#twilightstardust

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​ asked:chained

send “chained” for a starter where our muses are physically incapable of moving more than 5 feet away from eachother.

Admittedly, Cat hadn’t been paying that much attention to the boisterous macho posturing of the villain this go-around. Normally, she makes a show of not paying attention, leveling some snide quip or two at relevant points with just enough impasse to give the key feeling that she could care less. But this time, well...she’s tired. It’s been a particularly long...year.

They’ve been on the run far longer than Cat had anticipated, since that red kryptonite disaster. 

Oh, she’s planned on it, of course, but it was starting to get...exhausting. Which is how they slipped up, constant vigilance growing weary on steel shoulders and a much older pair, and how, it seems, she’s found herself here, strapped to a chair in a series of lazy knots that might infuriate even the most half-hearted of Fifty Shades of Grey fan, rolling her eyes as he rants and rants and rants about how he’s finally mastered the art of making sure they don’t get away this time--

“--weakest link of any superhero, I finally had an epiphany. Why are we trying to separate you, when we just have to make her as slow as your weakest--” 

Right. Her eyes are settled on Kara across the distance--Kara, known to all, now; that is still a bit of an adjustment--rolling her eyes when he keeps talking as she breaks free and zooms across the room and--

“Oh.” A hint of surprise pushes past gritting teeth, sweat suddenly dotting skin from immediate exertion. Unexpected...rippling pain spreading up from fingertips to a rapidly panting chest, and she’s lucky she’s tied to a chair because she might be stumbling backwards as if it’s her innate nature towards Kara’s hunched form across from hers, standing as if she’s stopped in time, wondering if there’s some form of kryptonite somewhere. If there’s--

“Kara.” A hint of genuine panic might sear through her throat, because what kind of weapon could stop them both in their tracks, like this--could hurt to even--A blink. “Go.” 

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​ asked: Kara had never opened up about Red Kryptonite. She tried to forget about it, no one ever asked her what happened. And it always troubled her how people looked at her as if she was evil. "I didn't notice at first," Kara started, as she stared out the window, trying to get some semblance of strength from the sun that glowed inside. "The red kryptonite, that is. It was like... feeling the droplets of dew on your arm in the morning before the sun comes out. Nothing felt off, but you felt it,"

Eyes skim along the length of shoulders that are etched with the weight of the world, so heavy of a burden people might forget what they look without stone chiseled into a frame. Responsibility had a way of molding a spine, regardless of how much someone tried to ease it, and Cat can see it, now, how it pulls down at the edges of Kara like a puppeteer’s strings. “A full simile--” But there’s no dry jest on Cat’s tongue as she comes closer, fingers curving along those shoulder blades in understanding camaraderie. In something close to familiarity. It’s the sort of ease that comes in the mornings when a young boy hunches over a text message, mood scuffing in toes along wood--the ease that comes as she passes by Olivia’s little oval desk, greeting and solidarity. Cat touches Kara without a thought in the world, simply so that she’s aware Cat isn’t just at her back, but her side, as well.

“Snapper might make a writer out of you, yet.” Her voice is as soft as the sunlight tracing Kara’s features as she settles next to her, searching features for a long minute, thoughtful, before she gently continues, hand falling to cross in front of her chest. “That couldn’t have been easy, such a subtle change. What happened?”

“Once you started to notice.”

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​ said:  [ hurt ] for your muse to find mine injured

Fingers quiver as they reach down to a leg that’s quickly going numb, pale skin sinking like moonlight into the leaves when she stumbles amongst them, her own tracks clumsy and frantic in the brush, a clear path of blood and debris and broken twigs in her wake. 

Like a wounded rabbit shot by a cruel arrow, prolonging its suffering instead of ending it. 

But, for once, Rina does not wish to cover tracks with knowing fingers and a clever hand. She wishes to be found and is certain, for the first time since her sister’s face started to fade from her mind, that she will be--that someone is hunting after her not just as pray, but as pack--

Oh, great, even her mind isn’t making any sense. What’s she? A wolf?

Rina’s quiet, noble whimper breaks against dirt, muscles in shaking arms aching as she moves to shift upwards--moves to stand--and it takes three tries before she manages to push herself enough to move out of the way of the path to collapse against the back of a tree she scratches, owlish blink covered by her own sweat, stinging. The tie around her thigh broke from the fall, blood seeping freely from a wound now as she pants, shoulders sagging. 

A twig snaps behind her, shoulders stiffening.

