#Cobb Angle

[sigs-gurney]

Just got my report from my scoliosis X-ray. I am an adult and only recently found out how bad my scoliosis is after having a ct scan for unrelated reasons. Turns out I am a mere 4 degrees away from the threshold where surgery is recommended.

\_(:/)_/

Luckily my skeleton is fully matured according to the report so it’s not likely to get worse until I eventually get osteoporosis from old age like all birth-control snorting wamen.

Anyways, pictured here is my Cobb angle

[staringinthestars]

Official Diagnosis Of Scoliosis+Cobb Angle

Good morning everyone. It’s been a minute since I have written on here. School started back and it has been both hectic and exciting at the same time. This semester, I am finally going to start being the co-clinician in my school’s speech and hearing clinic. I am elated about that. One day I was thinking about my back and how I forgot to go to the hospital to get the x-ray series with…

[eulaliasims]

Spotted: these dorks.

Pointedly ignoring those dorks (her half-sister & brother-in-law), Isabel struck up a conversation with Ben, but he wasn't interested in getting a coffee and talking more afterward. Probably for the best!

Spotted: Phineas and his old high school boyfriend... catching up? I guess?

[a-concert-just-for-me]

Spine go brrrrr

[not-a-snowman]

Episode 16 Spoilers!!!

I see some folks talking about the twist like it invalidates the story and makes the characters less real, which like…

Mephone4 was made by Steve Cobbs, is he less real for being created by someone else? If they’re going for a thematic angle about art and creation then there’s no way they’re going to neglect the fact art is more than just its creator and that it can mean and be made into a thousand different things depending on who’s life it touched

It’s a MASSIVE twist that recontextualizes the entire series, but the characters are still THEM. Mephone4 may have created them as hollow imitations of things he’s seen on TV but they have long since grown into independent beings, unique characters. Their fights and struggles and identities are still real.

Being born from the bizarre coping mechanism of a child god doesn’t invalidate that

[britneyshakespeare]

you versus the guy she tells you not to worry about

this is a very niche issue and it's not like a can prove it either way but i do not like it when editions of shakespeare use the cobbe portrait as an image to represent him. i do not believe it's him; that's sir thomas overbury.

[ultraericthered]

Unpopular Opinion Re: The Penguin

Am I the only one who does not give a single shit about the titular character being called "Oz Cobb?" The way some people act like it's some huge affront to an adapted comic book character done in the name of cynical "grounded realism" and that it singlehandedly ruins Matt Reeves' The Batman canon and ought to put all Batman fans off of it....seriously??? Not only is it a small detail all things considered since the guy still calls himself "Penguin" and has entanglements with a guy dressed in a bat-like costume, but it is ridiculously easy to assume that "Oz Cobb" is a shortened "Oswald Cobblepot". Cause it is. If it is out-of-universe, then who's to say that's not the case in-universe too? That Oz's birth name is Oswald Cobblepot. a name he feels would make him a big joke among the mobsters of Gotham City in an environment he wants to work his way up in, so he changes his name to "Oz Cobb" and goes by that instead? Yeah, it's not an angle that was taken with Penguin in any other iteration, and like many other such instances, that's why it doesn't hurt to do it for the first time in this one (and I'd argue it's still a more inspired alteration than Oswalda in Caped Crusader, whose gimmick didn't really add anything integral). It's an interesting reversal of the usual Penguin lore where "Penguin" was a degrading nickname Oswald was called since childhood that he came around to embracing. Here, it's "Penguin" that he proudly embraces as a name from the start while his birth name is the name he feels ashamed of and wants to hide.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(12)

Couldn't Someone Have Dreamed of a Goddamn Beach?

Robert Fischer x reader

description - a snowy landscape provides the stage for their final act but how much will be revealed before it's time for curtains close.

word count - 3.3k

warnings - snowboarding/skiing, guns, major character death

a/n - I know I said I was gonna do shorter fics but there was no realistic place I could have ended this chapter :) Also I had to have my gal snowboarding as boarding is just the best! To the day I die I will say that snowboarding is sooooo much better than skiing!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

Cold. The ice burned my skin even through the thick layers. My eyes shot open, and they landed amongst the icy glades of the third layer. My breath shot out in front like a cold whisper dancing through the air. I rolled my bones out trying to feel out my new attire. The jacket was bulky and frame hugging. A warm hat christened my head, and I was thankful for the barrier. I smoothed out my feet which appeared to be locked in position. They glided along the snow as they were held into a state-of-the-art snowboard. I grasped the goggles from my head and snapped them in place over my eyes. With one little nudge I began to skate down the snow hill. I expertly manoeuvred around the trees but once I spotted projections on heading for me, I was able to jump and glide, saving myself without firing a single shot. My eyes darted in search of any familiar bodies to give me any indication of the others location.

“Y/n. Y/n, do you copy?” a buzzing sprung to life in my ear, and I skidded to a stop. I fiddled with the apparent earpiece which had found its way on to my person.

“I copy, what’s your 20?” But before an answer could be said I had spotted their group and boarded down to join.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I arrived to find Ariadne and my dad. Dad had his gun trained on the building. It’s sharp angles made it look so futuristic, but the façade was villainous. There was nothing about it which invited me in, especially not the copious number of armed projections.

“Cobb, what’s down there?” It seemed he was merely using the gun for the lens.

“Hopefully the truth we want Fischer to learn.” Dad’s voice shook with insincerity but right now his fluctuating confidence was the least of my worries.

Ariadne lowered her voice to avoid the angle of my ears. “I meant what’s down there for you?” Dad shot a look to her which was filled with fear. He was now directed toward me with something more akin to guilt. But his crime I had yet to know.

Over the hill, Eames, Saito, and Robert could be spotted. It seems they had chosen to sport ski’s. Too many pieces for my liking but I had no doubt in Robert’s ability, feeling there were a few skiing holidays under his belt.

 “Eames this is your dream.” My dad began once we had all reconvened. “I need you to draw the security away from the complex. Understand?”

Eames halted and removed his goggles. “Who guides Fischer in?”

I looked over to Robert’s face which flushed with uncertainty. I dropped to the ground in a more comfortable sit and tugged on his jacket. He looked down to me and I gestured for him to join me. He did so but was unsure in his movements. From the moment he had fallen asleep he hadn’t had a moments rest. A sit down would be good… for the both of us. He smiled, thankful for my kindness and in response I patted his shoulder in a silent show of support.

“I designed the place?” Ariadne placed herself forward.

“No, you’re with me.” Cobb rebutted her idea.

“I could do it.” Saito spoke up. My brows furrowed as I looked up at him.

“All right, you brief him on the route to the complex.” Cobb turned to Eames. I rose hurriedly and attempted to balance myself.

“Excuse me, but no.” Everyone turned to look at me, shocked by my firm denial. Dad’s gaze felt like steel on my weathered face. “It should be me.”

Cobb practically laughed in my face before approaching to whisper close to my face. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.” He spat out. “I saw the hug, I saw your face, and more importantly I saw his face. Don’t do this, you’ll get yourself hurt.” I forced back the tears unwilling to give him a sliver of weakness, but I could no longer decipher whether he was concerned of my physical wellbeing or my emotional.

I strengthened my voice and rose the volume of our conversation so the others would be brought in. “I think you’ll find Saito is still injured and in no condition to be the lead. I am happy for him to come with, but Fischer’s safety will be left up to me.” I angled myself back so I could pour this directly into his ear. “I am the one to do this. And you know it.” I saw his face fall at the harshness of my words and my position was confirmed with a slight nod.

Cobb patted Fischer’s chest where a microphone sat. “Keep this live, I’ll be listening the whole time.” As I turned to make sure Fischer was ready, in the corner of my eye I spotted Saito gripped in a painful cough. And I could only imagine the blood that was to follow. “The windows on that upper floor are big enough for me to cover you from the south tower, you see it?”

“Yeah,” Fischer managed to push out through his clenched breath. “You’re not coming in?”

“In order to find out the truth about your father, you’re gonna need to break into Browning’s mind on your own.” Each man’s breath deepened, gorging on the thin air available. He pulled away and patted Fischer’s back to confirm the end of the discussion. He then gestured to where I stood prepping my board. “Anyways, you’ll have her. She’ll get you through it.” A soft smile spread across both of their faces but when my dad noticed his warm grin was matched, he gripped Robert’s shoulder. “But she is still my daughter.” Robert’s gulp was practically audible, and he shook out his body in a show of understanding. But once Cobb had turned back around, his eyes fixed on me and refused to move anywhere else.

I skidded a bit further down the hill, ground to a stop, and once again adjusted my goggles.

“Ready, boys?”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

As we approached the building, a clear commotion was visible. It was directed towards a flare which had been set off by Eames causing the ‘guards’ to hustle to exit the building in search of the threat. A worry alighted in my body seeing the sheer size of the garrison which was coming for Eames, but I had to be determined in his ability and focus on my own.

