if she would have to risk transforming back to use them.

Too late to test out. Lani hunkered down by the plant and waited, counting down from twenty-six. At two a pair of guards tromped down the hallway perpendicular to hers, their helms down against the smoke. Once they passed out of sight Lani left the alcove and slipped into the hallway, following behind them at a comfortable distance, her steps casual and light, almost playful. After tailing them and a few other patrols as a cat for the past hour or so, she knew the layout of the castle fairly well, and better yet, she knew these guards’ particular behaviors, that the one of the left was almost too tired to keep their eyes open, and the other was preoccupied with some external, anxiety-inducing thought that kept their step quick and eyes distracted. Both were eager to end their shifts, and fortunately for them, theirs was soon to end. And fortunately for Lani, they were headed back to their inner barracks—leading her right to the place where the majority of the castle’s guards would be tonight.

She drew close as the guards approached the door, slipping a bottle of green liquid from her pocket and loosening the cork plug with her thumb. She checked that her bandana-mask was secure with a quick jerk. The anxious guard stepped ahead to open the door, and the two walked in to the greetings of their fellows. The sleepy one pushed the door open wider to admit their replacements passage—but Lani snatched the handle, jerking it to a stop. The guard turned, frowning at the resistance, just in time to see Lani pop the cork and toss the bottle into the room. All the guards inside jumped to their feet as the green liquid spilled out across the tile, then exploded into giant plumes of orange-colored fog.

“Howdy, pardners!” Lani crowed, because her bandana made her feel like a bandit, and slammed the door shut. She braced herself, keeping a firm grip on the handle while the entire door shook from the guards within desperately trying to open it. A few tendrils of orange fog wafted out from the cracks in the door, but Lani ignored them, trusting her handy-dandy bandana to keep her safe. As long as it didn’t get inside her, it was more or less harmless.

When the yelling subsided and a thump announced the last guard falling to the floor, Lani let go.

When the fog began to pour out of the cracks in earnest, and transform into wet wiggling tentacles like that of a squid’s, and the wooden door began to shudder and crack under the force of a giant monstrosity summoned from the depths of a nightmarish alternate dimension slamming its tentacles against it, Lani turned and ran. The bandana, no matter whose grandparent made it, wouldn’t protect her against that.

She counted down in her head, turning down hallways at random, ignoring guards that called out to her as she dashed past them, and ignoring their screams when the tentacles caught up to them. Minus two-two-one, minus two-two-two, minus two-two-three.

At minus two-four-eight, Cindy would be releasing the horses in the stables. And the sheep in their corrals, and the pigs in their pen, and the chickens from their coop. Oddly enough, this world didn’t have cows, otherwise Cindy would release those too.

At minus three-fifty, Jerry would drive his sword through the hearts of the royal family.

If the two kept to the schedule, at least.

Lani grinned underneath her mask, taking two stairs at a time up a long, twisty stairway with fingers of orange-red fog curling around her ankles. Behind her, a sonorous bellow shook the walls of the castle and sent Lani tumbling to her knees. The fog had wrapped around her midsection and started to transform into tentacles—meaning there was enough blood in it from the guards to do so without stealing Lani’s—when she scrambled to her feet and started climbing again. That shriek was her cue! To the roof!

There, things would finally start happening.

After all, the nightmare-squid was calling to their mate.

What was the overthrow of a government without a honeymoon?

[constant-calum]

An Office Hoe-liday (Nick Mara)

Pairing: Nick Mara x Reader

Word Count: 1,515

Summary: Office gossip always travels fast, especially in the publishing business.  But by the third year at your company, you can only say one thing...fuck it. (Part of the @prettymuchaholiday secret santa gift exchange).

Warnings:  Swearing, mentions of sexual activity, implied smut, alcohol (of age)

A/N:  Happy holidays, @rushuzzz !  I hope you enjoy your secret santa gift.  I’d love to connect with you in the future to talk about Nick until our hearts burst.  I hope 2019 brings you the best <3

The office ugly sweater holiday party was annual and mandatory.  There was nothing you hated more than putting on a hot, itchy sweater, and hanging out with your annoying coworkers on a Saturday night.  But you had to.  You knew from experience that it wasn’t something you could get out of, especially because when you tried to cut two years ago, you got a friendly call from your boss asking where you were.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the crowd was a little bit different.  But the problem with working at a major publishing company is that the average age in the office was somewhere around 40.  Only you and two other workers were under the age of 25, and you tended to stick together.  But with Edwin recovering from an appendix removal and Brandon at his sister’s wedding, you knew you would be spending the night alone.

You tugged at the turtleneck of your itchy green sweater as you stood in the tacky foyer of your boss’s home.  It was early in the night--too early, in fact, for you to be sweating the way you were.  It definitely didn’t help that you were on your third glass of wine, too tempted by the sweet release of alcohol to limit yourself to one glass.  You couldn’t bring yourself to watch Phyllis from marketing do karaoke to “Sweet Caroline” completely sober.

The dim lighting of the room reflected off of the glitter and sequins on various sweaters, making your head start to pound lowly.  Between that, the cheesy karaoke songs, and the heat of the room, you knew you had to escape somehow.  Looking around for an exit, you immediately became flustered.  There was no way out without being noticed.  You thought you were doing well at concealing your discomfort until a hand tapped on your shoulder.

“Need some air?”