“Oh, that better be you,” It’s a frail gasp, stubborn and lashing, but so weak that it barely sounds like the girl, at all, “Because I wou’n’t...left so many...clues if I though’...” Breathing is labored as she rolls over onto a scarred back, sunlight burning stinging eyes from the pain. She’s used to pain, but not used to her limbs not listening to her, and it seems, for once, there’s no fight left-- “You wouldn’t be...faster than them. Please--” Another owlish blink, struggling to keep eyes open, “Please...be Kara.” 

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​ said:  Am I dreaming?

The sun has set beyond the expansive skyline in a city she doesn’t quite recognize, anymore. Technology, after all, has a way of shifting the world--changing it--turning it into something new. But it still has the same bones beneath it, the same city she helped build up from the ground. Helped flourish.

Even if someone else took the wheel. 

Do they even have wheels, anymore?

The sleepy question fills the bright room of a house Cat doesn’t quite own, anymore. A quiet, fond smile lights up a face that’s decidedly younger than she was when Cat left her, the first time, fingers skimming along blonde locks, sifting through hair as she eases next to her on the large bed, rumpled sheets by hips. 

“No.” She offers, leaning down to brush lips over her wife’s forehead, smiling against skin, shifting down on the bed to lay next to her, propped up on the elbow of the hand that’s gently sifting through long hair. “Not a dream. I thought it might be a good idea to come say hi for a while.” 

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​ said:  Did you miss me?

“Maybe.” A hum, leaning back into arms with a smile--a spreading, settling softness that betrays her when it so easily portrays itself on lips. But she doesn’t hide from it. Not today--not from Kara, when her chin tips backwards to offer it up freely. Fingers reach up to brush through hair, pulling her closer over her shoulder in the loose embrace. Teasing, light, eyelashes fluttering as she leans into her cheek so that she can feel her smile--

“Don’t tell me you missed D.C.” 

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust said "Will you marry me?"

The words settle so sharply in the back of her throat that it might strangle her, fingers curling over a balcony that no longer feels cool to her fingertips.

A laugh. Quiet. Tearful.

The noise of it rumbles and skips like a stone over clear blue rivers she can barely remember, now, and when she turns around to see Kara's face, the red glow of a sun illuminates familiar eyes.

"Oh, Kara." She crosses the distance between them, the faintest rumble of a land that no longer exists in the distance, fingers gently curving over her cheek. There's no stopping those tears in her throat, but they don't break past the tremble of her lips. They don't spill from their build in her gaze, leaning up to rest her forehead against a woman that might have been her wife, if they'd had only another hour. Day. Minute.

Funny, really, since they might have had years, here.

"Don't you remember?" Her hand falls, but not far, raising to rest a palm over her heart, the beat still the same. And that's something Cat remembers. Feels. Knows. "I already have. Or, well...something close to it." She pulls back enough to smile through those restless tears, lips trembling like mountains but smiling, all the same, answering the request, "Always. You don't have to ask. Don't you know? Don't you feel it? Doesn't it make sense, to you? Always." She promises. "Always."

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​  said: Harley runs over and hugs Cat cause she wants to hug Cat

A gasp--muscles tensing. Clenching. Small, thin wires of her bones composed of marble pulling taut at the unsolicited action, jaw barely trembling as brows knit and--

A shaky, quivering breath brushing along Harley’s shoulder.

Hesitation--rare--curls fingers in the air before they raise up to quietly curl over Harley’s shoulder, nose burying in her old friend’s familiar, warm neck. 

“Ugh, you’re so tactile.” Cat complains, other hand raising up to hold her close, “...not that I mind it, I guess. You’ve always given surprisingly good hugs.”

[pulitzerpanther]

@twilightstardust​  said: "Because I love you" (From Harley. Cause well, she hasn't sent anything in a long time, and Harley does love Cat || Send “Because I love you!” for your muse to blurt that out during an argument!

The metal of a sturdy door feels suddenly cold in a scratched palm and when she curls fingertips into it, white knuckles and fingertips that have been chewed to the nub feel almost pained by its weight. Brows knit, chin barely quivering before the phrase telling Harley where she can shove her concern die in the back of a tight throat. 

Her whole body is a tight rope, these days--trembling, trembling, trembling with each vibration of a teetering, balancing throat. One gust of wind sideways and she’ll all come down, and somehow she tightens that string before she falls off, entirely, quiver subsiding as hollow eyes settle over Harley’s shoulder.

She pushes the door further open. 

“Fine.” At least Harley is the least likely of anyone Cat knows to comment on the papers strewn everywhere--comment on the emptiness inherent in the apartment, toys scattered along the corner of a floorboard she still hasn’t cleaned. Might never clean.

Joe was supposed to do it a month ago and Cat, meticulous and full of right angles and sharp edges, still hasn’t tucked it away. 

“You can come inside, but I swear to God if you sideways shrink me I’m kicking you out.”