‘Non je ne regrette rien, non…’

The familiar tune filtered through the atmosphere as if bird song in the morn. As soon as the French words whispered into my ear my heartbeat quickened. It was too soon. We weren’t anywhere close to being ready for the kick, but Yusuf couldn’t know that. And without the kick we were stuck.

“What’s that?” Robert questioned as he slid to my side. I turned around to see Saito trailing behind; the struggle evident in his weakened body.

“Nothing. Just a signal. Nothing to worry about.” I hurried out and once again prepared to glide.

Once I felt a safe distance from the two men, I pressed my ear piece to activate it. “Eames, Cobb.” I could practically hear him sigh at my use of his name. “Was that what I think it was?”

“Affirmative, baby cob.” Eames soft lilt came through the buzzing. I rolled my eyes at the previously rejected nickname.

“Yusuf’s 10 seconds from the kick, that gives Arthur 3 minutes.”

“Which gives us what?” Dad questioned.

“60 minutes.” I answered free of hesitation. “But can we make this route in under an hour? Ariadne?”

“You still have to climb down to the middle terrace.” Her voice came through.

“They need a new route, a more direct route.” Dad pressured Ariadne to think through her design.

Gunfire alighted around us, and the tension rose an exorbitant amount. I dodged as best as I could which was easy on my board, the boys struggled on their skis. I desperately wanted to throw my arms up in a futile attempt at self-preservation, but I remained firm, knowing my vision was more important.

“It’s designed as a labyrinth.” The panic in her voice was clear.

“Even Theseus found a way through.” I joked attempting to lighten the mood.

“There must be access routes that cut through the maze, right?” Dad’s voice began to rise. “Did Eames add any features?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.” I was getting frustrated with this back, and forth which had no appreciation for the lack of time.

“We don’t have time for this! Did he add anything?” Cobb was shouting now.

“He added an airduct system which can cut through the maze.”

“Ariadne, tell me where to go. Now!” My tone was sharp, but my nerves were high.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Yusuf crashed through the bridge’s barrier.

Arthur was thrown forward through the hallway.

I paused my descent up the rock and shivered as I watched the bundle of snow collapse down the mountain.

The kick.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I clipped off our rope and yelled down before throwing the three of us off the rock before the avalanche could reach us.

We tumbled down with the snow blanketing our fall.

Once our fall had ceased, I could only feel ice water fill my lungs as my face was cushioned in a perfect cold. A pair of hands grasped my shoulders to turn me over. I took a gulp of fresh air and my eyes focused on his concerned face.

“Are you okay?” Robert softly asked my numb frame. When the realisation set in, I dragged my body up fuelled by pure frustration. I ripped off my hat and goggles. Throwing them on to the ground. I paced around, tears daring to spill out at everything I had just lost.

“Was that it? Was that the kick? Did we miss it?” My thoughts tumbled out onto our radio lines.

Silence.

“Yeah, we missed it.” My father broke through.

I turned around to see Robert in his own torment. He was flinging about his arms trying to remove some invisible attacker. I could only assume the cold and confusion blended together to destroy his heart.

“Couldn’t someone have dreamed of a goddamn beach!” He whined out. I ignored the radio conversation and ran over to take him into my arms, to soothe his woes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” I stroked down his back in a comforting repetition. “I’m here.”

My earpiece pierced back through. “What do we do now?” Eames defeatedly asked.

“We finish the job.” My dad stated. I halted my movement confused by his assurance. “Before the next kick.”

“What next kick?” I asked.

“When the van hits the water.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I continued, confident in my father.

We made it to the airduct. It was a copper pipe so decrepit it looked as if it had lived under the sea for the past century. Saito had gone ahead to open the gate as I had stayed back to make sure Robert was still following. My hand firmly in his.

The gate blast open from the charges Saito had set. I pushed Robert to go in front of me. His scepticism meant I had to physical direct him into the pipe. I followed closely behind.

Once we entered, I ripped off my hat and goggles, feeling breathless at the constriction. My hair tumbled loose, and I spied Robert glancing at me.

We climbed up before Saito rushed to the side to expel the cough he’d been repressing. I ran to him as his body nearly collapsed. I rubbed his back for the only comfort I could provide. I knelt down to him, so Robert was not privy to my words.

“I’ll take him in. Here,” I placed my pistol in his hand. “Cover us.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“We’re here.” Robert spoke into his mic from behind me as I continued to walk.

“You’re clear but hurry.” A crackly voice informed our movement. “There’s an entire army headed your way.”

After the mic cut off, I felt a grip on my arm, and I turned around to meet the eyes I was willing myself to forget. I could see his lips were trying to form words, but his brain struggled to keep up.

“Robert, we don’t have time.” I hurried out whilst gripping his hand to drag him along. But he stalled so I would be forced to face him again.

“That’s exactly my point.” He was serious. I could see it and didn’t feel any desire to stop it. “Look I don’t know who you are or what this place is. And your father is a scary dude who seems quite dangerous.” I giggled slightly at this. He took my hands in his. “But there is something special about you and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t –” He rushed towards me, and our lips met in a passionate kiss. As I sunk in deeper my hands grasped around his waist and his came up to my shoulder blades. The space between us was now imperceivable and the kiss deepened more. I reached up and ripped out our earpieces, refusing to share this moment.

Eventually we pulled away and I bit my lip when I looked up at him. The lines on his face had smoothed and his expression had calmed. We smiled in synchronisation and matched each other’s happiness.

“I don’t even know if any of this is real, but I couldn’t go back without having one last moment with you.” He spoke to me, his words dripping with passion. My eyes fell deeper to swim in his blues. My body slumped into his arms, never wanting to leave. Something snapped me back and I realised that if I wanted this, I needed to get him through that vault.

I grasped his hand and dragged him back through. “We need to go, come on.”

“Wait.” His saddened voice stopped me. I turned back around and cupped his fallen face.

“I feel the same, but if we want forever. I need you to follow me.” He nodded in understanding and followed me.

We stopped in front of an imposing vault. With a gentle nudge, I pushed him to walk forward. As he did the hairs on the back of my neck prickled up.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*3rd pov*

“There’s someone else in there.” Cobb whispered to himself as he spotted a figure drop down into the room. He couldn’t make out the frame, but he could sense the danger.

“Fischer, Y/n! There’s someone else with you! Abort! Turn around.” He shouted and shouted to the broken line.

“Why aren’t they answering?” He questioned Ariadne. “They can’t hear me.” He stated with a morose realisation.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

I watched Robert walk forward and felt his tentative steps. I stayed back fearing my presence would disrupt.

I trained my ears backwards as I heard the gentle sound of boots land on the floor. The hairs had not calmed so I slowly turned around and faced...

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Mum raised her gun which was trained on Robert. He turned to face the voice. I reached into my empty holster. A shot rang out and Robert fell dead.

I screamed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Eames stormed up through the grate and watched my grieving frame which was bent over Fischer’s cold body.

He ran to the side and brought out the defibrillator. I hurriedly wiped away my tears fearing the reaction. Eames’ hand laid over mine and spoke more comfort than any words could have said.

Ariadne and Dad ran up to meet us. Even as they watched on, I couldn’t stop the free flowing tears which came from all I’d shared with this man in the moments before.

“What happened?”

“Mal killed Fischer.”

Cobbs eyes lingered on her lifeless frame. Once I found where his eyes rested, I could barely drag mine away either. It was all too familiar. Why was I cursed to have a recurring nightmare which I had been forced to live twice. My mother’s death causing such conflicting feelings.

“I couldn’t shoot her.” I scoffed at him.

“She’s not real.” I seethed from my place on the floor. “Robert. Robert was real.” The sentence cracked at the end as my voice gave up. Dad came to kneel beside me and offer a consoling hug with my onslaught of emotion.

“Look, there’s no use in reviving him.”

“Shut up.” I spluttered out.

“His mind’s already trapped down there.” He stood firm in everything I didn’t want to hear. This didn’t stop Eames applying the pads as he looked at my broken expression. Dad kissed my head. “It’s over.”

Eames stopped all movement.

“That’s it then? We failed?” Eames stated, throwing down his gloves.

“We’re done.” My dad stood up to shuck off his gloves. “I failed you.” He then saved his final words for me. “I’m sorry.” He whispered out as if speaking it louder could hurt me more.

“Well, it’s not me that doesn’t get back to my family, is it?” I glared at Eames. “Sorry.” He quickly corrected. “It’s a shame, I really wanted to know what was gonna happen in there. I swear we had this one.” Eames seemed unable to accept, despite his apparent contentment, as his hands flitted about his face in different motions.

“Let’s set the charges.” My dad solemnly walked away.

“NO!” I shouted and he stopped at my yelp. “There’s another way.”

“Darling, you’re hurting, I know.” He refused to look at me as he searched for the charges.

“We just follow Fischer down there.” I gestured to his peaceful expression as he lay still.

“Not enough time.”

“There will be enough time down there.” They both finally stopped to consider my words. “And we will find him.”

Now that I had their attention my adrenaline spiked at this possible plan.