When you turned to face the hand’s owner, you were stunned in your place.  You had never seen your boss’s son, only heard stories about through the insane amount of office gossip.  Mr. Mara was quick to shut down any and all rumors about his son, but the gossip never stopped.  One thing that you heard was definitely true.  Nick Mara sure was handsome.

Even in an electric blue, polyester sweater with a tabby cat on the front that said “Meowwy Christmas,” his handsomeness and charm showed through.  Maybe it was the way his ringed fingers curled around the neck of a cold beer, or maybe it was the shiny silver Rolex on his wrist.  Either way, Nick looked like the walking intersection of wealth and beauty.

“No, no, I’m okay…” you answered politely, holding onto the stem of your wine glass that much tighter.

The boy just quirked an eyebrow at you, taking a quick scan of the room before leaning in close. “I know how to get out in a way that no one will see.”

“Sneaking out of the annual, mandatory office party? I think that would be case for dismissal from the company.” You joked back, trying to hide the hitch in your breath at his close proximity.

The tanned boy’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well then it must be a good thing that my dad can’t fire me.”

“Must be nice,”  you scoffed playfully.  “Some of us don’t have the luxury of being family.”

The glint in the young man’s eyes seemed brighter than ever.  “Fair.  So I’ll take that as a yes, you want to get out of here?”

You barely had a chance to smile before the boy was disappearing into the crowd of older bodies.  It was difficult to keep up with him, seeing as he undeniably knew his house better than you did.  But when you followed him into a dim hallway and down three steps, you were met with a sliding glass door.  After taking the first step outside, you smiled widely.

The air felt cool on your skin, soothing the blooming itchy patches on your arms and neck.  It was dark outside, the only light coming from the party behind you.  Nick kept walking in front of you, leading you further out into what you could only assume was the backyard.  Three lawn chairs stood unceremoniously in the large patch of grass, and Nick claimed one.  He patted the seat next to him, and it took a second for your slightly tipsy figure to sit down comfortably.

“I never introduced myself!”  You mumbled quietly.  “I’m--”

“Y/N,”  Nick cut you off.  “I know.  My dad talks about your work all the time.  He says that if he didn’t have me, he would let you run the company someday.”

You choked on the red wine that you had been sipping on.  “Are you fucking kidding me?!  I just do cover designs.  It’s only like my third year here.  I don’t even work at the main location.”

“I know,”  Nick chuckled slightly, taking a sip of his frosty beer.  “But he loves your work.”

You sighed, letting your head that suddenly felt too heavy rest on the dirty cushion of the lawnchair.  You had no idea that your boss thought so highly of you, especially highly enough to talk to his son about you.  Either way, you were flattered.

Next to you, Nick sat quietly, sipping occasionally on his beer.  You momentarily grazed his profile, taking in the sharp curve of his jawline and the casual quiff of his hair.  He truly was handsome, a trait that you knew he definitely did not get from his father.

You liked your boss a lot.  He was extremely caring and kind hearted when it came to his staff, but you couldn’t help but think he was a little bit selfish for hiding his son from the office.  You heard Nick worked occasionally at the main office in the city, whereas your desk was located at the smaller outlet in the suburbs.  You had never considered a location change...until now.

“So why are you here?”  Nick suddenly asked, leaning back in his chair comfortably.

“This is mandatory for us normal people, remember?”

Nick nodded.  “Right.  But have you ever thought about coming just to show your face and then leaving early?”

You chuckled, taking another long swig of your wine.  “Tried that last year.  When I showed up on Monday, Janet and Eunice in editing were telling the whole graphics department that I left for a booty call.  So I don’t think that’s the best solution.

Nick laughed loudly, clamping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound.  “I’m sorry.  I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know.  At the time it sucked, but looking back on it, it’s hilarious.  They were just salty they haven’t had any dick since their divorces.”

“Cute and sassy, I like it,”  Nick chuckled.

You turned in his direction, quirking an eyebrow at his still-smiling frame.  “Cute?”

“Very.  You’re lucky you left the ugly sweater party early last year, because I was literally walking over to ask for your number as you were walking out.  I had to wait a whole 365 days to see you again.  I was happy to see you in a new sweater this time.”

You looked down at your Grinch-green fuzzy sweater and laughed.  “So you have an ugly sweater fetish...cute.”

Now it was Nick’s turn to laugh.  “I think I’m more just attracted to the beautiful woman who’s wearing the sweater.”

“Smooth,”  you teased, letting the last bit of red wine slide down your throat.  Despite the warmth flooding to your cheeks, the cold December air was beginning to bite at the tip of your nose.  You could tell Nick was feeling the same way as he shivered slightly in his seat.  “You cold?”  

He shook his head.  “It’s better than being in the house with all those stuffy people.”

You hummed softly, eyes trained on the house in front of you.  You could vaguely see the silhouettes of people in the house, and you chuckled when you saw the dancing had begun.  Nick seemed to notice at the same time, shaking his head before taking another swig of his beer.

“You know, you never asked me.”  You started.

Nick looked confused.  “Asked you for what?”

“We’ve been out here for well over ten minutes and you haven’t asked me for my number.  I thought you would have at least gone with me to my car by now.  But maybe that’s just the Meiomi talking.”

Nick was taken aback, not used to such a blunt nature in girls.  His cheeks began to hold a pink hue, and he wished he could blame it all on the cold.  But as he stole a glance at the smirk on your face, he knew it was all you.

“Y/N, are you implying that we should ditch the annual, mandatory ugly sweater office holiday party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,”  you turned to him with a devilish smile.  “But for an actual booty call this time.”