#WHERE WILL HE BATHE

[dkettchen]

she would've told them unlike her canon! version who decided not to be an ally smh

[seancefemme]

would you tell me if you want me, cause I can’t move until you show me

[ccy404]

[babylonqaf]

listen i know people love the “ghost wears a mask because he has so many scars” headcanon or the “ghost wears a mask because of trauma” headcanon and so do i but i’m also a “ghost wears a mask because he’s so pretty, his face belongs on the body of a cherub, and people don’t take him seriously without the mask” believer and nothing can change my mind

[ryllen]

i always think jade in his formal pajama is so cute ♡

he insists to exchange

[worstloki]

I was thinking New Mexico like with Thor but now that you’ve brought it up let’s drop him somewhere random like out of cities Malaysia and have the aunties in the rest of the community and random grocery store workers keep telling him ‘eyes so big lah’ and ‘fair skin very good ah’ ‘wah! so TALL!’ ‘walao-eh, what is mat salleh doing with his rice?’ while he tries to convince local authorities he’s not an illegal immigrant (they would have tried to deport him already if everyone wasn’t humouring the ‘people saw this man clearly fall from the sky during a storm’ story) that just happens to be fluent in multiple languages. He’s stuck with small community jobs because he can’t get official work but there are comfortable places to sleep on village-y streets so don’t even worry about how the first few months go. He slowly but surely gains friends and a community that accepts him as a strange but sweet part of them.

AU where Loki gets banished for Thor/Warriors 4 going to Jotunheim and he just settles down on Earth. Copes with the blue arm by ignoring it completely since he's been disowned and dumped on Earth anyway. There's probably a way to 'prove himself worthy' and 'get back to Asgard' but he never bothers with it.

[mr-payjay]

More drawinfs <3 the usual art dump

[respectthepetty]

Dee better be a Leo!

I'm so happy the first day of Pride landed on a SaturGay because we were all greeted by a birthday-filled Wandee Goodday!

Even though the birthdays were celebrated so the kids would have one day they didn't have to remember the sadness (this is going to come back to bite us in the ass when Yak and Dee aren't together, I'm sure)

But the reason I love it is because we learned Yak was was born December 6

Making him a Sagittarius. *horse sound effect*

Who tend to be friendly, flirty, funny, optimistic, and down to clown.

And you know what colors align with a Sagittarius? Purple (like Dee!)!

So if we get Wandee's birthday, I'm hoping he is a Leo (the best!) or a Gemini because their guiding color is yellow so it could link with Yak's yellow.

Wandee could also be an Aquarius because his (fake) blue would make sense, pero . . . I don't want it because, once again, I don't think the blue really captures his *essence*.

So even though Yak keeps wearing blue

I think that's just him absorbing Dee's environment without realizing how much he already feels for Dee, who is dramatic and stubborn, like a Leo.

Therefore, I'm still hoping that Yak will realize his feelings when he finally wears Dee's purple, so I'll be patiently waiting here for this Sagittarius to wear his power color.

However, if he does wear purple, it means that Dee has won since Dee is hellbent on making everything a competition; therefore, he must win everything, even trivial things that shouldn't be a competition.

As @doublel27 pointed out, Dee already crossed the line into pink = 💕love💕 territory (aka how a show becomes a Colors Award nominee)

Yet Dee won't even let Yak call himself Dee's boyfriend even though Yak has done it plenty of times for his advantage.

The thing is, Yak is the perfect balance for Dee with their white x black color dynamic, and not just sexually (which would make sense if Dee was a Leo, so please do not let him a Aquarius, dear God!)

Yak remembers important things like the EXACT amount of time they have been fake dating

When Ter couldn't even remember how long they had been friends.

Yak is honest and open with Dee and works as a team with him

While Ter can't even be honest with himself and sees Dee as competition (y'all really hate this man, but he is my poor little meow meow and I am captain of his apology squad)

But this is also Dee's problem - he isn't honest with himself and views everything as a competition, even when Yak has proven that Teamwork Makes the Dream Work.

For Yak, a man who excels at a sport that is based solely on individual talent where a person must knock out the competition to take claim his spot, he clearly knows the importance of working as a team and the value of including others.

This is something he has learned from his brother because even though Yak is the only one in the ring, without Cher and Yei's dedication to each other, the gym, and their child/brother, Yak would not be where he is.

And that's something Dee, who was raised by his free-spirited grandmother, needs to learn, especially as a doctor who works in a hospital with other doctors and nurses. (Those tiny boxing gloves need to be hanging on my rear-view mirror immediately, GMMTV. YOU HEAR ME?! Where is my merch?!)

A true balance (they switched colors) means you have to compromise. You can't always win. Sometimes you have to lose, intentionally.