“As soon as Arthur’s music kicks in just use the defibrillator to revive him. We can give him his own kick down below. Look, you get him in there.” I gestured to the locked vault. “And as soon as the music ends you blow up the hospital, and we all ride the kick back up the layers.” I was giddy with excitement.

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Eames agreed. “If Saito can hold the guards off whilst I set the charges.”

“Saito will never make it, will he?”

I interrupted the boys muttering and threw myself against my father. My pleading eyes bore into his. “Daddy. We have to try.” I stuttered out.

He silently contemplated but his mind was made up once our eyes met. We communicated in a way only known to the two of us. And with the slight tilt of his head, I knew it was on. We rose.

“But if you are not back before the kick, I am gone with or without you.” We both solemnly nodded at Eames, understanding the very probable outcome.

Cobb took my hand in his and solidified our agreement. Together, we would go down deeper. The risks were even stronger than up here but we both knew neither of us would be able to return without at least trying. Dad would rather spend eternity in limbo than not know he did everything he could to save our family, and I knew I couldn’t live a second more without Robert.

We prepped the machine.

“If we’re doing this, you have to trust me.” Dad warned. “Whatever you see down there, we must have trust.” I worried for the seriousness of his warning. “Do you trust me?”

“Do you trust me?” I threw back. He smirked at the familiar stubbornness which he had known many years ago.

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

Dark.

LAYER FOUR: LIMBO

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Oooooo we're getting so close to the end!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace

[ddagent]

The office was a flurry of activity: phone calls soliciting donations; the constant churn of the printer for more flyers, more posters. From every angle was Oz's smug face staring back at her: "Elect Oswald Cobb: man of the people." Sofia thought she should get a commission as his first campaign manager. The picture his actual manager had chosen had softened his edges - but kept the scar.

He was here, in the office. A plum suit, waistcoat. Sofia wondered whether he still carried a gun, or whether that wouldn't fit with the image he was trying to present to the Gotham voters. Man of the people. Who had murdered his own brothers, and hers. Who had gutted two crime families - well, one, Sofia had done the Falcones. The driver boy was dead; that had been the first thing Sofia had asked when Oz had visited her in Arkham and the boy hadn't been lingering in his shadow. But since her incarceration, his crimes had been limited. A little bribery. A little blackmail. Julian's head.

And a fire, at Arkham, that had burned the Hangman alive.

That was why Sofia was here. To ask why.

[facewithoutheart]

Thanks for the tags, @monbons, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @roomwithanopenfire, @artsyunderstudy, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @supercutedinosaurs, @ileadacharmedlife, @fiend-for-culture & @run-for-chamo-miles ❤️ reading through your snippets was the perfect airport activity. I feel full of good writing.

I’m traveling which means I’ve been MIA on social but super active in writing. Not sure who that’s best for lol but I was finally able to finish out my EGF, make some progress on my COBB, and plot out an entire original novel 🤣 send thoughts and prayers to Mr Face who has had to listen to me ramble about it ad nauseam while he just wanted to explore museums.

A brief clip:

His boots are filled with water. He’s under it, the roar muting to a dim rumble. Timber, but not driftwood, stabs him from every angle. He lets out a gurgled cry when his body slams into something hard and pokey. Limestone, his mind supplies. The river carves through it. The river carves through everything.

I swear it’s a romance.

Side note: Mr Face said I write action well which made me nearly cry? Because that’s always been one of my weakest points and I’ve worked hard to fix that. Basically he said lots of nice things and I’m floating bc he does not pull punches so it’s some of the few compliments my sad brain accepts as truth.

No tags because I’m a day late but I’ve missed sharing ❤️

[thenwhatthefukcisthis]

Inception 30 day challenge 2024

Day 18: What building or monument does Ariadne wish she designed?

@inception30daychallenge

Taj Mahal. The Symbol of Eternal Love.

or in other words, the tower built by a guilt-ridden man who asked for too much, to remember a naive woman who gave too much.

sure, the intricate designs, the pristine marble floors, the inherent exotic nature which makes the structure a modern day marvel do intrigue her, but she is more enamoured by the tragic story woven around the building, a sentiment she has seen reflected in cobbs eyes. she can’t fathom how the world associates romance with the mahal, when it’s nothing but a stone of regret, a paradox she knows arthur would enjoy, but she thinks, she might understand it someday, when she sees eames leaving the airport with his lover, forgiveness holding regret and romance hand in hand.

she wonders whether saito cares enough but she feels that he’ll find the view of the monument, at the hour when the sun rays hit it just right, engulfing everything in its warm golden glow, a glimpse of an emotion hidden beneath layers of flaunted wealth.

she collects all the photos of the mahal yusuf sends her whenever he visits his family, each one of them being at different angles and different times, with each passing year showing her more and more sides of the same old structure. she yearns for the day she’ll see it for real, breathing the air of Agra, and try to touch the famed eternal love herself, the plethora of pictures promises.

[shipstorms]

webgott high school AU

"Fuck off," David says, and he hates how the venom gets lost somewhere in his voice, even when he's boiling with it. Other people might laugh, but Joe just looks at him. "I mean, Cobb said -- "

"Cobb's a dick," Joe declares, flicking away his cigarette butt. He joins his hands behind his head as a pillow and closes his eyes and that's the end of that, apparently. 

Initially, David is surprised at this assessment because Joe is a dick, too, but then he realizes that they diverge in ways he hasn't really thought about until now. Joe is a dick, sure, but he has no bite to him, not really. Not once you get past the surface layer. 

"The fuck are you lookin' at," Liebgott mumbles without opening his eyes. 

David treats that as a rhetorical question and Liebgott doesn't say anything else. He takes a pull off the cigarette, examining the lit end as he exhales in a long, slow breath. "Lieb."

"What."

"You ever feel like no one really knows you?" 

"I guess. Sure. But do you even really know yourself at this point?" Liebgott scratches his nose as David stares. 

"Wow. So you do introspect somewhat."

"See, this," Liebgott stretches his fingers out and swipes a single circle in the air, "this is why so many people want to punch you. I get where Cobb is coming from, I really do." 

"Glad to know whose side you're on," David says, trying for sarcastic and landing on pathetic instead. 

"Web. Jesus. Have some goddamn self-confidence, would you?"

"How the hell am I supposed to do that when you're razzing me for sixteen hours out of the day?"

Lieb finally opens his eyes. He props himself up on his elbows to get a better angle at which to eviscerate David with his laser stare. "Fucking listen to yourself. We're hanging out sixteen hours a day, period." 

David bristles. Backtracks a bit. "I meant that as an exaggeration. And anyway, that wasn't the point -- "

"You ever see Talbert moping in a corner because of something I said? Or Luz? Or Sisk, or Grant, or -- "

"Alright! Alright, I get it," David interrupts, even though he doesn't, really. He just wants Liebgott to stop talking. There's only so much he can pick apart while trying to fall asleep at night and the mental inbox labeled OVERANALYZE LATER is already overflowing with this newfound realization of exactly how much they've been seeing of each other.

"All I'm saying is that this seems like a 'you' issue," Liebgott finishes. He lies back down, this time with his hands folded over his chest like he's lying in a sarcophagus. 

"Sure, fine, whatever." His cigarette has burnt down almost to the filter; he stares at it as the flame flickers closer and closer to his fingers. 

"Oh my god, Web," Liebgott groans. "Seriously, can you, like, I don't know. Watch a TED Talk about how to not be overdramatic. Focus on some self-improvement." 

"I was just kidding. And you wanna talk about self-improvement? Because we can talk about self-improvement."

"Right. Nope. I changed my mind, let's not go there." Lieb closes his eyes again, since he knows that David knows that there are six meditation apps on his phone and zero data usage on all of them.  

"Alright."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Besides, I know that being an annoying asshole is one of your expressive love languages."

He waits for Lieb's eyes to pop open and bug out, but all he does is kind of shrug serenely, and then that familiar desperate feeling bounds through him. From the first moment they met, he has been seeking Joe's approval with an embarrassing intensity that he hates himself for. 

There's a shock of pain in his hand and he soundlessly drops the cigarette that he'd forgotten all about at the same time Joe speaks up again. "What are the other four?"

"What?" David asks, distracted, shaking his hand out.

"My other four love languages. Since you know me so well." Joe crooks one arm behind his head as support, making him look indolent and challenging at the same time.  

"Being an asshole is one through five."

"Aw, come on!" 

"You seriously want me to answer? Isn't this something you need to identify on your own?"

"Yeah, but I want to hear what you think."

Another soundbyte for that mental inbox that David carefully files away. "That's even more self-indulgent than usual," he points out.

"I'm okay with that. Indulge me," Joe says with heavy lidded eyes, and David wants to roll over and scream into the dirt. 

"I don't know. I stand by my original answer," he ends up muttering. He rips up a handful of grass and fiddles with it as Lieb snorts and says, "Gee, thanks."

[staranon95]

Google news is shaming me to start working on my DinCobb Camino au so I'm sharing a snippet to encourage myself to write a bit tonight

...

