“Holy shit,” Spider-Man said, looking at Tony like he was seeing a ghost.
Tony had no idea why. They were just finishing the clean up on the roof of Peter’s school and nothing interesting had happened in the last thirty seconds besides Tony finding a few small pieces of whatever weapon was used.
“You’re Tony Stark… you’re Iron Man!” Peter exclaimed, excited. He was practically bouncing. “I’m- I’m- holy shit…” a slight pause while Peter’s unmasked eyes squinted down at his hands before looking back up. “I can see so far!”
“Did you hit your head or something?” Tony asks, half laughing but half concerned - that’s definitely something Peter would hide from him.
A shout of “Tony!” made him whip his head to a new figure on the roof. It was just some random kid from the school - although Tony had no idea why he looked so angry.
“Kid, mask on, we’ve got company,” Tony said, lowering his own. Peter just stood there, staring at the figure in shock.
“That’s not me-“
“Holy shit,” Peter exclaimed, taking a step forward.
“Flash, you need to stay-“ the new guy began saying, but Tony cut him off.
“We don’t need civilian help up here, thank you. You should be down with the others so your parents can pick you-“
The boy cut him right back off. “Tony you are so fucking stupid sometimes.”
And firstly, ouch, that was rude. Secondly, who was this random kid to tell him that he was-
“I’m Spider-Man, and that,” he pointed at Peter, “is Flash Thompson, AKA the person who is usually in this body.”
“Spider-Man knows my name?” Peter whispered beside him. And, okay, definitely not Peter then. Tony looked between the two figures, before landing his eyes back on Flash’s body.
“Does he know about…” the question was there.
Peter shook Flash’s head. Okay. This was fine. “Any idea how-“
“If I did, I wouldn’t be standing here,” Peter gritted out. He was stressed, that much was clear. It was just strange to hear his stress come from a voice so clearly not Peter.
And okay, this was easy. They would figure out how the hell this happened at the tower. Totally okay.
They just had to get Flash slash Spider-Man to the tower without him seeing his own reflection.
Y’know the “My partner got turned into a cat” trend? Quite a few people wrote it awhile back, and while I was glazing ideas for Sylle and Noah… I think I have a request.
Just as it reads, I wish for a fic written with Sunday, Noah, and whomever else of your choosing. With a reader who got transformed into a cat. 🙏 Surely they’ll find a solution and return to their human form... Even better if they’re like snuggled up together then boom! Back to their regular figure unexpectedly.
A Cat’s Gaze, A Lover’s Soul
Tags: Sunday x Reader, Noah (OC) x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Comedy, Cat Transformation, Mild Angst, Established Relationship, Snuggling & Cuddling, Protective Behavior, Magic Gone Wrong, Unintentional Chaos, Sudden Transformation, Found Family, Lighthearted Shenanigans.
Warnings: Minor Violence, Implied Past Trauma, Touch-Starved Behavior, Mild Possessiveness.
Soft light filtered through the grand halls of the Astral Express as Sunday delicately traced his fingers over the rim of his teacup. It had been a week since you’d mysteriously transformed into a cat—a small, fluffy creature. Despite the bizarre circumstances, Sunday had remained composed, though you couldn’t miss the gentle melancholy in his gaze every time he stroked your fur.
“It seems the universe has a cruel sense of humor,” he murmured as you sat curled up in his lap, your tiny paws kneading the fabric of his coat. His feathery wing twitched behind his ear, a subtle tell of his unrest. “Even in this form, you seek comfort.”
You meowed pointedly, earning a soft chuckle from him.
The situation was frustrating, but if nothing else, being a cat meant you could curl up against Sunday’s warmth, nestled beneath the folds of his long scarf. You weren’t sure if it was your imagination, but each night you spent snuggled against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you, his hold grew just a little bit tighter. He wouldn’t admit it, but he feared losing you entirely.
Then, one evening, as you rested against his shoulder, his quiet voice barely above a whisper, you felt an odd shift—a warmth rushing through your limbs, a sudden weightlessness that made you blink.