Because as cute as this argument was over the ridiculousness of names/positions and toothbrushes with Yak's yellow big bunny brush having little yellow boxing gloves (thanks @babyangelsky) and Dee's purple brush with an adorable teeny tiger on it, the argument still gets to the point that Wandee refuses to lose.

He is sleeping with a big dick every night (I just really wanted to include the plushie)

He is cuddling on the couch with his grandmother in the next room.

He is dressing up and cuddling on the floor with the purple and yellow food items on the table.

He is trying to bake and cook when his grandmother never did, emphasis on trying.

And it's all because of Yak. Dee not only wants Yak, but he *needs* Yak because Yak makes him better and allows him to embrace his true self, but I truly believe Dee's need to win will overshadow everything else, which is maybe why he and Ter were such good friends for eight years since they don't remember dates they don't think are important, they need to win regardless of who gets hurts, and they won't realize what they have until it's gone.

But . . . that's just me thinking as a competitive and ambitious tiger Leo, so who knows?

Dee could just be an unpredictable Aquarius.

[invye]

So my friend has me watching One Piece again which means I am back on my Mihawk brainrot--

Therefore let me introduce you to the list of hobbies I headcannon Mihawk to practice when he's sailing from A to B or taking a bit of time off in his goth castle:

cooking

reading

gardening

embroidery

wood carving

soap making

Extensive and rambly collection of thoughts on all of these under the cut:

Cooking

Reading

My man lives alone, of course he can cook. And he enjoys it. He is the type who technically can eat anything and everything no matter the taste as long as it gives him the nutrition he needs, but ever since he started cooking more regularly he's caught himself getting more picky about the quality and taste of his food. This becomes a problem when his unbidden guests (read: Perona dragging Zoro along) decide to help with the cooking duties... Mihawk has to go through a unexpectedly difficult phase of adapting to liking food that he hasn't made himself exactly fitting to his own taste again.

(Also Zoro on vegetable cutting duty leaves a Mess™. Mihawk makes him scrub the entire kitchen back to his standards after the first time, and while Zoro at first only marginally improves on the not making a mess part, he significantly improves on the cleaning the mess part. [Mihawk's standards for a clean kitchen are exactly as high as Sanji's, a fact which serves Zoro well after his return.])

Gardening

Mihawk enjoys his books. Nothing like a nice evening of quiet reading with a good glass of wine. He reads while travelling too, because lets be honest, there is only so much wistful staring at the horizon he can do and only so many naps he can take while he sails Hitsugibune from one end of the world to the other. At this point he has worked his way halfway through the library of his castle. Which does not stop him from buying new books. He's surprised that it still isn't a commonly known fact about him, with how often he has caused near heart attacks in poor bookshop owners when they are faced with the World's Greatest Swordsman having appeared in their shop to buy a book?? But he supposes it's one of these "no one will ever believe you" kind of situations.

Mihawk also has a lady two islands over from Kuraigana who supplies him with romance novels. She wisely knows not to comment, but he will never forget her wild grin the first time she saw him reaching for a queer novel. The woman seems to pride herself in always having a new queer story available whenever he stops by, and Mihawk has stubbornly decided to pokerface his way through their interactions forever and ever.

The library has significantly grown since Mihawk moved in. It's sorted by genre now. He'll never let Shanks in there so he doesn't have to admit just how much and what kind of romance he's reading.

Embroidery

Roses. Mihawk has an aesthetic and he commits to it 100%. He keeps the most immaculate rose garden Shanks has ever seen, and Shanks has seen plenty of pretty places. At least half the different species of rose bushes are actually gifts from Shanks after he's seen the beginnings of the garden the first time he visited (read: dropped by unannounced) Kuraigana after it became known Mihawk had claimed the island. So now, years later, Mihawk has probably the most extensive collection of rose species in all colours, shapes and sizes in all the seas.

To Zoro's chagrin, the garden is set up like a maze. It's not a big maze. Even the rose bushes Mihawk has allowed to grow tall during his absences barely even reach higher than Mihawk's shoulders. No reasonable person could ever get lost in it. It quickly becomes apparent that Zoro is not a reasonable person.

'Hidden' within the rose 'maze' there are some dedicated patches of ground making up a kitchen garden. Mihawk got tired of doing supply runs every couple weeks, so he grows his own vegetables and herbs (healing purposes included) and even started to grow the spices he prefers.

(To his own annoyance that garden is not able to support feeding three mouths instead of just one, so the supply runs are back to their old frequency until he makes Zoro and Perona spend a week helping him extend the garden. By year two Kuraigana is mostly self-sufficient again. [By year three Mihawk doesn't know what to do with his extra produce anymore so he decides to actually host Shanks' crew for once instead of just Shanks on his lonesome. They are surprisingly respectful of his space, he might even get the utterly insane idea to do this again.])