From here, it shouldn’t be construed as something of poor taste, photographing a man while he has a private moment with his Lord. Cobb takes the lens in hand and focuses it, bringing Din into central focus as he kneels within the centre frame of the lens. The shutter clicks once, twice, thrice before Cobb lowers the camera. His heart presses up urgently against his chest. And with his camera clutched in both hands, Din then turns his head and catches sight of Din and he fixes Cobb there to the spot where he stands among the pews, wearing his hiking boots, dressed for a day of hiking, a clear and obvious tourist to a man like Din in his house of worship.

But then Din smiles and angles his head so Cobb crosses the sanctuary. “You should catch me from my good side,” he says before he strikes a pose, still kneeling upon the bench, a rosary wound around his left hand, his head tilted up towards the light that shines upon his face. His side profile certainly leaves nothing to be desired with the strong arch of his nose, the arch of his neck, and the line of his jaw.

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 3: Smoke and Mirrors

Thomas wasn’t quite sure what drew him back to Alec’s side, but he returned to the Arcadia club the following week, and then a week later, and then a few days after that.

On cold nights, when he lay alone in the bed that he and Grace had shared, he knew in his heart that he would never experience true intimacy again. But then he thought of Alec, waiting for him in that warm and rosy-hued room, and felt the barest trace of yearning.

He started looking forward to his business trips to Birmingham - spending less and less time at home with his son, and more and more time at his old flat in Small Heath, from which it was only a short drive to the Arcadia.

Thomas was under no illusions that there was any genuine connection between them - Alec was just a whore, after all - but he enjoyed the young man’s company nevertheless. The conversation wasn’t sparkling, but Alec had a cheerful manner that could put anyone at ease.

He asked for nothing, and let Thomas do whatever he wanted. They had sex when Thomas was in the mood, but sometimes they just sat and talked, and other times they simply lay in silence. In his own effortless way, this beautiful creature had cast a spell that Thomas was all too happy to succumb to.

Alec didn’t seem to mind what they did - it was easy money either way. Each time Thomas visited, he left a bigger gratuity. First ten shillings, then twelve, then fifteen, then a whole shiny pound coin. Alec was free to spend it on whatever he wanted - Thomas didn’t ask - and Cobb never took issue with it. The money he was raking in from the Shelby alliance far outweighed whatever he might be losing out on in tips, no matter how generous the tipper.

One day in March, almost three months into his patronage of the Arcadia, Thomas found himself in particular need of relaxation. He’d been fighting off a headache all day, and the tension in his neck and shoulders had grown unbearable. He needed to unwind. He left the offices of the Shelby Company Limited as soon as he was able, and headed directly to the Arcadia.

It was early in the evening, and the club was still gearing up for peak hours. Thomas entered to find the band tuning their instruments and the dance floor relatively quiet. Cobb was seated at the nearby bar, sharing a drink with a handful of his men.

“You’re early, Mister Shelby,” he said, “Here to blow off some steam?”

“I am.”

“The usual?”

“Yes.”

Cobb and his boys shared a chuckle among themselves.

“You can’t get enough of him, can you? Not that I can blame you. Bragg, go fetch Green Eyes.” Cobb jerked a thumb in the direction of the stage.

Thomas’s gaze followed, and he saw that Alec was sitting alone at the back of the stage, staring at nothing. His shoulders were slumped and his hands were folded in his lap. He looked subdued. Bragg went over to him, leaned down, and spoke in his ear. Alec’s face lit up, and he scurried across the dance floor to meet Thomas.

“Mister Shelby!” he greeted him.

A hint of a smile softened Thomas’s mouth.

“You seem surprised. Is this not a good time?”

“No, no. Every time is a good time. I just wasn’t expecting you ‘til later.”

While they spoke, Cobb rose from the bar and stalked over to them. Up-close, it was apparent from his flushed face and glassy eyes that he was drunk.

“Come here.” He roughly grabbed Alec’s face and angled it towards the light, showing it off. “Look at him. Look at that face. If he had a cunt, I’d fuck him myself.”

The singer extricated himself with a laugh, but distaste curled the corners of his mouth. Cobb’s touch seemed to repulse him. He shifted closer to Thomas - but whether he was subconsciously seeking Thomas’s protection or merely reminding Cobb that he was busy working,  Thomas wasn’t sure.

“You’re welcome to take him off my hands, if you want, Mister Shelby. Think of the petrol money you’ll save - you won’t need to drive down here every time you fancy a fuck. How much do you reckon he’s worth - fifty pounds?”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” said Thomas.

“Oh, come on. It’d be more convenient for you. You could have him whenever you wanted.”

“It’s possible to have too much of a good thing, Mister Cobb. Would you excuse me?”

He pulled Alec away, and they ascended the stairs towards their waiting refuge. Sequins sparkled on Alec’s flapper dress, which Thomas noticed was professionally tailored, flattering his waist and shoulders.

“I haven’t seen that dress before,” Thomas remarked.

“Oh, it’s new. I bought it with the money you gave me. Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.”

“You can tear it, if you like. I’ll just buy another one.”

A half-hour later, they lay in a hazy afterglow atop sweat-dampened sheets, their clothes strewn about the floor.

“Fuck,” Thomas sighed, “I need to stop coming here.”

“Why? Are you afraid you’ll get too attached?”

“I’m afraid you’ll bleed me dry.”

Thomas pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, popped one in his mouth, and lit it. Alec watched him. His green gaze followed the tendril of smoke as it curled in the air.

“I heard some of Cobb’s Boys talking about you,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

The room was cooling, and they were calming, their tense muscles relaxing. Thomas offered Alec a puff of his cigarette. The young man accepted, and Thomas watched his lips as they curled attractively around the filter.

“I learned a lot of interesting things,” Alec continued, exhaling, “I learned that you’re a gang-lord, and that you fix horse races, and that you smuggle alcohol to the Americans because it’s illegal over there.”

“Anything else?”

“You like to cut people with a razor.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“So it’s not true, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Alec smiled.

“Should I be afraid of you, Mister Shelby?”

“No.”

“Not of the man who hides a razor blade in his cap?”

“You’re safe with me,” Thomas assured him, “I only cut people who deserve it.”

Alec handed the cigarette back and rose. He walked naked to the vanity table, where he sat on the upholstered stool with his back turned to Thomas. He checked his face in the mirror, then added more red to his lips and more rouge his cheeks.

Thomas sat up in bed and watched him, listening to the gentle clatter and tinkle of his little bottles and compacts.

“You looked sad earlier,” said Thomas.

“Did I?”

“Mhm. Something on your mind?”

“No. Nothing.”

Thomas could tell he was lying. He remembered the way Alec’s face had brightened upon hearing news of his arrival, as if a visit from Thomas were the only bright spot in his day. When considering the sort of men who frequented the Arcadia, a terrible possibility presented itself: that Thomas Shelby was Alec’s only decent regular. The only one who didn’t degrade and abuse him.

“Do you like working here?” Thomas asked.

Alec shrugged.

“It’s a job. It pays a wage.”

“There are other jobs, you know. You can leave if you want.”

“It’s not that simple, Mister Shelby,” said Alec, “When you work for Mister Cobb, you don’t get to just walk away from your obligations. Besides, where else would I work? In a factory? In a steel mill?”

“You could come and work for me.”

“What, smuggling opium? I’d rather stay here - at least I get to sing and dance. That’s all I want.”

“You can be a singer without having to bend over. There’s plenty of clubs that would hire you.”

Alec didn’t reply. He was focused intently on his reflection, carefully applying more dark liner to his eyes.

“All I’m saying is, you don’t have to be here,” Thomas said. “I can help you get a job. You could even leave Birmingham. Go to London where the big clubs are. You could make a name for yourself out there, while you’re still young.”

Alec stood up abruptly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blurted out. “Some people don’t have a choice, Mister Shelby.”

“Everyone has a choice. Even if it’s a bad one, it’s still a choice.”

“Mister Shelby, do you think that because you’ve been to war and you run a business, you know everything? Well, you don’t. You don’t know anything about me, or about Mister Cobb, or about what it’s like working here. You don’t know how much worse my other options are.”

“Cobb doesn’t own you. You don’t have to work for him. You deserve better.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Alec snapped, “Do you think this is what I wanted my life to be like? Do you think I enjoy this? Spending every night being drooled on and pawed at by disgusting men? Rich filth who think that because I’m poor, they’re entitled to every bit of me? And you’re one of them, Mister Shelby. You’re no different than they are.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Either fuck me again or fuck off. That’s all I’m good for, after all.”

Alec gripped to the edge of the vanity table behind him, as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“You come and fuck me, and then you go back to your nice house and your normal life like nothing happened. You’re just as pathetic as the ones who come creeping in here like scared dogs, so ashamed of themselves that they can barely look at us. Or the ones who come and beat us black-and-blue because they know they can get away with it. Because they think we don’t exist outside of these rooms, outside of their needs. When you go home tonight, you won’t have to think about me any more, but I’ll still have to think about you.”

