#also very late my apologies

[doodleodds]

An "Akechi in a nurse outfit w/ some shuake" comm for @edenfire! (I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for lol but this is just what came to mind ^^;) AND I'M NOT DEAD I PROMISE- I HAVEN'T STOLEN YOUR MONEY AND RAN!! I am sorry this took so long to get to you though. My job got very busy recently with school starting up and I just kept coming home too drained to do anything but sleep. But we're back on it now!!! There's a bonus below the cut since this is.... two weeks late, oh god:

So when i initially started this drawing i was like "hm are there any nurse outfits in cannon" and i was like "you know what. I bet Maruki had some nurses that were shadows." and that lead to this! It's not polished AT ALL because i was drawing it for fun, initially, and then the sunk cost fallacy kicked in and i had to finish it to include in the post because it'd already taken me a hot minute to get to you + i'd spent too much time goofing off drawing this to just post your thing with no explanation aside from work, so. Here!

(Whats that saying about falling in love with sirens? Make sure they're saying “I love you” and not “you love me?”)

[zehl0w]

Very messy scribble of a comic because they were on my mind (I doubt I’ll ever clean it up so I’m just posting it now so it doesn’t rot in my procreate files LOL)

[inkly-heart]

.

[paintedkinzy-88]

Lust's bro coming home after a date with his bf only to find a large golden noodle curled up around Lust both asleep. Blue in the kitchen cooking and Ink in his half form doodling surrounded by half a dozen sketchbooks.

Stfu that’s actually hilarious hold on—

Warning for. Suggestive topics in the background, I suppose. It is Underlust. I tried to keep it PG, but also I’m very tired so eh ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Writing jumpscare boo

“Sans, I will be completely honest with you. I do not know what I am looking at.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it, either. Papyrus’ brother has always been an… interesting character, to put it lightly. And he doesn’t mean that in any negative way! Stars knows the Great Papyrus would never settle with normal, especially in the world they live in. “Normal” here was extravagant, in-your-face, and exceedingly too personal. It had to be, unfortunately, for all of their survival.

Sans, however, found a way to be all of that, but so much better. He knows everything and everyone, flaunts his stuff like there’s no tomorrow, can party with the best of them and put on incredible shows every other night at Grillby’s. He’s memorable, in ways Papyrus just cannot understand, but deeply admires. And above all else, Sans is respectful.

Sure, he is the biggest piece of fruit on the grapevine, collecting gossip like it’s a national treasure, but he knows when to share and what to keep to himself. He’s become a safe space for many monsters, for better or worse, able to pick apart their walls and façades like they’re just a big game of Jenga. Papyrus has seen him do it too many times to count. He’s able to pick out the one monster in the crowd that’s clearly trying to drink away all their feelings for the sake of a party, and coerce them into cutting off their tab, talking it out in the bathroom, and going home for the night with newly smeared makeup. Whether that was with or without Sans coming along depended on the monster and the mood.

In other words, he was a reliable “mom friend” at a party, despite often having a few drinks himself.

But, more importantly, Sans has a personality beyond just sex and drugs. It’s something only people that manage to get past his pelvis have the opportunity to see. His room is filled with space memorabilia rather than the hottest magazines. He had a secret lab instead of a dungeon. He’d rather have a good burger and a soda than any of the tangy drinks and edibles that were so often found in everyone’s homes. Heck, his hobbies revolve around “star” gazing, pranks, and just making people laugh.

He encouraged Papyrus to live by his heart rather than by the lust flowing through his magic, unlike every other monster that wants him to be “down for anything.”

More than all of that, Sans was impossible to predict. He could honestly tell you the secrets of the universe one moment and then hit you with a water balloon the next. He made life in the Underground interesting and infinitely more tolerable.

That is to say, this scenario that Papyrus has currently walked into has certainly taken the cake. Multiple cakes, even.

There were currently three skeleton monsters in his living room, not including himself. One was standing in the doorway of their kitchen, in an outfit so unlike what he is used to seeing around Snowdin. A blue bandana is wrapped around his neck, hiding his neck and collarbone, with sturdy grey shoulder pads underneath it. His shirt covers his entire ribcage, and his pants are baggy and tucked into noticeably-not-high-heeled boots. On top of all of that, he has an apron on that says “Reach for the Stars” with multicolored stars littered across it.

In front of the couch, surrounded by an insane amount of paper, pencils, and other art supplies, is a skeleton of much similar structure to the other one — if you chose to ignore the horns, tail, and bare wing bones. He also has a scarf around his neck, this one brown and covered in writing and black splotches. His tan and white long sleeve shirt also covers much of his torso, but at least it’s a little more form fitting. His pants are flowy, however, but there are some sort of black leggings underneath them. He has no shoes, and Papyrus doesn’t see any near the door that aren’t already supposed to be there. A little strange to be barefoot in Snowdin, given the weather, though he supposes the folk in New Home or Hotland may enjoy the aesthetic?

The final two are by far the strangest part of this scene. Which is quite amazing, considering one is his actual brother.

Sans, in a rainbow hoodie with a purple star on the chest that Papyrus has never seen him wear, is currently in the center of a rather large, yellow, lizard-like… beast? Monster? Was that a monster?? Papyrus has never met a monster like this before, and he’s met a LOT of monsters in his time in the Royal Harem, before meeting Mettaton. Perhaps Undyne would know them? Or, actually, if they were a monster, maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised that Sans knows them, since Sans seems to know everyone in the underground far better than he probably should.

Either way, this was a very… Innocent yet weird moment to have walked into. Not that Papyrus was necessarily complaining. He hated to walk in on anything else.