Wood carving

You have seen his clothes. Everyone has seen his clothes. You know the chances of finding a good, waterproof coat that not just fits perfectly but also exactly reflects your style? They're abysmal. And even if you found the perfect piece of clothing for you, it needs to be properly washed and maintained if you want it to last longer than a storm or two. Also, professional hand embroidery costs a ton of money. So yes, Mihawk made all the little embroidered details himself. At this point he doubts anyone even remembers how his coat looked back when he bought it and before he had time to put a needle to it. Well, anyone who isn't Shanks. Because Mihawk distinctly remembers Shanks staring when he first showed up to a duel with his brand new coat and then staring again after Mihawk was done with it.

Embroidery is more of a winter hobby, when the garden doesn't need him, and he feels the urge to keep his hands moving. For a while he considered teaching Zoro to give him more of a feeling for fine control, but he quickly discarded the idea in favour of helping Perona with her clothes making adventures.

Mihawk never thought or intended for wood carving to become an actual hobby at all. It started out with him finding himself having sailed into a middle of a rather big reef in an attempt to evade social interaction with Vice Admiral Garp after he spotted his ship on the horizon in the early days of Mihawk's Warlord-ship. The reef had plenty rock and coral formations just closely hiding beneath the water surface, interseeded with sand banks that shifted with the tides, which any ship that lays even slightly deeper in the water than Hitsugibune would not be able to navigate. Mihawk relied on his Haki and superior eye-sight to spot all the obstacles and even with all that it was difficult to sail Hitsugibune safely. Then the winds turned on him rather suddenly when he crossed a climate barrier, bringing along heavy cloud cover and fog, and Mihawk decided he needed to make note of the rock formations somehow to not run into them after all as visibility pretty much approached zero. Being not at all talented in map drawing, Mihawk used Kogatana to carve the map into a random scrap of plank instead. It served him well (he sucessfully avoided Garp and there was not a single new scratch on Hitsugibune) and it kind of just became a thing he did. He now has a small collection of carved maps of mostly reefs and other dangerous waters he uses for hiding and evading purposes. And if he carves the occasional bird or other animal when he's bored out at sea, no one needs to know.

Soap making

It's another hobby Mihawk stumbled upon mostly by coincidence. One day during a supply run he got annoyed by how expensive soap is. The next day he had everything he needed to make it for much less money. A week later he had a year's worth supply of soap sorted out. Shanks asks how Mihawk manages to always smell of roses, even when he has been gone from Kuraigana for weeks. Mihawk says nothing while Shanks' crew mercilessly teases their captain for always getting up and close into Hawkeyes' personal space to even know that. They are smart enough to know not to comment on Mihawk allowing Shanks this close in the first place.

[gothicmatter]

honestly the way they changed him out of his white blouse and into the black jacket has always made me feel sick. like his coat? he willingly parted with it. but his blouse? they took that off his shoulders. they stripped him off his autonomy so he can become their puppet.

and now that his will is fully his own again he really does need to change into a new cunty little outfit as a big fuck you.

[marclef]

Fake Pep looks like a very spongy fellow…

Like, you put that man in a bath and he’ll just soak up all the water like a sponge would do 🤔

well, the way i see it, Fake HATES being in water. it messes with his skin and makes him lose his form, so unless it's like, a real nice, comfy warm bath, it probably isn't too pleasant.

.... but, what he CAN do, drinking liquids doesn't hurt him, his insides are more "sturdy" and can absorb it better. so if he were to be put in, let's say, a container of sorts filled with water, he'd probably just try to drink all of the water in order to get it off of him.

something that Peppino unfortunately found out once while trying to get Fake to take a bath.

so... i guess he DOES work kinda like a sponge, in certain situations. Fake sure doesn't like doing it that much though... it takes forever to get all that water absorbed.

(featured: One Sopping Wet Bag of Goop (basically just a water bed at this point.))

[wittywallflower]

DBDA pre-Catwin one-shot (4k)

Edwin is in quite a sorry state after a (literally) messy case. The Cat King shows up and is actually surprisingly helpful.

(rated G, canon-compliant up through Edwin and the Cat King's last meeting. Everything is basically the same as in the show except they just haven't left Port Townsend and gone back to London just yet (maybe they had to hang around to wrap up some other cases first))

🔎

Edwin’s appearance had always been important. First to his parents, who insisted he always be clean and put-together to reflect well on the family. Then in boarding school, any flaw to his uniform was scrutinized by teachers looking for dress code infractions and fellow students looking for something to snitch about. Edwin was not interested in being one of the boys who got a ruler across their knuckles for the sin of having holes in his socks, or scuffed shoes so he kept himself looking rigidly neat. Deviating from that structured appearance never turned out well. Even the new cap he had liked so well had just become a target for Simon.