As Thomas listened, he could feel the warmth fading, and see the young man’s shine dimming. The spell was broken. He’d gotten so caught up in the image of Alec as an ever-happy, ever-willing, never-complaining receptacle, that he’d almost forgotten that Alec was - like him - just a human being. A human being capable of resentment and frustration, trying to make ends meet the only way he knew how, struggling to survive in this miserable hell-hole of a city.

In a way, Thomas was glad of the reminder. It stopped him from getting too attached.

“Alright, then.” Thomas rose and started putting his clothes back on. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Alec stood there watching him, his hands fidgeting among the expensive perfumes and cosmetics behind him, as if trying to process the situation.

“Are you leaving?” he asked hesitantly.

“What does it look like?”

Realising what he’d done, Alec changed his tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know where that came from. I don’t know why I said all that.”

“I do. You’ve got too comfortable with me, and you forgot that I’m a paying customer. Here,” Thomas pulled out a bank-note and tossed it at Alec, who fumbled to catch it. “That’s ten pounds. That’ll pay your rent for half a year. Go find a job, or stay here until you’re too old to lure customers in the door and Cobb throws you out on the street. I don’t care.”

He left and stalked down the opulent corridor, flicking away his cigarette butt into one of Cobb’s fancy plant-plots.

“Wait!” Alec grabbed his sequinned dress of the floor - torn at the seam - and hurried after him while struggling into it. “Wait. Come back to bed.”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t want me there.”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said. Of course I enjoy your company - of course I do! You’re the only client I look forward to,” he babbled. He was panicking. He could feel Thomas’s goodwill - and more importantly, Thomas’s patronage - slipping through his fingers.

They reached the stairs and began to descend. The dance floor was filling up, and the band was in full swing. Thomas shouldered his way roughly past dancing couples, while Alec tried to keep up with him.

“Please, Mister Shelby, don’t let me ruin your evening. Let’s have a drink on me, and then go back upstairs. I’ll let you tie me to the bed. I’ll let you hit me. You can do whatever you want. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I don’t want anything.” Thomas’s head suddenly ached, a deep and throbbing pain behind his eyeballs. The smoke and loud music and crowded bodies were getting to him, and Alec was pestering him like a mosquito. He was gripped by the urge to flee.

“I take back what I said. Sometimes I say stupid things, I can’t help it - I’m not clever. Sometimes I forget my place, and I need someone to put me back in it.”

Alec was barely even looking at Thomas, his green eyes nervously scanning the crowd.

“What’s the matter?” Thomas asked, “Are you worried Cobb will see you not doing your job?”

“Mister Shelby, don’t go.” Alec caught hold of Thomas’s arm and tried to pull him back towards the stairs. Thomas jerked away. “Please don’t go. It’ll look bad on my record.”

They were interrupted by Bragg’s voice behind them.

“Losing your touch, Green Eyes?”

Alec immediately let go of Thomas, his hands fidgeting with the fabric of his dress, doing his best to appear as though everything was normal.

“Hello, Bragg,” he said through a pained smile. “Shouldn’t you be guarding the door? Mister Cobb wouldn’t like it if he found out you’d been slacking again.”

Bragg threw him a contemptuous look and then ignored him.

“Leaving already, Mister Shelby?” he asked. “Should I let Mister Cobb know you’re going?”

“Don’t bother. I’ve got business to attend to,” said Thomas.

“What’s the matter? The boy not good enough? Did he do something wrong?”

For a moment, the devil in Thomas almost said yes. But Alec was looking at him with large, desperate eyes that were starting to moisten, the green filled with wordless pleading. In that moment, he looked very young. Thomas turned away in disgust.

“Nah, I just got tired of him. Nothing to do with the quality of your club. Make sure Mister Cobb understands that.”

Without a backwards glance, Thomas exited the club that no longer held any charm for him - leaving Alec standing alone on the dance floor, clutching the crumpled bank-note with tears in his eyes.

[mrspasser]

Craft box - Inception fanfic

I found this comic online (source unknown to me, unfortunately) and then I wrote a fanfic. That's it. I had a lot of fun writing it :-)

Eames. Eames is the vampire, of course.

Read it below or on Ao3.

Craft box

It’s only the first day. Everything was going so well, too. After all, it’s not like this is the first time he’s looked after James and Phillipa. With a lot of their closest family living in another state or even abroad, he’s kind of like an uncle to them. The fun uncle without any kids of his own and with an impeccable fashion sense. Alright, he’s the gay uncle, so what? That doesn’t mean he can’t look after kids. He’s pretty good at it, he dares say. He knows to cut little James’ sandwich in small triangles, so they’re both bite-sized and fun-sized. He knows how to braid Phillipa’s hair, he even managed to do something that resembled Elsa’s hair. From afar - whatever, the kid was happy. And he’s just served them a nutritious meal, which they even finished to the last bite, so he’s really on top of this babysitting thing. 

Until Crookshanks comes casually wandering into the kitchen with something in his mouth. Something that moves. 

“Crooks has a mouse!” Phillipa calls out and she immediately slides down from her chair at the table to run after the cat. 

Arthur, who is just clearing the table, has about one second to think ‘Oh no’ before things get worse.

“It has wings!” Phillipa announces this like it's a fun novelty instead of a worrying development. She is perched in front of the stairs in the hallway between the living room and the kitchen, where the red shabby haired family pet has decided to lay down with his catch. 

“I ‘anna see!” James almost throws himself down from his high chair and races towards his sister and the cat. 

Arthur would much rather do the dishes than deal with some poor, doomed critter the cat caught, but the horrible vision of James and Phillipa with tiny viscera smeared on their hands spurs him into action. He tosses the tea towel over his shoulder and hurries toward the hallway. “Don’t touch that, kids!” 

He’s relieved to see that the cat still has hold of the critter, the unfortunate animal caught beneath both front paws. James and Phillipa sit in front of the cat, sharing their observations with each other.

“It has very pointy wings.”

“An’ a furry belly.” 

“No, that’s his head, silly.”

From up close, Arthur is stunned to see the animal isn’t all that tiny. And it’s not a mouse at all. It’s a bat. And it’s dead. Thank god.

“Come on, kids, let me through,” Arthur says, gently pushing his way in between the kids. The cat warily watches him approach, but doesn’t move. Arthur is generally on good terms with the Cobb family’s cat and he likes to keep it that way. 

Beneath the cat’s paws is unmistakably a bat: one of its wings pokes out at what’s gotta be an odd and painful angle. The bat is not moving and Crookshanks doesn’t seem to be holding him all that tight. “Yeah, I think he’s dead,” Arthur sighs, not looking forward to what comes next. At least he can dispose of it pretty easily. Could he just chuck it in the trash or should he put it in the compost heap in the back of the yard? If it died outside, it would decompose somewhere on the ground too, right? 

“Aww no,” Phillipa cries mournfully. “Are you sure?”

“Aw you sure?” James parrots her. He isn’t sad, though. He probably barely understands what’s happening and is just happy to be along for the ride.

“I’m sorry, honey, I think so,” Arthur answers and strokes a hand over Phillipa’s hair in comfort. “That’s what sometimes happens in nature. Cats are predators, they hunt.”

“I know,” she replies, perking up already. “Crookshanks has catched a lot of mouses already! And a frog! And two birds! No, three! Three birds!” 

“And now he can add a bat to his tally,” Arthur confirms. The massive, fluffy cat generally demonstrates a pretty laid back attitude inside the house, yet it’s still an animal equipped with claws and sharp teeth and Arthur knows to show deference to that kind of potential power. 

He’s decided that the tea towel should be sufficient for grabbing the dead animal without making his hands dirty. He doesn’t want to go back to the kitchen to look for rubber gloves under the sink, in case Crookshanks gets it in his head to take his prey further into the house and hide it somewhere where Arthur can’t find it and then the whole house will smell of rotting carcass within days. 

Arthur carefully moves in with the tea towel and it must be his lucky day, because the cat is suddenly bored with whatever it is that is happening and stands up and wanders off, not even looking back towards the poor bat it killed. “Oh well,” Arthur shrugs, “that could’ve gone worse.” He’d been prepared to fight the cat for the dead animal, but this is way better. Or it isn’t, because now there is nothing to distract Arthur from the feeling of a dead animal in his hands, tea towel or not. He almost gags, only able to hold it back for the sake of the kids. 

“We should bury it in the backyard!” Phillipa suggests cheerfully. “We can make a… a dead people box, from a - from a real box.” 

“A coffin,” Arthur corrects. “And I don’t think that’s necessary, honey. A bat is a wild animal, not a pet. We don’t need to bury it.” 

He walks towards the trash can in the kitchen. It is nearly full, he can toss the bat in and then take the trash out. Maybe he’ll toss in the tea towel as well. Who knows what kind of germs the bat carries. 

“But I wanna…” Phillipa is gearing up for an argument, both of the kids following Arthur on his heels. 