And then, just like that, you were back in your human form—wrapped tightly in his embrace, limbs tangled as you pressed against his chest. His breath hitched, eyes wide as realization struck.
“Ah,” he said, his voice laced with an unreadable emotion. “...I suppose I should let go now.”
But for a moment, he didn’t.
The darkened halls of the Afterlife Judiciary/Palace of Justice echoed with the rhythmic clicking of boots. Noah sat lazily on his throne-like chair, his sharp teeth glinting in amusement as he flicked your tail with a gloved finger.
“You’re absolutely pathetic like this, you know that?” he purred, a sadistic glint in his one visible eye. You swiped at his hand in protest, earning a chuckle that sent shivers down your tiny feline spine.
Despite his cruel words, he was oddly possessive of you in this form, carrying you around in one arm or letting you perch on his shoulder as he doled out his merciless justice. He claimed it was just convenient, but you knew better.
At night, when he thought no one was watching, you’d find yourself nestled against his chest, his fingers buried in your fur, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep. He’d call you a nuisance in the morning, but his actions told a different story.
Then, one fateful evening, he was cradling you absentmindedly while reading through case files when a sudden surge of energy rippled through you. A blinding flash later, you found yourself sprawled across his lap, back in your human form, hands gripping his coat for balance.
Noah blinked.
Then, slowly, a wicked smirk spread across his lips. “Oh? Now that’s interesting.” His fingers traced your jaw, sharp and teasing. “Guess I’ll have to figure out new ways to keep you on my lap.”
“Now, now, little thing. If you wanted my attention this badly, you could’ve just asked.”
Aventurine lounged on an opulent couch, a glass of rich crimson wine in one hand, while his other traced circles on your feline head. You huffed, swishing your tail as he laughed, his golden accessories jingling with the movement.
He had taken your transformation with surprising ease, treating you as if this was just another high-stakes gamble the universe had thrown his way. You’d caught him betting with himself about when you’d turn back, whispering outrageous odds under his breath.
But despite his teasing, he never once let you stray too far. You always ended up curled on his lap, his warmth radiating through his elaborate suit as he hummed in amusement.
Then, one evening, as you stretched across his chest, his fingers lazily stroking your back, you felt the familiar warmth take over. A rush of sensation overwhelmed you, and suddenly—
You were human again.
And somehow, still sprawled across Aventurine’s lap.
He arched an eyebrow, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “Oh? Didn’t think you’d be so eager to stay close, darling.” His fingers trailed up your spine, amusement flickering in his eyes. “If you wanted to be in my arms so badly, you could’ve just said so.”
Truth or Dare Gone Wrong (The Mystic Falls Gang and Reader)
A game of truth or dare at the Salvatore house starts off innocent enough—until you dare Bonnie to use a spell, and suddenly, Stefan is stuck speaking in rhymes, Damon’s hair turns bright pink, and you are somehow glowing in the dark.
The night started out almost suspiciously normal.
The Salvatore boarding house had that rare, peaceful vibe—as if the walls had momentarily forgotten all the times they’d been stained with blood, or echoed with Klaus’ taunting threats. The fireplace was flickering softly. A lazy indie playlist hummed in the background. Someone—probably Caroline—had strung fairy lights across the ceiling, giving the space a soft, golden glow that made the worn-out furniture feel cozier than it had any right to.
For once, no one was fighting. No one was bleeding. No ancient evil was crawling out of a crypt. It was just the Mystic Falls crew, lounging in a makeshift circle with blankets, pillows, pizza boxes, and a dangerously underestimated sense of peace.
You had just taken a sip of soda when Elena, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, said the cursed words.
“Truth or dare?”
Bonnie, immediately suspicious, gave her a withering look. “Seriously? Can we not tempt fate for one night?”
Jeremy snorted. “You say that like we haven’t already tempted, pissed off, and danced with fate about twelve times this week.”
“It’s a harmless game,” Elena said with a shrug.