All of the skeletons present (aside from the large one, who seemed to be asleep. Were they a skeleton monster?? Their pseudo skin seems very similar to his and Sans’ ecto bodies) are now staring at him, sockets wide and bodies frozen, like three children with their hands caught in the cookie jar. Even Sans himself looks surprised and confused, as if seeing his only other house mate within their very house was an unexpected turn of events.

Finally, the one in blue whips his head around to look at his brother, brows pinched downward. “Lust! You said he wouldn’t be home for another hour!”

He’s holding a plate of tacos in his hands. That’s perhaps the most normal thing in this entire scenario.

“Uh, yeah,” Sans replied, surprisingly. Why on earth he’d reply to such a cursed word, Papyrus had no idea. “He shouldn’t be back until, like, six somethin’.”

Papyrus distinctly remembers saying he’d be home at four-thirty sharp, actually. It figures that his brother would remember incorrectly, though he supposes it didn’t matter since he was technically correct. “It’s actually six twenty-four, right now,” he informed them, crossing his arms. “I had to stay later than normal because Mettaton needed help brainstorming new and exciting questions for his game show this week. Obviously, I was the best person to ask.”

Sans nodded, as if he expected this response. “Yeah yeah, hold on.” He shuffled around a little bit, reaching down towards his pants pockets. The large skull that laid on his stomach huffed unhappily, to which he simply patted their forehead with a soft “sorry, Dream.” Finally, he pulled out his phone and clicked it on.

A small purple phone Papyrus has also never seen before.

The horned skeleton on the floor snorted, propping his head on his hand. “Lusty, I think that’s the phone I gave ya.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh my stars,” the blue one groaned. He ran his free hand down his face, finally setting the tray of tacos down on the nearest table. “How did you mix that up?!”

“I’m sorry! They look similar!”

“The multiverse one literally has a star keychain, how did that slip your mind?!”

“You try havin’ two phones!”

“I literally do, you absolute doofus—“

“Yo, guys, don’t wake the baby,” the horned one scolded playfully, gesturing to the lizard-skeleton-thing. Which, if that WAS a baby, Papyrus was terrified to know what the parents looked like.

Though, knowing how rare children were, he supposed the skeleton was joking, now that he thought about it.

Great. Another comedian then (he says with all the fond annoyance, of course.)

“Excuse me,” he speaks up once again. They all turn back towards him, almost completely in sync. Terrifying. “I’m sorry to interrupt… whatever this is. But I would like to know who the heck you all are and why you’re in my home? How do you know my brother exactly? And are you all skeletons?? I didn’t realize there were other skeletons like us. And, more importantly, WHAT and/or WHO is THAT?”

He gestured wildly to the yellow being, sockets pinning his older brother down. Sans at least had the decency to look apologetic.

He should be, for keeping such cool and not-ravenous friends to HIMSELF.

“… Any chance I can convince you this is a dream?” Sans tried with a sheepish grin.

“Absolutely not.”

“Damn.”

“I can explain!” The skeleton-dragon-monster popped up from the ground happily, tail wiggling like a boney snake. Now that he was up, Papyrus noted that he was even shorter than his own brother. It was quite cute.

The blue one ran both his hands down his face now, though Paps swears he can see the corner of his teeth perk up a bit.

“Okay, so, I’m Ink!” the little one started, pointing to himself and then to his friends, “That’s Blue, Dream, and you know Lust! Kinda. Not AS Lust, but whatever. We’re all best of buddies, and we’re just hangin’ out today because Dream hadn’t seen Lust in a while and he really likes Lust’s hoodie, and when a piece of your hoard calls to you, ya just have to answer.”

“Mhm,” Papyrus nodded, utterly perplexed and not understanding a good portion of that entire explanation.

“A hoard is a dragon’s, like, very important personal belongings?” Sans tried to explain. “Like… a collection of… actually, never mind, it won’t matter in the long run and it’s hard to explain. Just know that Dream sees my hoodies and blankets and pillows as his own, and they’re very important to him.”

This is going to give him a headache. “So he needs to. Snuggle them. While you are in it.”

Sans snorted, patting Dream’s head again. “I mean, I don’t have to be in it, but it makes the experience better for both of us.”

Fair enough. He would much rather be cuddled up to his boyfriend than dealing with whatever-this-was.

“Anywho!” Ink paused. “Where was I?”

“Introducing us and failing to explain why we’re here,” Blue offered unhelpfully.

“Right! We’re alternate versions of your brother—“

“Oh my Stars, Ink.”

“And we all defend the multiverse together, but we’re also really close! Like family, not friends-with-benefits close, to confirm—“

“Oh my STARS, Ink—“

“— so we like to hang out in each other’s universes when we’re not fighting world-ending bad guys, and today we just so happened to be here for… whatever reason I may have already forgotten. Anyway! I gave Lust a phone to use across the multiverse, and it has the time of the Doodle Sphere on it because that’s consistent across the multiverse, but that also means it’s different from YOUR world’s time, with timelines and resets and all of that, so we confused the two.”

There was a long pause after Ink finished rambling, smiling happily up to the taller skeleton in the room. Before he could really register any of what was said, however, Blue muttered a little, “Technically, Lust confused the two, not us.”

This, of course, earned him an indignant shout from his brother, and—

Okay, yeah, no.

Papyrus nodded multiple times, clapping his hands together and pressing them to his teeth. “I have no clue what’s happening here,” he stated plainly. “I’m going to assume this is just more of Sans’ weird time-space shenanigans and… and I am. Going. To bed. I think.”