Except when Arthur reaches the trash can and puts his foot on the pedal to open the lid, the bat suddenly trashes back to life. Arthur may or may not have screamed. The kids know, but who believes a five and a barely three year old when it’s his word against theirs? He also drops the bat. “Fuck,” Arthur says. With feeling. 

“That's a bad word,” James informs him sagely, while his sister dances around him, chanting “It’s alive! It’s alive!”

The bat, who is indeed very much alive, tries to scamper behind the trash can, away from the noisy giants that tried to toss it in the trash and then proceeded to drop it from some height.

“Oh god,” Arthur groans, realising he will now have to touch the bat again to catch it. Maybe he can call in Crookshanks to finish the job?

“Oh no, he’s hurt!” Phillipa has stopped her happy dance to peer behind the trash can. “His wing is all wonky.” 

A quick peek confirms that indeed, the animal’s left wing is not looking too hot. It probably hurts, maybe it would be better to put it out of its misery? 

“We have to take it to the animal doctor!” Phillipa is suddenly taking charge and she disappears into the living room, coming back with an empty shoe box a moment later. It’s adorned with shiny stickers and fuzzy decals; Arthur recognizes it as her craft box and realises that there’s now a mess of stickers and craft paper on the floor in the next room. “We can put it in here!”

There’s no way that Arthur is going to drive to a vet with a probably half dead bat at this time of night. He’d have to pay an arm and leg for a consultation outside office hours, for an animal that’s probably only still on its feet due to a last, desperate burst of adrenaline. 

“Alright, we can put it in the box,” Arthur agrees gently. “But the vet is closed right now, so we’ll have to wait until morning until we can take him.” There’s no use in arguing with Phillipa when she’s like this, she’s too much like her mother for that. And her father. Both parents can be stubborn assholes, if you ask Arthur. However, Phillipa still looks cute when she’s being a pain in his ass, Dom doesn’t have that excuse.

“We’ll put the box in a quiet place so the bat can rest,” he decides, taking the shoebox and the lid from Phillipa. It’s actually kind of convenient that the bat is in the corner behind the trash can: Arthur can close in from both sides with the box and the lid and scoop the animal in without too much of a fuss. There’s flapping and squeaking and some internal cursing (probably both from Arthur and the bat), but he manages. He blows out a deep breath of relief when he can close the lid. 

The shoebox has a round hole on one end, which provides air flow for the animal, but is probably too small for the bat to escape through. It is big enough for a grape to fit through, which is the food they settle on when the kids insist that they feed the poor animal. Arthur doubts if the bat will eat the grape, but he’s not going to go outside to catch insects for the little fucker. 

He’s able to convince the kids that they can put the bat in the laundry room, behind closed doors. He thinks that dying animals have the habit of crawling away somewhere and therefore thinks it better to keep it contained. He does leave the window open on a crack, in case the poor animal manages to get up to the windowsill and prefers to die outside. 

After all that excitement it takes him well over an hour to put the kids to bed and another half an hour to clean up both the kitchen and the contents of Phillipa’s craft box that are strewn over the floor of the living room. When all that is done, Arthur settles down with a large glass of red wine from Mal’s inventory. He’s earned it, he figures. He also hopes the bat will have the decency to die in the course of the night, or at least escape.

***

Before the crack of dawn there are two children jumping up and down beside his bed, exclaiming that they want to go see the bat. Arthur regrets pouring himself the second and third glass of red wine, but rolls out of bed anyway. Both James and Phillipa are early risers and he’s used to getting up early with them when he’s babysitting. He’ll catch up on his sleep when he gets back home in a few days. 

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, pulling on a bathrobe over his T-shirt and boxers sleeping combo. It’s one of Dom’s, so it’s slightly big on him, but it’s a beautiful shade of night blue and incredibly soft. Maybe Arthur will keep it as payment for all the shit he has to put up with this weekend. He would like to find the sash first, if he’s to keep it. For now, he can just forgo closing the robe. It’s just him and the kids in the house anyway. Just like his sleep, his fashion sense can take a backseat until he gets back home.

James and Phillipa run down the stairs in front of him, excited to go see their little sleepover guest. Who might be dead. Or gone in the wind. Arthur hopes it’s the latter, it would save him having to clean up the body. 

“Wait a second, kids.” He manages to catch up with them before they open the door. “We have to be careful when we open the door, the bat may have escaped the box.” 

Arthur gets the sudden vision of a bat flapping around like crazy in the laundry room and immediately isn’t all that keen on opening the door. But there are two very excited kids crowding him, so he has no other choice. 

He opens the door and - 

“Oh my fucking god!” Arthur does some sort of karate move with his leg and one arm to catch the two kids around the middle and shove them back into the kitchen, slamming the door shut with his free hand.

He tries to catch his breath as his mind races. He knows Dom owns a gun. Where would he keep it? In the safe? Arthur doesn’t know the combination. Where’s his phone? Still on the nightstand next to his bed. Maybe he can use a knife - 

“Why is there a man sitting on the floor of our laundry room?” Phillipa looks between the door and Arthur and back. Then it’s like there’s a little light turning on above her head. “Oh! Is he a vampire?”

Arthur rifles through the kitchen drawers. Do knives even work against vampires? Probably not if they’re made of stainless steel. And the only silver knife he can find in this kitchen is an antique looking butter knife. If that’s even real silver. 

He doesn’t know much about vampires, just that they’re not the bloodthirsty monsters the media painted them as back in the day. Still, he has two little kids and a stranger in his house. A stranger who is a vampire. 

“Hello!” Little James opens the door and waddles inside, taking advantage of Arthur’s spot over by the cutlery drawer. 

“James, no!” Arthur sprints towards the kid, ready to jump between the vampire and the little boy. 

“Hello, laddy,” the vampire says, smiling at the child. “Is your daddy always this nervous?” 

“He’s not my daddy,” James answers blithely in that way little kids have. “That’s A’thur.”

“My daddy says Arthur has a stick up his butt,” Phillipa adds, wholly unnecessary. Arthur only sputters his indignation, too stunned to say much. The vampire huffs a laugh, entirely too amused for someone who may or may not be guilty of home invasion. Sort of. Arthur isn’t too sure of the technicalities on this one.

However, the man sitting on the floor of the laundry room is indeed a vampire. Arthur can see his fangs when the man smirks crookedly at him. It’s kind of charming, in an annoying way. There’s a flattened shoe box beneath his thigh and he’s holding his left shoulder gingerly. 

“Did you dislocate your shoulder?” Arthur asks stupidly, remembering the oddly positioned batwing from the night before. 

“I did,” the vampire nods. “Popped it back in right before you lot stormed in.” 

“Does it hurt?” Phillipa asks.

The vampire smiles at her. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m made of sturdy stuff.” 

Sturdy indeed, Arthur can’t help but think as the vampire gets to his feet with a soft grunt. The man is broad shouldered, with strong thighs and a smattering of hair showing through the opened top buttons of his frankly alarming shirt. It’s a dirty shade of peach, with an eye watering print. Arthur didn’t know they still sold paisley print. If he has to stare at this shirt for a little longer he’ll feel compelled to file an official protest against it.

The vampire looks down and spots the flattened box, making a small noise of distress that Arthur thinks is quite cute. He’s a bit startled by this notion and shakes his head to get rid of it. There’s an unknown vampire in the house and he has to stay vigilant, even though the man doesn’t seem all that dangerous. He discards his ideas of finding a weapon for now, it doesn’t seem necessary in this case. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear,” the vampire says ruefully to Phillipa. “It seems like I accidentally ruined one of your creations.” He bends over to retrieve the flattened cardboard from the floor, holding his left arm carefully against his stomach so he won’t jostle it too much.

“That’s okay,” Phillipa says genially, taking the box from him. “I can make another one. Mama just bought new shoes, I can use that box.”

“Mister, are you a vampire?” James peers up at the man, studying him intently. 

The vampire inclines his head. “I am. But you can call me Eames, little man.” 

A vampire called Eames, who wears paisley shirts and tan chinos above a pair of slightly ratty loafers. He talks with a British accent too; not the posh one, something more urban probably. He’s the strangest vampire Arthur has ever seen. Not that he has met a lot of them, but still. 

“Are you okay? You look a little peaky.” Now that he’s standing for a few minutes, Arthur can see the hunch in his shoulders and a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. His shoulder must be causing him pain, that much is clear. 

“I’ll be alright, darling.” The vampire winks at him and there’s that crooked smirk again. “But I could do with a drink.”

“You’re not drinking my blood!” Arthur exclaims, rather dramatically. “Nor that of the kids!” He hauls Phillipa and James backwards, instantly wary of the man in front of them. His bathrobe billows around him with the movement.

The vampire lifts his hands apologetically and cocks his head. “Not that kind of drink. A glass of water will do just fine for now.”