Then there were the 70 years in Hell. Nothing but dirty blood-stained undergarments for decades and decades. Until they no longer felt like clothing. Just soiled scraps atop a heap of dismembered viscera that used to be a boy. 

Since Hell Edwin preferred to be neatly and somewhat formally dressed. He could look down at himself for an instant reminder that he was no longer there, that he would not be going back. It helped settle the memories, the ones that would surely be nightmares if ghosts ever slept. He stuck to a simple hairstyle because it was easy to tidy without being able to see it.

It was very important to feel tidy and presentable. Thankfully that was usually quite easy for a non-living body that didn’t sweat, or excrete any sort of fluids, actually.

One day he hoped he could look in a mirror again without seeing in his mind his own face reflected in that mirror in Hell, his features drenched in blood, eyes wild and full of panic, terror, pain. That was the freshest memory he had of his own appearance in the last 100 years. 

Rest assured it was not ego that made Edwin’s looks important to him.

So when a case went slightly sideways and Edwin was thrown into a dirty brackish pool, he was not pleased.

Charles’ cricket bat had been forbidden as it was not their intent to injure the restless spirit, the ghost of a young man who died while under the influence of hallucinogens. It was not his fault that, between the drugs and the bewildering experience that becoming a ghost can be, he had lost hold of reality. The goal was to subdue without harm, and allow Crystal to calm his mind so he would be coherent and able to move on. They did achieve that in the end, but not before being thrown around a bit by the former rugby lad who thought he was only defending himself. It was only Edwin's bad luck that he had ended up in the water instead of Charles.

Edwin couldn't enjoy the satisfaction of a job well jobbed in his current state and his agitation only increased when he was left behind by the others, Charles opting to ride along with Crystal who refused to invite Edwin to join them because “how am i supposed to explain the smell of rotting fish and pond scum to the Uber driver?”

His skin couldn’t actually feel the filth he was covered in but that didn’t stop it from crawling.

To add insult to injury, there was a sudden burst of purple flames in the night, immediately followed by a low chuckle.

“Well,” the Cat King drawled with a smirk, “I certainly didn’t expect-”

Edwin’s hand shot up, palm out, and the look on his face must have been a hard glare indeed because the Cat King immediately shut up and schooled the amused grin off his face.

Edwin started marching away from the scene of their case. He was so… furious and uncomfortable that he couldn't even begin to try to remember where the nearest mirror might be. 

The Cat King fell into step beside him, watching his face closely but not speaking. After a few long moments of silence, he put a hand on Edwin’s forearm. Lightly, ready to be removed, but it was enough to make Edwin stop and face him.

“Are you okay?” the Cat King asked.

“I am perfectly unharmed,' Edwin answered, curt and abrupt.

Unharmed didn't necessarily mean okay, he knew that and so did his companion judging by the way the Cat King narrowed his eyes at Edwin. But he didn’t press further. 

“Glad to hear it.” The king ran his tongue along his teeth as contemplated Edwin. The ghost was about to huff and turn away when he caught the beginnings of a feline smile.

“What?” he demanded, voice testy.

“No, it's just… I’m sorry,” The Cat King let himself smile, but it wasn't mocking or even leering. It was almost apologetic. “You have, what is that, seaweed?... in your hair.” 

A sharp, polished fingernail pointed towards his head.

Edwin stiffened and reached to run his hand through his hair. He squirmed in distaste when his hand came away green with algae and god knows what else. He tried to wipe it off with his other hand only for those fingers to end up similarly soiled. There was no sense in wiping them on his trousers, his clothing was in no better state. 

His wet hair chose that moment to flop forward, sending a small trickle of water down his cheek. He was about to wipe it away before he remembered the state of his hands. Obviously his face would be just as bad but he still couldn't bring himself to touch himself with dirty hands. His mouth twisted in disgust and he tried again to brush his fingers clean, the knowledge that it was useless only making him more agitated. 

Unable to watch his distress, the Cat King stepped forward. Right into Edwin’s personal space, close enough to be a distraction but hopefully a pleasant one. Edwin seemed like he could use one at the moment. 

“Hey, it's okay, I got you,” the king crooned softly. A flash of purple fire and a handkerchief appeared in his hand.

The Cat King gently swiped at Edwin's cheeks in slow, gentle upward strokes, following the trail of water until he could push the offending hank of hair back from Edwin’s forehead. He guided the cloth over the furrows in Edwin’s forehead, as if he could physically smooth away the ghost's inner turmoil. On the next stroke he followed one of Edwin’s eyebrows outward, smoothed over his temple, trailed the soft fabric over the shell of his ear... letting himself be the one to get distracted. Just for a moment.