Damon raised his glass. “Says the girl whose last harmless game got us locked in a haunted corn maze with a headless banshee.”
Stefan gave his brother a pointed look, but his lips twitched with amusement. Still, despite Bonnie’s half-hearted protests, and the unspoken what could go wrong hanging in the air like a warning, everyone agreed. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was habit. Or maybe it was the kind of collective denial only a group of supernatural misfits could afford.
The bottle was retrieved from the kitchen, placed in the center of the circle, and given a spin.
It started off... well. Manageable. Funny, even. A few tame truths. A few harmless dares. Stefan reluctantly jogged shirtless around the house after losing a bet. Caroline was dared to speed-clean Damon’s liquor shelf alphabetically and did so with glitter and flair. Elena admitted she once fantasized about making out with Elijah during a particularly weird dream—and then pretended she hadn’t said it by stuffing her mouth with chips. Damon was dared to compliment Jeremy ten times in a row and got through five before dramatically fake-gagging and muttering something about his “tragically average bone structure.”
Everyone laughed. The laughter was warm and real. Then the bottle landed on Bonnie.
She arched a brow. “Truth or dare?” you asked, unable to hide your grin.
Bonnie didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”
You leaned in. “Use a spell.”
Immediately, the mood shifted. Everyone exchanged glances. Bonnie straightened, her expression unreadable.
“Nothing serious,” you added quickly. “Just... something fun. Something dumb.”
Caroline tilted her head. “Like what? Turning the lights different colors? Floating snacks?”
“Sure,” you said, already regretting everything. “Something like that.”
Bonnie stared at you for a long second. Then she sighed and stood up. “Okay. Fine. One spell. No promises.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small crystal, whispering under her breath as she moved to the center of the room. The lights dimmed slightly. The fire crackled louder. And then, in a voice that sounded just a little too ancient for your comfort, she muttered something in Latin and waved her hand.
There was a brief shimmer in the air, like heat rising off pavement. The fairy lights pulsed. The candle flames danced.
Then silence. Nothing exploded. Nothing caught fire. You exhaled. Too soon.
Stefan suddenly sat up straighter and, with perfect seriousness, said, “What in the name of hell just occurred? My chest feels tight, my thoughts are slurred.”
Everyone blinked.
“Did you just... rhyme?” Elena asked.
Stefan opened his mouth again. “I fear my voice is not my own. These cursed words—I speak in tone.”
Bonnie’s eyes went wide. “Oh no.”
Damon, who had been halfway through sipping his bourbon, looked up with narrowed eyes. “Oh no what?”
“I think the spell... reacted,” Bonnie said, backing away. “It might have tied itself to the game.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” you said. “It was just a dare.”
“Yes, and I dared chaos. So... congratulations, you’re welcome.”
While everyone tried to process that, Damon stood up and stalked over to the mirror near the staircase. He paused, stared, and screamed.
“Oh, hell no.”
He turned slowly, seething. His perfectly tousled hair—his pride, his signature—was now a blinding shade of neon pink.
“Someone fix this before I set the entire block on fire.”
“You can’t threaten arson in a tiara-colored mop,” Caroline deadpanned, half-laughing, half-horrified.
You blinked and looked down at your hands. Oh. You were glowing. No—radiating. A soft, golden shimmer rolled across your skin, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
“Bonnie?” you said carefully.
She turned. Her eyes widened.
“Oh my god.”
“I’m glowing.”
“Yep.”
“Like a radioactive lightning bug.”
“I think the spell is bonding to each of us,” she said slowly, scanning the room. “Based on who we are, what we dared, or maybe... I don’t know... emotional resonance?”
Damon flailed. “My emotional resonance is not pink, thank you very much!”
Stefan sighed and sank into the nearest chair. “Of all the things to make me do, why rhyme? I’d rather die than waste my time.”
“You are wasting our time,” Damon muttered, still glaring at his reflection. “At least try a haiku or something.”