“Oh, alright.” Arthur deflates and eyes the vampire critically, as much as he can in his slightly rattled state of mind. The man seems to try and make himself as non-threatening as possible, with a - slightly strained - smile and a casual pose. It could be an act, of course, yet Arthur doesn’t think the vampire means them harm. If he wanted to, he could’ve easily hurt them already. Arthur is by no means an expert on vampires, but he knows they’re stronger than regular humans. They need to drink blood, but can also eat normal food - though he thinks there are some allergies in play. He has the sudden urge to make a deep dive into vampire research. But he can’t, because he has two excited kids and an exhausted vampire to take care of right now. So he makes the executive decision to invite the vampire - Eames - into the kitchen, pointing him to a chair at the kitchen table, which he gratefully sinks down onto. 

“I’ve had better nights, let me tell you,” Eames shares with a grimace, massaging his chest close to his left shoulder with his hand. “Thank you, darling,” he says absentmindedly when Arthur places a glass of water in front of him. 

Arthur decides to chalk the pet names up to the vampire’s Britishness and not pay them much mind. He takes a seat across from the vampire, next to Phillipa who is staring riveted at their unexpected guest. Arthur would’ve expected James to have already lost interest and to wander off into the living room to play with his toys, but the toddler is sitting right next to his sister, equally mesmerised. 

“Are you like a hundred years old?” Phillipa has her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Arthur doesn’t check, but he bets her feet are swinging beneath the table.

James is sitting on his knees on the chair, leaning his hands on the table. “Do you eat people?” 

“No and no,” Eames says with a chuckle. He’s looking perfectly at ease in the kitchen, despite looking a little haggard. Arthur watches him take a sip of the water.

“Can you turn into a bat?” James asks next, to which his sister makes an exasperated sound.

“Of course he can! You saw him last night! He was a bat!” 

“That was me, indeed.” Another sip of water.

“Why are you a bat?” James again. He’ll probably be talking about this day for the rest of the month, or even the year. Not that there’s much of the year left, it’s November already.

Eames laughs. “Well, the simplest answer would be: because I can. It’s pretty darn cool to be able to fly, you know?” The kids nod excitedly at his words and even Arthur has to admit that it would be cool to be able to fly. “But I also hu-” Eames catches himself in time. “I go look for food as a bat.” 

While the kids grill the vampire for what he likes to eat (surprise, it’s not grapes), Arthur’s mind fills with gruesome images of Eames on the hunt. To be honest, inside his head the vampire looks more like a chupacabra than the innocuous bat Crookshanks brought into the house last night, so it’s a little startling to hear the vampire declare he likes raw steak.

“We have steak! Right, Arthur? We have steak!” Phillipa pulls on his sleeve, reminding Arthur he’s still dressed in Dom’s bathrobe, with his boxers and an old T-shirt underneath. He’s a little horrified, for whole different reasons than when he was imagining chupacabra Eames ravaging an unsuspecting victim. 

“Uh, yes. We do.” He’d taken the kids shopping yesterday and planned to make a steak salad for himself tonight, while the kids ate a dinosaur shaped hamburger with their greens.

“Can Eames have it?” Phillipa bounces in her seat. “I bet he’s hungry! You’re hungry, right?” 

To Arthur’s surprise the vampire is looking a little abashed. “I mean, your cat did interrupt my plans for the night, yes. But you don’t have to feed me! I’ll be fine.”

Arthur is more than happy to take him on his word, but then Phillipa says: “Arthur is a good cook! He can make you something really yummy!” 

“Can I have steak?” James asks, looking at Arthur expectantly.

“You don’t like steak, buddy,” Arthur answers gently. “Remember? You think it’s too chewy. That’s why we bought the dino burgers.”

“Oh, yeah.” James processes this and then proceeds to ask for dino burgers. Of course.

“No, bud. It’s breakfast time. Dino burgers are for dinner.” Arthur glances at the clock, which is at just past seven. He can’t believe he’s been up for an hour already, on a Saturday.

He shoves his chair back, getting up. “I guess I’m making breakfast. No steak for you,” he adds with a pointed stare at little James. “Or dino burgers. You can have cereal.”

He starts gathering ingredients for the kids’ breakfast and turns on the coffee maker. It’s no wonder he feels so rattled, he hasn’t had his coffee yet. “Any for you?” he asks their guest, pausing to see if he has to get one or two cups down from the cupboard.

The vampire shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ll take some tea if you have it?” 

“Is that on account of being British or being a vampire?”

Eames smiles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A bit of both, I guess. These days coffee no longer agrees with my stomach, unfortunately.” Which Arthur guesses is a polite way of saying he can no longer digest coffee. He also deduces that Eames hasn’t always been a vampire and wonders how long it’s been.

He thinks about putting a mug in the microwave to heat up the water, but decides against it, both out of consideration for Eames’ nationality and his own standards. The electric kettle will take a little longer, but at least it won’t incite another civil war. 

Puttering around in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready for the kids and hot drinks for the adults, Arthur is a little slow to realise that the sun has come up. And that the kitchen faces the East. “Oh, shit,” he huffs and hurries to close the blinds. When he turns to face Eames, the vampire is watching him intently, an odd softness around his eyes. It lasts only a moment, until Eames speaks up, quietly.

“Thank you. I won’t burst into flames from the first ray of sunlight, but thanks anyway.”

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur says automatically, putting the bowls of cereal in front of the kids and handing them their spoons. And then: “Oh my god, how are we gonna get you out of here? Do we have to wait until nightfall?”

“Well, you could always just chuck me out if you’re that desperate to get rid of me,” Eames suggests and it sounds just off-handed enough that Arthur doesn’t believe in the vampire’s pretence. 

“I don’t -... I’m not -...” Arthur starts and stops two sentences that he has no idea of how to finish. He sighs and wraps the bathrobe tight around himself. “I’m a little out of my depth here,” he admits. “I have no idea what to do with a strange vampire in my house. Or, not my house, but… Oh, you get what I’m saying!” He throws his hands up and the bathrobe falls open again. 

Eames gets up from the table, rounds it in what Arthur suspects is a sedated pace put on just for him and his frail nerves and comes to stand in front of him. “Not a stranger,” Eames says gently. And he picks up his cup of tea and hands Arthur his coffee. “There you go, love. Careful, that’s hot.” 

The coffee is indeed scaldingly hot down his throat, but it suffices in bringing Arthur back to his senses. “Right,” he says, putting down his cup on the counter. “You take your steak bloody, I presume?” 

He waves away Eames’ protests and grabs the grill pan for the shortest grill he has ever done. The meat has barely a chance to brown before the vampire next to him declares it done. It’s barely seasoned either, again under Eames’ directions. It’s absolutely not done the way Arthur usually prepares his food, but who is he to argue with any dietary restrictions the vampire has?

He plates the steak and is about to hand it to his impromptu guest, when the guy suddenly darts around him, taking up a strategic spot behind Arthur and with the fridge in the corner of the kitchen at his back. “What the -?”

An angry hiss answers his question. It’s Crookshanks, who stalks into the kitchen like the apex predator he actually is. And Eames is afraid of him, even though he is a 5’ 9” adult male right now instead of a small bat.

Arthur can’t help but laugh. It’s all so ridiculous! He hands the plate to Eames without looking, trusting that the man will take it from him and steps forward to scoop Crookshanks up from the ground. “Silly cat,” he admonishes, shaking the bundle of fur in his arms lightly. “You can’t eat Eames. Come on, outside you go!” 

When he comes back into the kitchen, he finds Eames sitting in his spot at the kitchen table, hunched over his plate. The vampire is deliberately not looking at him and the tips of his ears are clearly red. The kids are chattering nonsensically in between bites of their cereal, talking at their new friend but not expecting any real answer.

It’s not until Arthur has made himself some toast and sits down with it, this time next to Eames, that the vampire speaks up again. “If I can use your phone, I can call my friend to see if he can come pick me up.”

“Sure,” Arthur agrees.

After breakfast, Eames calls a friend called Yusuf. Unfortunately, his friend is unable to pick him up right away. “He can be here around noon,” Eames tells Arthur, clearly feeling contrite. 

“And you can’t go out during daylight,” Arthur surmises.

Eames shrugs. “Can’t exactly take the bus home, no. Or, I mean, I can. I’ve done it before, when in a pinch. Though I’d have to borrow a duffel coat, or something.” The vampire seems to shrink in on himself. “I can understand if you want me out of here as soon as possible.”

Strangely, Arthur’s first hunch is to reassure Eames that he’s welcome to stay as long as needed. It surprises him. He’s not one to trust easily and he’s always very protective of his honorary niece and nephew. The man across from him is a vampire and, despite his friendly behaviour, still a potential threat. However, Arthur doesn’t think Eames is a danger to them. He can’t pinpoint exactly what makes him think that, it’s not like the vampire has been very generous with information about himself. Still, the facts speak for themselves. Arthur’s been walking around barefoot, dressed in sleep clothes and a bathrobe, with two small kids in tow, and he hasn’t felt threatened by Eames at all. Well, alright, when he first discovered that there was a vampire in the laundry room he panicked a bit, but that fear was quickly diminished by the - unconventionally charming - way Eames presented himself. It’s hard to stay vigilant when the vampire is so easy going.