They all blinked at him quietly. The dragon-thing shuffled peacefully, sighing and rubbing his head against Sans’ chest. He looked comfortable, and incredibly soft as well. Perhaps when Papyrus had more motivation to understand what was in front of him, he’d ask if he could pet the large creature.

Breaking the silence, Blue gestured to the plate of food beside him. “Do you want a taco before you go?”

“… Sure. Why not.”

[hoofpeet]

perpetually suffering the tortures lately

[that-one-raccoon]

Owl House Magical Girl! AU, anyone?

[raiiny-bay]

some kel sketches i'm working on

[candyheartedchy]

Hoping I’m not dealing with burnout again…

[maybege]

help there’s a man coming over to my apartment today

[cod-dump]

Can we get a sequel to your ‘Selfish’ pricegravesnik? I just really want to see how that goes over

Part two has been sitting for awhile collecting dust due to ✨life✨ distracting me (I started working on part two after I posted the first part, lol). This is split up into multiple chapters on AO3 which is why it was posted on there first

___

Selfish

Part 2

PriceGravesNik

___

Graves first noticed how clear his lungs felt, the loudness of machines around him, then voices on the other side of those machines. Then he noticed the brightness of the room, it made him wince and squeeze his eyes tight to block out the light. After a moment, he cracked his eyes open. It takes a lot of blinking until his eyes adjust but he finally looks around the room. He recognized as one of the rooms in the medical wing. Graves swallowed and became very aware that there was something down his throat and he felt himself start to panic.

"дорогой!"

Graves looks over and sees Nik running from the door. He's kneeling by the bed, one hand running through Graves' hair while the other grabs his hand. Graves could see his eyes full of relief.

"Easy, дорогой. The tube is putting air into your lungs. Oh, зайчик... We were so worried."

Graves slowly calms as Nik holds up his hand and presses several kisses to it. Graves squeezed as hard as he could (which wasn't very hard) as Nik smiled against his hand, holding it against his cheek. Graves looks past Nik to the door and Nik notices. He looks behind him before looking to Graves.

"John was talking to the doctor. Wanted to make sure everything was alright. I'll go get him, okay?"

Graves didn't have much strength to do much but nod. Nik kisses his hand again before he lets it drop to the bed. He leaves and Graves just stares after him, mind fuzzy. He didn't want to think about what lead him to getting in here. He really didn't. Graves knew the moment he started to think about it, the moment he relived what happened, he would start to panic again. And he didn't want to panic with a tube down his throat. So he just closes his eyes and thinks about Nik. Thinks about how delighted he was to see him, how warm his kisses were and how Graves ached for more.

"Love!"

Graves opens his eyes and Price is there. The man doesn't hesitate to lean over and press kisses to the parts of his face that wasn't covered by the ventilation mask. Price swallows hard as he rests his forehead against his.

"God, when they brought you in- Fuck... I was so scared."

"We both were," Nik said from the other side of the bed.

Graves' heart was aching, tears welling up in his eyes. Price pulls away, stroking Graves' face so lightly. It was as if he was afraid Graves would break. Price stands when someone walks in, Graves assumed it was the doctor because of the white coat. Price turns to address the doctor, Graves turning to look at Nik who was sitting on the side of the bed. The doctor steps towards the bed and Graves turns to look at him.

"Alright, Phillip. Let's have a look at you."

_

After a thorough checkup and another night in medical, the doctor allowed Graves to leave and sleep in his own bed... with heavy work restrictions and an inhaler that he had to take a puff of every couple of hours until his lungs recovered. Graves had walked outside of medical and headed straight for his room. Not Nik and Price's room, his. He hadn't slept there since he started dating Nik and Price and the room was pretty much only used to store his things.

But he wanted to be alone. Just for a moment at least. He knew that it wouldn't take long until one or both of his boyfriends sought him out after learning he was released from medical earlier than what they were originally told.

Graves refused to look at anyone, making sure to make his way to his room as fast as possible without pushing himself. He could feel eyes on him as he walked through the halls. Graves reached the barracks and froze when he saw Soap and Gaz talking near his room. He swallows and ducks behind a corner, taking a moment to breathe. He didn't want to deal with them, Graves was sure he wouldn't be able to mentally handle it. Graves leans against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.

I should just go back to Nik and John's room...

They were going to find him there and undoubtedly attempt to question him about what happened. Graves couldn't tell them what happened, what was going through his mind as he tried to run. It would just stir up more trouble for him and everyone already hated his guts. He couldn't do it...

Graves takes a breath, steeling himself before he turns the corner and starts walking. He focused only on the door to his room, ignoring Soap and Gaz. He did everything he could to block them out and pretend that they weren't there. Graves managed to get to his door and pulled out his keys, focused on getting into the room and sealing himself inside. He found himself shaking as he fumbled through the keys, having difficulty finding the one to the room.

"Graves?"

Fuck.

Graves doesn't look over at them, just focuses on putting the key in the lock.

"Fucking- Graves!"

"Leave him alone, Soap."

Graves could see Soap walking over in the corner of his eye and he panics. He manages to open the door and darts inside, slamming it shut behind him and locking it. Graves backs away from the door, hearing the two on the other side but he couldn't understand what they were saying. Graves lets out a shaky breath and sits on the bed. The mattress was new when he had joined but he didn't use it much before he started seeking out Nik and Price's company. The mattress was firm, the sheets and a dusty smell to them, too.

But Graves didn't care about that at the moment. Graves lays down, wondering how long it'll take for Nik and Price to find him. He knew they were going to want to talk about what happened when they found him and he was trying to delay that as long as possible. He doesn't want to hear them say it, doesn't want what he already knows to be put out there. That they wouldn't hesitate to throw him out if it meant to keep the peace with the others.