Then his finger brushed against something that was definitely not a strand of Edwin’s hair, and he paused to extract a tiny branch of some aquatic plant. Edwin grimaced at the sight of it, making an aborted motion to run his fingers through his hair, ensure for himself that there was nothing else in it. The Cat King cleared his throat, setting back to his task quickly before Edwin could focus on the mess on his hands again.

The magic he imbued in the handkerchief allowed him to wipe down Edwin’s face and neck without ever growing damp or dirty. Then the Cat King took Edwin's hands in his one by on, exploring every inch of his palm and his fingers as they were gently wiped them clean.

Edwin clearly wasn’t any happier when the Cat King finished, for all that he was less green and dripping. His hands now fidgeted constantly with his clothing where it was clinging to his body, and when he shifted his weight there was a wet squelch from within his shoes that made him wince so hard his shoulders went nearly up to his ears. 

Edwin may not be able to actually feel his sodden socks, and his toes couldn't prune from the moisture, but apparently there were some sensations one never forgets no matter how long they’ve been dead.

“You need to get out of those clothes.”

Edwin raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him and the Cat King held up his hands in placation.

“Not how I meant it.” He couldn’t help it though, “Well…”

The Cat King grinned. 

It had no effect on Edwin whatsoever.

“Relax.” He risked lowering a hand to take one of Edwin’s. When the ghost didn’t pull away, the king decided that would be permission enough for the moment. 

With a tilt of his head and soft smile Edwin’s way, his magic transported the both of them to his private space in the cannery. Edwin clocked their surroundings and opened his mouth to no doubt object, but the Cat King dropped Edwin’s hand to hold up his own again.

“If you really prefer to go back to the little apartment above the butcher shop where your loud and annoying friends are, I can do that. But I promise you, I can make this place much more comfortable than you think.” 

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish.

A warm glow of light drew Edwin’s eye and he turned to spy a very luxurious bathing chamber looking very out of place in one corner of this derelict warehouse. The marble tiles were a stark contrast next to the rather ordinary and dusty industrial floor. Edwin’s curiosity couldn’t prevent him from walking over to investigate. An elegant claw-foot tub in a burnished bronze sat filled with steaming water. A surprisingly modest chandelier with actual candles made the atmosphere cozier and more intimate than seemed possible for the industrial setting.

Edwin nearly jumped when the Cat King appeared without warning right at his side, silent footsteps unnoticed as he crossed the room, true to his feline nature even in human form. Edwin's eyes followed the Cat King as rolled up his sleeves and dabbled a hand in the water to test the temperature, nodding in satisfaction. 

A ghost couldn’t feel the temperature of the bathwater. There was really no need for such consideration. For some reason the thoughtfulness put Edwin on the defensive. 

“I know you don’t expect me to bathe in front of you," he said tartly.

Sure, Edwin had done so in front of other people at boarding school, there was no choice as everything was communal: eating, sleeping, bathing. But that was quite literally a century ago, and it had never been a particularly positive experience for him.

At least now he understood why he’d been so nervous around the other boys at the time. 

The Cat King looked him in the eye. 

“I don’t expect anything from you, ghostie.” He held Edwin’s eye with a serious expression long enough for the ghost to get the point, then dropped into an easy smile and winked. “Can’t stop a cat from hoping though.” 

It was exactly the sort of thing Edwin expected to hear from the Cat King so he didn’t bristle in response. He didn't react at all actually, which made it surprising when the Cat King rushed to offer reassurance. 

“No ulterior motives tonight, I promise." He drew an X over his heart with his finger, which made Edwin roll his eyes. "I just want you to be more comfortable.” 

Edwin could have launched into an explanation of how little physical discomfort a ghost was capable of, how he couldn’t feel chilled from the cold water, or chafed by the damp clothing. He was not about to explain that his distress was mostly mental, emotional. How it is was irrational and possibly some sin of vanity that being such a mess reminded him of Hell.

He didn’t need to explain anything though. With another purple blaze, the Cat King summoned some helpful items.

 In one hand appeared a strangely shaped glass bottle of shimmering liquid that was upended into the tub. The water turned opaque and milky and a barely-there shade of pale pink. 

“There," the Cat King said, "can’t see a thing through the water now. I hope you don't mind i took the liberty of choosing for you. I know you ghosts don't have the same sense of smell anymore, but we’re going to need something fragrant.”

His nose wrinkled slightly in a way that was frankly (unfortunately) endearing. Edwin wondered how offensive the odor was to sharper feline senses. He considered apologizing for it, but it certainly wasn’t his own fault that he smelled like this. And seeing as they were about to fix the situation, it didn't seem worth the effort.  