“Guys,” Bonnie said, rubbing her temples, “the spell is unstable. If we don’t finish the game, the effects could stick.”
Jeremy perked up. “So we have to keep playing?”
“No,” Stefan said dramatically. “We must continue this cursed affair, or suffer longer in despair.”
“That’s a yes,” Bonnie translated.
And so the game resumed.
—
If the first half had been silly, the second half was absolute supernatural anarchy. Elena’s next dare gave her brief telepathy—just long enough for her to hear Damon’s thoughts and physically recoil.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” he said.
“You—think—in French when you lie.”
Damon didn’t even deny it. “Helps with finesse.”
Caroline, ever the overachiever, accepted a dare to teleport—but immediately vanished mid-sentence and reappeared on top of the kitchen counter. Then again in the hallway. Then, horrifyingly, in Stefan’s shower.
Matt turned into a stone statue for five whole minutes when he refused to answer a dare, only revived after Bonnie waved a candle and sang Beyoncé under her breath.
And you—your glow was brighter now. It shifted with your emotions. Every time someone shouted or shrieked, you pulsed like a heartbeat monitor on espresso. You were afraid to stand too close to anything flammable.
Stefan, rhyming now with bitter elegance, was narrating the entire night in tragic couplets like some cursed Shakespearean bard.
By the end, everyone was slumped in various states of exhaustion and spiritual damage.
Bonnie stood slowly. “One more round. Then I can end it.”
“Don’t you need, like, an actual reversal ritual?” you asked.
She shook her head. “It started with a dare. It ends with one.”
She looked around. Then dared herself. The room darkened. Magic sparked around her fingertips. She spoke fast, incantations layered in an ancient tongue. The spell pulsed out of her like a wave, and all at once—
Your glow vanished. Stefan exhaled in silence. Caroline reappeared on the couch with a relieved squeak. Jeremy finally stopped trying to get the bottle to spin on its own. And Damon? Damon stared at his reflection.
“Still pink,” he muttered.
Bonnie winced. “Yeah, that one’s... probably gonna fade naturally. In a week. Or so.”
Damon turned slowly, eyes murderous. “A week?”
“You dared the spell,” she reminded him.
“No. She did.” He pointed directly at you.
You raised your hands, no longer glowing, and smiled. “Worth it.”
Later
Everyone had gone home—or, more accurately, scattered like trauma survivors. You stayed behind to help clean up. Damon, sullen and sparkling under the low light, poured himself another drink, tiara still in place because Caroline had dared him to keep it for the rest of the night and Bonnie had reinforced it with a binding charm. He caught you smirking.
“Laugh it up, glow worm.”
You saluted with your soda. “Truth or dare, Damon?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Dare.”
You leaned back with a grin. “Be normal for a whole day.”
Damon groaned.
“Pure evil,” he muttered, downing his drink.
You didn’t disagree.
🕯️ Truth or Dare is now banned from the Salvatore boarding house under magical law. Violators will be glitter-bombed and hexed accordingly.
A laugh. A bit of house rivalry taken just far enough to taste trouble on the tongue. The Gryffindor common room had been boiling with late-weekend boredom, thick with half-drunk Butterbeer bottles and loud, half-baked ideas. Sirius Black had started it, of course—feet kicked up on the table, a cigarette dangling from his lips, voice thick with mischief as he leaned back in his chair and went, “We should prank Reggie.”
“Merlin,” Lily groaned from her corner, book abandoned on her chest, “not again.”
James perked up immediately. “What kind of prank?”
Remus didn’t look up from his essay. “Can we not start another war this week?”
“Too late,” Fabian muttered, already grinning.
“I’m listening,” said Gideon with a glint in his eye.
Sirius blew smoke toward the ceiling and smirked. “Something poetic. Something theatrical. Something he’ll hate.” He spun the wand in his fingers. “Something to make our darling Reggie spill all his deepest, darkest thoughts.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Like Veritaserum?”