Graves was never someone's first choice, ever. He's always been second rate no matter where he went or what he did. He had stopped trying to be first place and started to put himself first. Stabbing others in the back, cutting corners, doing everything he could to get himself at the top and get what he wanted. Shadow Company was born from cheating, betrayal, and pure selfishness. It represented everything Graves was. Everything that he will ever be.

Someone knocked on the door but Graves ignored it, not bothering to move. More knocking, someone talking through the door but Graves wasn't listening. He just laid on the bed, staring at the window. He couldn't help but think how beautiful the rays of sunlight were coming through the curtains, dust floating through them with grace similar to snowflakes. The person on the other side spoke louder but Graves was now actively trying to block them out. He grabbed the pillow his head was resting on and folded over his head, still staring at the window.

Then he heard the jingle of keys and Graves felt his heart beat faster. Only a couple people on base have keys to the doors on hand, and he was praying that the one he was thinking of wasn't the one opening his door. The door opened and the voices from outside became much clearer and the pillow no longer was an adequate buffer.

"Graves? Shit-"

"Let's just go get Price! Leave him alone!"

Graves wanted to scream, feeling himself start to shake. They wouldn't leave him alone, they wouldn't be satisfied until he was gone for good. Nothing will be good enough for them. Nothing that Graves will ever do will make things right. He's broken, he hasn't tried to fight back against them since he was taken into 141. He let them push him around, kept quiet like Soap wanted and didn't cause any problems.

"I like you better when you keep your mouth shut."

But... even doing everything they wanted, it still wasn't good enough. Nothing he will ever do will be good enough. He's made his bed, now he has to lay in it.

Graves flinched hard when the door closed, he was too scared to look behind him. He laid there, no longer to find beauty in the sunlight or the dust dancing in it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt his breathing pick up, tears pricking at his eyes. He wanted this to be over with but he was too much of a damn coward to do anything. He won't do anything and just let himself be thrown around until he drops dead.

The door opened and Graves prepared for the worst. Something to happen, someone to grab him and drag him away. Something bad needed to happen because nothing else made sense.

"Phil?"

No-

"Love?"

No-

Graves was unable to stop the sob that escaped his lips. The door closed behind him and Nik got in bed behind him, a gentle hand touching his back. He flinched upon contact and the hand jerked away. There was a moment where nothing happened, a moment of stillness. Then Nik gently pried the pillow away from his head, and with his only buffer gone Graves felt exposed.

"дорогой, can I hold you?"

Graves said nothing because he knew that 'yes' would be the only thing to come out of his mouth. Nik lightly touched his shoulder and Graves restrained himself from rolling over and burying himself into the man's arms. Nik muttered something in Russian, it sounded so sweet and full of worry, making Graves' heart ache.

Will he be so sweet when the truth comes out?

"Милый?"

Graves closes his eyes, unable to ignore Nik any longer. He turns and buries himself against the man who immediately wrapped his arms around him. Graves felt Nik press a kiss to the top of his head, muttering something as he held him. Graves felt himself start to cry, knowing it would all be over. He didn't want it to be over, he didn't want to lose Nik and Price. Two men who looked at him for him and believed in him. But they're loyal to their own and Graves wasn't among those people. He was exactly what Laswell said he was: A temporary fling.

"Я люблю тебя."

Graves cried harder, Nik holding him like he was afraid he would disappear if he let go. Graves’ fingers were curled into Nik's shirt, desperate to keep the man next to him. The truth was going to come out sooner or later, he might as well enjoy any affection he can get before things go sour.

Graves wasn’t sure how long he cried, he just knows he cried until he had no more tears to shed. And by that point, when his tears ran dry, he found himself exhausted by it all. Graves pressed against Nik’s chest, wishing Price was there with them.

”I’m here, love. I’m not going anywhere…”

Yet.

Graves sighs, taking in the warmth of Nik’s arms and his smell before he drifted off to sleep.

_

Graves expected to wake up alone. But he wasn't, instead he was still being cradled against Nik's chest... with a body pressed against his back. Graves had never been fond of being in the middle during cuddling, something about it made him feel trapped. Nik and Price never pushed him to be stuck between them longer than what he could bear. But right now, it was welcomed.

He felt an arm on his waist, slow shallow breaths. They both were asleep or deeply relaxed. Graves could see that the room was lit by sunlight from the window meaning he hadn't been sleeping for that long. He didn't want to move, afraid everything would end right there the moment he did. So he just stayed there, waiting. He tensed when he felt Price shift behind him, feeling the man kiss the back of his head. It made his heart ache how sweet he and Nik could be.

It clashed against their terrifying personas they displayed when working.

Graves heard Nik mutter something, feel his voice rumble in his chest, "I'm worried about him."

"So am I, love."

Graves could hear their concern and he felt undeserving of it. He had avoided talking to them for too long and he knew he wasn't going to be leaving this room before they got the answers to their unspoken questions. But he was so scared of what was going to happen to him if he told them anything. Everyone here hated him and he imagined it wouldn't take much for them to finally see that standing beside him was nothing but foolish.

"Phil?"

Graves winces, he was thinking too loudly. He was never good at hiding when he was thinking about something. Graves feels Price shift behind him again, probably sitting up. Graves then felt Nik shift in front of him but he didn't make a move to get up.

"Love, can you sit up?"