“What’s the scent?” Edwin asked instead. 

“Rose.” 

Edwin’s eyebrow raised in mild surprise and the Cat King smiled back with a shrug. 

“Options are limited for bath products made from flowers that aren't toxic to cats. At least its a scent you were probably familiar with when you were alive, for whatever that's worth.”

The bottle disappeared and the Cat King pulled a length of folded cloth from where it had been draped over his arm. It unfurled to reveal a dark blue old fashioned bathing unitard from the era when Edwin was still alive. He’d only worn something like it a few times as an older boy, not being the type to do a lot of swimming.

“For your modesty,” the Cat King said. Again, his smile wasn’t mocking or suggestive. He circled Edwin for a moment, looking him up and down (correction: the smile was a little suggestive now), then held the bathing costume up in front of the ghost’s torso. “And look, I even got the size right.” 

Perhaps he had been tempted to make it a little on the snug side, just to see what the ghost was packing. Curiosity, cats, etc. etc.

Edwin took the garment from him but didn't make eye contact, oddly distracted for a man who was being flirted with. Edwin’s gaze was aimed over the king's shoulder, but his eyes were a bit too vacant to really be looking at anything. Whatever it was, it absorbed him thoroughly; he didn’t speak as the seconds stretched. 

With a subtle shift of weight, the Cat King moved to the side, just enough to step into the path of Edwin’s stare. Blocking his view of whatever made him space out for a minute there. 

Edwin blinked a few times then cleared his throat, turning to the side. He looked down at the bathing suit.

“I definitely will not be undressing while you watch," he said flatly.

If not for that little exchange in the alley, the Cat King might suspect Edwin was allergic to saying thank you.

“I can close my eyes. I promise not to peek.” He winked at Edwin, but didn’t give the boy time to get riled up before he conceded. “I’ll step out and give you your privacy.”

“Unnecessary,” Edwin said, much to both of their surprise. “It will only take a moment. I will insist you turn your back, however. And keep it turned.” 

Unsure how to react to being invited to stay, the Cat King actually gaped at him for a moment. Edwin began to undo his bowtie but when he noticed his companion was staring (the exact opposite of his request), Edwin frowned and made a very condescending shooing motion with one hand.

Rather than take issue with that bit of disrespect, the Cat King decided to respect the boy’s boundaries. The magical being pivoted 180 degrees and put his back fully to the Edwardian ghost, taking a few steps away to give him space . 

If it were anyone else, the Cat King would be very advantageously positioned. The mirror he now faced reflected everything behind him, except for one invisible ghost who was in fact the only thing the Cat King would have wanted to look at. 

Examining the mirror now he realized it was the only thing that could have been in Edwin’s line of sight when he’d gone into that worrisome moment of dissociation. 

The Cat King didn’t know why such a thing would upset him. Being a major mode of ghostly transportation, Edwin wasn’t exactly lacking for mirrors in his life. And with no reflection he wouldn't be able to see it if he truly did look ghastly. (Which of course he didn’t. Even dripping and bedraggled, Edwin was so oddly handsome. The Cat King didn’t usually go for the clean cut Boy Scout look but, here they were.) 

He didn’t need to know why the mirror had bothered Edwin to grasp the fact that it made him uncomfortable. The Cat King could vanish it away entirely of course. But removing an escape route likely wouldn't put Edwin any more at ease. As a compromise the king summoned his magic again.

There was a gasp behind his back when the purple flared between them with a puff of smoke. He could picture a startled Edwin, hugging whatever garment he had just removed close to his body to cover himself.

The Cat King’s view in the mirror’s reflection was now blocked by an elegant folding screen positioned to separate the tub, and Edwin, from the rest of the room. The Cat King didn't move though. Edwin said to keep his back turned, so he waited and listened to the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric. The slosh as the water in the tub was disturbed.

He stood there, and he waited. 

“As nice as the privacy is,” Edwin’s voice came from behind the screen, “it doesn’t actually make me less anxious that I can’t keep an eye on what you’re up to.”

The Cat King smiled to himself. 

“Sounds like you’re asking for my company,” he replied lightly.

“I’m not asking for anything from you.”

Edwin had composed himself enough for a bit of the old hostility to seep in to his tone. But he’d had an extremely aggravating night, so the king decided that was easy enough to overlook. 

“Guess you get this one for free, then,” he said.

With a saunter he stepped around the folding screen as Edwin watched him warily. When the Cat King approached the tub, Edwin tensed further, sinking down into the water up to his neck and folding his arms protectively over his chest. No that there was a need to. The only thing visible below his chin was two knees poking a few inches above the cloudy water. 

