#kitty gale

[avonne-writes]

Kitty Gale when Bucky brushes him a little too long:

Photo from @hogans-heroes 💕

[onyxsboxes]

Kitty Gale moodboards

I made some moodboards for day 2 of @mota-collab's O.C.tober. I played with Bucky and kitty gale's relationship for those.

How they see the other ...

VS How they really are ...

It was fun to play with the difference in how they viewed each other. Bucky would never believe that his beloved sweet little angel is actually a chaos gremlin 🤭

[hogans-heroes]

Kitty Gale drabble for @avonne-writes

Born from some conversations and permission to dabble in some ideas, heres a little postwar look into John and shifter Gale.

————

The bony angles of John’s body hurt where they had been pressed to the wooden floor for an indeterminate amount of time. He tried to shift to get more comfortable in his current position—belly down and upper body wedged half under the dresser cabinet in their upstairs bedroom, trying to coax a terrified Gale in cat form from under it—but his cramped muscles protested the movement even more.

Gale (or Princess, not that John would get away with calling him that out loud anymore) was pressed as far as he could go into the dark corner under the dresser, small body cowered low to the ground with wide eyes and ears flattened. Every time John shifted Gale shrank back and let out a low growl, sometimes even hissing, and in the dim light John could see the silky limbs trembling.

He swallowed against the ache in his throat and took a deep breath through the nose, trying to make gentle, coaxing noises without moving. Gale didn’t flinch this time, but his mouth opened in a silent hiss and he pressed back further into the corner, and John’s eyes stung with unwelcome emotions. He had already tried reaching under the dresser to touch Gale but had gotten swiped at, one claw grazing his forearm, so John had retracted his arms to his chest, only lying there and speaking soothingly to Gale under his breath.

Thinking back on all his interactions with “Princess” during his time at Thorpe Abbots never failed to twist a knife in John’s chest. Of course it had been Gale. Gale who ran to him with pleading cries and jumped into his arms, who butted his little head into John’s chin and purred whenever he was held. Who looked at John with intelligence when he was rambling or venting his feelings, little paws kneading at John’s chest.

Gale’s cat form had been such a comfort to both of them. It gave Gale an instinctual security and John a soft, vulnerable, safe place, Gale’s creamy fur soothing him in a deep crevasse of himself that must have been akin to Gale’s own in this situation. Whatever it was they hadn’t thought about it much, and talked about it even less—just took it as it came—but that plan seemed to be showing its flaws lately.

If Gale’s buried fear overcame him he would shift, but lately he’d been shifting more often and staying that way for longer and it scared John.

Could he lose Gale? What if Gale never shifted back? What if he got spooked and ran away? Hit by a car or attacked by another animal? He was so good at hiding and escaping in cat form, John might never find him, and the fear was chipping away at his sanity.

Sometimes John was able to comfort Gale in his feline form, holding him close and sheltering him with his body in their bed, but sometimes it got like this, Gale’s nightmares and flashbacks plunging him into blackout fear that even John couldn’t pull him out of. Gale’s pitiful sounds whenever John got too close this time shattered John’s heart to tiny bits. He understood his hulking form scared Gale and he needed his space, but it was getting harder for John to breathe the longer he laid there with empty arms and Gale too far beyond his ability to comfort.

Slowly, he moved to his feet, careful to not make any sudden movements that would startle Gale further, and stood dumbly in the center of the room with his arms wrapped around himself for what felt like hours. The pain spreading from his chest to his limbs was so sickening it made him dizzy and he fisted his hands in his hair, tugging hard to clear his head of the whirling thoughts. It only half worked and he shuffled the few steps to the bed, dropping onto it and curling up on his side.

He hadn’t fallen asleep alone in a bed for years. Gale had always been either wrapped around him or within arms reach, an ankle thrown over John’s leg, an arm tucked under his stomach, or hair tickling John’s chin as Gale pressed his face to his chest. Feeling Gale’s breathing was as familiar as the movement of his own lungs, yet the wounds to Gale’s gentle soul—his selfless, stubborn, reckless soul—had torn him from John’s arms. Gale was huddled alone in the cold corner of the room, too much like the careless neglect of his childhood, but Gale couldn’t come to him. No warm, solid form embraced John’s scarred body or pressed him into the bed, and John tightened his grip around himself. Staring at the edge of the cabinet that Gale was under, he swallowed hard, vision blurring as the familiar trembling set into his limbs.

John hadn’t fallen asleep alone in years, but he hadn’t cried himself to sleep in far longer. As the first slow tears carved his face there was no hope of stopping them, they swelled and dropped like the ghostly touch of blood until he was muffling guttural sobs into his pillow, curled tight with his knees pulled up and arms over his head.