Graves takes in a shaky breath before he sits up, propping himself against the headboard. Price turns to where he was facing him, trying to meet Graves' eyes but he couldn't look at him. He wouldn't be able to talk if he met either of their gazes. They sat there, no one saying anything at first. The silence became a bit too much for Graves so he went to say something but nothing came out. He closed his mouth, sighing. He needed to speak even though no one had even asked him to.

"I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I know things haven't been good since I came here."

Graves feels Nik's shoulder brush his and he finally noticed how small the bed was for three grown men.

"Things have been good, Phil."

Graves shakes his head, "No, they haven't."

He's always put on a smile for them. Always acted like nothing was wrong, that he hasn't been miserable. That he hasn't been enduring the torture from those he's hurt hoping that it would make things right. Torture seems to be too much, not the right word. But that's what it's felt like for him. Torture.

"What's been going on?"

Graves keeps quiet, fear slowly clawing its way through him.

"Phil? Please, tell us what's been happening."

He couldn't imagine how this wouldn't end poorly for him. Maybe Nik would hold on for a moment but he couldn't imagine Price turning on them for Graves. They were his boys and Price would do anything for one of his boys. Graves jerks when Price takes one of his hands, Graves finally turning to look at him. Price looked so worried, desperate to fix whatever was wrong. But Graves wasn't sure if he could fix this without any issues. If he even would try.

"We can't help if you don't tell us what's wrong, Милый. We want to make things better."

"Would probably just make things worse," Graves muttered, mostly to himself and instantly regretting everything he's said.

Graves knew the likelihood of getting out of this room without telling them anything was nonexistent. That getting out here unscathed wasn't an option. Graves felt Price take his hand and squeeze so gently, a thumb rubbing over the back of his hand.

“Love… what has been going on?”

Graves shakes his head, "Nothing! Pretend I didn't say anything."

"Phil-"

Graves jerks his hands from Price, tucking his hands into his lap. He attempted to make himself as small as possible, curling in on himself until his shoulders didn't touch Nik or Price. He's said too much and he knows he won't be able to leave until he talked. He's already said enough to make them curious, make them worry. Graves should've kept his mouth shut and played everything off as him just having a bad couple of days.

"дорогой... Please..."

Graves tears up, "I don't want to cause any issues..."

Neither of his boyfriends say anything and Graves lets out a shaky breath. He crawls to the foot of the bed and sits there, trying to figure out what to say first. Their silence was of course accompanied by patience. Patience that Graves didn't deserve.

"Your men haven't been... as forgiving as you."

Price moves, "What?"

Graves has seen Price come to the defense of his boys with the drop of a dime. He's always defended them and Graves had scarcely seen any scolding or disciplinary actions made. Nik has put Soap and Ghost in their place before, but that was long ago and the situation was tense for everyone.

"Is this about Soap? Or Ghost? I've talked to them about their behavior."

"Did you? I never noticed..."

Graves winces at his own words and feels his heart pick up speed in anticipation of Price's response. Nik was quiet, too quiet.

"Why didn't you tell me about the issues you've been having with them?"

"I've seen you bend over backwards to keep them happy. Felt like it would just stir up shit."

There was more silence and Graves hated it, it was too much. So much louder than any words. He would have preferred Price openly discussed how this relationship- This arrangement- has run its course. Nik was still quiet and Price had joined him in that silence, so Graves decided to keep talking. He was already in a hole so why not keep digging.

"I know I'm just entertainment. Everyone else says I am..."

"That's not true."

If Graves didn't know the man by this point, he wouldn't have known that it was Nik who had spoken. His voice was so small, so weak. It was like he forgot what he was supposed to sound like but still forced himself to speak.

"I heard what Laswell said."

Pieces snapped together for them, "You heard that-?"

"I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Was just in the wrong place at the wrong time... She knows what she's talking about. She's always been the voice of reason."

"Phil, that- What she said wasn't true."

Graves felt fingers brush his back and he jerked away without thinking. He didn't mean to but he wasn't expecting any kind gestures at the moment. Graves could feel his heart aching because he could imagine the hurt expressions on their faces… He could also so clearly see anger at what he was saying. So Graves closed his eyes when he felt Price get off the bed, squeezing them shut. He’s always been a coward, unable to face the consequences of his actions.

He could tell the man was in front of him but he refused to open his eyes. Graves flinched when he felt fingers graze his hands. They jerked away for a second before they came back, easing their way around Graves' hands. Graves let his hands be held, still keeping his eyes screwed shut. His hands were moved away from his lap and Graves felt whiskers on his skin before warm lips. He swallows, letting out broken breaths before he opens his eyes.

Price was kneeling on the floor, holding his hands so close to him. After another kiss Price looks up at Graves with such a sincere and loving look in his eyes. There was a pain there, an ache that Graves felt responsible for. Graves feels Nik move closer to him, reaching out to touch him again. This time Graves didn't jerk away and let Nik move close to him, pressing against him back and kissing his shoulder.

"Phil, tell us what's been happening. And please, don't leave out any details."

Graves broke and the tenderness in his boyfriend's voice. So, he started to cry. And he told them before everything that had been happening since he had officially joined 141 ranks. Things were admittedly not bad, not until Graves had grown closer to Nik and Price. He remembered everything went to shit after Ghost saw Graves leaving their bedroom, wearing one of Price's shirts. Since that moment, it felt like it became Soap and Ghost's mission to make his life hell.

They told him nothing he could possibly do would fix what he had done, that no amount of dick sucking and brown nosing would make them ever trust him. Graves didn't want to go into detail about what had been going on but once he started talking, he found himself unable to stop. Price kept a neutral expression as Graves cried, Nik held Graves the entire time. Finally, Graves stops talking and just leans back into Nik's hold.