“Easy,” the king crooned reassurance. “I’m not going to touch you, not gonna use any spells on you. I’ll just be here to… I don't know, pass you the soap, I guess.” A bar of soap appeared in his hand and he held it out to Edwin before he frowned thoughtfully. “Do ghosts even need to use soap?”

Edwin’s eyes darted between the king’s face, the soap in his hand, and back.

“No,” he said, but nonetheless reached out to grab it.

Edwin had to sit up to properly clean himself; he tried to hunch in on himself to avoid being Seen. The Cat King decided not to make it any harder for Edwin by staring. He folded his limbs with feline grace and sat on the floor, his back against the tub and his eyes respectfully turned away. 

He was glad he wasnt watching after a moment. By the sound of it Edwin wasn’t going easy with the scrubbing. The king was glad he hadn’t offered a loofah as well. At least, being a ghost, Edwin couldn't actually damage his skin with too much abrasion.

The Cat King hoped the ritual of washing would cleanse the ghost’s mind, at least. 

The smell of roses grew thicker as the lather added its own fragrant note, just slightly different but undeniably the same floral.

There were long minutes of quiet splashing. Eventually the Cat King asked hopefully,

“Need a hand to wash your back?”

“No,” the word was not so tensely gritted out this time, “but… um, my hair, is it clean enough? I can’t tell.”

The Cat King turned, and through some damned impressive willpower, kept his eyeline above Edwin’s neck. The boy’s face wasn’t so pinched now. He didn't seem like he wanted to tear his skin off anymore. The king had never actually seen Edwin relaxed so he had no basis for comparison, but this looked like a step in the right direction. 

Dutifully he examined Edwin’s hair. The ghost had to duck his head for the shorter being to see all of it. The cat king hummed quietly, a small smile hidden from Edwin’s lowered face.

“Missed a bit of lather just here.”

A swirl of his wrist summoned a cup that the Cat King dipped into the water and raised above Edwin’s head, waiting for the ghost to close his eyes before pouring the water over his hair. He’d love nothing more than to run his fingers through those damp strands, but he’d promised Edwin he wouldn’t touch. 

Another cascade of water and Edwin’s hair was as clean as the rest of him. 

“There we go.” The Cat King’s voice was oddly tender, and after a second he seemed to realize that for himself, because he cleared his throat and stood from where he’d been kneeling beside the bath. “I’ll, uh, take care of your clothes while you finish up.” 

Magicking the non-corporeal clothing clean and dry wouldn’t take more than a click of his fingers but he still took the time to gather up the sodden garments and dripping shoes to carry them off.

 Leaving Edwin alone behind the screen. In a tub full of water that would never dirty or grow cold, next to it a stack of the fluffiest towels in existence, thoughtfully warmed for a ghost who couldn’t even feel it.

The Cat King shook his head in dismay at himself as he left the room. He was being such a fucking simp. 

Edwin had no idea how it worked, what enchantments the king had used on the items to get the timing so correct (maybe he was spying after all?), but the moment Edwin finished toweling himself dry, a robe appeared. Luxurious fabric but muted colors, no ornamentation. Nothing garish, but long and thick and elegant. When he belted it on it covered him nicely from collarbone to calves. The moment that the robe was secured, the bathing chambers melted out of existence: the tub, the chandelier, the wet towels, the folding screen. 

Everything except the mirror. 

Obviously the mirror stayed. It was the most logical and convenient way for Edwin to go home.

Well, not home, but to their current headquarters anyway.

His fingers brushed his side and he fingered the fabric he was wrapped in, wondering what he must look like in it. He’d never worn anything similar, had never even seen another person wearing such a rich, hedonistic garment while he was living. Did it look strange on him? Did he look like he was playing dress-up? Or maybe it suited him. Maybe, if he had lived, he would have come to own a similar dressing gown one day. Wrapped himself in it in the morning while he made coffee, worn it while he sat with a book in his own library in his own home late into the evening before he retired to a bed that would be useless to him in his current state of being.

Edwin got a bit lost in the wondering, the hypotheticals, staring at the mirror that didn’t reflect anything of note, not himself and not the robe belt he was fiddling with. The Cat King’s return pulled him back into the moment. 

A folded pile of familiar clothing was handed to him, shoes dry and polished to a shine stacked on top.

“All ready for you.” The king’s smile turned a bit sad. “I imagine you want to get back to your friends now.”

Edwin really should. Ordinarily he would have made it back via mirror much quicker than Crystal’s rideshare, so they would be wondering where he was. He hadn’t made note of the time when he arrived, couldn't say how long he’d been here. He could feel the weight of his pocket watch within his folded jacket, but he didn’t fish it out to check it. The answer wouldn’t really change anything. 

Edwin didn’t know what to say to the Cat King. ‘Goodbye’ perhaps. ‘Thank you’, probably. Before he could decide, the other man seemed to startle. 