“No, no,” Sirius waved him off. “More dramatic. A Singing Spell. One of those old enchantments from the joke section in Curses & Curiosities. It makes you sing your thoughts instead of saying them. Only lasts a few minutes. He won’t even know what’s happening.”
Marlene’s snort could have rattled the walls. “You want to musical number your brother into embarrassment?”
“Yes,” Sirius said, dead serious. “Exactly that.”
The next day—Sunday, midday—the castle buzzed with its usual weekend chaos. The hallway outside the library had become a hotspot: warm light spilling from the stained-glass windows, enchanted leaves drifting through the air, students gathered in clusters around the benches and balustrades.
And in the middle of it all, perched like some royally untouchable court, sat Regulus Black and his entourage of beautiful, dangerous things.
Barty Crouch Jr. sprawled against a pillar, reading upside-down. Pandora Rosier braided Dorcas Meadows’s hair with tiny gold wire. Evan Rosier twirled his wand and flirted vaguely with a Hufflepuff boy too afraid to meet his eyes. They were radiant. They were terrifying. They were completely unaware that their quiet moment was about to become the moment.
“There he is,” James whispered from around the corner. “Target acquired.”
“He’s surrounded,” Peter whispered. “We’ll never get close.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m a Black. I have aim.”
He peeked around the column again, waited for the exact moment when Regulus leaned back to sip from his tea, head tilted, long lashes lowered—and flicked his wand in a tight circle.
“Cantantem Verum.”
The spell hit.
Regulus froze.
The teacup slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor and shattering like glass rain. His body went limp for a breath, his spine curled slightly forward, and his eyes—
His eyes went glass-glossy and distant, like a puppet pulled offstage.
“Reg?” Barty asked, startled.
“Regulus?” Pandora’s hands hovered mid-braid.
Dorcas reached out but stopped short. “What the fuck did someone just do?”
Then—he inhaled. Softly.
And he began to sing.
A single note, clear and high and trembling like a violin string in winter air.
I know, I stand in line until you think you have the time
To spend an evening with me
The hallway fell silent. Entirely. The spell worked too well. Regulus’s voice wasn’t clumsy or embarrassing or off-key. It was angelic—high and breathy, fragile and aching, like porcelain cracking with grace.
“What the fuck,” Sirius whispered.
And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance
You won't be leaving with me
“Oh my god,” Lily gasped.
“Is he singing Sinatra?” Fabian blinked, stunned.
“No,” Mary whispered, “he’s confessing.”
Pandora looked between the lyrics and his empty gaze. “Who the hell is he talking about?”
Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
And have a drink or two
Barty stared like he was witnessing something sacred.
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid
Like, "I love you"
The words rang out in the corridor like stained glass shattering.
The girls in the hallway clutched each other’s arms. The Hufflepuff boy Evan had been flirting with audibly squealed. Dorcas looked like she’d been hit by lightning.
Evan raised a brow. “What the fuck.”
Regulus kept going. His eyes were unfocused, but his voice—his voice broke hearts.
I can see it in your eyes that you still despise the same old lies
You heard the night before
“Who hurt you?” Marlene muttered, stunned.
“Who is he singing to?” Alice hissed.
And though it's just a line to you, for me, it's true
And never seemed so right before
Sirius stumbled backwards a step.
“What?” Remus asked.
Sirius stared at his brother like he was seeing a ghost. “I know that look.”
“You don’t think—” James started.
“No. No, he can’t—”
I practice every day to find some clever lines to say
To make the meaning come true
But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late
And I'm alone with you
“Oh my god,” Lily whispered. “It’s a love song.”
“It’s not just a love song,” Gideon said slowly. “It’s a private one. Like—like he’s never said it out loud. To anyone.”
The time is right, your cologne fills my head, the stars get red
And, oh, the night's so blue
Dorcas turned sharply toward Barty.
“You’re the only one who uses cologne.”
“I swear on Merlin’s life it’s not me,” Barty said, flabbergasted.
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid
Like, "I love you"
Peter looked faintly ill.
“Who the fuck is he singing about?”