Nik pressed a kiss to Graves' head as Price stood. While his face didn't display any particular emotion, his eyes were angry. He took a moment to compose himself before he leaned down and kissed Graves. He would then lean over and kiss Nik, muttering something to him that Graves couldn't understand, before he left the room. Fear made Graves shake and he was afraid of what was about to happen.

"We should've noticed, зайчик."

Graves turns his body and rests against Nik, staring at the door. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, like he could breathe clearly. But he also felt regret, guilt, like he was once more betraying Soap and Ghost. Those thoughts washed away with Nik pressing a series of kisses to his face.

"Let John deal with them."

So, Graves rested against Nik. And he let Price deal with them.

_

The silence after Price left made him anxious. An hour after Price left, Nik took Graves to their bedroom to run him a bath in their private bathroom. While Graves soaked, Nik ran to grab him food and whatever else the man could possibly want. He half expected Nik to come back with news about what was happening with Price. But he had nothing to say on the matter and just gave Graves his requested bowl of hot stew and fizzy drink.

After his bath Graves would lay in bed with Nik, Nik giving him full control of the TV. Though Graves spent a good half hour just clicking through movies and shows, not settling on anything to watch, he appreciated the sentiment of Nik giving up control of the TV. He had previously joked that Nik was a tyrant when it came to what they watched because the man never agreed with anything Price or Graves picked. But here he was, not saying a word as Graves just surfed through the channels before just settling on some low rated rom-com.

Price would walk in much, much later. Graves was dozing by that point, not even watching the show while Nik was fully invested into it. They both gave their attention to Price when he walked in, face flushed. He had been yelling, Graves could tell. Price took a deep breath when he had closed the door behind him like he was trying to chase off any remaining anger in him before he crawled into bed with them.

Price had crawled between Graves and Nik, facing Graves and pulling the man into his arms. Graves accepted this, relaxing against Price. He was curious, partially afraid, and deep down he wanted to know if Price had given them hell. Price had a temper that, if let loose, could burn a city down. He had seen it before, had a taste of it. Graves wanted to know if the boys had faced it, if it had burned them.

But he didn't say anything, didn't ask. He just rested against Price, melting against him as the man rubbed his back slowly. Then his hands went lower before Price rolled them over, sticking Graves between him and Nik. Nik immediately turned off the TV and turned all his attention onto Graves. It didn't take long for Graves to become breathless, flushed with want, and completely content with being stuck between Price and Nik.

_

It was a long evening with Nik and Price, neither giving him a moment to think about anything. He could feel their burning kisses and everything they did lingered on his skin. They managed to make him forget about everything, at least for a moment. Graves was nestled between them, completely in bliss and satisfaction.

Then Price got a phone call and the moment ended.

By how fast Price got dressed and left, Graves knew it was Laswell. He couldn't think of anyone else that could spur that kind of reaction out of Price. Graves felt anxious as Price left, Nik also getting out of bed. Graves just stared at Nik, wondering if the man was going to leave as well.

Nik noticed him staring and smiled, "Just going to clean up, love."

Graves relaxed, slumping back down in the bed. As promised, Nik just went to the bathroom for a moment before he returned. Graves watches Nik grab clean clothes, taking his time dressing.

”Heading somewhere?”

”Grabbing some food. Care to join me? Be good to stretch your legs.”

Graves wanted to say ‘no’ and curl up further in the covers, but he didn't and instead decided to join Nik. Graves took his time cleaning up, anxiety rattling him with the thought about leaving the room. He managed to ignore it enough to put clothes on and leave the room, sticking close with Nik as he could manage without actually touching him. They made it to the lounge without running into anyone and Graves sighed in relief.

Nik went through the lounge to the kitchen while Graves chose to sit. His mind was racing, he felt exposed. Any officer could walk into the lounge, anyone could be coming through. Choosing to remain in the lounge instead of following Nik into the kitchen was a conscious decision. He could leave quicker, it would be harder to block him in. Though he didn't doubt Nik would come to his defense if something was to go wrong, he could only think about if he would be able to come quick enough.

Paranoid bastard.

"дорогой, do you want anything?"

Graves nearly jumped out of his skin at Nik calling from the kitchen. He took a moment to breathe before he called 'no' back to the man. He was almost afraid to raise his voice, afraid to attract any attention to the lounge. The last thing he needed was someone to come in and- well, do anything really. He didn't want anyone to look at him, couldn't stand the thought of their eyes on them. Pity, loathing, annoyance— Any such thing would be too much.

Nik comes back from the kitchen and sits down beside Graves. Graves notices the tower of a sandwich in his possession and snorts.

"Have enough for an army there!"

"Enough to share~"

"No thank you, there's no telling what you put in that monstrosity."

Nik rolls his eyes before makes himself comfortable. Graves felt his heart leap, finding nothing but adoration for the man beside him. Then his mind naturally turned to Price and it sunk once more. The call that made him leave so quickly—

Graves jerks his head back as a fucking pickle is shoved in his face.

"Nikolai-!"

"You need to eat something!"

"I'm not eating a bread and butter pickle you psycho!"

Nik was good at getting his mind off of things. Graves knew he was purposely annoying him, purposely making it impossible for him to think about anything other than him. It was something that Graves loved about him.

“Nothing wrong with them! You and John are just weird!”

”Oh? We’re the weird ones? Sorry, babe, but you’re the weird one in this relationship.”

Nik feigns a hurt expression and Graves couldn’t help but smile. God, he loved this man.