“Mr Eames? Do you have to go already?” Phillipa and James have popped up right next to them, James actually grabbing the tail of the vampire’s shirt to get his attention.

Eames shows them a warm smile. “That’s kind of up to Arthur.”

Of course, that only serves in having two sets of puppy eyes aimed at Arthur. They’re practically begging him to give in. Great. Now he has to deal not only with his own oddly lowered defences, but the wiles of two little kids too.

He locks eyes with Eames, just for a second, but it’s enough. “Alright, alright. You don’t have to look at me like that. Mr Eames is welcome to stay until his friend can pick him up.”

The kids cheer and the smile that forms on the vampire’s face is blinding. Arthur can’t help but smile too.

They build a blanket fort in the living room. It’s Phillipa’s idea, she loves blanket forts. It also doubles as protection from the sun for their guest vampire, since the living room doesn’t have black out blinds and the sun is climbing higher in the sky. 

Eames is in the back of the blanket fort, sitting on a pillow with his back against the sofa. Arthur sits next to him, because he might’ve let the vampire stay, he’s not stupid enough to leave the kids alone with Eames. The back of the blanket fort is also the only place that’s big enough to fit an adult. It’s a bit cramped with two adults though. 

The kids are at the entrance of the fort, laying on their bellies and watching Frozen on DVD. Between the kids and Arthur is a serving tray sitting on the floor with glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies. Arthur has to pull up his legs to prevent himself from kicking over the glasses. He would feel more annoyed about that, if not for the vampire next to him. “This is nice,” Eames said when they first settled in, a hesitant smile on his face and wonder in his eyes. And Arthur just had to agree. 

“So you’ve been a vampire since your early twenties?” Arthur asks and Eames nods. They’ve been talking in lowered voices, neither of them very interested in the enchanted snow man and his two princess friends on screen. “You don’t look like you’re twenty. I thought vampires didn’t age?”

Eames laughs. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I bet a lot more people would choose this lifestyle if that were true. But nah, we still age. Just a bit slower.”

“But the sunlight bit is true, right? You said you wouldn’t catch fire, but it still hurts you.”

“Unfortunately.” Eames pulls a face. “I was always very fond of the warmer climates. Turns out, it’s not as fun when you can’t go to the beach.”

“Should’ve thought that through beforehand,” Arthur remarks flippantly, reaching for his glass of lemonade. He’s sat back and taken a drink before he notices the sudden stiffness in the vampire’s posture. When he looks over, Eames avoids his gaze in the dim light of the blanket fort. “Oh, shit. I’ve put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?” 

“Nah, you’re fine, love. Couldn’t have known.” Eames glances over and away again. “Sensitive topic, that’s all.”

They’re quiet for a bit, watching the movie over the kids’ heads. When Elsa sings her famous song, Arthur catches the vampire mouthing along with the words. “What?” Eames asks defensively. “It’s quite the earworm.”

Arthur smiles and picks up on the chorus, making Phillipa sing along too. Eames has a terrible singing voice, it turns out, but that doesn’t stop him one bit.

They watch some Paw Patrol after the movie ends, and a whole lot of Fireman Sam. Arthur gets up a few times, to help James to the bathroom and to remove Crookshanks from their blanket fort, but he keeps crawling back into the fort, taking his spot next to Eames. At some point, they’ve sagged down to lean against each other, shoulder to shoulder, falling into that odd trance from watching too many kids’ shows. When Arthur argues that the town of Pontypandy should just get rid of Norman, that horrible kid that does nothing but cause trouble, he hardly gets a response from Eames. “Fireman Sam should just push him off a cliff,” Arthur states, only to be met with a soft snore from the vampire. Eames has fallen asleep, his head half on Arthur’s shoulder, half leaning against the sofa seat. Arthur can’t bring himself to move.

When the doorbell rings, around noon as was arranged, it causes enough commotion that Arthur is fairly sure Eames doesn’t pick up on the fact that he’d been sleeping on Arthur’s shoulder just before. Just as well, because Arthur has been eating himself up about it for the past hour and is no closer to knowing what it means and if he even wants it to mean something.

Phillipa and James race for the front door and open it to a round faced man with black curls and a friendly smile. “Hello, you must be Yusuf,” Arthur greets, stepping forward with his hand out. “Arthur Freeman.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yusuf says with a smile and a handshake. “Thank you for putting up with this scoundrel. I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble?” He flicks a meaningful look over Arthur’s shoulder, where Eames is hovering in the doorway of the partially glass walled foyer of the house. “I got your coat,” Yusuf says, holding the black duffle coat he’s carrying over one arm up a little. 

And then there’s the gathering of things - even though Eames didn’t bring anything with him but the clothes on his back - and the saying of thanks and goodbyes. The vampire apologises again to Phillipa for ruining her “beautifully decorated” craft box and promises James to be more on guard when it comes to cats.

Said cat comes wandering into the hall and Arthur has to scoop him up and hold him because the furry bastard seems way too interested in Eames’ pants legs. Yusuf thinks it’s a delight that Eames got caught by a cat who got named after a character from the Harry Potter franchise, because of course the kids happily fill him in on that.

And just like that, Eames is bundled up in the coat, the hood pulled up and ready to go out the door. His eyes lock with Arthur, the kids, Yusuf and the cat between them, and then he is gone. 

Later, after Arthur gets back from taking the kids to the playground to let them get rid of their energy, he finds a handwritten note next to the kitchen phone. It says: Thank you for taking care of me. I didn’t think getting caught by a cat would have its upsides, but meeting you definitely was a big plus. There’s three little x’s at the bottom and a cellphone number. 

That night, Arthur curls up on the sofa with a glass of wine and Crookshanks lying on the seat cushion next to him. He snaps a picture of the sleeping cat and sends it to the number that he programmed into his phone that afternoon. [I’ll keep an eye on him. Safe hunting tonight. X Arthur]

[cattocavo]

Six sketch sunday

Thanks so much for tagging me @thewholelemon

I actually have something pretty exciting to share if i do say so myself!

In november 2022 i did a master study of romeo and juliet by frank bernard dicksee. I was very happy with it. But over time I’ve become less and less happy with it, specifically how baz looks :((

This is due to the fact that i traced A LOT in late 2022 (I was 15 ok, I’m sure we’ve all had one of those phases😭) I traced the whole painting, but baz was hard bc the original painting featured a woman, and her whole figure was covered by a white loose dress. 2022 me did their best interpreting the shapes and forming a new body for baz, but honestly they didn’t do it very well. Ive hated Baz’s face and body for a while now, but still loved simon and the painting in general. Which is why I came to the conclusion that for me to be at peace and happy with it again, I have to remaster it!

And again I’ve had this on my mind for a while now, mulling it over, because it’s quite a big project. But 7 days ago i finalized my decision and started looking at references and whatnot. It took me so long to find references bc I was confused of the angle of Juliet’s head in the original painting (so I’ve changed the angle whoops) and i needed to make sense of it all. Before i knew it i had spent 5 hours (according to procreates tracker) drawing, and literally nothing had changed.. but then i spent like 2 hours more and THAT did it. It was like digging a whole in the ground searching for water. You dig a little and nothing happens, and when you finally dig deep enough the water reveals itself like a goldmine.

Anyways, i haven’t gotten around to do any recoloring yet, so ill show you the sketch (ahem, traced) of my 2022 version versus what I have now

The one on the left is the 2022 version. The one on the right is the current sketch.

I’m trying to incorporate a lot more body language from baz this time around. I think the old sketch of baz was very rigid. His torso is very short 💀 my biggest issue was his face though. It was far too feminine. The bone structure wasn’t exactly giving baz, in fact the whole face didn’t look like baz to me. The expression also bothered me, it was too superficial. Like it’s exactly the predictable expression you expect him to have. I tried to spice it up in the new version by making him appear a bit more anguished. It’s romeo and juliet after all.

Im currently looking at references to what clothes he should be wearing (don’t worry, i wont cover up his sleeves. Even if it’s more time period accurate) so if y’all have any inspo or suggestions, feel free to share them with me!

While baz is the inly thing getting completely redone, I’m also touching up some other thins. Just giving it a more refined, finished look overall. The plants in the original were really messily done, so i’m gonna work a lot on those. 2022 me also slacked on the curtains, so I’m repainting those to match the original frank bernard painting.

Once I’m done with it all i think i might sell some prints. Ive gotten requests to sell prints of this one before, but never really got around to do more than research. If i do make prints, I’m a bit worried they’ll all go to waste bc they’ll have to be shipped from denmark, and shipping in expensive :(( (I’ve tried to set up middlemen and it didn’t work for me. Red bubble wont even allow me to add a credit card😬) but if y’all are still interested in prints, do let me know! Ill definitely put in more of an effort to make it happen if i know it wont be in vain :))

Thats all from me for today :3 see ya next time

(Also check out what my COBB partner @thewholelemon is doing! It’s gonna be so good!)

Tags! @monbons @raenestee @j-nipper-95 @orange-peony

Id love to see what y’all are doing!