The time is right, your cologne fills my head, the stars get red
And, oh, the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid
Like, "I love you"
The silence was deafening.
Regulus stood still, trembling slightly, lips parted as the last line hovered in the air, caught like mist in sunlight.
I love you...
I love you...
I love you.
I love you~
The spell ended.
Regulus blinked once. His knees buckled slightly. Pandora and Evan both lunged forward to steady him.
He looked around. At his friends. At the dozens of staring students. At Sirius. At the dead silence.
And he frowned. “Why is everyone staring at me?”
Barty made a helpless noise. “You—you just—”
“You sang,” Dorcas choked. “You sang your soul out like a fucking ghost bride.”
“You sang Sinatra,” Pandora added, absolutely stunned. “Beautifully.”
Regulus blinked. “I don’t sing.”
“You do now,” Evan muttered.
Across the hallway, Sirius was ashen.
Lily glanced at him. “You okay?”
James stared at Sirius’s expression. “Padfoot?”
But Sirius didn’t answer. His jaw was locked, his eyes distant.
Because Sirius Black knew that voice. Knew the softness in it. Knew the nights that smelled like cologne and starlight and blue silence. Knew the fear of saying something stupid. Knew that he’d left the door open in the Astronomy Tower once too often.
For: @anaccountforathing, round 2 of whump gift swap 🥰 Hope you like it!
"Fetch the cartographer," a royal woman fidgeting with her tiara ordered. Waving to guards of varying ranks.
And so the cartographer arrived. Freshly dressed and hair combed back. Cologne perfuming the air in sandalwood.
"It is an honor, your highness!" They chirp, blushing happily.
"I am commissioning you to make a map of our newest territory, try not to make me regret it." She hissed, almost sneering. Ignoring the cartographer's quick change of face.
"If I offended -" They apologize, but the hand that comes up decides the conversation for them.
"Off you go, you have three nights of travel ahead. If the weather is favorable."
So the cartographer is here.
At the overnight camp.
Weather bitter, wind nipping at the apples of cheeks peeking out from a taunt face.
Hours blurred to days that became weeks. Months had passed.
Now, the cartographer stood in the center of the map, watching a series of roads appear around them.
They'd been mapping the bridges and deep waters underneath when the map began to shimmer.
This new territory must have had a reason for being unoccupied...
"A letter, sir." A merely solder announces before laying the paper on the table. Breaking them from their stupor.
With deft fingers, the cartographer opened the royal's letter. Swiftly reading simple sentences and paragraphs.
'It's been 12 years.' The cartographer realized, dropping the letter and whirling around to the map.
Finding it not only complete but stretched out as if to fill the frame it would be put in.
Strange landmarks and settlements akin to castles on mountains doting the paper.
Author's note: I was so excited to write a phycological whump piece 😄
I came up with this on the fly randomly a bit back, and Imma share some ideas I've formed for it.
It started with a random Logan sketch I made with his eye being a star. It was a vision that came to me while I was doodling him. Idk 😭
The potential concept of this au is that Ashlyn might have some magical powers that went haywire, resulting in her friends becoming strange beings? Maybe she's connected to the moon or something.
Okay just now, I decided to combine this other concept I had created with this AU. Charlie is a part of this strange moon essence magic, and he's sort of taunting Ashlyn about it. Not in a harmful way, just in a "oh you don't understand this? Pfft, imagine"
chaotic good if you will.
Logan's 'curse' will most likely allow him to read the stars, giving him the ability to become a living compass. It might also help him know when conditions during the night will be rough.
That's all I have for now really. I might come back lator with some more ideas involving the others
Following the style of Apparently, Sir Cameron Needs to Die I've decided to share some passages of my work-in-progress fantasy novel about a shoddy wizard who accidentally manages to bring back two zombies from the dead in a feat of apparently "true" revival, souls and everything. Since he doesn't know how he did this, he can't answer any of the other necromancer's questions, which is the typically the point at which they pull out the scalpels and go find out for themselves.