Nik ate his food, Graves closing his eyes and enjoying his presence. But the relative silence allowed for his thoughts to brew once more. He frowns, heart aching as he thought about Price. Graves open his eyes, staring at Nik for a moment before he finally said something.

”Do you think John crossed a line with his boys? Or if Laswell is punishing him somehow…”

”Hey, none of that. John is fine. He can handle whatever is thrown at him. The boys got what they deserved and Kate is just going to understand. I doubt she knew what all was going on.”

”Right… because she definitely doesn’t have eyes and ears everywhere.”

Nik sighs, “Phil, she has eyes and ears everywhere on the job. Out in the field, not here. She knows what we tell her and I doubt she’s been given the full story.”

Graves hums. Nik was right, of course he was. He’s smart and he definitely knows Laswell better than Graves. Price was fine… everything was fine…

”What if-“

”Phil I will shove this pickle in your mouth.”

Graves couldn’t help but laugh, Nik looking at him with his softest, most loving glare he has at his disposal. Graves took Nik’s threat to heart and silenced himself. He’ll at least wait until the man has finished all his food before saying something else. He could imagine a few ways Nik would do to hut him up, running into the kitchen to grab another pickle included.

Graves felt a light vibration in the couch which was most likely Nik’s phone. Graves had long abandoned his phone elsewhere (probably now in Nik and Price’s rom somewhere). Nik takes out his phone to check it, poking around until his face gave a subtle hint of relief. He’s a good actor so whatever it was was truly comforting.

”The boys will be getting a talking to… something about teamwork and harassment.”

Graves felt his heart skip a beat, “John is-?”

”And Kate. I told you she would understand.”

Graves let’s out a short, surprised laugh. He slumps against the couch, feeling a weight being lifted. There was of course anxiety about how the boys would react, how they would treat him going forward… but Graves felt at ease, he felt secure where he was.

And that felt amazing.

[poststealer]

some tips for working out your brain

hydrate it by drinking lots of water/water based liquids. if you are someone who cant stand drinking still/unflavored water, thats fine! dont believe the lie that "drinking juice/soda/other non water drink is worse than not drinking anything", the only drink that will actively dehydrate you is alcohol. its better to drink water, but drink what you can drink, your body will get the liquid from it either way

eat foods high in antioxidants; dark chocolate and blueberries and walnuts and salmon are common ones but there are many many others

play little brain games on your phone; wordconnect, water sort puzzle, i love hue, etc. anything that makes you think!

read books. It’s simple but necessary. join a book club (in person or online), read with a friend, post about the book in its fandom tags etc, so you can have discussions about it after. reading fanfic counts too! if you have trouble reading, try finding audiobooks online or finding a text to speech program that will read the books to you. this will improve your reading and media comprehension.

do puzzles - it doesnt have to be sudoku; you can play rhythm games like project sekai or piano tiles on mobile and OSU! or geometry dash on the computer, you can play tetris or pac man, you can do an actual physical puzzle on your coffee table, etc. anything that makes you think and use strategy is a puzzle, and theres a puzzle out there for everyone!

learn a new dance - even a tiktok trend dance. learning new dance moves are proven to strengthen synapses

go bird watching, foraging, hiking, anything outdoors that requires you to explore pattern recognition and visual searching. even if you're just identifying bugs and flowers in your back yard!

watch a movie with the intent of analysis. this is best done with a cinephile friend. talk about tropes and symbolism and character growth

cross stitch, knit, sew, or do anything that gets your hands moving and your brain thinking. if you don't have the dexterity for sewing you can also draw or paint, do coloring or color-by-number pages, connect-the-dots, gem painting, etc.

play or learn an instrument! if you don't have access to a physical instrument, try recreating songs you like (or make your own songs!) in a digital music program, like beepbox

develop a consistent sleep schedule, or as close to consistent as you can get

when eating, try to identify the ingredients and individual flavors you’re perceiving. pretend you're a wine sommelier, or that ice cream taster guy

i hope this helps you take care of your brain 💖

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

[minecraftbookshelf]

wait. quick question. i was reading through the masterpost for marriage of state, and i noticed that in some drafts, joey is married to xornoth, but in others it's someone called iona? what's the relation between these three?

So Joey and Xornoth are not actually married, they’re having an extremely public and scandalous affair. (Because Joey is incapable of not swooning dramatically on sight)

Iona is a background original character made to fill a role but I’ve grown fond of her even if she won’t really feature that much, as she is more of a worldbuilding tool than an actual character. She’s an elvish noblewoman that Xornoth married early in their reign to stabilize some unrest within the population.

She and Xornoth have an amicable, 1000% platonic working relationship. She lives in the house that is nominally Xornoth’s and Xornoth lives in Scott’s house. She does have a “roommate”/attendant who is either her girlfriend or her queer-platonic life partner, I’m leaning towards the latter.

Joey and Iona don’t really interact outside of the occasional international formal function. She doesn’t really like him that much but that has more to do with personality clash than his relationship with Xornoth.

Joey is overall indifferent to Iona, and has been once it was established she wasn’t going to be an obstacle in his pursuit of Xornoth.

Xornoth is mildly stressed and entirely confused about how they ended up here. (Scott thinks it’s funny but also he and Joey are extremely bitchy at each other at all times and that is the source of most of Xornoth’s stress on the matter.)