“Oh! Almost forgot.” 

From a pocket The Cat King pulled out a comb. It was beautiful, carved from what must be mother-of-pearl, and it looked the priceless sort of old. 

The Cat King reached up to run the comb through Edwin’s hair, but stopped, pulling back and offering the comb to him instead. 

Edwin looked at it for a long moment. Unsure what was possessing him, instead of taking it he bent forward, Edwin lowered his head to put it in easy reach of the shorter man. 

Edwin's eyes dropped and he missed the pleased grin that split the feline monarch’s face. 

The Cat King wasn’t going to give Edwin a chance to change his mind. With infinite care he gently guided the comb through Edwin’s dark hair. Thankfully it was free of tangles; if the Cat King was going to pull Edwin’s hair, he wanted it to be in a sexy context.

 It only took a few passes to settle the damp hair into the simple style Edwin favored. The Cat King let his hand fall away when he was finished despite the temptation to linger, to take another pass through those strands with his fingers instead. 

Before he stood up straight once more, Edwin dipped his head even lower, leaning in to brush his lips to the Cat King’s cheek, a mirror of where he’d kissed him before. The Cat King’s eyes fluttered shut, just like last time. 

“Thank you.” Edwin didn’t whisper. His voice, though quiet, was firm. 

And importantly, it was wasn’t tense anymore, not laced with anxious agitation as it was before the bath.  

The Cat King inhaled, smelling the fragrance of roses, and opened his eyes again. 

There was nothing to see except the last ripple of the mirror’s surface marking the ghost’s exit.

[hoo, boy, 4k is too long for tumblr, i shoulda taken this straight to ao3 but then I'd have to think of a title for it.]

[hey. what should be the title for it?]

NOW ON AO3

[slushiebrain]

since i did traditional art last year and since i've started studying again and so have less free time, this year i'm doing pale gamkar week a little differently than my usual art (in the hopes it'll save me some time ; -- ;) i'm aiming for a little more cartoony and a whole lot sillier! i didn't have time to draw yesterday so today i'm posting both day 1 and day 2 of @pale-gamkar-week 2024 prompts: laughter and bath!

i might do full colours for these at some point but this is as good as it gets for now lol

[nightmarearian]

live up your life as a wraith

half assed render of a line from Scylla that I kept imagining with naga Ody (as a proper monster, I mean. Like. Basically Ody as Scylla) that would nooooot get outta my head

idk how to draw boats :,)

also close up of Ody's face cause I like how i did the expression.

additional hc: Ody's iris are realllly light, being grey from Athena's blessing. They're basically 1.5 shades darker than the whites of his eyes, and only distinguishable in harsher/colored lighting, and the slight hazel glint of Hermes' bloodline. In contrast, Ctimene's iris are realllllly dark, near pure black (like dried blood, per being Ares' favoured). Both their eyes are quite piercing when directed at someone, especially with eye contact. Ctimene looks particularly threatening & serious, Odysseus looks quite unsettling.

[thedevillionaire]

come to me

His relief at seeing her is tangible, primal, as he quietly insists he’s just tired – the relentless intensity over the last week, or two, or even dear gods has it really been three finally easing up. Although maybe, in its own way, that easing was part of the problem.

He says it’ll pass soon; he knows there’s no hiding it but he’s hoping that’s the truth, and the last thing he wants is to worry her.

He doesn’t quite succeed.

With a frown of concern, she watches him take his coat off, an unspoken exhaustion laced through his movement as he increases the hearthfire’s intensity, and she passes him the steaming cup of jasmine tea she’d made for herself only moments ago. He gratefully accepts its welcome small warmth with a soft thanks, love, and she doesn’t miss the edge of congestion in his consonants, nor the dullness in his usually intensely vibrant eyes, the encroaching hints of pinkness to his nose.

They take a seat together on the couch and he puts the teacup on the table, apologises to her for all his absences lately, sniffles at first softly then harder, sharper. At his catch of breath she passes him a tissue, and quickly another, as his expression crumbles in surrender to the recurrent insistent need he’s been unable to shake: urgent, unforgiving and imperative, the vestiges of his energy rip-torn ravaged as he hurriedly turns from his beloved, unable to fight it, sneezing in urgent, violent triplicate – heavy, throat-tearing, disorienting.

Her heartwarm blessing is a cherished sanctuary as she trails gentle fingers through his hair, drawing him closer, and oh she always loves his touch but he’s far too warm, the thickness in his breathing impossible to miss. She murmurs soothing softnesses, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, and holds him a little closer as

“Ahh-HEHHTSShhuu!”

she’s not sure about this passing soon at all.

---

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

@whumpgifathon - day 3 ↳ hypothermia

Mr. & Mrs. Smith 1x03