He half awoke some time later with a raw throat and puffy eyes to the sensation of another body on his own. The familiar warmth of Gale—in human form—curled against him, made the air snag in John’s lungs and new moisture spring to his eyes.

Gale’s own eyes were closed, breath soft and even in sleep, and John’s heart stuttered as he wrapped his arms around Gale instinctively. Gale scrunched his nose but didn’t fully wake, and John took a shuddering breath as relief crashed through him.

“Gale?” he rasped, voice cracking.

Gale made a snuffing sound and nudged John’s cheek with his nose, fingers clutching and releasing at the skin of John’s stomach in rhythmic motions. He hummed questioningly and rubbed his stubbly cheek on John’s chin, rolling over to sprawl more fully on top of him, and the icy pain in John’s chest started to melt.

He wrapped Gale up, shoving his face in the soothing scent of his hair, and breathed.

[mihylliart]

I still can't find time to write a puppy John fanfic but I just saw this on TikTok x) made me think of kitty!gale and puppy!John (even if I would chose this bread for John ) @avonne-writes

[lordandladybridgerton]

LOOK CAREFULLY AROUND YOU AND RECOGNIZE THE LUMINOSITY OF SOULS.  SIT BESIDE THOSE WHO DRAW YOU TO THAT - RUMI

[avonne-writes]

I know you don't take fic requests, dovey, but if you ever felt inspired to write a drabble about fluffy, fluffy overbrushed Kitty!Gale, I would read the hell out of it. Every time I look at it, it makes me laugh.

Aww I'm always happy to consider suggestions 💕 (Overbrushed kitty Gale post) This is just a short drabble I wrote half-asleep, but I hope you like it.

~♡~

It's hard to believe it took almost an entire year for Gale to let Bucky brush him. Something to do with that stubborn pride of his. But Bucky can be persistent in his own way. He knew that brushing would help with the Issue he’s not to ever bring up to Gale if he wants to stay in his good graces. And he was right. It did help. He doesn’t have to see Gale throw up anymore, now that all the loose fur is removed by the brush regularly.

There's a lot of fur.

It's silky and warm, fluffing up under his hand. Gale - Princess - used to growl at him and lash his tail back and forth when they first started this routine, but those days are long gone. Nowadays, he brings Bucky the brush himself. It’s relaxing for them both.

This time, Bucky might have gone a little overboard though. He was distracted by bad memories trying to break through, and he latched onto the calming sensation of Gale purring in his lap while being brushed. He didn’t notice that he should've stopped several minutes ago. All that white fur is now puffed up in a thick, smooth wave.

Princess looks like a giant ball of fluff.

He's still draped over Bucky's lap, still purring, his eyes closed and face slack with contentment. He's barely kneading at Bucky’s thigh anymore, so blissed-out that he could fall asleep. But, turns out, he’s still awake. When Bucky stops brushing him, he cracks his eyes open.

"How about a nap?" Bucky suggests, hoping it would help him get away with brushing Gale into a cloud.

Gale blinks at him lazily, then puts his big paws on Bucky’s abdomen, stretching. He grazes Bucky with those sharp claws, just to tease, then jumps off and slinks away towards the bedroom. Bucky follows him, crossing his fingers that Gale feels sleepy enough to just go straight to the bed and curl up. They're almost there, he can feel the taste of relief in his mouth, when Gale suddenly freezes mid-step.

He's in front of a cabinet with glass doors.

Clearly, he wasn’t able to resist looking at his reflection.

For a moment, he just stares at the glass, then his head snaps up to glare at Bucky with rage. Bucky bites his lip, unable to keep from smiling.

He blinks, and where Princess stood in all his fluffy glory, is now a very handsome, very irritated and very dishevelled Gale. His hair stands up every which way. Pink embarrassment spreads on his round cheeks, but his eyes look like lightning under the clouds of his scowl.

"Hilarious." He says, grumpy and deadpan.

Laughter bursts out of Bucky like an explosive. He just can’t help it. One look at Gale’s hair and he feels like he'll never stop smiling again. Although there's a hint of amusement curling in the corner of Gale's mouth, he has better control than Bucky does. Without another word, he purses his lips and stalks away to the bathroom to fix his messy hair.

Bucky follows him, grinning. All his bad memories are locked away again.

[avonne-writes]

(Source)

Thinking of Gale like this

[avonne-writes]

Kitty Gale headcanon:

Coming out of a dream, Gale sometimes forgets he's not in cat form and licks John's face. Mortified, he always rolls around to his other side and pretends that nothing happened.