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[saturnskyline]

hi. so i saw this gifset on the dash, and it's entirely too late for me to be awake doing this but i am now spiraling over kim's outfits. so anyway here goes nothing 👍

(below the cut is my descent into madness. you have been warned)

now when i saw these gifs i began musing in the tags, as one does, so here they are for context:

(feels truly unhinged to screenshot my own tags but oh well)

so once i started thinking i found it impossible to stop (as often is the case with this gay mafia business) and i decided to go through and look at each of kim's outfits. for science

now i know the fandom has looked at wardrobe stuff before, so it's very possible that someone has gone through this already. BUT! i'm already in way too deep here so i'm just gonna go ahead with this dfsdhgjsdf

kim's wardrobe is, to me at least, very interesting. you get a mix of things, depending on how he is presenting himself. for example:

(here we have wik, kim, and what seems to be something in between)

it's hard to differentiate between these styles at times, and i think that's purposeful bc kim appears to dart between personas: beloved singer, distant son, solo detective... the list goes on

so first things first! i was largely right about the jacket thing! in most every one of his outfits, he has some kind of jacket on. however, the first time we actually see him without a jacket is actually in this scene where he gifts chay with the guitar:

(hasty screenshot to prove my point and yet jeff is still doing the jeff thing. bless)

okay so i was wrong about that. i think the jacketless look is definitely intentional on his part – to help him seem unguarded, especially since he is giving a gift – but the first instance is still not the scene i thought it was. however!!! there is one thing i'm really excited about, and it's about the next thought i had in the tags...

every time kim wears white it relates to chay.

now you may be thinking, wren. is that really the case, or is this claim a bit of a stretch? and now i answer.... *gestures helplessly* some of this may be a stretch! but i can explain, and i will!

let's look at the instances of kim in white then, shall we?

#1

this, to me, is a quintessential wik look. far more approachable than the full black leather, and even his typical sleuthing fits (although a lot of it is in his mannerisms tbh, remember that withering look he gave big?). now this one miiiight be a stretch... but to me it still fits my thesis bc i feel like kim dressed this way for chay on purpose so he would look more like one of his peers. just my two cents

#2

first sleuthing scene where white is involved. here, kim is investigating porsche's (and therefore, chay's) parents, and he gets a call from chay, which he ignores. everything and nothing in this scene is about chay; he's not in it but he actually is. (now if you're thinking, wren, that doesn't make any sense... you are not the only one. idk what i'm talking about. let's carry on)

#3

our boy in songwriting mode! worth noting that, with the combination of the shirt and the pants, there is more white going on here than usual. here, instead of avoiding chay, he actively remembers him and even looks a little.. fond? *gasp*

#4

the confession scene :') this one is particularly interesting bc it's the same jacket kim wears when he's in full dark mafia mode (more on that later). like most instances of kim in white, it's a dark jacket with white peeking through, and this scene might be the best instance of that. he reaches back when chay offers his feelings, and opens the door to.. a relationship? idk but something with emotions

#5

(jeffrey, sweetie, i'm so sorry about the screenshot quality. consider it retribution for your gender crimes?)

NOW. here is the look that made me start this deranged analysis in the first place. not only is it sans mafia jacket, but it is a full white shirt! he cuddles chay on the couch! they talk (?) about their feelings (?) ... well i mean, he's clearly having a hard time being vulnerable, but at least there is progress being made :)

#6

(bad screenshot, bad moment. they r matching)

would you believe the next white-wearing instance is THIS MISERABLE SCENE. the jacket's back on, he's desperately trying to put up his guard again, and he blatantly lets chay think that he never had feelings for him (lies lies and more lies... we all hate it here :D)

#7

look. i'm aware this is the biggest stretch yet bahaha. i mean my man is dressed for SCHOOL. however. the focus of this scene is him learning that chay didn't show for his audition, so it still fits in my book!! idc idc

#8

(if you look at chay's hair here, this scene also has bisexual lighti- *gets shot*)

pretty self-explanatory, he shows up to the bar to fight chay's friends and confront chay. about as chay-related as you can get

#9

finally! the Human Shirt™ !! about as on-the-nose as you can get, really. while wearing a white shirt that reads "human" and no jacket, kim has, demonstrably, his most human moment in the show: he breaks down crying over chay. cue jeff acting his heart out while his own song plays in the background (why don't you stayyyy~)

#10

it's a flashback scene, but we see kim watching chay in the studio. he's mostly guarded, but a little white comes through. good stuff

#11

putting these together bc they are two different moments but the same outfit. 1) kim learns that porsche and chay have disappeared, and 2) he contemplates the state of things after korn's "death". i put the family moment here too especially bc of what he tells kinn: "you don't have time to think about other stuff anymore", basically "eyes on the prize". now perhaps this only applies to his older brother, but in the case that we apply it to him.. we can't really be sure whether he is sticking to his personal main goal or breaking from his own advice. i suspect the former bc at this point, he seems to see chay as his main priority, despite his family's situation (again idk if this makes sense, but just. go with it. lol)

#12

dare i say? the sexiest example?? no mafia jacket, full white shirt, and yet, unlike the other white shirt instances, this one isn't about his emotional vulnerability with chay. no no, here he takes out six guys without much difficulty, in an attempt to protect chay (and then he leaves the bodies, but still! the love is there!)

(a gif for fun! worth pointing out that kim also acts to protect chay the first time he wears that white shirt... :0)

in conclusion... idk what i am talking about, and frankly, if you are still reading this post i am very impressed lol. but yay kim's clothes and motifs, fashion as a disarming tactic, and white as a color of vulnerability!

[cxpperhead]

SPOILERS AHEAD if you've ever watched T.he D.ragon P.rince but after all this time, I may have finally found a voiceclaim for Copperhead? Everything about it just *chef's kiss* from the quiet, calm way the character talks which is very much in line with how Copperhead communicates! Consider Aaravos this boy's new VC!